TOGETHER.

Together, dearest, we have play'd, As girl and boy together; Through storm and calm, in sun and shade, In spring and wintry weather.

Oh! every pang that stinging came But made our love the dearer; If danger lower'd--'twas all the same, We only clung the nearer.

In riper years, when all the world Lay bathed in light before us, And life in rainbow hues unfurl'd Its glowing banner o'er us, Amid the beauty storms would rise And flowers collapsing wither, While open friends turned hidden foes-- Yet were we blest together.

But now the battle's fought and won, And care with life is flying, While, setting slowly like the sun, Ambition's fires are dying.

We gather hope with fading strength, And go, we know not whither, Contented if in death at last We sleep in peace together.

FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE.

With lofty song we love to cheer The hearts of daring men; Applauded thus, they gladly hear The trumpet's call again.

But now we sing of lowly deeds Devoted to the brave, Where she, who stems the wound that bleeds, A hero's life may save: And heroes saved exulting tell How well her voice they knew; How sorrow near it could not dwell, But spread its wings and flew.

Neglected, dying in despair, They lay till woman came To soothe them with her gentle care, And feed life's flickering flame.

When wounded sore, on fever's rack, Or cast away as slain, She called their fluttering spirits back And gave them strength again.

'Twas grief to miss the pa.s.sing face That suffering could dispel; But joy to turn and kiss the place On which her shadow fell.[4]

When words of wrath profaning rung, She moved with pitying grace; Her presence still'd the wildest tongue, And holy[5] made the place.

They knew that they were cared for then, Their eyes forgot their tears; In dreamy sleep they lost their pain, And thought of early years-- Of early years, when all was fair, Of faces sweet and pale.

They woke: the angel bending there Was--Florence Nightingale!

FOOTNOTES:

[4] She would speak to one and to another, and nod and smile to many more, but she could not do it to all; but we could kiss her shadow as it fell, and lay our heads on the pillow again, content.--_Soldier's Letter from the Crimea._

[5] "Before she came there was cussin' and swearin', but after that it was as holy as a church."--_Ibid._

JOSEPH MACGREGOR.

The writer of several good songs, which have been published with music, Joseph Macgregor, followed the profession of an accountant in Edinburgh.

Expert as a man of business, he negotiated the arrangement of the city affairs at the period of the munic.i.p.al bankruptcy. A zealous member of the Liberal party, he took a prominent interest in the Reform Bill movement, and afterwards afforded valuable a.s.sistance in the election of Francis Jeffrey as one of the representatives of the city in Parliament.

He latterly occupied Ramsay Lodge, the residence of the poet Allan Ramsay, where he died about the year 1845, at a somewhat advanced age.

The following songs from his pen are published by the kind permission of Messrs Robertson & Co., musicsellers, Edinburgh.

LADDIE, OH! LEAVE ME.

Down whar the burnie rins whimplin' and cheery, When love's star was smilin', I met wi' my dearie; Ah! vain was its smilin'--she wadna believe me, But said wi' a saucy air, "Laddie, oh! leave me; Leave me, leave me, laddie, oh! leave me."

"I 've lo'ed thee o'er truly to seek a new dearie, I 've lo'ed thee o'er fondly, through life e'er to weary, I 've lo'ed thee o'er lang, love, at last to deceive thee; Look cauldly or kindly, but bid me not leave thee;"

Leave thee, leave thee, &c.

"There 's nae ither saft e'e that fills me wi' pleasure, There 's nae ither rose-lip has half o' its treasure, There 's nae ither bower, love, shall ever receive me, Till death break this fond heart--oh! then I maun leave thee;"

Leave thee, leave thee, &c.

The tears o'er her cheeks ran like dew frae red roses; What hope to the lover one tear-drop discloses!

I kiss'd them, and blest her--at last to relieve me She yielded her hand, and sigh'd, "Oh! never leave me;"

Leave me, leave me, &c.

HOW BLYTHELY THE PIPE.

AIR--_"Kinloch of Kinloch."_

How blythely the pipe through Glenlyon was sounding, At morn when the clans to the merry dance hied; And gay were the love-knots, o'er hearts fondly bounding, When Ronald woo'd Flora, and made her his bride.

But war's banner streaming soon changed their fond dreaming-- The battle-cry echoed, around and above Broad claymores were glancing, and war-steeds were prancing; Up, Ronald! to arms for home and your love.

All was hush'd o'er the hill, where love linger'd despairing, With her bride-maids still deck'd in their gay festal gear!

And she wept as she saw them fresh garlands preparing, Which might laurel Love's brow, or be strew'd o'er his bier!

But cheer thee, fond maiden--each wild breeze is laden With victory's slogan, through mountain and grove; Where death streams were gushing, and war-steeds were rushing, Lord Ronald has conquer'd for home and for love!

WILLIAM DUNBAR, D.D.

A native of Dumfries, William Dunbar, received his elementary education in that town. Having studied at the University of Edinburgh, he was in 1805 licensed as a probationer of the Established Church. During the vacations of his theological curriculum, and the earlier portion of his probationary career, he resided chiefly in the Hebrides. At this period he composed the popular song, ent.i.tled, "The Maid of Islay," the heroine being a Miss Campbell of the island of Islay. In several collections the song has been erroneously ascribed to Joseph Train. Mr Dunbar was, in May 1807, ordained to the parish of Applegarth, Dumfriesshire. Long reputed as one of the most successful cultivators of the honey-bee, Dr Dunbar was, in 1840, invited to prepare a treatise on the subject for the entomological series of the "Naturalist's Library." His observations were published, without his name, in a volume of the series, with the t.i.tle, "The Natural History of Bees, comprehending the uses and economical management of the British and Foreign Honey-Bee; together with the known wild species. Ill.u.s.trated by thirty-six plates, coloured from nature, with portrait and memoir of Huber." The publication has been p.r.o.nounced useful to the practical apiarian and a valuable contribution to the natural history of the honey-bee.

In the fiftieth year of his pastorate, Dr Dunbar enjoys the veneration of a flock, of whom the majority have been reared under his ministerial superintendence.

THE MAID OF ISLAY.

Rising o'er the heaving billow, Evening gilds the ocean's swell, While with thee, on gra.s.sy pillow, Solitude! I love to dwell.

Lonely to the sea-breeze blowing, Oft I chant my love-lorn strain, To the streamlet sweetly flowing, Murmur oft a lover's pain.