THE PRIDE O' THE GLEN.

Oh, bonnie 's the lily that blooms in the valley, And fair is the cherry that grows on the tree; The primrose smiles sweet as it welcomes the simmer, And modest 's the wee gowan's love-talking e'e; Mair dear to my heart is that lown cosy dingle, Whar late i' the gloamin', by the lanely "Ha' den,"

I met with the fairest ere bounded in beauty, By the banks o' the Endrick, the pride o' the glen.

She 's pure as the spring cloud that smiles in the welkin, An blithe as the lambkin that sports on the lea; Her heart is a fount rinnin' owre wi' affection, And a warld o' feeling is the love o' her e'e.

The prince may be proud o' his vast h.o.a.rded treasures, The heir o' his grandeur and high pedigree; They kenna the happiness dwalt in my bosom, When alane wi' the angel o' luve and o' le.

I 've seen the day dawn in a shower-drappin' goud, The gra.s.s spread wi' dew, like a wide siller sea; The clouds shinin' bricht in a deep amber licht, And the earth blushin' back to the glad lift on hie.

I 've dream'd o' a palace wi' gem-spangled ha's, And proud wa's a' glitterin' in rich diamond sheen Wi' towers shinin' fair, through the rose-tinted air, And domes o' rare pearls and rubies atween.

I 've sat in a garden, 'mid earth's gayest flowers, A' gaudily shawin' their beauteous dyes, And breathin' in calm the air's fragrant balm, Like angels asleep on the plains o' the skies; Yet the garden, and palace, and day's rosy dawning, Though in bless'd morning dreams they should aft come again, Can ne'er be sae sweet as the bonnie young la.s.sie, That bloom'd by the Endrick, the pride of the glen.

The exile, in sleep, haunts the land o' his fathers, The captive's ae dream is his hour to be free; The weary heart langs for the morning rays comin', The oppress'd, for his sabbath o' sweet liberty.

But my life's only hope, my heart's only prayer, Is the day that I 'll ca' the young la.s.sie my ain; Though a' should forsake me, wi' her I 'll be happy, On the banks o' the Endrick, the pride o' the glen.

MARY.

The winter's cauld and cheerless blast May rob the f.e.c.kless tree, Mary, And lay the young flowers in the dust, Whar' ance they bloom'd in glee, Mary.

It canna chill my bosom's hopes-- It canna alter thee, Mary; The summer o' thy winsome face Is aye the same to me, Mary.

The gloom o' life, its cruel strife, May wear me fast awa', Mary; An' lea'e me like a cauld, cauld corpse, Amang the drifting snaw, Mary.

Yet 'mid the drift, wert thou but nigh, I 'd fauld my weary e'e, Mary; And deem the wild and raging storm, A laverock's sang o' glee, Mary.

My heart can lie in ruin's dust, And fortune's winter dree, Mary; While o'er it shines the diamond ray, That glances frae thine e'e, Mary.

The rending pangs and waes o' life, The dreary din o' care, Mary, I 'll welcome, gin they lea'e but thee, My lanely lot to share, Mary.

As o'er yon hill the evening star Is wilin' day awa', Mary; Sae sweet and fair art thou to me, At life's sad gloamin' fa', Mary.

It gars me greet wi' vera joy, Whene'er I think on thee, Mary, That sic a heart sae true as thine, Should e'er ha'e cared for me, Mary.

JAMES BALLANTINE.

James Ballantine, one of the most successful of living Scottish song writers, was born in 1808 at the West Port of Edinburgh. Of this locality, now considerably changed in its character, but still endeared to him by the a.s.sociations of his boyhood, he has given a graphic description in a poem, in which he records some of the cherished recollections of the days when amid its "howffs," and "laigh"

half-doored shops he "gat schulin' and sport." He lost his father, who was a brewer, when he was only ten years old, and, being the youngest of the family, which consisted of three daughters and himself, his early training devolved upon his mother, who contrived to obtain for her children the advantage of an ordinary education. James Ballantine must, however, be considered as a self-taught man. Beyond the training which he received in early life, he owes his present position to his own indefatigable exertions.

By his father's death, the poet was necessitated, while yet a mere boy, to exert himself for his own support and the a.s.sistance of the family.

He was, accordingly, apprenticed to a house-painter in the city, and very soon attained to considerable proficiency in his trade. On growing up to manhood, he made strenuous exertions to obtain the educational advantages which were not within his reach at an earlier period of life, and about his twentieth year he attended the University of Edinburgh for the study of anatomy, with a view to his professional improvement. At a subsequent period he turned his attention to the art of painting on gla.s.s, and he has long been well-known as one of the most distinguished of British artists in that department. At the period Mr Ballantine began his career as a gla.s.s-painter, the art had greatly degenerated in character; and the position to which it has of late years attained is chiefly owing to his good taste and archaeological researches. When the designs and specimens of gla.s.s-painting for the windows of the House of Lords were publicly competed for, the Royal Commissioners of the Fine Arts adjudged those produced by Mr Ballantine as the best which were exhibited, and the execution of the work was intrusted to him. A few years ago he published a work on stained gla.s.s, which has been translated and published in Germany, where it retains its popularity. Mr Ballantine has thus never allowed his literary pursuits to interfere with the exercise of his chosen avocations; "he has," in the words of Lord c.o.c.kburn, "made the business feed the Muses, and the Muses grace the business."

Although Mr Ballantine began at a very early age to woo the Muse, some of his most popular pieces having been produced about his sixteenth year, he made his first appearance in print in the pages of "Whistle Binkie." In 1843 his well-known work, "The Gaberlunzie's Wallet," was published in monthly numbers, ill.u.s.trated by the late Alexander Ritchie.

This production was enriched with some of his best lyrics. His second work, "The Miller of Deanhaugh," likewise contains a number of songs and ballads. In 1856 Messrs Constable & Co., of Edinburgh, published an edition of his poems, including many of those which had been previously given to the world. This volume contains the happiest effusions of his genius, and will procure him a prominent place in his country's literature. Mr Ballantine is the poet of the affections, a lover of the beautiful and tender among the humbler walks of life, and an exponent of the lessons to be drawn from familiar customs, common sayings, and simple character.

NAEBODY'S BAIRN.

She was Naebody's bairn, she was Naebody's bairn, She had mickle to thole, she had mickle to learn, Afore a kind word or kind look she could earn, For naebody cared about Naebody's bairn.

Though faither or mither ne'er own'd her ava, Though rear'd by the fremmit for fee unco sma', She grew in the shade like a young lady-fern, For Nature was bounteous to Naebody's bairn.

Though toited by some, and though lightlied by mair, She never compleened, though her young heart was sair, And warm virgin tears that might melted cauld airn Whiles glist in the blue e'e o' Naebody's bairn.

Though nane cheer'd her childhood, an' nane hail'd her birth, Heaven sent her an angel to gladden the earth; And when the earth doom'd her in laigh nook to dern, Heaven couldna but tak again Naebody's bairn.

She cam smiling sweetly as young mornin' daw, Like lown simmer gloamin' she faded awa, And lo! how serenely that lone e'ening starn Shines on the greensward that haps Naebody's bairn!

CASTLES IN THE AIR.

The bonnie, bonnie bairn sits pokin' in the ase, Glowerin' in the fire wi' his wee round face; Laughin' at the fuffin low--what sees he there?

Ha! the young dreamer 's biggin' castles in the air!

His wee chubby face, an' his towzy curly pow, Are laughin' an noddin' to the dancin' lowe, He 'll brown his rosy cheeks, and singe his sunny hair, Glowerin' at the imps wi' their castles in the air.

He sees muckle castles towerin' to the moon, He sees little sodgers puin' them a' doun; Warlds whomlin' up an' doun, blazin' wi' a flare, Losh! how he loups, as they glimmer in the air.

For a' sae sage he looks, what can the laddie ken?

He 's thinkin' upon naething, like mony mighty men, A wee thing mak's us think, a sma' thing mak's us stare,-- There are mair folks than him biggin' castles in the air.

Sic a night in winter may weel mak' him cauld; His chin upon his buffy hand will soon mak' him auld; His brow is brent sae braid, oh, pray that Daddy Care Wad let the wean alane wi' his castles in the air.

He 'll glower at the fire, an' he 'll keek at the light; But mony sparkling stars are swallow'd up by night; Aulder e'en than his are glamour'd by a glare, Hearts are broken--heads are turn'd--wi' castles in the air.

ILKA BLADE O' GRa.s.s KEPS ITS AIN DRAP O' DEW.

Confide ye aye in Providence, for Providence is kind, An' bear ye a' life's changes wi' a calm an' tranquil mind, Though press'd an' hemm'd on every side, hae faith an' ye 'll win through, For ilka blade o' gra.s.s keps its ain drap o' dew.

Gin reft frae friends, or crost in love, as whiles nae doubt ye 've been, Grief lies deep-hidden in your heart, or tears flow frae your e'en, Believe it for the best, and trow there 's good in store for you, For ilka blade o' gra.s.s keps its ain drap o' dew.

In lang, lang days o' simmer when the clear and cludless sky Refuses ae wee drap o' rain to Nature parch'd and dry, The genial night, wi balmy breath, gaurs verdure spring anew, An' ilka blade o' gra.s.s keps its ain drap o' dew.