Amidst his extraordinary deserts as a naturalist, the merits of Alexander Wilson as a poet have been somewhat overlooked. His poetry, it may be remarked, though unambitious of ornament, is bold and vigorous in style, and, when devoted to satire, is keen and vehement. The ballad of "Watty and Meg," though exception may be taken to the moral, is an admirable picture of human nature, and one of the most graphic narratives of the "taming of a shrew" in the language. Allan Cunningham writes: "It has been excelled by none in lively, graphic fidelity of touch: whatever was present to his eye and manifest to his ear, he could paint with a life and a humour which Burns seems alone to excel."[41] In private life, Wilson was a model of benevolence and of the social virtues; he was devoid of selfishness, active in beneficence, and incapable of resentment. Before his departure for America, he waited on every one whom he conceived he had offended by his juvenile escapades, and begged their forgiveness; and he did not hesitate to reprove Burns for the levity too apparent in some of his poems. To his aged father, who survived till the year 1816, he sent remittances of money as often as he could afford; and at much inconvenience and pecuniary sacrifice, he established the family of his brother-in-law on a farm in the States. He was sober even to abstinence; and was guided in all his transactions by correct Christian principles. In person, he was remarkably handsome; his countenance was intelligent, and his eye sparkling. He never attained riches, but few Scotsmen have left more splendid memorials of their indomitable perseverance.[42] FOOTNOTES:

[41] The "Songs of Scotland," by Allan Cunningham, vol. i. p. 247.

[42] The most complete collection of his poems appeared in a volume published under the following t.i.tle:--"The Poetical Works of Alexander Wilson; also, his Miscellaneous Prose Writings, Journals, Letters, Essays, &c., now first Collected: Ill.u.s.trated by Critical and Explanatory Notes, with an extended Memoir of his Life and Writings, and a Glossary." Belfast, 1844, 18vo. A portrait of the author is prefixed.

CONNEL AND FLORA.

Dark lowers the night o'er the wide stormy main, Till mild rosy morning rise cheerful again; Alas! morn returns to revisit the sh.o.r.e, But Connel returns to his Flora no more.

For see, on yon mountain, the dark cloud of death, O'er Connel's lone cottage, lies low on the heath; While b.l.o.o.d.y and pale, on a far distant sh.o.r.e, He lies, to return to his Flora no more.

Ye light fleeting spirits, that glide o'er the steep, Oh, would ye but waft me across the wild deep!

There fearless I'd mix in the battle's loud roar, I'd die with my Connel, and leave him no more.

MATILDA.

Ye dark rugged rocks, that recline o'er the deep, Ye breezes, that sigh o'er the main, Here shelter me under your cliffs while I weep, And cease while ye hear me complain.

For distant, alas! from my dear native sh.o.r.e, And far from each friend now I be; And wide is the merciless ocean that roars Between my Matilda and me.

How blest were the times when together we stray'd, While Phbe shone silent above, Or lean'd by the border of Cartha's green side, And talk'd the whole evening of love!

Around us all nature lay wrapt up in peace, Nor noise could our pleasures annoy, Save Cartha's hoa.r.s.e brawling, convey'd by the breeze, That soothed us to love and to joy.

If haply some youth had his pa.s.sion express'd, And praised the bright charms of her face, What horrors unceasing revolved though my breast, While, sighing, I stole from the place!

For where is the eye that could view her alone, The ear that could list to her strain, Nor wish the adorable nymph for his own, Nor double the pangs I sustain?

Thou moon, that now brighten'st those regions above, How oft hast thou witness'd my bliss, While breathing my tender expressions of love, I seal'd each kind vow with a kiss!

Ah, then, how I joy'd while I gazed on her charms!

What transports flew swift through my heart!

I press'd the dear, beautiful maid in my arms, Nor dream'd that we ever should part.

But now from the dear, from the tenderest maid, By fortune unfeelingly torn; 'Midst strangers, who wonder to see me so sad, In secret I wander forlorn.

And oft, while drear Midnight a.s.sembles her shades, And Silence pours sleep from her throne, Pale, lonely, and pensive, I steal through the glades, And sigh, 'midst the darkness, my moan.

In vain to the town I retreat for relief, In vain to the groves I complain; Belles, c.o.xcombs, and uproar, can ne'er soothe my grief, And solitude nurses my pain.

Still absent from her whom my bosom loves best, I languish in mis'ry and care; Her presence could banish each woe from my heart, But her absence, alas! is despair.

Ye dark rugged rocks, that recline o'er the deep; Ye breezes, that sigh o'er the main-- Oh, shelter me under your cliffs while I weep, And cease while ye hear me complain!

Far distant, alas! from my dear native sh.o.r.e, And far from each friend now I be; And wide is the merciless ocean that roars Between my Matilda and me.

AUCHTERTOOL.[43]

From the village of Leslie, with a heart full of glee, And my pack on my shoulders, I rambled out free, Resolved that same evening, as Luna was full, To lodge, ten miles distant, in old Auchtertool.

Through many a lone cottage and farm-house I steer'd, Took their money, and off with my budget I sheer'd; The road I explored out, without form or rule, Still asking the nearest to old Auchtertool.

At length I arrived at the edge of the town, As Phbus, behind a high mountain, went down; The clouds gather'd dreary, and weather blew foul, And I hugg'd myself safe now in old Auchtertool.

An inn I inquired out, a lodging desired, But the landlady's pertness seem'd instantly fired; For she saucy replied, as she sat carding wool, "I ne'er kept sic lodgers in auld Auchtertool."

With scorn I soon left her to live on her pride; But, asking, was told there was none else beside, Except an old weaver, who now kept a school, And these were the whole that were in Auchtertool.

To his mansion I scamper'd, and rapp'd at the door; He oped, but as soon as I dared to implore, He shut it like thunder, and utter'd a howl That rung through each corner of old Auchtertool.

Deprived of all shelter, through darkness I trode, Till I came to a ruin'd old house by the road; Here the night I will spend, and, inspired by the owl, My wrath I 'll vent forth upon old Auchtertool.

[43] We have ventured to omit three verses, and to alter slightly the last line of this song. It was originally published at Paisley, in 1790, to the tune of "One bottle more." Auchtertool is a small hamlet in Fifeshire, about five miles west of the town of Kirkcaldy. The inhabitants, whatever may have been their failings at the period when Wilson in vain solicited shelter in the hamlet, are certainly no longer ent.i.tled to bear the reproach of lacking in hospitality. We rejoice in the opportunity thus afforded of testifying as to the disinterested hospitality and kindness which we have experienced in that neighbourhood.

CAROLINA, BARONESS NAIRN.

Carolina Oliphant was born in the old mansion of Gask, in the county of Perth, on the 16th of July 1766. She was the third daughter and fifth child of Laurence Oliphant of Gask, who had espoused his cousin Margaret Robertson, a daughter of Duncan Robertson of Struan, and his wife a daughter of the fourth Lord Nairn. The Oliphants of Gask were cadets of the formerly n.o.ble house of Oliphant; whose ancestor, Sir William Oliphant of Aberdalgie, a puissant knight, acquired distinction in the beginning of the fourteenth century by defending the Castle of Stirling against a formidable siege by the first Edward. The family of Gask were devoted Jacobites; the paternal grandfather of Carolina Oliphant had attended Prince Charles Edward as aid-de-camp during his disastrous campaign of 1745-6, and his spouse had indicated her sympathy in his cause by cutting out a lock of his hair on the occasion of his accepting the hospitality of the family mansion. The portion of hair is preserved at Gask; and Carolina Oliphant, in her song, "The Auld House," has thus celebrated the gentle deed of her progenitor:--

"The Leddy too, sae genty, There shelter'd Scotland's heir, An' clipt a lock wi' her ain hand Frae his lang yellow hair."

The estate of Gask escaped forfeiture, but the father of Carolina did not renounce the Jacobite sentiments of his ancestors. He named the subject of this memoir Carolina, in honour of Prince Charles Edward; and his prevailing topic of conversation was the reiterated expression of his hope that "the king would get his ain." He would not permit the names of the reigning monarch and his queen to be mentioned in his presence; and when impaired eyesight compelled him to seek the a.s.sistance of his family in reading the newspapers, he angrily reproved the reader if the "German lairdie and his leddy" were designated otherwise than by the initial letters, "K. and Q." This extreme Jacobitism at a period when the crime was scarcely to be dreaded, was reported to George III., who is related to have confessed his respect for a man who had so consistently maintained his political sentiments.

In her youth, Carolina Oliphant was singularly beautiful, and was known in her native district by the poetical designation of "The Flower of Strathearn." She was as remarkable for the precocity of her intellect, as she was celebrated for the elegance of her person. Descended by her mother from a family which, in one instance,[44] at least, had afforded some evidence of poetical talents, and possessed of a correct musical ear, she very early composed verses for her favourite melodies. To the development of her native genius, her juvenile condition abundantly contributed: the locality of her birthplace, rich in landscape scenery, and a.s.sociated with family traditions and legends of curious and chivalric adventure, might have been sufficient to promote, in a mind less fertile than her own, sentiments of poesy. In the application of her talents she was influenced by another incentive. A loose ribaldry tainted the songs and ballads which circulated among the peasantry, and she was convinced that the diffusion of a more wholesome minstrelsy would essentially elevate the moral tone of the community. Thus, while still young, she commenced to purify the older melodies, and to compose new songs, which were ultimately destined to occupy an ample share of the national heart. The occasion of an agricultural dinner in the neighbourhood afforded her a fitting opportunity of making trial of her success in the good work which she had begun. To the president of the meeting she sent, anonymously, her verses ent.i.tled "The Ploughman;" and the production being publicly read, was received with warm approbation, and was speedily put to music. She was thus encouraged to proceed in her self-imposed task; and to this early period of her life may be ascribed some of her best lyrics. "The Laird o' c.o.c.kpen," and "The Land o' the Leal," at the close of the century, were sung in every district of the kingdom.

Carolina Oliphant had many suitors for her hand: she gave a preference to William Murray Nairn, her maternal cousin, who had been Baron Nairn, barring the attainder of the t.i.tle on account of the Jacobitism of the last Baron. The marriage was celebrated in June 1806. At this period, Mr Nairn was a.s.sistant Inspector-General of Barracks in Scotland, and held the rank of major in the army. By Act of Parliament, on the 17th June 1824, the attainder of the family was removed, the t.i.tle of Baron being conferred on Major Nairn. This measure is reported to have been pa.s.sed on the strong recommendation of George IV.; his Majesty having learned, during his state visit to Scotland in 1822, that the song of "The Attainted Scottish n.o.bles" was the composition of Lady Nairn. The song is certainly one of the best apologies for Jacobitism.

On the 9th of July 1830, Lady Nairn was bereaved of her husband, to whom she had proved an affectionate wife. Her care had for several years been a.s.siduously bestowed on the proper rearing of her only child William, who, being born in 1808, had reached his twenty-second year when he succeeded to the t.i.tle on the death of his father. This young n.o.bleman warmly reciprocated his mother's affectionate devotedness; and, making her the a.s.sociate of his manhood, proved a source of much comfort to her in her bereavement. In 1837, he resolved, in her society, to visit the Continent, in the hope of being recruited by change of climate from an attack of influenza caught in the spring of that year. But the change did not avail; he was seized with a violent cold at Brussels, which, after an illness of six weeks, proved fatal. He died in that city on the 7th of December 1837. Deprived both of her husband and her only child, a young n.o.bleman of so much promise, and of singular Christian worth, Lady Nairn, though submitting to the mysterious dispensations with becoming resignation, did not regain her wonted buoyancy of spirit. Old age was rapidly approaching,--those years in which the words of the inspired sage, "I have no pleasure in them," are too frequently called forth by the pressure of human infirmities. But this amiable lady did not sink under the load of affliction and of years: she mourned in hope, and wept in faith. While the afflictions which had mingled with her cup of blessings tended to prevent her lingering too intently on the past,[45]

the remembrance of a life devoted to deeds of piety and virtue was a solace greater than any other earthly object could impart, leading her to hail the future with sentiments of joyful antic.i.p.ation. During the last years of her life, unfettered by worldly ties, she devoted all her energies to the service of Heaven, and to the advancement of Christian truth. Her beautiful ode, "Would you be young again?" was composed in 1842, and enclosed in a letter to a friend; it is signally expressive of the pious resignation and Christian hope of the author.

After the important era of her marriage, she seems to have relinquished her literary ardour. But in the year 1821, Mr Robert Purdie, an enterprising music-seller in Edinburgh, having resolved to publish a series of the more approved national songs, made application to several ladies celebrated for their musical skill, with the view of obtaining their a.s.sistance in the arrangement of the melodies. To these ladies was known the secret of Lady Nairn's devotedness to Scottish song, enjoying as they did her literary correspondence and private intimacy; and in consenting to aid the publisher in his undertaking, they calculated on contributions from their accomplished friend. They had formed a correct estimate: Lady Nairn, whose extreme diffidence had hitherto proved a barrier to the fulfilment of the best wishes of her heart, in effecting the reformation of the national minstrelsy, consented to transmit pieces for insertion, on the express condition that her name and rank, and every circ.u.mstance connected with her history, should be kept in profound secrecy. The condition was carefully observed; so that, although the publication of "The Scottish Minstrel" extended over three years, and she had several personal interviews and much correspondence with the publisher and his editor, Mr R. A. Smith, both these individuals remained ignorant of her real name. She had a.s.sumed the signature, "B. B.," in her correspondence with Mr Purdie, who appears to have been entertained by _the discovery_, communicated in confidence, that the name of his contributor was "Mrs Bogan of Bogan;" and by this designation he subsequently addressed her. The _nom de guerre_ of the two B.'s[46] is attached to the greater number of Lady Nairn's contributions in "The Scottish Minstrel."