A land of heroes, famed an' brave— ON VISITING THE SCENES OF EARLY DAYS. YE daisied glens and briery braes, Haunts of my happy early days, Where oft I've pu'd the blossom'd slaes And flow'rets fair, Before my heart was scathed wi' waęs Or worldly care. Now recollection's airy train Shoots through my heart with pleasing pain, That, lang, lang lost, now found again, But many a dauted object 's fled; Low lies my once paternal shed; Rank hemlocks wild, and weeds, o'erspread Unstirr'd by cheerful tongue or tread, The echoes sleep. Yon bonnie burn, whose limpid streams, When warm'd with summer's glowing beams, Have often laved my tender limbs, When my employ Was chasing childhood's airy whims Upon yon green, at gloamin' gray, Remember'd at this distant day, Still warms the heart. Ah, cronies dear! for ever lost! Some landed on that silent coast, Ne'er to return! Howe'er the path of life may lie, If poorly low, or proudly high, When scenes of childhood meet our eye, Their charms we own, And yield the tribute of a sigh To days long gone. VOL. III. TO WANDER LANG IN FOREIGN LANDS. AIR-"Auld Langsyne." To wander lang in foreign lands, It was my destinie; I joyful was at my return, My native hills to see. My step grew light, my heart grew fain, I thought my cares to tine, I sigh'd to see the flow'ry green The ivy did entwine, Still mark'd the spot where youngsters met, I mixed with the village train, Yet still I seem'd alane; Nae kindly hand did welcome me, For a' my friends were gane. In youthfu' prime, at fortune's ca', I've now seen thirty simmer suns And I have stood where honour call'd, And there left many gallant lads, I've gather'd walth o' weel-won gear, Yet still I fortune blame; I lang wi' strangers pass'd my days, And now I'm ane at hame. I have nae friend but what my gowd Can draw to mammon's shrine; But how unlike the guileless hearts That wish'd me weel langsyne! PETER ROGER. PETER ROGER, blacksmith, formerly at Glenormiston, and latterly at Peebles, though more the enthusiastic lover of, than a contributor to, the national minstrelsy, is entitled to remembrance. His numerous communications addressed to the editor of this work, have supplied much information, which has been found useful in the preparation of these volumes. Roger was born at Clovenford, in the parish of Stow, in 1792. For thirty-seven years he wrought as blacksmith at Glenormiston, on the banks of the Tweed, near Innerleithen. In 1852, he removed to Peebles, where he had purchased a small cottage and garden. He died suddenly, at Peebles, on the 3d April 1856, in his 64th year. The following sketch of his character has been supplied, at our request, by his intimate acquaintance, the Rev. James Murray, minister of Old Cumnock : "Roger was in many respects a very remarkable man. He possessed, in an eminent degree, an exquisite natural sympathy with all things beautiful and good. He was an excellent botanist, well-skilled in music, and passionately fond of poetry. His conversation was very interesting; and his slight tendency to dogmatise in the presence of a stranger, entirely disappeared in the society of his friends. He might almost be said to revere any one possessed of intellectual gifts and accomplishments, whether natural or acquired; and as he lived many years in a cottage situated on the way-side between Peebles and Innerleithen, he was frequently visited by those who passed by. Occasionally the Ettrick Shepherd would stop his gig to have a few minutes' crack with his 'friend Peter,' as he called him. At another time it would be his minister, the Rev. Mr Leckie, or some other worthy pastor, or some surgeon of the district upon his widely-extended rounds-Dr Craig, for example; or Mr Thomas Smibert; or Mr Adam Dickson, a young genius nipt in the bud-whose appear |