WILLIAM NICHOLSON.

WILLIAM NICHOLSON, known as the Galloway poet, was born at Tannymaus, in the parish of Borgue, on the 15th August 1782. His father followed the occupation of a carrier; he subsequently took a farm, and finally kept a tavern. Of a family of eight children, William was the youngest; he inherited a love of poetry from his mother, a woman of much intelligence. Early sent to school, impaired eyesight interfered with his progress in learning. Disqualified by his imperfect vision from engaging in manual labour, he chose the business of pedlar or travelling merchant. In the course of his wanderings he composed verses, which, sung at the various homesteads he visited with his wares, became popular. Having submitted some of his poetical compositions to Dr Duncan of Ruthwell, and Dr Alexander Murray, the famous philologist, these gentlemen commended his attempting a publication. In the course of a personal canvass, he procured 1500 subscribers; and in 1814 appeared as the author of "Tales in Verse, and Miscellaneous Poems descriptive of Rural Life and Manners," Edinburgh, 12mo. By the publication he realised £100, but this sum was diminished by certain imprudent excesses. With the balance, he republished some tracts on the subject of Universal Redemption, which exhausted the remainder of his profits. In 1826

he proceeded to London, where he was kindly entertained by Allan Cunningham and other distinguished countrymen. On his return to Galloway, he was engaged for a short time as assistant to a cattle-driver. In 1828, he published a second edition of his poems, which was dedicated to Henry, now Lord Brougham, and to which was prefixed a humorous narrative of his life by Mr Macdiarmid. Latterly, Nicholson assumed the character of a gaberlunzie; he played at merrymakings on his bagpipes, for snuff and whisky. For sometime his headquarters were at Howford, in the parish of Tongland; he ultimately was kept by the Poors' Board at KirkAndrews, in his native parish. He died at Brigend of Borgue, on the 16th May 1849. the middle size, and well formed. peculiarly marked, and his eyes were concealed by his bushy eye-brows and long brown hair. As a poet and song-writer he claims a place in the national minstrelsy, which the irregular habits of his life will not forfeit. The longest poem in his published volume, entitled "The Country Lass," in the same measure as the "Queen's Wake," contains much simple and graphic delineation of life; while the ballad of "The Brownie of Blednoch," has passages of singular power. His songs are true to

nature.

He was rather above
His countenance was

THE BRAES OF GALLOWAY.

TUNE-" White Cockade."

O LASSIE, wilt thou gang

wi' me,

And leave thy friens i' th' south countrie—
Thy former friens and sweethearts a',
And gang wi' me to Gallowa'?

O Gallowa' braes they wave wi' broom,
And heather-bells in bonnie bloom;
There's lordly seats, and livins braw,
Amang the braes o' Gallowa'!

There's stately woods on mony a brae,
Where burns and birds in concert play;
The waukrife echo answers a',

Amang the braes o' Gallowa'.

O Gallowa' braes, &c.

The simmer shiel I'll build for thee
Alang the bonnie banks o' Dee,
Half circlin' roun' my father's ha',
Amang the braes o' Gallowa'.
O Gallowa' braes, &c.

When autumn waves her flowin' horn,
And fields o' gowden grain are shorn,
I'll busk thee fine, in pearlins braw,
To join the dance in Gallowa'.

VOL. III.

O Gallowa' braes, &c.

E

At e'en, whan darkness shrouds the sight,
And lanely, langsome is the night,
Wi' tentie care my pipes I'll thraw,
Play "A' the way to Gallowa'."
O Gallowa' braes, &c.

Should fickle fortune on us frown,
Nae lack o' gear our love should drown;
Content should shield our haddin' sma',
Amang the braes o' Gallowa'.

Come while the blossom 's on the broom,
And heather bells sae bonnie bloom;
Come let us be the happiest twa
On a' the braes o' Gallowa'!

THE HILLS OF THE HIGHLANDS.

TUNE-"Ewe Bughts, Marion."

WILL ye go to the Highlan's, my Mary,
And visit our haughs and our glens?
There's beauty 'mang hills o' the Highlan's,
That lassie i' th' Lowlands ne'er kens.

'Tis true we 've few cowslips or roses,
Nae lilies grow wild on the lea;
But the heather its sweet scent discloses,
And the daisy's as sweet to the e'e.

See yon far heathy hills, whare they're risin',
Whose summits are shaded wi' blue;
There the fleet mountain roes they are lyin',
Or feedin' their fawns, love, for you.

Right sweet are our scenes i' the gloamin',
Whan shepherds return frae the hill,
Aroun' by the banks o' Loch Lomon',
While bagpipes are soundin' sae shrill.

Right sweet is the low-setting sunbeams,
That points owre the quivering stream;
But sweeter the smiles o' my Mary,
And kinder the blinks o' her een.

THE BANKS OF TARF.

TUNE" Sin' my Uncle's dead."

WHERE windin' Tarf, by broomy knowes
Wi' siller waves to saut sea rows;
And mony a greenwood cluster grows,
And harebells bloomin' bonnie, O!
Below a spreadin' hazle lea,

Fu' snugly hid whare nane could see,
While blinkin' love beam'd frae her e'e,
I met my bonnie Annie, O!

Her neck was o' the snaw-drap hue,
Her lips like roses wet wi' dew;
But O! her e'e, o' azure blue,
Was past expression bonnie, O!