to revisit Jamaica. As a parting tribute to his friends at Stirling, he published, in 1799, immediately before his departure, a descriptive poem, entitled "The Links of Forth, or a Parting Peep at the Carse of Stirling," which, regarded as the last effort of a dying poet, obtained a reception fully equal to its merits. arose. On the oft-disappointed and long unfortunate poet the sun of prosperity at length On his arrival in Jamaica, one of his early friends, Mr John Graham, of Three-Mile-River, settled on him an annuity of £100 a-year; and, in a few months afterwards, they sailed together for Britain, the poet's health being essentially improved. Macneill now fixed his permanent residence in Edinburgh, and, with the proceeds of several legacies bequeathed to him, together with his annuity, was enabled to live in comparative affluence. The narrative of his early adventures and hardships is supposed to form the basis of a novel, entitled, "The Memoirs of Charles Macpherson, Esq.," which proceeded from his pen in 1800. In the following year, he published a complete edition of his poetical works, in two duodecimo volumes. In 1809, he published "The Pastoral, or Lyric Muse of Scotland," in a thin quarto volume; and, about the same time, anonymously, two other works in verse, entitled "Town Fashions, or Modern Manners Delineated," and "Bygone Times and Latecome Changes." His last work, "The Scottish Adventurers," a novel, appeared in 1812, in two octavo volumes. The latter productions of Hector Macneill, both in prose and verse, tended rather to diminish than increase his fame. They exhibit the sentiments of a querulous old man, inclined to cling to the habits of his youth, and to regard any improvement as an act of ruthless innovation. As the author of some excellent songs, and one of the most popular ballads in the Scottish language, his name will continue to be remembered. His songs "Mary of Castlecary," "My boy, Tammie," "Come under my plaidie," "I lo'ed ne'er a laddie but ane," "Donald and Flora," and "Dinna think, bonnie lassie," will retain a firm hold of the popular mind. His characteristic is tenderness and pathos, combined with unity of feeling, and a simplicity always genuine and true to nature. Allan Cunningham, who forms only a humble estimate of his genius, remarks that his songs "have much softness and truth, an insinuating grace of manners, and a decorum of expression, with no small skill in the dramatic management of the stories."* The ballad of "Scotland's Skaith" ranks among the happiest conceptions of the Scottish Doric muse; rural life is depicted with singular force and accuracy, and the debasing consequences of the inordinate use of ardent spirits among the peasantry, are delineated with a vigour and power, admirably adapted to suit the author's benevolent intention in the suppression of intemperance. During his latter years, Macneill was much cherished among the fashionables of the capital. He was a tall, venerable-looking old man; and although his complexion was sallow, and his countenance somewhat austere, his agreeable and fascinating conversation, full of humour and replete with anecdote, rendered him an acceptable guest in many social circles. He displayed a lively, but not a vigorous intellect, and his literary attainments were inconsiderable. Of his own character as a man of letters, he had evidently formed a high estimate. He was prone to satire, but did not unduly indulge in it. He was especially impatient of indifferent versification; and, among his friends, rather discouraged than commended poetical composition. Though long unsettled himself, he was loud in his commendations of industry; and, from the gay man of the world, he became earnest on the subject of religion. For several years, his health seems to have been unsatisfactory. In a letter, dated Edinburgh, January 30, 1813, he writes: "Accumulating years and infirmities are begin "The Songs of Scotland, Ancient and Modern," by Allan Cunningham, vol i. p. 242. London, 1825: 4 vols. 12mo. .... ning to operate very sensibly upon me now, and yearly do I experience their increasing influence. Both my hearing and my sight are considerably weakened, and, should I live a few years longer, I look forward to a state which, with all our love for life, is certainly not to be envied. . . . . My pen is my chief amusement. Reading soon fatigues, and loses its zest; composition never, till over-exertion reminds me of my imprudence, by sensations which too frequently render me unpleasant during the rest of the day." On the 15th of March 1818, in his seventy-second year, the poet breathed his last, in entire composure, and full of hope. MARY OF CASTLECARY.* TUNE-" Bonnie Dundee." "OH! saw ye my wee thing? saw ye my ain thing? Saw ye my true love, down on yon lee? Cross'd she the meadow yestreen at the gloamin'? Sought she the burnie whare flow'rs the haw-tree? Her hair it is lint-white; her skin it is milkwhite; Dark is the blue o' her saft rolling e'e; Red, red her ripe lips, and sweeter than roses : Whare could my wee thing wander frae me?" "I saw na your wee thing, I saw na your ain thing, Nor saw I your true love, down on yon lea; But I met my bonnic thing, late in the gloamin', Down by the burnie whare flow'rs the hawtree. Her hair it was lint-white; her skin it was milk-white; Dark was the blue o' her saft rolling e'e; Red were her ripe lips, and sweeter than roses : Sweet were the kisses that she ga'e to me!" "It was na my wee thing, it was na my ain thing, It was na my true love, ye met by the tree: Proud is her leal heart-modest her nature; She never lo'ed ony till ance she lo'ed me. Her name it is Mary; she's frae Castlecary; Aft has she sat, when a bairn, on my knee: Fair as your face is, were't fifty times fairer, Young bragger, she ne'er would gi'e kisses to thee. "It was, then, your Mary; she's frae Castlecary; It was, then, your true love I met by the tree;Proud as her heart is, and modest her nature, Sweet were the kisses that she ga'e to me." Sair gloom'd his dark brow, blood-red his cheek grew ; Wild flash'd the fire frae his red rolling e'e"Ye's rue sair, this morning, your boasts and your scorning; Defend ye, fause traitor! fu' loudly you lee." *This song was first published, in May 1791, in The Bee, an Edinburgh periodical, conducted by Dr James Anderson. "Awa' wi' beguiling," cried the youth, smiling; Aff went the bonnet; the lint-white locks flee; The belted plaid fa'ing, her white bosom shawing Fair stood the lo'ed maid wi' the dark rolling e'e. "Is it my wee thing? is it my ain thing? Is it my true love here that I see?" "Oh, Jamie, forgi'e me! your heart's constant to me; I'll never mair wander, dear laddie, frac thee!" MY BOY, TAMMY.* My boy, Tammy?" "I've been by burn and flow'ry brae, Meadow green, and mountain gray, Courting o' this young thing, Just come frae her mammy." "And whare got ye that young thing, My boy, Tammy?" "I gat her down in yonder howe, Smiling on a broomy knowe, Herding a wee lamb and ewe For her poor mammy." "What said ye to the bonnie bairn, My boy, Tammy?" "I praised her een, sae bonnie blue, Her dimpled cheek, and cherry mou'; I pree'd it aft, as ye may trow ;— She said she'd tell her mammy. "I held her to my beating heart, My young, my smiling lammie! Gin ye will leave your mammy." "The smile gaed aff her bonnie face'I maunna leave my mammy; She's gi'en me meat, she's gi'en me claise, She's been my comfort a' my days; My father's death brought mony waesI canna leave my mammy. *This beautiful ballad was first printed, in 1791, in The Bee. It is adapted to an old and sweet air, to which, however, very puerile words were attached. ""We'll tak' her hame, and mak' her fain, My ain kind-hearted lammie; "Has she been to kirk wi' thee, My boy, Tammy?" "She has been to kirk wi' me, OH, TELL ME HOW FOR TO WOO!* TUNE-"Bonnie Dundee." "Oh, tell me, bonnie young lassie! Oh, tell me how for to woo! Oh, tell me, bonnie sweet lassie! Oh, tell me how for to woo! Say, maun I roose your cheeks like the morning? Lips, like the roses, fresh moisten'd wi' dew; Say, maun I roose your een's pawkie scorning? Oh, tell me how for to woo! "Far hae I wander'd to see thee, dear lassie! Far hae I ventured across the saut sea; Far hae I travell'd ower moorland and mountain, Houseless and weary, sleep'd cauld on the lea. Ne'er hae I tried yet to mak' love to onie, For ne'er lo'ed I onie till ance I lo'ed you; Now we're alane in the green-wood sae bonnieOh, tell me how for to woo!" "What care I for your wand'ring, young laddie? It was for my tocher ye cam' to court me. Say, hae ye gowd to busk me aye gaudie! Ribbons, and perlins, and breast-knots enew? A house that is canty, with wealth in't, my laddie? Without this ye never need try for to woo." "I hae na gowd to busk ye aye gaudie; I canna buy ribbons and perlins enew; I've naething to brag o' house, or o' plenty, I've little to gi'e, but a heart that is true. I cam' na for tocher--I ne'er heard o' ony; I never lo'ed Peggie, nor e'er brak my vow: I've wander'd puir fule! for a face fause as bonnie: I little thocht this was the way for to woo." LASSIE wi' the gowden hair, Thinkna to deceive me. Oh, no! Mary Bawn, Mary Bawn, Mary Bawn; Smiling, twice ye made me trow, Twice, fause maid! ye brak' your vow; No, no! Mary Bawn, Mary Bawn, Mary Bawn! Mary saw him turn to part; "Johnnie, will ye leave me?" Oh, no! Johnnie doo, Johnnie doo, Johnnie doo; Oh, no! Johnnie doo-love could ne'er deceive ye. Johnnie took a parting keek; Saw the tears drap o'er her check; Oh, no! Mary Bawn, Mary Bawn, dear Mary His words are sae sugar'd and sweet! Yet how sweet are the tears as they fa'! "Dear lassie," he cries, wi' a jeer, "Ne'er heed what the auld anes will say; Though we've little to brag o', near fearWhat's gowd to a heart that is wae? Our laird has baith honours and wealth, Yet see how he's dwining wi' care; Now we, though we've naething but health, Are cantie and leal evermair. "O Marion! the heart that is true, Has something mair costly than gear! Ilk e'en it has naething to rue, Ilk morn it has naething to fear. Ye warldlings! gae hoard up your store, And tremble for fear aught ye tyne; Guard your treasures wi' lock, bar, and door, While here in my arms I lock mine!" He ends wi' a kiss and a smile Wae's me! can I tak' it amiss? My laddie's unpractised in guile, He's free aye to daut and to kiss! Ye lasses wha lo'e to torment Your wooers wi' fause scorn and strife, Play your pranks-I hae gi'en my consent, And this nicht I'm Jamie's for life! DONALD AND FLORA.* I. WHEN merry hearts were gay, Careless of aught but play, Poor Flora slipt away, Sadd'ning to Mora;+ Loose flow'd her yellow hair, Quick heaved her bosom bare, As to the troubled air She vented her sorrow. II. "Loud howls the stormy flist, Cold, cold is winter's blast; Haste, then, O Donald, haste, Haste to thy Flora! Twice twelve long months are o'er, III. "Where now is Donald dear?' Maids cry with taunting sneer; 'Say, is he still sincere To his loved Flora?' This fine ballad was written by Macneill, to commemorate the death of his friend, Captain Stewart, a brave officer, betrothed to a young lady in Athole, who, in 1777, fell at the battle of Saratoga, in America. The words, which are adapted to an old Gaelic air, appear with music in Smith's "Scottish Minstrel," vol. iii. p. 28. The ballad, in the form given above, has, in several of the stanzas, been improved by the author, on his original version, published in Johnson's "Museum." See the "Museum," vol. iv. p. 238. Mora is the name of a small valley in Athole, so designated by the two lovers. |