JAMES HOGG, the Ettrick Shepherd," born Jan. 25, 1772, died Nov. 21, 1835. Air-"Andro and his cutty gun."
ON Ettrick clear there grows a brier,
An' monie a bonnie bloomin' shaw;
But Peggy's grown the fairest flower
The braes o' Ettrick ever saw.
Her cheek is like the woodland rose,
Her ee the violet set wi' dew;
The lily's fair without compare,
Yet in her bosom tines its hue.
Had I her hame at my wee house,
That stands aneath yon mountain high,
To help me wi' the kye an' ewes,
An' in my arms at e'ening lie;
Oh, sae blythe, an', oh, sae cheerie,
Oh, sae happy we wad be!
The lammie to the ewe is dear,
But Peggy's dearer far to me.
Then the laverock frae the blue lift
Draps down, and thinks nae shame To woo his bonnie lassie
When the kye come hame.
Then the eye shines sae bright,
The haill soul to beguile,
There's love in every whisper,
And joy in every smile.
Oh, who would choose a crown,
Wi' its perils and its fame,
And miss a bonnie lassie
When the kye come hame?
See yonder pawky shepherd
That lingers on the hill-
His yowes are in the fauld,
And his lambs are lying still;
Yet he downa gang to rest,
For his heart is in a flame
To meet his bonnie lassie
When the kye come hame.
Awa' wi' fame and fortune
What comfort can they gi'e ?—
And a' the arts that prey
On man's life and libertie.
Gi'e me the highest joy
That the heart o' man can frame,
My bonnie, bonnie lassie,
When the kye come hame.
GLOOMY WINTER'S NOW AWA'.
ROBERT TANNAHILL, born June 3, 1774, died May 17, 1810.
GLOOMY winter's now awa',
Saft the westling breezes blaw,
'Mang the birks of Stanley shaw
The mavis sings fu' cheery O;
Sweet the crawflow'r's early bell
Decks Gleniffer's dewy dell,
Blooming like thy bonnie sel',
My young, my artless dearie O.
Come, my lassie, let us stray
O'er Glenkilloch's sunny brae,
Blythely spend the gowden day
'Midst joys that never weary O.
Tow'ring o'er the Newton woods,
Lav'rocks fan the snaw-white clouds,
Siller saughs with downy buds
Adorn the banks sae briery O.
Round the sylvan fairy nooks
Feath'ry breckans fringe the rocks,
'Neath the brae the burnie jouks,
And ilka thing is cheery O.
Trees may bud and birds may sing,
Flow'rs may bloom and verdure spring,
Joy to me they canna bring,
Unless wi' thee, my dearie O.
ROBERT TANNAHILL. This poet, a weaver in Paisley-an amiable but most unfortunate man-wrote upon many imaginary fair ones, and associated their names with places he had never seen. Arranteenie is a place unknown, but is supposed to have been intended for Ardentinny, a lovely spot on the shore of Loch Long, in Argyleshire.
FAR lone amang the Highland hills,
'Midst nature's wildest grandeur,
By rocky dens and woody glens,
With weary steps I wander.
The langsome way, the darksome day,
The mountain mist sae rainy,
Are nought to me when gaun to thee,
Sweet lass o' Arranteenie.
Yon mossy rose-bud down the how
Just opening fresh and bonny,
It blinks beneath the hazel bough,
And's scarcely seen by ony.
Sae sweet amidst her native hills
Obscurely blooms my Jeanie,
Mair fair and gay than rosy May,
The flower o' Arranteenie.
Now from the mountain's lofty brow
I view the distant ocean;
There avarice guides the bounding prow,
Ambition courts promotion.
Let Fortune pour her golden store,
Her laurell'd favours many,
Give me but this, my soul's first wish,
The lass o' Arranteenie.
JESSIE, THE FLOWER O' DUMBLANE. ROBERT TANNAHILL. The music by R. A. SMITH. One of the most popular of the modern Scotch melodies.
THE sun has gane down o'er the lofty Benlomond,
And left the red clouds to preside o'er the scene,
While lanely I stray in the calm summer gloaming,
To muse on sweet Jessie, the flow'r o' Dumblane.
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