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Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy
green braes, Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my green braes,
lays; Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring praise ;
streamMy Mary's asleep by thy murmuring Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her
dream! Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream,
THE BIRKS OF ABERFELDY. Thou stock-dove, whose echo resounds
Bonny lassie, will ye go, through the glen,
Will ye go, will ye go, Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny Bonny lassie, will ye go den,
To the birks of Aberfeldy? Thou green crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear
Now simmer blinks on flowery braes, I charge you, disturb not my slumbering And o'er the crystal streamlet plays ; fair.
Come, let us spend the lightsome days
In the birks of Aberfeldy. How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring While o'er their heads the hazels hing, hills,
The little birdies blithely sing, Far mark'd with the courses of clear Or lightly flit on wanton wing, winding rills ;
In the birks of Aberfeldy. There daily I wander as noon rises high, The braes ascend like lofty wa's, My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in
The foaming stream deep-roaring fa's, my eye.
O'erhung wi' fragrant spreading shaws,
The birks of Aberfeldy. How pleasant thy banks and green valleys The hoary clifts are crown'd wi' flowers, below,
White o'er the linns the burnie pours, Where wild in the woodlands the prim- And rising, weets wi' misty showers roses blow ;
The birks of Aberfeldy. There, oft as mild evening weeps over the lea,
Let Fortune's gifts at random flee, The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me, and me.
Supremely blest wi' love and thee,
In the birks of Aberfeldy. Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,
WANDERING WILLIE. And winds by the cot where my Mary resides ;
Here awa', there awa’, wandering Willie, How wanton thy waters her snowy feet Here awa', there awa', haud awa' hame; lave,
Come to my bosom, my ain only dearie, As gathering sweet flowerets she stems Tell me thou bring'st me my Willie thy clear wave.
Then chance and fortune are sae guided, LUATH.
They're aye in less or mair provided ; Trowth, Cæsar, whyles they're fasht And though fatigued wi' close employment, eneugh;
A blink o' rest's a sweet enjoyment. A cotter howkin' in a sheugh,
The dearest comfort o' their lives, Wi' dirty stanes biggin' a dike,
Their grushie weans and faithfu' wives ; Baring a quarry, and siclike ;
The prattling things are just their pride, Himsel, a wife, he thus sustains,
That sweetens a' their fire-side ; A smytrie o' wee duddie weans,
And whyles twalpennie worth o’ nappy And nought but his han' darg to keep
Can mak the bodies unco happy ; Them right and tight in thack and rape.
They lay aside their private cares, And when they meet wi' sair disasters,
To mind the Kirk and State affairs : Like loss o' health or want o' masters,
They'll talk o' patronage and priests, Ye maist wad think, a wee touch langer,
Wi' kindling fury in their breasts ; And they maun starve o'cauld and hunger; Or tell what new taxation's comin', But how it comes I never kenn'd yet,
And ferlie at the folk in Lun'on. They're maistly wonderfu' contented :
As bleak-faced Hallowmas returns, And buirdly chiels, and clever hizzies,
They get the jovial ranting kirns, Are bred in sic a way as this is.
When rural life o' every station
Unite in common recreation ;
Love blinks, Wit slaps, and social Mirth
They bar the door on frosty wins ; For delvers, ditchers, and sic cattle ;
The nappy reeks wi' mantling ream,
And sheds a heart-inspiring steam ;
The luntin pipe and sneeshin mill
Are handed round wi' right guid will ; And mony a time my heart's been wae,
The cantie auld folks crackin' crouse, Poor tenant bodies, scant o' cash, How they maun thole a factor's snash :
The young anes rantin' through the He'll stamp and threaten, curse and swear, My heart has been sae fain to see them,
house, He'll apprehend them, poind their gear ;
That I for joy hae barkit wi' them.
Still it's ower true that ye hae said,
Sic game is now ower aften play'd.
There's mony a creditable stock But surely poor folk maun be wretches !
O' decent, honest, fawsont folk,
Are riven out baith root and branch, LUATH.
Some rascal's pridefu' greed to quench, They're no sae wretched's ane wad think, Wha thinks to knit himsel the faster Though constantly on poortith's brink : In favour wi' some gentle master, They're sae accustom'd wi' the sight, Wha aiblins thrang a parliamentin' The view o't gies them little fright. For Britain's guid his saul indentin'.
Clyde, her father, Dr James Baillie, being on Highland tradition. It was acted minister of that parish. He was after- at Edinburgh, through the influence, wards professor of divinity in the Uni- and under the oversight, of her friend versity of Glasgow. Her mother was a Sir Walter Scott. The only other of sister of the celebrated anatomists, Drs her plays that was put upon the stage John and William Hunter, after the was “De Montfort,” which was brought former of whom Joanna was named. out at Drury Lane in 1800. Few places in Scotland are a meeter On the marriage of Dr Baillie, his “nurse for a poetic child” than the mother and sisters went for some time romantic surroundings of Bothwell to Colchester ; but about 1801, they Castle, the once famous stronghold of fixed their abode permanently at Hampthe Douglasses; and here and at Hamil. stead Heath. Here their mother died ton, about three miles distant, Joanna in 1806, and here the two affectionate Baillie spent the first ten years of her sisters continued to reside and receive life. In 1778, her father died at Glas- the visits of almost all their contemgow; and in 1784, she went with her porary celebrities till Joanna's death, mother and her sister Agnes to live on the 23d February 1851. Agnes with her brother, Dr Mathew Baillie, lived for other ten years, dying in 1861, who succeeded to the London house and in the hundredth year of her age. the practice of his uncle, Dr William Joanna's Address to Agnes on her Hunter, on the death of that well-known Birthday is one of the most simply physician. Here, in 1790, she published beautiful pictures of sisterly affection anonymously her first volume of poems, which met with a very indifferent reception. In 1798, she published her first series of dramas, with the view of illustrat. ing her theory of the action of the pas- LINES TO AGNES BAILLIE ON sions, each passion being the subject of
HER BIRTHDAY. a tragedy and a comedy. Her theory, which advocates stricter adherence to Dear Agnes, gleamed with joy and nature in the dramatic art, she maintains
dashed with tears, in a lengthy introduction, which shows
O'er us have glided almost sixty years her to have been an original and vigor. Since we on Bothwell's bonnie braes were ous thinker. This venture, which was also anonymous, created an immedi- By those whose eyes long closed in death
have been ate impression, and a second edition
Two tiny imps, who scarcely stooped to was required in a short time. In 1802,
gather she continued the subject in a second | The slender harebell the purple volume ; and in a third, in 1812. In heather ; 1804, she produced a volume of mis- No taller than the foxglove's spinky stem, cellaneous dramas, and in 1810 the That dew of morning studs with silvery “Family Legend,” a tragedy founded gem.
LINES TO AGNES BAILLIE ON HER BIRTHDAY. 661
Then every butterfly that crossed our Well may it please me, in life's latter scene, view
To think what now thou art and long to With joyous shout was greeted as it flew; me hast been. And moth, and lady-bird, and beetle bright,
'Twas thou who wooedst me first to look In sheeny gold, were each a wondrous | Upon the page of printed book, sight.
That thing by me abhorred, and with adThen as we paddled barefoot, side by dress side,
Didst win me from my thoughtless idleAmong the sunny shallows of the Clyde, ness, Minnows or spotted parr with twinkling When all too old become with_bootless fin,
haste, Swimming in mazy rings the pool within, In fitful sports the precious time to waste, A thrill of gladness through our bosoms Thy love of tale and story was the stroke sent,
At which my dormant fancy first awoke, Seen in the power of early wonderment. And ghosts and witches in my busy brain
Arose in sombre show, a motley train. A long perspective to my mind appears, This new-found path attempting, proud Looking behind me to that line of years ; And yet through every stage I still can Lurking approval on thy face to spy,
Or hear thee say, as grew they roused atThy visioned form, from childhood's
tention, morning grace
“What! is this story all thine own inTo woman's early bloom-changing, how vention !"
soon! To the expressive glow of woman's noon; Then, as advancing through this mortal And now to what thou art, in comely age,
span, Active and ardent. Let what will engage Our intercourse with the mixed world beThy present moment-whether hopeful
gan ; seeds
Thy fairer face and sprightlier courtesyIn garden plat thou sow, or noxious weeds A truth that from my youthful vanity From the fair flower remove ; or ancient Lay not concealed - did for the sisters lore
twain, In chronicle or legend rare explore, Where'er we went, the greater favour Or on the parlour hearth with kitten play,
gain ; Stroking its tabby sides ; or take thy way While but for thee, vexed with its tossing To gain with hasty steps some cottage tide, door,
I from the busy world had shrunk aside. On helpful errand to the neighbouring And now, in later years, with better grace, poor
Thou help'st me still to hold a welcome Active and ardent, to my fancy's eye
place Thou still art young, in spite of time gone with those whom nearer neighbourhood by.
has made Though oft of patience brief, and temper | The friendly cheerers of our evening keen,
IT WAS ON A MORN. The change of good and evil to abide, As partners linked, long have we, side by It was on a morn when we were thrang,
The kirn it croon'd, the cheese was side,
making, Our earthly journey held ; and who can
And bannocks on the girdle baking, say How near the end of our united way?
When ane at the door chapp't loud and
lang. By nature's course not distant ; sad and 'reft
Yet the auld gudewife, and her mays Will she remain—the lonely pilgrim left. sae tight, If thou art taken first, who can to me Of a' this bauld din took sma' notice, I Like sister, friend, and home companion
ween ; be?
For a chap at the door in braid dayOr who, of wonted daily kindness shorn, light Shall feel such loss, or mourn as I shall | Is no like a chap that's heard at e'en. mourn?
But the docksie auld laird of the Warlock And if I should be fated first to leave This earthly house, though gentle friends
Glen, may grieve,
Wha waited without, half-blate, halfAnd he above them all, so truly proved
cheery, A friend and brother, long and justly
And lang'd for a sight o' his winsome loved,
dearie, There is no living wight, of woman born, Raised up the latch, and cam crousely
ben, Who then shall mourn for me as thou wilt mourn.
His coat it was new, and his o'erlay Thou ardent, liberal spirit ! quickly feel
was white, ing
His mittins and hose were cozie and bein; The touch of sympathy and kindly deal
But a wooer that comes in braid daying
light With sorrow or distress, for ever sharing is no like a wooer that comes at e'en. The unhoarded mite, nor for to-morrow caring,
He greeted the carlins and lasses sae Accept, dear Agnes, on thy natal day,
braw, An unadorned, but not a careless lay. And his bare lyart pow sae smoothly Nor think this tribute to thy virtues paid
he straikit, From tardy love proceeds, though long And he looked about, like a body halfdelayed ;
glaikit, Words of affection, howsoe'er expressed, On bonnie sweet Nanny, the youngest of The latest spoken still are deemed the a'.
best : Few are the measured rhymes I now may
“Ha, laird !" quo' the carlin', "and write ;
look ye that way? These are, perhaps, the last I shall indite. Fy ! let nae sic fancies bewilder ye clean.
An elderlin' man, in the noon o' the day, Should be wiser than youngsters that
come at e'en."