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She lays sae about her, and maks sic a We met at the fair, and we met at the
din, "She frightens the baby," quo' Tam o' We met in the sunshine, we met in the the Lin.
And the sound o' her voice and the blinks Tam o' the Lin grew dowie and douce, o'her e'en, And he sat on a stane at the end o' his The cheerin' and life of my bosom hae house.
been. " What ails, auld chield?" He looked
Leaves frae the tree at Martinmas haggard and thin.
flee, " I'm no very cheery," quo' Tam o' the
And poverty parts sweet company. Lin.
At bridal and infare I've braced me wi' Tam o' the Lin lay down to die,
pride, And his friends whispered softly and woe
The broose I hae won and a kiss o' the fully
bride ; “We'll buy you some masses to scour
And loud was the laughter good fellows
among, "And drink at my lyke-wake," quo' Tam
As I uttered my banter or chorus'd my o' the Lin.
Dowie to dree are jestin' and glee,
When poverty spoils guid comPOVERTY PARTS GOOD COM.
Wherever I gaed, kindly lasses looked When my o'erlay was white as the foam sweet, o' the lin,
And mithers and aunties were unco disAnd siller was chinkin' my pouches within ; creet ; When my lambkins were bleatin' on While kebbuck and bicker were set on the meadow and brae,
board ; As I went to my love in new cleathing sae But now they pass by me, and never a gay,
word. Kind was she, and my friends were
Sae let it be, for the worldly and free,
slee But poverty parts guid company.
Wi' poverty keep nae company. How swift pass'd the minutes and hours But the hope o' my love is a cure for its of delight!
smart, The piper played cheerie, the crusie And the spae-wife has tauld me to keep burn'd bright,
up my heart ; And linked in my hand was the maiden For wi' my last saxpence her loof I hae sae dear,
crost, As she footed the floor in her holiday | And the bliss that is fated can never be gear !
lost, Woe's me : and can it then be
Tho' cruelly we may ilka day see That poverty parts sic company?
How poverty parts dear company.
J A MES GRAH A M E.
The subject of Grahame's best known dilate on its merits; and so hearty was poem, “ The Sabbath,” is one that has her admiration, that he was constrained been held in peculiar veneration in Scot. to admit her into the secret. land. There can be little doubt that to The law was not Grahame's profesthis cause, as much as to its poetical sion by choice; and on his father's death, merits, it owed a great part of the esteem his own health being far from robust, in which it was long held. It is doubtful he resolved to enter the Church. With if it is much read in Scotland now, even this view he proceeded to London, and by those who still cling to the ascetic in 1809 was ordained by the Bishop of observance of the Sabbath ; indeed, its Norwich, and soon after was appointed conception of the subject is far too to the curacy of Shepton Mayne, in poetical and liberal to suit the taste of Gloucestershire. He resigned this the advocates of a rigid enforcement of charge in about a year, and returned to extreme views of Sabbath observance ; Edinburgh, and offered himself for a and the poet himself, though a man of vacancy in St George's Episcopal serious sentiments, was not a man of Chapel, but was unsuccessful. He narrow sympathies.
next obtained the curacy of Sedgefield, James Grahame was born on the 22d in Durham, where he was favoured by April 1765, in the city of Glasgow, the bishop; but his health having given where his father was a writer, or solici- way, he returned to Edinburgh for
He was educated at the grammar- medical advice. His illness increased, school, and afterwards at the Glasgow however; and wishing once more to visit University.
Glasgow, his native city, he left EdinAt the age of nineteen he was appren- burgh to proceed thither, but died on ticed to his cousin, Mr Lawrence Hill, the journey at Whitehall, the residence Writer to the Signet, Edinburgh ; and of his brother, on the 14th September at the termination of his apprenticeship 1811. became a member of that body. He Besides the “Sabbath,” Grahame became a member of the Faculty of wrote “Mary Queen of Scotland," a Advocates in 1795. In 1804, he pub- drama, published in 1801 ; “ Biblical lished “The Sabbath " anonymously, Pictures,” and “ The Birds of Scotland” taking great precautions to conceal the (1806) and British Georgics (1809), all authorship, and not even letting his of them containing fragments of poetic wife know, until one day, having left beauty, and evincing minute and correct a copy on her table, as if by accident, powers of observation, but on the whole she became so interested in the poem, too serious and monotonous to make that on his coming home she began to them generally readable or interesting.
Grahame wrote nothing peculiarlyScotch O'ermounts the mist, is heard at intervals in manner; but few poets have confined | The voice of psalms,—the simple song of themselves more closely to their native
praise. country in the choice of their subjects,
With dove-like wings, Peace o'er yon or evinced, by their lingering fondness
village broods ; over its features, greater love for it The dizzing mill-wheel rests; the anvil's than he did ; and possibly, while his din poetry is becoming less known at home, Hath ceased; all, all around is quietness. it possesses attractions for the expatriated Rest fearful on this day, the limping hare “Scot abroad,” through its being thus Stops and looks back, and stops and saturated with the recollections of the
looks on man, land to whose rigorous clime and sterile Her deadliest foe. The toil-worn horse, features “ distance lends enchantment."
set free, Unheedful of the pasture, roams at large ;
And, as his stiff unwieldy bulk he rolls, THE SABBATH.
His iron-armed hoofs gleam in the morn[Specimen.)
ing ray. How still the morning of the hallowed day: But chiefly man the day of rest enjoys. Mute is the voice of rural labour hushed, Hail, Sabbath! thee I hail, the poor man's The ploughboy's whistle, and the milk- day. maid's song.
On other days the man of toil is doomed The scythe lies glittering in the dewy To eat his joyless bread, lonely; the wreath
ground Of tedded grass, mingled with fading | Both seat and board ; screened from the flowers,
winter's cold That yester-morn bloomed waving in the And summer's heat by neighbouring breeze.
hedge or tree; Sounds the most faint attact the ear,—the But on this day, embosomed in his home, hum
He shares the frugal meal with those he Of early bee, the trickling of the dew,
loves ; The distant bleating midway up the hill. With those he loves he shares the heartCalmness sits throned on yon unmoving
felt joy cloud.
Of giving thanks to God, -not thanks of To him who wanders o'er the upland leas, form, The blackbird's note comes mellower from A word and a grimace, but reverently, the dale ;
With covered face and upward earnest And sweeter from the sky the gladsome eye.
lark Warbles his heaven-tuned song; the lull
Hail, Sabbath ! thee I hail, the poor ing brook
man's day : Murmurs more gently down the deep- | The pale mechanic now has leave to worn glen ;
breathe While from yon lowly roof, whose curling The morning air, pure from the city's smoke
While wandering slowly up the river side, Loud swells the song : 0 how that simple He meditates on Him, whose power he song, marks
Though rudely chanted, how it melts the In each green tree that proudly spreads heart, the bough,
Commingling soul with soul in one full As in the tiny dew-bent flowers that tide bloom
Of praise, of thankfulness, of humble Around its roots ; and while he thus sur- trust! veys,
Next comes the unpremeditated prayer, With elevated joy, each rural charm, Breathed from the inmost heart, in He hopes, yet fears presumption in the accents low, hope,
But earnest. Altered is the tone ; to That heaven may be one Sabbath without man end.
Are now addressed the sacred speaker's
words. But now his steps a welcome sound re- Instruction, admonition, comfort, peace, cals :
Flow from his tongue : O chief let comSolemn the knell, from yonder ancient fort flow ! pile,
It is most needed in this vale of tears : Fills all the air, inspiring joyful awe: Yes, make the widow's heart to sing for Slowly the throng moves o'er the tomb- joy ; paved ground;
The stranger to discern the Almighty's The aged man, the bowed down, the shield blind,
Held o'er his friendless head ; the orphan Led by the thoughtless boy, and he who child breathes
Feel, 'mid his tears, I have a father With pain, and eyes the new-made grave still ! well pleased ;
'Tis done. But hark that infant queruThese, mingled with the young, the gay, lous voice! approach
Plaint not discordant to a parent's ear : The house of God; these, spite of all And see the father raise the white-robed their ills,
babe A glow of gladness feel: with silent praise In solemn dedication to the Lord : They enter in. A placid stillness reigns, The holy man sprinkles with forthUntil the man of God, worthy the name, stretched hand Arise, and read the anointed shepherd's The face of innocence; then earnest lays.
turns, His locks of snow, his brow serene, his And prays a blessing in the name of look
Him Of love, it speaks, “ Ye are my children who said, “Let little children come to
Me; The grey-haired man, stooping upon his Forbid them not." The infant is replaced staff,
Among the happy band ; they, smilingly, As well as he, the giddy child, whose eye In gay attire, hie to the house of mirth, Pursues the swallow flitting thwart the The poor man's festival, a jubilee day, dome."
We sat aneath thy spreading shade, the An' says the ane unto the ither, bairnies round thee ran,
What do you see, my good brither? They pu'd thy bonny berries red, and necklaces they strang ;
I see some pickles o' guid strae
An' wheat, some fule has thrown away ; My mother ! oh! I see her still, she
For a rainy day they should be bookit. smiled our sports to see, Wi'little Jeanie on her lap, an' Jamie at
Sae doun they flew frae aff their dookit. her knee !
The snaw will come an’ cour the grund, Oh! Rowan Tree.
Nae grains o' wheat will then be fund ;
They pickt a' up, an'a' were bookit, Oh! there arose my father's prayer,
Then round an' round again they luiket. holy evening's calm, How sweet was then my mother's voice, O lang he thocht and lang he luiket, in the Martyr's psalm !
An' aye his wise-like head he shook it ; Now a’ are gane! we meet nae mair I see, I see, what ne'er should be, aneath the Rowan Tree ;
I see what's seen by mair than me. But hallowed thoughts around thee twine, o' hame and infancy.
Wae's me, there's thochtless, lang Tam
He's taen a doo, but has nae dookit.
When we were young it was na sae ; There were twa doos sat in a dookit ; Nae rummilgumtion folk now hae ; Twa wise-like birds, and round they | What guid for them can e'er be luiket, luiket;
When folk tak' doos that hae nae dookit ?
The Ettrick Shepherd is as distinct, would have been much higher. A someoriginal, and thoroughly national an what similar want of balance marks his individuality in Scottish literature as career in life, of which a large proporany that can be named, and though not tion must be attributed to defective eduthe greatest, is one of the most sponta- cation and training ; yet, taking him all neous geniuses that it has produced. in all, we could hardly wish, were it in If his conceptions of proportion, sym- our power, to improve him—his very metry, and perspective, were equal to the foibles add a charm to his character. luxuriance of his imagination and com- James Hogg's birthday is unknown; mand of language, his poetic rank and he himself, with characteristic sim