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النشر الإلكتروني

Proud swells her heart ! she deems, at last,

To lure him with her silver tongue, And, as the shelving rocks she past,

She raised her voice, and sweetly sung.


In softer, sweeter strains she sung,

Slow gliding o'er the moonlight bay, When light to land the chieftain sprung,

To hail the Maid of Colonsay.

Except thou quit thy former love,

Content to dwell for aye with me, Thy scorn my finny frame might move,

To tear thy limbs amid the sea." “Then bear me swift along the main,

The lonely isle again to see, And, when I here return again,

I plight my faith to dwell with thee." An oozy film her limbs o'erspread,

While slow unfolds her scaly train, With gluey fangs her hands were clad,

She lash'd, with webbéd fin, the main. He grasps the mermaid's scaly sides,

As, with broad fin, she oars her way; Beneath the silent moon she glides,

That sweetly sleeps on Colonsay.

O sad the mermaid's gay notes fell,

And sadly sink remote at sea !
So sadly mourns the writhéd shell

Of Jura's shore, its parent sea ;
And ever as the year returns,

The charm-bound sailors know the day,
For sadly still the mermaid mourns

The lovely chief of Colonsay.



SIR ALEXANDER BOSWELL was a return, settled in his paternal mansion gentleman of varied accomplishments, and married. He took an active part who in a humbler social position might in all the concerns of his native county have left a greater name in literature. and country--their agriculture, their He is one of the few university men sports, and their politics. As might be who preserved his relish for the ways expected, his love of literature was early and speech, and the ancient writers of developed, and in 1803 he published his native land. He had more of the an anonymous volume, entitled Songs, spirit of his grandfather, old Lord chiefly in the Scottish Dialect. His Auchenleck, than of his father, the bio- love of literature soon took an antigrapher of Johnson.

quarian bent, which led to his having set He was born on the 9th October up a printing-press of his own, at which 1775, and was educated at Eton, and a great many rare and quaint treatises Oxford University. On his accession to were reprinted in the form so dear to the Auchenleck estates, on the death of the real bibliomaniac. They were all his father, in 1795, he travelled for some reprinted for presentation, and conse. time on the continent; and on his quently in small impressions. The first


2 Z

and sprays,


Heaving her green hills high to greet THE TANGIERS GIANT.

the beam ; City and village, steeple, cot and grange,

In Tangiers town, as I've been tauld, Gilt as with nature's purest leaf-gold There liv'd intill the times of auld seem;

A giant stout and big,
The heaths and upland muirs, and fallows, | The awfuest and the dourest carl

That on the outside o' this warl'
Their barren brown into a ruddy gleam, E’er wallop'd bane or leg.
And, on ten thousand dew-bent leaves

When he was born, on that same day, Twinkle ten thousand suns, and fling He was like other weans, perfay, their petty rays.

Nae langer than a ladle ;
Up from their nests and fields of tender But in three days he shot so lang,

That out wi's feet and head he dang, Full merrily the little sky-larks spring,

Baith end-boords o' his cradle. And on their dew-bedabbled pinions and when the big-baned babe did see borne,

How that his cradle, short and wee, Mount to the heaven's blue key-stone

Could haud him in nae langer, flickering ;

His passion took a tirriveeThey turn their plume-soft bosoms to the

He grippit it, and garr'd it flee morn,

To flinders, in his anger. And hail the genial light, and cheer'ly sing ;

Ere he was spain'd, what beef, what bane, Echo the gladsome hillspand valleys round, He was a babe o' thretty stane, As all the bells of Fife ring loud and And bigger than his mither ; swell the sound.

Whan he for's parritch grat at morn, For when the first up-sloping ray was Men never heard syn they were born flung

A yowl sae fu' o' drithér. On Anster steeple's swallow-harb'ring top,

When he'd seen thretty years or sae, Its bell, and all the bells around were Far meikler was his little tae rung

Than meikle Samuel's shouther ; Sonorous, jangling loud without a stop; | When he down on a stool did lean, For toilingly each bitter beadle swung, The stool was in an instant gane, Ev'n till he smok'd with sweat, his And brizz'd clean down to pouther.

greasy rope, And almost broke his bell-wheel, ush'ring When through the streets o' Tangiers in

The morn of Anster Fair, with tinkle- He gaed, spaziering up and down,
tankling din.

Houses and kirks did tremmle ;
O' his coat-tail the vera wap
Rais'd whirlwinds wi' its flichterin' flap,

And garr'd auld lum-heads tummle.


been ten mile out o'town, Ye might hae seen his head aboon

The highest houses towrin'.

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press it.

ALTHOUGH the changes taking place Leyden to Laidlaw, and Laidlaw introin domestic relations are unfavourable duced Hogg to Scott. Laidlaw was a to the growth of the sentiments conse- more sagacious man than Hogg; yet in crated in ‘ Lucy's Flittin,' while human farming, his fortune was not much nature remains what it is, the pathos of better, and he had to give up the lease that simple ballad will not fail to im- of his second farm, at Liberton, and

accept the situation of Steward to Sir Its author, William Laidlaw, was Walter, at Abbotsford. Here he reborn at Blackhouse, in Yarrow, in sided at Kaeside Cottage, as Scott's November 1780. The Ettrick Shepherd trusted friend and factor, till the master's was in the employment of his father, misfortunes necessitated their separation James Laidlaw, and the poets were fast for some time. He returned again friends. Hogg, who was ten years his as Scott's amanuensis, and remained senior, fostered Laidlaw's, poetic aspira- with him till his death. Shortly after tions. In 1801, Scott, when collecting that event, Laidlaw became factor to for The Minstrelsy, was directed by Mrs Stewart Mackenzie of Seaforth,


Accounts he owed through a' the toun, And tradesmen's tongues nae mair could

drown, But now he thocht to clout his goun

Wi' Jenny's bawbee.

A Norland Laird neist trotted up,
Wi' bawsend nag and siller whip,
Cried, “ There's my beast, lad, haud the


Or tie't till a tree ! What's gowd to me ?—I've walth o'lan' ! Bestow on ane o' worth your han' !” He thocht to pay what he was awn

Wi' Jenny's bawbee.

A' spruce, frae band-boxes and tubs,
A Thing cam neist (but life has rubs),
Foul were the roads, and fu' the dubs,

And jaupit a' was he.
He danced up, squinting through a glass,
And grinn'd, l' faith, a bonnie lass!"
He thought to win, wi' front o' brass,

Jenny's bawbee.

At Willie's wedding on the green,

The lasses, bonnie witches, Were busked out in aprons clean,

And snaw white Sunday mutches ;
Auld Maysie bade the lads tak' tent,

But Jock wadna believe her ;
But soon the fool his folly kent,
For Jenny dang the Weaver.
And Jenny dang, Jenny dang,

Jenny dang the Weaver ;
But soon the fool his folly kent,

For Jenny dang the Weaver.
In ilka country dance and reel,

Wi' her he wad be babbin' ;
When she sat down then he sat down,

And till her wad be gabbin' ; Where'er she gaed, baith butt and ben,

The coof would never leave her ;
Aye kecklin' like a clockin' hen,
But Jenny dang the Weaver.

Jenny dang, &c.
Quo' be, My lass, to speak my mind,

In troth I needna swither ;
You've bonnie een, and if ye're kind,

I needna seek anither.
He humm'd and haw'd, the lass cried

And bade the coof no deave her ;
Syne snapt her fingers, lap and leugh,
And dang the silly Weaver.
And Jenny dang, Jenny dang,

Jenny dang, the Weaver ;
Syne snapt her fingers, lap and leugh,

And dang the silly Weaver.

She bade the Laird gae kame his wig,
The soger no to strut sae big!
The lawyer no to be a prig,

The fool he cried, Tehee!
I kenn'd that I could never fail !"
She preen'd the dishclout to his tail,
And soused him in the water-pail,

And kept her bawbee.

Then Johnnie cam', a lad o' sense,
Although he had na mony pence,
And took young Jenny to the spence,

Wi' her to crack a wee.
Now Johnnie was a clever chiel,
And here his suit he press'd sae weel,
That Jenny's heart grew saft as jeel,

And she birled her bawbee.'


I This last stanza appears to have been added by some other hand, probably by Allan Cunningham.

Auld gudeman, ye're a drucken carle,

drucken carle ; A’ the lang day ye're winkin', drinkin',

gapin', gauntin' ;

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