That flashest in celestial gale, Art thou the flag of woe and death, No; from that pure pellucid beam, That erst o'er plains of Bethlehem shone,* No latent evil we can deem, Bright herald of the eternal throne ! Whate'er portends thy front of fire, Thy streaming locks so lovely paleOr peace to man, or judgments dire, Stranger of heaven, I bid thee hail! Where hast thou roamed these thousand years? And when thou scal'st the Milky-way, Oh, on thy rapid prow to glide! To sail the boundless skies with thee, To brush the embers from the sun, Where other moons and planets roll! And airy as thine ambient beam! And long, long may thy silver ray Song-When the Kye comes Hame. Come all ye jolly shepherds That whistle through the glen, I'll tell ye of a secret That courtiers dinna ken ; What is the greatest bliss That the tongue o' man can name? 'Tis to woo a bonny lassie When the kye comes hame, 'Tween the gloamin and the mirk, 'Tis not beneath the coronet, 'Tis not on couch of velvet, There the blackbird bigs his nest And on the topmost bough, Then he pours his melting ditty, When the kye comes hame. When the kye comes hame. Rises red in the east, Then since all nature joins In this love without alloy, To nature's dearest joy? 'Tween the gloamin and the mirk, When the kye comes hame. The Skylark. Bird of the wilderness, Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea! Blest is thy dwelling-place O to abide in the desert with thee! Love gives it energy, love gave it birth; Where art thou journeying? Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth. O'er fell and fountain sheen, O'er moor and mountain green, O'er the red streamer that heralds the day, Over the cloudlet dim, Over the rainbow's rim, Musical cherub, soar, singing, away! Then, when the gloaming comes, Low in the heather blooms, Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be! Emblem of happiness, Blest is thy dwelling-place O to abide in the desert with thee! ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. ALLAN CUNNINGHAM, a happy imitator of the old Scottish ballads, and a man of various talents, It was reckoned by many that this was the same comet which was born at Blackwood, near Dalswinton, Dumappeared at the birth of our Saviour.-HOGG. friesshire, December 7, 1784. His father was 207 The Young Maxwell. 'Where gang ye, thou silly auld carle? Ae stride or twa took the silly auld carle, Will ye shew the way to me?' And he has gane wi' the silly auld carle, He drew the reins o' his bonny gray steed, Of the comeliest scarlet was his weir coat, He has thrown aff his plaid, the silly auld carle, An' wha was it but the young Maxwell! 'Draw out yer sword, thou vile Southron ! That sword it crapped the bonniest flower 'There's ae sad stroke for my dear auld father! gardener to a neighbouring proprietor, but shortly verance, undebased by any of the alloys by which afterwards became factor or land-steward to Mr the former is too often accompanied. Miller of Dalswinton, Burns's landlord at Ellisland. Mr Cunningham had few advantages in his early days, unless it might be residence in a fine pastoral and romantic district, then consecrated by the presence and the genius of Burns. In his sixth year, in his father's cottage, he heard Burns read his poem of Tam o' Shanter -an event never to be forgotten! An elder brother having attained some eminence as a country builder, or mason, Allan was apprenticed to him, with a view to joining or following him in his trade; but he abandoned this, and in 1810 removed to London, and connected himself with the newspaper press. In 1814 he was engaged as clerk of the works, or superintendent, to the late Sir Francis Chantrey, the eminent sculptor, in whose establishment he continued till his death, October 29, 1842. Mr Cunningham was an indefatigable writer. He early contributed poetical effusions to the periodical works of the day, and nearly all the songs and fragments of verse in Cromek's Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song (1810) are of his composition, though published by Cromek as undoubted originals. Some of these are warlike and Jacobite, some amatory and devotional-the wild lyrical breathings of Covenanting love and piety among the hills-and all of them abounding in traits of Scottish rural life and primitive manners. As songs, they are not pitched in a key to be popular; but for natural grace and tenderness, and rich Doric simplicity and fervour, these pseudo-antique strains of Mr Cunningham are inimitable. In 1822 he published Sir Marmaduke Maxwell, a dramatic poem, founded on Border story and superstition, and afterwards two volumes of Traditional Tales. Three novels of a similar description, but more diffuse and improbable-namely, Paul Jones, Sir Michael Scott, and Lord Roldan-also proceeded from his fertile pen. In 1832 he appeared again as a poet, with a rustic epic,' in twelve parts, entitled The Maid of Elvar. He edited a collection of Scottish Songs, in four volumes, and an edition of Burns in eight volumes, to which he prefixed a Life of the poet, enriched with new anecdotes and information. To Murray's Family Library he contributed a series of Lives of Eminent British Painters, Sculptors, and Architects, which extended to six volumes, and proved the most popular of all his prose works. His last work -completed just two days before his death-was a Life of Sir David Wilkie, the distinguished artist, in three volumes. All these literary labours were produced in intervals from his stated avocations in Chantrey's studio, which most men would have considered ample employment. His taste and attainments in the fine arts were as remarkable a feature in his history as his early ballad strains; and the prose style of Mr Cunningham, when engaged on a congenial subject, was justly admired for its force and freedom. There was always a freshness and energy about the man and his writings that arrested the attention and excited the imagination, though his genius was but little under the control of a correct or critical judgment. Strong nationality and inextinguishable ardour formed conspicuous traits in his character; and altogether, the life of Mr Cunningham was a fine example of successful original talent and perse An' there's ane to thy heart for my ae sister, Hame, Hame, Hame. Hame, hame, hame, hame fain wad I be, tree, The lark shall sing me hame in my ain countrie. The great are now gane, a' wha ventured to save, Fragment. Gane were but the winter-cauld, And gane were but the snaw, She's Gane to Dwall in Heaven. She's gane to dwall in heaven, my lassie, Oh, what 'll she do in heaven, my lassie? She'll mix her ain thoughts wi' angels' sangs, She was beloved by a', my lassie, She was beloved by a'; But an angel fell in love wi' her, Low there thou lies, my lassie, Low there thou lies; A bonnier form ne'er went to the yird, Fu' soon I'll follow thee, my lassie, But took gudeness' sel' wi' thee. I looked on thy death-cold face, my lassie, I looked on thy death-shut eye, my lassie, Thy lips were ruddy and calm, my lassie, A Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea. A wet sheet and a flowing sea, And fills the white and rustling sail, Away the good ship flies, and leaves 'O for a soft and gentle wind!' I heard a fair one cry; But give to me the snoring breeze, And white waves heaving high; And white waves heaving high, my boys, There's tempest in yon horned moon, And hark the music, mariners- The wind is piping loud, my boys, The lightning flashing freeWhile the hollow oak our palace is, Our heritage the sea. My Nanie O. Red rows the Nith 'tween bank and brae, Though heaven and earth should mix in storm, My Nanie O, my Nanie O; My kind and winsome Nanie O, She holds my heart in love's dear bands, In preaching-time sae meek she stands, I cannot get ae glimpse of grace, The world's in love with Nanie O; My breast can scarce contain my heart, I guess what heaven is by her eyes, The flower o' Nithsdale's Nanie O; Tell not, thou star at gray daylight, My footsteps 'mang the morning dew, Nane ken o' me and Nanie O; The Poet's Bridal-day Song. Oh, my love 's like the steadfast sun, Even while I muse, I see thee sit We stayed and wooed, and thought the moon Set on the sea an hour too soon; Or lingered 'mid the falling dew, When looks were fond and words were few. Though I see smiling at thy feet Five sons and ae fair daughter sweet; And time, and care, and birth-time woes Have dimmed thine eye, and touched thy rose ; In the Nanie O of Allan Ramsay, these four beautiful lines will be found, and there they might have remained, had their beauty not been impaired by the presence of Lais and Leda, Jove and Danaë.-Author's Note. When words come down like dews unsought, Oh, when more thought we gave of old A song-wreath which may grace my Jean, At times there come, as come there ought, The sons of Allan Cunningham have all distinguished themselves in literature, and furnish a remarkable instance of hereditary talent in one family. 1. JOSEPH Davey CUNNINGHAM (18121851), late captain of Engineers in the Indian army, wrote a History of the Sikhs, an elaborate and able work, published in 1849, second edition in 1853. The author had lived among the Sikh people for eight years, and had been appointed to draw up Reports on the British connection generally with the Sutlej, and especially on the military resources of the Punjab. 2. ALEXANDER CUNNINGHAM (born in 1814), major-general of the Bengal Engineers, appointed Archæological Surveyor-general of India in 1870, Companion of the Star of India in 1871; author of The Bhilsa Topes or Buddhist Monuments of Central India, 1854; Arian Architecture, 1846; Ladàk, Physical, Statistical, and Historical, 1854; The Ancient Geography of India, 1871; &c. 3. PETER CUNNINGHAM (1816-1869), many years clerk in the Audit Office; author of a Life of Nell Gwynn, 1852; Handbook of London, 1849; and editor of Walpole's Letters, Works of Drummond of Hawthornden, Goldsmith's Works, Johnson's Lives of the Poets, Campbell's Specimens of British Poets. Mr Cunningham contributed largely to literary journals. His Handbook of London is a work full of curious antiquarian and literary interest, illustrating the political and social history of the metropolis. 4. FRANCIS CUNNINGHAM (born in 1820), lieutenant-colonel in the Indian army, editor of the dramatic works of Marlowe, Massinger, and Ben Jonson, contributor to various literary periodicals, &c. Colonel Cunningham died Dec. 3, 1875. WILLIAM MOTHERWELL. WILLIAM MOTHERWELL (1797-1835) was born in Glasgow, but, after his eleventh year, was brought up under the care of an uncle in Paisley. At the age of twenty-one, he was appointed deputy to the sheriff-clerk at that town. He early evinced a love of poetry, and in 1819 became editor of a miscellany entitled the Harp of Renfrewshire. A taste for antiquarian research Not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools supposedivided with the muse the empire of Motherwell's genius, and he attained an unusually familiar acquaintance with the early history of our native literature, particularly in the department of traditionary poetry. The results of this erudition appeared in Minstrelsy Ancient and Modern (1827), a collection of Scottish ballads, prefaced by a historical introduction, which must be the basis of all future investigations into the subject. In the following year he became editor of a weekly journal in Paisley, and established a magazine there, to which he contributed some of his happiest poetical effusions. The talent and spirit which he evinced in his editorial duties, were the means of advancing him to the more important office of conducting the Glasgow Courier, in which situation he continued till his death. In 1832 he collected and published his Poems in one volume. He also joined with Hogg in editing the works of Burns; and he was collecting materials for a Life of Tannahill, when he was suddenly cut off by a fit of apoplexy at the early age of thirty-eight. The taste, enthusiasm, and social qualities of Motherwell, rendered him As an antiquary, he was shrewd, indefatigable, very popular among his townsmen and friends. and truthful. As a poet, he was happiest in pathetic or sentimental lyrics, though his own martial style of the old minstrels. inclinations led him to prefer the chivalrous and From Jeanie Morrison. I've wandered east, I've wandered west, The love of life's young day! O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison, The thoughts o' bygane years Still fling their shadows ower my path, And blind my een wi' tears! They blind my een wi' saut, saut tears, And sair and sick I pine, As memory idly summons up The blithe blinks o' langsyne. Oh, mind ye, love, how aft we left The throssil whistled sweet. The throssil whistled in the wood, Aye, aye, dear Jeanie Morrison, Tears trinkled doun your cheek, Like dew-beads on a rose, yet nane I marvel, Jeanie Morrison, Gin I hae been to thee As closely twined wi' earliest thochts Thine ear as it does mine; Oh, say gin e'er your heart grows great I've wandered east, I've wandered west, The fount that first burst frae this heart, O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison, Did I but ken your heart still dreamed The Midnight Wind. Mournfully, oh, mournfully This midnight wind doth sigh, Like some sweet plaintive melody Of ages long gone by: It speaks a tale of other yearsOf hopes that bloomed to dieOf sunny smiles that set in tears, And loves that mouldering lie! Mournfully, oh, mournfully This midnight wind doth moan; The voices of the much-loved dead Mournfully, oh, mournfully This midnight wind doth swell, On the heart's bloom-ay, well may tears Sword Chant of Thorstein Raudi. 'Tis not the gray hawk's flight o'er mountain and mere; "Tis not the fleet hound's course, tracking the deer; 'Tis not the light hoof-print of black steed or gray, Though sweltering it gallop a long summer's day, Which mete forth the lordships I challenge as mine: Ha ha! 'tis the good brand Far isles of the ocean thy lightning hath known, And won him the glory of undying song. In a love more abiding than that the heart knows And noble blood springing, And cloven, yawn helmet, stout hauberk, and shield. The smile of a maiden's eye soon may depart; My kindred have perished by war or by wave; ROBERT NICOLL. ROBERT NICOLL (1814-1837) was a young man of high promise and amiable dispositions, who cultivated literature amidst many discouragements, and died early of consumption. He was a native of Auchtergaven, in Perthshire. After passing through a series of humble employments, during which he steadily cultivated his mind by reading and writing, he assumed the editorship of the Leeds Times, a weekly paper representing the Gaping, ask me what lordships I owned at my birth; extreme of the liberal class of opinions. He wrote I clutch in my strong hand, That can their broad marches and numbers define. LAND GIVER! I kiss thee. Dull builders of houses, base tillers of earth, |