The Genius of Scotland Part 29

But it is easy moralizing over a good cup of tea, with a cheerful fire blazing in the grate, and a soft bed in prospect for weary limbs.

Moreover, I promised to give you some account of Leyden, poet and antiquary, scholar and traveler.

John Leyden was born in 1775, in Denholm, Roxburghs.h.i.+re, not far from Kelso, of poor but honest parents. He displayed in early life the most eager desire for learning, but possessed few opportunities for gratifying it, as he had to spend much of his time in manual toil. His parents, however, seeing his thirst for knowledge, resolved to send him to Edinburgh University. He entered this inst.i.tution in his fifteenth year, and made unusual progress in his studies. He distinguished himself in the Latin and Greek languages, acquired the French, Spanish, Italian and German, besides forming some acquaintance with the Hebrew, Arabic and Persian. During his college vacations he returned to the humble roof of his parents, and as the accommodations of the house were scanty, he looked for a place of study elsewhere. "In a wild recess," says Sir Walter Scott, who has furnished an animated biography of Leyden, "in the den or glen which gives name to the village of Denholm, he contrived a sort of furnace for the purpose of such chemical experiments as he was adequate to performing. But his chief place of retirement was the small parish church, a gloomy and ancient building, generally believed in the neighborhood to be haunted. To this chosen place of study, usually locked during week days, Leyden made entrance by means of a window, read there for many hours in the day, and deposited his books and specimens in a retired pew. It was a well chosen spot for seclusion, for the kirk, (excepting during divine service,) is rather a place of terror to the Scottish rustic, and that of Cavers was rendered more so by many a tale of ghosts and witchcraft, of which it was the supposed scene, and to which Leyden, partly to indulge his humor, and partly to secure his retirement, contrived to make some modern additions. The nature of his abstruse studies, some specimens of natural history, as toads and adders, left exposed in their spirit vials, and one or two practical jests played off upon the more curious of the peasantry, rendered his gloomy haunt, not only venerated by the wise, but feared by the simple of the parish."

Leyden was originally intended for the clerical profession, but abandoned it for more secular employments. His spirit was intense, restless and ambitious, and he longed for foreign travel and literary distinction. After spending five years at college, he became tutor to a highly respectable family, with whose sons he repaired to the University of St. Andrews, where he pursued his Oriental studies, and in 1799 published a History of African Discoveries. He was the author, also, of various translations and poems, which attracted considerable attention and introduced him to the best society. In 1800 he was ordained as a minister, and his discourses were highly popular; but he was dissatisfied with them, and felt that he was called to a different sphere. He continued to write and compose, contributed to Lewis's "Tales of Wonder," and Scott's "Border Minstrelsy." He was an enthusiastic admirer of the old ballads, and on one occasion actually walked between forty and fifty miles for the sole purpose of visiting an old person who possessed an ancient historical ballad. He edited the "Scot's Magazine,"

for a year, and published "The Complaynt of Scotland," an old work written about 1548, which he accompanied with a learned dissertation, notes and a glossary. His strong desire to visit foreign lands induced his friends to procure for him an appointment in India, where he might study the oriental languages and literature. The only situation which they found available was that of a.s.sistant surgeon, for which it was necessary to have a medical diploma. But such was the energy, decision and perseverance of Leyden's character, that he qualified himself in six months; and not long after set out for Madras. Before taking his departure he finished his "Scenes of Infancy," as it were, the last token of his love for Scotland, which he never again beheld. He was resolved to distinguish himself or die in the attempt. Indeed a premonition of such an issue seems to have haunted his mind, and was expressed, with touching beauty, in his "Scenes of Infancy."

"The silver moon at midnight cold and still, Looks sad and silent o'er yon western hill; While large and pale the ghostly structures grow, Reared on the confines of the world below.

Is that dull sound the hum of Teviot's stream?

Is that blue light the moon's or tomb-fire's gleam?

By which a mouldering pile is faintly seen, The old deserted church of Hazeldean, Where slept my fathers in their natal clay, Till Teviot's waters rolled their bones away?

Their feeble voices from their stream they raise-- 'Rash youth! unmindful of thy early days, Why didst thou quit the simple peasant's lot?

Why didst thou leave the peasant's turf-built cot, The ancient graves where all thy fathers lie, And Teviot's stream that long has murmur'd by?

And we, when death so long has clos'd our eyes, How wilt thou bid us from the dust arise, And bear our mouldering bones across the main.

From vales that knew our lives devoid of stain?

Rash youth! beware, thy home-bred virtues save, And sweetly sleep in thy paternal grave.'"

After his arrival in Madras, his health became impaired, and he removed to Prince of Wales Island. He resided there some time, visiting the neighboring countries, and ama.s.sing curious information on the literature and history of the Indo-Chinese, which he embodied in an elaborate dissertation read before the Asiatic Society at Calcutta.

Quitting Prince of Wales Island, Leyden was appointed a professor in the Bengal College, which he soon exchanged for the office of judge, a more lucrative employment. His spare time was devoted to the prosecution of his oriental studies. "I may die in the attempt," he wrote to a friend, "but if I die without surpa.s.sing Sir William Jones a hundredfold in oriental learning, let never a tear for me profane the eye of a borderer." In 1811 he accompanied the governor general to Java. His spirit of bold adventure led him literally to rush upon death. He threw himself into the surf in order to be the first Briton who should set foot upon Java. When the invaders had taken possession of Batavia, the same reckless eagerness took him into a cold damp library, in which were many books and ma.n.u.scripts. Affected perhaps by the disease of the climate he had a fit of s.h.i.+vering on leaving the library, and declared that the atmosphere was enough to give any one a mortal fever. In three days after he died, August 28, 1811, on the eve of the battle which secured Java to the British Empire.

Leyden's Poetical Remains were published in 1819, with a memoir. In addition to the "Scenes of Infancy," it contains some vigorous ballads.

To one of these, "The Mermaid," as well as to the untimely death of its author, Sir Walter Scott has referred in his "Lord of the Isles."

"Scarba's Isle, whose tortured sh.o.r.e Still rings to Corrievreckin's roar, And lovely Colonsay; Scenes sung by him who sings no more: His bright and brief career is o'er, And mute his tuneful strains; Quenched is his lamp of varied lore, That loved the light of song to pour: A distant and a deadly sh.o.r.e Has Leyden's cold remains."

His "Scenes of Infancy" is distinguished for the sweetness of its versification, and its pleasant pictures of the vale of Teviot. In strength and enthusiasm, it is much inferior to his ballads. The opening of "The Mermaid," has been praised by Sir Walter Scott "as exhibiting a power of numbers, which for mere melody of sound has rarely been excelled."

On Jura's heath how sweetly swell The murmurs of the mountain bee!

How softly, mourns the writh'd sh.e.l.l, Of Jura's sh.o.r.e, its parent sea.

But softer, floating o'er the deep, The mermaid's sweet, sea-soothing lay, That charmed the dancing waves to sleep, Before the bark of Colonsay.

But better known, and far more affecting, is Leyden's "Ode to an Indian Gold Coin," written in Cherical, Malabar, which in addition to its vigor and beauty, has a fine moral which it is not necessary to point out.

Slave of the dark and dirty mine!

What vanity has brought thee here?

How can I love to see thee s.h.i.+ne So bright, whom I have bought so dear?

The tent-ropes flapping lone I hear, For twilight converse arm in arm; The jackal's shriek bursts on my ear, When mirth and music wont to cheer.

By Cherical's dark wandering streams, Where cane-tufts shadow all the wild, Sweet visions haunt my waking dreams Of Teviot loved while still a child; Of castled rocks stupendous piled By Esk or Eden's cla.s.sic wave, Where loves of youth and friends.h.i.+p smiled Uncursed by thee, vile yellow slave!

Fade, day-dreams sweet, from memory fade!

The perished bliss of youth's first prime, That once so bright on fancy played, Revives no more in after time.

Far from my sacred natal clime I haste to an untimely grave; The daring thoughts that soared sublime Are sunk in ocean's southern wave.

Slave of the mine, thy yellow light Gleams baleful as the tomb-fire drear.

A gentle vision comes by night My lonely widowed heart to cheer.

Her eyes are dim with many a tear, That once were guiding-stars to mine; Her fond heart throbs with many a fear!

I cannot bear to see thee s.h.i.+ne.

For thee, for thee, vile yellow slave, I left a heart that loved me true!

I crossed the tedious ocean wave, To roam in climes unkind and new.

The cold wind of the stranger blew Chill on my withered heart; the grave Dark and untimely met my view-- And all for thee, vile yellow slave!

Ha! com'st thou now so late to mock A wanderer's banished heart forlorn, Now that his frame, the lightning shock Of sun-rays tipt with death has borne?

From love, from friends.h.i.+p, country, torn, To memory's fond regrets the prey: Vile slave, thy yellow dross I scorn!

Go mix thee with thy kindred clay!

While conversing about Leyden, we must not forget a gentler, purer spirit, Mary Lundie Duncan, who first saw the light "amid the blossoms of Kelso," and whose young heart first warbled its poetic strains on the banks of the Tweed. Her "Memoir," by her gifted mother, is one of the most beautiful and touching biographies in the English language.

Possessed of genius and piety, at once pure and tender, her brief life was the fair but changeful spring-time which preceded the long summer of eternity.

Sweet bird of Scotia's tuneful clime, So beautiful and dear, Whose music gushed as genius taught, With Heaven's own quenchless spirit fraught, I list--thy strain to hear.

Bright flower on Kelso's bosom born, When spring her glories shed, Where Tweed flows on in silver sheen, And Tiviot feeds her valleys green, I cannot think thee dead.

Fair child--whose rich unfoldings gave A promise rare and true, The parent's proudest thoughts to cheer, And soothe of widowed woe the tear,-- Why hid'st thou from our view?

Young bride, whose wildest thrill of hope Bowed the pure brow in prayer, Whose ardent zeal and saintly grace, Did make the manse a holy place, We search--thou art not there.

Fond mother, they who taught thy joys To sparkle up so high; Thy first born, and her brother dear Catch charms from every fleeting year:-- Where is thy glistening eye?

Meek Christian, it is well with thee, That where thy heart so long Was garnered up, thy home should be;-- Thy path with Him who made thee free;-- Thy lay--an angel's song.

_Lydia H. Sigourney._

Some of Mary Lundie Duncan's poems are characterized not merely by purity and elevation of sentiment, but by sweetness and melody of versification. The following written at "Callander," though not without defects, indicates the possession of true poetical genius.

How pure the light on yonder hills, How soft the shadows lie; How blythe each morning sound that fills The air with melody!

Those hills, that rest in solemn calm Above the strife of men, Are bathed in breezy gales of balm From knoll and heathy glen.

In converse with the silent sky, They mock the flight of years; While man and all his labors die Low in this vale of tears.

Meet emblem of eternal rest, They point their summits grey To the fair regions of the blest, Where tends our pilgrim way.

The everlasting mountains there Reflect undying light; The ray which gilds that ambient air, Nor fades, nor sets in night.

Then summer sun more piercing bright.

That beam is milder too; For love is in the sacred light That softens every hue.

The gale that fans the peaceful clime Is life's immortal breath, Its freshness makes the sons of time Forget disease and death.

And shall we tread that holy ground, And breathe that fragrant air; And view the fields with glory crowned In cloudless beauty fair?

Look up! look up, to yonder light, That cheers the desert grey: It marks the close of toil and night, The dawn of endless day.

How sweet your choral hymns will blend With harps of heavenly tone; When glad you sing your journey's end Around your Father's throne.