The Modern Scottish Minstrel Volume Vi Part 7

WILLIAM BENNET.

William Bennet was born on the 29th September, 1802, in the parish of Glencairn, and county of Dumfries. He first wrote verses while apprenticed to a mechanic in a neighbouring parish. In his nineteenth year he published a volume of poems, which excited some attention, and led to his connexion with the newspaper press. He became a regular contributor to the _Dumfries Courier_, edited by the ingenious John M'Diarmid; and in 1825 and the following year conducted the _Dumfries Magazine_, in which appeared many interesting articles from his pen. In December 1826, he became editor of the _Glasgow Free Press_, which supported the liberal cause during the whole of the Reform Bill struggle. Along with Sir Daniel Sandford, he afterwards withdrew from the Whig party, and established the _Glasgow Const.i.tutional_, the editors.h.i.+p of which he resigned in 1836. In 1832-3, he published a periodical, ent.i.tled, "Bennet's Glasgow Magazine." Continuing to write verses, he afterwards published a poetical volume, with the t.i.tle, "Songs of Solitude." His other separate works are, "Pictures of Scottish Scenes and Character," in three volumes; "Sketches of the Isle of Man;"

and "The Chief of Glen-Orchay," a poem in five cantos, ill.u.s.trative of Highland manners and mythology in the middle ages.

Mr Bennet, subsequent to leaving Glasgow, resided successively in Ireland, and London. He afterwards lived several years in Galloway, and has latterly fixed his abode at Greenmount, near Burntisland. He is understood to be engaged in a new translation of the Scriptures.

BLEST BE THE HOUR OF NIGHT.

Blest be the hour of night, When, his toils over, The swain, with a heart so light, Meets with his lover!

Sweet the moon gilds their path, Arm in arm straying; Clouds never rise in wrath, Chiding their staying.

Gently they whisper low: Unseen beside them, Good angels watch, that no Ill may betide them.

Silence is everywhere, Save when the sighing Is heard, of the breeze's fall, Fitfully dying.

How the maid's bosom glows, While her swain 's telling The love, that 's been long, she knows, In his heart swelling!

How, when his arms are thrown Tenderly round her, Fears she, in words to own What he hath found her!

When the first peep of dawn Warns them of parting, And from each dewy lawn Blythe birds are starting, Fondly she hears her swain Vow, though they sever, Soon they shall meet again, Mated for ever.

THE ROSE OF BEAUTY.

Amang the breezy heights and howes Where winds the Milk[6] sae clearly, A Rose o' beauty sweetly grows, A Rose I lo'e most dearly.

Wi' spring's saft rain and simmer's sun How blooms my Rose divinely!

And lang ere blaws the winter wun', This breast shall nurse it kin'ly.

May heaven's dew aye freshly weet My Rose at ilka gloamin', And oh, may nae unhallow'd feet Be near it ever roamin'!

I soon shall buy a snug wee cot, And hae my Rose brought thither; And then, in that lowne sunny spot, We'll bloom and fade thegither.

FOOTNOTES:

[6] A beautiful sylvan stream, falling from the uplands into the Annan, between Ecclefechan and Lockerbie.

I 'LL THINK ON THEE, LOVE.

I 'll think on thee, Love, when thy bark Hath borne thee far across the deep; And, as the sky is bright or dark, 'Twill be my fate to smile or weep; For oh, when winds and waters keep In trust so dear a charge as thee, My anxious fears can never sleep Till thou again art safe with me!

I 'll think on thee, Love, when each hour Of twilight comes, with pensive mood, And silence, like a spell of power, Rests, in its depth, on field and wood; And as the mingling shadows brood Still closer o'er the lonely sea, Here, on the beach where first we woo'd, I 'll pour to heaven my prayers for thee.

Then haply on the breeze's wing, That to me steals across the wave, Some angel's voice may answer bring That list'ning heaven consents to save.

And oh, the further boon I crave Perchance may also granted be, That thou, return'd, no more shalt brave The wanderer's perils on the sea!

THERE 'S MUSIC IN A MOTHER'S VOICE.

There 's music in a mother's voice, More sweet than breezes sighing; There 's kindness in a mother's glance, Too pure for ever dying.

There 's love within a mother's breast, So deep, 'tis still o'erflowing, And for her own a tender care, That 's ever, ever growing.

And when a mother kneels to heaven, And for her child is praying, Oh, who shall half the fervour tell That burns in all she 's saying!

A mother, when she, like a star, Sets into heaven before us, From that bright home of love, all pure, Still minds and watches o'er us.

THE BRIG OF ALLAN.

Come, memory, paint, though far away, The wimpling stream, the broomy brae, The upland wood, the hill-top gray, Whereon the sky seems fallin'; Paint me each cheery, glist'ning row Of shelter'd cots, the woods below, Where Airthrie's healing waters flow By bonny Brig of Allan.

Paint yonder Grampian heights sublime, The Roman eagles could not climb, And Stirling, crown'd in after time With Royalty's proud dwallin'; These, with the Ochils, sentry keep, Where Forth, that fain in view would sleep, Tries, from his Links, oft back to peep At bonny Brig of Allan.

Oh, lovely, when the rising sun Greets Stirling towers, so steep and dun, And silver Forth's calm breast upon The golden beams are fallin'!

Then, trotting down to join his flood, Through rocky steeps, besprent with wood, How bright, in morning's joyous mood, Appears the stream of Allan!

Upon its banks how sweet to stray, With rod and line, the livelong day, Or trace each rural charm, away From cark of every callin'!

There dove-like, o'er my path would brood The spirit pure of solitude; For native each rapt, genial mood Is to the beauteous Allan.

Oh, witching as its scenes, and bright As is its cloudless summer light, Be still its maids, the soul's delight Of every truthful callan'!

Be health around it ever spread, To light the eye, to lift the head, And joy on every heart be shed That beats by Brig of Allan!

GEORGE OUTRAM.

The author of "Legal Lyrics," a small volume of humorous songs, printed for private circulation, George Outram, was born in the vicinity of Glasgow in 1805. His father, a native of England, was partner and manager in the Clyde Iron Works. In 1827 he was called to the Scottish bar, and practised for some years as an advocate. To the character of an orator he made no pretensions, but he evinced great ability as a chamber counsel. He accepted, in 1837, the editors.h.i.+p of the _Glasgow Herald_, and continued the princ.i.p.al conductor of this journal till the period of his death. He died at Rosemore, on the sh.o.r.es of the Holy Loch, on the 16th September 1856, in his fifty-first year. His remains were interred in Warriston Cemetery, Edinburgh.