The Modern Scottish Minstrel Volume Vi Part 9

Summer Ocean, Placid Ocean, Soft and sweet thy lullaby; Shadows lightly, Sunbeams brightly, Flicker o'er thee noiselessly.

Resting gently on thy bosom, Snowy sea-gulls preen thy wings, While perfumed sighs, from many a blossom, Float around the strain the skylark sings.

Love's emotion, Summer Ocean, Like thy self, 'neath cloudless skies, Glances brightly, Dances lightly Till the fond illusion flies.

AT SEA--STORM.

Winter Ocean, Furious Ocean, Fierce and loud thy choral lay: Storm-clouds soaring, Whirlwinds roaring O'er thy breast in madness play.

Homeless petrels shriek their omen Harshly 'mid thy billows' roar; Fleshless bones of s.h.i.+pwreck'd seamen Dash against thy rock-ribb'd sh.o.r.e.

War's commotion, Winter Ocean, Like thyself, when tempest driven, By pa.s.sion hurl'd, Would wreck the world, And mock the wrath-scowling heaven.

THE HUNTER'S DAUGHTER.

_Set to Music by Herr Kucken._

When loud the horn is sounding Along the distant hills, Then would I rove, ne'er weary, The Hunter's Daughter near me, By flowery margin'd rills.

'Mid stately pines embosom'd There stands the Hunter's cot, From which this maiden daily At morning peeps so gaily, Contented with her lot.

This Hunter and his Daughter Make everything their prey; He slays the wild roe bounding, Her eyes young hearts are wounding-- No shafts so sure as they!

AN INVITATION.

_Music arranged by Julius Siligmann._

The skylark sings his matin lay, The waking flowers at dawning day, With perfumed breath, sigh, Come! come! come!

Oh, haste, Love, come with me, To the wild wood come with me.

Hark, the wing'd warblers singing, Come with me; Beauteous flowers, their perfume flinging, Wait for thee!

The sunlight sleeps upon the lea, And sparkles o'er the murmuring sea, The wanton wind sighs, Come! come! come!

Oh, haste, Love, come with me, To the wild wood come with me-- Come and gather luscious berries, Come with me; Cl.u.s.tering grapes and melting cherries Wait for thee!

My bird of love, my beauteous flower, Come, reign the queen of yonder bower, 'Tis True-love whispers, Come! come! come!

Oh, haste, then, come with me, To the wild wood come with me.

Life's first fairest hours are fleeting-- Come with me; Hope, and Joy, and Love's fond greeting Wait for thee!

CUPID AND THE ROSE-BUD.

_Set to Music by H. Lambeth._

Young Love once woo'd a budding Rose, (_Sing hey down ho, the bleak winds blow._) With fond delight his bosom glows, (_How softly fall the flakes of snow._) Love watch'd the flower whose ruby tips Peep'd coyly forth, like pouting lips, Then nearer to the Rose he trips; (_The stately oak will soon lie low._)

Young Love was fond and bashful too, (_Sing hey down ho, the sea rolls aye._) He sigh'd and knew not what to do; (_Life like an arrow flies away._) Then whispering low his cherish'd wish, The Rose-bud trembled on her bush, While redder grew her maiden blush; (_Ruddy eve forecasts the brightest day._)

To pull this Rose young Love then tried; (_'Tis sweet to hear the skylark sing._) Her blush of hope she strove to hide; (_Joy soars aloft on painted wing._) Love press'd the Rose-bud to his breast, He felt the thorn, but well he guess'd Such "Nay" meant "Yea," 'twas fond Love's jest; (_'Tis honey soothes the bee's fell sting._)

ROBIN GOODHEART'S CAROL.

TUNE--_"The Brave Old Oak."_

'Tis Yule! 'tis Yule! all eyes are bright, And joyous songs abound; Our log burns high, but it glows less bright Than the eyes which sparkle round.

The merry laugh, and the jocund tale, And the kiss 'neath the mistletoe, Make care fly as fast as the bl.u.s.tering gale That wreaths the new fallen snow.

'Tis Yule! 'tis Yule! all eyes are bright, And joyous thoughts abound; The log burns high, but it glows less bright Than the eyes which sparkle round.

'Tis Yule! 'tis Yule! see the old grandsire Forgets his weight of years; He laughs with the young, and a fitful fire Beams through his unbidden tears.

With tremulous tenor he joins the strain-- The song of his manhood's prime; For his thoughts grow young, and he laughs again, While his aged head nods time.

'Tis Yule! 'tis Yule! &c.

'Tis Yule! 'tis Yule! and the infant's heart Beats high with a new delight, And youths and maidens, with guileless art, Make merry the livelong night.

The time flies on with gladsome cheer, And welcomes pa.s.s around-- 'Tis the warmest night of all the year, Though winter hath chain'd the ground.

'Tis Yule! 'tis Yule! &c.

JAMES HEDDERWICK.

James Hedderwick, proprietor and editor of the _Glasgow Citizen_, was born at Glasgow on the 18th January 1814. His father, who bore the same Christian name, was latterly Queen's printer in that city. At an early age the subject of this sketch was put to the printing business in his father's office. His tastes, however, being more literary than mechanical, he gradually became dissatisfied with his position, and occupied his leisure hours by contributing, in prose and verse, to sundry periodicals. In his sixteenth year he spent some time in London, in the course of which he attended the Rhetoric cla.s.s of the London University, and carried off the first prize. When little more than twenty years of age, he obtained the situation of sub-editor of the _Scotsman_ newspaper. He now applied himself a.s.siduously to political writing, but continued, at the same time, to seek recreation in those lighter departments of literature which were more in accordance with his personal tastes. Several of his poetical pieces, contributed to the _Scotsman_, were copied into _Chambers' Edinburgh Journal_, and have since frequently appeared in different periodicals. One of these, ent.i.tled "First Grief," was lately quoted in terms of approbation by a writer in _Fraser's Magazine_. Others have found their way, in an anonymous shape, into a London publication ent.i.tled "Beautiful Poetry."

In 1842 Mr Hedderwick returned to his native city, and started the _Glasgow Citizen_--a weekly newspaper which continues to maintain an honourable position. Previous to leaving Edinburgh he was entertained at a public dinner, attended by men of letters and other leading individuals. The drudgery of newspaper life has left Mr Hedderwick little leisure for contributions to polite literature. While in Edinburgh, however, he wrote one number of "Wilson's Tales of the Border," and has since contributed occasionally to other works. In 1844 he published a small collection of poems, but in too costly a form for general circulation.

MY BARK AT SEA.

Away, away, like a child at play, Like a living ocean-child, Through the feathery spray she cleaves her way To the billows' music wild; The sea is her wide-spread pleasure ground, And the waves around her leap, As with joyous bound, to their mystic sound, She dances o'er the deep!