ON MRS. A. H. AT A CONCERT. Look where my dear Hamilla smiles, See how with all their arts and wiles O fairest maid, I own thy pow'r, And triumph in my anguish. So I the dearest love thee. This is the second song which Crawford wrote for Ramsay's collection: the heroine was a Miss Ann Hamilton. It is directed to be sung to the tune of "The bonniest lass in a' the warld," the name of an ancient song as well as an old air: and as Ramsay and his " ingenious young gentlemen" have been repeatedly accused of casting away fine antique lyrics to make room 66 for their own effusions, I am compelled to quote as much of the old as may vindicate the propriety of the new : The bonniest lass in a' the warld, Came to me unsent for, She brake her shins on my bed-stock, The song proceeds to describe the charms and allurements of this condescending beauty: but the rustic bard had not the spell of delicacy upon him, nor the fear of sin before him, when he wrote it, so I can quote no more. AT SETTING DAY. At setting day and rising morn, Where first thou kindly told me To all our haunts I will repair, By greenwood shaw or fountain; Or where the summer-day I'd share From thoughts unfeign'd and tender, This very sweet song is sung by Peggy, in the " Gentle Shepherd;" and the natural thoughts and graceful expression correspond well with the love of "Maister Patrick." It is in the songs which come from Peggy's lips that Ramsay approaches nearest his other lyrics. There is a similar feeling in the following lines from the same pen : Ye meadows where we often strayed, Ye banks where we were wont to wander, Around the knowe with silent duty, And wonder at thy manly beauty. I like the delicacy and true love of these lines-and true love is not very plentiful in song. In the same natural spirit the maiden reminds her heart of its earlier feelings: Nae mair alake, we'll on the meadow play; STREPHON'S PICTURE. Ye gods! was Strephon's picture blest And thou, bless'd shade, that sweetly art I cannot blame thee: were I lord An alms to keep a god alive. Oh smile not thus, my lovely fair, On these cold looks, that lifeless are; Prize him whose bosom glows with fire, With eager love and soft desire. 'Tis true thy charms, O powerful maid! This is another of the happy complimentary lyrics of Hamilton of Bangour: it contains a passionate burst of fancy such as he has seldom equalled, for he is in general neat, and elegant, and tender, rather than impassioned: I cannot blame thee: were I lord Of all the wealth those breasts afford, An alms to keep a god alive. It was the pastoral affectation of the times to indulge in such names as Chloe and Strephon-names which hurt the charm of the finest lyric composition; for we cannot well persuade ourselves that such personages were ever endowed with flesh and blood. The song was written to the tune of the "Fourteenth of October," the day of St. Crispin, in whose honour, or derision, a lyric bearing that name anciently existed. Chloe was probably Jeanie Stewart, of whose rigour he complains to Mr. Home, and complains unjustly, since the lady was willing and ready to reward him. |