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SIR JOHN CLERK.

1680-1755.

THERE is no better evidence of the | The first stanza is taken from an older

general prevalence of the poetic temperament among the people of Scotland than the number of what may be termed her one poem poets. By this term we mean poets who produced single poems of lasting merit, and who, but for a certain indolence of the poetic faculty, might have produced more if they had made the effort.

Sir John Clerk, second baronet of Penicuik, is one of these. He was born in 1680, and succeeded his father in the title and estates in 1722. As early as 1708, he was appointed one of the Barons of Exchequer in Scotland. He was one of the most accomplished men of his time, and carried on a learned correspondence with the English antiquary, Roger Gale, for about twenty years. Along with Baron Scrope, he wrote An Historical View of the Forms and Powers of the Court of Exchequer in Scotland.

He was a

great friend of Allan Ramsay, and being himself a poet, knew how to estimate Allan's genius. Sir John died in 1755, and was succeeded by his son Sir James Clerk, who raised an obelisk to Ramsay's memory in the grounds of Penicuik House, with a Latin inscription recording his own and his father's esteem for the poet's genius and worth.

Sir John's song of "The Miller " first appeared in The Charmer in 1751, and has since retained its popularity.

The
song, and gives the key note.
candour with which a regard for the
ways and means of domestic comfort
is avowed, as a leading consideration
in our old love songs, would almost
imply that in this, as in some other
things, we had taken lessons from our
"The Miller" is
old allies the French.
an excellent representative of this class
of songs.

THE MILLER.
MERRY may the maid be

That marries the miller,

For foul day or fair day

He's aye bringing till her;

Has aye a penny in his purse

For dinner and for supper;
And gin she please, a good fat cheese,

And lumps o' yellow butter.
When Jamie first did woo me,
I spier'd what was his calling :
Fair maid, says he, O come and see,

Ye're welcome to my dwelling.
Though I was shy, yet I cou'd spy

The truth of what he told me,
And that his house was warm and couth,
And room in it to hold me.

Behind the door a bag o' meal,

And in the kist was plenty
O' good hard cakes his mither bakes,
And bannocks were na scanty;
A good fat sow, a sleeky cow

Was standing in the byre;
Whilst lazy puss with mealy mou'
Was playing at the fire.

Good signs are these, my mither says,

And bids me tak the miller; For foul day and fair day

He's aye bringing till her;

For meal and maut he doesna want,
Nor ony thing that's dainty;
And now and then a keckling hen
To lay her eggs in plenty.

In winter when the wind and rain Blaw's o'er the house and byre, He sits beside a clean hearth stane, Before a rousing fire;

With nut-brown ale he tells his tale, Which rows him o'er fu' nappy: Who'd be a king-a petty thingWhen a miller lives so happy?

ROBERT CRAWFORD.

1690-1733.

ROBERT CRAWFORD, whose best known pieces are "The Bush aboon Traquair" and "Tweedside," was born in Ayrshire about 1690. He was the second son of Patrick Crawford of Drumsoy, his mother being a daughter of Gordon | of Turnberry. Allan Ramsay, in the preface to the second volume of the TeaTable Miscellany, says that about thirty of the songs were contributed "by some ingenious young gentlemen," who were pleased with his undertaking. Crawford is said to have been one of them. He appears to have spent a considerable portion of his life in France, and was on his way home from that country in 1733, when he was drowned. His foreign residence may account for the paucity of the particulars of his life that have been preserved.

His poetry is characterised by an easy flow of natural and unstrained thought, and a pleasing variation of pastoral images and observations, conveyed in simple but refined language, slightly tinged with the vernacular.

TWEEDSIDE.

WHAT beauties does Flora disclose!
How sweet are her smiles upon Tweed!
Yet Mary's, still sweeter than those,
Both nature and fancy exceed.
Nor daisy nor sweet-blushing rose,

Not all the gay flowers of the field,
Not Tweed gliding gently through those,
Such beauty and pleasure does yield.

The warblers are heard in the grove,

The linnet, the lark, and the thrush, The blackbird and sweet-cooing dove, With music enchant ev'ry bush. Come, let us go forth to the mead,

We'll lodge in some village on Tweed, And love while the feather'd folks sing.

Let us see how the primroses spring;

How does my love pass the long day?

Does Mary not tend a few sheep? Do they never carelessly stray,

While happily she lies asleep? Should Tweed's murmurs lull her to rest, Kind nature indulging my bliss, To relieve the soft pains of my breast, I'd steal an ambrosial kiss.

'Tis she does the virgins excel,

No beauty with her may compare ; Love's graces all round her do dwell,

She's fairest where thousands are fair. Say, charmer, where do thy flocks stray?

Oh! tell me at noon where they feed? Shall I seek them on sweet winding Tay, Or the pleasanter banks of the Tweed?

LEADER HAUGHS AND YARROW.

THE morn was fair, saft was the air, All nature's sweets were springing ; Then buds did bow with silver dew,

I

Ten thousand birds were singing;
When on the bent with blythe content,
Young Jamie sang his marrow,2
Nae bonnier lass e'er trod the grass
On Leader Haughs and Yarrow.

How sweet her face, where every grace
In heav'nly beauty's planted!
Her smiling een and comely mein,

That nae perfection wanted.
I'll never fret nor bann my fate,
But bless my bonnie marrow :
If her dear smile my doubts beguile,
My mind shall ken nae sorrow.

Yet though she's fair, and has full share
Of every charm enchanting,
Each good turns ill, and soon will kill

Poor me, if love be wanting.
O, bonnie lass! have but the grace
To think ere ye gae further,
Your joys maun flit 3 if you commit

The crying sin of murder.

My wand'ring ghaist will ne'er get rest,
And day and night affright ye;
But if ye're kind, with joyful mind,
I'll study to delight ye.

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Our years around, with love thus crown'd,
From all things joy shall borrow :
This none shall be more blest than we,
On Leader Haughs and Yarrow.

O, sweetest Sue! 'tis only you

Can make life worth my wishes, If equal love your mind can move,

To grant this best of blisses. Thou art my sun, and thy least frown Would blast me in the blossom: But if thou shine and make me thine, I'll flourish in thy bosom.

THE BUSH ABOON TRAQUAIR

HEAR me, ye nymphs, and every swain,
I'll tell how Peggy grieves me;
Tho' thus I languish, thus complain,
Alas! she ne'er believes me.
My vows and sighs, like silent air,
Unheeded, never move her;

At the bonnie bush aboon Traquair,
'Twas there I first did love her.

That day she smiled, and made me glad,
No maid seem'd ever kinder;

I thought myself the luckiest lad,
So sweetly there to find her.

I tried to sooth my amorous flame
In words that I thought tender;
If more there pass'd, I'm not to blame,
I meant not to offend her.

Yet now she scornful flees the plain,
The fields we then frequented;
If e'er we meet, she shows disdain,
She looks as ne'er acquainted.
The bonnie bush bloom'd fair in May,
Its sweets I'll aye remember;
But now her frowns make it decay,
It fades as in December.

Ye rural powers, who hear my strains,
Why thus should Peggy grieve me?
Oh! make her partner in my pains,
Then let her smiles relieve me.

If not, my love will turn despair,

My passion no more tender,
I'll leave the bush aboon Traquair,
To lonely wilds I'll wander.

ALEXANDER

1699-1784.

ROSS.

THE stimulus given to Scottish cardine O'Neil, Aberdeenshire, and was poetry by Ramsay's "Gentle Shepherd," happily produced its most successful❘ results in a district whose manners, language, and scenery, though quite as pastoral, differed greatly from the romantic valley of the North Esk; yet, by a curious coincidence, having two rivers corresponding in name with those of Midlothian-North and South Esk.

"Helenore," Ross's chief poem, resembles Ramsay's in little more than the sub-title-the "Fortunate Shepherdess," -in its purely pastoral character, and in being a repository of the dialect of the locality in which its scenes are laid. In structure and treatment the two poems differ entirely; and in both respects Ramsay's is much the superior. Yet Ross's pastoral, besides its general poetical excellence, has the special merit of being a faithful exponent of the thoughts and manners of as interesting, though a less known type of Scottish character, as that delineated in Ramsay's more genial and picturesquely varied representation of rural life.

Alexander Ross was the son of Andrew Ross, a small farmer in Kin

born at Torphins, on the 16th April 1699. He was early sent to the parish school, where he received a good education; and at the age of fourteen was entered at Marischal College, Aberdeen, where he won a bursary, payable for four years. He remained at college till the expiry of his bursary, in 1718, and took his degree of M. A. He then obtained the situation of tutor in the family of Sir William Forbes of Craigievar. On the completion of his engagement, Sir William, who was pleased with his services, promised him a presentationof which he had fourteen in his gift—if he prosecuted his divinity studies. Notwithstanding this encouragement, Ross did not return to college, but became a teacher at Aboyne, in his native district of Deeside, for some time. From | Aboyne he removed to Laurencekirk, where he became acquainted with the father of Beattie, the author of The Minstrel.

In 1726, he married Jane Catanach, the daughter of a farmer in his native parish. She was a Roman Catholic in religion, but their family was brought up as Protestants, and their difference

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