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When Johnnie Cope to Dunbar came, They speer'd at him, "Where's a' your men?"

"The deil confound me gin I ken, For I left them a' i' the morning." Hey, Johnnie Cope, etc.

Now, Johnnie, troth ye were na blate,

To come wi' the news o' your ain defeat,

And leave your men in sic a strait,
So early in the morning.

"

Hey, Johnnie Cope, etc.

'I' faith," quo' Johnnie, "I got a fleg,
Wi' their claymores and philabegs ;
If I face them again, deil break my legs!
So I wish you a very gude morning."
Hey, Johnnie Cope, etc.

own.

WILLIAM FALCONER.

1732-1769.

WILLIAM FALCONER is the first poet | his native city, in 1751, he there issued that Edinburgh claims as a child of her She has been the nurse and the admired of many, before and after his time, but he, so far as is known to us, is her first poetic son; and so little did she regard the fact, that, for long after his disappearance among the mysteries of the ocean, it was unknown to his biographers where he first drew breath.

He is also the first of Scottish, if not of British, poets, who was a sailor by profession.

His father, a poor barber, had other two children, who were deaf and dumb. William, who was born on the 11th February 1732, seems to have got a fair education, but went to sea when quite a boy in a Leith merchant-ship. At the age of eighteen, he rose to be second mate in the Britannia, a vessel which traded to the Levant; and whose loss, off Cape Collona, is the subject of his Shipwreck he and other two being the only survivors of the crew.

But the Shipwreck was not his first published venture. While residing in

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a poem on the "Death of Frederick Prince of Wales," but it shared the fate of most effusions of that kind; and had its author not produced something better, the fact of its existence would have passed into oblivion along with itself. In 1762, the Shipwreck made its appearance, with a dedication to the Duke of York.

Its success seems to have pleased his royal highness, for he procured the author a midshipman s appointment on board the Royal George. Falconer was soon afterwards promoted to be purser on the Glory, a frigate of 32 guns, which, on the conclusion of peace in 1763, was laid up at Sheerness. Here he married Miss Hicks, daughter of the surgeon to the dockyard.

A greatly enlarged edition of the Shipwreck appeared in 1764, besides a weak political satire on Pitt, Wilkes, and Churchill. He now also compiled his "Universal Marine Dictionary,” a useful practical work.

In 1768, he was offered a partnership

by his fellow-townsman, John Murray, originally an officer of marines, but then commencing his publishing career in London. The reason of his declining Murray's offer is not known; but that it did not abate their friendship appears from the fact that some verses addressed to Murray, intended for the third edition of the Shipwreck, were omitted in the hurry of his departure for India.

In October 1769 he sailed for India, as purser in the Aurora. The frigate reached the Cape of Good Hope in December, but was not afterwards heard of, and is supposed to have foundered, or taken fire, in the Mosambique Channel. A third edition of the Shipwreck, with considerable additions and alterations, was published the day previous to that on which he embarked on his last voyage. It is con

sidered not to have been at all an improvement on the second; and the fact has been accounted for by supposing David Mallet to be responsible for the changes, in utter oversight of the fact that Mallet died in 1765.

There is nothing specially Scottish about the Shipwreck, either in treatment or subject, and it forms a part of Standard English Literature. That Falconer wrote nothing to indicate his nationality is easily accounted for by his early departure from his native shores; and his satire on Wilkes and Churchill, if it did nothing else, shows that he did not forget the land of his

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the principle of collating the author's three editions, and selecting the most poetical variations.

When done with taste, this is a legitimate enough process of producing a standard text, especially of a young author like Falconer, who had not written much, and whose profession did not admit of his cultivating literature largely as an art. It is not admissible, however, to travel beyond the author.

Byron, himself one of our greatest poetical lovers of the ocean, and well acquaint with the scene of the Shipwreck, has recorded his admiration of the poem, where the author has adhered to the subject of his own observations. It is very likely that his description of the dying dolphin, in Childe Harold, has been suggested by that of his predecessor.

THE SHIPWRECK.
[Specimens.]

THE POET'S APOLOGY.

Alas! neglected by the sacred Nine, Their suppliant feels no genial ray divine! Ah! will they leave Pieria's happy shore, To plough the tide where wintry tempests

roar?

Or shall a youth approach their hallow'd fane,

Stranger to Phoebus and the tuneful

train !

Far from the Muse's academic grove,
'Twas his the vast and tractless deep to rove.
Alternate change of climates has he known,
And felt the fierce extremes of either zone,
Where polar skies congeal th' eternal snow,
Or equinoctial suns for ever glow.
Smote by the freezing or the scorching
blast,

"A ship-boy on the high and giddy mast,"

From regions where Peruvian billows roar,
To the bleak coasts of savage Labrador.
From where Damascus, pride of Asian
plains!

Stoops her proud neck beneath tyrannic
chains,

To where the Isthmus, lav'd by adverse tides,

Atlantic and Pacific seas divides.

But while he measur'd o'er the painful race,
In Fortune's wild illimitable chase,
Adversity, companion of his way!
Still o'er the victim hung with iron sway;
Bade new distresses every instant grow,
Marking each change of place with change
of woe.

The softer sense with inharmonious sound,
Yet here let listening sympathy prevail,
While conscious truth unfolds her piteous
tale !

RETROSPECT OF THE VOYAGE.

A ship from Egypt, o'er the deep impell'd

By guiding winds, her course for Venice held;

Of fam'd Britannia were the gallant crew, And from that isle her name the vessel drew.

The wayward steps of Fortune, that delude

Full oft to ruin, eager they pursu'd,

In regions where the Almighty's chasten- And, dazzled by her visionary glare,
ing hand

With livid pestilence afflicts the land;
Or where pale Famine blasts the hopeful
year,

Parent of want and misery severe !

Or where, all dreadful in the embattled line,
The hostile ships in flaming combat join;
Where the torn vessel wind and waves
assail,

Till o'er her crew distress and death pre

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Advanc'd, incautious of each fatal snare ;
Tho' warn'd full oft the slippery track to

shun,

Yet Hope, with flattering voice, betray'd them on.

Beguil'd to danger thus, they left behind The scene of peace, and social joy resign'd.

Long absent they from friends and native
home,

The cheerless ocean were inur'd to roam;
Yet heaven, in pity to severe distress,
Had crown'd each painful voyage with

success:

Still, to atone for toils and hazards past,
Restor'd them to maternal plains at last.

Thrice had the sun, to rule th' varying

year,

Across th' equator roll'd his flaming sphere,
Since last the vessel spread her ample sail
From Albion's coast, obsequious to the
gale.

She o'er the spacious flood, from shore to
shore,

Unwearying wafted her commercial store.
The richest ports of Afric she had view'd,
Thence to fair Italy her course pursu'd ;
Had left behind Trinacria's burning isle,

And visited the margin of the Nile.
And now that winter deepens round the
Pole,

The circling voyage hastens to its goal,
They, blind to Fate's inevitable law,
No dark event to blast their hope foresaw;
But from gay Venice soon expect to steer
For Britain's coast, and dread no perils

near.

While o'er the lawn, with dance and festive song,

Young Pleasure led the jocund hours along.
In gay luxuriance Ceres too was seen
To crown the valleys with eternal green.
For wealth, for valour, courted nd re-
vered,

What Albion is, fair Candia then appear'd.
Ah! who the flight of ages can revoke?

A thousand tender thoughts their souls The free-born spirit of her sons is broke;

employ,

That fondly dance to scenes of future joy.
Already British coasts appear to rise,
The chalky cliffs salute their longing eyes;
Each to his breast, where floods of rap-

ture roll,

Embracing, strains the mistress of his soul; Nor less o'erjoyed, with sympathetic truth, Each faithful maid expects th' approaching youth:

In distant souls congenial passions glow, And mutual feelings mutual bliss be

stow

Such shadowy happiness their thoughts employ,

Illusion all, and visionary joy!

They bow to Ottoman's imperious yoke! No longer fame their drooping heart inspires,

For stern oppression quench'd its genial fires,

But still her fields, with golden harvest crown'd,

Supply the barren shores of Greece around. What sharp distress afflicts those wretched isles !

There hope ne'er dawns, and pleasure never smiles;

The vassal wretch obsequious drags his chain,

And hears his famish'd babes lament in vain.

Thus time elaps'd, while o'er the pathless These eyes have seen the dull reluctant tide

soil

Their ship thro' Grecian seas the pilots A seventh year scorn the weary labourer's guide.

Occasion call'd to touch at Candia's shore, Which, blest with favouring winds, they

soon explore;

The haven enter, borne before the gale, Dispatch their commerce, and prepare to sail.

CANDIA, ITS PAST AND PRESENT STATE.

Eternal powers! what ruins from afar Mark the fell track of desolating war! Here art and commerce, with auspicious reign,

toil.

No blooming Venus, on the desert shore, Nor views, with triumph, captive gods

adore.

No lovely Helens now, with fatal charms, Call forth th' avenging chiefs of Greece to

arms;

No fair Penelopes enchant the eye, For whom contending kings are proud to die.

Here sullen beauty sheds a twilight ray, While sorrow bids her vernal bloom decay. Those charms, so long renown'd in classic strains,

Once breath'd sweet influence on the Had dimly shone on Albion's happier

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CHARACTER OF THE MASTER, ALBERT.

O'er the gay vessel, and her daring band, Experienc'd Albert held the chief command;

In sable squadrons o'er the northern main; That, with her pitchy entrails stor'd, resort, A sooty tribe! to fair Augusta's port. Where'er in ambush lurk the fatal sands,

Tho' train'd in boisterous elements, his They claim the danger; proud of skilful

mind

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bands!

For while with darkling course their vessels sweep

The winding shore, or plough the faithless deep,

O'er bar and shelf the. watery path they sound

With dexterous arm, sagacious of the ground!

Fearless they combat every hostile wind, Wheeling in mazy tracks with course in

clined.

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