The Modern Scottish Minstrel, Volume IV.
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THE
MODERN SCOTTISH MINSTREL;
BY
CHARLES ROGERS, LL.D.
F.S.A. SCOT.
VOL. IV.
CAMPBELL
EDINBURGH:
ADAM & CHARLES BLACK, NORTH BRIDGE,
BOOKSELLERS AND PUBLISHERS TO THE QUEEN.]
* * * * *
[Illustration:
Henry Scott Riddell.
Lithographed for the Modern Scottish Minstrel, by Schenck & McFarlane.]
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THE
MODERN SCOTTISH MINSTREL;
OR,
THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND OF THE
PAST HALF CENTURY.
WITH
Memoirs of the Poets,
AND
SKETCHES AND SPECIMENS
IN ENGLISH VERSE OF THE MOST CELEBRATED
MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
BY
CHARLES ROGERS, LL.D.,
F.S.A. SCOT.
IN SIX VOLUMES.
VOL IV.
EDINBURGH:
ADAM & CHARLES BLACK, NORTH BRIDGE,
BOOKSELLERS AND PUBLISHERS TO HER MAJESTY.
MDCCCLVII.
EDINBURGH:
PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND COMPANY,
PAUL'S WORK.
TO
FRANCIS BENNOCH, ESQ., F.S.A.,
ONE OF THE MOST ACCOMPLISHED OF LIVING SCOTTISH SONG-WRITERS,
AND THE MUNIFICENT PATRON OF MEN OF LETTERS,
THIS FOURTH VOLUME
OF
The Modern Scottish Minstrel
IS DEDICATED,
WITH SINCERE REGARD AND ESTEEM,
BY
HIS VERY FAITHFUL SERVANT,
CHARLES ROGERS.
THE INFLUENCE OF BURNS
ON
SCOTTISH POETRY AND SONG:
An Essay.
BY THE REV. GEORGE GILFILLAN.
It is exceedingly difficult to settle the exact place of, as well as to
compute the varied influences wielded by, a great original genius. Every
such mind borrows so much from his age and from the past, as well as
communicates so much from his own native stores, that it is difficult to
determine whether he be more the creature or the creator of his period.
But, ere determining the influence exerted by Burns on Scottish song and
poetry, it is necessary first to inquire what he owed to his
predecessors in the art, as well as to the general Scottish atmosphere
of thought, feeling, scenery and manners.
First of all, Burns felt, in common with his _forbears_ in the genealogy
of Scottish song, the inspiring influences breathing from our
mountain-land, and from the peculiar habits and customs of a "people
dwelling alone, and not reckoned among the nations." He was not born in
a district peculiarly distinguished for romantic beauty--we mean, in
comparison with some other regions of Scotland. The whole course of the
Ayr, as Currie remarks, is beautiful; and beautiful exceedingly the Brig
of Doon, especially as it now shines through the magic of the Master's
poetry. But it yields to many other parts of Scotland, some of which
Burns indeed afterwards saw, although his matured genius was not much
profited by the sight. Ayrshire--even with the peaks of Arran bounding
the view seaward--cannot vie with the scenery around Edinburgh; with
Stirling--its links and blue mountains; with "Gowrie's Carse, beloved of
Ceres, and Clydesdale to Pomona dear;" with Straths Tay and Earn, with
their two fine rivers flowing from finer lakes, through corn-fields,
woods, and rocks, to melt into each other's arms in music, near the fair
city of Perth; with the wilder and stormier courses of the Spey, the
Findhorn, and the Dee; with the romantic and song-consecrated precincts
of the Border; with the "bonnie hills o' Gallowa" and Dumfriesshire; or
with that transcendent mountain region stretching up along Lochs Linnhe,
Etive, and Leven--between the wild, torn ridges of Morven and
Appin--uniting Ben Cruachan to Ben Nevis, and including in its sweep the
lonely and magnificent Glencoe--a region unparalleled in wide Britain
for its quantity and variety of desolate grandeur, where every shape is
bold, every shape blasted, but all blasted at such different angles as
to produce endless diversity, and yet where the whole seems twisted into
a certain terrible harmony; not to speak of the glorious isles
"Placed far amid the melancholy main,"
Iona, which, being interpreted, means the "Island of the Waves," the
rocky cradle of Scotland's Christianity; Staffa with grass growing above
the unspeakable grandeur which lurks in the cathedral-cave below, and
cows peacefully feeding over the tumultuous surge which forms the organ
of the eternal service; and Skye, with its Loch Coriskin, piercing like
a bright arrow the black breast of the shaggy hills of Cuchullin. Burns
had around him only the features of ordinary Scottish scenery, but from
these he drank in no common draught of inspiration; and how admirably
has he reproduced such simple objects as the "burn stealing under the
lang yellow broom," and the "milk-white thorn that scents the evening
gale," the "burnie wimplin' in its glen," and the
"Rough bur-thistle spreadin' wide
Amang the bearded bear."
These objects constituted the poetry of his own fields; they were linked
with his own joys, loves, memories, and sorrows, and these he felt
impelled to enshrine in song. It may, indeed, be doubted if his cast of
mind would have led him to sympathise with bold and savage scenery. In
proof of this, we remember that, although he often had seen the gigantic
ridges of Arran looming through the purple evening air, or with the
"morning suddenly spread" upon their summer summits, or with premature
snow tinging their autumnal tops, he never once alludes to them, so far
as we remember, either in his poetry or prose; and that although he
spent a part of his youth on the wild smuggling coast of Carrick, he has
borrowed little of his imagery from the sea--none, we think, except the
two lines in the "Vision"--
"I saw thee seek the sounding shore,
Delighted with the dashing roar."
His descriptions are almost all of inland scenery. Yet, that there was a
strong sense of the sublime in his mind is manifest from the lines
succeeding the above--
"And when the North his fleecy store
Drove through the sky,
I saw grim Nature's visage hoar
Struck thy young eye;"
as well as from the delight he expresses in walking beside a planting in
a windy day, and listening to the blast howling through the trees and
raving over the plain. Perhaps his mind was most alive to the sublimity
of _motion_, of agitation, of tumultuous energy, as exhibited in a
snow-storm, or in the "torrent rapture" of winds and waters, because
they seemed to sympathise with his own tempestuous passions, even as the
fierce Zanga, in the "Revenge," during a storm, exclaims---
"I like this rocking of the battlements.
Rage on, ye winds; burst clouds, and waters roar!
You bear a just resemblance of my fortune,
And suit the gloomy habit of my soul."
Probably Burns felt little admiration of the calm, colossal grandeur of
mountain-scenery, where there are indeed vestiges of convulsion and
agony, but where age has softened the storm into stillness, and where
the memory of former strife and upheaving only serves to deepen the
feeling of repose--vestiges which, like the wrinkles on the stern brow
of the Corsair,
"Speak of passion, but of passion past."
With these records of bygone "majestic pains," on the other hand, the
genius of Milton and Wordsworth seemed made to sympathise; and the
former is never greater than standing on Niphates Mount with Satan, or
upon the "hill of Paradise the highest" with Michael, or upon the
"Specular Mount" with the Tempter and the Saviour; and the latter is
always most himself beside Skiddaw or Helvellyn. Byron professes vast
admiration for Lochnagar and the Alps; but the former is seen through
the enchanting medium of distance and childish memory; and among the
latter, his rhapsodies on Mont Blanc, and the cold "thrones of eternity"
around him, are nothing to his pictures of torrents, cataracts,
thunderstorms; in short, of all objects where unrest--the leading
feeling in _his_ bosom--constitutes the principal element in _their_
grandeur. It is curious, by the way, how few good descriptions there
exist in poetry of views _from_ mountains. Milton has, indeed, some
incomparable ones, but all imaginary--such, at least, as no actual
mountain on earth can command; but, in other poets, we at this moment
remember no good one. They seem always looking up _to_, not down from,
mountains. Wordsworth has given us, for example, no description of the
view from Skiddaw; and there does not exist, in any Scottish poetical
author, a first-rate picture of the view either from Ben Lomond,
Schehallion, Ben Cruachan, or Ben Nevis.
After all, Burns was more influenced by some other characteristics of
Scotland than he was by its scenery. There was, first, its romantic
history. _That_ had not then been separated, as it has since been, from
the mists of fable, but lay exactly in that twilight point of view best
adapted for arousing the imagination. To the eye of Burns, as it glared
back into the past, the history of his country seemed intensely
poetical--including the line of early kings who pass over the stage of
Boece' and Buchanan's story as their brethren over the magic glass of
Macbeth's witches--equally fantastic and equally false--the dark
tragedy of that terrible thane of Glammis and Cawdor--the deeds of
Wallace and Bruce--the battle of Flodden--and the sad fate of Queen
Mary; and from most of these themes he drew an inspiration which could
scarcely have been conceived to reside even in them. On Wallace, Bruce,
and Queen Mary, his mind seems to have brooded with peculiar
intensity--on the two former, because they were patriots; and on the
latter, because she was a beautiful woman; and his allusions to them
rank with the finest parts in his or any poetry. He seemed especially
adapted to be the poet-laureate of Wallace--a modern edition, somewhat
improved, of the broad, brawny, ragged bard who actually, it is
probable, attended in the train of Scotland's patriot hero, and whose
constant occupation it was to change the gold of his achievements into
the silver of song. Scottish manners, too, as well as history, exerted a
powerful influence on Scotland's peasant-poet. They were then far more
peculiar than now, and had only been faintly or partially represented by
previous poets. Thus, the christening of the _wean_, with all its
ceremony and all its mirth--Hallowe'en, with its "rude awe and
laughter"--the "Rockin'"--the "Brooze"--the Bridal--and a hundred other
intensely Scottish and very old customs, were all ripe and ready for the
poet, and many of them he has treated, accordingly, with consummate
felicity and genius. It seems almost as if the _final cause_ of their
long-continued existence were connected with the appearance, in due
time, of one who was to extract their finest essence, and to embalm them
for ever in his own form of ideal representation.
Burns, too, doubtless derived much from previous poets. This is a common
case, as we have before hinted, with even the most original. Had not
Shakspeare and Milton been "celestial thieves," their writings would
have been far less rich and brilliant than they are; although, had they
not possessed true originality, they would not have taken their present
lofty position in the world of letters. So, to say that Burns was much
indebted to his predecessors, and that he often imitated Ramsay and
Fergusson, and borrowed liberally from the old ballads, is by no means
to derogate from his genius. If he took, he gave with interest. The most
commonplace songs, after they had, as he said, "got a brushing" from his
hands, assumed a totally different aspect. Each ballad was merely a
piece of canvas, on which he inscribed his inimitable paintings.
Sometimes even by a single word he proclaimed the presence of the
master-poet, and by a single stroke exalted a daub into a picture. His
imitations of Ramsay and Fergusson far surpass the originals, and remind
you of Landseer's dogs, which seem better than the models from which he
drew. When a king accepts a fashion from a subject, he glorifies it, and
renders it the rage. It was in this royal style that Burns treated the
inferior writers who had gone before him; and although he highly admired
and warmly praised them, he must have felt a secret sense of his own
vast superiority.
We come now shortly to speak of the influence he has exerted on Scottish
poetry. This was manifold. In the first place, a number were encouraged
by his success to collect and publish their poems, although few of them
possessed much merit; and he complained that some were a wretched
"spawn" of mediocrity, which the sunshine of his fame had warmed and
brought forth prematurely. Lapraik, for instance, was induced by the
praise of Burns to print an edition of his poems, which turned out a
total failure. There was only one good piece in it all, and _that_ was
pilfered from an old magazine. Secondly, Burns exerted an inspiring
influence on some men of real genius, who, we verily believe, would, but
for Burns, have never written, or, at least, written so well--such as
Alexander Wilson, Tannahill, Macneil, Hogg, and the numerous members of
the "Whistle-Binkie" school. In all these writers we trace the influence
of the large "lingering star" of the genius of Burns. "Wattie and Meg,"
by Wilson, when it first appeared anonymously, was attributed to Burns.
Tannahill is, in much of his poetry, an echo of Burns, although in
song-writing he is a real original. Macneil was roused by Burns' praises
of whisky to give a _per contra_, in his "Scotland's Scaith; or, the
History of Will and Jean." And although the most of Hogg's poetry is
entirely original, we find the influence of Burns distinctly marked in
some of his songs--such as the "Kye come Hame."
But there is a wider and more important light in which to regard the
influence of our great national Bard. He first fully revealed the
interest and the beauty which lie in the simpler forms of Scottish
scenery, he darted light upon the peculiarities of Scottish manners, and
he opened the warm heart of his native land. Scotland, previous to
Burns' poetry, was a spring shut up and a fountain sealed.
"She lay like some unkenned-of isle
Ayont New Holland."
The glories of her lakes, her glens, her streams, her mountains, the
hardy courage, the burning patriotism, the trusty attachments, the
loves, the games, the superstitions, and the devotion of her
inhabitants, were all unknown and unsuspected as themes for song till
Burns took them up, and less added glory than shewed the glory that was
in them, and shewed also that they opened up a field nearly
inexhaustible. Writers of a very high order were thus attracted to
Scotland, not merely as their native country, but as a theme for poetry;
and, while disdaining to imitate Burns' poetry slavishly, and some of
them not writing in verse at all, they found in Scottish subjects ample
scope for the exercise of their genius; and in some measure to his
influence we may attribute the fictions of Mrs Hamilton and Miss
Ferrier, Scott's poems and novels, Galt's, Lockhart's, Wilson's,
Delta's, and Aird's tales and poetry, and much of the poetry of
Campbell, who, although he never writes in Scotch, has embalmed, in his
"Lochiel's Warning," "Glenara," "Lord Ullin's Daughter," some
interesting subjects connected with Scotland, and has, in "Gertrude of
Wyoming," and in the "Pilgrim of Glencoe," made striking allusions to
Scottish scenery. That the progress of civilisation, apart from Burns,
would have ultimately directed the attention of cultivated men to a
country so peculiar and poetical as Scotland cannot be doubted; but the
rise of Burns hastened the result, as being itself a main element in
propelling civilisation and diffusing genuine taste. His dazzling
success, too, excited emulation in the breasts of our men of genius, as
well as tended to exalt in their eyes a country which had produced such
a stalwart and gifted son. We may, indeed, apply to the feeling of pride
which animates Scotchmen, and particularly Scotchmen in other lands, at
the thought of Burns being their countryman, the famous lines of
Dryden--
"Men met each other with erected look,
The steps were higher that they took;
Each to congratulate his friends made haste,
And long inveterate foes saluted as they pass'd."
The poor man, says Wilson, as he speaks of Burns, always holds up his
head and regards you with an elated look. Scotland has become more
venerable, more beautiful, more glorious in the eyes of her children,
and a fitter theme for poetry, since the feet of Burns rested on her
fields, and since his ardent eyes glowed with enthusiasm as he saw her
scenery, and as he sung her praise; while to many in foreign parts she
is chiefly interesting as being (what a portion of her has long been
called) the Land of Burns.
The real successors of Burns, it is thus manifest, were not Tannahill or
Macneil, but Sir Walter Scott, Campbell, Aird, Delta, Galt, Allan
Cunningham, and Professor Wilson. To all of these, Burns, along with
Nature, united in teaching the lessons of simplicity, of brawny
strength, of clear common sense, and of the propriety of staying at home
instead of gadding abroad in search of inspiration. All of these have
been, like Burns, more or less intensely Scottish in their subjects and
in their spirit.
That Burns' errors as a man have exerted a pernicious influence on many
since, is, we fear, undeniable. He had been taught, by the lives of the
"wits," to consider aberration, eccentricity, and "devil-may-careism" as
prime badges of genius, and he proceeded accordingly to astonish the
natives, many of whom, in their turn, set themselves to copy his faults.
But when we subtract some half-dozen pieces, either coarse in language
or equivocal in purpose, the influence of his poetry may be considered
good. (We of course say nothing here of the volume called the "Merry
Muses," still extant to disgrace his memory.) It is doubtful if his
"Willie brew'd a peck o' Maut" ever made a drunkard, but it is certain
that his "Cottar's Saturday Night" has converted sinners, edified the
godly, and made some erect family altars. It has been worth a thousand
homilies. And, taking his songs as a whole, they have done much to stir
the flames of pure love, of patriotism, of genuine sentiment, and of a
taste for the beauties of nature. And it is remarkable that all his
followers and imitators have, almost without exception, avoided his
faults while emulating his beauties; and there is not a sentence in
Scott, or Campbell, or Aird, or Delta, and not many in Wilson or Galt,
that can be charged with indelicacy, or even coarseness. So that, on the
whole, we may assert that, whatever evil he did by the example of his
life, he has done very little--but, on the contrary, much good, both
artistically and morally, by the influence of his poetry.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
HENRY SCOTT RIDDELL, 1
The wild glen sae green, 49
Scotia's thistle, 50
The land of gallant hearts, 51
The yellow locks o' Charlie, 52
We 'll meet yet again, 53
Our ain native land, 54
The Grecian war-song, 56
Flora's lament, 57
When the glen all is still, 58
Scotland yet, 58
The minstrel's grave, 60
My own land and loved one, 61
The bower of the wild, 62
The crook and plaid, 63
The minstrel's bower, 65
When the star of the morning, 66
Though all fair was that bosom, 67
Would that I were where wild-woods wave, 68
O tell me what sound, 69
Our Mary, 70
MRS MARGARET M. INGLIS, 73
Sweet bard of Ettrick's Glen, 75
Young Jamie, 76
Charlie's bonnet's down, laddie, 77
Heard ye the bagpipe? 78
Bruce's address, 79
Removed from vain fashion, 80
When shall we meet again? 81
JAMES KING, 83
The lake is at rest, 85
Life 's like the dew, 86
ISOBEL PAGAN, 88
Ca' the yowes to the knowes, 89
JOHN MITCHELL, 90
Beauty, 91
To the evening star, 92
O waft me to the fairy clime, 92
The love-sick maid, 93
ALEXANDER JAMIESON, 95
The maid who wove, 96
A sigh and a smile, 97
JOHN GOLDIE, 98
And can thy bosom, 100
Sweet 's the dew, 101
ROBERT POLLOK, 103
The African maid, 105
J. C. DENOVAN, 106
Oh! Dermot, dear loved one, 107
JOHN IMLAH, 108
Kathleen, 109
Hielan' heather, 110
Farewell to Scotland, 111
The rose of Seaton Vale, 112
Katherine and Donald, 113
Guid nicht, and joy be wi' you a', 114
The gathering, 115
Mary, 116
Oh! gin I were where Gadie rins, 117
JOHN TWEEDIE, 120
Saw ye my Annie? 121
THOMAS ATKINSON, 122
Mary Shearer, 124
WILLIAM GARDINER, 126
Oh! Scotland's hills for me, 127
ROBERT HOGG, 129
Queen of fairy's song, 131
When autumn comes, 132
Bonnie Peggie, O! 133
A wish burst, 133
I love the merry moonlight, 135
Oh, what are the chains of love made of? 136
JOHN WRIGHT, 137
An autumnal cloud, 139
The maiden fair, 140
The old blighted thorn, 141
The wrecked mariner, 141
JOSEPH GRANT, 143
The blackbird's hymn is sweet, 145
Love's adieu, 146
DUGALD MOORE, 147
Rise, my love, 149
Julia, 150
Lucy's grave, 152
The forgotten brave, 153
The first ship, 154
Weep not, 155
To the Clyde, 156