"This thy freedom proudly boasted, Hapless Edgar," loud she criedWith her wounds and woes exhausted, Down on earth she sunk and died. THERE'S NAE LUCK ABOUT THE HOUSE.1 And are ye sure the news is true? And are ye sure he's weel? Is this a time to think o' wark? When Colin's at the door? For there's nae luck about the house, There's little pleasure in the house And gi'e to me my biggonet, For I maun tell the bailie's wife That Colin's come to town. My turkey slippers maun gae on, My hose o' pearl blue; 'Tis a' to please my ain gudeman, For he's baith leal and true. Rise up and mak' a clean fireside; Gi'e little Kate her button gown, There's twa fat hens upon the bauk, They've fed this month and mair; Mak' haste and thraw their necks about, That Colin weel may fare; And spread the table neat and clean, For wha can tell how Colin fared 1 Burns says that "this is one of the most beautiful songs in the Scots or any other language." The sixth stanza, beginning "The cauld blasts o' the winter wind," was written by Dr. James Beattie. Jean Adams, who affirmed it to be her composition, was a schoolmistress of Greenock, whose chequered life terminated, in 1765, in the town's hospital, Glasgow. -ED. Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech, His breath like caller air; His very foot has music in't As he comes up the stair. And will I see his face again? And will I hear him speak? The cauld blasts o' the winter wind, The present moment is our ain, The neist we never saw. Since Colin's weel, I'm weel content, I ha'e nae mair to crave; And will I hear him speak? I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought,In troth, I'm like to greet. THE SPIRIT OF THE CAPE. (FROM THE LUSIAD.) Now prosperous gales the bending canvas swelled; From these rude shores our fearless course we held: Beneath the glistening wave the god of day So deep a gloom the lowering vapour cast, The wonted signs of gathering tempest given. I spoke, when rising through the darkened air, Appalled we saw a hideous phantom glare; High and enormous o'er the flood he towered, And thwart our way with sullen aspect lowered; Unearthly paleness o'er his cheeks were spread, Erect uprose his hairs of withered red; Writhing to speak, his sable lips disclose, | Where never hero braved my rage before; To veil her secret shrine from mortal view, Sharp and disjoined his gnashing teeth's blue And bursting soon shall o'er your race descend. rows; His haggard beard flowed quivering on the wind, Regardless of the lengthening watery way, "With every bounding keel that dares my rage, Eternal war my rocks and storms shall wage; The next proud fleet that through my dear domain, With daring search, shall hoist the streaming vane, Each year thy sheeted masts shall strew my shore." He spoke, and deep a lengthened sigh he drew, A doleful sound, and vanished from the view; The frightened billows gave a rolling swell, And distant far prolonged the dismal yell; Faint and more faint the howling echoes die, And the black cloud, dispersing, leaves the sky. JAMES BEATTIE. BORN 1735-DIED 1803. JAMES BEATTIE, a distinguished poet, moralist, and miscellaneous writer, was born at Laurencekirk, Kincardineshire, October 25, 1735. His father was a shopkeeper in the village, and also rented a small farm on which his ancestors had lived for many generations. James received at the school of his native village an education to fit him for the university, and even at this early period gave such indications of the future "Minstrel" that he was known among his school-fellows as "the poet." Not only was his taste for poetry thus early evinced, but even the purity of that taste: his master preferred Ovid as a school book for youth, young Beattie was enthusiastic for Virgil. In 1749 he went to Marischal College, Aberdeen, where his superior scholarship entitled him to receive a bursary or exhibition. Beattie made great progress in his studies, and acquired that accurate and classical knowledge for which he was afterwards so famous. Being originally destined for the church, he attended the divinity class for three sessions, but afterwards abandoned that intention, and soon after taking his degree of M. A. in 1753, was appointed schoolmaster of the parish of Fordoun, a lovely sequestered spot, surrounded by interesting and romantic scenery. It is related of him that he used to wander in the fields at night and watch the appearance of the coming dawn, feeding his young dreams of poesy "in lone sequestered spots." The scenes which he afterwards delineated in his "Minstrel" were, as Southey has justly remarked, those in which he had grown up, and the feelings and aspirations therein expressed writing in 1760. It was received with universal approbation. In a criticism which Gray the poet communicated to the author, he says of the following passage, "This is true poetry, this is inspiration: were those of his own boyhood and youth. His | Spenserian stanza, which he had commenced productions of this period appeared in the Scots Magazine, gaining for him considerable local reputation, and the friendship of some of the nobility and gentry of the neighbourhood, with whom he ever after maintained a friendly intercourse. A vacancy occurring in the gram-O, how canst thou renounce the boundless store mar school of Aberdeen in 1757, Beattie presented himself as a candidate for the situation, but did not succeed. He acquitted himself so well, however, that on a second vacancy in the following year he was elected one of the masters of the school. Of charms which Nature to her votary yields! Beattie visited London, and was received in In 1760 Beattie published at London a volume of poems and translations, which, though it met with a favourable reception, he endeavoured at a subsequent period to suppress; and the same year he was appointed professor of moral philosophy and logic in Marischal College. In 1762 he wrote his "Essay on Poetry;" in 1765 he published an unsuccessful poem on "The Judgment of Paris;" and the year following issued a new edition of his poetical works. In June, 1767, he married Mary, daughter of Dr. James Dun, rector of the grammar school of Aberdeen, but the union was not a happy one, a hereditary disposition to madness on the part of Mrs. Beattie making its appearance soon after their marriage, and sub-poet? sequently rendering it necessary to confine her in an asylum. On this subject his biographer says, "When I reflect on the many sleepless nights and anxious days which he experienced from Mrs. Beattie's malady, and think of the unwearied and unremitting attention he paid to her during so great a number of years in that sad situation, his character is exalted in my mind to a degree which may be equalled, but I am sure can never be excelled, and makes the fame of the poet and philosopher fade from my remembrance." In 1770 the poet appeared as a metaphysician, by his "Essay on the Nature and Immutability of Truth, in Opposition to Sophistry and Scepticism," written with a view to confute the pernicious doctrines advanced by David Hume and others, which at that time were very prevalent. This work was so successful that in four years five large editions were sold, and it was translated into several foreign languages. The same year he published anonymously the first book of "The Minstrel, or the Progress of Genius," a poem in the Dr. Beattie had two sons-the eldest, an amiable and promising young man, died in 1790, aged only twenty-two, and in 1796 the youngest died in his nineteenth year. Looking at the corpse of the latter, he said, "I am now done with this world;" and although he performed the duties of his professorship till a short time previous to his death, he never again sought society; even music, of which he had been passionately fond, lost its charms for him. | Aberdeen. His Life and Writings, with many Yet he would sometimes express resignation to his childless condition. "How could I have borne," he would feelingly say, "to have seen their elegant minds mangled with madness." He died April 18, 1803, and was buried, in accordance with his own desire, by the side of his sons, in the churchyard of St. Nicholas at of his letters, was published in 1806 by Sir William Forbes. Of this pleasing and popular poet M. Taine remarks that he was "a metaphysical moralist, with a young girl's nerves and an old maid's hobbies;" and Bishop Warburton pronounces him to be "superior to the whole crew of Scotch metaphysicians." Ah! who can tell how hard it is to climb Ah! who can tell how many a soul sublime In life's low vale remote has pined alone, And yet, the languor of inglorious days of fame; Supremely blest, if to their portion fall Health, competence, and peace. Nor higher aim Had he, whose simple tale these artless lines proclaim. The rolls of fame I will not now explore; Nor need I here describe in learned lay How forth the Minstrel fared in days of yore, Right glad of heart, though homely in array; His waving locks and beard all hoary gray: While from his bending shoulder decent hung His harp, the sole companion of his way, Which to the whistling wind responsive rung: And ever as he went some merry lay he sung. Fret not thyself, thou glittering child of pride, That a poor villager inspires my strain; 1 Of "The Minstrel," which Beattie admitted was a picture of himself as he was in his younger days, Lord Lyttelton said: "I read "The Minstrel' with as much rapture as poetry, in her sweetest, noblest charms ever raised in my mind. It seemed to me that my once With thee let pageantry and power abide, swain Enraptured roams, to gaze on Nature's charms. They hate the sensual and scorn the vain, The parasite their influence never warms, Nor him whose sordid soul the love of gold alarms. Though richest hues the peacock's plumes adorn, Yet horror screams from his discordant throat. Rise, sons of harmony, and hail the morn, While warbling larks on russet pinions float; Or seek at noon the woodland scene remote, Where the gray linnets carol from the hill. O let them ne'er, with artificial note, To please a tyrant strain the little bill, But sing what Heaven inspires, and wander where they will! Liberal, not lavish, is kind Nature's hand; Nor was perfection made for man below. Yet all her schemes with nicest art are plann'd, Good counteracting ill, and gladness woe. With gold and gems if Chilian mountains glow; If bleak and barren Scotia's hills arise; There plague and poison, lust and rapine grow; Here peaceful are the vales and pure the skies, And freedom fires the soul, and sparkles in the eyes. Then grieve not, thou to whom th' indulgent Vouchsafes a portion of celestial fire; most beloved minstrel, Thomson, was come down from heaven, refined by the converse of purer spirits than those he lived with here, to let me hear him sing again the beauties of nature and finest feelings of virtue, not with human but with angelic strains!"-ED. No, let thy heaven-taught soul to heaven aspire, To fancy, freedom, harmony resign'd; Ambition's grovelling crew for ever left behind. Canst thou forego the pure ethereal soul In each fine sense so exquisitely keen, On the dull couch of luxury to loll, Stung with disease and stupified with spleen; Fain to implore the aid of flattery's screen, Even from thyself thy loathsome heart to hide, (The mansion then no more of joy serene), Where fear, distrust, malevolence abide, And impotent desire and disappointed pride? O how canst thou renounce the boundless store And all the dread magnificence of heaven, O how canst thou renounce, and hope to be forgiven! These charms shall work thy soul's eternal health, And love, and gentleness, and joy impart. The stern resolve unmov'd by pity's smart, The troublous day, and long distressful dream. Return, my roving muse, resume thy purposed theme. There lived in Gothic days, as legends tell, Sicilian groves, or vales of Arcady; But he, I ween, was of the north countrie;1 The shepherd-swain of whom I mention made, 1 There is hardly an ancient ballad or romance wherein a minstrel or a harper appears, but he is characterized by way of eminence to have been “of the north countrie.” It is probable that under this appellation were formerly comprehended all the provinces to the north of the Trent-See Percy's Essay on the English Minstrels. His drink the living water from the rock; Did guide and guard their wanderings, whereso'er they went. From labour health, from health contentment springs: Contentment opes the source of every joy. He envied not, he never thought of, kings; Nor from those appetites sustain'd annoy, That chance may frustrate, or indulgence cloy: Nor fate his calm and humble hopes beguiled; He mourn'd no recreant friend, nor mistress coy, For on his vows the blameless Phoebe smiled, And her alone he loved, and loved her from a child. No jealousy their dawn of love o'ercast, Nor blasted were their wedded days with strife; Each season look'd delightful, as it past, To the fond husband, and the faithful wife. Beyond the lowly vale of shepherd life They never roam'd; secure beneath the storm Which in ambition's lofty land is rife, Where peace and love are canker'd by the worm Of pride, each bud of joy industrious to deform. The wight, whose tale these artless lines unfold, And one long summer day of indolence and mirth. And yet poor Edwin was no vulgar boy; the lad: Some deem'd him wondrous wise, and some believed him mad. But why should I his childish feats display? |