Now, round the ingle cheerly met, We'll scog the blast and dread nae harm; We'll keep the genial current warm. The cares that cluster round the heart, Will gar them fear to come again. Nae pain the happy bosom feels, Sae free o' care as yours and mine. The above song is given from the two volumes of miscellaneous poetry published by Picken, previous to his death. Some particulars regarding him have been handed to us by a friend, which were, however, too late for insertion in the proper place. That friend has also given us the name of another versifier, by name James Caldwell, of whom we were ignorant. Caldwell, it seems, was the author of several loyal songs, published anonymously, which were sung on His Majesty's birth-day at the annual processions of the weavers of Paisley. These were mostly composed during the period that Wilkes' faction was at its height. He died at an advanced period of life in 1787. Ebenezer Picken was bred to the church, but desisted from prosecuting his theological studies for the purpose of enjoying more leisure to cultivate the muses. How much he may have sacrificed for their sakes is not perhaps exactly known; but certain it is that these coy nymphs adventured but little for his. He was of a social and joyous disposition, fond of company, and intimate with most of the minor constellations in the hemisphere of Scotish poetry. He was the friend of Alexander Wil son, and like him, delivered a poetic oration in the Pantheon at Edinburgh. Having embarked in some commercial speculations which failed-Picken, after enjoying comparative affluence and comfort for some time, was reduced to indigence and distress. He died in 1815 or 1816. We owe our thanks to the gentleman who furnished us with the substance of the above notices, and are only sorry that it is incompatible with our limits to insert the judicious reflections with which they were accompanied. Better use of them will be made hereafter. THE FIVE FRIENDS. A famous Scotish Sang. TUNE-We're a' noddin. Weel wha's in the bouroch, and what is your cheer? And we're a' noddin, nid nid noddin, We're a' noddin fou at e'en. There's our ain Jamie Clark frae the hall o' Argyle, There is Will the gude fallow, wha kills a' our care, There is blythe Jamie Barr frae St. Barchan's town, There is Rab frae the south, wi' his fiddle and his flute, And we're a' noddin, &c. Apollo, for our comfort, has furnish'd the bowl, And we're a' noddin, &c. Robert Tannahill, WHY UNITE TO BANISH CARE. Air-Let us taste the sparkling wine. Why unite to banish Care? 'Twas for this the Pow'rs divine Far be hence the sordid elf Patriot heroes, doom'd to sigh, Come, the hoary-headed sage, Robert Tannahill. The following are those Fragments mentioned in pages 40 and 41 of the Essay My father wad hae me to marry the miller, The miller is crooket, the miller is crabbet, O LADDIE, CAN YE LEAVE ME. O laddie, can ye leave me ! Alas, 'twill break this constant heart, Think on the tender vow you made COME HAME TO YOUR LINGALS. Come hame to your lingals, ye ne'er-do-weel loon, BRAVE LEWIE ROY WAS THE FLOW'R, &c. Brave Lewie Roy was the flow'r of our highlandmen, Tall as the oak on the lofty Benvoirluch, Fleet as the light-bounding tenants of Fillan-glen, Lone was his biding, the cave of his hiding, When forc'd to retire with our gallant Prince Charlie, Tho' manly and fearless, his bold heart was cheerless, Away from the lady he aye lov'd so dearly. I'LL LAY ME ON THE WINTRY LEE. I'll lay me on the wintry lee, And sleep amidst the wind and weet, And ere another's bride I be, O bring to me my winding sheet ! What can a hapless lassie do, When ilka friend wad prove her foe, FAITHLESS NANNIE. Full eighteen summers up life's brae, AND WAR YE AT DUNTOCHER BURN. And war ye at Duntocher burn, This hedger wark's a weary trade, It doesna suit ava, man, Wi' lanely house, and lanely bed, THOU CAULD GLOOMY FEBERWAR. Thou cauld gloomy Feberwar, O gin thou wert awa', I'm wae to hear thy sughing winds, I'm wae to see thy snaw, For my bonnie brave young Highlander, The lad I lo'e sae dear, Has vow'd to come and see me, In the spring o' the year. O HOW COULD YE GANG SAE TO GRIEVE ME. O how can ye gang, lassie, how can ye gang, O how can ye gang sae to grieve me? Wi' your beauty and your art, ye hae broken my heart, For I never, never dreamt ye wad leave me! |