now proceeded from his pen-Mador of the Moor, a poem in the Spenserian stanza; The Pilgrims of the Sun, in blank verse; The Hunting of Budlewe, The Poetic Mirror, Queen Hynde, Dramatic Tales, &c. Also several novels, as Winter Evening Tales, The Brownie of Bodsbeck, The Three Perils of Man, The Three Perils of Woman, The Confessions of a Sinner, &c. &c. Hogg's prose is very unequal. He had no skill in arranging incidents or delineating character. He is often coarse and extravagant; yet some of his stories have much of the literal truth and happy minute painting of Defoe. The worldly schemes of the shepherd were seldom successful. Though he had failed as a sheep farmer, he ventured again, and took a large farm, Mount Benger, from the Duke of Buccleuch. Here he also was unsuccessful; and his sole support, for the latter years of his life, was the remuneration afforded by his literary labours. He lived in a cottage which he had built at Altrive, on a piece of moorland (seventy acres) presented to him by the Duchess of Buccleuch. His love of angling and field-sports amounted to a passion, and when he could no longer fish or hunt, he declared his belief that his death was near. In the autumn of 1835 he was attacked with a dropsical complaint; and on the 21st November of that year, after some days of insensibility, he breathed his last as calmly, and with as little pain, as he ever fell asleep in his gray plaid on the hill-side. His death was deeply mourned in the vale of Ettrick, for all rejoiced in his fame; and notwithstanding his personal foibles, the shepherd was generous, kind-hearted, and charitable far beyond his means. In the activity and versatility of his powers, Hogg resembled Allan Ramsay more than he did Burns. Neither of them had the strength of passion or the grasp of intellect peculiar to Burns; but, on the other hand, their style was more discursive, playful, and fanciful. Burns seldom projects himself, as it were, out of his own feelings and situation, whereas both Ramsay and Hogg are happiest when they soar into the world of fancy or the scenes of antiquity. The Ettrick Shepherd abandoned himself entirely to the genius of old romance and legendary story. He loved, like Spenser, to luxuriate in fairy visions, and to picture scenes of supernatural splendour and beauty, where 6 The emerald fields are of dazzling glow, His 'Kilmeny' is one of the finest fairy tales that ever was conceived by poet or painter; and passages in the Pilgrims of the Sun' have the same abstract remote beauty and lofty imagination. Burns would have scrupled to commit himself to these aerial phantoms. His visions were more material, and linked to the joys and sorrows of actual existence. Akin to this peculiar feature in Hogg's poetry is the spirit of most of his songs-a wild lyrical flow of fancy, that is sometimes inexpressibly sweet and musical. He wanted art to construct a fable, and taste to give due effect to his imagery and conceptions; but there are few poets who impress us so much with the idea of direct inspiration, and that poetry is indeed an art unteachable and untaught.' Bonny Kilmeny. [From the Queen's Wake."] Benny Kilmeny gaed up the glen; But it wasna to meet Duncira's men, Nor the rosy monk of the isle to see, For Kilmeny was pure as pure could be. It was only to hear the yorlin sing, And pu' the cress-flower round the spring; rung, The scarlet hypp and the hindberrye, In yon greenwood there is a waik, And in that wene there is a maike * * They lifted Kilmeny, they led her away, And she walked in the light of a sunless day; The sky was a dome of crystal bright, The fountain of vision, and fountain of light; The emerald fields were of dazzling glow, And the flowers of everlasting blow. Then deep in the stream her body they laid, That her youth and beauty never might fade; And they smiled on heaven when they saw her lie In the stream of life that wandered by; And she heard a song, she heard it sung, She kend not where, but sae sweetly it rung, It fell on her ear like a dream of the morn. 'O! blest be the day Kilmeny was born! The sun that shines on the world sae bright, A borrowed gleid frae the fountain of light; 74 Then Kilmeny begged again to see The friends she had left in her own countrye, And her cheek the moss-rose in the shower; To suck the flowers and drink the spring, Oh, then the glen was all in motion; And the tod, and the lamb, and the leveret ran ; When a month and a day had come and gane, To the Comet of 1811. How lovely is this wildered scene, Stranger of heaven! I bid thee hail! Bright herald of the eternal throne! Thy streaming locks so lovely pale— To sail the boundless skies with thee, Where other moons and planets roll! And airy as thine ambient beam! And long, long may thy silver ray Our northern arch at eve adorn; Then, wheeling to the east away, Light the gray portals of the morn! When the Kye comes Hame. Come all ye jolly shepherds I'll tell ye of a secret That courtiers dinna ken; What is the greatest bliss That the tongue o' man can name! "Tis to woo a bonnie lassie 'Tis not beneath the coronet, Nor arbour of the great- * It was reckoned by many that this was the same comet which appeared at the birth of our Saviour.-Hogg. 1 Then he pours his melting ditty, Then the lavrock frae the blue lift, When the kye comes hame. For his heart is in a flame When the kye comes hame. When the little wee bit heart Rises red in the east, O there's a joy sae dear, That the heart can hardly frame, Then since all nature joins In this love without alloy, O, wha wad prove a traitor To nature's dearest joy? Or wha wad choose a crown, Wi' its perils and its fame, And miss his bonnie lassie When the kye comes hame. When the kye comes hame, When the kye comes hame, 'Tween the gloamin and the mirk, When the kye comes hame. The Skylark. Bird of the wilderness, Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea! Emblem of happiness, Blest is thy dwelling-place O to abide in the desert with thee! Wild is thy lay and loud, Love gives it energy, love gave it birth, O'er fell and fountain sheen, Over the cloudlet dim, Over the rainbow's rim, Musical cherub, soar, singing, away! Then, when the gloaming comes, Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be! Blest is thy dwelling-placeO to abide in the desert with thee! ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. ALLAN CUNNINGHAM, a happy imitator of the old Scottish ballads, and a man of various talents, was born at Blackwood, near Dalswinton, Dumfriesshire, December 7, 1784. His father was gardener to a Allan Cumminghum. and the genius of Burns. His uncle having attained some eminence as a country builder, or mason, Allan was apprenticed to him, with a view to joining or following him in his trade; but this scheme did not hold, and in 1810 he removed to London, and connected himself with the newspaper press. In 1814 he was engaged as clerk of the works, or superintendent, to the late Sir Francis Chantrey, the eminent sculptor, in whose establishment he Mr continued till his death, October 29, 1842. Cunningham was an indefatigable writer. He early contributed poetical effusions to the periodical works of the day, and nearly all the songs and fragments of verse in Cromek's Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song (1810) are of his composition, though published by Cromek as undoubted originals. Some of these are warlike and Jacobite, some amatory and devotional (the wild lyrical breathings of Covenanting love and piety among the hills), and all of them abounding in traits of Scottish rural life and primitive manners. As songs, they are not pitched in a key to be popular; but for natural grace and tenderness, and rich Doric simplicity and fervour, these pseudo-antique strains of Mr Cunningham are inimitable. In 1822 he published Sir Marmaduke Maxwell, a dramatic poem, founded on Border story and superstition, and afterwards two volumes of Traditional Tales. Three novels of a similar description, but more diffuse and improbable-namely, Paul Jones, Sir Michael Scott, and Lord Roldan, also proceeded from his fertile pen. In 1832 he appeared again as a poet, with a 'rustic epic,' in twelve parts, entitled The Maid of Elvar. He edited a collection of Scottish songs, in four volumes, and an edition of Burns in eight volumes, to which he prefixed a life of the poet, enriched with new anecdotes and information. To Murray's Family Library he contributed a series of Lives of Eminent British Painters, Sculptors, and Architects, which extended to six volumes, and proved the most popular of all his prose works. His last work (completed just two days before his death) was a Life of Sir David Wilkie, the distinguished artist, in three volumes. All these literary labours were produced in intervals from his stated avocations in Chantrey's studio, which most men would have considered ample employment. His taste and attainments in the fine arts were as remarkable a feature in his history as his early ballad strains; and the prose style of Mr Cunningham, when engaged on a congenial subject, was justly admired for its force and freedom. There was always a freshness and energy about the man and his writings that arrested the attention and excited the imagination, though his genius was but little under the control of a correct or critical judgment. Strong nationality and inextinguishable ardour formed conspicuous traits in his character; and altogether, the life of Mr Cunningham was a fine example of successful original talent and perseverance, undebased by any of the alloys by which the former is too often accompanied. The Young Maxwell. 'Where gang ye, thou silly auld carle? And what do ye carry there?' 'I'm gaun to the hill-side, thou sodger gentleman, To shift my sheep their lair.' Ae stride or twa took the silly auld carle, An' a gude lang stride took he: I trow thou to be a feck auld carle, Will ye shaw the way to me?' And he has gane wi' the silly auld carle, 'Light down and gang, thou sodger gentleman, He drew the reins o' his bonnie gray steed, Of the comeliest scarlet was his weir coat, He has thrown aff his plaid, the silly auld carle, An' wha was it but the young Maxwell! 'Thou killed my father, thou vile South'ron! Draw out yere sword, thou vile South'ron! There's ae sad stroke for my dear auld father! Hame, Hame, Hame. Hame, hame, hame, hame fain wad I be, When the flower is i' the bud, and the leaf is on the tree, The larks shall sing me hame in my ain countrie; O hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie! The green leaf o' loyalty's begun for to fa', But I'll water't wi' the blude of usurping tyrannie, Gane were but the winter-cauld, Cauld's the snaw at my head, And cauld at my feet, And the finger o' death's at my een, Let nane tell my father, Or my mither sae dear, I'll meet them baith in heaven She's Gane to Dwall in Heaven. She's gane to dwall in heaven, my lassie, O what'l she do in heaven, my lassie ! An' make them mair meet for heaven. She was beloved by a', my lassie, She was beloved by a'; But an angel fell in love wi' her, Low there thou lies, my lassie, Low there thou lies; A bonnier form ne'er went to the yird, Fu' soon I'll follow thee, my lassie, Thou left me nought to covet ahin', I looked on thy death-cold face, my lassie, I looked on thy death-shut eye, my lassie, Thy lips were ruddy and calm, my lassie, There's naught but dust now mine, lassie, A Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea. A wet sheet and a flowing sea, And fills the white and rustling sail, And bends the gallant mast, my boys, O for a soft and gentle wind! I heard a fair one cry; But give to me the snoring breeze, And white waves heaving high; And white waves heaving high, my boys, There's tempest in yon horned moon, And lightning in yon cloud; And hark the music, mariners, While the hollow oak our palace is, My Nanie O. Red rows the Nith 'tween bank and brae, Though heaven and earth should mix in storm, My Nanie O, my Nanie O; My kind and winsome Nanie O, She holds my heart in love's dear bands, In preaching time sae meek she stands, The world's in love with Nanie 0; That wadna love my Nanie O. My breast can scarce contain my heart, I guess what heaven is by her eyes, My Nanie O, my Nanie 0; The flower o' Nithsdale's Nanie 0; Love looks frae 'neath her lang brown hair, Tell not, thou star at gray daylight, Nane ken o' me and Nanie 0; The Poet's Bridal-Day Song. O! my love's like the steadfast sun, Or streams that deepen as they run; Nor hoary hairs, nor forty years, Nor moments between sighs and tearsNor nights of thought, nor days of pain, Nor dreams of glory dreamed in vainNor mirth, nor sweetest song which flows To sober joys and soften woes, Can make my heart or fancy flee One moment, my sweet wife, from thee. Even while I muse, I see thee sit We stayed and wooed, and thought the moon Set on the sea an hour too soon; Or lingered 'mid the falling dew, When looks were fond and words were few. Though I see smiling at thy feet Five sons and ae fair daughter sweet; To thee, and thoughts of thee, belong What things should deck our humble bower! At times there come, as come there ought, I think the wedded wife of mine WILLIAM TENNANT. In 1812 appeared a singular mock heroic poem, Anster Fair, written in the ottava rima stanza, since made so popular by Byron in his Beppo and Don Juan. The subject was the marriage of Maggie Lauder, the famous heroine of Scottish song, but the author wrote not for the multitude familiar with Maggie's rustic glory. He aimed at pleasing the admirers of that refined conventional poetry, half serious and sentimental, and half ludicrous and satirical, which was cultivated by Berni, Ariosto, and the lighter poets of Italy. There was classic imagery on familiar subjects-supernatural machinery (as in the Rape of the Lock) blended with the ordinary details of domestic life, and with lively and fanciful description. An exuberance of animal spirits seemed to carry the author over the most perilous ascents, and his wit and fancy were rarely at fault. Such a pleasant sparkling volume, in a style then unhackneyed, was sure of success. 'Anster Fair' sold rapidly, and has since been often republished. The author, WILLIAM TENNANT, is a native of Anstruther, or Anster, who, whilst filling the situation of clerk in a mercantile establishment, studied ancient and modern literature, and taught himself Hebrew. His attainments were rewarded in 1813 with an appointment as parishi schoolmaster, to which was attached a salary of L.40 per annum -a reward not unlike that conferred on Mr Abraham Adams in Joseph Andrews, who being a scholar and man of virtue, was 'provided with a handsome in |