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[LADY NAIRN was born in 1766. Though she lived to an advanced age, dying in 1845, most of her songs were written early in life, soon after the appearance of Burns's poems in 1787. The first and only collected edition of her works appeared in 1869, but for two generations before, songs of her composing had been sung in every Scotch household and concert-room, though the name of the author was unknown. A surprising number of the most familiar Scotch song, many of them popularly believed to have descended from emote antiquity, were written by Lady Nairn—The Land o' the Leal, The Laird o' Cockpen, Caller Herrin, The Auld House, HuntingTower, John Tod, Wha'll be King but Charlie? Charlie is my darling, Will ye no come back again? He's ower the hills that I loe weel, I will sit in my wee croo house.]

Like another Scotch lady, the authoress of Auld Robin Gray, Miss Oliphant was first moved to song-writing by the desire of rescuing fine old tunes from coarse themes. This is her own account of the beginning of her poetic impulse; she saw, she says, with admiration how Burns was fitting popular melodies with worthy words, and longed to help him in the good work. That this object should have mixed with her poetic impulses is characteristic of her training, but no songs written with or without a moral object were ever more spontaneous in their lyric flow, more free from artificiality. Two great motives may be distinguished in her verse-sympathy with the life of the common people among whom she moved with old-fashioned familiarity as a radiant comforter and joy-bringer, and sympathy with the chivalrous spirit of Jacobitism, which was the air she breathed in her own family. Her songs contain all that is best and highest in the Jacobite poetry of Scotland,-the tender regret that never sinks into wailing, the high-tempered gaiety that bends but will not break, the fiery spirit that reaches forward to victory and never thinks of defeat. It was a misfortune for the Pretender that such a poet


laureate of his cause did not appear till forty years after that cause was hopelessly lost. Lady Nairn's Jacobite songs-she did not receive her title till her husband's attainder was removed in 1824were written for the consolation of an aged kinsman who had followed Prince Charlie's' fortunes in 1745. Her grandfather, Oliphant of Gask, had been 'out' in 1715 as well as 1745, and of her father the Pretender wrote-' He is as worthy a subject as I have, and his family never deroged from their principals.' The atmosphere of sincere and chivalrous Jacobitism in which she was nurtured accounts in no small measure for the intense air of reality in her songs.



The news frae Moidart cam' yestreen
Will soon gar mony ferlie1;

For ships o' war hae just come in
And landit Royal Charlie.

Come through the heather, around him gather, Ye're a' th' welcomer early;

Around him cling wi' a' your kin,

For wha 'll be King but Charlie?

Come through the heather, around him gather,
Come Ronald, come Donald, com a' thegither,
And crown your rightfu' lawfu' King,

For wha'll be King but Charlie ?
The Hieland clans, wi' sword in hand,
Frae John o' Groats to Airlie,
Hae to a man declared to stand,
Or fa' wi' Royal Charlie,

Come through the heather, &c.
The Lowlands a', baith great and sma',
Wi mony a lord and laird, hae
Declared for Scotia's King and law,
And spier ye wha but Charlie?

Come through the heather, &c.

There's nae a lass in a' the lan',
But vows faith late an' early,
She'll ne'er to man gie heart nor han',
Wha wadna fecht for Charlie.

Come through the heather, &c.

Then here's a health to Charlie's cause,
And be't complete an' early;
His very name our hearts' blood warms,
To arms for Royal Charlie!

Come through the heather, &c.

1 make many wonder.


I'm wearin' awa', John,
Like snaw-wreaths in thaw, John,

I'm wearin' awa'

To the land o' the leal. There's nae sorrow there, John, There's neither cauld nor care, John, The day is aye fair

In the land o' the leal.

Our bonnie bairn 's there, John,
She was baith gude and fair, John;

And oh! we grudged her sair
To the land o' the leal.

But sorrow's sel' wears past, John,
And joy's a-comin' fast, John,
The joy that's aye to last
In the land o' the leal.

Sae dear that joy was bought, John,
Sae free the battle fought, John,
That sinfu' man e'er brought
To the land o' the leal.
Oh! dry your glistening e'e, John,
My soul langs to be free, John,
And angels beckon me,

To the land o' the leal.

Oh! haud ye leal and true, John,
Your day it's wearin' through, John,
And I'll welcome you

To the land o' the leal.
Now fare-ye-weel, my ain John,
This warld's cares are vain, John,
We'll meet, and we'll be fain
In the land o' the leal.


[Anna Lætitia AIKIN, was born at Kibworth Harcourt, in Leicestershire, 1743. Published Poems, 1773; Miscellaneous Pieces in Prose by J. and A. L. Aikin, 1773. Married Rev. Rochemont Barbauld, 1774. Published Portical Epistle to Mr. Wilberforce, 1791; Hymns in Prose for Little Children, 1811. Died at Stoke Newington, March 9, 1825.]

The poems of Mrs. Barbauld are chiefly written in the elegant pseudo-classic style of the close of the last century. She expresses herself clearly and with grace; a certain artificiality of manner harmonises with her choice of subject. Her poetry is without deep thought or passion; but it is free from blunders of an avoidable kind. The spirit of self-criticism which prompted her to destroy all her juvenile verses, never permitted her to include with her published works any ill-considered thought or unsuccessful effort. 'I had rather,' she declared, in answer to remonstrance, 'that it should be asked of twenty pieces why they are not here, than of one why it is.' The bulk of Mrs. Barbauld's poetry is inspired by the trivial occasions of domestic life; and when she quits the personal vein, it is of Delia and Damon, of Sylvia and Corin, that she sings; pretty shepherdesses and tuneful shepherds, whose delicate pretence of loving claims no relation to the passions of reality. Such fancies move her to an airy playfulness, a charming feminine kind of humour. She is gay, but her gayest mood is without abandonment. Frequent allusions to the classic poets, quoted lines of Virgil, remind us that the poetess is also a learned lady, a schoolmistress, and an authority on education.

The fame of Mrs. Barbauld's hymns has outlived the rest of her work. Yet with the exception of her charming Hymns in Prose for Little Children, they seem, to a modern reader, deficient in fervour and in religious emotion. They are pure in tone and lofty, but often singularly cold. There can be no doubt, however, of their sincerity.

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