Mankind had been sober before; But had not been remarkably good; And the cold-blooded crew had deserved all the more To be deluged and drenched by the Flood. To assist us in mending our ways, And more safely our time to employ, It was kindly determined to shorten our days, Then the grape came to gladden man's heart; So to hallow the newly-found fruit, Noah chose a white Lamb without spot; And he poured its young blood round the delicate root, To preserve it from blemish and blot. But the Devil, such bounty to clog, And to substitute evil for good, Slaughtered also a Lion, an Ape, and a Hog, The first gush of the Vine's precious balm Like the Lamb's gentle nature, our temper is calm, But on tasting more freely the cup, With a combative ardour the heart is lit up, Next, the Ape, if still deeper we drink, In avoiding these villainous beasts, Let our sense of the blessing be shown: Let the Lamb's playful spirit preside at our feasts, But I would not be ruthlessly told From all temperate draughts to refrain; Lest perhaps, like the sober transgressors of old, JAMES CURRIE, SOLDIER-POET, and Crimean hero, was born at Selkirk in 1829. The humble circumstances of his grand-parents, who brought him up, were such that his schoolastic education was very limited. At the age of nine he was at work in a mill as a "piecer," and ultimately became a spinner. By diligence and self-application, however, he made good progress in learning during his spare hours. At ten years of age he was in love with Burns, and after reading through his poems several times, he made a journey, barefooted, and with one penny in his pocket, to the tomb of the great bard. Fired by patriotism after reading a hawker's edition of the Life of Wallace," he enlisted into the 79th Cameron Highlanders, and went through the whole of the Crimean Campaign. On the last day of the seige, Currie lost his right arm by a cannon shot, and he has since been in possession of a pension of one shilling per day. After coming home, he was employed as a post-runner to Yair, which office he kept for about six years. Being out of work, and his circumstances getting straightened, he, in 1863, published a volume entitled "Wayside Musings," and the edition of 1000 copies was cleared out in a few weeks. The poems were mostly composed during his walks by the "silvery Tweed," and during his "lonely rounds" at the mid-night hour on the tented field-being thus literally "Wayside Musings," and frequently jotted down from memory after the day's labours. Although, in some respects many of the pieces were very defective, the volume was favourably received. Owing to his maimed condition, employment was difficult to procure, but the late Hon. William Napier having taken an interest in him, took him to London, where he joined the commissionaire corps, and acted as messenger to the Duke of Sutherland during the "London season." After two years, he returned to Selkirk in poor circumstances, and found temporary employment in the mills. His next resided in Galashiels eleven years, and then removed to his present abode the sweet little village of Darnick, near Melrose. Currie is a member of the "Border Bards Association," and frequently contributes verses and occasional prose sketches to the local press and other periodicals. Although varied are the themes on which he has written, his songs feelingly display the tender passion, and an unbounded love of his country is predominant. THE LASSIE O' BANNERFIELD HA'. Ilk lad thinks his ain lass the brightest an' rarest But her that I lo'e is the sweetest an' fairest- I've mingled 'mangst beauties, whase hearts were beguiling, Thou kindest, an' dearest, what heart-thrillin' pleasure How sweet 'tis at e'ening to wander thegither O, joy never kent by the chield void o' feeling, Her smiles cheer my heart like the sunbeams o' simmer, If life to me's spared ere again buds the timmer "WEE DAISY." Wi' achin' heart, an' tearfu' e'e Thy patt'rin' feet are quiet now—- Thy tiny shoes we've hid away, That lock o' hair we'll dearly prize, We mourn thy loss, tho' well we know But hope is ours, ay! ours the faith, To realms o' bliss that ne'er decay, TO A FOUNDLING. All hail, thou little stranger, hail, who would not welcome thee With open arms and generous hearts, whoe'er thou mayest be? The heartless ones who left thee thus, the world may never know; Enough, thou hast abandon'd been, wee flow'ret be it so. Thou shalt be cared for tenderly, thy wants shall be supplied, And love of strangers shall be thine, thy parents have denied. We cannot roll the veil aside that hides thy future fate; "Tis like thy birth-a myst'ry, we cannot penetrate. But should'st thy life be spared to thee, who knows but thou may prove That worth from worthless ones may spring-a well of boundless love. The seeds of poesy, perchance, are planted in thy soul, That may in beauty's bloom burst forth, and spread from pole to pole. A deathless name may yet be thine, though thou art nameless now Ay ! well-earn'd wreaths of laurel yet, may deck thy woman's brow. Strange thoughts are flitting through the mind while thus I gaze on thee, Though unexpress'd, yet hopeful they, of what thou mayest be. snare. May thou in beauty grow apace in features, form, and mind, And prove to all, who shall thee know, a gem of womankind. Though parted from the parent stem, and rudely cast away, There's One who'll ne'er desert thee-no, but prove thy friend for aye! May peace within thy bosom reign throughout a long career THE DEEIN' LADDIE'S ADDRESS TO HIS MITHER. O whisht, my mither, dinna greet, O dinna greet for me, O! if the countless bairns abune can earthly parents see, Ah! whisht, my mither, dicht your een, list to that music there, The darkness noo is comin' on, I haena lang to stay, |