WILLIAM MOTHERWELL. 1797-1834. [WILLIAM MOTHERWELL, born in Glasgow in 1797, became a "limb of the law in 1819, being then appointed to the office of Sheriff Clerk Depute at Paisley. In 1828 he put his literary talent at the service of his party, edited a Tory newspaper, The Paisley Advertiser, and afterwards The Glasgow Courier. The strain of journalism proved too much for him, and he died of apoplexy at the early age of thirty-seven. A small volume of poems, narrative and lyrical, published in 1832, was the only fruit of his fine poetic gifts.] They found him pillowed on the dead. Heigho! the wind and rain; He would not chide, he would not blame, The blood-soaked sod his bridal bed, Heigho! the wind and rain, Ah, well-a-day! the Slain. And his pale brow and paler cheek, Heigho! the wind and rain; The white moonshine did fall so meek, Ah! well-a-day! sad strain. They lifted up the True and Brave, Heigho! the wind and rain; And bore him to his lone cold grave, Ah! well-a-day! in pain. They buried him on that far strand, Heigho! the wind and rain; His face turned towards his love's own land, Ah, well-a-day! how vain. The wearied heart was laid at rest, Heigho! the wind and rain; The dream of her he liked best, They nothing said, but many a tear, Ah, well-a-day! amain. They nothing said, but many a sigh, With solemn mass and orison, Heigho! the wind and rain; And on it graved with daggers bright, JEANIE MORRISON. I'VE wandered east, I've wandered west, The love o' life's young day! But blacker fa' awaits the heart Where first fond luve grows cule. Oh, mind ye, luve, how oft we left And hear its water croon. The summer leaves hung ower our heids, The throstle whusslit i' the wud, The burn sang to the trees, Concerted harmonies; And on the knowe abune the burn, Aye, aye, dear Jeanie Morrison, Tears trinkled down your cheek, When hearts were fresh and young, I marvel, Jeanie Morrison, As closely twined wi' earliest thochts Ch, tell me gin their music fills Thine ear as it does mine; Oh, say gin e'er your heart grows grit I've wandered east, I've wandered west, But in my wanderings, far or near, The fount that first burst frae this heart, And channels deeper as it rins O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison, But I could hug all wretchedness, Did I but ken your heart still dreamed SAMUEL LOVER. 1797-1868. [BORN at Dublin, early attained some distinction as a painter, poet, and singer. His earliest work, except contributions to journals, was Legends and Songs of Ireland. His Rory O'Moore (1837), Handy Andy (1842), and Treasure Trove (1844), comic Irish tales, widely extended his fame. Songs and Ballads (1839), Lyrics of Ireland (1858), Metrical Tales (1859), and several successful dramatic works, were written by him. He also gave public exhibitions and 'ectures in Great Britain, Ireland, and America with much success. Died July 6, 1868.] |