Yet not unwelcome waves the wood
That hides me in its gloom,
While lost in melancholy mood
I muse upon the tomb.

Their chequered leaves the branches shed,
Whirling in eddies o'er my head,

They sadly sigh that winter's near;
The warning voice I hear behind

That shakes the wood without a wind,

And solemn sounds the death-bell of the year.

John Lowe.

Born 1750

Died 1798

He was born ir

ONLY known for his beautiful piece "Mary's Dream.'
Kenmore in Galloway, and ultimately emigrated to America.

MARY'S DREAM.

THE moon had climbed the highest hill
Which rises o'er the source of Dee,

And from the eastern summit shed

Her silver light on tower and tree;

When Mary laid her down to sleep,
Her thoughts on Sandy far at sea,
When, soft and slow, a voice was heard,
Saying, Mary, weep no more for me!"
She from her pillow gently raised

66

Her head, to ask who there might be,
And saw young Sandy shivering stand,
With visage pale, and hollow e'e.
"O Mary dear, cold is my clay;
It lies beneath a stormy sea.
Far, far from thee I sleep in death;
So, Mary, weep no more for me!
"Three stormy nights and stormy days
We tossed upon the raging main;
And long we strove our bark to save,
But all our striving was in vain.
Even then, when horror chilled my blood.
My heart was filled with love for thee:

The storm is past, and I at rest;

So, Mary, weep no more for me!

"O maiden dear, thyself prepare;

We soon shall meet upon that shore,
Where love is free from doubt and care,
And thou and I shall part no more!"
Loud crowed the cock, the shadow fled,
No more of Sandy could she see;

But soft the passing spirit said,

"Sweet Mary, weep no more for me!"

Lady Anne Barnard.

Born 1750

Died 1825.

DAUGHTER of the Earl of Balcarres, and wife of Mr Barnard, son of the Bishop of Limerick. The ballad of "Auld Robin Gray" was written by her In 1771.

AULD ROBIN GRAY.

WHEN the sheep are in the fauld, when the kye's come hame,
And a' the weary warld to rest are gane,

The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my e'e,
Unkent by my gudeman, wha sleeps sound by me.

Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and sought me for his bride,
But saving ae crown-piece he had naething beside;
To make the crown a pound my Jamie gaed to sea,
And the crown and the pound-they were baith for me.

He hadna been gane a twelvemonth and a day,

When my father brake his arm and the cow was stown away;
My mither she fell sick-my Jamie was at sea,
And Auld Robin Gray came a-courting me.

My father couldna work-my mither couldna spin--
I toiled day and night, but their bread I couldna wm;
Auld Rob maintained them baith, and, wi' tears in his e e,
Said, "Jeanie, O for their sakes, will ye no marry me?'
My heart it said na, and I looked for Jamie back,
But hard blew the winds, and his ship was a wrack,
His ship was a wrack—why didna Jamie dee,
Or why am I spared to cry wae is me?

My father urged me sair-my mither didna speak,
But she look'd in my face till my heart was like to break;
They gied him my hand-my heart was in the sea--
And so Robin Gray he was gudeman to me.

I hadna been his wife a week but only four,
When, mournfu' as I sat on the stane at my door,
I saw my Jamie's ghaist, for I couldna think it he
Till he said, "I'm come hame, love, to marry thee!'

Oh, sair sair did we greet, and mickle say of a',
I gied him ae kiss, and bade him gang awa'—
I wish that I were dead, but I'm na like to die,

For, though my heart is broken, I'm but young, wae is me!
I gang like a ghaist, and I carena much to spin,
I darena think o' Jamie, for that would be a sin,
But I'll do my best a gude wife to be,
For, oh! Robin Gray, he is kind to me.

Robert Ferguson.

Born 1751

Died 1774.

FERGUSON was the son of the accountant in the British Linen Company's Bank in Edinburgh, and received a University education. His father dying early, Ferguson was left destitute, but after many privations he obtained a clerkship in a law office, which would have supported him; but he had acquired a taste for the low society of the tavern, which quite unfitted nim for his duties. At last, prostrated in body and mind, he sunk into a state of insanity, and ended his life in an asylum. He died in His poetry is chiefly in the Scottish dialect. He wrote some pieces in English, in which, however, he failed.

1774.

BRAID CLAITH.

YE wha are fain to hae your name
Wrote i' the bonny book o' fame,
Let merit nae pretension claim
To laurelled wreath,

But hap ye weel, baith back and wame,
In guid braid claith.

He that some ells o' this may fa',

And slae-black hat on pow like snaw,

Bids bauld to bear the gree awa',
Wi' a' this graith,

When beinly clad wi' shell fu' braw
O' guid braid claith.

Waesucks for him wha has nae feck o't!
For he's a gowk they're sure to geck at

A chiel that ne'er will be respeckit
While he draws breath,

Till his four quarters are bedeckit
Wi' guid oraid claith.

On Sabbath days the barber spark,
When he has done wi' scrapin' wark,
Wi' siller broachie in his sark,

Gangs trigly, faith!

Or to the Meadows, or the Park,
In guid braid claith.

Weel might ye trow, to see them there,
That they to shave your haffits bare,
Or curl and sleek a pickle hair,
Would be right laith,

When pacin' wi' a gawsy air
In guid braid claith.

If ony mettled stirrah grien
For favour frae a lady's een,
He maunna care for bein' seen
Before he sheath

His body in a scabbard clean
O' guid braid claith.

For, gin he come wi' coat threadbare,
A fig for him she winna care,

But crook her bonny mou fou sair,

And scauld him baith:

Wooers should aye their travel spare,
Without braid claith.

Thomas Chatterton.

(Born 1752. Died 1770

AN English poet, whose precocious genius and untimely fate have gained him great notoriety. He was born at Bristol, his father being sexton of Redcliff Church, where Chatterton professed to have found the manuscripts which he tried to palm off on the public as ancient. His father dying before he was born, Chatterton was educated at a charity school, where he was thought to be a great dunce, but where, at the age of eight, he began to compose verses. At fourteen he was apprenticed to an attorney in Bristol, under whom he cultivated poetry, antiquities, and heraldry, rather than law. Ambitious in the highest degree of literary fame, he at sixteen set himself to obtain a name, and unfortunately, for this purpose, chose to attempt a series of impositions, probably sug