I 've sat in a garden, 'mid earth's gayest flowers, A' gaudily shawin' their beauteous dyes, And breathin' in calm the air's fragrant balm, Like angels asleep on the plains o' the skies; Yet the garden, and palace, and day's rosy dawning, Though in bless'd morning dreams they should aft come again, Can ne'er be sae sweet as the bonnie young lassie, That bloom'd by the Endrick, the pride of the glen.
The exile, in sleep, haunts the land o' his fathers, The captive's ae dream is his hour to be free; The weary heart langs for the morning rays comin', The oppress'd, for his sabbath o' sweet liberty. But my life's only hope, my heart's only prayer, Is the day that I 'll ca' the young lassie my ain; Though a' should forsake me, wi' her I 'll be happy, On the banks o' the Endrick, the pride o' the glen.
The winter's cauld and cheerless blast May rob the feckless tree, Mary, And lay the young flowers in the dust, Whar' ance they bloom'd in glee, Mary. It canna chill my bosom's hopes-- It canna alter thee, Mary; The summer o' thy winsome face Is aye the same to me, Mary.
The gloom o' life, its cruel strife, May wear me fast awa', Mary; An' lea'e me like a cauld, cauld corpse, Amang the drifting snaw, Mary. Yet 'mid the drift, wert thou but nigh, I 'd fauld my weary e'e, Mary; And deem the wild and raging storm, A laverock's sang o' glee, Mary.
My heart can lie in ruin's dust, And fortune's winter dree, Mary; While o'er it shines the diamond ray, That glances frae thine e'e, Mary. The rending pangs and waes o' life, The dreary din o' care, Mary, I 'll welcome, gin they lea'e but thee, My lanely lot to share, Mary.
As o'er yon hill the evening star Is wilin' day awa', Mary; Sae sweet and fair art thou to me, At life's sad gloamin' fa', Mary. It gars me greet wi' vera joy, Whene'er I think on thee, Mary, That sic a heart sae true as thine, Should e'er ha'e cared for me, Mary.
James Ballantine, one of the most successful of living Scottish song writers, was born in 1808 at the West Port of Edinburgh. Of this locality, now considerably changed in its character, but still endeared to him by the associations of his boyhood, he has given a graphic description in a poem, in which he records some of the cherished recollections of the days when amid its "howffs," and "laigh" half-doored shops he "gat schulin' and sport." He lost his father, who was a brewer, when he was only ten years old, and, being the youngest of the family, which consisted of three daughters and himself, his early training devolved upon his mother, who contrived to obtain for her children the advantage of an ordinary education. James Ballantine must, however, be considered as a self-taught man. Beyond the training which he received in early life, he owes his present position to his own indefatigable exertions.