She from her pillow gently raised

Her head, to ask who there might be; She 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 shadows fled; No more of Sandy could she see; But soft the passing spirit said,

"Sweet Mary, weep no more for me!"

ROBERT GRAHAM

OF GARTMORE.

1750-1797.

By the chivalrous ring of his fine song, Graham of Gartmore might with justice be termed the last of the Cavalier Poets. For a time, indeed, Scott, who first printed the piece, attributed it to Montrose. Graham wrote also several other lyrics, none of which, however, equals his "Cavalier's Song."

The son of Nicol Graham of Gartmore, and Lady Margaret, daughter of the twelfth Earl of Glencairn, the poet acted for a time as Receiver-General for Jamaica, where also he was a planter. In 1785 he was chosen Rector of Glasgow University in opposition to Burke; and two years before he died he sat as Member of Parliament for Stirlingshire. His first wife was a Jamaica heiress, and on the death of the fifteenth and last Earl of Glencairn in 1796, he inherited some of that nobleman's estates, taking at the same time the name Cunninghame as a prefix to his own. Graham's second son became a maréchal-decamp in the Austrian army.

CAVALIER'S SONG.

IF doughty deeds my lady please,
Right soon I'll mount my steed;
And strong his arm, and fast his seat,
That bears frae me the meed.

I'll wear thy colours in my cap,
Thy picture in my heart;

And he that bends not to thine eye

Shall rue it to his smart!

Then tell me how to woo thee, love;

O tell me how to woo thee!

For thy dear sake nae care I'll take,

Though ne'er another trow me.

If gay attire delight thine eye,
I'll dight me in array;

I'll tend thy chamber door all night,
And squire thee all the day.
If sweetest sounds can win thine ear,
These sounds I'll strive to catch;
Thy voice I'll steal to woo thysel',
That voice that nane can match.
Then tell me how to woo thee, love;
O tell me how to woo thee!
For thy dear sake nae care I'll take,
Though ne'er another trow me.

But if fond love thy heart can gain,

I never broke a vow;

Nae maiden lays her skaith to me;

I never loved but you.

For you alone I ride the ring,

For you I wear the blue;

For you alone I strive to sing :

O tell me how to woo!

Then tell me how to woo thee, love;

O tell me how to woo thee!

For thy dear sake nae care I'll take,
Though ne'er another trow me.

LADY ANNE LINDSAY.

1750-1825.

A curious parallel exists between the literary reputation of Lady Anne Lindsay and of Lady Wardlaw. The authorship of "Auld Robin Gray" was in its day the subject of almost as much discussion as that of "Hardyknute,” and in each case the single piece remains its author's sole title to fame. Unlike her predecessor, however, Lady Anne Lindsay wrote a circumstantial account of the composition of her piece an account which is chiefly notable for the effective manner in which it destroys, in the mind of the reader, the entire beauty of the ballad. Taken on its own merits, "Auld Robin Gray" possesses all the charm of pathetic truth, and must always rank as one of the finest ballads in the language; but when the reader is informed how the agony was deliberately manufactured by the authoress, that charm is apt to evaporate for ever. account, with a revised, but not improved, copy of the song, was furnished to Sir Walter Scott by the authoress before she died, and was published in a thin quarto for the Bannatyne Club.

This

Lady Anne Lindsay was the eldest daughter of the fifth Earl of Balcarres, and Anne, a daughter of Sir Robert Dalrymple of Castletoun. Born at her father's seat of Balcarres in Fife, she married, in 1793, Sir Andrew Barnard, a son of the Bishop of Limerick, and Colonial Secretary at the Cape, whom she survived. She had no children, and died in Berkeley Square, London.

The original of Robin Gray, according to the authoress's account, was an old herd at Balcarres, and the ballad was written soon after the close of the year 1771. It was during a fit of melancholy following the marriage of a sister that, by way of diverting her thoughts, Lady Anne wrote the piece. There was an old air sung in the house, of which she was fond, but the words for it, beginning "The bridegroom greets when the sun gaes doun," were rather indelicate. To the lilt of this air she wrote the words of her ballad. In the midst of the writing, she says, she came to a pause. She had made the mother fall sick, broken the father's arm, and sent the lover to sea, but a

further affliction was needed to complete the misery of the heroine. In the emergency Lady Anne appealed to her little sister, afterwards Lady Hardwick, who was playing near her, and the child replied patly with "Steal the cow." The cow, accordingly, was stolen, and the ballad finished.

"Auld Robin Gray" became popular immediately, but for half a century its authorship remained a secret. By some the piece was attributed to David Rizzio; and the authoress narrates how as much as twenty guineas was offered in the newspapers for proof of its origin. Mr. Jerningham, secretary of the Antiquarian Society, himself called on Lady Anne with a view to ascertaining the source from which she had procured the ballad; but he defeated his purpose by the means which he took to entrap the secret from her. There were some, however, who appear to have suspected the truth. Among these was a Mr. Dalziel, an antiquarian of some acumen. His ear had caught the expression "to mak' the croun a pound," an expression which could not belong to the days of the "pound Scots," and once when the lady had finished singing her "old ballad," he remarked to her dryly, "You should rather have said 'To make the crown twenty merks.""

The piece was translated into many languages, and became the subject of innumerable plays and pictures. Perhaps the most conclusive proof of its popularity was its performance under the windows of the authoress herself, on one occasion, by a troup of dancing dogs.

As if thoroughly to show how far she had departed from the flash of genius of her youth, Lady Anne wrote a lengthy sequel to her ballad. In this, old Robin is accommodatingly made to die, and " young Jamie" to marry the widow. By such an artistic anti-climax, added to the weakness of her "improved" edition, and her disillusioning revelation of the origin of the piece, the authoress has afforded quite sufficient grounds for a grave doubt of her actual authorship. The fact, however, since her letter to Scott, has never been disputed.

The ballad is here given in its original and finest form. The air to which it is now sung was the composition of the Rev. W. Leeves, rector of Wrington, who died in 1828, aged eighty.