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HE'S OWER THE HILLS THAT

I LO'E WEEL.

HE's ower the hills that I lo❜e weel,
He's ower the hills we daurna name;
He's ower the hills ayont Dunblane,*
Wha soon will get his welcome hame.

My faither's gane to fecht for him,
My brithers winna bide at hame;
My mither greets and prays for them,
And, 'deed, she thinks they're no to blame.

The Whigs may scoff, the Whigs may jeer,
But ah! that love maun be sincere
Which still keeps true whate'er betide,
And for his sake leaves a' beside.

His right these hills, his right these plains;
O'er Hieland hearts secure he reigns;
What lads e'er did our lads will do;

Were I a laddie I'd follow him too.

* The western end of the Ochils is just visible from Gask House.

Sae noble a look, sae princely an air,

Sae gallant and bold, sae young and sae fair; O did ye but see him ye'd do as we've done; Hear him but once, to his standard you'll run.

He's ower the hills that I lo❜e weel,
He's ower the hills we daurna name;
He's ower the hills ayont Dunblane,
Wha soon will get his welcome hame.

THE WHITE ROSE O' JUNE.*

Now the bricht sun, and the soft simmer showers, Deck a' the woods and the gardens wi' flowers; But bonnie and sweet though the hale o' them be, There's ane abune a' that is dearest to me;

And O that's the white rose, the white rose o' June, And may he that should wear it come back again sune!

It's no on my breast, nor yet in my hair

That the emblem dear I venture to wear;

But it blooms in my heart, and its white leaves I weet,

When alane in the gloamin' I wander to greet,
O'er the white rose, the white rose, the white rose

o' June;

And may he that should wear it come back again sune!

Mair fragrant and rich the red rose may be,
But there is nae spell to bind it to me;
But dear to my heart and to fond memorie,

* The white rose was the Jacobite emblem.

Though scathed and though blighted the white rose

may be.

O the white rose, the white rose, the white rose o'

June,

O may he that should wear it come back again sune!

And oh may the true hearts thy perils who share, Remembered wi' tears and remembered in prayer, Whom misfortune's rude blast has sent far awa', Fair breezes bring back sune to cottage and ha';— Then, O sing the white rose, the white rose o' June, And may he that should wear it wear Scotland's auld

croun !

EBENEZER PICKEN.

1769-1816.

When Alexander Wilson in 1791 read his poem on the comparative merits of Ramsay and Fergusson before the debating society in the Edinburgh Pantheon, another unsuccessful competitor for the prize offered was his friend, Ebenezer Picken. Three years earlier, while still only nineteen, Picken had published a volume of "Poems and Epistles, mostly in the Scottish Dialect," with a glossary, and Wilson had hastened to hail his gift. These poems and their glossary, and a "Pocket Dictionary of the Scottish Dialect" which was published two years after the poet's death, remain philologically of great value, and were much used and quoted by Jamieson in his standard Scottish Dictionary.

Picken's life throughout was typical of the less fortunate class of poet. The son of a Paisley silk-weaver, and educated for the ministry of the United Secession church, he threw over his clerical prospects for the hazards of a literary life. In 1791 he opened a school in Falkirk, and married the daughter of Mr. Belfrage, minister of the Burgher Kirk there. For five years afterwards he struggled with poverty as teacher of an endowed school at Carron. In 1796 he tried business, unsuccessfully, in Edinburgh. Again he took to teaching, eked out by one or two literary endeavours. In 1813 he added to and republished his poems, and in 1815 he helped Dr. Andrew Duncan with a volume of monumental inscriptions from the Edinburgh graveyards. As a writer of songs, satire, and descriptive pieces, he earned some popularity, and several of his songs may still be heard. Much of his verse, however, and especially his epistolary poetry, merely echoes the note of Burns. To the last he was ground down by poverty. William Chambers, who knew him, describes him as well-meaning, but sadly handicapped.

Memoirs of Ebenezer Picken and his son Andrew, by R. Brown, were published in 1879.

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