By Alexander Borland.
Unwelcome sound, that strikes my listening ear,
That makes my eyes o'erflow with pity's tear,
A sound that doth my mind of mirth bereave,
With sighs of sorrow makes my bosom heave ;
The last sad tribute, that a friend can pay
To merit, mould'ring with the common clay.
The Muse's fav'rite, Scotland may deplore,
Her son, her songster, Tannahill's no more ;
He on whom Fame so oft complacent smil'd,
Whom genius marked as her fav'rite child ;
He who so skilful blew the pipe and horn,
Resistless Fates for ever from us torn !
Ah ! black disease that in his bosom pin'd
A hidden demon, to distract his mind ;
And dire despair, that base infernal tool,
That drove him senseless to the fatal pool ;
And left the world to mourn his hapless fate,
And glow with sympathy when too, too late.
Thus merit oft unto the world is lost,
Before the world e'er calculate its cost;
Vain, vain to think to soothe the Poet's grief,
When past all human power to yield relief,
Like metal that runs off and leaves but dross,
So thoughtless man too late perceives his loss ;
Ev'n sorrow, now doth many bosoms fill,
Who never thought before of Tannahill;
Now safely moor'd beyond life's stormy main,
His native isle his mem'ry shall retain.
Exulting in his sweet harmonious strains,
Long shall his music float on Scotia's plains,
While Scottish songs, to Scotland are endear'd,
The name of Tannahill will be rever'd.
Songs (free from chains the servile Muses bind)
Flow'd from his heart—to hearts of dull mankind :
Now all is hush'd since its bright spirit's flown
To heav'nly spheres, to care and death unknown ;
Perhaps where some transporting zephyr blows
Where grief doth smile, and friendship's fragrance flows ;
In some blessed shades beyond life's stormy wave
Despair grows mild,—distractions cease to rave !
Let candour then be just unto his praise :
Nor slander rob him of his well-won lays,
May round his grave bright laurels ever bloom,
And be his virtues, grav'd upon his tomb ;
His faults be plac'd to nature and to man,
And imitate his virtues—if we can.
Alexander Borland, weaver, Glasgow, the poet to whom Tannahill addressed an Epistle, the friend to whom he also sent the last letter he wrote, and the acquaintance whom Tannahill last met on 16th May, 1810. The manuscript is in possession of Mr. John Wright, Kirkcaldy, and we believe this is the first time it has been published.—Ed.
A more detailed sketch of Alexander Borland is given by Robert Brown in "Paisley Poets" Volume 1 published in Paisley by J. & J Cook, 1889. He writes:—
ALEXANDER BORLAND was born in Causeyside Street, Paisley, in 1773. He learned the trade of a hand-loom weaver. He was on intimate terms with James King, a brother poet, and he became acquainted also with Tannahill. Borland joined the Lanarkshire Militia, and the regiment was sent to England. At the close of his term of service, he went to reside in Glasgow, where Tannahill called on him on the afternoon of the 16th May, 1810, and Borland found him to be speaking so very incoherently that he walked home to Paisley with him. It was during that night that Tannahill put an end to his existence. In 1819, Alexander Borland, after residing in Lochwinnoch for a year, came to Paisley. After living there for many years, he returned to Glasgow, where he died in 1828, aged 55 years. Alexander Borland courted the muse, and I give an ode which he composed to the memory of his departed poetical friend. In 1806, Tannahill addressed to Alexander Borland a poetical piece of some length, commencing, "Retired, disgusted with the tavern roar." This Alexander Borland must not be confounded with another Alexander Borland, born in 1793, who was likewise a poet.—Grian Press.