By James King.*
The Bard of Gleniffer, in life's early day,
By hawthorn and hazel constructed his lay ;
While blackbirds sweet warbling in sunshine and shade,
Like him sang of nature in beauty array'd.
The grey mossy-rock to his soul gave delight,—
The wild mountain herbage and stream shining bright,
The sun's yellow lustre on Stanely's old pile,
To rapture awaken'd his bosom the while.
The fame of his song, like the wreath on his head,
For ages will brighten, for ages will spread ;
For love's sweet affections are blossoming there,
And pity that springs to the eye in a tear.
Sweet pity !—thou still hast thine office to do,
Oh ! weep, for the Bard of Gleniffer is low ;
Affliction's cold waves hurried over his bloom,
And sent him, alas ! premature to the tomb.
* This is the person to whom the Epistle No. 18 was addressed.—Ed.
A more detailed sketch of James King is given by Robert Brown in "Paisley Poets" Volume 1 published in Paisley by J. & J Cook, 1889. He writes:—
JAMES KING was a native of Paisley, and was born in Causeyside Street in 1776. He was sent to school at seven years of age, but his education consisted only of a little reading and writing. When little more than eight years of age, he was taken by his father to assist him in weaving figured muslin. Although he had a great desire for reading, it was not till he reached twelve years of age that he joined a circulating library, and within two years afterwards he had read much of the history and ballads of this country and of the mythology of ancient Greece and Rome. “But these Eastern Bards,” he stated, “almost ruined me. I began to write verses myself ; and as I could not be inspired by a draught from Helicon, nor see the sun from the top of Parnassus rising in glory from the eastern sky, I thought that Saucel Hill and Espedair Burn, Paisley, would be excellent substitutes : so for several mornings I arose before day-break and ascended that hill and there waited with impatience for the powerful god of day, and regularly, when I ascended, took a hearty draught of the then limpid stream of Espedair.” But his father “put an end to this delusion.”
After a time, Alexander Borland (see p. 84) joined him in his rambles, and in the same year he became acquainted with Tannahill and several other verse-makers. In his eighteenth year, in order to see military life, he enlisted in the West Lowland Fencibles, and after five years' service the battalion was disbanded and he returned to Paisley. In 1803 he joined the ranks of the Renfrew Militia, and several years afterwards the battalion was sent to Perth to do some duty in connection with French prisoners. Some insubordination arose among the men, and, being informed —although he had nothing to do with the matter—that he was regarded as a ringleader, he deserted, and, after many trials he ultimately went to a relation serving under a farmer in Galloway, where he worked as a farm labourer. Finding the work very severe, he left and went by circuitous routes to Kincardine to see his wife, and afterwards went to Crieff, where he stopped and got employment at weaving. The battalion of Militia which he had entered was disbanded in 1815, when he obtained his discharge, the military authorities being thoroughly satisfied that he had not any¬thing to do with the insubordination. In 1826, he returned to Paisley and lived in the same house in which he was born. During the following year, he removed to Charleston, Paisley, where his wife died in 1847, and he died there on 9th September, 1849, in his seventy-third year. They were both interred in Paisley Cemetery.
Many of his poetical pieces appeared throughout a period of many years in newspapers and periodicals. His youthful effusions, till he was about thirty years of age, were nearly all lost. When he was in the army, many of his pieces were sent to a friend in Paisley and were never recovered. In 1842, he commenced to collect all his poetry and to publish it in sixpenny numbers, but they only reached the third number. This was very unfortunate, for he had a great many good poetical pieces. It is to be hoped that some-one will yet collect all his poetry and publish it. King was the author of the prose piece entitled “The Battle of Busaco,” which appeared in the “Harp of Renfrewshire” in 1819, and which Motherwell stated was written by the “Ettrick Shepherd.” King was the author of “A Legend of Stanely Castle” in prose, that appeared in the Renfrew-shire Annual for 1841. The Rev. Dr. Rogers, in the Scottish Minstrel, states that “for vigorous intellect, lively fancy, and a keen appreciation of the humorous, King was much esteemed among persons of a rank superior to his own. His mind was of fine devotional cast, and his poetical compositions are distinguished by earnestness of expression and sentiment."
The first published poetical piece from Mr. King's pen which I have fallen in with, is entitled “Home Service on the March and Campaign : a Military Poem—by James King, a Private in the Renfrew Militia.” It was printed at Portsea in 1810, and extends to eighteen pages duodecimo. From this poem, I give the following extracts :—
Of armies o'er the widely gleaming plain
In awful conflict, I presume not here ;
Nor widows weeping o'er their husbands slain
'Mong dead and dying in the Caponniere ;
Of city sieg'd with many a sword and spear ;
No, my Amelia : I attempt to sing
The various scenes where British youths appear,
Beneath the royal standard's gilded wing
In their own native isle, whence endless pleasures spring.
The grey-dawn brightens o'er the azure main,
And shrilly rings the bugle in the square ;
The troops, obedient to the warlike strain,
In all the glittering pomp of arms, appear;
The unfurl'd ensigns beat the dewy air ;
The royal thistle, terror of its foes,
With crimson top behold, and shining fair ;
Of Anglia's sons the pride, the lovely rose
Fondly entwining now, a glorious wreath compose.
High on his noble charger now behold
The chief of the battalion view his men ;
Two massy epaulets of burnished gold
Shine on his shoulders ; on his breast is seen
A glittering gorget, golden too, I ween,
That sparkles to the morning's early light;
And now his blade of polish'd metal keen
He draws, and the battalion to the right
He faces with a voice of power and might.
Obedient to the voice of power they move,
The minstrels play some well-known Scottish air—
Perhaps Balquhidder rises, notes of love
That cheer the grove, or urge to deadly war ;
Or sweet Locherroch-side, that oft afar
Hath fir'd the soldier's foe-defying heart
When weary, worn with toil in warfare drear,
Made him forget the knapsack's galling smart,
And to the enliv'ning strain the left foot plant alert.
—Grian Press.