By Robert Clark.
O'er the braes of Gleniffer I wander'd alone,
At the sweet dawn of morning, when pure was the sky ;
The brown leaves fast falling showed summer was gone,
And the chill breezes murmur'd stern winter was nigh.
Though cheer'd was my fancy with all things around me,
Yet sad was my heart that with sorrow did fill ;
For thoughts of the hard fate so keenly did wound me
Of Scotia's sweet minstrel, far-famed Tannahill.
His sweet melting strains there did tenderly move me,
That's been stor'd on my memory since life's early days ;
While the mellow-ton'd Redbreast that warbled above me
On the small bending spray seem'd to join in his praise.
Yon lone dingle side by the rill where he wander'd,
Was soothing and sweet to this bosom of mine ;
Where oft midst sweet Nature's profusion he ponder'd,
Till the sun on yon far western wave did recline.
Then homeward he'd stray by the greenwood sae bonnie,
Where the old mould'ring turrets of Stanely are seen ;
Sweet scene, where the lone lover mourn'd for her Johnnie,
Who far over the seas in the wild wars had been.
Long, long will his haunts to this bosom give pleasure,
That with his soft numbers doth rapturously thrill ;
And long, long the tear of remembrance will measure
The friendship of affection for dear Tannahill.
Robert Clark, weaver, was born in 1810 in the west end of Paisley.—Ed.
A more detailed sketch of Robert Clark is given by Robert Brown in "Paisley Poets" Volume 1 published in Paisley by J. & J Cook, 1889. He writes:—
ROBERT CLARK was a son of Robert Clark, weaver in Paisley, and was born in Castle Street, 3oth May, 1811. He was for only a short time in the school of Mr. Peacock, Sandholes, and had got the length of reading in the New Testament when he was taken from school, being nearly six years old, and put to the “drawing” of webs. Afterwards, he learnt the trade of weaving. He taught himself to read, having mostly forgotten what Peacock gave him, and he went also to a night school and learned to write. He married in 1832, but his wife died in February, 1836. In that year he emigrated to America, and after remaining there five years he returned to Paisley to benefit his health, for he had been suffering from ague. He resumed his work at the loom, and kept an eating- house besides. The failure of the potato crop in 1847 greatly depressed the trade of the country, and Clark, like many others, found great difficulty in procuring work, and he therefore resolved to return to America. The vessel in which he sailed to America was wrecked, and all on board were sunk to the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean. He was at that time about thirty-six years of age.
Though he received, as already mentioned, little education in his youth, he afterwards became very fond of reading, thereby acquiring a considerable amount of information ; and he devoted his leisure hours, besides, to the study and writing of poetry. One of his earliest pieces of poetry, “The Bonny Lass of Lugton Inn,” was composed in 1828, when he was only seventeen years of age. In 1836, he published a number of poetical pieces under the title of “Original Poetical Pieces, chiefly Scottish.” In 1842, he published another collection of his poetry, embracing some of the pieces in the edition of 1836, extending to 36 pages, under the title of “Random Rhymes.” I have selected the two following from his book. The first one, “Rhymin' Rab,” it was alleged, was a pretty good description of himself.
RHYMIN' RAB O' OUR TOUN.
Doun by, near our smiddy, there lives a queer boddie
As couthie an' canty's the simmer day's lang,
An auld funny story sets him in his glory,
For aft he knocks it into some pithy sang.
Tho' aye ha'flins modest, his cracks are the oddest
That ever were heard thro' the hale kintra roun',
Aye tauld aff sac freely, sae pawky, an' sleely—
He's far and near kent, Rhymin' Rab o' our toun.
Tho' deep read in pages o' auld langsyne sages,
As meikle's micht maist turn the pows o' us a',
Sent soon to the shuttle, his schule-craft's but little,
Yet auld mither Nature him kindness did shaw.
Wi' first glint o' morning he's up, slumber scorning,
Enraptur'd to hail ilk melodious noun' ;
Whar clear wimplin' burnie trots slow on its journey,
Ye're sure there to see Rhymin' Rab o' our toun.
When e'en but a younker, he'd tour in a bunker
Wi's beuk, daft gaffawers to mix na' amang ;
It pleast him far better than gowk's sillic clatter,
The deeds o' our gutchers in auld Scottish sang.
When e'ening's duds fa'in', an' cauld win's are blawin',
His fireside's the shelter o' ilk beggar loun ;
Wi' kimrner or carle he'd share his last farle—
A warm-hearted chiefs Rhymin' Rab o' our toun.
He's free o' deceivery, the basest o' knavery,
An's blithe aye the face o' a cronie to see ;
Wi' him the lang Mouter, mysel', an' the Souter,
Ha'e often forgathcr'd an' had a bit spree.
There's naething we crack o' but he has the knack o'
When we owre the stoup an' the cappie sit doun ;
Tho' chiels we've had clever, the equal we never
Had yet o' this bauld Rhymin' Rab o' our toun.
JEANNIE'S BLACK E'E.
Ance mair, dearest Cartha, in Spring's gentle claithing
Thy bankings are clad, how delightful to see ;
Yet a' its gay verdure, e'en there wad seem naething
To me were afar frae it Jeannie's black e'e.
Amang the green bushes whar sweet Levern rushes,
Like love to thy bosom, near Cruikston sae hie,
When eve's gently stealing noon's ray frae our shealing,
I'll catch there the blink o' her bonnie black e'e.
O then to my bosom my soul's sweetest treasure
Sae fondly I'll clasp 'neath the green spreading tree,
Even angels will envy the moments o' pleasure
That pass while I gaze on her bonnie black e'e.
Sae gracefu' by nature is this charming creature,
Her modesty vies wi' the flowers on the lea ;
May life's latest e'ening shed forth its last gloaming
O' bliss frae the blink o' her bonnie black e'e.
—Grian Press.