By John Mitchell.
Weep not for Tannahill ; his lyre
Will ne'er again be strung,
Nor wilt these scenes again inspire
The Bard who oft them sung.
But Tannahill has reached the goal
That few e'er reach, where fame,
Above oblivion's dark control,
In light has stamp'd his name ;
And there among the sons of song
He sits with laurel crown'd,
And Scotland's hills and vales will long
The tones he woke resound.
His master, Burns, with giant stride,
Had reach'd the dizzy steep
Where genius' sons in modest pride
Unfading laurels reap.
And Tannahill, with eager eye
The stately pile survey'd,
And fondly hop'd at least to lie
Beneath his cheering shade.
And nobly did our poet dare
To win a laurell'd crown,
And long the flowers will blossom fair,
That live in his renown.
Tho' “Loudon's bonnie woods an braes,”
And “Stanley's birken shaw,”
Should lay aside their “Simmer claes,”
And droop 'neath Winter's snaw,
Their names will flourish in our land
As green as when the theme
Of Tannahill, whose magic wand
First wafted them to fame.
His “Bonnie wood o Craigielea,”
His “Jessie o Dunblane,”
Will match with any melody
Auld Scotland calls her ain.
Then, Scotsmen, weep not for the Bard ;
He now has gain'd a name
That's writ upon the flowery sward
Where stands the dome of fame.
John Mitchell, shoemaker and poet, was born in Paisley in 1786. He died there on 12th August, 1856.—Ed.
A more detailed sketch of John Mitchell is given by Robert Brown in "Paisley Poets" Volume 1 published in Paisley by J. & J Cook, 1889. He writes:—
JOHN MITCHELL was born at Paisley on 4th February, 1786. He became a shoemaker to trade. He was long connected with the literature of Paisley. In 1823 The Moral and Literary Observer was published “every Saturday morning, by John Mitchell, No. 28 Wellmeadow Street, Paisley ; price three half-pence, payable on delivery. Printed by S. Young.” Mr. Mitchell died on 12th August, 1856, in the seventieth year of his age.
Mr. Mitchell was a most prolific writer, and produced verses with great facility. His first volume of 156 pages, entitled “A Night on the Banks of Doon, and other Poems,” was published in 1838. In 1840 he published another volume of 208 pages, entitled “The Wee Steeple's Ghaist, and other Poems and Songs.” In 1845 he published a volume of 112 pages, entitled “One Hundred Original Songs.” In 1852 he published a volume of 208 pages, entitled “My Grey Goose Quill, and other Poems and Songs.” Besides these, a host of other minor poems were published by him at different periods, such as “The Eclipse—a Dramatic Sketch;” “The Battle of the Speerits;” “A Night frae Hame ;” “Cautious Tam, or How to Look a Foe in the Face ;” “The Cross Steeple and Galloway's Lum ;” “Nick's Tour, or The Cobbler Triumphant ;” “A Braid Glower at the Clergy ;” “Lines on the Celebration of Thomas Paine's Birth-Day ;” “Address by St. Rollox Lum to its brethren ;” “Hayman at Barclay & Perkins' Brewery ;” “Tam's Club ;” “Just Asses of Paisley, or Theatre versus No Theatre.”
In 1839 Mr. John Mitchell, along with Mr. John Dickie, wrote and published a prose work of 424 pages entitled “The Philosophy of Witchcraft.”
Mr. Mitchell in the preface to his first volume, published in 1838, stated that like Tannahill his greatest ambition was to be considered respectable among the minor poets of his country. This aim he certainly has achieved, for he has composed many verses with so much power as to place him in a good position among the minor poets of Paisley.
WALLACE'S TREE.
The tree ! the tree of Elderslie
Is fading fast, tis true,
And soon will Spring—I grieve to sing—
Its leaves cease to renew.
Stern Winter's storm, o'er its rough form
For centuries has raved,
But still the tree, we love to see,
Time's march has nobly braved.
And where's the Scot, whate'er his lot,
Who honours not his tree,
Whose matchless brand swept from our land
The foes of liberty?
And while on thee, thou honoured tree,
The leaves of Spring are seen,
Fame will entwine his name with thine
Whom Time will aye keep green.
Then hail to thee, thou old oak tree !
Long, long may Time thee spare
To wear the name that laurelled Fame
Our Wallace gave to wear.
And while your dome, where meteors roam,
Attracts the wand'rer's eye,
Will Wallace be, by Fame's decree,
A name that ne'er will die.
—Grian Press.