“He was a man without a clag,
His heart was frank without a flaw.”
King Jamie the First.
RESPONSIVE tae the roarin floods,
Ye win's howl plaintive thro the woods,
Thou gloomy sky, pour doun hale clouds,
His death tae wail,
For bright as heaven's brightest studs,
Shin'd Will MacNeil.
He every selfish thocht did scorn,
His warm heart in his leuks did burn,
Ilk body own'd his kindly turn,
An gait sae leel ;
A kinder saul was never born
Than Will MacNeil.
He ne'er kept up a hidlins plack
To spen ahint a comrade's back,
But on the table gart it whack
Wi free guid will :
Free as the win on winter stack,
Was Will MacNeil.
He ne'er could bide a narrow saul
Tae a the social virtues caul ;
He wisht ilk sic a fiery scaul,
His shins to peel ;
Nane sic durst herd in field or fauld
Wi Will MacNeil.
He ay abhor'd the spaniel art :
Ay whan he spak twas frae the heart,
An honest, open, manly pairt
He ay uphel :
“Guile soud be develt in the dirt,”
Said Will MacNeil.
He ne'er had greed to gather gear,
Yet rigid kept his credit clear ;
He ever was tae Mis'ry dear,
Her loss she'll feel ;
She ay got saxpence, or a tear,
Frae Will MacNeil.
In Scots antiquities he pridit ;
Auld Hardyknute, he kent wha made it;
The bag-pipe, too, he sometimes sey'd it,
Pibroch and reel ;
Our ain auld language, few could read it
Like Will MacNeil.
In wilyart glens he lik'd tae stray,
By fuggie rocks, or castle gray ;
Yet ghaist rid rustics ne'er did say,
“Uncanny chiel !”
But filled their horns wi usquebae
Tae Will MacNeil.
He sail'd and trampit mony a mile,
To visit auld I-columb-kill ; [1]
He clamb the heichts o Jura's isle,
Wi weary speil ;
But siccan sichts ay payt the toil,
Wi Will MacNeil.
He raing't thro Morven's hills an glens, [2]
Saw some o Ossian's moss grown stanes,
Whar rest the low laid heroes' banes,
Deep in the hill ;
He cruin't a cronach tae their names,
Kind Will MacNeil.
He was deep read in Nature's beuk,
Explor'd ilk dark mysterious creuk,
Kent a her laws wi antrin leuk,
An that richt weel ;
But (fate o genius) death soon teuk
Aff Will MacNeil.
O ilka rock he kent the ore,
He kent the virtues o ilk flow'r,
Ilk banefu plant he kent its pow'r,
An warn't frae ill ;
A nature's warks few coud explore
Like Will MacNeil.
He kent a creatures, clute an tail,
Doun frae the lion to the snail,
Up frae the mennon to the whale,
An kraken eel ; [3]
Scarce ane could tell their gaits sae weel
As Will MacNeil.
Nor pass'd he ocht thing slichtly by,
But wi keen scrutinizing eye,
He tae its inmaist bore woud pry
Wi wond'rous skill ;
An teaching ithers ay gae joy
Tae Will MacNeil.
He kent auld Archimedes' gait, [4]
What way he burnt the Roman fleet :
“ 'Twas by the rays' reflected heat,
Frae speculum steel ;
For bare refraction ne'er could dae't,”
Said Will MacNeil.
Yet fame his praise did never rair it,
For poortith's weeds obscur'd his merit,
Forby he had a bashfu spirit,
That sham't tae tell
His worth or wants ; let envy spare it
Tae Will MacNeil.
O Barra, [5] thou wast sair to blame !
I here record it tae thy shame,
Thou lat the brichtest o thy name
Unheeded steal
Thro murky life, tae his lang hame
Puir Will MacNeil.
He ne'er did wrang tae livin creature,
For ill, Will hadna't in his nature ;
A warm kind heart his leading feature,
His main-spring wheel,
Ilk virtue grew tae noble stature
In Will MacNeil.
There's nae a man that ever kent him,
But wi their tears will lang lament him,
He hasna left his match ahint him,
At hame or fiel,
His worth lang on our minds will prent him—
Kind Will MacNeil.
But close my sang ; my hamert lays
Are far unfit tae speak his praise ;
Our happy nichts, our happy days,
Fareweel, fareweel !
Now dowie, mute—tears speak our waes
For Will MacNeil !
Get up, my Muse, and soun thy chanter,
Nae Langer wi our feelings santer ;
Ilk true-blue Scot get up an canter,
He's hale an weel !
An lang may fate keep aff mishanter,
Frae Will MacNeil.
This Elegy first appeared in Maver's Glasgow periodical, the Gleaner, page 37, in 1806. See Note to No. 5.—Ed.
Note by Ramsay.—“In previous editions, the name of ‘King Jamie the First’ has been attached to the lines which form the motto but they are not to be found in any of the works of that monarch. They occur in the song of “Willie was a wanton wag,” a much later production ascribed to William Walkinshaw, a member of the now extinct family of Walkinshaw of that Ilk near Paisley.”
Ramsay, in his Edition of 1838, substituted the words “Willie was a wanton wag” for “King Jamie the First.” A dispute recently arose whether the author of “Willie was a wanton wag” was Douglas of Fingland, Hamilton of Gilbertfield, or William Walkinshaw of that Ilk! The song appeared first in Ramsay's Tea-Table Miscellany, published in 1724, with the initials “W. W.” for “Wanton Willie.” David Laing, LL.D., has given bis opinion that Gilbertfield was the author, and we suppose the opinion of such an excellent judge will settle the matter.—Ed.
Note by Ramsay.—“William MacNeil was a surgeon in Old Kilpatrick, and survived, for some years, the friend by whom his good qualities are here celebrated.”
“Will MacNeil” was born about the same time as the Author, and was the son of John MacNeil, gardener to Alexander Speirs; Esq. of Elderslie, and resided at Thorn, between Elderslie and Johnstone. MacNeil and Tannahill were intimate and familiar acquaintances. MacNeil was apprenticed to the trade of a weaver with James Buchanan, weaver, Kilbarchan, to whom the Epistle, No. 25, is addressed; but he detested the work of a wabster. He, accordingly, devoted more time than his leisure hours to the reading of books, and storing his mind with knowledge; and he also indulged in the spirit-stirring music of the bagpipes, and frequently made the woods and glens to the south of Thorn and Elderslie (the scenes of the forest of the songs of Tannahill) echo and resound with his wild pibroch. His sister, Mall MacNeil, had a similar craving for book knowledge and folk lore, and some people even say that she excelled him. Will MacNeil was a tall, robust man, nearly six feet high, with an exceedingly large head, so much out of the ordinary proportion that it was difficult to find a bonnet or hat that would fit the magnum caput without being trysted. MacNeil considered himself qualified to occupy a higher position than that of a wabster. He abandoned the loom, and commenced schoolmaster, and began teaching first at Bridge of Weir and next at Barrhead. By dint of indomitable perseverance, and almost in the face of starvation, he entered Glasgow College as a medical student. He had a severe struggle both to acquire his lessons, attend college, and work at the loom to earn his maintenance. With his threadbare garments and awkward manners, he cut a sorry figure among the young aristocracy, and they played all manner of tricks upon him. Several writers have stated that he ultimately triumphed, and obtained a diploma. We accordingly searched the Register of the University of Glasgow for its date, but could not find the issuing of the diploma. He, however, opened a druggist's shop in Old Kilpatrick, and was called Doctor MacNeil. The doctor having been very frugally brought up, little was required for his maintenance ; and he was not very exacting with his honorarvums, but left his charges to the discretion of the villagers, the millworkers at Duntocher, and the canny wives of the farmers, and they certainly never overpaid him, and frequently remunerated him in kind. He was a member of the same social club with Tannahill, and he was a frequent tourist to the Highlands, visiting the places mentioned in the Elegy, and Tannahill occasionally accompanied him. The doctor married Miss Margaret Walker, helonging to a respectable family in Paisley. He was very short-sighted, and gradually became worse, so that latterly he had to be led by the hand to visit his patients. Before his death, he desired a bunch of rooted heather to be planted at the head of his grave. He died in 1829 in the 55th year of his age, and was buried in the cemetery of Kilpatrick, where it is said Saint Patrick, the patron saint of Ireland, rests in peace. The emblem of Solitude was planted at the desired place, where it bloomed for twelve years till the adjoining lair was opened, when it withered and died.
On Saturday, 5th September, 1874, we made a pilgrimage to the grave in Kilpatrick Churchyard,—a very well-kept burying-ground. Some kind friend, who remembered the kindness of Will MacNeil, had put up a small headstone five inches high, one foot six inches long, by five inches broad, and engraved on the top
W: McN E I L,
SURGEON.
And another considerate friend, who had also recollected his kindness, had recently painted the stone for preservation. These two acts of kindness give a tone to Tannahill's Elegy on his professional friend.— Ed.
In the end of last century, a dispute arose amongst the antiquarians of that period respecting the authorship of the heroic Scottish ballad of “Hardyknute,” whether it was ancient or modern. The grave point, however, was not settled until kind Will, with his antiquarian knowledge, folk lore, and college education, declared “he kent wha made it.” He was in the habit of contributing articles to John Millar's Paisley Repository, and the ballad, with Will MacNeil's knowledge of, and observation on it, will be found in Nos. ix., x., xi., xii., xiii., and xiv. of the Repository—Ed.
[1] The illustrious island of Iona, which was once the luminary of Caledonia, from whence were sent the benefits of knowledge and the blessings of religion among savage clans and roving barbarians. Iona was the burial-place of the kings of Scotland until 1036, when Malcom (III.) Canmore succeeded to the throne. In the end of the 12th century, or beginning of the 13th century, some Cluniac monks from Paisley landed in Iona, and erected the Cathedral. The edifice was cruciform, and dedicated to Saint Mary. The capitals of the columns are carved with grotesque figures, still very sharp, and well preserved. Besides these quaint delineations, there are several dragons with tails ending in scrolls and foliage. In that portion of the Isle are to be seen the romantic remains of Monasteries, both of monks and nuns, Cathedral, Chapels, Colleges, and Oratories,—ruins of ancient grandeur, piety, and literature, surrounded by the old sanctuary of the dead, with their mouldering tombstones of Scots, Irish, and Norway kings, Lords of the Isles, chieftains, and bishops, priests, abbesses, nuns, and friars. We observed that the Duke of Argyle commenced operations on 10th July, 1875, for the restoration of these monastic buildings, and, in re-opening the celebrated quarries at Corsaig, Rose of Mull, the place had been found where the beautiful cornices and arches of the world-famed ruins of Iona were taken. In prosecuting their investigations, the workmen discovered the Habuan Cailleach, or the Nun's Cave, 80 feet long, containing drawings of many of the ancient crosses and tombstones, with their dates, which once adorned the island of Iona. The discovery clears up the doubt as to the place from which these monuments and tombstones came.—Ed.
[2] Tannahill was a great admirer of Ossian's poems, and must have particularly studied the poem of “The War of Inis-thona.” Marvell, or Morvern, in Argyllshire, bounded on the south by the Sound of Mull, is a modern parish composed of the two ancient parishes of Killcomkill and Killintag, which were united about the time of the Reformation. It includes the greater part of the Lordship of Morvern. Killcolmkill, the church of Saint Columba in Morwarne; a small portion of the ruins of the church and the burying ground remain. This district was at one time considered the land of Morven, as stated in the poems of Ossian, and generally believed in the days of Tannahill, but investigations since that period have dissipated the land of song. Professor Wilson, in his poem of “Inismore,” a Dream of the Highlands, writes of this parish—
“Morven and Morn, and Spring and Solitude !
In front is not the scene magnificent ?
Morven and Morn, and Spring and Solitude!
A multitudinous sea of mountain-tops.”—Ed.
[3] Kraken eel,—the Norwegian name of that fabulous monster of the deep called the sea serpent. —Ed.
[4] Archimedes, born 287 B.C., was a renowned geometrician and astronomer of Syracuse in Sicily. His inventions in mechanics, particularly the pulley and the screw, amazed the whole world. When Syracuse was besieged 212 B.C. by Marcellus, Archimedes constructed a burning mirror that fired the enemy's fleet. On the city being taken, the inventor, then seventy-five years of age, was found dead among the slain. The screw, tho Archimedian screw, is a powerful appliance at the present time in marine navigation for propelling vessels, and of great use in general engineering purposes—Ed.
[5] Note by the Author.—“The Laird of Barra, Chief of the MacNeil clan.”
Note by Ramsay.—“MacNeil of Barra, the generally-understood chief of the clan.”
Roderick MacNeil, Laird of the Island of Barra in Inverness-shire, chief of the clan MacNeil, and the 34th generation in lineal descent, was, in the days of Tannehill, as poor as “puir Will McNeil;” and in 1836 the creditors of his son, Colonel MacNeil, sold Barra to Colonel Gordon of Cluny.—Ed.
[Semple 62]