THOMAS MOUNSEY CUNNINGHAM. |
Thomas Mounsey Cunningham, an elder brother of Allan Cunningham, is entitled to commemoration among the modern song-writers of his country. His ancestors were lords of that district of Ayrshire which still bears their family name; and a small inheritance in that county, which belonged to his more immediate progenitors, was lost to the name and race by the head of the family having espoused the cause and joined the army of the Duke of Montrose. For several generations his forefathers were farmers at Gogar, in the parish of Ratho, Midlothian. John Cunningham, his father, was born at Gogar on the 26th March 1743, whence he removed in his twenty-third year to fill the situation of land-steward on the estate of Lumley, in the parish of Chester, and county of Durham. He next became overseer on the property of Mr Mounsey of Ramerscales, near Lochmaben, Dumfriesshire. He married Elizabeth Harley, a lady of good connexions and of elegant personal accomplishments, and with the view of acquiring a more decided independence in his new condition, took in lease the farm of Culfaud, in the stewartry of Kirkcudbright. Of a family of ten, Thomas was the second son; he was born at Culfaud on the 25th June 1776. During his infancy the farming speculations of his father proved unfortunate, and the lease of Culfaud was abandoned. Returning to his former occupation as a land-steward, John Cunningham was employed in succession by the proprietors of Barncaillie and Collieston, and latterly by the ingenious Mr Miller of Dalswinton. Thomas was educated at the village-school of Kellieston, and subsequently at the academy of Dumfries. The circumstances of his parents required that he should choose a manual profession; and he was apprenticed by his own desire to a neighbouring mill-wright. It was during his intervals of leisure, while acquiring a knowledge of this laborious occupation, that he first essayed the composition of verses; he submitted his poems to his father, who mingled judicious criticism with words of encouragement. "The Har'st Home," one of his earliest pieces of merit, was privileged with insertion in the series of "Poetry, Original and Selected," published by Brash & Reid, booksellers in Glasgow. Proceeding to England in 1797, he entered the workshop of a mill-wright in Rotherham. Under the same employer he afterwards pursued his craft at King's Lynn; in 1800 he removed to Wiltshire, and soon after to the neighbourhood of Cambridge. He next received employment at Dover, and thence proceeded to London, where he occupied a situation in the establishment of Rennie, the celebrated engineer. He afterwards became foreman to one Dickson, an engineer, and superintendent of Fowler's chain-cable manufactory. In 1812 he returned to Rennie's establishment as a clerk, with a liberal salary. On leaving his father's house to seek his fortune in the south, he had been strongly counselled by Mr Miller of Dalswinton to abjure the gratification of his poetical tendencies, and he seems to have resolved on the faithful observance of this injunction. For a period of nine years his muse was silent; at length, in 1806, he appeared in the Scots Magazine as the contributor of some of the best verses which had ever adorned the pages of that periodical. The editor was eloquent in his commendations; and the Ettrick Shepherd, who was already a contributor to the magazine, took pains to discover the author, and addressed him a lengthened poetical epistle, expressive of his admiration. A private intimacy ensued between the two rising poets; and when the Shepherd, in 1809, planned the "Forest Minstrel," he made application to his ingenious friend for contributions. Cunningham sanctioned the republication of such of his lyrics as had appeared in the Scots Magazine, and these proved the best ornaments of the work. Impatient of criticism, and of a whimsical turn of mind, Cunningham was incapable of steadfastly pursuing the career of a man of letters. Just as his name was becoming known by his verses in the Scots Magazine, he took offence at some incidental allusions to his style, and suddenly stopped his contributions. Silent for a second period of nine years, the circumstance of the appropriation of one of his songs in the "Nithsdale Minstrel," a provincial collection of poetry, published at Dumfries, again aroused him to authorship. He made the publishers the subject of a satirical poem in the Scots Magazine of 1815. On the origin of the Edinburgh Magazine, in 1817, he became a contributor, and under the title of the "Literary Legacy," wrote many curious snatches of antiquities, sketches of modern society, and scraps of song and ballad, which imparted a racy interest to the pages of the new periodical. A slight difference with the editor at length induced him to relapse into silence. Fitful and unsettled as a cultivator of literature, he was in the business of life a model of regularity and perseverance. He was much esteemed by his employer, and was ultimately promoted to the chief clerkship in his establishment. He fell a victim to the Asiatic cholera on the 28th October 1834, in the 58th year of his age. During his latter years he was in the habit of examining at certain intervals the MSS. of prose and poetry, which at a former period he had accumulated. On those occasions he uniformly destroyed some which he deemed unworthy of further preservation. During one of these purgations, he hastily committed to the flames a poem on which he had bestowed much labour, and which contained a humorous description of scenes and characters familiar to him in youth. The poem was entitled "Braken Fell;" and his ingenious brother Allan, in a memoir of the author, has referred to its destruction in terms of regret.[105] The style of Thomas Cunningham seems, however, to have been lyrical, and it may be presumed that his songs afford the best evidence of his power. In private life he was much cherished by a circle of friends, and his society was gay and animated. He was rather above the middle height, and latterly was corpulent. He married in 1804, and has left a family. ADOWN THE BURNIE'S FLOWERY BANK.[106] Tune—"The Lea Rig." Amang the birks sae blithe an' gay, I met my Julia hameward gaun; The linties chantit on the spray, The lammies loupit on the lawn; On ilka swaird the hay was mawn, The braes wi' gowans buskit bra', An' ev'ning's plaid o' gray was thrawn Out ower the hills o' Gallowa'.
Wi' music wild the woodlands rang, An' fragrance wing'd alang the lea, As down we sat the flowers amang, Upon the banks o' stately Dee. My Julia's arms encircled me, An' saftly slade the hours awa', Till dawning coost a glimm'rin' e'e Upon the hills o' Gallowa'.
It isna owsen, sheep, an' kye, It isna gowd, it isna gear, This lifted e'e wad hae, quo' I, The warld's drumlie gloom to cheer; But gie to me my Julia dear, Ye powers wha rowe this yirthen ba', An' oh, sae blithe through life I 'll steer, Amang the hills o' Gallowa'.
When gloamin' daunders up the hill, An' our gudeman ca's hame the yowes, Wi' her I 'll trace the mossy rill That through the muir meand'ring rowes; Or tint amang the scroggie knowes, My birken pipe I 'll sweetly blaw, An' sing the streams, the straths, and howes, The hills an' dales o' Gallowa'.
An' when auld Scotland's heathy hills, Her rural nymphs an' jovial swains, Her flowery wilds an' wimpling rills, Awake nae mair my canty strains; Where friendship dwells an' freedom reigns, Where heather blooms an' muircocks craw, Oh, dig my grave, and lay my banes Amang the hills o' Gallowa'.
THE BRAES OF BALLAHUN.[108] Tune—"Roslin Castle." Now smiling summer's balmy breeze, Soft whispering, fans the leafy trees; The linnet greets the rosy morn, Sweet in yon fragrant flowery thorn; The bee hums round the woodbine bower, Collecting sweets from every flower; And pure the crystal streamlets run Among the braes of Ballahun.
Oh, blissful days, for ever fled, When wand'ring wild, as fancy led, I ranged the bushy bosom'd glen, The scroggie shaw, the rugged linn, And mark'd each blooming hawthorn bush, Where nestling sat the speckled thrush; Or, careless roaming, wander'd on Among the braes of Ballahun.
Why starts the tear, why bursts the sigh, When hills and dales rebound with joy? The flowery glen and lilied lea, In vain display their charms to me. I joyless roam the heathy waste, To soothe this sad, this troubled breast; And seek the haunts of men to shun, Among the braes of Ballahun.
The virgin blush of lovely youth, The angel smile of artless truth, This breast illumed with heavenly joy, Which lyart time can ne'er destroy. Oh, Julia dear! the parting look, The sad farewell we sorrowing took, Still haunt me as I stray alone, Among the braes of Ballahun.
THE UNCO GRAVE.[109] Tune—"Crazy Jane." Bonnie Clouden, as ye wander Hills, an' haughs, an' muirs amang, Ilka knowe an' green meander, Learn my sad, my dulefu' sang! Braes o' breckan, hills o' heather, Howms whare rows the gowden wave; Blissful scenes, fareweel for ever! I maun seek an unco grave.
Sair I pled, though fate, unfriendly, Stang'd my heart wi' waes and dules, That some faithfu' hand might kindly Lay 't among my native mools. Cronies dear, wha late an' early Aye to soothe my sorrows strave, Think on ane wha lo'es ye dearly, Doom'd to seek an unco grave.
Torn awa' frae Scotia's mountains, Far frae a' that 's dear to dwall, Mak's my e'en twa gushin' fountains, Dings a dirk in my puir saul. Braes o' breckan, hills o' heather, Howms whare rows the gowden wave, Blissful scenes, fareweel for ever! I maun seek an unco grave.
JULIA'S GRAVE. Tune—"Logan Water." Ye briery bields, where roses blaw! Ye flowery fells, and sunny braes, Whase scroggie bosoms foster'd a' The pleasures o' my youthfu' days! Amang your leafy simmer claes, And blushing blooms, the zephyr flies, Syne wings awa', and wanton plays Around the grave whare Julia lies.
Nae mair your bonnie birken bowers, Your streamlets fair, and woodlands gay, Can cheer the weary winged hours, As up the glen I joyless stray; For a' my hopes hae flown away, And when they reach'd their native skies, Left me amid the world o' wae, To weet the grave where Julia lies.
It is na beauty's fairest bloom, It is na maiden charms consign'd, And hurried to an early tomb, That wrings my heart and clouds my mind; But sparkling wit, and sense refined, And spotless truth, without disguise, Make me with sighs enrich the wind That fans the grave whare Julia lies.
FAREWEEL, YE STREAMS. Air—"Lassie wi' the Yellow Coatie." Fareweel, ye streams sae dear to me, My bonnie Clouden, Kith, and Dee; Ye burns that row sae bonnily, Your siller waves nae mair I 'll see. Yet though frae your green banks I 'm driven, My saul away could ne'er be riven; For still she lifts her e'en to heaven, An' sighs to be again wi' thee.
Ye canty bards ayont the Tweed, Your skins wi' claes o' tartan cleed, An' lilt alang the verdant mead, Or blithely on your whistles blaw, An' sing auld Scotia's barns an ha's, Her bourtree dykes an mossy wa's, Her faulds, her bughts, an' birken shaws, Whare love an' freedom sweeten a'.
Sing o' her carles teuch an' auld, Her carlines grim that flyte an' scauld, Her wabsters blithe, an' souters bauld, Her flocks an' herds sae fair to see. Sing o' her mountains bleak an high; Her fords, whare neigh'rin' kelpies ply; Her glens, the haunts o' rural joy; Her lasses lilting o'er the lea.
To you the darling theme belangs, That frae my heart exulting spangs; Oh, mind, amang your bonnie sangs, The lads that bled for liberty. Think o' our auld forbears o' yore, Wha dyed the muir wi' hostile gore; Wha slavery's bands indignant tore, An' bravely fell for you an' me.
My gallant brithers, brave an' bauld, Wha haud the pleugh, or wake the fauld, Until your dearest bluid rin cauld, Aye true unto your country be. Wi' daring look her dirk she drew, An' coost a mither's e'e on you; Then let na ony spulzien crew Her dear-bought freedom wrest frae thee.
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