Alexander Hume was born at Edinburgh on the 17th February 1811. He is employed as a journeyman cabinetmaker in that city. As a musical composer he has attained considerable eminence. The following popular songs from his pen are published with music of his own composition.
Oh, bonnie Nelly Brown, I will sing a song to thee;
Though oceans wide between us row, ye 'll aye be dear to me;
Though mony a year 's gane o'er my head since, down in Linton's dell,
I took my last fond look o' thee, my ain dear Nell.
Oh, tell me, Nelly Brown, do you mind our youthfu' days,
When we ran about the burnie's side, or speel'd the gow'ny braes;
When I pu'd the crawpea's blossom, an' the bloomin' heather-bell,
To twine them round thy bonnie brow, my ain dear Nell!
How often, Nelly Brown, hae we wander'd o'er the lea,
Where grow the brier, the yellow bloom, an' flowery hawthorn-tree;
Or sported 'mang the leafy woods, till nicht's lang shadows fell—
Oh, we ne'er had thoughts o' partin' then, my ain dear Nell!
And in winter, Nelly Brown, when the nichts were lang an' drear,
We would creep down by the ingle side, some fairy tale to hear;
We cared nae for the snawy drift, or nippin' frost sae snell,
For we lived but for each other then, my ain dear Nell!
They tell me, Nelly Brown, that your bonnie raven hair
Is snaw-white now, an' that your brow, sae cloudless ance an' fair,
Looks care-worn now, and unco sad; but I heed na what they tell,
For I ne'er can think you 're changed to me, my ain dear Nell!
Ance mair then, Nelly Brown, I hae sung o' love and thee,
Though oceans wide between us row, ye 're aye the same to me,
As when I sigh'd my last farewell in Linton's flowery dell—
Oh, I ne'er can tine my love for thee, my ain dear Nell!
Mary, dearest maid, I leave thee,
Hame, and frien's, and country dear;
Oh! ne'er let our pairtin' grieve thee,
Happier days may soon be here.
See yon bark, sae proudly bounding,
Soon shall bear me o'er the sea,
Hark! the trumpet loudly sounding
Calls me far frae love and thee.
Summer flowers shall cease to blossom;
Streams run backward frae the sea;
Cauld in death maun be this bosom,
Ere it cease to throb for thee.
Fare-thee-weel! may every blessin',
Shed by Heaven, around thee fa';
Ae last time thy loved form pressin'—
Think o' me when far awa'.
