  Charles James Finlayson was born on the 27th August 1790, in the parish of Larbert, and county of Stirling. Owing to the death of his father during his childhood, and the poverty of the family, he was never at school. While a cow-herd to a farmer, he taught himself letters in the fields. With a fine ear for music and an excellent voice, he took delight in singing such scraps of old ballads as he had learned from the cottage matrons. The small gratuities which he procured for holding the horses of the farmers at the annual Falkirk trysts, put him in possession of all the printed ballad literature which that town could supply. In his eleventh year he entered, in a humble capacity, the Carron Iron Works; where he had some opportunity of improving himself in scholarship, and gratifying his taste for books. He travelled from Carron to Glasgow, a distance of twenty-three miles, to procure a copy of Ossian. Improving his musical predilections, he was found qualified, while still a young man, to officiate as precentor, or leader of the psalmody, in the church of his native parish. Resigning this appointment, and his situation in the Carron Works, he for some time taught church music in the neighbouring towns. On an invitation from the Kirk-session and congregation, he became precentor in the Old Kirk, Edinburgh; and in this office gained the active friendship of the respected clergyman, Dr Macknight. Having attained a scientific acquaintance with the theory and practice of his art, Mr Finlayson resigned his appointment in the capital, and proceeded to the provinces as an instructor in vocal music. He visited the principal towns in the east and southern districts of Scotland, and was generally successful. During his professional visit to Dumfries in 1820, he became one of the founders of the Burns' Club in that town. After a short absence in Canada, he settled in Kircudbright as a wine and spirit merchant. In 1832 he was appointed to the office of postmaster. Having retired from business a few years since, he enjoys the fruits of a well-earned competency. He has contributed songs to Blackie's "Book of Scottish Song," and other collections. His song beginning "Oh, my love 's bonnie!" has been translated into German, and published with music at Leipsic.
THE BARD STRIKES HIS HARP. The bard strikes his harp, the wild woods among,
And echo repeats to the breezes his strain;
Enraptured, the small birds around his seat throng,
And the lambkins, delighted, stand mute on the plain.
He sings of the pleasures his young bosom knew,
When beauty inspired him, and love was the theme;
While his harp, ever faithful, awakes them anew,
And a tear dims his eye as he breathes the loved name.
The hearths that bade welcome, the tongues that gave praise,
Are now cold to his sorrows, and mute to his wail!
E'en the oak, his sole shelter, rude winter decays,
And the wild flowers he sung are laid scentless and pale.
Too oft thus in misery, the minstrel must pine;
Neglected by those whom his song wont to cheer,
They think not, alas! as they view his decline,
That his heart still can feel, and his eye shed a tear.
Yet sweet are the pleasures that spring from his woes,
And which souls that are songless can never enjoy;
They know not his joy, for each sweet strain that flows
Twines a wreath round his name time can never destroy.
Sing on, then, sweet bard! though thus lonely ye stray,
Yet ages unborn, thy name shall revere;
While the names that neglect thee have melted away,
As the snowflakes which fall in the stream disappear.
PHŒBUS, WI' GOWDEN CREST. Phoebus, wi' gowden crest, leaves ocean's heaving breast
An' frae the purple east smiles on the day;
Laverocks wi' blythesome strain, mount frae the dewy plain,
Greenwood and rocky glen echo their lay;
Wild flowers, wi' op'ning blooms, woo ilka breeze that comes,
Scattering their rich perfumes over the lea;
But summer's varied dye, lark's song, and breezes' sigh,
Only bring sorrow and sadness to me.
Blighted, like autumn's leaf, ilk joy is changed to grief—
Day smiles around, but no pleasure can gie;
Night on his sable wings, sweet rest to nature brings—
Sleep to the weary, but waukin' to me.
Aften has warldly care wrung my sad bosom sair;
Hope's visions fled me, an' friendship's untrue;
But a' the ills o' fate never could thus create
Anguish like parting, dear Annie, frae you.
Farewell, those beaming eyes, stars in life's wintry skies—
Aft has adversity fled frae your ray;
Farewell, that angel smile, stranger to woman's wile,
That ever could beguile sorrow away;
Farewell, ilk happy scene, wild wood, an' valley green,
Where time, on rapture's wing, over us flew;
Farewell, that peace of heart, thou only could'st impart—
Farewell, dear Annie—a long, long adieu!
OH, MY LOVE'S BONNIE. Oh! my love's bonnie, bonnie, bonnie;
Oh! my love's bonnie and dear to me;
The smile o' her face, and her e'e's witchin' grace,
Are mair than the wealth o' this warld can gie.
Her voice is as sweet as the blackbird at gloamin',
When echo repeats her soft notes to the ear,
And lovely and fresh as the wild roses blooming,
That dip in the stream o' the Carron so clear.
But poortith 's a foe to the peace o' this bosom,
That glows sae devoutly, dear lassie, for thee;
Alas! that e'er poortith should blight love's young blossom,
When riches nae lasting contentment can gie.
Yet hope's cheerfu' sun shall aboon my head hover,
And guide a lone wanderer, when far frae thee;
For ne'er, till it sets, will I prove a false lover,
Or think o' anither, dear lassie, but thee.
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