  A respectable writer of lyric poetry, James Macdonald was born in September 1807, in the parish of Fintry, and county of Stirling. His father was employed in the cotton factory of Culcruich. Of unwonted juvenile precocity, he attracted the attention of two paternal uncles, whose circumstances enabled them to provide him with a liberal education. Acquiring the rudiments of learning at Culcruich, he afterwards studied at the grammar school of Stirling, and proceeded, in 1822, to the university of Glasgow. Intended by his relations for the ministry of the Established Church, he attended the Divinity Hall during three sessions. Preferring secular employment, he now abandoned the study of theology, and occupied himself in educational pursuits. After teaching in several boarding establishments, he became corrector of the press in the printing-office of Messrs Blackie of Glasgow. Having suffered on account of bad health, he was induced to accept the appointment of Free Church schoolmaster at Blairgowrie. His health continuing to decline, he removed to the salubrious village of Catrine, in Ayrshire: he died there on the 27th May 1848. Macdonald was a devoted teacher of Sabbath schools; and his only separate publications are two collections of hymns for their use.
BONNIE AGGIE LANG. Or ere we part, my heart leaps hie to sing ae bonnie sang,
Aboot my ain sweet lady-love, my darling Aggie Lang;
It is na that her cheeks are like the blooming damask rose,
It is na that her brow is white as stainless Alpine snows,
It is na that her locks are black as ony raven's wing,
Nor is 't her e'e o' winning glee that mak's me fondly sing.
But, oh! her heart, a bonnie well, that gushes fresh an' free
O' maiden love, and happiness, and a' that sweet can be;
Though saft the sang o' simmer winds, the warbling o' the stream,
The carolling o' joyous birds, the murmur o' a dream,
I 'd rather hear a'e gentle word frae Aggie's angel tongue,
For weel I ken her heart is mine—the fountain whar it sprung.
Yestreen I met her in a glen about the gloamin' hour;
The moon was risen o'er the trees, the dew begemm'd ilk flower,
The weary wind was hush'd asleep, an' no a sough cam' nigh,
E'en frae the waukrife stream that ran in silver glintin' by;
I press'd her milk-white han' in mine—she smiled as angels smile,
But ah! frae me her tale o' love this warld manna wile.
I saw the silver light o' heaven fa' on her bonnie brow,
An' glitter on the honey-blabs upon her cherry mou';
I saw the lily moonbeams steal the redness o' the rose,
An' sleep upon her downy cheek in beautiful repose.
The moon rose high, the stream gaed by, but aye she smiled on me,
An' what she wadna breathe in words she tauld it wi' here e'e.
I 've sat within a palace hall amid the grand an' gay,
I 've listen'd to the carnival o' merry birds in May,
I 've been in joyous companies, the wale o' mirth an' glee,
An' danced in nature's fairy bowers by mountain, lake, and lea;
But never has this heart o' mine career'd in purer pride,
As in that moonlit glen an' bower, wi' Aggie by my side.
THE PRIDE O' THE GLEN. Oh, bonnie 's the lily that blooms in the valley,
And fair is the cherry that grows on the tree;
The primrose smiles sweet as it welcomes the simmer,
And modest 's the wee gowan's love-talking e'e;
Mair dear to my heart is that lown cosy dingle,
Whar late i' the gloamin', by the lanely "Ha' den,"
I met with the fairest ere bounded in beauty,
By the banks o' the Endrick, the pride o' the glen.
She 's pure as the spring cloud that smiles in the welkin,
An blithe as the lambkin that sports on the lea;
Her heart is a fount rinnin' owre wi' affection,
And a warld o' feeling is the love o' her e'e.
The prince may be proud o' his vast hoarded treasures,
The heir o' his grandeur and high pedigree;
They kenna the happiness dwalt in my bosom,
When alane wi' the angel o' luve and o' le.
I 've seen the day dawn in a shower-drappin' goud,
The grass spread wi' dew, like a wide siller sea;
The clouds shinin' bricht in a deep amber licht,
And the earth blushin' back to the glad lift on hie.
I 've dream'd o' a palace wi' gem-spangled ha's,
And proud wa's a' glitterin' in rich diamond sheen
Wi' towers shinin' fair, through the rose-tinted air,
And domes o' rare pearls and rubies atween.
I 've sat in a garden, 'mid earth's gayest flowers,
A' gaudily shawin' their beauteous dyes,
And breathin' in calm the air's fragrant balm,
Like angels asleep on the plains o' the skies;
Yet the garden, and palace, and day's rosy dawning,
Though in bless'd morning dreams they should aft come again,
Can ne'er be sae sweet as the bonnie young lassie,
That bloom'd by the Endrick, the pride of the glen.
The exile, in sleep, haunts the land o' his fathers,
The captive's ae dream is his hour to be free;
The weary heart langs for the morning rays comin',
The oppress'd, for his sabbath o' sweet liberty.
But my life's only hope, my heart's only prayer,
Is the day that I 'll ca' the young lassie my ain;
Though a' should forsake me, wi' her I 'll be happy,
On the banks o' the Endrick, the pride o' the glen.
MARY. The winter's cauld and cheerless blast
May rob the feckless tree, Mary,
And lay the young flowers in the dust,
Whar' ance they bloom'd in glee, Mary.
It canna chill my bosom's hopes—
It canna alter thee, Mary;
The summer o' thy winsome face
Is aye the same to me, Mary.
The gloom o' life, its cruel strife,
May wear me fast awa', Mary;
An' lea'e me like a cauld, cauld corpse,
Amang the drifting snaw, Mary.
Yet 'mid the drift, wert thou but nigh,
I 'd fauld my weary e'e, Mary;
And deem the wild and raging storm,
A laverock's sang o' glee, Mary.
My heart can lie in ruin's dust,
And fortune's winter dree, Mary;
While o'er it shines the diamond ray,
That glances frae thine e'e, Mary.
The rending pangs and waes o' life,
The dreary din o' care, Mary,
I 'll welcome, gin they lea'e but thee,
My lanely lot to share, Mary.
As o'er yon hill the evening star
Is wilin' day awa', Mary;
Sae sweet and fair art thou to me,
At life's sad gloamin' fa', Mary.
It gars me greet wi' vera joy,
Whene'er I think on thee, Mary,
That sic a heart sae true as thine,
Should e'er ha'e cared for me, Mary.
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