  Robert Chambers, well known for his connexion with the publishing house of W. & R. Chambers, Edinburgh, and as the author of several meritorious works of a national character, was born in 1802 at Peebles, where his parents occupied a respectable position. Robert was the second of a family of six children, his elder brother William being about two years his senior. In consequence of misfortunes in business, James Chambers, the father of these youths, found it desirable to remove to Edinburgh with his family in 1813. While still in childhood Robert manifested a remarkable aptitude for learning, as well as a taste for music and poetry—a taste inherited from his father, who was a good performer on several instruments, and possessed a taste for both literature and science. Before completing his twelfth year, he had passed through a complete classical course at the grammar school of his native burgh, had perused no small portion of the books within his reach including those of a circulating library, and mastered much of the general information contained in a copy of the "EncyclopÆdia Britannica," of which his father possessed a copy of the then latest edition. Left very much to their own resources, William became an apprentice to a bookseller in 1814; and Robert, at the age of sixteen, threw himself on the world, as a dealer in old books, a step in accordance with his natural tastes, and which proved fortunate. How the two lads struggled on obscurely, but always improving their circumstances; how they were cheered onward by the counsels of their widowed mother; how they finally went into partnership for the purpose of prosecuting literary undertakings—need not here be detailed. Robert, in 1822-3, began to write the "Traditions of Edinburgh," which first brought him prominently into notice. This amusing work was followed by the "Popular Rhymes of Scotland." Next came his "Picture of Scotland," an interesting topographical work in two volumes; "Histories of the Scottish Rebellions;" three volumes of "Scottish Ballads and Songs;" and "Biography of Distinguished Scotsmen," in four volumes. Besides various popular works, he produced, for private circulation, a volume of poetical pieces, distinguished for their fine taste and feeling. William having started Chambers's Edinburgh Journal in February 1832, Robert became an efficient coadjutor, and mainly helped to give the work its extensive popularity. In the more early volumes, in particular, there appear many admirable essays, humorous and pathetic, from his pen. Besides these professional avocations, Mr Robert Chambers takes part in the proceedings of the scientific and other learned bodies in Edinburgh. Among his latest detached works is a volume, of a geological character, on the "Ancient Sea Margins of Scotland;" also, "Tracings of Iceland," the result of a visit to that interesting island in the summer of 1855. Living respected in Edinburgh, in the bosom of his family, and essentially a self-made man, Mr Robert Chambers is peculiarly distinguished for his kindly disposition and unobtrusive manners—for his enlightened love of country, and diligence in professional labours, uniting, in a singularly happy manner, the man of refined literary taste with the man of business and the useful citizen.
YOUNG RANDAL. Tune—'There grows a bonnie brier bush.' Young Randal was a bonnie lad when he gaed awa',
Young Randal was a bonnie lad when he gaed awa',
'Twas in the sixteen hundred year o' grace and thritty-twa,
That Randal, the laird's youngest son, gaed awa'.
It was to seek his fortune in the High Germanie,
To fecht the foreign loons in the High Germanie,
That he left his father's tower o' sweet Willanslee,
And monie mae friends in the North Countrie.
He left his mother in her bower, his father in the ha',
His brother at the outer yett, but and his sisters twa',
And his bonnie cousin Jean, that look'd owre the castle wa',
And, mair than a' the lave, loot the tears down fa'.
"Oh, whan will ye be back," sae kindly did she speir,
"Oh, whan will ye be back, my hinny and my dear?"
"Whenever I can win eneuch o' Spanish gear,
To dress ye out in pearlins and silks, my dear."
Oh, Randal's hair was coal-black when he gaed awa'—
Oh, Randal's cheeks were roses red when he gaed awa',
And in his bonnie e'e, a spark glintit high,
Like the merrie, merrie look in the morning sky.
Oh, Randal was an altert man whan he came hame—
A sair altert man was he when he came hame;
Wi' a ribbon at his breast, and a Sir at his name—
And gray, gray cheeks did Randal come hame.
He lichtit at the outer yett, and rispit with the ring,
And down came a ladye to see him come in,
And after the ladye came bairns feifteen:
"Can this muckle wife be my true love Jean?"
"Whatna stoure carl is this," quo' the dame,
"Sae gruff and sae grand, and sae feckless and sae lame?"
"Oh, tell me, fair madam, are ye bonnie Jeanie Graham?"
"In troth," quo' the ladye, "sweet sir, the very same."
He turned him about wi' a waefu' e'e,
And a heart as sair as sair could be;
He lap on his horse, and awa' did wildly flee,
And never mair came back to sweet Willanslee.
Oh, dule on the poortith o' this countrie,
And dule on the wars o' the High Germanie,
And dule on the love that forgetfu' can be,
For they 've wreck'd the bravest heart in this hale countrie.
THE LADYE THAT I LOVE. Were I a doughty cavalier
On fire for high-born dame,
With sword and lance I would not fear
To win a warrior's fame.
But since no more stern deeds of blood
The gentle fair may move,
I 'll woo in softer better mood
The ladye that I love.
For helmet bright with steel and gold,
And plumes that flout the sky,
I 'll wear a soul of hardier mould,
And thoughts that sweep as high.
For scarf athwart my corslet cast,
With her fair name y-wove;
I 'll have her pictured in my breast,
The ladye that I love.
No crested steed through battle throng
Shall bear me bravely on,
But pride shall make my spirit strong,
Where honours may be won.
Amidst the great of mind and heart,
My prowess I will prove,
And thus I 'll win, by gentler art,
The ladye that I love.
THOU GENTLE AND KIND ONE. Thou gentle and kind one,
Who com'st o'er my dreams,
Like the gales of the west,
Or the music of streams;
Oh, softest and dearest,
Can that time e'er be,
When I could be forgetful
Or scornful of thee?
No! my soul might be dark,
Like a landscape in shade,
And for thee not the half
Of its love be display'd,
But one ray of thy kindness
Would banish my pain,
And soon kiss every feature
To brightness again.
And if, in contending
With men and the world,
My eye might be fierce,
Or my brow might be curl'd;
That brow on thy bosom
All smooth'd would recline,
And that eye melt in kindness
When turn'd upon thine.
If faithful in sorrow,
More faithful in joy—
Thou shouldst find that no change
Could affection destroy;
All profit, all pleasure,
As nothing would be,
And each triumph despised
Unpartaken by thee.
LAMENT FOR THE OLD HIGHLAND WARRIORS. Oh, where are the pretty men of yore?
Oh, where are the brave men gone?
Oh, where are the heroes of the north?
Each under his own gray stone.
Oh, where now the broad bright claymore?
Oh, where are the trews and plaid?
Oh, where now the merry Highland heart?
In silence for ever laid.
Och on a rie, och on a rie,
Och on a rie, all are gone;
Och on a rie, the heroes of yore,
Each under his own gray stone.
The chiefs that were foremost of old,
Macdonald and brave Lochiel,
The Gordon, the Murray, and the Graham,
With their clansmen true as steel;
Who follow'd and fought with Montrose,
Glencairn, and bold Dundee;
Who to Charlie gave their swords and their all,
And would aye rather fa' than flee.
Och on a rie, &c.
The hills that our brave fathers trod
Are now to the stranger a store;
The voice of the pipe and the bard
Shall awaken never more.
Such things it is sad to think on—
They come like the mist by day—
And I wish I had less in this world to leave,
And be with them that are away.
Och on a rie, &c.
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