A song-writer of merit, John Halliday was born on the 18th July 1821, at Hawickshielsgate, near Hawick, Roxburghshire. His father was an agricultural labourer; and, with an ordinary education at school, he was, at an early age, engaged as an assistant shepherd to a tenant farmer in his native district. Inheriting from his mother a taste for the elder Scottish ballad, he devoted his leisure hours to reading such scraps of songs as he could manage to procure. In his thirteenth year he essayed to compose verses, and at the age of twenty became a contributor of poetical stanzas to the provincial journals. Encouraged by a numerous list of subscribers, he published, in 1847, "The Rustic Bard," a duodecimo volume of poems and songs. After being several years resident at Hopekirk, Roxburghshire, he removed in 1854 to Bridge of Allan, where he is well employed as a florist and landscape gardener.
THE AULD KIRK BELL.
In a howm, by a burn, where the brown birks grow,
And the green ferns nod when the wild winds blow,
Stands the roofless kirk in the auld kirkyard,
Where the gowans earliest gem the swaird;
And the gray, gray moss on ilk cauld through stane
Shrouds in oblivion the lang, lang gane—
Where the ance warm heart is a cauld, cauld clod,
And the beauteous and brave give a green to the sod—
On a time-worn tower, where the dim owls dwell,
Tuneless and torn, hangs the auld kirk bell.
On the auld kirk floor is the damp night dew,
Where warm words flow'd in a worship true;
Is the sugh o' the breeze, and the hum o' the bee
As it wings and sings in its taintless glee
Through the nettles tall to the thistles red,
Where they roughly wave o'er each deep, dark bed;
And it plies its task on the wa'-flowers tall,
Which bloom in the choir and wave on the wall;
Then, soaring away with a sweep and a swell,
It covers its combs in the auld kirk bell.
By the crumbling base of the auld kirk tower
Is the broad-leaved dock and the bright brae flower;
And the adders hiss o'er the lime-bound stones,
And playfully writhe round mouldering bones:
The bat clingeth close to the binewood's root,
Where its gnarlÈd boughs up the belfry shoot,
As, hiding the handworks of ruthless time,
It garlands in grandeur and green sublime
The hoary height, where the rust sae fell
Bends, as with a burden, the auld kirk bell.
Oh, red is the rust, and a ruin is come
To the auld kirk bell—ance and ever it 's dumb;
On the brink of the past 'tis awaiting a doom,
For a wauf o' the wind may awaken its tomb,
As, bearing its fragments, all dust-like, away,
To blend with water, the wood and the clay,
Till lost 'mid the changes of manners and men;
Then ne'er ane will think, nor ere ane will ken,
That a joyfu' jowl and a waefu' knell,
As it swung, had been rung by the auld kirk bell.
THE AULD AIK-TREE.
Oh, we hae been amang the bowers that winter didna bare,
And we hae daunder'd in the howes where flowers were ever fair,
And lain aneath as lofty trees as eye did ever see,
Yet ne'er could lo'e them as we lo'e the auld aik-tree.
It 's no because its boughs are busk'd in any byous green,
For simmer sairs it little now—it's no what it has been,
Sin' ilka wauf o' win' that blaws dings dauds o't on the lea,
And bairnies bear their burdens frae the auld aik-tree.
It 's no because the gowans bright grow bonnie by its ruit,
For we hae seen them blum as braw in mony a ither bit;
Nor yet because the mavis sings his mellow morning glee
Sae sweetly frae the branches o' the auld aik-tree.
But there 's a kindly feeling found and foster'd in the heart,
Which bears the thought a backward stream to lifetime's early part,
And ties us to ilk morning scene o' love and laughing glee
We 've seen, and kenn'd, and join'd aneath the auld aik-tree.
For we hae play'd aneath its shade a chuffie-cheekit bairn,
Unkennin' o', uncarin' for, cauld care or crosses stern,
And ran around it at the ba' when we frae schule wan free;
Then wha daur say we sudna lo'e the auld aik-tree?
We 've speel'd upon its foggie stem and dern'd amang its green,
To catch the pyet in her nest amidst the grays o' e'en;
And watch'd the gooldie bringin' doon to big her hame sae wee
Atween the cosie forkings o' the auld aik-tree.
And we hae tint and ta'en a heart when gloamin's shadows threw
Out o'er the glen her misty gray in kindly drippin' dew,
And felt the tear o' anguish fa' in torrents frae our e'e,
When pairting frae that loved ane 'neath the auld aik-tree.
Our hame we left wi' hopefu' heart and mony a warm fareweel,
And gowd and gear we gain'd awa; but oh, the freen's sae leal!
Where are they? where my childhood's hearth—those hearts sae kind and free,—
When a' is unco groun save the auld aik-tree?
