A song-writer of considerable popularity, Thomas C. Latto was born in 1818, in the parish of Kingsbarns, Fifeshire. Instructed in the elementary branches at the parochial seminary, he entered, in his fourteenth year, the United College of St Andrews. Having studied during five sessions at this University, he was in 1838 admitted into the writing-chambers of Mr John Hunter, W.S., Edinburgh, now Auditor of the Court of Session. He subsequently became advocate's clerk to Mr William E. Aytoun, Professor of Rhetoric in the University of Edinburgh. After a period of employment as a Parliament House clerk, he accepted the situation of managing clerk to a writer in Dundee. In 1852 he entered into business as a commission-agent in Glasgow. Subsequently emigrating to the United States, he has for some years been engaged in mercantile concerns at New York.
Latto first became known as a song-writer in the pages of "Whistle-binkie." In 1845 he edited a poem, entitled "The Minister's Kail-yard," which, with a number of lyrics of his own composition, appeared in a duodecimo volume. To the "Book of Scottish Song" he made several esteemed contributions. Verses from his pen have appeared in Blackwood's and Tait's Magazines.
THE KISS AHINT THE DOOR.
Tune—"There 's nae Luck about the House."
There 's meikle bliss in ae fond kiss,
Whiles mair than in a score;
But wae betak' the stouin smack
I took ahint the door.
O laddie, whisht! for sic a fricht
I ne'er was in afore;
Fou brawly did my mither hear
The kiss ahint the door.
The wa's are thick—ye needna fear;
But, gin they jeer and mock,
I 'll swear it was a startit cork,
Or wyte the rusty lock.
There 's meikle bliss, &c.
We stappit ben, while Maggie's face
Was like a lowin' coal;
An' as for me, I could hae crept
Into a mouse's hole.
The mither look't—saffs how she look't!—
Thae mithers are a bore,
An' gleg as ony cat to hear
A kiss ahint the door.
Their 's meikle bliss, &c.
The douce gudeman, tho' he was there,
As weel micht been in Rome,
For by the fire he puff'd his pipe,
An' never fash'd his thumb;
But, titterin' in a corner, stood
The gawky sisters four—
A winter's nicht for me they micht
Hae stood ahint the door.
There 's meikle bliss, &c.
"How daur ye tak' sic freedoms here?"
The bauld gudewife began;
Wi' that a foursome yell got up—
I to my heels and ran.
A besom whiskit by my lug,
An' dishclouts half-a-score:
Catch me again, tho' fidgin' fain,
At kissin 'hint the door.
There 's meikle bliss, &c.
THE WIDOW'S AE BIT LASSIE.
Tune—"My only Jo and Dearie, O!"
Oh, guess ye wha I met yestreen
On Kenly banks sae grassy, O!
Wha cam' to bless my waitin' een?—
The widow's ae bit lassie, O!
She brak' my gloamin' dream sae sweet,
Just whaur the wimplin' burnies meet;
The smother'd laugh—I flew to greet
The widow's ae bit lassie, O!
They glintit slee—the moon and she—
The widow's ae bit lassie, O!—
On tremblin' stream an' tremblin' me:
She is a dear wee lassie, O!
How rapture's pulse was beating fast
As Mary to my heart I claspt!
Oh, bliss divine—owre sweet to last—
I 've kiss'd the dear bit lassie, O!
She nestled close, like croodlin' doo—
The widow's ae bit lassie, O!
My cheek to hers, syne mou' to mou'—
The widow's ae bit lassie, O!
Unto my breast again, again,
I prest her guileless heart sae fain;
Sae blest were baith—now she 's my ain,
The widow's ae bit lassie, O!
Ye powers aboon, wha made her mine—
The widow's ae bit lassie, O!
My heart wad break gin I should tyne
The widow's ae bit lassie, O!
Our hearth shall glad the angels' sight;
The lamp o' love shall lowe sae bright
On me and her, my soul's delight,
The widow's ae bit lassie, O!
THE YELLOW-HAIRED LADDIE.
The maidens are smiling in rocky Glencoe,
The clansmen are arming to rush on the foe;
Gay banners are streaming as forth pours the clan,
The yellow-haired laddie is first in the van.
The pibroch is kindling each heart to the war,
The Cameron's slogan is heard from afar;
They close for the struggle where many shall fall,
But the yellow-haired laddie is foremost of all.
He towers like a wave in the fierce rolling tide,
No kinsman of Evan's may stand by his side;
The Camerons gather around him alone—
He heeds not the danger, and fear is unknown.
The plumes of his bonnet are seen through the fight—
A beacon for valour, which fires at the sight;
But he sees not yon claymore—ah! traitorous thrust!
The plumes and the bonnet are laid in the dust.
The maidens are smiling in rocky Glencoe—
The clansmen approach—they have vanquish'd the foe;
But sudden the cheeks of the maidens are pale,
For the sound of the coronach comes on the gale.
The maidens are weeping in rocky Glencoe,
From warriors' eyelids the bitter drops flow;
They come—but, oh! where is their chieftain so dear?
The yellow-haired laddie is low on the bier.
The maidens are wailing in rocky Glencoe—
There 's gloom in the valley, at sunrise 'twill go;
But no sun can the gloom from their hearts chase away—
The yellow-haired laddie lies cauld in the clay.
TELL ME, DEAR.
Air—"Loudon's bonnie Woods and Braes."
Tell me dear! in mercy speak,
Has Heaven heard my prayer, lassie?
Faint the rose is on thy cheek,
But still the rose is there, lassie!
Away, away each dark foreboding,
Heavy days with anguish clouding,
Youthfu' love in sorrow shrouding,
Heaven could ne'er allow, lassie!
Day and night I've tended thee,
Watching, love, thy changing e'e;
Dearest gift that Heaven could gi'e,
Say thou 'rt happy now, lassie!
Willie, lay thy cheek to mine—
Kiss me, oh! my ain laddie!
Never mair may lip o' thine
Press where it hath lain, laddie!
Hark! I hear the angels calling,
Heavenly strains are round me falling,
But the stroke—thy soul appalling—
'Tis my only pain, laddie!
Yet the love I bear to thee
Shall follow where I soon maun be;
I 'll tell how gude thou wert to me—
We part to meet again, laddie!
Lay thine arm beneath my head—
Grieve na sae for me, laddie!
I'll thole the doom that lays me dead,
But no a tear frae thee, laddie!
Aft where yon dark tree is spreading,
When the sun's last beam is shedding,
Where no earthly foot is treading,
By my grave thou 'lt be, laddie!
Though my sleep be wi' the dead,
Frae on high my soul shall speed,
And hover nightly round thy head,
Although thou wilt na see, laddie.
