A short-lived poet and song-writer of some promise, John Goldie was born at Ayr on the 22d December 1798. His father, who bore the same Christian name, was a respectable shipmaster. Obtaining an ample education at the academy of his native town, he became, in his fifteenth year, assistant to a grocer in Paisley; he subsequently held a similar situation in a stoneware and china shop in Glasgow. In 1821 he opened, on his own account, a stoneware establishment at Ayr; but proving unfortunate in business, he abandoned the concerns of trade. From his boyhood being devoted to literature he now resolved on its cultivation as a means of support. Already known as an occasional contributor, both in prose and verse, to the public press, he received the appointment of assistant editor of the Ayr Courier, and shortly after obtained the entire literary superintendence of that journal. In 1821, he published a pamphlet of respectable verses; and in the following year appeared as the author of a duodecimo volume of "Poems and Songs," which he inscribed to the Ettrick Shepherd. Of the compositions in the latter publication, the greater portion, he intimates in the preface, "were composed at an early age, chiefly betwixt the years of sixteen and twenty;" and as the production of a very young man, the volume is altogether creditable to his genius and taste.
Deprived of the editorship of the Courier, in consequence of a change in the proprietary, Goldie proceeded to London, in the hope of forming a connexion with some of the leading newspapers in the metropolis. Unsuccessful in this effort, he formed the project of publishing The London Scotsman, a newspaper to be chiefly devoted to the consideration of Scottish affairs. Lacking that encouragement necessary to the ultimate success of this adventure, he abandoned the scheme after the third publication, and in very reduced circumstances returned to Scotland. He now projected the Paisley Advertiser, of which the first number appeared on the 9th October 1824. The editorship of this newspaper he retained till his death, which took place suddenly on the 27th February 1826, in his twenty-eighth year.
Of a vigorous intellect, and possessed of a correct literary taste, Goldie afforded excellent promise of eminence as a journalist. As a poet and song-writer, a rich vein of humour pervades certain of his compositions, while others are marked by a plaintive tenderness. Of sociable and generous dispositions, he was much esteemed by a circle of admiring friends. His personal appearance was pleasing, and his countenance wore the aspect of intelligence.
AND CAN THY BOSOM?
Air—"Loudon's Bonnie Woods and Braes."
And can thy bosom bear the thought
To part frae love and me, laddie?
Are all those plighted vows forgot,
Sae fondly pledged by thee, laddie?
Canst thou forget the midnight hour,
When in yon love-inspiring bower,
You vow'd by every heavenly power
You'd ne'er lo'e ane but me, laddie?
Wilt thou—wilt thou gang and leave me—
Win my heart and then deceive me?
Oh! that heart will break, believe me,
Gin' ye part wi' me, laddie.
Aft ha'e ye roos'd my rosy cheek,
Aft praised my sparkling e'e, laddie,
Aft said nae bliss on earth ye'd seek,
But love and live wi' me, laddie.
But soon those cheeks will lose their red,
Those eyes in endless sleep be hid,
And 'neath the turf the heart be laid
That beats for love and thee, laddie.
Wilt thou—wilt thou gang and leave me—
Win my heart and then deceive me?
Oh! that heart will break, believe me,
Gin ye part frae me, laddie.
You'll meet a form mair sweet and fair,
Where rarer beauties shine, laddie,
But, oh! the heart can never bear
A love sae true as mine, laddie.
But when that heart is laid at rest—
That heart that lo'ed ye last and best—
Oh! then the pangs that rend thy breast
Will sharper be than mine, laddie.
Broken vows will vex and grieve me,
Till a broken heart relieve me—
Yet its latest thought, believe me,
Will be love an' thine, laddie.
SWEET'S THE DEW.
Sweet's the dew-deck'd rose in June
And lily fair to see, Annie,
But there's ne'er a flower that blooms
Is half so fair as thee, Annie.
Beside those blooming cheeks o' thine
The opening rose its beauties tine,
Thy lips the rubies far outshine,
Love sparkles in thine e'e, Annie.
The snaw that decks yon mountain top
Nae purer is than thee, Annie;
The haughty mien and pridefu' look
Are banish'd far frae thee, Annie.
And in thy sweet angelic face
Triumphant beams each modest grace;
And ne'er did Grecian chisel trace
A form sae bright as thine, Annie.
Wha could behold thy rosy cheek
And no feel love's sharp pang, Annie;
What heart could view thy smiling looks,
And plot to do thee wrang, Annie?
Thy name in ilka sang I'll weave,
My heart, my soul, wi' thee I'll leave,
And never, till I cease to breathe,
I'll cease to think on thee, Annie.