  A female contemporary of the Baroness Nairn, of kindred tastes, and of equal indifference to a poetical reputation, was Mrs Agnes Lyon of Glammis. She was the eldest daughter of John Ramsay L'Amy, of Dunkenny, in Forfarshire, and was born at Dundee about the commencement of the year 1762. She was reputed for her beauty, and had numerous suitors for her hand; but she gave the preference to the Rev. Dr James Lyon, minister of Glammis, to whom she was married on the 25th of January 1786. Of a highly cultivated mind and most lively fancy, she had early improved a taste for versifying, and acquired the habit of readily clothing her thoughts in the language of poetry. She became the mother of ten children; and she relieved the toils of their upbringing, as well as administered to the improvement of their youthful minds, by her occasional exercises in verse. Her four volumes of MS. poetry contain lyrics dated as having been written from the early period of her marriage to nearly the time of her decease. The topics are generally domestic, and her strain is lively and humorous; in pathetic pieces she is tender and singularly touching. Possessed of a correct musical ear, she readily parodied the more popular songs, or adapted words to their airs, with the view of interesting her friends, or producing good humour and happiness in the family circle. She had formed the acquaintance of Neil Gow, the celebrated violinist, and composed, at his particular request, the words to his popular tune "Farewell to Whisky,"—the only lyric from her pen which has hitherto been published. In all the collections of Scottish song, it appears as anonymous. In the present work, it is printed from a copy in one of her MS. volumes. Mrs Lyon died on the 14th September 1840, having survived her husband about two years, and seen the greater number of her children carried to the grave. Entirely free of literary ambition, she bequeathed her MSS. to the widow of one of her sons, to whom she was devotedly attached, accompanied by a request, inscribed in rhyme at the beginning of the first volume, that the compositions might not be printed, unless in the event of a deficiency in the family funds. Their origin is thus described:— "Written off-hand, as one may say,
Perhaps upon a rainy day,
Perhaps while at the cradle rocking.
Instead of knitting at a stocking,
She 'd catch a paper, pen, and ink,
And easily the verses clink.
Perhaps a headache at a time
Would make her on her bed recline,
And rather than be merely idle,
She 'd give her fancy rein and bridle.
She neither wanted lamp nor oil,
Nor found composing any toil;
As for correction's iron wand,
She never took it in her hand;
And can, with conscience clear, declare,
She ne'er neglected house affair,
Nor put her little babes aside,
To take on Pegasus a ride.
Rather let pens and paper flame,
Than any mother have the shame
(Except at any orra time)
To spend her hours in making rhyme."
In person, Mrs Lyon was of the middle height, and of a slender form. She had a fair complexion, her eyes were of light blue, and her countenance wore the expression of intelligence. She excelled in conversation; and a retentive memory enabled her to render available the fruits of extensive reading. In old age, she retained much of the buoyant vivacity of youth, and her whole life was adorned by the most exemplary piety.
NEIL GOW'S FAREWELL TO WHISKY.[62] Tune—"Farewell to Whisky." You 've surely heard of famous Neil,
The man who play'd the fiddle weel;
He was a heartsome merry chiel',
And weel he lo'ed the whisky, O!
For e'er since he wore the tartan hose
He dearly liket Athole brose![63]
And grieved he was, you may suppose,
To bid "farewell to whisky," O!
Alas! says Neil, I'm frail and auld,
And whiles my hame is unco cauld;
I think it makes me blythe and bauld,
A wee drap Highland whisky, O!
But a' the doctors do agree
That whisky 's no the drink for me;
I 'm fley'd they'll gar me tyne my glee,
By parting me and whisky, O!
But I should mind on "auld lang syne,"
How Paradise our friends did tyne,
Because something ran in their mind—
Forbid—like Highland whisky, O!
Whilst I can get good wine and ale,
And find my heart, and fingers hale,
I 'll be content, though legs should fail,
And though forbidden whisky, O!
I 'll tak' my fiddle in my hand,
And screw its strings whilst they can stand,
And mak' a lamentation grand
For guid auld Highland whisky, O!
Oh! all ye powers of music, come,
For deed I think I 'm mighty glum,
My fiddle-strings will hardly bum,
To say, "farewell to whisky," O!
SEE THE WINTER CLOUDS AROUND.[64] See the winter clouds around;
See the leaves lie on the ground;
Pretty little Robin comes,
Seeking for his daily crumbs!
In the window near the tree,
Little Robin you may see;
There his slender board is fix'd,
There his crumbs are bruised and mix'd.
View his taper limbs, how neat!
And his eyes like beads of jet;
See his pretty feathers shine!
Little Robin haste and dine.
When sweet Robin leaves the space,
Other birds will fill his place;
See the Tit-mouse, pretty thing!
See the Sparrow's sombre wing!
Great and grand disputes arise,
For the crumbs of largest size,
Which the bravest and the best
Bear triumphant to their nest.
What a pleasure thus to feed
Hungry mouths in time of need!
For whether it be men or birds,
Crumbs are better far than words.
WITHIN THE TOWERS OF ANCIENT GLAMMIS.[65] Tune—"Merry in the Hall." Within the towers of ancient Glammis
Some merry men did dine,
And their host took care they should richly fare
In friendship, wit, and wine.
But they sat too late, and mistook the gate,
(For wine mounts to the brain);
O, 'twas merry in the hall, when the beards wagg'd all;
O, we hope they 'll be back again;
We hope they 'll be back again!
Sir Walter tapp'd at the parson's door,
To find the proper way,
But he dropt his switch, though there was no ditch,
And on the steps it lay.
So his wife took care of this nice affair,
And she wiped it free from stain;
For the knight was gone, nor the owner known,
So he ne'er got the switch again;
So he ne'er got the switch again.
This wondrous little whip[66] remains
Within the lady's sight,
(She crambo makes, with some mistakes,
But hopes for further light).
So she ne'er will part with this switch so smart,
These thirty years her ain;
Till the knight appear, it must just lie here,
He will ne'er get his switch again;
He will ne'er get his switch again!
MY SON GEORGE'S DEPARTURE.[67] Tune—"Peggy Brown." The parting kiss, the soft embrace,
I feel them at my heart!
'Twere joy to clasp you in those arms,
But agony to part.
But let us tranquillise our minds,
And hope the time may be,
When I shall see that face again,
So loved, so dear to me!
Five tedious years have roll'd along,
And griefs have had their sway,
Though many comforts fill'd my cup,
Yet thou wert far away.
On pleasant days, when friends are met,
Our sports are scarce begun,
When I shall sigh, because I miss
My George, my eldest son!
I owe my grateful thanks to Heaven,
I 've seen thee well and gay,
I 've heard the music of thy voice,
I 've heard thee sweetly play.
O try and cheer us with your strains
Ere many twelvemonths be,
And let us hear that voice again,
So loved, so dear to me!
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