The author of the deservedly popular words and air of "The Araby Maid," Thomas Gordon Torry Anderson was the youngest son of Patrick Torry, D.D., titular bishop of St Andrews, Dunkeld, and Dunblane. His mother, Jane Young, was the daughter of Dr William Young, of Fawsyde, Kincardineshire. Born at Peterhead on the 9th July 1805, he received his elementary education at the parish school of that place. He subsequently prosecuted his studies in Marischal College, Aberdeen, and the University of Edinburgh. In 1827, he received holy orders, and was admitted to the incumbency of St John's Episcopal Church, Portobello. He subsequently became assistant in St George's Episcopal Church, Edinburgh, and was latterly promoted to the pastorate of St Paul's Episcopal Church, Dundee.
Devoted to the important duties of the clerical office, Mr Torry Anderson experienced congenial recreation in the cultivation of music and song, and in the occasional composition of both. He composed, in 1833, the words and air of "The Araby Maid," which speedily obtained a wide popularity. The music and words of the songs, entitled "The Maiden's Vow," and "I Love the Sea," were composed in 1837 and 1854, respectively. To a work, entitled "Poetical Illustrations of the Achievements of the Duke of Wellington and his Companions in Arms," published in 1852, he extensively contributed. During the summer of 1855, he fell into bad health, and was obliged to resign his incumbency. He afterwards resided on his estate of Fawsyde, to which he had succeeded, in 1850, on the death of his uncle, Dr Young. He died at Aberdeen on the 20th of June 1856, in his fifty-first year. He was three times married—first, in 1828, to Mrs Gaskin Anderson of Tushielaw, whose name he adopted to suit the requirements of an entail; secondly, he espoused, in 1838, Elizabeth Jane, daughter of Dr Thomas Sutter, R.N.; and lastly, Mrs Hill, widow of Mr William Hill, R.N., whom he married in 1854. He has left a widow and six children.
THE ARABY MAID.
Away on the wings of the wind she flies,
Like a thing of life and light—
And she bounds beneath the eastern skies,
And the beauty of eastern night.
Why so fast flies the bark through the ocean's foam,
Why wings it so speedy a flight?
'Tis an Araby maid who hath left her home,
To fly with her Christian knight.
She hath left her sire and her native land,
The land which from childhood she trode,
And hath sworn, by the pledge of her beautiful hand,
To worship the Christian's God.
Then away, away, oh swift be thy flight,
It were death one moment's delay;
For behind there is many a blade glancing bright—
Then away—away—away!
They are safe in the land where love is divine,
In the land of the free and the brave—
They have knelt at the foot of the holy shrine,
Nought can sever them now but the grave.
THE MAIDEN'S VOW.
The maid is at the altar kneeling,
Hark the chant is loudly pealing—
Now it dies away!
Her prayers are said at the holy shrine,
No other thought but thought divine
Doth her sad bosom fill.
The world to her is nothing now,
For she hath ta'en a solemn vow
To do her father's will.
But why hath one so fair, so young,
The joys of life thus from her flung—
Why hath she ta'en the veil?
Her lover fell where the brave should fall,
Amidst the fight, when the trumpet's call
Proclaim'd the victory.
He fought, he fell, a hero brave—
And though he fill a lowly grave,
His name can never die.
The victory's news to the maiden came—
They loudly breathed her lover's name,
Who for his country fell.
But vain the loudest trumpet tone
Of fame to her, when he was gone
To whom the praise was given!
Her sun of life had set in gloom—
Its joys were withered in his tomb—
She vow'd herself to Heaven.
I LOVE THE SEA.
I love the sea, I love the sea,
My childhood's home, my manhood's rest,
My cradle in my infancy—
The only bosom I have press'd.
I cannot breathe upon the land,
Its manners are as bonds to me,
Till on the deck again I stand,
I cannot feel that I am free.
Then tell me not of stormy graves—
Though winds be high, there let them roar;
I 'd rather perish on the waves
Than pine by inches on the shore.
I ask no willow where I lie,
My mourner let the mermaid be,
My only knell the sea-bird's cry,
My winding-sheet the boundless sea!
