  William Wilson was born on the 25th December 1801, in the village of Crieff, Perthshire. His parents being of the industrial class and in indigent circumstances, he was early devoted to a life of manual labour. While employed in a factory at Dundee, some of his poetical compositions were brought under the notice of Mrs Grant, of Laggan, who interested herself in his behalf, and enabled him to begin business as a coal merchant. He married early in life, and continued after marriage to write as ardent poetry about his wife as he had done before marriage. On her death, he married a lady of respectable connexions in the county of Roxburgh. In December 1833, he emigrated to America, and has since been in business as a publisher at Poughkeepsie, in the state of New York. He has repeatedly delivered lectures to scientific institutions, and is well known to the higher class of literary men in America. Many of his earlier poems were contributed to the Edinburgh Literary Journal; and he has published several of his own and other songs, with music of his own composition.
O BLESSING ON HER STARLIKE E'EN. O blessing on her starlike e'en,
Wi' their glance o' love divine;
And blessing on the red, red lip,
Was press'd yestreen to mine!
Her braided locks that waved sae light,
As she danced through the lofty ha',
Were like the cluds on the brow o' night,
Or the wing o' the hoodie craw.
O mony a jimp an' gentle dame,
In jewell'd pomp was there;
But she was first among them a',
In peerless beauty rare!
Her bosom is a holy shrine,
Unstain'd by mortal sin,
An' spotless as the snaw-white foam,
On the breast o' the siller linn.
Her voice—hae ye heard the goudspink's note,
By bowery glen or brake?
Or listen'd ye e'er to the mermaid's lay,
By sea or mountain lake?
Hae ye dreamt ye heard, i' the bowers o' heaven,
The angel's melodie?
Or fancied ye listen'd the sang o' the spheres
As they swung on their path on hie?
Far sweeter to me was her lay o' love,
At the gloamin' hour yestreen;
An', oh! were I king o' the warld wide,
I would mak' that maiden my queen.
OH! BLESSING ON THEE, LAND. Oh! blessing on thee, land
Of love and minstrel song;
For Freedom found a dwelling-place
Thy mountain cliffs among!
And still she loves to roam
Among thy heath-clad hills;
And blend her wild-wood harp's sweet strain
With the voice of mountain rills.
Her song is on the gale,
Her step upon the wold;
And morning diamonds brightly gem
Her braided locks of gold.
Far up the pine-wood glen,
Her sylph-like form is seen,
By hunter in the hazy dawn,
Or wandering bard at e'en.
My own dear native home,
The birthplace of the brave,
O never may thy soil be trod
By tyrant or by slave!
Then, blessing on thee, land
Of love and minstrel song;
For Freedom found a dwelling-place,
Thy mountain cliffs among!
THE FAITHLESS. We part,—yet wherefore should I weep,
From faithless thing like thee to sever?
Or let one tear mine eyelids steep,
While thus I cast thee off for ever?
I loved thee—need I say how well?
Few, few have ever loved so dearly;
As many a sleepless hour can tell,
And many a vow breath'd too sincerely.
But late, beneath its jetty lash,
I loved to mark thy blue eyes' splendour,
Which wont, all witchingly, to flash
On me its light so soft and tender;
Now, from that glance I turn away,
As if its thrilling gaze could wound me;
Though not, as once, in love's young day,
When thoughtless passion's fetters bound me.
The dimpling smile, with sweetness fraught,
The bosom, 'mid its snow, upheaving;
Who, that had seen them, could have thought
That things so fair could be deceiving?
The moon, the sky, the wave, the wind,
In all their fitful moods of changing,
Are nought to wavering woman's mind,
For ever shifting, ever ranging!
Farewell! I'd rather launch my bark
Upon the angry ocean billow,
'Mid wintry winds, and tempests dark,
Than make thy faithless breast my pillow.
Thy broken vow now cannot bind,
Thy streaming tears no more can move me,
And thus I turn from thee, to find
A heart that may more truly love me.
MY SOUL IS EVER WITH THEE. My soul is ever with thee,
My thoughts are ever with thee,
As the flower to the sun, as the lamb to the lea,
So turns my fond spirit to thee.
'Mid the cares of the lingering day,
When troubles around me be,
Fond Fancy for aye will be flitting away—
Away, my beloved, to thee.
When the night-pall darkly spread
O'er shadows, tower, and tree,
Then the visions of my restless bed
Are all, my beloved, of thee.
When I greet the morning beams,
When the midnight star I see,
Alone—in crowded halls—my dreams—
My dreams are for ever of thee.
As spring to the leafless spray,
As calm to the surging sea,
To the weary, rest—to the watcher, day—
So art thou, loved Mary, to me.
AULD JOHNNY GRAHAM. Dear Aunty, what think ye o' auld Johnny Graham?
The carle sae pawkie an' slee!
He wants a bit wifie to tend his bein hame,
An' the body has ettled at me.
Wi' bonnet sae vaunty, an owerlay sae clean,
An' ribbon that waved 'boon his bree,
He cam' doun the cleugh at the gloamin' yestreen,
An' rappit, an' soon speert for me.
I bade him come ben whare my minny sae thrang
Was birlin' her wheel eidentlie,
An', foul fa' the carle, he was na' that lang,
Ere he tauld out his errand to me.
"Hech, Tibby, lass! a' yon braid acres o' land,
Wi' ripe craps that wave bonnilie,
An' meikle mair gear shall be at yer command,
Gin' ye will look kindly on me.
"Yon herd o' fat owsen that rout i' the glen,
Sax naigies that nibble the lea;
The kye i' the sheugh, and the sheep i' the pen,
I'se gie a', dear Tibby, to thee.
"An', lassie, I've goupins o' gowd in a stockin',
An' pearlin's wad dazzle yer e'e;
A mettl'd, but canny young yaud, for the yokin',
When ye wad gae jauntin' wi' me.
"I 'll hap ye, and fend ye, and busk ye, and tend ye,
And mak' ye the licht o' my e'e;
I 'll comfort and cheer ye, and daut ye and dear ye,
As couthy as couthy can be.
"I 've lo'ed ye, dear lassie, since first, a bit bairn,
Ye ran up the knowe to meet me;
An' deckit my bonnet wi' blue bells an' fern,
Wi' meikle glad laughin' an' glee.
"An' noo woman grown, an' mensefu', an' fair,
An' gracefu' as gracefu' can be—
Will ye tak' an' auld carle wha ne'er had a care
For woman, dear Tibby, but thee?"
Sae, Aunty, ye see I 'm a' in a swither,
What answer the bodie to gie—
But aften I wish he wad tak' my auld mither,
And let puir young Tibby abee.
JEAN LINN. Oh, haud na' yer noddle sae hie, ma doo!
Oh, haud na' yer noddle sae hie!
The days that hae been, may be yet again seen,
Sae look na sae lightly on me, ma doo!
Sae look na' sae lightly on me!
Oh, geck na' at hame hodden gray, Jean Linn!
Oh, geck na' at hame hodden gray!
Yer gutcher an mine wad thocht themsels fine,
In cleedin' sae bein, bonnie May, bonnie May—
In cleedin' sae bein, bonnie May.
Ye mind when we won in Whinglen, Jean Linn—
Ye mind when we won in Whinglen,
Your daddy, douce carle, was cotter to mine,
An' our herd was yer bonnie sel', then, Jean Linn,
An' our herd was yer bonnie sel', then.
Oh, then ye were a' thing to me, Jean Linn,
Oh, then ye were a' thing to me!
An' the moments scour'd by, like birds through the sky,
When tentin' the owsen wi' thee, Jean Linn,
When tentin' the owsen wi' thee.
I twined ye a bower by the burn, Jean Linn,
I twined ye a bower by the burn,
But dreamt na that hour, as we sat in that bower,
That fortune wad tak' sic a turn, Jean Linn.
That fortune wad tak' sic a turn.
Ye busk noo in satins fu' braw, Jean Linn!
Ye busk noo in satins fu' braw!
Yer daddy's a laird, mine 's i' the kirkyard,
An' I 'm yer puir ploughman, Jock Law, Jean Linn,
An' I 'm yer puir ploughman, Jock Law.
BONNIE MARY. When the sun gaes down, when the sun gaes down,
I 'll meet thee, bonnie Mary, when the sun gaes down;
I 'll row my apron up, an' I 'll leave the reeky town,
And meet thee by the burnie, when the sun gaes down.
By the burnie there 's a bower, we will gently lean us there,
An' forget in ither's arms every earthly care,
For the chiefest o' my joys, in this weary mortal roun',
Is the burnside wi' Mary when the sun gaes down.
When the sun gaes down, &c.
There the ruin'd castle tower on the distant steep appears,
Like a hoary auld warrior faded with years;
An' the burnie stealing by wi' a fairy silver soun',
Will soothe us wi' its music when the sun gaes down.
When the sun gaes down, &c.
The burnside is sweet when the dew is on the flower,
But 'tis like a little heaven at the trystin' hour;
And with pity I would look on the king who wears the crown,
When wi' thee by the burnie, when the sun gaes down.
When the sun gaes down, &c.
When the sun gaes down, when the sun gaes down,
I 'll meet thee by the burnie, when the sun gaes down;
Come in thy petticoatie, and thy little drugget gown,
And I 'll meet thee, bonnie Mary, when the sun gaes down.
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