life, he resided in his native town; where the publication of the collection of his miscellaneous poems, of very unequal merit, introduced him to the acquaintance of some persons of taste; among whom was Mr. R. A. Smith, of acknowledged talent as a composer of music, and to whose influence the world is indebted for many beautiful lyrical effusions from the pen of his poetical friend. Mr. Smith having set some of Tannahill's songs to music, such as, "Jessie, the Flow'r o' Dumblane," &c., it greatly assisted them in being introduced to public notice. Robert Burns, the Ayrshire Bard, had already occupied the ground of song-writing; and he must be accounted no common man, who could pour forth effusions, which have divided public applause with so great a genius. Tannahill has effected this; and most of his songs are warbled, with enthusiasm, from the lips of his fair country-women. Tannahill, in genius, was far at the sight of the picture, burst into tears;-he did not know that such a memorial of him remained. The sketch was taken after the Bard had been found drowned, by Mr. T. Morton. inferior to Burns; but in simple energy, feeling, pathos, and exquisite tenderness, he fully. equalled his highly-gifted rival. Tannahill used to declare, that one of the most gratifying tributes he ever had paid to his genius, was, while taking a solitary walk in the cool of a summer's evening, he had his musings interrupted by the sweet voice of a country girl, who, on his approaching nearer the spot, he discovered was singing one of his compositions "We'll meet beside the dusky glen on yon burn side' This, he said, was one of the sweetest and most delightful moments of his life: he beheld in it a promise of future fame, and hailed it as a pledge of the rising popularity of his Songs: but the highest tribute ever paid to the genius of Tannahill, was the visit which James Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd, paid him, not long before his death. There was something romantic in this pilgrimage of the Mountain Bard, to feel, and see, to converse and enjoy the fellowship of one whose heart, like his own, was gifted with the "magic voice of song:" they spent the night in each other's company. Tannahill convoyed Hogg, on the following morning, half way to Glasgow, where they parted. It was a melancholy adieu which Tannahill gave him"Farewell," he cried, "we shall never meet again,-farewell, I shall never see you more!!" These prophetic words were, alas! too soon verified by his death, which took place on the 17th of May, 1810. He lies buried in his native town; and it was lately proposed to erect a monument to his memory. He whose boast it was, that never in his life had he lifted his pen to the prejudice of virtue, himself terminated his existence with his own hand! "O Pity, veil thine eyes, and weep!" See his POEMS. We wish to present our readers with a specimen or two of Tannahill's powers in songwriting; and we think we cannot do better than introduce them to the song the Bard was so much gratified by hearing sung in one of his native vales. "We'll meet beside the dusky glen, on yon burn side, Where the bushes form a cozie den, on yon burn side. Tho' the broomy knowes be green, Yet there we may be seen, But we'll meet--we'll meet, at e'en, down by yon burn side. I'll lead thee to the birken bow'r, on yon burn side, Ne'er disturbs the lovers' joy, While in ithers' arms they lie, down by yon burn side. Awa', ye rude unfeeling crew, frae yon burn side,- By the sweetly-murm'ring stream, And the rock-lodg'd echoes skim, down by yon burn side; Now the planting taps are ting'd wi' goud, on yon burn side; And Gloaming draws her foggy shroud o'er yon burn side, Far frae the noisy scene, I'll through the fields alane, There we'll meet-my ain dear Jean! down by yon burn side." The following, doubtless, our author produced when his powers were more cultivated: it possesses great tenderness, and is highly creditable to his genius. "I mark'd a gem of pearly dew, While wand'ring near yon misty mountain, It sighing found it could not bear thee. Adieu, thou faithless fair! unkind! Thy falsehood dooms that we must sever; And think not that this gentle heart, Tho' in its core 'twas proud to wear thee, Shall longer droop beneath thy art, No, cruel fair! it cannot bear thee. COLLINS. THIS Sweet Poet was sent very young to Winchester College, Oxford; where he was soon distinguished for his early proficiency, and his turn for elegant composition. In the year 1740, he came off first on the roll for New College; but there being no vacancy in |