Lynchburg Virginian

TOPICAL.

From the Philadelphia Evening Bulletin.

LADY ANNE BARNARD.

Lady Anne Barnard was the authoress of 'Auld Robin Gray,' one of the most perfect, tender, and affecting of all our ballads or tales of humble life. About the year 1771, Lady Anne composed the ballad to an ancient air. It instantly became popular, but the lady kept the secret of its authorship for the long period of fifty years, when in 1823, she acknowledged it in a letter to Sir Walter Scott, accompanying the disclosure with a full account of the circumstances under which it was written. At the same time, Lady Anne sent two continuations to the ballad, which, like all other continuations (Don Quixote, perhaps, excepted) are greatly inferior to the original. Indeed the tale of sorrow was so complete in all its parts, that no additions could be made without marring its simplicity or its pathos. Lady Anne was daughter of James Lindsay, fifth Earl of Balcarres; she was born 8th December, 1750, married in 1793 to Sir Andrew Barnard, librarian to George III, and died, without issue, on the 5th May, 1825.

Auld Robin Gray.

When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hame,
And a' the warld to sleep are gane,
The waes o' my heart fa' in silewers frae my e'e,
When my gudeman lies sound by me.

Young Jamie loo'd me weel, and sought me for his bride;
But saving a crown, he had naething else beside;
To make that crown a pound, young Jamie gaed to sea;
And the crown and the pound were baith for me.

He hadna been awa a week, but only twa,
When my mither she fell sick, and the cow was stown awa;
My father brak his arm, and young Jamie at the sea;
And auld Robin Gray cam' a-courtin' me.

My father couldna work, and my mither couldna spin;
I toiled day and night, but their bread I couldna win;
Auld Robin maintained them baith, and wi' tears in his e'e,
Said, 'Jamie, for their sakes, Oh, marry me!'

My heart it said nay, for I looked for Jamie back;
But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a wreck;
The ship it was a wreck—why didna Jamie dee?
Or why do I live to say, Wae's me!

My father argued sair; my mither didna speak;
But she lookit in my face till my heart was like to break;
Sae they gied him my hand, though my heart was in the sea;
And auld Robin Gray was guidman to me.

I hadna been a wife a week, but only four,
When, sitting sae mournfully at the door,
I saw my Jamie's wraith, for I couldna think it he,
Till he said, 'I'm come back for to marry thee.'

Oh, sair did we greet, and muckle did we say;
We took but ae kiss, and we tore oursels away;
'I wish I were dead,' but I'm no like to dee;
And why do I live to say, Wae's me!

I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin;
I daurna think on Jamie, for that wad be a sin;
But I'll do my best a gude wife to be,
For auld Robin Gray is kind unto me.