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GILFILLAN, ROBERT.—This
amiable poet of domestic life, and popular song-writer, was born in
Dunfermline, Fifeshire, on the 7th of July, 1798, and was the second of
three sons. His father was a man of respectable condition, according to
the reckoning of the times in provincial towns, for he was a master
weaver, and kept several looms in full employment. His mother, who died in
1844, was justly characterized as "a woman of high intellectual powers,
and one who, belonging to the middle classes of society, was distinguished
by high literary acquirements, united to a modesty that rather fostered
the talents of others than exhibited her own." Can we easily imagine a
poet of good, current, lasting songs, born in a loftier position, or
independent of such a maternity? Like most bards, and especially of this
particular class, Robert Gilfillan’s natural tendency was called forth in
early life, under the pressure of a stirring public impulse. While
still a boy, he had joined a group of urchins like himself, to make merry
during the Christmas holidays with the sport of guising, or
guisarding—an old Saxon revel, scarcely yet disused in
Scotland, but which is now generally supplanted by the drawing-room
amusement of charades; and while employed in this merry street masquerade,
instead of confining himself to the hundred-year-old hackneyed stanzas
about Alexander the Great and Galatian, he chanted a song of his own
composition on the death of Sir Ralph Abercromby, at that time a recent
event, and by which the sympathies of every cottage in Scotland had been
roused into full native vigour. Young Gilfillan on this occasion received
more than the usual poet’s meed of pence and praise from the goodwives of
Dunfermline, who listened at their doors in silent admiration.
After this sudden outburst
of rhyme, a long interval succeeded: school-boy trials, and the succeeding
cares and difficulties of apprenticeship, are generally sufficient to
banish the muses for years, if not for life; and Robert Gilfillan, who at
the age of thirteen removed with his parents to Leith, was employed during
a seven years’ service in the unpoetical occupation of hammering tubs and
barrels, having been bound apprentice for that period to a cooper.
Although he manfully endured this probation, he abandoned the trade of a
cooper as soon as his term of indenture had expired; and returning to
Dunfermline in 1818, he was employed for nearly three years in the
superintendence of a grocery establishment. Here his first love returned
upon him in full vigour, and his attempts in songwriting were accompanied
with the work of self-improvement, which he prosecuted not only by general
reading, but associating with the young men of his neighbourhood who were
like-minded with himself. In this way, not only his acquired knowledge,
but his conversational power in the use of it, made him distinguished in
Dunfermline society, and caused him to be regarded as one whose future
career would surpass that of his companions. After this he again sett1ed
in Leith where he was first employed in the warehouse of a firm of oil and
colour merchants, and subsequently in that of a wine merchant, as
confidential clerk, until 1837, when he was appointed collector of the
police rates at Leith, which situation he held till the close of his life.
In this way Mr. Gilfillan
held onward in his course, and fulfilled his mission as a useful member of
society; but as a poet he had continued during his several changes of
store-keeper, clerk, and tax-gatherer, to labour for a wider sphere and a
more permanent memorial. The first earnest of this he enjoyed in the
popularity of his songs, which, although still unpublished, were
circulated over the whole of Scotland, and sung not only at public
festivals, but also at social and domestic meetings. How was it possible,
under such circumstances, to resist the temptations of the press? It
speaks much, however, for his self-denial, that he did not yield until he
had attained the matured reflective age of thirty-three, and when his
songs had stood the test of years. In 1831, he became an author, by
publishing a small volume of about 150 pages, under the title of "Original
Songs," which he dedicated to Allan Cunningham, himself, next to Burns,
the prince of Scottish song-poets. So successful was this appeal to public
approbation, that in 1835 he brought out a new edition, increased by fifty
additional pieces; and soon after its appearance, a public dinner was
given to him in the Royal Exchange, Edinburgh, and a massive silver cup
presented to him on the occasion, thus inscribed:--"Presented to Mr.
Robert Gilfillan, by the admirers of native genius, in token of their high
estimation of his poetical talents and private worth. Edinburgh, 1835." In
1839 he published a third and still larger edition of his original volume,
sixty new songs being added to the collection; and by this completed work
he will continue to hold an honoured place in the third rank of Scottish
song-writers—-Burns being of the first and standing alone, and Hogg and
Cunningham being taken as the representatives of the second. In addition
to those warm, but simple and narrowed home affections, which formed the
chief themes of his lyrics, and in the delineation of which he has not
often been surpassed, there is a moral purity in the songs of Gilfillan in
which he has very seldom been equalled. But how, indeed, could it be
otherwise, when we take into account the ordeal to which he submitted
them? "It was his practice," says his biographer, "to read to his mother
and sister his songs as he wrote them; and he was entirely guided by their
judgment regarding them." This was better still than the housekeeper of
Moliere! One circumstance connected with this gentle home tribunal of
criticism first gave him the hope that fame was within his reach. He was
reading his "Fare thee well, for I must leave thee," when his sister, and
a young lady, a cousin of his own, who was present, were so deeply
affected, that they burst into tears. After such an incident, some of our
readers might wish to know the song; it is as follows:—
"Fare thee well, for I must leave
thee,
But, O! let not our parting grieve thee;
Happier days may yet be mine,
At least I wish them thine—believe me
"We part—but, by those dew-drops
clear,
My love for thee will last for ever;
I leave thee—but thy image dear,
Thy tender smiles, will leave me never.
"O! dry those pearly tears that flow—
One farewell smile before we sever;
The only balm for parting woe
Is—fondly hope ‘tis not for ever.
"Though dark and dreary lowers the
night,
Calm and serene may be the morrow;
The cup of pleasure ne’er shone bright,
Without some mingling drops of sorrow!
"Fare thee well, for I must leave
thee,
But, O! let not our parting grieve thee;
Happier days may yet be mine,
At least I wish them thine—believe me!"
The rest of the incidents
in Mr. Gilfillan’s tranquil life scarcely require commemoration.
Independently of his devotion to poetry, which was his master affection,
he took pleasure in the various departments of light and every-day
literature, and was a frequent contributor to the "Edinburgh Journal," and
the "Dublin University Magazine." Although he continued to the end of his
days a bachelor, he was not the less subject to painful bereavements, and
these, too, at that period of life when the affections are most confirmed;
for his mother died in 1844, and his sister in 1849, and thus the voices
that had hitherto cheered him onward were no longer heard. His own death
occurred on the 4th of December, 1850, and was occasioned by a stroke of
apoplexy. His remains were buried in the church-yard of South Leith, where
a monument, by the subscription of his admirers, has been erected to his
memory.
You can download this book of his poems here
Here is one of his poems...
The Sun Behind Yon Mountain
by
Robert Gilfillan
Tune—'The
Rose Tree'
The sun, behind yon mountain
Is setting lovely, bright, and fair
While I, the moments counting
Am filled wi' anguish, grief, and care !
For, ere he beams to-morrow
An' streaks wi' gowd yon sky sae blue
I'll hear that word of sorrow
That fareweel parting word—adieu !
Had Willie wooed less kindly
Wi' nae sic truth an' witchin' power
Had I but lo'ed less fondly
I might have borne the parting hour !
On bygane joys I ponder
While future woes appear in view
'Twill break my heart asunder
To hear that parting word—adieu !
The ship is now in motion
That wafts my lover ower the sea
And soon the swelling ocean
Shall roll between my love an' me !
No that the waves can sever
His love an' mine, sae tender, true
But what if 'tis forever
I hear that parting word—adieu ! |
