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 TANNAHILL,
ROBERT, a very popular writer of Scottish songs, was born in Paisley on the
3rd of June, 1774. He was the son of James Tannahill, a weaver of
silk gauze there, who originally came from Kilmarnock, and Janet Pollock,
the daughter of a farmer near Beith. Both parents were much respected for
their intelligence and worth; the mother, in particular, was a woman
of very general information, and exemplary conduct in life. Their family
consisted of six sons and one daughter; Robert being the fourth child. At
his birth, one of his legs was deformed, the foot being considerably bent,
and the leg smaller than the other. During his boyhood, he was much ashamed
of his crooked foot, and took every opportunity, when alone, to try and
straighten it with his hand. In this manner, by constant application, he
brought it into a proper position; but the leg always continued smaller than
its fellow, and, to hide this deformity, he generally wore upon it two or
more pairs of stockings. The deception succeeded so well, that few of
his companions knew that the one leg differed from the other; nor did
he suffer much inconvenience from it, being able to join in the dance, or
afternoon excursion, without betraying any lameness, although in long
journeys it generally failed him. When at school, he began to
distinguish himself by writing verses. These were generally upon some odd
character about the place, or upon any unusual circumstance that might
occur. After school-hours, it was customary for the boys to put riddles to
each other, or, as they called it, to "speer guesses." Robert usually gave
his in rhyme; and a schoolfellow, to whom we are indebted for some of the
particulars of this memoir, remembers one of them to this day. It was as
follows:--
My colour’s brown, my shape’s uncouth,
On ilka side I hae a mouth;
And, strange to tell, I will devour
My bulk of meat in half an hour.
This riddle, on being solved,
turned out to allude to the big, brown, unshapely nose of a well-known
character, who took large quantities of snuff.
From the school, where he was taught
to read, write, and cast accounts, Tannahill was sent to the loom. About
this time, the weaving of cotton was introduced into Paisley; and the high
wages realized by it, induced parents to teach their children the trade at
an early age, so that their apprenticeships were generally finished by the
time they reached fifteen or sixteen. The flow of money, which persons thus
so young could command by the exercise of a flourishing handicraft, led to
the early marriages for which Paisley was then noted; and no town at the
time abounded in more
merrymakings, or presented a more gay and thriving community. Education was
widely diffused amongst the inhabitants, who were remarkable for the
intelligent and active interest they took in public affairs. The weaving
population could always afford a weekly half-holiday for cultivating their
gardens or rambling into the country. Tánnaliill participated in the general
prosperity. Dancing parties and rural excursions were frequent among
the young people of both sexes, and in these he often joined. He then formed
many of those poetical attachments which he afterwards celebrated in song.
It was in such meetings, and such excursions, that he first saw "Jessie the
flower o’ Dumblane,"[It disturbs the fancy to know, that, although Tannahill
wrote all his love-songs under the inspiration of some particular object, in
this case the girl was neither a Jessie, nor was she from Dumblane. The
words were originally written to supplant the old doggerol song, "Bob o’
Dumblane,"—hence the title. Tannahill never was in Dumblane,--never, indeed,
beyond the Forth,--and knew no person belonging to Dumblane; yet the guards
of coaches, and others, hesitate not to point out the very house in Dumblane
in which Jessie was born.]—first heard the song of the "mavis" from the
"Wood of Craigielee,"—and first breathed the fragrant "broom" of the "Braes
o’ Gleniffer."
While at work it was
his custom to occupy his mind with the composition of verses. To his loom he
attached a sort of writing desk, by which he was enabled, in the midst of
his labours, to jot down any lines that might occur to him, without
rising from his seat. In this way, some of his best songs were composed. He
had a correct ear for music and played the flute well, and whenever a tune
greatly pleased him it was his ambition to give it appropriate words
of his own. It has been said in most of the notices of his life, that from
his fourteenth to his twenty-fourth year, he wholly neglected the muse; but
this is a mistake. He seldom allowed many days to pass without composing
some song or copy of verses, which it was his custom to read to one or two
only of his intimate acquaintances. The first poem of his which appeared in
print, was in praise of Ferguslee wood; a wood which was one of his
favourite haunts, and which often in the summer evenings rang to the notes
of his flute. The lines were sent to a Glasgow periodical, and obtained
immediate insertion, accompanied with a request for further favours. This
was the more gratifying to the young poet, as in one or two previous
endeavours at publication, he had been unsuccessful; and from this period he
continued, for two or three years afterwards, to send occasional
contributions to the Glasgow papers.
After his apprenticeship had
expired, he removed to the village of Lochwinnoch, about nine miles from
Paisley, where he continued to work at the loom for some time. It may be
worth mentioning, that Alexander Wilson, the poet and future American
ornithologist, was at this time also weaving in the same village. He was by
some years the senior of Tannahill; and the latter, being then unknown to
fame, had not the fortitude to seek his acquaintance, although he greatly
admired the pieces by which Wilson had already distinguished himself.
About the year 1800, some of the
figured loom-work, for which Paisley was famed, was beginning to be
manufactured in England, and it was reported that great wages were to be had
there for weaving it. Tempted by the report, or more probably by a desire of
seeing the country, Tannahill left Paisley for England, accompanied by a
younger brother. They went away without informing their parents, who, they
rightly supposed, would have put a stop to the journey, as their
circumstances in Paisley were too comfortable to justify a change. They were
both at this time in the strength and buoyancy of youth; they were both also
of industrious habits, of excellent dispositions, and of modest manners.
They travelled mostly on foot, often stepping out of the way to view the
curiosities of the country, until they reached Preston, which they had
marked as the limit of their journey. They found, however, that nothing but
plain work was woven there; and while Robert went forward to Bolton, to
inquire after figured work, his brother took lodgings at Preston, in the
house of an old woman of the Roman catholic persuasion. At Bolton, Robert
found plenty of employment of the
desired description: but his brother, notwithstanding the superior wages to
be made there, remained at Preston all the time he resided in England, being
constrained to do so by the kindness of his old landlady, in whom he found a
second mother. The two brothers, though thus separated, did not forget each
other. Being much attached, they frequently met half-way between Preston and
Bolton, and spent a few hours together: they also frequently wrote home to
their parents an account of their welfare. Their stay in England lasted two
years, and was only cut short by receiving intelligence of the fatal illness
of their father. They hurried home without delay, and arrived in time to
receive his dying blessing. After that event, they did not choose to return
to England. The younger brother married, while Robert took up his abode with
his mother, and till his death continued to be a comfort to her. His filial
affections were at all times strong, and through life he honourably
discharged the duties of an affectionate son.
It may be proper here to
advert to a very erroneous impression which prevails respecting his worldly
circumstances. In most of the notices taken of him, he is represented as
leading a life of privation, and as fulfilling all that is supposed to be
connected with the poet’s lot in regard to penury. But so far from this
being the case, his means were always above his wants. The house in which
his mother resided was her own, and she was not only herself comfortably
situated, but was enabled, by indulging in little charities, to add somewhat
to the comforts of others. Such, also, was the state of trade at the time,
that Robert could command good wages without extreme labour, and though more
than one respectable situation, as foreman or overseer, was offered him, he
chose to continue at the loom, because, by doing so, his time was more at
his own disposal, and his personal independence greater. He had no wish to
accumulate money; but long before his death, he lodged twenty pounds in the
bank, with the express intention that it should go to defray the expense of
his funeral, and this sum was found untouched when his melancholy decease
took place, a circumstance which of itself proves the unfounded nature of
the reports regarding his poverty and destitution.
Soon after his return from
England, he had the good fortune to become acquainted with the late Mr R. A.
Smith, a gentleman of distinguished talent as a composer, who set to music
and arranged some of his finest songs. He also formed an intimacy with
several other individuals possessed of good judgment in musical matters,
such as, Mr James Barr of Kilbarchan (composer of the tune of ‘Craigielee,’)
Mr Andrew Blaikie, engraver, Paisley, and Mr James Clark, master of the
Argyle Band. These gentlemen, and several others, were of service to him in
improving his taste for composition, and in encouragimig him in his love of
song. His own manners were so retiring, and his reliance on himself so
small, that, without the assurances of friendship, he probably would never
have been induced to give to the world many of those pieces which have made
his name known.
The first edition of his
"Poems and Songs" appeared in the year 1807. It was very favourably received
by the public, the previous popularity of several of his songs tending to
make it sought after. But the author speedily came to regret that he
had so prematurely given it to the world. Errors and faults he now detected
in it, which had before escaped him, and he began assiduously to correct and
re-write all his pieces, with a view to a second edition. He continued also
to add to the number of his songs, and in these reached a high degree of
excellence. Some of them, indeed, may be pronounced to be the very
perfection of song-writing, so far as that consists in the simple and
natural expression of feelings common to all. The extensive popularity which
they attained indicates how universally were felt and understood the
sentiments which they recorded. It is gratifying to know, that the poet was
in some measure a witness of his own success and lived to hear his songs
sung with approbation both in hall and cottage. In a solitary walk on one
occasion, his musings were interrupted by the voice of a country girl in
an adjoining field, who was singing by herself a song of his own—
"We’ll meet beside the dusky
glen, on yon burnside;"—
and he used to say, that he
was more pleased at this evidence of his popularity than at any tribute
which had ever been paid him.
But his celebrity as a song writer
brought its annoyances. Visitors of every description broke in upon his
daily labours; an adjournment to the tavern often the result, and
acquaintanceships were formed too frequently over the bowl. [An exception
must here be made in favour of Mr James Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd, who,
much to his own credit, and the credit of Tannahill, made a pilgrimage to
Paisley, with the express purpose of seeing him. They spent one happy night
together, and, next morning, Tannahill convoyed him half-way on the road to
Glasgow. On parting, Tannahill, with tears in his eyes, said, "Farewell! We
shall never meet again! Farewell! I shall never see you more!" a prediction
which was too truly verified.] Tannahill at no time was addicted to
liquor, but the facility of his nature prevented him from resisting the
intrusions of idle and curious people, and the very character of the pieces
for which he was distinguished led to convivialities, for how could the
merits of a song be tested without the flowing glass? This was the more to
be pitied, as the slightest irregularity injured him. His constitution was
never strong. His father, his sister, and three brothers had all died of
consumption, and he himself was often troubled with a pain in the chest,
which was increased by working too hard. For some time before his lamentable
end, he was observed frequently to fall into a deep melancholy. His temper
became irritable, he was easily agitated, and prone to imagine that his best
friends were disposed to injure him. His eyes were observed to sink, his
countenance got pale, and his body emaciated. His whole appearance, in
short, indicated a breaking up of his mental and bodily powers. The second
edition of his Poems, which he had prepared for the press, was offered about
this time to Mr Constable of Edinburgh for a very small sum, but was
unfortunately declined. This tended still farther to depress him, and he
came to the resolution of destroying everything which he had written. All
his songs, to the amount of one hundred, many of which had never been
printed, and of those printed all had been greatly corrected and amended, he
put into the fire; and so anxious was he that no scrap of his should be
preserved, he requested his acquaintances to return any manuscript which
they had ever got from him. Of the immediate circumstances connected with
his death, we have received the following account. The day previous to that
event, he went to Glasgow, and displayed there such unequivocal proofs of
mental derangement, that one of his friends, upon whom he called, felt it
necessary to convoy him back all the way to Paisley, and to apprize his
relations of the state of his mind. Alarmed at the intelligence, his
brothers, who were married, and resided at different parts of the town,
hastened to their mother’s house, where they found that he had gone to bed,
and as it was now late, and he was apparently asleep, they did not choose to
disturb him, hoping that by the morning he would be better. About an hour
after leaving the house, one of the brothers had occasion to pass the door,
and was surprised to find the gate that led to it open. On further
investigation, it was found that Robert had risen from bed, and stolen out,
shortly after their departure. Search was now made in every direction, and
by the grey of the morning, the worst fears of the poet’s friends were
realized, by the discovery of his coat lying at the side of a pool in the
vicinity of Paisley, which pointed out where his body was to be found. This
melancholy event happened on the 17th of May, 1810, when he had only reached
his thirty-sixth year.
Tannahill’s appearance was not
indicative of superior endowment. He was small in stature, and in manners
diffident almost to bashfulness. In mixed company he seldom joined in
general conversation, yet from the interest he manifested in all that was
said, his silence was never offensive. Among intimate friends he was open
and communicative, and often expressed himself with felicity. His sympathies
invariabley went with the poor and unfortunate, and perhaps it was the
result of his education and position in society, that he was jealous of the
attentions of the wealthy, and disposed rather to avoid than to court their
company. In his disposition he was tender and humane, and extremely attached
to his home, his kindred, and his friends. His life was simple and unvaried
in its details, but even the uneventful character of his existence renders
more striking and more affecting its tragic close. In 1838 an enlarged
edition of his poems and songs, with memoirs of the author and of his
friend, Robert Archibald Smith, by Mr. Phillip A. Ramsay, was published in
Glasgow.
THE STORM.
Written in October.
Now the dark rains of Autumn discolour the brook,
And the rough winds of Winter the woodlands deform;
Here, lonely, I lean by the sheltering rock,
Listening to the voice of the loud howling storm.
How dreadfully furious it roars on the hill,
The deep groaning oaks seem all writhing with pain.
Now awfully calm, for a moment 'tis still,
Then bursting it howls and it thunders again.
How cheerless and desert the fields now appear,
Which so lately in Summer's rich verdure were seen,
And each sad drooping spray from its heart drops a tear,
As seeming to weep its lost mantle of green.
See, beneath the rude wall of yon ruinous pile,
From the merciless tempest the cattle have fled,
And yon poor patient horse, at the gate by the stile,
Looks wistfully home for his sheltering shed.
Ah! who would not feel for yon poor gipsy race,
Peeping out from the door of an old roofless barn;
There my wandering fancy her fortunes might trace,
And sour discontent there a lesson might learn.
Yet oft in my bosom arises the sigh,
That prompts the warm wish distant scenes to explore;
Hope gilds the fair prospect with visions of joy,
That happiness reigns on some far distant shore.
But the grey hermit tree which stood lone on the moor,
By the fierce driving blast to the earth is blown down;
So the lone houseless wanderer, unheeded and poor,
May fall unprotected, unpitied, unknown.
See! o'er the grey steep, down the deep craggy glen,
Pours the brown foaming torrent, swell'd big with the rain;
It roars thro' the caves of its dark wizard den,
Then headlong, impetuous it sweeps thro' the plain.
Now the dark heavy clouds have unbosomed their stores,
And far to the westward the welkin is blue,
The sullen winds hiss as they die on the moors,
And the sun faintly shines on the bleak mountain's brow. |
