Though confined to his wheel-chair for a period of ten years, and otherwise debarred many of the comforts to which, in more prosperous circumstances, he had been accustomed, Alexander Balfour retained to the close of life his native placidity and gentleness. His countenance wore a perpetual smile. He joined in the amusements of the young, and took delight in the recital of the merry tale and humorous anecdote. His speech, somewhat affected by his complaint, became pleasant from the heartiness of his observations. He was an affectionate husband, and a devoted parent; his habits were strictly temperate, and he was influenced by a devout reverence for religion. A posthumous volume of his writings, under the title of "Weeds and Wild-flowers," was published under the editorial care of Mr D. M. Moir, who has prefixed an interesting memoir. As a lyrical poet, he is not entitled to a first place; his songs are, however, to be remarked for deep and genuine pathos.
THE BONNY LASS O' LEVEN WATER.
Though siller Tweed rin o'er the lea,
An' dark the Dee 'mang Highland heather,
Yet siller Tweed an' drumly Dee
Are not sae dear as Leven Water:
When Nature form'd our favourite isle,
An' a' her sweets began to scatter,
She look'd with fond approving smile,
Alang the banks o' Leven Water.
On flowery braes, at gloamin' gray,
'Tis sweet to scent the primrose springin';
Or through the woodlands green to stray,
In ilka buss the mavis singin':
But sweeter than the woodlands green,
Or primrose painted fair by Nature,
Is she wha smiles, a rural queen,
The bonny lass o' Leven Water!
The sunbeam in the siller dew,
That hangs upon the hawthorn's blossom,
Shines faint beside her e'en sae blue;
An' purer is her spotless bosom.
Her smile wad thaw a hermit's breast;
There 's love an' truth in ilka feature;
For her I 'm past baith wark an' rest,
The bonny lass o' Leven Water!
But I 'm a lad o' laigh degree,
Her purse-proud daddy 's dour an' saucy;
An' sair the carle wad scowl on me,
For speakin' to his dawtit lassie:
But were I laird o' Leven's glen,
An' she a humble shepherd's daughter,
I 'd kneel, an' court her for my ain,
The bonny lass o' Leven Water!
SLIGHTED LOVE.
The rosebud blushing to the morn,
The sna'-white flower that scents the thorn,
When on thy gentle bosom worn,
Were ne'er sae fair as thee, Mary!
How blest was I, a little while,
To deem that bosom free frae guile;
When, fondly sighing, thou wouldst smile;
Yes, sweetly smile on me, Mary!