A respectable writer of lyric poetry, James Macdonald was born in September 1807, in the parish of Fintry, and county of Stirling. His father was employed in the cotton factory of Culcruich. Of unwonted juvenile precocity, he attracted the attention of two paternal uncles, whose circumstances enabled them to provide him with a liberal education. Acquiring the rudiments of learning at Culcruich, he afterwards studied at the grammar school of Stirling, and proceeded, in 1822, to the university of Glasgow. Intended by his relations for the ministry of the Established Church, he attended the Divinity Hall during three sessions. Preferring secular employment, he now abandoned the study of theology, and occupied himself in educational pursuits. After teaching in several boarding establishments, he became corrector of the press in the printing-office of Messrs Blackie of Glasgow. Having suffered on account of bad health, he was induced to accept the appointment of Free Church schoolmaster at Blairgowrie. His health continuing to decline, he removed to the salubrious village of Catrine, in Ayrshire: he died there on the 27th May 1848. Macdonald was a devoted teacher of Sabbath schools; and his only separate publications are two collections of hymns for their use.
BONNIE AGGIE LANG.
Or ere we part, my heart leaps hie to sing ae bonnie sang,
Aboot my ain sweet lady-love, my darling Aggie Lang;
It is na that her cheeks are like the blooming damask rose,
It is na that her brow is white as stainless Alpine snows,
It is na that her locks are black as ony raven's wing,
Nor is 't her e'e o' winning glee that mak's me fondly sing.
But, oh! her heart, a bonnie well, that gushes fresh an' free
O' maiden love, and happiness, and a' that sweet can be;
Though saft the sang o' simmer winds, the warbling o' the stream,
The carolling o' joyous birds, the murmur o' a dream,
I 'd rather hear a'e gentle word frae Aggie's angel tongue,
For weel I ken her heart is mine—the fountain whar it sprung.
Yestreen I met her in a glen about the gloamin' hour;
The moon was risen o'er the trees, the dew begemm'd ilk flower,
The weary wind was hush'd asleep, an' no a sough cam' nigh,
E'en frae the waukrife stream that ran in silver glintin' by;
I press'd her milk-white han' in mine—she smiled as angels smile,
But ah! frae me her tale o' love this warld manna wile.
I saw the silver light o' heaven fa' on her bonnie brow,
An' glitter on the honey-blabs upon her cherry mou';
I saw the lily moonbeams steal the redness o' the rose,
An' sleep upon her downy cheek in beautiful repose.
The moon rose high, the stream gaed by, but aye she smiled on me,
An' what she wadna breathe in words she tauld it wi' here e'e.
I 've sat within a palace hall amid the grand an' gay,
I 've listen'd to the carnival o' merry birds in May,
I 've been in joyous companies, the wale o' mirth an' glee,
An' danced in nature's fairy bowers by mountain, lake, and lea;
But never has this heart o' mine career'd in purer pride,
As in that moonlit glen an' bower, wi' Aggie by my side.