The Scottish songs - National Library of Scotland

514
And saw young Sandy shivering stand,
With visage pale, and hollow ee.
" O Mary dear, cold is my day;
It lies beneath a stormy sea.
Far, far from thee, I sleep in death.
So, Mary, weep no more for me !
Three stormy nights and stormy days,
We tossed upon the raging main
And long we strove our bark to save,
But all our striving was in vain.
Even then, when horror chilled my blood,
My heart was filled with love for thee
The storm is past and I at rest
So, Mary, weep no more for me
O maiden dear, thyself prepare ;
We soon shall meet upon that shore,
Where love is free from doubt and care,
And thou and I shall part no more I"
Loud crowed the cock, the shadow fled
;
! ;
: :
No more of Sandy could she see.
But soft the passing spirit said,
" Sweet Mary, weep no more for me I"
* From Johnson's Musical Museum, Part I, 1787- The song is known,
however, to have been written about the year 1772. The author, John
Lowe, was the son of the gardener at Kenmure Castle, in Galloway (the
seat of Mr Gordon, father of the present Viscount Kenmure) . Having studied
for the churcli, he was, when still a young man, employed as tutor in
the family of Mr MacGhie, of Airds, an estate situated near the confluence
of the Dee and the Ken. Here he fell in love with the daughter of his employer.
He seems to have been a young man of a somewhat romantic turn
as the remains of a bower are shown among the woods in the pe-
of mind ;
ninsula formed by the junction of the two rivers, which he constructed
with his own hands, as a retreat for poetical and contemplative recreation.
While residing at Airds, the lover of his mistress's sister, a gentleman named
Alexander Miller, was drowned at sea ; which gave occasion to the
song. Mary's Dream is one of those poetical gems which, conceived in a
moment of peculiar inspiration, sometimt s procure a name for their authors,
notwithstanding the inferiority or the paucity of their other productions.
Lowe may have written other songs and even long poems ; but nothing
is remembered besides this exquisite little ballad. His life was unfortunate.
In pursuit of fortune, and neglecting his first passion at Airds, he
went to America ; where, having married a lady for whom he felt no great
affection, he was rendered miserable for the rest of his life by regret for his