THE NABOB. Susanna Blamire Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
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Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
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Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. Blamire, Susanna, 1747-1794. The Poetical Works of Miss Susanna Blamire “The muse of Cumberland.” Now for the first time collected by Henry Lonsdale, M.D. with a preface, memoir, and notes by Patrick Maxwell, ... Edinburgh John Menzies, 61 Princes Street; R. Tyas, London; D. Robertson, Glasgow; and C. Thurnam, Carlisle. MDCCCXLII. 1842 pp. 198-202.

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THE NABOB . I have met with many printed editions of this beautiful ballad , but scarcely two of them alike ; the best appeared in the " Scots Magazine " for 1803 , p. 130 ; a very inferior one was published in the same work in 1802 , p. 594. The present version is printed from two manuscripts in the author's handwriting , a copy of the poem in the handwriting of her sister Mrs Brown , and from Miss Thomson's collection , mentioned in the preface ; which collection , I may here add , was procured by Miss Rowlands directly from the author , they being related . Miss Thomson's set of the ballad is almost the same as that published in the " Scots Magazine " for 1803 , with the exception of some verbal differences of very little consequence . Besides these differences , the stanza beginning " In vain I sought in music's sound , " and the last half of the concluding stanza , are wholly omitted ; a circumstance easily enough accounted for , by the carelessness of transcription . I have , of course , used this copy as my chief guide , with a word here and there from the other manuscripts , when I thought they were to be preferred ; for I have been exceedingly solicitous of giving a correct edition of this exquisite ballad , which has now stood the test of public opinion for upwards of half a century , and by the aid of the author's copies to free it from those interpolations which have so much disfigured it , and marred its engaging simplicity . For this endeavour I hope to obtain the approbation of every lover of lyric poetry ; for , on comparing the present with the former editions , I am confident its superiority will be at once acknowledged . How much it occupied the author's thoughts , and the care she bestowed on its composition , will be manifested by contrasting the first rough sketch of the poem given at the end of this note , with that of the perfected copy in the text . Besides , it is a matter of real interest to mark the elaboration of any poem which has become established in our literature ; — one which , like " The Nabob " has so long clung to the affections of the lovers of song on both sides of the Border ; — which has charmed the social meetings of all classes of the community , and claimed for its simple beauties , and touching imagery , the willing tear from both old and young . I have heard it sung in the south of Scotland , when both singer and auditors were weeping . In the first copy we find the name Peter afterwards changed to that of Donald ; perhaps Peter was the actual name of the faithful domestic , as the poem was founded on an incident which actually occurred . The first three stanzas are almost the same as that in the text ; — the remainder is as follows : — Some hafflin' chiels , a new sprung race , Wad next their welcome pay , Wha shudder'd at my Gothic walls , And wish'd my groves away : " Cut , cut those odious trees , " they cried , " And low lay yonder pine : " Deed no ; your fathers' names grow there , Memorials o' langsyne ! When time has change o' seasons brought ; When flowers begin to fade ; When summer suns haste down the sky , And autumn thins the shade ; When wintry blasts are whistling round , Your hearts will feel like mine ; And e'en a sang will maist delight That minds ye o' langsyne . To wean me frae these antique thoughts , They drew me to the toun ; But there on brows where beauty sat I saw a siller croun : At balls they pointed to a nymph , Whom all declare divine ; But sure her mother's blushing cheek Was fairer far langsyne ! Dear youths , an auld man's warning take , Nor ance allow the mind To dwell on scenes that can't return , Or friends ye nae mair find ; But as the fleeting moments pass , To present joys incline ; And for the hour prepare some bliss That asks nought frae langsyne . The ills o' life thus to beguile Be still your constant aim ; Nor let the joyful days o' youth Too soft remembrance claim ; Else , tho' the mavis sweetly sings , The woods and flowers combine Wi' mony a friend to charm the heart , 'Twill sigh for auld langsyne ! It may be worth while to remark that , on the paper in which the above is written , there is a song entitled " Song for the Carlisle Hunt , November , 1788 ; " which date may probably indicate the year in which " The Nabob " was composed . It is to be found in R. A. Smith's " Scottish Minstrel " vol. vi . p. 41 , beautifully arranged . Air — Traveller's Return . WHEN silent time , wi' lightly foot , A real incident . — Mrs Brown . Had trod on thirty years , I sought again my native land Wi' mony hopes and fears : Wha kens gin the dear friends I left May still continue mine ? Or gin I e'er again shall taste The joys I left langsyne ? As I drew near my ancient pile , My heart beat a' the way ; Ilk place I pass'd seem'd yet to speak O' some dear former day ; Those days that follow'd me afar , Those happy days o' mine , Whilk made me think the present joys A' naething to langsyne ! The ivy'd tower now met my eye , Where minstrels used to blaw ; Nae friend stepp'd forth wi' open hand , Nae weel-kenn'd face I saw ; Till Donald totter'd to the door , Wham I left in his prime , And grat to see the lad return He bore about langsyne . I ran to ilka dear friend's room , As if to find them there , I knew where ilk ane used to sit , And hang o'er mony a chair ; Till soft remembrance threw a veil Across these een o' mine , I clos'd the door , and sobb'd aloud , To think on auld langsyne ! Some pensy chiels , a new sprung race , Wad next their welcome pay , Wha shudder'd at my Gothic wa's , And wish'd my groves away : " Cut , cut , " they cried , " those aged elms , Lay low yon mournfu' pine : " Na ! na ! our fathers' names grow there , Memorials o' langsyne . To wean me frae these waefu' thoughts , They took me to the town ; But sair on ilka weel-kenn'd face I miss'd the youthfu' bloom . At balls they pointed to a nymph Wham a' declar'd divine ; But sure her mother's blushing cheeks Were fairer far langsyne ! In vain I sought in music's sound To find that magic art , Which oft in Scotland's ancient lays Has thrill'd through a' my heart : The sang had mony an artfu' turn ; My ear confess'd 'twas fine ; But miss'd the simple melody I listen'd to langsyne . Ye sons to comrades o' my youth , Forgie an auld man's spleen , Wha 'midst your gayest scenes still mourns The days he ance has seen : When time has past , and seasons fled , Your hearts will feel like mine ; And aye the sang will maist delight That minds ye o' langsyne !