This extract is taken from the book Modern Scottish Poets (13th Series) published in Brechin in 1890. As well as biographical notes it contains three of his best poems.

Samuel Wilson, Clarebrand Poet.

Dr Alex. Trotter, Blyth, in a series of delightful sketches in the Kirkcudbright Advertiser, entitled "Galloway Worthies," showing fine literary taste and unwearied research, says "No tract of country in the Stewartry has more interesting associations than the parish of Crossmichael, and few can show a larger proportion of cultivated land, a more beautiful blending of wood and water, or more picturesquely situated farmhouses, mansions, and vintages. A small headstone against the wall of the kirk of Crossmichael bears this inscription 'In memory of Janet Wilson, daughter of Samuel Wilson of Upper Clarebrand, born 1811, died 1838. The above Samuel Wilson, who died at Upper Clarebrand 9th January, 1863, aged 78 years.' This marks the last resting place of an individual who in his time was recognised as one of the greatest of the numerous poets who sprang into existence in Galloway during the latter part of the eighteenth and early portion of the nineteenth centuries, and who, with perhaps two or three exceptions, has no successors in poetic genius in the province at the present day.”

Dr Trotter has a very hazy recollection of Samuel Wilson, but his impressions relate to a middle-sized man stumping out of Castle-Douglas on a wooden leg on various market days in the direction of Clarebrand, sometimes hallooing at the top of his voice at a parcel of ragamuffin boys who were taking advantage of his infirmity to torment him. He was born at Burnbrae, a small landed estate near the top of the Dee incline of the parish of Crossmichael, the village of Clarebrand topping the ridge about half a mile distant. The Wilsons of Burnbrae are the oldest landed proprietors in the parish, appearing in the Valuation Roll in the time of Charles I.; and what is more remarkable, the family property is the only one in the Roll of 1819 which has not changed hands since the latter date, all the other estates in the parish having either been sold or transmitted to female heirs, nearly in every case the former accrued. His uncle, and afterwards his father, owned Burnbrae, and he was born 26th May, 1784, was educated at Ringanwhey Public School, also at the parish school of Crossmichael, and for a session or two at the University of Glasgow.

On the death of his uncle he abandoned an intention of entering one of the learned professions, and returned to his native district. He embarked in various kinds of businesses, and was in a flourishing way as a wood merchant at one time, but when busy in a wood at Balmaclellan he had the misfortune to be injured by the axe of a companion, and the amputation of his leg was found necessary. Previous to this he he had travelled a large portion of Scotland in pursuit of his calling, and possessing antiquarian tastes, he visited all places of archaeological and historical interest that came in his way, thereby adding to his already large stock of information. When in the Highland.-; he acquired such a knowledge of the Gaelic language that he could both speak and write it correctly, and he also became an excellent performer on the Highland bagpipe. He could 'play the flute and fiddle well,' and was otherwise an accomplished musician. His father died in 1810, and left him a property of houses and land at Upper Clarebrand, in one of the former of which he opened a grocer's shop, which he kept as a current going business between fifty and sixty years.

He early began to write poetry, and some of his pieces appeared in the Castle-Douglas Miscellany and Dumfries Courier of his time. His ballad, descriptive of the murder of McLellan of Bombie by the Black Douglas, and his song ' Mary of Craiguair,' became instantly popular, and were frequently reprinted in local works such as Barbour's Lights and Shadows, 1st series, in which the former appears; along with another piece entitled the 'Gaberlunzie Man.' Another ballad called 'The Galloway Raid' was published in Nicholson's Galloway Tales, and is finely descriptive of a mosstrooping battle on the banks of the Orr, not far from his place of residence. 'The Battle of Spearford' is descriptive of a traditional fight between the Gordons of Kenmure and the Glendonyns of Parton. Other pieces and various prose anecdotes, which he was an adept at telling, have been published in 'Gallovidiana,' and form interesting additions to the folk-lore of the Stewartry.

In his latter years he dropped out of notice, his pen having comparatively early become silent; and when he died at Upper Clarebrand on 9th January, 1863, his old acquaintances had almost forgotten him". I remember, says Dr Trotter, one of them reading the announcement of his death, and remarking, 'I was acquainted with that bodie many years ago. He was very clever, and I thought he had been dead long since.' He was a charitably disposed man, but was considered one with whom it was better to be friendly with than the opposite. To those whom he considered to have claims upon him, and who kept in his good graces, it is said he would have given away the last shilling he possessed.

In Wilson's writings, while it is frequently evident that he had caught inspiration from the sweet influences of the beauties of Nature such passages being marked by their gentle grace and simplicity of diction themes of dramatic and historic interest clearly afforded him the richest scope for his vigorous imagination.

THE GALLOWAY RAID.

The reivers of Eskdale were mounted for weir,
And Annandale moss-troopers grasped the spear,
Amd the blades that they bore in the sun glittered bright,
And breastplate and helmet reflected the light.
They spurred the fleet charger through bog and through brake,
To the yell of their slogan the echoes awake;
The Johnstones and Jardines cry - "Lads, we'll away,
And we'll foray the pastures of fair Galloway."

The men were determined, their steeds they were strong,
And eager for plunder they pranced along;
The clang of their weapons rang loud on the dale,
Amd their helmet-plumes waving aloft on the gale.
The swamps of the Lochar they passed in their pride,
A moment they paused when they came to Nithside;
But the tide of the Nith could not stop their array,
And they entered the borders of fair Galloway.

O'er Cairnsmoor's brown summit the sun bad gone down,
And on eastern Helvellyn the rising moon shone;
Dark red was her visage and sullen her gleam,
As the blue wave of Solway reflected her beam;
The woods waved their branches by fits to the blast,
And faint was the light on their tops that she cast;'
As if bodeful of blood to be shed before day,
She scowled on the green dales of fair Galloway.

All silent the march of the moss-troopers now,
Save their steeds' hollow tramp on the wild mountain's brow;
They scared not the wildfowl that swam on the lake,
Nor in hamlet nor hall did the sleepers awake.
Says Gilbert of Ravenscleugh - "Gallants, come on;
The dames of the Orr shall have wooers anon;
We'll spoil their soft slumbers before it be day,
And we'll sweep the green pastures of fair Galloway."

But, thou bold border reiver, thy boasting forbear,
For little wot'st thou of the Galloway spear;
On the mail of the foe has its temper been tried,
When the Black Chief of Dee his proud sovereign defied.
Behold'st thou the beacon lights gleaming afar
On misty Glenbennan - the signal of war;
Bengairn and Caerlochan their blazes display,
And they warn the bold spearmen of fair Galloway.

On the shores of the Solway they have mounted the steed,
And the clans of the Dee are advancing with speed,
O'er the green haughs of Orr the broad banners wav'd high,
And the flash of their fighting gear brightened the sky.
The Gordons of Airds were for battle array'd,
And Trowdale and Corbieton brandished the blade;
But Wudsword of Clarebrand was first in the fray,
To encounter the foemen of fair Galloway.

O rudely came on the bold borderers then,
And the spearmen of Galloway charged on the plain;
And the clash of their weapons and clang of their mail
Were mingled with groans of the warriors that fell.
The steed and his rider lay gasping in blood,
On the wounded and dying the combatants trod;
There was hacking and slashing till dawn of the day,
Ere was ended the conflict in fair Galloway.

Stout Gilbert of Ravenscleugh's steed had been slain,
And on foot with a broadsword he wasted the plain;
Nor met he a foeman to rival his might,
Till he matched with the arm of Wudsword in the fight.
Oh! firm were their hearts, and their steel it was keen,
And a bloodier conflict was seldom ere seen;
For equal in skill and in valour were they,
The bravest on Esk, and in fair Galloway.

The bank where they fought it was narrow and steep,
Beneath them the Orr tumbled darksome and deep;
A damsel came running as swift as the wind,
And unseeen she approached the bold borderer behind;
Round his neck in an instant her 'kerchief she wrung,
And Ravenscleugh headlong in Orr has she flung.
'Twas the daughter of Wudsword had mixed in the fray,
And a fairer maid was not in wide Galloway.

But the damsels of Esk and of Annan may mourn,
And in vain may they look for their lovers' return.
On the green dale of Dryburgh they rest in their graves,
And o'er them the hemlock and rank nettle waves;
And few have escaped from the Galloway spear,
That followed the flying and glanced in their rear;
And the mosstroopers' widows are ruing the day
Their husbands departed for fair Galloway.

LOCH ROAN.

To the bught on the hill stole the fox frae his cover,
When the mantle o' night o'er the moorland was thrown;
Low 'mang the heath couch'd the wild mountain plover,
And the erne to his cliff by the lone lake had flown.
Cauld blew the blast o'er the desert sae drearie,
Dim shone the moon through the grey mist uncheery;
Lang by her lane wandered true-hearted Mary
Her Sandy to meet on the banks o’ Lochroan.

Aye and again as the wind whistled o'er her,
Sae eerie it sighed through the brown wither'd brake;
Loud and amain dash'd the wild wave before her,
And white to the shore row'd the foam o' the lake.
Fast to her arms was her true love repairing,
When, red o'er the lake's troubled bosom appearing,
Dismal the flash o' the death-light was glaring,
And faint from afar came the wanderer's shriek.

Oh! was it the falcon that scream'd o'er the heather?
Or heard she the cry o' the lanely sea mew!
Or howl'd the hill fox down the dark glen beneath her?
Ah, no! 'twas the voice o' her Sandy sae true.
And sair may she mourn him wi' tears unavailing,
For 'wildered he plunged 'mid the dark waters swelling;
And soon to the spot where the maid stood bewailing
The waves o' the lake bore his bonnet o' blue.

Her fond throbbing heart beat with wildest disorder
As toss'd to her feet the lost relic she spied;
Weel ken'd she the ribbon was bound round the border,
Weel ken'd she the love knot her ain han' had tied.
And lang heav'd her bosom the deep sigh of sorrow,
But tears, hapless maiden, restored nae her marrow;
Now oft where the heath crowns the bank steep and narrow
A maniac she wanders alang the lake side.

THE BATTLE OF SPEARFORD.

Loud rang the slogan the clansmen to gather,
It roused the dun deer in the wood o' Glenlee;
Gleamed the bright axe and broadsword on the heather
From darksome Loch Doon to the holms of the Dee.
Wild from his native glen rush'd the bold spearmen then,
Rude as the storms on his mountains that blow;
Bandrel and pennant stream bright on the morning beam,
Dark'ning Loch Ken in the valley below.

Proudly paraded the hardy Glenkensmen,
Their broad tartans waved in the wind of the hill;
Gordon's loud pibroch cheers on his bold clansmen,
The turrets of Kenmure resound to the peal.
Swiftly Maculloch came, Maitland and all his men,
Stout Craigengillan and haughty Knockgray;
Kennedy's bowmen true muster'd on Lowran's brow,
Ken's rocky shore ne'er beheld such array.

Flashed the broad battle-axe clear on the river,
The shouts of the war-men were heard from afar,
Loud was the banner cry "Gordon fur ever!
Gordon of Kenmure, and Lord Lochinvar."
Dark as the winter cloud sweeps o'er the Solway's flood,
Scour they the valley and forage the plain;
Hamlet and village burn, widow and maiden mourn
Red were their hands in the blood of the slain.

Rough was their raid o'er the Lowlands extending
"Arouse thee, Glendonwyn," his warder did cry,
"Fierce from the moors are the Gordons descending
Drumrash and Glenlaggan blaze red to the sky!”
Smiling, the chieftain said "Gordon shall rue this raid;
Keen are the lances of Orr and the Dee.
Wide spread the war alarm, Telford and Herries warn
Livingstone, Duchrae, and hardy Macghie.”

Yelled the war-blast over strath and green valley,
The troopers of Dee sprang to arms at the sound,
Helmet and lance in the sun glittered gaily,
And swift o'er the lea did the war charger bound;
Louder the bugle sang, hauberk and buckler rang,
Battle blades glanced on the banks of the Orr;
Foremost the chieftains rode, waving their falchions broad,
Briskly o'er dale and down, onward they bore.

Dee's sable stream, in the vale gently flowing,
Was hid by the hazel and poplar so gay;
Red on the holms was the western sun glowing,
The grey rocks on Lowran's brow mirrored his ray:
Clansmen, your plunder leave, see how the banners wave
Broad o'er Glenlochar, they float to the sky;
Dalesmen in jack and spear ranked on the plain appear -
Gordon, beware thee! Glendonwyn is nigh!

Dark o'er the lea were the dalesmen advancing,
Glendonwyn in front brandished high his broad sword,
Haughty Macghie with his troopers came prancing,
And fierce was the fray at the stream of Spearford.
Loud swelled the bugle blast, broadsword on buckler clashed,
Spear and light axe rung on helmet and shield;
Hissing the arrows fly, war steed and rider die -
"Gordon for ever!'" resounds o'er the field.

Mark ye yon chief, like the wild wolf of Lowran
That tears the young kid on the banks of Loch Ken,
'Tis Lord Lochinvar - see, his eagle plume towering
Where the best of his foemen lie wounded or slain.
Briskly Glendonwyn then called to his merry men,
On rushed the sons of the Dee and the Orr;
Lances in shivers flew, battle-blades keen they drew -
Tinged was the stream with the dark purple gore.

Long was the bloody field fiercely disputed,
Till brave Lochinvar fell, by numbers laid low.
Loudly Glendonwyn the victory shouted,
As towards their mountains retired the foe;
Sullen the evening star scowled on the field of war,
Dying groans murmured on Dee’s sable wave;
Still as the water-sprite screams through the gloom of night,
Hov'ring are seen the pale forms of the brave.

External Links

• Modern Scottish Poets - 13th Series