The Times, Saturday, Dec 01, 1827; pg. 3; Issue 13451; col E


The perusal of Mr. NICHOLSON's book has reminded us of another provincial poet,
whose fame has not yet, that we know, reached the metropolis, although in his
native county, Cumberland, and the adjoining one of Westmoreland, his ballads
are as popular and as frequently sung as those of BURNS in Scotland. Robert
ANDERSON, the individual to whom we allude, was, like BURNS, whom he resembles
in many particulars, originally a ploughman near Carlisle. He went to America,
and returned again to Carlisle, on which occasion a public dinner was given to
him at Carlisle. He is still living, and, we believe, continues to work as an
agricultural labourer. ANDERSON's songs are not likely to acquire very extensive
popularity, owing to the difficulty of understanding them, for they are written
in the Cumberland dialect, which a southern would find it almost impossible to
read without a glossary. Those, however, who may take the trouble to read
ANDERSON's ballads with this help will, we think, find their labour not
unrequited. The following ballad is by no means the best of ANDERSON's (for we
think his chief excellence lies in the humorous style), but we extract it in
preference to others, because it will be more easily understood. The feelings of
the country girl are expressed in a natural and pleasing manner. It may be
mentioned that she is expecting her sweetheart to visit her after the old folks
have retired to rest, which is the common mode of courtship in Cumberland. This
will serve to explain the phrase of her father's snoring "sweetly," which must
at first strike as singular.

                     "THE IMPATIENT LASSIE.

                       "Tune. - 'Low down in the broom.

          "Deuce tek the clock! click-clackin sae
               "Still in a body's ear;
          "It tells and tells the time is past,
               "When Jwohnie sud been here:
          "Deuce tek the wheel! 't will nit rin roun -
               "Nae mair to-neet I'll spin,
          "But count each minute wi' a seegh,
               "Till Jwohnie he steals in.

          "How neyce the spunky fire it burns,
               "For twae to sit beside!
          "For there's the seat where Jwohnie sits,
               "And I forget to cheyde!
          "My fadder, tui, how sweet he snwores!
               "My mudder fast asleep;
          "He promis'd oft, but oh! I fear
               "His word he wunnet keep!

          "What can it be keeps him frae me?
               "The ways are nit sae lang,
          "And the sleet and snaw are nought at aw,
               "If yen were fain to gang!
          "Some ither lass, wi' bonnier feace,
               "Has catched his wicked ee,
          "And I'll be pointed at the kurk -
               "Nay! suiner let me dee!

          "O durst we lasses nobbet¹ gang,
               "And sweetheart them we like,
          "I'd rin to thee, my Jwohnie lad,
               "Nor stop at bog or dyke;
          "But custom's see a silly thing,
               "For men mun hae thei way,
          "And mony a bonny lassy sit,
               "And wish frae day to day.

          "But, whisht! I hear my Jwohnie's fit -
               "Aye! that's his varra clog!
          "He steeks² the faul-yeat³ softly tui -
               "O hang that cwoleyª dog!
          "Now, key for seeghs and suggar words,
               "Wi' kisses nit a few -
          "O but this warl's a paradise,
               "When lovers they pruive true!"

¹ Only     ² Fastens     ³ Foldgate     ª Watch

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This article is really about a Yorkshire poet called Mr. NICHOLSON. However, tucked at the end is a bit about a poet from Cumberland called Robert ANDERSON. I have only transcribed that part of the article relating to him.
Petra