Franics Love (1781 – 1860) Stevenston-born poet.
Francis Love was born in Stevenston on 19 April 1781 to Robert Love, a coachman and Elizabeth Lockhart. During his lifetime Francis was well known in the West of Scotland, particularly in Masonic circles, as a poet and song writer.
Francis was associated with the Stevenston Thistle and Rose Lodge for 59 years, holding all the various offices. He was well respected not only in Stevenston but also in neighbouring lodges who showed their esteem by conferring honours on him and presenting him with gifts. His Ayrshire friends in Glasgow held an entertainment for him and presented him with a silver mounted snuff box containing money.
He was an active member of 4 different charities in Stevenston, devoting time to furthering their interests. Francis was an ardent admirer of Robert Burns and paid tribute to him in songs and verse. Though Burns is now universally admired, this was not the case in the beginning of the 19th century when his admirers were unpopular and Burns’ faults were enlarged out of all proportion. In 1848 Francis delivered a poem to the Irvine Burns club in support of Burns, which includes the verse:
“Though Robin had his fau’ts we ken
He was the whale o’ social men!
A’ you that’s fau’tless just come ben
An’ cast a clod at Robin”
Francis’ philosophy was that of the Old Testament – “Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.”
Most of Francis’ poems and songs had a local flavour, “The Lassie O’ Ardeer” and “Oor Ain Guid Toon” for example, but some had strong political connotations. “The Kilmarnock Burgh Election Ballad” and “The Toon Meal Pock”, outlined the conditions of poverty in Stevenston at the time of the formation of the Anti-Corn Law League in 1839.
Francis, a weaver throughout his life, married Agnes Cockburn and had 10 children, some of whom moved to America. The family are recorded in Rev. David Landsborough’s census of 1819, 1822 and 1836 living at Cow Roading, Stevenston and in the official 1841 and 1851 census living at New Street, Stevenston. Francis died on 11 July 1860 at Townhead Street, Stevenston. A monument was erected to his memory in Stevenston High Kirk Churchyard, funded by the various lodges in Ayrshire.
A book of his poems was published posthumously in 1863 and due to public demand a second edition was issued in September 1886 by the Stevenston Thistle and Rose Lodge.
Poems & Songs
Give to the world the best that you have,
And the best it will come back to you,
Give of the friendship that all men crave,
And your friends will be many and tru,
Give Love and Love to your life will flow,
Astrength in your utmost need,
Have faith and scores of friends will show, Their faith in your word and deed.
WHEN snell o’er our snaw-tapped mountains
The breath o’ the north takes a flight,
And seals up our lochs and our fountains
With something like magical slight.
Then on the smooth surface we venture,
With a’ our equipments in tune,
To join in the sport’s o’ the winter,
With skates an’ weel ticketed shoon,
CHORUS
Boards an’ crompets an’ a’, stanes an’ besoms an’ a’,
How social the sports an’ how manly with stanes an’ besoms an’ a’.
Our forehaun’, now ready for action,
Is takin’ the lead with his e’e,
And see, in his usual direction,
He’s clappit his hand on his knee.
Stand up to the stage wi’ a besom,
Sweep, sweep, for the ice is but new ;
He’s slack, but we’ll hae to forg’e him,
We ken what our leader can do.
With boards, &c.
Our wary opponents in motion
Direct to draw up by a side,
Ye’ll come to my cowe I’ve a notion,
Keep close, for ye maunna flee wide.
Wee dune, sir ! up han’s ! he’s a roarin’,
It’s lost if he passes the ring,
That, that’s rather strong for a forehan’,
Yet no very far frae the thing.
Supin’ an’ scrapin’ an’ a’, & c.
Now, stane after stane in rotation,
Ilk wishing to do as he’s bid,
Till some in the breach gets a station,
Ane’s termed a very potlid.
Now, Jock, dost thou sae a’ the winners ?
If so tak’ this wick at the cowe,
Then til’t he comes roarin’ like thunner,
An’ spreads them like sheep on a knowe.
This way an’ that way an’ a’, out o’ the ring an’ awa,
How social the sport, &c.
Fine ports hae been entered and blockit,
Great shots hae been laid on ilk side,
An’ since we’re sae equally yoki,
Now vict’ry maun come an’ decide.
Our hin’ han’, unequalled at drawin’,
Sen’s up a tee shot to a hair,
Game, game, with loud cheer and hurrain’,
While besoms play high in the air.
Thankin’ an’ roosin’ an’ a’, pourin’ out bottles an’ a’, Then hurra’ for a beef and greens dinner, with jars o’ toddy an’ a’.
CHORUS
THOU bonnie flow’ret, sweet Springvale,
Thou bonnie flow’ret, sweet Springvale ;
When young I’ve breath’d the lover’s tale,
In thy green shades, thou sweet Springvale.
Oft in thy garden I have stray’d.
Amang the bonnie bloomin’ flow’rs :
And fondly woo’d my pretty maid,
While swiftly fled the happy hours. Thou bonnie flow’ret, &c.
Tho’ now from thee I’m forc’d to roam
Across the wide Atlantic sea ;
My anchor shall be fix’d at home,
Wi’ my sweet Jean, the bairns, an’ thee.
Thou bonnie flow’ret, &c.
My dearest lass, thou maunna mourn,
Though I from thee be far awa’ ;
For soon again I will return,
In that fine barque, the new Kerelaw.
Thou bonnie flow’ret, &c.
For homeward she will swiftly glide,
Though seas may swell and winds may blow ;
She’ll bravely cross the foamin’ tide,
This queen o’ ships, the new Kerelaw.
She’s queen of ships, the new Kerelaw,
She’s queen of ships, the new Kerelaw ;
Rejoice ye happy owners a’,
In your grand ship, the new Kerelaw.
She’s no made up wi’ rotten trash,
She’s richt and ticht without a flaw ;
She’’ll fill your coffers fu’ o’ cash,
This queen o’ ships, the new Kerelaw.
This queen o’ ships, the new Kerelaw,
This queen o’ ships, the new Kerelaw ;
She nobly made the water saw,
When she took tide, the new Kerelaw.
Let ev’ry man his glass well fill,
Let no daylight be seen ava’;
We’ll drink this toast wi’ heart an’ will___
“Captain Wilson and the new Kerelaw.”
Captain Wilson and the new Kerelaw,
To Wilson and the new Kerelaw ;
Long may they sail, please owners a’,
Till she be styl’d the auld Kerelaw. *This song was sung at the launch of the Barque Kerelaw.
OF late, he’s won the lover’s chase,
To propogate his noble race,
A blooming Countess he did place
In the Castle o’ Montgomery.
O, may she prove a fruitful vine,
And bring him bairnies eight or nine,
To lengthen out the noble line
Of Winton and Montgomerie.
We a’ rejoice she’s brought him yin,
A fine young lord for to begin ;
The rest will toddle up behin’
To the Castle o’ Montgomerie.
Aye when they come they’ll welcome be,
There’s plenty baith to tak’ an’ lea’;
Nae pinchin’ poverty you’ll see
‘Bout the Castle o’ Montgomerie.
O’ may they like their great-grandsire,
Of good improvements never tire;
May they possess heroic fire,
Those brave sons o’Montgomerie.
And may they nobly fill their place,
Renowned, like him, in Chevy Chase,
Their country’s foes aye boldly face, Those brave sons o’ Montgomerie.
CHORUS
HURRAH for the birth-day, the long look’d for birth-day-
The day we ha’e watch’d for this mony a year ;
Arise ev’ry one, let us drink while we can.
Success and long life to the Laird o’ Ardeer !
We wish him success and we wish him long life ;
We wish him all joy of his beautiful wife ;
In the splendours of love may they ever appear,
An’ soon have a heir for the house of Ardeer,
Hurrah, & c.
May honour and honesty still be his guide,
An’ wisdom o’er his actions ever preside :
And then peace an’ plenty shall bring up the rear,
May these guard the life o’ the Laird o’ Ardeer.
Hurrah, & c.
I have ae darlin’ wish ere from life I am freed,
In this a’ my brethren wi’ me are agreed___
That ere from this world I be forced to budge
Like his faither, I’ll see him, * sit Chief in our Lodge.
Hurrah, & c.
His faither was kind, and his faither was brave,
And lang did he sail o’er the heaving wave,
Where he met Britain’s foes without a spark of fear,
And soon made them yield to the Laird of Ardeer.
Hurrah, & c.
I am now growin’ auld, an’ my hair’s getting gray,
I serv’d his grandfaither for mony a day :
I have lov’d an’ I still shall love, with feelings sincere,
Ev’ry branch that belongs to the house of Ardeer
Hurrah, & c. Mr Warner was Grand-Master of the Stevenston Lodge of Free Masons for seventeen years
THIS lovely lass whom I adore,
I never saw her like before ;
She’s so complete in every part
That soon she won my loving heart.
Upon this earth there’s no compeer
To match the Lassie of Ardeer.
I’ve lov’d her lang thro’ toil and care
Her snowy brow an’ ringlets fair ;
Her eyes are ever sparking bright,
She is my youthful heart’s delight –
Her voice is mellow, sweet, and clear,
This charming Lassie of Ardeer.
Her wisdom does her form excel,
‘Mid all the girls she bears the bell ;
For beauty, wit, and love combin’d,
She stands the queen of womankind.
That she’ll be mine I vow and swear, This matchless Lassie of Ardeer.
AULD JOHN’S quite content, and he’s as content like,
He naps at whin stanes at the side o’ a dyke ;
He’s pleas’d to see them break, and the little splinters fly,
He looks sour at the steamboats as they pass him by.
One morning, singing early wi a hear fu’ o’ glee,
He was join’d by a mavis that sang upon a tree ;
The bird sang so sweet that the hammer stood still,
Then heard at a distance the music o’ a rill.
The bird flew awa’ to come back again,
When twa bairns wi, his breakfast cam’ toddlin’ alane ;
They cam’ toddling alane, arms roun’ ither fu’ fain,
An’ the twa wee bairnies cam’ toddling’ alane.
They said “Hey, dada, dear, there’s your parritch quite hot,
Ma’ struck Jock wi’ the spurtle for scartin’ the pot,”
He said, “ Wheest, bairns wheest,” an’ his bonnet he rais’d,
He looked up to the skies while the Giver he prais’d.
He left a soup to the dog, gie’d the cog back again,
An’ the twa wee bairnies gaed toddlin’ hame ;
They gaed toddlin’ hame, arms roun’ ither fu’ fain,
An the twa wee darlin’s gaed toddlin’ hame.
When the sun he looks blythe o’er Carloch sae hie,
Then he’ll meet his ain wife wi’ a smile in her e’e ;
She’ll hae Jean at her fit, aye, an’ Tam on her lap,
An’ they’ll toddle to meet him when he’s near the slap.
Collie’s bark bids him welcome to a clean hearthstone,
Where his five bonnie bairnies are toddlin’ their lane ;
They rin’ toddlin’ but, they come toddli’ ben, Losh but he’s happy that they’re toddlin’ their lane.
I’d rather have a little rose, from the garden of a friend,
Than all the choicest flowers, when my stay on earth shall end.
I’ll have one pleasant word in kindness said to me
Than flattery when my heart is still, and life shall cease to be.
I’d rather have a smile from friends that I know are true
Than tears shed round my casket, when I bid this life adieu.
So give me now your flowers today, whether white or red, Than a whole cart load later, when I am dead.
Further Reading
Stevenston – the Kernel of Cunninghame by James Clements. Available to read at the Heritage Centre
Miscellaneous Poems and Songs by Francis Love, Weaver, Stevenston. Available to read at the Local History and Genealogy Library in Irvine.