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T II E
SONGS OF SCOTL
CIIRONOLOGICALL V ARRANGED,
WITH
INTRODUCTION AND NOTES.
SECOND EDITION.
CASSELL, FETTER, & GALPIN,
LA BELLE SAUVAGE YARD, LUDGATE HILL, LONDON;
6 RUE D'ANGOULEME DU TEMPLE, PARIS;
AND S96 BROADWAY, NEW YORK,
GLASGOW:
HIINTED BY BELL AS"D BAIN,
MI'ICUELL STEEEI.
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INDEX OF FIRST LINES,
PAGE.
g. A cauty sang, 0, a canty sang ... ... ... ... 433
Q A cogie o' yill ... ... ... ... ... 265
jcx A cock laird fu' cadgie ... ... ... ... 69
;3 A friend o' mine came here yestreeu ... ... ... 170
g" A laddie and a lassie fair ... ... ... ... 136
ul A lass that was laden with caro ... ... ... 162
A lassie cam' to our gate yestreen ... ... ... 452
^ A rose bud by my early walk ... ... ... 212
it A soldier for gallant achievements renown'd ... ... 106
A Southland Jenny, that was right bounie ... ... 168
A steed, a steed, of matchlesse speedo ... ... ... 483
A weary lot is mine, fair maid ... ... ... 387
A wee bird cam' to our ha' door ... ... ... ... 560
A wet sheet and a flowing sea ... ... ... 446
About the closin' o' the day ... ... ... ... 481
Accuse me not inconstant fair ... ... ... 336
Adieu to rock and to waterfall ... ... ... ... 407
Admiring nature's simple charms ... ... ... 469
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever ... ... ... ... 211
Ac morn last ouk as I gaed out ... ... ... 343
hi Again rejoicing nature sees ... ... ... ... 244
{^ iVii Mary, sweetest maid farewell ! ... ... ... 358
^ Ah! the poor shepherd's mournful fato ... ... ... 115
C4 -lilake for the lassie, she's no right ava' ... ... 399
Alas my son you little know ... ... ... ... 150
^iilen-a-dale has no faggot for bmuiug ... ... 387
.iVll joy was bereft me the day that you left mo ... ... 391
All lovely on the sultry beach ... ... ... 176
^Uthough his back be at the wa' ... ... ... ... 678
Although I be but a country lass ... ... ... 45
Amang the birks sac blythe and gay ... ... ... 369
An' a' that ere my Jenny had ... ... ... 50
An' oh ! for ane an' twenty Tarn ... ... ... 230
An' thou wert my aiu thing ... ... ... 75
And are ye sure the news is ti-uo ... ... ... 163
And can thy bosom bear the thought ... ... ... 373
And faro ye weel my auld wife ... ... ... ... 23
And m o^TC the muir to Maggy ... ... ... 91
S
Vlll INDEX OF FIRST LINES.
PAGE.
And oh! my Eppia ... ... ... ... ... 254
Argyll is my name, and you may think it strange ... 127
As I cam' by Loch Erroch-side ,,. ... ... ... 287
As I cam' down the Canongate ... ... ... 550
As I cam' in by Teviot sido ... ... ... ... 35
As I came by Lochmaben gate ... ... ... 516
As I came through Glcndochart valo ... ... .,. 275
As I sail'd past green Jura's isle ... ... ... 445
As I was walking ae May morning • ... ... ... 159
As I went forth to view the plain ... ... ... qq
As Jenny sat down wi' her wheel by the fire ... ... 289
As Patie cam' up frae the glen ... ... ... ]5[.
As walking forth to view the plain ... ... ... 42
At Polwarth on the green ... ... ... ... 7g
At setting day and rising .morn ... ... ... ... 97
At Willie's wedding on the green ... ... ... ggi
Auld gudeman, ye're a drucken carle ... ... ... qqs
Auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen ... ... 4,3
Auld Rob the Laird 0' muckle land ... ... ... 2C1
Awake my love! with genial ray ... ... ... i^fj
Awa' "WTiigs awa' ... ... ... ... ... 597
Awa' wi" your witchcraft 0' beauty's alarms ... ... 221)
Bannocks 0' bear meal, bannocks 0' barley ... ... ... 57^5
Behave yoursel' before folk ... ... ... ... *" 474
Beliind yon hills .where Lugar flows ... ... ... 19'j
Beneath a beach's grateful shade ... ... ... ' 104
Beneath a green shade, a lovely yoimg swain ... ... 175
Bird of the wilderness ... ... ... ... * 423
Blink o'er the burn sweet Betty ... ... ... 20
Blythe, blythe, and merry was she ... ... ... J20
Blythe, blythe, and meny was she — Second version ... ... 249
Blythe, blythe, around the najspio ... ... ... 404
Blj-the are we set wi' ither ... ... ... '" ._^ 34.9
Blythe was the time when he fee'd wi' my father 0 '" ... "' 328
Blythe young Bess to Jean did say ... ... '" ..^ 141
Bonny Charlie's now awa' ... ... ... '"" .__ "* 57.^.
Bonnie lassie will ye go ... ... ... " 23>i
Bonnie Mary HuUiday ... ... '"' ... "" __^ '" ^^3
Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing ... " ... *" 24 (i
Bra w, braw lads o' Gala M-ater ... ... '" ___ "" 23
Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny bonny bride ... ... "" j jq
By Carnoustie's auld wa's at the close 0' the day , . . " * ... " * r,Q^
By Logan's streams that rin sae deep ... ... "" ^DO
By Pinkie house oft let me walk ^. ... ' _ '" ^^9
By smooth winding Tay, a swain was reclining " ... "" 49
By yon castle wa' at the close 0' the day ... "" .__ '"' xq^
Ca' the yowes to the knowes ... ... ... fc^n
Caledonia ! thou land of the mountain and rock ... '" ... *" 490
Can I behave, can I behave ... ... ... "* ^j-
Cjirle an' the king come ... ... " ... '" . "* 492
INDEX OF FIRST LINES. ix
TAGE.
Cauld blaws the wind, frae north to south ... ... 343
Cauld kail iu Aberdeen ... ... ... ... 129
Chaunt no more thy roundelay ... ... ... 452
Chill the wintry winds were blowing ... ... ... 323
Clavers an' his Highlandmen ... ... ... 495
Come all ye jolly shepherds ... ... ... ... 410
Come along my brave clans ... ... ... 533
Come boat me o'er, come row me o'er ... ... ... 539
Come, gies a sang, Montgomery cried ... ... ... 177
Come hame to your lingels ye neer-do-weel loon . . ... 339
Come o'er the stream, Charlie, dear Charlie, brave Cliurlio ... 539
Come under my plaidie, the night's gaun to fa' ... ... 809
Come ye by Athol, lad wi' the philabeg ... ... 535
Comin' thi-ough the Craigs o' Kyle ... ... ... 191
Contented wi' little an' canty Mi' mair ... ... 219
Cope sent a challenge frae Dunbar ... ... ... 545
Dark lowers the night o'er the wild stormy main ... 341
Dear Doctor, be clever, an' fling off your beaver ... ... 418
Dear land of my birth, of my friends, of my love ... 382
Dear Eoger if your Jenny geek ... ... ... ... 95
Did ever swain a nymph adore ... ... ... 107
Do you weep for the woes of poor wandering Nelly ... ... 345
Does haughty Gaul invasion threat ... ... ... 239
Donald Caird's come again ... ... ... ... ;;;)4
Donald's gane up the hill hard and hungry ... ... ,'".14
Doon i' the glen by the loMTn o' the trees ... ... ... 4<jl
Dorothy sits in the cauld ingle ueuk ... ... ... 324
Dumbarton's drums beat bonnie 0 ... ... ... 55
Duncan Gray cam' here to woo ... ... ... 2'>2
Down in yon meadow a couple did tarry ... ... ... 137
Eail March look'd on his dying child ... ... 462
Fair lady mom-n the memory ... ... ... ... 55(1
Fair modest flower of matchless worth ... ... 35G
Far frae the giddy court of mirth ... ... ... 321
Far lone amang the Highland hills ... ... ... 31G
Far o'er yon hills of the heather so green ... ... ... 575
Farewell thou fair day, thou green earth and ye skies ... 249
Farewell to a' our Scottish fame ... ... ... ... 503
Farewell to Glen-Shalloch ... ... ... ... 562
Farewell to Lochaber, and farewell to my Jean ... ... 77
Farewell to pleasant Ditson Hall ... ... ... 529
Fare-thee-weel, my native cot ... ... ... ... 568
Farewell ye dimgeons dark and strong ... ... 255
First when Maggy was my care ... ... ... ... 248
Flow gently, sweet Afton, amang thy green braes ... 201
Fly we to some distant isle ... ... ... ... 326
For lack of gold she has left me 0 ... ... ... 134
For mony lang year I hae heard frao my granny ... ... 274
Fortune frowning most severe ... ... ... 320
From Kosliu Castle's echoing walls ... ... ... 125
INDEX OF FIRST LINES.
o
PAGE.
Frae the friends and the land I lore ... ... ... 567
From thee, Eliza, I must go ... ... ... 206
From the rude bustling camp, to the cabn rm-al plain ... 324
From the village of Lesly, v.ith a heart fu' o' glee ... 341
Fy let us a' to the bridal ... ... ... ... 31
Gae bring my gude auld haq) ancc mair ... ... 477
Gane is the day, an' mirk's the nicht ... ... ... 216
General Cope is now come down ... ... ... 546
Geordie sits in Charlie's chair ... ... ... ... 558
Get up gudewife, don on your claise ... ... 28
Gie me a lass wi' a lump o' land ... ... ... 74
Gin a body meet a body ... ... ... ... 403
Gin I had a wee house, an' a canty wee fire ... ... 161
Gin ye meet a bonnie lassie ... ... ... 78
Gloomy winter's now awa' ... ... ... ... 317
Go fetch to me a pint o' wine ... ... ... 213
Go to Berwick, Johnnie ... ... ... ■•• 344
Go to him then if thou canst go ... ... ... 36
Gude day now bonnie robin ... ... ... ... 24
Ea'e ye seen in the calm "dewy morning ... ... 435
Had I a cave on some wild distant shore ... ... ... 254
Ilame, hame, hame, hame fain wad I be ... ... 581
Happy's the love which meets, return „. ... ... 88
Hard fate that I should banish'd be ... ... ... 527
Hiirk yonder eagle lonely ■uails ... .... ... 266
Harken and I will tell you how ... ... ... 9
Have ye ony pots or pans ... ... ,„ ... 22
Hay! now the day dawis ... ... ... ... 3
Hear me ye nymphs, and every E wain ... ... ... 102
Heard ye e'er o' Donald Gunn ... ... ... 448
He is gone on the mountain ... ... ... .. 386
Here around the ingle bleezin ... ... ... 258
Here awa' there awa' here awa', "Willie ... ... ... 58
Here awa' there awa' wandering Y/illic ... ... 160
Here's to the year that's awa' ... ... ... ... 431
Here's to the King, Sir ... .;. ... ... 498
He's a terrible man, John Tod, John Tod ... ... ... 278
He's owre the hills' that I lo'e weel ... ... ... 543
Heisell be Highland shttDtleman ... ... ... 132
Here's a health to theiu thafs awa' ... ... ... 577
Hey how Johnnie lad ... ... ... ... ... 169
Hey Donald, how Donal.l ... ... ... ... 262
Hey for bobbing John ... ... ... ... 365
Hey the bonnie, how the bouuie ... ... ... 261
Hey the dusty miller .. ... ... ... 252
Hie bonnie Lassie blink over the burn ... ... 132
Hoo are ye, kimmer ... ... ... ... ... 27
Mow brightly beams the bonnie moon ... ... 473
How biythe ilk mom was I to see ... ... ... 116
How dear to think on fonner days ... ... ... 429
I^^>Ex OF riEST lines.
XI
How lang shall oiir land thus suffer distresses
How pleasant the banks of the clear winding Devon
How sweetly smells the simmer green
How sweet the modest light to view .„
Husband, husband cease your strife
I am a puir siUy auld man ,..
I chanc'd to meet an airy blade ...
I do confess thou'rt smooth and fair
I dreara'd I lay where flowers were springing
I gae'd a waefu' gate yestreen
I ha'e a wife o' my ain
I ha'e laid a herring in saut
I ha'e nae kith, I ha'e nae kin
I ha'e seen great anes, and sat in great ha's
1 heard the evening linnet's voice, the woodland tufts
I lately lived in quiet ease
I lo'ed ne'er a laddie but ane
I loved thee once, I love thee no more
I mark'd a gem o' pearly dew
I married wi' a scolding wife ... ... _
I may sit in my wee croo-house
I wadna' gic my ain wife
I was ance a weel tochered lass
I will awa' wi' my love
I winna gang back to my mammy again
I winna lo'e the laddie that ca's the cart and plough
I wish I were where Helen lies
Second version
If doughty deeds my ladye please
If my dear wife should chance to gang
I'll aye ca' in by yon town ...
I'U gar om- guidman trow
I'll hie me to the shieling hill
I'll sing o' yon glen o' red heather
I'm now a gude fanner, I've acres o' land
I'm owTe young to marry yet
I'm wearing awa', John
I met four chaps yon birks amang
In a saft simmer gloaming ...
In April when primroses paint the sweet plain
In Scotland there liv'd a humble beggar
In summer I maw'd my meadow
In the garb of old Gaiil with the fire of old Rome
In the land of Fife there liv'd a wicked wife
In winter when the rain rain'd cauld ...
Is there for honest povertie
It fell about the Martinmas time
It fell on a morning when we were thrang
It was in and about the Martinmas tunc
It was at a wedding near Tranent
It was upon a Lammas night ...
PAGE.
• ••
... 530
...
2-16
71
...
406
...
... 241
43
... 138
...
11
...
... 196
...
241
...
... 211
287
... 502
...
427
amang
299
... 412
310
12
...
334
... 224
506
... 468
119
84
...
274
...
480
...
19
...
20
190
...
... 171
...
210
64
...
826
...
... 423
...
295
...
... 222
...
281
...
... 360
...
483
...
SO
...
156
...
26
...
128
...
... 188
...
16
... 237
158
...
... 353
...
37
...
... 367
• ••
200
xu
INDEX OF FIRST LINES.
It's G-eordie's now come hereabout
It's Hanover, Hanover, fast as you can over
It's no that thou'i-t bonnie, it's no that thou'ii braw
I've heard a lilting at our yowe milking
I've seen the smiling ...
I've spent my time in rioting
I've wandered east, I've wandered west
It wasna for our rightfu' King
Jenny's heart was frank and free
Jocky fou, Jenny fain
Jock he came here to woo
Jocky said to Jenny, Jenny wilt thou do't?
John Anderson my Jo, John
John Grumlie swore by the light of the moon
Keen blaws the wind o'er the braes o' Gleniffer
Land of my fathers, though no mangrove here ...
Langsyne beside the woodland burn
Lassies, look na sourly meek
Lassie wi' the lint-white locks
Last May a braw wooer cam' doon the lang glen
Late in an evening forth I went
Let us go, lassie, go
Let us haste to Kelvin grove, bonnie lassie 0
Like bees that suck the morning dew
Little wat ye wha's comin'
Lo, what it is to lufe
Long have I pined for thee
Look where my Hamilla smiles
Loose the yett, and let me in
Louder than the tnimp o' fame
Loudon's bonnie woods and braes
Love never more shall give me paiu ...
Love's goddess in a myrtle grove
March, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale
March, march, why the deil do ye na march
Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion ...
Mary, why thus waste thy youth time in sorrow
Maxweltown banks are bonnie
May morning had shed her first streamers on high
Meg muckin at Geordie's byre
Merry may the maid be
My daddy had a riding mare
My daddie is a cankert carle
My daddie left me gear enough
My dear little lassie why what's a' the matter
My dear and only love, I pray
My father was a farmer, upon the Carrick border
My gudeman says aye to me
My Hany was a gallant gay
PAGE.
610
513
472
134
123
99
480
497
292
65
IGO
49
233
441
314
405
318
371
242
231
47
314
438
7G
518
5
582
105
424
319
313
103
89
390
25
248
835
45
586
296
67
512
145
18
298
21
198
471
256
INDEX OF FIRST LINES. XIU
PAGE.
My hawk is tired of perch and hood ... ... ... 393
My heart is a breakinjj, dear Tittle ... ... ... 225
My heart's iu the Highlands, my heart is not here ... 257
My laddie is gane far away o'er the plain ... ... ... 262
My heart is sair, I danrna tdl ... ... ... 219
My heart is sair, I daurna tell ... ... ... ... 532
My love come let us wander ... ... ... 430
My love's in Germany ... ... ... ... 305
My love she's but a lassie yet ... ... ... 232
My love she's but a lassie yet ... ... ... ... 419
My love was born in Aberdeen ... ... ... 55G
My love was once a bonnic lad ... ... ... ... 12G
My Mary is a bounie lassie ... ... ... 328
My mither's aye glo^\Tin ower me ... ... ... 71
My mither ment my auld breeks ... ... ... 47G
My name is Donald MacDonald ... ... ... ... 41G
My Patie is a lover gay ... ... ... ... 9G
My Peggie is a yonng thing ... .,, ... ... 9G
My sheep I neglected, I lost my sheep hook ... ... 135
My sweetest May, let love incline thee ... ... ... 93
My wife's a wanton wee thing ... ... ... 1G4
Nae Gentle dames thoe'er sae fair . . ... ... 203
Nancy's to the Greenwood gane ... ... ... 15
Neath the wave thy lover sleeps ... ... ... 430
Never wedding, ever wooing ... ... ... 4G3
Nith, trembling to the reapers sang ... ... ... 444
No Churchman am I for to rail and to ^\Titc ... ... 217
Now Charles asserts his father's right ... ... ... 548
Now fy let us a' to the treaty ... ... ... 503
Now in her green mantle blythe nature arrays ... ... 231
Now, Jenny lass, my bonnie bird ... ... ... 300
Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers ... ... ... 22G
Now smiling simimer's balmy breeze ... ... 370
Now the sun's gaen out o' .sight ... ... ... 83
Now there's peace on the shore, now there's calm on the sea 457
Now wat ye wha I met yestreen ... ... ... 70
Now winter wi' his cloudy brow ... ... ... 331
0 Allister McAllister ... ... ... ... ... 400
0, an ye were dead gudeman ... ... ... 2G5
0, are ye slcepin, Maggie ... ... ... ... 316
0, Bell thy looks hae killed my heart ... ... ... 81
O, Bessie Bell and M;m^ Gray ... ... ... ... 80
0 cam ye here the fight to shun ... ... .. 524
0 can ye sew cushions ... ... ... ... 264
0 come awa, come awa ... ... ... ... GG
0 gin my love were yon red rose ... ... ... 53
O how could I venture to love one like thee ... ... 122
0 hush thee my babie, thy sire wiis u knight ... ... 395
0, I had a wee bit niailiu ... .,, .,, ... 409
0 Kcumure's on, and awa, Willie ... ... ... 52d
SIV
INDEX OF FIRST LINES.
0 ken ye Meg o' Marley glen
0 lassie I loe dearest
0 Logic, of Bucban, 0 Logie the laird
0 lovers' eyes are sharp to see
0 lustie May with Flora quene . ,
0 mother tell the laird o't ...
0 my lassie, our joy to complete again
0 once I lov'd a bonnie lass ...
0 sair I rue the witless wish
0 Sandy why leave thou thy Nelly to mourn
0 saw ye my wee thing, saw ye my ain thing .
0 saw ye my father, saw ye my mither
0 say is there ane wha does not rejoice
0 say not love will never ...
0 say not my love, with that mortified air
0 the ewe buchting's bonnie baith e'ening and morn
0 the sun frae the eastward was peeping
0 this is no my ain house ...
0 waly, waly, up the bank
O weel may I mind on the folk at Lindores
0 weel may the boatie row
0 were I able to rehearse
0 wha are sae happy as me and my Janet . . .
0 wha's for Scotland and Charlie
0 wha's that at my chamber door
0 what will a' the lads do ...
0 what's the rhjTne to Porringer
0 when she cam ben she bobbit fu' low
0 where, tell me where, is your highland laddie gone
0 why should old age so much wound us, 0
0 wilt thou go wi' me, sweet Tibbie Dunbar
Och hey Johimie lad
October winds wi' biting breath
Of a' the airts the wind can blaw
Of all the days that's in the year ...
Oh aye my wife she dang me
Oh dinna ask me gin I loe thee ...
Oh dinna think, bonnie lassie, I'm gaun to leave thee
Oh how can I be blythe and glad
Oh I am come to the low countrie
Oh lay thy loof in mine lass
Oh leeze me on my spinning wheel
Oh love will venture in, where it damna weel be seen
Oh Logan sweetly didst thou glide
Oh MaUy's meek, Mally's sweet ...
Oh Mary at thy window be
Oh meikle thinks my love o' my beauty
Oh mirk, mirk, is this midnight hour ...
Oh my love's like a red, red rose ...
Oh neighbours what had I ado for to many
Oh open the door, some pity to show
PAGE.
422
372
131
396
6
421
411
195
325
89
303
166
278
467
396
58, 456
376
500
41
381
284
180
432
536
91
425
600
259
348
184
258
333
347
209
515
251
431
304
222
566
223
228
234
213
246
197
229
251
218
354
224
INDEX OF FIRST LINES.
XV
Oh pity an auld HigUan' piper
Oh poortith cauld, and restless love
Oh Eowan tiree, oh Eowan tree
Oh saw ye bonnie Lesley
Oh send Lewie Gordon hame
Oh sisters there are midnight dreams
Oh take me to yon sunny isle that stands in Fortha's sea .
Oh tell me, oh teU me bonnie yonng lassie
Oh Tibbie, I hae seen the day
Oh the auld house, the auld house
Oh this is no my ain lassie ...
Oh wae be to the orders that march'd my love aw.x
Oh weel beta' the busy toon
Oh! were I on Parnassus hill
Oh ! whistle, and I'll come to you my lad
Oh why left I my hame ; why did I cross the deep
Oh Willie brew'd a peck o' maut
O'er the mist shrouded clifts of the gray mountain straying
On Cessnock banks there lives a lass ...
On Ettrick banks ae simmer's night
On GaUia's shore we sat and wept
On the banks of the bum, while I pensively wander
On the blyth Beltane as I went
On the wild braes of Calder, I found a fair lily ...
One day I heard Mary say
One night as young Colin lay musing in bed
Once on a morning of sweet recreation
Our bonnie Scots lads in their green tartan plaids
Our gallant Prince is now come hame
Our goodman cam hame at e'en
Our gudewife's awa'
Our native land, our native vale
Our's is the land of gallant hearts
Ower the hills and tar away
Pardon now the bold outlaw
Pibroch of Donuil Dhu
Powers Celestial ! whose protection
PreserA'C us a' ; what shall we do
Quoth Eab to Kate, my sonsy dear
Ectum thee hameward, heart again
Eising o'er the heaving billow
Eobin is my only jo
Eobin shure in hairst ...
Eob's Jock cam to woo our Jenny
Eow weel my boatie, row weel ...
Eoyal Charlie's now awa
Eoy's wife o' Aldivalloch
Sae flaxen were her ringlets .,, ,,,
Saw ye Johnny comin', quoth she ,„
PAGE.
436
221
283
2'13
577
479
434
306
217
281
230
490
426
220
226
432
234
372
196
63
561
398
150
470
105
176
505
327
647
151
440
455
478
631
402
389
203
267
COl
5
345
165
257
7
369
573
302
215
62
xvi INDEX OF FIRST LINES.
PAGE.
Saw ye nae my Peggie ... ... ... •■• 61
Scotia's thistle guards the grave ... ... .:. •■• 482
Scotland and England must now be ... ... ... 558
Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled ... ... ... 238
See the glow-worm lits her fairy lamp ... ... 437
See the moon o'er cloudless Jura ... ... ... 428
See aff and awa' like the lang summer days ... ... 435
She's fair and fause that causes my smart ... ... ... 256
She is a winsome wee thing ... ... ... 211
She was a sunbeam in the storm ... ... ... 405
Should old acquaintance be forgot ... ... ... 13
Should auld acquaintance be forgot ... ... .. 72
Should auld acquaintance be forgot ... ... ... 245
Simmer's a pleasant tune ... ... ... ... 250
Since all thy vows, false maid ... ... ... 39
Since uncle's death, I've lads enew ... ... ... 451
Sing a' ye bards wi' loud acclaims ... ... ... 375
Sing on, sing on, my bonnie bird ... ... ... 413
Sir John Cope rode to the north right far ... ... 644
Sit ye down here my cronies and gie us your crack ... ... 363
Soldier rest ! thy warfare o'er ... ... ... 388
Some say that kissing's a sin ... ... ... ... 56
Surrounded wi' bent and wi' heather ... ... ... 293
S}Tnon Brodio had a cow ... ... ... ... 140
Sweet fa's the eve on Cragiebum ... ••• ... 250
Sweet sir, for your courtesie ... ... ... ... 29
Sweet's the dew-deck'd rose in June ... ... ... 374
TaiTy woo, tarry woo ... ... ... ... ... 118
Taste life's glad moments ... ... ... ... 359
That life's a faught ; there is nae doubt ... ... ... 454
The auld man's mear's dead ... ... ... 97
The auld Stuarts back again ... ... ... ... 517
The bride cam' oot o' the byre ... ... ... 44
The bride she is winsome and bonnie ... ... ... 352
The bloom hath fled thy cheek, Mary ... ... ... 488
The blude red rose at yule may blow ... ... ... 223
The bonnie brucket lassie ... ... ... ... 286
The Campbells are comin', 0 ho, 0 ho ... ... ... 260
The Catrine woods were yellow seen ... ... ... 206
The collier has a daughter ... ... ... ... 73
The cronach stiUs the dowie heart ... ... ... 366
The cuckoo's a bonny bird, when he comes hame ... ... 513
The day returns, my bosom burns ... ... ... 250
The deil cam fiddling through the town ... ... ... 245
The e'e o' the dawn, Eliza ... ... ... ... 406
The gloomy night is gath'ring fast ... ... ... 208
The gowan glitters on the sward ... ... ... 351
The grass had nae freedom o' growin' ... ... ... 379
The heath this night must be my bed ... ... 394
The highlandmen came down the hill ... .., ... 555
The laiid o' Cockpen, he's proud and he's great ... ... 280
INDEX OF FIRST LINES. XVU
PAGE.
The lass of Paiie's mill ... ... - ••• ^^*
The lassies a' leugh an' the caiiiu flatc ... ... ••• p^'^
The last time I cam' owre the muir ... ... .-. ^<^
The Lawland lads thiuk thej arc fine ... ... ••. °-
The love that I had chosen ... ••• ••• ^-*
The lovely lass o' Inverness ... .■• •■• ••• "^J?-^
The meal was dear short syne ... ••. ••• „;^[^
The midges dance aboon the burn ... .■• -. ^'-'-'
The moon had climbed the highest hill ... ••. 1^*
The moon's on the lake, and the mist's on ilic biac ... ... oJO
The moon was fair, saft was the air ... ... •■• 10^.
The mummr of the meriy brook ... ••• ••. ^' J
The news frae Moidart cam' yestreen ... ... o^f
The nicht is mirk, .and the wind blaws EchiU ... ... 4ba
The pawkie auld carle came o'er the lea ... .■• ^1
The piper came to onr town ... ... ••• ••. ^p^
The ploughman he's a bonnie lad ... .■• ••• ■'^'
The small birds rejoice in the green leaves leturnmg ... ... ol2
The smiling morn, the breathing spring ... ... 12t
The smiling plain profusely gay ... .-. ••• y<^^
The spring time returns, and clothes the gay plam ... lil
The storm is raging o'er the Kyle ••* .•• ... 570
The sun has gone down o'er the lofty Bon Lomond ... 312
The sun raise sae rosy the green hills adorning ... ... 305
The standard on the braes o' Mar ... ... ... 519
The tears I shed must ever fall ... ... ... •.. SS-t
The Thames flows proudly to the sea ... ... 247
The widow can b.ake, an' the widow can brew ... ... 79
The wind comes frae the land I love ... ... ... 538
The winter sat lang on the spring o' the year ... ... 292
The wren scho lyes in care's bed ... ... .■• 26
The year is wea'rin' to the wane ... ... .■• ... 41G
The yellow haired laddie sat down on yon brae ... ... 59
The youth that shoirld hae been our King ... ... ... 579
Their groves of sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon ... 210
There are twa bonnie maidens ... ... ... ... 571
There cam a braw lad to my daddie's door ... ... IfiG
There dwelt a man into the west ... ... ... 448
There grows a bonnie brier bush in cm- kail yard ... 552
There lived a lass in Inverness ... ... ... ... 564
There lives a landart laird in Fife ... ... ... 367
There lives a lassie on the brae ... ... ... ... 185
There lives a young lassie ... ... ... ... 439
There w.as a liid was born in Kyle ... ... ... 105
There was a lass, they ca'd her Meg ... ... ... 215
There was a wife wonu'd in a glen ... ... ... <)4
There was an auld wife had a wee pickle low ... ... 171
There was anes a maid and she loo'd na men ... ... 57
There were twa does sat in a dookit ... ... ... 279
There's Auld Eob IMorris that wous in yon glen ... ... 253
There's braw braw lads on Yarrow braes ... ... 2IU
XVIJI
INDEX OF FIRST LINES.
PAGE.
There's Cauld Kail in Aberdeen
There's Cauld Kail in Aberdeen
There's fowth o' braw Jockies and Jennies
There's kames o' hinnie 'tween my love's lipes
There's nae laddie comin' for thee, my dear Jean
There's nae covenant now lassie
There's nought but care on every han'
There's some say that we wan
There's waefu' news in yon town
There's was a wee bit wifidiie was comin' frae the fair
They lighted a taper at the dead of night
They say that Jockey'U speed well o't
Thickest night o'erhangs my dwelling
This is no mine ain house
Tho' summer smiles on bank and brae
Thou art gane awa', thou art gane awa'
Thou bonnie wood o' Craigielea
Thou cauld gloomy Feber'war
Thou dark winding Carron once pleasing to sec
Thou hast left me ever Jamie, thou hast left me ever
Thou ling'ring star with less'uing ray
Though dowie's the winter sae gloomy and di-ear
Though Geordie reigns wi' Jamie's stead
Through Crookston Castle's lanely wa's
Thy cheek is o' the rose's hue
Tibby has a store of charms
Tibbie Fowler o' the glen ...
'Tis hinna ye heard man o' Barrochan Jean
'Tis no very lang sinsyne
Tune your fiddles, tune them sweetly
To cui-b usurpation by tli' assistance of France ...
To daunton me, to daunton me ...
To daunton me, an' me sae young
To your arms, to your arms, my bonnie Highland
To the Lords of Convention, 'twas Claverhouse spoke
Touch once more a sober measm^o
Turn again, thou fair Eliza
'Twas even, the dewy fields were green
'Twas na her bonnie blue e'e was my ruin ...
'Twas on a Monday morning
'Twas on a summer afternoon
'Twas summer, and saftly the breezes were blowing
'Twas simimer tide ! the Cushat sang
'Twas when tho wan leaf frae the bkk tree was fa'in
Up amang yon cliffy rocks
tip, and rin awa', Hawley ...
Up in the morning's no for mc
Upon a summer's afternoon
Was ever old warrior of sufferings so weary
Weary fa' you Duncan Gray
• ••
130
• •• •
.. 347
• ••
14G
...
.. 442
• ••
420
• ( (
.. 453
> • •
201
• • >
.. 520
• • >
272
r
.. 268
. ..
463
...
.. 172
...
221
...
78
...
337
...
.. 262
>• •
317
• *(
.. 337
• • •
312
.. 227
• I *
205
...
.. 468
...
578
• • *
.. 315
271
...
90
...
140
■ *•
.. 329
...
167
...
.. 183
340
...
... 497
.
541
lads "■
.. 551
...
.. 493
...
•158
...
.. 205
...
207
.. 247
549
.. 283
149
.. 408
...
S97
...
.. 340
■ *•
554
. • .
.. 230
...
402
...
.. 419
• *(
260
INDEX OF FIRST LINES.
XIX
PAGE.
We'll hap and row, we'll hap and row
We'll meet beside the dusky glen, on yon burnside
Wha the deil hae we gotten for a king
Wha wadna be in love
Wha wadna fight for Charlie
Wha will ride wi gallant MiuTay
Wha'U buy my caller herriu'
Whar hae ye been a' day
Whare hae ye been sae bra v.' lads
What beauties does Flora disclose
What can a young lassie, what shall a young lassie
What gude the present day can gie
What ails you now my daintie Pate
What's this wi' voice 0' music sweet ...
Where live ye my bonnie lass
When a' ither baiinies are hush'd to their hame
When cities of old days
When first I cam' to bo a man of twenty years or so
When first my dear laddie gaed to the greenhill
When France had her assistance lent
When gloamin o'er the welkin steals
"When go wans sprinkled a' the lea
When I began the world first
When I hae a saxpence under my thumb
"When innocent pastime our pleasures did crown
■When I think on the sweet smiles o' my lassie ...
When I think on the world's pelf
When I upon thy bosom lean
When I was a mUler in Fife
When I left thee bonnie Scotland
^Vhen John and me were mamed
^^Tien Katie was scares out nineteen ...
"When lonely thou wandered along by the wUdwood
When Maggie and me were acquaint
^Vhcn my fiocks upon the heathy hill are lying a' at
When o'er the hill the eastern star
When our ancient forefathers agreed with the laud
"When Phoebus bright the azui-e skyes
When poortith cauld, and som* disdain
When Rosie was faithful how happy was I
When shall the lover rest
When summer comes the swains on Tweed
When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye a' at ha;
When trees did bud and fields were green
When we gacd to the braes o' Mar
When we think on the days of auld
When white was my o'erlay as foam o' the linn
When wild war's deadly blast was blawn
Where Cart rins rowin to the sea
Where is your daddie gane, my little May
Where Quair rius sweet amang the flowers
• •• •
. 288
■ •■
331
• •• •
. 508
• ••
32
• •• «
. 536
• ••
531
• •• ■
. 277
308
• •• ■
. 496
*•>
101
. 227
274
• •• ■
. 289
• **
273
t •> .
. 263
• • .
466
• >• .
. 465
• ••
181
• t • ,
95
633
. 381
■ • >
383
. 179
• • •
49
• •• •
87
• t *
364
• •• •
61
• • •
187
... ,
, 449
...
560
• •• •
. 333
*. .
357
• • • «
. 384
58
rest
. 477
• •.
243
• •• ,
. 188
. . •
33
...
. 300
• t *
o'oo
• . •
. 392
• • •
117
,me
. 270
106
. 526
501
. 350
• • •
235
. 209
• I*
563
• •• *
. 298
XX INDEX OF FIRST LINES.
TAGB.
While fops ill £aft Italian verse ... ... ... ... 108
While frequent on Tweed and on Tay ... ... 143
While the gray pinioned lark early mounts to the skies ... 323
Why hangs that cloud upon thy brow ... ... 114
Why, my Charlie, dost thou leave me ... ... ... 575
Why weep ye by the tide, ladye ... ... ... 385
Wi' a hundred pipers an' a' an' a' ... ... ... 552
Will ye gae to the ewe buchts, Marion ... ... 53
Will ye gang o'er the lea rig ... ... ... ... 148
Will ye gang wi' me, lassie ... ... ... ... 414
Will ye gang wi' me, Lizzie Lindsay ... ... ... 259
Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary " ... ... ... 202
WiU ye come to the board I've prepared for you ... ... 322
Willie was a wanton wag ... ... ... ... 98
Y\^illie Wastle dwelt on Tweed ... ... ... ... 240
Willy's rare, and Willy's fair ... ... ... 118
With broken words and dowTicast eyes ... ... ... 92
With tuneful pipe and hearty glee ... ... ... 157
With waefu' heart and EoiTo wing c"e ... ... ... 334
Ye banks and braes, and streams around ... ... 204
Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon ... ... ... 20.S
Ye echoes that ring 'round the woods of Bowgreen ... 320
Yc gales, that gently wave the sea ... ... ... 84
Ye gallants bright, I rede ye right ... ... ... 253
Ye gods was Strephon's picture blest ... ... ... 113
Ye rivers so limpid and clear ... ... ... 174
Ye shepherds and nymphs that .adorn the gay plain ... ... 113
Ye simny braes that skirt the Clyde ... ... ... 327
Ye watchful guardian of the fair ... ... ... 93
Ye whigs are a rebellious crew ... ... ... 509
Ye wooer lads wha greet and grane ... ... ... 319
Ye'll a' ha'e heard tell o' Rab Eoryson's bonnet ... 322
You may sing o' your Wallace, and brag o' your Brace ... 401
Young Charlie is a gallant lad ... ... ... 541
Young Peggie blooms our bonniest lass ... ... ... 214
Youre welcome, whigs, from Boihwell Brigs ... ... 492
You've surely heard o' famous Neil ... ... ... 355
INTRODUCTION
A SONG is gx'iicrally the earliest form in which the literary taste
of a nation is to be found, and the collected songs of a country
placed before a critical reader is probably the most severe test
of its excellence in literature. To write a mere song, or words to
accompany a given air is a comparatively easy matter, but to
write one which will touch the heart or the jjassions, and stand
the test of time, after all the best test of poetic merit, is a gift
comparatively rare. To be popular with the masses, its language
must be simple and unaffected : nothing, in Scotish Song cs-
jiecially, is more nonsensical than the introduction of Phillis,
Adonis, Miranda, or Strephon, or any of these classical beauties
and exquisites. To be remembered, it must be short ; and its
sentiments whether amorous, bacchanalian, warlike, or domestic,
must not be extravagant, but rather given with subdued power,
while to please the critical reader its rhyme must be smooth and
its rhythm faultless.
That these conditions are fulfilled by the majority of our best
Scotch songs may be seen by glancing at tlie collection hero
submitted to the public. To select a few, what could be liner
or more pleasing to critics and readers than " 0 waly waly up
the bank," "Auld Robin Gray," " I've heard a lilting," " Brume o'
the Cowdcnknowes," "Tarn Glen," "My Nannie's awa," "Land
o' the Leal," "Lucy's Flittiu'," and many others?
There is one thing which cannot fail to strike the reader of
these songs, and it is the fact that the great majority of our
best songs are from the pens of writers born in the poorer ranks
of society, and whose education was generally comparatively
imperfect. Kamsay, Burns, Allan Cunningham, Mayne, Taima-
hill, Hogg, Gall, Laidlaw, may serve to illustrate this in the later
period of the annals of our song. For the earlier period the
song writers are generally unknown, but from various circum-
stances we nuist infer that the same fact is visible here also,
especially when we remember that in the works of Sir David
Lindsay, Gnwain Douglas, or Dunbar, we do not find any piece
which could be included in a collection of Scotish song ; and
assuredly these writers give us no name distinguished in their
time for excellence in this department of their craft. Why this
should be, wc leave some future investigator into the Curi-
osities of Literature to determine.
li
xxii INTRODUCTION.
We purpose devoting this introduction to an examination of
the remains of our early songs, so as to give the reader such an
idea of our earliest pieces as may be derived from an enumeration
of the titles, which is almost wholly all that has come down to us.
Where a fragment has been fortunate enough to escape the fate
of its fellows, we shall faithfully and gladly give it. We will
also take a glance at the most important printed collections, from
Eamsay's Tea Table Miscellany onward.
The songs of Scotland, so far as they are left to us, begin at
the period when the ancient minstrels, on whose social position
so much valuable time, paper, and temper has been wasted, had
fallen into the deepest disgrace, and were classed in Acts of
Parliament along with beggars, rogues, and vagabonds. The
decline of their influence, and in all likelihood the comparative
worthlessness of their later compositions, caused the people gen-
erally to cherish more fondly the songs and ballads that had
arisen amongst themselves, no one could tell how, and which
better assisted their varying mood than the long rhymes of the
strolling bard, and enabled them to keep men of the questionable
character, which the representatives of the old minstrels had won
for themselves, away from their dwellings and merry meetings.
The pastoral life which, in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries,
Avas followed by the majority of the people of the lowlands, would
also favour the growth of song ; and in each little community one
man's success doubtless excited the emulation of his neighbour,
and each would strive to be reckoned best at rhyming,^ particularly
if some rustic beauty were the prize to be won. However
it may be, there is now hardly a village, river, or glen without a
song in its honour ; all the favourite names of the lassies, Mary,
Kate, Jean, Meg, or Annie, are duly enshrined : every battlefield
has been celebrated or wailed, while the popular enemies of the
country, whether internal or external, are bede eked in satire which ,
justly or not, has sent them down to all posterity with an evil
I^rominence that can never be removed.
A collection like this can only deal with the songs of the Low-
lands. Could the Highland minstrelsy be collected and edited,
it would be seen that the north is not behind the south in little
pieces that touch the heart and fire the soul. Many of the Gaelic
Airs especially, convey the impressions of love, sorrow, grief, and
triumph in a manner at once beautiful, musical, and impressive.^
Prior to the publication of the Tea Table Miscellany in 1725,
Scotish Song was preserved only in the precarious keeping of
1 "We kno^y how well pleased the Ettrick Shepherd was at the title given him by
the country lassies of "Jamie the Poeter."
2 The bagpipe is commonlj' put down by Englishmen <13 a nuisance, but they never
heard the pipers at a grave side, where, as each dull thud of earth falls oa the cofliil
lid, a low plaintive wail is given forth at once toucliing and heart-rending.
INTRODUCTION. xxiii
the people, who, with each succeeding generation, altered the
songs bequeathed by them to suit their own tastes. The words
of course were first altered, then the ideas, till often the mere
name of the original song given to us as the original name of
an air, is all that remains to afford us an idea of the early words.
Sufficient evidence of this will be given further on, when we
detail the titles of the old tunes to which words in keeping with
the titles cannot now be produced.
The earliest scrap of song which has been preserved occurs
in Wynton's Orygynale Cronykil (which is supposed to have
been written early in the fifteenth century), and seems to form
part of a lament for the death of Alexander III., a.d. 1285 : — •
"Quhen Alysander oiire kynge wes dede
That Scotland led in luvre and le,
Away Tves sons off ale and hreda
Off ^\yno and wax, off gamyn and gle ;
Oure gold was changyd into lede,
Cryst, borne into vergynyte,
Succoiu: Scotland and remede,
That stad in his porplcxite."
With the death of Alexander began the intrigues of the English
king for the sovereignty of Scotland, and the next scrap we
have refers to the first expedition of Edward I. into the northern
kingdom. The town of Berwick-on-Tweed was in the possession
of the Scotch and was strongly garrisoned by them. This of
course had to be taken and was besieged. The inhabitants
were so much elated at a temporaiy success (the burning of
two English ships, assisting in the attack from the sea side),
that the following was sung by them in derision at the attempts
of the English : —
Wend Kyng Edewardc, with his langc shankes,
To have gete Berwickc, al our unthankcs ?
Gas pikes hym,
And after Gas dikes hym.^
" This pleasantry, however," saj'-s Ritson, " was in the present
instance somewhat ill-timed ; for as soon as the King heard of
it, he assaulted the town with such fury that he carried it with
the loss of 25,700 Scots."
The battle of Bannockburn, fought July, 1314, was naturally
the subject of a great rejoicing in Scotland, and we have a
short fragment of a song which appears to have been popular
at the time : —
* Harleian MSS. quoted by Ritson. Mr. Chp.mbers, Sougs of Scotland, vol. L
p. 5., suggests that the word Qas is an error for Q<xr, a suggestion very liicly to be
correct.
XXIV INTRODUCTION.
Maydens of Englancle sore may ye mome
For your lommans ye have lost at Banokysborne,
With heue a lowe
What wenyth the Kynge of Englande
To have got Scotlonde
Wyth rumbylowe ? ^
That a song was a very popular method of celebrating a
victory is made known to us by a reference in Barbour's Bruce,
where the poet forbears to enter into particulars, as
Qiihas liks they may her
Young women, qulien thai will play,
Syng it amang thaim ilk day. 2
The feeling against the English was not removed by the
marriage of a Scotish King with an English Princess, for in
1328 at the time of the marriage of David II. with the Princess
Jane, this pasquil was in great favour with the Scotch : —
Long beerdis hartles,
Paynted hoodes wytles,
Gay cottes graceles,
Maketh Englande thryfteless.
We now come to the reign of James I., unquestionably tho
ablest of all the Stewart race of kings. 'As is well known to
every reader of Scotish History, James, Avhile on his way to
France, to which court he was sent for his education, was
captured by an English Cruiser and detained for nineteen years
a prisoner in England. During his captivity he received tho
best education that could be given, and which, if not far
beyond what he would have had in France, was at least greatly
superior to that of any of his predecessors on the throne. Ho
returned to Scotland with ideas as to government and refine-
ment far beyond his age. He was also, so far as we know, tho
best Scotch poet of his age ; and although the " Kingis Quair " is
the only work we can ascribe to him with any degree of cer-
tainty, still it is but reasonable to believe that other pieces
came from his pen, and from his love of music that these
pieces comprised many songs. Fordun, a contemporary historian,
lias highly extolled his talents as a musician, and Mr. Tytler,
one of his editors and biographers, says " From the genius of
King James, his profound skill in the principles of music, and
great performance on the harp, we may esteem him the inven-
tor and reformer of the Scottish Vocal Music." ^
' Preserved in the Chronicle of St. Alban's. The words Heualogh and Eom-
belogh were probably, as remarked by Eitson, an ordinary burden for ballads in
the time.
2 Barbour's Bruce. Jamieson's ed. Glasgow, 1S69.
' AVorks of Kins James I. ; Glasgow, 12nio, no date, page 273.
INTRODUCTION. XXV
Major in his De Gestis Scotorum, mentions t-\vo songs by
King James entitled —
Yas Sen.i
At Beltayn."
In one of the poems attributed to the king, entitled Peblis to
the Play, two songs are mentioned as being struck up by the
merry-makers —
Their fure 3 ane man to the holt *
Their sail be mirth at our melting yet."
A curious poem entitled Cockelbie's Sow (which will be found
printed in Laing's Select Remains of the Ancient Popular Poetry
of Scotland ; Edinburgh, 1822, 4to), seems to have been written
about tlie year 1450. A man called Cockelbie had a sow " which
he sold for the reasonable sum of threepence ; and a detail of
the various effects connected with the disbursement of this sum,
constitutes the substance of the poem." "^ One of the pennies
was lost, and was found by a woman who determined to expend
it to the best advantage, by buying a pig with it and inviting
Iier acquaintances to partake. Tlie pig, however, escaped
before being killed. The fortunes of the other two pennies are
treated in their turn in the poem, but it is with the first only we
have at present to deal. The list of the parties invited by the
woman to discuss the pig is very curious, and contains also the
following list of songs, which were given at the meeting ; —
Joly Lemmane.
Tras and Trenass.
The Bass.
Perdolly.
TroUy Lolly.7
Cok thou craws quhill day.
Twysbauk.''
Terway.
Lincolne.
Lindsay.
Joly Lemmane dawis it not day.
• Supposed to be tlio song printed in Pinkerton's Ancient Scottish Poems, vol. ii.,
page 214, and Sibbald's Clu-oniclu, vol. iv., page 05, beginning "Sen tliat [tlic| eyne
tliat workis my weilfair." If thi.s, however, be the case, the piece in question can
liardly be called a song, consisting as it does of thirteen stanzas of nine lines each.
^ In all likelihood, as has been remarked by Kitson, Oliambers, and otliers, tliis
refers to the poem of "Feblis to tlio Play," which begins, "At Beltane wlion illc
body bound is." ^ Went. ■• Wood.
' All trace of the words of those songs is now unfortunately lost.
" Irving's History of Scotish Poetry, edited by Carlyle, Edinburgh, 1861 ; Svo,
page 170.
' Mr. Cliambers thinks this is the same as " TroUee lollee Icmmando," mentioned
in the Complaynt of Scotland, and to be the same as tliat printed under the same
title by liitson in Ids ancient songs.
* Supposed to be tlie same piece as the ballad preserved in the Bannatyne MS.,
and printed in Laing's Ancient Popular Poetry.
XXVI INTRODUCTION.
Be yon woclsyd.
Late, late in evinnyngis.
Joly Martene with a luok.
Lnlalow lute Cok.
My deir deiiing.^
lu 1513, Gcawin Douglas, Bishop of Dunkeld, completed his
celebrated translation of Virgil's iEneid, the first translation of
a classic which appeared in Britain. Poetical prologues to each
book were added by the translator, and these prologues are now
considered, and that justly, as the most interesting ^^art of the
work. To these prologues we are indebted for the names of
four old songs : —
" The ship sails ower the sant faem,
Will bring thir merchants and my lemman hame."
"I ■will be blythe and licht,
My heart is lent upon sae guid a wicht."
" I come bidder to wow," ^
"The joly day now dawis."^
In one of his poems, Dunbar mentions a tune, entitled —
Into June,
but no vestige of it remains.
King James V., whose reign covers' what has been termed
the Augustan age of early Scotish Poetry, is credited with
two songs —
The Gaberlunzie Man.*
The Jolly Beggars.*
1 This is given as the name of a dance, but probably appropriate worcis were at.
taclied to the air.
2 In all likelihood this refers to an early version of the favonrito song, " I ha'c
laid three herring in saut."
3 This appears to have been always a favourite in Scotland. It is mentioned by
Dunbar. Montgomery has a song of a similar character, see page 3 of this collec-
tion. In the Muses' Threnodie, 1774, the words are quoted as the title of a cele-
brated old song ; and in the iioem on the " Life and Death of Habbie Simpson"
(Watson's collection, part i., 1706), it is asked —
"Kow wlia shall play, the day it dawis."
Eitson expresses a doubt as to whether the " song or tune " be actually, or at least
originally, Scotish, as he found in the Fairfax MSS. (circa 1500) a song of tv,"o
stanzas, written in praise of Queen Elizabeth, beginning —
This day day dawis.
This gentil day dawis,
And I must gone Iiome ;
but we see no reason for the doubt, as it is quite as likely that the English poet
was acquainted with the Scotish song. He also admits that the music which
accompanies the English song is poor, " so that it would seem as if either the
English harmonist had entirely spoiled the Scotish tune, or the Scotish piper had
improved the English one."
* See page 1 of this collection,
* This song we were reluctantly obliged to omit on account of its indecency ; and
besides, we had great doubts as to its ascribed authorship being correct. It
seems to us to have been written long after the time of James V., though it is
likely intended to illustrate one of his wandering exploits.
INTRODUCTION. XXVU
111 1549 was published at St. Andrews the now celebrated
Complaynt of Scotland, a work to which inquirers into early
Scotisli song and music are more indebted than to any other
early production. The author of this production _is_ quite un-
known ; Leyden, who edited the work in 1801, claiming- it for
Sir David Lindsay, while others ascribe it to James Inglis, Abbot
of Culross, and to David Weddcrburn of Dundee. It is probable
that the question will never now be satisfactorily settled.
Besides being remarkable for the knowledge it gives us of
domestic life in Scotland, it is deeply valuable to the antiquary
as being an excellent specimen of early Scotch prose, and to tho
book-worm as the earliest prose work printed in Scotland. The
plan of the work is very curious. " It is divided," says Leyden,
" into three parts, of which the first may be properly denominated
the complaint of the author ; the second, the monologue of the
author ; and the third, the dream of the author, or the complaynt
of Scotland. In the first, the author, deeply afflicted by the
miseries of his country, begins to speculate concerning their
cause. In the second, which has little connection with the first
or third, a variety of rural scenes and occupations are depicted,
which are ingeniously diversified with a sea-fight, and a disser-
tation on Natural Philosophy. This diversion is terminated by
the author going into a profound sleep, during the unsuccessful
experiment of shutting his eyes and looking through his eyelids ;
and in the third part he relates his dream or vision. Tho
subject of the third part is the same with that of the first — the
miseries of Scotland; but the description is more particular, and
the machinery more allegorical." ^ Nothing could be more tedi-
ous to an ordinary reader than a perusal of the piece, but it
conveys a valuable legacy to the student of Scotish song,
containing, as it does, the titles of thirty-seven songs, popular
in their time. The author, tired of study, goes to the fields for
relaxation, and there meets with some shepherds, who, for his
amusement, sing to him a great number of their favourite
songs ; and in the work we have a list of their titles, as under : — ■
Pastance with gude ciimpanye,^
Tho breir hyndis me soh.
Stil vnder the leyaais gix-ne.3
' The Complaynt of Scotland ; edited by John Leyden : 8vo, 1801 ; Intro., p. 74.
2 Said to be a song composed by Henry VIII., Eitson having a manuscript of
that time where a song is printed, entitled "Tho King's liallet," beginning—
Passetyme with good ciimpanye,
I love and shall vnto I dye ;
v.-e are, however, far from being convinced by this that "The King's Ballet" is tho
song referred to in the Complaynt.
' There is a song or poem in the Maitland IMSS. (PMcrton's Ancient Scolish
Poems, vol. ji., p. 205) entitled "The Murning Maidin," which is supposed to be tlio
piece referred to. It is a poem of eighteen stanzas, of nine lines each, descriptive
of a neglected damsel mourning tho loss of her swain in the woods. She is over-
heard by the poet, who makes love to her and is accepted.
XXVUl INTRODUCTION.
Cou thou me the raschis grene.^
Allace J. vjit your twa fayr ene.
Gode you gude day vil boy.
Eng Villyamis Note.'
The lang, noune nou.^
The Cheapel-valk.*
Faytht is there none.
Skald a hellis uou.s
The Ahirdenis nou."
Brume, bnune on hiU
Allone I veip in grit distress.
Trolee lollee lemmendou.^
Bille, vil thou cum by a lute and belt thee in Sanct Francis cord,*
The frog cam' to the myl dur/o
The sang of Gilquhiskar
Eycht soirly musing in my mynde,
God sen the Due, hed byddin in France, )
And Delabaiite had neujT cum hame,^^ )
1 There is au okl English song of which "Colle to me the rysshes grene"" is the
chonis.
2 This is supposed to be the song sung by ilendv Nicholas, in Cliaucer's Miller's
Tale.
"And after tliat he song the kingis note,
Ful often blessed was his mery throte." — Ritson.
Leyilen in his introduction to the Complaynt considers tliis suggestion
improbable.
3 Probably a part of the chorus of a song. Mr. Robert Chambers .scorns to con-
sider it equal to "Sing niddle, sing noddle, sing now, now, now."
■" Supposed by ilr. Chambers to be identical with Ilenryson's poem of "The
Abbey Walk."
^, <> Probably popular burdens to songs.
' This song is mentioned by Laneham, describing the literary collections of
Captain Cox, the Mason of Coveutiy. And ilr. Ritson quotes from an old authority
tlie following lines : —
" Lrome, brome on liil,
The gentil brome on hil, hil,
Brome, brome on hiue hil,
The gentil brome on hiue hil,
The brome stands on hiue hil." — Leyden.
' Sec note 7 page 5. Probably an old Chorus.
" In Constable's Cantus, it is stated by Leyden, two lines of this song are intro-
duced in a piece —
Billie, will ye come by a lute,
And tuick it with your pin trow low.
'0 This is probably tlie beginning of a childish ballad. There is a ballad beginning-
There lived a puddy in a well,
And a merry mouse in a mill,
printed in the Ballad Book, 1S24. And Leyden quotes one which he himself heard,
beginning —
The frog sat in the mill door, spin, spm, spinning.
When by cum tlie little mouse, rin, rin, rinning.
1'" John, Duke of Albany, regent during tlie minority of James V., being sent
for into France, left in his place Sir Andrew D'Arcy, a Frenchman called the
chevalier De la Beaiite, wlio appears to have been a very gaUant and amiable
character, and was savagely murdered, near Dunbar, by the Laird of Wedderburn
and others in 1517."— A(7wn. Tlie two lines quoted seem to be the beginning of a
ballad on the event.
INTRODUCTION. XXIX
Al musing of meruellis a lujslicf I gou,i
Maistres fayr ye vil for fovr.
0 lustye maye vith Flora Queeu.-
0 mine hart, hay this is my sang.
The battel of the Hayrlau.3
The Hunttis of Cheuet.*
Sal I go vitht you to Rimibelo fajT.
Greuit is my sorow.'
Turne the sueit ville to me.
My lufe is lyand seik.
Send him ioy, ioy.
The Persee and the Mongumerye met
That day, that gentil day.o
My luf is laid apon ane kuycht.
AUace that samyu suet face.
In ane mirthful morow.
My hart is leinit oa the laud.
The author of the Complaynt also gives us the following- list
of Dances and Airs. All Cliristin Mennis Dance, The North of
Scotland, Huntis Up, The Comont entray, Lang plat fut of Gariau :
Kobenc Ilude, Thorn of Lyn, The Loch of Slene, The Gossip
Dance, Leuis Grene, The Lemnes Wynd, Cum Kittil me nakyt
wantounly, Baglap and al, Johue Ermestrangis dance, The bace
of Voragon, Schaik a trot, &c.
Sir Richard Maitland, of Lethington, Lord Privy Seal, and
Judge in the Court of Session (born 1496, died 1586), was one of
the principal poets of the period, and is entitled to notice in this
introduction on account of the manuscript collection of Scotcli
Poetry compiled by him, or under his auspices, about 1555.
This collection, now in the Pcpysian Library, Cambridge, con-
tains pieces by Dunbar, Gawain Douglas, Schaw, Arbuthnot,
and others, besides a large number of pieces by Maitland him-
self. Pinkerton, the celebrated antiquary, published a selection
from the manuscript, Avith copious introductions and notes in
1 Mr. Leyden discovered, what he considered a verse of this song, in Constable's
Cantus—
All musing of mervelles In the mid morno
Through a slunk iu a slaid, amisse have I gone ;
1 heard a song me beside, that reft from me my sprite.
But through my dream, as I dream'd tliis was tlie effect.
2 First printed in 150S, by Chepman and Myllar. It also appears in the Aberdeen
Cantus, 1600. In the Bannatyne MS. it is ascribed to Alexander Scott. It will bo
found on page 6 of the present collection with its Orthography slightly altered.
3 Supposed to be the still popular ballad of that name (see Ballad Mnstrelsy of
Scotland.)
* Supposed to be the old baUad entitled "Chevy Chace."
"See Ritson's Ancient Songs, page 93; where is printed a piece entitled "TiiO
Dying Maiden's Complaint," supjio-sed to be the song here mentioned.
* Prob.ibly a bal'ad on t'lO battle of Ottcrbnnrne.
XXX INTRODUCTION.
1786, and from this work we have extracted the following list of
Wa worth Maiyage.'-
Sang upou a maist melanclioliG aventure.^
Sang on absence.^
A welciun to cild.*
The Lament of a ptu'e com! niau.^
God gif I war wedo now.**
The mnrning maidin J
The Bankis of Helicon.^
Luve sang on hoiip.
' Attributed to Clapperton, a post, of whose life we have no particulars, even
his christian name being unknown. He is supposed to have been contemporaiy
with Dunbar. The song, which Pinkerton praisea very highly, details the woes
of a damsel who, being married to "ane schrew," regrets her position. It is too
long for insertion here.
- A Love Song in fom stanzas, unfit for quotation. The author is iniknown.
3 A Song in thirteen stanzas, of 9 lines each.
* A not very contented welcome to age as may be gathered from a reading of the
last stanz.a —
My c\irland hair, my cristel ene,
Am held, and bleird, as all may se,
My bak that sumtyme brent has bone
Now cruikis lyk ane camok tree,
Be me your sampil ye may se.
For so said wourthy Solomon,
Elding is end of erthlie glie ;
Weleum eild, for youtli is gone.
^ The Lament of a courtier. He tells how his two brothers have occupied good
positions, one being a "Prelot of Pryde," and the other, having carried a pack, has
attained great wealth ; while he, devoting his attention and talents to the service of
the court, has been left in great poverty. Beyond exemplifying the "old saw" of
"Put not your trust in princes," it is of little moment.
<> The lament of a married man for the loss of his freedom.
' Alluded to before. Note 3 page 7.
* A piece of eleven stanzas in tlie style of "The Cherrie and the Slae," and sup-
posed to be by Montgomery, the aiithor of that poem. ■ In Itlr. Oliambers's Songs
of Scotland prior to Burns, 1SG2, the first two stanzas are given in a modernised
form to an air composed by Andrew Blackball, Minister of the parish of Inveresk,
who died in 1G09. We here give the first stanza as printed by Pinkerton, which
wiU serve as a specimen of the poem : —
Declair ye bankis of Helicon,
Parnassus hills and daills ilk one,
And fontaine Caballein.
Gif ony of your muses all
Or nymphis, may be peregall
Unto my Ladye schein ?
Or if the ladyis that did lave
Their bodyis by your brim,
So seimlie war or [yit] sa fauve,
Sa bewtiful, or trim ?
Contempill, exempill,
Tak be hir proper port,
Gif onye so bonye,
Amang you did resort.
INTKODUCTION.
XXXI
The faythful luifar.i
Constance the cure of absence.
On the New Yeir.2
1 This is a very pretty little song, and well worth insertion here,-
Gif faithfulness ye find.
And that your mynd content,
Ane band heirby I bind.
Of flrme fayth and fervent,
And to be permanent
For ocht that may befall.
My hairt heir I present,
In pledge perpetuall.
Quhilk simplie I resing.
As hostage in your hand.
And wilhnglie it bring,
To bind it in sic band.
As pleises your command ;
To left, till I may leif,
Quhilk is the gadge and pand,
Maist suu- that I can geif.
Kcsave it then, and treit it
As treuth sail try my jjairt,
Gif I be faLs, forfit it.
And let me suffer smairt.
Daill ef ter my desert.
Then dreid I no disdaine,
Bot houp to half ane hairt
In recompence again.
Gif loyaltie may lufe
An recompence procure.
Or honest mening move
Your favour to induire ;
Gif lautie you alluire,
Or Constance mak yow kind,
Firme fayth sail me assuire,
And treuth content your mynd.
2 Ascribed in the manuscript to Sir Richard Maitland. In 15G0 the Queen
Dowager, who acted as Regent of Scotland, was besieged in Leith by the Lords of
the Congregation. The Regent was assisted by a body of French troops, under tho
leadership of the Count de Martiques, while her opponents were assisted by English
troops and money. This song is very interesting as one of the political pieces of
tlie period, —
In this new yeir I sle bot weir,
Na cans to sing.
In tliis new yeir I sie bot weir,
Na cans thair is to sing.
I cannot sing for the vexatioun
Of Frenchmen, and the Congrogationn,
That lies maid troubil on the natiouu,
And mouye bair biggin
In this new yeir, etc.
I have na will to sing or dans.
For feir of England and of Franco,
God send thame sorow and mischancOj
In cans of tliair cuming
In this new yeir, etc.
We ar sa reulit, riche and piiir,
That we wait not quhair to be suire,
The bordour as the Borrow muir,
Quhair sum perchance will hing
In this new yen-, etc.
And yit I think it best that wo,
I'luck up our hairt, and mirrie be ;
For thocli we wald ly doun and die.
It will help us na thing
In this new yeir, etc.
Let U3 pray God to staunch this weir.
That we may leif withouten feir,
In miiTines quhil we ar heir
And hevin at our ending.
In this new yeir, etc.
xxxii INTRODUCTION.
In 1568, when Scotland was visited by the plague, a certain
George Bannatyne retired to his house to escape infection, and
employed his leisure time in compiling his celebrated collection
of Scotch poetry, the most valuable in existence, it being the
only medium by which many pieces of our best early Scotch
poets have reached to our times. Of Bannatyne's personal life
we know absolutely nothing ; one of our antiquaries, who de-
scribed him as a Canon of Moray, having evidently confounded
him with Bellenden, an old Scotch poet, who held the position
of Archdeacon of jMoray and Canon of Eoss.
To this collection we are indebted for the preservation of the
following songs amongst others : —
Wooing of Jok and Jenny. '^
' We ha^e given a modernised version of this song in tlie present collection, page
7 : wo here give it as written in the manuscript in all its beauty of antique spelling.
THE WOWING OF JOK AND JYNNY.
Ilobcyns Jok come to wow our Jynny,
On our feist evin qnhen we wer fow ;
Scho branldt fast, and made hir bony,
And said, Jok, come ye for to wow ?
Scho birneist hir baith breist and brow.
And maid hir cleir as ony clok ;
Than spak hir deme, and said, I trow,
Ye come to wow our Jynny, Jok.
Jok said, forsuth, I yern full fane.
To luk my held, and sit doun by yow,
Tlian spak hir modir, and said agane,
My bairnie hes tocher-gud to ge yow.
To he, quotli Jynny, keik, keik, I se yow ;
Muder, yone man maids yow a mok.
I schro the, lyar ! full leis me yow,
I come to wow your Jynny, quoth Jok.
My berne, scho sayis, hes of hir awin,
Ane guss, ane gryce, ane cok, ane hen,
Ane calf, ane hog, ane fute-braid sawin,
Ane kirn, ane pin, that ye weiU ken,
Ane pig, ane pot, ane raip tliair ben,
Ane fork, ane flaik, ane reill, ane rok,
Discliis and dublaris nyne or ten ;
Come ye to wow our Jynny, Jok?
Ane blanket, and ane wecht also,
Ane schule, ane sclieit, and ane lang flail,
Ane ark, ane almry, and laidilUs two,
Ane milk-syth, with ane swyne taill,
Ane rowsty quhittil to scheir the kaill,
Ane quheiU, ane mell the beir to knok,
Ane coig, ane caird wantand ane mill ;
Come ye to wow our Jynny, Jok ?
Ane furme, ane furlet, ane pott, ane pek,
Ane tub, ane barrow, witli aue qiiheilband,
Ane ttirs, ane troclr, and ane meil-sek,
Ane spurtill braid and ane elwand.
Jok tuk Jynny be tlie hand.
And cryd, ane feist ; and slew ane cok,
And maid a brydell up alland ;
Now half I gottin your Jynny, quoth Jok.
INTEODUCTION. XXXUl
Ballat of exHl Wjffis.i
Bobjn and Makyn.^
Wife of AucMeiinuclity.3
Twysbank,*
Besides a number of pieces by Moutgomciy, Scott, &c.j a selection
of which will be found in the present work.
Now, deme, I haif your bairne mareit ;
Suppois ye mak it never sa twche,
I lat yow wit sclios nocht miskareit.
It is Weill kend I haif annwch ;
Ane crukit gleyd fell our ane huch,
Ane spaid, ane speit, ane spur, ane sok,
Without oxin I haif a pluche
To gang to gidder Jynny and Jok.
I haif ane helter, ane eik, ane hek,
Ane coird, ane creill, and als ane crail,
Fyve fidder of raggis to stuff ane jak-,
Ane auld pannell of ane laid sadil,
Ane pepper-polk maid of a padill,
Ane spounge, spindill, wantand ane nok,
Twa lusty lippis to lik ane laiddill,
To gang to gidder Jynny and Jok.
Ane brechamo, and twa brocliis fyne,
"Weill buklit with a brydill renye,
Ane sark maid of the linkome twyne,
Ane gay grene cloke that wiU nocht steync.
And yit for mister I will nocht fenye,
Fyive hundreth fleis now in a flok
Call ye nocht that ane joly menye.
To go to giddir Jynny and Jok.
Ane trene truncheour, ane ramehorn sponc,
Twa buthis of tarkit, blasiiit loddcr.
All graith that ganis to hobbill sclione,
Ane thrawcruk to twyne ane tedder,
Ane brydill, ano girth, and ane swyne blcdder,
Ane maskene-fatt, ane fetterit lok,
Ano scheip weill keipit fra ill wedder,
To gang to gidder, Jynny and Jok.
Tak thair for my parte of the feist :
It is Weill knawin I am weUl bodin ;
Ye may nocht say my parte is leist.
The wyfe said, speid, the kaill are soddin.
And als the laverock is fust and loddin ;
Quhen ye haif done tak hame the lirok,
Tlie roat wes twclie, sa wer thay bodin :
Syne gaid to gidder bayth Jynny and Jok.
' Ascribed in the MS. to Fleming, a poet, of whom nothing is known.
- By Robert Hcnryson, Schoolmaster of Dunfermline. This fine ballad is
printed in Mr. Laing's valuable edition of Henryson's I'otms, Edinb. 1SC5.
3 Ascribed to Jloffat, and presumed to be by Sir John Moffat, a priest. The
poem is that on which the more modern John Grumlie is founded, the outline of
the story bi-iug the same in both pieces.
* Mentioned in the " Complaynt."
XXXIV INTRODUCTION.
We are indebted to rather a curious work for our next reliques
of song.' About 1570, during the height of the progress of the
Keformation in Scotland, there appeared in Edinburgh a curious
work entitled " Ane Compendious bulk of Godlie Psalmes and
Spirituall Sangis, coUectit furthe of sindrie partis of the
Scripture, with diveris otheris Ballatis changeit out of prophane
Sangis, in Godlie Sangis for auoyding of sin and harlotrie," &c.
It is conjectured to have been principally the work of three
brothers, James, John, and Robert Wedderburn, of Dundee,
but unfortunately very little is known regarding their lives
except the fact that they were staunch supporters of the Eefor-
mation. "It is generally admitted," says Mr. Laing,^ "that
this collection was not only popular, but had considerable in-
fluence on the minds of the common people, wlio could easily
appreciate words sung to popular airs. The number of such
satirical invectives against the corruptions and abuses which
prevailed in the Romish Church, could not fail to enlighten the
ignorant portion of the laity, and tend to facilitate the progress
of the Reformed doctrines."
The air of a song, often the first line or the chorus, formed the
burden for a " Godlie " piece; and however unharmonious the as-
sociation may appear to a refined mind, still we cannot but
acknowledge that the tricla was certain to be successful and
popular among the lower and less educated orders of society.
Even in our own time the religious agitators have not over-
looked this method of gaining possession of the popular mind,
for it is no uncommon thing to find a street preacher leading
the harmony of his audience by a hymn to the tune of Annie
Laurie, Annot Lyle, Rule Britannia, Such a getting Upstairs,
and many other of the popular songs of the day.
To this volume we are indebted for the following names : —
Allone I veip in great distress.
Eycht sorely musing in my mynde.
0 mine hart, hey this is my sang.
Greuit is my sorow,
AUace that samyn sueit face.
Huntis up.
In ane mirthful may morow.
AU Cristin mennis dance.^
Hay let us sing and mak greit mirth.
* A very beautiful reprint of the earliest known edition of this work was published
in ISGS at Edinburgh, under tlie editorial care of Mr. Da\-id Laing, who added a
very valuable introduction and series of notes. Lord Halles, in 1765, had issued a
small volume of specimens, and in 1801 a reprint of another edition was published
by Dalyell, under the title of " Scottish Poems of the sixteenth century," 2 vols. An
interesting pamphlet intitled " The Wedderburns and their Work," published 1SC7,
by Professor Mitchell, of St. Andrew's, also gives some valuable information regard-
ing the work and the authors.
2 Preface to Gnde and Godlie Ballatis, lS08,,p. xlvii.
8 These eight songs are previously mentioned in the " Complaynt."
INTRODUCTION. XX J r
In Burgh and Land, east, west, north, south,
For lufe of one I mak my inone.^
0 vho is at my windo ? quho, quho ? -
My hife murnis for me.
Johne cum kiss me now '
Downe be zone Eiver I ran.
1 These three are the first lines of hymns, and appear to have originally bclcr.god
to isrofane sougs.
- Songs beginning in this or similar manner, have always been popular in
England as well as Scotland. We here give two verses of tliia piece as a specimen.
O vlio is at my v.indo ? quho, quho ?
Go from my windo, go, go !
Quho callis thair so lyke a strangair.
Go from my windo, go !
Lord I am heir ane wretchit mortall
That for tliy mercy dois cry and call
Unto the my lord cele^tiill,
Se quho is at my windo, quho.
How dar thow for mercy cry,
Sa lang in sin as thow dels ly ?
Mercy to have thou art not wortlij''.
Go from my vrindo, go.
2 There is a very old and popular English tune with this title which has been
traced to the time of Queen Klizabeth. Mr. Cbappell has also "found many allusions
to the song in the worlcs of the Dramatists. AVc cannot forbear quoting part of
the version in tlie " Gude and Godlie Ballati.^," as it sliows to what au absurd
estent this method of popularising religion may be carried : —
Johne, cum kiss me now,
Johne cum kiss me now ;
Johne cum kiss me by and by
And mak no moir adow.
The Lord thy God I am
Tliat Johne dois the call ;
Johne representit man.
Be grace celestiall
For Jolme, Goddis grace it is
(Lulia list tUl expone the same)
Och Johne, thow did amis,
Q.uhen that thow loist tliis na:uo
llevin and eirth of nocht
I maid them for tliy saik
l''or euir moir I thocht
To my lykenes thd mak
In Paradise I plantit thd
And made th(S Lord of all
My creatures, not forbidding thd
Na thing bot ane of all ;
Thus wald thow not obey,
Nor zit follow to my will ;
Bot did cast thyself away,
And thy posteritie spill
My justice condempnit thd
To everlasting paino,
Man culd find na remedie.
To buy man fre againe.
O pure lufe and meir mercy
Myne awin Sone downe I send,
God become man for thd
For thy sin his lyfe did spend.
XXXVl INTKODUCTIOX.
Hay now the day dallis ! '
Till oiir gudeman, till our gudeman,
Hay trix trim go trix,^
Was not Solomon the king ? ^
All my lufe leif me not.
0 man ryse up, and be not swcir.*
'See p. C, note 3. We quote the first two verses of the version in the "Ballatis"—
Hay now the day dallis,
Now Christ on vs callis,
Now welth on our wallis,
Apperis anone.
Now the word of God regnis,
Quhilk is King of all kingis ;
Now Christi's flock singis,
The nicht is neir gone.
Wo be vnto zow hypocritis.
That on the Lord sa loudlie leis,
And all for to fill zour foule bellcis,
Ze ar nocht of Christis blude or bono.
For ze preiche zour awin dremis.
And sa the word of God blasphemis),
God wat sa weill it semis.
The nicht is ueir gone.
The fourth stanza is directed against the papal dignitaries—
Wo be to zow Paip and Cardinall,
I traist to God ze sail get ane fall,
With Monkis, Preistis, and Freiris all.
That traistis nocht in God aUonc.
For all zour greit pomp and pryde,
The word of God ze sail nocht hyde.
Nor zit tiU vs na mair be gyde.
The nicht is neir gone.
* This song begins —
The paip, that pagan full of pryde,
and is a very vigorous exposure of the immoralities of the clergy.
' This shows tlie evils of being too much enamoured of the ladies. Mr. Laing
notices that a piece similar in style, signed "Finis quod ane Inglisman," is in the
Bannatyne MS., with the difference that in the MS. King Solomon is held up
as a i)attern to lovers, while in the ballads he acts as a warning.
* Begins—
0 man ryse viJ and be not sweir,
Prepair aganis this gude new zeir.
My new zeir gift thow lies in stoir.
Sen I am he that coft the deir
Gif me thy hart, I ask no moir.
Tliis is probnlily, as Mr. Chambers lias remarked, based upon a silly rhyme stmg
by children about the new year time, to assist them in opening the hearts of the
neighbours at that merry-making period, so as to enable them to amuse themselves
in their own fashion. ]Mr. Chambers has heard the boys sing in Peebles^
Get up gudewife, and binna sweir,
And deal your breid to them thats here.
For the time will come when yell be deid.
And then ye'll neither need yUl nor breid.
In Edinbui'gh and Glasgow it is different from this, but the import is the same-
Get up gudewife and shake your feathers,
Dinna ye think that we are beggars.
For we are bairns come out to play,^
Rise up an gies our hogmanay.
INTUUDL'CnON. XXX Vll
We arc indebted for our next song to a very curious and un-
lilvcly source. In 1568, a "Psalme Buike" was printed at
Edinburgh, and at the end was printed what has been described
as "ane Daudy sang," called —
Welcome Fortuues.
A very romantic story quoted by Eitson from '• Verstegans
licstitution of Decayed Intelligence," printed in 1G05, introduces
us to another song. " So it fell out of late years, that an
English gentleman, travelling in Palestine, not far from Jerusa-
lem, as ho passed thorow a country town, he heard by chance a
woman sitting at her door dandling her child, to sing ' Bothwel
Bank, thou blumest fayre ; ' the gentleman htsreat exceedingly
wondered, and forthwith in English saluted the woman, who
joyfully answered him, and said, ' she was right glad to see a
gentleman of our isle,' and told him ' she was a Scotish woman,
and came first from Scotland to Venice, and from Venice thither,
where her fortune was to be the wife of an officer under the Turk,
who being at that instant absent and very soon to return, she
entreated the gentleman to stay there till his return; the which
he did, and she for country sake, to show herself the more kind
and bountiful unto him, told her husband at his home coming
that the gentleman was her kinsman, whereupon her husband
entertained him very friendly, and at his departure gave him
divers things of good value." ^
Between 1615 and 1620, a manuscript collection of music was
compiled by a member of the family of Skene, and generally sup-
IKised to have been John Skene of Hallyards, son of Sir John
Skene, Clerk Register of Scotland. He appears to have been born
about 1578, and his death is known to have taken place in 1644.
The manuscript was bequeathed by one of his descendants to the
Library of the Faculty of Advocates, Edinburgh ; and in 1838,
Mr. Dauney printed it with a valuable introduction and series
of notes,- and to this work we are indebted for the following
summary of the contents of the collection. The space at our
disposal for this essay will not allow us to enumerate all the airs
in the MS. We will therefore content ourselves with naming
only the principal, referring the reader who wisliesto follow the
subject more fully to Mr. Dauney's very interesting and
valuable work.
• In Pinkerton's Select Scotish Ballads, vol. ii., a song is given (sec also in the
present coUectiou, page 149) purporting to be the original ballad sung in Palestine,
as narrated in the quotation. Ilitson, inhis Scotish Songs, cliaraatcrizes tliis version
^vith his usual asperity as " a despicable forgery," and subsequent revelations showed
that his assertion was quite right, and that the author of the song was his rival
antiquary.
2 Ancient Scotish Melodies from a manu<!cript of the reign of King James VI.,
with an introductory inquiry, illustrative of the History of the Music of Scotland,
by William Dauney, Esq., i'\S.A. Scot. 4to, Edinburgh, 1B33.
C
XXXVIU INTEODUCTION.
Allace yat I cam oer the muir and left my love behind iiic.^
Peggie is over ye sea wi ye souldier.
To dance about the Bailzeis Dubb.
Lady Kothemayis Lilt. ^
I love my love for love again.^
Blew Eibbenn at the Bound Eod.*
Johne Andersonne my Jo.*
My dearest suete is fardest fra rae.
Prettie well begaiin, man.
Long ere onie old man."
Kilt thy coat, Maggie.7
Allace this night yat we suld sindcr.
The FlovfOrs of the Forest.
Ostend.8
Good night, and God be wi' vow."
My love shoe winns not her away.
Jenny di'inks na water.
Remember me at eveninge.
I cannot live and want thee.'*'
Adew, Dundee.^'
Allace, I lie my Ion; I'm lik to die awld.'^
1 Afterwards corrupted to " The last time I cam ower the muir," as a song with
that title is given in a Manuscript dated 1692 ; and Eamsay, who seems to have
been acquainted witli the first line, if not with the whole of the old version, com-
posed a song so beginning. No other vestige of the old words is now extant.
2 Supposed to apply to the words of the old Ballad of " The Burning of the Castlo
of Frendraught," (see Ballad Minstrelsy of Scotland.)
3 An early version of the air of Jenny Nettles.
* The Blow Eibbon probably refers to the National Colour of Scotland, and tho
Bound Kod, a road to a place so called at Berwick-on-Tweed. It was in all like-
lihood an old gathering song.
5 This is the earliest time to which we can trace the air of this ever popular tune.
Its popularity does not seem to have been coniined to Scotland, for it is
similar to an old English dance tune called "Paul's Steeple" (Hawkins's History
of Music, vol. V. p. 469), and there is an old Swedish air still extant to which it
bears great resemblance.
" The air is similar to that of My Jo Janet.
' At the trial of John Douglas, "and eight women (belonging to Tranent), for
■witchcraft, on 3rd May, 1659, where the panels confessed, among other things,
that they had had several merry meetings with the Devil, at which they were en-
tertained with music, John Douglas being their piper ; and that two of the tunes
to which they danced were Kilt thy coat, Maggie, and Come this way with me.
Dauney's Ancient Scotish Melodies, p. 262.
8 Probably the title of a popular song on the capture of Ostend in 1604.
5 The origin of the favourite Gude Nicht, and Joy bo wi' you, of our song writers.
1" Similar to the air of Dainty Davy, as given in Durfey's collection, 1700.
11 The town of Dundee has always been a favourite spot with our Scotish Min-
strels : many old scraps of song relating to it are extant.
'2 Probably the lament of some aged maiden for having lost all chance of secur-
ing that great prize of all maidens, old or young, a gudcman ! The air is similar to
that of — 0 a' the Airts the Wind can Blaw.
INTRODUCTION. XXxix
Lady Cassellis lilt.'
Three sheeps skinns.^
My mistres' blush is bonie.
Bonie Jeau maks meikle o' me.
The lass o' Glasgowe.
Doun in yon banke.
Sa mirrie as we hae been.
Kettie Bairdie.3
I serve a worthie ladie.*
Omnia Vincit Amor.
Marie me, marie me, quoth the bonie lass.
Pitt on your shirt on Ivlonday.*
Froggis Galziard."
The nightirrale.
0, sillie soul, Allace.
Scerdustis.^
"We again become indebted to a collection of music for our
next insight into these forgotten songs. A manuscript cantus
of about the beginning of the seventeenth century, which be-
longed to Mr. Constable, the celebrated Edinburgh publisher,
gives us a few scraps, from which we select the following : —
" Come all your old malt to me
Come aU your old malt to me,
And ye sail have the diaff again
Though all our dcukes should die." ^
Johne Eobinson, Johne Robinson,
That fair young man, Johne Eobinson.
I biggit a boiiir to my lemmano
In land is none so fair.
' This air is almost the same as that of the ballart of Johnnie Faa, tlie Gipsie
Laddie, on which the well-known beautiful air of Glen's equally beautiful song of
Waes me for Prince Charlie is founded. The stoiy of Lady Caosellis wiU be found
entered fuUy into in tlie companion volume to this v/ork, The Ballad Minstrelsy of
Scotland.
2 A similar air to that of Clout the Caldron.
3 This seems to have been a very popular air, and Kitty is still celebrated
amongst us in the form of a nursery rhyme. King James VI., in Scott's Fortunes
of Nigel, is made to say that "a man may lawfully dance Chrichty Bairdie, or any
other dance in a tavern, but not inter parietes ecclesix."
^ The air is that of the more modern song of Dumbarton's Drums.
5 Mr. Dauney is careful to point out that this is not to be taken literally, that is,
in terms of reminder that a clean shirt is essential at least once a week, but that
it is a gathering cry to be roady for action by putting on their armour, Monday
being generally the day on whicli the weapon schaws were held.
« Supposed to bo the song mentioned in the Complaynt, as "The frog cam' to the
myl dur."
' Probably a corruption of the old namo of Surdastnima, drum. The air is
similar to that of " Stocr her up and hand her gauu."
8 See p. 50 of the present collection.
Xl mTKODUCTlON.
The Hemlock is the best o' seed
That any luau may sow,
When bairnies greet after breid
Give them a home to blow.
Come reke me to the Eowan tree.
Come row me round about, bony dowie.
I and my cumner, my cimmer and I
Shall never part with our mouth so dry.
All the mane that I make says the guidmau ;
Who's to have my wife, deid when I am ?
Care for thy winding sheet, false lurdun.
For I shall get ane other v.hen thow art gone."-
We have now exhausted the majority of the early sources of
fragments of our songs, and will conclude this essay by a glance
at our principal printed collections. It cannot but be painful
to any literary antiquary to contemplate the baldness of these
early remains, and to reflect that the songs prior to the middle of
the seventeenth century, which delighted our ancestors and
assisted them in their merry-meetings, and emboldened them in
love or war, have with few exceptions passed away with them,
leaving only the titles of a small number, to register, like tomb-
stonesin an auld kirk-yard, that such things were. No one can fully
appreciate the amount of knowledge of the daily life of the
singers, their little troubles and doings, the appearance of their
liomes, their dress, sentiments, education, and other objects far
beneath the dignity of history to chronicle which have thus been
lost to us, never to be recovered ! The fragments we have only
enable us to see that the song was a favourite species of literature,
that the airs which were current were often of the most
beautiful description, and to surmise that the words to which
they Avere allied were often equal to the beauty of the tune, and
that is all.
The Aberdeen Cantus published at the city of Bonaccord in 1666,
contains about fifty songs with their tunes, of which only some
half-a-dozen are Scotish, and these of the most dubious de-
scription : amongst others, Alexander Scot's 0 Lusty Maye, with
Flora Queen, is there set to music.
Watso'n's collection of Scots poems published at Edinburgh
in 1706, 1709, and 1711, is the first collection of Scotish poetry
we have, and is supposed to have been compiled by John
Spottiswood, editor of Hope's Minor Practicks. It contains for
the first time, " Fy let us a' to the Bridal," the version of Old
Long Syne, attributed to Ayton ; several pieces by the Marquis
of Montrose, etc.
' A complete list of the scraps in this cantus will be found in the introduction to
Mr- Chambers's Scotish Songs, 1829, vol. i.
INTRODUCTION. xli
The first of our collections of songs is the TeaTablo Miscellany
of Allan Ramsay, the first volume of which appeared in 1724.
Scotish music had become fashionable about that time, and Allan
Ramsay the bookseller, considered a collection of the Songs of his
country would answer as a publishing speculation, while his own
talents as a poet and those of his friends, would assist him in
making a respectable-sized volume. Tlie work has been a perfect
mine to all future collectors and editors of song, and its extent may
be learned from the fact that it gives us upwards of twenty
presumably old songs, upwards of a dozen old songs altered, and
about one hundred by Allan himself, Crawford, Hamilton,
and others ; we also have a great number of names of old airs to
wliich the new songs were directed to be sung, and a host of
the popular English songs of the day. As an editor, Ramsay
has been much blamed by antiquaries for preferring to give his
own songs rather than the ol<l versions ou which he based
some of his pieces, but surely these gentlemen do not reflect
sufficiently on the character of a great majority of these old
songs. When Ramsay set about collecting, he had a task before
him at once delicate and dangerous. He required to prune the
old songs of indelicacies before submitting them to the taste of
" Ilka lovely British lass,
Frae ladies Charlotte, Ann, and Jeau,
Down to ilk bonnie singing lass,
Wha dances barefoot ou the green."
He dared not present any thing wliich would be flouted as hi>
moral at the rigidly righteous tea-meetings Avhicli then
abounded, and as a poet he exerted his skill in covering over
these blemishes,' in providing new verses to fill up obvious
gaps, and to furnish totally new songs in place of old ones
at once worthless and wicked. A trenchant editor, certainly, for
the antiquary; but no lover of poetry can regret the cause which
drew so many fine songs from the best Scotch poets of tlie time.
Hamilton, Crawford, and Ramsay himself, gave not a bad ex-
change, for songs in all likelihood trasliy and licentious, and Ave
liave suflicient conrKlcncc in Ramsay's judgment to believe, that
no piece at all worthy of preservation Avhich came under his
notice in its entirety was not duly preserved.
Herd's Collection, issued in 1770, and afterwards witli ad-
ditions in 177G, attends more to the taste of the antiquary.
Very little is known of the life of Honest David, and even tlic
editorship of the two celebrated volumes cannot with certainty
be given to liim. All that is known is that he Avas a native of
' Since Ramsay's time public refinement has so far advanced, that no editor would
dare to print in a pop^ilar work a great number of tlie songs given in the Tea Table
Miscellany, a fact which may be confirmative that Kamsay did not use too much
liberty with the old pieces— certainly no move than wliat made them prcsentablo.
Xlli INTRODUCTION.
St. Cyrus, in Kincardineshire, that he was for many years a clerk
to an accountant in Edinburgh, and died in June, 1810, aged
78 years. A notice of his death appeared in the Scots Magazine
for July, 1810, and included the following sketch: — "He was a
most active investigator of Scottish Literature and Antiquities,
and enjoyed the friendship of nearly all the eminent artists and
men of letters who have flourished in Edinburgh within these
fifty years. Eunciman, the painter, Avas one of his most intimate
friends ; and with Euddiman, Gilbert Stuart, Fergusson, and
Eobert Burns, he was well acquainted. His information regard-
ing the History of Scotland was extensive. Many of his remarks
have appeared in periodical publications ; and the notes appended
to several popular works are enriched by materials of his own
collecting. He v/as a man truly of the old school, inoffensive,
modest, and unambitious, and in an extraordinary degree forming
in all these respects a very striking contrast to the forward puff-
ing and ostentatious disposition of the present age." Sir Walter
Scott informs us that " His hardy and antique mould of coun-
tenance and his venerable grizzled locks procured him, amongst
his acquaintances, the name of Greysteil.'' George Paton, who
appeal's to have been co-editor of the Collection, was in the Cus-
tom-house. He carried on a most extensive correspondence
with many of the most celebrated antiquarians of his time,
amongst others Bishop Percy, Gough, and Joseph Eitson.^ Herd's
Collection, as it is commonly called, was arranged in several
divisions according to the subject of the pieces, and a glance at
the pages of the present volume will show how much old Scotish
Song has been indebted to it for preservation. Herd and Paton,
so far as we know, were model editors for antiquarians : Scraps
and Fragments were printed exactly as they found them, as
well as complete songs, v/ithout the slightest regard to rhyme
or metre, decency or beauty.^
What must always be esteemed as the most valuable collec-
tion of the early Songs and Music of Scotland, " Johnson's Scots
Musical Museum," was begun at Edinburgh in 1786. James
Johnson v/as a Music Seller and Engraver in Edinburgh, and
was the first who used Pewter plates for engraving music. The
work seems to have been projected by William Tytler, of Wood-
houselee, the celebrated antiquary (whose "Dissertation on
Scotish Song and Music" was long the standard authority on
the subject, though now but of little use), Dr. Blacklock, and
} A Selection of Letters received by Paton from Percy, Herd, and Callender of
Craigf orth, were pnblished by Mr. Maidment, at Edinburgh, iu 1830, and forms one
of the most valixable contributions which that zealous antiquary has given to
Scotish Literature.
2 Herd's Collection was reprinted twice during 18C9, one at Edinburgh being
produced under the editorial care of Mr. Sidney Giliiin, while the other, published
in Glasgow, is a mere reprint.
INTRODUCTION. xliii
Samuel Clark who appears to have acted as musical editor.
From the note addressed "To the True Lovers of Caledonian
Music and Song," preiixed to the first volume, we find that
the Avork originated from " A just and general comjilaint,
that among all the music books of Scots Songs which have been
hitherto offered to the public, not even altogether can be said
to have merited the name of what may be called a complete
collection ; having been published in detached pieces and par-
cels ; amounting however on the whole to more than twice the
price of this publication ; attended moreover with this further
disadvantage, that they have been printed in such large unport-
able sizes that they could by no means answer the purpose of
being pocket-companions, which is no small encumbrance, es-
pecially to the admirers of social music." Each volume was to
contain one hundred songs with music, &c. In the second
volume, the authors' names so far as known Avere given, and
several of the old pieces marked as such. The Avork would
probably not have reached a third volume had not Eobcrt Burns
entered into the scheme. Burns had been introduced to John-
son in Edinburgh, and contributed two original songs to the
first volume. To the second volume he contribiited largely,
and continued to furnish the publisher with songs original, or
collected, or half of each. He informed a friend that he liad "col-
lected, begged, borroAved, and stolen, all the songs" he had met
Avith, and this enthusiasm continued to the last. Without his aid
in rousing contributors, finding material, old or ncAv, the Scots
Musical Museum Avould have been on a level with Thomson's
Orpheus Caledonius, instead of occupying the important position
it noAV enjoys in tlie literature of our song. The Avork finished
Avith the sixth volume. One thing Avas wanted, as Johnson left it,
to make it complete, and that Avas, a series of good and trustAvorthy
notes. This was undertaken by William Stenhouse, an accountant
in Edinburgh Avho died in 1827, leaving his task unfinished. Mr.
David Laing next took up the Avork, and Avitli the assistance of Mr.
Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe, gave a series of additional notes illus-
trative and correctiA^e of those of Stenhouse, added prefaces and in-
dexes, and in 1853 gave all lovers of Scotish Song an edition of
Johnson, tlie value of which is immeasurable. To it aa'c gratefully
acknoAvledge our obligations for much and valuable information.
In 1794 the celebrated antiquary, Joseph Ritson, published a
collection of Scotish Songs Avith the music in two A^olumes. The
collection itself so far as the songs Avere concerned, was of
little consequence, the Scotch Avords being very incorrectly
printed, and the music in a great number of instances being left
blank. Its principal value lies in the Introductory Essay, the
first dissertation on our Songs and Music written in a fitting
manner, and to it the student is indebted for a careful in-
vestigation into the early remains of our Song. Thero
xliv IXTRODUCTIOit.
are of course many things in it now allowed to be incorrect,
and at least one of his critical opinions will be laughed at;^
but in spite of this Ritson's Essay at once occupied and still
holds the position of being the best historical sketch Ave have of
our early songs. To its pages every succeeding writer and
editor has been largely indebted, and we have also to award it
our homage.
Thomson's Select Melodies of Scotland has been characterised
in this work as "a sort of drawing-room edition," of tlie Scots
Musical Museum. Its publication was begun in 1793, by Mr.
George Thomson, Clerk to the Board of Trustees, Edinburgh.
Mr. Thomson's idea was to give the favourite airs accompanied
where possible by the words. When, from their character, these
were unfitted for the perusal of ladies he proposed to print
original verses. He also gave symphonies and accompaniments
to the airs by the best composers of his time, as Haydn, Beet-
hoven, and Pleyel ; and, greatest of all, he secured for the literary
13ortion tlie services of Robert Burns, who entered into the
spirit of the work with the greatest enthusiasm and enriched it
with a. great number of original songs, many of them being the
best that came from his pen, and given to Thomson without fee
■or reward. Sir Walter Scott, Sir Alexander Boswell, Johanna
Baillie, Thomas Campbell, and many others contributed to the
work, and as it also contained a selection of the best of the old
songs, with tlie music carefully given, the work was altogether
a noble undertaking, well planned and carried out.
In 1829, Mr. Robert Chambers published his collection of
Scotish songs in two volumes, with an Introductory Essay. It
is needless at the present time to reiterate Mr. Chambers's
numerous services to the literature and antiquities of Scotland.
On the subject of songs and ballads, Mr. Chambers has always
been considered, and justly so, as one of our foremost critics,
while in the " Book of Days," " Popular Annals of Scotland," and
his Histories of the RebelHons, he has made a name for himself
in the popular elucidation of our History and Antiquities. Mr.
Chambers in his essay on Scotish Song principally follows the
authority of Ritson, adding much valuable information resulting
from his own inquiries. The songs are well selected, but print-
ed without any attempt at arrangement, a fact which we
cannot too deeply deplore. In the notes affixed to the songs, Mr.
Chambers adds greatly to our knowledge of their history, and
we have to acknowledge with pleasure the obligations we are
under to them. In a few instances we have had to dissent
from several of Mr. Chambers's speculations, but we have done
^ We allude to the passage where he says of Bnrns, that "he does not appear to
his usual advantage in sons:."
INTRODUCTION. xlv
SO only after very careful consideration and with very great
regret.'
A few words on ai^eculiar branch of our subject, and we con-
clude. Scotch Music became very popular in England about
the middle of the seventeenth century, and in 1719 Thomas
D'Urfey issued his celebrated "Pills to purge Melancholy," a
Collection of Songs, &c., containing a great number of Scotch
airs and imitations, with Scotch words specially written for the
collection by D'Urfey, and his Grub-street compeers. Why the
Scotch words were rejected we cannot say, certainly it was not
on grounds of morality, for a more filthy series of volumes could
hardly have been issued ; nor on grounds of poetry, for we
might as well compare Boucicault to Shakspere, as the Songs
in D'Urfey's collection to their Scotish IModels. But it is cer-
tain that the work was highly popular in England, and is now
one of the rarest gems in tlie Ballad Collector's Library.
Nothing can be more distasteful to any lover of the ring o
c
1 It may increase the usefulness of tliis work to give a list of some of the miner
collections and works illustrative of the subject whicli have appeared.
_ Thomson's Orpheus Caledonius, 1725 folio, and 2 vols. Svo, 1733, is the first collec-
tion of Scotch Music styled such. It is of but little importance now, and only
prized by collectors. The Charmer, "a collection of songs chiefly sucli as are
eminent for poetical merit ; among which are many originals and others tliat were
never before printed in a song book," 2 vols., Edinburgh, 1752 ; " The Lark," Edin-
burgh, 1740. Sir Walter Scott's Minstrelsy of the Scotish Border, though principally
treating of Ballads, contained a number of songs. Jamieson's Popular BaUads and
Songs, 2 vols., Edinburgh, 1S06 ; Cromek's Select Scotish Songs, ancient and modern,
with Critical and Biographical Notes by Robert Bums, 2 vols., London, 1810:
Gilchrist'.s Select Scotish Ballads, Tales and Songs, v.-ith explanatory notes and
observations, 2 vols., Edinburgh, 1S15 ; Camjjbell's Albyns Anthology, Edinburgh,
1810. Hogg'.s Jacobite Relics of Scotland, 2 vols., Edinburgh, 1819-21, deals as its
title imports exclusively vni\\ the songs relating to tlie EebelUons, and, in place of
a better, must rank as the best colleetion. Struthers's Harp of Caledonia, 3 vols.,
Glasgow, 1819 ; Smith's Modern Scotish Minstrel, 0 vols., Edinburgh, 1820-24, a fine
collection, tlie music given with much care and taste, as would be expected from the
composer of the air of "Jessie the flower o' Dumblane." 0. K. Sharpe's "Ballad
Book," a tiny volume of which only thirty copies were in-inted in 1824, contains a
few traditionaiy scraps of song, as does also Maidment's North Countrie Garland,
the impres-slon of which was also limited to thirty copies issued in the same year.
Allan Cunningham's Songs of Scotland, 4 vols., 1S25, was a most ambitious perform-
ance, but of little use. In 1835, Peter Cunningham edited a small volume of 6onp.s
which gave the public, for the first time, the pieces arranged in the only satisfac-
tory manner— according to their age. It is one of the best of the minor collections.
Mr. George F. Graham edited " The Songs of Scotland," adapted to their appropriate
melodies, in three volumes 1854-0. This work is undoubtedly the most popular
drawing-room edition of the songs, and deservedly so. In 1845, Mr. "William
Whitelaw edited "The Book of Scotish Song," a work which aimed at conipre-
liensivene-ss in the early and latter period. Original .spngswere freely admitted, and
the consequence is that we have a pretty full collection of early song printeil
side by side with the effusions of every petty poetaster ; in short, the editor's boast
tliat las work comprised upwards of twelve hundred original songs, seems to us the
greatest blemish of the work. To do Mr. Whitelaw every justice, his notes displayed
great research, and his pieces are, as a rule, correctly printed, but we have them
without any arrangement, a vast heterogeneous mass. The modern Scotish Minstrel,
edited by Dr. Charles Rogers in 1850, is a valuable contribution, dealing as it docs
with the poets of tho first half of the present century and containing memoirs ot
many minor poets. We have to acknowledge our indebtcdnesa to ii for much
information for the later part of our work
xlvi INTRODUCTION.
our old Songs than to read these poor rhymes, and j^et for a
long time they passed current in England, if not to a great ex-
tent among the educated Scotchmen of their time as veritable
Scotish productions: Eamsay's Tea TableMiscellany, Herd's Col-
lection, and Johnson's Museum, will be found to contain a large
number of them.
In later times several southern writers have " tried their hands,"
and succeeded so well that it was with great regret that the
plan of the present collection could not allow the Editor to in-
clude a number in it. But from the outset, the plan was to give
only veritable native productions, and we have now to be
content with drawing attention to the names of two of these
writers. Richard Hewit, a native of Cumberland, who was for
some time Secretary to Dr. Blacklock, the admirer of Burns,
wrote the following beautiful song ' : —
ROSLIN CASTLE.
'Twas in that season of the year,
V/lien all things gay and sweet appear,
That Colin with the morning ray,
Arose and sung his rural lay,
Of Nanny's charms the shepherd sung.
The hills and dales with Nanny rung,
Wliile Eosliu Castle heard the swain,
And echoed back the cheerful strain.
Awake sweet muse ! the breathing spring
With rapture warms ; awake and slug !
Awake and join the vocal throng,
Who hail the morning with a song,
To Nanny raise the cheerful lay,
0 ! bid her haste and come away,
In sweetest smiles herself adorn.
And add new graces to the morn.
0 hark, my love, on eVry spray
Each f eather'd warbler tunes his lay :
'Tis beauty fires the ravish'd throng,
And love inspires the melting song.
Then let my raptur'd notes arise,
For beauty darts from Nanny's eyes,
And love my rising bosom warms,
And fills my soul with sweet alanns.
0 come, my love ! thy CoHn's lay.
With rapture calls, 0 come away,
Come while the muse this wreath shall t^\'inc,
Aroimd that modest brow of thine,
0 hither haste, and with thee bring.
That beaiity blooming like the spring.
Those graces that divinely shine
And chann this ravish'd breast of mine !
» From Joknsoa' Museum,
INTRODUCTION. xlvil
Miss Susanna Blamire, another native of Cunroerland (died
1795), wrote a number of Scotch Songs of which the foUovruig
is at once the best and most popular : —
THE SILLEE CEOUN.
And ye sail walk in silk attire,
And siller hae to spcre,
Gin ye'U consent to be his brido
Nor think o' Donald mair.
Oh ! wha wad buy a silken goun
Wi' a pnir broken heart ;
Or what's to me a siller croim,
Gin f rae my love I part ?
The mind wha's every wish is pure
Far dearer is to me,
And ere I'm forced to break my faith,
I'll lay me down and dee ;
For I hae pledged my virgin troth
Brave Donald's fate to shai-e,
And he has gi'en to me his heart,
Wi' a' its virtues rare.
Ilis gentle manners wan my heart,
He gratefu' took the gift.
Could I but think to seek it back
It wad be warn- than theft ;
For langest life can ne'er repay
The love he bears to me.
And ere I'm forced to break my troth
I'U lay me down and dee.
Towards the conclusion of his Essay on Scotish Song, Eitson
indulges in the following literary prophecy : — " The era of Scotish
Music and Scotish Song is now passed. The pastoral simpli-
city and natural genius of former age", no longer exist ; a total
change of manners has taken place in all parts of the country,
and servile imitation usurped the jDlace of original invention. All,
therefore, which now remains to be wished is, that industry
should exert itself to retrieve and illustrate the relics of depart-
ed genius." Never was judgment more erroneously pronounced,
or prophecy more easily shown to be false, so far as the Songs
are concerned, than this. On the conti-ary, the brightest period
in this branch of our literature is that of Eitson's own time, or
immediately after, as the names of Kobert Burns, Lady Nairne,
Lady Ann Barnard, Hector Macneill, and Robert Tannahill, as
the authors of some of our finest and most popular pieces suffi-
ciently prove. And though tlic singers have not been so great
as the past merges nearer the present, still we can point to
more than sufficient to show that the grand roll of our Ivric
xlviii INTRODUCTION.
bards is not yet at an end. BoswcU, Hogg, Scott, Johanna
Baillie, Allan Cunningham, Riddell, and Mothei-well, have all
contributed to our treasures, what we would not willingly let
die ; and their successors, our own contemporaries, have given
us many proofs that the harp will not rest even in our day, but
that the Halls and Villages, Hills and Rivers, Lads and Lasses,
will still continue to be celebrated, rousing depths of love and
passion hitherto unknown, and fanning patriotism into a still
purer and brighter flame.
Olaecow, November, 1870.
THE
SONGS OF SCOTLAND
CHROiNOLOGICALLY ARRANGED.
PAKT I.
From James V. to the Unions 1702.
THE GABEELUNZIE MAN.
Attributed to King James V., and supposed to be au account of one o
his exploits while amusing himself by travelling in disguise among tli
country folks. It appears iu the Tea Table Miscellanif.
The pawkie auld carle came o'er the lea,
Wi' mony gude o'ens and days to me,
Saying, Gudewife, for your com-tesie.
Will you lodge a silly poor man ?
The nicht was cauld, the carle was wat,
And down ayont the ingle he sat ;
^ly daughter's shouthcrs lie 'gan to clap,
And cadgily ranted and sang.
0 wow ! quo' he, were I as free,
As first when I saw this countrie,
How blythe and merry wad I be !
And I wad never think lang.
He grew canty, and she grew fain ;
But little did her auld minny ken
AVhat thir slie twa together were say'ng,
When wooing they were sae thraug.
And 0 1 quo' he, an' ye were as black
As e'er the crown of my daddy's hat,
'Tis I wad lay thee by my back.
And awa' wi' me thou should gang,
And 0 ! quo' she, an' I were as white,
As e'er the snaw lay on the dike,
I'd deed me braw and lady like,
And awa' wi' tliec I would gang.
THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Between the twa was made a plot ;
They raise a wee before the cock,
And wilily they shot the lock,
And fast to the bent are they gane.
Up in the morn the auld wife raise,
And at her leisure pat on her claise ;
Syne to the servant's bed she gaes,
To specr for the silly poor man.
She gaed to the bed where the beggar lay,
The strae was cauld, he was away.
She clapt her hands, cry'd, Waladay !
For some of our gear will be gane.
Some ran to coffer, and some to kist,
But nought was stown that cou'd be mist,
She danc'd her lane, cry'd, Praise be blest !
I have lodg'd a leal poor man.
Since naething's awa', as we can learn,
The kirn's to kirn, and milk to earn,
Gae butt the house, lass, and waken my bairn,
And bid her come quickly ben.
The servant gade where the daughter l;>.y,
The sheets were cauld, she was away,
And fast to the gudewife 'gan say,
She's aff wi' the gaberlunzie man.
0 fy gar ride, and fy gar rin,
And haste ye find these traytors again ;
For she's be burnt, and he's be slain,
The wearifu' gaberlunzie man.
Some rade upo' horse, some ran a fit.
The wife was wud, and out o' her wit ;
She cou'd na gang, nor yet cou'd she sit,
But aye she curs'd and she ban'd.
IMean time far hind out o'er the lee,
Fu' snug in a glen, where nane could see,
The twa wi' kindly sport and glee,
Cut frae a new cheese a whang :
The priving was good, it pleas'd them baith,
To lo'e her for aye, he ga'e her his aith,
Quo' she, To leave thee I will be laith,
My winsome gaberlunzie man.
0 kend my rninny I were wi' you,
lU-far'dly wad she crook her mou',
Sic a poor man she'd never trow.
After the gaberlunzie man.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED.
My dear, quo' he, ye're yet o'er young-,
And lia'e nae learn'd the beggar's tongue,
To follow me frae town to town.
And' carry the gaberlunzie on.
Wi' cauk and keel I'll win your bread.
And spindles and whorles for them wha need,
Whilk is a gentle trade indeed.
To carry the gaberlunzie on.
I'll bow my leg, and crook my knee,
And draw a black clout o'er my e'e,
A cripple or blind they will ca' me,-
While we shall be merry and sing-.
HEY NOW THE DAY DAVflS.
CATTAIN ALEXANDEK MONTGOMBRT, Author of the " Cherrie and the Slae."
Like many other of our old Scots poets litttle is known of the events
of his life. The date of his birth has not been proved, but it is supposed
to have been about the middle of the Sixteenth Century. He enjoj-ed a
pension from King James VI., with whom he seems to have been a
favourite. In his latter years he shared the usual fate of poets — want and
/bitterness. His pension was stopped, and he appears even to have been
the inmate of a prison on account of poverty. His death is supposed to
have taken place between 1597 and 1615. His poems have been collected
and published under the able Editorship of Mr. David Laiug,
Hay ! nou the day dawis ;
The jolie cok crauis,
Nou shrouds the shauis
Throu natur anone.
The Thrisell-cok cryis
On louers wha lyis,
Nou skaillis the skyis ;
The nicht is neir gone.
The fields ou'rflouis
With gouans that grouis ;
Quhair lilies lyk lou is,
Als rid als the rone :
Tlie Turtill that treu is,
AVith nots that reneuis
Ilir pairtie perseuis,
The nicht is neir gone.
Nou Ilairts with Hynds,
Conforme to thair kynds,
Hie tursis thair tynds.
On grund vhair they groue.
THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Nou Hurclionis, with Hairs,
Ay passis in pairs ;
Quhilk deuly declars
The nicht is neir gone.
The sesone excellis
Thrugh sueetness that smoUie,
Nou Cupid compells
Our hairts echone.
On Venus vha vaiks
To muse on our maiks,
Syn sing for thair saiks,
The nicht is neir gone.
All curagcous knichts
Aganis the day dichts,
The breist-plate, that bright is,
To feght with thair sone.
The stoned stampis
Throu curage and crampis,
Syn on the land lampis,
The nicht is neir gone.
Tlic freiks on Feildis
That v/icht wapins wieldcs,
With shyiiring bright shields
At Titan in trone.
Stift' speirs in reists
Oucr cursors crists,
Ar brok on their breists,
The night is neir gone.
So hard ar thair hittis,
Some sueyis, some sittis,
And some perforce flittis
On grund vhill they grone.
Syn grooms that gay is,
On blonks that brayis
With suords assayis.
The nicht is neir gone.
FIENT A CRUM OF THEE SHE FAWS.
AT.EXA^'TDEK SCOTT.
One of our mmor poets of the reign of Queen Mary. Of his life nothing
IS known, and it is to the Bannatyne manuscript that we are indebted for
the few poems we have of this '-Scottish Anacreon." His best pieces
are those of an amatory cast, his muse getting jaded when instructing
IJneen Mary in a "New Year's Gift, when sche came first hame, 15(32,-"'
CHRONOLOGICALLY AKUANGKD.
and his " Justing betwixt Adamsone and Sjtq ," seires only to make us
admire its model, "Christ's Kirk on the Green," the more. For his love
"ballats," however, he well merits the title which his admirers have
bestowed upon him.
Eeturn thee hameward, heart, again,
And bide where tliou was wont to be ;
Thou art ane fule, to suffer pain
For luve of her that luves not thee :
My heart, let be sic fantasie,
Luve nane but as they mak thee cause ;
And let her seek ane heart for thee ;
For fient a crum of thee she faws.
To what effect should thou be tlirall
But thank, sin' thou has thy free will ?
My heart be not sae bestial,
But knaw wha does thee guid or ill.
Remain with me and tarry still.
And sec wha playis best their paws,
And let fillock gae fling her fill,
For fient a crum of thee she faws.
Though thou be fair, I will not fcnzie
She is the kind of others mac ;
For why ? there is a fellow Menzie
That seemis guid and are not sae.
]\Iy heart, tak nowthir pain nor wae.
For Meg, for Marjorie, or yet Mause,
But be thou glad and let her gae ;
For fient a crum of thee she faws.
Because I find she took in ill.
At her departing thou mak nae care ;
But all beguiled go where she will,
Ashrew the heart that mane maks malr !
My heart be merry late and air,
This is the final end and clause ;
And let her fallow ane filly fair.
For fient a crum of thee she faws.
A RONDEL OF LOVE.
ALEXAXDER SCOTT,
Lo, what it is to lufe,
Lerne ye that list to prufe,
r>o me I say, that no wayis may.
The grund of greif remut'e ;
Bot still decay, botli nicht and day ;
Lo what it is to lufe.
D
THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Lufe is ane fervent fyre,
Kendillit without cleByre ;
Scliort plesonr, lang displesour,
Eepentance is the liyre ;
Ane pure tressour, ^yithout mesour;
Lufe is ane fervent fyre.
To lufe and to be wyiss,
To rege with gude adwyiss ;
Now thus, now than, so gois the game,
Incertane is the dyiss,
Thair is no man, I say, that can
Both Infe and to be wyiss.
Fie alwayis frome the enair,
Lerne at me to be ware ;
It is ane pane, and dowbill trane,
Of endless wo and cair ;
For to refrane, that dengcr plane,
Fie alwayis fromc the snair.
0 LUSTIE MAY.
ALEXANDER ECOTT. (?)
From tlic Aberdeen Cantv.s, 1G6G. It also appears iu the BanualjTia
mauuscript.
0 lustie May, with Flora quenc,
The balmy drops from Phoebus shecno
Prelucent beam before the day ;
By thee Diana groweth green.
Through gladness of this lusty M;^3^
Then Aurora that is so bright
To woful hearts she casts great light,
Eight pleasantly before the day,
And shows and sheds forth of that light,
Through gladness of this lusty May.
Birds on the boughs, of every sort.
Send forth their notes, and make great mirth
On banks that bloom, and every brae ;
And fare and flee ower every firth,
Through gladness of this lusty May.
And lovers all that are in care
To their ladies they do repair,
In fresh morning before the day;
And are in mirth aye mair and mair,
Through gladness of this lusty May,
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED.
Of everie monetli in the year
To mirthful May there is no peer ;
Ilcr glistering garments are so gay ;
You lovers all make mei'ry cheer
Through gladness of this lusty May.
WOOING OF JOCK AND JENNY.
The Bannatyiie manuscript coutaius a version of this in an older stj-le,
which will be found in the introduction to this work, we here give the
more modernised version adopted by Eamsay (and except in a very few
instances by Herd). The principal merit of the song Ues in the compre-
hensive inventory it presents of the worldly " guids and gear " of a Scottish
farmer of the time.
Rob's Jock cam' to woo our Jennj',
On ae feast day when we were fou ;
She brankit fast, and made her bounie,
And said Jock, come ye here to woo ?
She burnist her, baith breast and brou,
And made her clear as ony clock ;
Then spak' her dame, and said, I trou
Ye come to woo our Jenny, Jock.
Jock said, Forsuith, I yearn fu' fain.
To luk my head, and sit down by you :
Til en spak' her miuny, and said again,
My bairn has tocher enough to gi'e you,
Tehie ! quo' Jenny; Keik, keik, I sec you ;
]\linny, j^on man makes but a mock,
DoU hao the liers, fu leis mc o' yon,
I come to woo your Jenny, quo' Joclc.
My bairn has tocher of her aiu ;
A guse, a gryce, a cock and hen,
A stirk, a staig, an acre sawin,
A bake-bread, and a bannock-stane,
A pig, a pot, and a kirn there ben,
A kame but and a kaming stock ;
With cogs and luggies nine or ten :
Come ye to woo our Jenny, Jock ?
A wecht, a peat-creel, and a cradle,
A pair of clips, a graip, a flail,
An ark, an ambry, and a laidle,
A milsie,and a sowcn-pail,
A rousty wdiittlc to shear the kail.
And a timber-mell the bear to knock,
Twa shelfs made of an auld fir-dale ;
Como ye to woo our Jenny, Jock?
THE SOKGS OF SCOTLAND
A furra, a furlet, and a peck,
A rock, a reel, and a wheel-band,
A tub, a barrow, and a seek,
A spurtle-braid, and an elwand.
Then Jock took Jenny by the hand,
And cry'd, A feast ! and slew a cock,
And made a bridal npo' land.
Now I ha'e got your Jenny, quo' Jock,
Now dame, I have your dochter married,
And tho' ye mak' it ne'er sae tough,
I let you wit she's nae miscarried,
It's well kend I ha'e gear enough ;
An auld gawd gloyd fell owre a heugh,
A spade, a speet, a spur, a sock :
Withouten owsen I have a plough :
May that no ser j'our Jenny, quo' Jock ?
A t'reen truncher, a ram-horn spoon,
Twa bits of barket blasint leather,
A graith that ganes to coble shoon.
And a thrawcruck to twyne a feather,
Twa crocks that moup amang the heather,
A pair of branks and a fetter lock,
A teugh purse made of a swine's blether.
To baud your tocher, Jenny, quo' Jock.
Good elding for our winter fire,
A cod of caff wad fill a cradle,
A rake of iron to claut tlie byre,
A deuk about the dubs to paddle;
The pannel of an auld led-saddle,
And Rob my eem hecht me a stock,
Twa lusty lips to lick a laiddle.
May this no gane your Jenny, quo' Jock ?
A pair of hems and brechom fine,
And without bitts a bridle renzie,
A sark made of the linkome-twine,
A grey green cloke that will not stenzie ;
Mair yet in store — I needna fenzie,
Five hundred flaes, a fendy flock ;
And are not thae a wakrife menzie.
To gae to bed with Jenny and Jock ?
Tak' thir for my part of the feast,
It is well knawin I am weel bodiu :
Ye needna say my part is least.
Were they as meikle as they're lodin',
CHRONOLOGICALLY AERANGED.
The wife speer'd gin the kail was sodin,
When we have done, tak' hame the brok,
The roast was teugh as raploch hodin,
With which they feasted Jenny and Jock.
MUIELAND WILLIE.
Tea Table Miscellany. — "It is certainly a composition of coiisiaeralilo
anliqiiity, probably from style and structure of verse by the author of
the • Gaberlunzie Man.' " — liohert Chambers.
IIarken, and I will tell you how
Young Muirland Willie came to woo,
Tho' he could neither say nor do ;
The truth I tell to you.
But ay he crys, whate'er betide,
Mac'gy I'se ha'e to be my bride,
"with a fal, dal, &c.
On his gray yade as he did ride.
With durk and pistol by his side,
lie prick'd her on wi' melkle pride,
Wi' meiklc mirth and glee ;
Out o'er yon moss, out o'er yon mnir.
Till he came to her dady's door,
With a fal, dal, &c.
Goodman, (pioth he, be ye Avithin,
I'm come your doughter's love to win ;
I care no for making meikle din.
What answer gi' ye me ?
Now, wooer, cpioth he, wou'd ye light down,
I'll gie ye my doughter's love to win,
"with a fal, dal, &c.
Now, wooer, sin ye are lighted down,
Where do ye win, or in what town ?
I think mj' doughter winna gloom
On sic a lad as ye.
The wooer he stcp'd up the house,
And wow but he was wond'rous crouse,
With a fal, dal, &c.
I have three owsen in a plough,
Twa good ga'en yads, and gear enough,
Tiio place they ca' it Cudcneugh ;
I scorn to tell a lie :
Besides, I had frae tho great laird
A peat pat, and a lang-kail-yard,
With a fal, dal, &c.
10 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
The maid put on her kirtle brown,
She was the brawest in a' the town ;
I v/at on him she did na gloom,
Bnt blinkit bonnilie.
The lover he stended up in haste,
And gript her hard about the waist.
With a fal, dal, &c.
To Avin your love, maid, I'm come here,
I'm young, and hae enough o' gear,
And for mysell you need na fear,
Troth try me whan ye like.
He took aff his bonnet, and spat in his chew,
Ho dighted his gab, and he pri'd her mou',
With a fal, dal, &c.
The maiden blush'd and bing'd fu law,
She had na will to say him na,
But to her dady she left it a',
As they twa cou'd agree.
The lover he ga'e her the tither kiss,
Syne ran to her dady, and teli'd him this,
With a fal, dal, &c.
Your doughter wad na say me na,
But to yoursell she has left it a'.
As Ave cou'd gree between us twa ;
Say what'li ye gi' me wi' her ?
Now, wooer, quo' he, I ha'e no meikle.
But sic's I ha'e ye's get a pickle,
With a fal, dal, &c.
A kilnfu of corn I'll gi'e to thee.
Three soums of sheep, twa good milk ky,
Ye's ha'e the wadding dinner free ;
Troth I dow do no mair.
Content, quo' he, a bargain be't ;.
I'm far frae hame, make haste, let's do'fc,
With a fal, dal, &c.
The bridal day it came to pass.
With mony a blythsome lad and lass ;
But sicken a day there never was.
Sic mirth was never seen.
This Avinsome couple straked hands.
Mess John ty'd up the marriage bands.
With a fal, dal, &c.
And our bride's maidens Avero na feA\',
Wi' tap-knots, lug-lcnots, a' in blev/,
Frae tap to tae they Avere braw ncAV,
And blinkit bonnilie :
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. H
Theii' toys and miitclies were sae clean,
They glanc'd in our ladses' e'en,
With a fal, dal, &c.
Sic hii'dum, dirdiim, and sic din,
Wi' lie o'er her, and she o'er him ;
The minstrels they did never blin,
Wi' meikle mirth and glee.
And ay they bobit, and ay they beckt.
And ay their lips together met,
With a fal, dal, &c.
INCONSTANCY KEPEOVED.
Sm EOBEET ATTOUN.
Born at Kinaldie in Fife, in 1570. He was brought under the notice of
James VI. by a Latin poem on that monarch's accession to the Enghsh
Throne ; and entering the Eoyal Household, became Private Secretary to
the Queen, &c. He was the personal friend of many literary personages,
nud amongst others of Ben Jonson, Hobbes, Sir James Balfour, Earl of
Stirhng, Drummond of Hawthorndcn, &c. He died in 1G38, and was
buried in Westminster Abbey. His poetical works were collected and
published in 18-14. The song is here given from Watson's collection,
1711. Burns wi'ote a version, but without his usual success.
I do confess thou'rt smooth and fair,
And I might have gone near to love thso,
Had I not found the slightest pray'r
That lips could speak, had pow'r to move tlicc;
But I can let thee now alone
As worthy to be loved by none.
I do confess thou'rt sweet, yet find
Thee such an unthrift of thy sweets.
Thy favours are but like the wind,
Which kisseth everything it meets ;
And since thou can'st love more than one
Thou'rt worthy to be kissed by none.
TIic morning rose, that untouch'd stands,
Arm'd with her briars, how sweet she smells !
But pluck'd, and strain'd through ruder hands,
Her sweets no longer with her dwells ;
But scent and beauty both are gone.
And leaves fall from her one by one.
Such fate ere long will thee betide.
When tliou hast handled been awdiilc.
Like fair flow'rs to be thrown aside,
And thou shalt sigh, when I shall smile
To see thy love to every one,
Hath brought thee to be lov'd by nono,
12 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
TO AN INCONSTANT MISTRESS.
SIR EOBEKT AYTOTJN.
I loved thee once, I'll love no more,
Thine be the grief, as is the blame,
Thou art not what thou wast before,
What reason I should be the same ?
He that can love unlov'd again.
Hath better store of love than brain;
God send me love my debts to pay,
While unthrifts fool their love away.
Nothing could have my love o'erthrown,
If thou liad still continued mine,
Nay, if thou had remain'd thine own,
I might .perchance have yet been thine.
But thou thy freedom did recall,
That it thou might elsewhere enthrall;
And, then, how could I but disdain
A captive's captive to remain.
What new desires have conqucr'd thee.
And chang'd the object of thy will,
It had been lethargy in me,
Not constancy, to love thee still.
Yea it had been a sin to go
And prostitute affection so,
Since we are taught no pray'rs to say,
To such as must to others pray.
Yet do thou glory in thy choice —
Thy choice, of his good fortune boast,
I'll neither grieve, nor yet rejoice.
To see him gain what I have lost.
The height of my disdain shall be
To laugh at him, to blush for thee ;
To love thee still, but go no more
A begging at a beggar's door.
OLD LONG SYNE.
ASCRIBED TO Sm EOBEliT AYTOUN.
From Watson's Collection of Scottish Poems, part 3, but has been,
traced in Broadsides prior to the close of the seventeenth century
(Chambers); it has also been ascribed to Francis Semple of Beltrees.
This song is curious, apart fronr its own merits, as showing that the
phrase "Auld Lang Syne" was current as early as the time of Charles I.,
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 13
and as the earliest known attempt to turn it into song. Allan Eamsay
wrote a song under this title, and with the same sentiment, but his versioiu
like the present, only leads us to admire more highly that of Robert Burns.
TART FIRST.
Should old acquaintance be forgot,
And never thought upon,
The flames of love extinguislicd,
And freely past and gone ?
Is thy kind heart now grown so cold
In that loving breast of thine,
That thou canst never once reflect
On old long syne ?
Where are tliy protestations,
Thy vows, and oatlis, my dear.
Thou mad'st to me and I to thee.
In register yet clear ?
Is faith and truth so violate
To th' immortal gods divine.
That thou canst never once reflect
On old long syne ?
Is't Cupid's fears, or frosty cares,
That makes thy spirits decay ?
Or is't some object of more worth
That's stolen thy heart away ?
Or some desert makes thcc neglect
Him, so much once was tliine,
That thou canst never once reflect
On old long syne ?
Is't worldly cares, so desperate,
That makes thee to despair?
Is't that makes thee exasperate,
And makes thee to forbear?
If tliou of that were free as I,
Thou surely should be mine ;
If this were true, we should renew
Kind old long syne.
Cut since that nothing can prevail,
And all hope is in vain.
From these dejected eyes of mine
Still showers of tears shall rain :
And though thou hast me now forgot.
Yet I'll continue thine.
And ne'er forget for to reflect
On old long syne.
14 THE SOXGS OF SCOTLAND
If e'er I have a house, iny dear,
That truly is call'd mine.
And can afford but country cheer,
Or ought that's good therein ;
Though thou wert rebel to the king,
And beat with wind and rain,
Assure thyself of welcome, love,
For old long syne,
PART SECOND.
My soul is ravisli'd with delight
When you I think uiDon ;
All griefs and sorrows take their flight,
And hastily are gone ;
The fair resemblance of your face
So fills this breast of mine,
No fate nor force can it displace.
For old long syne.
Since thoughts of you do banish grio!',
When I'm from you removed ;
And if in them I find relief,
When with sad cares I'm moved,
How doth your presence me afreet
With ecstasies divine.
Especially when I reflect
On old long syne.
Since thou hast robb'd me of my hear!,
By those resistless powers
Which Madam Nature doth impart
To those fair eyes of yours,
With honour it doth not consist
To hold a slave in pyne ;
Pray let your rigour, then, desist,
For old long syne.
'Tis not my freedom I do crave,
By deprecating pains ;
Sure, liberty he would not have
Who glories in his chains :
But this I wish — the gods would movo
That noble soul of thine
To pity, if thou canst not love,
For old long syne.
CIIRONOLOGICALLY .UlRANGED. 15
SCORNFU NANCY.
Ramsay's Tea Table Miscellant.— Wliere it is marked as of imkno^vn
age. It is considered by Mi-. Stenho-ase to be as early as the uuiou of the
Crowns in 1C03. The time was selected by Gay for one of the songs in his
Opera.of " Achilles," performed in 1733.
Nancy's to the greenwood gane,
To hear the gowdspink chatt'ring,
And Willie he has follow'd her,
To gain her love by flatt'ring :
But a' that he could say or do,
She geck'd and scorned at him ;
And aye when he began to woo.
She bade him mind wha gat liini.
What ails ye at my dad, quoth he,
My minny, or my auntie ?
With crowdy-mowdy they fed me,
Lang-kale and ranty-tanty :
With bannocks of good barley-meal,
Of thae there was right plentj^,
With chapped stocks fu' butter'd weel-,
And was not that right dainty ?
Although my father was nae laird,
('Tis dafhn to be vaunty,)
lie keepit aye a good kale yard,
A ha'-house, and a pantry ;
A guid blue-bonnet on his head,
An o'erlay 'bout his craigie ;
And aye until the day he died
He rade on guid shanks-naigie.
Now wae and wonder on your snout,
Wad ye ha'e bonnie Nancy,
Wad ye compare yoursel' to me,
A docken to a tansio ?
I have a wooer o' my ain,
They ca' him souple Sand}^,
And weel I wat his bonnie mou'
Is sweet like sugar-candy.
WoAv, Nancy, what needs a' this din?
Do I no ken this Sandy?
I'm sure the chief o' a' his kin
Was Rab the beggar randy ;
His minny Meg upo' her back
Bare baith him and his billy ;
Will ye compare a nasty pack
To mo your winsome 'Wiliio ?
16 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
My gutcher left a good braidsword,
Though it be auld and rusty,
Yet ye may tak' it on my word,
It is baith stout and trusty ;
And if I can but get it drawn,
Wliich will be right uneasy,
I shall lay baith my lugs in pawn,
That he shall get a hcezy.
Then Nancy turn'd her round about,
And said, Did Sandy hear ye,
Ye widna miss to get a clout,
I ken he disna fear you :
Sae baud ye'r tongue and say nae mair,
Set somewhere else your fancy ;
For as lang's Sandy's to the fore,
Ye never shall get Nancy.
TAK' YOUR AULD CLOAK ABOUT YE.
One of our earliest and most popular sougs. The fourth stanza is suug
by lago iu Shakspere's Othello (IGll), where, however, the name of the
monarch is changed from the Scottish Robert to the English Stephen.
A version in a more English dress than the one here given is iu Percy's
folio manuscript. Amongst other variations we have " King Harry " iu
place of " King Eobert, — the Thretty year is changed into Four and Forty,
and an extra stanza is given.* Neither Dr. Percy, nor the later Editors
of the manuscript, however, disprrte the nationality of the song. The
version here given is from the Tea Table Miscellany, collated with that
given in Herd.
In winter, when the rain rain'd cauld.
And frost and snaw on ilka hill.
And Boreas, wi' his blasts sae bauld.
Was threat'nin a' our kye to kill :
Then Bell, my wife, wha lo'cs nae strife.
She said to mo richt hastilie,
Get up, gudeman, save Crummie's life.
And tak' your auld cloak about ye.
* This Stanza, the second ia the manuscript version, is as follows :—
" O Bell, my wiffe ! why do=t thou fflyte 1
Thou kens my cloake is vorry thin ;
Itt ;s soe sore ower wome,
A cricke theron cannot rann.
I'll goe fllnd the court within,
lie noe longer lend nor borrow,
lie goe ffind the court within,
For lie have a new cloakc about me."
Percy MS., vol. 2, p. 32?.
CHKONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 17
My Crummie is a usefu' cow,
And she is come of a good kin' ;
Aft has slie wet the bairns's mou',
And I am laith that she should tyne ;
Get up, gudeman, it is fu' time,
The sun shines i' the lift sae hie ;
Sloth never made a gracious end ;
Gae tak' your auld cloak about ye.
My cloak was ance a gude gray cloak,
When it was fitting for my wear ;
But now it's Bcantly worth a groat.
For I have worn't this thretty year ;
Let's spend the gear that we ha'e won,
We little ken the day we'll die ;
Then I'll be proud, since I have sworn
To ha'e a new cloak about me.
In days when our Iving Eobert rang,
His trcAvs they cost but half a croun ;
lie said they were a groat ower dear,
And ca'd the tailor thief and loon ;
He was the king that wore a croun.
And thou'rt a man of laigh degree :
It's 23ride puts a' the country doun ;
Sae tak' your auld cloak about ye.
Ilka land has its ain lauch,
Ilk kind o' corn has its ain hool ;
I think tlie world is a' gane wrang,
When ilka wife her man wad rule ;
Do ye no see Eol), Jock, and Ilab,
As they are girded gallantlie,
While I sit hurklin i' the ase ?—
I'll ha'e a now cloak about me.
Gudeman, I wat 'tis thretty year
Sin' we did ane anither ken ;
And we ha'e had atween us twa
Of lads and bonnie lasses ten :
Now they are women grown and men,
I wish and pray wcel may they be ;
If you would prove a gude husband.
E'en tak' your auld cloak about ye.
Bell, my wife, she lo'es nac strife.
But she would guide me if she can ;
And to maintain an easy life,
I aft maun yield, though I'm gudeman;
18 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Nought's to be gain'd at woman's haml,
Unless ye gi'e her a' the plea ;
Then I'll leave aff where I began,
And tak' my auld cloak about me.
WILLIE V/INKIE'S TESTAMENT.
Thomson's Orpheds Caledonics 1725. This undoubtedly early song
seems to have escaped the notice of Eamsay. Its catalogue of " Guids
and Gear " is interesting and amusing, and tonus a • good supplement to
that given iu the "Wooiii of Jock and Jenny," from the popularity of
which it, in all likchhood, had its origin.
My daddy left me gear enough :
A couter, and an auld beam-plough,
A nebbed staff, a nutting-tyne,
A fishing-wand with hook and line ;
"With twa auld stools, and a dirt-house,
A jerkenct, scarce worth a louse,
An auld pat, that wants the lug,
A spurtle and a sowen mug.
A hempen heckle, and a mell,
A tar-horn, and a weather's bell,
A muck-fork, and an auld peak-creel,
The spakcs of our auld spinning-wheel;
A pair of branks, yea, and a saddle,
With our auld brunt and broken laddie,
A whang-bit and a sniffle-bit :
Cheer up, my bairns, and dance a fit.
A flailing-staff, a timmer-spit.
An auld kirn and a hole in it,
Yarn-winnles, and a reel,
A fetter-lock, a trump of steel,
A whistle, and a tup-horn spoon,
Wi' an auld pair o' clouted shoon,
A timmor spade, and a gleg shear,
A bonnet for my bairns to wear.
A timmer tong, a broken cradle,
The pinion of an auld car-saddle,
A gullie-knife, and a horse-wand,
A mitten for the left hand,
With an auld broken pan of brass,
With an auld hyeuk for cutting grass,
An auld band, and a hoodling-how,
I hope, my bairns, ye're a' wecl noi\\
CHRONOLOGICALLY AERANGED. 19
Aft liavG I boz'iie yo on my back,
With a' this riff-raff in my pack ;
And it was a' for want of gear,
That gart me steal Mess John's grey mare :
But now, my bairns, what ails ye now,
For ye ha'e naigs enough to plow ;
And hose and shoon fit for your feet.
Cheer up, my bairns, and dinna greet.
Then Avith mysel' I did advise,
My daddie's gear for to comprise ;
Some neighbours I ca'd in to see
Wliat gear my daddy left to me.
They sat three-quarters of a year,
Comprising of my daddy's gear ;
And when they had gi'en a' their votes,
'Twas scarcely a' worth four pounds Scots.
WHERE HELEN LIES.
Pennant (Tous in Scotland, V. 2, 101) describes the tradition on which
this song is founded, as follows ! —
" In the burying-groiind of Kirkconnel is the grave of the fan- Ellen
Irvine, and that of her lover : she was daughter of the house of Kirk-
connel, and was beloved by two gentlemen at the same time ; the one
vowed to sacrifice the successful rival to his resentment, and watched an
opportunity while the happy pair were sitting on the banks of the Kirtle,
that washes these grounds. Ellen perceived the desperate lover on the
opposite side, and fondly thinking to save her favourite, interposed ; and
receiving the wound intended for her beloved, fell, and expired in his
aims. He instantly revenged her death ; then fled into Spain, and served
for some time against the infidels ; on his return he visited the grave of
his unfortunate mistress, stretched himself on it, iind expiring on the spot,
was interred by her side. A sword and a cross are engraven on the tomb-
stone, with Ilic facet Adam Fleming : the only memorial of this unhappy
gentleman, except an ancient ballad of no great merit, which records the
tragical event." "Which, " he adds in a note," happened either the latter
end of the reign of James V., or the beginning of that of Mary."
Other traditions vary in minute particulars— for instance, the heroine
is sometimes described as Helen BcU^the mortal combat between the
rivals takes place in Syria, &c.
There are nvmierous versions of the song, the first here given is from
Ritson's Scots Songs, the second is that adopted by Mr. Robert Chambers,
and is " chiefly from the traditionary copy preserved by Mr. Charles K.
Sharpe, as he had been accustomed to hear it simg in Annandale in his
childhood."
I WISH I were where Helen lies !
Where day and night she on mc cries !
I wish I were where Helen lies.
On fair Ivirkonnell Ice !
20 - THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Oh Helen fair ! Oh Helen chaste I
Were I with thee I would be blest !
Where thou liest low, and at thy rest,
On fair Kirkonnell lee
I wish my grave were growing green I
My winding sheet put o'er my e'en !
I wish my grave were growing green,
On fair Kirkonnell lee I
Where Helen lies I where Helen lies I
I wisli I were where Helen lies 1
Soon may I be where Helen lies !
Who died for luvo of me,
SECOND VERSION.
I wish I were where Helen lies.
For night and day on me she cries,
I wish^I were where Helen lies,
On fair Kirkconnell lee.
Curst be the hand that shot the shot.
Likewise the gun that ga'e tlie crack,
Into my arms Burd Helen lap,
And died for love o' me.
Oil, think ua ye my heart was sair,
To see her lie and speak nao raair !
There did she swoon wi' mickle care,
On fair Kirkconnell lee.
I loutit down, my sword did draw,
I cuttit him in pieces sma',
I cuttit him in pieces sma'.
On fair Kirkconnell lee.
Oil, Helen fair, without compare,
I'll mak a garland o' thy hair,
And wear t)ift same for evermair,
Dntil the day I dee.
I wish my grave were growing green,
A winding-sheet put ower my een.
And I in Helen's arms lying.
On fair Kirkconnell lee.
Oh HeleiT chaste, thou were modest ;
Were I with thee I wad be blest,
Where thou lies low and takes thy rest,
On fair Kirkconnell lee.
I wish I were where Helen lies.
For night and day on me she cries ;
I wish I were where Helen lies.
On fair Ku-kconnell lee.
CHRONOLOGICALLY AltKANGED. 21
MY DEAE AND ONLY LOVE.
JAMES, FmST MARQUIS OF MONTROSE,
Born in 1 01 2. His short but glorious career is well known to every reader
of Scottish History. Beginning his public life on the side of the Covenant,
he in 1G42 left their camp, and joined the standard of Charles I. His vic-
tories, talent, courage and fidelity in the Eoyal cause gained him the
title of Great. Defeated at length, he took refuge in Assint, but was betray-
ed and delivered up to the Scottish Parliament. After undergoing a form of
trial at Edinburgh, he was executed there in 1650.
Seven poems by this nobleman appeared in the third part of Watson's
choice collection of Scotch Poems, 1711, and these were probably but
reprinted from Broadsides. The song here given is the first and finest of
the whole. It is supposed to have been modelled on an early English
song, and to be addressed by the author to his country instead of a mis-
tress in real life, and this latter supposition will be allowed as correct if
we consider the deep metaphorical cloud under which the poets of the
period clothed their fancies.
My dear and only love, I pra^-
That little world of thee
Be govern'd by no other sway,
But purest monarchy ;
For if confusion have a part,
AVhich virtuous souls aUior,
I'll call a synod in my heart
And never love tlicc more.
As Alexander I will reign,
And I will reign alone.
My thoughts did evermore disdain
A rival on my throne.
He either fears his fate too much,
Or his deserts are small,
Who dares not put it to the touch,
To gain or lose it all.
But I will reign, and govern still,
And always give the law,
And have each subject at my will,
And all to stand in awe :
But 'gainst my batt'ries if I fiu 1
Thou storm or vex me sore,
As if thou set mo as a blind,
I'll never love thee more.
And in the empire of thy heart,
Where I should solely bo.
If others should preteiul a part,
Or dare to share with mo ;
22 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Or committees if thou erect,
Or go on such a score,
I'll smiling mock at thy neglect,
And never love thee more.
But if no faithless action stain
Thy love and constant woij^
I'll make thee famous by my pen,
And glorious by my sword.
I'll serve thee in such noble ways,
As ne'er were known before ;
I'll deck and crown my head with bays,
And love thee evermore.
CLOUT THE CALDRON.
Kamsay's Tea Table Miscellany. — Printed witnout any mark. Burns
mentions a tradition that an old song, probably an older version of the words
here given, was composed by a member of the Kenmure family alluding to
one of his amours. The air is sometimes styled " The Blacksmith and
his apron."
Have ye any pots or pans.
Or any broken chandlers ?
I am a tinlcer to my trade,
And newly come frae Flanders,
As scant of siller as of grace ;
Disbanded, we've a bad run ;
Gar tell the lady of the place,
I'm come to clout her caldi'on,
Fa, adrie, diddle, diddle, &c.
Madam, if you have wark for me,
I'll do't to your contentment ;
And dinna care a single flie
For any man's resentment ;
For, lady fair, though I appear
To every ane a tinker.
Yet to yoursell I'm bauld to toll,
I am a gentle jinker.
Love Jupiter into a SAvau
Turn'd for his loved Leda ;
He like a bull ower meadows ran,
To carry off Europa.
Then may not I, as well as he.
To cheat your Argus blinker.
And win your love like mighty Jove|
Thus hide me in a tinker?
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 23
Sir, ye appear a cunninj? man ;
But this fine plot you'll fail in ;
For there is neither pot nor pan,
Of mme, you'll drive a nail in.
Then bind your budget on your back,
And nails up in your apron ;
For I've a tinker under tack,
That's used to clout my ca'dron.
FARE YE WELL MY AULD WIFE.
A Fragmcut preserved in Herd's Collection.
And fare ye weel, my auld wife ;
Sing bum, bee, berry, bum ;
Fare ye weel, my auld wife ;
Sing bum, bum, bum.
Fare ye weel, my auld wife.
The steerer up o' sturt and strife.
The maut 's abune the meal the niclit,
Wi' some, some, some.
And fare ye weel, my pike-staff;
Sing bum, bee, berry, bum ;
Fare ye weel, my pike-staff;
Sing bum, bum, bum.
Fare ye weel, my pike staff,
Wi' you nae man* my wife I'll baff ;
The maut 's abune the meal the nicht,
Wi' some, some, some.
GALA WATER.
From Herd's Collection-, slightly collated with other copies. The earliest
version extant of this celebrated song.
Braw, braw lads of Gala Water,
0 ! braw lads of Gala Water ;
I'll kilt my coats aboou my knee,
And follow my love thi'ough the water.
Sae fair her hair, sae brent her brow,
Sae bonnie blue her een, and chcerie,
Sae white her teeth, sae sweet her mou',
1 aften kiss her till I'm wcarie.
Ower yon bank, and ower yon brae,
Ower yon moss amang the heather,
I'll kilt my coats aboon my kuee,
And follow my love through the water.
24 TILE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Down amang tlio broom, the broom,
Down amang the broom sae drearie.
The lassie lost her silken snood
That gart her greet till she was wearic.
BONNIE ROBIN.
Herd's Collection. Mr. Chaiiibeis (Scottisli Songs, Vol. 1. p. 97,
1829) conjectures this song to have been v.-rittcu about 1641. In
1G22 "the Old Bridge of Tay at Perth, built by Eobert Bruce, gave way
and was not built again till 1772. The mending or re-erection of th?
Bridge of Tay was a matter of agitation during the reign of Charles I..
and that Sovereign when in Scotland in 1611, subscribed a hundred
pounds for the puiposc."
GuDE day now, bounie Piobiii,
IIow lang ha'e yo been here ?
I've been a bird about this bush
This mair than twenty year.
But now I am the sickest bird
That ever sat on brier ;
And I wad mak my testament,
Gudemau, if yo wad hear.
Gar' tak' tliis bonnio neb o' mine,
That picks upon t!ie corn,
And gie't to the duke o' Hamilton,
To bo a hunting-horn.
Gar tak' these bonnio feathers o' mine.
The feathers o' my neb,
And gi'e to the lady 'o Hamilton,
To fill a feather bed.
Gar tak' this gudo richt leg o' mine,
And mend the brig o' Tay,
It will be a post and pillar gudo.
It will neither bow nor [gae.]
And tak' this other leg of mine.
And mend the brig o' Weir ;
It will be a post and pillar gude,
It Avill neither bow nor steer.
Gar tak' thae bonnie feathers o' mine,
The feathers o' my tail,
And gi'e to the lads o' Hamilton
To be a barn-flail.
CHROXOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 25
And tak' tliac bonnie feathers o' mine,
The feathers o' my breast,
And gi'e them to the bonnie lad,
AVill bring to me a priest.
Now in tliero cam' my lady wren,
Wi' mony a sigh and groan,
0 what care I for a' tlielads.
If my wee lad be gone !
Then Robin turn'd him round about.
E'en like a little king ;
Gae pack ye out at my chamber-door.
Ye little cutty-quean.
GENERAL LESLIE'S MARCH.
Tea Tahle Miscellant.— "It seems to have been written hy some
sneering cavalier as a quiz niwn the Scottish annv, which inarched
to join the English parHamcntary forces, ICAi, in temis of tlie
.Solemn League and Covenant, and which was so instrumental in winning
for that party the decisi\e battle of Longmarstou Moor." — (Chambers
Scotds/t tSongs, vol, 1, p, 172 J
March, march, why tlio dcil do yo na march ?
Stand to yoxn- arms, my lads,
Fight in good order ;
Front about, yo musketeers all,
Till ye come to tlic English border.
Stand till't, and fight like men,
True gospel to maintain ;
The Parliament['s] blyth to see us a coming.
Wlien to the kirk Ave come.
We'll purge it ilka room,
Frao Popisli relicks, and a' sic innovations,
That all the warld may sec,
There's nane i' the riglit, but we
Of tho auld Scottish nation.
Jenny shall wcai- the hood,
Jocky tho sark of God ;
And the kist fou of whistles,
'i hat make sic a cleiro.
Our pipera braw
Hliall liae them a'
Whate'er come on it.
Busk up your phiids, my lads,
Cock up your bonnets.
March, march, &c.
26 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
BLINK O'ER THE BURN SWEET BETTY.
" Blink o'er the botim, sweet Bettie, to me," is the beginning of a frag-
ment quoted in King Lear, (Act iii. Sc. 6.) The exj)ression has also been
traced by Dr. Kimbault as far back as the reign of Henry VIII. None of the
fragments, however, bear any resemblance to either of the versions here
given, the first from Herd's Collection, 177G (also adopted by Eitson), and
the second from Stenhouse's Illustrations, and stated there to have been
written previous to 1684.
I.
In summer I mawecl my meadow,
In harvest I shure my corn,
In winter I married a widow,
I wish I was free the morn !
Blink over the hurn, sweet Betty,
Blink over the burn to me :
0, it is a thousand pities
But I was a widow for thee !
11.
Blinl^ o'er the burn, sweet Betty,
It is a cauld winter night ;
It rains, it hails, and it thunders,
The moon she gi'es nae light :
It's a' for the sake o' sweet Betty,
That ever I tint my way ;
0 lassie let me creep ayont thee,
Until it be break o' day.
III.
0 Betty shall bake my bread.
And Betty shall brew my ale,
And Betty shall be my love,
"Wlien I come over the dale ;
Blink o'er the burn, sweet Betty,
Blink o'er the burn to me :
And while I ha'e life, my dear lass*©,
My ain sweet Betty thou's be.
THE WREN.
.\,n old Nursery song, from Herd's Collection.
The wren scho lyes in care's bed,
In care's bed, in care's bed ;
The wren scho lyes in care's bed,
In meikle dule and pyne, 0.
When in cam' Robin Redbriest,
Redbriest, Redbriest ;
When in cam' Robin Redbriest
Wi' euccar-saps and wine, O,
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 27
Now, maiden, will ye taste o' this,
Taste o' this, taste o' this ;
Now, maiden, will ye taste o' this?
It's succar-saps and wine, 0.
Na, ne'er a drap, Eobin,
Eobin, Robin ;
Na, ne'er a drap, Eobin,
Gin it was ne'er sae fine, 0.
******
And Where's the ring that I gied yo,
That I gied ye, that I gied ye ;
And Where's the ring that I gied ye,
Ye little cutty-quean, 0 ?
I gied it till a soger,
A soger, a soger ;
I gied it till a soger,
A true sweetheart o' mine, 0.
WE'EE A' NODDIN.
In Percy's Reliques, wo are presented with an early version of " John
Anderson My Joe," very much after the style of that here given. The Air
seems to have been always very popular, and Percy's surmise is likely
coiTect, that his version has a political meaning, and originated solely in
consequence of the popularity of the Air assisting the Reformers in
venting a quiet sarcasm against their enemies. The version here given
is from the Additional Note to Stenhouso's Illustrations, part 3, and were
communicated by Mr. C. K. Sharpe.
Hoo are ye, Kimmer,
An' hoo do ye thrive ?
Uoo mony bahns hae ye ?
Kimmer, I hae five.
An we're a' noddin,
Nid, nid, noddin,
An we're a' noddin
At our house at hame.
Are they a' Johnnie's bairns ?
Na, Kimmer, na !
For three o' them were gotten
When Johnnie was awa !
An we're a' noddin, &c.
Cats lilce milk,
And dogs like broo ;
Lads like Lassies,
And Lassies Lads too.
An we're a' noddin, &c.
28 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
GET UP, GUDE WIFE.
Fkom Ritson's Scots Songs, taken by him from a manuscript of the
time of Charles I, in the British Museum.
Get up; gudewifc, don on your claise,
And to the market mak' you boune :
' Tis lang time sin' your noebors rase ;
They're weel nigh gotten into the tonne.
See ye don on your better goune,
And gar the lasse big on the fyre.
Dame, do not look as ye Avacf frowne.
But doc the thing whilk I desyre.
I spier what haste ye hae, gudeman !
Your mother staid till ye war born ;
Wad ye be at the tother can,
To scoure your throat sae sune this morn ?
Gude faith, I baud it but a scorne,
That ye suld with my rising mell ;
For when ye have baith said and swornc-
I'll do but what I lilco mysel'.
Gudewife, we maun needs have a care,
Sae lang's we wonne in neebor's rawe,
0' neeborheid to tak' a share.
And rise up when the cock does crawc ;
For I have heard an auld said sawe,
" They that rise last big on the fyre,"
AVhat wind or weather so ever blaw,
Dame, do the thing -whilk I desyre.
Nay, Avhat do ye talk of neeborheid ?
Gif I lig in my bed till noone,
By nae man's sliins I bake my breid,
And ye need not reck what I have done.
Nay, look to the clooting o' your shoone,
And with my rising do not mell :
For, gin ye lig baith sheets abune,
I'll do but what I will mysel'.
Gudewife, ye maun needs tak' a cave
To save the geare that we ha'e won :
Or lye away baith plow and car.
And hang up Eing Avhen a' is done.
Then may our bairns a-begging run,
To seek their mister in the myre.
Sac fair a thread as we ha'e won !
Dame, do the tiling v,hilk I require.
CHRONOLOGICALLY AERAKGED. 29
Giuleman, ye may Aveel a-begging gang,
Ye seem sae wecl to bear the pocke ;
Ye may as weel gang sune as syne,
To seek your meat amang gude folkc.
In ilka house ye']l get a locke,
When ye come whar your gossij^s dwell.
Nay, lo you luik sae like a gowke,
I'll do but what I list mysel'.
Gudewife, you promised, when we were wed,
That ye wad me truly obey ;
Jlesa John can witness what you said,
And I'll go fetch him in this day ;
And, gif that haly man will say,
Ye's do the thing that I desyre.
Then sail we sune end up this fray.
And ye sail do what I require.
I nowther care for John nor Jacke —
I'll tak' my pleasure at my ease ;
I care not what you say a placke —
Ye may go fetch him gin ye please.
And, gin j^c want ane of a mease,
Ye may e'en gae fetch the dcil frae hello ;
I wad you wad let your japin cease,
For I'll do but what I like mysel'.
Well, sin' it will nae better bee,
I'll tak' my share or a' bee gane :
The warst card in my hand sail flee.
And i' faith, I wait I can sliifte for ane.
I'll sell the plow, and lay to wadd the waine,
And the greatest spender sail bearc the bell :
And then, when all the gudes are gane,
DaUiO, do the thing ye list yoursel'.
MY JO JANET.
Tea Table Miscellany. — The air is of cousiderable antiquity, being
I'oiuid under the title of "Long or any old Man" in the Skene MS., 1(130.
SwEF.T sir, for your courtcsic,
When yo come by the Bass, ilien,
For the love ye bear to me,
Buy me a kcekin' glass, then.
Keek into the draw-well,
Janet, Janet ;
There ye'll see your bonnie sell,
My jo Janet.
30 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Keekin' in the draw-well clear,
Wlaat if I fa' in, sir ?
Then a' my kin' wUl say and Bwear
I droun'd mysell for sin, sir.
Hand the better by the brae,
Janet, Janet ;
Hand the better by the brae,
My jo Janet.
Gude sir, for your courtesie,
Comin' through Aberdeen, then.
For the love ye bear to me,
Buy me a pan- o' sheen, then.
Clout the auld — the new are dear,
Janet, Janet ;
Ae pair may gain ye hauf a year,
My jo Janet.
But, what if, dancin' on the green,
And skippin' like a maukin.
They should see my clouted sheen,
Of me they will be taukin.
Dance aye laigh, and late at e'en,
Janet, Janet ;
Syne a' their fauts will no be seen,
My jo Janet.
Kind sir, for your courtesie,
When ye gae to the cross, then,
For the love ye bear to me,
Buy me a pacin' horse, then.
Pace upon your spinnin' wheel,
Janet, Janet ;
Pace upon your spinnin' wheel,
My jo Janet.
My spinnin' wheel is auld and stiff,
The rock o't winna stand, sir ;
To keep the temper -pin in tiff
Employs richt aft my hand, sir.
Mak' the best o't that ye can,
Janet, Janet ;
But like it never wale a man,
My jo Janet.
CimONOLOGlCALLY ARRANGED.
FY, LET us ALL TO THE BRIDAL.
FEANCIS SEilPLE, OF BELTEEES,
Who died about 1 GS2, tlie last of a family of poets ; one of whom v.Tote
the "Packman's Paternoster," aud another immortalised Habbie Simpson,
the Town Piper of Kilbarchan. The authorship of this song has also
been claimed for Sir William Scott, of Thirlestane. It first appeared in
Watson's Collection, 1706 ; the version here given has been altered a
little.
Ft, let us a' to the bridal,
For there'll bo liltin' there ;
For Jock's to be married to Maggie,
The lass wi' the gowden hair.
And there'll be langkale and parridge,
And bannocks o' barley meal ;
And there'll be guid saut herrin'
To relish a cog o' guid ale.
Fy, let us a', &c.
And there'll be Sandie the souter,
And Will wi' the mickle mou' ;
And there'll be Tam the bluter,
And AndrcAV the tinkler, I trow.
And there'll be bow-leggit Eobbie,
Wi' thumless Katie's gudeman ;
And there'll be blue-cheekit Bobbie,
And Lawrie, the laird o' the land.
And there'll be sow-libber Patie,
And plooliie-fac'd Wat o' the mill ;
Capper-nosed Francie, and Gibbie,
That wins in the howe o' the hill.
And there'll be Alaster Sibbie,
That in wi' black Bessie did mool ;
Wi' sneevlin' LUlic, and Tibbie,
The lass that sits aft on the stool.
And there'll be Judan Maclowrie,
And blinkin' daft Barbara Macleg ;
Wi' flae-luggit shairnie-faced Lawrie,
And shangie-mou'd halulcet Meg.
And there'll be happer-hipp'd Nancie,
And fairy-faced Flowrie by name,
Muck Maudie, and fat-luggit Grizzle,
The lass wi' the gowden Avame.
And there'll be Girnagain Gibbie,
And his glaikit wife Jenny Bell ;
And misle-shinn'd Mungo Macapic,
The lad that was skipper himsell.
32 THE S017GS OF SCOTL.VND
There lads and lasses in peaiiings
Will feast in tlic heart o' the ha',
On sybows, and reefarts, and carlins,
That are baith sodden and raw.
And there'll be fadges and brachen,
And fouth o' gude gabbocks o' skate,
Powsoudie, and drammock, and crowdie.
And caller nowt-feet on a plate :
And there'll be partens and buckics,
And why tens and speldins cnew.
And singit sheep-heads and a haggjg.
And scadlips to sup till ye spew.
And there'll be gudo lapper-milk kebbueka,
And sowens, and farles, and baps,
Wi' swats and weel-scraped paiuches,
And brandy in stoups and in canps ;
And there'll be meal-kail and kustocks,
Wi' skink to sup till ye rive ;
And roasts to roast on a brandcr.
Of fiouks that were taken aliv-e.
Scrapped haddocks, Avilks, dulse, and tangle,
And a mill o' good sneeshin' to prie ;
When weary wi' eatin' and drinkin',
We'll rise up and dance till we dee.
Fy, let us a' to the bridal.
For there'll be liltiu' tliere ;
For Jock's to be married to Maggie,
The lass wi' the gowden hair.
MAGGIE LAUDER.
FRANCIS SEBIPLE OF BELTEEES. (?)
The Antliorship of this piece has been hotly dispnted by several critics
" learned in ballad lore," but on very flimsy grounds. Mr. Chambers
thinks it smacks of the pen which produced " Wanton Willie."
WiiA wadna be in love
Wi' bonnie Maggie Lauder ?
A piper met her gaun to Fife,
And speir'd what was't they ca'd her ; —
Right scornfully she answer'cl him.
Begone you hallanshaker !
Jog on yoiu' gate, you bladderskate,
My name is Maggie Lauder.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRAKGED. 33
Llaggie quo' lie, and by my bags,
I'm fidgin' fain to see tlieo ;
Sit down by me, my bonnie bird,
In troth I winna steer thee :
For I'm a piper to my trade,
My name is Rob the Eanter ;
The lasses loup as they Averc daft,
When I blaw up my chanter.
Piper, quo' Meg, ha'e ye your bags ?
Or is your drone in order ?
If ye be Rob, I've heard of yon.
Live you upo' the border ?
The lasses a', baith far and near.
Have heard o' Rob the Ranter;
I'll shake my foot \vi' right gudo ^vill,
Gif you'll blaw up your chanter.
Then to his bags he flew wi' speed,
About the drone he twisted ;
]\[eg up and wallop'd o'er the green,
For brawly could she frisk it.
Wool done ! quo' he — play up ! quo' she;
Wcel bobbed I quo' Rob the Ranter ;
'Tis worth my while to play indeed.
When I ha'e sic a dancer.
Weel ha'e you play'd your part, quo' Meg,
Your cheeks are like the crimson ;
There's nane in Scotland plays sae wcel.
Since we lost Habbie Smipson.
I've lived in Fife, baith maid and wife.
These ten years and a quarter ;
Gin' ye should come to Anster fair,
Speir ye for Maggie Lauder.
LEADER IIAUGIIS AND YARROW.
In the Eoxburgho Ballads this sonj? is signed " The word:; of Bmuo
the Violer," and supposed by Mr. Chambers to be Nicol Biune, a
wandering minstrel of the seventeenth century. It also appeared in the Tea
Table Miscellany.
'• This song," says Mr. Chambers, " is little better than a string of
names of places, yet there is something so pleating in it, especially to the
car of a ' South couutry mun,' that it has long maintained its place iu
our collections."
When Phoebus bright the azure skies
With golden rays cnliglit'neth.
He makes all nature's beauties rise,
Herbs, trees, and flowers he quick'uoth :
34
THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Amongst all those he makes his choice,
And with delight goes thorow,
With radiant beams, the silver streams
Of Leader Haughs and Yarrow.
When Aries the day and night
In equal length divideth,
And frosty Saturn takes his flight,
Nae langer he abideth ;
Then Flora queen, -with mantle green,
Casts off her former sorrow,
And vows to dwell with Ceres' scl',
In Leader Haughs and Yarrow.
Pan, playing on his aiten reed,
And shepherds, him attending.
Do here resort, their flocks to feed.
The hills and haughs commending
With cur and kent, upon the bent,
Sing to the sun. Good-morrow,
And swear nae fields man- pleasures yield,
Than Leader Haughs and Yarrow.
A house there stands on Leader side,
Surmounting my descriving,
With rooms sae rare, and windows fair,
Like Daedalus' contriving :
Men passing by do aften cry,
In sooth it hath no marroAv ;
It stands as fair on Leader side,
As Newark does on Yarrow.
A mile below, who lists to ride.
Will hear the mavis singing ;
Into St. Leonard's banks she bides,
Sweet birks her head owerhingiug.
The lint- white loud, and Progue proud,
With tuneful throats and narrow,
Into St. Leonard's banks they sing.
As sweetly as in Yarrow.
The lapwing lilteth ower the lea,
With nimble wing she sporteth ;
But vows she'll flee far from the tree
Wliere Philomel resorteth :
By break of day the lark can say,
I'll bid you a good morrow ;
I'll stretch my wing, and mountmg sing
O'er Leader Haughs and Yarrow.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 35
Park, Wanton-wa's, and Wooden-cleuch,
The East and Wester Mainses,
The wood of Lauder's fail* eneuch,
The corns are good in the Blainslies :
There aits are fine, and said by kind,
That if ye search all thorough
Mearns, Buchan, Marr, nane better arc
Thau Leader Haughs and Yarrow.
Li Burn-mill-bog and Whitslaid Shaws,
The fearful hare she haunteth ;
Brig-haugh and Braidwoodsheil she knaws,
And Chapel-wood frequenteth :
Yet when she irks, to Kaidslie birks
She rins, and sighs for sorrow,
That she should leave sweet Leader Ilaughs
And cannot win to Yarrow.
What sweeter musick wad ye hear.
Than hounds and beigles crying ?
The started hare rins hard with fear,
Upon her speed relying :
But yet her strength it fails at length,
Nae bidding can she borrow.
In Sorrel's fields, Cleckman, or Hags,
And sighs to be in Yarrow.
^o'-
For Eockwood, Eingwood, Spoty, Shag,
With eight and scent pursue her,
Till, ah I her pith begins to flag,
Nae cunning can rescue her :
O'er dub and dyke, o'er seugh and syke,
She'll riu the fields all thorow.
Till fail'd she fa's in Leader Haughs,
And bids farewell to Yarrow.
Smg Erslington and Cowdenknows,
Where Homes had anes commanding ;
And Drygrange witli the milk-white ews,
'Twixt Tweed and Leader standing :
The bu'd that flees through Eeedpath trees,
And Gledswood banks ill<; morrow,
May chant and sing sweet Leader Haughs,
And bouny howms of Yarrow.
But Minstrel-Burne cannot assuago
His grief while life endureth.
To see the changes of this age.
That fleeting time procurcth :
THK SONGS OF S0OTL.VND
For moiiy a place stands in hard case,
Where blyth fowk kend nae sorrow,
With Homes that dwelt on Leader-side,
And Scots that dwelt on Yarrow.
OMNIA VINCIT AIMOR.
Tea Table Miscellany, 1724.— A copy is also in the Eoxburghe Col-
lection, from a broadside of the period. Mr. Chambers considers it a
composition of Minstrel Burnc.
As I went forth to view the spring,
Which Flora had adorned
In gorgeous raiment, everything
The rage of winter scorned,
I cast mine eye, and did espy
A youtli that made great clamour,
And, drawing nigli, I heard him cry,
Ah, Omnia vincit amor !
Upon his breast he lay along.
Hard by a murm'ring river.
And mournfully his doleful song
With sighs he did deliver ;
Ah ! Jeany's face was cornel}^ grace.
Her locks that shine like lannncr.
With burning rays have cut my days ;
For Omnia vincit amor.
Her glancy een like comets' sheen.
The morning sun outshining,
Have caught my heart in Cupid's net,
And makes me die with i^ining.
Durst I complain, nature's to blame.
So curiously to frame her,
AVliose beauties rare make me with care
Cry, Omnia vincit amor.
Ye crystal streams that swiftly glide.
Be partners of my mourning,
Ye fragrant fields and meadov/s wide.
Condemn her for her scorning ;
Let every tree a witness be.
How justly I may blame her ;
Ye chanting birds, note these my words,
Ah ! Omnia vincit amor.
Had she been kind as she was fair.
She long had been admired.
And been ador'd for virtues rare,
Wh' of life now makes me tired.
CIIKOXOLOGICALLY AItl!AKGi:i>. 37
Thus said, his breath began to fail,
He could not speak, but stammer ;
He sigh'd full sore, and said no more,
But Omnia vincit amor.
When I obscrv'd him near to death,
I run in haste to save him.
But quickly ho resign'd his brcatli,
So deep the wound lovo gave him.
Now for her sake this vow I'll make.
My tongue shall aye defame her,
While on his hearse I'll write this verse,
Ah ! Omnia vincit amor.
Straight I considcr'd in my mind
Upon the matter rightly,
And found, though Cupid he be blind.
He proves in pith most mighty.
For warlike Mars, and thund'ring Jove,
And Vulcan with his hammer,
Did ever prove the slaves of love ;
For Omnia vincit amor.
Hence we may see the effects of love,
Which gods and men keep under,
That nothing can his bounds remove,
Or torments break asunder ;
Nor wise, nor fool, need go to school
To learn this from his grammar :
Ilis heart's the book where he's to look
For Omnia vincit amor.
BARBAEA ALLAN.
_ Tea Table ?,Tisci:llany.— " I rcinoiibcr," says Mr. C. Kirkpatrick
Sliarpc, ''that tlic peasantry of Aimaiulalc sang many more verses of
this ballad than liavo appeared iu print, but they were of no merit — con-
taining numerous magnilicent offers from the lover to his mistress— and.
amongst others some ships, in sight, which may strengthen the belief
that this song was composed near the shores of the Sol\vay."—Additio7ial
Jllustmtinns lo isleiihouse, p. 300.
It was in and about the Martinmas time,
AVhen the green leaves were a-falling,
Tiiat Sir John Graham, in the west countric,
Fell in love wi' Barbara Allan.
Tie sent his man down tlu-ough the town,
To the place where she was dwalliu'.
Oh, haste and come to my master dear,
Gin ye be Barbara Allan.
F
4107S7
38 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Oh, hooly, hooly, rase she up
To the place where he was lyin',
And when she drew the curtain by,
Young man, I thhik ye're dyin'.
It's oh, I'm sick, I'm very very sick,
And its a' for Barbara Allan.
Oh, the better for me ye'se never be.
Though your heart's bluid were a-spillin.'
Oh, dinna ye mind, young man, she said,
When ye was in the tavern a-driukin',
That ye made the healths gae round and round,
And slichtit Barbara Allan ?
He turned his face unto the wa'.
And death was with him dealin' :
Adieu, adieu, my dear friends a',
And be kind to Barbara Allan.
And slowly, slowly rase she up,
And slowly, slowly left him.
And sighin', said, she could not stay.
Since death of life had reft him.
She hadaa gane a mile but twa,
When she heard the deid-bell riugiu',
And every jow that the deid-bell gied.
It cried. Woe to Barbara Allan.
Oh, mother, mother, mak' my bed.
And mak it saft and narrow.
Since my love died for me to-day,
I'll die for him to-morrow.
CROMLET'S LILT.
The traclilion on which this song is based is as follows: — Hcleii,
daughter of William Stirling (of the family of Ardoch), was beloved by
Sir James Chisholm of Cromlet, who, ha^iag to visit France, arranged
with a friend to convey his letters to his mistress. This individual in the
course of his missions to the young lady, fell in love with her himself,
and, by dint of Avell-plied stories reflecting on Chisholm's conduct, and
by withholding his letters, caused her to reuoimce her absent lover, and
consent to become his own wife. The song here given is said to
have been composed by Chisholm at this period. The tradition winds up
in the good old style. On the maniage evening, while the dance went
through the ha', Chisholm entered the house, killed his rival, cleared
his own good name, and in due time married the lady.
CURONOLOGICALLY AllKANGED, 39
Mr. Maidment questions the supposition of the song being written by
Sir James, and probably with reason. The soug appears with music in
Thomson's Orpheus Caledonius, and it is generally agreed that both words
and music are very ancient, and probably of the reign of James VI.
Since all thy vows, false maid,
Are blown to air,
And my poor heart betray'd
To sad despair ;
Into some wilderness
My grief I will express.
And thy Lard-heartedness,
Oh, cruel fair !
Have I not graven our loves
On every tree
In yonder spreading grove,
Though false thou be ?
Was not a eolemir oath
Plighted betwixt us both,
Thou thy faith, I my trotli,
Constant to be ?
Some gloomy place I'll find,
Some doleful shade,
Where neither sun nor wind
E'er entrance had.
Into that hollow cave
There will I sigh and rave,
Because thou dost behave
So faithlessly.
Wild fruit shall be my meat,
I'll drink the spring ;
Cold earth shall bo my scat ;
For covering,
I'll have the starry sky
My head to canopy,
Until my soul on high
Shall spread its wing.
I'll have no funeral fire,
No tears nor sighs ;
No grave do I require,
Nor obsequies :
Tlie courteous red-breast, ho
With leaves ^vill cover me,
And sing my elegy
With doleful voice.
40 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
And wlieii a ghost I sni,
I'll visit thee,
Oh, thou deceitful dame,
^^^lose cruelty
Has kill'd the kindest heart
That e'er felt Cupid's dart,
And never can desert
From loving thee !
JOHN HAY'S BONNIE LASSIE,
Said to have been written in honour of the Lady Margaret, eldest
daughter of the First Marquis of Tweedale. This Lady became the wife
of the Third Earl of Eoxburghe. It is supposed to have been composed
about 1670. Her husbaud was dro^^^led in 1G82, she survived till 175o,
when she died at Broomlands, near Kelso, at the ripe age of 96. The author-
ship of this piece was long ascribed in Literary circles to Allan Kamsay
(in whose Tea Table Miscellany it first appeared), and in the traditions
of Tweedside to a working Joiner, who is supposed to have loved the lass
v/ithout daring to "discover his pain."
By smooth-winding Tay a swain was reclining,
Aft cried he, Oh, hey I maun I still live pining
Mysel' thus away, and daurna discover
To my bonnie Hay, that I am her lover ?
Nae mah it will hide ; the flame waxes stranger ;
If she's not my bride, my days are nae langcr :
Then I'll take a heart, and try at a venture ;
May be, ere we part, ray vows may content her.
She's fresh as the spring, and sweet as Aurora,
"When birds mount and sing, bidding day a good morrow :
The sward of the mead, cnamell'd with daisies.
Looks wither'd and dead, Avheu t\vined of her graces.
But if she appear wlicre verdure invite her.
The fountains run clear, and the flowers smell the sweeter.
'Tis heaven to be by, when her wit is a-flowing ;
Her smiles and bright eyes set my sphits a-g!owing.
The mair that I gaze, the deeper I'm wounded ;
Struck dumb with amaze my mind is confounded ;
I'm all in a fire, dear maid, to caress jc ;
For a' my desires is John Hay's bomiio las&io.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 41
0, WALY, WALY!
Tea Table MiscELLANr, where it is marked as old. Nothing dcfiuito
is known as to the age or personages of this song. Ish: Stenhouse and
others considered it to belong to the age of Queen lilary, and to refer to
some affair of the court ; while filr. Robert Chambers considers it to refer
to Lady Barbara Erskiue, wife of John 2nd Marquis of Douglas. The
lady was married in 1670, and " owing, there can be little doubt, to his
lordship's unwoiihy conduct, the alliance was productive of misery to the
lady. She had even to bewail that her own honour was brought into
question, chiefly, it would appear, through the influence of a chamberlain
over her husband's mind. At length, a separation, -ndth a suitable pro-
vision, left her in the worst kind of widowhood, after she had brought
the marquis one son (subsequently first conunauder of the Cameronian
regiment, and who feU at the battle of Steenkirk)." — So7)(js of Scotland
prior to Burns, p. 280.
0 waly, waly up tlio bank,
And waly, waly down the brae,
And waly, waly yon btirnside,
Where I and my love wont to gae.
1 lean'd my back unto an ailc,
I thought it was a trusty tree.
But first it bow'd, and sync it brak,
Sae my true love did lightly me.
0 waly, waly, but love be bonny
A little time, while it is new ;
But when 'tis auld it waxeth cauld,
And fades away lil^e the morning dew.
O wherefore shou'd I busk my head ?
Or wherefore shou'd I kame my hair ?
For my true love has me forsook.
And says he'll never love me mair.
Now Arthur Seat shall be my bed.
The sheets shall ne'er be fyl'd by mc :
Saint Anton's well sliall be my drink,
Since my true love's forsaken me.
Martinmas wind, wlien wilt thou blaw,
And shake the green leaves off the trceV
0 gentle death, wlien wilt thou come?
For of my lil'e I am weary.
'Tis not the frost that freezes fell,
Nor blawing snaw's inclemency ;
'Tis not sic cavdd that makes me cry,
But my love's heart grown caiild to mo.
When we came in by Glasgow town,
We were a comely sight to see;
My love was clad in tlie black velvet,
And I mysel' in cramasic.
42 '^UE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
But had I wist, before I kiss'd,
That love had been sae ill to win,
I'd lock'd my heart in a case of gold,
And pinn'd it wi' a siller pin.
Oh, oh, if my young babe were born.
And set upon the nurse's knee,
And I mysel' were dead and gane.
For a maid again I never shall be.
KATH'RTNE OGIE.
Tea Table Miscellany.— Collated with a copy in Stculionse's Illustra-
tions to Johnson's Museum. This song can be traced to the time of
Charles II., when it was sung by John Abell, a musical favourite of the
Merry monarch. Several broadsides have been found, published with
the air about 1G80. Gay wrote a song for the air for one of his oj^eras,
and a miserable parody of the words may be found in Durfey's " Pills to
Purge Melancholy." Mr. Robert Chambers considers this an Anglo-
Scottish production, like "'Twas within a mile o' Edinburgh Town ; " but
we cannot think that he has satisfactorily made out a case. Burns's
" Highland Mary " is to the same tune.
As walking forth to view the plain.
Upon a morning early,
"While May's sweet scent did cheer my brain,
From flowers which grew so rarely,
I chanc'd to meet a pretty maid,
She shin'd tho' it was foggie :
I ask'd her name : Kind sir, she said,
My name is Kath'rine Ogie.
I stood a while, and did admire,
To see a nymph so stately :
So brisk an air there did appear
In a country maid so neatly :
Such nat'ral sweetness she display'd,
JjTke a lily in a bogie ;
Diana's self was ne'er array'd
Like this same Kath'rine Ogie.
Thou flow'r of females, beauty's queen,
Who sees thee sure must prize thee ;
Though thou art drest in robes but mean,
Yet these cannot disguise thee ;
Thy mind sure, as thine eyes do look,
Above each clownish rogie ;
Thou'rt match for laird, or lord, or duke,
My bonnie Kath'rine Ogie.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGET-. 43
0 ! if I were some sliepherd swain,
To feed my flock beside thee ;
And gang with thee alang the plain,
At buchtin to abide tliee.
More rich and happy I could be
Wi' Kate, and crook, and dogie,
Than he that does his thousands see,
My winsome Kath'rine Ogie.
Then I'd despise th' imperial throne,
And statesmen's dang'rons stations,
I'd be no king, I'd wear no crown,
I'd smile at conqu'ring nations,
Might I caress, and still possess
This lass of whom I'm vogie,
For they're but toys, and still look less,
Compar'd with Kath'rine Ogic.
I fear for me is not decreed
So fair, so fine a creature.
Whose beauty rare makes her exceed
All other works of nature.
Clouds of despair surround my love, •
That are both dark, and foggie ;
rity my case, ye Povv-ers above !
I die for Kath'rine Ogie.
SILLY AULD MAN.
Herb's Collection — Mr. Eobert Chambers (Scottish Songs, vol. 1, p.
134) makes this soug to belong to the reign of Charles 11., and gives it
as the composition of one of the Covenanting clergy, who, to deceive
a body of military who were in pursuit of him, assiuued the dress and air
of an idiotic beggar, and after a due amount of dancing and capering
in the midst of the soldiers, treated them to these verses composed " on
the spur of the moment." This versatile gentleman succeeded in effect •
ing his escape. What trnth there be in this legend we know not, but the
generality of the preachers of the Covenant are generally depicted as men
of a different stamp. However, the song, as we have it, bears evident
marks of antiquity.
I AM a puir silly auld man,
And hirplin' owcr a tree ;
Yet fain, fain kiss wad I,
Gin the kirk wad let mc be.
Gin a' my duds were aff.
And guid haill clacs put on,
0, 1 could kiss a young lass
As weel as ony man.
44 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
THE BRIDE CAM' OUT 0' THE BYRE.
Herd's Collection — although of much older date, being current
in the border long before the time of Ramsay. (See Stenhouve's Illustra-
tions.) The air has always been popular, and numerous versions of the
song have been written.
The bride cam' out o' the byre,
And, 0, as she dig-hted her checks !
Sirs, I'm to be married the night,
And have neither blankets nor sheets ;
Have neither blankets nor sheets,
Nor scarce a coverlet too ;
The bride tliat lias a' to borrow,
Has e'en right muckle ado.
Woo'd, and married, and a'.
Married, and woo'd, and a' !
And was she nao very weel oi'f.
That was woo'd, and married, and u V
Out spake the bride's father,
As he cam' in frae the pleugh,
0, hand your tongue, my dochtcr,
And ye'se get gear eneugli ;
The stirk stands 1' th' tether.
And our bra' bawsint yade,
Will carry yc hame your corn —
Wliat wad ye be at, ye jade ?
Out spake the bride's mither,
What deil needs a' this pride ?
I had nae a plack in my pouch
That niglit I was a bride ;
My gown was linsy-woolsy.
And ne'er a sark ava ;
And ye ha'e ribbons and buskins,
Mae than ane or twa.
What's the matter, quo' W^illie ;
Though we be scant o' claes.
We'll creep the closer thegithei-.
And we'll smoor a' the fleas ;
Sinuner is coming on,
And we'll get taits o' woo ;
And we'll get a lass o' our ain.
And she'll spin claiths anew.
Out spake the bride's brither,
As he came in wi' the kie ;
Poor Willie had ne'er a' ta'en ye,
Had he kent ye as weel as I ;
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 45
For you're baith proud and saucy,
And no for a poor man's wife ;
Gin I canna get a better,
Ise never tak ane i' my life.
Out spake tlie bride's sister,
As she came in frao the byre ;
0 gin I were but married.
It's a' that I desire :
But we poor fo'k maun live single,
And do the best we can ;
1 dinna care wliat I shou'd v/ant,
If I could but get a man.
ANNIE LAURIE.
DOUGLASS OF FINGLAND,
Co?jrosED, it is said, uj)ou one of the dar.ghtcrs of Sir Eubcrt Laurii^,
of Miixweltou (1GS5), who, however, was not sufficiently charmed by the
song to become his wife. First iirinted by Mr. C. K. Shaiiie in 1824.
JIaxweltown banks are l)onnie,
AVliere early fa's tlic dew ;
Where mo and Annie Laurie
J.Iade up the promise true ;
Made up the promise true.
And never forget will I ;
And for bonnie Annie Laurie
I'll lay me doAvn and die.
She's backit like the peacock,
She's breistit like the swan,
She's jimp about the middle.
Her waist ye Aveel micht span ;
Ilcr waist ye weel micht span.
And she has a rolling eye ;
And for bonnie Annie Laiu'ie
I'll lay me down and die.
A COUNTRY LASS.
Tea Tablk Misckli.an'y, where it is marked as an old EOiif^. It lir.-t
appears in Durfey's 'Tills to Purge Melancholy," pubhslied at Loudon
about 17IK), where it is directed to be simg to the tuue of "Cold and
Raw." Ramsay, liowever, refers it to " its aiu tuue."
Although I be but a country lass,
Yet a lofty mind I bear, 0 ;
And think mj'sel' as rich as those
That ricli apparel wear, 0 ;
46 TUB SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Altliough my gown be hame-spun grey,
My skin it is as saft, 0,
As theii'S that satin weeds do wear,
And cany their heads aloft, 0.
Wliat though I keep my father's sheep,
The thing that maim be done, 0 ;
AVith garlands o' the finest flovv^ers.
To shade me frae the sun, 0 ?
Wlien they are feeding pleasantly,
Where grass and flowers do spring, 0 ;
Then, on a flowery bank, at noon,
I set me down and sing, 0.
My Paisley piggy, corked witli sage,
Contains my drink but thin, 0 ;
No wines did e'er my brains engage,
To tempt my mind to sin, 0.
My country curds and wooden spoon,
I think them unco fine, 0 ;
And on a floAvery bank, at noon,
I set me down and dine, 0.
Although my parents cannot raise
Great bags of shining gold, 0,
Like them whase daughters, now a-days,
Like swine, are bought and sold, 0 ;
Yet my fair body it shall keep
An honest heart within, 0 ;
And for twice fifty thousand crowns,
I value not a prin, 0.
I use nae gums upon my hau-.
Nor chains about my neck, 0,
Nor shining rings upon my hands,
My fingers straight to deck, 0.
But for that lad to me shall fa'.
And I have grace to wed, 0,
I'll keep a braw that's worth them a' ;
I mean my silken snood, 0.
If cannio fortune give to me
The man I dearly love, 0,
Though he want gear, I dinna care,
My hands I can improve, 0 ;
Espectmg for a blessing still
Descending from above, 0 ;
Then we'll embrace, and sweetly kiss,
Repeating tales of love, 0.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 4?
THE AULD GOODMAN.
Tea Table IVIiscellant, -where it is initialed as an old song. It also ap-
pears with music in Thomson's Orpheus Caledonius, 1725. The woman's
comparison between her auld guidman (first husLaud) and her new, is
very amusing, and edifying to any man about to take up the same position.
Late in an evening forth I went,
A little before the sun gacle clown,
And there I chanc'd by accident
To light on a battle new begun.
A man and his wife was fa'in' in a strife,
I canna well tell ye how it began ;
But aje she wail'd her -m-etchcd life,
And cry'd ever, Alake my auld goodman !
Be.
Tliy auld goodinan that thou tells of,
The country kens where he was born,
Was but a silly poor vagabond,
And ilka ane leugh him to scorn ;
■ For he did spend, and make an end
Of gear that his fore-fathers wan,
He gart the poor stand frae the door,
Sae tell nae mair of thy auld goodman.
She.
My heart, alake, is liken to break,
AYhen I think on my v/insomo John :
His blinkan eye, and gate sae free,
Was naething like thee, thou dosend drone ;
His rosie face, and flaxen hau',
And a skin as white as ony svv'an.
Was large and tall, and comely withall.
And thou'lt never be like my auld goodman.
He.
Wiry dost thou pleen ? I thee maintain,
For meal and mawt thou disua want ;
But thy wild bees I canna please,
Now when our gear 'gins to grow scant.
Of household stuff thou liast enough.
Thou wants for neither pot nor pan ;
Of siclike ware he left tjiee bare,
Sae tell nae mair of thy auld goodman.
She.
Yes, I may tell, and fret mysell,
To think on these blyth days I liad,
Wlien he and I together lay
In arms into a well-made bed.
48 THE SONGS OF SCOTL/VND
But now I sigh, and may lie sad,
Thy courage is canld, thy colour wan,
Thou falds thy feet, and fa's asleep,
And thou'lt ne'er be like my auld goodman.
Then coming was the night sae dark,
And ganc was a' the light of day ;
The carle wasfear'd to miss his mark,
And therefore wad nae langer stay :
Then up he gat, and he ran his way,
I trowe the wife the day she wan.
And ay the o'erword of the fray
Was ever, Alake my auld goodman !
AULD ROB MORRIS.
Tea T.-vble Miscellant, 1724, where it is marked as au okl song, with
additions. The air has been found in au okl MS. collecliou, dated 1092.
MOTHER.
Auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen.
He's the king o' guid fallows, and wale o' auld men ;
He has fourscore o' black sheep, and fourscore too ;
Auld Rob ]\Iorris is the man ye maun lo'e.
DAUGHTER.
Hand your tongue, mother, and let that abee ;
For his eild and my eild can never agree :
They'll never agree, and that will be seen;
For he is fourscore, and Fm but fifteen.
MOTHER.
Ilaud your tongue, dochtcr, and lay by your pride,
For he is the bridegroom, and ye'se be the bride ;
He shall lie by j^our side, and kiss you too ;
Auld Rob IMorris is the man yc maun lo'e.
DAUGHTER.
Auld Rob Morris, I ken him fu' wcel.
His back sticks out like ony peat-creel ;
He's out-shinn'd, in-kneed, and ringle-eycd too ;
Auld Rob Morris is the man I'll ne'er lo'e.
MOTHER.
Though auld Rob Morris be an elderly man,
Yet his auld brass will buy you a new pan ;
Then, dochter, ye should na be sae ill to shoe,
For auld Rob Morris is the man ye maun lo'e.
DAUGHTER.
But auld Rob Morris I never will ha'e.
His back is so stitF, and his beard is grown gray ;
I had rather die than live wi' liim a year ;
Sae mair o' Rob IMorris I never will hear.
CHIiONOLOGICALLV A1U;ANGED. 40
JOCKY SAID TO JENNY.
Tea Table Miscellany, where it is marked as an old tone.
JoCKY said to Jenny, Jenny wilt tliou do't ?
Ne'er a fit, quo' Jcnn}-, for my tocher-gude ;
For my tocher-gude, I winna marry thee.
E'en 's ye like, quo' Johnnie ; ye may let it be !
I ha'e gowd and gear ; I ha'e land eneuch ;
I ha'e seven good owsen gangin' in a pleuch ;
Gangin' in a pleuch, and linkiu' ower the lea :
And gin ye Avinna tak' me, I can let ye be.
I ha'e a gude ha' house, a barn, and a byre,
A stack afore the door ; I'll mak' a rantin fire :
I'll mak' a rantin fire, and merry shall we be :
And, gin ye wanna tak' me, I can let ye be.
Jenny said to Jocky, Gin ye winna tcU,
Ye shall be the lad ; I'll be the lass mysell :
Ye're a bonnie lad, and I'm a lassie free ;
Ye're welcomer to tak' me than to let me be.
TODLIN' HAME.
Tka Table RIiscellany.
When I ha'e a saxpence under my thooni,
Then I get credit in ilka toun ;
Put aye when I'm puir they bid mc gang by :
Oh, poverty parts gude company !
Todlin' hamc, todlin' hame,
Couldna my loove come todlin' hame.
Fair fa' the gudcwife, and send her gude sale !
8he gi'es us white bannocks to relish her ale ;
Syne, if that her tippeny chance to be sma',
We tak' a gude scour o't, and ca't awa%
Todlin' hamc, todlin' hame.
As round as a nccp come todlin' hamc.
!My kimmer and I lay down to sleep,
Wi' twa pint stoups at our bed's feet ;
And aye when we wakeu'd we drank thcni dry : — •
What think ye o' my wee kimmer and I ?
Todlin' butt, and todlin ben,
Sae round as my loove comes todlin' hauie.
Leeze me on liquor, my todlin' dow,
Ye're aye sae gude-humour'd when weetin' your niou' !
When sober sae sour, ye'U fecht wi' a flee.
That 'tis a blythe nicht to the bairns and me,
When todlin' hame, todlin' hame.
When, round as a nccp, yc come todlin' hamc.
50 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
JENNY'S BAWBEE.
IIekd's Collection.
And a' that e'er my Jenny had,
My Jenny had, my Jenny had ;
And a' that e'er my Jenny had,
Was ae bawbee.
There's your plack, and my ijlack
And your plack, and my plack,
And my plack, and your plack.
And Jenny's bawbee.
We'll put it in the pint-stotip,
The pint-stoup, the pint-stoup.
We'll put it in the pint-stoup,
And buie 't a' three.
MAGGIE'S TOCHER.
Tea Taele IMiscellany, where it is marked as of uukuown antiquity.
The meal was dear short sync.
We buckled us a' thegither ;
And Maggie was in her prime,
When Willie made courtship tUl her.
Twa pistols charg'd by guess,
To gi'e the courting shot ;
And syne came ben the lass,
AVi' swats draAvn frae the butt.
He first speir'd at the gudeman.
And syne at Giles the mither.
An' ye wad gie's a bit land,
We'd buckle us e'en thegither.
My dochter ye shall ha'e,
I'll gi'e 3^ou her by the hand ;
But I'll part Avi' my wife, by my fac,
Or I part wi' my laud.
Your tocher it s'all be good.
There's nane s'all ha'e its maik,
The lass bound in her snood,
And Crummie wha kens her stake :
Wi' an auld beddmg o' claes,
Was left me by my mither.
They're jet black o'er wi' flaes,
Ye may cuddle in them thegither.
Ye speak right weel, gudeman,
But ye maun mend your hand,
And think o' modesty.
Gin ye'll no quit your land.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 51
"We are but young, ye keu,
And now we're gaun thegitlicr,
A house is but and ben,
And Crummie will want her fotlier.
The bairns are coming on,
And they'll cry, 0 their mither !
We've neither pat nor pan,
But four bare legs thegither.
Your tocher's be good enough,
For that ye needna fear,
Twa good stnts to the pleugh.
And ye yoursel' maun steer :
Ye s'all ha'e twa guid pocks
That anes were o' the tweel,
The tane to hand the groats,
The tither to baud the meal :
Wi' an auld kist made o' wands,
And that sail be your coffer,
Wi' aiken woody bands.
And that may baud your tocher.
Consider wcel, gudeman.
We ha'e but barrow'd gear,
The horse that I ride on
Is Sandy Wilson's mare ;
The saddle's naue o' my ain,
And thae's but borrow'd boots,
And whan that I gae hame,
I maun tak' to my coots ;
The cloak is Geordy Watt's,
That gars me look sae crouse ;
Come, fill us a cogue o' swats,
We'll mak' nae mair toom roosc.
I lUce you wool, young lad,
For telling me sae plain,
I married whan little I had
0' gear that was my ain.
But sin' that things are sae,
The bride she maun come forth,
Tho' a' the gear she'll ha'e
'Twill bo but little worth.
A bargain it maun be,
Fye cry on Giles the mither;
Content am I, quo' she.
E'en gar tho hizzio come hitlicr.
52 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
The bride she gaed to her bed,
The bridegroom he came till her,
The fiddler crap in at the fit,
And they cuddl'd it a' theglther.
THE TLOUGHMAN
Herd's Collection. It appears also in Johnson's MrsEUJi, vc -touched
by Burns.
The ploughman he's a bonnic lad,
And a' his wark's at leisure,
And when that he comes hame at e'en,
He kisses me wi' pleasure.
Then up wi't now, my ploughman lad,
And hey, my merry ploughman ;
Of a' the lads that I do fee,
Commend me to the ploughman.
Now the blooming Spring comes on,
He takes his yoking early,
And whistling o'er the furrowed land,
He goes to fallow clearly.
Then up wi't now, &c.
When my ploughman comes hame at e'en,
He's aften wat and weary ;
Cast aff the wat, put on the dry,
And gae to bed, my dearie.
Then up wi't now, &c.
I will wash my ploughman's hose,
And I will wash his o'erlay :
I will mak' my ploughman's bed,
And cheer him late and early.
Merry butt, and merry ben,
Merry is my ploughman.
Of a' the trades that I do ken,
Commend me to the ploughman.
Plough yon hill, and plough yon dale.
Plough your faugh and fallow,
Wha winna drink the ploughman's health,
Is but a dirty fellovv'.
Merry butt, and &c.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 53
0 GIN MY LOVE WERE YON RED ROSE.
Fkom Heed's MS.
0 GIN my love were yon red rose,
That grows upon the castle wa',
And I myseP a drap of dew,
Down on that red rose I would fa'. _
0 my love's bonnic, bonnie, bonnie ;
My love's bonnie and fair to see :
Whene'er I look on her weel-far'd face,
She looks and smiles again to me.
0 gin my love were a piclcle of wheat, ,
And growing upon yon illy lee,
And I mysel' a bonnie wee bird,
Awa' wi' that pickle o' wheat I wad flee.
0 my love's bonnie, &c.
0 gin my love were a coffer o' gowd,
And I the keeper of the key,
1 wad open the kist whene'er I list,
And in that coffer I wad be.
0 my love's bonnie, &c.
THE EWE-BUCHTS, MARION.
Tka Table Miscellany. Dr. Percy inserted it in his Rcliqacs.
Will ye gae to the ewe-buchts, Marion,
And wear in the slieep wi' me ?
The sun shines sweet, my Marion,
But nae half so sweet as thee.
0, Marion's a bonnie lass,
And the blytho blink 's in her c'e ;
And fain wad I marry Marion,
Gin IMarion wad marry me.
Tliero's gowd in your garters, Marion,
And silk on your wliite hause-bane ;
Fu' fain wad I kiss my Marion,
At e'en, when I come hame.
Til era's braw lads in Earnslaw, Marion,
Wha gape, and glower wi' their c'e,
At kirk when they see my IMarion,
But nane o' them lo'es like me.
I've nine milk-ewes, my Marion,
A cow and a brawny quey ;
I'll gi'e them a' to my Marion,
Just on her bridal-day.
G
54 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
And ye'se get a green sey apron,
And waistcoat o' London broun ;
And wow but ye'se be vap'rin'
Wliene'er ye gang to the toun.
I'm young and stout, my Marion ;
Nane dances like me on the green:
And, gin ye forsake me, Marion,
I'll e'en gae draw up wi' Jean.
Sae put on your pearlins, Marion,
And kirtle o' cramasie ;
And, as sune as my chin has nae hah- on,
' I will come west, and see ye.
I'LL GAR OUR GUDEMAN TROW.
As early song, giren by Mr. Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe, in his Ballad
Book, 1824.
I'll gar our gudeman trow
I'll seU the ladle,
If he winua buy to mo
A bonnie side-saddle,
To ride to kirk and bridal.
And round about the town ;
Stand about, ye fisher jauds.
And gi'e my gown room !
I'll gar our gudeman trow
I'll tak' the fling-strings.
If he winna buy to me
Twal bonnie gowd rings ;
Ane for ilka finger.
And twa for ilka thoom ;
Stand about, ye fisher jauds,
And gi'e my govvm room !
I'll gar our gudeman trow
That I'm gaun to die,
If he winna fee to me
Valets twa or three,
To bear my train up frae the du't.
And ush me through the town ;
Stand about ye fisher jauds.
And gi'e my gown room I
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 55
DUMBARTON'S DRUMS.
Tea Table Miscellany. "Dumbarton's Drums" were the drums be-
longing to a British, regiment, -which took its name from the officer who
first commanded it, to wit, the Earl of Dumbarton. This nobleman was
a cadet of the family of Douglas, and being commander of the Koyal
Forces in Scotland, dming the reigns of Charles II. and James II., he
bears a distinguished figure in the dark and blood-stained history of Scot-
land during that period. — Chambers.
Dumbarton's drums beat bonnie, 0,
When they mind me of my dear Johnnie, 0 ;
How happie am I
When my soldier is by,
Wliile he kisses and blesses his Annie, 0 !
'Tis a soldier alone can delight me, 0,
For his graceful looks do invite me, 0 ;
"While guarded in his arms,
I'll fear no war's alanns,
Neither danger nor death shall e'er fright rac, 0.
My love is a handsome laddie, 0,
Genteel, but ne'er foppish nor gaudy, 0.
Though commissions are dear,
Yet I'll buy him one this year.
For he'll serve no longer a cadie, 0.
A soldier has honour and bravery, 0 ;
Unacquainted with rogues and their knavery, 0,
He minds no other thing
But the ladies or the king ;
For every other care is but slavery, 0.
Then I'll be the captain's lady, 0,
Farewell all my friends and my daddy, 0 ;
I'll wait no more at home,
But I'll follow with the drum,
And Avhenc'cr that beats I'll be ready, 0.
Dumbarton's drums sound bonnie, 0,
They are sprightly like my dear Johmiie, 0 ;
How happy shall I be
When on my soldier's knee.
And he kisses and blesses his Annie, 0.
56 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
BRING A' YOUR MAUT.
Chambers' Scottish Songs, 1829. Simg to Mr. Robert Chambers by a
friend. The chorus is as old as the seventeenth century, as it appears in
a manuscript of that period, formerly in the possession of Mr. Constable,
publisher. A song, entitled Tlie Mautman, similar to this, is given by
Ramsay in his Tea Table Miscellany.
Some say that kissing 's a sin,
But I think it's nane ava,
For kissing has wonnVl in this warld,
Since ever that there was twa.
0, if it wasna lawfu',
Lawyers wadna allow it ;
If it wasna holy,
Ministers wadna do it.
If it wasna modest,
Maidens wadna tak' it ;
If it wasna plentj'',
Puir folk wadna get it !
Bring a' your maut to me,
Bring a' your maut to me ;
My draff ye'se get for ae pund anc,
Tliough a' my deukies should dee.
TWEEDSIDE.
LORD YESTER,
Born 1643, a distinguished Statesman of his time, being one of the most
active promoters of the Union in 1702. He became Marquis of Tweeddale
in 1697, and died in 1713. The song first appears in Herd's Collection, 1776.
The air is very bcautifid, and is traditionally ascribed to the unfortunate
David Rizzio.
"When Maggy and me were acquaint,
I carried my noddle fu' hie,
Nao lintwhite in a' the gay plain,
Nac gowdspink sae bonnie as she !
I whistled, I piped, and I sang ;
I woo'd, but I cam' nae great speed ;
Therefore I maun wander abroad.
And lay my banes far frae the Tweed.
To Maggy my love I did tell ;
My tears did my passion exjjress :
Alas ! for I lo'ed her ower weel,
And the women lo'e sic a man less.
Iler heart it was frozen and cauld ;
Her i^ride had my ruin decreed;
Therefore I maun wander abroad,
And lay my banes far frae the Tweed,
CnRONOLOGlCALLt ARRANGED. 57
WERE NA MY HEART LIGHT.
LADY GKIZZEL BAILLIE.
Born 1GC5, daughter of Sir Tatrick Home, Earl of Marclimont, and
manied in 1G92, to George Baillie of Jervisewood. Her devotion to her
father and her husband when both were outlawed and hunted down
by King James U., gives us a picture which has not been surpassed even
in romance. She died in London in 1746, at the ripe age of eighty-one.
The song here given (from tlie Tea Table Jliscellany), and the following
are the only songs of this lady which have been published — though several
others are said to be extant in a manuscript volume.
There was anes a maid, and she loo'd na men ;
She biggit her bonnie bower down i' yon glen,
But now she cries dool, and well-a-day :
Come down llie green gate, and come here avray.
But now she, &c.
When bonnie young Johnnie cam' owcr tho sea,
He said he saw naetliing sae lovely as me ;
He hecht me baith rings an monie braw things ;
And wore na my heart liclit I wad dee.
He hecht me, &c.
He had a wee titty that loo'd na me.
Because I was twice as bonnie as she ;
She rais'd such a potlier 'twixt him and his mother,
That were na my heart licht I wad dee.
She rais'd, &c.
The day it was set, and the bridal to be ,'
The wife took a dwam, and lay down to dee.
She main'd and she grancd, out o' dolour and pain,
Till he vow'd lie never wad see me again.
She maiu'd, &c.
His kin was for ane of a higher degree,
Said, What liad lie to do wi' tlie like of me ?
Albeit I was bonnie, I was na for Johnnie :
And were na my lieart licht I wad dee.
Albeit I was bonnie, &c.
They said I had ncitlier cow nor calf.
Nor dribbles o' drink riiis througli tlie draff,
Nor pickles o' meal rins tliroug'h tluj mill-e'e ;
And were na my Iicart licht I wad dee.
Nor pickles. &c.
His titty she was baith wjdie and slee,
She spied me as I cam' owcr the lea ;
And then she ran in, and made a loud din ;
Believe your ain cen an ye troAV na me.
And then she ran in, &c.
THE SONGS OF SCOTLAKD
His bonnet stood aye fu' round on his bro"W ;
His auld ane look'ct aye as weel as some's new ;
But now he lets 't wear ony gait it will hing,
And casts hunself dowie upon the corn-hing.
But now he, &c.
And now he gaes daundrin' about the dykes,
And a' he dow do is to hund the tykes ;
The live-lang nicht he ne'er steeks his e'e ;
And were na my heart licht I wad dee.
The live-lang nicht, &c.
"Were I young for thee as I ha'e been,
We should ha'e been gallopin' down on you green,
And linkin' it on yon lilie-white lea ;
And wow ! gin I were but young for thee !
And linkin' it, &c.
0, THE EWE-BUCHTIN'S BONNIE.
lADT GEIZZEL BAILMB.
An air for this song was composed by Mr. Sharpe of Hoddani (father of
the celebrated Antiquary), at the very early age of seven years.
O, the ewe-buchtin's bonnie, baith e'ening and morn.
When om- blithe shepherds play on the bog-reed and horn ;
While we're milking, they're lilting, baith pleasant and clear —
But my heart's like to break when I think on my dear.
0 the shepherds take pleasure to blow on the horn.
To raise up their flocks o' sheep soon i' the morn ;
On the bonnie green banks they feed pleasant and free.
But, alas, my dear heart, all my sighing's for thee !
HEEE AWA', THERE AWA'.
Hekd's Collection.
Here awa', there awa', here awa', Willie !
Here awa', there awa', hand awa' hame !
Lang have I sought thee, dear have I bought thee ;
Now I have gotten my Willie again.
Through the lang muir I have followed my Willie ;
Through the lang muu- 1 have followed him hame
Y\"hatever betide us, nought shall divide us ;
Love now rewards all my sorrow and pain.
Here awa', there awa', here awa', Willie !
Here awa', there awa', baud awa' hame !
Come, love, believe me, nothing can grieve me,
Ilka thing pleases, when Willie's at hame,
CIinONOLOGICALLT ARRAKGED. 59
YELLOW-HAIR'D LADDIE.
Te.v Table IVIiscellant— the air was puUished in 1709. Eamsay, who
seems to have been fond of the air, composed two songs to it.
The yello-w-hair'd laddie sat doun on yon brae,
Cried, MOk the yowes, lassie, let nane o' them gae ;
And aye as she milkit, she merrily sang,
The yellow-hair'd laddie shall be my gudeman.
And aye as she milkit, she merrily sang,
The yellow-hair'd laddie shall be my gudeman.
The weather is cauld, and my claithing is thin,
The yowes are new dipt, and they winna bucht in ;
They winna bucht in, although I should dee :
Oh, yellow-hair'd laddie, be kind unto me.
The gudewife cries butt the house, Jennie, come ben j
The cheese is to mak', and the butter's to kirn.
Though butter, and cheese, and a' should gang sour,
I'll crack and I'll kiss wi' my love ae half hour.
It's ae lang half hour, and we'll e'en mak' it three,
For the yellow-hair'd laddie my husbman shall be.
A COCK-LAIRD.
Appeared in a more licentious form in Thomson's OiipnEus Caxedontos.
The version here given has been altered a little, and wo must say for the
better. Its authorship has often been given to Eamsay, but seemingly
without foundation.
A COCK-LAIRD, fu' cadgie,
Wi' Jennie did meet ;
He hawsed, he kiss'd her,
And ca'd her his SAveet.
Wilt thou gae alang wi' me,
Jennie, Jennie ?
Thou'se be my ain lemmane,
Jo Jennie, quo' he.
If I gae alang wi' thee,
Yc maunna fail
To feast me wi' caddels
And guid liackit kail.
What needs a' this vanity,
Jennie ? quo' he ;
lii na bannocks and dribly-beards
Guid meat for thee?
CO THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Gin I gan^ alang wi' yon,
I maun na'e a silk hood,
A kirtle-sark, Avyliecoat,
And a silk snood,
To tie up my hair iu
A coclcernonie.
Hout awa', thou's gane wud, I trow,
Jennie ! quo' he.
Gin ye'd ha'e me look bonnie,
And shine like the moon,
I maun ha'e katlets and pallets,
And cam'rel-heel'd shoon ;
Wi' craig-claiths and lug-babs,
And rings twa or three.
Hout the deil's in your vanity,
Jennie ! quo' he.
And I maun lia'e pinnera.
With i^earlins set roun',
A skirt o' the paudy.
And a waistcoat o' brown.
Awa' wi' sic vanities,
Jennie, quo' he.
For curches and kirtles
Are fitter for thee.
My lah'dship can yield mc
As nuicklc a-year,
As baud us in pottage
And guid knockit bear;
But, bavin' nae tenants,
Oh, Jennie, Jennie,
To buy ought I ne'er have
A penny, quo' he.
The Borrowstown merchants
Will sell ye on tick ;
For we maun ha'e braw tliin;.';3,
Although they should break :
When broken, frae care
The fools are set free.
When we mak' them lairda
In the Alihey, quo' she.
CIIECNOLOGICALLY AREA^STGED, G1
THE GEAR AND THE BLATHRIE O'T.
A Proveeb — " Shame fall the gear and the blathrie o"t " is given in
Kelly's Pko^veebs, 1721 as the buiden of an old Scottish song. We have one
or two other versions of this song, but the one here given appears to be
accepted as the oldest.
When I think on tliis warld's pelf,
And the little wee share I ha'e o't to myself,
And how the lass that wants it is by the lads forgot,
May the shame fa' the gear and the blathrie o't !
Jockie was the laddie that held the pleugh,
But now he's got gowd and gear enough ;
He thinks nae mair o' me that wears the plaiden coat : —
May the shame fa' the gear and the blathrie o't !
Jenny was the lassie that mucked the byre,
But now she is clad in her silken attire ;
And Jockie says he lo'es her, and swears he's me forgot : — ■
]May the shame fa' the gear and the blathrie o't !
But all this shall never daunton me,
Sae lang as I keep my fancy free ;
For the lad that's sae inconstant he is not worth a groat : —
May the shame fa' the gear and the blathrie o't !
"J
SAW YE NAE MY PEGGY.
Herd's Collection. The air is given in Thomson's Orpiieu3
Caledomus, 1725.
Saw ye nae my Peggy,
Saw ye nae my Peggy,
Saw ye nae my Peggy,
Coming ower the lea ?
Sure a liner creature
Ne'er was formed by Nature,
So complete each feature.
So divine is she !
0 ! how Peggy charms me ;
Every look still warms me;
Every thought alarms me ;
Lest she lo'c nae me.
Peggy dotli discover
Nought but charms all over :
Nature bids me love her ;
That's a law to me.
Who would leave a lover,
To become a rover ?
No, I'll ne'er giA^e over,
Till I happy be,
62 THE SONGS OP SCOTLAND
For since love inspires me,
As her beauty fires me,
And her absence tires me,
Nought can please but she.
When I hope to gain her,
Fate seems to detain her ;
Could I but obtain her,
Happy would I be !
I'll lie down before her,
Bless, sigh, and adore her,
With faint looks implore her.
Till she pity me.
SAW YE JOHNNY COMIN'?
SoppoSED to bo prior to the days of Eamsay, although we can fiud no
trace of its author or precise age. The air was much admired by Burns,
who heard it played in Dumfries by Mr. Thomas Frascr, oboist in the
theatre there, and composed a song for it.
Saw ye Johnny comin', quo' she,
Saw ye Johnny comin' ;
Saw ye Johnny comin', quo' she.
Saw ye Johnny comin' ;
Saw ye Johnny comin', quo' she,
Saw ye Johnny comin' ;
Wi' his blue bonnet on his head,
And his doggie rinnin', quo' she,
And his doggie rinnin' ?
Fee him, father, fee him, quo' she.
Fee him, father, fee hun ;
Fee him, father, fee him, quo' she,
Fee him, father, fee him ;
For he is a gallant lad.
And a weel-doin' ;
And a' the wark about the house,
Gaes wi' me when I sec him, quo' she,
Wi' me when I see him.
What will I do wi' him, quo' he.
What will I do wi' him ?
lie's ne'er a sark upon his back,
And I ha'e nane to gi'e him.
I ha'e twa sarks into my kist,
And ano o' them I'll gi'e him ;
And for a merk o' mair fee,
Dinna stand wi' him, quo' she,
Dinna stand wi' him.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 63
For weel do I lo'e liim, quo' she,
Weel do I lo'e him ;
For weel do I lo'e hmi, quo' she,
Weel do I lo'e hmi.
0, fee him, father, fee him, quo' she,
Fee him, father, fee him ;
He'll haud the pleugh, thrash in the barn,
And crack wi' me at e'en, quo' she,
And crack wi' me at e'en.
ETTKICK BANKS.
Thomson's Orpheus Caledonius, 1725.
On Ettrick banks, ae simmer's night.
At gloamin', when the sheep drave harac,
I met my lassie, braw and tight.
Come wading barefoot a' her lane.
My heart grew light ; — I ran, I flang
My arms about her lily neck,
And kiss'd and clapp'd her there fu' lang,
My words they were na mouie feck.
I said. My lassie, will ye gang
To the Highland hills, the Erse to learn ?
I'll gi'e thee baith a cow and ewe.
When ye come to the brig o' Earn :
At Leith auld meal comes in, ne'er fash.
And herrings at the Broomielaw ;
Cheer up your heart, my bonuie lass.
There's gear to win ye never saw.
A' day when we ha'e wrought eneugli.
When winter frosts and snaw beg-^in.
Soon as the sun gaes west tlic loch,
At night when ye sit down to spin,
I'll screw my pipes, and play a spring :
And thus tlie weary night will end,
Till the tender kid and lamb-time bring
Our pleasant simmer back again.
Syne, when the trees are in their bloom,
And gowans gieut o'er ilka Cel',
I'll meet my lass aniang the broom.
And lead you to my simmer shiel.
Then, far frae a' their scornfu' din.
That mak' the kindly heart their sport,
We'll laugh, and kiss, and dance, and sing,
And gar the langest day seem short.
64 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
PART 11.
From tJie Union to 1776.
THE AULD WIFE AYONT THE FIRE.
Tea Table Miscellany. Marked as an old song with additions. Worthy
of preseivatiou for the moral contained in the last stanza.
Thf.ke was a wife wonnVl ia a glen,
And she had dochters nine or ten,
That sought the house baith butt and ben
To find their mam a snishing.
The auld wife ayont the fire,
The auld wife aniest the fire,
Tlie auld wife aboon the fire,
She died for lack of snishing.
Her mill into some hole had fawn.
What recks, quoth she, let it be gawn,
For I maun ha'e a young guderaan,
Sliall furnish me wi' snishing.
The auld v/ife, &c.
Her eldest dochtcr said right l)auld,
Fy, mother, mind tliat now ye're auld,
And if you wi' a younkcr wald,
He'll waste away your snishing.
The auld wife, &c.
The youngest dochter ga'e a shout,
0 mother dear! your teeth's a' out,
Besides half blind, yo ha'e the gout.
Your mill can baud nae snishing.
The auld wife, &c.
Ye lie, ye limmers, cries auld mump.
For I hae baith a tooth and stump,
And will nae langer live in dump,
r>y wanting of my snishing.
Tlie auld wife, &c.
Thole ye, says Peg, that pauky slut,
Mother, if ye can crack a nut,
Then we will a' consent to it,
That ye sliall have a snishing.
The auM wife, &c.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED.
65
The auld ane did agree to tliat,
And they a pistol-bullet gat :
She i:)owerfully began to crack,
To win hcrsel' a snisbiug.
The auld wife, &c.
Braw sport it was to sec her chow 't,
And 'tween her gums sae squeeze and row 't,
Wliile frae her jaws the slaver flow'd,
And aye slie curst poor stumpy.
The auld wife, &c.
At last she ga'c a desperate squeeze,
^Viiich brak the lang tooth by the neeze,
And syne poor stumpy was at ease.
But she tint hopes of snislmig.
The auld wife, &c.
She of the task began to tire,
And frae her dochters did retire,
Sync lean'd her down ayont the fire.
And died for lack o' suishing.
The auld wife, &c.
Ye auld wives, notice wccl tliis trutli.
As soon as ye're past mark o' mouth.
Ne'er do what's only fit for youth.
And leave aff thoughts o' snishing.
Else, like this wife ayont the fire.
Your bairns against you will conspire ;
Nor will you get, unless you hire,
A young man with your snishing.
JOCKEY FOU, JENNY FAIN.
Tea Table Miscella^tt— where it is marked as an old song, with additions.
Jockey fou, Jenny fain ;
Jenny was na ill to gain ;
She was couthie, he was kind ;
And thus the wooer tell'd his mind :
Jenny, I'll nac mair be nice ;
Gi'c mc love at ony price :_
I wiuna prig for red or wlute,
Love alane can gi'c delyte.
Others seek they kcnna what,
In looks, in carriage, and a' thai ;
Gi'c mc love for licr I court :
Love in love makes a' the sport.
C() THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Colours mingled unco fine,
Common notions lang sinsyne,
Never can engage my love,
Until my fancy first approve.
It is nae meat, but appetite,
That makes our eating a delyte ;
Beauty is at best deceit ;
Fancy only kens nae cheat.
HAUD AWA'.
Tea Table Miscellany — where it is marked as an old song, with addi-
tions ; probably by Eamsay himself. The air is very old (being found in
Playford's "Dancing ]\Iaster," 1657), and has always been very popular,
numerous songs to it being extant.
DONALD.
0, COME awa', come awa',
Come awa' Avi' me, Jenny !
Sic frowns I canna bear frae ane,
Whase smiles ance ravish'd me, Jenny.
If you'll be kind, you'll never find
That ought shall alter me, Jenny ;
For yc're the mistress of my mind,
Whate'er ye think of me, Jenny !
First when your sweets enslaved my heart.
Ye seem'd to favour me, Jenny ;
But now, alas ! you act a part
That speaks inconstancie, Jenny.
Inconstancie is sic a vice,
It's not befitting thee, Jenny ;
It suits not with your virtue nice.
To carry sae to me, Jenny.
JENNY.
0, haud awa', bide awa',
Hand awa' frae me, Donald !
Your heart is made ower large for ane —
It is not meet for me, Donald.
Some fickle mistress you may find
Will jilt as fast as thee, Donald ;
To ilka swain she will prove kind.
And nae less kind to thee, Donald :
But I've a heart that's naething such ;
'Tis filled wi' honestie, Donald.
I'll ne'er love mony ; I'll love much ;
I hate ajl levitie, Donald.
CHKONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 67
Therefore nae mair, wi' art, pretend
Your heart is chain'd to mine, Donald ^
For words of falsehood ill defend
A roving love like thine, Donald.
First when ye courted, I must own,
I frankly favour'd you, Donald ;
Apparent worth, and fair renown,
Made me believe you true, Donald :
Ilk virtue then seem'd to adorn
The man esteem'd by me, Donald ;
But now the mask's faun aff, I scorn
To ware a thocht on thee, Donald.
And now for ever hand awa',
Haud awa' frae me, Donald !
Sac, seek a heart that's like your ain,
And come nae mair to me, Donald :
For I'll reserve mysel' for ane,
For ane that's liker me, Donald.
If sic a ane I canna find,
I'll ne'er lo'e man, nor thee, Donald.
DONALD.
Then I'm the man, and fause report
Has only tauld a lie, Jenny ;
To try thy truth, and make us sport,
The tale was raised by mc, Jenny.
JENNY.
"When this ye prove, and still can love,
Then come awa' to mc, Donald !
I'm weel content ne'er to repent
That I ha'e smiled on thee, Donald !
MEKRY MAY THE MAID BE.
em JOHN CLERK, BART.,
Born about 1680. Ho was appointed in 1708 one of the Barons of
Exchequer iu Scotland, which post he held till his death in 1755. Sir
John was a profound antiquarian, and he carried on a long and learned
correspondence with Roger Gale, the celebrated English antiquary.
The song here given appeared first in Tub Chaemee, 1751, minus the last
stanza, which was afterwards added by the author. The first stanza be-
longs to an old song.
Merry may the maid be
That marries the miller.
For foul day or fair day
He's aye bringing till her;
68 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Has aye a penny in his purse
For dinner and for supper ;
And gin slic please, a good fat cheese,
And lumps o' yellow butter.
When Jamie first did woo me,
I spier'd what was his calling :
Fair maid, says he, 0 come and see,
Ye're welcome to my dwelling.
Though I was shy, yet I cou'd spy
The truth of what he told me,
And that his house was warm and couth,
And room in it to hold me.
Behind the door a bag o' meal,
And in the kist was plenty
0' good hard cakes his mithcr bakes.
And bannocks were na scanty ;
A good fat sow, a sleeky cow
Was standin' in the byre ;
Whilst lazy puss with mealy mou's
Was playing at the fire.
Good signs are these, my mithcr says,
And bids me tak the miller ;
For foul day and fair day
He's aye bringing till her ;
For meal and maut he does na want,
Nor ony thing that's dainty ;
And now then a kcckling hen
To lay her eggs in plenty.
In winter when the wind and rain
Blaws o'er the house and byre.
He sits beside a clean hearth stano
Before a rousing fire ;
With nut-brown ale he tells bis tale.
Which rows him o'er fu' nappy :
Wlio'd be a king — a petty thing,
When a miller lives so happy ?
CHRONOLOGICALLY AREANGED. 69
THE AULD IMAN'S MEAR'S DEAD.
PATKICK BmNEE,
A. well-known piper of his day. He flourished about the beginning of
the eighteenth centmy. Allan Eamsay, in 1721, published an "Elegie
on Patie Birnie," one of the stanzas of which is as follows : —
" This sang lie made frae his ain heart,
And eke ' The auld man's mare's dead —
The peats and tm-fs and a's to lead ; '
0 fy upon her!
A bonny auld thing this indeed,
An't like j'our honour."
The auld man's mear's dead ;
The puir body's moar's dead ;
The auld man's mear's dead,
A mile aboon Dundee.
Tlicrc was hay to ca', and lint to lead,
A lumder hotts o' muck to spread,
And peats and trufls and a' to lead —
And yet the jaud to dec !
Slie had the fiercie and the fleuk,
The wlieezloch and the wanton ycuk;
On ilka knee she had a breuk —
What ail'd the beast to dee ?
Slie was lang-tooth'd and blcnch-lippit,
Heam-hougli'd and haggis-fitiit,
Lang-neckit, chandler-chal'tit,
And yet the jaud to dec !
EDINBURGH KATIE.
Often styled " The restorer of Scottish Poetry," vras born at Leadhills, in
Lanarkshire, 15th October, 1686. His father, who was manager of Lord
Hopetoun's mines, at Leadhills, died shortly after his birth, and his
mother then became the wife of a petty landholder in the same district.
In his fifteenth year he was sent to Edinburgh, and apprenticed by his
stepfather to a wigmaker. He pursued this calling till 1718, when,
encouraged by the success of a few fugitive pieces of poetry, he began
business as a bookseller, in the High Street of Edinburgh. In 1721, he
published a volume of his poems, and realised a very handsome profit on
its sale. In 1721, the first vohmio of the Tea T.ujle IMiscellany (so
often refcn-ed to in the course of this work) was published, and its success
warranted its being succeeded by the remaining three vohuncs. In this
publication he was assisted by Hamilton of Bangour, Mallet, Crav.ford,
and many others. In 1724, also, he published "The Evergreen," our
second collection of early Scots poetry. His mastei-piece, " The Gentle
Shepherd," appeared in 1725, and cstabhshcd his fame as a writer, not
only in Scotland but in England, where Pope, Gay, and other critics,
II
70 THE SONGS OF SCOTLiVND
applauded and studied it. He carried on his business as a bookseller
and publisher till about 1745, when he retired. He died in 1758, and
was interred in the Greyfriars Churchyard, Edinburgh.
He married Christian Eoss, and had a large family. His son, Allan,
rose to great eminence as a painter, holding the post of "Portrait Painter
to His Majesty" from 1767. He died in 1784.
AUanEanisay's fame as a song writer has faded since the tune of Burns ;
but we must not forget that no small share of Burns's inspiration, and
love of Scottish song, M'as fostered by admiration for Eamsay and his
works ; and that the Tea Table Miscellany, gathered by him, has been
the means of preserving many an early gem, which, but for his care,
might have been lost. As an editor, he has been blamed for tampering
with the original versions, but this was generally done to cover some loose
and immoral language ; and no one who is at all acquainted with the
originals of some of our most popular songs will be inclined to concur in
this censure, when they recollect that the Tea Table Miscellany was
dedicated to the ladies of Great Britain. Whatever loose expressions are
now to be found in it were not considered as such in the times of "Honest
Allan."
Now wat ye wlia I met yestreen,
Coining down the street, mj'' joe ?
My mistress, in her tartan screen,
Fu' bonnie, braw, and sweet, my joe !
My dear, quoth I, thanks to the nicht
That never wish'd a lover ill,
Sin' ye're out o' your mither's siclit,
Let's tak' a walk up to the hill.
Oh, Katie, wilt thou gang wi' me,
And leave the dinsome toun a while ?
The blossom's sprouting frae the tree,
And a' the simmer's gaun to smile.
The mavis, nichtingale, and lark.
The bleeting lambs and whistling hyud,
In ilka dale, green, shaw and park,
Will nourish health, and glad your mind.
Sune as the clear gudeman o' day
Does bend his morning draught o' dew,
"We'll gae to some burn-side and play.
And gather flouirs to busk your brow.
We'll pou the daisies on the green.
The lucken-gowans frae the bog ;
Between hands, now and then, we'll lean
And sport upon the velvet fog.
There's, up into a pleasant glen,
A wee piece frae my father's tower,
A canny, saft, and flowery den.
Which circling birks have form'd a bower.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED, 71
"Whene'er tlie sun grows high and warm,
We'll to the caller shade remove ;
There will I lock thee in my arm,
And love and kiss, and kiss and love.
KATIE'S ANSWEE.
ALLAN RAMSAY.
My mither's aye glowrin' ower me,
Though she did the same before me ;
I canna get leave
To look at my love,
Or else she'd be like to devour me.
Eight fain wad I tak' j^our offer,
Sweet sir — but I'll tyne my tocher;
Then, Sandy, ye'U fret.
And wyte your puir Kate,
"Whene'er ye keek in your toom coffer.
For though my father has plenty
Of silver, and plenishing dainty,
Yet he's xmco sweir
To twine wi' his gear ;
And sae we had need to be tenty.
Tutor my parents wi' caution,
Be wylie in ilka motion ;
Brag weel o' your land,
And there's my leal hand,
Win them, I'll be at your devotion.
BONNIE CHIESTY.
ALLAN EAilSAT.
How sweetly smells the simmer green ;
Sweet taste tlie peach and cherry;
Painting and order please our een.
And claret makes us merry :
But finest colours, fruits and flowers.
And wine, though I be thirsty.
Lose a' their charms, and Aveaker powers,
Compar'd wi' those of Chirsty.
When wandring o'er the flow'ry park.
No natural beauty Avanting ;
How lightsome is't to hear the lark
And birds iu concert chanting !
72 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
But if my Cliirsty tunes her voice,
I'm rapt in admiration ;
]\[y thoughts wi' ecstasies rejoice,
And drap tlic haill creation.
Whene'er she smiles a kindly glance,
I take the happy omen.
And aften mint to make advance,
Hoping she'll prove a woman :
But, dubious o' my ain desert,
My sentiments I smother ;
Wi' secret sighs I vex my heart,
For fear she love another.
Thus sang blate Edie by a burn.
His Chirsty did o'er-hear him ;
She doughtna let her lover mourn.
But, ere he wist, drew near him.
She spak' her favour wi' a look.
Which left nae room to doubt her :
He wisely this white minute took,
And flang his arms about her.
IMy Chirsty ! witness, bonny stream,
Sic joys frae tears arising !
I wish this may na be a dream
0 love the maist surprising !
Time was too precious now for tauk,
This point of a' his wishes
He wadna wi' set speeches bank,
But wair'd it a' on kisses.
OLD LOXGSYNE.
ALLAN EA3ISAT.
Should auld acquaintance be forgot.
Though they return with scars ?
These are the noble hero's lot,
Obtain'd in glorious wars :
Welcome, my Varo, to my breast,
Thy arms about me twine.
And make me once again as blest,
As 1 was lang syne.
Methinks around us on each bough,
A thousand Cupids play,
Whilst through the groves I walk with you,
Each object makes me gay.
CHKONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 73
Since your return tlie sun and moon
With brighter beams do sliine,
Streams murmur soft notes while they run,
As they did lang syne.
Despise the court and din of state ;
Let tliat to their share fall,
Wlio can esteem such slavery great.
While bounded like a ball :
But sunk in love, ujDon my arms
Let your brave head recline ;
We'll please ourselves with mutual charms,
As we did lang syne.
O'er moor and dale, with your gay friend,
You may pursue the chaco,
And, after a blythe bottle, end
All cares in my embrace :
And in a vacant rainy day
You shall be wholly mine ;
We'll make the hours run smooth away,
And laugh at lang syne.
The hero, pleased with the sweet air,
And signs of generous love.
Which had been utter'd by the fair,
Bow'd to the powers above.
Next day, with consent and glad haste,
They approach'd the sacred shrine.
Where the good priest the couple blest,
And put them out of pine.
THE COLLIER'S BONNIE LASSIE,
ALLAN RAMSAY.
The collier has a daughter.
And, 0 ! she's wondrous bonnio.
A laird he was that sought her.
Rich baith in lands and money.
The tutors watched the motion
Of tliis young honest lover:
But love is like the ocean ;
Wha can its depths discover I
lie had the art to please ye.
And was by a' respected ;
His airs sat round him easy,
Gronteol but luiaffected.
74 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
The collier'a bonnie lassie,
Fair as tlie new-blown lilie,
Aye sweet, and never saucy.
Secured tlie heart o' Willie.
He loved, beyond expression,
The charms that were about her,
And panted for possession ;
His life was dull without her.
After mature resolving.
Close to his breast he held her*,
In saftest flames dissolving.
He tenderly thus telled her :
My bonnie collier's daughter,
Let naethiug discompose ye ;
It's no your scanty tocher,
Shall ever gar me lose ye :
For I have gear in plenty ;
And love says, it's my duty
To ware what heaven has lent rac
Upon your wit and beauty.
GI'E ME A LASS WI' A LUMP 0' LAND.
ALLAK RAMSAY.
Gi'e me a lass with a lump o' land.
And we for life shall gang thegither ;
Tho' daft or wise, I'll ne'er demand.
Or black or fair, it maksna whether.
I'm aff wi' wit, and beauty will fade.
And blood alane 's nae Avorth a shilling ;
But she that's rich, her market's made,
For ilka charm about her's killing.
Gi'e me a lass with a lump o' land,
And in my bosom I'll hug my treasure ;
Gin I had ance her gear in my hand,
Should love turn dowf, it will find pleasure.
Laugh on wha likes ; but there's my hand,
I hate with poortith, though bonnie, to meddle ;
Unless they bring cash, or a lump o' land,
They'se ne'er get me to dance to their fiddle.
There's meikle gude love in bands and bags ;
And siller and gowd's a sweet complexion ;
But beauty and wit and virtue, in rags.
Have tint the art of gaining affection.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 75
Love tips his arrows Avith woods and parks,
And castles, and riggs, and mnirs, and meadows ;
And naething can catch our modern sparks,
But weel-tocher'd lasses, or jointur'd widows.
AN THOU WERT MY AIN THING.
Tea Table Miscellany (with the exception of the first verse), marked
){, signifying that it is a modem song by an imknown aiithor. The air
Jias been traced as far back as 1657. The present version of the words
are donbtless of Eamsay's own time, if not by himself.
An thou were my ain thing,
I would lo'e thee, I would lo'e thee ;
An thou were my ain thing,
How dearly would I lo'e thee !
I would clasp thee in my arms,
I'd secure thee from all harms ;
For above mortal thou hast charms :
How dearly do I lo'e thee !
An thou were, &c.
Of race divine thou needs must bo,
Since nothing earthly equals thee,
So I must still presumptuous be,-
To show how much I lo'e thee.
An thou were, &c.
The gods one thing peculiar have,
To ruin none whom they can save ;
0, for their sake, support a slave,
Who only lives to lo'e thee.
An thou were, &c.
To merit I no claim can make,
But that I lo'e, and, for your sake,
What man can more, I'll undertake.
So dearly do I lo'e thee.
An thou were, &c.
My passion, constant as the sun.
Flames stronger still, will ne'er have done.
Till fates my thread of life have spun,
Which breathing out, I'll lo'e thee.
An thou were, &c.
76 THE SONGS OP SCOTLAND
AN THOU WERE MY AIN THING.
ALLAN RAMSAT.
Written as a continuation of the song already given.
Like bees that suck the morning dew,
Frao flowers of sweetest scent and hue,
Sae wad I dwell upo' thy mou',
And gar the gods envy me.
An thou were, &c.
Sae lang's I had the use of light,
I'd on thy beauties feast my sight.
Syne in saft whispers through the night,
I'd tell how much I loo'd thee.
An thou were, &c.
How fair and ruddy is my Jean,
She moves a goddess o'er the green ;
Were I a king, thou should be queen,
Nane but mysel' aboon thee.
An thou were, &c.
I'd grasp thee to this breast of mine,
Wliilst thou, like ivy, or the vine.
Around my stronger limbs should twine,
Form'd hardy to defend thee.
An thou were, &c.
Time's on the wing, and will not staj-,
In shining youth let's make our hay.
Since love admits of nae delay,
0 let nae scorn undo thee.
An thou were, &c.
While love do«s at his altar stand,
Ila'e there's my heart, gi'e me thy hand,
And with ilk smile thou shalt command
The will of liim wha loves thee.
An thou were, &:c.
POLWAETII, ON THE GREEN.
ALLAN KAIdSAT.
At Polwarth, on the green,
If you'll meet me the morn.
Where lads and lasses do convene
To dance around the thorn ;
A kindly welcome you shall meet
Fra her, wha likes to view
A lover and a lad complete,
The lad and lover you.
CnEONOLOGlCALLY ARRANGED. 77
Let dorty dames say Na,
As lang as e'er they j^lease,
Seem caulder than the sua',
While inwardly they bleeze ;
But I will frankly shaw my mind,
And yield my heart to thee —
Be ever to the captive kind,
That langs na to be free.
At Polwarth, on the green,
Amang the new-mawn hay,
With sangs and dancing keen
We'll pass the live-lang day.
At nicht, if beds be ower thrang laid.
And thou be twined of thine.
Thou shalt be welcome, my dear lad,
To take a part of mine.
LOCHABER NO MORE.
ALLAN RAMSAT,
Fare-well to Lochaber, farewell to my Jean,
Wliere heartsome wi' thee I ha'e mony a day been ;
To Lochaber no more, to Lochaber no m.ore.
We'll may be return to Lochaber no more.
These tears that I shed, they're a' for my dear.
And no for the dangers attending on weir ;
Though borne on rough seas to a far bloody shore,
Maybe to return to Lochaber no more.
Though hurricanes rise, though rise every wind.
No tempest can equal the storm in my mind ;
Though loudest of thunders on louder waves roar,
There's naething like leavin' my love on the shore.
To leave thee behind me my heart is sair pain'd ;
But by ease that's inglorious no fame can be gain'd :
And beauty and love's the reward of the brave;
And I maun deserve it before I can crave.
Then glory, my Jcanie, maun plead my excuse ;
Since honour commands me, how can I refuse?
Without it, I ne'er can have merit for thee ;
And losing thy favour I'd better not be.
I gae then, my lass, to win honour and fame ;
And if I should chance to come glorious liame,
I'll bring a heart to thee with love ruiming o'er,
And then I'll leave thee and Lochaber no more.
78 THE SONGS OF SCOTLANi)
THIS IS NO MINE AIN HOUSE.
ALLAN RAJSISAT.
This is no mine ain house,
I ken by the rigging o't ;
Since with my love I've changed vows,
I dinna lilie tlie bigging o't.
For now that I'm young Eobie's bride,
And mistress of his fire-side,
Mine ain liouse I'll like to guide.
And jDlease me with the trigging o't.
Then fareweel to my father's house,
I gang whare love invites me ;
The strictest duty this allows,
When love with honour meets me.
When Hymen moulds us into ane,
My Bobbie's nearer than my kin,
And to refuse him were a sin,
Sae lang's he kindly treats me.
When I'm in my ain house,
True love shall be at hand aye,
To make me BtUl a prudent sjiouse,
And let my man command aye ;
Avoiding ilka cause of strife,
The common pest of married life,
That mak's ane wearied of his wife,
And breaks the kindly band aye.
GIN YE MEET A BONNIE LASSIE.
ALLAN KAMSAT.
Gin ye meet a bonnie lassie,
Gi'e her a kiss and let her gae ;
But if ye meet a dirty hizzie,
Fye, gar rub her ower wi' strae.
Be sure ye dinna quit the grip
Of ilka joy when ye are young,
Before auld age your vitals nip,
And lay ye twa-fauld ower a rung.
Sweet youth's a blythe and heartsome time
Then, lads and lasses, while it's May,
Gae pou the gowan in its pi'ime.
Before it wither and decay.
Watch the saft minutes o' delight,
AVhen Jenny speaks beneath her breathj
And kisses, layin' a' the wyte
Qn you if she kep ony skaith.
CitEONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 79
Haith, ye're ill-bred, she'll smilin' say,
Ye'Il worry me, ye greedy rook ;
Syne frae your arms she'll rin away,
And hide hersel' in some dark nenk.
Her lauch will lead ye to the place,
Where lies the happiness ye want ;
And plainly tell ye to your face.
Nineteen nay-says are hauf a grant.
Now to her heavin' bosom cling.
And sweitly tuilyie for a kiss ;
Frae her fair finger whup a ring,
As taiken o' a future bliss.
These benisons, I'm very sure,
Are of kind heaven's indulgent grant :
Then, surly carles, wheesht, forbear
To plague us wi' your whinin' cant !
THE WIDOW CAN BAKE.
AI1I.AN RAMSAT.
The widow can bake, an' the widow can bVew,
The widow can shape, an' the widow can sew.
An' mony braw things the widow can do ;
Then have at the widow, my laddie.
With courage attack her, baith early and late,
To kiss her an' clap her ye maunna be blate :
Speak well, an' do better ; for that's the best gate
To win a young widow, my laddie.
The widow she's youthfu', and never ae hair
The waur of the wearing, and has a good shair
Of every thing lovely ; slie's witty and fair,
An' has a rich jointure, my laddie.
What could ye wish better, your i^leasure to crown,
Than a widow, the bonniest toast in the town,
With, naetliing but — draw in your stool and sit down,
And sport with the widow, my laddie !
Then till her, and kill her witli courtcsie dead.
Though stark love and kindness be all you can plead ;
Be heartsome and airy, and hope to succeed
With the bonnie gay widow, my laddie.
Strike iron while 'ts het, if ye'd have it to wald ;
For fortune aye favours the active and bauld,
But ruins the wooer that's thowless and cauld,
Unlit for tho widow, my laddie.
BO THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
BESSIE BELL, AND MAEY GRAY.
ALLAX RAMSAY.
0, Bessie Bell, and Llaiy Gray,
They were twa bonnie lasses ;
They biggit a bower on j'on burn-brae,
And theekit it ower wi' rashes.
Fair Bessie Bell I lo'ed yestreen,
And tliocht I ne'er could alter ;
But Mary Grjjy's twa pawky een
Gar'd a' my fancy falter.
Bessie's hair's like a lint-tap,
She smiles lUve a May mornin',
When Phoebus starts frae Thetis' lap,
The hois with rays adornin' ;
White is her neck, saft is her hand,
Her waist and feet fu' geuty.
With ilka grace she can command :
Her lips, 0, wow ! they're denty.
An' Mary's locks are like the craw,
Her een like diamonds glances ;
She's aye sae clean, redd-up, and braw ;
She kills whene'er she dances.
Blythe as a kid, wi' wit at will,
She blooming, tight, and tall is.
And guides her airs sae gracefu' still ;
0, Jove, she's like thy Pallas !
Dear Bessie Bell, and Mary Graj',
Ye unco sair opj^ress us ;
Our fancies jee between ye twa.
Ye are sic bonnie lasses.
Wae's me ! for baiLh I canna get;
To ane hy law we're stentit ;
Then I'll draw cuts, and tak' my fate,
And be wi' ane contentit.
THE YELLOW-HAIR'D LADDIE.
jVXLAN R.VMSAT.
In April, when primroses paint the sweet plain,
And summer approaching rejoiceth the swain,
The yellow-hair'd laddie would oftentimes go
To woods and deep gdens where the hawthorn trees grow.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 81
There, under tlic shade of an old sacred thorn,
With freedom he sung his loves, evening and morn :
He sung with so soft and enchanting a sound,
That sylvans and fairies, unseen, danced around.
The shepherd thus sung : " Though young Maya be fair,
Her beauty is dash'd with a scornful proud air ;
But Susie was handsome, and sweetly could sing ;
Her breath's like the breezes perfumed in the spring.
" That Jiladie, in all the gay bloom of her youth,
Like the moon, was inconstant, and never spoke trutli ;
But Susie was faithful, good-humour'd, and free,
And fair as the goddess that sprung from the sea.
" That mamma's fine daughter, with all her great dower,
Was aAvkwurdly airy, and frequently sour."
Then sighing, he wish'd, would but parents agree,
Tlic witty sweet Susie his mistress might be.
HAP ME WI' THY PETTICOAT.
ALLAN RAMSAY,
0 Bell, thy looks lia'c kill'd my heart,
I pass the day in pain ;
When night returns, I feel the smarf.
And wish for thee in vain.
I'm starving cold, while thou art v» arm ;
Have pity and incline,
And grant me for a hap that charm-
ing petticoat of thine.
My ravish'd fancy in amaze
Still wanders o'er thy charms.
Delusive dreams ten thousand ways
Present thee to my arms.
But waking, think what I endure,
While cruel thou decline
Those pleasures, which alone can euro
This panting breast of mine.
1 faint, I fall, and wildly rove.
Because you still deny
The just reward that's due to love,
And let true passion die.
Oh ! turn, and let compassion seize
That lovely breast of thine ;
Thy petticoat could give mc case,
If thou and it were mine.
THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Sure heaven lias fitted for delight
That beauteous form of thine,
And thou'rt too good its law to slight,
By hind'ring the design.
May all the powers of love agree,
At length to make thee mine ;
Or loose my chains and set me free
From every charm of thine.
HIGHLAND LADDIE.
AliLAN EAMSAT.
The Lawland lads think they are fine,
But 0 ! they're vain and idly gaudy ;
How much unlike the gracefu' mien
And manly looks of my Highland laddie.
0 my bonnie Highland laddie,
My handsome, charming, Highland laddie ;
May heaven still guard, and love reward,
The Lawland lass and her Highland laddie.
If I were free at will to choose.
To be the wealthiest Lawland lady,
I'd tak' young Donald without trews,
With bonnet blue and belted plaidic.
0 my bonnie, &c.
The brawest beau in burrows town,
In a' his airs, wi' art made ready,
Compared to him, he's but a clown,
He's finer far in 's tartan plaidie.
0 my bonnie, &c.
O'er benty hill wi' him I'll run.
And leave my Lawland kin and daddie ;
Frae winter's cauld and summer's sun.
He'll screen me wi' his Higldand plaidic.
0 my bonnie, &c.
A painted room, and silken bed.
May please a Lawland laird and lady ;
But I can kiss and be as glad
Behind a bush in 's Highland plaidie.
0 my bonnie, &c.
Few compliments between us pass ;
I ca' hhn my dear Highland laddie.
And he ca's me his Lawland lass,
Syne rows me in beneath his plaidie,
0 my bonnie, &c.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 83
Nae greater joy I'll e'er pretend,
Than that his love prove true and steady,
Like mine to him, which ne'er shall end,
While heaven preserves my Highland laddie.
0 my bouuie, &c.
UP IN THE AIE.
ALLAN EAJiSAY.
Now the sun's gaen out o' sight,
Beet the ingle, and snuff the light :
In glens the fairies skip and dance,
And witches wallop o'er to France.
Up in the air
On my bonny gray mare,
And I see her yet, and I see her yet.
Up in, &c.
The wind's drifting hail and sna',
O'er frozen hags like a foot-ba' ;
Nae starns keek through the azure slit,
'Tis cauld and mirk as ony pit.
The man i' the moon
Is carousing aboon,
D'ye see, d'ye see, d'ye see him yet.
The man, &c.
Tak' your glass to clear your ccn,
'Tis the elixir heals the spleen,
Baith wit and mirth it will inspire,
And gently puffs the lover's lire.
Up in the air,
It drives away care,
Ila'c wi' ye, ha'e wi' ye, and ha'e wi' ye, lads, yet.
Up in, &c.
Stcek the doors, keep out the frost,
Come, Willy, gi'es about ye'r toast,
Tiirt lads, and lilt it out.
And let us ha'e a blythsomc bowt.
Up wi't, there, there,
Dinna cheat, but drink fair,
Huzza, huzza, and huzza lads, yet.
Up wi't, &c^
84 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
I WILL AW A' WI' MY LOVE.
ALLAN RAMSAY.
I WILL awa' wi' my love,
I will awa' wi' her,
Though a' my kin had sworn and said,
I'll owcr Bogie wi' her.
If I can get but her consent,
I dinna care a strae ;
Though ilka ane be discontent,
Awa' wi' her I'll gae.
For now she's mistress o' my heart,
And wordy o' my hand ;
And, weel I wat, we shauna part
For siller or for laud.
Let rakes delight to swear and drink.
And beaux admire fine lace ;
But my chief pleasure is to blink
On Betty's bonnic face.
There a' the beauties do combine,
Of colour, treats, and air ;
The saul that sparkles in her cen
Makes her a jewel rare ;
Ilcr llowin' wit gives shining life
To a' her other charms;
How blest I'll be when she's my wife.
And lock'd up in my arms !
There blythely will I rant and sing,
While o'er her sweets I'll range ;
I'll cry, Your humble servant, king,
Shame fa' them that wad change.
A kiss of Betty, and a smile
A belt ye wad lay down.
The right ye hao to Britain's Isle,
And offer me yer crown.
BONNIE SCOT-MAN.
ALLAN E.UISAY.
Ye gales, that gently wave the sea,
And please the canny boat-man.
Bear me frae hence, or bring to me
My brave, my bonnie Scot-man.
In haly bands we joined our hands,
Yet may not this discover.
While parents rate a large estate
Before a faithfu' lover.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED, 85
But I loor chusc, in Highland glens
To herd the kid and goat, man,
Ero I could for sic little ends,
Ecl'usc my bonnie Scot-man.
Wao worth tlie man, Avha firat began
The base ungenerous fashion, ^
Frac greedy views love's art to use,
Wliile strangers to its passion !
Frac foreign fields, my lovely youth,
Haste to thy longing lassie,
Who pants to press thy balmy mouth,
And in her bosom hause thee.
Love gi'es the word ; then, haste on board;
Fair winds and tenty boat-man,
Waft o'er, waft o'er, frac yonder shore,
My blythc, my bonnie Scot-man.
BRAES OF BRANKS05IE.
ALLAX I?.'J1ISAY.
As I cam' in by Teviot side,
And by the braes of Branksomc,
There first I saw my bonnie bride.
Young, smiling, sweet, and handsome.
Her skin was Salter than the down,
And white as alabaster ;
Her hair, a shining, waving brown ;
In straightness nanc surpass'd her.
Life glow'd upon her lip and cheek,
Her clear ecu were surprising,
And beautifully turu'd her neck,
Her little breasts just rising :
Nae silken hose with gusliats fine,
Or shoou with glancing laces,
On her bare leg, forbad to shino
Wccl-shapcn native graces.
Ac little coat and bodice white
Was sum o' a' her claithing;
E'en these o'er mucklc; — mair delight
She'd given clad wi' naething.
Wc lean'd upon a flowery brae.
By which a burnie trotted ;
On her I glowr'd my soiil away,
While on Ucr sweets I doalcd,
I
86 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
A thousand beauties of desert
Before had scarce alarm'd me,
Till this dear artless struck my heart,
And, bot designing, charm'd me.
Hurried by love, close to my breast
I clasp'd this fund of blisses, —
Wha smiled, and said. Without a priest,
Sir, hope for nocht but kisses.
I had nae heart to do her harm,
And yet I couldna want her ;
"Wiiat she demanded, ilka charm
0' hers i^led I should grant her.
Since heaven had dealt to me a routh,
Straight to the kirk I led her ;
There plighted her my faith and trouth,
And a young lady made her.
THE LAST TIME I CAM' OWRE THE MUIR.
ALLAN KAMSAT.
The last time I cam' owre the muir,
I left my love behind me :
Ye powers, what pains do I endure
When soft ideas mind me !
Soon as the ruddy morn display'd
The beaming day ensuing,
I met betimes my lovely maid,
In fit retreats for wooing.
We stray'd beside yon wand'ring stream,
And talk'd with hearts o'erflowing ;
Until the sun's last setting beam
Was in the ocean glowing.
I pitied all beneath the skies,
Even kings, when she was nigh mc ;
In raptures I beheld her eyes,
Which could but ill deny me.
Should I be call'd where cannons roar.
Where mortal steel may wound me.
Or cast upon some foreign shore.
Where dangers may surround mc ;
Yet hopes again to see my love,
To feast on glowing kisses,
Shall make my cares at distance movC;
In prospect of such blisses.
CHRONOLOGICALLY AKRANGED. 87
In all my soul there's not one placo
To let a rival enter :
Since she excels in ev'ry grace,
In her my love shall centre.
Sooner the seas shall cease to flow,
Their waves the Alps shall cover.
On Greenland ice shall roses grow,
Before I cease to love her.
The neist time I gang ower the muir,
She shall a lover find me ;
And that my faith is firm and pm'e.
Though I left her behind me ;
Then Hymen's sacred bonds shall chain
My heart to her fair bosom ;
There, while my being does remain,
My love more fresh shall blossom.
LOVE INVITING EEASON.
ALLAN EAMSAT.
When innocent pastime our pleasures did crown,
Upon a green meadow, or under a tree,
Ere Annie became a fine lady in town,
How lovely, and loving, and bonnie was she !
Rouse up thy reason, my beautiful Annie,
Let ne'er a new whim ding thy fancy ajee;
Oh ! as thou art bonnie, be faithfu' and cannie.
And favour thy Jamie Avha doats upon thee.
Does the death of a lintwhite give Annie the spleen ?
Can tyning of trifles be uneasy to thee ?
Can lap-dogs and monkeys draw tears frae these ccn
That look with indifference on poor dying me ?
Eouse up thy reason, my beautiful Annie,
And dinna prefer a paroquet to me :
Oh ! as thou art bonnie, be prudent and cannie,
And tliink on thy Jamie wha doats upon thee.
Ah ! should a new manteau or Flanders lace head,
Or yet a wee coatie, though never so fine.
Gar thee grow foi'getfu', and let his heart bleed.
That ancc had some hope of purchasing thine ?
Rouse up thy reason, my beautiful Annie,
And dinna {prefer your flageeries to me ;
Oh ! as thou art bonnie, be solid and cannie.
And tent a true lover that doats upon thee.
88 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Sliall a Paris edition of newfangled Sa\vnc_y,
Tliough gilt o'er \vi' laces and fringes he be,
By adoring himself, be adored by fair Annie,
And aim at tliose benisons promised to me ?
Eouse up tliy reason, my beautiful Annie,
And never prefer a light dancer to me ;
Oh ! as thou art bonnie, be prudent and cannie ;
Love only thy Jamie wha doats upon tliec.
Oh ! think, my dear charmer, on ilka sweet liour,
That slade away saftly between thee and me,
Ere squirrels, or beaux, or foppery, had power
To rival my love and impose upon thee.
House up thy reason, my beautiful Annie,
And let thy desires a' bo centred in me ;
Oil ! as thou art bonnie, be faitlifu' and cannie,
And love ano wha laug has becu loving to thee.
MARY SCOTT THE FLOWER OF YARROW.
ALLAN EAJaSAY.
ILvrrr's the love which meets return.
When in soft flames souls equal burn;
But words are wanting to discover
The torments of a hopeless lover.
Ye registers of heaven, relate,
If looking o'er the rolls of fate.
Did you there see me mark'd to marrow
Mary Scott the flower of Yarrow?
Ah no ! her form's too heavenly fair,
Her love the gods above must share ;
While mortals with despair explore her,
And at distance due adore her.
0 lovely maid ! my doubts beguile,
Revive and bless me with a smile ;
Alas ! if not, you'll soon debar a
Sighing swain the banks of Yarrow.
Be hush'd, ye fears, I'll not despair,
My IMary's tender as she's fair ;
Tlien I'll go tell her all mine anguish,
She is too good to let me languish.
With success crown'd I'll not envy
The folks who dwell above tlie sky:
When Mary Scott's become my marrov^,
We'll make a paradise on Yarrow.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 80
JEAN.
ALLAN KAJISAT.
Love's goddess, in a myrtle grove,
Said, Cupid, bend thy bow with speed,
Nor let thy shaft at random rove,
For Jeany's haughty heart maun bleed.
The smiling boy with art divine,
From Paphos shot an arrow keen,
Wliich flew, nncrring, to tlio heart,
And kill'd the pride of bonnie Jean.
Nao mair tlic nj-mph, wi' haughty air,
Refuses Willie's kind address ;
Her yielding blushes show nae care.
But too much fondness to suppress.
Nae mair the youth is sullen now.
But looks the gayest on the green,
Whilst ev'ry day he spies some new
Surprising charms in bonnie Jean.
A thousand transports crowd his breast,
He moves as light as fleeting wind ;
Ilis former sorrows seem a jest.
Now when his Jeany is turn'd kind :
Eichcs he looks on wi' disdain ;
The glorious fields of war look mean ;
The cheerful hound and horn give pain,
If absent from his bonnie Jean.
The day he spends in amorous gaze,
Which ev'n in summer shorten'd seems ;
When sunk in downs, wi' glad amaze,
Ho wonders at her in his dreams.
A' charms disclos'd, she looks more briglit
Tlian Troy's fair prize, the Spartan queen ;
Wi' breaking day he lifts his sight,
And pants to be wi' bonnie Jean.
THROUGH THE WOOD.
AULAN KAMSAT.
0, Sandy, why leave thou thy Nelly to mourn ?
Tliy presence could case inc,
Wlien nactliing can please nie ;
Now dowie I sigh on tlic banks of tlie burn,
Or througli the wood, laddie, until tliou return.
90 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Though woods now arc bonnie, and mornings are clear,
"While lay'rocks are singing,
And primroses springing ;
Yet nanc o' them pleases my eye or my ear,
"When through the wood, laddie, ye dinna appear.
That I am forsaken, some spare not to tell ;
I'm fash'd wi' their scornin'
Baith e'cnin' and mornin' ;
Their jeering gaes aft to my heart wl' a knell,
When through the wood, laddie, I wander mysel'.
Then stay, my dear Sandy, nae langer away ;
But, quick as an arrow,
Haste here to thy marrow,
Wha's living in languor till that happy day,
When through the wood,laddie, we'll dance, sing and play.
TIBBIE HAS A STOEE 0' CHAEMS.
AILAN RAMSAY.
Tibet has a store o' charms
Her genty shape our fancy warms ;
How strangely can her sma' white arms
Fetter the lad who looks but at her ;
Fra'er ancle to her slender waste.
These sweets conceal'd invite to dawt her ;
Her rosy cheek, and rising breast.
Gar ane's mouth gush bowt fu' o' water.
Nelly's gawsy, saft and gay,
Fresh as the lucken flowers in May ;
Ilk ane that sees her, cries, Ah hey,
She's bonny ! 0 I wonder at her.
The dimples of her chin and cheek,
And limbs sae plump invite to dawt her;
Her lips sae sweet, and skin sae sleek,
Gar mony mouths beside mine water.
Now strike my finger in a bore,
My wyson with the maiden shore,
Gin I can tell whilk I am for,
Wlien these twa stars appear thegither.
0 love ! why does thou gi'e thy fires
Sae large, while we're oblig'd to neither ?
Our spacious sauls immense desires,
And aye be in a hankerin' swither.
CHRONOLOGICALLY APvEANGED. 91
Tibby's shape and airs are fine,
And Nelly's beauties are divine :
But since they canna baith be mine,
Ye gods, give ear to my petition :
Provide a good lad for the tane,
But let it be with this provision,
I get the other to my lane,
In prospect piano and fruition.
FAIR WIDOW ARE YE WAKIN'.
AXLAN BAMSAT.
0 avha's that at my chamber-door?
" Fair widow, are ye waking ?"
Auld carle, your suit give o'er,
Your love lyes a' in tawking.
Gi'e me the lad that's young and tiglit,
Sweet like an April meadow ;
'Tis sic as he can bless the sight,
And bosom of a widow.
" 0 widow, wilt thou let me in?
I'm pawky, wise and thrifty,
And come of a right gentle kin ;
I'm little more than fifty."
Daft carle, dit your mouth,
Wliat signifies how pawky.
Or gentle born ye be, — bot j^outh,
In love you're but a gawky.
" Then, widow, let these guineas speak,
That powerfully plead clinkan.
And if they fail my mouth I'll stock,
And nae mair love will think on."
These court indeed, I maun confess,
I think they make you j-oung, sir,
And ten times better can express
Affection, than your tongue, sir.
I'LL OWEE THE MUIR TO MAGGY.
ALLAN RAMSAY.
A^rD I'll owre the muir to Maggy,
Her wit and sweetness call mc ;
There to my fair I'll shoAv my mind,
Whatever may befall mc :
If she loves mirth, I'll learn to sing
Or likes the Nine to follow,
I'll lay my lugs in Pindus' spring,
And invocate Apollo.
92 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
If she admire a martial mind,
I'll slieathe my limbs in armour ;
If to the softer dance inclined,
With gayest airs I'll charm her;
If she love grandeur, day and night
I'll plot my nation's glory.
Find favour in my prince's sight,
And shine in future story.
Beauty can wonders work with case,
Where wit is corresponding,
And bravest men know best to please,
With com]ilaisance abounding.
jMy bonnie Maggie's love can turn
Me to what shape slie pleases.
If in her breast that flame shall burn,
Which in my bosom bleezes.
WOE'S MY HEAKT THAT WE SHOULD SUNDER.
ALLAN EAMSAY.
With broken words, and downcast eyes,
Poor Colin spoke his passion tender ;
And, parting with his Grisy, cries.
Ah I woe's my heart that we should sunder.
To others I am cold as snow,
But kindle with tliine eyes like tinder :
From thee with pain I'm forced to go ;
It breaks my heart tliat we should sunder.
Cliain'd to thy charms, I cannot range,
No beauty new my love shall hinder,
Nor time nor place shall ever change
My vows, though we're obliged to sunder.
The image of thy graceful air.
And beauties whicli invite our wonder.
Thy lively wit and prudence rare.
Shall still be joresent though we sunder.
Dear nymph, believe thy swain in tliis.
You'll ne'er engage a heart that's kinder ;
Then seal a promise with a kiss.
Always to love me though we sunder.
Ye gods I take care of my dear lass.
That as I leave her I may find lier ;
Wlien that blett time shall come to pass,
We'll meet again and never sunder.
CHRONOLOGICALLY AHRANGED. 93
THERE'S MY THUMB, I'LL NE'ER BEGUILE THEE.
ALLAN RAMSAY.
My sweetest Maj^, let love incline tliee
T' accept a heart which he designs thee;
And as your constant slave regard it,
Syne for its faithfulness reward it.
'Tis proof a-shot to birth or money,
But yields to what is sweet and bonnie;
Picceivo it, tlien, with a kiss and smily ;
There's my thumb, it will ne'er beguile yc.
How tempting sweet these lips of thine art- !
Tiiy bosom white, and legs sae fine are,
That, when in pools I sec thee clean 'em,
They carry away my heart between 'em.
I wish, and I wish, while it gaes duntin',
0 gin I had thee on a mountain !
Though kith and kin and a' should revile thee,
There's my thumb, I'll ne'er beguile thee.
Alane through flow'ry howes I daunder.
Tenting my flocks, lest they should wander;
Gin thou'U gae alang, I'll daute thee gaylie.
And gi'c my thumb, I'll ne'er beguile thee.
0 my dear lassie, it is but daffin'.
To baud thy wooer up niff-naflin' :
That Na, na, na, I hate it most vilely;
0 say. Yes, and I'll ne'er beguile thee.
YE WATCHFUL GUARDIANS.
ALLAN EAMSAY.
Ye watchful guardians of the fair.
Who skiff on wings of ambient air,
Of my dear Delia take a care,
And represent her lover
With all the gaiety of youth,
Witli honour, justice, love, and truth ;
Till I return, her passions soothe.
For mc in whispers move licr.
Be careful no base sordid slave,
With soul sunk in a golden grave.
Who knows no virtue but to save.
With glaring gold bewitch licr.
Tell her, for me she was design'd,
For mo who knew how to be kind,
And have mair plenty in my mind,
Thau ane who's ten times richer.
94 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Let all the world turn upside down,
And fools riu an eternal round,
In quest of what can ne'er be found,
To please their vain ambition ;
Let little minds great charms espy,
In shadows which at distance lie.
Whose hop'd-for pleasure when come nigh,
Proves nothing in fruition :
But cast into a mould divine.
Fair Delia does with lustre shine,
Her virtuous soul's an ample mine,
Which yields a constant treasure.
Let poets in sublimest lays.
Employ their skill her fame to raise ;
Let sons of music pass whole days,
With well-tuned reeds to please her.
THE LASS 0' PATIE'S MILL.
ALLAN RAMSAY.
The lass o' Patie's Mill,
Sae bonnie, blythe, and gay.
In spite of a' my skill.
She stole my heart away.
When teddin' out the hay,
Bareheaded on the green,
Love mid her locks did play.
And wanton'd in her een.
Without the help of art,
LilvG flowers that grace the wild,
She did her sweets impart,
Whene'er she spak' or smiled :
Her looks they were so mild,
Free from affected pride.
She me to love beguiled ;-
I wish'd her for my bride.
Oh ! had I a' the wealth
Hopetoun's high mountains fill,
Insured lang life and health,
And pleasure at my will ;
I'd promise, and fulfil.
That nane but bonnie she.
The lass o' Patie's Mill,
Should share the same wi' me.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 95
DEAE ROGER, IF YOUR JENNY GECK.
ALLAN RAMSAT.
Dear Roger, if your Jenny geek.
And answer kindness with a slight,
Seem unconcern'd at her neglect.
For women in our vows delight ;
But them despise wha're soon defeat,
And with a simple face give way
To a repulse ; then be not blate.
Push bauldly on and win the day.
These maidens, innocently young.
Say aften what they never mean ;
Ne'er mind their pretty lying tongue,
But tent the language of their een ;
If these agree, and she persist
To answer all your love with hate,
Seek elsewhere to be better blest,
And let her sigh when 'tis too late.
PEGGY AND PATIE.
ALLAN EAMSAY.
REGGY.
When first my dear laddie gaed to the green hill,
And I at ewe-milking first seyed my young skill,
To bear the milk bowie nae pain was to me,
When I at the bughting forgather'd with thee.
PATIE.
When corn-riggs waved yellow, and blue heather-bells
Bloom'd bonnie on moorland and sweet rising fells,
Nae birns, brier, or bracken, gave trouble to me.
If I found but the berries I'ight ripened for thee.
PEGGY.
When thou ran, or -wi-estled, or putted the stano,
And cam' alT the victor, my heart was aye fain :
Thy ilka sport manly gave pleasure to me.
For nane can put, wrestle, or run swift as thee.
PATIE.
Our Jenny sings saftly the " Cowden Broom-knowes,"
And Rosie lilts sweetly the " Milking the Ewes,"
There's few " Jenny Nettles" like Nancy can sing ;
With, "Through the wood. Laddie," Bess gars om- lugs ring.
But when my dear Peggy sings, witli better skill,
The "Boatman," " Tweedside"," or the "Lass of the Mill,"
'Tis many times sweeter and pleasing to me.
For though they sing nicely, they cannot like thee.
90 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
PEGGY,
How easy can lasses trow what they desire,
With praises sae kindly increasing love's fire !
Give rne still this pleasure, my study shall be
To make myself better and sweeter for thee.
CORN-EIGS ARE BONNY.
ALLAN BAMSAT.
My Patic is a lover gay ;
His mind is never muddy;
His breath is sweeter than new hay;
His face is fair and ruddy.
His sliape is handsome middle size;
He's stately in Ins walking ;
Tlio shining of his cen surprise ;
'Tis lieaven to hear him talking.
Last night I met him on a bank,
AVhere yellow corn was growing ;
Til ere mony a kindly word he gpal:o,
That set my heart a-glowing.
He kiss'd, and vow'd he wad be mine,
And lo'ed me best of ony ;
Tliat gars me like to sing sinsyne,
0 corn-rigs are bonny.
Let maidens of a sQly mind
Refuse what maist they're wanting ;
Since we for yielding are design'd,
We chastely should be granting.
Then I'll comjily and marry Pate ;
And syne my cockernony
He's free to touzle air or late,
When corn-rigs are bonny.
THE WAUKING 0' THE FAULD.
ALLAN EA3ISAY.
My Peggie is a young thing,
Just enter'd in her teens,
Fair as the day, and sweet as May,
Fair as the day, and always gay :
j\Iy Peggy is a young thing,
And I'm iiae very aidd,
Yet wecl I like to meet her at
The waukiiig o' the fauld.
CHRONOLOGICALLY AliliAXGKD. 97
My Peggy speaks sac sweetly
Whene'er wc meet alane,
I wish nae mair to lay my care,
I wish nao mair o' a' that's rare :
My Peggy speaks sac sweetly,
To a' the lave Pm cauld ;
But she gars a' my spirits glow
At wauking o' the iaulcl.
My Peggy smiles sac kindly
Whene'er I whisper love,
Tliat I look down on a' the town,
That I look down upon a crown :
My Peggy smiles sae kindly,
It makes me blythc and bauld,
And naething gi'es mc sic delight,
As waukmg o' the fauld.
My Peggy sings sac saftly,
When on my pipe I play ;
By a' the rest it is confcst,
By a' the rest that she sings best :
My Peggy sings sac saftly.
And in her sangs arc tauld,
Wi' innocence the wale o' sense,
At wauking o' the fauld.
AT SETTING DAY.
ALLAN KAMSAY.
At setting day and rising morn.
With soul that still shall love thee,
I'll ask of heaven thy safe return,
With all that can improve thee.
I'll visit oft the birkcn bush,
Where iirst thou kindly told me
Sweet tales of love, and hid my blush.
Whilst round thou didst enfold mc.
To all our haunts I will repair.
By greenwood, shaw, or fountain ;
Or where the summer day I'd share
With thee upon yon mountain.
There will I tell the trees and flowers.
From thoughts unfeign'd and tender,
By vows you're mine, by love is yours
A heart which cannot wandei-.
98 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
WILLIE WAS A WANTON WAG.
ASCUIBED TO WILLIAM HAMILTON OP GILBERTFIELD,
The Translator into "Modern Scots" of Blind Harry's Wallace. It ap-
pears in the Tea Table IvIiscellant, with the initials W. W., which Mr.
David Laiug considers to refer to Hamilton's sobriquet of Wanton Willie.
Hamilton died in 1751. He contributed several pieces to Watson's col-
lection of Scots Poems, 1706, and his rhyfliing epistles to AUan Eamsay
are well known to every reader of Honest Allan's works. The song has
also been ascribed to William Walkinshaw of Walkinshaw, but without
any foimdation.
Willie was a wanton wag,
Tlio blythest lad that e'er I saw,
At bridals still he bore the brag.
An' carried aye the gree awa'.
riis doublet was of Zetland shag.
And wow ! but Willie be was braw,
And at his shoulder bang a tag,
That pleas'd the lasses best of a'.
He was a man without a clag,
His heart was frank without a flaw ;
And aye whatever Willie said,
It still was bauden as a laT^^
His boots they were made of the jag.
When be went to the weaponschaw,
Upon the green nane durst him brag,
The feind a ane amang tliem a'.
And was na Willie weel worth gowd?
He wan the love o' great and sma' ;
For after he the bride had kiss'd,
He kiss'd the lasses hale-sale a'.
Sae merrily round the ring they row'd,
When by the baud he led them a',
And smack on smack on them bestow'd,
By virtue of a standing law.
And was nae Willie a great loun,
As shyre a lick as e'er was seen;
When he dauc'd Avi' the lasses round.
The bridegroom speir'd where he had been,
Quoth Willie, I've been at the ring,
Wi' bobbing, baith my shanks arc sair ;
Gae ca' your bride and maidens in.
For Willie he dow do nae mair.
Then rest ye, Willie, I'll gae out.
And for a wee fill up the ring.
But, shame lit on his souple snout.
He wanted WiUie's wanton fling.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 99
Then straught he to the bride did fare,
Says, Weels me on your bonnie face ;
Wr bobbing Willie's shanks are sair,
And I'm come out to fill his place.
Bridegroom, she says, j^e'll spoil the dance,
And at the ring ye'll aye be lag,
Unless like WUlie ye advance :
0 ! Willie has a wanton leg ;
For wi't he learns us a' to steer,
And foremost aye bears up the ring ;
We wUl find nae sic dancing here,
If we want Willie's wanton flmg.
MACPHERSON'S EANT.
Herd's Collection. — Said to have been composed by James Macpberson,
a notorious freebooter, while under sentence of death, though probably it
is as genuine a piece of prison poetry as were the " last dying speeches
and confessions," specimens of gallows prose. ' Macpberson was tried at
Banff, and was executed there November 16, 1700. He appears to have
been, according to tradition, an outlaw of tbe Kobin Hood sort — robbing
the rich and giving to the poor, and deten-ing his followers from all violent
and cruel acts. He was betrayed by one of his band, who took that way
of revenging a reprimand he received from his cliief. Bm-ns's celebrated
" Macphersou's Kant " refers to the same personage.
I've spent my time in rioting,
Debauch'd my health and strength ;
I've pillaged, plunder'd, murdered,
But now, alas, at length,
I'm brought to punishment direct;
Pale death draws near to me ;
This end I never did project,
To hang upon a tree.
To hang upon a tree, a tree !
That cursed unhappy death !
Like to a wolf, to worried be.
And choaked in the breath.
My very heart wad surely break
When this I thinlc upon,
Did not my courage singular
Bid pensive thoughts begone.
No man on earth that draweth breath,
More courage had than I ;
I dared my foes imto tlieir face.
And would not from them fly.
100 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Tliis grandeur stout I did keep out,
Like Hector, manfully ;
Then wonder one like me bo stout
Should hang upon a tree.
The Egyptian band I did cnnmiaud,
With courage more by far,
Than ever did a general
His soldiers in the war.
Being fear'd by all, both great and sniall,
I lived most joyfuUic :
Oh, curse upon this fate of mine,
To hang upon a tree !
As for my life I do not care,
If justice would take place,
And bring my fellow-plunderers
Unto the same disgrace.
But Peter Brown, tliat notour loon,
Escaped, and was made free :
Oh, curse upon this fate of inhic.
To hang upon a tree !
Both law and justice buried arc.
And fraud and guile succeed ;
The guilty jiass unpunished.
If money intercede.
The Laird of Grant, that Iliglilaud saunt,
His mighty majestic.
He pleads the cause of Peter Brown,
And lets Macpherson die.
The destiny of my life, contrived
By those whom I obhgcd,
licwarded me much ill for good,
And left mc no refuge.
But Braco Duff, in rage enough.
He first laid hands on mc ;
And if that death would not prevent,
Avenged would I be.
As for my life, it is but short,
When I shall be no more ;
To part with life I am content,
As any heretofore.
Therefore, good people all, take heed,
This warning take by me,
According to the lives you lead,
Eewarded you shall be,
CHRONOLOGICALLY AliU^UStGED. 101
TWEEDSIDE.
K O E E K T C R A V>' F O R D ,
A CADKT of the housG of Dnmisay iu Renfrewshire. Very little is known
of the events of his life. Ho is supposed to have been horn about the
year 1695, to have spent the greater part of his life abroad, and to have
died in 1732 on his passage to this country from France.
The whole of the poems here given appeared in the Tea Table Mis-
cellany. He had probably become acquainted with William Hamilton,
of Bangour, during his sojourn on the Continent, for one of his songs,
'•look where dear llamilla smiles," is addressed to IMis. Hamilton, a rela-
tion of the poet's ; and it was probably through Hamilton's influence that
he contributed to Ramsay's work.
WifAT beauties docs Flora disclose !
How sweet are her smiles upon Tweed !
Yet Mary's still sweeter than those.
Both nature and fancy exceed.
No daisy, nor sweet blushing rose,
Not all the gay flowers of the field.
Not Tweed, gliding gently through those,
Such beauty and pleasure docs yield.
The warblers are heard in tlie grove,
The linnet, the lark, and the thrush ;
The blackbird, and sweet cooing dove,
With music enchant ev'ry bush.
Come, let us go forth to the mead ;
Let us see how the primroses spring ;
"We'll lodge in some village on T\veed,
And love while the feather'd folk sing.
IIow does my love pass the long day ?
Does Mary not tend a few sheep ?
Do they never carelessly stray
While happily slie lies asleep ?
Should Tweed's murmurs lull her to rest,
Kind nature hidulgin' my bliss,
To ease tlie soft pains of my breast,
I'd steal an ambrosial kiss.
'Tis she docs the virgins excel ;
No beauty with her may compare ;
Love's graces around her do dwell ;
She's fairest where thousands are fair.
Say, charmer, where do thy flocks stray ?
Oh, tell me at morn where they feed ?
Shall I seek them on sweet-winding Tay ?
Or the pleasanter banks of the Tweed?
102 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
BUSH ABOON TRAQUAIE.
ROBERT OSAWTOKD.
Hear me, ye nymphs, and ev'ry swain,
I'll tell how Peggy grieves me ;
Though thus I languish and complain,
Alas ! she ne'er believes me.
My vows and sighs, like silent air,
Unheeded, never move her ;
At the bonnie bush aboon Traquau*,
'Twas there I first did love her.
That day she smil'd, and made me glad,
No maid seem'd ever kinder ;
I thought myself the luckiest lad.
So sweetly there to find her.
I tried to soothe my am'rous flame ;
In words that I thought tender :
If more there pass'd, I'm not to blame ;
I meant not to offend her.
Yet now she scornful flies the plain,
The fields we then frequented ;
If e'er we meet she shows disdain,
She looks as ne'er acquamted.
The bonnie bush bloom'd fair in May ;
Its sweets I'll aye remember ;
But now her frowns make it deeply ;
It fades as in December.
Ye rural pow'rs who hear my strains.
Why thus should Peggy grieve mc ?
Oh ! make her partner in my pains ;
Then let her smiles relieve me.
If not, my love will turn despaii";
My passion no more tender ;
I'll leave the bush aboon Traquair ;
To lonely wilds I'll v/ander.
LEADER HAUGHS AND YARROW.
ROBEET CKAWTOKD.
The morn was fair, saft was the air.
All nature's sweets were springing ;
The buds did bow with silver dew.
Ten thousand birds were singing ;
When on the bent with blythe content,
Young Jamie sang his marrow,
Nae bonnier lass e'er trod the grass.
On Leader Haughs and Yarrow-
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 103
How sweet licr face, with ev'ry grace
In lieav'uly beauty planted !
Her smiling een, and comely mien,
That nae perfection wanted.
I'll never fret, nor ban my fate,
But bless my bonnie marrow :
If her dear smile my doubts beguile.
My mind shall ken nae soi'row.
Yet though she's fair, and has full share
Of every charm enchanting,
Each good turns ill, and soon will kill
Poor me, if love be wanting.
0, bonnie lass ! have but the grace
To think ere ye gae further.
Your joys maun flit, if you commit
The crying sin of murder.
My wand'ring ghaist v.-iil ne'er get rest,
And day and night affright ye ;
But if ye're kind, with joyful mind,
I'll study to delight ye.
Our years around, Avith love thus crown'd,
From all things joy shall borrow :
Thus none shall be more blest than we,
On Leader Haughs and Yarrow.
0 sweetest Sue ! 'tis only you
Can make life worth my wishes,
If equal love your mind can move.
To grant this best of blisses.
Thou art my sun, and thy least frown
Would blast me in the blossom :
But if thou shine, and make me thine,
I'll flourish in thy bosom.
MY DEAKIE IF THOU DEE.
EOBERT CRAWFORD,
Love never more shall give me pain.
My fancy's fix'd on thee ;
Nor ever maid my heart shall gain,
My Peggie, if thou dee.
Thy beauties did such pleasure give,
Thy love's so ti-ue to me;
Without thee I shall never live,
My dearie, if thou dee.
104 TJIE SOKGS OF SCOTLAiv'D
If fate sliall tear thee from my breast,
How shall I lonely stray I
In dreary dreams the night I'll waste,
In sigiis the silent day.
I ne'er can so much vktue find,
Nor such perfection see :
Then I'll renounce all womankind,
My Peggie, after thee.
No new-blown beauty fires my heart,
With Cupid's raving rage ;
But thine, which can such sweets impart.
Must all the world engage.
'Twas this that like the morning sun,
Gave joy and life to me ;
And, when its destin'd day is done,
With Peggy let rac dee.
Ye powers that smile on virtuous love,
And in such pleasures share,
Ye who its faithful flames approve.
With pity view the fair :
Eestore my Peggie's wonted charms,
Those charms so dear to me ;
Oh, never rob them from those arms —
I'm lost if Peggy dec.
PEGGY, I MUST LOVE THEE.
KOBEKT CEAWrORD,
Beneath a beech's grateful shade.
Young Colin lay complaining ;
He sigh'd and seem'd to love a maid,
Without hopes of obtaining :
For thus the swain indulg'd his grief,
Though pity cannot move thee,
Though thy hard heart gives no relief.
Yet, Peggy, I must love thee.
Say, Peggy, what has Colin done,
That thus you cruelly use him ?
If love's a fault, 'tis that alone,
For which you should excuse him :
'Twas thy dear self first rais'd this flame,
This fire by which I languish ;
'Tis thou alone can quench the same,
And cool its scorching anguish.
CHRONOLOGICALLY AUKANGED. 105
For llice I leave the sportive plain,
Where every maid invites me ;
For thee, sole cause of all my pain.
For thee that only slights me :
Tliis love that fires my faithful heart
By all but thee's commended.
Oh ! would thou act so good a part.
My grief might soon be ended.
That beauteous breast, so soft to feel,
Seeni'd tenderness all over,
Yet it defends thy heart like steel,
'Gainst thy despairing lover.
Alas 1 tho' it should ne'er relent.
Nor Colin's care e'er move thee,
Yet till life's latest breath is spent.
My Peggy, I must love thee.
FAIREST MAID ! I OWN THY POWER.
EOBEKT CKAWFOKD.
Look where my dear Hamilla smiles,
Hamilla ! heavenly charmer ;
See how wi' a' their arts and wiles
The loves and graces arm her.
A blush dwells glowing on her cheeks,
Fair feats of youthful pleasures,
There love in smiling language speaks.
There spreads his rosy treasures.
0 fairest maid ! I own tliy power,
I gaze, I sigh, and languish.
Yet ever, ever will adore.
And triumph in my anguish.
But case, 0 charmer 1 ease my care.
And let my torments move thee ;
As thou art fairest of the fau\
So I the dearest love thee.
ONE DAY I HEARD MARY SAY.
ROBERT CRAWFORD.
One day I heard Mary say,
How shall I leave tliee ?
Stay, dearest Adonis, stay ;
Why wilt thou grieve me ?
Alas ! my fond heart will break,
If thou should leave me :
I'll live and die for thy sake,
Yet never leave thee.
106 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAKD
Say, lovely Adonis^ say,
Has Mary deceived thee ?
Did e'er her young heart betray
New love, that has grieved thee ?
My constant mind ne'er shall stray ;
Thou may believe me.
I'll love thee, lad, night and day,
And never leave thee.
Adonis, my charming youth.
What can relieve thee ?
Can Mary thy anguish soothe ?
This breast shall receive tlieo.
My passion can ne'er decay,
Never deceive thee ;
Delight shall drive pain aAvay,
Pleasure revive thee.
But leave thee, leave thee, lad,
How shall I leave thee ?
Oil ! that thought makes me sad ;
I'll never leave thee !
Where Avould my Adonis fly ?
Why does he grieve me?
Alas ! my poor heart would die,
If I should leave thee.
DOWN THE BURN.
EOBEET CRAWFORD.
The third stanza is given as altered by Burns.
Whex trees did bud, and iields were green,
And broom bloom'd fair to see ;
When Mary was complete fifteen.
And love laugh'd in her e'e ;
Blythe Davie's blinks her heart did move
To speak her m.ind thus free ;
Gang down the burn, Davie, love.
And I will follow thee.
Now Davie did each lad surpass
That dwelt on this burnside ;
And Mary was the bonniest lass,
Just meet to be a bride :
Her cheeks were rosie, red and white ;
Her ecn were bonnie blue ;
Her looks were like Aurora bright,
Her lips like dropping dew.
CHEONOLOGICALLY AEEANGED. 107
As down the burn they took their waj^,
And through the fiow'ry dale ;
His cheeic to liers he aft did lay,
And love was aye the tale.
"With, Mary, when shall we return,
Sic pleasure to renew ?
Quoth Mary, Love, I like the burn.
And aye will follow you.
UNGKATEFUL NANNY.
LORD BCrarNTG,
Eldest ron of Thomas — sixth Earl of Haddington — was horn in the
year 1G9C, and died at Naples in 1732.
Did ever swain a nymph adore
As I ungi'atei'ul Nannie do ?
"Was ever sheplierd's heart so sore ?
"Was ever broken heart so true ?
My cheeks are swell'd with tears; but she
Has never shed a tear for me.
If Nannie call'd, did Robin staj^.
Or linger when she bade me run ?
She only liad a word to say.
And all she aslc'd was quickly done.
I always thought on her ; but she
Would ne'er bestow a thought on mo.
To let her cows my clover taste.
Have I not rose by break of day ?
"When did her heifers ever fast.
If Robin in his yard had hay?
Though to my fields they welcome wore,
I never welcome was to her.
If Nannie ever lost a sheep,
I cheerfully did give lier two ;
Did not her lambs in safety sleep
Within my folds, in frost and snow ?
Have they not there from cold been free ?
But Nannie still is cold to me.
Whene'er I climb'd our orchard trees,
The ripest fniit was kept for Nan:
Oh, how these hatuls that drown'd her bees
Were stung ! I'll ne'er forget the pain :
Sweet were the combs as sweet could be ;
But Nannie ne'er look'd sweet on me.
108 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
If Nannie to tlie well did come,
'Twas I that did her pitchers fill ;
Full as they were, I brought them home ;
Her corn I carried to the mill :
My back did bear her sacks : but she
Could never bear the sight o' me.
To Nannie's poultry oats I gave ;
I'm sure they always had the best;
Witliin this week her pigeons have
Eat up a peck of peas at least.
Her little pigeons kiss ; but she
Would never take a kiss from me.
Must Eobin always Nannie woo ?
And Nannie still on Eobin frown ?
Alas, poor wretch ! what shall I do,
If Nannie does not love me soon V
If no relief to me she'll bring,
I'll hang me in her apron string.
LUCKY NANCY.
HON, DUNCAN FOKBES, •
LoKD President of the Couitcf Session, died 1747. An adaiitatiou of an
earlier s()Ilr,^ lb first appears in Ramsay's Tea Table Mtscellany (marked
as au old song with additions), wliere it is given to tlie tune of Dainty
Davie.
While fops, in saft Italian verse,
Ilk fair ane's een and breist rehearse
While sangs abound, and wit is scarce,
These lines I have indited.
But neither darts nor arrows, here,
Venus nor Cupid, shall appear ;
Although with these fine sounds, I swear.
The maidens are delighted.
I was aye telling yon,
Lucky Nancy, Lucky Nancy,
Auld springs wad ding the new,
But ye Avad never trow me.
Nor snaw with crimson Avill I mix.
To spread upon my lassie's cheeks;
And syne the unmeaning name prefix,
Miranda, Cloe, Phillis ;
I'll fetch nae sinriile frae Jove,
My height of ecstasy to prove,
Nor sighing — thus — present my love
With roses eek and lilies.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 109
But, stay — ^I had amaist forgot
My mistress, and my sang to boot,
And that's an unco faut, I wot ;
But, Nancy, 'tis nae matter :
Ye sec I clink my verse wi' rhyme,
And ken ye that atones the crime ;
Forljye, how sweet my numbers chime.
And glide away like water !
Now ken, my reverend sonsy fair,
Tliy runkled cheeks, and lyart hair.
Thy half-slmt een, and hoddling air.
Are a' my passion's fuel ;
Nae skyring gowk, my dear, can see.
Or love, or grace, or heaven in thee ;
Yet thou hast charms cne\y for nic ;
Then smile, and be na cruel.
Lceze me on thy snawy pow,
Lucky Nancy, Lucky Nancy ;
Dry est wood will eitlicst Ioav,
And, Nancy, sae will j'c now.
Trolli, 1 have sung the sang to you,
Which ne'er anither bard wad do ;
Hear, then, my charitable vow.
Dear venerable Nancy :
But, if the world my jiassion wraug.
And say ye only live in sang,
Ken, I despise a slandering tongue.
And sing to please my fancy
Lceze me on, &c.
THE BRAES OF YARROW.
WILLIAM HASULTON OF BA\GOUE,
One of the most refined ])oets of his day, was boru iu 1701. Ho was the
secoud sou of James llamilion, of Bangour. Ho was educated, it is
supposed, at the University of Edinburgh, for the bar, but docs not seem
to have entered into practice. In fact, his last biographer, IMr. James
Paterson, is unable often to speak very decisively on many points of the
greatest importance, his connection with tho Jacobite Eeljellion of ITl-",
for example ; he seems, however, if not to have carried arms iu favour of
the Young Chevalier, to have given all liis iulluenca and talent to his ser-
vice; nud, aftrr tlie fatal Ijattle of Cullodcn, liad to skulk about the Higli-
lands in disguise for awhile, till he escaped to France. He returned after
the country had quieted down, in 174i), and in the following year,
through the deatli of his elder brother, he succeeded to tho Bangour
estate. He died at Lyons, in 175-t, his remains being brought (o ^cut-
laud and interred in Holyrood Abbey.
110 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
His poetry, though modelled npon the smooth affected style of his own
age, is often natural and pleasing : he nowhere shows a straining after
ideas, nor attempts the sensational in description, but as has been remark-
ed, "his thoughts are always elegant and just; his figures bold and ani-
mated; his colouring warm and tme." His principal defect, as a song
WTiter, lies in his perpetual introduction in his songs of the heroes and
heroines of mythology. It is not possible to make an Englishman or
Scotchman accustomed to John Bull and his Sister Peg, and Jocky and
Jenny, feel at all sentimental about Venus, Cupid, Pallas, or Minen-a.
A. "Busk ye, busk je, my Lonnie, bonnie bride !
Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow !
Busk ye, busk yc, my bonnie, bonnie bride,
And think nae mair of tlie braes of Yarrow."
B. " Where gat ye that bonnie, bonnie bride ?
Where gat yc that winsome marrow ?"
A. " I gat her whare I daurna weel be seen,
Piling the bkks on the braes of Yarrow.
Weip not, weip not, my bonnie,' bonnie bride,
Weip not, weip not, my winsome marrow !
Nor let thy heart lament to leive
Pu'ing the birks on the braes of Yarrow."
B. '' Why does she weip, thy bonnie, bonnie bride ?
Why does slie weip thy winsome marrow ?
And wliy daur ye nae mair weel be seen,
Puing the birks on the braes of Yarrow ?"
A. "Lang maun she weip, lang maun slie, maun she weip,
Lang maun she weip wi' dule and sorrow,
And lang maun I nae mair weel be seen,
Puing the birks on the braes of Yai'row.
For she has tint her luver, luvcr deir.
Her luver deir, the cause of sorrow ;
And I ha'e slain the comeliest swain
That e'er pu'd birks on the braes of Yarrow.
Why runs thy stream, 0 Yarrow, Yarrow, red ?
Why on thy braes heard the voice of sorrow?
And why yon melancholious weids,
Hung on the bonnie birks of Yea-row ?
Wlint's yonder floats on the rueful, rueful fiude?
Wliat's yonder floats ? — Oh, dide and sorrow !
'Tis he the comely swain I slew
Upon the dulefu' braes of Yarrow.
Wash, oh wash his wounds, his wounds in tears,
His wounds in tears o' dule and sorrow ;
And wrap his limbs in mourning Aveids,
And lay him on the banks of Yarrow !
CHROKOLOGICALLT ARRANGED. Ill
Then build, then build, ye sisters, sisters, sad,
Ye sisters sad, his tomb wi' sorrow ;
And weip around in ■waeful wise.
His hapless fate on the braes of YarroAv !
Curse ye, curse ye, his useless, useless shield.
The arm that wrocht the deed of sorrow.
The fatal speir that pierced his briest,
His comely briest on the braes of Yarrow !
Did I not warn thee not to, not to love.
And warn fi-om fight ? But, to my sorrow,
Too rashly ])old, a stronger arm thou met'st.
Thou met'st, and fell on the braes of Yarrow!
Sweit smells the birk ; green grows, green grows the grass;
Yellow on Yarrow's braes the gowan ;
Fair hangs the apple frae the rock ;
Sweit the wave of Yarrow flowen I
Flows Yarrow sweit? as sweit, as sweit flows Tweed ;
As green its grass; its gowan as yellov,-;
As sweit smells on its braes the birk ;
The apple from its rocks as mellow !
Fair was thy love, fair, fair, indeed, thy love !
In flowery bands thou didst him fetter ;
Though he was fair, and well beloved again.
Than me he never loved thee better.
Busk ye, then, busk, my bonnie, bonnie bride !
Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow !
Busk ye, and lo'e me on the banks of Tweed,
And tliink nac mair on the braes of Yarrow."
C. " How can I busk a bonnie, bonnie bride ?
How can I busk a winsome marrow ?
How can I lo'e him on the banks o' Tweed,
That slew my love on the braes of Yarrow ?
Oh, Yarrow fields, may never, never rain,
Nor dew thy tender blossoms cover !
For there was basely slain my love,
My love, as he had not been a lover.
The boy put on his robes, his robes of green,
His purple vest — 'twas my ain sewing ;
Ah, wretched me ! I little, little kenned,
He was, in these, to meet his ruin.
The boy took out his milk-white, milk-white steed,
Unmindful of my dule and sorrow :
But, ere the too-fa' of the nicht,
He lay a corpse on the banks of Yarrow.
112 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Israeli I rejoiced, tliat waefu', waefu' day ;
I sang, my voice the avoocIs returning ;
But, lang ere nicht, the spear was flown,
That slew my love, and left me mom-ning.
"What can my barbarous, barbarous father do,
But with his cruel rage pursue me ?
My luver's blude is on thy spear —
How canst thou, barbarous man, then, woo me ?
j\Iy happy sisters may be, may be proud,
With cruel and ungentle scofiing —
May bid me seek, on Yarrow braes.
My luver nailed in his coffin.
My brother Douglas may upbraid.
And strive, witli thrcat'ning words, to muvc me ;
My luver's l)lude is on thy spear —
"llow canst thou ever bid me luve thee ?
Yes, yes, prepare the bed, the bed of luve !
With bridal-sheets my body cover !
Unbar, ye bridal-maids, the door !
Let in th' expected husband-lover !
But who the expected husband, husband is ?
His hands, methinks, are bathed in slaughter!
All, me ! what ghastly spectre's yon,
Comes, in his pale shroud, bleeding, after ?
Pale as he is, here lay him, lay him down ;
0 lay his cold head on my pillow !
Take off, take off these bridal weids,
And crown my careful head with willow.
Pale though thou art, yet best, yet best beloved,
Oh, could my warmth to life restore thee !
Yet lie all night between my briests, —
No youth lay ever there before thee !
Pale, pale, indeed, oh lovely, lovely youth,
Forgive, forgive so foul a slaughter,
And lie all night between my briests.
No youth shall ever lie there after ! "
A. " Return, return, 0 mournful, mournful bride !
Beturn and dry thy useless sorrow !
Thy luver heids nocht of thy sighs ;
lie lies a corpse on the braes of Yarrow."
CHKONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 113
YE SHEPHERDS AND NYMrHS.
\vn,LL\M ILUIILTON OF BANGOUR.
Yc fciliephcrds and nymphs that adorn the gay plain,
Approach fro)n your sports, and attend to my strain ;
Amongst all your number a lover so true
Was uo'cr so undone, with such bliss in his view.
Was over a nymph so hard-hearted as mine?
RIic knows me sincere, and she sees how I pine ;
She docs not disdain me, nor frown in licr wratli,
But calmly and mildly resigns me to death.
She calls me her friend, but her lover denies :
She smiles when I'm chccrrul, but hears not my sighs,
A bosom so flinty, so gentle an air.
Inspires mo with hope, and yet bids mc despair !
1 fall at her feet, and implore her with tears :
Her answer confounds, while her manner endears;
When softly she tells mc to hope no relief,
My trembling lips bless her in spite of my grief.
By night, while I slumber, still haunted with care,
1 start up in anguish, and sigh for the fair:
The fair sleeps in peace, — may she ever do so !
And oidy when dreaming imagine my woe.
Then gaze at a distance, nor farther aspire ;
Nor think she should love whom she cannot admire :
Hush all thy complaining, and dying her slave.
Commend her to heaven, and thyself to the grave.
YE GODS! WAS STREPHON'S PICTURE BLEST?
WILLLVII UAiirLTOX 03? BANGOUK.
Ye gods ! was Strcphon's iDicture blest
With the fair heaven of Chloe's breast?
Move softer, thou fond iluttcring heart,
Oh gently throb, — too fierce thou art.
Tell me, thou brightest of thy kind,
For Strcphon was the bliss design'd ?
For Strcphon's sake, dear charming maid,
Did'st thou prefer his wand'ring shade ?
And thou, blest shade, that sweetly art
Lodged so near my Chloe's heart,
For mc the tender hour improve,
And softly tell how dear I love.
Ungrateful thing ! It scorns to hear
Its wretched master's ardent pray'r,
Engrossing all that beauteous heaven,
That Cliloc, lavish maid, has given.
114 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
I cannot blame tliee : were I lord
Of all the wealth those breasts afford,
I'd be a miser too, nor give
An alms to keep a god alive.
Oh smile not thus, my lovely fair,
On these cold looks, that lifeless air,
Prize him whose bosom glows with fire,
VYith eager love and soft desire.
'Tis true thy charms, 0 powerful maid,
To life can bring the silent shade :
Thou canst surpass the painter's art,
And real warmth and flames impart.
But oh ! it ne'er can love like me,
I've ever lov'd, and lov'd but thee :
Then, charmer, grant my fond request,
Say thou canst love, and make me blest.
WHY HANGS THAT CLOUD UPON THY BEOW?
MTLLIjUI HAMILTON OF BANGOUE.
Why hangs that cloud upon thy brow.
That beauteous heav'n erewhile serene?
Whence do these storms and tempests blow ?
Or what this gust of passion mean ?
And must then mankind lose that light
AVhich in thine eyes was wont to shine,
And lie obscur'd in endless night,
For each poor silly speech of mine ?
Dear child, how could I wrong thy name ?
Thy form so fair and faultless stands,
That coirld ill tongues abuse thy fame.
Thy beauty would make large amends !
Or if I durst profanely try
Thy beauty's powerful charms t' upbraid,
Thy virtue well might give the lie,
Nor call thy beauty to its aid.
For Venus ev'ry heart t' ensnare.
With all her charms has deck'cl thy face.
And Pallas with unusual care,
Bids wisdom heighten every grace.
"Who can the double pain endure '?
Or who must not resign the field
To thee, celestial maid, secure
With Cupid's bow and Pallas' shield ?
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARR^VNGED. 115
If then to thee such power is giv'u,
Let not a wretch in torment live,
But smile, and learn to copy heav'n.
Since we must sin ere it forgive.
Yet pitying heav'n not only does
Forgive th' offender and th' ollencc.
But even itself appeas'd bestows
As the reward of penitence.
AH! THE POOR SHEPHERD'S MOURNFUL FATI
WILLIAM nAMTT.TON OF BAIJGOUE.
Ah, the poor shepherd's mournful fate.
When doom'd to love and doom'd to languish,
To bear the scornful fair one's hate,
Nor dare disclose his anguish !
Yet eager looks and dying sighs
My secret soul discover,
"While rapture, trembling through mine cycs,
Reveals how much I love her.
The tender glance, the reddening cheek,
O'erspread with rising blushes,
A thousand various ways they speak
A thousand various wishes.
For, oh ! that form so heavenly fair,
Those languid eyes so sweetly smiling,
That artless blush and modest air
So fatally beguiling ;
Thy every look, and every grace.
So charm, whene'er I view thee.
Till death o'ertake me in the chase
Still will my hopes pursue thee.
Then, when my tedious liours arc past,
Be this last blessing given.
Low at thy feet to breathe my last,
And die in sight of heaven.
BROOM OF COWDENKNOWS.
Tea T^ujle Miscellany, where it is printed with the initials, S. R,, sup-
posed by ilr. Chambers and others to refer to some personage of Ramsay "s
own time, and to whoso position the authorship of a song would have been
derogatory. The second set is by Crawford, a song writer, -whose other
productions are given in their proper place. The first set is undoubtedly
fouuded upon an older song,* and the tune, which is certainly old, is
* A song, or ballad, "TIio Broom of the Cowdenlcnowes " — probably of a very
c;u-ly date— is printed in " Scotfs Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border."
IIG THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
sunniscd io be representative of the "Krumc, Brume on Ilil/' mentioned
in the "Complayntof Scotland," 15 iS. Mr. Ctiappeil, as usual, claims
it as of English origin.
The Cowdeaknows arc two hills at Lauderdale, Berwickshire.
How blythc ilk morn was I to see
The swain come o'er tlic hill !
lie skipt the burn, and flew to rnc,
I met him Avi' good will.
0, the broom, tlio bonnic, bounic broou),
The broom of the Cowdcnlcnows !
I wish I were wi' my dear swain,
AVi' his pipe, and my owes.
I neither wanted ewe nor lamb,
AVhilo his flocks near me lay ;
lie gather'd in my sheep at night,
And cheer'd me a' the daj",
0, the broom, &c.
lie timed his pijic and reed sae sweet,
The birds stood list'ning by ;
Ev'n tlie dull cattle stood and gazed,
Charm'd wi' his melody.
0, the broom, e^c.
While thus we spent our time by turns,
Betwixt our flocks and play,
I envied not the fairest dame,
Though e'er so rich and gay.
0, the broom, &c.
Hard fate ! that I slioukl banish'd bo,
Grang heavily, and mourn.
Because I loved the kindest swaia
That ever yet was born.
0, the broom, &c.
lie did oblige me every hour ;
Could I but faithfu' be ?
He staw my heart ; could I refuse
Whate'er he ask'd of me ?
0, the broom, &c.
]My doggie, and my little kit.
That held my avco soup whey,
My plaidie, broach, and crooked stick,
Maun now lie useless by.
0, the broom, &c.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 117
Adieu, ye Cowdenknows, adieu !
Farewell a' pleasures there !
Yo gods, restore me to my swain,
It's a' I crave or care.
0, the broom, &c.
SECOND SET.
When summer comes, tlie swains on Tweed
Sing their succcssfid loves.
Around the ewes and lambkins feed,
And music fills the groves.
But my loved song is tlicn the brooiri
So fair on Cowdenknows ;
For sure, so sweet, so soft a bloom,
Elsewhere there never grows.
Tliere Colin tuned his oaten reed.
And won my yielding heart;
No shepherd e'er tliat dwelt on Tweed,
Could play with half such art.
lie sung of Tay, of Forth, and Clyd*:-,
Tlie hills and dales all rouiul.
Of Leader-hauglis, and Leader-side,
Oh ! how I bless'd the sound.
Yet more delightful iy the broom
So fair on Cowdenknows;
For sure, so fresh, so bright a bloom,
Elsewhere there never grows.
Not Tiviot braes, so green and gay,
May with this broom compare;
Not Yarrow banks in flowery May,
Nor the bush aboon Traquair.
More pleasing far are Cowdenknows,
My peaceful happy liomc,
Where I was wont to milk my ewes,
At e'en amang the broom.
Ye powers that haunt the woods and plains
"Where Tweed and Tiviot flows,
Convey me to the best of swains.
And my loved Cowdenknows.
118 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
WILLIE'S EAEE.
Tea Table jMiscellant, where it is printed -without any mark.
^Villie's rare, and Willie's fair,
And Willie's wondrous bonny,
And Willie heclit to marry me,
Gin e'er lie married ony.
Yestreen I made my bed fu' braid.
This night I'll make it narrow ;
For a' the live-lang winter-night
I'll ly twin'd o' my marrow.
0 came you by yon water side ?
Pu'd you the rose or lily?
Or came you by yon meadow green ?
Or saw ye my sweet Willie ?
She sought him east, she sought him west,
She sought him braid and narrow ;
Syne in the cleaving of a craig,
She found him drown'd in Yarrow.
TAEEY WOO.
Tea Table Miscellany, probably written about that time on the re-
mains of an older t;ong. IVIi'. Chambers states that Sir Walter Scott,
when at the Social Board, used to meet his turn for a song by giving a
verse of " Tany Woo," The time is old, and the well-known air Le^ie
Gordon is adapted from it.
Tarry ^Y00, tarry woo,
Tarry woo ia ill to spin ;
Card it well, card it weil,
Card it weil, ere ye begin.
When it's cardit, row'd, and spun.
Then the work is haflins done ;
But, when woven, dress'd, and clean.
It may be cleadiu' for a queen.
Sing my bounie harmless sheep.
That feed upon the mountains steep,
Bleating sweetly, as ye go
Through the winter's frost and snow.
Hart, and hynd, and fallow-deer,
No by half sae useful are :
Frae kings, to him that bauds the plou',
All are obliged to tarry woo.
Up, ye shepherds, dance and skip ;
Ower the hills and valleys trip ;
Sing up the praise of tarry woo ;
Sing the flocks that bear it too ;
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED, 119
Harmless creatures, without blame,
That dead the back, and cram the wame ;
Keep us warm and hearty fou —
Leeze me on the tarry woo.
IIov/ happy is a shepherd's life,
Far frae courts and i'rce of strife !
While the gimmers bleat and bae,
And the lambkins answer mae ;
No such music to his ear !
Of thief or fox he has no fear :
Sturdy kent, and collie true,
Weil defend the tarry woo.
He lives content, and envies none :
Not even a monarch on his throne,
Though he the royal sceptre sways,
Has such pleasant holidaj^s.
Who'd be king, can only tell,
When a shepherd sings sae well?
Sings sae well, and pays his duo
With honest heart and tarry woo.
I WAS ONCE A WEEL-TOCHER'D LASS.
TEA TABLE MISCELLANY,
I WAS once a weel-tocher'd lass.
My mither left dollars to me ;
But now I'm brought to a poor pass.
My stejj-dame has gart them a' flee.
My father, he's aften frae hame,
And she plays the deil with his gear ;
She neither has lawtith nor shame.
And keeps the haill house in a steer.
She's barmy-fLiced, thriftless, and bauld, -
And gars me aft fret and repine ;
While hungry, half-naked, and cauld,
I see her destroy what's mine.
But soon I might hope a revenge,
And soon of my sorrows be free ;
My poortith to plenty wad change,
If she were hung up on a tree.
Quoth Ringan, wha lang time had loo'd
This bonnie lass tenderlie,
I'll tak' thee, sweet May, in thy snood,
Gif thou wilt gae hame with me.
120 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
'Tis only yourscl' that I want ;
Your kindness is better to me
Tlian a' tliat your stepmother, scant
Of grace, now has taken frae thee.
I'm but a younc: farmer, it's true,
And ye are the sprout of a laird ;
But I have milk-cattle enow.
And ruth of good rucks in my yard.
Yc shall have naething to fash ye,
Sax servants shall jouk to tliee :
Then kilt up thy coats, my lassie,
And gae thy ways hame with me.
Tlic maiden her reason employ 'd,
Not thinking the offer amiss.
Consented, while Eingan, o'erjoy'd,
Received her with mony a kiss.
And now she sits blythely siugin',
And joking her drunken stepdamo,
Delighted with her dear Ringan,
That makes her goodwife at hame.
ANDRO Wr HIS CUTTY GUN.
Tea Table Miscellany, where it is printed without auy mark.
Blytiie, blyth.e, and merry was she,
Blythc was she but and ben ;
And wcel she loo'd a Hawick gill.
And leugh to see a tappit hen.
She took me in, and set me down,
And hecht to keep mc lawing-frce ;
But, cunning carlinc that she was,
She gart me birl my bawbee.
We loo'd the liquor well enough ;
But waes my heart my cash was done,
Before that T had quench'd my drouth,
And laith I was to pawn my shoon.
"When we had three times toom'd our stoup,
And the neist chappin new begun,
Wha started in, to heeze our hope,
But Andro wi' his cutty gun.
The carline brought her kebbuck ben,
With girdle-cakes weel toasted brown,
Weel does the canny kimmer ken
They gar the swats gae glibber down.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 121
We ca'd the bicker aft about ;
Till dawuing- we ne'er jecd our bum,
And aye the cleanest drinker out,
Was Andro wi' his cutty gun.
lie did like ony mavis sing-,
And as I in his oxter sat,
He ca'd me aye his bonnie thing,
i^nd mony a sappy kiss I gat.
I ha'e been east, I ha'e been west,
I ha'e been far ayont the sun ;
But the blythcst lad that e'er I saw.
Was Andro wi' liis cutty gun.
WHEN SPRING TIME RETURNS,
DR. A. A'/EBSTER,
Ow. of the ministors of Eilinljurgh. He was horn at Edinburgh iu 1707,
and died there iu 1781.
The spring-time returns, and clothes the green plains,
And Alloa shines more cheerful and gay;
The lark tunes his throat, and the neighbouring swains,
Sing merrily round me wherever I stray :
But Sandy nae mair rctm-ns to my view ;
Nae spring-time mc cheers, nae music cnn charm ;
He's gane ! and, I fear me, for ever : adieu !
Adieu every pleasure tliis bosom can warm !
0 Alloa house ! how much art thou chang'd !
How silent, how dull to me is each grove !
Alane I here wander where anco we both rang'd,
Alas! where to please mo my Sandy ance strove!
Here, Sandy, I heard the tales that you tauld.
Here list'ned too fond whenever you sung;
Am I grown less fair then, that you arc turn'd cauld ?
Or, foolish, belicv'd a false flattering tongue?
So spoke the fair maid, Avhcn sorrow's keen pain,
Arid shame, her last fault'riug accents sui)prost;
For hite, at that moment, brought back her dear swain,
AVho heard, and with rapture his Nelly addrest :
My Nelly ! my fair, I come ; 0 my love !
Nae i)ower shall thee tear again from my arms,
And, Nelly! nae mair thy fond shepherd reprove,
Who knows thy fair worth, and adores a' thy charms.
She heard; and new joy shot thro' her saft frame;
And will 3'ou, my love ! be true ? she replied :
And live I to meet my fond shepherd the same ?
Or dream I that Sandy will make me his bride?
122 THE SOKGS OF SCOTLAND
0 Nelly ! I live to find thee still kind :
Still true to tliy swain, and lovely as true :
Tlien adieu to a' sorrow ; what soul is so blind,
As not to live happy for ever with you ?
OH ! HOW COULD I VENTUEE.
DR. A. AVBESTEK.
On, how could I venture to love one like thee,
And you not despise a jDoor conquest like me,
On lords, thy admirers, could look wi' disdain.
And knew I was naething, yet pitied my pain ?
You said, while they teased you with nonsense and dress,
When real the passion, the vanity's less;
You saw through that silence which others despise.
And, while beaux were a-talking-, read love in my eyes.
Oh, how shall I fauld thee, and kiss a' thy charms,
Till, fainting wi' pleasure, I die in your arms;
Throuft-h all the wild transports of ecstasy tost.
Till, sinking together, together we're lost!
Oh, where is the maid that like thee ne'er can cloy,
Whose wit can enliven each dull pause of joy;
And when the short rapturas are all at an end,
From beautiful mistress turn sensible friend ?
In vain do I praise thee, or strive to reveal,
(Too nice for expression,) v;hat only we feel :
In a' that ye do, in each look and each mien.
The graces in waiting adorn you unseen.
When I sec j^ou, I love you ; when hearing, adore ;
I wonder and think you a woman no more :
Till, mad wi' admiring, I canna contain.
And, kissing your lips, you turn woman again.
With thee in my bosom how can I despair?
I'll gaze on thy beauties, and look av/a' care ;
I'll ask thy advice, when with troubles opprcst.
Which never displeases, but always is best.
In all that I write I'll thy judgment require;
Thy wit shall correct what thy charms did inspire :
I'll kiss thee and press thee till yoiith is all o'er.
And then live in friendship, when passion's no more.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 123
I'VE SEEN THE SMILING.
MES. COCKBURN,
Daughter of Eobert Rutherford of Fernj-lee, in Selkirkshire. She was
born about 1712, and married in 1731, to Patrick Cockburn, a son of
Cockbum of Ormiston, Lord Justice Clerk of Scotland. She survived her
husband more than forty years. Sir Walter Scott has given ns a very
genial description of Mrs. Cockburn, as he saw her and heard about her
in her later years. "Mrs. Cockburn," says he, "v/as one of those per-
sons whose talents for conversation made a stronger impression on her
contemporaries than her -writings can be expected to produce. In person
and features she somewhat resembled Queen Elizabeth, but the nose was
rather more aquiline. She was proud of her auburn hair, Avhich remained
nnbleached by time, even when she was np-\^'ards of eighty years old.
She maiutained the rank in the society of Edinburgh which French
women of talent usually do in that of Paris , and her little parlour used to
assemble a very distingrrished and accomplished circle, among whom
David Hume, John Home, Lord Monboddo, and many other men of name
were frequently to be found." This song (referring to commercial instead
of warlike disasters among the men of the forest) appears in the Lark,
17G5, and in Herd's Collection, — from which collection we take tho
copy hero printed.
I've seen the smiling
Of Fortune beguiling ;
I've felt all its favours, and fonnd its decaj^ :
Sweet was its blessing,
Kind its caressing ;
Bnt now 'tis fled — lied far away.
I've seen tlic foi'cst
Adorned the foremost
With flowers of the fairest, most pleasant and gay;
Sao bonnie was their blooming !
Their scent the air perfuming !
But now they are withcr'd and weeded away.
I've seen the morning
With gold the hills adorning,
And loud tempest storming before the mid-day.
I've seen Tweed's silver streams,
Sliining in the sunny beams,
Grow drumly and dark as he row'd on liis way.
Oil, fickle Fortune,
"Wliy this cruel sporting ?
Oil, why still perplex us, poor sons of a day?
Nao mair your smiles can clieer me,
Nao mair your frowns can fear me ;
For the Flowers of the Forest arc a' wedo away.
124 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
THE BIEKS OF INVERMAY.
DAVID MALLET,
OR Malloch, a favouriie poet of his time, Loiu 1714 ; died 17GiJ
The smiling morn, the breathing spring,
Invite tlie tmielu' birds to sing ;
And, while they warble from the spray,
Love melts the universal lay.
Let ns, Amanda, timely wise,
Like tliem, improve the hour that flies ;
And in soft raptures waste the day.
Among tlie birks of Invcrmaj'.
For soon the winter of the year.
And age, life's winter, will appear;
At this thy living bloom will fade.
As that will strip the verdant shadOc
Our taste of pleasure then is o'er,
The feathered songsters are no more ;
And Avhen they drop, and we decay,
Adieu the birks of Invermay !
THE LAWLANDS OF HOLLAND.
Given from the copy iu Johnson's Museum, omitting the spurious third
verse there given, and adding the last which v/as omitted. Mr. Stenliouse
was informed that it was composed by a young widow in Galloway, whose
husband was drowned on a ^•oyago to Holland. There is a fragment of
the song given in Herd's Collection, and we may consider it to be-
long to the first half of the eighteenth century. The air was always very
popular, and on it is founded Marshall's tune "Miss Admiral Gordon's
Strathspey," to which Burns's beautiful song " Of a' the airts the win' can
blaw " was written.
The luve that I had chosen,
ril therewith be content.
The saut sea will be frozen
Before that I repent ;
Picpent it will I never
Until the day I dee,
Tlio' the lawlands o' Holland
Ha'c twined my luve and mo.
]\ry luve lies in the salt sea,
And I am on the side,
ICnough to break a young thing's heart
Wha lately was a bride ;
Wha lately was a bonnie bride,
And pleasure in her e'e ;
But the lawlands o' Holland
Ha'e twined my luve and mc,
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 125
My luve lie built a boimic sliii),
And sent her to the sea,
Wi' seven score brave mariners
To bear her conipanie ;
Threescore gaecl to the bottom,
And threescore died at sen,
And the lawlands o' Holland
Ha'e twined my luve and me.
My luve has built anither Rhij),
And sent her to the main,
lie had but twenty mariners.
And a' to bring her hame ;
The stormy clouds did roar n,i;-ain.
The raging waves did rout,
And my luve, and his bonnie ship,
Turn'd widdershing about !
There shall nae mantle cross my back,
Nae comb come in my hair,
Neither shall coal or candle light
Shine in my bowit mair ;
Nor shall I ha'e anithcr luve,
Until the day I dee,
I never lo'ed a luve but ane.
And he's drown'd in the sea.
0, hand your tongue, my daughter dear,
Be still and be content,
Tliere arc mair lads in Galloway,
Ye need nae sair lament.
0 ! there is nane in Galloway,
There 's nane at a' for me,
For I never lov'd a lad but ane,
And he 's drown'd in the sea.
ROSLIN CASTLE.
Herd's Colleotiox — probably written sliorily after 1 lie lime of R,ain?ny,
as the stilted style of the love-lorn maid's address smacks of llic afferleil
manner then in vogue. The air, which is very beauiiful, was pubU^hcd
ill "McGibbou's Collection of Scots Tunes."
From Roslin castle's echoing walls
Resound my shepherd's ardent calls,
My Colin bids me come away,
And love demands I should obey.
His melting strain and tuneful lay,
So much the charms of love display,
I yield— nor longer can refrain
To own my love, and bless my swain.
TflE SONGS OF SCOTLAKO
No longer can my heart conceal
The painful pleasing flame I feel,
My soul retorts the am'rous strain,
And echoes back in love again ;
"Where lurks ray songster ? from what grove
Does Colin pour his notes of love ?
0 bring me to the happy bow'r.
Where mutual love may bliss secure.
Ye vocal hills that catch the song,
Repeating, as it flies along,
To Colin's ear my strain convey,
And say, I haste to come away.
Ye zephyrs soft that fan the gale.
Waft to my love the soothing tale ;
In whispers all my soul express,
And tell, I haste his arms to bless.
]\IY LOVE WAS ONCE A BONNIE hAB.
Supposed to have been wi'itten about the middle of the eighteenth cen-
tv.ry, but by whom it is impossible to say. The air, the well-knoT^ai
"Flowers of Ediiibm-gh," appears in " Oswald's Caledonian Pocket Com-
paniou," 1742, but is probably of a much earlier date.
My love was once a bonnie lad.
He was the flower of a' his kin.
The absence of his bonnie face
lias rent my tender heart in twain.
I day or night find no deliglit ;
In silent tears I still complain ;
And exclaim 'gainst those my rival foes,
That ha'e ta'en from me my darling swain.
Despair and anguish fill my breast.
Since I have lost my blooming rose ;
I sigli and moan while others rest ;
His absence yields me no repose.
To seek my love I'll range and rove.
Through every grove and distant plain ;
Thus I'll ne'er cease, but spend my days.
To hear tidings from my darling swain.
There's naething strange in nature's change,
Since parents show such cruelty ;
They caused my love from me to range,
And know not to what destiny.
Tlio pretty kids and tender lambs
May cease to sport upon the plain ;
But I'll mourn and lament in deep discontent
For the absence of my darling swain.
CHRONOLOGICALLT ARRA1?GED. 127
Kind Neptune, let mo thee entreat,
To send a fair and pleasant gale ;
Ye dolphins sweet, upon me wait,
And convey me upon your tail ;
Heaven bless my voyage with success,
While crossing of the raging main.
And send me safe o'er to a distant shore,
To meet my lovely darling swam.
All joy and mirth at our return
Shall then abound from Tweed to Tay;
The bells shall ring and sweet birds sing.
To grace and crown our nuptial day.
Thus bless'd wi' cliarms in my love's arms.
My heart once more I Avill regain;
Then I'll range no more to a distant shore.
But in love will enjoy my darling swain.
AKGYLL IS MY NAME.
Said to have been written by John, Dulvc of Argyll (1G78-1743), by one
tradition ; by another, the authorship is given to the celebrated James
Boswell. Whoever may have written the song, and we cauuot think that
either of the parties was likely to have written it, there can be no doubt
as to its referring to the Duke of Argyll, one of the priucijjal characters in
the "Heart of Midlothian." Tune— "Bannocks o' barley meal."
AnoYLL is my name, and you may think it strange,
To live at a court, yet never to change ;
A' falsehood and flattery I do disdain,
In my secret thoughts nae guile does remain.
]\Iy king and my country's foes I have faced.
In city or battle I ne'er was disgraced ;
I do every thing for my country's weal.
And feast upon bannocks o' barley meal.
Adieu to the courtie of London town.
For to my ain countrie I will gang dovv-n ;
At the sight of Kirkaldy ance again,
I'll cock up my bonnet, and march amain.
0, the mucklo deil tak' a' your noise and strife :
I'm fully resolved for a country life,
Wliare a' the braw lasses, wha ken me wcel.
Will feed me wi' bannocks o' barley meal.
I will quickly lay down my sword and my gun,
And put my blue bonnet and my plaidic on ;
With my silk tartan hose, and leather-heel'd shoon,
And then I will look like a sprightly loon.
128 THE SOXGS OF SCOTLAND
And when I'm sac dress'd frac tap to tac,
To meet my dear Maggie I vow I will gae,
Wi' target and hanger hung down to my heel;
And I'll feast ujjon bannoeks o' barley meal.
I'll buy a rich garment to gi'e to my dear,
A ribbon o' green for Maggie to wear ;
And mony thing brawer than that I declare,
Gin she will gang wi' me to Paisley fair.
And when we are married, I'll keep her a cow,
And Maggie will milk when I gae to plow ;
^Ve'll live a' the winter on beef and lang kail,
And feast upon bannocks o' barley meal.
Gin Maggie should chance to bring me a son.
He'll fight for his king, as his daddy has done ;
He'll hie him to Flanders, some breeding to learn,
And then hame to Scotland, and get him a farm.
And there we will live by our industry,
And wha'll be sae happy as Maggie and me ?
"We'll a' grow as fat as a Norway seal,
Wi' our feasting on bannocks o' barley meal.
Then fare ye weel, citizens, noisy men,
Wha jolt in your coaches to Drury Lane ;
Ye bucks o' Bear-garden, I bid j^ou adieu.
For drinking and swearing, I leave it to yon.
I'm fairly resolved for a country life.
And nae langer will live in hurry and strife ;
I'll aft' to the Highlands as hard's I can reel,
And whang at the bannocks o' barley meal.
IN THE GARB OF OLD GAUL.
SIR H. EKSKIXE, E.UIT., M.P.
Born about 1 720. Son of Sir Johu Erskine, of Alva, Bart. lie beramo
commander of the "Eoyal Scots" Eegiuicut in 17G2, and died at York
in 17G5.
The tune was composed by General Eeid, Colonel of the SSLli Regiment,
whose love for music led liim to found tlic much-abused Chair of Music
in tlie University of Edinburgh.
In tiie garb of old Gaul, with the fire of old Komo,
From the heath-cover'd mountains of Scotia we come;
Where the Romans endcavour'd our country to gain,
But our ancestors fought, and they fought not in vain.
Such is our love of liberty, our country, and our laws,
Tliat, like our ancestors of old, we'll stand in freedom's cause :
We'll bravely fight, like heroes bold, for honour and ai:)plause,
And defy the French, with all their art, to alter our laws,
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 129
No effeminate customs om- sinews unbrace ;
No luxurious tables enervate our race ;
Our loud soundinp: pipe breathes the true martial strain,
And our hearts still the old Scottish valour retain.
Such is our love, <S:c.
We're tall as the oak on the mount of the vale,
And swift as the roe whicli the hound doth assail ;
As the full moon in autumn our shields do appear ;
Ev'u Minerva would dread to encounter our spear.
Such is our love, &c.
As a storm in the ocean, when Boreas blows.
So are we enrag'd when we rush on our foes ;
We sons of the mountains tremendous as rocks,
Pash the force of our foes with our thundering strokes.
Such is our love, &c.
Quebec and Cape Breton, the pride of old France,
In their niunbcrs fondly boasted, till we did advance;
But when our claymores they saw us produce,
Their courage did fail, and they sued for a truce.
Such is our love, &c.
In our realm may the fury of faction long cease,
IMay our councils be wise, and our commerce increase,
And in Scotia's cold climate may each of us find,
That our friends still prove true, and our beauties prove kind.
Then we'll defend our liberty, our country, and our laws,
And teach our late posterity to fight in freedom's cause ;
That they, like their ancestors bold, for honour and applause,
May defy the French, with all their arts, to alter our laws.
CAULD KAIL IN ABERDEEN.
We give two versions here of lliis popular old soug, tlic fust appears in
Hfid's Collecliou, and is probably the oldest act of the words extant.
We are ui]al)lc to state the precise age of the second version, but it
is mentioned by Burns as an old song.
1.
Cauld kail in Alierdeen,
And custoeks in Strathbogie,
But yet I fear they'll cook o'er soon,
And never warm the cogie.
The lasses about Bogie gicht,
"Jlieir limbs they are sac clean and tight.
That if they were but girded right,
They'll dance the reel o' Bogie.
130 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Wow, Aberdeen, what did you mean.
Sac young a maid to woo, sir ?
I'm sure it was nae jolvc to her,
Whate'er it was to you, sir.
For lasses now are no sae blate
But they ken auld foUi's out o' date,
And better playfare can tliey get
Than custocks in Strathbogie.
11.
There's cauld kail in Aberdeen,
And custocks in Stra'bogie,
Where ilka lad maun ha'e his lass,
But I maun ha'e my cogie.
For I maun ha'e my cogie, sirs,
I canna want my cogie ;
I widna gi'e my three-gir'd cog
For a' the wives in Bogie.
Johimy Smith has got a wife
Wha scrimps hun o' his cogie :
But were she mine, upon my life,
I'd dook her in a bogie.
For I maun ha'e my cogie, sirs,
I canna want my cogie ;
I Avadna gi'e my threc-gir'd cog
For a' the wives in Bogie.
Tv/a three todlin' weans they ha'e.
The pride o' a' Stra'bogie ;
Whene'er the totums cry for meat.
She curses aye his cogie ;
Crying, Wae betide the three-gir'd cog I
Oil, wae betide the cogie !
It does mau- skaith than a' the ills
That happen in Stra'bogie.
She fand him ance at Willie Sharp's ;
And, what the maist did laugh at,
She brak the bicker, spilt the drink.
And tightly gouff'd his haffet,
Crymg, Wae betide the three-gir'd cog 1
Oh, wae betide the cogie.
It does mair skaith than a' the ills
That happen in Stra'bogie.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 131
Yet here's to ilka honest soul
Wha'll drink wi' me a cogie,
And for ilk silly whinging- fool,
We'll dook him in a bogie.
For I maun ha'e my cogie, sirs,
I cauna want my cogie :
I wadna gi'o my three gir'd cog
For a' the queans in Bogie.
LOGIE 0' BUCHAN.
DISPUTED. »
Lady Ann Barnard (authoress of Auld Eoljin Gray), and George Halket,
of Aberdeen (author of "Whiny, 'Whigs, awa, &c.), have been given as the
a athors of this f avomite song ; and from the evidence which has been
brought forward we think the clauns of Halket must bo admitted. He
was schoolmaster at Eathen, in Aberdeensliire, and Mr. Peter Buchan
considers the song to have been written by him in 173G. Halket was a
Jacobite of the most intense description, aud the simi of one hundred
pounds was offered for his arrest by the Duke of Cimilscrland, in conse-
quence of a pasquil he had written on George II. Halket died in 1756.
The song first appeared in Johnson's Museum, along with its tune.
0 LoGiE o' Buchan, 0 Logic the lah'd.
They ha'e ta'en awa' Jamie, that delved m the yard,
Wha play'd on the pipe, and the viol sae sma' ;
They ha'e ta'en awa' Jamie, the flower o' them a'.
lie said. Think na lang lassie, tho' I gang awa' ;
He said, Think ua lang lassie, tho' I gang awa' ;
The sinmier is come, and the winter's awa',
Aud I'll come and see thee in spite o' them a'.
Tho' Sandy has ovv^sen, and siller, and kye ;
A house and a hadden, and a' things forbye :
Yet I'd tak' mine ain lad, wi' his staff in his hand,
Before I'd ha'e him, wi' tho houses and laud.
He said. Think nae lang, &c.
My daddie looks sulky, my muanie looks sour,
They frown ujion Jamie because he is poor :
But daddie and minnie altho' that they be.
There's nane o' them a' lilic my Jamie to me.
He said. Think nae lang, &e.
1 sit on my creepie, I spin at my wheel.
And think on my Jamie that lo'es me sae weel ;
He had but ae saspcnce, he brak it in twa.
And gi'cd me the hauf o't when he gade a^va'.
Then haste ye back, Jamie, and bide na awa'.
Then haste ye back, Jamie, and bide na awa',
The simmer is come, aud the winter's awa',
And ye'U come and see me in spite o' them a'.
132 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
IIEY BONNIE LASSIE, BLINK OVER THE BURN.
REV. JAJIES IIONEYMAN.
"This popular song has luthciio appeared iu all the collections as an
anonymous production, hut wo have the authority of a highly csteciuecl
correspondent for saying that it \vas written by the Kcv. James Honcyman,
minister of Kinneff, in Kincardineshire, who died at an advanced age, in
or about the year 1779. Mr. lloneyman wrote other poetical pieces, but
none of them came before the public except this song." — Blackies Book
of Scottish Song.
IIiE, bonnie lassie, bliuk ovci* the burn,
And if your sheep wander I'll gi'e them a turn ;
Sae happy as we'll be on yonder green shade.
If ye'U bo my dawtie, and sit in my plaid.
A yowe and twa lammies are a' my haill stock.
But I'll sell a lamraie out of my wee flock,
To buy the a head-piece, sae bonnie and braid.
If ye'll be my dawtie, and sit in my plaid.
I ha'e a wee wliittle made me a trout creel.
And, oh, that wee whittle X likit it wecl ;
But I'll gi'c't to my lassie, and mair if I had,
If she'll be my dawtie, and sit iil my plaid.
I ha'e little silver, but ae hauf-year's fee.
But if ye will tak' it, I'll gi'e't a' to thee ;
And then we'll bo married, and lie in ae bed,
If ye'll be my dawtie, and sit in my plaid.
TA HIGHLAND SIIENTLEMAN
DOUGALD GEAHAjr,
Was l)oru about the year 1724. He was long the public bellman of
Glasgow and wrote a history of the Kebellion of 1745 in Verse, a work of
little merit, but highly prized by the book collector on account of its
scarcity. Dougald died in 1779. The song appears in Herd's Collection,
177fi, where the old air Clout the Caudrou is named as its tune. We do
not know what authority there is for assigning the song to Graham.
Hersell pe Highland shentleman,
Pe auld as Pothwell Prig, man ;
And many alterations seen
Amang te Lawland Whig, man.
Fa a dra, diddle diddle dee, &c.
First when she to te Lawlands cam'
Nainsell was driving cows, man.
There was nae laws about him's nersCj
About te preekfs gr trews, man.
CUUONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 133
jSTainsell did wear tc pliilabcg,
To plaid prick'd on her shouder ;
Tc g-ude claymore hung py her pelt ;
Her pistol sharged with powder.
But for wlicreas these cursed prceks,
Wherewith her legs pe lockit ;
Olion tliat ere she saw the day !
For a' her houghs ps prokit.
Every thing in te Highlands now
Pe turn'd to alteration ;
Te sodger dwall at our door cheek,
And tat pe great vexation.
Scotland be turn'd a Ningland now,
The laws pring in te candger;
Nainsell wad dirk him for his deeds,
But, och she fears tc sodger.
Anither law came after tat,
Me never saw the like, man,
Tlicy mak' a lang road on tc crund.
And ca' hiui Turnimspikc, num !
And wow she pc a ponny road.
Like Loudon corn riggs, man,
Where twa carts may gang on lier,
And no preak ither's legs, man.
They charge a penny for ilka horse,
Li troth she'll no be sJieaper,
For nouglit but gaun upon the ground
And they gi'c her a paper.
They tak' the horse then py te head,
And there they make him stand, num ;
Slie tell them she had seen the day
They had nae sic command, man.
Nac doubt nainsell maun draw her purse;
And pay him what him like, man.
She'll see a shudgcment on his toor,
That filthy turnimspike, man.
But she'll awa' to ta Highland liills,
Where dcil a ane dare turn her,
And no come near te turnimspike,
Unless it pe to purn her.
n
134 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
FOR LACK OF GOLD.
DR. AUSTIN,
BoEN about 1726, a celebrated physician of bis time, in Edinbiu-gh. The
song was composed upon Miss Jean Dnmuuond, to whom he was engaged
to be married. The lady, however, having attracted the attention of the
Duke of Athol, jilted her first love and in 1719 became Duchess of Athol.
Dr. Austin, does not seem to have always remained in the disconsolate
state depicted in the song, for, in 1751 he married Ann Sempill, sister of
Lord John Sempill. He died in 1774 leaving a large family. The air
has been traced to 1692, and the song appears in " The Channer," 1751.
For lack of gold slie has left me, 0,
And of all that's dear she's bereft me, 0 ;
She me forsook for Athole's duke,
And to endless woe she has left me, 0.
A star and garter have more art
Than youth, a true and faithful heart ;
For empty titles we nmst part — •
For glittering show she has left me, 0.
No cruel fair shall ever move
My injured heart agaiu to love ;
Tiirough distant climates I must rove,
Since Jeany she has left me, 0.
Ye powers above, I to your care
Resign my faithless, lovely fair ;
Your choicest blessing be her share.
Though she has ever left me, 0.
FLOWERS OF THE FOREST.
MISS JANE KLLIOT,
DAuaHTER of Sir Gilbert EUiot, of Minto. She was bom in 1727. The
song here given was written about 1755, and long passed as an old
ballad. Sir "Walter Scott, in including it in his Llinstrelsy, says, " The
following well-known and bcautifirl stanzas, were composed, many years
ago, by a lady of family in Koxbm-ghshu-e. The manner of the ancient
minstrels is so happily imitated, that it required the most positive evidenca
to convince the editor that the song was of modem date." jMiss EUioi
died at JSIoimt Teviot, Eoxbm-ghshire, in 1805.
I've heard the lilting, at our yowe-milking,
Lasses a-lHting, before the dawn o' day;
But now they are moaning, on ilka green loanmg ;
The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.
At l)uchts, in the morning, nae blythe lads arc scorning,
The lasses are lonely, and dowie, and wae ;
Nae daffin', nae gabbin', but sighing and sabbing,
Ilk ane lifts her leglm and hies her av/ay.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 135
III liaii-st, at tlie shearing, nae youths novs^ are jeering,
The bandsters are runklcd, and lyart and grej'' ;
At fair, or at preaching, nac Avooing, nae flecching —
Tlie Flowers of tlie Forest are a' wede away.
At e'en, at tlie gloaming, nae swankies me roaming,
'Bout stacks wi' the lasses at bogle to play ;
But ilk ane sits drearie, lamenting her dearie —
The Flov/crs of the Forest are a' M'cde away.
Dule and wae to the order sent our lads to the border !
The English, for ance, by guile wan the day;
The Flowers of the Forest, that foucht aye the foremost,
The prime o' our land, are cauld m the clay. "
"Wg hear nae mair lilting at our yowe-milking.
Women and bairns are heartless and wae ;
Sighing and moaning on ilka green loaning —
The Flowers of the Forest are a' wcdo av/ay.
MY SHEEP I NEGLECTED.
SIR GILBERT ELLIOT, K.VIiT.,
Born 1729. He was educated for the Scottish Bar, was elected Member
of Piirliameat for Eoxbuiglishire, and became Treasurer of the Navy.
His private cliaractcr lias beeu highly extolled by his friends ; and in conuec-
liou with his Parhamentary business, he shovi'ed himself to be highly accom-
plished, expert, and sagacious. He died in 1777.
Sir Gilbert belonged to an extraordinary family. His father was a
poet ; his sister, Miss Jean Elliot, has humoiiahzed herself in the annals
of Scottish song as authoress of " The Flowers of the Forest," and his son
was made Governor-General of India, and became Earl of Minto.
This song first appeared in the "Chaiiner," IT-Ld.
My sheep I neglected — I lost my shecp-hook,
And all the gay haunts of my youth I forsook;
No more for Aniynta fresh garlands I wove ;
For ambition, I said, would soon cure me of lovo.
Oil, what had my youth with ambition to do ?
Why left I Amynta ? Why broke I my vow ?
Oh, give me my sheep, and my sheep-hook restore,
And I'll wander from love and Amynta no more.
Through regions remote in vain do I rove,
And bid the wide ocean secure mo from love !
Oh, fool I to imagine that aught could subduo
A love so well founded, a passion so true !
Oh, what, &c.
Alas ! 'tis too late at thy fate to repine ;
Poor shepherd, Amynta can never be thine :
Tliy tears are all fruitless, thy wishes are vain,
The moments neglected return not again.
Oh, what, &c.
136 TIIK SONGS OF SCOTLAND
THE SMILING PLAINS.
WILLI^UH FAI.CONER,
Author of " The Shipwreck." Born at Edinburgh in 1 730. IIo served
his apprenticeship to the seafaring profession on board a Leith vessel.
He early gave evidence of his genius as a poet, and attracting the patron-
age of the Duke of York, was appointed purser to the " Eoyal George,"
one of the finest ships in the Navy. In 17G9 he was appointed to the
"Aurora" frigate bound for India. The "Aurora" arrived in safety at
the Cape of Good Hope, but after leaving there, was never afterwards
seen or heard of.
The smiling plains, profusely gay,
Are (Iress'd in all the pride of May ;
The birds on every spray above,
To rapture wake the vocal grove.
But, ah ! Mu-anda, without thee.
Nor spring nor summer smiles on me,
All lonely in the secret shade,
I mourn thy absence, charming maid.
0 soft as love ! as honoiu* fair !
Serenely sweet as vernal air !
Come to my arms ; for you alone
Can all my absence past atone.
0 come ! and to my bleeding heart
The sovereign balm of love impart ;
Thy presence lasting joy shall bring,
And give the year eternal spring.
THE EUN-AY/AY BRIDE.
FROM THE "CHARJtER," 1751.
A LADDIE and a lassie fair
Lived in the south couiatrie ;
They ha'c coost their claes thcgither,
And wedded wad they be :
On Tuesday to the bridal feast
Cam fiddlers Hocking free —
But hey play up the rinaway lirido,
For she has ta'en the gee.
She had nae run a mile or mair,
Till she 'gan to consider
The angering of her father dear,
The vexing of her mitlier ;
The slighting of the silly bridegroom,
The warst of a' the three —
Then hey play up the rinaway bride,
For she has ta'en the gee,
CURONOLOGICALLY AnKANGED. 137
Her father and her mithcr baith
Ran after her wi' speed ;
And aye they ran and cried, How, Ann!
Till they came to the Tweed :
Saw ye a lass, a lovcsomc lass,
That weel a queen might be ?
0 that's the bride, the rinaway brido.
The bride that's ta'en the gee.
And when they came to Kelso town,
They gaur'd the clap gang through ;
Saw ye a lass wi' a hood and mantle,
The face o't lined up wi' blue?
The face o't lined up wi' blue,
And the tail turn'd up wi' green ;
Saw ye a lass wi' a hood and mantle,
Shoidd ha'e been married on Tuesday 't e'en?
0 at the saft and silly bridegroom
The bridemaids a' were laughin' ;
When up there spake the bridegroom's man,
Now what means a' this dal'lin' ?
For woman's love's a wilfu' thing,
And fancy flies fu' free ;
Tlien hey play up the rinaway bride,
For she has ta'en the gee.
IIOOLY AND FAIRLY.
The Ch^vemek. Edinburgh, 1751.
DouN in yon meadow a couple did tarry :
The gudewife she drank naething but sack and canary;
The gudeman complain'd to her friends richt sairly —
Oh, gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly !
Ilooly and fairly, hooly and fairly,
Oh ! gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly !
First she drank Crummie, and syne she drank Gairie,
And syne she drank my bonnie gray marie.
That carried me through a' the dubs and the glairie —
Oh, gui my wife wad drink ho(jly and fairly !
She drank her hose, she drank her shoon,
And sync she drank her bonnie new goun ;
She drank her sark that cover'd her rarely —
Oh, gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly !
Wad she drink but her ain things, I wadna care,
But she drinks my claes that I canna weel spare;
When Fm wi' my gosbjps it angers mo sairly —
Ohl gin my wife wad drink hooly and fanly!
138 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAlsT)
My Sunday's coat she's laid it in wad,
And the best bhie bonnet e'er was on vaj head ;
At kirk or at mercat I'm cover'd but barely —
Oh ! gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly !
My bonnie white mittens I wore on my hands,
Wi' her neibonr's wife she laid them in pawns ;
My bane-headed staff that I looed sae dearly —
Oh, gin ray wife wad drink hooly and fairly !
I never Avas for wrangiin' nor strife.
Nor did I deny her the comforts o' life ;
For when there's a war, I'm aye for a parley —
Oh, gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly !
When there's ony m.onc_y she maim keep the purse ;
If I seek but a bawbee she'll scold and she'll curse ;
She lives lilie a queen — I but scrimpit and sparely — ■
Oh ! gin my wife Vv'ad drink hooly and fairly !
A pint wi' her cummers I wad her allow ;
But when she sits down, she gets hersel' fon.
And when she is fou she is unco camstarie —
Oh, gin my wife Avad drink hooly and fairly !
When she comes to the street she roars and she rants.
Has nae fear o' her neibours, nor minds the house wants ;
She rants np some fule-sang, like. Up your heart, Charlie-
Oh, gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly !
When she comes harae she lays on the lads.
The lasses she ca's baith bitches and jauds.
And ca's mysell an auld cuckle-carlie —
Oh, gin my Avife Avad drink hooly and fairly !
NAE DOMINIES FOR ME LADDIE.
REV. NATHANIEL MACKAT,
Minister of Crossmichael, Kirkcudbriglit, where he died in 1781. It has
also been attributed to the Rev. Joliii Forbes, miuister of Deer, Aberdeen-
shire, who died iu 17G9. We are unable to decide as to the merits of the
candidates. Dr. Laing seems to favour the claim of Mr. Forbes, Avhile
Ml". Robert Chambers, and Jilr. Stenhouse, jDrefer that of Mi- Mackay.
I chanc'd to meet an airy blade,
A ncAv-made pulpiteer, laddie.
With cock'd up hat and poAvder'd wig,
Black coat and cuffs fu' clear, laddie :
A long cravat at him did Avag,
And buckles at his knee, laddie
Says he. My heart, by Cupid's dart,
Is captivate to thee, lassie.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 139
I'll rather chtise to thole grim death ;
So cease and let me be, laddie :
For what ? says he. Good troth, says I,
No dominies for me, laddie :
Ministers' stipends are imcertain rents
For ladies' conjunct-fee laddie :
When books and gowns are all cried down.
No dominies for me, laddie.
But for your sake I'll fleece the flock,
Grow rich as I grow auld, lassie ;
If I be spar'd I'll be a laird,
And thou's be Madam call'd, lassie.
But what if ye shou'd chance to die,
Leave bairns, ane or twa, laddie ?
Naething wad be reserv'd for them
But hair-mould books to gnaiv, laddie.
At this he angry was, I wat.
He gloom'd and look'd fu' higji, laddie :
When I perceived this, in haste
I left my dominie, laddie.
Fare ye well, my charming maid,
Tliis lesson learn of me, lassie,
At the next ofi"er hold him fast.
That first makes love to thee, lassie.
Then I returning ham.e a2:ain,
And coming down the town, laddie.
By my good luck I chanc'd to meet
A gentleman dragoon, laddie ;
And he took me by baith the hands,
'Twas help in time of need, laddie :
Fools on ceremonies stand.
At twa words we agreed, laddie,
rie led me to his quarter-house.
Where we cxchang'd a word, laddie :
We had nae use for black gowns tlicre,
We married o'er the sword, laddie.
IVIartial drums is music fine,
Compar'd wi' tinkling bells, laddie ;
Gold, red and blue, is more divine
Than black, the hue of hell, laddie.
Kings, queens, and princes, crave the aid
Of my brave stout dragoon, laddie ;
Wliile dominies are mucli employ'd
'Bout whores and sackclotli-gowns, laddio :
Away wi' a' these whining loons,
They look like Let mc be, laddie ;
I've more delight in roaring guns;
No domiuiea for me, laddie.
140 THE SONGS OP SCOTLAND
SYMON BRODIE.
herd's collection.
Symon Buddie had a cow :
The cow was lost, and he covildna had Vs.v:
Wlicn he had done what man could do,
The cow cam' hame, and her tail behind her.
Honest auld Symon Brodie,
Stupid auld doitit bodie !
I'll awa' to the north conntric,
And see my ain dear Symon Brodio.
Symon Brodie had a wife,
And, wow ! but she was braw and bonnie.
She took the dish-clout aff the bulk,
And preen'd it to her cockernonic.
Honest auld Symon Brodie, &c.
TIBBIE FOWLER.
Johnson's MusEtrai, 1787. A fragment appeariug previously however in
Herd's Collection, 1776, enables us to trace the song to an earlier time. It
probably belongs to the middle of the eighteenth century, though Mr.
Robert Chambers, from finding that a certain Isabella Fowler was married
to a son of Logan of Eestalrig in the sixteenth century, concludes thereby
that it nmst refer to her, and dates accordingly.
Tibbie Fo^vler o' the Glen,
There's ower mony wooing at her;
Tibbie Fowler o' the Glen,
There's ower mony wooing at her.
AVooin' at her, pu'in' at her,
Courtin' her, and canna get her;
Filthy elf, it's for her pelf
That a' the lads are wooin' at her.
Ten cam' east, and ten cam' west;
Ten cam' rowin' ower the water ;
Twa cam' down the lang dyke-side :
There's twa-and-thirty wooin' at her.
There's seven but, and seven ben.
Seven in the pantry wi' her;
Twenty head about the door :
There's ane-and forty wooin' at her.
She's got pendles in her lugs ;
Cockle-shells wad set her better !
High-heel'd slioon, and siller tags.
And a' the lads are wooin' at lier.
CHRONOLOGICALLY AURAKGED. I'll
Be a lassie e'er sae black,
Gin she lia'e the name o' siller,
Set her up on Tintock tap,
The wind will blaw a man till her.
Be a lassie e'er so fair,
An' she want the pennj^ siller,
A flie may fell her i' the air.
Before a man be even'd till her.
BESS THE GAWKTE.
KEV. JAMES MUinirEAD, D.D.,
Born 1742. He was educated at the University of Edinhxn-gli for tbo
ministry, and in 1770 was ordained mini.ster of Urr, in Galloway. He
died iu 1808, in liis sixty-ciglilh year. The rong here given first appeared
in Herd's Collection.
Blytiie j^oimg Bess to Jean did say,
Will ye gang to yon sunny brae,
Wharo ilocks do feed, and herds do stray,
And sport awldle wi' Jamie?
Ah, na, lass ! I'll no gang there,
Nor al)Out Jamie tak' a care,
Nor about Jamie tak' a care.
For he's ta'en up wi' Maggie.
For hark, and I will tell you, lass,
Did I not see young Jamie pass,
Wi' meikle Idytheness in his face
Out owre the muir to Maggie ?
I wat he ga'e her monie a kiss,
And Maggie took them nac amiss :
'Tween ilka smack pleas'd her wi' this,
" That Bess was but a ga-\vkie.
" For when a civil kiss I seek.
She turns her head and thraws her cheok,
And for an hour she'll hardly speak:
Wha'd no ca' her a gawkie?
But sure my Maggie has mair sense.
Siie'll gi'c a score without oficnce;
Now gl'e me ane into the mouse,
And ye shall be my dawtie."
' 0 Jamie, ye ha'c monie ta'en.
But I will never stand for ane
Or twa when we do meet again.
So ne'er think me a gawkie.'
"Ah, na, lass, that canna be;
Sic thoughts as tliac arc far frac rae,
Or onic thy sweet face that see,
E'er to think thco a gawkio."
142 THE SOKGS OF SCOTLAND
But, whisht, nae mair o' this we'll speak,
For yonder Jamie does us meet :
Instead o' Meg he kiss'd sae sweet,
I trow he likes the gawkie.
" 0 dear Bess, I hardly knew.
When I cam' by your gown sac new,
I think you've got it wet wi' dew."
Quoth she, ' that's like a gawkie ;
' It's wat wi' dew, and 'twill get rain,
And I'll get gowns when it is gane ;
Sae ye may gang the'gate ye came
And tell it to your dawtie.'
The guilt appear'd in Jamie's cheek :
He cried, " 0 cruel maid, but sweet,
If I should gang anither gate,
I ne'er could meet my dawtie."
Tlie lasses fast frae him they flew,
And left poor Jamie sair to rue,
That ever Maggie's face he knew,
Or yet ca'd Bess a gawkie.
As they gade owre the muir they sang,
The hills and dales wi' echo rang.
The hills and dales wi' echo rang,
"Gang o'er the muir to Maggie."
PINKIE HOUSE.
JOHN MITCHELL,
EoKX 1749 •; a poet of some eminence of his time, but now forgotten. lie
was a great favomite of Sir Eobert Walpole, the celebrated Whig States-
man. He died in 1738. Air — " Eothes' Lament."
Bt Pinkie House oft let me walk.
And muse o'er Nelly's charms !
Her placid air, her winning talk.
Even envy's self disarms.
0 let me, ever fond, behold
Those graces void of art —
Those cheerful smiles that sweetly hold,
In willing chains, my heart !
0 come, my love ! and bring anew
That gentle turn of mind;
That gracefulness of air m you
By nature's hand designed.
These, lovely as the blushing rose,
First lighted up this flame.
Which, like the sun, for ever glows
Within my breast the same.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRAITGEt). 143
Ye light coquettes ! ye airy things !
How vain is all your art !
How seldom it a lover brings !
How rarely keeps a heart !
0 gather from my Nelly's charms
That sweet, that graceful ease,
That blushing modesty that warms,
That native art to please !
Come then, my love ! 0, come along 1
And feed me with thy charms ;
Come, fair inspirer of my song !
Oh, fiiUny longing arms !
A flame like mine can never die,
"While charms so bright as thine.
So heavenly fair, both please the eye,
And fill the soul divine !
THE ESK.
REV. JOHX LOGAN,
BoRK 1749. Was for some time one of the ministers of Leilli, and after-
ward a literary hack in London. lie died in 17SS. His poems have been
collected along with his tragedy of Eunnymede, and published in one
volume.
While frequent on Tweed and on Tay,
Their harps all the muses have strung,
Should a river more limpid than they,
The wood-fringed Esk flow unsung ?
While Nelly and Nancy inspire
The poet with pastoral strains.
Why silent the voice of the Ija-e
On Mary, the pride of the plains ?
0 nature's most beautiful bloom
May flourish imsccn and unknown :
And the shadows of solitude gloom
A form that might shine on a throne.
Through the wilderness blossoms the roso,
In sweetness retired from the sight;
And Philomel warbles her woes
Alone to the car of the niglit.
'd'
How often the beauty is hid
Amid shades that her triumphs deny !
How often the licro forbid
From tliG path that conducts to the sky !
144 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAM)
A Helen has pined in the grove ;
A Homer lias wanted his name ;
Unseen in the circle of love,
Unknown to the temple of fame.
Yet let us walk forth to the stream,
Where poet ne'er wander'd before;
Enamour'd of Mary's sweet name,
How the echoes will spread to the shore 1
If tlic voice of the muse be divine,
Thy beauties shall live in my lay ;
"While reflecting the forest so tine.
Sweet Esk o'er the valleys shall stray.
MARY'S DREAM.
JOHN LOWE,
Born iu 1750 at Kenmure, in Galloway, where Iiis father was gardener,
ibhowing, we suppose, superior talents in his youtli, he was educated for
the church. lie l)ecanic tutor in the family of Mr. M-Ghie of Airds,
" wlia had mony bonnie dochiers :" one of whom captivated Uie tutor's fancy.
The beautiful song lierc given was written at this period. A Mr. Jliller,
who was engaged to be married to one of the 3'oung ladies, was drowneii
at sea, an event which would now have been forgotten but for the ex-
quisitely lender and pathetic song of Mary's Dream, which has given to
it immortality. Lowe's life was unfortunate ; giving up his love at Aird.:,
ho emigrated to America. lie opened a school in Fredericksburgh, in
Virginia, and afterwards took orders in the Church of England, lie
married a lady wliose conduct, joined to otlicr misfortunes, brought him
lo his grave in 1798, in his itith year. Lowe wrote a number of other
pieces, but none of them of any extra degree of merit. Like the author
of the " Burial of Sir John Moore," his fame depends on one poem.
Tjie moon had climb'd the highest hill,
Which rises o'er the source of Dee,
And from the eastern summit shed
Her silver light on tower and tree ;
When Mary laid her down to sleep,
Her thoughts on Sandy far at sea ;
When soft and low, a voice was heard,
Saying, " Mary, weep no more for me !"
She from her pillow gently raised
Her head, to ask who there might be,
And saw young Sandy shivering stand,
With visage jaale, and hollow e'e.
" 0 Mary dear, cold is my clay ;
It lies beneath a stormy sea.
. Far, far from thee, I sleep in deatli,
So, Mary, weep no more for me !
CIinONOLOGICALLY AUR.VNGED. 145
" Tlirce stormy nights and stormy days,
Wc tossed upon tlic raging main ;
And long we strove our bark to save,
15iit all our striving was in vain.
Even tlicn, when horror chilled my hlood,
]\Iy heart was filled with love for tlico :
The storm is past, and I at rest;
So, Mary, weep no more for mc !
" 0 maiden dear, thyself prej)are ;
Wc soon shall meet upon that shore,
"Where love is free from doubt and care,
And thou and I shall part no more !"
Loud crowed the cock, the shadow lied :
No more of Sandy could she sec.
But soft the passing spirit said,
• " Sweet Mary, weep no more for nic ! "
MY DADDIE IS A CANKERT CARLE.
Tkom "The Lark," Ediu., 17C5. It has been ascribed to Carnegie, of
Pahiaiuoon, Esq., but the sole auiliority for this statement was "a
j;arruIous old fellow," who had uo doubt about it. (Sec Struthcrs' Hani
vi Caledonia.)
My (L'uhlic is a cankcrt carle,
He'll no twine wi' his gear ;
My niinnie she's a scauldin' wife,
Hands a' the house astecr ;
But let them say, or let them do.
It's a' ane to me.
For he's low doun, he's in the brume,
That's waitin' on mc :
Waiting on mc, my love,
lie's waiting on me ;
For he's low donn, he's in the brurao,
That's waitin' on mc.
l\Iy auntie Kate sits at her wheel,
And sair she lightlies me ;
But wecl ken I it's a' envy.
For ne'er a joe has she ;
But let them say, &c.
j\Iy cousin Kate was sair beguiled
Wi' Johnnie o' the (Jlen ;
And aye smsyne she cries, Beware
0' fause deluding men ;
But let them say, SiO,
146 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Gleed Sandy, lie cam' wast j^estrecn,
And speir'd when I saw Pate ;
And aye sinsyue the neebors round
They jeer me an* and late ;
But let them say, &c.
HALLOW FAIR.
EOBERT FEEGUSSON,
Tins predecessor of Bums, whose Wcayward life, and Ijitter end, is well
known to every reorder in Scotch Literature. He was horn at Edinburgh
in 1750, and after studying at the University of St. Andrew's for a short
time, he changed his views as to his occupation, and returned to Edin-
bm-gh, where he v.as employed in a Lawyer's office. Poor Fergussou
soon became mixed in all the wild life of the Metropolis, and the end of
a short career of debauchery and excess was a mad-house, where he died at
the early age of twenty-four. He v>'as bmied in the Canongate Church-
yard, and one of the most affecting incidents in the life of Eobert Burns
is, that when ho acquhed a little money and fame, he hastened to erect a
simple stone over the ashes of his "elder brother in misfortune." Fer-
gusson's Poems have frequently been published in various forms.
Tjikre's fouth o' braw Jockics and Jennies
Comes wcel-buskit into the fair,
V/ith ribbons on their cockernonies,
And fouth o' fine flour on their hair.
Maggie she was sae weel buskit,
That Willie was tied to his bride ;
Tlie pownie Avas ne'er better wliisket
Wi' cudgel that hang frac Lis side.
But Maggie vras wond'rous jealous,
To see Willie buskit sae braw ;
And Sandy he sat in the alehouse,
And hard at the liquor did ca'.
There was Geordie, tliat weel loocd his lassie,
He took tiie pint-stoup in his arms,
And hugged it, and said, Troutli they're saucie,
Tliat loes na a guid-father's bairn.
There was Wattie, the muirland laddie,
That rides on the bonnie grey cowt,
With sword by his side like a cadie
To drive in the sheep and the nowt.
His doublet sae weel it did lit him,
It scarcely cam' down to mid-thie,
With hair pouthered, hat, and a feather,
And hausing at curpen and tee.
CIIKONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 147
But Bruckie played boo to Bessie,
And aft" scoured the cout like the Avind ;
Puir Wattie he fell on the caussey,
And birzed a' the banes in his skin.
His pistols fell out o' the hulsters,
And were a' bedaubed wi' dirt,
The folk they cam' round him in clusters ;
Some leuch, and cried, Lad, was ye hurt ?
But cout wad let naebody steer him,
lie aye was sao wanton and skeigh ;
The packmen's stands he overturned them.
And garred a' the Jocks stand abeigli ;
^Yi' sneerin' behind and before hmi,
For sic is the mettle o' brutes,
Puir Wattie, and wae's me for him,
AVas fain to gang hame in his boots.
Now it Avas late in the e'ening,
And bougliting-timo was drawing near ;
The lasses had stanched their greening
Wi' fouth o' braw apples and beer :
There was Lillie, and Tibbie, and Sibbie,
And Ceicy on the spindle could spin.
Stood glowrin' at signs and glass winnocks,
But deil a ane bade them come in.
Gude guide us ! saw ye e'er the like o't ?
See, yondcr's a bonnie black swan ;
It glow'rs as it wad fain be at us ;
What's yon that it bauds in its hand ?
Awa', daft gowk, cries Wattie,
They're a' but a ruckle o' sticks ;
See, there is Bill-Jock and auld Hawkie,
And j^onder's Mess John and auld Nick,
Quoth Maggie, Come buy us our fairin' ;
And Wattle richt sleely could tell,
I thiiilc thou'rt the flower o' the clachan, —
In trowth, now, I'se gi'e thee mysell.
But wha wad ha' e'er thocht it o' him,
That e'er he had rippled the lint?
Sae proud was he o' his Maggie,
Though she was baith scaulie and squints
148 TJIE SONGS OF SCOTLxVND
THE LEE RIG.
EOEEET FERGUSSON.
With the exception of the third, fourth, and fifth stanzas, which were
added by William Ecid, a bookseller iu Glasgow, a notice of whom is
given elsewhere.
Will yc gang o'er the lea rig,
My ain kind dearie, 0 ;
And cuddle there fu' kindly,
Wi' me, my kind dearie, 0 !
At thorny bush, or birken tree,
We'll daff, and never weary, 0 ;
They'll scug ill cen frae you and mc.
My ain kind dearie, 0.
Nac herds wi' kent or colly there.
Shall ever come to fear ye, 0 ;
But laverocks whistling in the air
Shall woo, like mc, their dearie, 0.
While ithers herd their lambs and e\\'cs,
And toil for warld's gear, my jo,
Ujion the lee my pleasure grows
Wi' thee, my kind dearie, 0.
At gloamln', if my lane I bo,
Oh, but I'm wondous eerie, 0:
And mony a heavy sigli I gi'e,
AVhen absent frae my dearie, 0 ;
But seated 'neath the milk-white thorn,
In cv'ning fair and dearie, 0,
Enraptur'd, a' my cares I scorn.
When wi' my kind dearie, 0.
Whare through the birks the burnic rows,
Aft ha'e I sat fu' cheerie, 0,
Upon the bonnie greensward howes,
Wi' thee, my kind dearie, 0,
I've courted till I've heard the craw
Of honest Chanticleerie, 0,
Yet never iniss'd my sleep ava.
When wi' my kind dearie, 0.
For though the night were ne'er sae dark,
And I were ne'er sae weary, 0,
I'd meet thee on the lea rig,
l\Iy ain kind dearie, 0,
While in this weary warld of wae,
This wilderness sae dreary, 0,
What makes me blythe, and keeps me sae ?
'Tis thee, my kind dearie, 0.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 149
TUB BANKS OF THE DEE.
GiiXEKALLY ascribed to John Home, author of Douglas. The cJitor of
B/ackies JJook of Scotiish Sonij, however, states it to have been written
by John Tait, a writer to the iSignct in Edinburgh, and to have been
written in 1775 on the occasion of a friend leaving Scotland, to join the
forces in North America. Tune Langolee.
'TwAS summer, and saftly the breezes were blowing,
Anrl sweetly the nightingale sung from the tree;
At the foot of a ros^k, where the river was flowing,
I sat myself doivri on the banks of the Dee.
Flow on, lovely Dee, flow on, thou sweet river.
Thy banks, purest stream, shall be dear to me ever :
For tlicre first I gain'd the affeetion and favour
Of Jamie, the glory aiid pride of the Dee.
L)ut now he's gone from me, and left me thus mourning.
To quell the proud rebels — for valiant is he ;
And all I there's no liopc of his speedy rcturnujg,
To wander again on tlic banks of the Dee.
He's gone, hapless youth, o'er the loud roaring billowf;,
The kindest and sweetest of all the gay fellows,
And left me to stray 'mongst the once loved willows,
Tlic loneliest maid on the banks of the Dee.
But time and my prayers may perhaps yet restore him,
Blest peace may restore my dear sliopjierd to mc;
And when he returns, with such care I'll watch o'er him,
He never shall leave the sweet banks of the Dec.
The Dec then shall flow, all its beauties displaying,
The lambs on its banks shall again bo seen playing,
While I with my Jamie am carelessly straying,
And tasting again all the sweets of the Dec.
BOTHWELL BANK.
JOHN PINKEKTON,
TuK distingnislied Antiquary. lie was born at Edinburgh in 1 7,"R, and
died at Paris in LSiT). His works arc numerous and impoilaui, more
especially in tlic department of Scottish poetry, in which he laboured
long and well. Though terrible, however, in his denunciations of others
for anylbing like disluincsty in litcraiurc, he could not resist passing a
few of his own pieces into tlie midst of his colled ions of early jiocms;
and the song bore given fust a]i])cared in In's Select Scottish Ballads. 177;),
as the old words of the beautiful and ancient air of "Botlnvcll Bank."
The trick, liowever, was too palpable to escape detection, and has fatally
injured his position m the History of Antiquarianism.
150 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
On the blyth Beltane, as I v/ent
Be mysel' attour tlie green bet,
Wharby the crystal waves of Clyde,
Throcli saugbs and hanging hazels glyde ;
There, sadly sitting on a brae,
I heard a damsel speak her wae.
" Oh, Bothwell Bank, thou blumest fair,
But, ah, thou mak'st my heart fou' sair !
For a' beneath thy holts sae grene
My luve and I wad sit at ene ;
While primroses and daisies, mixt
Wi blue bells, in my loks he fixt.
" But he left me ae drearie day.
And haplie now sleeps in the clay,
Without ae sich his dethe to roun',
Without ae flouir his grave to croun !
Oh, Bothwell Bank, thou blumest fair,
But, ah, thou mak'st my heart fou' sair."
THE WAYWAKD WIFE.
MISS JENNY GRAHAJVr,
A Maiden lady, who died at an advanced age at Diunfries, towards Iho
middle of the last century.
Alas ! my son, you little know
The sorrows that from wedlock flow.
Farevv^ell to every day of ease.
When you have gotten a wife to please.
Sae bide you yet, and bide you yet.
Ye little ken what's to betide you yet ;
The half of that will gane you yet.
If a wayward wife obtain j-ou yet.
[Your experience is but small,
As yet you've met with little thrall :]
The black cow on your foot ne'er trod,
Which gars you sing alaug the road.
Sae bide you yet, &c.
Sometimes the rock, somethnes the reel,
Or some piece of the spinning-wheel,
She will drive at you wi' good will.
And then she'll send you to the de'il,
Sae bide you yet, &c.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 151
When I lilce you was young and free,
I valued not the proudest she ;
Like you I vainly boasted then,
That men alone were born to reign.
But bide you yet, &c.
Great Hercules, and Samson too,
Were stronger men than I or you.
Yet they were baffled by their dears.
And felt the distaff and the sheers.
Sae bide you yet, &c.
Stout gates of brass, and well-built walls,
Are proof 'gainst swords and cannon-balls,
But nought is found, by sea or land,
That can a wayward wife withstand.
Sae bide you yet, &c.
OUR GOODMAN CAM' IIAME AT E'EN.
Herd's Collection. An English version was recovered in Yorlcshire
bj Mr. J. 11. Dixon.
Our goodman came hame at e'en,
And hame came he ;
And there he saw a saddle horse,
Where nae horse should be.
How came this horse here ?
How can this be ?
How came this horse here
Without the leave o' me ?
A horse ! quo' she :
Ay, a horse, quo' he.
Ye auld blind dotard carle,
Blind mat ye be,
'Tis naething but a bonny milk cow.
My minny sent to me.
A milk cow ! quo' he :
Ay, a milk cow, quo' she.
Far hae I ridden.
And meikle hae I seen.
But a saddle on a cow's back
Saw I never nane.
Our goodman came liamo at o'cn,
And hame came he ;
He spy'd a pair of jaclcboots,
Where nae boots should be.
152 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Wliat's tins now, goodwife ?
What's this I sec ?
IIow came tlieso boots there
Without the leave o'mo?
Boots ! quo' she :
Ay, boots, quo' he.
Shame fa' your cuckold face,
And ill mat ye see,
It's but a pair of Avater stoiips
The cooper sent to me.
Water stoups ! quo' he :
Ay, water stoups, quo' she.
Far hae I ridden.
And farer hae I gane,
But siller spurs on water sloups
Saw I never nane.
Our goodman came hame at e'en.
And hamo came he ;
And then he saw a [siller] sword.
Where a sword should nae be :
What's this now, goodwife?
What's this I see ?
0 how came this sword hero
Without the leave o' me ?
A sword ! quo' she :
Ay, a sword, quo' he.
Shame ia' your cuckold face,
And ill mat yc sec,
It's but a parridge spurtle
My minnie sent to me.
A parridge spurtle ! quo' ho :
Ay, a parridge spurtle, quo' she.
Weil, iar hae I ridden,
And mucklc hae I seen ;
But siller-handed spurtles
Saw I never nano.
Our goodman came hame at e'en,
And hame came he;
There he spy'd a powder'd \Vig,
Where nae wig should be.
What's this now, goodwife ?
What's this I see?
How came this wig here
Without the leave o' mo ?
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRAKGED. 153
A wig ! quo' she :
Ay, a wig, qno' ho.
Shame la' your cuckold face.
And ill mat you see,
'Tis naetliing but a clocken hen
My minnie sent to me.
[A] clocken hen ! quo' lie :
Ay, [a] clocken hen, quo' she.
Far hac I ridden,
And muckle hae I seen.
But powdei' on a clocken-hcn
Saw I never nane.
Our goodman came hamc at c'cn,
And hame came he;
And there ho saw a muckle coat
Where nae coat sliou'd be.
0 liow came this coat here ?
How can this be ?
How came this coat here
Without the leave o' me ?
A coat ! quo' slie :
Ay, a coat, quo' he.
Yc auld blind dotard carle,
Blind mat ye bo.
It's but a jiair of blankets
]\[y minnie sent to me.
Blankets! quo' he:
Ay, blankets, quo' she.
Far Jiae I ridden.
And muckle hae I seen,
But buttons upon blankets
Saw I never nane.
Ben went our goodman,
And ben went he;
And there he spy'd a sturdy mar.,
Where nae man should be.
How came this man here ?
How can this be?
How camo this man hero
Without the leave o' me ?
A man I quo' she :
Ay, a man, quo' he.
Poor blind l)ody,
And blinder mat ye be,
It's a new milking maid,
Mv mitlier scut to me.
154 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
A maid ! quo' lie :
Ay, a maid, quo' she.
Far hae I ridden.
And muckle hae I seen.
But lang-bearded maidens
I saw never nane.
PATIE'S WEDDIN'.
Herd's Collection. No trace of author or era can be found, but it L?
probably of an earlier date than the publication of Herd.
As Patie cam' up frae the glen,
Drivin' his wedders before him,
He met bonnie Meg ganging hame —
Her beauty was like for to smoore him.
0 Maggie, lass, dinna ye ken
That you and I 's gaun to be married ?
1 had rather had broken my leg.
Before gic a bargain miscarried.
0 Patie, lad, wha tell'd ye that ?
I think o' news they've been scanty :
I'm nae to be married the year,
Though I should be courted by twenty!
Now, Maggie, what gars ye to taunt ?
Is 't 'cause that I ha'ena a mailen ?
The lad that has gear needna want
For neither a half nor a haill anc.
My dad has a gude grey meare,
And yours has twa cows and a filly ;
And that will be plenty o' gear :
Sae, Maggie, be na sae ill-willy.
Weel, Patie, lad, I dinna ken ;
But first ye maun speir at my daddie ;
You're quite as weel born as Ben,
And I canna say but Pm ready.
"We ha'e walth o' yarn in clews.
To mak' me a coat and a jimpey,
And plaidLn' eneucli to be trews —
Gif I get ye, I shanna scrimp yc !
Now fair fa' ye, my bonnie Meg !
I'se e'en let a smackie fa' on ye :
May my neck be as lang as my leg,
If I be an ill husband unto ye !
Sae gang your ways hame e'en now ;
Mak' ready giu this day fifteen days,
And tell your father fra me,
I'll be his gude-son in great kindness.
CIIROKOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 155
Maggie's as blytbe as a wran,
Bodin' the blast o' ill weather,
And a' the gaite singiu' she ran,
To tell the news to her father.
But aye the auld man cried out,
He'll no be o' that mind on Sunday.
There's nae fear o' that quo' Meg ;
For I gat a kiss on the bounty.
And what was the matter o' that?
It was naethiug out o' his pocket,
I wish the news were true,
And we had him fairly bookit.
A very wee whUe after that,
Wha cam' to our biggin but Patie ?
Dress'd up in a braw new coat.
And wow but he thocht himsel' pretty !
Ilis bonnet was little frae new.
And in it a loop and a slittie,
To draw in a ribbon sae blue.
To bab at the neck o' his coatie.
Then Patie cam' in wi' a stend ;
Cried, Peace be under the biggin !
You're welcome, quo' William, Come ben,
Or I wish it may rive frae the riggiu' !
Now draw in your seat, and sit doun,
And tell's a' your news in a hurry :
And haste ye, Meg, and be dune,
And hing on the pan wi' the berry.
Quoth Patie, l\r3'- news is nae tlirang ;
Yestreen I was wi' his honour ;
I've ta'en three rigs o' braw land.
And bound myself under a honour ;
And, now, my errand to you,
Is for Maggie to help me to labour ;
But I'm fear'd we'll need j-our best cow,
Because that our haddin's but sober.
Quoth William, To harl ye through,
ni be at the cost o' the bridal,
I'se cut the craig o' the ewe,
That had amaist dee'd o' the side-ill :
And that'll be plenty o' brec,
Sae lang as our well is na reested,
To a' the neebours and you ;
Sae I think we'll be nae that ill feasted.
15G THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Quotli Patio, 0 tliat'll do well,
And I'll gio you your brose i' the morniu',
0' kail that was made yestreen,
For I like them best i' the forenoon.
Sae Tam, the piper, did play;
And ilka anc danced that was willin' ;
And a' the lave they rankit through ;
And they held the wee stoupie aye fillin'.
The auld wives sat and they chew'd ;
And when that the carles grew nappy,
They danced as well as they dow'd
Wi' a crack o' their tliooms and a liappie.
Tlie lad that wore the white band,
I think they ca'd him Jamie Mather,
lie took the bride by the hand,
And cried to play up Maggie Lauder.
BANKS OF FOirni,
iiekd's collection.
Awake, my love ! with genial ray,
Tlic sun returning glads the day.
Awake ! the balmy zephyr blows,
The hawthorn blooms, the daisy glows,
Tlie trees regain their verdant pride,
The turtle woos his tender bride ;
To love each warbler tunes the song,
And Forth in dimples glides along.
Oh, more than blooming daisies fair !
More fragrant than the vernal air !
More gentle than the turtle dove.
Or streams that murmur through the grove!
Bethink thee all is on the wing,
Tliese pleasures wait on wasting spring ;
Then come, the transient bliss enjoy.
Nor fear what fleets so fast will cloy.
THE HUMBLE BEGGAE.
herd's collection.
I:* Scotland tliere lived a humble beggar,
He had neither house, nor hald, nor hamo.
But he was Aveel liked liy ilka bodie.
And they ga'c him simkets to rax his wan:e.
A nivefu' of meal, a handfu' of groats,
A daad of bannock, or herring brie,
Canld parridge, or the lickings of plates.
Wad mak' him as blythe as a beggar could be.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 157
This bc,Q:gar ho was a InmililG beggar,
The fcuit a bit of pride had he,
He wad a ta'en Ids a'ms in a bikker,
Frae gentleman, or poor bodic.
His wallets ahint and afore did hang,
In as good order as wallets could be :
And a lang kail-gooly hang down by his side,
And a mcikle nowt-horn to rout on had lie.
It happen'd ill, it happcnVl warse.
It happen'd sae that he did die ;
And wha do you think was at his lale-wako,
But lads and lasses of a high degree.
Some were blytho and some were sad,
And some they play'd at Blind Ilarrie ;
But suddenly up-started the auld carlo,
I redd ye, good folks, talc' tent o' me.
Up gat Kate that sat i' the nook,
Vow kimmer, and how do ye ?
Up he gat, and ca't her limmer.
And ruggit and tuggit her cockernonic.
They houkit his grave in Duket's kirk-yard,
E'en far frae the conipanic :
But when they were gaun to lay him i' the yird,
The feint a dead nor dead was lie.
And when they brought him to Duket's kirk-yard,
He duntcd on the kist, the boards did tlee :
And wlien tlicy were gaun to put him i' the yird,
hi fell the kist, and out lap he.
He cried, I'm cauld, I'm unco cauld ;
Fu' fast ran the fock, and fu' fast ran he :
But he was lirst harae at his aiu ingle side,
And he helped to drink his ain dirgie.
THE DECEIVEB.
herd's collection.
With tuneful pipe and hearty glco,
Young Watty wan my Jieart;
A blythcr lad ye couldna sec,
All beauty without art.
His winning talo
Did soon prevail
To gain my fond belief;
But soon the swain
Gangs o'er the plain,
And leaves me full, and leaves nic full,
Ami leaves mc full of grief.
158 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Though Colin courts with tuueful rnxng,
Yet few regard his mane ;
The kisses a' round Watty thrang,
While Colin's left alane :
In Aberdeen
Was never seen
A lad that gave sic pain ;
He daily wooes,
And still pursues,
Till he does all, till he does all,
Till he does all obtain.
But soon as he has gain'd the bliss,
Away then does he run,
And hardly will afford a kiss.
To silly me undone :
Bonnie Katy,
Maggy, Beaty,
Avoid the roving swain,
His wyly tongue
Be sure to shun,
Or you like me, or you like mo.
Like me will be undone.
GET UP AND BAE THE DOOR.
herd's collection.
It fell about the Martinmas time,
And a gay time it was than.
When our gudewife got puddings to mak',
And she boil'd them in the pan.
The wind sac cauld blew south and north.
And blew into the floor :
Quoth our gudeman to our gudewife,
" Gae out and bar the door."
"My hand is in my hussy'f skap,
Gudeman, as ye may see,
An' it shou'd nae be barr'd this hundred year,
It's no be barr'd for me."
They made a paction 'tween them twa,
They made it firm and sure ;
That the first word Avhae'er shou'd speak,
Shou'd rise and bar the door.
Then by there came twa gentlemen.
At twelve o'clock at night,
And they could neither see house nor hall,
Nor coal nor candle light.
CURONOLOGICALLY ARKAKGED. 159
Now, wliethei* is this a rich man's house,
Or whether is it a poor ?
But never a word wad ane o' them speak.
For barring o' the door.
And first they ate the white i:)udding-s.
And tlien they ate the black,
Tlio' muckle thought the gudewife to licrsol',
Yet ne'er a word she spak'.
Then said the one unto the othei",
" Here, man, tak' ye my knife.
Do ye tak' aff the auki man's beard,
And I'll kiss the gudewife."
"But there's nae water in the house,
And what shall Ave do than? "
" What ails you at the puddin' broo,
That boils into the pan? "
0 up then started our gudeman,
And an angry man was he ;
"Will ye kiss my wife before mj' ecu,
And scad me wi' pudding brcc ? "
Then up and started our gudewife,
Gied three skips on the floor:
" Gudeman, ye've spoken the foremost word,
Get up and bar the door."
AS- 1 WAS A-WALKING.
herd's collection.
As I wag a walking ae May morning,
The fiddlers an' youncffiters were making their game,
And there I saw my faitldcss lover.
And a' my sorrows return'd again.
Well since he is gane, joy gang wi' him ;
It's ne'er be he sliall gar me complain :
I'll cheer up my heart, and I will get anither;
I'll never lay a' my love upon ane.
I could na get sleeping yestreen for weeping,
The tears ran down like showers o' rain ;
An' had na I got greiting my heart wad a broken ;
And 0! but love's a tormenting pain.
But since he is gane, may joy gae wi' him ;
It's never be he that shall gar me complain ;
I'll cheer up my heart, and I will get anither ;
I'll never lay a' my love upon ane.
160 THE SONGS OF SCOTLjVND
Wlicn I gade into my mitlier's new Iioukc,
I too!-: my \v'lieel antl sat down to ^piu,
'Twas there 1 first began my thrift;
And a' the wooers came linking in.
It was gear lie was seeking, but gear he'll na get ;
And its never bo he that shall gar me complain :
For I'll cheer up my heart, and I'll soon get anithcr ;
I'll never lay a' my love upon ane.
WANDERING WILLIE.
IIEPvC's COLLECTION.
IIkue awa', there awa', wandering Y\''illie,
Here awa', there awa', liere awa' hame !
Lang have I sought thee, dear have I bought tliee,
Now I have gotten my V/illie again !
Through tlie lang muir I have followed my Willie;
Tln-ou2,'h the lano: muir I have followed him hame
Whatever betide us, nought shall divide us;
Love now rewards all my sorrow and pain.
Here awa', there awa', wandering Willie,
Here awa', there awa', here awa' hame !
Come, love, believe me, nothing can grieve me,
Ilka thing pleases while AVillic's at hame.
JOCKY HE CAME HERE TO WOO.
IIekd's Collection. Two verses have necessarily been omitted.
JOCKV ho came here to woo,
On ae feast-day when we were fu' ;
And Jenny pat on her best array.
When she heard Jocky was come that way.
Jenny she gaed up the stair,
Sae privily to cliange her smock ;
And ay sae loud as her mother did rair,
Hey, Jenny, come doAvn to Joclc.
Jenny she came down the stair.
And she came bobbin and bakin ben ;
Ilcr stays they were lac'd, and her Avaist it was jimp,
And a bra' new-made manco gown.
Jocky took her by the hand,
0 Jenny, can ye fancy me ?
My father is dead, and he 'as loft mo some land,
And bra' houses twa or throe.
CHRONOLOGICALLY AKUANGED. 101
And I will gi'c tliGin a' to thcc,
A haith, quo' Jenny, I fear you mock !
Then foul fa' me gin I scorn thee ;
If ye'U be my Jenny, Til be your Jock.
Jenny lookit, and syne she Icugli,
Ye first maun get my mither's consent.
A weel, goodwife, and wliat saj'' ye ?
Quo' she, Jocky, I'm weel content.
Jenny to her mither did say,
0 mither fetch us some good meat,
A ]iiece o' the butter was kirn'd the day,
That Jocky and I thegither may eat.
Jocky unto Jenny did say,
Jenny, my dear, I want nac meat ;
It was nac for meat that I came here,
But a' for the love of you, Jenny, my dear.
Jenny she gacd up the gait
Wi' a green gown as syde as her smock,
And ay sac loud as her mither did rair,
Vow, sirs, has nae Jenny seen Jock.
A CANTY SANG.
herd's collection.
Gin I had a wee house and a cautic wee lire,
A bonnie wee wific to praise and admire,
A bonnie wee yardie beside a wee burn,
Farewecl to the bodies that yammer and mourn.
Arul bide ye yet, and bide ye yet,
Yc little ken what may betide me yet ;
Some bonnie wee bodie may be my lot.
And I'll aye be cautic wi' thiuldng o't.
Wlien I gang afield and come hamc at e'en,
I'll get my wee wilio fu' neat and fu' clean ;
And a bonnie wee ])airnio upon her knee,
That'll cry papa, or daddie, to me.
And if there ever should happen to bo
A difference atwcen my wee wille and me ;
In hearty good-humour, although she be teased,
I'll kiss her and clap her until she be pleased.
162 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
SAE MERRY AS WE TWA HA'E BEEN.
Heed's Collection. One of the tunes in the Skene Manuscript (1G30),
is titled, " Sac merry as we ha'e been," which seems to indicate that the
refrain is of a very early period, though we cannot class the song earlier
than the time of Herd.
A LASS that was laden'd with care,
Sat heavily under yon thorn ;
I listen'd a while for to hear,
When thus she began for to monrn.
Whene'er my dear shepherd was there,
The birds did melodiously sing,
And cold nipping winter did wear
A face that resembled the spring.
Sae merry as we twa ha'e been,
Sae merry as we twa ha'e been,
My heart it is like for to break
When I think on the days we ha'e seen.
Our flocks feeding close by his side,
He gently pressing my hand,
I view'd the wide world in its pride,
And laugh'd at the pomp of command !
My dear, he would oft to me say.
What makes you hard-hearted to me ?
Oh I why do you thus turn away
From him who is dying for thee ? "
But now he is far from my sight,
Perhaps a deceiver may prove,
Vfhich makes me lament day and night,
That ever I granted my love.
At eve, when the rest of the folk
Are merrily seated to spin,
I set myself under an oak,
And heavily sighed for laim.
THERE'S NAE LUCK ABOUT THE HOUSE,
DISPUTED,
Was sung as a street ballad about 1772. A copy of it was found
among the papers of William Julius Jlickle, the celebrated translator of the
Lusiad, and his admirers have since claimed the song as his. It has also
been said, with more plausibility, to have been the production of Mrs. Jean
Adams, a schoolmistress at Crawford's Dyke, near Greenock. While,
ho-wever, we consider the claim of "Mis. Adams to be the preferable one,
it is but fair to state that the evidence is not much to the point on either
side, and that a satisfactory solution of the question is in all likelihood
utterly impossible.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 163
It appeared in Herd's Collection : the version here given has been much
altered and improved, the sixth stanza, for instance ( so much admired
by Burns), having been added by Dr. Beattie, the author of "Tho
Minstrel."
And arc you sure the news is true ?
And are you sure he's weel ?
Is this a time to think o' wark?
Ye jauds, fling bye your wheel.
Is this a time to thinlc o' wark,
When Colin's at the door ?
Eax me my cloak, — I'll to the quay,
And see him come ashore.
For there's nae luck about the house,
There's nae luck at a' ;
There's little pleasure in tlic house
When our gudeman's awa'.
And gie to me my biirgonet,
My bishop's satin gown.
For I maun tell the baUie's wife
That Colin's come to town.
My turkey slippers maun gae on.
My hose o' pearl blue ;
'Tis a' to please my ain gudeman,
For he's baith leal and true.
For there's nae luck, &c.
Rise up and mak' a clean iiresidc ;
Put on the muckle pot ;
Gi'e little Kate her button gown.
And Jock his Sunday coat ;
And mak' their shoon as black as slacs,
Their hose as white as snaw ;
It's a' to please my ain gudeman,
For he's been lang awa'.
For there's nae luck, &c.
There's twa fat hens upon the bank,
They've fed this month and mair ;
Mak' haste and thraw their neclcs about,
That Colin weel may fare ;
And spread tlie table neat and clean,
Gar ilka thing look braw;
For wha can tell how Colin fared,
When he was far awa'.
For there's nae kick, &c.
164 THli SONGS 01'' SCOTLAND
Sac true liis heart, sac smooth his speech,
Ilis breath like caller air ;
Ilis very foot has music in't,
As lie comes up the stair.
And will I see his face again?
And will I hear liim speak ?
I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought, — •
In troth, I'm like to greet.
For there's nac luck, &c.
The cauld blasts o' the winter wind,
That tliirl'd through my heart,
They're a' blawn by, I ha'c him safe.
Till death we'll never part :
But what puts parting in my head ?
It may be far awa' ;
The present moment is our ain,
The neist we never saw.
For there's nae luck, &c.
Since Colin's wccl, I'mi wool content,
I Iia'e nae mair to crave;
Could I but live to niak' him blest,
I'm blest aboon the lave.
And will I sec his face again ?
And will I hear him speak ?
I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought, — •
In troth, I'm like to greet.
For there's nac luck, &c.
MY WIFE'S A WANTON WEE THING.
The first two verses appeared in Ilciirs CoUcctiou, the rc^t appoary in
Joliusou'.'j IMusciim.
BIy wife's a wanton wee thing,
My wife's a wanton wee thing,
My wife's a wanton wee thing ;
She wiuna bo guided by me.
She play'd the loon ere she was married.
She play'd the loon ere she was married,
She play'd the loon ere she was married ;
She'll do't again ere she die !
She scll'd her coat, and slie drank it,
She sell'd her coat, and she drank it.
She row'd hersel in a blanket ;
She winna be guided by me.
CimOXO LOGICALLY AKL'AKGED, 1G5
She niiud't na wlien I forbade her,
She iniud't na wlien I forbade her;
I took a rung and I cLaw'd licr,
And a braw guid bairn was she !
ROBIN IS MY ONLY JO.,
IlEKn'b Collection, based upon a very old aud licculious ditty.
IIOWN is my only jo,
IJobin has tlie art to lo'e,
So to his suit I mean to how,
Because I ken he lo'es me.
Happy, happy was the shower,
Tliat led me to his birken bower,
Whare first of love I land the power,
And kcnd tliat llobin loc'd me.
IMicy speak of napkins, s])eak of rings.
Speak of gloves and kissing strings,
And name a thousand bonnie thini«te,
And ca' them signs he lo'es me.
But I prefer a smack of Rob,
Sporting on the velvet fog,
To gifts as lang's a plaidcii wob,
Because I ken he lo'es me.
He's tall and sonsy, frank and free,
Lo'cd by a', and dear to me,
Wi' him I'd live, wi' him I'd die,
Because my Robin lo'es me.
My titty, Mary, said to me.
Our courtship but a joke wad be,
And I or lang be made to see,
That Robin did na lo'e me.
l')ut little kens she what has been.
Me and my honest Rob between.
And in his wooing, 0 sac keen
Kind Robin is that lo'es mc.
Then fly, ye lazy hours away,
And hasten on the happy day,
When "join your hands," i\Icss Jolni shall Bay,
And mak' him mine tliat lo'es mc.
Till then, let every chance unite,
To weigh our love, and iix delight.
And I'll look down on such wi' spito,
Who doubt that Robin lo'cs mo,
0 hey, Robin, quo' she,
0 hey, Robin, quo' she,
0 liey, Robin, quo' sho,
Kind Robin lo'cs mo.
0
166 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
THEEE CAM' A YOUNG MAN.
Herd's Collection. Nothing is known as to its authorship. The air
is called in ©Id collections "Bung your eye in the morning."
There cam' a young man to my daddie's door,
My daddie's door, my daddie's door ;
There cam' a young man to my daddie's door,
Cam' seeking me to woo.
And wow ! but he was a braw young lad,
A brisk young lad, and a braw young lad.
And wow ! but lie was a braw young lad,
Cam' seeking me to woo.
But I was baking when he came.
When he came, when he came ;
I took hun in and gied him a scone,
To thowe his frozen mou'.
I set him in aside the bink ;
I ga'e him bread and ale to drink ;
But ne'er a blythe styme wad he blink.
Until his wame was fu',
Gae, get you gone, you cauldrifc wooer,
Ye sour-looking, cauldrife wooer !
I straightway show'd him to the door.
Saying, Come nae mair to woo.
There lay a deuk-dub before the door.
Before the door, before the door ;
There lay a deuk-dub before the door,
And there fell he, I trow !
Out cam' the gudeman, and high he shouted ;
Out cam' the guidwife, and laigh she louted ;
And a' the toun-neebors were gather'd about it ;
And there lay he I trow !
Then out cam' I, and eneer'd and smil'd ;
Ye cam' to woo, but ye're a' befjded ;
Ye'vo fa'en i' the dirt, and ye're a' beguiled ;
We'll ha'e nae man* o' you !
0 SAW YE MY FAITHEE.
Herd's Collection. _ Mi-. Chappell (Music of the Olden time), from
finding an English version in an earlier collection, has sprung to the con-
clusion that it is of English origin, — a conclusion which he does not
satisfactorily prove.
0 SAVi^ ye my father, or saw ye my mither,
Or saw ye my true love John ?
1 saw nae your father, I saw nae your mither,
But I saw your true love John.
CURONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 1G7
It's now ten at night, and the stars gi'e nae light,
And tlie bells they ring ding dang,
lie's met wi' some delay that causes him to stay,
But he will be here ere laug.
The surly auld carle did naething but snarl,
And Johnny's face it grew red,
Yet tho' he often sigh'd he ne'er a word replied.
Till a' were asleep in bed.
Then up Johnny rose, and to the door he goes,
And gently tirled at the pin.
The lassie taking tent unto the door she went,
And she open'd and lat him in.
And are ye come at last ! and do I hold you fast !
And is my Johnny true ?
I have nae time to tell, but sae lang's I like myseP,
Sae lang sail I like you.
Flee up, flee up, my bonnie grey cock.
And craw when it is day ;
And your neck shall be like the bonnie beaten gold,
And your wings of the silver grey.
The cock proved false, and untrue he was.
For he crew an hour owre soon :
The lassie thought it day when she sent her love away,
And it was but a blink of the moon.
THE LOVE 0' SILLER.
heed's collection.
'Tis no very lang sinsjme.
That I had a lad o' my ain ;
IJiit now he's awa' to anither.
And left me a' my lane.
The lass he is courting has siller,
And I ha'e nane at a'.
And 'tis nought but the love o' the tocher
That's tane my lad awa'.
But I'm blythe that my heart's mj' ain,
And I'll keep it a' my life,
Until that I meet wi' a lad,
Wha hag sense to wale a good wife.
For though I say't mysel',
That should nae say't, 'tis true,
Tlie lad that go^s me for a wife
He'll ne'er ha'c occasion to rue.
1G8 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
I gang aye fu' clean ami fu' toyli,
As a' tiie neighbours can tell,
Though I've seldom a gown on my back,
But sic as I spin myscl' ;
And when I'm clad in my curtsey,
I think mysel' as braw
As Susie, wi' her pearling,
That's tane my lad awa'.
But I wish they Avorc buckl'd thcgither.
And may they live happy for life ;
Though Willie now slights mo, an's left mC;
The chiel he deserves a gude wife.
But, 0 ! I am blythe that I miss'd him,
As blythe as I weel can be ;
For ano that's sae keen o' the siller.
Would never agree wi' mo.
But the truth is, I am aye hearty,
I hate to be scrimpit or scant ;
The wee thing I ha'e I'll mak use o't,
And there's nane about me shall want;
For I'm a gude guide o' the warld,
I ken when to baud and to gi'e ;
Bat whinging and cringing for siller
Would never agree wi' me.
Contentment is better than riches,
And lie wlia has that has cnougli;
The master is seldom sac happy
As Bobin that drives the plough.
But if a young lad wad cast up,
To mak' mo his partner for life.
If the chiel has the sense to bo happy.
He'll fa' on his feet for a wife.
SOUTHLAND JENNY.
uekd's collection.
A Southland Jenny, that was right bonnie.
Had for a suitor a Norland Johnnie ;
But ho was sicken a bashful wooer.
That he could scarcely speak unto her ;
Till blinks o' her beauty, and hopes o' her siller.
Forced him at last to tell his mind till her.
My dear, quoth he, we'll nae langer tarry.
Gin ye can loo me, let's o'er the muir and marry.
CIinOKOLOGICALLY Ar.RANGED. 1G9
She
Come, come a,wa' llicn, my Korland la-,l.lie,
Tliou;j,-li we gang neatly, some arc mair gawdy;
And albeit I have neither gowd nor money,
Come, and I'll ware my beauty on thee.
IlK
Ye lasses o' the sonth, ye're a' for dressing ;
Lasses o' the north mind milking and threshing;
My niinnie wa(? bo angry, and sae wad my dadd}',
Siioidd I marry ane as dink as a lady ;
For I maun ha'c a wife that will rise i' the morning,
Cradle a' the milk, and keep the house a' scolding
Toolie wi' her nei'bours, and learn at my minny,
A Norland Joeky maun ha'c a Norland Jenny,
She
My father's only daugliter, and tv/enty thousand pound,
8liall never be bestow'd on sic a silly clown:
For a' that I said was to try what was in yo ;
Ga'e liame, yo Norland Jock, and court your Norland Jenny,
'a)
IIEY, now, JOHNNIE LAD.
IIkud s CoT,i,ECTioy. "Wc have, however, given the s.o-iif]^ willi a few
vnriiitious from Ihe first version, by Allan Cuiniiu^^haui, and which arc
necessary to fit the Koug for " cars polite."
ITky, how, Johnnie lad,
Yc'ro no sae kind's ye sud ha'c been,
For gin your voice I had na kent,
I'm sure I couldna trust my cen ;
Sac weel's ye might ha'c courlcd nic.
And sweetly pree'd my mou' bedecn :
lley, how, my Johmiie lad,
Ye're no sae kind's ye sud ha'e beca.
]\Iy father, lie was at the plough,
j\ly mither, she was at the mill ;
I\Iy billie, he was at the moss.
And no ane near our sport to spile :
The feint a body was therein,
Yc need na fley'd for being seen :
Iley, how, my Johnnie lad,
Ye're no sae kind's j-e sud ha'c been.
But I maun hae anither joo,
Whase love gangs never out o' mind,
And winna let the moment pass
When to a lass he can be kind.
170 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Then ye may woo wi' Lliukin' Bess —
For you nae mair Til sigh and green ;
Hey, how, my Johnnie lad,
Ye're no sae kind's ye sud ha'e been.
MY WIFE HAD TA'EN THE GEE.
hekd's collkction.
A FRIEND of mine came here yestreen,
And he would ha'e me down
To driulc a bottle of ale wi' him
In the neist burrows town.
But, O ! indeed it was, Sir,
Sae far the v/aur for me ;
For lang or o'er that I came hame
My wife had ta'en the gee.
We sat sae late, and drank sae stout,
The truth I'll tell to you, _
That ere the middle o' the night,
We were a' roaring fou.
My wife sits at the fire-side,
And the tears blind aye her c'e,
TliG ne'er a bed will slie gae to,
But sit and tak' the gee.
In the morning soon, when I came down,
The ne'er a word she spake,
But monie a sad and sour look.
And aj^e her head she'd shake.
i\[y dear, quoth I, what aileth thee.
To look sae sour on me ?
I'll never do the like again,
If ye'll ne'er tak' tlie gee.
When that she heard, she ran, she flang
Her arms about my neck;
And twenty kisses in a crack,
And, poor Avec thing, she grat.
If ye'll ne'er do the like again,
ijut bide at hame wi' me,
ril lay my life I'se be the wife
That's never tak' the gee.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARR^VNGEB. 171
IF MY DEAE WIFE.
From Maidraent's North Country Garland, 1824 ; recovered from oval
tiaditiou.
If my clear wife should chance to gang,
Wi' me, to Edinburgh toun,
Into a shop I will her tak',
And buy her a new goun.
But if my dear wife should hain the charge,
As I expect she wUl,
And if she says, The auld will do,
By my word she shall ha'e her will.
If my dear wife should wish to gang,
To see a neebor or friend,
A horse or a chair I will provide,
And a servant to attend.
But if my dear wife sliall hain the charge,
As I expect she will.
And if she says, I'll Avalk on foot.
By my word she shall ha'e her will.
If my dear wife shall bring me a son,
As I expect she will,
Cake and wine I will provide,
And a nurse to nurse the child.
Bat if my dear wife shall hain the charge,
As I expect she will,
And if she says, She'll nurs't hersel',
By my word she shall ha'e her will.
THE S P I N N I N' 0 ' T.
ALEXANDER KOSS,
AuxnoR of " Helenore," or the "Fortunate Shepherdess." He was for
upwards of fifty years schoolmaster of Lochlee, in Forfarshire. He died
in 1783, at the advanced age of 83.
There was an auld wife had a wee pickle tow.
And she wad gae try the spinnin' o't ;
She louted her doun, and licr rock took a-low,
And that was a bad bcginnin' o't.
She sat and she grat, and she flat and she flang,
And she threw and she blew, and she wriggled and wrang,
And she chokit and boakit, and cried like to mang,
Alas, for the dreary beginnin' o't,
I've wanted a sark for these aught j'cars and ten,
And this -was to be the beginnin' o't ;
But I vow I shall want it for as lang again,
Or ever I try the spiunin' o't.
172 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAKD
For never since ever they ca'd as they ca' me,
Did sic a mishap and mischantor bcfa' me ;
But ye sliall hae leave baith to hang and to draw me,
The ncist time I try the spinniu' o't.
I hae kcepit my liousc now these threescore years,
And aye I kept frae the spinnin' o't ;
But how I was sarkit, foul fa' them that speirs,
For it minds mo npo' tlie beginnin' o't.
But our women arc now-a-days a' grown sae braw, .
Tliat ilk ane maun hae a sark, and some lia'c twa — ■
Tlie warlds were better where ne'er ane ava
Had a rag, but ane at the beginnin' o't.
In the days they ca' yore, gin anld fouks had but won
To a surcoat, hough-sj^de, for the winnin' o't,
Of coat-raips weel cut by the cast o' their bum,
Tliey never soclit mair o' tlie spinnin' o't.
A pair o' grey hoggors weel cluikit benew,
Of nae itlier lit but the hue of the ewe.
With a pair'o' rough mullions to scuff through the dew,
Was the fee they socht at the beginning o't.
But we maun ha'e linen, and that maun ha'c we,
And how get we that but by spinnin' o't?
IIow can we hae face for to seek a great fee.
Except we can help at the winnin' o't ?
And we maun ha'e pearlins, and mabbies, and coclc^,
And some other things that the ladies ca' smocks ;
And how get we that, gin we tak' na our rocks,
And pow what we can at the spinnin' o't ?
'Tis needless for us to mak' our remarks,
Frae our mither's miscookin' the spinnin' o't.
She never kenn'd ocht o' the guid o' tlie sarks,
Frae this aback to the beginnin' o't.
Tvva-three ell o' plaiden Avas a' that was socht
By our auld-warld bodies, and that bude be bought ;
For in ilka town siccan things wasna -wrocht —
Sae little they kenn'd o' the spinnin' o't !
THE BRIDAL.
ALEXANDER ROSS.
TiiEY say that Jockey'll speed weel o't,
They say that Jockey'll speed weel o't,
For he grows brawer ilka day ;
I hope we'll ha'e a bridal o't :
For yesternight, nae farther ganc.
The back-house at the side-wa' o't.
He there wi' Meg was mirdin' seen ;
I hope we'll ha'e a bridal o't.
CnRO^'OLOGICALLY ARR.VNGED. 173
All wo Lad but a bridal o't,
An we bad but a bridal o't,
We'd leave the rest unto erood luck,
Although there miglit betide ill o't.
For bridal days are merry times,
And young folk like the coming o't,
\nd scribblers they bang up their rliyiu^?*,
And i^ipers play the bummmg o't.
The lasses like a bridal o't,
The lasses like a bridal o't.
Their braws maun be in rank t>nd fib',
Although that tliey sliould guide ill o't.
Tlie boddom o' the kist is then
Turn'd up into the inmost o't ;
Tlie end that held the keeks sae clean,
Is now become the teeniest o't.
The bangster at the threshing o't,
The bangster at the threshing o't,
Albre it comes is lidgin fain.
And ilka day's a clashing o't :
He'll sell his jerkin for a groat.
His linder for another o't.
And ore lie want to clear his sliot,
His sark'll pay the tother o't.
Tlie pipers and the fiddlers o't,
The jiipers and the fiddlers o't,
Can snudl a bridal unco far,
And like to be the miihbcrs o't :
Fan thick and threc-fanld they con^TUO
Ilka ane envies the tother o't,
And wishes nane but him alano
May over see another o't.
Fan they ha'e done wi' eating o't,
Fan they ha'e done wi' eating o't.
For dancing they gae to the green.
And ail)l!ns to the bcatin o't:
He dances best that dances fast.
And loups at iUca reesing o't.
And claps his hands frae hough to hough,
And furls about the feczings o't.
174 • THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
ABSENCE.
DR. BLACKLOCK,
The author of the celebrated letter to Burns, which overthrew the poet's
Jamaica scheme, and turned his steps to Edinburgh. BlacMock was bom
at Annan in 1721. He lost his sight when very young, and though he
studied for the Church, and was duly licensed, his infinnity prevented him
from receiving any appointment. He latterly kept a select hoarding-
house in Edinbiu-gh, devoting himself, however, principally to literary
pursuits. He died in 1791.
Ye livers so limpid and clear,
Who reflect, as in cadence you flow,
All the beauties that vary the year.
All the flow'rs on your margins that grow !
How blest on your banks could I dwell,
Were ]\Iarg'ret the pleasure to share,
And teach yonr sweet echoes to tell
With what fondness I doat on the fair !
Ye harvests, that wave in the breeze
As far as the view can extend !
Ye mountains, umbrageous with trcep,
Whose to^js so majestic ascend !
Your landscape what joy to survey,
Were Marg'rct witli me to admire !
Then the harvest would glitter, how gay,
IIow majestic the mountains asjjire.
In pensive regret whilst I rove.
The fragrance of flow'rs to inhale;
Or catch as it swells from the grove,
The music that floats on the gale :
Alos! the delusion how vain!
Nor odours nor harmony please
A heart agonizing with pain,
Which tries ev'ry posture for ease.
If anxious to flatter my woes,
Or the languor of absence to cheer,
Her breath I would catch in the rose.
Or her voice in the nightingale liear.
To cheat my despair of its prey,
Wliat ol)ject her charms can assume !
How harsh is the nightingale's lay,
How insipid the rose's jDerfume !
Ye zephyrs that visit my fair,
Ye sunbeams around her that play,
Does her sympathy dwell on my care?
Does she number the hours of my stay ?
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 175
First perisli ambition and wealth,
First perisli all else that is clear,
Ere one sigh should escape her by stealtli,
Ere my absence should cost her one tear.
Vhan, Avhen shall her beauties once more
This desolate bosom surprise ?
Ye fates ! the blest moments restore
When I bask'd in the beams of her eyes ;
"When with sweet emulation of heart,
Our kindness we struggled to show ;
Bat the more that we strove to impart
We felt it more ardently glow.
THE BEAES OF BALLENDTNE.
DK. BLACKLOCK.
Beneath a green shade, a lovely young swain
Ae evening reclined to discover his pain ;
So sad, yet so sweetly, he warbled his woo.
The wnds ceased to breathe, and tlie fountain to flov.';
Bude winds wi' compassion could hear him complain,
Yet Chloe, loss gentle, was deaf to his strain.
How happy, he cried, mj'' moments once flew.
Ere Chloe's bright charms first flash'd in my view !
Those eyes then wi' pleasure the da.wn could survey;
Nor smiled the fair morning mair cheerful than tliey.
Now scenes of distress please only my sight;
I'm tortured in pleasure, and languisli in Jiglst.
Through changes in vain relief I pursue.
All, all but conspire my griefs to renew ;
From STinshine to zephyrs and shades we repair — ■
To sunshine we fly from too piercing an air ;
But love's ardent fire burns always tlie same,
No winter can cool it, no summer inflame.
•-)
But see the pale moon, all clouded, retires;
Tlio breezes grow cool, not Strcphon's desires:
I fly from the dangers of tempest and wind,
Yet nourish the madness that preys on my mind.
Ah, wretch! how can life be worthy tliy care?
To lengthen its moments, but lengthens despair.
170 TliE SOXGS OF SCOTLAl-JD
THE WEDDING DAY.
Dr.. BLACKLOCK.
One niglit as young Colin lay musing in bed,
"Witli a heart full of love and a vapourish head;
To wing the dull hours, and his sorrows allay,
Thus sweetly he sang of his wedding day :
'• What would I give for a wedding day !
Who would not wish for a v.^edding day!
Wealth and aniliition, Fd toss ye away,
With all yc caTi boast, for a wedding day.
Should heaven bid my wishes with freedom imjiloro
One bliss for tlie anguish I suffered before.
For Jessy, dear Jessy, alone I would pray,
And grasp my whole wish on my wedding day!.
I'lessed be the approach of my wedding day !
Hail, my dear nymph and my wedding day !
Earth smile more verdant, and heaven shine more gny!
For happiness dawns with my wedding day."
Fut Luna, who equally sovereign presides
O'er the hearts of the ladies and flow of the tides,
Unhappily changing, soon changed his wife's mind :
0 fate, could a wife prove so constant and kind !
"Why was I born to a wedding day!
Cin-scd, ever cursed be my wedding day."
Colin, poor Colin thus changes his lay.
And dates all his plagues from his wedding d:;y.
Yc bachelors, wnrned by the shepherd's distress,
lie tauglit from your freedom to measure your bliss,
Nor fall to the witchcraft of beauty a prey,
And blast all your joys on your wedding day.
Horns are the gift of a wedding day;
Want and a scold crown a wedding day ;
na]ipy and gallant, who. Aviso when he may
Frd'crs a stout rope to a wedding day !
ALL LOVELY ON THE SULTRY BEACH.
WILLIAJI WALLACE,
Op Caimliill, Ayrshire. Born 1712, died 17t!3. Air — The Gordons ha'e
the guiding o't.
All lovely, on the sultry beach,
Expiring Strephon lay ;
No hand the cordial draught to reach,
Nor cheer the gloomy way.
Ill-fated youth ! no parent nigh
To catch thy fleeting breath,
No bride to fix thy swimming eye,
Or smooth the face of death.
CUKONOLOGICALLV AltKANGKD. 177
Far distant from the mourufiil scene,
Thy parents sit at case ;
Thy Lydia rifles all the plain,
And all the spring to please.
Ill-fated youth ! by fault of friend,
Not force of foe dcprcss'd,
Thou fall'st, alas ! thyself, thy kind.
Thy country, unrcdress'd.
fp
TULLOGIIGORUM.
EEV. JOUN SKINNER,
Was bora al Balfour, iu the parish of Birse, Aberdecusliirc, iu 17:M. In
1742 he settled at Longside, ucar Peterhead, as Pastor of the Eimi^coiuI
Church, lie ministered there till his death, which took jdacc in I.SU/.
No one was a greater admirer of Skinner's genius r.s a song writer than
Roliert Barns, who styled " • Tullochgonmi ' the best Scolch Song ScoL-
laud ever saw."
Come, gi'e's a sang Montgon\ery cried,
And lay yoiu- disputes all aside,
What signilies't for folks to chide
For what's boon done before them ?
Let Whig and Tory all agree,
Whig and Tory, Whig and Tory,
Let Whig and Tory all agree,
To drop their Whig-mig-morum ;
Let Whig and Tory all agree,
To spend the niglit in mirth and glee,
And cheerfu' sing alang wi' nre
The reel of TuUochgorum.
0, TuUochgorum's my delight,
It gars us a' iu ane unite,
And ony sumph that keeps up spite.
In conscience I abhor him.
For blythe and cheerio wo's be a',
Blythc and cheerio, blythe and cliocric,
Blythe and cheerio we's be a',
And mak' a happy quorum.
For blythe and cheerio avc's be a',
As lang- as we lia'c breath to draw.
And dance, till we be like to fa',
The reel of TuUochgorum.
There needs na' be sac great a pliraise,
Wi' dringing dull Italian lays,
I wadna gi'e our ain strathspeys,
For half a hundred score o' 'em.
178 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
They're douff and dowie at the best,
Douff and dowie, douff and dowie,
They're douff and dowie at the best,
Wi' a' their variorum :
They're douff and dowie at the best,
Their allegros, and a' the rest,
They canua please a Scottish taste,
Compar'd wi' Tullochgorum.
Let warldly minds themselves oppress
Wi' fears of want, and double cess.
And sullen sots themselves distress
Wi' keeping up decorum :
Shall we sae sour and sulky sit,
Sour and sulky, sour and sulky,
Shall we sae sour and sulky sit.
Like auld Philosophorum ?
Shall we sae sour and sulky sit,
Wi' neither sense, nor mirth, nor wit.
Nor ever rise to shake a fit
To the reel of Tullochgorum ?
May choicest blessings still attend
Each honest open-hearted friend.
And calm and quiet be his end.
And a' that's good watch o'er him !
j\Iay peace and plenty be his lot,
Peace and plenty, peace and plenty,
May peace and plenty be his lot,
And dainties a great store o' em:
May peace and plenty be his lot,
Unstain'd by any vicious spot !
And may he never Avant a groat
That's fond of Tullochgorum.
But for the dirty, fawning fool,
Who wants to be oppression's tool,
May envy gnaw his rotten soul.
And discontent devour him !
May dool and sorrow be his chance,
Dool and sorrow, dool and sorrow,
May dool and sorrow bo his ciiance.
And nane say, Wae's me for 'im !
l\Iay dool and sorrow be his chance,
Wi' a' the ills that come frae France,
Whae'er he be, that winua dance
The reel of Tullochgorum I
CHRONOLOGICALLY AKEANGED. 179
A SONG ON THE TIMES.
KEV. JOHN SKINNER.
"When I began the world first,
It was not as 'tis now,
For all was plain and simple then,
And friends were kind and true.
0 ! the times, the weary, weary times,
The times that I now see,
I think the world's all gone wrong,
From what it used to be.
There were not then high capering head.s,
Prick'd up from ear to ear.
And cloak, and caps were rarities
For gentle folks to wear.
0 ! the times, &c.
There's not an upstart mushroom now,
But what sets up for taste,
And not a lass in all the land
But must be lady-drest.
0 1 the times, &c.
Our young men married then for love.
So did our lasses too,
And children loved their parents dear
As children ought to do.
0 ! the times, &c.
For 0 ! the times are sadly chang'd,
A heavy change indeed !
For truth and friendship are no more,
And honesty is fled.
0 ! the times, &c.
Tlicre's nothing now prevails but pride
Among both high and low.
And strife, and greed, and vanity,
Is all that's minded now.
0 ! the tunes, &c.
When I looked through the world wide.
How times and ftishious go,
It draws the tears from both my eyes.
And lills my heart with woe.
0 ! the times, the weary, weary times,
The times that I now see,
1 wish the world were at an end,
For it will not mend for me.
180 THE SONGS OF SCOTL.VN'D
THE EWIE Wr CKOOKIT HORN.
EEV. JOHX SKIJJNKR.
0, WEiiE I able to rehearse,
My cvv'ie's praise in proper verse,
I'd sound it out as loud and fierce
As ever piper's drone could blaw.
My ewie wi' the crookit horn !
A' that kcnn'd her would ha'e sworn,
Sic a cAvie ne'er was born,
Hereabouts nor far awa'.
She neither needed tar nor keel,
To mark her upon hip or heel ;
Her crookit hornie did as weel
To ken her by aniang them a'.
She never thrcaten'd scab nor rot,
But keepit aye her ain jog-trot ;
Baith to the fauld and to the cot,
Was never swcir to lead nor ca'.
A better nor a thriftier beast,
Nae honest man need e'er ha'e wish'd;
For, silly thing, she never miss'd
To ha'e ilk year a lamb or twa.
The first she had I ga'e to Jock,
To be to him a kind o' stock ;
And now the laddie has a llock
Of mair than thretty head and twa.
The neist I ga'e to Jean ; and now
The bairn's sae braw^, has faulds sac fu',
That lads sac thick come her to woo,
They're fain to sleep on hay or straw.
Canld nor hunger never dang her,
Wind or rain could never wrang her ;
Ancc she lay an ouk and iangcr
Forth aneath a wreath o' snaw.
When other cwies lap the dyke,
And ate the kale for a' the tyke,
My cwie never play'd the like,
But tcezcd about the barn wa'.
I lookit aye at even for her.
Lest mishanter should come ower her,
Or the foumart micht devour her,
Gin the beastie baide awa'.
Yet, last ouk, for a' my keepmg,
(Wha can tell o't without greetmg?)
A villain cam', when I was sleeping,
Staw my ewie, horn and a'.
CHKONOLOCflCALLY ARRANGED, 181
I soclit her sair upon the morn,
And down aneath a bush o' thorn,
Tlicre I fand her crookit horn,
But my ewie was awa'.
But gin I had the loon that did it,
I lia'o sworn as wecl as said it,
Altlioug'h tlic laird Iiinisell forbid it,
I sail gi'e his neck a tliraw.
I never met wi' sic a turn :
At e'en I liad baith ewe and liorn,
Safe steekit up ; but, 'gain the morn,
Baith evv'e and horn A\crc stowu awa'.
A' the clacs that we ha'c worn,
Frae lier and hers sae aft was shorn ;
The loss o' her we could ha'e borne,
Had fair-strae death ta'en her awa'.
0, had she died o' croup or cauhl.
As cwies die Avhen they grow auld,
It liadna been, by mony fauUl,
Sac sair a heart to anc o' us a'.
But thus, puir thing, to lose lior life,
Beneatli a bluidy vilhiin's knife ;
In trotli, I fear that our gudewife
Will never get abuuc 't ava.
0, all ye bards benorth Kiugliorn,
Call up your muses, let them mourn
Our ewie wi' the crookit horn,
Frae us stown, and fell'd and a' !
JOHN 0' BADENYON.
EEV. JOHN SIUXXER.
WiiKN first I came to be a man, of twenty years, or so,
1 thought myself a handsome youth, and fain tlie world would
know ;
In best attire I stcpt abroad, with spirits brisk and gay ;
And here, and there, aiid every where, Avas like a morn in May.
No care I had, no fear of want, but rambled up and down ;
And for a beau T might have pass'd in country or in town :
I still was pleased where'er I went ; and, when I was alone,
I tuned my pipe, and pleased myself wi' John o' Badcnyon.
Now in the days of youthful prime, a mistress I must find ;
For love, they say, gives one an air, and ev'u improves the mind:
On Phillis fair, above the rest, kind fortune fix'd mine eyes ;
Ilcr piercing beauty struck my he'art and she became my choice.
182 THK SONGS OF SCOTLAND
To Cupid, now, witli hearty prayer, I offer'd many a vow.
And danced and sung, and sigli'd and swore, as other lovers do;
But when at last I breathed my flame, I found her cold as stone —
I left the girl, and tuned my pipe to John o' Badenyon.
When love had thus my heart beguiled with foolish hopes and
vain,
To friendship's port I steer'd my course, and laugh'd at lovers'
pain ;
A friend I got by lucky chance — 'twas something like divine ;
An honest friend's a precious gift, and such a gift was mine.
And now, whatever may betide, a happy man was I,
In any strait I knew to whom I freely might apply.
A strait soon came ; my friend I tried — he laugh'd, and spurn'd
my moan ;
I hied me home, and tuned my pipe to John o' Badenyon.
I thought I should be wiser next, and Avould a patriot turn.
Began to doat on Johuie Wilkes, and cry'd up parson Home ;
Their noble spirit I admir'd, and praised their noble zeal,
Who had, with flaming tongue and pen, maintain'd the public
weal.
But, e'er a month or two had pass'd, I found mj^self betray'd ;
'Twas Self and Party, after all, for all the stir they made.
At last I saw tliese factious knaves insult the very throne ;
I cursed them all, and tuned my pipe to John o' Badenyon.
What next to do I mused a while, still hoping to succeed ;
I pitch'd on books for company, and gravely tried to read :
I bought and borrowed every where, and studied night and day.
Nor miss'd what dean or doctor wrote, that happen'd in my way.
Philosoj^hy I now esteem'd the ornament of youth,
And carefully, through many a page, I hunted after truth :
A thousand various schemes I tried, and yet was pleased with
none ;
I threw them by, and tuned my pipe to John o' Badenyon.
And noAV, ye youngsters everywhere, who wish to make a show.
Take heed in time, nor vainly hope for happiness below ;
What you may fancj'' pleasure here is but an empty uanie ;
And girls, and friends, and books also, you'll find them all the
same.
Then be advised, and warning take from such a man as me ;
I'm neither pope nor cardinal, nor one of high degree ;
You'll meet displeasure every where ; then do as I have done —
E'en tune your pipe, andpleaseyourself with John o' Badenyon.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED, 183
THE MARQUIS'S REEL.
KEV. JOHN SKINNEK.
Tune your fiddles, tune tliem sweetly,
Play the marquis' reel discreetly,
Here we are a band completely
Fitted to be jolly.
Come, my boys, blytlie and gawcie.
Every youngster choose his lassie,
Dance wi' life and be not saucy,
Shy nor melancholy.
Come, my boys, &c.
Lay aside your sour grimaces.
Clouded brows and drunilie faces.
Look about and see their Graces,
How they smile delighted :
Now's the season to be merry.
Hang the thoughts of Charon's ferry,
Time enough to come camsterry.
When we're auld and duited.
Now's the season, &c.
Butler, put about the claret.
Through us a' divide and share it,
Gordon Castle Aveel can spare it,
It has claret plenty :
Wine's the true inspiring liquor,
Draffy drink may please the vicar.
When he grasps the foaming bicker,
Vicars are not dainty.
Wine's the true inspiring liquor, &o.
We'll extol our noble master.
Sprung from many a bravo ancestor, —
Heaven preserve him from disaster,
So wo pray in duty.
Prosper, too, our pretty duchess,
Safe from all distressful touches,
Keep her out of Pluto's clutches,
Long in health and beauty.
Prosper, too, our pretty duchess, &c.
Angels guard their gallant boj',
Make him long his father's joy.
Sturdy, like the heir of Troy,
Stout and brisk and healthy.
Pallas grant him every blessing.
Wit and strength, and size increasing,
Plutus, what's in thy possessing.
Make him rich and wealthy.
Pallas grant him every blessing, "&c.
184 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Youth, solace him with thy pleasure,
111 refined and worthy measure :
Merit gain him clioicest treasure,
From the Eoyal donor :
Famous may he be in story,
Full of days and full of glory;
To the grave, when old and hoary,
May he go with honour !
Famous may he be in story, &c.
Gordons, join our hearty praises.
Honest, though in homely phrases,
Love our cheerful spirit raises,
Lofty as the lark is :
Echo, Avaft our Avishes daily,
Through the grove and through the alley
Souiuro'cr every hill and valley,
Blessings on our Marquis.
Echo, waft our wishes, &c.
OLD AGE.
EEV. JOHN SKINNEE.
O ! WHY should old age so much wound us, 0?
Tlierc is nothing in't all to confound us, 0 ?
l'\ir how happy now am I,
With my old wife sitting by.
And our bairns and our oyes all around us, 0.
Wo began in the world wi' nacthing, 0,
And we've jogged on and toiled for the ae thing, 0 ;
We made use of what we had.
And our thankfu' hearts were glad.
When we got the bit meat and the claithing, 0.
We have lived all our lifetime contented, 0,
Since the day we became first acquainted, 0;
It's true we've been but poor,
And wo are so to this hour,
Yet we never pined nor lamented, 0.
We ne'er thought o' schemes to bo wealtliy, 0,
By ways that were cunning or stealthie, 0;
'But we always had the bliss —
And what farther could we wiss? —
To be pleased wi' ourselves and be healthy, 0.
What though Ave canna boast of our guineas, 0,
We have plenty of Jockies and Jeanies, 0 ;
And these, I'm certain, are
More desirable by far,
Thau a pock full of poor yellow stccnies, Q.
CHRONOLOGICALLY AKRANGED. 185
We have seen many a wonder and ferlie, 0,
Of changes that ahnost are yearlie, 0,
Among rich folks up and down,
Both in country and in town,
Who now live but scrinijily and barely, 0.
Then why should people brag of prosperity, 0 ?
A straitened life, we see, is no raritj^, 0 ;
Indeed, we've been in want.
And our living been but scant.
Yet we never were reduced to need charity, 0.
In this house we lirst came together, 0,
Where we've long been a father and mother, 0 ;
And though not of stone and luue.
It will last us a' our time ;
And I hope we shall never need anither, 0.
And when we leave tliis poor habitation, 0,
We'll depart with a good commendation, 0 ;
We'll go hand in hand, I wiss,
To a better house than this.
To make room for the next generation, 0.
Then why should old age so much wound us, 0 ?
There is nothing in't all to confound us, 0 ?
For how happy now am I,
With my auld wife sitting by,
And our bairns and our oyes all around us, 0 !
THERE LIVES A LASSIE ON THE BRAE.
REV. JOHN SKINNER.
Another version is given in the coUectecL vohuue of the Author's poems,
1809.
TiiKUK lives a lassie on the brae,
0 ! but she's a bonnio creature ;
They ca' her Lizy Liberty,
And monie ane's wooing at her.
Wooing at her, fain wad ha'e her,
Courting at, but canna get her;
Bonnie Lizy Liberty,
There's o'er mony wooing at her.
Her mither wears a plettit mutch ;
Ilcr father is an honest dyker,
An' she herscl's a daintie quean,
Ye winna shaw me monie like her,
Wooing at her, &c,
186 THK SONGS OF SCOTLAND
A pleasant lass she's kent to be,
Wi' fouth o' sense an' smecldum in her ;
There's no a swankie far or near,
But tries wi' a' his might to win her.
Wooing at her, &c.
But sweet and pleasant as she is,
She winna thole the marriage tether,
But likes to rove and rant ahoiit,
Lilfe highland couts amang the heather.
Wooing at her, &c.
It's seven years and somewhat mair,
Sin' Matthew Dutch made courtship till her,
A merchant bluff, ayont the burn,
Wi' heaps o' breeks an' bags o' siller.
Wooing at her, &c.
The next to him was Baltic John,
Stept up the brae and kecket at her,
Syne turn'd as great a fool's he came,
And in a day or twa forgat her.
Wooing at her, &c.
Now Lawrie French has ta'en the whim,
To toss his airs, and frisk about her,
And Malcolm Fleming puff's and sweara
He disna value life without her.
Wooing at her, &c.
They've casten out wi' a' their kin,
Thinking that wad gar them get her 5
Yet after a' the fash they've ta'en,
They maybe winna be the better.
Wooing at her, &c.
But Donald Scot's the happy lad,
Wha seems to be the coshest wi' her;
He never fails to get a kiss.
As aften as he likes to see her.
Wooing at her, &c.
But Donald, tak' a friend's advice.
Although I ken ye fain wad ha'e her,
E'en just be doing as ye are,
And hand wi' what ye're getting frae her.
Wooing at her, &c.
CnRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 187
Ye're weel, and wats nae, as we say,
In getting leave to dwell beside lier ;
And gin ye had her mair your ain,
Ye'd maybe find it waur to guide her.
Wooing at her, &c.
Ah ! Lawrie, ye've debauch'd the lass,
Wi' vile new-fangled tricks ye've play'd her ;
Depraved her morals ; — like an ass,
Ye've courted her, and syne betray 'd her.
Wi' hanging of her, burning of her.
Cutting, hacking, slashing at her ;
Bonnie Lizy Liberty,
Slay ban the day ye ettlcd at her.
WHEN I UPON THY BOSOM LEAN.
JOnN LAPUAIK,
A SJiALT. Ayrshire Laird, who was rained by the bursting of " that villan-
ous bubble, the Ayr Bank." He was born at Dalfraiu, near Muirkirk, in
] 727, and died at Muirkirk, where he kept the Post-office, in 1807. He
was intimately acquainted with Burns, who describes him as " a very
worthy facetious old fellow." The soug here given, addressed to his wife,
ia said to have been written when he was a prisoner for debt in Ayr gaol.
When I upon thy bosom lean,
Enraptured do I call thee mine,
I glory in the sacred ties
That made us ane, wha ance were twain.
A mutual flame inspires us baith.
The tender look, the meltin' kiss :
Even years si i all ne'er destroy our love,
But only gi'e us change o' bliss.
Ha'e I a wish ? it's a' for thee !
I ken thy Avish is me to please.
Our moments pass sae smooth away.
That numbers on us look and ga^c ;
Wcel pleased they see our happy days,
Nor envy's sel' finds aught to'blanie;
And aye, when weary cares arise.
Thy bosom still shall be my hame,
I'll lay mo there and tak' my rest :
And, if that aught disturb my dear,
I'll bid lier laugh her cares awaj',
And beg her not to drop a tear.
Ha'e I a joy ? it's a' her ain I
United still her heart and mine ;
They're like the woodbine round the tree,
Tiiat's twined till death shall them disjoin.
188 THE SONGS OP SCOTLAND
MY AULD MAN.
Eitson's ScoTTisn Soxgs, 1794.
In the land of Fife there lived a wicked wife,
And in the town of Cupar then,
Who sorely did lament, and made her complaint,
Oh when will ye die, my auld man?
In cam her cousin Kate, when it was growing laic,
She said. What's guid for an auld man?
0 wheit-breid and wine, and a kinneu new slain ;
That's guid for an auld man.
Cam ye in to jeer, or cam yc in to scorn,
And what for cam ye in ?
For bear-bread and water, I'm sure, is much better —
It's ower guid for an auld man.
Now the auld man's deid, and, Avithout romoid,
Into his cauld grave hfc'a gane :
Lie still wi' my blessing ! of thee I hae nae missing ;
I'll ne'er mourn for an auld man.
Witliin a little mair than three-quarters of a year.
She was married to a young man then,
Who drank at the wine, and tippled at the lieer.
And spent mair gear than he wan.
0 black grew her brows, and howe grew her ecu,
And cauld gi'ew her pat and her pan :
And now she sighs, and aye she says,
I wish I had my silly auld man !
THE SCOTTISH KAIL BROSE.
AsCRtBED, says Mr. Robert Cliarabers, to " Sheriff, an Aberdocn-
shire poet," a contemporary of Burns. Mi-. Peter Buchan ascribes a somewhat
similar song to Alex. Watson, at one time tailor in Aberdeen, and stales
that it was composed during the iVmerican War of Independence.
When our ancient forefathers agreed wi' the laird.
For a wee piece grund to be a kail-yard.
It was to the brose that they paid their regard ;
0 ! the kail brose of auld Scotland;
And 0! for the Scottish kail brose.
When Fergus, the first of our kings I suppose,
At the head of his nobles had vanquish'd our foes,
Just before they began they 'd been feastin' on brose.
0 ! the kail brose, &c.
Our sodgers were drest in their kilts and short hose.
With bonnet and belt which their dress did compose,
With a bag of oatmeal on their back to be brose.
0 ! the kail brose, &c.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 1B9
At our annual election of bailiea or mayor,
Nae kicksliaws or puddings or tarts were seen there,
But a cog o' guid brose was the favourite fare.
0 ! the kail brose, &c.
But when we remember the Englisli, our foes.
Our ancestors beat them wi' very few blows ;
Jolin Bull oft cried, 0 ! let us rin — thcy'A'c got brose ;
0 ! the kail brose, &c.
But, now that the thistle is joined to the rose,
And the English nae langer are counted our foes.
We've lost a good deal of our relish for brose ;
0 ! the kail brose, &c.
Yet each true-hearted Scotchman by natiu'c jocose,
Likes always to feast on a cog o' guid brose,
And llianks be to Heaven we've plenty of lliose.
0 ! the kail brose, &c.
CA' THE YOWES.
ATTRinUTED TO ISABELT,A PAOAV,
A coNTEMPonAP.Y of Biivus. A strange coiiipouiid of woman and devil.
She lived at Muirkirk, Ayrshire, where she suljsislcd ])artly liy charity,
but priucipally by selling whisky (without a licence) to dronthy nei<;h-
bonrs and visitors. She sang well, had great and ready wit, and could be
sociable when she pleased, but generally her temper was fnrious, her
manner cruel, her habits dissolute, and her wit biting and sarcastic. She
died in 18:31, in her eightieth year. A curious account of her is given in
Mr. Patersou's contemporaries of Burns.
Ca' the yowes to the knowes,
Ca' them Avliare the heather grows,
Ca' tliem whare the burnic rows,
My bonnie dearie.
As I gaed down the water side.
There I met my shepherd lad.
He row'd me sweetly in his plaid,
And ca'd me his dearie.
Ca' the ewes, &c.
Will ye gang down the water side.
And see the waves sae sweetly glide,
Bencatli the hazels spreading wide,
The moon it shines fu' clearly.
Ca' the yowes, &c.
I was bred up at nae sic school.
My sheplierd lad, to play tlie fool ;
And a' tlie day to sit in dool,
And nae body to see me.
Ca' the yowes, &c.
190 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Yc sliall get gowns and ribbons meet,
Cauf leather shoon upon your feet,
And in my arms ye'se lie and sleep,
And ye shall be my dearie.
Ca' the yowes, &c.
If ye'll but stand to what ye've said,
I'so gang wi' you, my shepherd lad ;
And ye may row me in your plaid,
And I shall be your dearie.
Ca' the yowes, &c.
While waters wimple to the sea,
While day blinks in the lift sae hie.
Till clay-cauld death shall blin' my e'c,
Ye aye shall be my dearie.
Ca' the yowes, &c.
IF DOUGHTY DEEDS MY LADY PLEASE.
ROBERT GRAHABI OF GARTMORE,
Born 1750, died 1797.
If doughty deeds my lady please.
Eight soon I'll mount my steed :
And strong his arm, and fast his scat,
That bears frae me the meed.
I'll wear thy colours in my cap,
Thy picture in my heart ;
And he that bends not to thine eye.
Shall rue it to his smart.
Then tell me how to woo thee, love,
0 tell me how to woo thee !
For thy dear sake, nae care I'll take,
Though ne'er another trow nre.
If gay attire delight thine eye,
I'll dight me in array ;
I'll tend thy chamber door all night.
And squire thee all the day.
If sweetest sounds can win thine ear,
These sounds I'll strive to catch ;
Thy voice I'll steal to woo thysell,
That voice that naue can match.
But if fond love thy heart can gain,
I never broke a vow ;
Nae maiden lays her skaith to me ;
I never loved but you.
For you alone I ride the ring,
For you I wear the blue ;
For you alone I strive to sing—
0 tell me hoAv to woo 1
CllEOXOLOGICALLY ARRAiCGED. 191
O'ER THE MUIFv.
JEAN glo-\t:r,
A Steolling Player. She was bom at Kilraamock in the year 1758,
and at a comparatively early age eloped with an actor, and in her future
life had a full share of the usual lot of strollers — almost constant poverty,
vice, and riot. Bums, to whom we are indebted for the preservation of
this song, took it down from her singing. She died suddenly at Letter-
kcnny in Ireland, in 1801.
Comin' through the craigs o' Kyle,
Amang the bonnie bloomin' heather,
There I met a bonnie lassie,
Keepin' a' her flocks thegither.
Ower the muir amang the heather,
Ower the muir amang the heather,
There I met a bonnie lassie,
Keepin' a' her flocks thegither.
Saj^s I, My dear, where is thy hame ?
In muir or dale, pray tell me whether ?
Says she, I tent the fleecy flocks
That feed amang the bloomin' heather.
We laid us down upon a bank,
Sae warm and sunnie was the weather ;
Slie left her flocks at large to rove
Amang the bonnie bloomin' heatJier.
She charm'd my heart, and aye sinsyne
I could nae think on ony ither :
By sea and sky! she sliall be mine,
Tlie bonnie lass amang tlie heather.
192 THE SONGS OF SCOtLANt)
PAET III.
From BuuNS to Motherwell.
THERE WAS A LAD.
ROBEKT BUHNS,
Was bovn on tlio 2r)tli Jainiary, 1750, in a small roadside cottage about
two miles southward from A^yr, and in the immediate vicinity of " AUo-
way's Auld Haimted Kirk, " &c. His father at the time was acting as
overseer to Mr. Fcrgusson of Doonholm, from whom he leased a few acres
of ground, Avhereby he added to his income by acting as Nm-seryman and
Market Gardener. In 177G lie entered \ipon a lease of the fann of Mount
Oh'phant, vrith a view of bettering his po.sition, and above all a wish of
pci-soiially superintending the education and emplojanent of his cliildren.
Fronr that moment began the hard grim b.attle wliich WiUiani Burncss
fought with fortune, and from which ho only retired when despair and
poverty fairly mn.'-tercd him. lie died of consimiption in 1784.
In his sixth year Eobert Vi'as sent to a small village school; afterward?
his education was completed by Vfilliam Murdoch, a youjig man cngac^ed
by WiUiam Bm-ness _and several of his neighboms to'act as teacher, &i a
small salary, he lodging and boarding in their houses by turns. So far as the
nidiments of learning were concerned Eobert received a larger share than
generally fell to the lot of children of his class. While pm-suino- his edu-
cation, however, his help had to be given to the working of the fann.
His brother Gilbert has recorded: "To the biiffetings of fortune, we could
only oppose hard labour and the most rigid economy. Wo lived very sparine-.
For several years butchers' meat was a stranger in the house, while all the
members of the family exerted themselves to the utmost of their streno-th,
and rather beyond it in the labom-s of the fann. My brother at the age of
thirteen assisted in threshing the crop of corn, and at fifteen was the prin-
cipal labourer on the fami, for we had no hired sen'ant, male or female."
Some short while before the death of their father, obsemng that affairs
were drawing to a crisis, Robert and Gill^ert had taken a lease of another
farm, and stocked it as well as then- means would allow, so as to fonu a
shelter for the family, when the crash came. J.Iossgiel, as the farm was
called, did not however, prove a profitable speculation : the soil was poor
and damp, and the crops were constantly turning out failm-es. Other and
foreign troubles now came upon him. He entered Vi^ith avidity into the
miserable theological disputes which then agitated Ayrshire. Auld Light
and New Light was the ciy of the disputants, and Biu-ns having thi-own
hhnsL'lf with all his pov.^r on the side of the New Lights, succeeded
in bringing upon himself aU the wrath and bitterness of religious ani-
mosity. He struck out vigorously, however, and the Twa Herds, Holy
Fair, and above all Holy Willie's prayer, fell with terrific power into the
midst of the Auld Lights, accompanied by the laughter and derision of
the Nev>'. Burns' best friends advised him against continuing the warfare
but his blood was up and he continued the assault, leaving himseK as a
mark for all the bigots of the country. No fault, however trifling, could
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 193
be committed by him without being loudly proclamicd from the housetoj)s.
Every form of meanness was resorted to, to punish tlie satirist, and this
retaliation pursued him to the grave, and, it is ^vith shame we record it,
liis memory even to our own tune.
Another trouble. He had met with Jean Annour at a pcuuy wedding
in Mauchline, and a mutual passion seems to have sprmig up between llic
two. Promise of marriage doubtless followed, but its consummatiou
was prevented by the failme of liis fanning spccidations. In 17SG
he learned that Jean was about to become a mother, and tliat, irritated at
liis daughter's treatment, her father had debarred any further correspon-
dence between them. A letter was immediately sent by the poet to Jean
acknowledging her as his wife, (constituting a legal maniage under the
Scotch Law.) Tliis letter was destroyed by Mr. i\jmoxir. "Bums's
feelings at this crisis," says Mr. Alexander Smith, "may be imagined.
Pride, love, anger, despair, strove for mastery in his heart. Weary of his
existence, and seeing ruin staring him in the face at Mossgiel, he resolved
to seek better fortune and solace for a lacerated heart in exile." An en-
gagement was secured by him to go to Jamaica and act as book-keeper oa
an estate there. In order to raise sufficient funds to defray his passage,
he was ad\-ised to print a voliuue of his poems by subscription. The idea,
once started, was soon worlccd out, and Jolmny Wilson of lulmaruock
coumienced printing.
About this time occurs tlie celebrated episode of Highland Mary.
R love passage involved in considerable mystery. The general opinion
uow is, that, disgusted with tlic Armours, and bitter at Jean for giving
way to her fatlier, ho met with Mary Campbell, a servant girl, and fell
ia love Avith Irer v.'ith all the ardour and force of his nature. Their
marriage v.'as arranged, and Mary gave up her situation, and proceeded
to visit her friends in the West Highlands. She died suddenly in
Greenock and was buried there. Word was brought to Burns, and its
reception was perhaps the deepest grief he ever bore. How he loved her
his own words tell, and how he still mourucd for her when many years
had passed, and other ties had woven round his heart, his beautiful and
impassioned lines sufliciently testify. " To Mary in Ilcaveu " is one of
the finest laments in the whole reabn of poetry.
Jean had become the mother of twins, and licr father proceeded to put
in execution his right to prosecute Burns for their su]iport, and threatened
him with jail till he could find suitable security for the same. Burns was
unable to pay, and a jail v.'ould only finally ruin him. He therefore
skulked about, stealing into Kibnamock at times to correct his proofs.
The volume appeared in July, 17St!, and his prospects immediately bright-
ened. '"I threv/ off six hundred copies," he teUs, "for which I got
subscriptions for three liundrcd and fifty. My vanity was gratified by tiio
reception I got from the public, and besides I pocketed, all expenses de-
ducted, nearly twenty pounds. * * * As soon as I was master of
nine guineas the price of vi'afting me to the torrid zone, I took a steer-
Age passage in the first ship that was to sail from the Clyde. * * «
I had taken the last farewell of my few friends. My chest was on the
way to Greenock. I had composed the last song I should ever measure
in Caledonia— "The gloomy night is gathering fast," when a letter from
Dr. Blacklock to a friend of mine, overthrew all my schemes by opening
uew prospects to my poetic ambition."
194: THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
This letter which exercised so powerful an influence on his career was
expressive of the writer's deepest admiration, and counselling a visit to
Edinburgh, v/ith the view of producing a second and larger edition.
Golden words too poured in from all quarters. Professor Dugald Stewart,
Dr. Blair, and others, expressed the warmest approhation of the poems,
and instead of sailing dovi'u the Clyde a desolate and ruined man, he
turned to Edinburgh to become the gaze and glory of a fashionable season.
The visit to Edinburgh is the greatest episode in his career : courted,
petted, and caressed for a while, the public soon tired of its darling and
sought for newer attractions. He did not leave the town, however, with-
out a good slice of the solid pudding which was so necessary to him.
The second edition of his poems appeared in 1787, under the auspices of
the Caledonian Hunt, and his profits amounted to upwards of £400.
From this sum he advanced £200 to his brother Gilbert, who still struggled
at Mossgiel. This fact is not very prominently remembered by the ma-
ligners of his character, but we cannot help thinking that, even in a
Christian land, one man, as soon as he has earned a few hundr-ed pounds,
giving one half of it to assist a straggling brother is an action seldom
heard of. With the rest of the money he leased and stocked the fann of
Ellisland, in Diunfriesshire ; and having, on the 24th March, 1788, atoned to
Jean Armour by making her his wif o,he settled down industriously as a fanner.
For a few months all went well. The farm worked pretty fairly, and
between his duties in connection with it during the day, and his reading
and composing at night, the time passed on, probably the happiest in his
life. Johnson's Museum was in course of publication, and for it, as all
the world knows, he worked heartily and well. Songs, snatches, and
hints were duly posted to Johnson in Edinbiu'gh, and but for his aid that
glorious work would have died an untimely death with the first volume.
His family now began to increase, and he found that the fami did not
pay extra well. He obtained an appointiuent in the Excise at a salary of
fifty pounds per annmn, and as his duties in connection with this office
were great, the farm was not properly attended to. Troubles again
thickened around him, and disease too, began to add its terrors. After a
short struggle he sold his fanning stock, and receiving an appointment
in the Dumfries division of Excise, at a salary of seventy pounds per annimi,
he removed to that town in November.
And now begins the most melancholy part of his career. He could not
hide from himself that his worldly prospects were dimmed, and his pride
waxed sti-onger. He raved about independence, hurrahed the French
Revolutionists, sent them presents of gims, &c., and, above all, entered
deeply into the convivial pleasures of which the little countiy town
was full. His duties were regularly performed, but the open garment
of republicanism he wore, brought dovm upon liim the resentment of his
superiors. He was severely reprimanded for his rashness, but the repri-
mand only seiwed to make him fairly lose heart, and to hurl him deeper
into the mire of dissipation, to hide if possible his position from himself.
His literary work in Dmnfries consisted of his contributions to Thom-
son's Melodies, a sort of Drawing-room Edition of the Songs of Scotland.
He had joined the Dumfries Volunteers, and " Does Haughty Gaul invasion
threat " inspired his comrades with additional valoair and detennination to
defend their country. The end, however, was fast approaching. In
January, 1796, he was seized with a rheimiatic fever, and when almost
recovered, his ov/n imprudence brought on a relapse. His frame fairly
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 195
broke down. Sea-bathing was tried without success, and the hand of
deatli pressed heavily upon him: remorse, grief, and debt added thciv
terrors, till on the 21st July, 1796, he passed beyond their pale.
There was a lad was born iu Kyle,
But wliatna day o' whatua style,
I doubt it's hardly Avorth tlie while
To be sae nice wi' Robin.
Eobin was a roviu' boy,
Eantin' roviu', rantiu' rovin ;
Eobin was a rovin' boy,
Eantin' rovin' Eobin.
Our monarch's hindmost year but auc
Was live-and-tweuty days begun,
'Twas then a blast o' Janwar' win'
Blew hansel in on Eobin.
The gossip keekit in his loof.
Quo' she, Wha lives will see the proof,
This waly boy will be na coof ;
I think we'll ca' him Eobin.
He'll ha'c misfortunes great and sma',
But aye a heart aboon them a' ;
He'll be a credit to us a' —
We'll a' be proud o' Eobin,
But sure as three times three niak' nine,
I see by ilka score and line,
This chap will deai-ly like our kin',
So Icezc me on thee, Eobin.
ONCE I LOVED A BONNIE LASS.
ROBERT BURNS.
On once I lov'd a bounio lass,
Ay, and I love her still ;
An' wliilst that honour warms my breast
I'll love my handsome Nell.
As bonnie lasses I ha'e seen,
An mony full as braw ;
But for a modest, graccfu' niiei),
The like I never saw.
A bonnie lass I Avill confess,
Is pleasant to tlie ee.
But without some better qualities,
She's no the lass for me.
But Nelly's looks arc blytho and sweet,
An', what is best of a'.
Her reputation is complete.
An' fair without a Haw.
19G THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
She dresses aye sac clean and neat,
Both decent and genteel :
An' then there's something in licr gait
Gars onic dress look wcel.
A gaudy dress and gentle air
May slightly touch the heart ;
But it's innocence and modesty
That polishes the dart.
'Tis this in Nelly pleases me,
'Tis this enchants my soul ;
For absolutely in my breast
She reigns without control.
I DEEAMED I LAY.
ROBERT BURNS.
I dream'd I lay where flowers were springing
Gaily in the sunny beam,
List'ning to the wild birds singing,
By a falling, crystal stream :
Straight the sky grew black and daring ;
Thro' the woods the whirlwinds rave ;
Trees with aged arms were warring,
O'er the swelling drumlio wave.
Sucli was my life's deceitful morning,
Such the pleasure I enjoyed ;
But lang or noon, loud tempests storming,
A' my ilow^ery bliss destroy'd.
Tho' fickle fortune has deceiv'd me,
SIic promis'd fair, and perform'd but ill ;
Of mony a joy and hope bereav'd mo,
I bear a heart shall support me still.
ON CESSNOCK BANKS.
ROBERT BURNS.
On Cessnock banks there lives a lass,
Could I describe her shape an' mien ;
The graces of her weel-faur'd face.
An' the glancin' of her sparklin' een !
She's fresher than the morning daAvn
When rising Pha3bus first is seen,
"When dew-drops twinkle o'er the lawn ;
An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' een.
She's stately like yon youthful ash,
That grows the cowslip braes between,
An' shoots its head above each bush ;
An' she's twa gltviiciu' sparklin' een.
CIIIIONOLOGICALLY AIlIiANOKD. 197
She's spotless as tlic flow'ring thorn,
With llowcrs so white an' leaves so green,
When purest in the dewy morn ;
An' she's twa glancin' sparklin cen.
Her looks arc like the sportive lamb,
When flow'ry May adorns the scene,
That wantons round its bleating dam ;
An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' ecu.
llcr hair is like the curling mist
That shades the mountain-side at e'en,
When flow'r reviving rains are past ;
An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' cen.
ITcr forehead's like the show'ry bow,
When shining sunbeams intervene,
An' gild the distant mountain's brow :
An' she's twa glancin' sparklin^ cen.
llcr voice is like the evening tln-usli
Tliat sings in Cessnock banks unseen,
Wliile his mate sits nestling in the bush ;
An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' cen.
Ilcr lips are like the cherric ripe
That sunny walls from Boreas screen —
They tempt the taste an' charm the sight;
An she's twa glancin' sparklin cen.
llcr teeth arc like a flock of sheep.
With fleeces newly washen clean.
That slowly mount the rising steep;
An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' cen.
Iler breath is like the fragrant breeze
.That gently stirs the blossom'd bean,
When Phoebus sinks beneath tlio seas;
All' she's twa glancin' sparklin' ecu.
But it's not her air, her form, her face,
Tho' matching beauty's fabled queen.
But the mind tluit shines in cv'ry grace,
An' chiclly in her sparklin' ecn.
MARY MOPJSON.
koudkt buuns.
On IMary, at thy wuidow be,
It is the wish'd, the trysted hour !
Those smiles an' glances let me see.
That make the miser's treasure poor ;
How blythely wad I bide the stoure,
A weary slave frae sun to sim,
Could I the rich reward secure,
The lovely Mary Morison.
198 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Yestreen when to tlie trembling string,
The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha',
To thee my fancy took its wing,
I sat, but neither heard nor saw.
Tho' this was fair, an' that was braw,
An' yon tho toast of a' the town,
I sigh'd, an' said amang them a',
" Ye are na Mary Morison."
Oil Mary, canst thou wreck his peace,
Wha for thy sake wad gladly die ?
Or canst thou break that heart of his,
Whase only faut is loving thee ?
If love for love thou wilt nae gie.
At least be pity on me shown ;
A thought ungentle canna be
The thought o' Mary Morison.
MY FATHER WAS A FARMER.
ROBEET BUKXS.
My father was a farmer upon the Carrick border, 0,
And carefully he bred me in decency and order, 0 ;
He bade me act a manly part, though I had ne'er a farthing, 0 ;
For without an honest manly heart, no man was worth regarding, 0.
Then out into the world my course I did determine, 0 ;
Tho' to be rich was not my wish, yet to be great was charming, 0 ;
My talents they were not the Avorst, nor yet my education, 0 ;
Resolv'd was I at least to try to mend my situation, 0.
In many a way, and vain essay, I courted fortune's favour, 0 ;
Some cause unseen still stept between to frustrate each endeavour, 0.
Sometimes by foes I was o'erpower'd; sometimes by friends
forsaken, 0 :
And when my hope was at the top 1 still was worst mistaken, 0.
Then sore harass'd, and tir'd at last with fortune's vain delusion, 0,
I dropt my schemes like idle dreams, and came to this conclusion, 0,
The past was bad, and the future hid ; its good or ill untried, 0 ;
But the present hour was in my pow'r, and so I would enjoy it, 0.
No help, nor hope, nor view had I, nor person to befriend me, 0 ;
So I must toil, and sweat and broil, and labour to sustain me, 0 ;
To plough and sow, to reap and mow, my father bred me early, 0 ;
For one, he said, to labour bred, was a match for fortune fairly, 0.
Thus all obscure, unknown, and poor, thro' life I'm doom'd to
Avander, 0,
Till down my weary bones I lay in everlasting slumber, 0.
No view nor care, but shun whate'er might breed me pain or
sorrow, 0 !
I live to-day, as well's I may, regardless of to-morrow, 0.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 199
But cheerful still, I am as well as a monarcli in a palace, 0,
Tho' fortune's frown still hunts me down, with all her wonted
malice, 0 ;
I make indeed my daily bread, but ne'er can make it farther, 0;
But, as daily bread is all I need, I do not much regard her, 0.
"When sometimes by my labour I earn a little money, 0,
Some unforeseen misfortune comes gen'rally upon me, 0 :
Mischance, mistake, or by neglect, or my good-natur'd folly, 0 ;
But come what will, I've sworn it still, I'll ne'er be melancholy, 0.
10
All you who follow wealth and power with unremitting ardour, 0
The more in this you look for bliss, you leave your view the
farther, 0 :
Had you the wealth Potosi boasts, or nations to adore you, 0,
A cheerful, honest-hearted clown I will prefer before you, 0.
NANNIE 0.
BOBEBT BDENS.
Behind yon hills Avhere Lugar flows,
'Mang moors an' mosses many, 0,
The wintry sun the day has clos'd,
An' I'll awa' to Nannie, 0.
Tlie wcstlin wind blaws loud an' shill; -
The night's baith mirk an' rainy, 0 ;
But I'll get my plaid, an' out I'll steal,
An' owre the liills to Nannie, 0.
My Nannie's charming, sweet, an' young ;
Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, 0 ;
May ill befa' the flattering tongue
That v,-ad beguile my Nannie, 0^
Her face is fair, her heart is true,
As spotless as she's bonnie, 0 :
The op'nif g gowan, wat wi' dew,
Nae purer is than Nannie, 0.
A country lad is my degree,
An' few there be that ken mc, 0 ;
But what care I how few they be ?
I'm welcome aye to Nannie, 0.
My riches a's my penny-fee,
An' I maun guide it cannie, 0 ;
But warl's gear ne'er troubles me,
My thoughts are a' my Nannie, 0.
200
THE SONGS OF SCOTL.VND
Our auld gudemaii delights to view
His sheep an' kye thrive bonnie, 0 ;
But I'm as blythe tliat bauds his pleugh,
And has nae care but Nannie, 0.
Come wcel, come woe, I care na by,
I'll tak' what Ileav'n will sen' me, 0 ;
Kae ithcr care in life ha'e I,
But live, an' love my Nannie, 0.
COEN RIGS,
KOBEKT BURNS.
It was upon a Lammas night,
When corn rigs are bonnie,
Beneath the moon's unclouded light,
I held awa' to Annie :
The time flew by wi' teutless heed,
Till 'tween the late and early,
Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed
To sec me thro' the barley.
Corn rigs, and barley rigs,
And corn rigs are bonnie :
I'll ne'er forget that happy night
Amang the rigs wi' Annie.
The sky was blue, the wind was still,
The moon was shining clearly ;
I set her down wi' right good will
Amang the rigs o' barley ;
I kcn't her heart was a' my ain ;
I lov'd her most sincerely ;
I kissed her owre and owre again,
Amang the rigs o' barley.
I lock'd her in my fond embrace ;
Her heart was beating rarely :
My blessings on that happy place,
Amang the rigs o' barley ;
But by the moon and stars so bright.
That shone that liour so clearly !
She aye shall bless that happy night,
Amang the rigs o' barley.
I ha'e been blythe wi' comrades dear :
I ha'e been merry drinkin' ;
I ha'e been joyfu' gath'rin' gear;
I ha'e been happy thinkiu' :
CHEONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 201
But a' tlie pleasures c'ei' I saw,
Tlio' tlirec times doubl'd fairly,
Tliat liappy iiiglit was worth them a',
Amaug the rigs o' barley.
GREEN GROW THE RASHES.
ROBERT BURNS.
There's nought but care on ov'ry han',
In every hour that passes, 0 :
What signifies tlic life o' man,
An 'twere na for the lasses, 0.
Green grow the rashes, 0 !
Green grow the rashes, 0 !
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend
Are spent amang the lasses, 0.
The war'ly race may riches chase.
An' riches still may fly them, 0;
An' tho' at last they catch them fast.
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, 0.
But gi'e me a canny hour at e'en,
My arms about my dearie, 0 ;
An' warly cares, an' warly men.
May a' gae tapsalteerie, 0.
For you sae douce, ye sneer at this,
Ye'rc nought but senseless asses, 0 ;
Tho wisest man the warl' e'er saw.
He dearly lov'd tho lasses, 0.
Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears
Her noblest work she classes, 0 :
Her 'prentice ban' she tried on m;in,
An' then she made the lasses, 0.
FLOW GENTLY, SWEET AFTON.
ROBERT BURNS.
Flow gently, sweet Afton, amang thy green braes.
Flow gently, Ell sing thee a song in thy praise;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.
Thou stock-dove whose echo resounds thro' tho glen.
Ye wild whistling blackbirds in j'on thorny den.
Thou green-crested lapwing thy screaming forbear,
I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair.
202 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills,
Far mark'd with the courses of clear winding rills ;
There daily I wander as noon rises high,
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye.
TTow jileasaut thy banks and green valleys below,
Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow;
There oft as mild evening weeps over the lea.
The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me.
Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,
And winds bj^ the cot wliere my Mary resides ;
How Avanton thy waters her snowy feet iave.
As gathering sweet flow'rets slie stems thy clear wave.
Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays;
My Mary's asleep by thy mnrmin-ing stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.
WILL YE GO TO THE INDIES ?
ROBERT BURNS.
Will ye go to the Indies, mj JMary,
And leave auld Scotia's shore ?
Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary,
Across the Atlantic's roar?
Oh sweet grow the lime and the orange.
And the apple on the pine ;
But a' the charms o' the Indies
Can never equal thine.
I lia'c sworn by the heavens to my ]\Iary,
I ha'e sworn by the heavens to be true ;
And sae may the heavens forget me.
When I forget my vovr- !
0 plisrht me your faith, my ]\Tary,
And plight mo your lily-white hand ;
Oh plight me your faith, my Mary,
Befoi'e I leave Scotia's strand.
We ha'e plighted our truth, my Mary,
In mutual affection to join,
And curst be tlie cause that shall part us I
The hour and the moment o' time !
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 203
HIGHLAND LASSIE.
ROBERT BURNS.
Nae gentle dames, tho' e'er sae fair,.
Shall ever be my muse's care :
Their titles a' are empty show;
Gi'e me my Highland lassie, 0.
Y/ithin the glen sae bushy, 0,
Aboon the plains sae rushy, 0,
I set me down wi' right good will,
To sing my Highland lassie, 0.
Oh, were yon hills an' A^alleys mine.
Yon palace an' yon gardens fine !
The world then the love should know
I bear my Highland lassie, 0.
But fickle fortune frowns on me,
An' I maun cross the raging sea ;
But while my crimson currents flow,
I'll love my Highland lassie, 0.
Altho' thro' foreign climes I range,
I know her heart will never change,
For her bosom burns with honour's glow,
My faithful Highland lassie, 0.
For her I'll dare the billows' roar,
For her I'll trace a distant shore,
That Indian wealth may lustre throw
Around my Highland lassie, 0.
She has my heai't, she has my hand,
By sacred truth an' honour's band !
Till the mortal stroke shall lay me low,
I'm thine, my Highland lassie, 0.
Farewell the glen sae bushy, 0 !
Farewell the plain sae rushy, 0 !
To other lands I now must go,
To sing my Highland lassie, 0.
POWERS CELESTIAL.
ROBERT BURNS.
Powers celestial ! whose protection
Ever guards the virtuous fair,
"While to distant climes I wander,
Let my Mary bo your care :
Let her form sae fair and faultless,
Fair and faultless as your own,
Let my Mary's kindred spirit
L'raw your choicest influeuce down.
204 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Make the gales you waft around her
Soft and peaceful as her breast,
Breathing in tlie breeze that fans her,
Soothe her bosom into rest :
Guardian angels ! oh protect her,
When in distant lands I roam ;
To realms unknown while fate exiles me,
Make her bosom still my home.
HIGHLAND MARY.
EOBEET BURNS.
Ye banks, and braes, and streams around
The castle o' Montgomery,
Green be your woods, and fair your flowera.
Your waters never drumlie I
There simmer first unfauld her robes,
An' there the langest tarry;
For there I took the last farewecl
0' my sweet Highland Mary.
How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk,
How rich tlie hawthorn's blossom,
As underneath their fragrant sliade,
I clasp'd her to my bosom !
Tlie golden hours, on angel wings,
Flew o'er me and my deary ;
For dear to me as light and life,
Was my sweet Highland Mary.
Wi' mony a vow, and lock'd embrace,
Our parting was fu' tender;
And pledging aft to meet again.
We tore oursel's asunder ;
But, Oh ! fell death's untimely frost,
That nipt my flower sae early!
Now green's the sod, and cauld's ilio clay,
That wraps my Highland Mary !
Oh pale, pale, now, those rosy lips,
I aft ha'e kiss'd sae fondly !
An' clos'd for aye the sparkling glance
That dwelt on mo sae kindly ;
And mouldering now in silent dust
That heart that lov'd me dearly !
But still within my bosom's core
Shall live my Highland Mary.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 205
TO MARY IN HEAVEN.
ROBEKT B0KNS.
TiiOU ling'ring star, with less'iiiiig ray,
That lov'st to greet the early luonr,
Again thou ushcr'st in the day
My Mary from my soul was torn.
Oh Mary! clear departed shade!
Wlierc is thy place of blissful rest?
Sce'st thou thy lover lowly laid?
Ilear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?
That sacred hour can I forget ;
Can I forget the hallowed grove,
Where by the winding Ayr we met,
To live one day of parting love !
Eternity Avill not efface
Those records dear of transports past —
Tliy image at our last embrace;
Ah ! little thought we 'twas our last !
Ayr, gurgling, kiss'd his pebbl'd shore,
O'erhung with wild woods, thick'ning green ;
The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar,
Twin'd amorous round the raptur'd scene ;
The flow'rs sprang wanton to be prcst,
The birds sang love on CA^ery spray —
Till too, too soon, the glowing west
Proclaim'd the speed of winged day.
Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry walces,
And fondly broods with miser care !
Time but th' impression stronger makes,
As streams their channels deeper Avcar,
My ]\Iary, dear departed shade !
Where is thy place of blissful rest ?
Sce'st thou thy lover lowly laid?
Ilear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ?
TURN AGAIN.
KOEEKT BURXS.
Turn again, thou fair Eliza,
Ac kind blink before we part.
Rue on thy despairing lover!
Canst thou break his faithful hear!
Turn again, thou fair Eliza ;
If to love thy heart denies.
For iiity hide tiic cruel sentence
Uuder fricndslu'p's kind disguise I
206 TJIE SOKGS OF SCOTLANiJ
Thee, dear maid, ha'e I offended?
The offence is loving thee :
Canst thou wreck his peace for ever,
"Wha for thine wad gladly die ?
"While the life beats in my bosom,
Thou shalt mix in ilka throe ;
Turn again, thou lovely maiden,
Ae sweet smile on me bestow.
Not the bee upon the blossom,
In the pride o' sunny noon ;
Not the little sporting fairy,
All beneath the simmer moon ;
Not the poet in the moment
Fancy lightens on his e'e.
Kens the pleasure, feels the raptnro
That thy presence gi'es to nie.
FKOM THEE ELIZA.
EGBERT BUKNS.
Fnoii thee, Eliza, I must go,
And from my native shore,
The cruel Fates between us throw
A boundless ocean's roar :
But boundless oceans, roaring wide,
Between my love and me.
They never, never can divide
My heart and soul from thee !
Farewell, farewell, Eliza dear,
The maid that I adore !
A boding voice is in mine ear.
We part to meet no more !
Tlie latest throb that leaves my lieart,
Ys^'hile death stands victor by.
That throb, Eliza, is thy part,
And thine tliat latest sigh !
THE BRAES 0' BALLOCHMYLE.
EGBERT BURNS.
The Catrine woods were yellow seen,
The flowers decay'd on Catrine lea,
Nae lav'rock sang on hillock green.
But nature sicken'd on the e'c.
Thro' faded groves Maria sang,
Hersel' in beauty's bloom the while,
And aye the wild-wood echoes rang,
FarcwQel the braes o' Ballochmvle !
CnilOKOLOGlGALLY ARRANGED. 207
Low in your wintry beds, ye flowers,
Again ye'll flourish fresh and fair ;
Ye birdies dumb, in withering bowers,
Again ye'll charm the vocal air.
Butliere, alas ! for me uae mair
Shall birdie charm, or flow'ret smile ;
Farev/eel the bounie banks of Ayr,
Fareweel, fareweel ! sweet Ballochmyle.
THE LASS 0' BALLOCHMYLE.
EOBEET BUENS.
'TwAS even— the dewy fields were green,
On every blade the pearls hang.
The zephyr wanton'd round the bean,
An' bore its fragrant sweets alang :
In ev'ry glen the mavis sang.
All nature list'ning secm'd the while,
Except where greenwood echoes rang,
Amang the braes o' Ballochmyle.
With careless step I onward stray'd.
My heart rejoic'd in nature's joy.
When, musing in a lonely glade,
A maiden fair I chanc'd to spy ;
Iler look was like the morning's eye,
Her air like nature's vernal smile,
Perfection whisper'd, passing by,
Behold tlic lass o' Ballochmyle !
Fair is the morn in flow'ry May,
And sweet is night in autumn mild;
When roving thro' the garden gay.
Or wand'ring in the lonely wild :
But woman, nature's darling child!
There all her charms she does compile;
Ev'n there her other works are foil'd
By the bonnio lass o' Ballochmyle.
Oh, had she been a country mai;l,
And I the happy country swain,
Tho' shelter'd in the lowest shed
That ever rose on Scotland's plain.
Thro' weary winter's wind and rain,
With joy, witl\ rapture, I Avould toil ;
And nightly to my bosom strain
The bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle !
208 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Then pride miglit climb the slipp'ry steep,
Where fame and honours lofty shine ;
And thirst of gold miglit tempt the deep,
Or downward seek the Indian mine ;
Give me the cot below the pine,
To tend the flocks, or till the soil.
And every day have joys divine
With the bonnie lass o' Ballochmylc.
YE BANKS AN' BRAES.
ROBERT EDRNS.
Ye banks an' braes o' bonnie Doon,
How can ye bloom sae fresli an' fair ;
How can ye chant, ye little birds.
An' I sae weary fu' o' care !
Thou'lt break my heart, thou warbling bird,
Tliat wantons thro' the flowering thorn :
Thou minds me o' departed joys,
Departed — never to return !
Aft ha'e I roved by bonnie Doon,
To see the rose an' woodbhic twine;
An' ilka bird sang o' its luve,
An' fondly sac did I o' mine.
Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose,
Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree ;
An' my fansc luver stole my rose,
r.ut, ah ! he left the thorn wi' me.
FAREWELL.
ROBERT BURNS.
The gloomy niglit is gath'ring fast.
Loud roars the wild inconstant blast;
Yon murky cloud is foul with rain,
I sec it driving o'er the plain ;
The hunter now has left the moor.
The scatter'd coveys meet secure ;
While here I wander prest with care,
Along the lonely banks of Ayr.
Tlic autumn mourns her rip'ning corn,
By early winter's ravage torn ;
Across her placid, azure sky,
Slie sees the scowling tempest fly :
Chill runs my blood to hear it rave —
I thiidc upon the stormy wave,
Where many a danger I must dare.
Far from the bonnie banks of Ayr.
CHRONOLOGICALLY AI;I!ANGED. 209
'Tis not the surging billows roar,
'Tis not that fatal deadly shore :
TIio' death in every shape appear,
Tlie wretched have no more to fear !
But round my heart the ties are bound,
Tiiat heart transpicrc'd with many a wound ;
These bleed afresh, those ties I tear,
To leave the bonnie banks of Ayr.
Farewell old Coila's hills and dales,
Her heathy moors and winding vales ;
The scenes where wretched fancy roves,
Pursuing past, unhappy loves !
Farewell, my friends I farewell, my foes !
My peace with these, my love with those —
The bursting tears my heart declare ;
Farewell the bonnie banks of Ayr !
OF A' THE AIRTS.
KOBERT BITRNS.
Of a' the airts the wind can bluw,
I dearly like the west,
For there the bonnie lassie lives,
Tiie lassie I lo'e best :
There wild woods grow, an' rivers row,
An' mony a hill between ;
But day an' night my fancy's flight
Is ever wi' my Jean.
I see her in the dewy flow'rs,
I see her sweet an' fair :
I hear her in the tunefu' birds,
I hear her charm the air :
There's not a bonnie llow'r that springs
By fountain, sliaw, or green,
There's not a bonn,ie bird that sings,
But minds me o'" my Jean.
THE WEAVER.
ROBERT BUKNS.
Where Cart rins rowin' to the sea,
l)y mony a flow'r and spreading tree,
There lives a lad, the lad for me,
He is a gallant weaver.
01), I had wooers audit or nine.
They gi'ed me rings and ribbons fine,
An' I was fear'd my heart would tine,
An' I gi'ed it to the weaver.
210 THE SOjNGS OF SCOTLAND
My daddie sign'd my tocher-band,
To gi'o the lad that has the land ;
But to my heart I'll add my hand,
An' gi'e it to the weaA^er.
While birds rejoice in leafy bowers ;
AVhile bees delight in oi^'ning flowers ;
While corn grows green in simmer showers,
I'll love iny gallant weaver.
THEIR GKOVES OF SWEET LIYRTLE.
EOBEET BUENS.
Their groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon,
Where bright-beaming summers exalt the perfume ;
Far dearer to me yon lone glen o' green breckan,
Wi' the burn stealing under the lang yellow broom.
Fur dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers,
Where the blue-bell an' gowan lurk lowly unseen ;
For there, lightly tripping amang tlie wild flowers,
A-listening the linnet, aft wanders my Jean,
Tho' rich is the breeze in their gay sunny valleys,
An' cauld Caledonia's blast on the wave ;
Their sweet scented woodlands that skirt the proud palace.
What are they ? — the haunt of the tyrant and slave !
The slave's spicy forests, and gold-bubbling fountains.
The brave Caledonian views wi' disdain ;
lie wanders as free as the winds of his mountains.
Save love's willing fetters — the chains o' his Jean !
I'LL AYE CA' IN BY YON TOWN.
ROBERT BURNS.
I'll aye ca' in by j-on town.
And by yon garden green, agam ;
I'll aye ca' in by yon town.
And see my bouuie Jean, again.
There's nane sail ken, there's nane sail guesd,
What brings me back the gate again,
But she, my fairest, faithfu' lass.
And stoYvdins we sail meet again.
She'll wander by the aikcn tree,
When trystin-time draws near again ;
And when her lovely form I see.
Oh, haith, she's doubly dear again !
I'll aye ca' in by yon town.
And by yon garden green again ;
I'll aye ca' in by jon town.
And see my bonnie Jean again.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRAi^GED. 211
I HA'E A WIFE 0' MY AIN.
EOBEKT BURNS.
I ha'e a wife o' my aiu —
I'll partake wi' naebody ;
I'll tak' cuckold frac nane,
I'll gi'e cuckold to naebody.
I ha'e a penny to spend,
There — thanks to naebody ;
I ha'e naething to lend,
I'll boiTow frae naebody.
I am naebody's lord —
I'll be slave to naebody ;
I ha'e a gude braid sword,
I'll tak' dunts frae naebody.
I'll be merry an' free,
I'll be sad for naebody ;
If naebody care for me,
I'll care for naebody.
TUE WINSOME WEE THING.
ROBERT BURNS.
She is a winsome wee thing.
She is a handsome wee thing,
She is a bounie wee thing,
This sweet wee Avifc o' mine.
I never saw a fairer,
I never lo'ed a dearer ;
And neistmy heart I'll wear her,
For fear my jewel tine.
Oh leeze me on my wee thing,
My bonnie, blythesome wee thing ;
Sac lang's I ha'e my wee thing,
I'll think my lot divine.
Tho' warld's care we share o't,
And may see meikle mair o't ;
Wi' her I'll blythely bear it,
And ne'er a word rejDine.
AE FOND KISS.
EGBERT BURNS.
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever ;
Ae farewcc], alas I for ever !
Deep in hcart-wrmig tears I'll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee,
212
TIIE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Wlio shall say that fortune grieves him,
While the star of hope she leaves hhu?
Mc, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights mc;
Dark despair around benights me.
I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy,
Naething could resist my Nancy ;
But to see her was to love her ;
Love but her, and love for ever.
Had we never lov'd sac kindly,
Had we never lov'd sae blindly,
Never met — or never parted,
We had ne'er been broken-hearted.
Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest ;
Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest!
Thine be ilka joy and treasure.
Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure !
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever ;
Ae fareweel, alas ! for ever !
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee.
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.
A ROSE-BUD BY MY EARLY WALK.
EGBERT BURNS.
A liOSE-EUD by my early walk,
Adown a corn-enclosed bawk,
Sac gently bent its thorny stalk,
All on a dewy morning.
Ere twice the shades o' dawn arc fled,
In a' its crimson glory spread,
An' drooping rich the dewy head.
It scents the early morning.
Within the bush, her covert nest,
A little linnet fondly prest,
The dew sat chilly on her breast
Sae early in the morning.
She soon shall see her tender brood.
The pride, the pleasure o' the wood,
Amang the fresh green leaves bcdew'dj
Awake the early morning.
So thou, dear bird, young Jeanie fair !
On trembling string or vocal air,
Shall sweetly pay the tender care
That tends thy early morning.
So thou, sweet rose-bud, young an' gay,
Shall beauteous blaze upon the day,
An' bless the parent's evening ray
That watch'd thy early morning.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 213
GO FETCH TO HE A TINT 0' WINE.
KOBERT BUENS.
Go fetch to me a pint o' wine,
And fill it in a silver tassic ;
That I may drink before I go,
A service to my bonnio lassie :
The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith,
Fu' loud the wind blaws frac the ferr^- ;
The ship rides by the Berwick-law,
And 1 maun leave my bonnie Mary.
The trumpets sound, the banners fly.
The glittering spears are ranked ready ;
The shouts o' war are heard afar,
The battle closes thick and bloodj' ;
But it's not the roar o' sea or shore
Wad make me langcr wish to tarry;
Nor shouts o' war that's heard afar —
It's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary.
LOGAN'S BPtAES.
KOBERT BURNS.
On Logan, sweetly didst thou glide
That day I was my Willie's bride ;
An' years sinsyne ha'e o'er us run,
Like Logan to the simmer sun.
But now thy flow'ry banks appear
Like drundie winter, dark and drear.
While my dear lad maun face his facs,
Fax*, far frae me an' Logan braes.
Again the merry month o' ]\Tay
Has made our hills an' valleys gay;
The birds rejoice in leafy bowers,
The bees hum round the lireathing llowcrs;
Blythe morning lifts his rosy eye,
All' evening's tears are tears of joy :
IMy soul, delightless, a' surveys,
Wliile Willie's fir frac Logan I)raes.
Within yon milk-white hawthorn Ini.-h,
Amang hor nestlings sits the thrush ;
Her fiillifu' mate will sliarc her toil.
Or wi' his songs her cares beguile;
But I wi' ray sweet nurslings here,
Nae mate to help, nac mate to cheer.
Pass widow'd nights an' joyless daj^s,
While Willie's far frae Logan braeg.
B
214 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Oh, Avae upon you, men o' state,
That brethren rouse to deadly hate !
As ye make many a fond heart mourn,
Sae may i4 on your heads return !
How can your flinty hearts enjoy
The widow's tear, the orphan's cry ?
But soon may peace bring happy days,
An' Willie hame to Logan braes !
YOUNG PEGGIE.
ROBERT BURNS.
Young Peggy blooms our bonniest lass,
Her blush is like the morning,
The rosy dawn the springing grass,
With early gems adorning :
Her eyes outshine the radiant beams
That gild the passing shower,
And glitter o'er the crystal streams.
And cheer each fresh'ning flower.
Her lips, more than the cherries bright,
A richer dye has graced them ;
They charm th' admiring gazer's sight,
And sweetly tempt to taste them :
Her smile is, as the evening, mild,
When feather'd tribes are courting,
And little lambkins Avanton wild,
In playful bands disporting.
Were fortune lovely Peggy's foe.
Such sweetness would relent her.
As blooming spring unbends the brow
Of surly, savage winter.
Detraction's eye no aim can gain,
Her winning powers to lessen ;
And fretful envy grins in vain
The poison'd tooth to fasten.
Ye powers of honour, love, and truth,
From every ill defend her ;
Inspire the highly-favour'd youth,
The destinies intend her :
Still fan the sweet connubial flame
Eesponsive in each bosom.
And bless the dear parental name
With many a filial blossom.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 215
SAE FLAXEN WEKE HER EINGLETS.
EOBEKT BUKNS.
Sae flaxen were her ringlets,
Her eyebrows of a darker liuo,
Bewitcliingly, o'er-arching
Twa laughing een o' bonnie blue,
Her smiling, sae wiling,
Wad make a wretch forget his woe ;
What pleasure, what treasure,
Unto those rosy lips to grow ;
Such was my Chloris' bonnie face,
AVhen first her bonnie face I saw,
An' aye my Chloris' dearest charm,
She says she lo'es me best of a'.
Like harmony her motion ;
Her pretty ankle is a spy
Betraying fair proportion.
Wad make a saint forget the sky.
Sae warming, sae charming,
Her faultless form and graceful air ;
Ilk feature — auld nature
Declared that she could do nae mair.
Hers are the willing chains o' love.
By conquering beauty's sovereign law;
An' aye my Chloris' dearest charm,
She says she lo'es me best of a'.
Let others love the city.
And gaudy show at sunny noon ;
Gi'e me the lonely valley.
The dewy eve, and rising moon
Fair beaming, and streaming,
Her silver light the boughs amang ;
Wliile falling, recalling,
The amorous thrush concludes his sang :
There, dearest Chloris, wilt thou rove
By wimpling burn and leafy shaw,
An' hear my vows o' trutli and love,
An' say thou lo'es me best of a'.
THERE WAS A LASS.
EOBEKT BOR>rS.
There was a lass, they ca'd her Meg,
An' she held owre the moors to spin;
Tliere was a lad that follow'd her,
They ca'd him Duncan Davison.
21(j TJIE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
The moor was clriegh, uu' Meg was skicgli
Her favour Duncan could na win ;
For wi' the rock she wad him knock,
An' aye she shook the tcmpcr-pin.
As o'er the moor they liglitly four,
A burn was clear, a glen was green,
Upon the banks they eas'd their fihunk.s,
An' aye she set the wlieel between :
But Duncan swore a lialy aith
That Meg should bo a bride the morn,
Then Meg took up her spinnin' graith,
An' ilang tliem a' out owrc the burn.
AVc'U big a liouse — a wcc, wee house.
An' we will live like king an' queen,
Sae blythe an' merry we will be
When ye sit by the wheel at o'on.
A man may drink an' no be druidc ;
A man nuxy tight an' no be slain ;
A man may kiss a bonnie lass.
An' aye be welcome back again.
GUDEWIFE COUNT THE LAWIN.
ROBERT BURNS.
Gane is the day, an' mirk's the night,
But we'll ne'er stray for fuu't o' light,
For ale an' brandy's stars an' moon.
An' bluid-red wine's the rising sun.
Then gudewife, count the lawiii.
The lawin, the lawin ;
Then gudewife, count tlic lawin,
An' bring a coggie mair.
There's wealth an' case for gentlemen,
An' seniple folk maun fecht an' fen ;
But here we're a' in ac accord,
I'or ilka, man that's drunk 's a lord.
My coggie is a haly pool,
That heals tlie wounds o' care an' dool ;
An' pleasure is a wanton trout,
An ye drink but deep ye'll tind him out.
CnnONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 217
A BIG-BELLIED BOTTLE.
ROBERT BURNS.
Ko cliurcliinun am I for to rail and to write,
No statesman or soldier to plot or to figlit,
No sly man of business contriving a snare —
For a big-bellied bottle's the wiiole of my care.
The peer I don't envy, I give liim his bow ;
I scorn not the peasant, tho' ever so low :
But a club of good fellows, like those that arc here.
And a bottle like this, are my glory and care.
Hero passes the squire on his brother — liis liorse :
There centum per centum, tlie cit with liis purse ;
But sec you tlie Crown, how it waves in the air !
There a big-bellied bottle still cases my care.
TliG wife of my bosom, alas ! she did die ;
For sweet consolation to church I did lly ;
I found tliat old Solomon proved it fair,
Tliat a big-bellied bottle's a cure for all care.
I once was persuaded a venture to make ;
A letter inform'd me that all was to wreck; —
But the pursy old landlord just waddled up stairs.
With a glorious bottle that ended mj^ cares.
"Life's cares tliey are comforts" — a maxim laid doAvn
By tlic bard, what d'^-e call him, tliat wore the bhick gown ;
An' faith, I agree Avith th' old prig to a hair;
For a big-bellied bottle's a heav'u of care.
STANZA ADDED IN A MASON'S LODGE.
Then fill up a bumper au' make it o'erdow.
An' honours masonic prepare for to throw ;
May every true brother of tlie compass an' sfpiarc,
Have a big-bellied bottle when harass'd with ean- !
on ! TIBBIE, I IIA'E SEEN THE DAY
KOBERT BURNS.
On Tibbie, I ha'e seen tlic day
Ye wad na been sae shy ;
For lack o' gear ye lightly mo,
But, trowth, I care na by.
Yestreen I met you on tlie moor.
Ye spak na but gacd bye like stourc ;
Ye geek at me l)ecause I'm poor.
Bat fient a liair care I.
218 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAITO
I doubt na, lass, but ye may think,
Because ye ha'e the name o' clink,
That ye can i^lease me at a wink,
Whene'er ye like to try.
But sorrow tak' him that's sae mean,
Altho' his ijouch o' coin were clean,
Wlia follows ony saucy quean.
That looks sae proud and high.
Altho' a lad were e'er sae smart.
If tliat he want the yellow dirt,
Ye'll cast your head anithcr airt,
An' answer him fu' dry.
But if he ha'e the name o' gear,
Ye'll fasten to him like a brier,
Tho' hardly he, for sense or lear.
Be better than the kye.
But, Tibbie, lass, tak' my advice,
Your daddie's gear mak's you sae nice ;
The de'il a ane wad spier your price,
Were ye as poor as I.
Tliere lives a lass in yonder park,
I wad na gi'e her in her sark,
For thee, wi' a' thy thousan' mark ;
Ye need na look sae high.
MY LUYE IS LIKE A EED, RED ROSE.
ROBERT BUENS.
Oh, my luve's like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June :
Oh, my luve's like the melodio,
That's sweetly played in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass.
So deep in luve am I ;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.
Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun ;
I will luve thee still, my dear,
\Vliile the sands o' life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only luve!
And fare thee weel a while !
And I will come again, my luve,
Tho' it were ten thousand mule.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 219
SOMEBODY.
nOBEBT BUKKS.
My heart is sair — I dare na tell —
My heart is sair for somehody ;
I could wake a winter night
For the sake of somebodj'-.
Oh-hon, for somebody !
Oh-hey, for somebody !
I coukl range the world around,
For the sake o' somebody 1
Yc powers that smile on virtuous love,
Oh, sweetly smile on somebody !
Frae ilka danger keep him free.
And send me safe my somebody.
Oh-hon, for somebody 1
Oh-hey, for somebody !
I wad do — what wad I not !
For the sake of somebody !
GALA WATER.
ROBERT BURNS.
There's braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes.
That wander thro' the blooming heather ;
But Yarrow braes, nor Ettrick shaws,
Can match the lads o' Gala Water.
But there is ane, a secret ane,
Aboon them a' I lo'e him better;
And I'll be his and he'll be mine.
The bonnie lad o' Gala Water.
Altho' his daddie was nae laird,
And tlio' I ha'c na mciklc tocher;
Yet rich in khidest, truest love,
We'll tent our flocks by Gala Water.
It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth.
That coft contentment, peace, or pleasure
The bands and bliss o' mutual love.
Oh that's the chiefcst warld's treasure.
CONTENTED WF LITTLE.
ROBERT BURNS.
Contented avI' little, an' cantie wi' mair,
Whene'er I forgather wi' sorrow an' care,
I gi'e them a skelp as they're crcepin' alang,
Wi' a cog o' guid swats, an' an auld Scottish sang.
220 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
I whiles claw the elbow o' troublesome thought ;
But man is a sodger, an' life is a faught :
My mirth an' good humour are coin in my pouch,
An' my freedom's my lairdship nae monarch dare touch.
A towmond o' trouble, should that be my fa',
A night o' gude fellowship sowthers it a' :
When at the blythe end of our journey at last,
Wha the de'il ever thinks o' the road he has past ?
Blind chance, let her snapper an' stoyte on her way ;
Be't to me, be't frao me, e'en let the jade gae ;
Come ease, or come ti'uvail ; come pleasure, or pain.
My warst word is — " Welcome, an' welcome again ! "
on ! WEEE I ON PARNASSUS' HILL.
ROBEET BURNS.
On, were I on Parnassus' hill !
Or had of Helicon my fill ;
That I might catch poetic skill,
To sing how dear I love thee.
But Nith maun be my muse's well.
My muse maun be thy bonnie sel' ;
On Corsincon I'll glow'r an' spell,
An' write how dear I love thee.
Then come, sweet muse, inspire my lay 1
For a' the lee-lang simmer's day
I couldna sing, I couldna say,
How much, how dear I love thee.
I see thee dancing o'er the green.
Thy waist sao junp, thy limbs sae clean,
Thy tempting lips, thy roguish ecu —
By heaven an' earth I love thee !
By night, by day, a-field, at hame.
The thoughts o' thee my breast inflnmc ;
An' aye I muse an' sing thy name —
I only live to love thee.
Tho' I were doom'd to wander on
Beyond the sea, beyond the snn.
Till my last weary sand was run ;
Till then — and then I love thee.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 2'21
OH POORTITII CAULD.
KOBKKX BURNS.
Oh poortith caiild, and restless love,
Ye wreck my j^eace between yc ;
Yet poortith a' I could forgive,
An 'twere na for my Jeanie.
Oh why should fate sic pleasure have,
Life's dearest bands untwining ?
Or why sae sweet a flower as love,
Depend on Fortune's shining?
This warld's wealth when I think on.
Its pride and a' the lave o't ;
Fie, fie on silly coward man.
That he should be the slave o't.
Oh '\vhy, &c.
Her cen sac bonnic bine betray
How slie repays my passion ;
But prudence is her o'erword aye.
She talks of rank and fashion.
Oh why, &c.
Oh wha can prudence think upon.
And sic a lassie by him ?
Oh wlia can prudence think upon.
And sae in love as I am ?
Oh why, &c.
How blest the humble cottar's fate !
He woos his simple dearie ;
The silly bogles, wealth and state,
Can never make them eerie.
Oh why, &c.
STRATHALLAN'S LAMENT.
ROBERT BURNS.
Thickest night, o'erlumgs my dwelling 1
Howling tempests o'er me rave !
Turbid torrents, wintry swelling,
Still surround my lonely cave !
Crystal streamlets gently ilowing,
I'usy haunts of base mankind.
Western breezes softly blowing,
Suit not mv distracted mind.
222 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
In the cause of right engaged,
Wrongs injurious to redress,
Honour's war we strongly Avaged,
But the heavens denied success.
Ruin's wheel has driven o'er us,
Not a hope that dare attend :
The wide world is all before us —
But a world without a friend.
I'M OWRE YOUNG TO MARRY YET.
KOBEKT BURNS.
I'm owrc young to marry yet ;
I'm owre j'oung to marry yet ;
I'm owre young — 'twad be a sin
To tak' me frae my mammy yet.
I am my mammy's ae bairn,
Wi' unco folk I weary. Sir ;
An' if I gang to your house,
I'm fley'd 'twill make me eerie, Sir.
Hallowmas is come an' gane.
The niglits are lang in winter, Sir ;
An' you an' I in ae bed,
In trouth I dare na venture. Sir.
Fu' loud an' shrill the frosty wind
Blaws through the leafless timmcr, Sir;
But if ye come tliis gate again,
I'll aulder be gin simmer, S-ir.
OWER THE HILLS AND FAR AWA'.
EOBEKT BURNS.
Oh how can I be blythc and glad.
Or how can I gang brisk and braw.
When the bonnie lad that I lo'e best
Is ower the hills and far awa' ?
When the bonnie lad that I lo'e best
Is ower the hills and far awa' ?
It's no the frosty winter wind.
It's no the driving drift an' snaw ;
But aye the tear comes in my e'e.
To think on him that's far awa'.
But aye the tear come in my e'e,
To think on him that's far awa'.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 223
My father pat me frae his door,
My friends they ha'e disown'd me a',
But I ha'e aiie will tak' my part,
The bouuie lad that's far awa'.
But I ha'e ane will tak' my part,
The bonnie lad that's far awa'.
A pair o' gloves he ga'e to me,
An' silken snoods he ga'e me twa,
An' I will wear them for his sake,
The bonnie lad that's far awa'.
An' I will wear them for his sake.
The bonnie lad that's far awa'
THE RED RED ROSE.
KOBEET BURNS.
The blude-red rose at Yule may blaAV,
The simmer lilies bloom in snavv'.
The frost may freeze the deepest sea ;
But an anld man shall never daunt on mo.
To daunton me, an' me so young,
Wi' his fause heart an' flatt'ring tongue,
That is the thing j^ou ne'er shall see ;
For an auld man shall never daunton mo.
For a' his meal an' a' his maut.
For a' his fresh beef an' his saut.
For a' his gold an' white monie.
An auld man shall never daunton mo.
Ilis gear may buy him kye an' yowes.
His gear may buy him glens an' knowes;
But me he shall not buy nor fee.
For an auld man shall never daunton me.
He hirples twa-faulo as he dow,
Wi' his tcethlcss gab an' his auld held pow,
An' the rain rains down frae his red bleer'd e'o-
That auld man shall never daunton me.
LAY THY LOOF IN MINE.
ROBERT BURNS.
On lay thy loof in mine, lasa,
In mine, lass, in mine, lass ;
And swear on thy white hand, lass,
That thou wilt be my ain.
224 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
A slave to love's unbounded sway,
ITc aft has Avrought mo moiklc wac ;
But now lie is my deadly fae,
Unless thou be mc ain.
There's mony a lass lias broke my rest,
Tliat for a blink I ha'e lo'ed best;
But tlion art Queen within my breast,
For ever to remain.
Oh lay thy loof in mine, lass.
In mine, lass, in mine, lass.
And swear on thy white hand, hiao,
Til at thou wilt be my ain.
on ! OrEN THE DOOR.
KOBERT BUllNS.
"Oil ! open the door, some pity to show,
Oil ! open the door to me, oh !
Tlio' thou hast been false, I'll ever prove true,
Oh ! open the door to me, oh !
" Cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek,
But caulder thy love for me, oh !
Tlic frost that freezes the life at my heart,
Is nought to my pains frae thee, oh !
'• The wan moon is setting behind the white wave,
An' time is setting with me, oh !
False friends, false love, farewell ! for mair
I'll ne'er trouble them nor thee, oh ! "
She has open'd the door, she has open'd it wide ;
She sees his pale corse on the plain, oh !
" IMy true love ! " she cried, an' sank down by his Bido,
Never to rise again, oh !
THE JOYFUL WIDOWER.
ROBERT BURNS.
I MARRIED with a scolding wife
The fourteenth of November
She made me weary of my life,
By one unruly member.
Long did I bear the heavy J'okc,
And many griefs attended ;
But to my comfort be it spoke,
Now, now her life is ended.
CHRONOLOGICALLY AIUIANGED. 225
Wc lived full one and twenty years,
A man and wife together;
At length from mo her course she stecr'd,
And gone I know not whither:
Would I could guess, I do profess,
I speak and do not flatter.
Of all the women in the world,
I never could come at her.
licr body is bestowed well,
A handsome grave docs hide her ;
But sure her soul is not in hell,
The de'il would ne'er abide her ,
I rather think she is aloft.
And imitating thunder ;
For why? — metliinks I hear her vo'cc
Tearing the clouds asunder !
T A 51 GLEN.
KOBEKT BURNS.
'My heart is a-breaking, dear til tie !
Some counsel unto me come len'.
To anger them a' is a pity,
But what will I do wi' Tam Glen ?
I'm thinking wi' sic a braw fellow
In poortith I might make a fen';
What care I in riches to wallow,
If I maunna marry Tam Glen ?
There's Lowric, the laird o' Drumcller,
" Guid day, to you, brute ! " he comes len
lie brags and he hlaws o' his siller.
But when will he dance like Tam Glen?
My miniue docs constantly deavc me.
And bids me beware o' young men ;
They flatter, she says, to deceive me.
But wha can think sac o' Tam Glen?
My daddio says, gin I'll forsake him,
IIc'll gi'e mo guid liundcr marks ten :
But if it's ordaiu'd I maun tak' him,
0 wha will I get but Tam Glen?
Yestreen at the valentine's dealing,
My heart to my mou' gi'ed a sten ;
For thrice I drew ane without failing,
And thrice it was written— Tam Glen.
226 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
The last Halloween I was waukin'
My droukit sark sleeve, as ye ken ;
His likeness cam' up the house staukiu',
And the very gray breeks o' Tarn Glen !
Come counsel, dear tittie ! don't tarry —
I'll gi'e you my bonnie black hen,
Gif ye will advise me to marry
The lad I lo'e dearly, Tam Glen.
on WHISTLE AN' I'LL COME TO YOU.
EOBEKT BUENS.
Oh whistle an' I'll come to you, my lad,
Oh whistle an' I'll come to you, my lad ;
Tho' father an' mithcr an' a' should gae mad,
Oh whistle an' I'll come to you, my lad.
But warily tent, when ye come to court me.
An' come na unless the back yett be a-jee ;
Syne up the back stile, an' let naebody see,
An' come as ye were na comin' to me.
An' come, &c.
At kirk, or at market, whene'er ye meet mc,
Gang by me as tho' that ye car'd nae a flie ;
But steal me a blink o' your bonnie black e'e,
Yet look as ye were na lookin' at me.
Yet look, &c.
Aye vow an' protest that ye care na for mc,
An' whiles ye may lightly my beauty a wee ;
But court na anither, tho' jokin' ye be.
For fear that she wile your fancy frae me.
For fear, &c.
DAINTY DAVIE.
EGBERT BURNS.
Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers.
To deck her gay, green spreading bowers ;
An' now come in my happy hours,
To wander wi' my Davie.
CHORUS.
Meet_me on the warlock knowe,
Dainty Davie, dainty Davie ;
There I'll spend the day wi' you,
My ain dear dainty Davie.
CURONOLOGICALLY AURANGED. 227
The crystal waters round us fa',
The merry birds are lovers a',
The scented breezeii round us blaw,
A wandering wi' my Davie.
When ijurple morning starts the hare,
To steal upon her early fare,
Then thro' the dcAvs I will rc^jair,
To meet my faithfu' Davie.
When daj^, expiring in the west,
The curtain draws o' nature's rest,
I flee to his arms I lo'e best.
An' that's my ain dear Davie.
THOU HAST LEFT ME EVER.
ROBERT BURNS.
Thou hast left me ever, Jamie, thou hast left me ever ;
Thou hast left me ever, Jamie, thou hast left me ever ;
Aften hast thou vow'd that death only should us sever,
Now thou'st left thy lass for aye — I maun see thee never, Jamie,
I'll see thee never.
Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, thou hast me forsaken ;
Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, thou hast me forsaken ;
Thou canst love anither jo, wliile my heart is breaking:
Soon my weary een I'll close — never mair to waken, Jamie,
Ne'er man- to waken.
WHAT CAN A YOUNG LASSIE.
ROBERT BURNS.
What can a young lassie, what shall a young lassie.
What can a young lassie do wi' an' auld man?
Bad luck on the penny that tempted my minnic
To sell her poor Jenny for siller an' Ian' !
Bad luck on the penny that tempted my minnic
To sell her poor Jenny for siller an' Ian' !
lie's always compleenin' frae morning to e'ening'.
He boasts an' he Jiirples the weary day lang;
He's doyl't an' he's dozin', liis bluidit is frozen,
Oh, dreary's the night wi' a crazy auld man!
He's doyl't an' he's dozin', his "bluid it is frozen,
Oh, dreary's the night wi' a crazy auld man !
228 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
lie hums an' lie liaiikcrs, lie frets an' lie cankers,
I never can please liini, do a' that I can ;
He's peevish an' jealous of a' the young fellows :
Oh, dool on the day I met wi' an auld man !
lie's peevish an' jealous of a' the young fellows :
Oh, dool on the day I met wi' an auld man !
My auld auntie Katie upon me tak's pity,
ril do my endeavour to follow her plan ;
I'll cross him, an' wrack him, until I heart-break hhn.
An' then his auld brass will buy me a new pan.
I'll cross him, an' wrack him, until I heart-break him
An' then his auld brass will buy me a new pan.
LEEZE ME ON ]\IY SPINNIN' WHEEL.
KOBERT BURNS.
On leeze me on my spinnin' wheel,
Oil Iceze me on my rock an' reel ;
Frae tap to tae tliat deeds me bien.
An' haps me ficl an' warm at e'en !
I'll sit me down an' sing an' spin,
While laigh descends the simmer sun,
Blest Avi' content, an' milk an' meal —
Oh leeze me on my sj^innin' wheel !
On ilka hand the burnies trot,
An' meet below my theekit cot ;
The scented birk an' hawthorn white,
Across the pool tlieir arms unite.
Alike to screen the birdie's nest.
An' little fishes' caller rest:
The sun blinks kindly in the bicl'.
Where blythe I turn my spinnin' wheel.
On lofty aiks the cushats wail,
An' echo cons the dolefu' tale ;
The lintwhites in the hazel braes,
Delighted, rival ither's lays :
The craik amang the clover hay.
The paitrick whirrin' o'er the ley,
The swallow jinkin' round my shiel.
Amuse me at my spinnin' wheel.
Wi' sma' to sell, an' less to buy,
Aboon distress, below envy,
Oh wha wad leave this humble state.
For a' the pride of a' the great ?
Amid their flarin', idle toys.
Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys.
Can they the peace and pleasure feel
Of Bessy at her spinnin' wheel?
CHRONOLOGICALLY AliKANGED. 229
IIEY FOlt A LxVSS WP A TOCHER.
EGBERT BURNS.
Awa' wi' your witchcraft o' beauty's alarms,
Tlic slender bit beauty you grasp in your arms :
Oh, gi'e mc the lass tliat has acres o' charms,
Oh, gi'e mc the lass wi' the wccl-stockit farms.
CHORUS.
Then hey for a lass \vi' a tocher, then hey for a lass with a
tocher.
Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher — the nice yellow guineaa
for me.
Your beauty's a flower, in the morning that blows.
And withers the faster, the faster it grows;
But the rajiturous charm o' the bonnie green knowcs,
Ilk spring they're new deckit wi' bonnie white yowcs,
And e'en when this beauty your bosoin has blest,
The brightest o' beauty may cloy when posscst;
But the sweet yellow darlings wi' Gcordie imprest,
The langcr ye ha'e them, tlie mair they're carcst.
MEIKLE THINKS MY LOVE.
ROBERT BURNS.
Oh mciklc thinks my luve o' my beauty,
An' meikle thinks my luve o' my kin ;
But little thinks my luve I ken brawly
My tocher's the jewel has charms for him.
It's a' for the apple he'll nourish the tree ;
It's a' for the hiney he'll cherish the bee;
My laddie's sac meikle in luve wi' the siller,
He canna ha'e luve to spare for mc.
Your proffer o' luvc's an arle-pcnny.
My tocher's the bargain ye wad buy ;
But an ye be crafty, I am ciniuin',
Sao ye wi' another your fortune maun try.
Yc're like to the timmer o' yon rotten wood,
Ye're like to the bark o' yon rotten tree;
Y^e'll slip frae me like a knotloss thread,
An' yc'll crack your credit wi' mac nor me.
230 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
OH! FOR ANE-AND-TWENTY, TAM.
EOBEKT BURNS.
And oh, for ane-and-twenty, Tarn,
And hey, sweet ane-and-twenty, Tam,
I'll learn my kin a rattlin' sang,
An I saw ane-and-twenty, Tam.
They snool mo sah-, and hand mc down,
And gar mc look like bluntie, Tam !
Cut three short years will soon wheel roun'-
And then comes ane-and-twenty, Tam.
A gleib o' Ian', a claut o' gear,
Was left me by my auntie, Tam ;
At kith or kin I need na si^ier,
An I saw ane-and-twenty, Tam.
They'll ha'e mo wed a Avealthy coof,
Tlio' I mysel' ha'e plenty, Tam ;
Cut hear'st thou, laddie — there's my loof—
I'm thine at ane-and-twenty, Tam.
UP IN THE MORNING.
ROBERT BURXS.
CHORUS.
Up in the morning's no for me.
Up in the morning early ;
When a' the hills are cover'd wi' snaw,
I'm sure it's winter fairly.
Cauld blaws the wind frae east to west,
The drift is driving sairly ;
Sac loud and shrill I hear the blast,
I'm sure it's winter fairly.
The birds sit chittering in the thorn,
A' day they fare but sparely;
And lang's the night frae e'en to morn — •
I'm sure it's winter fairly.
THIS IS NO MY AIN LASSIE.
EOBEET BURNS.
CHORUS.
Oh this is no my ain lassie,
Fair tho' the lassie be ;
Oh weel ken I my ain lassie,
Kind love is in her e'e.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED, 231
I see a form, I see a face
Ye weel may wi' the fairest place ;
It wants to me the witching grace,
The kind love that's in her e'e.
She's bonnie, blooming, straight, and tall,
And lang has had my heart in thrall ;
And aye it charms my very saul,
The kind love that's in her e'e.
A thief sae paukie is my Jean,
To steal a blink, by a' miseen;
But gleg as light are lovers' een.
When kind love is in her e'e.
It may escape the courtly sparks,
It may escape the learned clerks ;
But weel the watching lover marks
The kind love that's in her e'e.
MY NANNIE'S AWA'.
KOBEKT BUKXS,
Now in her green mantle blythe nature arrays,
An' listens the lambkins that bleat o'er the braes,
"While birds warble welcome in ilka green shaw ;
But to me it's delightless — my Nannie's awa'.
The snaw-drap an' primrose our woodlands adorn,
An' violets bathe in the weet o' the morn ;
They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw,
They mind me o' Nannie — an' Nannie's awa'.
Thou lav'rock that springs frae the dews of the lawn,
The shepherd to warn o' the gray-breaking dawn,
An' thou mellow mavis that hails the night-la'.
Give over for pity — my Nannie's awa'.
Come, autumn, sae pensive, in yellow an' gray,
An' soothe me wi' tidings o' nature's decay ;
The dark, drearj'- winter, an' wild-driving snaw,
Alane can delight me — now Nannie's awa'.
LAST MAY A BRAW WOOEE.
EGBERT BUEXS.
Last May a braw wooer cam' down the lang glen,
And sair wi' his love he did deavc me ;
I said there was naething I hated like men —
The deuce gao wi'm to believe me, believe mc,
The deuce gae wi'm to bclievo me.
232 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
He spak' o' the darts o' my boniiic l)lack con,
And vow'd for my love he was dying ;
I said he might die when he liked for Jean —
The Lord forgi'e me for lying, for lying,
The Lord forgi'e me for lying !
A wcel-stockit mailen, himsel' for the laird.
And marriage aff-hand, were his proffers ;
I never loot on that I kenn'd it, or carM,
But thought I might ha'e waur offers, waur offcrp,
But thought I might ha'e waur offers.
But what wad ye think ? in a fortnight or less — ■
The de'il tak' his taste to gae near her!
He up the lang loan to my black cousin Bess,
Guess ye how, the jad! I could bear her, could bear her.
Guess ye how, the jad ! I could bear her.
But a' the neist week as I fretted wi' care,
I gaed to tlie tryste o' Dalgarnock,
An' wha but my fine fickle lover was there !
I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock, a warlock,
I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock.
But owre my left shouther I ga'e him a blink,
Lest neibors might say I was saucy ;
My wooer he capcr'd as lie'd been in drink.
And vow'd I was his dear lassie, dear lassie,
And vow'd I was his dear lassie.
I spier'd for my cousin fu' couthy and sweet,
Gin she had recovcr'd her licarin',
And how her new shoon fit her auld shachl't feet,
But, heavens ! how he fell a-swearin', a-swcarin',
But, heavens ! how he fell a-swearin'.
He begg'd, for guidsake, I wad be his wife,
Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow :
So e'en to preserve the puir body in life,
I think 1 maun Aved him to-morrow, to-morrow,
I think I maun wed lum to-morrow.
MY LOVE SHE'S BUT A LASSIE YET.
ROBERT BURNS.
My love she's but a lassie yet.
My love she's but a lassie yet.
We'll let her stand a year or two,
She'll no be half sae saucy yet.
I rue the day I sought her, 0,
I rue the day I sought her, 0,
Wha gets her needs na say she's woo'd.
But he may say he's bought her, 0 !
CimONOLOGICALLY ARIUNGED. 233
Come, draw a drap o' the best, o't ,yet,
Come draw a drap o' the best o't yet ;
Gae seek for pleasure wliere ye will,
But here I never miss'd it yet.
We're a' dry wi' drinking o't ;
We're a' dry wi' drinking o't;
Tlie minister Idss'd the fiddler's wife,
An' could na preach for thinking o't.
BIRKS OF ABERFELDY.
ROBERT BURNS.
CHORUS.
Bonnie lassie, will ye go,
Will ye go, will ye go ;
Bonnie lassie, will ye go.
To the birks of Aberfeldy ?
Now simmer blinks on flowery braes.
And o'er the crystal streamlet plays ;
Come, let us spend the lightsome days
In the birks of Aberfeldy.
The little birdies blythcly sing,
While o'er their heads the hazels lung,
O'er lightly flit on wanton wing
In tlie birks of Aberfeldy.
The braes ascend, like lofty wa's.
The foamy stream deep-roaring fa's,
O'erhung wi' fragrant spreading shaws,
The birks of Aberfeldy.
The lioary cliffs are crown'd wi' flowers.
White o'er the linns the burnie pours.
An' rising, weets wi' misty showers
The birks of Aberfeldy.
Let fortune's gifts at random flee,
They ne'er shall draw a wish frae mo,
Supremely blest wi' love an' thee,
In the birks of Aberfeldy.
JOHN ANDERSON, ]\[Y JO.
ROBERT BURNS.
John Anderson, my jo, John,
When we were first acqucnt.
Your locks were like the raven,
Your bonnie brow was brent ;
234 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAIID
But now your brow is belcl John,
Your locks are like the snaw ;
But blessings on your frosty pow,
John Anderson, my jo.
John Anderson, my jo, John,
"We clranb the hill thegither,
An' mony a canty day, John,
WeVe had wi' ane anither ;
N"ow v/e maun totter down, John,
But hand in hand we'll go,
An' sleep thegither at the foot,
John Anderson, my jo.
OH WILLIE BREW'D A PECK 0' MAUT,
EOBEHT BUHNS.
On, "Willie brew'd a peck o' maut.
An' Bob an' Allan cam' to pree :
Three blyther hearts that lee-lang niglit,
Ye wad na find in Ghristendie.
"We are na fou', we're nae that fou'.
But just a drappie in our c'e ;
The cock may craw, the day may daw.
And aye we'll taste the barley bree.
Here are we met, three merry boys.
Three merry boys, I trow, are we ;
An' mony a night we've merry been.
And mony mae we hope to be !
It is the moon, I ken her horn.
That's blinlvin' in the lift sae hie ;
Slie shines sae bright to wile us hamo,
But, by my sooth, she'll wait a wee !
Wha first shall rise to gang awa',
A cuckold, coward loon is he !
WJia last beside his chair shall fa'.
He is the king amang us three !
on ! LUVE WILL VENTURE IN.
ROBERT BimxS.
On luve will venture in where it daurna weel be seen;
Oil luve will venture in where wisdom ance has been ;
But I will down yon river rove, among the wood sae green-
An' a' to pu' a posie to my ain dear May.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 235
The primrose I will pu', the firstling o' the year,
An' I Avill pu' the pink, the emblem o' my dear;
For she's the pink o' womankind, and blooms without a peer —
An' a' to be a posie to my ain dear May.
^'11 pu' the budding- rose, when Phoebus peeps in view,
For it's lilie a baumy kiss o' her sweet bonnie mou' ;
Tlie hyacinth for constancy, wi' its unchanging blue —
An' a' to be a posie to my ain dear May.
The lily it is pure, an' the lily it is fair.
An' in her lovely bosom I'll place the lily there ;
The daisy's for simplicity, an' unaffected air —
An' a' to be a posie to my ain kind May.
Tlie hawthorn I will pu' wi' its locks o' siller gray.
Where, like an aged man, it stands at break of day ;
Cut the songster's nest within the bush I winna tak' away — •
An' a' to be a posie to my ain dear Ma3^
Tlio woodbine I will pn' when the c'cning star is near.
And tlic diamond drops o' dew shall be licre e'en sac clear;
Tlie violets for modesty which weel she fa's to wear,
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May.
I'll tie a posie round wi' the silken band o' luvc,
And I'll place it in her breast, and I'll swear by a' above,
That to my latest draught o' life the band shall ne'er remove,
And this will be a posie to my ain dear May.
THE SOLDIER'S RETURN.
KOBERT BURNS.
When wild war's deadly blast was blawn,
An' gentle peace returning,
Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless.
An' mony a widow mourning-,
I left the lines an' tented field,
Where lang I'd been a lodger.
My humble knapsack a' my wealth,
A poor but honest sodger.
A leal, light heart was in my breast,
My hand unstain'd wi' plunder;
An' for fair Scotia, hame again,
I cheery on did wander.
I thought upon the banks o' Coil,
I thought upon my Nancy ;
I thought upon the witching smile
That caught my youthful fancy.
At length I reach'd the bonnie glen
Where early life I sported ;
I pass'd the mill, an' trysting thorn,
Where Nancy aft I courted ;
236 THE SONGS of Scotland
Wlia spied I but my ain dear maid
Down by her mother's dwelling !
An turn'd me round to hide the flood
That in my een was swelling.
Wi' alter'd voice, quoth I, " Sweet lass,
Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom,
Oil ! happy happy may he be,
That's dearest to thy bosom !
My purse is light, I've far to gang-.
An' fain wad be thy lodger ;
I've serv'd my king an' country lang —
Take jjity on a sodger !"
Sao wistfully she gazed on nic,
An' lovelier was than ever;
Quo' she, " A sodger ance I lo'ed,
Forget him shall I never :
Our humble cot an' hamely fare
Ye freely shall partake o't ;
That gallant badge, the dear cockade,
Ye're welcome for the sake o't."
She gaz'd — she reddeu'd like a rose-
Syne pale like ony lily;
She sank within my arms, an' cried,
"Art thou my ain dear Willie?"
" Cy him who made yon sun and sky,
By whom true love's regarded,
I am the man ; an' thus may still
True lovers be rewarded.
" The wars are o'er, an' I'm come hame,
An' find thee still true-hearted !
Tho' poor in gear we're rich in love.
An' mair we'se ne'er be parted."
Quo' she, " My grandsire left me gowd,
A mailen plenish'd fairly ;
An' come, my faithfu' sodger lad,
Thou'rt welcome to it dearly."
For gold the merchant ploughs the main.
The farmer ploughs the manor ;
But glory is the sodger's prize.
The sodger's wealth is honour.
The brave poor sodger ne'er despise,
Nor count him as a stranger ;
Remember he's his country's stay
In day an' hour of danger.
cnRONOLOGiCALLT arrangi:d. 237
FOE A' THAT,
ROBERT BURNS.
Is tliere for honest poverty
Tliat hangs his head, an' a' that?
Tlie coward slave we pass him hy,
We dare be poor for a' that !
For a' that, an' a' that,
Our toils obscnre, an' a' that,
Tlie rank is but the guinea's stamp,
The man's tlic gowd for a' that.
What though on hamely faro we dine.
Wear hoddiu gray, an' a' tliat !
Gi'c fools their silks, an' knaves their wine,
A man's a man for a' that;
For a' that, an' a' that,
Their tinsel show an' a' tliat;
The honest man, though e'er sac poor,
Is king o' men for a' that.
Ye sec yon birkie, ca'd a lord,
Wlia struts, an' stares, an' a' that;
Tho' hundreds worship at his word.
He's but a coof for a' that :
For a' tliat, an' a' that.
Ills riband, star, an' a' that,
The man of independent mind,
lie looks an' laughs at a' that,
A prince can mak' a belted kniglit,
A marquis, duke, an' a' that;
But an honest man's aboon his might,
Gude faith he manna fa' that.
For a' that, an' a' tliat.
Their dignities, an' a' that,
The pith o' sense, an' pride o' worlh.
Arc higher ranks than a' that.
Then let us pray tliat come it may.
As come it will for a' that,
That sense an' worth, o'er a' the cartli.
May bear the gree an' a' tliat.
For a' that, an' a' that,
It's coming yet, for a' that,
Tliat man to man, tlic warhl o'er,
Shall brothers be for a' that.
233 THE SONGS OF SCOTL-^JSfD
SUCH A PARCEL OF EOGUES.
EGBERT BURNS.
Fareweel to a' our Scottish fame,
Fareweel our ancient glory,
Fareweel even to the Scottish name,
Sae fam'd in martial story.
Now Sark rins o'er the Solway sands.
And Tweed rins to tlie ocean,
To mark where England's province stands-
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation.
Wliat force or guile could not subdue,
Tln'o' many warlike ages,
Is wrought now by a coward few.
For hireling traitors' wages.
The English steel we could disdaio,
Secure in valour's station ;
But English gold has been our bane —
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation.
Oh would, or I had seen the day
That treason thus could sell us,
Sly aidd gray head had lein in clay,
Wi' Bruce an' loyal Wallace !
But pith an' power, till my last liour,
I'll make this declaration;
NVe're bought and sold for Englisli gold — ■
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation.
SCOTS WHA HA'E.
ROBERT BURNS.
Scots, wha ha'e Avi' Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led ;
Welcome to your gory bed,
Or to victoric !
Now's the day, and now's the hour ;
See the front o' battle lour ;
See approacli proud Edward's power — ■
Chains and Slavery !
Wlia will be a traitor knave ?
Wha can fill a coward's grave ?
Wha sae base as be a slave ?
Let him turn and flee !
Wha for Scotland's king and law
Freedom's sword will strongly draw
Freeman stand, or freeman fa',
Let him follow me !
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 239
By oppression's woes find pains I
By your sons in servile chains !
VYe will drain our dearest veins,
Bat they shall be free !
Lay the proud usurpers low !
Tyrants fall in every foe !
Liberty's in every blow ! —
Let us do, or die !
DOES HAUGHTY GAUL.
EOBEET BDENS.
Does haughty Gaul invasion threat ?
Then let the loons bc^yare, Sir ;
There's wooden walls upon our seas,
An' volunteers on shore, Sir.
Tlie Nith shall run to Corsincon,
An' Criffel sink in Solway,
Ere we permit a foreign foe
On British ground to rally !
Fall de rail, Sec.
Oh, let us not, like snarling tykes,
In wrangling be divided;
Till, slap, come in an unco loon.
An' wi' a rung decide it.
Be Britain still to Britain truL,
Among oursel's united :
For never but by British hands
Maun British wrangs be righted.
Fall de rail, &c.
The kettle o'the kirk an' state.
Perhaps a clout may fail in't;
But dc'il a foreign tinkler loon
Shall ever ca' a nail in't.
Our fathers' bhiid the kettle bought.
An' wha wad dare to spoil it.
By heaven, the sacrilegious dog
Shall fuel be to boil it.
Fall de rail, &c.
The wretch that wad a tyrant own,
An' the wretch, his true-born brother,
Wlio would set the moh aboon the throne,
May tlicy be damned together 1
Wlio will not sing, "God save the King,"
Will hang as high's the steeple ;
But while we sing, " God save the Kin"- "
We'll ne'er forget the People.
240 THE SONGS OF SCOTLANt)
AULD LANG SYNE.
r.OBEKT BURNS.
Should aukl acquaintance be forgot,
An' never brought to mind?
Sliould aulJ acquaintance be Ibrgot,
An' days o' auld lang sync?
CHORUS.
For auld lang sync, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet.
For auld lang syne.
Wo twa ha'c ran about the braes,
An' pu'd the gowans fine ;
But we've wandered mony a weary foot,
Sin' auld lang syuc.
Wo twa ha'c paidl't i' the burn,
Frae morniu' sun till dine ;
But seas between us braid ha'c roar'd
Sin auld lang syne.
An' here's a hand, my trusty ficrc,
An' gi'o's a hand o' tliinc ;
An' we'll tak' a right guid willic-waught,
For auld lang syne.
An' surely you'll be your pint-stoup,
An' surely FU be mine ;
An' we'll tak' a cup o' kindness j'ot
For auld lang syne.
WILLIE WASTLE.
UOBEET BURNS.
Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed,
The spot they called it Linkum-doddle ;
Willie was a wabster gude.
Could stown a clew wi' ony body.
He had a Avife was dour an' din.
Oh Tinkler Madgie was her niither ;
Sic a wife as Willie had,
I wad na gi'e a button for her.
She has an e'e — she has but ane.
The cat has twa the very colour ;
Five rusty teeth, forbye a stump,
A clapper tongue wad deavc a miller
CIIKONOLOGICALLY ARltANGED. 2'11
A wliiskin' beard about her mou',
Ilcr nose an' cbin they tlireatcu itlicr—
Sic a wife as Willie had,
I wad na gi'e a button for her.
She's bough-hough'd, she's hein-shiun'd,
Ac limpin' leg, a hand-breed shorter ;
She's twisted right, she's twisted left,
To balance fair in ilka quarter ;
She has a hump upon her breast.
The twin o' that upon her shouther ;
Sic a wife as Willie had,
I wad na gi'e a button for lior.
Auld baudrons by the ingle sits,
An' wi' her loof her face a washin' ;
But Willie's Avife is na sae trig.
She dights her grunzie wi' a huKhion ;
Her walie nievcs like midden-creels,
Ilcr face wad fyle the Logan Water;
Sic a wife as Willie had,
I wad na gi'e a button for her.
GAED A WAEFU GATE YESTREEN,
EOBEKT BUHNS.
I Gaed a waefu' gate yestreen,
A gate, I fear, I'll dearly rue ;
I gat my death frae twa sweet ecn,
Twa lovely cen o' bonnic blue.
'Twas not her golden ringlets briglit;
Her lips like roses Avat wi' dew,
Her heaving bosom, lily-white —
It was her een sae bonnie blue.
She talk'd, she smil'd, my heart she wil'd ;
She charm'd my soul — I wist na how ;
An' aye the slound, the deadly wound,
Gam' frae her cen sae bonnic blue.
But spare to speak, and spare to speed ;
She'll aiblins listen to my vow ;
Should she refuse, I'll lay my dead
To her twa ecn sao bonnie blue.
MY SPOUSE, NANCY.
EOBEUT BUHNS.
" HUSI5AND, husband, cease your strife,
Nor longer idly rave, sir;
Tho' I am your wedded wife.
Yet I am not your slave, sir.''
242 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
" One of two must still obey,
Nancy, Nancy;
Is it man, or woman, say.
My spouse, Nancy ?"
" If 'tis still the lordly word,
Service and obedience ;
I'll desert my sov'reign lord,
And so good-bye allegiance !"
" Sad will I be, so bereft,
Nancy, Nancy,
Yet I'll try to make a shift,
My spouse, Nancy."
" My poor heart then break it must.
My last hour I'm near it :
AVhen you lay me in the dust,
Think, think how you will bear it."
" I will hope and trust in heaven,
Nancy, Nancy,
Strength to bear it will be given,
My spouse, Nancy."
"AVell, sir, from the silent dead,
Still I'll try to daunt you ;
Ever round your midnight bed
Horrid sprites shall haunt you."
" I'll wed another like my dear,
Nancy, Nancj ;
Then all hell will fly for fear.
My spouse, Nancy."
LASSIE WI' THE LINT-WHITE LOCKS.
ROBERT BUENS.
CnOKUS.
Lassie wi' the lint-white locks,
Bonnio lassie, artless lassie,
Wilt thou wi' me tent the flocks.
Wilt thou be my dearie, 0?
Now Nature deeds the flowery lea.
An' a' is young an' sweet like thee :
Oh, wilt thou share its joys wi' me,
An' say thou'lt be my dearie, 0?
An' when the welcome simmer shower
Has cheer'd ilk di'ooping little flower,
We'll to the breathing woodbine bower
At sultry noon, my dearie, 0.
CHKOKOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 243
When Cynthia lights, wi' silver ray,
The weaiy shearer's hameward way,
Thro' yellow waving fields we'll stray,
An' talk o' love, my dearie, 0.
An' when the howling wintry blast
Disturbs my lassie's midnight rest,
Enclasped to my faithful breast,
I'll comfort thee, my dearie, 0.
MY AIN KIND DEARIE, 0.
EOBEKT BDEXS.
When o'er the hill the eastern star
Tells bughtin' time is near, my jo ;
An' owsen frae the furrow'd field
Eeturn sao dowf an' wearj-, 0 ;
Down by the burn, wliere scented birks
Wi' dew are hanging clear, my jo,
I'll meet thee on the lea rig,
My ain kind dearie, 0.
In rairkest glen, at midnight hour,
I'd rove, an' ne'er be earie, 0,
If thro' that glen I gaed to thee,
My ain kind dearie, 0.
Altho' the night was ne'er sac wild,
An' I were ne'er sae wearie, 0,
I'd meet thee on the lea rig.
My ain kind dearie. 0.
The hunter lo'es the morning sun,
To rouse the mountain deei-, my jo :
At noon the fisher seeks the glen,
Along the burn to steer, my jo ;
Gi'e mo the hour o' gloamin' gray.
It mak's my heart sae cheery, 0,
To meet thee on the lea rig,
My ain kind dearie, 0.
on SAW YE BONNIE LESLIE.
BOBERT BtJKNS.
On «aw ye bonnio Lesley,
As she gaed owre the border ?
She's gane, like Alexander,
To spread her conquests farther.
244 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
To see her is to love her,
An' love but her for ever ;
For nature made her what slie is,
An' never made anither !
Thou art a queen, fair Lesley,
Thy subjects we, before tliee;
Thou art divine, fair Lesley,
The hearts o' men adore thee.
The de'il he could na scaith tliee,
Or aught that v/ad belang thee ;
He'd look into thy bonnie face,
An' say, "I canna wrang thee ! "
TIic powers aboon will tent thee ;
Misfortune sha' na steer thee;
Thou'rt like themselves sao lovely,
That ill tliey'll ne'er let near theo.
Eeturn again, fair Lesley,
Return to Caledonic !
That wo may brag, Ave ha'e a lass
There's nane again sae bonnie.
MENIE.
ROBERT BURNS.
Again rejoicing nature sees,
Her robe assume its vernal liues,
Ilcr leafy locks wave in the breeze,
All freshly stecp'd in morning dews.
An' maun I still on IMenie doat,
An' bear the scorn that's in her c'e ?
For it's jet, jet black, an' like a hawk,
An' wiuna let a body be.
In vain to mo the cov/slips blaw,
In vain to me the vi'lets spring;
In vain to me, in glen or shaw.
The mavis an' the lintwhite sing.
The merry ploughboy cheers liis team,
Wi' joy the tentio seedsman stalks ;
Cut life to me's a weary dream,
A dream of ane that never wauks.
The wanton coot the water skims,
• Amang the reeds the ducklins cry,
The stately swan majestic swims,
An' every thing is blest but I.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARUANGED. 245
The shepherd steeks his faulding slap,
All' owre the moorland whistles shrill ;
Wi' wild unequal, wand'ring step,
I meet him on the dewy hill.
An' when the lark, 'tween light an' dark,
Blythe waukens by the daisy's side,
An' mounts an' sings on flittering wings,
A woe-worn ghaist I hameward glide.
Come, Winter, with thine angry howl.
An' raging bend the naked tree :
Thy gloom will soothe my cheerless soul,
When nature all is sad like me !
THE DE'IL'S AWA' WI' THE EXCISEMAN.
KOBBET BURNS.
The de'il cam' fiddling through tlie town.
An' danced awa' wi' the Exciseman,
And ilka wife cries — " Auld Mahoun,
I wish you luck o' the prize, man I"
The de'll's awa', the de'il's awa'.
The de'il's awa' wi' the Exciseman ;
He's danc'd awa', he's danc'd awa'.
He's danc'd awa' wi' tlie Exciseman !
We'll mak' our maut, we'll brew our drink,
Well dance, an' sing, an' rejoice, man ;
And mony braw tlianks to the mcikle black de'il
That danc'd awa' wi' the Exciseman.
The de'il's awa', the de'il's awa',
The de'il's awa' wi' the Exciseman ;
He's danc'd awa', he's danc'd awa',
He's danc'd awa' wi' the Exciseman.
Tlicre'g threesome reels, there's foursome reels.
There's hornpipes and strathspeys, man ;
But the ae best dance e'er cam' to the land
Was — the de'il's awa' wi' the Exciseman,
The de'il's awa', the de'il's av/a'.
The de'il's awa' wi' the Exciseman ;
He's danc'd awa', he's danc'd awa.
He's danc'd awa' wi' the Exciseman.
T
246 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
THE DEVON.
EGBERT BDKNS.
IIow pleasant the banks of the clear winding Devon,
With green spreading bushes, and flowers blooming fair ;
But the bonniest flower on the banks of the Devon
Was once a sweet bud on the braes of the Ayr.
Mild be the sun on this sweet blushing flower,
In the gay rosy morn as it bathes in the dew ;
And gentle the fall of the soft vernal shower,
That steals on the evening each leaf to renew.
Oh spare the dear blossom, ye orient breezes,
With chill hoary wing, as ye usher the dawn ;
And far be thou distant, thou reptile that seizes
The verdure and pride of the garden and lawn !
Let Bourbon exult in his gay gilded Lilies,
And England, triumphant, display her proud Rose ;
A fairer than either adorns the green valleys.
Where Devon, sweet Devon, meandering flows.
MALLY'S MEEK.
EOBEliT BUSNS.
On Mally's meek, Mally's sweet,
Mally's modest and discreet,
IMally's rare, Mally's fair,
Mally's every way complete.
As I was walking up the street,
A barefit maid I chanc'd to meet ;
But oh the road was veiy hard
For that fair maiden's tender feet.
It were mair meet that those fine feet
Were weel lac'd up in silken shoon,
An' 'twere more fit that she should sit
Within yon chariot gilt aboon.
Iler yellow hair, beyond compare.
Comes trinkling down her swan-white neck
An' her two eyes, like stars in skies,
Would keep a sinking ship frao wreck.
BONNIE WEE THING.
EOBEET BUENS.
Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing,
Lovely wee thing, wert thou mine,
I wad wear thee in my bosom.
Lest my jewel I should tine.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 247
Wishfully I look an' languish
In that bonnie faco of thino ;
An' my heart it etounds wi' anguish,
Lest my wee thing be na mine.
Wit, an' grace, an' love, an' beauty,
In ae constellation shine ;
To adore thee is my duty,
Goddess o' this soul o' mine 1
Bonnio wee thing, cannio wee thing.
Lovely wee thing, wert thou mine,
I wad wear thee in my bosom,
Lest my jewel I should tine !
'TWAS NA HER BONNIE BLUE E'E.
EGBERT BUENS.
'TwAS na her bonnie blue e'o was my ruin ;
Fair tho' she be, that was ne'er my undoing ;
'Twas the dear smile when naebody did mind us,
'Twas tho bewitching, sweet, stoAvn glance o' kindness.
Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me,
Sair do I fear that despair maun abide me ;
But tho' fell fortune should fate us to sever,
Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever.
Mary, I'm thino wi' a passion sincerest,
And thou hast plighted mo lovo o' tho dearest !
And thou'rt the angel that never can alter,
Sooner the sun in his motion would falter.
NITH.
KOBEKT BUEXS.
The Thames Hows proudly to tho sea,
Where royal cities stately stand ;
But sweeter flows tho Nith, to me.
Where Cummins ance had high command :
Wlien shall I see that honour'd land.
That windmg stream I lovo so dear !
Must wayward fortune's adverse hand
For over, ever keep mo here ?
IIow lovely, Nith, thy fruitful vales.
Where spreading hawtliorn's gaily bloom!
IIow sweetly wind tliy sloping dales,
Where lambkins wanton thro' the broom I
Tho' wandering, now, must bo my doom.
Far frae thy bonnio banks and braes,
May there my latest hours consume,
Amaug the friends of early days I
248 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
MAKE YONDER POMP.
EOBEUT BURNS,
Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion,
Round the wealthy, titled bride :
But wlieu corapar'd with real passion,
Poor is all that princely pride.
What are the showy treasures ?
What are the noisy pleasures ?
The gay gaudy glare of vanity and art :
The polish'd jewel's blazo
May draw the wond'ring gaze.
And courtly grandeur bright
The fancy may delight,
But never, never can como near the heart.
But did you see my dearest Chloris,
In simplicity's array ;
Lovely as yonder sweet op'ning flower is.
Sin-inking from the gaze of day.
Oh then the heart alarming,
And all resistless charming,
In Love's delightful fetters she chains the willing soul !
Ambition would disown
The world's imperial crown,
Even Avarice would deny
His worshipp'd deity,
And feel thro' ev'ry vein Love's raptures roll.
WHISTLE O'ER THE LAVE O'T.
KOBEET BUKXS.
First when Maggy was my care,
Heaven I thought was in her air ;
Now we're married — spier nae mair —
Whistle o'er the lave o't.
Meg was meek, an' Meg was mild,
Bonnie Meg was nature's child ;
Wiser men than me's beguil'd —
Whistle o'er the lave o't.
How we live, my Meg an' me.
How we love, an' how we 'gree,
I care na by how few may see-
Whistle o'er the lave o't.
Wha I wish were maggots' meat,
Dish'd up in her winding sheet,
I could write — ^but Meg maun see't —
Whistle o'er the lave o't.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 249
DEATH SONG.
ROBERT BURNS.
Scene. — A field of baiile. — Time of the day, evening. — The wounded
and dying of the victorious army arc supposed to join in the following
song : —
Farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies,
Now gay with the bright setting snn ;
Farewell loves and friendships, ye dear tender ties —
Our race of existence is run 1
Thou grim Icing of terrors, thou life's gloomy foe !
Go, frighten the coward and slave ;
Go, teach them to tremble, fell tyrant 1 hut Icnow,
No terrors hast thou to the bravo I
Thou strik'st the dull peasant— he sinks in the d;irk.
Nor saves e'en the wreck of a name ;
Tliou strik'st the young hero — a glorious mark !
He falls in the blaze of his fiime !
In the field of proud honour — our swords in our hands.
Our king and our country to save —
While victory shines on life's last ebbing sands,
Oh ! who would not die with the bravo 1
BLYTIIfi, BLYTHE AND MERRY WAS SITE.
ROBERT BURNS.
CHORUS.
Blytiie, blytho and merry was slic,
Blythc was she butt and ben :
Blytho by the banks of Ern,
An' blythe in Glenturit glen.
By Auchtcrtyro grows the aik.
On Yarrow banks the birken shaw;
But Phemic was a bonnier lass
Than braes o' Yarrow ever saw.
Her looks were like a flow'r in May,
Her smile was like a simmer morn ;
Slie tripped by the banks o' Im-ii,
As light's a bird upon a thorn.
Her bonnie face it was as meek
As ony lamb upon a lea ;
The evening sun was ne'er sac sweet
As was the blink o' Phemie's e'e.
The Highland hills I've wander'd wide,
An' o'er the lowlands I ha'e been ;
But Phemic was the blythest lass
Tiiat ever trod the dewy green.
250 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
THE DAY RETURNS.
EGBERT EUBNS.
The day returns, my bosom bums,
The blissful day we twa did meet,
Tho' winter wild in tempest toil'd,
Ne'er summer sun was half so sweet.
Than a' the pride that loads the tide,
An' crosses o'er the sultry line ;
Than kingly robes, than crowns an' globes,
Heav'n gave me m^ore — it made thee mine
While day an' night can bring delight,
Or nature aught of pleasure give,
While joys above my mind can move,
For thee, an' thee alone, I live.
When that grim foe of life below
Comes in between to make us part,
The iron hand that breaks our band.
It breaks my bliss — it breaks my heart !
AYE WAUKIN', 0.
ROBERT BURNS.
Simmer's a pleasant time,
Flowers of every colour ;
The water rins o'er the heugli.
An' I long for my true lover.
Aye waukin', 0,
Waukin' still an' wearie ;
Sleep I can get nano
For thinking on my dearie.
Wlien I sleep I dream,
When I wauk I'm eerie :
Sleep I can get nano
For thinkin' on my dearie.
Lanely night comes on,
A' tho lave are sleepin' ;
I think on my bonnie lad,
An' bleer my een wi' gi'eetin'.
SWEET FA'S THE EVE.
EOBERT BURNS.
Sweet fa's the eve on Craigieburn,
An' blythe awakes the morrow ;
But a' the pride o' spring's return
Cau yield me nocht but sorrow,
CHRONOLOGiaiLLY ARRANGED. 251
I see tlio flowers an' spreading trees,
I hear the wild birds singing ;
But what a weary wight can please,
An' care his bosom wringing?
Fain, fain would I my griefs impart,
Yet dare na for your anger ;
But secret love will break my heart.
If I conceal it langer.
If thou refuse to pity me,
If thou shalt love anither,
When yon green leaves fade frae the tree.
Around my grave they'll wither.
OH AYE MY WIFE SHE DANG ME.
ROBERT BURNS.
On aye my wife she dang me,
An' aft my wife did bang me,
If ye gi'e a woman a' her will,
Gude faith, she'll soon o'ergang ye.
On peace an' rest my mind was bent,
An' fool I was, I married ;
But never honest man's intent
As cursedly miscarried.
Some sair o' comfort still at last.
When a' my days are done, man ;
My pains o' hell on earth are past,
I'm sure o' bliss aboon, man.
Oh aye my wife she dang me.
An' aft my wife did bang me.
If ye gi'e a woman a' her will,
Gude faith, she'll soon o'ergang ye.
LORD GREGORY.
ROBERT BURNS.
On mirk, mirk is this midnight hour,
An' loud the tempest's roar ;
A waefu' wanderer seeks thj' tower,
Lord Gregory, ope thy door.
An' exile frao her father's ha'.
An' a' for loving thee ;
At least soTCiQ 2nti/ on me shaw,
If love it may na be.
252 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Lord Gregory, miud'st tliou not the grove,
By bonnie Irwine side,
Where first I own'd that vh-gin love
I lang, lang had denied ?
How aften didst thou pledge an' vow
Thou wad for aye be mine ;
And my fond heart, itsel' sac true,
It ne'er mistrusted thine.
Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory,
An' flinty is thy breast :
Thou dart of heaven that flashest by,
Oh wilt thou give me rest !
Ye mustering thunders from above
Your willing victim see !
But spare an' pardon ray fause love,
His wrangs to Heaven an' me I
HEY, THE DUSTY INHLLER.
ROBERT BURNS.
Het, the dusty miller,
And his dusty coat ;
He will win a shilling,
Or he spend a groat.
Dusty was the coat.
Dusty was the colour,
Dusty was the kiss
That I got frae the miller.
Hey, the dusty miller.
And his dusty sack :
Leeze me on the calling
Fills the dusty peck —
Fills the dusty peck,
Brings the dusty siller ;
I wad gi'e my coatie
For the dusty miller.
DUNCAN GRxiY.
ROBERT BURNS.
Duncan Gray cam' here to woo.
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
On blythe Yule night v/hen we were fu',
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
Cnrv6N0L0GlCALLY ARRANGED, 253
Maggie coost lier head fu' liigli,
Look'd askleut an' unco skeigli,
Gai't poor Duncan stand abeigli ;
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
Duncan fleech'd an' Duncan pray'd.
Ha, ha, the wooing o't ;
Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig,
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
Duncan sigh'd baith out an' in,
Grat his cen baith bleert an' blin',
Spak' o' lowpin owre a linn ;
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
Time an' chance are but a tide,
Ha, ha, the wooing o't ;
Slighted love is sair to bide,
Ha, ha, the Avooing o't.
Shall I, like a fool, quoth he,
For a haughty hizzie die ?
Slio may gac to — France for me !
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
How it comes let doctors tell.
Ha, ha, the wooing o't ;
Meg grew sick — as he grew hale.
Ha, ha, the Avooing o't.
Something in her bosom wrings.,
For relief a sigh she brings ;
An' oh, her een, they speak sic things I
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
Duncan was a lad o' grace,
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
Maggie's was a piteous case.
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
Duncan could na be her death.
Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath ;
Now they're crouse an' canty bailli ;
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
AULD ROB MORRIS.
ROBERT BURNS.
TiiEiuc's auld Rub Morris that wons in yon glen.
He's the king o' gnde fellows an' Avale o' auld men
Ho has gowd in his cofters, he has owscn an' kine,
An' ac bonnie lassie, his darling an' mine.
254 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
She's fresh as the morning, the fau-est in May ;
She's sweet as the ev'ning amang the new hay ;
As blythe and as artless as the lambs on the lea,
An' dear to my heart as the light to my e'c.
But, oh ! she's an heiress, auld Robin's a laird,
^n' my daddie has naught but a cot-house an' yard ;
A. wooer like me maunna hope to come speed,
The wounds I must hide that will soon be my dead.
The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane ;
The night comes to me, but my rest it is ganc :
I wander my lane like a night-troubled ghaist,
And I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breast.
Oh had she but been of a lower degree,
I then might ha'e hop'd she wad smil'd upon me !
Oh, how past describing had then been my bliss,
As now my distraction no words can express !
AND OH! MY EPPIE.
EOBEET BUKNS.
And oh ! my Eppie,
My jewel, my Eppie !
Wha wadna be happy
Wi' Eppie Adair !
By love, and by beauty,
By law, and by duty,
I swear to be true to
My Eppie Adair !
And oh ! my Eppie,
My jewel, my Eppie,
Wha wadna be hapjiy
Wi' Eppie Adair ?
A' pleasure exile me,
Dishonour dcfiJo me.
If e'er I beguile thee,
My Eppie Adair ?
HAD I A CAVE,
EOBERT BURNS.
Had I a cave on some wild distant shore,
Where the winds howl to the waves' dashing roar
There would I weep my woes,
There seek my lost repose,
Till grief my eyes should close,
Ne'er to wake more !
CnRONOLOGICALLT ARRANGED. 255
Falsest of womankind, canst thou declare,
All thy fond plighted vows — fleeting as air !
To thy new lover hie,
Laugh o'er thy perjury ;
Then in thy bosom try
What peace is there 1
MACPHERSON'S FAREWELL.
EGBERT BURNS.
Farewell, ye dungeons dark and strong,
The wretch's deetinie 1
IMacpherson's time will not be long
On yonder gallows-tree.
Sae rantiugly, sae wantonly,
Sae dauntingly gaed he ;
Ho play'd a spring, and danc'd it round,
Below the gallows-tree.
Oh, what is death but parting breath ! —
On mony a bloody phxin
I've dar'd his face, and in this place
I scorn him yet again !
Untie these bands from off my hands,
And bring to me my sword ;
And tliere's no a man in all Scotland,
But I'll bravo him at a word.
Fve liv'd a life of start and strife ;
I die by treacherie :
It burns my heart I must depart,
And not avenged be.
Now farewell light — thou sunshine bright,
And all beneath the sky !
May coward shame distain his name.
The wretch that dares not die !
BONNIE ANN.
ROBERT BtJRXS.
Ye gallants bright, I rede ye right,
Beware o' bonnic Ann ;
Her comely face sac fu' o' grace,
Your heart she will trepan.
Ilcr ccn sae briglit, like stars by night,
Her skin is like the swan ;
Sac jimply lac'd her genty waist,
Tliat sweetly yo might span,
250 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Youth, grace, an' love attendant move,
An' pleasure leads the van :
In a' their charms, an' conquering arms.
They wait on bonnic Ann.
The captive bands may chain the hands,
But love enslaves the man ;
Ye gallants braw, I rede you a',
Beware o' bonnio Ann I
HIGHLAND HARRY.
EOBEET BURXS.
My Harry was a gallant gay,
Fu' stately strode he on the plain :
But now he's banish'd far away,
I'll never see him back again.
Oil for him back again !
Oh for him back again !
I wad gi'e a' Knockhaspie's land
For Highland Harry back again.
When a' the lave gae to their bed,
I wander dowie up the glen ;
I set me dov/n and greet my fill.
And aye I wish him back again.
Oh were some villains hangit high,
And ilka body had their ain !
Then I might see the joyful sight,
My Highland Harry back again.
SHE'S FAIR AND FAUSE.
ROBERT BURNS.
She's fair and fause that causes my smart,
I lo'ed her mcikle an' lang ;
She's broken her vow, she's broken my heart,
And I may e'en gae hang.
A coof cam' in wi' routh o' gear,
And I ha'e tint my dearest dear;
But woman is but warld's gear,
Sae let the bonnio lass gang.
Whae'er ye be that woman love,
To this be never blind,
Nae ferlie 'tis tho' fickle she prove,
A woman has't by kind.
CniiONOLOGICALLY AURANGED. 257
Oh womian, lovely woman fair !
An angel form's fa'n to thy share,
'Twad been ower meiklo to gi'eu tlice man- — ■
I mean an angel mind.
ROBIN SnURE IN IIAIRST.
EOBEET BURNS.
CHORUS.
Robin sliure in hairst,
I shure wi' him ;
Fient a heuk had I,
Yet I stack by him.
I gacd up to Dunse,
To warp a wab o' plaiden ;
At liis daddie's yett,
Wha met mc but Robin ?
Was na Robin bauld,
Though I was a cottar,
Play'd me sic a trick,
And me the eller's dochtcr ?
Robin promis'd me
A' my winter vittle ;
Fient hact lie had but tln-oo
Goose feathers and a whittle.
MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS.
ROBERT BURNS.
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here;
My heart's in the Highlands, a-chasing the deer;
Cliasing the wild deer, and following tlic roe —
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.
Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North,
The birth-placo of valour, the country of worth ;
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,
The liills of the Highlands for ever I love.
Farewell fo tlic mountains high covcr'd with snow
Farewell to the straths and green valleys below:
Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods;
Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods.
!My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here;
l\Iy heart's in the Highlands, a-chasing the deer:
Chasing the wild doer, and following the roe —
My heart's ui the Highlands v.-hcrever 1 go.
258 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
TIBBIE DUNBAR.
KOBEKT BUKN'S,
0 WILT tliou go wi' me, sweet Tibbie Dunbar ?
0 wilt thou go v/i' me, sweet Tibbie Dunbar ?
Wilt thou ride on a horse or be drawn in a car,
Or walk by my side, sweet Tibbie Dunbar ?
1 carena thy daddie, his lands and his money,
I carena thy kin, sao high and sae lordly ;
But sac thou wilt ha'e me, for better for waur.
An' come in thy coatie, sweet Tibbie Dunbar !
HAPPY WE'VE BEEN A' THEGITHER.
AtTIUBUTED to EOBEKT BUKNS.
Here around the ingle bleezin',
Wha sae happy and sae free ?
Tho' the northern wind blaws freezin',
Frien'ship wanns baith you an' me.
Happy we are a' thegither,
Happy we'll be ane an' a' ;
Time shall see us a' the blytlicr
Ere we rise to gang awa'.
See the miser o'er his treasure
Gloating wi' a greedy e'e !
Can he feel the glow o' pleasure
That around us here we see ?
Can the peer in silk and ermine,
Ca' his conscience half his own ?
His claes are spun an' edged wi' vermin
Tho' he Stan' afore a throne !
Thus then let us a' be tassing
Aff our stoups o' gen'rous flame ;
An' while roun' the board 'tis passing,
Eaise a sang in frien'ship's name.
Frien'ship mak's us a' man- happy,
Frien'ship gi'es us a' delight;
Frien'ship consecrates the drappic,
Frien'ship brings us here to niglit.
Happy we've been a' thegither,
Happy we've been ane an' a' ;
Time shall find us a' the blyther
When we rise to gang awa'.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 259
WHEN SHE CAM BEN SHE BOBBIT FU' LAW.
Johnson's Museum. Altered by Bm-ns from an old and licentious
ditty.
0 WHEN eho cam ben she bobbit fu' law,
0 when she cam ben she bobbit fu' law,
And when she cam ben she kissed Cockpen,
And syne she denied that she did it at a'.
And wasna Cockpen richt saucy witha',
And wasna Cockpen richt saucy witha',
In leaving the dochter of a lord,
And kissing a collier lassie an a' ?
0 never look doun, my lassie at a',
0 never look doun, my lassie, at a' ;
Tliy lips are as sweet, and thy "figure complete,
As the finest dame in castle or ha'.
Though thou hae nao silk and hoUand sac sma',
Though thou liae nae silk and holland sae sma',
Thy coat and thy sark are thy ain handywark,
And Lady Jean was never sae braw.
LIZZY LINDSAY.
Johnson's Museum. Adapted by Burns from an earlier song. Air,
"The Ewe Buchts."
Will ye gang wi' me, Lizzy Lindsay,
Will ye gang to the Highlands wi' me?
Will ye gang wi' me, Lizzy Lindsay,
l^.ly bride and my darling to be ?
To gang to the Highlands wi' you, sir,
I dinna ken how that may be ;
For 1 ken nao the land that ye live in.
Nor ken I the lad I'm gaun wi'.
0 Lizzy, lass, ye maun ken little,
If sac ye dinna ken me ;
For my namo is Lord Ilonald MacDouald,
A chieftain o' high degree.
She has kilted her coats o' grcon satin.
She has kilted them up to the knee.
And she's off wi' Lord Ronald IMacDonald,
Ilis bride and his darling to be.
2G0 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
THE CAMPBELLS ARE COMING.
Johnson's Museum.
The Campbells are coming, 0-ho, 0-ho J
The Campbells arc coming, O-Iio !
The Campbells are coming to bonnio Lochlcvcn !
The Campbells are coming, 0-ho, O-ho !
Upon the Lomonds I lay, I lay ;
Upon the Lomonds I lay ;
I lookit doun to bonnie Lochleven,
And saw three perches play.
The Campbells are coming, &c.
Great Argyle he goes before
lie makes the cannons and gnns to roar ;
AVith soimd of trumpet, pipe, and drum ;
The Campbells are coming, 0-ho, O-lio !
The Campbells they are a' in arms,
Their loyal faith and truth to show,
With banners rattling in the wind ;
The Campbells are coming, O-ho, O-lio !
DUNCAN GRAY.
Johnson's Museum. The old version, couununicated by Bums aud
slightly altered by hira.
Wkary fa' you, Duncan Gray,
Ha, ha, the girdin' o't ;
Wac gae by you, Duncan Gray,
Ila, ha, the girdin' o't ;
When a' the lave gae to their play.
Then I maun sit the lee-lang day,
An' jeeg the cradle wi' my tac,
An' a' for the girdin' o't.
Bonnie was the Lammas moon,
Ha, ha, the girdin' o't,
Glowrin' a' the hills aboon,
Ha, ha, the girdin' o't ;
The girdin' brak', the l)east cam' down,
I tint my curch an' baith my shoon ;
An', Duncan, ye're an unco loon,
Wae on the bad girdin' o't.
But, Duncan, gin ye'll keep your aith,
Ha, ha, the girdin' o't,
I'll bless you wi' my hindmost breath.
Ha, ha, the girdin' o't.
Duncan, gin ye'll keep your aith,
The beast again can bear us baith.
An' auld Mess John will mend the skaith,
An' clout the bad girdin' o't.
CHRONOLOGICALLY AKRANGED. 261
JAMIE 0' THE GLEN.
Joiinson's Museum.
AuLD Rob, the laii'd o' muckle land,
To woo me was na very blate,
But spite o' a' his gear he fand
Ho came to woo a day owre late.
A lad sao blythe, sae fu' o' glee,
My heart did never ken,
And nano can gi'e sic joy to mc
As Jamie o' the glen.
T\i\y minnic grat like daft, and rair'd.
To gar me wi' her will comply,
Tilt still I wadna ha'e the laird,
Wi' a' his ousen, sheep, and kyc.
A lad sae blythe, &c.
All, what are silks and satins braw?
What's a' his warldly gear to me?
Tlicy're daft that cast themsel's awa',
Where nae content or love can be.
A lad sae blythe, &c.
I cou'dna bide the silly clash
Came liourly frae the gawky laird I
And sae, to stop his gab and iash,
Wi' Jamie to the kirk rcpair'd.
A lad sae blythe, &c.
Now ilka summer's day sae lang,
And winter's clad wi' frost and siiaw,
A iunefu' lilt and bonnie sang
Aye keep dull care and strife awa'.
A lad sac blythe, &c.
THE BREIST KNOTS.
Johnson's Museum. But considerably abridged.
IIi'.v the bonnie, how the bonnie,
Ilcy the bonnie brcist-knots !
Tight and bonnie were they a',
Wlien they got on their brcist-knots.
There was a bridal in this town.
And till't the lasses a' Avere boun',
Wi' mankie facings on their gowns,
And some o' them had brcist-knota.
U
262 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
At nine o'clock the lads convene,
Some clad in blue, some clad in green,
Wi' glancin' buckles in their shoon,
And flowers upon their waistcoats.
Forth cam' the wives a' wi' a phrase,
And wished the lassie happy clays ;
And meikle thocht they o' her claes,
And 'specially the breist-knots.
MY LADDIE IS GANE.
Jouxson's Museum.
My laddie is gane far away o'er the plain,
While in sorrow behind I am forc'd to remain.
Though blue-bells and violets the hedges adorn,
Though trees are in blossom and sweet blows the thorn.
No pleasure they give me, in vain they look gay.
There's nothing can please me now Jockie's away ;
Forlorn I sit singing, and this is my strain —
Haste, haste, my dear Jockie, to me back again.
When lads and their lassies are on the green met.
They dance and they sing, and they laugh and they chat,
Contented and happy, witla hearts full of glee,
I can't without envy their merriment see.
Those pleasures offend me, my Shepherd's not there.
No pleasure I relish that Jockie don't share ;
It makes me to sigh, I from tears scarce refrain,
I wish my dear Jockie returned back again.
But hope shall sustain me, nor will I deplore,
He promised he would in a fortnight be here ;
On fond expectation my wishes I'll feast,
For love my dear Jockie to Jenny will haste.
Then farewell each care, and adieu each vain sigh.
Who'll then be so blest or so happy as I ?
I'll sing on the meadows and alter my strain.
When Jockie returns to my arms back again.
MARY.
Tohnson's Museum.
Tiiou art gane awa', thou art gane awa',
Thou art gane awa' frae me, Mary !
Nor friends nor I could make thee stay —
Thou hast cheated them and me, Mary !
CHRONOLOGIC^VLLY ARRANGED. 263
Until this hour I never thought
That aught could alter thee, Marj' ;
Thou'rt still the mistress of my heart,
Think what you will of me, Mary.
Whate'er he said or might pretend,
That stole the heart of thine, Mary,
True love, I'm sure, was ne'er his end.
Or nae sic love as mine, Mary.
I siDoke sincere, nor flattered much,
Had no unworthy thoughts, Mary ;
Ambition, wealth, nor naething such ;
No, I loved only thee, Mary.
Though you've been false, yet while I liv(
I'll lo'e nao maid but thee, Mary ;
Lot friends forget, as I forgive.
Thy wrongs to them and me, Mary.
So then farewell I of this be sure,
Since j^ou've been false to me, Mary ;
For all the world I'd not endure
Half what I've done for thee, Mary.
THE COLLIER LADDIE.
Joiinso.n's Museum.
WiiARE live ye, my bonuie lass.
And tell me what they ca' ye ?
]\Iy name, she says, is Mistress Jean,
And I follow the collier laddie.
Sec ye not yon hills and dales.
The sun shines on sac brawlie !
They a' are mine, and they shall be thine,
Giu ye'U leave your collier laddie.
Ye shall gang in gay attire,
Weel buskit up sae gawdy :
And ano to wait on every hand.
Gin 3'c'll leave your collier laddie.
Though ye had a' the sun shines on,
And the earth conceals sae lowly,
I wad turn my back on you and it a',
And embrace my collier laddie.
I can win my five-pennies in a day,
And spcn't at night fu' brawlie :
And make my bed in the collier's neuk,
And lie down wi' my collier laddie.
264 'HIE SOXGS OF SCOTLAND
Love for lovo is the bargain for me,
Tho' tliG wee cot-house should haud mc,
And the warkl before me to win my bread,
And fail" fa' my collier laddie.
IIEY DONALD, HOWE DONALD.
Johnson's Mdseut.i. The air has becu traced as far back as the
sevcutceiith century.
IIey, Donald, howe Donald,
Hey Donald Couper !
He's gane awa' to seek a wife,
And he's come hame without her.
0 Donald Couper and his man
Held to a Highland fair, man ;
And a' to seek a bonnie lass —
But fient a ane was there, man.
At length he got a carlin gray.
And she's come hirplin'hame, man ;
And she's fawn owcr the buffet stool,
And brak' her rumple-bane, man.
NURSERY SONG.
Johnson's Musedm.
0 CAN ye sew cushions,
Or can ye sew sheets.
Or can ye sing Ba-!oo-loo,
When the bairnie greets ?
And hee and ba-birdie,
And hee and ba-lamb,
And hee and ba-birdic.
My bonnie wee lamb.
Hee-o, wee-o, what v/ould I do wi' you ?
Black's the life that I lead wi' you.
O'er mony o' you, little for to gi'e you,
Hee-o, wee-o, what would I do wi' you ?
I've placed my cradle
On yon holly top,
And aye, as the wind blew.
My cradle did rock.
And hush-a-ba, baby,
0 ba-lilly-loo.
And hee and ba-birdie,
My bonnie wee doo !
Hee-o, wee-o, what would I do wi' you ? &c.
CIIRONOLOGICxVLLY ARRANGED. 2G5
0, AN YE WERE DEAD GUIDMAN.
Joiixsos's Museum.
0, AN ye were dead, guidman,
0, au ye were dead, guidman,
That I might wair my widowheiJ
Upon a ranting Higldandman.
There's six eggs in the pan, guidman,
There's six eggs in the pan, guidman ;
There's ane to you and twa to me,
And three to our John Ilighlandman.
There's beef into the pot, guidman.
There's beef into the jsot, guidman;
The banes to you, the broe to me.
And tlie beef for our John Ilighlandman.
There's sax horse in the sta', guidman.
There's sax horse in the sta', guidman;
There's ane to you, and twa to me.
And three to our John Ilighlandman.
There's sax kye in the byre, guidman,
There's sax kye in the byre, guidman ;
Tlicre's nanc o' them yours, but twa o' them mine,
And tlie lave is our John Highlandman's.
A COGIE 0' YILL.
ANDREW SHERIFF,
Editor of ilie Aberdeen Chronicle. lie puLlishcd iu 1787, a Scottish
Pastoral entitled "Jamie and Bess."
A COGIE o' yill,
And a pickle aitmeal.
And a dainty wee drappie o' wliisky,
Was our forefathers' dose.
For to swcel dov.-n their brose.
And keep them aye cheery and frisky.
Tlion hey for the whisky, and hey for tlie meal,
And hey for the cogie, and hey for the yill.
Gin ye steer a' thegither they'll do unco weel,
To keep a chiel cheery and brisk aye.
Wlien I see our Scots lads,
Wi' their kilts and cockauds.
Til at sac aftcu ha'e lounder'd our foes, man;
I think to mysel'.
On the meal and the yill.
And the fruits o' our Scottish kail brose, man,
Tlieu hey, &c.
266 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
When our brave Highland blades,
Wi' then* claymores and plaids,
In the field drove like sheep a' our foes, man ;
Their courage and pow'r —
Spring frae this to be sure,
They're the noble effects o' the brose, man.
Then hey, &c.
But your spyndle-shantM sparks,
Wha sae ill fill their sarks,
Your pale-visaged milksops and beaux, man ;
I think Avhen I see them,
'Twere kindness to gi'e them — ■
A cogie o' yill or o' brose, man.
Then hey, &c.
What John Bull despises.
Our better sense prizes,
lie denies eatin' blanter ava, man ;
But by eatin' o' blanter.
His mare's grown, I'll warrant her.
The manliest brute o' the twa, man.
Then hey, &c.
THE BLACK EAGLE.
JAMES 3?0RDTCE, D.D.,
At one time Minister of Brechin, afterwards Minister of a Presbyterian
Clnnch in London. He published a voliune of poems in 178C, iu whicli
is the following song, intended for a pathetic air of that name (" The
Black Eagle") in Oswald's Collection of Scotch Tunes. He died in
1790, in his 7Gth year.
Hark ! yonder eagle lonely wails.
His faithful bosom grief assails ;
Last night I heard him in my dream.
When death and woe were all the tlieme.
Like that poor bird I make my moan,
I grieve for dearest Delia gone ;
With him to gloomy rocks I fly,
He mourns for love and so do I.
'Twas mighty love that tamed his breast,
'Tis tender grief that breaks his rest ;
He droops hia wings, he hangs his head.
Since she he fondly loved was dead.
With Delia's breath my joy expired,
'Twas Delia's smiles my fancy fired ;
Like that poor bird I pine, and prove
Kought can supply the place of love.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 267
Dark as his feathers was the fate
That robb'd him of his darling mate ;
Diram'd is the lustre of his eye,
That wont to gaze the sun-bright sky.
To him is now for ever lost,
The heartfelt bliss he once could boast ;
Thy sorrows, hapless bird, display,
An image of my soul's dismay.
THE TOOM MEAL POCK.
JOHN ROBERTSON,
Wrttten about tlic year 1793.
Pkeserve us a' ! what shall we do,
Thir dark unhallowed times?
We're surely dreeing penance now,
For some most awfu' crimes.
Sedition daurna now appear,
In reality or joke,
For ilka chiel maun mourn wi' mo,
O' a hinging toom meal pock.
And sing. Oh waes me !
When lasses braw gacd out at e'en,
For sport and pastime free,
I scem'd like ane in paradise.
The moments quick did flee.
Like Venuses they a' appeared,
Wccl pouthered was their locks,
'Twas easy dune, when at their hame,
Wi' the shaking o' their pocks.
And sing, 0 waes me !
How happy past my former days,
Wi' merry heartsome glee,
When smiling fortune held the cup.
And peace sat on my knee ;
Nac wants had I but were supplied,
My heart wi' joy did knock.
When in the neuk I smiling saw
A gaucie weel fill'd pock.
And sing, Oh waes mo I
Speak no ac word about reform,
Nor petition Parliament,
A wiser scheme Til nov*^ propose,
I'm sure yc'll gi'e consent —
268 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Send up a cliiel or twa like me,
As a sample o' the ilock,
"Wliase hollow cheeks will be sm-e proof,
0' a hinging toom meal pock.
And sing, Oh waes me !
And should a sicht sae ghastly like,
Wi' rags, and banes, and skin,
Ila'e na impression on yon folks,
But tell ye'll stand ahin :
0 what a contrast will ye shaw.
To the glowrin' Lunnun folk,
When in St. James' ye tak' your stand,
Wi' a hinging toom meal pock.
And sing. Oh waes mc !
Then rear your hand, and glowr, and stare,
Before yon hills o' beef.
Toll them ye are frae Scotland come.
For Scotia's relief;
Tell them ye are the vera best,
Wal'd frae the fattest flock,
Then raise your arms, and Oh ! display
A hinging toom meal pock.
And sing. Oh waes me !
Tell them ye're wearied o' the chain
That bauds the state thegither,
For Scotland wishes just to tak'
Gude nicht wi' ane anither.
We canna thole, we canna bide,
This hard unwieldy yoke,
For wark and want but ill agree,
Wi' a hinging toom meal pock.
And sing. Oh waes me !
THE WEE WIFUKIE.
DU. A. GEDDES,
Bom at Banff iu 1737, a Clergyuiau of the Eoman Cailiolic Cluirch. IIo
died at Loudon iu 1802. His woiks, which are uuincroiis, are cliiefly of
a Theological cast, aud include a translation of the Sacred Scriptures.
There was a woo bit wifukie, was comin' frae the fair,
Had got a wee bit drappukic, that bred her meikle care.
It gaed about the wilic's heart, and she began to spew,
0 ! quo' the wee wifukie, I wish I binna fou.
I wish I binna fou, quo' she, I wish I binna fou.
Oh! quo' the wee wifukie, I wish I binna fou,
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 269
If Johnnie find mo barley-sick, I'm sure he'll claw my skin;
But I'll lie clown and tak' a nap before that I gae in.
Sitting at the dyke-side, and taking o' her nap,
By came a packman laddie wi' a little pack,
Wi' a little pack, rpio' she, wi' a little pack,
By came a packman laddie wi' a little pack.
He's clippit a' her gowden locks sae bonnie and sae lang ;
He's ta'en her purse and a' her placks, and fast awa' he ran :
And when the wifie waken'd, her head was like a bee,
Oh ! quo' the wee wifukie, tliis is nae mc,
This is nae me, quo' she, this is nae me.
Somebody has been felling mc, and this is nae mc.
I met with kindly company, and birl'd my bawbee !
And still, if this be Bessuldc, tlu'ce placks remain wi' me :
But I will look the pursic nooks, see gin the cunjnc be : —
There's neither pixrse nor plack about me ! — this is nae mc.
Tliis is nae me, &c.
I have a little housukio, but and a kindly man ;
A dog, they ca' him Uoussiekic ; if tliis be mo he'll fawn ;
And Johnnie, he'll come to the door, and kindly welcome gi'c,
And a' the bairns on the floor-head will dance if this be mc.
This is nae me, &c.
The night was late, and dang out weet, and oh but it was dark,
The doggie heard a body's foot, and he began to bark,
Oh when she heard the doggie bark, and keenin' it was he,
Oh wecl ken ye, Doussie, quo' she, this is nae me.
This is nae mc, &c.
When Johnnie heard his Bessie's word, fast to the door he ran ;
Is that you Bessukic ? — AVow na, man !
Be kind to the bairns a', and wecl mat yc be ;
And farewecl, Jolninie, quo' she, this is nae mc !
This is nae mo, &c.
John ran to the minister, his hair stood a' on end,
I've gotten sic a fright, Sir, I fear I'll never mend :
My wife's come hamc without a head, crying out most pitcously.
Oil farewecl, Johnnie, quo' she, this is nae me !
Tins is nae mc, &c.
The talc you tell, the parson said, is wonderful to mc.
How that a wife without a head could speak, or hear, or sec !
But things that happen hereabout, so strangely alter'd be.
That I could maist wi' Bessie say, 'tis neither you nor she ;
Neither you nor she, quo' ho, neither you nor she,
Wow na, Jolinnic man, 'tis neither you nor she.
270 TIIE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Now Johnnie he cam' hame again, and oh ! but he was fain,
To see his little Bessukie come to hersel' again.
He got her sittin on a stool, wi' Tibbuck on her knee :
Oh, come awa', Johnnie, quo' she, come awa' to me.
For I've got a nap wi' Tibbuckie, and this is now me.
This is now me, quo' she, this is now me,
I've got a nap wi' Tibbuckie, and this is now me.
AULD EOBIN GRAY.
LACr ANN BAKNARD,
Daugtiter of James, Earl of Balcanes, was born in 1750. She married in
1793, Sir Andrew Barnard, librarian to George III. He died iu 1807.
Lady Ann survived to 1825, when she died at her house in London.
The song was originally written to a very old air, " The bridcgiooni
grat when the sun gaed douu." The old air, however, is now discarded
for the very beautiful one composed by the Reverend WilHam Leeves,
rector of Wrington, in Somersetshire.
When the sheep are iu the fauld, and the kye a' at hamo,
When a' the weaiy Avorld to sleep are gane,
The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my e'e,
While my gudeman lies sound by me.
Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and souglit me for his bride •
But saving a crown he had naething else beside.
To make the crown a pound, my Jamie gaed to sea ;
And the crown and the pound, they were baith for me !
He hadna been awa' a week but only twa,
When my mither she fell sick, and the cow Avas stown awa ;
My father brak his arm — my Jamie at the sea —
And Auld Eobin Gray came a-courting me.
My father couldna work — ^my mither couldna spin ;
I toil'd day and night, but their bread I couldna win ;
Auld Rob maintain'd them baith, and, wi' tears in his e'e,
Said, "Jenny, for their sakes, will you marry me?"
My heart it said na, and I look'd for Jamie back;
But hard blew the winds, and his ship was a wrack :
His ship it was a wrack ! Why didna Jenny dee ?
And wherefore was I spar'd to cry, Wae is me !
My father argued sair — my mither didna speak,
But she look'd in my face till my heart was like to break ;
They gied him my hand, but my heart was in the sea ;
And so Auld Robin Gray, he was gudeman to me.
I hadna been his wife, a week but only four,
When mournfu' as I sat on the stane at the door,
I saw my Jamie's ghaist — I couldna think it he,
Till he said, '* I'm come hame, my love, to m.arry thee !"
CHRONOLOGICALLY AERANGED, 271
0 sair, sair did we greet, and micklc did we say :
Ae kiss we toolv — nae mair — I bade him gang av/ay.
1 wish that I were dead, but I'm no like to dee ;
And why do I live to say, Wao is me !
I gang like a ghaist, and I careua to spin ;
I darena tliink o' Jamie, for tliat wad be a sin.
But I will do my best a gude wife to be,
For Auld Robin Gray, ho is kind to me.
MY ONLY JO AND DEARIE, 0.
RICHARD GALL,
A NATIVE of Linkhoiise, near Dunbar, where he was born in 177(5. He
seri'ed his apprenticeship as compositor, in the office of the Edinburfjh
Evening Courant, and continued in that office for some iimo. after his ap-
prenticeship was completed. He died in 1801, at the early ;igc of twenty-
live. Ilis poems were published shortly after his deatli.
Thy cheek is o' the rose's line,
My only jo and dearie, 0 ;
Thy neck is o' the siller dew
Upon the bank sae brierie, 0.
Thy teeth are o' the ivory ;
0 sweet's the twinkle o' thine cc :
Nae joy, nae pleasure, blinks on me,
My only jo and dearie, 0.
Tlie birdie smgs upon the thorn
Its sang o' joy. In' cliccrie, 0,
Rejoicing in the simmer morn,
Nae care to mak' it eei'ie, 0 ;
Ah 1 little kens the gangster sweet
Aught o' the care I ha'e to meet,
Tliat gars my restless bosom beat.
My only jo and dearie, 0.
When we v/crc bairnics on yon brne,
And youth was blinkin' bonnic, 0,
Aft we wad dad the lee-lang day.
Our joys fu' sweet and monie, 0.
Aft I wad chase thee o'er the lee,
And round about the thorny tree ;
Or pu' the wild ilowers a' for thee,
My only jo and dearie, 0.
272 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
I lia'e a wish I canna tine,
'Mang a' tlie cares that grieve me, 0,
A wish that thou wert ever mine.
And never mair to leave me, 0 ;
Then I woukl dawt thee night and day,
Nae ither warldly care I'd ha'e,
Till life's warm stream forgat to phij',
My only jo and dearie, 0.
ON BUENOS.
EICIIABD GALL.
There's waefu' news in yon town.
As e'er the warkl heard ava;
There's dolefu' news in yon town,
For Robbie's gane an' left them a'
IIow blythe it was to sec his face
Come keeking by tlie liallan wa' !
He ne'er was swcir to say the grace,
But now he's gane an' left them a'.
He was the lad wha made tliem glad,
Whancver lie the reed did blaw :
The lasses there may drap a tear,
Their funny friend is now awa'.
Nae daffin now in yon town ;
The browster-wife gets leave to drav/
An' drink hersel', in yon town,
Sin' Robbie gaed an' left them a'.
The lawin's canny counted now,
The bell that tinkled ne'er will draw,
The king will never get his due,
Sin' Robbie gaed and left them a'.
The squads o' chicls that lo'ed a splorc
On winter e'enings, never ca' ;
Their blythesome moments a' are o'er,
Sin' Robbie's gane an' left them a'.
Frae a' tlie cen in yon town
I see the tears o' sorrow fa'.
An' weel they may, in yon town,
Nae canty sang they hear ava.
Their e'ening sky begins to lour.
The murky clouds thegither draw ,
'Twas but a blink afore a shower,
Ere Robbie gaed and left them a'.
CHKONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 273
The landwart hizzic winna sijeak ;
Yo'U see her silting like a craw
Amang the reck, while rattons squeak —
Her dawtit bard is now awa'.
But could I lay my hand upon
His whistle, keenly wad I blaw,
An' screw about the auld drone,
An' lilt a lightsome spring or twa.
If it were sweetest aye whan wat.
Then wad I ripe my pouch, an' draw,
An' steep it weel amang the maut,
As lang's I'd saxpenco at my ca'.
For warld's gear I dinna care,
My stock o' that is unco sma'.
Come, friend, we'll pree the barley-brce
To his braid fame that's now awa'.
THE WAITS.
RICHAKD GALL.
Wha's this, wi' voice o' music sweet,
Sao early wakes the weary wight?
0 weel I ken them by their sough.
The wand'ring minstrels o' the night.
0 weel I ken their bonnio lilts.
Their sweetest notes o' melody,
Fu' aft they've thrill'd out through my saul,
And gart the tear fill ilka c'e.
O, sweetest minstrels ! weet your pijic,
A tender soothin' note to blaw;
Syne souf the " Broom o' Cowdenknowcs,"
Or " Roslin Castle's" ruined wa'.
They bring to mind the happy days,
Fu' aft I've spent wi' Jenny dear : —
All ! now ye touch the very note.
That gars me sigh, and drap a tear.
Your fremit lilts I downa bide,
They never yield a charm for mc :
Unlike our ain, by nature made,
Unlike the saft delight they gi'e ;
For weel I ween they warm the breast,
Though sair oppress'd wi' poortith cauld ;
An' sac an auld man's heart they cheer,
He tines the thought that he is auld,
274 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAKD
0, sweetest minstrels! halt a ■vvco,
Anitlier lilt afore ye gang ;
An' syne I'll close my waukrifo e'e,
Enraptured wi' your bonuie sang.
They're gane I the moon begins to dawn ;
They're weary paidlin' through the wcct ;
They're gane ! but on my ravished ear,
The dying sounds yet thrill fu' sweet.
THE HAZLEWOOD WITCH.
EICHAED GALL.
For mony lang year I ha'e heard frae my grannie,
Of brownies an' bogles by yon castle wa',
Of auld wither'd hags, that were never thought cannie.
An' fairies that danced till they heard the cock craw,
I leugh at her tales ; an' last owk, i' the gloamin',
I dander'd, alane, down the Hazlewood green:
Alas ! I was reckless, an' rue sair my roaming,
For I met a young witch wi' twa bonnie black ccn.
I thought o' the starns in a frosty night glancing,
Whan a' the lift round them is cloudless and blue ;
I loolc'd again, an' my heart fell a dancing ;
AVhau I wad ha'e spoken, she glamour'd my mou'.
0 wae to her cantraips ! for dumpish I wander ;
At kirk or at market there's nought to be seen ;
For she dances afore me ^vherever I dander.
The Hazlewood Witch wi' the bonnie black cen.
I WINNA GANG BACK.
KICHAKD GALL.
I WINNA gang back to my mammy again.
I'll never gao back to my mammy again,
I've licld by her apron these aught years an' ten.
But I'll never gang back to my inammy again.
I've hdd by lier apron, &c.
Young Johnnie cam' down 1' the gloamin' to woo,
Wi' plaidio sae bonnie, an' bannet sae blue :
" 0 come awa', lassie, ne'er let mammy ken ;"
An' I flew wi' my laddie o'er meadow an' glen.
0 come awa', lassie, &c.
He ca'd me his dawtie, his dearie, his dow,
An' press'd hame his words wi' a smack o' my mou';
While I fell on his bosom, heart-flichtered an' fain,
An' sigh'd out, " 0 Johnnie, I'll aye be your ain ! "
While I fell on his bosom, &c.
CHRONOLOGICALLY AERANGED. 275
Some lasses will talk to the lads wi' their e'e,
Yet hanker to tell what their hearts really dree ;
Wi' Johnnie I stood upon nae stappin'-stanc,
Sae I'll never gang back to my mammy again.
Wi' Johnnie I stood, &c.
For mony lang year sin' I play'd on the lea,
My mammy was kind as a mither could be ;
I've held by her apron these aught years and ten,
Cut I'll never gang back to my mammy again.
I've held by her apron, &c.
GLENDOCHART VALE.
MCHAItD GALL.
As I came through Glendochart vale,
Whare mists o'ertaj) the mountains grey,
A wee bit lassie met my view,
As cantily she held her way :
But 0 sic love each feature bore.
She made my saul wi' rapture glow !
An' aye she spake sae kind and sweet,
I coiddna keep my heart in tow.
0 speak na o' yom* courtly queans I
My wee bit lassie fools them a' :
The little cuttle's done me skaith.
She's stown my thoughtlcs heart awa'«
Her smilo was like the grey-e'ed morn,
AVhan spreading on the mountain-green;
Her voice saft as the mavis' sang ;
An' sweet the twinkle o' her een :
Aboon her brow, sac bonnio brent.
Her raven locks waved o'er her e'c ;
An' ilka slee bewitching glance
Conveyed a dart o' love to me.
0 speak na o' your courtly queans, &c.
The lasses fair in Scotia's isle.
Their beauties a' what tongue can tell?
But o'er the fairest o' them a'
My wee bit lassie bears the bell.
0 had I never mark'd her smile,
Nor seen the twinkle o' her e'e !
It might na been my lot the day,
A wacfu' lade o' care to dree.
0 speak na o' your courtly queans, &c.
276 THE SONGS of Scotland
AULD LANG SYNE,
LADY NALRNE,
Was born at the house of Gask, ia Perthshu-e, on the IGth July, 17G6.
Her father, Laurence Oliphant of Gask, was one of the staunohcst Jacob-
ites, had followed Prince Charlie tlirough the '45, and never spoke of
King George otherwise than as the Elector of Hanover.
She married in 1806 Captain W. N. Nairne, a second cousin, and son of
one of the unfortunate adherents of the young chevalier. He was the repre-
sentative of the attainted title of Lord Nairne, in the honours of which,
however, he was reinstated in 1824. He died in 1830. Lady Nairne
survived him till 1815, when she died in the house of Gask in her seventy-
ninth year. To Dr. Eogers, the lovers of Scottish song are indebted for
a collected edition of her songs, accompanied by a full and interesting
biography. (London, 18G9.)
No one was more frightened of a literary reputation than Lady Nairne.
Her best songs appeared first in print in Smith's " Scottish Minstrel,"
1821, under the assumed initials of B. B., and so close was her secret
guarded that even the publisher and editor of that work were unaware of
tlie name and position of their contributor. Her best songs have been
admitted into all collections of our National Minstrelsy since that tunc
without any hint as to the author. This, however, is now changed, and
Ijady Nairne has taken her place as a song writer beside Burns, Hogg,
and TannahiU.
Yv''iiAT gndc the present day can gi'e.
May that be yours an' mine ;
But beams o' fancy sweetest rest
On auld lang syne.
On auld lang syne, my dear,
On auld lang syne.
The bluid is cauld tliat winna warm
At thoughts o' lang sync.
We twa liac seen the simmer sun,
And tliought it aye would shine ;
Cut mony a cloud has come between,
Sin auld lang syne.
Sin auld lang syne, &c.
But still my heart beats warm to thee,
And sae to me does thine,
Blest be the pow'r that still has left
TiiG frieu's o' lang sang.
0' auld lang syne, &c.
CnRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 277
CALLER HERRIN.
LADY KAIENE.
Wiia'll buy my caller herrin' ?
They're boiiuie fisli and dainty fairin',
Wha'll buy my caller Lerrin' ?
New drawn frae the Forth.
When ye were sleepin' on your pillows,
Dream'd ye aught o' our puir fellows,
Darkling as they fac'd the billows,
A' to fill the woven willows?
Buy my caller herrin',
New drawn frae the Forth.
Wha'll buy my caller herrin'?
They're no brought here without bravo daring,
Buy my caller herrin',
Haul'd thro' wind and rain.
Wha'll buy my caller herrin', &c. ?
Wlia'llbuy my caller herrin'?
Yo may ca' them vulgar fairin'.
Wives and mithers maist despairin'
Ca' them lives o' men.
Wha'll buy, my caller herrin', &c. ?
When the creel o' herrin passes,
Ladies clad in silks and laces.
Gather in their braw pelisses,
Cast their necks and screw their faces.
Wha'll buy my caller herrin', &c. ?
Caller jierrin's no got lightlic.
Ye can trip the spring fu' tightlic,
Spite o' tauntin', flauntin', ilingin'.
Cow has set you a' a-singin'.
Wha'll buy ui}^ caller herrin', &c. ?
Neighbour wives, now tent my tcUin',
When the bonnie fish yc're sdlin',
At ac word be in ye're dealin',
Trutli will stand wlien a' thing's failin'.
Wha'll buy my caller herrin', &c.?
278 THE' SONGS OF SCOTLAND
THE VOICE OF SPRING.
LADT NAIKNE,
0, SAY is there ane wlia does not rejoice,
To hear the first noto o' the wee' birdie's voice,
When in the grey mornin' o' cauld early spring,
The snaw draps appear an' the wee birdies sing.
The voice o' the spring, 0, how does it cheer !
The winter's awa, the summer is near.
In your mantle o' green, we see thee, fair spring,
O'er our banks, an' our braes, the wild flowers ye fling ;
The crocus sae gay, in her rich gowden hue ;
The sweet violets hid 'mang the moss an' the dew ;
The bonnie white gowan, an' oh ! the white brier,
A' tell it is spring, an' the summer is near.
An' they wha' in sorrow or sickness do pine.
Feel blythe wi' the flowers an' sunshine o' spring ;
Tho' aft in dear Scotia, the cauld wind will blaw.
An' cow'r a' the blossoms wi' frost and wi' snaw,
Yet the cloud it will pass, the sky it will clear.
An' the birdies will sing, the summer is near.
JOHN TOD
LADY NAmNE.
He's a terrible man, John Tod, John Tod,
He's a terrible man, John Tod ;
He scolds in the house, he scolds at the door,
He scolds in the very hie road, John Tod,
He scolds in the very hie road.
The weans a' fear John Tod, John Tod,
The weans a' fear John Tod ;
When he's passing by, the mothers will cry,
Here's an ill wean, John Tod, John Tod,
Here's an ill wean, John Tod.
The callants a' fear John Tod, John Tod,
The callants a' fear John Tod ;
If they steal but a neep, the laddie he'll wliip,
And it's unco weel done o' John Tod, John Tod,
And it's unco weel done o' John Tod.
And saw yc nae little Joan Tod, John Tod ?
0 saAv ye nae little John Tod?
His shoon they were re'in, and his feet they were seen,
But stout does he gang on the road, John Tod,
But stout does he gang on the road.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 279
How is he fendin', John Tod, John Tod?
How is he wendin', John Tod ?
Ho is scourin' the land wi' his rung in his hand,
And the French wadna frighten John Tod, John Tod,
And the French wadna frighten John Tod,
Ye're sun-burnt and batter'd, John Tod, John Tod,
Ye'er tautit and tatter'd John Tod ;
Wi' your auld strippit cowl ye look maist like a fule ;
But there's nouso in the linin', John Tod, John Tod,
But there's nouse in the linin', John Tod.
He's weel respeckit, John Tod, John Tod,
He's weel respeckit, John Tod ;
Though a terrible man, we'd a' gang wrang.
If e'er he should leave us, John Tod, John Tod,
If he should leave us, John Tod.
THE TWA DOOS.
LADT NAKNE.
There were twa does sat in a dookit,
Twa wise-like birds, and round they lookit.
An' says the ane unto the ither.
What do you see, my gude brither ?
I see some pickles o' gude strae,
An' wheat some fule has thrown away ;
For a rainy day they should be boukit,
Sao down they flew frae aff their dookit.
The snaw will come, an' cour the grund,
Nae grains o' wheat will then be fund.
They picket a' up an a' were boukit.
Then roun' an' roun' again they lookit.
0 lang he thocht an' lang he lookit,
An' aye his wise-like head he shook it,
1 see, I see, what ne'er should be,
I see what's seen by mair than me.
Wao's mc there's thochtless lang Tarn Gray,
Aye spcndin' what he's no to pay ;
In wedlock, to a taupie hookit,
He's ta'cn a doo, but has nae dookit.
When we were young, it was nae sae ;
Nae rummulgumshion folk noAv hae :
What gude for them can ere be looldt,
When folk tak doos that hae nao dookit.
280 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
THE LAIED 0' COCKPEN.
LADY NAHINE.
TiiK two last stanzas were added by Jliss Fcrrior, authoress of
" Marriage," &c.
The Laird o' Cockpen, lie's iiroud and lic'a g'reat;
His mind is ta'cn up wi' tlic tilings o' the state :
He wanted a wife his braw house to keep ;
But favour wi' ^vooi^' was fashious to seek.
Doun by tlie dyke-side a lady did dwell,
At his table-head he thought she'd look well ;
M'Clish's ae daughter o' Claverse-ha' Lee —
A pennylcss lass wi' a lang pedigree.
His wig was wcel pouther'd, as guid as when new,
His waistcoat was white, his coat it was blue :
He put on a ring, a sword, and cock'd hat —
And wha could refuse the Laird wi' a' that?
He took the grey mare, and rade cannilie —
And rapped at the yett o' Claverse-ha' Lcc;
" Gae tell mistress Jean to come speedily ben :
She's wanted to speak wi' the Laird o' Cockpen."
Mistress Jean she was makin' the clder-floAver wine;
"And what brings the Laird at sic a like time? "
She put aff her apron, and on her silk gown,
Her mutch wi' red ribbons, and gaed awa' down.
And when she cam' ben, he boued fu' low;
And what was his errand ho soon let her know.
Amazed was the Laird when the lady said, Na,
And wi' a laigh curtsie she turned awa'.
Dumfounder'd he was, but nac sigh did be gi'e ;
He mounted his mare, and rade cannilie ;
And aften he tliought, as he gaed through the glen,
" She's daft to refuse tho Laird o' Cockpen."
And now that the Laird his exit had made,
IMistress Jean she reflected on what she had said;
"Oh ! for ane I'll get better, it's waur I'll get ten —
I was daft to refuse the Laird o' Cockpen."
Neist time that the Laird and the Lady were seen.
They were gaun arm and arm to the kirk on the green ;
Now she sits in the ha' like a weel-tappit hen.
But as yet there's nae chickens appear'd at Cockpen.
CIIKONOLOGICALLT ARRANGED. 281
I'M WEARING AWA' JOHN.
LADT NAIRNE.
I'm wearing awa', John,
Like enaw wreaths in thaw, John,
I'm wearing awa',
To the land o' the leal.
There's nae sorrow there, John,
There's neither cauld nor care, John,
The day is aye fair.
In the land o' the leal.
Our bonnie bairn's there, John,
She was baitli gude and fair, John,
And we grudged her right sair
To the land o' the leal.
But sorrow's sel' wears past, John,
And joy's a'-comin' fast, Jolui,
In joy that aye to last,
In the land o' the leal.
Sae dear that joy was bought, John,
Sao free the battle fought, John,
That sinfu' man e'er brought
To tlie land o' the leal.
Tlien dry that tearfu' e'e, John,
My soul langs to bo free, John,
And angels wait on me
To the land o' the leal.
Oh ! hand ye leal and true, John,
Your day it's weariu' through, John,
And I'll welcome you
To the land o' the leal.
Now, faro yo weel, my ain John,
Tliis warld's care is vain, John,
We'll meet and aye be fain
In the land o' the leal.
THE AULD HOUSE.
LADT NAIKNE.
On! the auld house, the auld house,
What tho' the rooms were wee 1
Oh ! kind hearts were dwcllin' tlicro,
And bairniea fu' o' glee:
The wild rose and the jessamine,
Still hang upon the wa',
How many cherished memories
Do thoy, sweet flowers, rcca'.
282 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Oh, the auld laird, the auld laird,
Sae canty, kind, and crouse,
How mony did he welcome to
His ain wee dear auld house ?
And the leddy too sae genty.
There shelter'd Scotland's heir,
And clipt a lock Avi' her ain hand
Frae his lang genty hau-.
The mavis still doth sweetly sing,
The blue bells sweetly blaw,
The bonny Earn's clear Avinding still,
But the auld house ia awa'.
The auld house, the auld house,
Deserted tho' ye be.
There ne'er can be a new house
Will seem sae fair to me.
Still flourishing the auld pear tree
The bairniea liked to see,
And oh ! how aften did they spier
When ripe they a' wad be ?
The voices sweet, the wee bit feet
Aye rinning here and there,
The merry shout, oh ! whiles we greet
To think v/e'll hear nae mair.
For they are a' wide scattered noWj
Some to the Indies gane,
And ane alas ! to her lang hame ;
Not her we'll meet again.
The kirkyard, the kirkyard !
Wi' flowers o' every hue,
Shelter'd by the holly's shade
An' the dark sombre yew.
The setting sun, the setting suul
How glorious it gaed doon ;
The cloudy splendour raised our hearts,
To cloudless skies aboon !
The auld dial, the auld dial !
It tauld how time did pass ;
The wintry winds hae dung it doon,
Now hid 'mang trees and grass.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 283
THE LASS 0' GOWEIE.
LADT NAmXB.
'Twas on a summer's afternoon,
A wee afore the eun gaed down,
A lassie wi' a braw new goim
Cam' ower the hills to Govvrie.
The rosebud wash'd in summer's shower,
Bloom'd fresh within the sunny bower ;
But Kitty was the fairest flower
That e'er was seen in Gowrie.
To see her cousin she cam' there,
And oh ! the scene was passin' fair,
For what in Scotland can compare
Wi' the Carse o' Gowrie?
The sun was settin' on the Tay,
The blue hills meltin' into grey,
The mavis and the blackbird's lay
Were sweetly heard in Gowrie.
0 lang the lassie I had woo'd,
An' truth an' constancy had vow'd,
But cam' nao speed wi' her I lo'cd
Until she saw fair Gowrie.
1 pointed to my faith er's ha'.
Yon bonnio bield ayont the shaw,
Sac loun' that there nae blast could blaw,
Wad she no bide in Gowrie ?
Her faither was baith glad and wae ;
Her mither she wad naething say ;
The bairnies thocht they wad get play
If Kitty gaed to Gowrie.
She whiles did smile, she whiles did greet,
The blush and tear were on her check ;
She naething said, but hung her head,
But now she's Leddy Gowrie.
THE EOWAN TREE.
LADY NAIRN1S,
OiT, Rowan tree ! Oh, Rowan tree I thou'lt aye be dear to me,
Intwiued thou art wi' mony ties o' hame and infancy ;
Thy leaves were aye the first o' spring, thy flow'rs the simmer'a
pride ;
There was nae sic a bonnie tree, in a' the countiy side.
Oh, Rowan tree !
284 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
How fair wert thou in simmer time, wi' a' thy clusters white.
How rich and gay thy autumn dress, wi' berries red and bright.
We sat aneath thy spreading shade, the bairnies round thee ran;
They pu'd tliy bonnie berries red, and necklaces they Strang.
Oh, liowan tree !
On thy fair stem were mony names, which now nae mair I see,
But they're engraven on my heart, forgot they ne'er can be ;
My mother ! oli 1 I see her still, she smil'd our sports to see ;
Wi' little Jeanie on her lap, wi' Jamie at her knee !
Oh, Eowan tree !
Oh ! there arose my father's prayer, in holy evening's calm,
How sweet was then my mother's voice, in the Martyr's psalm ;
Now a' are gane I we meet nae mair aneath the Rowau tree.
But hallowed thoughts around thee twine o' hame and infancy.
Oh, Rowan tree !
0 WEEL MAY THE BOATIE ROW.
JOHN EWEN,
A native of Montrose, where he was hom in 1741. In 17C0 he went to
Aberdeen, where he began business as a dealer in hardware goods. By
dint of frugality, if not parsimony, and aided greatly by that amiable
provision for the deserving poor, a rich wife, he amassed a considerable
fortune, and at his death, which took place in 1821, bequeatlied the bulk
of it to trustees for the purpose of founding an hospital at Montrose, for
the board and education of poor boys. His will, liowever, was challenged
by his daughter, his only child, who appears to have been overlooked
in that dociuneut, and was settled in her favour by the House of Lords.
0 WEEL may the boatie row,
And better may she speed !
And weel may the boatie row,
That wins the bairns' bread !
The boatie rows, the boatie rows,
The boatie rows indeed ;
And happy be the lot of a'
That wishes her to speed !
1 cuist my line in Largo Baj-,
And fishes I caught nine ;
There's three to boil, and throe to fry,
And three to bait the line.
Tiie boatie rows, the boatie ro\vs.
The boatie rows indeed ;
And happy be the lot of a'
That wishes her to speed 1
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 285
0 weel may the boatie row,
That iills a heavy creel,
And cleads us a' frae head to feet,
And buys our parritch meal.
The boatie rows, the boatie rows,
The boatie rows indeed ;
And happy be the lot of a'
That wish the boatie speed.
When Jamie vow'd he would be mine.
And wan frae mo my heart,
0 muckle lighter grew my creel !
He swore we'd never part.
The boatie rows, the boatie rows,
Tho boatie rows fu' weel ;
And rnnckle lighter is the lade,
Wlien love bears up the creel.
My kurtch I put upon my head,
And dress'd mysel' fu' braw ;
1 trow my heart was dowf and wao,
"When Jamie gaed awa :
But weel may the boatie row.
And lucky be her part;
And lightsome be the lassie's care
That yields an honest heart !
When Sawnie, Jock, and Janetic,
Are up, and gotten lear.
They'll help to gar tlic boatie row.
And lighten a' our care.
Tlie boatie rows, the boatie rows,
Tho boatie rows fu' weel ;
And lightsome be her heart that bears
Tlie murlain and tho creel !
And wlion Avi' age we are worn down,
And hirpling round the door.
They'll row to keep us hale and warm
As we did them before :
Tlien, weel may the boatie row,
1'liat wins the bairns' bread ;
And liappy bo the lot of a'
That wish the boat to speed !
286 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
THE BONNIE BEUCKET LASSIE.
JAMES TYTLEK,
Bom in 1747, "was the son of a clergyman in the north of Scotland. " A
clever but eccentric character," says Mr. Stenhoiise, " commonly called
Balloon Tytler, from the circumstance of his being the first person who
])rojected and ascended from Edinburgh in one of these aerial machines."
He edited the second and third editions of the "Encyclopaedia Britannica."
He ultimately got mixed up in some of the political squabbles of his time,
and had to emigrate to America, where he died in 1805.
The bounio brucket lassie,
She's blue beueatli the sen;
She was the fairest lassie
That danced on the green,
A lad he loo'd her dearly;
She did his love return :
But he his vows has broken,
And left her for to mourn.
My shape, she says, was handsome,
My face was fair and clean ;
But now I'm bonnie brucket,
And blue beneath the een.
My eyes were bright and sparkling,
Before that they turned blue ;
But now they're dull with weeping.
And a', my love, for you.
My person it was comely ;
My shape, they said, was neat ;
But now I am quite changed ;
My stays they winna meet.
A' nicht I sleeped soundly ;
My mind was never sad;
But now my rest is broken
Wi' thinking o' my lad.
0 could I live in darkness,
Or hide me in the sea.
Since my love is unfaithful,
And has forsaken me ;
No other love I suffered
Within my breast to dwell,
In nought I have offended.
But loving him too well.
Her lover heard her mourning,
As by he chanced to pass :
And pressed unto his bosom
The lovely brucket lass.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 287
My dear, he said, cease grieving ;
Since that yoxi lo'ed so true,
My bonnie brucket lassie,
I'll faithful prove to you.
I HAE LAID A HEREINa IN SAUT.
JAMES TYTLEIJ.
Based upon a very old soug.
I HAL laid a herring in saut —
Lass, gin ye lo'e me, tell me now ;
I hae brew'd a forpit o' maut.
And I canna come ilka day to woo :
I hae a calf that will soon be a cow —
Lass, gin yo lo'e me, tell me now ;
I hae a stook, and I'll soon hae a mowe.
And I canna come ilka day to woo :
I hae a house upon yon moor —
Lass, gin ye lo'e me, tell me now ;
Three sparrows may dance upon the floor,
And I canna come ilka day to avoo :
I hae a but, and I hae a ben —
Lass, gin ye lo'o me, tell me now ;
A penny to keep, and a penny to spcn',
And I canna come ilka day to woo :
I hae a hen wi' a happitie-leg —
Lass, gin ye lo'e me, tell me now ;
That ilka day lays me an egg,
And I canna come ilka day to woo :
I hae a cheese upon my skelf —
Lass, gin yo lo'e me, tell me now —
And soon wi' mites 'twill rin itself.
And I canna come ilka day to woo.
LOCH-ERROCH SIDE.
ASCRIBED TO JAMES TTTLER.
As I cam' by Loch-Erroch side,
The lofty hills surveying,
Tlio water clear, the heather blooms,
Their fragrance sweet conveying ;
I met, unsougl)t, my lovely maid,
I found her like May morning ;
With graces sweet, and charms so rare,
Her person all ndorning.
288 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
IIow kind her looks, how blest was I,
While in my arms I prest her !
And she her wishes scarce conceal'd,
As fondly I caress'd her :
She said, It' that your heart be true,
If constantly you'll love me,
I heed not care nor fortune's frowns,
For nought but death shall move im.
Cut faithful, loving, true, and kind,
For ever thou slialt fmd me ;
And of our meeting here so sweet,
Loch-Erroch sweet shall mind me.
Enraptured then, My lovely lass,
I cried, no more we'll tarry 1
We'll leave the fair Loch-Erroch side.
For lovers soon should marry.
WE'LL IIAP AND ROW.
WILLIAM CFuEECH,
A CELEBEATED Publisher ia Edinljurp;h. Bom 1745, died 1815.
The first Edinburgh edition of Burns' roems was issued by him, and evoiy
reader of Burns is aware of the respect the jioet had for his publislier.
We'll hap and row, we'll hap and row.
We'll hap and row the feetie o't ;
It is a wee bit weary thing :
I downa bide the greetie o't.
And wo pat on the wee bit pan.
To boil the lick o' meatie o't;
A cinder fell and spoil'd the plan.
And burnt a' the feetie o't.
Fu' sair it grat, the puir wee brat,
And aye it kick'd the feetie o't.
Till, puir wee elf, it tired itself;
And then began the slecpie o't.
The skirlin' brat nac parritch gat.
When it gaed to the sleepio o't;
It's waesomc true, instead o"ts mou',
They're round about the feetie o't.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 289
A' BODY'S LIKE TO BE MARRIED BUT ME.
AXOXYMOUS.
FitOM The Scots Magazine, July, 1802.
As Jenny sat down wi' her wheel h}^ the ilrc,
An' thought o' the time that was fast Ilecin' by'er,
She said to liersel' wi' a heavy hoch hie,
Oh ! a' body's like to be married but me.
My youthfu' companions are a' worn awa',
And though I've had Avooers mysel' ane or twa,
Yet a lad to my mind I ne'er could yet see,
Oh ! a' body's like to be married but me.
There's LoAvric, the lawyer, would ha'c me fu' fain
Who has baith a house an' a yard o' his ain :
But before I'd gang to it I rather wad die,
A wee stumpin' body! he'll never get me.
There's Dickey, my cousin, frae LunuTin cam' down,
Wi' fine yellow buskins that dazzled the town ;
But, puir dccvil, he got ne'er a blink o' my e'e,
Oh ! a' body's like to bo married but me.
But I saw a lad by yon saughie burn side,
Wha weel wad deserve ony queen for his bride.
Gin I had my will soon his ain I would be.
Oh 1 a' body's like to be married but me.
I gied him a look, as a kind lassie should,
My frien's, if they kenn'd it, would surely run wud ;
For tho' bonnie and guid, he's no worth a bawbee,
Oh ! a' body's like to bo married but mc.
'Tis hard to talc' shelter behint a laigh dyke,
'Tis hard for to tak' ane wc never can like,
'Tis liard for to leave ane we fain wad l)e wi'.
Yet it's harder that a' should bo married but mc.
WHAT AILS YOU NOW.
ALKXANUKH DOUGLAS,
A WEAVER in Patlilicad, in Fifeshiic. lie was bom at Strathniif;lo in
1 771, and died in 1S2 1. He published a volume of poems in ISOti, which
was favomably received.
What ails you now, my daintie Pate,
Yc winna wed an' a' that ?
Say, are ye fley'd, or are ye blatc.
To tell your love an' a' that ?
To kiss an' clap, an' a' that ?
0 fy for shame, an' a' that.
To spend your life without a wife ;
'Tis uo the gato ava that.
290 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Ere lang' you will grow auld and frail,
Your haffets white an' a' that ;
An whare's the Meg, the Kate, or Nell,
Will ha'e you syne wi' a' that ?
Eunkled brow an' a' that ;
Wizzen'd face an' a' that;
Wi' beard sae grey, there's nano will ha'e
A kiss frae you, an' a' that.
0 stand na up wi' where an' how,
Wi' ifs an' buts an' a' that,
Wi' feckless scruples not a few ;
Pu' up your heart an' a' that.
Crousely crack an' a' that ;
Come try your luck an' a' that :
The hiney-moon will ne'er gang done,
If guidit weel an' a' that.
There's monio lass baith douce an' fair,
Fu' sonsy, fier, an' a' that,
Wad suit you to a very hair,
Sae clever they're an' a' that ;
Handsome, j'oung, an' a' that,
Sae complaisant an' a' that;
Sae sv/eet an' braw, and gude an' a' ;
What ails the chield at a' that ?
Come, look about, an' wale a wife,
Like honest fouk an' a' that ;
An' lead a cheerfu' virtuous life ;
Ila'e plenty, peace, an' a' that ;
A thrifty wife an' a' that,
An' bonnie bairns an' a' that,
Syne in your ha' shall pleasures a'
Smile ilka day an' a' that.
LOGAN'S BRAES.
JOHN MATNE,
Author of "The Siller Gun," &c. lie was born in Dumfries, in 1759,
His parents removed in 1782 when he began his apprenticeship as com-
positor to the celebrated Glasgow printers, Messrs. Fouhs. He afterwards
v.-ent to London, where ho became editor and part proprietor of " The
Star," newspaper. He died in 183G.
The last three stanzas of this song have been attributed to another
writer. They are certaklj much iaferior in style.
" By Logan's streams that rin sae deep,
Fu' aft wi' glee I've herded sheep ;
Herded sheep, or gathered slaes,
Wi' my dear lad, on Logan braes.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 291
But wae's my heart ! tliac days arc gane,
And I, wi' grief, may herd alane ;
While my dear lad maim face his faes,
I'ar, far i'rae me, and Logan braes.
" Nae mair at Logan Kirk will he
Atween the preachings meet wi' me ;
Meet \vi me, or when it's mirk,
Convoy me hame from Logan ku-k.
I wecl may sing thae days are ganc —
Frae kirk an' fair I come alane,
While my dear lad maun face his faes,
Far, far frae me, and Logan braes !
" At e'en, when hope amaist is ganc,
I dauner out, or sit alane.
Sit alane beneath the tree
Where aft he kept his tryst wi' mc.
0 ! cou'd I see thae days again.
My lover skaithless, an' my ain !
Belov'd by frien's, revcr'd by faes.
We'd live in bliss on Logan braes."
While for her love she thus did sigh,
She saw a sodger passing by,
Passing by wi' scarlet claes,
While sair she grat on Logan braes.
Says he, " What gars thee greet sae sair,
What fills thy heart sae fu' o' care ?
Thae sporting lamba hae blithesome days,
An' playfu' skip on Logan braes ? "
" What can I do but weep and mourn ?
I fear my lad will ne'er return.
Ne'er return to ease my waes.
Will ne'er come hame to Logan braes."
Wi' that ho clasp'd her in his arms.
And said, " I'm free from war's alarms,
I now ha'e conqucr'd a' my faes.
We'll happy live on Logan braes."
Then straight to Logan kirk they went.
And join'd their hands wi' one consent,
Wi' one consent to end their days,
An' live in bliss on Logan braes.
An' now she sings, "thae days are gane,
When I wi' grief did herd alane,
"While my dear lad did fight his faes,
Far, far frae me and Logan braes."
292 THE SONGS of scotlakd
THE WINTER SAT LANGK
JOUX MAYNE.
The winter sat lang on the spring o' the year,
Our seedtime was late, and our mailing was dear ;
My mither tint her heart -when she look'd on us a',
And we thought upon them that were farest awa' ;
0 ! were they but here that are farest awa' ;
0 I were they but here that are dear to us a' !
Our cares would seem light and our sorrows but sma'.
If they were but here that are far frae us a' !
Last week, when our hopes were o'erclouded wi' fear,
And nae ane at hame the dull prospect to cheer,
Our Johnnie has written, frae far awa' parts,
A letter that lightens and bauds up our hearts
lie says, " My dear mither, though I be awa',
In love and affection I'm still wi' ye a';
While I ha'o a being, ye'se aye ha'e a ha',
Wi' plenty to keep out the frost and the suaw."
My mither, o'crjoy'd at this change in her state.
By the bairn that she doated on early and late,
Gi'es thanks, night and day, to the Giver of a'.
There's been naething unworthy o' him that's awa'!
Then, here is to tliem that are far frae us a',
The friend that ne'er fail'd us, though farest awa' !
Health, peace, and prosperity, wait on us a' !
And a blythe comin' harae to the friend that's awa' !
mS AIN KIND DEARIE YET.
jom^ SGs.Y>rE.
Jenny's heart Avas frank and free,
And Avooers she had mony, yet
Ilcr sang was aye, Of a' I see.
Commend me to my Johnnie yet.
For, ear' and late, ho has sic gate
To mak' a body cheorie, that
I wish to be, before I die,
Ilis ain kind dearie j^et.
Now Jenny's face was fu' o' grace,
Her shape was sma' and genty-like,
And few or nane in a' the 2>lace
Had gowd and gear more plenty, yet
Though war's alarms, and Johnnie's charms,
Had gart her aft look eerie, yet
She sung wi' glee, I hope to be
My Johnnie's ain dearie yet,
CIIKONOLUUICALLY AUP.ANo'KD. 293
Wliat tlio' Iic'h now gaeii far awa',
Where guns and cannons rattle, yet
Unless my Johnnie chance to fa'
In some uncanny battle, yet
Till he return, my breast will burn
Wi' love that weel may cheer nie j-et.
For I hoj)e to sec, before I die.
His bairns to him endear mc yet.
A WAR SONG.
ANDREW SCOTT.
Written in 1803. Scott was "ministers man" to ilic parish niiuistcr of
Bowden, Eoxburghshirc. Ho died ia 1839, aged 8o. He published
several volumes of poetry during his lifetunc.
SaKKOUNDED wi' bcnt and wi' heather,
Where muircocks and plovers were rife,
For mony a lang towmond together,
There lived an auld man and his wife ;
About the affairs o' the nation
The twasome they seldom were mule ;
Bonaparte, the French, and invasion.
Did sa'ur in their wizzins like soot.
In winter, whan deep were the gutters,
And nicht's gloomy canopy spread,
Auld Symon satluntin' his cuttic.
And lowsin' his buttons for bed ;
Auld Janet, his wife, out a-gaziug.
To lock in the door was her care ;
She, seeing her signals a-blazing.
Came rinnin' in ryving her liair :
0, Rymon, the Frenchies are landit !
Gae look man, and slip on your shoon ;
Our signals I see them extendit.
Like red risiu' rays frae the moo!).
What a plague ! the French landit 1 quo' tJymon,
And clash gaed his pipe to the wa':
Faith, then, there's bo loadin' and primin',
Quo' he, if they're landit ava.
Our youngest son's in the militia,
Our eldest grandson's volunteer:
0' the French to be fu' o' the llesli o',
I too i' the ranks shall appear.
Ilis waistcoat-pouch fdl'd he wi' ponthcr,
And bang'd down his rusty auld gun ;
His bullets he ])at in the other.
That ho for the purpose had run.
V
294 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Then humpled he out in a hurry,
While Janet his courage bewails,
And cried out, Dear Symon, be wary !
And teuchly she hung by his tails.
Let be wi' your kindness, cried Symon,
Nor vex me wi' tears and your cares ;
For, now to be ruled by a woman,
Nae laurels shall crown my grey hairs.
Then hear me, quo' Janet, I pray thee,
I'll tend thee, love, livin' or deid,
And if thou should fa', I'll dee wi' thee.
Or tie up thy wounds if thou bleed.
Quo' Janet, 0, keep frae the riot !
Last nicht, man, I dreamt ye was deid ;
This aught days I tentit a pyot
Sit chatt'rin' upon the house-heid.
As yesterday, workin' my stockin',
And you wi' the sheep on the hill,
A muckle black corbie sat croaking ;
I kenn'd it forebodit some ill.
Hout, cheer up, dear Janet, be hearty ;
For, ere the neist sun may gae down,
Wha kens but I'll shoot Bonaparte,
And end my auld days in renown.
Syne off in a hurry he stumpled,
Wi' bullets, and pouther, and gun ;
At's curpin auld Janet, too, humpled
Awa' to the neist neebour-toun :
There footmen and yeomen paradin',
To scour off in dirdum were seen ;
And wives and young lasses a' sheddin'
The briny saut tears frae their een.
Then aff wi' his bonnet got Symie,
And to the commander he gaes,
Quo' he. Sir, I mean to gae wi' ye,
And help ye to lounder our faes :
I'm auld, yet I'm teuch as the wire,
Sae we'll at the rogues ha'e a dash,
And fegs, if my gun winna fire,
I'll turn her but-end and I'll thrash.
Well spoken, my hearty old hero !
The captain did smilin' reply ;
But begg'd he wad stay till to-morrow,
Till day-licht should glent in the sky.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 295
Whatreck, a' the stoure cam' to uaething,
Sae Symon, aud Janet his dame,
Halescart, frae the wars, without skaithing,
Gaed, bannin' the French, away hanie.
THE GUID FARMER.
ANDEEW SCOTT.
I'm now a gude farmer, I've acres o' land,
An' my heart aye loiips light when I'm viewiu' o't,
An' I ha'e servants at my command.
An' twa dainty cowts for the plowin' o't.
]My farm is a snug ane, lies high on a muir.
The muir-cocks an' plivers aft skirl at my door,
An' whan the sky low'rs I'm aye sure o' a show'r,
To moisten my land for the plowin' o't.
Leeze mc on the mailin that's fa'u to my share.
It taks sax muckle bowes for the sawin' o't ;
I've sax braid acres for pasture, an' mair,
And a dainty bit bog for the mawin' o't.
A spence an' a kitchen my mansion-house gi'es,
I've a cantie wee wife to daut when I jjlease,
Twa bairnies, twa callans, that skelp ower the leas.
An' they'll soon can assist at the plowin' o't.
My biggan stands sweet on this south slopin' hill.
An' the sun shines sae bonnily bcamin' on't.
An' past my door trots a clear prattlin' rill,
Frae the loch, whare the wild ducks are swimmin' on't;
An' on its green banlvs, on the gay summer days,
My Avifie trips barefoot, a-bleaching her claes,
An' on the dear creature wi' rapture I gaze,
While I whistle and sing at the plowin' o't.
To rank amang farmers I ha'e muckle pride.
But I mauna speak high whan I'm tellin' o't,
How brawl ie I strut on my shcltie to ride,
Wi' a sample to show for the sellin' o't.
In blue worset boots that my auld mither span,
I've aft been fu' vanty sin' I was a man,
But now they're flung by, an' I've bought cordivan.
And my wifie ne'er gradg'd mo a shilliu' o't.
Sao now, whan tao kii'k or tae market I gae,
My wcelfare, what need I be hidiu' o't ?
In braw leather boots, sliining black as the olaj,
I dink me to try the ridin' o't.
296 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Last towmond I sell'd off four bowes o' gude bere,
An' thankfu' I was, for the victual was dear.
An' I came hanio wi' spurs on my heels shinin' clear,
I had sic good luck at the sellin' o't.
Now hairst time is owre, an' a fig- for the laird.
My rent's now secure for the toilin' o't ;
My fields are a' bare, and my crap's in the yard,
An' I'm nae mair in doubts o' tlie spoilin' o't.
Now welcome G;ude weather, or wind, or come weet.
Or bauld ragin' winter, wi' hail, snaw, or sleet,
Nae mair can he draigle my crap 'mang his feet,
Nor wraik his mischief, an' be spoUin' o't.
An' on tho dowf days, whan loud hurricanes blaw,
Fu' snug i' the spencc I'll be vicwin' o't,
An' jink the rude blast in my rush-theekit ha',
Whan fields are seal'd up frao the plowin' o't.
My bonnie wee wifie, the bairnies, an' me.
The peat-stack, and turf-stack, our Phoebus shall [y
Till day close the scoul o' its angry e'e.
An' we'll rest in gude hopes o' the plowin' o't.
IIALUCKET MEG.
REV. JAMES NICHOL,
A NATIVE of Innerleithen, in Peebleshiie, where ho was born in 1793.
He studied at tho University of Edinburgh for tlic ministry, and for a
long time was minister of Traqnair. He died in 1819. Besides pulilishiuf^
two voliimns of poetry, Mr. Nichol was a valued contributor to the lidin-
burgh Encyclopajdia, &c.
Meg, muckin' at Geordic's byre,
Wrought as gin her judgment was wrang :
Ilk daud o' the scartle strake fire.
While, loud as a lavrock, she sang !
Her Geordio had promised to marric,
An' Meg, a sworn fae to despair.
Not dreamin' the job could miscarrie,
Already seeni'd mistress an' mair !
My neebours, she sang, aften jeer mc,
An' ca' me, daft, halucket Meg,
An' say, they expect soon to hear mc
I' the kirk, for my fun, get a fleg !
An' now, 'bout my marriage they clatter,
An' Geordie, poor fallow ! they ca'
An' atild doitct hav'rel ! — Nae matter.
He'll keep me aye brankin' an' bravr f
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 297
I grant ye, his face is keuspeckle,
That the white o' his e'e is tuni'd out,
That his black beard is rough as a heckle,
That his mou to his lug's rax'd about ;
But they needna let on that he's crazie,
Ilis pike-staff wull ne'er let him fa';
Nur til at his hair's white as a daisie,
For, fient a hair has he ava !
But a weel-plenish'd mailin has Gcordic,
An' routh o' gudc goud in his kist,
An' if siller comes at my wordie,
His beauty, I never wull miss't !
Daft gouks, wha catch fire like tinder,
Tliink love-raptures ever will burn !
But wi' poortith, hearts het as a cinder,
Wull cauld as an iceshogle turn !
There'll just be ao bar to my pleasure,
A bar that's aft lill'd mo wi' fear,
He's sic a hard, ne'er-be-gawn miser,
He likes his saul less than his gear!
But though I now flatter his failin',
An' swear nought wi' goud can compare,
Gude sooth! it sail soon get ascailin'!
His bags sail be mouldie nae mair !
I dream't that I rode in a chariot,
A flunkie ahint me in green ;
^^'hile Geordie cried out, he was harriet,
An' the saut teer was blindin' his een;
But though 'gainst my spsndiu' he swear aye,
I'll ha'e frae him what ser's my turn ;
Let him slip awa' whan ho grows wearie,
Shame fa' me 1 gin lang I wad mourn !
But Geordie, while Meg was haranguin',
AVas cloutin' his brecks i' the banks,
An' when a' his failins she brang in.
His Strang, hazle pike-staff he taks :
Designin' to rax her a lounder.
He chanced on tlie lather to shift,
An' down frac the banks, fiat's a fioundcr.
Flew, like a sliot-starn frae tlie lift!
But Meg, wi' the sight, was quite haster'd.
An' nao doubt, was bannin' ill luck;
Yriiilo Hie face o' poor Geordie was plastcr'd.
And his mou' was fill'd fu' wi' the muck I
298 THE SOKGS OF SCOTLAND
Confound ye ! cried G-eordie, an' spat out
The glaur that adown his beard ran ;—
Preserve us ! quo' Meg, as she gat out
The door, — an' thus lost a gudeman !
MY DEAR LITTLE LASSIE.
REV. JAMES NICHOL.
My dear little lassie, why, what's a' the matter ?
My heart it gangs pittypat — winna lie still ;
I've waited, and waited, an' a' to grow better,
Yet, lassie, believe me, I'm aye growing ill :
My head 's turn'd quite dizzy, an' aft, when I'm speaking,
I sigh, an' am breathless, an' fearfu' to speak ;
I gaze aye for something I fain wad be seeking,
Yet, lassie, I kenna weel what I wad seek.
Thy praise, bonnie lassie, I ever could hear of,
And yet when to ruse ye the neebour lads try,
Tliough it's a' true they tell ye, yet never sae far off,
I could see 'em ilk ane, an' I canna tell why.
When we tedded the hayfield, I raked ilka rig o't,
And never grew wearie the lang simmer day;
The rucks that yo wrought at were easiest biggit.
And I fand sweeter scented aroun' ye the hay.
In har'st, whan the kirn-supper joys mak' us cheerio,
'Mang the lavo of the lasses I pried yere sweet mou' ;
Dear save us ! how queer I felt whan I cam' near ye,
My breast thrill'd in rapture, I couldna tell how.
Whan we dance at the gloamin' it's you I aye pitch on,
And gin ye gang by me how dowie I be ;
There's something, dear lassie, about ye bewitching,
That tells me my happiness centres in thee.
WHERE QUAIR RINS SWEET.
KEV. JAMES NICHOL.
Where Quair rins sweet amang the flowers,
Down by yon woody glen, lassie,
My cottage stands — it shall be yours,
Gin ye will be my ain, lassie.
I'll watch ye wi' a lover's care,
And wi' a lover's e'e, lassie ;
I'll Aveary heaven Avi' mony a prayer,
And ilka prayer for thee, lassie.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 299
'Tis true I ba'c iia inickle gear ;
My stock it's unco sma, lassie ;
Nae fine-spun foreign claes I wear,
Nor servants tend my ca', lassie.
But had I heir'd the British crown,
And thou o' low degree, lassie,
A rustic lad I wad ha'e grown,
Or shared that crown wi' thee, lassie.
"Whenever absent frae thy sight,
Nae pleasure smiles on me, lassie ;
I climb the mountain's towering height,
And cast a look to thee, lassie.
I blame the blast blaws on thy cheek ;
The flower that decks thy hair, lassie,
The gales that steal thy breath sae sweet.
My love and envy share, lassie.
If for a heart that glows for thee,
Thou wilt thy heart resign, lassie,
Then come, my Nancy, come to me —
That glowing lieart is mine, lassie.
Where Quair rins sweet amang the flowers,
Down by yon woody glen, lassie.
My cottage stands — it shall be yours,
Gin ye will be my ain, lassie.
I HEARD THE EVENINQ LINNET'S VOICE.
JOHN FIXLAT,
A Native of Glasgow, author of " Wallace or the Vale of Ellcrslie and
other poems," and editor of two volumes of Scottish Ballads. He died in
1810, in his twenty-eighth year.
I HEARD the evening linnet's voice the -woodland tufts among,
Yet sweeter were the tender notes of Isabella's song!
So soft into the ear tlioy steal, so soft into the soul,
The deep'uing pain of love they soothe, and sorrow's pang cent rol
I looked upon the pure brook that murmur'd through the glade.
And mingled in the melody that Isabella made ;
Yet purer was the residence of Isabella's heart I
Above the reach of pride and guile, above the reach of art.
I look'd upon the azure of the deep unclouded sky,
Yet clearer Avas the blue serene of Isabella's eye !
Ne'er softer fell the rain drop of the first relenting year,
Than falls from Isabella's eye the pity-melted tear.
300 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
All tin's my fancy prompted, ere a sigh of sorrow prov'd
How hopelessly, yet faitlifully, and tenderly I lov'd ;
Yet though bereft of hope I love, still will I love the more,
As distance binds the exile's heart to his dear native shore.
THE SOMERVILLE TESTAMENT.
ROBERT LOCnORE,
A NATI^^; of Strathaven in Lanarkshire, where he was born in 1762. He
carried on business in Glasgow as a Bootmaker, and occnjiied several pro-
minent positions in the government of the city. He died in 1852.
Now, Jenny lass, my bonnie bird,
My daddy's dead, an' a' that ;
He's snngly laid aneath the yird,
And I'm his heir, an' a' that.
I'm now a laird, an' a' that;
I'm now a laird, an' a' that;
His gear an' land's at my command,
And muckle mair than a' that.
He left me wi' his deein' breath
A dwallin' house, an' a' that ;
A barn, a bjTC, an' wabs o' claith —
A big peat-stack, an' a' that.
A mare, a foal, an' a' that,
A mare, a foal, an' a' that.
Sax guid fat kye, a cauf forby,
An' twa pet ewes, an' a' that.
A yard, a meadow, lang braid leas,
An' stacks o' corn an' a' tliat —
Enclosed weel wi' thorns an' trees;
An' carts, an' cars, an' a' that.
A plough, an' graith, an' a' that,
A plough, an' graith, an' a' that;
Guid harrows twa, cock, hens, an' a' — -
A gricie too, an' a' that.
I've heaps o' claes for ilka days,
For Sundays too, an' a' that ;
I've bills an' bonds, on lairds an' lands,
An' siller, gowd, an' a' that.
What think ye, lass, o' a' that ?
Wliat think ye, lass, o' a' that ?
What want I noo, my dainty doo,
But just a wife to a' tiiat !
CtinONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 301
Now, Jenny clear, my errand here,
Is to seek ye to a' that ;
My heart's a' loupin' while I speer
Gin ye'll tak' me, wi' a' tliat.
Mysel', my gear, an' a' that,
]\Iyser, my gear, an' a' that;
Conic, gi'e's your loof to he a proof
Ye'll he a wife lo a' that.
Sync Jenny laid her neivc in his,
Said, she'd tak' him wi' a' that ;
An' he gied her a hearty kiss,
An' dautcd her, an' a' that.
They set a day, an' a' that,
TJiey set a day, an' a' that ;
Wlian she'd gang hame to be his dame,
An' hand a rant, an' a' tliat.
MARRIAGl': AND THE CAKE O'T.
EOBEUT LOCnORE.
QuOTit riab to Kate, My sonsy dear,
I've woo'd yc mair than ha' a-ycar.
An' if ye'd wed me ne'er con'd speer,
Wi' blatencss, an' the care o't.
Now to the point : sincere I'm wi't :
Will yc be my ha'f-marrow, sweet?
Shake ban's, and say a bargain bc't,
An' ne'er think on the care o't.
Na, na, quo' Kate, I winna wed,
0' sic a snare I'll aye be rede ;
How mony, thoclitless, are misled
By marriage, an' the care o't !
A single life's a life o' glee,
A wife ne'er think to mak' o' mo,
Frae toil an' sorrow I'll keep free,
An' a' llic dool an' care o't.
Weel, wccl, said Eobin, in reply,
Ye ne'er again shall me deny,
Yc may a toothless maiden die
For me, I'll tak' nao care o't.
Farewcel f(M- ever ! — afl' I hie ; —
Sao took his leave without a sigh ;
Oh ! stop, quo' Kate, I'm yours, I'll try
The married life, an' care o't.
302 THE SONOS OF iSCOTLAND
Eab wlieel't about, to Kate cam' back,
An' ga'e her mou' a hearty smack,
Syne lengthen'd out a lovm' crack
'Bout marriage an' the care o't.
Though as she thocht she didna speak,
An' lookit unco mim an' meek,
Yet blythe was she wi' Eab to cleek
In marriage, wi' the care o't.
ROY'S "WIFE OF AXDIVALLOCII.
MRS. GRANT, OF OAEEOX,
BOKN at Aberloiu-, Banffshire, in 1745 ; died at Bath about 1814.
Roy's wife of Aldivalloch,
Roj^'s wife of Aldivalloch,
AVat ye how she cheated me,
As I cam' o'er the braes o' Balloch.
She vow'd, she swore, slie wad be mine.
She said she lo'ed me best of ony ;
But oh ! the fickle, faithless quean,
She's ta'en the carle, and left her Johnnio.
Roy's wife of Aldivalloch, Sec.
0, Hhe was a canty quean,
"VVeel could she dance the Highland walloch ;
How happy I had she been mine.
Or I been Roy of Aldivalloch !
Roy's wife of Aldivalloch, &c.
Her face sae fair, her een sae clear.
Her wee bit mou' sae sweet and bonnie ;
To me she ever will be dear.
Though she's for ever left her Johnnie.
Roy's wife of Aldivalloch, &c.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRAKGED. 303
SAW YE MY WEE THING.
HECTOR MACNEILL,
Was bom at Rose Bank, near Edinburgh, 1746. He early began to
weave his fancies into rhyme, and when comparatively young was well
known amongst his ftcquaiutances as a poet. His principal poems are
"Scotland's Scaith; or, the History of WiU and Jean," "The Harp," and
" The Wacs o' War." It is, however, on his songs that his fame prin-
cipally depends. Macneill spent the greater part of his life aljroad,
holding positions at various times in Guadaloupe, Grenada, and Jamaica.
He also served for some time in the navy as assistant Secretary to Admiral
Geary, and aftei-v\'ards to Admiral Sir Eichard Bickerton. He finally re-
turned to Scotland in 1800, and took up his residence in Edinburgh, where
he closed a life of much vicissitude and suffering in 1818.
0 SAW ye my wee tiling ? Saw ye my ain thing ?
Saw ye my true love down on yon lea ?
Cross'd slie the meadow yestreen at the gloamin' ?
Sought she the burnie whar flow'rs the haw tree?
Ilcr hair it is lint-white ; her skin it is milk white ;
Dark is the blue o' licr saft rolling e'e ;
Red, red her ripe lips, and sweeter than roses : —
Whar could my wee thing wander frae me ?
1 saw na your wee thing, I saw na your aiu thing,
Nor saw I your true love down on yon lea ;
But I met my bonnie thing late in the gloamin',
Down by tlic burnie whar llow'rs the haw tree.
Ilcr hair it Avas lint-wdiite ; her skin it was milk-white ;
Dark was the blue o' her saft rolling e'e ;
Red were her ripe lips, and sweeter than roses :
Sweet were the kisses that she ga'e to me.
It Avas na my wee thing, it was na my ain thing,
It was na my true love ye met by the tree :
Proud is her leal licart ! modest her nature !
She never lo'cd onie, till ance she lo'ed me.
Her name it is Mary ; she's frae Castle-Cary :
Aft has she sat, when a bairn, on my knee : —
Fair as your face is, war't fifty times fairer,
Young bragger, she ne'er would gi'e kisses to thee.
It was then your Llary ; she's frae Castle-Cary ;
It was then your true love I met by tlie tree ;
Proud as her heart is, and modest her nature,
Sweet were the kisses that she ga'e to me.
Sair gloom'd liis dark brow, blood-red his check grew,
Wild flash 'd the fire frae his red rolling e'e ! —
Ye's rue sair this morning your boasts and yom* scoi'niiig ;
Defend ye, fause traitor ! fu' loudly ye lie.
304 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Awa' \vi' beguiliug, cried tlie youth, smiling : —
Aff went the bonnet ; the lint-white locks flee ;
The belted plaid fa'ing, her white bosom shawing,
Fair stood tlie lov'd maid wi' the dark rolling e'e I
Is it my wee thing ! is it my ain thing !
Is it my true love here that I see !
0 Jamie forgi'e me ; your heart's constant to me ;
I'll never mair wander, dear laddie, frae thee !
DINNA THINK, BONNIE LASSIE,
HECTOK SIACNEILL.
Tim last verse was added by Mr. John namilton.
O DINNA think, bonnie lassie, I'm gaun to leave thee ;
Dinna think, bonnie lassie, I'm gaun to leave thee ;
Dinna think, bonnie lassie, I'm gaun to leave thee ;
I'll tak' a stick into my hand, and come again and see theo.
Far'rf the gate ye ha'e to gang ; dark's the night and eerie ;
Far's the gate ye ha'e to gang; dark's the nigjit and eerie ;
Far's the gate ye ha'e to gang ; dark's the night and eerie ;
0 stay this night wi' your love, and dinna gang and leave me.
It's but a night and hauf a day that I'll leave my dearie ;
But a night and hauf a day that I'll leave my dearie ;
But a night and hauf a day that I'll leave my dearie ;
Whene'er the sun gaes west the loch, I'll come again and see theo.
Pinna gang, my bonnie lad, dinna gang and leave me ;
Dinna gang, my bonnie lad, dinna gang and leave me ;
When a' the lave are sound asleep, I am dull and eerie ;
And a' the Ice-lang night I'm sad, wi' thinking on my dearie.
0 dinna think, bonnie lassie, I'm gaun to leave thee ;
Dinna think, bomiie lassie, I'm gaun to leave thee ;
Dinna thirds, bonnie lassie, I'm gaun to leave thee ;
Whene'er the sun gaes out o' sight, I'll come again and see thee.
Waves are rising o'er the sea ; winds blaw loud and fear me ;
Waves are rising o'er the sea; winds blaw loud and fear me;
While the wind and waves do roar, I am wae and drearie.
And gin ye lo'e me as ye say, ye winna gang and leave me.
0 never mair, bonnie lassie, will I gang and leave thee ;
Never mair, bonnie lassie, will I gang and leave thee ;
Never mair, bonnie lassie, will I gang and leave thee ;
E'en let the world gang as it will, I'll stay at liame and cheer thee.
Frae his hand he coost his stick; I winna gang and leave thee ;
Threw his plaid into the neuk; never can I grieve thee ;
Drew his boots, and flang them by; cried, my lass, be cheerie ;
I'll kiss the tear frae aff tliy cheek, and never leave my dearie
CIIKONOLOGICALLY Al:i;ANGED. 305
JEANIE'S BLACK E'E.
IIECTOR JIACNEILL.
The sun raise sae rosy, the grey hills adoniiiiy ;
Light sprang the laverock and mounted sae hie ;
When true to the tryst o' blythe May's dewy morning,
My Jeauic cam' linking out owre the green lea.
To mark her impatience I crap 'mang the brakcns :
Aft, aft to the kent gate she turn'd her black e'e ;
Then lying down dowylie, sigh'd by the willow tree,
" Ha nic mohatel na dousku me."'
Saft through the green birks I sta' to my jewel,
Streik'd on spring's carpet ancath the saugh tree ;
Think na, dear lassie, thy "Willie's been cruel, —
" Ha me mohatel na dousku me."
Wi' love's warm sensations I've mark'd your impatience,
Lang hid 'mang the brakens I watch'd your black e'e. —
You're no sleeping, pawkie Jean ; open thae lovely ecn ; —
" Ha me mohatel na dousku me."
Bright is the whin's bloom ilk green knowe adorning;
Sweet is the primrose bespangled wi' dew;
Yonder comes Peggy to welcome May morning ;
Dark waves her haffet locks owre her white brow ;
0 ! light, light she's dancing keen on the smooth gowany green,
Barefit and kilted half up to the knee ;
While Jeanie is sleeping still, I'll rin and sport my fill, —
" I was asleep, and ye've waken'd me ! "
I'll rin and whirl her round; Jeanie is sleeping sound;
Kiss her frae lug to lug — nae ane can see ;
Sweet, sweet's her hinny mou. — "Will, I'm no sleeping now ;
I Avas asleep, but ye've waken'd me."
Lau;;hing till like to drap, switli to my Jean I lap,
Kiss'd her ripe roses, and blest her black e'e ;
And aye since, whaneVr we meet, sing, for the sound is sweet,
'• Ha mc mohatel na dousku me."
MY LUVE'S IN GERMANIE.
HECTOR SLICXEILL,
My luve's in Germanic ;
Send him hamc, send him hame;
My luve's in Germanic;
Send him hame.
' " I am asleep, do not waken me," a Gaelic chorus pronounced according to the
present ortliograiiliy.
306 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
My luve'a iii Germanie,
Fighting brave for royalty ;
He may ne'er his Jeanie see ;
Send him hame, send him hame ;
He may ne'er his Jeanie see ;
Send him hame.
He's as brave as brave can be ;
Send him hame, send him hame ;
Our faes are ten to three ;
Send him hame.
Our faes are ten to three ;
He maun either fa' or flee,
In the cause of loyalty ;
Send him hame, send him hame ;
In the cause of loyalty ;
Send him hame.
Your love ne'er learnt to flee,
Bonnie dame, winsome dame ;
Your luve ne'er learnt to flee.
Winsome dame.
Your luve ne'er learnt to flee.
But he fell in Germanie,
Fighting brave for loyalty
Mournfu' dame, mournfu' dame ;
Fighting brave for loyalty,
Mournfu' dame.
He'll ne'er come owcr the sea ;
Willie's slain, Willie's slain ;
He'll ne'er come ower the sea ;
Willie's gane !
He will ne'er come ower the sea,
To his luve and aiu countrie :
This warld's nae mair for me ;
Willie's gane, Willie's gane ;
This Avarld's nao mair for me :
AVillic's gane !
THE WAY TO WOO.
HECTOR MACNEIIL.
On tell me, oh tell me, bonnie young lassie,
Oh tell me, young lassie, how for to woo ?
Oh tell me, oh tell me, bonnie sweet lassie.
Oh tell me, sweet lassie, how for to woo ?
CIIRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 307
Say, maun I roose your cheeks like the morning ?
Lips like the roses fresh moisten'd wi' clew ?
Say maun I rooso your een's pawkie scorning ?
Oh tell me, oh tell me, how for to woo !
Far ha'e I wander'd to see thee, dear lassie !
Far ha'e I ventured across the saut sea !
Far ha'e I ventured ower muirland and mountain,
Houseless and weary, slept cauld on the lea ?
Ne'er ha'e I tried yet to mak' luve to ony,
For ne'er loved I ony till ance I loved you ;
Now we're alane in the green wood sae bonnic.
Oh tell me, oh tell me, how for to woo !
"What care I for your wand'ring, young laddie !
What care I for your crossing the sea !
It was nae for naething ye left puir young Peggy !
It was for my tocher ye cam' to court me.
Say ha'e ye gowd to busk me aye gaudy?
Ribbons, and pearhns, and breist-knots enew ?
A house that is cantie, wi' walth in't, my laddie ?
Without this ye never need try for to woo !
I lia'e nae gowd to busk ye aye gaudy I
I canna buy pearlins and ribbons enew !
I've naething to brag o' house or o' plenty !
I've little to gi'e but a heart that is true.
I cam' na for tocher — I ne'er heard o' ony ;
I never loved Peggy, nor e'er brak my vow :
I've wander'd, puir fule, for a face fause as bormie !
I little thocht this was the way for to woo !
Ha'e na jq roosed my cheeks lilce the morning?
Ha'e na ye roosed my cherry-red mou ?
Ha'e na ye come ower sea, inuir, and mountain ?
What mair, my dear Johnnie, need ye for to woo?
Far ha'e ye wander'd, I ken, my dear laddie !
Now that ye'vc found mo, there's nae cause to rue;
Wi' health we'll ha'e plenty — I'll never gang gaudy :
I ne'er wish'd for mair than a heart that is true.
Slie hid her fair face in her true lover's bosom ;
The saft tear of transport, fill'd ilk lover's c'o ;
The burnio ran sweet by their side as they sabbit.
And sweet sang the mavis abunc on the tree.
He clasp'd her, he prcss'd her, he ca'd lier his hinnic,
And aften he tasted her hinnie-swcct mou' ;
And aye, 'tween ilk kiss, she sigli'd to her Johnnie — .
Oh laddie ! oh laddie ! weel wecl can yc woo !
308 TIIK SONGS OF SCOTLAND
MY BOY, TAMMIE.
HECTOR MACNEILL.
WilAR ba'e ye been a' day,
My boy, Tammy ?
I've been by bm-n and flow'ry brae,
Meadow green and mountain grey.
Courting o' tbis young tbing,
Just come frae ber mammy.
And wbar gat ye tbat young tbing.
My boy, Tammy ?
I got ber down in yonder bowc.
Smiling on a bonnie knowe.
Herding ae wee lamb and ewe,
For ber poor mammy.
Wbat said ye to tbe bonnie bairn,
My boy, Tammy ?
T praised lier een, sae lovely blue,
llur dimpled cbeek and clicrry mou' ;—
I pree'd it aft, as jg may trow ! —
Slic said she'd tell ber mammy.
I beld ber to my beating heart.
My young, my smiling lammic !
I ba'e a bouse, it cost me dear,
I've wealth o' plenisben and gear ;
Ye'se get it a', were't ten times mair.
Gin ye will leave your mammy.
The smile gacd aff her bonnie face — ■
I maunna leave my mammy.
She's gieu me meat, she's gien me clacs,
Slie's been my comfort a' my days : —
My father's death brought monio waes —
I canna leave my mammy.
We'll tak' her hame and mak' her fain.
My ain kind-hearted lammie.
"We'll gl'c ber meat, we'll gie her claise,
"We'll be ber comfort a' ber days.
The wee thing gi'es her hand, and says —
There ! gang and ask my mammy.
lias she been to the kirk Avi' thee,
IMy boy. Tammy ?
She has been to the kirk wi' me.
And the tear was in her e'e ;
For 0 1 she's but a young thing,
Just come frae her mammy.
CHIiONOLOGlOALLY AERANGKD. 309
COME UNDEE MY PLAIDIE.
ITECTOR SLVCNEILL,
Come under my plaidie ; the night's o-aiui to fa' ;
Come ill frae tlie cauhl blast, the drift, and the suaw ;
Come under my plaidie, and sit down beside me ;
There's room hi't, dear lassie, believe me, for twa.
Come under my plaidie, and sit down beside me ;
I'll hap ye frae every cauld blast that can blaw :
Come under my plaidie, and sit down beside me ;
There's room in't, dear lassie, believe me, for twa.
Gae 'wa wi' your plaidie ! auld Donald, gae 'wa,
I fear na the cauld blast, the drift, nor the snaw !
Gae 'wa wi' your plaidie 1 I'll no sit beside ye ;
Ye micht be my gutcher ! auld Donald, gae 'wa.
I'm gaun to meet Johnnie— he's young and he's bonuic ;
He's been at Meg's bridal, fa' trig and fu' braw !
Nane dances sae lichtly, sac gracefu', or tichtly,
His cheek's like the new rose, his brow's like the snaw !
Dear Jlarion, let that flee stick fast to the wa';
Your Jock's but a gowk, and has nacthing ava ;
The haill o' his pack he has now on his back ;
He's thretty, and I am but threescore and twa.
Be frank now and kindly — I'll busk ye aye finely;
To kirk or to market there'll few gang sac braw;
A bein house to bide in, a chaise for to ride in.
And flunkies to 'tend ye as aft as ye ca'.
My father aye tauld me, my mother and a',
Ye'd mak' a gude husband, and keep me aye braw;
It's true, I lo'e Johnnie; he's young and he's bonnie;
But, wae's me ! I ken he has naething ava !
I ha'e little toclier ; ye've made a gude offer ;
I'm now mair than twenty ; my time is but sma' !
Sac gi'e me your plaidie ; I'll creep in beside yc ;
I tliocht ye'd been auldcr than three score and twa!
She crap in ayont him, beside the stane wa',
Whare Johnnie was listnin', and heard her tell a':
The day was appointed !— his proud heart it duntcd,
And strack 'gainst his side, as if burstm' in twa.
He wander'd hame wearie, tho nicht it was drearie.
And, thowluss, he tint his gate 'mang the deep snaw:
The howlet was screaming, while Johnnie cried. Women
Wad marry auld Nick, if he'd keep them aye braw.
0, the deil's iu the lasses I they gang now sae braw,
They'll lie down wi' auld men o' four score and twa :
The haill o' their marriage is gowd and a carriage;
Plain love is the cauldest blast now that can blaw.
■L
310 Tire SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Auld dotards, be Avary 1 tak' tent wha you marry ;
Young wives, wi' theii' coaches, they'll Avhip and they'll ca',
Till they meet Avi' some Johnnie that's youthfu' and bonnie,
And they'll gi'e ye horns on ilk hafFet to claw.
I NE'ER LO'ED A LADDIE BUT ANE.
HECTOK MAC^'EILL,
With the exception of the fust eight lines which fonned part of a song,
■written by Kev. John Climie of Borthwick.
I lo'ed ne'er a laddie but ane ;
He lo'ed ne'er a lassie but me ;
He's willing to mak' me his ain ;
And his ain I am willing to be.
He has coft me a rockelay o' blue.
And a pair o' mittens o' green ;
The price was a kiss o' my men' ;
And I paid him the debt yestreen.
Let ithers brag weel o' their gear.
Their land, and their lordly degree ;
I carena for aught but my dear,
For he's ilka thing lordly to riie :
His words are sae sugar'd, sae sweet !
His sense drives ilk fear far awa' !
I listen, poor fool ! and I greet ;
Yet how sweet are the tears as they fa' 1 .
Dear lassie, he cries wi' a jeer,
Ne'er heed what the auld anes will say ;
Though we've little to brag o' — ne'er fear ;
What's gowd to a heart that is wae?
Our laird has baith honours and wealth,
Yet see how he's dwining wi' care ;
Now we, though we've nacthing but health.
Are cantie and leal evermair.
0 Marion ! the heart that is true.
Has something mair costly than gear ;
Ilk e'en it has naething to rue —
Ilk morn it has naething to fear.
Ye warldliugs, ga'e hoard up your store,
And tremble for fear ought you tyne ;
Guard your treasures wi' lock, bar, and door,
While here in my arms I lock mine !
He ends Avi' a kiss and a smile —
Wae's me, can I tak' it amiss !
My laddie's unpractised in guile.
He's free aye to daut and to kiss I
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 311
Ye lasses wha lo'e to torment
Your wooers wi' fause scorn and strife,
Play your pranks — I ha'c gi'en my consent,
And this night I am Jamie's for life.
THE FLOWEE 0' DUNBLANE.
ROBERT TANNAHILL,
TiiE greatest of Paisley's Poets was bom on the 3rd of Juuc, 177i. His
parents were poor and unable to give Eobeii, one of a family of seven, more
than the merest rudiments of education, and at a very early age he was
apprenticed a weaver, at that time one of the most lucrative, and munber-
iug among its ranks the most intelligent, trades in Scotland,
He worked at his trade in Paisley till the year 1800, when he removed
to Bolton in Lancashire, where he worked for about two years. He then,
on receiving intelligence of his father's approaching death, returned to
his native town.
He had been known for some time past among his tovrusmen as a Ehym-
ster; he now began to bo appreciated as a Poet. "Blythe was the time,"
"Keen blaws the wind," and other songs were floating about Paisley in
manuscript, and one of them being simg in presence of E. A. Smith, the
composer, ho earnestly desired an introduction to the Poet. This was
effected, and they became firm friends. Smith composed airs for many of
his friend's songs, and they became so popidar that in 1807 TannaMU
i-enturcd to publish a small volimie of his poems. It was a great success,
the impression being sold off in a few weeks.
His fame was now firmly established, and of course ho became one of
the lions of his neighbourhood. He was largely sought after to enter
into the life of a provincial town and merry-meetings. Taverns, and oc-
casional bursts of sheer debauchery tended to make him miserable, and
his misery was deepened by the rejection of several of his songs by Mr.
George Thomson, and the refusal of Constable, the publisher, to risk a
new issue of his poems.
In the early part of ISIO, he recoived a visit from James Hogg, — the
Ettrick Shepherd, who visited Paisley for the express purpose of seeing
him. "They spent one night in each other's company,'.' says IVIr. Eamsay
(to whose biography of the Poet we are indebted for the' particulars in
this sketch), "and, ere they ])artcd, TarmahiU convoyed the Shepherd on
loot, halfway to Glasgow. It was a niclancholy adieu our author gave
him. Ho grasped his hand, and with tears in his eyes said, "Farewell,
we shall never meet again, — Farewell, I shall never see you more !" — a
prediction which was too soon to be verified, in. a letter to one of his
friends he noticed this meeting with manifest pride.
The gloom, dispelled for a while by this incident, seems to have closed
ever him again darker than ever. His health failed, and even his mind
at times seems to have been affected. He visited a friend in Glasgow
who considered his mental and plwsical condition such as induced him to
personally attend him back to Paisley. On the right of his return he
retired to rest more tranquil than usual; about an hour afterwards it
was discovered that ho had stolen from the house: a search was instantly
312 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAKD
begun, but it ^vas not till the morning that his coat was found lying by
the side of a deep pond from which his body was soon afterwards recovered.
And thus, on the 17th of May, 1810, was a poet lost to Scotland, who
ranks second only to Barns as a song-writer. His genius never seems to
have been properly developed, and the consequence is, that a more unequal
production than the volume containing his poems is not to be found.
Between " Jessie, the Flower o' Dunblane," and the song beginning " From
the rude bustling camp," there is a wide difference ; but, if we compare
one of his best songs with any of his poems, the difference is still wider.
It is as a song- writer that he will be loved and remembered, and principally
for the songs in praise of the scenery and objects surrounding his native
town.
The Sim has gane down o'er the lofty Ben Lomond,
And left the red clouds to j^reside o'er the scene,
Wliile lonely I stray, in the calm simmer gloamin',
To muse on sweet Jessie, the flower o' Dunblane.
How sweet is the brier, wi' its saft fauldin' blossom !
And sweet is the birk, wi' its mantle o' green ;
Yet sweeter and fairer, and dear to this bosom,
Is lovely young Jessie, the flower o' Dunblane.
She's modest as onie, and blythe as she's bonnie ;
For guileless simplicity marks her its ain;
And far be the villain, divested o' feeling,
Wha'd blight in its bloom the sweet flower o' Dunblane.
Sing on, thou sweet mavis, thy hymn to tlie e'cuing,
Thou'rt dear to the echoes of Calderwood glen ;
Sae dear to this bosom, sae artless and winning.
Is charming young Jessie, the flower of Dunblane.
How lost were my daj-s till I met wi' my Jessie !
The sports o' the city seemed foolish and vain ;
I ne'er saw a nymph I could ca' my dear lassie.
Till charm'd wi' sweet Jessie, the flower o' Dunblane.
Tliough mine were the station o' loftiest grandeur,
Amidst its profusion I'd languish in pain,
x\nd reckon as naething the height o' its splendour,
If wanting sweet Jessie, the flower o' Dunblane.
WALLACE.
TANNAIULL.
TiiOU dark winding Carron once pleasing to see,
To me thou can'st never give pleasure again,
My brave Caledonians lie low on the lea,
And thy streams are deep ting'd with the blood of the slain.
' Twas base-hearted treach'ry that doom'd our undoing, —
My poor bleeding country, Avhat more can I do ?
Even valour looks pale o'er the red field of ruin,
And freedom beholds her best v/arriors laid low.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 313
Farewell, yo dear partners of peril ! farewell !
The' buried ye lie in one wide bloody grave,
Your deeds shall euuoblo the place whore ye fell,
And your names be eiiroll'd with the sons of the brave.
But I, a poor outcastj in exile must wander,
Perhaps, like a traitor ignobly must die !
On thy wrongs, 0 my country ! indignant I ponder—
Ah ! woe to the hour when thy Wallace must lly !
LOUDON'S BONNIE WOODS AND BEAES,
ROBERT TANNAHILL,
Loudon's bonnie woods and braes,
I maun leave them a', lassie ;
Wlia can thole when Britain's faes
Would gi'e to Britons law, lassie?
Wha would shun the field o' danger?
Wha to fame would live a stranger?
Now when Freedom bids avenge her,
Wha would shun her ca', lassie ?
Loudon's bonnie woods and braes,
Ha'o seen our happy bridal days,
And gentle hope shall sootlic thy wacs,
AVhen I am far awa', lassie.
Hark! the swelling bugle rings,
Yielding joy to thee, laddie ;
But the dolefu' bugle brings
Waefu' thochts to me, laddie.
Lanely I may climb the mountain,
Lanely stray beside the fountain,
Still the weary moments countiug.
Far frac love and thee, laddie.
Ower the gory fields o' war.
Where Vengeance drives his crimson car,
Thou'lt may bo fa' fi-ae mc afar.
And nane to close thy e'e, laddie.
Oh, resume thy wonted smile.
Oh, sujipress thy fears, lassie ;
Glorious honour crowns the toil
That the soldier shares, lassie :
Heaven will shield thy faithful lover.
Till the vengeful strife is over;
Then we'll meet, nac mair to sever.
Till the day wc dec, lassie :
l^Iidst our bonnie woods and braes
We'll spend our peaceful hajipy davs,
As blythe's yon lichtsome lamb that plays
On Loudon's flowery lea, lassie.
31-1 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
THE BEAES 0' GLENIFFER.
ROBERT TAJTNAHILL.
Keen blaws the wind o'er the braes o' Glcniffer,
The auld castle turrets are covered wi' snaw,
How changed frae the tune when I met wi' my lover,
Amang the broom bushes by Stanley green shaw.
The wild flowers o' simmer were spread a' sae bonnie,
The mavis sang sweet frae the green birken tree ;
But far to the camp they ha'e march'd my dear Johnnie,
And now it is winter wi' nature and me.
Tlien ilk thing around us was biythesome and cheeric,
Then ilk thing around us was bonnie and braw ;
Now naething is heard but the ^vind whistling drearie,
And naething is seen but the wide-spreading snav/.
The trees are a' bare, and the birds mute and dowie,
They shake the cauld drift frae their wings as they flee :
And chirp out their plaints, seeming wae for my Johnnie ;
'Tis winter wi' them and 'tis winter wi' me.
Yon cauld sleety cloud skiffs along the bleak mountain,
And shakes the dark firs on the stcy rocky brae,
While down the deep glen brawls the snaw-flooded fountain,
That murmur'd sae sweet to my laddie and me.
It's no its loud roar on the wintry winds swellin'.
It's no the cauld blast brings the tear to my c'e ;
For, 0 ! gin I saw but my bonnie Scots callan.
The dark days o' winter were simmer to me.
THE BRAES 0' BALQUHITHER.
EGBERT TANNAHILL.
Let us go, lassie, go,
To the braes o' Balquhither,
Where the blae-berries grow
'Mang the bonny Highland heather ;
Where the deer and the rae.
Lightly bounding together.
Sport the lang simmer day
On the braes o' Balquhither.
I will twine thee a bower,
By the clear siller fountain.
And I'll cover it o'er
Wi' the flowers o' the mountain ;
I will range through the wilds.
And the deep glens sae dreary,
And return wi' their spoils
To the bower o' ray deary.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 315
When the rude wintry wm'
Idly raves round our dwelling,
And the roar of the linn
On the night breeze is swelling,
So merrily Ave'll sing,
As the storm rattles o'er us,
'Till the dear shieling ring
Wi' the light lilting chorus.
Now the simmer is in prime,
Wi' the flowers richly blooming,
And the wild mountain thyme,
A' the moorlands perfuming ;
To our dear native scenes.
Let us journey together,
Where glad innocence reigns,
'Mang the braes o' Bahjuhither.
CKOCKSTON CASTLE.
ROBERT TANNAHttL.
Through Crockston Castle's lanely wa's.
The wintry wind howls wild and dreary ;
Though mirk the cheerful e'ening fa's.
Yet I ha'e vow'd to meet my Mary.
Yes, Mary, though the winds should rave
Wi' jealous spite to keep me frae thee,
The darkest stormy night I'd brave,
For ae sweet secret moment wi' thee.
Loud o'er Cardonald's rocky steep,
Rude Cartha pours in boundless measure,
But I will ford the whirling deep,
That roars between me and my treasure.
Yes, Mary, though the torrent rave
With jealous spite to keep me frae thee,
Its deepest floods I'd bauldly brave,
For ac sweet secret moment wi' thee.
The watch-dog's howlmg loads the blast,
And makes the nightly wand'rer eerie,
But when the lonesome way is past,
I'll to this bosom clasp ray Mary.
Yes, ]\Iary, though stern Winter rave.
With a' his storms, to keep me frae thec^
The wildest dreary night I'd brave.
For ae sweet secret moment wi' thee.
316 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
0, ARE YE SLEEPIN', MAGGIE?
KOBERT TASNAIULL.
0, ARE ye slccpiii', Maggie ?
0, are ye sleepin', Maggie ?
Let me in, for loud the linn
Is roarin' o'er the warlock craigie !
Mirk and rainy is the night ;
No a starn in a' the caric ;
Lightnings gleam athv/art the lift,
And winds drive on wi' winter's fury.
Fearfii' soughs the boor-tree bank ;
The rifted wood roars wild and drcaric ;
Loud the iron yett does clank ;
And cry o' howlets maks me eerie.
Aboon ray breath I daurna speak,
For fear I raise your waukrife daddy ;
Cauld's the blast u]ion mj'' cheek;
0 rise, rise, my bonnie lady !
She oped the door ; she let him in ;
He cuist aside his dreepin' plaidic ;
Blaw your warst, ye rain and win',
Since, Maggie, now I'm in beside ye !
Now, since j-e're waukin', Maggie,
Now, since ye're waukin', Maggie,
What care I for howlet's cry.
For boor-tree bank and Avarlock craigio?
THE LASS 0' ARRANTEENIE.
EOBEET TANNAIULL.
Far lone amang the Highland hillr;,
Midst nature's wildest grandeur.
By rocky dens and woody glens.
With weary steps I wander.
The langsome way, the darksome day,
The mountain mist sae rainy,
Are naught to me, when gaun to thee.
Sweet lass o' Arranteenio.
Yon mossy rose-bii;l down the howc.
Just opening fresh and bonny.
It blmks beneath the hazel bough,
And's scarcely seen by ony.
Sae sweet amidst her native hills,
Obscurely blooms my Jeanie,
JIair fair and gay than rosy May,
The flower o' Arranteenie,
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 317
Now from the mountain's lofty brow,
I view the distant ocean,
There avarice guides the hounding prow,
Ambition courts promotion,
Let fortune pour her golden store,
Iler laurell'd favours many.
Give me but this, my soul's first wish,
The las3 o' Arranteenic.
GLOOMY WINTER'S NOW AWAA
nOBEET TANNAHILL.
GLno:\[Y winter's now awa ,
Saft the westlin' breezes blaw:
'Mang the birks o' Stanley-shaw
The mavis sings fu' cliceric, 0.
Sweet the craw-IIower's early bell
Decks Gleniffcr's dewy dell.
Blooming like thy bonnic sel'.
My young, my artless dearie, 0.
Come, my lassie, let us stray
O'er Gleukilloch's sunny brae,
Blithely spend the gowden day
'JMidst joys that never wcarie 0.
Towering o'er the Newton woods.
Laverocks fan the snaw-whitc clouds;
Siller saughs, wi' downic buds,
Adorn the banks sac brieric, 0.
Eound the sylvan fairy nooks,
Feath'ry braikens fringe the rocks,
'Neath the brae the burnie jouks,
And ilka tlung is checrie, 0.
Trees may bud, and birds may sing.
Flowers may bloom, and verdure spring,
Joy to me they canna bring.
Unless wi' tliee, my dearie, 0.
BONNIE WOOD OF CRAIGIE-LEA.
KOBERT TANNAIULL.
Tiiou bonnie wood of Oraigie-lca,
Tliou bonnie wood of Craigie-lea,
Near thee I i^ass'd life's early day,
And won my Clary's heart in thee.
318 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAKD
The broom, the brier, the birken bush,
Bloom bonnie o'er thy flo\yery lea,
An' a' the sweets that ane can wish
Frae nature's hand are strew'd on thee.
Thou bonnie wood, &c.
Far ben thy dark-green planting's shade,
The cushat croodles am'rously,
The mavis, down thy buchted glade,
Gars echo ring frae every tree.
Thou bonnie wood, &c.
Awa', ye thoughtless, murd'ring gang,
Wha tear the nestlings ere they flee !
They'll sing you yet a canty sang,
Then, 0 in pity lot them be !
Thou bonnie wood, &c.
\Vlicn winter blaws in sleety showers,
Frae aff the Norlan' hills sae hie.
He liglitly skiffs thy bonnie bowers,
As laith to harm a flower in thee.
Thou bonnie wood, &c.
Though fate should drag me south tlic lino,
Or o'er the wide Atlantic sea ;
The happy hours I'll ever min'
That I in youth lia'e spent in thee.
Thou bonnie wood, &c.
LANGSYNE.
EOBERT TANNAmLL.
Langsyne, beside the woodland burn,
Amang the broom sae yellow,
I lean'd me 'neath the milkwhite thorn.
On nature's mossy pillow ;
A' 'round my seat the flowers were strew'd.
That frae the Avildwood I had i^u'd.
To weave mysel' a simmer snood.
To pleasure my dear fellovv^.
I twined the woodbine round tlie rose.
Its richer hues to mellow,
Green sprigs of fragrant birk I chose.
To busk the sedge sae yelloAv.
The craw-flower blue, and meadow-pink,
I wove in primrose-braided link.
But little, little did I think,
I should have wove the -vvillow,
CHRONOLOGICALLY AREAKGED. 319
My bonnie lad was forced afar,
Toss'd on the raging billow,
Perhaps he's fa'n in bluidy v.^ar,
Or wreck'd on rocky shallow ;
Yet aye I hopo for his return,
As round our wonted haunts I mourn,
And aften by the woodland burn,
I pu' the weeping willow.
MARJORY MILLER.
ROBERT TANNAniLL,
Louder than the trump of fame
Is the voice of Marjory Miller ;
Time, the wildest beast can tamo,
She's eternally the same :
Loud the mill's incessant clack,
Loud the clank of Vulcan's liammcr,
Lond the deep-mouth'd cataract.
Cut louder far her dinsome clamour !
Nought on earth can equal bo
To the noise of Marjory.
Calm succeeds the tempest's roar.
Peace docs follow war's confusion,
Dogs do bark and soon give o'er,
But she barks for evermore :
Loud's the sounding bleachfield horn,
But her voice is ten times louder !
Red's the sun on winter morn,
But her face is ten times redder !
She delights in endless strife.
Lord preserve's from such a wife !
YE WOOER LADS WHA GREET AN' GRANE.
ROBERT TANNAHDLL.
Ye wooer lads wha greet an' grane,
Wha preach an' fleech, an' mak' a nrane,
An' pine yoursels to skin and banc.
Come a' to Galium Brogaeh :
I'll learn you hero the only art,
To win a bonnie lassie's heart —
Just tip wi' gowd Love's siller dart.
Like dainty Galium Brogaeh,
320 THE SONGS OF SCOTLA>:t)
I ca'd her aye my sonsie dow,
The fairest flower that e'er I knevv ;
Yet, like a souple spankie grew,
yiic fled frae Galium Brogach :
But soon's she heard the guinea ring,
She turnxl as I had been a king,
Wi' "Tak' my hand, or ony thing,
Dear, dainty Galium Brogach,"
It's gowd can mak' the Llind to see,
Can bring respect wliare nane would be,
And Gupid ne'er shall Avant his fee
Frae dainty Galium Brogach :
Nae mair wi' grcetin' blind your ecu,
Nae mair wi' sichin' warm the win',
But hire the gettlin for your frien',
Like dainty Galium Brogach.
YE EGIIOES THAT EING.
EOCEUT TANNAIIILL.
Ye echoes that ring round the Avoods of Bowgrecn,
Say, did ye e'er listen sae melting a strain.
When lovely young Jessie gaed wand'ring unseen.
And sung of her laddie, the pride of the plain ?
Aye she sung, " Willie, my bonny young Willie !
TJicre's no a sweet flow'r on the mountain or valley,
]\Ii]d blue spreckl'd crawflow'r, nor wild woodland lily.
But tines a' its sweets in my bonny young swain.
Thou goddess of love, keep him constant to me,
Else, with'ring in sorrow, poor Jessie shall die ! "
Her laddie had stray'd through the dark leafy wood,
His thoughts were a' fix'd on his dear lassie's charms,
He heard her sweet voice, all transported he stood,
'Twas the soul of hisAvishes — he flew to her arms.
" No, my dear Jessie ! my lovely young Jessie !
Through sununer, through winter I'll daut and caress thee,
Thou'rt dearer than life ! thou'rt my ae only lassie !
Then, banish thy bosom these needless alarms ;
Yon red setting sun sooner changeful shall bo,
Ere wav'ring in falsehood I wander frae thee."
MY WINSOME MARY.
TwOBEET TANXAHILL.
For.TUXE, frowning most severe,
Forced me from my native dwelling,
Parting with my friends so dear,
Cost mo many a bitter tear ;
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARR.VNGED. 321
But, like the clouds of early daj^,
Soou my sorrows fled away,
When blooming sweet, and smiling gay,
I met my winaome ]\Iary.
Wha can sit with gloomy brow,
Blest with sic a charming lassie?
Native scenes, I think on you,
Yet the change I canna' rue :
Wand'ring many a weary mile,
Fortune secm'd to low'r, the while,
But now she's gi'en me, for the toil,
My bonnic winsome Mary.
Though our riches are but few,
Faithful love is aye a treasure —
Ever cheerj', kind, and true,
Nanc but her I e'er can lo'c.
Hear me, a' ye powers above !
Powers of sacred truth and love !
While I live I'll constant prove
To my dear winsome Mary.
YE DEAR EOMANTIG SHADES.
KOBERT TANXAHILL.
Far from the giddy court of mirth,
Where sick'ning follies reign,
V>y Levern banks I wander fortli
To liail each sylvan scene.
All hail ! ye dear romantic shades!
Ye banks, yc woods, and sunny glades !
Here oft the musing poet treads
In Nature's riches great ;
Contrasts the country with the town,
Makes nature's beauties all his own,
And, borne on fancy's wings, looks down
Oji empty pride and fate.
By dewy dawn, or sultry noon.
Or sober evening gray,
I'll often quit the dinsomc town.
By Levern banks to stray ;
Or from the upland's mossy brow,
Enjoy the fancy-pleasing view
Of streamlets, woods, and liclds below,
A sweetly varied scene 1
Give riches to the miser's care.
Let folly shine in fasliion's glare.
Give me the wealth of peace and health.
With all their happy train.
322 TIIK S0NG3 OF SCOTLAND
THE HIGHLANDEE'S INVITATION.
ROBERT TANNAHILL.
Will you come to the board I've prepared for you ?
Your drink shall bo good, of the true Highland blue ;
Will you, Donald, v/ill you, Galium, come to the board?
There each shall be great as her own native lord.
There'll be plenty of pipe, and a glorious supply
Of the good snecsh-te-bacht, and the fine cut-an-dry ;
Will you, Donald, will you, Galium, come then at e'en ?
There be some for the stranger, but more for the frien'.
There we'll drink foggy Care to his gloomy abodes.
And we'll smoke till Ave sit in the clouds like the gods ;
Y/ill you, Donald, will you, Galium, won't you do so?
'Tis the way that our forefathers did long ago.
And we'll drink to the Cameron, we'll drink to Lochiel,
And, for Charlie, we'll drink all the French to the de'il.
Will you, Donald, will you, Callum, drink there until
There be heads lie like peats if hersel' had her v/ill !
There be groats on the land, there be fish in the sea,
And there's fouth in the coggic for friendship and me ;
Come then, Donald, come then, Callum, come then to-niglit,
Sure the Highlander be first in the fuddle and the fight.
EAB RORYSON'S BONNET.
EGBERT TANNAniLL.
Ye'll a' hae heard tell o' Rab Roryson's bonnet,
Ye'll a' hae heard tell o' Rab Roryson's bonnet ;
'Twas no for itscl', 'twas the head that was in it,
Gar'd a' bodies talk o' Rab Roryson's bonnet.
This bonnet, tliat theekit his wonderfu' head,
V/as his shelter in winter, in summer his shade ;
And, at kirk or at market, or bridals, I ween,
A braw gawcier bonnet there never was seen.
Wi' a round rosy tap, like a muckle blackboyd.
It was slouch'd just a kenning on either hand side :
Some maintaiu'd it was black, some maintain'd it was blue.
It had something o' baith as a body may trow.
But, in sooth, I assure you, for ought that I saw,
Still his bonnet had naething uncommon ava ;
Tho' the haill parish talk'd o' Rab Roryson's bonnet,
'Twas a' for the marvellous head that was in it.
CUllONOLOGICALLY AliBANGED. 323
That head — let it rest — it is now in the mools,
Though in life a' the warld beside it were fools ;
Yet o' what kind o' wisdom his head was possest,
Nane e'er kent but himsel', sae there's nane that will miss't.
WHILE THE GEAY-PINIONED LAKE.
EOBEET TANNAHTT.Tr.
While the gray-pinion'd lark early mounts to the skies,
And cheerily hails the sweet dawn,
And tlie sun, newly risen, sheds the mist from his eyes,
And smiles over mountain and lawn;
Delighted I stray by the fairy-wood side.
Where the dew-drops the crowflowers adorn,
And Nature, array'd in her midsummer's pride.
Sweetly smiles to the smile of the morn.
Ye dark waving plantings, ye green shady bowers,
Your charms ever varying I view :
My soul's dearest transports, my happiest hours,
Have owed half their pleasure to you.
Sweet Ferguslie, hail ! thou'rt the dear sacred grove,
Where first my j'oung Muse spread her wing ;
Here Nature first wak'd me to rapture and love,
And tauglit me her beauties to sing.
THE WANDERING BARD.
KOBEET TANNAmXL.
ClllLT. the wintry winds were blowing.
Foul the murky night was snowing,
Through the storm the minstrel, bowing,
Sought the inn on yonder moor.
All within was warm and cheery,
All without was cold and dreary.
There the wanderer, old and weary,
Thouglit to pass the night secure.
Softly rose his mournful ditty,
Suiting to his tale of pity ;
But the master, scoffing, witty,
Chcck'd his strain with scornful jeer ;
" Hoary vagrant, frequent comer.
Canst thou guide thy gains of summer ? —
No, thou old intruding thrummer.
Thou canst have no lodging here."
324 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAKD
Slow the bard departed, sighing ;
Wounded worth forbade replying ;
One last feeble effort trying,
Faint he sunk no more to rise.
Tlirough his harp the breeze sharj) ringing,
Wild his dying dirge was singing,
AVhile his soul, from insult springing,
Sought its mansion in the skies.
Now, though wintry Avinds be blowing,
Night be foul, with raining, snowing,
Still the traveller, that way going,
Shuns the inn upon the moor.
Though within 'tis warm and cheery,
Though without 'tis cold and dreary,
Still he minds the minstrel weary,
Spuru'd from that unfriendly door.
FROM THE RUDE BUSTLING CAMP.
ROBERT TANNAILLLL.
From the rude bustling camp, to the calm rural plain,
Fm come, my dear Jeanie, to bless thee again ;
Still burning for honour our warriors may roam,
15ut the laurel I wish'd for Fve won it at home ;
All the glories of conquest no joy could impart,
AVhen far from the kind little girl of my heart:
Now, safely return'd, I will leave thee no more,
But love my dear Jeanie till life's latest hour.
The sweets of retirement how pleasing to me !
Possessing all worth, my dear Jeanie, in thee !
Our flocks early bleating will make us to joy,
And our raptures exceed the warm tints in the sky ;
In sweet rural pastimes our days still will glide.
Till Time, looking back, will admire at his speed !
Still blooming in virtue, though youth then Ijc o'er,
I'll love my clear Jeanie till life's latest hour.
COGGIE, TIIOU HEALS ME.
ROBERT TANNAHILL.
Dorothy sits i' the cauld ingle neuk ;
Her red rosy neb's like a labster tae,
Wi' girning, her mou's like the gab o' the fleuk,
Wi' smoking, her teeth's like the jet o' the slae.
And aye she sings "Weel's me!" aye she sing " Weel's me
Coggie, thou heals mo, coggie, thou heals me ;
Aye my best friend, wlieu there's ony thing ails me :
Ne'er shall we part till the day that I die.''
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 325
Dorothy ance was a weel tocher'd lass,
Had charms like her neighbours, and lovers enow,
But she spited them sae wi' her pride and her sauce,
They left her I'or tliretty Jang simmers to rue.
Then aye she sano^ "Waes me!" aye she sang "Waes me!
0 I'll turn crazy, 0 I'll turn crazy !
Naething in a' the wide world can case mc,
De'il take the wooers— 0 what shall I do ! "
Dorothy, dozcuVl wi' living her lane,
Pu'd at her rock, wi' the teai- in her e'e,
Slie thocht on the braw merry days that were gane.
And coft a wee coggie for companie.
Now aye she sings "Wcel's me!" aye she sings " Weel's me!
Coggie, thou lieals me, coggie, thou heals mc ;
Aye my best friend, when there's ony thing ails me :
Ne'er shall we part till tlio day that I die."
0 SAIR I RUE THE WITLESS WISH.
EGBERT TAXNAHILL,
0 SAIR I rue tlic witless wish,
Tliat gar'd mc gang with you at e'en,
Aud sair I rue the birken busli,
Tliat screen'd us wi' its leaves sao green.
And tliougli ye vow'd ye wad be mine,
The tear o' grief aj'C dims my e'e,
For 0 ! I'm fear'd that I may tine
The love that ye ha'c promised me !
V.'hile ilhers seek their c'ening sports,
I wander, dowie, a' my lane.
For when I join their glad resorts,
Their daffing gi'es me meikle pain,
Alas! it was na' sae shortsjmo,
Wlion a' my nights were spent wi' glee;
But, 0 ! I'm i'ear'd that I may tine
The love that ye ha'c promis'd mc.
Dear lassie, keep tliy heart aboon,
For I ha'e wair'd my winter's fee,
I've coft a bonnic silken gown,
To be a bridal gift for tliee.
And sooner shall the hills fa' down,
And mountain-high sliall stand tlio sea,
Ere I'd accept a gowden crown,
To change that love I bear for thco.
2a
326 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
FLY WE TO SOME DESERT ISLE.
KOBEKT TANNAHILL.
Fly we to some desert isle,
There we'll pass our days together,
Shun the world's derisive smile,
Wandering tenants of the heather :
Shelter'd in some lonely glen,
Far removed from mortal ken.
Forget the selfish ways o' men,
Nor feel a wish beyond each other.
Though my friends deride me still,
Jamie, I'll disown thee never ;
Let them scorn me as they will,
I'll be thine — and thine for ever.
What are a' my kin to me,
A' their pride o' pedigree ?
What were life if wanting thee,
And what were death, if we maun sever !
I'LL HIE ME TO THE SHIELING HILL
ROBERT TANNATIILL.
I'll hie me to the shieling hill.
And bide amang the braes, Galium,
Ere I gang to Crochan mill,
I'll live on hips and slaes, Galium.
Wealthy pride but ill can hide
Your runkl'd, mizzly shins, Galium,
Lyart pow, as white's the tow,
And beard as rough's the whins, Galium.
Wily woman aft deceives !
Sae ye'll think, I ween, Galium,
Trees may keep their wither'd leaves,
'Till ance they get the green, Galium.
Blithe young Donald's won my heart,
Has my willing vow, Galium,
Now, for a' your contliy art,
I winna marry you, Galium.
CHRONOLOGICALLY AUH^iNGED. 32
THE FLOAVER ON LEVEN SIDE.
HOBEKT TANNAHTT.L.
Ye sunny braes that skirt the Clyde
Wi' simmer flowers sae braw,
There's ae sweet flower on Leven side,
That's fairer than them a' :
Yet aye it droops its head in wae,
Regardless o' the sunny ray,
And wastes its sweets frae day to day,
Beside the lonely shaw;
Wi' leaves a' steep'd in sorrow's dew,
Fause, cruel man, it seems to rue,
Wha aft the sweetest flower will pu',
Then rend its heart in twa.
Thou bonny flow'r on Leven side,
0 gin thou'it be but mine ;
I'll tend thee Avi' a lover's pride,
AVi' love that ne'er shall tine ;
I'll take thee to my sheltering bower.
And shield thee frae the beating shower,
Unharm'd by ought thou'it bloom secure
Frae a' the blasts that blaw :
Thy charms surpass the crimson dye
Tliat streaks the glowing western sky,
But here, unshaded, soon thou'it die,
And lone Avill be thy fa'.
f
OUR BONNIE SCOTS LADS.
EOBEKT TANXAniLL.
Ouii bonnie Scots lads, in their green tartan plaids.
Their blue-belted bonnets, and feathers sae braw,
Rank'd up on the green were fair to be seen.
But my bonnie young laddie Avas fairest of a',
His cheeks Avero as red as the sweet heathcr-bell,
Or the red Avestern cloud looking down on the snaAV,
His lang yellow hair o'er his braid shoulders full,
And the een o' the lasses Averc fix'd on him a'.
Jly lieart sunk Avi' Avae on the wearifu' day, _
When torn frae my bosom they march'd hmi aAva',
He bade me farewell, he cried, " 0 be leel,"
And his red checks Avcre wat wi' the tears that did fa'.
Ah ! Harry, my love, though thou ne'er shoul'dst return,
Till life's latest hour I thy absence will mourn,
And memory shall fade, like the leaf on the tree,
Ere my heart spare ae thought on auither but theo,
328 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
MARY.
ROBERT TANNAHILL.
My Mary is a bonnie lassie,
Sweet as the dewy morn,
Wlien Fancy tunes lier rural reed,
Beside the upland thorn.
She lives ahint yon sunny knowc,
Where flow'rs in wild profusion grow,
Wlievc spreading birks and hazels throw
Thair shadows o'er the burn.
'Tis no the streamlet-skirted wood,
Wi' a' its leafy bowers.
That gars me wait in solitude
Among the wild-sprung flowers ;
But aft I cast a langing e'e,
Down frae the bank out-owre the lea,
There haply I my lass may see.
As through the broom she scoura.
Yestreen I met my bonnie lassie
Coming frae tlie town,
Wo raptured sunk in ither's arms
And prest the breckans down ;
Tlie pairtrick sung liis e'ening note,
Tlie ryc-craik rispt his clam'rous tln-oat,
While there the heavenly vow I got,
That crl'd her my own.
HIGHLAND LADDIE.
ROBERT TANNAHILL.
Blythe was the time wlien he fec'd wi' my father, 0,
Kappy were the days when we herded thegither, 0,
Sweet were the hours when he row'd me in his pladdic, 0,
And vow'd to be mine, my dear Highland laddie, 0.
But, ah! waes me! wi' their sodgering sae gaudy, 0,
Tlio laird's wyl'd awa' my braw Highland laddie, 0,
Misty are the glens and the dark hills sac cloudy, 0,
That aye secni'd sae blythe wi' my dear Highland laddie, 0
The blac-berry banks now arc lonesome and dreary, 0,
Muddy are the streams that gush'd down sae clearly, 0,
Silent are the rocks that echoed sae gladly, 0,
The wild melting strains o' my dear Highland laddie, 0.
ClIRONOLOaiCALLY ARRANGED, 329
He piiM ine the crawbcrry, ripe frae the boggy fen,
He pu'd me the strawberry, red frae the foggy gleu,
He pu'd me the rowan frae the wihl steep sae giddy, 0,
Sac loving and kind was ray dear Iligldand laddie, 0.
Farewecl, my ewes, and farcwee], my doggie, 0,
Fareweel, ye knowes, now sae cheerless and scroggic, 0,
Farewecl, Glonfcoch, my mammy and my daddie, (),
I will lea' you a' for my dear Highland lad lie, 0.
BARllOCIIAN JEAN.
ROBERT TANNAHILL.
'Tis liinna ye heard, man, o' Barrochan Jean?
And hinna yo heard, man, o' Barrochan Jean!
How death and starvation came o'er the haill nation,
She wrought sic mischief wi' her twa pawky cen ;
The lads nuil the lasses were dying in dizzens,
The taeu kill'd wi' love, and the tithcr wi' spleen.
The ploughing, the sawing, the shearing, the mawing,
A' wark was forgotten for Barrochan Jean !
Frae the south and the north, o'er the Tweed and the Forth,
Sic coming and ganging there never was seen.
The comers were cheerj', the gangers were blearie,
Despairing, or hoping for Barrochan Jean.
The carl ins at hame were a' girning and graning,
The bairns were a' greeting frae morning till e'en,
They gat naething for crowdy, but runts boil'd to sowdie.
For naething gat growing for Barrochan Jean.
The doctors dcclar'd it was past their deseriving.
The ministers said 'twas a judgment for sin,
But they lookit sac blac, and their hearts were sae wae,
I was sure they Averc dying for Barrochan Jean.
The burns on road-sides were a' dry wi' their drinking.
Yet a' wadna slokcn the drouth i' their skin ;
A' around the peat-stacks, and alangst the dyke l)acks,
E'en the winds were a' sighing, sweet Barrochan Jean.
The timmor ran done wi' the making o' coOins,
Kirkyards o' their sward were a' howkit fu' clean.
Dead lovers were packit like herring in barrels,
Sic thousands were dj'ing for Barrochan Jean.
But mony braw thanks to the Laird o' Glen-Brodie,
The grass owre their graffs is now bonnic and green,
Ho sta' the proud heart of our wanton young lady,
And spoil'd a' the charms o' her twa pawky cen.
330 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
THE COGIE.
HOBEKT TANNAHILL.
When poortith caulcl, and sour disdain,
Hang o'er life's vale sae fogie,
The sun that brightens up the scene,
Is friendship's kindly cogie.
Then, 0 revere the cogie, sirs,
The friendly, social cogie ;
It gars the wheels o' life rin liglit,
Though e'er sae doilt and clogie.
Let pride in fortune's chariots fly,
Sae empty, vain, and vogie;
The source of wit, the spring of joy,
Lies in tlic social cogie.
Then, 0 revere the cogie, sirs.
The independent cogie ;
And never snool beneath the frown
Of onie selfish rogie.
Poor modest worth, with heartless e'e,
Sits burlding in the bogie,
Till she asserts her dignity,
By virtue of the cogie.
Then, 0 revere the cogie, sirs,
The poor man's patron cogie ;
It warsals care, it fights life's faughts,
And lifts him frae the bogie.
Gi'e feckless Spain her weak snail broo,
Gi'e France her weel spic'd frogie,
Gi'e brither John his luncheon too,
But gi'e to us our cogie.
Then, 0 revere the cogie, sirs, ^
Our kind heart-warming cogie ;
We doubly feel the social tie,
When just a wee thought grogie.
In days of yore our sturdy sires,
Upon their hills sae scrogie,
Glow'd with true freedom's warmest fires,
And fought to save their cogie.
Then, 0 revere the cogie, sirs,
Our brave forefathers' cogie ;
It rous'd them up to doughty deeds,
O'er which we'll lang be vogie.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 331
Then here's may Scotland ne'er fa' down,
A crmging coward dogie,
But bauldly stand, and bang the loon,
Wha'd reave her of- her cogie.
Then, 0 protect the cogie, sh-s,
Our good auld mitlier's cogie ;
Nor let her luggic o'er be drain'd
By ony foreign regie.
WE'LL MEET BESIDE THE DUSKY GLEN.
EGBERT TANNAUILL.
We'll meet beside the dusky glen, on yon burn-side,
AVhere the bushes form a cozie den, on yon burn-side :
Tliough the broomy kuowcs be green,
Yet there we may be seen ;
But we'll meet — we'll meet at e'en, down by yon burn-side.
I'll lead thco to the birken bower on yon burn-side.
Sac sweetly wove wi' woodbine flower, on yon burn-side :
There the busy prying eye
Ne'er disturbs the lover's joy.
While in other's arms they lie, down by yon burn-side.
Awa', ye rude nnfeelin' crew, frae yon burn-side !
Those fairy scenes are no for you, by yon burn-side :
There fancy smooths her theme.
By the sweetly murmurin' stream,
And the rock-lodged echoes skim, down by yon burn-side.
Now the plantin' taps are tinged wi' gowd on yon burn-side,
And gloamin' draws her foggie shroud o'er yon burn-side :
Far frae the noisy scene,
I'll through the fields alane :
There we'll meet, my aiu dear Jean ! down by yon burn-Bide.
NOW WINTEK, WI' HIS CLOUDY BROW.
EOBEET TANNAraLL.
Now winter, wi' his cloudy brow.
Is far ayont yon mountains,
And spring beholds her azure sky
Reflected in tlie fountains.
Now, on the budding slaethorn bank,
She spreads her early blossom.
And wooes the mirly-breastcd birds
To nestle in her bosom.
But lately a' Avas clad wi' snaw,
Sae darksome, dull, and dreary,
Now lavrocks sing, to hail the spring,
And nature all is cheery,
332 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Then let us leave the town, my love,
And seek our country dwelling,
Where waving woods, and spreading flow'rs,
On every side are smiling.
We'll tread again the daisied greon,
Where first your beauty moved me ;
We'll trace again the woodland scene,
Where first ye own'd ye loved me.
We soon will view the roses blaw
In a' the charms of fancy.
For doubly dear these jilcasures a',
When shared with thee, my Nancy.
THE MIDGES DANCE ABOON THE BURN.
ROBERT TANNAHILL.
The midges dance aboon the burn,
The dews begin to fa'.
The pairtricks down the rushy holm,
Set up their e'ening ca'.
Now loud and clear the black])ird's sang
Rmgs through the briery shaw.
While flitting, gay, the swallows play
Around the castle wa'.
Beneath the golden gloaming sky,
The mavis mends her lay,
The redbreast pours his sweetest strainn,
To charm the ling'ring day ;
While_ weary yeldrins seem to wail
Their little nestlings torn,
The merry wren, frae den to den,
Gaes jinking through the thorn.
The roses ftiuld their silken leaves,
The foxglove shuts its bell,
Tlie honeysuckle, and the birk,
Spread fragrance through the doll.
Let others crowd the giddy court
Of mirth and revelry.
The simple joys that naturo yields
Are dearer far to me.
CimONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 333
OCH, HEY! JOHNNIE LAD.
KOBERT TANNAniLL.
Ocir, liey ! JoLnuic lad,
Ye're no sao kind's ye should lia'e been;
Och, hoy ! Johnnie Lad,
Ye didna keep your tryst yestreen.
I waited lang beside the wood,
8ae wae and Aveary a' my hine,
Och, liey ! Johnnie lad,
Ye're no sac kind's ye sliouhl ha'e been.
I looked by the whinny knowe,
I looked by the firs sao green,
I looked owre the spunkie howe,
And aye I thought ye wad ha'e been,
The ne'er a supper cross'd my craig,
The ne'er a sleep has closed my ecu,
Och, hey ! Johnnie lad,
Ye're no sae kind's ye should ha'e been.
Gin ye were waiting by the wood,
Then I was waithig by tlic thorn,
I thought it was the place we set.
And waited maist till dawning morn.
Sae be na vex'd, my bonnie lassie,
Let my waiting stand for thine,
We'll awa' to Craigton shaw,
And seek the joys wo tint ycslrcon.
CLEAN PEASE STRAE.
EOBERT TANNAIIILL.
When John and me were married,
Our hadding was but snia',
For my minnie, canker'd carlino,
Wad gi'o us noclit ava.
I wair't my fee wi' cannie care,
As far as it wad gae ;
But, wcel I wat, our bridal bed
Was clean pease strac.
Wi' working late and early,
We're come to what you see ;
For fortune tlirave auoath our hands,
Sao cydent aye were wo.
The lowc o' love made labour light;
I'm sure you'll find it sae,
When kind ye cuddle down at e'en
'jNlang cleaTi pease strac.
334 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
The rose blooms gay on cairny brae
As weel's in birken sliaw,
And love will live in cottage low,
As weel's in lofty ha',
Sao, lassie, tak' the lad ye like,
Whate'er your minnie say,
Tliough ye should mak' your bridal bed
0' clean pease strae.
I MARK'D A GEM OF PEARLY DEW.
EOBEET TANNAHILL.
I mark'd a gem of pearly dew.
While wand'ring near yon misty mountain,
Which bore the tender flow'r so low.
It dropp'd it off into the fountain.
So thou hast wrung this gentle heart.
Which in its core was proud to wear tlicc,
Till drooping sick beneath thy art,
It sighing found it could not bear thee.
Adieu, thou faithless fair ! unkind !
Thy falsehood dooms that we must sever ;
Thy vows were as the passing wind.
That fans the flow'r, then dies for ever.
And think not that this gentle heart,
Though in its core 'twas proud to wear thee
Sliall longer droop beneath thy art ; —
No, cruel fan, it cannot bear thee.
WITH WAEFU' HEART.
ROBEET TANNAHILL.
With waefu' heart, and sorrowiug e'e,
I saw my Jamie sail awa' ;
0 'twas a fatal day to me,
That day he pass'd the Berwick Law :
IIow joyless now seem'd all behind !
I lingering stray'd along the shore ;
Dark boding fears hung on my mind
That I might never see him more.
The night came on with heavy rain.
Loud, fierce, and wild, the tempest blew ;
In mountains roU'd the awful main —
Ah, hapless maid ! my fears how true !
The landsmen heard their drowning cries,
The wreck was seen with dawning day ;
My love was foiuid, and now he lies
Low in the isle of gloomy May,
CHHONOLOaiCALLY ARRANGED. 335
0 boatman, kindly waft me o'er !
The cavern'd rock shall be my home ;
'Twill ease my bm-den'd heai't to pour
Its sorrows o'er his grassy tomb.
With sweetest flowers I'll deck his grave,
And tend them through the langsome year;
I'll water them ilk morn and eve,
With deepest sorrow's wai'mest tear.
MARY, WHY WASTE?
ROBERT TANNAHILL.
"Mary, why thus waste thy youth-time in sorrow?
See, a' around you the flowers sweetly blaw ;
Blythe sets the sun o'er the wild cliffs of Jura,
Blythe sings the mavis in ilka green shaw."
" How can this heart ever mair think of pleasure ?
Summer may smile, but delight I ha'e nane ;
Cauld in the grave lies my heart's only treasure,
Nature seems dead since my Jamie is gane.
" This 'kerchief he gave me, a true lover's token,
Dear, dear to me was the gift for his sake !
I wear't near my heart, but this poor heart is broken,
Hope died with Jamie, and left it to bi-eak ;
Sighing for hhn, I lie down in the e'ening.
Sighing for him, I av.^ake in the morn ;
Spent arc my daj's a' in secret repining.
Peace to this bosom can never return.
" Oft have we wander'd in sweetest retirement.
Telling our Ioa'cs 'neath the moon's silent beam.
Sweet were our meetings of tender endearment,
But fled are these joys like a fleet-passing dream.
Cruel remembrance, in pity forsake me,
Brooding o'er joys that for ever are flown !
Cruel remembrance, in pity forsake me,
Flee to some bosom where grief is unknown I"
IIAEPER OF MULL.
ROBERT TANNAmLL.
When Rosie was faithful, how happy was I !
Still gladsome as summer the time glided by:
I play'd my heart cheery, while fondly I sang
Of the charms of my Rosie the winter nights lang :
But now I'm as Avaefu' as waefu' can be,
dome simmer, come winter, 'tis a' ane to me.
For the dark gloom of falsehood sao clouds my sad soul,
That cheerless for aye is the Harper of ]Mull,
THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
I wander tlie glens and the wild woods alane,
In their deepest recesses I make my sad mane ;
My harp's mournful melody joins in the strain,
Wliile sadly I sing of the days that are gane.
Though Rosio is faithless, she's no the less fair,
And the thoughts of her beauty but feed my despair;
With painful remembrance my bosom is full.
And weary of life is the Harper of Mull.
As elumb'ring I lay by the dark mountain stream,
My lovely young Rosio appear'd in my dream ;
I thoLight her still kind, and I ne'er was sae blest,
As in fancy I clasji'd the dear nymph to my breast:
Thou false fleeting vision, too soon thou wcrt o'er,
Thou wak'dst me to tortures imoquall'd before ;
But death's silent slumbers my griefs soon shall lull.
And the green grass wave over the Harper of Mull.
ACCUSE ME NOT, INCONSTANT FAIR,
ROBERT TANNAHILL.
Accuse me not, inconstant fair.
Of being false to thee,
For I was true, would still been so,
Ilad'st thou been true to me :
But when I knew thy plighted lips
Once to a rival's prest,
Love-smother'd independence rose.
And spurn'd thee from my breast.
The fairest flow'r in nature's field
Conceals the rankling thorn ;
So thou, sweet flower ! as false as fair,
This once kind heart hast torn :
'Twas mine to prove the fellest pangs
That slighted love can feel;
'Tis thine to weep that one rash act,
Which bids this long farewell.
CiniONOLOGlCALLY ARRAKGED. 337
HEY DONALD ! HOWE DONALD !
ROBERT TANNAHILL.
The sccourl, third, and fifth stanzas were written by Mr. Gibson,
Greenock. The fourth is by William Motherwell.
Tiio' simmer smiles on bank and brae,
An' natm'c bids the lieart be gay;
Yet a' the joys o' flow'ry May,
Wi' pleasure ne'er can move mc.
Ilcy Donald I Lowe Donald !
Think upon your vow, Donald!
Mind the heathery knowc, Donald,
Whare ye vow'd to lo'o m3.
Wlien first ye climb'd the heath'ry steep,
Wi' me to wear my father's sheep,
The vows ye made j^e said ye'd keep,
The vows ye made to lo'e me.
Iley Donald, &c.
]jut love is but a weary dream,
Its joys are like the summer scene,
Whose beauty is the sunny beam,
That dazzles to deceive nie.
Iley Donald, <S:c.
I downa look on bank or brae,
I downa greet where a' are gay ;
But, oh ! my heart will break wi' wac.
Gin Donald cease to lo'e me.
Hey Donald, &c.
I>Iy father lias a haddin braw,
Ilis scttiug sun's just gauu to I'a',
And Donald thou sail get it a,',
My Donald gin ye'll lo'e me.
Iley Donald, &c.
GLOOMY FEBER'WAR.
TuK first stanza is by Tannahill, the others by Dr. Patrick Buchau,
Tiiou cauld gloomy Feber'war,
Oh ! gin thou wert awa' !
I'm wac to hear tliy soughin' Avinds,
I'm wae to sec thy snaw ;
For my bonnio braw young Ilielamlman,
The lad I lo'e sac dear,
Has vow'd to come and see mo,
In the spring time o' the year.
338 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
A silken ban' he gae me,
To bin' my gowden hair ;
A siller brooch and tartan plaid,
A' for his sake to wear :
And oh ! my heart was like to break,
(For partin' sorrows sair,)
As he vow'd to come and see me,
In the spring time o' the year.
Aft, aft as gloaming dims the sky.
I wander out alane,
Whare buds the bonnie yellow whins,
Around the trystin' stane :
'Twas there he press'd me to his heart,
And kiss'd awa' the tear.
As he vow'd to come and see me,
In the spring time o' the year
Ye gentle breezes saftly blaw.
And deed anew the wuds :
Ye lav'rocks lilt your cheery sangs,
Amang the fleecy cluds ;
Till Febcr'war and a' his train.
Affrighted disappear —
I'll hail wi' you the blythsome change,
The spring time o' the year.
THE LASSES A' LEUGH.
The first stanza is by Tanuahill, the others were added hy Alexander
Rodger.
The lasses a' leugh, and the carlin Hate,
But Maggie was sitting fu' ourie and blate,
The auld silly gawkie, she couldna contain,
How brawly she v/as kiss'd yestreen ;
Kiss'd yestreen, kiss'd yestreen.
How brawly she was kiss'd yestreen ;
She blethered it round to her fae an' her frccn,
How brawly she was kiss'd yestreen.
She loosed the white napkin frae 'bout her dun neck,
An' cried, The big sorrow tak' lang Geordie Fleck!
D'ye see what a scart I gat frae a preen.
By his tousling an' kissing at me yestreen ;
At me yestreen, at me yestreen.
By his tousling an' kissing at me yestreen ;
I canna conceive v/'liat the fallow could mean,
By his kissing sae meikle at me yestreen.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 339
Then she pu'd up her sleeve an' shawecl a blue mark,
Quo' she, I gat that frae young Davy our dark,
But the creature had surelj^ forgat hmisel' clean,
When he nipt me sae hard for a kiss yestreen,
For a kiss yestreen, for a kiss yestreen.
When he nipt me sae hard for a kiss yestreen ;
I wonder what keepit my nails frae his cen,
When he nipt me sae hard for a kiss yestreen.
Then she held up her cheek, an' cried. Foul fa' the laird,
Just leuk what I gat with his black birsie beard,
The vile filthy body ! was e'er the like seen ?
To rub me sae sair for a kiss yestreen ;
For a kiss yestreen, for a kiss yestreen ;
To rub me sae sair for a kiss yestreen,
I'm sure that nae woman o' judgment need green
To be rubbit, like me, for a kiss yestreen.
Syne she tald what grand offers she afteu had had,
But wad she tak' a man ? — na, she wasna sae mad ;
For the hale o' the sex she cared na a preen.
An' she hated the way she was kiss'd yestreen ;
Kiss'd yestreen, kiss'd yestreen,
Sh.e hated the way she was kiss'd yestreen ;
'Twas a mercy that naething mair serious had been,
For it's dangerous whiles to be kiss'd at e'en.
THE KE'ER-DO-WEEL.
The first stanza is by Tannahill, the others were afterwards written
by Alexander Rodger.
Come hame to your lingels, ye ne'er-do-weel loon.
You're the king o' the dyvours, the talk o' the town,
Sae soon as the Munouday morning comes in,
Your wearifu' daidling again maun begin.
Gudewife, you're a skillet, your tongue's just a bell.
To the peace o' gude fallows it rings the death-knell,
But clack till ye deafen auld Barnaby's mil],
The souter shall aye ha'c his Munonday's yill.
Come hame to your lap-stane, come hame to your last,
It's a bonnie affair that your family maun fast.
While you and your crew here a-guzzling maun sit.
Ye daised drunken gude-for-nocht heir of the pit ;
Just leuk, how I'm gaun witJiout stocking or shoe,
Your bairns a' in tatters, an' fotherless too.
An' yet, quite content, like a sot, ye'll sit still.
Till your kyte's like to crack, wi' your IMunonday's j'ill.
340 THK SONGS OF SCOTLAND
I tell you, gudewife, gin you baud na your clack,
I'll lend you a reestle wi' this owre your back ;
Maun we bo abused an' affronted by you,
Wi' siccan foul names as " loon," " dyvour," an' " crew ?"
Come hame to your lingels, tins instant come liame,
Or I'll redden your face, gin ye've yet ony shame,
For I'll bring a' the bairns, an' we'll just ha'e our fill,
As weel as yoursel', o' your Munonday's yill.
Gin that be the gate o't, sirs, come, let us stir.
What need we sit here to be pestered by her ?
For she'll plague an' affront us as far as she can ;
Did ever a woman sae bother a man ?
Frae yill house to yill house she'll after us rin,
An' raise the halo town wi' her yelpin' and din ;
Come, ca' the gudewife, bid her bring in her bill,
I eec I maun quat takiu' Munonday's yill.
UP AMANG YON CLIFFY ROCKS.
WILLIiVM DUDGEON,
A NATIVE of Tyuinghame in East Lothian, where he was boru aboal
1753. lie died aL his farm of Pruiirose Hill, ucar Dimse, in 1813.
Ur amang j'on cliffy rocks.
Sweetly rings the rising echo.
To the maid that tends the goals.
Lilting o'er her native notes.
Hark, she sings, " Young Sandy's kind,
An' he's promis'd aye to lo'e me ;
Here's a broach I ne'er shall tine.
Till he's fairly married to mc ;
Drive away, ye drone. Time,
An' bring about our bridal day.
Sandy herds a ilock o' sheep,
Afteu does he blaw the whistle.
In a strain sae saftly sweet,
Lammies list'ning daurna bleat.
He's as fleet's the mountain roe.
Hardy as the higliland heather.
Wading through tlio winter snow.
Keeping aye his Hock together ;
J^ut a plaid, wi' bare houghs.
He braves the bleakest norlan' blast.
Brawly can he dance and sing.
Canty glee or highland cronacli ;
Nane can ever match his fling,
At a rcelj or round a ring;
CIIUONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 3-41
Wiglitly can lie wield a rung,
In a brawl lie's a^'C tlic bangstcr ;
A' his praise can ne'er bo sung
By the langest-windecl sangster,
Sangs that sing o' Sandy
Seem short, tho' they were e'er sac lang.
DAEK LOWERS THE NIGHT.
ALEXiiNDEK WILSON,
TnE Ameiicau Onuthologist, was born at Paivlcy in ITflG. lie was hy
trade a weaver, but afterwards left that occiijiafion and thouldercd aiiack,
selling his wares througliout the country. Ills principal poem is " Watty
and Meg," which, as a picture of "low life" in Scotland, is unsiupiassed.
Wilson emigrated to Ancrica in 1794, and there devoted his whole
attention to the study of Natm-al History. His great Work — American
Ornithology, has ever been tho delight of naturalists, and has made his
name famous amongst a very different class from the purchasers of tlie
lialfpenny chap-book containing "Watty and Meg." lie died at Thil-
adelphia in 1813.
Dark lowers the niglit o'er tlie wide slonny main,
Till mild rosy morning rise cheerful again;
Alas I morn returns to revisit the shore ;
But Councl returns to his Flora no more.
For sec, on yon mountain, the dark cloud of death,
O'er Conncl's lone cottage, lies low on the heath ;
While bloody oiul pale, on a Air distant shore,
He lies to return to his Flora no more.
Yc light fleeting spirits that glide o'er the steep,
0 would you but waft mc across the wild deep !
There fearless I'd mix in the battle's loud roar,
I'd die with my Conncl, and leave him no more.
OLD AUG II TER TOOL.
ALEXASDEK WILSOX.
From the village of Lcsly Avith a heart full of glee,
And my pack on my shoulders, I rambled out free,
Resolved that same evening, as Luna was full,
To lodge ton miles distant, in old Auchtertool.
Through many a lone cottage and larm-house I stecr'd,
Took their n\oncy, and off with my budget I shccr'd ;
The road I explored out, without ibrm or rule,
Still asking the nearest to old Auchtertool,
2 b
342 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
A clown I accosted, inquiring the road,
Ho stared like an idiot, then roar'd out, " Glide Gr-d I
Gin ye're ga'n there for quarters, ye'ro surely a fool.
For there's nought but starvation in auld Auchtcrtool I"
Unminding his nonsense, my march I pursued,
Till I came to a hill top, where joyful I view'd.
Surrounded with mountains, and many a white pool,
The small smoky village of old Auchtcrtool.
At length I arrived at the edge of the town.
As Phcebus behind a high mountain went down ;
The clouds gather'd dreary, and weather blew foul.
And I hugg'd myself safe now in old Auchtcrtool.
An inn I inquired out, a lodging desired.
But the landlady's pertness seem'd instantly fired ;
For she saucy replied, as she sat carding wool,
" I ne'er kept sic lodgers in auld Auchtcrtool."
With scorn I soon left her to live on her pride ;
But, asking, was told, there was none else beside,
Except an old Weaver, who now kept a school,
And these were the whole that were in Auchtertool.
To his mansion I scamper'd, and rapt at the door,
He op'd, but as soon as I dared to implore,
He shut it like thunder, and utter'd a howl,
That rung thro' each corner of old Auchtertool.
Provoked now to fury, the Dominie I curst,
And offer'd to cudgel the va'ctch, if he durst;
But the door he fast bolted, the' Boreas blew cool,
And left me all friendless in old Auchtertool.
Deprived of all shelter, through darkness I trod,
Till I came to a ruin'd old house by the road ;
Here the night I will spend, and, inspired by the owl,
I'll send up some prayers for old Auchtertool.
THE RANTIN HIGHLANDMAN.
JOHN HAMILTON,
A music-seller in Edinburgh, where ho died in 1814, aged 53 years.
Ae morn, last ouk, as I gaed out
To flit a tether'd yowu and lamb,
I met, as skiffing ower the green,
A jolly I'antin' Highlandman.
His shape was neat, wi' feature sweet,
And ilka smile my favour wan ;
I ne'er had seen sae braw a lad,
As this young rantiu' Highlandman.
CHRONOLOGICALLY AER.VKGED. 343
Ho said, My dear, ye're sune asteer ;
Cam' ye to hear the laverock's sang ?
0' Avad yo gang and wed wi' me,
And wed a rantin' Highlandman ?
In summer days, on flowery braes,
When frisky is the ewe and lamb,
I'sc row ye in ray tartan plaid.
And be your rantin' Highlandman.
With heather bells, that sweetly smells,
I'll deck your hair sae fair and lang,
If yo'll consent to scour the bent
Wi' me, a rantin' Highlandman,
We'll big a cot, and buy a stock.
Syne do the best that e'er we can :
Tlien come, my dear, ye needna fear
To trust a rantin' Highlandman.
His words sae sweet gaed to my lieart,
And fain I wad ha'e gi'en my han'.
Yet durstna, lest my mother should
Dislike a rantin' Highlandman.
Cut I expect he will come back ;
Then, tliougli my kin' should scould and ban,
I'll owcr the hill, or where ho will,
Wi' my young rantin' Highlandman.
UP IN THE MOENIN'.
JOHN TTAAm.TflTJ.
Cauld blaw3 the wind frae north to south ;
The drift is drifting sairly ;
The sheep aro cowrin' in tho lieuch,
0 1 su-s, it's Avinter fairly.
Now up in the mornin's no for mo,
Up in the mornin' early ;
I'd rather gac supperless to my bed,
Than rise in the morning early.
Loud roars the blast amang tho woods,
And tirls the brandies barely;
On hill and house hear liow it thuds !
The frost is nipping sairly.
Now up in the mornin's no for nic,
Up in the morning cai'ly,
To sit a' nicht wad better agree,
Thau rise in the mornia' early.
344 THE SONGS OK SCOTL.VI^IJ
TliG sun i^ceps owro yon soutliland liills,
Like ony timorous carlie,
Just blinks a wee, then sinlcg again ;
And that wo find severely.
Now up in the mornin's no for me,
Up in the mornin' early ;
When snaw blaws in at tlic chimley chcclc,
Wha'd rise in the mornin' early ?
Nae Unties lilt on hedge or bush :
Poor tilings, they suftcr sairly ;
In cauldrife quarters a' the nicht ;
A' day they feed but sparely.
Now up in the mornin's no ibr me,
Up in the mornin' early ;
A pennyless purse I wad rather dree
Than rise in the mornin' early.
A cosic house and canty wife,
Aye keep a body cheerly ;
And pantries stowed wi' meat and drink,
Tiiey answer vmco rarely.
But up the mornin' — na, na, na !
Up in the mornin' early !
The gowans maim glent on baidv and brae,
When I I'ise in the mornin' early.
GO TO BERWICK, JOHNNIE.
JOnN ILUIILTON.
Go to Berwick, Johnnie ;
Bring her frae the Border;
Yon sweet bonnie lassie,
Let her ga'e nae farther.
English loons will twine ye
0' the lovely treasure ;
But we'll let them ken,
A sword wi' them we'll measure.
Go to Berwick, Johnnie,
And regain your honour ;
Drive them owor the Tweed,
And show our Scottish banner.
I am Rob the king,
And ye are Jock, my brither ;
But, before we lose her.
We'll a' there thegither.
CIIEONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 345
THE MAID OF ISLAY.
KEV. WILLI.AJiI DUNBAH, D.D.,
Miaister of Applegarth, in the hegiuning of the present ceutniy. He was
born at Dmrrfries in 1780, and died at Applegarth in 18G1.
EisiNG o'er tlie heaving billow,
Evening gilds the ocean's swell,
While with thee, on grassy pillow,
Solitude ! I love to dwell.
Lonely to the sea breeze blowing.
Oft I chaunt iny love-lorn strain,
To the streamlet sweetly flowing,
Murmur oft a lover's pain.
'Twas for her, the Maid of Islay,
Time flew o'er me wing'd with joy;
'Twas for her, the cheerhig smile ayo
Bcam'd with rapture in my eye.
Not the tempest raving round me,
Lightning's flash, or thunder's roll,
Not the ocean's rage could wound mo,
While her image fdl'd my soul.
Farewell, days of purest pleasure,
Long your loss my heart shall mourn 1
Farewell, hours of bliss the measure,
Bliss that never can return.
Cheerless o'er the wild heath wandering,
Cheerless o'er the wave-worn shore,
On the past with sadness pondering,
Hope's fair visions charm no more.
CORUNNA.
r
ANDREW SUARPE,
A jouRNErMAN shocmakcr. He died at Perth in 181C, aged 35.
Do 3'ou weep for the woes of poor wandering Nelly ?
I love you for that, but of love now no more,
All I had long ago lies entomb'd with my Billy,
Whoso grave rises green on Corunna's lone sliorc.
Oh ! they tell me my liilly looked lovely when dying,
That rouiul him, the boldest in battle stood crying,
While from his deep wound life's red floods fast were drying,
At evening's pale close on Coruima's lone shore.
That night Billy died as I lean'd on my pillow,
I thrice was alarm'd with a knock at my door,
Thrice my name it was call'd Vv-illi a voice soft and mellow,
And thrice did T dream of Corunna's lone shore.
9
46 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Metliouglit Billy stood on the beach where the billow
Boom'd over his head, breaking loud, long and hollow ;
In his hand he held waving a flag of green willow ;
Save me, God ! he exclaimed, on Corunna's lone shore.
And now when I mind on't, my dear Billy told me,
While tears wet his eyes, but those tears are no more,
At our parting, he never again would behold me ;
'Twas strange then I thought on Corunna's lone shore.
But shall I ne'er see him when drowsy-eyed night falls,
■When thro' the dark arch Luna's tremulous liglit falls.
As o'er his new grave, slow the glow-worm of night crawb,
And ghosts of the slain foot Corunna's lone shore.
Yes, yes, on this spot shall these arms infold him,
For here hath he kiss'd me a thousand times o'er ;
How bewildered's my brain, now methinks I behold him,
All bloody and pale on Corunna's lone shore.
Come awaj', my beloved, come in haste, my dear Billy,
On the wind'id wafting wing to thy languishing Nelly,
I've got kisses in store, I've got secrets to tell thee.
Come, ghost of my love, from Corunna's lone shore.
01 \ ! I'm told that my blue eyes have lost all their s])lcnclour,
That my locks, once so yellow, now wave thin and hoar,
'Tis, they tell me, because I'm so restless to wander,
And in thinking so much on Corunna's lone shore.
But, God help me, where can I go to forget hipi ;
If to father's at home, in each corner I meet him,
The sofa, alas ! where he us'd aye to seat him,
Says, Thiuiv, Nelly, think on Corunna's lone shore.
And here as I travel all tatter'd and torn,
By bramble and brier, over mountain and moor,
Not a bird bounds aloft to salute the new morn,
Bat warbles aloud, 0 Corunna's lone shore !
It is heard in the blast when the tempest is blowing,
It is heard on the white broken waterfall flowing.
It is heard in the songs of the reaping and mowing, — ■
Oh, my poor bleeding heart ! Oh, Corunna's lone shore !
OCTOBER WINDS.
JAMES SCADLOCK,
An intimate friend of Tannaliill. He was a native of Renfrcwsliiro,
and ^Vllile pmsuiug liis trade of copperplate engraving, lie devoted a part
of his time to the service of the muses. lie died iu 1818. A volume of
hig poems was published shortly after his death.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED, 347
October winds, wi' biting breath,
Now nip the leaves that's yellow fading ;
Nae gowans glint upon the green,
AJas ! they're co'er'd wi' winter's cleading.
As through the woods I musing gang",
Nae birdies cheer me frae the bushes.
Save little Eobin's lanely sang,
Wild warbling where the burnie gushes.
The sun is jogging down the brae.
Dimly through the mist he's shining,
And cram'eugh hoar creeps o'er the grass,
As day resigns his throne to e'ening.
Oft let me walk at twilight gray.
To view the face of dying nature,
Till spring again wi' mantle green,
Delights the heart o' ilka creature.
CAULD KAIL IN ABERDEEN.
ALEXA.NDER, FOUKTH DUKE OF GORDON,
Corn in 1743, died, 1827. Mr. Chambers suiToiscs that the expressiou
Cauld Kail in Aberdeen," docs not refer to any " mess connected with
the ancient city, but a metaphorical aUusion to the faded loTe-fervouvs
ci an aged nobleman who, in spite of years, was presuming to pay his
addresses to a youug lady."
There's cauld kail in Aberdeen,
And custocks in Stra'bogie,
Gin I ha'e but a bonnie lass,
Ye'rc welcome to your cogie.
And ye may sit up a' the night,
And drink till it be braid day-light :
Gi'e me a lass baith clean and tight,
To dance the reel o' Bogie.
In cotillions the French excel,
John Bull loves country dances ;
The Spaniards dance fandangoes well ;
Mynheer an allemande prances :
In foursome reels the Scots delight,
At threesome's they dance wondrous light,
But twasome's ding a' out o' sight,
Danc'd to the reel o' Bogie.
Come, lads, and view your partners weel,
Wale each a blythcsome rogic :
I'll tak' this lassie to mysel',
She looks sae clean and vogie :
348 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Now, piper lad, bang up the spring ;
The country fashion is the thing,
To prio their men's ere we begin
To dance the reel o' Bogie.
Now ilka lad -has got a lass,
Save yon anld doited fogie,
And ta'en a fling upon the grass,
As they do in Stra'bogie ;
But a' the lassies look sae fain,
We canna think onrsel's to hain,
For they maun ha'e their come-again
To dance the reel o' Bogie.
Now a' the lads ha'e done their best,
Like true men o' Stra'bogie ;
We'll stop a-while and tak' a rest,
And tipple out a cogie.
Come now, my lads, and tak' your glass.
And try ilk other to surpass,
In wishing health to ev'ry lass,
To dance the reel o' Bogie.
on WIIEEE, TELL ME WHEPvE.
MES. GKAXT, OF LAGGA^,
Born at Glasgow in 1755. In 1779 she married the Eev. James Grant,
afterwards Minister of Laggan in Invcrness-shire. He died iu 1801, leav-
ing her a widow with eight children to support. In 1S25 she received
a pension of £50 per annrun from the government, which, with the profits
gained from her published writings, gave her siifBcient means to support
herself in comfort. She died at Edinburgh in 1838.
0 where, tell me where, is your Highland laddie gone?
0 where, tell me where, is your Highland laddie gone?
He's gone with streaming banners, where noble deeds are done,
And my sad heart will tremble till he come safely home.
0 where, tell me where, did your Highland laddie stay?
0 where, toil me where, did your Higliland laddie stay?
He dwelt beneath the holly trees, beside the rapid Spey,
And many a blessing follow'd him, the day he went away.
0 what, tell me what, docs your Highland laddie wear?
0 what, tell me what, does your Highland laddie wear?
A bonnet with a lofty plume, the gallant badge of war,
And a 2)laid across the manly breast that yet shall wear a star.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 349
Suppose, all suppose, that some cruel, cruel wound
Should pierce j'our Highland laddie, and all your hopes confound 1
The pipe would play a cheering" march, the banners round him
m, ^^•' •
The spirit of a Highland chief would lighten in his eye.
But I will hope to see him yet in Scotland's bonnie bounds,
But I will hope to see him yet in Scotland's bonnie bounds,
His native land of liberty shall nurse his glorious wounds,
While wide through all our Highland hills his warlike nama
resounds.
BLYTHE ARE WE SET.
EBENEZEE PICKEX,
A NATIVE of Paisley, where he was bom in 17C9. He attended the Uni-
versiLy of Glasgow for several sessions, iuteuding to dovo(e himself to the
Ministry. lu 1791, however, he became a toac-lior at Falkirk, and after
many ups and downs died' at Edinljurirh in 1810, in rather reduced
circumstances. lie published two volumes of poetry in 1813.
Blytiie arc we set wi' ithcr :
Fling care ayont the moon;
Nae sac aft we meet thegither !
Wlia wad think o' parting soon ?
Though snaw bends down the forest trccf?,
And burn and river cease to flow;
Though nature's tide has shor'd to freeze,
And winter nithers a' below.
Blythe are we, &c.
Now, round the ingle cheerly met,
We'll scog the blast and dread nao harm,
^ Wi' jaws o' toddy reeking het.
We'll keep the genial current warm.
The friendly crack, the cheerfu' sang,
Shall cheat the happy hours awa'.
Gar pleasure reign the c'ening lang,
And laugh at biting frost and snaw.
Blythe arc wc, &c.
The cares that cluster round the heart.
And gar the bosom stouud wi' pain,
Shall get a fright afore wo part,
Will gar them fear to come again.
Tlien, fill about, my winsome chiuls.
The sparkling glass will banish pine:
Nae pain the happy bosom feels,
Sae free o' care as yours and mine,
Blythe are we, &c.
350 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
TODLIN' HAME.
JOHANXA BAILLrE,
Daughter of Dr. James Baillie, miuister of Bothwell. She was bom at
the manse there in 17G2.
There are veiy few incidents in her quiet life which can be recorded.
She early devoted herself to literature. In her twenty-eighth year she
published a volume of poems, and in 1798 published the first volume of
her " Plays," which at once gave her a high position in the literary world.
She died at Dampstead in 1S51, at the mature age of eighty-nine.
No one had a higher regard for her talents than Sir Walter Scott, who
dedicated one of his poems to her.
When white was my o'erlay as foam o' tho liiin,
And siller v/as clinkin' my pouches within;
Wlien my lambkins were bleating on meadow and brae ;
As I gaed to my love in new deeding sac gay,
Kind was she, and my friends were free,
But poverty parts gude companic.
How swift paes'd the minutes and hours of deliglit !
The piper play'd chcerly, the crusie burn'd bright ;
And Jink'd in my hand was the maiden sac dear,
As she footed the floor in her holiday gear.
Woe is me, and can it then be,
That poverty parts sic companie !
We met at the fair, we met at the kirk,
We met in the sunshine, and met in the mii-k,
And the sounds of her voice, and the blinks of her ccn,
Tlio cheering and life of my bosom have been.
Loaves frae the tree at Martinmas flee ;
And poverty parts sweet companie.
At bridal and infare I've braced me wi' pride ;
The briise I ha'e won, and a kiss o' the bride ;
And loud was the laughter gay fellows among,
When I iTtter'd my banter and chorus'd my song.
Dowie to dree are jesting and glee,
When poverty parts gude companie.
Wherever I gaed the blythe lasses smiled sweet.
And mitliers and aunties were mair than discreet.
While kebbuck and bicker were set on the board ;
But now they pass by me, and never a word.
So let it be, for the worldly and slio
Wi' poverty keep nao companie.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 351
THE SHEPHERD'S SONG.
JOHANNA EAILLIE.
The gowan glitters on tlio sward,
The lav'rock's in the sky,
And Collie on my plaid keeps v/ard,
And time is passing by.
Oh, no ! sad an' slow !
I hoar nae welcome soimd ;
The shadow of our trystin' bush.
It wears sae slowly round !
My sheep-bell tinkles frac the went,
My lambs arc bleating near,
r.nt still the sound that I lo'c best,
Alack ! I canna hear.
Oh, no ! sad an' slow !
Tlic shadow lingers still;
And like a lanely ghaist I stand,
And croon upon the hill.
I hoar below the water roar.
The mill vvi' clackin' din ;
And Lucky scolding frac her door,
To bring the bairnies in.
Oh, no ! sad an' slow !
These are nae sounds for me ;
The shadow of our trystin' bush,
It creeps sac drearily.
I coft yestreen frao chapman Tarn,
A snood of bonnie blue.
And promised, when our trystin' cam',
To tic it roimd her brow.
Oh, no ! sad an' slow !
The time it winna pass ;
The shadow of that weary thorn
Is tether'd on the grass,
0 now I see her on the way,
She's past the witches' knowo ;
She's climbin' up the brownie's brao—
My heart is in a lowc.
Oil, no ! 'tis na so!
'Tis glaumric I ha'c seen :
The shadow of that hawthorn bush
Will move nao mair till e'en.
THE SONGS OF SCOTL.VND
My book of grace I'll try to reud,
Though conu'cl wi' little skill ;
Wlien Collie barks I'll raise my head,
And find her on the hill.
Oh, no ! sad an' slow !
Tlic time will ne'er be gane ;
The shadow of the trystin' bush
Is fix'd like ony stane.
WOO'D AND MARK [ED AND A'.
JOmVNNA BAILLIE.
The bride she is winsome and bonnie,
Her hair it is snoodcd sac sleek,
And faithful and kind is her Johnnie,
Yet fast fa' the tears on her cheek.
New pearlings arc cause o' her sorrow,
New pearlings and plenishing too;
The bride that has a' to borrow,
Has e'en right meikle ado.
Woo'd and married and a',
Woo'd and married and a',
And is na she very weel aff
To be woo'd and married and a' ?
Ilcr mother then hastily spak' ;
" The lassie is glaiket wi' pride;
In my pouches I hadna a plack
The day that I was a bride.
E'en tak' to your Avheel and bo clever,
And draw out j'our thread in the sun,
The gear that is gifted, it never
Will last like the gear that is won.
Woo'd an' married an' a',
Tocher and havings sae sma'
I think ye are very weel aff,
To be woo'd and married an' a',"
" Toot, toot !" quo' the gray-headed father,
" She's less of a bride than a bairn ;
She's ta'en like a cowt frae the heather,
Wi' sense and discretion to learn.
Half husband, I trow, and half daddy,
As humour inconstantly leans ;
A duel may be constant and steady
That yokes wi' a mate in her teens.
'Kerchief to cover so neat.
Locks the winds used to blaw,
I'm baith like to laugh and to greet,
When T think o' Ikt married at a'."
CJIllONOLOaiCALLY AKKyVNGED. 353
Tlicn out spak' the wily bridegroom,
AVeel waled were his wordies I weeii ;
" I'm rich, though my coflcr be toom,
Wi' tlie blinks o' your bonnic blue ecu;
I'm prouder o' thco by my side,
Though tliy ruflles or ribbons be few,
Tlian it" Kate o' the craft were my bride,
Wi' purples and pearlings enew.
Dear and dearetit of ony,
Ye're woo'd and bookit and a',
And do ye think scorn o' your Johnnie,
And grieve to be married at a',"
She turn'd, and she blush'd, and she sniil'd,
And she lookit sae bashfully down;
The pride o' her heart was bcguil'd,
And she play'd wi' the sleeve o' her gown
She twirl'd the tag o' her lace.
And she nippet her boddice sac blue,
Syne blinket sae sweet in his face,
And aff like a mawkin she flew.
Woo'd and married and a',
Married and carried awa',
She thinks hersel' very weel aff.
To be woo'd and married and a'.
IT FELL ON A MORNING.
JOHANNA BAILLIE.
It fell on a morning whan wo were thrang.
Our kirn was gann, our cheese was making,
And bannocks on the girdle baking,
That ano at llie door cliapt loud and lang.
But the auld gudewife and her Mays sac liglit,
Of this stirring and din took sma' notice, I ween
For a chap at tlic door, in braid day-light,
Is no like a chap when lieard at e'en.
Then the clocksey aul^l laird of the warlock glen,
Wlia stood without, half cow'd, half chcerie.
And ycarn'd for a sight of his winsome dearie,
IJaiscd up the latch and came crousely ben.
Ilis coat was new and his o'crlay was while.
And his hose and his mittens were coozy and bein ;
But a wooer that comes in braid day-light,
Is no like a vv^ooer that comes at e'en.
354 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Uc greeted the carlin' and lasses sae braw,
And his bare lyart pow ho smoothly straikct,
And looked about, like a body half glaikct,
On bonnie sweet Nannj"- the youngest of a'.
" Ila ha ! " quo' the caiiin, " and look ye that way ?
Hoot ! let na sic fancies bewilder ye clean :
An elderlin man i' the noon o' the day,
Shoiild be wiser than youngsters that come at e'en,"
"Na na!" quo' the pauky auld wife, "I trow,
You'll fash na' your head wi' a youthfu' gilly,
As wild and as skeigh as a muirland filly.
Black Madge is far better and fitter for you."
He liem'd and he haw'd and he screw'd in his inoutlj.
And he squeez'd his blue bonnet his twa hands between,
For wooers that come when the sun's in the south,
Are mair aukwart than wooers that come at e'en,
"Black Madge she is prudent."— " What's that to mc ?"
" She is eident and sobei', has sense in her noddle,
Is douse and rcspeckit." — " I caro na a boddlc.
I'll baulk na' my luive, and my fancy's free."
Madge toss'd back her head wi' a saucy slight.
And Nanny ran laughing out to the green ;
For wooers that come whan the sun shines bright.
Are na like the wooers that come at e'en.
Awa' flung the laird and loud mutter'd he :
" All the daughters of Eve, between Orkney and Tweed, 0,
Black and fair, young and old, dame, damsel, and widow,
Jlay gang wi' their pride to tlie deil for me !"
But the auld gudewife and her Mays sae tight,
For a' his loud banning cared little, I ween ;
For a wooer that comes in braid day-light,
Is no like a wooer that comes at e'en.
HOOLY AND FAIRLY.
JOHANNA BAIT^LIE.
On, neighbours ! what had I ado for to marry,
My wife she drinks possets and wine o' Canary,
And ca'a mo a niggardly, thraw-gabbit early,
0 gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly !
Hooly and fairly, &c.
She feasts wi' her kimmcrs on dainties enew,
Aye bowing and smirking and dighting her mou',
While I sit aside and am helpet but sparely,
0 gin my wife wad feast hooly and fairly !
Hooly and fairly, &c.
CHRONOLOGICALLY AIUtANGED. 356
To foil's and to bridals and preachings and a',
She gangs sae light-hearted and buskct sac braw%
It's ribbons and niantuas that gars nic gae barely,
0 gin my wife would spend hooly and fairly !
Ilooly and fairly, &c.
In the kirk sic commotion last Sabbath she made,
Wi' babs o' red roses and briest-knots o'crlaid,
The dominie sticket his psalm very nearly,
0 giu my wife wad dress hooly and fairly !
Ilooly and fau-ly, <S;c.
She's warring and flyting frae morning till e'cu,
And if ye gainsay her, her eye glowrs sac keen !
Then tongue, neive and cudgel, she'll lay on you sairly !
O gin my wife wad strike hooly and fairly !
Hooly and fairly, &c.
Wlien tired wi' her cantraps, she lies in her bed,
The wark a' ncglecket, the house ill up-red.
When a' our guid neighbours arc stirring right early,
0 gin my wife wad sleep timely and fairly !
Hooly and fairly, &c.
A word o' good counsel or grace she'll hear none,
She bardies the ciders and mocks at mess John,
And back in his teeth his ain text she flings rarely I
0 gin my wife wad speak hooly and fairly !
Hooly and fairly, &c.
1 wish I were single, I wish I were freed,
I wish I were doited, I wish I were dead ;
Or she in the mools, to dement me nae mairlay ;
AVhat does't avail to cry hooly and fairl}' '?
Ilooly and fairly, hooly and fairly,
Wasting my breath to cry hooly and fairly !
NEIL GOW'S FAIIEWEEL.
MHS. LYON,
Dauouteu of Jolm R. L'Amy of Dunkenny, Forfarshire, was l)orn at
Dundee in 17G2, and became the wife of Dr. Lyon, Minister of Glaimuis,
to whom she was mamed in 178G : she died in 1840.
The song here given is stated to have been wiittcn by hor at the re-
quest of the celebrated Neil Gow, to accompauy a tunc composed by him.
It at once became very popular. In Dr. Rogers' " Blodcrn Scottish Minstrel,"
a copy is piinted varying slightly iu the plnaseology from that here
given.
You've surely heard o' famous Neil,
The man that play'd the liddlo wcel;
I wat ho was a canty chiel.
And dearly lo'cd the whisky, 0 !
j5G the songs of SCOTL.US'D
And, aye sin' lie wore tlie tartan trcwB,
lie dearly likot Atliolc brose ;
And wae was lie, you may suppose,
To play farcwccl to whisky, 0.
Alake, quoth Neil, I'm frail and auld,
And find my bludc grows unco cauld ;
I thhik 'twad make me blytlie and bauld,
A wee drap Highland whisky, 0.
Yet the doctors they do a' agree,
That whisky's no tlie drink for me.
Saul ! quoth Noil, 'twill spoil my glee,
Should they part me and whisky, 0.
Though I can baith get wine and ale.
And hnd my head and fingers liale,
I'll be content, though legs should fail.
To play fareweel to whisky, 0.
But still I tliink on auld lang sync.
When Paradise our friends did t^-iic.
Because something ran in their mind —
Forbid like Highland whisky, 0.
Yet I'll tak' my fiddle in my hand,
And screw the pegs up while they'll stand,
To make a lamentation grand,
On gude auld Highland whisky, 0.
Come, a' ye powers o' music, come ;
I ihid my heart grows unco glum ;
My liddle-strings will no play bum.
To say, Fareweel to whisky, 0.
FAIR MODEST FLOWER.
WILLIAJI EEm,
Born at Glasgow in 17G4-. He carried ou business as Bo'jkscllcr aiicl
ruljlisher in Glasgow for twenty-seven j'cars in company with Mr. James
Brash. Eeicl wrote very few complete songs of any moment, liis peculiar
gift being the knack of adding verses, &c. to ahcady popular songs. lie
died in 1S31.
Fair modest flower, of matchless worth !
Thou sweet, enticing, bonnie gem,
Blest is the soil that gave thee birth,
And blest thine honour'd parent stem.
But doubly blest shall be the youth.
To whom thy heaving bosom warms ;
Possess'd of beauty, love, and truth.
He'll clasp an angel in his arms.
CHRONOLOGICALLY AliKANGLD. 357
Though storms of life were blowing snell,
And on his brow sat brooding care,
Tliy seraph smile would quick dispel
The darkest gloom of black despair.
Sure heaven hath granted thee to us,
And chose thee from the dwellers there,
And sent thee from celestial bliss,
To show what all the virtues are.
LASS 0' GOWRIE.
WLLLLiM EEID.
V/iiEN Katie was scarce out nineteen,
O but she had twa coal-black ccn ;
A bonnier lass yc wadna seen,
In a' the Carsc o' Gowric.
Quite tired o' livin' a' his lano,
Pate did to her his love explain,
And swore he'd be, were she his ain,
The happiest lad in Gowrie.
Quo' she, I winna marry thee
For a' the gear tluit ye can gi'c ;
Nor will T gang a step ajec,
For a' the gowd in Gowric.
My father will gi'c me twa kyc ;
My mother's gaun some yarn to dye ;
I'll get a gown just like the sky,
Gif I'll no gang to Gowric.
Oh, my dear Katie, say na sae ;
Ye little ken a heart tlial's wac ;
Ha'c ! there's my hand; hear mc, I pray.
Sin' thou'U no gang to Gowrie.
Since first I met thee at the sheil,
My saul to thce's been true and leal ;
The darkest night I fear nae deil,
Warlock, or witch, in Gowrie.
1 fear nae M-ant o' claos, nor nought ;
Sic silly things my mind ne'er taught.
I dream a' niclit, and start about,
And Avish for thee in Gowrie.
I lo'e thee better, Kate, my dear,
Than a' my riggs and out-gaun gear ;
Sit down by me till ancc I swear,
Tliou'rt worth the Carse o' Gowrie.
2C
358 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Syne on her month sweet kisses laid,
Till blushes a' her cheeks o'ersprearl ;
She sighed, and in soft whispers said,
0 Pate, tak' me to Gowrie !
Quo' he, let's to the auld fouk gang ;
Say what they like, I'll bide their bang,
And bide a' nicht, though beds be thrang,
But I'll ha'e thee to Gowrie.
Tlie auld fouk syne baith gied consent :
The priest was ca'd : a' were content ;
And Katie never did repent
That she gaed hame to Gowrie.
For routh o' bonnie bairns had she ;
Mair strappin' lads yo wadna see ;
And her braw lasses bore the gree
Frae a' the rest o' Gowrie,
THE LASS OF ISLA.
SIR ALEXAITDEK EOSWELL, BAP.T.,
Eldest son of the celebrated biographer of Dr. Johnson, M'as born in
1775. He succeeded to the Auchinleck Estate in 1795. Sir Alexander
was a keen politician at a time when political feeling ran high in Scotland,
and not uufrequently called in the aid of his pen to assisb the Tory party.
One of his poetic satires was levelled too openly at James Stuart, younger,
of Duuearu, and a challenge was the result. The opponents met near the
village of Auchtertool in Fife, on the 26th of March, 1822, and resulted
in the death of Sir Alexander.
" Air, Mary, sweetest Maid, farewell !
My hopes are flown, for a's to wreck ;
Ilcaveu richly guard you, love, and heal
Your heart, though mine, alas ! maun break" —
" Dearest lad, what ills betide ?
Is Willie to his love untrue ?
Engaged the morn to be his bride,
Ah ! ha'e ye, ha'e ye ta'en the rue ?"
"Ye canna wear a ragged gown.
Or beggar wed, wi' nought ava ;
My kye are drown'd, my house is down,
My best sheep lies aneath the suaw" —
" Tell na me o' storm or flood,
Or sheep a' sraoor'd ayout the hill,
For Willie's sake, I Willie lo'ed ;
Though poor, ye are my AViiiic still"-
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARB/VNGED. 359
"Yo canna tliole the wind or rain,
Or wander, friendless, far frae hame ;
Cheer, cheer your heart, some other swain
Will soon blot out lost Willie's name" —
"I'll tak' my bundle in my hand.
An' wipe the dew-drop frae my e'e,
I'll wander wi' ye o'er the land,
I'll venture wi' yo through the sea" —
" Forgi'e me, love, 'twas all a snare.
My flocks are safe, we need na part,
I'd forfeit them, and ten times mair,
To clasp thee, Mary, to my heart."
"Plow could yo wi' my feelings sport,
Or doubt a heart sae warm and true ?
I should wish mischief on you for't,
But canna wish ought ill to you."
TASTE LIFE'S GLAD MOMENTS.
em ALEXANDER EOSWELL, BART.
Taste life's glad moments.
Whilst the wasting taper glows ;
Pluck, ere it v/ithers.
The quickly fading rose.
Man blindly folloAvs grief and care,
He seeks for thorns and finds his share,
Wliilst violets to the passing air
Unheeded shed their blossoms.
Taste life's, &c.
When tim'rous nature veUs licr form.
And rolling thunder spreads alarm,
Tlicn, ah I how sweet when, luU'd the storm,
The sun smiles forth at even.
Taste life's, &c.
How spleen and envy anxious flies,
And meek content, in humble guise,
Improves the shrub, a tree shall rise,
Which golden fruits shall yield him.
Taste life's, &c.
Who fosters faith in upright breast,
And freely gives to the distross'd,
There sweet contentment builds her ucst,
And flutters round his bosom.
Taste life's, &c.
360 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
And wlicu life's path grows dark and Btrait,
And pressing ills on ills await,
Then friendship, sorrow to abate,
The helping hand will offer.
Taste life's, &c.
She dries his tears, she strews lus ways,
E'en to the grave, with flow'rcts gay ;
Turns night'to morn, and morn to day,
And pleasure still increases.
Taste life's, &c.
Of life she is tlio fairest band,
Joins brothers truly hand in hand :
Thus onward to a better land
Man journeys light and cheerly.
Taste life's, &c.
JENNY'S BAAVBEE.
SIK ALEXANDER EOSWELL, BAKT.
I JiET four chaps yon birks amang,
Wi' hinging lugs and faces lang ;
I spicred at neebour Bauldy Strang,
Wha's they I see?
Quo' he. ilk cream-faced pawky cliiel,
Thought he was cunning as the deil,
And here they cam', awa' to steal
Jenny's bawbee.
The first, a Captain to his trade,
Wi' skull ill-lined, but back weel-clad,
March'd round the barn, and by the slicd,
And pappcd on his knee :
Quo' he, "My goddess, nymph, and queen,
Your beauty's dazzled baith my cen ! "
But deil a beauty he had seen
But — Jenny's bawbee.
A Lawyer ncist, wi' blatherin' gab,
Wha speeches wove like ony wab,
In ilk ane's corn aye took a dab.
And a' for a fee.
Accounts he owed through a' the toun.
And tradesmen's tongues nae mair could drown,
But now he thocht to clout his gouu
Wi' Jenny's bawbee.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRAl^GED. 361
A Norland Laird neist trotted up,
Wi' bawsand nag and siller whip,
Cried, " Tliere's my beast, lad, baud the grup,
Or tie 't till a tree !
What's gowd to me ? — I've waltli o' Ian' !
Bestow on ane o' worth your han' ! " —
He thocht to pay what he was awn
Wi' Jenny's bawbee.
Drcst up just like the knave o' clubs,
A THING came neist, (but life has rubs,)
Foul were the roads, and fu' the dubs.
And jaupit a' was he,
lie danced up, squinting through a glass,
And grinn'd, "I' faith, a bonnie lass !"
lie thought to win, wi' front o' brass,
Jenny's bawbee.
She bade the Laird gae kamo his wig,
Tlio Sodgcr no to strut sac big,
The Lawyer no to be a ])rig,
Tlie Fool be cried, "Tehee!
I kenn'd that I could never fail !"
But she preon'd the disliclout to liis tail,
And soused him in the water-pail,
And kept her bawbee.
Tlien Johnnie cam', a lad o' sense,
Altliough he had na niony pence ;
And took young Jenny to the spcnee,
Wi' her to crack a wee.
Now Johnnie was a clever chiel,
And licre his suit he prcss'd sac weel,
Tliat Jenny's heart grew saft as jeel,
And she birled her bawbee.
JENNY DANG THE WEAVER.
SIR ALEXANDER BOS'ttTiLL, BAUT.
At Willie's wedding on the green.
The lasses, bonnie witches.
Were a' drcss'd out in aprons clean.
And braw white Sunday mutches;
Auld Maggie bade the lads tak' tent,
But Jock would not believe her;
But soon the fool his folly kent,
For Jenny dang the Weaver.
And JLuny dang, Jenny dang,
Jenny dang the Weaver;
But soon the fool his folly kent,
For Jenny dang tlic Weaver.
362 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
At ilka country dance or reel,
Wi' her he would be bobbing ;
When she sat down — he sat down,
And to her would be gabbing ;
Where'er she gaed baith butt and ben,
The coof would never leave her ;
Aye kecklin' like a clocking hen.
But Jenny dang the Weaver.
Jenny dang, &c.
Quo' he, My lass, to speak my mind.
In troth I ncedna swither ;
You've bonnie een, and if you're kind,
I'll never seek anither ;
lie humra'd and haw'd, the lass cried Peugli !
And bade the coof no deave her ;
Syne snapt her fingers, lap and leugh,
And dang the silly Weaver.
And Jenny dang, Jenny dang,
Jenny dang the Weaver ;
Syne snapt her fingers, lap and Icugh,
And dang the silly Weaver.
AULD GUDEMAN YE'RE A DRUOKEN CARLE.
Sm ALEXANDER BOSWELL.
AuLD gudcman, ye'rc a drucken cai'le, drucken carle ;
A' the lang day ye wink and drink, and gape and gaunt;
0' sottish loons ye'rc the pink and pearl, pink and pearl,
l!l-far'd, doited ne'er-do-woel.
Hccli, gudewife ! ye're a flyting body, flyting body ;
Will ye ha'c ; but, guid be praised, the vnt ye want.
The puttin' cow should be aye a doddy, aye a doddy.
Mak' na sic an awsome reel.
Ye're a sow, aukl man :
Ye got fou, aukl man :
Fyo for shame, auld man ;
To your wame, auld man :
Pinch'd I win, wi' spinnin tow,
A plack to cleid your back and pow.
It's a lie, gudewife,
It's your tea, gudewife,
Na, na, gudewife.
Ye spend a', gudewife.
Dinna fa' on mo pell-mell,
Ye like the drap fu' weel yoursel.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 3G3
Ye's ruo auld gowk, your jest and frolic, jest and frolic.
Dare ye say, goose, I ever liked to tak' a drappy ?
An 'twerena just to cure the cholic, cure the cholic,
Dcil a drap wad weet my mou'.
Troth, gudewife, an' ye wadna swither, wadna swither,
Soon to tak' a cholic, when it brings a drap o' cappy.
But twascore years wo ha'e fought thegither, fought thegithcr ;
Time it is to gree, I trow.
I'm wrang, auld John,
Ower lang, auld John,
For nought, gude John,
We ha'e fought, gude John ;
Let's help to bear ilk ither's weight,
AYe're far ower feckless now to light,
Ye're richt, gude Kate ;
The nicht, gude Kate,
Our cup, gude Kate,
We'll sup, gude Kate ;
Thegither frae this hour we'll draw,
And toom the stoup atween us twa.
SAE WILL WR YET.
W^iiTEU WATSON,
A AATSAVETi at Chvyston, in Stirlingshire. He puWislied in 1808 a volume
of poems, wliich was well received, and several of the songs there printed
became very popular. In 1823 and 184.3 he issued volumes, and in 1853
a selected edition of liis best pieces was issued under the editorship of Mr.
Hugh Macdonald. He died in 1854 in his seventy-fifth year.
Sit ye down here, my cronies, and gi'e us your crack.
Let the win' tak' the care o' this life on its back.
Our hearts to despondency we never will submit.
For we've aye been provided for, and sac will we yet.
And sae will wo yet, &c.
Let the miser delight in the hoarding of pelf,
Since he has not the saul to enjoy it himself:
Since the bounty of providence is new every day,
As we journey through life, let us live by the way.
Let us live by the way, &c.
Then bring us a tankard o' nappy gude ale,
For to comfort our hearts and enliven the talc;
We'll aye be the merrier the langer wc sit,
For we've drank thegither mony a time, and sac will wc yot.
And sac will we yet, &c.
364 THE SOXGS OF SCOTLjVN'D
Success to the farmer, and prosper Lis plough,
Rewarding his eident toils a' the year througli !
Our seed time and harvest we ever will get.
For we've lipjx-n'd aye to Providence, and sae will we yet.
And sac will we yet.
Long live the king, and happy may he be,
And success to his forces by laud and by sea !
His enemies to triumph we never will j^ermit,
Britons aye have been victorious, and sae will they j-et.
And sae will they yet, &c.
Let the glass keep its course, and go merrily roun',
For the sun has to rise, though the moon it goes down.
Till tlie house be rinnin' roun' about, it's time enough to flit :
When we fell, we aye got up again, and sae will we yet.
And sae will we yet, (&-c.
THE BEAES 0' BEDLAY.
WALTER WATSON.
WiiKN I think on the sweet smiles o' my lassie.
My cares flee awa' like a thief frae the day ;
My heart lonps light, an' I join in a sang
Amang the sweet birds on tlie braes o' Bcdlay ;
How sweet the embrace, yet how honest the wisl'ies,
When hive fa's a-wooin', an' modesty blushes ;
Whar Mary an' I meet amang the green bushes,
That screen us sae weel on the braes o' Bedla'v.
There's nane sae trig, or sac fair, as my lassie,
An' mony a wooer she answers wi' Nay,
Wha fain wad ha'e her to lea'e me alane,
An' meet me nae raair on the braes o' Bedlay.
I fearna, I carena, their braggin' o' siller,
Nor a' the fine things they can think on to tell her :
Nae vauntin' can buy her, nae threat'nin' can sell her,
It's luve leads her out to the braes o' Bedlay.
We'll gang by the links o' the wild rowin' burnie,
Whar ait in my mornin' o' life I did stray,
Whar luve was invited and care was beguil'd,
By Mary an' me, on the braes o' Bedlay ;
Sae lovin', sae movin', Fll tell her my story,
Umnix't wi' the deeds o' ambition for glory,
Whar wide spreadin' hawthorns, sae ancient and hoary,
Enrich the sweet breeze on the braes o' Bedlay.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 3G5
BOBBING JOHN.
ROBERT JAMIESON.
Editor of '^Popular Ballads and Sougs," ISOC. A native of Moray,
where he was boru iu ITSO. lie held for a long time the position of
Assistant Deputy Clerk Eegister. He died in London in 1844.
IIey for bobbing John !
Kittle up the chanter !
Bang up a stratlispey,
So fling wi' Jolm the ranter.
Johnnie's stout an' bald,
Ne'er could thole a banter;
Bein in byre and fauld,
An', lasses, he's a wanter !
Back as braid's a door ;
Bowhought like a filly ;
Thick about the brawns.
An' o'er the breast and belly,
IIey for bobbing John !
Kiltie up the chanter!
Cancans are a' gane gyte,
To fling wi' John the ranter.
Bonnie's his black e'e,
Blinkin', blythe, and vogie,
Wi' lassie on liis knee,
In his nieve a coggie ;
Sync the lad will kiss.
Sweetly kiss an' cudille ;
Canld wad l)e her heart,
That could wi' Johnnie widdle.
Sense fa' bobbing John ;
Want an' wae gae by liiin ;
There's in town nor land
Nae duel disna envy hini.
Flingin' to the pipe,
^ Bobbing to the fiddle,
Kneif was ilka lass,
That could wi' Johnnie meddle.
GO TO IILAl.
ROBERT JAJnESQN.
Go fo hini, then, if thou canst go;
Waste not a thought on nic ;
My heart and mind arc a' mj'- store; — •
They ancc were dear to thee.
3G6 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
But there is music in his gold,
(I ne'er sae sweet could sing,)
That finds a chord in every breast.
In unison to ring.
The modest virtues dread the spell ;
Tlie honest loves retire ;
The finer sympathies of soul
Far other charms require.
The breathings of my plaintive reed
Sink dying in despair;
Tlie still small voice of gratitude,
Even that is heard nae mair.
But, if thy heart can suffer thee.
The powerful cause obey ;
And mount the splendid bed that wealth
And i^ride for thee display.
Tliere gaily bid farewell to a'
Love's trembling hopes and fears ;
While I my lonely pillow, here.
Wash with unceasing tears.
Yet, in the fremmit arms of him,
TJiat half thy worth ne'er knew,
0 think na on my lang-tricd love,
IIow tender and how true !
For sure 'twould break tliy tender heart,
My breaking heai't to see,
Wi' a' the wrangs and waes it tholed.
And yet maun thole for thee.
THE QUERN LILT.
ROBERT JAJOESON.
The cronacli stills the dowie heart,
The jurram stills the bairnie ;
The music for a hungry wame
Is grinding o' the quernie.
And loes mo o' my little quernie !
Grind the graddan, grind it :
We'll a' get crowdie whan it's done
And bannocks steeve to bind it.
The married man his joy may prize :
The lover prize his arles ;
But gin the quernie gangna round.
They baith will soon be sareless.
Sae loes me, &c.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRAKGED. 3G?
The whisky gars the bark o' life
Drive merrily and rarely ;
But graddan is the ballast gars
It steady gang and fairly.
Then Iocs me, &c.
Though winter steeks the door wi' drift,
x\.nd o'er the ingle hings us ;
Let but the little quei'nie gac,
We're blythe, whateA^er dings us.
Then loes me, &c.
And how it cheers the herd at e'en,
And sets his heart-strings dirlin',
Wlien, comin' frae the hungry lull,
He licars the quernie birlin' !
Then Iocs mc, &c.
Though sturt and stride wi' young and aulil.
And llytin' butt and ben be ;
Let but the quernie ]day, they'll fjoou
A' lown and fidgiu'-fain be.
Then Iocs mc, &c.
THE LAND ART LAIRD.
FROM JiOra^SON'S BALLADS.
TiiERK lives a landart laird in Fife,
And he has married a dandily wife;
Slic wadna shape, nor yet wad slie sew.
But sit wi' her cummers, and fill hersel' fu'.
She wadna spin, nor yet wad she card ;
But she wad sit and crack wi' the laird :
Sac he is doun to the shccp-fauld,
And cleekit a wether by the spauld.
He's whirled aff the gudo wctlicr's skin.
And wrapped the dandily lady therein.
" I downa pay you, for your gentle kin ;
But wecl may I skclp my wether's skin."
TRANENT WEDDING.
PETER FORBES,
A GARDENER at Dalkcith. IIo pxihlishcd a volumo of poems in 1812.
It was at a wedding near Tranent,
Wlicrc scores an' scores on fun were bent,
An' to ride the broose wi' full intent,
Was citlicr nine or ten, jo !
Then alT they a' set galloping, galloping,
Legs an' arms a walloping, walloping, "
Sliamo take the hindmost, quo' Duncan M'Callapin,
Laird o' Tullybcn, jo.
368 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
The souter he was fidgin' fiiin,
An' stuck like reset till the mane,
Till smash like aukl boots in a drain,
He nearly reach'd his end, jo !
Yet still they a' gade, &c.
The miller's mare flew o'er the souter,
An syne bec:an to glow'r about her,
Cries Hab, I'll gi'e you double moutcr,
Gin yc'll ding Tullybcn, jo.
Tlicn still they a' gade, &c.
Now Will the weaver rode sae kittle,
Ye'd thought he was a flying shuttle,
llis doup it daddet like a bittle,
But wafted till the end, jo.
Yet still they a' gade, &c.
Tlie tailor had an awkward beast.
It fnnkct first an' syne did reest,
Then threw poor Snipe five cU at least.
Ijike aukl breeks, o'er the mane, jo.
Yet a' the rest gade, &c.
The blacksmith's beast was last of a'.
Its sides like bcllowses did blaw,
Till he an' it got sic a fa'.
An' bruises nine or ten, jo.
An' still the lave gade, &c.
Now Duncan's mare she dew like drift,
An' aye sae fast her feet did lift,
Between ilk stenn she ga'e a rift.
Out frae her hinder end, jo.
Yet aff they a' gade, &c.
Now Duncan's mare did bang them a',
To rin wi' him they maunna fa',
Then up his gray mare he did draw,
The broose it was his ain, jo.
Nae mair Avi' liim they'll gallop, they'll gallop,
Nae mair wi' him they'll wallop, they'll wallop,
Or they will chance to get some jallup,
Frae the laird o' Tullyben, jo.
CHRONOLOGICALLY AllKANGED, 369
now WEEL, MY BOATIE.
ANONYMOUS.
Appeaeed iu 181 G. Air by R. A. Smith.
Row wcel, my boatie, row wccl,
Row weel, my merry men u',
For there's dool and there's wae in Glcnfioricli's bowers,
And there's grief in my father's ha'.
And the skiff it danc'd light on the merry wee waves,
And it flew ower the water i^ae blue,
And the wind it blew light, and the moon it shone bright,
But the boatie ne'er reached AUandhu.
Ohon ! for fair Ellen, ohon !
Ohon ! for the pride of Strathcoc —
In the deep, deep sea, in the salt, salt bree,
Lord Reoch, thy Ellen lies low.
THE HILLS 0' GALLOWA'.
THOMAS M. CUNNINGHAM,
BoEN 177G, died at London in 1834. An cider brotlicr of Allan Cuuiiinf;-
ham. Ho was principal clerk to Ecnnic the cclchratcd Engineer, llis
poems were principally coutributcd to "The Scots Shigazinc," and the
"Edinburgh Magazine."
Amang the birks sac blythe an' gay,
I met my Julia hanieward gaun ;
The Unties chauntit on the spray,
I The lammies loupit on the lawn ;
On ilka howm the sward was mawu,
Tlie braes wi' gowans bu&kit bra'.
An' gloamin's plaid o' gray was thrawn
Out owrc the hills o' Gallowa'.
Wi' music wild the woodhands rang,
An' fragrance wing'd alang the lea,
As down we sat the ilowers amang,
Upon tlic banks o' stately Dee ;
My Julia's arms encircled me.
An' saftly slade the hours awa'.
Till dawin coost a glimmerin' c'o
Upon the hills o' Gallowa'.
It isna owsen, sliecp, and kye,
It isna gowd, it isna gear.
This lifted c'o wad ha'o, quoth I,
The warld's drumlic gloom to chcci".
370 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
But gi'o to me my Julia dear,
Ye powers wha rowe this yirtlien ba',
An' 0 1 sae blytlie through life I'll steer,
Amang the hills o' Gallowa'.
Whan gloamiu' dauners up the hill,
An' our gudcman ca's hame the yowcs,
Wi' her I'll trace the mossy rill
That owre the muir meand'ring rowcs ;
Or tint amang the scroggy knoAves,
My birken pipe I'll sweetly blaw.
An' sing the streams, the straths, and howcB,
The hills an' dales o' Gallowa'.
An' whan auld Scotland's heathy hills,
Her rural nymphs an' jovial swains.
Her flow'ry wilds an' wimpling rills,
Awake nae mair my canty strains ;
Wliai-e friendship dwells an' freedom reigns,
Whare heather blooms an' muircocks craw,
0 ! dig my grave, and hide my bancs
Amang the hills o' Gallowa'.
THE BRAES OF BALLAIIUN.
THOMAS CUNNINGHAM.
Now smiling summer's balmy breeze,
Soft whispering, fans the leafy trees :
The linnet greets the rosy morn,
Sweet in yon fragrant flowery thorn ;
The bee hums round the woodbine bower,
Collecting sweets from every flower ;
And pure the crystal streamlets run
Amang the braes of Ballahun.
0 blissful days, for ever fled,
When wand'ring wild as Fancy led,
1 ranged the bushy bosom'd glen.
The scroggic shaw, the rugged linn,
And mark'd each blooming hawthorn bush.
Where nestling sat the speckled thrush ;
Or careless roaming, wandered on,
Amang the braes of Ballahun.
^o
Why starts the tear, why bursts the sigh,
When hills and dales rebound with joy?
The flowery glen, and lilied lea
In vain display their charms to me.
CHRONOLOaiCALLY ARRANGED. 371
I joyless roam the heathy waste,
To soothe this sad, this troubled breast ;
And seek the haunts of men to shun
Amang the braes of Ballahun.
The virgin blush of lovely youth,
The angel smile of artless truth,
This breast illum'd with heavenly joy,
Which lyart time can ne'er destroy :
0 Julia dear ! — the parting look.
The sad farewell we sorrowing took,
Still haunts me as I stray alone
Amang the braes of Ballahun,
ADVICE TO THE LASSIES,
J. BUTtTT,
A NATIVE of Knockm^.rlock ia Ayrshire, where he was born in 1790.
Ue Avas bred a weaver and worked at that trade till 1807, when he was
pressed ou one of His Majesty's ships of war, The Magnificent, where he
served for five years. On his return to Scotland, he worked again for a
while at his trade, then he opened a small school in Kihnarnock. In
181G ho went to Paisley, stUl following his new profession of teacher,
but not meeting with success, he emigrated in the following year to
America, when he became a licentiate of the Presbyterian Church. He
linally settled in Philadelphia as Pastor of a Presbyterian Chmch there.
A life of adventure truly, with the golden ending so seldom allotted to
poets.
Lassies, lookna sourly meek,
But laugh an' love in youth's gay morn :
If ance the bloom forsake your cheek,
Fareweel your heuks, the'hairst is shorn.
The secret favour that you meet,
Or the favour ye return.
If vainly ye let ithers see't,
Fareweel your heuks, the hairst is shorn,
\Vi' care the tender moments grip.
When your cautious lovers burn ;
But if you let that moment slip,
Fareweel your heuks, the hairst is shorn.
Be on your guard wi' Sir or Laird ;
A' ties but that o' marriage spurn ;
For if ye grant what he may want,
Fareweel your heuks, your hairst is shorn.
The lad that's wi your siller ta'cn,
Ivcject his vows wi' honest scorn ;
For ance the glitterin' ore's his ain,
Fareweel your heuks, the hairst is shorn.
f,72 Tilli: SONGS Ol-- SCOTLAND
Widows rest you as ye arc —
Nae lover now dare crook liis horn ;
But mak' him master o' your gear —
Fareweel your heuks, the liairst is shorn.
Lassies tliat nac lads ha'c got,
But live in garrets lane and lorn,
Lot ilk be carefu' o' her cat —
Ne'er think o' heuks — your hairst is shorn.
O'ER THE MIST-SimOUDED CLIFTS.
JOHN BlXRTr.
O'er the mist-sln-ouded clifts of the gray mountain straying,
Where the wild winds of winter incessantly rave ;
What woes wring my heart, while intently surveying
The storm's gloomy path on the breast of the wave.
Ye foam-crested billows allov/ me to wail,
Ere ye toss me afar from my loved native shore ;
Where the flower which bloom'd sweetest in Coila's green vale,
The pride of my bosom, my Mary's no more !
No more by the banks of the streamlet we'll wander,
And smile at the moon's rimpled face in the wave ;
No more shall my arms cling with fondness around her,
For the dew-drops of morning fall cold on her grave.
No more shall the soft thrill of love warm my breast,
I haste with the storm to a far distant shore.
Where unknown, unlamented, my ashes shall rest,
And joy shall revisit my bosom no more.
TO THINK 0' THEE.
JOnN BTJRTT,
0 LASSIE I lo'e dearest,
Mair fair to me than fairest,
Mair rare to me than rarest ;
How sweet to think o' thee !
When blythe the blue e'ed dawniu'
Steals saftly o'er the lawnin',
And furls night's sable awnm',
I love to think o' thee.
An' while the honied dew-drap
Still trembles at the flower-tap,
The fairest bud I pu't up,
An' kiss't for sake o' thee ;
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. i^73
An' when by stream, or fountain,
In glen, or on the uiountain,
The lingering- moments counting,
I pause an' think o' thee.
When the sun's red-rays are strcamin',
Warm on the meadow beamin',
Or o'er the loch v,-ild glcamin',
My heart is fu' o' thcc.
An' tardy-footed gloamin',
Out o'er the hills slow comin',
Still finds me lanely roamin',
And thinkin' still o' thee.
When soughs the distant billow,
An' night blasts shake the willow,
Strctch'd on my lanely pillow
IMy dreams are a' o' thee.
Then think when fricn's caress thee,
0 think when cares distress thee,
0 think when pleasures bless thee,
0' him that thinks o' thcc !
v^AND CAN THY BOSOM BEAR THE THOUGHT?
JOnN G OLDIE,
Bouw at Ayr in 1798. He was for some time Editor of the Ayr Courier,
WiL latterly conducted the Paisley Advertiser. He died suddenly in 182G.
And can thy bosom bear the thought.
To part frae love and me, laddie ?
Are all those plighted vows forgot,
Sac fondly pledged by thee, laddie ?
Can'st thou forget the midnight hour,
When in yon love-inspiring bower,
You vow'd by every heavenly power,
You'd ne'er lo'e ane but rac, laddie ?
Wilt thou — wilt thou gang and leave me,
Win mj' heart, and then deceive me?
Oh ! that heart will break, believe me,
Gin ye part wi' mo, laddie.
Aft ha'e ye roos'd my rosy cheek,
Aft prais'd my sparkling e'e, laddie,
Aft said nae bliss on earth ye'd seek.
But love and live wi' me, laddie.
But soon those checks will lose their red,
Those eyes in endless sleep be hid,
2 D
%
374 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
And 'neath the turf the heart bo laid,
That beats for love, and thee, laddie.
Wilt thou — wilt thou gang and leave me,
AVin my heart and then deceive me ?
Oh 1 that heart will break, believe me,
Gin ye part frae me, laddie.
You'll meet a form mair sweet and fair,
Where rarer beauties shine, laddie.
But oh ! the heart can never beai',
A love sae true as mine, laddie.
But when that heart is laid at rest,
That heart that lo'ed ye last and best,
Oh, then the pangs that rend thy breast,
Will sharper be than mine, laddie.
Broken vows will vex and grieve me,
Till a broken heart relieve me.
Yet its latest thought, believe mo,
Will be love and thine, laddie.
SWEET'S THE DEW-DECK'D ROSE.
JOHN GOLDIE.
Sweet's the dow-deck't rose in June,
And lily fair to see, Annie,
But there's ne'er a flower that blooms,
Is half so fair as thee, Annie.
Beside those blooming cheeks o' thine,
The opening rose its beauties tine.
Thy lips the rubies far outshine ;
Love sparkles in thy e'e, Annie.
The snaw that decks yon mountain top,
Nae purer is than thee, Annie ;
The haughty mien, and pridefu' look,
Are banish'd far frae thee, Annie ;
And in thy sweet angelic face.
Triumphant beams each modest grace,
" And ne'er did Grecian chisel trace,"
A form sae bright as thine, Annie.
Wha could behold thy rosy cheek,
And no feel love's sharp pang, Annie,
What heart could view thy smiling looks,
And plot to do thee wrang, Annie.
Thy name in ilka sang I'll weave,
My heart, my soul wi' thee I'll leave,
And never, tUl I cease to breathe,
I'll cease to think on thee, Annie,
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 375
VITTOPtlA.
■\VILLLVJI GLEN,
A NATIVE of Glasgow. " Ho was, for some period of his life," says Mi'.
Whitelaw, " a manufactm-er in liis native city, but his latter days were
marked by the poet's too frequent lot, poverty and misforiune." He died in
1826. A volume of " Poems," chiefly lyiical, was published by him in 18 15.
Sing a' yo bards \vi' loud acclaim,
High glory gi'e to gallant Grahamc,
Heap laurels on our Marshal's fame,
Wha conquor'd at Vittoria.
Triumphant freedom smiled on Spain,
An' raised her stately form again,
AVhan the British Lion shook his mane
On the mountains o' Vittoria.
Let blust'rin' Suchet crously crack,
Let Joseph rin the coward's track,
And Jourdan wish his baton back,
He left upon Vittoria ;
If e'er they meet their worthy king,
Let them dance roun' him in a ring,
An' some Scottish piper play tlic spring
He blew them at Vittoria.
Gi'c truth an' honour to the Dane,
Gi'e German's monarch heart and brain ;
But aye in such a cause as Spain,
Gi'c Britons a Vittoria.
The English Rose was ne'er sac red.
The Shamrock waved whare glory led.
And the Scottish Thistle raised its head,
An' smiled upon Vittoria.
Loud was the battle's stormy swell,
Whare thousands fought and mony fell;
But the Glasgow heroes bore the bell
At the battle of Vittoria.
The Paris maids may ban them a',
Their lads arc maistly wedc awa'.
An' cauld an' pale as wreaths o' snaw
They lie upon Vittoria.
Wi' quakin' heart and tremblin' knees
The Eagle standard-bearer Uccs,
While the "meteor flag" floats to tho breeze,
An' wantons on Vittoria.
Britannia's glory there was show'n,
By the undaunted Wellington,
An' tho tyrant trembled on his throne,
Whan hearin' o' Vittoria,
376 "EHE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Peace to the spirits o' the brave,
Let a' their trophies for them wave,
An' green be our Cadogan's grave,
Upon tliy fiekl, Vittoria !
There let eternal laurels bloom,
While maidens mourn his early doom.
An' deck his loAvly honour'd tomb
Wi' roses on Vittoria.
Yc Caledonian war-pipes play,
Barossa heard your Ilighlan' lay,
An' the gallant Scot show'd there that day,
A prelude to Vittoria.
Shout to the heroes — swell ilk voice,
To them wha made poor Spain rejoice,
Shout AVcllington an' Lynedoch, boys.
Barossa an' Vittoria !
GLASGOW FAIR.
JOHN ERECKENEmGE,
A COMrosiTOR iu GlasKOW about 1820.
■ &^
0, THE sun frae the eastward was peeping,
And braid through the winnocks did stare,
AVlicn Willie cried — Tam, are ye sleeping?
LLak' haste, man, and rise to the fair ;
For the lads and the lasses are thranging.
And a' body's now in a steer ;
Fye, haste ye, and let us be ganging,
Or, faith, we'll be langsome I icar.
Lilt te turan an uran, &c.
Then Tam he got up in a hurry,
And wow but lie made himsel' snod.
And a pint o' milk brose he did worry,
To mak him mair teugh for the road :
On his head his blue bannct lie slippet,
His whip o'er his shouthcr he flang.
And a clumsy oak cudgel he grippet,
On purpose the loons for to bang.
Lilt to turan an uran, &c.
Now Willock had Irystcd wi' Jenny,
For she was a braw canty quean.
Word gade that she had a gay penny,
For whilk Willie fondly did grean,
CHRONOLOGICALLY AHRANGED. 377
Now Tam he was blaming the liquor,
Yea night he had got himsel' fou,
And trystcd glecd Maggy MacVicar,
And faitli he thoclit shame for to rue.
Lilt tc turan an uran, &c.
')
The carles, fu' cadgie, sat cocking
Upon their white nags and their brown,
Wi' snuffing, and laughing, and jokuig,
They soon cantered into the town;
'Twas there was the funning and sporting.
Eh ! lord what a swarm o' braw folk,
Eowly-powly, wild beasts, wheel o' fortune,
Sweety Stan's, Maister Punch, and black Jock.
Lilt te turan an uran, &c.
Now Willock and Tam gayan bouzio,
By this time liad met wi' their joes,
Consented wi' Gibbio and Susy
To gang awa' down to the shows ;
'Twas there was the fiddling and drumming,
Sic a crowd they could scarcely get through,
Fiddles, trumpets, and organs a bunmiing;
0, Sirs, what a liully-baloo !
Lilt te turan an uran, &c.
Then hie to the tents at the paling,
Weel theeked wi' blankets and mats.
And deals seated round like a tap-room,
Supported on stancs and on pats;
The whisky like water they're seUing ;
And porter as sma' as tlicir yill, —
And aye as you're pouring they're telling,
"Troth, dear, it's just sixpence tlie gill 1"
Lilt te turan an uran, &c.
Says Meg — " See yon beast wi' the clacs on't,
\Vi' the face o't as black as the soot,
Preserve's ! it has fingers and taes on't —
Ell, lass, it's an unco like brute !"
" 0, woman, but ye are a gomeral,
To mak' sic a won'er at that,
D'ye na ken, you daft gowk, that's a mongrel,
That's bred 'twixt a dog and a cat."
Lilt te turan an uran, &c.
" See yon souple jaud how she's dancing,
Wi' the white ruffled breeks and red slioon,
Frae the tap to the tae she's a' glancing
Wi' gowd, and a feather aboon, — •
378 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
My troth, she's a braw decent kimmcr,
As I have yet seen m the fair."
" Her decent ! " quo' Meg, " she's a limmer,
Or, faith, she would never be there."
Lilt tc turan an uran, &c.
Now Gibbie was wanting a toothfu'.
Says he, " I'm right tired o' the fun.
D'ye think we'd be the waur o' a mouthfu'
0 gudc nappy yill and a bun? "
" Wi' a' my heart," Tam says, " I'm willing, —
'Tis best for to water the corn ;
By jing, I've a bonnie white shilling.
And a saxpence that ne'er saw the morn."
Lilt te turan an uran, &q.
Before they got out o' the bustle,
Poor Tam got his fairing I trow,
For a stick at the ginge'bread play'd whistle,
And knocked him down like a cow ;
Says Tam, " Wlia did that, deil confound him—
Fair play, let me w'm. at the loon,"
And ho whirled his stick round and round him,
And swore like a very dragoon.
Lilt tc turan an uran, &c.
Then nest for a house they gacd glow'ring,
Wharo they might get wetting then- mou'.
Says Meg, " Here's a house keeps a pourhig,
Wi' the sign o' the nmckle black cow."
" A cow !" quo' Jenny, " ye gawky !
Preserve us ! but ye've little skill,
Did yo e'er see a hawky like that —
Look again and ye'll see it's a hill.''''
Lilt te turan an uran, &c.
But just as they darken'd the entry,
Says Willie, " We're now far enough,
I see it's a house for the gentry —
Let's gang to the sign o' the plough."
" Na faith," then says Gibbie, " wc'se raithci
Gae dauner to auld Luckie Gunn's,
For tliere I'm to meet wi' my faither.
And auld uncle John o' the Whins."
Lilt tc turan an uran, &c.
Now they a' in Luckie's had landed,
Twa rounds at the bicker to try,
The whisky and yill round was handed
And baps in great bouvocks did lie,
CIir.OXOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 379
Blind Aleck the fiddler was trysted,
And he was to handle the bow ;
On a big barrel head he was hoisted,
To keep himsel' out o' the row.
Lilt to tnran an uran, &c.
Had yc seen sic a din and guffawing,
Sic hooching and dancing was there,
Sic rugging, and riving, and drawing,
Was ne'er seen before in a fair.
For Tam, ho wi' Maggy was wheeling,
And he gied sic a terrible loup,
Tluit his head came a thump on tho ceiling,
And he cam' down wi' a dump on his doup.
Lilt te turan an uran, &c.
Now they ate and they drank till their bellies
Were bent like tho head o' a drum,
Sync they raise, and they capered like fillies,
Whene'er that the fiddle played bum.
Wi' dancing they now were grown wearj^.
And scarcely were able to stan',
So they took to the road a' fu' cheery.
As day was beginning to dawn.
Lilt to turan an uran, &c.
WOO'D AND MARRIED AND A'.
MRS. SCOTT,
Of Dnmbartonshirc. Written a'ooixt 1810.
The grass had nae freedom o' growin'
As lang as she wasna awa',
Nor in the toun could there be stowiu'
For wooers that wanted to ca'.
Sic boxin', sic brawlin', sic dancin'.
Sic bowin' and sh.akin' a paw;
Tho toun was for ever in brulyies :
But now the lassie's awa'.
Wooed, and married, and a'.
Married, and wooed, and a' ;
Tlio dandalie toast of the parish,
She's wooed, and she's carried awa'.
But had he a' kenn'd her as I did,
His wooin' it wad ha'c been sma' :
She kens neither bakin', nor brc^in',
Nor cardin', nor spinnin' ava^
380 TUE SONGS OF SCOTLAKi;
But a' her skill lies in her buskin' :
And, 0, if her braws were awa',
She sune wad wear out o' fashion,
And knit up her buggers wi' straw.
But yesterday I gaed to sec licr,
And, 0, she was boiuiie and braw ;
She cried on her gudcman to gi'c her
An ell o' red ribl)on or twa.
He took, and lie set down beside her
A wheel and a reel for to ca' ;
Slie cried. Was he that way to guide her?
And out at the door and awa'.
Tlic fn-st road slie gaed was her mitlicr,
Wha said, Lassie, how gaes a' ?
Quo' she. Was it for nae ither
That I was married awa',
But to be set down to a wheelie,
And at it for ever to ca' ?
And sync to hae't recl'd by a chieldio
That's everly crying to draw.
Her mither said till her, Ilceh, lassie !
He's wisest, I fear, o' the twa ;
There'll be little to put in the tassie,
Gif ye be sae backward to draw ;
For now ye should work like a tiger,
And at it buith wallop and ca',
Sao lang's ye ha'e youdith and vigour.
And Aveanies and debt keep awa'.
Sae swift away hame to your liaddiii',
The mair fule j^e e'er came awa' ;
Te maunna be ilka day gaddin',
Nor gang sae white-finger'd and braw ;
For now wi' a neebor ye're yokit.
And wi' him should cannilie draw ;
Or else ye deserve to be knockit —
So that's an answer for a'.
Young Luckie thus fand hersell mitherM,
And wish'd she had ne'er come awa' ;
At length v/i' hersell slie consider'd.
That hanieward 'twas better to draw.
And e'en tak' a chance o' the landiu',
However that matters might fa' :
Folk maunna on freits aye be standin',
That's wooed, and married, and a',
CURONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 381
THE FOLK AT LINDORES.
JAMES STIELING,
A scnooLMASTEit in Glasgow about 1820.
0 WEEL may I mind on the folk at Lindorcs ;
Though it's lang- sin' I had onic troke at Lindorcs ;
For the blytho winter night
Flew o'er us fu' light,
Wi' the sang, an' the crack, an' the joke at Lindorcs.
The auld wife an' the lasses Avould spin at Lindorcs ;
An' the auld man to tales wovdd begin at Lindorcs,
How in days o' his youth
The red rebels cam' south,
An' s^Dulzied the feck o' his kin at Lindorcs.
An' he'd tell monie strange says and saws at Lindorcs ;
How he hated the dominie's tawse at Lindores,
How i' the lang-day
The truan' he'd play.
An' set aff to hcrrie the craws at Lindorcs.
An' he'd sing monie an auld warld rhyme at landores ;
An' tell o' the Covenant time at Lindorcs ;
How Clavcrs, fell cliiel' !
AVas in league wi' tlic dcil,
How a ball stottit ance aff his wame at Lindorcs.
Tliey were kind to ilk body that came to Lindores,
To the pnir, an' the blind, an' the lame at Lmdorcs ;
Wi' handfuls o' meal.
An' Avi' platefuls o' kale,
An' the stranger was sure o' a hamo at Lindores.
But the auld man's departed tliis life at Lindorcs ;
An' a tear's in the e'o o' the wife at Lindores ;
I dinna wccl ken
"Whan I'll be there again.
Cut sorrow, I'm fearin', is rife at Lindores.
JENNY'S BAWBEE.
FROJI CILVMBEUS'S SONGS.
"This song," says Mr. Chambers, "the composition as I liavo been in-
formed of a clergyman in Galloway, was never before printed."
When gloamin o'er the welkin steals,
And brings the ploughman frae tlic lid's,
Oh, Jenny's cot, amang the shiels,
Is aye the hamc to mo.
382 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAKD
To meet wi' her my heart is fain,
And parting gi'es me meikle pain ;
A queen and throne I would disdain
For Jenny's ae bawbee.
Tho' braws slie has na mony feck,
Nae riches to command respec',
Pier rosy lip and lily neck
Mair pleasure gi'e to me.
I see her beauties, prize them a',
Wi' heart as pure as new-blawn snaw ;
I'd prize her cot before a ha',
Wi' Jenny's ae bawbee.
Nae daisy, wi' its lovely form,
Nor dew-drap shining frao the corn,
Nor echo frae the distant horn.
Is half sac sweet to me !
And if tho lassie were my ain,
For her I'd toil through wind and rain,
And gov/d and siller I would gain
Wi' Jenny's ae bawbee.
THE SOLDIER'S GRAVE.
JAMES KRASER.
Adthoh of a volume of Poems published at Edinburgh iu 1818.
Dear land of my birth, of my friends, of my love,
Shall I never again climb thy mountains ;
Nor wander at eve through some lone leafy grove,
To list to the dash of thy fountains ?
Shall no hand tliat I love close my faint beaming eye,
That darkens 'mid wari'are and danger?
Ah, no ! for I feel that my last heaving sigh
iVIust fleet on the gale of the stranger.
Then farev/ell, ye valleys, ye fresh blooming bow'rs,
Of childhood the once happy dwelling ;
No more in your haunts shall I chase the gay hours,
For death at my bosom is kneeling.
But proudly tho lotus shall bloom o'er my grave,
And mark where a freeman is sleeping,
And my dirge shall be heard in the Nile's dashing wave
While the Arab his night watch is keeping.
'Twas a soldier who spoke — but his voice now is gone,
And lowly tho hero is lying ;
No sound meets the ear, save the crocodile's moan,
Or tho breeze through the palm-tree sighing.
CHRONOLOGICALLY AtlRANGET). 383
But lone thougli he rests where the camel is scon,
By the wiklcrness heavily pacing ;
His grave in our bosoms shall ever be grccu,
And his monmnent ne'er know defacinir.
NOW SPRING AGAIN.
JAMES FRASER.
When gowans sprinkled a' the lea,
An' blossoms hung on ilka tree,
'Twas then my Jcanie's saft blue c'c
Shot a-' its witchery through me.
I felt — I wonder'd at the smart,
New wishes floated roun' my heart —
Ah ! little kenn'd I 'twas a dart
That's fated to undo me.
Tlirough lancly glen and greenwood shaw
I stole frac heartless mirth awa',
Or wander'd heedless o' tlie snaw,
Tliat heap'd its wraiths around me ;
But still 1 felt I kenn'd nae what,
Nor wist I what I would be at ;
And aftentiraes my cheek Avas wat,
Though stars slione clear aboon me.
And when a sidelang stowan glance
I took, as if't might seem by chance,
My very bluid was in a dance —
My heart lap sae within me.
Tier voice was music in my ear —
Ilcr lip I daur'd na touch ibr fear,
But 0 methought the hinny pear
Less sweetness had to win mc.
0 Jeanic! dinna think I'm cauld,
When ither lads may bo mair bauld ;
True love like mine can ne'er bo tauld —
'Tis constancy maun prove me.
Your hair I'll braid wi' spring's young flow'rg,
I'll shade you cool in simmer bow'rs,
An' a' the winter's lang cauld houra
Nae blast shall ever move ye.
884 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
WHEN LONELY THOU WANDEREST.
RET. DAVID AP.MOT,
Of Dundee. He published a volume of Poems in 1825.
When lonely thou wanclerest along by the wild wood
As twilight steals over the earth like a dream ;
An' nature, all lovely as when in her childhood,
On thy heart and thine eye in beauty may beam.
When over the world the gray shades are returning,
And the star of the evenhig all silent is burning,
With splendour celestial the heavens adorning,
And thy soul is enraptured by ecstasy's gleam.
Then think of thy lover who sighoth in sadness,
When viewing that star as he wanders alone.
Which once to his soul was the emblem of gladness,
As thy faithful bosom he rested upon.
Oh ! think of tlie woes on his heart that arc preying.
And tliiuk of that love that can know no decaying.
And, oil ! may that breast never dream of betraying
The youth it has blest in the days that are gone.
THE TEARS I SHED.
MRS. DUGALD STEWART,
Born iu 17C5. She was the daughter of the nonoiu-r.tjle George Crans-
toun, a sou of tlic fifth Lord Cranstoun. She married iu 1790 llie
celebrated Professor Dugald Stewart, and died at Edinbxu-gh iu 183S.
Tlie first four lines of the fiflh stanza arc by Eurns.
The tears I shed must ever fall :
I mourn not for an absent swain ;
For tlioughts may past delights recall,
And parted lovers meet again,
I weep not for the silent dead :
Their toils arc past, their sorrows o'er;
And those they loved their steps sliall trcful,
And death shall join to part no more.
Though boundless oceans roll between.
If certain that his heart is near,
A conscious transport glads each scene,
Soft is the sigh, and sweet the tear.
E'en when by death's cold liand removed,
We mourn the tenant of tlie tomb :
To think that e'en in death he loved,
Can gild the horrors of the gloom.
CHRONOLOGICALLY AIUIANOED. 385
But bitter, bitter arc the tears
Of lier who slighted love bewails ;
No hope her dreary prospect cheers,
No pleasing melancholy hails.
Hers are the pangs of wounded pride.
Of blasted hope, of withcr'd joy ;
The flattering veil is rent aside.
The flame of love bui-ns to destroy.
In vain does memory renew
The hours once tinged in transport's dye ;
The sad reverse soon starts to view,
And turns the past to agony.
E'en time itself despairs to cure
Those pangs to ev'ry feeling due :
Ungenerous youth ! thy boast how poor,
To win a heart — and break it too.
No cold approach, or alter'd mien.
Just what would make suspicion start ;
No pause the dire extremes between
He made mc blest — and broke my heart.
From hope, the wretched's anchor, torn;
Neglected and neglecting all ;
Friendless, forsaken, and forlorn ;
The tear I shed must ever fall.
JOCK 0' HAZELDEAN.
SIR WALTER SCOTT, BART.
TiiK sloiy of Sir Walter Scott's life is so familiar to every admirer of
Scotch Literature tliat it is needless to enter into it here. Suffice it lo
state tliat he was Ijorn at Ediuburgfi on tlic 15tli of August 1771 ; studied
for the bar, to wliicli lie was called in 1792, and that tliough nominally
following that profession durinrr his whole life time, literature was liis real
pursuit. " The Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border," " The Lay of the Last
Minstrel," "Mannioii," and other Works, enchanted the reading public, and
placed him for a tijue at tlie head of all contemporary poets. In 181-1 ho
issued the first of that wonderful series of Eonianccs — " The Waverley
Novels." Sir Walter died at Abbotsford in 1832.
" Why weep ye by the tide, ladye —
Why weep ye by the tide ?
ril wed ye to my youngest son.
And ye sail be his bride;
And 3^e sail be his bride, ladye,
Sao comely to be seen : "
13ut aye she loot the tears down fa',
For Jock q' Hazcldcan.
386 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
" Now let this wilful grief be done,
And dry that cheek so pale :
Young Frank is chief of Errington,
And lord of Langley dale ;
His step is first in peaceful ha'
His sword in battle keen:"
But aye she loot the tears down fa',
For Jock o' Hazeldcan.
" A chain o' gold ye sail not lack,
Nor braid to bind your hair,
Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk,
Nor palfrey fresh and fair ;
And you, the foremost o' them a',
Sail ride our forest queen : "
But ayo she loot the tears down fa'.
For Jock o' Hazeldean.
The kirk was deck'd at morning-tide,
The tapers glimmer'd fair ;
The priest and bridegroom wait the bride,
And dame and knight were there ;
They sought her baith by bower and ha' ;
The ladyo Avas not seen ! —
Slie's o'er the border, and awa'
Wi' Jock o' Hazeldean I
HE 13 GONE ON THE MOUNTAIN.
SIK WALTER SCOTT, BART.
He is gone on the mountain.
He is lost to the forest,
Like a summer-dried fountain.
When our need was the sorest.
The font, re-appearing,
From the rain-drops shall borrow,
But to us comes no cheering,
To Duncan no morrow !
The hand of the reaper
Takes the ears that are hoary.
But the voice of the weeper
"Wails manhood in glory.
The autumn winds rushing
Waft the leaves that are searest,
But our flower was in flushing.
When blighting was nearest,
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRAKGED. 387
Fleet foot on the correi,
Sago counsel in cumber,
Hcd hand in the foray,
How sound is thy slumber !
Like the dew on the mountain,
Lilce the foam on the river.
Like the bubble on the fountain,
Thou art gone, and for ever !
A WEAEY LOT IS THINE.
BIK WALTER SCOTT, BAET.
" A WEARY lot is thine, fair maid,
A weary lot is thine 1
To pull the thorn thy brow to braid,
And press the rue for wine.
A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien,
A feather of the blue,
A doublet of the Lincoln green —
No more of me you knew, love !
No more of me you knew.
" This morn is merry June, I trow.
The rose is budding fain ;
But it shall bloom in winter sno"\\',
Ero we two meet again."
He turn'd his charger as he spake,
Upon the river shore ;
He gave his bridle-reins a shake,
Said, "Adieu for evermore, my love I
And adieu for evermore."
ALLEN-A-DALE.
SIR WALTER SCOTT, BART.
Allen- a-Dale has no faggot for burning,
Allcn-a-didc has no furrow for turning,
AUen-a-dalo has no fleece for the spinning;
Yet Allen-a-dale has red gold for the winning.
Come read me my riddle, come hearken my talo,
And tell mo the craft of bold Allcu-a-Dale.
The baron of Eavensworth prances in ])rido.
And he views his domains upon Arkindale side.
The mere for his net, and the lamb for his game,
The chase for the wild, and the park for the tamo ;
Yet the fish of the lake, and the deer of tlio vale
Are less free to Lord Dacrc than Allcn-a-Dale,
388 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Allcn-a-Dale was ne'er belted a knight,
Tho' his spur bo as sharp, and his blade be as bright;
AUon-a-Dale is no baron or lord,
Yet twenty tall yeomen will draw at liis word ;
And the best of our nobles liis bonnet will veil ;
Who at Rerecross on Stanmore meets Allen-a-Dale.
Allen-a-Dale to his wooing is come;
The mother she asked of liis household and home ;—
" Tho' tlio castle of Richmond stands fair on the hill,
My hall," quoth bold Allen, " shows gallanter still,
'Tis tho blue vault of heaven, witli its crescent so pale,
And with all its bright spangles !" said Allen-a-Dale.
The father was steel, and the mother was stone,
They lifted the latch and bade him be gone ;
But loud on the morrow their wail and their cry —
He had laughed on the lass with his bonnie black eye ;
And she fled to the forest to hear a love-tale,
And the youth it was told by was Allen-a-Dale.
SOLDIER, REST ! THY WARFARE O'ER,
sin WAITER SCOTT, B^UIT.
Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er,
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking ;
Dream of battled fields no more.
Days of danger, nights of waking,
In our isle's enchanted hall.
Hands unseen thy couch arc strewing,
Fairy strains of music fall,
Every sense in slumber dewing.
Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er,
Dream of fighting fields no more ;
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking;
Morn of toil, nor night of waking.
No rude sound shall rcacli thine ear;
Armour's clang, or war-steed chaniping ;
Trump nor pibroch summon here.
Mustering clan, or squadron tramping,
Yet the lark's shrill fife may come.
At the daybreak from the fallow,
And the bittern sound his drum.
Booming from the sedgy shallow.
Ruder sounds shall none be near.
Guards nor warders challenge liere ;
Here's no v/ar steed's neigh and champing-.
Shouting clans, or squadrons tramping.
CHRONOLOGICALLY AKKANciED. 389
Huntsman, rest 1 thy chase is done ;
While our slumb'roiis spells assail ye,
Dream not, with the rising sun,
Bugles here shall sound reveillic,
Sleep ! — the deer is in his den ;
Sleep! — thy homids are by thee lying;
Sleep 1 — nor dream in yonder glen
How tliy gallant steed lay dying,
Huntsman, rest! tiiy chase is done ;
Tliink not of the rising sun;
For at dawning to assail yo,
Here no bugles sound reveillic.
PIBROCH OF DONUIL DHU.
PiBnocii of Donuil Dhu,
Piln-och of Donuil,
Wake thy wild voice anew,
Summon Clan Conuil.
Come away, come away,
Hark to the summons ;
Come in your v,-ar array.
Gentles and commons !
Come from deep glen, and
From mountain so rocky,
The war-pipe ami pennon
Arc at luverlochj'.
Come every hill-plaid, and
True heart that wears one ;
Come every steel blade, and
Strong hand that bears one !
Leave the deer, leave the steer,
Leave nets and barges;
Come with your lighting gear,
Broadswords and targes.
Leave untcndcd the herd,
The flock v.ithout shell or;
Leave the corpse uniuterrVl,
The bride at the altar.
Come as the Avinds come, when
Forests are rendcd :
Come as the waves come, when
Navies arc stranded.
390 THE SONGS OF scotl.us;d
Faster come, faster come,
Faster and faster :
Chief, vassal, page, and groom,
Tenant and master.
Fast they come, fast they come ;
See how they gather 1
Wide waves the eagle plume,
Blended with heather.
Cast your plaids, draw your blades,
Forward each man set ;
Pibroch of Donuil Dbu,
Now for the onset I
MARCH, MAECn, ETTRICK AND TEVIOTDALE,
SIR WALTER SCOTT, BART.
March, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale,
Why, my lads, dinna ye march forward in order ?
March, march, Eskdalo and Liddesdale,
All the blue bonnets are over the border.
Many a banner spread, flutters above your head.
Many a crest that is famous in story,
Jlount and make ready then, sons of the mountain glen,
Fight for your Queen and the old Scottish glory.
Come from the hills where your hirsels are grazing,
Come from the glen of tho buck and the roc ;
Come to the crag where the beacon is blazing ;
Come with the buckler, tlie lance, and the bow.
Trumpets are sounding, war-steeds are bounding ;
Stand to your arms, and march in good order :
England shall many a-day tell of the bloody fray,
When the blue bonnets came over the border.
THE MACGREGOR'S GATHERING.
Sm WALTER SCOTT, EAET.
The moon's on the lake, and the mist's on the brae,
And the clan has a name that is nameless by day — •
Then gather, gather, gather, Grigalach !
Our signal for flght, which from monarchs we drew,
Must be heard but by night, in our vengeful halloo —
Then halloo, halloo, halloo, Grigalach !
Glenorcliy's proud mountains, Calchuirn and her towers,
Glenstrae, and Glenlyon, no longer are ours — ■
We're landless, landless, landless, Grigalach 1
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 391
But, doom'd and devoted by vassal and lord,
Macgregor lias still both his heart and his sword —
Then courage, courage, courage, Grigalach I
If they rob us of name, and pursue us with beagles.
Give their roofs to the flames, and their flesh to the eagles —
Then vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, Grigalach !
AVliilc there's leaves in the forest, or foam on the river,
Macgregor, despite them, shall flourish for over 1
Then gather, gather, gatlier, Grigalach !
Through the depths of Loch Katrine the steed shall career,
O'er tlie peak of Ben Lomond the galley shall steer,
And the rocks of Craig-Eoyston like icicles melt,
Ere our wrongs be forgot or our vengeance unl'clt.
Then gatlier, gather, gather, Grigalach !
ALL JOY WAS BEREFT ME.
Sm WALTEB SCOTT, MART.
All joy was bereft mo the day that you left me,
And climb'd the tall vessel to sail yon wide sea ;
0 weary betide it ! I wander'd beside it.
And bann'd it for parting my Willie and mc.
Far o'er the wave hast thou follow'd my fortune,
Oft fouglit the squadrons of France and of Spain ,
Ac kiss of Avelcome's worth twenty at parting,
Now I ha'e gotten my Willie again.
When the sky it was mirk, and the winds they wcro wailing,
I sat on the beach wi' the tear in my c'e.
And thought o' the bark where my Willie was sailing,
And wish'd that the tempest could a' blaw on me.
Now that thy gallant ship rides at her mooring,
Now that my wanderer's in safety at hame,
Music to me were the wildest winds' roaring,
Tliat e'er o'er Inch-Keith drove the dark ocean facm.
When the lights they did blaze, and the guns they did rattle,
And blithe was each heart for the great victory,
In secret I wept for the dangers of battle.
And thy glory itself was scarce comfort to me.
But now shalt thou tell, while I eagerly listen,
Of each bold adventure, and every bravo scar;
And, trust me, I'll smile, though my cen they may glisten,
For sweet after danger's the talc of the war.
392 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
And oh, how wc doubt when there's distance 'tween lovers,
When there's naethiug to speak to the heart through the e'e,
IIow often the kindest and warmest prove rovers,
And tlio love of tlie faithfulest ebbs like the sea.
Till at times — could I help it? — I pined and ponder'd.
If love could change notes like the bird on the tree —
Now I'll never ask if tliine eyes may ha'e wander'd,
Enough, thy leal heart has been constant to me.
Welcome, from sweeping o'er sea and through channel,
Hardships and danger despising for fame,
Furnishing story for glory's bright annal,
Welcome, my wanderer, to Jcanio and hame !
Enough, now tliy story in annals of glory
Has humbled the pride of France, Holland, and Spain ;
No more shalt thou grieve me, no more shalt thou leave me,
I never will part with my AVillic again.
WHERE SHALL THE LOVER REST?
Sm WALTER SCOTT, BAKT.
Where shall the lover rest,
Whom the fates sever,
From his true maiden's breast,
Parted for ever ?
Where, through groves deep and high,
Sounds the far billow.
Where early violets die,
Under the willow.
Eleu loro.
Soft shall be his pillow.
There, through the summer day.
Cool streams are laving,
Tiicrc, while the tempests sway,
Scarce are boughs waving ;
There thy rest shalt thou take,
Parted for ever.
Never again to wake,
Never, 0 never,
Eleu loro.
Never, 0 never.
Where shall the traitor rest,
He the deceiver,
Who could win maiden's breast,
Ivuin, and lea.ve her?
CnEONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 393
In tlie lost battle,
Borne clown by the Hying,
Wlicre mingles wai*'s rattle,
With groans of the dying,
Eleu loro.
There shall he be lying.
Her wing shall the eagle flap
O'er the false-hearted ;
His warm blood the wolf shall lap,
E'er life be parted ;
Shame and dishonour sit
By his grave ever ;
Blessing sliall hallow it —
Never, 0 never,
Eleu loro.
Never, 0 never.
THE HUNTER'S SONG.
SIR WALTER BCOTT, BART.
Mv hawk is tired of perch and hood,
l\Iy idle greyhound loathes his food,
l\ly liorsG is weary of his stall,
And I am sick of captive thrall.
I wish I were as I have been.
Hunting the hart in forest green,
With bended bow and bloodhound free,
For that's the life is meet for me.
I hate to learn the ebb of time.
From yon dull steeple's drowsy chime,
Or mark it as the sunbeams crawl,
Inch after inch along the wall.
Tlic lark was wont my matins ring,
The sable rook my vespers sing;
These towers, allliongh a king's they be,
Have not a hall of joy for me.
No more at dawning morn I rise,
And sun myself in Ellen's eyes,
Drive the fleet deer the forest through.
And homeward wend with evening dew ;
A blithesome welcome blithely meet,
And lay my trophies at her feet,
While iled the eve on wing of glee —
Tliat life is lost to love and inc.
394 THE SOKGS OF SCOTLAND
THE HEATH THIS KIGHT.
SIK WALTER SCOTT, BART.
The lioath this night must be my bed,
Tho bracken curtain for my head,
My lull-aby the warder's tread,
Far, far, from love and thee, Mary ;
To-morrow eve, more stilly laid.
My couch may be my bloody plaid,
My vesper song, thy wail, sweet maid !
It will not waken me, Mary!
I may not, dare not, fancy now
Tho grief that clouds thy lovely brow,
I dare not think upon thy vow.
And all it promised me, Maiy.
No fond regret must Norman know ;
When bursts Clan-Alpine on the foe,
Ilis heart must bo like bended bow,
Ills foot like arrow free, Mary.
A time will come with, feeling fraught,
For, if I fall in battle fought,
Tliy hapless lover's dying thought
Shall be a thought on thee, Mary,
And if return'd from conquer'd foes.
How blithely will the evening close,
How sweet the linnet sing repose,
To my young bride and me, Mary !
DONALD CAIRD.
SIR WALTER SCOTT, BART.
Donald Cairo's come again,
Donald Caird's come again !
Tell the news in brugh and glen,
Donald Caird's come again !
Donald Caird can lilt and sing,
Ijlithely dance the Highland fling;
Drink till the gudeman be blind,
Fleech till the gudewifo be kind;
Hoop a leglan, clout a pan,
Or crack a pow v/i' ony man ;
Tell the news in brugh and glen,
Donald Caird's come again,
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 395
Donald Caird can wire a maukin,
Kens the wiles o' dun-deer staukin ;
Leisters kipper, makes a shift
To shoot a muir-fowl i' tlie drift :
Water-bail ififs, rangers, keepers.
He can wank when they are sleepers;
Not for bountith, or reward,
Daur they mell wi' Donald Caird.
Donald Caird can drink a gill,
Fast as hostler-wife can fill ;
Ilka ane that sells gudc liquor
Kens how Donald bends a bicker :
When he's fou he's stout and saucy,
Keeps the kantle o' the causey ;
Highland chief and Lawland laird
Maun gi'e way to Donald Caird.
Steek the aumrie, lock the kist,
Else some gear will sune be mist;
Donald Caird finds orra things
Where Allan Grcgor fand the tint's :
Dunts o' kobbuck, taits o' woo.
Whiles a hen and whiles a soo ;
Webs or duds frac hedge or yard —
Ware the wuddie, Donald Caird !
On Donald Caird the doom was stern,
Craig to tether, legs to airn :
But Donald Caird, wi' micklo study.
Caught the gift to cheat the wuddie.
Kings o' airn, and bolts o' steel,
Fell like ice frao hand and heel !
Watch the sheep in fauld and glen,
Donald Caird's come again.
0, nUSn THEE, MY BABIE.
Sm WALTER BCOTT, BART.
0, HUSH thee, my babie, thy sire was a knight,
Thy mother a lady, both lovely and bright;
The woods and the glens, from the towers which wc see,
They all arc belonging, dear babie, to thee.
0 ho ro, i ri ri, cadul gu lo,
0 ho ro, i ri ri, &c.
0, fear not the bugle, though loudly it blows.
It calls but the warders that guard thy repose ;
Their bows would be bended, their blades would be red,
Ero the step of a foeman draws near to thy bed,
0 ho ro, i ri ri, &c/
390 THE SONGS OF SCOTLANt)
0, hush thee, my babic, the time soon will come,
When thy sleep shall be broken by trumpet and drum ;
Then hush thee, my darling, take rest while you may,
For strife comes with manhood, and waking with day.
0 ho ro, i ri ri, &c.
0 SAY NOT, MY LOVE.
On, say not, my love, with that mortified air,
That your spring-time of pleasure is flown,
Nor bid me to maids that are younger repair,
For those raptures that still are thine own.
Though April his temples may wreathe with the vine.
Its tendrils in infancy curl'd,
'Tis the ardour of August matures us the wine,
Whose life-blood enlivens the world.
Though thy form, that was fashion'd as light as a fay's,
Has assumed a proportion more round.
And thy glance, that was bright as a falcon's at gaze.
Looks soberly now on the ground —
Enough, after absence to meet me again,
Thy steps still with ecstasy move ;
Enough, that those dear sober glances retain
For me the kind language of love.
THE MAID OF NEIDPATII.
SIK WALTER SCOTT, BART.
0 lovers' eyes are sharp to see,
And lovers' cars in hearing ;
And love, in life's extremity.
Can lend an hour of cheering.
Disease had been in Mary's bower.
And slow decay from mourning,
Though now she sits on Neidpath's tower,
To watch her love's returning.
All sunk and dim her eyes so bright.
Her form decay'd by ]iining.
Till through her wasted hand, at night,
You saw the taper shining ;
By fits, a sultry hectic hue
Across her cheek was flying;
Uy fits, so ashy ]mle she grew.
Her maidens thought her dying.
CIIRONOLOGICALLT ARRANGED. 397
Yet keenest powers to sec and hear,
Scem'd in her frame residing ;
Before the watch-dog prick'd his car,
She heard her lover's riding ;
Ere scarce a distant form was kenn'd,
She knew, and waved to greet him;
And o'er the battlement did bend.
As on the wing to meet him.
He came — lie pass'd — a heedless gaze,
As o'er some stranger glancing;
Ilcr welcome, spoke in faltering pln-ase,
Lost in his courser's prancing —
Tlic castle arch, whose hollow tone
Returns each whisper spoken,
Could scarcely catch the feeble nionn,
Which told her heart was broken.
LUCY'S FLITTIX.
WILLIAM LAIDLAW,
The Steward, anianncusis, ami trusted fiieud of Sir ^V'alter Scolt. He
was born at Blac.kliousc, iu Yarrow, iu 1780. He early formed tlic
acquaintance of Sir Walter Scott and assisted him in procuring materials
for the "Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border." lie became steward to Sir
Walter in 1.S17; and, except for an interval of some three years, be
remained in bis service till 1^32. After tlie dcatli of Sir Walter, be left
Abljotsford to act as factor on the Eoss-sbiro estates of Mrs. Mackenzie, of
Stiifortli. lie died at Contin, near Dingwall, in 18-15.
'TwAS when the wan leaf frae the birk tree was fa'in,
And Martimnas dowic had wound up the year,
That Lucy row'd up her wee kist wi' her a' in't.
And left her auUl maister and neebours sac dear;
For Lucy had served in the glen a' the simmer ;
Slic cam' there afore the flower bloomed on tlie pea ;
An orphan was she, and they had been kind till her.
Sure that was the thing brocht the tear to her e'e.
She gaed by tlic stable where Jamie was stannin';
Eicht sair was his kind heart the ilittin' to sec ;
Fare ye weel, Lucy ! quo' Jamie, and ran in;
The gatherin' tears trickled fast frae his e'e.
As down the burn-side slie gacd slow wi' the flittiu'.
Faro yc wool Lucy ! was ilka bird's sang ;
She hoard the craw sayin't, high on the tree sittin',
And r^bin was chirpin't the brown leaves auumg.
398 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Ob, what is't that pits my piiir heart in a flutter?
And what gars the tears come sae fast to my e'e ?
If I wasna ettled to be ony better,
Then what gars mo wish ony better to be?
I'm just like a lammic that loses its mither ;
Nae mither or friend the pure lammio can see;
I fear I ha'e tint my puir heart a'thegithcr,
Nae wonder the tears fa' sae fast frae my e'e.
Wi' the rest o' my claes I ha'e row'd up the ribbon,
The bonnie blue ribbon that Jamie ga'e me ;
Yestreen, when ho ga'e me't, and saw I was sabbin',
I'll never forget the wao blink o' his e'e.
Though now ho said naething but Fare ye weel, Lucy !
It made mo I neither could speak, hear, nor see :
Tie could na say mair but just, Fare yo v/cel, Tjucy !
Yet that I will mind till the day that I dee.
The lamb likes the gowan wi' dew when it's droukit ;
The hare likes the brake and the braird on the lea ;
But Lucy likes Jamie, — she turn'd and she lookit,
She thocht the dear place she wad never mair sec.
All, weel may young Jamie gang dowie and cheerless !
And weel may ho greet on the bank o' the burn !
For bonnie sweet Lucy, sao gentle and peerless,
Lies cauld in her grave, and will never return !
ON THE BANKS 0' THE BURN.
WILLIAM LATOLAW,
On the banks o' the burn while I pensively wander,
The mavis sings sweetly, unheeded by me;
I think on my lassie, her gentle mild natm-e,
I think on the smilo o' her bonnie black e'e.
When heavy the rain fa's, and loud loud the win' blaws,
An' simmer's gay cleedin' drives fast frae the tree ;
I heedna the win' nor the rain when I think on
The kind lovely smilo o' my lassie's black e'e.
When swift as the hawk, in the stormj'- November,
The cauld norlan' win' ca's the drift owre the lea ;
Tliough bidin' its blast on the side o' tlie mountain,
I think on the smile o' her bonnie black e'e.
Wlien braw at a weddin' I see the fine lasses,
Tho' a' neat an' bonnie, they're naething to mo !
I sigh an' sit dowie, regardless what passes,
When I miss the smile o' her bonnie black e'e,
CnRONOLOGlCALLY AERAJIGED. 399
When thin twinklin' starnles announce the gray gloamin',
When a' round the ingle's sac cheerie to see ;
Then music delightfu', saft on the heart stcalin',
Minds me o' the smile o' her bonnic black e'e.
When jokin', an' laugliiu', the lave they are merry,
Tho' absent my heart like the lave I maun be ;
Sometimes I laugh wi' them, but I oft turn dowio,
An' think on the smile o' my lassie's black e'e.
ITer lovely fair form frae my mind's awa' never,
Slie's dearer than a' this hale warld to me ;
An' this is my wish, May I leave it, if ever
She row on another her love-beaming c'c.
ALAKE FOR THE LASSIE.
WILLIAM LiVIDLAW.
Atake for tho lassie ! she's no riglit at a',
Tliat lo'cs a dear laddie, an' he far awa';
But tlio lassie has mucklc mair cause to complain,
Tliat lo'es a dear lad, when she's no lo'cd again.
Tho fair was just comin', my heart it grew fain
To see my dear laddie, to see him again ;
My heart it grow fain, an' lap light at tho thouglit
Of milkin' tho ewes my dear Jamie wad bught.
The bonnie gray morn scarce had open'd her c'c,
When we set to tho gate a' wi' uao little glee ; •
I was blythe, but my mind oft misga'o me right sair,
For I hadna seen Janno for live months an' mair.
I' the hirin' right soon my dear Jamie I saw,
I saw nae ane like him, sac bonnio and braw ;
I watch'd an' baid near him, his motion to see,
In hopes aye to catch a kind glance o' his c'c.
IIo never wad see mo in ony ae place :
At length I gaed up an' just smiled in his face,
I wonder aye yet my heart brackna in twa —
He just said, " How arc yc ? " and steppit awa'.
My neeber lads strove to entice me awa';
Tliey roos'd me, an' hccht me ilk thing that was brav/;
But I hatit them a', an' I hatit the fair,
For Jamie's behaviour had wounded mc sair.
His heart was sac leal, and his manners sac kind I
lie's someway gano wrang, he may alter liis mind ;
An' sud he do sac, he's bo welcome to mc ;
I'm Burc I can never like ony but he,
400 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
ALLISTER M'ALLISTER.
UNKNOWN.
0 Allisteu M'Allister,
Your chanter sets us a' astir,
Then to your bags and blaw \vi' birr,
We'll dance the Highland fling.
Now Allister has tuned his pipes,
And thrang as bumbees frae their bykes,
The lads and lasses loup tlic dykes,
And gather on the green.
0 Allister M'Allister, &c.
The Miller, Ilab, was fidgiu' fain
To dance the Highland iling his lane,
lie lap as high as Elspa's wamo.
The like was never seen ;
As round about the ring he whuds.
And cracks his thumbs and shakes liis duds,
The meal flew frae his tail in cluds,
And blinded a' their een.
0 Allister M'Allister, &c.
Neist rauchlc-handed smiddy Jock,
A' blacken'd o'er wi' coom and smoke,
Wi' shauchlin' blear-e'cd Bess did yoke.
That slaverin'-gabbit quean.
He shook his doublet in the wund.
His feet like hammers strack the grund.
The very moudiwarts were stunn'd,
Nor kenn'd what it could mean.
0 Allister M'Allister, &c.
Now wanton Willie was nae blate,
For he got hand o' winsome Kate,
"Come here," cpio' he, " I'll show tlie gate
To dance the Highland fling."
The Highland fling he danced wi' glee.
And lap as ho were gaun to flee ;
Kate Ijcck'd and bobb'd sae bonnilio,
And tript it light and clean.
O Allister M'Allister, &c
Now Allister has done his best.
And weary houghs arc wantin' rest.
Besides they sair wi' drouth were strest,
Wi' dancin' sae I ween.
I trou the gauntrees gat a lift.
And round the bicker flew like drift,
And Allister that v-ery night.
Could scarcely stand liia lane.
0 Allister M'xiUister, &c.
,3
CllKUNOLOGICALLY AllR^VNGKD. "101
BAILIE NICOL JARVIE.
Sung by the late Mr. Mackay, ia his great character of " The Bailie "
in Rob Eoy, as au after song, it being often his habit to come to the foot-
lights after the curtain had fallen on the last scene and sing it. We
have heard the authorship ascribed to the late William Murray, of the
Theatre Eoyal, Edinburgh.
You may sing o' your Wallace and brag o' your Bruce,
And talk o' your feclitin' Red Eeiver,
But wliare will ye find mo a man o' sic use,
As a thorough-bred Saut Market Weaver ?
Let ance Nicol Jarvie come under your view,
At hamc wliarc the people adore me,
Wliarc they made me a bailie and councillor too,
Like my faither, the Deacon, before me.
These claverin' cbiela in the claclian hard bye.
They'll no gi'e a body but hard words,
!My faith! they shall find if again they will try,
A het poker's as guid as their braid swords ;
It's as weel though to let that lice stick to the wa',
For mayhap they may chance to claymore me,
To let sleepin' dogs lie is the best thing ava,
Said my faither, the Deacon, before me.
My puir cousin Rab, 0 ! his terrible wife
Was sae proud, that she chose to disown me,
Ficnt a bodle cared she for a magistrate's life.
My conscience! she was just gaun to drown mc.
But if ever again in her clutches I pop,
Buir Matty may live to deplore me.
But were I in Glasgow, I'd stick to my shoi?,
Like my faither, the Deacon, before me.
Now to tinnk o' them luingin' a 1)ailio so high,
To be i^icked at by corbies and burdies !
But if I were at Glasgow, my consciehce ! I'll try
To let tlicir craigs feel the weight o' their hurdies.
But stop, Nicol ! stop man ! na that canna be.
For if ane wad to hamc safe restore ye.
In the Saut INIarkct safe, I'd forget and forgic — •
Like my faither, the Deacon, before me.
402 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
ROB ROY MAGGREGOR.
FiiOM the Opera of " Rob Roy."
Paudon now the bold outlaw,
Rob Roy Macgregor, 0 !
Grant him mercy, gentles a',
Rob Roy Macgregor, 0 !
Let yom- hands and hearts agree,
Set the Highland laddie free,
Make us sing wi' mucklo glee,
Rob Roy Macgregor, 0 1
Long the state has doom'd his fa',
Rob Roy Macgregor, 0 !
Still he spuru'd the hatefu' law,
Rob Roy Macgregor, 0 !
Scots can for their country die ;
Ne'er frae Britain's foes they ilee,
A' that's past forget — forgic,
Rob Roy Macgregor, 0 !
Scotland's fear and Scotland's pride,
Rob Roy Macgregor, 0 !
Your award must no \v abide,
Rob Roy Macgregor, 0 !
Lang your favours lia'o been mine,
Favours I will ne'er resign.
Welcome then for auld langsync,
Rob Roy Macgregor, 0 !
THE LASS OF GOWRIE.
A MODERN version of this favourite song: other versions by Lady Naiing
and Wilhain Ecid are inserted in their proper places.
Upon a simmer afternoon,
A wee before the sun gade down,
My lassie, in a braw new gown.
Cam' o'er the hills to Gowrie.
The rose-bud, ting'd with morning show'r,
Blooms fresh within the sunny bow'r,
But Katie was the fairest flower
That ever bloom'd in Gowrie.
Nae thought had I to do her wrang,
But round her waist my arms I Hang,
And said, My dearie, will ye gang.
To see the Carsc o' Gowrie?
ClIROXOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 403
I'll tak' ye to my father's ha',
In yon green fields beside the eliaw ;
I'll mak' you lady o' them a',
The brawest wife in Gowrie.
A silken gown o' siller gray,
My mither coft last new-year's day,
And buskit me frae tap to tac.
To keep me out o' Gowrie.
Daft Will, short syne, cam' courting Nel
And wan the lass, but what befcl,
Or whare she's gane, she kens hcrsel',
She staid na lang in Gowrie.
Sic thoiiLjlits, dour Katie, ill combine
Wi' beauty rare, and wit like thine ;
Except yoursel', my bonnie quean,
I care for nought in Gowrie.
Since first I saw you in the sheal,
To you my heart's been true and Ical ;
The darkest night I fear nae do'il.
Warlock, or witch, in Gowrie.
Saft kisses on her lips I laid,
The blush u^jon her checks soon spread
She whisper'd modestly, and said,
0 Pate, I'll stay in Gowrie !
The auld folks soon ga'e their consent,
Syne for Mess John they quickly sent,
Wha ty'd them to their heart's content.
And now she's Lady Gowrie.
COMIN THROUGH THE RYE.
Tms modem version of one of our early songs : a set, based upon llio old
words, but so altered by Buins as to be included in nearly every edition of
his songs as his own, appears in Johnson's Musciun. There are umuevous
other versioa'5, verses, &c., floating about, but they aro ail of httlc value.
Gin a body meet a body
Comin' through the rye.
Gin a body kiss a body.
Need a body cry ?
Every lassie has her laddie,
Nane, they say, ha'e I !
Yet a' the lads they smile at mc,
When comin' through the rye.
Amang the train there is a swain
I dearly lo'e mj'scl ;
But whaur his hamc, or what his name,
I dinna care to tell.
404 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Gin a body meet a body,
Comin' frae the town,
Gin a body greet a bod}^,
Need a body frown ?
Every lassie has her laddie,
Nane, they say, ha'c I !
Yet a' the lads they smile at me,
When comin' tln'oiigh the rye.
\mang the train there is a swain,
I dearly lo'e mysel ;
Biit whaur his hame, or what his name,
I dinna care to tell.
1
BLYTIIE, BLYTHE, AEOUND THE NAPPIE.
DANIEL JIACPHAIL,
A WOEIUSG Cabinet Maker ; he died at Glasgow about the year 1833.
Blytiie, blythc, around the nappie.
Let us join in social glee ;
While we're here we'll ha'e a drajipie —
Scotia's sons ha'e aye been free.
Our auld forbears, when ower their yill,
And cantie bickers round did ca',
Forsootli, they cried, anither gill !
Eor sweirt we arc to ganc,- awa'.
Some licarty cock wad then ha'e sung
An auld Scotch sonnet aff wi' glee.
Sync pledged his cogue : the chorus rung,
Auld Scotia and her sons arc free.
Thus cracks, and jokes, and sangs gaed roun',
Till morn the screens o' light did draw :
Yet, dreich to rise, the carles roun'
Cried, Deoch an doras, then awa' !
The landlord then the nappie brings.
And toasts, Fu' happy a' may be.
Sync tooms the cogue : the chorus ringo,
Auld Scotia's sons shall aye be free.
Then like our dads o' auld lang sync.
Let social glee unite us a'.
Aye blythe to meet, our mou's to weet,
But aye as sweirt to gang awa'.
CriKONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 4.05
LAND OF MY FATHER.S.
JOHN LEYDEN,
Was horn in 1775 at Dcnholm in Eoxljurglishirc. His father was a
shepherd aucl in poor circumstances, hut as Jolm dispLiycd reniarkahlo
talents, he managed to get him educated at the University of Edinburgh,
vi'ith the view of entering the Church. "When his studies were finished,
though he became a h"centiate, he failed to obtain a church. He edited
for some time the " Scot's Magazine." He afterwards turned his attention
to the study of medicine ; and, having received his degree of M.D. from
the University of St. Andrew's, ho sailed for Madras, where he had
received an appointment as Sm-geon in the East India Company's service.
He died at Java in 1811.
There is no more remarkable instance of perseverance and genius in the
v.holo history of our literature than John Leyden. In antiquities, poetry,
philology, in fact in every department of literature to which he seri-
ously turned himself, he has left his mark. His Dissertation on the
languages and literature of the Indo-Chinese Nations is well-known to
philologists. No one can read any of his published volumes of poetry
without finding the stamp of genius firmly impressed, while even in his
edition of the "Complaynt of Scotland,'' the curious theories there
brought forward at least serve to show the diligent and faithful manner
in which he tried to explain the antiquities of his native laud.
Laxd of my fatlicrs ! though no mangrove here
O'er thy bkie streams her ilexile branches rear,
Nor scaly palm her fingcr'd scions slioot,
Nor luscious guava wave her yellow fruit,
Nor golden apples glimmer from the tree ;
Land of dark heaths and mountains, thou art free,
Free as his lord the peasant treads the plain,
And heaps his liarvest on tlic groaning wain.
Proud of his laws, tenacious of his right,
And vain of Scotia's old unconquer'd miglit :
Dear native valleys ! may yo long retain
The chartcr'd freedom of the mountain swain :
Long, 'mid your sounding glades, in union sweet,
May rural innocence and beauty meet ;
And still be duly heard, at twiliglit calm.
From every cot the peasant's clianted psalm!
Tlien, Jedworth. though tliy ancient ciioirs shall fade,
And time lay bare each lofty colonnade,
From the damp roof tlic massy sculptures die.
And in their vaults thy rifted arches lie;
Still in these vales shall angel harps prolong,
By Jed's pure stream, a sweeter evening song
Tlian long processions, once, with mystic zeal,
Pour'd to the harp and solenur organ's peal.
2f
40G THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
TPIE EVENING- STAR.
DK. JOHN LEYDEN.
How sweet thy modest light to vicv/,
Fair star ! to love and lovers dear ;
IVhile trembling on the falling dew,
Like beauty shining through the tear.
Or hanging o'er that mirror stream
To mark each image trembling there,
Thou seem'st to smile with softer gleam
To see thy lovely face so fair.
Though blazing o'er the arch of niglit,
The moon thy timid beams outshine
As far as thine each starry light —
Her rays can never vie with thine.
Thine are the soft enchanting hours
When twilight lingers on the plain,
And whispers to the closing flow'rs,
That soon the sun will rise again.
Thine is the breeze that, murmuring bland
As music, wafts the lover's sigh ;
And bids the yielding heart expand
In love's delicious ecstasy.
Fair star ! though I be doom'd to prove
That rapture's tears are mix'd with pain ;
Ah ! still I feel 'tis sweet to love,—
But sweeter to be lov'd again.
LOVE'S ADIEU.
JOSEPH GRANT,
A NATIVE of Kincardineshire. He died in 1835, aged 30. Two or thi'ce
volumes of his poetry and xjrose essays were published during his life time.
The e'e o' the dawn, Eliza,
Blinks over the dark green sea.
An' tlie moon's creei^in' down to the liill tap
Richt dim an' drowsilie ;
An' the music o' the mornin'
Is murmurin' alang the air ;
Yet still my dowie heart lingers
To catch one sweet throb mair.
We've been as blest, Eliza,
As children o' earth can be.
Though my fondest wish has been nipt by
The bonds o' povertie ;
CHRONOLOGICALLY AltRANGED, 407
An' through life's misty sojourn,
That still may be our fa',
But hearts that are linked for ever
Ha'e strength to bear it a'.
The cot by the mutterin' burnie,
Its wee bit garden an' field,
May ha'e mair o' the blessin's o' heaven
Than lichta on the lordliest bield.
There's mony a young brow braided
Wi' jewels o' far aft" isles,
But woe may bo drinkin' the heart-siirhiga
While we see nought but smiles.
But adieu, my ain Eliza !
Where'er my wauderiu's be,
Undyin' remembrance will mak' thee
The star o' my destiuie ;
An' weel I ken, thou loved one,
That aj^e till I return
Thou'lt treasure pure faith in thy bosom
Like a gem in a gowdcn urn.
EXILE OF ULDOONAN.
JOHN GRIEVE,
A TRADESMAN in Edinburgh, one of the earliest friends of The Ettrick
Shepherd, who held him in great esteem. He died in 1836.
Adieu to rock and to water-fall,
Whose echoes start among Albyn's liills,
A long adieu, Uldoonan ! and all
Thy wildwood stcei^s, and thy sparkling rills.
From tlie dreams of my childhood and youth I awaken,
And all the sweet visions that fancy wove ;
Adieu 1 ye lone glens, and ye braes of green bracken,
Endeared by friendship, and hope, and love.
The stranger came, and adversity's wind
Blew cold and chill on my father's hearth ;
I strove, but vainly, some shelter to find
Among the fields of my father's birth :
But my desolate spirit shall never be severed
From the homo where a sister and mother once smiled,
Though witliin its bare walls lies the roof-treo all shivered,
And mouldering rubbish is spread and piled.
THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
I hear Lcfore me the waters roar;
I see the galley in yonder bay,
All ready and trim, she beckons the shore,
And seems to chide my longer stay.
Uldoonan ! wlicn lingering afar from thy valley.
At my pilgrimage close o'er the billowy brine.
Harps long will be strung, and new voices will hail thee,
Without devotion and love lilvC mine.
rOLWARTII ON THE GREEN.
JOHN GKIEVE.
'TwAS summer tide ; the cushat sang
His am'rons roundelay ;
And dews, like cluster'd diamonds, hang
On flowers and leafy spray.
The coverlet of gloaming gray
On every thing was seen.
When lads and lasses took their way
To Polwarth on the Green.
The spirit-moving dance went on,
And harmless revelry
Of young hearts all in unison,
Wi' love's soft witcherie ;
Their hall the open-daisied lea,
While frae the welkin sheen.
The moon shone brightly on the glco
At Polwarth on the Green.
Dark ecn and raven curls were there,
And cheeks of rosy hue.
And finer forms, without compare.
Than pencil ever drew ;
But ane, wi' een of bonnie blue,
A' hearts confess'd the queen,
And pride of grace and beauty too.
At Polwarth on the Green,
The miser hoards his golden store,
And kings dominion gain;
While others in the battle's roar
For honour's trifles strain.
Away such pleasures ! false and vain ;
Far dearer mine have been,
Among the lowly rural train,
At Polwarth on the Green.
CIinOKOLOGICALLY AERAKGED. 4U9
WHEN THE KYE C03IE IIAME.
JAMES HOGG,
THEEttrick Shepherd, was bom iu December, 1770, at a maall cottage
near the Parish Kirk of Ettrick, in Selkirkshire.
At the time of his birth, his father rented a small fann, but this proving
unsuccessful, he returned to his original occupation of a shepherd. Thj
son's education was therefore of a very meagre description, and when only
seven years of age, he was in service as a cow herd ; poor and ragged, and
often hungry, but always fond of music, reading, and thinking.
In 179G, while in the service of Mr. Laidlaw of Blackhouse (father of
the author of "Lucy's Flittiu'"), he first committed the sin of rhyme.
Ilis rhymes, says the shepherd hiinself, were "songs and ballads made uj)
for the lassies to sing in choras, and a proud man I was when I first hcaul
the rosy nymphs chanting my uncouth strains, and jeering me by the s! ill
dear appellation of 'Jamie the Poeter.'"
In 1801 his ambition prompted him, while in Edinburgh attending a
market, to vvTite a nmuber of his poems from memory and print them.
The tiny volume was no sooner ready than he deeply regretted his haste,
it being full of typographical errors, omissions, &c. ; however, he found
this out too late. The volume fell still-born from the press, and the author
had to pay a smart printer's bill for the gratification of seeing himself in
print. lie shortly afterwards became acquainted with Sir (then Mv.)
Walter Scott, and through that gentleman's introduction, he ananged
with Constable for the publication of a volume of poems, which accordingly
appeared under the title of " The Mountain Bard."
The success of this volume, and of a small work on sheep issued about
the same time, yielded him about three hundred pounds. With this ho
began farming ; but, after struggling for three years, was so unsuccessful that
he had no resource but to go to Edinburgh and support himself by his
pen. He issued a sort of Poetical Miscellany, of pieces by William Laid-
law and others, besides his own. This was a fai'lure. He then began a
weekly periodical called "The Spy," which made a deal of noise but
brought "little woo' "to its editor. In 1813, however, he at once established
his fame and his purse by the publication of " The Queen's Wake," the
best of his works.
In 1814, ho received a lease of the farm of Altrive, belonging to the
Duke of Bucclcuch, at a merely nominal rent, and henceforth his life was
divided between attending to his crops in the country and to his books in
the town. He contributed to Blackwood's Magazine and other periodicals ;
wroto"Tho Pilgrims of the Sun," "Mador of the Moor," "The Poetic
Mirror," and other poems, and edited the " Jacobite Eelics."
In 1 820, fortune so smiled on him that he married and applied for a
larger farm. He was offered and accepted the farm of Mount Bengcr,
adjoining Altrive. Here his customary ill-luck attended him ; and, on the
expiry of his lease, he was glad to return to his old holding.
Ilis works from 1820 cannot be said to add much to his fame. One or
two three-volume novels, several short tales and stories, and a long
narrative poem called " Queen Hynde," were failures; and from 1820 he
confined himself principally to revising and re-publishing the works
already issued, writing for periodicals, &c., by whicJi means he ckcd out
410 THE SONGS OF SCOTLiVND
the little income derived from his farm so as to support his family in
comfort. He died in 1835.
Tlie character of the Ettrick Shepherd is a strange mixture of sim-
plicity and shrewdness. His many v\fcaknesses were hurtful to himself
only, while his genius, hospitality, and kindly spirit, endeared him to all.
As a poet, though his fame rests abnost wholly on his " Queen's Wake,"
and a number of his songs, his great ambition to he recognised as the
successor of Burns has been gratified, and the name of Ettrick Shepherd
has hecome a household one throughout all Scotland.
Come all ye jolly shepherds
That whistle through the glen,
I'll tell ye of a secret
That courtiers dinna ken.
What is the greatest bliss
That the tongue o' man can name ?
'Tis to woo a bonnie lassie
When the kye come hame.
When the kye come hame,
Yfhen the kye come liame,
'Tween the gloamin' and the m.irkj
When the kye come hame,
'Tis not beneath the burgonet,
Nor yet beneath the crown,
'Tis not on couch of velvet,
Nor yet on bed of down :
'Tis beneath the spreading bircli,
In the dell without a name,
Wi' a bonnie, bonnie lassie,
When the kye come hame.
There the blackbird bigs hia nest
For the mate he loves to see,
And up upon the tapmost bough,
Oh, a happy bird is he !
Then he pours his melting ditty,
And love 'tis a' the theme.
And he'll woo his bonnie lassie,
When the kye come hame.
When the bluart bears a pearl,
And the daisy turns a pea,
And the bonnie lucken gowan
lias fauldit up his e'c,
Then the laverock frae the blue lift
Draps down, and thinks nae shamo
To Avoo his bonnie lassie
When the kye come hame.
CIIROXOLOGICALLY AREANGED. 411
Then tho eye shines sae bright,
The haill soul to beguile,
There's love in every whisper,
And joy in every smile ;
0, who would choose a crown,
Wi' its perils and its fame.
And miss a bonuie lassie
When the kye come hame ?
See yonder pawky shepherd
That lingers on the hill —
His yowes are in the fauld, ^
And his lambs are lying still ;
Yet he downa gang to rest,
For his heart is in a flame
To meet his bonnie lassie
When the kye come hame.
Awa' wi' fame and fortune —
What comfort can they gi'c ? — •
And a' the arts that prey
On man's life and libertie ! y
Gi'e me the highest joy
That the heart o' man can frame,
]\Iy bonnie, bonnie lassie.
When the kye come hame.
JEANIE.
JAMES HOGG.
0 ! JiY lassie, our joy to complete again,
Meet me again vx the gloamin', my dearie ;
Low down i' the dell let us meet again,
0 ! Jeanie, there's naething to fear ye.
Come when the wee bat flits silent and eerie ;
Come when the pale face o' nature looks weary.
Love be thy sure defence.
Beauty and innocence —
0 ! Jeanie, there's naething to fear ye.
Sweetly blows the haw and the rowan-tree,
Wild roses speck our thicket sae breerie ;
Still, still will our bed in tlie greenwood be —
0 1 Jeanie, there's naething to fear ye :
Note when the blackbird o' singing grows weary,
List when the beetle bee's bugle comes near yo :
Then come with fairy haste,
Light foot and beating breast —
0 1 Jeanie, there's naething to fear ye.
412
TITE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Far, far will the bogle an' brownie be ;
Beauty an' truth, they daurna come near it.
Kind love is tlie tie of our unity;
A' maun love it, and a' maun revere it.
Love mak's the sang o' the woodland sae checrie :
Love gars a' nature look bonnie that's near yo ;
Love mak's the rose sae sweet,
CowsliiJ an' violet —
0! Jeanie. there's naething to fear vc.
LOVE LS LIKE A DIZZINESS
JAJrES IIOGG,
I LATELY liv'd in quiet ease,
An' never wish'd to marry, 0 ;
But when I saw my Peggy's face,
I felt a sad quandary, "O ;
Though wild as ony Athol deer,
She lias trcpann'd me fairly, 0;
Her cherry cheeks, and een sae clear.
Harass mc late an' early, 0.
0 ! love ! love ! laddie,
Love's like a dizziness !
It winna let a jDuir body
Gang about his business !
To tell my feats tliis single week
Wad mak' a curious diary, 0 ;
I drave my cart against a dyke,
My horses in a miry, 0 :
I wear my stockings white an' blue,
My love's sae fierce and fiery, 0 ;
I drill the land that I should j^low,
An' ]3low tlie drills entirely, 0.
0! love! love! &c.
Soon as the dawn had brought the day,
I went to theek tljc stable, 0 ;
I coost my coat, an' ply'd away
As fast as I was able, 0.
I wrought a' morning out an' out
As I'd been redding fire, 0;
When I had done, and look'd about,
I'>ehold it was the byre, 0 !
0 ! love ! love ! <S;c.
CliRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 413
Her wily glance I'll ne'er forget ;
The dear, the lovely blinkiu' o't,
Has pierc'd me through and through the heart,
And plagues nie wi' the prinklin' o't ;
I try'd to sing, I try'd to pray,
I try'd to drown't wi' drinkin' o't ;
I try'd wi' toil to drive't away,
But ne'er can sleep forthinkiu' o't.
0! love! love! &c.
Were Peggy's love to hire the job.
An' save my heart frae breakin', 0,
I'd put a girdle round the globe,
Or dive in Corryvrekiii, 6;
Or howk a gi-ave at midnight dark
In yonder vault sae eerie, 0 ;
Or gang and spier for Mungo Park
Through Africa sae drearie, 0.
0 ! love ! love ! &c.
Ye little ken what pains I prove !
Or, how severe my plisky, 0 !
I swear I'm sairer drunk wi' love
Than e'er I Avas wi' whisky, 0 1
For love has rak'd me fore an' aft,
I scarce can lift a leggy, 0 ;
I first grew dizzy, then gaed daft,
An' now I'll dee for Peggy, 0.
0! love! love! &c.
SING ON, SING ON, MY BONNIE BIRD.
jAifEs noao.
Sing on, sing on, my bonnie bird.
The sang ye sang yestreen, 0,
When here, ancath the hawthorn wild,
I met my bonnie Jean, 0.
My bliide ran prinklin' through my veins,
My hair began to steer, 0 ;
]\[y heart ])lay'd deep against my breast,
As I beheld my dear, 0.
0 wocls mc on my happj^ lot !
0 weels mc o' my dearie !
0 wools me on the charmin' spot,
Where a' combin'<l to cheer me.
Hi THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
The mavis liltit on the bush,
The lavrock on the green, 0 ;
Tlie lily bloom'd, the daisy blush'd.
But a' war nought to Jean, 0.
Sing on, sing on, my bonnie thrush,
Be neither flee'd nor eerie ;
I'll wad your love sits in the bush,
That gars ye sing sae cheerie :
Slie may be kind, she may be sweet,
She may be neat and clean, 0 ;
But 0, she's but a drysome mate,
Compar'd wi' bonnie Jean, 0.
If love wad open a' her stores,
An' a' her bloomin' treasures,
And bid me rise, an' turn an' choose,
And taste her chiefest pleasures ;
My choice wad be the rosy cheek,
The modest beamin' eye, 0 ;
The yellow hair, the bosom fair,
The lips o' coral dye, 0.
A bramble shade around her head,
A buruie poplin' by, 0 ;
Our bed the swaird, our sheet the plaid,
Our canopy the sky, 0,
And here's the burn, an' there's the bush,
Around the flow'rie green, 0 ;
An' this the plaid, an' sure the lass
Wad be my bonnie Jean, 0.
Hear me, thou bonnie modest moon !
Ye starnies twinklin' high, 0 !
An' a' ye gentle powers aboon,
That roam athwart the sky, 0.
To see me gratefu' for the past,
Ye saw me blest yestreen, 0 ;
An' ever till I breathe my last
Ye'll see mc true to Jean, 0.
BIRNIEBOUZLE.
JA3IES nOGG.
Will ye gang wi' me, lassie,
To the braes o' Birniebouzle ?
Baith the yird an' sea, lassie,
Will I rob to fend ye.
CHROKOLOGICALLY AUR.VNGED. 415
I'll hunt the otter an' the brftck,
The hart, the hare, an' heather cock,
An' pu' the limpet aff the rock,
To batten an' to mend ye.
If yc'U gang wi' me lassie,
To the braes o' Birniebouzle,
Till the day you dee, lassie,
Want shall ne'er come near yc.
The peats I'll carry in a scull,
The cod an' Img wi' hooks I'll pull,
An' reave the eggs o' mony a gull,
To please my dainty dearie.
Sae canty will we be, lassie,
At the braes o' Birniebouzle,
Donald Gun and me, lassie,
Ever sail attend ye.
Though we ha'e nowther milk nor meal,
Nor lamb nor mutton, beef nor veal.
We'll fank the porpy and the seal,
And that's the Avay to fend ye.
An' ye sail gang sae braw, lassie,
At the kirk o' Birniebouzle,
Wi' littit brogues an' a', lassie.
Wow but ye'll be vaunty !
An' you sail wear, when you are wed,
The Idrtlo an' the Hieland plaid,
An' sleep upon a heather bed,
Sac cozy an' sae canty.
If ye'll but marry me, lassie,
At the kirk o' Birniebouzle,
A' my joy shall be, lassie.
Ever to content ye.
I'll bait the line and bear the pail,
An' row the boat and spread the sail.
An' drag the larry at my tail.
When mussel hives are plenty.
Then come awa' wi' me, lassie.
To the braes o' Birniebouzle;
Bonny lassie, dear lassie.
You shall ne'er repent ye.
For you shall own a bught o' ewes,
A brace o' gaits, and byre o' cows,
An' be the lady o' my house,
Au' lads an' lasses plenty.
416 l-HE SOKGS OF SCOTLAND
GOOD NIGHT AN' JOY BE WI' YOU A' !
JAJMES HOGG.
The year is wearin' to the wane,
An' day is fadin' west awa',
Loud raves the torrent an' the rain,
An' dark the cloud comes down the shaw.
But let the tempest tout and blaw,
Upon his loudest winter horn,
Good night s-n' joy be wi' you a',
We'll maybe meet again the morn.
O we ha'e wander'd far an' wide,
O'er Scotia's land o' firth an' fell,
An' mony a simple flower we've cuU'd,
An' twined them wi' the heather-bell :
We've ranged the dingle an' the dell,
The hamlet an' the baron's ha',
Now let us tak' a kind farewell, —
Good night an' joy be wi' you a' !
Ye ha'e been kind as I was keen,
An' follow'd where I led the way,
'Till ilka poet's lore Ave've seen
Of this an' mony a former day.
If e'er I led your steps astray,
Forgi'e your minstrel ance for a' ;
A tear fa's wi' his parting lay —
Good night an" joy be wi' you a' !
DONALD MACDONALD.
JAMES HOGG.
My name it is Donald Macdonald —
I leeve in the Highlands sae grand;
I've follow'd our banner, and will do,
Wherever my Maker has land.
When rankit amang the blue bonnets,
Nae danger can fear me ava;
I ken that my brethren around me
Are cither to conquer or fa'.
Brogues, and brochan, and a',
Brochan, and brogues, and a',
And is na her very weel aff
Wha has brogues, and brochan, and a'?
What though we befreendit young Charlie ?
To tell it I dinna think shame ;
Puir lad! he cam' to us but barelj-.
And reckon'd ou)- mountains his hame.
CHRONOLOGICALLY AIMl.VKGED. 417
It's true that onr reason forba^lc us,
But tenderness carried the daj' ;
Had Geordie come friendless amang us,
Wi' him we had a' ganc away.
Sword, and buckler, and a',
Buckler, and sword, and a' ;
For George we'll encounter tlie devil,
AVi' sword, and buckler, and a'.
And 0 I wad eagerly press him
The keys o' the East to retain;
For should lie gi'c up the possession,
We'll soon ha'c to force them again ;
Than yield up an inch wi' dishonour,
Though it were my finishin' blov.'.
He aye may depend on Macdonald,
Wi' his nighlandmen all in a row.
Knees, and elbows, and a'.
Elbows, and knees, and a,'
Depend upon Donald Macdonald,
Ilis knees, and elbows, and a.
If Bonaparte land at Fort-William,
Auld Europe nae langer shall grann ;
I laugh when I tliink how we'll gall liini
Wi' bullet, wi' steel, and wi' stane :
Wi' rocks o' the Nevis and Garny
We'll rattle him aft frae our sliore.
Or lull him asleep in a cairnie.
And sing him Lochaber no more !
Stanes, and bullets, an' a',
Bullets, and stanes, and a' ;
We'll finish tlic Corsican calhin
Wi' stanes, and bullets, and a'.
The Gordon is gude in a hurry ;
And Campbell is steel to the banc.
And Grant, and ^lackenzie, and Murray,
And Cameron, will hurkle to nane;
The Stuart is sturdy and wannel;
And sac is j\Iacleod and i\Iaekay ;
And I, their gude-brither, Macdonald,
Sail never be last in the fray.
Brogues, and brochan, aiul, a',
Brochan, and brogues, and a' ;
And up wi' the bonnic blue bonnet,
The kilt, and feather, and a'.
?>"
418 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
DOCTOR MUNEOE.
jAJtES noaa.
" Dear Doctor, be clever, au' fling afl' your beaver,
Come, bleed me au' blister me, dinna be slow;
I'm sick, I'm exhausted, my prospects are blasted,
An' a' driven lieels o'er head, Doctor Munroe !"
" Be patient, dear fellow, you foster j'our fever ;
Pray, what's the misfortune that troubles you so ?
" 0, Doctor ! I'm ruin'd, I'm ruin'd for ever —
My lass has forsaken me, Doctor Munroe !
" I meant to have married, an' tasted the pleasures,
The sweets, the enjoyments from wedlock that flow ;
But she's ta'en another, an' broken my measures,
An' fairly dumfounder'd me. Doctor Munroe !
I'm fool'd, I am dover'd as dead as a herring —
Good sir, you're a man of compassion, I know ;
Come, bleed me to death, then, unflinching, unerring,
Or grant me some poison, dear Doctor Munroe !"
The Doctor he flang aff his big-coat an' beaver,
He took out his lance, an' he sharpen'd it so ;
No judge ever look'd more decided or graver —
" I've oft done the same, sir," says Doctor Munroe,
" For gamblers, rogues, jockeys, and desperate lovers.
But I always make charge of a hundred, or so."
The patient look'd pale, and cried out in shrill quavers,
" The devil ! do you say so, sir. Doctor Munroe ?"
" 0 yes, sir, I'm sorry there's nothing more common ;
I like it — it pays — but, ere that length I go,
A man that goes mad for the love of a woman
I sometimes can cure with a lecture, or so."
" Why, thank you, sir ; there spoke the man and the friend too.
Death is the last reckoner with friend or with foe,
Tlie lecture then, first, if you please, I'll attend to ;
The other, of course, you know, Doctor Munroe."
The lecture is said — How severe, keen, an' cutting-,
Of love an' of wedlock, each loss an' each woe.
The patient got up — o'er the floor he went strutting,
Smil'd, caper'd, an' shook hands with Doctor Munroe.
He dresses, an' flaunts it with Bell, Sue, an' Chirsty,
But freedom an' fun chooses not to forego ;
He still lives a bachelor, drinks when he's thirsty,
An' sings like a lark, an' loves Doctor Munroe I
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 419
CALLUM-A-GLEN.
J.VMES HOGG.
Was ever old warrior of suffering so weary ?
Was ever the wild beast so bayed iu his den?
The Southron blood-hounds lie in kennels so near me,
That death would be freedom to Callum-a-Grlen.
^ly chief they have slaiu, and of stay have bereft me,
My sons are all slain and my daughters have left me ;
No child to protect me, Avhere once there was ten.
And woe to the grey hairs of Callum-a-Glen.
The homes of my kindred are blazing to heaven,
The bright sun of morning has blushed at the vicAV ;
The moon has stood still on the verge of the even,
To wipe from her pale cheek the tint of the dew :
For the dew it lies red on the vales of Lochaber,
It sprinkles the cot and it flows from the pen ;
The pride of my country is fallen for ever !
Death, hast thou no shaft for old Callum-a-Glen ?
The sun in his glory has look'd on our sorrow,
The stars have wejDt blood over hamlet and lea :
01), is there no day-spring for Scotland? no morrow
Of bright renovation for souls of the free ?
Yes : one above all has beheld our devotion ;
Our valour and faith are not hid from his keu;
The day is abiding of stern retribution
On all the proud foes of old Callum-a-GIcn.
MY LOVE SHE'S BUT A LASSIE YET.
JASIES HOGG.
My love she's but a lassie yet,
A lightsome lovely lassie yet :
It scarce wad do
To sit an' avoo
Down by the stream sac glassy yet.
But there's a braw time coming yet,
When we may gang a-roaming yet ;
An' hint wi' glee
0' joys to be.
When fa's the modest gloaming yet.
She's neither proud nor saucy yet,
She's neither plump nor gaucy yet ;
But just a jinking,
Bonnie blinking,
Ililty-skilty lassie yet.
420 THE SONGS OF SCOTL-VND
But 0, her artless smile's mair sweet
Than hinny or than marmalcte;
An' right or Avrang,
Ere it be lang,
I'll bring her to a parley yet.
I'm jealous o' what blesses her,
The very breeze that kisses her,
The flowery beds
On which she treads,
Tliough wae for ane that misses her.
Tlicn 0 to meet my lassie yet,
Up in yon glen sae grassy yet ;
For all I sec
Are nought to mc,
Save her that's but a lassie yet !
THERE'S NAE LADDIE COMING YOU THEE.
JAMES nOGG.
There's nac laddie coming for thee, my dear Jean,
Tliere's nac laddie coming for thee, my dear Jean,
I ha'e watch'd thee at mid-day, at morn, an' at e'en.
An' there's nae laddie coming for thee, my dear Jean.
But bo nae down-hearted thougli lovers gang by,
Thon'rt my only sister, thy brother am I ;
An' aye in my wee house thou welcome shalt be,
An' while I ha'e saxpencc, I'll share it wi' thee.
0 Jeanie, dear Jeanie, when we twa were young,
1 sat on your kneo, to your bosom I clung ;
You kiss'd mc, an' clasp'd me, an' croon'd your bit sang,
An' bore me about when you hardly dought gang.
An' when I fell sick, wi' a red watery e'c
You watch'd your wee brother, an' fear'd ho wad dee;
I felt the cool hand, and the kindly embrace,
Au' the warm trickling tears drappin' aft on my face.
Sae wae was my kind heart to see my Jean W"cep,
I closed my sick e'e, though 1 wanna asleep ;
An' I'll never forget till the day that I dee.
The gratitude due, my dear Jeanie, to thee !
Then be nae down-hearted, for nae lad can feel
Sic true love as I do, or ken ye sac weel ;
My heart it yearns o'er thee, and grieved wad I bo
If aught were to part my dear Jeanie an' me.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 'J 21
I'LL NO WAKE.
JAMES nOGO.
0, MOTHER, tell t])G laird o't,
Or sairly it will grieve me, 0,
That I'm to wake tlio ewes the nialiti
And Annie's to gang wi' me, 0.
I'll wake the ewes my niclit about,
But ne'er wi' ane Bae saucy, 0,
Nor sit my lane the lee-lang night
Wi' sic a scornfu' lassie, 0 :
I'll no wake, I'll no wake,
I'll no wake wi' Annie, 0 ;
Nor sit my lane o'er night wi' aiio
Sae thraward an' uncanny, 0 !
Dear son, he wise an' waric,
But never be unmanly, 0 ;
I've heard ye tell another talc
Of young an' charming Annie, 0.
The ewes ye wake are fair enough.
Upon the brae sae bonny, 0 ;
But the laird himsel' wad gi'e tl)em a'
To wake the night wi' Annie, 0.
He'll no wake, he'll no wake,
He'll no wake wi' Annie, 0;
Nor sit his lane o'er night wi' ano
Sae thraward an' uncanny, 0 !
I tauld ye ear', I tauld ye late,
That lassie wad trapan ye, 0 ;
An' ilka word ye bond to say
When left alane wi' Annie, 0 !
Take my advice this night for ancc,
Or beauty's tongue will ban ye, 6,
An' scy your leal auld mother's skill
Ayont the muir wi' Annie, 0.
He'll no wake, he'll no wake.
He'll no wake wi' Annie, O,
Nor sit his lane o'er night wi' ano
Sae thraward an' uncanny, 0 !
The night it was a simmer night.
An' oh ! the glen was lancly, 0,
For just ae sternie's gowden e'e
Pecp'd o'er the hill serenely, 0.
2g
i22 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAiTO
The twa are in tlie flow'ry heath,
Ayont the muir sae flowy, 0,
An' but ae plaid between them baith,
An' wasna that right dowie, 0 ?
He maun wake, he maun wake,
He maun wake wi' Annie, 0 ;
An' sit his lane o'er night wi' ane
Sae thraward an' uncanny, 0 !
Neist morning at his mother's knee
He blest her love unfeign'dly, 0 ;
An' aye the tear fell frae his e'e,
An' aye he clasp'd her kindly, 0.
" Of a' my griefs I've got amends,
In yon wild glen sac grassy, 0 ;
A woman only woman kens, —
Your skill has won my lassie, 0.
I'll aye wake, I'll aye wake,
I'll aye wake wi' Annie, 0,
An' sit my lane ilk night wi' ane
Sae sweet, sae kind, an' canny, 0 ! "
MEG 0' MAELEY.
JAMES HOGG.
0 KEN ye Meg o' Marley glen,
The bonny blue-e'ed dearie ?
She's play'd the deil amang the men,
An' a' tlie land's grown eery.
She's stown the " Bangor" frae the clerk,
An' snool'd him wi' the shame o't ;
The minister's fa'n through the text,
An' Meg gets a' the blame o't.
The ploughman ploughs without the sock ;
The gadman whistles sparely ;
The shepherd pines amang his flock,
An' turns his e'en to Marley ;
The tailor lad's fa'n ower the bed ;
The cobler ca's a parly ;
The weaver's neb's out through the web,
An' a' for Meg o' Marley.
What's to be done, for our gudeman
Is flyting late an' early ?
He rises but to curse an' ban,
An' sits down but to ferly.
But ne'er had love a brighter lowe
Than light his torches sparely
At the bright e'en an' blythesome brow
0' bonny Meg o' Marley
CHRONOLOaiCALLY AEKANGED. 423
THE SKYLAEK.
JA3IES HOGG.
Bird of the "wilderness,
Blythesome and cumberless,
Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea 1
Emblem of happiness,
Blessed is thy dwelling-place,
Oh I to abide in the desert with thee !
Wild is thy lay and loud,
Far in the downy cloud ;
Love gives it energy, love gave it birth ;
Where on the dewy wing.
Where art thou journeying ?
Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth.
O'er fell and fountain sheen.
O'er moor and mountain green.
O'er the red streamer that heralds the day;
Over the cloudlet dim,
Over the rainboAv's I'im,
Musical cherub, hie, hie thee away I
Then when the gloaming comes,
Low in the heather blooms,
Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be]
Bird of the wilderness,
Bless'd is thy dwelling-place.
Oh 1 to abide in tlie desert with thee.
I'LL SING 0' YON GLEN.
JAMES nOGG.
I'll sing of yon glen o' red heather,
An' a dear thing that ca's it lier hamo,
Wha's a' made o' love-life together,
Frao the tie o' the shoo to the kaime.
Love beckons in ev'ry sweet motion,
Commanding duo homage to gi'e ;
But the shrine of my dearest devotion
Is the bend o' her bonuic e'e bree.
I fleech'd and I pray'd the dear lassie
To gang to the brakcns wi' me.
But though neither lordly nor saucy,
Iler answer was, " Laith wad I be.
Ah ! is it nac cruel to press mo
To that which wad breed my heart wae,
An' try to entice a poor lassie
The gate she's o'er ready to gae ?
424 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
" I neither lia'e father nor mither,
Good counsel or caution to gi'e,
And prudence has whisper'd me never
To gang to the brackens wi' thee.
I neither ha'e tocher nor mailing,
I ha'e but ae boast — I am free ;
But a' wad be tint, without failing,
Amang the green braclrens Avi' thee."
" Dear lassie, how can jg upbraid me,
And by your ain love to beguile,
For ye are the richest young lady
That ever gaed o'er the kirk-style ?
Your smile that is blither than ony.
The bend o' your sunny e'e-bree,
And the love-blinks aneath it sae bonnio
Are five hunder thousand to me."
There's joy in the blythe blooming feature.
When love lurks in every young line ;
There's joy in the beauties of nature.
There's joy in the dance and the wine ;
But there's a delight will ne'er perish
'Mang pleasures so fleeting and vain,
And that is to love and to cherish
The fond little heart that's our ain.
LOOSE THE YETT.
JAMES HOGG.
Loose the yett, an' let me in,
Lady wi' the glistening e'e,
Dinna let your menial train
Drive an auld man out to dee.
Cauldrife is the winter even.
See, the rime hangs at my chin :
Lady, for the sake of Heaven,
Loose the yett, an' let me in !
Ye shall gain a virgin hue.
Lady, for your courtesye,
Ever beaming, ever new,
Aye to bloom an' ne'er to dee.
Lady, there's a lovely plain
Lies beyond yon setting sun.
There we soon may meet again — ■
Short the race we ha'e to run,
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 425
'Tis a land of love an' light ;
Rank or title is not there,
High an' low maun there unite,
Poor man, prince, an' lady fair;
There, what then on earth hast given,
Doubly shall be paid again !
Lady, for the sake of Heaven,
Loose the yett, an' let me in !
Blessings rest ui:ion thy head,
Lady of this lordly ha' !
Tliat bright tear that thou did'st shed
Fell nae down amang the snaw !
It is gane to heaven aboon,
To the fount of charitye ;
When thy days on earth arc done;
That blest drop shall plead for tlicc,
WHEN MAGGIE GANGS AWA.
JAjltES HOQG.
0, WHAT will a' the lads do
When Maggie gangs away ?
0, what will a' the lads do,
When Maggie gangs away ?
There's no a heart in a' the glen
That disna dread tlie day —
0, what will a' the lads do
When Maggie gangs away ?
Young Jock has ta'en the hill for't — •
A waefu' wight is he ;
Poor Harry's ta'en the bed for't,
An' laid him doun to dec ;
An' Sandy's gane unto the kirk,
An' learning fast to pray —
And, 0, what will the lads do
When Maggie gangs away ?
The young laird o' tlie Lang-shaw
Has drunk her health in wine ;
The priest has said — in confidence —
The lassie was divine :
And tliat is mair in maiden's praise
Tlian ony ^iriest should say :
But, O, what Avill the lads do
When Maggie gangs away?
428 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
The wailing in our green glen
That day will quaver high ;
'Twill draw the red-breast frae the wood,
The laverock from the sky ;
The fairies frae their beds o' dew
Will rise and join the lay :
An' hey ! what a day 'twill be
When Maggie gangs away !
CALEDONIA.
JMIES HOGG.
Caledonia ! thou land of the mountain and rock,
Of the ocean, the mist, and the wind —
Thou land of the torrent, the pine, and the oak,
Of the roebuck, the hart, and the hind :
Though bare are thy cliffs, and though barren thy glena.
Though bleak thy dun islands appear,
Yet kind are the hearts, and undaunted the clans.
That roam on these mountains so drear !
A foe from abroad, or a tyrant at home,
Could never thy ardour restrain ;
The marshall'd array of imperial Kome
Essay 'd thy proud spirit in vain !
Firm seat of religion, of valour, of truth,
Of genius unshackled and free.
The muses have left all the vales of the south,
My loved Caledonia, for thee !
Sweet land of the bay and the wild-winding deeps
Where loveliness slumbers at even.
While far in the depth of the blue waters sleeps
A calm little motionless heaven 1
Thou land of the valley, the moor, and the hill.
Of the storm and the proud rolling wave —
Yes, thou art the land of fair liberty still.
And the land of my forefathers' grave !
OH! WEEL BEFA' THE BUSY LOOM.
From Blackwood's Magazine.
Oh ! weel befa' the busy loom
That plies the hale day lang ;
And, clicking briskly, fills the room
Wi' sic a cheery sang.
Oh ! weel befa' the eident han'
That deeds us, great and sma',
And blessings on the kind gudeman
That dearly lo'es us a'c
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARR.VNGED. 427
Our purse is low, our lot is meau,
But waur it well might be ;
Our house is canty aye and clean,
Our hearts frae canker free.
We fash wi' nae ambitious scheme,
Nor heed affairs o' state ;
We dinna strive against the stream,
Or murmur at our fate.
Oh ! mickle is the wealth that springs
Frae industry and peace,
Where nae reproach o' conscience stings,
And a' rej^imu's cease.
Tlie heart will loathe the richest meat,
If nae kind blessin's sent :
Tlie coarsest morsel will be sweet
When kitchen'd wi' content.
Oh ! wad the Power that rules o'er life
Impart some gracious charm.
To keep me still a happy wife.
And shield the house frae harm.
Instead of wealth and growing care,
I ask but health and love ;
Instead of warldly wit and leir,
Some wisdom from above.
Our bairns ! the comfort o' our heart,
Oil ! may they long be spared !
V/e'll try by them to do our part,
And hope a sure reward.
Wliat better tocher can we gi'e
Than just a taste for hame ;
What better heirship, when we dee,
Than just an honest name ?
MY AIN FIRESIDE.
ELIZABETH IIAinLTOX,
AtrmoRESS of the celebrated Scotch Story, "Tho Cottagers of Gleu-
burnie." She died at HaiTOwgate in 1816, in her G8th year. She was
authoress of several valuable and popular works in their time ; but all,
with the exception of her inimitable Cottagers and the song here given,
arc now forgotten.
I ua'k seen great anes, and sat in great ha's,
'Mang lords and line ladies a' cover'd wi' braws ;
At feasts made for princes, wi' jirinccs I've been,
Whare the grand sheen o' splendour has dazzled my ccn :
But a sight sao delightfu', I trow, I ne'er spied,
As the bonnie blythc blink o' mine ain fireside •
428 TJIE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
My ain fireside, my ain fireside,
0 cheery's the blinli o' mine ain fireside.
My ain fireside, my ain fireside,
0 there's nought to compare wi' ane's ain fireside.
Ance mair, gude be tlianket, round my ain heartsome ingle,
Wi' the fi-iends o' my youth I cordially mingle ;
Nae forms to compel me to seem wae or glad,
1 may laugh when I'm merry, and sigh when I'm sad.
Nae falsehood to dread, and nae malice to fear.
But truth to delight me, and friendshijD to cheer ;
Of a' roads to happiness ever were tried.
There's nane half so sure as ane's ain fireside.
My ain fireside, my ain fireside,
0 there's nought to compare wi' an'j's ain fireside.
When I draw in my stool on my coscy hearthstano.
My heart loups sae light I scarce ken't for my ain ;
Care's down on the wind, it is clean out o' sight.
Past troubles they seem but as dreams of the night.
I hear but kenn'd voices, kenn'd faces I see,
And mark saft affection glent fond frae ilk e'e ;
Nae fleetchings o' flattery, nae boastings o' pride,
'Tis heart speaks to heart at ane's ain fireside.
My ain fireside, my ain fireside,
0 there's nouglit to compare wi' ane's ain fireside.
SEE THE MOON.
DA2^rEL WEHJ,
Was born at Greenock in 1796. lie began business as a bookseller there
in 1815, and conducted a highly respectable business till his death
m 1831.
Weir contributed to Smith's Scottish Minstrel several pleasing songs,
and himself edited for a Glasgow firm three volmncs of songs, &c., under
the titles of "The National Minstrel," "The Sacred Lyre," and "Lyrical
Gems." In these volumes the majority of his own printed pieces first
appeared. A " History of Greenock " was written and published by him
in 1829.
See the moon o'er cloudless Jura
Shining in the lake below;
See the distant mountain towering
Like a pyramid of snow.
Scenes of grandeur — scenes of childhood —
Scenes so dear to love and me !
Let us roam by bower and wildwood.
All is lovelier when with thee.
CHIIONOLOGICALLY ARKANGED. 429
On Loman's breast the winds are sighing,
All is silent in the grove,
And the flowers with dew-drops glisteinng
Sparkle like the eye of love.
Night so calm, so clear, so cloudlB.S.-; ^
Blessed night to love and me !
Let us roam by bower and fountain,
All is lovelier when with thee.
MAEY.
DANffiL VvTSIR.
IIow dear to think on former days.
And former scenes I've wandcr'd o\'V '
They well deserve a poet's praise.
In lofty rhyme they ought to soar.
IIow oft I've wandcr'd by the Clyde,
When night obscured the landscape ncar^
To hear its murm'ring waters glide,
And think upon my Mary dear.
And when the moon shot forth her light.
Sweet glimm'ring through the distant trees,
IIow sweet to pass the peaceful nig] it.
And breathe, serene, the passing breeze.
Though grand these scenes of peace and joy,
'Tis not for them I'd droj} the tear;
Remembrance will my heart annoy.
When thinking on my Marj^ dear.
Far from my friends, far from my home,
I wander on a distant shore ;
Far from those scenes I used to roam.
And scenes perhaps I'll tread no more.
]\Iy fancy still beholds the Clyde,
Her scenes of grandeur now appear;
What power can e'er my thoughts divide?,
From Cl^xle's fair batiks and ]\Iary dear.
No power on earth can change my heart,
Or tear these scenes from out my mind ;
And when this world and I shall jiart.
For them I'll cast a look behind.
Swift fly tlic time until we meet.
Swift fly away each day and year ;
Until my early friends I greet,
And kiss again my Mary dear!
430 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
MY LOVE, COME LET US WANDER.
DANIEL VTEIR.
My love, come let us wander,
Where Raven's streams meander,
And where in simple grandeur.
The daisy decks the plain.
Peace and joy our hours shall measure;
Come, oh come, my soul's best treasure !
Then how sweet, and then how cheerie,
Raven's braes will be, my dearie.
The silver moon is beaming.
On Clyde her light is streaming,
And, Avhile the world is dreaming.
We'll talk of love, my dear.
None, my Jean, Avill share this bosom,
Whore thine image loves to blossom,
And no storm will ever sever
That dear flower, or part us ever.
NEATH THE WAVE.
DANIEL WEin.
'Neath the wave thy lover sleeps,
And cold, cold is his piflow ;
O'er his bed no maiden weeps,
Where rolls the white billow.
And though the winds have sunk to rest
Upon the ocean's troubled breast,
Yet still, oh still there's left behind
A restless storm in Ellen's mind.
Her heart is on yon dark'ning wave,
Where all she lov'd is lying.
And where around her William's grave,
The sea-bird is crying.
And oft on Jura's lonely shore,
Where surges beat and billows roar,
She sat — but grief has nipt lier b]ovm,
An there they made young Ellen's tomb.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 431
DINNA ASK ME GIN I LO'E YOU.
JOHN DtTNLOP.
He was born at Carmyle, in Lanarkshire, in 1755. He was for some time
a merchant in Glasgow, and in 179G held the position of Lord Provost of
that city. He died at Port Glasgow, where he held the office of
Collector of Customs, in 1820.
Oii ! dinna ask me gin I lo'c thee ;
Troth, I dannia tell;
Dinna ask me gin I lo'e ye ;
Ask it o' yoursel'.
Oil ! dinna look sae sair at me,
For weel ye ken me true ;
0, gin ye look sae sair at me,
I daurna look at you.
When ye gang to j^-on braw braw tov/n,
And bonnier lasses sec,
0, dinna, Jamie, look at them,
Lest you should mind na me.
For I could never bide tlie lass,
That ye'd lo'e mair than mo ;
And 0, I'm sure, my heart would break,
Gin ye'd prove false to me.
THE YExiR THAT'S AWA'.
JOHN DUNLOP.
Here's to tho year that's awa' !
We will drink it in strong and in sma' ;
And here's to ilk bonnie young lassie we lo'cd
While swift flew the year that's awa'
And here's to ilk, &c.
Here's to the sodger who bled.
And the sailor who bravely did fa';
Their fame is alive, though their spirits are fled
On the wings of the year that's awa'.
Their fame is alive, &c.
Here's to the friends we can trust.
When the storms of adversity blaw;
May they live in our song, and be nearest our hearts,
Nor depart like the year that's awa'.
May they live, &c.
43J THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
OH, WHY LEFT I MY HAME.
ROBERT GILFILLAN,
Was born at Dunfermline in 1798. Ilis parents were very poor, and
Eobert began the '"battle for bread" when bis teens were a long way off.
In 1811, he went to Leith, where he was engaged as an apprentice to a
Cooper ; when his apprenticeship was past he returned to Dunfennline,
and was employed as shopman to a Grocer. In 1837, he received the
appointment of Collector of Police Eates in Leith, a post which he oc-
cupied till his death, which took place in 1850.
His first volume, entitled "Original Songs," v/as issued in 1831, and
was reprinted with about fifty additional pieces in 1835. He also con-
tributed largely to the periodicals of the day.
Oh, why left I my hame? Why did I cross tlic deep?
Oh, why left I the laud Avliere ray forefathers sleep?
I sigh for Scotia's sliorc, and I gaze across the sea,
But I canna get a blink o' my aiu countrie.
The palm-tree wavcth high, and fair the myrtle spi'ings.
And to the Indian maid the bulbul sweetly sings ;
But I dinna sec the broom wi' its tassels on the lea.
Nor hear the lintie's sang o' my ain countrie.
Oh ! here no Sabbath bell awakes the Sabbath morn,
Nor song of reapers heard among the yellow corn :
For the tyrant's voice is here, and the wail of slaveric ;
But the sun of freedom shines in my ain countrie.
There's a hope for every woe, and a balm for ev'ry pain,
But the first joys of our heart come never back again.
There's a track upon the deep, and a path across the sea,
But the weary ne'er return to their ain countrie.
JANET AND ME,
ROBERT GILFILLAN.
0, WHA are sac happy as me and my Janet?
0, wlia are sae happy as Janet and me ?
We're baith turning auhl, and our walth is soon tauld,
But contentment ye'll find in our cottage sae wee.
She spins the lang day when I'm out wi' the owsen,
She croons i' the house while I sing at the plougli ;
And aye her blythe smile welcomes me frao my toil,
As up the lang glen I come wearied, I trow !
When I'm at a beuk she is mending the cleading.
She's darning the stockings when I sole the shoon ;
Our cracks keep us cheery — we work till we're weary;
And sync we sup sowans when ance avc are done.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 433
SIic's baking- a scone while I'm smoking my cutty,
While I'm i' the stable she's milking the kyo ;
I envy not kings when the gloaming time brings
The canty fireside to my Janet and I !
Aboou cm- auld heads we've a decent clay bigging,
That keeps out the cauld when the simmer's awa' ;
We've twa wabs o' linen, o' Janet's ain spinning,
As thick as dog-lugs, and as white as the snaw !
We've a kebbuck or twa, and some meal i' the girnel ;
Yon sow is our ain that plays grunt at the door ; _
An' something, I've guess'd, 's in yon auld painted kist,
That Janet, fell bodic, 's laid up to the fore !
Nae doubt, we have haen our ain sorrows and troubles,
Aften times pouches toom, and hearts fu' o' care ;
But still, wi' our crosses, our sorrows and losses.
Contentment, be thankit, has aye been our share ;
I've an auld rusty sword, that was left by my father,
Whilk ne'er shall be drawn till our king has a fac ;
We ha'e friends anc or twa, that aft gi'e us a ca'.
To laugh when we're happy, or grieve when we're wae.
Tlie laird may ha'e gowd mair than schoolmen can reckon,
An' flunkies to watch ilka glance o' his e'c ;
Ilis lady, aye braw, may sit in her ha'.
But are they mair happy than Janet and me ?
A' ye wha ne'er kent the straight road to be happy,
Wha are na content wi' the lot that ye dree,
Come down to the dwellin' of whilk I've been telling,
Ye'sc learn it by looking at Janet an' mc !
A CANTY SANG.
KOEERT GILFILLAN.
A CANTY sang, 0, a canty sang.
Will naebody gi'e us a canty sang?
Tliere's nactliing keeps niglils frae turning owrc king
Like a canty sang, like a canty sang.
If folk wad but sing wlicn they're gaun to flytc,
Less envy ye'd see, less anger and spite ;
What saftens doun strife, and mak's lovo mair Strang,
Lilie a canty sang, like a canty sang ?
Like a canty sang, &c.
If lads v/ad but sing when they gang to woo,
They'd come na aye hame wi' thoum i' tlicir mou';
The chicl that wi' lasses wad be fu' tlu'ang,
Suld learn to lilt to them a canty sang.
A canty sang, &c.
434 THE SONGS of Scotland
When fools become quarrelsome ower their ale,
I'se gi'e ye a cure wliilk never will fail, —
Wlien their tongues get short an' their arms get lang,
Aye drown the din wi' a canty sang I
A canty sang, &c.
I downa bide strife, though fond o' a spree,
Your sair wordy bodies are no for me :
A wee dribble punch, gif it just be Strang,
Is a' my delight, an' a canty sang !
A canty sang, 0, a canty sang.
Will naebody gi'e us a canty sang ?
There's naething keeps nights frae turning ower lang
Like a canty sang, like a canty sang.
on, TAKE ME TO YON SUNNY ISLE.
ROBERT GILFILLAN,
OhI take me to yon sunny isle that stands in Fortha's sea,
For there, all lonely, I may weep, since tears my lot must be ;
The cavern'd rocks alune shall hear my anguish and my woe,
But can their echoes Mary bring ? ah ! no, no, no !
I'll wander by the silent shore, or climb the rocky steep.
And list to ocean murmuring the music of the deep ;
But when the soft moon lights the waves in evening's silver
glow.
Shall Mary meet me 'neath its light ? ah ! no, no, no !
I'll speak of her to every flower, and lovely flowers are there,
They'll may be bow their heads and weep, for she, like them,
was fair —
And every bird I'll teach a song, a plaintive song of woe.
But Mary cannot hear their strains ? — ah ! no, no, no !
Slow steals the sun a-down the sky, as loth to part with day.
But airy morn with carolling voice shall wake him forth as gay ;
Yet Mary's sun rose bright and fair, and now that sun is low,
Shall its fair beam e'er grace the morn ? ah ! no, no, no !
But I must shed the hidden tear, lest Mary mark my care :
The stifling groan may break my heart, but it shall linger there!
I'll even feign the outward smile, to hide my inward woe,
I would not have her weep in heaven — ah ! no, no, no !
CHRONOLOGICALLY AKRANGED. 435
MARY SHEAREE.
THOMAS ATKINSON,
A BOOKSELLER ill Glasgow. Ho died while ou a voyage to Bailjadoes
in 1833.
She's aff and awa' like the lang summer day,
And om" hearts and om* hills are now lauesomc and dreary ;
The sun-blinks o' June will come back ower the brae,
But lang for blj^the Mary fu' mony may weary !
For mair hearts than mine
Kenn'd o' nane that were dearer ;
But nane mair will pine
For the sweet Mary Shearer !
She cam' wi' the spring just like ane o' its flowers,
And the blue bell and Mary baith blossom'd thegither ;
Tlie bloom o' the mountain again will be ours,
But the rose o' the valley nae mair will come hithc!!
Their sweet breath is fled —
Iler kind looks still endear her ;
For the heart maun be dead
That forgets Mary Shearer !
Than her brow ne'er a fairer wi' jewels was hung ;
An e'e that was brighter ne'er glanced on a lover ;
Sounds safter ne'er dropt frae an aye-saying tongue,
Nor mair pure is the white o' her bridal-bed cover.
0 ! he maun be bless'd
Wha's allowed to be near her ;
For the fairest and best
0' her kind's Mary Shearer !
But farewell, Glenlin, and Dunoon, and Loch Striven,
My covuitry and kin ! — since I've sae lov'd the stranger;
Whare she's been maun be either a pine or a heaven,
— Sae across the braid warld for a while I'm a ranger !
Though I try to forget — ■
In my heart still I'll wear her : —
For mine may be yet,
— Name and a' — Mary Shearer !
LOVE.
Ascribed to Eobert Bums, junior, oldest son of the poet.
IIa'e ye seen, in the calm dewy morning,
The red-breast wild warbling sae clear ;
Or the low-dwelling, snow-breasted go wan,
Surcharg'd wi' mild c'eniug's soft tear ?
436 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
0, then ye lia'c seen my dear lassie,
The lassie I lo'e best of a' ;
But far frae the hame o' my lassie,
I'm mony a lang mile awa'.
Ilcr liair is the wing o' the blackbinl,
Her eye is the eye o' the dove,
Her lips are the ripe blushing rose-bud.
Her bosom's the palace of love.
Tliough green be tliy banks, 0 sweet CluUiu !
Thy beauties ne'er charm me ava;
Forgive mc, ye maids o' sweet Clutha,
My heart is wi' her that's awa'.
0 love, thou'rt a dear fleeting j^leasurc !
The sweetest we mortals here know ;
But soon is thy heav'n, bright beaming,
O'ei-cast with the darkness of woe.
As the moon, on the oft-changing ocean.
Delights the lone mariner's eye.
Till red rush the storms of the desert.
And dark billows tumble on high.
PITY AN AULD HIGHLAN' PIPER
AscKiBED to llobert Bums, junior.
On pity an auld Highlan' piper,
An' dinna for want let him dee :
Oh ! look at my faithfu' v/ce doggie,
The icicle hangs frae his e'e.
I ance had a weel theekit cot-house
On Morvala's sea-beaten shore;
But our laird turn'd mo out frae my cot-house ;
Alas ! I was feckless an' puir.
My twa sons were baith press'd for sailors,
An' brave for their kintra did fa';
My auld wife she died soon o' sorrow,
An' left me bereft o' them a'.
I downa do ony sair wark.
For maist bauld is my lyart auld pow,
So I beg Avi' my pipes, an' my doggie.
An' mony a place we've been through.
I set roysel' down i' the gloamin'.
An' tak' my wee dog on my knee.
An' I play on my pipes wi' sad sorrow,
An' the tear trickles doun frae my e'o.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 437
The tear trickles donn frac my e'c,
An' my heart's like to break e'en in tv/a,
Wlicn I think on my auld wfe an' bairns.
That now are sae far far awa'.
Come in thou puir lyart auld carle,
And here nae mair ill shalt thou dree;
As lang- as I'm laird o' this manor,
There's nane shall gae helpless frae me.
And ye shall get a -vvce cot-house.
An' ye shall get baith milk an' meal ;
For he that has sent it to me,
Has sent it to use it weel.
DUXOON.
THOMAS LYLE,
A NATIVE of Paisley, where he was bom iu 1702, He practised as a
Furcioon in Glasgow till 182C, when he went to Airth in Slirlingshirc.
In 185;:5 ho returned to Glasgow, where ho died in 1850.
Mr. Lvle edited iu 1827 a small volume of " Ancient Ballads and Songs,"
<he result of long investigation into the popular poetry of Scotland,
many pieces having been recovered from tradition by the editor and
printed there for the first tune. The volume is also interesting to the
antiquary as containing a collection of poems by Mure of Eowallau.
Ske the glow-worm lits her fairy lamp.
From a beam of the rising moon ;
On the heathy shore at evening fall,
'Twixt IIoly-Loch, and dark Dunoon:
Her fairy lamp's pale silvery glare.
From the dew-clad, niooi'land flower.
Invite my wandering footsteps there,
At the lonely twilight hour.
Wlicn the distant beacon's revolving liglit
Bids my lone steps seek the shore,
Tlierc the rush of the flow-tide's rippling wave
]\Ieets the dash of the fisher's oar ;
And the dim-seen steam-boat's hollow sound,
As she seaward tracks her way;
All else are asleep in tlie still calm night,
And robed in the misty gray,
Wlien the gloAv-worm lits her elfin lamp,
And the night breeze sweeps the hill;
It's sweet, on thy rock-bound shores, Dunoon,
To wander at fancy's will.
Eliza! with thee, in this solitude,
Life's cares would pass aAvay,
Like tlie fleecy clouds over gray Kilmun,
At the Avakc of early day.
2 It
438 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAjSD
KELVIN GROVE.
THOMAS LTLE.
Letus haste to Kelvin grove, bonnie lassie, 0,
Through its mazes let us rove, bonnie lassie, 0.
Where the rose in all her pride,
Paints the hollow dingle side,
Where the midnight fairies glide, bonnie lassie, 0.
Let us wander by the mill, bonnie lassie, 0,
To the cove beside the rill, bonnie lassie, 0,
Where the glens rebound the call,
Of the roaring waters' fall.
Thro' the mountain's rocky hall, bonnie lassie, 0.
0 Kelvin banks are fair, bonnie lassie, 0,
When in summer we are there, bonnie lassie, 0,
There, the May-pink's crimson plume,
Throws a soft, but sweet perfume.
Round the yellow banks of broom, bonnie lassie, 0.
Though I dare not call thee mine, bonnie lassie, 0,
As the smile of fortune's thine, bonnie lassie, 0,
Yet with fortune on my side,
I could stay thy father's pride,
And win thee for my bride, bonnie lassie, 0.
But the frowns of fortune lower, bonnie lassie, 0,
On thy lover at this hour, bonnie lassie, 0,
Ere yon golden orb of day
Wake the warblers on the spray.
From this land I must away, bonnie lassie, 0.
Then farewell to Kelvin grove, bonnie lassie, 0,
And adieu to all I love, bonnie lassie, 0,
To the river winding clear,
To the fragrant scented brier,
Even to thee of all most dear, bonnie lassie, 0.
When upoia a foreign shore, bonnie lassie, 0,
Should I fall midst battle's roar, bonnie lassie, 0,
Then, Helen ! shouldst thou hear
Of thy lover on his bier.
To his memory shed a tear, bonnie lassie, 0.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRAKGED. 439
THEEE LIVES A YOUNG LASSIE.
JOHN IMLAH,
Author of several volumes of poems, he was bom at Aberdeen in 1799.
He was employed by the celebrated iinn of Broadwood of London, as a
piano tuner. He died at Jamaica, whither he had gone on a visit to a
relative, in ISil. None of his songs have achieved any degree of popu-
larity except the one here given.
There lives a young lassie
Far down yon lang glen ;
How I lo'e that lassie
There's nae ane can ken !
0 ! a saint's faith may vary,
But faithful I'll bo ;
For wecl I lo'c Marj',
An' Mary lo'cs me.
Red, red as the rowan
Her smiling wee mou' ;
An' white as the gowan
Her breast and her brow 1
Wi' a foot o' a fairy
She links o'er the lea;
0 ! wecl I lo'e Mary,
An' Mary lo'es me !
Slie sings sweet as onie
Wee bird of the air.
And she's blithe as she's bonnlu,
She's guid as she's fair ;
LOvC a lanunie sae airy
And artless is she,
0 ! Avccl I lo'e Mary,
An' Mary lo'es me 1
Where yon tall forest timmcr,
.A.n' lowly broom bower,
To the sunshine o' sinmier
Spread verdure an' flower ;
There, when night clouds the cary.
Beside her I'll be ;
For wcel I lo'c Mary,
An' Mary lo'es mc.
440 THE SONGS OF SCOTL.VND
WE'EE A' NODDIN'.
AXLAN CDNNINGHAM,
Was born at Blackwood iu Nithsdale, Dumfries-shire, in 1784. When
only eleven years of age he was apprenticed to an elder brother as a stone-
mason, thus sharing the lot of many of the best of our Scottish song
writers who had to encounter the battle of this life at a very early age.
The greatest event in Cunningham's life is his introduction to Cromek,
a London engraver, and one who felt enthusiastic about Scotch poetry and
poets. Cromek in 1809 visited Dumfries to procure materials for his
"Keliques of Burns" then in course of preparation. The result of their
acquaintance was the production of the " Eemains of Nithsdale and Gal-
loway Song," a voliune professedly of songs and fragments collected
among the peasantry of Nithsdale and Galloway, but being in reality, in
greater part, the composition of Allan Cunningham, who succeeded in
palming them upon the credulous antiquary as traditionary pieces. The
ruse, however, was soon discovered on the publication of the volume.
About the time of the publication of the "Eemains," Cunningham, at
the desire of Cromek, removed to London, -sphere he worked for some time
as a journeyman mason. He afterwards obtained employment as foreman
to Chantrey the celebrated sculptor, iu whose employment he remained
till his death, which took place in 1842.
As author or editor, Allan Cunningham was one of the hardest worked
men of his time. In 1813 he published a volume of poems; in 1822 a
dramatic poem; in 182G a novel entitled "Paul Jones," aud in 1828
another entitled " Sir Michael Scott," besides nmuerous other original
works. He edited an edition of the works of Robert Burns with life and
notes, "the Lives of the most eminent British painters, &c.," and an edition
of the Songs of Scotland in 4 volumes. He also contributed largely to
Blackwood's Magazine, The Athenacimi, and other journals.
The family of Cunningham seems to have been one of rare talents : we
have in this work presented specimens of one of his brothers' poetical
powers. Two other brothers, James and Peter, were knov/n as contri-
butors to the literature of the day. Of his own children, the eldest was
well known as author of the Ilandbook to London and other works ;
while another son, Lieut.-Colonel Cunningham, is engaged in editing a
series of the British Dramatists ; a task he fulfils with great judgment and
discretion.
Our gudewife 's awa',
Now's the time to woo,
For the lads like lasses,
And the lasses lads too.
The moon's beaming bright,
And the gowan 's in dew,
And my love 's by my side,
Aud we're a' happy now.
And we're a' noddin',
Nid, nid noddin',
And we're a' noddin',
At our house at lianie.
CimONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 441
I have wale of loves, —
Nannie rich and fair,
Bessie brown and bonnie,
And Kate wi' curling hair ;
And Bell young and i^roud,
Wi' gold aboon her brow,
But my Jean has twa e'en
That glow'r me througli and tlirough.
And we're a' noddin', &c.
Sair she slights the lads,
Three lie like to dee.
Four in sorrow listed,
And five flew to the sea.
Nigh her chamber door
A' night they watch in dool,
Ae kind word frac my love
Would charm frac yule to yulo.
^nd we're a' noddin', &c.
Our gudewife 's come hame,
Now mute maun I woo ;
My true love's bright glances
Shine a' the chamber through ;
0, sweet is her voice.
When she sings at her wark,
Sweet the touch of her hand,
And her vows in the dark.
And we're a' noddin', <^c.
JOHN G E U IM L I E .
ALLAN CUNNINGHAJr.
Adapted from the old Poem, " The Wife of Aucliteniuiclit}'."
John Guumije swore by the light o' the moo?:,
And the green leaves on the tree,
That he could do more work in a day
Than his wife could do in tlireo.
Ilis wife rose up in the morning
Wi' cares and troubles enow —
John Grumlie bide at hame, John,
And I'll go luiud the plow.
First ye maun dress j-our cliildren fair,
And put them a' in their gear;
And ye maun turn the malt, Jolm,
Or else ye'l! spoil the beer;
442 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
And ye maun reel the twccl, Jolm,
That I span yesterday ;
And ye maun ca' in the hens, John,
Else they'll all lay away.
0 he did dress his children fair.
And put them a' in their gear;
But he forgot to turn the malt,
And so he spoil'd the beer :
And he sang loud as he reeled the tweel
That his wife span yesterday ;
But he forgot to put up the hens,
And the hens all layed away.
The hawket crummie loot down nae milk;
He kirned, nor butter gat ;
And a' gade wrang, and nought gade right;
He danced with rage, and grat ;
Then up he ran to the liead o' the kuoAve
Wi' mony a wave and shoTit —
She heard him as she heard liim not,
And steered the slots about.
John Grumlie's wife cam hame at e'en,
A weary wife and sad.
And burst into a laughter loud.
And laughed as she'd been mad :
While John Grumlie swore by the light o the moon
And the green leaves on the tree.
If my wife should na win a penny a day,
She's aye have her will for me.
LADY ANNE.
ALLAN CUNNINGHAJI.
There's kames o' hinnie 'tween my luve's lips,
And gowd amang her hair,
Her breists are lapt in a holy veil ;
Nae mortal e'en keek tliere.
What lips daur kiss, or what hand daur touch,
Or what arm o' luve daur span.
The hinnie lips, the creamy lufe,
Or the waist o' Lady Anne ?
She kisses the lips o' her bonnie red rosG,
Wat wi' the blobs o' dew ;
But nae gentle lip, nor semple lip,
Maun touch her ladie mou'.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 443
But a broider'd belt, wi' a buckle o' gowd,
Her jimpy waist maun span :
Oh, she's an armfu' fit for heeven —
My bonnie Lady Anne !
Her bower casement is latticed wi' flowers,
Tied up wi' siller thread ;
And comely sits she in the midst.
Men's longing e'en to feed.
She waves the ringlets frae her cheek,
Wi' her milky milky ban' ;
And her cheeks seem touch'd wi' the finger o' God,
My bonnie Lady Anne.
Tlie mornin' clud is tassel'd wi' gowd,
Like my luve's broider'd cap ;
And on the mantle that my luve wears,
Is mony a gowden drap.
Her bonnie ee-bree's a holy arch.
Cast by nae earthly ban',
And the breath o' heaven is atweeu the lips
0' my bonnie Lady Anne.
I wonderin' gaze on her stately steps.
And I beet a hopeless flame !
To my luve, alas ! she maunna stoo^? ;
It wad stain her honour'd name.
My e'en are bauld, they dwall on a place
Where I daurna mint n;y ban' ;
But I water, and tend, and kiss the flowers
0' my bonnie Lady Anne.
I am but her father's gardener lad,
And pun puir is my fa' ;
My auld mither gets my wee wee fee,
Wi' fatherless bairnies twa.
But my lady comes, my lady gaes,
Wi' a fou and kindly ban' ;
0, the blessiu' o' God maun mix wi' my luve,
And fa' on Lady Anne.
BONNIE MARY HALLIDAY.
ALLAN CDNNINGIIAjr.
BoMXTE Mary Ilalliday,
Turn again, I call you ;
If you go to the dewy wood,
Sorrow will befall you.
444 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
The rinf^-dove from the dewy wood
Is wailing sore and calling ;
An' Annan water, 'tween its banks,
Is foaming far and falling.
Gentle Mary Halliday,
Come, my bonnie lady —
Upon the river's woodj^ bank
My steed is saddled ready.
And for thy haughty kinsman's threals
My faith shall never falter —
The bridal banquet's ready made,
The priest is at the altar.
Gentle Mary Halliday,
Tlie towers of merry Preston
Have bridal candles gleaming bright —
So busk thee, love, and hasten.
Come busk thee, love, and bowne thee
Through Tindal and green Mouswal ;
Come, be the grace and be the charm
To the proud Towers of Moclmsel.
Bonnie Mary Halliday,
Turn again, I tell you ;
For wit, and grace, and loveliness,
What maidens may excel you ?
Though Annan has its beauteous damos.
And Corrie many a fair one.
We canna want thee from our sight,
Thou lovely and thou rare one.
Bonnie Mary Halliday,
When the cittern's sounding,
We'll miss thy lightsome lily foot
Amang the blylhe lads bounding.
The summer sun shall freeze our veins,
The winter moon shall warm us.
Ere the like of thee shall come again
To cheer us and to charm us.
THE WANTON WIFE,
ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.
NiTH, trembling to the reaper's sang,
Warm glitter'd in the harvest sun,
And murmured down the lanesome glen,
Where a wife of wanton wit did won.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 445
Her tongue wagged wi' unlialy wit,
Uustent by kirk or gospel bann,
An' aye she wished the kirkyard mods
Green growing o'er licr auki gudcman.
Her auld gudeman drapped in at e'en,
Wi' harvest heuk — sair toil'd was he;
Sma' was his cog and cauld his kail,
Yet anger never raised liis e'e ;
He bless'd. the little, and was blithe,
Wliile spak' the daino, wi' clamorous tongue,
0 sorrow clap your auld beld pow.
And dance wi' ye to the mools, gudeman !
He hang his bonnet on tlio pin.
And down he laj^, liis dool to drie ;
While she sat singing in the neuk,
And tasting at the barley bree.
The lark, 'mid morning's siller gray,
That wont to cheer him warkward gann,
Next morning missed amang the dcAV
The blithe and dainty auld gudeman.
The third morn's devv' on flower and tree
'Gan glorious in the sun to glow,
When sung the wanton wife to mark
His feet gaun foremost o'er the knowc.
The first flight o' the winter's rime
That on the kirkj-ard sward had faun,
The wanton wife skiffed aff his grave,
A-kirking wi' her new gudeman.
A dainty dame I wat was she.
High brent and burnished was her brow,
'j\Iang lint-locks curling ; and her lips
Twin daisies dawned through honey dew :
And light and loesomc in the dance,
When ha' was hot, or kirn was won ;
Her breasts twa drifts o' purest snaw,
In cauld December's bosom faun.
But lang CV2 winter's winds blew bj',
She skirled in her lonesome bow ;
Her new gudeman, wi' hazle rung,
Began to kame lier wanton pow.
Her licarth was slokent out wi' care,
Toom grew iier kist and cauld her pan,
And dreigh and dowic waxed the night,
Ere Beltane, wi' her uqw gudeman.
446 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
She dreary sits 'tween naked wa's,
Her cheek ne'er dhnpled into mirth ;
Half-happit, haurling out o' doors,
And hunger-haunted at her hearth.
And see the tears fa' frae her e'en,
Warm happin' down her haffits wan ;
But guess her bitterness of saul
In sorrow for her aukl gudeman !
AY/ETSHEET.
ALLAN CUNNINGHAir.
A v,TT sheet and a fioAving sea,
A wind tliat follows fast,
And fills the white and rustling sail.
And bends the gallant mast.
And bends the gallant mast, my boys.
While like the eagle free.
Away the good ship flies, and leaves
Old England on the lee.
0 for a soft and gentle wind !
I heard a fair one cry ;
But give to mc the swelling breeze.
And white waves heaving high :
The white waves heaving high, my lads.
The good ship tight and free —
The world of waters is our home,
And merry men are we.
There's tempest in yon horned moon,
And lightning in yon cloud ;
And hark the music, mariners !
The wind is piping loud.
The wind is piping, loud, my boys,
The lightning flashes free —
While the hollow oak our palace is.
Our heritage the sea.
LOW GERMANIE.
As I sail'd past green Jura's isle,
Among the waters lone,
I heard a voice— a SAveet low voice,
Atweeu a sigh and moan .-
CHRONOLOGICALLY AnRANGED. 447
Y/ith ae babe at lier bosom, and
Another at her knee,
A mother wail'd the bloody wars
In Low Germanie.
Oh woe unto these cruel wars
That ever they began,
For they have swept my native isle
Of many a pretty man :
For first they took my brethren twain,
Then wiled my love frae me.
Woe, woe unto the cruel wars
In Low Germanie.
I saw him when he sail'd away,
And furrow'd far the brine ;
And down his foes came to the shore,
In many a glittering line :
The war-steeds rush'd amang the waves,
The guns came flashing free,
But could nae keep my gallant love
From Low Germanic.
Oil say, ye maidens, have ye seen.
When swells the battle cry,
A stately youth with bonnet blue
And feather floating high —
An eye that flashes fierce for all,
But ever mild to me ?
Oh that's the lad who loves me best
In Low Germanie.
Where'er the cymbal's sound is heard.
And cittern sweeter far —
Where'er the trumpet blast is blown,
And horses rush to Avar ;
Tlie blithest at the banquet board,
And first in war is lie,
The bonnie lad, whom I love best,
In Low Germanic.
I sit upon the high green land,
Wlicn mute the waters lie,
And think I see my true love's sail
Atween the sea and sky.
With ae bairn at my bosom, and
Another at my knee,
I sorrow for my soldier lad
In Low Germanie.
448 THE soxGS of Scotland
THERE DWALT A MAN.
ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.
The fiict vc:se is a fmgmcnt of a veiy old song.
There dwalt a man into the west,
And 0 gin he was cruel,
For on his bridal night at e'en
He gat up and grat for gruel.
They brought to him a gude sheep head,
A napkin and a toAvel :
Gar tak' tliae whim-whams far frac me,
And bring to me my gruel.
But there's nac meal in a' the house,
What will we do, my jewel?
Get up tlie powk and shake it out,
I winna want my gruel.
But there's nae milk in a' the house,
Nor yet a spunk o' fuel :
Gae warm it in the light o' the moon,
I winna want my gruel.
0 lakc-a-day for my first wife,
Wha was baith white and rosic.
She cheer'd me aye at o'cning fa'
Wi' something warm and cozie :
Farewell to pleasant draps o' drink,
To butter brosc and gruel ;
And farewell to my first sweet wife.
My cannie Nancy Newell.
DONALD GUNN.
DAVID WEBSTER,
Author of a volume of poems published at Paisley in 1S35.
Heard ye e'er o' Donald Gunn,
Ance sae duddy, dowf, and need}*.
Now a laird in yonder toun.
Callous-hearted, proud, and greedy*.
Up the glen aboon the linn,
Donald met wi' IMaggie Millar,
Wooed tlie lass amang the whins,
Because she had the word o' siller;
Meg was neither trig nor braw.
Had mae fauts than ane laid till her ;
Donald looket ower them a',
A' his thought was on the siller.
Hoard ye e'er, &c.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 149
Donald grew baith braid and braw,
Ceased to bore the whinstone quarry,
Maggie's siller pays for a',
Breeks instead o' dudd}' barric :
Though he's ignorant as a stirk,
Thougli he's doure as ony donkey ;
Yet, by accidental jirk,
Donald rides before a flunkey.
Heard ye e'er, &c.
Clachan bairnies roar wi' fright,
Clachau dogs tak' to their trotters ;
Ciachan wives the pathway dicht
To tranquillise his thraward features :
Gangrel bodies in the street
Beck and bow to make him civil,
Tenant bodies in his debt,
Shun him as they'd shun the devil.
Heard ye e'er, &c.
Few gangs trigger to the fair.
Few gangs to the kirk sac gaucie, — •
Few wi' Donald can compare
To keep the cantel o' the causie :
In his breast a bladd o' stane,
Ncith his hat a box o' brochan.
In liis nicvc a wally cane,
Thus the tyrant rules the clachan,
Heard ye e'er, &c.
TAK' IT MAN, TAK' IT.
DAVID WEBSTER.
When I was a miller in Fife,
Losh ! I thought that the sound o' the liapper
Said, Tak' Jiame a wee flow to your wife,
To help to be brose to your supper.
Then my conscience was narrow and pure.
But someway by random it rnckit;
For I liftct twa nievcfu' or mnir,
While the happer said, Tak' it, man, tak' it.
Then hey for the mill and tlic kill.
The garland and gear for my cogie,
And hey for the whisky and yill.
That washes the dust frae my craigic.
450 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Although it's been laug in repute
For rogues to make rich by deceiving :
Yet I see that it disna weel suit
Honest men to begin to the thieving.
For my heart it gaed dunt upon dunt,
Od, I thought illca dunt it wad crackit ;
Sae I iiang I'rae my nieve what was iu't,
Still the happcr said, Tak' it, man, tak' it.
Then hey for the mill, &c.
A man that's been bred to the plough,
Might be deav'd wi' its clamorous clapper ;
Yet there's few but would suffer the sough.
After kenning what's said by the happer.
I whiles thought it scofi'd me to scorn.
Saying, Shame, is your conscience no chackit ;
But when I grew dry for a horn,
It changed aye to Tak' it, man, tak' it.
Then hey for the mill, &c.
The smugglers whiles cam' wi' their packs,
'Cause they kent that I liked a bicker,
Sae I bartered whyles wi' the gowks,
Gi'ed them grain for a soup o' their liquor.
I had lang been accustomed to drink,
And aye when I purposed to quat it.
That thing wi' its clapertie clink.
Said aye to me, Tak' it, man, tak' it.
Then hey for the mill, &c.
But the warst thing I did in my life,
Nae doubt but ye'U think I Avas wraug o't,
Od, I tauld a bit bodie in Fife
A' my tale, and he made a bit sang o't.
I have aye had a voice a' my days.
But for siugin' I ne'er gat the knack o't ;
Yet I try whyles, just thinking to please
My frien's here, wi' Tak' it, man, tak' it.
Then hey for the mill, &c.
Now, miller and a' as I am.
This far I can see through the matter ■
There's men mair notorious to fame,
Mair greedy than me o' the muter.
For 'twad seem that the hale race o' men,
Or wi' safety, the ha'f we may mak'"it,
Ila'e some speaking happer within,
That says aye to them, Tak' it, man, tak' it,
Then hey for the mill, &c
CHEONOLOGICALLY AliEANGKD. 451
THE FLOWER OF CALEDONIA.
JAMES BKOWN.
According to Mr, Whitelaw, Brown was " well-known " in the West of
Scotland in his professional capacities of musician and dancing-master.
In his latter days he was aUSicted with blindness, and kept a small public-
house in Jamaica street, Glasgow, where he died in 1836.
Singe uncle's death I've lads enow,
Tiiat never came before to woo ;
But to the laddie I'll be true,
That lo'ed me first of onie, 0 ;
I've lads enow since I gat gear,
Before, my price they'd hardly specr ;
But nane to me is half so dear
As my true lover Johnnie, 0.
Weel do I mind o' auld langsyne,
How they would laugh at me aud mine ;
Now I'll pay them back in their ain coin,
And show them I lo'e Johnnie, 0.
Weel mind I, in my youthfu' days.
How happy I've been gath'rin' slaes,
And rowin' on yon breckan braes,
Wi' the flower o' Caledonia.
The Laird comes o'er and tells my dad,
That surely I am turning mad,
And tells my mam I lo'e a lad
That's neither rich nor bonnic, 0.
The Laird is but a silly gowk.
For tho' my Johnnie has nae stock,
Yet he's the flow'r o' a' the flock,
Ajid the pride of Caledonia.
When to the Laird I wrought for feo,
He wadna look nor speak to me,
But now at breakfast, dine, and tea.
He'd fain mak' me his cronie, 0 ;
But sure as gowd cures the heart-acho,
It's only for my siller's sake ;
The mair o' me that they a' make,
The mair I lo'e my Johnnie, 0.
But now my wedding day is set,
When I'll be married to my pet,
With pleasure I will jiay the debt,
I've awn sao lang to Johnnie, 0.
Come, fiddler, now cast aff your coat,
We's dance a reel upon the spot.
Play " Jockie's made a wedding o't,"
Or " Snod your cockernonie," 0.
452 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Now laddies keep your lasses till't,
And lasses a' yonr coaties kilt,
And let us lia'c a cantie lilt,
Since I lia'e got my Johnnie, 0.
I've got my heart's desire at last,
Though many frowns between us past,
And since we're tied baith hard and fast.
May peace crown Caledonia !
TO A LIHNET.
ROBERT ALIAX,
Was bom at Kilbarchan. in Eenfrcwshirc, in 1774. He was a muslin-
weaver to trade, and while occupied at the loom composed the majority
of his best pieces. He published a volume of poems in 1836, most of his
pieces having aheady been printed in " Smith's Scottish Minstrel," and
in the " Harp of Kenfrewshire." He emigrated to America iu ISil, and
died at New Yorli six days after his anival.
CiFAUNT no more tliy roundelay,
Lovely minstrel of the grove ;
Charm no more the hours away
With thy artless tale of love.
Chaunt no more thy roundelay,
Sad it steals upon mine ear ;
Leave, 0 leave thy leafy spray.
Till the smiling morn appear.
Light of heart, thou quit'st thy song,
As the welkin's shadows lour.
Whilst the beetle vv^heels along,
Humming to the twilight hour.
Not like thee, I quit the scene
To enjoy night's balmy dream ;
Not like thee, I wake again,
Smiling with the morning beam.
A LASSIE CAM' TO OUR GA.TK
ROBERT ALLAN.
A LASSIE cam' to our gate, yestreen,
An' low she curtsied down;
She was lovelier fur an' fau"cr to see
Thau a' our ladies roun'.
0 wliare do ye wend, my sweet winsome doo ?
An' whare may your dwelling be ?
But her heart, I trow, was liken to break,
An' the tcar-drap dimm'd her o'e.
CHRONOLOGICALLY- ARRANGED. 453
I lia'cna a hamo, quo' tlic bonnie lassie —
I ha'ena a hame nor ha',
Fain here wad I rest my weary feet,
For the night begins to fa'.
I took her into our tapestry ha',
An' we drank the ruddy wine ;
An' aye I stravo, but fand my lieart
Fast bound wi' love's silken twine.
I wcen'd she might bo the fairies' queen,
She was sac jimp and sma' ;
And the tear that dimm'd her bonnio blue e'e
Fell owre twa heaps o' snaw.
0 whare do ye wend, my sweet winrjome doo ?
An' whare may your dwelling bo ?
Can tlic winter's rain an' the Avinter's wind
lilaw cauld on sic as ye ?
1 ha'ena a hame, quo' the bonnie lassie —
I ha'ena a ha' nor hame ;
My father was ane o' " Charlie's" men,
An' him I daurna name.
Whate'er bo your kitli, whatc'cr be your kin,
Frae this ye mauna gae ;
An' gin yo'U consent to bo my ain,
Nae marrow ye shall ha'e.
Sweet maiden, tak' the siller cup,
Sae fu' o' the damask wine.
An' press it to your cherrio lip.
For ye shall aye be mine.
Au' drink, sweet doo, young Charlie's health,
An' a' your kin sae dear,
Culloden has dimm'd mony an e'e
Wi' mony a saut, saut tear.
THE COVENANTER'S LAIilENT.
nOBEKT ALLAN.
Thicke's nac covenant now, lassie 1
Tlicrc's nae covenant now 1
The solemn league and covenant
Are a' broken through !
Tliere's nae Ilenwick now, lassie.
There's nae gude Cargilj,
Nor holy Sabbath preacliing,
Upon the Martyrs' Hill I
2i
454 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
It's naetbing but a sword, lassio !
A bluicly, bluidy ane !
Waving o'er poor Scotland
For ber rebellious sin.
Scotland's a' wrang, lassie,
Scotland's a' wrang —
It's neitber to tbe bill nor glen,
Lassie, we daur gang.
Tbe Martyrs' Hill forsaken,
In smimer's dusk, sae calm ;
Tberc nae gatbering now, lassie,
To sing tbe e'enin' psalm 1
But tbe martyr's grave will rise, lassie,
Aboon tbe warrior's cairn ;
An' tbe martyr soun' will sleep, lassie,
Aneatb tbe waving fern !
LIFE'S A FAUGHT.
ROBERT AiLAN.
That life's a faugbt tberc is nac doubt,
A steep and slippery brae ;
And wisdom's sel', wi' a' its rules.
Will aften find it sae.
The truest beart that e'er was made,
May find a deadly fae.
And broken aitbs and faithless vows
Gae lovers mickle wac.
When poortith looks wi' sour disdain.
It frights a body sair,
And gars them think they ne'er Avill mee
Delight or pleasure man\
But though tbe heart be e'er sae sad.
And prest wi' joyless care,
Hope lightly steps in at the last,
To fley awa' despak.
For love o' wealth let misers toil.
And fret baitla late and ear',
A cheerfu' beart has aye enough.
And whiles a mite to spare.
A leal true heart's a gift frae heaveu,
A gift that is maist rare ;
It is a treasure o' itsel',
And lightens ilka care.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 455
Let wealth and pride exalt themsel's,
And boast o' what they ha'e,
Compar'd wi' truth and honesty, ,
They are nae worth a strae.
The honest heart keeps aye aboon,
Whate'er the world may saj^,
And laughs and turns its shafts to scorn,
That ithers would dismay.
Sae let us mak' life's burden light,
And drive ilk care awa' ;
Contentment is a dainty feast,
Although in hamely ha' :
It gi'es a charm to ilka thing,
And mak's it look fu' braw,
The spendthrift and the miser herd,
It soars aboon them a'.
But there's ae thing amang the lavo
To keep the heart in tune.
And but for that the weary spleen
Wad plague us late and soon.
A bonnie lass, a canty wife.
For sic is nature's law ;
Without that charmer o' our lives.
There's scarce a charm ava.
A FAEEWELL SONG.
Was born at Blacklaw, Tc%-iotdale, in 1789. Priugle was editor of the
'•Ediubuigh Monthly Magazine," the predecessor of "Blackwood," aud
afterwards was editor of a new series of the " Scots Magazine," published
by Constable, of Edinburgh. The fanrous " Chaldee Iilauuscript,'' which
appeared in the lirst nxmiber of "Blackwood" was written as a satire
upon Priugle and one or two others.
In 181^0 he emigrated to South Africa, and besides recciAang a grant of
laud was appointed in 182o Keeper of the Government Library ia Capo
Town. lie also established a uewsimpcr, but this brought him into
munerous squabbles with the Local Government, and in 1S2G led him
to return to London. After his return he acted as Secretary to the
Anti-slavery Society. He died at London in 183f-.
Our native land — our native vale —
A long and last adieu !
Farewell to bonny Teviotdale,
And Cheviot mountains blue.
Farewell, ye hills of glorious deeds.
And streams renown'd in song —
Farewell ye braes and blossom'd meads,
Our hearts have lov'd so long.
456 THE SONGS Oi'- SCOTLAND
Farewell tlie blythcsome broomy knowcs,
Where thyme and harebells grow —
Farewell, the hoary, haunted howes,
O'erhung with birk and sloe.
The mossy cave and mouldering tower
That skirt our native dell —
The martyr's grave, and lover's bower,
We bid a sad farewell 1
Homo of our love ! our father's home !
Land of the brave and free !
The sail is flapping on the foam
That bears us far from thee !
We seek a wild and distant shore,
Beyond the western main —
We leave thee to return no more,
Nor view thy cliffs again i
Our native land — our native vale —
A long and last adieu !
Farewell to bonny Tcviotdale,
And Scotland's mountains blue !
THE EWE-BUCIITING'S BONNIE.
THOSIAS PRINGLE.
With the cxcei)tion of the first stanza, which was ^vl■ittc^ by Lady
Grisell Baillie, (see page 58.)
0 THE ewe-bugliting's bonnie. baith e'ening and morn,
When our blythe shepherds play on the bog-reed and horn;
While we're milking they're lilting baitli pleasant and clear ;
But my heart's like to break when I think on my dear ;
0 the shej)herds take pleasure to blow on the horn,
To raise up their flocks o' shee]) soon i' the morn :
On the bonnie green banks they feed pleasant and free —
But alas ! my dear heart, all my sighing's for thee !
0 the sheep-herding's lightsome amang the green braes
Where Cayle wimples clear 'neath the Avhite-blossomed slaes.
Where the wild-thyme and meadow-queen scent the saft gale,
And the cushat croods luesomely down in the dale.
There the lintwhite and mavis sing sweet frae the thorn,
And blythe lilts the laverock aboon the green corn,
And a' things rejoice in the simmer's glad prime —
But my heart's wi' my love in the far foreign clime 1
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 457
0 the hciy-making's i:)leasant, in bright sunny June —
The hay-time is cheery wlieu hearts are in tune ;
But wliile others are joking and laughing sae free,
There's a pang at my heart and a tear i' my e'e.
At e'en i' the gloaming, adown by the burn,
Fu' dowie, and wae, aft T daunder and mourn ;
Amang the lang broom I sit greeting alane,
And sigh for my dear and the days that are gane.
0 tlic days o' our youtheid were heartsome and gay,
When we herded thegithcr by sweet Gaitshaw brae.
When we plaited the rushes and pu'd the witch-bells
l'>y the Cayle's ferny howms and on Hounam's green fells.
ISut young Sandy bood gang to the wars wi' the laird,
To win honour and gowd — (gif his life it be spared !)
Ah ! little care I for wealth, favour, or fame,
Gin I had my dear shepherd but safely at hamo !
Then round our wee cot though gruff winter sould roar,
And poortith glowr in like a wolf at the door;
Though our toom purse had barely twa boddles to clink,
And a barley-meal scone were the best on our bink ;
Yet, he wi' ids hirsel, and I wi' my wheel,
Through the howc o' the j^ear we wad fen unco weel ;
Till the lintwhite, and laverock, and lambs bleating fain.
Brought back the blythe time o' ewe-bughting again.
THE OLD SCOTTISH BROADSWORDS.
J. G. LOCKUAET.
The son-iu-law and biographer of Sir Walter Scott.
Now there's peace on the shore, now there's calm on the sea,
Fill a glass to the heroes whose swords kept us free,
Right descendants of Wallace, Montrose, and Dundee.
Oh, the broadswords of Old Scotland!
And oh, the old Scottish broadswords !
Old Sir Ralph Abercromby, tho good and the brave —
Let him flee from our board, let him sleep willi the slave,
AVhose libation comes slow while we honour his grave.
Oh, the broadswords, &c.
Though he died not like him amid victory's roar,
Though disaster and gloom wove his shroud on the shore,
Not the less we remember the spirit of Moore.
Oh, the broadswords, &c.
Yea, a place with the fallen the living shall claim,
We'll entwine in one wreath every glorious name,
Tho Gordon, tho Ramsay, the Hope, and the Graham,
AH the broadswords, &c,
458 THE SOJsGS OF SCOTLAND
Count the rocks of the Spey, count the groves of the Forth,
Count the stars in the clear cloudless heaven of the north,
Then go blazon their numbers, their names and their worth,
All the broadswords, &c.
The highest in splendour, the humblest in place,
Stand united in glorj^, as kindred in race,
For tlie private is brother in blood to his grace.
Oh, the broadswords, &c.
Then sacred to each and to all let it be,
Fill a glass to the heroes whose swords kept us free,
Right descendants of Wallace, Montrose, and Dundee,
Oh, the broadswords of Old Scotland!
And oh, the old Scottish broadsvv'ords !
CAPTAIN PATON.
J. G. LOCKIIART.
Toucn once more a sober measure.
And let punch and tears be shed,
For a prince of good old fellov/s.
That, alack-a-day ! is dead.
For a prince of worthy follows,
And a pretty man also.
That has left the Saltmarket
In sorrow, grief, and woe —
01) ! we ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo'e !
His waistcoat, coat, and breeches,
Were all cut off the same web,
Of a beautiful snuff-colour,
Or a modest genty drab ;
The blue stripe in his stocking
Eound his neat slim leg did go.
And his ruffles of the cambric fine
They were whiter than the snow —
Oil ! we ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo'e 1
His hair was curled in order.
At the rising of the sun.
In comely rows and bucldes smart
That about his ears did run;
And before there was a toupee,
That some inches up did grow,
And behind there was a long queue
That did o'er his shoulders flow —
Oh ! v/0 ne'er shall see the lil^e of Captain Paton no mo'e !
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 459
And whenever we foregathered
He took off his wee three-cockit,
And he proffered you his snuff-box,
Y\"hich he drew from his side pocket,
And on Burdett or BonajDarte
He would make a remark or so,
And then along the plainstones
Like a jarovost lie would go —
Oh I wc ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo'ol
In dirty days he picked well
His footsteps with his rattan,
Oh ! you ne'er could see the least speck
On the shoes of Captain Paton :
And on entering the coffee-room
About two, all men did know.
They would see him with his Courier
In the middle of the row —
Oh ! we ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo'o i
Now tiien upon a Sunday
He invited me to dine,
On a herring and a mutton-choi)
Which his maid dressed very fine ;
There was also a little Jialmsay
And a bottle of Bordeaux,
Which between me and the Captain
Passed nimbly to and fro —
Oh I I shall ne'er take pot-luck with Captain Paton no roo'e
Or if a bowl was mentioned.
The Captain he would ring.
And bid Nelly rin to the AVcst-port,
And a stoup of water bring ;
Then would he mix the genuine stuff
As they made it long ago.
With limes that on his property
In Trinidad did grow —
Oh! we ne'er shall taste the like of Captain Paten's puncli no
mo'e !
And then all the time he would discourse
So sensible and courteous,
Perhaps talking of last sermon
He had heard from Dr. Poi'teous ;
Of some little bit of scandal
About Mrs. So and So,
Which he scarce could credit, having heard
Tlie con but not the pro —
Oh ! we ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo 'el
460 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Or when the candles were brought forth,
And the night was fairly setting in,
He would tell some fine old stories
About Minden-field or Dettingen —
How he fought with a French Major,
And despatched liim at a blow,
While his blood ran out like water
On the soft grass below —
Oil ! we ne'er shall hear the like of Captain Paton no mo'e !
But at last the Captain sickened
And grew worse from day to day,
And all missed him in the coffee-room.
From which now he staid away ;
On Sabbaths, too, the Wynd Kirk
Made a melancholy show,
All for wanting of the presence
Of our venerable beau —
Oh ! we ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo'c I
And in spite of all that Cleghoru
And Corkindale could do,
It was plain, from twenty symptoms,
That death was in his view;
So the Captain made his test'ment
And submitted to his foe.
And we laid him by the Eara's-horn-kirk,
'Tis the way we all must go — •
Oil ! we ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo'e I
Join all in chorus, jolly boys.
And let punch and tears be shed
For this prince of good old fellows
That, alack-a-day ! is dead ;
For this 2:>rince of worthy fellows.
And a ])retty man also,
That has left the Saltmarket
In sorrow, grief, and woe !
For it ne'er shall sec the like of Captain Paton no mo'e I
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 461
MAGGY MACLANE.
JAMES MATNI!,
A NEPHEW of Joseph Mayne, the author of Logan Braes. James was at
one time a printer in Glasgow, biit latterly edited a nev.spaper in the
Island of Trinidad, where he died in 1842.
Boon i' the glen by the lown o' the trees,
Lies a wee theeket bield, like a bike for the bees ;
But the hinnie there skepp'd — gin ye're no dour to i^lease —
It's virgin Miss Maggy Maclane !
There's few sock Meg's shed noo, the simmer sun jookin';
It's aye the dry floor, ]\Ieg's — the day e'er sac drookin' !
But the heather-blabs lung wharc the red blude's been sliooken
r bruilzies for Maggy Maclane !
Boon by Meg's howf-tree the gowk comes to woo;
But the corncraik's ayo fiey'd at her hallan-door joo !
An' the red-breast ne'er cheeps but the weird's at his mou',
For the last o' the roses that's gane !
Nae trystin' at ]\Ieg's noo — nae Hallowe'en rockins !
Nae howtowdic guttlens — nae mart-jiuddin' yockins !
Nae bane i' the blast's teeth bla\vs snell up Glendockcus I
Clean bickers wi' Maggy Maclane !
Cleg's auld lyart gutcher swarf d dead i' the shawe :
Her bein, fouthy minnic, — she's afF an' awa'!
The gray on her pow but a simmcrly snaw! —
The couthy, cosh Widow Maclane !
0 titties be tentic ! though air i' the day wi' ye, —
Think that the green grass may ae day be hay wi' ye! —
Tliink o' the leal miunie — mayna be aye wi' ye !
When sabbin' for Maggy Maclane.
Lallan' joes — Hiclan' joes — Meg ance had wale ;
Fo'k wi' the siller, and chiefs Avi' the tail !
The yaud left tlie bm-n to drink out o' Meg's pail —
The sheltic braw kent "the Maclane."
Awa' owre the muir they cam' stottin' an' stoicherin'!
Tramper an' traveller, a' beakin' an' broicherin' !
Cadgers an' cuddy-creels, oigherin' ! — hoighcrin !
"The lanlowpersi" — quo' Maggy Maclane.
Cowtcs w-ero to fother : — Meg owre the burn Hang !
Nowte were to tether : — Meg through the wood rang !
The widow she kcnn'd-na to bless or to bann !
Sic waste o' gude wooers to hain !
Yet, aye at the soutcr, ^leg grumph'd her! an' grumph'd her!
The loot-shouther'd wabster, she humph'd her! ami hu-niiih'd herl
The lamitcr tailor, she stump'd her ! an' stump'd her !
Her raiunie might groo or grane J
462 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAJTD
The tailor lie likit cockleekie broo ;
An' doon he cam' wi' a beck an' a boo : —
Quo' Meg, — " We'se sune tak' the clecken aff yon ;" —
An' plump ! i' the burn he's gane !
The widoAv's cheek redden'd ; her heart it play'd thud ! aye ;
Her garters she cuist roon' his neck lilce a wuddie !
She linkit him oot ; but Avi' wringin' his duddies,
Her weed-ring it's burst in twain !
WoAvf was the widow — to baud nor to bing !
The tailor he's aff, an' he's coft a new rins: !
Th' deil squeeze his craig's no Avordy the string ! — ■
He's Avaddet auld WidoAV Maclane !
Auld? — an' a bride ! Na, ye'd pitied the tea-pat !
0 saut were the skadj^ens ! but balm's in GlenliA-at !
The haggis was bockin' oot bluters o' bree-fat,
An' hotch'd to the piper its lane ! —
Doon the burnside, i' the lown o' the glen,
Meg reists her bird-lane, i' a but-an-a-ben :
Steal doon Avhen ye doAV, — i' the dearth, gentlemen, —
Ye'se be aAvmous to Maggy Maclane !
Lane banks the virgin — nae Avhite poAvs noAV keekin
Tlirough key-hole an' cranny; nae cash blade Stan's slcekin'
His nicheriu' naigie, his gaudamous seekin' !
Alack for the days that are gane !
Lame's fa'n the souter ! — some steek i' his thie !
The cooper's clean gyte, Avi' a hoopin' coughee !
The smith's got sae blin' — wi' a spunk i' his e'e ! —
He's tyned glint o' Maggy Maclane !
Meg brake the kirk pew-door — Auld Beukie leuk'd near-na her !
She dunkled her pattie — ^Young Sneckie ne'er speir'd for her 1
But the Avarst's when the Avee mouse leuks oot, Avi' a tear to her,
Frae the meal-kist o' Maggy Maclane 1
EAEL MAECH.
The celebrated author of " The Pleasiu-es of Hope." He was born at
GlasgoAv in 1777. His principal works are "The Pleasures of Hope,"
and " Gertrude of "Wyoming ; " but some of his minor pieces, such as " The
Battle of the Baltic," " Erin-go-Bragh," '-The Last Man," &c., arc alone
sufficient to immortalise him. He died at Boulogne in 1844.
Earl March look'd on his dying childj
And smit Avith grief to vicAV her —
The youth, he cried, Avhom I exiled
Shall be restored to avoo her.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 463
She's at the window many an hour,
His coming to discover ;
And her love look'd up to Ellen's bov\'er,
And she look'd on her lover.
But ah ! so pale, he knew her not,
Though her smile on him was dwelling;
And am I then forgot — forgot? —
It broke the licart of Ellen.
In vain he weeps, in vain he sighs.
Her cheek as cold as ashes ;
Nor love's own kiss shall wake those" eyes
To lift their silken lashes.
NEVER WEDDING, EVER WOOING,
TH05L4.S CAMPBELL.
Never -wedding, ever wooing,
Still a love-torn heart pursuing ;
Read you not the wrongs you're doing,
In my cheek's pale hue ?
All my life with sorrow strewing.
Wed— or cease to woo.
Rivals banish'd, bosoms plighted,
Still our days arc disunited;
Now the lamp of hope is lighted,
Now half quench'd appears,
Damp'd, and wavering, and benighted,
'Midst my sighs and tears.
Charms you call your dearest blessing,
Lips that thrill at your caressing,
Eyes a mutual soul confessing.
Soon you'll make them grow
Dim, and worthless j'our possessing,
Not with age but woe.
WALLACE.
THOMAS CAMPBELL.
TllEY lighted a taper at the dead of night,
And chaunted their holiest hymn ;
But her brow and her bosom were damp with affright,
Ilcr eye was all sleejilcss and dim, —
And the lady of Eldcrslie wept for lier lord.
When a death-watch beat in her lonely room,
When her curtain had shook of its own accord,
And the raven had llapp'd at her window board,
To tell her of her warrior's doom.
4fi4 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Now sing ye the Song, and loudly pray
For the sonl of my knight so dear;
And call me a Avidow this wretched day,
Since the warning of God is here.
For a night-mare rides on my strangled sleep ;
The lord of my bosom is cloom'd to die ;
His valorous heart they have wounded deep,
And the blood-red tears shall his country weep
For Wallace of Elderslie.
Fet knew not his country that ominous hour.
Ere the loud matin bell was rung.
That a trumpet of death on an English tower
Had the dirge of her champion sung.
Wlien his dungeon light look'd dim and red
On the high born blood of a martyr slain,
No anthem was sung at his holy deathbed,
No weeping there was when his bosom bled,
And his lic.irt vras rent in twain.
Oh ! it was not thus when his oaken spear
Was true to the knight forlorn,
And hosts of a thousand were scatter'd, like deer
At the sound of the huntsman's horn.
Wlien he strode o'er the wreck of each well-fought field,
With the ycllow-hair'd chiefs of his native land ;
For his lance was not shiver'd, or helmet, or shield.
And the sword that seem'd fit for Archangel to wield.
Was light in his terrible hand.
But, bleeding and bound, though the Wallace wight
For his much lov'd country die.
The bugle ne'er sung to a braver Knight
Thau Wallace of Elderslie.
But the day of his glory shall never depart.
His head imintomb'd shall with glory be palm'd,
From his blood-streaming altar his S2)irit shall start,
Tho' the raven has fed on his mouldering heart,
A nobler was never embalm'd.
JULIA.
SU6ALD MOORE,
A NATIVE of GlasgOAV, where he was born iu I8O0. He was apprenticed
to Mr. Lumsdou, stationer, and while in that gentleman's senico he pub-
lished his first volume, " The African, and other poems" (1829). The
success of this venture induced liim to print again, and several other
volumes were issued by him dming the next ten years. He was for some
CHRONOLOGICALLY ^VRIltiHGED. 465
time iu busiiiesj for himself, as bookseller and stationer in Glasgow, but
died suddenly in ISil. lie was interred in the Necropolis, where a
handsome monument was soon erected to his memoiy by his admirers.
SiiE was a sunbeam in the storm, — ■
A star that gently lifted
Above the dark its beauteous form,
When the dull tempest shifted.
Slie loved — tliat passion like a spell
"With her young dreams was blended :
The flowerets from youth's chaplct fell
Before her spring-time ended.
In yon church-yard, the flowers are fair
Beneath heaven's blue expansion : —
But a sweeter gem is lying there,
Tn dark oblivion's mansion ;
The bud of promise to all eyes —
O'er whom the wild wind daslics, —
But she shall flourish in the skies,
AY hen stars and worlds arc ashes.
THE CLYDE.
DUG.VLD SIOOr.E.
When cities of old days
But meet the savage gaze,
Stream of my early ways,
Thou wilt roll.
Though fleets forsake thy breast,
And millions sink to rest —
Of tlie bright and beauteous west
Still the soul.
Wlicn the porch and stately arch.
Which now so proudly perch
O'er thy billows, on their march
To the sea,
Are but ashes in the shower;
Still the jocund sunnucr hour
From his cloud will weave a bower
Over thee.
When the voice of liuman power
Has ceased in mart and bower;
Still the broom and mountain ilower
Will thee bless ;
466 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
And the mists that love to stray
O'er the Highlands, far away,
Will come down their deserts gray
To thy kiss.
And the stranger brown with toil,
From the far Atlantic soil,
Like the pilgrim of the Nile,
Yet may come,
To search the solemn heaps,
That moulder by thy deeps,
Where desolation sleeps,
Ever dumb.
Though fetters yet should clank
O'er the gay and princely rank
Of cities on thy bank,
AH sublime ;
Still thou wilt wander on,
Till eternity has gone,
And broke the dial stone
Of old Time.
THE MITHEELESS BAIRN.
WILLIAM THOM,
Born at Aberdeen in 1789. Ho was to trade a weaver, and worked at
the loom in Aberdeen, Dundee, Newtyle, and finally Invenuy. Some of
his poetical pieces then began to attract the attention of " the great,"
and his fame spread. He went to London, franked bj a Mr. Gordon of
Knockespock, bis earliest patron, and tbero met with a reception second
only to that received by Bmiis in Edinbm-gb. He was not finn enough
to stand all the flatteries and favom'S he received, and he retmnied to
Scotland a broken man; unable to return again to his trade, and
dependent upon the efforts of his great friends for support. His personal
character has been described as generous, honest, and just. He died at
Dimdee in 1848.
When a' ither bairnies are hush'd to their hame.
By aunty, or cousin, or frecky grand-dame,
Wha stands last an' lanely, an' sairly forfairn ?
'Tis the puir dowie laddie — the mitherless bairn !
The mitherless bairnie creeps to his lane bed,
Nane covers his cauld back, or haps his bare head ;
His wee hackit heelies are hard as the airn.
An' lithlesa the lair o' the mitherless bairn !
Aneath his cauld brow, siccan dreams hover there,
O' hands that wont kindly to kaim his dark hair !
But mornin' brings clutches, a' reckless an' stern,
That lo'e na the locks o' the mitherless bairn 1
CUKONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 4G7
The sister wlia sang o'er his saftly roclc'd bed,
Now rests in the mools whare their mammie is laid ;
While the father toils sair his wee bannock to earn,
An' kens na the wrangs o' his mitherless bairn.
Her spirit that pass'd in yon hour of his birth,
Still watches his lone lorn wand'rhigs on earth,
Eecording in heaven tho blessings they earn,
Wha couthilie deal wi' the mitherless bakn !
Oh! speak him na harshly — he trembles the while,
He bends to your bidding, and blesses your smile: —
In the dark hour o' anguish, the heartless shall learn,
That God deals the blow for the mitherless bairn I
LOVE.
WnJiTAM THOM.
0 SAY not — " Love will never
Breathe in that breast again ; "
That " where he bled, must ever
All pleasureless remain."
Shall teinpcst-riven blossom,
When fair leaves fall away,
In coldness close its bosom,
'Gainst beams of milder day,
0 never ! — nay
It blooms — whene'er it may.
Though ruthless tempest tear —
Though biting frosts subdue —
And leave no tendril where
Love's pretty flow'rets grcvv' ;
Tho soil, all ravag'd so,
Will nurture more and more.
And stately roses blow
Where gowans droop'd before,
Then why— 0 ! why
Should sweet love ever die ?
I WADNA GI'E MY AIN WIFE.
ALEXANDER LAING,
A NATH'E of Brechin, where he was bom in 1787. Ho contributed largely
to "Smith's Scoltidi Minstrel," "Haii) of Eenfrcwshii-e," "Whistle
Binkie," &c. He earned on the business of Flaxdressing, in bis native
468 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
town, and hy his industry was enabled to retire from business soiuc time
before his death, wliich took place in 1857.
I WADNA gi'c my aiii ^vife
For ony wife I sec ;
I wadna gi'e my ain wife
For ony wife I see ;
A bonnier yet I've never seen,
A better canna be —
I wadna gi'e my ain wife
For ony wife I see !
0 coutliie is my ingle-clicek,
An' cheerie is my Jean ;
1 never see her angry loolv,
Nor hear her word on aue.
Slie's gude wi' a' the neebours ronu',
An' aye gude wi' me —
I wadna gi'e my ain wife
For ony wife I see !
An' 0 her looks sac kindlie,
They melt my heart outright,
When o'er the baby at her breast
She hangs wi' fond delight ;
She looks intill its bonnie face,
An' syne looks to me —
I wadna gi'e my ain wife
For ony wife I see.
THOUGH DOWIES THE WINTER.
ALEXANDER LAING.
Tjiougii dowic's the winter sac gloomie an' drear,
0 happy Ave've been through the dead o' the year;
An' blythe to sic bield as the burnie brae gave ;
0 mony a nicht ha'e we stoun frae the lave.
Now the spring-time has tanc the lang e'enings awa',
We maunna be seen an' less aften I'll ca'.
But May-day is coming — our Avedding an a',
Sae weary na, lassie, though I gang awa'.
Our gigglet young lasses are 3airly mista'en,
They ken at the place wi' his honour I've been,
An' ta'en the plough-haudin' o' bonnie Broomlee,
But they kenna wha's coming to baud it wi' me,
Tliey ken i' the e'enings I'm aften frae hame ;
They say Avi' a lass, 'cause I look na to them;
They jamph an' they jeer, an' they banter at me.
An' twenty they've guess'd o', but never guess'd thco.
CMRONOLOGICALLY ARRAKGE0. 469
I'll einp^ the liaill day, when your dwollm' I'm near;
I'll whistle when i^lougliiu' as fax's you can hear,
An' aye when I see you, gin nae bodie see,
I'll blink to my lassie — my lassie to mc.
An' aye till that time baith at kirk an' at fair,
In taiken o' true love, dear lassie, j'o'U wear
The green-tartan rockley, my keepsake to thee —
An' I the white owerlay ye gifted to mc.
THE VALE OF CLYDE.
JOnX STKUTilEES,
Was burn at East Kilbride, iu 1776. He was by trade a shocinakei-, but
obtained a situation as "corrector of the press "in the oflice of KhiiU,
Blackie, and Co. lie afterwards M'as appointed keeper of the Stirhng
Libraiy in Glasgow.
Strut hers was author of several popular works. Ilis "Poor Man's
Sabbalh" met with a wann reception on its appearance in 1804, and rapidly
passed through several editions. His "Harp of Caledonia," in thi-ec vols.,
is a standard work of its class.
Admiring nature's simple charms,
I left my humble home.
Awhile my country's peaceful plains
With pilgrim step to roam :
I mark'd the leafy summer wave
On flowing Irvine's side,
But richer far's the robe she wears
Within the vale of Clyde.
I roam'd the braes of bonnie Doon,
The winding- ]>anks of Ayr,
AVhere flutters many a small bird gay,
Blooms many a flow'ret fair ;
But dearer far to mc the stem
That once was Caldor's pride,
And blossoms now, the fairest ilowcr,
Within the vale of Clyde.
Avnuiit ! thou life-repressing north !
Ye withering cast winds too !
But come, thou all-reviving Avest,
Breathe soft thy genial dew;
Until at length, in peaceful age,
This lovely floweret shed
Its last green leaf u])on my tomb,
Within the vale of Clyde.
2k
470 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
ON THE WILD BEAES OF CALDEE.
JOHN STEUTHESS.
On the wild braes of Calder, I foiind a fair lily,
All drooping Avith dew in the breath of the morn,
A lily more fair never bloom'd in the valley,
Nor rose, the gay garden of art to adorn.
Sweet, sweet was the fragrance this lily diffused,
As blushing, all lonely, it rose on the view,
But scanty its shelter, to reptiles exposed.
And every chill blast from the cold north that blev/.
Beneath yon green hill, a small field I had planted.
Where the light leafy hazel hangs over the burn ;
And a flower such as this, to complete it, was wanted,
A flower that might mark the gay season's return.
Straight home to adorn it, I bore this fair lily.
Where, at morn, and at even, I have watch'd it with care ;
And blossoming stUl, it is queen of the valley.
The glory of spring, and the pride of the year.
EOBIN TAMSON'S SMIDDY.
AlEXAJTDER EODGEE,
A NATIVE of East Calder, where he was bom in 1784. He went to Glas-
gow in 1797, where he joined his maternal relatives, and at their desire
apprenticed himself to a weaver. In 1819 he suffered a short unprisou-
ment on being convicted of ill feehng to the government in consequence
of hterary aid he gave to one of the revolutionary nevrspapers which then
abounded. He held a situation in the BaiTowfield Works near Glasgow,
for about eleven years. In 1836 he became sub-editor of the Reformers'
Ckizette, and remained in that position till his death, which took place
in ISiC.
My mither men't my auld breeks.
An' wow ! but they were duddy,
And sent me to get Mally shod
At Eobin Tamson's smiddy ;
The smiddy stands beside the burn
That wimples through the clachan,
1 never yet gao by the door,
But aye I fa' a-laughin'.
For Eobin was a walthy carle,
An' had ae bonnie dochter,
Yet ne'er wad let her tak' a man,
Though mony lads had sought her ;
And what think ye o' my exploit ? —
The time our mare was shoeing,
I slippit up beside the lass.
An' briskly fell a-wooing.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 471
An' aye she e'ed my aiild breeka,
The time that we sat crackia',
Quo' I, my lass, ne'er mind the clouts,
I've new anes foi- the makiu' ;
But gin ye'll just come hame wi' me,
An' lea' the carle, your father,
Ye'sc get my breeks to keep in trim,
Mysel', an' a' thegither.
'Deed, lad, quo' she, your offer's fair,
I really think I'll tak' it,
Sae, gang awa', get out the mare,
We'll baith slip on the back o't ;
For gin I wait my father's time,
I'll wait till I be fifty ;
But na ; — I'll marry in my prime.
An' mak' a wife most thrifty.
Wow ! Robin was an angry man.
At tyning o' his dochter ;
Through a' the kintra-side he ran,
An' far an' near he sought lier;
But when he cam' to our fire-cud,
An' fand us baith thegithei",
Quo' I, gudenian, I've ta'en your baii'u,
An' yo may tak' my mither.
AuldEobin girn'd an' sheuk his pow,
Guid sooth ! quo' he, you're merry,
But I'll just tak' ye at your word.
An' end this hurry-burry ;
So Robin an' our auld wife
Agreed to creep thegither ;
Now, I ha'o Robin Tamson's pet,
Au' Robin has ray mither.
MY GUDEMAN SAYS AYE TO ME.
AlEiiNDEE RODGEK.
Mt gudeman says aye to me.
Says aye to me, saj^a aye to mo ;
Jly gudeman says aye to me,
Como cuddle in my bosie !
Though wcarin' auld, he's blythcr still
Thau mony a swankie youtliiu' chic!,
And a' his aim's to see mo -vveel,
And keep me Buug and cozic.
472 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
For tliough my clieeks, where roses grew,
Ha'c tint tlieir lively glowing hue,
My Johnnie's just as kind and true
As if I still were rosy.
Our weel-won gear he never drank,
lie never lived aboon his rank,
Yet wi' a neeboTir blythe and frank,
lie could be as jocose aye.
We ha'o a hamo, gude halesonie cheer,
Contentment, peace, a conscience clear.
And rosy bairns to us mair dear.
Than treasures o' Potosi :
Their minds are form'd in virtue's school,
Their fau'ts are check'd wi' temper cool,
For my guderaan mak's this his rule,
To keep frae hasty blows aye.
It ne'er was siller gart us wed.
Youth, health, and love, were a' we had,
Possess'd o' these we toil'd fu' glad.
To shun want's bitter throes aye ;
We've had our cares, we've had our toils,
AVe've had our bits o' troubles whiles.
Yet, what o' that ? my Johnnie's smiles
Shed joy o'er a' our woes aye.
Wi' mutual aid we've trudged through life,
A kind gudeman, a cheerfn' wife ;
And on we'll jog, unvexed by strife,
Towards our journey's close, aye !
And when we're stretch'd upon our bier,
Oh may our souls, sae faithfu' here,
Together spring to yonder sphere.
Where love's pure river flows aye.
IT'S KO THAT THOUTvT BONNIE.
ALEXANDER RODGER.
It's no that thou'rt bonnie, it's no that thou'rt braw.
It's no that thy skin has the whiteness o' snaw.
It's no that thy form is perfection itsel',
That mak's my heart feel what my tongue canna tell:
But oh 1 its tlie soul beaming out frae thine e'e.
That mak's thee sae dear and sae lovely to me.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 473
It's pleasant to look on that mild blushing face,
Sae sweetly adornVl wi' ilk feminine grace,
It's joyous to gaze on these tresses sae bright,
O'ershading a forehead sae smooth and sae white;
But to dwell on the glances that dart frae thine e'e,
0 Jeanie ! its evendown rapture to me.
Tliat form may be wasted by lingering decay,
The bloom of that cheek may be wither'd away,
Those gay gowdon ringlets that yield such delight,
By the cauld breatii o' time ma}' be changed into white;
But the soul's fervid flashes that brighten thine e'e.
Are the offspring o' heaven, and never can die.
Let me plough the rough ocean, nor e'er touch the shore.
Let mo freeze on the coast of the bleak Labradore,
Let me pant 'neath the glare of a vertical sun.
Where no trees spread their branches, nor streams ever run;
Even there, my dear Jeanie, still happy I'd be.
If bless'd wi' the light o' thy heavenly e'e.
BET OF ABERDEEN.
ALEXANDER RODGER.
ITow bright!}' beains the bonnie rnoon
Frae out the azure sky,
Vv'hile ilka little star aboon
Seems sparkling bright Avi' jov.
How calm the eve ! how blest the hour I
How soft the sjdvan scene !
How fit to meet thee, lovely flower !
Sweet Bet of Aberdeen.
Now let us wander through the broom,
And o'er the flowery lea ;
AVhile simmer wafts her rich i)erfiune
From 3-onder hawthorn tree,
Til ere on yon mossy bank we'll rest.
Where we've sae aften been,
Clasp'd to each other's throbbing 1)renst,
Sweet Bet of Aberdeen.
How sweet to view that face so meek,
That dark expressive 03^0 ;
To kiss that lovely blushing cheek.
Those lips of coral dye ;
But oh ! to hear thy seraph strains,
Tliy maiden sighs between.
Makes rapture thrill through all my veins,
Sweet Bet of Aberdeen.
474 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Oil ! what to us is wealth or rank ?
Or what is pomp or power?
More dear this velvet mossy bank,
This blest ecstatic hour;
I'd covet not the monarch's throne,
Nor diamond-studded queen,
While blest wi' thee, and thee alone.
Sweet Bet of Aberdeen.
BEHAVE YOUESEL' BEFORE FOLK,
ALEXANDER RODGER.
Behave yoursel' before folk,
Behave yoursel' before folk.
And dinna be sao rude to me,
As kiss me sae before folk.
It wadna gi'o me meikle pain,
Gin we w n-o seen and heard by nane.
To tak' a kiss, or grant you ane ;
But guidsake I no before folk.
Behave yoursel' before folk.
Behave yoursel' before folk ;
"Whate'er ye do, when out o' view,
Be cautious aye before folk.
Consider, lad, how folk will crack,
And what a great affair they'll mak'
0' naethiug but a simple smack,
That's gi'en or ta'cn before folk.
Behave yoursel' before folk,
Behave yoursel' before folk ;
Nor gi'e the tongue o' auld or young
Occasion to come o'er folk.
It's no through hatred o' a kiss,
That I sao plainly tell you this ;
]jiit, losh I I tak' it sair amiss
To be sae teazed before folk.
Behave yoursel' before folk,
Behave yoursel' before folk ;
When we're our lane ye may tak' ane,
But fient a ane before folk.
I'm sure wi' you I've been as free
As ony m.odest lass should be ;
But yet it doesna do to see
Sic freedom used before folk.
Behave yoursel' before folk,
Behave yoursel' before folk;
I'll ne'er submit again to it —
So mind you that — ^before folk,
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 475
Ye tell me tliat my face is fair ;
It may be sae — I dinna care —
But ne'er again gar't blush sae sair
As ye ha'e done before folk.
Behave yoursel' before folk,
Behave yoursel' before folk ;
Nor heat my cheeks \vi' your mad freaks,
But aye be douce before folk.
Ye tell me that my lips are sweet,
Sic tales, I doubt, are a' deceit ;
At ony rate, it's hardly meet
To pree tlaeir sweets before folk.
Behave yoursel' before folk.
Behave yoursel' before folk ;
Gin that's the case, there's time, and placo,
But surely no before folk.
But, gin you really do insist
That I should suffer to be kiss'd,
Gae, get a license frae the priest,
And mak' me yours before folk.
Behave yoursel' before folk.
Behave yoursel' before folk ;
And when we're ane, baith flesh and bane,
Ye may tak' ten — before folk.
THE ANSWER.
Can I behave, can I behave,
Can I behave before folk,
When, wily elf, your sleeky self
Gars me gang gytc before folk ?
In a' you do, in a' ye say,
Ye'vc sic a pawkie coaxing way.
That my poor Avits ye lead astray.
An' ding me doilt before folk !
Can I behave, can I behave,
Can I behave before folk,
While 3^0 ensnare, can I forbear
To kiss you, though before folk ?
Can 1 behold that dimpling cheek,
Whar love 'mang sunny smiles might beck,
Yet, howlet-like, my e'clids steek.
An' shun sic light, before folk ?
Can I behave, can I behave,
Can I behave before folk,
When ilka smile becomes a wile,
Enticing me — before folk?
476 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
That lip, lilce Eve's forbidden fruit,
Sweet, plump, an' ripe, sae tempts me to't,
That I maun pree't, though I should rue't,
Ay, twenty times — before folk !
Can I behave, can I behave,
Can I behave before folk,
When temptingly it offers me
So rich a treat — before folk ?
Tliat gowdeu hair sae sunny bright;
That shapel}^ neck o' snawy white ;
That tongue, even when it tries to flyte,
Provokes mo till't before folk!
Can I behave, can I beliave,
Can I behave before folk,
When ilka charm, young, fresh, an' warm,
Cries, " kiss mo now " — before folk ?
An' 0 ! that pawkie, rowin' e'e,
Sae roguishly it blinks on me,
I canna, for my saul, let be,
Frae kissing you before folk !
Can I behave, can I behave,
Can I beliave before folk,
When ilka glint conveys a hint
To tak' a smack — before folk?
Ye own, that were we baith our lane,
Yo wadna grudge to grant me ane ;
Wecl, gin there be nae harm in't tlieu,
What harm is in't before folk ?
Can I behave, can I behave.
Can I behave before folk.
Sly hypocrite ! an anchorite
Could scarce desist — before folk !
But after a' that lias been said,
Since ye are willing to be wed.
We'll lia'e a "lilythesome bridal" made,
When ye'll be mine before folk !
Then I'll behave, then I'll behave,
Then I'll beliave before folk ;
For whereas then, ye'll aft get " ten,"
It wiiina be before folk !
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 477
THE WILD GLEN SAE GREEN.
REV. HENHY S. EIDDELL,
Was born at Sorbie, Dumfriesshire, in 1798. His father was a Shepherd,
and he followed the same occupation till he managed to scrape together
sufficient money to enable him to enter the University of Edinburgh.
lie became a licentiate of the Church of Scotland, but never took
any active part in the ministry: he resided at Te\iothcad, where the
Duke of Buccleuch generously allowed him the use of a cottage, a small
annuity, and a grant of land. 'Mi: Eiddell died in 1870.
Mr. Eiddell published several volumes of poetry during his life-time,
and had the rare pleasure of seeing several of his songs achieve an instant
and enthusiastic popularity. " The "Wild Glen sae Green," " The Crook
and the Plain," and above all, the inspiriting " Scotland yet," have taken
a secure position amongst our popular minstrelsy. His works are pre-
sently being edited by Dr. Brydon, of Hawick, with a view to the issue
of a complete collected edition.
When my flocks upon tlie Iieatliy hill arc lying a' at rest,
And the gloainin' spreads its mantle grey o'er the world's dewy
breast,
I'll tak' my plaid and liasten through yon woody dell inisccn,
And meet my bonnic lassie on the Avild glen sae green.
I'll meet her by the trystin' tree that's stannin' a' alano,
Where I have carved her name upon tlie little moss-grey stane,
There I will clasp her to my breast, and be mair blest, I ween.
Than a' that are ancath the sky, in the wild glen sae green,
]\Iy foldin' plaid shall shield her frae the gloamin's chilly gale
The star o' eve sliall mark our joy but shall not tell her tale,
Out simple tale o' tender love that tauld sae aft has been,
To my bonnie bonnie lassie in the wild glen sae green.
Oh ! I could wander earth a' owre nor care for aught o' bliss,
If I miglit share at my return a joy sae pure as this ;
And I could spurn a' earthly wealth, a palace and a queen,
For my bonnic bonnie lassie in the wild glen sae green.
SCOTLAND YET.
REV. HEXRY 6. EIDDELL.
Gae, bring my guid auld harp aucc mair,
Gae, bring it free and fast,
For I maun sing anither sang
Ere a' my glee be past.
And trow ye as I sing, my lads,
The burden o't shall bo
Atdd Scotland's howes, and Scotland's Icnowes,
And Scotland's hills for mc, —
I'll drink a cup to Scotland yet,
Wi' a' the honours three.
478 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
The lieatb waves wild upon her hills,
And, foaming frae the fells.
Her fountains sing o' freedom still,
As they dash down the dells ;
And -weel I lo'e the land, my lads.
That's girded by the sea ;
Then Scotland's dales, and Scotland's vales,
And Scotland's hills for me, —
I'll drink a cup to Scotland yet,
Wi' a' the honours three.
The thistle wags upon the fields.
Where Wallace bore his blade,
That gave her foeman's dearest bluid,
To dye her auld gray plaid ;
And looking to the lift, my lads.
He sang this doughty glee,
Auld Scotland's right, and Scotland's might,
And Scotland's hills for me, —
I'll drink a cup to Scotland yet,
Y/i' a' the honours three.
They tell o' lands wi' brighter skies.
Where freedom's voice ne'er rang,
Gi'e me the hills where Ossian lies,
And Coila's minstrel sang.
For I've nae skill o' lands, my lads,
That ken nae to be free.
Then Scotland's right, and Scotland's might,
And Scotland's hills for me, —
I'll drink a cup to Scotland yet,
Wi' a' the honours three.
OUES IS THE LAND.
EEV. HENRY S. EIDDELL.
Ours is the land of gallant hearts.
The land of lovely forms,
The island of the mountain harp.
The torrents, and the storms :
The land that blooms with freemen's tread,
And withers with the slave's ;
Where far and deep the green-woods spread,
And wild the thistle waves.
Ere ever Ossian's lofty voice
Had told of Fingal's fame ;
Ere ever from then* native clime
The Roman eagles came,
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRAKGED. 479
Our land liad given heroes birth
That durst the boldest brave,
And taught above tyrannic dust
The thistle tufts to wave.
What need we say how Wallace fought,
And how his foemen fell,
Or how on glorious Bannockburn
The work went wild and well ?
Ours is the land of gallant hearts,
The land of honour'd graves,
Wliose wreath of fame shall ne'er depart,
While yet the thistle waves.
THE DOWIE DENS 0' YARROW.
REV. UE\Ky B. ErODELL.
On, sisters, there are midnight dreains
That pass not with the morning.
Then ask not why my reason swims
In a brain so wildly burning.
And ask not why I fancy how
Yon wee bird sings wi' sorrow,
That bluid lies mingled with the dew,
In the dowio dens o' Yarrow.
My dream's wild light was not of night,
Nor of the dulefu' morning ;
Thrice on the stream was seen the gleam
That seem'd his 8j)ritc returning :
For sword-girt men came down the glen
An hour before the morrow,
And pierced the heart aye true to mine,
In the dowie dens o' Yarrow.
Oh, there are red red drops o' dew
Upon the wild flower's blossom.
But they could na cool my burning brow,
And shall not stain my bosom.
But from the clouds o' yon dark sky
A cold cold shroud I'll borrow,
A)k1 long and deep shall be my sleep
In the dowie dens o' Yarrow.
Let my form the bluid-dj'ed floweret press
By the heart o' him that lo'cd mo.
And I'll steal frae his lips a long long kiss
In tiic bower where aft ho wooed mc.
For my arms shall fold and my tresses shield
The form of my death-cold marrow,
"When the breeze shall bring the raven's wing
O'er the dowie dens o' Yarrow.
480 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
THE CROOK AND TLAID.
REV. HENRY S. KIDDELL,
I WINNA lo'e tlie laddie that ca's the cart and pleugh,
Thong'h he sliouhl own that tender love that's only felt by few;
For he that has this bosom a' to fondest love betray'd,
Is the kind and faithfu' laddie that wears the crook and plaid.
At morn he climbs the mountains wild, his fleecy flock to view,
When tlie larks sing in the heaven aboou, and the flowers wake
'mang the dew,
AVhen the tliin mist melts afore the beam, ower gair and glen
convey'd,
Where the laddie loves to wander still, that wears the crook
and plaid.
At noon he leans him down, high on the heathy fell,
When his flocks feed a' sac bonuilie below him in the dell ;
And there he sings o' faithfu' love, till the wilds around are glad ;
Oh, how happy is the laddie that wears the crook and plaid!
He pu's the blooms o' heather pure, and the lilj'-flouir sae meek,
For he weens tlio lily like my brow, and tlie heath-bell like my
cheek.
His words are soft and tender as the dew frae heaven shed ;
And nane can charm mo like the lad that wears tlie crook and
plaid
Beneath the flowery Iiav/thoi-n-treo, wild growing in the glen,
He meets me in the gloamin' gray, when nane on earth can ken ;
And leal and tender is his heart beneath the spreading shade.
For weel he kens the way, I trow, to row me in his plaid.
TIio youth o' mony riches may to his fair one ride,
And woo across a table his many-titled bride;
But we will woo beneath the tree, where cheek to cheek is laid —
Oh, nae wooer's like the laddie that rows me in his plaid!
To own the tales o' faithfu' love, oh, Avha wad no comply?
Sin' pure love gi'cs niair o' happiness tlian aught aneath the sky ;
Where love is in tlie bosom thus, the heart can ne'er be sad ;
Sae, through life, I'll lo'e the laddie that wears the crook and
plaid.
ciu;o:;oLouiCALLV aiuiaxged. 481
THE WEE AULD MAN.
KEV. HENEY S. EIDDELL.
AnouT tlic closiu' o' tlio day,
The wild green woods ainaiig, O,
A weo auld man cam' doon tliis way,
As fast as he coidd gang, 0.
He entered into this wee liotisc,
Where unco weel kent he, 0,
That tliere, there lived a virtuous lass,
And fair as fair could be, 0.
For he had vow'd to ha'o, 0,
To lia'e, 0, to ha'e, 0,
For he had vow'd to ha'e, 0,
A wifie o' his ain, 0.
He fcU't the auld gudewifc he'd come
Her dochter Jean to woo, 0,
And gin she would but come wi' him,
She never would it rue, 0 ;
For lie had oxen, horse, and kye,
And sheep upon the hill, 0,
And monie a cannie thing forbyo,
That should bo at her will, 6.
For ho had vow'd, &c.
The auld gudewife replied in turn,
Up rising frae her stool, 0,
The lass that would your proffer t^pin ii.
Would surely be a fool, 0,
She to the door made anxious haste.
And ca'd young Jeanie in, 0,
And when aroun' the fire thc^'^'rc placed,
The courtin' did begin, 0,
For he had vow'd, &c.
The wee auld man tauld ower liis tale
Wi' crooso and cantie glee, 0 ;
T)iit Jeanie's heart was hard and eauM.
Nao love for him had she, 0.
k'/aid she, Auld gouk ! you've act a part
That I can ne'er bo thine, 0 ;
You come lo woo my mither's heart.
You come nao here for mine, 0.
For this is no the way, 0,
The waj^, 0, the way, 0,
For this is no tho way, 0,
A lassie's heart to win, 0.
4S2 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
And soon a rap came to the door,
And out young Jeanic ran, 0,
Said she, You may count ower your storo
Wi' tliem that you began, 0.
The woe auld man rose up in wrath,
And loud and Lang he swore, 0,
Syne hirsled up his shoutliers baith,
And hasten'd to the door, 0.
Still vowin' he would ha'e, &o.
SCOTIA'S THISTLE.
EEV. HKNET S. Jin)DELL.
Scotia's thistle guards the grave,
Where repose her dauntless bravo ;
Never yet the foot of slave
Has trod the wild.i of Scotia !
Free from tyrants' dark control —
Free as waves of ocean roll —
Free as thoughts of minstrel's soul,
Still roam the sons of Scotia.
Scotia's hills of hoary hue,
Heaven wi'aps in wreaths of blue.
Watering with it's dearest dew
Tlic heathy locks of Scotia.
Down each green-wood skirted vale,
Guardian spirits, lingering, hail
Many a minstrel's melting tale.
As told of ancient Scotia.
When the shades of eve invest
Nature's dew-bespangled breast,
How supremely man is blest.
In the glens of Scotia.
There no dark alarms convey
Aught to chase life's charms away,
There they live, and live for a,ye,
Eound the homes of Scotia.
Wake, my hill harp ! wildly wake !
Sound by lee and lonely lake,
Never shall this heart forsake
The bonnie wilds of Scotia.
Others o'er the ocean's foam,
Far to other lands may roam,
But for ever be my homo
Beneath the sky of Scotia.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 483
A STEED, A STEED.
WILLIAM MOTHERWELL,
A NATIVE of Glasgow, born in tha Barony Parish there in 1797.
Being intended for the legal profession he was apprenticed, at the age of
fifteen years, in the office of the Sheriff Clerk of Paisley. In 1819 he w;is
appointed Sheriff Clerk Depute of Renfrew, and held that position till
1829. He then removed to Glasgow, where he was appointed editor of the
Courier. He died suddenly in 1835.
Except the volume of his poems published in 1832 (and afterwards in
18-17), the fame of William Motherwell depends almost wholly on oue or
two works edited by him : but while his poems have given him no mean
place among the poets of Scotland, his " Harp of Renfrewshire (1819) and
^linstrelsy Ancient and Modern" (1827) have established his reputation
as one of the best expositors of our early popular literature.
A Steed ! a steed of matchless speedo !
A sword of metal keene !
Al else to noble hcartes is drossc —
Al else on earth is meane.
The neighyinge of the war-horse prowdc,
The rowliuge of the drum,
The clangor of the trumpet lowde —
Be soundes from heaven that come.
And, oh ! the thundering pressc of knightcs,
Whenas their war-cryes swelle,
May tole from heaven an angel bright,
And rouse a fiend from hell.
Then mounte ! then mounte, bravo gallants all,
And don your helmcs amaiue ;
Dcathe's couriers, fame and honour, call
Us to the ficlde againc.
No shrewish tears shall fill our eye
When the sword-hilt's in our hand ;
Heart-whole we'll parte, and no whit sighc
For tlie fayrest of the land.
Lot piping swaine, and craven Avight,
Thus Aveepe and puling crye ;
Oiu- buisncsse is like men to fightc,
And hcro-likc to die !
VV E A R I E ' S WELL.
WILLIAM MOTDEHWBLI'.
In a saft simmer gloamin',
In yon dowie dell,
It Avas there we twa first met
By Wearic's cauld well.
484 TlIK SU.\G.S OF SCOTLAND
Wc sat oil tlic brume bank
And look'd in the burn,
But sidelang we look'd on
Ilk ither in turn.
The corn-craik was chirming
His sad eerie cry,
And the wee stars wore dreaming
Their path through the sky.
The burn babbled freely
Its luve to each flower,
But we heard and we saw nought
In that blessed hour.
We heard and wc saw nought
Above or around :
We felt that our love lived,
And loathed idle sound.
I gazed on your sweet face
Till tears fill'd mine e'e,
And they drapt on your wee loof—
A warld's wealth to ma !
Now the winter snaw's fa'ing
On bare ]if)lm and Ice ;
And the cauld wind is strippiu'
Ilk leaf aff the tree.
But the snaw fa's not faster,
Nor leaf disna part
Sae sune frae tlie bough, as
Faith fades in your heart.
YeVe waled out anithcr
Your bridegroom to be ;
But can his heart luve sae
As mine luvit thee ?
Ye'Il get biggings and nuiilins,
And monic braw claes,
But they a' Avinna buy back
The peace o' past days.
Farcweel, and for ever!
My first luve and last •
May thy joys be to come,
Mine live in the past.
In sorrow and sadness.
This hour fa's on me,
But light, aa thy love, may
It fleet over thee.
CIIKONOLOGICALLY ARKAKGED. 485
THE MERMAIDEN.
WTLLIAM MOTIIERVrELL.
■ Tin: niclit is mirk, and tlio wind blaws scliill,
And tlic Avliitc faem wccts my Lrce,
And my mind misgi'es me, gay maiden,
Tliat the land we sail never see!
Til en up and spak' the mermaiden.
And slie ppak' blytiic and free,
"I never said to my bonnie bridegroom,
That on land we sud weddit be.
" Oh ! I never said tliat ane ertldie priest
Our bridal blessing should gi'e,
And I never said that a landwart bonir
Should hald my luve and me."
And whare is tliat priest, my bonnie maiden,
If ane erthlic wiclit is na he ?
" Oh ! the wind will sough, and the sea will rair,
When weddit we twa sail be."
And whare is tliat bonir, my bonnie maiden,
If on land it suld na be ?
" Oil ! my biythp bouir is low," said the mermaiden,
" In the bonnie green howcs o' the sea :
IMy gay bouir is biggit o' the gude ships' keels,
And the banes o' the drowned at sea;
The fisch are tlie deer that fill my parks,
And the water waste my dourie.
" And my bouir is sklaitit wi' the big blue waves,
And paved wi' the yellow sand,
And in my chaumers grow bonnie white llowers
That never grew on land.
And have ye e'er seen, my bonnie bridegroom,
A Icman on earth that wuld gi'e
Aiker for aikcr o' tlie red plough'd land,
As I'll gi'e to thee o' the eea?
The munc will rise in half ane hour.
And the wee brieht starns will shine ;
TJicn we'll sink to my bouir 'ncath the wan water
Full fifty fathom and nine,"
A wild, wild skrcicli, gi'cd the fey bridegroom,
And a loud, loud laugh, the bride;
For the nume raise up, and tbo twa sank down
Under the silvcr'd tide.
2l
486 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
JEANNIE MOREISON.
WILLLVM MOTHEKWELL.
I've wander'd east, I've -wander'cl west
Through mony a weary way;
But never, never, can forget
The luve o' life's young day !
The fire that's blawn on Beltane e'en,
May weel be black gin Yule ;
But blacker fa' awaits the heart
Where first fond luve grows culc.
0 dear, dear Jeanie Morrison,
The thochts o' bygane years
Still fling their shadows ower my path,
And blind my e'en wi' tears :
They blind my e'en wi' saut, saut tears,
And sau' and sick I pine.
As memory idly summons up
The blithe blinks o' langsyne,
'Twas then wo luvit ilk ither weel,
'Twas then we twa did part ;
Sweet time — and time ! twa bairns at scliule,
Twa bairns, and but ae heart !
'Twas then we sat on ae laigh bink,
To leir ilk ither lear ;
And tones, and looks, and smiles were shed,
Remember'd ever mair.
1 wonder, Jeanie, aften yet,
AVhen sitting on that bink.
Cheek touchin' cheek, loof lock'd in loof.
What our wee heads could think !
When baith bent doun ower ae braid page
Wi' ae bulk on our knee.
Thy lips Avere on thy lesson, but
My lesson was in thee.
Oh mind yo how we hung our heads.
How cheeks brent red wi' shame,
V/hene'er the schule-weans, laughin', said,
We cleek'd thegither hame ?
And mind ye o' the Saturdays,
(The schule then skail't at noon).
When v,'e ran aff to speel the braes —
The broomy braes o' June ?
My head rins round and round about.
My heart flows like a sea,
As ane by ane the thochts rush back
0' schule-time and o' thee.
CnRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 487
Oh, mormn' life ! Oli, inornin' luvc !
Oh, lichtsome days and lang.
When hinuiod hopes around our hearts,
Like simmer blossoms sprang !
0 mind ye, luve, how aft we left
The deavin' dinsome toun,
To wander by the green burnside.
And hear its waters croon ;
The simmer leaves hung ower our headd,
The flowers burst round our feet,
And in the gloamin ' o' the wood,
The throssil whusslit sweet.
The throssil whusslit in the wood,
The burn sang to the trees,
And we, with Nature's heart in tune,
Concerted harmonics ;
And on the knowe abune the burn,
For hours tliegither sat
In tlie silentness o' joy, till baith
Wi' very gladness grat !
Aye, aye, dear Jeanie Morrison,
Tears trinkled down your check.
Like dew-beads on a rose, yet nauo
Had ony power to speak !
That was a time, a blessed time,
When hearts were fresh and young,
Wlien freely gush'd all feelings forth,
Unsyllabled — unsung !
1 marvel, Jeanie Morrison,
Gin I ha'e been to thee
As closely twined wi' earliest thochts
As ye ha'o been to me !
Oh ! tell mo gin their music fills
Thine car as it does mine ;
Oh ! say gin e'er your heart grows grit
Wi' dreamiugs o' laugsync ?
I've wander'd cast, I've wandor'd west,
I've borne a weary lot;
But in my wanderings;, far or near,
Yc never were forgot.
The fount that first burst frac this heart,
Stills travels on its way ;
And channels deeper as it rins
The luve o' life's young day.
488 'EHE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
0 dear, dear Jeanio Morrison,
Since we were sinder'd young,
I've never seen your face, nor licard
Tlae music o' your tongue ;
But I could hug all wretchedness,
And happy could I dec,
Did I but I<en your heart still dream'd
0' bygane days and mo 1
THE BLOOM IIATH FLED.
WILLIAM MOTHEKWELL.
The bloom hath fled thy cheek, Mary,
As spring's rath blossoms die.
And sadness hath o'ershadow'd now
Thy once bright eye ;
But, look on me, the prints of grief
Still deeper lie.
Farewell I
Thy lips are pale and mute, Mary,
Thy step is sad and slow,
The morn of gladness hath gone by
Thou erst did know ;
I, too, am changed like thco, and weep
For very woe.
Farewell !
It seems as 'twere but yesterday
Wo were the happiest twain,
When murmur'd sighs and joyous tear;;,
Dropping like rain,
Discoursed my love, and told how loved
I was again.
Farewell 1
'Twas not in cold and measur'd phrase
We gave our passion name :
Scorning such tedious eloquence.
Our heart's fond flame
And long imprisoned feelings fast
In deep sobs came.
Farewell !
Would that our love had been the lore
That merest worldlings know.
When passion's draught to our doom'd lipa
Turns utter woe.
And our j^oor dream of happiness
Vanishes so !
Farewell !
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 489
But in the wreck of all our hopes,
There's yet some touch of bliss,
Since fate robs not our wretchedness
Of this last kiss :
Despair, and love, and madness, meet
In this, in this.
Farewell 1
THE LADY OF MY HEART.
WILLIAM MOTHERWELL.
The murmur of the merry brook,
As, gushingly and free,
It wimples, with its sun-bright look.
Far down yon sheltcr'd lea,
Humming to every drowsy flower
A low quaint lullaby,
Speaks to my spirit, at this hour,
Of love and thee.
The music of the gay green wood,
When every leaf and tree
Is coax'd by winds, of gentlest mood
To litter harmony;
And the small birds, that answer make
To the winds' fitful glee,
In me most blissful visions wake.
Of love and thee.
The rose perks up its blushing cheek,
So soon as it can sec,
Along the eastern hills, one streak
Of the sun's majesty :
Laden with dewy gems, it gleams
A precious freight to me,
For each pure drop thereon meseems
A type of thee.
And when abroad in summer moru,
I hear the blj-the bold bee
Winding aloft his tiny horn,
(An errant knight perd}^,)
That winged hunter of rare sweets,
O'er many a far country.
To me a lay of love repeats,
Its subject — thee.
And when, in midnight hour, I note
The stars so pensively,
III (heir mild beauty, onward float
Tlirough heaven's own silent soa :
490 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
My heart is in their voyaging
To realms where spirits be,
But its mate, in such wandei'ing.
Is ever thee.
But, oh, the murmur of the brook,
The music of the tree ;
The rose with its sv/eet shamefaced look,
The booming of the bee ;
The course of each bright voyager.
In heaven's unmeasured sea.
Would not one heart-pulse of mc stir.
Loved I not thee !
HIE GEEMANIE
WILLIA3I MOTHEKWELL.
Oil wae be to the orders that march'd my luve awa',
And wae be to the cruel cause that gars my tears doun fa' !
Oh wae be to the bluidy wars in Hie Germanie,
For they ha'c ta'en my luve, and left a broken heart to mc.
The drums beat in the morniu' afore the scricch o' day,
And the wee wee fifes piped loud and shrill, wlule yet the morn
was grey ;
The bounie flags were a' unfurl'd, a gallant sight to see.
But v/aes me for my sodger lad that march'd to Germanie.
Oil, lang, lang is the travel to the bonnie Pier o' Leith,
Oh dreich it is to gang on foot wi' the snaw drift in the teeth !
And oh, the cauld wind froze the tear that gather'd in my e'e,
"VYlieu I gaed there to see my luve embark for Germanie.
I looked ower the braid blue sea, sae lang as could be seen
Ae wee bit sail upon the ship, that my sodger lad was in •
But the wind was blawin' sair and snell, and the ship sail'd
speedilie.
And the waves and cruel wars ha'e twinn'd my winsome luve
frae mo.
I never think o' dancin', and I downa try to sing.
But a' the day I spier what news kind neibour bodies bring;
I sometimes knit a stocking, if knittin' it may be,
Syne for every loop that I cast on, I'm sure to let doun three.
My father says I'm in a pet, my mither jeers at me.
And bans me for a dautit wean, in dorts for aye to be ;
But little weet they o' the cause that drumles sae my e'e ;
Oh they ha'e nae winsome luve like mine in the wars o' G ermanie I
CHPvOXOLOGICALLT ARnANGED, 491
PAET IV.
JACOBITE SONGS.
nrrRODucTORY note.
On the abdicntion of James 11. in 1G88, the Prince of Orange was called
to occupy the British throne. That monarch, instead of trying to con-
ciliate all classes of his subjects, gave mortal offence to the peoi^lc of
Scotland by two distinct acts affecting respectively the two great divisions of
the countiy. The massacre of Glencoe was, rightly or wrongly, laid by the
Highlanders to his account, while the cormnercial people of the Lowlands
could never forgive his conduct in the Darien affair.
These two acts kept alive and increased the dissatisfaction felt in Scot-
land at the Stuart family being debarred from the throne in favour of the
" Granger." The death of King William was occasioned, as is well knowTi,
through his horse stumbling against a mole-hill, and, " The Gentleman in
Black " became a standing toast with the Jacobites.
During the reign of Queen Anne, the Jacobite feeling natiurally
weakened, to be re^aved with greater intensity, when in 1714 the Elector
of Hanover (descending from King James I.) succeeded to the throne.
The Earl of Mar unfurled the standard of the Stuarts, but after fighting
Sherrifmuir, he found he had over estimated his strength, and the rebellion
■was suppressed. In 1727 George II. ascended the throne, and it was dur-
ing his reign that the rebellion of 1745, which so nearly cost him his
crown, arose. Prince Charles Edward Stuart was the eldest son of the
Chevalier de St. George (son of James 11.) His mother was the grand-
daughter of John Sobieski, the celebrated Eling and hero of Poland.
The Jacobite Songs have never been properly edited ; Hogg's " Eelics,"
full of blunders and forgeries, having served as the basis for all subsequent
collections. We do not yet despair of seeing these songs thrown together
60 as to form a history of the two rebellions in song and baUad. An
attempt has been made hero to arrange them in this foim, but the
limited space at our command, and the popular nature of the work, would
not allow anything but the better and more popular songs to be given,
leaving aside, of course, rhymes and pasquils innumerable, which often
ser\-e to give a better idea of events than even the smooth pages of our
ordinary histories.
492 TOE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
YOU'RE WELCOME WHIGS.
CoirposED probably about the time of the Eevolution of 1688, when, as
Mr. Eobert Chambers remarks, the Jacobites " lost power, but acquired
wit."
You'r.E welcome, AVlngg, from BothwcU Brigs,
Yom'e malice is but zeal, boys ;
Most holy sprites, the hypocrites,
'Tis sack ye drink, not ale, boys
I must aver, yo cannot err,
In breaking God's commands, boys
If ye infringe bishops' or kings',
You've heaven in your hands, boys.
Suppose ye cheat, disturb the state,
And steeji the land wi' blood, boys ;
If secretly your treachery
Be acted, it is good, boys.
Tiie iieud himseP, in midst o' hell,
The pope, with his intrigues, boys,
You'll equalize in forgeries ;
Fair fa' you, pious Whigs, boys.
You'll God beseech, in homely speech,
To his coat-tail you'll claim, boys ;
Seek lippies of grace frae his gawcie face,
And bless and not blaspheme, boys.
Your teachers they can kiss and pray,
In zealous ladies' closets ;
Your wits convert by Venus' art ;
Your kirk has holy reset.
Wliich death will tie promiscuously.
Her members on the vale, boys.
For horned beasts the truth attest,
That live in Aunandale, boj-s.
But if one drink, or shrewdly think
A bishop ere was saved.
No charity from jiresbytrye,
For that need once bo craved.
You lie, you lust, you break your trust,
And act all kinds of evil.
Your covenant makes you a saint,
Although you live a devil.
From murders, too, as soldiers true,
You are advanced well, boys;
You fought like devils, your only rivals,
When you were at Dunkeld, boys.
CHRONOLOGICALLY AKR.UCGED. 493
YoMi- wondrous tilings great slaughter brings,
You killM more than you saw, boys ;
At Pentlaiid hills ye got your fills,
And now you seem to craw, boys.
Let wabsters jireach, and ladies teach
The art of cuckoldry, bo)'s,
When cruel zeal coincs in their tail,
Then welcome presbytrye, boys.
King "William's hands, with lovely bands,
You're decking with good speed, boys ;
If you get leave, you'll reach his sleeve,
And then have at his head, boys.
You're welcome, Jack, we'll join a plaek.
To drink your last confusion,
That grace and truth we may possess
Once more without delusion.
BONNIE DUNDEE.
SIR WALTER SCOTT.
To tlic Lords of Convention 'twas Claverhousc spoke,
" I'h'o the king's crown go down there are crowns to be broke,
So eacli cavalier who loves honour and me.
Let liim follow the bonnet of Bonnie Dundee.
Come, iill up my cup, come, fill up my can,
Come, saddle mj'' horses, and call out my men,
Come, open tlie AVest Port, and let me gac free,
And it's room for tlie bonnets of Bonnie Dundee."
Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the street,
The bells are rung backward, the drums they are beat.
But tlie Provost, douce man, said, just e'en let him be,
The toun is well quit of that deil of Dundee.
Come, fill up, etc.
As he rode down the sanctified bends of the Bow,
Eacli carlin was ilyting and sliaking her pow ;
But some young plants of grace, they look'd couthic and slee,
Tliiuking — Luck to thy bonnet, tliou bonnie Dundee !
Come, fill up, etc.
Witli sour-featured saints the Grassmarket was panged.
As if lialf of tlie west Jiad set tryste to be hanged;
Tliere was spite in eacli face, tliero was fear in each c'e,
As they watdi'd for the bonnet of bonnie Dundee.
Como, (ill up, etc.
494 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAiCD
The cowls of Kilmarnock had spits and had spears,
And lang-hafted gullies to kill cavaliers;
But they shrunk to close-heads, and the causeway left free,
At a toss of the bonnet of Bonnie Dundee.
Come, fill up, etc.
He spurred to the foot of the high castle rock,
And to the gay Gordon he gallantly spoke;
" Let Mons Meg and her marrows three volleys let flee,
For love of the bonnets of bonnie Dundee,"
Come, fill up, etc.
The Gordon has asked him whither he goes ; —
" Wheresoever sliall guide me the soul of Montrose,
Your grace in short space shall have tidings of me.
Or that low lies the bonnet of bonnie Dundee.
Come, fill up, etc.
" There are hills beyond Pentland, and streams beyond Forth ;
If there's lords in the Southland, there's chiefs in the North,
There are wild dunniewassals three thousand times three,
AVill cry Iloigh! for the bonnets of bonnie Dundee.
Come, fill up, etc.
"Away to the hills, to the Avoods, to the rocks,
Ere I own a iisurpcr, I'll crouch to the fox.
And tremble, false Whigs, though triumphant ye be.
You have not seen the last of my bonnet and me.
Come, fill up," etc.
He waved his proud arm, and the trumpets were blown,
The kettle-drums clash'd, and the horsemen rode on.
Till on Eavelston crags, and on Clermiston lee.
Died away the wild war notes of bonnie Dundee.
Come, fill up my cup, come, fill up my can.
Come, saddle my horses, and call up my men,
Fling all 3'our gates open, and let me gae free.
Sac 't is up with the bonnets of Bonnie Dundee.
BATTLE OF KILLICEANKIE.
While England quietly submitted to the change of government, a desper-
ate struggle was going on in Scotland. Graham of Claverhouse, Viscount
Dundee, raised the standard of the King, and, backed by the clans, com-
menced a brief campaign on behalf of his Eoyal master. The only meet-
ing between the rival forces at all worthy of notice, was that celebrated
in the following song. The Battle of KUIicrankie, fought July 17, 1689,
between 3000 Highlanders under Dundee, and the English army of some
5000 men under General Hugh Mackay. The Battle was short and
CHRONOLOGICALLY AERANGED. 495
decisive in favour of the Highlanders, Mackay's troops being beaten back
on all points with heavy loss. The fruits of the victoiy were lost to King
James through the death of Claverhouse, who was mortally wounded early
in the fight.
ClaverS and liis Higlilandmeu,
Came down upon the raw, man,
Who, boins^ stout, gave many a clout.
The lads began to claw then.
Willi sword and targe into their hand,
Wi' wliicli they ware na slaw, man,
Wi' raonj'' a fearful heavy sigh,
The lads began to clav/, then.
O'er bush, o'er bank, o'er ditch, o'er stank.
She flang amang them a', man ;
The Butter-box got mony knocks,
Their riggings paid for a' then.
They got their paiks, wi' sudden straika.
Which to their grief they saw, man ;
Wi' clinkum clankum o'er their crowns.
The lads began to fa' then.
Her skipt about, her leapt about.
And ihmg amang them a', man ;
The English blades got broken Jieads,
Their crowns were clcav'd in twa then.
The durk and door made their last hour.
And prov'd their linal fa', man ;
They thought the devil had been there.
That play'd them sic a paw then.
The solemn league and covenant.
Cam whiggiiig up the hills, man,
Thought Highland trews durst not refuso
For to subscribe their bills then :
In Willie's name they thought nac anc
Durst stop tlieir course at a', man,
But her nain-sell, wi' mony a knock.
Cried, " Furich, wbigs awa', man."
Sir Evan-Dhu, and his men true,
Came linking up the brink, man ;
The Hogan Dutch they feared sucli,
They bred a horrid stink then.
The true Maclean, and his fierce men.
Came in amang them a', man ; ;
Nano durst witiistand Jiis heavy hand,
All lied and ran uwa' then.
496 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Och on a ri, och on a ri,
Why should she lose King Shames, man ?
Och rig in di, och rig in di,
She shall break a' her banes then ;
'With fui-icJii)usIi, and stay a-while,
And speak a word or twa, man,
She's gi' a straik out o'er the neck,
Before ye win awa' then.
0 fy for shame, ye're three for ane,
llur nane-sell's won the day, man ;
King Shames' red coats should be hung up,
Because they ran aw'a' then :
Had bent their brows, like Ilighland trues.
And made as lang a stay, man.
They'd sav'd their king, that sacred thing.
And Willie'd run away then.
KILLICRANKIE.
(another version,)
From Johnson's Museum, probably touched up by Burus,
WiiARE ha'e ye been sae braw, lad ?
Whare ha'e ye been sae brankie, 0 ?
Whare ha'e ye been sae braw, lad?
Came ye by Killicrankie, 0 ?
An ye had been whare I ha'e been,
Ye wadna been sae cantie, 0 ;
An ye had seen what I ha'e seen,
I' the braes o' Killicrankie. 0.
I faught at land, I faught at sea.
At hame I faught my auntie, 0;
But I met the devil and Dundee,
On the braes o' Killicrankie, 0 ;
An ye had been, etc.
The bauld Pitcur fell in a furr,
And Clavers gat a clankie, 0,
Or I had fed an Atliol gled
On the braes o' Killicrankie, 0.
An ye had been, etc.
0 fie, Mackay, what gart ye lie
r the bush ayont the brankie, 0 ?
Ye'd better kiss'd King Willie's loof,
Than come to Killicrankie, 0.
It's nae shame, it's nae shame,
It's nae shame to shank ye, 0 ;
There's sour slaes on Athol braes.
And deils at Killicrankie, 0.
C;il;uNOLOGICALLY AUl.AN'GED. 4i)/
IT WAS A' FOR OUR RIGUTFU' KING.
AscKiBED to Captain Ogilvie, a cadet of the house of luverquharify
He took part in the Battle of the Bojne, in the service of King James, and
accompanied his Koyal master into France, being one of a hundred
gentlemen who vohmtarily agreed to attend theii' king in exile, lie was
killed in some engagement on the Ehine.
" It was a' for our rightfu' king
Wo left fair Scotland's strand !
It was a' for our rightfu' king
We o'er saw Irish land, my dear,
We e'er saw Irish land.
Now a' is done that men can do,
An' a' is done in vain :
My love an' native land farewcel,
For I maun cross the main, my dear,
For I maun cross the main."
lie turn'd him right an' round about,
Upon the Irish shore,
An' ga'o his bridlc-rcins a shako
With, " Adieu for evermore, my dear,
With, Adieu for evermore."
The sodgcr frae the wars returns,
Tlie sailor frao the main ;
But I luic 2)artcd frae my love.
Never to meet again, my dear,
Never to meet again.
When day is gano, an' niglit is come,
An' a' folk bound to sleep,
1 thiidv on him that's far awa.
The lec-hmg niglit, an' weep, my dear.
The Icc-lang night, an' weep.
TO DAUNTON ME.
To daunton mo, to daunton mo,
Ken ye the tilings that would daunton me?
0 eighty-eight and eighty-nine.
And a' the drearj'- years sin' sync.
With cess, and press, and Presbytrie,
Guid faith these had like to liac dauntoncd me !
But to wanton mo, to wanton mo,
Do you ken tlic tilings that would wanton me?
To see guid corn upon the rigs.
And a gallows hie to hang the Wliigs,
And the right restored where the right should be,
0 these arc the things that would wanton mc !
498 ins SONGS of Scotland
To wanton me, to wanton me,
Ken you what maist would wanton me ?
To see King James at Edinburgh cross,
Wi' fifty thousand foot and horse,
And the usurper forced to flee,
0 this is what maist would wanton me.
HERE'S TO THE KING.
The feelings of tho Jacobites, under A^-hatcver disadvantage, always
turned towards the Exiled family. The following song may be taken as
illustrating the sly manner in which their loyalty wa's smig, without, of
course, laying themselves open to a charge of treason.
Here's to the king, sir.
Ye ken wha I mean, sir.
And to every honest man,
That will do 't again !
Fill, fill j^our bumpers high,
Drain, drain your glasses dry,
Out upon him, fye ! oh, fye !
That winna do 't again I
Here's to the chieftains
Of the Scots Highland clans !
They hae done it mair than anos.
And will do 't again.
When you hear the trumpet sound
Tuttie taittie to the drum.
Up your swords, and down your guns,
And to the rogues again 1
Here's to the king of Swede,
Fresh laurels crown his head !
Fye on every sneaking blade,
That winna do 't again !
But to mak things right now.
He that drinks maun fight too.
To shew his heart's upright too,
And that he '11 do 't again!
Sometimes the following verse was added:
Weel may we a' be,
111 may we never see.
Here's to the king
And the guid companie 1
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARR.UTGED. 499
CARLE, AN' THE KING COME.
A moue outspoken burst than the last. The air is very popular, and
numerous songs, Jacobitical and otherwise, have been written for it.
Carle, an' the king come.
Carle, an' the king come,
Thou shalt dance, and I will sing,
Carle, an' the king come.
An' somebody were come again.
Then somebody maun cross the main,
And ev'ry man shall ha'c liis ain,
Carle, an' the king come.
I trow we swapped for tlie worse.
We ga'e the boot and better horse.
And that we'll tell them at the cross,
Carle, an' the king come.
When yellow corn grows on the rigs,
And a gibbet's built to hang the Whigs,
0 thou we will dance Scottish jigs,
Carle, an' the king come.
Nae mair wi' pinch and drouth we'll dine,
Am we ha'e done — a dog's propinc,
But quaff our waughts o' bouzy wine,
Carle, an' the king come.
Cogic, an' the king come,
Cogie, an' the king come,
I'se be fou, and thou'se be toom,
Cogie, an' the king come.
WILLIE THE WAG.
A Satire ou King William.
0, I HAD a wee bit malliu.
And I had a good gray mare,
And I had a braw bit dwalling.
Till Willie the wag came here,
lie waggit me out o' my mailin,
lie waggit me out o' my gear.
And out o' my bonny black gowny,
That ne'er was the waur o' the wear.
lie fawn'd and he waggit his talc,
Till he poison'd the true well-e'e;
And wi' the wagging o' his fause tongue,
He gart the brave Monmouth die.
300 THE .SOXGS OF SCOTLAKD
He waggit us out o' our rights,
And he waggit us out o' our law,
And he waggit us out o' our king ;
0 that grieves me the warst of a'.
Tlie tod rules o'er the lion,
The midden's aboonthe moon,
And Scotland maun cower and cringe
To a fauso and a foreign loon.
0 walyfu' fa' the piper
That sells his wind sae dear !
And 0 walyfu' fa' the time
When Willie the wag came her
WHAT'S THE RHYME TO rORLHNGER.
0 What's the rhyme to porringer ?
Ken ye the rhyme to porringer ?
King James the Seventh had ae dochter,
And he ga'e her to an Granger.
Ken ye how he requited him?
Ken ye how he requited him ?
The lad has into England come,
And ta'eu the crown in spite o' him.
The dog, he sanna ke-sp it lang.
To flinch we '11 male' him fain again ;
We '11 hing him hie upon a tree.
And James shall hae his ain again.
Ken ye the rhyme to grasshopper ?
Ken ye tlie rhyme to grasshopper?
A hempen rein, and a horse o' tree,
A psalm-Look and a presbyter.
THIS IS NO MY HOUSE.
0 TlllS is no my ain house,
1 ken by the biggin o't ;
For bow-kail thrave at my door-checkj
And thristles on the riggin o't,
A carle came wi' lack o' grace,
Wi' unco gear and unco face ;
And sin' lie claim'd my daddy's place,
I downa bide the triggin o't.
Wi' routli o' kin, and routh o' reek,
My daddy'a door it wadna steek ;
But bread and cheese Avere his door-cheek,
And girdle cakes the riggin o't.
0 this is no my ain house, etc.
CIIIIONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 601
My daddy bag liis honsic wee],
By dint o' head and dint o' heel,
By dint o' arm and dint o' steel,
And muckle weary priggin o't.
0 this is no my ain house, etc.
Then was it dink, or was it douce,
For ony cringing foreign goose
To claucht my daddie's wee bit house,
And spoil tlie hamely triggin o't?
0 this is no my ain house, etc.
Say, was it foul, or was it fair.
To come a hunder mile and mair.
For to ding out my daddy's heir,
And dasli him Avi' the whiggin o't?
0 this is no my ain house, etc.
OVKR THE SEAS AND FAR AWA.
WiiKN we Ihiidc on the days of uuld,
When our Scots lads were true as banld,
0 wcel may we weep for our i'oul f;x'.
And grieve for the lad tluit's far awa!
Over the seas and far awa.
Over the seas and far awa,
0 wccl may we maen for tlie day that's gauo,
And the lad that's banisli'd far awa.
■)
Some traitor lords, for love o' ^
Tliey drove our true king owrc the main.
In spite o' right, and rule, and law,
And tlic friends o' hin\ that's f;ir awa.
Over the seas and far awa, etc.
A bloody rook frae Brunswick flew,
And gather'd devil's liirds eneucli ;
\Vi' kingmen's blude tliey gorge their maw'l
0 dule to the louns sent Jamie awa !
Over the seas and far awa, etc.
And cruel England, leal men's dread
Dotli hunt and cry for Scottish blude
To hack, and head, and hang, and draw,
And a' for the lad that's far awa.
Over the seas and far awa, etc.
2 M
502 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
There'? a reade in heaven, I read it true,
There's vengeance for us on a' that crew,
There's blude for bhide to ane and a'
That sent our bonnie lad far awa.
Over the seas and far awa,
Over the seas and far awa,
He'll soon be here that I loe dear,
And he's Avelcome hame frao far awa!
I HA'E NAE KITH, I HA'E NAE KIN.
" Tms is a very sweet and cuiious little old song, but not very easily
understood. The air is exceedingly simple, and the verses highly
characteristic of the lyrical songs of Scotland." — Hogg's Jacobite Eehcs,
vol. i., p. 218.
I iia'e nae kith, I ha'e nae kin,
Nor ane that's dear to me,
For the bonny lad that I lo'e best,
He's far ayont the sea.
He's gane wi' ane that was our ain,
And we may rue the day,
When our king's ae daughter came here,
To play sic foul play.
0 gin I were a bonny bird,
Wi' wings that I miglit flee,
Tlien I wad travel o'er the main,
My ae true love to see ;
Then I wad tell a joyfu' tale
To ane that's dear to mc.
And sit upon a king's window.
And sing my melody.
The adder lies i' the corbie's nest,
Aneath the corbie's wame,
And the blast that reaves the corbie's brood
Shall blaw our good king hame.
Then blaw ye east, or blaw ye west,
Or blaw ye o'er the faem,
0 bring the lad that I lo'e best.
And ane I darena name !
SUCH A PARCEL OF EOGUES IN A NATION.
ROBERT BURKS.
A PEELING among the people that the Scottish Members of Parliament
were peculiarly susceptible of corruption, and that through underhand
means they had been induced to assent to the union between the two king-
CIIKONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 503
doms in 1702, seems to have fouud vent in the following song. The chargo
of corruption has wo think been disproved, but there is no doubt that t)ie
Act was received in Scotland with great bitterness, and passed amid deep
gnmiblings and even threats.
Fareweel to a' our Scottish fame,
Fareweel our ancient glory ;
Fareweel e'en to the Scottish name,
Sao fam'd in martiai story.
Now Sark rins ower the Solway sands,
And Tweed rins to the ocean,
To mark where England's province stands :
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation !
"What force or guile could not subdue.
Through many warlike ages,
Is wrouglit now by a coward few,
For hireling traitor's wages.
The English steel we could disdain.
Secure in valour's station,
Bat English gold has been our bane :
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation !
0 would or I had seen the day
That treason tlius could sell us,
My auld gray head had lain in clay,
Wi' Bruce and loyal Wallace !
By pith and power, to my last hour
I'll make this declaration,
We're bought and sold for English gold :
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation !
FY LET US A' TO THE TEEATY.
A sArnucvL song on the principal personages in couuecliou with the
Act of Union. — Air, "Fy let us a' to the bridal."
Now fy let us a' to the treaty,
For there will be wonders there,
For Scotland is to be a bride, sir,
And Aved to the Earl of Stair.
There's Quecnsberry, Seafield, and Mar, sir,
And !Morton comes in by the bye ;
There's Loudon, and Lcvcn, and Wccms, sir,
And Sutherland, frequently dry.
Tliere's Roseberry, Glasgow, and Duplin,
And Lord Archibald Campbell, and Boss ;
The president, Francis Montgomery,
Wha ambles like ouy paced horse.
504 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
There's Johnstoun, Dan Campbell, and Eoss, lad,
Whom the court hath had still on their bench ;
There's solid Pitmedden and Forgland,
Wha design'd jumping on to the bench.
There's Ormistoun and Tillicoultrie,
And Smollett for the town of Dumbarton ;
There's Arnistoun, too, and Carnwathie,
Put in by his uncle L. \Varton ;
Tliere's Grant, and young Pennicook, sir,
Hugh Montgomery, and Davy Dalrymple ;
There's one who will surely bear bouk, sir,
Prestongrange, who indeed is not simple.
Now the Lord bless the jimp one-aud-thirty.
If they prove not traitors in fact.
But see that their bride be well drest, sir,
Or the devil take all the pack.
May the devil take all tho hale pack, sir,
Away on his back with a bang ;
Then well may our new-buskit bridie
For her ain first wooer think lang.
THERE'LL NEVER BE PEACE SIN' JAMIE'S AWA'.
By Carnousie's auld wa's, at the close of the day.
An auld man was singing, wi' locks thin and grey.
And tlie burden o' his sang, while the tears fast did fa'.
Was, there'll never be peace sin' Jamie's awa'.
Our kirk's gaen either to ruin again,
Our state's in confusion, and bravely we ken,
Tho' we darena weel tell wha's to blame for it a',
And we'll never see peace sin' Jamie's awa'.
Our auld honest master, the laird o' the Ian',
He bauldly set off at the head o' the clan.
But the knowes o' Carnousie again he ne'er saw,
An a's gaen to wreck sin' Jamie's awa'.
THERE'LL NEVER BE PEACE UNTIL JAMIE COMES
HAME.
r.OBEUT BUENS.
Founded ou the old words.
By yon castle wa', at the close o' the day,
I heard a man sing, though his head it was grey ;
And as he was singing, tho tears down came,
There'll never be peace until Jamie comes hfimo.
CHnONOLOGiCALLY aiU;axoi:d. 505
The church is in ruins, the state is in jars,
Delusions, oppressions, and murderous wars ;
AVc darcna Aveel say't, but we ken wha's to blame ;
There'll never be peace until Jamie comes hame.
My seven braw sons for Jamie drew sword,
And now I greet round tlieir green beds in the yird ;
It brak the sweet heart o' my I'aithfu' auld dame ;
There'll never be peace until Jamie comes hame.
Now life is a burden that bows me down.
Sin' I tint my bairns, and he tint liis crown ;
But till my lust moments my words arc the same,
There'll never be peace until Jamie comes hame.
THE BLACKBIED.
Froji RAMf?AY's Tea Table Miscellany. Tlic Rlaf.kljiid was the
Old Preteuder, who was known among his adherents by tluit title, derived
from the darkness of his complexion. It has been claimed by Mr. Samuel
Lover and others as of Irish origin, but on uo other grounds than " con-
jecture."
Once on a morning of sweet recreation,
I heard a fair lady a-making her moan.
With sighing and sobbing, and sad lamentation,
Aye singing, " My Blackbird for ever is flown !
He's all my heart's treasure, my joy, and my pleasure,
So justly, my love, my heart follows thee ;
And I am resolved, in foul or fair weather.
To seek out my Blackbird, wherever he be.
" I v.'ill go, a stranger to peril and danger,
My heart is so loyal in every degree ;
For he's constant and kind, and courageous in mind :
Good luck to my Blackbird, wherever lie lie !
In Scotland he's loved and dearly approved.
In England a stranger he seemcth to be ;
But his name I'll advance in Britain or France ;
Good luck to ray Blackbird, wherever lie be !
"TIic l»irds of the forest are all met together,
The turtle is chosen to dwell with the dove.
And I am resolved, in foul or fair weather.
Once in the spring-time to seek cut my love.
But since fickle Fortune, which still proves uncertain,
Ilath caused this parting between him and me,
His right I'll proclaim, and who dares me blame ?
Good luck to my Blackbird, wherever he be!"
506 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAKD
LADY KEITH'S LAMENT,
Lady Maet Drummond, wife of Lord Keith, is sui^poscd to be tho heroine
and authoress of this song. " She was so strongly attached to the exiled
family," says Hogg, " that, on the return of her two sons to Scotland, she
would never suffertheni to enjoy any rest till they engaged actively in the
cause of the Stuarts." — Air, Boyne Water.
I MAY sit in my wee croo house,
At the rock and the reel to toil fu' dreary ;
I may think on the day that's gane,
And sigh and sab till I grow weary.
I ne'er could brook, I ne'er could brook,
A foreign loon to own or flatter ;
But I wnll sing a ranting sang,
That day our king comes ower the water.
0 gin I live to see the day,
That I ha'e begg'd, and begg'd frae Heaven,
I'll fling my rock and reel away,
And dance and sing frae morn till even :
For there is ane I winna name.
That comes the reigning bike to scatter ;
And I'll put on my bridal gown.
That day our king comes ower the water,
1 ha'e seen the gude auld day,
The day o' pride and chieftain glory,
When royal Stuarts bare the sway.
And ne'er heard tell o' Whig nor Tory,
Though lyart be my locks and grey.
And cild has crook'd me down — what matter?
I'll dance and sing ae ither day,
That day our king comes ower the water.
A curse on dull and dravvding Whig,
Tlie whining, ranting, low deceiver,
ViV heart sae black, and look sae big.
And canting tongue o' clishmaclaver.
My father was a good lord's son.
My mother was an earl's daughter,
And I'll be Lady Keith again.
That day our king comes ower the v,-atcr.
AWA, WHIGS, AWA.
TiiE air of this song is very old and very popular. Part of the verses are
also as old as the time of Charles I. but it is one of those elastic songs
which may be added to or abridged to suit passing events. " There is a
tradition that at the battle of Bothwell Bridge, the Piper to Clavers' own
troop of horse, stood on the brink of the Clyde playing it with great glee ;
CHROKOLOGICALLY ARRAKGED. 507
but, being struck with a bullet, either by chance or in consequence of an
aim taken, as is generally reported, he rolled down the bank in the
agonies of death ; and always, as he rolled over the bag, so intent was he
on this old party tune, that, with detennined finnness of fingering, he
made the pipes to yell out two or three notes of it, till at last he plunged
into the river and was canied peaceably down the stream among a great
uumber of floating whigs." Ilogg's Jacobite Eelics, vol. i., p. 259.
The foiuiih and fifth verses are by Burns.
AwA, Whigs, awa,
Awa, Whigs, awa,
Ye'ro but a pack o' traitor loons,
Ye'U ne'er do good at a.'
Our thristles flourish'd fresh and fair,
And bonny bloom'd oiu* roses ;
But Whigs came like a frost in June,
And witlier'd a' our posies.
Awa, Whigs, etc.
Our sad decay in kirk and state
Surpasses mj^ descriving ;
The Whigs cam' o'er us for a curse,
And we ha'e done wi' thriving.
Awa, Whigs, etc.
A foreign Whiggish loon brought seeds
In Scottish yird to cover.
But we'll pu' a' his dibbled leeks,
And pack him to Hanover.
Av/a, Whigs, etc.
Our ancient crown's fa'n i' tlie dust,
Dcil blind them Avi' the stourc o't ;
And write their names i' his black beuk,
Wha ga'e tlio Whigs the power o't.
Awa, Wliigs, etc.
Grim vengeance lang has ta'en a nap.
But we may see him wauken ;
Gudo help the day when royal heads
Are hunted like a maukin I
Awa, Whigs, etc.
The dcil ho lieard the stoure o' tongues.
And ramping cam' amang us ;
But ho pitied us sae curs'd wi' Whigs,
lie turn'd and wadna wraug us.
Awa, Whigs, etc,
503 THE SOXGS OF SCOTLAND
The deil sat grim amang the reek,
Thrang buddling brunstane matches ;
And croon'd 'mang the beuk-taking Whigs,
Scraps of auld Calvin's catches,
Awa, Whigs, awa,
Awa, Whigs, awa,
Ye'll run me out o' wun spunks,
Awa, AA'liigs, aAva.
THE WEE, WEE GERMAN LAIRDIE.
Hogg's Version of this Lest of all the Jacobite Satirical Songs. It is
based upon that by Allan Cunningham in Cromek's Eemains, which in its
tmn was based upon an older song or probably songs. In Cunningham's
Poems and Songs, publisbed in 184^7 under the editorship of his Son, it is
inserted as one of his productions.
Wha the deil hao wc gotten for a king,
But a wee, wee German lairdie!
An' when we gaed to bring him hamo.
He Avas delving in his kail-yairdie :
Sheughing kail, and laying leeks,
But the hose and but the breeks
Up his beggar duds he cleeks,
The wee, wee German lairdie !
And he's clapt down in our gudemau's chair,
The wee, wee German lairdie !
And he's brought fouth o' foreign trash,
And dibbled them in his yairdie :
He's pu'd the rose o' English loons.
And brake the harp o' Irish clowns.
But our Scots thristle will jag his thumbs
The wee, wee German lairdie.
Come up among the Highland hills,
Thou wee, wee German lairdie.
And see how Chai'lie's laug-kail thrives,
That he dibbled in his j'airdie :
And if a stock ye daur to pu'.
Or baud the yoking of a pleugh.
We'll break your sceptre o'er your mou',
Thou Avec bit German lakdic !
Our hills ai-e stecj?, our glens are deep,
No fitting for a yairdie ;
And our norlan' thristles winna pu'.
For a wee, wee German lairdie!
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 509
And we've the trenching blades o' weir,
Wad lib ye o' your German gear,
And pass ye 'neath the claymore's sheer,
Tliou feckless German iairdie !
Auld Scotland ! thou'rt owrc caidd a hole
For nursing siccan vermin ;
But the very dogs o' England's court
Can bark and liowl in German!
Then keep thy dibble in tiiy ain hand,
Thy spade, but and tliy yairdic ;
For wha the dcil now claims our land
But a wee, wee German Iairdie.
YE WHIGS ARE A EEBELLIOUS CREW,
A SATIRE, general and personal, against the Hanoverian Govcrnniont and
King. The two last verses relate to domestic squabbles among the nn'ia-
hers of the royal family. Fcclic is Frederick, Prince of Wale."-'.
Ye Whigs are a rebellious crew.
The plague of this poor nation ;
Ye give not God nor Cajsar due ;
Ye smell of reprobation.
Ye are a stubborn perverse pack,
Conceiv'd and nurs'd by treason ;
Your practices arc foid and black,
Y'our principles 'gainst reason.
Your Ilogan Mogan foreign things,
God gave them in displeasure ;
Ye brought them o'er, and call'd them kings;
They've drain'd our blood and treasure.
Can ye compare j-our king to mine,
Your Geordic and your Willie ?
Comparisons are odious,
A toadstool to a lily.
Our Daricn can witness bear.
And so can our Glcnco, sir ;
Onr South Sea it can nu\kc appear,
Wliat to your kings we owe, sir.
We have been murcler'd, starv'd, and robb'd,
By those your kings and knav'ry.
And all our treasure is stock -jobb'd,
While wc groan under slav'ry.
Did e'er the riglitful Stuart's race
(Declare it, if you can, sir,)
Eoduce you to so bad a case ?
Hold up your face, and answer.
510' THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Did he whom ye expell'd the throne,
Your islands e'er harass so,
As these whom ye have phxc'd thereon,
Your Brunswick and your Nassau ?
By strangers we are roLh'd and shamm'd,
This you must phxinly grant, sir.
Whose coffers with our wealtli are cramm'd,
While we must starve for want, sir.
Can ye compare your kings to mine,
Your Geordie and your Willie ?
Comparisons are odious,
A bramble to a lily.
Your prince's mother did amiss.
This ye have ne'er denied, sir.
Or why liv'd she without a kiss,
Confin'd until she died, sir ?
C;in ye compare your queen to mine?
I know ye're not so silly :
Comparisons are odious,
A dockan to a lily.
Her son is a poor matchless sot,
His own papa ne'er lov'd him ;
And Feckie is an idiot.
As they can swear Avho prov'd him.
Can ye compare your prince to mine,
A thing so dull and silly ?
Comparisons arc odious,
A mushroom to a lily.
THE SOWS TAIL TO GEORDIE!
T;ns song has always heen very popular. The Sow was a name given
Oji accoiuit of her enormous figure, to Madam Kilmansegge, Countess of
Darlington, one of the favoiuite mistresEes of George I. Full advantage
v>'as taken by the Jacobites of the unclean habits of the court, and songs,
hbels, and every possible manner of abuse, v.'as shouted about the public
streets, and often even in hearing of the royal household. Tlie following
song will serve as a specimen of those emanating from Scotland.
It's Geordie's now come hereabout,
0 wae light on his sulky snout !
A pawky soav has found him out,
And turn d her tail to Geordie.
The soAv's tail is till him yet,
A sow's birse Avill kill him yet.
The sovia's tail is till him yet,
The sow's tail to Geordie
CHRONOLOGICALL? ARRANGED. 511
It's Geordie he came np the town,
Wi' a bunch o' turnips on his crown ;
"Alia!" quo' she, "I'll pull them down,
And turn my tail to Geordie."
The sow's tail is till him yet, etc.
It's Geordie lie gat up to dance,
And wi' the sow to take a prance.
And aye she gart her hurdies flaunce.
And turn'd her tail to Geordie.
The sow's tail is till him yet, etc.
It's Geordie he gaed out to hang.
The sow came round him wi' a bang :
"Aha!" quo' she, "there's something wrang;
I'll turn my tail to Geordie."
The sow's tail is till him yet, etc.
The sow and Geordie ran a race,
Diit Geordie fell and brake his face :
"Aha!" quo' she, "I've won the race.
And turn'd my tail to Geordie."
The sow's tail is till him yet, etc.
It's Geordie he sat down to dine.
And wha came in but j\[adam Swine ?
"Grumpli ! Grumph!" quo' she, "I'm come in time,
I'll sit and dine wi' Geordie."
The sow's tail is till him yet, etc.
It's Geordie he lay down to die ;
Tiic sow was there as weel as he :
" Umph ! Umph I " quo' she, " he's no for mo,"
And turn'd her tail to Geordie.
Tlie sow's tail is till him yet, etc.
It's Geordie he gat up to pray,
yiie mumpit round and ran away:
" Umph ! Umph 1 " quo' she, " he's done for aye,"
And turn'd her tail to Geordie.
The sow's tail is till him j-^ct, etc.
512 THE SONGS Oli- SCOTLAND
MY DADDY HAD A RIDING MARE :
The riding mare represents Great Britain, and the riders arc the various
sovereigns who occupied the throne after the abdication of James II. The
'• Unco loon " is King William III. Queen Anne, and her Hanoverian
Successors are taken up in order. " The So'.v " has been explained in the
previous song.
My daddy had a riding mare,
And she was ill to sit,
And by there came an unco loon,
And slippit in his fit.
He set his fit into the st'rnp,
And gripped sickerly ;
And aye siusyne, my dainty mare,
Slic flings and glooms at me.
Tliis thief he fell and brain'd himsel',
And up gat couthy Anne ;
She gripp'd tlie mare, the riding gear
And halter in her hand :
And on she rade, and fast she rade,
O'er necks o' nations three ;
Feint that she ride the aiver stiff,
Sin' she has geck'd at me !
The Whigs they ga'e my Auntie draps
That hasten'd her away,
And then they took a cursed oath,
And drank it up like whey :
Then they sent for a bastard race,
Whilk I may sairly rue.
And for a horse they've got an ass.
And on it set a sow.
Then hey the ass, the dainty ass,
Tiiat cocks aboon them a' !
And hey the sow, the dainty sow,
That soon will get a fa' !
The graith was ne'er in order yet,
The bridle wasna worth a doit ;
And mony ane will get a bite,
Or cuddy gangs awa.
CHRONOLOGICALLY AniUNGED. 513
PETTICOAT'S LOOSE.
It's Hanover, Hanover, fast as you can over,
Hey gudeman, away gudcman ;
It's Hanover, Hanover, fast as yon can over,
Bide na licre till day gudcman.
For there is a harper down i' the nortli.
Has play'd a spring on the banks o' Fortli,
And aye the owre-word o' the tune
Is, awa', gudcman, awa', gudeman,
It's Hanover, Hanover, etc.
It's Feddy maun strap, and Kobin maun string,
And Killy may wince, and fidge, and fling.
For Kenny has loos'd her petticoat string,
Gae tie't again, gae tie't again.
It's Hanover, Hanover, etc.
O Kenny my kitten, come draw yom- mitten,
And dinna be lang, and dinna be king;
For petticoat's loose, and barrie is slitteu.
And a's gane wraug, and a's gauc wraug.
It's Hanover, Hanover, etc.
THE CUCKOO.
A FINE allegorical Song. Tlie Cuckoo refers (n Hit Chevalier do St.
George, though wliy so dcsiguatcd wc have been unable to trace.
The cuckoo's a boiniy I)Ird, when lie comes home,
The cuckoo's a bonny bird when he comes home,
He'll fley away the wild birds that hank about the throne.
My bonny cuckoo, when he comes home.
The cuckoo's tlie bonny bird, and he'll hae the day ;
The cuckoo's the royal bird, whatever they may say;
Wi' the whistle o' his mou', and the blink o' his e'c,
He'll scare a' the nnco birds awa frao me.
The cuckoo's a bonny bird, when he comes home,
The cuckoo's a bonny bird, when ho comes home.
He'll fley away the wild birds that hank about the throne.
My bonny cuckoo, when he comes home.
The cuckoo's a bonny bird, but far frae his hame ;
I ken him by the feathers that grow upon his kaTue;
And round that double kame j'ct a crown I hope to see,
For my bonny cuckoo he ia dear to mc.
514 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
DONALD MACGILLAVRY.
JAMES HOGG.
Donald's gaue up the hill hard and hungry ;
Donald comes down the hill wild and angry;
Donald will clear the gonk's nest clevei'ly :
Here's to the king and Donald Macgillavry.
Come like a weigh-bauk, Donald Macgillavry,
Come like a weigh-bauk, Donald Macgillavry ;
Balance them fair, and balance them cleverly :
Ol'f Avi' the counterfeit, Donald Macgillavry.
Donald's run o'er the hill but his tether, man.
As he were wud, or stung wi' an ether, man ;
When he comes back, there are some will look merrily:
Here's to King James, and Donald Macgillavry.
Come like a weaver, Donald Macgillavry,
Come like a weaver, Donald Macgillavry,
Pack on your back, and elwand sae cleverly :
Gie him full measure, my Donald Macgillavry.
Donald has foughten wi' reif and roguery ;
Donald has dinner'd wi' bancs and beggary :
Better it were for Whigs and Wliiggery
Meeting the devil than Donald Macgillavry.
Come like a tailor, Donald Macgillavry,
Come like a tailor, Donald Macgillavry:
Push about, in and out, thimble them cleverly,
Here's to King James, and Donald Macgillavry !
Donald's the callan that brooks nae tanglencss ;
Whigging, and prigging, and a' newfangleness.
They maun be gane : he winna be baukit, man ;
He maun hae justice, or faith he'll tak' it, man.
Come like a cobbler, Donald Macgillavry,
Come like a cobbler, Donald Macgillavry,
Beat them, and bore them, and lingel them clcA^erly :
Up wi' King James and Donald Macgillavry !
Donald was minnpit wi' mu'ds and mockery ;
Donald was blinded wi' blads o' propertj' ;
Aries ran high, but makings were naething, man :
Lord, how Donald is flyting and fretting, man !
Come like the devil, Donald Macgillavry,
Come like the devil, Donald IMacgillavry,
Skelp them and scaud them that prov'd sae nubritherly :
Up wi' King James, and Donald Macgillavry 1
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARBANGED. 515
JAMIE THE EOVER.
The tenth of June was the birthday of the Chevalier de St. George, here
celebrated under the name of Jamie the Eover. " Auchiudown," sajs Hog;:,
"is neither more nor less than an old ruinous Castle in Glen-Fiddich, in
Banffshire, and it would appear that these festivals in honour of the
exiled sovereign had been among the last entertainments given there ; for
about that very time the Castle ceased to be inhabited, and we hear of
the Knights of Auchindown no more. The building is extremely ancient,
no one knows when it was built, or by whom."
Of all the days that's in the year,
The tenth of June I love most dear,
When our white roses will appear,
For sake of Jamie the Eover.
In tartans braw our lads are drest,
With roses glancing on their breast;
For among them a' we love him best,
Young Jamie they call the Rover.
As I came in by Auchindown,
The drums did beat, and trumpets sound,
And aye the burden o' the tune
Was, Up wi' Jamie the Rover !
There's some wha say he's no tlie thing-,
And some wha say he's no our king ;
But to their teeth we'll rant and sing.
Success to Jamie the Rover !
In London there's a huge black bull,
That would devour us at his will ;
We'll twist his horns out of his skull,
And drive the old rogue to Ilanovcr.
And hey as he'll rout, and hey as he'll roar.
And hey as he'll gloom, as heretofore !
But we'll repay our auld black score,
^^^len we get Jamie the Rover.
0 wac's my heart for Nature's change.
And ano abroad that's forced to range !
God bless the lad, wdicre'cr lie remains,
And send him safely over!
It's J. and S., I must confess,
Stands for his name tliat I do bloriy :
0 may he soon his own possess,
Young Jamie they call the RovLr!
LOCHMABEN GATE.
On the 2nih May, 1711, there was a horse race held at Lochraahcn, and
which drew together a great number of spectators. "After the race the
Popish and Jacobite gentry, such as Francis Maxwell of Thiwald, John
516 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Maxwell, his brother ; Eohert Johnston of Wamphray, Eobert Carruthers
of Eamerscales, the Master of Burleigh (who was under sentence of death
for murder, and had made his escape out of the Tolbooth of Edinburgh a
little before he was to have been executed), with several others whom I could
name, went to the cross, where in a very solemn manner, before hundreds
of witnesses, with drums beating and colours displayed, they did, upon
their knees, drink their king's health !" — Rae's History of the Rebellion.
As I came by Lochmabcn gate,
It's there I saw the Johnstons riding ;
Away they go, and they fear'd no foe,
With their drums a-beating, colours flying.
All the lads of Annandale
Came there, their gallant chief to follow ;
Brave Burleigh, Ford, and Eamerscale,
With Winton and the gallant EoUo.
I asked a man what meant the fray ?
"Good sir," said he, "you seem a stranger :
This is the twenty-ninth of May ;
Far better had you shun the danger.
These are rebels to the throne,
Reason have we all to know it ;
Popish knaves and dogs each one,
Pray pass on, or you shall rue it."
I look'd the traitor in the face.
Drew out my brand and ettled at him :
"Deil send a' the whiggish race
Downward to the dad that gat 'cm !"
Eight sair he gloom'd, but naething said,
While my heart was like to scunner,
Cowards are they born and bred,
Ilka whinging, praying sinner.
My bonnet on my sword I bare,
And fast I spurr'd by knight and lady,
And thrice I waved it in the air.
Where a' our lads stood rank'd and ready.
"Long live King James !" aloud I cried,
" Our nation's king, our nation's glory !'
" Long live King James !" they all replied,
" Welcome, welcome, gallant Tory 1"
Tliere I shook hands wi' lord and knight,
And mony a braw and buskin'd lady :
But lang I'll mind Lochmaben gate,
And a' our lads for battle ready.
And when I gang by Locher Brigs,
And o'er the moor, at een or morrow,
I'll lend a curse imto the Whigs,
That wrought us a' this dool and sorrow.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 617
THE AULD STUARTS BACK AGAIN.
Probably written about the time of the outbreak of 1715. Glasgow,
Ayr, Irvine, Kilmarnock, and the rest of the Western towns were particu-
larly zealous on behalf of the reigning family, and so fall under the whip
of the satirist in the first part of the song. The latter part refers to a
meeting of the principal Jacobite Chiefs convened by the Earl of Mar,
and held at his Castle of Braemar, August 20, 1715. Among those
present at this council were, the !^Iarquis of Iluutly (eldest son of the
Duke of Gordon), the Marquis of TuUibardiue (eldest son of the Duke of
Athol), Earls of Nithsdale, Marischal Traquair, Enol, Southesk, Cara-
uath, Scaforth, Linlithgow ; Viscounts liilsyth, Kemnure, Kingston,
and Stonuount; Lords Eollo, Duffus, Dnimiiiond, Strathallan, Ogilvio,
and Nairn ; besides a large attendance of Chiefs and Chieftains represent-
ing the CLins.
The auld Stuarts back again,
The auld Stuarts back again ;
Let howlet Wliigs do Avhat they can,
The Stuarts Avi.U bo back again.
Wlia cares for a' their creeshy duds,
And a' Kilmarnock's sowen suds?
We'll whack their hydcs and fj'lc tlicir fuds,
And bring the Stuarts back again.
Tlicrc's Ayr and Irvine, wi' the rest,
And a' the cronies i' the west,
Lord ! sic a scaw'd and scabbit nest,
How they'll set up their crack again
But wad they come, or dare they come,
Afore the bagpipe and the drum,
We'll either gar them a' sing dumb,
Or " Auld Stuarts back again,"
Give ear unto my loyal sang,
A' ye that ken the rigiit frae rang,
And a' that look and think it lang
For auld Stuarts back again.
Were ye wi' me to chace the rae,
Oiitowro tlie hills and faraway.
And saw tlie Lords were there that day,
To bring the Stuarts back again.
There ye nn'ght see the noble Mar,
Wi' Atliol, Iluntly, and Traquair,
Seaforth, Kilsytli, and Auldubair,
And mony mac, wliatreck, again.
Then what are a' their westland crews?
We'll gar the tailors tack again:
Can they forestand the tartan trews,
And auld Stuarts back again?
2N
518 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
THE CHEVALIER'S MUSTER ROLL.
" There can he little doubt but this song, denominated The Chevniiei-'s
Muster Roll, has been made and sung about the time when the Earl of
Mar raised the standard for King .James in the North ; but it is so far from
being a complete list, that many of the i^rincipal chiefs are left out, as
Athol, Broadalbine, Ogilvie, Keith, Stuart, &c., &c. It therefore appears
evident to me, that it has been adapted for some festive meeting where all
the names of those present were introduced, without regard to the others ;
and I have not the least doubt that every name mentioned in the song
applied to some particular person, though it is impossible, at this distance
of time, to trace each one with certainty." — Hogg.
Little wat ye wba's coming,
Little wat ye wba's coming,
Little wat ye wha's coming,
Jock an' Tam^ an' a's coming.
Duncan's coming, Donald's coming,
Colin's coming, Ronald's coming,
Dougal's coming, Lauchlau's coming,
Alaster and a's coming.
Little wat ye wha's coming,
Jock au' Tarn an' a's coming.
Borland^ and his men's coming,
Cameron' and M'Lean's* coming,
Gordon* and M'Grogor's coming,
Ilka dunywastle's coming.
Little wat ye wha's coming,
M'Gillivray" and a's coming.
Wigton's coming, Nithsdale's coming,
Carnwarth's coming, Kenmure's coming,
Derwentwater and Forster's coming,
Widdrington and Nairn's coming,
Little wat ye wha's coming.
Blithe Cowhill'' and a's coming.
The Laird of M'lntosh^ is coming,
M'Crabie an' M'Donald's coming,
M'Kenzie and MTherson's coming,
And the wild M'Craw's coming. '
Little Avat ye wha's coming,
Donald Gun and a's coming.
1 Supposed to mean the Lowlands generally. - A Chieftain of the Clan MacintosU.
^ Of LochicL * Sh' John McLean. ^ Marquis of Huutly.
8 .Supposed to be McGiUivray, head of one of the Clan Chattaa.
' The names in this stanza are those of the Lowland Chiefs,
8 The Chief of the Clan.
CHEONOLOGICALLY AERAKGED. 519
They gloom, they glonr, they look sae big,
At ilka stroke they'll fell a Whig :
They'll fright the fuds o' the Pockpuds,
For mony a buttock bare's coming.
Little wat ye wha's coining,
Jock and Tarn au' a's coming.
THE STANDARD ON THE BRAES 0' MAR.
Alexander Laing, of Brechin.
The standard on the braes o' Mar,
Is up and streaming rarely ;
The gathering pipe on Loch-na-gar,
Is sounding lang and sairly.
The Highlandmen
Frao hill and glen,
In martial hue,
AVith bonnets blue,
With belted plaids
And burnish'd blades.
Are coming lute and early.
Wha wadna join our noble chief,
The Drummond and Glengarry,
]Macgregor, Murray, RoUo, Keith.
Panmure, and gallant Harry ? '
Jlacdonald's men,
Clan-Ranald's men,
Mackenzie's men,
Macgillavry's men,
Strathallan's men.
The Lowlan' men,
Of Callander and Airly.
Fy ! Donald, up and let's awa'.
We canna langcr parley,
Wlien Jamie's back is at tlio \yi\\
Tho lad we lo'e sac dearly.
We'll go— we'll go
And meet the foe
And fling tlic plaid,
And swing tho blade,
And forward dasli.
And hack and slasli —
And flcg the German Carlio.
520 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
THE BATTLE OF SHERBIFMUIR,
Was fought near Diinblane, Perthshii-e, on the 13th Novenibcr, 1715,
between the Hanoverian forces under the Duke of Argyll, and the
Jacobite under the Earl of Mar. The battle at its close was undecided
and both sides clauned victory. All the solid advantages, however,
remained with the royal troops.
There's some say that we wan,
Some say that they wan,
And some say that nane wan at a', man ;
But one thing I'm sm'e,
That at Sherramuir,
A battle there was, that I saw, man :
And we ran, and they ran,
And they ran, and we ran,
And we ran, and they ran awa', man.
Argyll 1 and Belhaven,^
Not frighted like Leven,^
Which Eothes* and Haddington ^ saw, man;
For they all, with Wightman,"
Advanced on the right, man.
While others took flight, being raw, man :
And we ran, and they ran, etc.
Lord Eoxburgh '' was there.
In order to share
With Douglas,^ who stood not in awe, man ;
Volunteerly to ramble
With Lord Loudoun Campbell,"
Brave Hay ^^ did suffer for a', man :
And we ran, and they ran, etc.
Sir John Shaw,^^ that great knight.
With broadsword most bright,
On horseback he briskly did charge, man ;
A hero that's kold.
None could him withhold.
He stoutly encountered the targemen:
And we ran, and they ran, etc.
For the cowardly Whittam,^-
For fear they should cut him.
Seeing glittering broadswords with a pa', man,
• John, Second Duke of Argyll * Lord Belhaven. * David Leslie, Earl of Leven.
* * Earls of Kothes and Haddington. "^ IMajor General in the Eoyal Army.
' Fifth Duke of Eoxbru-gli. « o^ke of Douglas. " Third Earl of Loudon.
'" Earl of Hay, brother to the Duke of Argyll. " Sir John Shaw of Greenock.
'^' 3Iajor-General in the Eoyal Army.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 521
And that in such thrang,
Made Baird aide-de-camp,
And from the brave chins ran awa, man :
And we ran, and they ran, etc.
The great Colonel Dow
Gade foremost, I trow,
When AVhittam's dragoons ran awa, man :
Except Sandy Baird,
And Naughtan the laird,
Their horse shaw'd their heels to them a', man :
And we ran, and they ran, etc.
Brave ^lar' and Panmurc-
Were firm, I am sure,
The latter was kidnapt awa, man,
Witli brisk men about,
Bravo Harry retook
Ilis brother, and laughed at them a', man :
And we ran, and they ran, etc.
Brave Marshall' and Lithgow,*
And Glengarry's pith too,''
Assisted by brave Loggia,'' man,
And Gordons the bright.
So boldly did fight,
That tlio red-coats took flight and awa', man ;
And we ran, and they ran, etc.
Strathmore^ and Clanronald,^
Cry'd still, "Advance, Donald,"
Till both of tliese heroes did la', man;
For there was such hashing,
And broadswords a-clashiug.
Brave Forfar" himself got a claw, man :
And we ran, and thej' ran, etc.
Lord Perth^" stood the storm,
Seaforth'^ but lukewarm,
Kilsj'th'- and Strathallan'^ not slaw, man;
And Hamilton^* pled,
The men were not bred,
For he had no fancy to fa', man :
And wc ran, and tliey ran, etc.
' The Knrl of Uia. - The lion, lleniy Mr.idc uf Kellio.
' George Keith, tenth Karl Marischal. •• Earl of Calendar and Linlithgow.
' Archibald Macdonald, chief of Glengarry. " Druinmond of Logie-Almond
" John Lyon, fifth Karl of Strathniore and Kinftliorn.
* Konald Macdonald of Clanronald. " Archihahl Douplas. second Earl of Forfar.
•" James, Lord Drumir.ond. " William l^Lackenzie, fifth Earl of Scaforth.
'2 AVilliam, Lord Kilsyth. " William, Lord Strathallan.
** George llamiltoii, Licut.-Gcneral under the Earl of Mnr,
522 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAITD
Brave gen'rous Southesk,'^
Tullibardine^ was brisk,
Whose father, indeed, would not draw, man,
Into the same yoke,
Which served for a cloak,
To keep the estate 'twixt them twa, man :
And we ran, and they ran, etc.
Lord Rollo' not fear'd,
Kintore* and his beard,
Pitsligo' and Ogilvie," a', man.
And brothers Balfours,
They stood the first slioAvers,
Clackmannan and Bm-leigli'' did claw, man:
And we ran, and tlicy ran, etc.
But Cleppan^ fought pretty,
And Strowan' the witty,
A poet that pleases us a', man ;
For mine is but rhyme.
In respect of what's fine.
Or Avliat he is able to draw, man :
And we ran, and they ran, &c.
For Huntly^*' and Sinclair,^-
Thoy both play'd the tinkler.
With consciences black as a craw, man ;
Some Angus and Fiferaen,
They ran for their life, man,
And ne'er a Lot's ■wife there at a', man :
And we ran, and they ran, etc.
Then Laurie the traitor.
Who betray'd his master.
His king and his country, and a', man,
Pretending Mar might,
Give orders to fight.
To the right of the army awa', man:
And we ran, and they ran, etc.
Then Laurie for fear,
Of Avhat he might hear,
Took Drummond's best horse and awa', man,
'Stead of going to Perth,
He crossed the Fu-th,
Alongst Stirling bridge, and awa', man ;
And we ran, and they ran, etc.
» James, fifth Earl of Soutliesk. 2 WiUiam Murray, Marquis of Tullibardino.
3 Robert, Lord Kollo. * William, Earl of Klntore. ^ Lord Forbes of Pitsligo.
6 James, Lord Ogilvie, eldest son of the Earl of Airlie. ' Lord Burleigli.
Major Clephane of the Jacobite ^Iniiy. ^ Robertson of Struan, Chief of the clan.
1° Marquia of Huatly. " James, Master oi Sinclair.
CURONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 523
To London he press'd,
And there he profess'd,
That he behav'd best of them a', man 5
And so, Avitliout strife,
Got settled for life,
Ten hundred a-ycar to his fa', man :
And wc ran, and tliey ran, etc.
In Borrowstounness
He resides with disgrace,
Till his neck stand in need of a thraw, man,
And then, in a tether,
He'll swng from a ladder,
And go off the stage with a pa', man :
And we ran, and they ran, etc.
Eob Eoy there stood watch ^
On a hill, for to catch
Tlie booty, for aught that I saw, man,
For he ne'er advanc'd.
From the place he was stanc'd,
Till no more was to do there at a', man :
And we ran, and they ran, etc.
So wc all took the flight.
And Moubray tlic wright,
And Lethem the smith was a bra' mail,
For he took a fit
Of the gout, which was wit,
By judging it time to withdraw, man :
And we ran, and they ran, etc.
And trumpet M'Lean,
Whose breeks were not clean.
Thro' misfortune he happen'd to fa', man,
By saving his neck.
His trumpet did break,
And came off without musick at a', man :
And wo ran, and they ran, etc.
So there such a race was,
As ne'er in that place was,
And as little chaso was at a', man ;
I'Vom each other they run
AVithout touk of drum.
They did not make use of a paw, man :
And we ran, and tliey ran, etc.
1 The celebrated outlaw.
524 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Whether we ran, or they ran,
Or we wan, or they wan,
Or if there was winning at a', man,
There no man can tell,
Save our brave Genarell,
Who first began running of a', man.
And we ran, and they ran, etc.
Wi' tlie Earl o' Seaforth,
And the Cock o' the North^;
But Florence ran fastest of a', man,
Save the laird o' Phinaven,
Who sware to be even
Wi' any general or peer o' them a', man,
And we ran, and they ran, etc.
BATTLE OF SHEEEAMUIR.
SECOND VERSION,
Appeared originally as a street song, under the title of " A Dialogue be-
tween WQl LicklacUe and Tom Cleancogue, twa shepherds who were feed-
ing their flocks on the Ochil Hills on the day the battle of Sherramiiir was
fought." Its author was the Eev. Johu I3arclay of Muthill, who died
in 1798.
W. 0 CAM ye here the fight to shun,
Or herd the sheep wi' me, man ?
Or were ye at the Sherramuir,
Or did the battle see man ?
T. I saw the battle sair and teugh.
And reeking red ran mony a sheugh :
My heart for fear ga'e sough for sough,
To hear the thuds, and see the cluds
0' clans frae woods, in tartan duds,
Wha glaum'd at kingdonis tfiree, man.
The redcoat lads, wi' black cockades,
To meet them Avarna slaw, man ;
They rush'd, and push'd, and blood out gusli'd,
And mony a bouk did fa', man.
The great Argyll led on his files,
I wat they glanc'd for twenty miles ;
They hough 'd the clans like ninepin kyles,
They hack'd and hash'd, while braid swords clash'd,
And through they dash'd, and hew'd, and smash'd,
Till fey men died awa, man.
A popular name for the Puke of G ordon.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 525
But had ye seen the philabegs,
And skyrin tartan trews, man,
WJien in the teeth they dar'd our Whig8,
And covenant true blues, man ;
In lines extended lang and large.
When baigonets o'orpower'd the targe,
And thousands hasten'd to the charge ;
AVi' Highland wrath, they frae the sheath
Drew blades o' death, till, out o' breath.
They iled like frighted dows, man.
W. 0 how deil. Tarn, can that be true ?
The chace gacd frae the north, man ?
I saw mysel, they did pursue
The horsemen back to Forth, man.
And at Dumblane, in my ain sight,
They took the brig wi' a' their might.
And straight to Stirling wing'd their ilight;
I)ut, cursed lot! the gates were shut.
And mony a huntit, poor redcoat,
For fear amaist did swarf, man.
T. IMy sister Kate cam' up tlie gate
Wi' crowdie unto me, man ;
She swore she saw some rebels run
To Perth and to Dundee, man.
Their left hand gcn'ral had nao skill,
The Angus lads had nao gudc will,
Tiuit day their neighbours' bludo to spill ;
For fear by foes that they should lose
Their cogues o' brose, they scar'd at blows,
And hameward fast did flee, man.
They've lost some gallant gentlemen
Amang the Highland clans, man :
I fear my Lord Panmure is slain,
Or in ins en'mies' hands, man.
Now Avad yo sing this double flight,
Some fell for wrang, and some for riglit,
And mony bade the warld gnde-nigjit,
Say pell and mell, wi' muskets knell,
How Tories fell, and Whigs to hell
Flew air in frighted bands, man.
526 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAlTD
UP AN' WAEN A', WILLIE.
When we gaed to the bi-aes o' Mar,
And to the weapon-shaw, Willie,
Wi' true design to serve our king,
And banish Whigs awa', Willie
Up and warn a', AVillic,
Warn, warn a' ;
For lords and lairds came there bedeen,
And vow but they were braw, Willie.
Up and warn a', Willie,
Warn, Avarn a' ;
Then second sighted Sandy said.
We'd do nae gude at a', Willie.
But when the anny join'd at Perth,
The bravest e'er ye savv^, Willie,
We didna doubt the rogues to rout,
Hestore our king an' a', Willie.
Up and warn a', Willie,
Warn, warn a' ;
The pipers play'd frae right to left,
0 whirry Whigs awa', Willie.
But wiicn the standard was set up.
Eight fierce the wind did blaw, Willie:
The royal nit upon the tap
Down to the ground did fa, Willie.
UjD and warn a', Willie,
Warn, warn a' ;
To hear my canty Highland sang
Eelate the thing I saw, Willie.
But when avc march'd to Sherramuir,
And there the rebels saw, Willie,
Brave Argyll attacked our right,
Our flank and front, and a', Willie.
Up and warn a', Willie,
Warn, warn a' ;
Traitor Huntly soon gave way,
Seaforth, St, Clair, and a', Willie.
But brave Glengany on our right,
The rebels' left did claw, Willie,
lie there the greatest slaughter made
That ever Donald saw, Willie.
Up and warn a', Willie,
Warn, warn a';
And Y/hittam fyl'd his breeks for fear,
And fast did rin awa^ Willie.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 527
For he ca'd us a Highland mob,
And swore he'd slay us a', Willie ;
But we chas'd him back to Stirling brig,
Dragoons and foot and a', Willie.
Up and warn a,' Willie,
W^arn, warn a' ;
At length we rallied on a hill,
And briskly up did draw, Willie.
But when Argyll did view our line,
And them in order saw, Willie,
lie straight gaed to Dumblane again,
And back his left did draw, Willie.
Up and Avarn a', Willie,
Warn, warn a' ;
Then we to Auchterarder marcli'd
To wait a better fa', Willie.
Now if ye spcii' wha wan the day,
I've tell'd you what I saw, Willie,
We baith did fight, and baith were beat,
And baith did rin awa', Willie.
Up and warn a', Willie,
Warn, -w^arn a' ;
For second sighted Sandy said
We'd do nae good at a', Willie.
LAMENT.
After the Battle of SheiTiffmnir, Mar retreated to Perth, and the unv.v
soon aftonvards dispersed, leaving the Duke of Argyll to traverse the
country without opposition. A number of the insurgents escaped to France,
while those who were captured, were either executed, or sent into exile.
IIat:d fate that I should banish'd be,
And rebel call'd witli scorn.
For serving of the kindest prince
That ever yet was born.
0 my king, God save my king.
Whatever me befall !
1 would not bo in lluntly's case.
For honours, lands, and all.
My target and my good claymoro
i\[iist now lie useless by;
My plaid and trews I heretofore
Did wear most cheerfully.
0 my king, etc.
528 THE SONGS of SCOTLAKD
So cheerfully our king cam o'er,
Sent Ecklin to the North ;
But treach'rously he was betray'd
By Huntly and Seaforth.
0 my king, etc.
0 the broom, the bonny bonny broom,
The broom of the Cowdenkuowes!
1 wish these lords had staid at hame,
And milked their minnies' ewes,
0 my king, etc.
0 wretched Huntly, hide thy head !
Thy king and country's gone,
And many a valiant Scot hast thou
By villany undone,
0 my king, etc.
Farewell, Old Albion, I must take
A long and last adieu ;
Or bring me back my king again.
Or farewell hope and you.
0 my king, etc.
Set our true king upon the throne
Of his ancestors dear.
And send the German cuckold home
To starve with his small gear.
0 my king, etc.
Tlien happy days in peace we'll see.
And joy in every face ;
Confounded all the Whigs shall be,
And honest men in place:
0 my king, God save my king.
Whatever me befall !
1 would not be in Huntly's case.
For honours, lands, and all.
KENMUEE'S ON AND AW A.
William, Viscount Kemnin-c, was leader of the Jacobite forces iu the
south of ScoUaud iu 1715. He was defeated at Preston, and conveyed
to London as a prisoner, v,-here ho was beheaded on the 24ith Februarr,
171G. This song is partly by Burns.
0 KENMunE's on and awa, Willie,
0 Kenmure's on and awa :
And Kenmure's lord's the bravest lord
That ever Gallowav saw.
CHRONOLOGICALLY AUKANGED. 52!)
Success to KenmiTre's band, Willie !
Success to Kenmure's band !
There's no a heart that fears a Whig,
That rides by Kenmure's hand.
There's a rose in Kenmure's cap, Willie,
There's a rose in Kenmure's cap.
He'll steep it red in ruddio heart's blude,
Afore the battle drap.
Here's him that's far aw a, Willie,
Here's him that's far awa,
And here's the flower that I lo'c best,
The rose that's like the snaw.
0 Kenmure's lads are men, Willie,
0 Kenmure's lads are men.
Their hearts and swords are metal true.
And that their faes shall ken.
They'll live, or die wi' fame, Willie,
They'll live, or die wi' fame ;
And soon wi' sound o' victoric
jMay Kenmure's lord come hamc.
His lady's cheek v.as red, Willie,
His lady's cheek was red,
Wlien she saw his steely jupes put on,
Wliicli smell'd o' deadly feud.
Here's Kenmure's health in wine, Willie,
Here's Kenmure's health in wine ;
There ne'er was a coward o' Kenmure's blude,
Nor yet o' Gordon's line.
LORD DERWENTWATER'S FAREWELL.
James Rajdcliff, Earl of Derwentwater, was another of the victims of
the affair at Preston. Ho was beheaded at Loudou. "Derwentwater,"
says Smollet, " was an amiable youth, brave, open, generous, hospitable,
and humane. Ilis fate drew tears from the spectators, and was a great
misfortune to the coiuitry in which ho lived. Ho gave bread to midti-
tudes of people whom ho employed on his estate : the poor, the widow,
and the orphan, rejoiced in his bomity." " This " adds Hogg, " is an
amiable character, and though smirched with the foulness of rebellion,
smells sweetly of heaven."
FAnKWELL to pleasant Ditson Hall,
My father's ancient seat ;
A stranger now must call thee his,
Which gars my heart to greet.
530 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Farewell each kindly well-known face,
My heart has held so dear :
My tenants now must leave theu" lauds,
Or hold their lives in fear.
No more along the banks of Tyne,
I'll rove in autumn gray ;
No more I'll hear, at early dawn,
The lav'rocks wake the day :
Then fare-thee-well, brave Witherington,
And Forster ever true.
Dear Shaftsbury, and Errington,
Receive my last adieu.
And fare-thee-well, George CoUingwood,
Since fate has put us down,
If thou and I have lost our lives,
Our king has lost his cro^v^l.
Farewell, farewell, my lady dear,
111, ill thou couusell'dst me :
I never more may see the babe
That smiles upon thy knee.
And fare-thee-well, my bonny gray steed,
That carried me aye so free ;
I wish I had been asleep in my bed,
The last time I mounted thee.
The warning bell now bids me cease ;
My trouble's nearly o'er ;
Yon sun that rises from the sea,
Shall rise on me no more.
Albeit that here in London town
It is my fate to die,
0 carry me to Northumberland,
In my fatlier's grave to lie :
There chant my solemn requiem
In Hexham's holy towers,
And let six maids of fair Tynedale
Scatter my grave Avith flowers.
And when the head that wears the crown,
Shall be laid low like mine.
Some honest hearts may then lament
For Radcliff's fallen line.
FarcAvell to pleasant Ditson Hall,
My father's ancient seat ;
A stranger now must call thee his,
Which gars my heart to greet.
CHROXOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 531
OWER THE HILLS AN' FAR AWAY.
OWER the hills and far away,
It's ower the hills and far away ;
Ower the hills and ower the sea
The wind has blawn my plaid frae me.
My tartan plaid, my ae good sheet.
That keepit me frae wind and weet,
And held me bien baith night and day,
Is ower the hills and far away.
There was a wind it cam to me,
Ower the south and ower the sea.
And it has blawn my corn and liay,
Ower the hUls and far away.
It blew my corn, it blew my gear,
It neither left me kid nor steer.
And blew my plaid, my only stay,
Ower the hills and far away.
But though 't has left me bare indeed,
And blawn my bonnet off my head,
There's something hid in Highland brae ;
It hasna blawn my sword away.
Then ower the hills and ower tlie dales,
Ower all England and through Wales,
The broadsword yet shall bear the sway,
Ower the hills and far away.
HOAV LANG SHALL OUR LAND.
WIIXIA^r MESTON,
Tutor to the young Earl Mareschall, and a victim to the failure of the '15.
How lang shall our land thus suffer distresses,
Whilst traitors, and strangers, and tyrants oppress us !
How lang shall our old, and once brave warlike nation,
Thus tamely submit to a base usurpation ?
Thus must we be sad, whilst the traitors arc vaudic.
Till Ave get a sight of our ain bonnie laddie.
Tims must we be sad, whilst the traitors are vaudie,
Till wc get a sight of our ain bonny laddie.
How lang shall we lurk, liow lang shall we languish,
With faces dejected, and hearts full of anguish?
How lang shall the Whigs, perverting all reason,
Call honest men knaves, and loyalty treason?
Tims must we be sad, whilst the traitors are vaudie,
Till we get a sight of our ain bonnie laddie.
Thus must we be sad, etc.
532 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
0 Heavens, have pity ! with favour present us ;
Rescue us from strangers that sadly torment us,
From Atheists, and Deists, and Whiggish opinions ;
Our king return back to his rightful dominions :
Then rogues shall be sad, and honest men vaudie,
When the throne is possess'd by our ain bonny laddie.
Then rogues shall be sad, etc.
Our vales shall rejoice, our mountains shall flourish ;
Our church, that's oppressed, our monarch will nourish;
Our land shall be glad, but the Whigs shall be sorry,
"When the king gets his own, and Heaven the glory.
Then rogues shall be sad, but the honest men vaudie,
When the throne is possess'd by our ain bonny laddie.
The rogues shall be sad, etc.
SOMEBODY.
This first appeared in Hogg's Jacobite Kelics ; and, though he does not
own it, in all probability was written by him. From the failure of the
risiug iu 1715, to the landing of Prince Charles Edward, tlio thoughls of
the Jacobite party were always bent on the return of the exiled family.
My heart is sair, I daurna it'll.
My heart is sair for somebody ;
I would walk a winter's night,
For a sight o' somebody.
Ocli lion for somebody !
Och hey for somebody !
I wad do — what wad I not,
For the sake o' somebody !
If somebody were come again.
Then somebody maun cross the main,
And ilka ane will get his ain,
And I will see my somebody.
Och lion, etc.
What need I kame my tresses bright
Or why should coal or candle-light
E'er shine in my bower day or night,
Since gane is my dear somebody ?
Och hon, etc.
Oh ! I hae grutten mony a day
For ane that's banish'd far away :
I canna sing, and maunna say.
How sair I grieve for somebod3^
Och hon, etc.
CHliONOLOGlCALLY ARRANGED. 533
AVELCOME EOYAL CHAllLIE.
On the 25th July, 1745, Charles Edward Stuart, the "Bonnie Prince
Charlie " of the Jacobites, and the " Young Pretender " of the Hanover-
ians, landed at Borodale and began what must now be regarded as one of
the most desperate and romantic campaigns in modern history. The
more ardent Highland Chiefs at once welcomed him with all the ardour of
their nature, but several still ad\ased delay. Charles, however, had vir-
tually thrown away his scabbard, and declined this ; and overcoming their
scruples, after a few preliminary movements the clans were declared ready,
and the standard M'as raised in the Valley of Glenfinnau. '' The spot,"
says Mr. Chambers, " selected for the rearing of the standard, was a little
eminence in the centre of the vale. The Marquis of Tullibardine, whose
rank entitled him to the honour, pitched himself on the top of this knoll,
supported by two men, on accoimt of his weak state of health. He then
flung upon the mountain breeze that flag which, shooting like a streamer
from the north, was soon to spread such omens of woe and terror over the
peaceful vales of Britain." — llislorij of the Rehdlion of 1745-6; p. 48,
1869.
When France had her assistance leut,
Our darling prince to us she sent,
Towards the north his course he bent,
His name was Royal Charlie.
But, 0, he was lang o' coining,
O, he was lang o' coming,
0, he was lang o' coming ; —
Welcome Royal Charlie !
When he upon the shore did stand,
The friends he had within the land
Came down and shook him by the hand.
And welcom'd Royal Charlie.
Wi' '"0, ye've been lang o' coming," etc.
The dress that our Prince Cliarlie had
Was bonnet blue and tartan plaid ;
And 0 he was a handsome lad !
Few could compare wi' Charlie.
But 0, ho was lang o' coming, etc.
THE GATHERING OF THE CLANS.
Come along, my brave clans,
There's nae friends sae staunch and true ;
Come along, my brave clans,
There's nae lads sae leal as you.
Come along, Clan-Donuil,
Frac 'mang year birks and heather braes ;
Come with bold Macalister,
Wilder than his mountain raes.
2 0
534 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Gather, gather, gather,
From Loch Morar to Argyle ;
Come from Castle Tuirim,
Come from Moidart and the isles.
Macallan is the hero
That will lead you to the field ;
Gather, bold Siolallain,
Sons of them that never yield.
Gather, gather, gather,
Gather from Lochaber glen :
Mac-Mic-Eannail calls you ;
Come from Taroph, Eoy, and Spean,
Gather, brave Clan-Douuil,
Many sons of might you know ;
Lenochan's j-our brother,
Auchterechtan and Glencoe.
Gather, gather, gather,
'Tis your prince that needs your arm :
Though Macconnel leaves you,
Dread no danger or alarm.
Come from field and foray,
Come from sickle and from plough ;
Come from cairu and correi.
From deer-wake and driving to.
Gather, bold Clan-Donuil ;
Come with haversack and cord ;
Come not late with meal or cake,
But come -svith dirk, and gun, and sword.
Down into the Lowlands,
Plenty bides by dale and burn,
Gather, brave Clan-Donuil,
Riches wait on your return.
GATHERING OF ATHOL.
Wha will ride wi' gallant Murray ?
Wha will ride wi' Geordie's sel ?
He's the flow'r o' a' Glenisla,
And the darlin' o' Duukel'.
See the white rose in his bonnet !
See his banner o'er the Tay !
His gude sword he now has drawn it,
And has flung the sheath away.
Every faithful Murray follows ;
First of heroes ! best of men !
Every true and trusty Stewart
Blythely leaves his native glen.
_ CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 535
Athol lads are lads of honour,
Westlaud rogues are rebels a';
When we come within their border,
We may gar the Campbells claw.
Menzies he's our friend and brother ;
Gask and Strowan are nae slack !
Noble Perth has ta'en the field,
And a' the Drummonds at his back.
Let us ride wi' gallant Murray,
Let us fight for Charlie's crown ;
From the right we'll never sinder,
Till we bring the tyrants down.
Mackintosh, the gallant soldier,
Wi' the Grahams and Gordons gay.
They have ta'en the field of honour,
Spite of all their chiefs could say.
Bend the musket, point the rapier.
Shift the brog for Lowland shoe.
Scour the durk, and face the danger ;
Mackintosh has all to do.
COME YE BY ATHOL.
JAMES HOGG.
Come ye by Athol, lad wi' the philabeg
Down by the Tummel or banks o' the Garry,
Saw ye the lads wi' their bonnets and white cockades,
Leaving their mountains to follow Prince Charlie.
Follow thee 1 Follow thee ! wha wadna follow thee ?
Lang hast thou loved and trusted us fairly !
Charlie, Charlie, wha wadna follow thee.
King o' the Highland hearts, bonnie Prince Charlie.
I ha'e but ae son, my gallant young Donald,
But if I had ten they should follow Glengarry !
Health to McDonnell and gallant Clan Ronald,
For these are the men that will die for their Charlie.
Follow thee ! Follow thee ! &c.
I'll to Lochiel and Appin, and kneel to them,
Down by Lord jMurray and Pioy of Kildarlie ;
Brave Mcintosh, ho shall fly to the field wi' them ;
These are the lads I can trust wi' my Charlie.
Follow thee 1 Follow thee! &c,
Down through the Lowlands, down Avi' the Whigamoro,
Loyal true Highlanders, down wi' them rarely !
Ronald and Donald, drive on wi' the broad claymore,
Over the necks of the foes o' Prince Charlie,
Follow thee! Follow thee! &c.
53G THE SONGS 01' SCOTLANO
WHA'S FOE SCOTLAND AND CHAPvLIE?
0 wha's for Scotland an'l Charlie ?
0 wha's for Scotland and Charlie ?
He's come o'er the sea
To his ain countrie;
Now wha's for Scotland and Charlie?
Awa', awa', auld carlic,
A^ya', awa', auld carlie,
Gi'e Charlie his crown,
And let him sit down,
"Whare yc've been sae lang, auld carlie.
It's up in the morning early,
It's up in the morning early,
The bonnie white rose ;
The plaid and the hose,
Are on for Scotland and Charlie.
The swords are drawn now fairly,
The swords arc drawn now fairly.
The swords they are drawn,
And the pipes they lia'e blawn
A pibroch for Scotland and Charlie.
The flags arc flcein' fu' rarely.
The flags are fleein' fu' rarely.
And Charlie's awa'
To see his ain ha'.
And to bang his faes right sairly.
Then wha's for Scotland and Charlie ?
0 wha's for Scotland and Charlie ?
He's come o'er the sea
To his ain countrie ;
Then vvha's for Scotland and Charlie?
WHA WADNA FIGHT FOR CHARLIE ?
Wha wadna fight for Charlie ?
Wha wadna draw the sword?
"Wha wadna up and rally.
At their royal prince's word ?
Think on Scotia's ancient heroes,
Think on foreign foes repcU'd
Think on glorious Bruce and Wallace,
Wha the proud usurpers queli'd.
Wha wadna, etc>
CHRONOLOGICALLY AKR.iNGED. ^37
Eouse, rouse, ye kilted warriors !
Eouse, ye heroes of the north !
Eouse, and join your chieftain's banners,
'Tis your prince that leads you forth !
"Wha wadna, etc.
Shall we basely crouch to tyrants?
Shall we own a foreign sway ?
Shall a royal Stuart be banish'd
While a strani^er rules the day ?
Wha wadna, etc.
See the northern clans advancing !
See Glengarry and Lochicl !
See the brandish'd broad-swoi'ds glnnring ?
Highland hearts are true as steel.
"Wha wadna, etc.
Now our prince has rear'd his banner ;
Now triumphant is our cause ;
Now the Scottish lion rallies ;
Let us strike for prince and laAvs.
Wha wadna, etc.
"WIIA'LL BE KING BUT CIIARLTE?
LADY NAIRNI';.
The news frae Moidart cam' yestreen
Will soon gar mony fcrlic ;
That ships o' war hae just come in,
And landed royal Charlie.
Come through the heather, around him gather,
Ye'rc a' the weleomer early ;
Around him cling, wi' a' your kin.
For wha'll be king but Charlie?
Come through the heather, around him gather,
Come Eonald, come Donald, come a' thegitlior,
And crown your rightfu' lawful king,
For wha'll be king but Charlie ?
The Highland clans, wi' sword in hand,
Frae John o' Groats to Airly,
Hae to a man declar'd to stand
Or fa' wi' royal Cliarlie.
Come through the heather, etc.
The Lowlands a', baith great and sma',
AVi' mony a lord and laird, hae
Declar'd for Scotia's king an' law,
And spier ye wha but Charlie ?
Come through the heather, etc.
538 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAXD
There's ne'er a lass in a' the land
But vows baith late and early,
To man she'll ne'er gie heart or hand,
Wha wadna feclit for Charlie.
Come through the heather, etc.
Then here's a health to Charlie's cause,
And be't complete and early ;
His very name my heart's blood warms
To arms for royal Charlie !
Come through the heather, etc.
EOYAL CHAELIE.
The wind comes frae the land I love.
It moves the flood fu' rarely ;
Look for the lily on the lea.
And look for royal Charlie.
Ten thousand swords shall leave thek sheaths,
And smite fu' sharp and sairly ;
And Gordon's might, and Erskiue's pride.
Shall live and die wi' Charlie.
The sun shines out — wide sruiles the sea,
The lily blossoms rarely ;
0 yonder comes his gallant ship.
Thrice welcome, royal Charlie !
'• Yes, yon's a good and gallant ship,
Wi' banners flaunting fairly ;
But should it meet your darling Prince,
'Twill feast the fish wi' Charlie."
Wide rustled she with sflks in state,
And waved her white hand proudlie,
And drew a bright sword from the sheath,
And answered high and loudlie : —
"I had three sons and a good lord,
Wha sold their lives fu' dearlie ;
And wi' their dust I'd mingle mine.
For love of gallant Charlie.
"It wad hae made a hail heart sair.
To see our horsemen flying ;
And my three bairns, and my good lord,
Among the dead and dying :
" I snatched a banner — led them back—
The white rose flourish'd rarely :
The deed I did for royal James
I'd do again for Charlie."
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 539
COME BOAT ME O'ER.
Come boat me o'er, come row me o'er.
Come boat me o'er to Charlie ;
I'll gie Jolin Ross anither bawbee
To ferry me o'er to Charlie.
We'll o'er the water, we'll o'er the sea,
TVe'U o'er the water to Charlie ;
Come weel, come wo, we'll gather and go,
And live or die wi' Charlie.
It's weel I lo'e my Charlie's name.
Though some there be abhor him ;
But 0 to see Auld Nick gaun hamo,
And Charlie's faes before him!
We'll o'er the water, etc.
I swear by moon and stars sae bright,
And sun that glances early.
If I had twenty thousand lives,
I'd gie them a' for Charlie.
We'll o'er the water, etc.
I ance had sons, but now liao nane;
I bore them toiling sairly ;
And I wad bear them a' again,
And lose them a' for Charlie ;
We'll o'er the water, we'll o'er the sea.
We'll o'er the water to Charlie ;
Come weel, come wo, we'll gather and go,
And live or die wi' Charlie.
MACLEAN'S WELCOME.
Prom the Gaelic, by James Hogg.
CojiE o'er the stream, Cliarlie, dear Charlie, brave Charlie,
Come o'er the stream, Charlie, and dine with Maclean ;
And though you be weary, we'll make your heart cheery,
And welcome our Charlie and his loyal train.
We'll bring down the track deer, we'll bring down the black steer,
The lamb from the breckan, and doe from the glen :
The salt sea we'll harry, and bring to our Charlie,
The cream from the bothy, and curd from the pen.
Come o'er the stream, Charlie, etc.
And you shall drink freely the dews of Glcn-Sheerl}'-,
That stream in the star-light when kings do not ken.
And deep be your meed of the wine that is red,
To drink to your sire, and his friend the Maclean.
Come o'er tlie stream, Cliarlie, etc.
510 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
O'er heath-bells shall trace you, the maids to emhrace ycu,
And deck your blue bonnet with flowers of the brae ;
And the loveliest Mary in all Glen M'Quarry
Shall lie in your bosom till break of the day.
Come o'er the stream, Charlie, etc.
If aught will invite yon, or more will delight you,
'Tis ready, a troop of our bold Highlandmen
Shall range on the heather with bonnet and feather.
Strong arms and broad claymores three hundred and ten.
Come o'er the stream, Charlie, etc.
THE KESTOEATION.
To curb usurpation, by th' assistance of France,
With love to his country, see Charlie advance !
He's vrelcome to grace and distinguished this daj^,
Tlie sun brighter shines, and all nature looks gay.
Your glasses charge high, 't is in great Charlies' praise !
To his success your voices and instruments raise.
Approach, glorious Charles, to this desolate land.
And drive out thy foes with thy mighty hand ;
The nations shall rise, and join as one man,
To crown the brave Charles, tlie Chief of the Clan.
Your glasses, etc.
In his train see sweet Peace, fairest queen of the sky,
Ev'ry bliss in her look, ev'ry charm in her eye.
Whilst oppression, corruption, vile slav'ry and fear,
At his wish'd-for return never more shall a2:)pear.
Your glasses, etc.
Whilst in Pleasure's soft arms millions now court repose.
Our hero flies forth, though surrounded with foes ;
To free us from tyrants ev'ry danger defies.
And in Liberty's cause he conquers or dies !
Your glasses, etc.
How hateful's the tyrant who lives by false fame.
To satiate his pride sets our country in flame,
How glorious the prince, whose great generous mind.
Makes true valour consist in relieving mankind !
Your glasses, etc.
Ye brave clans, on whom we just honour bestow,
0 think on the source whence our dire evils flow !
Commanded by Charles, advance to Whitehall,
And fix them in chains who would Critons enthral.
Your glasses, etc.
CIIP.ONOLOGICALLY ARn.^GED. 5U
TO DAUNTON- ME.
To damiton me an' me sae young,
An' gudc IvLng James's eldest son !
0 that's the thing that ne'er can be,
For the man's unborn tliat'll daunton mc !
0 set me ance on Scottish land
An' gie me my braidsword in my hand,
Wi' my bonnet blue aboon my bree.
An' shaw me tlic man that'll daunton me.
It's nao the battle's deadlie stoure,
Nor friends pruived fause that'll gar me cower
But the recldess hand o' povertie,
0! that alane can daunton me.
High was I born to kingly gear,
But a cuif came in, my cap to wear.
But wi' my braidsword I'll let him see
lie's nae the man to daunton mc.
0 I hac scarce to lay mo on.
Of kingly fichls were ance my ain ;
Wi' the moorcock on the mountain-breo,
But hardship ne'er can daunton me.
Up came the gallant chief Lochiel,
An' drew his glaive o' nut-brown steel,
Says, " Charlie, set your fit to me,
An' shaw mc wha will daunton thee !"
YOUNG CHARLIE IS A GALLANT LAD.
Young Charlie is a gallant lad,
As e'er wore sword and belted plaid ;
And lane and friendless though he bo,
He is the lad that shall wanton me.
At Moidart our young prince did land,
With seven men at his riglit hand,
And a' to conquer nations three :
That is tlie lad that shall wanton me.
O wae be to the faithless crew
That frae our true king took his due,
And banish'd him across the sea ;
Nac wonder that should daunton mc.
But, Charlie lad, ere it be lang,
We'll sliaw them a' the rightfrae wrang;
Argyle and a' our faes shall see
That nane on carlli can daunton thee.
542 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Then raise the banner, raise it high ;
For Charles we'll conquer or we'll die :
The clans a' leal and true men be,
And shaw me wha will daunton thee !
Our gude King James shall soon come hame
And traitors a' be put to shame ;
Auld Scotland shall again be free ;
0 that's the thing wad wanton me !
THE PIPER 0' DUNDEE.
The piper came to our town,
To our town, to our town,
The piper came to our town,
And he played bonnilie.
He played a spring the laird to please,
A spring brent new frae yont the seas ;
And then he ga'e his bags a wheeze,
And played anither key.
And wasna he a roguey,
A roguey, a roguey,
And wasna he a roguey,
The piper o' Dundee ?
He played " The welcome ower the main,"
And " Ye'se bo fou and I'se be fain,"
And "Auld Stuarts back again,"
AVi' muckle mirth and glee.
He played " The Kirk," he played " The Quier,"
" The Mullin Dhu " and " Chevalier,"
And " Lang awa', but welcome here,"
Sae sweet, sae bonnilie.
It's some gat swords, and some gat nane,
And some were dancing mad their lane.
And mony a vow o' weir was taen
That night at Amulrie !
There was Tullibardine and Burleigh,
And Struan, Keith, and Ogilvie,
And brave Carnegie, wha but he.
The piper o' Dundee ?
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 543
HE'S OWRE THE HILLS.
He's ow're the hills that I lo'e weel ;
He's owre the hills we darena name,
He's owre the hills ayont Dumblane,
Wha soon will get his welcome hame.
My father's gane to fight for him,
My brithers winna bide at hame.
My mither greets and prays for them,
And 'deed she thinks they're no to blame.
He's owre the hills, &c.
The Whigs may scoff, the Whigs may jeer,
But, ah ! that luve mami be sincere,
Which still keeps true whate'er betide.
An' for his sake leaves a' beside.
He's owre the hills, &c.
His right these hills, his right these plains;
O'er Highland hearts seciu-e he reigns ;
What lads e'er did, our lads will do :
Were I a lad, I'd follow him too.
He's owre the hills, &c.
Sae noble a look, sae princely an air,
Sae gallant and bold, sae young and sae fair ;
Oh ! did you but see him, ye'd do as we've done ;
Hear him but ance, to his standard you'll rtin.
He's owre the hills, &c.
JOHNNIE COPE.
On the intelligence of the rising of the clans reaching the govermnent,
Sh John Cope, Commander-in-Chief of the forces in Scotland, was in-
structed to take measures for the pubhc safety, and at once organise the
troops under his command and march to meet the rebels. He left Stir-
ling on the 24th August, intending to march to Fort Augustus, and
making that his headquarters. lie found his march through the High-
lands as bad and dangerous as though he were in the middle of an
enemy's country. His horses and baggage were stolen at night, and
false intelligence was readily given him by the natives. The roads too,
were not of the best, and Sir John's army travelled, as became a royal
army, with plenty of luxuries. Almost rendered desperate at his increas-
ing troubles. Sir John abandoned his intention of making Fort Augustus
his headquarters, and turning aside marched on Inverness, which he
reached on the 2',)th August. The enemy gkdly seized the opportunity,
and left Sir John to proceed in safety, while they marched quickly and safely
upon the lowlands. The Highlanders entered Perth on the 3rd Sei)tcnr-
ber, where Prince Charles was proclaimed Pegeut, and on the 18th of tlio
same month, after a slight resistance on the part of the magistrates, the
city of Edinburgh was in his hands. The king was proclaimed at the
Cross and tlic Palace of Ilolyrood was once more inhabited by a Stuart.
51-i
THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Sir John Cope soon saTv the effect of his move on Inverness, and lost no
time in trying to repair it. His troops were sent by sea and landed at
Dunbar, where, meeting with reinforcements he marched on Edinburgh.
The Highland anuy advanced to meet him, and the two armies met at
Preston-pans about seven or eight miles from Edinburgh. It is needless to
narrate ! the easy victory gained by the Highlanders, Sir John seems to have
headed the retreat of the Eoyal troops in person, and Scotland was for the
moment fairly in the possession of the Stuarts.
Sir John Cope trode the north riglit far,
Yet ne'er a rebel he cam nanr,
Until he landed at Dunbar,
Eight early in the morning.
Hey, Johnnie Cope, are ye wauking yet ?
Or are ye sleeping, I would wit?
0 haste ye, get up for the drmiis do beat :
0 fye, Cope, rise in the morning !
He wrote a challenge from Dunbar,
" Come fight me, Charlie, an ye daur ;
If it be not by the chance of war,
I'll give you a merry morning."
Hey Johnnie Cope, etc.
When Charlie look'd the letter upon,
He drew his sword the scabbard from,
" So heaven restore to me my own,
I'll meet you. Cope, in the morning."
Hey, Johnnie CoiDe, etc.
Cope swore with many a bloody word.
That he v/ould fight them gun and sword ;
But he fled frae his nest like a weel-scar'd bird,
And Johnnie he took wing in the morning.
Hey Johnnie Cope, etc.
It was upon an afternoon,
Sir John march'd into Preston town,
He says, " My lads, come lean you down,
And we'll fight the boys in the morning."
Hey, Johnnie Cope, etc.
But when he saw the Highland lads
Wi' tartan trews and white cockades,
Wi' swords and guns, and rungs and gauds,
0 Johnnie took wing in the morning !
Hey, Johnnie Cope, etc.
On the morrow when he did rise,
He look'd between him and the skies ;
He saw them v/i' their naked thighs,
Wliich fear'd him in the morning.
H(\y, Johnnie Cope, etc.
CUl:uNOLOaiCALLY Al'JlANGED. 545
0 tlieu lie fled into Dunbar,
Crying for a man-of-war;
He thought to have pass'd for a rustic tar,
And gotten awa in the morning.
Iley, Johnnie Cope, etc.
Sir John then into Berwick radc,
Just OS the dcil had been his guide ;
Gi'cn him the world, lie wadna staid
T' have foughtoi the boys iu the morning !
Hey, Johnnie Cope, etc.
Said the Berwickers unto Sir John,
"0 Avhat's become of all your men?"
" r faith," says he, " I dinna ken ;
1 left them a' this morning."
Hey, Johnnie Cope, etc.
Says Lord Mark Kerr, " Ye are na blatc.
To bring us the news o' your aiu defeat,
I think you deserve the back o' the gate :
Get out o' my sight this morning."
Hey, Johnnie Cope, etc.
JOHNNIE COPE.
THfs version was written by Adam Skirving, a farmer at Garleton, iu
Iladdingtonshire. He w.as bom in 1710, and died in 1803. There are
niuuerous versions of this song, the air being a favourite one, and often
sung. Each singer abridges and adapts the words to his own taste.
CorE sent a challenge frae Dunbar,
" Come, Charlie, meet me an ye dare.
And I'll teach you the art of war.
If you'll meet wi' me i' the morning."
Ilcy, Johnnie Cope, arc ye wauking yet?
Or are your drums a-bcating yet?
If yo were waking I would wait
To gang to the coals i' the morning.
When Charlie look'd the letter upon,
He drew his sword the scabbard from,
"Come follow mc, my merry merry men,
And we'll meet Johnnie Cope i' the morning."
Hey, Johnnie Cope, etc.
Now, Johnnie, be as gudc's your word,
Come let us try baith fire and sword.
And dinna rin awa like a frighted bird.
That's chased frao it's nest i' the morning.
Hoy, Johnnie Cope, etc.
546 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAXD
When Johnnie Cope he heard of thia.
He thought it waclna be amiss
To hae a horse m readiness,
To flee aAva i' tlie morning.
Hey, Johnnie Cope, etc.
Fy, now, Johnnie, get up and rin :
The Highland bagpipes make a din,
It's best to sleep in a hale skin.
For 'twill be a bluidie morning.
Hey, Johnnie Cope, etc.
When Johnnie Cope to Dunbar came.
They speer'd at him, " Where's a' your men?"
" The deil confound me gin I ken,
For I left them a' i' the morning."
Hey, Johnnie Cope, etc.
Now, Johnnie, troth ye were na blate.
To come v.'i' the news o' your ain defeat.
And leave your men in sic a strait,
So early in the morning.
Hey, Johnnie Cope, etc.
" r faith," quo' Johnnie, " I got a fieg,
Wi' their claymores and philabegs ;
If I face them again, deil break my legs !
So I wish you a very gude morning."
Hey, Johnnie Cope, etc.
COPE'S TRAVELS.
General Cope is now come down.
And all his men in order ;
For to fight our noble Prince,
Upon the Highland border.
But when he to the Highlands came,
He wearied with the ground, man ;
And Avhen he heard the Prince was there,
He took his heels and ran, man.
From Inverness to Lochabers,
And there he staid a while, man,
From Lochabers to Turriff went,
For he was 'fraid to fight, man.
From Turriff to Old Meldrum,
And since to Aberdeen, man,
And staid a while in Aberdeen,
Encamp'd on Windmill J3rae, man.
CHRONOLOGICALLY AKHANGE3. 5-47
Syne took shipping, sailed to sea,
Upon a Sabbatli-day, man,
And at Dunbar was forced to laud,
For there he ran away, man.
With all his force baith men and horse,
Went up to Prestonpans, man ;
There they thought that they were men,
Bat they prov'd to be nane, man.
OUK GALLANT PRINCE IS NOW COME EAME.
Our gallant prince is now come hame
To Scotland, to proclaim his daddie :
May Heav'n protect the royal name
Of Stuart, and the tartan plaidie !
0 my bonnie Highland laddie,
My handsome, charming Highland laddie !
May Heaven still guard, and him reward,
Wi's bonnet blue and tartan plaidie !
When first he landed on our strand,
The gracefu' looks o' that brave laddie
Made every Highland heart to warm,
And lang to wear the tartan plaidie.
0 my bonnie, etc.
When Geordie heard the news bely ve.
That he was come before his daddie.
He thirty thousand ]iounds would give,
To catch him in liis tartan plaidie.
0 my bonnie, etc.
But Geordie kend the better way.
To stay at hamo wi' his braw lady,
Wha cauna light, he needs nuist pay.
To Avard the glent o' Highland plaidie.
0 my bonnie, etc.
He sent John Cope unto the north,
Wi' a' his men for battle ready ;
But Charlie bauldly sallied forth,
Wi' bonnet blue and belted plaidie.
0 my bonnie, etc.
Cope rade a race to Inverness,
And fand the prince gane south already,
Like lion l>old, all uncontroll'd
Wi' belt and brand, and tartan plaidie.
0 my bonnie, etc.
548 THE SONGS of Scotland
Cope tuni'd the clifiso, and left the place ;
The Lothiaus was the next land ready ;
And then he swore that at Gladsmuir
lie wad disgrace the Highland plaidio.
0 my bonnic, etc.
Says he, " My lads, I tell you true,
I'm sorry that they're sac unready ;
Small is the task we have to do,
To catch this rebel in his plaidie."
0 my bonnie, etc.
Tlic prince he rose by break of day.
And blythely was he buskit ready :
" Let's march," said he ; " Cope langs to see
The bonnet blue and belted plaidie."
0 my bonnie, etc.
They were na slack, nae flinching back ;
In rank and file they marched steady ;
For they were bent, with one consent.
To fight for him that wore the plaidie.
0 my bonnie, etc.
But soon John Cope cried to his men,
" For gudesake turn, ye dogs, and speed yc,
And let each man 'scape as he can,
Tlie deil confound the tartan plaidie !"
0 my bonnie, etc.
Some rade on horse, some ran on foot ;
Their heels were light, their heads were giddy ;
But late or air, they'll lang nae mair
To meet the lad wi' the Highland plaidie.
0 my bonnie, etc.
Now where is Cope, wi' a' his brag?
Say, is the craven gane already ?
0 leeze me on my bonnie lad.
His bonnet blue and belted plaidie !
0 my bonnie, etc.
NOW CHxVRLES ASSERTS HIS FATHER'S RIGHT.
Now Charles asserts his father's right,
And thus establishes his own.
Braving the dangers of the fight.
To cleave a passage to the throne.
The Scots regain their ancient fame.
And well their faith and valour show,
Supporting their young hero's claim
Against a powerful rebel foe.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 549
The God of battle shakes his arm,
And makes the doubtful victory shine ;
A panic dread their foes disarm ;
Who can oppose the will divine ?
Tlie rebels shall at length confess
Th' undoubted justice of the claim,
"When lisping babes shall learn to bless
The long-forgotten Stuart's name.
CIIAKLIE HE'S MY DARLING.
TiiE Iliglilaudcrs re-entered Edinburgh after the battle amid great
rejoicing. Jacobitism, which before was afraid to show its head, was now
paraded in every corner. The ladies, especially, took up the cause of the
young Chevalier with the utmost enthusiasm, aud were loud in tlicir ex-
pressions of admiration of his appearance and bravery.
'TWAS on a Monday morning,
Right early in the year,
Tliat Charlie came to our ^own.
The young Chevalier.
And Charlie he's my darling,
]\Iy darling, my darling,
And Charlie he's my darling,
The young Chevalier.
As he was walking up the street.
The city for to view,
0 there he spied a bonnie lass.
The window looking through.
And Charlie he's my darling, etc.
Sao light's he jumped up the stair,
And tirl'd at the pin ;
And wha sae ready as hersel
To let tlie laddie in !
And Charlie he's my darling, etc.
lie set his Jenny on his knee,
All in his Highland dress;
For brawdy wcel he kenn'd the way
To please a bonnie lass.
And Charlie he's my darling, etc.
It's up you heathcrj' mountain,
And down yon scraggy glen,
Wo daurna gang a milking
For Charlie and his men.
Aiul Charlie lie's my darling, etc.
2 1'
650 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
AS I CAM' DOWN THE GANONGATE.
Feom Croinek's remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song.
As I cam' clown the Canongate,
The Canongate, the Canongate,
As I cam' down the Canongate.
I heard a lassie sing,
Merry may the keel row.
The keel row, the keel row,
Merry may the keel row,
The ship that my love's in.
My love has breath o' roses,
0' roses, o' roses,
Wi' arms o' lily posies,
To fauld a lassie in.
0 merry etc.
My love he wears a bonnet,
A bonnet, a bonnet,
A snawy rose upon it,
A dimple on his chin,
0 merry, etc.
THE WHITE COCICADE.
My love was born in Aberdeen,
The bonniest lad that e'er was seen :
But now he's made our hearts fu' sad,
He's taen the field wi' his white cockade.
0 he's a ranting roving blade !
0 he's a brisk and bonnie lad 1
Betide what may, my heart is glad
To see my lad wi' his white cockade.
0 leeze me on the philabeg.
The hairy hough and garten'd leg !
But aye the thing that blinds my e'e
Is the white cockade aboon the bree.
0 he's a ranting roving blade, etc.
I'll sell my rock, I'll sell my reel.
My rippling-kame, and spinning-wheel,
To buy mysel' a tartan plaid,
A braid sword, durk, and Avhite cockade.
0 he's a ranting roving blade, etc.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARKANGED. 551
I'll sell my rokely aud my tow,
My good gray mare and hawkit cov/,
That every loyal Scottish lad
May take the field wi' his white cockade.
0 he's a ranting roving blade !
0 he's a brisk aud bonuie lad ;
Betide what may, my heart is glad,
To see my lad wi' his white cockade.
TO YOUR ARMS.
To your arms, to your arms, my bonnie Highland lads 1
To your arms, to your arms, at the touk of the drum !
The battle trumpet sounds, put on your white cockades,
For Charlie, the great prince regent, is come.
There is not the man in a' our clan.
That would nuckle to the lad that is five feet ten ;
And the tune that we strike on the tabor and pipe
Is "The king shall enjoy his own again,"
To your arms, to your arms ! Charlie yet shall be our king I
To your arms' all ye lads that are loyal and true !
To your arms, to your arms ! His valour nane can ding,
And he's on to the south wi' a jovial crew :
Good luck to the lads that wear the tartan plaids !
Success to Charlie and a' his train !
The right and the wi-ang they a' shall ken ere lang,
And the king shall enjoy his own again.
The battle of Gladsmuir it was a noble stour,
And weel do we keu that our young prince wan ;
The gallant Lowland lads, when they saw the tartan plaids,
Wheel'd round to the right, and away they ran ;
For Master Johnnie Cope, being destitute of hope,
Took horse for his life, and left his men ;
In their arms he put no trust, for he knew it was just
That the king should enjoy his own again.
To your arms, to your arms, my bonnie Highland lads !
Wo winna brook the rule o' a German thing :
To your arms, to your arms,wi' your bonnets and your plaids,
And hey for Charlie and our ain true king I
Good luck shall bo the fa' o' the lad that's awa,
The lad whose honour never yet knew stain :
The wrang shall gae down, tho king get the crown,
And ilka honest man his own again.
552 THE SONGS of Scotland
WI' A HUNDRED PIPERS.
LADY NAIRKE.
Wi' a hundred pipers an' a' an' a',
Wi' a hundred pipers an' a' an' a',
We'll up an' gie them a blaw, a blaw,
Wi' a hundred i^ipers an' a' an' a'.
Oh it's owre the Border awa' awa',
Its ower the Border awa' awa',
We'll on and march to Carlisle ha' ;
Wi' its yetts, its castle an' a' an' a'.
Oh ! our sodger lads looked braw, looked braw,
Wi' their tartans, kilts, an' a' an' a',
Wi' their bonnets, an' leathers, an' glitterin' gear,
An' Pibrochs soundin' sweet and clear;
Will they a' return to their aiu dear glen,
Will they a' return, our Hielan' men,
Sccond-sichtcd Sandy looked fu' wae
An' mithers grat as they march'd away.
Wi a hundred pipers, etc.
Oh wha is for'most o' a' o' a' ;
Oh wha does follow the blaw, the blaw;
Bonnie Charlie the king o' us a', hurra !
Wi' his hundred pipers an' a' an' a'.
Ilis bonnet an' feather he's wavin' high,
Ilis prancin' steed seems maist to fly,
The nor' win' plays wi' his curly hair.
While the pipers bhiw in an' unco flare.
Wi' a hundred pipers, etc.
The Esk was swollen sae red an' sae deep,
But shouther to shouther the brave lads keep,
Twa thousand swam owre to fell English ground.
An' danced themsel's dry to the pibroch's sound.
Dumfounder'd, the English saw, they saw,
Dumfounder'd, they heard the blaw, the blaw,
Dumfounder'd they a' ran awa', awa'.
From the hundred pipers an' a' an' a'.
Wi' a hundred pipers, etc.
THERE GROWS A BONNIE BRIER BUSH.
LADY NAIRNE.
There grows a bounie brier bush in our kail yard,
And white are the blossoms o't in our kail yard.
Like wee bit cockauds, to deck our hieland lads,
And the lassies lo'e the bonnio bush in our kail yard.
CIIUONOLOGICALLY ARR^V1>'GED. 553
An' it's hame, an' it's hame, to the north countrie,
An' it's hame, an' it's hame, to the north countrie,
Wliere my bonnie Jean is waiting for me,
Wi' a heart kind an' true, in my ain countrie.
But were tlicy a' true that were far awa' ?
0' were they a' true that were far awa' ?
They drew up wi' glaikit Englishers at Carlisle lia',
And forgot auld frien's that were far awa.
Ye'll come nae mair, Jamie, where aft ye have been,
Yc'll come nae mair, Jamie, to Atholl's green,
O'er weel ye lo'ed the dancin' at Carlisle ha'.
And forgot the hieland hills, that were far awa.
I ne'er lo'ed a dance but on Atholl's green,
I ne'er lo'ed a lassie, but my dorty Jean,
Sair, sair against my will, did I bide sae lang awa.
And my heart was aye in Atholl's green, at Carlisle ha'.
The brier bush was bonnie ance in our kail yard,
Tiic brier bush was bonnie ance in our kail yard,
A blast blew owcr the hill, that ga'e Atholl's flowers a chill,
And the bloom's blawn aff the bonnie bush in our kail yard.
FALKIRK MUIR.
On the 31st October, after being largely reinforced, Charles continiied
liis march southwards. The army which left Edinburgh amounted to
about GOOO men, 3000 of whom were Highlanders, and 500 cavalry.
They passed tlirough Carhsle, Kendal, Lancaster, Preston, Wigan, Man-
chester, and Macclesfield, and on the 4th December the advanced portiou
of the army took possession of Derby, followed immediately after by the
whole force. The position had now become critical. Three armies were
opposed to them ; one under the command of the Duke of Cumberland,
another under Marshal "Wade, while a third was stationed to defend London.
The Highland Leaders became alarmed at fighting in an imknown country,
and counselled a retreat to the North, there to await the royal forces.
This was stoutly opposed by Charles, who almost implored them to con-
tinue the advance. A council of war was held on the 5th, at which Lord
George Murray expressed the opinion, that they were about to be attacked
by three Eoyal amiies, amounting to about 30,000 men, while tlieir own
numbers did not now exceed 5000 — for the English Jacobites liad not
joined the Prince's standard with the same enthusiasm as their Northern
compatriots; and the retreat, in spite of all Charles' protestations, seems to
have been unanimously agreed upon. The retreat was conducted with
much secrecy and dispatch ; and it was not till they reached Falkirk that
they were met by a Royal army under General Hawley, and after a short
struggle the Royalists suffered a complete defeat. Hawley, who had been
loud in liis denunciations of Cope's incapability, and who had openly
554 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
wished to show how easily the Highland rabble could be dispersed, received
deservedly a good share of the sathe of the Eebel rhymsters. Cope's mis-
fortunes may be pitied, but Hawley smacks too much of the bully to
merit the smallest show of sympathy.
Up and rin awa, Hawley,
Up and rin awa, Hawley ;
The philabegs are coming down
To gie your lugs a claw, Hawley ;
Young Charlie's face at Dunipace,
Has gien your mou' a thraw, Hawley ;
A blasting sight for bastard wiglit.
The warst that e'er he saw, Hawley.
Up and rin awa, etc.
Gae dight your face, and turn the chase,
For fierce the wind does blaw, Hawley;
And Highland Geordie's at your tail,
Wi' Drummond, Perth, and a', Hawley.
Had ye but staid wi' lady's maid
An hour, or maybe twa, Hawley,
Your bacon bouk and bastard snout,
Ye might hae sav'd them a', Hawley.
Up and rin awa, etc.
Whene'er you saw the bonnets blue
Down frae the Torwood draw, Hawley,
A wisp in need did you bestead.
Perhaps you needed twa, Hawley.
And General Husk, that battle-busk.
The prince o' warriors a', Hawley,
With whip and spur he cross'd the furr,
As fast as he could ca', Hawley.
Up and rin awa, etc.
I hae but just ae Avord to say.
And ye maun hear it a', Hawley ;
We came to charge wi' sword and targe,
And nae to hunt ava, Hawley.
When we came down aboon the town,
And saw nae faes at a', Hawley,
We couldna, sooth ! believe the truth,
That ye had left us a', Hawley.
Up and rin awa, etc.
Nae man bedeen believ'd his een.
Till your brave back he saw, Hawley,
That bastard brat o' foreign cat
Had neither pluck nor paw, Hawley.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 555
We didna ken but ye were men
Wha fight for foreign law, Hawley :
Gae fill your wame wi' brose at hame,
It fits you best of a', Hawley.
Up and rin awa, etc.
The very frown o' Highland loon,
It gart you drap the jaw, Hawley,
It happ'd the face of a' disgrace,
And sicken'd Southron maw, Hawley.
The very gleam o' Highland flame.
It pat ye in a thaw, Hawley,
Gae back and kiss your daddie's miss ;
Ye're nought but cowards a', Havvley.
Up and scour awa, Hawley,
Up and scour awa, Hawley ;
The Highland dirk is at your doup.
And that's the Highland law, Hawley.
THE niGHLANDMEN CAME DOWN THE HILL.
The Highlandmen came down the lull.
And owre the knowe wi' right gude Avill :
Now Geordie's men may brag their fill,
For wow but they were braw, man !
They had thi'ee gen'rals o' the best,
Wi' lairds, and lords, and a' the rest,
Chiels that were bred to stand the test,
And couldna rin awa, man.
The Highlandmen arc savage loons,
Wi' barkit houghs and burly crowns ;
They canua stand the thunder-stoun's
Of heroes bred wi' care, man —
Of men tliat are their country's stay,
These Whiggish braggarts of a day.
The Highlandmen came down the brae
The heroes were not there, man !
Says brave Lochicl, " Pray, have we won ?
I see no troop, I hear no gun."
Says Drummond, " Faitli, the battle's done,
I know not how nor Avhy, man.
But, my good lords, this thmg I crave,
Have we defeat these heroes brave ?"
Says Murray, " I believe we have :
If not, we're hero to try, man."
^^^ THE SONGS OF SCOTL^VITO
But tried they up, or tried they down,
There was no foe in Falkirk town,
Nor yet in a' the country roun',
To break a sword at a', man.
They were sae bauld at break o' day,
"When tow'rd the west they took their way;
But the Highlandmen came down the brae,
And made the dogs to bLaw, man.
A tyke is but a tyke at best,
A coward ne'er will stand the test,
And Whigs at morn wha cock'd the crest,
Or e'en had got a fa', man.
O wae befa' these northerr. lads,
Wi' their braidswords and white cockades 1
They lend sic hard and heavy blads,
Our Whigs nae raair can craw, man.
CULLODEN.
After the battle of Falkirk, the Highlandors continued their retreat,
and ou the 18th February, lliC, entered Inverness. On the 25th of
Februaiy, the Duke of Cumberland's army entered Aberdeen, and both
sides engaged in petty skirmishes in their district, till on the 8th April, the
Duke marched upon the northern capital. The Higliland army advanced
to Drummossie Moor, about five miles to meet him, and on the 16th April,
1746, engaged in the celebrated battle of Culloden, which resulted as is
well known in the complete defeat of the Highland army. "The battle of
Culloden lasted little more tlian forty minutes, most of which brief space
of time was spent in distant firing, and very little in the active struggle.
It was as complete a victoiy as possible on the part of the Royal army, and
any other result would have been very discreditable to the English army.
Its nmnbers and condition for fighting were so superior, their artillery did
so much for them, and the plan of the battle was so much in their favoiu-,
that to have lost the day would have argued a degree of misbehaviour for
which even Preston -pans and Fallcirk had not prepared us." — Chambers's
Historij of the Rebellion, 1869, p. 301.
Fair lady, mourn tlie memory
Of all our Scottish fame !
Fair lady, mourn the memory
Ev'n of the Scottish name !
How proud were we of our young prince,
And of his native sway !
But all our hopes are past and gone,
Upon Culloden day.
There was no lack of bravery there,
No sparo of blood or breath.
For, one to two, our foss we dar'd,
For freedom or for death.
CnRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 557
The bitterness of grief is past,
Of terror and dismay :
Tlie die was risk'd, and foully cast,
Upon Culloden day.
And must thou seek a foreign clime,
In poverty to pine,
No friend or clansman by thy side.
No vassal that is thine?
Leading thy young son by the hand,
And trembling for his life,
As at the name of Cumberland
He grasps his father's knife.
I cannot see thee, lady fair,
Turn'd out on the world wide ;
I cannot see thee, lady fair.
Weep on the bleak hill side.
Before such noble stem should bend
To tyrant's treachery,
I'll lay thee with thy gallant sire,
Beneath the beechen tree.
I'll hide thee in Clan-Ronald's isles,
Where honour still bears sway ;
I'll watch the traitor's hovering sails,
By islet and by bay :
And ere thy honour shall be stain'd^
This sword avenge shall thee,
And lay thee with thy gallant kin.
Below the beechen tree.
What is there now in thee, Scotland^,
To us can pleasure give ?
What is there now in thee, Scotland,
For which we ought to live ?
Since we have stood, and stood in vain,
For all that we held dear.
Still have we left a sacrifice
To offer on our bier.
A foreign and fanatic sway
Our Southron foes niay gall ;
The cup is fiU'd, they yet shall r.riuk,
And they deserve it all.
But there is nought for us or oi\w,
In which to hope or trust,
But hide us in our fathers' graves.
Amid our fathers' dust.
558 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
CURSES.
Scotland and England must be now
United in a nation,
And we must all perjure and vow,
And take the abjuration.
The Stuarts' ancient freeborn race,
Now we must all give over ;
And we must take into their place
The bastards of Hanover.
Curs'd be the Papists who withdrcw
The king to their persuasion :
Curs'd be that covenanting crew,
Who gave the iirst occasion.
Curs'd be the wretch who seiz'd the throne,
And marr'd our constitution ;
And curs'd be they who helped on
That wicked revolution.
Curs'd be those traitorous traitors w])o,
By their perfidious knavery.
Have brought our nation now into
An everlasting slavery.
Curs'd be the Parliament, that day,
Who gave their confirmation ;
And curs'd be every whining Whig,
For they have damn'd the nation.
BONNIE LADDIE.
The barbarities inflicted upon the Hi<rhlanclers after Culloden by tlio
Eoyal army, v.-ere not lost sight of by the Jacobite wits iu their distress.
Certainly the Diike of Cumberland allowed his army to conduct them-
selves more lite a body of savages than "Christian soldiers," and the poets
of the party have revenged theriiselves by sending him down to posterity with
a reputation for cruelty as fixed as the evU character given to Macbeth or
Richard III. by Shakspeare.
Geordie sits in Charlie's chair,
Bonnie laddie. Highland laddie ;
Dell tak' him gin he bide tliere,
My bonnie laddie. Highland laddie ;
Charlie yet shall mount the throne,
Bonnie laddie. Highland laddie ;
Weel ye ken it is his own.
My bonnie laddie. Highland laddie.
Weary fa' the Lawland loon,
Bonnie laddie. Highland laddie,
Wha took frae him the British crown,
My bonnie laddie, Highland laddie.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 559
But leeze me on the kilted clans,
Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie,
That fought for him at Preston-pans,
My bonnie laddie, Highland laddie.
Ken ye the news I hae to tell,
Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie ?
Cumberland's aAva to hell.
My bonnie laddie. Highland laddie.
When he came to the Stygian shore,
Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie ;
The deil himsel' \vi' fright did roar,
My bonnie laddie. Highland laddie.
When Charon grim came out to him,
Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie ;
" Ye 're welcome here, ye devil's limb ! "
My bonnie laddie. Highland laddie.
They pat on him a philabeg,
Bonnie laddie. Highland laddie.
And unto him they ca'd a peg.
My bonnie laddie. Highland laddie.
How he did skip and he did roar,
Bonnie laddie. Highland laddie :
The deils ne'er saw sic sport before,
My bonnie laddie, Highland laddie.
Tliey took him neist to Satan's ha',
Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie,
To lilt it wi' his grandpapa.
My bonnie laddie. Highland laddie.
The deil sat gii-nin in the neuk,
Bonnie laddie. Highland laddie,
Biving sticks to roast the duke.
My bonnie laddie, Highland laddie.
They pat him neist upon a spit,
Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie.
And roasted him baith head and feet,
My bonnie laddie, Highland laddie.
Wi' scalding brunstanc and wi' fat,
Bonnie laddie. Highland laddie,
Tlioy llnmm'd his carcase wecl wi' that,
Bonnie laddie. Highland laddie.
They ate him up baith stoop and roop,
Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie ;
And that's the gate they scrv'd the duke,
My bonnie laddie, Highland laddie.
560 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAi^fD
THE WAES 0' SCOTLAND.
ALLAN CCTNNINGHAM.
When I left thee, bonny Scotland,
0 thou wcrt fair to see !
Fresh as a bonny bride in the morn,
When she maun wedded be.
When I came back to thee, Scotland,
Upon a Llay morn fair,
A bonny lass sat at our town end,
Kaming her yellow hair.
" Oh hey ! oh hey! " sung the bonny lass,
" Oh hey ! and wac is me !
There's siccan sorrow in Scotland,
As een did never see.
Oh hey ! oh hey ! for my father auld !
Oh hey ! for my mither dear !
And my heart will burst for the bonny lad
Wha left me lanesome here."
I had gane in my ain Scotland
Mae miles tlian twa or three,
When I saw the head o' my ain father
Coming up the gate to me.
" A traitor's head ! " and " a traitor's head ! "
Loud bawl'd a bloody loon ;
But I drew frae the sheath my glaive o' weir,
And strack the reaver down.
I hied me hame to my father's ha'.
My dear auld mither to see;
But she lay 'mang the black eizels,
AVi' the death-tear in her e'e.
" 0 wha has wrought this bloody wark?
Had I the reaver here,
I'd wash his sark in his ain heart's blood,
And gie't to his dame to wear."
I hadna gane frae my ain dear liamc
But twa short miles and three,
Till up came a captain o' the Whigs
Says, " Traitor, bide ye me ! "
I grippit him by the belt sae braid,
It birsted i' my hand,
But I threw him frae his weir-saddlc.
And drew my burlie brand.
" Shaw mercy on me !" quo' the loon.
And low he knelt on knee :
But by his thigh was my father's glaive
Whi'k glide Kinrr Bruce did Cfie;
CHRONOLOGICALLY AURANGED. 561
And buckled round him was tlic broider'd belt
Whilk my mitlier's hands did weave,
My tears they mingled wi' his heart's blood,
And reek'd upon my glaive.
I wander a' night 'mang the lands I own'd,
When a' folk are asleep,
And I Ho o'er my father and mither's grave
An hour or twa to weep.
0, fatherless and mitherless,
Without a ha' or hame,
I maun wander througn dear Scotland,
And bide a traitor's blame.
ON GALLIA'S SHORE.
HAMILTON OF BANGOUK.
On Gallia's shore we sat and wept,
When Scotland we thought on,
Robbed of her bravest sons, and all
Her ancient spirit gone.
Revenge ! the sons of Gallia said.
Revenge ycr native land;
Already your insulting foes
Crowd the Bataviau strand.
How shall the sons of freedom o'er
For foreign conquest fight ;
For power, how wield the sword unshcath'd,
For liberty and right ?
If thee, oil Scotland, I forget,
Even with my latest breath,
May foul dishonour stain my name,
And bring a coward's death.
May sad remorse of fancied guilt
My future days employ.
If all thy sacred rights are not
Above my chiefest joy.
Remember England's children, Lord,
Who on Drummossic day.
Deaf to the voice of kindred love.
Raze, raze it quite, did say.
And thou, proud Gallia, faithless friend.
Whose ruin is not far.
Just Heaven, on thy devoted head.
Pour all the woes of war.
562 TUE SONGS OF SCOTLAiTO
When thou thy slaughter'd little ones,
And ravish'd dames shall see,
Such help, such pity, niay'st thou have,
As Scotland had from thee.
FAREWELL TO GLEN-SHALLOCH.
JMIES HOGG.
Tbanslated from the Gaelic.
Farewell to Glen-Shalloch,
A farewell for ever !
Farewell to my wee cot,
That stands by the river I
The fall is loud-sounding.
In voices that vary.
And the echoes surrounding
Lament with my Mary.
I saw her last night,
'Mid the rocks that enclose thonij
With a babe at her knee
And a babe at her bosom :
I heard her sweet voice
In the depth of my slumber,
And the song that she sung
Was of sorrow and cumber.
" Sleep sound, my sweet babe.
There is nought to alarm thee ;
The sons of the valley
No power have to harm thee.
I'll sing thee to rest
In the balloch untrodden,
With a coronach sad
For the slain of CuUoden.
" The brave were betray'd,
And the tyrant is daring
To trample and waste us,
Unpitying, unsparing.
Thy mother no voice has,
No feeling that changes,
No Avord, sign, or song.
But the lesson of vengeance.
" I'll tell thee, my son,
How our laurels are withering;
ni gird on thy sword
When the clansmen are gathering ;
CIIKONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 563
I'll bid thee go forth
In the cause of true honour,
And never return
Till thy country hath won her.
" Our tower of devotion
Is the home of the reaver ;
The pride of the ocean
Is fallen for ever ;
The pine of the forest,
That time could not weaken,
Is trod in the dust,
And its honours are shaken.
" Rise, spirits of yore,
Ever dauntless in danger !
For the land that was yours
Is the land of the stranger.
0 come from your caverns,
All bloodless and hoary,
And these fiends of the valley
Shall tremble before ye ! "
THE FRASEES IIST THE COEREI.
" Where is your daddy gane, my little May ?
Where has our lady been a' the lang day ?
Saw you the red-coats rank on the hall green ?
Or heard ye the liorn on the mountain yestreen ? "
" Ye auld carle graybeard, spier na at me ;
Gae spier at the maiden that sits by the sea.
The red-coats were here, and it wasna for good.
And the raven's turn'd hoarse wi' the waughting o' blood,
" 0 listen, auld carle, how roopit his note !
Tlie blood of the Fraser's too hot for his throat,
I trow the black traitor's of Sassenach breed ;
They prey on the living, and he on the dead.
When I was a baby, we ca'd him injoke,
The harper of Errick, tlio priest of the rock ;
But now he's our mountain companion no more,
The slave of the Saxon, the quafl'cr of gore."
" Sweet littlo maiden, why talk yoa of death ?
The raven's our friend, and he's croaking in wrath :
He will not pick up from a bonnetted head,
Nor mar tlie brave form by tlio tartan that's clad.
But point me the cliff where the Eraser abides,
Where Foyers, Culduthill, and Gorthaly hides.
There's danger at liand, I must speak with them soon,
And seek them alone by the light of the moon."
564 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
" Auld carle graybeard, a friend you should be,
For the truth's on your lip, and the tear i' your e'e ;
Then seek in tlic correi that sounds on the brae,
And sings to the rock when the breeze is away.
I sought them last night with the haunch of the deer,
And far in yon cave they were hiding in fear :
There, at tlie last crow of the brown heather-cock.
They pray'd for tlieir prince, knepJ'd, and slept on the rock.
" 0 tell me, auld carle, what will be the fate
Of those who are kilUng the gallant and great ?
Who force our brave chiefs to the correi to go.
And hunt their own prince like the deer or the roe ? "
"My sweet little maiden, beyond yon red sun
Dwells one who beholds all the deeds that are done :
TJieir crimes on the tyrants one day he'll repay,
And the names of the brave shall not perish for aye."
THE LOVELY LASS 0' INVERNESS.
KOBEET BURNS.
The lovely lass o' Inverness,
Nae joy nor pleasui'e she can see ;
For e'en and morn she cries, alas !
And aye the saut tear blinds her c'o.
Drummossie moor ! Drummossie day,
A waefu' day it was +o me ;
For there I lost my father dear.
My father dear and brethren three.
Their winding sheet's the bluidy lea,
Their graves are growing green to see,
And by them lies the dearest lad
Tliat ever blest a woman's e'e.
Now wae to thee thou cruel lord,
A bluidy man I trow thou be ;
For monie a heart thou hast made sair.
That ne'er did wrang to thine or thee.
THERE LIVED A LASS IN INVERNESS.
ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.
There liv'd a lass in Inverness,
She was the pride of a' the town ;
Blithe as the lark on gowan tass,
When frae the nest it's newly flown.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 565
At kirk she wan the auld folks' love,
At dance she wan the laddies' een;
She was the blithest o' the blithe
At wooster trystes or Hallowe'en.
As I came in by Inverness,
The simmer sun was sinking down,
0 there I saw the weel-faur'd lass,
And she was greeting through the town.
The grayhair'd men were a' i' the streets,
And auld dames crying (sad to see) :
The flower o' the lads o' Inverness
Lie bluidy on Culloden lea.
She tore her haffet links o' gowd,
And dighted aye her comely e'e.
My father lies at bluidy Carlisle,
At Preston sleep my brethren three ;
1 thought my heart could baud nae mair,
Mae tears could never blind my e'e ;
But the fa' o' ane has burst my heart —
A dearer ane there ne'er could be.
He trysted me o' love yestreen,
0' love tokens he gave me three ;
But he's faulded i' the arms of weir,
0, ne'er again to tliink o' me.
The forest flowers shall be my bed,
My food shall be the wild berrie.
The fa'ing leaves shall hap mo ower,
And wauken'd again I winna be.
0 weep, 0 weep, ye Scottish dames,
Weep till ye blind a mither's e'e ;
Nae recking ha' in fifty miles,
But naked corses, sad to see.
0 spring is blithesome to the year.
Trees sprout, flowers bud, and birds sing hie;
But 0, what spring can raise them up
Whoso bluidy weir has scal'd tl^e e'e.
The hand of God hung heavy here,
And liglitly toucird foul tyrannie;
It strack the righteous to the ground,
And lifted the destroyer hie.
But there's a day, quo' my God in prayer.
When righteousness shall bear the gree ;
I'll rake the wicked low i' the dust.
And wauken, in bliss, the gude man's e'e.
2q
566 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
THE HIGHLAND WIDOW'S LAMENT.
Oh ! I am come to the low countrie I
Ochon, ochon, ochrie !
Without ae penny in my purse,
To buy a meal to me.
It wasna sae in the Highland hills,
Ochon, ochon, ochrie !
Nae woman in the country wide
Sae happy was as me :
For then I had a score of kye,
Ochon, ochon, ochrie!
Feeding on yon hill sae high,
And giving milk to me !
And there I had three score o' yowee,
Ochon, ochon, ochrie !
Skipping on yon bonnie knowes,
And casting woo to me.
I was the happiest o' the clan :
Sair, sair may I repine ;
For Donald was the bravest man,
And Donald he was mine.
Till Charlie he came ower at last,
Sae far, to set us free :
My Donald's arm jt wanted was
For Scotland and for me.
Their waefd' fate what need I tell?
Right to the wrang did yield ;
My Donald and his country fell
Upon CuUoden field.
I hae nocht left me now ava,
Ochon, ochon, ochrie!
But bonnie orphan lad-weans twa,
To seek their bread wi' me.
But I hae yet a tocher-band,
Ochon, ochon, ochrie !
My winsome Donald's durk and brand.
Into their hands to gie.
And still ae blink o' hope is left,
To lighten my auld e'e ;
To see my bairns gie bluidy crowns
To them gart Donald die.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRAKGED. 567
Ochon, ochon, oh, Donald, oh I
Ochon, ochon, ochrie I
Nae woman in the world wide
Sae wretched now as me !
THE EXILE'S LAMENT.
Frae the friends and land I love,
Driven by fortune's felly spite ;
Frae my best belov'd I rove,
Never mair to taste delight :
Never mair maun hope to find
Ease frae toil, relief frae care.
"When remembrance racks the mind,
Pleasure but unveils despair.
Brighest climes shall mirk appear,
Desert ilka blooming shore,
Till the fates, nae mair severe,
Friendship, love, and peace restore ;
Till revenge, wi' laurell'd head,
Bring our banish'd hame again,
And ilka loyal bonny lad
Cross the seas and win his ain.
A LAMENT.
A SOLDIER, for gallant achievements renown'd,
Revolv'd in despair the campaigns of his youth ;
Then beating his bosom, and sighing profound,
That malice itself might have melted to ruth^^-
" Are these," he'exclaim'd, "the results of my toil,
In want and obscurity thus to retire?
For this did compassion restrain me from spoil.
When earth was all carnage, and heav'n was on fire ?
" My country fs ravag'd, my kinsmen are slain,
My prince is in exile, and treated with scorn.
My chief is no more — he hath suffer'd in vain —
And why should I live on the mountain forlorn ?
0 woe to Macconnal, the selfish, the proud,
Disgrace of a name for its loyalty famed !
The curses of heaven shall fall on the head
Of Galium and Torquil, no more to be named.
" For had they but join'd with the just and the brave.
The Campbell had fallen, and Scotland been free ;
That traitor, of vile usurpation the slave,
The foe of the Highlands, of mine, and of me.
568 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
The great they are gone, the destroyer is come,
• The smoke of Lochaber has redden'd the sky :
The war-note of freedom for ever is dumb ;
For that have I stood, and with that I will die.
" The sun's bright effulgence, the fragrance of air,
The varied horizon henceforth I abhor.
Give me death, the sole boon of a wretch in despair,
"Which fortune can offer, or nature implore."
To madness impelled by his griefs as he spoke,
And darting around him a look of disdain,
Down headlong he leapt from a heaven-towering rock,
And sleeps where the wretched forbear to complain.
LENACHAN'S FAREWELL.
FAKE-thee-well, my native cot,
Bothy o' the birken tree !
Sair the heart and hard the lot
0' the lad that parts wi' thee.
Thee, my grandsires fondly rear'd,
Then thy wicker-work was full :
Mony a Campbell's glen he clear'd,
Hit the buck and hough 'd the bull.
In thy green and grassy crook
Mair lies hid than crusted stanes ;
In thy bien and weirdly nook
Lie some stout Clan-Gillian banes.
Thou Avert aye the kinsman's hame,
Routh and welcome was his fare ;
But if serf or Saxon came,
He cross'd Murich's hirst nae mair.
Never hand in thee yet bred
Kendna how the sword to wield;
Never heart of thine had dread
Of the foray or the field :
Ne'er on straw, mat, bulk, or bed,
Son of thine lay down to die;
Evei-y lad within thee bred,
Died 'neatli heaven's open eye.
Charlie Stuart he came here,
For our king, as right became :
Wha could shun the Bruce's heir?
Wha could tine om- royal name ?
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 569
Firm to stand, and free to fa',
Forth he marched right valiantlie.
Gane is Scotland's king and law !
Woe to the Highlands and to me !
Freeman yet, I'll scorn to fret,
Here nae langer I maun stay ;
But when I my hame forget,
May my heart forget to play I
Fare-thee-well, my father's cot,
Botliy o' the birkcn tree !
Sair the heart and hard the lot
O' the lad that parts wi' thee.
WAES ME FOE PRINCE CHARLIE.
WILLIAil GLEN.
When all hope of winning the battle of Culloden had passed, Prince
Charles was led from the field, and began that series of wanderings, the
details of which have been often given to the pubhc, and by none more
vividly than by 'Mi. Eobert Chambers, who concludes hi;5 sketch by saying :
" For upwards of five months he had skulked as a proscribed fugitive
through the mountains and seas of the West Highlands, often in the most
imminent danger of being taken, and generally exposed to severe personal
hardships. The narro^\'ness of his own escapes is shown strikingly in the
circumstance of so many persons being taken unmodiately after having
contributed to his safety. The reader must have already accorded all due
praise to the people who, by their kindness and fidelity, had been the
chief means of working out his deliverance. Scarcely any gentleman to
whom he apphed for protection, or to aid in effecting his movements,
refused to peril their own safety on his account ; hundreds, many of whom
were in the humblest walk of life, had been entrusted with the secret,
yet, if we overlook the beggar boy in South Uist, and the dubious case of
Barrisdale, none had attempted to give him up to his enemies. Thirty
thousand pounds had been offered in vain for the life of one human being,
in a country where the sum would have purchased a princely estate." —
History of the EebeUion of 1745-6, p. 440.
A WEE bird came to our ha' door,
He warbled sweet and clcarly,_
And aye the o'crcome o' liis sang
Was " Wac's me for Prince Cliarlie !"
Oh ! when I heard the bonnie bonnie bird.
The tears came drappiiig rarely,
1 took my ban net aff my head.
For weel I lo'ed Prince Charlie.
Quo' I, "My bird, my bonnie bonnie bird,
Is tliat a tale ye borrow?
Or is't some words ye'vc learnt by rote,
Or a lilt o' dool and sorrow i"'
570 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
" Oh ! no, no, no ! " the wee bird sang,
" I've flown sin morning early ;
But sic a day o' wind and rain ! —
Oh ! wae's me for Prince Charlie I
" On hills that are by right his ain,
He roams a lonely stranger ;
On ilka hand he's press'd by want,
On ilka side by danger.
Yestreen I met him in a glen,
My heart near bursted fairly,
For sadly chang'd indeed was he —
Oh ! wae's me for Prince Charlie !
" Dark night came on, the tempest howl'd
Out owre the hills and valleys ;
And whare was't that your prince lay down,
Whase hame should been a palace ?
He rovv'd him in a Highland plaid,
"Which cover'd him but sparely.
And slept beneath a bush o' broom —
Oh I wae's me for Prince Charlie ! "
But now the bird saw some redcoats,
And he shook his wings wi' anger :
" 0 this is no a land for me,
ril tarry here nae langer."
A while he hover'd on the wing.
Ere he departed fairly :
But weel I mind the fareweel strain ;
'Twas " Wae's me for Prince Charlie I "
PPJNCE CHAKLIE'S LAMENT,
Ascribed to Daniel Weir of Greenock.
The storm is raging o'er the Kyle,
And o'er thy glen, dark Auchnacary,
Your Prince has travell'd many a mile,
And knows not where to go or tarry.
He sees, far in the vale below,
The wounded soldier home returning ;
And those who wrought this day of woe,
Are round yon watchfire dimly burning.
0 Scotland lang shall rue the day
She saw Culloden drench'd and gory ;
The sword the bravest hearts may stay.
But some will tell the mournful story.
Amidst those hills that are mine ain,
I wander here a houseless stranger ;
With nought to shield me from the rain,
And every hour beset with danger.
CHRONOLOGICALLT ARRANGED. 671
Howl on, ye winds, the hills are dark.
There shrouded in a gloomy covermg ;
Then haste thee o'er the sea, my bark,
For bloodhounds are around me hov'riug.
0 Scotland, Scotland, fare thee well.
Farewell ye hills, I dare not tarry ;
Let hist'ry's page my suff'rings tell,
Farewell ! Clanronald and Glengary.
WELCOME TO SKYE.
Prince Charles left the mainland, and wandered about the island of Skye.
It was in Uist that Flora Macdonald began her romantic adventures with
Prince Charles, and it was in Skye she left him. The " Twa Bonnie
Maidens " alluded to Flora Macdonald and to Prince Charles, who for
, sometime disguised himself as her maid-servant.
There are twa bonny maidens,
And three bonny maidens,
Come over the Minch,
And come over the main,
Wi' the wind for their way.
And the correi for their hame ;
Let us welcome them bravely
Unto Skye again.
Come along, come along,
Wi' your boatie and your song,
You twa bonny maidens,
And three bonny maidens ;
For the night it is dark,
And the red-coat is gone.
And you're bravely welcome
To Skye again.
There is Flora, my honey,
So dear and so bonny,
And one that is tall,
And comely withal ;
Put the one as my king.
And the other as my queen,
They're welcoip:io unto
The Is'.e of Skye again.
Come along, come along,
Wi' your boatie and your song,
You twa bonny maidens.
And three bonny maidens ;
For the lady of Macoulain
She lieth her lane.
And you're bravely welcome
To Skye again.
572 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Her arm it is strong,
And her petticoat is long,
My one bonny maiden,
And twa bonny maidens ;
But their bed shall be clean,
On the heather mast crain ;
And they're welcome unto
The Isle of Skye again.
Come along, come along,
Wi' your boatie and your song,
You one bonny maideri,
And twa bonny maidens
By the sea-moullit's nest
I will watch o'er the main ;
And you're dearly welcome
To Skye again. .
There's a wind on the tree.
And a ship on the sea,
My twa bonny maidens,
My three bonny maidens :
On the lea of the rock
Your cradle I shall rock ;
And you're welcome unto
The Isle of Skye again.
Come along, come along,
Wi' your boatie and your song,
My twa bonny maidens.
And three bonuy maidens :
More sound shall you sleep,
"When you rock on the deep ;
And you'll aye be welcome
To Skye again.
THE CHEVALIEE'S LAMENT.
ROBERT BURNS. .»
The small birds rejoice in the green leaves returning,
The murmuring streamlet runs clear through the vale,
The hawthorn trees blow in the dews of the morning,
And wild scattered coAvslips bedeck the green dale.
But what can give pleasure, or what can seem fair.
When the lingering moments are numbered by care,
No flowers gaily springing,
Or birds sweetly singing.
Can soothe the sad bosom of joyless despair.
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 573
The deed that I dared could it merit their malice,
A king and a father to place on his throne ;
His right are those hills, and his right are these valleys.
Where the wild beasts find shelter, bnt I can find none.
But 'tis not my sufferings, thus wretched, forlorn,
My brave gallant friends, 'tis your ruin I mourn.
Your deeds proved so loyal,
In hot bloody trial,
Alas ! can I make it no better return.
BONNIE CHAELIE'S NOW AWA'.
On the 10th September, 17-16, Prince Charles Edward, after Dearly six
months' wanderings throughout the Highlands and Islands, embarked on
board " L' Hereux," and bade fareweU for ever to Scottish ground. About
one hundred and thirty followers are said to have accompanied him to
France. And so ended the celebrated rebellion of 1745, a rebellion which
shook the"' throne of the reigning family to its centre, and gave rise
to feehngs of bitterness on the part of the defeated party, which required
several generations to efface. Long after the Prince had left the country
the Highlandmen entertained hopes of his return with a sufficient force
to enable them to repay the wanton cruelties which had been inflicted on
them by the royal army, under the Duke of Cumberland. The conduct
of Prince Charles in his after life, it is needless to mention, was such as
to remove a]l trace of that nobleness of soul which so enchanted all who
came in contact with him in his early career. He died at Florence in. 1788.
EoYAL Charlie's now awa',
Safely owre the friendly main ;
Mony a heart will break in twa,
Should he ne'er come back again.
Will you no come back again?
Will you no come back again?
Better lo'ed you'll never be,
And will you no come back again?
Mony a traitor 'mang the isles
Brak' tlie band o' nature's law ; ' ^
Mony a traitor, wi' his wiles,
- Sought to wear his life awa'.
Will he no come back again?
Will he no come back again?
Better lo'ed he'll never be,
And will he no come back again ?
The hills he trode were a' his ain,
And bed beneath the birkcn tree ;
The bush that hid him on the plain,
There's none on earth can claim but he.
Will he no come back again? etc.
574 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Whene'er I hear the blackbii'd sing,
Unto the e'ening sinking down,
Or merle that makes the woods to ring,
To me they hae nae ither soun'
Than, will he ne'er come back again, etc.
Mony a gallant sodger fought,
Mony a gallant chief did fa' ;
Death itself were dearly bought,
A' for Scotland's king and law,
Will he no come back again? etc.
Sweet the lAv'rock's note and lang.
Lilting wildly up the glen ;
And aye the o'ercome o' the sang
Is, " Will he no come back again ? "
Will he no come back again ? etc.
BONNIE CHAKLIE'S NOW AWA'.
LADT NAIRNE.
BoNNY Charlie's now awa'.
Safely owre the friendly main ;
Mony a heart will break in twa,
Should he ne'er come back again.
Will ye no come back again ?
Will ye no come back again ?
Better lo'ed ye canna be,
Will ye no come back again ?
Ye trusted in your Hielan' men,
They trusted you, dear Charlie,
They kent you hidin' in the glen,
Your cleadui' was but barely.
Will ye no, &c.
English bribes were a' in vain.
An' e'en tho' puirer we may be,
Siller canna buy the heart
That beats aye for thine an' thee.
Will ye no, &c.
We watch'd thee in the gloamin' hour,
We watch'd thee in the mornin' grey ;
Tho' thirty-thousand pounds they'd gie,;
Oh ! there is nane that wad betray.
Will ye ho, &c.
Sweet the laverock's note an lang.
Lilting wildly up the glen,
But aye to me, he sings ae sang.
Will ye no come back again?
Will ye no, &c.
CHRONOLOGICALLT ARRANGED. 575
FLOKA MACDONALD'S LAMENT.
JAMES HOGG.
Far over yon hills of the heather so green,
And down by the correi that sings to the sea,
The bonnie young Flora sat sighing her lane,
The dew on her plaid and the tear in her e'e.
She look'd at a boat which the breezes had swung
Away on the wave, like a bird of the main ;
And aye as it lessen'd, she sighed and she sung,
" Farewell to the lad I shall ne'er see again !
Farewell to my hero, the gallant and young!
Farewell to the lad I shall ne'er see again !
" The moorcock that crows on the top of Ben-Connal,
He kens o' his bed in a sweet mossy hame ;
The eagle that soars o'er the cliffs of Clan Eonald,
Unaw'd and unhunted, his eiry can claim ;
The solan can sleep on his shelve of the shore ;
The cormorant roost on his rock of the sea :
But, oh ! thete is ane whose hard fate I deplore ;
Nor house, ha', nor hame, in his country has he.
The conflict is past, and our name is no more :
There's nought left but sorrow for Scotland and me.
" The target is torn from the arm of the just,
The helmet is cleft on the brow of the brave,
The claymore for ever in darkness must rust.
But red is the sword of the stranger and slave :
The hoof of the horse, and the foot of the proud,
Have trod o'er the plumes in the bonnet of blue.
Why slept the red bolt in the breast of the cloud,
When tyranny revell'd in blood of the true ?
Farewell, my young hero, the gallant and good !
The crown of thy fathers is torn from thy brow."
LAMENT OF FLORA MACDONALD.
Why, my Charlie, dost thou leave me,
Dost thou flee thy Flora's arms?
Were thy vows but to deceive me,
Valiant o'er my yielding charms?
All I bore for thee, sweet Charlie,
Want of sleep, fatigue, and care ;
Brav'd the ocean late and early.
Left my friends, for thou wast fair.
576 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAOT)
Sleep, ye winds that waft him from me ;
Blow, ye western breezes, blow —
Swell the sail ; for I love Charlie —
Ah ! they whisper. Flora, no.
Cold she sinks beneath the billow,
Dash'd from yonder rocky shore ;
Flora, pride and flower of Isla,
Ne'er to meet her Charlie more.
Dark the night, the tempest howling.
Bleak along the western sky ;
Hear the dreadful thunders rolling,
See the forkec lightning fly.
No more we'll hear the maid of Isla.
Pensive o'er the rocky steep ;
Her last sigh was breathed for Charlie 1
As she sunk into the deep.
BANNOCKS 0' BAELEY.
Bannocks o' Tjear meal, bannocks o' barley,
Here's to the Highlandman's bannocks o' barley !
Wha in a brulzie will first cry " a parley? "
Never the lads Avi' the bannocks o' barley !
Bannocks o' bear meal, bannocks o' barley,
Here's to the Highlandman's bannocks o' barley.
"Wha drew the gude claymore for Charlie ?
Wha cow'd the lowns o' England rarely ?
And claw'd their backs at Falkirk fairly ? —
Wha but the lads wi' the bannocks o' barley !
Bannocks o' bear meal, etc.
Wha when hope was blasted fairly,
Stood in ruin wi' bonnie Prince Charlie ?
And 'neath the Duke's bluidy paws dreed fu' sairly?
Wha but the lads wi' the bannocks o' barley I
Bannocks o' bear naeal, etc.
CITRONOLOGICALLT ARRAKGED. ^77
LEWIE GOKDON.
DR. A1EXA.NDER GEDDES.
Lewis, third son of the Duke of Gordon, declared for Prince Charles, in
1745. He was attainted, and died in France in 1754.
Oh ! send Lewie Gordon hame,
And the lad I daurna name ;
Though his back be at the wa',
Here's to him that's far awa !
Ochhcii! my Highland man,
Och, my bonny Highland man;
Weel would I my true-love ken,
Amang ten thousand Highland men.
Oh ! to see his tartan-trews,
Bonnet blue, and laigh-heel'd shoes;
Philabeg aboon his knee;
That's the lad that I'll gang wi' !
Och hon 1 etc.
The princely youth of whom I sing,
Is fitted for to be a king ;
On his breast he wears a star;
You'd tak' him for the god of war.
Och hon! etc.
Oh to see this princely one
Seated on a royal throne !
Disasters a' would disappear,
Then begins the jub'lee year I
Och hon ! etc.
HERE'S A HEALTH.
Here's a health to them that's away,
Here's a health to them that's away,
Here's a health to him that was here yestreen,
But durstna bide till day.
0 wha winna drink it dry?
0 wha winna drink it dry?
Wha winna drink to tlie lad that's gane,
Is nane o' our company.
Let him be swung on a tree,
Let him be swung on a tree ;
Wha winna drink to the lad that's gane,
Can ne'er be the man for me.
It's good to be morry and wise,
It's good to be honest and true,
It's good to be aff wi' tlie auld king.
Afore we be on wi' the new.
578 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
HERE'S HIS HEALTH IN WATER.
Although his back be at the wa',
Another was the fau'tor;
Although his back be at the wa',
Yet here's his health in water.
He gat the skaith, lie gat the scorn,
I lo'e him yet the better;
Though in the muir I hide forlorn,
I'll drink his health in water.
Although his back be at tlie wa'.
Yet here's his health in water.
I'll maybe live to see the day
That hunds shall get the halter,
And drink his health in usquebae,
As I do now in water.
I yet may stand as I hae stood,
Wi' him through rout and slaughter,
And bathe my hands in scoundrel blood.
As I do now in water.
Although his back be at the wa'.
Yet here's his health in water.
THOUGH GEORDIE REIGNS IN JAMIE'S STEAD.
Though Geordie reigns in Jamie's stead,
I'm griev'd, yet scorn to shaw that ;
I'll ne'er look down, nor hang my head
To rebel Whig, for a' that.
For a' that, and a' that.
And thrice as muckle's a' that.
He's far beyond Dumblane the night,
That shall be king for a' that.
He wears a broadsword by his side,
And weel he kens to draw that ;
The target and the Highland plaid.
The shoulder belt, and a' that :
A bonnet bound with ribbons blue.
The white cockade and a' that.
The tartan hose and philabeg,'
Which makes us blythe, for a' that.
The Whigs think a' that weal is won,
But, faith, they maunna fa' that ;
They think our loyal hearts dung down,
But we'U be blythe, for a' that,
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 579
For still we trust that Providence
Will us relieve from a' that,
And send us hame our gallant prince ;
Then we'll be blythe, for a' that.
But 0 what Avill the Whigs say syne,
When they're mista'en in a' that?
When Geordie maun fling by the crown,
And hat, and wig, and a' that ?
The flames will get baith hat and wig.
As often they've done a' that;
Our Highland lad will get the crown.
And we'll be blythe, for a' that.
Then will your braw militia lads
Rewarded be for a' that,
When they fling by their black cockades ;
A hellish badge I ca' that.
As night is banish'd by the day.
The white shall drive awa that;
The sun shall then his beams display,
And we'll be blythe, for a' that.
OH 1 HE'S BEEN LANG 0' COMING.
The youth that should hae been our king,
Was dress'd in yellow, red, and green,
A braver lad ye wadna seen,
Than our brave royal Charlie.
Oh ! he's been lang o' coming,
Lang, lang, lang o' coming.
Oh ! he's been lang o' coming.
Welcome royal Charlie.
At Falkirk and at Prestonpans,
Supported by the Highland clans,
They broke the Hanoverian bands,
For our brave royal Charlie.
Oh ! he's been lang, etc.
The valient chief, the brave Lochiel,
He met Prince Charlie on the dale;
Then, 0 ! what kindness did prevail.
Between the Chief and Charlie.
Oh 1 he's been lang, etc.
0 come and quaff along wi' me.
And drink a bumper, three times three,
To him that's come to set us free,
Huzy ! rejoice for Charlie.
Oh 1 he's been lang, eto
580 TIIE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
We darena brew a peck o' maut,
But Geordie says it is a faut ;
And to our kail cannot get saut,
For want of royal Charlie.
Oh ! he's been lang, etc.
Now our'good king abroad is gone,
A German whelp now fills the throne,
And whelps it is denied by none,
Are brutes compared to Charlie.
Oh I he's been lang, etc.
Now our good king is turned awa',
A German whelp now rules us a' ;
And tho' we're forc'd against our law,
The right belongs to Charlie,
Oh 1 he's been lang, etc.
If we had but our Charlie back,
We wadna fear the German's crack ;
Wi' a' his thieving, hungry pack.
The right belongs to Charlie.
Ohl he's been lang, etc.
0, Charlie come and lead the way,
No German whelp shall bear the sway,
Tho' ilka dog maun hae his day ;
The right belongs to Charlie.
Oh! he's been lang, etc.
THE EMIGRANT.
Mat morning had shed her first streamers on high,
O'er Canada, opening all pale on the sky !
Still dazzling and white was the robe that she wore.
Except where the mountain wave lash'd on the shore.
Far heaved the young sun, like a lamp on the wave.
And loud screamed the gull o'er his foam-beaten cave,
When an old lyart swain on a headland stood high,
With the staff in his hand, and the tear in his eye.
His old tartan plaid, and his bonnet so blue,
Declared from what country his lineage he drew;
His visage so wan, and his accents so low.
Announced the companion of sorrow and woe.
" Ah, welcome thou sun, to thy canopy grand.
And to me, for thou com'st from my dear native land I
Again dost thou leave that sweet isle of the sea,
To beam on these winter-bound valleys and me !
CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANOED. 581
" How sweet in my own native valley to roam,
Each face was a friend's, and each house was a home
To drag our live thousands from river to bay,
Or chase the dun deer o'er the mountains so gray.
" Now forced from my home and my blithe halls away,
The son of the stranger has made them a prey :
My family and friends to extremity driven,
Contending for life both with earth and with heaven.
" My country," they said — " but they told me a lie,
Her valleys were barren, inclement her sky ;
Even now in the glens, 'mong her mountains so blue,
The primrose and daisy are blooming in dew.
"How could she expel from those mountains of heath.
The clans who maintained them in danger and death ;
Who ever were ready the broadsword to draw.
In defence of her honour, her freedom, and law.
" We stood by our Stuart, till one fatal blow-
Loosed ruin triumphant, and valour laid low ;
The lords whom we trusted, and lived but to please.
Then turned us adrift to the storms and the seas.
" 0 gratitude I where didst thou linger the while ?
What region afar is illumed with thy smile ?
That orb of the sky for a home will I crave.
When yon sun rises red on the Emigrant's grave 1"
HAME, HAME, HAME.
ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.
IIamk, hnme, hame, hanic fain wad I be,
0 hame, hame, hame to my ain countrie !
There's an eye that ever wecpg, and a fair face will be fain.
As I pass tlirough Annan Water with my bonuio bonds again.
When tlie (lower is i' tlie bud and the leaf upon the tree
The lark shall sing me hame in my ain countrie.
Hame, hame, hame, hame fain wad I be,
0 hame, hame, hame to my ain countrie !
The green leaf o' loyalty's beginning for to fa',
Tlic bonny white rose it is withering an a';
But I'll watcr't wi' the blade of usurping tvvauni
iiut
ill WJ
itcr't
, Wl
the bl
ude
o[
usurping
tyvaunie,
An'
green
it will g
row m
mv
ain countrie
1,
2
R
682 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND
Ilame, liame, liame, bamc fain wad I be,
0 hame, hame, hame to my ain countrie !
There's nought now frae ruin my countrie can save,
But the keys of kind heaven to open the grave,
That a' the noble martyrs wha died for loyaltie,
May rise again and fight for their ain countrie.
Hame, hame, hame, hame fain wad I be,
0 hame, hame, hame to my ain countrie !
The great now are gane, a' who ventured to save.
The new grass is growing aboon their bloody grave ;
But the sun through the mirk, blinks blythe in my e'e-
" I'll shine on ye yet in your ain countrie."
HILL OF LOCHIEL.
JA3IES HOGG.
Long have I pined for tliec ;
Land of my infancy,
Now will I kneel on thee,
Hill of Lochiel;
Ilill of the sturdy steer,
Hill of the roe and deer,
Hill of tlie streamlet clear,
I love thee well.
When in my youthful prime,
Correi and crag to climb.
Or towering cliff sublime
Was my delight ;
Scaling the eagle's nest,
AVounding the raven's breast,
Skimming the mountain's crest,
Gladsome and light.
When at the break of morn,
Proud o'er thy temples borne,
Rythed the red-deer's horn,
How my heart beat !
Then, when with stunned leap,
TioU'd he adown the steep.
Never did hero reap
Conquest so great.
Then rose a bolder game,
Young Charlie Stuart came,
Cameron, that loyal name
Foremost- must be ;
CHRONOLOGICALLY AUn.^'GLD. 583
Hard tlicn our warrior meed,
Glorious our warrior deed,
Still we were doom'd to bleed
By treachery.
Then did the red blood stream.
Then was the broadsword's gleam,
Quench'd in fair freedom's beam.
No more to shine.
Then was the morning's brow.
Red with the fiery glow,
Fell hall and hamle't low,
All that were mine.
Then was our maiden j-oung,
First aye in battle strong,
Fir'd at her prince's wrong,
Forc'd to give way :
Broke was the golden cup,
Gone Caledonia's hope,
Faithful and true men drop.
Fast in the clay.
Fair in a hostile land,
Stretch'd on a foreign strand,
Oft has the tear-drop bland,
Scorch'd as it fell.
Once was I spurn'd from thee.
Long have I monrn'd for thee,
Now I'm return'd to thee.
Hill of Lochiel.
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UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA AT LOS ANGELES
THE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY
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