THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 
 J
 
 J^^ j+<jL.a>^^u5i^ 
 
 SELECT 
 
 SCOTISH SONGS, 
 
 ANCIENT AND MODERN; 
 
 WITH 
 
 CRITICAL OBSERVATIONS AND BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES, 
 
 BY ROBERT BURNS. 
 
 EDITED 
 
 By R. H. CROMEK, F.A.S. Ed. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED FOR T. CADELL AND W. DAVIES, STRAND. 
 By J. li'CREERT, BUtch-Borse-Court, Fleet-StreeC. 
 
 ISIO.
 
 /5f 
 PREFACE. 
 
 1 HE following Remarks from the pen of Bums 
 appeared in the publication of The Reliques; and 
 as it might reasonably be presumed that whatever 
 exercised his judgment and gratified his taste, would 
 excite the curiosity of the public, and be worthy of 
 their attention, they are now presented, detached 
 from his other works, accompanied by the Songs 
 which met the Poet's decided approbation. In per- 
 forming this task, the Editor conceives he shall ac- 
 complish a two-fold object ; for while the Songs ac- 
 quire additional interest from the criticisms of so 
 eminent a Poet, the Remarks themselves will be 
 better appreciated when prefixed to the subjects on 
 which they are grounded. The nature of the under- 
 taking would render it unnecessary for him to enter 
 into a general disquisition on Scotish Song, even if it 
 had not been fully illustrated by the able pens of 
 Ramsay, Lord Hailes, Tytler, Ramsay of Ochter- 
 
 VOL. I. h 
 
 8S(^4GG
 
 11 
 
 tyre,* Ritsoiij-f- and above all, by Burns himself, who, 
 besides the observations in the present work, has scat- 
 tered among his prose writings the most judicious re- 
 flections on the subject. It will be equally superfluous 
 to prove the eminent qualifications of Burns for un- 
 derstanding and relishing whatever relates to Scotish 
 Song; they have been clearly elucidated in the follow- 
 ing elegant and concise testimony by Mr. Walter Scott. 
 " The Scottish songs and tunes preserved for 
 Burns that inexpressible charm which they have ever 
 aflbrded to his countrymen. He entered into the 
 idea of collecting their fragments with all the zeal of 
 an enthusiast ; and few, whether serious or humorous, 
 past through his hands without receiving some of 
 those magic touches, which, without greatly altering 
 the song, restored its original spirit, or gave it more 
 than it had ever possessed. So dexterously are these 
 touches combined with the ancient structure, that 
 the rifacciamento, in many instances, could scarcely 
 have been detected, without the avowal of the Bard 
 himself. Neither would it be easy to mark his share 
 in the individual ditties. Some he appears entirely to 
 
 * This gentleman has written an excellent Essay on Scotish 
 Song, which originally appeared in the second volume of *' The 
 Bee," p. 201, under the siglaature of J. Runcole. 
 
 t In the Appendix (ej will be found an account of the last 
 days of this antiquary.
 
 m 
 
 have re-written ; to others he added supplementary 
 stanzas ; in some he retained only the leading lines 
 and the chonis, and others he merely arranged and 
 ornamented. Let us take one of the best examples 
 of his skill in imitating the old ballad. — Macpher- 
 son's Lament was a well-known song many years 
 before the Ayrshire Bard wrote those additional 
 verses which constitute its principal merit.* This 
 noted freebooter was executed at Inverness, about 
 the beginning of the last century. When he came to 
 the fatal tree, he played the tune to which he has be- 
 queathed his name, upon a favourite violin, and hold- 
 ing up the instrument, oflFered it to any one of his 
 clan who would undertake to play the tune over his 
 body at the lyke-wake : as none answered, he dashed 
 it to pieces on tlie executioner's head, and flung him- 
 self from the ladder. The wild stanzas which Burns 
 has put into the mouth of this desperado, are ground- 
 ed upon some traditional remains. 
 
 " How much Burns delighted in the task of eking 
 out the ancient melodies of his country, appears 
 from the following affecting passage in a letter writ- 
 ten to Mr. Johnson, shortly before his death." 
 
 * You are a good, worthy, honest fellow, and have 
 a good right to live in this world — because you de- 
 serve it. Many a merry meeting this publication has 
 * This will be found in the present vol. p. 108. 
 ho.
 
 IV 
 
 given us, and possibly it may give us more, though, 
 alas ! I fear it. This protracting, slow, consuming 
 illness which hangs over me, will, I doubt much, my 
 ever dear friend, arrest my sun before he has well 
 reached his middle career, and will turn over the 
 poet to far other and more important concerns than 
 studying the brilliancy of wit, or the pathos of senti- 
 ment ! However, hope is the cordial of the human 
 heart, and I endeavour to cherish it as well as I can. 
 — (Reliques, p. 184.^ 
 
 This heart-rending letter shews that Bums retained 
 to the last hour his enthusiastic taste for the rustic 
 poetry of his country. That he imbibed this taste 
 at an early age, and that he cherished it throughout 
 his life, we have abundant proof from the testimony 
 of his nearest relatives and friends, and from his own 
 avowal. ' I have,' he himself observes, * paid 
 more attention to every description of Scots Song 
 than perhaps any body living has done.' He had all 
 the advantages of study, of local situation, and of 
 national attachment ; and his own inborn enthusiasm 
 perpetually impelled/ him to cultivate these advan- 
 tages. As an instance of the vivid impression which 
 the poetry of his country made on his young mind, 
 we may mention the song of The blaithrie o't, 
 which, he observes, was the earliest song he remem-
 
 bers to have got by heart. ' When a child, an old 
 woman sung it to me, and I picked it up every word 
 at first hearing.' (Reliques, p. Q.10). It is not im- 
 probable that a song which thus caught his lively 
 fancy, had some share in exciting those kindred inde- 
 pendent ideas that frequently occur even in his juve- 
 nile poems. The Editor was very much struck with 
 a still more interesting account given by Burns in a 
 letter to Mrs. Dunlop, of an old ballad called The 
 Life and Age of Man. ' I had an old grand- 
 uncle,' says he, * with whom my mother lived awhile 
 in her girUsh years ; the good old man, for such he 
 was, was long blind ere he died ; during which time, 
 his highest enjoyment was to sit down and cry, while 
 my mother would sing the simple old song of The 
 Life and Age of Man. 
 
 The Editor conceived, from the enthusiasm with 
 which the Poet speaks of this ballad, that if it could 
 be procured, it might possibly throw light on some 
 of his productions. After much inquiry, and hunting 
 from stall to stall, he was at last fortunate enough to 
 procure a copy of it. His conjectures were fully 
 verified. From the solecisms with which this copy 
 abounded, he perceived that it had not been much 
 indebted to the care of its editors. He hoped, 
 however, that the Poet's mother might still be able
 
 VI 
 
 to recollect so much of it as should enable him 
 to present something like a correct copy to his 
 readers. 
 
 On a visit to this worthy old woman, he had the 
 satisfaction of hearing the whole recited by her, and 
 he carefully marked the variations between his copy 
 and her recitation. The reading of Mrs. Burns was 
 so much superior to the other, that he had no hesi- 
 tation in adopting it. It will be found, that to this 
 interesting ballad we owe the exquisitely pathetic ode 
 of * Man was made to mourn.' The Editor hopes 
 that he will be forgiven for here introducing it to the 
 consideration of the curious. 
 
 THE 
 
 LIFE AND AGE OF MAN : 
 
 OR, 
 
 A short Description of his Nature, Rise and Fall, accord- 
 ing to the Twelve Months of the Year. 
 
 Tune— Isle of Kell. 
 
 Upon the sixteen hunder year, 
 
 of God and fifty three, 
 Frae Christ was born, that bought us dear, 
 
 as writings testifie ;
 
 vn 
 
 On January the sixteenth day, 
 
 as I did ly alone. 
 With many a sigh and sob did say, 
 
 Ah ! Man is made to moan. 
 
 Dame Natur, that excellent bride, 
 
 did stand up me before, 
 And said to me, thou must provide 
 
 this life for to abhor : 
 Thou seest what things are gone before, 
 
 experience teaches thee ; 
 Yet do not miss to remember this, 
 
 that one day thou must die. 
 
 Of all the creatures bearing life 
 
 recall back to thy mind. 
 Consider how they ebb and flow, 
 
 each thing in their own kind ; 
 Yet few of them have such a strain, 
 
 as God hath given to thee ; 
 Therefore this lesson keep in mind, — 
 
 remember man to die. 
 
 Man's course on earth I will .report, 
 
 if I have time and space ; 
 It may be long, it may be short, 
 
 as God hath giv'n him grace. 
 His natur to the herbs compare, 
 
 that in the ground ly dead;
 
 . VIU 
 
 And to each month add five year, 
 and so we will precede. 
 
 The first five years then of man's life 
 
 compare to Januar ; 
 In all that time but sturt and strife, 
 
 he can but greet and roar. 
 So is the fields of flowers all bare, 
 
 by reason of the frost ; 
 Kept in the ground both safe and sound, 
 
 not one of them is lost. 
 
 So to years ten I shall speak then 
 
 of Februar but lack j 
 The child is meek and weak of spirit, 
 
 nothing can undertake : 
 So all the flow'rs, for lack of show*rs, 
 
 no springing up can make. 
 Yet birds do sing and praise their king, 
 
 and each one choose their mate. 
 
 Then in comes March, that noble arch, 
 
 with wholesome spring and air. 
 The child doth spring to years fifteen, 
 
 with visage fine and fair ; 
 So do the flow'rs with softening show*rs, 
 
 ay spring up as we see ; 
 Yet nevertheless remember this, 
 
 that one day we must die.
 
 IX 
 
 Then brave April doth sweetly smile, 
 
 the flow'rs do fair appear. 
 The child is then become a man, 
 
 to the age of twenty year ; 
 If he be kind and well inclin'd, 
 
 and brought up at the school. 
 Then men may know if he fpreshow 
 
 a wise man or a fool. 
 
 Then cometh May, gallant and gay, 
 
 when fragrant flow'rs do thrive. 
 The child is then become a man, 
 
 of age twenty and five : 
 And for his life doth seek a wife, 
 
 his life and years to spend ; 
 Christ from above send peace and love, 
 
 and grace unto the end ! 
 
 Then cometh June with pleasant tune, 
 
 when fields with flovv'rs are clad. 
 And Phoebus bright is at his height, 
 
 all creatures then are glad : 
 Then he appears of thretty years., 
 
 with courage bold and stout ; 
 His natur so makes him to go, 
 
 of death he hath no doubt. 
 
 Then July comes with his hot chmes, 
 and constant in his kind,
 
 The man doth thrive to thirty-fire, 
 and sober grows in mind ; 
 
 His children small do on him call, 
 and breed him start and strife ; 
 
 Then August old, both stout and bold, 
 
 when flow'rs do stoutly stand ; 
 So man appears to forty years, 
 
 with wisdom and command ; 
 And doth provide his house to guide, 
 
 children and familie ; 
 Yet do not miss t' remember this, 
 
 that one day thou must die. 
 
 September then comes with his train, 
 
 and makes the flow'rs to fade ; 
 Then man belyve is forty-five, 
 
 grave, constant, wise, and staid. 
 When be looks on, how youth is gone, 
 
 and shall it no more see ; 
 Then may he say, both night and day, 
 
 have mercy, Lord, on me ! 
 
 October's blast comes in with boast, 
 and makes the flow'rs to fall ; 
 
 Then man appears to fifty years, 
 old age doth on him call :
 
 XI 
 
 The almond tree doth flourish hie, 
 
 and pale grows man we see ; 
 Then it is time to use this line, 
 
 remember, man, to die. 
 
 November air maketh fields bare 
 
 of flowers, of grass, and corn ; 
 Then man arrives to fifty-five, 
 
 and sick both e'en and morn : 
 Loins, legs, and thighs, without disease, 
 
 makes him to sigh and say. 
 Ah ! Christ on high have mind on me, 
 
 and learn me for to die ! 
 
 December fell baith sharp and snell, 
 
 makes flow'rs creep in the ground; 
 Then man's threescore, both sick and sore, 
 
 no soundness in him found. 
 His ears and e'en, and teeth of bane, 
 
 all these now do him fail ; 
 Then may he say, both night and day, 
 
 that death shall him assail. 
 
 And if there be, thro' natur stout, 
 some that live ten years more ; 
 
 Or if he creepeth up and down, 
 till he comes to fourscore ; 
 
 Yet all this time is but a line, 
 no pleasure can he see :
 
 Then may he say, both night and day, 
 have mercy. Lord, on me ! 
 
 Thus have I shown you as I can, 
 
 the course of all mens' life ; 
 We will return where we began, 
 
 but* either sturt or strife : 
 Dame Memorie doth take her leave, 
 
 she'll last no more, we see ; 
 God grant that I may not you grieve, 
 
 Ye'll get nae mair of me. 
 
 It appears from the first verse of this ballad, that 
 it was written about the year 1653. It is not un- 
 reasonable to suppose, that it was the production of 
 some pedantic country schoolmaster, who would 
 naturally write in a stately, stilted style, different 
 from the common people, his neighbours. Mrs. 
 Burns says, that it was one of the many nursery songs 
 of her mother ; and that she first heard and learned 
 it from her seventy years ago. Neither she nor her 
 son Gilbert had ever seen a printed copy of it. It 
 is no bad specimen of the quaint, moralizing manner 
 that obtained soon after the Reformation. This 
 
 '^ Without.
 
 XIU 
 
 quaintness, however, is mixed up ^vith a good deal of 
 imagination. There is a vein of pensive melancholy 
 too in it which could hardly fail to make a deep im- 
 pression on the young mind of Burns ; accordingly 
 we find that this ballad has not only the same struc- 
 ture of versification with the Ode of Burns, and the 
 repetition of the last line of the stanza; but it 
 breathes a kindred pensive melancholy from begin- 
 ning to end. Many of the imitations in the Ode are 
 so close and so obvious, that it is impossible they 
 could be accidental. For instance, the last line of 
 the first stanza of the ballad, " Man is made to 
 moan" evidently suggested " Man was made to 
 mourn." The following imitations cannot fail to be 
 acknowledged. The reader of himself will easily 
 discover more. 
 
 •' November air maketh fields bare 
 of flowers, of grass, and corn." 
 
 Ballad, st.xY. 
 
 " When chill November's surly blast 
 Made fields and forests bare." 
 
 " Thou seest what things are gone before, 
 experience teaches thee ;
 
 XIV 
 
 In what state ever that thou be, 
 
 remember, man, to die/' 
 
 Ballad, st. II. 
 
 " I've seen yon weary winter sun 
 Twice forty times return ; 
 And every time has added proofs 
 That man was made to mourn." 
 
 Ode. 
 
 " Therefore this lesson keep in mind, 
 remember, man, to die." 
 
 Ballad, st. III. 
 
 " Thro' weary life this lesson learn. 
 That man was made to mourn." 
 
 Ode. 
 
 In his other Poems are also to be found occasion- 
 ally images and illustrations, obviously taken from 
 this ballad.— In the " Address to a Mouse,'" for in- 
 stance, when he says, 
 
 " An' bleak December's winds ensuin 
 Baiih snell and keen," 
 
 the following line must have been floating in his 
 mind: 
 
 " December fell, baith sharp and snell."
 
 XV 
 
 It would be uncandid to suppose that the Editor 
 has here been actuated by a wish to detract from the 
 merit of Burns. He conceived that nothing which 
 might serve to elucidate the progress of his gigantic 
 mind could be useless or uninteresting. Burns 
 wished not to shroud himself up in any mysterious 
 obscurity. He felt no jealousy that the closest in- 
 spection would in the least diminish his reputation. 
 We see him continually pointing to the productions 
 with which his earliest years were most familiar; 
 thus affording us, in a great measure, the means of 
 ascertaining how much of his excellence we owe to 
 the efforts of those who had preceded him, and how 
 much to the inspiration of his own vigorous mind. 
 The path he trod was so unfrequented, and lay so 
 much out of the common road, that without his as- 
 sistance we should never have traced it. We saw 
 with admiration a rich and unexpected harvest of 
 original poetry; and we could not discover from 
 whence he had collected the seeds that had shot up 
 to such maturity. We find, however, that many of 
 the thoughts which appear in him with such lustre 
 were derived from others ; and even that some of his 
 most sublime and pathetic poems owe their origin to 
 models of a similar description, however inferior. 
 To the Farmer's Ingle we owe the Cottar's Satur- 
 day Night : to the rude and artless offspring of for-
 
 XVI 
 
 gotten bards we owe some of his most exquisite lyri- 
 cal effusions. On a just and candid comparison, it 
 must be evident that he has greatly excelled his mo- 
 dels, and our admiration of his versatile talents will 
 be considerably increased when we consider how 
 happily he has reformed and polished the models 
 themselves. By the force of his superior powers he 
 has appropriated the works of his predecessors, in 
 order to render them more perfect, by purifying their 
 dross, illustrating their obscurities, suppressing their 
 faults, and refining their beauties. The native genius 
 of Michael Angelo was not degraded but exalted by 
 his study of the Antique ; and in Poetry as well as in 
 the Sister Arts, true originality consists not so much 
 in painting what has never been painted before, as in 
 the production of those vivid pictures which eclipse 
 all former attempts. 
 
 To this originality Burns has an undoubted claim. 
 The proud pre-eminence he enjoys above all the 
 Poets of his country will not soon be disputed with 
 him. It is impossible to say what lies hid in the womb 
 of futurity ; but it may be almost pronounced with 
 safety, that he will ever maintain his present supe- 
 riority ; and that each new successor will but add 
 another wreath to liis laurels. 
 
 R. H. C. 
 
 London, Newman-street, May, 1810.
 
 SELECT SCOTftH SONGS, kc. 
 
 THE HIGHLAND OUEEN. 
 
 The Highland Queen, music and poetry, zoas 
 composed hy a Mr. 31' Vicar, purser of the SoJbny 
 man of war. — This I had from Dr. B/acklock. 
 
 bf:ss the gawkie.* 
 
 This song shews that the Scotish Muses did not 
 all leave us when we lost Ramsay and Oswald,-\ as 
 I have good reason to believe that the verses and 
 
 • The Editor has been told by Mrs. William Copland, iu 
 Dalbeattie, Galloway, (a lady to whose taste, and accuracy of in- 
 formation he has been often indebted), that this Song is the 
 
 production of the late Reverend Morehead, miuister of 
 
 Urr parish, in Galloway. 
 
 t Oswald was a music-seller in London, about the year 17£0. 
 He published a large collection of Scotish tunes, wliich he called 
 the Caledonian Pocket Companion. Mr. Tytlcr observes, that his 
 genius in composition, joined to his taste iu the performance of 
 Scotish music, was natmal and pathetic. 
 VOL. 1. B
 
 music are both posterior to the days of these two 
 gentlemen. — It is a be0ifftijul so7ig, and in the ge- 
 nuine Scots taste. We have Jew pastoral composi- 
 tions, I mean the pastoral of nature, that are equal 
 to this. 
 
 Blythe young Bess to Jean did say, 
 
 Will ye gang to yon sunny brae, 
 
 Where flocks do feed and herds do stray, 
 
 And sport awhile wi' Jamie ? 
 Ah na, lass, I'll no gang there. 
 Nor about Jamie tak nae care, 
 Nor about Jamie tak nae care. 
 
 For he's taen up wi' Maggy ! 
 
 For hark, and I will tell you, lass,. 
 Did I not see your Jamie pass, 
 Wi' meikle gladness in his face, 
 
 Out o'er the muir to Maggy. 
 1 wat he gae her mony a kiss, 
 And Maggy took them ne'er amiss ; 
 'Tween ilka smack, pleas'd her with this, 
 
 That Bess was but a gawkie. 
 
 For when a civil kiss I seek. 
 She turns her head, and thraws her cheek, 
 And for an hour she'll scarcely speak ; 
 Who'd not call her a gawkie ?
 
 But sure my Maggie has mair sense, 
 She'll gie a score without offence ; 
 Now gie me aue unto the mense, 
 And ye shall be my dawtie. 
 
 O, Jamie, ye ha'e mony taue, 
 But I will never stand for ane, 
 Or twa, when we do meet again ; 
 
 Sae ne'er think me a gawkie. 
 Ah, na, lass, that ne'er can be, 
 Sic thoughts as these are far frae me, 
 Or ony that sweet face that see. 
 
 E'er to think thee a gawkie. 
 
 But whisht! — nae mair of this we'll speak, 
 For yonder Jamie does us meet ; 
 Instead of Meg he kiss'd sae sweet, 
 I trow he likes the gawkie. 
 
 dear Bess, I hardly knew. 
 
 When I came by, your gown sae new, 
 
 1 think you've got it wat 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 you may gang the gate you came. 
 And tell it to your dawtie. 
 
 B 3
 
 The guilt appeared in Jamie's cheek ; 
 He cry'd, O cruel maid, but sweet, 
 If I should gang anither gate, 
 I ne'er could meet my dawtie ! 
 
 The lasses fast frae him they flew, 
 And left poor Jamie sair to rue. 
 That ever Maggy's face he knew. 
 
 Or yet ca'd Bess a gawkie. 
 As they went o'er the muir they sang ; 
 The hills and dales with echoes rang, 
 The hills and dales with echoes rang, 
 
 Gang o'er the muir to Maggy ! 
 
 OH, OPEN THE DOOR, LORD GREGORY. 
 
 It is somewhat singular, that in Lanark, Ren- 
 J'rezv, Ayr, Wigton, Kirkcudbright, and Dumfries- 
 shires, there is scarcely an old song or tune which, 
 from the title, S)C. can be guessed to belong to, or be 
 the production of these countries. This, I conjec- 
 ture, is one of these very few; as the ballad, which 
 is a long one, is called both by tradition and in 
 printed collections. The Lass o' Lochroyan, which 
 I take to be Lochroyan, in Galloway.
 
 THE BANKS OF THE TWEED. 
 
 This song is one of the many^ attempts that Eng- 
 lish composers have made to imitate the Scotish 
 manner, and zchich I shall, in these strictures, beg 
 leave to distinguish hy the appellation of Anglo- 
 Scotish productions. The music is pretty good, hut 
 the verses are just above contempt. 
 
 ROSLIN CASTLE. 
 
 These beautiful verses were the production of a 
 Richard Hewit,* a young man that Dr. Blacklock, 
 
 • Ricliard Hewit was taken when a boy, during the residence 
 of Dr. Blacklock in Cumberland, to lead him.— He addressed a 
 copy of verses to the Doctor on quitting his service. Among 
 the verses are the following lines : 
 
 " How oft those plains I've thoughtless prest ; 
 *' Whistled or sung some Fair distrest, 
 " When fate would steal a tear." 
 
 Alluding,
 
 to zohom I am indebted for the anecdote, kept for 
 some years as an amanuensis. I do not knozv who 
 is the author of the second song to the tune. Tytler, 
 in his amusing history of Scots music, gives the air 
 to Oswald ; but in Oswald's own collection of Scots 
 tunes, zohere he affixes an asterisk to those he him- 
 self composed, he does not make the least claim to 
 the tune. 
 
 'Tvvas in that season of the year, 
 When 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 ; 
 While Roslin Castle heard the swain. 
 And echoed back the cheerful strain. 
 
 Awake, sweet Muse ! the breathing spring, 
 With rapture warms ; awake and sing ! 
 Awake and join the vocal throng, 
 Who hail the morning with a song ; 
 
 Alluding, as it is said in a note, to a sort of narrative songs, 
 which make no inconsiderable part of the innocent amusements 
 with which the country people (of Cumberland) pass the wintry- 
 nights, and of which the author of the present piece was a 
 faithful rehearser. 
 
 Blacklock's Poems, 1756, 8i'o. p. 5.
 
 To Nanny raise the cheerful lay, 
 O ! bid her haste and come away ; 
 In sweetest smiles herself adorn, 
 And add new graces to the morn ! 
 
 O, hark, my love ! on ev'ry spray. 
 Each feather'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 alarms. 
 
 O ! come, my love ! thy Colin's lay 
 
 With rapture calls, O come away ! 
 
 Come, while the Muse diis wreath shall twine 
 
 Around that modest brow of thine ; 
 
 O ! hither haste, and w ith thee bring 
 
 That beauty blooming like the spring ; 
 
 Those graces that divinely shine, 
 
 And charm this ravish'd breast of mine!
 
 THE BEDS OF SWEET ROSES. 
 
 This song, as far as I knozo, for the first time 
 appears here in print. — ffhen I was a hoy, it was a 
 very popular song in Ayrshire. I remember to 
 have heard those fanatics, the Buchanites,* sing 
 some of their norisensical rhymes, which they dignify 
 with the name of hymns, to this air.-f 
 
 • A set of itinerant fanatics in the west of Scotland, so deno- 
 minated from their leader, Elizabeth Buchan. The husband of 
 this visionary was one of the proprietors of the Delft-work ma- 
 nufactory at Glasgow, by whom she had several children. 
 About 1779 she began to prophecy that the end of the world 
 was drawing nigh, and that all Christians must abandon worldly 
 connexions, in order to be in readiness to meet Christ. She 
 soon gathered a great number of followers, and journeyed with 
 them through several parts of Scotland, increasing as they went. 
 At length Mrs. Buchan died in 1791, and her disciples dispersed. 
 
 tThis practice of composing spiritual hymns and songs to com- 
 mon ballad tunes was laughed at by Shakespeare in his Winter's 
 Tale, where he speaks of a Puritan who sings psrtZ/ns to hornpipes; 
 and that it obtained long anterior to the time of the Buchanites, 
 the curious reader may see, if he can meet with a very scarce 
 book quoted in " Campbell's History of Poetry in Scotland," 
 which appeared in Mr. Constable's sale Catalogue for 1796, 
 called Geddes's Saints Recreation, &c. addressed, in the very 
 spirit of modern dedication, to no less than Jive Patronesses! 
 each of whom the author hath honmired with a separate dedi- 
 cation,
 
 SAW YE JOHNNIE CUMMIN? QUO' SHE. 
 
 This song for genuine humor in the verses, and 
 lively originality in the air, is unparalleled. I take 
 it to he very old. 
 
 Saw ye Johnnie cummin ? quo' she, 
 
 Saw ye Johnnie cummin, 
 O saw ye Johnnie cummin, quo' she; 
 
 Saw ye Johnnie cummin, 
 Wi' his blue bonnet on his head. 
 
 And his doggie runnin, quo' she ; 
 
 And his doggie runnin r 
 
 cation, expressive of his notions of tlieir piety, pretensions to 
 nobility, Ifc. Sfc. 
 
 Tlie reader may see many specimens of this pious nonsense in 
 " Ane compendious booke of Godly and spirituall Songs," &c. 1621, 
 specimens of which the late Lord Haili s published in 1764. Tlie 
 whole was republished, with a valuable Introduction, by Dalzell, 
 Edin. 1801. Similar performances made tiieir appearance among 
 the Btreans in Scotland, the production of their spiritual guide, 
 Mr. Barclay. Among others are tiiese titles: " Uaud awa', bide 
 atra', hand awa J'rae me Deilie" — " Hat ye wha I met yestreen, 
 lying on my bed, Mamma ?^an angel bright," Sfc.
 
 10 
 
 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 see him, quo' she; 
 
 Wi' me when I see him. 
 
 What will I do wi' him, hussy? 
 
 What will I do wi' him ? 
 He's ne'er a sark upon his back, 
 
 And I hae nane to gie him. 
 I hae twa sarks into my kist. 
 
 And ane o' them I'll gie him. 
 And for a mark of mair fee, 
 
 Dinna stand wi' him, quo' she; 
 
 Dinna stand wi' him. 
 
 For weel do I lo'e him, quo' she ; 
 
 Weel do I lo'e him : 
 O fee him, father, fee him, quo' she ; 
 
 Fee him, father, fee him ; 
 He'll baud the pleugh, thrash i' the barn. 
 
 And lie wi' me at e'en, quo' she ; 
 
 Lie wi' me at e'en. 
 
 * Hire him.
 
 IJ 
 
 CLOUT THE CALDRON. 
 
 A TRADITION is mentioned in the Bee, that the 
 second Bishop Chisholni, of Dunblane, used to say, 
 that if he were going to be hanged, nothing would 
 soothe his mind so much hy the imy, as to hear 
 Clout the Caldron played. 
 
 I have met with another tradition, that the old 
 song to this tune 
 
 Hae ye ony pots or pans. 
 Or onie broken chanlers, 
 
 was composed on one of the Kenmure family, in the 
 Cavalier times ; and alluded to an amour he had, 
 while under hiding, in the disguise of an itinerant 
 tinker. The air is also known by the name of 
 
 The Blacksmith and his Apron, 
 
 which from the rhythm, seems to hate been a line of 
 some old song to the tune.
 
 12 
 
 SAW YE NAE MY PEGGY? 
 
 This. charming song is much older, and indeed 
 superior, to Ramsat/'s verses, " The Toast," as he 
 calls them. There is another set of the words, much 
 older still, and which I take to be the original one, 
 but though it has a very great deal of merit, it is 
 not quite ladies' reading. 
 
 Saw ye uae my Peggy, 
 Saw ye nae my Peggy, 
 Saw ye nae my Peggy, 
 
 Coming o'er the lea ? 
 Sure a finer creature 
 Ne'er was form'd by nature. 
 So complete each feature. 
 
 So divine is she. 
 
 O! how Peggy charms me; 
 Every look still warms me ; 
 Every thought alarms me, 
 
 Lest she love nae me. 
 Peggy doth 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 give over, 
 
 Till I happy be. 
 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, 
 Cou'd I but obtain her, 
 
 Happy wou'd I be ! 
 I'll ly down before her, 
 Bless, sigh, and adore her, 
 With faint looks implore her, 
 
 'Till she pity me. 
 
 The original words, for they can scarcely be called 
 verses, seem to be as follows; a song familiar from 
 the cradle to evert/ Scotish ear.
 
 14 
 
 Saw ye my Maggie, 
 Saw ye my Maggie, 
 Saw ye my Maggie 
 Linkin o'er the lea ? 
 
 High kilted was she, » 
 
 High kilted was she. 
 High kilted was she. 
 
 Her coat aboon her knee. 
 
 What mark has your Maggie, 
 What mark has your Maggie, 
 What mark has your Maggie 
 That ane may ken her be ? (by) 
 
 Though it by no means follozes that the silliest 
 verses to an air must, for that reason, be the origitial 
 song; yet I take this ballad, of which I have quoted 
 part, to be the old verses. The two sojigs in Ram- 
 say, one of them evidently his ozcn, are never to be 
 met with in the f re-side circle of our peasantry; 
 while that which I take to be the old song, is in 
 every shepherd's mouth. Ramsay, I suppose, had 
 thought the old verses unworthy of a place in his 
 collection.
 
 15 
 
 THE FLOWliRS OF EDINBURGH. 
 
 This song is one of the many effusions of Scots 
 
 Jacobitism. — The title, Flowers of Edinburgh, has 
 
 no manner of connexion with the present verses, so 
 
 I suspect there has been an older set of words, of 
 
 zvhich the title is all that remains. 
 
 By the bye, it is singular enough that the Sco- 
 tish Muses were all Jacobites. — / have paid more 
 attention to every description of Scots songs than 
 perhaps any body living has done, and I do not re- 
 collect one single stanza, or even the title of the 
 most trifing Scots air, zchich has the least panegy- 
 rical reference to the families of Nassau or JBruns- 
 wick; while there are hundreds satirizing them. — 
 This may be thought no panegyric on the Scots 
 Poets, but I mean it as such. For myself, I would 
 ahcays take it as a compliment to have it said, that 
 my heart ran before my head;* — and surely the 
 
 * Poor Burns! — Thy heart indeed ran always before thy 
 liead ; but never didst thou fail to carry thy reader's heart along 
 with thee. — Instead of kindling at the indignities offered to thy 
 native land, liadst thou been a wise and a prudent poet, thou 
 would'st have tuned thy lyre to the praise of some powerful 
 family, and carefully abstaiued from drawing on thy head the 
 
 resentment
 
 16 
 
 gallant though unfortunate house of Stuart, the 
 kings of our fathers for so many heroic ages, is a 
 theme much more interesting than * * * * 
 
 resentment of the guilty great, or their descendants. Thou 
 niightest then have rolled in affluence, and ceased to struggle 
 under the insulting taunts of every little upstart in office. Thou 
 mightest have flourished in thy day, and left behind thee an off- 
 spring securely treading the path of honours and preferment, in- 
 stead of leaving thy wife and children poor and pennyless, at the 
 mercy of the world. — All this thou mightest have done ; but 
 then thou would'st not have been a poet. Thy mantle has in- 
 deed been claimed by the first of a new order of poets, who 
 has done all that thou would'st have disdained to do. The world 
 has seen with astonishment, the solid treasures realized by the 
 speculating muse ; but the meretricious laurel will soon wither 
 around the wearer's brow, and succeeding generations will turn 
 with contempt from the cold and the courtly strain. 
 
 I do not mean to say that poetry and prudence are altogether 
 incompatible ; but that prudence which would stifle the feelings 
 which should glow in every manly bosom, can never exist with 
 true and genuine poetry. The prudence that would suppress 
 the indignant strain of a Campbell at the horrors of Warsaw, or 
 at the cries of the helpless women and children of our American 
 brethren mangled and murdered by Savages, spurred on by 
 cold and unfeeling politicians ; — the prudence that could see 
 unmoved the smoking villages and unhallowed butchery which 
 followed in the train -of CuUoden, the unsophisticated muse 
 will ever disdain. He can never be a poet who does not feel as 
 a man. — Ed.
 
 17 
 
 JAMIE GAY. 
 
 Jamie Gay is another and a tolerable Anglo- 
 Scotish piece. 
 
 MY DEAR JOCKIE. 
 
 Another Anglo- Scotish production. 
 
 TYE, GAE RUB HER O ER WI STRAE. 
 
 It is self-evident that the first four lines of this 
 song are part of a song more ancient than Ramsay's 
 beautiful verses which are annexed to them. As 
 music is the language of nature; and poetry, parti- 
 cularly songs, are always less or more localized (if I 
 may be allowed the verb) by some of the modifica- 
 tions of time and place, this is the reason zchy so 
 many of our Scots airs have outlived their original, 
 and perhaps many subsequent sets of verses; except a 
 single name, or phrase, or sometimes one or trco 
 lines, simply to distinguish the tunes by. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 >8 
 
 To this day amotig people who know nothing of 
 Ramsai/'s verses, the following is the song, and all 
 the song that ever I heard : — 
 
 Gin ye meet a bonie lassie, 
 Gie her a kiss and let her gae ; 
 
 But gin ye meet a dirty hizzie, 
 Fye, gar rub her o'er wi' strae. 
 
 Fye, gae rub her, rub her, rub her, 
 Fye, gae rub her o'er wi' strae : 
 
 An' gin ye meet a dirty hizzie, 
 Fye, gar rub her o'er wi' strae. 
 
 Look up to Pentland's tow'ring tap,* 
 Bury'd beneath great wreaths of snaw, 
 
 O'er ilka cleugh, ilk scar, and slap. 
 As high as ony Roman wa'. 
 
 * This spirited imitation of the " Vides ut alta stet nive candi- 
 dum, Smacte," of Horace, is considered as one of the happiest 
 efforts of the author's genins. — For a very elegant critique on 
 the poem, and a comparison of its merits with those of the ori- 
 ginal, the reader is referred to Lord Woodhouselee's Remarks on 
 the Writings of Ramsay, vol. i. p. 98. London, 1800.
 
 19 
 
 Driving their baws frae whins or tee, 
 There's no nae gowfers to be seen ; 
 
 Nor dousser fowk wysing a-jee 
 
 The byass-bouls on Tamson's green. 
 
 Then fling on coals, and ripe the ribs, 
 And beek the house baith butt and ben ; 
 
 That mutchkin stowp it hads but dribs, 
 Then let's get in die tappit hen. 
 
 Good claret best keeps out the cauld. 
 And drives away the winter soon ; 
 
 It makes a man baith gash and bauld, 
 And heaves his saul beyond the moon. 
 
 Leave to the gods your ilka care. 
 
 If that tliey think us worth their while, 
 
 They can a rowth of blessings spare, 
 Which will our fasliious fears beguile. 
 
 For what they have a mind to do, 
 
 That will they do, should we gang wood ; 
 
 If they command the storms to blaw, 
 Then upo' sight the hailstains thud. 
 
 But soon as ere they cry, " Be quiet," 
 The blatt'ring winds dare nae mair move, 
 
 But cour into their caves, and wait 
 The high command of supreme Jo^ c. 
 c 2
 
 20 
 
 Let neist day come as it thinks fit, 
 The present minute's only ours ; 
 
 On pleasure let's employ our wit, 
 And laugh at fortune's fickle powers. 
 
 Be sure ye dinna quat the grip 
 Of ilka joy when ye are young. 
 
 Before auld age your vitals nip, 
 And lay ye twafald o'er a rung. 
 
 Sweet youth's a blyth and heartsome time; 
 
 Then, lads and lasses, while it's May, 
 Gae pou the gowan in its prime. 
 
 Before it wither and decay. 
 
 Watch the saft minutes of delyte. 
 
 When Jenny speaks beneath her breath, 
 
 And kisses, laying a' the wyte 
 On you, if she kepp ony skaith. 
 
 " Haith, ye're ill-bred," she'll smiling say; 
 
 " Ye'U worry me, ye greedy rook ;" 
 Syne frae your arms she'll rin away. 
 
 And hide hersell in some dark nook. 
 
 Her laugh will lead you to the place 
 Where lies the happiness you want. 
 
 And plainly tells you to your face. 
 Nineteen nay-says are half a grant
 
 21 
 
 Now to her heaving bosom cling, 
 And sweetly toolie for a kiss, 
 
 Frae her fair finger whop a ring, 
 As taiken of a future bliss. 
 
 These bennisons, I'm very sure, 
 Are of the gods' indulgent grant ; 
 
 Then, surly carles, whisht, forbear 
 To plague us with your whining cant. 
 
 THE LASS O LIVISTON. 
 
 The old song, in three eight-line stanzas, is well 
 known, and has merit as to wit and humour; but it 
 is rather unfit for insertion. — It begins, 
 
 The bonie lass o' Liviston, 
 
 Her name ye ken, her name ye ken, 
 
 And she has written in her contract. 
 To lie her lane, to lie her lane. 
 
 &c. &c.
 
 22 
 
 THE LAST TIME 1 CAME O ER THE MOOR. 
 
 HaMSAY foujid the Just line of this song, which 
 had been preserved as the title of the charming air, 
 and then composed the rest of the verses to suit that 
 line. This has always a finer effect than composing 
 English zoords, or words with an idea foreign to the 
 spirit of the old title. Where old titles of songs 
 convey any idea at all, it will generally be found to 
 be quite in the spirit of the air. 
 
 JOHNNY S GRAY BREEKS. 
 
 Though this has certainly every evidence of 
 being a Scotish air, yet there is a well-known tune 
 and song in the North of Ireland, called, The 
 Weaver and his Shuttle, O, which though sung much 
 quicker, is every note the very tune. 
 
 When I was in my se'nteen year, 
 
 I was baith blythe and bonny, 
 O the lads loo'd me baith far and near, 
 
 But I loo'd nane but Johnny :
 
 23 
 
 He gain'd my heart in twa three weeks, 
 He spake sae blythe and kindly ; 
 
 And I made him new gray breeks, 
 That fitted him most finely. 
 
 He was a handsome fellow ; 
 
 His humour was baith frank and free, 
 His bonny locks sae yellow, 
 
 Like gowd they glitter'd in my ee ; — 
 His dimpl'd chin and rosy cheeks, 
 
 And face sae fair and ruddy ; 
 And then a-days his gray breeks. 
 
 Was neither auld nor duddy.* 
 
 But now they're threadbare worn, 
 
 Tliey're wider than they wont to be ; 
 They're tashed-like,-]- and sair torn. 
 
 And clouted sair on ilka knee. 
 But gin I had a simmer's day, 
 
 As I have had right mony, 
 I'd make a web o' new gray. 
 
 To be breeks to my Johnny. 
 
 For he's weel wordy o' them. 
 
 And better gin I had to gie, 
 And I'll tak pains upo' them, 
 
 Frae fauts I'll strive to keep them free. 
 
 * Ragged. t Stained
 
 24 
 
 To dead him weel shall be my care, 
 And please him a' my study ; 
 
 But he maun wear the auld pair 
 Awee, tho' they be duddy. 
 
 For when the lad was in his prime, 
 
 Like him there was nae rnony. 
 He ca'd me aye his bonny thing, 
 
 Sae wha wou'd na lo'e Johnny ? 
 So I lo'e Johnny's gray breeks, 
 
 For a' the care they've gi'en me yet, 
 And gin we live anither year. 
 
 We'll keep them hale betwen us yet. 
 
 Now to conclude, — his gray breeks, 
 
 ril sing them up wi' mirth and glee ; 
 Here's luck to a' the gray steeks,* 
 
 That show themsells upo' the knee ! 
 And if wi' health I'm spared, 
 
 A' wee while as I may, 
 I shall hae them prepared. 
 
 As well as ony that's o' gray. 
 
 * Stitches.
 
 25 
 
 MAY EVE, OR KATE OF ABERDEEN. 
 
 Kate of Aberdeen, is, I believe, the work of 
 poor Cunningham the player ; of whom the follow- 
 ing anecdote, though told before, deserves a recital. 
 A fat dignitary of the church coming past Cunning- 
 ham one Sunday as the poor poet was busy plying a 
 fishing-rod in some stream iiear Durham, his native 
 country, his reverence reprimanded Cunningham 
 very severely for such an occupation on such a day.
 
 26 
 
 The poor poet, with that inoffensive gentleness of' 
 manners which was his peculiar characteristic, re- 
 plied, that he hoped God and his reverence would 
 forgive his seeming profanity of that sacred day, 
 " as he had no dinner to eat, but what lay at the 
 bottom of that pool !" This, Mr. Woods, the 
 player, who knew Cunningham well, and esteemed 
 him much, assured me was true.* 
 
 * The Editor, on his way to Edinburgh, had an interview witli 
 the celebrated Bewick, of Newcastle, who favoured him with 
 the annexed interesting Portrait of Cunningham, which he drew 
 two days before the Poet's death. 
 
 Through life Bewick has possessed a vivid recollection oi Cha- 
 racter, and to this happy faculty we owe some of the most vigor- 
 ous productions of his pencil. The Poems of Cunningham were 
 the delight of his youthful mind; so much so, that he emphati- 
 cally declared he used to read his verses with the same enthusiasm 
 as others read their prayer-books and bibles, — He walked after 
 the Poet in the streets of Newcastle, stopped, loitered behind, 
 repassed liini ; and in this manner, unobserved by the poor 
 dying Bard, obtained the sketch which the Editor now presents 
 to the public. The little handkerchief, or rather the remains 
 of a handkerchief, in his hand, contained a herring, and some 
 other small matter of food. 
 
 Cunningham had little consciousness of his own merit as a 
 Poet, and seldom wrote but when urged by necessity. His 
 highest ambition was to be considered a great Actor, for which 
 he had no requisite eitiier of person or talents. When in Mr. 
 Bates's company of comedians, he had generally a benefit night 
 
 at
 
 27 
 
 The silver moon's enamour'd beam, 
 
 Steals softly through the night, 
 To wanton with the winding stream. 
 
 And kiss reflected light. 
 To beds of state go balmy sleep, 
 
 ('Tis where you've seldom been,) 
 May's vigil while the shepherds keep 
 
 With Kate of Aberdeen ! 
 
 at North Shields, and beins; much beloved, numbers flocked to 
 it from Newcastle. He would declare afterwards to his friends, 
 with his usual naivete, that so crowded a house was drawn by his 
 theatrical eminence ! 
 
 An occurrence not generally known gave the first shock to this 
 good man's heart. His volume of Poems was dedicated to Gar- 
 rick, whom in his admiration of theatrical talent he would natu- 
 rally esteem the first man that ever existed. He trudged up to 
 the metropolis to present his volume to this celebrated character. 
 He saw him ; and, according to his own phrase, he was treated 
 by him in the most humiliating and scurry manner imaginable. 
 Garrick assumed a cold and stately air ; insulted Cunningham 
 by beliaving to him as to a common beggar, and gave him a 
 couple of guineas, accompanied with t\ih speech: — " Playeks, 
 Sir, as well as Poets, aie always poor." 
 
 Tlie blow was too severe for the Poet. He was so confused 
 at the time, that he iiad not the use of his faculties, and indeed 
 never recollected that lie ought to have spurned the offer with 
 contciDpt, till his best friend, Mrs. Slack, of Newcastle, remind 
 ed him of it by giving him a sound box on the ear, when lie re- 
 turned
 
 ' 28 
 
 Upon the green the virgins wait, 
 
 In rosy chaplets gay, 
 Till morn unbar her golden gate. 
 
 And give the promis'd May. 
 Methinks I hear the maids declare 
 
 The promis'd May, when seen, 
 Not half so fragrant, half so fair. 
 
 As Kate of Aberdeen ! 
 
 Strike up the tabor's boldest notes. 
 We'll rouse the nodding grove ; 
 
 The nested birds shall raise their throats, 
 And hail the maid I love : 
 
 turned once more beneath her sheltering roof, and related his 
 sad story. 
 
 The repulse, however, preyed deeply on his spirits, and drove 
 him to tliat fatal resource of disappointment,— dram drinking. 
 
 When he had money he gave it away to people in distress, 
 leaving himself pennyless. His kind protectress, Mrs. Slack, 
 used to empty his pockets before he went out, of the little that 
 was in them, as one takes halfpence from a school-boy to prevent 
 him from purchasing improper trash : How illustrative of the 
 childish simplicity of his character! 
 
 From his emaciated appearance in this portrait, he might be 
 supposed very aged; yet from the inscription on his tomb-stone 
 in the churchyard of St. John's, at Newcastle, it appears he was 
 only 44 years old when he died. 
 
 These particulars were collected from Mrs. Slack's daughter,, 
 and Mr. Thomas Bewick, both of Newcastle.
 
 29 
 
 And see — the matin lark mistakes, 
 
 He quits the tufted green ; 
 Fond bird ! 'tis not the morning breaks, 
 
 'Tis Kate of Aberdeen ! 
 
 Now Hghtsome o'er the level mead. 
 
 Where midnight fairies rove, 
 Like them, the jocund dance we'll lead, 
 
 Or tune the reed to love: 
 For see the rosy May draws nigh. 
 
 She claims a virgin queen ; 
 And hark, the happy shepherds cry, 
 
 " 'Tis Kate of Aberdeen !" 
 
 THE LASS OF PATIES MILL. 
 
 In Sinclair's Statistical Account of Scotland, this 
 song is localized (o verb I must use for want of an- 
 other to express my idea) somewhere in the North of 
 Scotland, and likewise is claimed by Ayrshire. — 
 The following anecdote I had from the present Sir 
 William Cunningham, of Robertland, who had it 
 from the last John, Earl of Loudon. — The then 
 Karl of Loudon, father to Earl John, before men- 
 tioned, had Ramsay at Loudon, and one day walk-
 
 30 
 
 ing together hy the hanks of Irvine water, near 
 New-Mills, at a place yet called Patie's Mill, they 
 were struck with the appearance of a beautiful coun- 
 try girl. His lordship observed, that she would be 
 a fine theme for a song. — Allan lagged behind in 
 returning to Loudon Castle, and at dinner produced 
 this identical song. 
 
 The lass of Patie's mill, 
 
 So bonny, blyth, and gay, 
 In spite of all my skill, 
 
 She stole ray heart away. 
 When tedding of the hay. 
 
 Bare-headed on the green, 
 Love 'midst her locks did play. 
 
 And wanton'd in her een. 
 
 Her arms white, romid, and smooth, 
 
 Breasts rising in their dawn, 
 To age it would give youth, 
 
 To press 'em with his hand : 
 Thro' all my spirits ran 
 
 An ecstasy of bliss, 
 When I such sweetness fand 
 
 Wrapt in a balmy kiss.
 
 31 
 
 Without the help of art, 
 
 Like flowers which grace die wild, 
 She did her sweets impart, 
 
 Whene'er she spoke or smil'd. 
 Her looks they were so mild, 
 
 Free from affected pride. 
 She me to love beguil'd; 
 
 I wish'd her for my bride. 
 
 O had I all that wealth, 
 
 Hopeton's high mountains* fill, 
 Insur'd lang life and health. 
 
 And pleasure at my will ; 
 I'd promise and fulfil, 
 
 That none but bonny she. 
 The lass of Patie's mill 
 
 Shou'd share the same wi' me. 
 
 • Thirty-three miles south-west of Edinburgh, where the Earl 
 of Hopeton's mines of gold and lead are.
 
 32 
 
 THE TURNIMSPIKE. 
 
 There is a stanza of this excellent song for local 
 humour, omitted in this set, — where I have placed 
 the asterisms.* 
 
 Hersell pe highland shentleman, 
 Pe auld as Pothwell Prig, man ; 
 
 And mony alterations seen 
 Amang te lawland whig, man. 
 
 Fal, &c. 
 
 First when her to the lawlands came, 
 Nainsell was driving cows, man ; 
 
 There was nae laws about him's nerse. 
 About the preeks or trews, man. 
 
 Nainsell did wear the philabeg, 
 The plaid prick't on her shouder ; 
 
 The guid claymore hung pe her pelt, 
 De pistol sharg'd wi' pouder. 
 
 * Burns had placed - the asterisms between the 9th and 10th 
 verses. Tlie verse is here restored.
 
 33 
 
 But for whereas these cursed preeks. 
 Wherewith mans nerse be locket, 
 
 O hon I that e'er she saw the day ! 
 For a' her houghs be prokit. 
 
 Every ting in de highlands now 
 
 Pe tum'd to alteration ; 
 The sodger dwall at our door-sheek, 
 
 And tat's te great vexation, 
 
 Scotland be turn't a Ningland now,. 
 
 An' laws pring on de eager ; 
 Nainsell wad durk him for his deeds. 
 
 But oh ! she fear te sodger. 
 
 Anither law came after dat. 
 Me never saw de like, man ; 
 
 They mak a lang road on de crund. 
 And ca' him Turnimspike, man. 
 
 An' wow ! she pe a ponny road. 
 Like Louden corn-rigs, man ; 
 
 Where twa carts may gang on her. 
 An' no preak ithers legs, man. 
 
 They sharge a penny for ilka horse, 
 (In troth, they'll no pe sheaper) ; 
 
 For nought put gaen upo' the crund, 
 And they gie me a paper.
 
 34 
 
 They tak the horse then py te heady 
 And tere tey mak her stan, man ; 
 
 Me tell tern, me hae seen te day, 
 Tey had na sic comma?i\ man. 
 
 Nae doubt, Nalnsell maun traw his purse^ 
 And pay tern what him likes, man ; 
 
 1^11 see a shudgment on his toor ; 
 Tat filthy Tumimspike, man. 
 
 But I'll awa to the Highland hills, 
 Where te'il a ane dare turn her, 
 
 And no come near your Turniraspike, 
 Unless it pe to pum her. 
 
 Fal, &c. 
 
 HIGHLAND LADDIE. 
 
 j4s this zeas a favorite theme with our later Sco- 
 tish muses, there are several airs and songs of that 
 name. That which 1 take to be the oldest, is to be 
 found in the Musical Museum, beginning, I hae 
 been at Crookie-den.* — One reason for my thinking 
 
 * I hae been at Crookie-den,* 
 
 My bonnie laddie, Highland laddie ; 
 Viewing Willie and his men, 
 
 My bonie laddie, Highland laddie. 
 
 • A vulgar cant name for Hell. 
 
 There
 
 35 
 
 so is, that Oswald has it in his collection hy the name 
 of The auld Highland Laddie. — It is also knozvn by 
 the name of Jinglan Johnie, which is a well-known 
 song of four or five stanzas, and seems to be an ear- 
 lier song than Jacobite times. As a proof of this, 
 it is little known to the peasantry by the name of 
 Highland Laddie ; while every body knows Jinglan 
 Johnie. The song begins, 
 
 Jinglan John, the meickle man. 
 
 He met wi' a lass was blythe and bonie. 
 
 Another Highland Laddie is also in the Museum, 
 vol. V, which I take to be Ramsay s original, as he 
 has borrowed the chorus " O my bonie Highland lad. 
 
 There our faes that burnt and slew, 
 My bonie laddie, Highland laddie ; 
 
 There, at last, they gat their due, 
 My bonie laddie, Highland laddie. 
 
 Satan sits in his black neuk, 
 
 My bonie laddie, Highland laddie ; 
 
 Breaking sticks to roast the Duke, 
 My bonie laddie, Highland laddie ; 
 
 The bluidy monster gae a yell, 
 My bonie laddie. Highland laddie ; 
 
 And loud the laugh gaed round a' hell • 
 My bonie laddie, Highland laddie. 
 
 D 2
 
 S6 
 
 S^c." It consists of three stanzas, besides the chorus ; 
 and has humor in its composition — it is an excellent 
 but somewhat licentious song. — It begins 
 
 As I cam o'er Cairney-Mount, 
 
 And down amang the blooming heather, &c. 
 
 This air, and the common Highland Laddie, seem 
 only to be different sets. 
 
 Another Highland Laddie, also in the Museum, 
 vol. V. is the tune of several Jacobite fragments. — 
 One of these old songs to it, only exists, as far as 1 
 knozv, in these four lines — 
 
 Whare hae ye been a' day, 
 
 Bonie laddie. Highland laddie ? 
 
 Down the back o' Bell's brae, 
 
 Courtin Maggie, courtin Maggie. 
 
 Another of this name is Dr. Arne's beautiful air, 
 called, the new Highland Laddie.* 
 
 * The following observation was found in a memorandum- 
 book belonging to Burns: 
 
 The Highlanders' Prayer at Sheriff-Muir. 
 
 " O L — d be thou with us ; but, if tbou be not with us, be 
 not against us ; but leave it between the red coats and us !"
 
 37 
 
 THE GENTLE SWAIN. 
 
 To sing suck a beautiful air to such execrable 
 verses, is downright * * * qf common sense ! 
 The Scots verses indeed are tolerable. 
 
 HE STOLE MY TENDER HEABT AWAY. 
 
 This is an jinglo-Scotish production, but by no 
 means a bad one. 
 
 FAIREST OF THE FAIR. 
 
 It is too barefaced to take Dr. Perc7/'s charm- 
 ing song, and by the means of tramposing a few 
 English words into Scots, to offer to pass it for a 
 Scots song. — / was not acquainted with the Editor 
 until the first volume was nearly finished^ else, had 
 I hiown in time, I would have prevented such an 
 impudent absurdity.* 
 
 * These are Dr. Percy's English verses: 
 
 O Nancy, wilt tliou go with me, 
 
 Nor sigh to leave the flaunting town ? 
 
 Can silent glens have charms for thee, 
 Tiie lowly cot and russet gown? 
 
 No
 
 38 
 
 THE BLAITHRIE O T. 
 
 The following is a set of this song, which was 
 the earliest song I remember to have got hy heart. 
 When a child, an old woman sung it to me, and I 
 picked it up, every word, at first hearing. 
 
 O Willy weel I mind, I lent you my hand. 
 To sing you a song which you did me command ; 
 But my memory's so bad, I had almost forgot 
 That you call'd it the gear and the blaithrie o't. 
 
 No longer drest in silken sheen, 
 
 No longer deck'd witli jewels rare, 
 Say, canst thou quit each courtly scene, 
 
 Where thou wert, fairest of the fair. 
 
 O Nancy, when thou'rt far away, 
 
 Wilt thou not cast a wish behind ? 
 Say, canst tliou face the parching ray, 
 
 Nor shrink before the wintry wind? 
 
 O can that soft and gentle mien 
 
 Extremes of hardship learn to bear ; 
 Nor, sad, regret each courtly scene. 
 
 Where thou wort fairest of the fair? 
 
 O Nancy,
 
 S9 
 
 I'JI not sing abotit confusion, delusion, or pride, 
 I'll sing about a laddie was for a virtuous bride ; 
 For virtue is an ornament that time will never rot. 
 And preferable to gear and the blaithrie p't 
 
 Tho' my lassie hae nae scarlets or silks to put on. 
 We envy not the greatest that sits upon the throne ; 
 I wad rather hae my lassie, tho' she cam in her smock. 
 Than a princess wi' the gear and the blaithrie o't. 
 
 O Nancy, canst thou love so true, 
 Through perils keen with me to go ? 
 
 Or when thy swain mishap shall rue, 
 To share with him the pangs of woe? 
 
 Say, shou'd disease, or pain befal, 
 Wilt thou assume the nurse's care? 
 
 Nor, wistful, those gay scenes recal, 
 ^Vhere thou wert fairest of the fair? 
 
 And when at last thy love shall die, 
 Wilt thou receive his parting breath? 
 
 Wilt thou repress each struggling sigh. 
 And cheer with smiles the bed of death? 
 
 And wilt thou o'er bis breathless clay 
 Strew flow'rs, and drop the tender tear? 
 
 Nor then regret tliose scenes so gay, 
 Where thou wert fairest of the fair?
 
 40 
 
 Tho' we bae nae horses or menzie at command. 
 
 We will toil on our foot, and we'll work wi* our hand ; 
 
 And when wearied without rest, we'll find it sweet in 
 
 any spot. 
 And we'll value not the gear and the blaithrie o't. 
 
 If we hae ony babies, we'll count them as lent ; 
 Hae we less, hae we mair, we will ay be content ; 
 For "they say they hae mair pleasure that wins but a 
 
 groat. 
 Than the miser wi' his gear and the blaithrie o't. 
 
 I'll not meddle wi' th' affairs o' the kirk or the queen ; 
 They're nae matters for a sang, let them sink let them 
 
 swim. 
 On your kirk I'll ne'er encroach, but I'll hold it still 
 
 remote, 
 Sae tak this for the orear and the blaithrie o't. 
 
 THE BLAITHRIE O T. 
 
 When I think on this warld's pelf, 
 
 And the little wee share I have o't to myself, 
 
 And how the lass that wants it is by the lads forgot, 
 
 May the shame fa' the gear and the blaithrie o't !* 
 
 * Slmme fall the geer and the blad'ry o't, is the turn of an old 
 Scotish song, spoken when a yonng handsome girl marries an 
 old man, upon the account of his wealth. 
 
 Kelly's Scots Proverbs.
 
 41 
 
 Jockie was the laddie that held the pleugh, 
 
 But now he's got gowd and gear eneugh ; 
 
 He thinks nae mair of me that wears the plaiden coat; 
 
 May the shame fa' the gear and the blaithrie 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 blaithrie o't ! 
 
 But all this shall never daunton me, 
 
 Sae lang's I keep my fancy free : 
 
 For the lad that's sae inconstant, he's not worth a groat; 
 
 May the shame fa' the gear and the blaithrie o't I 
 
 TWEED SIDE. 
 
 In Ramsay s Tea-table Miscellany, he tells us 
 that about thirty of the songs in that publication 
 were the works of some young gentlemen of his ac- 
 quaintance; which songs are marked with the letters 
 D. C. &ic*—Old Mr. Tytler, of Woodhouselee, the 
 
 • Some of the best songs in tlie English language were written 
 by contemporaries and countrymen of Ramsay's j hy Crawfurd, 
 
 Hamilton
 
 42 
 
 worthy and able defender of the beauteous queen of 
 Scots, told me that the songs marked C, in the Tea- 
 table, were the composition of a Mr. Crauford, of 
 the house of Achinames, who was afterwards unfor- 
 tunately drowned coming from France. — As Tytler 
 was most intimately acquainted with Allan Ramsay, 
 I think the anecdote may be depended on. Of con- 
 sequence, the beautifid song o/" Tweed Side is Mr. 
 Crawford's, and indeed does great honor to his po- 
 etical talents. He was a Robert Crawford; the 
 Mary he celebrates, was Mary Stuart, of the Castle- 
 milk family,* afterwards married to a Mr. John 
 Relches. 
 
 What beauties does Flora disclose ! 
 
 How sweet are her smiles upon Tweed! 
 Yet Mary's still sweeter than those; 
 
 Both nature and fancy exceed. 
 
 Hamilton of Bangour, and Lord Binning', for we have nothing 
 more perfect, in that species of composition, than Ttceedsidet 
 " What beauties does Flora disclose;" — " Go, plaintive sounds;" — 
 and, " Did ever Swain a Nymph adore." 
 
 Lord Woodhouselee's Re7narJcs on the Writings 
 of Ramsay, p. 116. 
 
 • If the reader refer to the note in page 62, he will there find 
 that Mr. Walter Scott states this song to have been written in 
 honour of another lady, a Miss Mary Lilias Scott,
 
 43 
 
 Nor daisy, nor sweet blushing rose, 
 Nor all the gay flowers of the field, 
 
 Nor Tweed gliding gently through those, 
 Such beauty and pleasure does yield. 
 
 The warblers are heard in the grove, 
 
 The linnet, the lark, and the thrush, 
 Tlie blackbird, and sweet cooing dove. 
 
 With music enchant every bush. 
 Come, let us go forth to the mead. 
 
 Let us see how the primroses spring. 
 We'll lodge in some village on Tweed, 
 
 And love while the feather'd folks sing. 
 
 How does my love pass the long day ? 
 
 Does Mary not tend a few sheep ? 
 Do they never carelessly stray. 
 
 While happily she lies asleep ? 
 Tweed's murmurs should lull her to rest ; 
 
 Kind nature indulging my bliss, 
 To relieve the soft pains of my breast, 
 
 I'd steal an ambrosial kiss. 
 
 *Tis she does the virgins excel. 
 
 No beauty with her may compare ; 
 
 Love's graces around her do dwell ; 
 She's fairest, where thousands are fair.
 
 44 
 
 Say, channer, where do thy flocks stray ? 
 
 Oh ! tell me at noon where they feed ; 
 Shall I seek them on sweet winding Tay, 
 
 Or the pleasanter banks of the Tweed ? 
 
 / have seen a song, calling itself the original 
 Tweed Side, and said to have been composed by a 
 Lord Yester. It consisted of two stanzas, of which 
 I still recollect the first. 
 
 When Maggy and I was acquaint, 
 
 I carried my noddle fu' hie ; 
 Nae lintwhite on a' the green plain. 
 
 Nor gowdspink sae happy as me : 
 But I saw her sae fair, and I lo'ed ; , 
 
 I wooM, but I came nae great speed ', 
 So now I maun wander abroad. 
 
 And lay my banes far frae the Tweed.* 
 
 * The last stanza runs thus : — Ed. 
 
 To Meiggy my love I did tell, 
 
 Saut tears did my passion express, 
 Alas ! for I loo'd her o'crwell, 
 
 An' tlie women loo sic a man less. 
 Her heart it was frozen and canid, 
 
 Her pritle had ray ruin decreed ; 
 Therefore I will wander abroad, 
 
 And lay my banes far frae the Tweed.
 
 45 
 
 THE BOATIE ROWS. 
 
 The author of the Boatie Rows, was a Mr. Ewen 
 of Aberdeen. It is a charming display of womanly 
 affection mingling with the concerns and occupations 
 of life. It is nearly equal to There's nae luck 
 about the house. 
 
 weel may the boatie row, 
 And better may she speed ; 
 And leesome may the boatie row 
 That wins my bairns bread : 
 
 The boatie rows, the boatie rows. 
 The boatie rows indeed; 
 And weel may the boatie row 
 Tliat wins the bairns bread. 
 
 1 cust* my line in Largo bay, 
 And fishes [ catch'd nine ; 
 
 There was three to boil, and three to fry. 
 
 And three to bait the line : 
 
 The boatie rows, the boatie rows, 
 
 The boatie rows indeed; 
 
 And happy be the lot of a' 
 
 Who wishes her to speed. 
 
 • Cast. — ^The Aberdeenshire dialect.
 
 46 
 
 O weel may the boatie row, 
 That fills a heavy creel,* 
 And cleads us a' frae head to feet. 
 And buys our porridge 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 me my heart, 
 
 muckle lighter grew my creel. 
 He swore we'd never part : 
 
 The boatie rows, the boatie rows, 
 The boatie rows fu' weel ; 
 And muckle lighter is the load, 
 When love bears up the creel. 
 
 My kurtch I put upo' my head. 
 And dress'd mysel' fu' braw; 
 
 1 true my heart was douf an' wae. 
 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. 
 
 * An ozier basket.
 
 47 
 
 ^^^len Sawney, Jock, an' Jauetie, 
 
 Are up and gotten lear, 
 
 They'll help to gar the boatie row, 
 
 And lighten a' our care : 
 
 The boatie rows, the boatie rows, 
 
 The boatie rows fu' weel; 
 
 And lightsome be her heart that bears 
 
 The murlaiu, and the creel. 
 
 And when wi' age we're worn down, 
 And hirpliug round the door. 
 They'll row to keep us dry and warm, 
 As we did them before: — 
 Then weel may the boatie row. 
 She wins the bairns bread; 
 And happy be the lot of a' 
 That wish the boat to speed! 
 
 THE HAPPY MARRIAGE. 
 
 Another, but very pretty Anglo- Scotish piece.* 
 
 * The Editor subjoins this song as a fair specimen of these 
 AngloScotish productions. 
 
 How blest has my time been, what joys have I known. 
 Since wedlock's soft bondage made Jessy my own ! 
 So joyful my heart is, so easy my chain, 
 That freedom is tasteless, and roving a pain. 
 
 Thro'
 
 48 
 
 THE POSIE. 
 
 It appears evident to me that Oszvald composed 
 his Roslin Castle on the modulation of this air. — In 
 the second part of OszcaMs, in the three first bars, 
 he has either hit on a wonderful similarity to, or 
 else he has entirely/ borrozved the three first bars of the 
 old air; and the close of both tunes is almost exactly 
 the same. The old verses to zohich it was sung, 
 
 Thro' walks grown with woodbines, as often we stray, 
 Aroand us our boys and girls frolic and play : 
 How pleasing their sport is ! the wanton ones see 
 And borrow their looks from my Jessy and me. 
 
 To try her sweet temper, oft times am I seen 
 In revels all day with the nymphs on the green : 
 Tho' painful my absence, my doubts she beguiles, 
 And meets me at night with complacence and smiles. 
 
 What tho' on her cheeks the rose loses its hue, 
 Her wit and good humour bloom all the year thro' ; 
 Time still, as he flies, adds increase to her truth. 
 And gives to her mind what he steals from her youth. 
 
 Ye shepherds so gay, who make love to ensnare. 
 And cheat, with false' vows, the too credulous fair; 
 In search of true pleasure, how vainly you roam f 
 To hold it for life, you must find it at home.
 
 49 
 
 when I took down the notes from a country girl's 
 voice had no great merit. — The following is a spe- 
 cimen : 
 
 There was a pretty May,* and a milkin she went ; 
 
 Wi' her red rosy cheeks, and her coal-black hair : 
 And she has met a young man a comin o'er the bent. 
 
 With a double and adieu to thee fair May. 
 
 O where are ye goin, my ain pretty May, 
 
 Wi' thy red rosy cheeks, and thy coal-black hair ? 
 
 Unto the yowes a milkin, kind sir, she says. 
 With a double and adieu to thee fair May. 
 
 What if I gang alang wi' thee, my ain pretty May, 
 Wi' thy red rosy cheeks, and thy coal-black hair ; 
 
 Wad I be aught the warse o' that, kind sir, she says. 
 With a double and adieu to thee fair May. 
 &c. &c. 
 
 THE POSIE. 
 
 O luve will venture in, where it daur na weel be seen, 
 O luve will venture in, where wisdom ance has been, 
 But I will down yon river rove, amang the wood sai^ 
 green. 
 And a' to pu' a posie to my ain dear May. 
 
 • Maid. 
 VOL. I E
 
 5a 
 
 The primrose I will pu', the firstling o' the yealr, 
 And I will pu' the pink, the emblem o' my dear. 
 For she's the pink o' womankind, and blooms with- 
 out a peer ; 
 And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 
 
 I'll pu' the budding rose, when Phoebus peeps in view, 
 For it's like a baumy kiss o' her sweet bonie mou ; 
 The hyacinth's for constancy wi' its unchanging blue,. 
 And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 
 
 The lily it is pure, and the lily it is fair. 
 And in her lovely bosom I'll place the lily there ; 
 The daisy's for simplicity and unaffected air. 
 And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 
 
 Tlie hawthorn I will pu', wi' its locks o' siller grey, 
 Where, like an aged man, it stands at break o' day, 
 But the songster's nest within the bush I winna tak 
 away ; 
 And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 
 
 The woodbine I will pu', when the e'ening star is 
 
 near. 
 And the diamond draps o' dew shall be her e'er sae 
 
 clear ; 
 The violet's for modesty which weel she fa's to wear. 
 And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May.
 
 51 
 
 I'll tie the posie round wi' the silken band o' luve, 
 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 
 remuve. 
 And this will be a posie to my ain dear May. 
 
 MARY S DREAM. 
 
 The Mary here alluded to is generally supposed 
 to be Miss Mary Macghie, daughter to the Laird 
 of Airds, in Galloway. The poet was a Mr. 
 Alexander Lowe, who likewise wrote another beau- 
 tiful song, called Pompey's Ghost. — / have seen a 
 poetic epistle from him in North America, where he 
 now is, or lately was, to a lady in Scotland. — By 
 the strain of the verses, it appeared that they allude 
 to some love disappointment. 
 
 The 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 tow'r 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. 
 e2
 
 ■ 52 
 
 She from her pillow gently rais'd 
 
 Her head to ask, who there might be ; 
 
 She saw young Sandy shiv'ring stand, 
 With visage pale and hollow eye ; 
 
 * O Mary, dear, cold is my clay, 
 
 * It lies beneath a stormy sea; 
 
 * Far, far from thee, I sleep in death ; 
 
 ' So, Mary, weep no more for me. 
 
 * Three stormy nights and stormy days 
 
 * We toss'd upon the raging main ; 
 
 * And long we strove our bark to save, 
 
 * But all our striving was in vain. 
 
 * E'en then when horror chill'd my blood, 
 
 ' My heart was fiU'd with love for thee : 
 
 * The storm is past, and I at rest ; 
 
 ' So, Mary, weep no more for me. 
 
 * O maiden dear, thyself prepare, 
 
 ' We soon shall meet upon that shore, 
 
 * Where love is free from doubt and care, 
 
 * And thou and I shall part no more !' 
 Loud crow'd the cock, the shadows fled, 
 
 No more of Sandy could she see ; 
 But soft the passing spirit said, 
 
 " Sweet Maiy, weep no more for me !"
 
 55 
 
 THE JOLLY BEGGAR. 
 
 Said to have been composed by King James,* on 
 a frolic of his own. 
 
 There was a jolly beggar, and a begging he was boun', 
 And he took up his quarters into a land'art town, 
 And weUl gang nae mair a roving, 
 
 Sae late into the night, 
 And well gang nae mair a roving, boys, 
 Let the moon shine ne'er sae bright ! 
 
 He wad neither ly in barn, nor yet wad he in byre, 
 But in ahint the ha' door, or else afore the fire. 
 And weUl gang nae mair, &;c. 
 
 The beggar's bed was made at e'en wi' good clean 
 
 straw and hay. 
 And in ahint the ha' door, and there the beggar lay. 
 And weHl gang nae mair, &jc. 
 
 • This Prince (whose character Dr. Percy thinks for wit and 
 libertinism bears a great resemblance to that of his gay successor 
 Charles II.) was noted for strolling about his dominions in dis- 
 guise, and for his frequent gallantries with country girls. It is 
 of the present ballad that Mr. Walpole has remarked, there is 
 something very ludicrous in the young woman's distress when she 
 thought her first favours had been thrown away upon a beggar.
 
 54 
 
 Up raise the good man's dochter, and for to bar the 
 
 door, 
 And there she saw the beggar standin i' the floor. 
 And weHl gang nae mair, S^c. 
 
 He took the lassie in his arms, and to the bed he ran, 
 O hooly, hooly wi' me, sir, ye'U waken our goodman, 
 
 And we'll gang nae mair, &)C. 
 
 The beggar was a cunnin loon, and ne'er a word he 
 
 spake. 
 Until he got his turn done, syne he began to crack, 
 And we'll gang nae mair, S;c. 
 
 Is there ony dogs into this town? maiden, tell me true, 
 And what wad ye do wi' them, my hinny and my 
 
 dow ? 
 And we'll gang nae mair, S;c. 
 
 They'll rive a' my mealpocks, and do me meikle 
 
 wrang, 
 O dool for the doing o't! are ye the puir man ? 
 
 And we'll gang nae mair, S^c. 
 
 Then she took up the rnealpocks and flang them o'er 
 
 the wa'. 
 The deil gae wi' the mealpocks, my maidenhead and a'. 
 
 And we'll gang nae mair, &jc.
 
 55 
 
 I took ye for some gentleman, at least the laird of 
 
 Brodie ;* 
 O dool for the doing o't! are ye the puir bodie ? 
 And we'll gang nae mair, Sfc. 
 
 He took the lassie in his arms, and gae her kisses 
 
 three, 
 And four-and-twenty hunder merk to pay the nurice- 
 fee, 
 j4nd we'll gang nae mair, dfc. 
 
 He took a horn frae his side, and blew baith loud 
 
 and shrill, 
 And four-and-twenty belted knights came skipping 
 o'er the hill, 
 jind we'll gang nae mair, Sfc. 
 
 * In the course of a most interesting conversation wliich 
 the Editor had with Mrs, Murray, (married to Dr. Murray, 
 of Bath), authoress of the celebrated song of " Roys Wife of 
 Aldivalloch," the present song became the subject of her remark. 
 She observed, " I have been told it was an ancestor of the pre- 
 sent Brodie, of Brodie, who is mentioned in this old ballad. 
 That family is one of the oldest and most honourable in the 
 North of Scotland: — The present Laird, whom I have known 
 and respected for many years, falls nothing short in any of the 
 good qualities of his ancestors ; and it is a higli gratification to 
 me to know that there are many young Brodies to continue the 
 line of that most respectable clan."
 
 56 
 
 Attd lie took out his little knife, loot a' his duddies* 
 
 fa'. 
 And he was the brawest gentleman that was amang 
 
 them a'. 
 And well gang nae mair, S^c. 
 
 The beggar was a cliver loon, and he lap shoulder 
 
 height, 
 O ay for sicken quarters as I gat yesternight ! 
 And we'll gang nae mair, S^c. 
 
 THE MAID THAT TENDS THE GOATS. 
 BY MR. DUDGEON. 
 
 This Dudgeon is a respectable farmer's son in 
 Berwickshire. 
 
 I WISH MY LOVE WERE IN A MIRE. 
 
 I NEVER heard more of the words of this old 
 song than the title. 
 
 * Ragged cloathing.
 
 57 
 
 ALLAN WATER. 
 
 This Allan Water, which the composer cf the 
 music has honored with the name of the air, I have 
 been told is Allan Water, in Strathallan. 
 
 TARRY woo. 
 
 This is a nery -pretty song ; but I fancy that the 
 first half stanza, as well as the tune itself, are much 
 older than the rest of the words. 
 
 Tarry woo, tarry woo, 
 Tarry woo is ill to spin ; 
 Card it well, card it well. 
 Card it well ere ye begin. 
 When 'tis carded, row'd and spun. 
 Then the work is baflens done ; 
 But when woven, drest and clean, 
 It may be cleading for a queen. 
 
 Sing, my bonny harmless sheep. 
 That feed upon the mountain's steep, 
 Bleating sweetly as ye go, 
 Thro' the winter's frost and snow j
 
 68 
 
 Hart, and hynd, and fallow-deer, 
 No be hafF so useful are : 
 Frae kings to him that hads the plow, 
 Are all oblig'd to tany woo. 
 
 Up, ye shepherds, dance and skip, 
 O'er the hills and vallies trip. 
 Sing up the praise of tarry woo, 
 Sing the flocks that bear it too ; 
 Harmless creatures without blame. 
 That dead the back, and cram the wame. 
 Keep us warm and hearty fou ; 
 Leese me on the tarry woo. 
 
 How happy is the shepherd's life. 
 Far frae courts, and free 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 Colli/ true, 
 Will defend the tarry woo. 
 
 He lives content, and envies none ; 
 Not even a monarch on his throne, 
 Tho' he the royal sceptre sways, 
 Has not sweeter holidays.
 
 39 
 
 Who'd be a king, can ony tell, 
 When a shepherd sings sae well ?* 
 Sings sae well, and pays his due, 
 With honest heart and tarry woo. 
 
 GRAMACHEEE. 
 
 The song of Gramachree was composed hy a 
 Mr. Poe, a counsellor in Dublin. This anecdote 
 I had from a gentleman who knew the lady, the 
 " Molly," who is the subject of the song, and to 
 whom Mr. Poe sent the first manuscript of his most 
 beautiful verses. I do not remember any single line 
 that has more true pathos than — 
 
 How can she break that honest heart that wears her in 
 its core ! 
 
 But as the song is Irish, it had nothing to do in 
 this collection. 
 
 • The thought contained in these two lines is an imitation of 
 a verse in a fine old song, called " Tlie Miller," which serves to 
 confirm tlie trutli of Bums'g observation on the age of " Tarry 
 Woo."— £</.
 
 60 
 
 THE COLLIERS BONIE LASSIE. 
 
 The first half stanza is much older than the days 
 of Ramsay. — The old words began thus: 
 
 The collier has a dochter, and, O, she's wonder bonie ! 
 A laird he was that sought her, rich baith in lands and 
 
 money. 
 She wad na hae a laird, nor wad she be a lady ; 
 But she wad hae a collier, the color o' her daddie. 
 
 MY AIN KIND DEARIE — O. 
 
 The old words of this song are omitted here, 
 though much more beautiful than these inserted; 
 which were mostly composed by poor Fergussofi, in 
 one of his merry humors, — The old words began 
 thus: 
 
 ni rowe thee o'er the lea-rig. 
 
 My ain kind dearie, O, 
 I'll rowe thee o'er the lea-rig. 
 
 My ain kind dearie, O, 
 Altho' the night were ne'er sae wat. 
 
 And I were ne'er sae weary, O, 
 I'll rowe thee o'er the lea-rig. 
 
 My ain kind dearie, O. —
 
 tjl 
 
 YESTREEN I HAD A PINT OF WINE. 
 
 / THINK this is the best love-song I ever com- 
 posed. 
 
 Tune — Banks of Banna. 
 
 Yestreen I had a pint o' wine, 
 
 A place where body saw na ; 
 Yestreen lay on this breast o' mine 
 
 The gowden locks of Anna. 
 The hungry Jew in wilderness, 
 
 Rejoicing o'er his manna, 
 Was naething to my hinny bliss 
 
 Upon the lips of Anna. 
 
 Ye monarchs tak the east and west, 
 
 Frae Indus to Savannah! 
 Gie me within my straining grasp 
 
 The melting form of Anna. 
 There I'll despise imperial charms, 
 
 An empress or sultana, 
 While dying raptures in her arms 
 
 I give and take with Anna ! 
 
 Awa thou flaunting god o' day ! 
 
 Awa thou pale Diana! 
 Ilk star gae hide thy twinkling ray 
 
 When I'm to meet mv Anna.
 
 62 
 
 Come, in thy raven plumage, Night, 
 (Sun, moon, and stars withdrawn a' ;) 
 
 And bring an angel pen to write. 
 My transports wi' my Anna. 
 
 MARY SCOTT, THE FLOWER OF YARROW.* 
 
 Mr. Robertson in his statistical account of the 
 parish of Selkirk, says, that Mary Scott, the Flower 
 of Yarrow, zcas descended from the Dryhope, and 
 married into the Harden family. Her daughter 
 was married to a predecessor of the present Sir 
 
 * " Near the lower extremity of St. Mary's Lake, (a beautiful 
 sheet of water, forming the reservoir from which the Yarrow 
 takes its source,) are the ruins of Dryhope tower, the birth- 
 place of Mary Scott, daugliter of Philip Scott of Dryhope, and 
 famous by the traditional name of the Flower of Yarrow. She 
 was married to Walter Scott of Harden, no less renowned for 
 his depredations, than his bride for her beauty. Her romantic 
 appellation was, in latter days, with equal justice, conferred on 
 Miss Mary Lilias Scott, the last of the elder branch of the Har- 
 den family. Mr. Scott, in a note to Marmion, proceeds to re- 
 late that, * he well remembers the talent and spirit of the latter 
 Flower of Yarrow, though age had then injured the charms 
 which procured her the name ; and that the words usually sung 
 to the air of Tweed-side, beginning, ' What beauties does Flora 
 disclose,' were composed in her honour.'
 
 Francis Elliot, of Stobhs, and of the late Lord 
 Heathjield. 
 
 There is a circumstance in their contract of mar- 
 riage that merits attention, as it strongly marks the 
 predator}/ spirit of the times. — The father-in-lazO 
 agrees to keep his daughter, for some time after the 
 marriage ; for which the son-in-law binds himself to 
 give him the profits of the first Michaelmas-moon V* 
 
 • The time when the moss-troopers and cattle-dfivers on the 
 Irorders began their nightly depredations. Cattle-stealing for- 
 merly was a mere foraging expedition ; and it has been remark- 
 ed, tliat many of the best families in the Nortli can trace their 
 descent from these daring sons of the mountains. Tiie produce 
 (by way of a dowry to a laird's daughter) of a Michaelmas-moon, 
 is proverbial; and by the aid of Lochiel's lanthom (the moon) 
 these exploits were the most desirable things imaginable. Nay, 
 to this day, a Highlander that is not a sturdy moralist, does not 
 deem it a very great crime to lift (such is the phrase) a sheep 
 now and then. If the reader be curious to contemplate one of 
 these heroes in the cradle, lie may read the following Highland 
 balou, or Nursery Song : It is wildly energetic and strongly 
 characteristic of tlie rude and uncultivated manners of the 
 Border Islands. 
 
 Hee, balou, my sweet wee Donald, 
 Picture o' the great Clanronald ! 
 Brawlie kens our wanton chief, 
 Wha got my young Highland thief. 
 
 Leeze
 
 64 
 
 DOWN THE BURN, DAVIE. 
 
 / HAVE been informed, that the tune of Down 
 the Burn, Davie, was the composition of David 
 Maigh, keeper of the blood slough hounds,* belong- 
 ing to the Laird of Riddel, in Tweeddale. 
 
 Leeze me on thy bonny craigie ! 
 An' thoH live, thou'll steal a naigie ; 
 Travel the country thro' and thro', 
 And bring hame a Carlisle cow. 
 
 Thro' the lawlands, o'er the border, 
 Weel, my babie, may thou furder : 
 Herry the louns o' the laigh countrie ; — 
 Syne to the Highlands hame to me ! 
 
 * In the South of Scotland, especially in the counties adjoin- 
 ing to England, there is another dog of a marvellous nature, 
 called Suthounds (this is improper, according to Jamieson; it 
 ought to be Sleuth-hundJ, because, when their masters are rob- 
 bed, if they tell whether it be horse, sheep, or neat, that is stolen 
 from them, immediately they pursue the scent of the thief, fol- 
 lowing him or them through all sorts of ground, and water, till 
 they find him out and seize him ; by the benefit whereof the 
 goods are often recovered again. 
 
 Lewis's Hist, of Great Brit. 1729. p. 36.
 
 65 
 
 When trees did bud, and fields were green, 
 
 And broom bloom'd fair to see ; 
 When Mary was compleat fifteen, 
 
 And love laugh'd in her e'e ; 
 Blythe Davie's blinks her heart did move, 
 
 To speak her mind thus free. 
 Gang dozen the burn Davie, love, 
 
 And I shall follow thee. 
 
 Now Davie did each lad surpass, 
 
 That dwalt on yon bum side, 
 And Mary was the bonniest lass, 
 
 Just meet to be a bride ; 
 Her cheeks were rosie, red and white, 
 
 Her een were bonie blue ; 
 Her looks were like Aurora bright. 
 
 Her lips like dropping dew. 
 
 As down the burn they took their way. 
 
 What tender tales they said ! 
 His cheek to her's he aft did lay, 
 
 And with her bosom play'd; 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 66 
 
 What pass'd, I guess, was harmless play, 
 
 And naething sure unmeet ; 
 For, ganging hame, I heard them say, 
 
 They lik'd a walk sae sweet ; 
 And that they aften should return, 
 
 Sic pleasure to renew ; 
 Quoth Mary, Love, I like the bum. 
 
 And ay shall follow you.* 
 
 BLINK o'er the BURN, SWEET BETTY. 
 
 The old words, all that I remember , are, — 
 
 Blink over the burn, sweet Betty, 
 
 It is a cavild winter night ; 
 It rains, it hails, it thunders. 
 
 The moon she gies nae light : 
 It's a' for the sake o' sweet Betty, 
 
 That ever I tint my way ; 
 Sweet, let me lie beyond thee, 
 
 Until it be break o' day. — 
 
 • The last four lines of the third stanza, being somewhat ob- 
 j ectionable in point of delicacy, are omitted. Burns altered 
 these lines. Had his alteration been attended with his usual 
 success, it would have been adopted.
 
 67 
 
 O, Betty will bake my bread. 
 And Betty will brew my ale. 
 
 And Betty will be my love. 
 When I come over the dale : 
 
 Blink over the burn, sweet Betty, 
 Blink over the burn to me. 
 
 And while I hae life, dear lassie. 
 My ain sweet Betty thou's be. — 
 
 THERE S NAE LUCK ABOUT THE HOUSE. 
 
 This is one of the most beautiful songs in the 
 Scots, or any other language. — The two lines. 
 
 And will I see his face again ! 
 And will. I hear him speak ! 
 
 as well as the two preceding ones, are unequalled 
 almost by any thing I ever heard or read : and the 
 lines, 
 
 The present moment is our ain. 
 The neist we never saw — 
 
 are worthy of the first poet. — It is long posterior to 
 Ramsay's days. — About the year 177 J, or 72, it 
 
 v2
 
 68 
 
 came first on the streets as a ballad; and I suppose 
 the composition of the song was not much anterior 
 to that period.* 
 
 And are ye sure the news is true ? 
 And are ye sure he's weel ? 
 Is this a time to talk o' wark ? 
 Ye jads, lay by your wheel! 
 Is this a time to talk of wark, 
 When Colin's at the door ? 
 Gie 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 ava; 
 
 There's little pleasure in the house, 
 
 When our gudeman's awa. 
 
 Rise up, and mak a clean fire-side, 
 Put on the muckle pat ; 
 
 * The authoress of this unique ballad (supposed to be written 
 in the character of a Mariner's Wife) was a Jean Adam, who 
 instructed a few children in an obscure village of Scotland ; and 
 who, after wandering about from place to place, and experienc- 
 ing a variety of hardships and misfortunes, died in extreme 
 wretchedness in the workhouse at Glasgow, in the year 1765. 
 
 A more detailed account of this extraordinary woman may be 
 seen in the Appendix, marked (a), at the end of tliis volume. 
 
 Ed.
 
 69 
 
 Gie little Kate her cotton gown, 
 
 And Jock his Sunday's coat ; 
 
 And mak their shoon as black as slaes, 
 
 Their hose as white as snaw ; 
 
 It's a' to please my ain gudeman, 
 
 He likes to see them braw. 
 
 For there's nae luck, S^c. 
 
 There is twa hens upon the bauk, 
 
 'Sbeen fed this month and mair ; 
 
 Mak haste and thra their necks about. 
 
 That Colin weel may fare ; 
 
 And spread the table neat and clean, 
 
 Gar ilka thing look braw ; 
 
 It's a' for love of my gudeman, — 
 
 For he's been long awa. 
 
 For there's nae luck, &;c. 
 
 O gie me down my bigonets. 
 
 My bishop-sattin gown ; 
 
 For I maun tell the baillie's wife 
 
 That Colin's come to town ; 
 
 My Sunday's shoon they maun gae on, 
 
 My hose o' pearl blue, 
 
 It's a' to please my ain gudeman. 
 
 For he's baith leel and true. 
 
 For there's nae luck, &jC.
 
 70 
 
 Sae true's his words, sae smooth's his speech, 
 
 His breath like caller air, 
 
 His very foot has music in't, 
 
 When he comes up the stair : 
 
 And will I see his face again ! 
 
 And will I hear him speak ! 
 
 I'm downright dizzy with the thought. 
 
 In troth I'm like to greet ! 
 
 For there's nae luck, S$c. 
 
 The cauld blasts of the winter wind. 
 
 That thrilled thro' my heart. 
 
 They're a' blaun by ; I hae 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, 8^c. 
 
 Since Colin's well, I'm well content, 
 
 I hae nae mair to crave ; 
 
 Could I but live to mak him blest, 
 
 I'm blest aboon the lave ; 
 
 And will I see his face again ! 
 
 And will I hear him speak ! 
 
 I'm downright dizzy with the thought. 
 
 In troth I'm like to greet !
 
 71 
 
 JOHN HAY S BONIE LASSIE. 
 
 John Hay's Bonie Lassie was daughter of John 
 Hay, Earl, or Marquis of Tweeddale, and late 
 Countess Dowager of Roxburgh. — She died at 
 Broomlands, near Kelso, some time between the 
 years 1720 and 1740. 
 
 THE BONIE BRUCKET LASSIE. 
 
 The idea of this song is to me very original: the 
 two first lines are all of it that is old. The rest of 
 the song, as well as those songs in the Museum 
 marked T, are the works of an obscure, tippling, 
 but extraordinary body of the name of Tytler, com- 
 monly known by the name of Balloon Tytler, from 
 his having projected a balloon: A mortal, who, 
 though he drudges about Edinburgh as a common 
 printer, with leaky shoes, a sky-lighted hat, and 
 knee-buckles as unlike as George-by-the-Grace-of- 
 God, and Solomon-the-Son-of-David ; yet that 
 mme unknown drunken mortal is author and com- 
 piler of three-fourths of Elliot's pompous Encycla-
 
 72 
 
 pedia Britannica, which he composed at half a 
 guinea a week!* 
 
 The bonie bracket lassie 
 
 She's blue beneath the e'en • 
 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 bonie brucket, 
 
 And blue beneath the e'en : 
 My eyes were bright and sparkling, 
 
 Before that they turn'd 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 chang'd, 
 
 My stays they winna meet : 
 
 * An account of this eccentric character is printed in the 
 Appendix to tliis volume, marked (b).
 
 73 
 
 A' night I sleeped soundly, 
 My mind was never sad ; 
 
 But now my rest is broken, 
 Wi' thinking o' my lad. 
 
 " O could I live in darkness, 
 
 Or hide me in the sea, 
 Since my love is unfaithful, 
 
 And has forsaken me ! 
 No other love I suffer 'd 
 
 Within my breast to dwell ; 
 In nought I have offended. 
 
 But loving him too well." 
 
 Her lover heard her mourning, 
 
 As by he chanc'd to pass. 
 And press'd unto his bosom 
 
 The lovely brucket lass : 
 " My dear," he said, " cease grieving. 
 
 Since that your love's sae true. 
 My bonie brucket lassie 
 
 I'll faithful prove to you."
 
 74 
 
 SAE MERRY AS WE TWA HA E BEEN. 
 
 This song is beautiful. — The chorus in particular 
 is truly pathetic. — I never could learn any thing of 
 its author. 
 
 A lass that was laden with care 
 Sat heavily under yon thorn ; 
 I listen'd awhile for to hear, 
 
 When thus she began for to mourn : 
 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 hae been, 
 Sae merry as we twa hae been, 
 My heart it is like for to break, 
 When I think on the days we hae 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 !
 
 75 
 
 My dear, he would oft to me say, 
 What makes you hard-hearted to me ? 
 
 Oh ! why do you thus turn away 
 From him who is dying for thee ? 
 Sae merry, S^c, 
 
 But now he is far from my sight, 
 
 Perhaps a deceiver may prove, 
 Which makes me lament day and night. 
 
 That ever I granted my love. 
 At eve, when the rest of the folk 
 
 W ere merrily seated to spin, 
 I set myself under an oak, 
 
 And heavily sighed for him. 
 
 Sae merry y «^t. 
 
 THE BANKS OF FORTH. 
 
 This air is Oswald's. 
 
 BOTHWEL BANKS. 
 
 This modern thing of Pinkertori's could never 
 pass for old but among the sheer ignorant. What 
 Poet of the olden time, or indeed of any time, ever 
 said or wrote any thiiig like the line — " Without ae
 
 76 
 
 flouir his grave to crown !" This is not only the pe- 
 dantry of tenderness, but the very bathos of bad 
 writing.* 
 
 * The Editor requests the reader's pardon for the introduction 
 of a few lines on this subject. He promises not to trespass on 
 his good nature again. 
 
 O, Bothwel bank ! again tby flowers 
 Sprout comely wi' spring's warming showers : 
 The daff'dil on the burn's gay brow, 
 Wags his sweet head, o'erlaid wi' dew ; 
 The gowden cowshps, richly meal'd. 
 Inlay the burn, by bush and bield ; 
 And the blythe lark, from morning cloud, 
 Lights 'mang the dew, and singeth loud. 
 
 Sae sweet wert thou that simmer night, 
 (All 'neath the moon's celestial light!) 
 When my dear boy, upon my breast, 
 Laid down his head awhile to rest : 
 Heaven took his angel soul awa'. 
 And left him in my arms to fa'. 
 He lay, like a lilie on the ground, 
 Wi' a' his fair locks loose around. 
 
 I howkedt a grave within my bower, 
 And there I set this heavenly flower: — 
 " And thou wilt spring again," I said, 
 " And bloom when other flowers will fade ; 
 " Touched with immortal dew, tliou'lt stand 
 " A posie fit for God's own hand ; 
 *< Among the flowers of heaven thou'lt blaw, 
 ** When earthly flowers will fade awa' !" 
 i To liowk, to dig.
 
 77 
 
 THE BUSH ABOON TRAQUAIR. 
 
 This is another beautiful so7ig of Mr. Craiiford's 
 composition. In the neighbourhood of Traquair, 
 tradition still shews the old " 3ush ;" which, when 
 I saw it in the year 1787, toas composed of eight 
 or nine ragged birches. The Earl of Traquair 
 has planted a clump of trees near by, which he calls 
 " The new Bush." 
 
 Hear me, ye nymphs, and every swain, 
 
 I'll tell how Peggy grieves me ; 
 Tho' thus I languish and complain, 
 
 Alas ! she ne'er believes me. 
 My vows and sighs, like silent air, 
 
 Unheeded never move her ; 
 The bonny bush aboon Traquair, 
 
 \Vas where 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.
 
 78 
 
 I try'd to sooth my am'rous flame. 
 In words that 1 thought tender ; 
 
 If more there pass'd, I'm not to blame, 
 I meant not to offend her. 
 
 Yet now she scornful flees the plain, 
 
 The fields we then frequented ; 
 If e'er we meet, she shews disdain, 
 
 She looks as ne'er acquainted. 
 The bonny bush bloom'd fair in May, 
 
 Its sweets I'll ay remember ; 
 But now her frowns make it decay. 
 
 It fades as in December. 
 
 Ye rural pow'rs, who hear my strains, 
 
 Why thus should Peggy grieve me? 
 Oh ! make her partner in my pains. 
 
 Then let her smiles relieve me : 
 If not, my love will turn despair. 
 
 My passion no more tender ; 
 I'll leave the bush aboon Traquair, 
 
 To lonely wilds I'll wander.
 
 79 
 
 cromlet's lilt.* 
 
 " In the latter end of the l6th century, the Chis- 
 holms were proprietors of the estate of Cromlechs 
 (now possessed by the Drummonds). The eldest son 
 of that family was very much attached to a daugh- 
 ter of Sterling of Ardoch, commonly known by the 
 name of Fair Helen of Ardoch. 
 
 • Since the first editiou of the Reliqxies was published, the 
 Editor has seen a Letter addressed to Dr. Anderson, of Edin- 
 burgh, by a Gentleman of great literary acquirement, from 
 which he has been pennitted to make the following extract. 
 
 " I thank you particularly for CrotneKs Reliques of Bums, 
 which are undoubtedly genuine, and breathing the same genius 
 and the same infirmities with his foiiner works. I will say a 
 little of it. More science and better company, with his father's 
 worth and sound principles, would have made him one of the 
 best poets this country has produced. He is a bigot for laxity, 
 religious and moral ; and hence that jumble of sentiments ! 
 After telling me of his father's conversion to Socinianism, he 
 added, ' but he continued a Calvinist in his manners and conver- 
 sation.' The thing I liked best was the account of Scotish 
 Songs, which coincides with my own sentiments and theories. 
 His curt, sarcastic remarks, are truly characteristic. Some of 
 them are inaccurate. Tlie Chisholm story is /e/o rfese. The Re- 
 formation took place 1559 or 60, and great part of the Bishop's 
 estate went to one of his own name. Little Meg Murray was 
 not born then. The late Sir William Stirling told me, that it 
 was a tradition in his family, that James the 6tb, in passing fi-om 
 
 Perth
 
 80 
 
 "At that time the opportunities of meeting betwixt 
 the sexes were more rare, consequently more sought 
 after than now; and the Scottish ladies, Jar Jrom 
 priding themselves on extensive literature, were 
 thought sufficiently book-learned if they could make 
 out the Scriptures in their mother tongue. Writing 
 was entirely out of the line of female education: 
 At that period the most of our young men of family 
 sought a fortune, or found a grave, in France. 
 Cromlus, when he went abroad to the war, was 
 obliged to leave the management of his correspond- 
 ence with his mistress to a lay brother of the monas- 
 try of Dumblain, in the immediate neighbourhood 
 of Cromleck, and near Ardoch. This man, unfor- 
 tunately, was deeply sensible of Helenas charms. 
 He artfully prepossessed her zeith stories to the dis- 
 
 Pertb to Stirling, 1617, sent a servant to tell the Lady Ardoch, 
 then a widow, to have all her children dressed, for he was coming 
 to see her and them. Tliey were all drawn up on the green. 
 On the King's seeing them, he said, ' Madam, tell me how many 
 are of them.' ' I only want your Majesty's help to make out 
 the two Chalders.' (i. e. SI were they.) The King afterwards 
 ate a coUop sitting on a stone in the close. I have been told 
 that the Tutor of Ardoch, who was alive in 171.5, could, when 
 more than a hundred, drink a bottle of ale at a draught. Much 
 did Lord Tinwald, then a lad, take pleasure in the Tutor's con- 
 verse, who knew much of the history of private life."
 
 81 
 
 advantage of Cromliis; and hy misinterpreting of 
 keeping up the letters and messages intrusted to his 
 care, he entirely irritated both. All connection was 
 broken off betwixt them: Helen teas inconsolable, 
 and Cromlus has left behind him, in the ballad 
 called Cromlefs Lilt, a proof of the elegance of his 
 genius, as well as the steadiness of his love. 
 
 " When the artful monk thought time had suffici- 
 ently softened Helen's sorrozo, he proposed himself 
 as a lover: Helen zcas obdurate: but at last, over- 
 come by the persuasions of her brother with whom 
 she lived, and who, having a family of thirty-one 
 children, was probably very zoell pleased to get her 
 off his hands, she submitted, rather than consented 
 to the ceremony; but there her compliance ended; 
 and, when forcibly put into bed, she started quite 
 frantic from it, screaming out, that after three 
 gentle taps on the wainscot, at the bed head, she 
 heard Cromlus s voice, crying, Helen, Helen, mind 
 me.* Cromlus soon after coming home, the treachery 
 of the confideyit was discovered, — her marriage dis- 
 annulled, — and Helen became lady Cromlecks." 
 
 N. B. Marg. Murray, another to these thirty-one 
 children, zoas daughter to Murray of Strewn, one 
 of the seventeen sons of Tullybardine, and whose 
 
 * Remember me 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 
 
 youngest son, commonly called the Tutor of Ar dock, 
 died in the year 1715, aged 111 years. 
 
 chomlet's lilt. 
 
 Since all thy vows, false maid, 
 
 Are blown to air, 
 
 And my poor heart betray'd 
 
 To sad despair, 
 
 Into some wildeniess. 
 
 My grief I will express, 
 
 And thy hard-heartedness, 
 
 O cruel fair. 
 
 Have I not graven our loves 
 
 On every tree 
 In yonder spreading gToves, 
 
 Tho' false thou be : 
 Was not a solemn oath 
 Plighted betwixt us both. 
 Thou thy faith, I my troth. 
 
 Constant to be ? 
 
 Some gloomy place I'll find. 
 
 Some doleful shade. 
 
 Where neither sun nor ^vind 
 
 E'er entrance had :
 
 83 
 
 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 be my seat : 
 For covering 
 
 I'll have the starry sky 
 
 My head to canopy, 
 
 Until my soul on hy 
 
 Shall spread its wing. 
 
 I'll have no funeral fire, 
 
 Nor tears for me : 
 No grave do I desire, 
 
 Nor obsequies : 
 The courteous Red-breast he 
 With leaves will cover me, 
 And sing my elegy 
 
 With doleful voice. 
 
 And when a ghost I am, 
 
 I'll visit thee, 
 
 O thou deceitful dame, 
 
 Whose cruelty 
 G 2
 
 ■ 84 
 
 Has kill'd the kindest heart 
 That e'er felt Cupid's dart, 
 And never can desert 
 
 From loving thee. 
 
 MY DEAKIE, IF THOU DIE. 
 
 Another beautiful song of Crawford's. 
 
 Love never more shall give me pain, 
 
 My fancy's fix'd on thee. 
 Nor ever maid my heart shall gain, 
 
 My Peggy, if thou die. 
 Thy beauty doth such pleasure give. 
 
 Thy love's so true to me, 
 Without thee I can never live. 
 
 My dearie, if thou die. 
 
 If fate shall tear thee from my breast. 
 
 How shall I lonely stray ! 
 In dreary dreams the night I'll waste. 
 
 In sighs, the silent day. 
 I ne'er can so much virtue find. 
 
 Nor such perfection see ; 
 Then I'll renounce all woman kind. 
 
 My Peggy, after thee.
 
 85 
 
 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 me die. 
 
 Ye powers that smile on virtuous love. 
 
 And in such pleasure share ; 
 You who its faithful flames approve, 
 
 With pity view the fair: 
 Restore my Peggy's wonted charms, 
 
 Those charms so dear to me ! 
 Oh ! never rob them from these arms ; 
 
 I'm lost if Peggy die. 
 
 SHE ROSE AND LET ME IN. 
 
 The old set of this song, which is still to be 
 
 found in printed collections, is much prettier than 
 
 this : but somebody, I believe it was Ramsay, took 
 
 it into his head to clear it of some seeming inde-
 
 86 
 
 licacies, atid made it at once more chaste and more 
 dull. 
 
 GO TO THE EWE-BUGHTS, MARION. 
 
 / am not sure if this old and charming air be of 
 the South, as is commonly said, or of the North of 
 Scotland.— There is a song apparently as antienf 
 as Ewe-bughts, Marion, which sings to the same 
 tune, and is evidently of the North. — It begins 
 thus : 
 
 The Lord o'Gordon had three dochters, 
 
 Mary, Marget, and Jean, 
 They wad na stay at bonie Castle Gordon, 
 
 But awa to Aberdeen. 
 
 Will ye go to the ew-bughts, Marion, 
 And wear in the sheep \vi' me ; 
 
 The sun shines sweet, my Marion, 
 But nae haff sae sweet as thee.
 
 87 
 
 O Marion's a bonny lass, 
 
 And the blytli blinks in her e'e ; 
 
 And fain wad I marry Marion, 
 Gin Marion wad marry me. 
 
 There's goud in your garters, Marion, 
 
 And silk on your white hause-bane; 
 Fu' fain wad I kiss my Marion, 
 
 At e'en when I come hame. 
 There's braw lads in Earnslaw, Marion, 
 
 Wha gape, and glowr with their e'e. 
 At kirk when they see my Marion ; 
 
 But nane of them lo'es like me. 
 
 I've nine milk-ews, my Marion, 
 
 A cow and a brawny quey, 
 I'll gie them a' to my Marion, 
 
 Just on her bridal-day : 
 And ye's get a green sey apron. 
 
 And waistcoat of the London brown. 
 And wow ! but ye will be vap'ring. 
 
 Whene'er ye gang to the town. 
 
 I'm young and stout, my Marion ; 
 
 Nane dance like me on the green ; 
 And gin ye forsake me, Marion, 
 
 I'll e'en diaw up wi' Jean :
 
 88 
 
 Sae put on your pearlins, Marion, 
 
 And kyrtle of the cramasie : 
 And soon as my chin has nae hair on, 
 I shall come west, and see ye.* 
 
 liEWIS GORDON.f 
 
 This air is a proof how one of our Scots tunes 
 comes to he composed out of another. I have one 
 of the earliest copies of the song, and it has pre- 
 fixed, 
 
 Tune of Tarry Woo. — 
 
 Of which tune, a different set has insensibly varied 
 into a different air. — To a Scots critic, the pathoi 
 of the line, 
 
 " Tho' his back be at the wa'/' 
 
 — must he very striking. — It needs not a Jacobite 
 prejudice to he affected with this song. The sup- 
 
 * This is marked in the Tea Table Miscellany as an old song 
 with additions,— £d. 
 
 t " Lord Lewis Gordon, younger brother to the then Duke of 
 Gordon, commanded a detachment for the Chevalier, and ac- 
 quitted himself >vith great gallantry and judgment. He died in 
 1754."
 
 89 
 
 posed author of " Lewis Gordon" was a Mr. Geddes, 
 priest, at Shenval, in the Ainzie. 
 
 Oh ! send Lewie G ordon hame, 
 
 And the lad I winna name ; 
 
 Tho' his back be at the wa', 
 
 Here's to him that's far awa! 
 Oh hon! my Highland man, 
 Oh, my bonny Highland man ; 
 Weel zcould 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' ! 
 Oh hon! &^c. 
 
 The princely youth that I do mean, 
 Is fitted for to be a king : 
 On his breast he wears a star ; 
 You'd tak him for the God of War, 
 
 Oh hon I <Sfc. 
 
 Oh to see this Princely One, 
 Seated on a royal throne ! 
 Disasters a' would disappear. 
 Then begins the Jub'lee year ! 
 Oh hon! &;c.
 
 90 
 
 OH ONO CHRIO.* 
 
 Dr. Blacklock informed me that this song was 
 composed on the infamous massacre of Glencoe. 
 
 Oh ! was not I a weary wight ! 
 
 Oh ! 0)10 chri, oh ! ono chri — 
 Maid, wife, and widow, in one night ! 
 When in my soft and yielding arms, 
 O ! when most I thought him free from harms. 
 Even at the dead time of the night. 
 They broke my bower, and slew my knight. 
 With ae lock of his jet black hair, 
 I'll t} e ray heart for evermair ; 
 Nae sly-tongued youth, or flatt'ring swain, 
 Shall e'er untye this knot again ; 
 Thine still, dear youth, that heart shall be, 
 Nor pant for aught, save heaven and thee. 
 (The chorus repeated at the end of each line.) 
 
 1 LL NEVER LEAVE THEE. 
 
 This is another of Crawford's songs, but I do 
 not think in his happiest manner. — What an ab' 
 
 * A corruption of O hone a rie' signifying — Alas for the yritue, 
 or chi(f.
 
 91 
 
 surdity, to join such names, as Adonis and Mary 
 together. 
 
 CORN RIGS ARE BONIE. 
 
 All the old words that ever I could meet with to 
 this air were the following, which seem to have been 
 an old chorus. 
 
 O corn rigs and rye rigs, 
 
 O corn rigs are bonie ; 
 And where'er you meet a bonie lass. 
 
 Preen up her cockernony. 
 
 THE MUCKING OF GEORDIE's BYAR. 
 
 The chorus of' this song is old; the rest is the 
 work of Balloon Tytler. 
 
 WAUKIN O THE FAULD. 
 
 There are two stanzas still sung to this tune, 
 tthich I take to be the original song whence Ramsay
 
 92 
 
 composed his beautiful song of that name in the 
 Gentle Shepherd. — It begins, 
 
 O will ye speak at our town. 
 As ye come frae the fauld, &c. 
 
 / regret that, as in many of our old songs, the 
 delicacy of this old fragment is not equal to its wit 
 and humor. 
 
 THE WAUKING OF THE FAULDS. 
 
 My Peggy 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. 
 My Peggy is a young thing. 
 
 And I'm not very auld, 
 Yet well I like to meet her at 
 The wauking of the fauld. 
 
 My Peggy speaks sae sweetly, 
 
 Whene'er we meet alane, 
 I wish nae mair to lay my care, 
 I wish nae mair of a' that's rare. 
 My Peggy speaks sae sweetly. 
 
 To a' the lave I'm cauld ; 
 But she gars a' my spirits glow, 
 At wauking of the fauld.
 
 93 
 
 My Peggy smiles sae kindly, 
 \V hene'er I whisper love, 
 That I look down on a' the town, 
 That I look down upon a crown. 
 My Peggy smiles sae kindly, 
 
 It makes me blyth and bauld, 
 And naething gi'es me sic delight, 
 As waukiug of the fauld. 
 
 My Peggy sings sae saftly. 
 
 When on my pipe I play ; 
 By a' the rest it is confest, 
 By a' the rest, that she sings best. 
 My Peggy sings sae saftly. 
 
 And in her sangs are tald, 
 With innocence, the wale of sense. 
 At wauking of the fauld. 
 
 MAGGIE LAUDER. 
 
 This old song, so pregnant with Scottish naiviet6 
 and energy, is much relished by all ranks, notwith- 
 standing its broad wit and palpable allusions. — Its 
 language is a precious model of imitation : sly,
 
 94 
 
 sprightly, and forcibly expressive. — Maggie*s tongue 
 tmgs out the nicknames of Rob the Piper with all 
 the careless lightsomeness of unrestrained gaiety. 
 
 Wha wad na be in love 
 
 Wi' bonny Maggie Lauder ? 
 
 A piper met her gaun to Fife, --^"^ 
 
 And speir'd what was't they ca'd her ; — 
 
 Right scornfully she answer'd him, 
 
 Begone, you hallanshaker !* 
 
 Jog on your gate, you bladderskate,f 
 
 My name is Maggie Lauder. 
 
 Maggie, quo' he, and by my bags, 
 I'm fidgin' fain to see thee ; 
 Sit down by me, my bonny bird. 
 In troth I winna steer thee : 
 
 • Hallanshaker is what the old people call a rambling mischiev- 
 ous fellow; one who sods up the burns, ties the doors, and 
 works other pranks of innocent merriment. Tlie hallan is a 
 bundle composed of the longest broom, entwisted with willows, 
 placed moveable to ward the wind from the door. The partition 
 which divided the spence from the hall was frequently named a 
 " Hallan," being formed of similar materials. 
 
 t Bladderskate. This ought to be blether-skyte. " Ye blether- 
 iag lowne" — " Ye vile skyte," are terms of familiar reproach still 
 in use, and are innocently applied to those satiric rogues who 
 
 have
 
 95 
 
 For I'm a piper to my trade, 
 My name is Rob the Ranter ; 
 The lasses loup as they were daft, 
 When I blaw up my chanter. 
 
 Piper, quo' Meg, hae ye your bags r 
 
 Or. is your drone in order ? 
 
 If ye be Rob, I've heard o' you, 
 
 Live you upo' the border ?* 
 
 The lasses a', baith far and near. 
 
 Have heard o' Rob the Ranter ; 
 
 I'll shake my foot wi' right gude will, 
 
 Gif you'll blaw up your chanter. 
 
 have the art of mingling falsehood and truth with admirable 
 art, annoying with it the sage remarks of the sober-minded and 
 wise. 
 
 * Probably a temporary and convenient residence of the 
 minstrel. The emigration of Highland reapers to the lowlands 
 of Scotland has brought the old favourite pipes again into vogue. 
 On the day-close of harvest-toil the girls bind up their locks ; the 
 men wash their sweaty faces, and throw aside their gray socks. 
 On the little green plat before the farm hall, the old bandsmen 
 come out and see their childreti dancing and making merry. 
 The Piper seats himself on the knockingstone, and strikes into 
 one of those vrild northern airs which stirs even old age to the 
 frolics and pranks of youth. 
 
 Id talking on this subject to an intelligent Scotsman, he told 
 
 the
 
 96 
 
 Then to his bags he flew wi' speed, 
 
 About the drone he twisted ; 
 
 Meg up and wallop'd o'er the green, 
 
 For brawly could she frisk it. 
 
 Weel done! quo' he — play up! quo' she; 
 
 Weel bobb'd ! quo' Rob the Ranter ; 
 
 'Tis worth my while to play indeed, 
 
 When I hae sic a dancer. 
 
 Weel hae ye play'd your part, quo' Meg, 
 Your cheeks are like the crimson ; 
 There's nane in Scotland plays sae weel, 
 Since we lost Habbie Simpson.* 
 
 the Editor, that when a boy (not more than twenty years ago) 
 he was greatly struck with the sight of many of these old High- 
 land Pipers, straying, solitary, from parish to parish, reciting the 
 deeds of the clans. 
 
 In every parish there were houses wliich the open-heartedness 
 of their possessors made welcome nightly habitations to these 
 vagrant remnants of ancient chivalry. The piper's arrival 
 spread like wild-fire among the lihle coimtry villages. The old 
 decayed men, the lads and lasses, with their rocks and knitting 
 apparatus, flocked around the old piper, who, seated next the 
 gudeman, on the lang-settle, in the intervals of his tunes touched 
 on the tales of other times. The barbarity of William, in the vale 
 of Glencoe ; the Rode of Mar; or the year 1715 ; and the awful suf- 
 ferings of 7nisguided Catholic loyalty in 1745, were told with the 
 exquisite mastery of native eloquence. — 
 
 * The celebrated Piper of Kilbarchan.
 
 57 
 
 I've liv'd in Fife, baith maid and wife, 
 These ten years and a quarter ; 
 Gin' ye should come to Enster Fair, 
 Speir ye for Maggie Lauder. 
 
 TRANENT-MUIR. 
 
 Tune— GiLLlCRANKIE. 
 
 " TraNENT-Muir" was composed by a Mr. 
 Skirvin, a very worthy respectable farmer, near 
 Haddington. I have heard the anecdote often, 
 that Lieut. Smith, whom he mentions in the ninth 
 stanza, came to Haddington after the publication 
 of the song, and sent a challenge to Skirvin to meet 
 him at Haddington, and answer for the unworthy 
 manner in which he had noticed him in his song. — 
 " Gang awa back," said the honest farmer, " and 
 tell Mr. Smith that I hae na leisure to come to 
 Haddington; but tell him to come here; and I'll 
 tak a look o' him; and if I think I'm fit to fecht 
 him, I'll fecht him; and if no — I'll do as he did, 
 —I'll rin awa."— 
 
 \OI.. 1.
 
 98 
 
 TRANENT MUIR.* 
 
 The Chevalier,f being void of fear, 
 
 Did march up Birsle brae, man. 
 And thro' Tranent, e'er he did stent. 
 
 As fast as he could gae, man : 
 While general Cope did taunt and mock, 
 
 Wi' mony a loud huzza, man ; 
 But e'er next morn proclaim'd the cock, 
 
 We heard another craw, man. 
 
 The brave Lochiel,^ as I heard tell. 
 Led Camerons on in clouds, man ; 
 
 The morning fair, and clear the air, 
 TTiey loos'd with devilish thuds, man : 
 
 • A field of battle, better known by the name of Preston- 
 pans, where prince Charles Stewart, commonly called the Young 
 Chevalier, at the head of his Highland army, completely routed 
 the English forces, under the command of Sir John Cope, who 
 was afterward tryed by a court-martial for his conduct in this 
 battle, and acquitted. He is said to have left the field in such 
 haste that he never once stopped his horse, nor looked back, till 
 he got to Haddington, which is seven or eight miles off. This 
 action happened Sep. 22, 1745. 
 
 t Printed from Ritson's copy. 
 
 X Donald Cameron of Lochiel, chief of the Clan Cameron, a 
 gentleman of great bravery, and of the most amiable disposi- 
 tion.
 
 99 
 
 Down guns they threw, and swords they drew, 
 And soon did chace them aff, man ; 
 
 On Seaton-Crafts tliey buft their chafts, 
 And gart them rin lik* daft, man. 
 
 The bluff dragoons swore blood and 'oons, 
 
 They'd make the rebels run, man ; 
 And yet they flee when them they see. 
 
 And winna fire a gun, man : 
 They turn'd their back, the foot they brake, • 
 
 Such terror seiz'd them a', man ; 
 Some wet their cheeks, some fyl'd their breeks, 
 
 And some for fear did fa', man. 
 
 The volunteers prick'd up their ears. 
 
 And vow gin they were crouse, man ; 
 But when the bairns saw't turn to earn'st. 
 
 They were not worth a louse, man ; 
 Maist feck gade hame ; O fy for shame ! 
 
 They'd better stay'd awa', man. 
 Than wi' cockade to make parade, 
 
 And do nae good at a', man. 
 
 tion. He was wounded at the battle of Culloden, and died in 
 France colonel of a regiment, which his grateful master had 
 procured him, as a small reward and compeosatiou for his great 
 
 services and misfortunes, 1748. 
 
 H 2
 
 100 
 
 Menteith the great,* when hersell sh — t, 
 
 Un'wares did ding him o'er, man; 
 Yet wad nae stand to bear a hand. 
 
 But aflf fou fast did scour, man ; 
 O'er Soutra hill, e'er he stood still, 
 
 Before he tasted meat, man : 
 Troth he may brag of his swift nag. 
 
 That bare him aflf sae fleet, man. 
 
 And Simpsonf keen, to clear the een 
 
 Of rebels far in wrang, man. 
 Did never strive wi' pistols five. 
 
 But gallop'd with the thrang, man : 
 He turn'd his back, and in a crack 
 
 Was cleanly out of sight, man; 
 And thought it best ; it was nae jest 
 
 Wi' Highlanders to fight, man. 
 
 'Mangst a' the gang nane bade the bang 
 But twa, and ane was tane, man ; 
 
 * The minister of Longfonnacus, a volunteer ; who, happen- 
 ing to come the night before the battle, upon a Highland 
 gelding, easing nature at Preston, threw him over, and carried 
 his gun as a trophy to Cope's camp. 
 
 t Another volunteer Presbyterian minister, who said he would 
 convince the rebels of their error by the dint of his pistols ; 
 having, for that purpose, two in his pockets, two in his holsters, 
 and one in his belt.
 
 101 
 
 For Campbell rade, but Myrie* staid, 
 And sair he paid the kain,f man ; 
 
 Fell skelps he got, was war than shot 
 Frae the sharp-edg'd claymore, man ; 
 
 Frae many a spout came running out 
 His reeking-het red gore, man. 
 
 But Gard'ner;{: brave did still behave 
 
 Like to a hero bright, man ; 
 His courage true, like him were few, 
 
 That still despised flight, man ; 
 
 • Mr. Myrie was a student of physic, from Jamaica; he en- 
 tered as a volunteer in Cope's army, and was miserably mangled 
 by the broad-sword. 
 
 t i. e. He suffered severely in the cause. 
 
 t James Gardiner, colonel of a regiment of horse. This gen- 
 tleman's conduct, however celebrated, does not seem to have 
 proceeded so much from the generous ardour of a noble and he- 
 roic mind, as from a spirit of religious enthusiasm, and a bigoted 
 reliance on the Presbyterian doctrine of predestination, which 
 rendered it a matter of perfect indifference whether he left the 
 field or remained in it. Being deserted by his troop, he was 
 killed by a Highlander, with a Lochaber axe. 
 
 Colonel Gardiner having, when a gay young man, at Paris, 
 made an assignation with a lady, was, as he pretended, not 
 only deterred from keeping his appointment, but thoroughly re- 
 claimed from all such thoughts in future, by an apparition. See 
 his Life by Doddridge,
 
 102 
 
 For king and laws, and country's cause. 
 In honour's bed he lay, man ; 
 
 His life, but not his courage, fled. 
 While he had breath to draw, man. 
 
 And major Bowie, that worthy soul. 
 
 Was brought down to the ground, man ; 
 His horse being shot, it was his lot 
 
 For to get mony a wound, man : 
 Lieutenant Smith, of Irish birth, 
 
 Frae whom he call'd for aid, man. 
 Being full of dread, lap o'er his head, 
 
 And wadna be gainsaid, man. 
 
 He made sic haste, sae spur'd his beast, 
 
 'Twas little there he saw, man ; 
 To Berwick rade, and safely said. 
 
 The Scots were rebels a', man ; 
 But let that end, for well 'tis kend 
 
 His use and wont to lie, man ; 
 The Teague is naught, he never faught. 
 
 When he had room to flee, man. 
 
 And Caddell drest, amang the rest. 
 With gun and good claymore, man, 
 
 On gelding grey he rode that way, 
 With pistols set before, man ;
 
 103 
 
 The cause was good, he'd spend his blood, 
 Before that he would yield, mau ; 
 
 But the night before he left the cor, 
 And never fac'd the field, man. 
 
 But gallant Roger, like a soger. 
 
 Stood and bravely fought, man ; 
 I'm wae to tell, at last he fell. 
 
 But mae down wi' him brought, man : 
 At point of death, wi' his last breath, 
 
 (Some standing round in ring, man), 
 On's back lying flat, he wav'd his hat. 
 
 And cry'd, God save the king, man. 
 
 Some Highland rogues, like hungry dogs, 
 
 Neglecting to pursue, man. 
 About they fac'd, and in great haste 
 
 Upon the booty flew, man ; 
 And they, as gain, for all their pain. 
 
 Are deck'd wi spoils of war, man ; 
 Fow bald can tell how her nainsell 
 
 Was ne'er sae pra before, man. 
 
 At the thorn-tree, which you may see 
 Bewest the meadow-mill, man ; 
 
 There mony slain lay on the plain. 
 The clans pursuing still, man.
 
 104 
 
 Sic unco' hacks, and deadly whacks, 
 
 I never saw the like, man ; 
 Lost hands and heads cost them their deads^ 
 
 That fell near Preston-dyke, man. 
 
 That afternoon, when a' was done, 
 
 I gaed to see the fray, man ; 
 But had I wist what after past, 
 
 I'd better staid away, man : 
 On Seaton sands, wi' nimble hands. 
 
 They pick'd my pockets bare, man ; 
 But I wish ne'er to drie sick fear. 
 
 For a' the sum and mair, man. 
 
 TO THE WEAVERS GIN YE GO. 
 
 The Chorus of this song is old, the rest of it is 
 mine. — Here, once for all, let me apologize for 
 many silly compositions of mine in this work. Many 
 beautiful airs wanted words; in the hurry of other 
 avocations, if I could string a parcel of rhymes to- 
 gether any thing near tolerable, I was fain to let 
 them pass. He must be an excellent poet indeed, 
 whose every performance is excellent.
 
 105 
 
 STREPHON AND. LYDIA. 
 Tune — ^The Gordons had the guiding o't. 
 
 The following account of this song I had from 
 Dr. Blacklock. 
 
 The Strephon and Li/dia mentioned in the song 
 were perhaps the loveliest couple of their time. 
 The gentleman was commonly known by the name 
 of Beau Gibson. The lady was the Gentle Jean, 
 celebrated somewhere in Mr. Hamilton* of Ban- 
 gout's poems. — Having frequently met at public 
 places, they had formed a reciprocal attachment, 
 
 • " With the elegant and accomplished Wiixiam Hamilton 
 of Bangour, whose amiable manners were long remembered 
 with the teriderest recollection by all who knew him, Mr. Home 
 lived in the closest habits of friendship. The Writer of tliese 
 Memoirs has heard him dwell with delight on the scenes of their 
 youthful days; and he. has to regret that many an anecdote, to 
 which he listened with pleasure, was not committed to a better 
 record than a treacherous memory. Hamilton's mind is pictured 
 in his verses. They are the easy and careless effusions of au 
 elegant fancy and a chastened taste ; and the sentiments they 
 convey are the genuine feelings of a tender and susceptible 
 heart, which perpetually owned the dominion of some favourite 
 mistress ; but whose passion generally evaporated in song, and 
 made no serious or permanent impression. His poems had an 
 additional charm to his cotemporaries, from being commonly 
 addressed to his familiar friends of either sex." 
 
 Life of Lord Kaimes, vol. i. p. 64. 
 Hamilton died in March, 1754, aged 5U.
 
 106 
 
 which their friends thought dangerous, as their re- 
 sources were hy no means adequate to their tastes 
 and habits of life. To elude the bad consequences 
 of such a connexion, Strephon was sent abroad with 
 a commission, and perished in Admiral Fernon's 
 expedition to Carthagena. 
 
 The author of the song was William Wallace, 
 Esq. of Cairnhill, in Ayrshire. 
 
 STREPHON AND LYDIA. 
 
 All lovely on the sultry beach, 
 
 Expiring Strephon lay, 
 No hand the cordial draught to reach, 
 
 Nor chear the gloomy way. 
 Ill-fated youth ! no parent nigh. 
 
 To catch thy fleeting breath. 
 No bride, to fix they swimming eye, 
 
 Or smooth the face of death. 
 
 Far distant from the mournful scene, 
 
 Thy parents sit at ease, 
 Thy Lydia rifles all the plain, 
 
 And all the spring to please. 
 Ill-fated youth ! by fault of friend. 
 
 Not force of foe depressed, 
 Thou fall'st, alas ! thyself, thy kind, 
 
 Thy country, unredress'd !
 
 107 
 
 I M O £R YOUNG TO MARRY YET. 
 
 The chorus of this song is old. — The rest of it, 
 such as it is, is mine.* 
 
 I am my mammy's ae bairn, 
 
 Wi' unco folk I w^eary, sir ; 
 And lying in a man's bed, 
 
 I'm fley'd wad mak me irie, sir. 
 Tm o'er young, I'm o'er young, 
 I'm o'er young to marry yet ; 
 I'm o'er young, 'twad he a sin 
 To take mefrae my mammy yet. 
 
 Hallowmass is come and gane, 
 The nights are lang in winter, sir ; 
 
 And you an' I in ae bed, 
 
 In trovvth, I dare na venture, sir. 
 I'm o'er young, S^c. 
 
 • There is a stray, characteristic verse^ which ought to be 
 restored. 
 
 My minnie coft me a new gown, 
 The kirk maun hae the gracing o't; 
 
 Ware I to lie wi' you, kind sir, 
 I'm feared ye'd spoil the lacing o't. 
 I'm o'er young, <Sfc.
 
 108 
 
 Fu' loud and shill the frosty wind 
 Blaws thro' the leafless timraer, sir; 
 
 But if ye come this gate again, 
 I'll aulder be gin simmer, sir. 
 Fm o'er young, 8^c. 
 
 MACPHERSON S FAREAVEL. 
 
 Macpherson, a daring robber, in the begin- 
 ning of this century, was condemned to be hanged 
 at the assizes at Inverness. He is said, when under 
 sentence of death, to have composed this tune, 
 which he called his own lament, orfarewel.* 
 
 Farewel ye dungeons, dark and strong, 
 
 The wretch's destinie ! 
 Macpherson's time will not be long 
 
 On yonder gallows tree. 
 
 Sae rantingly, sae wantonly, 
 Sae dauntingly gaed he; 
 
 He play' d a spring, and danc'd it round. 
 Below the gallozvs tree. 
 
 * See a Notice of Macpherson in the Preface to these 
 volumes.
 
 109 
 
 Oh, what is death, but parting breath ? — 
 
 On mony a bloody plain 
 I've dar'd his face; and in this place 
 
 I scorn him yet again ! 
 
 Sae rantingly, S^c. 
 
 Untie these bands from oflf my hands, 
 
 And bring to me my sword ; 
 And there's no a man in all Scotland, 
 
 But I'll brave him at a word. 
 Sae rantingly, &^c. 
 
 I've liv'd a life of stiut and strife, 
 
 I die by treacherie : 
 It burns my heart I must depart, 
 
 And not avenged be ! 
 
 Sae rantinglt/, S^c. 
 
 Now, farewel light, thou sunshine bright, 
 
 And all beneath the sky : 
 May coward shame distain his name. 
 
 The wretch that dares not die ! 
 Sae rantingly, &;c.
 
 110 
 
 MY JO JANET. 
 
 Johnson, the publisher,* with a foolish delicacy, 
 refused to insert the last stanza of this humorous 
 ballad. 
 
 Sweet sir, for your courtesie. 
 
 When ye come by the Bass then, 
 For the luve ye bear to me. 
 
 Buy me a keeking-glass, then. — - 
 Keek into the draw-well, 
 
 Janet, Janet; 
 And there ye'll see your bonny sell. 
 My Jo, Janet. 
 
 Keeking in the draw-well clear. 
 
 What if I should fa' in. 
 Syne a' my kin will say and swear, 
 
 I drown'd mysell for sin. — 
 Haud the better be the brae, . 
 
 Janet, Janet, 
 Haud the better be the brae. 
 My Jo, Janet. 
 
 * * Of the Scots Musical Museum,
 
 Ill 
 
 Good sir, for your courtesie, 
 
 Coming through Aberdeen, then, 
 For the luve ye bear to me, 
 
 Buy me a pair of shoon, then.-^- 
 Clout the auld, the new are dear, 
 
 Janet, Janet; 
 Ae pair may gain ye hdf a year, 
 My Jo, Janet. 
 
 But what if dancing on the green, 
 
 And skipping like a maukin.* 
 If they should see my clouted shoon, 
 
 Of me they will be taukin'. — 
 Dance ay 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 luve ye bear to me, 
 
 Buy me a pacing-horse, then. — 
 Pace upo* your spinnin-wheel, 
 
 Janet, Janet; 
 Pace npo' your spinnin-wheel. 
 My Jo, Janet. 
 
 • A hare.
 
 112 
 
 My spinnin-wheel is auld and stiff. 
 
 The rock o't winna stand, sir. 
 To keep the temper-pin in tiflf, 
 
 Employs right aft my hand, sir.- 
 Mak the best o't that ye can, 
 Janet, Janet; 
 But like it never wale a many 
 My Jo, Janet. 
 
 THE SHEPHERD S COMPLAINT. 
 
 The words by a Mr. R. Scott, from the town or 
 neighbourhood of Biggar. 
 
 THE BIRKS OF ABERFELDY. 
 
 I COMPOSED these stanzas standing under the 
 falls of Aberfeldy, at, or near, Moness. 
 
 Tune — BiRKs of Abergildie. 
 
 Now simmer blinks on flowery braes, 
 And o'er the chrystal streamlets plays; 
 Come let us spend the lightsome days 
 In the birks of Aberfeldy.
 
 113 
 
 Bonny lassie, will ye go, 
 Will ye go, will ye go. 
 
 Bonny lassie, will ye go. 
 To the birks of Aberfeldy'^ 
 
 The little birdies blythly sing, 
 While o'er their heads the hazels hing ; 
 Or lightly flit on wanton wing, 
 In the birks of Aberfeldy. 
 Bonny lassie, <^c. 
 
 The braes ascend like lofty wa's, 
 The foaming stream, deep-roaring, fa's, 
 O'erhung wi' fragrant spreading shaws, 
 The birks of Aberfeldy. 
 Bonny lassie, ^c. 
 
 The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' flowers. 
 White o'er the linn the bumie pours. 
 And rising, weets wi' misty showers, 
 The birks of Aberfeldy. 
 Bonny lassie, &jc. 
 
 Let fortune's gifts at random flee, 
 They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me. 
 Supremely blest wi' love and thee, 
 In the birks of Aberfeldy. 
 Bonny lassie, ^c. 
 
 VOL. 1 I
 
 114 
 
 THE HIGHLAND LASSIE, O. 
 
 This zoas a composition of mine in very early 
 life, before I was known at all in the world. My 
 Highland Lassie was a warm-hearted, charming 
 young creature as ever blessed a man with generous 
 love. After a pretty long tract of the most ardent 
 reciprocal attachment, we met by appointment, on 
 the second Sunday of May, in a sequestered spot by 
 the Banks of Ayr, where we spent the day in taking 
 a far excel, before she should embark for the West- 
 Highlands, to arrange matters among her friends 
 for our projected change of life. At the close of 
 Autumn following she crossed the sea to meet me at 
 Greenock, where she had scarce landed when she was 
 seized with a malignant fever, which hurried my 
 dear girl to the grave in afezo days, before I could 
 even hear of her illness.'^ 
 
 * There are events in this transitory scene of existence, sea- 
 sons of joy or of sorrow, of despair or of hope, which as they 
 powerfully affect us at the time, serve as epochs to the history 
 of our lives. They may be termed the trials of the heart. — We 
 treasure them deeply in our memory, and as time glides silently 
 away, they help us to number our days. Of this character was 
 the parting of Burns with his Highland Mary, that interesting 
 
 female,
 
 115 
 
 Nae gentle dames, tho' ne'er sae fair, 
 Shall ever be my Muse's care ; 
 Their titles a' are empty shew ; 
 Gie me my Highland lassie, O. 
 
 Within the glen sae bushy, O, 
 Aboon the plain sae rashy, O, 
 / set me down wi' right good will. 
 To sing my Highla7id lassie, O. 
 
 were yon hills and vallies mine. 
 Yon palace and yon gardens fine ! 
 The world then the love should know 
 
 1 bear my Highland lassie, O. 
 
 Within the glen, <^c. 
 
 female, the first object of the youthful Poet's love. This adieu 
 was performed with all those simple and striking ceremonials 
 which rustic sentiment has devised to prolong tender emotions 
 and to inspire awe. The lovers stood on each side of a small 
 purling brook ; they laved their hands in its limpid stream, and 
 holding a bible between them, pronounced their vows to be 
 faithful to each other. They parted — never to meet again! 
 
 The anniversary of Mary Campbell's death (for that was her 
 name), awakening in the sensitive mind of Bums the most lively 
 emotion, he retired from his family, then residing on the farm 
 of Ellisland, and wandered, solitary, on the banks of the Nith, 
 and about the farm-yard, in the extremest agitation of mind, 
 
 nearly 
 I 2
 
 116 
 
 But fickle fortune frowns on me, 
 And I maun cross the raging sea ; 
 But while my crimson currents flow, 
 I'll looe my Highland lassie, O. 
 Within the glen, S^c. 
 
 Altho' thro' foreign climes 1 range, 
 I know her heart will nerer change, 
 For her bosom burns with honor's glow. 
 My faithful Highland lassie, O. 
 Within the glen, S^c. 
 
 For her I'll dare the billow's roar; 
 For her I'll trace a distant shore ; 
 That Indian wealth may lustre throw 
 Around my Highland lassie, O. 
 Within the glen, S^c. 
 
 She has my heart, she has my hand, 
 By secret truth and honor's band ! 
 'Till the mortal stroke shall lay me low, 
 I'm thiue, my H^hland lassie, O. 
 
 nearly the whole of the night: His agitation was so great, that 
 he threw himself on the side of a com stack, and tliere conceived 
 hLs sublime and tender elegy— his address To ^ary in Heaven. 
 
 Ed.
 
 117 
 
 Farewel, the glen sac bmhy, ! 
 Farewel, the plain sae raski/, O ! 
 To other lands I now must go, 
 To sing my Highland lassie, O ! 
 
 GUDE YILL COMES, AND GUDE YILL GOES. 
 
 This song sings to the tune called The bottom of 
 the punch bowl, of which a very good copy may he 
 found in M'Gibbon's Collection. 
 
 glide yill comes, and gude yill goes, 
 Gude yill gars me sell my hose, 
 
 Sell my hose, and pazvn my shoon. 
 For gude yill keeps my heart aboon. 
 
 1 had sax owsen in a pleugh, 
 
 And they drew teugh and weel eneugh ; 
 I drank them a' ane by ane, 
 For gude yill keeps my heart aboon. 
 Gude yill, S^c. 
 
 I had forty shillin in a clout, 
 Gude yill gart me pyke them out ; 
 That gear should moule I thought a sin, 
 Gude yill keeps my heart aboon. 
 Gude yill, ^c.
 
 118 
 
 The meikle pot upon my back, 
 Unto the yill-house I did pack ; 
 It melted a' wi' the heat o' the moon, 
 Gude yill keeps my heart aboon. 
 Gude yill, <^c. 
 
 Gude yill hauds me bare and busy, 
 Gars me jink wi' the servant hizzie, 
 Stand in the kirk when I hae done, 
 Gude yill keeps my heart aboon. 
 Gude yill, ^c. 
 
 I wish their fa' may be a gallows, 
 Winna gie gude yill to gude fellows, 
 And keep a soup 'till the afternoon, 
 Gude yill keeps my heart aboon. 
 
 O gude yill comes, and gude yill goes, 
 Gude yill gars me sell my hose. 
 Sell my hose, arid pawn my shoon, 
 Gude yill keeps my heart aboon. 
 
 * These are old words altered by Burns. The original verses 
 were recovered by the Editor, and are published among the 
 " Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song."
 
 119 
 
 FIFE, AND A THE LANDS ABOUT IT. 
 
 This song is Dr. Blacklock's. He, as well as I, 
 often gave Johnson vei^ses, trijiing enough, perhaps, 
 hut they served as a vehicle to the music. 
 
 WERE NA MY HEART LIGHT I WAD DIE. 
 
 Lord Hailes, in the notes to his collection of 
 ancient Scots poems, says that this song was the 
 composition of a Lady Grissel Baillie, daughter of 
 the first Earl of Marchmont, and wife of George 
 Baillie, of Jerviswood. 
 
 There was anes a May,* and she loo'd na men. 
 She biggit her bonny bow'r down in yon glen; 
 But now she cries dool ! and a well-a-day ! 
 Come down the green gate, and come here away. 
 But now she cries, S^c. 
 
 When bonny young Johny came o'er the sea, 
 He said he saw naithing sae lovely as me ; 
 He hecht me baith rings and mony braw things ; 
 And were na my heart light I wad die. 
 He hecht me, SjC. 
 
 • Maid.
 
 120 
 
 He had a wee titty that loo'd na me, 
 
 Because I was twice as bonny as she ; 
 
 She rais'd such a pother 'twixt him and his mother, 
 
 That were na my heart light, I wad die. 
 
 She rais'd, S^c. 
 
 The day it was set, and the bridal to be. 
 The wife took a dwara, and lay down to die ; 
 She main'd and she grain'd out of dolour and pain, 
 Till he vow'd he never wad see me again. 
 She maind, Sjc. 
 
 His kin was for ane of a higher degree. 
 Said, What had he to do with the like of me ? 
 Albeit I was bonny, I was na for Johny : 
 And were na my heart light, I wad die. 
 Albeit I wad, &;c. 
 
 They said, I had neither cow nor cafF, 
 Nor dribbles of drink rins throw the draff. 
 Nor pickles of meal rins throw the mill-ee ; 
 And were na my heart light, I wad die, 
 
 Nor pickles of, S^c. 
 
 His titty she was baith wylie and slee. 
 She spy'd me as 1 came o'er the lee ; 
 And then she ran in and made a loud din, 
 Believe your ain een, an ye trow na me. 
 And then she, S^c.
 
 121 
 
 His bonnet stood ay fou round on his brow ; 
 His auld ane looks ay as well as some's new: 
 But now he lets't wear ony gate it will hing, 
 And casts himself dowie upon the corn-bing. 
 
 But now he, 8^c. 
 
 And now he gaes ' dandering'* about the dykes, 
 And a' he dow do is to hund the tykes : 
 The live-lang night he ne'er steeks his ee, 
 And were na my heart light, I wad die. 
 The live-lang, 8^c. 
 
 Were I young for thee, as I hae been, 
 We shou'd hae been galloping down on yon green. 
 And linking it on the lily-white lee ; 
 And wow gin I were but young for thee ! 
 j4nd linking, &iC. 
 
 * So Lord Uailes; Ramsay and others read * drooping.' 
 
 THE YOUNG MAN S DREAM. 
 
 I'ms song is the composition of Balloon Tytler,
 
 122 
 
 STRATHALLAN S LAMENT.* 
 
 This air is the composition of one of the wor- 
 thiest and best-hearted men living — Allan Master- 
 ton, schoolmaster in Edinburgh. As he and I were 
 both sprouts ofjacobitism, we agreed to dedicate the 
 words and air to that cause. 
 
 To tell the matter of fact, except when my pas- 
 sions were heated by some accidental cause, myjaco- 
 bitism was merely by way of vive la bagatelle. 
 
 Thickest night, o'erhang my dwelling 
 Howling tempests o'er me rave ! 
 
 Turbid torrents, wintry swelling, 
 Still surround my lonely cave ! 
 
 Crystal streamlets gently flowing, 
 Busy haunts of base mankind, 
 
 Western breezes softly blowing, 
 Suit not my distracted mind. 
 
 * Supposed to mean James, Viscount Strathallan, whose 
 father, Viscount Willfani, was killed at the battle of CuUoden. 
 He escaped to France.
 
 123 
 
 111 the cause of right engaged, 
 Wrongs injurious to redress ; 
 
 Honour's war we strongly waged. 
 But the heavens deny'd success. 
 
 Ruin*s wheel has driven o'er us, 
 Not a hope that dare attend. 
 
 The wide world's all before us — 
 But a world without a friend ! 
 
 UP IN THE MORNING EARLY. 
 
 The chorus of this is old; the two stanzas are 
 
 mine. 
 
 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. 
 
 Cold blaws the wind frae cast to west. 
 
 The drift is driving sairly ; 
 Sae loud and shrill's I hear the blast, 
 
 I'm sure it's winter fairly.
 
 124 
 
 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. 
 Up in the morning, Sfc. 
 
 THE TEAES OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 Dr. Blacklock told me that Smollet, who was at 
 bottom a great Jacobite, composed these beautiful 
 and pathetic verses on the infamous depredations of 
 the Duke of Cumberland, after the battle of Cul- 
 loden. 
 
 Mourn, hapless Caledonia, mourn 
 Thy banish'd peace, thy laurels torn ! 
 Thy sons, for valour long renovvn'd, 
 Lie slaughter'd on their native ground. 
 Thy hospitable roofs no more 
 Invite the stranger to the door ; 
 In smoaky ruins sunk they lie. 
 The monuments of cruelty.
 
 its 
 
 nie wretched owner sees, afar, 
 His all become the prey of war ; 
 Betliinks him of his babes and wife. 
 Then smites his breast and curses life. 
 Thy swains are famish'd on the rocks, 
 Where once they fed their wanton flocks : 
 Thy ravish'd virgins shriek in vain ; 
 Thy infants perish on the plain. 
 
 What boots it then, in ev'ry clime. 
 Thro' the wide-spreading waste of time, 
 Thy martial glory, crown'd with praise. 
 Still shone with undiminish'd blaze ; 
 Thy tow'ring spirit now is broke, 
 Tliy neck is bended to the yoke : 
 What foreign arms could never quell, 
 By civil rage and rancour fell. 
 
 The rural pipe and merry lay. 
 
 No more shall cheer the happy day : 
 
 No social scenes of gay delight 
 
 Beguile the dreary winter night : 
 
 No strains, but those of sorrow, flow. 
 
 And nought be heard but sounds of woe; 
 
 While the pale phantoms of the slain, 
 
 (iWde nightly o'er the silent plain.
 
 126 
 
 Oh! baneful cause! — oh! fatal morn, 
 Accurs'd to ages yet unborn ! 
 The sons against their fathers stood ; 
 The parent shed his childrens' blood ! 
 Yet, when the rage of battle ceas'd. 
 The victor's soul was not appeas'd : 
 The naked and forlorn must feel 
 Devouring flames, and murd'ring steel. 
 
 The pious mother doom'd to death. 
 Forsaken, wanders o'er the heath. 
 The black wind Whistles round her head, 
 Her helpless orphans cry for bread ; 
 Bereft of shelter, food, and friend, 
 She views the shades of night descend ; 
 And, stretch'd beneath th' inclement skies, 
 Weeps o'er her tender babes, and dies. 
 
 Whilst the warm blood bedews my veins, 
 And unimpair'd remembrance reigns, 
 Resentment of my country's fate 
 Within my filial breast shall beat ; 
 And, spite of her insulting foe, 
 My sympathizing verse shall flow : 
 Mourn, hapless Caledonia, mourn 
 Thy banish'd peace, thy laurels torn !
 
 127 
 
 BRAW, BRAW LADS OF GALLA-WATER. 
 
 / HAVE heard a concluding verse sung to these 
 
 zeords — it is, 
 
 An' ay she came at e'enin fa', 
 
 Amaiig the yellow broom, sae eerie. 
 
 To seek the snood o' silk she tint ; — 
 She fan na it, but gat her dearie. 
 
 Braw, braw lads of Galla-water ; 
 
 O, braw lads of Galla-water ! 
 I'll kilt my coat aboon my knee, 
 
 And follow my love thro' the water. 
 
 Sae fair her hair, sae brent her brow, 
 Sae bonny blue her een, my dearie; 
 
 Sae white her teeth, sae sweet her mou', 
 The mair I kiss, she's ay my dearie. 
 
 O'er yon bank, and o'er yon brae, 
 O'er yon moss amang the heather ; 
 
 I'll kilt my coat aboon my knee. 
 
 And follow my true love thro' the water.
 
 128 
 
 Down amang the broom, the broom, 
 Down amang the broom, my dearie; 
 
 The lassie lost a silken snood, 
 
 That cost her mony a blirt and blearie. 
 
 WHAT WILL I DO GIN MY HOGGIE^ DIE. 
 
 Dr. Walker, who was Minister at Moffat in 
 1772, and is now (1791) Professor of Natural 
 History, in the University of Edinburgh, told Mr, 
 Riddel the following anecdote concerning this air. 
 — He said that some gentlemeti, riding a few years 
 ago through Liddesdale, stopped at a hamlet con- 
 sisting of a few houses, called Mosspaul; when they 
 were struck with this tune, which an old woman, 
 spinning on a rock, at her door, was singing. — All 
 she could tell concerning it was, that she was taught 
 it when a child, and it was called. What will I do 
 gin my Hoggie die. No person, except a few fe- 
 males at Mosspaul, knezv this fine old tune; which 
 in all probability, would have been lost, had not one 
 
 * Hoggie, a young sheep, before it has lost its first fleece, 
 termed a Harvest Hog, from heing smeared at the end of har- 
 vest, when it ceases to be called a lamb. — Jamieson.
 
 129 
 
 of the gentlemen, who happened to have ajlute with 
 him, taken it down. 
 
 What will I do gin my hoggie die ? 
 
 My joy, my pride, my hoggie ; 
 My only beast, I had nae mae. 
 
 And wow ! but I was vogie. 
 
 The lee-lang night we watch'd the fauld, 
 
 Me and my faithfu' doggie; 
 We heard nought but the roaring linn, 
 
 Amang the braes sae scroggie. 
 
 But the houlet cry'd frae the castle wa'. 
 
 The blitter frae the boggie. 
 The tod reply 'd upon the hill; 
 
 I trembled for my hoggie. 
 
 When day did daw, and cocks did craw, 
 
 The morning it was foggie ; 
 An unco' tyke lap o'er the dyke, 
 
 And maist has killed my hoggie.* 
 
 * These i^rords are certainly by Burns, though tlic Editor has 
 beard them attributed to another writer, whose name he has 
 forgotten. It is a silly subject treated subUmely. It has much 
 of the fervour of the " Vision." , ' 
 
 VOL. 1. K
 
 ISO 
 
 I DREAM D I LAY WHERE FLOWERS WERE 
 SPRINGING. 
 
 These two stanzas I composed when I was seven- 
 teen, and are among the oldest of my printed 
 pieces. 
 
 I dream'd I lay where flowers were springing. 
 
 Gaily in the sunny beam ; 
 List'ning to the wild birds singing. 
 
 By a falling, ohrystal stream : 
 Straight the sky grew black and daring ; 
 
 Thro' the woods the whirlwinds rave ; 
 Trees with aged arms were warring^ 
 
 O'er the swelling, drumlie wave. 
 Such was my life's deceitful morning. 
 
 Such the pleasures I enjoy'd ; 
 But lang or noon, loud tempests storming, 
 
 A' my flow'ry bliss destroy'd. 
 Tho' fickle fortune has deceiv'd me. 
 
 She promis'd fair, and perform'd but ill ; 
 Of mony a joy and hope bereav'd me, 
 
 I bear a heart shall support me still.
 
 ISl 
 
 ah! the poor shepherds mournful fate. 
 
 Tnne — Gallashiels. 
 
 The old title, Sour Plums o' Gallashiels, proba- 
 bly was the beginning of a song to this air, which 
 is now lost. 
 
 The tune of Gallashiels was composed about the 
 beginning of the present century by the Laird of 
 GallashieFs piper.* 
 
 THE BANKS OF THE DEVON. 
 Tune— R HAN JiERACp DHON NA CHBI. 
 
 These verses were composed on a charming girl, 
 a Miss Charlotte Hamilton, who is now married to 
 James M'Ki trick Adair, Esq. physician. She is 
 sister to my worthy friend, Gavin Hamilton, of 
 Mauchline; and wa^ born on the banks of Ayr, 
 but was, at the time I wrote these lines, residing at 
 Herveyston, in Clackmannanshire, on the romantic 
 
 * The Piper of Gallashiels was the subject of an unpublished 
 mock-heroic Poem, by Hamiltm of Bangour.— 'Ed. 
 
 K 2
 
 132 
 
 hanks of the little river Devon. — I first heard the 
 air from a lady in Inverness, and got the notes 
 taken down for this work. 
 
 How pleasant the banks of the clear winding Devon, 
 
 W ith green spreading bushes and flow'rs blooming 
 fair ! 
 But the bonniest flow'r 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 flow'r, 
 
 In the gay rosy mom as it bathes in the dew ; 
 And gentle the fall of the soft vernal show'r, 
 
 That steals on the evening each leaf to renew ! 
 
 O spare the dear blossom, ye orient breezes, 
 
 With chill, hoary wing as ye usher the dawn ! 
 And far be thou distant, thou reptile that seizest. 
 
 The verdure and pride of the garden or lawn ! 
 Let Bourbon exult in his gay gilded lilies. 
 
 And England triumphant display her proud rose : 
 A fairer than either adorns the green vallies, 
 
 Where Devon, sweet Devon, meandering flows
 
 1J3 
 
 MILL, MILL O.- 
 
 The original, or at least a song evidently prior 
 to Ramsai/'s, is still extant. — It nms thus: 
 
 The mill, mill 0, and the kill, kill 0, 
 
 And the coggin a' Peggy's wheel 0, 
 
 The sack and the sieve, and a' she did leave, 
 
 % 
 And danc'd the miller's reel 0. 
 
 As I cam down yon waterside. 
 
 And by yon shellin-hill O, 
 There I spied a bonie bonie lass. 
 
 And a lass that I lov'd rio-ht wee! O. — * 
 
 Beneath a green shade I fane} a fair maid 
 Was sleeping sound and still O, 
 
 A' lowing wi' love, my fancy did rove, 
 Around her with good will-O : 
 
 • The remaining two stanzas, though pretty enough, partake 
 rather too much of the rude simplicity of the " Olden time" to 
 be admitted here. — Ed.
 
 134 
 
 Her bosom 1 press'd, but, sunk in her rest, 
 
 She stir'd na my joy to spill-O ; 
 While kindly she slept, close to her I crept, 
 
 And kiss'd, and kiss'd her my fill-O. 
 
 Oblig'd by command in Flanders to land, 
 
 T' employ my courage and skill-O, 
 Frae 'er quietly I staw, hoist'd sails and awa. 
 
 For wind blew fair on the hill-O. 
 Twa years brought me hanie, where loud-frasing fame 
 
 Tald me with a voice right shrill-O, 
 My lass, like a fool, had mounted the stool,* 
 
 Nor ken'd wha'd done her the ill-0» 
 
 Mair fond of her charms, with my son in her arms, 
 
 A ferlying speer'd how she fell-O j 
 Wi' the tear in her eye, quoth she, let me die, 
 
 Sweet sir, gin I can tell-O. 
 Love gae the command, I took her by the hand, 
 
 And bad her a' fears expel-O, 
 And nafe mair look wan, for I was the man 
 
 Wha had done her the deed mysell-0. 
 
 My bonny sweet lass, on the gowany grass. 
 Beneath the shiUiiig-hill-O ;t 
 
 * Of repentance. 
 
 t Wliere they winnow the chaff from the coin.
 
 135 
 
 If I did offence, I'se make ye amends, 
 
 Before I leave Peggy's mill-O. 
 O ! the miU, mill-O, and the kill, kill-O, 
 
 And the cogging of the wheel-O, 
 The sack and the sieve, a' thae ye man leave, 
 
 And round with a soger reel-O. 
 
 WALY, WALY. 
 
 In the west country I have heard a different 
 edition of the second stanza. — Instead of the four 
 lines, beginning with, "When cockle-shells," See. 
 the other way ran thus: — 
 
 O wherefore need I busk my head. 
 Or wherefore need I kame my hair. 
 
 Sin my fause luve has me forsook. 
 
 And says he'll never luve me mair. — * 
 
 O waly waly up the bank. 
 
 And waly waly down the brae. 
 And waly waly by yon bum-side, 
 
 Where I and my love were wont to gae. 
 
 • So it is ill tiie Tea Table Miscellany, from which the present 
 copy is printed.— Ed.
 
 136 
 
 I leant my back unto an aik, 
 I thought it was a trustie trie ; 
 
 But first it bow'd, and syne it brake, 
 And sae my true love did lyghtlie me* 
 
 O waly waly gin love be bonny 
 
 A little time while it is new ; 
 But when its auld it waxeth cauld, 
 
 And fades awa' like morning-dew. 
 O wherfore shu'd I busk my head ? 
 
 Or wherfore shu'd I kame my hair ? 
 For my true love has me forsook, 
 
 And says he'll never loe me mair. 
 
 Now Arthur-seat sail be my bed. 
 
 The sheits shall neir be iyl'd by me : 
 Saint Anton's well sail be my drink. 
 
 Since my true love has forsaken me. 
 Marti'mas wind, whan wilt thou blaw. 
 
 And shake the green leaves afF the trie ? 
 O gentle death, whan wilt thou cum ? 
 
 For of my life I am wearie. 
 
 'Tis not the frost that freezes fell. 
 Nor blawing snaw's inclemencie ; 
 
 'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry. 
 But my love's heart grown cauld to roe.
 
 137 
 
 Whan we came in by Glasgowe town. 
 We were a comely sight to see ; 
 
 My love was clad i' th' black velvet. 
 And I mysell in cramasie. 
 
 But had I wist before I kisst, 
 
 That love had been sae ill to win, 
 I had lockt my heart in a case of gowd, 
 
 And pinn'd it wi' a siller pin. 
 Oh, oh ! if my young babe were borne. 
 
 And set upon the nurse's knee. 
 And I mysell were dead and gone, 
 
 For a maid again He never be !* 
 
 DUNCAN GRAY. 
 
 Dr. Blacklock informed me that he had often 
 heard the tradition that this air was composed hy a 
 carman in Glasgow. 
 
 Duncan Gray cam here to woo, 
 
 Ha, ha, the wooing ot, 
 On blythe yule night when we were fou, 
 
 Ha, ha, the wooing oV. 
 
 * Tbis song is quoted in a musical medley publistied in 1600.
 
 138 
 
 Maggie coost her head fu' high, 
 Look'd asklent and unco skeigh ; 
 Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh ; 
 Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 
 
 Duncan fleech'd and Duncan pray'd ; 
 
 Ha, ha, 8fc. 
 Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig* 
 
 Ha, ha, ^c. 
 Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, 
 Grat his e'en baith bleert and blin, 
 Spak o' lowpin o'er a linn ; 
 
 Ha^ ha^ S^c. 
 
 Time and chance are but a tide, 
 
 Ha, ha, ^c. 
 Slighted love is sair to bide, 
 
 Ha, ha, S^c. 
 Shall I, like a fool, quo' he, 
 For a haughty hizzie die ; 
 She may gae to — France for me ! 
 
 Ha, ha, S^c. 
 
 How it comes let doctors tell. 
 Ha, ha, S^c. 
 
 * A well-known rock in the frith of Clyde.
 
 139 
 
 Meg grew sick — as he grew heal, 
 
 Ha, ha, ^c. 
 Something in her bosom wrings, 
 For relief a sigh she brings ; 
 And O, her e'en, they spak sic things ! 
 
 Ha, ha, ^c. 
 
 Duncan was a lad o' grace, 
 
 Ha, ha, ^c. 
 Maggie's was a piteous caie, 
 
 Ha, ha, ^c. 
 Duncan could na be her death. 
 Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath ; 
 Now they're crouse and canfy baith, 
 
 Ha, hof the wooing o't. 
 
 DUMBARTON DRUMS. 
 
 This is the last of the West Highland dirs; and 
 from it, over the ti)hole tfact of country to the con- 
 fines of Twied-side, there ii hatdly a tune or song 
 that one can say has taken its origin frofti any place 
 or transaction in that part of Scotland. — The oldest 
 Ayrshire reel, is Stewarton Lasses, which was made
 
 140 
 
 by the father of the present Sir Walter Montgomeri/ 
 Cunningham, alias Lord Lyle; since which period 
 there has indeed been local music in that country/ 
 in great plenty. — Johnie Faa is the only old song 
 which I could ever trace as belonging to the exten- 
 sive county of Ayr. 
 
 TODLEN HAME. 
 
 This is, perhaps, the first bottle song that ever 
 was composed. 
 
 When I've a saxpence under my thumb, 
 
 Then I'll get credit in ilka town: 
 
 But ay when I'm poor they bid me gae by ; 
 
 O ! poverty parts good company. 
 Todlen hame, todlen hame, 
 Coiidna my hove come todlen hame'i 
 
 Fair-fa' the goodwife, and send her good sale, 
 She gi'es us white bannocks to drink her ale, 
 Syne if her tippony chance to be sma', 
 We'll tak a good scour o't, and ca't awa'. 
 Todlen hame, todlen hame. 
 As round as a neep* come todlen hame. 
 * A neep — a turnip.
 
 141 
 
 My kimmer and I lay down to sleep, 
 
 And tvva pintstoups at our bed-feet ; 
 
 And ay when we waken'd, we drank them dry : 
 
 What thmk ye of my wee kimmer and I ? 
 Todlen but, and todlen ben,* 
 Sae round as my hove comes todlen hame. 
 
 Leez me on liquor, my todlen dow, 
 
 Ye're ay sae good humour'd when weeting your mou ; 
 
 When sober sae sour, ye'U fight wi' a flee. 
 
 That 'tis a blyth sight to the bairns and me, 
 When todlen hame, todlen hame, 
 When round as a neep ye come todlen hame. 
 
 CAULD KAIL IN ABERDEEN. 
 
 This song is by the Duke of Gordon. — The old 
 verses are, 
 
 There's cauld kail in Aberdeen, 
 
 And castocks in Strabogie ; 
 When ilka lad maun hae his lass. 
 
 Then fye, gie me my cogie. 
 
 * But and ben, is the outer and inner room. In low farm- 
 bouses of two rooms, tLe enter room is called the but, and the 
 inner one the hen.
 
 142 
 
 My cogie, Sirs, my cogie, Sirs, 
 
 I cannot want my cogie : 
 J w(i4no, gie my three-girr'd stoup 
 
 For a' the queues on Bogie. 
 
 There's Johnie Smith has got a wife 
 That scrimps him o' his cogie. 
 
 If she were mine, upon my hfe 
 I'd douk her in a bogie. 
 
 My cogie, Sirs, dec. 
 
 There's cauld kail in Aberdeen, 
 And castocks in Stra'bogie ; 
 Gin I but hae a bonny lass, 
 Ye're welcon^e to your cogie : 
 And ye may sit up a' the night, 
 And drink till it be braid day-light ; 
 Gie me a lass baith clean and tight. 
 To dance the Reel of Bogie. 
 In cotillons the French excel ; 
 John Bull loves countra-dances ; 
 The Spaniards dance fandangos well ; 
 Myoheer an aliemande prances :
 
 us 
 
 In foursome reels the Scotch delight, 
 The threesome maist dance wond'rous light ; 
 But twosome's ding a' out o' sight, 
 Danc'd to the Reel of Bogie. 
 
 Come, lads, and view your partners well, 
 Wale each a blytlisome rogie ; 
 I'll tak this lassie to mysel. 
 She seems sae keen and vogie ! 
 Now piper lad bang up the spring ; 
 The countra fashion is the thing, 
 To prie their mou's e'er we begin 
 To dance tlie Reel of Bogie. 
 
 Now ilka lad has got a lass. 
 Save yon auld doited fogie ; 
 And ta'en a fling upo' the grass, 
 As they do in iStra'bogie : 
 But a' the lasses look sae fain, 
 We canna think oursel's to hain. 
 For they maun hae their come again 
 To dance the Reel of Bogie. 
 
 Now a' the lads hae done their best, 
 like true men of Stra'bogie ; 
 We'll stop awhile and tak a rest, 
 And tipple out a cogie :
 
 144 
 
 Come now, my lads, and tak your glass. 
 And try ilk other to surpass, 
 In wishing health to every lass 
 To dance the Reel of Bogie. 
 
 FOR LAKE OF GOLD. 
 
 The country/ girls in Ayrshire, instead of the 
 
 line 
 
 She me forsook for a great duke, 
 say, 
 
 For Athole's duke she me forsook ; 
 
 which I take to be the original reading. 
 
 These words were composed by the late Dr. Austin, 
 physician at Edinburgh. — He had courted a lady^ 
 to whom he was shortly to have been married: but 
 the Duke of At hole having seen her, became so much 
 in love with her, that he made proposals of mar- 
 riage, which were accepted of, and she jilted the 
 Doctor. 
 
 • Jean, daughter of John Drummond, of Megginch, Esq.
 
 145 
 
 WE RAN AND THEY RAN.* 
 
 The author of We ran and they ran, and they 
 ran and we ran, <Sfc. was the late Rev. Murdoch 
 M'Lennan, minister at Crathie, Dee-side. 
 
 There's some say that we wan, 
 
 Some say that they wan, 
 Some say that nane wan at a' man ; 
 
 But one thing I'm sure, 
 
 That at Sheriff Muirf 
 A battle there was, which I saw roan : 
 
 And we ran and they ran, and they ran, and 
 we ran, and we ran, and they ran, awa\ man. 
 
 • This copy is given from Ritson's Coll. with his Historical 
 Notices. — Ed. 
 
 t The battle of Dumblain or SherifF-muir was fought the 13th 
 of November 1713, between the earl of Mar, for the Chevalier, 
 and the duke of Argyle for the government. Both sides claimed 
 the victory, the left wing of either army being routed. The 
 capture of Preston, it is very remarkable, happened on the same 
 day. 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 
 
 Brave Argyle* and Belhaven,-!- 
 
 Not like frighted Leven,J 
 Which Rothes§ and Haddington|| sa' man ; 
 
 For they all with Wightman** 
 
 Advanced on the right, man, 
 While others look flight, being ra', man. 
 And zve ran, and they ran, S^c. 
 
 Lord Roxburgh-f~|- was there, 
 
 In order to share 
 With DouglaSjJJ who stood not in awe, man, 
 
 Volunteerly to ramble 
 
 With lord Loudon Campbell,^§ 
 Brave Ilay|||| did suffer for a' man. 
 A7id we ran, and they ran, &;c. 
 
 * John (Campbell) 2d duke of Argyle, commander in chief of 
 the government forces; a nobleman of great talents and inte- 
 grity, much respected by all parties : died 1743. 
 
 t John (Hamilton) lord BeJhaven; served as a volunteer; and 
 Lad the command of a troop of horse raised by the county of 
 Haddington: perished at sea, 1721. 
 
 t David (Lesly) earl of Leven ; for the government. 
 
 i John (Lesly) earl of Rothes; for the government. 
 
 II Thomas (Hamilton) earl of Haddington; for the government. 
 
 ** Major general Joseph Wightman. 
 
 tt John (Rer) first duke of Roxburgh ; for the government. 
 
 ^} Arcliibald (Douglas) duke of Douglas. 
 
 ^>) Hugh (Campbell) earl of Loudon. 
 
 |;j| Arcliibald earl of Hay, brother to the duke of Argyle. He 
 v.as (!an;,'rrously wounded.
 
 147 
 
 Sir John Schaw,* that great knight, 
 
 Wi' broad-sword most bright, 
 On horseback he briskly did charge, man ; 
 
 An hero that's bold, 
 
 None could him with-hold, 
 He stoutly encounter'd the targemen. 
 And we ran, and they ran, 8^c. 
 
 For the cowardly Whittam,"f- 
 
 For fear they should cut him. 
 Seeing glittering broad-swords wi' a pa', man. 
 
 And that in such thrang, 
 
 Made Baird edicang,J 
 And from the brave clans ran awa', man. 
 And zee ran, and they ran, ^c. 
 
 Brave Mar§ and Panmure|| 
 Were firm I am sure. 
 The latter was kidnapt awa', man, 
 With brisk men about, 
 
 * An officer in the troop of gentlemen volunteers. 
 
 t Major-general Thomas Whitham. 
 
 X i. e. Aid du camp. 
 
 § John (Erskine) earl of Mar, commander in chief of the Che- 
 valier's army; a nobleman of great spirit, honour, and abilities. 
 He died at Aix-la-Chapelle in 1732. 
 
 II James (Maule) earl of Panmure; died at Paris, 1723. 
 
 L 2
 
 148 
 
 Brave Harry* retook 
 His brother, and laught at them a', man. 
 ^nd we ran, and they ran, ^c. 
 
 Grave Marshallf and Lithgow,| 
 
 And Glengary's§ pith too, 
 Assisted by brave Loggie-man,j| 
 
 And Gordons the bright 
 
 So boldly did fight, 
 The redcoats took flight and awa' man. 
 And we ran, and they ran, S^c. 
 
 * Honorable Harry Manle, brother to the earl. The circum- 
 stance here alluded to is thus related in the earl of Mar's printed 
 account of the engagement : " The prisoners taken by us were 
 veiy civilly used, and none of them stript. Some were allow'd 
 to return to Sterling upon their parole, &c. . . The few prison- 
 ers taken by the enemy on our Left were most of them stript 
 and wounded after taken. The earl of Panmure being first of 
 the prisoners wounded after taken. They having refused his 
 parole, he was left in a village, and by the hasty retreat of the 
 enemy, upon the approach of our army, was rescu'd by his bro- 
 ther and his servants." 
 
 t George (Keith) earl Marischall, then a youth at college. He 
 died at his government of Neufchatel in 1771. His brother, the 
 celebrated marshall Keith, was with him in this battle. 
 
 t James (Livingston) earl of Calendar and Linlithgow : at- 
 tainted. 
 
 $ Alexander M'Donald of Glengary, laird of a clan; a brave 
 and spirited chief: attainted. 
 
 II Thomas Drummond of Logie-Almond ; commanded the two 
 battalions of Drummonds. He was wounded.
 
 149 
 
 Strathmore* and Clanronaldf 
 
 Cry'd still, advance, Donald! 
 Till both these heroes did fa', man ;;{: 
 
 For there was such hashing. 
 
 And broad swords a clashing, 
 Brave Forfar§ himself got a cla', man. 
 And we ran, and they ran, 8^c. 
 
 • John (Lyon) earl of Strathmore ; " a man of good parts, of 
 a most amiable disposition and character." 
 
 t Ranald M'Donald, captain of Clan Ranald. N.B. The 
 captain of a clan was one who, being next or near in blood to 
 the chief, headed them in his infancy or absence. 
 
 $ *' We have lost to our regret, the earl of Strathmore and the 
 captain of Clan Ranald." Earl of Mar's Letter to the governor 
 of Perth. Again, printed account : " We cann't find above 60 
 of our men in all kill'd, among whom were the earl of Sti'athmore 
 [and] tlie captain of Clan Ranald, both much lamented." The 
 latter, " for his good parts and gentle accomplishments, was 
 look'd upon as the most gallant and generous young gentleman 
 among the clans. . . He was lamented by both parties that knew 
 him." 
 
 His servant, who lay on the field watching his dead body, being 
 asked next day who that was, answered, He was a man yester- 
 day. — Boswell's Journey to the Hebrides^ p. 359. 
 
 § Archibald (Douglas) earl of Forfar, who commanded a regi- 
 ment in the duke's army. He is said to have been shot in the 
 knee, and to have had 10 or 12 cuts in his head from the broad- 
 swords. He died a few days after of his wounds.
 
 150 
 
 Lord Perth* stood the storm, 
 
 Seaforth-f- but lukewarm, 
 KilsythJ and Strathallan§ not sla', man ; 
 
 And Hamilton|| pled 
 
 The men were not bred, 
 For he had no fancy to fa' man. 
 
 And me ran, and they ran, i^e. 
 
 Brave generous Southesk,** 
 Tilebairn*)~|- was brisk, 
 Whose father indeed would not dra', man, 
 
 * James marquis of Dnimraond, son of James (Drummond) 
 duke of Perth, was lieutenant general of horse, and " behaved 
 with great gallantry." He was attainted, but escaped to France, 
 where he soon after died. 
 
 t William (Mackenzie) earl of Seaforth. He was attainted, 
 and died in 1740. 
 
 i William (Livingston) viscount Kilsyth : attainted. 
 
 § William (Drummond) viscount Strathallan ; wliose sense of 
 loyalty could scarcely equal the spirit and activity he manifested 
 in the cause. He was taken prisoner in this battle, which he 
 survived to perish in the still more fatal one of Culloden-muir. 
 
 II Lieutenant;general George Hamilton, commanding under 
 the earl of Mar. 
 
 ** James (Carnegie) earl of Southesk ; was attainted, and, 
 escaping to France, died there in 1729. 
 
 +t William (Murray) marquis of Tullibardin, eldest son to the 
 duke of Athol. Having been attainted, he was taken at sea in 
 1746, and died soon after, of a flux, in the Tower.
 
 151 
 
 Into the same yoke, 
 Which serv'd for a cloak, 
 To keep the estate 'twixt them twa, man. 
 
 And we ran, and they ran, S^c. 
 
 Lord Rollo* not fear'd, 
 
 Kintore-f- and his beard, 
 PitsHgoJ and Ogilvie§ a', man. 
 
 And brothers Balfours,|| 
 
 They stood the first show'rs, 
 Clackmannan and Burleigh** did cla', man. 
 
 And we ran, and they ran, &)C. 
 
 • Robert (Rollo) lord Rollo ; " a man of singular merit and 
 great integrity ;" died in 1758. 
 t William (Keith) earl of Kintore. 
 
 X Alexander (Forbes) lord Pitsligo; a man of good parts, 
 great honour and spirit, and universally beloved and esteemed." 
 He was engaged again in the affair of 1745, for which he was at- 
 tainted, and died at an advanced age in 1762. 
 
 § James lord Ogilvie, eldest son of David (Ogilvie) earl of 
 Airly. He was attainted, but afterwards pardoned. His father, 
 not dra'ing into the same yoke, saved the estate. 
 
 il Some relations it is supposed of the lord Burleigh. 
 
 •* Robert (Balfour) lord Burleigli. Ue was attainted, and 
 died in 1757,
 
 152 
 
 But Cleppan* acted pretty, 
 
 And Strowan the witty,-)* 
 A poet that pleases us a', man ; 
 
 For mine is but rhime, 
 
 In respect of what's fine. 
 Or what he is able to dra', man. 
 And we rarij and they ran, Sfc. 
 
 For HuntlyJ and Sinclair,§ 
 
 They both play'd the tinclair, 
 With consciences black like a era*, man. 
 
 Some Angus and Fifemen 
 
 They ran for their life, man, 
 And ne'er a Lot's wife there at a*, man. 
 And we ran, and they ran, 8;c. 
 
 * Major William Ciephane, adjutant-general to the marqnis 
 of Drummond. 
 
 t Alexander Robertson of Struan ; who, having experienced 
 every vicissitude of life, with a stoical firmness, died in peace 
 1749. He was an excellent poet, and has left elegies worthy of 
 TibuUus. 
 
 t Alexander (Gordon) marquis of Huntley, eldest son to the 
 duke of Gordon, who, according to the usual policy of his coun- 
 try, (of which we here meet with several other instances), re- 
 mained neutral. 
 
 § John Sinclair, esq. commonly called master of Sinclair, eldest 
 son of Henry lord Sinclair ; was attainted, but afterward par- 
 doned, and died in 1730. The estate was preserved of 
 course.
 
 153 
 
 Then Laurie the traytor, 
 
 Who betray'd his master, 
 His king and his countrie and a', man, 
 
 Pretending Mar might 
 
 Give order to fight, 
 To the right of the army awa', man.* 
 
 And we ran, and they ran, S^c. 
 
 • " There was at this time a report prevail'd that one Drum- 
 mond went to Perth under the notion of a deserter from the duke 
 Argyle, but in reality acted the part of a spy, and gave his 
 grace intelligence of all the motions of the enemy. This man 
 was employed the day of the action, as aid de camp to the lord 
 Drummond, and in that quality attended the earl of Mar to re- 
 ceive his orders ; the earl, when he found his right was like to 
 break the duke's left, sent this Drummond with orders to gene- 
 ral Hammilton, who commanded on the rebels' left, to attack 
 the enemy briskly, for that he was like to get the better on the 
 right. But Drummond, as they pretend, gave contrary orders, 
 and intelligence to general Hammilton, acquainting him that the 
 earl's right was broke, and desiring the general to retire with all 
 the expedition possible, and in the best order he could. Upon 
 which general Hammilton gave orders to slacken the attack, 
 which was obey'd. Then the duke's right approaching, the most 
 of them gave way without striking a stroke, and those who 
 stood were mostly gentlemen and officers, who were severely 
 gall'd by tlie duke ; and they pretend that Drummond, after 
 performing this treacherous part, went over to the duke." 
 
 Campbell's Life of John Duke of Argyle, p. 204.
 
 154 
 
 Then Laurie, for fear 
 
 Of what he might hear, 
 Took Drummond's best horse and awa', man, 
 
 Instead o' going to Perth, 
 
 He crossed the Firth, 
 Alongst StirUng-bridge and awa', man. 
 And we ran, and they ran, &^c. 
 
 To London he press'd, 
 
 And there he address'd. 
 That he behav'd best o' them a', man ; 
 
 And there without strife 
 
 Got settled for hfe, 
 An hundred a year to his fa', man. 
 And we ran, and they ran, S^c. 
 
 In Burrowstounness 
 
 He resides wi' disgrace. 
 Till his neck stand in need of a dra', man. 
 
 And then in a tether 
 
 He'll swing frae a ladder, 
 [And] go afF the stage with a pa', man. 
 And we ran, and they ran, ^c. 
 
 Rob Roy* stood watch 
 
 On a hill for to catch 
 
 * " Among other causes of the rebels' misfortune in that day, 
 they reckon the part Rob Roy, M. Gregor, acted to be one; this 
 
 Roh
 
 155 
 
 The booty for ought that I sa', man, 
 
 For he ne'er advanc'd 
 
 From the place he was stanc'd, 
 Till nae mair to do there at a', man. 
 And we ran, and they ran, S^c. 
 
 Rob Roy, or IRed'] Robert, was brother to the laird of M. Gregor, 
 and commanded that clau in his brother's absence, but in the 
 day of battle he kept his men together at some distance without 
 allowing them to engage, tho' they show'd all the willingness 
 immaginable, and waited only an opportunity to plunder, which 
 was, it seems, the chief of his design of coming there. This clan 
 are a hardy rough people, but noted for pilfering, as they lye 
 upon the border of the Highlands, and this Rob Roy had exer- 
 cised their talents that way pretty much in a kind of thieving 
 war he carried on against the duke of Montrose, who had, as he 
 alledged, cheated him of a small feudal estate." Campbell's Life 
 of J. D. of Argyle, p. 205. 
 
 Tlie conduct of this gentleman (who, the historian would not 
 tell us, had assumed the surname of Campbell, his own being 
 prohibited by act of parliament) was the more surprising, as he 
 had ever been remarked for courage and activity. When de- 
 sired by one of his own officers to go and assist his friends, he is 
 reported to have said, " If they cannot do it without me, they 
 csmnot do it with me." It is more than probable, however, that 
 his interference would have decided the fortune of that day in 
 favour of his own party. " He continued in arms for some 
 years after, and committed great depredations in the shires of 
 
 Dumbarton and Lenox, particularly on the duke of Montrose's 
 lands, defeating several detachments sent to reduce him." 
 Boyse's History of the Rebellion. He is in the number of those 
 
 attainted by parliament.
 
 1j6 
 
 So we a' took the flight, 
 
 And Moubray the wright ; 
 But Letham the smith was a bra' man, 
 
 For he took the gout, 
 
 Which truly was wit, 
 By judging it time to withdra', man. 
 And we ran, and they ran, ^c. 
 
 And trumpet M'Lean, 
 
 Whose breaks were not clean, 
 Thro' misfortune he happen'd to fa', man, 
 
 By saving his neck 
 
 His trumpet did break. 
 Came aflf without musick at a', man.* 
 And we ran, and they ran, S^c. 
 
 * The particulars of this anecdote no where appear. Tlie 
 hero is supposed to be the same John 31' Lean, trumpet, who was 
 sent from lord Mar, tlien at Perth, with a letter to the duke of 
 Argyle, at Stirling camp, on the 30th of October. "Vide Original 
 Letters, 1730. Two copies, however, printed not long after 
 1715, read, " And trumpet Manne." 
 
 In 1782 the son of this Trumpeter Marine told the Earl of 
 Haddington (then Lord Binning) that the first circuit he ever 
 attended, as one of his Majesty's household trumpeters, was the 
 Nortliern, in the year 1716, along with old Lord Minto. That 
 the reason of his going there was, that the circuit immediately 
 preceding, his father had been so harassed in every town he 
 went through, by the- people singing his verse, " And Trumpet 
 Marine, whose breeks," &c. of this song, that he swore he would 
 never go again ; and actually resigned his situation in favour of 
 his son.— Campbell's Hist, of Poetry in Scotland.
 
 157 
 
 So there such a race was, 
 
 As ne'er in that place was, 
 And as little chase was at a', man ; 
 
 Frae ither they 'run' 
 
 Without touk o' drum ; 
 They did not make use of a pa', man. 
 
 And we ran, and they ran, and they ran, and 
 we ran, and we ran, and they ran azm\ man.* 
 
 • This battle has also been celebrated in a sort of dialogue, 
 printed in Ritson's Collection of Scotish Songs, between " Will 
 Lick-ladle and Tom Clean-cogue, twa Shepherds wha were feed- 
 ing their flocks on the Ochil-hills on the day the battle of Sheriff- 
 Muir was fought." The mode of narration is well choseil, but 
 the poem has Uttle other merit, except as being a circumstantial 
 and a sort of gazette account of the affair. 
 
 So fine a subject could not escape the Muse which immor- 
 talized the fight of Bannockburn, and in the accompanying 
 stanzas we have additional proof of the ardent and inexhaustible 
 mind of Bums, which when roused in the cause of Patriotism, 
 could invest the rudest materials with the riches of its own 
 genius. Most imitations are only foils to the original ; but here, 
 the Model is like a tree in the bare poverty of winter, and the 
 Copy is the same tree warmed with the life and clothed iit the 
 verdure of spring. This is one among innumerable instances, ia 
 which he has displayed the versatility of his powers in new-mo- 
 delling the ancient ballads of his country. 
 
 " Nullum fjuod tctigit Hon oruavit." 
 
 Ed.
 
 168 
 
 ON THE BATTLE OF SHERIFF-MUII(, 
 BETWEEN 
 
 The Duke of Argj/le and the Earl of Mar. 
 
 " O cam ye here the fight to shun. 
 Or herd the sheep wi' me, man ? 
 
 O ware ye at the Sherra-muir, 
 And did the battle see, man ?" 
 I saw the battle, sair and tough, 
 And reekin-red ran mony a sheugh, 
 My heart for fear gae sough for sough. 
 To hear the thuds, and see the cluds 
 O' clans frae woods, in tartan duds, 
 
 Wha glaum'd at kingdoms three, man. 
 
 The red-coat lads wi' black cockades 
 
 To meet them were iia slaw, man ; 
 They rush'd and push'd, and blude outgush'd, 
 
 And mony a bouk*" did fa', man : 
 The great Argyle led on his files, 
 I wat they glanced twenty miles : 
 They hack'd and hash'd, while broad-swords clash'd, 
 And thro' they dash'd, and hew'd and smash'd, 
 
 Till fey men died awa, man. 
 
 * A bouk—a carcass, the body of a man.
 
 159 
 
 But had you seen the philibegs, 
 
 And skyrin tartan trews, man, 
 When in the teeth they dar'd our whigs, 
 
 And covenant true blues, man ; 
 In lines extended lang and large, 
 When bayonets oppos'd the targe, 
 And thousands hasten'd to the charge, 
 Wi' Highland wrath they frae the sheath. 
 Drew blades o' death, till, out o' breath, 
 
 They fled like frighted doos, man. 
 
 '* O how deil Tarn can that be true ? 
 
 The chase gaed frae the north, man : 
 I saw myself, they did pursue 
 
 The horseman back to Forth, man ; 
 And at Dumblane, in my ain sight, 
 They took the brig wi' a' their might. 
 And straught to Stirling wing'd their flight ; 
 But, cursed lot ! the gates were shut. 
 And mony a huntit, poor red-coat 
 
 For fear amaist did swarf, man." 
 
 My sister Kate cam up the gate 
 
 Wi' crowdie mito me, man ; 
 She swore she saw some rebels run 
 
 Frae Perth unto Dundee, man :
 
 160 
 
 Their left-hand general had nae skill. 
 The Angus lads had nae good will 
 That day their neebors' blood to spill ; 
 For fear, by foes, that they should lose 
 Their cogs o' brose ; all crying woes. 
 And so it goes you see, man. 
 
 They've lost some gallant gentlemen, 
 Amang the Highland clans, man : 
 
 I fear my lord Panmure is slain. 
 Or fallen in whiggish hands, man : 
 
 Now wad ye sing this double fight, 
 
 Some fell for wrang, and some for right ; 
 
 But mony bade the world gude night ; 
 
 Then ye may tell, how pell and mell, 
 
 By red claymores, and muskets' knell, 
 
 Wi' dying yell, the tories fell. 
 And whigs to hell did flee, man.
 
 161 
 
 here's a health to my true love, &c. 
 
 This sons is Dr. Blacklock*s. — He told me that 
 tradition gives the air to our James IV. of Scot- 
 land. 
 
 BIDE YE YET. 
 
 There is a beautiful song to this tune, begin- 
 ning, 
 
 Alas, my son, you little know — 
 
 tchich is the composition of a Miss Jenny Graham 
 of Dumfries.* 
 
 Alas ! my son, you little know 
 
 The sorrows that from wedlock flow : 
 
 Farewel to every day of ease. 
 
 When you have gotten a wife to please, 
 
 • Miss Graham was a maiden lady ; she lived to a pretty 
 old age, and at length died a martyr to an asthma of many 
 years continuance, the pain of which she alleviated by exer- 
 cising her cheerful disposition in coniposbg humourous Scoti^ili 
 songs. — Ed. 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 
 
 Sue bide you yet, and bide you yef. 
 Ye little ken what's to betide you yet ; 
 The half of that will gane you yet, 
 Jf a wayward wife obtain you ye(. 
 
 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 alang the road. 
 Sae bide you yet, 8fc. 
 
 Sometimes the rock, sometimes 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, 8^c. 
 
 When I like you was young and free, 
 I valued not the proudest she ; 
 Like you I vainly boasted then, 
 That men alone were born to reign. 
 Sae bide you yet, fyc. 
 
 * This is an ancient proverbial expression. It is used by Sir 
 John Harrington in his translation of the Orlando Furioso (b. vi. 
 s. 72.) where, speaking of some very young damsels, he says, 
 
 TJie blacke oxe has not yet trod on their toe. 
 
 It is used in Yorkshire to this day, and is generally applied to 
 such indiscreet unmarried young men as have not yet sown their 
 wild oats.
 
 163 
 
 Great Hercules and Sampson too. 
 Were stronger men than I or you j 
 Yet they were baffled by their dears. 
 And felt the distaff and the sheers. 
 .Sae bide you yet, Sfc. 
 
 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, 8fc. 
 
 BIDE YE YET. 
 
 Gin I had a wee house and a canty wee fire^ 
 A bonny wee wifie to praise and admire, 
 A bonny wee yardie aside a wee bum ; 
 Fareweel to the bodies that yammer and mourn. 
 Sae bide ye yet, and bide ye yet, 
 
 Ye little kat what may betide ye yety 
 Some bonny wee body may be my lot, 
 And ril be canty wH thinking o't. 
 
 When I gang afield, and come home at e'en, 
 I'll get my wee wifie fou neat and fou clean ; 
 And a bonny wee bairne upon her knee, 
 That will cry, papa, or daddy, to me. 
 Sae bide ye yet, S)X. 
 
 M 2
 
 1&4 
 
 And if there happen ever to be 
 A diflF'rence atween my wee wifie and me, 
 In hearty good humour, although she be teaz^d,. 
 I'll kiss her and clap her until she be pleas'd. 
 Sae bide ye yetf Sfe. 
 
 HEY TUTTI TAITI.* 
 
 / HAVE met the tradition universally over Scot- 
 land, and particularly about Stirling, in the neigh- 
 
 • To this melody Burns adapted his celebrated address of 
 Brace at Baimockburn. His feelings on visiting the scene of 
 that memorable battle are described in his unpublished journal 
 in the Editor's possession, in language almost as sublime and 
 energetic as that of his heart-rousing Poem, and they are both 
 here inserted, that the reader may judge between the embryo 
 and the full-grown offspring of his genius. 
 
 " Bannockbum. Here no Scot can pass uninterested. I 
 fancy to myself that I see my gallant, heroic countrymen coming 
 o'er the hill, and down upon the plunderers of their countrv, the 
 murderers of their fathers ; noble revenge and just hate glowing 
 in every vein, striding more and more eagerly as they approach 
 the oppressive, insulting, blood-thirsty foe ! I see them meet, 
 in gloriously triumphant congratulation, on the victorious field, 
 exulting in tlieir heroic royal Leader, and rescued liberty and 
 independence !" 
 
 ROBERT
 
 165 
 
 bourhood of the scene, that this air was Robert 
 Bruce's march at the battle of Barmockhurn. 
 
 ROBERT BUUCE S ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY. 
 
 Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, 
 Scots, wham Bruce has aften led ; 
 Welcome to yonr gory bed, 
 Or to glorious victorie. 
 
 Now's the day, and now's the hour ; 
 See the front o' battle lour; 
 See approach proud Edward's power — 
 Edward! chains and slaverie ! 
 
 Wha will be a traitor knave ? 
 Wha can fill a coward's grave ? 
 Wha sae base as be a slave ? 
 Traitor ! coward f turn and flee ! 
 
 Wha for Scotland's king and law 
 Freedom's sword will strongly draw. 
 Free-man stand, or free-man fa', 
 Caledonian ! on wi' me ! 
 
 By oppression's woes and pains! 
 By your sons in servile chains ; 
 We will dralu our dearest veins, 
 But they shall be— shall be free ! 
 
 Lay the proud usurpers low ! 
 Tyrants tall in every foe; 
 Liberty's in every blow! 
 Forward ! let us do, or die !
 
 166 
 
 RAVING WINDS AROUND HER BLOWING. 
 
 / COMPOSED these verses on Miss Isabella 
 M'JLeod of Raza, alluding to her feelings on the 
 death of her sister, and the still more melancholy 
 death of her sister's husband, the late Earl of 
 Loudon. 
 
 Tone — M'Grigor of Roro's Lament. 
 
 Raving winds around her blowing, 
 Yellow leaves the woodlands strowing, 
 By a river hoarsely roaring, 
 Isabella stray 'd deploring. 
 Farewel hours, that late did measure 
 Sunshine days of joy and pleasure; 
 Hail ! thou gloomy night of sorrow, 
 Cheerless night that knows no morrow ! 
 
 O'er the Past too fondly wandering, 
 On the hopeless Future wandering ; 
 Chilly grief my life-blood freezes, 
 Fell despair my fancy seizes. 
 Life, thou soul of every blessing, 
 Load to misery most distressing ; 
 Gladly how would 1 resign thee. 
 And to dark oblivion join thee .'
 
 167 
 
 THE BRIDAL O T. 
 
 This song is the zcork of a Mr. Alexander Ross, 
 late schoolmaster at Ldchlee;* and author of a 
 beautiful Scots poem, called. The Fortunate Shep- 
 herdess. 
 
 Tune— Lucy Campbell. 
 
 They say that Jockey'U speed weel o't. 
 
 They say that Jockey'U speed weel o'f, 
 For he grows brawer ilka day, 
 
 I hope we'll hae a bridal o't : 
 For yesternight, uae farder gane, 
 
 The backhouse at the side wa' o't, 
 He there wi' Meg was mirden seen, 
 
 I hope we'll hae a bridal o't. 
 
 An we had but a bridal o't, 
 
 An we had but & bridal o't, 
 We'd leave the rest unto gude luck, 
 
 Altho' there should betide ill o't : 
 
 • An account of Mr. Ross may be seen in the Appendix to 
 thit volume, marked (c,J
 
 168 
 
 For bridal days are merry times, 
 
 And young folks like the coming o*t, 
 
 And scribblers they bang up their rhymes. 
 And pipers they the bumming o't. 
 
 The lasses like a bridal o't, 
 
 The lasses like a bridal o't. 
 Their braws maun be in rank and file, 
 
 Altho' that they should guide ill o't : 
 The boddom o' the kist is then 
 
 Turn'd up unto the inmost o't. 
 The end that held the kecks sae clean, 
 
 Is now become the teemest o't. 
 
 The bangster at the threshing o't, 
 
 The bangster at the ihrpsViiug o't. 
 Afore it comes is fidgin fain, 
 
 And ilka day's a clashing o't : 
 He'll sell his jerkin for a groat, 
 
 His linder for anither o't, 
 And e'er he want to clear his shot, 
 
 His sark'U pay the tither o't. 
 
 The pipers and the fiddlers o't. 
 The pipers and the fiddlers o't. 
 
 Can smell a bridal unco far. 
 And like to be the middlers o't :
 
 169 
 
 Fan* thick and threefold they convene, 
 
 Ilk ane envies the tither o't, 
 And wishes nane but him alane 
 
 May ever see anither o't. "^ 
 
 Fan they hae done wi' eating o't. 
 
 Fan they hae done wi' eating o't, 
 For dancing they gae to the green, 
 
 And aiblins to the beating o't : 
 He dances best that dances fast, 
 
 And loups at ilka reesing o't, 
 And claps his hands frae hough to hough. 
 
 And furls about the feezings o't. 
 
 • Fan, wben — the vulgar dialect of Angus.
 
 Ho 
 
 WHAT AILS THE LASSES AT ME. 
 
 Tune — An the Kirk wad let me be. 
 
 I am a batch elor winsome, 
 
 A farmer by rank and degree, 
 
 An' few I see gang out mair handsome, 
 
 To kirk or to market than me ; 
 
 I have outsight and insight and credit. 
 
 And from any eehst I'm free, 
 
 I'm well enough boarded and bedded. 
 
 And what ails the lasses at me ? 
 
 My boughts of good store are no scanty. 
 My byrs are well stocked wi' ky, 
 Of meal i' my girnels is plenty, 
 An' twa' or three easements forby. 
 An' horse to ride out when they're weary. 
 An' cock with the best they can see, 
 An' then be ca'd dawty and deary, 
 I fairly what ails them at me. 
 
 Behind backs, afore fouk I've woo'd them. 
 An' a' the gates o't that I ken. 
 An' whan they leugh o' me, I trow'd them, 
 An' thought I had won, but what then ;
 
 171 
 
 When I speak of matters they grumble, 
 Nor are condescending and free, 
 But at my proposals ay stumble, 
 I wonder what ails them at me. 
 
 I've try'd them baith highland and lowland. 
 Where I a good bargain cud see. 
 But nane o' them fand I wad fall in. 
 Or say they wad buckle wi' me. 
 With jooks an' wi' scraps I've address'd them, 
 Been with them baith modest and free, 
 But whatever way I caress'd them, 
 There's something still ails them at me. 
 
 O, if I kend how but to gain them, 
 How fond of the knack wad I be ! 
 Or what an address could obtain them, 
 It should be twice welcome to me. 
 If kissing an' clapping wad please them, 
 That trade I should drive till I die ; 
 But, however I study to ease them. 
 They've still an exception at me. 
 
 There's wratacks, an' cripples, an' craushaks, 
 An' a' the wandoghts that I ken. 
 No sooner they speak to the- wenches, 
 But they are ta'cu far enough beu ;
 
 172 
 
 But when I speak to them that's stately, 
 I find them ay ta'en with the gee, 
 An' get the denial right flatly ; 
 What, think ye, can ail them at me ? 
 
 I have yet but ae offer to make them, 
 If they wad but hearken to me, 
 And that is, I'm willing to tak them. 
 If they their consent wad but gee ; 
 Let her that's content write a billet, 
 An' get it transmitted to me, 
 I hereby engage to fulfil it, 
 Tho' cripple, tho' blind she sud be. 
 
 BILLET BY JEAN GRADDEN. 
 
 Dear batchelour, I've read your billet. 
 Your strait an' your hardships I see, 
 An' tell you it shall be fulfilled, 
 Tho' it were by none other but me. 
 These forty years I've been neglected. 
 An' nene has had pity on me ; 
 Such offers should not be rejected. 
 Whoever the offerer be.
 
 175 
 
 For beauty I lay no claim to it, 
 Or, may be, I had been away ; 
 Tho' tocher or kindred could do it, 
 I have no pretensions to they : 
 The most I can say, — I'm a woman. 
 An' that I a wife want to be ; 
 An' I'll tak exception at no man. 
 That's willing to tak nane at me. 
 
 And now I think I may be cocky, 
 Since fortune has smurtl'd on me, 
 I'm Jenny, an' ye shall be Jockie, 
 'Tis right we together sud be ; 
 For nane of us cud find a marrow. 
 So sadly forfairn were we ; 
 Fouk sud no at any thing tarrow, 
 Whose chance looked naething to be. 
 
 On Tuesday speer for Jeany Gradden, 
 When I i' my pens ween to be. 
 Just at the sign of the Old Maiden, 
 Where ye shall be sure to meet me : 
 Bring w ith you the priest for the wedding, 
 That a' things just ended may be, 
 An' we'll close the whole with the bedding; 
 An' wha'U be sae merry as we i*
 
 174 
 
 A cripple Vm not, ye forsta me^ 
 
 Tho' lame of a hand that I be ; 
 
 Nor blind is there reason to ca' me, 
 
 Altho' I see but with ae eye : 
 
 But I'm just the chap that you wanted^ 
 
 So tightly our state doth agree ; 
 
 For nane wad hae you, ye have granted. 
 
 As few I confess wad hae me. 
 
 THE ROCK AND THE WEE PICKLE TOW. 
 
 There was an auld wife an' a wee pickle tow. 
 
 An' she wad gae try the spinning o't. 
 
 She louted her down, an' her rock took a low. 
 
 And that was a bad beginning o't : 
 
 She sat an' she grat, an' she flet and she flang, 
 
 An* she threw an' she blew, an' she wrigl'd an' wrang. 
 
 An' she choked, an' boaked, an' cry'd like to mang, 
 
 Alas ! for the dreary spinning o't. 
 
 I've wanted a sark for these eight years an' ten. 
 An' this was to be the beginning o't. 
 But I vow I shall want it for as lang again. 
 Or ever I try the spinning o't ;
 
 175 
 
 For never since ever they ca'd me as they ca' me. 
 Did sic a mishap an raisanter befa' me, 
 But ye shall hae leave baith to hang me an' draw me. 
 The neist time I try the spinning o't. 
 
 I hae keeped my house for these three score o' years, 
 
 An' ay I kept free o' the spinning o't, 
 
 But how I was sarked foul fa' them that speers, 
 
 For it minds me upo' the beginning o't. 
 
 But our women are now a days grown sae bra', 
 
 That ilka an maun hae a sark an' some hae twa, 
 
 Tlie warlds were better when ne'er an awa' 
 
 Had a rag but ane at the beginning o't. 
 
 Foul fa her that ever advis'd me to spin, 
 That had been so lang a beginning o't, 
 I might well have ended as I did begin, 
 Nor have got sick a skair with the spinning o't. 
 But they'll say, she's a wyse wife that kens herainweerd, 
 I thought on a day, it should never be speer'd. 
 How loot ye the low take your rock be the beard. 
 When ye yeed to try the spinning o't? 
 
 The spinning, the spinning it gars my heart sob, 
 When I think upo' the beginning o't, 
 I thought ere I died to have anes made a web. 
 But still I had weers o' the spinning o't.
 
 176 
 
 But had I nine dathers, as I hae but three, 
 
 The safest and soundest advice I cud gee, 
 
 Is that they frae spinning wad keep their hands free> 
 
 For fear of a bad beginning o't. 
 
 Yet in spite of my counsel if they will needs run 
 
 The drearysome risk of the spinning o't, 
 
 Let them seek out a lythe in the heat of the sun, 
 
 And there venture o' the beginning o't : 
 
 But to do as I did, alas, and awow ! 
 
 To busk up a rock at the cheek of the low, 
 
 Says, that I had but little wit in my pow. 
 
 And as little ado with the spinning o't. 
 
 But yet after a', there is ae thing that grieves 
 My heart to think o' the beginning o't. 
 Had I won the length but of ae pair o' sleeves, 
 Then there had been word o' the spinning o't ; 
 This I wad ha' washen an' bleech'd like the snaw,^ 
 And o' my twa gardies like moggans wad draw. 
 An' then fouk wad say, that auld Girzy was bra', 
 An* a' was upon her ain spinning o't. 
 
 But gin I wad shog about till a new spring, 
 I should yet hae a bout of the spinning o't, 
 A mutchkin of linseed I'd i' the yerd fling, 
 For a' the wau chansie beginning o't.
 
 177 
 
 I'll gar my ain Tammie gae down to the how, 
 An' cut me a rock of a widdershines grow, 
 Of good rantry-tree for to carry my tow, 
 An' a spindle of the same for the twining o't. 
 
 For now when I mind me, I met Maggy Grim, 
 
 This morning just at the beginning o't, 
 
 She was never ca'd chancy, but canny an' slim, 
 
 An' sae it has fair'd of my spinning o't : 
 
 But an' my new rock were anes cutted an' dry, 
 
 I'll a' Maggie's caH an' her cantraps defy, 
 
 An' but onie sussie the spinning I'll try. 
 
 An' ye's a' hear o' the beginning o't. 
 
 Quo' Tibby, her daUier, tak tent fat ye say, 
 Tlie never a ragg we'll be seeking o't. 
 Gin ye anes begin, ye'il tarveal's night an' day, 
 Sae it's vain ony niair to be speaking o't 
 Since lambas I'm now gaing thirty an' twa, 
 An' never a dud sark iiad I yet gryt or sma'. 
 An' what war am 1 ? I'm as warm an' as bra', 
 As thrummy tail'd Meg that's a spinner o't. 
 
 To labor the lint-land, an' then buy the seed, 
 An' then to yoke me to the harrowing o't, 
 An' syu loll amon't an' pike out ilka weed. 
 Like swine in a sty at the farrowing o't ; 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 
 
 Syn powing and rlpling an' steeping, an' then 
 To gar's gae an' spread it upo' the cauld plain^, 
 An' then after a' may be labor in vain. 
 When the wind and the weet gets the fusion o't. 
 
 But tho' it should anter the weather to byde^ 
 Wi' beetles we're set to the drubbing o't, 
 An' then frae our fingers to gnidge afF the hide. 
 With the wearisome wark o' the rubbing o't. 
 An' syn ilka tait maun be heckl'd out throw. 
 The lint putten ae gate, anither the tow, 
 Syn on on a rock wl't, an' it taks a low, 
 The back o' my hand to the spinning o't. 
 
 Quo' Jenny, I think 'oman ye're i' the right, 
 
 Set your feet ay a spar to the spinning o't. 
 
 We may tak our advice frae our ain mither's fright 
 
 That she gat when she try'd the beginning o't. 
 
 But they'll say that auld fouk are twice bairns indeed, 
 
 An' sae she has kythed it, but there's nae need 
 
 To sickan an amshack that we drive our head, 
 
 As langs we're sae skair'd fra the spinning o't. 
 
 Quo' Nanny the youngest, I've now heard you a', 
 An' dowie's your doom o' the spinning o't, 
 Gin ye, fan the cow fliogs, the cog cast awa', 
 Ye may see where ye'U lick up your winning o't.
 
 179 
 
 !feut i see that but* spinning I'll never be bra', 
 But gae by the name of a dilp or a da, 
 Sae lack where ye like I shall anes shak a fa*, 
 Afore I be dung with the spinning o't. 
 
 For well I can mind me when black Willie Bell 
 Had Tibbie there just at the winning o't, 
 What blew up the bargain, she kens well hersell, 
 Was the want of the knack of the spinning o't. 
 An' now, poor 'oman, for ought that I ken, 
 She may never get sic an offer again, 
 But pine away bit an bit, like Jenkin's hen. 
 An' naething to wyte but the spinning o't. 
 
 But were it for naething, but just this alane, 
 
 I shall yet hae about o' the spinning o't. 
 
 They may cast me for ca'ing me black at the bean. 
 
 But nae cause I shun'd the beginning o't. 
 
 But, be that as it happens, I care not a strae. 
 
 But nane of the lads shall hae it to say, 
 
 When they come till woo, she kens naething avae. 
 
 Nor has onie ken o' the spinning o't. 
 
 In the days they ca'd yore, gin auld fouks had but won, 
 To a surkoat hough side for the winning o't. 
 Of coat raips well cut by the cast o' their bun. 
 They never sought mair o' the spinning o't. 
 • But — withoat. 
 N 2
 
 180 
 
 A pair of grey hoggers well clinked benew, 
 
 Of nae other lit but the hue of the ew, 
 
 With a pair of rough ruUions to scuff thro' the dew, 
 
 Was the fee they sought at the beginning o't. 
 
 But we maun hae linen, an* that maun hae we, 
 An how get we that, but the spinning o't ? 
 How can we hae face for to seek a gryt fee, 
 Except we can help at the winning o't ? 
 An' we maun hae pearlins and mabbies an cocks. 
 An' some other thing that the ladies ca' smoks, 
 An' how get we that, gin we tak na our rocks. 
 And pow what we can at the spinning o't ? 
 
 Tis needless for us for to tak our remarks 
 Frae our mither's miscooking the spinning o't. 
 She never kend ought o' the gueed of the sarks, 
 Frae this aback to the beginning o't. 
 Twa three ell of plaiden was a' that was sought 
 By our auld warld bodies, an' that boot be bought. 
 For in ilka tovm sickan things was nae wrought, 
 So little they kend o' the spinning o't.
 
 181 
 
 TUNE YOUR FIDDLES. 
 
 This song zcas composed by the Rev. John Skin- 
 ner, Non-juring Clergyman at Linshart, near 
 Peterhead. He is likewise the author of " Tul- 
 lochgorum," " E\vie \vi' the Crookit horn," " John 
 o' Badenyond," S^c.; and what is of still more con- 
 sequence, he is one of the worthiest of mankind. 
 He is the Author of an " Ecclesiastical History of 
 Scotland." The air is by Mr. Marshall, butler to 
 the Duke of Gordon ; the first composer of strath- 
 speys of the age. I have been told by somebody 
 who had it of Marshall himself, that he took the 
 idea of his three most celebrated pieces, " The Mar- 
 quis of Huntly's Reel," his " Farewel," and " Miss 
 Admiral Gordon's Reel," from the old air, ' The 
 German Lairdie.' 
 
 Tune your fiddles, tune them sweetly, 
 Play the Marquis' reel discreetly, 
 Here we are, a band completely 
 
 Fitted to be jolly. — 
 Come, my boys, blythe and gawcie, 
 Every youngster chuse his lassie. 
 Dance wi' life, and be not saucy, 
 
 Shy nor melancholy. 
 Come, my boys, S^c.
 
 182 
 
 Lay aside your sour grimaces, 
 Clouded brows, and drumly 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 turn camsterry 
 
 When we're auld and doited. 
 Now's the season, ^c, 
 
 Butler, put about the claret, 
 Thro' us a' divide and share it, 
 Gordon-Castle well can spare it, 
 
 It has claret plenty : 
 Wine's the true inspiring liquor, 
 DrafFy drink may please the Vicar, 
 When he grasps the foaming hirkfir. 
 Vicars are not dainty. 
 Wine's the true inspiring liquoi', S^c 
 
 We'll extol our noble master. 
 Sprung from many a brave ancestor, — . 
 Heaven preserve him from disaster, 
 So we pray in duty. 
 Prosper, too, our pretty Duchess, 
 Safe from all distressful touches,
 
 183 
 
 Keep her out of Pluto's clutches, 
 
 Long in health and beauty.^ 
 Prosper, too, our pretty Duchess, S^c. 
 
 Angels guard their gallant boy, 
 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, S^c. 
 
 Youth, solace hira with thy pleasure, 
 In refin'd and worthy measure ; 
 Merit, gain him choicest treasure. 
 
 From the Royal donor: 
 Famous may he be in story, 
 Full of days, and full of glory ; 
 To the grave, when old and hoary. 
 
 May he go witli honour ! 
 Famous may he be in story, S^c. 
 
 Gordons, join our hearty praises. 
 Honest, though in homely phrases^
 
 184 
 
 Love our cheerful spirits raises, 
 
 Lofty as the lark is : 
 Echo, waft our wishes daily. 
 Thro' the grove, and thro' the alley, 
 Sound o'er every hill and valley. 
 
 Blessings on our Marquis. 
 Echo, waft our wishes, Sfc. 
 
 THE RANTING DOG THE DADDIE O T. 
 
 Tune — East nook o' Fife. 
 
 / COMPOSED this song pretty early in life, and 
 sent it to a young girl, a very particular acquaint- 
 ance of mine, zeho was at that time under a cloud. 
 
 O wha my babie-clouts will buy ? 
 Wha will tent me when I cry ? 
 Wha will kiss me whare I lie ? 
 The rantin dog the daddie o't. 
 
 Wha will own he did the faut ? 
 Wha will buy my groanin-maut ? 
 Wha will tell me how to ca't ? 
 The rantin dog the daddie o't.
 
 185 
 
 When I mount the creepie-chair,» 
 Wha will sit beside me there ? 
 Gie me Rob, I seek uae mair. 
 The rantin dog the daddie o't. 
 
 Wha will crack to me my lane ? 
 Wha will mak me fidgin fain ? 
 Wha will kiss me o'er again ? 
 The rantin dog the daddie o't. 
 
 HOOLY AND FAIRLY. 
 
 It is remark-worthy that the song of Hooly and 
 Fairly, in all the old editions of it, is called The 
 Drunken Wife o' Galloway, which localizes it to 
 that country. 
 
 THE DRUNKEN WIFE o' GALLOWAY. 
 
 Oh ! what had I to do for to marry ? 
 
 My wife she drinks naething but sack and Canary, 
 
 I to hei; friends complain'd ri^ht early, 
 
 • CK^yie-cAair^ the stool of repentance.
 
 186 
 
 O gin my zcife 'wad drink hooly and fairly y 
 
 Hooly and fairly, hooly and fairly, 
 O gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly. 
 
 First she drank crummie, and syne she drank garie ; 
 Now she has druken my bonny grey marie, 
 That carried me thro' a' the dubs and the larie. 
 0/ gin, 8fc. 
 
 She has druken her stockins, sa has she her shoon, 
 And she has druken her bonny new gown ; 
 Her wee bit dud sark that co'erd her fu' rarely, 
 0/ gin, Sfc. 
 
 If she'd drink but her ain things I wad na much care, 
 But she drinks my claiths I canna weel spare. 
 When I'm wi' my gossips, it angers me sairly, 
 0/ gin, S^'c. 
 
 My Sunday's coat she's laid it a wad,* 
 The best blue bonnet e'er was on my head ; 
 At kirk and at market I'm cover'd but barely, 
 O! gin, S^c. 
 
 The verra gray mittens that gaed on my ban's, 
 To her neebor wife she has laid them in pawns j 
 My bane-headed staff that I lo'ed sae dearly, 
 0/ gin, S^e. 
 
 • Laid it a wad — laid it in pawn.
 
 187 
 
 If there's ony siller, she mauu keep the purse ; 
 [f I seek but a baubee she'll scauld and she'll curse, 
 She gangs like a queen — I scrimped and sparely, 
 0/ gin, Sfc. 
 
 I never v/as given to wrangling nor strife, 
 Nor e'er did refuse her the comforts of life ; 
 Ere it come to a war I'm ay for a parley. 
 O! gin, <3fc. 
 
 A pint ui' her cummers I wad her allow. 
 But when she sits down she fills herself fou ; 
 And when she is fou she's mico camstarie, 
 O! gin, S^c. 
 
 When she comes to the street she roars and she rants, 
 Has nae fear o' her neebors, nor minds the house 
 
 wants ; 
 She rants up some fool-sang, like " Up i/'er heart, 
 Charlie." 
 O! gin, S^c, 
 
 And when she comes hame she lays on the lads. 
 She ca's the lasses baith limmers and jads. 
 And I, my ain sell, an auld cuckold carlie, 
 
 O! gin my wife wad drink hooli/ and fairly, 
 Hooly and fairly, hooly and fairly, 
 
 O ! gill my wife wad drink, hooly and fairly.
 
 189 
 
 APPENDIX 
 
 TO VOL. I. 
 
 APPENDIX fa.J 
 
 AN Account of Jean Adam, Authoress of the 
 Ballad " There's nae luck about the House," 
 referred to in page 68. 
 
 This song, the production of Jean Adam, who 
 taught a day-school at Crawford's -dyke, in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Greenock, has been deemed not un- 
 worthy the pen of the Translator of the Lusiad. 
 A copy of it, in his own hand-writing, was found 
 among his MS. after his decease, and appeared in 
 the last edition of his works, among some original 
 pieces never before published. As it has been an 
 uniform principle in making the present Collection 
 to establish the authenticity of each particular poem, 
 the Editor of Mr. Mickle's works was consulted re- 
 specting the grounds of his claim to the song in
 
 190 
 
 question. In his answer he states, that never having 
 had any conversation with Mr. Mickle on this ballad, 
 he applied to his relict, who perfectly remembers re- 
 ceiving • a copy of it from Mr. Mickle, but is not 
 positive that he affirmed it to be his production, 
 though, on being questioned, she thinks he did not 
 absolutely deny it. He adds, that her powers of 
 recollection having been impaired by a paralysis, she 
 cannot speak decidedly of a conversation which took 
 place so many years ago. In Mr. Mickle's copy two 
 fine stanzas are omitted, which, on the authority of 
 the Rev. Patrick Davidson, of Rayne, in the county 
 of Aberdeen, are ascribed to Dr. Beattie, who af- 
 firms that they were inserted by the Doctor soon 
 after the first appearance of the piece.* 
 
 * The following are the lines attributed to Dr. Beattie : 
 
 " The cauld blasts of the winter wind, 
 That thrilled thro' uiy heart, 
 They're a' blawn by; I hae 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 ueist we never saw !" 
 
 Without controverting the Doctor's claim to these eight dis- 
 puted lines, the Editor canaot help remarking, that the two 
 best, 
 
 " The
 
 191 
 
 In opposition to these claims, there is living evi- 
 dence in support of that of Jean Adam. Mrs. Ful- 
 larton, who was a pupil of her's, frequently heard 
 her repeat it, and affirm it to be her composition, 
 and no one at that time disputed her assertion. In 
 addition to this, we may adduce the following extract 
 of a letter from Mrs. Crawford (Mrs. Fullarton's 
 daughter) in reply to an inquiry from Mrs. Fletcher, 
 of Edinburgh, at the request of the Editor. 
 
 " Ratho House, Jan. 24, 1810. 
 
 " You may assure Mr. Cromek that the ballad, 
 
 ' There's nae luck about the House,' was written by 
 
 Jean Adam, on a couple in Crawford's-dyke, the 
 
 small town where her father lived. I do not recollect 
 
 " The present moment is our ain, 
 The neist we never saw !" 
 
 are not only quoted by Burns, but that the sentiment itself be- 
 longs originally to Horace, and is given nearly in the same 
 words as in this ballad, in Ramsay's celebrated imitation of his 
 Ode IX. lib. 1. 
 
 " Let neist day come as it thinks fit, 
 The present minute's only oufs ; 
 On pleasure let's employ our wit. 
 And laugh at fortune's fickle powers." 
 A sentiment which Horace variously and frequently expresses, 
 and which, in fact, forms the basis of his Epicurean philo- 
 sophy.
 
 192 
 
 that I ever heard her repeat it ; but since I can re- 
 member any thing, I have always heard it spoken of 
 as being her composition, by those that she de- 
 pended much upon. — My aunt, Mrs. Crawford, of 
 Cartsbum, often sung it as a song of Jean Adams's." 
 
 The priority of her claim is therefore evident, for 
 the song was published before Mr, Mickle was 
 known as an author, and she repeatedly declared it 
 to be her's at a time when he was living to disprove 
 her title to it. Besides, the song bears abundant 
 marks of being the production of a female, both in 
 its subject and its style. And we may also observe, 
 that the poems of Mr. Mickle being all of a classical 
 and refined stamp, it is highly improbable that he 
 should descend in this single instance into the fami- 
 liarity of the Scotish dialect, and the rustic expres- 
 sion of domestic feelings. The circumstance of a 
 copy being found in his own hand-writing, is not of 
 itself sufficient to prove him the author. His admi- 
 ration of this happy effusion of untutored genius 
 might induce him to copy and to preserve it ;* but 
 if he had himself possessed a talent for this style of 
 poetry, he would unquestionably have exercised it 
 more frequently, and have left other specimens of it. 
 
 * Among the MS. of Burns, now in the Editor's possession, 
 are copies of many poems besides his own, which he trauscribed 
 from a feeling of their excellence.
 
 195 
 
 The inquiry which this disputed song occasioned, 
 has furnished the Editor M'ith some notices of the 
 Hfe of Jean Adams, which are characteristic and in- 
 teresting. She was bom of humble parents, and 
 was brought up in a state of penury and wretched- 
 ness. Her education was therefore scanty, but it 
 may be presumed that her natural talents supplied 
 the deficiency, as she supported herself by keeping a 
 little school, and at times by assisting at needle-work 
 m gentlemens' families. Her poetic genius was first 
 awakened by the perusal of a large old folio of ro- 
 mances and rhymes, and she shortly afterwards pro- 
 duced an " Address to Grief," which was much 
 praised by her friends, and encouraged her to culti- 
 vate her acquaintance with the Muses, greatly to the 
 neglect of her humbler and more substantial occupa- 
 tions. She gave up her school, and led a precarious 
 and unsettled life for some time. Her Poems, which 
 were scattered among her friends in various parts of 
 the country, were collected by a Mr. Drummond, of 
 Greenock, and published for her, in one volume, by 
 subscription, at Glasgow, in 1*34. Their success 
 highly flattered Jean's vanity, and she exported a 
 large bale of them to Boston, which, however, 
 remained unsold, and she was reduced to a state of 
 bare poverty, subsisting chiefly on the bounty of her 
 friends. 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 194 
 
 During the time she kept a school at Crawfords- 
 dyke, she exhibited some singular traits of enthu- 
 siasm. She told her pupils, that having lately read 
 Clarissa Harlowe, she felt such a deep interest in it, 
 and such sentiments of reverence for its author, that 
 she had determined to walk to London to pay her 
 personal respects to Mr. Richardson. This singular 
 and romantic journey she actually performed in about 
 six weeks, and returned to teach her school at Craw- 
 fordsdyke. 
 
 One day she told her pupils she would read to 
 them a play of Shakespeare's. She fixed upon 
 Othello, which Mrs. Crawford remembers she read 
 with uncommon pathos, and was so affected at the 
 close of that powerful drama, that she (Jean Adam) 
 actually fainted away, and remained for some time 
 insensible. She treated her pupils with great ten- 
 derness, and was much beloved by all of them, and 
 was esteemed by all who knew her as a woman of 
 singular piety. 
 
 Of the close of her unfortunate life few particu- 
 lars are known. Tliere is great reason to conclude 
 that it was chequered by all the varieties of disap- 
 pointment and distress, for the above ariecdote 
 clearly shews how prone she was to obey the im- 
 pulses of that random enthusiasm which is ever at 
 variance with the dictates of prudence, and which is 
 too often the bane of the votaries of genius.
 
 195 
 
 Some time after the year 1760 she came to the 
 house of Mrs. Fullarton, formerly her pupil, in a 
 state of beggary ; and though at first she rejected 
 with pride some articles of dress that were offered 
 her, yet she afterwards returned and accepted of 
 them. 
 
 The following communication to the Editor by 
 Mr. Francis Ross, Clerk to the Town's Hospital at 
 Glasgow, is all which could be collected of her hap- 
 less and deplorable fate. 
 
 (Extract from the records of the Parish Work- 
 house of Glasgow.) 
 
 Glasgow, Totcn's Hospital, 2d April, 1765. 
 " Admit Jean Adam, a poor woman, a stranger in 
 distress : — for some time has been wandering about ; 
 she came from Greenock, recommended by Baillies 
 Gray and Millar." 
 
 " Glasgow, Town's Hospital, 9th April, 1765. 
 " Jean Adam, the stranger, admitted on Tuesday 
 the 2d current, died on the following day, and buried 
 at the house expence." 
 
 As the Editor, in claiming the ballad " There's 
 nae luck about the house," as the property of Jean 
 Adam, had nothing in view but truth, he hastens to 
 o 2
 
 196 
 
 lay the following letter before the readers of these 
 volumes, written by the Rev. John Sim, A. B. editor 
 of Mr. Mickle's works and his intimate friend, and 
 received since the above account was printed. 
 
 The contents of Mr. Sim's letter, and the poetical 
 sketch it encloses, warrant the Editor in conceding 
 the ballad to Mr. Mickle. 
 
 PentonvUle, April 14, 1810; 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Since I received Mr. Mudford's letter (a copy of 
 which you will see in the Universal Magazine for this 
 month, p. 265), I have been so very fortunate as to 
 discover among Mr. Mickle's MSS. what 1 have every 
 reason to believe, from its inaccuracy, and other evi- 
 dent marks of haste, to be the very first sketch of the 
 ballad, " There's nae luck about the house," a copy of 
 which I have inclosed. Besides the marks of haste, 
 which I have noticed in the margin, you will find Colin 
 spelt once with two, and twice with a single I: the 
 verb 77iun (must) spelt with a u and an a, at the dis- 
 tance of only two lines : and the word make spelt twice 
 with, and thrice without, the letter e. One stanza con- 
 tains twelve, two stanzas eight, and the others only 
 four lines a-piece ; by which he seems undetermined 
 whether the first four or the last four lines should form 
 the chorus. Other inaccuracies and blunders you will 
 perceive on comparing the MS. with the printed copy 
 in my edition of Mickle's Poetry.
 
 197 
 
 Since I wrote to Mr. Mudford, Mrs. Mickle has in- 
 formed me, without being asked, that she now perfectly 
 recollects that Mr. Mickle gave her the ballad as his 
 own composition, and explained to her the Scottish 
 words and phrases ; and she repeated to me, with a very 
 httle assistance, the whole of the song, except the eight 
 lines, which I have, and I think with justice, ascribed 
 to Dr. Beattie. \Vhen I asked her why she hesitated 
 at first ? she said, that the question coming unexpect- 
 edly upon her, flurried her, and the flurry, together 
 with the fear that she might be called upon to substan- 
 tiate what she then said upon oath, made her answer 
 with diffidence and hesitation. This struck me at that 
 time to have been the case ; and I believe such a be- 
 haviour to be very natural to persons labouring under 
 a disorder so depressive as a paralysis. 
 
 I shall only add, that Mickle had too high an opinion 
 of his own poetical powers to have adopted the compo- 
 sitions of but very few of his contemporaries ; and cer- 
 tainly too much honour and integrity, to give the least 
 occasion to the publishing of the works of another as 
 his own productions. 
 
 I remain, dear Sir, your most obedient 
 very humble servant, 
 
 J. Sim. 
 
 To Mr. Cromek. 
 
 The first sketch of the beautiful ballad, " There's 
 nae luck about the house," from the hand-writing of
 
 198 
 
 W.J, Mickle, in the possession of the Rev. Mr. 
 Sim. 
 
 Tliere's nae luck about the house 
 
 There's nae hick at aw 
 There's little pleasure in the house 
 
 When our gudeman's awa 
 And are you sure the news is true 
 
 And do you say he's weel 
 Is this a time to speak of wark 
 
 Ye jades lay by your wheel 
 Is this a time to spin a thread 
 
 When Collin's at the door 
 Reach me my cloak I'll to the quay 
 
 And see him come ashore 
 
 And gie to me my bigonet 
 
 My Bishop's sattin gown 
 For I mun tell the Bailie's* wife 
 
 That Colin's in the town 
 My Turky slippers man gae on 
 
 My stockings pearly blue 
 I'is aw to pleasure my gudeman 
 
 For he's baith leel and true 
 
 Rise Lass and make a clean fire-side 
 
 Put on the Mucklet pot 
 Gie little Kate her button gown 
 
 And JockJ his Sunday Coat 
 And make their shoon as black as slaes 
 
 Their hose as white as snaw 
 'Tis a to pleasure my gude Man§ 
 
 For he's been lang awa 
 
 There's twa fat hens upo the Coop 
 
 Been fed this month and mair 
 Mak haste and thraw their necks about 
 
 That Colin weel may fare 
 
 * The 6 after the i in Bailie's erased. 
 t The M changed for m. 
 1 The c in Jock erased. 
 § A repetition of hne 19.
 
 199 
 
 And mak the Table neat and trim 
 
 Let every thing be braw 
 For who kens liow Colin far'd* 
 
 When he's beent far awa 
 
 Sae true his heart,! sae smooth his speech 
 
 His breath Hke cauler air 
 His very foot has Music in't 
 
 As he comes up the stair 
 
 And shall I see his face again 
 
 And shall I hear him speak 
 I'm down right giddy wi' the thought 
 
 In troth I'm like to greet 
 
 If Colin's weel,$ and weel content 
 
 I hae nae mair to crave 
 And gin I live to mak him sae 
 
 I'm blest above the lave 
 
 And shall I see his face again &c 
 
 APPENDIX (b.) 
 
 James Tytler was the son of a country clergy- 
 man in the presbytery of Brechm, and brother to 
 Dr. Tytler, the translator of Callimachus. He was 
 instructed by his father in classical learning and 
 
 • This line is deficient in measure, 
 t Interlined, he was. 
 t The first point in the MS. 
 $ The last point in the MS.
 
 200 
 
 school divinity, and attained an accurate knowledge 
 of the Latin and Greek languages, and an extensive 
 acquaintance with biblical literature and scholastic 
 theology. Having discovered an early predilection 
 for the medical profession, he was put apprentice to 
 a surgeon in Forfar, and afterwards sent to attend 
 the medical classes at Edinburgh. While a medical 
 student, he cultivated experimental chemistry and 
 controversial theology with equal assiduity. Unfor- 
 tunately his religious opinions, not deemed orthodox, 
 or calvinistical, connected him with a society of 
 Glassites, and involved him in a marriage with a 
 member of the society, which terminated in a sepa- 
 ration. He now settled at Leith, as an apothecary, 
 depending on the patronage of his religious connec- 
 tions ; but his separation from the society, which 
 happened soon after, with an unsteadiness that was 
 natural to him, disappointed his expectations. When 
 he ceased to be a Glassite, he ceased not to be a firm 
 believer in the Christian revelation, and a zealous ad- 
 vocate of genuine Christianity ; but he never after- 
 wards held communion with any denomination of 
 Christians. The neglect of his business was the un^ 
 avoidable consequence of his attention to religious 
 dissensions ; and having contracted debts to a consi- 
 derable amount, he was obliged to remove to Ber- 
 wick, and afterwards to Newcastle. In both places
 
 201 
 
 he was employed in preparing chemical medicines 
 for the druggists ; but the liberality of his employers 
 being insufficient to preserve an increasing family 
 from the evils of penury, he returned to Edinburgh, 
 in the year 1772, in extreme poverty, and took re- 
 fuge from the molestation of his creditors within the 
 precincts of the sanctuary of Holyrood House. At 
 this period his wife deserted him and their five chil- 
 dren, the youngest only six months old, and returned 
 to her relations. He solaced himself for the priva- 
 tion of domestic happiness by composing a humorous 
 ballad, entitled " The Pleasures of The Abbey" 
 which was his first attempt in poetry. In a descrip- 
 tion of its inhabitants, the author himself is intro- 
 duced in the i6th and 17th stanzas. In the avoca- 
 tion of an author by profession, which he was nov^ 
 compelled to assume, he displayed a versatility of 
 talent and a facility in writing unexampled in the 
 transactions of the press. He commenced his literary 
 career by a publication entitled " Essai/s on the most 
 important Subjects of natural and revealed Reli- 
 gion," which issued from the asylum for debtors, 
 under the peculiar circumstances of being composed 
 by himself, at the printing case, from his own con- 
 ceptions, without a manuscript before him, and 
 wrought off at a press of his own construction, by 
 his own hands. He left this singular work, which
 
 202 
 
 was to be completed in two volumes 8vo, unfinished^ 
 and turned aside, to attack the opinions of a new 
 religious sect called Bereans, in a " Letter to Mr. 
 John Barclay on the Doctrine of Assurance,^^ in 
 which he again performed the functions of author, 
 compositor, and pressman. He next set forth, with 
 such assistance as he could find, a monthly publica- 
 tion, entitled " The Gentleman and Lady's Maga- 
 zine" which was soon abandoned for " The Weekly 
 Review," a literary miscellany, which, in its turn 
 was discontinued in a very short time. These publi- 
 cations, unavoidably disfigured with many typogra- 
 phical deformities, made him known to the book- 
 sellers ; and from them he afterwards found constant 
 employment in compilations, abridgments, transla- 
 tions, and miscellaneous essays. He now ventured 
 to leave the miserable apartments which he had long 
 occupied in the sanctuary for debtors, for more conir 
 fortable lodgings, first at Restalrig, and afterwards 
 in the city, and if his prudence and steadiness had 
 been equal to his talents and industry, he might have 
 earned by his labours a competent maintenance, 
 which never fell to his lot. As he wrote for subsist- 
 ence, not from the vanity of authorship, he was en- 
 gaged in many works which were anonymous, and in 
 others which appeared with tlie names of his em- 
 ployers. He is editor or author of the following
 
 203 
 
 works : " The Weekly Mirror" a periodical publi- 
 cation which began in 1780. " A System of Geo- 
 graphy," m 8.VO. " A History of Edinburgh" 12mo. 
 " A Geographical, Historical, and Commercial 
 Grammar," 2 vols. 8vo. " A Review of Dr. Aitkens 
 Theory of Inflammation," 12mo. with a poetical 
 dedication. " Remarks on Mr. Pinkerton's Intro- 
 duction to the History of Scotland," Bvo. " A 
 poetical Translation of Virgil's Eclogues," 4to. " A 
 general Index to the Scots Magazine." " A System 
 of Chemistry," written at the expense of a gentle- 
 man who was to put his name to it, unpublished. 
 He gave his assistance in preparing the System of 
 Anatomy published by A. Bell, and was an occa- 
 sional contributor to the " Medical Commentaries,'* 
 and other periodical publications of the time. He 
 was the principal editor of the second edition of the 
 " Encyclopedia Britannica," and finished, with in- 
 credible labour, a large proportion of the more con- 
 siderable scientific treatises and histories, and almost 
 all the minor articles. He had an apartment assigned 
 him in the printing-house, where he performed the 
 offices of compiler, and corrector of the press, at a 
 salary of sixteen shillings a week ! When the third 
 edition was undertaken, he was engaged as a stated 
 contributor, upon more liberal terms, and wrote a 
 larger share in the early volumes than is ascribed to
 
 20-1 
 
 him in the general preface. It was his misfortune to 
 be continually drawn aside from the business of his 
 employers by the delight he took in prosecuting ex- 
 periments in chemistry, electricity, and mechanics, 
 which consumed a large portion of his time and 
 money. He conducted for some time, with success, 
 a manufacturing process for preparing Magnesia, of 
 which he was the inventor ; but after he had disclosed 
 his secret to the gentleman at whose expense it was 
 carried on, he was dismissed, without obtaining 
 either a share in the business, or a suitable compen- 
 sation for his services. He was the first in Scotland 
 who adventured in a fire-balloon, constructed upon 
 the plan of Montgolfier. He ascended from Comely 
 Garden, amidst the acclamations of an immense 
 multitude, and descended at the distance of a quarter 
 of a mile, owing to some unforeseen defect in the 
 machinery. The failure of this adventure deprived 
 him of the public favour and applause, and increased 
 his pecuniary difficulties. He again had recourse to 
 his pen for subsistence, and amidst the drudgery of 
 writing, and the cares which pressed upon him daily, 
 he exhilarated his spirits, at intervals, with a tune on 
 the Irish bagpipe, which he played with much sweet- 
 ness, interposing occasionally a song of his own com- 
 position, sung with great animation. A solace of 
 this kind was well suited to the simplicity of his
 
 205 
 
 manners, the modesty of his disposition, and the in- 
 tegrity of his character, such as they were before he 
 suffered his social propensities to violate the rules of 
 sobriety. Forgetting his old friends, he associated 
 with discontented persons, and entered into a delibe- 
 rate exposition of the abuses of government, in " A 
 pamphlet on the Excise" and more systematically 
 in a periodical publication, entitled *' The Historical 
 Register" which gratified malignity by personal in- 
 vective and intemperance of language. He was 
 concerned in the wild irrational plans of the British 
 Convention, and published " A hand-bill addressed 
 to the people" written in so inflammatory a style, as 
 rendered him obnoxious to government. A warrant 
 was issued to apprehend him, and he left his native 
 country and crossed the Atlantic for America, where 
 he fixed his residence in the town of Salem, in the 
 state of Massachusetts, where he established a news- 
 paper in connection with a printer, which he conti- 
 nued till his death, which happened in the year 1805, 
 in the j8tli year of his age. 
 
 Tlie editor cannot dismiss this note without ac- 
 knowledging himself greatly obliged by the commu- 
 nications of Dr. Robert Anderson, of Edinburgh.
 
 206 
 
 APPENDIX (c.) 
 
 The reader will be pleased to find, from the fal- 
 lowing communication to the Editor, by Mrs. 
 Murray, of Bath (authoress of " Roy's Wife of 
 Aldivalloch), that Mr. Ross was one of the very 
 few writers that, practised what they taught. 
 
 " I knew a good deal of Mr. Ross, author of the 
 Fortunate Shepherdess, but it was many years ago : 
 — I still remember him with respect, as a man of 
 most amiable character. His genius and talents 
 speak for themselves in the above-mentioned beauti- 
 ful little Poem, and one cannot help regretting that 
 such abilities were only born to " blush unseen, and 
 waste their sweetness on the desert air;" for in truth 
 his humble abode was little better than a desert, 
 though not inhabited by savages; nothing on earth 
 being less savage than a mere uncultivated High- 
 lander. I speak from the experience of many years 
 of the early part of my life, which I had the happi- 
 ness of spending in the North Highlands of Scot- 
 land, the country of * Honest men and bonny 
 lasses.' 
 
 Mr. Ross was also author of two excellent
 
 207 
 
 Songs, called, " What ails the Lasses at me 'f* and 
 " The Rock and the wee pickle tow." They are 
 printed in this Collection immediately after " The 
 Bridal o't" He was bom about the year 1700. His 
 father was a farmer, in the parish of Kincardine 
 O'Neil, Aberdeenshire. His first settlement was at 
 Birs, as parochial school-master, about the year 
 1733. He removed to Lochlee, Forfarshire, where 
 he died in May 1783, after residing fifty years in the 
 centre of the Grampians, almost secluded from the 
 converse of men and books. Mr. Ross's grandson, 
 the Rev. Alexander Thomson, gives the following 
 account of him in a letter to Mr. Campbell, author 
 of An Introduction to the History of Poetry in 
 Scotland, dated Lintrethen, 14th June, 1798. — 
 " He (Ross) was a plain man, had the character of 
 being a good school-master, was very reUgious, 
 which appeared by his behaviour as much as by his 
 profession. He was an excellent Latin scholar, and 
 wrote with considerable accuracy, till the days of old 
 age and infirmity, when he wrote a Poem, entitled, 
 * The Orphan,' and attempted \.o publish it at 
 Aberdeen, with some other little performances, 
 which, on account of their inaccuracy, of which the 
 worthy author was not so sensible as he would have 
 formerly been, he was advised by Dr. Beattie, one 
 of his best friends, not to publish."
 
 208 
 
 In 1768 Mr. Ross published his "Fortunate 
 Shepherdess," with a few Songs. Immediately after 
 their appearance, Dr. Beattie, in the most friendly 
 manner, addressed a letter to " The Printer of the 
 Aberdeen Journal" under the signature of " Oliver 
 Oldstile;" together with some complimentary verses, 
 addressed to the " facetious author," which he begged 
 might be transmitted through the same channel 
 " which," the Doctor observes, " may please some 
 of your readers, and cannot, I think, offend any."
 
 20(> 
 
 APPENDIX (d.) 
 
 Mr. Skinner died in the arms of his only surviving 
 son, the Right Reverend John Skinner, Bishop of 
 the diocese of Aberdeen, at the advanced age of 86, 
 after having had the pastoral care of the Episcopal 
 congregation at Longside (a remote parish in the 
 North of Scotland) for nearly 65 years ! The ties of 
 pastoral regard and affection, by which he was so 
 long united to his beloved flock, could be cut asun- 
 der only by the stroke of death ; and this dissolution 
 of all his earthly connections having happened on the 
 l6th of June, 1807, his sorrowing people had no 
 sooner committed his body to the ground, than they 
 set on foot a subscription, for raising a handsome 
 monument to his memory, which has accordingly 
 been erected in the church-yard of Longside, with a 
 suitable inscription. 
 
 The following well-told anecdote is a beautiful 
 illustration of the simplicity of Mr. Skinner's cha- 
 racter. 
 
 " When surrounded by his grand-children in their 
 
 VOL. I. V
 
 210 
 
 early years, it was delightful to see how he could 
 adapt himself to their yet humble but rising capaci- 
 ties. He would make them verses by the hour. He 
 would puzzle them with riddles, and little arithme- 
 tical problems of his own invention. He would try 
 to call forth the latent spark of genius, by proposing 
 questions on the different branches of study in which 
 they were occupied at school. Although in them- 
 selves simple, and easy of solution, yet the grand- 
 father had such art in quaintly arranging, and in enig- 
 matically expressing, his questions, as conveyed the 
 idea of extreme difficulty ; while, at the same time, 
 no sooner did he himself proceed to unravel the 
 seeming mystery, than even children blushed to find 
 themselves duped and outwitted by means so com- 
 pletely within the reach of their own detection. On 
 one occasion of this kind, when his oldest grandson 
 could not discover the little artifice employed to per- 
 plex him, he was not a little alarmed by hearing his 
 grandfather say, that even Thomas the Rhymer had 
 prophesied on the subject of the fourth John Skin- 
 ner's lamentable weakness of mind, and want of 
 capacity, — 
 
 *■ The world shall /bwr John Skinners see, 
 lihe first sail teach a school; — 
 The other two shall parsons be, 
 And the fourth shall be a fool V
 
 211 
 
 " His old friend, however, afterwards made him 
 ample amends for tliis rhyming jeu d' esprit. For 
 after tlie young man became a clergyman, and grand- 
 «!►. father, father, and so7i, had all officiated at one and 
 the same diet of worship, at the chapel at Longside, 
 he presented him with the following beautiful Latin 
 verses. They are here inserted, not because free 
 from the licentia poetica, but because, mingled with 
 the proverbial blindness of a grandfather's partiality, 
 the poetical license has completely usurped the place 
 of truth, and given the manner, and not the matter, 
 a claim to the notice of the learned reader. 
 
 ' Sanguinis ejusdem tres implent rostra Joannes, 
 Est avus, est pater, est earns utrique nepos: 
 Ingenio primus, serraonis laude secundus 
 Claret ; in ambobus tertius ille nitet. 
 Non potuere ultr^ Naturae tendere vires, 
 Miscet avo patrem, et fingitur inde nepos !' 
 
 The " Poetical Pieces" of this excellent old man 
 (who answered most literally to Goldsmith's descrip- 
 tion of the Village Preacher) have been lately col- 
 lected, and published at Edinburgh, prefaced with 
 some valuable remarks on his life and poetic talent. 
 To this interesting account, already quoted, the reader 
 is referred. The Editor would only observe, that 
 the fine family Picture, so delicately sketched iu 
 p 2
 
 212 
 
 The Old Man's Song subjoined, was not only de- 
 scriptive of the author's own sentiments and enjoy- 
 ments at the moment he wrote it, but it will long 
 remain an artless and faithful representation of his 
 character, his conduct, and his principles. 
 
 THE OLD man's SONG. 
 Tune— Dumbarton Drums. 
 
 O ! why should old age so much wound us !* 
 There is nothing in it all to confound us : 
 
 For how happy now am I, 
 
 With my old wife sitting by, 
 And our bairns and our oysf all around us ; 
 
 For how happy now am /, ^c. 
 
 We began in the warld wi' naething, 
 And we've jogg'd on, and toil'd for the ae thing; 
 We made use of what we had. 
 And our thankful hearts were glad ; 
 When we got the bit meat and the claithing, 
 We made use of what we had, S^c. 
 
 We have liv'd all our life-time contented, 
 Since the day we became first acquainted : 
 
 * This tune requires O to be added at the end of each of the 
 long lines, but in reading the Song the O is better omitted. 
 t Oys — Grand-children.'
 
 213 
 
 It's true we've been but poor, 
 And we are so to this hour ; 
 But we never yet repin'd or lamented. 
 It's true we've been but poor, Sfc. 
 
 When we had any stock, we ne'er vauntit, 
 Nor did we hing our lieads when we wantit ; 
 
 But we always gave a share 
 
 Of the little we cou'd spare, 
 When it pleas'd a kind Heaven to grant it. 
 
 But we always gave a share, &jc. 
 
 We never laid a scheme to be wealthy. 
 By means that were cunning or stealthy ; 
 But we always had the bliss, 
 (And what further could we wiss). 
 To be pleas'd with ourselves, and be healthy, 
 JBut we always had the bliss, S^c. 
 
 What tho' we cannot boast of our guineas, 
 We have plenty of Jockies and Jeanies j 
 
 And these, I'm certain, are 
 
 More desirable by far 
 Than a bag full of poor yellow sleenies. 
 
 And these, I am certain, are, S^x. 
 
 We have seen many wonder and fcrly, 
 Of changes that almost are yearly,
 
 214 
 
 Among rich folks up and down, 
 Both in country and in town, 
 Who now live but scrimply and barely, 
 Among rich folks up and down, 8fc. 
 
 Then why should people brag of prosperity ? 
 A straiten'd life we see is no rarity ; 
 
 Indeed we've been in want. 
 
 And our living's been but scant, 
 Yet we never were reduced to need charity. 
 
 Indeed we've been in want, S^c. 
 
 In this house we first came together, 
 Where we've long been a father and mither ; 
 
 And tho' not of stone and lime. 
 
 It will last us all our time ; 
 And, I hope, we shall ne'er need anither. 
 
 And tho' not oj" stone and lime, S^c. 
 
 And when we leave this poor habitation, 
 We'll depart with a good commendation ; 
 
 We'll go hand in hand, I wiss. 
 
 To a better house than this, 
 To make room for the next generation. 
 
 Then why should old age so much wound us, 
 
 There is nothing in it all to confound us: 
 For how happy now am I, 
 With my old wife sitting by, 
 
 And our bairns and our oys all around us.
 
 215 
 
 The two subjoined letters were written by Burn* 
 to Mr. Skinner. They have not appeared in the se- 
 ries of his Correspondence pubhshed either by Dr. 
 Currie, or the Editor of these volumes. In the sum- 
 mer of 1787, Bums made a tour through the west 
 and north of Scotland ; and at Aberdeen met with 
 Mr. Skinner's son, between whom an interesting 
 conversation took place. The particulars of this in- 
 terview were communicated to the father, stating 
 also how much Burns regretted that he did not know 
 where Linshart lay, as he would have gone twenty 
 miles out of his way to have seen the author of 
 TuUochgorum. This compliment immediately pro- 
 duced an Epistle in familiar verse, addressed to 
 Burns, who returned the following letter in reply, 
 which, though without a date, appears to have been 
 written in Edinburgh. 
 
 ' Reverend and venerable Sir, 
 
 ' Accept, in plain dull prose, my most sincere 
 thanks for the best poetical compliment I ever receiv- 
 ed. I assure you. Sir, as a poet, you have conjured 
 up an airy demon of vanity in my fancy, which the 
 best abilities in your other capacity would be ill able 
 to lay. I regret, and while I live shall regret, that 
 when I was in the north, I had not the pleasure of 
 paying a younger brother's dutiful respect to the Au-
 
 216 
 
 thor of the best Scotch song ever Scotland saw, — - 
 * Tullochgorum's my delight !' The world may 
 think slightingly of the craft of song-making, if they 
 please ; but, as Job says, ' O ! that mine adversary 
 had written a book !' — let them try. There is a cer- 
 tain something in the old Scotch songs, a wild hap- 
 piness of thought and expression, which peculiarly 
 marks them, not only from English songs, but also 
 from the modern efforts of song-wrights, in our na- 
 tive manner and language. The only remains of 
 this enchantment, these spells of the imagination, 
 rests with you. Our true brother, Ross of Lochlee, 
 was likewise * owre cannie,' — a * wild warlock' — 
 but now he sings among the ' Sons of the morning.' 
 I have often wished, and will certainly endeavour, to 
 form a kind of common acquaintance among all the 
 genuine sons of Caledonian song. The world, busy 
 in low prosaic pursuits, may overlook most of us ; — 
 but ' reverence thyself.' The world is not our 
 peers, — so we challenge the jury. We can lash that 
 world, — and find ourselves a very great source of 
 amusement and happiness independent of that world. 
 There is a work going on in Edinburgh, just now, 
 which claims your best assistance.* An engraver in 
 this town has set about collecting and publishing all 
 the Scotch Songs, with the Music, that can be foundt 
 * Johnson's Musical Museum.
 
 «17 
 
 SoDgs in the English language, if by Scotchmen, are 
 admitted; but the Music must all be Scotch. Drs. 
 Beattie and Blacklock are lending a hand, and the 
 first musician in town presides over that department. 
 I have been absolutely crazed about it, collecting old 
 stanzas, and every information remaining, respecting 
 their origin, authors, &,c. This last is but a very 
 fragment business ; but at the end of his second 
 number, — the first is already published, — a small ac- 
 count will be given of the authors, particularly to 
 preserve those of latter times. Your three songs, 
 ' Tullochgorum, John of Baden j/on, and Ewie wi 
 the crookit Horn,' go in this second number. I was 
 determined, before I got your letter, to write you, 
 begging that you would let me know where the edi- 
 tions of tiiese pieces may be found, as you would 
 wish them to continue in future times ; and if you 
 would be so kind to this undertaking, as send any 
 Songs, of your own or others, that you would think 
 proper to publish. Your name will be inserted 
 among the other authors, * ISJi// ye, will ye.' One 
 half of Scotland already give your songs to other au- 
 thors. Paper is done. 1 beg to hear from you, — 
 the sooner the better, as I leave Edinburgh in a fort- 
 night or three weeks. I am, with the warmest sin- 
 cerity, Sir, your obliged humble servant, 
 
 RouERT Burns.'
 
 218 
 
 To this letter Mr. Skinner's answer was as fol- 
 lows : 
 
 Linshart, 14th November, 1787.* 
 
 " Sir, 
 
 " Your kind return, without date, but of post- 
 mark October 25th, came to my hand only this day. 
 Your acknowledgment of my poor but just enco- 
 miums on your surprising genius, and your opinion of 
 my rhyming excursions, are both, I think, by far too 
 high. The difference between our two tracks of 
 education, and ways of life, is entirely in your favour, 
 and gives you the preference every manner of way. I 
 know a classical education will not create a versify- 
 ing taste, but it mightily improves and assists it ; and 
 though, where both these meet, there may sometimes 
 be ground for approbation, yet where taste appears 
 single, as it were, and neither cramped nor supported 
 by acquisition, I will always sustain the justice of its 
 prior claim to applause. A small portion of taste 
 this way I have had almost from childhood, especial- 
 
 * Though this letter is already printed by Dr. Currie, in his 
 edition of Burns's works, yet it cannot be deemed misplaced 
 here, as it not only contains several curious and praise-worthy 
 incidents in Mr. Skinner's life, but also historical remarks on 
 some of the Songs published in this Collection. 
 
 Ed.
 
 219 
 
 ly in the old Scottish dialect ; and it is as old a thing 
 as I remember, my fondness for ' Chryste-Kirk a* 
 the Green,^ which I had by heart ere I was twelve 
 years of age, and which, some years ago, I attempted 
 to turn into Latin verse. While I was young, I dab- 
 bled a good deal in these things ; but, on getting the 
 black gown, I gave it pretty much over, till my 
 daughters grew up, who being all tolerably good 
 singers, plagued me for words to some of their fa- 
 vourite tunes, and so extorted those effusions which 
 have made a public appearance beyond my expecta- 
 tion, and contrary to my intentions, — at the same 
 time that I hope there is nothing to be found in them 
 uncharacteristic, or unbecoming the cloth, which I 
 would always wish to see respected. As to the as- 
 sistance you propose from me in the undertaking you 
 are engaged in, I am sorry I cannot give it so far as 
 I could wish, and you perhaps expect. My daugh- 
 ters, who were my only intelligencers, are all ybm- 
 faniiliate, and the old woman, their mother, has lost 
 that taste. There are two from my own pen, which 
 1 might give you, if worth the while : One to the 
 old Scotch tune of * Dumbarton drums' The other, 
 perhaps, you have met with, as your noble friend the 
 Duchess has, I am told, heard of it. It was squeez- 
 ed out of me by a brother parson in her neighbour-
 
 220 
 
 hood, to accommodate a new highland reel for the 
 Marquis's birth-day, to the stanza of 
 
 ' Tune your fiddles, tune them sweetly/ &c. 
 
 There is another humourous thing, I have heard, 
 said to be done by the Catholic priest Geddes, and 
 which hit my taste much. 
 
 ' There was a wee wifeikie was comin frae the fair, 
 ' Had gotten a little drapikie, which bred her meikil 
 
 care; 
 ' It took upo' the wifie's heart, and she began to spew, 
 
 * And co' the wee wifeikie, I wish I binna fou. 
 
 * I wish,' &c. 
 
 I have heard of another new composition by a young 
 plowman of my acquaintance, that I am vastly pleased 
 with, to the tune of the * Humours of Glen,' which, 
 I fear, wont do, as the music, I am told, is of Irish 
 original. 1 have mentioned these, such as they are, 
 to shew my readiness to oblige you, and to contribute 
 my mite, if 1 could, to the patriotic work you have 
 in hand, and which I wish all success to. You have 
 only to notify your mind, and what you want of the 
 above shall be sent you. Meantime, while you are 
 thus publicly, I may say, employed, do not sheath
 
 221 
 
 your own proper and piercing weapon. From what 
 I have seen of yours already, I am incHned to hope 
 for much good. One lesson of virtue and morality 
 delivered in your amusing style, and from such as 
 you, will operate more than dozens would do from 
 such as me, who shall be told, it is our employment, 
 and be never more minded; whereas, from a pen 
 like yours, as being one of the many, what comes 
 will be admired : — Admiration will produce regard, 
 and regard will leave an impression, especially when 
 example goes along. 
 
 " Wishing you, from my poet-pen, all success, and 
 in my other character, all happiness and heavenly di- 
 rection, I remain, with esteem, your sincere friend, 
 
 John Skinner." 
 
 The next letter from Burns to our Author, is dated 
 at Edinburgh, the 14th of February, 178b, and the 
 following is a copy of it : 
 
 * Reverend and dear Sir, 
 
 * I have been a cripple now near three months, 
 though I am getting vastly better, and have been very 
 much hurried beside, or else I would have wrote you 
 sooner. I must beg your pardon for the epistle you 
 sent me appearing in the Magazine. I had given a 
 copy or two to some of my intimate friends, but did
 
 222 
 
 not know of the printing of it till the publication of 
 the Magazine. However, as it does great honour to 
 us both, I hope you will forgive it. The second vo- 
 lume of die songs I mentioned to you in my last, is 
 published to-day. I send you a copy, which I beg 
 you will accept as a mark of the veneration I have 
 long had, and shall ever have, for your character, and 
 of the claim I make to your continued acquaintance. 
 Your songs appear in the third volume, with your 
 name in the index, as I assure you, Sir, I have heard 
 your Tullochgorum, particularly among our west 
 country folks, given to many different names, and 
 most commonly to the immortal author of the Min- 
 strelf who, indeed, never wrote any thing superior to 
 * Gie's a Sang, Montgomery cried! Your brother 
 has promised me your verses to the Marquis of 
 Huntly's Reel, which certainly deserve a place in the 
 Collection. My kind host, Mr. Cruickshank, of the 
 High School here, and said to be one of the best 
 Latins in this age, begs me to make you his grateful 
 acknowledgments for the entertainment he has got in 
 a Latin publication of your's that I borrowed for 
 him from your acquaintance, and my much respected 
 friend, in this place, the reverend Dr. Webster. Mr. 
 Cruickshank maintains that you write the best Latin 
 since Buchanan. I leave Edinburgh to-morrow, but 
 shall return in three weeks. Your song you men-
 
 223 
 
 tioned in your last, to the tune of ' Dumbarton 
 Drums,' and the other, which you say was done by 
 a brother by trade of mine, a plowman, I shall 
 thank you much for a copy of each. I am ever, 
 reverend Sir, with the most respectful esteem, and 
 sincere veneration, yours, 
 
 Robert Burns.'
 
 2£4 
 
 APPENDIX fe.J 
 
 ACCOUNT OF THE LATE JOSEPH RITSON. 
 (Communicated by a Barrister of Gratfs Inn.) 
 
 The subsequent authentic narrative of the last mo- 
 ments of poor Ritson, while it may afford gratification 
 to some of those who suffered under the lash of his 
 sarcastic criticism, must at the same time offer some 
 apology for that eccentricity and violence which too 
 frequently disgrace his controversial writings, and even 
 his antiquarian disquisitions. They doubtless origi- 
 nated in that maniacal tendency which latterly burst 
 forth into full outrage, and terminated in his death. 
 It has been ascertained that a sister, elder than himself, 
 fell also a victim to the same deplorable malady. Let 
 it check the pride of human nature, even in that point 
 on which we think we are most justified in valuing 
 ourselves — the superiority of our intellectual faculties; 
 to mark m this, as well as in so many other instances, 
 the near alliance between genius and insanity. 
 
 It has been farther learned frwn a Mrs. Kirby, who 
 knew him from early infancy, and retained more in-
 
 225 
 
 lluence over him than any other person during the 
 whole of his hfe, that his father was a man in a low 
 condition of life, yet he found means to send him 
 to a Latin school at Stockton, where he proved an 
 attentive scholar, and made a rapid progress in such 
 learning as was there taught. His habits were always 
 reserved, rarely associating with his school-fellows. 
 He afterwards passed some time in the office of Mr. 
 Bradley, a conveyancer, of that town. On coming to 
 London, he entered himself a student of Gray's Inn, 
 and after keeping his proper terms, he was called to 
 the bar. He never, however, paid much attention 
 to the proper business of his profession. During the 
 summer season he used to take long journeys on foot, 
 with no other baggage than a shirt in each pocket ; 
 and if he at any time found them too heavy, he made 
 no hesitation in disencumbering himself by throwing 
 one of them away. She also states him to have 
 been very lax in his religious principles, of which, 
 perhaps, she was, no very competent judge. If he in' 
 fact were so, let it be a warning to others to be care- 
 ful how they throw aside any proper restraint of the 
 mind, especially the most serious and important of all, 
 that of religion, lest they should slacken, and, as took 
 place in his unhappy case, ultimately lose all hold of 
 the reins by which the imagination is guided. 
 
 " The late Mr. Ritson lived in the same staircase 
 with me in Gray's Inn for many years, and the com- 
 
 YOL. I. Q
 
 226 
 
 mon civilities of the day passed between us, but no- 
 thing more. We never visited. I understood he 
 possessed a great singularity of character ; but he was 
 ever poUte and civil to me. Early in September, 
 1803, I frequently heard a great swearing and noise 
 in his chambers, and, on meeting his laundress on 
 the stairs, I asked her the cause of the disturbance I 
 had heard. She answered, that she believed her 
 master was out of his mind, for his conduct in every 
 respect proved him so; and that she was greatly 
 afraid that in his delirium he would do himself or her 
 an injury. She said she had taken him his dinner the 
 day before, but that he had not touched it, and that 
 he never ate animal food. She was then going to 
 him, but expressed a fear that he would burst into a 
 rage, and abuse her as I had heard him before. The 
 last time she was in the chambers, he had shut him- 
 self up ; however, she left his dinner upon the table, 
 and was then going to see if he had eaten it. I said, 
 as she had expressed herself fearful, I would go with 
 her to her master, which I accordingly did. I saw 
 his dinner on the table, but he was still shut up in 
 his room. I asked the laundress whether he had any 
 relations in town. She said he had not ; but that he 
 had a nephew somewhere in the North, who had 
 lived with him for many years, but that Mr. Ritson 
 had turned him out of his house for eating animal
 
 227 
 
 food. I desired her to endeavour to find out some 
 of his relations or friends, and to apprize tliem of 
 his unhappy situation, and in the meantime to be very 
 careful of him. 
 
 " On the 10th of September, about nine o'clock 
 in the evening, on my return to my chambers, my ser- 
 vant told me that Mr. Ritson had been making a 
 great noise, and that there was a great light in his 
 room, which had alarmed the people in the Ste^^'ard's 
 office. I went immediately to the Steward's office, 
 and looking from his window, 1 saw Mr. Ritson's 
 room strewed with books and loose papers, some of 
 which he was gathering up and throwing on the fire, 
 which occasioned the great blaze they had seen. He 
 had a lighted candle in his hand, which he carried 
 about in a very dangerous manner. The Steward 
 not being at home, I sent for him to represent to him 
 Mr. Ritson's extraordinary conduct. However, being 
 much alarmed, I went to Mr. Ritson's chambers, 
 and knocked at the door several times, but could get 
 no admission. At last a key was obtained from the 
 laundress ; and Mr. Quin, the steward, and myself, 
 with two porters, entered his chambers. He ap- 
 peared much confused on seeing us, and asked how 
 we came in I We told him by means of the laun- 
 dress's key. He then asked what we wanted ? Mr.
 
 228 
 
 Quin told him, we came in consequence of the great 
 blaze that appeared in his chambers, believing them 
 to be on fire. He answered, that his fire had gone 
 out, and that he was lighting it to make horse-radish 
 tea. Mr. Quin then represented to him the great 
 danger of making his fire with loose papers, parti- 
 cularly as there were so many scattered about the 
 room, some of which had actually taken fire. Mr. 
 Quin therefore begged he would permit the porters 
 to collect them together, and to put them away, and 
 to do any thing he wanted ; upon which he said, no ! 
 no ! and in the most peremptory manner ordered 
 them to leave his chambers, saying they were only 
 servants to the Society, and had no business in his 
 chambers. Mr. Quin observed, that consistently 
 with his duty as Steward of the Inn, he could not 
 leave his chambers in that dangerous situation. Mr. 
 Ritson then appearing much enraged, swore he would 
 make them, for that they came to rob him, and im- 
 mediately went to his bed-room, and returned with a 
 drawn dagger in his hand ; at sight of which, Mr. 
 Quin and the porters immediately left the chambers, 
 Mr. Ritson pursuing them along the passage, and 
 they in their hurry shut the outer door, leaving me in 
 tlie room. On his return I disarmed him, and begged 
 him to sit down while 1 explained every thing. He
 
 229 
 
 was then very complaisant^ and said he did not mean 
 to offend me, but swore vengeance against those who 
 had left the room. He insisted on my going into 
 his best apartment, which I did, and found his books 
 and papers scattered on the floor, as they were in the 
 other chamber. He asked me to drink with him, 
 which I refused. He paid me some compliments as 
 a neighbour, and said he would give me a history of 
 his life. He told me he had a great passion for 
 books, of which he possessed the finest collection in 
 England. That he had written upon many subjects, 
 and had confuted many who had written upon law 
 and theology. He said he was then writing a pam- 
 phlet proving Jesus Christ an impostor! but that 
 something had lately discomposed him, and he was 
 therefore resolved to destroy many of his manuscripts, 
 for which purpose he was then sorting his papers. 
 I heard him patiently for an hour and an half, when 
 I advised him to go to bed, which he said he would 
 do, and I left him seemingly composed. About an 
 hour after, he became very violent and outrageous, 
 throwing his furniture about his chambers and break- 
 ing his windows. I then went to him again, and 
 endeavoured to pacify him, but without effect. He 
 had a dagger in one hand and a knife in the other, 
 though I had taken the other dagger from him, and
 
 230 
 
 carried it to my own chambers. He raved for d 
 considerable time, till, being quite exhausted, he 
 went to sleep. A person was then sent for from 
 Hoxton to take care of him, who remained with 
 him five days, and said that his derangement was in- 
 curable. I visited him every day, when he appeared 
 very glad to see me, and said, * Here comes my 
 friend, who will set me at liberty;' but violently 
 abused his keeper, and said, the devil would torment 
 him for his cruelty in keeping him so confined. It 
 was thought proper by his friends to remove him to a 
 mad-house, where I understand he died in a few days. 
 I have since learned that his malady was a family 
 disorder, and that his sister died mad." 
 
 3\st March, 1804. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 J. m'creery, Printer, 
 Black-Horse-Court, London. 
 
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