W6l e I 03Q ^^-^-^J-^hvx/ yyCA^AAyi^^cyK^^t'^-^ THE BOOK OF SCOTTISH SONG; ^^Ll COLLECTED AKD ILLUSTRATED HISTOEICAL AND CRITICAL NOTICES. Bt ALEX. WHITELAW. BLACKIE AND SON, QUEEX STREET, GLASGOW; SOITTH COLLEGE STREET, EDI^fllURGH ; WARWICK SQUARE, LONDOX. MDCCCXLin. fii^&-ii.^i*iwi.t--^>I?4«^C>tJtA■i.>£»i?!.<>J■«Jv^W.•j^ . i'sodfc^;^Wsr jS%t*l> >3*ijfeOw»s>wo^;*i?--^/s*Wi-.>ifc«i- /iv*'-^^ ■« .»i,'i)f ;) % 1 To' I uLASGOW: r/y W. O. BLACKIK AND CO. 0,\* PUINTEKS. ft\\ ^.?^^^^5E^y iw tS:^??^1rg^>^' I i [Written for this Work by John Imiah.] AuLD ScoTiA'3 Sangs ! Auld Scotia's Sangs I— the strains o' youth and yore ! O lilt to me, and I will list— will list them o'er and o'er ; Though mak' me wae, or raak' me wud, — or changefu' as a child. Yet lilt to me, and I will list— the " native wood notes wild '." They mak' me present wi' the past— they bring up, firesh and fair. The Bonnie Broom o' Cowden Knowes, the Bush abune Traquair, The Dowie Dens o' Yarrow, or the Birks o' Invermay, Or Catrine's green and yellow Woods in autumn's dwining day ! They bring me back the holms and howes whar siller bumies shine. The Lea -rig whar the gowans glint we pu'd in Auld Lang Syne ; And, mair than a', the Trystin' Thorn that blossom'd down the vale, AThar gloamin' breathed sae sweetly— but far sweeter luve's fond tale ! Now melt we o'er the lay that wails for Flodden's day o' dule,— And now some rant will gar us loup like daffin' youth at Yule ;— Now o'er young luve's impassion'd strain our conscious heart will yearn,— And now our blude fires at the call o^ Bruce o' Bannockbum ! O ! lovely in the licht o' sang tha Ettrick and the Tweed, AVhar shepherd swains were wont to blaw auld Scotia's lyric reed ;— The Logan and the Lugar, too, but, hallow'd nieikle mair. The Banks and Braes o' bonnie Doun,— the Afton and the Ayr ! The hind whase hands are on the pleugh— the shepherd wi' his crook— The maiden o'er the milkin' pail, or by the ingle neuk, Lo'e weel to croon auld Scotia's sangs— O may they ever sae ! And it may be a daffin' lilt— may be a dowie lay ! Though warldly grief and warldling's guUe maun I like ithers dree. Maun thole the sair saigh rive my breist— the het tear scald my e'e ! But let me list the melodies o' some o' Scotia's sangs. And I -will a' forget my waes— wiU a' forgie my -ivrangs !--, ..-^- O : bom C feeUng's warmest depths— o' fancy's wildest dreams. They're twined wi' monie lovely thochts, wi' monie lo'esome themes ; They gar the glass o' memorie glint back wi' brichter shine On far aff scenes, and far aff friends— and Auld Lang S)-ue ! Auld Scotia's Sangs !— Auld Scotia's Sangs !— her " native wood notes wild ! Her monie artless melodies, that move me like a child ; Sing on— sing on I and I will Ust— will list them o'er and o'er,— Auld Scotia's Sangs !— Auld Scotia's Sangs !— the sungs o' youth and yore ! i ^0=^1^ .vll m i ;roiif! slDCttcnii toil, f)otDrOrr ruDf t|)f sounU : ;ail at ftcr tDortv Hjr billagc matDcn sings ; Xor, tDijilc sljc turns ti)c gtOUp toljcci arounf . fieftolDcs ti)c saO dicissituOc of tijings. GIFFART). :% age, or authorship, as could be gathered from the liter- ary records of the country, or might be elicited from personal inquiry and research among the lovers of song. It may excite surprise to know, but nevertheless it is undeniable, that no publication of the kind here aimed at. whether as regards extent of design in text and commentary, or adaptation in size and price for general circulation, has hitherto been attempted, amid the multifarious song-collections that have issued from the press. Ritson, near the close of the last century, was the first, as an editor of Scottish song, who endea- voured to ascertain the age and authorship of the pieces in his work,* and his example has been followed by one or two other editors; but the compilations adverted to are at once limited in their range, and removed by their cost be- yond the reach of ordinary purchasers. Ritsou's collection did not, in all. amount to more than one hundred and eighty songs, and the collections of succeeding editors, though in some instances extending to several volumes, do not in any case contain one half of the number of songs given in the present publication. The great majority of song books, whether of elegant or humble exterior, display, as every body must be aware, a total want of any thing like histori- * ' Scottish Songs: In Two Volumes, London MDCCXCIV.' Misprint in title page of first Tolume, ' MDCCXI V !' It is amusing to contemplate what effect this blunder, when discovered, would have upon a man of Ritson's excessive love of accuracy, punctilious adherence to hteral £acts, and infirmity of temper. o ^'^^r^^^^'^imi'^m^'^^^0^^^^%^ w % chI or biographical iuformatiou: even the names of the authors are in most instances dispensed with ; and, altog^ethor, the songs are in general collected and distributed with the disdainful indiiference that might be supposed to accompany the handling of a pitchfork. One consequence of this is, that, put- ing aside those of modern date, a wide-spread ignorance prevails regarding the history of most of our lyrics ; and on no literary points of inquiry, we venture to say, is more darkness to be found, even among the well-informed and intelli- gent classes, than on those connected with the songs of bygone generations. All that people, in most cases, can say of any one of them is, that it is an * old ' song, because they know it was a favourite with their grandmother, or because they may happen to have it in some old collection ; but as to its precise antiquity, or any other point of its history, they are wholly unacquainted. It has been one leading object of the present work to fix, as far as possible, the date and authorship of all the lyrics quoted, so that the reader may be put in possession of what is positively known regarding the ancient as well as modern .Songs of Scotland. By stating ^^•here a song first appeared, or in what publi- cation it was first printed, some definite notion is obtained as to its age ; and even in- those cases where its original appearance cannot be traced, the reader has at least the comfort of being assured, that he knows all that is to be known on the subject. The difficulties encountered in foUounng up the ambitious design of this work, of giving at once a complete and unobjectionable collection of Scottish Song, accompanied with illustrative notices, could not be readily comprehend- ed by any but those who are in some measure familiar with the wide field of research — (rugged, dark, and dangerous in many places, though studded by numberless spots of delicious verdure) — over which it was necessary to wan- der; and it would be idle here, if not ungracious, to insist on the subject. Wliatever, at all events, might be tlie difficulties encountered in accomplishing a work, whicli, though small in bulk, is more comprehensive in its scope and complete in its aim than any of a similar character hitherto attempted, the Kditor is desirous of acknowledging that these difficulties were met under the most favourable auspices. From the first he has been encouraged in his labours by the interest which many of his countrymen have manifested in the work, attaching to it the importance of a national repository, and by the liberality with wliich the most successful song-writers of the day have permitted liim to quote their verses. In the number of those who have honour- i «>0 'j^^^!m-' ■^^kS-^:- ^^^mi^^t£^:m^^^m^'^^^'m&^^^. > all but useless. In consulting the Index of First Lines, great accuracy is of course necessary 5^ I 'i^ ed him with their correspondence, he ha?, besides, been fortunate. To ''W S^ Captain Charles Gray, R.M.,in particular, he has been largely indebted for f*,-* i-^ many valuable communications on the subject of Scottish song — a subject on r,^ /^* which the Captain's enthusiasm and information go hand in hand — as well as J=>'n \^% for pointing out and furnishing a number of useful authorities. He has also ^ ' • V> to express his obligations to Alexander Laing, Esq., David Vedder, Esq., Patrick Maxwell, Esq., Thomas C. Latto, Esq., Robert White, Esq., Dr. Andrew Crawford, and various other correspondents in a lesser degree, for serviceable information in the course of his labours. The Book of Scottish Song contains, in all, somewhere about twelve ^^ HTJSDRED AND SEVENTY songs ; and it is presumed that every standard lyric /^"" in the language — every song of established reputation — is included within its "'■'-'"'^ jc^f' pages. Some omissions may possibly have been made; but the Editor trusts ''.:■. A/j(^ that they are of a very unimportant character.f A large number of the songs -, ' ' ((^ in the collection are taken from hitherto unexplored sources, and may be con- ^ sidered (to use Coleridge's phrase) ' as good as manuscript." Another portion, ^ '^<; (O though not so large, are bona fide ' originals,' that is to say, they have the ^ claim to originality at least, in having been here first printed. Of this portion, -■■'" about ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY in all, many, it is confidently trusted, will be J admitted even by the most fastidious, to possess very superior merit, while the .■> whole, though forming but a subordinate feature of the work, will be found, J /,' ViA it is hoped, to add no inconsiderable or unworthy heap to the lofty and ever- ^^ KJ^ accumulating cairn of Scottish song. "^ ^^ In this preliminary notice, it was originally intended to have entered some- **'■ "V_ J what at large into the history of the lyric poetry of the country ; but the de- *J|J mands upon the space of the work, as it drew to a close, for the insertion K/^ t The Index of First Lines, -which is constructed on the strictest alphabetical arrangement, ^V! ^r-? and given at the end of the volume, will be the reader's best guide for finding out any particular ^-- \/^ song. In cases where the first line is not known or remembered, the Index of Authors may be ^.r."*i f\ of service. An Index of Titles was at one time contemplated, but the impracticability of 1^4 arranging these in a satisfactory manner caused it to be abandoned as a table of reference ^^ i^. on the part of the consulter as to the opening word, otherwise he may be disappointed in his search, and hastily conclude that the song he wants is not in the book, while it actually is. ^ ']^ The omission or addition of the exclamation ' ' at the beginning of a song may, for example, '^ lead him wrong. "When he is not sure in cases of this kind, he had better try the line with and ^ without the' 0.' /♦^VTJcar ><-xLl -^ these days seem to have been characterized by a gay and jovial spirit, little in accordance with the alleged austerity of the national character. In ' Peebles to the Play,' (ascribed to James I., 1424-37), two songs are men- ' v tioned as being then in popular use: — 'There fure ane man to the holt," ^i^ (There went a man to the wood), and 'There shall be mirth at our meeting '^, yet.' These songs, which are both lost, may be called the first of which vv«' '^ have any notice, with the exception of a rhyme mentioned by Andrew Wyn ton, made on the death of Alexander III., (1286), and two or three taunting "^y } doggrels made by the Scots on the English, especially one on the siege of G,* Berwick, (1296), and one on the victory of Bannockbum, (1314), none of which can properly be considered in the light of song, according to our modem mean- ing. About the same time as the reign of James I., or a little later, a humor- ^^-a* ous poem was composed, called ' Cockelby's Sow,' (preserved in the Banna- tyne MS.) wliich refers to a number of songs and tunes then in popular use,— 4. ^ ^ such as 'Joly Lemmane,' 'Tras and Trenass,' 'The Bass,' ' Trolly Lolly,' \3^ 'Cok craw thou qll day,' ' T\*'ysbank,' • Terway,' 'Be yon wodsyd,' 'Lait, *l i =•' lait in evinnynis,' 'Joly Martene with a mok,' 'Rusty Bully with a bek,' ^yj &c. Of all these the words are lost, and if the tunes exist, they do so, with one v^'^ or two exceptions, under different titles. The next intimation of song which t^ occurs in our literature is in Gawin Douglas's prologues to his translation of %^ Virgil, written about 1512,* wherein four different songs are adverted to, viz. jy 'The ship sails ower the saut faem," 'I will be blithe and licht," 'I come ^\ * Mr. Dauney, in his valuable Introduction to 'Ancient Scottish Melodies, from a JIS. of the \yr\ ^ rt-iirn of king James VI.,' p. 47, gives some fragments of song found in the Minute Book of ^« Hurgh Saaines of Aberdeen, 1503-07 : Mr. Dauney's publication proves beyond all question the /►j'J antiquity of a number of our finest Scottish airs. S r j hither to woo,' and ' The joly day now dawis." All these are lost, unless a S ' fragment preserved in the Fairfax MS., beginning, f^ ' This day day dawes, this gentU day dawes, and I must home gone,' "^-C" belong to the latter. ' The day dawes ' was long a popular tune in Scotland. V^j la 1549 was printed at St. Andrews a curious work entitled ' Vedderburn's ^ Complainte of Scotiande,' in which are preserved the titles of no less than ^'W thirty-seven songs. We are tempted to quote these, although pressed for ,_|Oj room ; for a melancholy interest, we consider, attaches itself to even the ; ry titles of lays that charmed or cheered our ancestors three hundred years ago. — ' Pastance vitht gude companye,' ' The breir byndes me soir,' ' Still vnder the leyuis grene,' ' Cou thou me tlie raschis grene,' ' Allace I vyit zour tua fayr ^ ene' ' Code zou gude day vil boy,' ' Lady help zour prisoneir,' ' King Vilzamis r^-^ note,' ' The lang noune nou,' ' The cheapel valk,' ' Faytht is there none,' ' Skald -. ^ a bellis nou,' ' The Aberdenis nou,' ' Brume, brume on hil,' '.^llone I veip in grit distress,' ' Trolee, lolee lemendou,' ' Bill vill thou cum by a lute and belt thee in Sanct Francis cord,' ' The frog cam to the myl dur,' ' The sang of GU- quiskar,' ' Rycht soirly musing in my mynd,' ' God sen the Duke had bidden in France, and Delabaute had nevyr cum hame,' ' Al musing of meruellis a mys hef I gone,' ' Maestress fajT ze vil forfojT," ' O lusty May vitht Flora queue,' ^^n^ V V V ' O myne harte hay this is my sang,' ' The battel of the Hayrlaw,' ' The huntis •; . ^N* of Cheuet," ' Sal I go vitht you to Rumbelo fayr,' ' Greuit is my sorrow," ' Tume ' , "^ ^^ the sweit Ville to me,' ' My lufe is lyand seik, send him joy, send him joy,' "^.Vj jgr ' Fair luf lend thou me thy mantil joy,' ' The Persee and the Mongumrye met, j.^^ d^ that day, that gentil day,' ' My luf is layd upone ane knycht,' ' Allace that ^:k samj-n sweit face,' • In ane mirtliful morou,' ' My hart is leinit on the land.' — Of Ml these songs, all are lost, with the exception of ' Still under the leaves green,' (^^ ' Cull to me the rushes green,' ' O lusty May \\-ith Flora queen,' ' Greived is t\^, ^f1 my sorrow,' and the three historical ballads, 'The battle of Harlaw,' 'The ■"!;% ^^ Hunts of Cheviot,' and ' The Percy and the Montgomery.' Some of them, ^^^ [^-^ however, are found parodied in ' A Compendious Book of Godly and Spiritual kS ] V> Songs, collected out of sundrie parts of the Scripture, with sundrie of other ^-^ t^ baUats, chainged out of profane Songs, for avoiding of Sinne and Harlotrie,' ^ i^>-f printed in 1590 and 1621. (See Note to 'John come kiss me now,' p. 578.) ^"i; »^ The earliest song book published in Scotland was a musical collection, entitled, ^>y V^') « Cantus, Songs, and Fancies to several Musical Parts, both apt for Voices ^^ ^ I a (-r vi PREFACE. )^D and Viols,' &c., printed by John Forbes, Aberdeen : first edition, 1CG2 ; other editions, 1666 and 1682. This collection, however, does not contain, properly speaking-, a single Scottish song or Scottish melody, for it was not till nearly half a century later that the national music became fashionable. Some of the songs are taken from the ' Compendious Book of Godly and Spiritual Songs,' mentioned above, and other words are quoted from tlie old Scottish poets of the previous century: the music is cliiefly English, and apparently /^ adapted for church service. «i^ About the close of the seventeenth century, a taste for Scottish music f,(p became prevalent among the upper classes of society, and Scottish airs were p-lg introduced at all places of public amusement in London and elsewhere. Thomas V A^ D'Urfey, an obscene humorist of this period, wrote several imitations of Scot- tish song, all of which are to be found in his ' Pills to Purge Melancholy,' collected in six vols., 1719; and his example was followed by other London poetasters. These 'Anglo- Scottish' productions (as Burns calls them) are generally of the most execrable character; but we have been obliged to give in the present collection two or three of the best, as they at one time held an established place among our Scottish songs. (See Notes to 'Jockey met wi' Jenny,' p. 145, 'Diel tak' the wars,' p. 177, 'As Jamie Gay gang'd blythe his way,' 176, 'My Jeanie and I,' 317, 'Glancing of her Apron,' 522, 'Sweet Annie,' 550, &c.) A single verse of one of Tom D'Urfey's ' Scotch Songs ' . ; may be given here as a specimen of the whole. It is the original of ' Within a 5,"' mile of Edinburgh town.' l[^ ) ' Twas within a furlong of Edinborough town, t '^1 In the rosie time of the year when the grass was down : ' Bonnie Jockey, blythe and gay. Said to Jenny making hay, *V^ Let's sit a little, dear, and prattle, J 'Tis a sultry day : ' V He long had courted the black-brow'd maid, -\ • But Jockey was a wag and would ne'er consent to wed ; j;. Which made her pshaw and phoo, and cry out it will not do, I cannot, cannot, cannot, wonnot, monnot buckle too. ^^m^!^^^^^M^^^^^^^^^^^m^ ' He told her marriage was grown a meer joke. And that no one wedded now but the scoundrel folk, &c., &c. ^my^^^^Ik£^if^J^J^^^<^- V ^f g I -y PREFACE. Vll In 1706 the first part of a collection of 'Comic and Serious Scots Poems' .i5 was printed by James Watson at Edinburgh ; a second part was issued in 1709, and a third in 1710. This collection contains 'Fy, let us a* to the bridal," and other pieces mentioned in the course of the present compilation. 1 ,^ In 1724 appeared the first volume of Ramsay's ' Tea Table Miscellany ' — a ^' work Avhich may be said to form the foundation of all other collections of Scot- »"" tish song. A second and a third volume were issued by the year 1727, and a ;;^ /D\ fourth some time after the year 1733. The extreme rarity of the early editions ^>> ^ prevents us from stating their exact dates. The copy in our possession is said / Vj^ to be ' the twelfth edition,' and is printed at London in 1763 ; but we under- -; ^ ^. stand there are other two ' twelfth editions,' one printed at Glasgow in 1753, .icr* ^J^ and one at Edinburgh in 1760. The 'Tea Table Miscellany ' is valuable as ?^?S being the repository in which many of our best and most popular old songs, ;>^ which had been floating on the memory of generations, or at best but enjoying " ,^ the doubtful security of a ballad broadside, were first preserved: — it is also / ', valuable as containing a number of songs by Ramsay himself, and by Ramsay's contributors, the most distinguished of whom were Robert Crawfurd and Hamilton of Bangour. Beyond this, its merits do not go ; for Ramsay unfor- * tunately had little reverence for antiquarian lore ; numerous old ditties he altered and remodelled according to his own discretion, without apparently the v slightest remorse, or without apprizing the reader of the extent of the alter- .- y ; /^■. ations ; and throughout the whole four volumes he does not give a single note • \ ^ ^ or commentary, or even an author's name ! All that we have to guide us in <^ the work is the following notification affixed to the Index: 'The songs "''i marked C, D, H, L, M, O, &c. are new words by different hands ; X, the authors unknowTi ; Z, old songs ; Q, old songs with additions.' This note, meagre though it be, is yet of eminent service ; and the reader will see, in ^ glancing over the present compilation, of what use it has been in pointmg out ^.^ the songs that were considered old in Ramsay's day, in specifjing those that ., -^ A^ had undergone alterations from liis own pen, and in enabling us to guess at the .? 'X ^ productions of his contributors. If it is to be lamented that Ramsay did not ,^j \p favour us with any traditional information cwliich mast have been rife in his ^-C^ ^- day,) regarding the many old songs wliich he has preserved, let it never be -r^ '!< forgotten how much the IjTical literature of the country owes to him, — first. ^f' ,'^ tor collecting and introducing to the upper circles of society (for his Miscellany. '"^ y*; as its title imports, aimed at the patronage of those who indulged in the then ,^ '^^'^M'^^^d:W'<^!^^^M^^^^M'& (A aristocratic beverage of tea,) many admirable rustic effusions that otherwise might liave remained unnoted or altogether perished, and above all, for his own contributions to the stock of Scottish song. These latter unquestionably 'led the way * to many of the triumphs that have since been achieved in modem bong-writing, and, after more than a century's trial, they still hold a foremost rank in the dazzling and crowded scroll of the lyrical muse of Scotland. As a song-writer, indeed, the author of ' The Gentle Shepherd ' is not surpassed for honest warmth and heartiness of feeling and expression, while in the mo- dulation of his rhythm and style of versification, he has, we consider, no equal among all his successors. In exquisite delicacy of ear, Ramsay appears to us to be among Scottish poets what Miltou is among English poets on the same %•? point — unrivalled. f* _■ The number of editions through w hich the ' Tea Table Miscellany " ran, not in Scotland only but in England, proves that Scottish song enjoyed, during the early half of last century, a wide-spread popularity. In confirmation of this, 1 \ S^ and illustrative also of the fashionable favour in which our native lyrics were ^>^ held, William Thomson, a teacher of music in London, brought out in 1725, ^(■Cfl a collection of Scottish songs set to music, which he called ' Orpheus Caledon- ^^-"^ ius," and dedicated to the Princess of Wales, afterwards consort of George II. In 1733 he published two other volumes, with the same title, the first dedicated ' To the Queen,' and the second ' To her Grace the Duchess of Hamilton.* ^ .\*^ Most of the songs in the ' Orpheus Caledonius * are taken from the 'Tea Table ^ Miscellany," without acknowledgment ; and honest Allan thus good-temperedly ^'^ adverts to the circumstance in the preface to the ' twelfth edition:' 'From this ^ \ and the following volume, Mr Thomson ( whois allowed by all to be a good teacher ^J and singer of Scots songs,) culled his Orpheus Caledonius, the musick for both the J » voice and flute, and the words of the songs finely engraven in a folio book, /or ^■^ the use of persons of the highest quality in Britain, and dedicated to the late , r" Queen. This, by the bye, I thought proper to intimate, and do myself that y/"* justice which the publisher neglected ; since he ought to have acquainted his "U\ illustrious list of subscribers that the most of the songs were mine, the musick --* abstracted.' ; After the ' Tea Table Miscellany,* the most important collection was David /i^ Herd's ' Ancient and Modern Scottish Songs, Heroic Ballads, &c.' originally ^/J" published in 17G9, in one volume, and afterwards in 177G, enlarged to two **^S volumes. This collection the reader will find repeatedly referred to in the (*^ ii '!ss-'5{?«g=g®%sfe,'4S3=sv?<^rgi course of the present work, as the place where many of our very best old p^\ Scottish songs first appeared in print. Herd was at once a most successful and ^'' most faithful collector.* 'The rough, the polished,' says Allan Cunningham, y^' ' the rude, the courtly, the pure, the gross, the imperfect, and the complete, were all welcome to honest and indiscriminating David — he loved them all, and he published them all. He seemed to have an art of his owti in finding curious old songs: he was not a poet, and could not create them; he was no .^ a- '"^^ wizard, and could not evoke them from the dust ; yet he had the good fortune ^ to find them, and the courage to publish them mthout mitigation or abatement. » rv S* ^Vllatever contained a vivid picture of old manners, whatever presented a ^^J^^^ lively image of other days, and whatever atoned for its freedom by its ', .-^ humour, or for its indelicacy by its well-fiavoured wit, was dear to the good old T- Scotchman.' Early in the year 1787, the first volume of Johnson's 'Scots Musical ^.' ' Museum' was published. This work was undertaken by James Johnson, ^^ \ Engraver and Musicseller in Edinburgh,! at the suggestion of William Tytler ^^J of Woodhouselee and Dr. Blacklock, and its professed object was 'to unite ];VV the songs and music of Scotland in one general collection.' It was intended f^^ ; to extend to two volumes only;t but before the first volume was completed, "-''-^ Johnson got acquainted T;\-ith Robert Btjrxs, who was then in the zenith of X^\^, his popularity in Edinburgh — and from that hour, the ' Scots Musical Museum,' ^\ ' which in all probability would have gone do\\Ti to the dust, expanded its * ; ^ wings, and became immortal. Every reader is familiar with the history of ^l^ * David Herd was a native of St. Cyrus in Kincarlineshire, but spent most of his life as clerk ^^S, in an accountant's office in Edinburgh. He died In ISIO, at the age of seventy-eight. ' He was ! "*^ known,' savs Sir "Walter Scott, 'and generally esteemed for his shrewd, manly common sense t'^i and antiquarian scienc?, mixed with much good nature and great modesty. His hardy and an- '- L {•^J* tique mould of countenance, and his venerable grizzled locks, procured him, amongst his e-'\i) acquaintance, the name of Greysteil.' Kr-r t Johnson died at Edinburgh in February, 1811, in indigent circumstances. He is said to c.\^ have been the first who engraved music on pervter, by which a great saving was effected. The ^"^ ' Museum ' is engraved on pewter plates. ^ * ; i Johnson's ' Museum ' eventuaUy ran the length of Wx volumes. The second was published ^*- ' in 178S, the third in 1790, the fourth in 1792, the fifth in 1797, (a year after the poet's death, "C but he had contributed largely to its contents before that event) and the sixth in 1S03. A /p'V new edition of the 'Museum' was brought out in 1839, with Xotes by the late 'William Sten- ^S/ ' t^ house, and additional Illustrations by Mr. David Laing of Edinburgh. To these >'otes and X^ / Illustrations we have teen much indebted for information in the course of this work. X PREFACE. Burns's life, and knows with wliat enthusiasm lie entered into the spirit of Johnson's undertaking, and afterwards of Mr. George Thomson's — the latter a work more ambitious in its diaracter, and much more select and elegant in its design and execution. The services which he rendered to the lyric poetry of -~-J his country, by restoring and animating with life and vigour many a half- forgotten lay of the olden time, are incalculable; while his own contributions to that much-loved department of literature — inimitable as they are for their truth of feeling, simplicity and grace of expression, passionate tenderness, ex- quisite pathos, and felicitous humour — for ever constitute him the ' High Chief of Scottish Song.' No single sentence (and to such we are now limited,) '' can express the obligations which the lyric literature of Scotland owes to KobertBorns; but with the present volume in Ids hand, the reader may partly guess at these ; and here may be appropriately inscribed, as applicable to the poet, the words of Sir Christopher Wren's epitaph in St. Paul's cathedral — ' Si vumiimentum reqniras, circumspice' — ' If you seek for his monu- ment, look around." Of the Collections of the present century, we can but barely allude to the ' ;.' more important. In 1616 was printed at the University Press of Glasgow, in 2 vols., ' The Pocket Encyclopedia of Songs' — a rather valuable collection, and now extremely scarce. In 1«19, was published at Paisley, 'The Harp of Kenfrewshire," a work containing a large number of ' original ' songs, and pre- ceded by an ' Essay on the Poets of Renfrewshire,' from the pen of William Motherwell, then a very young man. In 1821, Mr. John Struthers brought f^ out at Glasgow, his ' Harp of Caledonia,* a very comprehensive collection in :^^ :i vols., accompanied by an able ' Essay on Scottish Songwriters.* In 1825 < *4 appeared at London, in 4 vols., 'The Songs of Scotland," by Allan Cunningham, ,>^ •and in 1835, in 2 vols., 'The Songs of England and Scotland," by Peter Cunning- k ' ■ ham, the latter work, though limited in its scope, a more faithful guide than ,>\) r the former. In 1829 Mr. Robert Chambers brought out at Edinburgh in 2 vols. ;, -^ . his ' Scottish Songs,' a collection of great value, preceded by an ' Historical Ji. "'i Essay on Scottish Song,' written in the editor's usual clear and discriminating ">J I . * manner. To this list may be added two musical collections: R. A. Smith's 'Scottish Minstrel,' Edinburgh, 1820, &c., 6 vols., and Mr. Peter Macleod's • National Melodies,' Edinburgh, 1838. From all these works, the present pub- * lication has derived more or less benefit ; and it now humbly claims a place by / ' J their side, in tlie hope of being in its turn of service to future collectors. ^*>v ^SiliS^^^^3^^:*-W 'C^tta^l) g^Ei^. <^2c55^-£^^^ song, the lover of the n>Tnph seems to have fciiJed on the banks of Loch Erne in Perthshire.] On Ettrick banks, ae simmer's night, j' At glc-unin', when the sheep drave hamo, 1} I m^^t my lassie, braw and tight. Come wading barefoot a' her lane. My heart grew light;— I ran,— I flang ily arms about her lily neck. And kiss'd and clapp'd ber there fu' Ling, My words they were na monie feck. I iaid. My lassie, will ye gang To thtr Highland hills, the Erse to learn ? I il gi'e thee baith a cow and ewe, ^VTien ye come to the brig o' Earn : At I>€ith auld meal comes in, neer fas.*!. And herrings at the Broomielaw ; Cliff'r up your heart, my bonnic lass, There's gear to win ye never saw, A' d.^y whon we ha'c wrought enengb, AVhen winter frosts and snaw begin Soon as the sun gac-s west the loch. At night when ye sit down to spin, I'll screw my pipes, and play a spring : And thus the weary night will end, Tiii the tender kid and lamb-time bring Our r,: "asant simmer back again. Syne, when the trees are in their bloom. And gowans glent o'er ilka flel", I'll meet my lass amang the broom, And lead you to my simmer shiel. Then, far frae a' their scomfu' din. That mak' the kindly heart their sport, We'll laugh, and kiss, and dance, and sin; And gar the langest day seem short. £a 'Mra, ^at^n. [This beautifully simple song first appeared in Herd's Collection, 1776. Eraser, a hautbois player in Edinburgh, and acquainted with Bums, di- tinguished himself by his manner of playing the air. " AVhen he piays it slow," says Bums, " he makes it, in fact, the language of despair." Frastr died in 1825.] Saw ye Johnny comin', quo' she, Saw ye Johnny comin'. Saw ye Johnny comin', quo* she, Saw ye Johnny comin ; Saw ye Johnny comin', quo' she. Saw ye Johnny comin' ; Vt'i' his blue bonnet on his head, And his doggie rinnin', quo' she. And his doggie rinnin' ? Fee him, father, fee him, quo' she. Fee him, father, feg him ; Fee him, fhther, fee him, quo' shi-. 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, quo' he, What will I do wi' him ? He's ne'er a sark upon his back. And 1 ha'e nane to gi'e him. I ha'e twa sarks into my kist. And ane o' them I'll gi'e him ; And for a merk o' mair fee I)iima stand wi' him, quo' she, Dinna stand wi' him.< tJ ir '^m-^' ^'-:S>^^'iiii-"^ SCOTTISH SOXGS. For weel do I lo'e him, quo' she, Weel do I lo'e him ; For weel do I lo'e him, quo' she, Weel do I lo'e him. fee him, fiither, fee him. quo' she. Fee him, father, fee him; He'll baud the pleugh, thrash in the bam. And crack wi' me at e'en, quo' she. And crack wi' me at e'en. [This humorous and once popular song appears in the first edition of the Orpheus Caledonius, along with the music, in 1725. It is, however, of much earUer date, as Eamsay, in his Miscellany, marks it as one, even in his day, of an unknown age. Gay, the poet, selected the air (which goes hy the name of Nancy's to the greenwood gane,) for one of his songs, beginning, " In war weVe nought but death to fear."] Ka>-cy's to the greenwood gane. To hear the gowdspink chatt'ring. And WUlie he has foUow'd her. To gain her love by flatfring : But a' that he could say or do. She geck'd and scorned at him ; • And aye when he began to woo, She bade him mind wha gat him. WTiat ails you at my dad, quoth he, Jly minny, or my auntie ? With erowdy-mowdy they fed me, Langkale and ranty-tanty : With bannocks of gooil barley-meal. Of thae there was right plenty. With chapped stocks fu' butter'd we;l ; And was not that rig'nt dainty ? Although my father was nae laird, ('Tis daffin to be vaimty,) He keepit aye a good kale yard, A ha'-house, and a pantry ; A guid blue-bonnet on his head. An o'erlay 'bout his craigie ; > nd aye until the day he died He rade on guid shanks-naigie. ITow wae and wonder on your snout. Wad ye ha'e bonnie Xancy ? Wad.ye compare yourael' to me, A dotken to a pansie ? ^ I ha'e a wooer o" my aln, They ca' him souple Sandy, And weel I wat his bonnie mou' Is sweet like sugar -candy. Wow, Ifancy, what needs a' this din ? Do I no ken this Sandy ? I'm sure the chief o' a' his kin Was Eab the beggar randy ; His minny Meg upo' her back Bare baith him and iiis biUy; Will ye compare a nasty pack To me, your winsome Willie ? My gutcher left a good braidsword, Though it be auld and rusty, Yet ye may tak' it on my wor.l, It is baith stout and trust;. ; And if I can but get it drawn. Which wUl be right uneasy, I shall lay baith my lugs ip. pawn. That he shall get a heezj. Then >^ancy tum'd her round about, And said. Did Sandy hear ye. Ye wadna miss to get a clout ; I ken he disna fear you : Sae baud your tongue and say nae m;ii; Set somewhere else your fancy ; For as lang's Sandy's to the fore. Ye never shall get Nancy. 'SPl:^ %ZB. iEig. [The first two stanzas of this song are by th^ Ul-fated EoBEST Fergcsso.v: the others are ty the late Mr. William E EI D, bookseller in Glasgo.v, who was sometimes fortunate in the additions r.L li made to popular ditties.] -^ Will ye gang o'er the lee r'g. My ain kind dearie, O ; And cuddle there fu' kindly, Wi' me, my kind dearie, O '. At thorny bush, or birken trte. We'll iaS, and never weary, O : They'll scug ill een frae you and me. My ain kind dearie, O. ^*c&>^- im'^^-&£Ir. Mackay, the comedian, has been instru- mental in rendering it a general favourite. In tie edition of Herd's Collection, 1776, there is a s-t of verses to the same tune, written by Miss Janet Grah.un, and entitled The Way\vard Wife.] Owl had a wee house, an' a canty wee fire, A n' a bonnie wee witie to praise and admire, Wi' a bonnie wee yardie aside a wee bum, Fj.rewcel to the bodies that yaumer and mourn. ."^ae bide ye yet, an' bido ye yet ; Ye little ken what's to betide ye yet; Some bonnie wee bo;-/- J w iy%'^^^jxr ^i .^^^^"WW^^-^ SCOTTISH S0XG3 K g Thus sang blate Edie by a bum, His Chirsty did o'er-hear him ; She doughtna let her lover mourn ; But, ere he wist, drew near him. She spak' her faroiir ni' a look, TVhich left nae room to doubt her : He wisely this white minute took. And flang his arms about her. Jly Chirsty ! witness, bonny stream , Sic joys frae tears arising! I wish this may na be a dream O love the maist surprising ! Time was too precious now for tuik. This point of a' his wishes He wad na wi' set speeches bank, Eut wair-d it a' on kiises. A h2BtU, #♦ [This song is the production of EicnARD Gau., a young man who was brought up to the business of a compositor in Edinburgh, but who died in 1801, in the twenty-fifth year of his age. He was bom at Linkhouse near Dunbar. After his death, a collection of his poetical pieces was published by Messrs. Oliver & Boyd, with a Memoir by the Rev. Alex. Stewart.] Tht cheek is o' the rose's hue. My only jo and dearie, ; Thy neck is o" the siller dew TTpon the bank sae brierie, 0. Thy teeth are o" the ivory ; O sweet's the twinkle o' thine ee : iiae joy, nae pleasure, blinks on me. My only jo and dearie, O. The birdie sings upon the thorn Its sang o' joy, fu' cheerie, O, E^oicing in the simmer mom, J>'ae care to mak' it eerie, O ; Ah ! little kens the sangster sweet Aught o' the care I ha'e to meet. That gars my restless bobom boat. My only jo and dearie, O. TThen we were baimies oa yon brae. And youth was blinkin' bonnie, O, Aft we wad daff the lee-lang day. Our joys fu' sweet and monie, O. Aft I wad chase thee o'er the lee. And round about the thorny tree; Or pu' the wild flowers a' for thee. My only jo and dearie, O. I ha'e a wish I canna tine, 'Maiig a' the cares that grieve me, O , A wish that thou wert ever mine. And never mair to leave me, O ; Then I would dawt thee night and day, Jfae ither warldly care I'd ha'e, TUl life's warm stream forgat to p'lay. My only jo and dearie, 0. [The composition of Mr. "William PriKSKON- (often by mistake called Robert Dudgeon) the son of a larmer in East Lothian, and himself an extensive farmer for many years at Preston, in Berwickshire. He died in October, 1S13, aged about sisty. It will be remembered, that Bums, on his Border to'or in May, 1767, ftU in with him at BerryweU, and thus records his opinion of him ; "Mr. Dudgeon — a jKjet at times — a worthy re- markable character — natural penetration — a great deal of information, some genius, and extreme modesty."] Up amang yon cliffy rocks. Sweetly rings the rising echo. To the maid that tends the goaw. Lilting o'er her native notes. Hark, she sings, " Young Sandy's kind. An' he's prorais'd aye to lo'e me ; Here's a broach I ne'er shall tine. Till he's fiiirly married to me ; Drive away, ye drone, Time, An' bring about our bridal day. " Sandy herds a flock o" sheep, Aften does he b!aw the whistle. In a strain sae saftly sweet, Lammies list'ning dauma bleit. He's as fleet's the mountain roe. Hardy as the highland heather, ■Wading through the winter snow. Keeping aye his flock together ; But a plaid, wi' bare houghs. He braves the bleakest nork»n bLv*t. -T ^AK^^'i.: S^^M. %. SCOTTISn SONGS, gj-m^yi ,-&^, nr I'viy ean he dance and sing, Canty glee or highlanil cronach ; N:inc caa ever nuitch his fling. At A reel, or round a ring ; Wiglitly can he wield a rung, In a brawl he's aye the bangster: A' hia praise can ne'er be sung By the langest-winded sangster. Pangs that sing o" Sandy Seem short, tho' they were e'er sae lang. ^p« mxkx Unh [ \Vk give here two versions of this popular song — tlie first, that which appears in Johnson's Mus'.'um, and which was altered by Burns from some old strain — the second, that which is gene- rally sung in our theatres.] TuERF grows a bonnie brier bush in our kail-yard. There grows a bonnie brier bush in our kail-yard ; And below the bonnie brier bush there's a lassie and a lad. And they're busy, busy courting in our kail-yard. Well court nae mair below the buss in our kail- yard, AVe'll court nae mair below the buss in our kail- yard; AVe'll awa' to Athole's green, and there we'll no be seen, Whare the trees and the branches will be our safe guard. Will ye go to the dancin' in Carlyle's ha'. Will ye go to the dancin' in Carlyle's ha ; There Sandy and Nancy I'm sure will ding them a'? I winna gang to th« dancin' in Carlyle's-ha'. fVhat will I do Pt a lad, when Sandy gangs awa' ? MTiat will I do for a lad, when Sandy gangs awa' ? 1 will awa' to Eilinburgh and win a pennie fee, And see an onie bonnie lad will fancy me. FTe's comin' frac the North that's to fancy me. He's comin' frae the North that's to fancy mo ; A feather in his bonnet and a ribbon at his knee, He'll a bonmc, bonnie laddie an yon be be. [another versio.n.] ^■"l "There growsa bonnie brier bush in our kail-yard. And white are the blossoms o't in our kail-yard : Like wee bit white cockauds for our loyal HieUind lads ; And the lasses lo'e the bonnie bush in our kail- yard." " But were they a' true that were far awa' ? Oh ! were they a' true tliat were far awa' ? They drew up wi' glaiket Enghshers at Carlisle ha', i And forgot auld frien's when far awa'." "Ye'U come nae mair, Jamie, where aft you've been; Ye'U come nae mair, Jamie, to Athole's Green ; Ye lo'ed ower weel the dancin' at Carlisle ha'. And forgot the Hieland hills that were far awa'." " lie's comin' frae the North that's to fancy me. He's comin' frae the North that's to fancy me ; A fi'ather in his bonnet, a ribbon at his knee ; He's a bonnie Hieland laddie, and you be na he." [The following excellent little nursery song is =^/" by WiiLiAM Mili.br, author of the highly popu- /;" lar ditty called "Wee Willie Winkie," and is !^^, here printed for the first time. Mr. Miller is a X--- working cabinet turner in Glasgow.] "i-j^ Thr moon has row'd her in a cloud, I _/ Stravagin' wuns begin f|- , To shoggle and shake the window bred?. ili^ ' Like loons that w.ad be in. ^^ Gae whistle a tune in the lum-hcad, ^'"^ Or craik in saughen tree ; ^"^i r We're thankfu' for a cozic hame, cX^ Sae gree, bairnies, grec. y7*~^ Though gurlin' wuns may Maely blaw j ■'',, / Our rousln' fire will tliow '^^^^ The straggler's taes,— and keep fu' cosh J^"> My tousle taps-o'-tow. /'"^' '; O, wha wad cule your kale, my bairns, p/7 - Or bake your bread like me, ^«^ Ye'd get the bit frae out my mouth, ^ Sae gree, bairnies, gree. ( '^\ ^fe^^fe^^'-®*;^ ■^'^m-^-^sm^d SCOTTISH SOXGS. • 'y- O, never fiing the warmsome boon <; <£^ t»' baimhood's love awa' ; "^■iL^ Jlind how ye sleepit cheek to chee!j, Q ,-'^ Atween nie and the wa' , f'^t-3 How ae kind arm was owre ye baith — /jy^ But, if ye disagree, {(py ' Think on the kindly sowth'rln' soun', \v*^ O, sree, baimies, gree. '. [This song, so favourably known to the public , 0* through the singing of Mr. Templeton and other W^-< eminent vocalists, is the production of Joh.nImi-ah. K. 1 It first appeared, about fifteen years ago, in a col- ^jEr-i lection of pieces by him, entitled, " May Flowers . ''^i^ Poems and Songs, some in the Scottish Dialect." jCs N The music is by Joseph de Pinna.] fc-^ ( 6 ;• ' There lives a young lassie A^ -i Far down yon lang glen ; i/>^ How I lo'e that lassie I \V There's nae ane can ken ! ^^^ O ! a saint's faith may vary. But faithful I'U be ; For weel I lo'e Mary, An' Mary lo'es me. Ked, red as the rowan Her smUing wee mou" ; An' white as the gowan Her breast and her brow ! ■yvi' a foot o' a fairy She links o'er the lea ; O ! -weel I loe Mary, An' Mary lo'es me. She sings sweet as onie Wee bird of the air. And she's blithe as she's bonnie. She's guid as she's fair ; Like a larmnie sae airy And artless is she, O ! weel I lo'e Slary, And Mary lo'es me ! "V^'here yon tall forest timmer. An' lowly broom bower, Tc the sunshine o' simmer Spread verdure an' flower ; There, when night clouds the cary Besids her 111 be ; For weel I lo'e Marj-, And Mary lo'es me. ^ iisnnie i^arg ^^q. [Thb author of this song is Archibald Craw- ; FORD, a native of Ayr. It originally appeared in ; the Ayr and Wigtonshire Courier, and was afler- jl wards introduced into one of a series of stories by |i Mr. Crawford, pubUshed at Edinburgh, in 18:^5, under tlie title of " Tales of my Grandmother." I The composer was E. A. Smith.] ! Box.NTB Mary Hay, I will lo'e thee yet ; For thy eye is the slae, and thy hair is the jet. The snaw is thy skin, and the rose is thy cheek : Oh ! bonnie Mary Hay, 1 will lo'e thee yet. Bonnie Mary Hay, wUl you gang wi' me, "VMien the sun's in the west, to the hawthorn tree ? To the hawthorn tree in the bonnie berry den ? And I'U tell you, Mary, how I lo'e you then. Bonnie Mary Hay, it's haliday to me. When thou art coothie, kind, and free ; There's nae clouds in the lift, nor storms in the sky, ' My bonnie Mary Hay, when thou art nigh. Bonnie 3Iary Hay, thou maunna say me nay ; But come to the bow'r by the hawthorn brae, But come to the bow'r, an' I'll tell yea' what's true. How, Mary ! I can ne'er lo'e ane but you. JEg feif? lag ta'o r|^? %t?, [First printed in Herd's Collection, 1769. The words have been set to different airs, but the origi- nal is to be found in Gow's fifth collection of Reels. 1 A FRiBXD of mine came here yestreen. And he would ha'e me down To drink a bottle of ale wi' him In the neist burrows town. But, O ! indeed it was. Sir, Sae far the waur for me ; For lang or e'er that I came hame My wife had ta'en the gee. We sat sae late, and drank sae s;o The truth I'U teU to you, That ere the middle o' the night, AVe were a' roaring fou. My wife sits at the fire-side. And the tear blinds aye her e'e, The ne'er a bed will she gae to. But sit and tak" the gee. ^l^i|lg^^J^:^5y|J-^- j;,a^,. "i^'-M^ SCOTTISH SONGS. In the moniing soon, when I caint- down. The ne'er a word she spake. Hut monie a sad and sour look. And aye her head she'd shake. My dear, quot)i I, what aileth thi.f , To look sae sour on me ? 1 'U never do the like again. If ye'U ne'er tak" tlie gee. ■When that she heard, she ran, shy flang Her arms about my neck ; And twenty kisses in a crack. And, poor wee thing, she grat. If jrt'U ne'er do the like again, But bide at hame wi' me, I'll lay my life I'se be the wife Tliat's never tak' the gee. [Sometimes erroneously ascribed to the late V.n. Grant of Laggan. The authoress was Mrs. Grant of Carbon, near Elchies, on the river Ppey, afterwards married to Dr. Murray of Bath. S'lie was bom near Aberlour about 1745, and died about 1814.] Rov's wife of Aldivalloch, Roy's wife of Aldivalloch, "VN'at ye how she cheated me. As I cam' o'er the braes of Balloch ? ^!^he vow'd, she swore she wad be mine ; She said she lo'ed me best of onie ; But ah ! the fickle, Cuthless quean. She's ta'en the carle, and left her Johnnie. Roy's wife, &c. O, she- was a cantie quean, W'eel could she dance the Uiphland walloch , liow Iwppy I, liad she been mine, (Jr I been Boy of Aldivalloch. Roy's wife, &c. U\:T luiir soe fair, her ecn sae clear. Her ^vee bit mou' sae sweet and bonnie ; To me she ever will be dear. Though she's for ever left her Jolmnie. Boy's wife, &c. [WRtTTEN by Harry Stoe "Van Dyk, author ? , s of a volume of poems published a dozen years ago, " .. \ entitled, " The Coronal." Bet to music by John ]\-, ? Barnett.] ::< ' / 1 HA'E wander'd mony a night in June, Along the banks of Clyde, Bentath a bright and bonnie moon, Wi' Mary at my side: A summer w.is she to mine e'e. And to my heart a joy. And weel she loo'd to roam wi' nic, Her Highland minstrel boy. Oh, her presence could on ev'ry star ICew brilliancy confer. And I thought the flow'rs were sweeter fa AVhen tlicy were seen with her : Uer brow was calm as sleeping sia. Her glance was full o' joy. And oh, her heart was true to m •, Her Highland minstrel boy. I ha'e play'd to ladies fair and gay. In mony a southron hall ; But there was one far fkr away, A world above them all. And now, though weary years have lied, I think wi' mournful joy, Upon the time when Mary wed Her Highland minstrel boy. JEg l^li^t'ina^ ^tiZi'^ [■Words by Morton*. Music composed by Her. R. Bishop.] Mr Highland home, where tempests blow. And cold thy wintry looks. Thy mountains crown'd with driven snow, And ice-bound are thy brooks ! But colder far tlie Briton's heart. However far he roam. To whom these words no joy impart, My native Highland home. ^^'^^^A^^ SCOTTISH S02fGS. Then gang wi* me to Soothmd dear ; We ne'er again will roam. And with thy smiles so bonny, cheer My native Highland home ! "VMien Slimmer comes, the heather bell bhall tempt thy feet to rove. The cushet dove with in the Jell Invite to peace and love ! For blythsome is the breath of May, And sweet the bonny broom. And blythe the dimpling rills that play Around my Highland home ! Then gang wi' me, &c. ^r^ '©, ^jfe- [This is one of Bubxs's early songs — ^and one of his best. The heroine was a servant-girl at Cal- .eothiU, near Lochlea, by name Agnes Fleming. Tut :iir is very old.] Behind yon hiUs, where Lugar flows, 'Mang moors and mosses many, (J, The wintry sun the day has clos'd. And I'll awa' to ^'aimie, 0. The vrestlin wind blaws loud and shriU ; The night's baith mirk and rainy, O ; But I'll get my plaid, and out I'U steal. And o'er the hill to 2s'annie, O. My >'annie"3 charming, sweet, and young ; Xae artfu' wiles to win ye, <_' : :May ill beta' the flattering tongue That wad beguile my JTannie, O. Her face is feir, her heart is true. As spotless as she's bonnie, ; The opening gowan wat wi' dew, Kae purer is than ^N'annie, O. A country lad is my degree. And few there be that ken me, O ; But what care I how few they be ? I'm welcome aye to 2>'annie, O. My rich^ a's my penny fee, And I maun guide it cannie, O ; But warl's gear ne'er troubles me. My thoughts are a' my Nannie, O. Our auld gudeman dtliahts to view His sheep and kyt thrive bonnie, O ; But I'm as blvthe that bauds his pltu^ih. And has nae care but Nannie, O. Come weel, come wae, 1 carena by, I'U tak' wh.-it heaven will send me, < Nae ither care in life ha'e I, But live and love my Xannie, 0. 'SaBX^j ef ©a#tk=^2i2^ [First published at Edinburgh, in 3Iay, 1791, in a periodical work, conducted by Dr. Andersen, entitled, " The Bee." Ti.e author is Hecxok Macneii.. Tune, " Bonnie Dundee."] SAW ye my wee thing ? Saw ye my ain thing ? Saw ye my true love down on yon lea ? Cross'd she the meadow yestreen at the gloamin' ? Sought she the bnmie whar flow'rs the haw tree r' Her hair it is lint-white ; her skin it is milk-white ; Dark is the blue o' her saft rolling e'e ; Red, red her ripe lips, and sweeter than roses : — "Whar could my wee thing wander frae me ? 1 saw na your wee thing, I saw na your ain thing, ^for saw I your true love down on yon lea ; But I met my bonnie thing late in the glo;ir.iin', Down by the bumie whar flow'rs the haw ticc. Her hair it was lint-white; her skin it was milk- whits j Dark was the blue o' her saft rolling e'e ; Red were her ripe lips, and sweeter than roses : Sweet were the kisses that she ga'e to me. It was na my wee thing, it was na my ain thing. It v*-as na my true love ye met by the tree : Proud is her leal heart ! mo-ncR." The author entitles his J song " Xatural Philosophy."] " Hky, my bonnie wee lassie, Bl\-the and cheerie wee Lassie, AVill ye wed a canty carle, ' ; Bonnie, bonnie wee lassie ? " I hi'e sheep an' I ha'e kye, I ha'e wheat an' I ha'e rye, -An' heaps of siller, lass, forbye, ' That ye shall spon' wi' me, lassie ! Hey, my bonnie wee lassie, Blythe and cheerie wee lassie, AVill ye wed a canty carle, Bonnie, bonnie wee lassie ? Ve shall dress in damasks fine, My gowd and gear shall a' be thine, And I to ye be ever kind, .Say, — will ye marry me, lassie ? Hey, my bonnie wee lassie, BI\the and cheerie wee lassie, AMU ye wed a canty carle, — Bonnie, smiling wee lassie." ' r.ae hame, auld man, an' darn your hose. Fill up your lanky sides wi' brose. An' at the ingle warm your nose, But come na courtin' me, carle. ; O ye claverin.f? auld cirle, Silly, clavering aulj carle. The hawk an' doo shall pair, 1 trow. Before I pair wi' ye, carle ! ' Your heart is cauld an' hard as stanes. Ye ha'e nae marrow in your banes. An' siller canna buy the brains That pleasure gi'es to me, carle : O ye tottering auld carle. Silly, clavering auld carle, The hound an' bare may seek ae lair, But I'll no sleep wi' ye, carle . ' I winna share your gowd wi' ye. Your withering heart an' wat^-n.- e'e ; In death I'd sooner shrouded bo. Than wedded to ye, auld carle ! O ye tottering auld carle, Silly, clavering auld carK, TVhen roses blaw on wreaths o' snaw, I'll bioom upon your breast, carle ! ' But there's a lad, an' I'm his ain. May Heaven blessings on him niin '. Though plackless, he is unco fain. And he 's the man for me, carle ! O youth an' age can ne'er agree ; Though rich, you're no the man for raa. Gae hame, auld carle, prep:tre to die ; Pray Heaven to be your bride^ carle ;" ^|)e ^rl^a! Dag, [Words by W, Paul. Composed by J. P. a.ir'.ie.] O, I maun braid my yellow hair. An' I maun busk me braw. An' I maun to the greenwood gang ^\'Tiatever may beCa' ; An' I maun say the word at e'en, That brings me weel or w.ie. For Jamie press'd me s-oir yestreen. To set the bridal day. O little does my Cither think That he maun ware his gear, And little does my minuie tiiink. The trj-sting hour is near ; But yonder blinks the e'cning stiir O'er Eoslyn castle ;rray. An' I maun to the greenwood g, n,:, To set the briilal day. g i^'^iS^^^'^Ks.i^Mifc'^Gis^^c^^a^ SCOTTISH SOXGS. [This was Erst published in the Tea-Tatle Mis- cellany, 1734. The author is Eobekt Crawford of Drumsoy, not, as is generally stated, "William Crawford of Auchinames. The air is very old. "The Bush aboon Traquair," saj-s 3Ir. Robert Chambers, a native of the district, " was a small ' grove of birches that formerly adorned the west bank of the Quair water, in Peebles-shire, about ; a mile from Traquair house, the seat of the Earl of Traquair. But only a few spectral-looking remains now denote the spot so long celebrated in the popular poetry of Scotland. Leafless even in rammer, and scarcely to be observed upon the bleak hiU-side, they form a truly melancholy memorial of what must once have been an object of great pastoral beauty, as well as the scene of many such fond attachments as that delineated in the following verses."] Hear me, ye nymphs, and ev'rj- swain, I'U tell how Peggy grieves me ; Though thus I languish and complain, Alas I she ne'er beUeves me. 3Iy vows and sighs, like silent air, TTnheeded, never move her ; The bonnie bush aboon Traquair, 'Twas there I first did love her. That day she srail'd, and made me glad, ^'o m^iid seem'd ever kinder; I thought myself the luckiest lad. So sweetly there to find her. I tried to soothe my am'rous flame. In words that I thought tender: If more there pass'd, I'm not to blams ; I meant not to ofifend hen Tet now she scornful flies the plain. The fields we then frequented ; If e'er we meet, she shows disdain. She looks as ne'er acquainted. The bonnie bush bloom'd fair in May ; Its sweets I'll aye remember ; But now her frowns make it decay ; It fades as in December. Te rural pow'rs who hear my strains, ^Vny thus should Peggy grieve me ? Oh ! make her j)artner in my i>ains ; Then let her smiles relieve me. If not, my love wUl turn despair ; My passion no more tender ; I'll leave the bush aboon Tra/iuair; To lonely wilds I 'U wander. [This beautifiJ and pathetic "Lament" first appeared in the Scotsman newspaper, about twf^ or three years ago. Its author is Thomas Smidebt.J Afore the Lammas tide Had dun'd the birken tree. In a' our water side Kae wife was blest like me ; A kind gudeman, and twa Sweet bairns were round me here , But thej-'re a' ta'en awa' Sin' the fa' C the year. Sair trouble cam' our gate. And made me, when it cam' A bird without i mate, A ewe without a lamb. Our hay was yet to maw. And our com was to shear. When they a' dwined awa' In the fa' o' the year. I downa look a-field. For aye I trow I see The form that was a bield To my wee bairns and me ; But wind, and weet, and sr.aw. They never mair can fear. Sin' they a' got the ca' In the &,' o' the year. Aft on the hill at e'ens I see him "mang the ferns, The lover o' my teens. The father o' my bairns : Fop there 'uis plaid I saw As gloamin' aye drew neap- But my a's now awa" Sin' the £i' o' the year. Our bonnie rigs theirsel' Eeca' my waes to mii.d. Our puir dumb beasties tell 0" a' that I ha'e tyned ; ^^^^ mm^^^sma^ ^-^f^mB^^m^^^ 12 SCOTTISH SONG?. c^ ^ Tor \vh:»e uur wheat will sjiw, A nil whae our sheep will shear. Sin" my a' gaeJ awa* lu the fa'o' the year P Jly hearth is growing cauld, And will be cauldur still ; A nd sair, sair in the fauld AVill be the winter's chill ; For peats were yet to ca'. Our sheep they were to smear, A\'hen my a" dwined awa' In the fa' o' the year. I ettle whiles to spin. But wee, wee patterin' feet Come rinnin' out and in. And then I just maun greet : I ken it's fancy a'. And faster rows the tear. That my a' dwined awa' In the fa' o' the yew. 13e kind, O heav'n abune ! To ane sae wae and lane, An' tak' her hainewards suue. In pity o' her mane : Lang ere the March winds blaw, May she, far far frae here, Jleet them a' that's awa' Sin' the la' o' the year. K©ta*^ VqU, [Wkitten by Sin "Waiter Scott, for Camp- bell's Albyn's Antliology, to a Gaelic air, called, " Cha tcid mis a chaoidh," (I will never go with him.) " In the original Gaelic," says the author, " the Lady makes protestations that she will not go with the Red Earl's son, until the swan should build in the cliff, and the eagle in the lake — until j one mountain should change places with another, i and so forth. It is but fair to add," continues Sir "Walter, slyly, " that there is no authority for supposing that she altered her mmil—ej:cept the vehentence qf her protcsiatioiis,"'] Hear what Highland Nora Siiid: The Earlie's son I will not wed. Should -all the race of nature die. And none be left but he and I. For all the gold, and all the gear. And all the lands, both far and near. That ever valour lost or won, 1 will not wed the Earlie's son. A maiden's vows, old Galium spoke. Are lightly made and lightly broke. The heather on the mountain's height Begins to bloom in purple light; The frost wind soon sliall sweep away That lustre drop from glen and brae ; Yet Nora, ei-e its bloom be gone, May blithely wed the Earlie's son. The swan, she said, the lake's clear breast May barter for the eagle's nest ; The Awe's fierce stream may backward turn, Ben Cruachnn fall and crush Kilchuru; Our kilted clans, when blood is high. Before their foes may turn and fly : But I, were all these marvels done. Would never wed the EarUe's sou. Still in the water-lily's shade Her wonted nest the wild swan made ; Ben Cruachan stands as fast as ever ; Still downward foams the Awe's fierce river; To shun the flash of foemen's steel No highland brogue has turn'd the heel •. But Nora's heart is lost and won — She's wedded to the Earlie's son. ®|)e %Bix^ o' Eamin§lti'A. [Words and Music by James Hogg. Can I bear to part wi' thee, Never mjur thy face to see,— Can I bear to part wi' thee, Drucken Laird o' Lamington? Canty war ye ower your kale. Toddy jugs, and jaups o' yill ; Heart aye Idnd, and leal, and l-.ale, — The honest Laird o' Lamington ! I le that swears is but so so ; He that cheats to hell must go; He that falls in bagnio. Falls in the devil's frying-pan. ?>y •ciA^ ■■'•/■ M-M Ji'^-ZJljv^^- '^ SCOTTISH SOXGS. 13 \TIia was't ne'er put aith to word, Never fleech'd to duke or lord, Never sat at sinfa' board ? — The honest Laird o' Lamington. He that cheats can ne'er be just ; He that lies is ne'er to trust ; He that drinks to drauk his du?t, ^\'ha can say that wrang is done ? ■WTia was't ne'er to fraud inclined ? Xever Ued sin' he could mind ? Ane vfhase drouth there's few can find ?- The honest Laird o' Lamington ! I like a man to tak' his glass, Toast his friend and bonnie lass ; He that winna is an ass — Deil send him ane to ga'.'np on I I like a man that's fran'K and kind. Meets me when 1 hae a mind. Sings his sang and drinks me blind, Like the honest Laird o' Lamingt.in. I ["Written- by Sir Alexaxder Boswki.l to the t old tune called " The East >'euk o' Fife," and :n- S8i-ted in Thomson's Select Melodies of Scotland.] Avi.T) gudeman, ye're a drucken carle, druci;en carle ; [gaunt ; A ' the lang day ye wink and drink, and gape and O' sottish loons ye're the pink and pearl, pink and m-far'd, doited ne'er-do-weel. [pearl, Hech, gudewife ! ye're a fljtin? body, fiyting body ; ; I i/l ye ha'e ; but, guid be praised, the n-it ye want. T[;e puttin' cow should be aye a doddy, ayca doddy. JIak' na sic an awsome-reel. Te're a sow, auld man : Ye get fou, auld man : rye for shame, auld man. To your wame, auld man : rinch'd I win, wi' spinnin' tow, A plack to cleid your back and po'.v. It's a lie, gudewife. It's your tea, gudewife, N.a, na, gudewife. Ye spend a', gudewife. ' Dinna fe* on me pell mell. Ye like the drap fu' weel yours»^t^^^^S 1 At length death's arrows, 'gainst which nought avails the tempered shield. Met this old man as valiantly he fought in l):'.ttle field ; Where, though attack'd by three to one, yet still he scom'd to yield. But blow for blow he dealt the foe, till death his eyelids seal'd. do died this Scottish gentleman all of the olden time. W. G. B. l-i SCOTTISH SONGS. /■]- 'I ^' ;;f ffl-'Je ®IS gtcttte'I) ffitnJltmsn. j _ [T'l.f song, written on t'.ie model and to the air of "The Old Country Genta-man," is here i^rinttii " / j C for the first time.] ^J - f .■ The Bong I'll sing, though lately made, it tells of olden days, ^^ , /^\ Of a good old Scottish gentleman,— of good old Scottish ways; f ~S ,, 1 When our barons bold kept house and hold, and sung their olden lays, V/t' And drove with speed across the Tweed " auld Scotland's" bluidy ties, •^f^ Like brave old Scottish gentlemen all of the olden time. /^ • -^ His castle old was strongly built and well defended tiien, JV' .^ With drawbridge, moat, and portcullis, and true and stalwart men ; ^A Q His steeds so good all housed stood, prepar'd for light, and when ^ ) ^ His trumpets' shout the charge gave out, — the abbot said. Amen 1 r^j-V : '' The bnive old Scottish gentleman all of the olden time. ^-^-^ i ^ ^ v** In sooth it was a goodly sight to see this brave old man, /<^ c' ^ "When border slogan forth had call'd his hardy faithful clan, ^ <'' .' J^ As, stoutly marching in their front, he boldly le'n to us, here printed for the first time. VTe ■were favoured with them by the poet's brother, Mr. Matthew Tannahill of Paisley, wlio says they were composed when their author v/as about 16 or 17 years of age. The first is to the old air of " Good night and joy be wi' you a' " The second is to the tune of " The Lea Kig."] The evening sun 's gaen down the west. The birds sit nodding on the tree; All nature now prepar. s for rest. But rest prepared there 's none for me. The trumpet sounds to war's alarms, The drums they beat, the fifes they play, — Come, Mary, cheer me wi' thy charms. For the mom I will be &.r away. Good night and joy, good night and joy. Good night and joy be vd' you a'; For since it 's so that I must go. Good night and joy be wi' you a' ! I gi-ieve to leave my comrades dear, I mourn to leave my native shore, — To leave my aged parents here. And the bonnie lass whom I adore. But tender thoughts maun now be hush'd, Wlxen danger calls I must obey. — The transport waits us on the coast. And the moru I will be far away. Good night and joy, &c. Adieu, dear Scotia's sea -beat coast ! Though bleak and drear thy mountains be, A\'hen on the heaving ocean tost, I'll cast a -wishful look to thee ! And now, dear Marj', fare thee well ! May Providence thy guardian be ! Or in the camp, or on the field, I'll heave a sigh, and think on thee ! Good night and joy, &c. II. [In introducing this second song, Mr. Matthew Tannahill says in the communication with which we are favoured : " My brother had a strong wish to see AUoway's auld haunted kirk, and he and two or three of his young acquaintances set out to pay it a visit. After seeing the kuk, they visited some of the surrounding scenery. X remember he was well pleased with the jaunt, and, when he returned, he gave me a copy of two verses of a son.: which he said he wrote in his bed-room the first time he wiis in the town of Ayr. 1 know he did not think much of them himself, and I believe he never wrote another copy. I give you them, however, such as they are."j When I the drearj- mountains pass'd. My ain kind dearie, O, I thought on thee, my bonnie lass. Although I was na near thee, O. Jly heart within me was right sad. When others they were cheerie, O, They little kent I thought on thee, My ain kind dearie, O ! But now an I ha'e won till Ajt, Although I'm gae an' wearie, 0, I'll tak' a glass into my han'. And drink to you, my dearie, O. Cheer up your heart, my bonnie lass. And see you dinna wearie, ; In twice three ooks, gin I be spared, I'se come again, and see thee, O. And row thee up, and row thee down. And row thee till I weai-ie, O, And row thee o'er the lea rig, 3Iy ain kind dearie, O ' I r. r4 ^^ [This first appeared in the romance of " The I Monasterj-," by Sir Walter Scott, 1S20.] I March, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale, I AMiy, my lads, dinna ye march forward in order ? I I March, march, Eskdale and Liddesdale, ;js AU the blue bonnets are over the boruer. 'i^^^jm^m^-M:!^:f^'^%^i!:^^- ^^r. '^&^ 16 SCOTTISH SOXGS. _, Many a bnnner spread, flatters above your head, ''^ Many a crest that is famous in story, -' ''1 Mount and make reaJy then, sons of the moun- tain glen. Fight for your Queen and the old Scottish glorj-. Come from the hills where your hirsels are grazing. Come from the glen of the buck and the roe : Come to the crag where the beacon is blazing ; Come with the buckler, the lance, and the bow. Trumpets are sounding, war-steeds are bounding ; Stand to your aiTns, and march in sood order; Kneland shall many a day tell of the bloody fray, ^\^K■n the blue bonnets came over the border. V.^' mi), mu^tH* [This elegant lyric appears in the Tea-Table Jliscellany, headed Gilderoy, tliat being the tune to which it is adapted. It has also been copied into most other Scottish collections of songs, and ascribed to President Forbes of CuUoden. Mr. Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe, however, has recently discovered it to belong to Sir Charley's Sedley's play of the Mulberry Tree, which was printed in 1675, before President Forbes was born. It can therefore no longer be admitted with propriety into any Scottish collection, .and is only reprinted here for the pui-pose of correcting a long estab- lished error.] All, Chloris ! could I now but s't As unconccm'd, as when Tour infant beaut>' could begtt No happiness or pain ! "When I this dawning did admire, And praised the coming day, I little thought that rising fire Would take my rest away. Your charms in harmless childhood lay, As metiUs in a mine; Age from no face takes more away Than youth conceal'd in thine: But as your charms insensibly To their perfection press'd. So love, as unpereeivcd, did fly. And centre in my breast. >Iy passion with your beauty grew, AVhile Cupid, at my heart, Still, as his mother favoured you. Threw a new flaming dart. Each gloried in their wanton pa;- To make a lover, he Employ'd the utmost of his art;- To make a beauty, she. [This first appeared in a small volume of poems by J. Fraser, E-Ainburgh, pul)lishcd about ISIS. It was quoted in the Scotsman newspaper, and became generally popular.] Dear land of my birth, of my friends, of my love. Shall I never again climb thy mountains : Nor wander at eve through some lone leafy grove. To list to the dash of thy fountains ? Shall no hand tliat I love close my faint beaming That darkens 'mid warfare and danger ? [eye. Ah, no ! for I feel that my last heaving sigh Must fleet on the gale of the stranger. s Then farewell, ye valleys, ye fresh blooming boWrs, Of childhood the once happy dwelling ; 'j. No more in your haunts shall I chase the gay hours \ For death at my bosom is knelling. But proudly the lotus sh.all bloom o'er my grave. And mark where a freeman is sleeping, c- And my dirge shall be heard in the Nile's dashing 'T wave, I A^liile the Arab his night watch is keeping. 'Tw.is a soldier who spoke — but his voice now i« v '^ And lowly the hero is lying; [gone, ^^ No sound meets the ear, save the crocodile's moan, ^'^ Or the breeze through the palm-tree sighing. i _-A But lone though he rests where the camel is seen, ^^1;) By the wilderness heavily p.icing ; ? His grave in our bosoms shall ever be green, |i And his monument ne'er know defacing. ["Written on the death of Sir "Walter Scott, by Robert Gilfillan. Set to Music by Finlay Dun.] The Minstrel sleeps ! tlic charm is o'er. The bowl beside the fount is broken. And we shall hear that harp no more "NAIiose tones to every land hath spoken! ^-^\m^^' ■ ^^m^^£^^^^w m«^- SCOITISH SOXGS. s The ilinstrel sleeps I and common cUiy Claims what is only common now , His eye hath lost its kindling ray, And darkness sits upon his brow ! The Minstrel sleeps ! — the spell is past, His spirit its last flight hath taken ; The magic wand is broke at last Whose touch all things to life could waken ! The Jlinstrel sleeps !— the glory's fled. The soul's returned back to the giver. And all that e'er could die is dead Of him whose name shaU live for ever ! The minstrel sleeps ! — and genius mourns In tears of woe, and sighs of sorrow; For though each day his song returns. The Minstrel's voice, it knows no morrow ! The Minstrel sleeps ! — ^and death, oh ! thcu Hast laid the mighty with the sl;iin— The mantle fallen is folded now, And who may it unfold again ? ^t)s Mc^iT m ^Umhm. [WoRPS by C. Jefte S. Nelson.] ?Ius1c composed by H3^ The mom was fair, the skies were clear, No breath came o'er the sea. When Mary left her Highland cot. And wander'd forth with me ; Tho' flowers deck'd the mountain's ;Si' , And fragrance fill'd the vale. By faj- the sweetest flower there. Was the Rose of AUandale. Wliere'er I wandered, east or wi.?t, Tho' fate began to lour, A solace stiU was she to me. In sorrow's lonely hour. When tempests lash'd our gallant bavk. And rent her shiv'ring sail, One maiden form withstood the stom;, Twas the Eose of AUandale. And when my fevet'd lips were parch'd On Afric's burning sand. She whisper'd hopes of happiness. And tales of distant land : My life had been a wilderntss, Unbless'd by fortune's gale. Had fate not link'd my lot to hers The Eose of AUandale. kM t^^ C&a&ifeje* [Thiij humorous exposition of courtship pastoral life is the production of the Eev. Dr. t; ' 9 James Muirhead, minister of the parish of Urr ("^ in Galloway, who died in ISOS, at the age of 68. V^"" It first appeared in Herd's CoUection, in 1776.] Ely THE young Bess to Jean did say. Will ye g:v;!g to yon sunny brae, WTiare fiociis do feed, and herds do sti-.iy. And sjxjrt awhile wi' Jamie ? Ah, na, lass ! I'll no gang there, Xor about Jamie tak' a care, Xor about Jiunie tak' a care. For he's ta'en up wi' iiaggie. For hark, and I wUl teU you, la^. Did I not see young Jamie pass, Wi' meikle blytheness in hjs face. Out owTe the muir to Maggie ? 1 wat he ga'e her monie a kiss. And Maggie took them I'^e amiss : 'Tween Uka smack pleas'd her vi-i' tl.ls, " That Bess was but a gawkic. " For when a ci\-il kiss I seek. She turns her head and thra-w's her chw i^. And for an hour she'U hardly speak : Wha'd no ca' her a gawkie ? But sure my Maggie has mair ser.se. She'll gi'e a score without offence ; Xow gi'e me ane into the mense. And ye shall be my dawtie." ' O Jamie, ye ha'e monie ta'cn. But 1 wiil never stand for ane Or twa when we do meet again. So ne'er think me a gawkie.' " Ah, na, lass, that canna be ; Sic thoughts as thae are far frae rue. Or onie thy sweet fece that set. E'er to think thee a gawkie.' m^-^' f'-r^o ^mm~^smm^^!t:'^^i$M-^m-^^ SCOTTISH SONGS. ^ But, whisht, nac mair o" this we'll speak. For yonder Janiie does us meet : Instead o" Meg he kissd sae sweet, I trow he likes the gawkie. " dear Bess, I hardly knew, When I cam* by your gowu Siie new ; I think youVe got it wet wi' dew." Quoth she, ' tliat's like a gawkie ; ' It's wat wi' dew, and 'twill get rain. And 111 get gowns when it is gane ; Sae ye may gang the gate ye came, And tell it to your dawtie.' The guilt appe;ir'd in Jamie's cheek : lie cried, " cruel maid, but sweet. If 1 should gang anither gate, 1 ne'er could meet my dawtie." The lasses fast frae him they flew. And left poor Jamie sair to rue. That ever Maggie's face he knew. Or yet ca'd Bess a gawkie. As they gade owre the muir they sang, The hills and dales wi' echo rang. The hills and dales wi' echo rang, ' Gang o'er the muir to Maggie.' © Ull mt W^ te iss© t^e^. [Written- by Mr. Graham of Gartmore, and first published in the Minstrelsy of the Scottlsli Border, 1801.] Ip doughtj' deeds my lady please. Right s jon I'll mount my steed : And strong his arm, and fast his seat. That bears frae me the meed. I'll wear thy colours in my cap. Thy picture in my heart; And he that bends not to thine eye, Shall rue it to his smart. Then tell me how to woo thee, love, tell me how to woo thee ! For thy dear s.ake, nae care I'll take. Though ne'er another trow me. If gay attire delight thine eye, I'll dight me in array ; I'll tend thy chamber door all night. And squire thee all the day. ; If sweetest sounds can nin thine ear. These sounds I'll strive to catch; Thy voice I'll steal to woo thysell. That voice that nane can match. But if fond love thy heart can gain, I never broke a vow ; Nae maiden Liys her skaith to me ; I never loved but you. For you alone I ride the ring. For you I wear the blue ; For you alone I strive to sing— O tell me how to woo ! St fell m a imornitig, [This song, by Joaxna BAnxiE, originally ap- peared in The Harp of Caledonia, published at Glasgow in 1821, and edited by Mr. John Stru- tliers.] It fell on a morning whan we were thrang. Our kim was gaun, our cheese was making. And bannocks on the girdle baking. That ane at the door chapt loud and lang. But the auld gudewife and her Mays sae tight. Of this stirring and din took sma' notice, I ween For a chap at the door, in braid day-light. Is no like a chap when he.ird at e'en. f =;<3^ V •>! Then the clocksey auld Liird of the warlock glen, -^s.^ WTia stood without, half cow'd, half cheerie, "> . •/; And yeam'd for a sight of his winsome dearie, i ;■ • Raised up the latch and came crousely ben. ) ,— . His coat was new and his o'erlay was white, \' ; And his hose and his mittens were coozy and bein ; '• But a wooer that comes in braid day-light, {= '■ Is no like a wooer that comes at e'en. ,^' . He greeted the carlin' and lasses sae braw, ^ , And his bare lyart pow he smoothly straiket, <^\ And looked about, like a body half glaiket, |;^ , On bonnie sweet Nanny the youngest of a'. -ly " Ha ha !" quo' the carlin, " and look ye that i^ <> way ? ^ 'j Hoot I let na sic fancies bewilder ye glean ; < An elderlin man i' the noon o' thfe day, Should be 'wiser than youngsters that come at '-^ , e'en." *J_^ ^f" \ m^-m "-^xm^^m^^^^, SCOTTISH SO>'GS. He hem'd and he haWd and be screw'd in his | Ha-diddle,how-diddle,lia-diddle, how -diddle went ^t'^ mouth, I the pipers three ; "'>' \ And he squetad his blue bonnet his twa hands Fiddle-diddle,fiddle-diddle,went the fiddlers three: Vn ^ " Xa na !" quo' the pauty auld wife, " I trow, Tou'U fash na' your head wi' a jouthfu' gUly, A3 wild and as skeigh as a muirland fillv. Black Madge is far better and fitter for you/ Old King Coul was a jolly old soul. And a joUy old soul was he ; Old King Coul, he had a brown bowl, And they brought him in pipers three : between. For wooers that come when the sun's in the south. Are mair aukwart than wooers that come at e'en. "Black JIadge she is prudent-"— "TThat's that to me?" " She is eident and sober, has sense in her noddle. Is douse and respeckit." — " I care na a boddle. I'U baulk na' my luive, and my fancy's free." Madge toss'd back her head wi' a saucy slight. And Is anny ran laughing out to the green ; For wooers that come whan the sun shines bright. Are no like the wooers that come at e'en. Awa' flung the laird and loud muttered he, " All the daughters of Eve, between Orkney and Tweed, 0, Black and fair, young and old, dame, damsel and ■widow. May gang wi' their pride to the deil for me !" But the auld gude\vife and her Mays sae tight. For a' his loud banning cared little, I ween ; For a wooer that comes in braid day-Ught, l3 no like a wooer that comes at e'en. And there's no a lass in a" the land, Compar'd to our sweet Marjorie. m% mi:^3 ,,f [This song is to be found in Herd's collection of 1776. Bums made some slight alterations on it for Johnson's Museum. Old king Coul, according to fabulous Scottish history, flourished in the fifth century, and was father of the giant Fin JI'Coul. Coila (Ayrshire) w.-\s under his r-vay.] Or.D King Coul was a jolly old soul. And a joUy old soul was he ; And old King Coul he had a brown bowl. And they brought him in fiddlers three ; And every fiddler was a very good fiddler. And a very good fiddler was he . Fiddle-diddle,fiddle-diddle,went the fiddlers three: And there's no a lass in a' Scotland, Compar'd to our sv\-eet Maijorie. m 4 Old King Coul was a joUy old soul. And a jolly old soul was he ; Old King Coul, he had a brown bowl, And they brought him in harpers three : Twingle - twangle, twingle - twangle, went the i harpers; Ha-diddle, how-diddle, ha -diddle, how-diddle, ^^^ went the pipers ; ^~V Fiddle-diddle,fiddle-diddle,went the fiddlers three: U ^ And there's no a lass in a' the land, V'^^- Compar'd to our sweet Maijorie. ; .' Old King Coul was a joliy old soid, ^ ) ' And a jolly old soul was he ; 'C-'^ Old King Coul, he had a brown bowl, "'^^^ And they brought him in trumpeters three: ^VV" Twarra-rang, twarra-rang, went the trumpettre; ^y) Twingle - twangle, twingle -twangle, went the^^S-{ harpers; -':'fr\^ Ha-diddle, how-diddle, ha-diddle, how -diddle, ^ • | went the pipers ; uV/ Fiddle-diddle,fiddle-diddle,went the fiddlere thi-ce: tf/ / And there's no a lass in a' Scotland, ''.'^ Compar'd to sweet Marioiie. [-^ ,. ^^: Old King Coul was a jolly old sou!. And a jolly old soul was he ; Old King Coul, he had a brown bowl. And they brought him in drummei-s three : Rub-a-dub, rub-a-dub, went the drummers ; TwaiTa-rang, twarra-mng, went the trumpeters; ^^A Twingle - twangle, twingle - twangle, went the *^ harpers ; V^- ^ Ha-diddle, how-diddle, ha-diddle, how -diddle, t^'^~^ went the pipers ; ^*^ -^ Fiddle-diddle,fiddle-diddle,went the fiddlers three: ^>f ; ) ' And there's no a lass in a" the land, ■'' ' Compar'd to sweet Marjorie. m 'i&'fc iS^, m^m^-^£m^^m>'m^^^^w/^^^^. 20 SCOTTISH SONGS. •^i^ (^ '$ '^' 3 4 I ^ r--) [This song first appeared in the Tea-Table Mis- cellany, vol. ii., 1725, with the initials W. W. attached, and its authorship is generally ascribed to William 'Walkinshaw of Walkinshaw, near I'aisley. The hero of it is said to have been AVilliam Hamilton of Gilbertfield, Lanarkshire, the poetical correspondent of Ramsay, and author of the metrical Life of Sir "William Wallace. Jlr. Da\id Laing even inclines to think that Hamilton was not only the hero but the real author of the song, and that the initials merely iniiicate his well-known sobriquet of Wanton AVillie.] Willie was a wanton wag, The blythest lad that e'er I s.aw, At bridals still he bore the brag, An' carried aye the gree awa'. His doublet was of Zetland shag. And wow ! b'.it Willie he was braw. And at his shoulder hang a tag, That pleas'd the lasses best of a'. He was a man without a clag, His heart was frank with'jut a flaw ; And aye whatever Willie -said, It still wiis hauden as a law. His boots they were made of the jag, V^Tien he went to the weaponschaw, Upon the green nane durst him brag. The ne'er a ane amang them a'. Anil was na Willie wecl worth gowd ? He wan the love o' great and sma' ; For after he the bride had kiss'd, He kiss'd the Lasses hale-sale a'. Pae merrily round the ring they row'd, When by the hand he led them a', An'l smack on smack on them bestjw'd. By virtue of a standing law. And was na Willie a great loun. As shjTe a lick as e'er was seen ; Wlien he danc'd wi' the lasses round, The bridegroom speir'd where he had been. Quoth Willie, I've been at Hie ring, Wi' bobbing, baith my shanks are sair ; Gi" ca' your bride and maidens in, .' ir Willie he dow do naemair. Then rest ye, Willie, I'll gae out, And for a wee fill up the ring. Dut, shame light on his souple sncit. He wanted Willie's wanton fling. Then straught he to the bride did fare. Says, Weels me on your bonnie face ; Wi' bobbing Willie's shanks are sair. And I'm come out to fill his place. Bridegroom, she says, ye'll spoil the dance. And at the ring ye'll aye be lag, Unless like AVillie ye advance : O ! Willie has a wanton leg ; For wi't he learns us a' to steer. And foremost aye bears up the rinj ; Wc will find nae sic dancing here. If we want Willie's wanton fling. [This luxurious description of a beauty first : appeared in Cromek's Remains of Nithsdale an,-GS. C) l^ ■i H Sing on, sing on, my bonnie thrush. Be neither flee'd nor eerie; I'll wad your love sits in the tush. That gars ye sing sae cheerie : She may be kind, she may be sweet. She may be neat and dean, O ; But O she's but a dn-some mate, Compar'd wi' bonnie Jean, O. If love wad open a' her stores. An' a' iier bloomin' treasures. And bid me rise, an' turn an' choose. And taste her chiefest pleasures ; My choice wad be the rosy cheek. The modest beamin' eye, O ; The yellow hair, the bosom fair. The lips o' coral dye, O. A bramble shade around her head, A bumie poplin' by, O ; Our bed the swaird, our sheet the plaid. Our canopy tlie sky, O. And here's the bum, an' there's the bush Around the flowerie green, ; An' this the plaid, an' sure the lass Wad be my bonnie Jean, 0. Hear me, thou bonnie modest moon ! Ye stamies twinklin' high, O ! An' a' ye gentle powers aboon, Thiit roam athwart the sky, O. To see me grjtefu' for the past. Ye saw rae blest yestreen, O ; An' ewr till I breathe ray last Ye'll see me true to Jean, O. [Written by Sir Walter Scott for Albj-n's Anthology, a collection of Highland airs edited by Alex. Campbell. There is an old ballad, called Jock o' Hazel ij^reen, from which the poet has bor- rowe I'll wed ye to my youngest sun. And ye shall be his bride ; And ye shall be his bride, ladye, Sae comely to be seen :" But aye she loot the tears down fa'. For Jock o' Hazeldean. " Xow let this wilful grief I* dt.ne, And dry that cheek so pa'.e : Young Frank is chief of Erringtou, And lord of Langley dale ; Uis step is first in peaceful hu' His sword in battle keen :" But aye she loot the tears down fit'. For Jock o' Hazeldean. " A chain o' gold ye sail not lack, Nor braid to bind your hair. If or mettled hound, nor managed liitw k, Nor palfi^y fresh and fair ; And you, the foremost o' them a'. Shall ride our forest queen :" But aye she loot the tears down fa". For Jock u' Hazeldean. The kirk was decked at morning-tide. The tapers glimmered fair ; The priest and bridegroom wait the bride And dame and knight were there: They sought her baith by bower and ha'; The ladye was not seen ! — She's o'er the border, and awa' Wi' Jock o' Hazeldean! [This popular humorous ditty is attributed to JIiss Ferbier, the authoress of Marriage, The Inheritance, and Destiny, three novels of distin- guished merit. The two concluding verses are by another hand. The song is sung to the old air of " >\Tien she cam' ben she bobbed."] The Laird o' Cockpen, he's proud an' he's great; His mind is ta'en up wi' the things o' the state : He wanted a wife his braw house to keep , But favour wi' wooin' was fashions to seek. Doun by the dyke-side a lady did dwell. At his table-head he thought she'd look well; M'Clish's ae daughter o' Claverse-ha' Lee. A pennyless l;«6s wi' a hing pedigree. His wig was weel pouther'd, as guid as when new. His waistcoat was white, his coat it was blue ; He put on a ring, a sword, and cock'd hat — And wha could refuse the Laird wi' a' that? ^^fm^m^^M^^^-Mmsimm^ ~^W'^^m^<^^mj^'^m3^^^0, SCOTTKH SOXGS. -/S He took the grey marej and rade cannilie — And rapped at the yett o' Claverse-ha' Lee ; " Gae tell mistress Jean to come speedily ben : She's wanted to speak vn' the Laird o' Cockpen." Jean she was makin' the elder-flower wine; " And what brings the Laird at sic a like time ?" She put aff her apron, and on her silk gown. Her mutch wi' red ribbons, and gaed awa' di,wn. And when she cam' ben, he boued fu' low ; And what was his errand he soon let her know. Amazed was the Laird when the lady said, Na, And wi' a laigh curtsie she tm-ned awa'. Dumfovmder'd he was, but nae sigh did he gi'e ; He mounted his mare, and rade cannilie ; And aften he thought, as he gaed through the glen, " She's daft to refuse the Laird o' Cockpen." And now that the Laird his exit had made, Mistress Jean she reflected on what she had said ; " Oh ! for ane I'll get better, it's waur I'U gtt ten— i I was daft to refuse the Laird o' Cockpen." Ifeist time that the Laird and the lady were seen. They were gaun arm and arm to the kirk on the green: Xcw she sits in the ha' like a weel-tappit hen. But as yet there's nae chickens appear'd at Cock- . pen. //7 "^ [Wkittex by the late Thomas PRrsc-tK, in I '4 '>"' 1819, on his departure to Southern Africa. It first <^' appeared in the Harp of Caledonia, Vol. III. and §*^/j is adapted to the tune of " 3Iy ga;d Lord John."] Our native land — our native vale — A long and last adieu ! Farewell to bonny Tiviotdale, And Cheviot mountains blue. Farewell, ye hiUs of glorious deeds. And streams renown'd in song — Farewell ye braes and blcssom'd meads, Our hearts have lov'd so long. Farewell, the blythesome broomy knowei, "RTiere thyme and harebells grow— Farewell, the hoary, haunted hcwes, Oerhung with birk and sloe. The mossy cave and mouldering towtr That skirt our native dell— The martyr's grave, and lover's bower, We bid a sad farewell ! Home of our love ! our father's home ! Land of the brave and free I The sail is flapping on the foam That bears us far from thee ! ■We seek a wild and distant shore. Beyond the western main — "We leave thee to return no more, Kor view thy cliffs again ! Our native land — our native vale — A long and last adieu ; Farewell to bonny Teriotdale, And Scotland's mountains blue ! JMai^ d ta^ ^(bxU [This is another effusion of Thomas PRrfTGi.E's, on his leaving his native land. It is adapted to the tune of " Logan Water."'] Maid of my heart- a long farewell ! The bark is launch'd, the billows swell. And the vernal gales are blowing free, To bear me far from love and thee ! I hate Ambition's haughty name. And the heartless pride of Wealth and F.-xme , Tet now I haste tiirough Ocean's roar To woo them on a distant shore. Can pain or i)eril bring relief To him ■« ho bears a darker grief? Can absence calm this feverish thrill ? — Ah, no : — for thcu wilt haunt me still ! Thy artless grace, thy open truth, Thy form that broath'd of love and youth. Thy voice by !N'ature fram'd to suit The tone of Love's enchanted lute ! ^: ^m.--f^mM-^^^&m^^'~sm^i m^m^^^:mm^^^(ti 24 SCOTTISH SOKGS. Thy dimpling check and deep-blue eye, Where tender thought and feeling lie ! Thine eyelid like the evening cloud That comes the star of love to shroud ! Each witchery of soul and sense, Eushrin'd in angel innocence, Combin'd to flrame the fatal spell — That blest — and broke my iitart — ^are-veil ! ^ Eggaw sitae^. ^.1 fk. n [This beautiful song is the production of John ilAYXK, author of the " Siller Gun," " Glasgow, a poem," itc. Mayne was a native of Dumfries, but spent the early part of his life in Glasgow, where he served an apprenticeship as a compositor under the celebrated printers, Foulis. lie after- wards removed to London, and was long con- nected there with the Star daily newspaper. He died on the 14th March, 1S36. " Logan Braes" was first printed in tlie Star Newspaper on the 23d May, 1789, and we believe consisted originally of only tiie first two stanzas, to which, indeed, the song, in singing, is generally limited. The four additional sUinzas Srst appeared in the rocket Encyclopedia of Songs, published at GUis- P'lW in 1S16, and are i robably not by Mayne. The tune of " Logan AVater," to which this and the two following songs are adapted, is of con- siderable antiquity, and, (before the production of Mayne) used to be sung to words of by no means u scrupulous character, beginning, Ae sinuner night, on Logan braes, I help'd a lassie on wi' her claes. First wi' her stockings, and syne wi' her shoon, &c.] " bv Logan's streams that rin sae deep, Fu' aft wi' glee I've herded sheep ; Herded sheep, or gather'd slaes, Wi' my dear lad, on Logan braes. But wae's my heart ! thae days are ganf , And I, wi' grief, may herd alane ; While my dear lad maun face his faes. Far, far ti-ae me, an' Logan braes. " Nae mair at Logan kir'i will he Atween the preachings meet wi' me ; 5Ieet wi' me, or when it's mirk. Convoy me hame frae Logan kirk. I weel m:iy sin? tliae ihvys are g.'ine — Frae kirk an' £air I come alane. While my dear lad rtuiun face his fats, Far, far frae me, an' Logan braes '. " At e'en, when hope amaist is gane, I dauner out, or sit alane. Sit alane beneath the tree AATiere aft he kept his trjst wi' me. ! cou'd I see thae days again, Sly lover skaithless, an' my ain ! Belov'd by frien's, rever'd by faes, We'd live in bliss on Logan braes." While for her love she thus did sigh. She saw a sodger passing by. Passing by wi' scarlet claes, W'hile sair she grat on Logan braes : Says he, " AVhat gais thee greet sae s-iir, What fills thy heart sae fu' o' care ? Tli.-ie sporting lanibs has blythsome days An' pla\-fu' skip on Logan braes ?" " VThat can I do but weep and mourn ' 1 fear my lad will ne'er return, >ie'er return to ease my waes, AVill ne'er con.e hame to Logan braes." Wi' tiiat he clasp'd her in his arms. And 5.aid, " I'm free from w.-ir's a!ani'.s, I now ha'e conquer'd a' my faes. We'll happy live on Logan braes." Then straight to Logan kirk they went. And join'd their hands wi' one consent, Wi' one consent to end their days. An' live in bliss on Log:in brac^. An' now she sings, " thae diiys are gane. When I wi' grief did herd alare, While my dear lad did fight his fats. Far, £ir frae me an' Logan braes." S I 3) i Jpot tin, £oxtxm!. 'f;'. C'O C' ' i [TuK following words are by Jambs Thomson, author of the Seasons, and they appear in the Orpheus Caledonius so far back as 1725, attached to the tuna of Logan Water.] For ever, Fortune, wilt thou prove An unrelenting foe to love. And, when we meet a mutual heart, ; Come in betweeb, and bid us part— m^w^^i^^^MiW^^, SCOTTISH SO>"G:p. Bid us sigh on from day to c;iy. And wisii, and wiah — the soul awr.v ; Till youth and genial years are flow u. And all the life cf life is gone. Bat busy, busy, still art thou. To bind the loveless joyless vow. The heart from pleasure to delude. And join the gentle to the rude. Tor once, oh. Fortune, hear my prayer. And I absolve thy future care ; AU other ble^ings I resign. Hake but the dear Amanda mine. [Thb following are Bcbas's words to the tune of Logan "Water. They were writteu four years after the appearance of Mayne's song, and sent to Thomson's collection. Bums was ignorant of JIayne's production at the time, but had heard the burthen of it, — AThile my dear lad maun face his faes. Far, far frae me and Logan braes, — and adopted the lines as a fragment of an old song.] O Loo.vx, sweetlj diclst thou glide. That day I was c.y Willie's bride ; And years sinsyne ha'e ower us run. Like Logan to the summer sun : But noiv thy fiowery banks appear Like drumlie winter, dark and d:x-ar, AThile my detr lad maun face his lacs. Far, £ir frae lue and Logan braes. Again the merry month of May Has made our hills and valleys gay ; The birds rejoice in leafy bowers. The bees hum round the breathing flowers : Blythe morning lifts his rosy eye. And evening tears are tears of joy -. 3Iy soul, delightless, a' surveys, "While "WUlie's far frae Logan braes. "Within yon milk-white hawthorn bush, Araang her nestlings sits the thrush ; Her faithfu' mate will share her toil. Or wi' his sang her cares beguile : Bat I, wi' my sweet nurslings here, >"ae mate to help, nae mate to chetr, Pass widow'd nigiits and joyless day<, AMiile AVillie'9 far frae Logan braes. O, wae upon you, n-.en o' state, That brethren rouse to deadly hate ! As ye make many a fond heart mourn, Sae may it on your heads return ! How can your flinty hearts enjcy The widows tears, the orphan s cry ? Biit scon may peace bring happy days. And Willie hame to Logan trats ! ril3t sr,4i ^^mf^A'^^^it* m [This appeared in one of the early Noctes Am- brosiana of Blackwood's Magazine (the Koyal >"umber of 1822.) It is probably from the pen of Professor ATilsox.] "SA'aE-v lightning parts the thundtr-tloud. That blackens all the sea. And tempests sough through sail and shit>ud EVn then I'll think on thee, Marj-. SHEPEHRDESS. I wrap me in that keepsake plaid, And lie down amang the sna^v ; "While frozen are the tears I shed. For him that's CiT awa, V»'iUie ! SAir.oB. We sail past monie a 'Donni'' isle ; "rri' maids the shores are thrang ; Before my e'e there's but ae smile, "Within my ear ae sang, iJIary. SHEPHERDESS. In kirk, on every Sabbath-day For aae on the great deep, Unto my God I humbly pray — And whUe I pray, I weep, Willie. SAILOR. The sands are bright wi* golden shells. The groves wi' blossoms fair; And I think upon the heather-bel!?. That deck thy glossy hair, Marj'. SHEPHERDESS. I read thy letters sent from far. And aft I kiss thy name. And ask my iJIaker, frae the war If ever thou'lt come hame. Wi'Ji^ i i ^m^m. 1 26 SCOTTISH S0>^G3. J L^i 1^ ki i B SAii.on. ■What though your father's hut be lown Aneath the green hill -side ? The ship that Willie sails in, blown Like chaff by wind and tide, Mary ? SREPHERDESS. Oh ! wecl I ken the raging sea. And a" the steadfast land. Are held, wi' specks like thee and me. In the hoUow of His hand, WiUie. SAILOR. . He sees thee sitting on the brae. Me hinging on the mast ; And o'er us baith, in dew or spray, His saving shield is cast, 5Iai-y. [This is tbe production of the Rev. Dr. Kor- »iAN Macleoo, first, minister of Campbeltown, afterwards of Campsie, and now of St. Columba's church, Glasgow. It is very popular in the High- lands. The English of the chorus is " Arise and let us go."] KiRiCH agus tiuginn, O ! Eirich agus tiuginn, O ! Eirich agus tiupinn, O ! larewell, farewell to Funery. The wind is fair, the day is fine. And swiftly, svriftly runs the time ; The bout is floating on the tide, Tiiat wafts me off from Funen-. Eirich, 6:c. A thousand, thousand tender ties Accept this day my plaintive sigl:s ; >Iy heart within me almost dies At thought of lea%'ing Funery. Eirich, &c. Vv'ith pensive steps I've often stroll'd, "Where Fingal's castle stood of old, And listen 'd while the shepherds told The legend tales of Funerj-. Eirich, &c. I've often paus'd at closa of day, Where Ossian sang his martial k y. And grieved the sun's departing r;iy. Wandering o'er Dun-Fun' ry. Eirich, &c. Aultan Caluch's gentle stream. That murmurs sweetly through the green. What happy, joyful days I've seen. Beside the banks of Funery. Eirich, &c. Farewell, ye hills of storm and snow, The wild resorts of deer and t:. 29 %\i22 %ivM^^^ [TnEKEisan old ballad called " Lizzy Lindsay," ^Is of which some firagments remain. The first verse /Xr of the following words was written by Btims for [ ^yjf Johnson's Museum, to an old air, " "Will ye gang Y >* ■»"!' me, Lizz>- Lindsay," which he communicated. ^^^^ The present version is sung to the tune of " The r<\ Ewe-Bughts."] A^^ W'li.L ye gang wi' me, Lizzy Lindsay, \S^ Will ye gang to the Highlands wi' me ? (Jk Will ye gang wi' me, Lizzy Lindsay, y%^'\ My bride and icy darling to be ? \S^ To gang to the Highlands wi' you, sir, ^P»^ I dinna ken how that may be , jCs \ For I ken nae the land that ye live in, g£^ 2*'orkenI theladl-mgaun wi'. f } '\ O LizzY, lass, ye maun ken little, I i a - If sae ye dinna ken me ; V\^ For my name is Lord Eonald SlacDonald, ^^ A chieftain o' high degree. ( 'y^ She has kilted her coats o' green satin, ^\3 5}jg jja3 kilted them up to the knee, y^ And she's aflf wi' Lord Eonald MaeBonald, His bride and his darling to he. X [The words of this song belong to about the j middle of the last cr;ntary, but, their author's \>i name has escaped being recorded. They are to ! J be found in a collection of songs, called The Char- ' - mcr, published at Edinburgh in 1751, but whether f* printed there for the first time cannot with cer- -^ tainty be said. The title to the song there given <3 is " The Druken Wife o' Gallowa'," which title it ^ bears in common with " Hooly and Fairly." The K air is supposed to be old.] D Docx in yon meadow a couple did t.-uTy : '^ The gudewife she drank naetbing but sack and \ canary ; [sairiy — /\ The gudeman compLain'd to her friends rieht ^ Oh, gin my wife wad drink hooly and {jairly ! Hooly ."uid feirly, hooly and fairly > First she drank Crummie, and sjTie she 4rank t_^ Gairie, ^fi :, And syne she drank my bonnie gray marie, Kt/'-' That caiTied me through a* the dubs and the •./'^. glairie- ^4^^ Oh, gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly ; ^ \ i;he drank her hose, she drank her shoon, i\^ And sj-ne she drank her bonnie new goun ; ^y^ She drank her sark that covsr'd her rtirely— //^ Oh, gin my wife wad drink hooly and (airly ! ,i-\ ^v Wad she drink but her ain things, I wadna care, J ^V But she drinks my claes that I canna weel spare , -ii 3 j WTien I'm wi' my gossips it angers me airly— 7~^ Oh, gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly ; \AC^ My Sunda-'s coat she's laid it in w.^d, ~^ And the best blue bonnet e'er was on my head ; C- J^ At kirk or at mercat I'm cover'd but barely— V^H Oh, gin ray wife wad drink hooly and fairly ! 5^^' ^ My bonnie white mittens I wore on my hands, ^ I ) Wi' her neibour's wife she laid them in pawns ; -^j-yk My bane-headed staff that I looed sae dearly— V>^ Oh, gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly ! ^v\ \ I never was for wranglin' nor strife, / <^ Xor did I deny her the comforts o' life ; C:? ^ -^ For when there's a war, I'm aye for a parley— g ; Oh, gin my wife wad drink hooly and (airly ! ^, ; When there's ony money she maun keep the purse; If I seek but a bawbee she'll scold and she'll curse ; She lives like a queen — I but scrim pit and sparely — Oh, gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly ! A pint wi' her cummers I wad her allow ; But when she sits down, oh, the jaud she gets fou. And when she is fou she is unco camstarie — , c(£^^ Oh, gin my wife wad drink hooly and (airly! Mi^ When she comes to the street she roars and she c)a> rants, [wants; ^*>^ Has nae fear o' her neibours, nor minds the house JAJ , She rants up some fule-sang, like. Up your heart, .- / Charlie !— J> 5, Oh, gin my wife wad drink hooly and fiiirly I When she comes hame she lays on the lads. ! The lasses she ca's baith bitches and jauds. And ca's mysell an auld cucUe-carlii Oh gin my wife wad drink hco'.y and fairly : se Oh, gin my wife wad drink hooff and feirly : m^^^my^mm^i^mssmiw^^s^. SCOTTISH S0NG3. rWRiTTEs by Joanna Bait-lis for George , Thomson's collection of Scottish Melodies.] ^ .:■/ \^ Oh, neighbours ! what had I ado for to marry, V^^'-J My wife she drinks posseti and wine o' Canary, _ ^ And ca'8 me a niggardly, thraw-gabbit early, '^' O gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly ! "V * Hooly and fairly, Stc, f, A She feasts wi' her kimmers on dainties enew, \j^\ -4-ye bowing and smirking and dighting her ^ J mou*, ' -"c, ^Vliile I sit aside and am heli)?t but sparely, - ^ O gin my wife wad feast hooly and fairly ; Hooly and Ciirly, c&c. To fairs and to bridals and preachings and a', . She gangs sae light-hearted and busket sae braw, " i It's ribbons and mantuas that gars me gae barely, gin my wife would spend hooly and fkirly ! ^ Hooly and fairly, &c. 1 wish I were single, I wish 1 were freed, I wish I were doited, I wish I were dead ; f^'j Or she in the mools, to dement me nae niair, Z' '' ' lay; ■% What does't avail to cry hooly and fairly ? '• . s Hooly and fairly, hooly and fairly, '"\ \ ■Wasting my breath to cry hoolv and fcurly ! \y- < ^"^ Z2 a' no rrf^^^^-^' n . >-? In the kirk sic commotion last sabbath she made, Wi' babs o' red roses and briest -knots o'erlaid. The dominie sticket his psalm very nearly, O gin my wife wad dress hooly and Curly ! Hooly and fairly. Sec. -l She's warring and f.yting frae morning till e'en, i : And if ye gainsay her, her eye glowTS sae keen ; 1 1 Then tongue, neive and cudgsl, she'll lay on you sairly ! , gin my wife wad strike hooly and fairly ! Hooly and lairly, &c. WTjen tired wi' her cantraps, she lies in her bed, The wark a' neglecket, the house ill up-red. When a" our guid neighbours are stirring right early, gin my wife wad sleep timely and fairly ! Hooly and fairly, &c. A word o' good cocmsel or grace she'll hear none, Bhe bardies the elders and mocks at mess John, And back in his teeth his ain text she flings rarely ! <0 gin my wife wad speak hooly and Ciirly ' Hooly and fairly, &c. i [There are various readings of this old doggrel. Part of it can be traced in Bishop Percy's MS. as fiirback as li56(i. We give here, first, the version which Bums furbished up for Johnson's Museum. Miss Stephens, we believe, has the praise or blame of introducing the tune, and a modified version of the words, into fashionable society more than twenty years ago.] GuDB'KN to you, kimmer. And how do ye do ? Hiccup, quo' kimmer. The better that I'm fou. We're a' noddin', Nid, nid, noddin'. We're a' noddin'. At our house at hame, Kate sits i' the neuk, Suppin' hen broo ; Deil tak' Kate, An' she be na noddin' too! We're a' noddin', &c. How's a' wi' you, kimmer, ( ^ And how do ye fare ? (^., -c A pint o' the b^t o't, ,' ' "^ And twa pints mair. "= '>^ We're a' noddin', &c. f^.; How's a' wi' you, kimmer, , -? And how do ye thrive ? , How mony bairns ha'e ye ' '^ - ' Quo' kimmer, I ha 'e five. 1-^ We're a' noddin', Sea, (-'/ Are they a' Johnny's Z^. '{ Eh ! atweel na : ^.,j^ i Twa o' them were gotten >^ When Johnny was awa". N We're a' noddin', &c. /■*ik) Ju-^''Biyf'\ -mm^-&m ^^m^'^^^^^^^^s^^^^'M^^^ SCOTTISH SOXGS. Cats like milk, And dogs like broo. Lads like lasses weel, And lasses lads too. "We're a' noddin' &c. [Verses furnished by Allan Cuijisingham to I Thomson's Select Melodies of Scotland.] 1 Om gudewife 's avra.', JTow's the time to woo For the lads like lasses. And the lasses lads too. The moon's beaming bright. And the go wan s In dew, And my love 's by my side. And we're a' h--ippy now. And we're a' noddin', yid, nid noddin'. And we're a' noddin'. At our house at hame. I have wale of loves, — Nannie rich and fair, Bessie brown and bonnie. And Kate wi' curling hair; And Bell young and proud, W gold abocn her brow. But my Jean has twa e'en That g'.owT me through and through. And we're a' noddin', &c. Sair she slights the lads. Three lie like to dee. Four in sorrow listed. And five flew to the sea. y igh her chamber door A' night they watch in dool, Ae kind word frae my love Would charm fi'ae yule to yule. And weTe a' noddin', &c. Our gudewife 's come hame, ^Now mute maun I woo ; My true love's bright glances Shine a' the chamber through; O, sweet is her voice, TNTien she sings at her wark. Sweet the touch of her hand. And her vows in the dark. And we're a' noddin', &c. [Verses to the same air— author unkno\*T.. The tune admits of considerable latitude as to t le cf the line.] GuDE'Ejf to ye, kimraer. And are ye alane ? 0, come and see how blythe are we. For Jamie he's cam' hame, And 0, but he's been lang awa". And O, my heart was sair As I sobbed out a lang tireweel — Maybe to meet nae mair. li'oo we're a' noddin', &c. 0, sair ha'e I fought. Ear* and late did I toil. My baimies for to feed and deed — My comfort was their smile ; ■VMien I thocht on Jamie far awa'. An" o' his love sae fain, A bodin' thrUl cam' through my he.rt We'd maybe meet again. :S^oo we're a' noddin', &c. When he knocket at the' doer, I thocht I kent the rap. And little Katie cried, " My daddie he's cam' back," A stoun gaed through my anxious 'oreajt As thochtfuUy I sat, I raise, I gazed, fell in his arms. And bursted out and grat. >"oo we're a' noddin', &c. [WRrrTKN- by Bckn-s, in 17S9, for Johnson's Museum, to a tune called Johnnie M'Gill, firom the name of its composer, John M'Gill, musician, Girvan, Ayrshire. According to other accounts, the tune -Is said to be Irish.] 0, wii.T thou go wi' me. Sweet Tibbie Dunbar 0, ^ilt thou go wi' me. Sweet Tibbie Dunbar ? Wilt thou ride on a horse. Or be draT\-n in a car. Or walk by my side, O sweet Tibbie Dunbar ? K. s>^f^j 1 care na tliy daitdio, His lanUs and his money, I care na thy kin Sae high and sae lordly ; But say thou wilt ha'e nie For bettor for \*^ I fear r \).% Gae'wi Gae 'wa wi' your plaidie ! auld Donald, gae 'wa; na the cauld blast, the drift, cor the snav/ ! your plaidie ! I'll no sit beside ye ; Ye raicht be my gutoher! auld Donald, gae 'wa. I'm gaun to meet Johnnie — he's young and he's bonnie ; He's been at Meg's bridal, fu' trig and fu' braw I Nane dances sae lichtly, sae graccfu', or tichtly, His cheek's like the new rose, his brow's like the f,^ '■ Dear Marion, let that flee stick fast to the wa' ; Wj9 Your Jock's but a gowk, and has naething ava ; ,-1 The haill o' his pack he has now on his back; He's thi-etty, and I am but three score and twa. He frank now and kindly— I'll busk ye aye finely ; To kirk or to market there'll few gang sae braw ; A hein house to bide in, a chaise for to ride in. And flunkies to 'tend ye as aft as ye ca'. Jiy father aye tauld me, my mother and a', Y e'd n.ak' a gude Iiusband, and 'Keep me aye braw; It's true, I lo'e Johnnie; he's young and he's bonnie; Uut, wae's me ! I ken he has naething ava ! I ha'e little tocher ; ye've made a gude offer ; I'm now mair tlian twenty ; my time is but sma' ! j Sae gi'e me your plaidie ; 1 11 creep in beside ye ; I thocht ye'd been aulder than three score and twa! She crap in ayont him, beside the stane wa', "\Vhare Johnnie was Ustnin', and heard her tell a': The day was appointed! — his proud hcartitdunt'd, ' And strack 'gainst his side, as if burstin' in twa. ( He wander'd hame wearie, the nieht it was drearie, And, thowless, he tint his gate 'mang tlie deep snaw : ' The howlet was screaming, while Johnnie cried, \ Women , Wad marry auld Nick, if he'd keep them aye braw. , 0, the deil's in the lasses ! they gang now sae braw, , They'll lie down «-i' auld men o' four scoi-e and twa; The hail! o' their marriage is gowd and a carriage; Plain love is the cauldest blast now that can blaw. ' Auld dotards, be wary ! tak' tent wha yon marrj'; , Y'oung wives, wi' their coaches, they'll whip aiul | they'll ca', j Till they n-,eet wi' some Johnnie that's yoi'thfu" and bonnie, ' And they'll gi'e ye horns on ilk haffet to oliiw. ( W^t kSjeIg) \k$$ ®f Iifi)erEe^?5, [The first four lines of thfs song are old. The rest were added by Burns, and published in '. Johnson's Museum, vol. v. The tune, called The Jjovely I>ass of Inverness, is the composition | of Oswald. Drummossip-nioor was the field where | the battle of CuUoden was fought.] , ( The lovely lass o' Inverness, ' Nae joy nor pleasure can she see, \ For e'en and mom she cries, Alas ! ^ And aye the saut tears blind her ee: Drummossie muir, Drummossie day, ' A waefu' day it was to me ; \ For there I lost my father dear, Jly father dear and brethren three. Their winding-sheets, the bluidy clay; j Their graves are growing green to see ; A nd by them lies the dearest hui ' That ever blosa'd a woman's ee ! i 0^sms^^^::cm^^^-^<^a^'M^i^^ SCOTTISH SOXGS. ;Cow, wae to thee, thou cruel Urd ! A bluidy man I trow thou be; For mony a heart thou hast made sair, That ne'er did wrang to thine or thee. [■Weitten by Allan Cdnxisgham, and first pubUshed in Cromek'3 Bemains of Ivithsdale and Galloway Song.] There Hv'd a lass in Inverness, She was the pride of a' the town. She was blythe as a lark on the flower-tap. Whan frae the nest it's newly flown. At kirk she wan the auld folks luve. At dance she wan the ladses' een ; She was the blythest aye o' the blythe. At wooster-trrstes or Halloween. As I came in 'py Inverness, The simmer-sun was sinking down, there I saw the weel-feur'd lass. And she was greeting through the town. The gray-hair'd men were a' i' the sti-eets, And auld dames crying, (sad to see !) "The flower o' the lads o' Inverness, Lie bluidie on CuUoden-lee !" She tore her haS'et-links of gowd. And dighted aye her comely e'e ; '■'My father lies at bluidie Carlisle, At Preston sleep my brethren three ! 1 thought my heart could baud nae mair, Jlae tears could never blin' my e'e ; But the fa' o' ane has burst my heart, A dearer ane there ne'er could be ! (IA " He trysted me o' luve yestreen, ^ - Of love-tokens he gave me three ; ^j. But he's faulded i' the arms o' gory wicr, §'^ O ne'er again to think o' me ! The forest-flowers shall be my bed. My food shall be the wild-berrie. The fa' o' the leaf shall co'er me cauld. And wanken'd again I winna bs. O weep, O weep, ye Scottish dames, \Veep tiU. ye blin' a mither's ee ; Kae reeking ha" in fifty miles. But naked corses sad to see. spring is biythesome to the year. Trees sprout, flowers spring, and birds sing hie. But oh ! what spring can raise them up, "OTiose bluidie weir has seal'd the e'e ? The hand o' God hong heavie here. And lightly touch'd foul tyrannic ! It strake the righteous to the ground. And lifted the destroyer hie. But there's a day, quo' my God in prayer. Whan righteousness shall bear the gree , I'll rake the wicked low i' the dust. And wauken, in bliss, the gude man's e'e ! [Of this fiopular Jacobite song there are differ- ent versions. The following are the words which appear in Johnson's Museum, under the supei- intendenee of Bums. In connection with the last stanza of this song. Sir William GcU relates an affecting anecdote of Sir Walter Scott. Sir William had the honour of acting as cicerone to Sir Walter during his last illness, when on his visit to Naples ; and on one occasion, when they were toiling over a rugged pathway in the vicinity of Mount Tesuvius, Sir Walter was observed to be muttering some verses. Sir William listened, wondering what might be passing in his com- ' panion's mind, while treading a spot so rich in classical associations. But he soon found that the dying poet's heart was not in Italy, but was reverting, even there, to the scenes of his native land; for the words he caught him repeating were the close of the present song — " It's up yon heathery mountain. And down yon scrcggy glen. We dauma gang a-milking. For Charlie and his men."] 'TwAs on a Monday morning, Eicht early in the year. That Charhe cam' to our toun, The young Chevalier. A nd Charlie he's my darUng, 3Iy darling, my darling ; Charlie he's my darling. The young Clievalier. ^il^.^M^LiS^V'^'^^^SiJa^^S^^^S 3-1 SCOTTISH S0X6S. J [* As he \vaB walking up the street. The city for to view, there he spied a bonnle lass. The window looking through. Sae licht's he jumped up the stair. And tirl'd at the pin ; And wha sae ready as hersel'. To let the laddie in ! He set his Jenny on his knee. All in his Highland dress; For brawly weel he kenned the way To please a bonnie lass. It's up yon heathery mountain. And down yon scroggy glen, AVe dauma gang a-milking, For Charlie and his men. Breem of €^©fei^$Ji^mt&^, [Thb fine old melody, called " The Broom of Cowdenknows," is of great antiquity, and is known to have existed at least before the union 01" the crowns of Scotland and England in 1603. Gay adopted it in his Beggar's Opera, (first acted in 1728,) for his song beginning " The miser thus a shilling sees." The words to which the tune was originally united are lost, with the exception of the chorus, which ran thus : O, the broom, the bonnie, bonnie broom. The broom of the Cowdenknows ; I wish I were at hame again. Milking my daddy's ewes. The two sets of verses here given are both from the Tea-Table Miscellany published by Kamsay. The author of tlie first and most popular set is unknown, but it is subscribed \^ith the initials, S. B. The author of the second set is Eobert Crawford, second son of Patrick Crawford of Drumsoy. " Cowdenknows " is a ridgy district in Lauderdale, Berwickshire, once overgrown with tall and luxuriant broom, but now subjected to the plough.] [rrRST SET.] How bljthe ilk morn was 1 1<^> see ^fy swain come o'er the hill ; He skipt the burn, and flew to ir.e, I met him wi' good will. O, the broom, the bonnie, bonnie broom. The broom of the Cowdenknows ! I wish I were wi" my dear swain, Wi' his pipe, and my ewes. I neither wanted ewe nor lamb, "While his flocks near me lay ; He gather'd in my sheep at night. And cheer'd me a' the day. O, the broom, &c. He tuned his pipe and reed sae sweet. The birds stood list'ning by ; Ev'n the dull cattle stood and gazed, Charm'd wi' his melody. 0, the broom, &c. V^'hWe thus we spent our time by turn.-;, Betwixt our flocks and play, I envied not the fairest dame. Though e'er so rich and gay. O, the broom, &c. Hard fete I that I should banish'd be. Gang heavily, and icourn. Because I loved the kindest s .vain That ever yet was born. 0, the broom, £cc. He did oblige me every hour ; Could I but faithfu' be ? He staw my heart; could I refuse "SVhate'er he ask'd of me ? 0, the broom, &c. My doggie, and my little kit, That held my we» soup whey, My plaidie, broach, and crooked stic'n Maun now lie useless by. 0, the broom, &c. Adieu, ye Cowdenknows, adieu ! Fareweel a' pleasures there : Te gods, restore me to my swain. It's a' I crave or care. O, the'broom, &c. [SECOXD SET.] Whek summer comes, the swaii;; on Twesd Sing their successful loves, Around the ewes and lambkins feed. And music fills the groves. i But my loved song is then the broom So fair on Cowdenknows ; For STire, so sweet, so soft a tloom. Elsewhere there never grows. There Colin tuned his oaten reed. And won my yielding heart ; 'So shepherd e'er that dwelt on Tweed, Could play with half such art. He sung of Tay, of Forth, and Qyde, The >ii1U and dales all round. Of Leader-haughs, and Leader-side, Oh! how I bless'd the sound. Tet more delightful is the broom So fair on Cowdenlaiows ; For sure, so fresh, so bright a bloom. Elsewhere there never grows. Not Tiviot braes, so green and gay. May with this broom corripare ; >'ot Tarrow banks in flowery May, >ror the bush aboon Traquair. 31 ore pleasing far are Cowdenknows, My peacefiil happy home, "Where I was wont to milk my ewes. At e'en amang the broom. Te powers that haunt the woods and plains Where Tweed and Tiviot flows. Convey me to the best of swains. And my loved Cowdenknows. % xt%, tz^ W»mt. ["VVritten by BuKxs for Johnson's Museum. {AS* Bums says, "The txme of this song is in >'eil Gow's first collection, and is there called ilajjr Graliam." See the following song.] O, snr luve's like a red red rose. That's newly sprung in June ; 0, my luve's like the melodie. That's sweetly play'd in tune. As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, Sae deep in love am I ; And I wiU love thee still, my dear, TUl a' the seas gang dry. Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear. And the rocks melt wi* the sun ; I will love thee still, my dear, WhUe the sands o' life shaU rur.. And fere thee weel, my only lave. And fare thee weel a while ! And I will come again, my luve, Though it were ten thousand ir.i [The tune of " Low down in the Brume," or something very like it, is often given to the son? above quoted, "A red, red Eose." The words of the present song are ascribed to Jasces Carxegie, Esq. of Balnamoon, near Brechin. They can 1 9 traced as far back as to a collection published at Edinburgh in 1765, called " The Lark-"] Mr daddie is a cankert carle, He'll no twine wi' his gear ; My minnie she's a &:auldin' wif8, Hauds a' the house asteer. But let them say, or let them do. It's a' ane to me. For he's low doun, he's in the brume. That's waitia' on me: Waiting on me, my love. He's waiting on me : For he's low doun, ha's in the tronic', That's waitin' on me. My auntie Kate sits at her wheel. And sair she lightlies me ,- But weel ken I it's a' envy. For ne'er a joe has she. But let them say, (Sec. My cousin Kate was sair beguae-'. Wi' Johnnie o' the Glen ; And aye sinsyne she dies. Beware O' fause deluding men. But let them say, &c. Gleed Sandy he cam' wast yestreen. And speir'd when I saw Pate ; And aye sinsyne the neebors round They jeer me air and late. But let them say, &c. '-:j>5. '<1 [James Thomson, author of " The Seasons." Tki.l me, thou soul of her I love. Ah ! tell me whither art thou fled ; To wliat delightful world above. Appointed for the happy dead ? Or dost thou free at random roam. And sometimes share thy lover's woe ; Where, void of thee, his cheerless home Can now, alas I no comfort know ? Oh ! if thou hover'st round my walk, While under every well known tree, I to thy fancy'd shadow talk, And every tear is full of thee ; Should then the weary eye of grief, Beside some sjxn pathetic stream. In slumber find a short relief. Oh visit thou my soothing dream. i|)e ^^m^ ^illeic. O THE weary siller ! O the weary siller ! Wha wad venture till her, That hadna got the siller ? She's stately, proud, and shy, Disdains to speak to onie. But yet her distant eye Wad glitter at the money. O the weary silkr, &e. You'd think her heart was cold, And never gave a flutter, Dut touch it with the gold, 'T wad melt like summer buttoverty 1 oh, poverty ! that love should bow to thee. I neist went to her brother, an' I told him a' my pain : Oh, he was wae, he tried to say, but it was a' in vain ; Though he was weel in love hrmsel', nae feeling he'd for me — Oh, poverty ! ch, poverty '. that love should bow to thee. Oh, wealth, it makes the fool a sage, the knave an honest m:tn ; An' cankered grey locks young again, gin he ha'e gear an' Ian" : To age maun beauty ope her arms, though wi' a tearfu' e'e — Ob, poverty ! ch, poverty ! that love should bow to thee. But wait a wee, O love is slee, and winna be said nay ; It breaks a' chains except its ain, but it maun ha'e its way ; Auld age was blind, the priest was kind — now happy as can be ; Oh, poverty ! oh, poverty ! we're wed in spite o' thee. hi S Ig Wimk, % [Alex. Hfhe. — Air, "The Posie.' Monthly Eepositoiy" for May, ISSi.] This song, set to a beautiful air, was published in " The My Bessie, 0, but look upon these bonnie budding Cowers, O, do na they remember thee o' childhood's happy hours. When we upon this very hill sae aft did row an' play. An' thou wert like the morning sun, an' life a nichtless day. The gowans— they were bonnie — how I'd pu' them from the stem. An' rin in noisy bh-thesomeness to thee, my Bess, wi' them. An' place them in thy white, white breast; for which thou'dst smile on me. saw nae mair the gowans then — then saw I only thee. Like twa fair roses on a tree, we flourished an' we grew ; An' as we grew our loves grew too, for feeling was their dew. How aft thou'dst thraw thy wee bit arms in love about my neck. An' breathe young vows, that after years o' sorrc-w ha'e na brak. '^^ ^?^ SCOTTISH SONG?. '>i» ^ ■U'e'a raise our lisping voices in auld Coila's melting lays, An' sing that tearfu' tale about Boon's bonnie banks an' brars ; But thocht na we o' banks an' braes, except thae at our feet- Like yon wee bird, we sang our sang, yet kent na that 'twas swc O, is na this a joyous day? kind Nature's breathing forth In gladness an' in loveliness owre a' the wide wide earth; The Unties, they are lilting love, on ilka bush an' tree — O, may sic joys be ever felt, my Bess, by thee an' me. ^TOEie %%%i2 Eang. (3J James Macdonald. — Here first printed. Jlusic by Mr. James Ferguson, Edinburgh.] Oh ere we part, my heart leaps hie, to sing ae bonnie sang. About my ain sweet lady-love, my darling Aggie Lang ; It is na that her cheeks are like the blooming damask rose. It is na that her brow is white as stainless Alpine snows. It is na that her locks are black as ony raven's wing. Nor is't her e'e o' winning glee, that mak's me fondly sing. But oh ! her heart's a bonnie well that gushes fresh an' free O' maiden love, an' happiness, and a' that sweet can be ; Though saft.the sang o' simmer winds — the warbling o' the stream, The carolling C joyous bu-ds— the murmur C a dream,— I'd rather hear ae gentle word frae Aggie's angel tongue. For weel I ken her heart is mine,— the fountain whar it spi-ung. Yestreen I met her in a glen about the gloamin' hour. The moon was rising o'er the trees, the dew begemm'd ilk flouir. The weary winds were hush'd asleep, an' no a sough cam' nigh. E'en frae the waukrife stream that ran, in silver gUntin' by: I pressed her milkwhite han' in mine — she smil'd as angels smile. But ah ! frae me, her tale o' love, this warld maunna >vile. I saw the silver light o' heaven fa' on her bonnie brow. An' glitter on the hinney blabs upon her cherry mou' ; I saw the lily moonbeams steal the redness o' the rose. An' sleep upon her downy cheek in beautiful repose.— The moon rose high, the stream gaed by, but aye she smiled on me. An' what she wadna breathe in words she tauld it wi' her e'e. I've sat \vithin a palace hall amid the grand an' gay, I've listen'd to the carnival o' merry birds in May, I've been in joyous companies— the wale o' mirth an' glee. An' danced in nature's fairy bowers by mountain, lake, and lf;a. But never has this heart o' mine career'd in purer pride. As in that moonlit glen an' bower, wi' Aggie by my side. ^^^^^Il@^^ SCOTTISH S0>'G5 h a [James JIubbat.— Here first printed.— Tune, " Katy Tyrell." Ok the green banks of Neidpath, whilst pensively roamicg, To mark the dull shadows that creep o'er the plain, I count the lang hours, and I sigh for the gloaming. For then I shall meet with my Anna again. I'll watch when the swain to his cottage is wending, I'll watch when the bird gangs to sleep on the tree, I'll watch when the shadows of ere ars descending. And then, dearest Anna, I'U hasten to thee. ■Twas lang ere I tauld, though I loved her so dearly, 'Twas lang ere I ventured my lassie to woo, •Twas lang ere my heart felt she loved so sincerely. But sighs reveal secrets of love that is true. And dark cares may gather— but care shanna fear me ; The storms of misfortune undaunted I'E see ; I'll smile when they frown, for if Anna be near me, They'U cease 'neath the light of her love-beaming e'e. [jAiiEs McRBAV.— Hare first pnnted.— Tune, "The brier bush." O, ^VEARY fa' that little fairie, our Isabell— O, plague be on that wUfu' fairie, our Isabell ; For although we like the lassie weel— and that she kens hersel'- Tet ower the border, right or wrang, will our Isabel!. O, we'll seldom get a sang at e'en, and scarce a tune ava, Sae we may sit and hing our lugs when she gangs awa' ; For little Bessie winna croon, and Johnnie scarcely craw. They'll be sae dowf and dowie soon when she gangs awa'. The sky that smiles sae fair at mom, ere night may be o'ereast ; Sae our dearest pleasures fade away, and downa langer last. And it ser's us nought to sit and fret, whatever may befa'— But, guidsake, wha wad e'er ha'e thought o' her gaun awa'. O, we've canker'd folk and canny folk in our house at hame, And some that scarce dow bide a joke in our house at hame ; And we'd ower the border ane and a', if ever we heard tell That ony birkie daur'd to gloom at our Isabell. 0, weary fa' that little fairie, our Isabell— O, plague be on that wilfti' fairie, our Isabell ; For although we like the gipsie mair than ony tongue can tel'.. Yet, ower the border, right or wTang, will our Isabell. I I ft 5^^S3&^31&^^i^?S^S^^i^^ SCOTTISH SONGS y^-lSf$' 40 ;* D ">f) ^^ ^ i B'lete fea^ a la^0. [This song, which is remarkable for its beauty and ballad-like simplicity. Burns wrote to tlie tune of " Bonnie Jean," and sent it to Thomson for his collection. Thomson inserted it, but adapted it to the tune of " Willie was a wanton wag." The heroine was MUss Jean Macmurdo (aftor- ■wards Jlrs. Ci-awford) eldest daughter of John Macmurdo, Esq. of Drumlanrig. " I have not painted her," says the poet, " in the rank which she holds in life, but in the dress and character of « cottager."] Thfrk was a lass, and she was fair. At kurk and market to be seen, "When a' the tiirest maids were met. The faurest maid was bonnie Jean. And aye she wrought her mammie's wark, And aye she sang sae mcrrilie : The blithest bird upon the bush Had ne'er a lighter heart than she. But hawks %vill rob the tender joj-s That bless the little lintwhite's nest ; ,Vnd frost will blight the fairest flowi;. s. And love will break the soundest rest. Young Robie was the brawest lai , The flower and pride of a' the pkn ; And he had owsen, sheep, and kyo, And w,anton naigies nine or ten. He gacd wi' Jeanie to the tnste. He danc'd yn' Jeanie on the down ; And lang ere witless Jeanie wist, Her heart was tint, her peace was stown. As in the bosom o' the stream. The moon-beam dwells at dewy e'en ; So trembling, pure, was tender love, ■Within the breast o' bonnie Jean. And now she works her manmiie's wark. And aye she sighs wi* care and pain ; Yet wist'na what her ail might be. Or what wad mak' her weel again. But did na Jeante's heart loup light. And did na joy blink in her e'e. As Robie tauld a tale o' love, Ae e'enin' on the lily lea ? i The sun was sinking in the west. The birds sang sweet in ilka grove ; His cheek to her's he fondly prest. And whisper'd thus l>is tale o' love : O Jeanie fair, I lo'e thee dear ; O canst thou think to fancy me ! Or wilt thou leave thy mammie's cot, And learn to tent the farms wi' me ? At barn or byre thou shalt na di-udge. Or naething else to trouble thee ; But stray amang the heather-bells. And tent the waving corn wi' me. Now what could artless Jeanie do ? She had nae will to say him na : At length she blush'd a sweet consent. And love was aye between them twa. JMg fa ^UMt [This appears in Ramsay's Tea Table Miscel- / .- lany, but is probably of older date. The tune of ^ " My jo Janet" is in some old avithorities called t'^ "The Keeking'Glass."] ^ i Sweet sir, for your courtesie. When ye come by the Bass, then. For the love ye bear to me. Buy me a keekin' glass, then. Keek into the draw-well, Janet, Janet ; There ye'U see your bonnie sell. My jo Janet. Keekin' in the draw-weU clear. What if I &' in, sir ? Then a' my kin' will say and swear I droun'd myselJ for sin, sir. Hand the better by the brae, Janet, Janet ; Haud the better by the brae. My jo Janet. Gude sir, for your courtesie, Comin' through Aberdeen, then. For the love ye bear to me. Buy me a pair o' sheen, then. I gf5^j'!»»i;a3»aS5S^3sss<«ii5«S« SCOTTISH SONGS. 41 V^ . ri I k I i Clcut the auld— the new are dear, Janet, Janet ; Ae pair may gain ye hauf a year, Aly jo Janet. But, what if, dancin' on the green. And skippin' like a maukin. They should see my clouted sheen. Of me they will be taukin". Dance aye laigh, and late at e'en, Janet, Janet ; Syne a' their feuts will no be seen, ilyjo Janet. Kind sir, for your courtesie, ■VNTien ye gae to the cross, then. For the love ye bear to me. Buy me a pacin' horse, then. PaceupoB. your spinnin' wheel, Janet, Janet ; Pace upon your spinnin' wheel. My jo Janet. Tily spinnin* wheel is auld and stiff. The rock o't winna stand, sir ; To keep the temi)er-pin in tiff Employs richt aft my hand, sir. Mak' the best o't that ye can, Janet, Janet ; But like it never wale a man, Jly jo Janet. 0iD tpv.m, KSM^. ["VVbitten by Bttrns for Thomson's collection, to the tune of " My jo Janet."] Husband, husband, cease your strile, Kor longer idly rave, sir; Though I am your wedded wife. Yet I'm not your slave, sir. One of two must still obey, Xancie, Kancie ; Is it man or woman, say, My si)ouse Jfancie ? If 'tis still the lordly word. Service and obedience ; I'll desert my sovereign lord. And so good-bye allegiance '.' Sad will I be so bereft, iN'ancie, >'ancie ; Yet I'll try to make a shii't. My spouse Xancie. My poor heart then break it must. My last hour I'm near it ; "When you lay me in the dust. Think — think how you will bear it. I will hope and trust in Heaven, Ifancie, ^Nancie, Strength to bear it will be given. My spouse Kancie. Well, sir, from the silent dead. Still I'U try to daunt you , Ever round your midnight bed Horrid spirites shall haunt you. I'U wed another like my dear Jfancie, Xaneie ; Then all heU will fly for fe.-ir. My spouse Xancie '. [■Written by Robert Taknahh.!., and set to | music by R. A. Smith. Loudon castle, in Ayr- , shire, with its luxuriant woods, is the locality ', here celebrated, and the song was composed early , in the present century, in 1805 or somewhat later, when the earl of Jloira, afterwards marquis of | Hastings, was commander-in-chief of the forces in Scotland, and universal preparations were mak- ing for active service abroad. His lordship was married in 1S04 to Flora Muir Campbell, in her | own right. Countess of Loudon— and the song is supposed to depict the parting of the soldier and his young bride. Nothing could exceed its popu- ' larity during many years of the war, and it is still a fiivourite. In 1816, while Governor-General of ( India, the earl of Moira was created marquis of Hastings : he returned to England in 1S23 or 23, and visited Loudon cistle, but died at Malta in ' 1834, of which pkicehe had been appointed gover- nor. The kite unfortunate Flora Hastings was I daughter of this nobleman.] I I Lot'DO.v's bonnie woods and braes, i I maun leave them a', lassie ; VTha, can thole when Britain's faes ^ Would gi'e to Britons law, lassie ? S^t^^»^^^iMrti^^2^3^^k^ SCOTTISH SOXGS. Wlia would shun the field o' danger ? "Wha to f;ime would live a stranger ? Now when Freedom bids avenge her, Wha would shun her ca', lassie ? Loudon's bonnie woods and braes, Ha'e seen our happy bridal days. And gentle hope shall soothe thy wa;s. When I am ftu- avs-a", lassie. Hark ! the sweUing bugle rings. Yielding joy to thee, laddie ; But the dolefu' bugle brings AYaefu" thochts to me, laddie. Xanely I may climb the mountain, Lanely stray beside the fountain. Still the wearj' moments counting. Far frae love and thee, laddie. Ower ths gory fields o' war, ^Vhere Vengeance drives his crimson car, Thou'lt maybe &', frae me afar. And nane to close thy e'e, laddie. Oh, resume thy wonted smile. Oh, suppress thy fears, lassie ; Glorious honour crowns the toil That the soldier shares, lassie : Heaven will shield thy faithful lover, Till the vengeful strife is over ; Then we'll meet, nae mair to sever. Till the day we dee, lassie : aiidst our bonnie woods and braes, AVe'll spend our peaceful happy days. As blythe's yon lichtsome lamb that plays On Loudon's flowery lea, lassie. ?£)m$i&0^2. [The following are the old verses to the now popular tune of " Somebody." They appear in the Tea Table Miscellany without signature, and are probably by Ramsay himself.] Fob the sake of somebody. For the sake of somebody, I could wake a winter nicht. For the sake of somebody. I am gaun to seek a wife, I am gaun to buy a plaidy; I liave three stane o" woo'; Carline, is thy daughter ready ? For the sake of somebody, &c. i Betty, lassie, say't thyscU, Though thy dame be ill to shoe : First we'U buckle, then we'll tell ; Let her fi.vte, and syne come to. "What signifies a mother's gloom, AVTien love and kisses come in play ? Should we wither in our bloom. And in simmer mak' nae hay ? Bonny lad, I carena by. Though I try my luck wi" thee. Since ye are content to tie The half-mark bridal-band wi' me. I'll sUp hame and wash my feet. And steal on linens fair and clean ; Svne at the trysting-place we'll meet. To do but what my dame has done. Nov.- my lovely Betty gives Consent in sic a heartsome gate. It me firae a' my care relieves. And doubts that gart me aft look blate. Then let us gang and get the grace ; For they that have an appetite Should eat; and lovers should embrace : If these be faults, 'tis nature's wj-te. [■Written- by Burns for Johnson's Bluseum, Hums, it will be seen, borrowed two or three lines '. from the opening stanza of the old verses. Hogg, in his Jacobite Relics, gives a version of the song | in which the " Somebody" is made to mean the , dethroned Stuart, but it is clearly a tibrication.j 3Iy heart is sair — 1 daurna tell — My heart is sair for somebody ; I could wake a winter night. For the sake of somebody. Ochon, for somebody ! Och hey, for somebody ; I could range the warld rouml, For the sake of somebody. Ye powers that sinile on virtuous lo\e, 0, sweetly smile on somebody! Frae ilka danger keep him free. And send me safe my somebody, i^S^>^^ Ochon, for somebody ! Och hey, for somebody ! I wad do — what wad I not ? For the sake of somebody. J2Mu 0' t^2 Mdh ["Written by "William Camerox. Music by Matthew "Wilson.] Oh ! bright the beaming queen o' night Shines in yon flowery vale. And softly sheds her silver light O'er mountain-path and dale. Short is the way, when light's the heart. That's bound in love's soft spell ; Sae I'll awa' to Armadale, To Jessie C the Dell. "We've pu'ed the primrose on the braes. Beside my Jessie's cot; "We've gather'd nuts, we've gather'd slaea. In that sweet rural spot. The wee short hours danced merrily. Like lambkins on the fell. As if they juin'd in joy wi' me. And Jessie o' the Dell. There's nane to me vn' her can vie, I'll love her tUl I dee. Tor she's sae sweet, and bonnie, aye. And kind as kind can be. This night in mutual kind embrace, wha our joys can tell ! Then I'U awa' to Armadale, TJo Jessie o" the Dell. S'll gaf mt C&iu^eman, [Ax old ditty preserved in a small collection called " T'ae Ballad Book," printed at Edinburgh in 1834.] I'LL gar our gudeman trow I'U seU the ladle. If he winna buy to me A bonnie side-saddle. SCOTTISH SO>'GS, To ride to kirk and bridal. And round about the town; Stand about, ye fisher jauds. And gi'e my gown room ! I'll gar our gudeman trow I'll tak' the fling-strings. If he winna buy to me Twal bonnie gowd rings ; Ane for ilka finger. And twa for illia thoom ; Stand about, ye fisher jauds. And gi'e my gown room ' I'll gar our gudeman trow That I'm gaun to die. If he winna fee to me Valets twa or three. To bear my train up firae the dirt, And ush me through the town , Stand about, ye fisher jauds. And gi'e my gown room ! }nmt, |)EiM, ^umt. [Contributed by Allan CuxNiNcnAsi to Cromek's Eemaius of ^'ithsdale and GallowLiy Song, where it is said to be printed firom a copy found in Burns's Common Place Book. In the introduction to the Fortunes of ^^igel, it will be remembered, Sir "Walter Scott speaks of this song in the most laudatory terms.] Hame ! hame ! hame ! O hame fain wad I be ! O, "name, hame, hame, to my ain countrie ! AVhen the flower is i' the bud, and the leaf is on the tree. The lark shall sing me hame to my ain countrie. Hame, hame, hame ! O hame fain wad I tie '. O hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie ! The green leaf o' loyaltie's beginning now to fa'; The bonnie white rose it is withering an' a'; But we'll water't wi' the blude of usurping t>Tan» And fresh it shall blaw in my ain countrie ! Hame, hame, hame ! O hame lain wad 1 be O hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie • \^:^^^i^^^' 4t SCOTTISH SOXG: ri '-'r. .4 (1 tliere'5 nocht now frae ruin my coimtne can save, iJut the ke}^ o" kind heaven, to open the grave, Tliat a' the noble martyrs, who died for loyaltie. May rise again and fight for their ain countrie. Hame, hame, hame ! O baroe fain wad I be ! O hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie ! The great now are gane, wha attempted to save ; The green grass is growing abune their graves ; Yet the sun through the mirk seems 'II shine on ye yet in your ain countrie. Hame, hame, hame ! hame £iin wad I be ! O hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie ! [This forms the "Eaucle Carline's" song in BcRXS'3 Jolly Beggars. It is given in the fifth volume of George Thomson's collection, to the tune of " The "VNTiite Cockade." Others adapt it to the tune of " an ye were dead, guidman."] A HIGHLA^•D lad my love was bom. The Lawland laws he held in scorn ; But he still was faithful to his clan. My gallant, braw John Highlandman ! Sing hey, my braw John Highlandnrmu ! Sing ho, my braw John Highlandman ! OThere's not a lad in a' the kind, Was match for my John Highlandman ! ■With his philabeg and tartan plaid, And gude claymore down by h:s side. The ladies' hearts he did trepan, My gullant braw John Highlandman. AVe ranged a" from Tweed to Spey, ilnd lived like lords and ladies gay ; For a Lawlaud face he feared none. My gallant braw John Highlandman. They banish'd him beyond the sea ; But, ere the bud was on the tree, A down my checks the pearls ran, Embracing my John Highlandman. But, och I they catcbed him at the last. And bound him in a dungeon fast ; My curse upon them every one. They've hang'd my braw John Highlandman ; And now, a widow, I must mourn Departed joys that ne'er return, Ko comfort but a hearty can, "VNTien I think on John Highlantln;; Wot W^iU CcrEatJ. [The following are the old Jaco'jite verses to tiie popular tune of " The White Cockade."] Mt love was born in Aberdeen, The bonniest kid that e'er was seen ; But now he makes our hearts fu' sad — He's ta'en the field wi' his white cockade. O, he's a ranting, roving blade ! O, he's a brisk and a bonny lad ! Betide what may, my heart is glad To see my lad wi' his white cockade. O, leeze me on the philabeg. The hairy hcugh, and garter'd leg ! But aye the thing that glads my e' . Is the white cockade aboon the br- • I'll sell my rock, I'll sell my reel, ^ly rippUng kame, and spinning wheel. To buy my lad a tartan plaid, A braids word and a white cockade. I'll sell my rokcly and my tow. My gude gray mare and hawket cow. That ev'ry loyal Buchan lad May tak' the field wi' his white cockade. [Words by James Hogg. Music arranged \ y Neil Gow, Jun.] Far over the hills of the heather so green, And down by the Corrie that sings to the sea. The bonny young Flora sat weeping her lane, The dew on her plaid and the tear in her e"e. She look'd at a boat with the breezes that swTii.g, Away on the w.ive like a bird on the main ; And aye as it lessen'd she sigh'd and she sung, " Farewell to the lad I shall ne'er see a^ain ; F.areweU to my hero, the gallant and young. Farewell to the lad I shall ne'er see again. ^^'^, ^•.'' P- ^^^s^^^si:^^^miW^^^^^?^^M SCOTTISH S0XG3. 45 ' The moorcock that craws on the brows o" Ben' ' Connal, I He kens o' his bed in a sweet mossy hame ; The eagle that soars o'er the cliff's of Clan-Eonaldj ITnawed and unhunted his eiiy can claim ; The solan can sleep on his shelve on the shore ; The cormorant roost on his rock of the sea ; But oh ! there is ane whose hard fate I deplore, ^ Xor house, ha', nor hame, in his countr)- has he ; Tlie conflict is past, and our name is no more, ' There's nought left but sorrow for Scotland an' me. " The target is torn from the arms of the just. The heln-.et is cleft on the brow of the brare. The claymore for ever in darkness must rust ; But red is the sword of the stranger and slave ; The hoof of the horse, an' the foot of the proud. Have trod o'er the plumes on the bonnet o' blue : ^^liy slept the red bolt in the breast of the cloud. When tyranny revelled in the blood of the true ? FareweU, my young hero, the gallant and good ! The crown of thy father is torn from thy brow " [This appears in the first vol. of the Tea-Tatle Miscellany, (1724). Nothing is known of the \ author. The song does not relate to the drums of the garrison of Dumbarton on the Clyde, (as , _^ many suppose it does,) but to a British regiment, "*«J called, as was then the custom, after its first 1^ / commander, the Earl of Dumbarton, Dumbarton's jfU^ regiment. The Earl was attached to the Stuart A^x family, and died an exile in France in 1692.] ff^ DuiiBARTOx's drums beat bonnie, O, When they mind me of my dear Johnnie, O ; How happie am I When my soldier is by, Wliile he kisses and blesses his Annie, I 'Tis a soldier alone can delight me, O, For his graceful looks do invite me, O ; "OTiile guarded in his arms, I'll fear no war's alarms, Neither danger nor death shall e'er fright me, 0. My love is a handsome laddie, O, Genteel, but ne'er foppish nor gaudy, 0. Though commissions are dear, Tet I'll buy him one this year. For he'U serve no longer a cadie, O. ;. A soldier has honour and bravery, ; Unacquainted with rogues and their knavery, O, He minds no other thing But the ladies or the king ; For every other care is but slavery, O. Then I'll be the captain's lady, O, Farewell all my friends and my daddy, ; I'U wait no m.ore at home. But I'll follow with the drum. And whene'er that beats I'll be ready, O. Dumbarton's drums sound bonnie, O, They are sprightly like my dear Johnnie, G • How happy shall I be When on my soldier's knee. And he kisses and blesses his Annie, 1 [Written by the Ecv. John Ski>-n-er to the tune of " Dumbarton's Drums." The picture here drawn of contented old age was one realize*! in the venerable author's own life.] O ! WHY should old age so much wound us, O ? Tiiere is nothing in't all to confound us, O ; For bow happy now am I, With my old wile sitting by. And our bainas and our oyes all around us, O. AVe began in the world wi' naething, O, And we've jogged on and toiled for the ae thing, O; We made use of what we had. And our thankfa' hearts were glad. When we got the bit meat and the claithing, 0. We have lived all our lifetime contented, O, Since the day we became first acquainted, O ; It's true we've been but poor. And we are so to this hour, Tet we never pined nor lamented, 0. We ne'er thought o' schemes to be wealthy, 0, By ways that were cunning or stealthie, O ; But we always had the bliss — And what farther could we wiss ?— To be pleased wi' ourselves and be healthy, O, W'hat though we canna boast of our guineas, O, Vr'e have plenty of Jockies and Jeanies, O; And these, I'm certain, are 3 [ore desirable by far. Than a pock full of poor yellow steenies, O. I i AVe hare seen many a wonder and ferlie, O, Os' changes that almost are yearlie, 0, Among rich folks up and down. Both in country and in town, Who now live but scrimply and barely, 0. Then why should people brag of prosperity, O ? A straitened life, we see, is no rarity, ; Indeed, we've been in want. And our living been but scant. Yet we never were reduced to need charity, O. In this house we first came together, O, ■Where we've long been a father and mother, O ; And though not of stone and lime. It will last us a' our time ; And I hope we shall never need anither, 0. And when we leave this habitation, 0, 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, 0. Then why should old age so much wound us, ? There is nothing in't all to confound us, O ? For how happy now am I, With my auld wile sitting by, A nd our bairns and our oyes all around us, ! 0UX giitijJTian cam* |)am5* [This highly humorous old ditty is preserved in the second edition of David Herd's collection, 1776. Johnson recovered the tune from the singing of an Did hair-dresser in Edinburgh, and published it for the first time in the 5th vol. of his Museum.] Our gudeman cam' bame at e'en. And hame cam* he ; And there he saw a saddle-horse. Where nae horse should be. Oh, how cam' this horse here ? How can this be ? ; .nv cam' this horse here, >\'ithout the leave o' me ? A horse ! quo' she ; Ay, a horse, quo' he. V: auld blind dotard carle. And blinder mat ye be ! t'3 but a bonnie mUk-cow, ."Jy mither sent to me. A milk-cow ! quo' he ; Ay, a milk-cow, quo' she. Far ha'e I ridden. And muckle ha'e I seen ; But a saddle on a milk -cow Saw I never nane. Our gudeman cam' hame i-.t e'en. And hame cam' he ; He spied a pair o' jack-boots. Where nae boots should be. What's this now, gudewife ? What's this I see ? How caia' thae boots here. Without the leave o' me ? Boots ! quo' she ; Ay, boots, quo' he. Ye auld blind dotard carle. And blinder mat ye be ! It's but a pair o' water-stoups. The cooper sent to me. Water-stoups ! quo' he ; Ay, water-stoups, quo' she. Far ha'e I ridden. And muckle ha'e I seen ; But siller-spurs on water-stoups Saw I never nane. Our gudeman cam' hame at e'en, And hame cam' he , And there he saw a sdler-sword, Where nae sword should be. AVliat's this now, gudewife ? What's this I see ? how cam' this sword here, ■Without the leave o' me ? A sword ! quo' she ; Ay, a sword, quo' he. Ye auld blind dotard carle. And b'inder mat ye be ! It's but a parridge-spurtle. My niinnie sent to me. A parridge-spurtle ! quo' he ; Ay, a parridge-spurtle, quo' she. Weel, fir ha'e I ridden. And muckle ha'e I seen ; But siller-handed parridge-spurtles Saw 1 never nane. Our gudeman cam' hame at e'en. And liame cam' he ; And there he spied a powder'd wig, Where nae wig should be. "What's this now, gudewife ? AMiat's this I see ? How cam' this \vig here. Without the leave o' me ? ^fir^^!3b^ll^^^^0^^^m^ M^ A wig ! quo' she ; Ay, a wig, quo' he. Te auld blind dotard carle. And blinder mat ye be ! 'Tis naething bnt a clocken-hen My minnie sent to me. A clocken-hen ! quo' he ; Ay, a clocken-hen, quo' she. Tar ha'e I ridden. And muckle ha'e I seen. Bat powder on a clocken-hen Saw I never nane. Our gudeman cam' hame at e'en. And hame cam' he ; And there he saw a muckle coat, TVhere nae coat should be. How cam' this coat here ? How can this be ? How cam' this coat here, TlV^thout the leave C me ? A coat ! quo' she ; Ay, a coat, quo' he. Ye auld blind dotard carle. And blinder mat ye be i It's but a pair o' blankets ily minnie sent to me. Blankets! quo' he. Ay, blankets, quo' she. Far ha'e I ridden. And muckle ha'e I seen ; But buttons upon blankets Saw I never nane ! Ben gaed our gudeman. And ben gaed he ; ind there he spied a sturdy man, "Where nae man should be. How cam' this man here ? How can this be ? How cam' this man here, "V^'ithout the leave o' me ? A man ! quo' she ; Ay, a man, quo' he. ruir blind body. And blinder mat you Ve : It's but a new milkin' maid, My mither sent to me. A maid ! quo' he ; Ay, a maid, quo' she. Jar ha'e I ridden. And muckle ha'e I sceni But lang-bearded maidens Saw I never nane. Qt ^'atnuzx. [The first two stanzas of this song are by David Mailet (bom 1714; died 1765;) the other stanzas are generally ascribed to the Eev. Alex. Bktce, minister of Kirknewton (bom 1713 ; died 17S6.) Hallefs verses appeared in the Orpheus Caledonius, where they are directed to be sung "to a Scotch tune. The Birks of Endermay." 1 They are also given, with the tjtije additional ' stanzas, in the 4th vol. of the Tea Table Miscel- lany. "Invermay," says Mr Eobert Chambers, " is a small woody glen, watered by the rivulet May, which there joins the river Earn. It is about five miles above the bridge of Earn, and nearly nine from Perth. The seat of Mr. Belsches, the proprietor of this poetical region, and who takes firom it his territorial designation, stands at the bottom of the glen. Both sides of the little vale are completely wooded, chiefly with birches ; and it is altogether, in point of natural loveliness, a scene worthy of the attention of the amatory- muse. The course of the May is so sunk among rocks, that it cannot be seen, bat it can easily t-e traced in its progres by another sense. The pecu- liar sound which it makes in rushing through one particular part of its narrow, rugged, and tortuous channel, has occasioned the descriptive appella- tion of the Bumble-Bumble to be attached to that quarter of the vale. Invermay may be at once and correctly described as the fairest possible little miniature specimen of cascade scenery."] The smiling mom, the breathing spring. Invites the tunefa' birds to sing ; And, while they warble from the spray. Love melts the universal lay. Let us, Amanda, timely 'nise. Like them, improve the hour that iiies ; And in soft raptures waste the day, the birks of Invermay. For soon the winter of the year. And age, life's winter, will appear , At this thy living bloom will fade. As that wiU strip the verdant shade. Our taste of pleasure then is o'er. The feather'd songsters are no more ; And when they drop, and we decay, Adieu the birks of Invermay ! ;>;/ i i y, .-.V ^^i3^^S@*>^:^S^§5;gte^^i£^^:^«^Ji 45 SCOTTISH SONGS. The laverocks, now, and lintwhites sing. The rocks around with echoes ring ; The mavis and the blackbird vie. Id tuneful strains, to glad the day The woods now wear their summer suits ; To mirth all nature now invites : Let us be blythsome, then, and gay. Among the birks of Invermay. Behold the hills and vales around, AVith lowing herds and flocks abound ; The wanton kids and frisking lambs Gambol and dance around their dams . The busy I)e«, with humming noise. And all the reptile kind rejoice: Xet us, like them, then, sing and play About the birks of Invermay. Hark, how the watera, as they fall, Xoudly my love to gladness call ; The wanton waves sport in the beams, And fishes play throughout the strearas : The circling sun does now advance. And all the planets round him dance : Let us as jovial be as they. Among the birks of Invermav. %^t t|"? pos^r ^"^s^^nh. [This fine lyric is given in the first vol. of Ramsay's Tea Table Miscellany without any sig- nature, but it is the production of the accom- plished poet, William Hamilton of Bangour, (bom 1704; died 1754.) It was written to the tune of " Galashiels," and will be found with the music in the second volume of Johnson's Museum.] Ah, the jwor shepheixi's mournful fate, AATien doom'd to love and doom'd to languish. To bear the scornful fair one's hate, Nor dare disclose his anguish ! Tet eager looks and dying sighs Jfy secret soul discover. While rapture, trembling through mine eyes. Reveals how much I love her. The tender glance, the reddening cheek, O'erspread with rising blushes, A thousand various ways they speak A thousand various wishes. ; For, oh ! that fonn so heavenly fair. Those languid eyes so sweetly smiling, That artless blush and modest air So fatally beguiling; Tliy every look, and every grace. So charm, whene'er I ^iew thee, TUl death o'ertake me in the chase Still will my hopes pursue thee. Then, when my tedious hours are pa^t. Be this last blessing given. Low at thy feet to breathe my last. And die in sight of heaven. muWnm <&%u. [Of the author of this old song nothing is known, but it can be traced as far back as the days of Cli.arles II., before whom it was sung by John Aboil of the chapcl-royal, a celebrated singer of the period. Single sheets of it, with the music, were published in 1680. In the " Pills to Purge Melancholy," published about twenty years later, an inacciu^te reprint of it is given, and also another song to the same tune, called " Kath'rine Logic." Ramsay's version of it in the Tea Table ll'scellany differs only in a few words from the original, and is the one generally adopted.] As walking forth to view the plain. Upon a morning early, AVhile May's sweet scent did cheer my brain. From flowers which grew so rarely, I chanc'd to meet a pretty maid. She shin'd tho' it was foggie : I ask'd her name : Kind sh-, she said. My name is Kath'rine Ogie. I stood a while, and did admire. To see a nymph so stately: So brisk an iur there did appear In a country maid so neiitly : Such nat'ral sweetness she display'd. Like a lily In a bogie ; Diana's self was ne'er array'd Like this same Kath'rine Ogie. Thou flow'r of females, beauty's queen, VTho sees thee sure must prize thee ; Though thou art drest in robes but mean. Yet these cannot disguise thee ; S'm>^^^'im^^i^m^£^i^-^ SCOXIISH SO:SGS. 40 T! y handsome air and graceful look. Excels each clownish roguie ; Thoa'rt match for laird, or lord, or duke, My charming Kath'rine Ogie. O ! were I but some shepherd swain. To feed my flock beside thee ; At buchting-time to leave the plain, In milking to abide thee. I'd think myself a happier man, Wi' Kate, my club, and dogie, Than he that hugs his thousands ten. Had I but Kath'rine Ogie. Then I'd despise th' imperial throne. And statesmen's dang'rous statioi^: I'd be no king, I'd wear no crown, '' "C I'd smile at conqu'ring nations, fj A Slight I caress, and still possess ,i-^ This lass of whom I'm vogie * " For they're but toys, and stiU look !•: s^ Compar'd with Kath'rine Ogie. I fear for me is not decreed So fair, so fine a creature, "UTiose beauty rare makes her exceed All other works^ nature. Clouds of desfair surround my lore. That are both dark, and foggie ; Pity my case, ye Powers above ! I die for Kath'rine Ogie. [Burns thought the words of " Kath'rine Ogie" unworthy of so beautiful an air, and wrote his " Highland Mary" to the same tune. The story of Highland Mary is now familiar to all readers. In a letter to Thomson the poet says, " The sub- ject of the song is one of the most interesting passages of ir,y youthful days, and I own that I should be much flattered to see the verses set to an air which would ensure celebrity "] Te banks, and braes, and streams around The castle o' ^lontgomery. Green be your woods, and fair your flow'r;. Tour waters never drumlie ! There simmer first unfauld her robes. And there the langest tarry ! For there 1 took the last fareweel O' my sweet Highland Mary. How sweetly bloom'd the gay green b;rk. How rich the hawthorn's blossom. As underneath their fragrant shade, I clasp'd her to my bosom ! The golden hours, on angel wings. Flew o'er me and my dearie ; For dear to me as light and life Was my sweet Highkind Mary. Wi' monie a vow, and lock'd embrace, Our parting was fu' tender; And pledging aft to meet again. We tore ourselves asunder : But, oh ! fell death's untimely frost. That nipt my flower so early ! Kow green's the sod, and cauld's the clay Ihat wTaps my Highland Mary ! O pale, pale now those rosy lips I aft ha'e kiss'd sae fondly I And clos'd for aye the sparkling glan.'e That dwelt on me sae kindly ; And mouldering now in silent dust, That heart that lo'ed me dearly : But still within my bosom's core Shall live my Highland Mary. im^ £^mHm, [Wbittex by Burns early in life, and after- wards sent to George Thomson, to be inserti-.! in his collection, to the tune of "Bide ye yet." Hazlitt somewhere quotes the second stanza of this song as one of extreme beauty.] O, Mart, at thy window be ; It is the wished, the tr>'sted hour : Those smiles and glances let me see That make the miser's treasure poor. How blytheiy wad I bide the stoure, A weary slave from sun to sun. Could I the rich reward secure. The lovely Mary Morison.' Yestreen, when to the stented strrs The dance gaed through the lichtit li:\', To thee my fancy took its wing — I sat, but neither heard nor saw. Though this was fair, and that was brr sv And yon the toast o' a' the town, I sigh'd, and said anuang them a'. Ye are na Mary Morison. "^^ ^^L^"^^ r 50 SCOTTISH SONGS. O, Mary, canst thou wreck his peace, AVnia for thy sake wad gladly dee ? Or canst thou break that heart of his, A^'hase only faut is loving thee ? If love for love thou wilt na gi'e. At least be pity to me sho^ii , A thocht ungentle canna be The thocht of Mary ilorison. [" Jkanie Morrison," by the late lamented ■\Vii,i,iAM Motherwell, was first published in T;i',fs Edinburgh Magazine, and was immediately !:ailtd by all parties as one of the truest and tender- tst effusions of the Scottish lyrical muse which mo- dern days have produced. I*Ir. Motherwell was a native of the Barony parish of Glasgow, where he ivas !,orn on the 13th October, 1797. He long held an otficial situation in Paisley as deputy Sheriff-clerk, ■■ ut latterly became editor of the Glasgow Courier i; :\vspaper, which he conducted till his death, ■^■•hich took place suddenly on the 1st Kovember, 1>'.>T). His " Poems, Narrative and Lyrical," were published at Glasgow in 1832, 12mo.] VvE wander'd east, I've wander'd west, Through mony a weary way ; Tint never, never, can forget The luve o' life's young day ! The; fire that's blawn on Beltane e'en. May weel be black gin Yule ; But blacker fa' awaits the heart ■^Tiere first fond luve grows cule. O dear, dear Jeanie Jlorrison, The thochts o' bygane years Still fling their shadows ower my path. And blind my e'en wi' tears : Thpy blind my e'en wi' saut, saut tears. And sair and sick I pine, As memory idly summons up The blithe blinks C langsyne. ■Tw.?s then we luvit ilk ither weel, •Twas then we twa did part ; Swoet time — sad time ! twa bairns at schule, Twa bairns, and but ae heart '. 'Twas then we aat on ae laigh bink. To leir ilk ither lear; A nd tones, and looks, and smiles were shed, Rcmember'd ever mair. 1 wonder, Jeanie, aften yet, ■WTien sitting on that bink. Cheek touchin' cheek, loof lock'd in loof. What our wee heads could think ? ■Wlien baith bent doun ower ae braid page Wi' ae bulk on our knee. Thy lips were on thy lesson, but My lesson was in thee. Oh mind ye how we hung our heads, How cheeks brent red wi' sliame, "VMiene'er the schule-weans, laughin', sail. We cleek'd thegither hame ? And mind ye o' the Saturdays, (The schule then skail't at noon), TSlien we ran aff to speel the braes — The broomy braes o' June ? My head rins round and round alwut, My heart flows like a sea. As ane by ane the thochts rush back O' schule-time and o' thee. Oh, mornin' life ! Oh, mornin' luve ! Oh, lichtsome days and lang, "VMien hinnied hopes around our hearts. Like simmer blossoms, sprang ! • O mind ye, luve, how aft we left The deavin' dinsome toun. To wander by the green burnside. And hear its water croon ; The simmer leaves hung ower our heads, The flowers burst round our feet. And in the gloamin' o' the wud. The throssil whusslit sweet. The throssil whusslit in the wud, The bum sung to the trees. And we, with Nature's heart in tune. Concerted harmonies ; And on the knowe abune the burn, Tor hours thegither sat In the sUentness o' joy, till baitli Wi' very gladness grat ! Aye, aye, dear Jeanie Morrison, Tears trinkled down your clietk. Like dew-beads on a rose, yet nunc Had ony power to speak ! That was a time, a blessed time, ■\Mien hearts were fresh and young. When freely gush'd all feelings forth, Unsyllabiod — unsung ! ^^ SCOTTISH SONGS. 51 I marvel, Jeanie Morrison, Gin I ha'e been to thee As closely twined wi' earliest thochts As ye ha'e been to me ? Oh ! tell me gin their music fills Thine ear as it does mine ; Oh ! say gin e'er your heart grows grit "VVi' dreamings o' langsyne ? I've wander'd east, I've wander'd west, •['ve borne a weary lot ; But in my wanderings, tar or near. Ye never were forgot. The fount that fii^t burst frae this heart, StiH travels on its way ; And channels deei)er as it nns The luve o' life's young clay. dear, dear Jeanie Morrison, Since we were sinder'd young, I've never seen your face, nor heard The music o' your tongue ; But I could hug aU wretchedness. And happy could I die. Did I but ken your heart still dream "d 0' bygane days and me 1 [Wbittek by the celebrated Dr. Smollett. The subject of these verses is thought to have been Miss Anne Lascelles, whom the author met vith in the West Indies, and afterwards made his ife] ■^HEX the rough north forgets to howl. And ocean's billows cease to roll ; When Lybian sands are bound in frost. And cold to Kova Zembla's lost ; ■When heavenly bodies cease to move. My blue-eyed Anne I'll cease to love. Xo more shall flowers the meads adorn, >'or sweetness deck the rosy thorn, :N'or swelling buds proclaim the spring, >'or parching heats the dog -star bring, Xor laughing lilies paint the grove, "\\'hen blue-eyed Anne I cease to love. iN'o more shall joy in hope be found, Xor pleasures dance their froUc round, Nor love's hght god inhabit earth, ii or beauty give the passion birth. Xor heat to snnuner-sunshine cleave. When blue-eyed Uanny I deceive. ■fMien rolling seasons cease to change. Inconstancy forgets to range ; "VMien lavish May no more shall bloom, Kor gardens yield a rich perfvime. When nature from her sphere shall st-irt, I'll tear my Xanny fixim my heart. [Wkittbn by Bcr.vs, for Johnson's Museum, to the tune of " Such a parcel of rogues in a na- tion." The song rsfers to the disgraceful manner in which the union of Scotland with England was effected, by the bribery of many of the Scot- tish nobles. The beneficial effects of the Union were long in developing themselves — indeed, for nearly the first fiifty years, Scotland was positively injured by it ; but, apart from this, Bums, like all true-hearted Scotsmen, could never think of the loss of his country's independence without a sigii of regret.] Fabewebl to a' our Scottish fame, Fareweel our ancient glory ; Fareweel even to the Scottish niune, Sae fam'd in martial story ! !Now Sark rins o'er the Solway sands, And Tweed rins to the ocean. To mark where EngLind's province stin Is : Such a parcel of rogues in a nation '. "What force or guile could not subdue. Thro' many warlike ages. Is wrought now by a coward few. For hireling ts-aitors' wages. The English steel we could disdain. Secure Ln valour's station ; But EngUsh gold has been our bane : Such a parcel of rogues in a nation ; O would, ere I had seen the day That treason thus could sell us, 3Iy auld grey head had lien in clay, Wi' Bruce and loyal Wallace ! But p'.th and power, Ull my last hour I'U make this declaration, We're bought and sold for English gold : Such a parcel of rogues in C nation : SCuxTlsH riONGls. tol^w, Ull m^ i&'tut. [ \Vr jTTKN for George Thomson's collection by Mrs. Grant of Laggan, on the Marquis of Huntly's ' departure for the continent with his regiment in 1799. Tune, " The Blue Bell of Scotland."] Oh where, tell me where, is your Highland laddie gone ? O where, tell me where, is your Highland laddie gone ? He's gone with streaming banners, where noble deeds are done. And my sad heart will treiiible till he come safely home. O ■where, tell me where, did your Highland laddie stay ? O where, tell me where, did your Highland laddie stay ? He dwelt beneath the holly trees, beside the rapid Spey, And many a blessing foUow'd him, the day he went away. O what, tell me what, docs your Highland laddie wear ? O what, tell me what, does your Highland laddie wear ? A bonnet with a lofty plume, the gallant badge of war. And a plaid across the manly breast that yet shall wear a star. / Suppose, ah suppose, that some cruel, cruel wound Should pierce your Highland laddie, and all your hopes confound ! The pipe would play a cheering march, the banners round him fly, The spirit of a Highland chief would lighten in his eye. But I will hope to soc him yet in Scotland's bonnie bounds. But I will hope to see him yet in ScotUind's bonnie bounds. His native land of liberty shall nurse his glorious wounds, AVhile wide through all our Higliland hills his warlike name resound?. [The following is another version of the song by an unknown hand.] O WHERE, and O where, does your Higliland laddie dwell P O where, and O where, docs your Highland laddie dwell ? He dwells in merry Scotland, where the blue-bells sweetly smell, And oh, in my heart I love my laddie well. wliat, l.issie, what does your Highland laddie wear ? O what, lassie, what does your Highland laddie wear ? A scarlet coat and bannet blue, with bonnie yellow hair ; And nane in the warld can wi' my love compare. O where, and O where, is your Highland laddie gane ? O where, and O where, is your Highland laddie gane ? He's gone to fight for George, our king, and left us all aim..- ; For noble and brave's my loyal Highlandman. SCOTTISH SOKG.-. 53 O what, lassie, -what, if your Highland lad be slain ? O what, lassie, what. If your Highland lad be slain ? O no ! true love will be his guard, and bring him safe again ; For I never could live without my Highlandman ! O when, and when, will your Highland lad come haioe ? O when, and O when, will your Highland lad come hame ? Whene'er the war is over, he'll return to me with &me ; And I'll plait a wreath of fiowers for my lovely Highlandmaii. O what will you claim for your constancy to him ? O what wiU you claim for your constancy to him ? I-U claim a priest to marry ns, a clerk to say Amen ; And I'U ne'er part again from my bonnie Highlandman. ^l? ^ztttiif) Mm mdH. [Whi TTES by the late Chahles DorKK Sillekt. The Music by George Barke •. Let the proud Indian boast of his jessamine bowers. His pastures of perfume, and rose-covered dells; AVhile humbly I sing of those wild little flowers. The blue beUs of Scotland, the Scottish blue bells. "Wave, wave your dark plumes, ye proud sons of the mountaiii, Tor brave is the chieftain your prowess who quells. And dreadful your wrath as the foam-flashing fountain. That palnnt i its wild waves 'mid the Scottish blue beUs. Then strike the loud harp to the land of the river. The mountain, the valley, with all their wild speUs, And shout in the chorus for ever and ever. The blue bells of Scotland, the Sc-ottish blue bells. Sublime are your hills when the young day is beraning. And green are your groves with their cool crystal wells. And bright are your broadswords, like morning dews gleanijv On blue bells of Scotland, on Scottish blue bells. Awake ! ye light fairies that trip o'er the heather. Ye mermaids, arise &t)m your coralline cells. Come forth with your chorus all ciianting together. The blue bells of Scotland, the Scottish blue bells. Then strike the loud h.irp to the land of the river. The mountain, the valley, with all their wild spells. And shout in the chorus for ever and ever. The blue beUs of Scotland, the Scottish blue bells. 51 SCOTTISH SONGS. U'OiiB iti^eif^cin, mg p. [Written by Burns in 17S9, for Johnson's Sluseum, to a very old tune, called John Anderson, m'ow we maun totter down, John, But hand in hand we'll go. And we'U sleep thegither at the foot, John Anderson, my jo. [In a collection of " Poetry, original and select- ed," published in penny Nos. between the years 1795 and 1798, by Messrs. Brash & Reid, Glasgow, and now very scarce, several additional stanzas to "John Anderson, my jo," are given, which were probably from the pen of one of the partners, Mr. AViLi.iAM Keid, who, as we have already hinted at page 3, had a knack in eking out popu- lar ditties. Mr. Reid was bom at Glasgow in 1764, and for nearly thirty years cai'ried on in his native city a most respectible bookselling business, in company with Mr. Brash. He died in 1831. Only the first four of the following stanzas can be fairly attributed to him.] John Anderson, my jo, John, 1 wonder what ye mean. To rise sae early in the morn. And sit sae late at e'en ; Yb'll blear out a' your een, John, And why should you do so ? Gang sooner to your bed at e'en, John Anderson, my jo. John Anderson, my jo, John, A\'hen nature first began To try her canny hand, John, Her master-piece was man ; And ycu amang them a', John, Sae trig frae tap to toe. She proved to be nae journej-man, John Anderson, my jo. John Anderson, my jo, John, Ye were my first conceit, And ye need na think it strange, John, That I ca' ye trhn and neat ; Though some folks say ye're auld, John, I never think ye so. But I think ye'ie aye tlie same to me, John Anderson, my jo. John Anderson, my jo, .John, We've seen our bau-ns' bairns, And yet, my dear John Anderson, , , I'm happy in your arms, And sae are ye in mine, John, I'm sure ye'll ne'er say no, Tho' the days are gane tliat we have seen, John Anderson, my jo, John Anderson, my jo, John, AVTiat pleasure does it gi'e. To see sae many sprouts, John, Spring up 'tween you an" me ; And ilka lad and lass, John, In our footsteps to go. Makes perfect heaven here on eartli, John Anderson, my jo. John Anderson, my jo, John, Our siller ne'er was rife, And yet we ne'er saw poverty. Sin' we were man and wife'; SCOTTISH SONGS. We've aye haen bit and brat, JoliB, Great blessings here below. And that helps to keep peace at hame, John Anderson, my jo. John Anderson, my jo, John, The world lo'es us baith Wo ne'er spak' ill o' neibours, John, -> or did them ony skaith ; To live in peace and quietness Was a' our care, ye know, And I'm sure they'll greet when we are < John Anderson, my jo. Jolin Anderson, my jo, John, Frae year to year we've past. And soon that year maun come, John, Will bring xis to our last; But let na that affright, John, Our hearts were ne'er our foe, "UTiile in innocent delight we've Uved, John Anderson, my jo. John Anderson, my jo, John, And when the time is tome. That we, like it er auld f.lk, John, 3Iaxm sink into the tomb, A motto we will ha'e, my John, To let the world imow. We happy lived, contented died, John Anderson, my jo. 01^ %m% ^^m. [Thb following are the earliest known verses to the old air of " Auld Lang Syne." They are from Watson's collection of Scots Poems, part III., pubhshed in 1716. The words " Old Long Syne," used here throughout, sound ludicrously to the ear accustomed to the Doric "Auld Lang Syne."] PART FIRST. SnouLD old acquaintance be forgot. And never thought upon. The flames of love extinguished. And freely past and gone ? Is thy kind heart now grown so cold In that loving breast of thine, That thou canst never once reflect On old long syne ? Where are thy prottstatiins. Thy vows, and oaths, my dear. Thou mad'st to me and I to thee. In register yet clear ? Is faith and truth so violate To th' immortal gods divine, That thou canst never once reflect On old long syne ? Is't Cupid's fears, or Srcsty cares. That makes thy spirits decay ? Or is't some object of more worth That's stolen thy heart away ? Or some desert makes thee neglect Him, so much once was thine. That thou canst never once reflect On old long syne ? Is't worldly cares, so desperate. That m akes thee to despair ? Is't that makes thee exasperate. And makes thee to forbear ? If thou of that were free as I, Thou surely should be mine ; If this were true, we should renew Kind old long syne. But since that nothing can prevail. And ail hope is in vain, From these dyected eyes of mine Still showers of tears shall rain : And though thou hast me now f. rgi.t, Tet I'll continue thine. And ne'er forget for to reflect On old long syne. If e'er I have a house, my dear. That truly is call'd mine. And can afford but country cheer, Or ought that's good therein ; Though th u wert rebel to the king. And beat with wind and rain. Assure thyself of welcome, love. For old long syne. PART S2C0SD. My soul is ravish'd with delight When you I think upon ; All griefs and sorrows take their flight. And hastily are gone ; The fair resemblance of your ta.ce So fills this breast of mine, >'o fate nor force can it displace. For old long sj-ue. SCOTTISH SONGt Since tlioughts of you do banish grivf, When I'm fix)m you removed ; And if in them I find relief, ■\Vhen with sad cares I'm mov^ d, Uow doth your presence me affect With ecstasies divine, I'specially when I refiect On old long sjne. Since thou hast robb'd me of my heart. By those resistless powers "\S"hJch Madam Nature doth impai-t To those fair eyes of yours. With honour it doth not consist To hold a slave in pjiie ; Pray let your rigour, then, dcslit, For old long syne. 'Tis not my &«edom I do crave. By deprecating pains ; Sure, Uberty he would not have \^'ho glories in his chains : 13ut this I wish — the gods would move That noble soul of thina To pity, if thou canst not love. For old long syne. %n\h %m% §gTie, [Wkitte.v by Kamsay, and published in the first vol. of his Tea-Table Miscellany, 17S1.] .Should auld acquaintance be forgot. Though they return with scars ? These are the noble hero's lot. Obtain 'd in glorious wars : Welcome, my Yaro, to my breast. Thy arms about me twine. And make me once again as blest. As I wias lang sj-ne. 3Iethinks around us on each bough, A thousand Cupids play. Whilst through the groves I walk with ycu. Each object makes me gay . Since your return the sun and moon With brighter beams do shine. Streams murmur soft notes while they run. As they did lang sj-ne. i Despise the court and din of stit*; ; Let thiit to their share fall. Who can esteem such slaverj- great, Wliile bounded like a ball : But sunk in love, upon my arms Let your brave head recUne, AVe'U please ourselves with mutual chan As we did lang syne. O'er moor and dale, with your gay frietv You may pursue the chace. And, after a bly the bottle, end All cares in my embrace : And in a vacant rainy day You shall be wholly mine ; We'll make the hours run smooth nw. v, And laugh at lang sj-ne. The hero, pleased with the sweet air. And signs of generous love. Which had been utter'd by the fair, Bow'd to the powers above : Xext day, with consent and glad hast". They approach'd the sacred shrine ; ^^"here the good priest the couple bkst. And put them out of pine. fcte %un% ^^m. [The following is the version of " Auld Lang S}-ne" which Burns communicated to Johnson's I Museum, and which has since become so univer- sal a lavourite. In the Museum it is marke«i : with a Z, signifying that it is an old song with I additions and altemtions. In his correspondent* I both with Mrs. Dunlop and JLr. Thomson, Bums j says that he took the syng down from the singing ! of an old man— and we are inclined to believe j this partiaUy. The first, fourth, and fifth verses seem fragments of an old ditty : the second and third verses betray the tenderness and sentiment j of the poet himself. Had Burns been the sole j author of the song, we cannot see how he would have spoken with such raptures regarding it. " Light be the turf," he says, " on the breast of the heaven-inspired poet ■who composed this glo- rious fragment!" — The air to which " Auld Lang Syne" is now generally sung is not the originiJ one, which Burns pronoimced to be mediocre, but f) SCOTTISH SONGS. one adopted from an old Lowland tnelodyj called " I fee'd a lad at Michaelmas," and now entitled in GoWs collection of Reels, " Sir Alexander I'on's strathspey."] Should auld acquaintance te forgot. And never brought to min' ? Should auld acquaintance oe forgot. And days o' lang syne ? For auld lang sj-ne, my dear. For auld lang syne. We'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet. For auld king syne. AVe twa ha'e run about the braes. And pu'd the gowans fine ; But we've wander'd mony a weary fit, .Sin' auld lang syne. "VVe twa ha'e paid'lt in the bum, Frae morning sxm till dine ; Bat seas between us braid ha'e roar'd. Sin' aiild lang syne. And there's a hand, my trusty frien'. And gi'e's a haud o' thine ,- And we'U tak' a richt gude-wiUie waught. For auld lang syne. And surely ye'U be your pint-stoup. And surely I'll be mine; And we'U tak' a cup o' kindness yet. For auld lang svne. ®|)? @sm|;fi?!!g &x$ ttmin^. [The following words are given in Johnson's aiuseum to the well-known tune of " The Camp- bells are ccming." From the mention of Loch- leven, they are absurdly supposed by some to belong to the days of Queen Mary's imprisonment there. They were with much greater probability composed when "the great Argyle and a' his men " marched, northward to suppress the insur- rection of 1715.] Upon the Lomonds I Uw, I Icy j Upon the Lcmonds I lay; I lookit doun to bonnie Lochleven, And saw three perches play. The Campbells are coming, &c. Great Argyle he goes before He makes the cannons and guns to roar; "With sound of trumpet, pije, and drum ; The Campbe'ils are coming, 0-ho. 0-ho : The Campbells they are a' in ancs. Their loyal faith and truth to show. With banners rattling in the vsind ; The Campbells are coming, 0-ho, 0-ho! 'fe-l T.HE Campbells are coming, 0-ho, 0-ho ! The Campbells are coming, 0-ho ! T'ne Campbells are coming to bonnie Loohleven ! X'aa Campbells are coming, O-bo, 0-ho ! [Writtex by Hugh Ainsmk to the tone of ;. " The Campbells are coming."] -;' . I.N- the Nick o' the Balloch lived iluirland Tain, Weel stentit wi' brcchan and braxie-ham ; » " A breist Uke a buird, and a back like a door, ^ And a wapping wame that hung down afore. Eut what's come ower ye, Muirland Tarn ? For your leg's now grown like a wheel-barrcw ^ tram; J '' Tour e'e it's faan in — your nose it's feua out, And the skin o' your cheek's like a dirty clout. ance, like a yaud, ye spankit the bent, Wi' a fecket sae fii', and a stocldng sae stent. The strength o' a stot— the wecht o' a cow; Now, Tammy, my man, ye're grown like a git ■.\ . 1 mind sin' the blink o' a canty quean Could watered your mou and liehtit your ecn ; r.^ , Jfow ye leak like a yowe, when ye should be a ram ; r - O what can be wrang vti' ye, iluirland Tarn ? Has some dowg o' the jirth set your gear abreed ? • ' Ha'e they broken your heart or broken your head .^ , ■ Ha'e they raekit wi' rungs or kittled wi' steel ? Or, Tammy, my nmn, ha'e ye seen the deij ? Wha ance was your match at a stoup and a tale ? Wi" a voice like a sea, and a drouth like a whaV> ? Now ye peep like a powt; yeglumphandyegaunt; ^ Oh, Tammy, my man, are ye turned a saunt ^ oi> SCOTTISH SO>'G.S. Come, lowse your heai-t, ye man o' the muir; "\V"e tell our distress ere we look for a cure : There's laws for a wTrang, and sa's for a sair ; Sae, Tammy, my man, what wad ye ha'e mair ? Oh ! neebour, it neither was thresher nor thief, That deepened my e'e, and lichtened my beef; But the word that makes me sae waefu' and wan. Is— Tarn o' the Ballocb's a married man ! Mx%2 d Mulhu. [Thomas Campbell.] TiiEY lighted a taper at the dead of night. And chaunted their hoUest hymn ; But her brow and her bosom were damp with a£fright. Her eye was all sleepless and dim, — ,\ nd the lady of Elderslie wept for her lord. When a death-watch beat in her lonely room, ■\Vlien her cm-tain had shook of its oivn accord, Ai!'i) anthem was sung at his -holy deathbed, >'o weeping there was when his bosom bled. And his heart was rent in twain. Oh ! it was not thus when his oaken spear Was true to the knight forlorn. And hosts of a thousand were scattered, like deer At the sound of the huntsman's horn } ■-'^Vrhea he strode o'er the wreok of each \Tell fought field, "With the yellow-hair'd chiefs of his native land ; For his lance was not shiver'd, or helmet, or shield. And the sword that seem'd St for Archangel to wield. Was light in his terrible hand. But, bleeding and bound, though the %^'allace wight For his much lov'd country die. The bugle ne'er sung to a braver Knight I Than Wallace of Elderslie. But the day of his glorj- shall never depart. His head unintomb'd shall with glory be palm'rl, From his blood-streaming altar his spirit slnii start, I Tho" the raven has fed on his mouldering heart, I A nobler was never embalm'd. WsSkce'^ Eamrdit, [Written by Tax.vaiiill, to tJiL " Maids of Arrochar."] Thou dark winding Carron once pleasing to see. To me thou can'st never give pleasure again, My brave Caledonians lie low on the lea. And thy streams are deep ting'd with the blood of the slain. 'Twas base-hearted treach'ry that doom'd our undoing, — My poor bleeding country, what more can I do ? Even valour looks pale o'er the red field of ruin, And freedom beholds her best warriors laid low. Farewell, ye dear partners of peril • farewell ! Tho" buried ye lie in one wide bloody grave. Your deeds shall ennoble the place where ye fell, And your names be enroU'd with the sons of the brave. But I, a poor outcast, in exile must wander, Perhiips, like a traitor, ignobly must die ! On thy wTongs, O my countrj- ! indignant I pon- der. — Ah ! wo to the hour when thy WalUice must %; scoxnsH S0>-G3. [Music arranged by Finlay Dnn, and John Thomson.] Oh, Rowan tree 1 Oh, Eowan tree ! thou'lt aye be dear to ir.e, IntKined thou art wi' mony ties, o' hame and infancy ; Thy leaves were aye the first C spring, thy fioWrs the simmer's pride. There was nae sic a bonnie tree, in a' the countrie side. Oh, Eowan tree ! &c. How fair wert thou in simmer time, wi' a' thy clusters white. How rich and gay thy autumn dress, wi' berries red and bright, ^^'e sat aneath thy spreading shade, the baimies roimd thee ran ; They pu'd thy bonnie berries red, and necklaces they Strang. Oh, Eowan tree ! &c. On thy fair stem were mony names, which new nae mair I see. But they're engraven on my heart, forgot they ne'er can be ! My mother ! oh ! I see her still, she smil'd our sports to see ; Wi' little Jeanie on her lap, wi' Jamie at her knee ! Oh, Bowan tree ! &c. Oh ! there arose my father's prayer, in holy evening's calm. How sweet was then my mothers voice, in the Alartyr's psalm ; i^ow a' are gane ! we meet nae mair aneath the Eowan tree. But hallowed thoughts around thee twine o' hame and infancy. Oh, Eowan tree ! &c. ^1? limig^snf ^ ©or^plaht. L^'OBDs by E. Gii.rii.LAX, Composed by P. iI'Leod.] Oh, why left I my hame ? Why did I cross the deep ? Oh, why left I the land where my forefathers sleep ? I sigh for Scotia's shore, and I gaze across the sea. But I canna get a blink o' my ain countrie. The palm-tree waveth high, and fair the myrtle spring?, And to the Indian maid the bulbul sweetly sings ; But I dinna see the broom wi' its tassels on the lea, Kor hear the lintie's sang o' my ain countrie. Oh : here no Sabbath bell awakes the Sabbath mom, Nor song of reapers heard among the yellow com : For the tj-rant's voice is here, and the wail of sLiverie ; But the sun of freedom shines in rcy ain counhie. There's a hope for every woe, and a balm for ev'ry pain. But the first joys of our heart come never back again. There's a track upon the deep, and a path across the sea. But the weary ne'er return to their ain countrie. CO 1 ^tiram'^ II Ih|\ ["These two stanzas," says Burns, "I com- posed when I was abi.ut seventeen. They are among the oldest of my printed pieces." They are given in Johnson's Museum, adapted to an old air harmonized by Stephen Clarke.] I DREAM'D I lay where flowers were springing. Gaily in the sunny beam ; List'ning to the wild birds singing. By a falling, crystal stream : Straight the sky grew black and daring ; Through the woods the whirlwinds rave ; Trees with aged arms were warring O'er the swelling, drumlie wave. Such was my life's deceitful morning, 1 Such the pleasures I enjoy'd: But lang or noon, loud tempests storming A' my flow'ry bliss destroy'd. . Though 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. f^iemmg*^ Mafeil^$i?. I. [The following fragment, to the favourite old reel tune of " Jenny's Bawbee," is all that has I ome down to us of the original song. It is given \u Herd's collection, 2J edition, 1776] Akd a' that e'er my Jenny had. My Jenny had, my Jenny had ; And a' that e'er my Jenny liad. Was ae bawbee. There's your plack, and my plack And your plack, and my plack. And my plack, and your plack. And Jenny's bawbee. We'll put it in the pint-stoup. The pint-stoup, the pint-stoup, "We'll put it in the pint-stoup. And birle 't a' three. II. [The composition of Sir Alexander Boswri.i, Bart, of Auchinleck, and excellently adapted to the old tune. It was originally published by tha author in 1803, and afterxvards presented to , George Thomson for insertion in his collection of Scottish Melodies. The last stanza did not appear in the early copies of the song. "Whether or not - added by the author himself has not been ascer- ,, tained. Su: Alexander was the eldest son of the . well-known biographer of Dr. Johnson, and was bom in 1775. He died on the 27th March, 1822, . from a wound received in a duel, the previoxis day, ij ^ with James Stuart, Esq. younger of Duneam. ( 'jj The duel arose in consequence of a political squib *- -V which Sir Alexander had sent to the Glasgow Sen- -^ tinel, a high-tory paper of short-lived existence.] I MET four chaps yon birks amang, "Wi" hinging lugs and faces iang : I spiered at neebour Bauldy Strang, "Wlia's they I see ? Quo' he, ilk cream-faced pawky chitl, Thought he was cunning as the deil. And here they cam', awa' to steal Jenny's bawbee. ^l^J The first, a Captain to his trade, irtu "Wi' skull ill -lined, but back weel-clad, 1^)) March'd round the bam, and by the shed, VX/ And papped on his kaiee : ^f." Quo' he, " My goddess, nymph, and queen. ' " * "Vour beauty's dazzled baith my een!" But deil a beauty he had seen But — Jenny's bawbee. A Lawyer neist, wi' blatherin gab, "Wlia speeches wove like ony wab. In ilk ane'^^rn aye took a dab, ALliH|<.for a fee. Accounts h»nred through a' the toun. And tradesipeh's tongues nae mair couid dn ami , But now he thocht to clout his gouu Wi' Jenny's bawbee. A Norland Laird neist trotted up, "Wi* bawsand nag and siller whip. Cried, " There's my beast, lad, baud the grup. Or tie 't till a tree: "WTiat's gowd to mc ?— I've walth o' Lin' ! Bestow on ane o' worth your lian' !" — He thocht to pay what he was arvn ■f "Wi' Jenny's bawbee. SCOTTISH SONGS. 61 f^ Drest up just like the knave o'clubs, A THING came neist, (but life has rubs,) Foul were the roads, and fu' the dubs. And jaupit a' was he. He danced up, squinting through a gla>s. And grinn'd, "I' faith, a bonnie lass !" He thought to vnn, wi' front o' brass, Jenny's bawbee. She bade the Laird gae kame his wig. The Sodger no to strut sae big. The La-n-yer no to be a prig. The Fool he cried, " Tehee ! I kenu'd that I could never fail !" But she preen'd the dishclout to his tvA, And soused him in the water -pail. And kept her bawbee. Then .Johnnie cam', a lad o' sense. Although he had na mony pence ; And took young Jenny to the spence, T^'i' her to crack a wee. Now .Johnnie was a clever chielj And here his suit he press'd sae weel. That Jenny's heart grew saft as jeel, And she birled her bawbee. III. [This is another set of verses to the old tune of "Jenny's Bawbee," and is directed to be sung slow. It is said to be the composition of a clergy- !nan in Galloway, and was first printed in Robert Chambers' collection of " Scottish Songs," Edin- burgh, 1S27.] AVhex gloamin o'er the welkin steels. And brings the plouglunan frae the fiel's, Oh, Jenny's cot, amang the shiels. Is aye the hame to me. To meet wi' her my heart is fain, And parting gi'es me meikle pain ; A queen and throne I would disdain For Jenny's ae bawbee* Tho' braws she has na mony feck, Nae riches to command respec'. Her rosy Up and lily neck !Mair pleasure gi'e to me. I see her beauties, prize them a", Wi' heart as pure as new-blawn snaw ; I'd prize her cot before a ha', Wi' Jenny's ae bawbee. Nae daisy, vsi' its lovely fonn. Nor dew-drap shining frae the com, Nor echo frae the distant horn. Is half sae sweet to me ! And if the lassie were my ain. For her I'd toil through wind and r; And gowd and siller X would gain Wi' Jenny's ae bawbee. [In the Tea-Table Miscellany, Eamsay has a song " to the tune of Tibbie Fowler in the Glen," which proves that the air, at least, is old. A fragment of the words is given in Herd's coUeetion of 1776, but the first complete copy appeared in the 5th vol. of Johnson's Museum. The author- ship has been ascribed to a " Kev. Dr. Strathan, late minister of Camwath;" but David Laing says that there has been no minister of Camwath of that name for at least the last three hundred years.] Tibbie Fowlf.k o' the Glen, There's ower mony wooing at her ; Tibbie Fowler o' the Glen, There's ower mony wooing at her. Wooin' at her, pu'in' at her, Ccurtin' her, and canna get iier ; Filthy elf, it's for her pelf That a' the lads are wooin* at l:er. Ten cam' east, and ten cam' west ; Ten cam' rowin' ower the water ; Twa cam' down the lang dyke-side : There's twa-and-thirty wooin' at her. There's seven but, and seven ben. Seven in the pantry wi' her ; Twenty head about the door : There's ane-and forty wooin' at her ' She's got pcndles in her lugs ; Cockle-shells wad set her better ! Hijrh-heel'd shoon, and siller tags , And a' the lads are wooin' at her. Be a lasiie e'er sae black. Gin she ha'e the name o' siller. Set her up on Tintock tap. The wind will blaw a man till her. SCOTTISH SONGS. Du a lassie e'er so fair. An' she want tlie penny siller, A flie may fell her in the air, Before a man be even'd till her. [The following is Ramsay's song to the tune of " Tibbie Fowler C the Glen." It resembles the same author's version of " Bessy Bell and Jilary Gray," In the poet affecting to be in a dilemma as to which of two beauties he should choose. Ramsay's love-passion seems to have par- taken much of Captain Macheath's liberal style of Worship : — " How happy could I be with either!"] TiBBY has a store o' eha~ms, Her geuty shape our fancy warms ; How strangely can her sma' white arms Fetter the lad who looks but at her ; Fra'er ancle to her slender waste. These sweets conceal'd invite to da'n-t her ; Her rosy cheek, and rising breast, Gar ane's mouth gush bowt fu' o' water. NeHy's gawsy, saft and g.iy. Fresh as the lucken flowers in May ; lilt ane that sees her, cries. Ah hey. She's bonny ! I wonder at her. The dimples of her chin and cheek. And limbs sae plump invito to dawt her; Her lips sae sweet, and skin sae sleek. Gar mony mouths beside mine water. Now strike my finger in a bore, >Iy wyson with the maiden shore, ti in I can tell whilk I am for, ■NVhen thesj twa st.ars appear thegither. love ! why does thou gi'e thy fires Sae large, while we're oblig'd to neither ? Our spacious sauls immense desires. And aye be in a hankerin" swither. Tibby's shape and airs are fine. And Nelly's beauties are divine : But since they canna baith be mine, Ye gods, give car to my petition : Frovide a good lad for the tane. But let it be with this provision, 1 get the other to my lane. In prosjiect plaito and fruition. mmk Wagitk. [Wkitten by Burns for Johnson's Museum, and adapted to a tune called " The Eight Men of Aloidart." It is also given in Thomson's collec- tion, to the tune of " Tibbie Fowler o' the Glen."J ■\Vii.LiK Wastle dwalt on Tweed, The spot they ea'd it Linkumdoddie ; "WiUie was a wabster gude, Cou'd stown a clue wi' ony bodie ; He had a wife was dour and din, O Tinkler Madgie was her mither ; Sic a wife as Willie had, I wadna gi'cn a button for her. She has an e'e, she has but ane. The cat has twa the very colour ; Five rusty teeth forbye a stump, A clapper tongue wad deave a milkr; A whiskin beard about her mou'. Her nose and chin they tlireaten ither ; Sic a wife, &e. She's bow-hough'd, she's hein-shin'd, Ae limpin' leg a hand -breed shorter ; She's twisted right, she's twisted left. To balance fair on ilka quarter : She has a huaip upon her breast, The twin o' that upon her shouther , Sic a wife, &c. Auld baudrans by the ingle sits, An' wi' her loof her Cicc a w.nshin"; But 'Willie's wfe is nae sae trig, .She dights her grunzie wi' a hushion. Her wallie nieves like midden-creels. Her face wad fjie the Logan-water : Sic a wife, &c. JE^ afe ^mt %un^> [Words by T. Smibert. Music by Mr. Shrivall. BONNIE are the hows. And sunny are the knowes 'Xlaat fed the kye and yows. Where my life's morn dawn'd ; "^ SCOTTISH SOXGS. 03 And brightly glanced the rills. That spring amang the hills, 'And ca' the merrie mills In my ain dear land. bonnie are the hows, kc. Bat now I canna see The lammies on the lea, >"or hear the heather bee On this far, far, strand; I see nae father's ha', ^''or bumie's water-£a'. But wander far awa' Frae my air dear land. O bonnie are the hows, &c. But blythely wUl I bide, A^Tiate'er may yet betide, "SVlien ana is by my side On this far, far, strand My Jean will soon be here 3Iy waefu" heart to cheer. And dry the fa'ing tear For oui- ain dear land. O bonnie are the hows. Sec. [Fip-ST published in the Edinburgh Literary Gazette. Set to Music by E. A. Smith.] Oh ! these are not my country's Mils, Though they look bright and fair; Though flowers deck their rerdant sides. The heather blooms not there. Let me behold the mountains steep. And wild deer roaming firee. The heathy glen, the ravine deep : Oh, Scotland's hUls for me ; The rose through all this garden land, 31ay shed its rich perfume ; But I would rather wander "mong, ily country's bonnie broom. There sings the shepherd on the hill. The ploughman on the lea ; There lives my blythi-some mountain maid : Oh, Scotland's hills for me ; In southern climes the radiant sun A brighter hght displays ; But 1 love best his milder beams That shine on Scotland's braes. Then, dear romantic native land If e'er I roam from thee, I'U ne'er forget the cheering lay. Oh, Scotland's hills for me ' [Written, according to Mr. Peter Buchan, by AxEx. "Watsox, merchant tailor in Aberdeen, and at one time deacon of the Ineorporated tradts there. It was composed sometime during the American war of independence.] When- our ancient forefathers agreed wi' the laird , For a spot o' good ground for to be a kail-yard, It was to the brose that they had the regard ; O ! the kail brose of auld Scotland ; And O ! for the Scottish kail brose. When Fergus, the first of our kings I suppose. At the head of his nobles had vanquish'd his foes. Before they began they had d^ed upon brose. O ! the kail brose, &c. Then our sodgers were drest in their kilts paid short hose, . [pose, "V^'ith bonnet and belt which their dress did com- With a bag of oatmeal on their back to make brose. O ! the kail brose, &c. In our firee early ages a Scotsman could dine "VN'ithout English roast beef, or famous French wine. Kail brose, if weel made, he always thought fir^t. O ! the kail brose, &c. At our annual election of bailies or mayor, I Nae kickshaws or puddings or tarts were seen there, A dish of kail brose was the favourite fare. O ! the kail brose, &c. It has been our favourite dish all along, It our ladies makes beauties, our gentlemen strong, AVTien moderately used, it our life does prolong. ! the kail brose, &c. "RTiile thus we can live, we dread no kind of foes — Should any invade us, we'll twist up their nose. And soon make them feel the true virtue of bro*ew ! the kail brose, &c. CA SCOrXISH SONGS. ^ Xow State 'politicians new tar.es propose, ) Involving our country in numberless woes, ) "What a blessing it is ! there's yet nane upon brose ! O ! the kail brose, &c. But aye since the thistle -was joined to the rose, ,\ And Englishmen no mors accounted our foes, ;■ We have lost a great part of our stomach for brose. -J O ! the kail brose, &c. ■ ^ But each true-hearted Scotsman, by nature jocose, • - I'an cheerfully dine on a dishful of brose, And the grace be a wish to get plenty of those. O ! the kail brose of auld Scotland. And O for the Scottish kail brose ! [Written by J. G. Locshart, to the tune of " Oh, the Roast Beef of Old England," and first published in 1822, in George Thomson's collec- tion, and here inserted by special permission.] Now there's peace on the shore, now there's calm on tlie sea, rill a glass to the heroes whose s^vo^c!s kept us free, IVght descendants of Wallace, Montrose, and Dundee. Oh, the broadswords of old Scotland ! And oh, the old Scottish broadswords . Olil Sir Rjilph Abereromby, the good and tlie brave — J/et him flee from our board, let him sleep with the slave. Whose libation comes slow while we honour his grave. Oh, tlie broadswords, &c. Though he died not like him amid victory's roar, Tiiough disaster and gloom wove his shroud on the shore, Not the less we remember the spirit of Moore. Oh, the broadswords, &c. Vea, aplace with the fallen the li^-ing shall claim. We'll entwine in one ■wreath every glorious name. The Gordon, the Kamsay, the Hope, and the Graham, All the broailsworih, .'wc. ■ift Count the rocks of the Spey, count the groves of the Forth, Count the stars in the clear cloudless heaven of the north. Then go blazon their numbers, their names, and their worth. All the broadswords, &c. The highest in splendour, the humblest in place. Stand united in glory, as kindred in race. For the private is brother in blood to his grace. Oh, the broadswords, &c. Then sacred to each and to all let it be. Fill a glass to the heroes whose swords kept us free. Right descendants of Wallace, Montrose and Dundee, Oh, the broadswords of Old Scotland ! And oh, the old Scottish broadswords ! mn% ©i Seaiflc [In a letter to Mrs. Dunlop, 17th Doc. 17.11, Burns says:—" I have just finished the following song, which, to a lady, the descendant of many heroes of his truly illustrious line, a'lid herself the mother of several soldiers, needs neither preface nor apology. Scene, a field of battle — time of the day, evening, — the ^vounded and dying are supposed to join in the song. The circumstance that gave rise to it was looking over, with a musical friend, Macdonald's collection of Highland Airs, I was struck with one, an Isle of Skye tune, entitled Oran an Aoig, or the Song of Death, to the measure of which I have adapted my stanzas." — Thomson, in his coUection, does not give the Gaelic air, but sets the words to the Irish tune of " My lodging is on the cold ground." The original tune is given in Ilitson's collection.] Farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies, Now gay with the bright setting sun ! Farewell, loves and friendships, ye dear tender ties • Our race of existence is run. Thou grim King of Terrors, thou life's gloomy foe. Go frighten tlie coward and slave I Go teach them to tremble, fell tyrant ! but know , No terrors hast thou to the brave. :<-m^'^ fki^'mt SCOTTISH S0XG3. Go Thou strik'st the dull peasant, he sinks in the dark, ■ Xor saves ev'n the ■svTeck of a name ; Thou strik'st the young hero, a glorious mark ! He falls in the Llaze of his fione. In the field of proud honour, our swords in oirr hands. Our king and our country to save ; "V^'hile victory shines on life's last ebbing sands, O, who would not die with the brave I if^m 1 x®h%. [Word? by Lord Btron. Music by J. P. Kn-ght.] . VrHEK I rov'd a young Highlander o'er the dark heath, _ ' And climb'd tliy dark summit, O Horven, of I snow ! To gaze on the torrent that slumber'd beneath, ' Or the mist of the tempest that gather'd below ; I Vntator'd by science, a stranger to fear, I And rude as the rocks where my infancy grew, ' Ko feeling, save one, to my bosom was dear — t Need I say, my sweet Mary, •t\vas center'd in you. I arose with the dawn, with my dog as my guide. From mountain to mountain I bounded along ; 1 I breasted the billows of Dee's mshing tide. And heard at a distance the Highlander's ; song— At eve, on my heath -cover'd couch of repose, No dreams, save of Mary, were spread to my view; And warm to the skies iny devotions arose. For the firstofmyprayers was a blessing on you. Yet the day may arrive, when the mountains once more i^ Shall rise to my sight in their mantles of snow ; fn^ I'Ut whUe these soar above me, unchang'd as y^i before, \^ TV'ill Jlai-j- be there to receive me ? ah no ! ♦fS Adieu! then, ye hills, where my chUdh od was t^ bred— J** ^j Thou sweet flowing Dee, to thy waters adieu ! »^ >"o home in the forest shall shelter my head, — /"^ ' Ah JIary ! what home could be mine without you ? ^If liiciti^ csm* ml o' tf)t l^xi* [The author of this song, to the tune of" Woo'd and married and a'," ]s unknown. It appears in Herd's collection of 1776, but is of much older date.] Tiir bride cam' out o' the byre. And, O, as she dighted her cheeks ! •Sirs, I'm to be married the night. And have neither blankets nor sheets ; Have neither blankets nor sheets. Nor scarce a coverlet too , The bride that has a' thing to borrov.-, Has e'en right muckle ado. Woo'd and married, and a', Jlarried, and woo'd, and a' 1 And was she nae very weel off. That was woo'd, and married and ; Out spaie the bride's father, As he cam' in frae the pleugh , 0, hand your tongue, my dochter. And ye'se get gear eneugh ; The stirk stands i' th' tether. And our bi-a" bawsint yade, Will carry ye hame your com— What wad ye be at, ye jade ? Out spake the bride's mither. What deil needs a' this pride ? I had nafi a plack in my pouch That night I was a bride ; >Iy gown was linsy-woolsy, And ne'er a sark ava; And ye ha'e ribbons and buskin?, M.<»e than ane or twa. ■What's the matter, quo' Willie ; Though we be scant o' claes. We'll creep the closer thegither. And we'll smoor a' the fleas: Simmer is coming on. And we'll get taits o' woo ; And we'll get a lass o' our ain. And she'll spin claiths anew. Out spake the bride's brither, As he came in vvi' the kye ; Poor Willie wad ne'er h.a'e ta'en ye, ', H.id he kent ye as wecl as I ; ■M ^m^y^^i^Mi'^'-^&^k^^-^^ OG i^^ XT'- SCOTTISH SONGS. For ye'ro baith proud and saucy. And no lor a poor man's wife ; Gin 1 canna get a better, I'se ne'er tak' anc i' my life. t)ut spake the bride's sister. As she came in frae tlie bjTc; gin I were but married. It's a' that I desire : But we poor folk maun live single. And do the best that we can ; 1 dinna care what I shou'd want If I cou'd get but a man. [AVkitten by Mrs. Scott of Dumbartonshire to tlie tune of " Woo'd and married and a'," and inserted in Cromok'a Select Scottish Songs, 1810.] The grass had nae freedom o' growin" As lang as she wasna awa' , ;Xor in the toun could there be stowin' For wooers that wanted to ca*. Sic boxin', sic brawlin', sic dancin', Sic bowin' and sliakin' a paw ; Trie toun was for ever in brulyies: But now the lassie's awa". Wooed, and married, and a', Married, and wooed, and a' ; The dandalie toast of the parish. She's wooed, and she's carried awa'. But had he a' kenn'd her as I did, Hit wooin' it wad ha'e been sma* : She kens neither bakin', nor brewin", >'or cardin', nor spinnin' ava ; But a' her skill lies in her buskin' : And, O, if her braws were awa'. She sune wad wear out o' fashion. And knit up her buggers wi' straw. But yesterday 1 gaed to see her. And, O, she was bonnie and braw; She cried on her gudeman to gi'e her An ell o' red ribbon or twa. lie took, and he sot down beside her A wheel and a reel for to ca' ; She cried. Was he that way to guide her ? A nd out at the door and awa'. The first road she gaed was her mither, Wha said. Lassie, how gaes a' ? Quo' she. Was it for nae ithcr That I was married awa'. But to be set down to a wheelie. And at it for ever to ca' ? And syne to hae't reel'd by a chieldie That's everly crj-ing to draw. Her mither said till her, Hech, lassie ! He's wisest, I fear, o' the twa^ There'll be little to put in the tassie, Gif ye be sae backward to draw; For now ye should work like a tiger. And at it baith wallop and ca', Sae lang's ye ha'e youdith and vigour. And weanies and debt keep awa'. Sae swift away hame to your haddin' ; The mair fule ye e'er came awa' Ye maunna be Uka day gaddin'. Nor gang sae white-finger'd and bra%v For now wi' a neebor ye're yokit. And wi' him should cannilie draw ; Or else ye deserve to be knockit— So that's an answer for a'. Young luckie thus fand hersell mither'd , And wish'd she had ne'er come awa' ; At Ic-jgth wi' hersell she consider'd. That hamewai-d 'twas better to draw, And e'en tak' a chance o' the landin'. However that matters might fa' : Folk maunna on freits aye be standin', That's wooed, and married, and a'. [This humorous ditty, to the tune of " Woo'd and married and a'," was composed about the year 1826 or 1827 by a young probationer of the Church of Scotland, a native of AjTshire, who is now set- tled as minister of a parish in Aberdeenshire.] Our Girzy was now thirty -six. Though some rather mair did her ca' , And ane quite sae auld to get married. Has little or nae chance ava. And Girzy, aft thinking on this, Lang sighs frae her bosom wad draw ; Oh, is it not awfu' to think I may not be married ava ! i g^ SCOTTISH SONG^. 67 >9 No to be married ava. If o to be married ava ; Oh, is it not amu' to think, I may not be married ava ! For Uka young lass that can brag Of her ha'eing a lover or twa, ■ Will baud out her finger and say. That body has got nane ava. And then when they a' get married. Their husbands will let them gang braw. While they laugh at auld maids like mysell. For no getting ony ava. No to be married, &c. Some wives that are wasters o' men, Wear dune naething less than their twa ; But this I wad baud as a crime. That ought to be punished by law. For are they no muckle to blame, When thus to themseUs they tak' a' ? Ne'er thinking o' mony an auld maid. That's no to be married ava. No to be married, &e. But as for the men that get wives — E'en though it were some ayont twa, 1 think they should aye be respeckit For helping sae mony awa'. But as for the auld bach'lor bodies. Their necks every ane 1 could thraw. For what is the use of their lives. Gin no to be married ara ? No to be married, &c. Oh,-gin I could get but a husband. E'en though he were never sae sma'. Just gi'e me a husband, I'll tak' him. Though scarce like a mannie ava. Come soutor, come tailor, come tiniiler. Oh come ony ane o' ye a' ! Come gi'e me a bode e'er sae little, I'll tak' it and never sae na'. No to be married, &e. Come deaf, or come dumb, or come cripple, "Wi' ae leg, or nae legs ava. Or come ye wi' ae e'e, or nae e'e, I'll tak' ye as ready's wi' twa. Come young, or come auld, or come doited. Oh con. ~ and just tak' me awa' ; Far better be married to something. Than no to be married ava. No to be married. &c. Now, lads, if there's ony amang ye. Wad Uke just upon me to ca', Te'U find me no ill to be courted, For shjTiess I ha'e thro\\-n't ana'. And if ye should want a bit wifie, Ye ken to what quarter to draw ; And e'en should we no mak' a bargai; Ye'll at least get a kissie or twa. No to be married, &c. MlTOSItl I^HJ^Tialtl, [This was one of the earliest songs which James HoGO composed. It was written about the yi-ar 1S03, to the tune of "Woo'd and married and a'," and was long very popular. " I once heard the song," says the author, "sung in the theatre at Lancaster, when the singer substituted the fci- lowing lines of liis own for the last verse : — ' For Jock Bull he is good in a hurry. An' Savraey is steel to the bane. An' wee Da\ad Welsh is a widdy. An' Paddy wiU hurkle to nane ; They'll a' prove baith sturdy and loyal. Come dangers around them what may, An' I, their gude-brither, Macdonald, Shall ne'er be the last in the fray :' &e. It took exceedingly well, and was three times encored, and there was I sitting in the gallen.-, applauding as much as any body. My vanity prompted me to tell a jolly Yorlcshire manufac- tvirer that night that I was the author of the song. He laughed excessively at my assumption, and told the landlady that he took me for a hali- crazed Scots pedlar."] ^Iy name it is Donald Macdonald — I live in the Highlands sae grand ; I've follow'd my banner, and will do. Wherever my Maker has land. When rankit amang the blue bonnets, Nae danger can fear me ava ; I ken that my brethren around me Are either to conquer or fa". Brogues, and brochan, and a', Brochan, and brogues, and a"; And is na the laddie weel aff Wha has brogues,and brochan, and a'? '^r:^. t^^S^^^^^^ ..'^fv^- :^^^'|^^^ 63 SCOTTISH SONGS. M D? ?■) '.Short syne we were wonderfu" canty. Our friends and our country to ste Kut since the proud Consul's grown vauntie. We'll meet him by land or by sea. A^'hcrover a clan is disloyal. Wherever our king has a foe, He'll quickly see Donald ilacdonald, Wi' his Highlanders a' in a row. Guns, and pistols, and a', Pistols, and guns, and a' ; He'll quickly see Donald MacdonaU, Wi" guns, and pistols, and a'. "UTint though we befreendit young Charlie ? To tell it I dinna think shame ; Tuir lad ! he cam' to us but barely, And reckon'd our mountains his hame. Its true that our reason forbade us. But tenderness carried the day ; Had Geordie come friendless amang us, Wi' him we had a' gane away. Sword, and buckler, and a". Buckler, and sword, and a' ; For George we'll encounter the devil, Wi' sword, and buckler, and a'. And O I wad eagerly press him The keys o' the East to rct;un ; For should he gi'e up the possession. We'll soon ha'e to force them again : Than yield up an inch wi' dishonour, Though it were n-.y finishln' blow. He aye may depend on Macdonakl, Wi' his Highlandmen all in a row. Knees, and elbows, and a'. Elbows, and knees, and a' ; Depend upon Donald Jlacdonald, Ilis knees, and elbows, and a'. If Bonaparte land at Fort-William, Auld Europe nae langer shall grane ; I laugh when I think how we'll gall him Wi' bullet, wi' steel, and wi' stane : AVi' rocks o' the Nevis and Garny We'll rattle him aff frae our shore, Cr lull him asioep in a cau-nie. And sing him Lochaher no more! Stanes, and bullets, and a'. Bullets, and stanes, and a' ; Well finish the Corsican callau Wi' stanes, and bullets, and a'. The Cordon is gude in a hurrj-; And CampbeU is steel to the bane , And Grant, and Mackenzie, and Murray, And Cameron, will hurkle to nanc; The Stuart is sturdy and wannel ; And sae is Macleod and Mackay; And I, their gude-brither, Macdonald, Sail never be last in the fray. Brogues, and brochan, and .V, Brochan, and brogues, and a' ; And up wi' the bonnie blue bonnet. The kilt, and feather, and a'. [Written by Thomas Smibert to the old set of the air of " Dundee," as found in the Skene I MS.] i; Fare thee wecl, thru bonnie river, jl Eowin' by my .ain Dundee ; I Aft in days pane by fcr ever, !! Thou hjxst borne my love and me. I' Thou hast heard, in days departed, • I "Vows that nane could hear but thee ; Now thou seest me broken-hearted — Tay, adieu ! adieu, Dundee ! On thy waves a light is fa'in'. Ruddy as the rose in June ; Some may trow it is the dawin' Glinting firae the lift abune : But I ken thou'rt only blushing That a maid so false could be ! Like thy springs my tears are gushing— Tay, adieu! adieu, Dundee! [Robert 'Whitk of NewcisOe.— Here printe*' for the first time.] Ti!E breath o' spring is gratefii'. As mild it sweeps alang, Awaukening bud an' blossom The broomy braes amanj,' ; And wafting notes o' gladness Fra ilka bower and tree ; Yet the bonnie Eedesdale iass e Is sweeter still to me ! Wr^-^:^.^f^u^^' SCOTTISH SONGS. CO % d How bright is summer's beauty ! When, smilin' far an' near. The wildest spots o' nature Theii^yest livery wear: And yellow-cups, an' dairies Are spread on ilka lea ; But the bonnie Eedesdale lassie 3Iair charming is to me. O ! sweet is mellow autumn I When, wide o«Te a' the plain. Slow waves in rustlin' motion The hea\-y -headed giain ; Or in the sunshine glancin'. And rowin' like the sea ; Yet the bonnie Eedesdale lassie Is dearer £ar to me ! As heaven itsel', her bosom Is firee o' fraud or guile ; ^^"hat hope o* future pleasure Is centred in her smile ! I wadna lose for kingdoms The love-glance o' her e'e ; — O : the bonnie Eedesdale lassie Is life and a' to me ! %tmSx* [Composed by the Ettbick Shepherd, to the •^ * tiae of " Blue Bonnets over the Border." He himself says, it was " the most popular love song he ever -wrote,' tut we think he is here mis- taken.] /«, O ! MY lassie, our joy to complete again, j' Meet me again in the gloamin", my dearie ; ^ Low down i' the dell let us meet again, .'*-» : Jeanie, there's naething to fear ye. "■^ Come when the wee bat flits silent an eerie ; -/n Come when the pale face o' nature looks weary. » Love be thy sure defence, j^5 Beauty and innocence — ^ O ! Jeanie, there's naething to fear ye. [yf Sweetly blows the haw and the rowan-tree, •^ Wild roses speck onr thicket sae breerie ; Btill, still will our bed in the greenwood be — O ! Jeanie, there's naething to fear ye ; ' Note when tha blackbird o' singing grows wearj-. List when the beetle bee's bugle comes near ye : Then come with fairy haste. Light foot and beating breast — O ! Jeanie, there's naething to fear ye. Far, far will the bogle an' brownie be ; Beauty an' truth, they dauma come ne.ar it Kind love is the tie of our unity; A' maun love it, and a' nuiun revere it. Love mak's the sang o' the woodland sae cheerie; Love gars a' nature look bonnie that's near ye , Love mak's the rose sae sweet. Cowslip an' violet — O ! Jeanie, there's naething to fear ye. %\t ^t^\tt%% §©ng. [Written by Joa\t;t4g^:- SCOTTISH SONGS. I coft yestreen ft-ae chapman Tam, A snood of bonnie blue. Anil promised, wlien our trystin' ciiin', To tie it round her brow. Oh, no ! sad an' slow ! The time it winna pass ; The shadow of that weary thorn Is tether'd on the grass. now I see her on the way. She's past the witches' knowe ; She's climbin' up the brownie's bra? — My heart is in a lowe. Oh, no ! 'tis na so ! 'Tis glaumrie I ha'e seen ; 1 h» shadow of that hawthorn bush WiU move nae mair till e'en. J[y book o' grace I'll try to read. Though conn'd wi' little sidll ; %Vhpn Colley barks I'll raise my head, And find her on the hill. Oh, no ! sad an' slow ! The time will ne'er be gane ; The shadow of the trystin' bush Is fix'd like ony stane. "^This deeply pathetic song was composed by ' "William Laidlaw, for many years the steward ! and trusted firiend of Sir Walter Scott. It is sung | to the tune of " Paddy O'Eafforty."] •Twas when the wan leaf frae the birk tree was fa'in. And Martinmias dowie had wound up the year, ' Tii.'it Lucy row'd up her wee kist wi' her a' in't, i And left her auld maister and neebours sae dear : ! l"or Lucy had served in the glen a' the sunmer ; .She cam" there afore the flower bloomed on the | pea; j A n orphan was she, and they had been kind till her, .Surethat was the thing brocht the tear to her e'e. ."-lie gaed by the stable where Jamie was stannin'; Kicht sair was his kind heart, the fiittin' to see : Tare ye weel, Lucy ! quo' Jamie, and ran in ; The gatherin' tears trickled fast frae his e'e. .\ s down the bum -side she gaed slow wi' the flittin', 1 1 Fare ye weel, Lucy ! was ilka bird's sang ; I .-■^le heard the craw sayin't, high on the tree sittin", 1 1 And robin was chirpin't the brown leaves jtmaug. ^ Oh, what is't that pits my puir heart in a flutter ? And what gars the tears come sae fast to my e'e ? If I wasna ettled to be ony better. Then what gars me wish ony better to be ? I'm just like a lammie that loses its mither ; Nae mither or friend the puir lammie can see ; I fear I lia'e tint my pu.ir heart a'thegither, Kae wonder the tears fa' sae fiist frae my e'e. Wi' the rest o' my claes I ha'e row'd up the ribbon. The bonnie blue ribbon that Jamie ga'e me ; Yestreen, when he ga'e me't, and saw 1 was sabbin', I'll never forget the wae blink o' his e'e. Though now he said naething but Fare ye weel, Lucy! It made me I neither could speak, hear, nor see : He could nae say mair but just. Fare ye weel, Lucy! Yet that I wUl mind tiU the day that I dee. The lamb likes the gowan wi' dew when its drouki t ; The harelikes the brake and the braird on the lea : But Lucy likes Jamie, — she tum'd and she lookit. She thocht the dear place she wad never mair see. [less ! Ah, weel may young Jamie gang dowie and cheer- And weel may he gi'eet on the bank o' the burn ! For bonnie sweet Lucy, sae gentle and peerless, Lies cauld in her grave, and wUl never return ! [This diverting ditty was at one time very S>^ popular among the country people of Scotland, ^t* It can be tr.aced no farther back than to the ( '*^ "Isevf British Songster," a collection published \-^ at Falkurk in 1785.] ' ' " Thk Laird of Roslin's daughter Walked through the wood her lane ; And by cam' Captain Wcdderburn, A servant to the king. He said unto his serving man, " Were't not against the law, I wad tak' her to my ain bed. And lay her neist the wa'." " I am walking here alanc," she says, \ "Amang my ftither's trees; And you must let me -walk alane. Kind sir, now, if you please: '■^^^^ 'MiS^'' SCOTTISH S0NG3. The supper bell it will be rung. And I'll be missed awa' ; Sae I winna lie in your bed. Either at stock or ■na'." He says, " My pretty lady, I pray, land me your hand, And ye'll ha'e drums and trumpets Always at your command ; And fifty men to guard you with, That well their swords can draw ; ftae we'se baitli lie in ae bed. And ye's2 lie neist the wa'." " Haud awa' frae me," she said, "And pray let gae my hand : The supper bell it will be rung , I can nae langer stand ; My father he will angry be. Gin I be missed awa' , Sae I'll nae he in your bed. Either at stock or wa'." Then said the pretty lady, • "I pray tell me your name ?" " lly name is Captain TVedderbui'B, A servant to the king. Though thy father and his men were here, 0' them I'd have nae awe; But wad tak' you to my ain btd, A.nd lay you neist the wa'." He Uchtit aff his milk-white steed. And set this lady on ; And, a' the way he walked on foot. He held her by the hand. He held her by the middle jimp. For fear that she should fa'. To tak" her to his ain bed. And lay her neist the wa'. He took her to his lodging-house ; His landlady looked ben ; Says, " Mony a pretty lady In Edinbrucb I've seen ; Eut sic a lovely face as thine In it I never saw, Gae mak' her down a down-bed. And lay her at the wa'." " O baud away frae me," she says ; " I pray you let me be ; ] winna gang to your bed, Till ye dress mc dishes three : Dishes three ye maun dress me, Gin I should cat them a'. Afore that I lie in your bed. Either at stock or wa" It's ye maun get to my supper A cherry without a stane ; And ye maun get to my supper A chicken without a bane ; And ye maun get to my supper A bird without a ga' ; Or I winna he in your bed. Either at stock or wa'." " It's when the cherry is in the blame, I'm sure it has nae stane ; And when the chicken's in the egg, I wat it has nae bane ; And, sin' the flood o' Koah, The doo she had nae ga' ; Sae we'll baith he in ae bed. And ye'se lie ne'st the wa'." " O baud your tongue, young man," sl-.i^ i:iv " Kor that gate me perplex ; For ye maun tell me questions yet, And that is questions six Questions six ye'U tell to me. And that is three times twa. Afore I lie in your bed. Either at stock or wa'. "VVhat's greener than the greenest gTa?s ? • 'VYhat's hicher than the trees ? What's waur nor an ill woman's wish ? "What's deeper than the seas ? V.Tiat bh-d sings first ? and whereupon First doth the dew down fa' ? Ye sail tell afore I lay me doun. Either at stock or wa'." " Vergris is greener than the grass ; Heaven's hicher than the trees ; The deil's waur nor a woman's wish ; Hell's deeper than the seas ; The cock crows first ; on cedar tap The dew down first doth fa' ; Sae we'll baith he in ae bed. And ye'se lie neist the wa'." "0 h.-iudyour tongue, young man," ^'he s "And gi'e your fleechin' ower , Unless ye find me ferlies. And that is ferUes four, ^P^^'^^ '^Ste*- '^^A'mj'^ SCOXTISH SONGS. % Kerlics four ye maun find me. And that is twa and twn ; Or I'll never lie in your bed, Either at stock or wa". It's ye maun get to me a plum That in December grew ; A nd ye maun get a silk mantel, That waft was ne'er ca'd througli ; A spaiTow's horn ; a priest unborn. This night to join us twa ; Or I'll nae lie in your bed. Either at stock or v^a'." " -My father he has winter fruit. That in December grew ; My mother has an Indian gowii, That waft was ne'er ca'd thio\i';!i ; A sparrow's horn is quickly io-xaC. ; There's ane on every claw. And twa upon the neb o' him ; And ye shall get them a'. The priest, he's standing at the dou:-, Just ready to come in ; Xae man can say that he was born, Nae man, unless he sin ; A wild buur tore his mother's side, He out o' it did fa'; .Sae we'll baith lie in ae bed. And ye'll lie neist the wa'." Little kenned Girzie Sinclair, That morning when she rase. That this wad be the hindermost O' a' her maiden days. But now there's no within the reiilm, I think, a blyther twa ; And they baith lie in ae bed, And she lies neist tlie wa'. ["This," says Burns, "is perhaps the first bottle-song that ever wjia composed." It appears in Ramsay's Tea-Table Miscellany, where it is marked as an old song.] ^VHE^• I ha'e a saxpence under my thooni. Then I get credit in ilka toun ; But, aye when I'm puir they bid me gang by; Oh, poverty parts gude company ! ; • Todlin' hame, todlin* hame, Couldna iny loove come todlin' hame. Fair fa' the gudewife, and send her gude snlo I She gi'es us white bannocks to relish her ale , Syne, if that her tippeny chance to be sma', "We tak' a gude scour o't, and ca't awa'. Todlin' hame, todlin' hame. As round as a neep come todlin' hame. My kinuner and I lay down to sleep, Wi' twa pint-stoups at our bed's feet ; And aye when we walcen'd we drank them dr>:— What think ye o' my wee kimmer and I ? ^ Todlin' butt, and todlin' ben, Sae round as my kove comes todlin' hame. Leeze me on liquor, my todlin' dow, Ye're aye sae gude-humour'd when weetin' your mou"! AVhen sober sae sour, ye'll fecht wi' a flee, That 'tis a blythe nicht to the bairns and me. When todlin' hame, todlin hame, Wlien, round as a neep, ye come todlin hame. [Written by Joanna Baii.i.ie for George Thomson's collection— Inserted by permission.] AVhen white was my o'erlay as foam o' the linn. And siller was clinkin' my pouches within ; When my lambkins were bleating on meadow and brae ; As I gaed to my love in new deeding sae gay. Kind was she, and my friends were free But poverty parts gude companie. How swift pass'd the minutes and hours of delight I The piper play'd cheerly, the crusie bum'd bright ; And link'd in my hand was the maiden sae dear. As she footed the floor in her holiday gear. Woe is me, and can it then be. That poverty parts sic companie ! We met at the fair, we met at the kirk. We met in the sunshine, and met in the mirk , And the sounds of her voice, and the blinks of her een. The cheering and life of my bosom have been. Leaves frae the tree at M.ortinmas flee; And poverty parts sweet companie. ,-«-.yfr.fe, r.X ^.^rsi:^.:7ii^::--v^r/^ .^rt^eA— ■;■': ^^fmi-'>^s^s:^<^&mu^^^ •^ SCOTTISH SO^fGS. TED wi' Maggie, how blythe ha'e I been, t \\ This seventeen towmonds we've met aye at e'en; -■<-.' Though whiles we fa.' out, yet we quickly agree, A kiss turns the difference 'tween Maggie and me. Tliough steam-boats are against us we maunna complain, Tor our twa bits o' totums are todlin' their lane. I (^ Nae bills I've to pay, nor nae heart-racking ^ke. But to caimey up stancs, at the side of the dyke ; I'm pleased to see them break, and the vivid sj: arks fly. But gloom at the steam -boats as they're passing by. But tho' they're against me I maunna complain, For my twa bits o' totums are todlin' their lane. ^ So I'll sing " Captain Glen," vd' a heart fu' o' glee, ^K. And be join'd by the mavis that sings on yon tree ; .>rv It warbles sae sweet, makes my hammer stand still, 1 5jJl A' join in the tune, e'en the wee wimplin^ rill. Siii Steam-boats may afflict me, but I'll ne'er com- y«~) For my twa bits o' totums are todlin" their lane. , ' So sang honest John, as he splinter'd a stane. Till tiva bairns wi' his breakfiast cam' todlin' their lane; They cam' todlin' their lane, arms round Ither so lain. And the twa bits o" totxmis cam" todlin' their lane. They cam' todlin' their lane, arms round ither so fain. And the twa bits o' totums cam' todlin' their lane. " Hey, daddy dear, here's your parritch quite het, Slaci struck Jock wi' the spurtle for starting the pat," " Whisht, baimie," says he, and his bonnet he raised, Look'd up to the sky, while the Giver he praised : Leaves a soup to the dog, hands the cog back again. And the twa bits o' totums gaed todlin' hame. The sun it looks bh-the, o'er Coirlick sae hie, I'll meet my ain wife, wi' the smile in ber e'e ; She'll ha'e Jean at her fit, and Tarn in her lap. And she'll toddle to meet me, when I'm at tiie slap. Collie's bark welcomes me to a clean hearth stane. Where my twa bits o' tctums gang todlin their lane. [A pRODCCTiox of Dr. Alexandek Geddej. The Lewis Gordon alluded to was third son to the duke of Gordon. He declared for prince Charles on the rising in 1745, and was afterwards attainted, but escaped to France, where he died in 2754. j O SEND Lewie Gordon hame. And the lad I daurna name ; Though his back be at the wa'. Here's to him that's far awa' : Ochon, my Highlandman ! O my bonnie Highlandman ! Weel would I my true love ken, Amang ten thousand Uighlandmen. O ! to see his tartan trews. Bonnet blue, and laigh-heel'd shoes, rhilabeg aboon his knee ! That's the lad that I'll gang wi'. Ochon, &c. k- ^€^S^^\^^^^m^: ^^r ^i^viis^ SCOTTISH SOKGS. This lovely youth of wliom I sing, Is fitted for to be a king ; On his breast he wears a star : You'd tak' him for the god of war. Ochon, &c. O 1 to see this princely one Seated on a royal throne ! Disasters a' would disappear ; Then begins the jub'lee year. Ochon, &e. [Written by Alexander Wilson of Paisley, the great American ornithologist. Music arranged by J. Roberston.] Hark lowers the night o'er the wide stormy main. Till mild rosy morning rise cheerful again; Alas ! morn returns to revisit the shore ; Hut Connel returns to his Flora no more. For see, on yon mountain, the dark cloud of death. O'er Connei's lone cottage, lies low on the heath ; While bloody and pale, on a fer distant shore, He lies to return to his Flora no more. Ye light fleeting spirits that glide o'er the steep, O would you but waft me across the wild deep ! There fearless I'd mix in the battle's loud roar, I'd die with my Connel, and leave him uo more. fllkm=s=la!i! ' - iiNG in Sir Walter Scott's poem of" Rokeby."] Alm^v-a-Dale has no faggot for burning, Allen-a-dale has no fuiTOw for turning, Allen-a-dale has no fleece for the spinning ; Yet Allen-a-dale has red gold for the winning. Come read me my riddle, come hearken my tale. And tell me the craft of bold Allen-a-l»alc. The baron of Ravensworth prances in pride. And he views his domains upon Arldndale side. The mere for his net, and the lamb for his game. The cliase for the wild, and the park for the tame ; Yet the fish of the lake, and the dear of the vale, Are less free to lord Dacre than Allen-a-Dale. Allen-a-Dale was ne'er belted a knight, Tho' his spur be as sliarp, and his bLide be aa bright ; Allen-a-Bale is no baron or lord. Yet twenty tall yeomen will draw at his word ; And the best of our nobles his bonnet will veil ; Who at Rerecross on Stanmore meets Allen-a- Dale. Allen-a-Dale to his wooing is come ; The mother she asked of liis household and home; — " Tho' the castle of Richmond stands fair on the hUl, My hall," quoth bold Allen, "shows gallanter still, 'Tis the blue vault of heaA'en, with its crescent so pale. And with all its bright spangles!" said Allen-a- Dale. The father was steel, and the mother was stone. They Ufted the latch and bade him be gone. But loud on the morrow their wail and their cry— lie had laughed on the lass with his bonnie black And she fled to the forest to hear a love-tale, [eye ; And the youth it was told by was Allen-a-Dale. #, gab |« t^f k^^. [Written by Richard Rv.\> Bung by Sinclair.] An-anged and 0, SAW ye the Liss wi' the bonnie blue een ? Her smile is the sweetest that ever was seen. Her cheek like the rose is, but fi-esher, I ween, — She's the loveliest lassie that trips on the green. The home of my love is below in the valley. Where wild flowers welcome the wandering bee ; But the sweetest of flowers in that spot that is seen , Is tlie maid that I love, wi' the bonnie blue cen. O saw ye tlie lass, &c. AVTion night overshadows her cot in the glen. She'll steal out to meet her loved Donald again ; And when the moon shines on the valley so green, I'll welcome the lass wi' the bonnie blue een. As the dove that has wandered away from his sweet nest. Returns to the mate his fond heart loves the best, I'll fly Trom the world's false and vanishing scene. To my dear one, the lass wi' the bonnie blue een. saw ye the lass, &c. ^ i^'m^^^-^^^Mf^^ii'^ >s-jl! ■i^'S-^ia*' s^m^? SCOTTISH SONGS. >^ [TV'rittk.v to an old Highland strathspey, called John o* Badenyon, by the Rev. John SKix.sr.p,.] ■When- first I came to be a man, of twenty years, or so, I thought myself a handsome youth, and fain the world would know ; In best attire I stept abroad, with spirits brisk and gay ; And here, and there, and every where, was like a morn in May. JS'o care I had, no fear of want, but rambled up and down ; And for a beau I might have pass'd in countrj- or in town : I still was pleased where'er I went ; and, when I was alone, I tuned my pipe, and pleased myself wi' John o' Badenyon. Xow in the days of youthful prime, a mistress I must find ; For love, they say, gives one an air, and ev'n improves the mind • «" On PhiUis fiiir, above the rest, kind fortune fix'd mine eyes ; Her piercing beauty struck my heart and she became my choice. To Cupid, now, with heaily prayer, I offer'd many a vow. And danced and sung, and sigh'd and swore, as other lovers do , But when at last I breathed my flame, I found her cold as stone — I left the girl, and tuned my pipe to John o' Badenyon. When love had thus my heart beguiled with foolish hopes and vaia. To friendship's port I steer'd my course, and Liugh'd at lovers' pain ; A friend I got by lucky chance — 'twas something like divine; An honest friend's a precious gift, and such a gift was mine. And now, whatever may betide, a happy man was I, In any strait I knew to whom I freely might apply. A strait soon came ; my friend I tried— he iaugh'd, and spurn'd my moan ; 1 hied me home, and tuned Sift pipe to John o" Badenyon. 1 thought I should be wiser next, and would a patriot turn. Began to doat on Johnie "Wilkes, and cry'd up parson Home ; Their noble spirit I admir'd, and praised their noble zeal, TVho had, vrith flaming tongue and pen, maintain 'd the public wf-al. But, e'er a month or two had pass'd, 1 found myse'if betray'U ; 'Twas SeL" and Party, after all, for all the stir they made. At last I saw these factious knaves insult the very throne ; I cursed them all, and tuned my pipe to John o" Badenyon. ■VMiat next to do.I mused a while, still hoping to succeed ; 1 pitch'd on books for company, and gravely tried to read : I bought and borrowed everj- where, and studied night and day, >'or miss'd what dean or doctor wrote, that happen'd in my way. Philosophy I now esteem '^ the ornament of youth. And carefiiUy, through many a page, I hunted after truth : A thousand various schemes I tried, and yot was pleased with none; I thTQjv them by, and tuned my pipe to John o' Badenyon. • And now, ye youngsters evsrynhere, who wish to make a show. Take heed in time, nor vainly hope for happiness below ; "VVTiat you may fancy pleasure here is but an empty name ; And girls, and friends, and books also, you'll find them all the snn^e. tl'isi^f SCOTTISH SONGS. Then be advised, and warning take from such a inan as ine ; I'm neither pope nor cardinal, nor one of high degree ; You'll meet displeasure every where ; then do as I have done — l:;"en tune your piiJe, and please youi-self with John of Uadenyon. ^|f BUu Wi'Mie. [ V.'hittk.n by Dr. Alkxanbek Geddes, a Catholic clergNinan, and well-known by his translation of ,i the Bible and polemical writings. Dr. Geddes was bom in tVie county of Banff' in 1737, and officiated J' :••= a priest for several years in different parts of tlie north of Scoil.and. He latterly settled in London , wi.ei-e he died iti 1S02. A memoir of his life was published by John Mason Good in ISOJ.] There was a wee bit wifukie, was comin' frae the fair, • 1 lad got a wee bit drappukie, that bred her meikle care It gaed about the wifie's heart, and she began to spew, 1 quo' tlie wee wifukie, I wish 1 binna fou. I wish I binna fou, quo' she, I wish I binna fou. Oh ! quo' the wee wifukie, 1 wish 1 binna fou. If Johnnie find me barley-sick, I'm sure he'll claw my s'.;iii ; But I'll he down and tak' a nap before that I gae in. ^ twitting at the dyke-side, and taking o' her nap, ■: By came a packman laddie wi' a little pack. Vc'j' a little pack, quo' she, wi' a little pack. By came a packman laddie wi' a little pack. He's clippit a* her gowden locks sae beacle and sae lang , H i's ta'en her purse and a' her placks, and flist awa' he ran And when the wifie waken 'd, her head Wiis like a bee. Oh ! quo' the •nee wifukie, this is nae me. This is nae me, quo' she, this is nae me, > Somebody has been feUing me, and this is nae me. 1 met with kindly company, and bu-l'd my bawbee : And still, if this be Bessukie, three placks remain %\ i' me But I will look the pursie noo'ws, see gin the cunyie be : — There's neither purse nor plack aboilt me ! — this is nae me. This is nae me, &c. \ 1 hiive a little housukie, but and a kindly man ; A dog, the ca' him Doussiekie ; if this be me he'll fawn ; And Johnnie, he'll come to the dour, and kindly welcome gi'c, And a' the bairns on the fioor-head will dance if this be me. This is nae me, &c. The night was late, and dang out weet, and oh but it was dark , The doggie heard a body's foot, and he began to bark. • Oh when she heard the doggie bark, and keenin' it was he. Oh wee! ken ye, Doussie, quo' she, this is nae me. This is nae lae, &c. ^^^^^^cs*^iN:iJ^5F^; SCOTTISH soyos. VThen Johnnie heard his Bessie's word, last to the door nc Kin ; Is that TOa, Bessukie ?— TV"ow na, man ! Be kind to the bairns a', and weel niat ye he ; •And faievveel, Johnnie, quo' she, this is nae me ! This is nae me, &c. John ran to the minister, his hair stood a' on end, I've gotten sic a fright, Sir, I fear I'll never mend ; My wife's come hame without a head, crying out most piteously, Oh fareweel, Johnnie, quo' she, this is nae me ! This is nae me, &c. The tale you tell, the parson said, is wonderfiil to me, How that a wife without a head could speak, or hear, or sec ! But things that happen hereabout, so strangely alter'd he, That I could maist wi' Bessie say, 'tis neither you nor she. Xeither you nor she, quo' he, neither you nor she, ATow na, Johnnie man, 'tis neither y^n nor she. Xow Johnnie he cam' hair.e again, and oh ! but he was fain. To see his little Bessukie come to hersel' again. He got her sitting on a stool, wi' Tibbuck on her knee : Oh : come awa', Johnnie, quo' she, come awa' to me. For IVe got a nap \n' Tibbuckie, and this is now me. This is now me, quo' she, this is now me, I've got a nap wi' Tibbuckie, and this is new m.^. [Written by Burns to the tune of " Lumps o" Pudding."] CoNTKNTKD wi' little, and cantie wi" mair, WTiene'er I forgather wi' sorrow and care, I gi'e them a skelp, as they're creepin' alang, Wi' a cog o' gude swats, and an auld Scottish sang. /^ * I whyles claw the elbow o' troublesome thought , lit^ But inan is a sodger, and life is a faught : \.^ My mirth and gude humour are coin in my pouch, PY, -^^'^ ™y freedom's my lairdship nae monarch dare touch. (P^S*^^' ?^ A towmond o' .trouble, should that be my ta', ,_i^ j A night o" gude fellowship southers it a': - , / "When at the blythe end o' our journey at last, ■%' , WTia the deil ever thinks o' the road he has past .•» V>) • C - Blind chance, let her snapper and stoyte on her wa> ; \^;'* Ee't to me, be't frae me, e'en let the jade gae . ^ *^ Come ease, or come travail ; come plexisure, or pain, JJv warst word is—" Welcome, and welcome again : ■ SCOTTISH S0NG5. ^n Kan?. [Music by Mr. Jaines Ferguson, Edinburgh.— Here first printed.] Heh name ! oh, her name would 'st thou have me to tell ? Ah no ! from this bosom thoureav'st not the spell A\'hich cheers it at ev'ning and glads it at morn, llowe'er by life's cares 'tis distracted and torn. A name which is sunlight and moonlight to me, I '11 breaths 't to the night ^•inds but not unto thee. That name I shall teach the sweet streamlets to cry. And list till I hear the glad echoes reply ; And, oft as it rises, the soft scented breeze Shall waft it away through the tall forest trees ; Till linnets and thrushes, inspir'd by the theme. Shall sing Uke the fays only heard when we dream. AVliat joyous delight, in the calm ev'ning shade. To hear the lov'd name warbled thus through the glade ; 'Twill steal o'er my brain like the warm summer air, ^\^nen loaded with perfume of eglantines fair ; I'U dream until even the starlets proclaim The dear words; but ah, I'll not tall thee her name ! W. G. B. 'Patrick Maxwell, editor of Miss Blamire's • tical Worlis. Tune, " Good night, and joy be ye a'." — Here first printed.] Faiiewell! and, when I'm fer away, O say, wilt thou remember me, ■\^'hen favour'd friends and faces gay Their soul's pure incense tender thee ? — When all around are glad the while. And glory in thy loveliness ; — When every heart shall own thy smile Its proudest aim — its highest bliss ? This may not be : thou know'st me not; A wand'rer on life's weary road ; Yet will I bless my happy lot That led me to thy lov'd abode. I may not claim to have a part In thy dear breast, thou being fair; Yet, Lady, could'st thou see my heart. Thyself thou would'st find pictur'd there Tiisre it will dwell, and time defy Sok dear a record to erase ; — Jiemorial of a dream gone by. The best, the brightest of my days. O that we had together met When youth and hope alike were new ; My wither'd heart perhaps had yet Been sjiar'd the pangs of this .idieu ' Mut %2unk hm» [Addressed to one of the rising generation of " AjTshire's bonnie lasses." By Capt. Chari.es Gray, R. M.— Here first printed.] Sweet Jeanie lass, my dearie. Gin I were young again, Xane else through life should cheer me, AVad thou but be my ain. But eild is creepin' o'er me ; Bark shadows lower apace ; While hope shines bright before thee. And joy lights up thy face. Jl.iy health, life's greatest blessing. Beam on thy cheek and brow ; Be thine love's fond caressing Wi' ane whose heart is true. . May age wi' a' its treasure O' sober thoughts be mine; While ilka heartfelt pleasure. Dear Jeanie lass, is thine. 1 |a^ a t^x2R-m. [William Miller of Glasgow.— Hei printed.] I HAD a dream o' ither days, A sinless dream o' joy. It rame like sunshine through a clud Life's dark spots to destroy. M£-^'^^ P^i^ It came when I was sick at heart. And sleepless was mine e'e, "When luve was fause, an' wily ton^'u;s Turn'd frien' to enemie. >5 SCOTTISH SONGS. 4 Your tackle mount, my gallant hta: "With minnow, fly, or roe. It is best from the west. While the gentle breezes blow. 79 ^1 I thocht a saft han" lay in mine, A sma' waist in my arm, A wee heart beatin' — throbbia' fest ■VVi'.love an' life-bluid warm. In quiet streams I've seen fair flowei3 Hid 'neath the bank they grew, Sae in her deep blue een I read riower-thochts o" various hue. 0, dinua look sae kind, TTillie, Or else wi' joy I'U dee. An' dinna read my heart, Willie, Wi' thae lang lucks o' your e'e. A maiden's heart should be, Willie, A sacred thing to men. Its wcrkin"s in an hour o' joy Han-body ne'er can ken. The flower that in the shade wad live Will wither in the sun, — An' joy may work on maiden-heart What grief wad ne'er ha'e done. The marrin' o' a melody — The stoppin' o' a stream — A sudden lapse in sunny licht — The burstin' C a dream. I woke — and on my glassy een The paley moonbeam shone : Speak on, I cried, — speak on, but, lo I The weel kent voice was gone ! §kf)m% ^m^. [W. A. Foster, formerly of Coldstream, now of Glasgow. Tune, " Ye mariners of England." •^Here first printed.] Ye fishermen of Scotland, WTio love the stream and pool, A\'hose haunts are by the river side. Among the shadows cool : Old Scotland holds the cataract Among her mountains steep. With streaming rills, and sleepy pools. Where trout and salmon leap. Then mount the line, my gallant hearts. The hills are clear of snow ; Fling bait in the spate. While the gentle breezes blow. The spirit of old anglers gone Will rise with every cast. And cheer xis 'neath the sumr.itr sun Or winter's angry blast. Where old John Foster fish'd so well. To Birgham Dub, we'll go. And try with the fly. While the gentle breezes blow. The fame of Carham's angling stream Will only higher rise. While Scott can wield a salmon rod. Or Carse can dress such flies. Tweed's been their glory, they her pride. Then let her waters flow To the fame of their name, AVhUe the gentle breezes blow. [John 3Iitceeli. of Paisley. — Here first printed.] ilY hame ! I wadna lea' my hame. Rough though the biggin be. To live amid a bLize o' fame. For what is fame to me I In life's gay mom, wi' lightsome tread, I roved tne groves amang, TMiore, still at e'en, 1 lay my head To Ust ilk wee bird's s.-xng. And I have seen in lordly ha' The fair and gay convene, "Where wreathed smiles chased care aw a", And love seem'd nature's queen ; 0^^'m^^^x^(m''^»'imm=-3^^^t^i^^ -^ tJ SCOTTISH SONGS. But, O ! my hame, my humb'e hamc, Wliene'cr I thought of thee. The wreathed smile, the minstrel's fame. Were a" forgot by me. Ev'n yet, though on my head the snaws 0' Time begins to steal. Youth's joys still smile within the wa's 0' my wee cozy biel. And though to me nae gardens fair Their sunny smiles display, A fairer flower is blooming there Than e'er graced minstrel's lay. AnO, Peggy dear, thou art tliat flower. And I will tent thee weel. And bless, while I ha*e life, the hour That gave thee to my biel. !My hame, my hame, my ain dear hame, ■WTia wad the biggin lea', ■Where smile the bairns that wear his name Fi-ae aff a mother's knee ? W^t i^apip^ ^itliei!:. H [Ai.Ex. LAiNOOf Brcchii An' 0, may I never live single again— . I wish I may never live single again ; I ha'e a gudeman, an' a hame o' my ain. An' 0, may I never live single again. I've twa bonnie bairns the fairest of a'. They cheer up my heart when their daiMi.'s j awa'; ■'"^ I've ane at my foot, and I've ane on my knci- ; ^ ' t An' fondly they look, au' say " Mammie" to m^. Jl^ At gloamin' their daddie comes in frae the ploujh, ■\-^ The blink in his e'e, an' the smile on his brow, ■■.-/, .Says, " how are ye, lassie, O, how are ye a', , . " An' how's the wee bodies sin' I gade awa' ?" , ■? He sings i" the e'enin' fu' cheery an' gay — ■ ,1 He tells o' the toil an' the news o' the day: The twa bonnie lammics he tak's on his knee, ■' An' blinks o'er the ingle fu' couthie to me. \ ^ .■: O happy's the father that's happy at hame— ^ An' blythe is the mither that's biy the o' the name; The cares o' the warld they fear na to dree — ■^'-^ The warld is naethirg to Johnny an' me. Though crosses wiUjningle wi' mitherly cares, Awa' bonnie Lassies — awa' wi' your fears; Gin ye get a kiddie that's loving an" fain, Ye'il Wish ye may never live single again. 'rM'^me fm ipuM2 ®^adk. [TiiK author of this sweetly-tender Jacobite strain was "William Glen, a native of Gl.asgow, who died about 18'2i. He was for some period of his life a manufocturer in his native city, but his latter days were marked by the poet's too frequent lot — poverty and misfortune. He wrote a variety of songs and other poetical pieces, but the present one is perhaps his happiest. It is sung to the old air of " Johnnie F.oa, or the Gypsy Laddie."— During the late visit of Her 'M.TJesty the Queen to the North, this song received a mark of royal favour which would have sweetened, had he been alive, poor Glen's bitter cup of life. While at Ta>Tnouth Castle, the Marquis of Breadalbane had engaged Jlr. Wilson, the celebrated vocalist, to Ring before her JIajesty. A list of the songs Mr. Wilson was in the habit of singing was sub- mitted to the Queen, that she might signify her pleasure as to those which she would wish to hear, when her Majesty immediately fixed upon the fol- lowing: — "Lochaber no more," — "The Flowers of the Forest,"— " The Lass C Cowrie,"— "John Anderson, my jo," — " Cam' ye by Athol," — ^and " The Laird o' Cockpen." The present song was not in Mr. Wilson's list, but her Majesty herself asked if he could sing "Wae's me for Prince Charlie," which fortunately he was able to do. The selection of songs which the Queen made ' displays eminently her sound taste and good feel- ing. A better, or one more varied both as regards music and words, taking the number of pieces ' J into account, could not easily be formed. A WKK bird cam* to our ha' door. He warbled sweet and clearly, An' aye the o'ercome o' his sang Was " W.oe's me for Prince Charlie Oh ! when I heai-d the bonnie soun" The tears cam' happin' rarely, I took my bannet aff my bead. For weel I lo'ed Prince Charlie. 'Si^^'^^fi^^^'^'m'mm:><^ 8X| SCOTTISH SO>"GS. Quoth I, " My bird, my bonnie bonnie bird. Is that a sang ye borrow. Are these some words ye've learnt by heart. Or a lilt o' dool an' sorrow ?" " Oh ! no no no," the wee bird sang, " I've flown sin' momin' early. But sic a day o' wind and rain — Oh ! wae's me for Prince Charlie 1 " On hiUs that are, by right, his ain He roves a Uinely stranger. On every side he's press'd by want, Oa every side is danger; Yestreen I met him in a glen, 3Iy heart maist burstit £airly. For sadly chang'd indeed was he — Oh ; wae's me for Prince Charlie ! "Dark night cam' on, the tempest roar'd Loud o'er the hills an valleys. An' whare was't that your Prince lay down Whase hame should been a palace ? Ha row'd him in a Highland pLaid, AVhich cover'd him but sparely. An' slept beneath a bush o' broom — Oh ! wae's me for Prince Charlie !" But now the bird saw some red coats. An' he sheuk his wings wi* anger, " Oh ! this is no a land for me, I'U tarry here nae langer." He hover'd on the w-ing a while Ere he departed fairly. But weel I mind the fareweel strain Was, " Wae's me for Prince Charlie '." ^■r? Kj£3 Yesr. [IxscRiBED to Joseph Train, Esq., by the author, William Sobib. — Tune, " Guid night and joy be wi' yon a'." — Here first printed.] Come — fill brimful the inspiring bowl, We'll close this day in festive cheer ; Time out of mind old Scotia's sons AVith mirth have haii'd the new-bom year. We all have weather'd many storms. And safely now are landed here ; But who can tell to us 'tis given. To meet and hail another year. For low shall niany a proud head lie. And eyes be dim now sparkling clear; And severed many a tender tie Ere time revolve the infant year. O memory ! when my njind looks o'er Thy records, often fall my tears, Tof fnends long lost, and vanish 'd joys — For loves and hc|)es of bygone years.' But why despond ? sure 'tis unwise To damp our present bliss with fear ; VVben Heaven commands we must depart. And farewell bid life's fleeting year. And now, my friends, may faVring heaven My wishes for your welcome hear ; And health, and wealth, and happiness Attend you still from year to year. May peace and plenty bless your board. And marriage crown with love sincere ; May joys unknown to anld langsj-ne. Make this a happy, happy year ! Then fiU the sparkling glasses full. And drink to friends both far and near;- Thus may we meet in joy to greet The glad return of many a year. ^ ^. [Music by James Jaap.] This lone heart is thine, lassie, charming and fair. This fond heart is thine, lassie dear; Nae warld's gear ha'e I, nae oxen nor kye, I've naething, dear lassie, but a puir heart to gi'e. Yet dinna say me na. But come awa'. And wander, dear la.ssie, "mang the woods o' Dun- more, [more. And wander, dear lassie, 'mang the woods o" Dun- O sweet is thy voice, lassie, charming an' fair. Enchanting thy smile, lassie dear; I'll toil aye for thee, for ae blink o' thine e'e Is pleasure mair sweet than siller to me. Yet dinna say me na, &c. come to my arms, Lissie, charming an' fair, Awa' wild alarms, lassie dear; This fond heart an' thine like ivy shall twine, I'U lo'e thee, dear, tUl the day that I dee. O, diaua say roe na, .e girdin' o't, Glowrin' a' the hills aboon. Ha, ha, the girdin' o't ; The girdin' brak', the beast cam' down, I tint my curch an' baith my shoon ; An', Duncan, ye're an unco loon, Wae on the bad girdin' ot. But, Duncan, gin ye'll keep your aith. Ha, ha, the girdin' o't, 1 11 bless you wi' my hindmost breath, Ha, ha, the girdin' o't. Duncan, gin ye'll keep your aith, The beast again can bear us baith. An' auld Mess John will mend the skaith. An' clout the bad gii-din' o't. Mimical Sraij, [AVhittf-n by Burss in December, 17 Thomson's collection. Its humour and have made it an universal favourite.] Duncan Gray cam' here to woo. Ha, ha, the wooing o't. On blythe Yule nicht, when we vrere Ha, ha, the wooing o't; !Macgie cuist her head fu' heich, Look'd asklant, and unco skeigh, Gart puir Duncan stand abeigh — Ha, ha, the wooing o't. Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd. Ha, ha, the wooing o't ; Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig, Ha, ha, the wooing o't. Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, Grat his een baith bleert and blin, .^^pak' o' louping ower a linn — Ha, ha, the wooing o't. Time and chance are but a tide. Ha, ha, the wooing o"t, Slichtit love is sair to bide. Ha, ha, the wooing o't ; Shall 1, like a fool, quoth he. For a hauchty hizzy dee ? She may gae to — France, for me ! Ha, ha, the wooing o't. How it comes, let doctors tell. Ha, ha, the wooing o't, 3Ieg grew sick — as he grew well. Ha, ha, the wooing o't ; Something in her bosom ^v^ings, Fur relief a sigh she brings ; And O, her een, they spak' sic things ! Ha, ha, the wooing o't. Duncan was a lad o' grace. Ha, ha, the wooing o't, Maggie's was a piteous case. Ha, ha, the wooing o't. Duncan couldna be her death. Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath. Now they're crouse and cantie baith : Ha, ha, the wooing o't. iuU M>^^ •^mtii. [This is given in Ramsay's Tea-Table Miscel- 9f3, for lany as an old song. Ramsay, however, was spirit obliged to curtail the original ballad on account < I of its coarseness. The tune of "Auld Rob Morris" I is in an old MS. collection, dated 1693, belonging at one time to Mr. Blaikie, engraver. Paisley, called "Jock the Laird's Brother."] fou. MOTHER. Auld Rob Morris, that wons in yon glen. He's the king o' guid fallows, and wale o' auld men; He has fourscore o' black sheep, and fourscore too; ^ Auld Rob Morris is the man ye maun lo'e. ^^f.M'^^^^^^^^it^M^^^-m^^.^ SCOTTISH S0XG3. DAUGHTER. Haud your tongue, mother, and let that abee ; For his eild and my eild can never agree : They'll never agree, and that will be seen , /"^ For he is fourscore, and I'm but fifteen. V^^ MOTHER. \^ Haud your tongue, dochter, and lay by your pride, ^■f\ For he is the bridegroom, and ye"se be the bride ; iC^ He shall lie by your side, and kiss you too ; /t^Jij Anld Bob Morris is the man ye maun lo'e. jjP %* DAUGHTER. Rjj-? -fftld Bob 3Iorris, I ten him fu' weel, a7 ) 3^ bac^ sticks out like ony peat -creel ; X f^ He's out-shinn'd, in-kneed, and ringle-eyed too ; !^^ Auld Kob ilorris is the Tnan I'll ne'er lo'e. , C/CJ MOTHER. ■ : / Though auld Rob Morris be an elderly man. Yet his auld brass will buy you a new pan ; Then, dochter, ye should na be sae ill to shoe. For auld Eob ilorris is the man ye maun lo'e. DAUGHTER. But auld Rob Morris I never will ha'e. His back is so stiff, and his beard is grown gray , I had rather die than live wi' him a ye;ir^ Sae mair o' Rob Morris I never will hear. itul^ Me^ JEsixtig, [Wbittew by BuRirs, for Thomson's collection, in November, 1792. Bums, it will be seen, bor- rows the two opening lines of the old song.] | There's auld Rob Morris, that wons in yon glen, ' He's the king o' gude feUows, and wale o' auld men; . He has gowd in his coffers, and cvsen and kine. And ae bonnie lassie, his darling and mine. She's fresh as the morning, the fkirest in May ; She's sweet as the ev'ning aanang the new hay ; As blythe and as artless as the lajmbs on the lea. And dear to my heart as the licht o' my e'e. But, oh, she's an heiress, auld Robin's a laird, I And my daddie has nocht but a cot-house and yard ; A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed ; | The wounds I maun hide that will soon be iiiy deid. sj is The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane , 1 1 The nicht comes to me, but my rest it is gane ; I I wander my lane, like a nicht-troubled ghaist, I' And I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breist. Oh, had she but been of a lower degree, I I then micht ha'e hoi)ed she wad sraUed upon me ! Oh, how past descriving had then been my bliss, As now my distraction no words can express ; BsV0 3s:^. [" Roi Jenny," to Jock,' j's Jock," or " The TVooing of Jock and to the tune of " Hey, Jenny, com' down. ' is one of the very oldest of our Scottish j songs, and can be traced as far back as to the i Bannatyne MS. of 1568. We find considerable I difference of reading in different versions. The I following is the version given by Ramsay, who I calls it " a very auld baUat."] ' Rob's Jock cam' to woo our Jenny ; On ae feast day when we were fou ; She brankit £ist, and made her bonnie, I i And said, Jock, come ye here to woo ? I She bumist her, baith breast and brow. And made her clear as ony clock ; Then spak' her dame, and said, I trow !i Te come to woo our Jenny, Jock. I I Jock said, Forsuith, I yearn til' fhin, i To luk my head, and sit down by you: Then spak' her minny, and said again. My bairn has tocher enough to gi'e you. I Tehie ! quo' Jenny ; Keik, keik, I see you : I Minny, yon man mak'» but a mock. Beshrew the liar, fu leis me o' you, , I come to woo your Jenny, quo' JO».-k. My bairn has tocher of her ain : ■ A guse, a gryce, a cock and hen, i A stirk, a staig, an acre sawin, A bake-bread and a bannock-stane, A pig, a pot, and a kirn there-ben, ^ A kame but and a kaming stock; ^ "Oi'ith cogs and luggies nine or ten : Come ye to woo our Jenny, Jock ? I A wecht, a peat -creel, and a cradle, A i)air of clips, a gndp, a flail, I An ark, an ambry, and a laidle, & A milsie, and a sowen-pailj '^'m^^f^scmfmm^0^sm!^. ^^• 81 I l.'G = Twa pistols charg'd by guess. To gi'e the courting sbot ; And syne came ben the lass, \Vi' swats drawn frae the butt. He first spetr'd at the gudeman. And syne at Giles the mither. An' ye wad gie'sa bit land, We'd buckle us e'en thegither. My dochter ye shall ha'e, I'll g'ie you her by the hand ; But I'll part wi' my wife, by my fae. Or I part wi' my land. Tour tocher it s'all be good, There's nane s'aU ha'e its maik. The lass bound in her snood. And Crummie wha kens her stake : "Wi' an auld bedding o' claes. Was left me by my mither. They're jet black o'er wi' flaes. Ye may cuddle in them thegither. Ye speak right weel, gudeman. But ye maun mena your hand, ^nd think o' modesty. Gin ye'll no quit your land. "U'e are but young, ye ken. And now w e're gaun thegither, A house is but and ben. And Crummie will want her fother. The bairns are coming on. And they'll crj-, their mither ! "We've neither pat nor pan. But four bare legs thegither. Yoiir tocher's be good enough. For that ye needna fear, Twa good stilts to the pleugh. And ye yoursel' maun steer : Ye S'aU ha'e twa guid pocks That anes were o' the tweel. The tane to haud the groats. The tither to haud the meal : Wi' an auld kist made o' wands. And that s'all be your coffer, Wi" aiken woody bands. And that may haud your tocher. Consider weel, gudeman, A'S'e ha'e but tarrow'd gear. The horse that I ride on Is Sandy WUson's mare ; The saddle's nane C my ain. And thae's but borrow'd boots. And whan that I gae hame, I maun tak' to my coots ; The cloak is Geordy Watt's, That gars me look sae crouse ; Come, fill us a cogue o' swats. We'll mak' nae mair toom rooee. I like you weel, young lad. For telling me sae plain, I married whan little I had 0' gear that was my ain. But sin' that things are sae. The bride she maun come forth, Tho' a' the gear she'll ha'e •Twill be but Uttle worth. A bargain it maun be, Fye cry on Giles the mither ; Content am I, quo' she. E'en gar the hizzie come hither. The bride she gaed to her bed. The bridegroom he came till her. The fiddler crap in at the fit. And they cuddl'd it a' thegither. illmxilant! mUlU, j [This is another song of very considerable anti- quity, and is valuable as illustrative of ancient manners. It is marked by Eamsay in his Tea- Table Miscellany with a Z, impljing that it was then old.] Hearken and I will tell you how Young Muirland AVillie came to woo, Tho' he cou'd neither say nor do ; The truth I tell to you. But aye, he cries, "VMiate'er betide, Magey I'se ha'e to be my bride, AVith a £U, dal, &c. On his gray yade, as he did ride, Wi' durk and pistol by his side. He piick'd her on wi' meikle pride, Wi' meikle mirth and glee. Out o'er yon moss, out o'er you muir. Till he came to her daddy's door, With a fal, dal, &c. '^m^f^^^^Mi-^ii^^^ms^^^m m^m^^^^^m;GS. f? Gudcman, quoth he, be ye within ? I 'm come your dochter's love to win, I earena for making msikle din ; What answer gi'e ye nie ? Now, wooer, quoth he, wou'd ye light down, I'll gi'e ye my dochter's love to win. With a fal, dal, &c. Now, wooer, sin' ye are lighted down. Where do ye won, or in what town ? I think my dochter wiana gloom. On sic a lad as ye. The wooer he stepp'd up the house. And wow but he was wond'rous crouse. With a fal, dal, &c. I have three oxen in a pleugh, Twa good gaun yades, and gear enough. The place the ca' it Cadeneugh ; 1 scorn to tell a lie : Besides, I ha'e fi-ae the great laird, A peat-pat, and a lang kail-yard With a fal, dal, &c. The maid put on her kirtle brown. She Wiis the brawest in a' the town I wat on him she didna gloom. But bliukit bonnilie. The lover he stended up in haste. And gript her hard about the waist, With a fal, dal, &c. To win your love, maid, I'm come here, I'm young, and ha'e enough o' gear; And for mysel' ye needna fear, Trowth try me whan ye Uke, He took aff his bonnet, and spat in his chow. He dightit his gab, and he prie'd her mou'. With a fal, dal, &c. Tlie maiden blush'd and bing'd fu' law. She hadna wUl to say him na, But to her daddy she left it a'. As they twa cou'd agree. The lover he gied her the tither kiss. Syne ran to her daddy, and tell'd him this. With a fal, dal, &c. Your dochter wadna say me na. But to yoursel' she's left it a'. As we cou'd agree between us twa , Say, what ye'll gi'e me wi' her ? Now, wooor, quo' he, I ha'e na meikle. But sic's I ha'e ye's get a pickle. With a fal, dal, &c. A kilnfu' of com I'll gi'e to thee. Three soums o sheep, twa good milk kye, Ye's ha'e the wadding-dinner free; Trowth I dow do nae mair. Content, quo' he, a bargain be't, I'm far frae hame, make haste, let's do't, With a fal, dal, &c. The bridal day it came to pass, Wi' mony a bly thsome lad and lass ; But sicken a day there never was. Sic mirth was never seen. This winsome couple straked hands, iless John ty'd up the marriage bands, AVith a fal, dal, &c. And our bride's maidens were na few, Wi' tap-notes, lug-knots, a' in blue, Frae tap to tae they were bra' new. And blinkit bonnilie. Their toys and mutches were sa clean, They glanced in our ladses' ecn. With a fal, dal, &e. Sic hirdum, dirdum, and sic din, Wi' he o'er her, and she o'er him ; The ministrels they did never bUn', Wi' meikle mirth and gleet And aye they bobit, and aye they beckt. And aye their loofe thegither met. With a fial, dal, &c. i^STife ©' Wmiu [First Version, found among Bubns's papers, and published by Cromek in his Beliques.] Ye flowery banks o' bonnie Doon, How can ye bloom sae fair ; How can ye chant, ye httle birds. And I sae fu' o' care ? Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bii-»l. That sings upon the bough , Thou minds me o' the happy days AVTien my fause love was true. Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird. That sings beside thy mate ; For sae I sat, and sae I sang. And wist na o' my fate. ^^^^^ss^m^^'f^^^^iw^f^-'m^m^^m^ m'^:m5Mi^^^^^^^^^W&^ SCOIIISD SOJ."GS. Aft ha'e I roved by bonnie Boon, To see the woodbine twine. And ilka bird sang o' its love ; And sae did I o' mine. AVi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, Frae afif its thorny tree ; And my fause luver staw the rose. But left the thorn wi' me. iamfe e' Mdm. [Second Version, written by Burns for John- son's Museum. The following account of the air is given by the Poet, in a letter to Mr. Thomson, dated Is'ov. 1754: "There is an air. The Cale- donian Hunt's Delight, to which I wrote a song tiiat you v\lll find in Johnson — Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon. This air, I think, might find a place among your hundred, as Lear says of his knights. Do you know the history of the air ? It is curious enough. A good many ye.^^s ago, Mr. James Miller, writer in your good town, was in company with our friend Clarke : and talking of Scottish music, MUler expressed an ardent ajnbition to be able to compose a Scots air. Mr. Clarke, partly by way of joke, told him to keep to the black keys of the harpsichord, and preserve some kind of rhythm, and he would inlaUibly compose a Scots air. Certain it is, that, in a few days, Mr. Miller produced the rudiments of an air, wnich Mr. Clarke, with some touches and corrections, fashioned into the tune in question."] Te banks and braes o' bonnie Doon, How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair ! Kow can ye chant, ye little birds. And I sae wearj-, fu' o' care ! Thou'lt break my heart, thou warbUng bird. That wantons through the flowering thorn ; Thou minds me o' departed joys. Departed never to return. Oft ha'e I roved by bonnie Doon, To see the rose and woodbine twine ; And ilka bird sang o' its love. And fondly sae did I o' mine. Wl' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, Fn' sweet upon its thorny tree ; But my Cause lover stole my rose, And ah ! he left the thorn wi' me. [Written by James Hooo. Composed and arranged for the Piano Forte by N. Gow, jun.] I Cam' ye by Athol, lad wi' the philabeg, I Down by the Tummel, or banks of the Gary ? I Saw ye our lads, wi' their bonnets an' while cock- i ades, j Leaving their mountains to followPrinceCharlie? ' Follow thee, follow thee, wha wadna follow thee ? j Lang hast thou loved and trusted us fairly ! j Charlie, Charlie, wha wadna follow thee ? I King of the Highland hearts, bonnie Prince I Charlie. I ha'e but ae son, my brave young Donald ; But if I had ten they should follow Glengarrj- ; Health to M'Donald and gallant Clan-Ronaid, For these are the men that will die for their Charlie. Follow thee, follow thee, &c. I'll to Lochiel and Appin, and kneel to them ; Down by Lord Murray and Koy of KUdarlie ; Brave Macidntosh he shall fly to the field wi' them; They are the lads I can trust wi' my Charlie. Follow thee, foUow thee, &c. Down through the Lowlands, down wi' the whig- amore. Loyal true Highlanders, down with them rarely; Ronald and Donald drive on wi' the braid claymore. Over the necks of the foes of Prince Charlie. Follow thee, follow thee, 6ca. ^U tt)^ i Written by the late Da>islWbir of Greenock. Adapted to the celebrated air of " Rousseau s ■] See the moon o'er cloudless Juia Shining in the lake below ; See the d'stant mountain towering Like a p\Tamid of sn ^w. Scenes of grandeur — scenes of childhood- Scenes so dear to love and me ! Let us roam by bower and wild wood, All is lovelier when with thee. I g*^'frti-^3J«fB;*S:S?*-S%SsSa ^m'^:^S^kS!&^^^^^ SCOTTISH S0XG3. On Leman's breast the winds are sighing, '3^ All is silent in the grove. And the flo\yers with dew-drops glistening Sparkle like the eye of love. Kight so calm, so clear, so cloudless ; Blessed night to love and me ! Let us roam by bower and fountain. All is lovelier when with thee. '^^t MUk, C^ [Written by the Eev. John Skintcer to an old Highland reel tune. " The Ewie wi" the crooked horn" is supposed to be a metaphor for the whiskey still.] O, WERE I able to rehearse. My ewie's praise in proper verse, I'd sound it out as loud and fierce As ever piper's drone could blaw. My ewie wi' the crookit horn ! A' that kenn'd her would ha'e s«orn. Sic a ewie ne'er was bom. Hereabouts nor far awa". She neither needed tar nor keel. To mark her upon hip or heel ; Her crookit homie did as weel. To ken her by amang them a'. She never threatened scab nor rot, But keepit aye her ain jog-trot ; Baith to the fauld and to the cot. Was never sweir to lead nor ca'. A better nor a thriftier beast, Xae honest man need e'er ha'e wish'd ; i'or, silly thing, she never miss'd To ha'e ilk year a lamb or twa. The first she had I ga'e to Jock, To be to him a kind o' stock ; And now the laddie has a flock Of mair than thretty head and twa. The neist I ga'e to Jean ; and now The bairn's sae braw, has feulds sae fu'. That lads sae thick come her to ' They're f^n to sleep on hay or straw. Cauld nor hunger never dang her, AVind or rain could never wrang her; Ance she lay an ouk and langer Forth aneath a wreath o' snaw. AATien other ewies lap the dyke. And ate the kale for a' the ^'ke. My ewie never play'd the Uke, But teesed about the barn wa'. I lookit aye at even for her. Lest mishanter should come ower her. Or the fuimart micht devour her. Gin the beastie bade awa'. Yet, last ouk, for a' my keeping, (AMia can tell o't without greeting ?) A villain cam', when I was sleeping, Staw my ewie, horn and a". I socht her sair upon the mom, And down aneath a bush o' thorn. There I Jand her crookit horn. But my ewie was awa". But gin I had the loon that did it, I ha'e sworn as weel as said it. Although the laird himseU forbid it, I sail gi'e his neck a thraw. I never met wi' sic a turn : At e'en I had baith ewe and horn. Safe steeket up ; but, 'gain the morn, Baith ewe and horn were stown awa'. A' the claes that we ha'e worn, Frae her and hers sae aft was shorn ; The loss o' her we could ha'e borne. Had fair-strae death ta'en her awa'. O, had she died o' croup or cauld. As ewies die when they grow auld. It hadna been, by mouy fauld, Sae sair a heart to ane o' us a'. But thus, puir thing, to lose her life. Beneath a bluidy villain's knife ; In troth, I fear that our gudewife Will never get abune 't ava. O, all ye bards benorth Kinghorn, Call up your muses, let them mourn Our ewie wi' the crookit horn, Prae us stown, and fell'd and a' ! '^ % '^^m^A^^s^'m^ SCOTTISH SONGS. [Wbittzn by Burns in May, ir95, for 5Ir. Thomson's collection. Tune, "Humours of Glen." " Bums," says Dr. Currie, " wrote professedly for the peasantry of his country, and \M-^^?^m^^m'^&^ 6\t I SCOTTISH SONGS. 1 IJ) [Tbjs appeared in 1815, as a translation from the French, in Paul's Letters to his Kinsfolk, by Sir \r.^ Walter Scott. It was aiterwards set to music by G. F. Gr.oliam, Esq. in >Ir. Thomson's Select q\^ Melodies. Sir Walter says that " the original made part of a MS. collection of French Songs, found on the field of Waterloo, so much stained with clay and with blood as sufficiently to indicate the fate of its owner." Sir Loclihart informs us, that the original romance, " Partant pour la SjTie, le jeune et brave Uunois," i?cc. was written, and set to music also, by Hortense Boauharnois, Duchesse de St. Leu, E.K-Queen of Holland.] *V It was Dunois, the young and brave, was bound for Palestine, Ti it first he made his orisons before St. jVIai7's shrine; " And grant, immortal queen of heaven," was still the soldier's prayer. That I may prove the bravest knight, and love the fairest fair." His oath of honour on the shrine, he graved it with his sword. And followed to the Holy Land the banner of his lord ; Wliere, faithful to his noble vow, his war-cry filled the air — " De honoured aye the bravest knight — be loved the fairest fair." They owed the conquest to his arm, and then his liege lord said, " The heart that has for honour beat, by bliss must be repaid, — Jly daughter Isabel and thou shall be a wedded pair. For thou art bravest of the brave— she faii-est of the fair." And then they bound the holy knot before St. Mary's shrine. That makes a paradise on earth, if hearts and hands combine ; And every lord and lady bright that were in chapel there, Cried, " Honoured be the bravest knight — be loved the fciirest fair.' [This popular strain was written by Wiii.iam Lockhart. — Tune, "The Dusi^r Glen.'' Sair, sair was my heart, when I parted frae my Jean, An' s:vir, sair I sigh'd while the tear stood in my een, For my daddie is but poor, and my fortune is sae srmi'. It gars me leave my native Caledonia. ■When I think on the days now gane, an' sae happy 's I ha'e been, While wand'ring wi' my dear, where the primrose blaws unseen, I'm wae to leave my lassie, and my daddie's simple ha'. Or the hills an' healthfu' breeze o' Caledonia. But wherever I wander, still liappy be my Jean, Nae care disturb her bosom, where peace has ever been ; Then tho' ills on ills befa' me, for her I'll bear them a', Tliough aft I'll heave a sigh for Caledonia. Hut should riches e'er be mine, and my Jeanie still prove true, Tlien blaw ye fav'ring breezes, till my native land I view ; Tiien I'll kneel on Scotia's shore, while the heartfelt tear shall fa', A;iJ never leave my Jean, nor Caledonia. W g '[i^^S'm^'^arm:f^^^E:^0^^.^^i ?^1r@^^:^^]3^i'^/^ SCOTTISH S0XG3 %nn^ £i' ttt E?sL [We can find no information regarding the authorship of this song. It appeared shortly after the death of Burns, whose dving thoughts it affects to personifv-. It is sung to the old tune of " Hty, tuttie, taittie."] I'm wearing awa', Jean, Like snaw when it is tliiiw, Jean ; I'm wearing awa', Jean, To the land o' the leal. There's nae sorrow there, Jean, There's neither cauld nor care, Jean, I The day is aye fair, Jean, ] In the land o' the leal. ' Ye were aye leal and true, Jean, Your task's ended now, Jean, And I'll welcome you To the land o' the leal. Our bonnie bairn's there, Jean, She was baith guid and fkir, Jean, And we grudged her right sair To the land o' the leal. Then dry that tearfu' e'e, Jean, Wy soul langs to be free, Jean, And angels wait on me To the land o' the leal. Sow, fare ye weel, my ain Jean, This warld's care is vain, Jean, "We'll meet and aye be fiiin . In the land o' the leal. [The antiquity of this song is sufiBciently proved from a fragment of it being quoted in Shakspcare's t^'ij tragedy of Othello, published in 1611. Bishop /*^ Percy gives an English version of the song in his f^jn KeUques of Ancient Poetry, admitting, at the V ^^J some time, that the song is originally Scotch. \> The following is the Scottish version, which ap- ^ : pears in Eamsay's Tea-Table Miscellany.] ft'ff^ In w-inter, when the rain rain'd cauld, j^ And frost and snaw on ilka hill, r -^ And Boreas, wi' his blasts sae bauld, \f^) VV'as threafnin' a' our k7e to kill %^m>^M ^' CIS 13 Then Bell, my wife, who lo'es nae strife. She said to me richt hastilie. Get up, gudeman, save Crummie's life. And tak' your auld cloak about ye. My Crummie is a usefu" cow, And she is come of a good Idn' ; Aft has she wet the baims's mou'. And I am laith that she should tjnie ; Get up, gudeman, it is fu' time. The sun shines frae the lift sae hit ; Sloth never made a gracious end ; Gae, tak' your auld cloak about ye. My cloak was ance a gude grey cloak, When it was fitting for my wear ; But now it's scantly worth a groat, ': For I have wom't this thretty year: Let's spend the gear that we ha'e won. We little ken the day we'll die ; Then I'll be proud, since I have sworn To ha'e a new cloak about me. In days when our King Robert rang. His trews they cost but half a croun ; He said they were a groat ower dear. And ca'd the tailor thief and loon : He was the king that wore a croun, And thou the man of laigh degree: It's pride put? a' the countiy doun ; Sae tak' your auld cloak about ye. Ilka land has its ain lauch, Hk kind o' com has its ain hool ; I think the world is a' gane wrang. When ilka wife her man wad rule : Do ye no see Rob, Jock, and Hab, As they are girded gaUantlie, AVh'le I sit huyklin i' the aese ? — I'll ha'e a new cloak about me. Gudeman, I wat its thretty year Sin' we did ane anither ken ; And we ha'e had atween us twa Of lads and bonnie lasses ten : Xow thoy are women grown and men, I wish and pray wecl may they be ; If you would prove a gude husband, E'en tak' your auld cloak about ye. Bell, my wife, she lo'es nae strife. But she would guide nie, if she can : And to maintain an easj- life, I aft maun yield, though I'm gufieman : ■^:S^''^~m.^ii^ & g y m^:^5M^fm-j^^^^'^i SCOTTISH SOKGa. ^ ^ S if Debt's to be gain'd at woman's hand, Unless ye gi'e her a' the plea; Then I'll leave aff where I began. And tak' my auM cloak about me. [This was recovered by David Herd, and pub- lished in the second edition of his collection, 1776. There is an old song called "Johnnie Blunt," which resembles the present one in its subject, but is somewhat too coarse for extract.] It fell about the Martinmas time. And a gay time it was than, When our gudewife got puddings to mak'. And she boil'd them in the pan. The wind sae cauld blew south and north. And blew into the floor : Quoth our gudeman, to our gudewife, " Gae out and bar the door." " My hand is in my hussy'f skap, Gudeman, as ye may see. An' it shou'd nae be barr'd this hundred year. It's no be barr'd for me." They made a paction 'tween them twa, They made it firm and sure ; That the first word whae'er shou'd speak, Shou'd rise and bar the door. Then by there came twa gentlemen. At twelve o'clock at night. And they could neither see house nor hall, Nor coal nor candle light. Now, whether is this a rich man's house. Or whether is it a poor ? But never a word wad ane o' them speak. For barring o' the door. And first they ate the white puddings And then they ate the black Tho' muckle thought the gudewife to hersel'. Yet ne'er a word she spak'. Then said the one unto the other, " Here, man, tak' ye my knife. Do ye tak' aff the auld man's beard. And I'U kiss the gudewife." " But there's nae water in the house. And what shall we do than •'" '•' What ails ye at tlie puddin' broo. That boils into the pan." up then started our gudeman. And an angry man was he ; " Will ye kiss my wife before my een. And scad me wi' pudding bree?" Then up and started our gudewife, Gied three skips on the floor : " Gudeman, ye've spoken the foremost word Get up and bar the door." ^am €&kn» [This charming song was written by Birns for Johnson's Mussum, where it is set to an old air called "Tam Glen." It is also sung to the air called " The mucking o' Geordie's byre."] Mv heart is a-breaking, dear tittie. Some counsel unto me come kn' ; To anger them a' is a pity. But what will I do wi' Tam Glen ? I'm thinkin', wi' sic a braw Mlow, In puirtith we micht mak' a fen' H^ MTiat care I in riches to wallow. If I maunna marry Tam Glen ? There's Lowrie, the laird o' Drumeller, " Gude day to you," brute ! he comes ben ; He brags and he blaw s o' his siller. But when will he dance lilie Tam Glen ? Jly minnie does constantly deave me. And bids me bewiire o' young men ; They flatter, she says, to deceive me — But wha can think sae o' Tam Glen ? My daddie s.ays, gin I'll forscike him, He'll gie me gude bunder merks ten ; But, if it's ordain'd I maun tak' him, O, wha will I get but Tam Glen ? Yestreen, at the Valentine's dealin', My heart to my mou' gied a sten ; For thrice I drew ane without failin And thrice it was written — Tiun Glen, ^^<'e'er a bit o' me will ha'e him. A sUler brooch he ga'e me neist. To fasten on my curchie nookit , I wore 't a wee upon my breist, ^. But soon, alake! the tongue o't crookit; And sae may his ; I winna ha'e him ' >'a, forsooth, I winna ha'e him ! Twiee-a-baim's a lassie's jest ; Sae ony fool for me may ha'e him. The carle has nae fault but ane ; For he has land and doUars plenty ; But, waes me for him, s'lan and bane Is no for a plump lass of twenty. Hout awa', I winna ha'e him 1 Xa, forsooth, I winna ha'e him ! "What signifies his dirty riggs. And cash, without a man wi' them ? But should my cankert daddie gar Me tak' him 'gainst my inclination , I w.im the fumbler to beware That antlers dinna claim their station. Hout awa' ! I winna ha'e him ! », forsooth, I winna ha'e him ! I'm fleyed to crack the holy band, Sae lawty says, I should na hae him. [AttAN CrSNIXGHAM.j NiTH, trembling to the reaper's sang, "Warm glitter'd in the harvest sun. And murmured down the lanesome glen, "^'here a \^^fe of wanton wit did won. Her tongue wagged wi' unhaly wit, L'nstent by kirk or gospel bann , An' aye she wished the kirkyard mools Green growing o'er her auld gudeman. Her auld gudeman drapped In at e'en, "Wi' harvest heuk— sair toiled was he ; Sma' was his cog and cauld his kail. Yet anger never raised his e'e ; He blessed the little, and was blithe, AVhile spak' the dame, wi' clamorous tongue, sorrow clap your auld beid pow. And dance wi' ye to the mools, gudeman ! He hang his bonnet on the pin. And down he lay, his dool to drie ; "While she sat singing in the neuk. And tasting at the barley bree. The lark, 'mid morning's siller gray, That wont to cheer him warkward gaun, ^ext morning missed amang the dew The blithe and dainty auld gudeman. The third morn's dew on flower and tree 'Gan glorious in the sun to glow, "When sung the wanton wife to mark His feet gaun foremost o'er the knowe. The first flight o' the winter's rime That on the kirkyard sward had faun , The wanton wife skiffed aff his gnxn, A-kirking wi' her new gudeman. A dainty dame I wat was she. High brent and burnished ivas her brow, 'Mang lint-locks curling ; and her lips Twin daisies dawned through honey dew. And light and loesome in the dance, "When ha' w.is hct, or kirn was wonj Her breasts twa drifts o' purest snaw. In caxild December's bosom faun. But Ling ere winter's winds blew by. She skirled in her lonesome bow ; Her new gudeman, wi* hazle rung. Began to kame her wanton pow. ^^^Is^^^ ^m^^sss'^f^.^m^^^^'m'^^ 94 SCOTTISH SONGS. m ^ Her hearth was slokent out wi' care, Toom grew her kist iind cauld her pan, And dreigh and dowie waxed the night. Ere Beltane, wi' her new gudeman. She dreary sits 'tween naked wa's. Her cheek ne'er dimpled into mirth; Half-happit, haurling out o' doors. And hunger-haunted at her hearth. And see the tears fa'*rrae her een. Warm happin' do%vn her haffits wan ; But guess her bitterness of saul In sorrow for her auld gudeman ! ^-Jie ^€^2 ^utm2t> In blue worset boots that my auld mither span, I've aft been fu' vauty sin' I was a man. But now they're flung by, an' I've bought cordlvan And my wifie ne'er grudg'd id (4 I [Written? hy A. Scott, to the tune of " The Eock and the Wee Pickle Tow."] I'M now a gude farmer, I've acres o' land. An' my heart aye loups light when I'm vievrin' An' I ha'e servants at my command, [o't. An' twa dainty cowts for the plowin' o't. My fiirm is a snug ane, lies high on a muir. The muir-cocks an' plivers aft skirl at my door. An' whan the sky lowrs I'm aye sure o' a shoWr, To moisten my land for the plowin' o't. Leeze me on the mailin that's fa'n to my share. It taks sax muckle bowes for the sawin' o't; I've sax braid acres for pasture, an' mair. And a dainty bit bog for the ma win' o't. A spence an' a kitchen my mansion-house gi'es, I've a cantie wee wifie to daut whan I please, Twa bairnies, twa callans, that skelp ower the leas. An' they'll soon can assist at the plowin' o't. My biggan stands sweet on this south slopin' hill, An' the sun shines sae bonnily beamin' on't. An' past my door trots a clear prattlin' rill, Frae the ioch, whare the wild ducks are swim- min' on't'. An' on its gn-en banks, on the gay summer days, 3Iy wifie trips barefoot, a-bleaching her claes. An' on the dear creature wi' rapture I gaze. While I whistle and sing at the plowin' o't. To rank amang farmers I ha'e muckle pride. But I mauna speak high whan I'm tellin' o't. How brawlie I strut on my sheltie to ride, AVi' a sample to show for the sellin' o'U ; Sae now, whan tae kirk or tae market I gae. My wecliare, what need I be hidin' o't ' In braw leather boots, shining black as the slae, I dink me to try the ridin* o't. Last to\vmond I sell'd off four bowes o' gude bear. An' thankfu' I was, for the Nictual was dear. An' I came hame wi' spurs ou my heels shinin' I had sic good luck at the sellin' o't. [clear, Kow hairst time is owre, an' a fig for the lau-d. My rent's now secure for the toilin' o't ; My fields are a' bare, and my crap's in the yard. An' I'm nae mair in doubts o' the spoQin' o't. Xow welcome gude weather, or wind, or come weet. Or bauld ragin' winter, wi' hail, snaw, or sleet, 2>^ae mair can he dniigle my crap 'mang his feet. Nor wraik his mischief, an' be spoilin'o't. An' on the dowf days, whan loud hurricanes blaw, Fu' snug i' the spence I'll be viewin' o't. An' jink the rude blast in my rush-theekit ha', WTian fields are seal'd up frae the plowin' o't. Jly bonnie wee wifie, the bairnies, an' me. The peat-stack, and turf-stack, our Phoebus shall Till day close the scoul o' its angry e'e, [be. An' we'll rest in gude hopes o' the plowin' o't. [Written in 1803 (during the alarm of a French invasion) by Axdhew Scott, now or recently beth- ral or church ofiicer in the parish of Bowuen, Roxburghshire.] Surrounded wi' bent and wi' heather, AVhere muircocks and plovers were rife. For mony a lang towmond together. There lived an auld man and his wife : About the affairs o' the nation The twasome they seldom were mute ; Bonaparte, the French, and invasion. Did sa'ur in their wizzins Uke soot. In winter, whan de?p were the gutters. And nicht's gloomy canopy spread, Auld Symon sat luntin' his cuttie. And lowsin' his buttons for bed ; ^i^m^^^^^^iiMf^^Mm^^^^m^ Auld Janet, his wife, out a-gazing. To lock in the door was her care ; She, seeing our signals a-blazing. Came rinnin' in rvvlng her ha i r : 0, Symon, the Frenchies are landit ! Gae look man, and slip on your shoon ; Our signals I see them extendit. Like red risin' raj-s frae the moon. Vrnzt a plague ! the French landit ! quo' Symon, And clash gaed his pipe to the wa' : Faith, then, there's be loadin' and primin". Quo' he, if they're landit ava. Our youngest son's in the militia. Our eldest grandson's volunteer : O' the French to be fu' o' the fiesh o', I too i' the ranks shall appear. His waistcoat -pouch fill'd he wi' pouther. And bang'd down his rusty auld gun ; His bullets he pat in the other. That he for the purpose had mn. Then humpled he out in a hurry. While Janet his courage bewails. And cried out. Dear Symon, be wary ! And teuchly she hung by his tails. Let be wi* your kindness, cried S)-mon, IN'or vex me wi' tears and your cares ; For, now to be ruled by a woman, « laurels shall crown my grey hairs, ear me, quo' Janet, I pray thee, I'll tend thee, love, livin' or deid. And if -thou should £a', I'U dee wi' thee. Or tie up thy wounds if thou blee-l. Quo' Janet, O, keep trae the riot ! Last nicht, man, I dreamt ye was di':i : This aught days X ten tit a pyot Sit chatfrin' upon the house-hsid. As yesterday, workin' my stockin'. And you wi' the sheep on the hill, A muckle black corbie sat croaking; I kend it forebodit some ill. Hout, cheer up, dear Janet, be hearty , For, ere the neist sun may gae down, TrTia kens but I'll shoot Bonaparte, And end my auld days in renown. Syne off in a hurry he stumpled, "Wi' bullets, and pouther, and gun ; Afs curpin auld Janet, too, humpled Awa' to the neist neebour-toun : There footmen and yecmen paradin'. To scour off in dirdum were seen ; And wives and young lasses a' sheddin' The briny saut tears frae their een. ^ Then aff wl' his bonnet got Symie, And to the commander he gaes. Quo' he. Sir, I mean to gae wi' ye. And help ye to lounda our faes : I'm auld, yet I'm teuch !S the wire, Sae we'll at the rogues ha'e a dash. And fegs, if my gun wiuna fire, I'U turn her but-end and I'U thrash. "WeU spoken, my hearty old hero ! The captain did smilin' reply ; But begg'd he wad stay tiU to-morrow, TiU day-licht should glent in the sky. ■V\"hat reck, a' the stoure cam' to naething, Sae Symon, and Janet his dame, Halescart, frae the wars, v^ithout skaithiug, Gaed, bannin' the French, away 'name. om ttti ^t)» [From a coUection of Jacobite Melodies, pub- lished at Edinburgh in 1823. This lamentrition iS I ' said to re'iate to an incident connected with the 1 1 massacre of t'ne ilacdonalds of Glenco, in 1691.] i I Oh, was not I 3 weary wight ? [ ■ Oh ono chri oh ! oh ono chri oh : '. JIaid, wife, and widow, in one night : Oh ono chri oh I &c. 'V^"hen in my soft and yielding arms. Oh ono chri oh ! &e. 'U'hen most I thought him free from harms. Oh ono chri ch ! ice. i ; Even at the dead time of the night. Oh ono chri oh '. &c. They broke my l)ower, and slew my knight. Oh ono chri oh I &c. With ae lock of his jet black hair. Oh ono chri oh ! £cc. Ill tye my heart for ever mrir ; Oh ono chri oh 1 &c. ] Nae sly-tongued youtli, or flattering swain. I \ Oh ono chri oh I &c. ] I ShaU e'er untye this knot again : Oh ono chri oh I 6io. ^ B (^K i ■^ -^^m^^'^-^Mi'^^^:^0^^m J .SCOTTISH SONG?. Is ■,'ir- Thine, still, dear youth, that heart shall be. Oh ono chri oh ! &c. Kor pant for aught save heaven and tliee I Ob ono chri oh ! &c. ^f)t ^d,'hnlumk=nm.. [This humorous and graphic piece is generally .•woribed to James T. king of Scotland, (born 1512 : died 1542). James V. was known often to go in disguise, and indulge in frolics similar to the one here celebrated.] The pawlde auld carle came o'er the lea, Wi' mony gude e'ens and days to me. Saying, Gudewife, for your courtesie, ■WiU you lodge a siUy poor man ? The nicbt was cauld, the carle was wat. And down ayont the ingle he sat ; Mydoughter's shouthers he 'gan to clap. And cadgily ranted and sang. O wow ! quo' he, were I as free. As first when I saw this countrie. How blythe and merry wad I be ! And I wad never think lang. He grew canty, and she grew fain ; But little did her auld minny ken ■\Vhat thir slie twa together were say'ng. When wooing they were sae thraug. And O ! quo' he, an' ye were as black As e'er the crown of my daddy's hat, 'Tis I wad lay thee by my back. And awa' wi' me thou should gang. And ! quo' she, an' I were as white, As e'er the snaw lay on the dike, I'd deed me braw and lady like. And awa' wi' thee I would gang. Between the twa was made a plot ; They raise a wee before the cock. And wihly they shot the lock, And fast to the bent are they gane. Up in the mom the auld wife raise. And at her leisure pat on her claise ; Syne to the servant's bed she gaes. To epeer for the silly poor man. t m^s-m^'^^^fm^^0^^. She gaed to the bed where tlie beggar Liy, The strae was cauld, he was away. She clapt her hands, crj-'d, AValaday ! For some of our gear will be gane. PoTiie ran to coffer, and some to kist. But nought was stown that cou'd be mist. She danc'd her lane, crj-'d. Praise be bltstl I have lodg'd a leal poor man. Since naething's awa', as we can learn. The kirn's to kim, and milk to earn, Gae butt the house, lass, and waken my bairn. And bid her come quickly ben. The servant gade where the doughter lay. The sheets were cauld, she was away. And fast to the gudewife 'gan say. She's aff wi' the gaberlunzie, man. fy gar ride, and fy gar rin. And haste ye find these traytors again ; For she's be burnt, and he's be slain. The wearifu' gaberlunzie man. Some rade upo' horse, some ran a fit, The wife was wud, and out o' her wit ; She cou'd na gang, nor yet cou'd she sit. But aye she curs'd and she bann'd. Mean tune far hind out o'er the lee, Fu' snug in a glen, where nana could see. The twa wi' kindly sport and glee. Cut frae a new cheese a whang : The priving was good, it pleas'd thi To lo'e her for aye, he ga'e her his aith. Quo' she. To leave thee I wUl be laith. My winsome gaberlunzie man. O kend my minny I were wi' you, lll-far'dly wad she crook her mou". Sic a poor man she'd never trow. After the gaberlunzie-man. My dear^ quo' he, ye're yet o'er young. And ha'e nae leam'd the beggar's tongue, To follow me firae town to town. And carry the gaberlunzie on. Wi' cauk and keel I'll win your bread. And spindles and whorles for them wha need, "W'hilk is a gentle trade indeed. To carry the gaberlunzie on. I'll bow my leg, and crook my knee. And draw a black clout o'er my e'e, A cripple or blind they will ca" nie. While we shall be merry and sing. V) I SCOTTISH SONGS. 97 J -/) T:fi fcnl ifp Ttne ^nux. [Edward Polin, Paisley. — Here first printed.] It's true^ frien's, it's true. An' I'm wae tae confess. That our joy micht be ^l.^ir, An' our grief micht be less ; But we aye get a mouthfu', Though -we whiles kenna vrh.ir, Sae, ! frien's, be thankfu' — " It's weel it's nae waur." We've a' dreet the gimin' O' cauld gloomin' care, Tet o' hope's mornin" sang Ha'e we no had our share ? Though the cary be dark whiles. There's aye some bit star, Tae keep us reflectin' " It's weel it's nae waur." We've sicken'd in sorrow At parting to-day. But the meeting to-morrow Can chase it away ; An' if some frien's ha'e wither'd Sin' we were afar, AVe ken whar their banes lie — '■' It's weel it's nae waur." Ourills ha'e been mony — We've a" had our share. An nae doubt we've whiles thocht That nane could ha'e mair ; But yet there are thousan's 3Iair wretched by far. Then, 0! frien's, be thankfu'— " Its weel it's nae waur. " [Thomas Smibkbt.] The hills of my country are mantled with snow. Yet, oh ! I but love them the more ; More noble they seem in the sun's setting glow. Than all that the vales of the Southron can show. When gay with the summer's whole store. Tho' brighter the landscape, and blanier the air. In climes that look straight to the sun. The dearest enjoyments of home are not there. The chat and the laugh by the hearth's cheering glare. When day and its labours are done. And thus, like the snow-cover'd hills of their land. Its sons may seem rugged and rude, Tet gentler in heart is each man of the band. More kindly in feeling, more open in hand. Than all whom the tropics include. [Edward Polin, Paisley. — Here first printed.] I HAVB wander'd afar 'neath stranger skies. And have revell'd am-d their flowers, I h.ive lived in the light of Italian eyes. And dream 'd in Italian bowers. While the wond'rous strains of their sunny clima Have been triU'd to enchant mine ears. But, oh ! how I longed for the song and the time When my heart could respond with its tears. Then sing me a song, a good old song. Not the foreign, the learn'd, the grand,— But a simple song, a good old song Of my own dear father-land. I have heard, with the great, and the proud, ard the gay. All, all they wotdd have me adore. Of that music divine that, enraptur'd, they say. Can be equall'd on earth never more , And it may be their numbers indeed are divine. Though they move not my heart through mine ears. But a baUad old of the dear " langsyre" Can alone claim my tribute of tears. Then sing me a song, cScc I have come from a for and a foreign clime To mine own loved haunts once more. With a yearning for aU of my childhood's tin?, And the dear home-sounds of yore , And hero if there yet be love frr me, O ! away with those stranger lays. And now let my only welcome be An old song of my boyhood days. Then sing me a song, &c- (3 i ^^ ^: I SCOTTISH SOiVGS. latitg Sisfeie. 'CJ" Thomson's collection, was merely an improvement . ^^ , and extension of a song which he had previously >• \ , contributed to Johnson's Museum, called " The .-^ ' Gardener vri' his paidle." "Dainty Davie," says , >^. •-* Allan Cunningham, " is the name of an old merry ■ N » sang from wliich Burns has borrowed nothing :■> , i save the title and the measure. It relates the '.. adventure of David Williamson, a preacher of .'^ , the days of the covenant: he was pursued by Dal- ';-.^, zell's dragoons, and seeking a refuge in the house • " - of Cherrjtrees, the devout lady put tlie man of • ^ God into a bed beside her daughter, to hide him ^- ' from the men of Belial. The return which the . reverend gentleman made for this is set forth very ' "^ graphically in the old verses. The young lady 1 ( «>^'' s;ngs— ;: ;£", ' Being pursued by a dragoon, ' 'V /^ AVithin my bed he was laid down, I 'j£'\ And wee! I wat he was worth his room, Vjv^^ My douce, my dainty Davie !' " YyC) "The tune of Dainty Davie," says Mr. Sten- ■ / >., house, " is inserted in Playford's Dancing Master, ' J*^i first published in 1657. It is clear, therefore, that 1^ \ th'.^re was a song under this title, long before the ■.,\ well-known story about the Rev. David William- ^ Zj son and the daughter of the laird of Cherrytrees."] 3Cf^' i Now rosy May comes in wi" flowers, To deck her gay green birken bowers. And now come in my happy hours. To wander wi' my Davie. Meet me on the warlock knowe. Dainty Davie, dainty Davie ; There I'll spend the day wi" you. My ain dear dainty Davie. I The crj-stal waters round us fa'. The merry birds are lovers a'. The scented breezes round us blavv, A-wandering wi' my Davie. When purple morning starts the hare. To steal upon her early fare. Then through the dews I will repair. To meet my Ciithfu' Davie. "When day, expiring in the west, The curtain draws o' Nature's rest, I'll flee to his arms I lo'e best, And that's my dainty Davie. ®|5e Cat^eEet M' U^ jpsilk. [The reader may be curious to see the difference between " Dainty Davy," and " The Gardener wi' his paidle." The latter Bukxs contributed to Johnson's Museum. It is adapted to an old tune, called "The Gardener's March."] AVhex rosy May comes in wi' flowers, To deck her gay green-spreading bowers. Then busy, busy .are his hours — The gard'ner wi' his paidle. The crystal waters gently fa' ; The merry birds are lovers a' ; The scented breezes round him blaw — The gard'ner wi' his paidle. When purple morning starts the hare. To steal upon her early fare. Then through the dews he maun repair— The gard'ner vd' his paidle. When day, expiring in tlie west. The curtain draws of nature's rest. He flies to her arras he lo'es best — j The gard'ner wi' his paidle. Eicfeg Kaicg. [From the first vol. of Ramsay's Tea-Table Miscellany, where it appears with the mark Q, signifying that it is an old song with additions. Regarding this song. Lord Woodhouselee says: I " I have been informed, on good authority, that the words, as printed in Ramsay's collection, were written by the Hon. Duncan Forbes, lord president of the Court of Session." It is given in Ramsay to the tune of " Dainty Davie."] AVhii.e fops, in saft Italian verse. Ilk fair ane's een and breist rehearse While sangs abound, and wit is scarce. These lines I have indited. r) I SCOTTISH SONGS. 99 But neither darts nor arrows, here, Venus nor Cupid, shall appear ; Although with these fine soiinds, I swear, The maidens are delighted. I was aye telling you. Lucky Nancy, Lucky Nancy, Auld springs wad ding the new. But ye wad never trow me. Nor snaw with crimson will I mix. To spread upon my lassie's cheeks ; And syne the unmeaning name prefix, Miranda, Cloe, Phillis; I'll fetch nae simile frae Jove, >Iy height of ecstacy to prove, Nor sighing — thus — present my love "With roses eke and lilies. But, stay — I had amaist forgot My mistress, and my sang to boot. And that's an unco feut, I wot; But, Nancy, 'tis nae matter: Ye see I clink my verse wi' rhyme. And ken ye that atones the crime ; Forbye, how sweet my numbers chime. And gUde away Uke water ! Now ken, my reverend sonsy fair. Thy runkled cheeks, and lyart hair. Thy half-shut een, and hoddling air. Are a' my passion's fuel ; Nae skyring gowk, my dear, can see. Or love, or grace, or heaven in thee ; "Vet thou hast charms enew for me ; Then smile, and be na cruel. Leeze me on thy snawy pow. Lucky Nancy, Lucky Nancy ; Dryest wood wiU eithest low. And, Nancy, sae will ye now. Troth, I have sung the sang to you, "Which ne'er anither bard wad do ; Hear, then, my charitable vow. Dear venerable Nancy: But, if the world my passion wrang. And say ye only live in sang. Ken, I despise a slandering tongue. And sing to please my fancy. Leeze me on, &c. [This old ditty, to its own tune, appeared in Herd's collection, 1776.] Symon Brodie had a cow : The cow was lost, and he couldna find her: "When he had done what man could do, The cow cam' hame, and her tail btbind her. Honest auld Sj-mon Brodie, Stupid auld doitit bodie I I'U awa' to the north countrie. And see my ain dear Symon Brodie. Symon Brodie had a wife. And, wow ! but she was braw and bonnie. She took the dish-clout aff the bulk. And preen'd it to her cockemonie. Honest auld Symon Brodie, &c. [This piece of satiric humour was first pub- lished in "Watson's collection of Scottish ifG3. :3< Ami thf^re'U he PnnJie the souter, And Will wi' the mickle mou'; And there'll be Tarn the bluter, And Andrew the tinkler, I trow. And there'll be bow-lcggit Robbie, Wi' thumlcss Katie's gudeman ; And there'll be blue-cheekit Dobbie, And Lawrie, the laird o' the land. And there'll be sow-libber Patie, And plookie-fac'd AVat C the mill ; Capper-nosed Francie, and Gibbie, That wins in the howe o' the hill. And there'll be Alaster Sibbie, That in wi' black Bessie did mool ; AVi' sneevlin' Lillie, and Tibbie, The lass that sits aft on the stool. And there'll be Judan Maclowrie, And blinkin' daft Barbara Macleg; Wi' flae-luggit shaimie-faced Lawrie, And shangie-mou'd haluket Meg. And there'll be happer-hipp'd Nancie, And fairy-faced Flo-wrie by name, Muek Maudie, and fat-luggit Grizzie, The lass wi' the gowden wame. And there'll be Gimagain Gibbie, And his glaikit wife Jenny Bell, And misle-shinn'd JIungo Macapie, The lad that was skipper hirasell. There lads and lasses in poarlings Will feast in the heart o" the ha' ; On sybows, and reefarts, and carlins, That are baith sodden and raw. And there'll be fadges and brachen. And fouth o' gude gabbocks o' sl"ick. Quoth ilaggie. Come buy us our fairin' ; And Wattie richt sleely could tell, I think thou'rt the flower o' the clachaii, — In trowth, now, I'se gi'e thee myseU. But wha wad ha' e'er thocht it o' him. That e'er he had rippled the lint ? Sae proud was he o' his Maggie, Though she was baith scaulie and squint. jlkltit Khm^. [This appears in the first vol. of Ramsay's Tea- Table Jliscellany (1721) without any mark. The reader will discover in it the origin of the English song, " Nobody coming to marry me." It is given in Ramsay to the tune of " Eark wad let me be."] It's I ha'e seven braw new govms. And ither seven better to mak' ; And yet, for a' my new gouns. My wooer has tum'd his back. Besides, I have seven milk-kje. And Sandy he has but three ; And yet, for a' my gude kye. The laddie winna ha'e me. My daddie 's a delver o' dykes, 3Iy mother can card and spin. And I'm a fine fodgel lass. And the siller comes linkin' in ; The siller comes linkin' in. And it is fu' fair to see. And fifty times, wow ! wow ! ■What ails the lads at me ? ■Whenever our Bawty does bark. Then fast to the door 1 rin. To see gin ony young spark VmX Ucht and venture but in ; But never a ane will come in. Though mony a ane gaes by ; Syne ben the house I rin. And a weary wicht am I. ■When I was at my first prayers, I pray'd but anes i' the year, I wLsh'd for a handsome young lad. And a lad wi' muckle gear. ■When I was at my neist prayers, I pray'd but now and then, I fash'd na my head about gear, If I got a handsome young man. K^ow I am at my last prayers, I pray on baith nicbt and day. And, oh, if a beggar wad come, ■With that same beggar I'd gae. And, oh, and what '11 come o' me ; And, oh, and what '11 1 do ! That sic a braw lassie as I Should die for a wooer, I trow ! Wtt ^mX2X gat Jang. [By J. Mat.ve, author of " Logan Braes." See pageSl.] The winter sat lang on the spring o' the year. Our seedtime was late, and our mailing was dear ; My mither tint her heart when she look'd on us a". And we thought upon them that were farest awa' ; O ; were they but here that are farest awa' ; O ! were they but here that are dear to us a" ; Our cares would seem light and our sorrows but sma'. If they were but here that are far frae us a' ! 7ji I I I m^;S^^^-f\ §>^mm'^^^^m^^^m:^^^^^ 102 SCOTTISH SONGS. Last week, when our hopes ware o'erclouded wi" fear. And nae ane at hame the dull prospect to cheer , Our Johnnie has vvTitten, frae far awa' parts, A letter that lightens and bauds up our hearts. He says, " My dear niither, though I be awa'. In love and affection I'm still wi' ye a' ; While I ha'e a being, ye'se aye ha'e a ha', WI' plenty to keep out the frost and the snaw." My mither, o'erjoy'd at this change in her state. By the bairn that she doated on early and late, Gi'es thanlis, night and day, to the Giver of a'. There's been naething unworthy o' him that's awa'! Then, here is to them that are far frae us a'. The friend that ne'er fail'd us, though farestawa'i Health; peace, and prosperity, wait on us a' ! And a blythe corain' hame to the friend that's awa' III age ca' m. [Composed by Burns, in honour of his Jean. The title of the tune is, " I'll gang nae mair to yon toun," being the first line of an old ballad, beginning, " I'U gang nae mair to yon toun, O, never a' my life again ; I'll ne'er gae back to yon toun, To seek anither wife again." This tune appears so far back as in Oswald's Cale- donian Pocket Companion. It was observed to be a groat favourite with George IV. during his visit to Edinburgh in 1822.] I'LL aye ca' in by yon toun. And by yon garden green again ; / I'll aye ca' in by yon toun. And see my bonnie Jean again. .y'^ ' There's nane shall ken, there's nane shall guess, v^^jr" What brings me back the gate again, >*, - But she, my fairest faithfu' lass ; ^^ \ And stowlins we shall meet again. 0! 15 She'll wander by the aiken tree. When trj-stln time draws near aga And when her lovely form I see, O haith, she's doubly dear again. I'll aye ca' in by yon toun. And by yon garden green again ; I'll aye ea' in by yon toun. And see my bonnie Jean again. \ Uut ^t fo|)s'g. ^1 ^s^fm^ <4' [Tnis is another composition of Burns'; the tune " I'll gang nae mair to yon toun." It appears, along with the above, in Johnson's Museum. "Jean" was the origin.il heroine of the song, but Burns afterwards altered the name to " Lucy," in honour of the lady of R. A. Oswald, Esq. of Auchincruive, Ayrshire, who fell a vic- tim to consumption in 1798, when only about thirty years of age. Her maiden name was Lucy Johnston.] 0, WAT ye wha's in yon toun. Ye see the e'ening sun upon ? The fairest maid's in yon toun. That e'ening sun is shining on. Kow haply down yon gay green shaw. She wanders by yon spreading tree ; How blest, ye fiow'rs, that round her blaw ! Ye catch the glances o" her e'e. How blest, ye birds, that round her sing. And ^1 elcome in the blooming year ! And doubly welcome be the spring. The season to my Jeanie dear ! The sun blinks blythe on yon toun, Amang yon broomy braes sae green : But my delight, in yon toun. And dearest pleasure, is my Jean. AVithout my love, not a' the charms Of Paradise could yield me jny ; But gi'e me Jeanie in my arms. And welcome Lapland's drearie sky. My cave wad be a lover's bower. Though raging winter rent tlie air; And she a lovely little flower. That 1 wad tent and shelter there. O sweet is she in yon toun. The sinking sun's gane d0"Ti upon ; The dearest maid's in yon toun, His setting beam e'er shone upon. If angrj- fate be sworn my foe, And suffering I am doom'd to bear, I'll careless quit aught else below ; But spare, oh ! spare me Jeanie dear. "'m-^m^s^^^m^ ^^^m^^i^tm^^^^^'mi :f. SCOTTISH SONGS. fc For, while life's dearest blood runs warm, >Iy thoughts frae her shall ne'er depart . Tor, as most lovely is her form. She has the truest, kindest heart. ), t|®u lagt utn. m by the late John Sim of Paisley, the tune of " Banks of Spey."] 1 THOU hast seen the lily fair. All bathed in morning dew ; And thou hast seen the lovely rose. Just op'ning to the view. The Uly bathed in morning dew. The rose so Ciir to see. Are not more pure than her I love. Are not more fair than thee. But soon before time's withering bkist, The rose and Uly fade ; Nor even wiU beauty such as thine Outlive its darkening shade. Yet there is that within thy breast wm ruthless time defy, A mind will bloom when beauty Cides, Will flourish in the sk-y. [Robert Tank ah ill.] O sAiR I rue the witless wish. That gar'd me gang wi' you at e'en. And sair I rue the birken bush. That screen'd us with its leaves sae green. And though ye vow'd ye wad be mine. The tear o' grief aye dims my e'e. Per, ! I'm fear'd that I may tyne The love that ye ha'e proniis'd me I "VMule ithers seek their e'ening sports, I wander, dowie, a' my lane. For when I join their glad resorts, Their daffing gi'es me meikle p.iiu. Alas I it was na sae shortsyne. When a' my nights were spent wi' glee ; But, 1 I'm fear'd that I may tyne The love th.it ye ha'e promis'd me. Dear lassie, keep thy heart aboon, For I ha'e waLr'd my winter's ft-e, I've eoft a bonnie silken gown. To be a bridal gift for thee. And sooner shall the hills fa' down. And mountain-high shall stand the sc:i. Ere I'd accept a gowden crown, To change that love 1 bear for thee. ^2 IJace^ite^ Ig Hsr. [This song appears in the fourth volume of Johnson's Museum, and there is every reason to believe, that it is a production of Burns's, founded on some older Jacobitical effusion. The tune of "Ye Jacobites by name" is very beautiful, and has been adapted to several songs, but to none with more success than the one entitled "My love 's in Germanic," given elsewhere.] Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear, give an ear ; Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear ; Ye Jacobites by name. Your fautes 1 will proclaim. Your doctrines I maun blame — You shall hear. ■-■//:, What is right, and what is wrang, by the law, by the law ? What is right, and what is wrang, by the l.iw ? '""i ■What is right, and what is wrang ? l-^-" A short sword, and a lang, A weak arm, and a Strang For to draw. What makes heroic strife, fam'd afar, fam'd afar ? WTiat makes heroic strife, fam'd aiar? What makes heroic strife ? ' To whet th' assassin's knife, I Or hunt a parent's life Wi' bluidie war. Tlien let your schemes alone, in the state, in tie state; Then let your schemes alone in the state ; Then let your schemes alone. Adore the rising sun. And leave a man undone To hU £ate. %' S^^^S^^ii^ <# '«ii^'i. m^^^^^ B^m^^^^^m^^s^^ m '»* SCOTTISH SONGS. !f ^ ^^le Kai^eli. [Air, " Traveller's Return."— Thissimple, natu- ral, and affecting production is to be found in alraost every Scottish song-book of the present centurj-jWith the name " Miss Blamire" attached as the authoress ; but who "Miss Blamire" was, what part of the country she belonged to, and whether she was Uving or dead, were questions which none or very few could answer, until the recent publication of a volume with the following title, " The Poetical AVorks of Miss Susanna Blamire, ' the muse of Cumberland ;' now for the lirst time collected by Henry Lonsdale, M. T).; with a Preface, Jlemoir, and Xotos, by Patrick Maxwell : Edinburgh, 1842." From this elegant little volume we learn, that Susanna Blamire was a native of Cumberland, and bom at Cardew Hall, about six miles from Carlisle, on the 12th of January, 1747 ; that her father was a respectable gentleman of the county, William Blamire, Esq. ot the Oaks ; that her mother died early in life, and tjusanna was brought up chiefly with a benevolent and rich aunt, Mrs. Simpson of Thackwood ; that in 1767 her eldest sister Sarah married Colonel Graham of Gartmore, after which period she spent a considerable portion of her time at her sister's residence in Scotland ; that the latter years of her Ufa were afflicted by infirm health, and that she died at Carlisle on the 5th of Api-il, 1794, at the age of forty -seven. *' She had," ac- cording to her biographer Mr. Maxwell, who has displayed unwearied research in gathering the particulars of her life from sources that were iixst dying away, "a graceful form, somewhat above the middle size, and a countenance — though slightly marked with the smallpox— beaming with fuod nature; her dark eyes sparkled with anima- tion, and won every heart at the first introduc- tion. She was called by her affectionate country- men * a bonnie and varra lish young lass,' which may be interpreted as meaning a beautiful and very lively young girl. Her affability and total freedom firom affectation, put to flight that reserve which her presence was apt to create in the minds of her humbler associates ; for they quickly perceived she really wished them happiness, and aided in pro- moting it by every effort in her power. She freely mingled in their social parties, called merry neets in Cumberland ; and by her graceful figure, ele- gant dancing, and kir.d-hearted gaysty, gave a : zest to the entertainments, which without her ^ > presence would have been wanting." Miss Bla- u(l,< mire's productions consist of a variety of pieces Jn y 5^ the Enghsh language, a considerable number of Scottish Songs, and some songs in the Cumber- land dialect. None of them were printed in her lifetime with her name, but most of them were distributed in MS. among her friends and rela- tions. Of her Scottish songs, the following is the most universally popular. We give it here with / 'J^ Iilr. Maxwell's permission, from his own copy, »0 collated with two manuscripts in the authoress's **J/' handwriting and other MS. copies.] ^[^ "When silent time, wi' lightly foot, / -< Had trod on thirty years, V *t I sought again my native land ^r^ WV mony hopes and fears : -^ AVha kens gin the dear friends I left ^^ May stUl continue mine ? \ V^ Or gin I e'er again shall taste The joys I left langsyne ? .\ s I drew near my ancient pile, :My heart beat a' the way; Ilk place I pass'd seem'd yet to speak O' some dear former day ; Those days that follow'd me afar. Those happy days o' mine, Whilk made me think the present joys A' naething to langsyne ! The ivy'd tower now met my eye. Where minstrels used to blaw ; Kae friend stepp'd forth wi' open hand, Kae weel kenn'd face 1 saw ; Till Donald totter'd to tlie door. Wham I left in his prime. And grat to see the lad return He bore about langsyne. I ran to ilka dear friend's room. As if to find them there, I knew where ilk ane used to sit. And hang o'er mony a chair; Till soft remembrance threw a veil Across these een o' mine, I clos'd the door, and sobb'd aloud. To think on auld langsyne ! Some pensy chiels, a new sprung race. Wad next their welcome pay, V ha shudder'd at my Gothic wa's. And wish'd my groves away : aM 'M>^H .'^j^^^§s:^^^^.m^i^^ ^^iS'^^m^^m^ -^^'m^^'^^^ SCOTTISH SOXGS. ' Cut, cut," they cried, " those aged elms. Lay low yon mournfu' pine:" Xa I na ! our fathers' names grow there. Memorials o' langsyne. To wean me frae these waefu' thcughts. They took me to the town ; But sair on ilka weel-kenn'd face I miss'd the youthfu' hloom. At balls they pointed to a nymph "Wham a' declar'd divine ; But sure her mother's blushing cheeks Were fairer far langsyne ! In vain 1 sought in music's sound To find that magic art, WTiich oft in Scotland's ancient lays Has thrill'd through a' my heart : The sang had mony an artfu' turn ; My ear confess'd 'twas fine. But miss'd the simple melody I listen'd to langsyne. Ve sons to comrades o" my.youth, Forgi'e an auld man's spleen, Wha 'midst your gayest scenes still mourns The days he ance has seen : ■\Vhen time has past, and seasons fled. Your hearts vdU feel like mine ; And aye the sang will maist delight That minds ye o' langsyne ! . m^Rt €Bt2 1, [William Paul. Music by James P. Clarke.] Mv father has baith gowd and gear, Forby a bonnie mailen free : ?ry mither spins wi' eident care. An' dochters they ha'e nane but me. But what care I for gowd and gear. Or what care I for mailens free ; I wadna gi'e a bonnie lad. For a' the gowd in Chrisendie. My mither cries, Tak' Sandy Bell, The canny laird o' Hazleglen ; >ry father bids me please mysel'. Bat tak' the laird o' auld Kilnenn. Cut what care I for gowd and ernr, Kae charm has gowd and gear for !' I wadna ^I'e a bonnie lad. For a' the gowd in Chrisendie. Hillat aiU tU^ l5€axt. [Susanna Blamtbh. — Air, " Sir James Baird." — " This song," says Mr. Maxwell, " seems to have been a favourite with the authoress, for I have met %vith it in various forms among her papers ; and the labour bestowed upon it has been well repaid by the popularity it has all along enjoyed. The I edition given, the best that has yet been in types, ' is printed from a copy of several of her poems and songs, fairly and carefully written out, apparently either for publication or for the perusal of a friend, ^^ all of which api)ear to have got her final oorrec- '^ tions. See the air in Neil Gow's First Collection of Reels, &c. 3d edit. p. 8. It forms the &41st song in ' The Scots Musical Museum,' vol. vi., first published in June 1803. The original title of the air seems to have been ' lly dearie, an' thou dee." It is the second song to the music, the first being Gall's beautiful ' O, Mary, turn awa'.' ' Both of these songs,' says Mr. Stenhouse, ' are excellent.'"] 2? What ails this heart o' mine ? ■\That ails this watery e'e ^ What gars me a' turn cauld as death When I take leave o" thee ? When thou art far awa" Thou'lt dearer grow to me ; But change o' place and change o' fol'n May gar thy fancy jee. When I gae out at e'en. Or walk at morning air. Ilk rustling bush will seem to say I us'd to meet thee there. Then I'll sit down and cry. And live aneath the tree. And when a leaf fa's i' my lap I'll cat a word frae thee. I'll hie me to the bower That thou wi' roses tied. And where wi' mony a blushing tud I strove mysel' to hide. I'll doat on ilka spot AVhere I ha'e been wi' thee ; And ca' to mind some kindly word By ilka bum and tree I ■^^^^i]^'^i^> i ^mas'^^mm'-^^.f^J^i^^ 106 SCOTTISH SONGS. 9 AVi' sic thoughts i' my mind, Time through the world may gac. And find my heart in twenty years Tlie same as 'tis to-day. 'Tis thoughts that bind the soul. And keep friends i' the e'e; And gin I tliink I see tliee aye, AVhat can part thee and me ! [Takk.n down from the singing of Jamie, a natural who frequents the watering places of Dunblane and Bridge of Allan. We know not who is the author of the song, nor whether it has been before printed. — Aik, " The auld mans mare's dead."] O WEARY on the toom pouch. It shames us a' the toom pouch ; Sic times as we ha'e aften seen, ^lake mony a waefu' toom pouch. Of a' the ills in life's career. The want o' bread and beef and beer. The taunt o' men, and women's jeer — The greatest is the toom pouch. O weary on, &c. An empty purse is slighted sair. Gang ye to market, kirk, or fair, Ye'U no be muckle thought o' tliere Gin ye gang wi' a toom pouch. O weary on, &c. An empty purse is ill to wear. An empty rurse is ill to share. E'en lovers' friendship canna bear To hear ought o' a toom pouch. O wearj- on, &c. Dut 0, ye lasses blythe and clean, 3 ust let me tell ye as a frien', ■Whene'er you meet your lads at e'en. Be canny on the toom pouch. O weary on, &c. For fegs ! the times are no the thing To mak' our merry taverns ring ; And wha the deil could dance and sing Gin pester'd wi' a toom pouch .■" weary on, &c. Sae dinna ca' your laddie shy. And dinna say he's cauld and di-y. And dinna speak o' sweeties. — Fie! Be mindfu' o' the toom pouch. O weary on, &c. For kind may be his heart and true- And weel and warmly may he lo'e. And fondly kiss your cherry Although he wears a toom pouch O weary on, &e. But may be times will mend a wee, AMien twa may venture to be three But, gudesake, lasses ! ne'er agree To marry wi' a toom pouch. weary on, iScc. ^|e ImU ^Ut [Alexander Kkay, a ploughman in the Kings- muir, Fifeshire. Air, " The bonnie hawthorn." — Here first printed.] Thk bricht star o' e'enin' peep'd forth frae the sky. The winds were a' hush'd, — not a mortal was nigh. When Jenny walk'd forth 'mid the primroses pale, And pour'd her fond plaint in the sweet lovely vale. " Ye fairies that dance in yon wild lonely dell. Whose drink is the dew frae the sweet flow'refs bell. Whose food is the incense that's borne on the gale From the primrose and hawthorn that bloom in the vale. " say, have you seen a young swain passing by. With health on his cheek, and with love in his eye; Detain the fond youth — now his sighs shall prevail With the maid he oft woo'd in the sweet flow'iy vale. " O sweet smells the bean in the saft summer shower. And sweet sings the merle in his green leafy bower; But sweeter to me is my fond lover's tale. Where the primrose and hawthorn bloom s:wect /> aV the vale. ■^J^^:^?^m^^^£^0^^m^i!^ ^S^^^TjS^*-^ SCOTTISH S0XG3. 107 ^Jie EsfelaB^g d ^dUnh. [IfABSHALL's tune, called " Miss Admiral Gor- don's Strathspey," composed for the song " Of a' the airts the vrind can blaw," is formed on the fine old air of " The Lawlands of Holland." The words themselves are said to be the lamentation of a young widow in Galloway, whose husband was drowned in a voyage to Holland, about the beginning of the last century.] The luve that I had chosen, "W'as to my heart's content. The saat sea wiU be frozen Before that I repent; Eepent it will I never ITntil the day I dee, Tho' the lawlands o' Holland Ha'e twined my luve and me. My luve lies in the salt sea. And I am on the side. Enough to break a young thing's heart "VVha lately was a bride ; ■\Vha lately was a bonnie bride. And pleasure in her e'e ; But the lawlands o' HoUand Ha'e twined my luve and me. 3Iy luve he built a bonnie ship. And sent her to the sea, VTV seven score brave mariners To bear her companie ; Threescore gaed to the bottom. And threescore died at sea. And the lawlands o' Holland Ha'e twined my love and me. Jfy luve has buUt anither ship. And sent her to the main. He had but twenty mariners. And a' to bring her hame ; The stormy clouds did roar again. The raging waves did rout. And my luve, and his bonnie ship, Tum'd widdershins about I There shall nae mantle cross my back, >'ae comb come in my hair, Keither sal coal or candle light. Shine in my bowit mair; (fe^' Xor sal I ha'e anither iuve, TTntn the day I dee, I never lo'ed a luve but ane. And he's drown'd in the sea. O, baud your tongue, my daughter dear. Be stiU, and be content. There are mair lads in Galloway, Te need nae sair lament. O ! there is nane in Galloway, There 's nane at a' for me. For I never lov'd a lad but ane, And he 's drown'd in the sea. ^ lag^ie cam* te ciu ^uU, [The author of this song, and of several others which we shall have occasion to quote in the course of this work, was Robert Allan of Kil- barchan, in Renfrewshire. He was intimate wititi TannahiU and E. A. Smith, and wrote a number of pieces for the latter's " Scottish Minstrel-" and other musical publications, some of which have become popular. He also published a collection of his poems at Glasgow in 1S36. After spending a lengthened and much respected life in his native village, (his employment being that of a weaver and manufacturer's agent,) he was induced to emigrate to the United States of America, where some of his relations had established themselves. Accordingly, he sailed from Greenock, for 2few York, on the 2Sth April, 1S41, but had not long landed in America when he was carried off by a bilious fever, under which he had been labouring during the latter portion of the passage. His death took place on the 7th June, 1841, exactly eight days after his arrival in Is'ew York. His funeral was attended by a number of his country- men and of Americans. At the time of his death his age was about 67.] A LASSIE cam' to our gate, yestreen. An' low she curtsied down ; She was lovelier far an" Mrer to see Than a' our ladies roun'. O whare do ye wend, my sweet winsome doo ? An' whare may your dwelling be .' But her heart, I trow, was liken to break. An' the tear-drap dim'd her ee. f^s ^^^^^^\^ ^irC,'^=i3>^'^ Ki%S^^^xj;3^Sj= 108 (i ^^ SCOTTISH SONGS. s (ft I lia'ena a hame, quo' the bonnie lassie — 1 ha'ena a hame nor ha' , Fain here wad 1 rest my weary feet. For the night begins to fa'. I took her into our tapestry ha'. An' we drank the i-uddy wine : An' aye I strave, but fand my heart Fast bound wi' love's silken twine. 1 ween'd she might be the fairies' queen. She was sae jimp and SQia' ; And the tear that diiu'd her bonnie blue e'e FeU owre twa heaps o' snaw. whare do ye wend, my sweet winsome doo ? An' whare may your dwelling be ? ('an the winter's rain an' the winter's wind Blaw cauld on sic as ye ? 1 ha'ena a hame, quo' the bonnie lassie — I ha'ena a ha* nor hame ; ^ly father was ane o' " Charlie's" men. An' him 1 daurna name. "WTiate'er be your kith, whate'er be your kin, Frae this ye mauna gae ; An' gin ye'll consent to be my ain, Ifae marrow ye shall ha'e. Sweet maiden, tak' the siller cup, Sae fu' o' the damask win--. An* press it to your cherrie lip. For ye shall aye be mine. An' drink, sweet doo, young Charlie's health, An' a' your kin sae dear , Culloden has dim'd moiiy an e'e W'i' mony a saut, saut tear. mu S?£m, [ItoBERT Tannahill. — Air "Johnnie M'Gill."] 'Tis hinna ye heard, man, o' Barrochan Jean ? And hinna ye heard, man, o' Barrochan Jean ! How death and starvation came o'er the haUl na- tion, She wr«. ugut sic mischief wi' her twa pawky ^f The lads and the lasses were dying in dizzens, ^j." The taenkiirdwi' love, and the titherwi' spleen, ^il The ploughing, the sawing, tlie shearing, the V.2!? mawing, ^^ A" wark was forgotten for Barrochan Jean ! ^ V Frae the south and the north, o'er the Tweed and the Forth, Sic coming and ganging there never was seen, ""X*^ The comers were cheery, the gangers were blearie, i--w Despairing, or hoping for Barrochan Jean. jO The carlins at hame were a' giruing and graning, •'^' The bairns were a' greeting frae morning till e'en, . . , They gat naething for crowdy, but runts boil'd to '^ ' sowdie. For naething gat growing for Barrochan Jean. The doctors declar'd it was past their descriving. The ministers said 'twas a judgment for sin. But they lookit sae blae, and their hearts were sae wae, I was sure they were dying for Barrochan J(:an. The burns on road-sides were a' dry wi' their drinking. Yet a' wadna sloken the drouth i' their skin ; A' around the peat-stacks, and alangst the dyke backs. E'en the winds were a' sighing, sweet Barro- chan Jean. The timmer ran done wi' the making o' coffins, Kirkyards o' their sward were a' howkit fu' clean. Dead lovers were packit like herring in barrels. Sic thousands were dying for Barrochan Jean. But mony braw thanks to the Laird o' Glen- Brodie, The grass owTe their graffs is no;v bonnie and green. He sta' the proud heart of our wanton young lady. And spoil'd a' the charms o' her twa pawky etn. ^lem JEa§|k %un%^ sfoB^. =^ [It may be curious to contrast the ' Barrochan Jean" of Tannahill with a similar extravaganza by the Ettrick Sjiepherd.] O, WHAT will a' the lads do When Maggie gangs away ? O, what will a' tlie lads do, Wlien Maggie gangs away.' ^^m^^^cm-^^^^Mm^it^-sfm!^ 'mif^^'^ilW-:^^^ SCOTTISH SONGH 109, There's no a heart in a' the gleu That disna dread the day. O, what -will a' the lads do ^^'hen Maggy gangs away ? Toung Jock has ta'en the hill fort— A waefu' wight is he ; Poor Harry's ta'en the bed for't. An' laid him doun to dee ; An' Sandy's gane unto the kirk. An' learning Cast to pray. And, O, what will the lads do When Maggy gan^ away ? The young laird o' the Lang-shaw Has drunk her health in wine ; The priest has said — in confidence — . The lassie was divine : And that is mair in maiden's praise Than ony priest should say : But, O, what wiU the lads do \\'hen Maggy gangs away ? The wailing in our green glen That day will quaver high ; Twill draw the red-breast frae the wood. The laverock from the sky ; The fairies frae their beds o' dew Will i-ise and join the lay : An' hey ! what a day 'twill be \\'hen Maggy gangs away 1 [RoBEKT Allan. — In this song, the spirit of some of our old Jacobite effusions is happily caught. The white rose, as is well known, was the emblem of the Stuart femily. There grew in bonnie Scotland A thistle and a brier. And aye they twined and clasped, Like sisters kind and dear -. The rose it was^sae bonnie. It could ilk bosom charm ; The thistle spread its thorny leaf. To keep the rose frae harm. A bonnie laddie tended The rose baith air and late ; He watered it, and fanned it. And wove it with his fate , f^l^CnS^^'^^Sm- And the leal hearts of Scotland Prayed it might never fe', The thistle was sae bonnie green, The rose sae like the snaw. But the weird sisters sat "WTiere Hope's fair emblems griw ; They drapt a drap upon the rose O' bitter, blasting dew ; And aye they twined the mystic thr mlI. But ere their task was done. The snaw-white shade it disappeardi — It withered in the sun ! A bonnie laddie tended The rose baith air an' Lite ; He watered it, and fanned it. And wove it vsith his fate ; But the thistle tap it withered, — ' "Winds bore it far awa', — And Scotland's heart was broken For the rose sae like the snaw ! [Robert Allan. — Tune, " The ilartyr's Grave."] There's nae covenant now, lassie : There's nae covenant now ! The solemn league and covenant Are a' broken through ! Thci-e's nae Renwick now, lassie, There's nae gude Cargill, Is'or holy Sabbath preaching Upon the MartjTs Hill ; It's naething but a sword, Ircssi^ : A bluidy, bluidy ane ; Waving owre poor Scotland For her rebellious sin. Scotland's a' wrang, kissie, Scotland's a' wrang — Its neither to the hill nor glen. Lassie, we daur gang. The MartjTS Hill fors.'.'Ken, In simmer's dusk, sae cabn ; There's nae gathering now, Liisie, To sing the e'enin" psalm ! \t, '^:SfiW^0m3^-^m-^MJ^^^y'^^, no SCOTTISH SONGS. But the martjT's grave will rise, lassie, Aboon the warrior's cairn ; An' the niartjT soun' will sleep, lassie, Aneath the waving fern ! i $ [EoBT. Tankahill.— Air, "Invercauld's Reel."] My Mary is a bonnie lassie. Sweet as the dewy morn. When Fancy tunes her rural reed. Beside the upland thorn. She lives ahint yon sunny knowe, "Where flow'rs in wOd profusion grow, Where spreading birks and hazels throw Their shadows o'er the burn. 'Tis no the streamlet-skirted wood, AVi' a' its leafy boWrs, That gars me wait in solitude Among the wild-sprung flow'rs ; But aft I cast a langing e'e, Down frae the bank out-owTe the lea. There haply 1 my lass may see. As through the broom she scours. Yestreen I met my bonnie lassie Coming frae the town. We raptur'd sunk in ither's arms And prest the breekans down ; The palrtrick sung his e'ening note, The rye-craik rispt his clam'rous throat, While there the heaVnly vow I got. That erl'd her my own. [Written by John Hamilton, for many years A musicseller and teacher of music in Edinburgh, and the composer of several melodies. He died at Edinburgh in September, 1S14, aged 53.] Ae mom, Last ouk, as I paed out To flit a tether'd yowe and lamb, I met, as skiflBng ower the gretn, A jolly rantin' Highlandman. His shape was neat, wi' feature sweet, And ilka smile my favour wan ; I ne'er had seen sae braw a lad. As this young rantin' Highlandman. He said. My dear, ye're sune asteer ; Cam' ye to hear tlie laverock's sang ? O, wad je gang and wed wi' me. And wed a rantin' Highlandman ? In summer days, on flowery braes, When frisky is the ewe and lamb, I'se row ye in my tartan plaid. And be your rantin' Highlandman. ■With heather bells, that sweetly smells, I'll deck your hair sae fair and laug, If ye'll consent to scour the bent Wi' me, a rantin' Highlandman. We'll big a cot, and buy a stock, Sj-ne do the best that e'er we can ; Then come, my dear, ye needna fear To trust a rantin' Highlandman. His words sae sweet gaed to my heart, And fain I wad ha'e gi'en my han". Yet durstna, least my mother should Dislike a rantin' Highlandman. But I expect he will come back ; Then, though my kin' should scauld and ban, I'll ower the bill, or where he wiU, Wi' my young rantin' Highlandman. ?Saxl JEaw^. [Thomas Campbell.] Eakl March look'd on his dj-ing child. And smit with grief to view her — The youth, he cried, whom I exiled Shall be restored to woo her. She's at the window many an hour. His coining to discover ; And her love look'd up to Ellen's bower. And she look'd on her lover. But ah ! so p.ale, he knew her not. Though her smile on him was dwelling. And am I then forgot — forgot ? — It broke the heart of EUen. ':^y^^'m^$^^i^^'LMi'-xt's heart was frank and free. And wooers she had mony, yet Her sang was aye. Of a' I see. Commend me to my Johnnie yet. For, air and late, he has sic gate To mak' a body cheerie, that I wish to be, before I die. His ain k'od dearie vet. >'ow Jenny's face was fu' o' grace. Her shape was sma' and genty-like. And few or nane in a' the place Had gowd and gear more plenty, yet Though war's alarms, and Johnnie's charms. Had gart her aft look eerie, yet She sung wi' glee, I hope to be 3Iy Johnnie's ain dearie yet. "What tho' he's now gaen far awa', "UTiere guns and cannons rattle, yet fnless my Johnnie chance to fa' In some uncanny battle, yet Till he return, my breast will bum Wi' love that weel may cheer me yet. For I hope to see, before I die. His bairns to him endear me yet. ^■Z¥ Uv.t BCfe, 35?£Tl. Tak' tent now, Jean,— ye mind yestreen The tap that raised ye frae your wheel. Tour wily e'e, that glanced on me. Ha i lass, the meaning I kent weel. But I ha'e tint thy kindly glint. And lightly now ye geek at me ; But, lass, tak' heed, you'll rue the deed. When aiblins we'll be waux to 'gree. Tak' tent now, Jean, — the careless mein. And cauldrife look, are ill to dree ; It's sair to bide the scomfu' pride And saucy leer o' woman's e'e. Ah ! where is now the bosom-vow. The gushing tear of melting love. The heaVnly thought, which fancy wrought. Of joy below, and bliss above ? Tak* tent now, Jean, — thae twa sweet een Fu' light and blithely blink I trow; The hinney drop on the red-rose top Is nae sae sweet .is thy wee mou' : But though thy fair and faithless air Hath wrung the bosom-sigh frae m.e, A changing mind, and heart unkind. ilay chill a breast as dear to thee. ■:4 I I ^:^^^^^^^^J^?^- SCOTTISH SONGS, IP ^ [" Tnis," says Burns, " is one of the most beau- tiful 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 l:nes, ' 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 1771 or 1772 it came first on the streets as a ballad ; and I sup- pose the composition of the song was not much anterior to that period."— Buras says nothing about the authorship of the song, wliich has been made in later days a subject of much dispute. It was generally ascribed to William Julius MicKLK, the translator of the Lusiad, until Cro- mek claimed it as the production of a poor school- mistress, named Jean Adams, who lived in Craw- ford's-dyke, Greenock, early in the last century. Croraek founded his claim on the testimony of Jlrs. Fullarton, a pupil of Jean Adams, and others, who had frequently heard Jean repeat the song, and affirm it to be her own composition. But he after^vards abandoned the claim, when he understood from Blickle's editor, the Kev. John Sim, that a copy of the song in Mickle's hand- writing was found among his papers after his death, bearing marks of correction as a first copy, and that Mrs. Mickle perfectly recollected her husband giving her the bidhid as his own compo- sition, and explaining to her (she being an Eng- lishwoman) the Scottish words and phrases. Still, we have so much reliance on the testimony of 3Irs. Fullarton, and the probity of Jean, that we are inclined to believe, that the poor school- mistress really did write some song with a similar burthen (" There's nae luck about the house") and on a similar subject, which song probably gave inspiration to Jlickle's version. We are the more disposed to think so, when we recollect that Mickle's studies were mostly classical — that he was little likely to originate the subject of this song— that his poems were more marked by elegance than vigour, and that, with the present excep- tion, none of them were written in the Scottish dialect. Add to this, the schoolmistress was; brought up at a sea-port, which Mickle was not. and must have been often the witness of partings and meetings between sailors and their wives. The very familiar expression in the song — " I'll to the quay" — is in her favour, as is also the name of the hero, " Colin," which is a name only common in the West Highlands. — Jean Adams by all ac- counts was a woman of natural talent and great enthusiasm of character, but her life was chequer- ed and unfortunate, and at last she was con- strained to seek shelter in the Town's Hospital, Glasgow, where she died in 1765. A volume of her poems, chiefly of a moral and religious cast, was published hy subscription at GLisgow in 173-1. It does not, of course, contain the present song, otherwise the question would have been settled, but neither do any of the editions of Mickle's poems published during his life time contain it. Though previously printed on broadsheets, the song can now be traced no farther back than to Herd's collection of 1776. The sixth stanza, as it stands in the present copy, beginning " The cauld blasts o' the winter wind," d'd not appear in Herd, but was an intcrpolatiou by Dr. Beattie.] And are ye sure the news is true ? And are ye sure he's weel ? Is this a time to think o' wark !> Te jauds, fling bye your wheel. Is this a time to think o' wark, ^ Wlien Colin's at the door ? Rax me my cloak, — I'll to the quay. And see him come ashore. For there's nae luck about the house. There's nae luck at a' ,■ There's little pleasure in the house. When our izudeman's awa'. A nd gi'e to me my biggonet. My bishops' satin gown. For I maun tell the bailie's wife That Colin's come to tovra. My turkey slippers maun gae on, My hose o' pearl blue ; 'Tis a' to please my ain gudeman. For he's baith leal and true. For there's nae luck, &c. Rise up and mak' a clean fireside ; Put on the muckle pot ; Gi'e little Kate her button go-iN-n, And Jock his Sunday coat: 'm^^^^m^(Mf^m:m3^^mi^ SCOTTISH SO^GS. 113 And mak' their shoon as black as slaes. Their hose as wliite as snaw ; It's a' to please my ain gudeman. For he's been lang awa'. For there's nae luck, &c. There's twa fiat hens upon the bauk, They've fed this month and mair; Mak' haste and thraw their necks about. That Colin weel may fare ; And spread the table neat and clean. Gar ilka thing look braw ; For wha can tell how Colin fared, "When he was far awa'. For there's nae luck, &c. Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech. His breath like caller air; His very foot has music in't. As he comes up the stair. And will I see his face again ? And wUl I hear him speaik. ? I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought, — In troth, I'm like to greet. For there's nae luck, &c. The cauld blasts o' the winter wind. That thirl'd through my heart. They're a' blawn by, I ha'e him safe. Till death we'U never part : But what puts parting in my head ? It may be far awa' , The present moment is our ain. The neist we never saw. For there's nae luck, &c. Since Colon's weel, I'm weel content, I ha'e nae mair to crave ; Could I but live to mak' bim blest, I'm blest aboon the lave : And will I see his face again ? And will I hear him speak ? I'm do\%-nright dizzy ■ni' the thought, — In troth, I'm like to grett. For there's nae luck, &c. [Hugh Aixsiib.] Each whirl of the wheel. Each step brings me nearer The hame of my youth — Every object grows dearer. Thae hills and thae huts. And thae trees on that green, Lcsh ! they glower in my &ce Like some kindly auld frien'. E'en the brutes they look social As gif they would crack. And the sang of the bird. Seems to welcome me back. O, dear to our hearts Is the hand that tirst fed us. And dear is the land And the cottage that bred us. And dear are the comrades With whom we once sported, And dearer the maiden "Whose love we first courted. Joy's image may perish. E'en grief die away. But the scenes of our youth Are recorded for aye. [James Hogg.] The bittern's quavering trump on high , The beetle's drowsy distant hum. Have sung the daylight's lullaby, And yet my Peggie is not come. ' The golden primrose from the wood. The scented havrthom's snowy tiower, Hixed with the laurel's buds, I've strewed Deep in my maiden's woodland bower. O come, my love, the branches link Above our bed of blossoms new, The stars behind their curtains wink. To spare thine eyes so soft and blue. Ko human eye nor heavenly gem, "With envious smile, our bliss sliali sec ; The mountain ash his diadem Shall spread to shield the dews from thee. O let me hear thy-fairy tread Come gliding thnugh the broomwood still Then on my bosom lay thy head, TiU dawning crown the distant hill. And I -n-ill watch thy witching smile. List what has caused thy long delay. And kiss thy melting lips the while. Till die the sweet perfume away. 0^ W^i 'm^'ib^^^^m^^^m^^^^^m^^ ii\ IH SCOTTISH SONGS. V?.^ c^:;) '^ Peggie, [AViLLiAM Nicholson.] Whan first 1 forgather'd wi' Peggie, My Peggie an" I were young ; Sae blitlie at the bught i' the gloamin' My Peggie an' I ha'e sang. My Peggie and I ha'e sung, TUl the stars did blink sae hie ; Come weel or come wae to the biggin'. My Peggie was dear to me. The stately aik stood on the mountain. And tower"d o'er tlie green birken shaw ; Ilk glent'a' wee flow'r on the meadow Seem'd proud o' bein' buskit sae braw, Seem'd proud o' bein' buskit sae braw. When they saw their ain shape i' the Dee ; 'Twaa there that I courted my Peggie, Till the kii-k it fell foul o' me. Though love it has little to look for Frae the heart that's wedded to gear, A wife without house or a haudin' Gars ane look right blate like an' queer ; Gars ane baith look blate like an' queer; But queerer when twa turns to tliree ; Our frien's they ha'e foughten an' fl}-ten. Cut Peggie's aye dear to me. It vex'd me her sighin' and sabbin", Now nought short o' marriage wou'd do; An' though that our prospects were dreary. What could I but e'en buckle to ? ■\Vhat could I but e'en buckle to. And dight the sa't tear frae her e'e ? The warl's a wearifu' wister; But Peggie's aye deax to me. [William Nicholson.] WILL ye go to yon burn side, Amang the new-made hay, And sport upon the flowery swaird, :.[y ain bonnie May ? The sun blinks blithe on yon burn side, Whare lambkins lightly play ; The wild bird whistles to his mate. My ain bonnie May. The waving woods, wi" mantle green. Shall shield us in the bower, Whare I'U pu' a posie for my Slay, 0' mony a bonnie flower. My father maws ayont the bum. To spin my mammy's gane ; And should they see thee here wi' me, I'd better been my lane. The lightsome lammie little kens "What troubles it await : ■\Vhan ance the flush o' spring is o'er, The fause bird lea'es its mate. The flow'rs will fade, the woods decay. And lose their bonnie green ; The sun wi' clouds mfiy be o'ercast. Before that it be e'en. Ilk thing is in its season sweet ; So love is, in its noon : But cank'ring time may soil the flow'r. And spoil its bonnie bloom. 0, come then, while the summer shines. And love is young and gay ; Ere age his with'ring, wintry blast Blaws o'er me and my May. For thee I'll tend the fleecy fioc'^s. Or baud the halesome plough. And nightly clasp thee to my breast, And prove aye leal and true. The blush o'erspread her bonnie face. She had nae mair to say. But ga'e her hand, and walk'd alang. The youthfu' bloomin' May. [Thomas Campbell.] Star, that brincest home the bee. And sett'st the weary labourer free : If any star shed peace, 'tis thou Tliat send'st it from above — Appearing when heaven's breath and brow Are sweet as hers we love. ^s^i^ SCOTTISH SONGS. 11.: Come to the luxuriant skies, WTiilst the landscape's odours rise ; ■Whilst £ar-off lowing herds are heard. And songs, when toil is done. From cottages whose anoke unstirr'd Curls yellow in the sun. Star of love's soft interviews ! Parted lovers on thee muse ; Their remembrancer in heaven Of thrilling vows thou art. Too delicious to be riven By absence from the heart. EeJsi ^uuRuit. [Allan CmwiNeHAM.] As I sail'd past green Jura's isle. Among the waters lone, I heard a voice — a sweet low voice, Atween a sigh and moan : With ae babe at her bosom, an I Another at her knee, A mother wail'd the bloody wars In Low Germanic. Oh woe untc these cruel wars That ever they began. For they have swept my native isle Of many a pretty man : For first they took my brethren twain. Then wiled my love frae me. "Woe, woe unto the cruel wars In Low Germanic. I saw him when he sail'd away. And forrow'd far the brine , And down his foes came to the shore. In many a glittering line : The war-steeds rush'd amang the waves The guns came flashing free. But could nae keep my gallant love From Low Germanic. Oh say, ye maidens, have ye seen, "When swells the battle cr\-, A stately youth with bonnet blue And feather floating high,— An eye that flashes fierce for all. But ever mild to me ? Oh that's the lad who loves me best In Low Germanic. Where'er the cymbal's sound is heard, And cittern sweeter far, — Where'er the trumpet blast is blown. And horses rush to war ; The blithest at the banquet board. "W And first in war is he. - -r^. The bonnie lad, whom I love best. In Low Germanic. I sit upon the high green land. TVTien mute the waters lie, And think I see my true love's sail Atween the sea and sky. '-■ -'- With ae bairn at my bosom, and S'^ Another at my knee. I sorrow for my soldier lad In Low Gennanie. V^M [Xhouas Cu>-jjisgham. — Bom 1776: died 18^4. Amang the birks sae blythe an' gay, I met my Julia hameward gaun , The Unties chauntit on the spray. The lammies loupit on the lawn ; On Oka howm the sward was mawn. The braes wi' gowans buskit bra', An' gloamin's plaid o' gray was thra-.vn Out owTe the Viills o' Gallowa'. Wi' music wild the woodlands rang. An' fragrance wing'd alang the lea. As down we sat the flowers amang. Upon the banks o' stately Dee. My Julia's arms encircled me. An' saftly slade the hours awa', TUl dawin coost a glimmerin' e'e Upon the hills o' Gallowa'. It isna owscn, sheep, and kye. It isna gowd, it isna gear, Tiiis lifted e'e wad ha'e, quoth I, The warld's drumlie gloom to che*r. ir<<. ^Mfmm<^. '^Sii^4%&*^€^v^J^-^ JIG SCOTTISH SOXGS. But gi'e to me my Julia dear, Ye powers wha rowe this yirthen ba', An' O ! sae blythe through life I'll steer, Amang the hills o' Gallowa'. AVhan gloamin' dauners up the hill. An' our gudeman ca's hame the yowes, "Wi" her I'll trace the mossy rill That owre the muir meand'ring rowes ; Or tint amang the scroggy knowes. My birken pipe I'U sweetly blaw, An' sing the streams, the straths, and howes. The hiUs an' dales o' Gallowa'. An' whan auld Scotland's heathy hills. Her rural nymphs an' jovial swains. Her flow'ry wilds an' wimpling rills, Awake nae mair my canty strains ; WTiare friendship dwells an' freedom reigns, Whare heather blooms an' muircocks craw, O ! dig my grave, and hide my banes Amang the hills o' Gallowa'. <^C [Thomas CtrNNixoHAM. Ballahun is a pictur- .' A esque glen near Blackwood House, on the river ■J^. Xith.-j Now smiling summer's balmy breeze, Soft whispering, fans the leafy trees : The linnet greets the rosy mom. Sweet in yon fragrant flowery thorn ; The bee hums round the woodbine bower. Collecting sweets from everj- flower ; And pure the crystal streamlets run Amang the braes of BaUahun. -J- blissful days, for ever fled. When wand'ring wild as Fancy led, 1 ranged the bushy bosom'd glen. The scroggie shaw, the rugged linn. And mark'd each blooming hawthorn bush, ^^^lere nestling sat the speckled thrush ; Or careless roaming, wandered on, Amang the braes of Ballahun. Wiiy starts the tear, why bursts the sigh, Vlien hills and dales rebound with joy ? The flowery glen, and lilied lea * In vain display their charms to me. I joyless roam the heathy waste, To soothe this sacl, this troubled breast; And seek the haunts of men to shun Amang the braes of Ballahun. The virgin blush of lovely youth. The angel smile of artless truth, This breast Ulum'd with heavenly joy. Which lyart time can ne'er destroy : Julia dear! — the parting look. The sad ferewell we sorrowing took. Still haunt me as I stray alone Amang the braes of Ballahun. C?^^a©:lk sis'aig. the same time beautiful- -was an early unpublished \~V~» the recitation of a lady in Glasgow with whom the poet was intimately acquainted. In Pickering's -? \] edition of Burns, a version is given from the au- ryy-^ thor's own manuscript, which differs little from Cromek'3, but which we hera follow. Who the heroine of Cessnock Banks was has not transpired. )^-' The tune of the song is called " If he be a butcher '' neat and trim."] On Cessnock banks a lassie dwells ; Could I describe her shape and mien ; Our lasses a' she far excels, — An' she 's twa sparkling, rogucish een. She's sweeter than the morning dawn. When rising Phoebus first is seen. And dew-drops twinkle o'er the lawn ; An' she '8 twa sparkling, rogucish een. , She's stately, like yon youthful ash. That grows the cowslip braes between. And drinks the stream wi' rigour fresh ; An' she 's twa sparkling, rogucish een. She's spotless like the flow'ring thorn. With flow'rs so wliite, and leaves so green. When purest in the dewy mom ; An' she 's twa sparkling, rogueish een. Her looks are like the vernal May, \^1ien ev'ning Phccbus shines serene. While birds rejoice on every spray ; An' she 's twa eparkling, rogueish een. &mi'(iiy%-^^^i^'i^^S:^0^&^& "^?^j^^pm:^'-^^'w:'T?^-'^'^ji?&^^' SCOTTISH SOXGS. 11' Her hair is like the curling mist That climbs the mountain-sides at e'en, ■When flow'r-reviving rains are past; An' she 's twa sparkling, rogueish een. Her forehead 's like the showTy bow, ■When gleaming sunbeams intervene, \^ -And gild the distant mountain's brow ; Ny^ An' she 's twa sparkling, rogueish een. Her cheeks are like yon crimson gem. The pride of aU the flow'ry scene. Just op'ning on its thorny stem; j^- ,, An' she 's tna sparkling, rogueish een. i^^^' Her teeth are like the nightly snow, fc,^ "WTien pale the morning rises keen, 7^^ "Wliile hid the murm'ring streamlets flow ; I* ^: An' she '3 twa sparkling, rogueish een. ^ • .\ Her lips are like yon cherries ripe, l'}'!^ That sunny walls from Boreas screen, ( fK They tempt the taste and charm the sight ; ^.^ An' she 's twa sparkling, rogueish een. Her breath is like the fragrant breeze. That gently stirs the blossom'd bean, ■When PhcEbus sinks behind the seas ; An' she 's-twa sparkling, rogueish een. Her voice is like the ev'ning thrush. That sings on Cessnock banks unseen, ■While his mate sits nestling in the bush ; An' she 's twa sparkling, rogueish een. But it's not her air, her form, her face. Though matching beauty's fabled queen, 'Tis the mind that shines in every grace ; An' chieSy in her rogueish een. [Two or three lines of this song are old. The rest is by Blrss. The tune is given in Oswald ■with the title " Young Jocky was the blythest lad in a' our town."] YotJSG Jocky was the blythest lad. In a' our town or here awa' ; Fu' bl)-the he whistled at the gaud, Fu' lichUy danced he in the ha' ! ; He roosed my een sae bonnie blae, He roosed my waist sae genty sma' ; And aye my heart cam' to my mou'. When ne'er a body heard or saw. My Jocky toils upon the plain. Thro' wind and weet, thro' fi«st and snaw ; And ower the lee I look fu' fain, ■When Jocky's owsen hameward ca'. And aye the nicht comes round again, ■^^Taen in his arms he taks me a' , And aye he vows he'U be my ain As lang as he lias breath to draw. /^e \u^ t^af g Ux eIse'. [The first verse of this song is old. The rest was written by Buhns for the Museum, to the tune of " The bonnie lad that's £ir awa'." The words also sing to the old air of " O'er the hiUs and far awa'." "This httle lamentation of :i desolate damsel," says Jeffrey, "is tender and pretty."] 0, HOW can I be blithe and glad. Or how can I gang brisk and braw, "When the bonnie lad that I lo'e best Is o'er the hills and far awa' ? It's no the frosty winter wind. It's no the driving drift and snaw ; But aye the tear comes in my e'e To think on biin that's fax awa'. My father pat me frae his door. My friends they ha'e disown'd me a' ; But I ha'e ane will take my part, The bonnie lad that's far awa'. A pair o' gloves he ga'e to me, And silken snoods he ga'e me twa; And I will wear them for his sake. The bonnie lad that's Jar awa'. The weary -winter soon -mil pass, And spring will deed the birken shaw And my sweet babie will be bom. And he'U come hame that's far awa'. -•'V> S^^sm^ 3iM'^S"^i-^:*^5Aeil 113 SCOTTISH SONGS. [The following song, otherwise called "The Days o' Langsyne," was written by Mtss Blamikh, of whom we have spoken in a previous note. It has been sometimes erroneously ascribed to Dr. James Aloor, professor of Greek in the University of Glasgow. The " duke" alluded to in the second stanza was Willam duke of Cumberland, and the last line of that verse originally ran, " Could William but lead, and I fight, as langsyne," but the authoress afterwards struck out the name, justly judging that it could never be popular in Scotland, so long as the odious butcheries that succeeded Culloden were remembered.] When war had broke in on the peace o' auld men. And frae Chelsea to arms they were summon'd again, Twa vet'rans grown gray, wi' their muskets sair soil'd, ■\Vi' a sigh were relating how hard they had toil'd ; The drum it was beating, to fight they incline, • But aye they look back to the days o' langsyne. Eh ! Davie, man, weel thou remembers the time, When twa brisk young callans, an' just in our prime. The duke bade us conquer, an' show'd us the way. An' mony a braw cbiel we laid low on that day : Still again would I venture this auld trunk o' mine. Could our generals but lead, or we fight like langsyne. But garrison duty is a' we can do. Though our aiTOB arc worn weak, yet our hearts are still true ■\Ve care na for dangers by land or by sea. For time has turn'd coward, an' no you an4 me ; And though at the change we should sadly repine. Youth winna return, nor the strength o' langsyne. "When after our conquests, it joys me to mind. How thy Janet caress'd thee, and my Meg was kind ; They foUow'd our fortunes, though ever so hard. Nor cared we for plunder, when sic our reward : Even now, they're resolved baith their hames to resign, * And will follow us yet, for the sake C langsyne. [Robert Tannahill. — Gaelic air, " Mor nian a Ghibarlan."] Blvthk was the time when he fee'd wj* my father, O, Happy were the days when we herded thegither, 0, Sweet were the hours «hen he row'd me in his plaidie, O, And vow'd to be mine, my dear Highland laddie, 0. But, ah ! waes me ! wi' their sodgering sae gaudy, 0, The laird's wyl'd awa' my braw Highland laddie, O, Jlisty are the glens and the dark hills sae cloudy, O, That aye seem'd sae blythe wi' my dear Highland laddie, 0. !yj i^^'^^^Si^^i^^^gm^K 110 The blae-beny banks now are lonesome and dreaiy, O, JIuddy are the streams that gush'd down sae clearly, O, Silent are the rocks that echoed sae gladly, 0, The wild melting strains o' my dear Highland laddie, 0. He pu'd me the crawberry, ripe firae the boggy fen. He pu'd me the strawberry, red firae the foggy glen, ^e pu'd me the rowan frae the wild steep sae giddy, O, Sae loving and kind was my dear Highland laddie, 0. Tareweel, my ewes, and £areweel, my doggie, 0, Fareweel, ye knowes, now sae cheerless and scroggie, o ; Fareweel, Glenfeoch, my mammy and my daddie, 0, I will lea' you a' for my dear Highland laddie, 0. [TiTNB, "Sandy ower the lea."] Leaning ower a window, and looking ower a mound, I spied a mason laddie, wha gave my heart a wound ; A wound, and a wound, and a deadly wound gave he; And I wad wash his apron an he wad fancy me. I wlnna ha'e the minister, for a' his many books I winna ha'e the dominie, f;>r a' his wylie looks ; I will ha"e nane o' the twa, though they wad fancy me ; I3at my bonnie mason laddie he bears awa' the gree. I winna ha'e the mautman, for a' his muckle sho'el , Xor will I ha'e the miller, for a' his mity meal , I wad ha'e nane o' thae twa, though they wad (ancy me ; For my bonnie mason laddie he's up the scaffold hie. I winna ha'e the ploughman, that gangs at the pleach : Xor yet will I the chaplain, though he has gear eueuch ; I waii ha'e nane o' thae twa, though they wad fancy me ; For my bonnie mason laddie has stown the heart frae me. I winna ha'e the souter, that rubs upon the shoon ; rs'or yet will I the weaver, that gingles on the loom ; I wad ha'e nane o' thae twa, though they wad fancy me ; For my bonnie mason laddie he bears awa' the gree. The smith that canna lay an axe is no a man o' craft ; The Wright that canna seam a deal can scarcely hiw a laft. The lad fnat canna kiss a lass is no a lad for me ; But my bonnie mason laddie he can do a' the three. '"i^J 120 1^ Sdl cam* Jfi^^Im'. ^J [The old name of the tune now called " The Beil's awa' with the Exciseman," was "The Hemp-dresser," and it can be traced as far back ; :\s the middle of the 17th ccutury. The verses of 1 Burns are generally said to have been an extem- pore effusion, at a meeting of his brother excise- | men in Dumfries. It is a curious fact that the | original in the poet's hand is tvrltten on a piece of excise paper, ruled on the back with red lines. Lockhart's account of the composition of the song differs from others. According to him, it was composed on the shores of the Solway, while the poet and a party of his brother excisemen were engaged in watching the motions of a suspicious- looking brig, which had put in there, and which, it was supposed, was engaged in smuggling. The day following that on which she was first seen, the vessel got into shallow water, and it was then discovered tliat the crew were nimierous, and not likely to yield without a struggle. Lewars accord- ingly was despatched to Dumfries for a party of dragoons, and another ofiBcer proceeded on a similar errand to Ecclefechan, leaving Burns with some men under his orders, to watch the brig and prevent landing or escape. " Burns," says Lockhart, "manifested considerable impatience while thus occupied, being left for many hours in a wet salt-marsh with a force which he knew to be inadequate for the purpose it was meant to fulfil. One of his comrades hearing him abuse his friend Lewars in particular, for being slow about his journey, the man answered that he also \vished the devU had him for his pains, and that Bums in the meantime would do well to indite a song upon the sluggard ; Bums said nothing ; but after taking a few strides by himself among the reeds and shingle, rejoined his party, and chanted to them this well-known ditty."] The deil cam' fiddliu' through the toun. And danced awa' wi' the exciseman ; And ilka auld wife cried, Auld Mahooin, I wish you luck o' the prize, man. The deil's awa', the deil's awa'. The deil's awa' wi' the exciseman ; He's danced awa', he's danced awa'. He's danced awa' wi' the exciseman ! We'll mak' our maut, we'U brew our drink, AVe'll laugh, sing, and rejoice, man ; And mony braw thanks to the raeikle black deil. That danced awa' wi' the exciseman. i There's threesome reels, there's foursome reels. There's hornpipes and strathspeys, man ; But the ae best dance e'er cam' to the land. Was, The deil's awa' wi' the exciseman. [" These words," says Burns, " were composed by the late Dk. Austin, physician at Edinburgh. He had courted a lady, to whom he was shortly to have been married ; but the Duke of Athole having seen her, became so much in love with her, that he made proposals of marriage ; which were accepted of, and she jUted the doctor." — The lady in question was a daughter of John Drummond, Esq. of Megginch, Perthshire. She married James, second Duke of Athole, in May, 1749. She had no issue by his Grace ; and after his death she married Lord Adam Gordon, fourth son of Alexander, second Duke of Gordon, and commander of the forces in Scotland. She died at the palace of Holyrood-house, on the 22d of Feb. 1795. Although Dr. Austin says, " Xo cruel fair shall ever move lily injured heart again to love," he afterwards married Miss Anne Sempill, sister of Lord Sempill, by whom he had a large family. He died in 1774. The song appears in " The Charmer," Edinburgh, 1751, and also in Johnson's Museum. The name of the tune, " For lack of gold she left me," is old.] For lack of gold she has left me, 0, A nd of all that's dear she's berelt me, O ; She me forsook for Athole's duke. And to endless woe she has left me, O. A star and garter have more art Than youth, a true and faithful heart ; . For empty titles we must part — For glittering show sho has left me, O. No cruel fair shall ever move My injured heart again to love ; Through distant climates I must rove. Since Jeany she has left me, O. Ye powers above, I to your care Resign my faithless, lovely fair ; Your choicest blessing be her share. Though she has ever left me, O. m^^^J CJ I SCOTTISH S0XG3. 121 J ),^ j^ S gat^ a fejarlu*' gst?. "*;^ [Wkittex by Blrxs in 1789 for the Museum. /• The subject of the song was a daughter of the ( S^ '^*''' ^^- Jef^y of Lochmaben, now ilrs. Ren- \J^ wick of Xew York. The air was composed by tV> Robert Riddle of Glenriddle, Esq., and called ^^ " The blue-eyed lassie."] r-^V I GAED a waefu' gate yestreen, VS ,^ A gate I fear I'U dearly rue ; ^1^5 I gat my death firae twa sweet een, &^ Twa lovely een o' bonnie blue. f^ J 'Twas not her golden ringlets bright, J^^ Her lips like roses wet wi" dew, A^ Her heaving bosom, lily-white — ^ ^' It was her een sae bonnie blue. ^; a'/. She talk'd, she smiled, my heart she wiled, Ih^ She charm'd my soul I wist na how , H ^ But aye the stound, the deadly wound, ^\c\ Cam' frae her een sae bonnie blue. ^J But, spare to speak, and spare to speed, ((j^ She'U aiblins listen to my vow : I V^ Should she refuse, I'U lay me dead fs^x To her twa een sae bqiuile blue. Si'? -mz a \zu. J^-^ [Written by Allan Eamsat, to supplant old ^f^\ and coarse words to the tune of " The Lass wi' the ^_/ Lump o' Land." This appears in the •2d vol. of ^ "^ the Tea-Table Miscellany, and also, with the ori- fginal melody, in the Orpheus Caledonius, 1725.] Gi'E me a lass with a lump o' land, P^ And we for life shall gang thegither ; ^Xj Tho' daft or wise, I'U ne'er demand. Or black or £ur, it maksna whether. I'm aff with wit, and beauty wiU fade, Apd blood alane's nae worth a shiUing ; But she that's rich, her market's made. For Uka charm about her's killing. laugh on wha likes : but there's my hand, I hate with poortith, though bonnie, to meddle; Unless they bring cash, or a lump o' land, They'se ne'er get me to dance to their fiddle. There's meikle gude love in bands and bags ; And sUler and gowd's a sweet complexion ; But beauty and wit and Virtue, in rags. Have tint the art of gaining affection : Love tips his arrows with woods and parks. And castles, and riggs, and muirs, and meadows; And naething can catch our modem sparks. But weel-tocher'd lasses, or jointured widows. ^^ & !>(S Ux a Ia00. [Writtex by Bcrns for George Thomson's .v ' • coUection, to an Irish tune, caUed " Balinamona .-. • \ Ora." " Your ' Hey for a lass wi' a tocher," " says ?^ ■ Thomson, " is a most exceUent song, and vrith 'i,-^! you the subject is something new indeed. It is '^^'^^ the first time I have seen you debasing the god of soft desire into an amateur of acres and guineas.' We have placed this song of Bums's in juxtaposi- tion v^ith one on a similar subject and in a simi- lar spirit by Ramsay, that the reader may indulge his curiosity by comparing the two. In tills case, we think, the older poet surpasses his distin- guished successor in vigour and humour.] Awa' wi' your witchcraft o' beauty's alarms. The slender bit beauty you grasp in your arms ; O, gi'e me the lass that has acres o' charms, O, gi'e me the lass wi' the weel-stockit farms I Then, hey for a lass wi" a tocher. Then, hey for a lass wi' a tocher. Then, hey for a lass -vn' a tocher ! The nice yeUow guineas for me ! Gi'e me a lass with a lump o' land. And in my bosom I'U hug my treasure ; Gin I had ance her gear in mjr hand. Should love tara dowf, it will find pleasure. ^ Your beauty's a flower in the morning that blows. And withers the faster, the faster it grows ; But the rapturous charms o' the bonnie green knowes. Ilk spring they're new-deckit wi' bonnie white ewes. And e'en when this beauty your bosom has bless'd. The brightest o' beauty may cloy when posses'd ; But the sweet yeUow darlings, wi' Geordie imprest, » 'j The langer ye ha'e them, the mair they're carest. C^\ •^^ ^^mj^^i^^wm^. 122 SCOTTISH SOXGS. <© gtE ^t ^2U %ul mine* Oh ! gin ye were but mine, lassie. Oh ! gin ye were but mine, lassie, I'd be the happiest man aUve, I'd lead a life divine, lassie. There's something in that bonnie face, I never saw before, lassie. Tour actions a' ha'e sic a gi'ace, I gaze, and I adore, lassie i Oh ! gin ye were, &c. Though ither eyes may brilliance dart, And bright as diamonds roll, lassie ! There's nane but yours shoot through my heart. An' soften a' my soul, lassie ! Oh ! gin ye were, &c. Each motion shows some grace that's new. That fascinates my eyes, lassie ! And though your charms I daily view, I see them with surprise, lassie ! Oh i giu ye were, &c. Sweet is the spring, and sweet the rose, "When moisten'd by the shower, lassie ! Bright on the thorn the dew-drop glows. At mom's refulgent hour, lassie, — Oh ! gin ye were, &c. But purer, brighter far than these Thou art, and charming more, lassie ! Than tongue can tell— I wond'ring gaze— I gaze and I adore, lassie ! %^W^ \i%z s ^fiiiM^go [Written by the Ettrick Shepherd, to the tune of " Paddy's Wedding."] I LATELY liv'd in quiet case. An' never wish'd to marry, O ; But when I saw my Peggy's face, I felt a sad quandary, O. Though wild as ony Athol deer. She has trepan'd me ffurly, ; Her cherry cheeks, and een sae clear. Harass me lale an' early, O. , O ! love ! love ! laddie. Love 's like a dizziness ! It winna let a puir body Gang about his business 1 To tell my feats this single week Wad mak' a curious diary, O : I drave my cart against a dyke, Jly horses in a miry, O : I wear my stockings white an' blue, Jly love's sae iieree and fiery, : I drill the land that I should plow. An' plow the drills entirely, O. ! love ; love ! &c. Soon as the dawn had brought the day, I went to theek the stable, O ; I coost my coat, an' ply'd away As fast as I was able, 0. I wrought a' morning out an' out As I'd been redding fire, ; When I had done, and look'd about, Behold it was the byre, 1 1 love ! love ! &c. Her wily glance I'll ne'er forget ; The dear, the lovely bUnkin' o't, [heart, Has pierc'd me through and through the And plagues me wi' the prinklin' o't, I try'd to sing, I try'd to pray, I try'd to drown't wi' drinldn' o't: I try'd wi' toil to drive't away, liut ne'er can sleep for thinkin' o't. ! love ! love ! &c. "Were Peggy's love to hire the job. An' save my heart frae breakin', 0, I'd put a girdle round the globe, Or dive in Corryvrekin, O ; Or howk a grave at midnight dark In yonder vault sae eerie, O ; Or gang and spier for Mungo Park Through ASnea sae dreai-y, 0. O ! love ! love I &c. Ye little ken what pains I prove I Or, how severe my plisky, O ; I swear I'm sairer drunk wi' love Than e'er I was wi' whisky, O ! For love lias rak'd me fore an' aft, I scarce can lift a leggy, O : I first grew dizzy, than gaed daft. An' now I'll'dee for Peggy, O. O ! love ; love '. &:c. S? '0^S^$^^^^^^^^l^^^ -VJWV>-aJ SCOTTISH S0XG3. 123 nn% m. [William Chalmebs. broomlands."] -Air, " The pride of the I t SrxG on, thou little bird. Thy wild notes sae loud, O sing, sweetly sing frae the tree ; Aft, beneath thy birken bow'r, I have met at e'ening hour, My young Jamie that's far o'er the sea. On yon bonnie heather knowes AVe pledged our mutual vows. And dear is the spot unto me ; Tho' pleasure I ha'e nane, AVhile I wander alane, And my Jamie is far o'er the sea- But why should I mourn. The seasons wUl return. And verdure again clothe the lea; The flow'rets shall spring, And the saft breeze shall bring 3Iy dear laddie again back to me. Thou star! give thy light. Guide my lover aright, Frae rocks and frae shoals keep hi m free ; Kow gold I ha'e in store. He shall wander no more, Xo, no more shall he sail o'er the sea. [This is an old song, dressed up a little by Burns for Johnson's iluseum. " The tune," says 3Ir. Stenhouse, " is evidently the progenitor of that ' fine modern strathspey, called ' Loch Erroch i Side."'] I AM my mammy's ae b.iirn, | AVi' unco fvll^ I weary, sir ; I And lying in a man's bed, | I'm fley'd wad mak' me eerie, sir. i I'm o'er young to marry yet ; ] I'm o'er young to marry yet ; j I'm "o'er young — 'twad be a sin ' To tak' me frae my mammy yet. « My mammy coft me a new gown. The kirk maun ha'e the gracing o't ; AVer* I to lie yd' you, kind sir, I'm fear'd ye'd spoil the lacing o't. Hallowmas is come and gane. The nights are lang in winter, sir; An' you an' I, in ae btl. In trouth I dare na venture, sir. Fu' loud and shrill the frosty wind, Blaws thro' the leafless timmer, sir. But if ye come this gate again, I'U aulder be gin simmer, sir. I'm o'er young to marry yet ; I'm o'er young to mairj- yet; I'm o'er young — 'twad be a sin To tak' me frae my mammy ye fidtoa^tlj ©TJ ff)2 &UTu [Burns says this song was written by a Captain John Drummond M'Gregor of the fiuaily of Bo- chaldie, but he must have been misinformed. The first four and the last four lines are old ; the rest was added by Kamsat, and the whole*^ given in the first vol. of the Tea-Table Miscellany. " Pol- warth," says Mr. Kobert Chambers, " is a smxUl primitive-looking larish-vilL-xge in the centre of Berwickshire, with a green, in the centre of which three thorns grow within a little enclosure. These trees are the successors of one aged thorn, ■which, after keeping its pLice there for centuries,was blown down some years ago. It was formerly the cus- tom of the villagers, who are a simple race, and were formerly vassals to the Earl of Marchmont, whose seat is in the neighbourhood, to dance round this venerable tree at weddings; which they are said to have done in consequence of a romantic incident in the history of the noble family just mentioned."] At Polw.-irth, on the green. If you'll meet me the mom, ■Where lads and lasses do convene To dance around the thorn ; A kindly welcome you shall meet Era her, wha likes to view A lover and a la* complete, . The lad and lof er you. ^ ';^.^5^«--i~- .^sg^^^ CM 124 sec SONGS. (:. m m /-J • lD Let dorty dames say \a, As lang as e'er they please. Seem caulder than the sna\y. While inwardly they bleeze ; But I will fi-ankly shaw my mind. And )-ield my heart to thee— Be ever to the captive kind. That langs na to be Iree. At Polwarth, on the green, Amang the new-mawn bay, AVith sangs and dancing keen AVe'U pass the live-lang day. At nicht, if beds be ower thrang laid, And thou be twined of thine. Thou Shalt be welcome, my dear lad. To take a part of mine. '^5igis0 ^tummi^i!; ti^?» [Written by John Grieve, to the tune of " Polwarth on the Green." Mr. Grieve was a hat manufacturer in Edinburgh, of literary tastes, who will always be remembered as one of the Kttrick Shepherd's earliest and kindest friends and patrons. Hogg dedicates ilador of the Jloor to him, and also introduces him as one of the competing minstrels in the Queen's Wake. His death took place in 1836, long after he had retired from business.] 'TwAs summer tide; the cushat sang His am'rous roundelay ; And dews, like cluster'd diamonds, hang On flower and leafy spray. The coverlet of glo.aming gray On every thing was seen, "\ATien lads and lasses took their way To Polwarth on the green. The spirit-moving dance went on. And hai-mless reVelry Of young hearts all in unison, Wi' love's soft witcherie ; Their hall the open-daisied lea. While fi-ae the" welkin sheen. The moon shone brightly on the glee At Polwarth on the green. Dark een and raven curls were there. And cheeks of rosy hue. And finer forms, without compare. Than pencil ever drew ; But ane, wi' een of bonnie blue, A' hearts confess'd the queen. And pride of grace and beauty too. At Polwarth on the green. The miser hoards his golden store. And kings dominion gain ; While others in the battle's roar For honour's trifles strain. Away, such pleasures ! false and vain Far dearer mine have been. Among the lowly rural train. At Polwarth on the Green. f)^ icraai^sij hxi^$. [To a lively tune of the same name. The song is given in Tair's " Charmer," Edinburgh, 1751, and also in Herd's collection, 1776.] A LADDIE and a lassie fair Lived in the south countrie ; They ha'e coost their claes thegither. And wedded wad they be : On Tuesday to the bridal feast Cam fiddlers flocking free — But hey play up the rinaway bride. For she has ta'en the gea. She had nae run a mile or mair, TiU she 'gan to consider The angering of her father dear. The vexing of her n ither ; The slighting of the sUly bridegroom. The warst of a' the three — Then hey pUiy up the rinaway bride, I'or she has ta'en the gee. Her father and her mither baith Ran after her wi' speed ; And aye they ran and cried, How, Ann ! Till they came to the Tweed : Saw ye a lass, a lovesome lass. That weel a queen might be ? O that's the bride, the rinaway bride. The bride that's ta'en the gee. ^ I hear before me the waters roar ; S^ I see the galley in yonder bay, K All ready and trim, she beckons the shore, 1^*-, And seems to chide my longer stav. fe; __ u S^maoonan ! when lingering afar fi-om thy valley. At my pilgrimage close o'er the billowy brine. Harps long will be strung, and new voices will hail thee, "Without devotion and love like mine. €hut tl2 ©sl^x^n. [From the first vol. of Ramsay's Tea-Table Mis- cellany. " A tradition," says Bums, " is men- tioned" in the * Bee,' that the second Bishop Chis- holm, of Dunblane, used to say, that if he were going to be hanged, nothing could soothe his mind so much by the way as to hear 'Clout the Caldron' played. I have met with another tradition, that the old song to this tune, ' Ha'e ye ony pots or pans. Or ony broken chandlers,' was composed by one of the Kenmure family, in thg cavalier times ; and alluding to an amour he had, whiie under hiding, in the disguise of an itin- erant tinker. The air is also knovm by the name of ' The Blacksmith and his Apron,' which from the rhj-thm, seems to have been a line of some old song to the tune."] Have ye any pots or pans, Or any broken chandlers ? I am a tinker to my trade, And newly come frae Flanders, As scant of siller as of grace ; Disbanded, we've a bad run ; Gar tell the lady of the pLice, I'm come to clout her caldron. J Fa, adrie, diddle, diddle, &c. Madam, if you have wark for me, I I'U do't to your contentment ; I And dinna care a single file ; For any man's resentment ; i For, lady fair, though I appear I To every ane a tinker, i Tet to yoursell I'm bauld to tell, I I am a gentle jinker. I ! love Jupiter into a swan ; Turned, for his loved Leda ; He like a bull ower meadows ran, 1% To carrj- off Europa. u ^m^^mm SCOTIISH SOI'o. 173.— A ■ Eoy's Wife o' AldivaUoch."] Come, ragged brethren o' the Xine, Join ilka honest purseless caUan; The waes o' dudJy doublets sing, "When gousty want keeks through the halten. It's true I've nae great heart to sing, Fuistit in auld hair-mooldy garret; But yet there's ease in dulfu' croon. Though there be little in the wallet. Oh the waefa' want o' siller, "Weary fa' the want o' siller; It mak's nae what be in your pow , Gin your pouch be bare o' siller. It's wanr nor a* the waes o' life, And sair beniunbs a body's noddle; For worth nor wit, without the pelf. Is never counted worth a bodle. It's no your wit, its no your lear. Though ye should on Pegasus gallop ; It mak's na, gin your breeks be bare. And hinging a' in tatter-wallop. Oh the waefu', &c. "When baugh wi' care and fell mishap. And puirtith bauds a body gauutiut.*. There's never ane to speir your ail, G if that the penny siller's wanting. ^^m^^^^^M^^^^^^M^^^^m^^ 12S SCOTTISH SONGS. j Ij ,^ (» lor now -a -days, there's nae sic things As honest hearts o' Nature's Ij-thing ; There'll scarce a body look your way, Gif that ttie siller binna liything. Oh the waefu', &c. Te'U no get brose, nor breid, nor cheese. Nor social drap to weet your wyzon : What cares the polished man o* wealth. Though wyzon, wame, and a' gae gyzant ? When lucky stars gi'e 's leave to sit, Ower comfort's cozy cutchac beeking ; To set your very creepy stule, Baith rich and puir will aft be seeking. Oh the waefu', &c. "^\Tiat, think ye, is't links hands and hearts ? It's nowther beauty, wit, nor carriage ; But, frae the cottage to the Iia', It's siller aye that mak's the marriage. I've been in luve out ower the lugs. Like money other chiel afore me ; But, 'cause my mailin was but sma'. The saucy limmers did abhor me. Oh the waefu', &c. Hale books I've WTOte, baith prose and vcrsp. And mony a roosing dedication. But nae ane owned the puir baugh chield, Sae nocht for me but grim starvation. And oh, but my ain shanks be sma'. My very nose as sharp's a filler ; Grim death will soon tak' me awa' — Ohone, ohone, the want o siller! Ob the waefu', &c. [Both the words and air of this song are said to be the composition of Patrick or Patie Bikxie, a noted fiddler and rhymer, in Kinghom, Fife- shire, who flourished towards the close of the 17th and beginning of the 18th centuries, and of whom an excellent jwrtrait by Aikroan is still extant at Leslie House. Ramsay, in his Elegy on JPatie Bimie, mentions "O wiltu, wiltu do't again," and " The auld man's mear's dead," as song? which Patie "made frae his ain head." AVe give here two different versions of the song. The second is from "The Scottish Minstrel."] Thb auld man's mear's dead ; The puir body's mear's dead ; The auld man's-mear's dead, A mUe aboon Dundee. There was hay to ca', and lint to lead, A hunder hotts o' muck to spread. And peats and truffs and a' to lead — And yet the jaud to dee ! She had the fiercie and the fleuk. The wheezloch and the wanton yeuk ; On ilka knee she had a breuk — What ail'd the beast to dee ? She was lang-tooth'd and blench-lippit, Heam-hough'd and haggis-fittit, Lang-neckit, chandler-ehaftit. And yet the jaud to dee i II. The auld man's mear's dead ! The puir man's mear's dead ! The auld man's mear's dead, A mile aboon Dundee ! She was cut-luggit, painch-lippit, Steel-waimet, staincher-fittel, Clianler-chaftit, lang-neckit. Yet the brute did dee ! The auld, &c. The auld man's mear's dead ! The puir man's mear's dead ! The peats, and neeps, and a' to Ifad, And she is gane — waes me ! The auld, &c. The puir man's head's sair Wi' greetin' for his gray mear ; He's like to dee himsel' wi' care, Aside the green kirk-yard. The auld, &c. He's thinkin' on the bygane days. And a' her douce and canny ways : And how his ain gudewife, auld Mcs MJcht maist as weel been spaired. The auld, &c. ^^?^ ^^^m^^^^^^^^^^^lt^^^^^'^iS'^^0; SCOTTISH SONGS. 129 |)95nr>i? ©S-j^, [Tkk universally-popular song of "Johnnie I Cope," (which owes much of its popularity, we d?jre say, to its spirit-stirring air,) was written on I the defeat of Sir John Cope and the king's forces by Prince Charles and the Highlanders, at Pres- ; ton, in Haddingtonshire, on the 22d September, I 1745. This engagement is called according to the different local positions of the conflicting parties, | the battle of Prestonpans, of Tranent Muir, or of j Gladsmuir. Sir John Cope, as is well known, ; made a precipitate and disgracefiil retreat from j the field, followed by his dragoons, and did not stay his flight tiU he reached Dunbar. His con- duct on the occasion brought him under the in- vestigation of a court-martial, but he was acquit- ted. The muses, however, did not acquit him, for they have rendered him immortal in song — as a runaway. The author of the original words of "Johnnie Cope,'' we have every reason to believe, was Adam Skirving, a wealthy former in Had- dingtonshire, who also wrote the song called " Tranent Muir," given in another part of this work. Mr. Sldrving was a very athletic man, and distingjiished for his skill in all manly sports and Exercises? He was bom in 1719, educated at Preston kirk in East Lothian, and long held the fana of Garleton, — about two miles from Had- dington, on the road to Gosford. He died in April, 1S03, and was buried in the churchyard of i Athelstaneford, where his merits are recorded in i ■ the following metrical epitaph : j : . " In feature, in figure, agility, mind, ] And happy wit rarely surpass'd, j AVith lofty or low could be plain or refined. Content beaming bright to the last." |[ Ee had a son, Archibald, who reached high dis- | tinction in Edinburgh as a minature and crayon j' painter, and another, Eobert, who was long in \ the East India Company's service. There arc i various different readings of the song of " Johnnie ' Cope," (see Johnson's Museum, Eitson's coUec- \ tion, and Cunningham's collection,) but the one i here given is the original and genuine one. The song has been also often travestied, — and on no more memorable occasion than on the recent ] royal landing in Scot!and, when her Majesty took | the Magistrates of Edinburgh, and many others, j by surprise, by getting up "so early in the mom- i ing." The air of "Johnnie Cope" is older than the song, and used to be called " Fye to the hills ' in the morning." ^^'e cannot say whether the j exptession in Skirring's song, " To gang coaU" be a corruption of the old words " To gang to the hills," or merely a proverbial expression for early rising.] Cope sent a letter fiae Dunbar:— Charlie, meet me an ye daur. And I'll learn you the art o' war. If you 'U meet me in the morning. Hey, Johnnie Cope, are ye wauking yet ? Or are your drum.s a-beating yet? If ye were wauking, I wad wait To gang to the coals i' the morning. When CharUe look'd the letter upon. He drew his sword the scabbard from : Come follow me, my merry merry men. And we'll meet Johnnie Cope in the mom- Hey, Johnnie Cope, &c. [ing. Kow, Johnnie, be as good's your word : Come let us try both fire and sword ; And dinna flee away like a frighted bird. That's chased frae its nest in the morning. Hey, Johnnie Cope, &c. "When Johnnie Cope he heard of th:s, He thought it wadna be asniss. To ha'e a horse in readiness , To flee awa' in the morning. Hey, Johnnie Cope, &c. Fy now, Johnnie, get up and rin. The Highland bagpipes mak' a din ; It is best to sleep in a hale skin. For 'twill be a bluidy morning. , Hey, Johnnie Cope, &c. "When Johnnie Cope to Dunbar came. They speer'd at him, "Where's a your men ? The deil confound me gin I ken. For I left them a' i' the moming. Hey, Johnnie Cope, 5:c. Xow, Johnnie, troth ye are na blate To come wi' the news o' your ain defeat. And leave your men in sic a strait Sae early in the moming. Hey, Johnnie Cope, &c. Oh ! faith, quo' Johnnie, I got sic flegs V>"v their claymores and philabegs ; If I face them again, deil break my legs — So I wish you a gude moming. . Hey, Johnnie Cope, &c. ^^^m^-^ tWt)2n Uml^ it^su ban^eif'^t ^/ [From "The "Witches of Keil's Glen, a Dramatic Fragment, with other Poems, by Pavid >■[/> Aknutt," printed at Cupar in Fifeshire in 1S25. Mr. Arnott is now a clergyman in Dundee. I '1 When lonely thou wanderest along by the wild wood, •j^ As twilight steals over the earth like a dream ; ^*L An' nature, all lovely as when in her childhood, '^ On thy heart and thine eye in beauty may beam. When over the world the grey shades are returning. And the star of the evening all silent is burning. With splendour celestial the heavens adorning. And thy soul is enraptured by ecstacy's gleam. ^1 Then think of thy lover who sigheth in sadness. When viewing that star as he wanders alone. Which once to his soul was the emblem of gladness. As thy faithful bosom he rested upon. Oh ! think of the woes on his heart that are prejing. And think of that love that can know no decaying. And, oh ! may that breast never dream of betraying The youth it has blest in the days that are gone. [John Mitchell.— Here first printed.] O ! Bi,iTHEi.Y smiles the moon when the glowring day's awa'. And saft the balmy breeze creeps aroun' the Stanely shaw. And lightly o'er the moor I trip when night begins to fa' To meet Gleniffer's fairest flower, the maid I lo'e. The bonnie bonnie rose, and the lily gemm'd wi* dew. The cravrflower and the pink the gay summer will renew. But 'mid the winter's cauld niair than summer's flowers 1 pu' When I kiss the rosy lips o' her I lo'e. Her e'e o' bonnie blue wi' the diamond may compare, Her teeth o' ivory tell the sweets that linger there, And on her brow sits majesty wreath'd in the raven hair That gracefully adorns the head o' her 1 lo'e. I've heard the lark's clear sang ere the rosy e'e o' day Had from our smiling vales brushed the shades o' night away, ^But sweeter words fell on mine ear than minstrel's sweetest lay As I gaed owre the moor yestreen wi' her I lo'e. Ill build a wee wee house, and I'll tak" my lassie hame, And I wUl fiU't wi' wealth that the gowd we prize will shame I'll fill't wi' love's endearing joys, all else is but a name. Unworthy o' the charms that live in her I lo'e. ^i^^jm^-^^^^Mf^i^^S^S^ .""^^^S^^^fl^^^^: SCOTTISH SO>-GS. 131 l^fTilsriSri^, [John Mitchkli.. — Here first printed.] Some may delight to spend their hours. By limpid streamlets fring'd with flowers, But give to me the wilds where towers Thy rocky crest, Benlomond. Through leafy groves young love may stray. To siEg the joys of rosy May, But bolder tones must fire his lay Whose theme's the proud Benlomond. Dark clouds upon thy forehead rest. Bed lightnings play around thy crest. And storm runs riot on thy breast. Thou heed'st them not, Benlomond. But when gay summer's in her prime. And bakny winds steal o'er our chme, "^^'ho would not dare thy heights sublime And glory in Benlomond. There far above proud cities we V.'ith wonder fill'd will lean on thee. Awed by the gorgeous scenery That round thee spreads, Benlomond. Sublimity sits throned on thee, Veil'd in the vast profoundity That stills, or vrakes the inland sea That bathea thy feet, Benlomond. ^■J;e la^0 agejjt t^t iiili. [James MAcnoxALD.— Here first Printed.] Gab range the warld baith far an' near. Search ilka court an' gaudy ha'. Get titled dames wi' princely names, I ken a lass wad ding them a'. Bring a' the walth Pera can gi'e. Or e'en Golconda's mines can shaw. Bake up auld ocean's hoarded gear, I ken a lass that's worth it a'. Awa", fause loons, your artfii' wiles 3Iaun ne'er yon bonnie lassie spill , Ker name and hame I.-winna tell. The bonnie lass ayont the hill. Her cheeks are like the apple bud. Her brow is white as drifted snaw. Her lips are like the berries red. That grow upon yon garden wa'. It's sweet to see the roses blaw ^^ Adown the holms o' Endrick lea. But sweeter are the blinks C luve The bonnie lassie gi'es to me. Ton milkwhite thorn now a' in bloom. That sweetly scents the evening air; Yon cloud a warld o' pearly snaw. Are nae sae pure nor half sae fair. Ilk colour that the heavens can gi'e Does but ae lovely rainbow fiU ; Sae a' that's sweet on earth is she. The bonnie lass ayont the hill. Gin I'd been bom a belted knight. Or laird of mickle gear an' Ian', I wadna lay me down to sleep Afore I gat her lily ban'. But waes my heart .' I'm tut a herd. An' sae maun tether down my will; Yet come what may, lU climb the brae And see my lass ayont the hill. [William Finlay of Paisley.] Come, brawny John Barleycorn, lea" n-^e your aid. Though for such insph-ation aft dearly I've paid, Come cram up my noddle, and help me to show. In true graphic colours, the mighty Munro. j O ! could ye but hear him his stories rehearse, i ■ f I ; 'VMiilk the like was ne'er heard o', in prose or in , . *' i' ' ■ferse, { : j j Te wad laugh till the sweat dcon your haffets did . '• I flow, •-' ' . r^ At the matchless, magnificent, mighty Munro. \; S I ® \i iw^^scMf'^-Mm3^^<<^m^^ SCOTTISH SONGS. "W:th such pleasing persuasion, he blaws in your lu^'. Ye wad think that the vera inanimate jug, AVTiilk stauns on the table, mair brichtiy doth glow At the w-ild witching stories o' mighty Munro. Such care-killing capers — such glorious riggs. Such cantrin' on cuddies, and cadging in gigs. Such rantin', and jauntin', and shouting, and show, Couldji^r be display'd but by mighty Munro. d^g^r Great Goliah o' Gath, who came out and defied, With the big swelling words o' vain glory and pride. The brave armies of Israel, as all of ye know, AVas a dwarf looking bodie, compared wi' Munro. And Sampson, that hero, -who slew men en masse AVI' naething but just the jaw bane o' an ass; And drew down a house on hin-.sel' and the foe, V.'as a puir feckless creatur' compared wi' Munro. The chivalrous knight of la Mancha, 'tis true. And Baron Munchausen, had equals but few ; Their exploits have astonished the warl, but lo • Both the Don and the Baron must bow to Munro. But a tythe o' his merit nae words can impart. His errors are all of the head not the heart ; Though his tongue doth a little too trippingly go. Vet a guid chiel at bottom. Is mighty Munro. Though the lamp o' his fame will continue to burn, "When even his dust to the dust shall return. And for ages to come a bright halo will throw O'er the mouldering remains o' the mighty Munro. M^a H 0|e tjiat We^ mt. [Written by Burks to his favourite tune of "Morag." The heroine of this song is un- known, O WHA is she that lo'es me. And has my heart a-kecping ? O swett is she that lo'es me. As dews o' simmer weeping. In tears the rose-bud steeping : that's the lassie o' my heart, My lassie ever dearer ; O that's the queen o' womankind. And ne'er a ane to peer her. If thou shalt meet a lassie In grace and beauty charming. That e'en thy chosen lassie, Erewhile thy breast sae warming. Had ne'er sic powers alarming ; O that's, &c. If thou hadst heard her talking. And thy attentions plighted. That ilka body talking. But her by thee is slighted ; And if thou art delighted ; O that's, &c. If thou hast met this fair one. When frae her thou hast parttd ; If every other fair one But her thou hast deserted. And thou art broken-hearted O that's the lassie o' my heait. My lassie ever dearer ; O that's the queen o' womankind. And ne'er a ane to peer her. [Evan M'CoLt.— Tune, "On wi' the Tartan," or, " Air failirin ilirin, uilirin O." This and the other songs by Evan M'Coll are from a little volume published by him in 1S38, entitled " The Moun- tain Slinstrel."] ^!i^ Give the swains of Italia 'Mong myrtles to rove. Give the proud, sullen Spaniard His bright orange grove ; Give gold-sandf d streams To the sons of Chili, But, oh ! give the hills Of the heather to me. The hills where the hunter Oft soundeth his horn, — ■VVTiere sweetest the skylark Awakens the morn : — The grey cliff, the blue lake. The stream's dashing glee, Endear the red hills Of the heather to me. SCOTTISH SONG: There health, rosy virgin. For ever doth dwell ; There love fondest whispers To beauty his tale ; There — freedom's own darlics: ! The Gael, Uves free,— Then, oh ! give the hills Of the heather to kc. %$nu. [This exquisite little song was among the last Burns ever wrote. It was composed in honour of Jessie Lewars (now Mrs. Thomson of Dum- fries,) the sister of a brother exciseman of the poet's, and one who has endeared her name to posterity by the affectionate solicitude with which she tended Bums daring his last iUness.J Herb's a health to ane I lo'e dear — Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear; [meet. Thou art s^veet as the smile when kind lovers And soft as their parting tear, Jessie ! Although thou maun never be i Although even hope is denied — 'Tis sweeter for thee despairing Than aught in the world beside, Jessie ! 1 r.ourn through the gay gaudy day. As hopeless I muse on thy charms; But welcome the dream o' sweet slumber. For then I am lock'd in thy am:3, Jessie ! I guess by the dear angel smile, I guess by the love-rolling e'e ; But why urge the tender confession, ■Gainst fortune's fell cruel decree, Jessie ! ^1? ^5?p|«lt! ^Og. [EvA>- M'CoLL.— Tune, " Ye tanks an" braes o' tonnie Doon."J The shepherd boy was far away, — His heart was heavy, and his song Was often pour'd at close of day. While oheer'd him thus the rustic throng :— " The maidens here are fair and free. And sweet our heather braes do bloom ;" Yet sadly, sweetly stiU sung he — " Oh ! this is not my native home." " O balmy is the breath of mom. And bright the sun's declining ray. Sweet is the sound of mountain turn. And light the skylark's varied lay; Gay are the lambkins on the lea, ^M^ And rich our mountain flowers' p^™ne ; Yet sadly, sweetly still sung he — " Oh ! this is not my native home."' SkBHJSg. [Ev 31'CoLL. — Tune, " Gradh geal mo cliri."] § WHY do I love thee, Glenaray, O why ? 'Tis not for thy plains or thy woods waving high. Thy flowers wildly blooming, or brown heather braes, Glenaray, Glenaray, I care not for these. 1 love thee, — ^but not for thy echoing hiUs, ■ I ccurt thee, — but not for thy crjstalline rills ; I haunt thee, — but not for thy fount;uns so clear. And the chase on thy mountains allures rue not i here. I Oh no! for unheeded the roe now skips by, ! The wild foaming cascade is nought in mine eye ; ! Sweet glen ! what then makes thee an Zdea to I me? I 'Tis the lass with the bright and the blue rolling I e'e. I Yes, maid of my love ! as a bee that has found Some sweet-laden blocm, as it wanders around, Ketums and ret'orns oft to feast on his prize, ; Even so my heart moves to drink love from thine I eyes. ! False friendship may flatter, coy fortune cay 1 smile, ■ And hope's dazzling meteor shine soon to beguile; Away with such shadows ! there's nothing to nie Like the lass with the bright and the blue roll- it in2 e'e. K l^ ^ ^ ^ p^. ^^scm^^^^£<^^^m^i^^ lU SCOTTISH SOXGS. i<^ ^ Mn'mu in tt^ Unt cs* WUL ^ pfWm^^ [WniTTHN by Hugh Ainslie, a native of the parish of Dailly, Ayrshire, and for some time a copying clerk in the Register House, Edinbvirgh. Mr. Ainslie is now, we believe, resident in the United States of America, to which, with his family, he emigrated in 1822. He is author of a small Mteme, called " A Pilgrimage to the Land of BuMT"] It's dowie in the hint o' hairst. At the wa'-gang o' the swallow. When the wind grows cauld, and the burns grow bauld. And the wuds are hin^n' yellow ; But oh, its dowier far to see The wa'-gang o" her the heart gangs wi'. The dead -set o' a shinin' ee. That darkens the wearie warld on thee. There was mickle love atween us twa— Oh, twa could ne'er be fonder ; And the thing on yerd was never made That could ha'e gart us sunder. But the way o' Heav'n's abune a' ken — And we maun bear what it likes to sen' — It's comfort, though, to wearie men. That the warst o' this world's waes maun en'. There's mony things that come and gae — Just kent and just forgotten — And the flowers that busk a bonnie brae. Gin anither year lie rotten. But the last look o' that lovely e'e. And the dying grip she ga'e to me. They're settled like eternitie — Oh, Mary ! that I were wi' thee. [Hugh Aikslie.] Can ye lo'e, my dear lassie. The hills wild and free, AVhar the sang o' the shepherd Gars a' ring wi' glee .' Or the steep rocky glens. Where the wUd falcons bide ? Then on wi' the tartan. And fy let us ride ! Can ye lo'e the knowes, lassie That ne'er war in rigs ? Or the bonnie loune lee. Where the sweet robin biggs V Or the sang o' the Untie, Whan wooin' his bride ? Then on wi' the tartan. And fy let us ride ! Can ye lo'e the bum, lassie. That loups amang linns ? Or the bonnie green howmes Where it cannilie rins ? Wi' a cantie bit housie, Sae snug by its side ? Then on wi' the tartan. And fy let us ride! JE^ g|e?]p S B€|kft«^» [This song was very popular in Scotland among the upper classes about the middle of the last century, and there are still old people to be found who refer to it. It was -wTitten by Sir Gilbert Elliot, third baronet of Minto, who was born in 1722, educated for the Scottish bar, and during his life held several official appointments under government. He died at Marseilles in 1777. His son, for some time governor-general of India, was raised to the peerage by the title of Earl of Minto. Sir Gilbert was brother to INIiss Jane EUiot, author- ess of the old set of the " Flowers of the Forest." The words "My sheep I neglected" are printed in the first volume of Yair's " Charmer," Edin- burgh, 1749, in Herd's Collection, and elsewhere. They are to the tune of an old air, called My Apron, dearie, which, with old words, m.ay " found in the Orpheus Caledonius, 1725, and, with the present words, in Johnson's Museum, and Thomson's Select Melodies.] Mv sheep I neglected— I lost my sheep-hook. And all the gay haunts of my youth I forsook; No more for AmjTita fresh garlands I wove ; For ambition, I said, would soon cure me of love. Oh, what had my youth with ambition to do ? Wty left I Amynta ? Why broke I my Oh, give me my sheep,and my sheep-hook restore. And I'll wander from love and Amynta no more. ^^''^^^Mi^''v'i%:^^3^^^^fi^. s^g^.^ I Tiirough regions remote in vain do I rove, 1 And bid the wide ocean secure me from love ! ' Oh, fool ! to imagine that aught could subdue A love so well -founded, a passion so true ! Oh, what, &c. Alas ! tis too late at thy fete to repine ; Poor shepherd, Amynta can never be thine : Thr tears are all fruitless, thy wishes are vain. The moments neglected return not again. Oh, what, &c. [This is another production of Sib Gixbekt Elliot's, written in memory of Colonel James Gardiner, who fell at the battle of Prestonpans, in September, 1745. It may claim singnlarity as one of the few songs of the period not on the Jacobite side. The " Fanny fair," mentioned in , the first stanza, was a daughter of the Colonel's, afterwards Mrs. Richmond Inglis, who died at Edinburgh in 1795. She was authoress of a poem ' called "Anna and Edgar, or Love and .Ambition," 'published at Edinburgh in 17S1, ito. The poem of Colonel Gardiner is said to have been originally ' set to the tune of Barbara Allan, but it appears , in Johnson's Museum to an old tune called t Sawnie's Pipe.] 'TwAS at the hour of dark midnight. Before the first cock's crowing, ■When westland winds shook Stirling's towers "With hollow murmurs blowing; When Fanny fiiir, all woe begone. Sad on her bed was lying. And from the roin'd towers she heard I The boding screechK)wl crying. " dismal night !" she said, and wept, " O night presaging sorrow, O dismal night !" she said, and wept, " But more I dread to-morrow. For now the bloody hour draws nigh. Each host to Preston bending ; At mom shall sons their fathers slay, "With deadly hate contending. Even in the visions of the night, I saw fell death wide sweeping ; all the matrons of the land. And all the virgins, weeping." . And now she heard the massy gat.s ' • narsh on their hinges turning ; And now through all the castle hear J The woeful voice of mourning. Aghast, she started from her bed. The fatal tidings dreading ; "O speak," she cried, "my father's sla I see, I see him bleeding !" — " A pale corpse on the sullen shore. At mom, fair maid, I left him ; Even at the threshhold of his gate. The foe of life bereft him. "Bold, in the tattle's front, he fell, With many a wound deformed ; A braver knight, nor better man. This fair isle ne'er adorned." — "VThile thus he spake, the grief-struck r A deadly swoon invaded ; lest was the lustre of her eyes. And all her beauty faded. Sad was the sight, and sad the news. And sad was our complaining ; But, oh ! for thee, my native kmd, What woes are still remaining ! But why complain ? the hero's sov.! Is high in heaven shining ; May providence defend our i;]e From all our foes designing ! [This beautiful and affecting song was the composition of the noble-minded daughter of Sir Patrick Home, (afterwards created Earl of March mont,) and wife of George Baillie, Esq. of Jervis- wood, in Lanarkshire. Lady Gbizzel Baillie was bom at Kedbraes castle in 1665 ; was married in 1692; and died at London in 1746. HerMe- |l moirs, by her eldest daughter. Lady Murray of Stanhope, wers published posthimiously at Edin- burgh in 1822. The song appears in the Orpheus Caledonius, printed in 1735, and also in the fourth volume of the Tea-Table Miscellany, printed some years later.] There was anes a may, and she loo'd na men : She biggit her bonnie bower doun i' yon glen ; But now she cries Dool, and well-a-day : Come doun the green gate, and ccme here awa.. . But DOW she cries, &c. ^ '^^^^^m^s^^^m^ ^^^ms'-^smm<^it^M:^^^'W^^, 130 SCOTTISH SONGS. I i ■ AVhen bonnie young Johnnie cam' ower the sea. He said he saw naething; sae lovely as me ; lie hecht nie baith rings and monie braw things; And were na my heai-t licht I wad dec. He hecht me, &c. He had a wee titty that loo'd na me. Because I was twice as bonnie as she ; She rais'd such a pother 'twixt him and his mother. That were na my heart licht I wad dee. She rais'd, &c. The day it was set, and the bridal to be : The wife took a dwam, and lay down to dee. She main'd, and she graned, out o* dolour and pai n, Till he vow'd he never wad see me again. She main'd, &c. His kin was for ane of a higher degree. Said, What had he to do wi' the like of me ? Albeit I was bonnie, I was na for Johnnie : And were na my heart licht I wad dee. Albeit I was bonnie, &c. They said I had neither cow nor calf. Nor dribbles o' drink rins through the draff. If or pickles o' meal rins through the mill-e'e ; And were na my heart licht I wad dee. Nor pickles, &c. His titty she was baith wyUe and slee. She spied me as I cam' ower the lea ; And then she ran in, and made a loud din ; BeUe»B your ain een an ye trow na me. And then she ran in, &c. His bonnet stood aye fu' round on his brow ; His auld ane look'd aye as weel as some's new; j But now he lets 't wear ony gate it will hing, And casts himself dowie upon the corn-bing. | But now he, &c. i And now he gaes daundrin" about the dykes, ' And a' he dow do is to hund the tykes : I The hve-lang nicht he ne'er ste^ his e'e ; | And were na my heart licht I wad dee. The live-lang nicht, &c. Were I young for thee, as I ha'e been, ; We should ha'e been gallopin' down on yon green. And linkin' it on yon lilie-white lea; . And wow ! gin I were but young for thee ! And linkin' it, &e. [In most collections this once popular song is ascribed to John Home, author of the tragedy of Douglas. The real author, however, was John Tait, a writer to the signet, and some time judge of the Edinburgh police court. Mr. Tait in early life wrote many fugitive pieces, which appeared in the periodicals of the day. He died in 1S17. The present song was composed in 1775, on the occa- sion of a friend leaving Scotland to join the British forces in America. Hence the allusion to the "proud rebels" in the second stanza, America being then struggling for her independence. Burns objected to the second line of the song for two sufficient reasons. " In the first place," he says, " the nightingale sings in a low bush, but never from a tree ; and, in the second place, there never was a nightingale seen or heard on the banks of the Dee, or on the banks of any other ri Scotland." The author felt the justice objections, and, thirty years after the first appear^ ance of the song, altered the opening lines thus : — 'Twas summer, and saftly the breezes were blowing. And sweetly the mood-pigeon cuo'dfrom the tree , At the foot of a rock, where the rvild-rose mat growing, I sat myself down on the banks of the Dee. The song is sung to the Irish an: of Langolee.] •TwAs summer, and saftly the breezes were blow- ing, And sweetly the nightingale sung from the tree ; At the foot of a rock, where the river was flowing, I sat myself down on the banks of the Dee. Flow on, lovely Dee, flow on, thou sweet river. Thy banks, purest stream, shall be detir to me ever : For there first I gain'd the affection and favour Of Jamie, the glory and pride of the Dee. the banks J', k ir river in pJX > e of these M ) I if or>T>o!>f. J~/'/ and left me thus But now he's gone from mourning, To quell the proud rebels— for vahant is he ; And ah ! there's no hope of his speedy returning. To wander again on the banks of the Dee, He's gone, hapless youth, o'er the loud roaring billows. The kindest and sweetest of all the gay fellows, f>rr < And left me to stray 'mongst the once loved ^,^ willows. The loneliest maid on the banks of the Dee. ring y^. ^:^s:m^t:^^§:^^^^ma SCOTTISH SO>"GS. 'But time and my prayers may perhaps yet restore ^. him, I ' Elest peace may restore my dear shepherd to me; Aiid when he returns, with sach care I'll watch o'er him, ' He never shall leave the sweet banks of the Dee. ' ^ The Dee then shall flow, all its beauties displaj-ing, i ' The Limbs on its banks shall again be seen plaving, j • 'While I with my Jamie am carelessly strajlng, | And tasting again all the sweets of the Dcn. i^etx^ asg ti;« m; [From Cromek's Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song, London, 1810.] As I cam' doun the Cannogate, The Cannogate, the Cannogate, As I cam' doun the Cannogate, 1 heard a lassie sing, : Merry may the keel rowe. The keel rowe, the keel rowe. Merry may the keel rowi-. The ship that my love"* in, O ! 3Iy lore has breath o' rosts, O' roses, o' roses, "\Vi' arms o' lily posies. To fauld a lassie in, ! Meny may, &c. My love he wears a bonnet, A bonnet, a bonnet, A snawy rose upon it, A dimple on his chin, ! Merry may, &c. [Written by Allan Ccxxingham. A frag- ment of this was contributed to Cro^iek's Heraains as an old Jacobite production. The sun rises bright in France, And fair sets he ; Eat he has tint the blythe blink he had In my ain countrie. O ! gladness comes to many, But sorrow comes to me, ^s 1 look o'er the wide ocean To my ain countrie. O ! it's no my ain ruin That saddens aye mv e'e But the love I left in GaUoway, Wi' bonnie bairns tiiree ; 3Iy hamely hearth burnt bonnie. And smiled my fair Marie : I've left my heart behind me. In my ain countrie. The bud comes back to summer. And the blossom to the tree. But I win back— oh, never. To my ain countrie. I'm leal to the high heaven, ■Which will be leal to me ; And there I'll meet ye a' sune, Frae my ain countrie. Ew^sJifr. [Wkittex by Allan Eamsat to the tune of o " liochaber no more." It appears in the 2d vol. J^ of the Tea Table Miscellany, and also with the music in the Orpheus Caledonius, 1725. The air at an earlier period is said to have been called " King James's march to Ireland."] Farewell to Lochaber, farewell to my Jean, WTiere heartsome wd' her I ha'e mony a day been ; To Lochaber no more, to Lochaber no more, "We'U maybe return to Lochaber no more. These tears that I shed, they're a' for my dear. And no for the dangers attending on weir ; Though borne on rough seas to a far bloody shore. Maybe to return to Lochaber no more ! Though hurricanes rise, though rise every wind, No tempest can equal the storm in my mind ; Though loudest of thunders on louder waves roar. There's naething like leavin' my love on the shore. ^_^NN To leave thee behind me my heart is sair pain'd ; *\^^^ But byeasethxit'singloriousnofamecanbegain'd: »>. And beauty and love's the reward of the brave ; ^ji;-< And I maun deserve it before I can crave. Then glory, my Jeanie, maun plead my excuse ; Since honour commands me, how can I refuse ? Without it, I ne'er can have merit for thee ; I And losing thy favour I'd better not be. ! I gae then, my lass, to -win honour and fame ; I And if I should chance to come glorious hame, I 111 bring a heart to thee with love running o'er, ifiAnd then I'll leave thee and Lochaber no more. 138 SCOTTISH SONGS. ')^ Wimh% B^n%o [VViT.LiAM Fbroussok of Edinburgh.— Here first printed.] The spring comes back to woo tlie earth, \Vi' a' a lover's speed ; The wee birds woo their lovin' mates Around otiT very head. But I've nae skill in lover-craft ; For, till I met wi' you, I never sought a maiden's love, I never tried to woo. I've gazed on mony a comely face. And thought it sweet an' fair, But wi' the face the charm would Hee, And never move me mair. But miles away, your bonnie face Is ever in my view, AVi' a' its charms, half wilin' me. Half daurin' me to woo. At hame, a-field, you're a' my theme; I doat my time away ; I dream o'er a' your charms by night. And worship them by day. But when they glad my langin' een. As they are gladden'd now, My courage flees like frighted bird — 1 daurna mint to woo. Jly head thus lying on your lap. Your hand aneath my cheek. Love stounds my bosom through an' through, — But yet I canna speak. My coward heart wi' happiness, Wi' bliss, is brimin' fu' ; But 1 its fu'ness mars my tongue — I ha'ena power to woo. I prize your smile as husbandman The summer's opening bloom. And, could you frown, I dread it ma;r Than he the autumn's gloom. My life hangs on that sweet sweet hi-'. On that calm, sunny brow, — And O ! my dead hangs on them baith. Unless you let me woo. Oh ! lift me to your bosom, then. Lay your warm cheek to mine. And let me round that lovesome waist My arms enraptured twine ; That I may breatheniy very soul In ae lang lovin' vow. And a' the while, in whispers low. You'll learn me, love, to woo 1 um mnntxu. [Tune, " The Briar Bush."— This and the two following pieces are from a small volume by Alexander Maclagoan, which contains mucti genuine and vigorous poetry. The volume is entitled, " Poems and Songs, Scotch and Eng- lish," and was published at Edinburgh in ISil.J How are ye a' at hame In my ain countrie ? Are your kind hearts aye the same In my ain countrie ? Are ye aye as fu' o' glee. As witty, frank, and free. As kind's ye used to be. In my ain countrie ? Oh ! a coggie I will fill To my ain countrie ! Ay, and toom it wi' good will To my ain countrie ! Here's to a' the folk I ken, 'Mang the lasses and the men. In ilk canty but an' ben O' my ain countrie ! Heaven watch thou ever o'er My ain countrie ! Le; tyrants never more Rule my ain countrie ! Jlay her heroes, dear to thee — The bauld hearts and the free — Be ready aye to dee For my ain countrie ! May a blessin' light on a' In my ain countrie ! Bjiith the great folk and the sma', i n my ain countrie ! 139 5 On whatever sod I knee!, Heaven knows I ever feel For the honour and the weal O' my ain countrie ! %m 1 ^ne, [Alex. Maclaggan.] O ! GIN 1 were the bahny sleep That saftly seals young Phcebe's e'e, "V\"nen, soothed by slumbers warm and deep. Sic visions in her dreams wad be As angels noight be bljthe to see. Then I would ope my aching heart, My aching heart, that Phoebe fair Might see in every troubled part Her own sweet image smiling there. Like sunshine on a cloud of care. •©IfSf^^.f. [Alex. Maclaggan.] Arise, my faithfu' Phoebe Graeme ! I grieve to see ye sit Sae laigh upon your creepy stool. In sic a dorty fit ! A reamin' cog's a wilin* rogue ; But, by my vows sincere. Ilk smilin' cup, by mirth flll'd up, Was drained wi' friends lang dear. Ye needua turn your tearfu' e'e Sae aften on the clock ; 1 ken the short han' frae the lang As weel as wiser folk. Let hoary time, wi' bleth'rin' chime. Taunt on — nae wit has he ! >'ae spell-spun hour — nae wilin' power. Can win my heart Crae thee. Oh, weel ye ken, dear Phoebe Graeme ! Sin' we, 'maist baims, wed. That, torn by poortith's iron teeth, My heart has aft times bled : — Fortune, the jaud, for a' she had, iJoled me but feckless blanks ; But bless'd wi' thee, and love, and glee, I scorn her partial pranks. As drumlie clouds o'er summer skies Let anger's shadows flit I There's days o' peace, and nights o' jfy. To pass between us yet ! For I do swear to thee, my fair. Till life's last pulse be o'er. Till light depart, my faithfu' heart Shall love thee more and more ! Fair be thy fe' ! my Phoebe Graeme ! Enraptured now I see The smile upon thy bonnie face, WTiilk wont to welcome me. Grant me the bliss o' ae fond kiss, Ae kind forgi'ein' blink O' thy true ".ove, and I will prove Far wiser than ye think ! ^'^e '^f)t22 %B$in> [William Holmes.— Here first printed. Mv heart, alack ! is sair opprest For love o' lasses three ; I kenna whilk o' them to choose. They're a' sae dear to me. Toung Peggy has a takin' gate. She's nimble as the fawn ; An' Ukes to play a merrj- prank. While skipping o'er the lawn. To see her dancin' gowden locks. My heart loups licht wi' glee ; An' when I pree her rosy lips. Care flees awa' frae me. WI' eager look upon a book. You'll aft see lady Ann, Wi' jetty locks, an' lily neck Bent like a stately swan ; Amang the tales of olden time She's sic a learned quean. Ye maun tak' tent ere ye begin To crack wi' her at e'en. n ^''^^i^^^^^m^^;^0^^^iS^ ^^m^^^^w-^^'f^^^'^^'m'^^ I 140 SCOTTISH SONGS. J^nd thei-e is gentle Madeline, "VVi- een o' lovin' blue. To hear her sing an auld Scotch sang You'd bless her earnest moa'. Aye when I gang frae Madeline, Nae body by to tell. The winsome sangs she sings to nie I whistle to mysel'. Noo, can ye guess me whilk o' them Jly wifie's like to be ?— In troth, I kenna weel mysel' — They're a' sae dear to me ! ^ilU o' @ak^©iiia. [Alexander Home.— Air, "Hey, Donald, ho, Donald."— Here first printed.] O TEARS ha'e come, an" years ha'e gane, Sin' first I trod the warld alane. Sin' first I mused wi' heart sae fain On the hills o' Caledonia. But now, alas! a' round is gloom. My ancient friends are in the tomb. And o'er them waves the heather bloom, On the hiUs o' Caledonia. My father's name, my father's lot. Is like a tale that's heeded not. Or sang ungung, if no forgot. On the hills C Caledonia. O" a' our house there's left nae stane, A' swept away like snaw lang gane ; Weeds flourish owre the auld domain, On the hills C Caledonia. The Tiot's banks are bare and hich, ' The stream rins sma' an' moumfu' by, Like some sad heart maist grutten dry On the hills o' Caledonia. ■' The birds sit silent on the tree , ( The wild flow'rs droop upon the lea. As if the kind things felt wi' me On the hills o' Caledonia. But friends can live, though cauld they Ii( If mirror'd in the memory ; ■\Vhen we forget them— then they die On the hills o' Caledonia. But though, however changed the scene. My mem'ry an' my feelings green. Yet green to my auld heart an' een Are the hills o' Caledonia. [Thomas C. Latto.— First printed in " Whis- tlebinkie."] There's meikle bliss in ae fond kiss, ■\Vhyles mair than in a score ; But wae betak' the stouin smack I took ahint the door. " O laddie whisht ! for sic a fricht I ne'er was in afore, Fu" brawly did my mither hear The kiss ahint the door." The wa's are thick, ye needna fear. But gin they jeer an' mock, I'll swear it was a startit cork. Or wyte the rusty lock. There's meikle bliss, &e. ■yVe stappit ben, while Maggie's face Was like a lowin' coal ; And as for me I could ha'e crept Into a rabbit's hole. The mither lookt, sa'ffs how she lookt ! Thae mithers are a bore. An' gleg as ony cat to hear A kiss ahint the door. There's meikle bliss, &c. The douce gudeman, though he was there. As weel micht been in Eome, For by the fire he fufif'd his pipe. And never fash'd his thoom ; But tittrin' in a corner stood The gawky sisters four, A winter's nicht for me they micht Ha'e stood ahint the door. There's meikle bliss, &c. '^^^fm^^:^^ ^^^s^^-^p'lf^J^^-^'^^^ SCOTTISH SO>'G.- " How daur ye tak' sic freedoms hare • The bauld gudewife began, \Vi' that a foursome yoU gat up, I to my heels an' ran ; A besom whiskit by my lus. An' dishclouts half a score. Catch me again, though fidgin' fain. At kissin' 'hint the door. There's meikle bliss, &e. ^Xj IThomas C. Latto.— Tune, " The Jlistletoe J^^ liough."— Here first printed.] •" ^ Youxo lawyer Tom was the pride of the ball ; ^^: His waistcoat shone like a white-wash'd wall ; / y. And though his retainer were small and few, A^ His credit seem'd good, for his coat was new. /( fg The ladies all si^h'd, "Oh la! what a dear!" ^\j-. And in truth he looked spruce as a bottle of beer. C>/ O, the rogue with his bright boots aimed to be I /j^ A moving mirror of gallantry ! ^ I v"^ O the Prince's street beau ! ^^^^ O the Prince's street beau ! 11^ Jit his lodgings arrived, "Ahdimmit,"heyawn'd, I Vf? " I fear it's all up, for my shirts are pawn'd, V\" And crucify me, if I know what to do, ^^\ To pay my last trousers, my hat, and surtout. |Q -4 I've lived on a trotter a week, I am sure, ^~y. But of course 'twas my appetite getting 'so poor.' 3p^ O fhark in your ear) had mutton been cheap, ^^\ 1 think in the time I had manag'd a — sheep :" ftlj O the Prince's, &c. yjj ]Sextmoming,whencoml:inghi3whiskers,he cried, (/^m " I must vanish by twilight, but where shall I hide? \§* Snip thinks he is up to a trifle or so, gX^ But I'm bless'd if I leave him a string to his teai..'" vAs A way he flew, and his landlord look'd blue. Three bailifi"s are started, our friend to pursue. And the tailor scream'd, " He promised to pay The 'dentical hou? that he cut away." O the Prince's, &c. J'^J They sought him that night, and they sought him ^jn next day, [away; 1^^ And they sought him in vain when a week pass'd In the Canongate, Cowgate, all over the town. Old Cabbage sought wildly, the bini was flown. And years flew by, he was neatly done. Yet the beau, though he managed hisclutchets to shun. At times hove in sight, when each imp shruted, " Beaus Should never forget to pay their clo's '." O the Prince's, &c. At length a live bundle of rags was seen In a field of barley near Juniper Green : Can I credit my eyes ? 'twas our hero indeed,— O in running so fast, he had run to seed .' Sad, sad was his fate ! be warn'd, ye beaus. And never forget to pay your "clo's 1" He had hired himself out at a penny a day. As a bogle to frighten the crows away ! O the Prince's street beau. The fat« of the Prince's street beau ! 5 bayiliei'^ alar:^. [AtEx. BucHATJAN. — Air, " Lucy's Flittin."- Here first printed.] I wA.vDER'D alane at the break o' the momin" — The dun clouds o' nicht were a' wearin' awa', — The sun rose in glory, the grey hills adomin', J/\ A' glintin' like gowd were their tappits o' snaw ; /jj 9 Adown by my side row'd the rock- bedded Kelvin, \~ r4 While nature aroun' was beginnin' to green, -ihc An' auld cottar bodies their yardies were delvin', ^SSL Kenin' thrift in the mom brocht pleasure at e'en. I leant me against an auld mossy clad palin', ; An* noo an' then dichted a tear frae my e'e — I look'd on the bodies, an* envied their toilin'— Though lowly their lot, they seem'd happy by me. ' I thocht on my riches, yet feckless the trexisure, I tried to forget, but the labour was vain ; Jly wifie an' bairn were a' my life's pleasure, " . An* they to the grave baith thegither had gane. '•^■ The thochts o" her love had awaken'd my sor- ^ row. The laugh o' my baimie cam' back on mine ears, ¥- An' piercin' my heart wi' the force o' an arrow , ^^ ilt opened anew the saft channel o' tfars. i^^s/m^^^^^f^i^^:^0^^^^m ^^m^'^^^^.'^^: SCOTTISH SONGS, '^^ 142 I grat an' I sabb'd, till I thocht life wad lea' me, ^ An' happy I then could ha'e parted wi' life— For naethjng on earth sic enjoyment could gi'e me. As the glee o' my bairn, an' smile o' my wife. weary the day was, when they were ta'en frae me — Leavin' me lane, the last leaf on the tree ; Nae comfort the cauld look o' strangers can gi'e me, I'm wae — an" they a' look as waefu' on me. 1 wander me aften, to break melancholy, On ilk thing that's lievin', the maxim I see. Not walth to the weary 's like peace to the lowly^ Sae burden'd wi* grief, I maun gang till I dee. ^ [William Ferqusson.— Here first printed.] Bebchen tree, ye was green, green. Warm winds blawin' your branches atween, When 'neath your shade, A simple maid ! I met wi' my fause love late at e'en. Beechen tree, his vows ye heard. Breathed saft in mony a sweet-waled word : "VVTia e'er could reck Sic vows would break ? Nae dreams o' a snare has the younglin' bird. Beechen tree, ye a»e bare, bare ; Warm shelter now ye ha'e nane to spare — As 'neath your shade, Nae mair a maid, I cower me down i' the cauld night air. B<>echen tree, the comin' spring Will green leaves back to your branches bring But spring, alas ! May come an' pass. But canna renew my flourishing. Beechen tree, bare beechen tree. The warld is fii' o' treacherie : And I maist could pray That, ere the day, Alane at your auld root I might de.e .' [William Fkrgusson.— Here for the first time printed.] I'm wand'ring wide this wintery night. But yet my heart's at hame, Fu' cozie by my aln fire-cheek. Beside my winsome dame. The weary winds howl lang an' loud, But, 'mid their howling drear. Words sweeter far than honey blabs Fa' saftly on my ear. I'm wand'ring wide this wintery night, I'm wand'ring wide an' far; But love, to guide me back again. Lights up a kindly star. The lift glooms black aboon my head, Nae friendly blink I see. But let it gloom, — twa bonnie een Glance bright to gladden me. I'm wand'ring wide this wintery night, I'm wand'ring wide an' late. And ridgy vweaths afore me rise. As if to bar my gate. Around me swirls the sleety drift. The frost bites dour an' keen. But breathings warm frae lovin' lips Come ilka gust atween. I'm wand'ring wide this wintery night, I'm wand'ring wide an' wild, Alang a steep and eerie track Where hiUs on hills are piled : The torrent roars in wrath below. The tempest roars aboon ; But fancy broods on brighter scenes. And soughs a cheerin' tune. I'm wand'ring wide this wintery night, I'm wand'ring wide my lane. And mony a langsome, lanesome mile 1 11 measure ere it's gane. But lanesome roads or langsome miles Can never daunton me. When I think on the welcome warm That waits me, love, frae thee. SCOTTISH SONGS. [John Mitchell.— Here first printed.] Whex gowd's in the pocket there's mirth in the ha'. And lightly the hours o'er our heads glide awa". The tongue tells its tales wi' the cantiest glee, And the lips wear a smile that's near seen on — " poor nie But when in the pocket the fingers in vain Attempt but ae coin o' our Queen's to obtain. How dowie we sit wi' the tear in our e'e, And sigh as we whisper in secret — " poor me !" Our trade's gane awa' and my meal-pock is toom. And muckle I fear I'll ne'er fill't at the loom, Sae I to a far distant kintra maun flee ; For, O ! I am weary o' singing—" poor me :" I ance dream't that fortune had featber'd my nest. But dreams are aye contr?.r', sae I maun just rest On what poortith likes in my cauTd hame to lea'. With whom I aft sing in sad chorus—" poor me !" My coat is thread b.ire, and my cheeks ha'e grown thin. And drear is the path fate has doom'd me to rin. The vera wee birds, as I pass them, agree To sing but ae sang, and that sang is — " poor me !" The flowers in their beauty will shed their perfume On a' that comes near them to gaze on their bloom. But do what I will, frae my presence men flee. They canna be fash'd wi' the lilt o' — " poor me !" [vr. A. Foster.— Here first printed.] Come listen now, ladies, — it winna be lane, WhUe 1 sing you a cannie >"orthumberland sang; It will tell you o' sports that have lang been my pride. And the games we've been haddin' in bonnie Till side; There 's few keener o' them, — come tell me o' ane, — For thrawing the hammer, or putting the stane. The Cheviot bred lads may beat ns for speed ; And the prize for the jumping may gang to the Tweed ; The quoits to the town, and the race to the hill ; But there's something we'll keep on the banks of the Til Two prizes there are,— I will yield them to nane — The thrawing the hammer and putting the stane. m^m^^'^s^f^i^^s^s^m^ ^iS?m^>^'^^^2^:^'/^^^^m 141 SCOTTISH SONGS. .n John Cole, wi' his rifle, may beat us, I trow ; William Foster uow sticks to his arrow and bow ; Let them come frae the Beaumont and Tweed to the Till, We'll match them for something at Auld Heaton Mill : Ay, sirs, look and see — a' these medals were ta'en. By thrawing the hammer and putting the stane. Etal, Crookham, and Ford, have na seen sic a day. Since the trumpet's blast raised them for Flodden's affray. But a bard of renown has that battle-field sung; And I tell o' the games in my ain mother tongue : We like sport but nae fighting,— just let us alane. When thrawing the hammer and putting the stane. i # The feuds on the Borders nae langer run fierce ; Northumberland kindly shakes hands wi' the Merse : Baith sides o' the Tweed — ami a cheer for the games, And good health t'> the victors, whatever their claims. And lang may the Border lads flourish and reign. At thrawing the hammer and putting the stane. ^■^? 'E'WtU. i [Alexander Maclacgan.— Set to music by Mr. Turnbull, Glasgow.] Hurrah for the thistle ! the brave Scottish thistle. The evergreen thistle of Scotland for me I A fig for the flowers in your lady-built bowers — The strong bearded, weel guarded thistle for me! 'Tis the flower the proud eagle greets in its flight. When he shadows the stars with the wings of his might; 'Tis the flower that laughs at the storm as it blows. For the stronger the tempest the greener it grows! Hurrah for the thistle, &c. Round the love-lighted hames o' our ain native land— On the bonnetted brow, on the hilt of the brand — On the face o' the shield, 'mid the shouts of the free, >Iay the thistle be seen where the thistle should be ! Hurrah for the thistle, &c. Hale hearts we ha'e yet to bleed in its cause ; Bold harps we ha'e yet to sound its applause ; How then can it-fade, when sic chiels an' sic cheer. And sae mony braw sprouts o' the thistle are here ^ Then hurrah for the thistle I the brave Scottish thistle. The evergreen thistle of Scotland for me ! A fig for the flowers in your lady-built bowers. The strong bearded, weel guarded thistle for me I 1 SCOTTISH S0>"G3. [This was an old song even in Eamsay's days, s it was marked with a Z in the first volume of ia Miscellany. The title there given to it is Tot the love of Jean," which must have some jiation to another song to the same tune. Jocky and Jenny," says Mr. Robert Chambers, were names which, for a long period previoiis :. the early part of the last century, acted as •neral titles for every Scottish pair in humble :'o. The male name, in particular, was then ivariably used by the English as appropriate to h.e personified idea of a Scotsman — exactly as andy is used at the present day."] JrcKT said to Jenny, Jenny wilt thou wed ? Xe'er a fit, quo' Jenny, for my tocher -gude ; i or my tocher-gude, I winna marry thee. Een 's ye like, quo' Johnnie ; ye may let it be ! I h-a'e gowd and gear ; I ha'e land eneach ; 1 ha'e seven good owsen gangin' in a pleuch ; Gangin' in a pleuch, and linkin' ower the lea : And gin ye winna tak' me, I can let ye be. I hii'e a gude'ha' house, a bam, and a byre, A stack afore the door ; I'll mak' a rantin fire : I ii mak' a rantin fire, and merry shall we be : And, gin ye winna tak' me, I can let ye be. Bonnie Jocky, blythe and gay, Kiss'd sweet Jenny, making hay, The lassie blush'd, and frowning, cried, "Ko, t,o, it vnll not do ; I caEn*;iinseU wad dirk him f jr his deed;. But, oh ! she fears te sodger. Anither law came after tat. Me never saw the like, man. They luak' a lang road on te crund. And ca' him Tumimspike, man ; And wow she be a ponny road. Like Loudon corn riggs, man, ■U'here twa carts may gang on her. And no preak ither's legs, man. ^T They ch.arge a penny for ilka horse. In troth she'll no be sheaper. For nougat but gaun upon the ground, And they gi'e her a paper. They take the horse then py te head. And there they make him staud, man ; She tell them she had seen the day They had nae sic command, man. Kae doubt nainsell maun draw her purse ; And pay him what him like, man, She'll see a shadgement on his toor. That filtl*,- tumimspike, man. But she'll awa' to ta Highland hills, Wliere deil a ane dare turn her. And no come near te tumimspike. Unless it pe to pnm her. [Jaues Hogg. — Tune, " Killiecrankie."] Hersell pe auchty years and twa, Te twenty-tird o' Jlay, man ; She tweU amang the Heelan hiUs, Ayont the reefer Spey, man. Tat year tey foucht the .Sherra-mulr, She first peheld te licht, man ; Tey shit n.y father in tat stoure — A plaguit, vesin spite, man. I've feucht in Sectland here at hame» In France and Shermanie, man ; And cot tree tespurt pluddy cons. Beyond te 'Lantic sea, man : But wae licht on te nasty tun. Tat ever she pe porn, man ; Phile koot klj-more te tristle eairi. Her leaves pe never torn, man. Ae tay I shot, and shot, and shot, Phane'er it cam' my turn, man ; Put a' te force tat I could gi'e, Te powter wadna pum, man. A filty loun cam' wi' his cun, Eesolvt to too me harm, man ; And wi' te tirk upon her nose Ke me a pluddy arm, man. H.' SCOTTISH SOKG.^. I flang my cun wi' a' my micht, And fellt his ceepour teit, man ; Tan drew my swort, and at a straik Hewt aff te haf o's heit, man. Be vain to tell o' a' my tricks : My oons pe nae tiscrace, man , . Ter no pe yin pehint my back, Ter a' pefor my face, man. [.i.LEi.EoDGER. — Tune,"Fora' tbatand a* that. Katnsei, pe ifaister Shon M'^ab, Pe auld's ta forty-five man. And mony troll afifairs she's seen, Since she was bom alive, man ; ?hc;'s seen the warl' turn upside dc.vi;, Ta shentleman turn poor man, ^\ nd him was ance ta beggar loon, Get knocker 'pon him's door, m:iii. She's seen ta stane bowt owre ta purn. And syne be ca'd tc prig, man , She's seen ta whig ta tory turn, T.i tory turn ta whig, man; l: It a' ta troll things she ps seen, ^Vad teuk twa days to tell, man, rfo, gin you likes, she'll told your sliust Ta story 'bout hersel, n-ian : — ZS'ainsel was first ta herd ta Iqcs, 'Pon Morven'3 ponnie praes, man, AVhar tousand pleasant tays shs'U spent, Pe pu ta nits and slaes, man ; An' ten she'll pe ta herring-poaf. An' syne she'll pe fish-cod, man, Ta place tey'll call Newfoundhims-land, Pe fer peyont ta proad, man. U-.xt, och-hon-ee ! one misty night, Niiinsel wUl lost her way, man, ; icT poat was trown'd, hersel got fright, ;;he'll mind till dying day, man, i^ 1 .'hit ! she'U pe fish-cod no more, But back to Slorven c.-im', man, -\n' tere she turn ta whisky still, I'e prew ta wee trap tram, man : But foul pefa' ta gauger loon, Pe put her in ta shai!, man, "Whar she wad stood for mony a tay, Shust 'cause the no got bail, man ; But out she'll got; nae matters hco. And came to Glasgow town, min, "VVTiar tousand wonders m/wr she'll saw. As she went up and down, man. Ta first thing she pe wonder at. As she cam' down ta street, man, Was man's pe traw ta cart liimsel, Shust 'pon him's iiain txva feet, roan. Och on ! och on ! her nainsel thought. As she wad Stood and glower, man , Puir man ! if they mak' you ta horse— Should gang 'pon a' your /our, nan. And when she turned ta corner :oun.'., Ta black man tere she see, man, Pe grund ta m.usic in ta kist. And sell him for pawpee, man ; And aye she'll grund, and grund, and l-i And turn her mill about, man, Pe strange ! she will put nothing in, Yet aye teuk music out, man. And when she'll saw ta people's walk. In crowds alang ta street, man, She'U wonder whar tey a' got spoons To sup teir pick o' meat, man ; For in ta place whar she was porn. And tat right far awa', man, Ta teil a spoon in a' ta house. But only ane or twa, man. She glower to see ta Mattam.s, too, Wi' plack clout 'pon teir face, man, Tey surely tid some graceless deed, Pe in sic black disgrace, man ; Or else what for tey'll hing ta clout, Owre prow, and check, and chin, m.-ii If no for shame to show teir face. For some ungodly sin, man ? Pe strange to see ta wee bit kirn, Pe jaw the waters out, man. And ne'er rin dry, though she wad rin A* tay like mountain spout, man ; Pe stranger far to see ta lamps. Like spunkies in a raw, man ; A' pruntin pright for want o' oil. And teil a wick ava, naan. Ta Glasgow folk be unco folk, j j Ha'e tealings wi' ta tea, man, — 1 1 Wi' fire tey grund ta tait o' woo, A Wi' fire tey card ta meal, man ; SCOTTISH SONGS. 149 Wi' fire tey spin, vd' fire tsy weave, \Vi' fire do ilka turn, man, ya., some o' tem will eat ta fire, And no Iiim's pelly pum, man. Wi' fire tey mat' ta coach pe rin. Upon ta raUman's raw, man, Xaiiisel will saw him teuk ta road. An' teU a horse to traw, man ; Anither coach to Paisley rin, Tey'll call him Laachie's motion. But oich ! she was plawn a' to bits. By rascal rogue M'Splosion. AVi' fire tey mak' ta vessels iln I-'poa ta river Clyde, mail. She saw't hersel, as sure's a gun. As she stood on ta side, man : But gin you'll no pelieve her word. Gang to ta Proomielaw, man. You'll saw ta ship wi* twa mill-wheeU, Pe grund ta water sma', man. Oich ! sic a town as Glasgow town. She never see pefore, n.an, Ta houses tere pe mile and mair, Vr'i' names 'poon ilka toor, man. An' in teir muckle windows tere. She'll saw't, sure's teath, for sale, man, Praw shentleman's pe want ta heail. An' leddies want ta tail, man. ^he wonders what ta peoples do, Wi' a' ta praw things tere, man, Gi'e her ta prose, ta kilt, an' hose. For tem she wadna care, man. ^nd aye gi'e her ta pickle sneesh, And wee drap parley pree, man, I or a' ta praws in Glasgow town, cha no gi'e a paw-prown-pee, muu. ^She'll met Shony Grant her cosin's son, ■ An' Tuncan, an' Toukal, an' Tonal Cunn, I An' twa three more— an' she had sic fun, j But she'll tum't oot a saut saut mornin'. I Sae Shony Grant, a shill she'll hae 0' ta fera cootest usquapae. An" she'll pochtet a shill, aye an' twa three mae. An' she'll trank till ta fera neist mornin'. She'll sat, an' she'll trank, an' she'll roar, an' she'll sang. An' aye for ta shill ta pell she'll rang, An' she'U maet sic a tin fat a man she'll prang. An' she'll say't — " Co home 'tis mornin'." Ta man she'll had on ta great pig coat, I An' in her han' a rung she'll cot. An' a pumin' cruzie, an' she'U say't you sot She'U maun go to ta Offish tis mornin'. She'U say't to ta man — " De an Diaoul shin duiUeV ,'»• An' ta man she'U say't — " Pe quiet as ta moiise. Or nelse o'er her nettle she'U come fu' crouse. An' she'U put ta Offish in you in ta mornin ." i Ta man she'U dunt on ta stane her stick. An' fan she'U pe uheuk her rick-tick-tick. An' fan she'U pe catchet her by ta neck. An' trawn her to ta Oflish in ta mornin'. Ta mornin' come she'U be procht before ■} Ta gentleman's praw, an' her pones aU sore, Ij An' ta shentleman's say't, " You tog, what for ; j You'll maet sic a tin in tis mornin '." ' She'U teukit aff her ponnet and she'll maet her :>. poo, An' she'U say't, " Please her Grace she cot her sel' ' ' foo, ! Cut shust let her co and she'll never to i Ta like no more in ta mornin'. [ALi-x. Fisher. — Air, " Johnny Gopc-."J I:es nainsel' come firae ta hielan' hill, Tr. ponny town o' Glascow tUl, Kat u' Cilascow she's koten her peUy fill, Shc-'U no forget Us twa tree mornin'. But fan she'U ha'et to ta shentleman's praw Ta Sheordie firae out o' her sporan traw. An' she'U roart out loot— " De an diaoul ahae rr Oh hone O ri 'tis mornin' !" O fan she'U pe sait ta shentlemans, " she'll unt'.-rstoot What fere she'U pe here like ta lallan prute. But she'U maet htr cause either pad or coct. For she'U teuk you to ta law this mornin'." ]oO SCOTTISH S0NG3. Ta shcntleman's say't "respect ta coort. Or nelse my koot lat you'll suffer fort, bliust taur to spoke t another wort, An' she'll send her to ta Fischal in ta mornin' Oich ! she didna knew what to do afa. For she iiefer found herself so snia', An' klat she was right to kot awa', Frae oot o' ta offish in ta mornin'. Oh ! tat she war to ta Hielans pack, "\^^lar ne'er ta pailie's tare to crack, A n" whare she wad gotten ta sorro' a plaek, Frae n'oot o' her sporan in ta mornin'. An tat there was there her cosin's son. An' Tuncan, an' Tookal, and Tonal Cunn, An' twa tree more, she wad haet sic fun. And no be plaiget wi' paiiies in ta mornin'. ramliie'g P5:cm0ti©^,i0. [Ai.EX. RoDGBR. — Air " Johnny Cope."] Naissel she was pom "mang ta Hielan' hills, 'Mang ta goats, an' ta sheeps, an' ta whiskee stills. An' ta brochan, an' brogues, an' ta snuishin' mills, Oicii ! she was ta ponnie land she was porn in: For a' ta lads there will be s}ientlemans pora, Au' will wear skean-dhu an' ta praw snuishin'- hom, An' ta fine tartan trews hf r praw houghs to adorn. An' niak' her look fu' spruce in t;i mornin'. Koo, ta shentlemans will no like to wroughtin' at a'. But she'll sit py t.a grieshach her halTets to claw ; An' pebirsli? her shanks, till they're red as ta haw. An' a' fu' o' measles ilka mornin'. But her nainsel' at last to ta Lalans cam' doon. An' will got her a place 'mang ta nihor Giaschow toon ; V,"i:a.T she's noo prush-ta-poot, an" pe polish-ta- shoon. An' pe shentlemiin's flunkie in ta mornin'. But at last she will turn very full o' ta proud, An' she'll hold up her heads, an' she'll spoke very loud, A.n' she'lllookwi'disdains'ponta low tirty crowd, J at will hing 'pout ta doors ilka mornin'. i ^ •>Koo, her nainsel is go to have one merry ball, j AVTiar she'U dance Killum Galium, hoogh ! ta best o' them all. For ta ponniest dancer she'll i>e in ta hall. Aye, either 'mang ta evenin' or mornin'. Ither lads will have lasses, hersel will have no, It pe far too expense wi' t.a lassie to go ; So, she'll shust dance hersel', her fine preedings to siiow. Tat she learn 'mang ta place she was porn in. Then ta lads will cry " Lauehie, where from did you'll cam'. Tat you'll not give ta lassie tadancean'tadram?" But te're a' trouster mosachs, every one shust ta sam'. They wad spulzie all her sporran ere ta mornin'. Noo, she's thochtin' she'll yet turn a praw waiter's pell, "When she wear ta fine pump an' pe dress very well ; An' py Sheorge ! ere she'll stop, she'U pe maister hersel. In spite o' a' their taunts an' their scornin'. Syne wha like ta great Maister Fraser will pe, "HTien she'll hing up ta sign o' the " Golden Cross Key," An' will sit in her parlour her orders to gi'e To her waiters an' her boots in ta mornin' ? frugal JtE'^aggaitt, TVouLU you'll knaw me, my name it is Tugal 31'Tagger, She'U brought hersel' down frae the braes o' Loch- aber. To learn her nainsel to be praw habberdaber. Or fine Unen-draber, the taue or the twa. She'U being a stranger, she'U look very shy-like : She's no weel acquaint wi your laiah kintra dia- lect; But hoogh ! never heed, she's got plenty o' Gaelic — She comes firae ta house at the fit o' Glendoo. But her kilt she'U exchange for ta praw tandy trowser. An' she'U learn to ta lady to scrap an' to pow, sir. An' say to ta shentlemans. How did you'U do, sir ? An' ten she'U forget her poor friens at Glendoo. SCOTTISH SONGS. 1.51 An' when she'll pe siioket ta lalgh kintra jabbor, i^ She'l! gi'e hersel' out for ta laird o' Lochaber, | Shuit come for amusementj to turn habberdaber, || For tat will pe prawer tan herding ta cow. || She'U got a big shop, an' she'll turn'd a big dealer ; i j She was caution hersel', for they'll no sought no [ bailer, i But Tugal 31'Tagger hersel' mak's a failure, — [ They'll call her a bankrumpt, a trade she'll not i knew. [ They'll called a great meeting, she'll look verj' I quate now. _ ] Piie'll fain win awa", but they'll teU her to wait now; '• | They'U spoket a lang time, 'pout a great estate now; jj She'U thocht that they'll thocht her the lah-d "' ' Glendoo. | They'll wrote a lang while about a trust deeder. She'll no vn-\te a word, for hersel' couldna read her. They'll sought compongzition, hough, hough, never heed her, — There's no sic a word 'mang the hUls o' Glendoo. But had she her durk, hersel' would devour them, Thfy'll put her in jaU when she'll stood there before them ; But fa=th she'll got out on a h^.shimanorum ; And now she's as free as the win's oa Glendoo. ^^e Mlaife lEag!?. [■Written by Dr. Fordyce, and published in i Johnson's Museum. Dr. Fordyce perished at sea in the year 1755.] i Hark ! yonder eagle lonely walls, I His faithful bosom grief assiuls ; i Last night 1 heard him in my dream, AMien death and woe were ail the theme. | Like that poor bird I make my moan, | I grieve for dearest Delia gone ; With him to gloomy rocks I fly. He mourns for love and so do 1. 'Twas mighty love that tamed his breast, 'Tis tender grief that brc'aks his rest ; He droops his wings, he hangs his he.id, Since she he fondly loved was dead. "With Delia's breath my joy expired, 'Twas Delia's smiles my fancy fired ; Like that poor bird I pine, and prove ^'ought can supply the place of love. Dark as his feathers was the fate. That robb'd him of h:s darling mate ; Dimra'd is the lustre of his eye, Tliat wont to gaze the sun-bright sky. To him is now for ever lost. The heartfelt bliss he once could borist ; Thy sorrows, hapless bird, display. An image of my soul's dismay. i^ai:g'0 ^tfsjT,. I [The author of this beautiful poem was Johk i Lowe, a son of the gardener at Kenmure castle I in Galloway. Having studied for the church, he ]i was employed as tutor by 3ir. Macghie at Air .is, j an estate near the confluence of the Dee and the I Ken. While residing there, about the ;.ear 1772, I a gentleman named Alexander Miller, the lover j 1 of Miss ]Mary Macghie, was drowned at sea — and this gave occasion to the song which preserves Lowe's name. Lowes Ufe was unfortunate. He died in America towards the close of the last cen- tUT}-.] The moon liad climb'd the highest hill, ^Vhich rises o'er the source of Dee, And from the eastern summit shed Her silver light on tower and tree ; "\Mien Mary laid her down to sleep. Her thoughts on Sandy far at sea ; ■\\'hen soft and low, a voice was heard, Saying, " Marj-, weep no more for me I" She (rem her pillow gently raised Her head, to ask who there might be. And saw young Sandy shivering stand, VTith visage pale, and hollow e'e. " O Mary dear, cold is my clay ; It lies beneath a stormy sea. Far, fiar from thee, 1 sleep in death. So, Mary, weep no more for me ; Three stormy nights and stoi-my day?. We tossed upon the raging main ; And long we strove our bark to save. But aU our stiiving was in vain. 152 Even then, when hoiror chi led my blood yiy heurt was filled with love for thee : The stomi is past, and I at rest ; bo, Jiary, weep no more for me ' O maiden dear, thyself prepare ; We soon shall meet upon that shore, "Where love is free frcm doubt and care. And thou and I shall part no more !" Loud crowed the cock, the shadow fled : Jfo more of Sandy could she see. But soft the passing spirit said, " Sweet Mar)', weep no more for me !" ^^2 ^milm% piaiB'^, [WiiLiAM Falconer, author of "The Ship- witck."] TnK smiling plains, profusely gay. Are dress'd in all the pride of Slay ; The birds on every spray above To rapture wake the vocal grove. But, ah ! Miranda, without thee, Is'or spring nor summer smUes on me, All lonely in the secret shade, I mourn thy absence, charming maid i O soft as love ! as honour fair ! Serenely sweet as vernal air ! Come to my arms ; for you alone Can all my absence past atone. O come ! and to my bleeding hciixt The sovereign balm of love impart ; Thy presence lasting joy shall bring. And give the year eternal spring. SCOTTISH SONGS. leiti ig liiki? U zm^. [William Motherwell. — This almost even f ijrjasses the same author's " Jeanie Morrison" in p.iSiion iuid pathos.] 31 Y heid is like to rend, Willie, My heart is like to break — I'm wenrin' a£f my feet, Willie, I in dyin' for your sake ! ; Oh lay your cheek to mine, Willie Your hand on my briest-bane — Oh say ye'll think on n.e, Willie-, ■When I am deid and gane ! It's vain to comfort me, Willie, Sair grief maun ha'e its will — But let me rest upon your briest. To sab and greet my fill. Let me sit on your knee, Willie, Let pie shed by your hair, And look into the face, Willie, 1 never shall see mair ! I'm sittin' on your knee, Willie, For the last time in my life — A puir he.irt-broken thing, Willie, A mither, yet nae wife. Ay, press your hand upon my heart. And press it mair and mail- — Or it will bmst the silken twine Sae Strang is its despair ! Oh wae's me for the hour, Willie, A\"hen we thegither met — Oh wae's me for the time, Willie, That our first tryst was set ! Oh wae's me for the loanin' green ■ftTiere we were wont to gae — And w^ae's me for the destinie. That gart me luve thee sae ! Oh ! dinna mind my words, Wiliie, I downa seek to blame — But oh ! it's hard to live, Willie, And dree a warld's shame ! Het tears are hailin' ower your cheek. And hailin' ower your chin ; Why weep ye sae for worthlessness, For sorrow and for sin ? I'm weary o' this warld, Willie, And sick vn' a' I see — I canna live as I ha'e Uved, Or be as I should be. But fauld unto your heart, Willie, The heart that still is thine— And kiss ance mair the white, white check. Ye said was red langsj-ne. A stoun' gaes through my heid, Willie, A sair stoun' through my heart — Oh ! haud me up and let me kiss Thy brow ere we twa pairt. SCOTTISH SONGS. Anither, and anither yet ! — How ^t my life-strings break ! Fareweel ! fereweel ! through yon kiik-yaxd Step lichtly for my sake ! The lav'rock in the lift, Willie, That Ults far ower our heid. Will sing the mom as merrUie Abune the cJay-cauld deid ; And this green turf we're sittin' on, Wi' dew-draps shimmerin' sheen. Will hap the heart that luvit thee As warld has seldom seen. But oh ! remember me, WUlie, On land where'er ye be — And oh ! think on the leal, leal heart. That ne'er luvit ane but thee ; And oh ! think on the cauld, cauld mools. That file my yellow hair — That kiss the cheek, and kiss the chin. Ye never sail Vigg maii- ; [^;et to music by E. A. Smith.] So.v of the mighty and the free. Loved leader of the faithful brave. Was it-for high-rank'd chief like thee To fin a nameless grave ? Oh, hadst thou slumber'd with the slain. Had glory's death-bed been thy lot. Even though on red Culloden's plain. We then had moum'd thee not. Eut darkly clo=ed thy mom of fhme, Thiit mom whose sunbeams rose so fair : Eevenge alone may breathe thy name. The watch-word of despair. Yet, oh, if gallant spirit's power Has e'er ennobled death like thine. Then glory mark'd thy parting hour. Last of a mighty line. O'er thy own bowers the sunshine falls, But cannot cheer their lonely gloom ; Those beam-3 that gild thy native walls Are sleeping on thy tomb. Spring on the mountains laughs the whi'.e. Thy green woods wave in vernal air ; But the loved scenes may vainly smile — ^ot e'en thy dust is there. On thy blue hills no bugle sound Is mixing with the torrent's roar ; TJnmark'd the red deer sport around — Thou lead'st the chase no more. Thy gates are closed, thy haUs are still — Those halls where swell'd the coral strn: They hear the wUd winds murmuring shrll And all is hush'd again. Thy bard his pealing harp has broke — His fire, his joy of song, is pastl One lay to mourn thy fate he woke. His saddest, and his last. If o other theme to him is dear Than lofty deeds of thine : Hush'd be the strain thou canst not hear. Last of a mighty line. [James Hogg. — Air, "Malcolm of the Glen.'^ Was ever old warrior of suffering so weary / Was ever the wild beast so bayed in his den :- The Southron blood hounds lie in kennels so near me. That death would be freedom to Callam-a-Glen. My chief they have slain, and of stay have bereft me, lly sons are all glain and my daughters have left me; [ten. Kg child to protect me, where once there was And woe to the grey hairs of CaUum-a-Glen. The homes of my kindred are blazing to heaven. The bright sun of morning has blushed ct tiie view; I The moon has stood still on the verge of the even, I To wipe from her pale cheek the tint of the dew: For the dew it lies red on the vales of Lochaber ; It sprinkles the cot and it flows from the pen. The pride of my country is fallen for ever! Death, oast thou no shaft for old Callum-a-Glen? The sun in his glorj* has looked on our sorrow. The stars have wept blood over hamlet and k-a: Oh, is there no day-spring forScotland? no morrow Of bright renovation for souls of the free ? 154: Yes ; one above all has beheld our devotion ; Our valour and faith are not hid from his ken ; The day is abiding of stern retribution On all the proud foes of old Callum-a-Glen. SCOTTISH SONGS. 4 S|si|)W ^©Il» He's a terrible man, John Tod, John Tod, He's a terrible man, John Tod ; He scolds in the house, he scolds at the door. He scolds in the very hie road, John Todj He scolds in the very hie road. The weans a' fear John Tod, John Tod, The weans a' fear John Tod ; When he's passing by, the mothers v,i]\ cry, Here's an ill wean, John Tod, John Tod, Here's an ill wean, John Tod. Tlie callants a* fear John Tod, John Tod, The callants a' fear John Tod ; If they steal but a neep, the laddie he'll whip. And it's unco weel done o' John Tod, John Tod, And it's unco weel done o' John Tod. A nd saw ye nae little John Tod, John Tod ? O saw ye nae little John Tod ? lUs shoon they were re'in, and his feet they were seen. But stout does he gang on the road, John Tod, But stout does he gang on the road. How is he fendin', John Tod, John Tod ? How is he fendin', John Tod ? He is Bcourin' the land wi' a rung in his hand. And the French wadna frighten John Tod, John Tod, And the French wadna frighten John Tod. Ye'resun-bumt and batter'd, John Tod, John Tod, Yo're fciutit and tatter'd, John Tod; \VV your auld strippit cowl ye look maist like a fule ; But there's nouse in the Unin', John Tod, John Tod, But there's nouse in the linin', John Tod. He's weel respeckit, John Tod, John Tod, He's weel res;eckit, John Tod; Though a terrible man, we'd a' gang wrang, If he should leave us, John Tod, John Tod, If he should leave us, John Tod. : %nijn IMaiit. Ye'll a' ha'e heard tell o' John 3Iaut, John Maut, Ye'Il a' ha'e heard tell o' John Maut ; He's been sae to blame, that he's got a bad name. But, faith! he's far waur than he's ca't, John Maut. His doublet is raggit, John Maut, John Maut, His doublet is raggit, John Maut, His hat's down in the crown, he has awfu' like Rhoon, /''~~G And his stockings are waef ully gau't, John Maut. ( jR Ye'll a' ha'e, &e. \^ He swears like a trooper, John Maut, John Maut, He swears like a trooper, John Maut; He ne'er sticks at a lee, and he'll fecht wi' a flee, Tho' nane but himsel's in the faut, John MauU Ye'll a' ha'e, &c. He's whiles in the skies, John Maut, John Maut, He's whiles in the skies, John Maut; But down in the mud, he plays clash wi' a thud. And his claes ye might clean wi' a claut, John Ye'll a' ha'e, &c. [Maut. The weans they get fun wi' John Maut, John Maut, The weans they get fun wi' John Maut, They hoot and they cry as they see him gang by. But whiles though he lends them a claut, John Ye'll a' ha'e, &c. [Maut. The lasses a' lo'e John Maut, John Maut, The hisses a' lo'e John Maut; They swear it's no true, but they get themsels fou. And then they sairly misea't, John Maut. Ye'll a' ha'e, &c. The wives are fond o' John Maut, John Maut, The wives are a' fond o' John JIaut; They say he is gran', they ne'er mind their guid- But they coax, and they cuddle, and daut, John Ye'U a' ha'e, &c. [Maut. Sae I redd ye tak' tent o' John JIaut, John Maut, I redd ye tak' tent o' John Maut ; He's no weel to ha'e for a friend or a fae, Sae I redd ye keep out o' his claut, John Maut. Ye'll a' ha'e, &o. SCOTTISH S0XG3. 135 [This spirited song by the Ettrick Shepheed first api)eared in his novel entitled "The Three Perils of 3Ian," 1821, 3 vols. It is sung to the old tune of "The Blathrie o't."] CojiE all ye jolly shepherds That -.Thistle through the glen, I'll tell ye of a secret That courtiers dlnna ken. "What is the greatest bliss That the tongue o' man can name ? 'Tis to woo a bonnie lassie When the kye come hame. When the kye come hame, "When the kye come hame, 'Tween the gloamin and the mirk, "When the kye come hame. 'TLs not beneath the burgonet, >ror yet beneath the crown, •Tis not on couch of velvet, Xor yet on bed of down : 'Tis beneath the spreading birch. In the dell without a name, Wi' a bonnie, bonnie lassie, "WTien the kye come hame. Tiiere the blackbird bigs his nest For tlie mate he loves to see. And up upon the tapraost bough. Oh, a happy bird is he ! Then he pours his melting dittj-. And love 'tis a" tlie theme. And he'U woo his bonnie lassie When the kye cor.ie hxime. When the bluart bears a pearl. And the diiisy turns a pea. And the bonnie lucken gowan Has fauldit up his e'e. Then the laverock frae the blue lift Draps down, and thinks nae shame To woo his bonnie lassie TS'hen the kye come hame. Then the eye shines sae bright. The haill soul to beguile. There's love in every whisper. And joy in evety smile ; 0, who would choose a crown, Wi' its perils r.nd its fame. And miss a bonnie livssie When the kye come hame ? See yonder pawky shepherd That lingers on the hill— His yowes are in the fauld. And his lambs are lying stili ; Yet he downa gang to rest. For his heart is in a flame To meet his bonnie lassie When the kye come hame. Awa' wi* fame and fortune — ^Yhat comfort can they gi'e .■-— And a' the arts that prey On man's life and Ubertie ! Gi'e me the highest joy That the heart o' man can frame , My bonnie, bonnie lass'e. When the kye come hame. [Jajibs Hogg.— Air, "Driving the Steer."] I'hh sing of yon glen o' red heather. An' a dear thing that ca's it her hame, Wha's a' made o' love life tt'gether, Frae the tie o' the shoe to the kembc. Love beekon^in ev'ry sweet motion. Commanding due homage to gi'e ; But the shrine of my dearest devotion Is the bend o' her bonnie e'e bree. I fieech'd and I prayd the dear lassie To gang to the biakens wi' me, Uut though neither lordly nor saucy. Her answer wns, "Laith wiU I te. Ah ! is it nae cruel to press mc To th;.t which wad breed my heart wT.e, An' try to entice a poor Lassie The gate she's o'er ready to gae. " I neither ha'e father nor mither. Good counsel or caution to gi'e, And prudence has whisper'd me never To gang to the brakens wi' thee. 15C) SCOTTISH SONGS. I neither lia'e tocher nor mailings I ha'e but ae boast— 1 am free ; But a' wad be tint, without fa'Unfr, Araang the green brakens \vi' tlice." " Dear lassie, how can ye upbraid me. And by your ain love to beguile. For ye are the richest young lady That ever gaed o'er the kirk-stile ? Your smile that is bhther than ony. The bend o' your sunny e'e-bree. And the love-blinks aneath it sae bonnie Are five hunder thousand to me." Tliere's joy in the blythe blooming feature A\'hen love lurks in every young hne ; There's joy in the beauties of nature. There's joy in the dance and the wine ; But there's a delight will ne'er perish 'Mong pleasures so fleeting and vain, And that is to love and to cherish The fond little heart that's our ain. ^fpe ^totoen: ©* Miwilkii?. [Tins once universally popular song, written by Tannaiiim,, and set to music by R. A. Smith, was first introduced to the public in the year 1S08. " The third stanza," says Smith, " was not WTit- ten till several months after the others were finished. The poet," he adds, " had no particu- lar fair one in his eye at the time, and Jessie was quite an imaginary personage." The truth is, Tannahill v^ote the words to supplant the old coarse song, called "Bob o' Dunblane" — hence the title. He never was in Dunblane, but fiom his favourite Braes o' Gleniflfer had often doubt- less seen the sun go down o'er the lofty Ben Lomond. 1 The sun has gane down o'er the lofty Ben Lomond, And left the red clouds to preside o'er the scene, AVliile lonely I stray, in the calm simmer gloamin'. To muse on sweet Jessie, the flower o' Dunblane. How sweet is the brier, wi' its saftfauldin' blossom! And sweet is the bU'k, wi' its mantle o' green ; Yet sweeter and fairer, and dear to this bosom. Is lovely young Jessie, the flower o' Dunblane. Slie's modest as onie, and blythe as she's bonnie ; For guileless simplicity marlcs her its ain ; And far be the villain, divested o' feeling, Wha'd blight in its bloom the sweet flower o' Dunblane. Sing on.thou sweet mavis, thy hymn to the e'ening-, Thou'rt dear to the echoes of Caldervvood glen ; Sae dear to this bosom, sae artless and winning. Is chamiing young Jessie, the flower o' Dun- blane. How lost were m.y days till I met wi' my J^-ssii' ! The sports o' the cuty seemed foohsh and vain ; I ne'er saw a nymplr I could ca' my dear lassie. Till charmed wi' sweet Jessie, the flower o' Dun- "• blane. Though mine vi'ere the station o' loftiest grandeur. Amidst its profusion I'd languish in pain. And reckon as naething theheight o' its splenduuv, If wanting sweet Jessie, iM flower o' Dunblane. )f ^icafg d'-'fekwlfi^r* [Tins beautiful song was written by Tankahili. to the old air of " Bonnie Dundee." Mr. Koss of Aberdeen also composed a tune for it. GlenilTer braes lie at a short distance south-west of Paisley.] Keen blaws the wind o'er the braes o' Gleniffer, The auld castle turrets are cover'd wi' snavv , How changed fi-ae the time when I met wi' my lover, Amang the broom bushes by Stanley green shaw. The wild fldwers o' simmer were spread a' s;>e The mavis sang sweet frae the green birken tree : But far to the camp they ha'e march'd my lica- Johnnie, And now it is winter wi' nature and me. Then ilk thing around us was blythesome and cheerie. Then ilk thing around us was bonnie and braw ; Now naething is heard but the wnd whistling drearie, fsnaw. And naething is seen but the wide-spreading The trees are a' bare, and the birds mute and dowie. They shake the cauld di-ift frae their wings as they flee ; [ Johnn ie ; And chirp out their plaints, seeming wae for my 'Tis winter wi' them and 'tis winter wi' me. SCOTTISH SOKCS. Y on cauld sleety cloud sidffs alang the bleak moun-'i< tain, |1 And shakes the dark fire on the stej- reeky brae, ' V.'hile down the deep glen brawls the snaw-tiooded j: fountain, ; Tliat murmuT'd sae sweet to my laddie and me. | If 3 no its loud roar on the wintry winds sweilin', I It's no the cauld blast brings the teartomy e'e, j For, O ! gin I saw but my bonnie Scots callan, ' The dark days o' winter were simmer to me. ! [The "Pibroch of Donald the Black" is' a very ancient pibroch belonging to Clan llaedonald, I and supposed to refer to the expedition of Donald I Balloch, who, in 1431, launched from the isles 1 with a considerable force, invaded Lochaber, and at Inverlochy defeated and put to flight the Earls | of Mar and Caithness, though at the head of an ' army superior to his own. The song here givtn | was written by Sir "Walter Scott for Campbell's Albyn's Anthology, 1816. It may also be seen set to music in Thomson's collection, 1S30.J PiBROCK of Bonoil Dhu, Pibroch of Donuil, Wake thy wild Toice anew, Siunmon Clan Conuil. Come away, come away. Hark to the summons ; Come in your war array, Gentles and commons '. Come frCiTn deep glen, and From mountain so rocky , The war-pipe and pennon Are at Inverlochy. Come every hill-plaid, and True heart that wears one ; Come every steel blade, and strong hand that tiears one : Leave the deer, leave the steer, Leave nets and barges ; Come with your fighting gear. Broadswords and tarjTs. • Leave untended the herd. The flock -without shelter; Leave the corpse uninterr'd. The bride at the altar. Come as the winds come, whe.n Forests are rended : Come as the waves corce, when Navies are stranded. Faster come, faster con.e. Faster and faster : Chief, vassal, page, and groom, Tenant and master. Fast they come, fast they come , .See how they gather; Wide waves the eagle plume. Blended with heather. Cast your plaids, draw your bia-^ Forward each man set ; Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, JN'ow for the onset ; [These verses were written by Sib AV alter Scott for Albyn's Anthology in 1816. They tav adapted to a very wild, yet lively gathering-tunt, used by the Macgregors. The severe treatment v> tnis clan, their outlawry, and the very proscrip- tion of their name, are alluded to here.] The moon's on the lake, and the mist's on the brae. And the clan has a name that is nameless by day — Then gather, gather, gather, Grigalaxdi ! Our signal for fight, which from monarchs we drew. Must be heard but by night, in our vengeful hal- loo — Then halloo, halloo, halloo, Grigalach ! Glenorchy's proud mountains, Calchuim and her towers, Glenstrae, and Glenlyon, no longer are curs— We're landless, landless, landless, Grigalach I But, dromed and devoted by vassal and lord, Macgregor has still both his heart and his sword — Then courage, courage, courage, Giigalach ! If they rob us of name, and pursue us with beagles, G ive their roof to the flames, and their flesh to the eagles — [lach ! ; Then vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, Griga- 15^ SCOTTISH SONGS. While there's leaves on the forest, or foam on th river, Mucgregor, despite them, shall flourish for ever ! Then gather, gather, gather, Grigalach ! [Whitten by Sir Walter Scott for Albyn's Aiithologj-, vol. ii. 1818, and set to music in Mr. Thumsou's collection, 1822.] Donald Cairo's come again ! Donald Caird's come again ! Tell the news in brugh and glen, Donald Caird's come again ! Donald Cau-d can lilt and sing, Blithely dance the Highland flin'j; ; Drink till the gudeman be bUnrl, Fleech till the gudewife h( kind ; Hoop a leglan, clout a pan. Or crack a pow wi' ony man : Tell the news in brugh and glen, Donald Caird's come again. Don.ild Caird can wire a maukin. Kens the wiles o' dun-deer staukin ; Leisters kipper, makes a shift To shoot a muir-fowl i' the drift : Water-bailifis, rangers, keepers, He can wauk when they are sleepers; Not for bountith, or reward, Daur they mell wi' Donald Caird. Donald Caird can Uriuk a gill, Fiist as hostler-wile can fill ; Ilka ane that sells gude liquor. Kens how Donald bends a bicker : When he's fou he's stout and sauey, Keeps the cantle o' the causey ; Highland chief and Lawland laird Maun gi'e way to Donald Caird. Steek the awmrie, lock the kist, Klse some gear will sune be mist; Donald Caird finds orra things Where Allan Gregor fand the tings: Dunts o' kebbuck, taits o" woo. Whiles a hen and whiles a soo , Webs or duds frae hedge or yard- Ware the wuddie, Donald Caird ! On Donald Caird the doom was stern, Craig to tether, legs to aim : But Donald Caird, wi' muckle study. Caught the gift to cheat the wuddie. Kings o' aim, and bolts o' steel, I'ell like ice frae hand and heel ! Watch the sheep in fauld and glen, Donald Caird's come again. siffi) ^t nm m^ IP^ggs^ ey [This song, though old, was not inserted in any regular collection of Scottish songs till that of David Herd in 1769. " There is another set of the words," says Bums, "much older still, and which I take to be the original one, as follows — a song familiar from the cradle to every Scottish ear : Saw ye my W aggie. Saw ye my Maggie, Saw ye my Maggie, Linkin ower the lea ? High-kiltit was she, High-kiltit was she, High-kiltit 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 bef (by). Though it by no means follows that the sillieBt verses to an air must, for th-Ga 1.39 U O ! how Peggy charms me ; F.Tery look still warms me ; Every thought alarms me ; Lest she lo'e nae me. Pegg}- doth discover Nought but charms all over: Nature bids me love her; That's a law to me. ^A^lo would leave a lover. To become a rover ? No, I'll ne'er give over, Till 1 happy be. for since love inspires me. As her beauty fires me. And her absence tires me, Nought can please but she. Wten I hope to gain her. Fate seems to detain her; Could I but obtain her, Happy would 1 be ! I'll Ue down before her. Bless, sigh, and adore her, "With faint looks implore iier, Till she pity me. [Written- by Mb. Doi-op, late collector at the custom-house, Port-Glasgow.] Here's to the year that's awa' ! We will drink it in strong and in sma' ; And here's to ilk bonnie young lassie we lo'ed. While swift flew the year that's awa'. And here's to ilk, &c. Here's to the sodger who bled. And the sailor who bravely did fa' ; Their fame is alive, though their spirits are fled On the wings of the year that's awa'. Their fame is ahve, &c. Here's to the friends we can trust. When the storms of adversity blaw ; May they live in our song, and be nearest our hearts. Nor depart like the year that's awa'. Jlay they live, &c. ; ^'^su'p a ^^turl 1 [This is an extension by Bukns of a Jacobite fragment beginning, " Here's a health to ane that's awa'." It was found among the poet's papers : after his death, and fii-st published in its complete i foim in the tjcots Magazine for January, 181S.] Hebe's a health to them that's awa', Here's a health to them that's awa' ; And wha winna wish guid luck to our cause. May never guid luck be their fa' ! It's guid to be merrj- and wise, It's guid to be honest and true. It's guid to support Caledonia's cause. And bide by the buff and tlie blue, f Here's a health to them that's awa'. Here's a health to them that's awa' ; Here's a health to Charlie,; the chief o' tlie clau. Although that his band be but sma'. May liberty meet with success ! May prudence protect her firae evil ! May tjTants and tyranny tine in the mist. And wander their way to the devil ! Here's a health to them that's awa'. Here's a health to them that's awa' ; Here's a health to Tammie, jj the Norland ladilio. That lives at the lug o' t Je law ! Here's freedom to him that wad read, Here's freedom to him that wad vsrite ! There's nane ever fear'd that the truth should ;>e heard. But they wham the truth wad indite. Here's a health to them tliat's awa'. Here's a health to them that's awa' ; Here's chieftain M'Leod,§ a chieftain worth gowj. Though bred am."ng mountains o' snaw ! Here's a health to them that's awa'. Here's a health to them that's awa' ; And wha winna wish guid luck to our cause. May never guid luck be their fa' '. t The colour of tlie Whigs. The stnped waist- coat, which figures so prominently in the portmits of Burns, was buff and blue. ? The Right Hon. Charles James Fox. li Lord Erskine. § M'Leod, chief of that cLui. 160 SCOTTISH SONGS. [Tuts noWe heroic ode, wliich has been adopt- ed by universal consent as the national patriotic sonR of Scotland, and which, like a talismanic pass- word, sprinss to recollection in every great cause where freedom or liberty is at stake, was \\Titten by Burns in 1793, to the tune of " Hey, tuttie taitie," and sent to George Thomson for insertion in his collection. Sir. Thomson objected to " Hey tuttie taitie," as being an air unworthy of such spirited words, and set the song to the tune of " Lewie Gordon," lengthening the last line of each verse for that purpose. He afterwards, how- ever, changed his mind, and gave the words and the air as Bums originally intended, acknowledg- ing that having examined " Hey, tuttie taitie" with more particular attention, he thought it much better adapted for giving energy to the poetry than " Lewie Gordon." The tune of " Hey, tuttie ta'.tie" is one of unquestionable antiquity. Burns says that he met with a tradi- tion in many parts of Scotland, that it was Kobert Bruce's march at the battle of Bannock- burn. This tradition is disputed by Eitson, on the ground that the Scotch had no musical in- struments in these days l>eyond " little horns" — a notion entirely subverted by the numerous embel- lishments of musical instruments on our most ancient architecture, and by the express assertion of olden writers so far back as the 12th century, who assign to the Scotch and Irish a high state of perfection in the musical art. " Hey, tuttie taitie" has been generally supposed to be the same tune as " Hoy now the day dawis," mentioned by Bunbar and other Scottish poets of the sixteenth century, and for which Alexander Montgomery wrote words, beginning, " Hey now the day dawis. The joUie cok crauis. Now shrouds the shauis Throw nature an one ; The thissel-cok cryis On lovers wha lyis, Now skaillis the skyis, The night is near gone." In a MS. Lute Book, however, of Gordon of Stra- loch, 1627, the air of " The day dawis" is given, and it differs greatly from the tune in question, as it is now generally received. We know of no extension of the words " Hey, tuttie taitie," be- ■ yond the following, which we never saw iu prwt but which we have heard a worthy old man s/up It was all he had of the song :— " Hey, tuttie taitie ! Hey, drucken Patie ! The gruns o' the ale barrel Are no for me '." Mr. Syme, one of the poet's best friends at Bum- fries, tells a romantic stoiy of" Bruce's Address" having been compos 'd by Burns during a storm of "thunder, lightning, and of rain," among the wilds of Glen Ken in Gallow.^y, in July, 1793 ; but this does not tally with Burns's own account of its composition in his letter to Thomson, dated September of the same year. " There is a tradi- tion," he says, "which I have met with in many places of Scotland, that the air of ' Hoy, tuttie taitie' was Bobert Brace's march at the battle of Bannockbum. This thought, in my yesternight' s evening walk, warmed me to a pitch of enthu- siasm on the theme of liberty and independence, which I threw into a kind of Scottish ode, that one might suppose to be the royal Scot's address to his heroic followers on that eventful mommg. I showed the air to Urbani, who was highly pleased with it."] Scots, wha ha'e wi' Wallace Med ! Scots, wham Bruce has aften led ! Welcome to your gory bed. Or to victorie ! Now's the day, and now's the hour : See the front of battle lour : See approach proud Edward's power- Chains and slavcrii! ! Wha will be a traitor knave ? Wha will fill a coward's grave ? Wha sae base as be a slave ? Let him turn and flee ! Wha, for Scotland's king and )a\v. Freedom's sword will strongly draw. Freeman stand, or freeman la', Let him follow me ! By oppression's woes and pair.s, By your sons in servile chains. We wi 1 drain our dearest veins. But they shall be free. Lay the proud usurpers low ! Tyrants fall in every foe ! Liberty's in every blow ! > Let us do or die ! SCOTTISH SOXGS. jqj <©'ct f)iU un^ tnU thiamin'. O'ER hill and dale roamin', at day dawn or gloamin'. At kirk, or at market, or dance on the green, :Now Eosa's beaut}- praisin', now sad and silent gazin'. Now sighin' and vowin', young Donald was seen. With fro mis she met his glances, with sneers his fond advanced. She laugh 'd when he spak' with the tear in his e'e. And sprung away fiauntin', some idle chorus chauntin'. Whene'er he sigh'd " Rosa ! thou'rt dear, dear to me.-' The youth tir'd with doubtin', and teaz'd by her floutin'. Grew proud, and resented her scorning ere long, No more fond vows breathing — for others wild flowers wreathing. He mark'd not her beauty, nor thrill'd at her song. Though her neck was the whitest, her blue eyes the brightest. He vaunted of maiden's more lovely than she ; Whose eyes tender languish would charm all his anguish. And sigh'd no more "Kosa, thou'rt dear, dear to me." Proud hearts will be changing, soon Rosa was ranging. Pale, waesome, and weeping, and ghaist-hko alane. Through scenes that once dehghted, though now lone and blighted, TJnblest by the vows she might ne'er hear again. But, ah ! love 's not thrown off, as spring-flowers are blown off. Her truant was waitin' beside the hawthorn tree ; He threw his arms around her, and oh ! so kind he found her. They murmur'd together, " Thou'rt dear, dear to me." fJosKPH Macgkegok.— Air, "Kinloch of Kinloch."] How blythely the pipe through Glenlyon was sounding. At mom when the clans to the merry dance hied ; And gay were the love-knots, o'er hearts fondly bonnding. When Ronald woo'd Flora, and made her his bride. But war's banner streaming, soon chang'd their fond dreaming,— The battle cry echoed around and above ; Broad claymores were glancing, and war-steeds were prancing ; Up, Ronald ! to arms for home and your love. All was hush'd o'er the hUl, where love linger'd despairing, With her bride-maids still deek'd in their gay festal gear ! And she wept as she saw them fresh garlands preparing, "WTiich might laurel Love's brow, or be strew'd o'er his bier ! But, cheer thee, fond maiden — each wild breeze is laden With victory's slogan, through mountain and grove ; ■Where death streams were gushing, and war-steeds were rushing, lord Ronald has conquer'd for home and for love J 163 SCOTTISH SONGS. [Alex. Eodgkk.— Air, " Good-morrow to your nightcap." — This BOiig had the honour of being quoted in the " Noctes Ambrosianse" of Black- wood, In terms of high commendation, by the re- doubted Christopher Korth.] Behave yoursel' before folk. Behave yoursel' before folk. And dinna be sae rude to me. As kiss me sae before folk. It wadna gi'e me meikle pain. Gin we were seen and heard by nane. To tak' a kiss, or grant you ane ; But guidsake ! no before folk. Behave yourstl' before folk, Behave yoursel' before folk ; Whate'er ye do, when out o' view. Be cautious aye before folk. Consider, lad, how folk will crack. And what a great affair they'll mak' U' naething but a simple smack, That's gi'en or ta'en before folk. Behave yoursel' before folk. Behave yoursel' before folk ; Ji or gi'e the tongue o' auld or young Occasion to come o'er folk. It's no through hatred o' a kiss. That I sae plainly teU you this; But, losh ! I tak' it sair amiss To be sae teamed before folk. Behave yoursel' before folk. Behave yoursel' before folk ; ^^^len we're our lane ye may tak' ane. But fient a ane before folk. I'm sure wi' you I've been as free As ony modest lass should be; But yet it doesna do to see Sic freedom i;ised before folk. Behave yoursel' before folk. Behave yoursel' before folk; I'll ne'er submit again to it — So mind you ttiat— before folk. Ye tell me thr.t my face Jsiair; It may be sae — I dinna carev But ne'er again gai't blush sac sair As ye ha'e done before folk. Behave yoursel' before folk. Behave yoursel' before folk, Nor heat my cheeks wi' your mad frealts, But aye be douce before folk. Ye tell me that my lips are sweet. Sic tales, I doubt, are a' deceit ; At ony rate, its hardly meet Xo pree their sweets before folk. Behave yoursel' before folk. Behave yoursel' before folk ; Gin that's the case, there's time, and place. But surely no before folk. But, gin you really do insist That I should suffer to be kiss'd, Gae, get a license frae the priest. And mak' me yours before folk. Behave yoursel' before folk. Behave yoursel' before folk ; And when we're ane, baith flesh and bano. Ye may tak' ten— before folk. THE AKSTVEK. Can I behave, can I behave. Can I behave before folk. When, wily elf, your sleeky self Gars me gang gj'te before Ibl'o^ ? In a' you do, in a' ye say, Ye've sic a pawkie coaxing way. That my poor wits ye lead astray, An' ding me doilt before folk ; Can I behave, can I behave. Can I behave before folk. While ye ensnare, can I forbear To kiss you, though before foH; ? Can I behold that dimpling cheek, Wliar love 'mang sunny smiles might be.^k. Yet, howlet-like, my e'elids steek. An' shun sic light, before folk ? Can I behave, can I behave. Can I behave before folk. When ilka smile becomes a wile. Enticing me— before folk ? That lip, like Eve's forbidden finiit. Sweet, plump, an' ripe, sae tempts me to't, That I maun pree't, though I should ruc't. Ay, twenty tunes — before folk ! 'f^ p^^ SCOTTISH SONGS ic: Can I behave, can I behave. Can I behave before folk, "W'heu temptingly it offers me So rich a treat— before folk? That gowden hair sae sunny bright ; Tliat shapely neck o' snawy white ; That tongue, even when it tries to flyte. Provokes me till't before folk ! Can I behave, can I behave. Can I behave before folk, "When ilka charm, young, fresh, an' warm. Cries, " kiss me now " — before folk ? An' O ! that pawkie, rowin' e'e, Sae roguishly it blinks on me, I canna, for my saul, let be, Frae kissing you before folk ! Can I behave, can 1 behave. Can I behave before folk. When Uka glint conveys a hint To tak' a smack — before folk ? Ye own, that were we baith our lane, Te wadna grudge to grant me ane ; "SVeel, gin there be nae hai-m in't then, What harm is in't before folk .■' Can I behave, can I behave. Can I behave before folk. Sly hypocrite ! an anchorite Could scarce desist — before folk ! But after a' that has been said. Since ye are vnlling to be wed. We'll ha'e a " blythsome bridal " mado. When ye'U be mine before folk ! Then I'll behave, then I'U behave, Then I'll behave before folk ; For whereas then, ye'U aft get " ten,'' It winna te before folk! SJ§iik*0 far aSoa'. [Walter Watson.] Ko«' simmer decks the fields wi' flow" The woods wi' leaves so green; And little birds around their bo^v'rs. In harmony convene : The cuckoo tiies from tree to tree, AVhilst saft the zephjTS blaw ; But what are a' thae joys to me, Whea Jockie'a far awa' ? ■UTien Jockie's far awa' at 33a, When Jockie's far aw.V, But what are a' thae joys to m?, When Jockie's far awa' ? Last !JIay mom how sweet to see The Uttle lambkins play. Whilst my dear lad, alang wi' me. Did kindly walk this way. On yon green bank wildjiow'rs he pou'd. To busk my bosom braw ; Sweet, sweet he talk'd, and aft he vow'd. But now he's far awa'. But now, &c. gentle peace return again. Bring Jcickie to my arms, Frae dangers on the raging main, Frae cruel war's alarms. Gin e'er we meet, nae m.air we 11 part As lang's we've breath to draw ; Nae mair I'll sing wi' aching heart, My Jockie's £ir awa'. My Jockie's, &c. [Ai.EX. Rodger.] It's no that thou'rt bonnie, it's no that t'a .. t braw. It's no that thy skin has the whiteness o' snaw, It's no that thy form is perfection itsel', [ttll : That mak's nay heart feel what my tongue c.iniui But oh ! it's the soul beaming out frae thine c "•. , That mak's thee sae dear and sae lovely to u.:-. It's pleasant to look on that mild blushing face, Sae sweetly adoni'd wi' ilk feminine grace. It's joyous to gaze on tlicse tresses sae bright, O'ershading a forehead sae smooth and sae wli;t> : But to dwell on the ghmces that dart frae thin'.' l , Jeanie ! it's evendown rapture to me. That form may be wasted by lingering decay. The bloom of that cheek may be withtr'd avray. Those gay gowden ringlets that yield such delight. By the cauJd breath 0' tinie may be changed into white; But the soul's fervid flashes that brighten thine e'e. Axe the ofiE^pring o' heaven,- and never can die. IQj. SCOTTISH SO>-GS. Let me plough the rough ocean, nor e'er touch ^ Yes, I'll awa' hame to my mither I will, the short', | Troth, I'll awa' hame to my mither, I wil What I here vd' a man at the back o' a hill ? Ka ! — I'll awa' hame to my mither, I wll. Let me freeze on the coast of the bleak Labradore, Le» me pant "neath the glare of a vertical sun, "VMiere no trees spread their branches, nor streams ever run ; Kven there, my dear Jeanie, still happy I'd be. It bless'd wi' the light o' thy heavenly e'e. 3?U Efea* ^umt. [Alex. Kodger.— Air, "Laird o' Cockpen."] O ! I'i,L awa' hame to my mither, I will. An' I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will ; Gin' I tarry wi' you I may meet wi' some ill. Then I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will. It's wearin' to gloamin', an* soon will be late. All' the thing might befa' me that happen'd to Kate, ^\'hen she gaed to the tryste wi' Will Walt o' the mill; t^ae I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will, Sae I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will, Sae I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will ; A mither's fireside is the safest place still , Then I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will. Jly mither aft gi'es me a mither's advice. About modesty, virtue, an* illia thing nice ; An' warns me to shun ilk appearance o' ill ; Then I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will, O : I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will, Aye ! I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will ; Fhe says, as I brew, I maun e'en drink sic yill ; Weel— I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will. She bids me beware o' the ways o' young men. As the half o* their tricks silly maids dinna ken. For they 'lure to betray— as the spider to kill ! Hech ! I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will : ! I'll awa' hame to my mither, I %vill ; Yes, 111 awa' hame to my mither, I will ; I'm young yet, an' simple, and ha'e little skill ; .' ae I'll awa' hame to my mither, I •will. In this lanely place, I've my fears an' my doubts. For nane but oursel's can I see hereabouts. An' the ill-deedy deil in your head may put ill — r;i:gs ; I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will. I'm tauld that the godly king Solomon said. That he kenn'd na the ways o' a man wi' a maid. Strange ways! — that could baffle a man o' sic skill; Saff 's ! I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will. Hout ! I'll awa' hame to my mither, I wUl. Na — I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will: Sma' ferlie that lasses their wits aften spill ; Come ! I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will. Ye flatter and praise me, an' leuk unco fain. Pretending ye wish my affection to gain ; But I fear your ain ends ye jist want to fulfil ; Losh ! I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will. 'Deed ! I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will. Sure ! I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will : • Sonle tongues try the tricks o' the auld serpent stUl ; Och ! I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will. Ye've heard o' my tocher in gear an' good brass. An' ye ken that ilk pound gi'es a charm to a lass ; But if pounds be my beauties, your love's unco chiU; Lad ! I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will Troth ! I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will. Yes ! I'll awa' hame to my mither, Lwill . For I'll ne'er let it gang by the seart o' a quill. But I'll awa" hame to my mither I will. But gin I were sure that ye liket mysel', AVhere a blister might light it were easy to tell, Sae, I'll meet you neist Friday, at Alungo's maut kiln; Now, I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will : Yes, I'll awa' hame to my mither, 1 will, Now, I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will : Be dbcreet, be sincere, an' ye're welcome back still. An' I'll yet be your ain a' thegither, I will. of Simm^ifi?. A CAPTIVE maid pined in the tow'r of Dunmorc, Full high was its gate, closely barr'd was the door; Her sighs unregarded, her prison unknown. Far from kinsmen and lover she languished alone. 3 -M^iSa^}^^^?^:^ (^^.v ^^m^ :?^5^^^^>^ SCOTTISH SOXG.S 165 But a little bird sang at this fair captives grate, ' And seem'd as it chirrup 'd, to soften her fate. Ah 1 Flora, fair Flora, — ah ! Flora Macdonald ! Ah ! Flora, the maid of Dunmore — The maid of Dunmore, the maid of Dunmore, Ah ; weep for the maid, the maid of Dumnore ! The maid tied a note to this little bird's neck. And pointed to home, like a far distant speck. O'er land and o'er water away the bird flew, Sought kinsman and lover;— the courier they knew; But soon a brave knight burst the prison-house door. And rescued his bride from the tow'r of Dunmore. Ah ! Flora, feir Flora, — ah ! Flora ^Macdonald .' Ah ! Flora, the maid of Dunmore — The maid of Dunmore, the maid of Dunmore, Ah ! joy to the inaid, the maid of Dumnore ! [Alex. Eodgeb.— Air, " The ComcUps."] Mt mither men't my auld breeks. An' wow ! but they were duduy. And sent me to get Jlally shod At Robin Tamson's smiddy ; The smiddy stands beside the burn • That wimples through the clachan, I never yet gae by the door. But aye I fa' a-laughin'. For Robin was a walthy carle. An' had ae bonnie dochtcr. Yet ne'er wad let her tak' a man. Though mony lads had sought her ; And what think ye o' my exploit ? — The time our mare was shoeing, I shppit up beside the lass. An' briskly feU a-wooing. An' aye she e'ed my auld breeks. The time that we sat crackiu'. Quo' I, my lass, ne'er mind the clouls_ I've new anes for the makin' ; But gin ye'll just come hame wi' me, An' lea' the carle, your father, Ye'se get my breeks to keep in trim, Mysel', an' a' thegither. 'Deed, lad, quo' she, your offer's fj.r, I really think I'U tak' it, Sae, gang awa', get out the mare, We'll baith slip on the back ot , For gin I wait my father's time, I'U wait tUl I be fifty ; But na ; — I'll marrj* in my prime-. An' mak' a wife most thrifty. Wow ! Robin was an angry man. At tyning o' his dochter : Through a' the kintra-side he ran. An' far an' near he sought her ; But when he cam' to our fire-end. An' fand us baith thegither. Quo' I, gudeman, I've ta'en your baira An' ye may tak' my mither. Auld Robin gim'd an' sheuk his pow, Guid sooth ! quo' he, you're merrj-. But I'll just tak' ye at your word. An' end this hurry-burrj- ; So Robin an' our auld wife Agreed to creep thegither ; Kow, I ha'e Robin Tamson's pet. An' Robin has my mither. ^^%n l$,i%^. [This is one of " Peggj's" songs in Eaksavs " Gentle Shepherd." There were older words than Ramsay's to the tune of " Com Rigs," tVe chorus of which was — " O, com rigs, and rye rigs. And com rigs are bonnie. And gin ye meet a bonnie lass, Prin up her cockemony." Gay selected the tune for one of his songs in the opera entitled " Polly," printed in 1729.] Mt Patie is a lover gay ; His mind is never muddy ; His breath is sweeter than new hay ; His face is fair and ruddy. His shape is handsome middle size ; He's stately in his *-alking ; The shining of his een surprise ; 'Tis heavea to hear him talking. '^Mi^m^SS^0^^ ICO SCOTTISH SONGS. Last night I met him on a bauk, AVheie yellow com was growins ; There mony a kindly \<-ord he spake. That set ray heart a-glowing. He kiss'd, and vow'd he wad be mine. And lo'ed me best of ony ; That gars me like to sing sinsyne, O corn-rigs are bonuy. Let maidens of a silly mind Refuse what maist they're wanting ; Since we for yielding are design'd, ■\Ve chastely should be granting. Then I'll comply and mairy Tate; And sjTie my cockernony He's free to touzle air or late. When corn-rigs are bonny. [This was an early production of Burns's, M-ritten to the old tune of " Corn Rigs." Annie r.onald, afterwards 3Irs. Paterson of Aikenbrae, 13 said to have been the inspirer of the song.] It was upon a Lammas night. When corn rigs are bonnie. Beneath the moon's unclouded light, I hied away to Annie: The time flew by wi' tentless heed, Tin, 'tween the Lite and early, AVi' sma' jjersuasion she agreed. To ses me through the barley. The sky was blue, the wind was still. The moon was shining cleai-ly : I set her down, wi" right good will, Amang the rigs o' barley : I ken't her heart was a' my ain : I lov'd her most sincerely ; I l:iss"d her owre and owre again, Amang the rigs o' barley. 1 loek'd her in my fond embrace ! Her heart was beating rarely : ?Iy blessings on that happy place, Amang the rigs C barley ! But by the moon and stars sae bright. That shone that hour sae clearly ! i:\vy nye shall bless that happy night, Ari^ang the rigs o' barley. A 1 ha'e been blythe wi' comrades deai- ; I ha'e been merry drinking ; I ha'e been joyfu' gatherin' gear ; I ha'e been happy thinkin' : But a' the pleasures e'er I saw. Though three times doubl'd fairly. That happy night was worth them a', Amang the rigs o' barley. Corn rigs, an' barley rigs. An' corn rigs are bonnie : I'll ne'er forget that happy night, Amang the rigs wi' Annie. M2, mm$ |)sme. [James Baixantine.— From " The Gaberlun- rie's Wallet," a beautifully illustrated work, pub- lished at Edinburgh, in which are interspersed many poetical pieces replete ^vith genuine Scottish humour and pathos.] WipiE, come hame, ^ly cout'oie wee dame; O but ye're fitr awa', Wifie, come hame. tome wi' the young bloom o' mom on thy brow. Come wi' the 1o«ti star o' love in thine e'e. Come wi' the red cherries ripe on thy mou", A' glist' wi' balm, like the dew on the lea ; Come wi' the gowd tassels fringing thy hair. Come wi' thy rose cheeks a' dimpled wi' glee. Come wi' thy wee step, and wifie-like air, quickly come, and shed blessings on me. Wifie, come hame. My couthie wee dame ; O my heart wearies sair, Wifie, come hame. Come wi' our love pledge, our dear little dawtie, Clasping my neck round, an' clambering my knee ; Come let me nestle and press the wee pettie. Gazing on ilka sweet feature o' thee-: O but the house is a cauld hame without ye, Lanely and eerie's the life that I dree ; O come awa' an' I'll dance round about ye, Ye'll ne'er again win frae my arms till I dee SCOTTISH SONGS. IG^ [Joseph Macgbegob.] Down -whar the bumie rins whimplin" and cheery, "When Icre's star was smilin' ; X met 'wi' my dearie ; Ah ! vam was its smilin', she wadna beUere me. But said wi' a saucy air, " Laddie, Oh ! leare me, " Leave me, leave me, laddie. Oh ! leave me." " I've lo'ed thee o'er truly to seek a new dearie, I've lo'ed thee o'er fondly, through life e'er to weary, I've lo'ed thee o'er lang, love, at last to deceive thee : Look cauldly or kindly, but bid me not leave thee " Leave thee, leave thee, &e. " There's nae ither saft e'e that fills me wi' pleasure. There's nae ither rose-lip has half o' its treasure. There's nae ither bower, love, shall ever receive me, TUl death break this fond heart— oh, then I maun leave thee." Leave thee, leave thee, &c. The tears o'er her cheeks ran like dew firae red roses; "VThat hope to the lover one tear-drop discloses ; I kiss'd them, and blest her, at last to relieve me She yielded her hand, and sigh'd, " Oh ! never leave me." Leave me, leave me, &c. Forget na", dear lassie, when I'm fer firae thee. Forget na' the tear that may steal frae my ee ; Oh think on the time we sae happy ha'e been ; Oh think on the wandering beneath the moon's beam. I will think on the tear thou wilt shed when alone. And fondly remember each dear woodland scene, I'll bless the sweet sraUe, that still woo'd me to thee. And hope, sweetly smiling, will gladden my ee. 1 see the rose fading, dear maid, on thy cheek, I feel the heart throbbings, thy anguish that speak; But let the tear-drop nor sorrow be thine. Peace rest in thy bosom, and sorrow be mine. "When 'midst the rude storm on the wide-swelling sea. Fond fancy wiU turn to this hour, love, wi' theci I'll sigh to the billows to waft me ashore. To part frae my hame and my lassie no more. ■^^^^:^^^>ias^s^'^^!i^ 1G8 SCOTTISH SONGfs. [The battle of Sheriff-muir or Dunblane ( Sberiff- muir being situated in the parish of Dunblane, Perthshire, near the Ocliil hills) was fought on the 13th November, 1715, between the forces of the royal army under John, Duke of Argyle, and those of the Chevalier under John, Earl of Mar. Its most remarkable feature was, that both parties were partially successful and partially unfortunate — the right wings of both armies being trium- phant, and the left wings routed. Upon this circumstance — the running on both sides — much iif the humour of the songs to which the battle gave rise is founded. There are no less than four songs on the subject, all more or less popular in their day. We begin with the earliest, which is said by Burns to have been written by the Rev. JIukdock M'Lexnan, minister of Crathie, Deeside, where he died in 1783. The tune of " We ran and they ran" is said by Hogg to have been anciently caUed " She's yours, she's yours, she nae mair ours," or more recently " John Paterson's mare," and to have been always at the taking away of a bride.] There's some say that wc wan. And some say that they wan. And some say tliat nane wan at a', man ; But ae tiling I'm sure. That at Sheriff-muir A battle there was, that I saw, man ; And we ran, and they ran; and they ran, and we ran ; And we ran, and they ran awa', man. Brave Argyle and Belhaven, (1) Not like frighted leven, (2) "Which Rothes(3) and Haddington(4) saw, man ; For they all, with "Wigbtman, (5) Advanced on the right, man. While others took flight, being raw, man. (1) (2) (3) (4) Lord Belhaven, the Earl of Leven, and the Earls of Rothes and Haddington, who all bore arms as volunteers in the royal army. (5) Major-General Joseph Wightman, who com- manded the centre of the royal army. Lord Roxburgh (6) was there. In order to sliare With Douglas,(7) wiio stood not in awe, man, Volunteerly to ramble With Lord Loudon Campbell ; (8) Brave Hay (9) did suffer for a', man. Sir John Shaw,(10) that great knight. With broadsword most bright. On horseback he briskly did charge, man ; An hero that's bold. None could him withhold. He stoutly encounter'd the targemen. For the cowardly WTiittam,(ll) For fear they should cut him. Seeing glittering broadswords with a pa", man And that in such thrang. Made Baird aid -de-camp, And from the brave clans ran awa', man. The great Colonel Dow, Gaed foremost, I trow. When Whittam's dragoons ran awa', man ; Except Sandy Baird, And Naughton, the laird. Their horse show'd their heels to them a', ni;ir Brave Mar and Panmure (12) Were firm, I am sure ; The latter was kidnapp'd awa', man ; But with brisk men about. Brave Harry (13) retook His brother, and laugh'd at them a', man. teer. John, first Duke of Roxburgh, a loyal volun- (7) Archibald, Duke of Douglas, who command- ed a body of his vassals in the roy.al army. I (S) Hugh CampbeU, third Earl of Loudon, of ; the royal ai-my. I (9) The Earl of Hay, brother to the Duke of ! Argyle. He came up to the field only a few hours before the battle, and was unfortunately wounde:!. (10) Sir John Shaw of Greenock, an officer in I the volunteers, noted for his keen AVhiggish spirit. I (11) Major-General Thomas Wliitham, who j commanded the left wing of the King's army. (12) James, Earl of Panmure. Died at Paris, 1723. I (13) The Honourable Harry Maule of Kellie, ■ brother to the Earl, whom he re-captured after ^the engagement. '0 .\c5>i> I SCOTTISH SONGS. 169 § % Grave Marshall (1) and Lithgow,(2) And Glengary's (3) pith, too. Assisted by brave Logie A'mon', (4) And Gordons the bright, Sae boldly did fight. The red-coats took flight and awa', man. Strathmore (5) and Clanronald (6) Cried stiU, "Advance, Donald !" Till both of these heroes did fa', man ; For there was sic hashing. And broadswords a-clashing. Brave Forfar (7) himsell got a claw, man. Lord Perth (S) stood the storm, Seaforth (9) but lukewarm, Ki!syth(10) and Strathallan(ll) not slaw, man; And HamUton (12) pled The men were not bred. For he had no fancy to &', man. Bravej generous Southesk, (13) Tullibardine (14) was brisk, AVhose father, indeed, would not draw, man. Into the same yoke, AVhich served for a cloak, I'o keep the estate 'twixt them twa, man. Lord Eollo, (15) not fear'd, Kintore (16) and his beard. (I) (2) The Earls of 3Iarischal and Linlithgow. (3) The Cliief of Glengarj-. (4) Thomas Dnimrr.ond of Logie Almond. (5) The Earl of Strathmore, killed in the battle. (6) The Chief of Clanranald, also killed. (7) The Earl of Forfar— on the King's side- wounded in the engagement. (8) James, Lord Drummond, eldest son of the Earl of Perth, was Lieutenant-General of horse under the Earl of Mar, and behaved with great gallantry. (9) WiUiam Mackenzie, fifth Zarl of Seaforth. (10) The Tiscount KUsyth. (II) The Viscount Strathallan. (12) Lieutenant-general George Hamilton, com- manding under the Earl of Mar. (13) James, fifth Earl of Southesk. (14) The Marquis of Tullibardine, eldest son of the Duke of Athole. (15) Robert, Lord Eollo. He died in 175S. (16) William Keith, Earl of Kintore. Pitsligo (17) and Ogilvie (IS) a', man. And brothers Balfours, They stood the first stours; CIackmann;in (19) and Burleigh (20) did ciaw, man. But aeppan (21) acted pretty. And Strowan,(22) the ^vitty, A poet that pleases us a', man ; For mine is but rhyme. In respect of what's fine. Or what he is able to draw, man. For Huntly (23) and Sinclair,(24) They baith play'd the tinkler, "With consciences black like a craw, man ; Some Angus and Fife men. They ran for their life, man. And ne'er a Lot's wife there at a', man ! Then Lawrie, the traitor, "Who betray'd his master. His king, and his country, and a', m.-in. Pretending Mar might Give order to fight To the right of the army awa', man ; Then Lawrie, for fear Of what he might hear. Took Drummond's best horse, and awa', mai. ; •Stead of going to Perth, He crossed the Firth, Alongst Stirling Bridge, and awa', man. To London he press'd. And there he address'd, That he behaved best o' them a', man ; And there, without strife. Got settled for Ufe, An hundred aryear to his fa', man. (17) Lord Pitsligo. He was again "out" in the '45. (IS) Lord OgUvie, son of the Earl of Airly. (19) Bruce, Laird of Clackmannan. (20) A relation of Lord Burleigh. (21) M.ijor "W'Uli.am Clephano. (22) Alexander Robertson of Struan, chief of the Robertsons. He was a poet, and died in 1749. (23) Alexander, Marquis of Huntly, afterivards Duke of Gordon. , lai) The Master of Sinclair. He died in 1750. ■(^"^^i^C^^ w^p^ N^V ^^^^ iro SCOTTISH SONGS. In Borrowstounness, He rides with disgrace, Till his neck stand in need of a draw, man ; And then in a tether. He'll swinif from a ladder. And go off the stage with a pa', inan.(l) Rob Roy (2) stood watch On a hill, for to catch The booty, for ought that I saw, man , For he ne'er advanced From the place he was stanced. Till no more to do there at a', man. So we all took the flight. And Mowbray the wright. But Lethem, the smith, was a braw man. For he took the gout, AVhich truly was wit. By judging it time to withdraw, man. And trumpet M'Lean, Whose breeks were not clean. Through misfortune he happen'd to fa', ma By saving his neck. His trumpet did break, C.-uiie aff without music at a', man. So there such a race was, As ne'er in that place was, An^l as little chase was at a', man ; From other they ran, Without touk of drum, Thc-y did not make use of a pa', man. Whether we ran, or they ran. Or we wan, or they wan. ^ (1) These four st^zas seem to refer to a circum- stance reported at the time ; namely, that a per- son had left the Duke of Argyle's arniy, and joined th.e Earl of Mar's, before the battle, intending to .let as a spy ; and that, being employed by Mar to inform the left ■wing that the right was victorious, he gave a contrary statement, and, after seeing them retire accordingly, went back again to the royal army. — A'ote by R. Chambers. (2) The celebrated Bob Eoy. This redoubted hero was prevented, by mixed motives, from join- ing either party: he could not fight against the Karl of Mar, consistent with his conscience, nor rx>uld he oppose the Duke of Argyle, without for- feiting the protection of a powerful friend.— 26. Or if there was winning at a', man, There's no man can tell. Save our brave general, VTim. first began running awa', man. Wi' the Earl o' Seaforth, And the Cock o' the ^'orth ; (3) But Florence ran fastest ava, man. Save the laird o' Phineven, (4) "VMio swore to be even Wi' any generjil or peer o' them a', man. And we ran, and they ran; and they and we ran ; And we ran, and they ran awa', man. [This seems to be the second song in point of seniority on the subject of the battle of Sherifif- muir. Nothing is known of the autlior. AVe find great difference of reading in difi'erent copies, but here follo\^-s the version given in Hogg's Jacobite Eelics. The chorus belongs to an old doggrel song, and the tune is very popular.] Whex we went to the field o' war. And to the weaponshaw, Willie, Wi' true design to serve our king, And chase our faes awa', Willie ; Lairds and lords came there bedeen. And wow gin they wei-e sma', Willie, \Vhile pipers pl.ay'd frae right to left, Fy, fiirich A\'higs awa', Willie. Up and waur them a', AA'illie, Up and waur them a', Willie, Up and sell your sour milk. And dance, and ding them a", Willie. And when our army was drawn up. The bravest e'er 1 saw, WiUie, We did not doubt to rax the rout. And win the day and a", Willie. Out-ovsre the brae it was nae play To get sae hard a fa", "Willie, "While pipers play frae right to left, Fy, furich Whigs awa', Willie. Up and waxir, &c. (3) An honorary popular title of the Duke of Gordon. (4) Carnegy of Finhaven. -^ SCOTTISH SONGS. 171 But -R-hon our standard was set up, s5o fierce the «-ind did blaw, Willie, The golden knop dovrn fir jm the top Tnto the ground did fa', TVillie. Then second -sighted Sandy said, W'e'U do nae gude at a', Willie, WTiile pipers play'd free right to left, Fy, furich Whigs a-sra', Willie. Up and waur, &c. Allien brawly they attack'd our left. Our front, and flank, and a', Willie, Our bauld commander on the green. Our faes their left did ca', Willie, And there the greatest slaughter made That e'er poor Tonald saw, Willie, While pipers play'd frae right to left, Fy, furich "WTiigs awa', Wiilie. Up and waur, &c. First when they saw our Highland mob. They swore they'd slay us a', Willie ; And yet ane fyl'd his breeks for fear. And so did rin awa', Willie. We drave them back to Bonnybrigs, Dragoons, and foot, and a", Willie, While pipers pLiy'd frae right to left, Fy, furich "Wliigs awa", Willie. Up and waur, &:c. But when their general vieWd our lines. And them in order saw, WUlie, Ke straight did inarch into the town. And back his left did draw, WUUe. Thus we taught them the better gate To get a better fa',, Willie, WhUe pipers play'd frae right to left, Fy, furich "Whigs awa', Willie. Up and waur, &c. And then we rallied on the hills. And bravely up did draw, WiUie ; But gin ye speer wha wan the day. I'll teU ye what 1 saw, "O'iUie : We baith did fight, and baith were beat. And baith did rin awa', AVillie. So there's my canty Highland sang. About the thing I saw, Wiilie. Up and waur, &c. ! i^sttk d ^^nif!=Muix. [This originally appeared in a broad -sheet, with the title of "A Dialogue between WUl Lickladle and Tom Oeancogue, twa shepherds wha were feeding their floclis on the Ochil hills on the day the battle of Sheriff-muir was fought." It w.is written by the Eev. John Barclay, the founder of the religious sect called the Bereans, who was bom in the parish of MuthUl in 173i, and died in 17S8. The tune is called " The Camerons' ilarch" or " The Cameronian Kant," and is a very quick reel tune.] Pbay came you here the fight to shun. Or keep the sheep wi' me, man ? Or was you at the Sherra-muir, And did the battle see, man ? Pray tell whilk o' the parties wan. For weel I wat I saw them run Both south and north, when they begiin To pell, and mell, and kill, and fell. With muskets sneU and pistols knell, And some to heU did flee, man. Huh ! hey dum dirrum hey dum dan , Huh ! hey dum dimim dey dan. Huh ! hey dum dirrum hey dum dandy. Hey dum dirrom dey dan. But, my dear WUl, I kenna stUl Whilk o' the twa did lose, man ; For weel I wat they had gude skill To set upo' their foes, man. The redcoats they are train'd, yon see. The clans always disdain to flee ; Wha then should gain the victory ? But the Highland race, all in a brace. With a swift pace, to the Whigs* disgrace. Did put to chase their foes, man. Huh ! hey dum dirrum, &c. Now, how deil, Tam, can this be true ? I saw the chase gae north, man. But weel 1 wat they did pursue Them even unto Forth, man. Frae Dunblane they ran, i' my own sight. And got o'er the bridge v,-i' a" their might. And those at Stirling took their flight : Gif only ye had been wi' me, You had seen them flee, of c.-ick degree. For fear to die wi' sloth, man. 5 Huh ! hey dum dirruin, &c. i#^r such a fight as this is. Where baith did fight, baith ran away ; And devil take the miss is, Tiiat ev'ry ofiBcer was not slain. That ran that day, and was not ta'en Either flying to or from Dunblane : When Whig and Tory, in their fury. Strove for glory, to our sorrow. This sad story hush is. Huh ! hey dum dirrum, &c [This is Burns's version of the battle of Sheriff- muir, which he contributed to' Johnson's Museum, and which, as will be seen, is founded on the pre- ceding.] O, CAM* ye here the fecht to shun, Or herd the sheep -wi' me, man ; Or was ye at the Shirra-muir, , And did the battle see, man ? tfm^-M^^k'^m^ p:^!^a^«^ >l^^i^ SCOTTISH SOXGS. I saw the battle, sair and teuch. And reekin' red ran mony a sheuch ; My heart, for fear, ga'e sough for sough. To hear the thuds, and see the cluds, O' clans frae wuds, in tartan duds, "Wha glaum'd at kingdoms three, man. The red-coat lads, wi' black cockades. To meet them were na slaw, man ; They rush'd, and push'd, and bluid out-gush"d. And mony a bouk did fa', man : The great Argyle led on his files, I wat they glanced twenty miles ; They hough 'd the clans like nine-pin kyles ; They hack'd and hash'd,while broadswords clash'd, And through they dash'd, and hew'd and smash'd. Till fey men died awa', man. But had you seen the philabegs. And skyrin' tartan trews, man. When in the teeth they daur'd our ^"higs And covenant true-blues, man : In lines extended lang and large, When bayonets opposed 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. P how deQ, Tam, can that be true ? The chase gaed frae the north, man ; I saw mysell, they did pursue The horsemen back to Forth, man ; And at Dunblane, in my ain sight. They took the brig wi' a' their might. And straight to Stirhng wing'd their flight; But, cursed lot ! the gates were shut. And mony a huntit puir red -coat For fear amaist did swarf, man. 3Iy sister Kate cam' up the gate, Wi' erowdie unto me, man She swore she saw some rebels run Frae Perth unto Dundee, man : Their left-hand general had nae skill. The Angus lads had nae guid-will That day their neebours' bluid to spill ; For fear, by foes, that they should lose Their cogs o' brose, they scared at blows. And homeward fast did flee, man. They've lost some gallant gentlemen Amang the Highland clans, man ; I fear my Lord Panmure is slain. Or in his enemies' hands, man. Now wad ye sing this double flight. Some fell for wrang, and some for right : And mony bade the world gude night ; Say peU and mell, wi' muskets' knell. How Tories fell, and Whigs to hell Flew aff in frighted bands, man. [Alexander Robgeb.— Air, " The Cameronian Eant."— The Drjgate Brig is a small bridge in the north-east and most ancient district of the city of Glasgow, which over-arches the far-famed ilolendinar bum.] Last Monday night, at sax o'clock. To Mirran Gibb's I went, man. To snuff, an' crack, an' toom the cap. It was my hale intent, man : So down 1 sat an' pried the yiU, Syne luggit out my sneeshin miU, An' took a pinch wi' right good will, 0' beggar's brown, (the best in to%vn,) Then sent it roun' about the room. To gi'e ilk ane a scent, man. The sneeshin' mill, the cap gaed round. The joke, the crack an' a', man, 'Bout markets, trade and daily news. To wear the time awa', man ; Ye never saw a blither set, 0' queer auld-feshion'd bodies met. For fient a grain o' pride nor pet, Nor eating care gat footing there. But friendship rare, aye found sincere. An' hearts without a flaw, man. To cringing courtiers, kings may blaw. How rich they are an' great, man. But kings coiUd mateh na us at a', Wi' a' their regal state, man ; For Mirran's swats, sae brisk and fell. An' Turner's snuff, sae sharp an' snell. Made ilk ane quite forget himsel'. Made young the auld, inflamed the cauld, And &*d the saul wi' projects bauld. That daur'd the power o' £ate, man. But what are a' sic mighty schemes, AVhen ance the spell is broke, man ? A set o' maut-inspired whims. That end in perfect amoke, man. Hi SCOTTISH SONGS. An' what like some disaster keen. Can chase the glamtur frae our een. An' bring us to oursel's again ? As was the fate o' my auld pate. When that night late, I took the gate. As crouse as ony cock, man. For, sad misluek ! without my hat, I doiting cam' awa', man. An' when I down the Drygate cam'. The win' began to blaw, man. AVhen I cam' to the Drygate Brig, The win' blew aff my guid brown wig, That whirled like ony whirligig. As up it flew, out o' my view, AVhile I stood glowrin', waefu' blue, Wi' wide extended jaw, man. "WTien I began to grape for't s>iie, Thrang poutrin' wi' my staff, man, I coupet ovm a meikle stane. An' skailed my pickle snuff, man My staff out o' my hand did jump. An' hit my snout a dreadlu' thusnp, Whilk raised a most confounded lump. But whar it flew, 1 never knew. Yet sair I rue this mark sae blue. It leuts sae fleesome waff, man. had you seen my waefii' plight. Your mirth had been but sma', man. An' yet, a queerer antic sight, I trow ye never saw, man. I've lived thir fifty years an' mair. But solemnly I here declare, 1 ne'er before met loss sae sair; My wig flew aff, I tint my staff, I skaU'd my snuff, I peel'd my loof. An' brak my snout an' a', man. :S'ow wail ye profit by my loss ? Then tak' advice frae me, man. An' ne'er let common sense tak' wing. On fumes o' barley bree, man ; For drink can hceze a man sac high. As mak' his head 'maist touch the slij-. But down he tumbles by-an'-by, Wi' sic a thud, 'mang stanes an' mud. That aft it's guid, if dirt an' bluid Be a' he has to dree, man. [Written by John Lowb, author of " Clary's Dream."] From perfect and unclouded day. From joys complete without allay. From joys complete without allay. And from a spring without decay ; I come by Cynthia's borrow'd beams. To visit my Cornelia's dreams. And give them still sublimer themes. I am the man you lov'd before. Those streams have wash'd away my gore. Those streams have wash'd away my gore. And Pompey he sl:uxll bleed no more ; Nor shall my vengeance be withstood, Nor unattended by a flood. Of Roman or Egj-ptian blood. Casar himself it shall pursue, His days shall troubled be and few. His days shall troubled be and few. And he shall fall by treason too. He, by a ju-.tice aU divine. Shall fall a victim to my shrine : As I was his, he shall be mine. I. [The beautiful tune of " Eosiin Castle" has been often erroneously ascribed to Oswald, a musi- cal composer who lived in the early part of the last century. But it is to be found in a publica- tion befoi-e his day — il'Gibbon's Collection of Scots Tunes, — where it is called "The House of Glams." The old words are supposed to be lost. The fol- lowing appear in Herd's Collection, 1776, but by what author is not known.] From Eoslin castle's echoing walls Rtsound my shepherd's ardent calls, Sly Colin bids me come away. And love demands I should obey. His melting strain and tuneful lay. So much the charms of love display, I yield — nor longer can refrain To own my love, and bless my swain. p & SCOTTISH 30>'G3. No longer can my heart conceal The painful pleasing flame I feel. My soul retorts the am'rous strain. And echoes back in love again; "Where lurks my songster ? from what grove Does Colin pour his notes of love ? bring me to the happy bow'r, "VNTiere mutual love may bliss secure. Ye vocal hiLs that catch the song, Repeating, as it flies along. To Colin "s ear my strain convey. And say, I haste to come away. Ye zephyrs soft that fan the gale, "Waft to my love the soothing tale ; In whispers all my soul express. And tell, I haste his arms to bless. II. '"vVrittbn hy Eichard He wit, who, when : y young, was engaged by the blind poet, Dr. ..-icklock, as his guide and amanuensis. Hewit subsequently became secretary to Lord Milton, and died in 1794. He was a native of Cumber- land.] 'TwAs 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 iTannie's charms the shepherd sung : The hills and dales with ^'annie rung : "While Eoslin Castle heard the swain. And echoed back his cheerful strain. Aw.'Cke, sweet muse ! The breathing spring "With rapture warms : awake, and sing ; Awake and join the vocal throng. And hail the morning with a song : To ^yannie raise the cheerful lay ; O, bid her haste and come away In sweetest smiles herseh' adorn. And add new graces to the mom ! look, my love I on every spray A feather'd warbler tunes his lay; Tis beauty fires the ra^-;sh•d throng. And love inspires the melting song: Then let the raptured notes arise: For beauty darts from Xannie's eyes ; And love my rising bosom warms. And fills my soul with, sweet alarms. Oh, come, my love ! Thy Colin "s kiy AVith rapture calls : 0, come away 1 Come, while the muse this wreath shall t Around that modest brow of thine. O ! hither haste, and with thee bring That beauty blooming like the spring. Those graces that divinely shine. And chaim this ra\lah'd heart of mine : ["Wbitten by Bcrss to the tune of " Kos'.m Castle." It was afterwards set to music by "nU friend Allan Masterton, and called " T'ne bonnie banks of Ayr." " I had been for some time, ■ says the poet, " skulking from covert to covert, under all the terrors of a jail, as some ill-advise'l people had uncoupled the merciless pack of the law at my heels. I had taken the last larewell of my few friends ; my chest was on the road to Greenock; and I had composed the last song I should ever measure in Caledonia — ' The gloomy night is gathering fast,' — when a letter from Dr. Blacklock to a friend of mine overthrew aU my schemes, by opening new prospects to my ambi- tion." Professor "Walker completes the sketch from materials supplied by the Poet : " Bums had left Dr. Lawrie's family after a risit, which he expected to be the last, and on his way home had to cross a wide stretch of solitary moor. His mind was strongly affected by parting for ever with a scene where he had tasted so much elegant and social pleasure, and depressed by the contrasted gloom of his prospects : the aspect of nature har- monised with his feelings ; it was a lowering and heavy evening in the end of autumn. The wind was up and whistled through the rushes and long speai'-grass which bent before it. The clouds were driving across the skj- ; and cold pelting showers at intervals added discomfort of body and chcer- lessness of mind. "Cnder these circumstances, and in this frame. Bums composed this poem."] The gloomy night is gathering fast, loud roars the wild inconstant blast. Yon murky cloud is foul with rain, I see it driving o'er the plain. The hunter now has left the moor. The scattered coveys meet secure, "While here I wander, prest with care. Along the lonely banks of Ajt. »-?-*v. ^■■m;f^:^^s^^'MS(^ irc SCOTTISH SONGS. The autumn mourns her ripening corn By early winter's ravage torn ; Across her placid azure sky She sees the scowling tempest fly: Chill rins my blood to hear it rave, I think upon the stormy wave. Where many a danger I must dare, Far from the bonnie banks of Ayr. 'Tis not the surging billows' roar, 'Tis not that fatal, deadly shore ; Though death in every shape appear. The wretched have no more to fear But round my heart the ties are bound. That heart transpierced with many a wound ; These bleed afresh, those ties I tear. To leave the bonnie banks of Ayr. Farewell, old Coila's hills and dales. Her heathy moors and winding vales ; The scene where WTetched fancy roves. Pursuing past, unhappy loves ! Farewell, my friends, farewell, my foes. My peace with these, my love with those ; The bursting tears my heart declare ; Farewell the bonnie banks of Ayr. gjamie Iay draw the wond'ring gaze. And courtly grandeur brigi-.t The fancy may delight. But never, never can come near the heart. But did yen see my dearest Chloris In simplicity's array ; Lovely as yonder sweet opening flower ;s. Shrinking from the gaze of day ? O then, the heart alarming. And all resistless charming. In love's delightful fetters she chains the willing soul! Ambition would disown The world's imperial crown. Even Avarice would deny His worshipped deity. And feel through ev'ry vein Love's raptures roli. ^'.> 3 ^l^ jmilkT. [Written, with the exception of the first stanza, which belongs to an oldersong, by Sir John Ci.erk of Pennycuiek, Bart., for nearly fifty years one of the Barons of Exchequer in Scotland. Sir John ■was much versed in antiquities, and otherwise accomplished. He died in 1755. John Clerk of Eldin, the author of the work on >"aval Tactics, was his son, and he was consequently grandfather of the late eccentric Lord Eldin. The song first appeared in " The Charmer," Edinburgh, 1751, Vol. IE, but without the last verse, which was afterwards added by the author.] Merry may the maid be That man-ies the miller. For foul day and fair day He's aye bringing till her ; Has aye a penny in his puree For dinner and for supper; And gin she please, a good fat cheese. And lumj s of yellow butter. "VMien Jamie first did woo me, / I spier'd what was his calling ; Fair maid, says he, come and see. Ye 're welcome to my dwelling : . Though I was shy, yet I cou'd spy The truth of what he told me. And that his house was warm and couth. And room in it to hold me. Behind the door a bag of meal. And in the kist was plenty Of good hard cakes his mither bakes. And bannocks were na scanty ; A good fat sow, a sleek-y cow Was standin' in the byre ; Whilst lazy pouss with mealy mou's Was playing at the fire. Good signs are these, my mither says. And bids me tak' the miller; For foul day and fair day He's aye bringing tiU her ; For meal and malt she does na want. Nor ony thing that's dainty ; And now and then a keckling hen To lay her eggs in plenty. In winter when the wind and rain Blaws o'er the house and byre, He sits beside a clean hearth sUuie Before a rousing fire , With nut-brown ale he tells his tale. Which rows him o'er fu' nappy : "UTio'd be a king — a petty thing. When a niiller Uves so happy ? [A FRAGMENT of an old song given in Johnson's Aluseum, Part II. 178S. The air is old, and was formerly played as a dancing-tune.] ] Hey, the dusty miller, ' And his dusty coat ! ' He wiU win a shilling, ( Ere he spend a groat. Dusty was the coat, Dusty was the colour ; Dusty was the kiss, That I gat frae the miller ' Hey, the dusty miller. And Ills dusty sack ! Lceze me on the caUinj Fills the dusty peck. ^y^^m^^^:^^^^^^:^^^^^^ ?«t^g:^sfe^iL:^^^"§i>^i SCOTTISH SONGS. 179 FUIs the dusty peck, Brings the dust}- siller: I wad gi'e my coatie For the dusty miller. *^\ [James Ballantike. — From "The Gaber- - lunzie's Wallet."] O NATURE is bonnie and blythsome to see, ^ AVi' the gowd on her brow, an' the light in her e'e ; 0" An' sweet is her summer sang rollin' in glee, -1\ As it thrills the heart-strings o' my fiddle and me. 4 ANTien the young moming blinks through amang ^ the black cluds, 3 An' the southland breeze rustles out through the Q green wuds ; / The lark in the lift, and the merl on the tree, ■A Baith strike the key-note to my fiddle an' me. ^^ "VMien amang C^ Jline e-e fu' o' 11^ The wee hea l'^ A' join in th ^V "VMien amang the crisp heather upon the hill -side, rapture, my soul fu' o' pride ; leather-lintie an' wild hinny-bee 1 the strain wi' my fiddle an' me. "When daunderin' at e'en doun the dark dowie dells. To cheer the wee gowans, an' charm the wee bells — The sweet purling rill wimples doun to the sea. Dancing Ught to the notes o' my fiddle an' me. At kirn or at weddin', at tiyst or at fair. There's nae saul-felt music unless we be there ; Wi' a s^ark in my heart, an' a drap in my e'e. The vera floor loups to my fiddle an' me. E'en now when the cauld drift sweeps ower the bleak hill. An' mony stout hearts sink beneath the fell ehiU, What keeps my puir caUant alive on my knee. But twa-three blythe staves frae my fiddle and My fiddle's my life-spring, my fiddle's my a'. She clings tome close when a' else are awa' ; Time may force friends to part, he may viyle faes to gree. Death only can part my auld fiddle an' me. t ^mf)Uttmt [Written by Alex. Wilson of Paisley, the 1 author of "Watty and ileg," and the great ! ornithologist of America. This was a youthful production of Wilson's, and seems to have been occasioned by certain inhospitable treatment ; which he had received at Auchtertool, a small ; village in Fifeshire, while travelling the country as a jiedlar. His experience of the fatigues of a pedlar's life, and of the indignities to which it was occasionally exposed, was only fitting him all the better for his afterwards glorious career — ^when he I had to travel through immeasurable tracts of the , woods of America, in search of his favourite birds, : and subject himself to the unsympathising rude- j ness of the early settlers there, who could not comprehend the enthusiasm, or be brought to I patronize the exertions, of the young naturalist. j The song is marked, in the volume of his poems I published at Paisley in 1790, to the tune of " One I bottle more. "J From the village of Lesly with a heart full of glee. And my pack on my shoulders, I rambled out free. Resolved that same evening, as Luna was full. To lodge ten miles distant, in old Auchtertool. Through many a lone cottage and farm-house I steer'd. Took their money,and off withmy budget 1 shoer'd; The road I explored out, without form or rule. Still asking the nearest to old Auchtertool. A clown I accosted, inquiring the road. He stared like an idiot, then roar'd out, " Gude G-d! Gin ye're ga'n there for quarters, ye're surely a foci. For there's nought but starvation in auld Auch- tertool !" Unminding his nonsense, my march I pursued, TUI I came to a hill top, where joyful I viev'd. Surrounded with mountains, and many a white pool. The small smoky village of old Auchtertool. At length I arrived at the edge of the town. As Phoebus behind a high mountain went down; The clouds gather'd dreary, and weather blew foul. And I bugg'd myself safe now in old AuchtertooL ^y '^^^^my^m^^j'^^^s^^^m^^ <^:sm^^^^^^s^:^^E^^^^m&'^^^, P 130 An inn I inquired out, a lodging desired. But the Landlady's pertnessseem'd instantly fired; Tor she saucy replied, as she sat carding wool, "I ne'er kept sic lodgers in auld Auchtertool." With scorn I soon left her to live on her pride ; But, asking, was told, there was none else beside. Except an old Weaver, who now kept a school. And these were the whole that were in Auchter- tool. SCOTTISH SONGS. (11 ^ To his mansion I scamper'd, and rapt at the door, '; He op'd, but as soon as I dared to implore, ^ He shut it like thunder, and utter'd a howl, ■\ That i-ung thro' each corner of old Auchtertool. -\ Provoked now to fury, the Dominie I curst, -' And offer'd to cudgel the wretch, if he durst; But the door he fast bolted, tho' Boreas blew cool, ' And left me all friendless in old Auchtertool. Deprived of all shelter, through darkness I trod, Till I came to a ruin'd old house by the road ; Here the night I will spend,and,inspired by the owl, I'll send up some prayers for old Auchtertool. ®|^ <©ff0U]p» ^ 'i [By Alex. Wh.son of Paisley. Tune, " Poor Laurie."— We give this as conveying an interest- ing sketch of Wilson's acquaintances, while he was the poor weaver and pedlar. The description of himself in the last verse but one, where he mentions " the want of ambition" as his worst misery, shows how little he knew of himself until he had a great object to contend for.] CoMF. fill up the bowl, my brave boys! And round let us circle the treasure ; Huzza! my good fellows, rejoice! For here is a fountain of pleasure. And while the big bumper doth pass. Old Bacchus shall never confound me ; I'll drink, and, between every glass. Loud roar of the wits that surround me. And bring their each talent to view. Imprimis. Here sits by my side, A hum'rous young son of the muses. Who lord o'er our passions can ride. And wind them wherever he chuses. The terrible frown he can form. Look dismally holy hereafter. Then screw up his face to a storm, That nigh bursts the beholder with laughter. And makes every mortal his triend. That little stout fellow in green. Observe how accomplish 'd and tight he's ; Good humour sits full in his mien. And mirth his eternal delight is. When through the wild hornpipe he sweeps. We stare as we never had seen him. So nimbly he capers and leaps. You would swear that some devil was in. him, To flourish his heels so expert. See ! handing the glass to his friend. Young Jamie, polite and endearing ; To please he is ever inclined. Though sometimes harassingly jeering. So sweetly a sonnet he sings. He chats to the ladies so clever, That Cupid should sure give him wings, And make him his archer for ever. To level the beauties and belles. And there sits the Genius of song, AVhose music so nobly can warm us. The fife now arousingly strong. Now waking the viol to charm us : Yet sometimes he's mournfully mute. And though we implore while we're able, - He frowning refuses the flute. And pensively leans on the table. As if he were lull'd in a trance. With golden locks loose to the wind. Here sits a swain, kind and free-hearted. To every one science inclined. By every amusement diverted. Philosophy, painting, and song. Alternately gain his affection. But his bliss is to store up a throng Of insects and worms for dissection. Of numberless sizes and kinds. Here Wilson and Poverty sit. Perpetually boxing together, Till beat by good liquor she flits. And leaves him as light as a feather. Prom two most unfortunate views, Proceeds his inconstant condition ; His joys are the smiles of the muse. And his misery the want of ambition. To climb to the notice of fools. ^N m ^:Sitag>i^ SCOTTISH S0XG3. 181 .5 K ><) But round with the liquor, my boys ! 'Tis folly to languish repining; To swell up the tide of our joys. This brimmer was sent us so shining. Since blockheads and asses grow rich. And modesty murders the wearer. If Merit must cower in the ditch, ilay she still have a bumper to cheer her, And raise her poor head to the skies. F5I W$ t^u, Slnra?. [Fkom a collection of Poems published in 1836, entitled "The Sea Nymph's >Take, and other Poems : by Eobekt Hamilton." Mr. Hamilton is now resident in "Sevi York, and editor there of a popular monthly miscellany, called " The Ladies' Companion."] I'LL lo'e thee, Annie, while the dew In siller bells hings on the tree ; Or while the burnie's waves o' blue Ein wimplin' to the rowin' sea. I'll lo'e thee while the gowan nuld Its crimson firinge spreads on the lea ; '\Miile blooms the heather in the wild — Oh ! Annie, I'U be true to thee. I'll lo'e thee while the lintie sings His sang o' love on whinny brae ; I'U lo'e thee whale the crjstal springs Glint in the gowden gleams o' day ; I'U lo'e thee whUe there's licht aboon. And stars to stud the breast o' sky ; I'U lo'e thee tUl life's day is done. And bless thee wi' my latest sigh. i^S ^ammg. [This song, to the tone of " Contented wi' Uttle and can tie wi' mair," or, as it was more anciently caUed, " Lumijs o' puddin'," is here printed for the first time.] Ilk ane now-a-days brags awa' 'bout his dear. And praises her ripe lips and bright een sae clear; But neither the ripe Up nor bonnie blue e'e Can compare wi' the blink o' my manuny to me. - A bairn in her bosom I lay a' the night, ._ , ' I When there, neither bogles nor ghaists could me ^ I fright; \ . I TVhen yamm'rin', she bush'd me to sleep on her knee : ^' ^ ! whae'er can compare wi' my mammy to me ? I Fu' aft in her Cice I ha'e look'd up fii' fain, ^Jy I 'WMle fondly she clasp'd me and croon'd some <-.- 'w I auld strain, • 3* ' And aften the saut tear wad start to my e'e: '_ -\ , They were waesome, the sangs o' my manuny, to *■ ' ! yes, I ha'e grat for the twa bonnie weans The wee robins cover'd wi' leaves wi' sic pains : And stiU, like a sunbeam that gUnts o'er the sea. The auld sangs o' my mammy return back to me. "When sickness o'ercam' me, she watch'd late and air. If open'd my duU e'e, I aye saw her there ; "When roses my pale cheeks o'erspread, blythe was she — • O ! whae'er was sae kind as my mammy to me ? Lang, lang I'U remember the days that are gane. Since first I could Usp mam' and toddle my lane; Though sair I be toss'd upon life's troubled sea. Yet my heart wiU aye cling wi' affection to thee. "W. G. B. [Written- by Bvrxs in 17S7, for Johnson's Museum, but not brought out there tiU the last volume. Mr. G«orge Thomson inserted it in the 3d vol. of the 1st edition of his coUection, chang- ing the name "Peggy" to that of "Mary," and directing the song to be sung to the tune of " The Ewie wi' the crooked horn." The heroine of the song was Sliss Margaret Chalmers, youngest daughter of James Chalmers, Esq. of Fingland, and one of the poet's most confidential female correspondents. She married, in Dec. 1788, Lewis Hay, Esq. Edinburgh, and afterwards long resided in the south of France.] Mt Peggy's face, my Peggy's form. The frost of hermit age might warm ; My Peggy's worth, my Peggy's mind. Might charm the first of human kind. ti a) 183 il^S^^ SCOTTISH SONGS. I love my Pegery's anirel air. Her face so truly heav'nly iair. Her native grace so void of art, But I adore my Peggy's heart. The lily's hue, the rose's dye. The kindling lustre of an eye ; ■\Vho but owns their magic sway ! ■Who but knows they aU decay ! The tender thrill, the pitying tear. The gen'rous purpose, nobly dear. The gentle look, that rage disarms- These are all immortal charms. ;t'£ai|s!!aE'# Eameut, [This Lament, written by Burns for Johnson's Museum, is supposed to express the feelings of James Drummond, Viscount of Strathallan, who escaped to France after the battle of CuUoden, where his father was slain. " The air," says Burns, " is the composition of one of the worthiest and best-hearted men living — Allan Masterton, school- master in Edinburgh. As he and I were both sprouts of jacobitism, we agreed to dedicate the words and air to that cause. To tell the matter of fact, except when my passions were heated by some accidental cause, my jacobitism 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, AVestem breezes, softly blowing. Suit not my distracted mind. In the cause of right engaged. Wrongs injurious to redress, Uonour's war we strongly waged. But the heavens denied success. Ruin's wheel has driven o'er us, Not a hope that dare attend. The wide world is all before us— But a world without a friend ; 5^e^aw 0* Immt ^nxi. "p. [Written by BaRss in 178S for Johnson's Museum, in compliment to Ann Masterton, (afterwards Mrs. Derbishire, London,) daughter of the poet's friend, Allan Mastsrton, who composed the tune. Masterton was a teacher of writing and arithmetic in Edinburgh, who possessed a great taste for music, which he cultivated as an amateur on the violin. He was composer of seve- ral other tunes for Bums's words, and, among the rest, of the tune to " Willie brew'd a peck o' maut." In the latter song he also figures as one of the heroes.] Ye gallants bright, I rede ye right. Beware o' bonnie Ann ; Her comely face sae fu' o' grace. Your heart she will trepan. Her een sae bright, like stars by night. Her skin is like the swan ; Sae jimply laced, her genty waist. That sweetly ye might span. Youth, grace, and love, attendant move. And pleasure leads the van ; In a' their charms, and conquering arms. They wait on bonnie Ann. The captive bands may chain the hands. But love enslaves the man ; Ye galLints braw, I rede ye a'. Beware o' bonnie Ann. [The following is an early production of Thomas Campbeli,, author of the " Pleasures of Hi pe," but is not included in any collected edition of his works that we know of. It is adapted to the Irish air called " Coolun."] Cherub Content ! at thy moss-cover'd shrine, 1 would all the gay hopes of my bosom resign, — I would part with ambition thy votary to be. And breathe not a vow but to friendship and thee. But thy presence appears from my pursuit to fly. Like the gold-colour'd cloud on the verge of the sky; No lustre that hangs on the green willow tree Is so short as the smile of thy favour to me. ^'^ I #^1^W^ i^m^' 'm^^^f^:mm'^w^^^-: SCOTTISH SOSG.^, I S3 In the pulso of mr heart I hav? nourUh'd a care, 5^ That forbids me thy sweet inspiration to share ; Th= noon of my youth slow departing I see, Eut its years as they pass bring no tidings of thee. Cherub Content ! at thy moss-cover'd shrine, 1 would offer my vows, if Matilda were mine ; Could I caU her my own whom enraptur'd I see, I would breathe not a vow but to firiendship and thee. Witne ^ntu tir;0. lFeom " Poems and Songs • , by John Imlah," London, 1841, l^mo. — Gadie is a rivulet, and Eennachie a mountain, in Aberdeenshire.] O ! Gix I were where Gadie rins, "Where Gadie rLns — where Gadie rins, ! gin I were -where Gadie rins. By the foot o' Bennachie ! I've roam'd by Tweed — I've roam'd by Tay, By border >'ith and highland Spey, But dearer far to me than they. The braes o' Bennachie. "U'hen blade and blossoms sprout in spring. And bid the burdies wa? the wing. They blithely bob, and soar, and sing, By the foot o' Bennachie. "UTien simmer deeds the varied scene, V\'i' licht o' gowd and leaves o' green, 1 fain wad be where aft I've been. At the foot o' Bennachie. "\^^len autumn's yeHow sheaf is shorn. And barn-yards stored wi' stooks o' com, 'Tis blythe to toom the clyack horn. At the foot o' Bennachie ! "nten winter winds blaw sharp and shrUI, O'er icy bum and sheeted hill. The ingle neuk is gleesome still. At the foot of Bennachie. Though few to welcome me remain. Though a' I loved be dead and gane, I'll back, though I should live alane. To the foot of Benziachie. —mm^ O ; gin I wers where Gadie rins, "Where Gadie rins — where Gadie rins, O ! gin I were where Gadie rins. By the foot o' JJennachie ) ^pm'tt gsir zlU [JOBX Iklah.] Thou'rt sair alter'd now. May, Thou'rt sair alter'd now. The rose is wither'd frae thy cheek. The wrinkle's on thy brow ; And grey hath grown the locks o' jet, Sae shining wont to be. Thou alter'd sair, — but. May, thou'rt ytt The May o' yore to me. Thy voice b faint and low. May, That aft in former time Hath woke the wild bird's envious chant. The echo's amorous chime ; Thy e'e hath lost its early light. My star in ither years. That aye hath beam'd sae kindly bright. To me through snules and tears. For a' the signs that show, May, The gloamin' o' our day, I lo'ed thee young — I lo'e thee yet, 3Iy ain anld wifie, May ; Kae dearer hope ha'e 1 than this. Beyond the day we die, Thy ciiarms shall bloom again to bl-.-ss My halidome on hie. [John Imi-ah.] Fare thee weel, my bonnie lass. Fare thee weel, my .lin Utssic ! Mouie a day maun come and pass. Ere we shall meet again, Lnssie ! Jlonie a chance and monie a chance, Ere that lang day we'll see, lass'.e ; But where'er my feet may range. My heart shall be with thee, lassie! fy 6f4 ^;^>^^:^S^"^^^2^ SCOTTISH SONGS. Fair may bloom my future bower. On some far Indian isle, lassie ! Kich and rare its fruit and flower. My wearie hours may wile, Ixissie ! But the bum and hazel brae, AVhere we sae aft ha'e met, lassie; I for ever may foregae. But never can forget, lassie ! \\Tiate'er betide— where'er betake, My lot 'mid strangers cast, lassie ! Joy may come, but never make The present like the past, lassie ! Fare thee weel ! the future wiU Through peril, toil, and pain, lassie. Bring me back, to find thee still In ioithful love my ain lassie I yh$ Mnnk to t^tm. [John Imlah.] "We've drunk to them that's here about. We've drunk to them that's far awa'. But fill again, there's ane, nae doubt, "We yet could drink abune them a', "VMia drinks— and deep — fair be his fa". On him that winna, meikle shame, As round and round the cup we ca', A health to her— we needna name ! I gi'e you joy, wha ha'e found grace, Wi' ane that's comely, kind, and true ! I feel for you — I ken the case — "Whom some fair thief o' hearts gars rue. Though nocht you say, and swear, and do. Can wauk in her's the tender jlame, Tet we're forgiving when we're fou — Here's health to her— whate'er her name ! O ! wearie fia,' the womankind. They've been, sin' first the warld began, C vrinning mien — and wayward mind. The blessing or the bane o' man ; Yet after a', do what we can. The bonnie dears we canna blame ; Sae a benison gae wi' our ban. And the wish that some would bear our name! Auld Adam led a wearie life Till Eve, in Eden's bonnie bowers, "Was made the first o' men's gudewife — The fairest o' the garden's fiowers ; Though dearly bought, the social hours, Wi' dool and death — wi' sin and shame — We think them cheap, when pass we ours "Wi' her we'll drink — but dauma name. The wauk-rife cock fu' loudly craws. The merry mom begins to blink. And troth, it's time to wear our wa's AVhen folk begin to lisp and wink. "Whate'er we thole, whate'er we think. In this we'll do and say the same. We'll brun the bowl, and deep we'll drink A health to her — that each could name ! JEg %m m,\it. [From " The Edinburgh Literary Gazette,' II. 1830 — AtEX. Laing of Brechin.] I wADNA gi'e my ain wife For ony wife I see ; I wadna gi'e my ain wife For ony wife I see ; A bonnier yet I've never seen, A better canna be — X wadna gi'e my ain wife For ony wife I see ! couthie is my ingle-cheek. An' cheerie is my Jean ; 1 never see her angry look. Nor hear her word on ane. She's gude wi' a' the neebours roun'. An' aye gude wi' n^e — I wadna gi'e my ain wife For ony wife I see ! An' O her looks sae kindlie. They melt my heart outright, ^ "When o'er the baby at her brea.-t " She hangs wi' fond delight ; She looks in till its bonnie face. An' syne looks to me — I wadna gi'e my ain wife For ony wife I see. i ^■^?AW^^mmm:m SCOTTISH SO^'GS. 185 [Joait Imiah. Tune, " The Miller o' Bron." — " saints," observes the author in a note to this song, '•■ seem to have the fate of prophets — but httle or no honour in their own country. St. Andrew's Day- is much observed by Scotsmen out of their own land — and particularly so in London and in America. The principal festival of that ancient and excel- lent Corporation, the Scottish Hospital, in the metropolis, is held on this day, and is generally. N^ell attended by Scotsmen, and the benevolent : itives of other countries. A worthy Alderman, ■ U known for his strict attention to his magiste- r:;il duties, a few years ago, when he was Lord JIayor, presided in the absence of the late Lhike of Gordon, and paid a compliment to his country- men, whose names were in the book of subscribers to' this charity, by terming the printed list a good ^icotch Directory — at least, he added, aU Scotsmen worth inquiring for were recorded in it. The last ' r?e of this song alludes to the festival of th;it '.y, and the objects contemplated by their na- aal and convivial meetings."] Here's health and hail to Goth and Gael, TiMia bear the Xorlan' name, Blj-the he they a' — the far awa'. And happier folk at hame ! A nd spend we gowd or but a grot. Our drink be what it may. Let Scot rejoice wi' brither Scot, Upon St. Andrew's day. Where'er we Uve, whate'er our lot, Stm will I plead and pray That Scot r^oice wi' brither Scot, Upon St. Andrew's Day. Some seek the Edens o' the east, ' Some Carib isles explore — The forests of the "far-off" west. And Afric's savage shore j Still charms of native speech and sxKt, ; j And native springs for aye, i Will band like brithers Scot with Scot, , | Upon St. Andrew's day. ' i Where'er we live, &e. Some that hare won an honoured name. Some that have gather'd gear, j And others a* unknown to fame i Or fortune may be here; a^ But be we clad in braidnjlaith coat. Or hame-spun hodden grey. Let Scot rejoice wi' brither Scot, Upon St. Andrew's day! Where'er we live, &c. Have we not cause to crack fu' crou.,. , ■ftTien this dear day returns. Dear to the Land of Robert Brucv, The land of Robert Bums ! ■\Vha better raised the patriot brand. And pour'd the patriot lay. Than prince and peasant of the land That loves St. Andrew's Day ! Where'er we live, &c. " The better day the better deed," The saying's auld, I trow. Those of our nation here in need. Be they remember'd now ; Each mite on high is treasure stored We here to poortith pay, 'Tivill crown our cup — 'twill bless our boar : Upon St. Andrew's day ! Where'er we live, whate'er our lot. Still wiU I plead and pray That Scot rejoice wi' brither Scot, Upon St. Andrew's Day. ^^? ^lin ^Bh 0Hp]p?t!, [David Vedder. — From "The Edinbur;! Literary Gazette," vol. II. 1830.] The sun had slipped ayont the hill. The darg was done in barn an' b\Te ; The carle himsel', come hame frae the mill. Was luntin' his cutty before the fire : The lads and lasses had just sitten down. The hearth was sweepit fu' canty an' eloaii, AThen the cadgie laird o' Windlestraetown Cam' in for till baud iiis Hallowe'en. The gudewife beck'd, tlie carle boo'd ; In owTe to the deas the laird gaed he ; The swankies a', they glowr'd like wud. The lasses leugh i' their sleeves sae slee ; An' sweet wee Lilias was unco fear'd, Tho' she blumed like a rose in a garden grwri ; An' sair she blush'd when she saw the laird Come there for till hand his Hallowe'en ■ '^~^mi^^^m^j3m^^.-^^:^^^'m'^^ ISO SCOTTISH SOKGS. 'h) " Ifow baud ye merrj-," quo' Windlestraetown, " I downa come here your sport to spill, — Eax down the nits, ye unco like loon, For though I am auld, I am gleesorae still : An" Lilias, my pet, to burn wi' me, Ye winna be sweer, right weel I ween, However it gangs my fate I'll dree, Since here I am haudin' my Hallowe'en." The pawky auld ^-ife, at the ehimly-cheek. Took courage an' spak', as a mither should do ; " Xoo baud up yere head, my dochter meek, — A Jiiird comesna here ilk night to woo ! He'll mak' you a lady, and that right soon, I dreamt it twice owre, I'm sure, yestreen."— " A bargain be't," quo' Windlestraetown, — " It's lucky to book on Hallowe'en I" " I'll stick by the nits, for better, for waur,— AA'ill ye do the like, my bonny Way ? Te sail shine at my board like the gloamin' star. An' gowd in gowpins ye's ha'e for aye '." — The nits are cannilie laid on the ingle, Weel, weel are they tented wi' anxious e'en ; And sweetlie in ase thegither they mingle : " ^00 blessed for aye be this Hallowe'en !" Vi V'.tiX'bn gst [From " The Edinburgh Literary Gazette," vol. II.' 1830.— Air, " Laird o' Coekpen."] I NEITHER gat plenishing, sillar, nor land, Wi' the bonny wee lassie that ga'e me her hand ; But 1 gat a kind heart, and lovely black e'e. And that was worth manors and mailings tome. I might had a wife vn' a boai-ding school air, Bedizen'd wi' trinkets and pearlins sae rare ; A weel stockit purse, and a lang pedigree,— But these without true love, wad ne'er suited me. Commend me to Jeanie, there's grace in her air. And purity reigns in her bosom sae fair ; The tones of her voice and the blink of her e'e. And her smile sae bewitching are treasure to me. A\Tien absent frae her, how my bliss is impair'd, Tho' I dine wi' the Teddies, and drink wi' the laird ; But to meet her again, and her sweet bairnies three. Is worth mailings, and manors, and kingdoms to me. ^©aalli oa Buii^^?. Young Donald is the blythest lad That e'er made love to me ; Whene'er he's by my heart is glad. He seems so gay and free ; Then on his pipe he plays so sweet. And in his plaid he looks so neat, It cheers my heart at eve to meet Young Donald of Dundee. TtTiene'er I gang to yonder grove. Young Sandy follows me. And fain he wants to be my love. But ah ! it canna be. Though mither frets both air an' late, For me to wed this youth I hate ; There's none need hope to gain young K:ite But Donald of Dundee. When last we rang'd the banks of Tay, The ring he show'd to me. And bade me name the bridal-day. Then happy wou'd he be. I ken the youth wUl aye prove kind, Nae mair my mither will I mind. Mess John to me shall quickly bind Young Donald of Dundee. W^t %nu 0* Ma* [Sir Ai.ex. Boswetx, Bart.] "Ah, Mary, sweetest maid, farewell ! My hopes are flown, for a's to wreck ; Heav'n guard you, love, and heal your htait. Though mine, alas, alas 1 maun bj-eak' -- " Dearest lad, what ills betide ? Is Willie to his love untrue ? Engag'd the morn to be his bride, Ah : ha'e ye, ha'e ye ta'en the rue ?" " Ye canna wear a ragged gown. Or beggar wed, wi' nought ava ; My kye are drown'd, my house is down ^ly last sheep lies aneath the snaw''- '^:^=i^ Here's to thee, my Scottish lassie I— in my sad and lonely hours. The thought of thee comes o'er me, hke the breath of distant flowers ; — Like the music that enchants mine ear, the sights that bless mine eye. Like the verdure of the meadow, like the azure of the sky. Like the rainbow in the evening, like the blossoms on the tree. Is the thought, my Scottish lassie ! is the lonely thought on thee. Here's to thee, my Scottish lassie !— though my muse must soon be dumb, (For graver thoughts and duties, with my graver years, are come,) Though my soul must burst the bonds of earth, and learn to soar on high. And to look on this world's follies with a calm and sober eye; Though the merry wine must seldom flow, the revel cease for me, — Still to thee, my Scottish lassie ! still I'll drink a health to thee. ^^ISfg^-^^SSi^iO^- SCOTTISH SONGS. Here's a heaiUi. my Scottish lassie ! here's a parting health to thee ; 3Iay thine be sriU a cloudless lot, though it be far firom me ! May still thy laughing eye be bright, and open still thy brow. Thy thoughts as pure, thy speech as free, thy heart as light as now ; And, whatsoe'er my after fate, my dearest toast shall be, — Still a health, my Scottish lassie ! still a hearty health to thee ! ^le Xittf) Qu ttj2 htB$, 139 ;'" «.■■■; A.' THB witches langsyne were humpbackit and auld. Clad in thin tattered rags that scarce kept out the cauld, A' were blear-e'ed, an' toothless, an' wrinkled, an' din, Uka ane had an ugly grey beard on her chin ; But fu' sweet is the smUe, and like snaw the bit bosom, And black are the een, ay, black as the slae. An! as blooming the cheeks as the rose's sweet blossom, O' the bonnie young witch that wins on the brae. They might travel at night in the shape ( They might ell'shoot a quey — they might lame a grey mare : They might mak' the gudewife ca' in vain at her kirn, Lose the loop o' her stocking, or ravel her pirn, — Put the milk frae her cow, an' mae tricks as uncannie — . As queer and as deil-like as ony o' thae. But o' a' the auld witches e'er kent by your grannie, I could wager there's nane like the witch on the brae. 'Twere a sin to believe her coUeagued wi' the deil. Yet for a' that she casts her enchantments as weel: An' although she ne'er rode on a stick to the moon. She has set the auld dominie twice aff the tune. Ay, and even Mess John ance or twice ga'e a stammer. But brought himsel' right vri' a hum and a hae ! An' a' body says it was just vri' some glamour Frae the twa pawkie e'en o' the witch on the brae. Kg a lad i' the parish e'er gets a night's sleep. There's no ane mak's a tr\-st that he ever can keep Hka lass far an' near fears she'll die an auld maid. An' the piper and fiddler complain o' dull trade ; For although tailor Eab night an' day has been busy. Yet there's nae been a waddin these sax months and mac ; An', they say, it's a' for that trig winsome hizzie. The bit bonnie young witch that wins on the brae. She ne'er passes the mill but the dam aye rins out, For the miller forgets what he should be about : Keither mason nor sclater can ane work a turn. An' whene'er the smith sees her, some shoe's sure to 1mm, (3 I}) i 4) :^^^^£2i C-'--: \ 190 a y\ (^ f, SCOTTISH SONGS. An' the Serjeant ne'er speaks now o' war, fame, an' glovv. An' the droll drouthy shoemaker, Sandy M'Rae, Never sings a queer sang now, or tells a queer story. For they've a' felt the power o' the vntch on the brae. The thin student, puir chiel ! ower the linn lapp yestreen. An' wad sure ha'e been drown'd, but by gude luck was seen. An' he says that the witch drove him thus to despair. For she took his last poem to paper her hair. Like the rest, I was put in a gay eerie swither, I had nae peace at hame, an' ne'er kent whare to gae ; But, to end baith my sang an' her witchcraft thegither, I will soon be the warlock that wons on the brae. i I|i ate ^ft^^ili?. ^ [Emzabkth Hamilton, authoress of ''The Cottagers of Glenturnie."] I ha'e seen great anes, and sat in great ha's, Mang lords and fine ladies a" cover'd wi' brawa ; At feasts made for princes, wi' princes I've been, Whare the grand shine o' splendour has dazzled my een ; But a sight sae delightfu', I trow, I ne'er spied. As the bonnie blythe blink o' mine ain fireside. My ain fireside, my ain fireside, cheery's the blink o' mine ain fireside. My ain fireside, my ain fireside, O there's nought to compare wi' ane's ain fireside. Ance mair, gude be thanket, round my ain heartsome ing'.e, ■\Vi' the friends o' my youth I cordially mingle ; Nae forms to compel me to seem wae or glad, 1 may laugh when I'm merry, and sigh when I'm sad. Nae falsehood to dread, and nae malice to fear. But truth to delight me, and friendship to cheer ; Of a' roads to happiness ever were tried. There's nane half so sure as ane's ain fireside. My ain fireside, my ain fireside, there's nought to compare wi' ane's ain fireside. When I draw in my stool on my cosey hearthstane, My heart loups sae hght I scarce ken't for my ain ; Care's down on the wind, it is clean out o' sight. Past troubles they seem but as dreams of the night. I hear but kend voices, kend faces I see. And mark saft afiFection glent fond frae ilk e'e ; Nae fleetchingso' flattery, nae boastings of pride, 'Tis heart speaks to heart at ane's ain fireside. My ain fireside, my ain fireside, O there's nought to compare wi' ane's ain fireside. ^S^'^J-*^^^ SCOTTISH SONGS. 191 ^ :J ^T^t9 tl^^ Up t"^^^^ S--' [The lively and popular tune of "Andro and his cutty gun," otherwise known by the name of " Blythe, blythe and merry was she," is old. The song is given In the fourth vol. of the Tea-Table Miscellany, without any mark. " This blythsome song," says Bums, "so full of Scottish humour and convivial merriment, is an intimate Eivourita at bridal trystes and house -heatings. It contains a spirited picture of a country ale-house, touched off with all the lightsome gayety so peculiar to the rural muse of Scotland." Elsewhere, in a letter to Thomson (Nov. 19, 1794) " ' Andro and his cutty gun' is the work of a master." A " Hawick gill," alluded to in the chorus, was a dor.ble gill : a " tappit-hen" was a quart stoup v^-ith a nob on the top of the lid.] Bltthb, blythe, and merry was she, Blj-the was she but and ben ; And weel she loo'd a Hawick gill. And leugh to see a tappit htn. She took me in, and set me down. And hecht to keep me la wing-free ; But, cunning carline that she was. She gart me birl my bawbee. "U'e loo'd the liquor well enough ; But waes my heart my cash was dene, Before that I had quench'd my drout J, And laith I was to pawn my shoou. "When we had three times toom'd our stoup. And the neist chappin new begun, "Wha started in, to heeze our hope. But Andro wi' his cutty gun. The carline brought her kebbuck ben, "With girdle-cakes weel toasted bru-.vn, T^'eel docs the canny kimmer ken They gar the swats gae glibber down. We ca'd the bicker aft about ; TiU dawning we ne'er jee'd our bun, And aye the cleanest drinker out, Was Andro wi' his cutty gun. -/ He did like ony mavis sing. And as I in his oxter sat. He ca'd me aye his bonnie thing, And mony a sappy kiss I gat. I ha'e been east, I ha'e been west, I ha'e been far ayont the sun ; But the blv-thest lad that e*er I sa.v. Was Andro wi' his cutty gun. [WsiTTEx by Binixs, in 1787, to the tune of "Andro and his cutty gun," and pubUshed in the second vol. of Johnson's Museum. " I composed these verses," says the poet, "while I strayed at AuchtertjTe with Sir William Jlurray." The heroine was "iliss Euphemia Murray, commonly and deservedly called The Flower of atrathmore. ' 3IiS3 Murray was distinguished for her affability as well as beauty, and delighted in pointing ci;c to the poet the romantic scenery of the banks <-f the Earn. She was married in 1794 to Lord Meth- ven, a judge in the court of session.] BtvTHE, blythe and merry was ahs, Blythe was she but and ben, Blythe by the banks of Earn, And blythe in Glenturit glen. By Ochtertyre there grows the aik. On Yarrow braes the birken shaw , But Phemie was a bonnier lass. Than braes o' Yarrow ever saw. Her looks were like a flower in May, Her smile was Uke a simmer mom ; She tripped by the banks o' Earn, As light's a bird upon a thorn. Her bonnie face it was as meek, As onie lamb upon a lee; Tlie evening sun was ne'er sae sweet As was the blink o' Phemie's e'e. The Highland hills I've wander'd wide, And o'er the Lawlands I ha'e be»;n ; *-' ' But Phemie was the bljthest lass, ^, That ever trod the dewy green. k ,' :smy-f^^^^ ■^^^e:^^^^i&^^, ) 192 SCOTTISH SOXGS. t unh i^um. " • .3 ['Writte>- by James Hogg to the the tune of / '^. "Andro and his cutty gun." Some copies of this f rT song are double the length of what is here given, \', :."" but the curtailed Tersion is much the more pre- ^ -» ferable.] ^ '' Ox Ettrick clear there grows a brier. An' monie a bonnie bloomin' shaw ; "] But Peggy's grown the fairest flower The braes o' Ettrick ever saw. Her cheek is like the woodland rose ; Her e'e the violet set -vvi' dew; The hly's fair without compare, ■' - Tet in her bosom tines its hue. '■ ^ > .' Had I her hame at my wee house. That stands aneath yon mountain high. To help me wi' the kye an' ewes. An' in my arms at e'ening lie ; O sae blythe ! an' O sae cheery ! O sae happy we wad be 1 The lammie to the ewe is dear, .' Cut Peggy's dearer far to me. /|« Buid Cmip. [Chabies Gray. — Tune, "Andro and his cutty gan." — ^The Auld- Kirk-Latch, mentioned in the fourth verse, is situated near Anstruther, in Fife, the residence of the author when the song was composed. — This is the earliest version.] Blythe, blythe, and merry are we, Blythe are we, aue and a' ; Aften ha'e we canty been. But sic a nicht we never saw. The gloamin' saw us a' sit down, And mickle mirth has been our fa' ; But ca' the other toast aroun', TUl chanticleer begins to craw. The auld kirk bell has chappit twal AVha cares though she had chappit twa ! ■We're licht o' heart, and winna part. Though time and tide should rin awa'. Tut ! never speir how wears the morn, The moon's stiU blinkin' i' the sky ; And, gif like her we fill our horn, I dinna doubt we'll drink it dry. Should we gang by the Auld-Kkk-Latch, Or round the haimted humlock knowe, Auld Clootie there some chield might catch. Or fleg us wi' a worricow I Then fill us up a social cup, And never mind the dapple dawn ; Just sit a while, the sun may smile. And light us a' across the lawn. mtiu^i imp. [Written- by a journeyman cabinet-maker in Glasgow of the name of Daniel AI'Phail, author of several other convivial and patriotic songs, particularly one beginning, " Happy we've been a' thegither," and another entitled " The twa- score and twa," both of which will be found fhrther on in the present collection. M'Phail was unfor- tunate in life, and died in distressed circumstances about the year 1S33. He was a native, we under- standjOf Port-Glasgow, though long resident in the parent citj-.— Tune, "Andro and his cutty gun."] Blythe, blythe, around the nappie. Let us join in social glee ; "While we're here we'll ha'e a drappie — Scotia's sons ha'e aye been free. Our auld forbears, when ower their yUl, And cantie bickers round did ca'. Forsooth, they cried, anither gill ! For sweirt we are to gang awa'. Some hearty cock wad then ha'e sung An auld Scotch sonnet aS wi' glee. Syne pledged his cogue : the chorus rung, Auld Scotia and her sons are free. ■ Thus cracks, and jokes, and sangs gaed roun'. Till morn the screens o' light did draw : ] Tet, dreich to rise, the carles roun* Cried, Deoch an doras, then awa' ! The landlord then the nappie brings, • And toasts, Fu' liappy a' may be. Syne tooms the cogue : the chorus rings, Auld Scotia's sons shall aye be free. SCOTTISH SONGS. T93 Then like our dads o' auld lang syne. Let social glee unite us a', Aye blythe to meet, our mou's to weet. But aye as sweirt to gang awa'. [Adam Knox. — Tune, "Andro and his cutty gun.'' — Strathbungo is a small hamlet about a iiiile south of Glasgow.] Blythe, blythe could I be wi' her, Happy baith at mom and e'en. To my breast I'd warmly press her. Charming maid, Strathbungo Jean. The Glasgow lasses dress fu' braw. And country girls gang neat and clean, But nane o' them's a match ava To my sweet maid, Strathbungo Jean. Though they be dress'd in rich attire. In silk bro^de and mus-de-laine, Wi' busk and pad and satin stays. They'll never ding Strathbungo Jean. Bedeck'd in striped gown and cait, .SUk handkerchief and apron clean. Cheerfully tripping to her work, Ilk day I meet Strathbungo Jean. Ye gods who rule men's destinies, I humbly pray you'll me befrieu". And aid me in my dearest wish To gain my sweet Strathbungo Jean. Gi'e to the ambitious priest a kirk, Gi'e riches to the miser mean, let the coquette new conquests make. But, O! gi'e me Strathbungo Jean : No happiness aU day haxe I, My senses are bewUder'd clean. In bed all night on her I cry. My hsaVn on earth, Strathbungo Jean. Should fortune kindly make her mine, I would not change for Britain's queen ; But fondly in my arms I'd clasp My charming maid, Strathbungo Jean. W^sltm ^xttt. [This highly popular song first appeared in " The Harp of Kenfrewshire," a collection of songs published at Paisley in two small rolumes, about the year 1S20. In the Index to that work, ',' John Sim" is the name given as the author of the song. Mr. Sim furnished a number of original pieces for the Harp of Benfrewshire, and indeed had a con- siderable hand in getting up the work, but before its completion, he left Paisley for the West Indies, where he died soon after his arrival. Meanwhile, the song rose into repute, when Mk. Thosias Lylb, surgeon, Glasgow, stepped forward and declared himself to be the author. In support of his claim, he stated, that he was in the habit of corresponding with Mr. Sim during the pubHca- tion of the Harp of Kenfrewshire — that he sent him the song of Kelvin Grove, with another song, to be published anonymously in that work — tnat Mr. Sim having transcribed them both, they were found among his papers after his departure, and naturally enough supposed to be his own. So satisfactorily did Mr. Lyle establish his claim, that Mr. Purdie, music-seller, Edinburgh, T^-as induced to become the purchaser of the copyright from him, although he had previously bargained for the copyright with Mr. Sim's executors for a few pounds. — Kelvin Grove, a picturesque and richly wooded deU through which the river Kelvin flows, lies at a very short distance to the north-west of Glasgow, and will in all probability scon be com - prehended within the wide-spreading boundaries of the city itself. At one part of it (>'orth Wood- side) is an old well, called the Pear-Tree-Well, from a pear-tree which formerly grew over it. This used to be, and still is to some extent, a favourite place of resort for young parties fivin the city on summer afternoons. The tune of Kelvin Grove, or "Bonnie lassie, O," was origi- nally arranged with an accompaniment for the piano-furte by K. A. Smith, and subsequently by Mr. Braham. We give here the author's own version of the song, from a small collection of Ballads and Si ngs, original .ind selected, published by himself in 1827. It differs somewhat from tlie copy in "The Harp of Kenfrewshire," which has only six stanzas.] .Let us haste to Kelvin grove, bonnie lassie, O, Through its mazes let us rove, bonnie lassie, O, Where the rose in all her pride. Paints the hollow dingle side, "SThere the miduight (airies glide, bonnie lassie, , isnt SCOTTISH SONGS. I/et lis wander by the mill, bonnie lassie, O, To the cove beside the rill, bonnie lassie, O. Where the glens rebound the call. Of the roaring waters' fall. Thro' the mountain's ifccky hall, bonnie lassie, 0. O Kelvin banks are fair, bonnie lassie, O, "VVTien in summer we are there, bonnie lassie, O, There, the Hay -pink's crimson plume. Throws a soft, but sweet perfume, Eound the yellow banks of broom, bonnie lassie, O. Though I dare not call thee mine, bonnie lassie, O, As the smile of fortune's thine, bonnie lassie, O, Yet with fortune on my side, I could stay thy father's pride. And win thee for my bride, bonnie lassie, O. But the frowns of fortune lower, bonnie lassie, O, <)n thy lover at this hour, bonnie lassie, O, Ere yon golden orb of day "Wake the warblers on the spray. From this land I must away, bonnie lassie, O. Then farewell to Kelvin grove, bonnie lassie, O, And adieu to all I love, bonnie lassie, 0, To the river winding clear. To the fragrant scented breer, Even to thee of all most dear, bonnie lassie, 0. "When upon a foreign shore, bonnie lassie, 0, ShouU 1 fall midst battle's roar, bimnie lassie, O, Then, Helen ! shouldst thou hear Of thy lover on his bier. To his memory shed a tear, bonnie lassie, 0. CiEeksmi? ^limme^f. [tnoMAs Ltle. — Air, "Highland Harry back a^ain." First published in "The Portfolio of British Songs," Glasgow, 1824,] Is Flora's train the graces wait. And chase rude winter from the plain; A ? on she roves, the wild iiowers spring. And welcome summer back again: Spring dances o'er the plain. Flowering all the woodland scene ; Then join with me, my lovely May, Xo welcome summer back again. The budding wild will soon perfume The air, when balm'd by April's rain, '3Iong banks clad o'er wi' waving broom. We'll welcome summer back again : In yon sequester'd scene. The maris sings his cheerful strain. And there we'll meet, my lovely May, To welcome summer back again. "When yellow cowslips scent the mead. Then gladness o'er the plains will rtign. And soon, my love ! we'll pu' the flowers. And welcome summer back again : Spring dances o'er the plain. Flowering all the woodland scene. With blooming garlands in her train. To welcome summer back again. MlUMOTI*' [Thomas Ltle. — Dunoon is a favourite water- ing-place on the shore of the' firth of Clyde, in Argjleshire. " The Glow-wor^," says Mr. Lyle, "on mild summer evenings, especially after a shower of rain, is to be found in great abun- dance among the long grass and moss between Dunoon and the Holy-Loch, where the surround- ing scenerj' renders this singular insect doubly interesting. The female is larger than the male, and emits a beautiful light (apparently phospho- rescent, but not really so,) for the purpose of attracting the male ; this issues from the four last rings of the abdomen : the male has a power of emitting a feeble light, but very disproportionate to that of the female. Two or three of these insects inclosed in a glass vase, wiU give a light sufficient to enable a perscm to read in the darkest night. There are fifty-two species of this insect scattered over the four quarters of the globe, of which two only are found in our o«-n countrj-, viz. the Glow-worm and the Fire -fly."] See the glow-worm lits her fairy lamp. From a beam of tlie rising moon ; On the heathy shore at evening fall, 'Tavist Holy-Loch, and dark Dunoon : Her f:dry lamp's pale silvery glare. From the dew-clad, moorland flower. Invite my wandering footsteps there. At the lonely twilight hour. SCOTTISH SONGS. 19' "When the distant beacon's revolving light Bids my lone steps seek the shore. There the rush of the flow-tide's rippling wave Jleets the dash of the fisher's oar; And the dim-seen steam-boat's hollow sound. As she sea-ward tracks her way ; All else are asleep in the still calm night. And robed in the misty grey. "When the glow-worm lits her elfin lamp. And the night breeze sweeps the hill ; Its sweet, on thy rock-bound shores, Dunoon, To wander at feney's will, liliza ! ^ith thee, in this solitude. Life's cares would pass away. Like the fleecy clouds over grey Kilmun, At the wake of early day. 31 mm km^ tmUnt. [Thomas Ltlk.] 1 ANCE knew content, but its smiles are awa'. The broom blooms bonnie, an' grows sae fair; 3;ach tried friend forsakes me, sweet Phebe an' a', >o I ne'er will gae down to the broom ony mair. How light was my step, and my heart, O how gay ! The broom blooms bonnie, the broom blooms fair; Till Phebe was crown'd our queen of the 3Iay, When the bloom o' the broom strew'd its sweets on the air. She was mine when the snaw-draps hung white on the lea. Ere the broom bloom'd bonnie, an' grew sae fair ; Till 3Iay-day, anither wysed Phebe &ae me. So I ne'er will gae down to the broom ony mair. Sfng, Love, thy fond promises melt like the snaw, ^\'hen broom waves lonely, an' bleak blaws the For Phebe to me now is naething ava, [air ; If my heart could say, " Gang to the broom nae ijrst I trow that thy dreams in the night hover o'er. Where broom blooms bonnie, and grows sae feir ; he swain (who, while waking, thou thinks of no more,) [ony mair?" ^Mli^p'ring, " Love, -will ye gang to the broom Xo ! Fare thee well, Phebe ; I'm owre wae to weep. Or to think o' the broom growing bonnie an' lair ; Since thy heart is anither's, in death I maun sleep, 'Keath the broom on the lea, an' the bawm sunny air. (®n t^? Hf st|) cf ^mvs^ [EiCHAKD Gall.— Time, " O, wat ye wha's in yon toun."] There's waefu' news in. yon town. As e'er the warld heard ava ; There's dolefu' news in yon town. For Eobbie's gane an' left then a'. How blythe it was to see his face Come keeking by the halkin wa* ! He ne'er was sweir to say the grace. But now he's gane an' left them a'. He was the lad wha made them glad, "Whanever he the reed did blaw : The lasses there may drap a tear. Their funny friend is now awa'. Nae daffin now in yon town ; The browster-TNTfe gets leave to draw An' drink hersel', in yon town. Sin' Robbie gaed an' left them a'. The lawin's canny counted now. The bell that tinkled ne'er will draw. The king will never get his due. Sin" Eobbie gaed and left them a'. The squads o' chiels that lo'ed a splore On winter e'enings, never ca ; Their blythesome moments a' are o'er. Sin' Eobbie's gane an' left them a". Frae a' the een in yon town 1 see the tears o' sorrow fa' , An' weel they may, in yon town, Nae canty sang they hear ava- Their e'eniug sky begins to lour. The murky clouds thegither draw; 'Twas but a blink afore a shower. Ere Eobbie gaed and left them a'. 19G SCOTTISH SONGS The landwart hizzy winna speak ; Ye'U see her sitting like a craw Amang tlie reek, while rattons squeak— Her dawtit bard is now awa'. But could I lay my hand upon His whistle, keenly wad I blaw. An' screw about the auld drone. An' lilt a lightsome spring or twa. If it were sweetest aye whan wat. Then wad I ripe my pouch, an' draw. An' steep it weel amang the maut. As lang's I'd saxpence at my ca\ For warld's gear I dinna care , My stock o' that is unco sma'. Come, friend, we'll pree the barley -liree To his braid fame that's now awa". [Richard Gall.] As I came through Glendochart vale, ^^'^lare mists o'ertap the mountains grey A wee bit lassie met my view. As cantily she held her way : Hut O sic love each feature bore, She made my saul wi' rapture glow ! An' aye she spake sae lund and sweet, I couldpa keep iny heart in tow. O speak na o' your courtly queans ! My wee bit lassie fools them a' : The little cuttie's done me skaith, She's stown my thoughtless heart awa'. Her smile was like the grey-e'ed morn, Whan spreading on the mountain green ; Her voice saft as the mavis' sang ; An' sweet the twinkle o' her een : A boon her brow, sae bonnie brent. Her raven locks waved o'er her e'e ; An' ilka slee bewitching glance Conveyed a dai-t o' love to me. O speak na o' your courtly queans, (Sec. , The lasses fair in Scotia's isle. Their beauties a' what tongue can tell ? Hut o'er the fairest o' them a' Jly wet bit lassie bears the b the publisher of that work. From thence it has been copied into the later editions of the works of Bums. In publishing the song in this manner, Mr. Gall probably thought that it might, under the sanction of a name known to the world, ac- quire some notice ; while, in other circumstances, its fate might have been ' to waste its sweetness in the desert air.' "] ScEXKS of woe and scenes of pleasure. Scenes that former thoughts renew. Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure, Now a sad and tast adieu I Bonnie Doon, sae sweet at gloamin". Fare thee weel before I gang ! Bonnie Doon, whare, early roaming. First I weaved the rustic sang ! Bowers, adieu ! whare love dccojing. First enthr.ai'd this heart o' mine ; There the saftest sweets eiyoying, Sweets that memory ne'er sliall tine. 193 SCOTTISH SONGS. Friends, sae near niy bosom ever. Ye ba'e render'd moments dear, But, alas I whan forced to sever. Then the stroke, oh ! how severe. Friends, that parting tear, reserve it. Though 'tis doubly dear to me ; Could I think I did deserve it. How much happier would I be ! Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure. Scenes that former thoughts renew. Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure, Now a sad and last adieu ! ^|)f Ptile ©' t|)e ^\m. [Written by James Macdonald. — Set to music by J. Fisher.] BONNIE'S the lily that blooms in the valley. And fair is the cherry that grows on the tree ; The primrose smiles sweet as it welcomes the simmer. And niodest's the wee gow^an's love-talking e'e; Mair dear to my heart is that lowne cosy dingle Whar late i' the gloamin', by the lanely " Ha' den," 1 met wi' the fairest e'er bounded in beauty. By the banks o' the Endrick, the pride o' the glen. She's pure as the spring cloud that smiles in the welUin, An' biythe as the lambkin that sports on the lea ; Her heart is a fount rinnin' o^vre wi' affection ; And a warld o' feeling is the love o' her e'e. The prince may be proud o' his vast hoarded trea- sures — The heir o' his grandeur an' hie pedigree ; They ktuna the happiness dwalt in my bosom When alane wi' the angel C lave and C le. I've seen the day dawn, in a shower drappin' goud. The grass spread wi' dew, like a wide siller sea. The clouds shinin' bricht in a deep amber licht. And the earth blushin' back to the glad lift on hie; I've dream'd o' a palace wi' gem -spangled ha's. And proud wa's a* glitterin' in rich diamond sheen, "VVi' towers shinin' fair thro' the rose-tinted air. And domes o' rare pearls and rubies atween : I've sat in a garden mid earth's gayest flowers, A' gaudily shawin' their beauteous dyes. And breathing isi calm the air's fragrant balm, Jjike angels asleep on the plains o'.the skies ; Yet the garden and palace and day's rosy dawning Though in bless'd morning dreams they should aft come again. Can ne'er be sae sweet as the bonuie young lassie That bloom'd by the Endrick, the pride o' the glen. The exile, in sleep, haunts the land o' his fathers. The captive's ae dream is his hour to be free. The weary heart langs for the morning ray's comin'. The oppress'd for his sabbath o' sHcet Ubertie, But my life's only hope, my heart's only prayer. Is the day that I'll ca' the young lassie my ain. Though a' should forsake me, ^vi' her I'll be happy On the banks C the Endrick, the pride o' the glen . %^U h timi^* [Words by Daniel Weir, Greenock. — Music by W. H. Moore.] Love is timid. Love is shy. Can you tell me, tell me why ? Ah ! tell me, why true love should be Afraid to meet the kindly smile Of him she loves, from him would flee. Yet thinks upon him all the while ? Can you tell me, tell me why Love is timid. Love is shy ? Love is timid. Love is shy. Can you tell me, tell me why ? True love, they say, delights to dwell In some sequester'd lonely bower ; With him she loves where none can tell. Her tender look in passion's hour. Can you tell me, tell me why Love is timid. Love is shy ? Love is timid. Love is shy. Can you tell me, tell me why Love, like the lonely nightingale. Will pour her heart when all is lone ; Nor will repeat, amidst the vale. Her notes to any but to one. Can you tell me, tell me why Love is timid. Love is shy ? SCOTTISH SONGS 190 Wo2 §h'x2t d €KhttvAu. ^ [The author of this song was James Broww, long known in the west of Scotland in his profes- sional capacities of musician and danelng-master. In his latter days he was afflicted with blindness, and kept a small public house, in Jamaica Street, Glasgow, where he died in 1^. He left a great number of songs in manuscript.] Since uncle's death I've lads anew. That never came before to woo ; But to the laddie I'll be true. That lo'ed me first of onie, ; I've lads anew since I gat gear. Before my price they'd hardly speer; But nane to me is half so dear. As my true lover Johnnie, 0. "Weel do I mind o' auld langsyne. How they would laugh at me and mine ; Kow I'U pay them back in their ain coin. And show them I lo'e Johnnie, 0. "Weel mind I, in my youthfu' days, How happy I've been gath'rin' slaes. And row in' on yon breckan braes, Wi' the flower of Caledonia. The Laird comes o'er and tells my dad. That surely I am turning mad. And tells my mam I lo'e a lad That's neither rich nor bonnie, O. The Laird is but a sUly gowk. For tho' my Johnnie has nae stock. Yet he's the floWr o' a' the flock. And the pride of Caledonia. When to the Laird I wrought for fee. He wadna look nor speak to me. But now at breakfast, dine, and tea. He'd fain mak' me his cronie, O ; But sure as gowd cures the heart-ach. It's only for my siller's sake ; The mair o' me that they a' make. The mair I lo'e my Johnnie, 0. But now my wedding day is set. When I'll be married to my pet. With pleasure I wUl pay the debt, I've awn sac lang to Johnnie, O. Come, fiddler, now cast aff your coat, We's dance a reel upon the spot. Play " Jockie's made a wedding o't," Or " Snod you» cockemonie," 0. Kow laddies keep your lasse? lill't. And lasses a' your coaties kilt. And let us ha'e a cantie lilt. Since I ha'e got my Johnnie, O ; I've got my heart's desire at last. Though many frowns between us past. And since we're tied baitb hard and fast. May peace crown Caledonia ! §©mr£2^2' iGlBSOH.] Cou'D I be glad or happy yestreen. When somebody wasna there. Cou'd I look blythe or cheery yestreen, Alas ; when my heart was sair. What need I think or care about ane, ■WTia maybe cares little for me ; — Ay! somebody's gotten my heart unsou^iit. An' what mair has a lassie to gi'e ? Somebody's words are wonderfu' words. They're wonderfu' words to hear ; Somebody's words can lighten the heart. Or fill the e'e wi* a tear. They may say's they like, they may do's they li'' are turned. The sketches of Maggy's wooers, and of the merry-makings held in her house, are of the richest and broadest description, while the touches of pathos that occur in paint- ing the after-desolation of Maggy's abode— " It's aye the dry floor, Meg's — the day e'er sa« drookin';" or the emptmess of her garner — — " the warst 's when the wee mouse looks out wi' a tear to her, Frae the meal-kist o' Maggy M^fene," are eminently striking. Indeed, the whole poem we consider to be of first rate excellence, and to the lovers of genuine Scottish idiom it must prove a rare, as to most of them it will be an original, treat. — The author of Maggy Maclane was James Mayne, for many years a small jobbing"printer in Glasgow, of which city he was a native. He died in the Island of Trinidad in 1842, whither he had gone some years previous, to edit a newspaper there. He was a nephew of John Mayne, author of " Logan Braes," &c.] DooN i" the glen by the lown o' the trees. Lies a wee theeket bield, Uke a bike for the bees; But the hinnie there skepp'd— gin ye're no dour to please— It's virgin Miss Maggy Maclane ! There's few seek Meg's shed noo, the simmer sun jookin' ; It's aye the dry floor, Meg's — the day e'er sae drookin' ! But the heather-blabs hing whare the red blude's been shooken I' bruilzies for Maggy Maclane ! Doon by Jfeg's howf-tree the gowk comes to woo ; But the corncraik's aye fley'd at her hallan-door joo! An' the red-breast ne'er cheeps but the weird's at his mou'. For the last o' the roses that's gane .' Nae trystin' at Meg's noo — nae Hallowe'en rockins ! Kae howtowdie guttlens — nae mart-puddin' yockins ! Nae bane 1' the blast's teeth blaws snell up Glendockens ! Clean bickers wi' Maggy Maclane i Meg's auld lyart gutcher swarTd dead i' the shawe : Her bein, fouthy minnie, — she's aff an' awa' ! The grey on her pow but a simmerly snaw : — The couthy, cosh Widow Maclane ! O titties be tentie ! though air i' the day wi' ye, — Think that the green grass may ae day be hay wi' ye ! — Think o' the leal minnie — mayna be aye wi' ye ! When sabbin' for Maggy Maclane. SCX)TTI3H SOXGS. 203 Lallan' joes — Hielan' joes — Meg ance had wale ; Fo'k wi' the siller, and chiefs -wi" the tail ! The yaud left the bum to drink out o' Meg's pail — The sheltie braw kent " the Maclane." Awa' owre the mulr they cam' stottin' an' stoicherin' ! Tramper an' traveller, a' beakin' an' broicherin' ! Cadgers an' cuddy-creels, oigherin' !— hoigherin' ! " The lanlowpers !" — quo Maggy Maclane. Cowtes were to fother : — Meg owre the bum flang ! IJowte were to tether : — Meg through the wood rang ! The widow she kenn'd-na to bless or to bann ! Sic waste o' gude wooers to hain ! Yet, aye at the souter, Sleg grumph'd her! an" grumph'd her! The loot-shouther'd wabster, she humph'd her ! and humph'd her ! The lamiter tailor, she stump'd her ! an' stump'd her ! Her minnie might groo or grane ! The tailor he likit cockleekie broo ; An' doon he cam' wi' a beck an' a boo : — Quo' Meg, — " We'se sune tak' the cleckon aff you;" — An' plump ! i' the bum he's gane I The widow's cheek redden'd ; her heart it play'd thud I aye ; Her garters she cuist roon' his neck like a wuddie ! She linkit him oot ; but wi' wringin' his duddies. Her weed-ring it's burst in twain ! Wowf was the widow — to haud nor to bing ! The tailor he's aff, an' he's coft a new ring ! '. Th' deil squeeze his craig's no wordy the string ! — He's waddet auld 'W^idow Maclane ! Anld ? — an' a bride ! Na, ye'd pitied the tea-pat I O saut were the skadyens ! but balm's in Glenlivat ! The haggis was bockin' oot bluters o' bree-£at. An' hoteh'd to the piper its lane !— Doon the bumside, i' the lown o' the glen, Meg reists her bird-lane, i' a but-an-a-ben : ^ Steal doon when ye dow, — i' the dearth, gentlemen, — Te'se be awmous to Maggy Maclane ! Lane banks the virgin — nae white pows now keekin Through key-hole an' cranny; nae cash blade stan's sleekin' His nicherin' naigie, his gaudamons seekin' ! Alack for the days that are gane ! Lame's fa'n the souter ! — some steek i" his thie ! The cooper's clean gyte, wi' a hoopin' coughee ! The smith's got sae blin' — wi' a spunk i' his e'e ! — He's tyned glint o' Macgy Maclane ! Meg brake the kirk pew-door — Auld Beukie leuk'd near-na her ! She dunkled her pattie — Young Sneckie ne'er si)eir'd for her ! But the warsfs when the wee mouse leuks oot, wi' a tear to her, Frae the meal-kist o' Maggy Maclane ! 204 SCOTTISH SONGS. ilufe W^Mn ^icag. [There is an old tune, called " The Bridegroom greits when the sun gaes down," united to old ■words of a somewhat indelicate character. About the end of 1771 or beginning of 1772, a young lady in Fifeshire, the daughter of a noble family there, and then only in her twenty-first year, being very fond of the tune, but scrupulous about the words, thought she would try her hand at making new words to it. She accordingly set to work, and produced a simple ballad of some eight or nine verses, which, on becoming known, was received with rapture wherever it spread — was trans- lated into almost every European language — and was made the subject of dramas and of paintings innumerable. This little ballad, which records a tragedy in domestic life unhappily of no uncommon occurrence and yet of heart-rending pathos, was called " Auld Eobin Gr.iy," and the name of iu authoress was Lady Ann Lindsay, daughter of the Earl of Balcarras, by his countess, Ann Dalrym- ple, daughter of Sir Robert Dalrymple of Castletoun, Bart. She was born on the 8th Dec. 1750, and was married in 1793 to Sir Andrew Barnard, a son of the bishop of Limerick, and Colonial Secretary at the Cape of Good Hope. Her husband died ih 1807 without issue; her own death did not take place till the 6th of May, 1825, at Berkley Square, London, where she had long resided. " Lady Ann Barnard's face," says Jlr. Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe, " was pretty, and replete with vivacity ; her figure light and elegant; her conversation lively; and, like the rest of her family, peculiarly agreeable. Though she had wit, she never said ill-natured things to show it ; she gave herself no airs either as a woman of rank or as the authoress of Auld Eobin Gray." — Shortly before her death, she made a communication to Sir Walter Scott, containing a revised copy of Auld Robin Gray, with two verses of a continuation or second part. These were printed in a thin 4to volume for the Bannatyne Club. In the preface is inserted a letter from the authoress, from which we make the following ex- tract. — " Robin Gray, so called from its being the name of the old herd at Balcarras, was born [writ- ten] soon after the close of the year 1771. My sister Jlargaret had married, and accompanied her husband to London;.! was melancholy, and endeavoured to amuse myself by attempting a few poe- tical trifles. There was an ancient Scotch melody, of which 1 was passionately fond. , who lived before your day, used to sing it to us at Balcarras. She did not object to its having impro- per words, though I did. I longed to sing old Sophy's air to difiercnt words, and give to its plaintive tones some little history of virtuous distress in humble life, such as might suit it. While attempting to effect this in my closet, I called to my Uttle sister, now Lady Hardwicke, who was the only person near me, 'I have been ^vriting a ballad, my dear; I am oppressing my heroine with many misfor- tunes. I have already sent her Jamie to sea — and broken her father's arm — and made her mother fall sick — and given her Auld Robin Gray for her lover; but I wish to load her with a fifth b'orrow within tl^four lines, poor thing ! Help me to one.' — ' Steal the cow, sister Anne," said the little ElizabetW The cow was immediately liJUd by me, and the song completed. At our fireside, and amongst our neighbours, ' Auld Robin Gray' was always called for. I was pleased in secret with the approbation it met with ; but such was my dread of being suspected of wTiting anything, perceiving the shyness it created in those who could write nothing, that I carefully kept my own secret. . . . Meantime, little as this matter sijems to have been worthy of a dispute, it afterwards became a party question between the sixteenth and eighteenth centuries. ' Robin Gray' was either a very ancient ballad, composed perhaps by David Rizzio, and a great curiosity, or a very modern matter, and no curiosity at all. I was persecuted to avow whether I had written it or not, — where 1 had got it. Old Sophy kept my counsel, and I kept my own, in spite of the gratification of seeing a reward of twenty guineas offered in the newspapers to the person who should ascertain the point past a doubt, and the still more flattering circumstance of a visit from Mr. Jerningham, secretary to the Antiqua- rian Society, who endeavoured to entrap the truth from me in a manner I took amiss. Had he asked me the question obligingly, I should have told him the fact distinctly and confidentially. The annoy- ance, however, of this important ambassador from the Antiquaries, was amply repaid to me by the noble exhibition of the ' Ballat of Auld Robin Gray's Courtship,' as performed by dancing-dogs under my window. It proved its popularity from the highest to the lowest, and gave me pleasure while I SCOTTISH SONGS. 20o hu?ged myself in my obscurity." It remains to be added, that although '•' Auld Kobin Gray" was originally written to the old tune of " The Bridegroom greits when the sun gaes down," it is now, with the exception of the first verse, which retains the old air, universally sung to a beautiful modem tune, composed by the Eev. William Leeves, rector of 'W'rington, who died in 1S38. aged 80. We do not here give the continuation or second part of " Auld Eobin Gray," in which the old gentleman is made to die, and " young Jamie" to marry the widow, as it is admitted on all hands to be a failure, and to destroy totally the beauty of the original story. In the present version we follow chiefly the old reading, which differs somewhat from that given by the authoress when late in life, as the alterations she then made do not appear to us to be improvements.] When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye a' at hame, WTien a' the weary world to sleep are gane. The waes o' my heart fa' In showers ftae my e'e. While my gudeman lies sound by me. Toung Jamie lo'ed me weel, and sought me for his bride ; But saving a crown he had naething else beside. To make the crown a pound, my Jamie gaed to sea ; And the cro\vn and the pound, they were baith for me I He hadna been awa' a week but only twa. When my mither she feU sick, and the cow was stown awa ; My father brak his arm — my Jamie at the sea — And Auld Eobin Gray came a-courting me. My father couldna work— my mither couldna spin ; I toil'd day and night, but their bread I couldna win ; Auld Sob maintain'd them baith, and, wi' tears in his e'e. Said, " Jenny, for their sakes, will you marry me ?% My heart it said na, and I look'd for Jamie back ; But hard blew the winds, and his ship was a wrack : His ship it was a wrack ! Why didna Jenny dee ? And wherefore was 1 spar'd to cry, Wae is me ! My father argued sair — my mither didna speak. But she look'd in my face tUl my heart was like to break ; They gied him my hand, but my heart was in the sea ; And so Auld Eobin Gray, he was gudeman to me. I hadna been his wife, a week but only four, WTien moumfu' as I sat on the stane at the door, I saw my Jamie's ghaist — I couldna think it he. Till he said, " I'm come hame, my love, to marry thee !" sair, sair did we greet, and mickle did we say : Ae kiss we took — nae mair — I bad him gang away. 1 wish that I were dead, but I'm no like to dee ; And why do I live to say, Wae is me .' I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin ; I darena think o' Jamie, for that wad be a sin. But I will do my best a gude wife aye to be, For Auld Eobin Gray, he is kind to me. 206 SCOTTISH SONGS. 0*cif fb2 latf o't. [The popular tune called " A^Tiistle o'er the lave o't " was composed about 1720, by John Bruce, a musician belonging to Dumfries. The old words are unfit for pubUcation. The following was written by Burns for Johnson's Museum.] First when JIaggie was my care. Heaven, I thought, was in her air ; Kow we're married — speir nae mair ; But whistle o'er the lave o't. ]Meg w:is meek and 3Ieg was mild. Sweet and harmless as a chUd ; Wiser men than me's beguiled ; Sae, whistle o'er the lave o't. How we live, my Meg and me. How we love, and how we gree, I carena by how few may see ; Sae, whistle o'er the lave o't. "Wha I wish were maggots' meat. Dished up in her winding-sheet, I could write — but Meg maun see't ; Sae, whistle o'er the lave o't. ^|}!? Ehb^ ci* ^0TOe$^- Wlm. [This song, to the tune of " 'Whistle o'er the lave o't," was written by a Scottish clergj-man at Liverpool many years ago, and sung at an anni- versary dinner held there in commemoration of the birth -day of Robert Burns.] ^^■oo, by my troth, ilk brither dear, I trow ye re a' right welcome here; We'll prove to mirth our title clear. But winna prove the slave o't. Here's to the land o' bonnets blue. Tartan kilts and tarry woo' ; O for a waught o' mountain dew. To toast the guid and brave o't. Dowf and dowie be his lot, AVhae'er denies a brither Scot, AVi' helping han' to share a groat. If want should roak' him crave o't. Here's to the land. &c. As for the honest feeling heart, >Iay poortith never mak" it smart ; But heaven its best o' bliss impart. As muckle's he would have o't. Here's to the land, &c. The war'ly wretch may fume and fret, And grip and pinch baith air and late ; But what o' earth at last he'll get Will only be a grave o't. Here's to the land, &c. May we, when eild shall bleach our crown Wliite as our native thistle's down. Mount liigh to life and light aboon. There to enjoy the lave o't. Here's to the land, &c. Then fill a bowl, and while we drink. Well rivet closer friendship's Unk, TUl joys run ower, and cares deep sink Beneath the whirling wave o't. Here's to the land, &c. [Written by EoBEnTliOcnoKE, Glasgow, about the year 1S02, to the tune of " Whistle o'er the lave o't." — Mr. Lochore is author of Margaret and the Minister, Highland Donald, The Magic Pill, and other metrical tales. — Also, The Auld Sark Sleeve, A Landscape, &c.] Quoth I?ab to Kate, My sonsy dear, I've woo'd ye mair than ha'f a-year. An' if ye'd wed me ne'er cou'd speer, Wi' blateness, an' the care o't. Now to the point: sincere I'm wi't: Will ye be my ha'f-marrow, sweet ? Shake ban's, and say a bargain be't. An' ne'er think on the care o't. Na, na, quo' Kate, I winna wed, C sic a snare I'll aye be rede ; How mony, thochtless, are misled By marriage, an' the care o't ! A single life's a life o' glee, A wife ne'er think to mak' o' me, Frae toil an' sorrow I'll keep firee. An' a' the dool an' care o't. SCOTTISH S0KG3. "VVeel, wee], said Robin, in reply. Ye ne'er again shall me deny. Ye may a tootWess maiden die For me, I'll tak' nae care o't. Fareweel for ever ! — aflf I hie ; — Sae took his leave without a sigh : Oh! stop, quo' Kate, I'm yours, I'U try The married life, an' care o't. Eab wheel't about, to Kate cam' back. An' ga'e her moa' a hearty smack. Syne lengthen'd out a lovin' crack 'Bout marriage an' the care o't. Though as she thocht she didna speak. Ah' lookit unco mirn an' meek. Yet blythe was she wi' Eab to cleek In marriage, wi' the care o't^ 'ITitioxiEE. [William Glex. — Air, " Whistle o'er the lave i o't." — This song was written on the occasion of the battle of Tittoria, at which the 71st or Glas- j gow regiment of light iniimtry played a distin- | guished part.- "We have been told, that when first | produced at the old theatre in Queen street, ! Glasgow, the song was received with rapturous ; applause, and had a run of many nights.} I Sing a' ye bards wi' loud acclaim. High giory gie to gallant Grahame, Heap laurels on our Marshall's fame, VThn conquer'd at Tittoria. Triumphant freedom smiled on Spain, An' raised her stately form again, V.Tian the British Lion shook his mane Un the mountains o' Tittoria. Let blnst'rin' Suchet crously crack. Let Joseph rin the coward's track. And Jourdan wish his baton back. He left upon Tittoria , If eer they meet their worthy king. Let them dance rouu' him in a ring. An' some Scottish piper play the spring He blew them at Tittoria. Gi's truth an' honour to the Dane, ca e German's monarch heart and brain; But aye in sic a cause as Spain, Gi'e Britons a Tittoria. The English Rose was ne'er s.ie re*<>., For dear, dear to me is my ain ingle-side. ..^ [A ^■^^ B^tinl €u^. T page 192 will be found the original version of this popular song, by Captain Charles Gsat, which was written for the first anniversary of the fe Anstruther Musomanik Society, in October, 1814 ■""- , We here give the author's latest improved copy, , ' ■ ! as it appears in his " Lays and Lyrics." The two ^ I versions, it will be seen, differ materially from each ether. — Air, " Andro and his cutty gun."] Bltthe, blythe, and merry are we, BIythe are we, ane and a' ; Aften ha'e we cantie been. But sic a nicht we never saw ! The g'.oamin saw us a' sit down. And meikle mirth has been our fa'; Then let the sang and toast gae roun' 'Till chanticleer begins to craw ! Blythe, blythe, and merry are we — Pick and wale o' merry men ; What care we though the cock may craw, ~^ We're masters o' the tappit-hen '. The auld kirk bell has chappit twal — ATha cares though she had chappit twa I We're licht o' heart and winna part, Though time and tide may rin awa : Blythe, blythe, and merry are we — Hearts that care can never ding ; Then let time pass — we'll st^al his glass. And pu' a feather Crae his wing ; Kow is the vritchin' time of nicht. When ghaists, they say, are to be seen ; And fays dance to the glow-worm's licht Wi' fairies in their gowns of green. Blythe, blythe, and merry are we — Ghaists may tak' their midnicht stroll ; Witches ride on grooms astride. While we sit by the witehiu' bowl ! Tut ! never speir how wears the mom— The moon's still blinkin' j' the sky. And, gif like her we fill our horn, I dinna doubt we'll drink it drj- : Blythe, blythe, and merry are we — Blythe out-owre the barley bree ; And let me tell, the moon hersel" Aft dips her toom horn i' the sea .' Then fill us up a social cup. And never mind the dapple-dawn.- Just sit awhile — the sun may smile And licht us a' across the lawn Blj-the, bh-the, and merry are we ;— See ! the sun is keekin" ben ; Gi'e time his glass — for months may pass Ere we ha'e sic a. nicht again ' M ',','^ ?;!^j^^-m<^^^C'ow Allister has tuned his pipes. And thrang as bumbees frae their bykes. The lads and lasses loup the dykes. And gather on the green. O AUister M'Allister, &c: The miller, Hab, was fidgin* fain To dance the Highland fling his lane. He lap as high as Elspa's wame. The like was never seen ; As round about the ring he whuds. And cracks his thumbs and shakes his duds. The meal flew frae his tail in cluds. And blinded a' their een. O Allister M'Allister, & ^ xks 'm>^^^^^:mj^mm:s^^^^m^ 1?f6^^». 'S'^^^'i^ 2U «... •:■' (l^ ?^ wm.t. [Written by Burns for Thomson's collection, to the beautiful old tune called " Fee him, father."]. Thou hast left me ever, Jamie, Thou hast left me ever ; Thou hast left me ever, Jamie, Thou hast left me ever. Aften hast thou vow'd that death Only should us sever; Kow thou'st left thy lass for aye — I maun see thee never, Jamie, I'll see thee never. Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, Thou hast me forsaken ; Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, Thou hast me forsaken. Thou canst love another jo. While my heart is breaking : • Soon my weary e'en I'll close. Never more to waken, Jamie. Never more to waken. [James Hogg.] KEN ye Meg C Marley glen, The bonny blue-e'ed dearie ? She's play'd Vbe deil amang the men. An' a' the land's grown.eery. She's stown the " Bangor" frae the clerk, An' snool'd him wi' the shame o't; The minister's fa'n through the text. An' Jleg gets a' the blame o't. The ploughman ploughs without the sock ; The gadman whistles sparely ; The shepherd pines amang his flock. An' turns his e'en to Marley; The tailor lad's fa'n ower the bed; The cobler ca's a parley ; The weaver's neb's out through the web. An' a' for Meg o' Marley. What's to be done, for our gudeman Is flyting late an' early P He rises but to curse an' ban, An' sits down but to ferly. But ne'er had love a brighter lowe Than light his torches sparely At the bright e'en an' blythesome brow O' bonny Meg o' Marley. i^HECg. [Written by Burns for Thomson's collection, to the tune of " The Quaker's Wife." Clariuda , (Agnes M'Lehose) is the subject of tlie song.] Thine am I, my faithful fair, Thine, my lovely Nancy; Ev'ry pulse along my veins. Every roving fancy. To thy bosom lay my heart, There to throb and languish: Though despair had wrung his core, That would heal its anguish. Take .iway these rosy lips. Rich with balmy treasure ; Turn away thine eyes of love. Lest I die with pleasure. What is life when wanting love ? Night without a morning : Love's the cloudless summer suiw Nature gay adorning. , % u'miz %t lilfe. [Modem Jacobite song.] He's owre the hills that I lo'e weel ; He's owre the hills we darena name. He's owre the hills ayont Dumblane, Wha soon will get his welcome hame. My father's gane to fight for him. My brithers winna bide at hame. My mither greets and prays for them, And 'deed she thinks they're no to blame, He's owre the hills, &c. -^^- m.^mx^^:^^^^^---^^^-^'^''^^'' SCOTTISH S0NG3. 215 The \S'hig3 may scofif, the Whigs may jeer^ Bat, ah ; that luve maun be sincere, AVhich still keeps true whate'er betide. An' for his sake leaves a' beside. He's owTe the hills, &c. His right these hills, his right these plains ; O'er Highland hearts secure he reigns; Vvfcat lads e'er did, oxir lads will do : Were I a lad, I'd follow him too. He's owre the hills, &c. Sae noble a look, sae princely an air, Sae gallant and bold, sae young and sae feir; Oh : did you but see him, ye'd do as we've done ; Hear him but ance, to his standard you'll run. He's owre the hills, &c. [James Hogg.] AVheke the pools are bright and deep, ^.: • Where the grey trout hes asleep, V -^ j Up the river and o'er the lea, ^j;) That's the way for BiUy and me. "VMiere the blackbird sings the latest, Adhere the hawthorn blooms the sweetest, \A"here the nestUngs chirp and flee. That's the way for Billy and me. Where the mowers mow the cleanest. Where the hay Ues thick and greenest ; i^ j There to trace the homeward bee, ^~~l( That's the way for BUly and me. Where the hazel bank is steepest, W'nere the shadow falls the deepest, ■Where the clustering nuts fall free. That's the way for BiUy and me. Why the boys should drive away Little sweet maidens from the play. Or love to banter and fight so well. That's the thing I never could tell. But this I know, I love to play. Through the meadow, among the hay ; TJp the water and o'er the lea. That's the way for BUly and me. Jfg ^f)2RUX, [Writtkk by Thomas Atkinson. Set to music by T. M'Farlane. Mr. Atkinson was a bookseller in Glasgow, and author of a vast variety of fugi- tive pieces in prcse and verse. He died of pulmo- ' nary disease whUe on his passage to Barbadoes for j the benefit of his health, on the 10th of October, I 1833, in the 32d year of his age.] ; She's aff and awa' like the lang summer day, I And our hearts and our hills are now L-inesome I and dreary ; [brae. The sun-blinks o' June will come back ower the But lang for blj-the Mary fu' mony may weary ! For mair hearts than mine Kenn'd o' nane that were dearer ; But nane mair will pine For the sweet Mary Shearer! She cam' wi' the spring just like ane o' its flowers. And the blue bell and Mary baith blossom'd thegither ; The bloom o' the mountain again wiU be ours. But the rose C the valley nae mair will come hither! Their sweet breath is fled — Her kind looks atiU endear her ; For the heart maun be dead That forgets Mary Shearer ! Than her brow ne'er a fairer wi' jewels was hung ; An e'e that was brighter ne'er glanced on a lover ; Sounds s*or crowing cock, nor dawning mom. Disturbs the worm's dark revelry. For they were na fou, na, nae that fou. But clay-cauld death has clos"J ilk e'e. And, waefu', now the gowden mom Beams on the graves C a' the three. Kae mair in learning 'WUlie toils, Kor Allan wakes the melting lay, >"or Rab, wi' £aney-witching wiles. Beguiles the hour o' dawning day. ' For though they were na very fou. That wicked wee drap in the e"e Has done its turn — utjtimely, now The green grass waves o'er a" the three. [The original words of the fine old Scotch air called " The iliU, MUl, 0," are rather coarse and indelicate. The same objection holds, though in a smaller degree, to Eamsay's version of "' The MUl, Mill, 0," beginning, " Beneath a green shade I fand a fair maid "Was sleeping sound and still, 0." But the words of Burns to the same tune, which he wrote for Thomson's collection, are fortunately beyond the reach of cavil, being alike remarkable for purity of thought and diction. " Bums, I have been informed," (thus writes a Durafines- shire clergyman to Thomson,) " was one summer evening in the inn at Brownhill, with a couple of friends, when a poor way-worn soldier passed the window. Of a sudden it struck the poet to call him in, and get the recital of his adventures; after hearing which he all at cince fell into one of those fits of abstraction, not unusual to him. He was lifted U> the region where he had his garland and his singing-robes about him, and the result was this admirable song he sent you for ' The Mill, aiill, O.' "] "When wild war's deadly blast was blawn. And gentle peace returning, "Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless, " And mony a widow mourning : I left the Unes and tented field, WTiere lang Id been a lodger ; My humble knapsack a' my wealth , A poor bat honest sodger. A leal light heart beat in my breast, 3Iy hands unstain'd wi' plunder; And for fair Scotia hame again, I cheery on did wander. I thought upon the banks o' Coil, I thought upon my Nancy ; I thought upon the witching smUe, That caught my youthful fiuicy. At length I reach'd the bonnie glen, "Where early life I sported ; I pas5'd the mill and trysting thorn, "Where Nancy oft I courted. Wha spied I but my ain dear maid, Down by her mother's dwelling ? And tum'd me round to hide the flood That in my e'e was swelling. Vi'V alter'd voice, quoth I, Sweet las~. Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom, O ! happy, happy may he be. That's dearest to thy bosom : My purse is light,- I've far to gang. And fain wad be thy lodger , I've served my king and country lang : Tak' pity on a sodger. Sae wistfully she gazed on me. And lovelier grew than ever ; Quoth she, A sodger ance I loved. Forget him will I never. Our humble cot and hamely fare, Te fireely shall partake o't ; That gallant badge, the dear cockade, Ye're welcome for the sake o't. She gazed— she redden'd like a rose — Syne pale as ony Uly , She sank within my arms, and cried, Art thou my ain dear W'illie ? By Him, who made yon sun and sky. By whom true love's regarded ; I am the man ! and thus may still True lovers be rewarded. The wars are o'er, and I'm come hame, And find thee still true-hearted ; Though poor in gear, we're rich in love. And mair we'se ne'er be parted. Qaoth she. My grandsire left me gowd, A mailin' plenish'd fairly; Then come, my &ithfu' sodger lad, Thou'rt welcome to it dearly. i <•-■■* 218 SCOTTISH SONGS. For gold the merchant ploughs the main. The farmer ploughs the manor ; But glory is the sodger's prize. The sodger's wealth is honour. The brave poor sodger ne'er despise. Nor count him as a stranger : Kemember he's his country's stay. In day and liour o' danger. A ^m% U JEatla. [Written by Sheridan Knowles, and first published in the " Edinburgh Literary Journal," 18:29. Set to music by J. T. May.] Ye're my ain, love, ye're my ain ! Forms sae fair, I ne'er see mony ; Hearts sae fond, sae true, love, nane ! Ye're my ain ! my dear ! my bouny ! Years a score, a score, amaist, Ha'e we lo'ed and lived thegither : . Ilk ane sweeter than the last; Ye're my ain, 1 ha'e nae ither! AVill we mak' the ae score twa ? Bounteous still's the power that's o'er us ! Bloomy summer's scarce awa' ; Mellow autumn's a' before us ; Long 'tis then tin winter, dear ! Comes wi' thoughtfu' smile and greets us ! Far's the close ! yet, far or near, Ye're my ain, where'er it meets us ! ^ ^ W^t <^u\=%mtU. [This is a song considerably older than the days of Ramsay, although it is sometimes attributed to him. The original verses are given in Thomson's Orpheus Caledonius (1725.) One or tnfo of these are too coarse for insertion. The present version is given from a collation of several copies. A " cock-laird" means a small proprietor.] A cbcK-LAiRD, fu' cadgie, Wi' Jennie did meet ; He hawsed, he kiss'd her. And ca'd her his sweet. t Wilt thou gae alang wi' me, Jennie, Jennie ? Thou'se be my ain lemmane, Jo Jennie, quo' he. If I gae alang wi' thee. Ye maunna fail To feast me wi' caddels And guid hackit kail. What needs a' this vanity, Jennie ? quo" he ; Is na bannocks and dribly-beai-ils Guid meat for thee .■' Gin I gang alang wi' you, I mauq ha'e a silk hood, A kirtle-sark, wyliecoat. And a silk snood. To tie up my hah' in A cockemonie. Hout awa', thou's gane wud, I trow, Jennie ! quo' he. Gin ye'd ha'e me look bonnie. And shine like the moon, I maun h-a'c katlets and patlets. And cam'rel-heel'd shoon ; Wi' craig-claiths and lug-babs. And rings twa or three. Hout the deil's in your vanitj-, Jennie! quo' he. And I m.iun ha'e pinners. With pearUns set roun", A skirt o' the puady, And a waistcoat o' brown. Awa' wi' sic v.n.nities, Jennie, quo' he. For curehes and kirtles Are fitter for thee. My lairdship can jield n;e • As muckle a-year. As baud us in pottage And guid knockit bear But, havin' nae tenants. Oh, Jennie, Jennie, To buy ought I ne'er have A penny, quo' he. The Borrowstown merchants Will sell ye on tick ; For we maun ha'e braw things. Although they should break : ^^^0^^m^ -»">■ '^'^^^^:M.m^m^0^s,^^m^i I dreamt that I rade in a chariot, A flunkie ahint me in green; AVTiile Geordie cried out, he was harriet, An' the saut tear ^¥as blindin' his een ; But though 'gainst my spendin' he swear aye, I'll ha'e frae him what ser's my turn; Xet him slip awa' whan he grows wearie. Shame fa' me 1 gin lang I wad mourn 1 But Geordie, while 3Ieg was haranguin', "Was cloutin' his breeks i' the bauks, I An' when a' his failins she brang in. His Strang, hazle-pike-staff he tais : Designin' to rax her a lounder. He chanced on the lather to shift. An' down frae the bauks, flat's a flounder. Flew, like a shot-starn frae the lift I But Meg, wi' the sight, was quite haster'd. An' nae doubt, was bannin' ill luck ; While the face o' poor Geordie was plaster'd. And his mou' was fiU'^ fu' wi' the Ack ! Confound ye ! cried Geordie, an' spat out The glaur that adown his beard ran ; — Preserve us ! quo' Sleg, as she gat out The door, — an' thus lost a gudeman ! [This is a fragment of a Jacobitical song con- tributed by Bums to Johnson's Museum. A Epurioiis addition to it is given by Cromek in his "Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song." The old tune of " Bannocks o' barley" was origi- naHy called "The Killogie," and was sung to words, here inadmissible, beginning, "A lad and a lassie lay in a KUlogie. " Hogg, in his Jacobite Relics, vol. i., gives a song to the same tune, called " Cakes of Crowdy," wrkten against the Revolution of 1688, but it is not worth quoting.] Baxnocks o' bear-meal, bannocks o* barley • Here's to the Highlandman's bannocks o' barley ! "W'ha in a bruljie will first cry a parley ? i^ever the lads wi' the bannocks o' barley. Bannocks o' bear-meal, bannocks o' barley ! Here's to the Highlandman's bannocks o' barley ! ^vv VTha, in his wae days, were loyal to Charlie ? Wha but the lads wi' the bannocks o' barley : r*N Bannocks o' bear-meal, &c. m ^X B m^ nsKe, [Attkibuted to the celebrated John, Di:kr OP Akgtll and Greenwich, who figures so favourably in the " Heart of Midlothian" as tbe patron of Jeanie Deans. He died in 1743, at tl^e age of sixty-three. A modified version of the song, by Sir Alex. Boswell, Bart, of Auchinleck^ is given in the 3d. vol. of George Thomson's col- lection. — Air, " Bannocks o' barley."] Argyll is my name, and you may think it strange. To live at a court, yet never to change ; A' falsehood and flattery I do disdain. In my secret thoughts nae guile does remain. My king and my country's foes 1 have faced. In city or battle I ne'er was disgraced; I do every thing for my country's weal. And feast upon bannocks C barley meal. Adieu to the courtie of London town, For to my ain countrie I will gang down ; At the sight of Kirkaldy ance again, I'U cock up my bonnet, and march amain. O, the muckle deil tak' a' your noise and strife : I'm fiiUy resolved for a country life, Whare a' the braw lasses, wha ken me weel. Will feed me wi' bannocks o' barley meal. I will quickly lay down my sword and my gun. And put my blue bonnet and my plaidie on ; With my silk tartan hose, and leather-heel'd shooo, And then I will look like a sprightly loon. And when I'm sae dress'd frae tap to tae. To meet my dear Maggie I vow I will gae, Wi' target and hanger hung down to my heel; And I'll feast upon bannocks o' barley meal. I'U buy a rich garment togi'e to my dear, A ribbon o' green for Jlaggie to wear; And mony thing brawer than that I declare. Gin she will gang wi' me to Paisley fair. And when we are m.irried, I'll keep her a cow, And Maggie will milk w hen I gae to plow ; We'll live a' the winter on beef and lang kiiil. And feast upon bannocks o' barley meal. Gin Maggie should chance to bring me a son. He'll fight for his king, as his daddy has done ; He'll hie him to Flanders, some breeding to learn. And then hame to Scotland, and get him a farm. ^ ^S [^ r^S^^^S^'^ SCOTTISH SONGS. '1) !& ^ ^0 r) And there we will live by our industrj', And wha'U be sac hai^py as Maggie and me ? We'll a' grow as fat as a Norway seal, "VVi" our feasting on bannocks o' barley meal. Then fare ye weel, citizens, noisy men, Whajolt in your coaches to Drury Lane ; Ye bucks o' Bear-garden, I bid you adieu, For drinking and swearing, 1 leave it to you. I'm fairly resolved for a country life, A nd nae langer will live in hurry and strife ; I'll aflf to the Highlands as hard's I can reel, And wliang at the bannocks o' barley meal. J [Robert Nicoli.. — Air, " Glenorchy braes." — Printed here with the permission of Nicol's pub- ; lifiher, Mr. Tait of Edinburgh.] ^''^) A SONSIE auld carline is Janet Dunbar, A donsie auld carline is Janet Dunbar ; For a gash skilly body, weel kent near and far, Thro' the hail kintra side, canty Janet Dunbar, Folk spier her advice, baith the greatest and least. For she cures a' diseases o' man an' o' beast ; She has words that will keep awa' witches and dells, She has syrups in bottles, and herbs inauld creels ; To caulds and rheumatics she proves sic a fae. They canna get rest in the parish a day ;• In this queer kind o' warld there's mony a waur. Than our cheery auld carline, gash Janet Dunbar I A sonsie, &c. Her hame is a howf to the bairn ies at schule. And she dauts them an' bauds them fu' couthie an' weel ; Till in her auld lug a' their sorrows they tell. For she'll scold for their sakes, e'en the dominie's sell! But Janet's hie time is when night settles doun. An' a' the auld wives gather in frae the toun. To tell what they are na, and thae ither are, • This is meat, drink, and claething to Janet Dunbar. A sonsie, &c. And Janet's auld house has a butt and a ben. Where twa folk can meet and let naebody ken ; i 'J For Janet thinks true love nane e'er should re- I strain, I Having had, thretty years' sin', a lad o' her ain ; A.nd then when the whispering and courting has dune, I For some lee-like story is Janet in tune, 1 About some bluidy doings in some Highland scaur, j Ybu're a queer ane ! — 'deed are ye noo, Janet A sonsie, &c. [Dunbar. Btit when some o" her cronies ha'e kirsen'd a wean. Then Janet sae braw in her glory is seen, j|^ ' She winks to the neighbours, and jokes the guid^ J man. Till his foce grows sae red, that he maistly could ban i Syne she turns to the mither, an' tak's the Wean's loof. An' tells that he'll neither be laggard nor coof ! Tou're a happy auld body— sae bright be your star. And lang may ye stump about, Janet Dunbar. *.. A sonsie, &c, ®|)e (g^ollier"^ h§nnk U^^u> [Ttni is Ramsay's version of an old song called "The Collier's bonnie lassie," and appears in the first volume of his Tea-Table Miscellany. The first stanza of the original song ran thus : The collier has a daughter. And, O ! she's wondrous bonnie ; A laird he was that sought her. Rich baith in lands and money. She wadna ha'e a laird. Nor wad she be a lady ; But she wad ha'e a collier. The colour o' her daddic. The tune is given in the Orpheus Caledonius (1723.) It was selected by Gay for one of his songs in his Opera called "Polly," beginning "When right and \vrong's decided."] The collier has a daughter, And, O ! she's wondrous bonnie. A laird he was that sought her. Rich baith in lands and money. The tutors watched the motion Of this young honest lover : But love is like the ocean ; Wha can its depths discover ! ^f^v-^^Sim'-S^^^S^^^^^x^^ ^W^i SCOTTISH SONGS. He had the art to please ye. And was by a' respected ; His airs sat round him easy, (Jenteel but unaffected. The collier's bonnie lassie. Fair as the new-blown lilie, Aye sweet, and never saucy. Secured the heart C Willie. He loved, beyond expression. The charms that were about her. And panted for possession ; His life was duU without her. After mature resolving. Close to his breast he held her ; In saftest flames dissolving. He tenderly thus telled her: Sly bonnie collier's daughter. Let naething discompose ye ; It's no your scanty tocher. Shall ever gar me lose ye : For I have gear in plenty ; And love says, it's my duty To ware what heaven has lent me Upon your wit and beauty. %\it €dto %u\W, 7 [TuiTE. "The Collier's bonnie lassie."— "I 'r not know," says Bums, " a blyther old song f^ than this." — The poet himself fumUhed Johnson ^ j with a copy of the words and the tune for the ~J Museum.] "Whar live ye, my bonnie lass. And tell me what they ca' ye ? Jly name, she says, is 3Iistress Jeaa, And 1 foUow the collier laddie. See ye not yon hills and dales. The sun shines on sae brawlie ! They a' are mine, and they shall be thine. Gin ye'll leave your collier laddie. Ye shall gang in gay attire, ■\Veel buskit up sae gawdy : And ane to wait on every hand. Gin ye'U leave your coUier laddie. Though ye had a the sun snmts on And the earth conceals sae lowly, I wad turn my back on you and it a". And embrace my coUier laddie. I can win my five-i)ennies in a day. And spen't at night fu' brawlie : And make my bed in the collier's neuk. And lie dowTi w1' my collier laddie. Love for love is the bargain for me, Tho' the wee cot-house should baud me, And the warld before me to win my bread And fair fii' my collier laddie. [Written by Bcrks, for Thomson's collection, to the tune of " The Collier's bonnie lassie."] Dkluded swain, the pleasure The fickle fair can give thee Is but a fairy treasure — Thy hopes wUl soon deceive thee. The billows on the ocean. The breezes idly roaming. The clouds' uncertain motion, They are but types of woman. O ! art thou not ashamed To doat upon a feature ? If man thou wouldst te named. Despise the silly creature. Go, find an honest fellow ; Good claret set before thee : Hold on till thou art mellow.. And then to bed in glory. [James Macdoxald. — Here first printeps should stray. There's not a spot so dear to me As yonder sunny brae. [William A>-1)ebson, author of "Landscajje Lyrics," &e. "Written in 1833. Printed here tor the first time.] I CANXA sleep a wink, lassie, "VNTian I gang to bed at night. But still o' thee I think, lassie. Till morning sheds its light. I lie and think o' thee, lassie. And I toss frae side to side. Like a vessel on the sea, lassie, When stormy is the tide. Jly heart is no my ain, lassie. It winna bide wi' me. Like a birdie it has gane, lassie, To nestle saft wi' thee. I canna lure it back, lassie, Sae keep it to yoursel'. But, oh ! it sure will brak, lassie. If you dinna use it well. ^^'hare the treasure is, they say, lassi?, The spirit lingers there, And mine has fled away, lassie. You needna ask me where : I marvel oft if rest, lassie, On my eyes and heart wad bide, If I thy troth possess'd, lassie, And thou wert at my side. ^^2 ^tut d €&kMgsrg, The red moon is up o'er the moss-covered moun • tain; The hour is at hand when I promised to rove With the turf-cutter's daughter by Logan's fair water. And tell her how truly her Don.ild can love ! I ken there's the mUler, wi' plenty o' siller. Would fain win a glance frae her beautiful e'% But my ain bonnie 3Iary — the star of Glcngary — Keeps a' her sweet sniUes an' saft kisses for me '. "lis lang since we first trod the Highlands the- gither, Twa frolicksome bairns gaily starting the deer, TNTien I ca'd her my life — my bonnie wee wife — And ne'er knew sic joy as when 5Iary was near ; And still she's the blossom I wear in my bosom — A blossom I'U cherish an' wear tUl I dee. For my ain bonnie Mary— the star o' Glengary ! She's health, an' she's wealth, an" she's a' good tome ! fe Wm nmh&l^ nm [WiLLLAM Anderson, author of " Landscape Lyrics." Printed here for the first time.] I'M naebody noo, though in days that are gane. Whan I'd hooses, and lands, and gear o' my ain. There war' mony to flatter, and mony to praise. And wha but mj-sel' was sae proud in those days ! Ah ! then roun' my table wad visitors thrang, , ^ Wha laugh "d at my joke, and applauded my sang, -^•\^^ Though the tane had niie point, and the tither ^^ nae glee, [me ! \t^ But of coorse they war' grand when comin' frae c>^ Whan I'd plenty to gi'e, o' my cheer and my crack. There war' plenty to come, and wi' joy to partak'. But whanevcr the water grew scant at the well, 1 was welcome to drink all alane by mysel'. Sae lang as my bottle was ready and free. Friends in dozens I had who then ci-ooded to prie. They sat ower the toddy until they war' fou ^ Noo I drink by mysel', for I'm naebody noo. m^sm^^^^^^j^^i^^^S'^^^^ ^^^^^i^S^^. SCOTTISH SOXGS \Vlian I'd nae need o' aid, there were plenty to' proffer, And noo -nhan I want it, I n^er get the offer : I could greet whan I think hoo my siller decreast, the feasting C those wha came only to feast. The fulsome respec' to my gowd they did gi'e, I thought a' the time was intended for me; But whanever the end o' my money they saw, Their friendship, like it, also flicker'd awa'. ^^* My advice ance was sought for by folks far and near. Sic great wisdom I had ere I tint a' my gear, Im as weel able yet to gi'e counsel that's true. But I may jist haad my wheesht, for I'm naebody n^ fflamtnt itos t|j MstH. [Robert Gn-pritAN.— Tune, " Hame, home, to my ain countrie."] The harp of Scotia dear. That oft in joy was strung ; Alas ! 'tis silent now. And on the willows hung. The balmy breath of mom Awakes no more the strain. And to the gloamin' gale It kindles not again ! The minstrels famed in song, Who gave to song its fame — Ah ! whither have they fled. The high of note and name ? Alas ! not to the bowers Of song, and summer fair. But in the tuneless grave. We mark the mightj- there ! The cloud that gathering comes Across the evening sky. Obscures in heavy gloom The fair stars elusfring high ; So came the cloud of death. While yet we thought it day, And in the gloom of night look all our stars away. The groves may yet be green. The valleys still be gay, And down the sunny glen The blackbird pour his lay ; But Scotia's harp no more Swells in the vocal thrcmr, J^or heard the minstrel's voice In rapture and in song ; ^f)2 mszbn'i Wiiiu - [From Blackwood's Magazine. — Air, "The Boatie Hows."] Oh I weel befa' the busy loom That plies the hale day lang ; And, clicking briskly, fills the room Wi' sic a cheery sang. Oh ! weel befa' the eident han' That deeds us, great and sma", And blessings on the kind gudeman That dearly lo'es us a'. Our purse is low, our lot is mean. But waur it weU might be : Our house is cant}- aye and clean, Our hearts frae canker free. We fash wi' nae ambitious scheme, Nor heed affairs o' state ; We dinna strive against the stream. Or murmur at our fate. Oh ! mickle is the wealth that springs Frae industry and peace, WTiere nae reproach o' conscience stings. And a' repinin's cease. The heart will loathe the richest meat. If nae kind blessin's sent : The coarsest morsel will be sweet When kitchen'd wi' content. Oh ! wad the Power that rules o'er life Impart some gracious charm. To keep me still a happy wife. And shield the house frae hai-m. Instead of wealth and growing care, I ask but health and love : Instead of warldly wit and leir. Some wisdom from above. j:Z I "11^^- SCOTTISH SONGS. (.lur bairns ! the comfort o' our hf art Oh ! may they long be spared ! "We'll try by them to do our part. And hope a sure reward. What better tocher can we gi'e Than just a taste for hame ; "What better heirship, when we die, Tlian just an honest name ? [Tune, " Gloomy Winter."] Ot7R youthfu' days are lang awa', I'ast and gane our prime an' a'. And the leafs begun to fa' Wi' you an' me, my dearie, O ! Spring it does not last for aye. Summer quickly fleets away. Syne the flowers do a' decay. An' sae maun we, my dearie, ! For we baitb are wearin' auld, You'r growin' grey, an' I am bauld, Comin' fast is winter cauld O' life, to us, my dearie, O ! Twa score o' years ha'e near hand fled. Sin' we twa tJiegither wed. Our share o' joys an' waes we've h.id, Jly auld, my iaithfu' dearie, O ! Contented on through life let's pass. Cure ne'er maks a sorrow less, f^tiU ye are my ain dear lass. My auld, my faithfu' dearie, O ! Xe'er let you or me complain, Friends o' yours and mine are gane, "Wha the married life began, Wi' you an' me, my dearie, ! "Wh'ilst we twa aye spared ha'e been, Till our bairnie's bairns we've seen, "Wha some day wi' divets green iMay see us hap'd, my dearie, O ! Time on wing mak's nae delay. Fast approaching is the day, "When they doun us baith will lay In the cauld grave, my dearie, ! "When we meet that dreaded hour, May death's sting ha'e tint its power. Syne we'll flit to blissfu' bower To joys that ne'er shall wcaric, ! [TirsE, "I am a man unmarried." — "The fol- I lowing composition," says Burns, in his Common- I place Book, "was the first of my performances, ! and done at an early period of my life, when my j heart glowed with honest warm simplicity, unac- I quainted and uncorrupted with the ways of a I wicked world. The performance is, indeed, very I puerile and silly, but I am always pleased with it, as it recalls to my mind those happy days when ' my heart was yet honest, and my tongue was sincere. The subject of it was a young girl, who really deserved all the praises I have bestowed on ' her. I not only had this opinion of her then — i but I actually think so still, now that the spell is long since. broken, and the enchantment at an end." — "This baUad," says Lockhart, "though characterised by Bums as a very puerile and silly performance, contains here and there lines of which he need hardly have been ashamed at any period of his Ufe."] O, oxcE I loved a bonnie lass, ! Ay, and I love her still ; I And whilst that vurtue warms my brc."st I'll love my handsome IS'eU. j As bonnie lasses I ha'e seen, j And mony full as braw, ] But for a modest gracefu' mian The like I never saw. I A bonnie lass, I will confess, I Is pleasant to the e'e, j But without some better qualities I She's no a lass for me. [ But Nelly's looks are blithe and sweet, j And what is best of a". Her reputivtion is complete, } And £xir without a flaw. She dresses aye sae clean and neat. Both decent and genteel ; And then there's something in her gait Gars ony dress look weel. SCOTTISH S0KG3. 231 A gaudy dress and gentle air May slightly touch the heart, Eut it's innocence and modesty That polishes the dart. 'T:3 this in NeUy pleasc-s me, '1:3 this enchants my soul; For absolutely in my breast She reigns without control. EU of tit m& [Alkx, Smast. — Here first printed.] Ix life's sunny morning, by Esk's winding stream, :My days glided by like a beautiful dream, And free as a bird I would carelessly rove, Icdulgujg fond visions of beauty and love. Then nature was clad in her richest of green. And youth's bounding pulse lent a charm to the scene, A'l'hile each living thing in its joy was a part '>: the gladness that found a sweet home in my heart. 2y Esk's winding stream, in the pride of the year. The banks are as green and the waters as clear. But nature's soft verdure can never again Impart the same feelings that gladdened me then. o-.veet home of my childhood ! though fer from my view. In fancy's fond dreams I am ever with you; And Oh ! your remembrance can only depart "tVith the last throb of feeling that gladdens my heart. Oh ! the queen-like virgin rose, Of the dew and sunlight born. And the azure violet Spread their beauties to the n.c.n ; So does the hyacinth. And the lily pure and pale. But I love the daisy best In my own Highland vale. Hark ! hxirk, those thrilling notes ; 'lis the nightingale complains ; Oh : the soul of music breathes In those more than plaintive strains But they're not so dear to me As the murmur of the rill, . And the bleating of the lambs On my own Highland hill. Oh ! the flowerets fair may s-low. And the juicy fruits may blush. And the beauteous birds may sing. And the crystal streamlets rush. And the verdant meads may smile. And the cloudless sun may beam ; But there's nought beneath the skies. Like my own Highland hame ! pig lligpa:^^ ^sfe. [Written by David Yeddeb. Music by Peter Oh : the sunny peaches glow. And the grapes in clusters blosh; And the cooling silver streams From their sylvan fountains rush ; There is music in the grove. And there is fragrance in the gale. But there's nought sae dear to me As my own Highland vale. [Thomas C. Latto.— Here first printed^— Tune, " The Flower o' Dunblane."] O HAKE to the strain that sae sweetly is rin^'. And echoing clearly o'er lake and o'er lea, tike some fairy bird in the wilderness singin'. It thrills to my heart, yet nae minstrel I s?e. Eound yonder rock knittin", a dear child is sittin", Sae toilin' her pitifu' pittance is won, Hersel' tho' we see nae, 'tis mitherless Jcasie, — The boiune blind lassie that sits i' the sun. Five years syne come autumn she cam' wi' her mither, 'a sodger's puir widow, sair wasted an' gane ; As brown fell the leaves, sae wi' them did she wither, [lane. And left the sweet child on the wide world her She left Jennie weepin", in His holy keepin' Wha shelters the lamb firae the cauld wintry win', ij 'VTe had little siller, yet a' were good till her, - - The bonnie blind lassie that sits 1' the sun. 0^ 1 ..;■. ( . 232 SCOTTISH SONGS, I:' .'^v; ^•^ An" blythe now an' cheerfu', frae momin' to i e'enin' i She sits thro' the simmer, an' gladdens ilk ear, Baith auld and young daut her, sae gentle and winnin', j To a' the folks round, the wee lassie is dear. I Braw leddies caress her, wi' bounties would press | her, I The modest bit darlin' their notice would ! shun, j For though she has caething, proud hearted this wee thing, The bonnie blind lassie that sits i' the sun. [Prom Tail's Magazine for Sept. 1838.] I I WATCH'D the moon blink owTe the hill, [ And, oh, she glentit bonnily ! Then met my lass, when a' was still, ' Below the spreading thorn tree. Oh ! for the thorn tree— the fair, the spreading ' thorn tree : — j The flame o' love lowes bonnily aneath a spreading j thorn tree ! I ! The glow o' youth beam'd on her cheek, i And love was lowin' in her e'e , | And Cupids play'd at hide-and-seek ] Around us at the thorn tree. ] Oh ! for the thorn tree— the lair, the spreading I thorn tree ! — The flame o' love lowes bonnily aneath a spreading ' thorn tree ! The wanton breeze, wi' dovmy wing, j Cam' soofln' owTe us cannily ; And saft and sweet the burn did sing, "When trottin' by the thorn tree. Oh : for the thorn tree — the fi^grant-scented thorn j tree ! — I ken o' naught sic joys can gi'e as love aneath the thorn tree ! I clasp'd my lassie to my heart. And vow'd my love should lasting be ; And wussed ilk ill to be my part. When I forgftt the thorn tree. ^y-^m^^ Oh! for the thorn tree— the fresh, the scented thorn tree ! — I'll ever mind, wi' bhthsome glee, my lassie and tlie thorn tree ! "We met beneath the rising moon — She beddit maist as soon as we. She hung the westlan' heights aboon When we cam' frae the thorn tree. Oh ! for the thorn tree— the fresh, the milk-white thorn tree ! — 'Twas past the midnight hour a wee, when we cam' frae the thorn tree I I've seen the glass caxeerin' past — I liked it too — I'll never lee ; But, oh ! its joys can ne'er be class'd Wi' love aneath the thorn tree ! Oh ! for the thorn tree— the fresh, the milk-white thorn tree ! — [the thorn tree ! Of a' the joys there's nane to me like love aneath [From "The Lady of the lake," by SirW. Scott.] Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er. Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking ; Dream of battled fields no more, Bays of danger, nights of waking. In our isle's enchanted hall. Hands unseen thy couch are strewing ! Fairy strains of music faU, Every sense in slumber dewing. Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er. Dream of fighting fields no more ; Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking. Morn of toil, nor night of waking. No rude sound shall reach thine ear ; Armour's clang, or war-steed champing ; Trump nor pibroch summon here. Mustering clan, or squadron tramping. Tet the lark's shrill fife may come. At the day-break, from the fallow. And the bittern sound his drum. Booming from the sedgy shallow. Euder sounds shall none be near. Guards nor warders challenge here ; Here's no war-steed's neigh and champing. Shouting clans, or squadrons tramping. 2i [*} \ SCOTTISH SO:5fG3. 233 ( v/ IJ s K Huntsman, rest ! thy chase is done ; ■While our slumb'rous spells assail ye, Dream not, -with the rising sun. Bugles here shall sound reveUlie. Sleep ! — the deer is in his den ; Sleep !— thy hounds are by thee lying; Sleep 1 — nor dream in yonder glen How thy gallant steed lay djing. Huntsman, rest I thy chase is done ; Think not of the rising sun ; For at dawning to assail ye. Here no bugles sound reveillie. ®|ie 1i©Etk mefe^« [This song appears in Johnson's Museum with three different sets of music, but it is satisfactory to Icnow that the air now uniyersaUy adopted is the genuine eld one It was arranged into a glee by AVUliam Knyvett of London. Burns says, " The author of the song beginning ' O weel may the boatie row' was a Mr. Ewen of Aberdeen. It is a charming display of womanly afifection mingling with the concerns and occupations of life. It is nearly equal to ' There's nae luck about the house.' " The Mr. Ewen here spoken of was Joh.v EwEN, Esq., who died at Aberdeen on the 21st October, 1821, in the SOth year of his age. He was a native of Montrose, but went early in Hfe to Aberdeen, where he accumulated a fortune, partly as a dealer in hardware goods and partly by mar- riage. On his death, he bequeathed the bulk of his property (something above I,.15,000) towards the founding of an Hospital at Montrose, similar to Gordon's Hospital of Aberdeen, for the main- tenance and education of boys, overlooking en- tirely his only qhild, a daughter, who had married in I7S7, and gone abioad. The ^\-ill was challenged by his daughter, and finally set aside by the House of Lords, in consequence of its uncertainty and want of precision both as to the sum to be accumulated by the trustees before they were to commence buUding the hospital, and as to the number of boys to be educated in it when built.] wEEi, may the boatie row. And better may she speed ! And weel may the boatie row. That wins the baims's bread ! The boatie rows, the boatie rows. The boatie rows indeed ; And happy be the lot of a' That wishes her to speed ! I cuist my line in Lar^o Bay, And fishes I caught nine ; There's 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' That wishes her to speed ! O weel may the boatie row. That fills a heavy creel. And cleads us a' frae head to feet. And buys our pamtch meal. The boatie rows, the boatie row;. 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 n§ver part. The boatie rows, the boatie rows. The boatie rows fu' weel ; And muckle lighter is the lade, "VMien love bears up the creel. My kurtch I put upon my head. And dress'd mysel' fu' braw ; 1 trow my heart was dowf and wae, TVTien Jamie gaed awa : ' But weel may the boatie row. And lucky be her part ; And lightsome be tlie lassie's care That yields an honest heart ! "When Sawuie, Jock, and Janetie, 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 murlain and the creel ! And when wi' age we are worn down. And hirpling round the door, They'll row to keep us hale and warn' As we did them before : I I ^.!^^^^^m 234 ■ --J SCOTTISH SOXGS, .^■ if . "J Then, weel may the boatie ror.-, Tliat wins the baims's bread ; And happy be the lot of a' That wish the boat to speed ! n %m% ami) iilw^i. [James SIacdonald. — Here first printed. — Air, ' Chough and Crow."] The lark and wi-en are long awake. The throstle sings in glee ; The morning breeze sweeps o'er the brake In joyous liberty. The dew bells swing in beauty bland. The streamlet chants its lay ; Then bear a hand, my merry band. It is our harvest day. The village maids, all braided iair. Are tripping o'er the green. And shepherd lads, with floating hair. Are kissing beatrty's queen. Each happy swain o'er all the land Enjoys this morning gay. Then bear a hand, my merry band. This is our harvest day. When evening brings its shady hour Then who so biythe as we ? The lam^ of love in barn and bower Lights up a scene of glee ; Old Time forgets his running sand And joins our roundelay, >'ow bear a hand, my merry band. This is our harvest day. ^|)e Ses^feg §^a^f o The ev'ning shade around is spread, The chilling tempest sweeps tlie sky ; We're kindly met, an' warmly set, And streams o' nappy rinnin' by. Biythe, &c. Wliile gettin' fou, we're great, I trow, We scorn misfortune's greatest bangs ; The magic bowl can lift the soul Aboon the world and a' its wrangs. Biythe, &c. The days o' man are but a span. This mortal life a passing dream, Kought to illume the dreary gloom Save love an' friendship's sacred gleam, Biythe, &c. Then toom your glass to my sweet lass. And neist we'll turn it o'er to tliine : The glowin' breast that loo's them best Shall dearest ever be to mine. Biythe, Sec. An' here's to you, my friend sae true. May discord ne'er a feeling wound ! An' shou'd we flyte, ne'er harbour spite. But in a bowl be't quickly drown'd. Bljthe, &c. Now rap an' ring, an' gar them bring The biggest stoupfu' yet we've seen : Why should we part, when hand and hea: t At ilka bumper grows mair keen ^ Biythe, &c. w a' J!}at [Written by Burns in 1794, and in Januarj-, ' 1795, sent to Thomson with the following observa- ' tion. " A great critic (Aikin) on songs, says that , love and wine are the exclusive themes for song- I writing. The' following is on neither subject, and *^^ , consequently is no song; but will be allowed, I t' lvViLLiso.vGi,Ass.--Tune"Androandhiscutty I think, to be two or three pretty good prose f ^''"■"J thoughts inverted into rhyme."] ^ Biythe, biythe, an' happy are we, Cauld care is flegg'd awa' ; This is but ae night o' our lives. An' wha wou'd grudge the' it were twa. Is there, for honest poverty. That hangs his head, and a' that ? The coward -slave, we pass bim by; We dare be puir, for a' that. '-^'^^■m^im^mi. SCOTTISH SONGS. 235 For a' that, and a' that. Our toils obscure, and a' that. The rank is but the guinea-stamp — The man's the gowd, for a' that. ■yvhat though on hamely Sire we dine. Wear hoddin-grey, and a' that ? Gi'e fools their silks, and knaves their 1 A man"s a man, for a' that; For a' that, and a' that. Their tinsel show, and a' that. The honest man, though e'er sae puir. Is king o' men, for a' that. Ye sse yon birkie, ca'd a lord, VTha struts, and stares, and a' that ; Though hundreds worship at his wori. He's but a cuif, for a' that. For a' that, and a' that. His ribbon, star, and a' that, The man of independent mind, He looks and laughs at a' tbs.U A king can make a belted knight, A maj^iuis, duke, and a" that; But an honest man's aboon his might, Gude feith, he maunna fa' ttuit 1 For a' that, and a' that. Their dignities, and a' that. The pith o' sense, the pride o' worth, Are higher ranks than a' that. Then let us pray, that come it may. As come it will, for a' that, Toat sense and worth, o'er a' the eartl; May bear the gree, and a' that. For a' that, and a' that. It's comin' yet, for a' that. That man to man, the warld o'er, cjhall brothers be, for a' that. [This is the bard or fiddler's song in Buexs's "O'Jy Beggars. It is sung to the same tune as tl:e foregoing. Part of it appears in the 3d vol. of ' .hnson'3 Museum. The first two lines in the ■noras belong to an old song.] I AM a bard of no regard V.'i" gentle folks, an' a' that : But Homer-Uke, the glovvran byse, i iue town to town I draw that. i For a' that, and a' that, A n' twice as muckle's a' that ; I've lost but ane, I've twa behin', I'^e wife enough, for a' that. I never drank the Muses' stank, Castalia's bum, and a' that ; But there it streams, and richly, reams. My Helicon I ca' that. For a' that, &c. Great love I bear to a' the fair. Their humble slave, an' a* that ; But lordly ■Will, I hold it still A mortal sin to thraw that. For a' that, Sjc. In raptures sweet, this hour we meet, Wi' mutual love, and a' that ; But for how lang the flee may stang. Let inclination law that. Fcr a' that, &e. Their tricks and craft ha'e put me daft. They've ta'en me in, and a' that ; But clear your decks, and here's The sex ! I like the jads for a' that. For a' that, and a' that. An' twice as muckle's a* that ; My dearest bluid, to do them guid, T'ney're welcome till't for a' that. [Wriitss by the Eev. Jobs Ski>-ner, author of " Tullochgorum," &c., to suit an .air composed by "William Marshall, butler to the duke of Cor- ' don, and called "The JIarquis of Huntly's Eetl. I Jlarshall was a distinguished composer of Scot - i tish airs and melodies, and also eminent as a I player on the violin. A collection of his tunes, consisting of 176, was published in 1S22, which I was followed by a supplement containing 74 addi- 1 tional tunes. Every one is familiar with his " Miss Admiral Gordon's strathspey," to which Bums's " Of a' the airts the wind can blaw" is sung. MarshxUl was a native of Fochabers, and died so recently as 1633, aged 85.] TcxE your fiddles, tune them sweetly, Play the m.-irquis" reel discreetly, Here we are a band completely Fitted to be jolly. ^ : ■> ■^^^^^^^t>'^:^^^ 236 SCOTTISH SONGS. (HI n Come, my boys, Wythe and gawcie. Every youngster choose his lassie. Dance wi" life and be not saucy. Shy nor melancholy. Come, my boys, &c. Lay aside your sour grimaces. Clouded brows and drumlie faces. Look about and see their Graces, How they smile delighted : Now's the season to be merry. Hang the thoughts of Charon's ferry. Time enough to come camstern'. When we're auld and doited, ^ow's the season, &e. 13utlcr, put about the claret. Through \is a' divide and share it, Gordon Castle weel can spare it. It has claret plenty : Wine's the true inspiring liquor, Drafiy drink may please the vicar. When be grasps the foaming bicker, Vicars are not dainty. Wine's the true insph-ing liquor, &c. We'll extol our noble master. Sprung from many a brave ancestor,— Heaven preserve him fi-om disaster. So we pray in duty. Prosper, too, our pretty duchess. Safe from all distressful touches. Keep her out of Pluto's clutches. Long in health and beauty. Prosper, too, our pretty duchess, &c. Angels guard their gallant 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 encrcasing, Plutus, what's in thy possessing. Make him rich and wealthy. Pallas grant him every blessing, &c. Youth, solace him with thy pleasure. In refined 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 with honour ! Famous may he be in story, &c. Gordons, join our hearty praises, Honest, though in homely phrases, love our cheerful spirit raises. Lofty as the lark is : Echo, -waft our wishes daily. Through the grove and through the alley Sound o'er every hill and valley. Blessings on our Marquis. Echo, waft our wishes, &c. ¥f g©^0* [This appears in the first volume of Kamsay's ^?5? Tea-Table Jliscellany (17^,) and, with the music, ^ cJ| in the Orpheus Caledoniys (1723). ItwaswTitten by the accomplished William Hamilton of Ban- gour, on hearing that a young lady of birth and beauty had worn his miniature in her bosom. The tune is called " The fourteenth of October," or " St. Crispin's day," the fourteenth of that V^ month, old style, being the reputed birth-day of " " the famous king Crispin.] Ye gods ! was Strephon's picture blest With the fair heaven of Chloe's breast ? Move softer, thou fond fluttering heart. Oh gently throb, — too fierce thou art. Tell me, thou brightest of thy kind. For Strephon was the bliss design'd ? For Strrphon's sake, dear charming maid, Did'st thou prefer his waud'ring shade ? And thou, blest shade, that sweetly art Lodged so near my Chloe's heart. For me the tender hour improve. And softly tell how dear I love. Ungrateful thing ! It scorns to hear Its WTetched master's ardent pray'r, Engrossing all that beauteous heaven. That Chloe, lavish maid, has given. I cannot blame thee : were I lord Of all the wealth those breasts affonl, I'd be a miser too, nor give An alms to keep a god alive. Oh smile not thus, my lovely fair. On these cold looks, that lifeless air, Prize him whose bosom glows with fire. With eager love and soft desire. 4i 237 ,'U SCOTTISH SO^'GS. ^ •Tis true thy charms, powerful maidj To life can bring the silent shade : Thou canst surpass the painter's art, And real warmth and flames impart. But oh ! it ne'er can love like me, I've ever lov'd, and lov'd but thee : Then, charmer, grant my fond request, Say thou canst love, and make me blest. [The popular tune of " Cauld Kail in Aber- deen" is not very old — at least it cannot be traced in any of the older musical collections. The fol- lowing are the earliest words to the tune, and are given in Herd's Collection of 1776. Perhaps the reader may detect in them the meaning of the now proverbial phrase, " Cauld Vail in Aberdeen, and custocks in Strathbogie." Cauld kaa in Aberdeen, And custocks in Strathbogie, But yet 1 fear they'll cook o'er soon. And never warm the cogie. The lasses about Bogie gicht. Their limbs they are sae clean and tight. That if they were but girded right. They'll dance the reel o' Bogie. Wow, Aberdeen, what did you mean, Sae young a maid to woo, sir ? Ita sure it was nae joke to her, ■VNTiate'er it was to you, sir. For lasses now are no sae blate But they ken auld folk's out o' date. And better plajiare can they get Than custocks in Strathbogie. The " Bogie," here and elsewhere celebrated, is a stream in Aberdeenshire, which runs through the beautiful strath or vaUey called Strathbogie. It is not known who was the author of the following convivial song, but it is alluded to by Bums as an old song.] There's cauld kail in Aberdeen, And custocks in Stra'bogie, Where ilka lad maun ha'e his lass. But I maun ha'e my cogie. For I maun ha'e my cogie. Sirs, I canna want my co-'ie ; I wadna gi'e my three-gir'd cog For a' the wives in Bogie. Johnny Smith has got a wife "Wha scrimps him o' his cogie : But were she mine, upon my life, I'd dook her in a bogie. For I maun ha'e my cogie, sii-s, I canna want my cogie ; I wadna gi'e my three-gir'd cog For a' the wives in Bogie. Twa three todlin' weans they ha'e. The pride o' a' Stra'bogie ; Whene'er the totums cry for meat. She curses aye his cogie ; Crying, Wae betide the three-gir'd 30gl Oh, wae betide the cogie ! It does mair skaith than a' the ills That happen in Stra'bogie. She fand him ance at WiUie Sharp's ; And, what the maist did laugh at. She brak the bicker, spilt the drink. And tightly goufTd his haffet. Crying, Wae betide the three-gir'd cog I Oh, wae betide the cogie. It does mair skaith than a' the ills That happen in Stra'bogie. Yet here's to ilka honest soul Wha'U drink wi' me a cogie , And for ilk siUy whinging fool. We'll dook him in a bogie. For I maun ha'e my cogie, sirs, I canna want my cogie : . I wadna gi'e my three-gir'd cog For a the queans in Bogie. €mU ^ail in ^"bn^sm, [This counter strain to the convivial song of the same name was written by Alexander fourth Duke ov Gordon (born in 1743; died in 1827,) and inserted in the second volume of Johnson's Museum.] There's cauld kail in Abei-deen, And custocks in Stra'bogie , Gin I ha'e but a bonnie lass, Ye're welcome to your cogie. And ye may sit up a' the night, And drink till it be braid day-light : Gi'e me a lass baith clean and tight; To dance the reel o' Bogie. In cotillions the French excel, John Bull loves country dances ; The Spaniards dance fimdangoes well ; Mynheer an allemande prances : In foursome reels the Scots delight. At threesome's they dance wondrous light. But twasome's ding a' out o' sight, Danc'd to the reel o' Bogie. Come, lads, and view your partners weel, Wale each a blythesome rogie : I'll tak' this lassie to mysel". She looks sae keen and vogie : Now, piper lad, bang up the spring; The country f;ishlon is the tiling. To prie their mou's ere we begin To dance the reel o' Bogie. Now ilka lad has got a lass. Save yon auld doited fogie. And ta'en a fling upon the grass. As they do in Stra'bogie ; But a' the lassies look sae fein. We canna think oursel's to hain. For they maun ha'e their come-again To dance the reel o' Bogie. Now a' the lads ha'e done their best. Like true men o' Stra'bogie ; We'll stop a while and tak' a rest. And tipple out a cogie. Come now, my lads, and tak' your ghiss. And try ilk other to surpass. In wishing health to ev'ry lass. To dance the reel o' Bogie. (gPau!^ W>ml in %ln'Uun> [Written by William Rkid, bookseUer, Glasgow.] There's cauld kail in Aberdeen, And bannocks in Strathbogie, But naetiiing drives awa' the spleen Sae weel's a social cogie. That mortal's life nae pleasure shares Wha broods o'er a' that's fogie : Whane'er I'm fash't wi' worldly cares, I drown them in a cogie. ^ Thus merrily my time I pass. With spirits brisk and vogie. Blest wi' my bulks and my sweet lass, 5Iy cronies and my cogie. Then haste and gi'e's an auld Scots sang Sic like as Kathrine Ogie ; A gude auld sang comes never wrang. When o'er a social cogie. [Tannahill.— Tune, " Cauld kail in Aberdeen."] When poortith cauld, and sour disdain. Hang o'er life's vale sae fogie. The sun that brightens up the scene. Is friendship's kindly cogie. Then, O revere the cogie, sirs. The friendly, social cogie ; It gars the wheels o' life rin light. Though e'er sae doilt and clogie. Let pride in fortune's chariots fly, Sae empty, vain, and vogie ; The source of wit, the spring of joy. Lies in the social cogie. Then, O revere the cogie, sirs. The independent cogie ; And never snool beneath the frown Of onie selfish rogie. Poor modest worth, with heartless e'e. Sits hurkling in the bogie, TiU she asserts her dignity. By \-irtue of the cogie. Then, revere the cogie, sirs. The poor man's patron cogie , It warsals care, it fights life's faughts. And lifts him frae the bogie. Gi'e feckless Spain her weak snail brop, Gi'e France her weel spic'd frogie, Gi'e brither John his luncheon too. But gi'e to us our cogie. Then, O revere the cogie, sirs, Tft A Our kind heart -warming cogie; l/j We doubly feel the social tie, , /y' When just a wee thought grogie. h *^-']J In days of yore our sturdy sires, (, Upon their hills sae scrogie, ^ ~ Glow'd with true freedom's warmest fires, '^^ And fought to save their cogie. ^^ ^^i^. SCOTTISH SONGS. 239 Then, O revere the cogie, sis, Our brave forefathers' cogie ; It rous'd them up to doughty deeds. O'er which we'll lang be vogie. Then here's may Scotland ne'er fa' down, A cringing coward dogie, But bauldly stand, and bang the loon, Wha'd reave her of her cogie. Then, O protect the cogie, sirs. Our good auld mither's cogie ; If or let her luggie e'er*e drain'd By ony foreign regie. Vl^i :zxp m?A> 'Wbittks by Captain Chasles Gray, of the ^ val Marines. Tune, " Willie brew'd a peck o' -iut.-] Lkt topers sing in praise of wine. Their midnicht balls, their mirth and glee; Auld Scotland's sons may fidge fu' fain While they ha'e routh o' barley-bree. The workman, wha has toiled a' day. Sits down at nicht frae labour free; See, care is fled ! his smile how gay. When owre a stoup o' barley-bree. Gif onie man, in barlikhood. Should wi' his neebor disagree. Let theni baith gang in social mood. And settle't owre the barley bree : For barley drink, wad they but think. Is cheaper than a lawyers fee ;— Though sairly ves'd, aye mind the text — Its best to " tak' a pint and gree." Xen ye the witty Willie Clark ? A learned man, I trow, is he ; And nocht to him is deep or dark, ■When seated by the barley-bree. He teUs a tale — he sings a sang — While fast the merry moments flee ; A winter nicht, though ne'er sae lang, Seems short when " Willie's wig's a-jee !" French brandy is but trash— shame Ci't ! Jamaica rum I downa pree ; , Gi'e me the pith o' Scottish maut, Aboon them baith it bears the gree. When I've a bawbee in my pouch, I aften birl it frank and free ; To care, the carUne, I ne'er croueh- The life o' man is barley bree ! W=iU Egt -^a^ Inn, [TcNE, " Cauld kail in Aberdeen."] Life aye has been a weary roun' AMiare expectation's bluntet, Whare hope gets mony a crackit crown. An' patience, sairly duntet, Alang the road rins hirplin' down Beside neglectit merit, WTjase heart gi'es mony a wearj- stoun". And broken is his spirit. But de'il me care though fate whiles gl- o: Gae, lassie, heat the water : Wl' fate we'll never fash our thumbs. But gar the gill -stoup clatter. Punch is a sea whare care ne'er sooms. But pleasure rides it rarely , We'll fill again whan this ane tooir.s, Then let us set till't fiiirly. [DuxcAN Campbell.] Ye social sons of Caledon, VTba, like to rant and roar, sirs, Wha like to drink and laugh and s=r?^. And join a pot encore, sirs. Attentive listen to my lay, 'Twill make ye blythe and frisky WTien I relate, without delay. The praise of Highland whisky. Aboon a' drink it bc.irs the cree, It's a drink that never f.iils n an, ' Auld fools may drink their trash of tea. And ither folks their ales, man ; To a Scotchman gi'e him barley bree. If you would make him frisky. And then he'll swear nocht will him fear. For sic's the power of whisky. ^.■: P) f^-S®l' yc^ctjcir ^^^1ig^^^?^S?5;^^.;^g^^^.•«^^^^^ f'i '■) 210 SCOTTISH SONGS. AVi' brandy, or wi' foreign wine He would not wet his craigie. There's none of them can charms combine, If match'd with the Kilbagie; Then fill us up another glass. And let us drink our fill, sirs, ■VATiat signifies the cutty stoup ? Bring in the Hawick gill, sirs. "VMiat though o' siller we're bereft, Sae muclile niair's the pity. But while we ha'e a penny left AVe'U gi'e't for aquavitae ; Then, 0, my cheering, care-dispelling, Heart-reviving whistey. Curse a' your foreign trash, say I, Gi'e me good Highland whiskey. [This is called " Neil Gow's Farewell to ■WTuskey," but we have not learned who was tlie author of the words. Neil was bom in Strathbrand, in Perthshire, in 1727, and died at Inver, near Bunkeld, in 1S07.] You've surely heard o' famous Neil, The man that play'd the fiddle weel ; I wat he was a canty chiel, Ahd~dearly lo'ed the whiskey, O; And, aye sin he wore the tartan trews. He dearly lo'ed the Athole brose ; And wae was he, you may suppose. To play fareweel to wliiskey, 0. AJake, quoth Neil, I'm frail and auld. And find my blude grow unco cauld ; I think 'twad make me bljthe and bauld, A wee drap Highland whiskey, O. Yet the doctors they do a' agree. That whiskey's no the drink for me. Saul ! quoth Neil, 'twill spoil my glee. Should they part me and whiskey, 0. Though I can baith get wine and ale. And find my head and fingers hale, I'll be content, though legs should fail. To play fareweel to whiskey, O. But still I think on auld lang syne. When Paradise our friends did tyne. Because something ran in their mind. Forbid like Highland whiskey, O. Come, a' ye powers o' music, come ; I find my heart grows unco glum ; My fiddle-strings will no play bum. To say, Fareweel to whiskey, O. Yet I'll take my fiddle in my hand. And screw the pegs up while they'U stand. To make a lamentation grand. On gude auld Highland whiskey, O. te tiie mt. [This convivial song is by Allan Bamsay. It will be remembered that tiie burthen of the first verse, " Up in the air On my bonnie grey mare. And I see her yet, and I see her yet"— is put into the mouth of poor Madge Wildfire, in Sir Walter Scott's inimitable tale of " The Heart of Mid Lothian."] Now the sun's gane out o' sight, Beet the ingle, and snuff the light : In glens the fairies skip and dance. And witches wallop o er to France. Up in the air On my bonny grey mare. And I see her yet, and I see her yet. Up in, &c. The wind's drifting hail and sna'. O'er frozen hags like a foot-ba' ; Nae starns neek through the azure slit, 'Tis cauld and mirk as ony pit. The man i' the moon Is carousing aboon. D'ye see, d'ye see, d'ye see him yet. The man, &e. Tak' your glass to clear your een, 'Tis the elixir heals the spleen, Baith wit and mirth it wUl inspire. And gently puffs the lo%'er's fire. Up in the air. It drives away care, Ha'e wi' ye, ha'e wi' ye, and ha'e wi' ye, lads, yet. Up in, &c. Steek the doors, keep out the frost. Come, Willy, gi'es about ye'r toa^t, TiU't lads, and lUt it out. And let us ha'e a blythsome bowt. u k SCOTTISH SONGS. 241 Vp wi't, there, there, Dinna cheat, but drink fair, luzza, huzza, and huzza lads, yet. Vp wi't, Sic. ;; Written by Bvbns, to the tune of "The i=utor"s Dochter," in honour of iliss Janet Miller, of Dalswinton.] Wilt thou be my dearie ? When sorrow wrin^ thy gentle heart. Wilt thou let me cheer thee ? By the treasures of my soul, Thafs the love I bear thee ! I swear and vow that only thou Shall ever be my dearie. Only thou, I swear and vow. Shall ever be my dearie. Lassie, say thou lo'es me. Or if thou wilt not be my ain. Say na thou'lt refuse me : If it winna, canna be. Thou for thine may choose me. Let me, lassie, quickly die. Trusting that thou lo'es me. Lassie, let me quickly die. Trusting that thou lo'es me. 0. O '. MY love's bonnie, bonnie, bonnie, O I my love's bonnie and dear to me ; The smile o' her lace, and her e'e's witchin' grace. Are mair than the wealth o' this warld can gi'e. Her voice is as sweet as the blackbird at gloamin". When echo repeats her soft notes to the ear. And lovely and fresh as the wild roses blooming. That dip in the stream o' the Carron sae clear. O ! my love's bonnie, &c. But poortith's a foe to the peace o' this bosom. That glows sae devoutly, dear lassie, for thee ; Alas ! that e'er poortith should bUght love's young blossom. When riches nae lasting contentment can gi'e. For ! my love's bonnie, &c. ^ Tet hope's cheerfu' sun shall aboon my head hover, ' An' guide a lone wanderer when far, lar &ae thee; For ne'er till it sets wiU I prove a false lover. Or think o' anither, dear lassie, but thee. For O ! thou art bonr.ie, &c. ^oth'^txm'^ §i^e. [The tune called " Loch-Erroch Side" is alt.?red firom an older air called "I'm ower young to marry yet," (see p. 123.) Loch-Erroch or Ericht is a large lake in Perthshire. The words of the pre- sent song are said to be by James Tytleb, author of " The bonnie brucket lassie," &c. Tjtler was the son of a clergyman at Brechin, and though educated first for the church, and afterwards for the medical profession, he was mainly employed thrcugh life in literary and chemical speculations. He died in Massachusetts, JTorth America, in 180.5, aged 58. He was commonly called Balloon Tytler, firom having been the first in Scotland who ascended in a file balloon upon the plan of ilontgolfier.] As I cam' by Loch-Erroch side. The lofty hills surveying. The water clear, the heather blooms. Their fragrance sweet conveying , I met, unsought, my lovely Aaid, I foimd her like May morning ; With graces sweet, and charms so rare. Her person all adorning. How kind her looks, how blest was I, ■WhUe in my arms I prcst her ! And she her ^-ishes sc.irce conceal'd. As fondly I caress'd her : She said. If that your heart be true. If constantly you'll love me, I heed not care nor fortune's frowns. For nought but death shall move me. But Ciithful, loving, true, and kind, For ever thou sh.ilt find me ; I And of our meeting here so sweet, ! Loch-Erroch sweet shall mind me. j '■ Enraptured then, My lovely lass, I I cried, no more we'll tarry ! H Well leave the fiiir Loch-Erroch side. SjS For lovers soon should marry. si^i^-^:^^^^^m'^ 21: SCOTTISH SONGS. [This is given in Johnson's Museum to the tune of " Loch-Erroch Side." It is an early" produc- tion of BuBNS'S.] Young Peggy blooms our bonniest lass, Her blush is like the morning. The rosy dawn, the springing grass,. AVith pearly gems adorning : Her eyes outshine the radiant beams That gild the passing shower. And glitter o'er the crystal streams. And cheer each fresh'ning flower. Her lips, more than the cherries bright, A richer dye has grac'd them ; They charm th' admiring gazer's sight. And sweetly tempt to taste them ; Her smile is, like the evening, mUd, AATien feather'd tribes are courting. And little lambkins wanton wild. In playful bands disporting. Were Fortune lovely Peggy's foe. Such sweetness would relent her. As blooming Spring unbends the brow Of surly, savage Winter. Detraction's eye no aim can gain. Her winning powers to lessen; And spiteful Envy grins in vain. The poison'd tooth to fasten. Ye Powers of Honour, Love, and Truth, From every ill defend her; Inspire the highly -fa vour'd youtli The destinies intend her; Still fan the sweet connubial flame. Responsive in each bosom; And bless the dear parental name With many a filial blossom. tl^. [Daxikl M'Phaii, (see p. 192.)— Tune, " Loch- Erroch Side."] Let bardies tune the rural strain. And sing the loves o' nymph or swain. Or mourn the hapless lovex's pain. That's slighted by his dearie. But me, nae tale o' love-sick dame. Shall lighten to the paths o' fame. My dearest joy, my only tlieme. Shall be a social cogie. In mom o' life, wi' cantie glee. We mark wi' youthfu' fancy's e'e,* Our daddies roun' the barley bree, Fu' couth an' unco cheeiie. But when to manhood's height we speel. An' meet through life some hearty chiel. In friendship's glow, it's then we feel. The pleasures o' the cogie. Through life, when fortune turns her wheel. And ruin's blast blaws roun' our biel, Xae frien'ly han' then near to shiel. But a' gae tapsalteerie ; E'en then, wi' some leal-hearted frien', ■VVTia's Ufe ance happiet days ha'e seen. We baith on hope our sorrows lean. And crj-, " anither cogie." See lyart age, wi' joyless years. On life's dark brink wi' dowie fears, Nae fostering hope his bosom cheers. The prospect's dark an' drearie : E'en then, when tales o' auld langsyne Bring youthfu' cantie days to min', Mang former joys our cares we tyne. An' toom the cheering cogie. Thus ilka scene o' life we see. Is strongly mark'd wi' social glee ; Then let us taste the joys that flee — In youth or age be cheerie. Then roun' when social spirits join. An' hearts an' ban's in friendship twine, OwTe whiskey, nappy yill, or wine, 'Tis still a social cogie. ), uu ge g!ie«pi:iig, JMaggk* [Robert Tan-nahill. — Air, " Sleepy Maggie." O, AKE ye sleepin', Maggie ? O, are ye sleepin', Maggie ? Let me in, for loud the linn la roarin' o'er the warlock craigie ! 'Zy^ ^^m.^^:^S^M^'^^0^^- SCOTTISH SONGS. 243 >a) Mirk and rainy is the night ; Xo a stam in a' the earie ; lightnings gleam athwart the lift. And winds drive on wi' winter's fury. Fearfu' soughs the boor-tree bank ; The rifted wood roars wild and drearie ; Loud the iron yett does clank ; And cry o' howlets maks me eerie. Aboon my breath I dauma speak. For fear I raise your waukrife daddy ; Cauld's the blast upon my cheek; O rise, rise, my bonnie lady ! She oped the door ; she let him in ; He cuist aside his dreepLu' plaidie ; Blaw your warst, ye wind and rain. Since, Maggie, now I'm in beside ye ! ii^ow, since ye're waukin', Maggie, :S^ow, since ye're waukin', Maggie, "What care I for howlet's cry. For boor-tree bank and warlock craigie? I [BccHAXAx.— Tune, "Sleepy Maggie."] >"ow winter comes, wi' breath sae snell. And nips wi' frost the gizen'd gowan. Yet frosty winter, strange to tell ! Has set my thrawart heart a-lowin'. O dearest, charming Katie ! O sweetest, winsome Katie ! My heart has flown across the loan. To dwell wi' my sweet neibor Katie. ■When a' the chiels, wi' noses blae. Creep chitt'rin' roun' the cantie ingle. Through sleet an' snaw to Kate I gae. Drawn wi' a whang o' Cupid's lingle. dearest, &c. When our back door I gang to steek. And bonnie Kate, frae her back winnock, Gi'es a bit slee an' smilin' keek. It warms me like a toasted bannock. O dearest, &c. To sleep I try, bat no ae wink ; (Frae hapless luve, may fate aye screen u? I sprawl an' fidget, whan I think There's nought but a wee loan atween ui O dearest, &c. Langsyne Leander ilka night Swam o'er the sea at Hero's biddin' ; But if my Kate wad me invite, I've nought ado but jump the midden. O dearest. Sec. [AiB, "low down he's in the broom."] This is the night my Johnny set. And promised to be here ; 0, what can stay his longing step .' He's fickle grown, I fear. Wae worth this wheel ! 'twill no rin roun', Xae mair tbi^ night I'll spin : But count each minute wi' a sigh. Till Johnny he steal in. How snug that canty fire it bums. For twa to sit beside ; And there fu' oft my Johnny sat. And I my blushes hid. My father how he snugly snores. My mother's fast asleep ; He promised oft, but, oh ! I fear. His word he will not keep. VTbat can it be keeps him frae me ■- The road it's no sae lang; And frost and snaw is nought ava, If fo'k were fain to gang. Some ither lass wi' bonnier fiice. Has caught his wandering e'e ; Than thole their jeers at kirk an' fiir. Oh ! sooner let me dee. O ! if we lasses could but gang And woo the lads we like, I'd run to thee, my Johnny dear If e'er stop at bog or dyke ; But custom's such a powerfu' thir/,' Men aye their will maun ha'e , "While mony a bonnie lassie sits, And mourns from day to day. 2i4 SCOTTISH SONGS. But wheesht ! I hear my Johnny's foot ; That's just h'S very clog ; H.? snecks the fa'-yett saftly too— O hang that colly dog ! And now for a' thae sugar'd words. And kisses not a few ; O, but this world's a Paradise, When lovers they prove true. Jsle WM am^ ht m2 In, [The old song of " She rose and let me in" was ^Titten by Francis Semple, Esq. of Beltrees, in Renfrewshire, but is too indelicate for admission. Semple lived about the middle of the seventeenth century. A manuscript volume of his poems is known to have been in the possession of a lady in Paisley within the last thirty years, but unfor- tunately all trace of it is now lost. Ritson says, " This song (the present) is an English song of great merit, and has been Scotified by the Scots them- selves." But the reverse happens to be the case, for it is a Scotch song, and has been Anglified by the Scots themselves. The original Scotch words are to be found, with the music, in Playford's "Choice Ayres and Songs," 1683, also-(without the music) in Ramsay's Tea-Table Miscellany, Herd's CoUeotion, &c. What may be called the Anglified version (which we here give) first ap- peared in Johnson's Museum. Bums was mis- taken in thinking that Ramsay was the author of this version — for Ramsay gives the original words with all their warmth and high colouring.] Thk night her sable mantle wore, And gloomy were the skits; Of glitt'ring stars appear'd no more, Than those in Nelly's eyes. WTien to her father's door I came, Where I had often been, I bcgg'd my fair, my lovely dame. To rise and let me in. But she with accents all divin'', Did my fond suit reprove ; And while she chid my rash design. She but inflamed my love. Her beauty oft had pleased before. While her bright eyes did roll; But virtue had the very power Xo charm my very soul. Then who would cruelly deceive. Or from such beauty part P I loved her so, I could not leave The charmer of my heart. My eager fondness I obey'd. Resolved she should be mine. Till Hymen to my arms convey'd My treasure so divine. Now, happy in my Nelly's love. Transporting is my joy ; No greater blessing can I prove. So blest a man am I : For beauty may a while retain The conquei'd flutfring heart; But virtue only is the chain Holds, never to depart. '^^m Mi %un2 aba*. [Printed anonymously in TJrbani's collection and Johnson's Museum. — Tune, " Haud awa' frae me, Donald."] Thou art gane awa', thou art gane awa'. Thou art gane awa' frae me, Mary ! Nor friends nor 1 could make thee stay — Thou hast cheated them and me, Jlary ! Until this hour I never thought That ought could alter thee, Mary ; Thou'rt still the mistress of my heart, Think what you will of me, Mary. "Whate'er he said or might pretend. That stole the heart of thine, Marj-, True love, I'm sure, was ne'er his end, Or nae sic love as mine, Mary. I spoke sincere, nor flattered much. Had no unworthy thoughts, Mary ; Ambition, wealth, nor naething such ; No, I loved only thee, Mary. Though you've been false, yet while I live, I'll lo'e nae maid but thee, Mary ; Let friends forget, as I forgive. Thy wrongs to them and me, Jlary ; So then, farewell ! of this be sure, Since you've been false to me, Mary ; For all the world I'd not endure Half what I've done for thee, Mary. # •^^kS^'iS^^. SCOTTISH SONGS. 245 Ect me m tM^ sit miglto ^^ ^ [Thb tune of " O let me in this ae night" is to i be found under different names in some of the i oldest musical collections. The original words of the song are given in Herd's collection, 1776, but we can only quote part of them. — 0, lassie, art thou sleeping yet ? Or are you waking I would wit : For love has bound me hand and foot, And I would fain be in, jo. O, let me in this ae night. This ae, ae, ae night, O, let me in this ae night. And I'U ne'er come back again, jo. The mom it is the term -day, I maun away, I canna stay, O, pity me before I gae. And rise and let me in, jo. O, let me in, &c. The night it is baith cauld and weet ; The mom it will be snaw and sleet, ily shoon are frozen to my feet, Wi' standing on the plain, jo. 0, let me in, &c. I am the laird o' Windy-wa's, I come na here without a cause. And I ha'e gotten mony fa's In coming thro' the plain, jo. O, let me in. Sec. " My father's waking on the street, ily mither the chamber-keys does keep ; My chamber-door does chirp and cheep. And I dauma let you in, jo. " 0, gae your ways this ae night. This ae, ae, ae night , O, gae your ways this ae night, For I dauma let you in." Here ends the remonstrance of tha damsel — and here our quotation must stop. The following is BuRNs's version of the song, which he wrote for Thomson's collection.] 0, LASSIE, art thou sleeping yet ? Or art thou waukin', I would wit ? For love has bound me liand and foot. And I would fain be in, jo. O, let me in this ae night. This ae, ae, night; For pity's sake, this ae night, 0, rise and let me in, jo. Out ower the moss, out ower the muir, 1 came this dark and drearie hour ; And here I stand without the door. Amid the pouring storm, jo. O, let me in, &c. Thou hear'st the winter wind and weet ; Kae star blinks through the driving sleet Tak' pity on my wearie feet. And shield me frae the rain, jo. 0, let me in, &c. The bitter blast that round me blaws. Unheeded howls, unheeded fa's ; The cauldness o' thy heart's the cause O' a' my grief and pain, jo. O, let me in, &c. HER ANSWER. O TELi na me of wind and rain. Upbraid na me wi' cauld disdain ! Gae back the gate ye cam' again ; I winna let you in, jo. I tell you now, this ae night. This ae, ae, ae night ; And, ance for a', this ae night, I winna let you in, jo. The snellest blast, at mirkest hours. That round the pathless wand'rcr pours. Is nought to what poor she endures. That's trusted faithless man, jo. I tell you now, &c. The sweetest flower that deck'd the mead. Now trodden like the vilest weed ; Let simple maid the lesson read. The weird may be her ain, jo. I tell you now, &c. The bird that chann'd this summer day, Is now the cruel fowler's prey ; Let witless, trusting woman say. How aft her fates the same, jo. 1 tell you now, this ae night. This ae, ae, ae night. And, ance for a", this ae night, I winna let you in, jo. 216 _ ^„.f^^ SCOTTISH SONG;; ^:^^^^?^e^^ ^05tIiTO, im^ Ulz. [This is another song by Burns to the tune of ' O, let me in this ae night."] FoRi.oRN', tny love, no comfort near. Far, f;ir from thee, I wander here ; Far, far from thee, the fate severe At which I most repine, love. O wert thou, love, but near me; But near, near, near me ; How Icindly thou would st cheer me. And mingle sighs with mine, love ! Around me scowls a wintry sky. That blasts each bud of hope and joy ; And shelter, shade, nor home have I, Save in those arms of thine, love. Cold, alter'd friendship's cruel part. To poison fortune's ruthless dart — Let me not break thy faithful heart. And say that fate is mine, love. But dreary though the moments fleet, <) let me think we yet shall meet! That only ray of solace sweet Can on thy Chloris shine, love. O wert thou, love, but near me ; But near, near, near me ; How kindly thou wouldst cheer me. And mingle sighs with mine, love ! ^^\ Mog JEa:pjgcif. [This is introduced as a finale to the opera of " Kob Roy," and is sung to the tune of "Duncan «Tray." TeiTy manufectured the opera from Sir Walter's celebrated novel of " Rob Roy," but we cannot say who is the author of the song.] Pardon now the bold outlaw, Rob Roy Macgre?or, O ! ""a Grant him mercy, gentles a", Rob Roy Macgregor, 0-! Let your hands and hearts agree, Set the Highland laddie free, Slake us sing wi' muckle glee, Rob Roy Macgregor, O ! ; Long the state has doom'd his fa', Rob Roy Macgregor, O ! 6tiU he spum'd the hatefu' law, Rob Roy Macgregor, O '. Scots can for their country die ; Ne'er frae Britain's foes they flee, A' that's past forget — forgie, Rob Roy Macgregor, ! Scotland's fear and Scotland's pride, Rob Roy Macgregor, O ! Your award must now abide, Rob Roy Macgregor, O ! Lang your favours ha'e been mine. Favours I will ne'er resign. Welcome then for auld langsyne, Kob Roy Macgregor, O ! ^tu% a If alit|. [Words by W. H. Freeman. Music by Ale.x. Lee.] Here's a health to fair Scotland, the land of the brave ! Here's a health to the bold and the free ! And as long as the thistle and heather shall wave. Here's a health, bonnie Scotland, to thee : Here's a health to the land of victorious Bruce, And the champions of liberty's cause ; And may their examples fresh heroes produce In defence of our rights and our laws. Here's a health, &e. Here's a health to the land where bold Wallace unfurl'd His bright banner of conquest and feme — The terror of foeman, the pride of the world ! — Long may Scotland hold dearly his name. And still, like their fathers, our brothers are ti-ue. And their valour with pleasure we see ; Of the ^^Teaths that were won at renowned Wa- terloo, There's a bough of the laurel for thee. Here's a health, &c. Here's success to the shamrock, the thistle, the rose. May they ever in harmony twine ; And should wily discord again interpose. Let us challenge each other in wine. c4(J^^ ■^:S)Sv ^ For while we're imited foes threaten in vain. And their daring our fame shall increase. Till the banner of Victory o'er land and main. Triumphant is waving in Peace. Here's a health, &c. jfsitkn^ :^2t. [Written by the Ekv. H. S. Eiddel. Set music by Peter Macleod.] Ga E bring my gude auld harp ance mair, Gae bring it firm and fast — For I maun sing anither sang. Ere a' my glee be past. A nd trow ye as I sing, my lads. The burden o't shall be, Auld Scotland's howes, and Scotland's knowi And Scotland's hills for me ! I'll drink a cup to Scotland yet, T^'i' a' the honours three. The heath waves wild upon her hills. And, foaming frae the fells. Her fountains sing o' freedom still. As they dance down the dells ; And weel I lo'e the land, my lads. That's girded by the sea ; Then Scotland's dales, and Scotland's vales. Arid Scotland's hills for me ! I'll drink a cup to Scotland yet, "VVi' a' the honours three. Her thistle wags upon the fields "Where Wallace bore his blade, ■ That gave her foemen's dearest blu:d To dye her auld grey plaid ; And looking to the lift, my lads. He sang this doughty glee, Auld Scotland's right, and Scotland's might. And Scotland's hiUs for me ! Then drink a cup to Scotland yet, TV^i' a' the honours three. They tell o' lands wi' brighter skies. Where freedom's voice ne'er rang — Gi'e me the hills where Ossian dwelt. And Coila's Minstrel sang ; For I've nae skill o' lands, my lads. That ken na to be free. Then Scotland's right, and Scotland's might, And Scotland's hills for me ! We'll drink a cup to Scotland yet, Wi' a' the honours three. S5si^f$ m^ ^2. [Robert Gii.pii.lan.] I O, WHA are sae happy as me and my Janet ? [ O, wha are sae happy as Janet and me .■' j We're baith turning auld, and our walth is soon tauld. But contentment ye'll find in our cottage sae wee. She spins the lang day when I'm out wi' the owsen. She croons i' the house while I sing at the plough; And aye her blythe smile welcomes me frae my toil. As up the lang glen I come wearied, I trow : When I'm at a beuk she is mending the cleading. She's darning the stockings when I sole the shoon ; [weaiy ; Our cracks keep us cheery — we work till we're And sj-ne we sup sowans when ance we are done. She's baking a scone while I'm smoking my cutty. While I'm i' the stable she's milking the kye ; I envy not kings when the gloaming time brings The canty fireside to my Janet and I ! Aboon our auld heads we've a decent clay bigging. That keeps out the cauld when the simmers awa' ; We've twa wabs o' linen, o' Janet's ain spinning, As thick as dog-lugs, and as white as the snaw ! We've a kebbuck or twa, and some meal i' the gimel; Yon sow is our ain that plays grunt at the door ; An' something, I've guess'd, 'sin yon auld painted kist, I That Janet, fell bodie, 's laid up to the fore ! i Nae doubt, we have haen our ain sorrows and troubles, Aften times pouches toom, and hearts fu' o' care ; But stiU, wi' our crosses, our sorrows and losses, Contentment, be thankit, has aye been our share; I've an auld rusty sword, that was left by my father, Whilk ne'er shaU be drawn tUl our king has a fae; We ha'e friends ane or twa, that aft gi'e us a ca', To laugh when we're happy, or grieve when we're wae. 248 SCOTTISH SONGS. The laird may ha'e gowd mair than schoolmen can reckon. An' flunkies to watch ilka glance o' his e'e ; His lady, aye braw, may sit in her ha". But are they mair happy than Janet and me ? A" ye wha ne'er kcnt the straight road to be happy, Wha are nae content wi' the lot that ye dree. Come down to the dwellin' of whilk I've been telling, Te'se learn it by looking at Janet an' me ! [Robert Allan,] Bonnie lassie, blythsome lassie. Sweet's the sparkling o' your e'e ; Aye sae wyling, aye beguiling. Ye ha'e stown my heart frae me. Fondly wooing, fondly sueing. Let me love, nor love in vain Fate shall never fond hearts sever. Hearts still bound by true love's chain. Fancy dreaming, hope bright beaming. Shall each day life's feast renew ; Ours the treasure, ours the pleasure. Still to live and love more true. Mirth and folly, joys unholy. Never shall our thoughts employ; Smiles inviting, hearts uniting, Love and bliss without alloy. Bonnie lassie, blythsome lassie. Sweet's the sparlding o' your e'e ; Aye sae wyling, aye beguiling. Ye ha'e stown my heart frae me. ^u¥ it, raai^, taik' ft, [The author of this clever song, we believe, be- longed to Paisley, where he published a small vol. of poems in 1835. He has since died. His name was David Webster. — Air, " Hrose and Butter."] When I was a miller in Fife, Losh! I thought that the sound o' the happer Said, Tak' hame a wee flow to your wife. To help to be brose to your suj per. ^ Then my conscience was narrow and pure. But someway by random it rackit ; For I liftet twa neivefu' or mair. While the happer said, Tak' it, man, tak' it. Then hey for the mill and the kill. The garland and gear for my cogie. And hey for the whiskey and yill. That washes the dust frae my eraigie. Although it's been lang in repute. For rogues to make rich by deceiving : Yet I see that it disna weel suit Honest men to begin to the thieving. For my heart it gaed dunt upon dunt, Od, I thought ilka dunt it wad erackit ; Sae I flang frae my neive what was in't. Still the happer said, Tak' it, man, tak' it. Then hey for the mill, &c. A man that's licen bred to the plough, Jliglit be deav'd wi' its clamorous clapper; Yet there's few but would suffer the sougli. After kenning what's said by the happer. I whiles thought it scoff'd me to scorn. Saying, Shame, is your conscience no chackit ; But when I grew dry for a horn. It chang'd aye to Tak' it, man, tak' it. Then hey for the mill, &c. The smugglers whiles cam' wi' their packs, •Cause they kent that 1 liked a bicker, Sae 1 bartered whyles wi' the gowks, Gi'ed them grain for a soup o' their liquor. I had lang been accustomed to drink, And aye when I purposed to quat it. That thing wi' its elapertie clink. Said aye to me, Tak' it, man, tak' it. Then hey for the mill, &c. But the warst thing f did in my life, Nae doubt but ye'U think I was wrang o't, Od, I tauld a bit bodie in Fife A' my tale, and he made a bit sang o't. I have aye had a voice a' my days. But for singin' I ne'er gat the knack o't; Yet I try whyles, just thinking to please My frien's here, wi' Tak' it, man, tak' it. Then hey for the mill, &c. Now, miller and a* as I am. This far I can see through the matter ; There's men mair notorious to fame, Mjiir greedy than me o' the muter. SCOTTISH S0XG3. 249 For 'twad seem that the hale race o' men. Or wi' safety, the ha'f we may mak' it, Ha'e some speaking haf per within. That says aye to them, Tak' it, man, tak" it. Then hey for the mill, &c. 'a^Tipgie &m. [James Lawsok, formerly of Glasgow, now of New York. — Tune, "Kelvin Grove." — Campsie Glen is a beautiful valley near the village or clachan of Campsie in Stirlingshire, rich in geological and botanical treasures, and enlivened by a cascade or waterfall. It is situated about ten miles north of Glasgow, and forms a fevourite summer-day resort to the inhabitants of that city.] Let us owre to Campsie Glen, bonnie lassie, O, By the dingle that you ken, bonnie lassie, O, To the tree where first we woo'd. And cut our names so rude. Deep in the sauch-tree's wood, bonnie lassie, O. O'er the willow brig we'll wend, bonnie lassie, O, And the ladders we'U ascend, bonnie Lissie, O, ■\Vhere the woodroof loves to hide Its scented leaves, beside The streamlets, as they glide, bonnie lassie, 0. "Where the blue bell on the brae, bonnie lassie, O, Where the sweetest scented slae, bonnie lassie, O, And the flow'rets ever new. Of nature's painting true. All fragrant bloom for you, bonnie lassie, O. ■\Vhere the music of the wood, bonnie Lissie, O, And the dashing of the flood, bonnie lassie, 0, O'er the rock and ravine mingle. And glen and mountain dingle. With the merry echoes tingle, bonnie lassie, 0. On the moss-seat we'U recline, bonnie lassie, O, Wi' a hand in each of thine, bonnie lassie, ; The bosom's warmest thnU Beats truer, safter still, As our hearts now glowing fill, bonnie lassie, O. Then before bright heaven's eye, bonnie lassie, O, We wUl double love-knots tie, bonnie lassie, ; Then true affection plighted. We'll love and Uve united, With hearts and hands united, bonnie lassie, 0. [KoBEBT AixAw. — Air, "Kelvin Grove."] The sinimer sweetly smiles in Caledonia, The simmer sweetly smiles in Caledonia, WTiare the scented hawthorns blaw, WTiite as the drifted snaw, 'Slang the bonnie woods and wilds o' Caledonia. There's motintain, hUl, and dale, in Caledonia, There's mountain, hUl, and dale, in Caledonia, There's mountain, hiU, and dale, "Where lovers tell their tale. By the bonnie siQer streams o' Caledonia. The twilight hour is sweet in Caledonia, The twihght hour is sweet in Caledonia, The twilight hour is sweet, "When la's the dewy weet. On the'bonnie banks and braes o' Caledonia. The glens are wild and steep in Caledonia, The glens are wild and steep in Caledonia, The glens are wild and steep. And the ocean's wide and deep, That encircles thee, my native Caledonia. There's a bonnie, bonnie lass in Caledonia, There's a bonnie, bonnie lass in Caledonia, Uka airt the wind can blaw, • She's fairest o' them a'. An' the dearest ane to me in Caledonia. It li^tr^'t. [Robert MrLLiKKK, bookseller, Glasgow.— Air, " Kelvin Grove."— Here first printed.] I HAVE listen'd to your sang, bonnie lassie, O, And thought the time nae lang, bonnie lassie, O; There was something in your lay, O' that saft sweet melody, I will mind for mouy a day, bonnie lassie, 0. It was o' that pleasant kind, bonnie lassie, 0, That can soothe a weary mind, bonnie lassie, ; It was far more dear to me Than the blossom on the tree, ■f To the checrfu' humming bee, bonnie lassie, 0. ^^^^i(S^^i yt^-o ■^-^^SE?S^^-^>fF'^^^ 2oO SrOTTlSH SONGS. . I'll sometimes think on thee, bonnic lassie, O, : That sung of Gregorie, bonnie hissie, O, 'I I'll mind the magic spell O' thy voice's dulcet swell, " On my ear that softly fell, bonnie lassie, O. I K'en though I should be afar, bonnie lassie, O, ' > AVhere other winds do war, bonnie lassie, O, ; In cottage, bower, or hall. When the evening shadows fall. To my memory thee I'll call, bonnie lassie, O, [Air, " My only jo and dearie, O."] Did you e'er see young Mysie Brown, The bonniest lass in Auchterfell ? Of a' the maids the parish roun'. The swankies owned she bore the licll. Young roses budded on her cheek. Her neck was like the drifted snaw. And there her ringlets, saft and sleek. Waved lightly black a3 ony craw. Light o'er the gowans she would skip. Blithe as a lamb upon the lea ; . The smile of love upon her lip — His lightnings flashing in her e'c. Saft as the bumie whimples by. Or bee that hums on heather-bell. Or simmer gloaming zephjTS sigh. Young Mysie's gentle accents fell. Tlie laverock welcoming the mom Wi' dewy breast in cloudless air. Or mavis on the blossomed thorn, Wi' Mysie's sang could ne'er compare. She buskit trigly in her claes, Sae weel put on, sae neat and clean ( Like vernal flowers on banks and brais. She aye was lovely to be seen. She was nae idle glaiket quean. That took delight to jouk and play; In eident thrift frae morn to e'en. She pass'd her time frae day to day. ight. WHiat lass e'er look'd on Andrew ! The wale of a' in Murlingden, But saw him in her dreams at night. And, waking, wish'd to dream again ? At kirk and fair he show'd a grace. At wark few had a wighter arm : Nane show'd mair smeddum in their face, Nae bosom held a heart mair warm. Oh ! willawins for Andrew now ! He leads a dowie, heartless life : Deep care sits glooming on his brow, — He's linked to a weirdless wife. She is to a' her sex a shame. The scorn and talk of a' the town ; Ye'Il ferlie when ye hear her name — The meekly modest Mysie Brown. Love laughs nae langer in her e'e. Her dimpling smile nae mair is seen. Her hair hangs huddering o'er her bree. Her claes are neHhei* neat nor clean. Ac day she's donnard, daised and doited, Bumbazed she wanders out and in ; The neist sae cankered, capernoited. She deaves his lugs wi' scaulding din. Yet she of fondness has her fits. But wi' a wild and wanton air. When they are o'er, she moping sits. And seems the image o' despair. At morn, she's sulky, sour, and sad. Her head like dying hen she hings ; At e'en, her rauclde tongue's sae mad, . That a' the roof aboon them rings. She'll daud her b.^irnies to the wa'. And fling the stools and chairs about; Will Andrew wi' foul tongue misca'. And, aiblins, try to gi'e 'm a clout. Their house was ance right weel provided. But back and bed is bauch and bare. For a' thing is sae sair misguided. The siller gangs he kens na where. It grieves the muse to tell the cause Wliich maks a worthy pair unhappy ; Let prudent maidens o'er it pause— The gentle Mysie taks a drappie ! ^^- A htt poker's as guid as their braid swords ; ^ J It's as weel though to let that flee stick to the wa', For mayhap they may chance to claymore me , To let sleepin' dogs lie is the best thing ava, 6aid my faither, the Deacon, before me. ' (/< Wy puir cousin Rab, O ! his terrible wife . • *^ Was sae proud, that she chose to disown me, Jj^ Fient a bodle cared she for a magistrate's life, ) '^/ My conscience ! she was just gaiin to drown me! 5^ {x But if ever again in her clutches I pop, Puir Matty may live to deplore me. But were I in Glasgow, I'd stick to my shup. Like my faither, the Deacon before me. Xow to think o' them hangin' a bailie so high. To be picked at by corbies and bnrdies ! But if I were at Glasgow, my conscience ! I'll try To let their craigs feel the weight o' their hurdies. But stop, Nicol ! stop man I na, that canna be. For if ane wad to hame safe restore ye. In the Saut ^larket safe, I'd forget and forgie — Like my faither, the Deacon before me. m ©I^ ^-ioUi) air. My mother sang a plaintive song, Which winter nights beguiled ; And as its echo died along. She wept, and yet she smUed. I clasped my infant hands, and crept Close to her parent knee. And then I'd weep because she wept. Yet wondered why 't might be. My child, she said, I hear her yet. Her kind eye bent on mine ; Thou'rt young, and dost perchance forget That native land of thine. That hes beneath the polar ray. Far on the dark blue sea — A land of heath and mountain grey. But far from you and me. I was a little child, like you, ■When first I heard that strain. And oft I dream of fountains blue. And it comes back again ; And with it comes a broken font Of tears, I deemed was dry ; Old faces, voices, come as wont. And will not pass me by. Your father, boy, loved that sweet trill- He said I sung it well ; And why I weep to hear it stUl, Fond memory can tell. You were an infant when he left His home for hostile shore- The sword your father's life bereft— I never saw him more. SCOTTISH SOXGS. 255 I heard my mother sing that song. And then 1 left our h all ; Ere I returned again, 'twas long. But death had reft me all. The wallflower hung on turret strong. The moss on ruin grey. And all who sung or heard that scng Were gone — were wede away. I heard a stranger sing that air — A little fair-haired child. With sunny brow that knew no care. With joyous eye and mild ; She warbled snatches of that sti^ain. And laughed right joyously ; In after years she may retain Its memory, like me. ^^^ feee^0 ©f Miurimex^, [Music by James Jaap.] This lone heart is thine, lassie, charming and iaix, ;_^ . This fond heart is thine, lassie dear. Y/^ ^ae warld"s gear ha'e I, nae oxen nor kye, ' f ^l\e naething, dear lassie, save a puir heart to gi"e; [ Y^ Tet dinna say me na, but come, come awa', V ^\& An' wander, dear lassie, 'mang the woods o' Dun- ?._'. ^ more, " '■ ■ An' wander, dear lassie, "mang the woods o' Dun- more. O sweet is thy voice, lassie. Charming an' fair, &^ 1 Enchanting thy smUe, lassie dear. b r|j I'U toil aye for thee, for ae blink o' thine e'e Jj 'i Is pleasure mair sweet than siller to me ; f//yj, O dinna say me na, but come, come awa', '^y' ' An' wander, dear lassie, 'mang the woods o' Dun- 0^ more, cVj An' wander, dear lassie, 'mang the woods o' Dun- O come to my arms, lassie charming an' fair, Awa' wUd alarms, lassie dear. This fond heart an' thine like ivy shall twine, thee, dear lassie, till the day that I dee. dinna say me na, but come, come awa', wander, dear lassie, "mang the woods o' Dun- more, [more. An' wander, dear lassie, 'mang the woods o' Dun- [From " Poems and Songs by Eobebt Nicoll." W. Tait, Edinburgh.] Janet 3Iacbea>' a public keeps. An' a merry auld wife is she ; An' she sells her yUl wi' a jaunty air That wad please your heart to see. Her drink's o' the best — she's hearty aye. An' her house is neat an' clean — There's no an auld wife in the public line Can match wi' Janet Macbean. She has aye a curtsey for the laird ■UTien he comes to drink his can. An' a laugh for the farm.er an' his wife. An' a joke for the farmer's man. She toddles but an' she toddles ben. Like onie wee bit queen — There's no an auld wife in the public line Can match wi' Janet Macbean. The beggar wives gang a' to her. An' she sairs them wi' bread an' cheese, — Her bread in bannocks an' cheese in whangs Wi' a blythe gudewill she gi'es. Tow, the kintra-side will miss her sair When she's Laid aneath the green — There's no an auld wife in the public line Can match wi" Janet Macbean. Amang- GoLDiE, the original editor of the Paisley Advertiser. He was a native of Ayr, and for some time before he started the Paisley newspaper, which was the first ever published in that town, and was begun on the 9th Oct. 1S34, he had teen en- gaged as editor of the Ayr Courier. Previous to this, too, in 18^, he had brought out by sub- scription a small volume of " Poems and Songs." He died suddenly, from the bursting of a blood- vessel, on the 27th Feb. 1S26, in the twenty -eighth year of his age. At the time of his death, he was engaged in compiling for Mr. M'Phun of Glx>^ow a collection of songs, which was published in two small volumes, with the title of " The Spirit of British Song.''] Sweet's the dew-deck'd rose in June, And lily lair to see, Annie, But there's ne'er a flower that blooms. Is half so fair as thee, Annie. Beside those blooming cheeks o' thine, The opening rose its beauties tine. Thy lips the rubies (sn outshine; Love sparkles in thy e'e, Annie. The snaw that decks yon mountain top, Nae purer is than thee, Annie ; The haughty mien, and pridefu' look. Are banish'd far frae thee, Annie ; And in thy sweet angelic face. Triumphant beams each modest grace, " And ne'er did Grecian chissel trace," A form sae bright as thine, Annie. ■VTha could behold thy rosy cheek. And no feel love's sharp pang, Annie, ■yVTiat heart could view thy smiling looks. And plot to do thee wrang, Annie. Thy name in ilk sang I'll weave. My he.irt, my soul wi' thee I'll leave. And never, till I cease to breathe, > I'll cease to think on thee, Annie. ^iSr-ii^ SCOTTISH SONGS. [Goi.DiE. — Air, " Loudon's bonnie woods and braes."] And can thy bosom bear the thought. To part frae love and me, laddie ? Are all those plighted vows forgot, Sae fondly pledged by thee, laddie ? Caii'st thou forget the midnight hour. When in yon love-inspiring bower. You vaw'd by every heavenly power. You'd ne'er lo'e ane but me, laddie. "Wilt thou — wilt thou gang and leave me. Win my heart, and then deceive me ? Oh ! that heart will break, believe me. Gin ye part wi' me laddie. Aft ha'e ye roos'd my rosy cheek. Aft prais'd my sparkling e'e, laddie. Aft said nae bliss on earth ye'd seek. But love and live wi' me, laddie. But soon those cheeks will lose their red. Those eyes in endless sleep be hid. And 'neath tlie turf the heart bo laid. That beats for love, and thee, laddie. Wilt thou — wilt thou gang and leave me. Win my heart and then deceive me ? Oh ! that heart will break, believe me, Gin ye part frae me, laddie. You'll meet a form mair sweet and fair, Where rarer beauties shine, laddie. But oh ! the heart can never bear, A love sae true as mine, laddie. But when that heart is laid at rest, That heart that lo'ed ye last and best. Oh, then the pangs that rend thy breast. Will sharper be than mine, laddie. Broken vows will vex and grieve nie. Till a broken heart relieve me. Yet its latest thought, believe me. Will be love and thine, laddie. tMiTcnEi.i Craigie lea."] Air, Thou bonnie wood of O ! WERE I on the heathy hills. That rise aboon the Stanley lea ; And wandTing by the crjstai rills. Where, Mar)-, first 1 courted thee: There mem'ry would recal the hours, I aft would spend at e'ening's fa', To twine for thee a wreath o' flowers. The flowers o' Caledonia. Here golden groves in every vale. Attract the stranger's wondering eye, And gorgeous flowers perfume the gale. Which wantons through a cloudless sky. But what's to me the richest flowers. That ever graced an Indian isle, If discontent pervade its bowers. And blight youth's unsuspicious smile ? Will golden groves or glowing skies, The heart's afl"eetions e'er enshrine, If gentle love the charm denies, ■Which beams in my love's face divine ? Then, Scotland, though thy heathy hills. Aft lie beneath a sheet o' snaw ; In fancy I still seek the rills. That glide near St;inley's castle wa'. [Sunny. — Glen-na-h'Albyn, or Glen-more na- h'AlbjTi, the great glen of Caledonia, is a valley abounding in lakes which stretches north-east to south-west, the whole breadth of the kingdom, from the iMoray Firth at Inverness to the Sound of Mull below Fort- William. — Air, " Cadil gu lo."] On the airj' Ben-nevis the wind is awake ; The boat's on the shallow, the ship on the lake. Ah ! now in a moment my country I leave j The next I am far away, far on the wave. O! fare thee well, fare thee well, Glen-na- h'Albyn, [h'Albyn. O! fare tliee well, fare thee well, Glen-n;> I was proud of the power and the fame of my chief, And to raise them was ever the aim of my life , And now in his greatness he turns me away. When my strength is decayed and my locks are worn grey. Oh ! fare thee well, &c. Farewell the grey stones of my ancestors' graves, I go to have mine of the foam of the waves ; Or to die unlamented on Canada's shore, » Where none of my fathers were gather'd before. Oh ! Ijire thee well, &c. y SCOTTISH SO^'GS. 259 C:^ [u%%k Eaiit)?ir» ["This old song," says Bums, "so pregnant ■with Scottish naivete and energy, is much relished by all ranks, notwithstanding its broad wit and palpable allusions. Its language is a precious ■y.y' model of imitation : sly, sprightly, and forcibly t -n-.an at Biggar.] O LOVE ! thou delights in man's ruin. Thy conquests they cost us full dear ; Haun I forfeit my life for the viewing The charms o' that lovely Miss "Weir ? Tho' soraetimes thou bid me aspire. Again thou distracts me wi' fear And envy o' ane th^it is higher — AVha's even'd to the charming Miss 'W'eir As down in yon valley a-walMng, "VNTiare nae christen'd creature was near. The birds all around me were talking O'naething but charming Miss "Weir: That sweet little bird, called the linnet. In accents delightfully dear. Declared to the world that In it "Was nought like the lovely Miss AVeir. Oh Cupid ! my head it is muddy, I wish it may ever be clear ; For aye, wh^ I sit down to study. My mind runs on channing Miss "Weir. I'm toss'd like a ship on the ocean. That kens na what course for to steer ; Tet at times I'm so vain in my motion. As hope for the lovely Miss Weir. 264 SCOTTISH SONGS. [John Imlar. Music by A. Lee.] Hby ! for the Hielan heather. Hey ! for the Hielan htather. Dear to me, and aye shall be. The bonnie braes o' Hielan heather; Hey ! for the Hielan heather. Dear to me, and aye shall be. The bonnie braes o' Hielan heather. There light o' heart and light o' heel. The lads and lasses trip thegither ; Kative norlan' rant an' reel, Amang the bonnie Hielan heather. Singing, hey ! for the Hielan heather. Hey ! for the Hielan heather. Dear to me, and aye shall be. The bonnie braes o' Hielan heather. Hey 1 for the Hielan heather. Hey ! for the Hielan heather. Bear to me, and aye shall be. The bonnie braes o' Hielan heather. The broom and whin, by loch and linn. Are tipp"d with gowd in simmer weather. Sweet and fair, but meikle mair. The purple bells o' Hielan heather. Singing, hey; for the Hielan heather, lley I for the Hielan heather. Hear to me, and aye shall be. The bonnie braes o' Hielan heather. [Written and arranged by W. Kirbt.] O wiiA is he I love s-ae well ? Who has my heart an' a', O wha is he, 'tis sair to tell. He's o'er the seas awa'. There's Charlie, he's a sodger lad. And Davie blythe is he ; And WilUe in his tartan plaid. They're a' a' te.ising me. ' O they're a' tease teasing, They're a' a' teasing me ; They're a' tease teasing, they're a' a' teasing me ^ There's Carl the chief o" Daftne glen. And he has land in store. With flew 'rj- mead and shady fen, And siller o'er and o'er : Quoth he, sweet lass, I'll marry thee, (Yestreen in yonder shaw;) And thou my ain sweet bride shall be And Queen o' Daftne ha' ! O they're a' tease teasing, &c. But when my Jamie comes again. Young Carl will then descry. That siller is but empty gain. To hearts no gowd can buy. My Jamie's brave, my Jamie's braw. My Jamie's a' to me. And tho' his siller store be sma'. Yet married we will be. For they're a' tease teasing, &c. ®|)e %m% a' Ptf^tiE pan. [AiB, " Good night and joy be wV ye a'."] The larkViad left the evening cloud. The dew fell saft, the wind was lown. Its gentle breath amang the flowers, Scarce stirr'd the thistle's tap o' dcwn. The dappled swallow had left the pool. The stars were blinking o'er the hill. As I met amang the hawthorns green, The lovely lass o' Preston mill. Her naked feet amang the grass Seem'd like the dew-gemm'd lilies fair ; Her brow shone comely 'mang her locks. Black curUng o'er her shoulders bare ; Her cheeks were rich in bloomy youth. Her lips were like a honey-well. And heaven seem'd looking through her een- The lovely lass o' Preston mill. Quo' I, sweet lass, will ye gang wi' me. Where moor cocks craw, and plovers cry ; Sax hills are wooly wi' my sheep — Sax vales are lowing wi' my kye. I have a lad wha's far awa'. That weel could win a woman's will ; She hung her head like a dew-beut rose — The lovely lass o' Preston mill. SCOTTISH SONGS. 265 [J. MiTCHETL.— Air, "Green grows the rashes."] Bright shines the sfanmer's mom. Bright shines the simmer's mom ; Come let us view the flowery fields. And hail wi' joy the waving coin. Let those who think that pleasure lies Within the magic glasses, O, Come view with me the glorious skies. And own themselves but asses, O. Bright shines. Sec. Vi'iU dissipation's feeble gait Wi' health's elastic step compare ? Will aching heads ne'er learn to hate The haunts, where lurks the demon care ? Bright shines, &c. Eefreshing is the morning air. The night is damp and dreary, O ; The fool who would the two compare. May sleep tiU he is weary, 0. Bright shines, &e. Then let us seek the flowery dells. Where health is in attendance, O, And from the pure, the crystal rills. Drink to sweet independence, O, Bright shines, &c. The tavern's roar, then, let us shun. If health or wealth we prize them, O ; The poor man's fortune is begun, "VMien he learns to despise them, O. Bright shines, &c. [John- Imlah.— Air, " The Black Watch."] The land o' cakes ! the land o' .cakes ! O ! monie a blessing on it ; Fair £i' the land o' hills, o' lakes. The bagpijie and the bonnet. The countrie o" the kilted clans. That cowed the Dane and Koman ; Whose sons ha'e still the hearts an' ban's To welcome friend or foeman. Then swell the sang baith loud and lang, TiU the hills Uke aspens quiver ; An' fill ye up, and toast the cup. The land o' cakes for ever. Be scom'd the Scot within whose heart Nae patriot flame is burning ; Wha kent nae pain frae hame to part, Kae joy when back returning. Nae love for him in life shall yearn, Nae tears in death deplore him ; He hath nae coronach nor cairn, ■Wha shames the land that bore him. Then swell the sang, &c. Fair flower the gowans in our glens. The heather on our mountains ; The blue bells deck our wizard dens. An' kiss our sparkling fountains. On knock an' knowe, the whin an' broom. An' on the braes the breckan ; Not even Eden's flowers in bloom Could sweeter blossoms reckon. Then swell the sang, &c. When flows our quegh within the glen. Within the hall our glasses ; We'll toast auld Scotland's honest men. Thrice o'er her bonnie lasses. And deep we'll drink the Queen and Kirk, Our country and our freedom ; Wi' broad clajTnore an' Highland dirk. We're ready when they need them. Then swell the sang, &c. ^-J? ^zzfcn ^til. [Poetry and Air by Dr. E. Spittal.] Oh ! deck thy hair wi' the heather bell. The heather bell alone ; Leave roses to the Lowland maid. The Lowland maid alone. I've seen thee wi' the gay, gay rose. And wi' the heather bell,— I love you much with both, fair maid; But wear the heather bell. For the heather bell, the heather bell. Which breathes the mountain air. Is far more fit than roses gay To deck thy flowing hair. 26G SCOTTISH SONGS. Away, away, ye roses gay! The heather bell for me ; Fair maiden, let me hear thee say, The heather bell for me. Then twine a wreath o' the heather bell. The heather bell alone ; Kor rose, nor lily, twine ye there. The heather bell alone ; For the heather bell, the heather bell, AVhich breathes the mountain air. Is tar more fit than roses gay To deck thy flowing hair. ^1? ^ki^eif^ ©f 1El!mliii£||, i"The well-known popular tune called "The Flowers of Edinburgh' is not much more than a hundred years old. It appears in Oswald's Cale- donian Pocket Companion, 1742, but cannot be traced in any earlier musical collection. It became a fashionable hornpipe about 1740, and was called " The Flowers of F.dinburgh," in com- pliment, it is supposed, to the young ladies of the Scottish capital who were then attending the danc- ing schools. About the same time the following words were written to the tune. Burns was mis- taken in thinking that there were older words to the tune, and that these had a Jacobitical allusion.] Mv love was once a bonnie lad, He was the flower of a" his kin. The absence of his bonnie face Has rent my tender heart in twain. I day or night find no delight ; In silent tears I still complain ; And exclaim 'gainst those my rival foes. That ha'e ta'en from me my dai'ling swain. Despair and anguish fill my breast, Since I have lost my blooming rose; I sigh and moan while others rest; His absence yields me no repose. To seek my love I'll range and rove. Through every grove and distant plain ; Thus I'll ne'er cease, but spend my days, To hear tidings from my darling swain. There's naething strange in nature's change. Since parents show such cruelty; They caused my love from me to range. And know not to what destiny. The pretty kids and tender lambs Jlay cease to sport upon the plain ; But I'll mourn and lament in deepdiseont.nt For the absence of my darling swain. Kind Neptune, 'et me thee entreat. To send a fair andT)leasant gale ; Te dolphins sweet, upon me wait, And convey me upon your tail ; Heaven bless my voyage with success. While crossing of the raging main. And send me safe o'er to a distant shore, To meet my lovely darling swaia. All joy and mirth at our return Shall then abound from Tweed to Tay ; The bells shall ring and sweet birds sing. To grace and crown our nuptial day. Thus bless'd wi' charms in my love's arms, My heart once more I will regain ; Then I'll range no more to a distant shore, But in love wUl enjoy my darling swain. B.estlai^ ^tut. [Alexander Hume.— Here first printed.— Air, ' Gala Water."] Mv mountain hame, my mountain hame, My kind, my independent mother ! While thought an' feeling rule my frame. Can I forget the mountain heather ? Scotland dear ' Though I to other lands may go. Should fortune's smile attend me thither. Ah robin comes in winter's snaw I'll homeward seek the mountain heather, Scotland dear! I love to hear your daughters dear The simple tale in sang revealing ; Whene'er your music greets my ear. My bosom melts wi' joyous feeling, Scotland dear I When I shall die, O I wad lie Where life an' me first met thegither. That my cauld clay, through its decay. Might bloom again in the mountain heather, Scotland dear! SCOTTISH S0NG3. 267 k^^- [Alkxajjder Laixg.j Mart ance had inony a charm. Few could boast o' half sae mony; In ilka day an' Sunday claes, Mary aye was neat and bonnie. But the fairest flow'r o' Jlay Is nae in a' the wreath o' July ; And now amang the maidens gay. Ye winna meet wi' Mary Cowley ! Mary ance had mony a lad, Tew could boast o' half sae mony ; But ah ! the silly ficUe maid. The newest aye was best of ony. Now the laddies woo nae mair. Now the lassie rues her folly ; And dowie are the wearie days An' lanely nights C Mary Cowley.' Lassie, I maun leave you too. Though I lo'e you best C ony; Ye ha'e wooers mony ane. Ye winna ken the want o' Johnny! Lassie, yet, afore we part, O, tak' the lad that lo'es you truiy. Lest ye be left wi' shame an' wae. To dree the fiate C Mary Cowley. ^ae foill t2 get. ' ^VBITTEN many years ago by Walter "Wat- , a weaver in Kirkintilloch.] - . T ye down here, my cronies, and gi'e us your crack. Let the win' tak' the care o' this life on its back, ' v^ Our hearts to despondency we never will submit, - j For we've aye been provided for, and sae will we yet. And sae will we yet, &c. Let the miser delight in the hoarding of pelf. Since he has not the saul to enjoy it himself: Since the bounty of providence is new eVry day, As we journey through life, let us live by the way. Let us live by the way, &c. ■ Then bring us a tankard o' nappy gude ale ; i For to comfort our hearts and enliven the tale; I We'll aye be the merrier the langer we sit. For we've drank thegither mony a time, and .-ae will we yet. And sae will we yet, &c. Success to the farmer, and prosper his plough, Bewarding his eident toils a' the year through ! ■ Our seed time and harvest we ever will get, ■ For weVe lippen'd aye to providence, and sae wiU I we yet. And sae will we yet, &c. ' Long live the king, and happy may he be, I And success to his forces by land and by sea ! I His enemies to triumph we never will permit, i Britons aye have been victorious, and sae will they yet. And sae will they yet, &c. Let the glass keep its course, and go merrily roun'. For the sau has to rise, though the moon it goes down. Till the house be rinnin' roun' about, it's time enough to flit. When we fell, we aye got np again, and sae will we yet. And sae will we yet, &c. ^I^t|e Bt2 tt get [Written by Ebenezer Pickek, a native of Paisley, whose poems were published at Edin- burgh in 1813, in two small vols. He died in 1815 or 1816.] Bi.YTHE are we set wi' ithcr ; FUng care ayont the moon ; Nae sae aft we meet thegither : Wha wad think o' parting soon ? Though snaw bends down the forest trees. And burn and river cease to flow ; Though nature's tide has shor'd to freeze. And winter nithers a' below. Blythe arc we, &c. Now, round the ingle cheerly met. We'll scog the blast and dread nae harm, Wi' jaws o' toddy reeking het. We'll keep the genial current warm. 268 . SCOTTISH SOXGS. The friendly crack, the checrfu' sang, Shall cheat the happy hours awa". Gar pleasure reign the e'ening lang. And laugh at biting frost and snaw. BIythe are we, &c. The cares that cluster round the heart. And gar the bosom stound wi' pain. Shall get a fright afore we part. Will gar them fear to come again. Then, fill about, my winsome chiels. The sparkling glass will banish pine : Xae pain the happy bosom feels, Sae free o' care as yours and mine. BIythe are we, &c. ®j^c lawli Ut m^> ^ [Written by 3. Hedderwick, Junr., editor of " The Glasgow Citizen" Newspaper. — 2klusic by S. Barr.] I've been upon the moonlit deep. When the wind had died away. And like an ocean god asleep. The bark majestic lay ; But lovelier is the varied scene. The hill, the lake, the tree. When bathed in light of midnight's queen. The land ! the land ! for me. The glancing waves I've glided o'er When gently blew the breeze ; But sweeter was the distant shore. The zephjT 'mang the trees. The murmur of the mountain rill. The blossoms waving free. The song of birds on every hill. The land ! the land ! for me. The billows I have been among, \Mien they roll'd in mountains dark. And night her blackest curtain hung j Around our heaving bar'K ; I But give me when the storm is fierce, I Jly home and fireside glee, | ■V\"hore winds may howl, but dare not pierce, ; The land : the laud '. for me. ft^ And when around the lightning flash'J, I've been upon the deep, And to the gulf beneath I've dash'd Adown the liquid steep ; But now that I am safe on shore. There let me ever be ; The sea let others wander o'er, The land ! the land ! for me. [AiB, "We'll meet beside the dusky glen." — This appeared in a small collection with the sig- nature " Mrs. J. S., RUTHEBOLEN."] If on earth there is enjoj-meut, 'Tis our ain fireside. Though the mind has its emplo\-ment. At our ain fireside ; Our bairnies round us twine. Like the ivy or the vine, Wi' looks sae sweet and kin' At our ain fireside. Yet we're no without our toil. At our ain fireside. Care mixes wi' the smile. At our ain fireside ; But wi' hearts sae leal an' true. We hope to wuddle through Life's linked and ravelled clew. At our ain fireside. But when our bairns are up. At our ain fireside. They'll l>e our stay and prop. At our ain fireside ; Wi' filial love and care. They will a' our pleasures share. And our age they will revere, A t our ain fireside. Though we ha'e nae muckle wealtli. At our ain fireside. Yet wi' sweet content and health. At our ain fireside ; We envy not a king. For riches canna bring The blessings we can sing, At our ain fireside. SCOTTISH SONGS. 269 And -when the time shall come. At our ain fireside. That'll lay us in the tomb, Frae our ain fireside ; ■Wi' faith that canna shrink, We'll no tremble on the brink, "VMien death shall loose the link. At our ain fireside. © git? m tr)2 ?zx. [J. MrrciTEi,!,, Paisley. Air, " Oran an Oig." ^Thia originally appej^ed in a small book of Proverbs published by Mr. John Ifeilson of Paisley.] Oh give me the ear that is deaf to the ills. Which the slanderer's tongue has in store ; And the eye that the moisture of pity distills. When the good and the great are no more. O gire me the tongue that disdains to repeat WTiat envy so glibly will teU, But responds to our joys when in friendship we meet . Bound the board, care's dark thoughts to dispell. O give me the heart that can bleed for the woes Which another is fated to feel — And the hand that on penury freely bestows. Yet the gift will as nobly conceal. Give me these, and I vow in my journey through life, Care ne'er will a shadow impart ; If Nature bestow on my friend and my wife. Such an ear, such a tongue, such a heart. Wild is thy lay and loud. Far in the downy cloud ; Love gives it energy, love gave it birth ; Where on the dewy wing. Where art thou journeying ? Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth. O'er fell and mountain sheen. O'er moor and mountain green. O'er the red streamer that heralds the day; Over the cloudlet dim. Over the rainbow's rim. Musical cherub, hie, hie thee away. Then when the gloaming comes, Low in the heather blooms, Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be ! Bird of the wilderness. Blessed is thy dwelling-place. Oh ! to abide in the desert with thee. '^l^ Eaife, [James Hogg. — 3Iusic by Clark.] Bird of the wilderness, Blythesome and cumberless, .Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea ! Emblem of happiness. Blessed is thy dwelling-place, Ob : to abide in the desert with thee ! [W. Alexaxder.] " If thou would'st view fair Melrose aright, Go visit it by the pale moon iight." — Scott. Oh, ha'e ye seen the Tweed while the moon shone bright. And the stars gemmed the sky wi' their siller ligh t ? If ye haena seen it, then Half its sweets ye canna ken j Oh, gae back and look ag^n I On a shining night ! i Oh, ha'e ye seen the Tweed when the cloister and isle In the long shadows slept of the mouldering pile ? Oh the fondest canna deem What that silent scene doth seem Till beneath pale Cynthia's beam He hath gazed awhile ! Oh, ha'e ye seen the Tweed when the moon's in the cloud — When the dark waves are rolling baith fierce and loud? Oh, beware ilk wizard den. For in sooth ye mayna ken. What spirits roam the glen ^ 'Xeath their dusky shroud '. 270 SCOTTISH SONGS. Oh, ha'e ye seen the Tweed when the moon's ganeift I have trod merry England, and dwelt on its down — ■\Vhon the sun caps ilk hill wi" a gowdcn crown ? Oh, ye'd pause in fix'd delight. As bursts upon the sight '>'eath the Eililons, spreading bright. The landscape roun' ! liut ha'e ye seen the maidens who trip tlie green, "\Vi' their tempting lips and their sparkling e'en ? Let the Tweed be e'er so fair, StUI there's something dearer there, \Vliat were a' the riggs o' Yair To my winsome quean ! Oh, ha'e ye seen the Tweed -while the moon shone bright, And the stars genun'd the sky wi' their siller light;? If ye ha'ena seen it, then Half it's sweets ye canna ken. Oh, gae back and look again On a shining night ! 5l>uxxs fox tl$ ^i^Umh^. [Andrew Park. — Music by S. Barr.] Hubba! for the Highlands! the stern Scottish Highlands; The home of the clansman, the brave, and the free. Where the clouds love to rest, on the mountain's rough breast. Ere they journey afar o'er the islandless sea. 'Tis there where the cataract sings to the breeze. As it dashes in foam like a spirit of light ; And 'tis there the bold fisherman bounds o'er the In his fleet, tiny bark through the perilous night. Then hurra ! for the Highlands, &c Tis the land of deep shadow, of sunshine, and shower. Where the hurricane revels in madness on high ; For there it has might that can war with its power. In the wild dizzy cliffs that are cleaving the sky. Then hurra ! for the Highlands, i&c. charms; I have wandered througli Erin, that gem of the sea; But the Highlands alone the true Scottisli heart warms, For her heather is blooming, her eagles are free. Then hurra ! for the Highlands, &e. ^^2 mduti mi fikw, [William Cross.— Air, " Brose and Butter. ' — Published originally in " The Penny Songster," Glasgow, 1839.] Our May had an e'c to a man, l\ae less than the newly-plaecd preacher ; And we plotted a dainty bit plan For trapping our spiritual teacher, O, we were sly, sly ! O, -we were sly and sleekit ! But ne'er say a herrmg is dry until it be reestit and rcekit. We treated young 3Ir. JX'Gock, We plied him wi' tea and wi' toddy ; And we praised every word that he spoke. Till wi' put him maist out o' the body. O, we were sly, sly ! &c. Frae the kirk we were never awa'. Except when frae hame he was helping ; And then May, and often us a', Gaed far and near after him skelping. O, we were sly, sly ! Sec. We said aye, which our neighbours thought dr.Jl, That to hear him gang through wi' a sermi.ii, Was, (though a wee dry on the whole,) As refreshing's the dew on Mount Hermon. O, we were sly ! sly, &c. But to come to the heart o* the nit — The dainty bit plan that we plotted AVas to get a subscription afit. And a watch to the minister voted. O, we were sly, sly ! &c. The young -women folk o' the kirk. By turns lent a hand in collecting ; But May took the feck o' the wark. And the trouble the rest o' directing. 0, we were sly, sly ! &cc. $^^^^^^' SCOTTISH SONGS. 271 A gran' watch was gotten belyve, '. And May, wi' sma' prigging consentit To be ane o' a party o' five To gang to the manse and present it. O, we were sly, sly : &cc. Vi'e a' gied a word o' advice To May in a deep consultation, I To ha'e something to say unco nice. And to speak for the hale deputation. ' O, we were sly, sly ! &c. I TaMng present and speech baith in hand, , May delivered a bonnie palaver. To let Mr. M'Gock understand ' How zealous she was in his favour. O, we were sly, sly : Sec. She said that the gift was to prove. That his female Mends valued him highly, I But it couldna express a' their love ; I And she glintit her e'e at him slyly. I O, we were sly, sly ! &c. ' He put the gold watch in his fab, I And proudly he said he would wear it ; And, after some flattering gab, ' Tauld May he was gaun to be marryit. I O, we were sly, sly '. O, we were sly and sleekit ! , Bat Mr. M'Gock was nae gowk, wi' our dainty bit plan to be cleekit. May came hame wi' her heart to her mouth, I And became, frae that hour, a dissenter. And now she's renewing her youth [ Wi' some hopes o' the burgher precentor. ^ O, but she's sly, sly ! O, but she's sly and sleekit ! I And cleverly opens ae door as soon as another is steekit. [Allan Cl-n-ntkc-ham.] A WET sheet and a flowing sea, A wind that follows fast. And fi l l s the white and rustling saU, And bends the gallant mast. And bends the gallant mast, my bovs IVhile like the eagle &ee. Away the good ship fli^, and leaves Old England on the lee. O for a soft and gentle wind ! I heard a fair one cry ; But give to me the swelling hreeze. And white waves heaving high The white waves heaving high, my lads. The good ship tight and free — The world of waters is our home. And merry men are we. There's tempest in yon homed moon. And lightning in yon cloud; And hark the music, mariners ! The wind is wakening loud. The wind is wakening loud, my boys. The lightning flashes free — The hollow oak our palace is. Our heritage the sea. |iEj) "59Em? EEiff. [W. MiLLAB.— Music by P. M'Leod.] Oh, weel I mind the happy days. The days o' youthfu' love and pride, AMien 'mang the gleus and heath'ry braes I woo'd and won my bonnie bride ; And weel I mind the blessed time, "V^Tien Hymen wove the nuptial speU, And waken'd joys whilk few but they Far, far an' ovrre in heav'n can teU. My bonnie wife— the charm o' life. She's Tnnir than India's gowd to me , Oh ! blessings on my bonnie wi:e, I'll like her till the dr.y I dee. She's aye sae blythe when I come hame, Sae glad o' e'e, sae sweet o' mou'. The saft voice o' my couthie dame Is kinder than the turtle's coo. And then she's aye sae gude and meek That angel's e'en her heart might see , I think its maistly for her sake Contentment Ukes to dwell wi' me. ■When gay young frien's come down the gs Or aiblins been auid birkie's ca". Our wee bit cot she mak's sae neat. It's no that unco-like ava: :- -^^ SCOTTISH SONGS. For though we brag nae routh o' braws. Nor count wi' daintier folks to shine. Her form mak's up foi- pictured wa's. Her face gars ilka thing look fine. And when around the fire at night Our wee love-doos come todling ben. There's something gars my heart beat light — A-maist owre rich for mortal ken ! The skies *ithout may smile or frown, But still our cheerie hearth's the Simie ; Like birds that aye gang wi' the sun. We've simmer a' the year at hame. Lang may the rose bloom on her cheek, The star o' joy light up her e'e; Lang may the smile play on her lip. And a' that's gude her portion be. And when the sun o' life gaes down. May gowden glories light her rest. And endless .joys, the earth aboon, Mak' her the liappiest o' the blest. 3Iy bonnie wife — the charm o' life. She's mair than India's gowd to me, Oh ! blessings on my bonnie wife, I'll like her tUl the day I dee. [Tannahili,. — Music by R. A. Smith. — Arran- tcenie or Ardentinny is beautifully situated on the banks of Loch Long. The song was written by Tannahili from hearing a friend describe with rapture a young woman whom he had acciden- tally met there, in a Highland excursion.] Far lone amang the Highland hills. Midst nature'8 wildest grandeur. By rocky dens and woody glens. With weary steps I wander. The langsome way, the darksome day. The mountain mist sae rainy. Arc naught to me, when gaun to thee. Sweet lass o' Arranteenie. Yon mossy rose-bud down the howe. Just opening fresh and bonny. It blinks beneath the hazel bough, And's scarcely seen by ony. Sac sweet amidst her native hills. Obscurely blooms my Jeanie, Mair fair and gay than rosy May, The flower o' Arranteenie. > Now from the mountain's lofty brow, I view the distant ocean , There avarice guides tlie bounding prow, Ambition courts promotion. Let fortune pour her golden store. Her laurell'd favours many. Give me but this, my soul's first wish. The lass o' Arranteenie. le'^ Mx uu^ ifau^e. [Bdbns contributed this song, which has much the character of an epigram, to Johnson's Museum. He also supplied the air, which he picked up from some country i She's fair and fause that causes my smart, I lo'ed her meikle and lang ; She's broken her vow, she's brokert my heart. And I may e'en gae hang. A coof cam' in wi' routh o' gear. And I ha'e tint my dearest dear; But woman is but warld's gear, Sae let the bonnie lass gang. Whae'er ye be that woman love. To this be never blind, Nae ferlie 'tis tho' fickle she prove, A woman has't by kind. O woman, lovely woman fair! An angel form's fa'n to thy share, 'Twad been o'er meikle to gien thee mair — I mean an angel mind. JHIg Ham!?, [Music by A. Lee.] Oh ' sing from thy spray Thy wild notes so gay. Pretty warbler, oh sing from the tree ; Oft beneath thy rosy bower, I've met at twilight hour. My Jamie that's far o'er the sea. Beside yon myrtle boughs, We gave our mutual vows. From sorrow our hearts then were free i All pleasure now is gone. While I murmur alone. My Jamie is far o'er the sea. ■'-^^■-^^^W^'^^'S?? SCOTTISH SOXGS. But why should I sigh, The suminer is nigh. And the birds sing again from the tree '. The roses shall bloorn, And the soft breezes soon Shall waft him again from the sea. Thou bright star of night. Oh I guide him aright : From dangers my Jamie keep free , Now of wealth I've a store. He shall wander no more, Ne'er again shall he sail on the sea. Hs^^ie Smx. For a' that, and a' that ; Tliey're dear to me, for a' that, I lo'e them still, and ever will. Though ane did jilt, and a' that. [Captain Chaki.es Gray, R, M. — Air, ' that, and a' that."] A Lassie fair— the deil -may-care — Anee lichtlied me and a' that. And though I'm poor, you may be sure, I (iidna like to claw that ; For a' that, and a' that, I'm hearty still for a' that, I gat the slight, I took it Ught, And that's the way to thraw that. Gif they should nick you wi' this trick. Ne'er break your heart and a' that, Just glower about, you'll find ane out. Will ease your pain and a' that ; And a' that, and a' that. Your sighs and sabs, and a' that, 5ae never dwine about ae quean. There's plenty yet for a' that ! Nane but a fool spurns nature's rule, To love and i\ ed, and a' that ; Or gin a lass to him proves fause, Tak's to his bed, and a' that ; And a' that, and a' that, Nae doctor's drugs, and a' that, "Will ever prove a cure for love. Like kiss again, and a' that ! Gif I can find ane to my mind. My heart and hand, and a' that, To her 1 11 gi'e, baith frank and free. They're my delight for a' that ; [Bv John- Jack, Rutherglen.] How dear to me yon broomy knowe. By a' the places roun'. The birdies there ha'e blyther notes. The burn a sweeter soun' ; The hawthorn bush blooms richer far. The flowers appear mair gay, • For i j -A-nd nature wears a brighter hue. On yonder broomy brae. There first I tauld my artless love. And met a kind return ; There first I preed my lassie's mou' Beside the wimplin' bum : And aft to that sequester'd spot. At hour o' gloamin' grey, I gang to meet my ain dear lass. On yonder broomy brae. I [This fine song was written by Taxnakiii. about the year 1808, and the music arrange: The Lawland lass and her Highland laddie. «^ My barn is to build, and my babie's unborn." SCOTTISH S0XG3. [AVrittek by D. Thomson of Galashiels.— A Donald Caird."] EoB Macgregor's come again, Ilka ane thought dead and gane ; By a wizard's cantrip slight, Rob again has seen the light. He appears in a' his glory, Laughing baith at Whig and Torj- ; Kob's a chief o' some regard, Xo a scamp like Donald Caird. Rob Macgregor's come again ! Eob Macgregor's come again ! Think ye does the shirra ken, Kob Macgregor's back again. Bars o' iron and bolts o' steel Tield to Eob, for Rob's a deil ; Glasgow jail it canna baud him, Ko a beagle dares to daud him. Eob has keys to ilka prison. Turnkey cousins by the dozen; Borough bailies and their guard Shrink afore the Highland laird. Eob Macgregor's come again ! Eob Macgregor's come again ! Lawland bodies pay your kain, Eob Macgregor's come again. Eobin's wife's a wife o" mettle, "VVeel she guards auld Scotland's kettle ; Xought to Helen is a prize Like an imp of the excise ! A' the Highland hiUs in chorus, riing the dirge of ganger Morris, A' the pack might weel be spared, Eeavers waur than Donald Caird. Eob Macgregor's come again ! Eob Macgregor's come again ! Lomonds wild are a' his ain. We're fein to see him back again. Eob Macgregor dealt in cattle, But to pay them was a battle ; Eobin took a shorter plan, Clear'd the marches like a man. >'ow he's king o' hUl and dale, A' the Lennox pays black mail. Soger lads be on your guard. Ye are na catching Donald Caird. Eob Macgregor's come again '. Eob Macgregor's come again ! We'll get back the days that's gane, Eob Macgregor's come again ! Eobin Eoy's caught at last. Bring the wuddie, baud him fkst ; Eobin loups and takes the liver. Lost for ance, and lost for ever; Jouking up and jouking down. Like an otter swam the loon ! Eob has baffled a' the guard, Ko sneaked aff like Donald Caird. Eob Macgregor's aff again ! Eob Macgregor's aff again ! Highland blood, and Highland bane '. Eob Blacgregor's ne'er been ta'en ; ^aul^g %mt^. [AiK, " Donald Caird."] Bauldy Baikd's come again, Bauldy Baird's come again. Tell the news through brugh and g!3:i, Bauldy Baird's come back again : O Bauldy Baird can buy and sell Barrels o' herring, and lades o' mea! , Cheat till the guidman be poor. And pouch till the guidwife look sour ; Laugh and clatter, curse and ban. Tell a lee wi' ony man. Tell the news to a' you ken. That Bauldy Baird's come again. Bauldy Baird can drink, I trow. Till a' the bodies roun' be fou; Ilka ane that shares his bicker. Kens how Bauldy pays his liquor. \\'hen your fou, he's on the catch: He'll buy your blankets, com, or watch. Ye sharpers a', though London -reai-'d. Are a' but cuifs to Bauldy Baird. Bauldy Baird can brag o' gambling. Kens the airts o' dark dissembling. Bauldy Baird can mak' a fen. To cut the Jack, an' Catch-the-ten. ^'^• «Vij 270 ^f^^IS -rTa)4> €> SCOTTISH SONGS. Farmer bodies ! watch your pease. Hide your butter, eggs, and cheeso. For whether ripe, or in the braird. It's a' ane to Bauldy Baird. O ! close that slap there, stealc that yett, Else some stooks will tak' the gate ; For Bauldy's poney likes your grain Just as weel as 'twere his ain : Stooks o' com, and sheaves o' pensc ; Bees' skeps, and saugh trees : For faith, he's no so easy scar'd. It's a funny shot that'll hit Bauldy Baird. On Bauldy Baird the law was vile. To draw him on a cart to jail ; But Bauldy Baird, the pawkie deevil. Deed he slipt the loop and left the beagle ; O'er the dike an' through the fiel's, Bauldy ran wi' mettle heels. Watch the com stack, Eobin Shaw, For Bauldy Baird's run awa'. ^mt^u 35©clk, 4 [Air, " Donald Caird.' Heather Jock's noo awa'. Heather Jock's noo awa' ; The muircock noo may crousely craw Since heather Jock's noo awa'. Heather Jock was stark and grim, Faucht wi' a' would fecht ^vi' him ; Swank and supple, sh.arp and thin, Fine for gaun against the win'. Tawnie face and tousie hair. In his clcading unco bare, Cursed and swore whene'er he spoke, Nane could equal heather Jock. Jock kent ilka bore and bole. Could creep through a wee bit hole, Quietly pilfer eggs and cheese, Dunts o' bacon, skeps o' bees ; Sip the kirn and steal the butter, Nail the hens without a flutter ; Na ! the watchfu' wily cock Durstna craw for Heather Jock, '0^s^m>^'^^^^^j^- Eppie Blaikie lost her goun. She coft sae dear .at borough toun ; Sandie Tamson's Sunday wig. Left the hoose to rin the rig ; Jenny Baxter's blankets a'. Took a thocht to slip awa'; An' a' the weans bit printed firocks — Wha was thief but Heather Jock ? Jock was nac religious youth. For at the priest he thraw'd his mouth. He wadna say a grace nor pray, But play'd his pipes on Sabbath day ; Robbed the kirk o' baan and book. Everything would lift — he took ; He didna lea the weather-cock. Sic a thief was Heather Jock. Nane wi' Jock could draw a trioker, 'Mang the moor-fowl he was sicker, He watch'd the wild ducks at the springs, And hang'd the hares in hempen strings, Blass'd the burns and speer'd the fish, Jock had mony a dainty dish , The best o' moor-fowl and black-oock. Aye graced the board o' Heather Jock. Nane %\-i' Jock had ony say. At the neive or cudgel play, Jock for bolt nor bar e'er st.aid, TiU ance the jail his courage laid , Then the judge, without delay. Sent him aff to Botany Bay, And bade him mind the laws he broke. And never mair play Heather Jock. [Air, " Donald Caird."] Thb wearie body's back again. The unco body's back again : Fye let a' the neebors ken The wearie body's back again. Weel ye mind for monie a year, Ho kept the kintra side in fear; The bairnies toddlin' wi' their dame Would cower to hear the cadger's name: ',eMU Bi^g« i*^ fe^S^ ?^£m^^^-?m:m SCOTTISH SONG?. 277 ^^, y For he was kent baith far and wide. For he could den and he could hide. And cadge wha like the kintra thro", 2Cane could cadge lilie him, I tiow. The wearie body, &c. Lang did they curse his soupple legs, "VVhen he ran affwi' hens and eggs. The wives would cry, the deil be in t. If 1 hinna lost my tait o' lint ; And then they'd rue his freenly gills. That gart them aft to sign his biUs, And mony a wearie wieht, I trow. Paid dear enough for gettin' fou. The wearie body, &c. At last he thocht to save his neck. He hied him aff to cauld Quebec, And there set up the grocer trade. And many a paukj- trick he play'd ; But Yankie he was nae sic fool. He dipp'd the cadger in the pool, , And for fear he would their country stvin. They kickit the body back again. The wearie body. Sec. O '. had you seen sic consternation. Ilk face was mark'd wi' pale vexation ; And young and auld aUke complain. Is the wearie body back again ? The shuttle chocked in the shed. The lisfnin' tailor brak' his thread ; The Wright, wi' spite, threw by his plane. Is the body really back again ? The wearie body, &c. The sturdy mason drapp'd his mell. The blacksmith's big fore-hammer fell ; The cannie nurse let fe' the wean — Losh ! woman, d'ye think he's back again ! The chattin' barber cut the face. The auld guidman forgat the grace, Na ! the lasses wadna lie their lane. Sin' e'er they heard o' him back again. The wearie body, (Sec. "VVeel may Scotland greet \vi' spite. And gi'e the Yankies a' the wite. That wadna let the wicht remain. But pest us wi' him back again ; For weel X wat they kent fii' weel, A rogue like him was just a deil ; They micht had mair respect for men, Than ^^eiit the body back again. The wearie body, &c. [KiLPATRicK.— Air, "Lassie wi" the lint-\vh:te QcEER AMllie Waggletail, The auld farrant donnart body. He fed me aye on lang kail. Soups o' broo, and draps o' crowdie ; Cream scones three times a-year ; ■Whey to cool the bluid in simmer; British wine the saul to cheer, WV swats that reamed aboon the timmer. Though "Willie Wagglelail's awa'. His gear '11 mak' me blythe and bonnie : Come ower the bum, sweet Johnnie Faa ; For wha has cheeks sae red as Johnnie ? Come to my arms, my Johnnie Faa, I'U daut ye late and bless ye early; Our lairds ha'e doft their bonnets braw. To fight for Scotland and Prince CharUe. As Johnnie Faa gaed ower the bum. He sung unto himsel' fu' cheerie, — Hech ! things ha'e ta"en an awfu' tizm. Sin' Luckie "WaggletaU's my dearie : ily heart loups licht, and vow Itn lain. To think upon the jig that's coming ; But, as sure as death, I maist think shame To marry "Willie Wagtail's woman. [Am, "The green purse."'] I HA'K a green purse and a wee pickle gowd, A bonnie piece Ian' an' a pl.intin' on't. It fattens my flocks, an' my bams it has stow'd. But the best thing o' as yet a-wantin' on't. There's a but and a ben, a stable, a byre, A guid kale yard and a weel snecket yett, "Wi' plenty o' peats to throw o' the fire, But the best thing o' a's a wantin' yet. I thought o" a wife for ten years and mair. But nane \n]l answer that stops hereabout. And I ha'e nae time to gang here and there : A wauter I am, and I'U bide sae, I doubt. ^ ^ :a m:m^^^^s:}^^^mii^ -.;^^g3g^a^!^3^Sf-'^t^- 27S SCOTTISH SONGS. A bonn:e tame paitrick I wared upon Bell, A sweet sinftin' mavis to Jeanie I gied, To Betty I plainly did offer mysel', .She saw the green purse, but I didna succeed. So I've done my duty ; fareweel to all folly ; I'll tak' up my buik, and I'll sit in my chair, Wi' my red nieht-cap, my cat, and my colly, Contented and cheerfu', tho' sixty and mair. ?^EiEi£i.cik^ §' WmU) [Air, "Fitz Roy's rambles through Glasgow."] An auld Hielan' couple sat lane by the ingle. While smoking their cutties and cracking awa'. They spak' o' langsyne, o' their daffing when single, I )' the freaks o' their cliildhood, their auld age and a'. To his wific he bragged o' his bauldest o' actions. When he was a sodger wi' G^;o^die the Third ; How his faes fell before him, the leader o' factions. Anil Donald he grat as his faes bit the yird. !Sae up wi' the kilties and bonnie blue bonnets. When put to their mettle they're ne'er kent to f;ul. For a Hielander's heart is upheld wi' a haggis. And weel buttcr'd bannocks o' barley meal. Thus Donald was bless'd, and his wife heard wi' pleasure. His stories o' danger, his troubles and toils ; i^Iy kintra, he cried, is my heart's dearest treasure. And Mary, thou'rt next, for I lo'e thy s:ift smiles. Tliis poor happy couple, their broom covered dwelling Stood far frae the world, its tidings and cares. And the news never reached their snug little cot-, tage. Unless when a packman stepped in wi' his wares. Sae up wi' the kilties, &c. The Romans, langsyne, loot a claught at our ban- nock. The Danes and the Normans would try the same game ; But Donald cam' down wi' his claymore and crummock, ]MHuled maist o' them stark, chased the lave o" them hame. ; y'i And should ony mair ever play sic a plisky. She vows by the dirk o' the Lainl o' Kintail, That she'll part wi' her bluid, or she'll pai-t wi' her whiskey. Ay, or part wi' her bannocks o' barley meal. Sae up wi' the kilties, &e. There's Mungo M'Farlane, the Laird o' Drum- garlin, A birsy auld carle o' three score and five, He'll wield his lang arm, and he'll gi'e them a harlin'. And keep his ain gnin wi' the glegest alive. There's Michael the sodger, that fought wi' tho rebels. And lost his left leg just a wee e'er they ran. But he's gotane o' wood, and he gars it pl.ay thud. And whare there's a row, Michael's aye in the thrang. Sae up wi' the kilties, &c. Then fill up a glass, let us ha'e a guid waught o't. Our mither Meg's mutch be't our care to keep clean. And the foul silly loon that would trj- to lay claught o't. May Clootie's lang claws haul oot baith o' his een. She's auld, but she's raukled, she'll no bide theur scorning. She'll beat them when tried in a battle, I'd bail ; Sae we'll ne'er let her want Athole brose in the morning. Nor weel buttered bannocks o' barley meal. Sae up wi' the kilties, &c. Efl^ %ihnt^o [Rev. John Skinner. — Tune, "Tibbie Fowler In the glen."— Written during the political com- motions which agitSited Europe shortly after the great French revolution of 1789.] There lives a lassie on the brae, O ! but she's a bonnie creature; They ca' her Lizy Liberty, And monie ane's wooing at her. Wooing at her, fain wad ha'e her. Courting at, but canna get her; Bonnie Lizy Liberty, There's o'er monie wooing at her. '.^^^^^^^^^^^L^^'^' '^^^gj^^^^m. SCOTTISH S0KG3. Ker mither wears a plettit mutch ; Her father is an honest dyker. An' she hersel's a daintie quean. Ye winna shaw me monie like her. Wooing at her, &c. A pleasant lass she's kent to be, Wi' fouth o' sense an' smeddum in her; There's no a swankie fer or near. But tries wi' a' his might to win her. Wooing at her, &c. Eat sweet and pleasant as she is, She winna thole the marriage tether, But likes to rove and rant about. Like highland couts amang the heather. Wooing at her, &c. It's seven years, and somewhat mair. Sin' Matthew Dutch made courtship till her, A merchant bluff, ayont the bum, Wi' heaps o' breeks an' .bags o' siller. Wooing at her, &c. The next to him was Baltic John, .Stept up the brae and keeket at her, .-^yne tum'd as great a fool's he came, , And in a day or twa forgat her. Wooing at her, &c. >'r.w Lawrie French has ta'en the whim. To toss his airs, and frisk about her , And ilalcolm Fleming puffs and swears He disna value life without her. Wooing at her, &c. They've casten out wi' a' their kin. Thinking that wad gar them get her ; Tet after a' ti-.e fash they've ta'en. They maybe winna be the better. Wooing at her, &c. But Donald Scot's the happy lad, AATia seems to be the coshest wi' her ; He never fails to get a kiss. As aften as he likes to see her. Wooing at her, &e. But Donald, tak' a friend's advice. Although I ken ye fain wad ha'e her. E'en just be doing as ye are. And baud wi' what ye're getting frae her. \\ ooing at her, &c. v6 Ye're weel, and wats nae, as we say, In getting leave to dwell beside her ; And gin ye had her mair your ain, Ye'd maybe find it waur to guide her. Wooing at her, &c. Ah ! Lawrie, ye've debauch 'd the lass, Wi' vile new-fangled tricks ye've play'd ht r ; Depraved her morals ; — like an ass, Ye've courted her, and syne betray'd her. Wi' hanging of her, burning of her Cutting, hacking, slashing at her; Bonnie Lizy Liberty, May ban the day ye ettled at her. mnt* [a ballad of the Forty-five, written, com- posed, and dedicated to the Clan, by Miss Ross.j Banseks are waving o'er Morven's dark heath. Claymores are flashing from many a sheath ; Hark ! 'tis the eathering. On, onward ! they cryl Far flies the signal to conquer or die. Then follow thee, follow a boat to the sea. Thy Prince in Glen Moidart is waiting for thee. Where war-pipes are sounding and banners are free, Maclaine and his clansmen the foremost you'll Wildly the war-cry has startled yon stag. And waken'd the echoes of Gillian's lone crag ; Up hill and down glen each brave mountaineer Has belted his plaid and has mounted his spear. Then foUow thee, cScc. The signal is heard from mountain to shore, They rush like the flood o'er dark Corry-vohr , The war-note is sounding, loud, wildly, and high, liOuder they shout. On, to conquer or die '. Then foUow thee, &:c. The heath-bell at mom so proudly ye trod. Son of the mountain ! now covers thy sod ; Wrapt in your plaid, 'mid the bravest ye lie. The words as ye fell still conquer of die. Then follow thee, &c. ■^ v1 ^jmt'^^ 280 SCOTTISH SONGS, [Robert Gilfillan— Music by J. Satchell.] Oh ! take me to yon sunny isle that stands in Fortha's sea. For there, all lonely, I may weep, since tears my lot must be ; The cavern'd rocks alone shall hear my anguish and my woe. But can their echoes Mary bring ? ah I no, no, no ! I'll wander by the silent shore, or climb the rocky steep, And list to ocean murmuring the music of the deep ; But when the soft moon lights the waves in evening's silver glow. Shall Mary meet me 'neath its light ? ah ! no, no, no ! 8'^ ., I'll speak of her to everj- flower, and lovely flowers are there, ^' ,3 They'll may be bow their heads and weep, for she, like them, was fair,— J ^^,^ And every bird I'll teach a song, a plaintive song of woe, ^'' ,c\ ^"^ ^^'^ cannot hear their strains ? — ah \ no, no, no I Slow steals the sun a-down the sky, as loth to part with day, /_■, But airj' morn with carolling voice shall wake him forth as gay; '.? Yet Mary's sun rose bright and fair, and now that sun is low, (•^ V, Shall its fair beam e'er grace the morn ? ah ! no, no, no! [(^ B"* I "lust shed the hidden tear, lest Mary mark my care : I \^_J The stifling groan may break my heart, but it shall linger there ! ^,N I'll even feign the outward smile, to hide my inward woe, V--^ I would not have her weep in heaven— ah ! no, no, no! '■• ^ ' >' , '^^ [M'Phail.— Tune, " The Burnside."] ^~J O HAPPV, happy were the days o' auld langsyne, ji! The hamely sweets, the social joys o' auld langsyne, ' \\ When ilka ane wi' friendly glow and cordial heart wad join, To pledge wi' frien'ship leal and true the days o' langsyne. When ilka ane, &c. How fled the joys that we ha'e seen, o' auld langsyne. When happy aft we baith ha'e been, in days o' langsyne: Still ilka former tender scene, wi' dear delight we min'. But a' alas I can ne'er reea' the days o' langsyne. Still ilka former, &c. f ^^■' Jl How sweet the fond endearing charms o' auld langsyne, f ' \r' Wi' Jeanie in ray youthfu' arms, in days o' langsj-ne ; .'^ ^♦S In rapture press'd her throbbing breast wi' glowing love to mine, ^^ Thae happy hours flew o'er wi' bliss in days o' langsyne. • / O j In rapture press'd, &c. ] ?>\ -■'- - '(^;^^m^f^^^Qs^i^^^^ss^^^-mM^ ■^^m3:^m-Mv^^f^w^&^ SCOTTISH SONGS. Amang our native woods and braes how pleasant the time. To pu' for her I loo'd sae dear the primrose in its prime : Then fairer bloom 'd ilk bonnie flower, mair sweet the birds did sing. When wi' the lass I dearly lo'ed, in days o' langsyne. Then fairer bloom'd. Sec. Xae mair amang our bonnie glens we'll garlands entwine, !Nor pu' the wild-flower by the bum, to busk my lassie fine ; Kae mair upon yon sunny kaowe we'll mark the sun decline, Nor tell the tender tales that pleased in days o' langsyne. Nae mair upon, &c. But still through life we'll happy be, at fate ne'er repine: Though warldly cares, at times, should thraw, we'll ne'er our pleasure tyne ; WTiUe seated here, in frien'ly glow, wi' hearts an' ban's we join. And bring again, wi' cantie glee, the days C langsyne. While seated here, &c. 281/,;/, [William Motherwell. — Music by R. A. Smith. Oh wae be to the orders that marched my luve awa". And wae be to the cruel cause that gars my tears doun fa' ! Oh wae be to the bluidy wars in Hie Germanie, For they ha'e ta'en my luve, and left a broken heart to me ! The drums beat in the mornin' afore the scriech o' day. And the wee wee fifes piped loud and shrill, whUe yet the mom was grey : The bonnie flags were a' unfurl'd, a gallant sight to see. But waes me for my sodger lad that marched to Germanie. Oh, lang, lang is the travel to the bonnie Pier o' Leitb, Oh dreich it is to gang on foot wi' the snaw drift in the teeth : And oh, the cauld wind froze the tear that gather'd in my e'e, AVhen I gade there to see my luve embark for Germanie ! I looked ower the braid blue sea, sae lang as could be seen Ae wee bit sail upon the ship, that my sodger lad was in ; But the wind was blawin' sair and snell, and the ship sailed speedilie. And the waves and cruel wars ha'e twinn'd my winsome luve frae me. I never think o' dancin', and I downa try to sing. But a' the day I spier what news kind neibour bodies bring; I sometimes knit a stocking, if knittin' it may be, SjTie for every loop that I cast on, I'm sure to let doun three. My father says I'm in a pet, my midier jeers at me. And bans me for a dautit wean, in dorts for aye to be ; But little weet they o' the cause that drumles sae my e'e : Oh they ha'e nae winsome luve like mine in the wars o' Germanie! m-^^is^^^sa^i^^i^'^S:^S^^i '"^^J^, SCOTTISH SONGS. ''Shn=(©wa. [This and the three following songs originally appeared in " The Harp of Renfrewshire," pub- lished at Paisley in 1819.J Tjie pale is high, the bark is light, .Swiftly it glides the dark sea over. Why bear, ye waves, so base a freight, AVhy waft, ye winds, a vagrant lover. ■\Vake, artless maid, thy dream is o'er, No bright'ning hope can gild to-morrow, Tliy lover hails a distant shore. Nor thinks of thee far in Glen-Orra. The moon is up, the maiden's gone. Where flower and tree the night dews cover. To weep by mountain streamlet lone, O'er perjur'd vows of fliithless lover, Turn, faithless wTetch, seek Orra's wild. To rapture raise the maiden 's sorrow, Jih ! see where love so lately smil'd. Cold, cold, she sinks in dark Glen-Orra. The moon hangs pale o'er Orra's steep. And lists a hapless maiden sighing. The sullen night-winds, cavern 'd, sleep. As loth to rave o'er maiden dying. The hue of death has blench 'd the lip. The rosy cheek is pale with sorrow, i:re mom, death's chilly hand shall nip The loveliest flower in green Glen-Orra. flaws. [John Sim.— Air, " Ye banks and bnics," &c.] O FARE thee weel, fair Cartha's side. For ever, ever fare thee weel ! T'pon thy banks I've oft enjoy 'd ■VV'hat virtuous love alone can feel. With ^nna as I fondly stray'd. And mark'd the gowan's hamely mien. The vi'let blue, the primrose gay, Knrich'd the joyful fairy scene. The sun had set, the western clouds Began to lose their radiance bright. The mavis' tuneful note was hush'd. And all proclaim'd approaching night; Then was the time I fondly pour'd In Anna's ear my ardent tile. She blush'd, and oft I fondly thought That love like mine would soon prevail. She spoke, she look'd as if she lov'd, Vet, ah I how false was Anna's heart I Though heavenly fair her angel form, — How fraught with guile, how full of art I Now far from Anna, far from home. By Lugar's stream I sadly mourn ; I tliink on scenes I still must love, On scenes that never can return. O fare thee weel, fair Cartha's banks. And Anna — O ! — a long fareweel ! Nor ever may that pang be thine. Which my sad heart so oft doth feel. But hiippy, happy may'st thou be. By fairy scenes on Cartha's side. And may a better far than me. Through life be thy true love and guide. ^n kiM ^u% id'L [James Yool, of Paisley. — Air, " What this heart C mine."] Heii kiss was soft and sweet. Her smiles were free and fain. And beaming bright the witching glan Of her I thought my ain. That kiss h."is poison'd peace. Her smiles have rous'd despair. For kindly though her glances be. They beam on me nae mair. Now lonely's every haunt That I once trode with joy. And dull and drear the sacred grove Where we were wont to toy. The rose can please nae mair, The lily seems to fade, And waefu' seems the blackbird's san','. That us'd to cheer the glade. ;^ I looflth This bosom once was i But now a brow of glo Pourtrays, in characters of care. That it is pleasure's tomb. '^^^sii'm^i SCOTTISH SONGS. 2S3 Tet none shall hear the sigh That strugsles to be free, ^'o tear shall trace this sallow check, ]S'or murmur burst from me. Though silent he my woe, 'Tis not the less severe — Forlorn I brood on former joys To love and mem'ry dear. She minds na o' the vows That seal'd our youthful love, But heaven has records that will last. My faith and truth to prove. )cfc E:trr:tb« [James Tool. — Air, " 3Iy Nannie, 0."] How ardently my bosom glows Wi' love to thee, my dearie, 0, Aly panting heart its passion shows. Whenever thou art near me, O. The sweetness o' thy artless smile. Thy sparkling e'e's resistless wile. Gars sober reason back recoil, Wi' love tum'd tapsalteerie, O. Thy lips, sure seats o' sweet delight, AYha e'er may haflins see them, O, Maun be a cauldrife, lifeless wight, Shou'd he no try to pree them, O ; To me thou ever shalt be dear. Thy image in my heart I'll wear. Contentment's sun my day shall cheer. As lang's thou'lt be my dearie, O. Nae wUl-o'-wisp's delusive blaze. Through fortune's fen sae drearie, O. >'or wealth, nor fame's attractive rays. Shall lure me frae my dearie, O ; But tlirough the rural shady grove, 0\\Te flow'ry lea wi' thee I'll rove; ;My cot shall be the seat o' love \\'hile life remains, my dearie, O. The pleasing scenes of nature gay. May charm the heart that's sairy, O ; Yet even such scenes to me add wae. When absent frae my dearie, 0. Remembrance broods still on the hour. When first vrithin yon lonely bower, I felt the love-enslavfng power Of thy sweet charms, my dearie, O. ]ln ;ii3r.:n«i« [Writte:« by Burns for Johnson's Museum. The air is an old one, and is called " The Country Lass."] In summer, when the hay was mawn. And com waVd green in ilka field. While clover blooms white o'er the lea. And roses blaw in ilka bield ; Blythe Bessie in the milking shiel', Says, I'U be wed, come o't what will , Out spak' a dame in wrinkl'd eil', O' gude advisement comes nae ill. 'Tis ye ha'e wooers mony a ane. And, lassie, ye're but young ye ken. Then wait a wee, and canny wale A routhie but, a routhie ben : There's Johnnie o' the Husky Glen, Fu' is his bam, fu' is his byre; Tak' this frae me, my bonnie hen, 'Tis plenty beets the lover's fire. For Johnnie o' the Buskie Glen I dinna care a single flee ; He lo'es see weel his craps an' kye, He has nae love to spare for me : But Wythe's the blink o' Robie's e"t. And weel I wat he lo'es me de;vr ; Ae bUnk o' him I wadna gi'e For Buskie Glen and a' his gear. O thoughtless lassie, life's a faught. The canniest gate the strife is sair; But aye fu' han't is fechting best, A hungry care's an unco care : But some will spend and some will spare. And wilfu' folk maun ha'e their will ; Syne as ye brew, my maiden fair. Keep mind that ye maun drink the yill. O gear will buy me rigs o' land. And gear will buy me sheep and kye. But the tender heart o' leesome love. The gowd and siller cazma bay. ^^^■''^::?^^y:mM^' 284 SCOTTISH SONGS. ^H We may be poor, Eobie and I ; » I \ Light is the burden love lays on : '''^J/ Content and love brings peace and joy ; ',• ; What mair ha'e queens upon a throne ? ®i^e ^ic^fgt=ii©itg. a [This is an abridged version of a long song •which appears in the third volume of Johnson's Museum, in the broad Buchan dialect, by an anonj-mous correspondent. Breist-knots formed at one time an important ornament of female attire. Mr. Sinclair, the well-known vocalist, wag instrumental in bringing the present version of the song into public repute.] Hey the bonnie, how the bonnie. Hey the bonnie breist-knots ! Tight and bonnie were they a'. When they got on their breist-knots. There was a bridal in this town. And till't the lasses a' were boun', Wi' mankie facings on their gowns. And some o' them had breist-knots. At nine o'clock €lie lads convene, Some clad in blue, some clad in green, Wi' glancin' buckles in their shoon. And flowers upon their waistcoats. Forth cam' the wives a' wi' a phrase. And wished the lassie happy days ; And meikle thocht they o' her claes. And 'specially the briest-knots. Minnk l>cg|^» [John- Sim.— Air, " Bonnie lassie, 0."] 0, WE aft ha'e met at e'en, bonnie Peggy, O, On the banks of Cart sae green, bonnie Peggy, O, Where the waters smoothly rin. Far aneath the roaring lin. Far frae busy strife and din, bonnie Peggj', O. When the lately crimson west, bonnie Peggy, O; In her darker robe was drest, bonnie Peggy, O, And a sk-y of azure blue, Deck'd with st.irs of golden hue. Rose majestic to the view, bonnie Peggy, O. When the sound of flute or horn, bonnie Peggy, O, On the gale of evening borne, bonnie Peggy, O, We have heard in echoes die. While the wave that rippl'd by. Sung a soft and sweet reply, bonnie Peggy, O. Then how happy would we rove, bonnie Peggy, O, Whilst thou blushing own'd thy love, bonnie Peggy, O, Whilst thy quickly throbbing breast To my beating heart I press'd,' Ne'er was mortal half so blest, bonnie Peggj-, 0. Now, alas! these scenes are o'er, bonnie Peggy, O; Now, alas! we meet no more, bonnie Peggy, O, Oh ! ne'er again, I ween. Will we meet at summer e'en. On the banks of Cart sae green, bonnie Peggy, O. Yet hadst thou been true to me, bonnie Peggy, O, As I still ha'e been to thee, bonnie Peggy, O, Then with bosom, O how light. Had I hail'd the coming night. And yon evening star so bright, bonnie Peggy, O. ^|e SlE|)ai|J]rsjD ^&t^2t. [Alexander Laino.] Ah ! lassie, I think wi' a sair broken heart. On the licht happy time that's awa'; When smiling ye sat on your fond mither's knee. An' prattl'd an' lisped — "m.amma," — On the blythe happy days when ye play'd on the green. An' when I unyoked my team : How ye left a' your play-things an' totter'd an ' r:in. An' met me at e'en coming hame. O, then I was happy, an' fond were the hopes Affection sae feelingly drew ; The fears o' the future that vext me at times, A' fled when I thocht upon you: l£3^ -^i:'(&y1S.' '^-^SM^^^ ©^^J&f!-. '^?i'^^<^'^/i^- SCOTTISH 30>'G5. I thocht gin I Uv'd to be helpless an' auld, ^ Gin second childhood I should see — Should providence spare, I had ane growin' up. Wad then be a parent to me. I taught you betimes, as a father should do. The path o' true virtue to prize ; An' as fer as I could, wi' the precepts I gave, I gave you example likewise ; An' duly at morning an' evening I pray'd. That gudeness wad aye be your guide — But ye've chosen to walk i' your ain wilfu' ways. And the blessing has yet been denied. Ye've left me to see that I've rested my hopes. On the perishing faith of a dream ; The dawn o' your promise — the day-spring o' life, Ye've clouded wi' sin an' wi' shame. Oh ; lassie, I think wi' a sair broken heart, On the licht happy time that's awa' ; When smiling ye sat on your fond mither's knee, An' prattl'd an' lisped — " mamma !" 01^ ^cast'0 mg afe, [This very sensible ditty of a young maiden was first printed in Herd's coUection of 1776. It is adapted to a tune called " We'U kick the world before us."] 'Tis no very lang sinsjiie. That I had a lad o' my ain ; But now he's awa' to anither. And left me a' my lane. The lass he is courting has siller. And I ha'e nane at a'. And 'tis nought but the love C the tocher That's tane my lad awa'. But I'm blythe that my heart's my ain, And I'll keep it a' my life, Until that I meet wi' alad, "WTia has sense to wale a good wife. For though I say't mysel'. That should nae say't, 'tis true. The lad that gets me for a wife He 11 ne'er ha'e occasion to rue. ; I gang aye fu' clean and fu' tosh. As a' the neighbours can tell. Though I've seldom a gown on my back. But sic as I spin myseP ; And when I'm clad in my curtsey, I think mysel' as braw As Susie, wi' her pearling. That's tane my lad awa'. But I wish they were buckl'd thegither. And may they Uve happy for life ; Though WUlie now slights me, an's left me. The chiel he deserves a gudewife. But, ! I am blythe that I miss'd him. As blythe as I weel can be ; For ane that's sae keen o' the siUer, "Would never agree wi' me. But the truth is, I am aye heartj", I hate to be scrimpit or scant ; The wee thing I ha'e I'U mak' use o't. And there's nane about me shall want : For I'm a gude guide o" the warld, I ken when to haud and to gi'e ; But whinging and cringing for siller Would never agree wi' me. Contentment is better than riches. And he wha has that has enough ; The master is seldom sae happy As Robin that drives the plough. But if a young lad wad cast up. To mak' me his partner for life, If the chiel has the sense to be happy. He'll fa' on his feet for a wife. ^ag wQt tf)t 3^at^> '-S' ^ -^^ [W. ai'lAREx. — First printed in " The Harp of Renfrewshire."! Thoigh the winter of age wreathes her snow on f .. his head, « And the blooming effulgence of summer is fled, T '' t Though the voice that was sweet, as the harp's ' '" softest string iS^" Be treni'lous, and lowas thezeph}TSOfsprin?, ♦.^■ Yet say not the B.ird has turned old. i -^ LK^ ^^^&'£^-^^^m'^^=SEm^^^^Xism^ ^g^^^&^J^^^S^- 28G SCOTTISH SONGS. Though the casket that holds the rich jewel we % ^Blllli^ 0* t|)lP ^If^ pnze, Attracts not the gaze of inquisitive eyes ; Yet the pern that's within may be lovely and bright, As the smiles of the mom or the stars of the night. Then say not the Bai-d has turned old. When the tapers burn clear and the goblet shines j bright, I In the hall of his chief on a festival night, | 1 have smiled at the glance of his rapturous eye, [ "While the brim of the goblet laugh'd back in \ reply; I Then say not the Bard has turned old. j When he sings of the valorous deeds that were done, • j By his clan or his chief in the days that are gone, I His strains then are various— now rapid— now slow, | As he mourns for the dead or exults o'er the foe ; i Then say not the Bard has turned old. | When summer in gaudy profusion is dress'd, | And the dew-drop hangs clear on the violet's j \ bre;ist, I list with delight to his rapturous strain, j WhUe the borrowing echo returns it again ; Then say not the Bard has turned old. ' But not summer's profusion alone can inspire His soul in the song, or his hand on the Ijre, But rapid his numbers, and wilder they flow. When the wintry winds rave o'er the mountains of snow ; Then say not the Bard has turned old. I have seen him elated when the black clouds were riven, .' Terrific and wild by the thunder of heaven, , And smile at the billows tliat angrily rave. Incessant and deep o'er the mariner's grave; Then say not the Bard has turned old. - When the eye that expresses the warmth of his heart. Shall fail the benevolent wish to impart,— When his blood shaU be cold as the wintr'y wave. And silent his harp as the gloom of the grave,— Then say that the Bard has turned old. i^' :/^srm. [This is an old and once popular song, but nothing is known of its author.] Aui.D Rob, the laird o' muckle land, To woo me was na verj' blate, But spite o' a' his gear he fend He came to woo a day owrc late. A lad sae blythe, sae fii' o' glee. My heart did never ken, And nane can gi'e sic joy to me As Jamie o' the glen. My minnie grat like daft, and raird. To gar me wi' her will comply, But still I wadna ha'e the laird, Wi' a' his ousen, sheep, and kye. A lad sae blj'the, &c. Ah, what are silks and satins braw ? What's a' his warldly gear to me ? They're daft that cast themsel's awa'. Where nae content or love can be. A lad sae blythe, &c. I cou'dna bide the silly cUish Came hourly frae the gaw'Ky Uiird ! ' And sae, to stop his gab and fash,^ Wi' Jamie to the kirk repair'd. A lad sae blj'the, &c. Now ilka summer's day sae lang. And winter's clad wi' frost and snaw, A tunefu' lilt and bonnie sang Aye keep dull care and strife awa'. A lad sae blytlie, &c. [James Tool.— Air, " Bonnie was yon rosy brier."] Thkbe's none to soothe my soul to rest. There's none my load of grief to share. Or wake to joy this lonely breast, Or light the gloom of dark despair. Oft to the winds my grief I tell. They be.ar along the mournful tale. To drearj- echo's rocky cell. That heaves jt back upon the gale. SCOTTISH S0^"G3. 25 7 The little wild bird's merry lay. That wont my lightsoir.e heart to cheer. In murmuring echoes dies away. And melts like sorrow on my ear. The voice of joy no more can cheer. The look of love no more can warm, Since mute for aye's that voice so dear. And clos'd that eye alone could charm. ^*! ^in^ Motin W?$ r>?. — ^ [THEoldorig i_y melody of " Ki ginal words to the beautiful Scottish ' Kind Eobin lo'es me" are scarce fit ; for insertJon here. The following version of the song appears in Herd's collection, 1775.] KoBix is my only jo, Eobin has the art to lo'e. So to his suit I mean to bow. Because I ken he lo'es me. Happy, happy was the shower. That led me to his birken bower, "Whare first of love I felt the power. And kend that Eobin lo'ed me. They speak of napkins, speak of rings. Speak of gloves and kissing strings. And name a thousand bonnie things. And ca' them signs he io'es me. But I prefer a smack of Eob, Sporting on the velvet fog. To gifts as lang's a plaiden wob. Because I ken he loe's me. He's tall and sonsy, frank and free, Lo'ed by a', and dear to me, "V\'i' him I'd live, wi' him I'd die, ' Because my Eobin lo'es me. My titty, Mary, said to me, ' Our courtship but a joke wad be, I And I, or lang, be made to see. That Eobin did na lo'e me. 1 But little kens she what has been, ile and my honest Bob between. And in his wooing, O sae keen, I Kind Eobin is that lo'es me. ! T'nen fly, ye lazy hours, away, J And bitten on the happy day, [say, ■\Mien "join your hands," Mess John shall ) And mak' him mine that lo'es me. Till then, let every chance unite. To weigh our love, and fix delight. And I'll look down on such wi' spite, A^ho doubt that Eobin lo'es me. O hey, Eobin, quo' she, O hey, Eobin, quo' she, O hey, Eobin, quo' she. Kind Eobin lo'es me. Amid Loch Cat'rine's scenery wild. Is seen my lassie's dwelling, TVhere cavem'd rocks on mountains pil'd Howl to the sea-breeze swelling : — She's purer than the snaw that la's On mountain's summit airj- ; The sweetest mountain flow'r that blaws Is not so fair as Mary. 'Tis sweet when woodland echo rings, "\.^Tiere purling streams meander. But sweeter when my Mary sings. As through the glens v e wander. The wild deer on the mountain side. The fabled elf or fairy. Or skiflF, that skims the crystal tide, 3Ioves not mere light than Mary. From Lowland plains I've wandered far. In endless search of pleasure ; Till guided by some friendly star, 1 found this lovely treasure. Although my native home has charms, Amang these hills I'll tarry ; And while life's blood my bosom wam.s, I'll love my dearest ilary. EuOaicg. [JoH.v Sim. — Air, " Bonnie "\N"ood o' C Lee."] Ekst, lovely babe, on mother's knee. Best, lovely babe, on mother's knee. And cry na sae to fill wi' wae The heart that only beats for thee. Thou hast, my babe, nae father now. To care for thee when I am gone ; And I ha'e ne'er a friend sae true As would my bonnie baby own. Best, lovely babe, &c. >-.>??. 288 SCOTTISH SONGS. .^, 3 i^ O ! ance, and I could little think A lot sac hard would e'er be thine, A% thus a mother's tears to drink ! For, baby, thou hast drunk o' mine. Rest, lovely babe, &c. O smile, my babe ! for sic a smile Thy father aye put on to me ; O smile, my babe, and look the while. For thou look'st wi' thy father's e'e. Kest, lovely babe, &c. O that this widow'd heart would beat Till thou in years hadst upward grown. That I might learn thy future fate, Nor leave thee in the world alone. Kest, lovely babe, &c. W^z %h$\}hsi' W^mtx. [Andebso.v. — Air, "Dainty Davie."] Whene'er ye come to woo me, Tam, Dinna at the window tap. Or cough, or hem, or gi'e a clap. To let my father hear, man : He's auld and fail'd and wants his sleep, Sae by the hallan saftly creep. Ye needna watch, and glowr, and peep, I'll meet you, never fear, man. If a lassie ye wad win. Be cheerfu' ever, bashifu' never; Ilka Jock may get a Jean, If he has sense to try, man. WTiene'er we at the market meet, Dinna look like ane hauf daft. Or talk about the cauld an heat, As ye were weather-wise, man. Haud up your head, and bauldly speak. And keep the blushes frae your cheek. For he wha has his tale to seek. We lasses a' despise, man. If a lassie, &c. I met you lately a' your lane. Ye seem'd like ane stown frac the dead, Your teeth e'en chattered in your head. But ne'er a word o' love, man ; I spak', ye look'd anither way, Then trembled as yo'd got a flay, And owre your shouther cried, " gude day,' Nor ance' to win me strave, man. If a lassie, &c. My aunty left me threescore poun'. But deil a ane o' a' the men Till then did bare-legg'd Elspaken, Or car'd a strae for me, man ; Kow tugging at me soon and late. They're cleeking but the yellow baiti Sae mind me, Tam, I needna wait. When I ha'e choice o' three, man. If a lassie, &c. There lives a lad owtc yonder muir. He has nae faut but ane — he's puir ; Whene'er we meet, wi' kisses sweet He's like to be my death, man : And there's a lad ahint yon trees. Wad waud for me aboon the knees ; Sae tell your mind, or, if you please, Nae langer fash us baith, man. If a lassie, &c. [Air, " Roy's Wife o' Aldivalloch.] How green the fields, the flowers so fair. How bright the sun, that o'er us passes. How useless these if that there were •Nae honest men, nor bonnie lassies. Honest men and bonnie lasses, Honest men and bonnie lasses, Lang may live and happy be, A' honest men and bonnie lasses. God's noblest work 's an honest man, A bonnie lass by far 's the fairest. Of all that's fair in nature's plan. And e'er to man will be the dearest. Honest men, &e. How happy, and how blest the man, His days or nights can ne'er be dreary. Who calls an honest man his friend. And has a bonnie lass for's deary. Honest men and bonnie lasses. Honest men and bonnie lasses, A' they wish and a' they want. To honest men and bonnie lasees. & i^i^^^m^ SCOTTISH SOIfGS. [Wkitten and Composed by James Jaap.] A BOKNiEK lass there never was, the sun ne'er shone the like upon. She's fair and sweet, neat and complete, the bonnie lass of Haddington ; And In her iace there shines sic grace, her smile's sae sweet to look upon, Sae feir's the lass, nane can surpass the bonnie lass of Haddington. When night comes near, and all is drear, my fancy roams on her alone. She is the light that cheers the night, the bonnie lass of Haddington, My every care, my every prayer, my every thought I think upon, 'Tis were she mine, this maid divine, the bonnie lass of Haddington. 289 Can g€ We m$. Can ye lo'e me weel, lassie, to this heart then swiftly flee. Here you aye shall dwell, lassie, more than a' the world to me. When the moonbeams shine sae clear, at that hour by lovers blest. At the gloamin", lassie dear, haste to meet this throbbing breast. Can you lo'e me weel, lassie, to this heart then swiftly flee. Here you aye s h all dwell, lassie, more than all the world to me. Where the bumie flows, lassie, gently owre the mountain side. And the wild flower blows, lassie, watered by the streamlet tide, As the hare-bell's blossoms shine, on the bleak and barren brae, let that brilliant eye of thine light me on my lonely way. Can ye lo'e me weel, lassie, to this heart then swiftly flee, Here you aye shall dwell, lassie, more than all the world to me. ^■^f ^mx% cf ^ou$|. [W. Alexander.] '"''X* Oh ! the wild roving years of youth are all flown away, >5 I As gay romantic morning dreams before the dawn of day , And calmer joys, and deeper thoughts, and love which may not roam, , • Are blending with the sunny smiles that cheer the scenes of home. The gazing crowd, what is it now ? its praise we cannot prize — The flattering slave perchance we hear, but silently despise — The loud, yet passing peal of mirth, which rang in bower or hall^ One faithful heart's affection won— is worth a world of all. SCOTTISH SO:XG.S. When first the upland fountain bursts upon the plain, 'tis seen Divided «is a thousand streams, in bright yet vax'ied sheen ; But soon they seek some kindred course, which, deep'ning as they glide The boundless main alone may change then: sweetly mingled tide. 'Tis thus with life, a thousand hopes our youthful thoughts divide. Till all their glowing energies in one dear wish subside; Oh ! break not then the spell which e'en to joy adds new delight, And robes creation's fiiirest forms with beauty still more bright ! i^iBnie if^atg (Srsera^. [From' a. volume of sweet and elegant poems published at Glasgow in 1842. under the titlt Poems of Past Years. By James Parker."] Oh ! whar ha'e ye been roamin'— whar ha'e ye been roamin'— Whar ha'e ye been roamin', bonnie JIary Gra;me .■' Whar ha'e ye been roamin' this cauld dowie gloamin' — "Whar ha'e ye been roamin', sae far awa' frae hame .■' The tear is in your e'e — was't the pearly dew that sent it ? — It used na' sae to be, bonnie Mary Graeme 1 There's a glow on your cheek — was't the damask rose that lent it ? — O, what gars ye greet, or what gars yc think shame ? There's care upon your brow— ill fa' the hand that wrought it ! There's soitov.- in your bosom, bonnie Mary Graeme ! Sae blythsome os ye used to be, O, wha cou'd e'er ha'e thocht it ! — Somebody or ither has been sair — sair to blame ! Your step, that was sae lichtsome, gangs creepin' slow and eerie. An" sair your voice is alter'd, bonnie ilary Graeme ! A canker's in the bud that micht ha'e bloomed sae cheery, Gin he had kept his faith to thee, bonnie Mary Graeme ! [Jambs Macdonald.— Here printed for the first time.] MORNING time o' happiness, O gouden time o' glee, "When light o' heart an' fu' o' hope 1 roam'd the lily lee. An' as I pu'd ilk bonnie flower amang the sparklin' dew, 1 clasp'd it to my breast and said, O Jeanie, 'tis Uke you ! The pride o' May, the pink o' June, the gem o' summer's bowers ■yVere nae sae sweet by hauf as thee, my winsome queen o' tlowers. Thy cheek mair saft than eider down, an' white as driven snaw Thine e'e o' love, thy bonnie locks, in happy dreams, yet fa' Upon my cauld and broken heart, an' glow in fairer sheen Than a' the flowers that ever grew on Endrick's fairy green. Thy life was mine, my life was thine, yet a' was but a spell — The hour is past, — my bleeding heart can only sigh. Farewell. SCOTTISH SOXGS. 291 ^J? dxtU d StUn^fsi^^ [AiE, " The kail brose of auld Scotland."] The eauld blasts o' winter blaw chill o'er the plain. And nature grows pale 'neath the tyrant's domain; ^^e"!! seek our lov'd cottage, and leave the bleak scene; For there's nought like the circle of friendship To brighten hfe's path with a smUe. The heart leaps wi' joy, by the canty fireside, -SiuTounded by faces whose faith has been tried, ■RTiere kind hospitality loves to preside ; For there's nought Hke the circle of friendship To brighten life's path with a smile. Tho' our table is spread with no Epicure's fere ; Tho' our wealth is but sma', we shall neverdespair, | AMiile we just ha'e a plack wi' a neighbour to ', share; j ?t Jl we'll meet in the circle of friendship j And brighten life's path with a smUe. T'r.e nabob surrounded with splendour may pine; I For friends are but scanty where sycophants \ shine ; — i Here the juice of the malt is as sweet as the vine ; And there's nought like the circle of firiendship 1 To brighten life's path with a smile. Lot statesmen delight in the court's vain parade, ; V.""r.e;-e each plays for self in the great masque- i rade.— | I ijr pleasures tho' humble, we trust are repaid ; | For there's nought like the circle of friendship | To brighten life's path with a smile. | V."h:le the coxcomb is lest in the butterfly throng, ; ■Where the dance to the r. usic is floating along ; j "We enjoy our bit crack, wi' a canty Scots song; j For there's nought Hke the circle of firiendship I To brighten life's path with a snule. \[ Then blest be the faces that welcom'd me here, I ! ^^*herever I wander they'll ever be dear, — ' V.'hlle our glasses, at parting, will brim with a ; tear; ;| For there's nought like the circle of friendship [ J To brighten life's path with a smile. ^ ^^e fefcl=t84n'^ W.cit»> [Fhom Bamsay's Tea-Table Miscellany. Ture, Kirk wad let me be."] I WAS once a weel-tocher'd lass. My mither left dollars to me , But now Im brought to a poor pass. My step-dame has gart them fiee. My father, he's aften frae hame. And she plays the deU with hi? gear; She neither has lawtith nor shame. And keeps the haUl house in a stetr. She's barmy-faced, thriftless, and bauld. And gars me aft fret and rtp:nc ; \VhiIe hungry, half-naked, and cauld, 1 see her destroy what's mine. But soon I might hope a revenge. And soon of my sorrows be free ; My pcortith to plenty wad change. If she were hung up on a tree. Quoth Ringan, wha lacg time had loc'd This bonnie lass tenderlie, I'll tak' thee, sweet 3Iay, :n thy sno>:d, Gif thou wilt gae han.e with me. 'Tls only yoursel' that I want ; Tour kindness is better to me Than a' that your stepmother, scant Of grace, now has taken fiije thee. I'm but a young fnrmer, it's true And ye are the sprout of a lain'. ; But I have milk -cattle enow. And ruth of good rucks in my yard. Te shall have naething to fesh ye, Sax servants shall jouk to thee : Then kat up thy coats my lassie. And gae thy ways hame with me. The maiden her reason employ'd, >"ot thinking the offer amiss. Consented, while Ringan, o'erjoy'd. Received her with mony a kiss. And now she sits bl>-thely singin'. And joking her drunken stepdame, relighted with her dear Ringan, That makes her goodwife at hame. 292 SCOTTISH SONGS. [Tu.vE, "Ettrick banks."] Sek spring her graces wild disclose. Birds sweetly chant on ilka spray ; •Jiang broomy knowes the shepherd goes, ^NTiile sportive lambkins round him play. Enraptured now I take my way, ■While joy enlivens a' the scene ; Down by yon shaded stream I stray, To meet an' hail my bonnie Jean. Ye Kellburn groves, by spring attired, ■Where zephjTS sport amang the flowere, "V'our fairj' scenes I've aft admired, AVhile jocund pass'd the sunny houi-s. Hut doubly happy in your bowers, AVhen fragrance scents the devry e'en, 1 wander whare your streamlet pours. To meet an' hail my bonnie Jean. Let grandeur rear her lofty dome. Let mad ambition kingdoms spoil, Through foreign lands let avarice roam, A n' for her prize unceasing toil ; Oive me fair nature's vernal smile. The shelter'd grove, and daisied green, I'll happy tread my native soil. To meet an' hail my bonnie Jean. [Hogg.— Tune, "Banks of the Pevon."] JIy lassie is lovely as Mayday, adorning ■\Vi' gowans an' primroses ilka green lee ; Tho' sweet is the violet, new blown i' the morning, As tender an' sweet is her blue roUin' e'e. • I say, what is whiter than snaw on the mountain ? Or what wi' the red rose in beauty can vie ? Yfs, whiter her bosom than snaw on the mountain. And bonnie her face as the red rose can be. Pee yon lowly cottage that stands by the wild wood. Hedged round wi' sweet briar and green willow tree; 'T was yonder I spent the first days of my childhood. And first felt the power o' a love-roUin' e'e. 4t^Tho' soon frae my haiue and my lassie I wander'd, Tho' lang I've been tossing on fortune's rough sea. Aye dear was the valley where Ettrick meander'd ; Aye dear was the blink o' her blue roUin' e'e. O for the evening, and O for the hour, [be ; ■WTien down by yon greenwood she promised to ■\Then quick as the summer dew dries on the flower, A' earthly affections and wishes wad flee. Let Art and let Nature display their proud trea- sure; Let Paradise boast o' what ance it could gi'e ; As high is my bliss, and as sweet is my pleasure. In the heart-melting blink o' my lassie's blue e'e. [Tune, "Locherroch side." — This and the fol- lowing song first appeared in " The Pocket Em y- clopedia of Song," Glasgow, 1816. — Glaizart is a rivulet in Campsie parish, StirUngshire.] Now flowery summer comes again. And decks my native, bonnie plain. While feather'd warblers swell the strain, Aroun' the banks o' Glaizart. Our woody, ■wild, romantic glens. Our flowery groves, and fairy dens, Form heart-enliv'ning, charming scenes, Aroun' the banks o' Glaizart. In childhood's days, sweet dawn o' life, Unknown to sorrow, care and strife. Aft ha'e I roved 'mid pleasures rife, Upon thy banks, sweet Glaizart. There too, fair Jeanie, maid o' glee. In youthfu' days engaged my e'e. And first her mou' I blythe did prie. Upon thy banks, sweet Glaizart. O charming are the towering Fells, AVhare rural pleasure kindly dwells ; And lovely are the blooming belles, That grace thy banks, sweet Glaizart Here Nature's han', in days o' yore. That after-swains might her adore, Bequeath'd the peerless gifts, in store. That grace thy banks, sweet Glaizart. r^'-^^^d-^^ SCOTTISH SOXGS. Yes, wi' that bonnie Clachan Glen, Whare birdies chant the artless strain, Her warks she crown'd — and mark'd her i The bonnie banks o' Glaizart. Eclipsing a' her favours high, She blythe proclaim'd wi' smiling eye, '•>"ow, never now, shall scene outvie The bonnie banks o' Glaizart." [Tune, "Gloomy winter's now awa'."] Trillixo Harp, eome let us sing. Come let me brace ilk gowden string, And warble owre some bonnie spring. In praise o' my sweet Mary, O. The lay along let sweetly move. Freely let the love-notes rove. Peerless, yea, resound my love. My blythe, my bonnie 3Iary, O. For O she's handsome, sweet, arid fair. Blooming, sprightly, mild, and rare; >'e'er shall maid wi' her compare. My blythe, my darling Marj-, O. Though Burns divine, in rapture keen, Sang sweetly o' his " Bonnie Jean," She scarcely e'er in shape or mien. Could match my bonnie Mary, 0. Though Tannahill in numbers fain, ExtoU'd his " Jessie o' Dumblane," And though her praises charm ilk swain, Excell'd she's now by Mary, O. O had thae twa sweet bards but seen This blooming maid o' bonnie mien. They'd tuned her heavenly l>Tes I ween, And peerless made my Mary, O. Ye powers aboon, guard frae harms The maid whase smile my bosom warms. And lang endow'd wi' rowth o' charms. Let bloom my bonnie Mary, O. O guide her through this dreary vale O' sorrow, trouble, woe, and wail. And heaven -ward when she soars, entail Eternal bliss on Mary, O. For she's handsome, sweet, and fair. Blooming, sprightly, mild, and rare ; ii'e'er shall maid wi' her compare, My blythe, my darling Marj-, O. [Tune, " Old Highland laddie."] The wind blew hie owtc muir and lea. And dark and stormy grew the weather ; The rain rain'd sair; nae shelter near But my luve's plaid amang the heather. O my bonnie Highland lad. My winsome, weelfar'd Highland laddie; Wha wad mind the wind and rain , Sae weel row'd in his tartan plaidie ? Close to his breast he held me fast ; Sae cozie, warm, we lay thegither ; :Xae sinamer heat was half sae sweet As my luve's plaid amang the heather ' my bonnie, &c. 'Jlid wind and rain he tauld his tale ; My lightsome heart grew like a feather ; It lap sae quick I cou'dna speak. But silent sigh'd amang the heather. O my bonnie, &c. The storm blew past ; we kiss'd in ha^te ; I hameward ran and ta'old my mither ; She gloom'd at first, but soon confest The bowls row'd right amang the heather. O my bonnie, &c. Kow Hymen's beam gilds bank and stream, "VVhare Will and 1 fresh flowei-s wUl gathei Nae storms I fear, I've got my dear Kind-hearted lad amang the heather. O my bonnie Highland lad. My winsome, weelfar'd Highland laddie Should storms appear, my Will's aye ne; To row me in his tartan plaidie. [Tlne, "Eock and wee pickle tow."| ' Nov7 Sandy, the winter's cauli blasts are av I And simmer, we've seen the beginning (ii ! I've lang been wearied o' ftost and o' snaw, ;^ And sair ha'e I tiroU o* the spinning o't ; 294 SCOTTISH S0KG5. For when we were niarrieil our deeding was thin. And poortith, )e ken, made me eident to spin, 'l'«as fain love o' you that first gart me begin. And blessings ha'e followed the spinning o't. ■\\'hen mornings were cauld, and the keen frost and snaw "Were blawin", I mind the beginning o't. And je gaed to wark, be it frost or be't thaw, 3Iy task was nae less at the spinning o't : }3ut now we've a pantry baith muckle and fu' < !■ i!ka thing gude for to gang in the mou" ; .\ barrel o' ale, wi' some maut for to brew. To mak' us forget the beginning o't. And when winter comes bacA, wi' the sneU hail and i-ain, Nae mair I sit down to the spinning o't, >'or jou gang to toil in the cauld fields again. As little think on the beginning o't: O' sheep we ha'e scores, and o" kye twenty-five. Far less we ha'e seen wad made us fu' blythe ; iiut thrift and industry maks poor fouk to thrive, A clear proof o' that is the spinning o't. Although at our marriage our stock was but sma'. And heartless and hard the beginning o't, \Vhen ye was engaged the owsen to ca'. And first my young skill tried the spinning o't ; But now we can dress in our plaidies sae sma", Fu' neat and fu' clean gae to kirk or to ha'. And look aye as blythe as the best o' them a', .-ic luck has been o' tlie beginning o't. [TuNB, "The Campbells are comin'."] The bud on the brier it is bonnie enough. An' sae is the flower on the ha*, lass : H .w sweet shines the red setting sun in the stream. But thou art the sweetest of a', lass. The laverock on the lea, lass. The lintie on the tree, lass. The mavis aft renews her sang. But nane o" them sings like thee, lass. The meeting o' friends nmy be happy, I own. An' blinks o' content gi'e us a', lass ; But rapture ne'er comes frae the e'e to the heait, .Save only when love gi'es the law, lass. The bottle has its charms, lass. Which toil and care disarm, lass. But lasting pleasure ne'er is found, Till love the bosom wai-m, lass. In conqu'ring kingdoms let tyrants unite, An' patriots fight to be free, lass ; But conqu'ring canna gi'e them the delight, I ha'e being conquer'd by thee, lass. For freedom's but a name, lass. And slavery's just the same, lass, I'll wear thy chain wi' a' my heart, Gif ye will be my ain, lass. The love-melting kiss that I steal frae thy. lips, AViil keep me aye constant and true, lass, An' ilk coming day be m air blest than the past. An' ilka endearment renew, lass. Then time may flee like wind, lass. Its loss we ne'er shall find, lass; The rose that fades upon thy cheek, ^^■ill flourish in thy mind, lass. Datetie M&hU, [For the original Daintie Davie, see page 98.] Thr lasses fain wad ha'e frae me A sang, to keep them a' in glee, AVhile ne'er a ane I ha'e to gi'e. But only Daintie Davie. I leam'd it early in my youth, AVhcn barley bannocks caused a drouth : "Whar cronies met to weet their mouth. Our sang was Daintie Davie. O, Daintie Davie is the thing; I never kent a cantie spring. That e'er deserved the Highland flin.! Sae weel as Daintie Davie. \Mien friends an' folk at bridals meet, Their drouthie mou's and craigs to weet. The story canna be complete Without they've Daintie Davie. Sae lasses tune your spinnets wed. An' lilt it up wi' a' your skill. There's nae strathspey nor Highland reel. Comes up to Daintie Da^ie. O, Daintie Davie, &c. SCOTTISH 30XGS. 295 Though bardies a', in former times, Ha'e stain'd my sang, wae worth their rhjmes ! They had but little mense, wi' crimes. To blast my Daintie Davie. The rankest weeds the garden spoil, AVhen labour tak's the play a while ; The lamp gaes out for want C oil. And sae it fered wi' Davie. Daintie Davie, &c. There's ne'er a bar but what's complete. While Uka note is aye so sweet. That auld and young get to their feet, ■VMien they hear Daintie Davie. Tntil the latest hour of time, "When music a' her power shall tine. Each hUl, an' dale, an' grove, shall ring Wi' bonnie Daintie Da^•ie. O, Daintie Davie, &c. [A. Flbtchkb, schoolmaster, Dunoon, Argjle- Ehire.— Tune, " Lassie wi* the lint-white locks."] Lassie wi' the raven locks. Charming lassie. Highland lassie; Gladly wad I tend thy flocks, Bonnie Highland Mary, O. "^\"here Echaig Joins the briny tide. And Cowal's hills spread far and wide, Alang the winding banks o' Clyde, I met wi' Highland Alary, O. Lassie wi", &c. Her foot sae neatly mark'd the sand, An' gently waved her lily hand. As, slow, she traced the sea-beat strand. The lovely Highland Mary, 0. Lassie wi', &c. How mildly glanced her hazel e'e ! Like sunbeams on the dewy lea : — It, ftowlins, wiled the heart frae me. The witching smile of Mary, 0. Lassie wi'. Sec. Her eye-brows of a jetty-hue ; Her lips " like rose-buds moist wi" dew ;" A sweeter face ne'er bless'd n-y view Than youthfu" Highland Ma-^'s, 0. Lassie wi'. Sec. Thoush pure the flowers that blaw nns. en -Amang her native woodlands green. Yet purer f^'s the heart, I ween. Of artless Highland Mar>-, 0. Lassie wi'. Sec Let others range frae isle to isle, Where never-ending simmers smile : — Mair dear the groves o' Ballochyle, That shelter Highland Mary, 0. Lassie wi' Sec. I'd cheerfu' toU frae dawn o' day. O'er yon lone glen and ferny brae, Could I but get, by glo.'vming grey, Ae bl)-thsome blink o' Mary, O. Lassie wi', &c. O may nae cloud the sun o'ercast, To chill this floweret's snawie breast ! >"ae reptUe's breath untimely blast The op'ning bloom of Mary, ! Lassie wi', &e. [Written by Axors Fletcher, among the ruins of Dunoon Castle, which command a dis- tant view of Montstuart in the Isle of Bute. This song appeared first in a Greenock Kewspaptr, January 1806, but is here given with the author's latest corrections. It was written to the air of " Miss Forbes' farewell to Banff," and has also been set to music of its own by an Edinburgh publisher, who calls the tune " The Flower uf Dunoon."] Jf isE times bleak winter's cranreuch sntU DespoQed o' bloom the daisied lea ; And nine times has the primrose pale Spread round the dells of Coir-in-t-shee, Since, where Montstuart's dusky grove Waves o'er yon foaming distant sea, I blushing own'd my youthful love. And Blue-eyed Anne reproved na me. Wha then wad think our joys could fa^le ? Love's dearest pleasures a' we knew ; And not a cloud was seen to shade The blissful scenes young fancy drew But scowling tempests soon o'ercast Our azure skies and summer sea — I're borne misfortune's rudest blast. Yet Blue-eyed Anne still smiles on tt.p. 286 SCOTTISH SONGS Now safe retired, no more I'll stray Ambition's faithless path alang, But calmly spend tlie careless day Dunoon's green winding vales amang: And aft I'U climb this hoary pile, When spring revives each flower and tree, To view yon sweet sequester'd isle, ^^'ha^e Blue-eyed Anne first smiled on me. ;|ait mU ^m^ Pstt« [Tune, "For a' that an' a* that."— Written ty Alex. Douglas, a weaver in Pathhead, Fifesbire, who published a volume of poems in 1806.] AViiAT ails you now, my daintie Pate, Ye winna wed an' a' that ? Say, are ye fley'd, or are ye blate. To tell your love an' a' that ? To kiss an' clap, an' a' that ? O fy for shame, an" a' that. To spend your life without a wife ; 'Tis no the gate ava that. Ere lang you will grow auld and frail. Your haffets white an' a' that ; An' whare's the Meg, the Kate, or Xell, Will ha'e you sjTie wi" a' that ? Eunkled brow an' a' tliat ; Wizzen'd fece an' a' that; Wi' beard sae grey, there's nane will ha'e A kiss frae you, an' a' that. O stand na up wi' where an' how, WI' ifs an' buts an' a' that , Wi' feckless scruples not a few : Pu' up your heart an' a' that. Crousely crack an' a' that ; Come try your luck an' a' that : The hiney-moon will ne'er gang done. If guidit weel an' a' that. There's monie lass baith douce an' fair, Fu' sonsy, fier, an' a' that. Wad suit you to a veiry hair, Sae clever they're an' a' that ; Handsome, young, an' a' that, Sae complaisant an' a' that ; Sae sweet an' braw, and gude an' a' ; What aUs the chield at a' that .= Come, look about, an' wale a wife, Like honest fouk an' a' that ; An' lead a cheerfu' virtuous life ; Ha'e plenty, peace, an' a' that ; A thrifty wife an' a' that. An' bonnie bairns an' a' that. Syne in your ha' shall pleasur.^* a' Smile ilka day an' a' tliat. JMsug. [Danibi. Weik. — Tune, " Good night, and joy be wi' you a'."] How dear to think on former days. And former scenes I've wander'd o'er ; They well deserve a poet's praise. In lofty rhjTne they ought to soar. How oft I've wander'd by the Clyde, WTien night obscured the landscape near, To hear its murm'ring waters glide. And think upon my Mary dear. And when the moon shot forth her light. Sweet glimm'ring through the distant trees. How sweet to pass the peaceful night. And breathe, serene, the passing breeze. Though grand these scenes of peace and joy, 'Tis not for them I'd drop the tear; Remembrance will my heart annoy. When thinking on my Mary dear. Far from my friends, far from my home, I wander on a distant shore ; Far from those scenes I used to roam. And scenes perhaps I'll tread no more. My fancy still beholds the Clyde, Her scenes of grandeur now appear; What power can e'er my thoughts divide. From Clyde's Cur banks and Mary dear. No power on earth can change my heart. Or tear these scenes from out my mind , And when this world and 1 shall part, For them I'll cast a look behind. Swift fly the time until we meet ; Swift fly away each day and year. Until my early friends I gi'eet, And kiss again my Mary dtar. SCOTTISH SONGS. 29T [Tu.NE, " Jessie the Fower o' Dumblane." This and the two following songs were first published ill " The Pooket Encydopedia of Song," Glasgow, 1S16.] Bv the side o' yon river, as Bessie sat sighin', Lamentin' her Jamie firae her far awa'. The last sound o' the bell on the night breeze was dyin'. An' careless aroun' her the dew-drops did fa' ; : welcome, she cried, thou sweet hour of devo- tion! O rise, bonnie moon, a young lassie does ca' ; Shine clearly, an' witness my full heart's emotion ; 1 11 think on my Jamie, though he be awa'. I gin he was here, or gin I had caen wi' him : — But whisht my fond heart, he will quickly return; My arms shall enfauld him ; soon, soon shall I see him. An' ne'er on this bank again lanely I'll mourn. An' thou, bonnie moon, whast beheld my sad wailin', O tell it to Jamie, tell it him a' ; "While gazjn' on thee, owre the deep as he's sailin', O ! fair be the breezes aroun' him that blaw. How sweet is't to see thee shine clearly and bonnie. On the gay fiel's o' harst, or the silvery snaw — How sweet are these scenes ! but far sweeter than onie The lad to me dearest, though he be awa' : For what to me's Xature, though varied in feature; Without him — nae joy can it gi'e me ava : — O : come then, my laddie, O come, binna later. For drearie's the time whan firae me ye're awa'. [Tune, "Humours of Glen."] TuE bright rose o' rlmmer the brier was adomin'. An' sweet fell the perfume encircUn' the flower. An' rich on its leaves hung the tears o' the momin', | An' 6aft sigh'd the gale thro' the brier-shaded | bower : But Helen, fair Helen, the early dawn courtin', Appear'd, an' now pale grew the rose's deep dye ; When rival'd Aurora beheld the nymph sporti:;'. She mantled her face in a fold o' the sky. i; i^nraptured I saw her sae bloomin' an' bonnie, j I That love bade the full tide o' fervour to flow ; I : But blame na my ardour, for tell me could onie I i Resist the fond impulse— ah I tell me ? oh no. — Though cahn was the hour, and delicious the pleasure. When viewin' the beauties o' Kature sae &ir. Beside lovely Helen, 'twas joy without measure. The fairest, the dearest, the sweetest was there 1 A boon may I venture to beg frae thee. Heaven ? Amid a' my care, an' my toU, an' my fear. Be the heart-warmin' impulse o' Sien'ship n.e given. To live in her smile, or 'be worthy her tear : An' never, thou dread power. Adversity , bend her ; Frae sadness an' sorrow, oh : aye be she free : That ilka true bliss may for ever attend her, — Is the prayer o' the poet, dear Helen, for thee. [Nktherlee is four miles south-west of Glasgow. AuLD farran' cantie bodie. Cam' ye fee the Xetherlee ? Auld farran' cantie bodie. Did you there my lassie see ? Kind, an' blythe, an' sweet as onie, Fairer never can ye see ; In face an' form my lassie's bonnie. Dimpled love sits in her e'e. Auld farran', 5:c. Hair like the momin's gouden beam. On the tapmaist mountain hie ; An' oh ! whan dressd in tartan sheen. Beauty's power is ill to dree. Auld farran', &c. Her lips wad mak' the cherry blush Deeper red — though red it be ; An' weel like I the dew to brush Frae her lips sae sweet an' wee. Auld farran'^ &c. >98 SCOTTISH SOKGS. But sawnrx yc the Uissie then, Through the Vood or owre the lea ? Though ye're the wale o' cantiest men, To seek her quickly maun I flee. Fare ye weel then, funnie boilie! Whan ye ca' 't the Netherlee, Spier for me, auld fairan' bodie. Then the lassie dear ye'll see. [This popular song has hitherto appeared in all the collections as an anonymous production, but we have the authority of a highly esteemed corresponijcnt for saying that it was written by the Rev. James Honeyman, minister of Kinneff, in Kincardineshire, who died at an advanced age in or about the year 1779. Mr. Honeyman wrote other poetical pieces, but none of them c.-ime before the public except this song, and the circun-.stance that brought it to light was this. About the time it was written, an itinerant teacher of music appeared in the district, and happening to get a copy of it, he sang it in his classes, at his concerts, and on other occasions, till it acquired a local popularity, and the demand for copies increased so much that the aid of the printer was called in to supply them, and thus, by and bye, it came to be spread over the country in ballad-books and broa»l -sheets. It is surprising that "Hie bonnie lassie" should have escaped so successful a collector as David Herd, who was himself a native of Kin- cardineshire.] HiF, bonnie lassie, blink over the burnj And if your sheep wander I'll gi'c them a turn; Sae hapi'y as we'll be on yonder green shade. If ye'll be my dawtie, and sit in my plaid. A yowe and twa lammies are a' my haill stock. But I'll sell a lammie out C my wee flock. To buy thee a head -piece, sac bonnie and braid. If ye'll be my dawtie, and sit in my plaid. 1 ha'e a wee whittle made me a trout creel, And, oh, that wee whittle 1 likit it weel ; But I'll gi'e't to my lassie, and mair if I had, If she'll be my dawtie, and sit in my plaid. I ha'e little siller, but ae hauf-year's fee. But if ye will tak* it, I'll gi'e't a' to thee; And then we'll be married, and lie in ae bed. If ye'll be my dawtie, and sit in my plaid. < #1^ KaTOg'0 ^©Eg. [Fao.M Hooo's "Brownie of Bodsbeck. "J The kye are rowting in the lone. The ewes bleat on the brae, O, what can ail my auld gudeman. He bides sac lang away 1 An' aye the Robin sang by the wua. An' his note had a wacsome fa'. An' the corbie croupit in the clud. But he durstna light ava; Till out cam' the wee grey moudiwort Fme 'neath the hollow stane. An' it howkit a grave for the auld grey h(;i For the head lay a' its lane ! But I will seek out the robin's nest. An' the nest of the ouzel shy. For the siller hair that is beddit there Maun wave aboon the sky. [This little lyric is the earliest poetical pro- duction of Angus Fi.etcheb, and first appeared in several Newspapers about the year 1802 or 3. It was wTitten to a Gaelic air, but it may also be sung to thb good old tune of " Willie was a wan- ton wag." Glendaruel, one of the richest and pret- tiest valleys in Scotland, forms the parish of Kil- modan, in Cowal ; and is generally called, by way of pre-eminence. The Glen. The river Ruel winds slowly and beautifully through its whole length.] Beneath a hUl. 'mang birken bushes. By a bumie's dimpilt linn, I told my love, with artless blushes. To the lassie o' the Glen. O the birken bank sae grassy ' Hey the burnie's dimpilt linn ! Bear to me's the bonnie lassie Living in yon rashie glen. Lanely Ruel ! tliy stream sae glassie. Shall be aye my fav'rite theme ; For, on thy bank my Highland lassie First confess'd a mutual flame. the birken, &c. SCOTTISH SOKGS. 290 Tliere, zs she mark'd the sportive fishes TTpward spring wi' quiv'ring fin, I slyly stole some melting kisses, Frae the lassie o' the glen. the biiken, &.c. ■UTiat bliss '. to sit, and nane to fash us. In some sweet -wee bowery den ; Or fondly stray amang the rashes, Wi' the lassie o' the glen. O the birken, &c. Anl though I wander now unhappy, Far firae scenes we haunted then, 111 ne'er forget the — bank sae grassy, 2S"or — the lassie o' the glen. O the birken, &p. ®-^f JparefecH, [J. Bi RTT.— Tnne, " JocMe's far awa'. WELCOME winter ! wi' thy stonns. Thy frosts, an' hills o' sna' ; Dismantle nature o' her charms. For I maun lea' them a'. I've moum'd the go wan withered Uiid Upon its wallow bier ; I've seen the rose-bud drooping fade Beneath the dewy tear. Then fare ye weel, my frien's sae dear. For I maun lea'e you a'. O will ye sometimes shed a tear For me, when far awa' ? For me, when far frae hame and you, ■Where ceaseless tempests blaw, ■Will ye repeat my last adieu. An' mourn that I'm awa' ? 1 ve seen the wood, where rude winds rave. In gay green mantle drest , But now its leafless branches wave Wild whistling in the blast : So perish'd a' my youthfu' joy. An' left me thus to mourn : The vernal sun will gild the sky. But joy will ne'er return. Then fare ye weel, &c. In vain will spring her gowans spread OwTe the green swairded lea : The rose beneath the hawthorn shade Will bloom in Tain for me : In vain will spring bedeck the bowers "Wi' buds and blossoms braw — The gloomy storm already lowers That drives me far awa'. Then fare ye weel, &c. O winterj spare the peacefu' scene "VMiere early joys I knew: Still be its fields unfading green. Its sky unclouded blue. Te lads and lasses I when sae blythe The social crack ye ca' — O spare the tribute of a sigh ,^ For me, when far awa' ; Then fare ye weel. Sec. ^mx ^u%i [Angus Flktchkb. — Tune, "A" body's like to get married but me."] I MET my dear lassie short syne in yon dale. But deep was her sigh, and her cheek it was p^ie; And sad the saft snule that was heaven to s^i. ; Poor ilary, 1 fear, is unhappy— like me. A feverish heat has deprived o' their bloom Her hps, anee sae rosy, exhaling perfume ; An' changed is the glance o' her blythe hazel e'e, — Poor Mary, I fear, is unhappy— Uke me. 'Twas thus a fair floweret adom'd my lone walk. But chill blew the east on its tender green «t.-\!k : No more its sweet blossoms allure the wild l^x — Poor ilary, I fear, is unhappy — like me. If I were but destined to ca' her my ain, I'd shield her sae fondly frae sna", win', an' niin ; And, nightly, this bosom her pillow wad be ; — Poor ilaiy, I fear, is unhappy— like me. Detraction and maUce — society's pest ! I know 'tis your venom that pains her pure breast ; But, for that haven, 'yont life's stormy sea, AMiere Mary, 1 trust, shall be happy wi' me 1 ;oo SCOTTISH SONGS. [William Ferqusson.— Here first printed.] O ! cARLK Time, auld carle Time, My blessin' I'd gi'e thee. Gin ye would turn your face, and bring Back by-gane days to me : — Bring back the lang, lang sunny days. When youth an' hope weie mine, Wi' a' the friends I lo'ed an' lost. In days o' lang syne. ! kindly carle, dinna gloom. But leave your onward track. For through the mist C forty years I fondly wad gang back :— 1 '11 leave behind my lade o' care. And, light C heart and limb, I'll follow you through early scenes. By distance now made dim. O ! lead me to the dear loved spot, W^here childhood's hours were spent. Where misery was but a name. And toil was scarcely kent; Where pleasures hung in clusters round. Like blossoms on the tree ; And a' the world I saw, appear'd A paradise to me ! And, gentle carle, let me sit An hour by that auld chair, That bore my mother lang, and see My kindly mother there — O, Time ! I'd gi'e you a' I'm worth. Or ever like to be. For ae look o' that blessed face, Sair worn wi' grief for me ! And, carle, there's a birken bower, O' early love the scene— Cleed, deed again its wither'd boughs, Wi' leaves o' glossy green : — And, O ! bring back to meet me there, Frae out the darksome tomb. My early-lost, my bonnie bride. In a' her maiden bloom. <-) ! cruel carle, I plead in vain — Ye leave me to my fate ; Wi' moody brow, and eident step. Ye keep your onward gate : ^ But carle Time, auld carle Time, My blessin' I'd gi'e thee. Gin ye would turn your face, and bring Back by-gane days to me. ®|)? autumn kateg. [Alex. Maclagoan.— Here first printed.] The autumn leaves fa' fast, dear May, O ! weary fully fast. Poor blighted things, they canna thole The buffets o' ilk blast. The birds will soon be mute, dear May, The sweet flowers dead an' gane, And soon ilk strippet tree will stand As hare's yon auld mile stane The black bat flitts— the howlet hoots Frae Eoslin's castle wa'. The wicked spirit o' the winds Raves through ilk hoary ha'. Rude ruin on the rafters bare Has fix'd his gorin teeth. And the pick-axe o' the labourin' wight Is working hard beneath. The roarin' lin', the waves, the win', Sing sadly i' the car. That winter, wi' his hoasts an' frosts. And cauUls and cramps, is near. And when the wreckin' tempest sweeps ' Athwart the leafless lea. And shakes ilk biggin' to the found, O' wha will shelter thee ? Nae brither brave, nae sister sweet. Greets thee with kindred smile ; Thy honour'd father's auld grey hairs Lie 'neath our abbey -isle. Your mither on her cauld death-bed Aft fondly turn'd to thee. Syne grasp'd my hand, and, weepin', left Her wee pet lamb to me. Why weeps my early love ? why heaves With sighs thy gentle breast P Beshrew these silly words o' mine. That wreck thy bosom's rest! SCOTTlaH 30>-GS. 301 For why should I stand haverin' here. Like pulin' hopeless swain. When ilka blush, and sigh, and tear. Declares ye a' my ain ! [" Th!s song," says Bums, "was the work of a very worthy, facetious old fellow, John Lap- R.wK, late of Dalfram, near Muirkirk; which , !^ ., little property he was obliged to sell, in conse- i y j quence of some connection, as security, for some [ '^^ i persons concerned in that villanous bubble. The '":' _ " Ayr Bank. He has often told me that he com- posed this song one day when his wdfe had been ] I -C fretting o'er their misfortunes." It will be recol- [ lected, that Bums, hearing the song sung at a ^/ ■ "country rocking," was so much taken with it j - ■ that he addressed a rhyming epistle to Lapraik, which opened up a correspondence between them. The poet says, " There was ae sang amang the rest, Aboon them a' it pleased me best, That some kind husband had addrest | To some sweet wife : I It thrill'd the heart-strings thro' the breast, ; A- to the Ufe." ] Lapraik was greatly the senior of Bums, having j been bom in 1727, yet he long survived him, as he • died at Muirkirk, where he latterly kept the vil- i.- , lage post office, in 1807. In 1788, he published , at Kilmarnock a volume of poems, but none of them surpassed, if they equalled, the song which drew forth the generous praise of Burns. — T;uie, " The Scots Eecluse," or "Johnnie's Grey :, Breeks."] 'i When- I upon thy bosom lean, And fondly clasp thee a' my ain, ■ I glory in the sacred ties ;| That made us ane, wha ance were twain. A mutual flame inspires us baith, ; I The tender look, the meltin' kiss : Even years shall ne'er destroy our love. But only gi'e us change o' bliss. Ha'e I a" wish ? it's a' for thee ! I ken thy wish is me to please. Our moments pass sae smooth away. That numbers on us look and gaze ; Weel pleasel they see our happy days, Jfor envy's sel' finds aught to blame ; And aye, when weary cares arise. Thy bosom still shall be my hame. I'll lay me there and tak' my rest : And, if that aught disturb my dear, I'll bid her laugh her cares away, And beg her not to drop a tear. Ha'e I a joy ? it's a' her ain ! United still her heart and mine ; They're like the woodbine round the tree, That'stwined till death shall them disjoin. [This was introduced as a Scotch song in Hick* erstafPs opera of" Love in a Village," first acted at Covent Garden Theatre in 1762.J Dowx the burn and through the mead. His golden locks wav'd o'er his brow ; Johnnie lilting, tun'd his reed, And Mary wip'd her bonnie mou' : Dear she loo'd the well known song. WTiile her Johnnie, blj-the and bonnie, Sung her praise the whole day long. Down the burn and through the mead, His golden locks wav'd o'er his brow , Johnnie lilting, tun'd his reed. And Mary wip'd her bonnie mou'. Costly claiths she had but few ; Of rings and jewels nae great store ; Her face was fair, her love was true. And Johnnie wisely wish'd nae more : Love's the pearl the shepherds prize ; O'er the mountain, near the fountain. Love delights the shepherd's eyes. Down the burn, &c. Gold and titles give not health. And Johnnie could nae these impart ; Youthfu' Mary's greatest wealth. Was still her faithfu' Johnnie's heart : Sweet the joys the lovers find. Great the treasure, sweet the pleasure, Where the heart is always kind. Down the bum, 5:c. 302 SCOTTISH SONGS. 0m ^ag S Ije&t^ JEairg. [This was written by Robert Crawfubd to the tune of " I'll never leave thee," and printed in the Tea-Table Miscellany.] One day I heard JIary say, how shall I leave thee ? Stay, dearest Adonis, stay ; why wilt thou grieve me ? Alas! my fond heart will break, if thou should leave me: I'll live and die for thy salve, yet never leave thee. Say, lovely Adonis, say, has Mary deceived thee ? Did e'er her young heart betray new love, that has grieved thee ? My constant mind ne'er shall stray , thou may believe me. I'll love thee, lad, night and day, and never leave thee. Adonis, my charming youth, what can relieve thee ? Can Mary thy anguish soothe ? This breast shall receive thee. My passion can ne'er decay, never deceive thee ; Delight shall drive pain away, pleasure revive thee. But leave thee, leave thee, lad, how shall I leave thee ? Oh ! that thought makes me sad ; I'll never leave thee ! Where would my Adonis fly ? Why does he grieve me ? Alas ! my poor heart will die, if I should leave thee. I^S M^n-nu '0 s5sa'. [Tills was written by Burns in December, 1794, for Thomson's collection, to the tune of " There s few gude fellows when Jamie 's awa," or as it is now more commonly called, " There'll never be peace till Jamie come hame." Clarinda, alias Agnes 31'Lehose, is the supposed subject of the song.J Now in her green mantle blythe nature arrays. And listens the lambkins that blftat ower the braes, Wliile birds warble welcome in ilka green shaw ; But to me it's delightless — my Nannie's awa'. The Bnaw-drap and primrose our woodlands adorn. And violets bathe in the weet o' the morn ; They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw ! They mind me o" Nannie — and Nannie 's awa'. Thou laverock, that springs frae the dews of the lawn. The shepherd to warn of the grey-breaking dawn , And thou mellow mavis, that hails the night-fa' ; Give over for pity — my Nannie's awa'. Come, autumn, sae pensive, in yellow and grey. And soothe me wi' tidings C nature's decay: The dark, dreary winter, and wild-driving snaw, AUne can delight me— my Nannie's awa'. SCOTTISH SONGS. 303 ^Kz meicfg a0 fee iaV iem. [This is the title of a very old air, which is to be found in our oldest musical collections. The original words to the tune are probably lost. The old chorus, however, is retained in the following beautifully-natural song, which was first printed in Herd's collection, 1776. Burns characterizes the chorus as "truly pathetic." " Sae merry as we twa ha"e been, Sae ni.erry as we twa ha'e been ! My heart it is like for to break. When 1 think on the days we ha'e seen." The version here given of the present song differs somewhat, but chiefly in verbal points, from that given by Herd.] A i.Ais that was laden wi' care ."■at heavily under a thorn; I listen'd a whUe for to hear. When thus she began for to mourn : — V/Tiene'er my own lover was near. The birds seem'd far sweeter to ssing; The cold nipping winter-time wore A face that resembled the spring. vae merry as we twa ha'e been, Sae merry as we twa ha'e been ! 3Iy heart is like for to break. When I think on the days we ha'e seen. There was love in his sweet silent looks. There was love in the touch of his hand ; I liked mair the glance o' his e'e. Then a' the green earth to command : A word, and a look, and a touch — Hard-hearted, oh I how could I be ? Oh ! the cauldest lass i' the land Wad ha'e sigh'd and ha'e melted like me : Sae merry as we twa ha'e been, Sae merry as we twa ha'e been ! 1 wonder my heart disna break, "^Than I think on the days we ha'e seen. But now he is £xr, far awa'. Between us is the rolling sea ; And the wind that wafts pleasure to a". Brings nae word frae Willie to me. At night, when the rest o' the folk Are merrily seated to spin, I sit mysel' under an oak, A-heavily sighing for him. Is Sae merry as we twa ha'e been, Sae merry as we twa ha'e been ! My heart it will break ere the spring. As I think on the days that are gane. I^aji TM 53i' tjig ^2Uztmt, [There was an old nursery song, the wrrds of which ran somewhat thus : " I'LL hap ye wi' my petticoat. My ain kind dow ; I'll hap ye wi' my petticoat. My ain kind dow. The wind blaws cauld, my clai thing's thin,— dearie, on me rue ; And hap me wi' thy petticoat. My ain kind dow." i The tune to which this was sung was ly^e of great beauty and simplicity, although its simplicity has been somewhat injured by modem changes. Ramsay nTOte the following words to the tune, but mistook himself greatly, we think, when he endeavoured to weave the words of a nurse's lullafey into an impassioned lover's address.] Bell, thy looks ha'e kill'd my heart, 1 pass the day in pain ; When night returns, I feel the smart. And wish for thee in vain. I'm starving cold, while thou art warm : Have pity and incline. And grant me for a hap that charm- ing petticoat of thine. My ravish'd fancy in amaze Still wanders o'er thy charms. Delusive dreams ten thousand ways Present thee to my arms. But waking, think what I endure. While cruel thou decline Those pleasures, which alone can cun' This panting breast of mine. 1 faint, I fail, and wildly rove. Because you still deny The just reward that's due to love. And let true passion die. Oh ! turn, and let compassion seize That lovely breast of thine ; Thy petticoat could give me ease. If thou and it were mine. SOi SCOTTISH SONGS. Sure heaven has fitted for deliglit That beauteous form of thine, And thou'rt too good its law to slight, By hind'ring the design. May all the powers of love agree, At length to make thee mine ; Or loose my chains and set me free From every charm of thine. [This ditty, which breathes so much homely sense and rural contentment, is marked as an old song in the Tea-Table Miscellany. It is at least older than the beginning of last century, as it appears in " Pills to Purge Melancholy" (2d vol. circa 1700,) where it is erroneously directed to be sung to the tune of " Cold and Raw." The gen- uine old air of " The Country Lass" is given in Johnson's,Museum. The comparatively modern tune of "Sally in our alley" somewhat resembles it.] A i.TiiouGH I be but a country lass. Yet a lofty mind I bear, O ; And think mysel' as rich as those That rich apparel wear, O. Although my gown be hame-spun grey. My skin it is as saft, O, As them that satin weeds do wear. And geek their heads aloft, 0. "What though I keep my father's sheep. The thing tliat maun be done, O ; With garlands o' the finest flowers, To shade me frae the sun, ? AVhen they are feeding pleasantly. Where grass and flowers do spring, O ; Then, on a flowery bank, at noon, I set me down and sing, 0. My Paisley piggy, corked with sage. Contains my drink but thin, O ; No wines did e'er my brains engage. To tempt my mind to sin, O. My country curds and wooden spoon, I think them unco fine, O ; And on a flowery bank, at noon, I set me doun and dine, O. Although my parents cannot raise Great bags of shining gold, O, Like them whase daughters, now a-days. Like swine, are bought and sold, O : Yet my fair body it shall keep An honest heart within, O ; And for twice fifty thousand cro\vns, 1 value not a prin, 0. I use nae gums upon my hair. Nor chains about my neck, O, Nor shining rings upon my hands. My fingers straight to deck, O. But for that lad to me shall fa'. And I have grace to wed, 0, I'll keep a braw that's worth them a"; I mean my silken snood, O. If cannie fortune give to me The man I dearly love, O, Though he want gear, I dinna care. My hands I can improve, 0; Expecting for a blessing still Descending from above, O ; Then we'll embrace, and sweetly kiss. Repeating tales of love, O. fWn.LiAM Cross.— Here first printed.— Tune, ' O'er the muir amang the heather."] Amanq the braes aboon Dunoon, In vernal May's delightfu' weather, I met at e'en a bonnie lass Alane amang the blooming heather. A hame-spun gown and westlin' plaid Was dress enough, she had nae ither. But blythe and comely was her lace. And light her step amang the heather. I spake her fair, and speert her name. To tell me true she didna swither. But modestly she hung her head. And blush'd an rsd 's the blooming heather. A bonnie lass and free-han'd lad Maun ha'e a crack when they forgather, Sae down we sat beside a burn That wimpled through the blooming heather. We spake C kirks, we spake o' fairs. The sprouting corn, the bonnie weather; O' every thing we talk'd but love. Though love was a' our thoughts thegither. SCOTTISH SONGS. 505 Could I keep still my lonping heart. Or ae word right put to anither, "When for my ain I tried to claim The bonnie lass amang the heather ? Ah no ! though lang I ettled sair. My tongue could never slip the tether. But weel the lassie guess'd my mind That night amang the blooming heather. The balmy a:r, the glowing sky, The thymey sod, the blooming heather. And sic an angel by my side — I trow 'twas heaven a' thegither! The night grew late before we wist. It took us hours to part wi' ither ; And now she's mine, the bonnie lass That staw my heart amang the heather. 'This is the name of an old tune and old song. .urns says, " The old song, in three eight line :anzas, is well known, and has merit as to wit and humour; but it is rather unfit for insertion. It begins, ' The bonnie lass o' Livingstone, Her name ye ken, her name ye ken, And she has written in her contract To lie her lane, to lie her lane,' &c." The following song to the tune of " The Lass o' Livingstone," was written by Kamsay, and pub- 1 .lied in the first volume of the Tea-Table Mis- t liany.] Pais'd with her slighting Jamie's love. Bell dropt a tear. Bell dropt a tear ; Tlie gods descended from above. Well pleased to hear, well pleased to hear ; They heard the praises of the youth. From her own tongue, from her own tongue, Who now converted was to truth, And thus she sung, and thus she sung : " Bless'd days I when our ingenuous sex. More frank and kind, more frank and kind, Did not their lov'd adorers vex. But spoke their mind, but spoke their mind. Eepenting now, she promis'd fair. Would he return, would he return, Bhe ne'er again would give him care. Or caase him mourn, or cause him mourn. Why lov'd I the deserving swain. Yet still thought shame, yet still thought shame. When he my yielding heart did gain. To own my flame, to own my flame ? Why took I pleasure to torment. And seem too coy — and seem too coy ? Which makes me now, alas ! lament My slighted joy, my slighted joy. Te lair, while beauty's in its spring, Own your desire, own your desire ; WhUe love's young power, with his soft wing, Fans up the fire, fans up the fire. Oh ! do not with a sUly pride. Or low design, or low design, Eefuse to be a happy bride. But answer plain, but answer plain." Thus the fair mourner wail'd her crime. With flowing eyes, with flowing eyes ; Glad Jamie heard her all the time. With sweet surprise, with sweet surprise. Some god had led him to the grove. His mind unchang'd, his mind unchang'U, Flew to her arms, and cry'd, My love, I am reveng'd, I am reveng'd. [This sweet little song, headed, " Address to a Lady," was written by Burns, to the tune of " The Lass o' Livingston." The lady in question was Mrs. Riddel of Woodleigh Park.] Oh, wert thou in the cauld blast. On yonder lea, on yonder lea ; My plaidie to the angry airt, I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee: Or did misfortune's bitter storms Around thee blaw, around thee blaw, Thy beild should be my bosom. To share it a', to share it a'. Or were I in the wildest waste, Sae bleak and bare, sae ble.-\k and bare, The desert were a paradise. If thou wert there, if thou wert there. Or were I monarch o' the globe, Wi' thee to reign, wi" thee to reign ; The brightest jewel in my crown, r Wad be my queen, wad be my queen. ^ Wty^ SO(x SCOTTISH SONGS. 'p [Rkv. Henry S. Eiddell.] I wiNXA lo'e the laddie that ca's the cart and pleugh, < Though he should own that tender love that's only felt by few ; For he that has this bosom a' to fondest love betray'd. Is the kind and feithfu' laddie that wears the crook and plaid. At morn he climbs the mountains wild, his fleecy flock to view, "When the larks sing in the heaven aboon, and the flowers wake "mang the dew. When the thin mist melts afore the beam, ower gair and glen convey'd. Where the laddie loves to wander still, that wears the crook and plaid. At noon he leans him dovm, high on the heathy fell. When his flocks feed a' sae bonnilie below him in the dell ; And there he sings o' faithful love, till the wilds around are glad ; Oh, how happy is the laddie that wears the crook and plaid ! He pu's the blooms o' heather pure, and the lily-flouir sae meek, » For he weens the lily like my brow, and the heath-bell like my cheek. .^ His words are soft and tender as the dew frae heaven shed ; And nane can charm me like the lad that wears the crook and plaid. A 'P Beneath iho flowerj' hawthorn-tree, wild growing in the gle \ He meets me in the gloamin' grey, when nane on earth can ken; And leal and tender is his heart beneath the spreading shade. For weel he kens the way, I trow, to row me in his plaid. The youth o' mony riches may to his fair one ride. And woo across a table his many-titled bride; But we will woo beneath the tree, where cheek to cheek is laid — Oh, nae wooer's like tl.e laddie that rows me in his plaid '. To own the tales o" faithfu' love, oh, wha wad no comply ? i _^ Sin' jJure love gi'es mair o' happiness than aught aneath the sky. fp^ Where love is in the bosom thus, the heart can ne'er be sad; } . . Sae, throush life, I'll lo'e the laddie that wears the crook and plaid. ^xivM <^^mU^ lE^feai^. [David Vedder. — Arranged to a beautiful Gaelic air by Finlay Dun.] Farewell to thee, Scotland, thy verdure is bliphted. Thy daisies are steeped in the blood of the brave; And I, who thy wrongs with the sword would have righted, Am tossed like a fugitive serf on the wave ! m^ H.j^A ■^ t>^S^^^-S^'i.V£i5r- SCOTTISH SON'GS. ^Q-^ Impelled to the porsuit, by gold and by vengeancej 3Iy foemen are svrift as the storm -driven rack; From the fierce brutal tribes they've selected their engines. The beagles and blood-hounds are scenting my tract. Farewell to thee, Scotland, thy hills are receding. So beagles and blood -hounds can track as they may ; But my heart to its centre is wounded and bleeding. For thousands who feU on CuUoden's dark day. The hiU-fos's howl, and the lone widow's wailings. Commingle at midnight, 'midst temp-est and rain ; And the red mountain -streamlets by smouldering sheOIngs Brawl hoarsely and fiercely the dirge of the slain. The chieftains and heroes who followed my banner Are pining in dungeons, and bleaching on walls ; Or, stripp'd of their all, saving conscience and honour. The grass growing rank on their hearths and their halls. Farewell to thee, Scotland, thy loftiest mountain Is fading and blending with ocean and sky, I groan — for my tears are dried up at the fountain — A wanderer I've lived, and an exile I'll die. '^f)t BmHmurJ'^ ^uxetstlL [John Buk.ns.] Iet me gaze on those mountains, with heath overgrown, 'ilid whose wild flowers I sported, ere sorrow I knew ; Let me leave them one tear, ere my bark shall be thrown O'er the wave that may hide them for ever from view • Though I go to a land as enchanting and fair- That has comforts as many, and troubles as few — Where the heart, all it pants for, as freely may share. And find its attachments as tender e Yet the place of our birth, like our earliest love. To the throb of affection must ever be dear; — And kind, or severe, as our fortune may prove. We look back on that spot— with a smile — or a tear Oh yes ! there's no loadstone that equals our home, Sot rragnet so true as the pulse of the heart: — And the mem'ry of boyhood, where'er we may roam. Sheds a ray o'er the mind that wiU never depart. Farewell, Caledonia ! thou first in contending Against the oppressors of freedom and truths- May I fall like my fathers — thy blessings defending — And sleep 'n^ath the turf I have trod in my youth 1 30^ SCOTTISH SONG?. ^^sfe !)ait!'0 tl2 fat?. '^Written by a Voung Lady. th.U an' a' that."] -Tune, "For a' How hard's the fate of womankind, AMien 1 think on't for a' that : When they meet a young man to their mind. They darena tell for a' that. For a' that and a' that ; And twice as meikle's a' that; Though they loe the laddie e'er sae wetl They darena tell for a' that. The world's sae censorious, WTiich causes this and a' that. Cars us conceal our fondest thoughts, And say we hate and a' that. For a' that, &c. I vow I will be none of these That play the fool and a' that ; When 1 meet a young man to my mind, I'U tell 1 love for a' that. For a' that and a' that. And twice as meikle's a' that ; The bonnie lad that I lo'e best. Shall be my ain for a' that. [JIacneil. — Tune, " Cauld frosty morning."] liiii sun raise sae rosy, the grey hills adorning; Light sprang the laverock and mounted sae hie ; When true to the trjst o' blythe May's dewie morning. My Jeanie cam' linking out ovrre the green lea. Ton: ark her impatience, I crap 'mang the brakens : Aft, aft to the tent gate she turn'd her black e'e ; T l.tn Ijing down dowjiie, sigh'd by the willow tree, •' Ha me mohatel na dousku me."f Saft through the green birks I sta' to my jewel, streik'd on spring's carpet aneath the saugh tree: i ' Think na, dear lassie, thy Willies been cmel,— l! " Ha me mohatel na dousku me." '■ \ 1 1 am asleep, do not waken me. Wi' luve's warm sensations I've mark'd your im- patience, Lang hid 'mang the brakens I watch'd your black e'e.— You're no sleeping, pawkie Jean ; open thae lovely een; — " Ha me mohatel na dousku me." Bright is the whin's bloom ilk green knowe adorn- ing. Sweet is the primrose bespangled wi' dew ; Yonder comes Peggy to welcome Slay morning ; Dark waves her haffet locks o^v^e her white bro ^^ . O ! light, light she's dancing keen on the smooth gowany green, / Barefit and kilted half up to the knee ; V While Jeanie is sleeping still, I'U rin and sport my fill,— " I was asleep, and ye've waken'd me :" :i I'll rin and whirl her round ; Jeanie is sleeping sound ; Kiss her frae lug to lug ; nae ane can see ; Sweet, sweet's her hinny mou. — "Will, I'm no sleeping now ; I was asleep, but ye've waken'd me." Laughing till like to drap, swith to my Jean I lap, Kiss'd her ripe roses, and blest her black e'e ; And aye since, whane'er we meet, sing, for the sound is sweet, " Ha me mohatel na dousku me." W,^m UU fea0 gag. ^ [Tune, "My only jo and dearie, O."] ir, i When life was gay, an' hope was young, Nae cares to mak' me eerie, O, By birken shaw I sat ^' sung. An' tuned my pipera' cheerie, O ; Nae birdie, singin' frae the tree. Was hauf sae blythe, sue gay as me. Till tost upon life's troubled sea, I traversed lang an' wearie, O. How changed were then the hghtsome hour' When beat my heart sae rarely, O, When far frae Clutha's sylvan bowers. Misfortune skelpt me sairly, O.— w^sa&>^(^^ '^^■^'maf- SCOTTISH SONGS. 309 I sought the long embattled line. Eager in glory's path to shine — But dool cam' owre the hapless time I yielded to the fairlie, O. But sin' the dearest bliss C man, That wyles our way sae drearie, O, The brawest lass in a' the Ian', Smiles on me kind an' cheerie, ; Contented wi' my peacefu' lot, My sorrows now are a' forgot ; An' monie mae I wad bear for't. If blest vri' thee, my dearie, O ! O woman, man's delight an' care ! The sweetest pride o' nature, O, Eeposes on her bosom fair. Sits smilin' on ilk featiire, O ! Man may be bold, he may be strong, May figure through life's chequer'd throng. But still the bard, in deathless song. The chief o' warks will rate her, O ! ^safef!! ts iltOTitiE!?. [A>-DBEW SrsisoN.] Farewell, ye vales where Avon flows. Farewell, ye hills that rise around. Farewell, abodes of sweet repose. Where innocence and peace abound. No more beside your streams I'U stray, Nor pu' the wild flowers as they blaw ; No longer listen to the lay. That's carol'd through the birken shaw. Farewell, Pomilion's flowery braes, Wliose murmuring riUs so sweetly fa', Where aft I've spent the summer days. When sorrow's hand was far awa' ! Thou'st listen'd to the lover's wail. As am'rously thou glided through; Thou'st listen'd to my artless tale. Bat never heard'st a tale so true. Farewell, thou dear ungratefii' maid, Thou'lt mind me when I'm Ear awa' ; And but for thee, I might have staid. To breathe the gales that round thee blaw. Thou knew'st my heart was a' thy ain. And thine thou vow'dst was mine alor< But cursed gold has made us twain, AMiom heaven had fated to be one. Farewell, thou still beloved maid, love, rage, and grief, my soul disarms , For never, never could I've staid. To see thee in another's arms. No more by Avon's streams we'll stray, Nor pu' the wild flowers as they blaw ; No longer listen to the lay, That's carol'd through the birken shaw. [Andrew Simson. — Tune, " Bonnie Dundee."] fli «^ Hush, bush, ye rude breezes, my Harry is comin'. Nor aim at my lover the blasts that ye blaw, ; -. For he'd come to my arms, though the bum it was foamin". In winter or summer, thro' sleet or thro' snaw. He hears not, nor fears not your blustering thunder. But thinks his dear lassie how soon he shall see ; And oh ! may rude fate never cast us asunder. Nor blast all the hopes of my Harry and me. My Harry is blythsome, my Harry is cheerie, y WV him ilk thing round me looks bonnie and ■ ', braw ; [drearie, L^^ But ilk thing aroun' me looks darksome and \T' If e'er he gaes frae me, or turns to gae 'wa. ^Uj Lang ha'e I lo'ed him, an' never, O never, ^«2 Can I think my dear laddie for ever to lea' ; I ^ But if 'tis our fate that death should us sever, O^^ One grave shall receive both my Harry and me . ^ 0'u tl'S mi^U^ltm'^z'^, [J. BcBTT.— Tune, "Banks of the Devon."] O'Es the mist-shrouded clifts of the grey mountain straying, "Where the wild winds of winter incessantly rave : What woes wring my heart, while intently sur- veying [wave. ■f The storm's gloomy path on the breast of the iUO SCOTTISH SONGS. Te foam-crested billows allow me to wail. Ere ye toss me afar from my loved native shore ; Where the flower which bloom'd sweetest in Coila's green vale. The pride of my bosom, my Mary's no more ! Kr> more by the banks of the streamlet we'll And smile at the moon's rimpled face in the wave; No more shall my arms cUng with fondness around her, For the dew-drops of morning fall cold on her grave. N o inore sliall the soft thrill of love warm my breast, I haste with the storm to a far distant shore, ^v 1 :ere unknown, unlamented, my ashes shall rest. And joy shall revisit my bosom no more. ^13? ^Em^eieff'^ Me4ii5C3^, [WniTTHJf by W. A. C. Sicand, and first pub- lished in "The Edinburgh University Souvenir," I'iio, a little volume of which the author was i-ilitor. Mr. Shand is a native of Aberdeen, and at present resident in Eussia.] -\ r. INK, alone, in the evening beam, 'i'-y the flowery marge of my native stream, U'eary, and wan, and faint I stand, ■Jlid the old green bowers of my fatherland. T hear the strain of the wandering rills, J ;i sob and sweil 'mid the far-off hills ; - iftly blent, as they dream along, \'. ith the reaper's shout and the goatherd's song. '•'h, woe ! oh, woe ! that my heart should wear The dull dark shadow of grief and care, "With wood, and lake, and stream unroll'd, A s fresh and fair as in times of old ! Ai^ain I turn to my father's hearth, Hat it rings no more with the tones of mirth ; And I list in vain, in the sunset calm, I'or the low glad note of the evening psalm. The moon ! the moon ! but she looks not in On childhood's laughter and manhood's din ! Lonely and dim her pale gleams fall O'er broken lattice and crumbling wall I ^ 5Iy brethren! my brethren, where are they— where? Are they gather'd yet round my mother's chair :• ])o they wander still in the forests dim. The strong of arm, and the fleet of limb ? Oh, no — oh, no — tliey shall weave no more. By lake and dale as in days of yore. In antique garland and wild festoon. The starry blossoms and leaves of June ! Alone, alone, in the evening beam, ' By the flowery marge of my native stream, \ Weary, and wan, and faint I stand, I 'Mid the old green bowers of my fatherland. MiU 3J#^^S ^WICSTJ. the Ayr Advertiser, Wre Johnny, puit man .'.'has nae mammy ava, ,^j And his daddy was.dead ere the daylight he saw, \, [J. BuRTT.] Lassbs, lookna sourly meek. But laugh an' love in youth's gay morn : If ance the bloom forsake your cheeky Fareweel your heuks, the hairst is shorn. The secret favour that you meet. Or t>ie favour ye return. If vnirfly ye let ithers see't, Fareweel your heuks, the hairst is shorn. Wi' care the tender moments grip. When your cautious lovers burn But if you let that moment slip, Fareweel your heuks, the hairst is shorn. Be on your guard wi" Sir or Laird ; A' ties but that o' maiTiage spurn ; For if ye grant what he may want, Fareweel your heuks, your hairst is shorn. The lad that's wi' your siller ta'en. Reject his vows wi' honest scorn ; For ance the glitterin' ore's his ain, Fareweel your heuks, the hairst is shorn. Widows rest you as ye are — Nae lover now dare crook his horn ; But n;ak' him master o' your gear — Fareweel your heuks, the hairst is shorn. Lasses that nae lads ha'e got. But live in garrets lane and lorn, Let ilk be carefu' o' her cat — Ne'er think o' heuks — your hairst is shorn 0f ti)f ii'Mek^g, [The two following beautiful lyrics are tlie pro- duction of Robert Miller, who died in Sept. 18IM, at the early age of twenty-five. He was a native of Glasgow, and brought up to the profes- sion of the law. He never published any collectcil volume, but he contributed various poetical pieci s of great merit to the periodicals of the day. It is remiirkable, that his " Lay of the Hopeless," in which he expresses so deep a heart-weariness of life, was \vritten not many days before he was sud- denly cut off.] Oh ! would that the wind that is sweeping now O'er the restless and weary wave. Were swaying the leaves of the cypress-bough O'er the calm of my early grave ! 8 .•5-^' SCOTTISH SONGS. 31^ (^ And my heart, with its pulses of fire and life. Oh ! would it were still as stone ! I am weary, weary of all the strife. And the selfish world I've known. 1 ve drunk up hliss from a mantling cup. When youth and joy were mine ; But the cold black dregs are floating up. Instead of the laughing wine ; And life hath lost its loveliness, And youth hath spent its hour. And pleasure palls like bitterness. And hope hath not a flower. And love ! was it not a glorious eye That smiled on my early dream ? It is closed for aye where the long weeds sigh In the churchyard by the stream : And fame — oh ! mine were gorgeous hopes Of a flashing and young renown : But early, early the flower -leaf drox)s From the withering seed-cup dovm. And beauty ! have I not worshipp'd all Her shining creations well ? The rock — the wood — the waterfall. Where light or where love might dwell. But over all, and on my heart The mildew hath faUen sadly— I have no spirit, I have no part In the earth that smiles so gladly ! I only sigh for a quiet bright spot In the churchyard by the stream. Whereon the morning sunbeams float. And the stars at midnight dream : Where only nature's sounds may wake The sacred and silent air, .\nd only her beautiful things may break Through the long grass gathering there ! tWif^n? Rxz f^r i>*^' [KOBEKT MiLLEB.] The loved of early days! Where are they ?— where ? 2f ot on the shining braes. The mountains bare; — Not where the regal streams Their foam-bells cast — Where childhood's time of dreams And sunshine past. Some in the mart, and some In stately halls. With the ancestral gloom Of ancient walls ; Some where the tempest sweeps The desert waves ; Some where the myrtle weeps On Roman graves. And pale young feces gleam With solemn eyes ; Like a remember'd dream The dead arise : In the red track of war The restless sweep ; In sunht graves afar The loved ones sleep. The braes are bright with flowers. The mountain streams Foam past me in the showers Of sunny gleams ; But the light hearts that cast A glory there In the r^oieing past. Where are they .■'—where ? [Written by H. S. Va:« Dyk. — Set to music >-. by T. A. EawUngs.] < r. ' Kow mony a weary day has pass'd, ^ An' mony a lang an' sleepless night. Sin' I beheld my sodger last, WTia left me for the cruel fight. But though I wept that we maun part, Though ilka pleasure tum'd to pain, I'll keep a place within my heart To welcome Jamie hame again. He shall nae say that time has changed The passion I ha'e joy d to feel, Nor that ae thought has been estranged Frae ane whom I ha'e lo'ed sae weel. [ '■ v*^«^^ 314 SCOTTISH SOXGS. ,'.- 3 For I will dry my tearful e'e, Will think" n;ic mair o- parted pain. And let my bonnie sodger see I welcome Jamie hame again. ^2 ^sllZ^=^2iif^ nmi2. [NoTHixo is known of the history of the fine air, called "The Yellow-Hair'd Laddie," beyond that it is very old. Eamsay inserted the original words in his " Tea-Table Miscellany," under the title of " The auld Tellow-Hair'd Laddie," and uiso in the same collection gave verses of his own to the 3.-ime tune. V»^e here copy both sets.] I. [Old Version.] The yellow-hair'd laddie sat doun on yon brae. Cried", Milk the yowes, lassie, let nane o" them gae ; And aye as she milkit, she merrily sang. The ycUow-hair'd laddie sh.ill be my gudernan. And aye as she milkit, she merrily sang. The yellow-hair'd laddie shall be my gudernan. The weather is cauld, and my cleadin is thin. The yowes are new dipt, and they winna buclvt in ; They winna bueht in, although I should dee : Oh, yellow-hair'd laddie, be kind unto me. The gudewife cries batt the house, Jennie, come ben ; The chees« is to mak', and the butter's to kirn. Though butter, and cheese, and a' should gang sour, I'll crack and I'll kiss wi' my love ae half hour. It's ae lang half hour, and we'll e'en mak' it three, [be. For the yellow-hair'd laddie my gudernan shall ^', i-, '-' [Ramsay's Version.] t" \ Ix Ai>ril, when primroses paint the sweet plain, ' ' j\ And summer appro.iching rejoieeth the swain, ,.- '^1 The yellow-hair'd laddie would oftentimes go To woods and deep glens where the hawthorn trees grow. i ^ There, under the shade of an old sacred thorn, With freedom he sung hisloves, evening and moi-n : lie sung with so soft and enchanting a sound. That sylvans and fairies, unseen, danced around. The shepherd thus sung : " Though young Maddie befkir. Her beauty is dash'd with a scornful proud air ; But Susie was handsome, and sweetly could sing; Her breath's like the breezes perfumed in tlie spring. " That JIaddie, in all the gay bloom of her youth. Like the moon, was inconstant, and never spoke truth ; But Susie was faithful, good-humour'd, and free. And fair as the goddess that sprung from the sea. " That mamma's fine daughter, with all her great dower. Was awkwardly airy, and frequently sour." Then sighing, he wish'd, would but parents agi-ee. The witty sweet Susie his mistress might be. i^ '»: ipi^ggg unh ^atie. [From Eamsat's "Gentle Shepherd.' ' The Yellow-Hair'd Laddie."] PEfiGY. When first my dear laddie gaed to the green hill. And I at ewe-milking first seyed my young skill. To bear the milk bowie nae pain was to me, yl_ When I at the bughting forgathor'd wth thee. PATIE. \A'Tien com-riggs waved yellow, and blue heather- bells Bloom 'd bonnie on moorland and sweet rising fells, Nae birns, brier, or bracken, gave trouble to me. If I found but the berries right ripened for thee. PEGGY. When thou ran, or wrestled, or putted the stane. And cam' aff the victor, my heart was aye fail Thy ilka sport manly gave pleasure to i For nane can put, wrestle, or run swift as thee. i-&£^^^m^ SCOTTISH SONGS. ^- PATIB. '■ Our Jenny sings saftly the "Cowden Broom- knowes," And Eosie lilts sweetly the "Milking the Ewes," There's few " Jenny Nettles" like Nancy can sing ; With, "Through the wood. Laddie," Bess gars our lugs ring ; But when my dear Peggy sings, with hetter skill. The "Boatman," "Tweedside," or the "Lass of the 3im," 'lis many times sweeter and pleasing to me , For tliough they sing nicely, they cannot like thee. PEGGY. How easy can lasses trow what they desire, "With praises sae kindly increasing love's fire ! Give me still this pleasure, my study shall be To make myself better and sweeter for thee. [" The Yellow-Hair'd Laddie" must have been tavourite tune in Ramsay's day. Here is another ii? which appears in the " Tea-Table Miscel- -ny," adapted to the same air. It is marked by iimpiicity and natural feeling.] Ok 'Wlutsunday morning I went to the fciir ; My yellow-hair'd laddie TV'as selling his ware ; He gied me sic a blithe bUnk, Witli his bonnie black e'e. And a dear bhnk, and a fair blink. It was unto me. I wist not what ailed me. When my laddie cam' in ; The little wee stemies Flew aye frae my een ; And the sweat it dropt down Trae my very e'e-bree. For my heart aye played Dunt, dunt, dunt, pittie pattie. I wist not what ailed me, When I went to my bed, I tossed and I tumbled, And sleep frae me fled. Now, it's, sleeping and waking. He's aye in my e'e. And my heart aye plays Dunt, dunt, dunt, pittie pattie. ilH log fcag vttdt me> [This song was written by Sir Walter Scott in the year 1806. If we had not found it in the collected edition of his p' ems, we would not readily have beUeved it to be a production of his.] All joy was bereft me the day that you left me. And climb'd the tall vessel to sail yon wide sea; O weary betide it ! I wander'd beside it, j^'r. And bann'd it for parting my Willie and me. /^Y 'X^ Far o'er the wave hast thou follow'd my fortune. Oft fought the squadrons of France and of Spain ; '> \ h L.e kiss of welcome's worth twenty at parting. Now I ha'e gotten my Willie again. U When the sky it was mirk, and the winds they were wailine, . I sat on the beach vn' the tear in my e'e, jfy And thought o' the bark where u;y WUlie was ,j sailing, [me. ' And wish'd that the tempest could a' blaw on Z Now that thy gallant ship rides at her mooring, "/ Now that my wanderer's in safety at hame, i ; Music to me were the wildest winds' roaring. That e'er o'er Inch-Keith drove the dark ocean faem. When the lights they did blaze, and the guns they did rattle. And blithe was each heart for the great victory. In secret I wept for the dangers of battle. And thy glory itself was scarce comfort to me. . But now Shalt thou tell, while I eagerly listen, ^ Of each bold adventure, and every brave scar ; yi And, trust me, I'll smile, thouch my een they may glisten. For sweet after danger's the tale of the war. , And oh, how we doubt when there's distance { 'tween lovers, [through the e'e. When there's naetliing to spe.ik to the heart - How often the kindest and warmest prove rovers, ^ ; And the love of the faithfulest ebbs like the sea li3 31G SCOTTISH SONG; Till at times— could I help it ponder'd. If love could change notes like the bird on the tree- Now I'll never ask jf thine eyes may ha'e wander'd. Enough, thy leal heart has been constant to me. I pined and IsKAVhenjokin', an' laughin', the lave they are mcrn-, Tho' absent my heart like the lave I maun be ; Sometimes I laugh wi' them, but oft I turn dowie. An' think on the smile o' my lassie's black e'c. Welcome, from sweeping o'er sea and through channel. Hardships and danger despising for fame. Furnishing storj- for elory's bright annal. Welcome, my wanderer, to Jeanie and hame ! Enough, now thy story in annals of glory Has humbled the pride of France, Holland, and Spain; >"o more Shalt thou grieve me, no more shalt thou leave me, I never will part with my AVillie again. [Wii.i.iAM Laidi.aw, author of "Lucy's flit- ting."] er'd something in her ear, — But what is that to you ? Her stockings were o' kersey green. And tight as ony silk ; 0, sic a leg was never seen ! Her skin was white as milk ; Her hair was black as ane could wish ; And sweet, sweet was her mou' ! Ah ! Jeanie dantUy can kiss — But what is that to you ? The rose and lily baith combine To make my Jeanie fair : There is nae benison like mine ; I have amaist nae care. But when another swain, my fair. Shall say you're feir to view ; Let Jeanie whisiier in his ear — Pray what is that to you ? '^f}$ §6Vk at l-ii^^er^g. [This originally appeared in " The Portfolio of British Song," Glasgow, 1834. It was written I y James Stlbllng, at the time schoolmaster of St. James's parish, Glasgow, — now resident in Canada. — Tune, " Eppie Macnab."] O weel may I mind on the folk at Lindores ; Though it's lang sin' I had onie troke at Lindores ; For the blythe winter night Flew o'er us fu' light, VTV the sang, an' the crack, an' the joke at L;:;- dores. The auld wife an' the lasses would spin at Lindnrt - , An' the auld man to tales would begin at Lindor ■ , How in days o' his youth The red rebels cam' south. An' spulzied the feck o' his kin at Lindores. An' he'd tell monie strange says and saws at Lin- dores; How he hated the dominie's tawse at Lindores, Eow i' the lang-day The tman' he'd play. An* set aff to herrie the craws at Lindores. An' he'd sing monie an auld warld rhj-me at Lin- dores; An' ten o' the covenant time at Lindores ; How Clavers, fell chiel' ! "Was in league wi' the deil, How a ball stottit ance aff his i ; at Lindores. They were kind to ilk body that came to Lindores, To the puir, an' the blind, an' the lame at Lindorts; Wi' handful's o' meal. An' wi' platefu's o' kale. An' the stranger was sure o' a hame at Lindores. But the auld man's departed this life at Lindores ; An' a tear's in the e'e o' the wife at Lindores; I dinna wecl ken VThan I'll be there again, ^ But sorrow, I'm fearin', is rife at Lindores. S18 SCOTTISH SONGS. Kee ef E©g!e Gi-nin, [PiCKEN.] Bv pleasure long infected, Kind Heav'en, when least expected. My devious path directed To Nan of Logic Green ; Where thousand sweets repose 'em In quiet's unruffled bosom, I found my peerless blossom Adorning Logic Green. The city belle declaiming, aiy fancy may be blaming. But still I'll pride in naming Sweet Xan of Logic Green. Her cheek the vermeil rose is. Her smile a heaVn discloses, JS^o lily leaf that blows is So Ciir on Logic Green. Ye town-bred dames, forgive me. Your arms must ne'er receive me; Your charms are all, believe me, Kclips'd on Logic Green. Forgive my passion tender — Heav'n so much grace did lend her As made my heart surrender To Nan of Logie Green. Ifo more the town delights me. For love's sweet ardour smites me, I'll go where he invites me — To Nan of Logie Green : My heart shall ne'er deceive her, I ne'er in life shall leave her ; In love and peace for ever AV'e'll live at Logie Green. ^^e Bagger, [T. MODNCEY CC.VNIXGHAM.] "WnA's this, bedight in tatter'd claes^ Comes loutin' owre a sturdy rung, Wi' cloutit wallets fore and aft. And at his belt a gully hung ? Deep is the glen wi' drifted snaw. And keen the wind blaws owTe the hill ; Ye downa up Borinairoch gang. The nippiu' cauld your blude will chill. Come in, an' share the kindly bleeze, Whare feckless eild his bouk may warm. Come in, an' share the frien'Iy beild. To shield thee frae the bitter storm. Ye mauna trow that ilka Scot Is reft o' pity's haly flame : Auld neiber, gi'e's your shiverin' nieve. An' mak' my lanely ha' your hame. Now, though the scone our Leezy beuk Was toastit nice as scone cou'd be , An" though our Crummy's aften roos'd, The milk nor scone he doughtna proe ; But gl)wr'd, as gin the awsome hour Brew near, to close his j"lrthly woe ; Like some auld aik, before the storm Has laid its ancient honours low. Tell me, auld neiber, -where ye wan That rousty blade, an' honest scar? I trow ye've been on mony a field. Amid the horrid din o' war ? He couldna spe;ik — a deadly smile Play'd on his looks serenely dour ! An' ere we wist, the vet'ran auld, A lifeless corse Lay on the floor! 6) ^nVp me, [TuNB, " Landlady, count the Lawin'. O, WEEL's me on my ain man. My ain man, my ain man ! O, weel's me on my ain gudeman ! He'll aye be welcome hame. I'm wae I bkimed him yesternight. For now my heart is feather light; For gowd I nadna gl'e the sight, I see him linkin owre the height. O, weel's me on my ain man, &c. Ein, Jeanie, bring the kebbuek ben. An' fin 'aueath the spreckl'd hen ; Meg, rise and sweep about the Sre, Syne crj- on Johnnie frae the byre. '"m.^^ ^ v^ u For weel's me on my ain man ! My ain man, my ain man ; For weel's nie on my ain gudeman I see him rinnin hame. [■WiisoN.— Tune, " Te banks and braes of tcnnie Doon."] She whose lang loose unbraided hair Falls on a breast o' purest snaw, Was ance a maid as mild an' feir. As e'er wil'd stripling's heart awa'. But sorrow's shade has dimm'd her e'e. And gather'd round her happy hame. Yet wherefore sad ? and where is he. The plighted love of Jeanie Graham ? The happy bridal day was near. And blythe young joy beam'd on her brow. But he is low she lov'd so dear. And she a virgin widow now. The night was mirk, the stream was high. And deep and darkly down it came; He sunk — and wild his drowning cry Eose in the blast to Jeanie Graham. Bright beams the sun on Garnet hiU, The stream is calm, the sky is clear ; But Jeanie 's lover's heart is stUI, Her anguish'd sobs he cannot hear. Oh ! make his grave in yonder deU, A^Tiere wiUows wave above the stream. That every passing breeze may wail. For broken-hearted Jeanie Graham. ^Ig fatal ^|)s!tg» SCOTTISH SONGS. 4 319 i.-^MOlLKTT.- thicg."] An" thcu wert my ain Thy fatal shafts unerring move ; I bow before thine altar. Love ! I feel thy soft resistless flame Glide swift through all nay vital frame ! ^ For while I gaze my bosom glows. My blood in tides impetuous fiows ; Hope, fear, and joy, alternate r- •!!, And floods of transport 'whehn my soul. My falt'ring tongue attempts in vain In soothing murmurs to complain ; My tongue some secret magic ties. My murmurs sink in broken sighs ! Condemn'd to nurse eternal care. And ever drop the silent tear, TJnheard I m^um, unknown I sigh, Unfriecded live, unpitied die ! [Allan Cunningham. — Tune, " Luch'd i breachiu."] Bonnie Mary Halliday, Turn again, I caU you ; If you go to the derry wood Sorrow will befall you. The ring-dove from the derry wood Is wailing sore and calling ; And Annan water, 'tween its banks. Is foaming far and falling. Gentle Mary Halliday, Come, my bonnie lady — Upon the river's woody bank My steed is saddled ready. And for thy haughty kinsman's ti-.roats My faith shall never falter — The bridal banquet's ready made. The priest is at the altar. Gentle Mary Halliday, The towers of merry Preston Have bridal candles gleaming bright — So busk thee, love, and hasten. Come busk thee, love, and bowne thee Through Tindal and green Mouswal I Come, be the grace and be the charm To the proud towers of MochuseL IH a^l^>--^ 320 SCOTTISH SOXGS. ^B Bonnie Jlary Halliday, Turn again, I tell you ; For wit, and grace, and loveliness, "What maidens may excel you ? Though Annan has its beauteous dames. And Corri'e many a fair one. We canna want thee from our sight. Thou lovely and thou rare one. Bonnie Mary Halliday, When the bittern's sounding. We'll miss thy lightsome lily foot Amang the blythe lads bounding. The summer sun shall freeze our veins. The winter moon shall warm us. Ere the like of thee shall come again To cheer us and to charm us. [Dr. John Leydkn. — Dr. Leyden was the friend of Sir Walter Scott, and of great service to him in collecting his border ballads. He latterly dis- tinguished himself as an oriental scholar, and died in Java in 1811.1 How sweet thy modest light to vien-. Fair star ! to love and lovers dear ; While trembling on the falling dew. Like beauty shining through the tear. Or hanging o'er that mirror-stream To mark each image trembling there, Thou seem'st to smile with softer gleam To sec thy lovely face so fair. Though, blazing o'er the arch of night, The moon thy timid beams outshine: As far as thine each starry light — Her rays can never vie with thine. Thino are the soft enchanting hours When twilight lingers on the plain. And whispers to the closing fiow'rs. That soon the sun will rise again. Thine is the breeze that, murmuring bland As music, wafts the lover's sigh ; And bids the jielding heart expand In lore's delicious ecstasy. vk Fair star ! though I be doom'd to prove That rapture's tears are mix'd with pain ; Ah ! still I feel 'tis sweet to love, — But sweeter to be lov'd again. 1^ [Written by J. Tool of Paisley, and first printed in " The Tortfolio of British Song."] Speak not of love to one whose breast Is icy cold to idle joy ; Whose passions long have sunk to rest. And chase no more the phantom toy. Yet I have felt the maddening force Of fickle love and passion's sway. And run delirium's frenzied course When love and pleasure led the way. And I have watch'd the bosom's swell That speaks of passion uncontroU'd, And gaz'd on sparkling eyes, t.hat tell Wliat virgin fears would not unfold. And I have snatch'd the balmy kiss From ruby lips where love might play, j And prest the downy breast of bliss, I And sigh'd my very soul away. , ' Tes, I have run love's maddening race I As more than worlds had been the stake, 1 My feelings wearied in the chase, Have slumber'd never more to wake. And now, though recollection shed A ray of mcm'ry o'er my brain. It brings the trace of time long fled. Without the pleasure or the pain. [Written by Andrew Sharpe, a shoemaker in Perth, who latterly taught drawing. He died in 1815, aged 35.— Tune, " Erin go Bragh."] Do you weep for the woes of poor wandering NeUy ? I love you for that, but of love now no more. All I had long ago lies entomb'd with my Billy, Whose grave rjMftgreen on Corunna's lone shore. p) o& ^iS^^ '^^^^-}^^^. SCOTTISH SOXGS. 321 " Oh ; they tell me my Billy looked lovely when dying, ^ That round him, the boldest in battle stood crying, "VVhUe from his deep wound life's red floods fast were drying, 1 At evening's pale close on Comnna's lone shore. That night Billy died as I lean'd on my pillow, 1 thrice was alarm' d with a knock at my dcor. Thrice my name it was call'd with a voice soft and mellow. And thrice did I dream of Comnna's lone shore. 3Iethought BUly stood on the beach where the billow, Boom'd over his head, breaking loud, long and hoUow ; In his hand he held waving a flag of green willow ; Save me, God I he exclaimed, on Comnna's lone shore. And now when I mind on't, my dear BiHy told me. While tears wet his eyes, but those tears are no more. At our parting, he never again would behold me ; 'Twas strange then I thought on Comnna's lone shore. But shall I ne'er see him when drowsv-ev'd night talis, Wlien thro' the dark arch Luna's tremulous Eght falls, [crawls. As o'er his new grave, slow the glow-worm of night And ghosts of the slain foot Comnna's lone shore? Tes, yea, on thjs spot shall these arms infold him. For here hath he kiss'd me a thousand times o'er ; How bewildered's my brain, now methinks I behold him, AU bloody and pale on Comnna's lone shore. Come away, my beloved, come in haste, my dear BiUy, [NeUy, On the winds wafting wing to thy languishing I've got kisses in store, I've got secrete to tell thee. Come, ghost of my love, from Comnna's lone shore. Oh : I'm told that my blue eyes have lost all their | splendour, [hoar. That my locks, once so yellow, now wave thin and 'Tis, they tell me, because I'm so restless to wander, And in thinking so much on Comnna's lone shore. But, God help me, where can I go to forget him ; If to father's at home, in each comer I meet him. The sofa, alas 1 where he us'd aye to S'-^at him. Says, Think, Nelly, think on^jrunna's lone shore. ^ And here as I travel all tatter'd and torn. By bramble and brier, over mountain and moor, Xot a bird bounds aloft to salute the new mom. But warbles aloud, O Comnna's lone shore. ^ It is heard in the blast when the tempest is blow- ing. It is heard on the white broken waterfeU flowing. It is heard in the songs of the reaping and mow- ing,— Oh, my poor bleeding heart ! Oh, Comnna's lone shore I ®|c Ugp ei ^kti §tuin. [This and the following song were written by a young man of the already poetically-occupied name of Detdex, and first appeared in " The Portfolio of British Song," Gla^ow, ISii.— Tune, j " Braes of Balquither."] The sun on the billow In glory reposes, And his watery pillow Is gamish'd with roses ; The cloud of the twilight Its dew drops are strewing. It wUl chiU my young Flora, The Ught of Glen Fmin. Away by the cottage That stands 'neath the mountaio^ Aw.-iy by the dark pine That nods o'er the fountain. On the banks of the streamlet That girdles yon ruin — I'll meet my young Flora, The light of Glen Fmin. Thou maid of the mountain, I love thee — how well. Sly love-burning eye And my pale cheek csm tell i I must love thee for ever Though twere my undoing. Thou pride of the hamlet, Thou light of Glen l'>uin. By the soft beaming ray That gle.-ims from those eyes. By that love blushing cheek, r.y those munnoring sighs. /|iiS.^^?i^-^/^^B^^:^g^ 322 SCOTTISH SONGS. By the bright tear of rapture Those eye-lashes dewing, Thou art mine — thou art mine — Dearest maid of Glen Fruin ! XicHTLY the bonnie bride came dune. Linking o'er the lea, Lichtly as the thissel doune Bobs i' the waivey sea. She liltit as she passed the knau, Adune the briery dell, A lilt— 'twas like the melody That faiiy minstrels swell. " O, am not 1 the bU-thest May, E'er drank heuen's breezy tide ? And weel may she be proud and gay. That is young Willie's bride : " For rosy is his douney cheiWa, And fair his dimpled chin. And baumey is the scented breath. His tempting lips witliin." Thus sweetly sang the bonnie bride. As through the yellow broom She bounded, by the greinwood schaw. To meit her aiu bridegroom. And aye atween the lilts sae sweite. Her pure young bosom swelled, Ane form sae fair— ane eye sae brichte— Hath mortal neuer beheld. And the bridegroom met his bonnie bride Upon the lily lea. Where sweitly moans the forest waives In mournfu' melody. The breize o' heuen in plaintive play Sang o'er the mountayne's breast, Wjiiving the leavey canopy Abune their cuche of rest. He kissit the hinny frae her lip. The dew drap frae her e e ;— May ilka true and Icafu' knight Pruve sic felicity ! Wmnu §^M^, [AViLHAM Wilson.] When the sun gaes down , when the sun gaes down , I'll meet thee, bonnie Mary, when the sun gaes down; I'll row my apron up, an' I'll leave the reeky town, And meet thee by the burnie when the sun gaes down. By the bunjie there's a bower, we will gently lean us there. An' forget in ithers arms every earthly care. For the chiefest o' my joys in this weary mortal roun'. Is the bumside wi' Mary when the sun gaes down. When the sun gaes down, &c. There the ruin'd castle tower on the distant steep appears Like a hoary auld warrior ftided with years ; An' the burnie, stealin' by wi' a fairy silver soun'. Will soothe us wi' its music when the sun gaei down. When the sun gaes down, &c. The hurnside is sveeet when the dew is on the flower. But 'tis like a Uttle heaven at the trystin' hour ! An' with pity 1 would look on the king who wears the crown, [down. When -wi* thee by the burnie, when the sun gaes When the sun gaes down, &c. When the sun gaes down, when the sun gaes down, I'U meet thee by the burnie, when the sun g.ies down; [gown. Come in thy petticoatic, and thy little drugget And I'U meet thee, bonnie JIary, when the sun gaes down. [Watson.— Tune, " Woo'd and married and: 1 AM a young l.iss in my blossom, lly age is about twenty-one. Quite ready to lie i' the bosom 0' some merry hearted young man ; ^^^^S^S^L:;^ '^^ SCOTTISH SOXGS. 323 I've baith bread and kitchen nae scanty. An' gowns i' the feshion fu' braw : But aye there's an unco bit -wantie. That fashes me mair than them a'. Kipe an' ready an' a'. Ripe an' ready an' a', I wish I may get a bit man Afore my beauty gae wa". A' day as I spin' wi' my mither. An' lilt owre mysel' a bit sang. How lasses an' lads gae thegither, 0, sirs, but it gars me think lang ; A' night syne I'm like to gang crazy, I dream, an' I row, an' I gaunt, Whare I might be lying fu' easy, An't wama that unco bit want. Eipe and ready, &c. Toung Andro' comes whyles at the gloamir An' draws in a stool by my side ; Eut aye he's sae fear't for a woman. That aften his face he maun hide. 1 steave up my temper-string gayly. An' whyles a bit verse I do chaunt; For lasses, ye ken, maun be wylie. To mak' up their unco bit want. Eipe and ready, Sec. I'm thin kin', some night when he's risin', I'll mak' a bit step to the door. An' raise a bit crack that's enticin'. To heighten his courage a bore — For O gin the laddie wad kipple, Sae merrily as we will rant ; The punch out o' jugs we will tipple. The night I get free o' my want. Ripe an' ready an" a'. Ready an' ripe an a', 1 11 mak' a guid wit'e to the laddie Gin ever he tak' me ava'. A N S W E E. Bfar Maggie, I'm doubtfu' ye're joMn'. I wish ye may like me sae weel ; O' luve though I ne'er yet ha'e spoken. It fashes me sair, I watweel ; Yer cheeks are sae roun' an' sae rosey — Yer e'en ha'e sae witchin' a cant — Yer breath is a3 sweet as a posey, A n' fain wad I mak' up yer want. Kiss an' daut ye an' a', Liaut an' kiss ye an' a' ; Young Andro' wad think bimsel' harpy To kiss an' daut ye an' a'. The mom I sail speak to my fether. To big us an inset an' spence ; Some plenishin' syne we wiU gather. An' get a' thing manag't wi' mense; I'll get a wheen sarks frae my mither : Mae kail i' the yard I will plant ; An' then, when we're buckl't thegither, I'll mak' up yer unco bit want. Kiss an' daut, &c. At e'en, when wi' toilin' I'm weary. An' beasts i' the stable an' byre, I'U get a bit crack wi' my dearie. An' dry my pleugh hose by the fire. E'en lairds, wha' in coaches are carried, A bonnier bride canna vaunt — An' Maggie, lass, when we are married, I'll mak' up your unco bit want- Kiss an' daut, &c. Though some tak' offence at our freedom, An' raise up a quarrelsome din. To gar us believe, gin we heed them. That tellin' the truth is a sin , Wi' lang chaftit modest pretences. They fain wad appear to be saunts ; Yet few, wha's endow'd wi' their sens.s, But wishes supply for their wants. Kissin' an' dautin' an' a', Dautin' an' kissin' an' a'. There's naething been langer in fashion. Than kissin' an' dautin' an' a'. [This is only a fragment of an old song : the rest is supposed to be lost. Richard Gait com- municated it to Johnson's Museum, where it w;i.8 set to music by Stephen Clarke.] CiiAwrici.KEB, wi' noisy whistle. Bids the housewife rise in haste : Colin Clout begins to hirsle, i Slawly frae his sleepless nest^ ^M^^^Mj *^^ v3£i^ ^^mm^^^$^^3s^ditf^:^0-^'m^(^^ ;24- SCOTTISH SONGS. 'P ^/. Love that raises sic a clamour, Drivin" lads and lasses mad ; Waes my heart ! had coost his glamour. O'er poor Colin, luckless lad. Cruel Jenny, lack a daisy ! Lang had gart him greet and granc, Colin's pate was hafflins crazy, Jenny laugh'd at Colin's pain. Slawly, up his duds he gathers, Slawly, slawly trudges out. An' frae the fauld he drives his wedders. Happier far than Colin Clout. Now the sun, rais'd frae his nappie. Set the orient in a lowe, Drinkin' ilka glancin' drappie, I' the field, an' i' the knowe. 5Iony a birdie, sweetly singin", Flaffer'd briskly round about ; An' monie a daintie flowerie springin', A' were blythe but Colin Clout. A^Tiat is this ? cries Colin glow'rin", Glaiked like, a' round about, Jenny ! this is past endurin' : Death maun ease poor Colin Clout. A' the night I toss and tumble. Never can I close an e'e, A' the day I grane an' gi-umble, Jenny, this is a' for thee. Ye'U ha'e nane but farmer Patie, 'Cause the fallow 's rich, I trow, Aiblins though he shouldna cheat ye, Jenny, ye'U ha'e cause to rue. Auld, and gley'd, and crooked backed, — Siller bought at sic a price, — Ah, Jenny ! gin ye lout to tak' it. Folk will say ye're no o'er nice. ®-^e Ea^g d mg Eotc. [This and the following song originally appeared in " The Portfolio of British Song," with the ini- tials, "Q. K."] From off this sunny mountain's top I look, with ardent eyes. To one romantic little spot, That holds the aU I prize. 'Tis yon old mansion down the dell, Half hid behind the grove, AVhere, calm and innocent, doth dwell The lady of my love, my love. The lady of my love. Oh ! I could muse for ever here, Unwearied of the scene, Content to see my love appear On balcony or green ; A happy solitary wight, I would not seek to rove. But feast my eyes, from mom till night. With visions of my love, my love. With visions of my love. The sky above, the earth below, Are studded each with flowers ; It recks not to what place we go — We see them at all hours ; For night, that shades the flowers below. Opes those that shine above. As sleep, that shuts my present show, Brings dreams of her I love, I love. Brings dreams of her I love. [Tune, "The Highland Watch.' Far, far away, in strange countrj-, The soldier watch is keeping. Beneath some tower, at midnight hour. When all besides are sleeping. The moon is half, — her chilly rays On hill-tops are reclining: The sea is calm, — it soothing plays A soft and sweet repining. S.ive this, and the prou'o dainties abroad can such comfort reveal As home, and a bannock of barlty meal. Yet think me not idle, oh ! think not but here Employment I find to a parent most dear ; In training my children their arms for the field, Their hearts for those treasures which virtue will yield. A nd oh ! when by heaven I'm summon'd away, >Iy children, your mother protect and obey ; And the blessing of heaven, rewarding your zeal. Will sweeten your bannock of barley meal. ; ®|^ €Rmj^ltW f>iiro:5. [The first stanza by Bitbns, the second and third by an Amateur. The first stanza was ori- ginally adapted to the air entitled " Charles Gor» don's AVelcome Home."] Oct ever the Forth I look'd to the north. But what is the north or its Hielands to me ? The south nor the east bring nae ease to my breast. The wild rocky mountains, or dark rolling sea. But I look to the west, when I gae to my rest. That happy my dreams and my slumbers may bci For far in the west lives the lad I lo'e best. The laddie that's dear to my baimie and me. His father he frown'd on the love of his boyhood. And oh ! his proud mother look'd cold upon me ; But he foUow'd me ayeto myhame in the shealing. And the hills of Breadalbane rang wild wi' our glee. [bracken, A' the lang sunoimer day, "mid the heather and I joy'd in the light o' his bonnie blue e'e ; I little then thought that the wide western ocean Would be rolling the day 'tween my laddie and me. When we plighted our faith by the cairn on the mountain. The deer and the roe stood bride-maidens to me; And my bride's tjTing glass was the clear crystal fountain. What then was the warld to my laddie and me ? So I look to the west, when I gae to my rest. That happy my dreams and my slumbers m.iy be; For far in the west is the lad I lo'e best. He's seeking a hame for my baimie and me. I (^ak^owian^, ht&%e an^ i&ol^ [Written by Geo. 3Iacfarrkn.— Set t by T. Cooke.] Caieponians, brave and bold. Heroes, never bought or sold. Sons of sires, who died of old To gild a martial story ! Beauty claims the warrior's shield. In her cause the death sword yield Draw and join the battle field. On to death or glory ! '^^^m^ ;-2r. SCOTTISH SONGS. AVho would shun the glorious strife ? ^yheTe's the slave would cling to life, When father, husband, daughter, wife. For prompt relief implore ye ? Who would yield soft woman's charms To bless a ruffian foeman's arms ? I'erish the thought ! sound, sound your alarms ' On to death or glory ! Here's the path to sluggard peace. Here's the haunt of dastard ease. That sink to death, by slow degrees, Unhononr'd, weak, and hoary : But ye who court a brighter name. This way lies the road to fame ; Follow then through flood and flame. And shout. For death or glory ! fait iu W>imux2i. [Written by the Rev. Mr. Allardice, of Forgue, in memory of the la to Duchess of Gordon, — Set to music by John Knott, Aberdeen.] Fair in Kinrara blooms the rose. And softly waves the drooping lily, Where beauty's faded charms repose. And splendour rests on earth's cold pillow. Her smile, who sleeps in yonder bed, Ck)uld once awake the soul to pleasure. When fashion's airy train she led. And form'd the dance's frolic measure. AVTien war call'd forth our youth to anus. Her eye inspired each martial spirit ; Her mind, too, felt the muse's charms. And gave the meed to modest merit. But now farewell, fair northern star. Thy beams no more shall courts enlighten. No more lead forth our youth to arms, No more the rural pastures brighten. Long, long thy loss shall Scotia mourn ; Her vales, which thou were wont to gladden. Shall long look cheerless and forlorn. And grief the minstrel's music sudden. And oft, amid the festive scene. Where pleasure cheats the midnight pillow, .V. sigh shall breathe for noble Jane, Laid low beneath Kinrara's willow. j [Written and arranged by George LiNtEv.] Sons of the mountain glen. Draw forth your blades again. Loudly the pibroch's strain Summons to glory. Wild as the breezes blow. Rush ye to meet the foe. Onward and boldly go. Fame lies before ye. In every bonnet's seen Eagle's plume, waving 'tween Sprigs of the heather green, Blooming so fairly. Forward then, forward then, Sons of the mountain glen, Be your war cry again — Scotland and Charlie. Who would shrink fi-om thee. Land of the brave and free ? Who tamely bend the knee To an invader ? Who that with sword and might Would not for freedom fight. And die for Scotland's right, Ere he betray'd her ? For^vard then, forward then. Sons of the mountain glen. See ! the white rose again Blooming so fairly. Follow then, follow then, Bonnie brave Highlandmen, Be your war cry again — Scotland and Charlie. [Joseph Train.] Rising o'er the heaving billow, Evening gilds the ocean's swell, "WTiile with thee, on grassy pillow, Solitude ! 1 love to dwell. Lonely to the sea breeze blowing. Oft I chaunt my love-lorn strain. To the streamlet sweetly flow ing. Murmur oft a lover's pain. :--%H8^-- SCOTTISH SONGS 'Twas for her, the Maid of Islay, Time flew o'er me wing'd with joy ; 'Twas for her, the cheering smile aye Beam'd with rapture in my eye. >"ot the tempest raving round me. Lightning's flash, or thunder's roll, Xot the ocean's rage could wound me. While her image fill'd my soul. Farewell, days of purest pleasure. Long your loss my heart shall mourn : Farewell, hours of bliss the measure. Bliss that never can return. Cheerless o'er the wild heath wand'ring. Cheerless o'er the wave-worn shore. On the past with sadness pond'ring, Hope's fair visions charm no more. hnul^ ip r.3 tazx^. O'ER the braes and o'er the bum Jessy strays baith night and mom, "R'atching for her love's return From a distant shore. But, alas ! she looks in vain ; He %vill ne'er return again ; For in battle he was slain — Donald is no more. For in battle, &c. Hope awhile her bosom cheers — Soothes her doubts, allays her fears- StiU her cheek is bathed in tears — StiU her heart is sore. Vainly does she, night and mom. Pace the dreary braes and bum, "Watching for her love's return — Donald is no more. For in battle, &c. O'ER the mountain, o'er the lea. With my kilt and Saxon plaid. And my tartan bonnet wee, WUl I seek my Highland lad. ii'er the mountain, &c. Though the heather be my bed. Brightly pearl'd with silvery dew. There's a tear more bright I'U shed. Oh ! my Highland lad, for you. O'er the mountain, &c. Far awa' from love and home. O'er the heath with blossom cLid ; While the night-bird sings I'll roam Oh ! for thee, my Highland lad. Though the heather, &c O'er the mountain, &c ^^f tsm^ ef ®teigie=ka. [Written by Taknahtll, and set to music by his friend James Barr of Kilbarchan. Both the words and air are sweet and natural. Craigie-le;i lies to the north-west of Paisley, but its rural beauties have been of late years encroached on by the erection of a gas-work in its vicinity. J Thou bonnie wood of Craigie-lea, Thou bonnie wood of Craigie-lea, Near thee I pass'd life's early day. And won my Mary's heart in thee. The broom, the brier, the birken bush. Bloom bonnie o'er the flowery lea. An' a' the sweets that ane can wish Frae nature's hand, are strew'd on thee. Thou bonnie wood, &c. Far ben thy dark-green planting's shade. The cushat croodles am'rously. The mavis, down thy buchted glade. Gars echo ring &^ every tree. Thou bonnie wood, &c. Awa', j-e thoughtless, murd'ring gang. '\^'ha tear the nestlings ere they flee ! They'll sing you yet a canty sang. Then, O in pitj- let them be ! Thou bonnie wood, &c. When winter blaws in sleety showers, Frae aff the Norlan' hills sae hie, He lightly skiffs thy bonnie bowers. As laith to h.irm a flower in thee. Thou bonnie wood, Sec. m i?^'<£'- Though fate should drag me south the li Or o'er the vs-ide Atlantic sea ; The happy hours I'll ever min' That I in youth ha'e spent in thee. Thou bonnie wood, &c. [Written by Tannahill.— Set to music by B. A. Smith.] Langstne, beside the woodland burn, Amang the broom sae yellow, 1 lean'd me 'neath the mUkwhite thorn. On nature's mossy pillow ; A' 'round my seat the flowers were strew'd. That frae the wildwood I had pu"d. To weave mysel' a simmer snood. To pleasure my dear fellow. I twined the woodbine round the rose. Its richer hues to mellow. Green sprigs of fragrant birk I chose, To busk the sedge sae yellow. The craw-flower blue, and meadow-pink, I wove in primrose-braided link. But little, little did I think, I should have wove the willow. My bonnie lad was forced afar, Toss'd on the raging billow. Perhaps he's fa'n in bluidy war, Or wTeck'd on rocky shallow ; Yet aye 1 hope for his return. As round our wonted haunts I mourn. And aften by the woodland burn, I pu' the weeping willow. s s %. i^mm,$ mail. [This song is introduced in the national opera of "Rob Roy." The words are taken, with some alterations, from a poem by Wordsworth, writ- ten on visiting Rob Roy's grave.] A FAMOUS man was Robin Hood, The English ballad-singer's joy. But Scotland has a chief as good. She has, she ha& her bold Bob Roy, A dauntless heart Sfacgregor show?. And wondrous length and strength of arm ; He long has quell'd his Highland foes. And kept, and kept his friends from harm. A famous man, &c. His daring mood protects him still. For this the robber's simple plan. That they should take who have the will, And they, and they should keep who can. A famous man, &c. And while Rob Roy is free to rove. In summer's heat and winter's snow. The eagle he is lord above, And Rob, and Rob is lord below. A famous man, &c. [In imitation of Goethe.] Kkow'st thou the land of the hardy green thistle. Where oft o'er the mountain the shepherd's shrill wlaistle Is heard in the gloamin' so sweetly to sound. Where the red blooming heatlier and hair-bell abound ? Know'st thou the land of the mountain and flood. Where the pine of the forest for ages hath stood, Where the eagle comes forth on the wings of the storm, f gor'm ? And her young ones are rock'd on the high Cairn- Know'st thou the land where the cold Celtic wave Encircles the hills which its blue waters lave ; ■\Vhere the virgins are pure as the gems of the sea. And their spirits are light as their actions arc free ? 'Tis the land of my sires, 'tis the land of my youth. Where first my young heart glow'd with honour and truth. Where the wild fire of genius first caught my young soul, [trol. And my feet and my fancy roam'd firee from con- And is there no charm in our own native earth ? Does no talisman rest on the place of our birth ^ Are the blue hUls of Albyn not worthy our note ? Shall her sons' deeds in war, shall her fair, be forgot.' Then strike the wild \yie, let it swell with the^ strain ; ' Let the mighty in arms live and conquer again ; Their past deeds of valour shall we not rehearse. And the charms of our maidens resound in our verse? [This and the six succeeding songs originally appeared, under different signatures, in " The | Literary Reporter," a weekly miscellany edited, [ published and printed, at Glasgow, by John Graham, in 1S22-3, in 2 vols.— The author of the first which we give was William Bennie.] I'LL twine a wreath, I'll twine a wreath, A garland for thy head — The green, green leaves that fancy weaves ShaU balmy fragrance shed ; The blooming flowers from sjlvan bowers Shall show a thousand dyes Around thy brow, like coloured bow That girds the summer skies. The heather-bell, from cliff and fell, 1'U seek where zephyr blows ; At early mom, from off the thorn, I'll cuU the new-blown rose; And lily pale, from verdant vale. That bends beneath the storm. Emblem of you, aU bathed in dew. And siwtless as thy form. These, wreathed and bound, shall circle round. Thy lovely brow of white. Where glossy hair in tresses fair. Like clouds of summer night. Thine eyes o'ershade, — oh, lovely maid ! These eyes that oft beguile And charm my heart with magic art— So sweet thy dimpling smile. This garland gay will soon decay And lose its lovely hue ; But soul and heart shall rather part Before I part from you. This wreath will fade, ah, lovely maid ! With leaves and blossoms wove; But age or care can ne'er impair ily heart's unchanging love. ^5^ ton ^ximtzie. My love is like the wee primrose That smirks sae sweet beneath the thorn. That modest keeks out frae the leaves. An' sips the sweets frae dewy mom. I met her in my early walk, As by the verdant woods I stray'd, Whaur nought but artless melody Had ever charm'd her fragrant shade. A burnie poppled by her bower, Whaur nature made a foggy seat — While resting there she look'd and smiled. And aye I felt my bosom beat. I press'd her, smiling, to my lips — Though she was laith, I pree'd her mou"; And oh, sae sweet, sae virgin pure ; — 'Twas hinny mii'd wi' draps o' dew. Whan gowden clouds float at the dawn, I \-iew the spot whaur Jlary dwells — That rural spot whaur spotless love Speaks to the heart which ardent swells. May nae rude haun molest her youth — May nae vile e'e disturb her hame— Whan ocht immodest enters there, May innocence put guilt to shame. Wpm g:ir.r.^5'0 gi:n. WnEjf stunmer's sun shone warm and bright, "And saft the westlan' breezes blew," As fair a maiden met my sight As ever poet's fancy drew. 'Twas on the banks of Locher's stream. Where roses bloom'd in a' their pridi-, I saw this lass — so fair her mein — She might ha'e been a monarch's bride. Though violets there did flourish fair, An' on their blades hung draps o' dew ; These sparkling gems outrivallcd were By " her twa een sae bonnie blue." Her lovely eyes' resplendent beam. Was far too bright for me to bear : I turned, abashed, and in the stream Beheld her form, divinely fair. i C^S^^^^^SS^ 330 SCOTTISH SONGo. A zephyr gently curled the stream. An' did her lovely image hide ; Then all the osier boughs would seem Bending to her by Locher's side. "VVlien I beheld a' nature pay Such homage to this charming maid, I deem'd she might be Queen of May — Had come to visit Locher's shade. I'd made a garland for her breast. Of every wild flower I could view: But could nae mair her charms resist ; So silently from her withdrew. My soul a moment's pleasure knew; I fear the like will ne'er return ; Except, when spring the fields renew, 1 meet this lass by Locher burn. "Where Kelvin rins to join the Clyde, There lives a lad whose honest pride Can match wi' a' the Irintra side, — He iB a gallant weaver. His cheeks are tinged wi' rosy hue. His een are o' the bonniest blue; But, oh ! his heart, it is sae true, I love my gallant weaver. Let others wed for sake o' gear ; Gin we get health, I ha'e nae fear, That poortith ever will come near My eident lad, the weaver. True line will mak' our labour light ; 'Twill keep us blythe frae morn till night. And happiness will shine fu" bright Upon my gallant weaver. When wintry win's, sae cauld and blue, :Mak' a' the face o' nature wae. At e'en, a canty fire I'll ha'e To cheer my gallant weaver. Then haste ye. Time ; oh dinna bide ; Bring round the day I'll be his bride. Then smoothly sweet the hours will glide O'er Jcanie and her weaver. ^ flbag to tf)$ mmntmn^» [William Glen.] Sek, the city enshrouded in pestilent smoke. Not a health-breeze is there to be found ; It lies as if stUl under winter's dark yoke, While the spring decks the country around. That riches are gain'd in the city — 'tis true ; — But this is the young month of May — If I stay to scrape wealth, a grave I'll get too ;— Away to the mountains, away ! Who trea'ls on the heather will ne'er feel the gout. Though to health he has been a wild sinner; Nor die of a surfeit, though after a bout With some chief at a true highland dinner. The clear highland spring, mii'd with pure moun- tain dew. Is a drink fit for emperors, they say ; Thus we've health and high pleasure for ever in view — Away to the mountains, away I In the land of the hills sits the goddess of health, Enthroned in sublimest of grandeur; The breeze, lake, and mountain are stored with her wealth. But she's lonely in midst of her splendour. Her votaries fly to her, 'neath the impulse of fear ; When she smiles, then no longer they stay; But I will adore her for many a year — Away to the mountains, away ! Again the laverock seeks the sky. And warbles, dimly seen ; And simmer views wi' sunny joy Her gowany robe o' green. But, ah! the simmer's blythe return, In flowery pride array'd, Nae mair can cheer this heart forlorn. Or charm the Highland Maid. My true love fell by Charlie's side, Wi' mony a clansman dear ; That fatal day — oh, wae betide The cruel Southron's spear ! SCOTTISU SO>'GS. 331 His bonnet blue is fallen now ; And bluidy is the plaid That aften, on the mountain's brow. Has wrapt his Highland 3Iaid. 5Iy father's sheeling on the hill Is dowie now and sad ; The breezes whisper round me still, I've lost my Highland Lad. Upon CiUloden's fatal heath He spake o' me, they said. And faltered, wi' his dying breath, "Adieu, my Highland Maid !" The weary nicht for rest I seek ; The langsome day I mourn ; The smile ni>on my withered cheek Can never mair return : But soon beneath the sod I'll lie In yonder lonely glade ; Then, haply, some may weep an' sigh- "Adieu, sweet Highland Maid !" 'l^ni^t ^tlUn, Cheerlt, Soldier! the gladdening sun Springs over Albyn's mountains dun. Purples each peak, and bravely now Rests his flaming targe on the Grampians' brow, s-miles o'er the land of the rock and tarn. Of thine infant's couch, of thy father's cairn— The land of the race of dauntless mood, Vrho grasp thy hand in brotherhood. — Cheerly, Soldier ! Cheerly, Soldier 1 gladsome meeting. The warm salute, the victor's greeting, Await thee. S^ow in blazing haU, Go thread the maze of the flowery ball ; Encircled fond by a kindred throng. Tell of glories past — pour the heart-warm song ; Or on yon blue hills the roe pursue With the sweep of the jovial view -halloo. — Cheerly, Soldier! Cheerly, Soldier ! she who loves thee BI>-the welcome sings 'neath the trysting tree : "n the breeze of mom the heath-cock dancing. On the gleaming lake the white swan glancing. The merrj' fawn in wanton pby. Chasing his twin down the sunny brae , — Each thing of Mfe with wilding glee, Shadows the bliss that waits for thee. — Cheerly, ioiditrl [The original old words of " Comin' thro' the rye," or " Gin a body meet a body," cannot be satisfectorily traced. There are many different versions of the song. Some sets embrace such verses as the following : Gin a body meet a body Comin' firae the well. Gin a body Idss a body — if eed a body tell ? Ilka Jenny has her Jocky, Ne'er a ane ha'e I ; But a' the lads they look at me — And what the waur am I ? Gin a body meet a body, Comin' frae the town, (or thro' the Lrjora,) Gin a body kiss a body — Need a body gloom ? &c. The following is the version -which is given in Johnson's Museum, and which passed throuirh the hands of Bums. The air forms, with sligiit variation, the third and fourth strains of t:.j strathspey called "The Miller's Daughter,' ui Gow's first Collection.] Coming through the rye, poor body. Coming through the rye. She draiglet a' her petticoatie. Coming through the rye. Oh Jenny's a' wat, poor body, Jenny's seldom drj- ; She draiglet a' her petticoatie. Coming through the ire. Gin a body meet a body — Coming through the rye. Gin a body kiss a body — Need a body cry ? Gin a body meet a body Coming through the glen. Gin a body kiss a body — Need the warld ken ? i I Jenny'! Jenny's seldom dr>- ; She draiglet a' her petticoatie. Coming through the rje. [Modem theatrical version.] Gin a body meet a body Comin' through the rye, Gin a body kiss a body. Need a body cry ? Every lassie has her laddie, Nane, they say, ha'e I ! Yet a' the lads they smile at me, When comin' through the rye. Amang the train there is a swain I dearly lo'e mysell ; But whaur his harae, or what liis name, I dinna care to tell. Gin a body meet a body, Comin' frae the town. Gin a body greet a body, Need a body frown ? Every lassie has her laddie, Nane, they say, ha'e I ! Tet a' the lads they smile at me. When comin' through the rye. Amang the train there is a swain, I dearly lo'e mysell ; But whaur his hame, or what his name, I dinna care to tell. [Dl-:«i.op.— Tune, "Comin' through the rye."] Oh ! dinna ask me gin I lo'e thee; Troth, I dauma tell : Dinna ask me gin 1 lo'e ye; Ask it o' yoursel". Oh : dinna look sae sair at me. For weel ye ken me true ; O, gin ye look sae sair at me, I daurna look at you. And bonnier lasses see, O, dinna, Jamie, look at them. Lest you should mind na me. For I could never bide the lass. That ye'd lo'e mair than me ; And O, I'm sure, my heart would break. Gin ye'd prove false to me. ®|ij ^ilifeew=0m©i^i?l \un\t. [" The snooi or riband, with which a Scottish lass braidsd her hair, had an emblematical signi- fication, and applied to her maiden character. It was exchanged for the curch, toy, or coif, when she passed, hy marriage, into the matron state. But if the damsel was so unfortunate as to lose pretensions to the name of maiden, without gain- ing a right to that of matron, she was neither permitted to use the snood, nor advanced to the graver dignity of the curch. In old (Scottish songs there occur many sly allusions to such misfortune, as in the old words to the popular tune of ' O'er the muir amang the heather." " — iVofe by Sir Walter Hcott to the Lady of the Lake.] Coming through the broom at e'en. And coming through the broom sae dreary. The lassij lost her silken snood, ■\Vhich cost her many a blirt and blear e'e. Fan- her hair, and brent her brow. And bonnie blue her een when near ye ; The mair I prie'd her bonnie mou". The mair I wish'd her for my dearie. The broom was lang, the lassie gay, And fcut I was unco cheerie ; The snood was tint, a well a day ! For mirth was tum'd to blirt and blear e'e. I press'd her hand, she sigh'd, I woo'd. And spier'd. What gars ye sob, my dearie ? Quoth she, I've lost my silken snood; And never mair can look sae cheerie. I said. Ne'er mind the silken snood Nae langer mourn, nor look sae dreary ; I'll buy you ane that's twice as good; If you'll consent to be my dearie. ?m^^£m3^-i^' '■i'W^^^. SCOTTISH 30XG: 333 Quoth she. If you will aye be mine, ^ >"ae mair the snood shall make me dreary: I voWd, I seal'd, and bless the time, That in the broom I met my dearie. ^t%t u^Ul^ fei^'^ ^^' [Fkom a small tract entitled, " Love : by J. C. Desovan:" Printed for the author at Edinburgh in 1826. Denovan was the son of a printer in Edinburgh, where he was bom in 1798. Some years of his early life were spent at sea, but latter- ly he supported himself by a small business of his own, in his native city, as a coffee-roaster. He died in 1827.] The lark hath sought his grassy home, The bee her eglantine ; The sUver lamps, in yon blue dome. Have just begun to shine ; Then rest awhile with me, love, with me, love, Thsi rest awhile with me, love. This breast will pillow thine. The breeze that steals so softly by Hath caught the rose's kiss : The tear that wets the Uly's eye Is but a drop of bliss. Then rest awhile with me, love, with me, love, Then rest awhile with me, love. Home ne'er had charms like this. %t5mt i02d tit plai^JK, [This song cannot be traced in any of the earlier collections. It appears, however, in John- ton's Museum, vol. I. 1737. There is a plaintive old air given in Oswald's collection, (1735-42,) ■wife the title, " The la^ie lost her silken snood."] O, I HA'B lost my silken snood, That tied my hair sae yellow ; I've gi'en my heart to the lad I loo'd. He was a gallant fellow. And twine it weel, my bonnie dow. And twine it weel the plaiden ; The lassie lost her sUken snood. In pn'ing o' the breckan. He praised my een sae bonnie blue, Sae lily-white my skin, O, And syne he prie'd my bonnie mou". And said it was nae sin, O. And twine it weel, &c. But he has left the lass he loo'd, His own true love forsaken ; ■Which gars me sair to greet the snood, I lost amang the breckan. And twine it weel. Sec. ^■J? @00]pci d §iU, There was a wee cooper who lived in Fife, Xickity, nackity, noo, noo, noo. And he has gotten a gentle wife. Hey Willie "Wallacky, how John Dougn'J, Alane, quo' rushety, roue, roue, roue. She wadna bake, nor she wadna brew, N ickety, &c. For the spoiling o' her comely hue, Hey WiUie, &c. She wadna card, nor she wadna spin, Nickety, &c. For the shaming o' her gentle kin. Hey Willie, &c. She wadna wash, nor she wadna wring, Nickety, &c. For the spoiling o' her gouden ring. Hey WilUe, &c. The cooper's awa' to his woo pack, Nickety, &c. And has laid a sheep skin on his wife's bac^t. Hey ■WiUie, &c. It's I'll no thrash ye for your proud kin, Nickety, &c. But I will thrash my ain sheep skin. Hey WilUe, &c. Oh ! I will bake and I will brew, Nickety, &c. And never mair think on my comely hus, Hey "WilUe, &c. cr^ ^ ^0 s^. cSa^S^ ^^. 334 SCOTTISH SONGS. Oh 1 I will card and I will spin, Nickety, &c. And never mair think on my gentle kin. Hey Willie, &c. Oil ! I will wash and I will \vring, Nickety, &c. And never mair think on my gouden ring, Hey Willie, &c. A' ye wha ha'e gotten a gentle wife, Nickety, nackety, woo, woo, woo ; Send ye for the wee cooper o' Fife, Hey Willie Wallacky, how John Dougall, Alane, quo' rushety, roue, roue, roue. ^|e %mnk uh xihhm. [Andrew Sharpe.] il y Sandy was handsome, good-natur'd, and gay; An' my Sandy wad never gainsay me ; An' down in St. Johnston, ae braw market day, A bonnie red ribbon he ga'e me. Kane looked like Sandy, sae mild and sae meek ; An" nane could sae winsome array me ; Butdeatb cameand withered the rose on his chock. That was red as the ribbon he ga'e me. Now lanely I wander o'er mountain an' moss. Or where fancy wild wishes to stray me; And tell, wi' a tear-weet-e'e, Sandy's sad loss. To the bonnie red ribbon he ga'e me. But shortly, some ev'ning amang the saft dew, Low down in his grave will I lay me ; SjTie bid a" the sorrows I suffer adieu ! An' the bonnie red ribbon he ga'e me. mUlu hi' U^ feig B=\n. [William Chalmers.] Oh, saw ye Willie frae the west? Oh, saw ye Wiftie in his glee ? Oh, saw ye Willie frae the west. When he had got his wig a-jec .■' There's " Scots wha ha'e wi' Wallace bled,' He towers it up in sic a key. Oh saw ye AVillie, hearty lad. When he had got his wig a-jee. To hear him sing a canty air. He lilts it o'er sae charmingly. That in a moment afif flies care, WTien Willie gets his wig a-jee. Let drones croon o'er a winter night, A fig for them, whate'er they be. For I could sit till morning light, AVi' Willie and his wig a-jee. At kirk on Sundays, sic a change Comes o'er liis wig, and mou', and e'e, Sae douse — you'd think a cannon ball Wad scarce ca' Willie's wig a-jee. Bat when on Mondays be begins. And rants and roars continually. Till ilk owk's end, the very weans Gang daft — ^when Willie's wig's a-jee. #, 5i!j|i0tk. [The air called " O, whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad," was composed by John Bruce, a famous fiddler in Dumfries, about the middle of the last centurj-. O'Keefe introduced it into his comic opera of " The Poor Soldier," acted at Covent Garden in 17S3. " Since love is the plan, I'll love if I can," is the opening of the song to which it is there adapted. Burns WTote two sets of words to the tune — retaining the name of the tune for his opening line — the first set, consisting of only two verses, written in 1787 for Johnson's Museum; the second set written in 1793 for Thomson's collection. We give both.] I. O, WHISTLE, and I'll come to you, my lad, O, whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad, Tho' father and mither and a' should gae mad, O, whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad. Come down the back stairs when you come to court me. Come down the back stairs when you come to court me. Come down the back stairs, and let nae body see, •Zy And come as ye were na coming to me. S -y"^"^:^ ^t^ SCOTTISH SONGS. >35 II. Oj WHISTLE, and I'll come to you, my lad ; 0, whistle, and I'U come to you, my lad ; Tho' father, and mother, and a' should gae mad, 0, whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad. But warily tent, when ynu come to court me. And come na unless the back-yett be a-jee ; ^}-ne up the back-stUe, and let nae body see. And come as ye were na com in' to me. And come as ye were na comin' to me. O, whistle, &c. At kirk or at market, whene'er ye meet me, Gang by me as though that ye cared na a ti',3 ; But steal me a blink o' your bonnie black e'e. Yet look as ye were na lookin' at me. Yet look as ye were na lookin' at me. 0, whistle, &c. Aye vow and protest that ye care na for me, And whyles ye may lichtly my beauty a wee ; But court na anither, though jokin' ye be. Tor fear that she wyle your fancy frae me. For fear that she wyle your fancy firae me. 0, whistle, &c. [The first stanza of this song was a fragment by Tax.vahil : the rest has been happUy added by Alex. Rodgeb. — Tune, " 0, whistle, and I'U come to you, my lad."] CoMK home to your lingels, ye ne'er-do-weel loon,. YcuTe the king o' the dyvours, the talk o' the town, Sae soon as the Munonday morning comes in. Your wearifu' daidling again maun begin. Gudewife, you're a skillet, your tongue's just a bell. To the peace o' gude fallows it rings the death -knell. But clack till ye deafen auld Barnaby's mill, The souter shall aye ha'e his ilunonday's yill. Come hame to your lap-stane, come hame to your last. It's a bonnie affair that your family maun fast, '»Vh:le yrpu and your crew here a-guzzling maun sit, Ye daised drunken gude-for-nocht heir of the pit , Just leuk, how I'm gaun without stocking or shoe. Your baims a' in tatters, an' fotherless too. An' yet, quite content, like a sot, ye'll s:t sUU, Till your kyte's like to crack, wi' your Munonday's • I teU you, gudewife, gin you baud na your clack, I'U lend you a reestle wi' this owre your back ; Maun we be abused an' affironted by you, "Wi' siccan fool names as " loon," " dyvour," an' " crew?" Come hame to your lingels, this instajit come hame. Or I'U redden your face, gin ye've yet ony shame. For I'U bring a' the b.'ums, an' we'U just ha'e our fiU, As weel as yoursel', o" your Hunonday's yiU. Gin that be the gate o't, sirs, come, let ns stir. What need we sit here to be pestered by her ? For she'U plague an' affront us as far as she can ; Did ever a woman sae bother a man ? Frae yUl house to yUl house she'U after us ric. An' raise the hale town wi' her yelpin' and din : Come, ca' the gudewife, bid her bring in her bill, I see I maun quat takin' Munonday's yiU. Ea0g gin ge We m^. [I>- Herd's coUection the foUowing firagment U preserved : I ha'e layen three herring a-sa't ; Bonnie lass, gin ze'U tak' me, teU me now , And I ha'e brew'n three pickles o' ma't. And I canna cum ilka day to woo. To woo, to woo, to Ult and to woo. And I canna cum ilka day to woo. 1 ha'e a wee calf that wad fain be a cow ; Bonnie lass, gin ze'U tak' me, teU me now ; I ha'e a grice that wad fain be a sow. And I canna cum Uka day to woo. To woo, to woo, &c. From this fragment, James Tttleb, otherwise caUed Balloon Tytler, of whom we have spoken in previous notes, constructed the following soug, which, with its Uvely air, is given in the third volume of Johnson's Museum. Mr. Mackay, cf the Edinburgh theatre, used to sing the song with pawkie glee, and was instrumental in ren- dering it popular.] I HA'E laid a herring is saut. Lass gin ye lo'e me teU me now \ 1 ha'e brew'd a forpet o' maut. An' I canna come Uka day to woo. -^^. SCOTTISH SONGS. d i ^4 •^ I ha'e a calf will soon be a cow. Lass gin ye lo'e me tell me now ! I ha'e a pig will soon be a sow. An' I canna come ilka day to woo. I've a house on yonder muir. Lass gin ye lo'e me tell me now ! Three sparrows may dance upon the floor, An' I canna come ilka day to woo. I ha'e a but, an' I ha'e a ben. Lass gin ye lo'e me tell me now ! I ha'e three chickens an' a fat hen. An' I canna come ony mair to woo. I've a hen wi' a happity leg, Lass gin ye lo'e me tak' me now ! Which ilka day lays me an egg. An' I canna come ilka day to woo. I ha'e a kebbuck upon my shelf. Lass gin ye lo'e me tak' me now! I downa eat it a' myself; An' I winna come ony mair to woo. flatic'^ HE^^IiEg, [This song, once popular among the peasantry of Scotland, was first printed in the second edition of David Herd's collection, 1776, although it is older than that date. Nothing is known of the author. The tune used to be sung to an old dog- grel, beginning. We'll put the sheep-head in the pat, Horns and a' thegither, &c.] As Patie cam' up frae the glen, Drivin' his wedders before him. He met bonnie Meg ganging hame — Her beauty was like for to smoore him. Maggie, lass, dinna ye ken That you and I 's gaun to be married ? 1 had rather liad broken my leg. Before sic a bargain miscarried. Patie, lad, wha tell'd ye that ? I trow o' news they've been scanty: 1 ni nae to be married the year. Though I should be courted by twenty! Now, Maggie, what gars ye to taunt ? Is 't 'cause that I ha'ena a mailen ? The lad that has gear needna want For neither a half nor a baill ane. i My dad has a gude grey meare. And yours has twa cows and a filly ; And that will be plenty o' gear : Kae, Maggie, be na sae ill-wiUy. Weel, Patie, lad, I dinna ken ; But first ye maun speir at my daddic You're quite as weel born as Ben, And I canna say but I'm ready. We ha'e walth o' yam in clews. To mak' me a coat and a jimpey. And plaidin' eneuch to be trews — Gif I got ye, I shanna scrimp ye ! Now fair fa' ye, my bonnie Meg ! I'se e'en let a smackie fa' on ye : May my neck be as lang as my leg. If I be an ill husband unto ye ! Sae gang your ways hame e'en now ; Mak' ready gin this day fifteen days And tell your father frae me, I'll be his gude-son in great kindness. Maggie s as blythe as a wran, Bodin' the blast o' ill weather. And a' the gaite singin' she ran. To tell the news to her father. But aye the auld man cried out. He'll no be o' that mind on Sunday. There's nae fear o' that, quo' Meg ; For I gat a kiss on the bounty. And what was the matter o' that ? It was naething out o' his pocket. 1 wish the news were true. And we had him fairly bookit. A very wee while after that, Wha cam' to our biggin but Patie ? Bress'd up in a braw new coat. And wow but he thocht himsel' pretty ! /v\ i His bonnet was little frae new, *w]l And in it a loop and a slittie. To draw in a nbbon sae blue. To bab at the neck o" his coatie. Then Patie cam' in wi' a stend ; Cried, Peace be under the biggin ! You're welcome, quo' William, Come ben. Or I wish it may rive frae the riggin' ! Now draw in your seat, and sit doun. And tell's a' your news in a hurry ; And haste ye, Meg, and be dune. And hing on the pan wi' the berry. fe. ife^l^'^^g:^:38^«§^^^^^,m^ n\ SCOT t^ Quoth Patie, My news is na thrang ; Testreen I was wi' his honour , I've ta'en three rigs o' braw land, And bound myself under a honour : And, now, my errand to you. Is for Maggie to help me to labour ; But I'm fear'd we'll need your best cow. Because that our haddin's but sober. Quoth William, To hart ye through, I'll be at the cost o' the bridal , I'se cut the craig o' the ewe. That had amaist dee'd o' the side-Hi : And that'll be plenty o' broe, Sae lang as our well is na reested, To a' the neebors and you ; Sae I think we'll be nae that ill feasted. Quoth Patie, O that'U do weel. And I'll gi'e you your brose i'the momin', O' kaU that was made yestreen. For I like them best i" the forenoon. Sae Tam, the piper, did play ; And Uka ane danced that was willin' ; And a' the lave they rankit through ; And they held the wee stoupie aye filUn'. The auld wives sat and they chew'd ; And when that the carles grew nappy, They danced as weel as they dow'd, ^Vi' a crack o' their thooms and a happie. The lad that wore the white band, I think they ca'd him Jamie Mather, He took the bride by the hand. And cried to play up Maggie Lauder. 1 Wet^ m^$t B Is^^if hut urn, [Thb first eight lines of this song, and other eight rather too homely for extract here, are said by Bums to have been written by the Rev. John Clunie, minister of Borthwick, Midlothian, who died in 1819, aged 62. The rest of the song, be- ginning " Let ithers brag weel o' their gear," is by Hector Macneil. The tune bears a strong resemblance to the Irish air called " My lodging ia on the cold ground."] I lo'ed ne'er a laddie but ane ; He lo'ed ne'er a lassie but me ; He's willing to mak' me his ain ; And his ain I am willing to be. He has coft me a rokelay C blue. And a pair o' mittens o' green ; The price was a kiss o' my mou' ; ' And I paid him the debt yestreen- Let ithers brag weel o' their gear, Their land, and their lordly degree ; I earena for aught but my dear. For he's ilka thing lordly to me : < His words are sae sugar'd, sae sweet 1 His sense drives ilk fear far awa' ! I listen, poor fool ! and I greet ; Yet how sweet are the tears as they fa' ! 1 Dear lassie, he cries wi' a jeer, , Xe'er heed what the auld anes will say ; Though we've little to brag o'— ne'er fear ; ^\'hat'i gowd to a heart that is wae ? Our laird has baith honours and wealth. Yet see how he's dwining wi' care ; Now we, though we've naething but health. Are cantie and leal evermair. O Marion ! the heart that is true. Has something mair costly than gear Ilk e'en it has uaething to rue — Ilk mom it has naething to fear. Ye warldUngs, ga'e hoard up your store. And tremble for fear ought you tyne ; Guard youi treasures wi' lock, bar, and door, While here in my arms I lock mine ! He ends wi' a kiss and a smile — "Wae's me, can I tak' it amiss I My laddie's unpractised in guile. He's free aye to daut and to kiss I Ye lasses wha lo^e to torment Your wooers wi' fause scorn and strife. Play your pranks— I ha'e gi'en my consent. And this night I am Jamie's for life. ^n$ sfcs', tint afciB*. [The beautiful air of " Here awa", there awa" " is preserved in Oswald's collection of Scots tunes, 1735-43. Herd, in his collection of 17G9, first printed the following fragment of the old words.] Here awa', there awa', here awa', Willie ! Here awa', there awa", haud awa' hame 1 Lang have I sought thee, dear have 1 bought thee, Now 1 have gotten my Willie again. SBS SCOTTISH SONGS. Through the lane muir I have followed my Willie ; - Through the lang muir I have followed him hame. ■V^'hateve^ ht-tide us, nought shall divide us; Love now rewards all my sorrow and pain. Here awa", there awa', here awa', 'Willie ! Here awa", there awa', haud awa', hame ! Come, love, beUeve me, nothing can grieve me. Ilka thing pleases, when Willie's at hame. [Bbrks, who was fond of the tune of " Here awa', there awa'," \re awa', wandering Willie! Ht're awa', there awa", haud awa' himio ! Come to my bosom, my ain only dearie ; Tell me thou bring'st me my Willie again. Winter winds blew loud and cauld at our parting; Fears for my Willie brought tears in my e'e : Welcome now, summer, and welcome, my Willie; The summer to nature, and Willie to me. Rest, ye wild storms, in the caves of your slumbers! How your dread howling a lover alarms ! AVauken, ye breezes ! row gently, ye billows ! And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms. l!ut, oh, if he's faithless, and minds na his Nannie, Flow still between us, thou dark heaving main ! May I never see it, may I never trow it. But, dying, believe that my Willie's my ain ! [Wii.MAM Jumps Micki.b, translator of "The I.asiad."] Uy the banks of the crystal -stream 'd Esk, Where the Wauchope her yellow wave joins, ■^Vhere the lambkins on sunny braes bask. And wild vroodbine the shepherd's bower twines,; ■ Maria, disconsolate maid, Oft sigh'd the still noontide away, Or by moonlight all desolate stray'd. While woeful she tuned her love lay ; Ah ! no more from the banks of the Ewes My shepherd comes cheerly along ; Broomholm and the Deans' banks refuse To echo the plaints of his song. No more from the echoes of Ewes, His dog fondly barking I hear ; No more the tir'd bark he pursues. And tells me his master draws near. Ah ! wae to the wars, and the pride Thy heroes, O Esk, could display. When with laurels they planted thy side. From France and from Spain borne away. Oh ! why did their honours decoy :My poor shepherd lad from the shore ? Ambition bewitch'd the vain boy, — And oceans between us now roar. Ah ! methinks his pale corpse floating by, I behold on the rude billows tost; TJnburied his scatter'd bones lie, — Lie bleaching on some distant coast. By this stream and the May-blossom'd thorn. That first heard his love tale, and his vows. My pale ghost shall wander forlorn. And the willow shall weep o'er my brows. With the ghosts of the wars will I wail. In Warblaw woo'Js join the sad throng. To H.-illowe'en's blast tell my tale. As the spectres, ungi-av'd, glide along. Still the Ewes rolls her paly blue stream. Old Esk still her crystal tide pours, Still golden the Wauchope waves gleam. And still green, Broomholm, are thy bo^^ No : blasted they eecm to my view. The rivers in red floods combine ; The turtles their widowed notes coo. And mix their sad ditties with mine. Discolour'd in sorrow's dim shade. All nature seems with me to mourn ;- But why are these merry bells play'd ? Can it be my dear Jamie's return ? SCOTTISH SONG; 339 The woodlands all May -blown appear ! The silver stream murmurs new charms ! ^s my Jamie, sweet-smiling, draws near. And, all eager, I rush to his arms. ^|f lilg of i^$ tuh. [Allan Eamsay. — This may be sung to the tune of " The Banks of Doon.'J The lily of the vale is sweet ; And sweeter still the op'ning rose; But sweeter far my Mary is Than any blooming flow'r that blows. Whilst spring her fragrant blossoms spreads, I'll wander oft by Mary's side. And whisper saft the tender tale. By Forth, sweet Forth's meandering tide. There will we walk at early dawn. Ere yet the sun begins to shine ; At eve oft to the lawn we'll tread. And mark that splendid orb's decline. The fairest choicest flowers I'll crop. To deck my lovely Marj's hair , And while I live, I vow and swear, ahe'U be my chief, my only care. ^1^ S^ag M-^isra^o [" I composed this song," says Btnixs, " out of compliment to one of the happiest and worthiest married couples in the world, Robert Kiddel, Esq., of Glenriddel, and his lady. At their fireside I have enjoyed more pleasant evenings than at all the houses of fashionable people in the country put together ; and to their kindness and hospitality I am indebted for many of the happiest hours in my life." — The song first appeared in Johnson's SIu- seum to a tune composed by Mr. Kiddel himself, which he called " The Seventh of >'ovember," that being the anniversarj- of his marriage."] The day returns, my bosom bums. The blissful day we twa did meet ; Though winter wild in tempest toil'd, ^"e'er summer-sun was half sae sweet. Than a' the pride that loads the tide. And crosses o'er the sultry line; Than kingly robes, than crov\-n8 and globes. Heaven gave me more — it made thee mint While day and night can bring delight. Or nature aught of pleasure give ; While joys above my mind can move, For thee, and thee alone, I'll live 1 When that grim foe of life below Comes in between to make us part ; The iron hand that breaks our band. It breaks my bliss — it breaks my heart. [This solemr warning strain Sib Waltfr Scott puts into the mouth of Fitz -Eustace, in th. third canto of Mannion."— "A mellow voit^e, ' says the poet — "A MELLOW voice Fitz-Eustace had. The air he chose was wild and sad ; Such have I heard, in Scottish land, Kise fipom the busy harvest band. When falls before the mountaineer. On Lowland plains, the ripen'd ear. Kow one shrill voice the notes prolong, Now a wild chorus swells the song : Oft have I listen'd, and stood still. As it came softened up the hill. And deem'd it the lament of men Who languish'd for their native glen : And thought how sad would be such sound On Susquehana's swampy ground, Kentucky's wood-encumber'd brake. Or wUd Ontario's boundless lake. Where heart-sick exiles, in the strain, Kecall'd fair Scoti.-md's hills again."] AVherk shaU the lover rest, Whom the fates sever. From his true maiden's breast. Parted for ever ? Where, through groves deep and h^h. Sounds the far billow. Where early violets die. Under the wiUow. Eleu loro. Soft shall be his piDow. <^i!:f^cJ^?^^m^ SCOTTISH SONGS. There, throuRh the summer day. Cool streams are laving, There, while the tempests sway. Scarce are boughs waving ; There thy rest shalt thou take. Parted for evor, is'ever again to wake. Never, O never, Eleu loro. Never, O never. AVhere shall the traitor rest, lie the deceiver, "Who could win maiden's breast. Ruin, and leave her ? In the lost battle. Borne down by the fljing. Where mingles war's rattle. With groans of the dying, Eleu loro. There shall he be lying. Her wing shall the eagle flap O'er the false-hearted ; His w.irm blood the wolf shall lap. E'er life be parted ; Shame and dishonour sit By his grave ever ; Blessing shall hallow it — Never, never, Eleu loro. Never, O never. [Written by Hfctor MACMBir. to a tune which he picked up in Argyleshire, and which is given in the sixth volume of Johnson's Museum. The song, however, is now adapted to the tune of " Bonnie Dundee."] Oh tell me, oh tell me, bonnie young lassie. Oh tell n;e, young lassie, how for to woo ? Oh tell me, oh tell me, bonnie sweet lassie. Oh tell rac, sweet lassie, how for to woo ? Say, maun I roose your cheeks like the morning ? Lips like the roses fresh moisten 'd wi' dew ? Bay, maun I roose your een's pawkie scorning ? Oh tell me, oh tell me, how for to woo ? ; ■^ Far ha'e I wander'd to see thee, dear lassie ! Far ha'e 1 ventured across the saut sea ! Far ha'e I ventured ower muuland and moun' tain. Houseless and weary, slept cauld on the lea ! Ne'er ha'e I tried yet to mak' luve to ony. For ne'er loved I ony till ance I loved you ; Now we're alane in the green wood sae bonnie. Oh tell me, oh tell me, how for to woo ? What care I for your wand'ring, young laddie ! Wliat care 1 for your crossing the sea ! It was nae for naething ye left puir young Lr Peggy; It was for my tocher ye cam' to court me. Say, ha'e ye gowd to busk me aye gaudy .•' Ribbons, and pearUns, and breist-knots enew ? A house that is cantie, wi' walth in't, my laddie ? Without this ye never need try for to woo ! 1 ha'e nae gowd to busk ye aye gaudy ! I canna buy pcarlins and ribbons enew ! I've naething to brag o' house or o' plenty ! I've little to gi'e but a heart that is true. I cam' na for tocher — I ne'er heard o' ony ; I never loved Peggy, nor e'er brak ray vow : I've wander'd, puir fule, for a face fause bonnie ! I little thocht this was the way for to woo ! as QH Ha'e na ye roosed my cheeks like the morning ? Hae na ye roosed my cherrj--red mou ? Ha'e na ye come ower sea, muir, and mountain ? What mair, my dear Johnnie, need ye for to woo ? Far ha'e ye wander'd, I ken, my dear laddie ! Now that ye've found me, there 'a nae cause to rue; Wi* health we'll ha'e plenty— I'll never gang gaudy : I ne'er wish'd for mair than a heart that is true. She hid her fair face in her true lover's bosom ; The saft tear of transport fiU'd ilk lover's e'e ; The burnie ran sweet by their side as they sab- bit, And sweet sang the mavis abune on the tree. He clasp'd her, he press'd her, he ca'd her his hinnie. And aften he tasted her hinnie-swcet mou' i And aye, 'tween ilk kiss, she ciigh'd to her Johnnie — Oh laddie ! oh laddie ! weel weel can ye woo • ^^^l^l^=^ti^{i£,-^3p^E^^^^^S^^ ^^^m^-^^S}3^^i?:r^^^k?'^'W'm^ SCOTTISH SOXGS. am^ Eaggie. [This charmingly-nattiral effusion vras written by Burns early in life, in honour of his aftemards- to-be-immortalized Highland JIary. It is given in the second volume of Johnson's Museum, adapted to an old reel tune, called "Maclauch- lin's Scots Measure," but it may also be sung to the tune of " Green grow the rashes." — " My Highland Lassie," says the poet, "was a warm- hearted, charming young creature, as ever blessed a man -Kith generous love. After a pretty long trial of the most ardent reciprocal attachment, we met by appointment, on the second Sunday of May, in a sequestered spot on the banks of Ayr, where we spent the day in taking a farewell before she should embark for the West Highlands, to arrange matters among her friends for our pro- jected change of life. At the close of the autumn f Uowing 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 her grave in a few days, before I could even hear of her illness." Cromek adds a few particulars of the final interview of the youth- ful lovers. "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 lovere stood on each side of a small purling brook, they laved their hands in the limpid stream, and holding a Bible between them, they pronounced their vows to be faithful to each other. They parted, never to meet again. " Cromek's account of this parting interview was considered somewhat apocrjphal, j tiU, a good many years ago, a pocket Bible, in two | volumes, presented by Bums to Mary Campbell, ! was discovered in the possession of her sister at I Ardrossan. This Bible afterwards found its way j to Canada, whence the iamUy had removed ; and | having excited the interest of some Scotsmen at | Montreal, they purchased it, (for its possessors were unfortunately in reduced circumstances,) and had it conveyed back to Scotland, with the view of being permanently placed in the monu- ment at Ayr. On its arrival at Glasgow, Mr. Weir, Stationer, Queen Street, (through the instrumentality of whose son, we believe, the precious relic was mainly procured,) kindly an- nounced, that he would willingly show it for a few days at his shop to any person who might choose to see it. The result was, that thousands 341 4fe flocked to obtain a view of this interesting memo- rial, and the ladies, in particular, displayed an unwonted eagerness regarding it, some of them even crying, on beholding an object which ap- pealed so largely to female sympathies. On the anniversary of the Poet in 1841, the Bible, inclosed in an oaken glass case, was permanently deposited among other relics in the monument at Ayr. On the boards of one of the volumes is inscribed, in Bums's hand-writing, — "'And ye shall not swear by my name falsely, I am the Lord,' Levit. chap. six. V. 12;" and on the other, "'Thou shalt not forswear thyself, but shalt perform unto the Lord thine oath,' St. Matt. chap. v. v. 33;" and on the blank leaves of both volumes, " Robert Burns, Mossgiel." A monument, the expense of which was defrayed by public subscription, is now erected over the grave of Highland Mary in Greenock churchyard. The foundation-stone of it was laid on the anniversary of the birth of the Poet, in 1842.] Kae gentle dames, though e'er sae fair. Shall ever be my muse's care ; Their titles a' are empty show ; Gi'e me my Highland lassie, 0. Within the glen sae bushy, 0, Aboon the plain sae rushy, O, I set me down wi' right good will. To sing my Highland lassie, O. Oh ! were yon hills and valleys mine ! Yon palace and yon gardens fine ! The world then the love should know I bear my Highland lassie, O. Within the glen, &c. But fickle fortune firowns on me. And I maun cross the raging sea : But while my crimson currents flow, I'll love my Highland lassie, O. Within the glen, &c. Although through foreign climes 1 range, 1 know her heart will never change. For her bosom bums with honour's glow. My taitliful Highland lassie, O. Within the glen, &c. For her I'll dare the billows roar. For her I'll trace a distant shore. That Indian wealth may lustre throw. Around my Highland lassie, 0. Within the glen, iVc. iJ<^ '^^^5i:^/:3^^i^^^"^<vrote as they now stand, with all the ease of one copying &x)m memory, these sublime and pathetic verses." — The verses, it may be added, were first published in the third volume of Johnson's Museum, where Bcbns requested they should be set to a plaintive air called " The Death of Captain Cook," which was accordingly done.] Thou ling'ring star, with less'ning ray. That lov'st to greet the early mom ! Again thou usher'st in the day. My Mar)' from my soul was torn. Oh, Mary, dear departed shade ! Where is thy place of blissful rest ? See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his br^ ^st ? That sacred hour can I forget ? — Can I forget the hallow'd grove. Where, by the winding Ayr, we met. To live one day of parting love ? Eternity will not efface Those records dear of transports past ; Thy image at our last embrace ;— Ah ! Uttle thought we 'twas our last ! Ayr, gurgling, kiss'd his pebbled shore, O'erhung with wild woods thickening .irri.cn ; The fragrant birch, the hawthorn hoar. Twined amorous round the raptured scene. The flowers sprung wanton to be prest. The birds sung love on every spray; Till too, too soon the glowing west Proclaim'd the speed of winged day. Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes. And fondly broods with miser care ; Time but the impression stronger makes. As streams their channels deeper wear. My Mary, dear departed shade ! Where is thy place of blissful rest ? See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast.' [This song, which is here for the first time printed, was written to an air, composed by B. Bluhme, a German musical amateur, and named " Doctor N ."] Let sages tell of orbs so fair. Of suns, and moons, and stars ; And praise the planets ev'ry one — Earth, Venus, Vesta, Mars,— I'll sing of orbs more beauteous Cir Than e'er by sage were seen. Though search'd be all the whirling worlds That deck the vault serene ;— I'll sing the stars on earth that dwell. And beam with living love ; Fair woman's eyes, whose lustre pales All stars of heav'n above. ¥. ^ ^t SCOTTISH SONGS. ;43 The stars of earth are beauteous gems. Of mauy a varied hue ; But dearest of them all to me Are eyes of bonnie blue. Blue are the mountains of our land. And blue her lakes so clear. Her glens are blue, but bluer far The ejes of Sally dear. Of stellar orbs let sages watch The flight through boundless skies ; I'd rather watch the live long night. The beams of Sally's eyes. Then sing ! then sing ! my Sally's eyes ! TVhich beam with living love, "UTiose lustre pales all starry gems That spangle heav'n above. W. G. 'This highly finished lyric was the production '-.f Mks. Dugald Stewabt, the excellent and iiccomplished wife of the celebrated professor of moral philosophy in the university of Edinburgh. Her maiden name was Helen D'Arcy Cranstoun, and she was the daughter of the Hon. George Cranstoun, youngest son of William, fifth Lord Cranstoun. She was bom in the year 1765, mar- ried in 1790, and died so recently as the 28th July, 1S35. The song was first pubhshed in the fourth .olume of Johnson's Museum (1792,) adapted to an air, by John Barret, an old English composer, called " Ian the the lovely." The same air was Selected by Gay for one of his songs in "The Beggar's Opera," — " "When he holds up his hands arraigned for life." — The first four lines of the last stanza were written by Bums, to suit the music, which requires double verses.] The tsaK I shed must ever fall : I mourn not for an absent swain ; For thoughts may past delights recall. And parted lovers meet again. I weep not for the silent dead : Their toils are past, their sorrows o'er; And those they loved their steps shall tread. And death shall join to part no more. Though boundless oceans roll between. If certain that his heart is near, A conscious transi)ort glads each scc-nc. Soft is the sigh, and sweet the tear. E'en when by death's cold hand rerriovc-d. We mourn the tenant of the tomb : To think that e'en in death he loved. Can gild the horrors of the glo^m, But bitter, bitter are the tears Of her who slighted love bewails ; Ko hope her dreary prospect cheers, is^o pleasing melancholy hails. Hers are the pangs of wounded pride. Of blasted hope, of withered joy ; The flatt'ring veil is rent aside . The flame of love bums to destroy. In vain does memory renew The hours once tinged in transport's dye The sad reverse soon starts to view. And turns the past to agony. E'en time itself despairs to cure Those pangs to ev'ry feeling due : Ungenerous youth ! thy boast how poor. To win a heart— and break it too. Ifo cold approach, no alter'd mien. Just what would make suspicion start ; No pause the dire extremes between. He made me blest — and broke my heart. From hope, the wretched's anchor, torn ; Neglected and neglecting all ; Friendless, forsaken, and forlorn ; The tear I shed must ever fall. ®J;f 1^5r.=Pf^:i:r ; [Thb following verses ■were addressed to Mrs. Dugald Stewart by Professor Thomas Brow:«, the distinguished successor of her husband in the moral philosophy chair of Edinburgh. They were entitled by their author, "The Non-Descrlpt — To a very charming Monster."] Thou nameless loveUness, whose mind. With every grace to soothe, to warm, Has lavish Nature bless'd, — and 'shrintd The sweetness in as soft a form : ^^f^^^M^^f^i^X^^^^^S'^^^, SCOTTISH SONGS. Pay on what wonder-beaming soil Her sportive malice wrought thy form,- That haughty science long might toil. Nor learn to fix thy doubtful name ! For this she cuH'd, with eager care. The scatter'd glories of her plan, — All that adorns the softer fair. All that exalts the prouder man : And gay she triumph'd, — now no more Her works shall daring systems bound ; As though her skill inventive o'er, She only traced the forms she found. In vain to seek a kindred race. Tired through her mazy realms I stray. Where shall I rank thy radiant place ? Thou dear perplexing creature ! say ! Thy smile so soft, thy heart so kind. Thy voice for pity's tones so fit, All speak thee Woman ; but thy mind Lifts thee where Bards and Sages sit. V't ^5? Bisf^ o' i^e^Ia^'. [Written by Walter Watsox, weaver at Chryston, in Stirlingshire, and author of the po- pular songs, " Sae will we yet," and " Jockie "s far awa'." The braes of Bedlay are situated near Chrjston, about seven miles to the north of Glas- gow.— Tune, " Hills of Glenorchy."] When I think on the sweet smiles o' my lassie. My cares flee awa' like a thief frae the day : My heart loups light, an' I join in a sang Amang the sweet birds on the braes o' Bedlay : 1 ! Mu swo< t the embrace, yet how honest the wishes, A\'hen luve fa's a-wooin", an' modesty blushes , AVhar Mary an' 1 meet amang the green bushes, That screen us sae weel on the braes o' Bedlay. There's nane sae trig, or sae fair, as my lassie. An' mony a wooer she answers wi' Nay, Wha fain wad ha'e her to lea'e me alane. An' meet me nae mair on the braes o' Bedlay. I feama, I carena, their braggin' o' siller, Nora' the fine things they can think on to tell her; Nae vauutin' can buy her, nae threat'nin' can sell her. It's luve leads her out to the braes C Bedlay. vfe We'll gang by the links o' the wild rowin' burnie, 1 1 "Whar aft in my mornin' o' life 1 did stray, Whar luve was invited and care was beguil'd, I By Mary an' me, on the braes o' Bedlay : i! i^ae lovin', sae movin', I'll tell her my story, Unmix't wi" the deeds o' ambition for glory, Whar wide spreadin' hawthorns, sae ancient and hoary. Enrich the sweet breeze on the braes o" BedLiy. mtm muux. [Written by Burns, and inserted in John- son's Museum. Afton W.iter is a siiiuU stream in Ayrshire, on the banks of which stands Afton Lodge, the residence of Mrs. Stewart, who forms the subject of this song. Currie says, " the song was presented to her in return for her notice, the first he ever received from a person in her rank." Burns, in a single couplet, has left an unfading testimony to the virtues of Mrs. Stewart— then residing at Stair. In the " Brigs o' Ayr," she is j introduced as one of the allegorical beings who interrupt the conversation between the Brigs : — " Benevolence, with mild benignant air, A female form came from the towers of Stair."] Fi.ow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes. Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise ; My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream ; Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dreaiti. Thou stock-dove, whose echo resounds through the glen, Te wild whistling blackbirds, in yon flowery den. Thou green-crested lap-wing, thy screaming for- bear, I charge you, disturb not my slumbering fair. How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighboaring hills, Far mark'd with the courses of clear-winding rills; There daily I wander, as mom rises high. My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye. How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below. Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow; There oft. as mild evening creeps o'er the lea, ^The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me, i >3m^m^^S£^^^m.^ 7^^]^^^S)^'^f^^-iSJ^^P^^^f&&^. SCOTTISH SONGS. 345 / r Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides, • And -ninds by the cot where my Slary resides ! I How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave. As, gath'ring sweet How'rets, she stems thy clear Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes: Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays ; i My Jlary's asleep by thy murmuring stream , Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. i^tu it> t^e gkn. [ly 3. letter to Thomson, Bckns says, " I got : :i. air, pretty enough, composed by Lady Eliza- th Heron of Heron, which she calls ' The banks ' ! Cree.' Cree is a beautiful romantic stream ; and as her Ladyship is a particular friend of mine, I have written the following song to it."] Hebe is the glen, and here the bower. All underneath the birchen shade ; The village bell has told the hour, — O what can stay my lovely maid ? 'Tis not Maria's whispering call ; 'Tis but the balmy-breathing gale, Mix'd with some warbler's. dying fall. The dewy star of eve to hail. It is JIaria's voice I hear ! So calls the woodlark in the grove. His little faithful mate to cheer. At once 'tis music — and 'tis love. And art thou come ! and art thou true ! O welcome dear to love and me ! A nd let us aU our vows renew. Along the flowery banks of Cree. ^i^e auUti Jt^aw'^ ^a^nent. [William Cross. latest corrections.] -Printed with the author's M-? beltane o' life and my gay days are gane. And now I am feckless, and dowie, and lane. And my lammas o' Ufe, wi' its floods o" saut tears, J Has drowned a' the joys o' my young happy years. Wj ' Full threescore and ten times the gowan has spread Since first owre the meadow wi' light foot I sped, And threescore and ten times the blue bells ha'e blawn. Since to pu' them I first daunder'd biythe owre the la%vn. The burn banks I lo'ed when a caUant to range, ^ - - And the heather-clad braes, now seem eerie and : / ; strange, ^ The bum seems na clear, and the lift seems na blue; But it's ablins my auld een that dinna teU true. The mates o' my young days are a' wede awa'. The sunshine they shared, but escaped frae the snaw. Like the swallows they fled when youth's warm days were gane. And I'm left like a winged ane in winter alane. To yon aged hawthorn that bends o'er the bum. Its lar scattered blossoms can never return, iJ\\ They are swept to the sea o'er dark plumb and ^)1 deep linn, OVi Sae, my comrades ha'e flourish'd and fled ane ly >^ M It seems short to look back since my Peggy was ^'vii young, UN? Bliss bcim'd in her features, joy flow'd frae her &V^ tongue. vVi But my Peggy has left me, and gane like the lave, t>/^V And the wind whistles shrill o'er my dear Peggy's :3 grave. " \^' My Peggy was ruddy, my Peggy was fair, ^-^^Sf, MUd was her blue e'e, and modest her air; z^"*^' But I needna teU now what my Peggy has been, \ .^ For blanch "d are her red cheeks, and closed her ^^i * blue e^jn. *'• \^ The wind whistles shriU, sneUand bitter's the blast, *V^ And death o'er my head waves his fell rung at last : VCi I have heard for Uie last time the laverock's sw eet c*o sang, ^-^ He may cour frae the storm by my erave or't be Ai i lang. " ^1 Soon may the worm on this auld body feed, J\ Soon may the nettles grow rank at my head, t^^ And some herd in thae few words may sum up 'i T' my fame, ^» . " There's an auld man lies here, I've forgotten J4G SCOTTISH SONGS. [The tune called " Macpherson's Eant" or " Macpherson's Lament" is said to have In^n composed by the noted freebooter whose name it bears, while Ijing under sentence of deatJi. The following are the old words, as given in Herd's collection, 1776.] I'VE spent my time in rioting, Debauch'd my health and strength , I've pillaged, plunder'd, murdered. But now, alas, at length, I'm brought to punishment direct; Pale death draws near to me ; This end I never did project. To hang upon a tree. To hang upon a tree, a tree ! That cursed unhappy death 1 Like to a wolf, to worried be. Anil choaked in the breath. My very heart wad surely break When this I think upon. Did not my courage singular Hid pensive thoughts begone. No man on earth that draweth breath. More courage had than I ; I dared my foes unto their lace. And would not from them fly. This grandeur stout I did keep out. Like Hector, manfully ; Thtn wonder one like me so stout should hang upon a tree. The Egyptian band I did command, ■VA'ith courage more by far. Than ever did a general His soldiers in the war. Being fear'd by all, both great and small, I lived most joyfullie: Uh, curse upon this fate of mine. To hang upon a tree ! As for my Ufe I do not care. If justice would take place, And bring my fellow-plunderers Unto the samejiisgrace. But Peter Brown, that notour loon. Escaped, and was made free : Oh, curse upon this fate of niine. To hang upon a tree ' Both law and justice buried are. And fraud and guile succeed ; The guilty pass unpunished. If money intercede. The Laird of Grant, that Highland saunt. His mighty majestic, He pleads the cause of Peter Brown, And lets Macpherson die. The destiny of my life, contrived By those whom I obliged, Ee^^■arded me much ill for good. And left me no refuge. But Braco Huff, in rage enough. He first laid hands on me ; And if that death would not prevent. Avenged would I be. As for my life, it is but short, "When I shall be no more ; To part with life I am content. As any heretofore. Therefore, good people all, take heed. This warning take by me. According to the Uves you lead, Rewarded you shall be. I [■\Vritte.v by Burns to the tune of " Mac- i pherson's Eant." " Macpherson's Lament." says ; Sir Walter Scott, "was a well-known song many : years before the AyTshire Bard wrote those addi- tional verses which constitute its principal merit. This noted fi-eebooter was executed at Inverness, , about the beginning of the last century. When I he came to the fatal tree, he played the tune, to j which he has bequeathed his name, upon a favou- I rite violin, and holding up the instrviment, offered j it to any one of his clan who would undertake to ' play the tune over his body, at his lyke-wake ; ' as none answered, he dashed it to pieces on the I executioner's head, and Bung himself from the ladder." Scott has erred, however, in naming Inverness as the place of Slacpherson's execution. j The records of his trial are still extant, and have 1 been recently published. Through this document i it appears that he was tried at Banff, along with I three others, and convicted of being " repute an I Egj-ptian and vagabond, and oppressor of his A majestj''s free lieges, in a bangstree manner, and ':2V^^£k5r^i:;il SCOTTISH S02fG3. 347 going up and down the country armed, audi keeping markets in a hostile manner," and was sentenced to be executed at the cross of Banff, ^sovember 16, 1700, eight days after his convic- tion. Tradition asserts, that the magistrates hurried on the execution early in the morning, and that Macpherson suffered several hours before the specified time. The motive for this indecent haste is said to have been a desire to defeat a reprieve, then on the way. An anonymous article in the first volume of the !Xew Monthly 3Iaga- - ne, supplies some particulars of his lineage and -i/ioits. "James 31acpherson was torn of a lutiful gipsy -who, at a great wedding, attracted notice of a half -intoxicated Highland gentle- u. He acknowledged the child, and had him - .i.cd in his house, until he lost his life in bravely pursuing a hostile clan, to recover a spread of cattle taken from Badenoch. The gipsy woman hearing of this disaster in htr rambles, the fol- lowing summer came' and took away her boy, but she often returned with him, to wait upon his relations and clansmen, who never failed to clothe him well, besides giving money to his mother. He grew up in beaut)-, strength, and stature, rarely equalled. His sword is still preserved at Duff House, a residence of the Earl of Fife, and few men of our day could carry, far less wield it . as a weapon of war ; and if it must be owned that his prowess was debased by the exploits of a fceebooter, it is certain no act of cruelty, no rob- bery of the widow, the fatherless, or the distressed, and no murder, was ever perpetrated under his . r.mmand. He often gave the spoils of the rich ■ relieve the poor; and all his tribe were re- ::\'dned from many atrocities of rapine by the of his mighty arm. Indeed it is said that a 'ii^pute with an aspiring and savage man of his tribe, who wished to rob a gentleman's house, ■o. hile his wife and two children lay on the bier : r interment, was the cause of his being betrayed the vengeance of the law. He was betrayed by :..an of his own tribe, and was the last person executed at Banff, previous to the abolition of heritable jurisdiction."] Fars^vetl, ye prisons dark and strong. The wretch's destinie I 3Iacpher3on's time will not be long On yonder gallows tree. Sae rantingly, sae wantonly, Sae dautonly gaed he. He play'd a spring, and danced it round. Beneath the gallows tree ! Oh, what is death, but parting breath ? On mony a bluidy plain I've daur'd his face, and in this place I scorn him yet again. Untie these bands frae aff my hands. And bring to me my sword ; And there's nae man in a' Scotland But I'll brave him at a word. I've lived a life of sturt and strife ; I die by treacherie : It bums my heart I must depart. And not avenged be. 2S'ow fereweil, light, thou sunshine bright. And all beneath the sky ! May coward shame distain hig name. The wretch that daies not die ! [James Tukxek.J By the side o' yon cleugh, whare the bumie rins A lassie sat sighing and spinning her lane: [stili, " O gin the waes o' my heart wad lie stUl ! There'll never be peace tiU our Habbie comi » han-.e. "As my wheel it gaes round, and my Unt tap I spread. Lint that I mean for bibs to my bairn ; The warp shall be blue and the waft shall be red. An' how braw we'll be a' when our Habbie comes hame. •' That morning he left us our cock never crew, Our grey clocking hen she gaed kecking her lane ; The gowk fi:^e the craft never cried cuckoo. That wearyfu' morning our Habbie left hame. " AVhen the wind blaws loud and tirls our strae. An' a' our house sides are dreeping wi' rain. An' Uka bum rows frae the bank to the brae, 1 weep for our Habbie who rows i' the main. " 'WTien the wars are owre, and quiet is the se.-*. On board the Culloden our Hab will come hair.e ; My slumbers will then be as sweet as the Dee, An' how blythe we'U be a' when our Habbie 5 comes hame." ^^^m^fmm^' SCOTTISH SONGS. $ m t^$ M^ IxM^ d (©al^^r. [John Struthere.] O.N the wild braes of Calder, 1 found a fair lily. All drooping with dew in the breath of the morn, A lily more fair never bloom'd in the valley. Nor roso, the gay garden of art to adorn. Sweet, sweet, was the fragrance this lily diffused. As blushing, all lonely, it rose on the view. But scanty its shelter, to reptiles exposed. And every chill blast from the cold north that blew. Ueneath yon green hill, a small field I had planted. Where the light leafy hazel hangs over the burn ; And a flower such as this, to complete it, was wanted, A flower that might mark the gay season's i-e- turn. Straight home to adorn it, I bore this fair lily. \N'here, at morn, and at even, I have watch'd it with care , And blossoming still, it is queen of the valley. The glory of spring, and the pride of the year. [John Struthbrs.] Bright be the bloom of Calder braes. There, lightsome, glide the sunny days. And there, by night, the moon's pale rays Keep aff black darkness dreary. There let the rosy-bosom'd Spring Her choicest sweets together bring, AVhile round her, wild, on wanton wing. Her children flutter cheery. There balmy, let the summer breeze. Sough saft amang the birken trees, ■Where stretch'd, the shepherd's pipe at ease, Unken'd to care sae bleary. And there, from Plenty's flowing horn. Let yellow Autumn pour her corn. That hinds the coming wintry morn May see, nor tremble eerie. For there young fancy's beamy rays Shone bright upon my infant days, Kre yet I dream'd life's thorny ways Had been sae waefu' weary. Companions of my artless glee ! Sweet laughing imps ! now where are ye? Wish'd manhood's come — but ah ! like me, Ye sigh life's paths are brieiy. No longer playful in the stream. Ye, paidling, con the flowery theme. Nor wild flowers string, and fondly dream Your days shall rise thus clear aye : No ; far behind yon rising wave. The storms of life, ye, wandering, brave. Save one or two, who here a grave Found ere their feet were weary. Departed friends ! upon your tomb. Be still the wild flowers seen to bloom. There evening breathe her sweet perfume, And shed the silent tear aye. "With you, this wildly throbbing breast. Deep worn with care, with sorrow prest. Would glad in silence sink to rest. From strife and toil sae weary. But in my heart, with life's warm tide. Thou, Calder, still shalt dimpling glide. And there thy braes in flowery pride Shall rise for ever cheerj-. And still my ardent wish shall be. That plenty, love, and social glee. In concert sweet, may keep with thee, A refuge for the weary. [John Struthers.— Tune, "Gramachree.'"] Admiring nature's simple charms, I left my humble home. Awhile my country's peaceful plains With pilgrim step to roam : I mark'd the leafy summer wave On flowing Ir\'ine's side. But richer far's the robe she wear* Within the vale of Clyde. Sing hey ! fal lal de ral, lal de ral, lal de ral. Hey : fal lal de ral, lairo. — 3jt we need not quote any more of this.] Last May a braw wooer cam' down the lang glen. And sair wi' his love he did deave me ; I said there was naething I hated like men ; The deuce gae wi' him to believe me, believe me. The deuce gae wi' him to believe me ! ! - spak' o' the darts o' my bonnie black e'en, -Vn-l vow'd for my love he was deein'. ; =aid he micht dee when he Uked for Jean ; The guid forgi'e me for leein', for leein'. The guid forgi'e me for leein ! A weel-stockit mailin', himsel' for the laird. And marriage aff-hand, were his proffer. I never loot on that I kenn'd it or cared ; But thocht I micht ha'e a waur offer, waur offer. But thocht I micht ha'e a waur offer. But what wad ye think, in a fortnicht or less — The deU's in his taste to gang near her ! — He up the lang loan to my black cousin Bes= — Guess ye how, the jaud 1 1 could bear her, could bear her. Guess ye how, the jaud ! I could bear her : But a' the next week, as I fretted wi' care, I gaed to the tryst o' Dalgamock ; And wha but my braw f ckle wooer was there ? "Wha glowr'd as he had seen a warlock, a war- lock, "Wha glowr'd as he had seen a warlock. Out ower my left shouther I gi'ed him a blink. Lest neebors micht say I was saucy ; My wooer he caper'd as he'd been in drink. And vow'd I was his dear lassie, dear lassie. And vow'd I was his dear lassie. I speir'd for my cousin, fu' couthie and sweet, ! Gin she had recover 'd her hearin' ? I And how my auld shoon fitted her shauchlfd feet? j Gudesaufns! howhefell a-swearin',a-swearir.', I Gude sauf us ! how he fell a-swearin'. ' He begged, for gudesake ! I wad be his wife, I Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow ; ' Sae, e'en to preserve the puir body in life, I I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-m crro w , 1 think I maun wed him to-morrow. <© mnzD xz"x< [Thb words chiefly written, and the music partly composed, by John Parrt. The music -.s founded on an ancient Northumbrian melody.] " O stEBBT row ! O merry row The bonnie, bonnie tark : Bring hack my love to cahn my woe. Before the night grows dark I My Donald wears a bonnet blue, A bonnet blue, a bonnet blue, A snow-white rose upon it too, A Highland lad is he. Then merry row, O merry row The bonnie, bonnie bark ! O merry row ! O merry, merry row, p And bring him safe to me I" ^^>;;:? ^ i 6>. 3r)2 SCOTTISH SONG 5 As on the pebbly beach I strayed, AVhere rocks and shoals prevail, I thus o'erhcard a Lowland maid Her absent love bewail. A storm arose— the waves ran high— The waves ran high— the waves ran high — And dark and murk-y was the sky — The wind did loudly roar. But merry rowed, merry rowed The bonnie, bonnie bark ! O merry rowed the bonnie, bonnie bark, And brought her love on shore! ^migrsnt'^ WtBt^ ^®n%. [Tub author of the two following songs, J. G. CuMMiNO, M. D., is a native of Paisley. Dr. C. originated the first exclusively Scottish publica- tion ever issued in America— the New York Scottish Journal. This journal he edited for nearly three years. It is now under the manage- ment of Dr. Paul, a native of Scotland. The songs have never hitherto appeared in any publi- cation in this country.- Music by Miss B. G. Cumming.] Fabbwei.i. tae the bumie That wimples sae clearly, The rough bracken knowe, and the heather-clad The auld haunted tower, [brae, Wi" its ivy-formed bower. And a' the loved scenes o' my life's early day. And thee, my ain dearie — My heart aft was wearie T.-ie think I sae lang had been parted fr.ie thee. Oh, think o' your lover, A\Tien cauld divits cover The bosom that aye beat sae warmly f [Captain Charles Grat, E. M. — Air, tie House."] Louisa's but a lassie yet, Her age is no twice nine ; She lang has been her mammie's pet- I wish that she were mine ! She's licht C heart, and licht o' foot- She's tlythe as blythe can be ; She's dear to a' her friends about. But dearer far to me I A fairer face I may ha'e seen. And passed it lightly by ; Louisa's in her tartan sheen, Has fixed my wandering eye : A thousand beauties there I trace. That ithers canna see ; My blessings on that bonnie face — She's a' the world to rae ! Oh, love has wiles at his command ! "VA'Tiene'er we chance to meet, The slightest pressure o' her hand Slak's my fond bosom beat ; I hear the throbbing o' my heart "While nought but her I see ; — ■When shall I meet, nae mair to part, lK)uisa, dear, wi* thee ? [W. B. Saxgster.— Here first printed.] Oh weary long this lonely night. An' dowie dark the starless skies. Like my poor heart that hath nae light. But comes from my beloved's eyes. An' thine, dear babe, in lightest sleep. Unbroken as the summer's deep. EoU on, thou cold and stilly hours, KoU on like waves that gently fan The morning with her honied flowers, "When leaves grow brighter, every one. An' the soft air, like silver bells, Sings in the broom that gems our dells. I hear the gentle rush of wings — I see the light of wandering stars. And many a budding hope upsprings. Guttering viith gowden dots and bars ; But ah ! woe's me, 'tis in my mind A peopled world, where all are blind. And now, ah ! now, the vision fades. The colours fly — the hghts are gone — The inmates hang their weary heads. Their features freeze — are turn'd to stone. Alas, alas I my baby boy, Awake and give thy mother joy. ^^tu ii a lm7ds Ssfe^r. [Words and Slusic by Andrew Park.] Thkre is a bonnie blushing flower. But ah ; I darena breathe the name ! I fain would steal it frae its bower. Though a' should think me sair to Uame. It smiles sae sweet amang the rest. Like brightest star where ithers shine ; Fain would I place it in my breast. And make this bonnie blossom mine. H (k ^ ^^ 8 ^^^^my'-^ HS^^f^SifeM^? woman a skelp. An' yerk their sTN-eet haffets fu' yarely. O : plague on the limmers, sae sly an' demure. As pawkie as de'ils wi' their smiling ; As fickle as winter in sunshine and shower. The hearts of a' mankind beguiling ; As sour as December, as soothing as May, To suit their ain ends never doubt them ; Their iU fau'ts I couldna teU ower in a day, ,_^ But their beauty's the warst thing about them ! ^ , Ay, that's what sets up the hale %\-arld in a Makes kingdoms to rise an' expire ; Man's might is nae mair than a tiaughten o' tow. Opposed to a bleeie o' reid fire .' 'Twas woman at first made creation to bend, And of nature's prime lord made the pillow ; An' 'tis her that will bring this ill warld to an end— An' that wiU be seen an' beard tell o' ! U/SS'^-Jiii^iSi:^ J^^:^i^m{. ^i^m^'^^-i^m^^^fSt^^a^^^^'M'. SCOTTISH SOXGS. 1 )'n t^z ramii!:. ^ t [The tune of "O'er the muir annang the hea- -J": ther" can be traced back at least as far as Brem- ]it ner's collection, about the year 1761, where it appears as a reel tune. There are also old words T " to it, but they are scarcely fit for quoting. The following highly spirited song is, according to ' '^^ ■ Burns, the composition of Jkan Gi.over, a girl • who travelled the country with strolling players, ^ , ^ showmen, and the like, in the capacity of a public ti,' ., singer. " I took the song down from her sing- &-. ing," says Bums, " as she was strolling through _^^. the country with a slight-of-hand blackguard." '5^ Although he does not say so. Burns must have f^t '^ asked if it was her own, for the mere singing of J-^' the song docs not of course imply authorship. In ''^ ', ^ a volume published at Edinburgh in 1S40, called ; - " The AjTshire Contemporaries of Burns," a me- ^, moir of Jean Glover is given, from which we take . t the liberty of extracting the following passages. — - s,\-} ti gjjg ^^.j^g jjQj^ j^j ^.j^g Townhead of Kilmarnock, on the 31st October, 1758, of parents respectivble in their sphere. She was remarkable for beauty — both efface and figure — properties which, joined to aro- .■ mantic and poetic fancy, had no doubt their in- ;>i fluence in shaping her future unfortunate career. ** She was also an excellent singer. Having been wit- ■ ness to some theatrical exhibitions at Kilmarnock, . . she became enamoured of the stage ; and in an evil "^ I hour eloped with one of the heroes of the sock and buskin. Her subsequent life, as may be guessed, y^' i- was one of adventure, checkered, if Burns is to be v:*N credited, with the extremes of folly, vice, and ^^ i misfortune. About the time the iron works com- ^^ V menced, a brother of Jeanie's (James Glover) re- i", moved from Kilmarnock to Muirkirk; and there in /, ' the employ of the Company, continued until his t ^'^ death, which occun-ed about fourteen years ago, ^ > ■ leaving a daughter, whose husband is one of the ^'^ /^ carpenters employed at the works. This indivi- dual, as well as several others, recollects having seen Jeanie and the ' slight-of-hand blackguard'— whose name was Richard— at JIuirkirk, forty- ■^ three years ago (1795), where they performed for a 5 ,'^ few nights in the large room of a public-house trS called the ' Black Bottle,' from a sign above the b vvr • door of that description, kept by one David Len- y^ nox. During her stay on this occasion, she coyn- f^ plimented her brother with a cheese and a boll nf meal '^ ^% affection, and the success that had attended the en- tertainments given by her and her husband. Thos3 ] persons that recollect her appearance at this time, notwithstanding the many vicissitudes she must have previously encoun tered, describe her as exceed - ingly handsome. One old woman with whom we ' > conversed, also remembered having seen Jeanie at •' .>- a fair in Irvine, g.aily attired, and playing on a -v_. tambourine at the mouth of a close, in which was . , the exhibition room of her husband the conjurer. ^ ^ ' Weel do I remember her,' said our informant, '-», \ ' an' thocht her the bravest woman I had ever jj] seen step in leather shoon !' " — Poor Jean died t^y suddenly at Letterkenny in Ireland, in 1801.] plj ? CojtiN' through the craigs o' Kyle, Amang the bonnie bloornin' heather. There I met a bonnie lassie, Keepin' a' her flocks thegither. Ower the muir amang the heather, Ower the muir amang the heather. There I met a bonnie Lassie, Keepin' a' her flocks thegither. Says I, My dear, where is thy hame ? In muir or dale, pray tell me whether ? Says she, I tent the fleecy flocks That feed amang the bloomin' heather. We laid us down upon a bank, Sae warm and sunnie was the weather; She left her flocks at large to rove Amang the bonnie bloomin' heather. She charm'd my heart, and aye sinsyne I could nae think on ony ither : By sea and sky! she shall be mine. The bonnie lass amang the heather. ^u fte muit. [This is another set of " O'er the muir amang the heather," and was written by Stewar' Lewis, a native of Kcclefcchan, and by trade ; tailor, who died in 1818, at an advanced age. He published a small volume of poems, in which, if we mistake not, he claims for his song priority of date to Jean Glover's. For many years before his , death, he was a wanderer over the country, partly supporting himself by the sale of his poems, but mainly dependent on the casual assistance of the I —a circumstance strongly indicative of her sisterly 5K benevolent.] ^^^m^^'^^^'f^^^- 361 h SCOTTISH SOXGS. Ae morn of May, when fields were gay, Serene and charming was the weather, I chanc'd to roam some miles frae home, Far o'er yon muir, amang the heather. O'er the muir amang the heather. O'er the muir amang the heather. How healthsome 'tis to range the muirs. And brush the dew from vernal heather. I walk'd along and humm'd a song. My heart was light as ony feather. And soon did pass a lovely lass, Was wading barefoot tliro' the heather ! O'er the muir amang the heather. O'er the muir amang the heather. The bonniest lass that e'er 1 saw, I met ae mom amang the heather. Her eyes divine, mair bright did shine. Than the most clear unclouded aether; A fairer form did ne'er adorn A brighter scene than blooming heather. O'er the muir amang the heather. O'er the muir amang the heather. There's ne'er a lass in Scotia's isle. Can Vie with her amang the heather. I said, " Dear maid, be not afraid ; Pray, sit you down, let's talk together; For, O ; my fair, I vow and swear. You've stole my heart amang the heather." O'er the muir amang t'ne heather. O'er the muir amang the heather. Ye swains, beware of yonder muir. You'll loss your hearts amang the hea- ther. She answer'd me, right modestly, " I go, kind Sir, to seek my father. Whose fleecy charge, he tends at large, On yon green hUls, beyond the heather." O'er the muir amang the heather. O'er the muir amang the heather. Were I a king, thou shou'dst be mine, Dear blooming maid amang the heather. Away she flew out of my view. Her home or name I ne'er could gather. But aye sin' syne I sigh and pine For that sweet lass amang the heather. O'er the muir amang the heather. O'er the muir amang the heather, While vital heat glows in my heart, I'll love the lass amang the heather. ^fstllan^ an^ (^^ascli?. >' [Music arranged by R. A. Smith. At page 326 ^ will be found another song with the same fantastic title.] y" r*.^ 'n O WHA's for Scotland and Charlie ? O wha's for Scotland and Charlie ? He's come o'er the sea To his ain countrie ; Now wha's for Scotland and Charlie ? Awa', awa', auld carlie, Awa", awa', auld carlie, Gi'e Charlie his crown. And let him sit down, Whare ye've been sae lang, auld carlie. It's up in the morning early. It's up in the morning early; The bonnie white rose ; The plaid and the hose. Are on for Scotland and Charlie. The swords are drawn now fairly. The swords are drawn now fairly. The swords they are drawn. And the pipes they ha'e bla-n-n A pibroch for Scotland and Charlie. The flags are fleein' fu' rarely. The flags are fleein' fu' rarely. And Charlie's awa' To see his ain ha'. And to bang his faes right sairly. Then wha's for Scotland and C'h.irlie ^ O wha's for Scotland and Chiu-lie ? He"s come o'er the sea To his ain countrie ; Then wha's for Scotland and Charlie ? ®m t^u I'm in lotje. Gin e'er I'm in love, it shall be with a lass As sweet as the morn dew that ligs on the grass ; Her cheeks maun be ruddy, her e'en maun be bright, ^ Like stars in the sky on a cauld frosty night. \ ' >:■ i^^^s^^^^^'^Sima^^m^^i!^- :^^^A,i^;<:S^^^y^ 353 SCOTTISH SONG& Oh 1 could I but ken sic a lassie as this, Ob * could I but ken sic a lassie as this, I'd freely gang to her. Caress her and woo her. At once take up heart and solicit a kiss. My daddy wad ha'e me to marry wi" Bell, But wha wad ha'e ane that he canna like well ? '\^'hat tho' she has meikle, she's t'leary and auld, Camstarie, and saucy, and a terrible scauld. Oh I gin I get sic a vixen as this. Oh ! gin I get sic a vixen as this, I'd whap her, and strap her. And bang her, and slap her. The devil for me shou'd solicit a kiss. There's Maggy wad fain lug me into the chain. She speirs frisky at me, but blinks it in vain : She trows that I'll ha'e her— but, fiiith, I think no. For 'Willy did for her a long while ago. Oh ! gin I get sic a wanton as this. Oh ! gin I get sic a wanton as this. She'd horn me, and scorn me. And hugely adorn me. And, ere she kiss'd me, gi'e another a kiss. But find me a lassie, that's youthfu* and gay. As blythe as a starling, as pleasant as May ; "W"na's free from a' wrangling, and jangling and strife. And I'll tak' her, and mak' her my ain thing for life. Oh ! gin I get sic a lassie as this. Oh I gin I get sic a lassie as this, I'll kiss her and press her. Preserve and caress her. And think myself greater than Jove is in bliss. ^f)2 MxM^ d IMaT. [Ai-Ex. Laino of Brechin.— This song was pub- lished (without, however, the illustrative notes here given,) in the Scottish Minstrel, Edinburgh, l&ai, edited by R. A. Smith. The air, called " The Braes of Mar," is old and excellent, and is said to have been played on all occasions when the Earl assembled his clan, as it was on their march to the battle of Sherrifflnuir, which was fought Nov. 13, 1715.] The standard(l) on the braes o' Mar, Is up and streaming rarely; The gath'ring pipe on Loch-na-gar, Is sounding lang and sairly. The ilighlandmcn Frae hill and glen. In martial hue, ■\Vith bonnets blue, ■With belted plaids. And burnish'd blades, Are coming late and eaily. WTia wadna join our noble chief,(2) The Drummond{3) and Glengary,(4) MacgTegor,(o) Murray,(6) EolIo,(7) Keith,! Panmure,(9) and gallant Ilarry ?(10) fe^ (1) This standard is supposed to have been made by the Earl's lady, and was very elegant; the colour was blue, h.iring on the one side the .Scottish arms wrought in gold, and on the other the Scottish thistle, with these words beneath, " No Union," and on the top the ancient motto " Nemo me impune lacessit." It had pendants of white ribbon, one of which had these words written upon it, " For our wronged king, and oppressed country;" the other ribbon had, "For our lives and liberties." (2) Erskine, Earl of Mar, commander-in-chief of the Chevalier's army. He proclaimed James the eighth, and raised his standard at Castletoun of Brae-JIar, September 6th, 1715. He died in France, 1732. (3) Drummond, marquis of Brummond, lieu- tenant-general of James's army, " a nobleman of great spirit, honour, ana abilities." He died in France about 1717. (4) Macdonald of Glengary, " a brave and spirited chief," attainted. (5) Macgregor — Rob Roy !Macgrcgor, brother to the laird of Macgregor, and hero of the novel which bears his name. (6) Murray, marquis of Tullibardine : died in the Tower of London, 1746. (7) Eollo— lord Rollo, " a man of singular merit and great integrity," he died in 1758. (8) Keith, earl marischal of Scotland : died in Switzerland, 1771. (9) Maule, e.irl of Panmure : died in Paris, 3723. (10) Harry Maule, brother to the earl of Pan- mure, " who with every personal accomplishment, possessed great intrepidity, military skill," &e. ' died about 1740. .:<^rY^^^ "^^^sm^m^ m-^:sms, SCOTTISH SOXGS 359 Macdonald's men, Clan-Eanald-sdl) men, llackenzie's(12) men, Macgillvar>'s(13) men, Strathallan's(14) men. The Lowlan' men. Of CaUender(15) and Airly.(16) Fy : Donald, up and let's awa', AVe canna langer parley. When Jamie's back is at the wa'. The lad we lo'e sae dearly. We'll go — we'll go And meet the foe And fling the plaid. And swing the blade. And forward dash. And hack and slash— And fleg the German Carlie. ^^2 (gJaiiltirrl? ^9S?x, [This song first appeared in Herd's collection, 1776. Nothing is known of its authorship. In modem collections, it is generally entitled " The Brisk Young Lad," a very different designation bom its original one of " The Cauldrife AVooer." The tune, -wbich is a lively one, goes by the comi- cal name of " Bung your eye in the morning."] There cam' a young man to my daddie's door. My daddie's door, my daddie's door; There cam' a young man to my daddie's door, Cam' seeking me to woo. And wow ! but he was a braw young lad, A brisk young lad, and a braw young lad. And wow : but he was a braw young lad. Cam' seeking me to woo. (11) Ranald Macdonald, captain of clan-Eanald. " He was the most gallant and generous young gen- tleman among the clan:" he fell in the field of battle. (12) Mackenzie, earl of Seaforth : died 1740. (13) MacgUlvary : a name applied to the clans in general. (14) Strathallan— viscount Strathallan : he was taken prisoner at Sherriffinuir ; pardoned; joined Prince Charles Stuart, and feU in the battle of CuUoden, 1746. (15) Callender— Livingston earl of Callender and Linlithgow; attainted. (16) Airly, Ogilvie, eldest son of the earl of Airly ; attainted, but afterwards pardoned. i But I was baking when he came, ■y^Tien he came, when he came ; I took him in and gied him a sc-ne. To thowe his frozen moa'. I set him in aside the bink ; I ga'e him bread and ale to drink ; But ne'er a blythe stj-me wad he blink. Until his wame was fu'. Gae, get you gone, you cauldrife wooer, Te sour-looking, cauldrife wooer '. X straightway show'd him to the door. Saying, Ccme nae mair to woo. There lay a deuk-dub before the dcor. Before the door, before the door ; There lay a deuk-dub before the door. And there fell he, I trow ! Out cam' the gudeman, and high he shouted; Out cam' the guid-wife, and laigh she louted ; And a' the toun-neebors were gather 'd about it; And there lay he 1 trow : Then out cam' I, and sneer'd and smii'd ; Ye cam' to woo, but ye "re a" begiuled ; Ye*ve fe'en i' the dirt, and ye're a' befyled ; We'll ha'e nae mair o' you I [MrxRo.— Air by the Earl of Eglinton.] Thb pearl of the fountain, the rose of the valley. Are sparkling and lovely, are stainless and mild; The pearl sheds it3 ray 'neath the dark water gaily. The rose opes its blossoms to bloom on the wild. The pearl and the rose are the emblems of Mai>-, The maid of Glenconnel, once lovely and gay; A false lover woo'd her — ye damsels be \>-ary — >"ow scathed is the blossom, now dimm'd is the ray. You have seen her, when mom brightly dawn'd on the mountain. Trip blythely along, singing sweet to the gale ; At noon, with her lambs, by the side of \-on foun- tain; , Or wending, at eve, to her home in the rate. f> 9: '^^'^^■m^m^'m'm JGO SCOTTISH SONGS. .<' With the flowers of the willow-tree blent is her ■ tresses, Now, woe-worn and pale, in the glen she is seen Bewailing the cause of her rueful distresses, — How fondly he vow'd— and how false he has been. ®^e UxiM o't. [Written by Alexander Eoss, author of "The Fortunate Shepherdess," a poem published in 1768, and of several Scottish songs, among others, of the weU-known one called "The Eock and the wee pickle tow," or "The Spinning o't." Ross was bom in Aberdeenshire about the year 1700, and was parish schoolmaster of Lochlee in Forfarshire, for fifty years. He died in 1783. The tune to the present song is a Highland strathspey called in some collections "Achamac's Eeel," and in others, " Lucy Campbell's Delight."] Thev say that Jockey'll speed weel o't. They say that Jockey'll speed weel o't. For he grows brawer ilka day ; I hope we'll ha'e a bridal o't: For yesternight, nae farther gane. The back-house at the side-wa' o't. He there wi' Meg was mirdin' seen ; I hope we'll ha'e a bridal o't. An we had but a bridal o't. An we had but a bridal o't. We'd leave the rest unto good luck. Although there might betide ill o't. For bridal days are merry times. And young folk like the coming o't, And scribblers they bang up their rhymes, And pipers play 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. Although that they should guide ill o't. The boddom o' the kist is then Tum'd up into the inmost o't ; The end that held the keeks sae clean, Is now become the teemest o't. The bangster at the threshing o't. The bangster at the threshing 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 Under for another o't. And ere he want to clear his shot. His sark'U pay the tother 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: Fan thick and three-fauld they convene Ilk ane envies the tother o't. And wishes nane but him alaue May ever see another o't. Fan they ha'e done wi' eating o't. Fan they ha'e done wi' eating o't. For dancing they gae to the green. And aibUns to the beatin 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. [Alex. Eoss.] There was an auld wife had a wee pickle tow. And she wad gae trj- the spinnin' o't ; She louted her doun, and her rock took a-low. And that was a bad beginnin' o't. She sat and she grat, and she flat and she flang, • And she threw and she blew, and she WTiggled and wrang. And she chokit and boakit, and cried like to mang, Alas, for the drearj- beginnin' o't ! f I've wanted a sark for these aught years and ten. And this was to be the beginnin' o't ; But I vow I shall want it for as lang again, Or ever 1 try the spinnin' o't. For never since ever they ca'd as they ca' me. Did sic a mishap and mischanter befa' me; But ye shall ha'e leave baith to hang and to draw The neist time I try the spinnin' o't. S^^^^.^^ ^^52^y3^^*^^&L^^^^-^^>JK5^; SCOTTISH SONGS. 361 r^ I ha'e keepit my house now these threescore years, ^ And aye I kept frae the spinnin' o't ; But how I was sarkit, foul fa' them thai speirs. For it minds me upo' the beginnin' o't. But our women are now-a-days a' grown sae braw. That ilk ane maun ha'e a sark, and some ha'e twa — The worlds were better where ne'er ane ava Had a rag, but ane at the beginnin' o't. In the days they ca' yore, gin auld fouks had but won To a surcoat, hough-syde, for the winnin o't. Of coat-raips weel cut by the cast o' their bum. They never socht mair o' the spinnin' o't. A pair o' grey hoggers weil cluikit benew. Of nae other Ut but the hue of the ewe, With a pair o' rough mullions to scuff through the dew, V.'as the fee they socht at the beginnin' o't. , ^ But we maun ha'e linen, and that maun ha'e we, O And how get we that but by spinnin' o't ? ^ How can we ha'e face for to seek a great fee, '^ Frae this aback to the beginnin' o't. '>r_ Twa-three ell o' plaiden was a' that was socht ^^ By our auld-warld bodies, and that bude be bought; ^y \ For in Uka town siccan things wasna wrocht- ^-0 Sae little they kenn'd o' the spinnin' o't I [Jacobite Song.] ■U'hat's a' the steer, kimmer ? A^Tiafs a' the steer ? Charlie he is landed. An', haith, he'll soon be here. The win' was at his back, carle. The ^vin' was at his back ; I carena, sin' he's come, carle, "VVe were na worth a plack. I'm right glad to hear't, kimmer, I'm right glad to hear't ; 1 ha'e a gude braid claymore, And for his sake I'll weart. Sin' CharUe he is landed, "VN'e ha'e nae mair to fear ; Sin' Charlie he is come, kimmer. We'll ha'e a jublee year. Wm S'smon^. ["Wm. Chalmers. " O, LASSIE, wilt thou go To the Lomond wi' me, The wild thyme's in bloom. And the flow'r's on the lea ; "Wilt thou go, my dearest love ? I wtU ever constant prove, I'll range each hill and grove On the Lomond wi' thee." " O young men are fickle. Is or trusted to be. And many a native gem Shines lair on the lea -. Thou may see some lovely flower Of a more attractive power. And may take her to thy bower. On the Lomond wi' thee." " The hj-nd shall f.>rsake. On the mountain, the doe. The stream of the fountain Shall cease for to flow ; Ben-Lomond shall bend His high brow to the sea, ije I take to my boner. Any flower, love, but thet." She's taken her mantle. He's taken his plaid ; He coft her a ring, And he made her his bride : They're far o'er yon hills To spend their happy days, And range the woody glens 'Mang the Lomond braes. i r. i^' ^m^^i^^^wm^^i, 362 ^^■' fe^ ^^ SCOTTISH SONGS. €i 4 m2$$u %d\ k ^nt^ €&rag< [The first four lines of the following song belong to an old ballad, of which eight lines are all that have come down to us. The rest is by Ramsay. The tune is to be found in the Orpheus Caletlo- nius, 1725. Gay adopted it for one of his songs in the "Beggar's Opera," beginning, A curse attends that woman's love, Vilao always would be pleasing. "The story upon which the ballad is founded," says Mr. Robert Chambers, "has been often told. The comir.on tradition is, that Bessie Bell and Mary Gray were the daughters of two country gentlemen in the neighbourhood of Perth, and an intimate friendship subsisted between them. Bessie Bell, daughter of the Laird of Kinnaird, was on a visit to Mary Gray, at her father's house of Lynedoch, (n;iw the seat of Lord Lynedoch,) when the plague of 1666 broke out in the country. To avoid the infection, the two young ladies built themselves a bower in a very retired and romantic spot called the Bum-braes, about three quarters of a mile west of Lynedoch House, where they resided for some time— supplied with food, it ia said, by a young gentleman of Perth, who was in love with them both. The disease was unfor- tunately communicated to them by their lover, and proved fatal. According to custom, in wises of the plague, they were not buried in the ordi- nary place of sepulture, but in a secluded spot, called the Dronach Haugh, at the foot of a brae of the same name, upon the bank of the river Almond. As the ballad says— ' They thocht to lie in Methven kirk, Amang their noble kin ; But they maun lie on Lj-nedoch-brae, To beak forenent the sun.' Borne tasteful person, in modern times, has fash- ioned a sort of bower over the spot where the two ill-starred beauties were interred."] O, Bessie Bbll, and Mary Gray, They were twa bonnie lasses ; They biggit a bouir on yon burn -brae. And theekit it owcr wi' rashes. Bessie Bell I lo'ed yestreen. And thocht I ne'er could alter ; But Mary Gray's twa pawky een Card a' my fancy falter. i Bessie's hair's like a lint-tap, She smiles like a :May m^nin', "When Phcebus starts frae Thetis' lap. The hills with rays adomin' : "White is her neck, saft is her hand. Her waist and feet fu' genty. With ilka grace she can command: Her Ups, O, wow ! they're denty. Marj-s locks are like the craw. Her een like diamond's glances; She's aye sae clean, redd-up, and braw ; She kills whene'er she dances. Blythe as a kid, wi' wit at will. She blooming, tight, and tall is. And guides her airs sae gracefu' still ; O, Jove, she's Uke thy Pallas ! Young Bessie Bell and Mary Gray, Ye unco sair oppress us ; Our fancies jee between ye twa. Ye are sic bonnie lasses. Wae's me ! for baith I canna get; To ane by law we're stentit ; Then I'll draw cuts, and tak' my fate, And be wi' ane contentit. [Written' by James Hogo to an old air which i said to have been sung by the monks of lona. J Where floated crane,, and clam'rous gull. Above the misty shores of Mull, And evermore the billows rave 'Round many a saint and sov 'reign's grave. There round Columba's ruins grey. The shades of monks are wont to stray. And slender forms of nuns, that weep In moonlight by the murmuring deep. When fancy moulds upon the mind Light visions on the passing wind. And woos, with faltering tongue and sigh. The shades o'er memory's wilds that fly. That, in that still and solemn hour. Might stretch imagination's jwwer. And restless fancy revel fireo In painful, pleasing luxury. '^^§^^^^^^:^^&44^-^c^^ m:^^^'^^^^^^^, SCOTTISH SONGS. [Wkittkic by Miss Annb Keith, otherwise called Mrs. Murray Keith, a lady whom Sir Walter Scott has portrayed in the Introduction to the Chronicles of the Canongate, under the name of Mrs. Bethune Baliol. She was bom in 1736, and died in April, 1818. In a letter to Terry, 'dated 18th April, 1818, Sir Walter says, "You will be sorry to hear that we have lost our excellent old friend, Mrs. Murray Keith. Much tradition, and of the very best kind, has died with this excellent old lady ; one of the few persons whose spirits and cleanliness, and fresh- ness of mind and body, made old age lovely and desirable." — The music to " Oscar's Ghost'' is by Mrs. Tough.] O, SEE that form that faintly gleams ! 'Tis Oscar come to cheer my dreams ! On wings of wind he files away; O stay, my lovely Oscar, stay ! Wake, Ossian, last of Fingal's line. And mix thy tears and sighs with mine ; Awake the harp to doleful lays. And soothe my soul with Oscar's praise. The shell is ceased in Oscar's hall. Since gloomy Kerbar wrought his fall; The roe on Morven lightly bounds, Kor hears the crj" of Oscar's hounds. ['« [John Andekson.— Air, "The Highland Watch."] ■^ CcLLODEX muir, Culloden field. Long wilt thou be remember'd : On thee the hero nobly fell. And with the dead was number'd ; On thee the dearest blood was shed. By numbers doubled fairly ; On thee the clans of Scotland bled For their dear royal Charlie. Thy broad brown sward that ilay was dyed. The howes were clotted o'er; From gaping wounds incessant flow'd The red, red-reeking gore : ^ Thou drank'st the precious blood of those Who fought that day fu' sairly, A glorious day for Scotland's foes. Eventful for prince Charlie ! Oh ! Charlie, noble, gallant youth. Thy memory Scots revere ; They loved thee with the warmest truth. Their hearts were all sincere : But traitor knaves, with brib'ry base. Made death's darts fly fu' rarely. And Scotland lang will mind the place She lost her royal Charlie. [The tune of "Jnmpin' John," or "Joan's Placket," is very old, and is thought to be the progenitor of the Irish air called " Lillibulero." There is a tradition that "Jumpin' John" was the tune played when Mary Queen of Scots was proceeding to her execution, but on this no reli- ance can be placed, as it is very unlikely that music of any kind was played on that melancholy occasion, and no contemporary accounts of hep death speak of music having been employed. Part of the following words are old, and part modem.] Hek daddie forbade, her minnie forbade. Forbidden she wadna be ; She wadna trow't, the brows't she brew'd Wad taste sae bitterlie. The lang lad, they ca' Jumpin' John, Aft spier'd the bonnie lassie ; But faither and mither agreed thegither. That nae sic match sud be. Her daddie, &c. A cow and a cauf, a ewe and a hauf. And thretty gude shUUns and three ; A vera gude tocher, a cotter man's dochter. The lass wi' the bonnie black e'e. Her daddie, &c. Her daddie b.ide her counsel tak*. But counsel she tuik nana ; And lang and sair the lassie rued, Sae fuil-Uke she'd been taen. Her daddie, &c. V ■"T' ■M^m^^p^m^^-^^^^^f-' 364 SCOTTISH SONGS. i "Oh! for my daddie's kindly luik. My mjnnie's kindly care ! Gin I were in their ingle neuk, I'd never leave it mair." Her daddie. Sec. [Sasoster. — Music by E. A. Smith.] O WAKE thee, O wake thee, my bonnie, bonnie And sing thy matin lay ! [bird, O wake thee, O wake thee, my bonnie, bonnie For the sun is up on his way. [bird ; Tlie foliage soughs in the morning breeze. An' the green leaves glitter in the sun. The spray rows white o'er the bounding seas. An" the village bell is begun. Then wake thee, wake thee, mine ain bonnie And sing thy matin lay, [bird ! For the tap boughs swing, my bonnie, bonnie bird. In the sough o' the new sprung day. The silvery clouds, like sheeted ghaists. Take their flight o'er the pure blue sky; And the laverocks are pillow'd on their downy breasts. And are borne with their anthems on high. Then wake thee, O wake thee, my bonnie, bonnie O wake while it is day ! [bird ! For the night comes sweet, my bonnie, bonnie bird. When the morning is hail'd wi' thy lay. ^ ^ n^^ '^ 1 |ia*£ iiM ifeit'^, [Jacobite Song.] 1 HA'E nae kith, I ha'e nae kin, Nor ane that's dear to me ; For the bonnie lad that I lo'e best. He's far ayont the sea. He's gane wi' ane that was our ain. And we may rue the day. When our king's .ie daughter came here To play sic foul play. O gin I were a bonnie bird, Wi" wings that 1 might flee. Then would 1 travel o'er the main, 31 y ae true love to see. Then I wad tell a joyfu' tale. To ane that's dear to me. And sit upon a king's window And sing my melody. The adder lies >' the corbie's nest, Aneath the corbie's wing. And the blast that reaves the corbie's brood. Will soon blaw hanie our king. Then blaw ye east, or blaw ye wt=t. Or blaw ye o'er the faem, O bring the lad that I lo'e best, I j. And ane I darena name. [Thomas Asdkkson. — Here first printed. Tune, "John Anderson, mjr jo."J Oh, Helen dear ! oh, Helen dear ! Do ye no mind the day, "WTien you and I were lad and las3. And on the green did stray ; "When wearied wi' our walk at e'en, I kindly led you hame. And stole the tender parting kiss, And breathed your cherish'd name ? I'm sure our hearts were guileless then. And free from every stain ; Vi'e little dream'd that aught on earth Could ever gi'e us pain. But days and years ha'e o'er us pass'd. And ■sveel ye ken, I ween. That sorrows, toils, and troubles great. Our dreary lot ha'e been. And what may be our future fete. Ah ! little do we ken. But, trusting aye to providence, ■We'll tak' what heaven may sen'. This chequer'd scene it soon will close. And we will get the ca". Just like the sere and yellow leaf, When winter's bleak winds blaw. '^Iz Iz-D^ ti o!t!. [Chari.ks Scott.— Here first printed.] We stood beside the shore,— And I knew not what to say. For I lov'd her well before. In ray boyhood's golden day: And though her eye, retreating. Left the plaintive tale untold, I felt her heart was beating For the burning words of aid. We listen'd to the ocean, — But my lips they dared not speak. Though the life-blood, with emotion. Came in flushes to my cheek. — Tet oar words, when they awoke Were like falling snow-flakes cold And we never, never spoke Of the happy days of old. And the sun it shone as brightly As it shone when we had lov'd, — And the summer winds as lightly O'er the summer ocean roved, — And the trysting oak in yonder glen StUl shook its branches bold ; — But, ah ! what spell revives again The feded loves of old ? And I long'd that we were parted. For I could not hide the sigh ; And the bitter tear-drop started To the gentle maiden's eye. I walk'd the beach alone — But my heart— it felt so cold ! I knew they had for ever gone. Those burning days of old; .- ^ ©i- [Burns. — Tune, " GiWeroy." — The heroine of ^ this song, some say, was Elizabeth Miller, one of . the "Mauchline Belles;" others avow that she was Elizabeth Black, afterwards Mrs. Stewart, a vintner in Alva; while John Gait is of opinion that ' ' [ the real lady was a relative of his own, named ^ ^ Elizabeth Barbour.] t,'J From thee, Eliza, I must go, And firom my native shore ; -^ The cruel fates between us throw •' A boundless ocean's roar : _, \ But boundless oceans, roaring wide "^ Between my love and me. They never, never can divide ■ »- My heart and soul from thee. ^ *- »)^ Farewell, farewell, Eliza dear, ' The maid that I adore : ^ A boding voice is in mine ear, "We part to meet no more. ^■^ But the last throb that leaves my heart. While death stands victor by, That throb, Eliza, is thy part. And thine that latest sigh. ■:^^^m^m ggg SCOTTISU [This isnn nbridgeJ version of a Jacobite ballad by Allan Cl'nninguam.J When I left thee, bonnie Scotland, O thou wert foir to see ! Fresh as a bonnie bride in the morn, When she maun wedded be. When I came back to thee, Scotland, Upon a May mora fair, A bonnie lass sat at our town end, Kaming her yellow hair. " Oh hey ! oh hey !" sung the bonnie lass, " Oh hey ! and wae is me ! There's siccan sorrow in Scotland, As een did never see. Oh hey, oh hey, for my father auld ! Oh hey, for my mither dear I And my heart will burst for the bonnie lad Wha left me lanesome here." I wander a' night 'mang the lands I own'd. When a' folk are asleep. And I lie o'er my father and raither's grave, An hour or twa to weep. fatherless and motherless. Without a ha' or hame, 1 maun wander through my dear Scotland, And bide a traitor's bUime. ^Written by James Hooo. — Set to music Smith's Scottish Minstrel.] Oh 'tis a heart-stirring sight to view. Far to the westward stretching blue, That frontier ridge, which erst defied Th' invader's march, th' oppressor's 1 ride. The bloody field, for many an age, Of rival nations' wasteful rage ; In latter times a refuge given. To exiles in the cause of heaven. Far inland, where the niountain crest O'erlooka the waters of the west. And 'midst the moorland wilderness. Dark moss-cleugha form a, drear recess. ^y Curtain'd with ceaseless mists, which feed The sources of the Clyde and Tweed ; There injured Scotland's patriot band. For faith and freedom made their sUvnd , ■\Vhen traitor kings, who basely sold Their country's fame for Gallic gold, Too abject o'er the free to reign, Wam'd by a father's fate in vain— In bigot fury trampled down The race who oft preserved their crown — There, worthy of his masters, came The despots' chsmipion, bloody Graham. The human blootlhounds of the earth. To hunt the peasant from his hearth ! Tyrants ! could not misfortune teach. That man has rights beyond your reach ? Thought ye the torture, and the stake. Could that intrepid spirit break ; Which even in woman's breast withstood The terrors of the fire and flood ? Yes — though the sceptic's tongue deride Those martyrs who for conscience died ; Though modish history blight their fame. And sneering courtiers hoot the name Of men, who dared alone bo free Amidst a nation's slavery, — Yet long for them the poet's lyre Shall wake its notes of heavenly fire. Their name shall nen'e the patriot's hand. Upraised to save a sinking land ; And piety shall learn to burn With holier transports o'er their urn ! Sequester'd haunts ! — so still — so fair. That holy faith might worship there,— The shxiggy gerse and brown heath wave O'er many a nameless warrior's grave. ©I^amw' [W. Gray.- Here first printed.— Tune, "Tod- lin' butt," Sms.] "^ j. There's naething on yirth, h^ I ken to compare, ^ WV a walk in the gloamin'. To snuff the fj-esb air; m a^S® To frisk like a gawky, "When naebody sees. An' jouk like a maukin Amang the green trees. O : the sweets o' the gloamin'j How delicious they are ; O ! the young lover's dream Is behint them by far. "WTien ye gang through the streets O' our blethrin' wee town. Your best ye maun try a Lang face to ha'e on • In the gloamin' ye sen' A' sic havers awa'. In the micht o' your freedom Fu' crousely ye craw. O! the sweets, &c. And should you some lo'ed ane. When wandering, meet. The shake o' the han', ; How cordial, how sweet I Ye feel, then, true pleasure. Unmixed wi' aUoy, TVarld's things ye forget In th' excess o' your joy. O ! the sweets, &c. 1 tunnu g^Jiua, [James Murrat.— Here fiwt printed.— 1 'I canna leave my Highland hame."J I CASN-A smile, I canna sing, I ha'e nae heart for lightsome glee, I downa thole the mirth o' spring. Sin' they ha'e ta'en my lad frae me. I fain wad sigh and sab again, 'Twad maybe help to soothe my care ; I fain wad greet to drown my pain. For, oh ! my heart is beating sair. When wandering up the flowery dell, To meet wi' him that's far away, I heard a widow'd mavis teU Its sorrows in a doolfu' lay. I could ha'e wept till day's decline. To hear its note of wild despair — Now a" that birdie's grief is mine. And 1 can sab and greet nae mair. Aince mair I'll seek our trysting tree, And wander o'er our haunts again ; Aince mair I'll climb the height sae a And look far o'er the pathless main- I'll look to where the welkin dark Seems resting on the azure sea. Where last I saw the fading bark That wafted far my love frae me. ^2 honniz fjang'ljg. [William Motherwell.] Ye bonnie haughs and heather braes, "Where I ha'e past youth's bljthest days, Ane idle dream o' bliss ye be. That gars me sigh for my ain eountrie. O bauld we rade through Stirling toun, Wi' pistol, sword, and musquetoon. And banner braid display'd had we. Like brave men balding companie. We left our luves, we left our hames. We left our bairns and winsome dames. And we drew our swords right manfully To back the king o' our ain eountrie. But Carlile yetts are wat wi' blude, Micht matches richt, and dooms the gude ; And gentle blude o' ilk degree Ha'e stain'd the hearths o' my ain eountrie. And dwyning in this fremit land, Does feckless mak' baith heart and hand. And gars thir tears drap frae my e'e. That ne'er sail fa.' in my ain eountrie. O Carron brig is auld and worn. Where I and my forbears were bom ; But bonnie is that brig to see By ane flemit frae his ain eountrie. And gladly to the listening ear Is borne the waters cruning clear. Making a moan and melodie That weds my heiirt to my ain eountrie. O gin 1 were a wee wee bird, To light adown at Randiefuird, And in Kirk-o'-Muir to close my e'e. And fald my wings in my ain eountrie ! '^r^sJ'Mk^'^^&fS^:}'^^m^ -^0?->?^v5^^^^$^ 'U^!^^^^mi SCOTTISH SONGS. mW^ St tit MnU^. ^ [Written by Alex. Carlyle. Music by E. A. Smith.] i WiiA's at the window, wha, wha ? O wha's at the window, wha, wha ? \Mja but blythe Jamie Glen, He's come sax miles an" ten. To tak' bonnie Jeanie awa* awa". To tak' bonnie Jeanie awa'. Bridal maidens are braw, braw, O bridal maidens are braw, braw ; But the bride's modest e'e. And warm cheek are to me, 'Boon pearlins and brooches, an' a', an' a', 'Boon pearlins and brooches, an' a'. There's mirth on the green, in the ha', the ha', There'smirth on the green, in the ha', the ha', There's laughing, there's quaffing. There's jesting, there's dafflng. Hut the bride's father's bUthest of a', of a". But the bride's father's blythest of a'. It's no that she's Jamie's ava, ava. It's no that she's Jamie's ava, ava, Tliat my heart is sae weary. When a' the lave's chcerj-. But it's just that she'U aye be awa' awa'. But it's just that she'U aye be awa'. I. [Written, about the middle of the List cen- tury, in imitation of an old song to the same tune, by Miss Ja.nk Ei-mot, daughter of Sir Gilljcrt Elliot of Minto. ' ' The Forest" was the name given ti> a district which comprehended Selkirksliire, and a portion of Pebblesshire and Clydesdale, and which was noted for its fine archers. These were .-ihnost to a man slain at the battle of Flodden, (1513) and upon that disastrous event the song is founded.] I'VE heard the lilting, at our yowe-milking. Lasses a-lilting, before the dawn o' day ; But now they are moaning, on Uka green loaning ; The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. At buchts, in the morning, nae blythe lads arc scorning, The lasses are lonely, and dowie, and wae ; N.1C daffin', nae gabbin', but sighing and sabbing. Ilk ane lifts her leglen and hies her away. In hairst, at the shearing, nae youths now are jeering. The bandsters are lyart, and runkl|d and grey ; At fair, or at preaching, nae wooing, nae fleech- The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. ,"'-'' At e'en, at the gloaming, nae swankies are ro-im- ing. 'Bout stacks wi' the lasses at bogle to play ; But ilk ane sits drearie, lamenting her dearie — "«aE The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. "^ Dule and wae to the order, sent our lads to the border ! The English, for ance, by guile wan the day ; The Flowers of the Forest, that foucht aye the foremost. The prime o' our land, are cauld in the clay. We hear nae mair lilting at our yowe-milking. Women and bairns are heartless and wae ; Sighing and moaning on ilka green loaning— The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. II. [Written by Mrs. CocKnuRN, daughter of Mr. Rutherford of Faimielee in Roxburghshire, and wife to Mr. Cockburn of Ormiston, advocate. She died at Edinburgh in 1794.] I've seen the smiling Of Fortune beguiling ; I've felt .all its favours, and found its decay: Sweet was its blessing. Kind its caressing; But now 'tis fletl — fled ftir away. I've seen the forest Adorned the foremost With flowers of the fairest, most pleasant and gay ; Sae bonnie w,as their blooming I Their scent the air perfuming ! But now they are wither'd and weeded away. ''/M^M^^^^-^'^r4^^.:^^i^^^^ii^ ^Si^fK^llg^S^ SCOTTISH aOJTGS. I've seen the mominar With gold the hills adorning, And loud tempest storming before the mid-day. I've seen Tweed's silver streams. Shining in the sunny beams. Grow drumly and dark as he row'd on his way. Oh, fickle Fortune, "Why this cruel sporting ? Oh, why still perplex us, poor sons of a day ? Kae mair your smiles can cheer me, Nae mair your frowns can fear me ; For the Flowers of the Forest are a wede away. [Writte.v by Johx Struthers to the tune of the " Flowers of the Forest." This is a versifica- tion of the evening song sung by the negro women, who gave food and shelter to poor JIungo Park when about to i)erish. " The air," says Park, " was plaintive, and the words literally translated were these : ' The winds roared, and the rains fell, the poor white man, faint and weary, came and sat under our tree. He has no mother to bring him milk, he has no wife to grind his com : let us pity the white man, no mother has he.' "] The winds they were roaring. The rains they were pouring. When, lonely, the white man, a wonder to see ! Both hungry and weary. Desponding and dreary. He came, and he sat in the shade of our tree. 'So mother is by him. With milk to supply him ; He wanders an outcast, how sad must he be ! Even com, could he find it. He has no wife to grind it — Let us pity the white man, no mother has he ! Esr5=nn=3Hr. [OxB of the early productions of Lord Byron. It has been set to muse by Mrs. Gibson.] AwAT, ye gay landscapes, ye gardens of roses. In you let the minions of luxury rove ; Restore me the rocks where the snow-flake reposes. If Still they are sacred to freedom and love. Yet, Caledonia, beloved are thy mountains. Round their white summits tho' ekments war, Tho' cataracts foam 'stead of smooth flowing fountains, I sigh for the valley of dark Loch-na-gar. Ah ! there my young footsteps in infancy wan- dered ; My cap was the bonnet, my cloak was the plaid : On chieftains, long perish'd, my memory pondered. As daily I strayed through the pine-covered glade. I sought not my home till the day's dying glor>' Gave place to the rays of the bright polar-star ; For fancy was cheered by traditional story. Disclosed by the natives of dark Loch-na-gar. Shades of the dead ! have I not heard j-our voices. Rise on the night-rolling l>reath of the gale ? Surely the soul of the hero rtjoices. And rides on the wind o'er his own Highland vale. Round Loch-na-garr, while the stormy mist gathers. Winter presides in his cold icy car; Clouds there encircle the forms of my fathers. They dwell 'mid the tempests of dark Loch-na- gar. mnt l$$>il^» [Written by Robert Ta.vxahili.. In the life of the poet, it is stated, that on one occasion, while taking a solitarj- walk, liis musings were interrupted by the voice of a countr>-girl, who was singing a song of his own, " We'll meet beside the duskj- glen, on yon bum- side." This, he used to say, gave him great satisfaction, as an accidental and unconscious eridence of the rising popularitj-of his songs.] We'll meet beside the dusky glen on yon bum- side, [side : Where the bushes form a cozie den, on yon bum- Though the broomy knowes be green. Yet there we may be seen ; But well meet— we'll meet at e'en, down by j-oa bum-side. 2a rM^^mMm^-mm^s^^m^ 'U lead thee to the birken bower on yon burn -side, ' Sae sweetly wove wi' woodbine flower, on yon bum-side : There the busy prying eye Ne'er disturbs the lover's joy, [side. ■While in other's arms they lie, down by yon bum- Awa', ye rude unfeelin' crew, friie yon bum-side I | Those fairy scenes are no for you, by yon burn -side : j There fancy smooths her theme. By the sweetly murmurin' stream. And the rock-lodged echoes skim, down by yon ' burn -side. Xow the plantin' taps are tinged wi' gowd on yon bum-side. And gloamin' draws her foggie shroud o'er yon burn -side: Far frae the noisy scene, I'll through the fields alane; There we'll meet, my ain dear Jean ! down by yon bum-side. [RE-MODEi.r.ED by Ramsay from an old but indelicate song to a lively air.] Thr widow can bake, and the widow can brew. The widow can shape, and the widow can sew. And mony braw things the widow can do; Then have at the widow, my laddie. With courage attack her, baith early and late. To kiss her and clap her ye maunna be blate : Speak well, and do better ; for that's the best gate To win a young widow, my laddie. The widow she's youthfu', and never ae hair The waur of the wearinar, and has a good skair Of every thing lovely ; shea witty and fair. And has a rich jointure, my laddie. TVTiat could ye wish better, your pleasure to crown, j Than a widow, the bonniest toast in the town, : With, Naething but — draw in your stool and sit ' down, And sport with the widow, my laddie. Then till her, and kill her with courtesie dead. Though stark love and kindness be all you can plead ; Be heartsome and airy, and hope to succeed With the bonnie gay widow, my laddie. ^ Strike iron while 'tis het, if ye'd have it to waldi For fortune aye favours the active and bauid, But ruins the wooer that's thowless and cauld. Unfit for the widow, my laddie. ^|)^ hmnk ^mtktt la^^ie. [The two first lines of this song are old. The rest is by James Tvti.er, commonly called " Balloon Tytler," the editor and principal com- piler of tlxe original Encyclopedia Britannica. He was a native of Brechin, and during his life was engaged in many literary speculations. He died in the province of Massachusetts, North in 1805, aged fifty -eight.] The bonnie bracket lassie. She's blue beneath the een ; She was the fairest lassie That danced on the green. A lad he loo'd her dearly ; She did his love return : But he his vows has broken. And left her for to mourn. My shape, she says, was handsome. My face was fair and clean ; But now I'm bonnie bracket. And blue beneath the een. My eyes were bright and sparkling, Before that they turned blue ; But now they're dull with weeping. And a', my love, for you. My person it was comely ; My shape, they said, was neat: But now 1 am quite changed ; My stays they winna meet. A' nicht I Bleeped 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 sufiTtved, Within my breast to dwell , In nought I have offended, But luring him too well. ^^^^(Mrm^:^g^^ 371 jC*5 SCOTTISn SONGS. Her lover heard her mourning, A3 by he chanced to pass : And pressed unto his bosom The lovely brucket lass. ily dear, he said, cease grieving; Since that you lo'ed so true, 3Iy honnie brucket lassie, I'll faithful prove to you. S |)ati a f)otit. [Pkixted in the second edition of David Herd's collection, 1776. Bums says that the song is founded on fact. A John Hunter, the son of a farmer in Galston parish, Ayrshire, was the hero of the story.] I HAD a horse, and I had nae mair, I gat him firae my daddy. My purse was light, and my heart was sair. But my wit it was fu' ready. And sae I thought me on a time, Outwittens of my daddy. To fee mysel' to a lowland laird, Wha had a bonnie lady. I wrote a letter, and thus began : Madam, be not offended, I'm o'er the lugs in love wi' you. And cara not though ye kend it : For I get httle frae the laird. And fer less frae my daddy. And I wad blythely be the man. Wad strive to please his lady. She read the letter and she leugh. Ye needna been sae blate, man, Tou might ha'e come to me yoursel'. And tauld me o' your state, rtian: Ye might ha'e come to me yoursel", Outwittens of ony body. And made John Goukstone of the laird. And kiss'd his bonnie lady. Then she jiat siller in my purse ; We drank wine out o' a cogie. She fee'd a man to rub my horse. And wow but I w* vogie ! But I gat ne'er sae sair a flee, since I came frae my daddy. The laird came rap, rap to the yett, "V\"hen I was wi' his lady. Then she put me behint a chair. And hap'd me wi' a plaidie. But I was Uke to swarf wi' fear. And wish'd me wi' my daddy. The laird gaed out, he saw na me, I gaed when I was ready : I promised, but I ne'er gaed back. To see his bonnie lady. [Wkittex by Bcrns to the tune of " I had horse."] O, PuiKTiTH cauld, and restless love. Ye wreck my peace between ye ; Yet puirtith a' I could forgi'e. An 'twere na for my Jeanie. O, why should fate sic pleasure have. Life's dearest bands untwining ? Or why sae sweet a flower as love Depend on Fortune's shining ? This world's wealth when 1 think on. Its pride, and a' the lave o't ; Fie, fie on sUly coward man. That he should be the slave o't. Her een, s.ie bonnie blue, betray How she repaj-s my passion ; But prudence is her owerword aye. She talks of rank and fashion. O, wha can prudence think upon. And sic a l.issie by him ^ 0, wha can prudence think upon, And sae in love as I am ? How blest the humble cottar's lot ; He woos his simple dearie ; The sillie bogles, wealth and state. Can never make them eerie. Oh, why should fate sic pleasure have Life's dearest bands untwining Or why sae sweet a flower as love Depend on Fortune's shining ? ^|5f Ea0^ o'-fiatk'^ jmei [The "Lass o' Peatie's Mill" is the name of an old air, the original words to which are lost, but the subject of the song is said to have been a daughter of John Anderson, of Peatie's Hill, in the parish of Keithhall, Aberdeenshire. Am.an Kamsay wTote the present words to the old tune. Bums relates an incident connected with the composition of Ramsay's song, which does not well tally with the fact that an old tune caUed "The Lass o' Peatie's Mill" really did exist before Ramsay s day, as it is more likely that Ramsay borrowed his title from that tune than that two different beauties in two different Patie's Mills inspired.the strains of two different poets. "In Sinclair's Statistical Account of Scotland," says Bums, " this song is localized (a verb 1 must use for want of another to express my idea) some- where in the Xorth of Scotland, and likewise is claimed by A>Tshire.— 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 Earl of Loudon, and father to Earl John before mentioned, had Ramsay at Loudon, and one day walking together by the banks of Ir%-ine water, near Xew-Mills, at a place yet called Peatys Mill, they were struck with the appearance of a beautiful country girl. Ilis lord- ship observed that she would be a fine theme for a song. — Allan lagged behind in returning to Loudon Castle, and at dinner produced this iden- tical song."] The lass o' Patie's Mill, Sae bonnie, blj-the, and gay, In spite of a' my skill. She stole ii.y heart away. When teddin' out the hay, Bareheaded on the green, Love mid her locks did play, And wanton'd in her een. Her arms, white, round, and smooth ; Breasts in their rising d.awn ; To age it would give youth. To press them with his han". Through all my spirits ran Aneostasy of bliss, AVhen I such sweetness fand Wrapt in a balmy kiss. Without the help of art. Like flowers that grace the wild, She did her sweets impart, Whene'er she spak' or smiled : Her looks they were so mild, Free from affected pride. She me to love beguiled ; I wish'd her for my bride. Oh ! had I a' the wealth Hopetoun's high mountains fill. Insured lang life and health. And pleasure at my will ; I'd promise, and fulfil. That nane but bonnie she. The lass o' Patie's JliU, Should share the same wi' me. [WiXLiAM Glbti.— Air, " Oran an Aoig or Tlie Songof Death."— The Hon. Henrj- Cidogan, lieut.- colonel of the 71st regiment, fell at the battlt; Vittoria, on 21st June, 1813. An elegant marble monument was erected to his memory in the choir of the Glasgow Cathedral.] At the sunset of glory the ev'ning is calm, Ko wild howUng tempest can rave. The winds are all hush'd, and the dew-drops are balm. As they rest on the cheek of the brave. At the war flash of battle, how gleams the red cheek, &^\ As it brightens while freedom is nigh ; ^.'iN^ And the eye, as it closes, will high glory speak. While Victory heaves the last sigh. 4 How nobly he smiles from the field of his feme, With the death -mark engraved on his breat>t, With a feeble huzza, he joins the acclaim. And expires on the bed of his rest. Cadogan ! with glory thou'lt ever be named. And the heroes of Greece and of Rome, Will bend from their bright clouds, (those war- riors famed,) And exultingly rest dn thy tomb. ^i^m^^^^^^^0^ SCOTTISH SONGS. ^f)2 l^irjttd. [This beautiful little ballad first appeared as a fragment in an Edinburgh newspaper, and its authorship is generally ascribed to a Newcastle poet of the name of Picliering, on no other good ground that we know of, than that the original communication to the newspaper bore upon it the Xewcastle post-mark. Donocht Head is a mountain in the north of Scotland, and we prefer it to a post-office stamp in marking out the coun- try to -which the song belongs. The verses are adapted to the air called " Gordon Castle." The last twelve lines in the present copy are by Cap- tain Charles Gray, R. M., who has very happily eked out the otherwise unfinished production. In reference to this song, we have much pleasure in printing the following communication from Mr. Robert "niiite, a >"ewcastle gentleman, who himself entertains great doubts as to Pickering being the author. — " These fine stanzas," says Mr. White, "are indebted for much of their celebrity to Robert Bums, who, in a letter to George Thom- son of the 19th Oct., 1794, says, 'Donocht Head is not mine ; I would give ten pounds it were. It appeared first in the Edinburgh Herald, and came to the editor of that paper with the Newcastle post mark on it.' Six years afterwards, when Currie's edition of the Poet's works, which contained the above remarks, was published, a correspondent of the Monthly Magazine, Vol. X. £08, affirmed the fragment to have been written by Mr. George Pickbtrixo, of Newcastle upon Tyne; and this assertion was corroborated by another correspondent of the same periodical in Vol. XI. 141. Since that period, it has been at- tributed by the literati of Scotland to the same individual, with this difference that in most instances he has, by mistake, been called Tlioyiias instead of Gforge. He was bom at Simonbura in Northumberland, about the beginning of 1758 ; became a clerk to Mr. Davidson, a respectable lawyer in Newcastle, in 1776, and afterwards ob- tained the chief management of the Stamp Office for Northumberland, Newcastle, and Berwick. Subsequently he was unfortunate : he quitted the north of England; resided for a time in Norfolk, and it was believed, went abroad about 1793. After being absent, and unknown even to all his early friends, for upwards of a quarter of a century, he returned to his native place in depressed circum- stances, and died in the neighbourhood of New- castle about 1830. His poetical pieces, with those of Thomas Bedingfeld, an associate of his, were ' edited by James Ellis, Esq., of Otterbume, and published in an octavo volume at Newcastle in 1815. As a poet, he possessed, perhaps, talent of a more diversified kind than that of those who generally supplied the magazines of his time with verse : he is, as his humour veers, grave or gay, witty or satirical ; but we think he succeeded best when he drew not upon his imagination, but on his reflective faculties or his feelings. To be sure, at the period when he composed his pieces, the prevailing taste for poetry was greatly swayed by the mannerism and Jhlse glitter which our acquaintance with French Uterature and Pope's translation of Homer had introduced : Cowper in England was beginning to occupy higher ground, and Bums in Scotland was making a still nearer approach to nature ; yet as Pickering shared little of what these men possessed to overflowing, he was more apt to follow the beaten path, than betake himself to another through which he could not clearly distinguish his way. He wrote a couple of English songs, one of which is a pretended transla- tion from what came before the public as a song in the Lapland tongue, and may be estimated as a favourable specimen of his ability. ' The >Iin- strel', only, appears in a Scottish garb, and forms his chief passport to fame. Simple, touching, and beautiful, its composition exhibits such an admi- rablecommandof Scotland's vernacular languagi?, that we can scarcely believe a Northumbrian could have ivritten it, unless he had resided for a consid- erable time in Caledonia, and been in daily inter- course with her people. If, however, the author- ship belongs to George Pickering, we look upon the attempt as being remarkably happy. The addi- tional lines by Capt. Charles Gray tend very ap- propriately to complete the picture: they are conceived and executed in the genuine spirit with which the original stanzas seem to have been 'J Kkex blaws the wind o'er Donocht bead. The snaw drives snelly through the dale. The gaberlunzie tirls my sneck. And, shiv'ring, tells his waefu' tale- — " Cauld is the night, let me in. And dinna let your Minstrel fa'. And dinna let his winding-sheet Be naething but a WTeath o' snaw. Full ninety winters ha'e I seen. And piped whare gorcocks whirring flew, And mony a day ye've danc'd, I ween. To lilts which frae my drone I blew."— p> m^'^m^^^ismifm^'^^^^- SCOTTISH SONGS. (3 ^. *€ y. My F.ppie wak'd, and soon she cried, " Get up, gudeman, and let him in; For weel ye ken the winter night Vas short when he began bia din." My Eppie's voice, O wow ! it's sweet ! E'en though she bans and scaulds a wee; But when it's tuned to sorrow's tale O, baith, it's doubly dear to me ! "Come in, auld carle ! I'll steer my fire. And mak' it bleeze a bonnie flame ; Your blude is thin, ye've tint the gate. Ye should nae stray sae far i'rae hame." " Nae hame ha'e I," the Minstrel said, " Sad party strife o'erturn'd my ha'; And, weepini.', at the eve o' life I wander through a i^Teath o' snaw." " AVaes me, auld carle ! sad is your tale — Your wallet's toom— your claithing thin ; Mine's no the hand to steek the door WTien want and wae would fain be in." We took him ben — we set him doun, And soon the ingle bleez'd fu' hie; The auld man thought himself at hame. And dried the tear-drap frae his e'e. Ance mair the Minstrel wak'd a strain— Nae merry lilt, but s.id and Slow; in fancy's ear it seem'd to wail A free-born nation's overthrow. ^le ^ara, <©. [Written by James Stibrat of Dairy, in Ayr- shire, and sung at a Country Rocking. — Printed here for the first time.] There's monie lads and lasses braw. Assembled here at friendship's ca', To drive duU care a mile awa' By dancing in the barn, 0. O the dainty barn, O— Barn, barn, barn, ; VTe'U loup till we be like to fa". And wallop roun' the barn, O. Sae, fiddlers, gi'e's a canty spring. Play up till " roof and rafters ring," And let us dance the Highland fling Wi' vigour in the barn, O. ^ ; O the merry bam, O— Bam, barn, bam, O ; AVe'll bravely rant and blythely sing In honour o' the barn, O. Inspir'd by ScoU.i's rousing reels, Bauk-height we'll spring wi' mettled heels, AVi' "mountain dew" we'll oil life's wheels And whirl round the barn, O. O the joyous barn, O — Barn, barn, barn, O ; Our darling joes, like gallant chicls. We'll ouddle in the barn, O. Wi' love and mirth and social glee AVe'll still keep up the jovial spree, While time on wings o' joy shall flee Out owTe the happy barn, O. O the happy barn, O — Barn, barn, barn, O ; And till the " morning lifts his e'c" We winna lea' the barn, O. AVhen chanticleer begins to craw, Tlie toast shall be ere we gae wa', " Guid morn and joy be wi' us a'," And success to the barn, 0. O the glorious barn, O — Barn, barn, bam, O ; We'll gi'e 't, at least, ae grand hurra. Till echo rive the barn, ! [James Stirrat. — Written for Burns' Anni- versary, 1829. — Air, " There's nae luck about the house." — Of the numerous songs that have been composed in honour of Burns, this appears to us to be one of the finest.] There's nae bard to charm us now, Nae bard ava Can sing a sang to nature true. Since Coila's bard's awa'. The simple harp o" earlier days In silence slumbers now. And modern art, wi' tuneless lays. Presumes the Nine to woo. But nae bard in a' our isle, Nae bard ava, Frae pawky Coila wins a smile Since Robin gaed awa'. ^3^5 '^lffi^i^^^^:^fe>W^ His hamely style let Fashion spurn ; She wants baith taste and skill. And wiser should she ever turn. She'll sing his sangs hersel'. For nae sang sic pathoa speaks, Nae sang ava ; And Fashion's foreign rants and Should a' be drumm'd awa'. SCOTTISH SOXGS Frae feeling heart Tom Campbell's lays In classic beauty flow. But Robin's artless sang displays The saul'3 impassion'd glow. For nae bard by classic lore, Nae bard ava. Has thrill'd the bosom's inmost core Like Eobin that's awa'. Her far-fetch'd figures aye maun fail To touch the feeling heart; Simplicity's direct appeal Excels sic learned art. And nae modem nunstrel's lay, Nae lay ava, Sae powerfully the heart can sway. As Robin's that's awa'. For o'er his numbers Coila'g muse A magic influence breath'd, And roun' her darling poet's brows A peerless crown had wreath 'd. And nae wreath that e'er was seen, Nae wreath ava, ■VV~ill bloom sae lang 's the holly green O' Robin that's awa'. Let Erin's minstrel. Tommy Moore, His lyrics sweetly sing, •Twad lend his harp a higher power Would CoUa add a string. For nae harp has yet been kent, Nae harp ava. To match the harp by Coila lent To Robin that's awa'. And though our shepherd, Jamie Hogg, His pipe fu' sweetly plays. It ne'er will charm auld Scotland's lug Like Ploughman Robin's lays. For nae pipe will Jamie tune, Nae pipe ava. Like that which breath'd by " bonnie Ere Eobin gaed awa'. [Doon" Even Scotland's pride. Sir "Walter Scott, ■Wha boldly strikes the lyre, Maun yield to Robin's sweet love-note. His native wit and fire. For nae bard hath ever sung, Nae bard ava. In hamely or in foreign tongue. Like Eobin that's awa'. A powerfu' harp did BjTon sweep. But not wi' happy glee ; And though his tones were strong and deep. He ne'er could change the key. For nae bard beneath the lift, Nae bard ava, Wi' master skill the keys could shift Like Eobin that's awa'. He needs nae monumental stanes To keep alive his fame, Auld Granny Scotland and her weans WiU ever sing his name. For nae name does fame record, Nae name ava. By Caledonia mair ador'd Than Robin's that's awa'. [From a volume of very clever poetical pieces, entitled, " Ramtling Rhymes, by Alexander Smart: Edinburgh, 1S34." Mr. Smart is, we understand, a compositor in Edinburgh.] O, LBAVK me not I the evening hour. So soft, so still, is all our own ; The dew descends on tree and flower. They breathe their sweets for thee alone. O, go not yet ! — the evening star. The rising moon, all bid thee stay ; And dying echoes, faint and &r. Invite our lingering steps to stray. Far from the city's noisy din. Beneath the pale moon's trembling light. That lip to press— those smiles to win— AVill lend a rapture to the night. Let fortune fling her fiivours free To whom she will, I'll ne'er repine — O, what is all the world to me. While thus I clasp and call thee mine ? m '^ ^. I ^:^^sm(^'^'immf^^M:m^^.^m^ 'B^m^^£SS^<^^^^^^M/^&0, 316 SCOTTISH SONGS. %^tt. [William Trom of Inverury. — Music by Samuel Lover.] SAT not — " Love will never Breathe in that breast again ;" That " where he bled, must ever All pleasureless remiun." Bhall tempest-riven blossom. When fair leaves fall away. In coldness close its bosom 'Gainst beams of milder day O never ! — nay It blooms — ^whene'er it may. Though ruthless tempest tear — Though biting frosts subdue — And leave no tendril w here Love's pretty flowrets grew ; The soil, all ravag'd so. Will nurture more and more. And stately roses blow A\'here gowans droop'd before. Then why— O I why Should sweet love ever die ? [Alex. Smart. — AJr, " Tak' your auld Cloak about ye. "J Ik summer, when the fields were green. An" heather bells bloomed owcr the lea, An' hawthorns lent their leafy screen, A fragrant bield for bird an' bee ; Our hawkje in the clover field Was chewin' her cud wi' gratefu' mou". And our gudewife, wi' eydent hand. Had just been out to flit the cow. O, our gudcman's a leal gudeman. But nane maun daur to say him na; There's nae a laird in a' the Ian' Wi' higher hand maintains the law. Though he be poor he's unco proud. An' aye maun be obeyed at hame ; An' there, when he's in angrj' mood, AMia centers him may rue the same. " Gae flit the cow !" says our gudeman :— Wi" ready tongue the d.ame replies, " Gudeman, it is already done" — " Gae flit the cow !" again he cries. " My wiU ye'U do wi' hand an' heart. If ye're a wife baith kind an' true; Obedience is the woman's part — Make haste, gudewife, an' flit the cow !" " Gudeman, ye're surely clean gane g>te. The cow's already flittit been ; To see you fume an' hear you flyte, I ferlie meikle what ye mean. What need to gang an' do again The thing that 1 ha'o done e'en now ? What idle tantrum's this ye've ta'en ?" — " I say, gudewife, gae flit the cow ! ' " Gudeman, when we were lad an' lass, Vour tongue was like a honey kaim ; An' aye ye vow'd ye'd ne'er prove fause. But kythe like ony lamb at hame. But now ye look sae dark an' doure, Wi' angry e'e an' crabbit mou'. Ye gar me aften rue the hour" " I say, gudewife, gae flit the cow !" Syne he began to loup an' ban, When out the wife flew in a huff; " Come back ! come back !" cries our gudemai " Come back ! obedience is enough ! My sovereign will ye maun obey, When my commands are laid on j-ou ; Obedient, baith by night an' day, An' ready aye to flit the cow !" J^ar^. ^ [Written by James Stirrat of Dairy, and printed here for the first time in a correct form. This song was set to music by the late R. A. Smith, but his Notes have been unfortunately lost.] " In life's pay morn," when hopes be.it hi^'h, And youthfu' love's endearing tie Gave rapture to the mutual sigh Within the arms of Mary, My ain dear Mar)-; Nae joys beneath the vaulted sk-y Could equal mine wi' Mary. =Dm^m>'^:^'it^mf§ SCOTTISH SONGS. The sacred hours like moments flew, Soft transports thriH'd my bosom through The war!' evanish'd frae my view Within the arms of llary ; My ain dear Mary, Xae gloomy cares my soul e'er knew Within the arms of Mary. Young fancy spread her visions gay, Love fondly view'd the fair display, Hope show'd the blessfu' nuptial day And I was rapt with Mary; My ain dear Mary, The flowers of Eden strew'd the way That led me to my Slary. But life is now a dreary waste, I, lanely, wander sair depress'd. For cold and lifeless is that breast Where throbb'd the heart of Marj- ; My ain dear Mary, She's gane to seats of blissfa' rest. And I ha'e lost my Mary. g^Uiig ^un. [Written for a Country Eocking by James Stibrat. — Here first printed.] The setting sun in gowden light. The cloudless moon wi' sil'er ray. The star o' e'ening beaming bright Fu' bonnie, bl>-thsome charms display. But bonnier blinks frae maiden eyes. This happy place and time endear. Outshine the lights ttiat deck the skies. And make a starry heaven here. let titled rank in grandeur's glare To waltzes sweep the painted ha'. Simplicity 's a stranger there. And happiness beyond their ca'. But here in hamely pleasure's ring, Wi' smiles frae artless beauty crown'd. We taste a bliss that ne'er can spring Frae fashion's vain Ulusive round. The song, the dance, ilk bosom cheers. And a' in harmless daifin' join; Even age throws aff his load of years. And shakes his foot to " auld langsj-ne. O lang may canty glee abound. And happy lave our pastime bless. And lang may ilka year bring round A rocking glorious as this. €)|), S We^, [From " Poetical Remains of the late Robert Fraser, Editor of the Fife Herald," Cupar, 1S39. Jr Mr. Fraser died in 1839 ; he was a native of Path- head in Fifeshire.] Oh, I lo'ed my lassie weel. How weel I canna tell — lang, lang ere ithers trow'd, lang ere I wist mysel'. At the school amang the lave. If I wrestled or I ran, I cared nae for the prize If she saw me when I wan. Oh, I lo'ed my lassie weel. When the gleesome days were g:ine, 'Mang a' the bonnie an' the gude To match her saw I naue ; Though the cauld warl' o'er me cam' Wi' its cumber an' its toil. My day-tide dool was a' forgot In her blythe e'enin' smile. Oh, I lo'ed, nor lo'ed in vain. An' though mony cam' to woo, Wha to won her wad been fain, Yet to me she aye was true ; She grat wi' very joy When our waddin' day was set. An' though twaV gude years sinsyne ha'e fled. She's my darling lassie yet. [William Wilson.] Wha my kettle now will boil, AVba will cheer me wi' her smi! Wha will lichten a' my toil, ^^■hen thou art far awa' ? i SCOTTISH SOKGS. 53 V ^ Wha will meet me on the stair, ■\Vha will kiss mc kindly there, And lull to rest ilk earthly care, "When thou art far awa' ? When the day is at a close, Wlia will mak' my wee drap brose, Snodly mend my hoUey hose. When thou art far awa' ? AVha will wi' my failings bear, %Vha my e'enin' psalm will share, "Wha will kneel wi' me in prayer, "WTien thou art far awa' ? When the nights grow lang and cauld. And the wind blaws snell and bauld, Wlia her arms around me fauld. When thou art far awa'? Wha will trigly mak' my bed. Draw my niehtcap o'er my head. And kiss me when 1 down am laid, When thou art far awa'? Nane !— and dowie now I gang Through the house the hale nicht lang, Croonin' ower some simple sang O' htr that's far awa' Now I downa bide to leuk Ayont the cheerless ingle neuk, Where aft I read the haly beuk To her that's far awa'. Haste, my dearest ! haste ye hamc. Come my ain beloved dame ! Ferr>' ower loch, sea, and stream. And ne'er gae mair awa' ! ^|2 Umin^^t^b ^um, [From "Tontia: a Tale, and other Poems, by George Taylor," Edinburgh, 1837. Ilr. Taylor ^>, is parochial teacher in Anstruther Wester, Fife- 1^ Bhire.] Let me in, let me in, my bonnie sweetheart. Or come ye out to me ; It's lang since I saw your winsome face, Or the smirk C yere coal-black e'e. iK The bonnie clear moon is in the sky. There fa's nae cauld night dew — Come out, come out, my bonnie sweetheart. Or let me in to you. " I will neither come out nor let you in ; Gae wa' frae the window pane, Gae back to her ye were wi' yestreen. And be content wi' ane." Fause, fause was the tongue that tauld ye sac ; I lo'e nane but ye'rsel': Rise up, rise up, my bonnie sweetheart — I've a breastfu' of love to tell ! And how could she doubt the lad she loved ? Her heart relented soon — He clasp 'd in his arms his bonnie sweetheart, 'Neath the light of the siller moon. His lips were press'd to her blushing cheek. Her doubts and fears were gane ; She wondered why she had let him stand Sae lang at the window-pane. [Georgb Taylor.] The primrose blooms by burn and brae. The cowslip on the lea ; The birds are singing sangs of love. And a' is glad but me. I heed not summer's joyfu' sounds. For me its beauty's vain ; There's dool upon my burden'd heart. The weight o' cureless pain. How can I l)ear to hear the birds Send music from the tree ? It minds mc o' my JIary's v That speaks nae mair to me ! How can I sit beside the flowers. And see them smile sae fciir ? Thoy mind me o' my Mary's face That smiles on me nae mair. 2^ The summer soon will pass awa'. The flowers will drop and dee ; And nature's dowie look will then lie mair in tune wi' me. ^^^m^^^^^mmfm-mms^- ^£m^<^^w^M^^$'i SCOTTISH SONGS. 379 The sangsters' gle« vdU a' be hush'd. Like me they'll sadness ken ; And, wandering through the w-intry woods, I'll mak' them neebours then. Oh ! could I hope for Mary's love. As nature hopes for spring, Kae winter's gloom could o'er my heart. Its darksome shadow fling. But ah ! her love, and sunny smiles. Mine ne'er again can be — To ithers gladsome seasons come. It's winter aye wi* me ! [The author of this song is a Mr. Somekvillk. It was jocosely known among his friends as the " Somerville Testament."— Tune, " Garyowen."J Now, Jenny lass, my bonnie bird. My daddy's dead, an' a' that ; He's snugly laid aneath the yird, And I'm his heir, an' a' that. I'm now a laird, an' a' that; I'm now a laird, an' a' that; His gear an' land's at my command, And muckle mair than a' that. He left me wi' his deein' breath A dwallin' house, an' a' that ; A bam, a byre, an' wabs C claith — A big peat -stack, an' a' that. A mare, a foal, an' a' that, A mare, a foal, an' a' that. Sax guid fat kye, a cauf forby, An' twa pet ewes, an' a' that. A yard, a meadow, lang braid leas. An' stacks o* corn an' a' that — Enclosed weel wi' thorns an* trees ; An' carts, an' cars, an' a' that. A pleugh, an' graith, an' a' that, A pleugh, an' graith, an' a' that ; Guid harrows twa, cock, hens, an' a' — A gricie too, an' a' that. I've heaps C claes for ilka days. For Sundays too, an' a' that; I've bills an' bonds, on lairds an' lands. An' siller, gowd, an' a' that. • ■UTiat think ye, L^ss, o' a' that ? AViiat think ye, lass, o' a' that ? What want I noo, my dainty doo. But just a wife to a' that. Now, Jenny dear, my errand here. Is to seek ye to a' that ; My heart's a' loupin' while I speer Gin ye'll tak' me, wi' a' that. Mysel', my gear, an' a' that, Mysel', my gear, an' a' that; Come, gi'e's your loof to be a proof, Te'U be a wife to a' that. Sj-ne Jenny laid her neive in his. Said, she'd tak' him wi' a' that ; An' he gied her a hearty kiss. An' dauted her, an' a' that. They set a day, an' a' that. They set a day, an' a' that; Whan she'd gang hame to be his dame. An" baud a rant, an' a' that. fr [EOBEKT NlCOtl..] I'LL mak' a fire upo' the knowe. An' blaw it till it bleeze an' lowe ; Syne in't I'll ha'e ye burnt, I trow — Ye ha'e bewitch'd me, Janet ! Tour een in ilka starn I see — The hale night lang I dream o' thee — The bonnie Untie on the lea, I liken to you, Janet ! When leaves are green, an* fresh an' fair- When biythe an' sunny is the air — I stroke my beard, and say they're rare ; But naething Uke you, Janet 1 'Twas but yestreen, as I gaed hame. The minister said, " A\"hat is your name ? My answer — 'deed I may think sh.imc — Was, " Sir, my name is Janet !" Xast Sabbath, as I sang the psalm, I fell into an unco dwaum. An! naething frae my lips e'er cam' But "Janet! Janet! Janet!" ^0^}§m^^^^cm''^^^^ma^^m^ ^:sm^^^£mw*m^^^^^^'W^^f, 380 SCOTTISH SONGS. I've fought, I've danced, an' drucken too; But nane o' thae are like to do; .Sae I inauQ come an' speer at you, " What ails me, think ye, Janet ?" I'll soon be either dead or daft. Sic drams o' luve frae you I've quaffd ; Sae lay aside your woman -craft— Ha'e mercy on me, Janet ! An' if ye vrinna, there's my loof, I'll gar the provost lead a proof. An' pit ye 'neath the toUbooth roof: Syne what will ye do, Janet ? I'll mak' a fire upo' the knowe. An' blaw it till it bleeze an' lowe ; Syne in 't I'll ha'e ye burnt, I trow— Ye ha'e bewitch'd me, Janet ! rEntg, [From a volume entitled "Twelve Dramatic Sketches, founded on the Pastoral Poetr\- ol Soot- land. By W. 31. Hethekingto.v, A. M. ;" Edin- burgh, 1S29.] O Santjy is a braw lad. An' Sandy is a fine. An' Sandy is a bonnie lad. An', best of a', he's mine : There's Tibby glooms, and Xelly geeks. An' Nanny looks fu' shy. And Katie downa speak to me ; But troth I carena by I For Sandy is a braw lad. An' Sandy is a fine. An' Sandy is a bonnie lad. An', best of a', he's mine ! Auld Girzie, wi' her cock-up nose. She fuffs like ony goose ; An' wee bit perkin Marjory, Poor thing ! looks unco crouse : Fat Lizzie's een for vera spite. They glow like ony coal. An' Betty, wi' her brucket face, 5Iy sight she canna thole. For Sandy is, &c. The slae is sour, but sourer far Is muckle wry-mouth'd Jean ; An' lang-tongued Eppie, warst ava. She flytes fra morn till e'en ; ^lim Marion thraws her wrinkled ehafts Like ony beggar's dud, Gleed Matty shakes her corky head. And winks as she were wud. For Sandy is, &c. There's no a lass in a' the town. But sair she hates poor me ; Daft gouks ! they fear they'll lose their joe,' And sae it e'en may be ! To tempt them, for a week or twa. The secret yet I'll hide ; But I could tell, or this day month, ■\Vha will be Sandy's bride ! O Sandy is, &c. [Robert Nicoll.] The green broom was bloomin', — The daisy was seen Peerin' up to the sky Frae the flower spangled green ,- The bumie was loupin' By bank an' by brae, "While alang by its margin A lassie did gae. She heard the wee birdies Sing hie in the cluds. An' the downy wing'd breezes Creep through the green wuds ; An' she saw the bright e'enin' sun Lighting the whole: — There was joy in the lassie's face — Peace in her soul ! She sat in the shade Of a sweet-scented briar. An' the sounds of the wild wood Came saft on her ear ; While the flushes o' feelin" Swept o'er her sweet face. As the clouds o'er the moon One another do chase. In the peace of the twilight Her soul did repose — {P^m^f^sc^i^m^ms^ ^^^s^^mm^^^^^ SCOTTISH SOXGS, Where green leaves were wavin' Her eyelids did close. She lay in that bower In her innocent sleep. And spirits around her Their vigils did keep. The butterfly breathed On her cheek for a flower, As a pure maiden blush Spoke the dream o' the hour. While the lassie was sleepin" A bauld youth came by, — There was life in his footstep An' love in his eye. He stood by the maiden Who lay in her dream, An' heard her in slumber Laigh murmur his name. An idol she seem'd Sae heavenly fair. An' he an idolater ■V\'or5hippin' there. He kiss'd her sweet lips. An' her warm cheek he press'd ; An' the lassie awoke O n her leal lover's breast '. The e'enin' was fa'in' On mountain an' fell. The rush o' the stream Through the darkness did swell ; But the maid an' her true love Xe'er heeded the hour. As they sat in their bliss In that green briar bower. He tauld a' his love, "^Tiile her tears fell like rain, — Their joy was sae joyfu' It maistly was pain. They hameward retum'd Through the simmer mist grey. An' twa hearts were happy For ever and aye ! [Andrew Park.— Here first printed. The auld folks sit by the fire. When the winter nichts are chill , The auld wife she plies her wire. The auld man he quafls his yill. An' meikle an' lang they speak O' their youthfu' days gane by, When the rose it was on the cheek. An' the pearl was on the eye ! They talk o' their baimies' bairns. They talk o' the brave and firee, They talk o' their mountain-cairns, And they talk of the rolling sea,— And meikle an' lang they speak O' their youthfu' days gane by. When the rose it was on the cheek. An' the pearl was on the eye ! They talk o' their friends lang gane, And the tear-draps blin' their e'e ; They talk o' the cauld kirk stane, Whare sune they baith maun be. Yet each has had their half C the joys o' this fitful sphere. So whiles the auld folk laugh. And whiles they drap a tear : [Hojr. Mrs. Xorton.] I WOULD I were the light fern growing Beneath my Highland Mary's tread, I would I were the green tree throwing Its shadow o'er her gentle head; I would I were a wild flower springing Where my sweet Mary loves to rest. That she might pluck me while she's singing. And place me on her snowy breast '. I would I were in yonder heaven A silver star, whi>se soft dim light Would rise to bless each summer even. And watch my M.iry all the night '. I would, beneath these small white finfsers, I were the lute her breath has fanned — The gentle lute, whose soft note lingers. As loth to leave her fairy band ! Ah, happy things ! ye may not wander From Scotland to some darker sky. But ever live unchanging yonder. To happiness and Maiy nigh ! WhUe I at midnight sadly weeping Upon its deep transparent blue. Can only gaze while all are sleeping. And dream my JIary watches too ! [These fine verses were written by Burns for Johnson's Museum, where they are adapted to a simple old air, called "Mary Queen of Scots' Lament."] W-^it^^m^^ SCOTTISH S0KG3. Now nature hangs her mantle green On ilka blooming tree, And spreads her sheets o' daisies white Out ower the grassy lea. Now Phoebus cheers the crystal streams. And glads the azure skies , But nocht can glad the weary wicht. That fast in durance lies. Now blooms the lily by the bank. The primrose doun the brae ; The hawthorn's budding in the glen. And milk-white is the slae. Now laverocks wake the meny morn. Aloft on dewy wing. The merle, in his noontide bower. Makes woodland echoes ring. The mavis, mild wi' mony a note. Sings drowsy day to rest ; In love and freedom they rejoice, Wi' care nor thraU opprest. The meanest hind in fair Scotland May rove these sweets amang ; But I, the queen o' a' Scotland, Maun lie in prison Strang. I was the queen o' bonnie France, ■VNTiere happy 1 ha'e been ; Fu' lightly rase 1 in the morn. As blythe lay down at e'en. And Itn the sovereign of Scotland, And mony a traitor there , Vet here 1 lie in foreign bands. And never-ending care. But as for thee, thou false woman My sister and my fae. Grim vengeance yet shall whet a sword. That through thy soul shall gae. The weeping blood in woman's breast, AV'as never known to thee , Nor the balm that draps on wounds of woe. From woman's pitying e'e. My son ! my son ! may kinder stars Upon thy fortune shine , And may those pleasures gild thy reign. That ne'er would bUnk on mine. God keep thee frae thy mother's faes. Or turn their hearts to thee ; And where thoumeet'st thy mother's friend, Eemember him for me. Oh, soon to me may summer sun Nae mair licht up the morn ! Nae mair, to me, the autumn winds Wave o'er the yellow corn. And in the narrow house o" death Let winter round me rave ; And the next flowers that deck the spring Bloom on my peaceful grave ! [Robert Nicoi.l..] Across the riggs we'll wander The new-mawn hay amang. And hear the blackbird in the wood. And gi'e it sang for sang. We'll gi'e it sang for sang, we will. For ilka heart is gay. As Kids and lasses trip alang At making o' the hay ! It is sae sweetly scented, It seems a maiden's breath ; Aboon, the sun has wither'd it. But there is green beneath. But there is caller green beneath, Come, lasses, foot away ! The heart is dowie can be eauld At making o' the hay ! ^ ^! '2^'^:^>^$ 'm^miS^^^^^<^^m^^^^^m^'s SCOTTISH SOKGS. Step lightly o'er, gang saftly by, Mak' rig and furrow clean. And coil it up in fragrant heaps, — We maun ha'e done at e'en : — We maun ha'e done at gloaming e'en; And when the clouds grow grey. Ilk lad may kiss his bonnie las3 Amang the new-made hay I %§w^ mm. [This song was written by Joseph Grant, a Kincardineshire peasant, who, amid toil and poverty, devoted his leisure hours to reading and the cultivation of his mind. He composed verses i at the early age of fourteen; and when in his twenty-third year he published " Juvenile Lays," a collection of poems. Two years thereafter, he published " Kincardineshire Traditions" in one small volume. At a later period of his life he contributed several tales and sketches to " Cham- bers' Journal." He was engaged in preparing a volume of hia tales for the press, when he was seized wth a cold, which settled on his lungs ; and, returning home for the benefit of his native air, he died at Affirusk, in April, lS3o, in the 30th year of his age.] The e'e o' the dawn, Eliza, Blinks over the dark green sea. An' the moon's creepin' down to the hill tap Eicht dim an' drowsilie; An' the music o' the momin' Is murmurin' alang the air ; Yet still my dowie heart lingers To catch one sweet throb mair. We've been as blest, Eliza, As chUdren o' earth can be. Though my fondest wish has been nipt by The bonds o' povertie ; An* through life's misty sojourn. That still may be our fa'. But hearts that are linked for ever Ha'e strength to bear it a'. The cot by the mutterin' bumie. Its wee bit garden an' field, ilay ha'e mair o' the blessin's C heaven Than lichts on the lordliest bield. There's mouy a young brow braided Wi' jewels o' far aff isles, But woe may be drinkin' the heart-springs While we see nought but smiles. But adieu, my ain Eliza ! "Where'er my wanderin's be, TIndyin' remembrance will mak' thee The star o' my destinie ; An' weel I ken, thou loved one. That aye till I return Thou'lt treasure pure faith in thy bosom Like a gem in a gowden um. itig^lsE^ Cotonac^. [From the 330.] '■ Lady's Poetical Album," Glasgow, W I'LL wake it no more By Strath -Fillan's blue fountain. By Achray'3 lonely shore. Or Benledi's high mountain — No more wake the sound Of the hunter's bold bugle ; For in death's narrow mound Lies my loved Coilantugal ; How oft has that horn To the chase hailed his coming. At the first bre.ik of mom. Ere the bee raised its humming ; Ere the maid, blythe of mood. To the ewe-bught was wending, — While each spray of the wood With the dew-drops was bending. When the fox from the shade Of the pine-wood was peeping ; When the deer through the glade In the grey dawn was leaping ; "WTien the mist of the hills From the sun-rise was flying ; And no sound — save the rills And the wild breezes sighing — Then — oh, then — the far cry Of his deep-baying beagle. From her ej-rie on high How it startled the eagle '. ^^^M>''^^>^^^:^S^^m^i& ^^^:m3:^fmm:^^ SCOTTISH SONGS. Eousfil the stap from his rest the glen of green bralken — But no ni ^■|}? ^tme d nig ^ut^n^. Subdued by misfortunes, and bow'd down with pain, I sought on the bosom of peace to recline ; I hied to the heme of my fathers again. But the home of my fathers no longer was mine '. The lodk that spoke gladness and welcome was gone; The blaze that shone bright in the hall was no more . A stranger was there with a bosom of stone. And cold was his eye as I enter'd his door. t4 'Twas his, deaf to pity, to tenderness dead. The fallen to crush, and the humble to spurn ; But I staid not his scorn, — from his mansion I fled, And my beating heart row'd never more to return. When home shall receive me, one home yet I know. O'er its gloomy recess see the pine branches wave ; •lis the tomb of my fathers !— The world is my foe. And aU my inheritance now is a grave. 'Tis the tomb of my fathers, the grey-moisten'd walls Declining to earth, speak emphatic, decay; The gate off its hinges, and half -opening, calls " Approach, most unhappy, thy dwelling of clay." Alas ! thou sole dwelling of all I hold dear. How little this meeting once augur'd my breast ! From a wand'rer accept, oh, my fathers ! this tear; Eeceive him, the last of your race, to your rest ! 2b ^. ^'^^ f - -• e^/lw :<^v ^^^'viil5^ ;^:! ^■ imt^^' 386 SCOTTISH SONGS. [The first stanza of this song belon;?3 to an old licentious ditty: the other verses are by Ramsay. The tune is e.il!ed " Wat ye wha I met yestreen ?" and sometimes " The Tartan Screen." " Thi' old town of Edinburgh," says Mr. Robert Chambers, " now so degraded, but formerly a place of tlie highest fashion, is the locality of this fine song, of ■which the first verse contains a picture of cer- tain customs which obtained a century ago in the capital of Scotland, but are now totally forgotten by all except the antiquary. A young country gen- tleman, walking up the High Street in the even- ing, encounters his mistress, no doubt a young lady of good birth as well as breeding, and recog- nises her even umler the tartan garment, then used by all sorts of women as a veil, and against which, as affording peculiar fiieilities for intrigue, the whole vengeance of the town-council and the kirk-session had been directed in vain. He solicits her to walk with him up to the Ai«— the abbre- viated popular phrase for the esplanade in front of Edinburgh castle, which was then the only pro- menade at the command of the citizens, and a favourite place amon? lovers for noeturn.il assig- nations. In their walk along the Castle Hill, he takes advantage of the situation to depict the delights of a summer residence in the country, which, in all its poetic-il and sunshine beauty, may be supposed to have contrasted strongly with the darksomeness and din of the city Iwneath, and therefore to have disposed the young lady very favourably to his suit. It is quite as remark- able as it is true, that the mode of courtship among people of the middle ranks in Edinburgh has undergone a complete change in the course of no more than the last thirty years. It used to be customary for lovers to w.ilk together for hours, both during the day and the evening, in the Mea- dows, or the King's Park, or the fields now occu- pied by the New Town ; practices now only known to artizans and serving girls. The song appeared in the Tea-Table Miscellany, 1724."] Now wat ye wha I met yestreen, Coming down the street, my joe? My misrress, in her tarfcin screen, Fu' boDoie, braw, and sweet, my joe I My dear, quoth I, thanks to the nicht That never wiss'd a lover ill. Sin' ye're out o" your mither's sicht. Let's tak" a walk up to the hill. Oh, Katie, wilt thou gang wi- me, And leave the dinsome toun a while ? The blossom's sprouting frae the ti-ee. And a' creation's gaun to smile. The mavis, nichtingale, and lark. The bleating lambs and whistling hynd, In ilka dale, green shaw, and park. Will nourish health, and glad your mind. Sune as the clear gudeman o' day Does bend his morning draught o' dew, We'll gae to some burn-side and play. And gather flouirs to busk your brow. We'll pou the daisies on the green, The lucken-gowans frae the bog ; Between hands, now and then, we'll lean And sport upon the velvet fog. There 's, up into a pleasant glen, A wee piece frae my father's tower, A canny, saft, and flowery den. Which circUng birks have form'd a bower. WTiene'er the sun grows high and warm. We'll to the caller shade remove ; There will I lock thee in my arm. And love and kiss, and kiss and love. KATIE'S ANSWER. [Written also by Ramsay, and published in the Tea-Table Miscellany, 17^. The tune is called "A health to Betty."] My mother's aye glowrin' ower me, Though she did the same before me ; 1 canna get leave To look at my love. Or else she'd be like to devour me. Right fain wad I tak' your offer. Sweet sir— but I'll tyne my tocher ; Then, Sandy, ye'U fret, And wyte your puir Kate, Whene'er ye keek in your toom coffer. <^ [^^?S# r-^^^^i^SSk^^'jgfe f?ss: SCOTTISH SONGS. 387 For though my father has plenty Of silver, and plenishing dainty, Tet he's unco sweir To twine wi' his gear ; And sae we had need to be tenty. Tutor my parents wi' caution. Be Ti^lie in ilka motion ; Brag weel o' your land. And there's my leal hand, ^V'in them, I'll be at your devotion. %\\tz "^mn^ [Written by Dr. Alexander "Webster, one I of the ministers of Edinburgh. The tune is by Oswald. Dr. Webster was bom at Edinburgh in >1707, and died there in 17Si, in the 51st year of his I ministry.] , The spring-time returns, and clothes the green plains. And Alloa shines more cheerfiil and gay -, j The lark tunes his throat, and the neighbouring swains. Sing merrily round me wherever I stray : [ But Sandy nae mair returns to my view ; Nae spring-time me cheers, nae music can charm ; I He's gane ! and, I fear me, for ever : adieu ! Adieu every pleasure this bosom can warm ! O All'ja house ! how much art thou chang'd ! How silent, how dull to me is each grove I I Alane 1 here wander where anee we both rang'd, ' Alas ! where to please me my Sandy ance strove ! • Here, i^andy, I heard the tales that you tauld, 5 Here list'ned too fond whenever you sung ; I Am I grown less fair then, that you are tum'd cauld ? Or, foolish, believ'd a false flattering tongue ? , So spoke the fair maid, when sorrow's keen pain. And shame, her last fault'rrng accents supprest; ■ For fate, at that moment, brought back her dear swain. Who heard, and with rapture his Nelly addrest: I My Nelly I my fair, I come ; my love '. ' Nae power shall thee tear again from my arms, > And, Nelly ! nae mair thy fond shepherd reprove, Who knows thy feir worth, and adores a' thy charms. { '•She heard ; and new joy shot thro' her saft frame; 1 And will you, my love ! be true ? she replied : j And live I to meet my fond shepherd the same ? ] Or dream I that Sandy will make me his bride .' I O NeUy ! I Uve to find thee still kind : Still true to thy swain, and lovely as true: Then adieu to a' sorrow ; what soul is so blind. As not to live happy for ever with you ? [Also written by Dr. Webster to the tune of " AUoa House," and first printed, though in an incomplete form, in the Scots Magazine for No- vember, 1747. This lyric is marked by very fer- vent passion, and may be thought by some to be rather strong language for a clergyman to use ; but indeed, it is a curious fact that we are in- debted to the cloth for many of our best love- songs. The follow-ing four lines cannot be suffi- ciently admired : ■When I see you, I love you; when hearing, adore; I wonder, and think you a woman no more; Till, mad rvi' admiring, I carina contain. And, kissing your lips, you turn noman again. "There is a tradition," says Mr. Chambers, " tiiat Dr. Webster wrote this song in early life, in con- sequence of a lady of superior rank, whom he was I engaged to woo f r another, condescending to betray a passion for bim." The lady in question, to whom Dr. Webster was eventually married, was a daughter of Colonel Erskine of Alva, and nearly related to the Dundonald Camily.] Oh, how could I venture to love one like thee, And you not despise a poor conquest like me. On lords, thy admirers, could look wi' disdain. And knew I was naething, yet pitied my pain - You said, while they teasevi you with nonsense and dress. When real the passion, the vanity's less; You saw t'lirough that silence which others despi s^" , And, while beaux were a-taUdng, read love in my eyes. Oh, how sh.-Ul I fauld thee, and kiss a" thy charms. Till, fainting wi' pleasure, I die in your am.s; Through all the wild transports of ecstacy tost, lill, sinking together, together we're lost: W, B IK ^ ^) ^ Ziuiii- ^^m^^:^sy^m''^^[:^^'^'m^^, \ 3S3 SCOTTISH SONGS. JD Oh, where is the maid that like thee ne'er can cloy, "Whose wit can enliven each dull pause of joy ; A nd when the short raptures are all at an end. From beautiful mistress turn sensible friend ? In vain do I praise thee, or strive to reveal, (Too nice for expression,) what only we feel : In a' that ye do, in each look and each mien. The graces in waiting adorn you unseen. "When I see you, I love you; when hearing, adore; I wonder and think you a woman no more : Till, mad wi' admirinir, I canna contain. And, kissing your lips, you turn woman again. "With thee in my bosom how can I despair ? I'll gaze on thy beauties, and look awa' care ; I'll ask thy advice, when with troubles opprest, "VMiich never displeases, but always is best. In all that I write I'll thy judgment require; Thy wit shall correct what thy charms did inspire. I'U kiss thee and press thee till youth is all o'er. And then live in friendship, when passion's no more. [T. M. Cunningham.] BoNNiK Clouden, as ye wander. Hills, an' heughs, an' muirs amang. Ilka knowe an' green meander. Learn my s.id, my dulefu' sang ! Braes o' breckan, hills o' heather, Howms whare rows the gowden w.ive | Blissful scenes ! fareweel for ever ! 1 maun seek an unco grave. Sair I pled, though fate, unfriendly, Stang'd my heart wi' waes and dules. That some faithfu' hand might kindly Lay't amang my native moola. Cronies dear, wha late an' early, Aye to soothe my sorrows strave, Think on ane wha lo'es you dearly, Doom'd to seek an unco grave. Torn awa' frae Scotia's mountains, Far frae a' that's dear to dwall, Mak's my e'en twa gushin' fountains. Sings a dirk in my puir saul. Braes o' breckan, liills o' heather, Ho\<-ms whare row the gowden wave, Blissfu' scenes, fareweel for ever, I maun seek an unco grave ! [Written by the late Daniel "Weir to a, Gaelic air, which is given in the sixth volume Smith's Scottish Minstrel. Raven's stream the neighbourhood of Greenock.] My love, come let us wander, \\Tiere Raven's streams meander. And where in simple grandeur. The daisy decks the plain. Peace and joy our hours shall measure ; Come, oh come, my soul's best treasure ! Then how sweet, and then how cheerie. Raven's braes will be, my dearie. The silver moon is beaming, On Clyde her light is streaming. And, while the world is dreaming, "U^e'll talk of love, my dear, None, my Jean, will share this bosom, "Where thine image loves to blossom. And no storm will ever sever That dear flower, or part us ever. [Jambs Hooo.— Music by R. A. Smith.] O STRIKE your h.irp, my Mary, Its loudest liveliest key, And join the sounding Correi In its wild melodic. For bum, and breeze, and billow. Their sang are a' the same. And every waving willow Sounds, " Cameron's welcome hame." O list yon thrush, my Mary, That warbles on the pine ! Its strain so light and airy. Accords in joy with thine is in * y 0M<>i^^'^-.^M^^''^'>^'kM'^^^^^i^^ The lark that soars to heaven, The sea-bird on the faem. Are singing from morn 'till even, " Brave Cameron's welcome hame. D'ye mind, my ain dear Mary, When we hid in the tree. And saw our Auchnaeary, All flaming fearfully ? The fire was red, red glaring. And ruefu' was the pine. And aye you cried despairing, My father's ha's are gane. I said, my ain wee Mary, D'ye see yon cloud sae dun. That sails aboon the cary. And hides the weary sun ? Behind yon cloud sae dreary, Beyond and far within. There's ane, my dear wee Mary, That views this deadly sin. He sees this ruefu' reavery. The rage of dastard knave ; He saw our deeds of bravery. And he'll reward the brave. Though a* we had was given For loyalty and faith, I still had hopes that heaven Would ri^ht the heroes' scaith. The day is dawned in heaven. For which we a' thought lang ; The good, the just, is given To right our nation's wrang. My ain dear Auchnaeary, I ha'e thought lang for thee, O sing to your harp, my Mary, And sound its bonniest key. SiB g? uut s 'Icrinfe lBMk> 389 Driving their baws frae whins or tee. There are nae gowfers to be seen, Kor dousser fowk wy sing a-j ee The byass-bouls on Tamson's green. Then fling on coals, and rype the ribs. And beek the house baith butt and ben ; That mutchkin-stoup it hauds but dribs — Then let's get in the tappit-hen. Good claret best keeps out the cauld. And drives away the winter soon ; It makes a man baith gash and bauid. And heaves his soul beyond the moon, &c. From this ode Eamsay selected the seven con- cluding verses, and published them in his Tea Table Miscellany as a song, to the tune of " Fye, gar rub her ower wi' strae," adopting the first four lines of that old strain as his opening. " It is self-evident," says Burns, " thatthe first four lines of this song are part of a song more ancient than Bamsay's beautiful verses which are annexed to them. As music is the language of nature; and poetry, particularly songs, are always less or morv- localized (if I may be allowed the verb) by some of the modifications of time and place, this is the reason why so many of our Scots airs have out- lived their original, and perhaps many subsequent sets of verses ; except a single name, or phrase, or sometimes one or two lines, simply to distinguish the tunes by. To this day, among people who know nothing of Ramsay's verses, the following is the song, and all the song that ever I heard ; ' Gin ye meet a bonnie lassie, Gi'e her a kiss and let her gae ; But gin ye meet a dirty hizzie, Fye, gae rub her ower wi' strae. Fye, gae rub her, rub her, rub her, Fye, gae rub her ower wi' strae : And gin ye meet a dirty hiizie, Fye, gae rub her ower wi* str.ie.' " The tune of " Fye, gar rub her ower wi' strae" U very old. We see it attached to one or t«o En- glish songs as far back as the beginning of the last century.] I [Onb of All ax Ramsay's very finest produc tions was a Scottish paraphrase or imitation of Horace's celebrated 9th Ode, Ad Thaliarcum. It ' commences thus : Look up to Pentland's tow'ring tap, ! Buried beneath great wreaths of snaw, | O'er ilka cleugh, ilk scar, and slap, ' ' As high as ony Roman wa'. ^ Gin ye meet a bonnie lassie, Gi'e her a kiss and let her gae ; But if ye meet a dirty hizzie, Fye, gar rub her ower wi' strae. Be sure ye dinna quit the grip Of ilka joy when ye are young. Before auld age your vitals nip. And lay ye twa-feu!d ower a rung. & \.. :jv,i ^f-- ^ym'0^m^:^^m'^^m&i 390 SCOTTISH S0NG3. Sweet youth's a bijthe and heartsome time : -'^ Then, lads and lasses, while it's 31ay, (( Gae pou the gowan in its prime. Before it wither and decay. Watch the saft minutes o' delipht, AVhen Jenny speaks below her breath. And kisses, li.yin' ;i' the wyte On you if fchc ki.p ony skaith. llaith, ye're ill-bred, she'll smilin' say, Ye'll worry me, ye greedy rook ; Syne frae your arms she'll rin away, And hide hersel' in some dark neuk. Her lauch will lead ye to the place. Where lies the happiness ye want; And plainly tell ye to your face, Kineteen nay-says are hauf a grant. Jfow to her heavin' bosom cling. And sweitly tuilyie for a kiss ; Frae her fair finger whup a ring. As taiken o' a future bliss. These benisons, I'm very sure. Are of kind heaven's indulgent grant; Then, surly carles, wheesht, forbear To plague us wi' your whinin' cant 1 [This beautiful national lyric is the production of Robert Wh its of Newcastle-upon-Tyne, and is here printed for the first time. Mr. White, though long resident in England, is a native of Scotland; and the verses were suggested by an inquiry made by Mr. Patrick Maxwell, the editor of Miss Biamire's poems, as to whether or not he was a Scotsman. To Mr. Maxwell, therefore, the public is indebted as the cause of so fine a ,: piece being produced, and we, in particular, have to express our obligations to him for his kindness in forw.arding it to " The Book of Scottish Song," as well as another beautiful poem by the same author, called " The Mountaineer's Death," which will be found in another part of the work.] Z Fair Scotland ! dear as life to me r *— Are thy majestic hills ; ^^ And sweet as purest melody ^"^ y The music of thy rills : The wildest cairn, the darkest dell \V'ithin thy rocky strand. Possess o'er me a living spell — Thou art my native land ! Loved country ! when I muse upon Thy dauntless men of old. Whose swords in battle foremost shone— Thy Wallace brave and bold. And Uruce, who for our liberty Did England's sway withstand — I glory 1 was born in tnee. My own ennobled land ! Nor less thy Martyrs I revere. Who spent their latest breath To seal the cause they held so dear, And conquered even in death : Their graves evince, o'er hill and plain. No bigot's stern command Shall mould the faith thy sons maintain. ily dear, devoted land ! And thou hast ties around my heart- Attraction deeper still ; The gifted Poet's sacred art. The Minstrel's matchless skill : Yea, every scene that Burns and Scott Have touched with magic hand. Is in my sight a hallowed spot. Mine own distinguished land! I when I wandered far from thee, I saw thee in my dreams — 1 marked thy forests waving free, I heard thy rushing streams: Thy mighty dead in life came forth ; I knew the honour'd band ; We spoke of thee— thy fame— thy worth. My high exalted land ! Now, if the lowly home be mine In which my fathers dwelt; And I can worship at the shrine Where they in fervour knelt ; No glare of wealth, or honour high. Shall lure me from thy strand : 0! 1 would yield my parting sigh In thee — my native land 1 ^^^^^s^m^ ^u^mt^ •I ^^f ^fiiplsic?:! -Air, The Mariner's [William Falconer.- Dirge."] Ye lost companions of distress, adieu ! Your toils, and pains, and dangers are no more; The tempest now shall howl unheard by you, While ocean smites in vain the trembling shore. On you the blast, surcharged with rain and snow. In winter's dismal nights no more shall beat ; tTnfelt by you the vertic sun may glow. And scorch the panting earth «-ith baneful heat. The thundering drum,the trumpets swelling strain Unheard, shall form the long embattled line ; Unheard, the deep foundations of the main .Shall tumble, when the hostile squadrons join. What though no funeral pomp, no borrowed tear, Your hour of death to gazing crowds shall tell, ^"or weeping friends attend your sable bier. Who sadly listen to the passing beU 1 What tho' no sculptur'd pile your name displays. Like those who perish in their country s cause I What though no epic muse in living lays. Records your dreadful daring with applause ! Yet shall remembrance from oblivion's veil EeUeve your scene, and sigh with grief sincere. And soft compassion, at your tragic tale. In sUent tribute pay her kindred tear. [David Tough. — Air, " An gilleadh duth ciar duth."J Alack, ray sad heart '. how it throbs wi' its sorrow; I ne'er can awa' wi' the thoughts o' to-morrow; 3Iy father he bargain'd to part wi' his Flora, 3Iy black-hair'd dear laddie, O tak' me awa' ! 3Iy black-hair'd dear laddie, tak' me awa' ! I fiee frae the grey-headed laird an' my father, I flee to my shepherd, wha trips owtc the heather; We aye were fu' glad when at e'en we'd forgather ; My black-hair'd dear laddie, tak' me awa' ! My black-hair'd, &c The story is tauld, an' her father's confounded , The ha' wi' his rage an' rampagin' resounded ; The horn, an' the shout's spreadin' clamour, Cir sounded. To tell wha the shepherd had carried awa'. To tell, &c. Owre hill, stream, an' valley, through bramble an' ' bracken. They flew till the fugitives were overtaken ; They've torn them asunder, their tender hearts breakin' ; The black-hair'd poor shepherd they drave him awa". The black-hair'd, &c. The shepherd he look'd in a sad sort o' languish, An' Flora, o'ercome, in a heart-breakin'aniruish, Exclaim'd — " Frosty-headed laird ne'er shall ex- tinguish My love for the laddie they've driven awa'." My love, &c. Then, Flora, my life's saul, refrain thy sad sorrow, JS'or heed ye the purposed plan o' to-morrow. The doitard is doited, the shepherds, dear Flora, Ere morning's grey dawnin' will hae thee awa'. Ere morning, (ie. ^l-^ <^ctn ©' lEsf^x^an. [Hugh Aikslik.— Set to music by E. A. Smith.] The Rover o' Lochryan, he's gane Wi' his merry men sae brave ; Their hearts are o' the steel, an' a better k.-ri Ne'er bowl'd owTe the back o' a wave. It's no when the loch lies dead in its trough. When niiething disturbs it ava ; But the rack, an' the ride o' the restless tide Or the splash o' the grey sea-m*w. It's no when the yawl an' the light skiff* crau 1 Owre the breast o' the Siller sea. That I look to the west for the bark I lo'e best, An' the Rover that's dear to me. But when that the clud lays its cheeks to the flud. An' the sea lays its shouther to the shore ; When the win' sings high, an' the sca-whaups cry As they rise frae the vrhitening roar. ■>:. <^^^^s>^imsi^:d^^^m^ -^-i^^tivr^^ ^^^^^j^^^^^Wi^^^^ 393 SCOTTISH SONGS. It's then that I look to the thickening rook. An' watch by tlie midnight tide; I ken the wind brings my rover hame. An' the sea that he glories to ride. O merry he sits "mang his jovial crew Wi' the helm-heft in his hand. An' he sings aloud to his boys in blue. As his e'e's upon Galloway's land — " Unstent an' slack each reef and tack, Gi'e her sail, boys, while it may sit; She has roar'd through a heavier sea afore. An' she'll roar through a heavier yet. T^Tien landsmen sleep, or wake an' creep. In the tempest's angry moan. We dash through the drift, and sing to the lift 0' the wave, that heaves us on." S? [Words by Jamrs Macdonai.d. — Music by Andrew Armour. — Here first printed.] Thk winter's cauld and cheerless blast May rob the feckless tree, Mary, Anil lay the young flowers in the dust, Wliar anee they bloom'd in glee, Mary. It canna chill my bosom's hopes — It canna alter thee, Mary ; The summer o' thy winsome face Is aye the same to me. Mar)-. The gloom C life, its cruel strife May wear me fast awa', Mary ; An' lea'e me, like a cauld, cauld corpse Ainang the drifting snaw, Mary. Yet 'mid the drift, wert thou but nigh, I'd fauld my weary e'e, Mary ; And deem the wild and raging storm A laverock's sang o' glee, Marj'. My heart can lie in ruin's dust. And fortune's winter dree, Mary; While o'er it shines the diamond ray That glances frae thine e'e, Blary. The rending pangs and waes o' lifo. The dreary din o' care, Mary, I'll welcome, gin they lea'e but thee My lanely lot to share, Jf arj-. ^ As o'er yon hill the evening star Is wiling day awa', Mary, Sae sweet and fair art thou to me At life's sad gloamin' fa', Mary. It gars me greet w i' veni joy, Whene'tT I think on thee, Mary, That s:e a heart, sae true as thine, Should e'er ha'e cared for me, Mary. JBiIatg JlaiCEciL [From the Edinburgh Intelligencer, 23d De- cember, 1840. — Air, " Kinloch of Kinloch." — Erskink Co.nollv, the author of this and several other sweet songs, was bom " in Crail toun," Fifeshire, and died at Edinburgh, January 7th, 1&13.] The last gleam o" sunset in ocean was sinkin', Owre mountain an' meadowland glintin' faro- weel ; An' thousands o' stars in the heavens were blinkin'. As bright as the een o' sweet Mary Macneil. A' glowin' wi' gUadness she lean'd on her lover. Her oen tellin' secrets she thought to conceal ; And fondly they wander'd whar nane might dis- cover The trjst o' young Ronald an* Marj- Macneil. ! Mary was modest, an' pure as the lily That dew-draps o' momin' in fragrance reveal ; Nne fresh bloomin' flow'ret in hill or in valley Could rival the beauty of Mary Macneil. She moved, and the graces play'd sportive around her; She smiled, and the hearts o' the cauldest wad thrill ; She sang, an' the mavis cam' listcnin' in wofider, . To claim a sweet sister in Mary Macneil. But ae bitter blast on its fair promise blawin', Frae spring a' its beauty an' blossoms will steal; An' ae sudden blight on the gentle heart fi'in'. Inflicts the deep wound nothing earthly can heal. The simmer saw Ronald on glory's path hiein' — The autumn, his corse on the red battle-flel'; The winter, the maiden found heart-broken, dyin'; An' fipring spread the green turf owre Mary Macniel ' fc) *LS5 ^■i ■^ 9! S'lWi&-*.:5^S^'-^-^ei u^m^-^'^' ^\i=y^''i %t%%U ftnne [Bt Johjj DouGAi, formerly of Paisley, now of Montreal.] The primrose blooms beneath the brae. The burn rins rowin' clear ; The laverock lilts nae sound o' wae. But wha my heart sail cheer ; Or wha will tent my bonnie bairn, Sae like my fause, fe.use luve ? Or wha, when I am dead and gane. Its tender plaints will muve ?' Yestreen they ca'd me leddie Anne, The bonniest o' them a' ; j The day my cheeks are howe an' wan. An' this wild glen's my ha' : Yestreen I had six bower maidens To do what I thocht meet. The day I lie on the cauld green grass. An' hear my baby greet. I An' its a' for thee, my fause, fause luve, I That I maun dree sae sair, I An' for my cruel father's wrath, I Wha I maun ne'er see mair. J But it's little pain ha'e I to thole. Or grief ha'e I to dree, I The grave is calm ; but wha will heed, '' 3Iy bonnie bairn, for thee. I Let the wounded doe skipp ower the mead, ' Bring comfort to despair. But she wha tines her maiden fame ' Can ne'er taste pleasure mair; Then, gracious heaven, be not wroth ' Wi' ane sae sair beguU'd, ^ Forgive them a' that did me wrang, ■J An' save, O, save my child I Wm HEaitg. >5? 303 O weel I ken their bonnie lilts, Their sweetest notes o' melody, Fu' aft they've thrill'd out through my saul. And gart the tear fill ilka ee. O, sweetest minstrels ! weet your pipe, A tender soothin' note to blaw ; S\-ne souf the " Broom o' Cowdenknowes," Or " Eoslin Castle's" ruined wa'. They bring to mind the happy days, Fu' aft I've spent wi' Jenny dear : — Ah ! now ye touch the ver>- note. That gars me sigh, and drap a tear. Your fremit lilts I downa bide, ITiey never yield a charm for me : Cnlike our ain, by nature made, Tnlike the saft delight they gi'e ; For weel I ween they warm the breast. Though sair oppress 'd wi'poortith cauld; An' sae an auld man's heart they cheer. He tines the thought that he is auld. O, sweetest minstrels ! halt a wee, Anither lilt afore ye gang ; An' syne I'll close my waukrife e'e. Enraptured wi' your bonnie sang. They're gane I the moon begins to dawn ; They're weary paidlin' through the weet; They're gane ! but on my ravished ear. The dying sounds yet thrill fu' sweet [To an old Border melody.] Oh Nancy's hair is yellow like gowd. An' her een, like the Uft, are blue ; Her face is the image o' heavenly luve, An' her heart is leal and true. I'i,* I [Richard Gall.— The Waits are little bands \ 5^ of musicians, who perambulate the streetsat mid- c^ night, for some time before and after the Christ- (£_^, mas and New-Year festivities.] «^7 Wha's this, wi' voice o' music sweet, yi^ Sae early wakes the weary wight ? f IP. O weel I ken them by their sough, K^ The wand'ring minstrels o' the ni The innocent smile that plays on her check. Is like the dawning morn ; An' the red, red blush, that across it flees. Is sic as the rose ne'er has worn. If it's sweet to see the flickerin' smile Licht up her sparklin' ee. Its holier far to see it dimm'd Wi' the gushin' tear's saut tree. n m 1 i I f ^ t 'Twas na for a faithless luve's fause vows. Nor a brither upo' the wave, That 1 saw them fa' — no, they were drapt On an aged father's grave. Though joy may dimple her bonnie n.ou'. An' daftin' may banish care. In nap blythsome mood, nor hour o' bliss, Will these een e'er glint sae fair. ^^awfedl. [James Murray. — Here first printed.] AVkbn we're parted, think not thou I'll forget our plighted vow — Other looks from other eyes — Other whispers — other sighs — Other forms, though fair they be. Shall not wean my soul from thee. Oft as balmy t^v^light flings Bewdrops from her dusky wings — Oft as coming mom again Trembles in the sparkling main. Shall my fervent prayer be — Light of life and joy, to thee ! When the noonday sun is high. Flaming in the arching sky — When the swain, with toil opprest. Seeks the shade and sinks to rest. Then, in fancy wild and free, 1 will hve that hour with thee. E^albfO, [Herh first printed.— Air, "My he.irt is sair for somebody."] SWEET is summer's scented breath. When flowers bloom rich in muir and dell. But sweeter far, and bonnier baith. Is rosy-eheeked Isabell. O my dear Isabell, O my lovely Isabell, Time may change, and hearts may range. But still I'll love my Isabell. ; what to me were wealth or worth ? O what were blessed life itsel' ■* Or what the joys and gems of earth. Without the love of Isabell ? O my dear Isabell, O my lovely Isabell, She's a' to me that s;unt should be. My joy and jewel Isabell. 1 feel that poverty i3 bless'd. It has mair joys tlian tongue can tell ; For were I rich, I'd ne'er possess'd The bosom love of Isabell. O my dear Isabell, O my lovely Isabell, I bless my lot, because it's got My rosy-cheeked Isabell. [Nicholson. — Air, " O, are ye sleeping, Maggie- n M The heath-cock craw'd o'er muir and dale, V^ Red raise the sun, the sky was cloudy, ^ While must'ring far wi' distant yell. The northern bands mareh'd stem and steady. ' - O ! Duncan, Donald's ready I ^ O! Duncan, Donald's ready ! {f\j Wi' sword an' targe he seeks the charge, ^/ \ An' frae his shouther flings the plaidie. / • Nae mair we chase the fleet-foot roe, V^ O'er down an' dale, o'er mountain flyin' : <^'iX But rush like tempests on the foe, ^'';^ Through mingled groans the war-note cryin'. ^ .^ O ! Duncan, Donald's ready ! &c. '^'' , A prince is come to claim his ain, /y A stem o' Stuart, frien'less Charlie ; %£' What Highlan' han' its blade wad hain ? l^^, What Uighlan' heart behint would tarry ? O ; Duncan, Donald's ready ! I see our hardy clans appear. The sun back frae their blades is beamin' ; The southron trump falls on my ear. Their banner'd lion's proudly streamin'. Now, Donald, Duncan's ready! Now, Donald, Duncan's ready ! Within his hand he grasps his brand ; Fierce is the fray, the field is bluidy ! ■^^^^W&^^^^^W^ ^^m^) But lane shall Scotland rue the day. She saw her flag sae fiercely flying; Culloden hills were hills o' wae ; Her laurels torn, her warriors dying. Duncan now nae Tn^ir is ready, Duncan now nae mair is ready I The brand is fa'en frae out his han'. His bonnet blue lies stain'd an' bluidy ! Fair Flora's gane her love to seek, Lang may she wait for his retumin' ; The midnight dews fe,' on her cheek ; What han' shall dry her tears o' moumin' Duncan now nae mair is ready, &c. [Jamks Hogg.] loxG have 1 pined for thee. Land of my infency ! Kow will I kneel on thee. Hill of Lochiel ! Hill of the sturdy steer, HiU of the roe and deer, HUl of the streamlet clear, I love thee well. AVhen in my youthful prime, Correi and crag to climb. Or towering cliff sublime. Was my delight Scaling the eagle's nest. Wounding the raven's breast, Skimming the mountain's crest. Gladsome and light. When, at the break of mom. Proud o'er thy temples borne, Kythed the red-deer's horn. How my heart beat ! Then, when with stunned leap EoU'd he adown the steep, Never did hero reap Conquest so great. Then rose a bolder game. Young Charlie Stuart came ; Cameron, that loyal name. Foremost must be. Hard then our warrior meed. Glorious our warrior deed, 'TiU we were doom'd to bleed By treachery. Then did the red blood stream. Then was the broad sword's gle; Quench d in fair freedom's besur: 2«"o more to shine ; Then was the morning's brow Eed with the fiery glow. Fell hall and hamlet low. All that were mine. Then was our maiden young. First aye in battle strong. Fired at her prince's wrong. Forced to give way. Broke was the golden cup. Gone Caledonia's hojie ; Faithful and true men drop Fast in the clay. Far in a hostile land, Stretch'd on a foreign strand. Oft has the tear-drop bland Scorch "d as it fell. Once was I spum'd from thee. Long have I moum'd for thee, is^ow I'm retxirn'd to thee. Hill of Lochiel. mi b tit !^5%e. [Air, " Broom blooms bonnie."] How sweet the rose blaws, it tides and it fa's ; Red is the rose and bonnie, O : It brings to my mind what my dear Johnnie was ; So bloom 'd, so cut off was my Johnnie, O. Now peace is retum'd, but nae joy brings to me ; Ked is the rose and bonnie, O : For cold is his cheek, and closed is his e'e. And nae mair beats the heart o' my Johnnie, O. Ab ! why did he love me, and leave these sweet Red is the rose and bonnie, O : [plains ; Where smiling contentment and peace ever reigns, ^A But they'll ne'er bloom again for my Johnnie, O. ^, ^g/m^^^^^^^^i^^'^^^^^^^^a^^^s^^^^ ■^^5:^®^ 5^^^'#^^" 396 SCOTTISH SONGS. If or to me will their beauties e'er pleasure impart; Red is the rose and bonnie, O : For sunk ia my spirits, and broken my heart ; Soon I'll meet ne'er to part frae my Johnnie, O. ^ And I am sick of captive thraU. ^-*^ I wish I were as I have been, «^ Hunting the hart in forests green, ^T A With bended bow and bloodhound free, %\'f For that's the life is meet for me ^''5} I hate to learn the ebb of time, y .c^ From yon dull steeple's drowsy ch^me, ^^ Or mark it as the sunbeams crawl, />i Inch after inch along the wall. U.^ "• The lark was wont my matin ring, l^^ The sable rook my vespers sing ; ■»' ' N These towers, although a king's they be, f^' ^ Have not a hall of joy for me. ^ / j IIo more at dawning morn I rise, And sun myself in Ellen's eyes, Drive the fleet deer the forest through. And homeward wend with evening dew ; A blithesome welcome blithely meet, And lay my trophies at her feet. While fled the eve on wing of glee— That life is lost to love and me. [Nicholson.— Tune, "Ewe Buchts, Marion."] Will ye go to the Highkin's, my Mar)-, And visit our haughs and our glens ■' There's beauty 'mang hills o' the Highlan's The braw lawlan' lassie ne'er kens. 'Tis true we've few cowslips or roses, Nae Ulies grow wild on the lee ; But the heather its sweet scent discloses. And the daisy's as sweet to the e'e. See yon far heathy hills, whar they're risin', ■Whose summits are shaded wi' blue ; There the fleet mountain roes they are lyin". Or feeUin" their fawns, low, for you. \p-^>^^^l^r^^nk m^?^m-^ '^m^'^m^im^^'Mfj^ I 398 SCOTTISH SONGS. I vK. There the loud roaring floods they are fallin'. By crags that are furrow'd and grey; To her young there the eagle is callin'. Or gazin' afar for her prey. Or low, by the birks on the burnie, Whar the goat wi' her younglin's doth rest. There oft I would lead yiee my Mary, Whar the blackbird has builded her nest. Right sweet are our scenes i' the gloamin", Whan the shepherds return fl-ae the hill, Aroun' by the banks o" Loch Lomon', While bagpipes are soundin' sae shrill. Right sweet is the low-setting sun -beam. On the lake's bosom quiv'rin' seen ; But sweeter the smiles o' my Mary, And kinder the blinks o' her een. Thy looks would gar simmer seem sweeter. An' cheer winter's bare dreary gloom ; With thee every joy is completer. While true love around us should bloom. The south'ren, in a' his politeness. His airs and his grandeur may shine ; Our hills boast o' mair true discreetness. An' his love is not equal to mine. &z lan^^ c! ®aici [NiCHOMON.— Tune, " Sin' my Uncle's a."] ■\Vhebk windin' Tarf, by broomy knowes. Her siller wave sae saftly rows ; And mony a green-wood cluster grows. An' hare-bells bloomin', bonnie, O. Below a spreadin' hazle tree, Fu' snugly hid whar nane could see. While bUnkin" love beam'd frae her e'e, I met my bonnie Annie, O. Her neck was o' the snaw-drap hue. Her lips like roses wet wi' dew : But O, her e'e, o' azure blue. Was past expressin' bonnie, O. Like threads o' gowd her flowin' hair, That lightly wanton'd in the air; But vain were a' my skill an' mair To tell the charms o' Annie, O. AMiilo smilin' in my arms she lay. She whisperin' in my ear did say, " U how could I survive the day. Should ye prove fause, my Tammie, O !" " While spangled fish glide to the main, "VN'hile Scotlan's braes shall wave wi' grain. Till this fond heart shall break wi' pain, I'll aye be true to Annie, 0." The Belt-ine winds blew loud an lang. An' ripplin' raised the spray alang; We cheerfu' sat, and chierfu' sang. The banks o' Tarf are bonnie, O. Tho' sweet is spring, whan young and gay, An' blythc the blinks o' summer's day; I fear nae winter, cauld and blae. If blest wi' love an' Annie, 0. [Alex. Fullarton.— Tune, "Bonnie Dundee] Now lanely I sit 'neath the green spreading willow. The loss o' my Johnnie in tears to deplore : Loud blows the wind o'er the white foaming billow; But the wild howling storm can awake him no more! Bravely he fought on the hills of Vimiera, Was doom'd at Corunna, with Moore, to lie low; But bravely he fell, his brave comrades declare a', AVliile fearless he press'd on the ranks of the foe. Oh ! blirty and blae w.as the day when we parted ! And sair blew the blast on the bare nuked tree: But mild was the storm when compared wi' the tempest That raved in my heart, and that blindit my e'e. Fondly, but vainly, he strove for to cheer me. And spak' o' braw days when again he'd be free : But ah ! never mair shall the sight o' my Johnnie Bring joy to my heart, or yet gladden my e'e. O sweet war the hours that I spent wi' my laddie. And saft were the tiiles that he Uiuld in mine ear; Light beat my heart as sae bly thesome and chcerie We met 'mang the breckans, when e'enin' was near: Wild throbb'd my bosom as fondly he prest me. And urged n>y consent, and derided delay ; But now ilka scene whar he kindly caress'd mc Gi'es pain, since my Johnnie lies eauld in the clay. P^^^B^^ "-^"^ i^^^CS^M^i^ics^^^ m^^. SCOTTISH SONGf= 399 Pale glides his ghost on the hills of Corunna : '■ Fancy, O waft the dear shade to my view 1 Fearless, alone I'd converse wi' my Johnnie, Nor tremble to meet him beside the lone yew. Down by yon hawthorn, so lately in blossom. That drooping and wither'd now seems in decay. There aft was I prest to that dear manly bosom. That, sairly lamented, Ues cauld in the clay. ftligeiic?. [This song is the production of Dr. Thomas Bi.ACKLocK, commonly called the Blind Poet, who also composed an air to it, and sent both to Johnson's Museum. It professes to be " written in the manner of Shenstone." Dr. Blacklock was a native of Annan, and in infancy lost his eye- sight from small pox. -S'otwithstanding this calamity, he studied for the church, and was licensed to preach, but, owing to his blindness, never obtained' a kirk. His life was principally spent at Edinburgh, where he kept a boarding- house, and was much venerated by all cla^ts. He died there in 1791, aged seventy.] Ye rivers so limpid and clear, AVho reflect, as in cadence you flow. All the beauties that vary the year. All the flow rs on your margins that grow ! How blest on your banks could I dwell. Were Jlarg'ret the pleasure to share. And teach your sweet echoes to tell With what fondness I doat on the fair I Ye harvests, that wave in the breeze As far as the view can extend ! Ye mountains, umbrageous with trees, AVhose tops so majestic ascend ! Your landscape what joy to survey. Were MargTet with me to admire ! Then the harvest would glitter, how gay. How majestic the mountains aspire ! In pensive regret whilst I rove. The fragrance of fiow'rs to inhale ; Or catch as it swells from the grove. The music that floats on the g;Ue : Alas I the delusion how vain ! I>or odours nor harmony please A heart agonizing with pain. Which tries ev'ry posture fur e:uo. If anxious to flatter my woes. Or the languor of absence to cheer. Her breath I would catch in the rose. Or her voice in the nightingale hear. To cheat my despair of its prey. What object her charms can assume ! How harsh is the nightingale's lay. How insipid the roses perfume ! Ye zephyrs that visit my fair. Ye sunbeams around her that play, Does her s\Tnpathy dwell on my care ? Does she num ber the hours of my stay ? First pei-ish ambition and wealth. First perish all else that is dear. Ere one sigh should escape her by stealth. Ere my absence should cost her one tear. When, when shall her beauties once more This desolate bosom surprise ? Ye fates ! the blest moments restore When 1 bask'd in the beams of her eyes ; When with sweet emulation of he.art. Our kindness we struggled to show ; But the more that we strove to imparf We felt it more ardently glow. [Written by the Ekv. John Logan, at one time a clergyman in Leith, but who spent the latter years of his life as a literary adventurer in London. He was bom in 17 iS, and died in 1788.] While frequent on Tweed and on Tay, Their harps all the muses have strung, Should a river more limpid than they. The wood-fringed Esk flow unsung .■' While >'elly and Xanoy inspire The poet with pastoral strains. Why silent the voice of the lyre On Mary, the pride of the plains ? O nature's nn st t)e3utiful b'.oom May flourish unseen and unknown : And the shadows of solitude gl'x>in A form tluit might shine on a throne. Through the wilderness blossoms the rt-se. In sweetness retired from the sigh*. ; And Philomel warbles her woes Alone to the ear of the niaht. i .'(^';^ds5*£^''^^.yi^^^^i^^3^^ m^^^^^^^^-^m-^'' SCOTTISH SONGS. I i I?, How often the beauty is hid Amid shades that her triumphs deny ! How often the hero forbid From the path that conducts to the sky ! A Helen has pined in the grove ; A Homer has wanted his name ; Tnseen in the circle of love. Unknown to the temple of fame. Yet let us walk forth to the stream, Where poet ne'er wander'd before ; Enamour'd of JIary's sweet name. How the echoes will spread to the shore ! If the voice of the muse be divine. Thy beauties shall live in my lay ; "While reflecting the forest so fine, Sweet Esk o'er the valleys shall stray. [William Rkid, bookseller, Glasgow.— Tune, 'Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon."] Tair modest flower, of matchless worth ! Thou sweet, enticing, bonnie gem, Blest is the soil that gave thee birth. And blest thine honour'd parent stem. But doubly blest shall be the youth. To whom thy heaving bosom wiirms ; Possess'd of beauty, love, and truth. He'll clasp an angel in his arms. Though storms of life were blowing snell, And on his brow sat brooding care. Thy seraph smile would quick dispel The darkest gloom of black despair. Sure heaven hath granted thee to us, And chose thee from the dwellers there. And sent thee from celestial bliss, To show what all the virtues are. W>u %^\im!iz> Web Johnnie the hynd o' Rigghead, AVhat think ye, he wad ha'e a wifi To manage his meal and his bread, For his siller was nae very rifie. A laird i" the neist borough town, Had doughters and siller a plenty, Thinks he, gif the nest be na flown. My chajice it'll surely be dainty. He puts on his braw plaiding trews. And he scrapes aff his beard wi' a whittle; And he puts on the best o' his blues. And he rubs up his bonnet sac riiuckle. He tak's the wide teeth'd stable kame, jJ%rT And he gi'es his rough head a bit clautie^ - '''' He maist tore the hide frae the bane. For O it was wond'rous tautie. His headpiece put on aboon a', He glowrs in a cogfu' o' water — Says he, " O I'm bonnie and braw. And I'm sure o' the lass and her tocher." A staff in his han' fadam lang. An' nickit, right sair it wad bruise ye ; He lilted awa' and he sang, " Kow I'm sure that she canna refuse me.' Arrived at the gentleman's door — He ken'd na the gaits o' the gentry. He lean'd a' his weight till't, and there He fell w' a blade i' the entry. Miss Jean, for to haud up the joke. She oxtcr'd him ben to her cham'er. An' O ! how he rifted an' spake. An' he said that she shined like the ani'er. An' now, lass, my errand to you Is to mak' ye a sort o' haff marrow To wait on my housie, my dow, AVhile I'm at the pleugh an' the harrow. I've already twa three-fitted stools, A fit-gang, a bed, an' an am'ry, A bink for our bickers an' bowls, An' I break them right aft when I'm angrj-. I've likewise twa gnde horn spoons, A flesh fork, a pot and a ladle, A girdle for toasting our scones, Baith poker an' tangs, an' a paddle. Ye's get parritch an milk in the morning, An' butter an' cheese to your dinner, The same again' night for your corning ; An" ye'U swall just like auld lucky Ginuer. ^j-. B^^^MS^.* ►,:M>i' ^4:3 *^^^3^?«^^^SU^J^- SCOTTISH SONGS. For I've thretty pun Scots ilka year— Tsva pecks o' gude meal an' a saxpence Comes in ilka Saturday clear. Sent me down frae auld Andrew Dickson's. I've likewise a dainty milk cow — An' thae things will aye baud us breathing : Twa pigs an' a dainty brood sow. An' they a' get their grazing for naething. Sae tell me whan ye 're comin' hame. An' dinna appear in a swither. For gin ye winna tak' me, my dame. Troth I'm just gaun awa' to anither. Dear Johnnie, quo' she, with a smile. It's a' verj- fair that ye profifer — But wi' kye and wi' pigs for to toil — I canna accept o' your offer. Her father this while at the door- Lap in wi' an' angry complexion. An" O ; how he curst an' he swore He wad beat him, an' bruise him, an' vex him. Poor Johnnie maist coupit the creels; The door it stood open before him ; He fled— while the grews at his heels. An' the spaniels were like to devour him. %®Ul^ JEaicg. [John- Gkieve.— Air, '•' (Jowd in gowpens."] I'VE seen the lily of the wold ; I've seen the opening marigold, Their fairest hues at mom unfold ; But fairer is my Mary. How sweet the fringe of mountain bum, Vith op'ning flowers at spring's return : How sweet the scent of flowery thom ! But sweeter is my Mary. Her heart is gentle, warm, and kind ; Her form's not fairer than her mind ; Two sister beauties rarely join'd. But join'd in lovely Mary. As music from the distant steep, As starlight on the silent deep. So are my passions lull'd asleep By love for bonnie Mary. 'h^^'lW'&K ^^a$|) t|e SsisS^. [Written by Daxisl WErR to a Gaelic air.] 'Neath the wave thy lover sleeps. And cold, cold is his pillow ; O'er his bed no maiden weeps, "Where rolls the white billow. And though the winds have sunk to rest Upon the ocean's troubled breast. Vet still, oh still there's left behind A restless storm in Ellen's mind. Her heart is on yon dark'ning wave, Where all she lov'd is lying, And where around her William's grave. The sea-bird is crj-ing. And oft on Jura's lonely shore. Where surges beat and bUlows roar. She sat — but grief has nipt her bloom, And there they made young Ellen's tomb. ^^i I'D? l^juriaic^n. [William Mother WELL. — Set to music in R. A. Smith's Scottish Minstrel.] The nicht is mirk, and the wind blaws schill. And the white faem weets my bree. And my mind misgi'es me, gay m.-uden. That the land we sail never see ! Then up and spak' the mermaiden. And she spak' blj-the and free, " I never said to my bonnie bridegroom. That on land we suld weddit be. " Oh ! I never said that ane erthlie preest Our bridal blessing should gi'e. And I never said that a landwart bouir Should hald my luve and me." And whare is that preest, my bonnie maidea. If ane erthlie wicht is na he ? "Oh ! the wind will sough, and the sea will rair, "When weddit we twa sail be." i^ And whare is that bouir, my bocnie maiden, If on land it suld na be ? "Ohi my blythe bouir is low," said the mermaiden , " In the bonnie green howes o' the sea 2c 403 .-^'Ife^g^^^^^fisl^ SCOTTISH SONGS. ^ My gay bouir is bi.c?it o* the gude ships' keels. And the banes o' the drowned at sea; The fisch are the deer that fill my parks. And the water waste my drurie. " And my bouir is sklaitit vn' the big blue waves, And paved wi' the yellow sand. And in my Chalmers grow bonnie white flowers That never grew on Innd. And have ye e'er seen, my bonnie bridegroom, A leman on earth that wuld gi'e Aiker for aiker o' the red ploughed land. As I'll gi'e to thee o' the sea? The mune will rise in half ane hour, And the wee bricht sterns will shine ; Then we'll sink to my bouir 'neath the wan water Full fifty fathom and nine." A wild, wild skreich, gi'ed the fey bridegroom. And a loud, loud laugh, the bride ; For the mune raise up, and the twa sank down Under the silver'd tide. [James Hoog. — Air, " Ho cha neil mulad oim,' or " The Emigrant's adieu."] Fare thee weel, my native cot, Bothy o' the birken tree ! Sair the heart, and hard the lot, O' the lad that parts wi' thee. My good grandsire's hand thee rear'd. Then thy wicker work was full ; Mony a Campbell's glen he elear'd. Hit the buck, and bough'd the bull. In thy green and grassy crook Mair lies hid than crusted stanes ; In thy bjen and weirdly nook Lie some stout Clan-Gillian banes. Thou wast aye the kinsman's hame, Routh and welcome was his fare ; But if serf or Saxon came, He eross'd Munch s hirst nae mair Jfever hand in thee yet bred Kendna how the sword to wield ; 2*ever heart of thine had dread Of the foray or the field : Ne'er on straw, mat, bulk, or bed. Sou of thine lay down to die ; Every lad within thee bred Died beneath heaven's open e'e. Charlie Stuart he cam' here. For our king, as right became ; Wha could shun the Bruce's heir ? ^Vha could tyne our royal name ? Firm to stand, and free to fa'. Forth we march 'd right valiantlie, Gane is .Scotland's king an' law; Woe to the Highlands and to me! Freemen, yet I'll scorn to fret. Here nae langer I maun stay ; But, when I my hame forget. May my heart forget to play ! Fare thee weel, my father's cot. Bothy o' the birken tree ! Sair the heart, and hard the lot, O' the lad that parts wi' thee. [Robert Allan of Kilbarchan.— Air, " T glancing o' her apron."] That life's a fausht there is nae doubt, A steep and slipp'ry brae. And wisdom's sel', wi' a' it's rules, WiU aften find it sae. The truest heart that e'er was made, May find a deadly fae. And broken aiths and i^thless vows Gi'e lovers mickle wae. WTien poortith looks wi' sour disdain. It frights a body sair. And gars them think they ne'er will meet Delight or pleasure mair. But though the heart be e'er sae sad. And prest wi' joyless care, Hope lightly steps in at the last. To fley awa' despair. For love o' wealth let misers toil. And fret baith late and air', A cheerfu' heart has aye enough. And whiles a mite to spare : ':^'^^m^is^^^:m^m^^^^^m^ ■'^:^^m^-m: SCOTTISH SONGS. 403 A leal true heart's a gift firae heaVn, A gift that is maist rare ; It is a treasure o' itsel'. And lightens ilka care. Let wealth and pride exalt themsel's. And boast o' what they ha'e , Compar'd wi' truth and honesty. They are nae worth a strae. The honest heart keeps aye aboon, "Whate'er the world may say. And laughs and turns its shafts to scorn. That ithers would dismay. Sae let us mak' life's burden light. And drive ilk care awa' ; Contentment is a dainty feast. Although in hamely ha' ; It gi'es a charm to ilka thing. And mak's it look fu' braw. The spendthrift and the miser herd. It soars aboon them a'. But there's ae thing amang the lave To keep the heart in tune. And but for that the weary spleen "Wad plague us late and soon ; A bonnie lass, a canty wife. For sic is nature's law ; Without that charmer o' our lives. There's scarce a charm ava. [Alex. Carlii.e.] The corbie wi' his roupy throat. Cried frae the leafless tree, " Come o'er the loch, come o'er the loch, Come o'er the loch to me." The craw put up his sooty head. And look'd o'er the nest whare he lay. And gied a flaf wi' his rousty wings. And cried " whare tae ? whare tae ?" Ccr. " Te pike a dead man that's lying A hint yon mcikle stane." Cra. " Is he £at, is he fat, is he fat, is he fat ? If no, we may let him alane." 4fe Cor. " He cam' frae merry England, to steal : I The sheep, and kill the deer." Cra. " I'll come, I'll come, for an Englishman Is aye the best o' cheer." Cor. " O we may breakfast on his breast. And on his back may dine ; For the lave a' fled to their ain countriej And they've ne'er been back sinsyne." ^1? ^5^. " Ea," quo' the tod, " it's a braw licht nicht. The win's i' the wast, and the mune shines brieht. The win's i' the wast, and the mune shines brieht. An' I'll awa' to the toun, O. "I was down amang yon shepherd's scroggs, I'd like to been worried by his dogs. But, by my sooth ! I minded his hogs That nicht I cam' to the toun, O." He's ta'en the grey goose by the green sleeve, " Ech, ye auld witch ! nae langer shall ye live ; Tour flesh it is tender, your banes I maun prieve, For that I cam' to the toun, O." Up gat the auld wife out o' her bed, And out o' the window she shot her auld head, " Eh, gudeman ! the grey goose is dead. An' the tod has been i' the toun, O.' [The authoress of this song, and of others which we shall presently quote, was Mrs. Jokx Hunter, wife of the distinguished anatomist aiii physiologist, John Hunter, whose brother, ^V.;. liain, founded the Hunterian Museum at Gl.a,-- cow. Her maiden name was Anne Home, an i she was the eldest daughter of Kobcrt Homo > : Greenlaw, in Berwickshire, a surgeon in the am > . She was born in 1742, married in 1771, and d-.. J in 1821. A volume of her poems was published at London in 1802, dedicated to her son.] Mv mother bids me hind my hair With bands of rosy hue, Tie up my sleeves with ribbons rare. And Lice my boddice blue. '^:^^2mf^'^m^^'i^fm'^<^.<^mm0 f ^^' 404 SCOTTISH SONGS. r ^1 For why, she cries, sit still and weep, ■\Vhile others dance and play .•> Alas ! I scarce can go or creep. While Lubin is away. 'Tis sad to think the days are gone, When those we love were near ; I sit upon this mossy stone. And sigh when none can hear. And w^ile 1 spin my flaxen thread. And sing my simple lay. The village seems asleep, or dead. Now Lubin is away. [Mks. John Hunter.] In airy dreams fond fancy flies, My absent love to see. And with the early dawn I rise. Dear youth, to think of thee. How swiftly flew the rosy hours. When hope and love were new ; Sweet was the time as op'nlng flowers, But ah ! 'twas transient too. The moments now move slowly on. Until thy wish'd return ; I count them pensive and alone. As in the shades I mourn. Eetum, return, my love, and charm Each anxious care to rest ; Thy voice shall every doubt disarm. And soothe my troubled breast. [Mrs. John Hunter.] While I behold the moon's pale beam. Her light perhaps reflects on thee. As wand'ring near the silver stream. Thy sad remembrance turns to me. Ah, to forget ! the wish were vain ! Our souls w ere form'd thus fond to be ; Ko more I'll murmur and complain. For thou, my love, wilt think on me. Silent and sad, I take my way. As fortune deigns my bark to steer ; Of hope a laint and distant ray Our far divided days shall cheer. Ah ! to return, to meet again ! Dear blissful thought ! with love and thee ! No more I murniur and complain. For thou, my love, wilt think on me. [Mrs. John Hunter.] Far from hope, and lost to pleasure. Haste away to war's alarms ! Sad I leave my soul's dear treasure. For the dismal din of arms. But, ah ! for thee I follow glory. To gain thy love I dare to die; And when my comrades tell my story. Thou Shalt lament me with a sigli. All my griefs will then be over. Sunk in death's eternal rest : You may regret a faithful lover. Though you refuse to make him bless'd. Bestow a tear of kind compassion To gr.ace a hapless soldier's tomb ; And, ah ! forgive a fatal passion. Which reason could not overcome. feSJiaE Mmt^ ^m%, [Mrs. John Hunter.] The sun sets in night, and the stars shun the day. But glory remains when their lights fade away. Begin, ye tormentors, your threats are in vain For the son of Alknomook will never complain. k^^m^^'^^'^~^M3^fi^^f^ W^^^^' SCOTTISH SONGS. 405 Remember the arrows he shot from his bow ; ■ Remember your chiefs by his hatchet laid low. Why so slow ? Do you wait till I siirink from the No! the son of Alknomook shall never complain. Remember the wood where in ambush we lay. And the scalps which we bore from your nation away: Now the flame rises fast ; ye exult in my pain ; But the son of Alknomook can never complain. I go to the land where my father is gone ; His ghost shall rejoice in the fame of his son. Death comes like a friend, to relieve me from pain; And thy son, O Alknomook, has scom'd to com- plain! HEc^^iSi %tte. [AtKX. Laing.— Air, " Carolau's Receipt."] Wk sought the green, the shady grove. When life was young and love was new : We pledg'd the vows of purest love. And with our years affection grew. Now in the cot on yonder brow. Around with folding ivy wove. The Shannon's winding stream in view. How bless'd we'U live on wedded love. And though our fortune is but low. Though we have yet but little store, I'll wield the spade, and ply the hoe, And strive to make that little more; And when my daily toU is o'er. With cheerful heart I'U homeward move And smiling peace, and plenty, sure. Will bless the home of wedded love ! ^ime tunmt hM, [William Holmes.— Here first printed.] Time cannot blot from memory's book The record of those tender ties. Sprung from that first and silent look Of ours into each other's eyes. Yet neither of us read aright The language of each other's heart ; Or thou would'st not my passion slight. Nor I be grieved from thee to part. I dream't, while gazing on thy face, A soul was beaming on thy smile ; Alas ! it was a maiden grace ily fancy furnished all the while. 'Tis ever thus that love is blind : Sly heart, though open to thy view, Seem'd but a picture, which thy mind Of its own icy coldness drew. Farewell, farewell ! — still thou wilt seem ITnchang'd till my life's latest even ; The image of a blessed dream. That gave to earth the light of heaven. ^m gK^e^mstt, [Alex. Laisc] OcB gudem.an's aye frae hame. Aye fine hame, aye frae hame ; Our gudeman's aye frae hame. Drunken doited carlie '. Yet a' the wark about the town. Out an' in gaes brawly on. Our Johnny's sic an unco loan. For workin' late and early ! X fee'd the chiel' at Candlemas, At Candlemas, at Candlemas; I fee'd the chiel' at Candlemas, To saw the aits and barley ; But Johnny's ready, young, an' foinrh, An' foremost aye at cart an' pleueh : An' never thinks he works ancugh. Though workin" late an' early. The corbie-craw came here yestreen, Came here yestreen, emie here yestnxi The corbie-CTaw came here yestreen. An' croaked king and sairly, — Oh : were he fey that's nightly fu', H.id mools an" maggots ance their due, Our Johnny maunna ba'e to rue. His workin* late and early. ia ^^m'^^^^^f:^i^'^^^^:^s^^m!^^ 406 ^^^^^WS^ \^' SCOTTIriU SOXGS. I '1 JEs lut$'0 i:i 'Se3:ma3:i2, gi^mtcs:, W W clou^g 'hx^'m. (' [Tnis, to the tune of "Ye Jacobites by name," was first published as a single sheet song by N. t^tcwa^t & Co., Edinburgh, and was said to have been written by a lady on the death of an officer, in 1794. Hector Macneill, however, claimed it as his own.] Mv lure's in Germanie ; Send him hame, send him liame : My luve's in Germanie ; Send him hame. My luve's in Germanie, Fighting brave for royalty; He may ne'er his Jeanie see , Send him hame, send him hame , He may ne'er his Jeanie see ; Send him hame. He's as bmve as brave can be ; Send him hame, send him kur.e ; Our faes are ten to three ; Send him hame. Our fees are ten to three ; He maun either fa' or flee. In the cause of loyalty ; Send him hame, send him hame ; In the cause of loyalty; Send him hame. Your luve ne'er learnt to flee, Bonnie dame, winsome dame ; Tour luve ne'er learnt to flee. Winsome dame. Your luve ne'er learnt to flee. But he fell in Germanie, lighting brave for loyalty Mournfu" dame, mournfu' dame ; Fighting brave for loj-alty, Mournfu' dame. He'll ne'er come ower the sea ; Willie's slain, Willie's slain; He'll ne'er come ower the sea ; Willie's gane ! He will ne'er come ower the sea, To his luve and ain countrie. This warld's nae mair for me ; Willie's gane, Willie's gane ; This warld's nae mair for me : Willie's gane ! [Robert Tannahill.— Air, "Fometh House."] 4 Now winter, wi' his cloudy brow, « Is far ayont yon mountains, " And spring beholds her azure sky C\ Reflected in the fountains. f\ Now, on the budding slaethom bank. She spreads her early blossom, And wooes the mirly-breasted birds » To nestle in her bosom. ( But lately a' was clad wi' snaw, / Sae darksome, dull, and drearj-, y Now lavrocks sing, to hail the spring, > And nature all is cheery. ■^ Then let us leave the town, my love, \ And seek our country dwelling, t^ "\Miere waving woods, and spreading flow'rs, / On every side are smiling. * We'll tread again the daisied green, , ■Where first your beauty moved me; We'll trace again the woodland scene, > Where first ye own'd ye loved me. We soon will view the roses blaw In a' the charms of fancy. For doubly dear these pleasures a', AVhen shared with thee, my Nancy. ^ Eanl.C'Img §uV^tU. [Wbittbs by Dr. John Leyden. Set to music by E. A. Smith.] Land of my fathers ! though no mangrove here O'er thy blue streams her flexile branches rear. Nor scaly palm her finger'd scions shoot. Nor lueious guava wave her yellow fruit, ', Nor golden apples glimmer from the tree ; I Land of dark heaths and mountains, thou art Cree ■ Free as his lord the peasant treads the plain. And heaps his harvest on the groaning wain. Proud of his laws, tenacious of his right. And vain of Scotia's old unconquer'd might : Dear native valleys ! may ye long retain The charter'd freedom of the mountain swain. i^i^^fm^^s^^^^m^^ SCOTTISH SO>^G.S. S I Long, 'mid your sounding glades, in union sweet,^ May rural innocence and beauty meet ; And stUl be duly heard, at twUight calm, Trom every cot the peasant's chanted psahn ! Then, Jedworth, though thy ancient choirs shall fade. And time lay bare each lofty colonnade. From the damp roof the massy sculptures die. And in their vaults thy rifted arches lie ; Still in these vales shall angel harps prolong, By Jed's pure stream, a sweeter evening song Than long processions, once, -with mystic zeal, Pour'd to the harp and solemn organ's peaL £^m$iodl tQ tf}$ %znt^. Fabewell to the land of the rock and the wild- vrood. The hiU and the forest and proud swelling wave ; To the land where bliss smiled on the days of my childhood. Farewell to thee, Scotia, thou land of the brave ! Far dearer to me are thy heath cover'd mountains. Than Gallia's rich vaUeys, and gay fertile plains ; And dearer by far than her murmuring fountains. The roar of the torrent, where liberty reigns. "Wherever I wander, sweet Isle of the ocean. My thoughts stJU shall turn to thy wild rocky- shore ; Ah ! still shall my heart beat with fondest emotion, "While musing on scenes I may visit no more. Adieu, then, dear land of romance and wild story. Thy welfere and honour for ever shall be The prayer of an exile, whose boast and whose glory. Is the tie that still binds him, loved country, to thee! ®|e m^geg ^&nu. [Eobt.Taxn-ahill.— Air, "The Shepherd's Son."] The midges dance aboon the burn. The dews begin to fa". The pairtricks down the rushy hokn. Set up their e'ening ca". ; >"ow loud and clear the blackbird's sang Rings through the briery shaw, ^\■hile flitting, gay, the swallows play Around the castle wa'. Beneath the golden gloaming skj-. The mavis mends her lay. The redbreast pours his sweetest strains. To charm the ling'ring day , "V\'hile weary yeldrins seem to wail Their Uttle nestlings torn. The merry wren, frae den to den, Gaes jinking through the thum. The roses fauld their silken leaves. The foxglove shuts its bell. The honeysuckle, and the birk, Spread fragrance through the dell. Let others crowd the giddy court Of mirth and revelry, The simple joys that nature yields Are dearer far to me. 0UX hmnie Btotg laM. [Robert Tansahili,. — Set Smith.] music by E. A. OcB bonnie Scots lads, in their green tartan plaids. Their blue-belted bonnets, and feathers sae braw, Eank'd up on the green were Jair to be seen, But my bonnie young laddie was fairest of a'. His cheeks were as red as the sweet heather-bell. Or the red western cloud looking down on tli» His lang yellow hair o'er his braid shoulders fell. And the een o' the lasses were fix'd on him a". My heart sunk wi' wae on the wearifu' day, "VThen torn frae my bosom they march'd him awa'. He bade me fareweel, he cried, " O be leel," And his red cheeks were wat wi' the tears that did fa'. Ah ! Harry, my love, though thou ne'er shou'dst return. Till life's latest hour I thy absence will mourn. And memory shall fade, like the leaf on the tree. Ere my heart spai« ae thought on anither but t^^ A" i ^^^^m-'^^^c^f'^i^^^^s^fm^^^. 408 SCOTTISH SONGS. Iteffl timife, Imnk Umk* vr [This song has always been published without an author's name, but according to Mr. Stenhouse, the erudite annotator in Johnson's Museum, Hector Macneill wrote the whole of it, except the )ast verse, which was written by Mr. John Hamilton, music-seller in Edinburgh. Hamilton issued it with his own addition, as a sheet song. Macneill did not include it among his poetical works. The song is adapted to a dancing tune called " C'lunie's Reel." Elsewhere, the tune is called " The smith's a gallant fireman." It may be mentioned that Miss Blamire has a song which opens simi- larly to the present, and Mr. Maxwell, the editor of her Poetical Works, conjectures, with every ap- pearance of probability, that Macneill may have seen Miss Blamire 's verses.] O DiNNA think, bonnie lassie, I'm gaun to leave thee; Dinna think, bonnie lassie, I'm gaun to leave thee ; Dinna think, bonnie lassie, I'm gaun to leave thee ; I'll tak' a stick into my hand, and come again and see thee. Ear's the gate ye ha'e to gang; dark's the night and eerie ; Ear's the gate ye ha'e to gang ; dark's the night and eerie ; Ear's the gate ye ha'e to gang ; dark's the night and eerie ; O stay this night wi' your love, and dinna gang and leave me. It's but a night and hauf a day that I'll leave my dearie; Hut a night and hauf a day that I'll leave my dearie; But a night and hauf a day that I'll leave my dearie; ^\■hene'er the sun gaes west the loch, I'll come again and see thee. Dinna gang, my bonnie lad, dinna gang and leave me ; Dinna gang, my bonnie lad, dinna gang and leave me ; When a' the lave are sound asleep, I am dull and eerie ; And a" the loe-lang night I'm sad, yn' thinking on my dearie. O dinna think, bonnie lassie, I'm gaun to leave thee; Dinna think, bonnie lassie, I'm gaun to leave thee ; Dinna think, bonnie Uwsie, I'm gaun to leave thee ; Whene'er the sun gaes out o' sight, I'll come again and see thee. Waves are rising o'er the sea ; winds blaw loud and fear me ; Waves are rising o'er the sea ; winds blaw loud and fear me ; WTiile the winds and waves ilo roar, I am wae and drearie. And gin ye lo'e me as ye say, ye wjnna gang and leave me. O never mair, bonnie lassie, will I gang and leave thee ; Never mair, bonnie lassie, will I gang and leave thee ; Never mair, bonnie lassie, will I gang and leave thee; E'en let the world gang as it will, I'll stay at hame and cheer thee. Erae his hand he coost his stick ; I winna gang and leave thee; Threw his plaid into the neuk ; never can I grieve thee ; Drew his boots, and flang them by ; cried, My lass, be cheerie ; I'll kiss the tear frae aff thy cheek, and never leave my dearie. s^l@^i^^S^?^giB^:(^v^''^.^: ' SCOTTISH SOKGS, 409 €) Mi H tie Mink o* ^im t*t. [From " The Gatierlunzie's "Wallet."] O SAFT is the blink o' thine e'e, lassie, Saft is the blink o' thine e'e ; An' a bonnie wee sun glimmers on its blue orb As kindly it glints upon me. The ringlets that twine round thy brow, lassie, Are gowden as gowden may be ; like the wee curly cluds that play round the sun When he's just gaun to drap in the sea. Thou hast a bonnie wee mou", lassie. As sweet as a body may pree ; An' fondly I'll pree that wee hinny mou'. E'en though thou should'st &own upon me. Thou hast a lily white hand, lassie. As fair as a body may see ; An' saft is the touch o' that wee genty hand. At eve when thou partest wi' me. Thy thoughts are sae haly and pure, lassie. Thy heart is sae kind and sae free ; That the bright sun o' heaven is nae pleased wi' himsel'. Till he glasses himsel' in thine e'e. O, thou art a' thing to me, lassie, O thou art a' thing to me ; "What care I although fortune should frown. Gin I gain the blythe blink o' thine e'e. Her lips ha'e named the bridal time. Her Ups ha'e sealed the vow ; Like Nature's laws in every chme. We'll aye be true as now. Like Xature, love the fairer grows The mair we ken its law : Like air, it through the warld flows, Sweet harmony to a'. O fly, ye lazy listless hours. An' bring that happy day. When we'll in wedlock's sweetest bowrs In love kiss life away. We'll live like sleepers in a dream. Where wishes paint the scene ; An' care shall melt by pleasure's beam. As snow melts on the green. U lajinna lie foeeH, [The following capital song is by a working blacksmith in Glasgow, of the name of Thomas DoDD, and is here printed for the first time. "VN'e have seldom seen a more ludicrous yet faithful picture of an aged wooer than it presents.— Tune, " The brisk young lad."] I wisNA be weel, for I canna be weel,— The laird an' his siller may gang in a creel, Tho' his bauld pow had the crown on't, atweel, I'd scorn him wi' his a". J^g Eo&e, [Alex. Hume.— Air, " Jly love is like a i rose."] My love is like my ain countrie. That to my heart is dear; My love is Uke the hoUy tree. That's green through a' the year. Her smile is like the glowing ray That fa's frae yonder sun ; An', sunlike, blesses a' the day, Yet kens nae gude she's done. ^ My mother says a laird's a catch. My father fain wad mak' a match. But I'll no be a gaudy wretch. To pine my life an a'. Was he guid as a saunt an' ^ise as a sage. His wisdom or worth for my heart is nae pledge, I wish — as a lassie should wish at my age — Ane young, whate'er may fa'. My truely ! it's an unco sight To see an auld blin' donert wight, Wha scarcely kens the d-iy frae night. Begin a lang f^ca ! Sighing — but mair for the want o' his breath Than love at his heart, though maybe baith— Smiling on me, as if giming guid faith. He says, " O lass, j-e're braw ••• I '^^s^^f^^^^s^^m. ^ ^t iio His caul^^^^^^^^'^' >5^^^lig^^^^5^'^5»*^^^5?^-^^'i2^^ I 412 SCOTTISH S0KG3. d "Kg TVTiat though at my heart he has tilted, i \\'hat though I have met with a fall ? Better be courted and jilted. Than never be courted at all. Woo'd and jilted and all,-« • Still I will dance at the ball; [and heel. And waltz and quadrille with light heart With proper young men and tall. ' But lately I've met with a suitor. Whose heart I have gotten in thrall. And I hope soon to tell you in future That I'm woo'd and married and all ; Woo'd and married and all, "What greater bliss can befall ? And you all shall partake of my bridal cake, "When I'm woo'd and married and all. ^^at^ara ilSIan. [This beautiful and afifecting little ballad is of great antiquity, but nothing is known of its his- tory. Mr. Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe speaks of a tradition which places the scene of the story at Annan in Dumfriesshire. We are more willing to believe, however, that it belongs to " the west countrie." AVe have often, at least, heard the song sung, in days long gone past, by ancient crone to listening children, over a winter fireside, and the understanding always was that the catas- trophe which it record^— (and surely a love-tragedy was never told in fewer, more impressive, or more significant words) — took place in the west. Bishop Percy, in his Ancient Ballads and Songs, (1769,) gives an extended vei-sion of " Barbara Allan," in which Barbara is made to reside "at Scarlet town," and the hero goes by the unheroic name of " Jemmye Grove," but the whole seems a fab- rication on the old Scottish set. We here give the song as it appears in the fourth volume of Kamsay's Tea-Table Miscellany.] It was in and about the Martinmas time. When the green leaves were a-fallin'. That Sir John Graham, in the west countrie. Fell in love wi' Barbara Allan. He sent his man down through the town, To the place where she was dwallin' . O, haste and come to my master dear. Gin ye be Barbara Allan. i O, hooly, hooly, rase she up To the place wliere he was lyin'. And when she drew the curtain by. Young man, I think ye're dyin'. It's oh, I'm sick, I'm very very sick, And it's a' for Barbara Allan. O, the better for me ye'se never be. Though your heart's blude were a-spillin'. Oh, dinna ye mind, young man, she said. When ye was in the tavern a-drinkin'. That ye made the healths gae round and round. And slichtit Biirbara Allan .■' He turn'd his face unto the wa'. And death was with him dealin : Adieu, adieu, my dear friends a'. And be kind to Barbara Allan. And slowly, slowly rase she up. And slowly, slowly left him. And sighin', said, she could not stay. Since death of life had reft him. She hadna gane a mile but twa. When she heard the deid-bell ringin' , And every jow that the deid-bell gied. It cried. Woe to Barbara Allan. Oh, mother, mother, mak' my l>ed. And mak' it saft and narrow ; Since my love died fur me to-day, I'll die for him to-morrow. iP^g Weatl^n: Ehti^, Kg) [WiM.iAM TnoM of Inverury. — Air, Black Watch."] My heather land, my heather land ! My dearest prayer be thine. Although upon thy hapless heath There breathes nae friend of mine. The lanely few that heaven has spared. Fend on a foreign strand ; And I maun wait to weep wi' thee. My hameless heather land. m^m^^^'sxs^-^'^^^^jf^^^'mi^- SCOTTISH SONGS. 6 3Iy heather land, my heather land : Though iairer lands there be — Thy gowanie braes in early days Were gowden ways to me. Maun life's poor boon gae dark'ning doun, >'or die whaur it had dawn'd. But claught a grave ayont the wave, — AlaSj my heather land ! My heather land, my heather land 1 Though chilling winter pours Her freezing breath round fireless hearth, "Whaur breadless misery cowers ! Yet breaks the light that soon shall blight The godless reivin' hand — WTiaun wither'd tyranny shall reel Frae our roused heather land. W^i$ H no mim mn |)OW0^* [The following song is by Eamsat, but there existed a ditty long before his day which runs somewhat thus : " This is no my ain house. My ain house, my ain house. This is no my ain house, I ken by the biggin' o't. For bread and cheese are my door cheeks. Are my door cheeks, are my door cheeks. For bread and cheese are my door cheeks. And pancakes the riggin' o't." •'This is no my ain house" is often sung, not to Its own original tune, but to another old tune called " Deil stick the minister," or " Shantrews."] This is no mine ain house, I ken by the rigging o't ; I Since with my love I've changed vows, I dinna like the bigging o't. For now that I'm young Robbie's bride. And mistress of his fire-side. Mine ain house I'll like to guide. And please me with the rigging o't. Then fareweel to my father's house, I gang whare love invites me ; The strictest duty this allows, AVhen love with honour meets me. A^'hen H>-men moulds us into ane, Wy Robbie's nearer than my kin. And to refuse him were a sin, Sae lang's he kindly treats me. When I m in my ain house. True love shall be at hand aye. To make me still a prudent spouse. And let my man command aye ; Avoiding ilka cause of strife. The common pest of married life That mak's ane wearied of his wife. And breaks the kindly band aye. ®Mf5 ii 150 m^ aitt ^m^t. [The following is a Jacobite version of " This is no my ain house." Whether or not it is older than Ramsay's we cannot say.] O, THIS is no my ain house, I ken by the biggin' o't ; For bow-kail thrave at my door cheek. And thristles on the riggin' o't. A carle came wi' lack o' grace, Wi' unco gear and unco face ; And sin' he claim'd my daddie's place I downa bide the triggin' o't. O, this is no my ain house, &c. Wi' routh o' kin, and routh o" reek. My daddie's door it wadna stcek ; But bread and cheese were his door cheek. And girdle-cakes the riggin' o't. O, thifi is no my ain house. My daddie bige'd his housie weel. By dint o' head, and dint o" heel. By dint o' arm, and dint o' steel. And muckle weary priggin' o't. O, this is no my ain house, 5:o. Then was it dink, or was it douce. For ony cringing foreign goose. To claught my daddie's wee bit house And spoil the hamely triggin' o't ? O, this is no my ain house, &c. my^\^^f-^^i^a^^^ :^^S^5(rg^!^'?^f::^j».<«H3S^'"i^^V^ l-- 414 SCOTTISH BONGS. Say, was it foul, or was it fair. To come a hundcr mile and mair. For to ding out my daddic's heir. And dash him \ri' the wiggin' o't ? O, this is no my ain house, &c. [Wkittkn by Burns for Thomson's collection. This is generally sung to the tune of " Deil stick the minister."] O THIS is no my ain lassie. Fair though the lassie be ; O w'eel ken I my ain lassie. Kind love is in her e'e. I see a form, I see a face. Ye weel may wi' the fairest place ; It wants to me the witching grace. The kind love that's in her e'e. O this is no my ain lassie, &c. She's bonnie, blooming, straight, and tall. And lang has had my heart in thrall ; And aye it charms my vera saul. The kind love that's in her e'e. this is no my ain lassie, &c. A thief sae pawkie is my Jean ; She'll steal a blink l)y a' unseen ; But gleg as light are lover's een. When kind love is in the e'e. O this is no my ain lassie, &c. It may escape the courtly sparks, It may escape the learned clarks ; But weel the watching lover marks The kind love that's in her e'e. O this is no my ain lassie, &c. ^M^ i0 tin m^ fim^. [W. Hai.i.ev.] O THIS is no my plaid, My plaid, my plaid ; O this is no my plaid, Bonnie though the colours be. The ground o' mine was mLx'd wi' blue, 1 gat it friie the lad I lo'e. He ne'er has gi'en me cause to rue. An' O the plaid is dear to me. O this is no my plaid, &c. For mine was silky, saft, an" warm. It wrapp'd me round frae arm to arm. An' like himsel', it bore a charm. An' O the plaid is dear to me. O this is no my plaid, &c. The lad that gied me't likes me weel. Although his name I darena tell. He likes me just as weel's himsel'. An' O the plaid is dear to me. O this is no my plaid, &c. Frae surly blasts it covers me. He'll me himsel' protection gi'e, I'll lo'e him till the day I die. His plaid shall aye be de.ir to me. O tliis is no my plaid, &c. The t'me may come, my ain dear lad. When we will to the kirk and wed, Weel happit in thy tartan plaid, That plaid shall aye be dear to me. O this will then be my plaid. My plaid, my plaid, O this will then be my plaid, An= while I live shall ever be. ^1^ %&^^u h^ t^e %m% [TnB author of this song is Robt. CARMiciiAEii, r, n^ who served for several years in the Sleditcrranean, ^^^ on board H. M. ship Unite, with Capt. Charles %?*J^ Gray, author of " Lays and Lyrics." — Air, " Wat ' ye wha I met yestreen ?"] Frar Caledonia's climes afar. Upon the rough an' roaring main, I sail'd, marine, in man-o'-war. At last, on leave, came home again. As I ilk youthfu' haunt did pass. An' near my native village drew; I little thought upon the lass— *^S —— ^ ^^^i^^j^mm^^/^^m'i^m£' SCOTTISH SOJfGS. I heard sweet music's melting din. And merry young folks' gigglin glee ; Then kindly I was usher'd in. As if they'd met to welcome me. A lassie there fu' featly danced. And through the reel sae Uchtly flew ; In raptures she my soul entranced — The lassie by the loch sae blue. I saw, while gazing on her face. The rose an' lily close allied ; And on ilk bloomin' cheek could trace. The scented apple's sunny side. Her lips were like the red-rose bud. Before the sun has sipp'd its dew ; Her bosom like the snawy clud Reflected in the loch sae blue. Soon to her mither's house I went. An' courted her wi' love sincere; To marry me she ga'e consent, "When o' the navy I was clear. That nane but she should be my wife, I pledged wi' her my written voo ; Meanwhile, she left the shores o' Fife To dwell beside the loch sae blue. It wasna lang ere I was free. For peace to Europe soon return'd ; An' my dear destined bride to see, Wi' fervent glow my bosom burn'd. I sought my native land — I found Aly lassie to her pledge was true ; An' soon by H)-men's bands was bound To Bessie— by the loch sae blue. ipair fa' tie %u^^t^. [Captain Charles Gray, R. JI.— Air, " Green grow the rashes."] Fair fa' the lasses, ! Fair fa' the lasses, ! May dool and care still be his share, Wha doesna lo'e the lasses, ! Pale poverty and gimin' care. How lang will ye harass us, O ? Yet light's the load we ha'e to bear. If lessened by the lasses, ! Fair fa' the lasses, &c. The rich may sneer as they gae by. Or scornfully may pass us, O ; Their better lot we'll ne'er envy. But live and love the lasses, O .' Fair fa' the lasses. Sec. Why should we ever sigh for wealth ? Sic thochts should never fash us, O ; A fig for pelf, when blest wi' health. Content, and bonnie lasses, ! Fair fa' the lasses, &c. The ancient bards, to shaw their skill. Placed Muses on Parnassus, 0, But let them fable as they will. My muses are the lasses, ! Fair fa' the lasses, &c. The toper cries, the joy o' wine A' ither joy surpasses, O ; But he ne'er kent the bliss divine. That I ha'e wi' the lasses, O ; Fair fa' the lasses, &c. A^'hen I am wi' the chosen few, The time fu' quickly passes, : But days are hours, and less, I trow. When I am wi' the lasses, '. Fair fa" the lasses. Sec. WTien joys abound, then let a round Of overflowing glasses, O, Gae brisk about, and clean drunk out. The toast be — " bonnie lasses," O ! Fair fa' the lasses, O ! Auld Scotland's bonnie lasses, O '. May dool and care still be his share, Wha vsinna toast the lasses, O ! #ur sin Han^. [William FKRorssoy.— Here first printed.— Tune, " John Barleycorn." The two first lines of this chorus are from a song by Hew Ainslie in his " Pilgrimage to the Land of Bums."] Hurrah, and horrah, And hurrah, my merry men ! I wadna gi'e our ain land For a' the lands I ken. IP) 'fi^33:m^>^m^^}^^m '^B^mj^^^^^^^^^'^ 416 SCOTTISH SONGS. f % I 1% There may be lands where saftor airs Float down mair flowery vales — Gi'e me the stirring mountain-breeze, Tliat swells our norlan" sails •. — And weel ye ken we've flowers enow, Their names I needna tell, AVe've aye the fearless thistle, lads ! And eke the sweet blue-bell. Then hurrah, &e. They boast o' lands wi' fairer skies, And fields o' brighter bloom : But leeze me on our heather-land, Wi' a* its hamely gloom : — And, tent me weel, there's mony a blink Its darksome moods atwcen ; Sweet sunny blinks, that paint our hills Wi' tints o' gowd and green. Then hurrah, &c. They sing o' lands where liberty Has reared hersel' a hame — And blest be they ! for her dear sake. We lo'e their very name : — But by the men wha 'mang our hills For freedom battled lang, Auld Scotland yet shall bear tlio boll For liberty and sang ! Then hurrah, &c. I've worshipp'd on its mountain tops ; I've woo'd amang its dells ; And happy been in mony a cot, ■Where love, where beauty dwells. Its green turf covers mony a grave C friends we lost langsyne: And may the same dear, fragrant sod. Lie saftly upon mine I Then hurrah, &c. IT.. Co.Noi.LV.— First printed in the Edinburgh .telJigencer for December, 16th, 1840.] We sat beneath the trystin' tree. The bonnie dear auld trystin' tree, Whaur Harry tauld in early youth. His tender tale o' love to me i • An' walth o' wedded happiness Has been our blessed lot sinsj-ne, Though foreign lands, lang twenty years, Ha'e been my Harry's hame an' mine. Wi' gratefu' glow at ilka heart. An' joyfu' tears in ilka e'e. We sat again, fond lovers still. Beneath the bonnie tostin' tree. We gaz'd upon the trj-stin' tree. Its branches spreading far an' wide. An' thocht upon the bonnie bairns That blest our blythe bit ingle-side ; The strappin' youth wi' martial mien. The maiden mild wi' gowden hair. They pietur'd what oursels' had been. Whan first we fondly trysted there; Wi' gratefu' glow at ilka heart. An' joyfu' tears in ilka e'e. We blest the hour that e'er we met Beneath the dear auld trystin' tree ! i^U2 ^nuit tfe^ ^UnL [Rkv. James Nicoi.— Mr. Nicol, the author of " Halucket Meg," and other songs given in this work, was bom at Inverleithen, Peebleshire, on the 28th of September, 1769, and died at the manse of Traquair 5th November, 1819, in the fiftieth year of his age. Having officiated as tutor in various respectable families, he eventually suc- ceeded to the parish of Traquair in the year 1802, on the death of the Rev. :RIr. Walker, whose sister he married. Mr. Nicol was a kind amiable man, and much respected by all who knew him; he had a fine appreciation of the beauties of na- ture, and marked human character with a keen eye. In 1805, he published two volumes of poetry, which are well worthy of perusal ; and, during the course of the publication of " The Edinburgh Encyclopedia," contributed various short articles, which are known by the signature of (N). The following song was one of his earliest productions, and was addressed to the lady who afterwards became his wife.] Wherk Quair rins sweet amang the flowers, Down by yon woody glen, lassie. My cottage stands — it shall be yours. Gin ye will be my ain, lassie. ■^^(^^rm^^^^'^^im^^mma^isf^m^ SCOTTISH SOXGS. 4K I'll watch ye wi' a lover's care. And wi' a lover's e'e, lassie I'll weary heaven wi' mony a prayer, And ilka prayer for thee, lassie. 'Tis true I ha'e na mickle gear; My stock it's unco sma', lassie ; Kae fine-spun foreign claes I wear, iS'or servants tend my ca', lassie. But had I heif'd the British crown. And thou o' low degree, lassie, A rustic lad I wad ha'e grown. Or shared that crown wi' thee, lassie. Whenever absent frae thy sight, Nae pleasure smiles on me, lassie ; I climb the mountain's towering height. And cast a look to thee, lassie. I blame the blast blaws on thy cheek; The flower that decks thy hair, lassie. The gales that steal thy breath sae sweet. My love and en\-y share, lassie. If for a heart that glows for thee. Thou wilt thy heart resign, lassie. Then come, my Ifancy, come to me — That glowing heart is mine, lassie. TVTiere Quair rins sweet amang the flowers, Down by yon woody glen, lassie, My cottage stands — it shall be yours. Gin ye will be my ain, lassie. '^It §tot4 mim=Mh [Alex. Maclaoan.— Here first printed.] The Scotch blue-bell, the Scotch blue-bell, The dear blue-bell for me ! O ! I wadna gi'e the Scotch blue-bell For a' the flowers I see. I lo'e thee weel, thou Scotch blue-bell, I hail thee, floweret fair ; "WTiether thou bloom 'st in lanely dell. Or waves mid mountain air — Blythe springing frae our bare, rough rocks. Or fountain's flowery brink : Where, fleet as wind, in thirsty flocks. The deer descend to drink. The Scotch blue-bell, &c. Sweet flower! thou dcck'st the sacred nook Beside love's trystin' tree ; I see thee bend to kiss the brook. That kindly kisseth thee. •Mang my love's locks ye're aften geen, Blythe noddin' o'er her brow, Meet marrows to her lovely cen 0' deep endearin' blue ! The Scotch blue -bell, &c. Wlien e'enin's gowden curtains hing O'er moor and mountain grey, Methinks I hear the blue-bells ring A dirge to deein' day; But when the light o' momin' wakes The young dew-droucket flowers, 1 hear amid their merry peals The mirth o' bridal hours ! The Scotch blue-beU, &c. How oft wi' rapture have I strayed The mountain's heather crest. There aft wi' thee ha'e I array'd My Mary's maiden breast: — Oft tremblin' mark'd amang thy bells Her bosom fa' an' rise. Like snawy cloud that sinks an' swells '^"eath summer's deep blue skies. The Scotch blue-bell, &c. ! weel ye guess, when momin" daws, I seek the blue-bell grot ; And weel ye guess, when e'enin' fa's, Sae sweet, I leave it not,— And when upon my trembUn' brc.ost Reclines my maiden fiiir, Thou knowst full well that I am blest. And free frae Uka care. The Scotch blue-bell, the Scotch blue-U The dear blue-bell for me ! ! I wadna gi'e the Scotch blue-befl For a' the flowers I see. 418 SCOTTISH SONGS. ^0 t^e <^Igle. [This solemn dirge " To the Clyde" is by Dugald Moore, a poet o- very superior power, and well i known and highly apprpciated in the west of I Scotland, though probably his fame has not greatly extended beyond that district, in conse- quence of his nerei* having cultivated notoriety, during his life, in the periodicals of the day. Dugald Moore was born in Stockwell Street, Glasgow, in August, 1805, of parents in humble circumstances, and was apprenticed to Mr. James Lumsden, sta- tioner and copper-platJ engraver, Queen Street, in whom he found his earliest and most efficient patron. By Mr. Lumsden's exertions, his first work, " The Afi-icaa and other Poems," was brought out in 1S29. This was succeeded by no fe.ver than five other volumes of poems, all pub- lished between the years 1829 and 1839, and all liberally subscribed for. The success of his early publications enabled ^Ir. Moore to set up as a bookseller and stationer in his native city, where he acquired a good business, and was gradually rismg in wealth aud reputation, when he was suddenly cut off by inflammation, on the 2d of Januarj-, 1841. He died unmarried, having re- sided all his life with his mother, to whom he was much attached. In the Necropolis, where he lies buried, a massive monument, surmounted by a bust, is erected to his memory, by his per- sonal friends and admirers. — Dugald Moore was pre-eminently " self-taught," his education hav- ing been of the most scanty description. All his works, though subject in some cases to objection on the score of accuracy or sound taste, display unequivocal marla of genius. He possessed a vigorous and fertile imagination, great force of diction, and freedom of versification. His muse loved to dwell on the vast, the grand, rhe terrible in nature. He dealt little in mattei^s of evcry-day life or every-day feeling. Hence we feel difficulty in selecting from his works any thing of a properly lyrical character. Even in the short piece here given, which contains one or two touches of ex- quisite beauty, he displ.iys the usual bent of his genius, in viewing the Clyile, not as it is, but as it may become, in the revolutions of untold agcs.j When cities of old days But meet the savage gaze, Sti-eam of my early ways. Thou wilt roil, Though fleets forsake thy breast, And millions sink to rest — Of the bright arid beauteous west Still the soul. When the porch and stately arch. Which now so proudly perch O'er thy billows, on their march To the sea, Are but ashes in the shower ; Still the jocund summer hour From his cloud will weave a bower Over thee. When the voice of human power Has ceased in mart and bower ; Still the broom and mountain flowe WiU thee bless : And the mists that love to stray O'er the Highlands, far away. Will come down their deserts grey To thy kiss. And the stranger brown with tail, Trom the far Atlantic soil. Like the pilgrim of the Kile, Yet may come, To search the solemn heaps. That moulder by thy deeps, AVhere desoLitiou sleeps. Ever dumb. Though fetters yet should clank O'er the gay and princely rank Of cities on thy bank. All sublime ; Still thou wilt wander on. Till eternity has cone. And broke the dial stone Of old time. ^Wnitixum, [Davtd VEDnER.— First printed anonymously in " The Edinburgh Literary Gazette."] A WARi.ocK cam' to our town. To our town, the slee loon ; His beard was grey, his cheeks brown, • And he look'd unco glum. ■■■^^^^ SCOTTISH SONGS. 419 His cloak of Moffat tartan Hung down beneath his garten, — He cam' to spae my fortune ; — His name was Aikendrum. His brow with time was wrinkled. His hair with grey was sprinkled ; But, oh ! his een they twinkled VThene'er they gazed on me. Then to the seat he hied him, 3Iy titty had supplied him, — I sat me down beside him. Beneath our holly tree. He took my hand discreetly. And looked right sedately. And scann'd it o"er completely, With monie a haw and hum. "VTith transport then he seized it. And to his lips he raised it. And lovingly he squeezed it — The gallant Aikendrum. He slippit aff his grey beard. His grey beard, his grey beard — He doffed his cloak— his mask tear'd. And threw 't ayont the lum ; — Then sweetly he addressd me. And to his bosom press'd me : 'Twas Jamie that caress'd me 1^ It wasna Aikendrum ', [EoBEKT GiuinAX. — Tune, " The Laird o' Cockpen."] A CAXTY sang, O, a canty sang, Will naebody gi'e us a canty sang ? There's naething keeps nights frae turning o\i-re | lang I Like a canty sang, like a canty sang. ^ If folk wad but sing when they're gaun to flj'te. Less envy ye'd see, less anger and spite ; What saftens doun strife, and mak's love mail Strang, Like a canty sang, like a canty sang ? Like a canty sang, &c. e If lads wad but sing when they gang to woo, They'd come na aye hame wi' thoum i' their moj The chiel that wi" lasses wad be fu" thrang, Suld learn to lilt to them a cant>' sang. I A canty sang, &c. I 'WTien fools become quarrelsome ower their ale, I'se gi'e ye a cure whilk never will fail, — When their tongues get short an' their arms z-. lang. Aye drown the din wi' a canty sang ! A canty sang, cic. I downa bide strife, though fond C a spree. Your sair wordy bodies are no for me : A wee dribble punch, gif it just be Strang, Is a' my delight, an' a canty sang ! A canty sang, O, a canty sang. Will naebody gi'e us a canty sang ? There's naething keeps nights frae turning ow-; lang Like a canty sang, like a canty sang. [Fbom the " Odd Tolume — Second Series," ! the Misses Corbet.] Oh ! blythly shines the bonnie sun Vpon the Isle of May, And blythly comes the morning tide Into St. Andrew's bay ; Then up, guderaan— the breeze is fair ; And up my braw bairns three,— There's goud in yonder bonnie boat That sails so well the sea ! ■When haddocks leave the Firth of Fort ii , And mussels leave the shore ; When oysters climb up Berwick Law. We'll go to sea no more, Ko more. We'll go to sea no more. I've seen the waves as blue as air, I've seen them green as grass ; But I never feartd their ht'.-»ving yet From Grangemouth to the Bass. I've seen the sea as black as pitch, I've seen it white as snow ; 420 SCOTTISH SONGS. But I never ftared its foaming yet. Though the winds blew high or low. When squalls capsize our wooden walls, When the French ride at the Nore, When Lcith meets Aberdour half-way. We'll go to sea no more, Xo more. Well go to sea no more. I never liked the landsman's life. The earth is aye the same ; Gi'e me the ocean for my dower. My vessel for my hame. Gi'e me the fields that no man ploughs. The farm that pays no fee ; Gi'e me the bonnie fish that glance So gladly through the sea. AVhen sails hang flapping on the masts. Though, through the waves we snore ; When in a calm we're tempest tost. We'll go to sea no more. Is o more. We'll go to sea no more. The sun is up, and round Inchkeith, The breezes saftly blaw ; The gudeman has the lines on board,— Awa", my bairns, awa' ! And ye'U be back by gloaming gray. And bright the fire will low ; And in our tales and sangs we'll tell How weel the boat ye row. — When life's last sun gangs feebly down. And death comes to our door — When a' the warld's a dream to us, We'll go to sea no more. No more. We'll go to sea no more. ^snnie ^nn* [From " Odes and Sonnets, with other Poems, Scotch as well as English. By the Rev. C. Les- si.NGHAM Smith, M. A. Eector of Little Caufield, Essex."] I DOUTNA whiles but 1 could wale A lass wi' mair o' gowd and Ian'; But no a lass in a' the vale I lo'e sae weel as bonnie Ann. Her een sae sparklin' and sae blue. Aye speak o' mirth and love to me ; An' then her sweet wee rosy mou' — Just for ae kiss what wad I gi'e ? Her daddie 's aye apreachin' o't That she's ower young as yet, ye ken ; But guidness guide us ! that 's a faut That ilka day an' hour maun men'. She's seen the flowers o' saxteen springs, Hersel' the sweetest flower o' a' ! An' a' thing on her guidin' hings In bam and bjTe, in house and lia'. O' saxty nowt she's aye the rule; O' sheep and kye twa hunder fu". Then whar, I'se like to ken, the fule Wad threip she's no a woman nou ? But I maun bide, as weil's I may. To please her daddie, honest man '. Though sair 1 Lang for that blythe d;iy When I'm to wed my bonnie Ann. [Thomas Dodd. — Here first printed. Tune, " Oh, are ye Bleeping, Maggy."] Cor gudeman's an unco body. Our gudeman's an unco body. Ilka plack that he can mak'. He'd drink an' mair than that, — 'tweel wad he! I wrought an' toil'd to buy a cleuk. When I had just ae groat to win o't, I hid it in the aumery neuk, Fu' glad to think he wadna ken o't. Oh, he's an unco body. Oh, he's a drouthy body ; He drank it, sirs, and pawn'd my purse, Tho' my auld cleuk is wearing duddy. But when he fu' comes hame at e'en, He'8 sic a takin' gate aye wi' him, I sigh and think ou what he's been, I flyte awee, an' just forgi'e him. SCOTTISH SO^J-GS. 421 Though he's an unco body, S^ Oh, he's a kindly body, 11 The wee drap maut is a' his faut — I like a drap mysel' in toddy. • ' ij Twa score an' ten has cool'd his bluid, i And whiles he needs a drap to warm him, | But when he tak s 't to do him guid. He whiles forgets, and tak's 't to harm him. Though he's an unco body, O he's a takin' body. Ilka year mak's him mair dear. Though it may mak' his cheek less ruddy. %Mien twa ha'e wrought, an' twa ha'e fought For thretty year sae leal thegither, A faut or flaw is nought ava'. They may weel gree wi' ane anither. Though he's an unco body, O he's a loving body. For a' that's gane he's aye my ain. An' I maun just his failing study. ^1^ kal lig^t |)?s5:t. [John Mitcheli.. — Here first printed.] A LRAL light heart's ne'er sad, my jo, A leal light heart's ne'er sad, my jo ; The e"e we ken will teU the tale, "Whene'er the heart is sad, my jo. The miser to his heaps o" gold Anither heap may add, my jo. But if the truth be fairly told, We'll find his heart's .^ft sad, my jo. A leal light heart, &c. Content will keep the ban's aye free Frae everj' thing that's bad, my jo, AVhile in her bright and smiling e'e We read her heart's ne'er sad, my jo. A leal light heart, &c. Pale envy may affect to smile. And seem Uke ane that's glad, my jo, But in her breast she wears the while A heart that's aye been sad, my jo. A leal U^ht heart, &c. A lord may o\vn baith rigs and gear. An' be in ermine clad, my jo ; But mark his e'e for ae short year. An' say if he's ne'er sad, my jo. A leal light heart, &c. The truly blythe aroun' his hearth Will swear ambition's mad, my jo. An' drown in rosy social mirth, ■Whate'er wad mak' him iad, my jo. A leal light heart, &c. The lass we lo'e, the frien's we prize, '^^'hen such are to be had, my jo; Will lend to life the rainbow dyes. That flee the heart that's sad, my jo. A leal Ught heart, &e. © £©me feit^ ui:. [John Finlay. — Here first printeil. Tu "Eoslin Castle."] O COMK with me, for the queen of night Is thron'd on high in her beauty bright : 'Tis now the silent hour of even. When all is still in earth an' heaven ; The cold flowers which the valleys stixw Are sparkling bright wi' pearly dew, And hush'd is e'en the bee's saft hum. Then come with me, sweet Alary, come. The opening blue bell — Scotland's priiL> In heaven's pure azure deeply dyed ; The daisy meek frae the dewy dale. The wild th5-me, and the primnse p.i'.o, Wi' the Uly frae the glassy lake. Of these a fragrant wTeath I'll make, And bind them mid' the locks that flow lu rich luxuriance firom thy brow. O ! love, without thee what were life, A bustling scene of cire and strife ; A waste, where no green flowery glade Is found, for shelter or for shade. But cheer'd by thee, the griefs we s'nare. We can with calm composure bear ; For the darkest nicht o' care and toU Is brieht when blest by woman's siuile. 421 SCOTTISH bONGs [TuE tunc of " TJp In the morning early" is one of the oldest of our Scottish airs. From an anec- dote given in Sir John Hawkins' History of Music, it appears to have been a favourite of Queen Mary's, the consort of William III., and PurceU, the distinguished composer, adapted the bass part for the birth-day song on the queen for the year lt!92, beginning, " May her bright example chase Vice in troops out of the land." Ik-fore tliis, however, John Hilton, in 1652, pub- li.2au. [From " The Storm, and other Poems, by Francis Bennoch," London, 1841.] Oh mony a year has come an' gane. An' mony a weary day. Sin' frae my hame — my mountain hame — I first was lured away, To wander over unco lands. Far, far ayont the sea ; But no' to find a land like this. The hame o' Bess an' me ! I've traversed mony a dreary land Across the braid, braid sea ; But, oh, my native Highland home. My thochts were aye wi' thee ! As constant as the sun did rise And set ahint the sea, Sae constant, Bessie, were my prayers At mom an' nicht for thee 1 When I return'd unto my hame. The hUls were clad wi' snow ; Though they look'd cold and cheerless, love. My heart was in a glow : Though keen the wintry north wind blew. Like summer 'twas to me. For, Bess, my frame was warm'd wi' love. For country, kindred, thee ; ^Tae flower e'er hail'd wi' sweeter smiles Keturning sunny beams. Than I did hail my native hame. Its mountains, woods, and streams. Now we are met, my bonnie Bess, We never mair will part ; Although to a' we seem as twa. We only ha'e ae heart ! We'll be sae loving a' the nicht, Sae happy a' the day. That, though our bodies time may change, Our love shall ne'er decay : As gently as yon lovely stream Declining years shall run. An' life shall pass frae our auld clay As snow melts 'neath the sua. €mtHUh [Francis Bennoch.] Testre'en, on Cample's bonnie flood. The summer moon was shining ; While, on a bank in Crichope wood. Two fond hearts were reclining : Thsy spak' o' youth an' hoary age, 0' time, how swiftly fleeting ; Of ilka thing, in sooth, but ane, — The reason of their meeting I "When WilUe thocht his heart was firm. An' micht declare its feeling, A glance frae Bessie's starry ten Sent a' his senses reeling ; For aye when he essay'd to speak. An' she prepared to hear him. The thochts in crimson dyed his cheek. An' words would no' come near him ! But nature, gentle mither, came In pity to assist h im ; She whisper'd what he ought to do— 'Twas her adrice that bless'd him ! He flung his arm around her neck, Kor did the maid resent it ; S\-ne kiss'd her ripe and rosy lip*— A deed he ne'er repented. 'Tis ever thus that love is taught By his divincst teacher ; He silent adoration seeks, But shuns the prosy preacher. 424 Now read me right, ye gentle ancs. Nor deem my lesson hollow : The deepest river silent rins. The babbling brook is shallow. SCOTTISH SONGS 4 ^0 imM. [Francis Bent\-och.] Oh, were I as I ance ha'e been. An* ye as ye are now, I'd iainly fauM ye in my arms, An' kiss your bonnie brow ! I'd kiss your bricht and bonnie brow. An' drink life frae your e'en; But, oh, this canna be, for now I'm no' asl ha'e been ! Your life is like the living sun. That gi'es life to the plain ; Though clouds awhile may dim his smile. He'll brighter beam asain. I wouldna be the cloud that comes Atween your love an' ye ; Tour life's sweet light — the light o' lo'e, lo'e glentin' frae the ee. Wi' brother's lo'e I'll lo'e ye still Nor seek your heart to win ; For less to think, an' mair to do. In me wad be a sin : But there can be nae sin, sweet lass. In praying, while awa". That joys frae ye may never pass. But blessings on ye fa'! (© J^ETg, tuiTO afea\ [Air, " What ails this heart o' mine ?"J O, JIary, turn awa' That bonnie face o' thine, And dinna, dinna shaw that breast. That never can be mine. Can aught o' warld's gear E'er cojI my bosom's care ? Na, na, for ilka look o' thine. It only feeds despair. Then, Mary, turn awa', That bonnie face o' thine; O dinna, dinna shaw that breast. That never can be mine ! Wi' love's severest pangs 3Iy heart is laden sair, And o'er my breast the grass maun grow. Ere I am free frae care. [Alex. Bdchanan.— Here first printed.] Drieoh to me are the hours I'm an unwon'd maid. Lingering in bloom like a rose in the shade ; Folks a' say I'm bonnie, but beauty will fade. Gin they lea' me to linger an unwoo'd maid. My temper is guid, I've twa Oancin' black een, A mou' made for kissin', a roun' dimpled chin, A mind, fain to mak' a man happy an' bein. But I want warl's charm, I'm atocherless quean. To win me an wooer, ilk effort I try, I ogle the lads but my glances they shy, I bait me wi' smiles, for to catch them gaun by. But fruitless my fishin', nae laddie looks nigh. But what needs I mourn though I get na a mate. Or think I am slichted though lanely my state- Love aft leives an hour an' then dees unto hate. Could I think it, I'm far better wantin' a mate. But losh, my heart warms ilka time that I see A lass wi' her lad paun at nicht ower the lia. Their keekin', an' kissin', an smirkin', an' glee, Is enough to mak' mad maidens aulder than me. ft 0$«^, a %tu^. [WlltlAM MOTIIFRWEI-I..] A Stbbd ! a steed of matchless speede ! A sword of metal keene i Al else to noble heartts is drosse — Al else on earth is meane. The neighynge of the war-horse prowde. The rowleinge of the drum. SCOTTISH SONGS. The clangour of the trumpet lowde — Be soundes from heaven that come. And, oh ! the thundering presse of knightes, \Vhenas their war-crjes swelle, May tole from heaven an angel bright. And rowse a fiend from hell. Then mounte ! then mounte, brave gallants all. And don your helmes amaine ; Deathe"s couriers, fame and honour, call Vs to the fielde againe. >'o shrewish tears shall fill our eye "VVhen the s-svorde-hUfs in our hand ; Hearte-whole vre'll parte, and no whit sighe For the fayrest of the land. Let piping swaine, and craven wight. Thus weepe and puling crye ; Our buisnesse is like men to fighte. And like to heroes, die ! [Thomas Smail.— Here first printed. Myot hUl, situated about two miles west of Denny, in Stirlingshire, affords a varied and beautiful pros- pect of the banks of "the dark -winding Carron, still pleasing to see," the Oclnll hills. Firth of Fcrth, Arthur's Seat, Edinburgh and Glasgow Railway and Canal, &c.; and is much resorted to by x>edestrians.] Agaix on Myofs lofty brow. With bounding heart I stand, jConomanding many a lovely view Of hiU, and dale, and strand. Here often in my youthful days I ran with joyous glee ; But far I've wander'd since through life. On land, on lake, on sea. My early friends who shar'd my joy, "WTiose mirth resounded high, WTiere now are they ? In death's embrace, AVithin the grave, they lie. Our youthful days I when hopes were bright. And aU appear 'd serene i How ill-exchang'd for other times Of life's rough chequer'd scene. 'lis here, when all is past and gone, I'd like my grave to be ; But mark'd by no sepulchral stone. Or weeping willow-tree. For here in life my breast full gush'd With joyous tides of glee ; And here in death, when all is hush'd My heart may throb to be. [By William Air Foster, formerly of Cold- stream, now of Glasgow. — Here first printed. \ The birk grows green on Kennel banks, Brume flowers on Coldstream braes. The plantains fair on Com'el haughs Ha'e on their summer claes. Tweed, rowin' in the gloamin light That streams on haugh and lea. Sheds beauty owre the landscape bright, Around the tiystin' tree. The merle likes the slae boss weel, Whar grows the berry blue. The muirfool likes the heather bell. Whan draiket wi' the dew ; And weel I lo'e the bonnie lad That couppit hearts wi' me. Whan seated, on yon summer night. Beneath the trystin' tree. A' nature wears a summer hue : The sun sinks down serene. The lamb sports round the bleatin" ew.>, On bonnie Kennel preen ; The mavis frae the auld kirk brae Pours out his nttes wi' glee. And the laverock twits a merry lay Aboon the tiystin' tree. Then wha wad hunt for warld's gtar. Or sacrifice for gain ? The hame spot hearts aye baud sae dcr.r Whan far across the main. For lordly walth and a* its fyke, I'm sure I wadna gi'e The kiss I gat frae him I like Beneath the tr>st:n' tree. ^OQ SCOTTISH SONGS. 'Ef)2 ^igfjlanl) @^aifsrt?r» [This song, which appears in " The Lark" (1765,) and also in Herd's collection (1769,) was written by Lieut. -General Sir Harry Erskine, Bart, and M. P., who succeeded his uncle, the Hon. General t^t. Clair, in the command of the Eoyal Scots in 1762, and died at York in 1765. His eldest son, who assumed the name of ?it. Clair, l)ecame second carl of Kosslyn, and died in ISIJl. The tune to the song, which is called " The Highland or 42d Eogimenfs Slarch," was composed by General John Keid, colonel of the SSth regiment— the same person who bequeathed a sum of money for establishing a pro- fessorship of music in Edinburgh College.] In the garb of old Gaul, with the fire of old Rome, From the heath -cover 'd mountains of Scotia we come ; Where the Romans endtavour'd our country to gain. But our ancestors fought, and they fought not in vain. Such is our love of liberty, our country, and our laws. That, like our ancestors of old, we'll stand in freedom's cause: ' --' We'll bravely fight, like heroes bold, for honour and applause, '•■ - And defy the French, with all their art, to alter our laws. No effeminate customs our sinews unbrace , ^ No luxurious tables enervate our race ; ^ Our loud sounding pipe breathes the true martial strain, \ And our hearts still the old Scottish valour retain. V '■ Such is our love, <5cc. l^ We're tall as the oak on the mount of the valo And swift as the roe which the hound doth assail ; . .\ As the full moon in autumn our shields do appear ; '!^ Ev'n Minerva would dread to encounter our spear. Such is our love, &c. .' • As a storm in the ocean, when Boreas blows, . ' I Ko are we enrag'd when we rush on our foes ; "^ ^'■^^' We sons of the mountains tremendous as rocks. Dash the force of our foes with our thundering strokes. Such is our love, &c. Quebec and Cape Breton, the pride of old France, In their numbers fondly boasted, till we did advance; But when our claymores they saw us produce. Their courage did fail, and they sued for a truce. Such is our love, &c. In our realm may the fury of faction long cease. May our councils \>e wise, and our commerce increase. And in Scotia's cold climate may each of us find. That our friends still prove true, and our beauties prove kind. Then we'll defend our liberty, our country, and our laws. And teach our late posterity to fight in freedom's cause ; That they, like their ancestors bold, for honour and applause, ilay defy the French, with all their arts, to alter our laws. SCOTTISH SONGS. 427 ^•5? KarifoJs) i^OTig?* [Gibson.] The narrow house, the winding sheet, Haud a' that e'er war dear to me ; My 3Iaiy, an' her baby sweet. That ere yestreen smiled on her knee. I laid them where the weary rest, An' shortly I shall rest wi' them. The hearts are cauld that lo'ed me best. An' hame to me's a weary hame. Her father frown'd, her mother flaet. An' mony tears she shed her lane ; But parent's frown or hapless fate, She'U never thole, nor mourn again. "WTiate'er the warl' like to ca't, Be't this or that, or sin or shame ; The fau't was love — if love's a fau't. Let love an' me bear a' the blame. [This is an old song, and the tune to which it | is attached is also old and beautiful. The words, however, can be traced no farther back than to Herd's collection. In Cromek's " Remains of iN'ithsdale and Galloway Song," a spurious version of the song is given, evidently from the pen of Allan Cunningham.] SAW ye my father, or saw ye my mither. Or saw ye my true love John ? 1 saw nae your father, I saw nae your mither. But I saw your true love John. Its now ten at night, and the stars gi'e nae light. And the bells they ring ding dang. He's met wi' some delay that causes him to stay. But he will be here ere lang. The surly auld carle did naething but snarl. And Johnny's face it grew red. Yet tho' he often sjgh'd he ne'er a word replied. Till a' were asleep in bed. J Then up Johnny rose, and to the door he goes, I And gently tirled at the pin, I The lassie taking tent unto the uoor she went, I And she open'd and lat him in. And are ye come at last ! and do I hold you fast : And is my Johnny true ? , I have nae time to tell, but sae lang's I like mysel', Sae lang sail I like you. Flee up, flee up, my bonnie grey cock. And craw when it is day. And your neck shall be like the bonnie beaten gold, I And your wings of the silver grey. j The cock proved false, and untrue he was, I For he crew an hour owre soon : The lassie thought it day when she sent her love i away. And it was but a blink of the moon. [William Air Foster. — Here first piinteus of a' the young fellows, O, dool on the day I met wi' an auld man ; My auld auntie Katie upon me takes pity, I'll do my endeavour to follow her plan , I'll cross him, and wrack him, until I heart- break him. And then his auld brass will buy me a new pan. [Poetry by C. Mack ay. Music by Henry Russell.] Some love to roam o'er the dark sea's foam. Where the shrill winds whistle free ; But a chosen band.ln a mountain land. And a life in the woods for me. "When morning beams o'er the mountain streams, Cih ! merrily forth we go. To follow the stag to his slippery crag. And to chase the bounding roe. — Ho! ho! ho! ho! Some love to roam, &c. The deer we mark in the forest dark. And the prowling wolf we track ; And for right good cheer, in the wild woods here. Oh ! why should a hunter lack ? For with steady aim at the bounding game. And hearts that fe.ir no foe. To the darksome glade, in the forest shade. Oh : merrily forth we go. — Ho ! ho ! ho ! ho I Some love to roam, &c. IXs^^ic, ^mU ^2 W2 T^2> [Music by J. W. Holder.] Oh, gin I were a baron's heir. And could I braid wi' gems your hair, .And make ye braw as ye are (air, Lassie, would ye lo'e me ? And could I tak' ye to the town. And shaw ye braw sights mony a ane. And busk ye fine in silken gown. Lassie, would ye lo'e me ? Or should ye be content to prove. In lowly life unfading love, A heart that nought on earth could move, Lassie, would ye lo'e me ? And ere the lav'rock wing the skie. Say, wad ye to the forest hie. And work wi' me sae merrilie. Lassie, could ye lo'e me ? And when the braw moon glistens o'er. Our wee bit bicld and heathery muir, ■\Vill ye na greet for yc're sae puir, Lassie, though I lo'e ye ? For I ha'e nought to offer ye, Nae gowd frae mine, nae pearl frae sea, Nor am I come o' hie degree. Lassie, but I lo'e ye. %^ E©fe!an^ liirf^?* [Charles Jeffreys.— Slrusic by S. Kelson.] By the light of the moon, The bonnie h.ir\'est moon. On the beautiful banlvs of the Clyde, I have wander'd along. And sung the Highland song ^^'hich my sire oft sang by his own burn-side. For, though born ayont the Tweed, I love the meanest weed That h.is sprung by the heather in its pride ; And earth owns no dearer spot Than the ivy-mantled cot. Where the moments lightly pass with my bonnie Lowland bride. Caledonia, with thee, My bosom boundeth free; And, wherever my footsteps may roam. The lowland valley still. Or the heather-blooming hill. Shall the dear haven be of my heart's best home. To that loved and gentle form. Which hath braved me with life's storm, I will sing of our cottage by the Clyde, Till the joyous smile she wore. In the happy days of yore. Shall beam upon the brow of my bonnie Lowland bride. iir-G m SCOTTISH SONGS. 43 J ^j~:/ [This song is generally called " The Braes of Ballendine," because it is sung to the tune which ^Lf goes by that name. The tune is ascribed to Oswald, but though it appears in his Pocket Companion, ,/^'r it has not the usual asterism affixed to his own compositions. The words are by Dr. Blacklock. ' Ferdinando Tenducci, the celebrated Italian singer of Scottish songs, who taught music at Edinburgh for many years during the latter half of the last century, used to sing this song publicly with great effect. — The Braes of Ballendine are gentle elevations which rise from the Carse of Gowrie towards the Sidlciw Hills.] Bexkath a green shade, a lovely young swain Ae evening reclined to discover his pain ; So sad, yet so sweetly, he warbled his woe. The winds ceased to breathe, and the fountain to flow ; r. Eude winds wi' compassion could hear him complain, ' Yet C'hloe, less gentle, was deaf to his strain. m How happy, he cried, my moments once flew. Ere Chloe's bright charms first flash'd in my view ! Those eyes then wi' pleasure the dawn could survey ; Nor smiled the fair morning mair cheerful than they. Now scenes of distress please only my sight; I'm tortured in pleasure, and languish in light. Through changes in vain reUef I pursue. All, all but conspire my griefs to renew; From sunshine to zephjTS and shades we repair — To sunshine we fly from too piercing an air ; But love's ardent fire burns always the same, No winter can cool it, no summer inflame. But see the pale moon, all clouded, retires ; The breezes grow cool, not Strephon's desires: I fly from the dangers of tempest and wind. Yet nourish the madness that preys on my mind. Ah, wretch ! how can life be worthy thy care ? To lengthen its moments, but lengthens despair. [James Macdoxald.— Here first printed.] Te bonnie woods o' castle Doune, ye knowes and fairy braes. An' a' ye glens an' leafy glades — the haunt of happy days; The licht o' heaven disna shine sae sweetly on me now As when I saw ye lang lang syne, amang the silver dew. Ye summer winds that sang sae sweet alang the broomy hills. Ye wee bit flowers that smiled sae glad beside the dancing rills. Your sang an' smile they canna wile the wrinkles affray brow. For a' my greenerie o' life is brown an' faded now. v: I, 432 SCOTTISH SONGS, But yet nij- e'e can dimly see, amid its gloamin' hour. The shadow of a joyous dream, — the semblance of a flower. An' sic a flower as only blessed the bowers of Paradise AVhen Eden lay beneath the ray o' smiling infant skies. O saftly play, ye breezes play, around that winsome flower. And gently fa", ye dew drops fa' abune her summer bower ; For ne'er since bonnie castle Boune was biggtt on yon brae Did e'er ye fan a fairer flower than lovely Henney Gray. f B'-^g '^'^Hih. [James Macdosai-d.— Here printed for the first time.] Loo'sT thou the thistle that blooms on the mountain. And decks the fair bosom o' Scotland's green howes ; Loo'st thou the flow'ret o' Liberty's fountain. The emblem o' friendship, that guards as it grows ? The wee lamb may sleep 'neath its shade, wi' its mither. The maukin may find 'neath its branches a lair; And birds o' ilk feather may there flock thegither. But wae to the wretch wha our thistle wad tear ! Loo'st thou the thistle ? the broad leaves it weareth Are gemm'd o'er wi' pearls o' morning's sweet dew ;— Lo ! on ilk dew-drop a dear name it beareth — The name of a freeman o' leal heart and true. Kenn'st thou the stor)- o' proud fame and glory. That's tauld by ilk spike o' its bristled array ? Kae wonder our thistle wi' grandeur is hoary- It's auld as creation — it's new as the day ! Loo'st thou the thistle ? the rose canna peer it, Nae shamrock can smile wi' sae gaudy an air, The lily maun hide a' its beauty, when near it, , ; The star-flag is bonnie* — the thistle is mair. i , - True to the thistle, I'll necr lo'e anither, V'^'' AVTiatever my station, wherever I be . ' Its love in my bosom no blighting can wither, ' ' ■ Auld Scotland's ain darling, I'll lo'e till I dee. .» ] Here's to ilk pillar that biJ.^s by the thistle ; Lang may his roof-tree be kept frae decay ; « • Lang may the.voice o' happiness whistle f In glee round his dwallin' by nicht and by day. s • Here's to the banners that wave o'er the ocean, ' ' , The rose of old England, the brave and the free, , The Shamrock that raises green Erin's devotion. The Thistle o' ScotUind— hurrah for the three ! ^/^av SCOTTISH S0yG3, ,4-3.3/ # ft$ 1Stoe=ibii5|iting'g leinrtk. [The first four lines of this fine pastoral lyric form part of an unfinished song by Lady Grizzle Baillie, the authoress of the old touching ditty, " Were na my heart light I wad die," '(see page 135). , Tne rest is by Thcmas Pringle, author of African Sketches, who died in 1S34.] O THE ewe-bughting's bonnie, baitb e'ening and mom, When our blythe shepherds play on the bog-reed and horn ; ■V\'Tiile we're railliing they're lilting sae jocund and clear; But my heart's like to break when I think o' my dear ! O the shepherds take pleasure t» blow on the horn. To raise up their flocks i' the fresh simmer mom : On the steep ferny banks they feed pleasant and free — But alas I my dear heart, all my sighing's for thee ! O the sheep-herding's lightsome amang the green braes AVhere Cayle wimples clear 'neath the white-blossomed slaes, "Where the wild-thyme and meadow-queen scent the saft sale. And the cushat croods luesomely down in the dale. There the lintwhite and mavis sing sweet frae the thorn. And blythe lilts the laverock aboon the green com, And a' things rejoice in the simmer's glad prime — But my heart's wi' my love in the far foreign cUme '. O the hay-making's pleasant, in bright sunny June — The hay-time is cheery when hearts are in tune ; But while others are joking and laughing sae free. There 's a pang at my heart and a tear i" my e'e. At e'en i' the gloaming, adown by the burn, Fu' doTtie, and wae, aft I daunder and mourn ; Amang the lang broom I sit greeting alane. And sigh for my dear and the days that are cane. O the days o' our youtheid were heartsome and gay, "When we herded thegither by sweet Gaitshaw brae, "When we plaited the rushes and pu'd the vritch-beli? By the Cayle's ferny howms and on Hounam's green fulls. But young Sandy bood gang to the wars wi' the laird. To win honour and gowd — (gif his life it be spared I) Ah ! little care 1 for wealth, favour, or fame, Gin I had my dear shepherd but safely at hame ! Then round out wee cot though gruff winter sould roar. And poortith glowr in like a wolf at the door ; Though our toom purse had barely twa botldles to clink. And a barley-meal scone were the best on our*bink, Yet, he wi' his hirsel, and I wi' my wheel. Through the howe o' the year we wad fen unco weel : Till the lintwhite, and laverock, and lambs bleating fain. Brought back the blythe time o' ewe-bughting again. 38 ^ ^ i '^-l^- •J§&^ 431 SCOTTISH SONGS. -% l,(SikI|5 Paljk^. 9 >^^ ^ I. -4^ } '^3 ?a [This 8ong Burns wrote in honour of his I little favourite. Miss Davies. It appears in John- j son's Museum, set at his own request to a tune called "Miss Muir." "Those who remember the pleasing society," says Allan Cunningham, " which, in the year 1791, Dumfries afforded, can- not have forgotten ' the charming lovely Davies' of the lyrics of Burns. Her maiden name was Deborah, and she was the youngest daughter of Dr. Davies of Tinby in PembroUe-shire ; between her and the Riddels of Friars Carse there were ties of blood or friendship, and her eldest sister, Harriet, was married to Captain Adam Gordon, of tlie noble family of Kenmure. Her education was superior to that of most young ladies of her station of life; she was equally agreeable and ■witty ; her company was much courted in Niths- dale, and others than Burns respected her talents in poetic composition. She was then in her twentieth year, and so little and so handsome that some one, who desired to compliment her, welcomed her to the vale of Nith as one of the Graces in miniature. It was the destiny of Miss Davies to become acquainted with Captain Delany, a pleasant and sightly man, who made himself acceptable to her by sympathizing in her pursuits, and by writing verses to her, calling her his " Stella," an ominous name, which might have brought the memory of Swift's unhappy mistress to her mind. An offer of marriage was made and accepted ; but Delany's circumstances were urged as an obstacle ; delays ensued ; a cold- ness on the lover's part followed ; his regiment was called abroad — he went with it ; she heard from him once and no more, and was left to mourn the change of affection — to droop and die. He periihed in battle or by a foreign climate, soon after the death of the young lady of whose love he was unworthy."] O HOW shall I, unskifu", try The poet's occupation ? The tunefu' powers, in happy hours, That whisper inspiration. Even they maun dare an effort mair Than aught they ever gave us. Or they rehearse, in equal verse. The charms o' lovely Davies. Eaeh eye it cheers, when she appears, Like Phoebus in the morning, "When past the show'r, and every flower The garden is adorning. As the wretch looks o'er Siberia's shcre, AVhen winter-bound the wave is; Sae droops our heart when we maun part From charming, lovely Davies. Her smile's a gift, frae 'boon the lift. That mak's us mair thai; princes; A sceptred hand, a king's command. Is in her darting glances: The man in arms 'gainst female charms. Even he her willing slave is; He hugs his chain, and owns the reign or conquering, lovely Davies. Jly muse to dream of such a theme. Her feeble pow'rs surrender ; The eagle's gaze alone surveys The sun's meridian splendour: I wad in vain essay the strain, The deed too daring brave Is ; I'll drap the lyre, and mute, admire The charms o' lovely Davies. [" CoMPosEP," says Burns, " on my little idol, *^/ \ the charming, lovely Davies."— Adapted to a tune / !^ with the same title, given by Oswald.] y ^^ Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thinp, $J(?i Lovely wee thing, wert thou mine, / •<>Ai I wad wear thee in my bosom, (, r-fl Lest my jewel I should tine. ^r\o Wistfully I look and languish In th.1t bonnic face o' thine; And my heart it stounds wi' anguish. Lest my wee thing be na mine. Wit, and grace, and love, and beauty, In ae constellation shine; To adore thee is my duty. Goddess o' this soul o' mine I Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing, Lovely wee thing, wert thou mine, I wad wear thee in my bosom. Lest my jewel I should tine. ^-^^^^m^^^emm^f^M^s^m,^^^^^ SCOTTISH SONGS. 435 \\A ^ <© %:zziz ut ©« tit &m, C' y^ .?.= -^ [James Macdonald.— Here first printed. The beautiful mountain stream of the Endrick rises ^. \ /I among the hills south-west of Stirling, and passing in a rapid course by the villages of Fintry, Balfron, \ /-• \ ^ Killeam, and Drj-men, it flows into Lochlomond, a few miles west from Buchanan House, the roman- -j JI^aiiMr, [Al.I.AN CrNNINCnAJ!.] Ve winds which kiss the groves" green tops. And sweep the mountain hour, O, softly stir the ocean waves AVhich sleep along the shore , For my love sails the fairest ship That wantons on the sea : O, bend his masts with jileasant gales. And waft liim hame to me. O leave nae mair the bonnie glen, Clear stream, and hawthorn prove. Where first we walked in gloaming g ey, And s'gh'd and look'd of love; For faithless is the ocean wave, And faithless is the wind- Then leave nae mair my h»art to break, 'Mang Scotland's hills behind. 0i2 ^^©^^^55^, Cl^pICTHEin. [John Learmont. — Tune, " The Butcher 15oy." Leamiont published a volume of Poems at Edm- burgh in 1791. He at one time held the situation of head gardener to the Duke of Buccleuch at Langholm Lodge. He died many years ago.J Of mighty nature's handy-works. The common or uncommon. There's nought through a" her limita wide Can be compared to woman. The farmer toils, the merchant trokes. From da wing to the gloamin ; The farmer's pains, the merchant's cares, Are a' to please thee, woman. The sailor spreads the daring sail Through billows chafL'd and foamins, For gems, and gold, and jewels rare. To please thee, lovely woman. The soldier fights o'er crimson'd fields. In distant climatt s roaming ; But lays, wi' pride, his laurels down. Before thee, conquering womuii. The monarch leaves his golden throne. With other men in common. And lays aside his crown', and kneels A subject to thee, woman. Though all were mine, e'er man possess' 1, Barbarian, Greek, or Roman, What would earth be, frae east to west. Without my goddess, woman I ^Hnie Hauifte. f" Thesk t\vo verses," says Mr. Robert Cham- bers, " which are in a style wonderfully tender and chaste for their age, were written by a Mr. Douglass of Finland, upon Anne, one of the four daughters of .Sir Kol>ert Laurie, first baronet of Maxwelton, by his second wife, who was a daugh- ter of Riddell of Minto. AsSir Robert wascreated a baronet in the year 1685, it is probable that the verses were composed about the end of the seven- teenth or the beginning of the eighteenth century. It is painful to record, that, notwithstanding the ardent and chivalrous affection displayed by Mr. Douglas in his poem, he did not obtain the heroi ne for a wife: she was married to Mr. Ferguson of Craigdarroch."] Maxwklton banks are bonnie. Where early fa's the dew ; Wh»re me and Annie Laurie M;ide up the promise true; Made up the promise true. And never forget will I; And for bonnie Annie Laurie I'll lay me doun and die. She's backit like the peacock. She's breistit like the swan. She's jimp about the middle. Her waist ye weel micht span; '^j£j^ ^^■m>'mm:^'''^i^Mms^'mr:^ r4 SCOTTISH SONGS Her waist ye weel micht span. And she has a rolling eye ; And for bonnie Annie Laurie I'U lay me down and die. ^^ JIODEEN yEE610>'. ivAj JIaxwei-ton braes are bonnie, x:'! Where early fa's the dew, ^! ir And it's there that Annie Laurie sH9 Gied me her promise true ; l~ ) Gied me her promise true, ^y ■Which ne'er forgot will be ; yy^ And for bonnie Annie Laurie ^v I'd lay me down and dte. ;/ Her brow is like the snaw -drift. Her throat is like the swan. Her face it is the fairest That e'er the sun shone on ; That e'er the sun shone on. And dark blue is her e'e ; And for bonnie Annie Laurie I'd lay me down and dee. like dew on the gowan lying. Is the fa' C her fairy feet , And like winds in summer sighing. Her voice is low and sweet. Her voire is low and sweet, And she is a' the world to me; And for bonnie Annie Laurie I'd lay me down and dee. IKp fef' lie Sili^tfe. (' Gin ye be tentie, ye shall ha'e plenty, ' Tear after year, I ha'e dotted a renty, BjTes fu' o" horse an' kye, barns fu man, Bukes fu' o' notes, an' a farm C your ain, man grain. [From a collection of "Ancient Ballads and ' Bongs, by Thomas Lyle," London, 1S27.J ?'l Ye're my conceit, though I'm courted by mony , i "^ > Come to the spence, my ain merry ploughman, 4 Vj/ Make it your hanie, ye'U be baith het an' fu', man; I y^ Baith het an' fu', man, baith het an' fu', man, . * 2iake it your liame, ye'U be baith het an" fu', I man. At market or fiair, man, ye may be there, man. Buying or selling, wi' plenty to ware, man, Dress'd like a laird, in the bravest an" wannest. Or a gude beast, you'll ride up wi' the foremost. Taupie young lassies, keeking in glasses. Wasting their siller on trinkets an' dresses. Think wi' yoursel', Johnnie, tak' wha ye may do. Ye may do waur than draw up wi' the widow, TTp vri' the widow, up wi' the widow. Ye may do waur than draw up wi' the widow. P^eitlei:^ Mmm> [AiR, " Aiken Drum."— The original charter of Prestwick is now lost, but is referred to in the re- newed grant by James VI. of Scotland. Bruce ha\-ing at first been unsuccessful, after passing some time in exile, re-appeared in Arran, and crossing the Firth, landed on Prestwick shore, where the inhabitants joined his standard in considerable force ; for which service, the king was pleased to erect their town into a barony, with a jurisdiction extending from the Water of Ajt to the Ar^'ater of Irvine.] At gloamin grey, the close o' day, "WTien saftly sinks the village hum , Nor far nor near ought meets the ear. But aiblins Prestwick drum. Kae bluidy battle it betides, Kor sack, nor siege, nor ought besides, Twa gude sheep-skins, wi' oaken sides. An* leather lugs aroun". In days o' yore, when to our shore. For aid the gallant Bruce did come. His lieges leal did tak' the fiel'. An' march to Prestwick drum. Gude service aften is forgot. An' favour won by crafty plot, An' sic, alas 1 has been the lot O' Frestwick's ancient drum. \y(/ man. ^^ ^ jrreai-wiuasiujticut uruJii. i I 3^^!^^^^^^^^^^^ SC0TTI;5H SONGS. [Burns.— 'Written for the Museum, to the old tune of *' Bonnie lassie, tak' a man."] JocKip.'s ta'en the parting kiss, Ower the mountains he is gane ; And with him is a' my hliss; Nought but griefe wi' me remain. Spare my love, ye winds that blaw. Flashy sleets, and beating rain ! Spare my love, thou feathery snaw. Drifting o'er the froien plain ! When the shades of evening creep Ower the day's fair gladsome e'e, Sound and safely may he sleep, Sweetly blythe his vaukenlng be ! He will think on her he loves. Fondly he'll repeat her name ; For, where'er he distant roves, Jockie's heart is still at hame. '^1 caKjia 'le ifs^'Ij?^/' [Edwakd Poi-in, late of Paisley, now connect- ed with " The Edinburgh Weekly Chronicle" Newspaper. — Here first printed.] The deil's in the hizzics, Thae lassies o' mine ! — Though there's a' things to do, Baith the rough wai-k an' fine; Though the breid's a' to bake. An' the claes maun be washed. There they'll sit an' they'll tell me They " canna be fiished !" Was ever the like o't? — .Sic gentle affairs ! Na ! the jauds are gane gyte Wi' their braws an' their airs; >Iy certes! 1 think Wi' the tangs I'd been smashed. Gin I'd said to my roither, ■' I canna be £»sbed !" But ni o the bit lassocks Ha'e grown sae genteel, Wi' their books an' pianos For seams an' the wheel ; Oin ye ask them to help ye. Just hear hoo your snashed — " 'Deed, mither, I tell you I canna be fashed !" An' then there's sic wailing For phrases sae fine, That they're a' liker ledies Than dochters o' mine; But suns whan at hame A' sic clavers are quashed. For Scotch-like they'll tell me They " canna be fashed :" Wi' their veils an' their earrings. An' boas — keep me ! The pride o' thae lassies It's awfu' to see. Mak' them ledies indeed ! Na, their chaffs should be clashed. Whan they offer to tell me They " canna be fashed !" But bide ye awce Till the tawpies get men. An' maun e'en gang their wa's To their ain butt an' ben,— An' ha'e bairnies wha greet Till they're baith fed an' washed. We'll see gin they'll cry then They " canna be fashed !" i^ap an^ Meto, [Wili-iamCbkech.— Tune "The Reel o'. Stum- pie."— Mr. Creech (born 1745; died 1815,) was for many years a leading bookseller in Edinburgh. He was Burns's publisher there; and the reader will find in the poet's works some letters addres- sed to him ; also a poem of which he is the sub- ject, called " Willie's awa'." He was author of a collection of essays and sketches, called " Edin- burgh Fugitive Pieces," originally printed in 1701, and reprinted after his death, in 1815.] We'm, hap .ind row, we'll hap and row, We'll hap and row the feetie o't ; It U a wee bit weary thing: ^ I downa bide the greetie o't. •(ft) j;^smm^^m^m^m^^^-''m\ SCOTTISH SONGS. And we pat on the wee bit pan. To boil the lick o' meatie o't ; A cinder fell and spoil'd the plan. And burnt a' the feetie o't. Fu* sair it grat, the puir wee brat. And aye it kick'd the feetie o't. Till, puir wee elf, it tired itself; And then began the sleepie o't. The skirling brat nae parritch gat. When it gaed to the sleepie o't ; It's waesome true, instead o' 'ts mou' They're round about the feetie o't. ^ef-P tif co^ntrg. [This fragment is from Herd's collection, 17/ The tune is a well-known reel tune.] Keep the country, bonnie lassie. Keep the country, keep the country ; Keep the country, bonnie lassie; Lads will a' gi'e gowd for ye : Gowd for ye, bonnie lassie, Gowd for ye, gowd for ye t Keep the country, bonnie lassie; Lads will a' gi'e gowd for ye. ^|i? luu t|at mute tf)t i^jt). [" The bonnie lass that made the bed to me" is the name of an old song, here inadmissable, said to have been composed on a love adventure of Charles the Second, when in Scotland in 1650- ol. The heroine was a daughter of the laird o!" Port Lethem, in Aberdeenshire. BuK.vs took up the theme, and wrote a version of the song, which was subject almost to as strong objections, on the point of delicacy, as the original. He afterwards pruned his first sketch as follows :] ■When winter's wind was blawing cauld. As to the north I bent my way. The mirksome nicht did me enfauld, I kenn'd na where to lodge till day. A charming girl 1 chanced to meet Just in the middle of my care. And kindly she did me invite Her father's humble cot to share. Her hair was like the gowd sae fine, Her teeth were like the ivory. Her cheeks like lilies dipt in wine. The lass that made the bed to me. Her bosom was the drifted snaw. Her limbs like marble fair to see ; A fairer form nane ever saw. Than her's that made the bed to me. She made the bed baith lang and braid, Wi' twa white hands she spread it down. She bade " Gude nicht," and, smiling, said, " I hope ye'U sleep baith saft and soun'." L'pon the morrow when I raise, I thank'd her for her courtesie , A blush cam' o'er the comely face O' her that made the bed to me. I elasp'd her waist, and kiss'd her syne ; The tear stude twinkling in her e'e : O dearest maid, gin ye'U be mine. Ye aye sail make the bed to me. "SJsie^ nz |m tennis ilwe t'i» [Written by Bpbns for Thomson's collection, to the tune of " Laddie, lie near me."] 'TWAs na her bonnie blue e'e was my ruin ; j)| Fair though she be, that was ne'er my undoin' : ' »> 'Twas the dear smile when naebody did mind us, 'wl) 'Twas the bewitching, sweet, stown glance o' t> kindness. Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me, Sair do I fear that despair maun abide me ; But though fell fortune should fate us to sever. Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever. I Jlary, I'm thine wi' a passion sincerest, ] And thou hast plighted me love o' the dearest ! ! And thou'rt the angel that never can alter f Sooner the sun in his motion shall &Utcr. ^^^^^^^^^0^^^^^^^ di3 442 SCOTTISH SONGS. ^©t^fedl W>unk, A" [This was first published in John Pinkerton's Select Scottish Ballads, London, 1773," where it ( aU " g'^'^'i ^ ^^ ol'l production, but it was in reality V^ thecomposition of Pinkerton himself. Pinkerton, /^y^ though a ver>- unscrupulous writer, distinguished himself by his antiquarian researches into the his- ^_ tor>- of his country. lie was born at Edinburgh in vJV ir»S, and died at Paris in 182-5.—" In proof of the antiquity of at least the air to which this song is y suns" says Jlr. Robert Chambers, " and of its beautiful orvertvord, or burden, a story has been quoted from a work entitled ' Terstegan's Restitu- ;^ tion of Decayed Intelligence,' which was printed ^ at Amsterdam in the year 1605. In journeying X» \ through Palestine, at some period even tlien re- ^£^1 mote, a Scotsman saw a frmale at the door of a J '/ house lulling her chilii 'i%^wmw^mt?^:^m^^ SCOTTISH SONGS. ^ Mp fcoine were b)ythe and some were sad, And some they play'd at Blind Harrie; But suddenly up-started the auld carle, 1 redd ye, good folks, tak' tent o' me. Vp gat Kate that sat i' the nook. Vow kimmer, and how do ye ? Up he gat, and ca't her limmer. And ruggit and tuggtt her cockcrnonie. They houkit his grave in Duket's kirk -yard, K'en far frae the companie : liut when thoy were gaun to lay him i' the yird. The feint a dead nor dead was he. And when they brought him to Bukefs kirk- yard. He dunted on the kist, the boards did flee: And when they were gaun to put him 1' the yird. In fell the kist, and out lap he. He cried, I'm cauld, I'm unco cauld; Fu' fast ran the fock, and fu" fast ran he : But he was first hame at his ain ingle side. And he helped to drink his ain dirgie. )f)z Eeft n%. I William Knox.J She left us when spring-time Had painted the plain. And prorais'd in autumn To see us again. Long, long seem'd the summer AV'hen she was away. And we sigh'd for the woodlands And flowers to decay. The tree at our window Had scattered its leaves. And the swallow had left us Tluit sung from the eaves, ■U'hpn we thought of her promise To see us again. And long'd for her coming; Out all w Your locks they glitter'd to ihe sheen. Your hunter-garb was trim, And graceful was the ribbon green That bound your manly limb : Ah ! little thought I to deplore Those limbs in fetters bound ; Or hear upon the scaffold floor. The midnight -hammer sound I Te cruel, cruel, that combin'd The guiltless to pursue ; My Gilderoy was ever kind, He could not injure you : It/ ^^^m^my^^^^M^^i^^^^m'^m 446 3 I 1 ■I I 8 Vet pitying hcav'n not only does (;^ Forgive th' offender and th' offence. But even itself appeas'd bestows As the reward of penitence. A long adieu ! but where shall fly Thy widow all forlorn. When every mean and cruel eye Kegards my woe with scorn ? SCOTTISH SONGS. ^ Yes ! they will mock thy widow's tears. And hate thine orphan boy : Alas ! his infant beauty wears The form of GUderoy. Then will I seek the dreary mound Tliat WTaps thy mouldering clay, And weep and linger on the ground. And sigh my heart away. [IIamit.ton of Bangour. — This is published in the Orpheus Caledonius, 1725, adapted to the old air called " Hallowe'en."] ^VHY hangs that cloud upon thy brow. That beauteous heav'n erewhile serene ? Whence do these storms and tempests blow ? Or what this gust of passion mean •" And must then mankind lose that light "\\'hich in thine eyes was wont to shine. And lie obscur'd in endless night. For each poor silly speech of mine ? Dear child, how could I wrong thy name • Thy form so fair and faultless stands, Tiiat could ill tongues abuse thy fame. Thy beauty would make large amends 1 Or if I durst profanely try Thy beauty's powerful charms f upbraid. Thy virtue well might give the lie, >"or call thy beauty to its aid. For Venus eVry heart f ensnare. With all her charms has deck'd thy face. And Pallas with unusual care, Bids wisdom heighten every grace. Who can the double pain endure? Or who must not resign the field To thee, celestial maid, secure With Cupid's bow and Tallas' shield ? If then to thee such power is giv'n. Let not a wretch in torment live. But smile, and learn to copy heav'n, &iuc« we must sin ere it forgive. SoSiWEie'^ ©reg Muek$, i & [The air called " Johnnie's Grcy Breeks" is one of the most beautiful in the whole range of Scot- tish melody, and yet nothing is known of its his- tory. It is given in Oswald's collection, 1742, both according to the original way, in triple dm:, and also in common time, the latter suppfised to be ^^^ done by Oswald himself. Bums says, " Though /*^« ;t has certainly every evidence of being a Scottish (t^ air, yet there is a well-known tune in the north of \ ^5 Ireland, called ' The Weaver and his Shuttle, O,' r.\ ,'> which, though sung much quicker, is every note CLA j the very tune." The old Scotch song of " John- ^jj nie's Grey Breeks" is, however, much older than (p"/^ " The Weaver and his Shuttle, O," and the latt' I was baith blythe and bonnie, O ; ■'. i The lads lo'ed me baith far and near, t,',^ But I lo'ed nane but Johnnie, O : •:ii*\ He gain'd my heart in twa three weeks, jVS J He spake sae blythe and kindly, O ; '-y And I made him new grey breeks, ^» ^ That fitted hiui most finely, O. •) He was a handsome fellow ; bj^ ^ His humour was baith frank and free; P'V His bonnie locks sae yellow, ^^ ) Like gowd they glitter'd in my e'c : k'^)Mmyf^^:Mfm^^s:afk^^m^ ^mDmr^'^m& SCOTTISH S0XG3. His dimpled chin and rosy cheeks. And face sae fair and ruddy, O ; And then a-days his grey breeks Were neither auld nor duddy, O. But now they are threadbare vrom. They're wider than they wont to be; They're tash'd-Uke and sair torn. And clouted upon ilka knee. But gin I had a sinimer's day. As I ha'e had right monie, O, I'd make a web o' new grey. To be breeks to my Jchnnie, 0. For he's weel w6rdy o' them. And better, gin I had to gi'e. And I'U tak' pains upo' them, Frae faults I'U strive to keep them free. To cleid him weel shall be my care. To please him a' my study, O ! But he maun wear the auld pair A wee, though they be duddy, O. For when the lad was in his prime. Like him there warna monie, O. He ea'd me aye his bonnie thing, Sae wha wadna le'e Johnnie, ? O, I lo'e Johnnie's grey breeks. For a' the care they've gi'en me yet. And gin we live another year. We'll mak' them hale between us yet. [Written by Bubn's, to the tune of "John- i nie's Grey Breeks." The chorus was the compo- | sition of a gentleman in Edinburgh, a friend of the poet's. It has been generally condemned as an absurd chorus — and certainly is not very appro- priate to the song — but still we think it is a good natural verse for all that. " ilenie" is the abbre- viation of the name " Mariamne."! Agai.v rejoicing nature sees Her robe assume its vernal hues ; Her leafy locks wave in the breeze. All freshly steep'd in morning dews. And maun I still on Menie doat, And bear the scorn that's in her e'e ? For it's jet-jet black, and it's like a hawk, And winna let a bodie be. In vain to me the cowslips blaw ; In vain to me the vi'lets spring ; In vain to me, in glen or shaw. The mavis and the lintvvhite sing. The merry ploughhoy cheers his team ; "Wi' joy the tentie seedman stauks; Bat life to me's a weary dream, A dream of ace that never wauks. The wanton coot the water skims; Amang the reeds the ducklings cry ; The stately swan majestic swims ; And every thing is blest but I. The shepherd steeks his faulding slaps, I And o'er the mo-^rland whistles shiill ; I Wi' wild, unequal, wandering step, j I meet him on the dewy hill. And when the lark, 'tween hght and dark, Blythe waukens by the daisy's side. And mounts and sings on fluttering wings, A woe-worn ghaist, I hameward glide. Come, winter, with thine angry howl. And raging bend the naked tree ; Thy gloom will soothe my cheerless so'jI, AVhen nature all is sad like me. And maun I sfdl on Menie doat. And bear the scorn that's in her e'e ? For it's jet-jet black, and it's like a hawk. And winna let a bodie be. iEatil^a. [Written by Alexander 'Wuson of Paisley, the great American Ornithologist.] Ye dark rugged rocks, that recline o'er the dee?. Ye breezes that sigh o'er the main. Here shelter me under your cliffs, while I weep. And cease, while ye hear me complain. For distant, alas! firom my dear native shores. And far from each friend now I be. And wide is the merciless ocean that roars Between my Matilda and cie. 8 ^sjm^^^^^mLi^^^^^s^mm^Mi I ^i^^^^m^^t^^i^^^^m 448 SCOTTISH SONGS, How blest were the times when togctlier we stray'd, ' While Phoebe shone silent above; Or lean'd by the border of Cartha's green side, And talk'd the whole evening of love ; Around us all nature lay wTapt up in peace, >'or noise could our pleasures annoy, Save Cartha's hoarse lirawling, convey 'd by the breeze. That sooth'd us to love and to joy. \^[t If liap'.y some youth had his passion exprcst, \,.^ And prais'd the bright charms of her face, I 'or dream'd that we ever should part. But now from the dear, from the tenderest maid. By fortune unfeelingly torn ; 'Midst strangers, who wonder to sec me so sad. In secret I wander forlorn ; And oft, while drear midnight assembles her shades. And silence pours sleep from her throne. Pale, lonely, and pensive, I steal thro' the glades, And sigh 'midst the darkness my moan. In vain to the town I retreat for relief; In vain to the groves I complain ; Belles, coxcombs, and uproar, can ne'er sofjth my grief. And solitude nurses my pain. Still absent from her whom my bosom loves t>est, I languish in mis'ry and care ; Her presence could banish each woe from my breast. But her absence, alas ! is despair. { ^ S ^ Ye dark rugged rocks, that recline o'er the deep. Ye breezes, that sigh o'er the mam Oh I shelter me under your cliffs, while I weep, And cease, while ye htar me complai For distant, alas ! from my dear native shon s, A ml far from each friend now I be ; And wide is the merciless ocean, that roars Between my Matilda and me. >Im=!?V^ 0i^t^' [Ai.pxANDKR Laino. Written in 1SI8. Tune, ' Thy cheek is o' the rose's hue."] My only love I canna rue. My bonnie blue-e'ed Mary, O, I ne'er will break the bosom vow I've plighted to my dearie, O. A fairer form I canna see, i A fairer face there canna be, Kane bears a love sae leal as thee. My bonnie blue-e'ed Mary, O. I'll wait thee in the greenwood glen, Aniang the braes sae briery, O, For there the Noran leaps the linn. An' tells me of my dearie, 0. Thy hair's, the glossy falling stream. Thy brow, the pure, the milky fcam. Thy cheeks, the dimpling eddies seem — My bonnie blue-e'ed Mary, O. I ne'er had love for ane but thee Amang the maids sac cheery, O ; You ne'er lov'd ane but only me, My ain, my dearest dearie, O. My morn o' love — the morn o' thine. An' a' our happy days sinsyne. The chords o' mem'ry canna tyne, My bonnie blue-e'ed Mary, O. AVhile morning lifts his gowden eye. An' glints o'er a' sae cheerie, O ; While e'ening veils the face o' day. An' stamies gild the cary, O; My only love — my bosom vow — My plighted faith I'll never rue. But live in love an' bliss wi' you My bonnie blue-e'ed Mary, O. ■^^^iP^^S^^^& ^m^^:^^^^^^^:^^^^^'^ SCOTTISH SONGS. ^^cie^gi^f. [The beautiful tune of " Tweedside" is of great antiquity, and has even been attributed to David izzio, but without any authentic foundation. Gay adopts it as the air of one of his songs in the opera of " Polly," printed in 1729. The old verses to the tune, -nhich are here given, are said to have been wTitten by Lord Tester, afterwards mar- quis of Tweeddale, who died in 1713, in his 6Sth year. Lord Tester, according to Mr. Robert Chambers, " was a distinguished statesman in the reigns of "William and Anne, and married the only daughter of the duke of Lauderdale, considered the greatest heiress in the kingdom. He was one of the principal instruments in carrying through the Union, being at the head of the party called the Squadroiie Volante. >Iacky, in his curious work of that period, describes him as a great en- courager and promoter of trade and the welfare of his country. ' He hath good sense,' he adds, ' is very modest, much a man of honour, and hot when piqued ; is highly esteemed in his countrj-, and may make a considerable figure in it now. He is a short brown man, towards sixty years old.' The song must have been \\Titten before 1697, ■when he ceased to be Lord Tester, by succeeding his father. Neidpath Castle, near Peebles, which overhangs the Tweed, must be the locality of the song — that being then the property, and one of the residences, of the Tweedd.ale family. The song first appeared iu Mr. Herd's Collection, 1776."] When Maggy and I were acquaint, I carried my noddle fu' hie, Xae lintwhite in a' the gay plain, Kae gowdspink sae bonnie as she I I whistled, I piped, and I sang ; I woo'd, but I cam' nae great speed ; Therefore I maun wander abroad. And lay my banes far frae the 'Tweed. To Slaggy my love I did tell ; My tears did my passion express : Alas I for I lo'ed her ower wee!. And the women lo'e sic a man less. Her heart it was frozen and cauld ; Her pride had my ruin decreed ; Therefore I maun wander abroad. And lay my banes far frae the Tweed rm^y^^m- 'Ei^nW.tt. [The following once highly popular verses to the tune of " Tweedside" first appeared in Ram- 1 say's Tea-Table Miscellany, 1724, and again, with the music, in the Orpheus Caledonius, 1725. They ' were ■wTitten by Robert Crawfurd, a cadet of* the family of Drumsoy, one of the " ingenious young gentlerr.en," of whom Ramsay speaks as , contributors to his Jliscellany. Crawfurd was [^ author of " The Bush aboon Traquair," (see page y;;^ 11,) and other songs given in Ramsay's work. He I "jK is sometimes called Wiii.iam Crawfurd, a mistake ^£1, arising from Lord "Woodhouselee misapplying an ^^^ expression in one of Hamilton of Bangour's letters regarding a Will. Crawfurd. His father was twice married, first, to a daughter of a Gordon of Turn- berrj', by whom he had two sons, Thomas, at one time envoy extraordinary to the court of France, I and Robert, the poet. The latter resided long in France, and died, or, as is said, was drowned on returning to his native country, in 1732. The i second marriage of the father was to Jean, daughter of Archibald Crawfurd of Auchinames, in Renfrewshire, by whom he had a large family. Hence the mistake of making the poet belong to the Auchinames family (as is generally done)- mistake, we believe, first exposed by Mr. David Laing, of the Signet Library, Edinburgh. Mr. Ramsay of OchtertjTe, in a letter to Dr. Blacklock, dated 27th Oct. 17S7, says, " Tou may tell Mr. Burns when you see him, that Colonel Edmon- ston told me t'other day that his cousin Colonel George Crawfurd was no poet, tut a great singer I of songs ; but that his eldest brother Robert (by a former marriage) had a great turn that v.ay, having written the words of 'The Bush aboon Traquair' and 'Tweedside.' That the Mary to whom it was addressed was Marj- Stewart of the Castlemilk family, afterwards wife of Mr. John Belches. The colonel (Edmorston) never saw Robert Crawfurd, though he was at his burial fifty-five years ago. He was a pretty young man, and lived long in France.'' — According to Sir fPy Walter Scott, the Mary celebrated in " Tweed- side" did not belong to the Castlemilk family, but was Mary Lilias Scott of the Harden family, a descendant of another famed beauty, Mary Scott of Dryhope in Selkirkshire, known by the name of ' "The Flower of Tarrow," Harden is an estate pon the Tweed, about four miles from Melrose.] 2» 5-->^ .'V .ifeiM^ SCOTTISH SONGS. t^^ i What beauties does Flora disclose ! How sweet are her smiles upon Tweed ! Yet Mary's still sweeter than those. Both nature and fancy exceed. No daisy, nor sweet blushing rose, Not all the gay flowers of the field, Not Tweed, gliding gently through those, Such beauty and pleasure does yield. The warblers are heard in the grove. The linnet, the lark, and the thrush ; The blackbird, and sweet cooing dove. With music enchant ev'ry bush. Come, let us go forth to thj mead ; Ijet us see how the primroses spring; We'll lodge in some village on Tweed, And love while the feather'd folk sing. How does my love pass the long day ? Does Mary not tend a few sheep ? Do tliey never carelessly stray While happily she lies asleep ? Should Tweed's murmurs lull her to rest. Kind nature indulgin' my bliss, To ease the soft pains of my breast, I'd steal an ambrosial kiss. 'Tifi 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. Say, charmtr, where do thy flocks stray ? Oh, tell me at mom where they feed ? Shall I seek them on sweet-winding Tay ? Or the pleasanter banks of the Tweed ? [RoBRRT Carmichaei,, Lundin Mill, near Largo, Fifeshire.— Air, " Roslin Castle."— Here first printed.] By Grampia's towering mountains high. Whose rocky summits skirt the sky. Wild rolls the queen of Scotia's floods, Adome1 SCOTTISH SONGS ®|e fl0gi?. [Wbittbn by Birnxs for Johnson's Museum, to a tune taken down firom Mrs. Burns's voice. "It appears evident to me," says the poet, " that Oswald composed his ' Eoslin Castle' on the mo- dulation of this air. — In the second part of Oswald's, in the three first bars, he has either hit on a ' wonderful similarity to, or else he has entirely borrowed the three first bars of the old air, and the close of both tunes is almost exactly the same. The old verses to which it was sung, when I toofe down the notes from a country girl's voice," — (the country girl, as appears from a letter to Thomson, was his own wife,) — " had no great merit. — The following is a specimen : * These was a pretty May {anglice, maid,) 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, feir May. O where are ye goin', my ain pretty May, ArVi' thy red rosy cheeks, and thy coal-black hair ? Tnto the yowes a milkin', kind sir, she says, "With a double and adieu to thee, iair 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 worse o' that, kind sir, she says. With a double and adieu to thee, fair May,' &c. &e." Bums was quite right as to the resemblance of the air of "Eoslin Castle" to that of "The Posie," but he was mistaken in thinking that Oswald composed the former tune. It is older than Oswalds day, and was originally called " The House of Glamis." This we have already mentioned in the note \ to the song of " Eoslin Castle."] Oh, love will venture in where it dauma weel be seen ; Oh, love wiU venture in where wisdom ance has been ; But I will doun yon river rove, amang the woods sae green. And a' to pou a posie to my ain dear May. The primrose I will pou, the firstlin' o' the year ; And I will pou the pink, the emblem o' my dear ; For she's the pink o' womankind, and blooms without a peer : And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. I'll pou the buddin' rose, when Phoebus peeps in view. For it's like a baumy kiss o' her sweet bonnie mou; The hyacinth's for constancy, wi' ite unchanging blue : And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. The lily it is pure, and the lily it is lair. And in her lovely bosom 111 place the lily there ; The daisy's for simplicity, of unaffected air: And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. The hawthorn I will pou, 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 take awaj : fe^l^-^' And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. ^^lig^^^^g:^^^3fe^^^S^ SCOTTISH SONGS. The -noodbvne I will pou when the e'enin' star is near, And the diamond-draps o' dew shall be her een 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. I'll tie the posie round wi' the eilken band of luve. And I'll place it in her breast, and I'll swear by a' above, That to the latest breath o' life the band shall ne'er remo' And this will be a posie to my ain dear May. [James Macdonai.d. — Here first printed.] Ak summer eve o' rosy joy, when a' was quiet an' still, I wandered east alang the banks o' lanely Provan Mill ; The mavis sang his evening hymn upon the birken tree. An' bade gude nicht to a' the Howers on llosemount's bonnie lea, The mellow sang, the shady hour, the lovely autumn sky. Were a' forgot, whene'er I saw young Themie passing by ; For Phemie's face is a' my sang, her smile is life to me. And ne'er a sky sae pleased my heart as Phemie's kindly e'e. O feuld her in your arms, ye winds, at balmy evening's close. And breathe your sweetest dew-drops on my lovely blooming i For a' the dream o' wealth to me, this warld's hope can gi'e. Is hoarded in the gowden vase o' bonnie Phemie's e'e. [Evan M'Coli..— Tune, "Roderick Mhic Alpain Dubh."— Here first printed. Yk maidens of England, O who can surp.iss ye In a' that is innocent, gracefu', or fair? 1 ken but o' ane,— she's my ain loving lassie. The bonnie Scotch lass wi' the bricht gowden hair. What though, for your silkens, she gangs in her plaridie, What though that htr dad has nae tocher to spare. Yet rich were her lover an' blest, should his bride be The bonnie Scotch lass wi' the bricht gowden hair. What though I've nae courage to tell her my wishes. For fear she'll deny — still I winna despair, .Sae lang as to see me looks downward and blushes The bonnie Scotch lass wi' the bricht gowden hair. O when shall it be that, accepted an' lo'esome, I'll tell to my loVd one how much she's my care ? O, when as my ain shall I strain to my bosom The bonnie Scotch lass wi' the bright gowden hair f J&-^ SCOTTISH SONGS. w:^s-'wm^. 45.: Eiea^ier [" This song," says Mr. Robert Chambers, " is little better than a string of names of places. Yet there is something so pleasing in it, especially to the ear of a south-country man,' that it has long maintained its place in our collections. We all know what impressive verse ililton makes out of mere catalogues of localities. The author, Nicer, BuRNE, is supposed to have been one of the last of the old race of minstrels. In an old collection of songs, in their original state ofballaitfs, I have seen his name printed as ' Bume the violer,' which seems to indicate the instrument upon which he was in the practice of accompanying his recitations. I was told by an aged person at Earlston, that there used to be a portrait of him in Thirlstane Castle, representing him as a douce old man, leading a cow by a straw -rope. Thirlstane Castle, the seat of the Earl of Lauderdale, near Lauder, is the castle of which the poet speaks in such terms of admiration. It derives the massive beauties of its architecture from the Duke of Lauderdale, who built it, as the date above the door-way testifies, in the year 1674. The song must therefore have been composed since that era. It was printed in the Tea-Table Jliscellany, which, taken in connection with the last stanza, seems to point out that it was wTitten at some of the periods of national commotion between the reign of the last Charles and the first George— probably the Union. The Blainslie oats are still in repute, being used in many places for seed ; and Lauderdale still boasts of all the other pleasant farms and estates which are here so endearingly commemorated by the poet."] When Phcebus bright the azure skies With golden rays enlighfneth. He makes all nature's beauties rise. Herbs, trees, and flowers he quiek'neth : Amongst all those he makes his choice. And with delight goes thorow. With radiant beams, the silver streams Of Leader Haughs and Yarrow. When Aries the day and night In equal length divideth. And firosty Saturn takes his flight, >'ae langer he abideth ; i Then Flora queen, with mantle green. Casts off her former sorrow. And vows to dwell with Ceres' sel". In Leader Haughs and Yarrow. Pan, playing on his aiten reed. And shepherds, him attending. Do here resort, their flocks to feed. The hills and haughs commending With cur and kent, upon the bent. Sing to the sun, Good-morrow, And swear nae fields mair pleasures yieid. Than Leader Haughs and Yarrow. A house there stands on Leader side. Surmounting my descriving. With rooms sae rare, and windows fiiir, Like Daedalus' contriving: :Men passing by do aften cry, " In sooth it hath no marrow ; It stands as fair on Leader side. As Jfewark does on Yarrow. A mile below, who lists to ride, AViU hear the mavis singing ; Into St. Leonard's banks she bides. Sweet birks her head owerhinging. The lint-white loud, and Progne proud, AVith tuneful throats and narrow. Into St. Leonard's banks they sing. As sweetly as in Yarrow. The lapwing lilteth ower the lea, With nimble wing she sporteth ; But vows she'll flee far from the tree Where Philomel resorteth : By break of day the lark can say, I'll bid you a good morrow ; I'll stretch my wing, and, mounting, sing O'er Leader Haughs and Yarrow. Park, Wanton-wa's, and Wooden-cleuch, The East and Wester Mainses, The wood of Lauder 's fair eneuch. The corns are good in the Blainslies : There aits are fine, and said by kind. That if ye search all thorough Mearns, Buchan, Marr, nane better are Than Leader Haughs and Yarrow. In Burn-mill-bog and "SVliitslaid Shaws, The fearful ha.e she haunteth ; Brig-haugh and Braidwoodsheil she knaws. And Chapel wood firequenteth : *S^ k 9t, m^^^^^^i^^i^^sss^i^^^smi^ :^;^mi^^mfm^^m'Mij:^^^^w&^^ 454 SCOTTISH SONGS. ^J s 4 ^ i ;^ •9? Q Vet, when she irks, to Kaidslie Birks, tjhe rins, and sighs for sorrow, That she shoald leave sweet Leader Haughs, And cannot win to Yarrow. What sweeter music wad ye hear. Than hounds and beagles crjing ? The started hare rins hard with fear. Upon her speed relying : But yet her strength it fails at length; :Nae bielding can she borrow. In Sorrowless-fields, Clackmae, or Hags; And sighs to be in Yarrow. For Kockwood, Eingwood, Spotty, Shag, With sight and scent pursue her; Till, ah, her pith begins to flag ; Nae cunning can rescue her : Ower dub and dyke, ower sheuch and syke. She'll rin the fields all thorough. Till, fail'd, she fas in Leader Haughs, And bids fareweel to Yarrow. Sing Erlington and Cowdenknowes, Where H umes had anes commanding ; And IJrygrange, with the milk-white yowes, 'Twixt Tweed and Leader standing : The bird that flees through Eedpath trees And Gladswood banks ilk morrow, May chaunt and sing sweet Leader Haughs And bonnie howms of Yarrow. But minstrel Bume cannot assuage His grief, while life endureth. To sec the changes of his age, ■Which fleeting time procureth : For mony a place stands in hard case, WTiere blythe folk kend nae sorrow, With Humes that dwelt on Leader-side, And .ScottB that dwelt on Yarrow. Eea^et |^augl)gaiiU ^anofe. [The following are more modern words than the above to the tune of " Leader Haughs and Yarrow." They appear in Ramsay's Tea-Table Miscellany, with the title, " Sweet Susan." They are generally ascribe" The British Songster."] K 5fe'«s.*6&a3?'>«'«!rs.=s*«%?Si Ix ancient times as songs rehearse, vfr One charming nymph employ'd each verse, ! She reign'd alone without a marrow, , Mary scutt the flower of Yarrow. ■ Our fathers with such beauty fir 'd, |; This matchless fJair in crowds admir'd : \\ Tho' matchless then, yet here's her marrow, '.■ Mary Scott the flower of Yarrow. IVhose beauty unadom'd by art, "With Tirtue join'd attracts each heart; Her negligence itself would charm you. She scarcely knows her power to warm you. For ever cease Italian noise ; Let every string and every voice. Sing Mary Scott without a marrow, Mary Scott the flower of Yarrow. JEarg 5f 3tt. [Maby Scott, called in song " The Flower of Yarrow," was celebrated for her beauty. She was a daughter of Philip Scott of Dryhope, in Selkirkshire, and was married to Walter Scott of Harden, a noted Border freebooter in the reign of Queen Mary. The i-uins of Pryhope tower (the birth-place of the Flower of Yarrow) are still to be seen near the lower extremity of St. Mary's lake. Mary Scott had a lineal descendant, Mary LUias Scott, also distinguished for her beauty, in whose honour Crawfurd's song of Tweedside" is said to have been composed, (see page 449). The old song called " Mary Scott the Flower of Yar- row" appears to have been lost. The following is by Eamsay, to the old border air of "Mary Scott."] Happy's the love which meets return, ■WTien in soft flames souls equal burn ; But words are wanting to discover The torments of a hopeless lover. Ye registers of heaven, relate. If looking o'er the rolls of fate. Did you there see me mark'd to marrow Mary Scott the flower of Yarrow ? Ah no ! her form's too heavenly fair. Her love the gods above must share ; "VMiile mortals ydib. despair explore her. And at distance due adore her. O lovely maid ! my doubts beguile, Eevive and bless me with a smile , Alas ! if not, you'll soon debar a Sighing swain the banks of Yarrow. Be hush'd, ye fears, I'U not despair. My Mary's tender as she's fair ; Then I'll go tell her all mine anguish. She is too good to let me languish. ^Vith success cro«Ti'd, I'l>not envy The folks who dweU above the sky : Allien Mary Scott's become ray marrow, We'll make a paradise in Yarrow. ^I't sEsg? m ¥an©fo. [From "The British Songster," Glasgow, 17S6. -Air, " Mary Scott."] 'TwAs summer, and the day was fair, Eesolved awhile to f\y from care. Beguiling thought, forgetting sorrow, I wandered o'er the braes of Yarrow. Till then despising beauty's power, 1 kept my heart my own secure; But Cupid's dart did then work sorrow. And Mary's charms on braes of Yarrow. Will cruel love no bribe receive ? Ko ransom take for Marys slave ? Her frowns of rest and hope deprive me. Her lovely smiles like light revive me. Ko bondage may with mine compare, Since first I saw this charming fiiir ; This beauteous flow'r, this rose of Yarrow, In nattire's gardens has no marrow. Had I of heaven but one request, I'd ask to lie on Mary's breast ; There would I live or die with pleasure, J>'or spare this world one mo;r.ent's leisure ; Despising kings, and all that's great, I'd smile at courts, and courtiers' fate ; My joy complete on such a marrow, I'd dwell with her, and live on Yarrow. But though such bliss I ne'er should gain, Contented still 1 wear my chain, In hopes my faithful heart may move her, For leaving life I'll always love her. I^^s^^^:0m3^-m''^:^'^^^^'' ioG SCOTTISH SONGrf. W* What iloubts distract a lover's mind ! That breast, all softness, must prove kind; And she shall yet btconie my marrow, The lovely beauteous rose of Yarrow. dSililH?'^ ^tobn^^ in Ymx®^. [Thi song.] is a fragment of a very old and pathetic OOn DoiJN in yon garden sweet and gay, "Where bonnie grows the lilie, I heard a fair maid, sighing, say, " My wish be wi' sweet Willie: O Willie's rare, and Willie's fair. And Willie's wondrous bonnie ; And Willie hecht to marry me. Gin e'er he married ony. But Willie's gone, whom I thought on, And does not hear me weeping: Praws many a tear frae true love's e'e. When other maids are sleeping. Yestreen I made my bed fu' braid. The nicht I'll mak' it narrow , For, a' the live-Iang winttr nicht, I lie twined o" my marrow. Oh gentle wind, that bloweth south. From where my love rcpain^th, Convey a kiss frae his deir mouth. And tell me how he fareth ! O tell Bwcit Willie to come doun. And bid him no be ci-uel ; And tell him no to break the heart Of his love and only jewel. O tell sweit Willie to come doun. And hear the mavis singing ; And see the birds on ilka bush. And leaves around them hinging. The lav'rock there, wi' her white bre'st, And gentle throat sae narrow; Thore's sport eneuch for gentlemen. On Leader haughs and Yarrow. O Lender haughs are wide find braid. And Yarrow haughs are bonnie; There Willie hecht to marry me. If e'er he married ony. O came ye by yon water side .■• Pou'd you the rose or lilie ? Or cam' ye by yon meadow green ? Or saw ye my s'.veit Willie ?" She sought him up, she sought him doun She sought the braid and narrow ; Syne, in the cleaving o' a craig. She found him drowned in Yarrow. H Wxm^ 0f ¥a:ci£©lr. [Written by the Rev. Johx Looax, on the same subject as the above.] " Tirv braes were bonnie. Yarrow stream. When first on them I met my lovtr ; Th^ braes how dreary. Yarrow stream. When now thy waves his body cover ! For ever, now. Oh, Y'arrow stream. Thou art to me a stream of sorrow ! For ever, on thy banks shall I Behold my love, the flower of Yan-ow. Ho promised me a milk-white steed. To bear me to his father's bowers ; He promised me a little page, To sciuire me to his fathc r's towel's ; He promised me a weilding rinir— The wedding-day was fix'd to-nKirrcv' ; Xow he is wedded to his grave, Alas, his watery grave, in Yarrow I Sweet were his words when last we mtt ; 5Iy passion I as freely told him ! Clasp'd in his arms, I little thought That I should never more behold him I Scarce was he gone, I saw his ghost ; It vanish'd with a shriek of sorrow; Thrice did the water-wraith ascend. And gave a doleful groan through Y.nrrow. His mother from the window looked, With all the longing of a mother; His little sister weeping walked The greenwood path to meet her brother : l^^^i^m^fi SCOTTISH SONGS. They sought him east, they sought him west. They sought him all the forest thorough, — They only saw the cloud of night. They only heard the roar of Yarrow ! Xo longer from thy window look ; Thou hast no son, thou tender mother ! Xo longer walk, thou lovely maid ; Alas, thou hast no more a brother ! Xo longer seek him east or west. And search no more the forest thorough ! For, wandering in the night so dark. He fell a lifeless corpse in Yarrow. The tear shall never leave my cheek ; No other youth shall be my marrow : I'll seek thy body in the stream, And then with thee I'll sleep in Yarrow." The tear did never leave her cheek ; If o other youth became her marrow ; She found his body in the stream. And now with him she sleeps in Yarrow. [WRtTTEN-, with the exception of the first four [lines, which are old, by Allan Ramsay, and sung 'to the fine tune called "The Braes of Yarrow."] Busk ye, busk ye, my bonnie bride. Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow. Busk ye, busk ye, my bonnie bride. And let us to the braes of Yarrow. There will we sport and gather dew. Dance while lav'rocks sing in the morning ; Then learn frae turtles to prove true, O Bell, ne'er vex me with thy scorning ! To westlin' breezes Flora yields. And when the beams are kindly warmmg, Blj-thness appears o'er all the fields. And nature looks mair fresh and charming. Learn frae the bums that trace the mead. Though on their banks the roses blossom. Yet hastily they flow to Tweed, And pour their sweetness in his bosom. Kaste ye, haste ye, my bonnie Bell, Haste to my arms, and there I'll guard thee; "With free consent roy fears repel, 1 11 with my love and care reward thee. Thus sang I safOy to my fair, Wha rais'd my hopes with kind relenting. O ! queen of smiles, I ask nae mair. Since now my bonnie Bell's consenting. [This is a production of Wilmam Hamh.to.v of Eangour, and was first printed in the Tea Table Miscellany. It professes to have been •nTitten " in imitation of the ancient manner." There is an old ballad called " The Dowie Dens of Yarrow," but this bears no resemblance to it.] A." Busk ye, busk ye, my bonnie, bonnie bride ! Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow ! Busk ye, busk ye, my bonnie, bonnie bride. And think nae mair of the braes of Yarrow." B." Where gat ye that bonnie, bonnie bride ? "Where gat ye that winsome marrow ?" A." I gat her whare I dauma weel be seen, Puing the birks on the braes of Yarrow. Weip not, weip not, my bonnie, bonnie bride, AVeip not, weip not, my winsome marrow ! Nor let thy heart lament to leive . Puing the birks on the braes of Yarrow." B." WTiy does she weip, thy bonnie, bonnie bride? Why does she weip thy winsome marrow ? And why daur ye nae mair weel be seen, Puing the birks on the ; raes of Yarrow ?" A." Lang maun she weip, lang maun she, maun she weip, Lang maun she weip wi' dule an^^:^0^^m^^i^ SCOTTISH SONGS. B ^ [ZJi 4. VrhaVe yonder floats on the rueful, rueful flude? What's yonder floats ?— Oh, dule and sorrow ! 'Tis he the comely swain I slew Upon the dulefu' braes of Yarrow. Wash, oh wash his wounds, his wounds in tears, Ilis wounds in tears o' dule and sorrow; And wrap his liinbs in mourning weids. And lay him on the banks of Yarrow. Then build, then build, ye sisters, sisters, sad. Ye sisters sad, his tomb wi' sorrow; And weip around, in waeful wise. His hapless fate on the braes of Yarrow ! Curse ye, curse ye, his useless, useless shield. The arm that wrocht the deed of sorrow. The fatal speir tliat pierced his breist. His comely breist on the braes of Yarrow ! Did I not warn thee not to, not to love. And warn from fight ? But, to my sorrow. Too rashly bold, a stronger ami thou met'st. Thou met'st, and fell on the braes of Yarrow. Sweit smells the birk ; green grows, green grows the grass; Yellow on Yarrow's braes the gowftn ; Fair hangs the apple frae the rock ; Sweit the wave of Yarrow flowen ! Flows Yarrow sweit ? as sweit, as sweit flows Tweed ; As green its grass; its gowan as yellow; As sweit smells on its braes the birk ; The apple from its rocks as mellow ! Fair was thy love ! fair, fair, indeed, thy love ! In flowery bands thou didst him fetter; Though he was fair, and well-beloved again. Than me he never loved thee better. Busk ye, then, busk, my bonnie, bonnic bride ! Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow ! Busk ye, and lo'e me on the banks of Tweed, And think nae roair on the braes of Yar- row.'* C." How can I busk a bonnie, bonnie bride ? How can I busk a winsome marrow ? How can I lo'e him on the banks o' Tweed, That slew my love on the braes of Yarrow ? \ Oh, Yarrow flelds, may never, never rain. Nor dew thy tender blossoms cover ! For there was basely slain my love, My love, as he had not been a lover. The boy put on his robes, his robes of green. His purple vest — 'twas my ain sewing ; Ah, wretched me ! I little, little keimed. He was, in these, to meet liis ruin. The boy took out his milk-white, milk-white steed. Unmindful of my dule and sorrow : But, ere the too-fa' of the nicht. He lay a corpse on the banks of Yarrow ! Much I rejoiced, that waefu', waefu* day ; I sang, my voice the woods returning ; But, lang ere nicht, the spear was flown. That slew my love, and left me mourning. What can my barbarous, barbarous father do. But with his cruel rage pursue me ? ily luver's blude is on thy spear — How canst thou, barbarous man, then, woo me? My happy sisters may be, may be proud. With cruel and ungentle scoffing — May bid me seek, on Yarrow braes, My luvcr nailed in his coffin. My brother Douglas may upbraid. And strive, with thrsat'ning words, tomuve me; My luver's blude is on thy epear — How canst thou ever bid me luve thee P Yes, yes, prepare the bed, the bed of luve ! With bridal -sheets my body cover! Unbar, ye bridal-maids, the door! Let in th' expected husband -lover! But who the expected husband, husband is ? His hands, methinks, are bathed in slaugh- ter ! Ah, me ! what ghastly spectre's yon. Comes, in his pale shroud, bleeding, after .' Pale as he is, here lay him, lay him down ; lay his cold he.nd on my pillow ! Take off, take off these bridal weids. And crown my careful head with willow. 'M P, ^i Pale though thou art, yet best, yet best beloTed, %f? Oh, could my warmth to life restore thee ! f^'4 Yet lie all night between my briests, — vSLy 2f o youth lay ever there before thee : Z^ Pale, pale, indeed, oh lovely, lovely youth, ' /J Forgive, forgive so foul a slaughter, ^_A And lie aU night between my breists, v^\_ li'o youth shall ever lie there after !" ^f^^ A." Return, return, O mournful, mournful bride ! tufllp Eetum, and dry thy useless sorrow ! ,V^ Thy luver heids nocht of thy sighs ; , I ? He lies a corpse on the braes of Yarrow." L, < ^ '^' J^ ' : I ['Wkittes- by Henry S. Kiodet.l. Set to (/ i\ Husic by Peter Macleod, Edinburgh.] Oh, sisters, there are midnight dreams That pass not with the morning. Then ask not why my reason swims In a brain so wildly burning. And ask not why I fancy how Yon wee bird sings wi' sorrow. That bluid lies mingled with the dew. In the dowie dens o' Yarrow. 3Iy dream's wild light was not of night, Xor of the dulefu' morning ; Thrice on the stream was seen the gleam That seem'd his sprite returning : For sword-girt men came down the glen An hour before the m.orrow, And pierced the heart aye true to mine. In the dowie dens C Yarrow. Oh, there are red red drops o' dew Upon the wild flower's blossom. But they could na cool my burning brow. And shall not stain my bosom. But from the clouds o' yon dark sky A cold cold shroud I'll borrow. And long and deep shall be my sleep In the dowie dens o' Yarrow. Let my form the bluid-dyed floweret press By the heart o' him that lo'ed me. And I'll steal frae his lips a long long kiss In the bower where aft he wooed me. For my arms shall fold and my tresses shield The form of my death-cold marrow. When the breeze shall bring the raven's wing O'er the dowie dens o' Yarrow. Estf'g Cerr^tsr.c'?. [Thomas ParNGLB.] Oh ! not when hopes are brightest. Is all love's sweet enchantment known ; Oh ! not when hearts are lightest. Is all fond woman's fervour shown : But when life's clouds o'ertake us. And the cold world is clothed in gloom When summer friends forsake us. The rose of love is best in bloom. Love is no wandering vapour. That lures astray with treacherous spark ; Love is no transient taper. That lives an hour and leaves us dark : But, like the lamp that lightens The Greenland hut beneath the sncw. The bosom's home it brightens, ■When all beside is chill below. [Wbittku by George Allan. Set to Mndc by Peter Macleod.J An eiry night, a cheerless day, A lanely hame at gloamin' hour, WTien o'er the heart come thoughts o' wae. Like shadows on Glenfillan's tower. Is this the wierd that I maun drie. And a' around sae glad and gay. Oh hon an righ, oh hon an righ. Young Donald frae his love's away. The winter snaw nae mair does fa'. The rose blooms in our mountain bower. The wild flowers on the castle wa' Are glintin' in the etumner shower. . i^^3^'^@^^ ^:^m^'^£m^^'m^^^L^^m^^w^§^ 4 CO SCOTTISH SONGS. But what are summer's smiles to me \\'hen he nae lanper here could stay : Oh hon an righ, oh hon an righ, Young Donald frae his love 's away. For Scotland's crown, and Charlie's right. The fire-cross o'er our hills did flee, Jini loyal swords were glancin' bright. And Scotia's bluid was warm and free. And though nae gleam of hope I see. My prayer is for a brighter day : Oh hon an righ, oh hon an righ, Young Donald frae his love's away. ^Ijc HEeSi^mg Da^, [Written by Dr. Thomas Blacklock, to an old Scotch tune called " How can I be sad on roy wedding day."] ( >NK night as young Colin lay musing in bed, ^Vith a heart full of love and a vapourish head ; To wing the dull hours, and his sorrows allay. Thus sweetly he sang of his wedding day : " What would I give for a wedding day ! Who would not wish for a wedding day ! Wealth and ambition, I'd toss ye away. With all ye can boast, for a wedding day. Should heaven bid my wishes with freedom im- plore (»ne bliss for the anguish I suffered before. Tor Jessy, dear Jessy, alone I would pniy. And grasp my whole wish on my wedding day ! Blessed be the approach of my wedding day ! Hail, my dear nymph and my wedding day ! Karth smile more verdant, and heaven shine more gay ! For happiness dawns with my wedding day." But Luna, who equally sovereign presides O'er the hearts of the ladies and flow of the tides, Unhappily changing, soon changed his wife's mind : O fate, could a wife prove so constant and kind ! " Why was I bom to a wedding day ! Cursed, ever cursed be my wedding day." Col'n, po<^>r Colin thus changes his lay. And dates all bis plagues from his wedding day.^ iVe bacheloi-s, warned hy the shepherd's distress, I3c taught from your freedom to measure your bliss. Nor fall to the witchcraft of beauty a prey, And blast Jill your joys on your wedding day. Horns are the gilt of a wedding day; Want and a scold crown a wedding day; Happy and gallant, who, wise when he may Prefers a stout rope to a wedding day ! (g^ak^sniH. [JoHM Imi.ah. Set to Music by Peter Macleod.] The lamp o" day its radiance threw F.ar o'er the Grampian mountains blue, 'Mid burning clouds, when last adieu I bade to Caledonia. And as I mark'd the mountains high. Like vapour melt 'tween sea and sky. Deep breath'd my heart a prayer and sigh For native Caledonia. I love the streams, I love the linn, That foamin' fa's wi' deafnin' din, The bick'rin' bums that rowe within The glens of Caledonia. The lochs sae peaceful, lone, profouml, The misty mountains tow'ring round. Whose echoing rocks .it eve resound The songs of Caledonia. iUtt^ ijitnitiiig ^cag0B. [From the first vol. of the Tea-Table Sliscellany (1724), where it appears without a mark, but pro- bably written by Ramsay himself.— Tune, " Charai ma chattle, ne duce skar mi."] When innocent pastime our pleasures did crown. Upon a green meadow, or under a tree. Ere Annie became a fine lady in town. How lovely, and loving, and bonnie was she ! House up thy reason, my beautiful Annie, Let ne'er a new whim ding thy fancy ajee ; Oh ! as thou art bonnie, be faithfu' and cannie, , And Eavour thy Jamie wha doats upon thee, m^^'^^^^Mi^m^-M:(md^^^^ ^^^3ff-:^m;mJ^^^ SCOTTISH SOITGS. Does the death of a lintwhite give Annie the spleen ? ' Can tvning of trifles be uneasy to thee ? Can lap-dogs and monkeys draw tears frae these een, That look iWth indifference on poor djing me ? Rouse up thy reason, my beautiful Annie, And dinna prefer a paroquet to me ; Oh ! as thou art bonnie, be prudent and cannie. And think on thy Jamie wha doats upon thee. ^* Ah ! should a pew manteau or Flanders lace head. Or yet a wee coatie, though never Gar thee grow forgetfu', and let his heart bleed. That anee had some hope of purchasing thine? Rouse up thy reason, my beautiful Annie, And dinna prefer your flageeries to me ; Oh ! as thou art bonnie, be soUd and cannie. And tent a true lover that doats upon thee. Shall a Paris edition of newfangled Sawney, Though gilt o'er wi' laces and fringes he be. By adoring himself, be adored by fair Annie, And aim at those benisons promised to me ? Rouse up thy reason, my beautiful Annie, And never prefer a light dancer to me , Oh ! as thou art bonnie, be prudent and cannie; ^^S^ Love only thy Jamie wha doats upon thee. Oh ! think, my dear charmer, on ilka sweet hour. That slade away saftly between thee and me, Ere squirrels, or beaux, or foppery, had power To rival my love and impose upon thee. Rous3 up thy reason, my beautiful Annie, And let thy desires a' be centred in me ; Oh ! as thou art bonnie, be faithfu' and cannie. And love ane wha lang has been loving to thee. [Geokgb Allan. Set to Music by Peter Macli D his " Original Melodies of Scotland."] The breeze blows fresh, my gallant mates. Our vessel cleaves her way, Down ocean's depths, o'er heaven's heights. Through darkness and through spray. iS^o loving moon shines out for us, Xo star our course to tell — And must we leave old Scotland thus ? My native land, farewell ' Then fast spread out the flowing sheet Give welcome to the wind ! Is there a gale we'd shrink to meet, VV hen treachery's behind ? The foaming deep our couch will be. The storm our vesper bell. The low'ring heaven our canopy. My native land, farewell ! Away, away across the main. We'll seek some happier clime, ■UTiere daring is not deem'd a stain. Nor loyalty a crime. Our hearts are WTung, our minds are tcss'd. Wild as the ocean's swell ; A kingdom and a birthright lost ! Old Scotland, fare thee well ! [This song, which advocates the supremacy of j love over aU worldly considerations, appears, with the exception of the fourth verse, in Ramsay's ' Tea-Table Miscellany, with the signature Q, sis- | nifying that it is old, with additions. The fourth ' verse is by Bums. The air, which goes by the same name as the title of the song, is very old.] , JocKKT fou, Jenny fain ; j Jenny was na iU to gain : , She was couthie, he was kind ; And thus the wooer tell'd his mind : Jenny, I'll nae mair be nice ; Gi'e me love at ony price ; I winna prig for red or white. Love alane can gi'e delyte. Others seek they kenna what. In looks, in carriage, and a' tl;at ; Gi'e me love for her 1 court : Love in love makes a' the sport. Let love sparkle in her e'e. Let her love nae man but me : That's the tocher-gude I prize; There the lover's treasure lies. Colours mingled unco fine. Common notions lang sinsyne, Kever can engage my love. Until my fancy first approve. kKi!^*^^g3»&i'g^j 7isS^ SCOTTISH SONGS. i i It is nac meat, but appetite, That makes our eating a delyte ; Beauty is at best deceit ; Fancy only kens nae cheat. [Thk author of this song has kept his name from the public. — Air, " There's nae luck about the house."] The laddies plague me for a sang, I een maun play the fule, I'll sing them ane about the days When we were at the schule. Though now the frosty pow is seen Whaur ance wav'd gowden hair; An' mony a blythsome heart is cauld Sin' first we sported there. When we were at the schule, my frien'. When we were at the schule ; An' O sae merry pranks we play'd. When we were at the schule. Yet muckle Jock is to the fore That used our lugs to pu". An' Rob the pist, an' Sugar Pouch, An' canny Davie Dow. O do ye mind the maister's hat, Sae auld, sae bare an' brown. We carried to the bumie's side An' sent it soomin' down ? When we, &c. We thocht how clever a' was plann'd. When, whatna voice was that ? A head is raised aboon the hedge, — " I'll thank ye for my hat !" O weel I mind our hingin' lugs, — Our het an' tinglin' paws, — O well I mind his avii"u' look, An" weel I mind his taws ! When we, &c. O do ye mind the countin' time. How watchfu' he has lain. To catch us steal h-ae ither's slates An' jot it on our ain ? An' how we fear'd at writin' hour His glunches an' his glooms. How mony times a day he said. Our fingers a' were thooms ? When we, &c. i I'll ne'er forget the day ye stood, ('Twn.s manfu' like), yoursel'. An' took the pawmies an' the shame To save wee Johnnie Bell; The maister fand it out belyve. He took ye on his knee, An' as he gaz'd into your face. The tear was in his e'e. When we, &e. But mind ye, lad, yon afternoon . How fleet ye skipp'd awa". For ye had crack't auld Jenny's pane When playin" at the ba'. Nae pennies had we: Jenny grat; — It cut us to the core ; Ye took yere mither's hen at nicht An' left it at her door When we, &c. An' sic a steer as granny made. When talepyet Jamie Rae We dookit roarin' at the pump. Sync row'd him down the brae. But how the very maister leuch When leein' sadler Wat, Cam' in an' thrctpt that cripple Tam Had chas'd an' kill'd his cat. When we, &c. Ah, laddies, ye may wink awa' ! Truth maunna aye be tauld, I fear the schules o' modern days Are just siclike's the auld. An' are na we but Liddies yet. An' get the name o' men ? How sweet at ane's fireside to live The happy days again ; When we were at the schule, my frien'. When we were at the schule. An' fling the snawba's owre again We flang when at the schule. '^Rt% ag;ak. [Tins was a pfipular patriotic song about the beginning of the irtsent century.] When Abercromby, gallant Scot, Made Britain's faes to tack again. To fight by him it was my lot. But now I'm safe come back agaii p^s^m^-im^^^^r^sm^^m ^^S3i^'G3. The cannons didna Donald fleg, I'd like to hear them crack again ; My fears were for my bonnie Meg, Lest I should ne'er come back again. Our leader fell,— so died the brave, We'U never see his like again ; I was denied a sodger's grave. For I am safe come back again. It's true thev've ta'en fvae me a leg. But wha for that would mak' a maen ; Cheer up your heart, my bonnie Meg, I've brought a leal heart back again. And though the wound it carried smart. And twitch'd me sair wi' rackin' pain, TVi' honour's scars I wadna part, >"or yet my leg take back again. Cheer up your heart, since I am here, "VVi' smiles your cheek gae deck again ; Cheer up, my lass, an' dinna fear. Your Donald's safe come back again. Though mony a rattlin' blast has blawn. There's plenty in the stack again. My wee lock siUer's a' your ain Now sin' I'm safe come back again. Xow may the wars for ever cease. Your heart nae mair to rack again ; And may we live in love and peace. Sin' Donald's safe come back again. But shoiild my country call me forth. Her freedom to protect again. Claymore in hand, I'd leave the Jforth, If I should ne'er come back again. ^■^e ^En Eagpif . <5i. A handsome wee lassie I lo'e, I lo'e, A handsome wee lassie I lo'e ; The pawkie wee quean has doiter'd me clean An' mair mischief she'U wark, I tro, I tro, li An' mair mischief she'U wark, 1 trc. A winsome wee lassie I'U woo, I'll woo, A wnsome wee lassie I'U woo ; I'll keek in her e'e, an' aiblins may pree The wee hinny blobs o' her mou', her The wee hinny blobs o' her mou'. [Ebv. Edward K. Slojlx, first printed.] Domock. — Here A mensefu" wee lassie I'll wale, I'll w?Je, A mensefu' wee lassie I'll wale; An' soud the wee dear ha'e gowpens o' gear. She'll no be the waur fort, I'se bail, I'se bail. She'll no be the waur for't, I'se bail. A canty wee lassie I'll wed, I'll wed, A canty wee lassie I'll wed ; An' when she is mine, I'll bxisk her fu' fine. An' a couthie bit life we'll lead, we'll lead. An' a couthie bit life we'll lead. ®J)? ©aitiin' o'L [Written by Burns after an old song, a tune called " Salt Fish and Dumplings." " Haslock woo' " is the wool shorn from the throats of sheep, and is the finest of the fleet I coFT a stane o' haslock woo". To make a coat to Johnny o't ; For Johnny is my only jo, I lo'e him best of ony yet. The cardin' o't, the spinnin' o't. The warpin" o't, the winnin" o't When ilka ell cost me a groat, The tailor staw the lynia' o't. fe A BONNiB wee lassie I ken, I ken, A bonnie wee lassie I ken ; The blink o' her e'e is heaven to me. An' wow ! but she's ane amang ten, amang ten. An' wow ■ but she's ane amang ten. For though his locks be lyart grey. And though his brow be held aboon ; Yet I ha'e seen him on a day jl The pride of a' the parishen. I The cardin' o't, the spinnin' o't, 1 1 The warpin' o't, the winnin' o't 1 1 'When ilka ell cost me a groat, ^ The tailor staw the lynin' o't. m^^^'^^Mm^^^s^^^m [The opening verse, at least, of this song is old, as it occurs in a, manuscript of the seventeenth century, which at one time belonged to Mr. Con- stable, the eminent Edinburgh bookseller. The other verses are probably also of some antiquity, although they cannot be traced in any of the early collections. They are given by J-nahih. " TannahUl and Smith," says the poet's latest biographer, Mr. P. A. Ramsay, " once went on a fishing excursion with some acquaintances. The two friends tjeing but tyros soon grew weary of lashing the wat«r to no purpose, and separated for a little, each to amuse himself in his own &shion. When Smith r^oined the poet, he was shown this song written with a pencil. Tannahill had been occupied observing a blade of grass bending under the weight of a dew-drop, and this trifling object had suggested to him the simile embodied in the song."] I MARK'D a gem of pearly dew. While wand'ring near yon misty mountain. Which bore the tender flow'r so low. It dropp'd it off into the fountain. Adieu, thou faithless fair i unkind i Thy falsehood dooms that we must sever ; Thy vows were as the passing wind, That fans the flow'r, then dies for ever. And think not that this gentle heart. Though in its core 'twas proud to wear thee. Shall longer droop beneath thy art;— No, cruel fair, it cannot bear thee. [BrKNs. — Tune, " Highlander's Lament." — The chorus is from an old song, the hero of which, according to Mr.Peter Buchan, was a Harry Lums- dale, who made love to a daughter of the laird of Knockhaspie. Bums, however, makes his song a Jacobitical one.] My Harry was a gallant gay ; Fu' stately strode he on the plain ; But now he's banish'd far away, I'll never see him back again. Oh, for him back again ! Oh, for him back again ! I wad gi'e a' Knockhaspie's land For Highland Harry back again. When a' the lave gae to their bed, I wander dome up the glen ; I sit me down, and greet my fill. And aye I wish him back again. 0, were some villains hangit hie. And ilka body had their ain. Then 1 micht see the joyfu' sicht. My Highland Harry back again. Sad was the day, and sad the hour. He left me in his native plain. And rush'd his much-wrong'd Prince to join ; But, oh ! he'll ne'er come back again ! Strong was my H.irry's arm, in war, Unmatch'd in a" CuUoden's plain ; But vengeance marks him for her ain— I'll never see him back again. 2g U^ Mj'^S£}^^^ "^ Ca' the yowes to the knowes, Ca' them where the heather growi; Ca' them where the burnie rows, 5Iy bonnie dearie. Ilark, the mavis' evening sang. Sounding Cluden's woods amang; Then a-faulding let us gang. My bonnie dearie. 1^ 'm^^\.Q.Q^'4^&hmi^-^^^i^&:^^ '^p=' SCOTTISH SONGS. 467 We'll gang doun by Cluden side. Through the hazels spreading wide O'er the waves that sweetly glide, Hy bonnie dearie. Yonder Cluden's silent towers. Where, at moonshine midnight hours O'er the dewy budding flowers The fairies dance sae cheerie. Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear : Thou'rt to love and heaven sae dear, Kocht of ill may come thee near. My bonnie dearie. Fair and lovely as thou art. Thou hast stoun my very heart ; I can die — but canna part, Jly bonnie dearie. [Thomas C. Latto. — Tune, " My only jo and dearie, O." — Here first printed.] GUESS ye wha I met yestreen. On Kenly banks sae grassy, O, Wha cam' to bless my waitin' een ? The widow's ae bit lassie, 0. She brak my gloamin -dream sae sweet. Just whar the wimplin' burnies meet : T'ne smother'd laugh, — I flew to greet The widow's ae bit lassie, 0. They glintit slee,— the moon and she. The widow's ae bit lassie, O, On tremblin' stream an' tremblin' me. She is a dear wee lassie, O. How rapture's pulse was beating fast. As Mary to my heart I clasp't, 1 O bliss divine, — owre sweet to last, I've kiss'd the dear bit lassie, O. She nestled close, like croodlin' doo, The widow's ae bit lassie, O, My cheek to hers, syne mou' to mou'. The widow's ae bit lassie, O ; i Unto my breast again, aga'n, 1 prest her guileless heart sae fain, Sae blest we're baith, now she's my ain. The widow's ae bit lassie, 0. Te powers abcon, wha made her mine. The \%idow's ae bit lassie, 0, My heart wad break gin I should tvne The widow's ae bit lassie, ; Our hearth shall glad the angels' sigi-t, The lamp o' love shall lowe sae bright On me and her, my soul's delight. The widow's ae bit lassie, O. <^titfin In. [Written by Robert Gilfillan for Burns's Anniversary. Set to music by Peter Maclcod, in his " Original Melodies of Scotland."] Gather in, gather in, ane an' a', ane an' a'. Gather in, gather in, ane an' a' ; The night, ever dear, claims a cup and a tear To the memory of Burns that's awa ! Auld Scotland's had bards ane or twa, ane or twa, Auld Scotland's had bards ane or twa. But the minstrel that sang CoUa's wild braes amang. Oh ! he was the sweetest of a'. Oh ! he was the sweetest of a'. He came like the fiow'rets that blaw, that blaw. He came like the fiow'rets that blaw ; But his bright opening spring, nae summer did bring, For soon, soon he faded awa'. But short though he sang 'mang us a', "mang us a". But short though he sang "mang us a". His name from our heart will never depart. And his fame it shall ne'er fade awa', And hia fame it shall ne'er fade awa'. 1 kmnu folat'^ i©m? ^'n i)m* [Rev. Thomas Brvdson of Levem church, E n- frewshire.— Air, " O, wat ye whas in j on town."] I KEN.NA what's come ower him. He's no the lad he used to be ; I kenna what's come ower him. The Wythe blink has left his e'e. {S^^'My^'^-^ s^^' S&^'^^O^^- •108 SCOTTISH SOKGS. ^■^} ■^: He wanders ilowie by himsel', Alang the burn and through the glen ; His secret grief he winna tell — I wish that he would smile again. There was a time— alake the day ! Ae word o' mine could mak' him glad ; But noo, at every word 1 say, I think he only looks mair sad. The last time I gaed to the fair, Wi' "Willie o' the birkcn-cleugh. Like walkin' ghost he met us there — And sic a storm was on his broo ! I'm wae to see the chiel sae glum, Sae dismal-like frae morn to e'en : Than sic a cast as this had come, I'd rather 'Willie ne'er ha'e seen. I kenna what's come ower him, lie's no the lad he used to be ; I kenna what's come ower him — The blythe blink has left his e'e. [William Train. — Air, " John Anderson my jo." — Here first printed.] TnE cauld cauld winter's gane, luve, Sae bitter an" sae snell ; And spring has come again, luve, To deck yon leesome dell. The buds burst frae the tree, luve : The birds sing by the shaw; Hut sad sad is my dowie heart. For ye are Ear awa' ! I thocht the time wafl flee, luve, As in the days gane bye ; A^'llile I wad think on thee, luve And a' my patience trj* ; But O ! the weary hours, luve, They wa 'A- [Rrv. Hbnbt S. Eiddbi.i Macleod.] Music by Peter Ours is the land of gallant hearts. The land of lovely forms. The island of the mountain harp, The torrents, and the storms : The land that blooms with freeman's tread. And withers with the slaves ; Where far and deep the green-woods spread. And wild the thistle waves. Ere ever Ossian's lofty voice Had told of Fingal's fame ; Ere ever from their native clime The Roman eagles came. Our land had given heroes birth That durst the boldest brave. And taught above tyrannic dust, The thistle tufts to wave. What need we say how Wallace fought. And how his focmen fell. Or how on glorious Bannockburn The work went wild and well ? Ours is the land of gallant hearts. The land of honour'd graves. Whose wreath of fame shall ne'er depart. While yet the thistle waves. [Wr'ttrn by John Macdiarmid, editor of ' the Dumfries Courier. Set to music by Peter Macleod.] When day declining gilds the west. And weary labour welcomes rest. How lightly bounds his beating At thought of meeting somebody c^A -^-^Ni^Otf^^^^^SE^ ■ss v^^m^^ms&i^m-m^^^^^t'm^ SCOTTISH SONGS. fr>5 469 / 3Iy fair, my faithful somebody, 3Iy fair, my faithful somebody, "When sages, -with their precepts show. Perfection is unknown below. They mean, except in somebody. Her lovely looks, sae kind and gay. Are sweeter than the smiles of day. And milder than the mom of 3Xay That beams on bonnie somebody. My fair, &c. 'Twas but last eve, when wand'ring here. We heard the cushat cooing near, I softly whisper'd in her ear, " He woos, like me, his somebody." My fair, &c. With crimson cheek the fair replied, "As seasons change, he'U change his bride; But death alone can e'er divide From me the heart of somebody." My fair, &c. Enrapt I answer'd, " Maid divine. Thy mind's a model fair for mine ; And here I swear I'll but resign With life the love of somebody." My fair, &c. P^ [Ekv. Thomas Brybson. — Po'k-head is a local •t?^ contraction for Pollock-head, a wood on the estate of Sir John Maxwell of Pollock, Bart, in |y Eenfrewshire.] O Po'k-head wood is bonnie, WTien the leaves are in their prime ; O, Po'k-head wood is bonnie, • In the tunefu' summer time. Vp spake the brave Sir Archibald— A comely man to see — 'Twas there I twined a bower C the birh For my true love and me. The hours they lichtsomely did glide, ■VMien we twa linger't there; Ifae human voices but our ain To break the summer air. O, sweet in memory are the flowers That blossom 't round the spot, — I never hear sic music noo. As swell't the wild bird's note. The tremblin' licht amang the leaves— The licht and the shadows seen — I think of them and Eleanor, Her voice and love-fill'd een. 0, Po'k-head wood is bonnie. When the leaves are in their prime : O, Po'k-head wood is bonnie. In the tunefii' summer time. ^ it i^uf^erg Ba loo ! my bonnie lammie. An' I'll sing you a bit sang; An' I'll tak' tent, my hinny. That naething sail you wrang. Your wee bit bed is saft an' warm. For it was made by me , An' ye are lyin' safe firae harm Aneath a mither's e'e. Ba loo ! my sweet wee dawtie. This is your time o' spring, When a' is sweet, an' fresh, an' purt- Kae guilt the heart to sting. O , lang in innocence remain. An' safe at hame abide ; An" still uphaud by virtuous deeiis A mither's honest pride ! Ba loo ! ye laughin' regie I Ye ha'e your daddie's e'e, Sae sparklin' an' sae winsome — His glance, sae sweet and slee. Like him aye may ye grow, till meet To mingle amang men ; But his sair toils an' sorrows I pray you ne'er may ken ! Sleep soun', my winsome laddie i Your daddie 's on the sea — He 's toilin' late an' early For bread to you atf me. ■^^^n,^^^^^.^ -^k^ ^j:^^^,^ -■^'^ ■no SCOTTISH SONGS, Hale nights I lie an' listen Wi' feelings lane and drear ; An' whan I hear the risin' storm I'm like to swarf wi' fear. But while the win's are whistlin' Wi' wild an' eerie tune. For my dear Jamie's safety I look to Ane aboon ; For He can calm the stormy win'. An' still the ragin' sea. An' bring again my dear gudeman To my sweet bairn and me. ^sfeSsidl, ge ^tireaing. [Cunningham. — Air, Coatie."] li' the Yellow Farewell, ye streams, sae dear to me, My bonnie Cluden, Nith, an' Dee; Ye bums that row sae bonnilie. Your siller w.ives nae mair I'll see. Yet tho' frae your green banks I'm driven, 'My saul away could ne'er be riven ; For still she lifts her een to heaven. An' sighs to be again with thee. Ye canty bards ayont the Tweed, Your skins wi' claes o' tartan cleed. An' lilt alang the verdant mead. Or blythly on your whistles blaw ; An' sing auld Scotia's bams an' ha's; Her bourtree dykes an* mossy wa's; Her faulds, her bughts, an' birken shaws, AVhar love an' freedom sweetens a'. Sing o' her carles, teuch an' auld ; Her carhnes grim, that flyte an' scauld ; Her wabsters blythe, an' souters bauld; Her flock an' herds sae fair to sec. Sinir o' her mountains, bleak an' high ; Her fords, whar neighrin' kelpies ply; Her glens, the haunts o' rural joy ; Her lasses lilting o'er the lea. To you the darling theme belangs. That frae my he.art exulting spangs ; O mind, amang your bonnie sangs. The lads that bled for liberty. Think on our auld forbears C yore, Wha dy'd the niuirs wi' hostile gore; AVha slavery's bands indignant toie. An' bravely fell for you an' me. ^ly gallant brithers, brave an' bauld, Wha haud the pleugh, or wake the fciuUl, Until your dearest bluid rin cauld. Aye true unto your country be. Wi" daring look her durk she drew, An' coost a mither's e'e on you ; Then letna onie spulzien crew Her dear-bought freedom wrest frae tliee [Written by Burns for Thomson's collection. — " I walked out yesterday evening," says the poet, " with a volume of the Museum in my hand when, turning up ' Allan Water," ' What num bers shall the muse repeat,' &c. as the words ap peared to me rather unworthy of so tine an air I sat and raved under the shade of an old thorn till I wTOte one to suit the measure."] By Allan stream I chanced to rove. While Phoebus sank beyond Benledi, The winds were whisp'ring through the grove, Tlic yellow corn was waving ready : I listen 'd to a lover's sang, And thought on youthful pleasures many ; And aye the wild-wood echoes rang — O, dearly do I love thee, Annie ! O, happy be the woodbine bower ; Nae nightly bogle mak' it eerie ; Nor ever sorrow stain the hour. The place and time I met my dearie ! Her head upon my throbbing bre.ist, She, sinking, said, I'm thine for ever ! While many a kiss the seal impress'd. The sacred vow, we ne'er should sever. The haunt o' spring 's the primrose brae ; The summer joys the flocks to follow j How cheerie, through her short'ning day. Is autumn in her weeds of yellow! But can they melt the glowing heart, Or chain the soul in speechless pleasure. Or through each nerve the rapture dart. Like meeting her, our bosom's treasure ? >. mm^.^S)^^^^-m^^^^M'& <^r^. SCOTTISH S0XG3. VU hh^'U t|ee, hU. [AtEXASDER HaME.— Here printed for the first tiice.] I'VE loved thee, love, lang, I've loved thee, love, deep ; I love thee awake, love, I love thee asleep ; While I think, while I feel, while I smile, while I weep. By day, or by night, or in dream ! Though never by me, love, your praise has been sung. Though never love told you were charming and young. You dwell in my heart, love, and not on my tongue. And there are you dweller supreme. Great nature boasts not, love, the depth of her hoards. The air never tells of the life it affords. The sun gives its light, love, and utters no words ; Now sun and air surely are true. My eyes cannot look, love, my lips cannot tell. The tide of my heart in its ebb or its swell ; I cannot let others see how I love well. Yet still do I worship but you. m ^ 3 [James Parkek.— Here printed for the first time.] It stretches o'er the castle-bum, whar three farms march, An' a weel-kent trjstin' place o' play was its auld broken arch ;— The burnie is but snia', an' arch it has but ane — Though arch it canna weel be ca'd— a braid fiag-stane, But there 's nae brig sae dear to me as the auld brig-stiinc I But yet it had a buirdly look, some score o' years ago. An' the wee bum seemed a river then, as it rowed down below; An' a bauld bairn was he, in the merry days lang gane, "VVha waded through an' through 'aneath this auld brig-stane — O ! there's nae brig that e'er I saw like the auld brig-stane ! Though brigs o' stately mason-wark I've been out o'er since then. An' aqueducts an' viaducts o'er river an' o'er glen ; There's nane, amang them a', I'd gang sae far to see, again. As the first my wee feet toddled on— the auld brig-stane— Tor there's nae brig sae dear to me as the auld brig-stane. O ! childhood is a pleasant time ;— 'tis then when ilVa joy That comes an' gangs, flees o'er our head begirt wi' nae alloy, An' lichtly as the simmer clud sae passes a' its pain. O ! my life's simmer morn was spent by the auld brig-stane, An' that's the way I loe't sae weel— the auld brig-stane. ^ 472 SCOTTISH SONGS. [F. Bennoch.— Here first printed.— Air, " Mrs. M'Donald."] My bonnie wee wifie, I'm waefu' to leave thee — To leave thee sae lanely an' far, far frae me; Come night an' come morning, I'll soon be returning, Then, O my dear wifle, how happy we'll be. The night it is cauld, an' the way dreigh an' dreary, .. , , The snaw 's drifting blin'ly o'er moorland an' lea; , ^o All nature looks eerie — how can she be cheerie. For weel maun slie ken that I'm parted frae thee. fc- \ An' wae is the bird that sits chirping alane ; ,J The plaints they are making— their wee bit hearts breakii ^/•r. Are throbbings o' pleasure compared wi' my pain. The sun to the simmer— the bark to the timmer,— The sense to the saul, and the light to the e'e, — The bud to the blossom— sae thou'rt to my bosom. Oh wae 's my heart, wifie, when parted frae thee. 4 4l5 ^)) Oh wae is the l.immy that's lost its dear mammy ; /, % k There's naething availing in weeping and wailing, P^ Though fortune be failing an' friendship decay : ^ , - '' But love in hearts glowing — its riches bestowing, ' '"' .^ Bequeaths us a treasure death takes not away. ^ -V Let nae gruesome feeling creep o'er thy heart, stealing U^ ^ The bloom frae thy cheek when thou'rt thinking of me ; ^y ■J Come night .an' come morning — then hame, hame returning, Q>\ "', >'ae mair, cozie wifie, we parted shall be. K\ 3f^ Sweet was her look when she smiling sat by my side, - -''A Sweet was her song on the green banks of flowing Clyde ; y Sweet was her blush when she promised to be my bride, ) Sweeter the blink o" her bonnie black e'e. Kiss'd I her rosy lips, o'er aye an' o'er again, Press'd I her to my breast more aye an' more again ; Sut when her form frae ray bosom she tore again, I sigh'd for the blink o' her bonnie black e'e. '' Bcin though my biggin" bo, what joy is it a' to me. Hale though my haddin', nae pleasure is 't ava to me. Plenty seems painfu', when she is awa" frae me ; 1 sigh for the sight o' her bonnie black e'e. 1 J Oh ! cruel fate, wilt thou never mair ease my care, ^1 Henry was faithfu', and Jeannie was fause and fair, Death, come and ease my pain, ne'er can I see her mair. Farewell the slight o' her bonnie black e'e. 9! .^-m=?. SCOTTISH SONGS. [The heroine of this much -admired production ■was 3Iiss Wilheltnina Alexander, sister of Claud Alexander, Esq. of Ballochm yle, a beautiful estate on the banks of the Ayr, about two miles from Mossgiel. BuHNs himself gives the following account of the composition of this song, in a let- ter which he addressed to Miss Alexander. The letter is dated 18th November, 17S6, although the piece was written in July. " I had roved out as chance directed, in the favourite haunts of my muse, on the banks of the Ayr, to view nature in all the gayety of the vernal year. The evening sun was flaming over the distant western hiUs : not a breath stirred the crimson opening blossom, or the verdant spreading leaf. It was a golden moment for a poetic heart. I listened to the feathered warblers, pouring their harmony on every band, with a congenial kindred regard, and frequently turned out of my path, lest I should disturb their little songs, or frighten them to another station. Surely, said I to myself, he must b« a wretch indeed, who, regardless of your harmonious endeavours to please him, can eye your elusive flights to discover your secret recesses, and to rob you of all the property nature gives you, your dearest comforts, your helpless nest- lings. Even the hoary hawthorn twig that shot across the way, what heart but at such a time must have been interested in its welfare, and wished it preserved from the rudely-browsing cattle, or the withering eastern blast? Such was the scene — and such the hour, when, in a comer of my prospect, I spied one of the fairest pieces of nature's workmanship that ever crowned a poetic landscape, or met a poet's eye: those visionary bards excepted who hold commerce with aerial things! Had calumny and villany taken my walk, they had at that moment sworn eternal peace with such an object. "What an hour of inspiration for a poet ! It would have raised plain, dull, historic prose into metaphor and measure ! The inclosed song was the work of my return home ; and perhaps it but poorly answers what might have been expected from such a scene." — The lady unfortunately did not answer the poet's letter, probably deterred by maidenly modesty or the advice of relations from entering into correspondence with one who, at this particular period, and in this locality, was suffering under an equivocal reputation for incon- tinence of speech and behaviour. The direct ob- ject of Bums's letter is said to have been to obtain Miss Alexander's i)ermission to print the verses, but we cannot well understand how her permission was requisite, seeing that the verses, though cer- tainly highly personal, are far from being libellous. —Be that as it may.Bumswas somewliat chagrined at her silence — a sOence, which in after years no one more deeply regretted than the lady herself, who to this day (for she is still (1S43) alive) pre- serves the original poem and letter with affec- tionate and proud soUcitude. — " The Lass of Bal- lochmyle" was first composed to the old tune of "Ettrick Banks," but has been since set to other tunes, such as " Johnnie's Grey Breeks," " 3Iiss Forbes' FareweU to Banff," &c.] 'TwAs even, — the dewy fields were green. On ilka blade the pearls hang ; The zephyr wanton'd round the bean. And bore its fragrant sweets alang In ev'ry glen the mavis sang : All nature list'ning seem'd the while. Except where greenwood echoes rang, Amang the braes o' Ballochmyle. ■U'ith careless step I onward stray 'd, My heart rejoiced in nature's joj ; When, musing in a lonely glade, A maiden fair I chanced to spy : Her look was like the morning's eye. Her air like nature's vernal smile ; Perfection whisi)er'd, passing by. Behold the lass o' Ballochmyle ! Fair is the mom in flowery 5Iay, And sweet is night in Autumn mild, ■When roving through the garden gay. Or wand'ring in the lonely wild ; But woman, nature's darling child ! There all her charms she docs compile ; Even there her other works are ftil'd. By the bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle. Oh, had she been a country maid. And I the happy country swain. Though shelter'd in the lowest shed That ever rose on Scotland's plain ! Through weary winter's wind and rain, "With joy, with rapture, I would toil ; And nightly to my bosom strain The bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle. c^l3g'|^^Mif4^^'^^^?i£^;^^SJ^^5^i^ ^^""^m^m^ 4Ti SCOTTISH SONGS. i. Then pride might climb the slipp*ry steep. Where fame and honours lofty shine ; And thirst of gold might tempt the deep^ Or downward dig the Indian mine. Give me the cot below the pine. To tend the flocks, or till the soil. And ev'ry day have joys divine, W'V the bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle. €) ge fei|a fjeix. [Written by George Robertson, and sung at the celebration of St. Andrew in the city of Sa- vannah in 1S25.] Oh ! ye wha here, wi' cheerfu' glee. Around the festal board unite ; Whilst happy moments tip-toe flee And smile upon the joyous night. Let's drink our drap o' barley bree. Though moon and stars should blink the- gither. To each leal lad v.i' kilted knee. And bonnie lass amang the heather. .Sons o' the Gael ! wha ne'er ha'e bent The knee to fawn on frien' or foe. Whose heart's best bluid was ever spent In freedom's cause, through weal and woe. Let's drink our drap, &e. Tlie Roman eagle ne'er could reach The heath-crown'd mountains o' tile free ; And England's lion backward tum'd Wi' bluidy mane and sunken e'e. Then let us drink, &c. <)' dayslang syne, let history tell Uow broad claymore and gleaming brand <'n cow'ring tyrants vengefu' fell. How triumph'd that immortal band. Then let us drink, &c. Frae pole to pole, frae sea to sea; ricotia ! to thee the meed is paid, The brave example take by thee. And beauty nestles in the plaid. Then here's a health in barley bree, &c. And here's to a' wha keep this day. And here's to a' wha drink this night. And here's to them that's far awa'. And muckle joy and pure delight. A bunn)er fill wi' barley bree, &c. Though seas atween us roll and rave, Still friendship's bonds our hearts entwine. Then here's ourselves and a' the lave, ■yA'hom charity and love combine. A health to a' in barley bree, Oursel's and a' the warld thegither. To a' wha love the kilted knee. Or bonnie lasses in the Katlier. JS2 6»J, ®ar.»rdg. S' [Written by Hector Macnkii,, and first printed in "The liee," Edinburgh, 1791. The air is very old, and used to be sung to old wonis which must have given the hint to Macntil. Here is a specimen of the original : " Is she fit to soop the house, Jly boy, Tammy ? Is she fit to soop the house. My boy, Tammy? She 's just as tit to soop the house As the cat to tak' a mouse; And yet she 's but a young thine New come frae her mamniy.''] Whar ha'e ye been a' day. My boy. Tammy ? I've been by burn and flow'ry brae. Meadow green and mountain grey. Courting o' this young thing. Just come frae her mammy. And whar gat ye that young thing. My boy. Tammy ? I got her down in yonder howe. Smiling on a bonnie knowe. Herding ae wee lamb and ewe. For her poor mammy. AVhat said ye to the bonnie bairn, Jly boy. Tammy ? I praised her cen, sae lovely blue. Her dimplfd cheek and cherry u.ou' ;— 1 pree'd it aft, as ye may trow ;— She said she'd tell her mammy. ^X ^ .- ^^^'^ ■i^.®S?^S^-^J^^^^^. SCOTTISH SO>'GS. 475 1 held her to my beating heart. My young, my smiling lammie ! 1 ha'e a house, it cost me dear, I've wealth o' plenishen and gear; Te'se get it a', were't ten times mair, Gin ye will leave your mammy. The smile gaed aff her bonnie face — I maunna leave my mammy. She's gien me meat, she's gien me claes, She's been my comfort a' my days : — My father's death brought monie waes — I canna leave my mammy. "We'll tak' her hame and mak' her fain. My ain kind-hearted lammie. "We'U gi'e her meat, we'll gi'e her elaise, TVe'll be her comfort a' her days. The wee thing gi'es her hand, and says- There ! gang and ask my mammy. Has she been to the kirk wi' thee. My boy. Tammy ? She has been to the kirk wi' me. And the tear was in her e'e ; For O ! she's but a young thing. Just come frae her mammy. 7c2 inxzt htn. [James Parkfr. — Here first printed. O ! cocLD'sT thou for a moment look "Within this heart o' mine ; An' there peruse, as in a book. Ilk' feeling's secret sign ; It couldna — wouldna but reveal Its deepest thought to thee ; Then only — only eould'st thou feel How dear thou art to me. It ne'er could be by look or sigh Or word frae me exprest — The fond deep love that fervently Is throbbin' in my breast, — Although uncherish'd and unblest "Wi' kindred flame in thine — Like angel holiness imprest Upon some earthly shrine. <^Bptmn patQK'^ Eamrat, .^^ [This vivid personal portraiture of a gentleman of the old school first appeared in Blackwood's Magazine for September, 1819, and its authorship is generally ascribed, we believe with truth, to J. G. locKHART. Captain Paton was a real per- sonage, and lived for many years with two maiden SL3t«rs in a tenement of his own opposite the Old Exchange, Glasgow. His title of Captain he claimed from a commission which he held in a regiment that had been raised in Scotland for the Dutch serrice. His death took place on the 30th of July, 1S07, at the age of 63. Mr. lock- hart's description of him is said by these who re- member " the venerable beau" to be accurate as it is graphic. In an old view of the Trongate of Glasgow, the captain is seen picking his way with his rattan across the street, which proves that he was in his own day, before the poet immortalized him, a somewhat noted personage. The " "Wynd Kirk," mentioned in the last verse but two, al- though situated in a narrow lane of Glasgow, was, in the captain's day, the most fashionable place of worship in the town. In 1S09, Dr. Porteous and his congregation there transferred themselves to an elegant new church built for them, called St. George's. Captain Paton, it seems, was not in reality buried " by the Ram's-hom-kirk," now St. David's, as stated in the ballad, but in the High Church burying ground.] ToLcn once more a sober measure. And let punch and tears be slied. For a prince of good old fellows, That, alack-a-day ! is dead ; For a prince of worthy feUows, And a pretty man also. That has left the Saltmarket In sorrow, grief, and woe — Oh ! we ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo'e ! Kis waistcoat, coat, and breeches, "Were all cut off the same web. Of a beautiful snuff-colour, Or a modest genty drab ; The blue stripe in his stocking Round his neat slim leg did go. And his rufiJes of the cambric fine They were whiter than the snow — Oh I we ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo'e I (-S i ri? ^ 476 SCOTTISH SONGS. ^ His hair was curled in order. At the rising of the sun. In comely rows and buckles smart That about his ears did run ; And before there was a toupee That some inches up did grow. And behind there was a long queue That did o'er his shoulders flow — < ih ! we ne'er shall see the like of Captain I'aton no mo'e ! And whenever we foregathered He took oflf his wee three-cockit, And he profforeil you his snuff-box Which he drew from his side pocket, And on Burdett or Bonaparte He would make a remark or so. And then along the plainstones Like a provost he would go — Oh ! we ne'er shall see the like of Captain I'aton no mo'e ! In dirty days he picked well His footsteps with his rattan, Oh ! you ne'er could see the least speck On the shoes of Captain Paton : And on entering the coffee-room About two, all men did know. They would see him with his Courier In the middle of the row — Oh ! we ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo'e ! Now and then upon a Sunday He invited me to dine. On a herring and a mutton-chop Which his maid dressed very fine ; There was also a little Malmsay And a bottle of Bourdeaux, Which between me and the Captain Passed nimbly to and fro — o ! I ne'er shall take pot-luck with Captain Puton Or if a bowl was mentioned. The Captain he would ring. And bid Nelly run to the West-port, And a stoup of water bring ; Then would he mix the genuine stuff As they made it long ago. With limes that on his property In Trinidad did grow — Oh ! we ne'er shall taste the like of Captain Paton 's punch no mo'e ! • And then all the time he would discourse So sensible and courteous. Perhaps talking of last sermon He had heard from Dr. Porteous, Of some little bit of scandal About Mrs. so and so. Which he scarce could credit, having heard The con but not the pro — Oh ! we ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo'e ! Or when tlie candles were brought forth. And the night was fairly setting in. He would tell some fine old stories About Minden-fleld or Dettingen — How he fought with a French Major, And despatched him at a blow. While his blood ran out like water On the soft grass below — Oh ! we ne'er shall hear the like of Captain Paton no mo'e ! But at last the Captain sickened. And grew worse from day to day, And all missed him in the coffee-room. From which now he staid away ; On Sabbaths, too, the Wynd Kirk Made a melancholy show. All for wanting of the presence Of our venerable beau — Oh ! we ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo'e ! And in spitfl of all that Cleghorn And Corl , dale could do, It was plain, from twenty symptoms. That death was in his view ; So the Captiiin made his test'ment And submitted to his foe. And we laid him by the Eam's-horn-kirk, 'Tis the way we all must go— Oh! we ne'er shall see the like of Captain Patim no mo'e I Join all in chorus, jolly boys. And let punch and tears be shed. For this prince of good old fellows, That, alack-a-day ! is dead ; For this prince of worthy fellows And a pretty man also. That has left the Saltmarket In sorrow, grief, and woe ! For it ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton ^ '^^ u yj^- SCOTTISH SONGS. )s'g g« 0???.. [Ant, "Ha'e ye seen in the calm dewy mornin'."J Ha'b ye seen in the chill-fii'in' gloamin' The wild rose, sae droopin' and pale, Eevive in the smUe o' the momin' And breathe a' its sweets on the gale :— Sae I ha'e aft seen the sad bosom By gloomy despondency prest, Eevive at the saft voice o' friendship. And hush a' its sorrows to rest. Sae aft, by the world forsaken, I've seen the worn countenance smile, VTi' light that had long been extinguish'd. An' joy that had beam'd to beguUe. O ever, on life's changin' journey. Be mine the sweet duty to shed. The timely refireshin' o' firiendship On the droopin' an' desolate head ! ■ J. M. [This song is attributed to ^urns, but with- out much certmnty.] Herb around the ingle bleezing, Wha sae happy and sae free ; Though the northern wind blaws fireezing, Frien'ship warms baith you and me. Happy we are a* thegither, Happy we'll be yin an' a'. Time shall see us a' the blither Ere we rise to gang awa'. See the miser o'er his treasure Gloating wi' a greedy e'e I Can he feel the glow o' pleasure That around us here we see ? Can the peer, in silk and ermine, Ca' his conscience half his own : His claes axe spun an' edged wi' vermin, Though he stan' afore a throne ! Thus then let us a' be tassins Aff oxir stoups o' gen'rous fiame ; An' while ronn' the board 'tis passing, Eaise a sang in friendship's name. Frien'ship mak's us a' mair happy, Frien'ship gi'es us a' delight, Frien'ship consecrates the drappie, Frien'ship brings us here to-night. Happy we've been a' thegither, Happy weVe been yin and a', Time shall find us a' the blither. When we rise to gang awa'. [Words by Khibt. — Music by Latour.] O wHA is he I lo'e sae weel ? Wha has my heart an' a' ? O wha is he ? 'tis sair to tell— He's o'er the seas awa'. There's Charlie, he's a sodger lad, And, Davie, blythe is he. And WUlie, in his tartan plaid. They're a' a' teasing me. O they're a' tease teasing. They're a' a' teasing me. They're a' tease teasing, O they're a' a' teasing me. There's Carl, the chief o' Daftne glen. And he has land and store, AVith flowery mead, and shady fen. And siller o'er and o'er. Quoth he, sweet lass, I'll marry thee, (Testreen in yonder shaw,) And thou my ain true bride shall be. And queen o' Daftne ha". O they're a', &e. But when my Jamie comes again. Young Carl will then descry That siller is but empty gain, To hearts no gowd can buy. 3Iy Jamie's brave, my Jamie's braw. My Jamie's a' to me. And though his siller store be sma'. Yet married we win be. For they're a', &c. i i ^^Ms^^^^^^-^^K ^-^ SCOTTISH SONGS. ^^ W,iUuaaKkk. [KiLMKCRANKiE U a pass in the North High- lands, where, on the 27th July, 1089, a battle wa3 fought between the forces of king ^\'illiam the third, under general Mackay, and the High- land clans who adhered to king James, under viscount Dundee (Graham of Claverhouse.) The Highlanders were victorious, but Claverhouse was slain, and his death prevented them from taking advantage of their victory.] Ci-AVERS and hia Highlandmen Came down upon the raw, man ; Who, being stout, gpve mony a shout; The lads began to claw, then. WV sword and targe into their hand, Wi' which they were na slaw, man ; \Vi' mony a fearfu' heavy sigh. The lads began to claw, then. Ower bush, ower bank, ower ditch, ower stank. She flang amang them a', man ; The butter-box gat mony knocks ; Their riggings paid for a', then. They got their paiks wi' sudden straiks. Which, to their grief they saw, man ; Wi' clinkum-clankum ower their crowns. The lads began to fa', then. Her leap'd about, her skipp'd about. And flang amang them a', man ; The English blades got broken heads. Their crowns were cleaved in twa, then ; The durk and dour made their last hour. And proved their final fa', man ; They thocht the devil had been there. That play'd them sic a pa', man. The Solemn League and Covenant C.im' whigging up the hill, man ; Thocht Highland trews durst not refuse For to subscribe their bill, then : In Willie's name, they thocht nae ane Durst stop their course at a", man ; her-nain-sell, wi" mony a knock, Cried, Furich, Whigs, awa', man. Sir Evan Dhu, and his men true, Cam' linking up the brink, num ; The Hoggan Dutch, they feared sueli. They bred a horrid stink, then. The true Maclean, and his fierce men. Cam' in amang them a', man ; Nane durst withstand his heavy hand ; A' fled and ran awa', then. Och on a righ ! och on a righ ! Why should slie lose king Shames, man ? Och rig in di 1 och rig in di ! She shall break a' her banes, then ; With furichinich, and stay a while. And speak a word or twa, man ; She's gi'e ye a straik out ower the neck, Uefore ye win awa', then. Oh, fie for shame, ye're three for ane ! Her-nain-sell's won the day, man. King Shames' red -coats should be hung up. Because they ran awa', then. Had they bent their bows like Highland trews. And made as lang a stay, man. They'd saved their king, that sarroj thing. And Willie 'd run awa', then. [This is a flragment of an old song furbished u^t by Burns for Johnson's Museum.] WiiEBR ha'e ye been sao braw, lad ? Where ha'e ye been sae brankie, O ? Where ha'e ye been sae braw, lad ? Cam' ye by Killiecrankie, O ? An ye had been where I ha'e been. Ye wadna been sae cantie, O, An ye had seen what I ha'e seen On the br.-us o' Killiecrankie, O. I've faught at land, I've faught at sea ; At haine I faught my auntie, O ; But I met the deevil and Dundee, On the braes o' Killiecrankie, O ! The bauld Pitcur fell in a fur. And Claverse gat a clankie, O ; Or I had fed an Athole gled. On the braes o' Killiecrankie 0. ^^'i^;&^v;^3^'4|^ ^^&^" SCOTTISH S0>-G3. 479 [Tune, " Killiecrankie." — In the Note to " Johnnie Cope" (page 129) we have given some account of the author of this song, Adam Skikv- iNG, a farmer in HaddiDgtonshire. The battle of Tranent Mult or Preston, as we there state, was fought on the 22d September, 1745. We may here notice some of the lesser personages men- tioned in the song. " 3Ienteith the great," and " Simson keen," mentioned in verses 5th and 6th, were reverend clergymen and volunteers in the royal army. The latter had two pistols in his pockets, two in his holsters, and one in his belt. " 3Iyrie," verse 7th, was a student of physic from Jamaica, and a volunteer in the royal army; he was severely wounded. " Lieutenant Smith," 9th and 10th stanzas, was an Irishman, who is said to have j displayed much pusillanimity in the fight. He, I however, challenged Skirving for the manner in ■which he was spoken of. "I have heard the anec- | dote often," says Bums, " that Lieut. Smith ; came to Haddington after the publication of the ; song, and sent a challenge to Skirving 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 teU Mr. Smith that I ha'e nae 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 arva.' "] The Chevalier, being void of fear. Did march up Birslie brae, man. And through Tranent, ere he did stent. As fast as he could gae, man ; While General Cope did taunt and mock, Wi' mony a loud huzza, man ; But ere next mom proclaim'd the cock. We heard anither craw, man. The brave Lochiel, as I heard tell. Led Camerons on in cluds, man ; The morning fair, and clear the air. They lowsed with devilish thuds, man : Down guns they threw, and swords they drew, And soon did chase them aif, man ; On Seaton Crafts they bufft their chafts. And gart them rin like 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 seized them a', man ; Some wet their cheeks, some fyled their breeks. And some for fear did ia', man. The volunteers prick'd up their ears. And vow gin they were crouse, man ; But when the bairns saw't turn to eam'st. They were not worth a louse, man : Maist feck gaed 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. 3Ienteith the great, where Hersell sate, Un'wares did ding her ower, man ; Tet wadna stand to bear a hand. But aff fu' fast did scour, man : Ower Soutra hUl, ere he stood stUl, Before he tasted meat, man : Troth, he may brag of his swift nag. That bare him aff sae fleet, xaan. And Simson keen, to clear the een Of rebels far in wrang, man. Did never strive wi' pistols five. Bat gallop'd wi' 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 , For Campbell rade, but Myrie staid. And sair he paid the kain, man : Fell skelps he got, was waur than shot, Frae the sharp-edged 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 : For king and laws, and country's cause. In honour's bed he lay, man. His life, but not his courage, fled, TVhile he had breath to draw, man. '^ Pa i '^ (t I 480 SCOTTISH SONGS. And Major Bowie, that worthy soul, Was broupht down to the ground, man ; His liorse being shot, it was his lot For to get mony a wound, man. Lieutenant Smith, of Irish birth, Frae whom he called for aid, man. Being full of dread, lap ower his head, And wadna be gainsaid, man. He made sic haste, sae spurr'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 weel 'tis kend His use and wont to lie, man ; The Teague is naught, he never fought, 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 : The cause was good, he'd spend his bluid, Before that he would yield, man ; But the night before, he left the cor'. And never took the field, man. But gallant Rodger, 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 waved his hat. And cry'd, God save the king, man. Some Highland rogues, like hungrj- dogs, Neglecting to pursue, man. About they faced, and in great haste Upon the booty flew, man ; And they, as gain for all their pain. Are deck'd wi' spoils of w.-ir, man ; Fu' bauld can tell how her na'nsell Was ne'er sae pra pefore, man. At the thorn tree, which you may see Bewest the Me.idow-mill, man. There mony slain lay on the plain. The clans pursuing still, man. Sic unco hacks, and dea/lly 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 : In Scaton .Sands, wi' nimble hands. They pick'd my pockets bare, man ; But I wish ne'er to drie sic fear. For a' the sum and mair, man. Ptoti \^t l^UTO, Miafejj, [This was contributed by Robert Crawfurd, author of " Tweedside," &c. to the first volume of the Tea-Table !Miscellany. It originally con- sisted offourstanias,but the last two, being rather highly coloured, were reduced to one, by Burns, for Thomson's collection. Burns says, " I have been informed, that the tune of Boun the burn, Davie, w.is the composition of David Maigh, keeper of the blood slouth hounds, belonging to the laird of Riddell in Tweeddale." AVhen David Maigh lived is not said; but the tune appears, along with the words, in the Orpheus Caledonius, 1725.] Whkic trees did bud, and fields were green. And broom bloom'd fair to see ; When Mary was complete fifteen. And love lauch'd in her e'e; Blythe Davie's blinks her heart did move ' To speak her mind thus free ; Gang down the burn, Davie, loTC, And I will follow thee. Now Davie did each lad surpass That dwelt on this burnside ; And Mary was the bonniest lass. Just meet to be a bride : Her cheeks were rosie, red and white ; Her een were bonnie blue ; Her looks were like the morning bright. Her lips like dropping dew. As down the bum thoy took their way. And through the flow'ry dale ; His cheek to hers he aft did lay, And love was aye the tale. With, Mary, wlien shall we return. Sic ple.isure to renew ? Quoth Mary, Love, I like the burn. And aye will follow you. "i. ^^^m^^^^^^Mi'-^'^'^^^p^f^^^ '^1i^*^^^3^4^i^/^c^5^^i^^' SCOTTISH SONGS. 481 I mm* Q*n t|e muix. [In the Skene MS. coUection of old Scottish tunes, circa 1615, published in 1S38, with an in- troductory inquiry, by William Dauney, Esq., there occurs a beautiful melody, headed, " Alace yat I came owr the moor, and left my love behind me." From this the modern tune of " The last ti m e I cam' o'er the muir" has been manufee- tured ; but, according to Jlr. Dauney, the ancient air has suffered sadly by the change, being in its original state much superior to the modem set. All the old words, except the title, are lost. Eam- SAT wrote the present song. Bums thought it unworthy of the tune, but admitted that it was too long established in public favour to be sup- planted.] The last time I cam* owre the muir, I left my love behind me : Te powers, what pains do 1 endure When soft ideas mind me ! Soon as the ruddy mom display'd The beaming day ensuing, I met betimes my lovely maid. In fit retreats for wooing. » We stray'd beside yon wand'ring stream. And talk'd with hearts o'erflowing ; TTntil the sun's last setting beam Was in the ocean glowing. I pitied all beneath the skies. Even kings, when she was nigh me ; In raptures I beheld her eyes, ^ Which could but ill deny me. Should I be call'd where cannons roar, Where mortal steel may wound me. Or cast upon some foreign shore. Where dangers may surround me ; Yet hopes again to see my love. To feast on glowing kisses. Shall make my cares at distance move. In prospect of such blisses. In all my soul there's not one place To let a rival enter : Since she excels in ev'ry grace, her my love shall centre. Sooner the seas shall cease to flow. Their waves the Alps shall cover. On Greenland ice shall roses grow. Before I cease to love her. The neist time I gang ower the muir. She shall a lover find me; And that my faith is firm and pure. Though I left her behind me ; Then Hymen's sacred bonds shall chain My heart to her fair bosom ; There, while my being does remain. My love more fresh s hall blossom. ^■^e ^raf^ d ^tun%^tm2> [This appears in the second volume of the Tea Table Miscellany with the title of " The Generous Gentleman, a song to the tune of the Bonnie Lass of Branksome." It was written by Eamsat him- self. Mr. Robert Chambers says the song was founded on a real incident. " The bonnie lass was daughter to a woman who kept an alehouse at the hamlet near Branksome Castle, in Teviot- dale. A young oflBccr, of some rank, — his name we beUeve was Maitland, — happened to be quar- tered somewhere in the neighbourhood, saw, loved, and married her. So strange was such an alliance deemed in those days, that the old mother, under whose auspices it was performed, did not escape the imputation of witchcraft.'"] As I cam' in by Teviot side. And by the braes of Branksome, There first I saw my bonnie bride. Young, smiling, sweet, and handsome. Her skin was safter than the down. And white as alabaster ; Her hair, a shining, waving brown ; In straightness nane surpass'd her. Liffe glow'd upon her lip and cheek. Her clear een were surprising. And beautifully tum'd her neck. Her little breasts just rising : Nae silken hose with gushats fine. Or shoon with glancing laces. On her bare leg, forbad to shine Weel-shapeu native graces. Ae little coat and bodice white Was sum o' a' her claithing ; E'en these oer muckle ;— mair delight She'd given clad wi' naething. 2h ■rK 9-. 3 !r^ m^^^' Mi^- ■.i^<&^ 482 SCOTTISH SOKGS. M i Wc Ican'd upon a flowery brae, Tiy which a burnie trotted ; On her I glowr'd my soul away, VVhiie on her sweets I doated. A thousand beauties of desert Before had scarce alarm'd me, Till this dear artless struck my heart. And, bot designing, charm'd me. Hurried by love, close to my breast I clasp'd this fund of blisses,— Wlia smiled, and said. Without a priest. Sir, hope for nocht but kisses. I had nae heart to do her harm, And yet I couldna want her ; What she demanded, ilka charm O' hers pled I should grant her. Since heaven had dealt to me a routb. Straight to the kirk I led her ; There plighted her my faith and trout h. And a young lady made her. ^tont t|)« ^Bt"^. [ Writtp.n by Jonw Blrtt, for an anniversary r Burns held in Philadelphia.] Sweet the bard, and sweet his strain, Breath'd where mirth and friendship rois'n. O'er ilk woodland, hill, and plain. And loch o' Caledonia. Sweet the rural scenes he drew. Sweet the fairy tints he threw O'er the page, to nature true. And dear to Caledonia. But the strain so lov'd is o'er. And the bard so lov'd no more Shall his magic stanzas pour To love and Caledonia. Ayr and D'on may row their floods, Birds may warble through the woods. Dews may gem the op'ning buds. And daisies bloom fu' bonnie, 0; Lads fu' blythe and lasses fain. Still may love, but ne'er again Will they wake the gifted strain | 0' Burns and Caledoi^. . i While his native vales among. Love is felt, or beauty sung. Hearts will beat and harps be strung To Burns and Caledonia. ^ [Fran-CIS Bennoch.— Tune, " Bung your eye," now better kftown by the title of " The brisk young lad," &c.— Here first printed.] Aui.D Peter JI'Gowan cam" down the craft, An' rubb'd his han's, and fidg'd and laugh'd— O little thocht he o' his wrinkled chaft As he wanted me to lo'e. He patted my brow, an' stroked my chin. He roosed my e'en an' sleek white skin. Syne fain wad kiss — but the laugh within Cam' rattling out, I trew. Oh, sirs ! but he was a braw auld carle, Wi' rings o' gowd, an' brooch o' pearl, An' aye he spak' o' his frien* the earl. An' thocht he was courting me. He spak' o' his gear an' acres wide, O' his bawsan'd yaud that I should ride. Gin I wad be his bonnie wee bride. Returning lo'e for lo'e ; That I a lady to kirk should gang— Ha'e*vvTit my virtues in a sang. But I snapp'd my thumbs and I said, " Gae hang Gin naething m.-xir ye can do !" Oh, sirs ! but he look'd a silly auld man, ' Nae langer he spak' o' his gear an' Ian', i An' through the town like lichtnin' ran < The tale o' auld Peter's lo'e. ' An* sae the auld carle speiled up the craft, ' An' raved an' stamp'd like ane gane daft, < Till the tear trickled owre his burning chaft. Sin' he couldna mak' me lo'e. It's better for me to be single, 1 said. Then as warming p.in in an auld man's bed. He will be cunning that pars me wed Wi' ane that I canna lo'e. Na ! na ! he maun l>e a braw young lad, A canty lad — a spunky lad, O he maun be a spirited lad Wha thinks to win my lo'e. ■^'^m^''^^mm^^^^M:^3^^^ ^^msm-^-f^ SCOTTISH SONGS. 4S3 "Hs [The tune called "The Happy aown" is old. f'\r Gay adopts it for one of his songs in the " Beg- ( 5^ gar's Opera," beginning, \^ " I'm like a skiff in the ocean toss'd." tQCi The following fine verses appear in the second ^1^ volume of the Tea-Table Miscellany. Eamsay, in /^h his " Gentle Shepherd" puts a few verses into the (a^" mouth of Sir William Worthy, to the tune of >lt5 " The Happy Clown."] ir" 1 How happy is the rural clown, ''N^y "VVTio, far remov'd from noise of town, OT^ Contemns the glory of a crown, ^^\ And, in his safe retreat, ^/^ Is pleased with his low degree, t; / Is rich in decent poverty, ,A/ P From strife, from care, and business free, ' /\3 At once both good and great ! \^o Ko drums disturb his morning sleep, V/^ He fears no danger of the deep, f^^ Kor noisy law, nor courts e'er heap V^^^" Vexation on his mind ; o>\ No trumpets rouse him to the war, 7V~ No hopes can bribe, nor threats can dare ; j ^ From state intrigues he holds afar, . Vy And liveth unconfin'd. >yJ,1 Like those in golden ages born. He labours gently to adorn His small paternal fields of corn. And on their product feeds ; Each season of the wheeling year. Industrious he improves with care. And still some ripen 'd firuits appear. So well his toil succeeds. Now by a silver stream he lies, And angles with his baits and flies. And next the sylvan scene he tries. His spirits to regale ; Now from the rock or height he views His fleecy flock, or teeming cows ; Then tunes his reed, or tries his muse. That waits his honest call. Amidst his harmless easy joys. No care his peace of mind destroys. Nor does he pass his time in toys Beneath his just regard : s He's fond to feel the zephyrs breeze, To plant and sned his tender trees ; And for attending well his bees. Enjoys their sweet reward. The flow'ry meads and silent coves. The scenes of faithful rural loves. And warbling birds on blooming groves. Afford a wish'd delight ; But 0, how pleasant is his life ! Blest with a chaste and virtuous wife. And children prattling, void of strife. Around his fire at night ! 5^9im? SJcaTiTik 'Susg, [The first and last stanzas of this popular song ^ were written by W. PAri., Glasgow, and set to T£ music by Eichard Webster. The second stanza ^^-^^ is an interpolation by William Thorn of Inve- ,."\> rury.] (^) Oh whar was ye sae late yestreen, Jly bonnie Jeannie Gray ? r.;:.^ Your mither miss'd you late at e'en, ^y And eke at break o' day. ' f Tour mither look'd sae sour and sad. Your father dull and wae. Oh ! whar was ye sae late yestreen. My bonnie Jwannie Gray ? I've mark'd that lanely look o' thine. My bonnie Jeannie Gray; I've kent your kindly bosom pine. This monie, monie day. Ha'e hinnied words o' promise lurM Your guileless heart astray ? O ! dinna hide your grief frae mt. My bonnie Jeannie Gray. Dear sister, sit ye down by me. And let nae body ken ; For I ha'e promis'd late yestreen To wed young Jamie Glen ; The melting tear stood in his e'e, ■VNTiat heart could say him nay ? As aft he vow'd, through life, I'm thine. My bonnie Jeannie Gray. iv ^^^^My-'^^i^^CMi'^^^Sl ^^ 'I '^^ ■^ '^ 4g4 SCOTTISH SONGS. [This fine Jacobitical song was a contribution of Burns to Johnson's Museum. The originiU name of the tune is, " There 's few gude fellows when Jamie 's awa'," and it appears with that titlo III Oswald's Caledonian Pocket Companion, (1740.) Sometimes it is called, " There 's few Rude fel- Jews when Willie's awa'." The words of the old song are supposed to be lost.] By yon castle-wa*, at the close o' the day, I heard a man sing, though his head it was grey ; And as he was singing, the tears down came — There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. \ The church is In ruins, the state is in jars. Delusions, oppressions, and murderous wars-. . -^ We daurna weel say't, but we ken wha's to blame, — ^ There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. ^'^ ^- / , Jly seven braw sons for Jamie drew sword, \' .1 ■, .. And now I greet round their green beds in the yird : «^ ' f'j\ It brak the sweet heart o' my faithfu' auld dame— L. . i 5r» There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. V 'y , Now life is a burden that bon-s me down, ,, '^I' Since I tint my bairns, and he tint his crown ; >- ' '"Vj But till my last moments my words are the same,— f ^ There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. /. • 1^' [Written on the death of the Ettrick Shepherd, by the Eev. James Mcrrav, author of the 2< Iv original songs given at page 39. Set to music by Peter Macleod.] XL ; The summer hath pass'd o'er the Yarrow's green mountains, C 1^ The birch trembled wild by Loch Mary's lone shore; ' 1 i The winter approaches to bind up the fountains, jC'V' But the Bard of the Forest shall cheer us no more. vii*' No more shall he stray in the dusk of the gloaming, ^j '' To dream of the spirits in lands lar away ! rU^ No more shall he list to the tempest loud moaning ; /•■^ For the Bard of the Forest lies cold in the clay ! He rests with his fathers, no more to awaken Sweet strains by the streamlets that speed to the main , The wild echo sleeps in the glen of green bracken. But the Shephenl shall never awake it again ! Bloom sweetly around him, ye pale drooping roses. Breathe softly, ye winds, o'er his cold narrow bed ! Fall gently, ye dews, where the minstrel reposes. And hallow the wild flowers that wave o'er bis head ! SCOTTISH SONGS. 4S5 |i^all§'0 :r>??-fe. [This was an almost extemporaneous effusion of BuKxs, on seeing a fair country girl walk along the High Street of Dumfries, ^vith her shoes and stockings, more Scotico, in her hand. Instead of on her feet. He sent it to Johnson's Museum, ac- companied with an air resembling much the old tune of " Andro and his Cutty Gun." It was his last contribution to that publication !] As I was walking up the street, A barefit maid I chanc'd to meet ; But the road was very hard For that fair maiden's tender feet. O Mally's meek, Mally's sweet, MaHy's modest and discreet, ilally's rare, ilaUy's fair, Mally's every way complete. It were mair meet, that those fine feet Were weel lac'd up in sUken shoon. And 'twere more fit that she should sit • Within yon chariot gilt aboon. O MaUy's meek, &c. Her yellow hair, beyond compare. Comes trinkling down her swan-white neck; And her two eyes, hke stars in skies. Would keep a sinking ship fi-ae wreck. O MaUy's meek, &c. fea^g ef Bcollan^* [This pathetic Jacobite eflusion was contribut . ed by Allan Cc-jtnikgham to Cromek's Eemains | of Nithsdale and Galloway Song. It is sung to the | tune of " The Siller Crown."] When I left thee, bonnie Scotland, O fair wert thou to see ! And blythe as a bonnie bride i' the mom, "CTTien she maun wedded be. When I came back to thee, Scotland, Upon a May-mom fair, A bonnie lass sat at our town end, ng her yellow hair. Oh hey ! oh hey ! sung the bonnie lass, Oh hey, and wae is me 1 There's siccan sorrow in Scotland, As een did never see. Oh hey, oh hey, for my father auld .' Oh hey, for my mither dear ! And my heart will burst for the bonnie lad Wha left me lanesome here. I hadna gane in my ain Scotland Mae miles than twa or three. When I saw the head o' my ain faither Bome up the gate to me. A traitor's head ; and, A traitor's head I Loud bawl'd a bloody loon ; But I drew frae the sheath my glaive o' weir. And strack the reaver down. I hied me hame to my father's ha'. My dear auld mither to see ; But she lay 'mang the black eizels, Wi' the death-tear in her e'e. wha has wrought this bloody wark ? Had I the reaver here, I'd wash his sark in his ain heart's blood. And gi'e't to his love to wear. 1 hadna gane frae my ain dear hame But twa short miles an three. Till up came a captain o' the AVhiss, Says, Traitor, bide ye me ! I grippet him by the belt sae braid. It bursted 1* my hand. But I threw him frae his weir-saddle, And drew my burly brand. Shaw mercy on me, quo' the loon. And low he knelt on knee , And by his thigh was my father's glaive Which gude king Bruce did gi'e ; And buckled round him was the broider'd belt Which my mither's hands did weavs — My tears they mingled wi' his heart's blool. And reek'd upon my glaive. I wander a' nijht "mang the lands I own'd. When a' folk are asleep ; And I lie o'er my father and mither's grave An hour or twa to weep. O, fatherless and mitherless. Without a ha' or hame, I maun wander through my dear Sootlr.nil. And bide a traitor's name. ■y^ ^m^ ..r^ 4S6 SCOTTISH SOXGS. '^f)z ^mn% J^si&^n. [Allan C'lNNiNcnASi. — " Instead of saying why or when I wrote this song, or telling the reasons that induced me to imitate the natural ballad style of the north, I will tell a little touch- in? story, which has long been popular in my native place. At the close of the last rebellion, a party of the Duke of Cumberland's dragoons passed through Nithsdale ; they called at a lone house, where a widow lived, and demanded re- freshments. She brought them milk; and her son, a youth of sixteen, prepared kale and butter — this, she said, was all her store. One of the party inquired how she lived on such slender means : " I live," she said, "on my cow, my kale- yard, and on the blessing of God." He went and killed the cow, destroyed her kale, and continued his march. The poor woman died of a broken heart, and her son wandered away from the in- nairy of friends and the reach of compassion. It happened, afterwards, in the continental war, when the British army had gained a great victory, that the soldiers were seated on the ground, mak- ing merry with wine, and relating their exploits — ' All this is nothing,' cried a dragoon, ' to what I once did in Scotland— I starved a witch in Niths- dale; I drank her milk, I killed her cow, destroy- ed her kale-yard, and left her to live upon God— and I dare say he had enough ado with her.' ' And don't you rue it ?' exclaimed a soldier start- ing up — ' don't you rue it ?' ' Rue what ?' said the ruffian ; ' what would you have me rue ? she's dead and damned, and there's an end of her.' ' Then, by my God !' said the other, ' that woman was my mother — draw your sword — draw.' They fought on the spot, and while the Scottish soldier piissed his sword through his body, and turned him over in the pangs of death, he said, ' Had you but said you rued it, God should have pun- ished you, not I.' "] ■\VHF.nF ganc ye, ye silly auld carle, Wi' yere staff and shepherd fare ? I'm gaun to the hill, thou sodger-man. To shift my hirscls' lair. Ae stride or twa took the silly auld carle. An' a gude lang stride took he. I trow thou art a freck auld carle. Wilt thou show the way to me ? For I have ridden down bonnie Kith, Sae have I the silver Orr, And a" for the blood o' the young Maxwell, Which I love as a gled loves gore. And he has gone wi' the silly auld carle, Adown by the rocks sae steep. Until that they came to the auld castle That hangs o'er Dee sae deep. The rocks were high, the woods were dark, I The Dee roU'd in its pride ; Light down and gang, thou sodger-man. For here ye mayna ride. , ' He drew the reins of his bonnie grey steed, I And gaily down he sprang : 1 His war -coat was of the scarlet fine, I j Where the golden tassels hang. ! lie threw down his plaid, the silly auld carK», I I The bonnet frae boon his bree : And who was it but the young Maxwell ? j And his good brown sword drew he. Thou kill'd my father, thou base Southron, Sae did ye my brethren three ; Which brake the heart of my ae sister, I I loved as the light of my e'e. Kow draw thy sword, thou base Southron, Red wet wi' blood o' my kin ; That sword, it cropt the fairest flower K'er grew wi' a head to the sun. There's ae stroke for my dear auld father. There's twa for my brethren three ; And there's ane to thy heart for my ae sister, AV'hom I loved as the light of my e'e. JSJIg ttM liUk Eag^u. [From " Poems chiefly in the Scottish dialect, by the Rev. James Nicoi.. In two volumes. Edinburgh, 1805."— Tune, " Bonnie Dundee."] JI V dear little lassie, why, what's a' the matter ? My heart it gangs pittypat, winna lie still ; I've waited, and waited, an' a' to grow better Yet, lassie, believe me, I'm aye growing ill : My head 'a tum'd quite dizzy, an' aft when I'm speaking I sigh, an' am breathless, an' fearfu' to speak ; I gaze aye for something I fain wad be seeking, ■f Yet, lassie, 1 kenna weel what I wad seek. fe ^'S^^^V SCOTTISH SOyG.= 4^; Thy praUe, bonnie lassie, I ever could hear of, • And yet when to ruse ye the neebour lads try. Though it's a' true they tell ye, yet never sae far off I could see 'era ilk ane, an ' I canna tell why. "When we tedded the hayfield, I raked ilka rig o't. And never grew wearie the lang simmer day ; The rucks that ye wrought at were easiest higgit. And I land sweeter scented aroun' ye the hay. In har'st, whan the kim-supper joys mak' us cheerie, [mou' ; '>Iang the lave of the lasses I pried yere sweet Dear save us! how queer I felt whan I cam' near ye. My breast thrill'd in rapture, I couldna tell how. Whan we dance at the gioamin' it's you I aye pitch on. And gin ye gang by me how dowie I be ; There's something, dear lassie, about ye bewitch- ing. That teUs me my happiness centres in thee. ipi-^emie. [Thomas C. Latto.— Here first printed.] XVe sat upon a grassy knowe. My lassie dear an' me, TA'hen round her neck my arms I flung An' gat her on my knee. White as the swan's that bonnie neck. How saft nae words may say, I lookit fondly in her face. And gazed the hours away. The e'enin' cloud that's fring'd wi' gowd Was match 'd wi' Phemie's hair ; The apple bloom,— how saft its tint. Her cheek was twice as fair. Her breath was sweeter than the breeze That plays "mang new-maun hay ; Her form was gracefu' as a fawn. An' fresh as openin' day. Her poutin' lips sae rosj- red 'Mang laughin' dimples dwell, ^"■ae journey-wark were they I trow. But made by Love himsel'. Her voice was Uke a Unty's sang, Her een were bonnie blue. And mine drank in the livin' light That sparkled through the dew. I kist her twenty times and mair. Syne took them a' again ; My heart was rinnin owre wi' bliss That hour she was mine ain. O monie a day has fled sinsyne. When first her lips I prest. But ne'er a wish has stray'd frae her. In blessing, I am blest. Our love was bonnie in the bud. But bonnier in the bloom, — The morning rose delights the e'e, The gioamin' brings perfume. Methuselah's were mony years. But lived I lang as he, I'll ne'er forget the raptur'd hour, I gat her on my knee. ^s m%lt d ftt 0ltzn. i^' n ^< [Eev. John Iogan.] Thb day is departed, and round from the cloud The moon in her beauty appears ; The voice of the nightingale warbles aloud The music of love in our ears. Maria, appear I now the season so sweet With the beat of the heart is in tune ; The time is so tender for lovers to meet Alone by the light of the mcon. 1 cannot when present unfold what I feel : 1 sigh — can a lover do more ? Her name to the shephertis I never reveal. Yet I think of her all the day o'er. Maria, my love ! do you long for the grove ? Do you sigh for an interview soon ? Does e'er a kind thought run on me as you rove Alone by the light of the moon ? Tour name from the shepherds whenever 1 hear My bosom is all in a glow ; Tour voice, when it vibrates so sw^eet through mine ear, My heart thrills — my eyes overflow. Te powers of the sky, wilT your bounty divine Indulge a fond lover his boon ? Shall heart spring to heart, and Maria be mine. Alone by the light of the moon ? "IS im'M>^M>^^£Mi'^^-^^^<^s^^ 48S SCOTTISH SONGS. -i^t Green Albyn, farewell ! though to us be not given For our country to strive, as our fathers have striven, 'Tween their ashes and us, though may roll the dark sea. Still their spirit is ours, and our hearts are with thee. Green Albyn, farewell ' though the glens of our pride Through the mist of the morn, shall no more be descried, ' r Nor the deer on the hill ; nor the cairn on the moor ; ■ /^ Nor the chief of the hall ;— we are thine as of yore ! V X") Green Albyn, farewell ! when our footsteps shall stray ■^ On the banks where Lake Erie expands to the day. In our bonnets the rough-bearded thistle shall twine. And be dear to our souls, as a sj-mbol of thine ! Green Albyn, farewell ! to thy rocks, to thy rills. To the eagles that build on the crest of thy hills. To the lake, to the forest, the moor and the dell. To thee, and thy children, green Albyn, farewell ! [Oub;»s. — Tune, " Laddie, lie near me."] 'TwAs nae her bonnie blue e'e was my ruin ; Fair chough she be, that was ne'er my undoin' : 'Twas the dear smile when naebody did mind us, 'Twas the bewitching, sweet, stown glance o' kindness. Gref.n Albyn, farewell ! thoueh by us never more ; Should be welcomed the hills that encircle thy shore : *,'' Though to far distant worlds 'tis our fortune to roam. Still to thee shall we look as the land of our home ! Green Albyn, farewell ! though thou fad'st on our sight, "^i -. Are the deeds of our fathers not written in light .■> U-^-'. And cannot the tones of the pibroch display J^ji How they march'd to the field, how they won in the fray ? ^' P Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me. A.! Sair do I fear that despair maun abide me ; , But though fell fortune should fate us to sever, ^ >'', Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever. >" f'-, Mary, I'm thine wi' a passion sincerest, n^ " ,■4^ And thou hast plighted me love o' the (Nearest 1 P^i And thou art the angel that never can alter; ^^ Sooner the sun in his motion shall falter. ^" w^^^' ^*^^ SCOTTISH SONGS- ^^ 489 <& gfe mg kt?. [Fkom Herd's MS. Printed in the" Minstrelsy oJ' the Scottish Border."] O GIN my love were yon red rose. That grows upon the castle wa'. And I mysel' a drap of dew, Down on that red rose I would fa'. O my love's bonnie, honnie, bonnie ; My love's bonnie and fair to see : Whene'er I look on her weel-far'd face. She looks and smiles again to me. O gin my love were a pickle of wheat. And growing upon yon lily lee. And I mysel' a bonnie wee bird, Awa' wi' that pickle o' wheat I wad flee. O my love's bonnie, &c. gin my love were a coffer o' gowd. And 1 the keeper of the key, 1 wad open the kist whene'er I list. And in that coffer I wad be. O my love's bonnie, &c. II. [Burns found the first verse of the above song in Witherspoon's collection, coupled to another verse comparatively modem, and was so much struck with their beauty that he added two verses to t'nem, for Thomson's collection. His own ver- ses in the present set stand first in the song, with the view, as he modestly says, of husbanding the "best thoughts for a concluding stroke." The ' song has been set to different tunes— to " Hughie Graham," to " Lord Balgonie's favourite," &c., but it possesses also an old air of its own. There have been several extensions of the song by other bands.] O WERE my love yon lilac fair, Wi' purple blossoms to the spring. And I a bird to shelter there, \A'hen wearied on my little wing. How I wad mourn when it was torn. By autumn wild, and winter rude '. But I wad sing on wanton wing. When youthfu' May its bloom renew'd. O gin my love were yon red rose. That grows upon the castle wa'. And I mysel' a drap o' dew. Into her bonnie breast to fa' ! O ! there beyond expression blest, I'd feast on beauty a' the night ; Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest, Till fley'd awa' uy Phoebus' light- [Thomas C. Latto.— Here first printed.] The maidens are smiling in rocky Glencoe, The clansmen are arming to rush on the foe. Gay banners are streaming as forth pours the clan , The yellow -haired laddie is first in the van. The pibroch is kindling each heart to the war. The Camerons' slogan is heard from afar. They close for the struggle where many shall fail. But the yellow -haired laddie is foremost of all. He towers like a wave in the fierce rolling tide, Ko kinsman of Evan's may stand by his side. The Camerons gather around him alone. He heeds not the danger, and fear is unknown. Theplumesofhisbonnetareseenthroughthefight, ; ' A beacon for valour which fires at the sight, ' "' -^ , Butheseesnotyonc'.aymore.ah! traitorousthrust; ' ' The plumes and the bonnet are laid in the dust, -^uij The maidens are smiling in rocky Glencoe, ( J The clansmen approach,— they have vanquish'd fp| S the foe, < But sudden the cheeks of the maidens are pale, ' -, For the sound of the coronach comes on the gale. "^/ The maidens are weeping in rocky Glencoe, * From warrir-T's eyelids the bitter drops flow. They come,— but oh ! where is their chieftain so dear? The yellow -haired laddie is low on the bier. The maidens are wailing in rocky Glencoe, There's gloom in the valley, — at sunrise 'twill go. But no sun can the gloom from their hearts chase •' away. The yellow-haired laddie lies cauld in the cl.iy. ?^ '^^'/m-^^^ufK^'-^'^^ g'-^^i^Si; ■^'y^rr^frj&--:^m':^^L^?i^^'m: 400 SCOTTISH SONGS 34 [These verses were furnished by Burns to Johnson's Museum. He says they were originally English, but he gave them a Scotch dress. The tune, called " The Maid's Complaint," was com- posed by Oswald, and published in 1742.] It is na, Jean, thy bonnie face. Nor shape that I admire. Although thy beauty and thy grace Might weel awake desire. Something, in ilka part o' thee, To praise, to love, I find ; But dear as is thy furm to me. Still dearer is thy mind. Nae mair ungen'rous wish I ha'e. Nor stronger in my breast, Than if I canna mak' thee sae. At least to see thee blest. Content am f, if heaven shall give But happiness to thee : And as wi' thee I'd wish to live. For thee I'd bear to die. [Written by Robert Allan. Music com- posed by Alex. Lee. For one or two voices.] Speed, O speed, thou bonnie bark ! An' blaw, thou gentle gale ; An' waft me to my native shore. An' sweet Glen-Rosa vale. Glen-Rosa ! thou art clear to me. An' dear to me the shade, ■\Vhere I ha'e woo'd, where I ha'e won. My lovely Arran maid ; Where I ha'e woo'd, &c. When hung the mist upon the brae, An' thunder loud would swell. In echoes from the rugged cliff. An' down the hollow dell ; Ev'n then, amid Glen-Rosa's wilds, I ha'e delighted stray'd. To win the smile of that dear ane, 3Iy lovely Anan maid. •!: When flowers were waving owre the stream; An' blooming in their prime. An' owre the towering Goatfull hung. The harebell and the thyme. 'Twas sweet to climb the airy height, Or ream the dusky glade, Wi' thee my heart sae fondly woo'd. My lovely Arran maid. O were I chief of Arran's isle. Its hills and glens sae steep, Nae mair my bark would beat the wave, Nae mair would plough the deep , Glen-Rosa! I would haunt thy bowers. Nor seek a sweeter shade. Than thine, with Rosie in my arms. My lovely Arran maid. [William Train.— Tune, " Angel's \Vhisper." — Here first printed.] The bright sun had given. His light from the heaven. And had sunk down again over mountain and lea. When as Mary sat sighing By the red embers dying. She cried — " Hope never twineth a garland forme! " I'm sportive as any. Yet look on the many — [tree ; On the many young maids round the old village They dance 'neath its cover. Each one with her lover. While my Willie is always so bashfu' to me :" Toung Willie w.is listening. His bright eye was glistening. As he sprung to her side with a heart full of glee i The fair one's confession Outdid all expression. And if Mary was happy, what think you was he ? The bright sun had given I His light from the heaven, ^/J) And had sunk down again over mountain and lea, When a young mother's numbers To her first baby's slumbers, » — .^ Were—" Kind hope had indeed a fair garland for ^ | me!" i *^ -^^.^< :m>-m>^M}ii0^~^^!^^ ^^@^-^--'t)^i<^w7^" SCOTTISH SOKGS. 491 [This popular Jacobite song has been subjected to various alterations by different hands, so that few copies read alike. AVe give here Hogg's ver- sion, in his " Eelics." The tune, " O'er the water to Charlie," is older than the '45, and it is proba- ble that there was some old song with that bur- then before the Jacobitical effusion.] Come, boat me ower, come, row me ower. Come, boat me ower to Charlie ; I'll gi'e John Eoss another bawbee. To ferry me ower to Charlie. We'll over the water, and over the sea, We'll over the water to Charlie ; Come weal, come woe, we'll gather and go, And live and die wi' Charlie. It's weel I lo'e my Charlie's nam.e. Though some there be that abhor him ; ' But O, to see Auld Kick gaun hame. And Charlie's fees before him ! I swear by moon and stars sae bricht. And the sun that glances early. If I had twenty thousand lives, I'd gi'e them a' for Charlie. I anee had sons, I now ha'e nane ; I bred them , toiling sairly ; And I wad bear them a' again. And lose them a' for Charlie ! [Modern Jacobite song.] The news frae Moidart cam' yestreen. Will soon gar mony ferUe, For ships o' war have just come in. An' landed Royal Charlie 1 Come through the heather. Around him gather, Ye're a' the welcomer early. Around him cling wi' a' your kin. For wha'll be king but CharUe ? Come through the heather, around him ga- ther, [ther. Come Ronald, come Donald, come a' thegi- And crown him rightfu", lavrful king. For wha'U be king but Charlie ? The Highland clans wi' sword in hand, Frae John o' Groats to Airly, Ha'e to a man declared to stand Or fa' wi' royal CharUe. Come through, &c. The Lowlands a", baith great an' sma' , Wi' mony a lord an' laird, ha'e Declared for Scotia's king an' law. An' spier ye wha but Charlie ? Come through, &c. There's ne'er a lass in a' the land. But vows baith late an' early. To man she'll ne'er gi'e heart or hand , Wha wadna fecht for Charlie. Come through, &c. Then here's a health to Charlie's cause. An' be't complete and early. His very name my heart's blood wamis,- To arms for royal Charlie : Come through, &c. "Matitf Eanti. [Written 1 ;. Bishop.] D. Perry. Slusic by Sir Henry >' ATivE land ! I'll love thee ever — Let me raise the welcome strain — 3Iine were banished feet that never Hoped to press thy turf again. Now these eyes, illumed with Rladness, As they scanned thy b^-auties o'er. Ne'er again shall melt in sadness. Parting to return no more. Caledonia ! native land ! Native land I I'll lore thee ever. Native land ! though fate may banish. And command me far to part. Never can thy memory vanish From this glowing, gratofiil heart ! Let an Indian solstice bum me. Or the snows of Norway chill, Hither still, my heart I turn thee — Here, my country, thou art still. Caledonia! native land ! Native land, I'll love thee ever. -^^^'m-^^^^^M^^^^^^^^a^-mr^: i^'^ 492 SCOTTISH SONGS. 4 [Words by C. M. Westmacott. Music com- posed by John Sinclair.] There's ne'er .a nook in a' the land Victoria rules sae well. There's naothing half sae canty, grand. As blythe Dumbarton's dell ; And would you speer the reason why. The truth I'll fairly tell, A winsome lassie lives hard by Dumbarton's bonnie dell. X'p by yon glen. Loch Lomond laves. Where bold 51'Gregors dwell ; And bogies dance o'er heroes' graves. There lives Dumbarton's belle ; rihe's blest with ev'ry charm in life. And this I know full well— I'll ne'er be happy till my wife Is blythe Dumbarton's belle. ^ai^glora. [Joseph Train.] " Gin ye wad gang, lassie, to Garrj-horn, Ye might be happy, I ween ; A Ibeit the cuckoo was never heard there. And a swallow there never was seen. AVhile cushats coo round the mill of Glenlee, And little birds sing on the thorn ; Ye might hear the bonnie heather- bleat croak In the wilds of Garry horn. 'Tis bonnie to see at the Garrj-horn Kids skipping the highest rock. And, wrapt in his plaid at midsummer d.iy, The moorman tending his flock. The reaper seldom his sickle whets there. To gather in standing corn ; But many a sheep is to shear and smear In the bughts of Garryhorn. There are hams on the banks at Garryhorn Of braxy, and eke a store Of cakes in the kist, and peats in the neuk. To put aye the winter o'er. There is aye a clog for the fire at Yule, With a browst for New-year's morn ; And gin ye gang up ye may sit like a queen In the chamber at Garryhorn. And when ye are lady of Garryhorn, Ye shall ride to the kirk with me ; Although my mither should skelp through the mire. With her coats kilted up to the knee. I woo not for siller, my bonnie May, Sae dinna my offer scorn ; [she, ' No ! but ye maun speer at my minny," quo' ' Ere I gang to Garryhorn." " W02 1E#,. [Ebv. John Logan. — Tune, " Tweedside."] While frequent on Tweed and on Tay, Their harps all the muses have strung ; Should a river, more limpid than they^ The wood-fringed Esk, flow unsung? While Kitty and Chloe inspire The poet with pastoral strains, AVhy silent the voice of the lyre On Marj', the pride of the plains ? Oh ! nature's most beautiful worl;s Are often unseen and unknown ; And often in solitude lurks A form that should shine on a throne; In the wilderness blossoms the rose In beauty, retir'd from the sight; And Philomel warbles her woes Alone to the ear of the night. How often the beauty is hid Amid shades that her triumphs deny How often the hero forbid From the path that conducts to the sky I A Helen has pin'd in the grove, A Homer has wanted his name. Unseen in the circle of love, Unknown in the temple of fame- ^S^B3:^-^:^£S^^*^ .'^^ ^&^^r :2^)^^^>^S^g>5^-*^^ .-«1? SCOTTISH SOXGS. 49S Tet let us walk forth to the stream "Where poets ne'er wander'd before, Enamour'd of Mary's sweet name. The echoes will spread to the shore ; If the voice of the muse be divine. Thy beauties shall live in my lay, "V^'hile reflecting the forest so fine, Sweet Esk o'er the valley shall stray. feint gf b^a, f Alexander Laing.— Air, " "Wat ye wha cam' here, lassie."] WAT ye wha cam' here yestreen ? A lad that may fu' weel be seen ! My luck for gowd I wadna gi'e, I'm just as blythe as blythe can be ; — His frien'ly bow, an' frank gude e'en. He gied them baith to sister Jean , But a' the time as I could see. His kindly looks he gied to me. His frien'ly look, &c. 1 wadna gi'e his looks yestreen. For a' the blythesome sights I've seen— I've waited lang, an' wearied been. But a' my fears were tint yestreen. A father's house — a pantry fu' O' meal to bake, and maut to brew ; They're nae to sHcht nor cast awa'. But his kindly looks are worth them a'. A father's house, &c. ^jsxie, tf t|)©m hn. [This was written by Robert Crawturd, and appears in the Tea-Table Miscellany, 1724. The -. - beautiful air called " My dearie, if thou die" is «>V? older than Ramsay's day, but the original words A^ of the song are supposed to be lost.] Love never more shall give me pain. My fancy's fix'd on thee : / -^ Nor ever maid my heart shall gain , V6*) My Peggie, if thou dee. S Thy beauties did such pleasure give. Thy love's so true to me ; Without thee I shall never live. My dearie, if thou dee. 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, Xor such perfection see : Then I'U renounce all womankind, My Peggie, after thee. 2S" o 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 destined day is done. With Peggie let me dee. Ye powers that smile on virtuous love. And in such pleasures share. Ye who its faithful flames approve. With pity view the fair: Restore my Peggie's wonted charms. Those charms so dear to me ; Oh, never rob them from those arms — I'm lost if Peggie dee. iE uttu*^ 1^2 ^nm ©* t^e fe?a«. [TrxE, " Fy let us a' to the bridal."] On Tysday gaun out i' the e'enin' Amang the green woodlands alane, I heard a fair maid complainin' An' making a pityfu' maen ; An' this was the mournfu' occasion, The source o' the saut gushin' tear. An' burden o' her lamentation, " Auld Wattle's the waur o' the wear." Ye birds in the green woodlands singing, Ye shepherds o' dark ravin' Dee, Ye rocks and ye wild echoes ringing. Ye cleughs fu" o' gladness an' glee ; ^-&m^^ 494 SCOTTISH SONGS. Owre Jeanie's sad fate dinna swagger. Your music delights na her ear. It sends to her heart like a dagger, " Auld Wattie's the waur o' the wear." My daddy for luve o' the tocher, Ga'e sour-gabbit grey-beard his Jean, The body dow naething but clochar. An' grane like a brownie at e'en ; Ilis jaws canna chow a saft bannock. He growls like a Norawa bear. The verra weans cry through the winnock, " Auld Wattie's the waur o' the wear." Gley'd Gibbie thraws on his grey jacket. It kivers a rukle o' banes. An' lilts awa' hame like a cricket, An' craws owre his cleckin' o' weans. An' lingle-tall'd Tibbie, their mither, Ca's hini baith her joy an' her dear, Gude sen' Josie Tait an' his tether. For Wattie's the waur o' the wear. Now wae to the weary psalm-lelter, Wha thrice i' the kirk fill't my ee, An' wae to the haly sin-pelter, VTha kijjpl't the carl to me. An' wae to the grey colt that carry't The sorrowfu' bride o' Troqueer, An' dool to the day 1 was marry't To Wattle the waur o' the wear. )aii!i^ afea'. ^R [First published as an old song with additions in the second volume of Ramsay's Tea-Table Mis- cellany. — Tune, " Donald."] DONAI.D. O, COMB awa', come awa". Come awa' wi' me, Jenny ! Sic frowns I canna bear frae ane, Wh.ise smiles ance ravish'd me, Jenny. If you'll be kind, you'll never find That ought shall alter me, Jenny ; For ye're the mistress of my miml, Whate'er ye think of me, Jenny ! First when your sweets enslaved my heart, Ye scem'd to favour me, Jenny ; Bjt now, alas I you act a part That spejikd Inconstancie, Jenny. Inconstancie is sic a vice. It's not befitting thee, Jenny; It suits not with your virtue nice. To carry sae to me, Jenny. Jennv. O, baud awa', bide awa', Ilaud awa' frae me, Donald ! Your heart is made ower large for ane — It is not meet for me, Donald. Some fickle mistress you may find Will jilt as fast as thee, Donald ; To ilka swain she will prove kind. And nae less kind to thee, Donald : But I've a heart that's naething such ; •Tis fiU'd wi' honestie, Donald. I'll ne'er love mony; I'll love much; I hate all levitie, Donald. Therefore nae mair, wi' art, pretend Your heart is chain'd to mine, Donald ; For words of falsehood ill defend A roving love like thine, Donald. First when ye courted, I must own, I frankly favour'd you, Donald ; Apparent worth and fair renown Jlade me beliL-%-e you true, Donald: Ilk virtue then seem'd to adorn The man esteem'd by me, Donald ; But now the mask's faun aff, I scorn To ware a thocht on thee, Donald. A nd now for ever baud awa', Haud awa' frae me, Donald ! .Sae, seek a heart that's like your ain, And come nae mair to me, Donald : For I'll reserve mysel' for ane. For ane that's liker me, Donald. If sic a ane I canna find, I'll ne'er lo'e roan, nor thee, Donald. Donald. Then I'm the man, and fause report Has only tauld a lie, Jenny ; To try thy truth, and make us sport. The tale was raised by me, Jenny. Jenny. When this ye prove, and still can love, Tlien come awa' to me, Donald ! I'm weel content ne'er to repent That I ha'e smiled on thee, Donald ' SCOTTISH SOKGS 49-5 [This can be traced no farther back thjin to David Herd's collection, 1776. The author is unknown. — Tune, "Donald."] O, wii-i- ye ha'e ta tartan plaid. Or will ye ha'e ta ring, matam ? Or wil: ye ha'e ta kiss o' me ? And tat's a pretty ting, matam ! Haud awa', bide awa', Haud awa' frae me, Donald ! I'll neither kiss nor ha'e a ring ; Xae tartan plaids for me, Donald ! O, see ye not her ponnie progues. Her fecket-plaid, plue, creen, matam ? Her twa short hose, and her twa spoigs. And a shoulter-pelt apeen, matam ? Haud awa', bide awa', Haud awa' firae me, Donald ! Xae shoulder-belts, nae trinkabonts, isae tartan hose for me, Donald ! Her can pe show a petter hough Tan him tat wears ta croun, matam ; Hersel' ha'e pistol and claymore, To fley ta Lallan t loon, matam. Haud awa", haud awa', Haud awa' frae me, Donald Tor a* your houghs and warlike .irms, You're no a match for me, Donald. Hersel' ha'e a short coat, pi pocht No trail my feets at rin, matam ; A cutty sark o' goot ham sheet, 3Iy motter she pe spin, matam. Haud awa', haud awa', Haud awa' firae me, Donald ; Gae hame and hap your naked houghs. And fash nae mair wi' me, Donald. Ye's ne'er pe pidden work a turn ' At ony kind o' spin, matam ; But shug your laeno (cluld) in a scull, | And tidel Highland sine, matam. 1 Haud awa', haud awa', Haud awa' frae me, Donald I . Tour jogging sculls and Highland sang | Will sound but harsh wi' me, Donald, a In ta morning, when bim ri«e, Ye'se get fresh whey for tea, matani • Sweet milk and ream as much you please. Far sheeper tan Pohea, matam. Haud awa', haud awa', Haud awa' frae me, Donald ! I winna quit my morning's tea — Your whey wUl ne'er agree, Donald. Haper Gaelic ye'se pe learn. And tat's ta ponny speak, matam ; Ye'se get a cheese, and butter kirn : Come wi' me kin ye like, matam. Haud awa', haud awa', Haud awa' frae me, Donald ! Your Gaelic and your Highland cheer Will ne'er gae down wi' me, Donald. Fait, ye'se pe get a siller protch, Pe pigger tan ta moon, matam ; Ye'se ride in currach 'stead o' coach. And wow put ye'U pe fine, matam. Haud awa', haud awa', Haud awa' frae me, Donald ! For a' your Highland rarities, Ye're no a match for me, Donald. What I 'tis ta way tat ye'll pe kind To a pretty man like m.e, matam ! Sae lang's claymore hangs py my side I'll nefer marry tee, matam ! O, come awa', come awa'. Come awa' wi' me^ Donald • I wadna quit my Highland man ; Frae Lawlands set me free, Donald : Fl! tm^ t^g lofcex. [William Fergusson.] I'LL tend thy bower, my bonnie May, In spring-time o' the year. When saft'ning winds begin to woo The primrose to appear — When daffodils begin to dance. And streams again flow free. And little birds are heard to pipe On the sprouting forest tree. mw-^ ■^i^:^i3^ r'^'Mj^^'^i^mi^^^- ''^ ■196 SCOTTISH SONGS. Ill tend thy bower, my bonnie May, Wlwn summer days are lang — ■V^'hen nature's heart is big wi' joy. Her voice laden wi' sang — When shepherds pipe on sunny braes. And flocks roam at their will. And auld an' young in cot an' ha', 0' pleasure drink their fill. I'll tend thy bower, my bonnie May, When autumn's yellow fields^ That wave like seas o' gowd — before The glancin' sickle yields ; When ilka bough is bent wi' fruit — A glorious sight to see !— And showers o' leaves, red, rustling, sweep Out owre the withering lea. I'll tend thy bower, my bonnie Slay, When through the naked trees, Cauld, shivering on the bare hill side. Sweeps wild the frosty breeze ; When tempests roar, and billows rise. Till nature quakes wi' fear- Anil on the land and on the sea. Wild winter rules the year. §BLU\Qt\\t ge laumt^ ©f f ^^. [WoRBs by Miss Jj printed.] SET Eyland. — Here first Farewelt., ye haunts of joy, farewell Ye scenes of love and glee. Oh bonnie groves o' Roseniount dell, Ye'U smile nae mair for me ; I'm dreary now, I'm left alane. Without a hope to ca' my ain. The jewel o' my heart is gane Far, far ayont the sea. The last fond look my laddie gave. The parting words he said, I'l! bear in mind till in my grave My weary head is laid ; It may be fancy cheats my heart. And pains my head wi' wily art. But ah, wi' life I'll sooner part Than break the vows we made. It's sair to think on friendship fled. And live while hope decays ; It's sair to seek amang the dead The love o' early days ; . But wha can thole the dreary gloom That fills a lover's living tomb ? Oh wha can bide the bitter doom That seals my nameless waes ? Te stars and winds and things that guide The wand'rer to his rest. Ye cheer wi' dreams o' joyous pride The weary-laden breast ; But ah ! for me there shines nae ray O' balmy hope's returning day, — The tear o' death .ilone will say My heart is in the West. mx^ Um. [The words of this song occur in the third volume of the Tea-Table Miscellany. The tune is old : that of " Lewie Gordon" is borrowed from it. "Tarry woo," says Burns, " is a very 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." Burns was probably right in his conjecture. There is a couplet in Sir John Clerk's song of the " Miller," given at page 178, borrowed from " Tarr>' woo:" — " Who'd be a king ? — a petty thing. When a miller lives so happy." This is very similar to the close of the last verse— Who'd be a king J can ony tell, ^^'hen a shepherd sings so well ? It may interest many readers in the present song when they know that it was Sir Walter Scotfs almost only one. His voice as a singer belonged to that large class of human voices denominated timber -toned; and when called on for a song at a convivial meeting, he generally gotoflf by striking up a verse of " Tarry woo."] Tarry woo, tarry woo. Tarry woo is ill to spin ; Card it weil, card it weil. Card it weil, ere ye begin. When its cardit, row'd, and spun. Then the wark is haflins done ; But, when woven, dress'd, and clean. It may be cleadin' for a queen. ^'my'^'^^/:m^'-i^m:lay-day is coming— our wedding an' a', Sae weary na, lassie, though I gang awa'. Our gigglet young lasses are sairly mista'en, They ken at the place wi* his honour I've been, I -•in'taen the plough-haudin' o' bonnie Broomlee, But they kenna wha's coming to haud it wi' me. They ken i' the e'enings I'm aften frae hame ; ! They say wi' a lass, 'cause I look na to them ; I They.iamph an' they jeer, an' they banter at me, An' twenty they've guess'd o', but never guess'd thee. I'll sing the haill day, when your dwellin' I'm near; I'll whistle when ploughin' as fkr's you can hear, An' aye when I see you, gin nae bodie see, I'll blink to my lassie— my lassie to me. An' aye till that time baith at kirk an' at fair. In taiken o' true love, dear lassie, ye'll wear The green-tartan rockley, my keepsake to thee — An' I the white owerlay ye gifted to me. ^^^%V7 S TOiJi0t hU tf)n. [Tins is th- name vi a very oM Scottish air. I It lias been attributed to Pureell, the English j composer, but it is found in MS. music books long before his day. Both Kamsay and Robert j C'rawfurd wrote words to the tune, which appear | in the Tea-Table Miscellany. We give Ramsay's ] As from a rock past all relief. The ship^vreck'd Colin spying His native soil, o'ercome with grief. Half sunk in waves, and dying : With the next morning sun he spies A ship, which gives unhop'd surprise ; New life springs up, he lifts his eyes With joy, and waits her motion. So when by her whom long I lov'd, I scorn 'd was, and deserted. Low with despair my spirits mov'd. To be for ever parted : Thus droop'd I, till diviner grace I found in Peggy's mind ai.d face ; Ingratitude appear'd then base. But virtue more engaging. Then now since happily I've hit, I'll have no more delaying ; Let beauty yield to manly wit. We lose ourselves in staying: I'll haste dull courtship to a close, i^ince marriage can my fears oppose. Why should we happy minutes lose, t-ince, Peggy, I must love thee? Men may be foolisii, if they please. And deem't a lover's duty. To sigh, and sacrifice their ease. Doting on a proud beauty ; Such was my case for many a year. Still hope succeeding to my fear. False Betty's charms now disappear. Since Peggy's far outshine theni. [Robert Cp.AwrrKD.] Beneath a beech's grateful shade. Young Colin lay complaining ; He sigh'd and seem'd to love a maid. Without hopes of obtaining : For thus the swain indulged his grief. Though pity cannot move thee. Though thy hard heart gives no relief. Yet, Peggy, I must love thee, .Say, Peggy, what has Colin done, That thus thou cruelly use him ? If love's a fault, 'tis that alone, • For which you should excuse him : Twas thy dear self first rais'd this flame. This fire by which I languish; 'Tis thou alone can quench the same. And cool its scorching anguish. For thee I leave the sportive plain. Where every maid invites me; For thee, sole cause of all my pain. For thee that only slights me : This love that fires my faithful heart By all but thee's commended. Oh : would thou act so good a part, ^ly grief might soon be ended. '^ :^s^^^^:^s>m -^ mm^'^^m!^i^ ^m^^^£- 499 SCOTTISH SO^"GS That beauteous breast, so soft to feel, Seem'd tenderness all over, Tet it defends thy heart like steel, 'Gainst thy despairing lover. Alas ! tho' it should ne'er relent, Sot Colin's care e'er move thee, Tet till life's latest breath is spent, ily Peggy, 1 must love thee. ©, ^IriTsa tfjir/ife. [Alex. M'Gilvbat.— Tune, Eetum."] The Traveller's O I Di>-XA think, though we, guidwife. May sometimes disagree ; Though twice ten years we ha'e been wed, Thou'rt not as dear to me. As dear to me as e'er thou wert TVlien handsome, young, and gay. Our hearts and hands we fondly join'd. Upon our bridal day. What though the beauties of thy face And form begin to fail ; "What though the bloom fcrsakes thy checks. Thy rosy lips grow pale ? And what although thy dark blue eyes No more like diamonds shine, — Thy once unrivall'd shape and air Appear no more divine ? The charms that first secur'd my heart. In thee remain the same; An' fan within my bosom still, A never-dying flame. You still possess a pleasant look, A calm unruffled mind ; A soothing voice, a faithful heart,— Complaisant, warm, an' kind. Thy constant care has ever been To smooth life's rugged way ; With happy smiles to brighten up The darkest dreary day. When care or sickness wrung my heart. An" round me fortune lower'd; Into my thrilling bosom still The healing balm ye pour'd. Round ev'ry tale to me you've told, And eVry song you've sung. And ev'ry spot where we have been, A hallow'd charm is flung. How dear to me the broomy knowes. The greenwood's fragrant shade. The flow'ry fields, the verdant banks. And braes where we have stray'd ! Oh ! many a pleasant hour we've past. And happy day we've seen. Could we but live to see our bairns As bless'd as we have been, Content we'll leave this earthly scene. And bow to heav'n's decree. In hopes we all shall meet again. And blest for ever te. GsIe ^^ti.Ux„ [The exquisitely beautiful tune of " Gala Water" is known to be very old, tut nothing can be said of its precise era. Dr. Haydn, the celebrated German composer, admired it, and wrote on the music-sheet of it a note in his best English: "This one Dr. Baydn fnvourite son^." The old words of the tune are lost, with the ex- ception of the two following verses : Eraw, braw lads of Gala water, Braw, braw lads of Gala water ; I'll kilt my ccats aboon my knee. And follow my love through the water. O'er yon bank and o'er yon brae. O'er yon moss amang the heather, I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee. And follow my love through the water." In Herd's, Johnson's, and other collections, two verses are added to these, which properly belong to the song called " The lassie lost her silken r snood." The following version of " Gala Water" 1 1 is by BuRxs, and was written by him in January, r 1793, for Thomson's collection. It may be added, I ' that the Gala is a small stream which rises in Mid n Lothian, runs south, and falls into the Tweed above Melrose.] h There's braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes, 1 1 That wander through the blooming heather : [| But Yarrow braes, nor Ettrick shaws, ^5^:s?- SCOTTISH SOXGS. /0 SaniHtoB me. [The tune of " To Daunton me" is at least more than a hundred years old, as it is to be found in Oswald, (1740.) The following words are chiefly byBuB.Ns, and were written by him for Johnson's Museum. Part of the chorus and some of the rest of the words are old.] The blude-red rose at Yule may blaw. The summer lUies bloome in snaw. The frost may freeze the deepest sea ; But an auld man shall never daunton me ! To daunton me, and me sae young, "Wi' his fause heart and flatterin' tongue ! That is the thing ye ne'er shall see ; For an auld man shall never daunton me. For a' his meal, for a' his maut. For a' his fresh beef and his saut. For a' his gowd and white monie. An auld man shall never daunton me. His gear may buy him kye and yowes. His gear may buy him glens and knowes ; But me he shall not buy nor fee ; For an auld man shall never daunton me. He hirples twa-fauld, as he dow, ■\Vi' his teethless gab and auld bauld pow. And the rain rins doun frae his red-bleard e'e : That auld man shall never daunton me. [JACOBITE VEESIO>'.] [In Hogg's "Jacobite Eeliques" we have i less than three Jacobite songs with the title " To Daunton me," and another to the san tune. Vi'e give the first and the best. It is al to be found in Cromek.] To daunton me, and me sae young. And guid king James's auldest son ! O, that's the thing that ne'er can be ; For the man is unborn that'll daunton me ! O, set roe ance on Scottish land. My guid braidsword into my hand. My blue bonnet abune my tree, And shaw me the man that'll daunton n^e It's nae the battle's deadly stoure, Nor friends proved false, that'll gaur me cov But the reckless hand o' povertie, O, that alane can daunton me. High was I bcm to kingly gear. But a cuif cam' in my cap to wear; But wi' my brr adsword I'll let him see He's nae the man to t'.aunton me. O, I ha'e scarce to lay me on, Of kingly fields were ance my ain, Wi' the muir-cock on the mountain bree ; But hardship ne'er can daunton me. Up cam' the gallant chief Lochiel, And drew his glaive o' nut-brown steel. Says, Charlie, set your fit to me. And shaw me wha will daunton thee ! [The tune called " The Banks of Forth" was composed by Oswald, and published in 1741. We cannot say whether the following song, which ap- pears in Herd's collection, 1776, is the original one to which the air was adapted or not. Its author is unknown. In the same collection (Herd's) is another song to the same tune, begin- ning, "Te sylvan powers that rule the plain, "Where sweetly winding Foitha glides. Conduct me to these banks again. Since there my charming Molly bides." But it is unnecessary to quote it, as it has nothing particularly to recommend it, and it is long.] Awake, my love ! with genial ray. The sun returning glads the day. Awake; the balmy zephyr blows. The hawthorn blooms, the daisy plow-. The trees regain their verdant pride. The turtle woos his tender bride ; To love each warbler tunes the song, j, And Forth in dimples glides along. ^^ •C- i^^^|9g^tiSS2^<^>^l^^*^Sii;^i^:^ j-^, icyr ■^mv^'^p=^7^i^^^-mi':^i^-'*m&(:^^ v:.o3 SCOTTISH SONGS. 1^ :;*.* ■^^A ^^ 'fj Oh, more than blooming daisies fair: More firagrant than the vernal air ! More gentle than the turtle dove, Or streams that murmur through the grove 1 Bethink thee all is on the wing, These pleasures wait on wasting s^Ting ; Then come, the transient bliss enjoy, Nor fear what fleets so fast will cloy. %\t mztivXt ^z%\. [This is one of Ramsav's songs in the Tea Table Miscellany. It was written to a tune called "The Boatman," which resembles much the old air, " Nancy's to the greenwood gane." " There is a tradition," says Mr. Chambers, "mentioned by the Rev. James Hall, in his Travels through Scotland, [2 vols. 1S07,] that the early song upon which Ramsay founded the above, was composed on the preference which Mary of Guise gave to our James V., as a hus- band, over the English Henry VIII.*] Yr. gales, that gently wave the sea, And please the canny boat-man. Bear me frae hence, or bring to me Jly brave, my bonnie Scot -man. In haly bands we joined our hands. Yet may not this discover. While parents rate a large estate Ii.-fore a faithfu' lover. But I loor chuse, in Highland glens j To herd the kid and goat, man. Ere I could, for sic little ends, ' Refuse my bonnie Scot-man. i Wae worth the man, wha first began The base ungenerous fashion, ; Frae greedy views love's art to use. While strangers to its passion ! Frae foreign fields, my lovely youth. Haste to thy longing lassie. Who pants to press thy balmy mouth, And in her bosom hause thee. Love gi'es the word ; then, haste on board ; Fair winds and tenty boat-man, AVaft o'er, waft o'er, frae yonder shore. My blythe, my bonnie Scot-man. [ [The following song was written by Joseph 1 Mitchell to an old melody, which resembles in its character a church tune, called " Rothe's Lament." Pinkie House is the name of the seat I of Sir John Hope, Bart., situated near the town of Musselburgh. From this song the tune is I now called " Pinkie House," and the old name I " Rothe's Lament" is drorped. Mitchell w.13 I the son of a stone-mason, and was bom in 16S4. I He was author of a tragedy called Fatal E.\trava- 1 ganee, of an opera called the Highland Fair, and of two volumes of Poems, published in 1729. He ' died in 1738. Long before his death, be got in- j tro luced to Sir Robert Walpole, the celebrated Whig minister, by whom he was liberally patron- ized, ins )much that he used to be called the Pre- mier's Poet. Besides " Pinkie House" Mitchell wTOte another song to the same tune, beginnini; , " As Sylvia in a forest lay," which has sometimes been erroneously ascriU-d to David Mallet.] Bv Pinkie House oft let me walk. And muse o'er Nelly's charms ! Her placid air, her winning talk. Even envy's self disarms. O let me, ever fond, behold Those graces void of art — Those cheerful smiles that sweetly hold In willing chains, my heart ! O come, my love ! and bring anew That gentle turn of mind ; That gracefulness of air in you By nature's hand design'd. These, lovely as the blushing rose. First lighted up this flame. Which, like the sun, for ever glows Within my breast the same. Ye light coquettes ! ye airy things ! How vain is all your art ! How seldom it a lover brings ! How rarely keeps a heart ! O gather from my Nelly's charms That sweet, that graceful ease. That blushing modesty that warms. That native art to please ! ^ .^T^^^^-v^^^;^-^.^^ ^.^s^*?Mix^-^^'^iji^'^^^mm^ SCOTTISH SO^-G; Come then, my love I O, come along ! And feed me with thy charms ; Come, fair inspirer of my song ! Oh, fill my longing arms I A flame like mine can never die. While charms so bright as thine. So heavenly fair, both please the eye. And fill the soul divine i :tx ^0^12, [" OwEK Bogie'' is a term applied to irregular or runaway marriages. The tune so called is a fine old one, but used to be sung to very indiffe- rent words. The following is Eamsay's version. The first four lines are all that belong to the ori- ginal song.] I WILL awa' wi' my love, I wiU awa' -wi' her. Though a' my kin had sworn and said, I'll ower bogie wi' her. If I can get but her consent, I dinna care a strae ; Though Uka ane be discontent, Awa' wi' her I'll gae. For now she's mistress o' my heart. And wordy o' my hand ; And, weel I wat, we shanna part For siller or for land. Let rakes delight to swear and drink. And beaux admire fine lace ; But my chief pleasure is to blink On IJetty's bonnie face. There a' the beauties do combine. Of colour, treats, and air ; The saul that sparkles in her een 3Iakes her a jewel rare ; Her fiowin' wit gives shining life To a' her other charms ; How blest I'll be when she's my wife. And lock'd up in my arms '. There blj-thely will I rant and sing, "While o'er her sweets I'll range ; I'll cry. Your humble servant, king. Shame £a' them that wad change. A kiss of Betty and a smile, A'beit ye wad lay down The right ye ha'e to Britain's Isle, And offer me your crown. I [The tune called " Bonnie Jean" is a very old ' Scottish melody. Its full name was originally " Bonnie Jean cf Aberdeen," and there was an ; old song with these words as a burthen, but it is now supposed to be lost. The following written by Ramsay to the old air: both the words : and music appear in the Orpheus Caledonius, , 1-25.] j Love's goddess, in a myrtle grove, I Said, Cupid, bend thy bow with speed, Kor let thy shaft at random rove, ; For Jeany's hauphty heart maun bleed. i The smiling boy with art divine, From Paphos shot an arrow keen, "Which flew, unerring, to the heart, I And kill'd the pride of bonnie Jean. Kae mair the nymph, wi' haughty air. Refuses Willie's kind address ; I Her yielding blushes show nae care, t But too much fondness to suppress. I Kae mair the youth is sullen now, I But looks the gayest on the green, I WTiilst ev'ry day he spies some new I Surprising charms in bonnie Jean. I j A thousand transports crowd his breast, I He moves as light as fleeting wind ; I His former sorrows seem a jest, Kow when his Jeany is turn'd kind -. Riches he looks on wi' disdain ; The glorious fields of war look mean ; The cheerful hound and horn give pain. If absent from his bonnie Jean. The day he spends in amorous gaze, "^Miich ev'n in summer shorten 'd seemi: When sunk in downs, wi' glad amaze, He wonders at her in his dreams. A" charms disclos'd, she looks more bright Than Troy's fair prize, the Spartan queru Wi' breaking day he lifts his sight, And pants to be wi' bonnie Jean. i^^^sm^^^'^.cpt.^'^-iiii'^'mms^'&mi M^mS^0Tf^^^^Sf^f^X^^^'M^^, 504 SCOTTISH SONGS. ^x^. IJs^n it^sg'^ ^ioBimie %B^%k. Nae miiir it will hide; the flame waxes stranger; If she"s not my bride, my days are nne langer: Then I'll take a heart, and try at a venture; May be, ere we part, my vows may content her. She's fresh as the spring, and sweet as Aurora, "When birds mount and sing, bidding day a good morrow : The sward of the mead, enamell'd with daisies. Looks wither'd and dead, when twined of her graces. But if she appear where verdure invite her. The fountains run clear, and the flowers smell the sweeter. 'Tis heaven to be by, when her wit is a-flowing : Her smiles and bright eyts set my spirits a-glowing. The mair that I gaze, the deeper I'm wounded : Struck dumb with amaze, my mind is confounded: I'm all in a fire, dear maid, to caress ye ; For a' my desire is John Hay's bonnie lassie. ||>amtlk. [Both the air and the words of this song are older than Ramsay's day, although the latter ap- pear for the first time in the Tea-Table Miscel- lany. "I have found it asserted," says Mr. Robert Chambers, " by a credible tradition in | Roxburghshire, that this song was written by a working joiner, in honour of a daughter of John, first Marquis of Twetddale, who is here familiarly called by bis simple name, John Hay. She was a sister of the second marquis, who under his junior title of Lord Tester, is usually given as the author of the first version of ' Tweedside.' The '*^f *'■'** Marquis of Tweeddale had two daughters, ••. -' Lady Margaret and Lady Jean ; but. Burns hav- ing somewhere mentioned, that the song was written in honour of one who was afterwards Countess of Roxburghe, we are enabled to set forward the eldest. Lady Margaret, as the heroine. ■V^ We are further enabled, by Mr. Wood's Peerage, h^. to state the probable era of the song. Lady Mar- }05 garet Hay, wife of the third Earl of Roxburghe, was a widow, at the age of twenty-five, in the year 16S2. Allowing from thirteen to five-and- twenty as the utmost range of age during which she could be celebrated as ' John Hay's bonnie lassie," the song must have been written between the years 1670 and 16S2, probably nearer the first era than the last. It may be mentioned as a re- markable circumstance regarding this interesting lady, that she sur^-ived her husband, in uninter- rupted widowhood, the amazingly long period of ecventy-one years. She died at Broomlands, near Ki l3o, on the 23d of January, 1753, at the age of ninety-six, after having seen out several genuni- ■\f* tions of her short-lived descendants ; the thinl ■ 1 y scl' thus away, and dauma discover '^*) To jny bonnie Hay, that I am her lover : w [There was an old song called " The bonniest lass in a' the warld," which is now lost. The tune and title are all that survive. Robert Crawfurd wrote the following song to the tune. It appears in the Tea-Table Miscellany, inscribed "To Mrs. A. H., on seeing her at a concert." The lady was Miss Anne Hamilton, a relation of the poet's friend, Il.amilton of Bangour.] Look where my dear H.ainilla smiles, Hamilla ! heavenly charmer ; See how wi" a' their arts and wiles The loves .ind gr.ices ann her. A blush dwells glowing on her cheeks. Fair feats of youthful pleasures, There love in smiling language speaks. There spreads his rosy treasures. O fairest maid ! I o«n thy power, I gaze, 1 sigh, and languish. Yet ever, ever will adore. And triumph in my anguish. But ease, O cliarmer '. ease my care. And let my torments move thee; As thou art fairest of the fSiir, So I the dearest love thee. ^^^^h^'^:^m:&\'^'MT^j\f^'m^^ SCOTTISH SOKGS. S'l! mt2t hzU tt)$$. [The fine tane of " I'll never leave thee" is of great antiquity, and seems to have been at one time in use in the church, as it is adapted to some spiritual hymns of the sixteenth and seventeenth cen- turies. Ramsav wrote the following words to the tune, retaining the chorus of the old song. Ram- say's song appears in the first volume of the Tea-Table Miscellany, (1724,) and also in the fourth ^y volume of the London Musical Miscellany, (1730.) In the latter work, it is adapted to the tune of /V " A lad and a lassie lay in a killogie," now better known by the name of " Bannocks o' bear meal, bannocks o' barley." To this tune it is also set in Johnson's Museum.] JOHSNT. Though, for seven years and mair, honour should reave me I To fields where cannons rair, thou needsna grieve thee ; For deep in my spirit thy sweets are indented; And love shall preserve aye what love has imprinted. leave thee, leave thee, I'll never leave thee. Gang the warld as it will, dearest, believe me '. Xellv. Oh, Johnny, I'm jealous, whene'er ye discover My sentiments yielding, ye '11 turn a loose rover ; An' nought in the world would vex my heart sairt r. If you prove inconstant, and fancy ane fairer. Grieve me, grieve me, oh, it wad grieve me, A' the lang night and day, if you deceive me ! J0H>T.-T. My KeUy, let never sic fancies oppress ye; For, while my blood's warm, I'll kindly caress ye : Your saft blooming beauties first kindled love's fire. Your virtue and wit mak' it aye flame the higher. Leave thee, leave thee, I'll never leave thee. Gang the world as it wiU, dearest, believe me ! Then, Johnny ! I frankly this minute allow ye To think me your mistress, for love gars me trow ye ; And gin ye prove false, to yoursel' be it said, then. Ye win but sma' honour to wrang a puir maiden. Reave me, reave me, oh, it would reave me Of my rest, night and day, if you deceive me I JOHKNT. Bid ice-shogles hammer red gauds on the studdy. And feir summer mornings nae mair appear ruddy ; Bid Britons think ae gate, and when they obey thee. But never till that time, believe I'll betray thee, leave thee, leave thee ! I'll never leave thee ! The starns shall gae withershins ere I deceive thee. "Sf^fi^^^^^'^\^j; i^'^^!(^^^:^^w' the name of " Duncan M'Calla- gan." The eccentric Archibald Cochrane, author of " The Totums," given at p. 73, used to sing "Duncan M'Callagan" with great effect at his i public exhibitions. On one occasion, at the Glasgow theatre, with the view of suiting in j some measure the action to the word, the word to the action, he sung it mounted on a bona fide \ jackass. But the donkey was impracticable : it ' would not " g.iilop" at the proper places ; and ! instead of unbounded applause, poor Bauldy , only brought down on his head shouts of derision. The version which Cochrane sung began thus : 'Twas for a peck o' meal or niair, Ae night, when coming frae the fair. That Duncan laid, wi' his grey mare, To rin wi' nine or ten, jo. Then aff they set a-galloping, galloping, legs and arms a-walloping, walloping, i " Deil tak' the last !" quo' Duncan Mac- Callagan, Laird o' Tullyben, jo. ! This set of the song was probably Cochrane's own. : We here give a faithful copy of the original, as it ] appears in a small volume entitled, " Poems , chiefly in the Scottish Dialect : by Peter Forbes, Dalkeith : Edinburgh, 1812." Forbes was a gar- dener at Dalkeith. It wUl be seen from his song that the race was not for a wager, but a " riding ] of the broose," or a race at a country wedding from the house of the biide's parents, where the ,1 marriage generally takes pLice, to the house des- tined as her future habitation; the winner of which race has the privilege of kissing the bride, i and welcoming her to her new home, and also | of opening the ball with her. " Brooses," espe- i cially when the bride is pretty and " a toa«t," are j keenly contested races among the young farmers. { They often extend over large tracts of country, in which cases they are always run on horseback. When, however, the distance between the bride's old and new home is slight, they are contended for on foot. Burns, it will be recollected, in his ad- dress to his Auld Mare Maggie, says, "At Brooses thou had ne'er a fellow For pith and speed."] It was at a wedding near Tranent, A\'here scores an' scores on fun were bent. An' to rido the broose wi' full intent. Was either nine or ten, jo ! Then aff they a' set galloping, galloping. Legs an' arms a walloping, walloping. Shame take the hindmost, quo' Duncan Laird o' Jelly Ben, jo. [51'Callpin The souter he was fidgin' fain. An' stuck like roset till the mane. Till smash like auld boots in a drain, lie nearly reach'd his end, jo! Yet still they a' gade, &c. The miller's mare flew o'er the souter. An syne began to glow'r about her. Cries Hab, I'll gi'e ycu double niouter. Gin ye '11 ding Jelly Ben, jo. Then still they a' gade, &c. Xow Will the weaver rode sae kittle, Te'd thought he was a fl\ing shuttle. His doup it daddet like a bittle. But wafted till the end, jo. Yet still they a' gade, &c. The taylpr had an awkward beast. It funket first an' s>-ne did reest. Then threw poor snipe five ell at least. Like auld breeks, o'er the mane, jo. Yet a' the rest gade, &c. The blacksmith's beast was last of a'. Its sides like bellowses did blaw. Till he an' it got sic a fa'. An' bruises nine or ten, jo. An' stUl the lave gade, &c. Uow Duncan's mare she flew like drift. An' aye sae tist her feet did lift. Between ilk stenn she ga'e a rift. Out frae her hinder end, jo. Yet aff they a' gade, &c. Now Duncan's mare did bang them a'. To rin wi' him they manna fa', Then up his grey mare be did draw. The broose it was his ain, jo. >"ae mair wi' him they'll gallop, they'll j gallop, [wallop, Kae mair wi' him they'll wallop, they'll ' Or they will chance to get some jallup, Frae the laird o' Jelly Ben, jo. S^^jS'm<^M^^i^-m-'i^<^0^^-^m^^^ ;-^s^*^^^5^^'^.^^^r^_^^'^^ SCOTTISH S0XG3. [Written by Joh>- Robertson* of Paisley about the year 1793. It is to be lamented that the dis- tress of that period, which is here half jocularly depicted, has been succeeded in recent days by a much deeper and more universal state of priva- tion.] Preserve us a" ! what shall we do, Thir dark unhallowed times ? We're surely dreeing penance now. For some most awfu' crimes. Sedition daurna now appear. In reality or joke. For ilka chiel maim mourn wi' me, O' a hinging toom meal pock. And sing. Oh waes me '. When lasses braw gaed out at e'en. For sport and pastime free, I seem'd like ane in paradise. The moments quick did flee, like Venuses they a' appeared, Weel pouthered was their locks, 'Twas easy dune, when at their hame, Wi' the shakins o' their pocks. And sing. Oh waes me I How happy past my former days, Wi' merry heartsome glee. When smiling fortune held the cup, And peace sat on my knee ; Xae wants had I but were supplied. My heart wi' joy did knock, ■VMien in the neuk I smiling saw A gaucie weel fiU'd pock. And sing. Oh waes me ! Speak no ae word about reform. Nor petition Parliament, A wiser scheme I'll now propose, I'm sure ye'U gi'e consent — Send up a chiel or twa like me. As a sample o' the flock, Whase hoUow cheeks will be sure proof, O' a hinging toom meal pock. And sing. Oh waes me ! And should a sicht sae ghastly like, ] Vt'i' rags, and banes, and skin, Ha'e nae impression on yon folks, j But teU ye'Il sbind ahin : ' O what a contrast will ye shaw. To the glowrin' Lunnun folk. When in St. James' ye tak' your stand, Wi" a hinging toom meal pock. And sing. Oh waes Hie ! Then rear your hand, and glowr, and stare Before yon hills o' beef. Tell them ye are frae Scotland come. For Scotia's relief," Tell them ye are the vera best, Wal'd frae the fattest flock. Then raise your arms, and Oh ! dispby A hinging to -m meal pock. And sing. Oh waes me 1 Tell them ye're wearied o' the chain That bauds the state thegither. For Scotland wishes just to tak' Gude nicht wi' ane anither. We canna thole, we canna bide. This hard unwieldy yoke. For wark and want but Ul agree, Wi' a hinging toom meal pock. And sing. Oh waes me ! ^1^ ^tm l^sn. [James Hogg.] Loose the yett, an let me in. Lady wi' the glistening e'e, Dinna let your metkial train Drive an auld man out to dee. Cauldrife is the winter even. See, the rime hangs at my chin ; Lady, for the sake of Heaven, Loose the yett, an' let me in ! Ye shall gain a virgin hue. Lady, for your courtesye. Ever beaming, ever new. Aye to bloom an' ne'er to dee. Lady, there's a lovely plain Lies beyond yon setting sun. There we soon may meet again — Short the race we ha'e to run. 'Tis a land of love an' light ; Rank or title is not there. High an' low maun there unite. Poor miin, prince, an' lady fair ; i i \^.m.^-»^.;.'^-^^^£^-:3^<^^!^: !>-■ CU 508 f SCOTTISH SONGS. t^y M ^ m ^ ^. ^ There, w liat thou on earth hast giveu, JJoubly shall be paid again ! Lady, for the sake of Heaven, Loose the yett, an' let me in ; Ulessings rest upon thy head. Lady of this lordly ha' ! That bright tear that thou did'st shed Fell nae down amang the snaw .' It is gane to heaven aboon. To the fount of charitye ; When thy days on earth are done. That blest drop shall plead for thee. [James Hogg.] sAinLY may 1 rue the day 1 fancied first the womenkind ; For aye sinsyne I ne'er can ha'e Ae quiet thought or peace o' mind ! They ha'e plagued my heart an' pleased my e"c, An' teased an' flatter'd me at will. But aye for a' their witcherye. The pawky things I lo'e them still. O the women fo'k ! O the women fo'U ! But they ha'e been the wreck o' me ; O weary fa' the women fo'k, For they \vmna let a body be ! 1 ha'e thought an' thought, but darna tell, I've studied them wi' a' my skill, I've lo'ed them better than mysel', I've tried again to hke them ill. AVha sairest strives, will sairest rue, To comprehend what nae man c.^n ; When he has done what man can do. He'll end at kist where he began. O the women fo'k, &c. That tbey ha'e gentle forms an' meet, A man wi' half a look may see ; An' gracefu' airs, an' Cices sweet. An' wa\'ing curls aboon tlie bree ; An' smiles as soft as the young rose-bud. An' e'en sae pawky, bright, an' rare. Wad lure the laverock frae the cludd — But, laddie, seek to ken nae mair ! U the women fo'k, &e. Even but this night nae farther gane, The date is neither lost nor lang, I tak' ye witness ilka ane. How fell they fought, and fairly dang. Their point they've carried right or wrung, AVithout a reason, rhyme, or law. An' forced a man to sing a sang. That ne'er could sing a verse ava. O the women fo'k ! O the women fo'k ! But they ha'e been the WTeck o' me ; O weary fa' the women fo'k. For they winna let a body be ! 3Ii1I 181 feiaike» [James Hogg.] O, MOTHER, tell the laird o't, Or sairly it will grieve me, O, That I'm to wake the ewes the night, And Annie's to gang wi' nie, O. I'll wake the ewes my nicht about. But ne'er wi' ane sae saucy, <), Nor sit my lane the lee-lang night Wi' sic a scornfu' lassie, O : I'll no wake, I'll no wake, I'll no wake wi' Annie, O ; Nor sit my lane o'er night wi' ane t^ae thraward an' uncanny, u : Bear son, be wise an' warie. But never be unmanly, O ; I've heard ye tell another bile Of young an' charming Annie, O. The ewes ye wake are fair enough. Upon tlie brae sae bonny, ; But the laird himsel' wad gi'e them a' To wake the night wi' Annie, O. He'll no wake, he'll no wake. He'll no wake wi' Annie, O ; Nor sit his lane o'er night wi' ane Sae thraward an' uncanny, O ! I tauld ye ear', I tauld yc late. That lassie wad trapan ye, O ; An' illia. word ye bouil to say When left alane wi' Annie, ! Take my advice this night for ancc. Or beauty's tongue will ban ye, O, An' sey your leal auld mother's skill Ayont the muir wi' Annie, O. I; £^^t^i^>^^t^'^?^y-^-.:§srG^^'^:g5?A2^, ^ ( SCOTTISH 50>'GS. .5()r) He'll no wake, heil no wake. He'll no wake wi' Annie, O. ^or sit his lane o'er night wl' ane Sae thraward an' uncanny, O ! The night it was a simmer night. An' oh ! the glen was lanely, O, For just ae stemie's gowden e'e Peep'd o'er the hill serenely, O. The twa are in the flow'ry heath, Ayont the muir sae fiowy, O, An' but ae plaid between them baith, An' wasna that right dowie, O ? He maun wake, he maun wake. He maun wake wi' Annie, O ; An' sit his lane o'er night wi' ane Sas thraward an' uncanny, O : Xeist morning at his mother's knee He blest her love unfeign'dly, O ; An' aye the tear fell frae his e'e. An' aye he clasp'd her kindly, O. " Of a' my griefs I've got amends. In yon wild glen sae grassy, O ; A woman only woman kens, — Tour skill has won my lassie, 0. I'll aye wake, I'll aye wake, I'll aye wake wi' Annie, O, An' sit my lane Uk night vd' ane Sae sweet, sae kind, an' canny, !" Csk^smsi. [James Hogg.] Cai.cdonia ! thou land of the mountain and rock. Of the ocean, the mist, and the wind— Thou land of the torrent, the pine, and the oak. Of the roebuck, the liart, and the hind : Though bare are thy clifls, and though barren thy glens. Though bleak thy dun islands appear, Yet kind are the hearts, and undaunted the clans. That roam on these mountains so drear ! A foe from abroad, or a tjTant at home, Could never thy ardour restrain ; The marshall'd array of imperial Kome Essay'd thy proud spirit in vain ! J Firm seat of religion, of valour, of truth, Of genius unshackled and free. The muses have left all the vales of the south, My loved Caledonia, for thee ! Sweet land of the bay and the wild -winding deep Where loveliness slumbers at even, WhUe far in the depth of the blue water sleeps A calm little motionless heaven ! Thou land of the valley, the moor, and the hill. Of the storm and the proud rolling wave — Yes, thou art the land of fair liberty still. And the land of my forefathers' grave ! Hmijib©ii?k, [About twenty years ago, this was a popular street song. It was written by the Ettrick Shepherd to the tune of " Braes of TuUimet."] Will ye gang wi' me, lassie. To the braes o' Birniebouzle ? Baith the yird an' sea, lassie. Will I rob to fend ye. I'U hunt the otter an' the brock. The hart, the hare, an' heather cock, An' pu' the limpet aff the rock. To batten an' to mend ye. If ye'll gang wi' me lassie. To the braes o' Birniebouzle, TUl the day you dee, lassie. Want shall ne'er come near ye. The peats I'll carry in a scull, The cod an' ling wi' hooks I'll pull. An' reave the eggs o" mony a gull. To please my dainty dearie. Sae canty will we be, lassie. At the braes o' Birniebouzle, Bonalil Gun and me, lassie. Ever sail attend ye. Though we ha'e nowther milk nor meal, ' 2.'or lamb nor mutton, beef nor veal, AVe'U fank the porpy and the seal. And that's the way to fend ye. An' ye saU gang sae hraw, lassie, | At the kirk o' Birniebouzle, Wi' littit brogues an' a', Lissie, ' Wow but ye'll be vaunty : (fc^«S.^^^S^m^-^^5S^^5^?<9%^i ;^- ^^^^■^m^^^k^'^£?m-^^m'i^^^. 510 SCOTTISH SOKGS. VI 3 ^>=> ^n' you sail wear, when )ou are wed. The kirtle an' the Heeland plaid. An' sleep upon a heather bed, Sae cozy an' sac canty. If ye'll but many me, lassie. At the kirk o' Bimiebouzle, A' my joy shall be, lassie. Ever to content ye. I'll bait the line and bear the pail, An' row the boat and spread the sail, An' drag the lany at my tail. When mussel hives are plenty. Then come awa' wi' me, lass-e, To the braes o' Birniebouzle ; Bonny lassie, dear lassie. You shall ne'er repent ye. For you shall own a bught o' ewes, A brace o' gaits, and b)Te o' cows. An' be the lady o' my house. An' lads an' lasses plenty. ®iii^ SJo|n HuoL '^ ^ fi [James Hooo.] I'T.i, sing of an auld forbear of my ain, Tweeddlum, twaddlum, twenty-one, A man that for fun was never outdone, And his name it was Auld John Nicolo' Whun. Auld John Kicol he lo'ed his glass, Tweedlum, twaddlum, twenty-one. An' weel he likit the toast to pass. An' it's hey for brave John Nicol o' Whun ! Auld John Nicol gaed out to fight, &c. But a' gaed wrang that should ha'e gane riRht, &c. Then auld John Nicol kneel'd down to pray. But never a word John Xicol could say. Auld John Xieol he lo'cecn in the well to the chin. w " Shame fa' it !" quo' John, " I ofton ha'e thought Wha wins at woman will lose at nought ; But I ha'e heart to do ill to nane, Sae I will e'en mak' the lassie my ain." Then Auld John Nicol he got a wife. And he never got siccan fun in his lif€ ; — Now, John Nicol he sings frae morn till e'en, Tweeddlum, twaddlum, twenty-one. The happiest man that ever was seen. An' it's hey for brave John Nicol o' Whun ' 'B'b^ Ea^ie^' <^JjeEmg ^©ncr. [James Hooo.] O THE glass is no for you. Bonny laddie, O ! The glass is no for you. Bonny laddie, O ! The glass is no for you. For it dyes your manly brow, An' it fills you ro.irin' fu'. Bonny laddie, O ! Then drive us not away Wi' your drinkin', O I We like your presence ma!r Than you're thinkin' O'. How happy will you be In our blythesome conipanye. Taking innocence and glee For your drinking, O ! Now your e'en are glancing bright. Bonny laddie, O ! Wi' a pure an' joyfu' light. Bonny laddie, O ! But at ten o'clock at night. Take a lady's word in plight. We will see another sight. Bonny laddie, O ! There's a right path an' a wrang. Bonny laddie, U ! An' you needna argue lang. Bonny laddie, O ! For the mair you taste an' see ()' our harmless companye. Aye the happier you will be. Bonny laddie, O ! ■P^ yfi^'i^^^Mi'^^m^0^^^m< [Written by Burns for Thomson's collection to the tune of " Cauld kail in Aberdeen."] CosiE, let me take thee to my breast. And pledge we ne'er shall sunder; And I shall spurn, as vilest dust. The warld's wealth and grandeur : And do I hear my Jeanie own. That equal transports mcve her ? I ask for dearest life alone That I may live to love her. Thus in my arms, wi' a' thy charms, I clasp my countless treasure ; I'll seek nae mair o' heaven to share. Than sic a moment's pleasure : And, by thy een sac bonnie blue, I swear I'm thine for ever ! And on thy lips I seal my vow. And break it shall I never. Duncan M'Clkart, an' Janet his wife, Duncan M'Cleary, he play'd on the fife; Janet she dauncit, quhill she cried wearie, " Unco weel dauncit," quo' Duncan M'Cleary. Duncan 51'Cleary an' Janet M'Cleary, Duncan was blin", an' Janet was blearie. He was deafish beside, an' couldna' just hear aye; " There's nae muckle matter," quo" Janit M'Cleary. Duncan M'Cleary an' Janet his wife. War peaceable bodies an' vitet a' strife; She rubbit his beard, an* he ca'ed her his dearie ; O couthie was Duncan wi' Janet M'Clearj . Duncan M'Cleary an' Janet his wife. They toitet an' toilet thc-gither through life ; When Duncan was doufif, Janet never was cheerie, Sae aesome was Janet an' Duncan M'Cleary. Duncan M'Cleary an' Janet M'Clearj-, Tho' lovin' an' sweet, the twa couldna wear aye ; Sae Duncan he dset, and Janet grew drearic, ^ An' soon stappit awa' after Duncan M'Cleary. ■^^f Wtcji, [From Herd's Collection.— Tune, " Leni ^ Love to Blantjre."] The wren scho lyes in care's bed. In care's bed, in care's bed ; The wren scho lyes in care's bed. In meitle dule and pyne, O. When in cam' Kobin Redbreist, Eedbreist, Redbreist ; "UTien in cam' Robin Eedbriest, Wi' succar-saps and wine, O. >"ow, maiden, will ye taste o' this. Taste o' this, taste C this i Xow, maiden, will ye taste o' this ? It's succar-saps and wine, O. >'a, ne'er a drap, Eobin, Robin, Eobin; !Xa, ne'er a drap, Robin, Though it were ne'er sae fine, O. And Where's the ring that I gied ye. That I gied ye, that I gied ye ; And Where's the ring that I gied ye. Ye little cutty -quean, O '■> I gied it tiU a soger, A soger, a soger; I gied it till a soger, A true sweetheart o" mine, O. %. ^.zi^xfi m.^xi^tn. [Edward Poli.n.— Here first printed.] A' Kix's o' lads an' men I see. The youngest an' the auldest — The fair, the dark — the big, the wee — The blatest and the bauldest ; An' mony a laughin", canty ane. An' mony a coxin sly man — Hech sirs ! — "mang a' the lads that rin, I won'er wha'U be my man ! I won'er whar he is the noo— I won'er gin he 's near me. An' whar we'll meet at first, an' hoc. An' whan he'll come to speer me. I won'er gin he kens the braes. The bonnie braes whar I ran— "W'as't there he leeved his laddie days ' — I won'er wha'll be my man ! gudesake ! hoo I wish to ken The man that I'm to marry. The ane amang sae mony men : — I wish 1 kent a fairy. Or ony body that can see A far'er gate than I can — 1 won'er wha the chiel's to be — I won'er wha'll be my man ; But losh na ; only hear to me. It's neither wise nor bonnie. In asking wha the lad may be — I'll maybe ne er get ony ; But if for me indeed there's ane, I think he's but a shy man To keep me crying late an' sune " I won'er wha'll be my man!" OTri^ feiarfm' %tKt\, [Ta>-nahili.. — Air, "Sweet Annie frae the sea beach came." — Arranged by Smith.] With waefu' heart, and sorrowing e'e, I saw my Jamie sail awa"; O 'twas a £atal day to me. That day he pass'd the Berwick Law : How joyless now seem'd all behind ! I ling'ring stray'd along the shore ; Dark boding fears hung on my mind That I might never see him more. The night came on with heavy rain. Loud, fierce, and wild, the temptst blew ; In mountains roU'd the awful main— Ah, hapless maid ! my fears how true ! The landsmen heard their drowning cries, The wreck was seen with dawning day ; My love was found, and now he lies Low in the isle of gloomy May. O boatman, kindly waft me o'er ! The cavern'd rock shall be my home ; 'TwUl ease my burthen'd heart, to i>our Its sorrows o'er his grassy tomb "With sweetest tiowers I'll deck his grave, And tend them through the langsome year , I'll water them ilk morn and eve. With deepest sorrow's wannest tear. •2 K ^ ^ /^ I asi«s.*'Mga3»ais^«sss*-«%a5Si ^m&'^^:Bm:^iim^^s:^^i^m. :^.r;^ 'U SCOTTISH SONGS. i ^^t songs.— The first is to the tune of " The braes of | "-' Ualquhidder."] The hairst now is owre. An* the stacks are a' theekit ; The bam -yard is fu'. An' the yetfs fairly steekit. The potatoes are up. An' are a' snugly pitted ; The crap C the puir man For winter fiire fitted. O how happy the hynd AVha's laid in for the winter, AVi' his eldin an' meal. His cow an' bit grunter. Though he toil a' the day. Through the cauld sleety weather, By his ingle at e'en It's forgot a' thegither. Syne the bairns are drapin' in Frae the neist farm-steadina. To claver owtc the news ; Or speak o' new cleadins: Ilk ane tells his tale. The day's simple story ; An' the cottar's fireside Is a' in its glorj- .' The Jockies and Jennies Are joking and jeering. An' proud o' the braws. They ha'e won at the shearing. An' courtship is rife. An' ilk look has a meaning. As an e'e meets an e'e. In the edge o' the e'ening. There's love in ilka lane. In ilka fine gloamin'; An' bridals there will be. At Martinmas coming. Their minds are a' made up. An' a' thing looks cheerie ; O lang may it last, — Ilk lad wi' his dearie. [Andrew Mercer.] ■When the iaia one, and the dear one— Her lover by her side,— Strays or sits, as fancy flits. Where yellow streamlets glide ; Gleams illuming— flowers perfuming— AVhere'er her footsteps rove ; Time beguiling with her smiling, O that's the hour of love! "WTjen the fiair one, and the dear one. Amid a moon-light scene, — Where grove and glade, and light and shade Are all around serene — Heaves the soft sigh of ecstacy, ■While coos the turtle dove. And in soft strains— appeals— complairis- O that's the hour of love I Should the fair one, and the dear one. The sigh of pity lend. For human woe that presses low, i A stranger or a friend ; ^: ^'?i-"tM- '^Wi if^m$'& SCOTTISH SONGS. 515 Tears descending, sweetly blending. As down her cheeks they rove. Beauty's charms in pity's arms ; O that's the hour of love 1 When the fair one, and the dear one. Appears in morning dreams, — In flowing vest — by fancy drest, — And aU the angel beams '. The heavenly mien, and look serene. Confess her from above ; "VMiile rising sighs, and dewy eyes. Say, that's the hour of love I "^^xmi ^y^^ f-f.f Ist^u, [The original verses, or at least what are sup- posed to be the oldest verses, to the favourite old :dr called " Tiirough the wood, laddie," are very long, and not worth quoting. They begin thus : " As Philermon and Phillis together did walk. To the woods they did wander. To the woods they did wander. As Philermon and PhUlis together did walk. To the woods they did wander. Together did talk :" Ramsay wrote two sets of verses to the tune. The first is, like the above, very long, but much superior to it as a piece of composition. It begins, " As early I walk'd on the first of sweet ilay. Beneath a steep mountain. Beside a clear fountain, I heard a grave lut« soft melody play, "WTiile the echo resounded the dolorous lay." "We content ourselves with quoting here Ramsay's second song to the tune, which still retains a pkice in the collections.] O, Saxdt, why leave thus thy 2f eUy to mourn ? Thy presence could ease me, VV hen naething can please me ; Xow dowie I sigh on the bank o' the bum. Or through the wood, ladiie, until thou return. Though woods now are bonnie, and mornings are clear. While lav'rocks are singing. And primroses springing; Tet nane o" them pleases my eye or m.y ear. When through the wood, laddie, ye dinna appear. ' Tiiat I am forsaken, some spare not to tell; I'm fash'd wi' their scornin' Baith e'enin' and momin ; Their jeering gaes aft to my heart wi' a i:nel!. When through the wood, laddie, I wander n.jsel'. Then stay, my dear Sandy, nae langer awaj ; But, quick as an arrow. Haste here to t'ny marrow, 'V\Tia's living in languor till that happy day. When through tlie wocd, laddie, thegither we'll gae. Steem ^lult^. [The following song was written by Kamsav, and appears in the Tea-Table Miscellany. It is called " Green Sleeves" from the name of the tuns to which it is adapted. Tiiis tune is of great antiquity, and was popular in England as well as in Scotland more than two centuries a^o. The old words to the tune began " Green sleeves and pudding pies,'' ' and were in ridicule of the Popish clergy, tut < extremely coarse. Besides " Green Sleeves," the tune is also known by the name of " Xobody can deny," that being the burthen of various English ballads, which are sung to it. Gay in his " Bee- ' gar's Opera" (1727; adopts the tune of " Grtcn Sleeves" for one of the songs sung by Macheath, | beginning, " Since laws were made for every degree."] ; Te watchful guardians of the fair. Who skiff on wings of ambient air^ ; Of my dear Delia take a tare. And represent her lover With all the gaiety of youth , With honour, justice, love, and truth ; Till I return, her passions soothe, Ftr me in whispers move her. Be careful no base sordid slave. With soul sunk in a golden grave. Who knows no virtue but to savej ■\A'ith glaring gold bewitch her. Tell her, for me she was design'd. For me who knew how to be kind. And have mair plenty in my mind, i Than ane who's ten times richer. t '^'^k m^^sm3^^t:fM:^^^^^m^ ^^) .'536 SCOTTISH SONGS, ^ r» y ^ '^' I>t all the world ttirn upside down. And fools rin an et'-mal round. In quest of what can ne'er be found, To please their vain ambition ; Let little minds prcat charms espy, In shadows which at distance lie, Whose hop'd-for pleasure when come nigh. Proves nothing in fruition : I3ut cast Into a mould divine. Fair Delia does with lustre shine, Her virtuous soul's an ample mine, Which yields a constant treasure. Let poets in sublimest lays. Employ their skill her fame to raise ; Let sons of music pass whole days. With well-tuned reeds to please her. [The practice of two parties wetting respec- tively their right-hand thumbs with their tongues, and then pressing each thumb against the other, in confirmation of a bargain or engagement, was common to many ancient nations, and can still le traced among the Moors and other tribes. In Seotland, the custom is not yet altogether ex- tinct, but it is chiefly confined to boys. The name of the Scottish air called, " There's my thumb, I'll ne'er beguile thee," has relation to the old rude ceremony of pressing thumbs, but the origi- nal words to the tune are supposed to lie lost. We have, however, still two songs which now may be considered old, adapted to the tune. The first is by Eamsav, and appears in the Tea-Table Jliscellany (vol. I. 1724.) The second appears in the Orpheus Caledonius, (1725,) and looks very like a production of Ramsay's too.] Mv sweetest May, let love incline thee T" accept a heart which he designs thee ; And as your constant slave regard it. Syne for its faithfulness reward it. 'Tis proof a-shot to birth or money. But yields to what is sweet and bonnie ; Receive it, then, with a kiss and 8mi)y ; There's my thumb, it will ne'er beguile ye. How tempting sweet these lips of thice are * Thy bosom white, and legs sae fine are. That, when in pools I see thee clean 'em. They carry away my heart between 'em. I wish, and 1 wish, while it gaes duntin', O gin 1 had thee on a mountain 1 Though kith and kin and a' should renle tbee. There's my thumb, I'll ne'er beguile thee. Alane through flow'ry howes I daunder. Tenting my flocks, lest they should wander; Gin thou'U gae alang, I'll daute thee gaylie. And gi'e my thumb I'll ne'er beguile thee. O my dear lassie, it is but daffin'. To baud thy wooer up niff-naffin' : That Na, na, na, I hate it most vilely; O say. Yes, and I'll ne'er beguile thee. II. Betty, early gone a Maying, Met her lover, Willie, straying ; Drift, or chance, no matter whether, This we know, he reason'd with her: Mark, dear maid, the turtles cooing. Fondly billing, kindly wooing ; See how ev'ry bush discovers Happy pairs of feather'd lovers. See the op'ning blushing roses. All their secret charms discloses ; Sweets the time, ah ! short's the measure, O' their fleeting, hasty pleasure ; Quickly we must snatch the savour Of their soft and fragrant flavour ; They bloom to-day, and fade to-morrow. Droop their heads, and die in sorrow. Time, my Bess, will leave no traces of those beauties, of those graces ; Youth and love forbid our staying, Love and youth abhor delaying. Dearest maid,— nay, do not fly me, I^t your pride no more deny me ; Never doubt your faithful Willie— There's my thumb, I'll ne'er begnlle thee. m^m. W M [This appears in the second vol. of the Tea Table Miscellany, to the tune of " I'll gar ye be fain to follow me."] He. Adieu, for a whUe, my native green plains. My nearest relations, my neighbounng swains ; Dear Xelly, frae those I'd start easily free. Were minutes not ages, while absent frae thee. She. Then tell me the reason, thou dost not obey The pleadings of love, but thus hurry away ? Alake ! thou deceiver, o'er plainly I see, A lover sae roving will never mind me. He. The reason unhappy is owing to late. That gave me a being without an estate, ' "V\'Tiich lays a necessity now upon me, To purchase a fortune for pleasure to thee. Sire. , SmaU fortune may serve where love has the sway, ' Then Johnny be counseled na langer to stray, ; For while thou proves constant in kindness to me, • Contented 111 aye find a treasure in thee. ;s^- s^m^ i:%-'3!B^^^:^i%,S^|;^^S^' ^S5^??^liS^^^^^!i>5g^^ ^■0 . 518 SCOTTISH SONGS. Us. cease, my dear charmer, else soon I'll betray A weakuess unmanly, and quickly give way To fondntss, which may prove a ruin to thee, A pain to us baith, and dishonour to me. Bear witness, ye streams, and witness, ye flowers. Hear witness, ye watchful invisible powers, 1 fever my heart be unfaithful to thee, May naething propitious e'er smile upon me. & i} Jennie was the lassie that mucked the byre, s. But now she is clad in her silken attire; /^ And Jockie says he lo'ts her, and swears he's nic { forgot; — May the shame fa' the gear and the blaithrie ot : But all this shall never daunton me, Sae lang as I keep my fancy free; Fo;- the lad that's sae inconstant he is nut wo a groat : — May the shame fa' the gear and the blaithrie ' ^:^ ^ R ["The Blaitherie o't," or, as it is otherwise called, " The Baigrie o't," is the name of a fine old Scottish song and tune, the authorship or exact age of either of which, however^ cannot be ascertained. Kelly, in his Scots Proverbs, says, "'Shame fall the gear and the bladry o't,' is the turn of an old Scottish song, spoken when a young handsome girl marries an old man, upon the ac- count of his wealth." Kelly's work was published in 1721, so that in that day the song, in some shape or other, must have existed, yet we cannot find it in Ramsay's Tea-Table Miscellany. There are extant two versions of "The Blaithrie o't" very much alike, and as they are neither of them long, we shall give both. The first seems to be the expression of a cmintrj- maiden, whose lover, getting rich, deserts her for another with money— and there is something inexpressibly af- fecting in the manner in which the poor girl tells her story, her proud spirit disdaining to acknow- ledge to be in the least "daunton'd" by the cruel desertion. The second version seems to be rather a convivial or " deil-me-care" song. It appears in Yair's Charmer (1749,) and also in Herd's and other collections.] I. Whkx 1 think on this world's pelf. And the little wee share I ha'e o't to mysflf. And how the lass that wants it is by the lads for- got. May the shame fa' the gear and the blaithrie o't! Jockie was the laddie that held the pleugh. But now he 's got gowd and gear enough ; He thinks nae mair o" me that wears the plaiden coat : — Slay the shame fa' the gear and the blaithrie o't ! ^■ II. When 1 think on this warld's pelf, And how little o't I ha'e to myself, I I sich and look down on my thread -bare coat; I Yet the shame tak' the gear and the baigrie o't I , Johnnie was the lad that held the pleuch, I But now he has gowd and gear eneuch ; I I mind well the day when he was na worth i groat — And the shame fa' the gear and the baigrie o't ! Jenny was the lassie that muckit the byre. But now she goes in her silken attire ; And she was a lass wha wore a plaiden coat — O, t)ie shame fa' the gear and the baigrie o't : Vet a' this shall never daunton me, .'^ae lang as I keep my fancy free ; While I've but a penny to pay the t'other pot, jSIay the shame fa' the gear and the baigrie o't ! ®^e SSIaitljtie o't m ["Thr following is a set of this song," says Bums, " which was the earliest song I remember to have got by heart. When achild, an old woman sung it to mc, and I picked it up, every word, at first hearing." — From " the afi'airs of the kirk and the queen" being mentioned in the last verse, the song probably belongs to the reign of queen Anne.] O Willy, wcel I mind, I lent you my hand To sing you a song which you did me command ; But ray memory's so bad, 1 had almo.^ forgot That you called it the gear and the blaithrie o't.— ^0^^'m>^^^^-f'^^~^^'^^^^>m^^ *i^e^'*5f^^::;g^^£^f^-^«i? I'll not siug about confusion, delusion, or pride, ■ I'll sing about a laddie was for a virtuoiis bride ; For virtue is an ornament that time will never rot. And preferable to gear and the blaithrie o't. Tho' my lassie ha'e nae scarlets or silks to put on. We envy not the greatest that sits upon the throne; I wad rather ha'e my lassie, tho' she cam' in her smock, Than a princess wi' the gear and the blaithrie o't. Tho' we ha'e nae horses or menzie at command, We will toU 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 ha'e ony babies, we'll count them as lent; Ha'e we less, ha'e we mair, we will aye be content; For they say they ha'e mair pleasure tliat wins but a groat. Than the miser wi' bis gear and the blaithrie o't. I'll not meddle wi' th' affairs o' the kirk or the queen ; [them swim ; They're nae matters for a sang, let them sink, let On your kirk I'll ne'er encroach, but I'U hold it still remote, Sae tak' this for the gear and the blaithrie o't. I" BLijfK o'er the bum, sweet Betty," is the name of an old Scottish tune to which we have different words. There must hiave been an old English song with a similar burthen, as the fol- lowing verse is quoted in King Lear, Act iii. Scene vi. " Come o'er the bourn, Bessy, to me : Her boat hath a leak And she must not speak, ■\Vhy she dares not come over to thee." We give here two sets of the old words, the first on the authority of Bums, the second on that of JlotherweU.] I. Blink o'er the bum, sweet Betty ; It is a cauld winter night,— It rains, it hails, and it thunders. The moon she gi'es nae light. SONGS. It's a' for the sake C sweet Betty That ever 1 tint my way : lassie, let me creep ayont thee. Until it be break o' day. It's Betty shall bake my bread, And Betty shall brew my ale; And Betty shall be iny love, "When I come over the dale. Blink over the burn, sweet Betty, Blink over the bum to me ; And while I ha'e life, my dear lassie, 3Iy ain sweet Betty thou's be. II. Blink over the bum, sweet Betty, Blink over the bum to me ; 1 would gi'e a' I had in the warld But to be a widow for thee. In summer I mawed my meadow. In hairst I shure my com. In winter I married a widow, X wish she was dead the mom. Blink, &c. The youth he was wamphlin' and wandy The lassie was quite fu' o' glee, And aye as she cried to the laddie. Come down bonnie Tweedside to me. Blink, &c. Come meet me again ne'er to sever. Come meet whare nae body cai: set, I canna think ye're a deceiver, And mean but to lichtlie me. BUnk, &c ^htn S^ritg. K '^;i ^ I I S>' [Thb following song, to the tune of " Blink over the bum, sweet Betty," was written by Joseph Mitchell, early in the last century. We have given a short notice of Mitchell in a previous Xote.] Leave kindred and friends, sweet Bettv, Leave kindred and friends for me : Assur'd thy servant is steady To love, to honour, and thee. m^ifh^-^^^^i^m I ^ff^^w/'li I ^ ^ ^ '5^ The gifts of nature and fortune May floe by chance as they came ; They're prounds the destinies sport on, 13ut virtue is ever the same. Although my fancy were roving, Thy charms so heav'nly appear. That other beauties disproving, I'd worship thine only, my dear. And should life's sorrows embitter The pleasure we promis'd our loves, To share them together is fitter. Than moan asunder like doves. (ih ! were I but ance so blessed. To grasp my love in my arms ! By thee to be grasp'd and kissed ! ' And live on thy heaven of charms ; I'd laugh at fortune's caprices. Should fortune capricious prove ; Though death should tear me to pieces I'd die a martyr to love. '^\^t to« ®etmaE Eaif^b* [This is one of the most spirited of all the Jacobite songs, and was one of the most popular. The presumption is, that it was written after the accession of George I. to the throne of Britain in 1714, but where or when it flrstappeared, we can- not say. The version which we here follow is that given in Hogg's " Jacobite Relics of Scot- land," vol. I. Edinburgh, 1819. Hogg set the ■words to music, and boasts that his tune sup- planted the old one.] WiiA the deil ha'e we gotten for a king, Uut a wee, wee German lairdie ? And, when we gaed to bring him hanie, lie was delving in his kail-yardle: Bheughing kail, and laying leeks. But the hose, and but the breeks ; A nd up his beggar duds he decks— This wee, wee German lairdie. And he's clapt down in our gudeman's chair. The wee, wee German lairdie; And he's brought fouth o' foreign leeks. And dibbled them in his yardie. He's pu'd the rose o' English loons, And broken the harp o' Irish downs; But our thistle taps will jag his thumbs — This wee, wee Ginnan laiixlie. Come up amang our Highland hills. Thou wee, wee (Jerman lairdie. And see the Stuart's lang-kail thrive They dibbled in our yardie: And if a stock ye dare to pu'. Or haud the yoking o' a plough. We'll break your sceptre o'er your mou'. Thou wee bit German lairdie. Our hills are steep, our clcns are deep, Xae fitting for a yardie ; And our Norland thistles winna pu', Thou wee bit German lairdie : And we've the trenching blades o' weir, AVad prune ye o' your German gear— We'll pass ye 'neath the claymore's shear. Thou feckless German lairdie ! Auld Scotland, thou'rt ower caald a hole For nursin' sicc.an vermin ; But the very dougs o' England's court They bark and howl in German. Then keep thy dibble in thy ain hand. Thy spade but and thy yardie ; For wha the deil ha'e we gotten for a king. Cut a wee, wee German lairdie ? [Aktek the above severe Jacobite effusion, it \— f* may be but fair to give a Whig song on the other ^|^^ side of the question. Burns was mistaken thinliing that all the politic.il songs of the were in favour of the Stu.art dynasty, but not to be denied, that those on that side were by V| far the most numerous and the best. The follow- t^^ I ing was written on the rebellion of '45, and sung ^\ j to the tune of " Lillibulero, buUen a la," (Uncle Aj) j I Toby's tune.) Lillibulero, bullen a la, were the ,y pass words used by the Catholics during the ^ dreadful Irish massacre of 1641.] ^ « P5 O BROTHER Sandie, hear ye the news ? Vifi Lillibulero, bullen a la. An army 'g just coming without any shoes, Lillibulero, bullen a la. ken in ^ "v period ->A at it is '\>J/ ^m^^^^sm^^i^^&'^r?^^'%^& SCOTTISH SONGS. To arms, to arms ! brave boys, to arms ! ' A true BritUh cause for your courage doth ca'; Court, country, and city against a banditti, Lillibulero, bullen a la. The pope sends us over a bonnie young lad, I Lillibulero, &e. | Who, to court British favour, wears a Highland i Lillibulero, &c. [plaid, j A protestant church from Rome doth advance, Lillibulero, &e. And, what is more rare, it brings freedom from ' Lillibulero, &c. [France, , If this shall surprise you, there's news stranger yet, Lillibulero, &c. He brings Highland money to pay British debt, Lillibulero, &c. You must take it in coin which the country affords, Lillibulero, &c. Instead of broad pieces, he pays with broad swords, Lillibulero, &c. And sure this is paying you in the best ere, i Lillibulero, &c. I For who once is thus paid will never want more, Lillibulero, &c. To arms, to arms ! brave boys, to arms ! A true British cause for your courage doth ca'; Court, country, and city against a banditti, Lillibulero, bullen a la. Witr) t^ r)? taxi;:'. [Alexander Hcme. — Here first printetl. Wn-i do ye tarry, Bonnie ship Mary ? Why do ye linger so far far frae me ? Winds, will ye waken ? Xe'er your breath slacken. But O, breathe kindly, my love's on the sea. Not even find weather To ruffle a feather Of the poor sea bird, so gentle is she ! But if you'll not send My dear love to land, O, bear this kiss hence in swiftness with thee ; Whisper not to her Who is the wooer. She'll know by the kiss, that the kiss con.es fro; Ulv^ song is of undoubted an- y~\ isfactory can be told re- ny^ lording to some accounts, ^^j 8) [This deeply pathetic song i tiquity, but nothing satis garding its history. Accordi the subject of it is said to have been Lady Barbara ^"- Erskine, wife of the second marquis of Douglas, who, in 1670, was abandoned by her husband on S^JJ account of some scandal, but this is extremely (>V3 apocryphal, as the song is clearly the lamentation of a forsaken girl, not a wife.] If o' her nature You had a feature, STe'er could you harm the frail barqu WALT, waly up the bank. And waly, waly down the brae. And waly, waly yon burn-side, WTiere I and my love wont to gae ! 1 lean'd my back unto an aik, I thoucht it was a trusty tree ; But first it bow'd, and syne it brak : Sae my true love did lichtlie me. O waly, waly, but love be bonnie A little time while it is new ; But when it's auld it waxes eauld. And fades away like the morning dew. wherefore should I busk my heid. Or wherefore should I kame my hair ? For my true love has me forsook. And says he'll never love me ma:r. ^'ow Arthur's Scat shall be my bed, The sheets shall neer be press'd by me St. Anton's Well shall be my drink. Since my true love has forsaken n'.e. 3Iartinmas wind, when wilt thou blaw. And shake the green leaves aff the tri.'; O, gentle death, when wilt thou come •' For of my life I am wearie. /■^T^v ' i-a&a- s:i>/\rrfTM dry eriXTi-- j; SCOTTISH SONGS *- J ^•i f^-., & ^ii. •Tis not the frost that freezes fell, Xor blawing snavv's inclemencie ; 'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry : But my lore's heart's grown cauld to n "U'hen we came in by Glasgow toun. We were a comely sicht to see ; >Iy love was clad in the black velvet. And I mysel' in cramasie. But had I wist, before I kiss'd. That love had been sae ill to win, I'd lock'd my heart in a case of gold. And pinn'd it wi' a siller pin. Oh. oh : if my young babe were born. And set upon the nurse's knee, Aud 1 myself were dead and gane. And the green grass growing over me ! [This song was originally written by Thomas D'Ubfev, andj)ublished as a Scottish song in his ; comedy called "The Fond Husband," London, | 1676. Ramsay reprinted it with alterations in his Tea-Table Jliscellany. The tune is the cri- pinal of what is now better known under the name of " Jock of Hazildean."] In January last. On Munanday at mom, As through the fields I past. To view the winter corn, I looked me behind. And saw come o'er the knowe. And glancing in her apron, With a bonnie brent brow. I said, Gooil-morrow, fair maid. And she right courteously Retum'd a beck, and kindly said. Good-day, sweet Sir, to you. I speir'd. My dear, how far awa' Do ye intend to gae ? Quoth she, I mean a mile or twa Out o'er yon broomy brae. Hk. Fair maid, I'm thankfu' to my fate. To have sic company ; For I'm ganging straight that gate, Where ye intend to be. f^^ AVhen we h.id gane a mile or twain, I said to her, Jfy dow. May we not lean us on this jjlain. And kiss your bonnie mou'. She. Kind sir, ye are a wee mistane ; For I am nane of these, I hope you some mair breeding ken. Than to ruffle women's claisc : For may be I have chosen ane. And plighted him my vow, Wha may do wi' me what ho likes, And kiss my bonnie mou'. He. Ka, if ye are contracted, I ha'e nae mair to say : Rather than be rejected, I will gi'e o'er the play ; And chuse anithcr will respect My love, and on me rew ; And let me clasp her round the neck. And kiss her bonnie mou'. She. O sir, ye arc proud hearted. And laith to be said nay, Else ye wad ne'er 'a started For ought that I did say , For women in their modesty. At first thc-y winna bow ; But if we like your company, We'll prove a3 kind as you. MtU of ^i&ergelUs. fi [This is the name of an old song and tune. *^ The latter is to be found in Playford's Dancing tv* Master, printed so far back as 1657. Abergeldy ^X" is an estate in Aberdeenshire.] ^ Bonnie lassie, will ye go, 'WTD ye go, will ye go, Bonnie lassie, will ye go To the birks of Abergeldy Ye sail get a pown of silk, A gown of silk, a gown of silk. Ye sail get a gown of silk. And coat of callimankie. 0^'m.-^^ms^i' lil^l ^^S^Tjg^ivt.^ ^fS37^ SCOTTISH SONG: 523 Ha., kind sir, I dar nac ganr, 1 dar nae gang, I dar nae gun; 2s'a kind sir, I dar nae gang, My minny will be angry. Sair, sair, wad she fo"te, "Wad she flyte, wad she flyte ; Sair, sair, wad she flj-te ; And sair wad she ban me. MxH of it^er&teg. fi^/ [This was composed by Bubns, to the old tnne g^ of " The Birks of Abergeldy," in September, 17S7, /^. while standing under the ^lls of Aberfeldy, near j ^g^ iloness, in Perthshire.] /^'j BoN>- IE lassie, will ye go, AyJ Will ye go, will ye go, I ^ Bonnie lassie, will ye go !^\c> To the birks of Aberfeldy ? /\g~t yovr simmer blinks on flowery braes, '^ And o'er the crjstal streamlet plays ; hsN Come let us spend the lichtsome days fy<^ In the birks of Aberfeldy. j ^ Bonnie lassie, &c. N ^,'' "While o'er their head the hazels hing, ^ji\ The little burdies blythely sing, fs:. Or lichtly flit on wanton wing, ^^ In the birks of Aberfeldy. $^ Bonnie lassie, &c. ^-j^ The braes ascend like lofty wa's, » I [y The foamin' stream deep-ro.aring fa's, /j J O'ei'hung wi' fragrant spreadin' s!ia%Ns, (//■jn The birks of Aberfeldy. \>^^ Bonnie lassie, &c. •^y J The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' flow'rs, /*">H White ower the linn the bumie pours, I ^'^ And, risin', weets wi' mi=ty show'rs \t The birks of Aberfeldy. ^$ Bonnie lassie, &c. ^^\ «-" J let fortune's gift at random flee, • X. . They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me, /"^ Supremely bless'd wi' love and thee, ( f^ In the bb-ks of Aberfeldy. Bonnie lassie. Sec. W^t J^BE in ^Mt^een, [From Herd's collection.] There dwaU'd a man in Aberdeen, And nowthir young nor auld was he. He never wanted wit at will. But wi't was ugly as can be. Mony a lass that had the tocher Wham the carl socht to join AVi' him to draw the pieuch of wedlock. Did the hatefu' task decUne. Tir'd at last wi' sharp denyals. Straight he pass'd to silhe Meg ; She had nowthir wit nor siller. Here, thocht he, I sail nae beg. Save the gowd o' her fair tresses. Bit o' gowd ne'er had the quene , Nor ither jewels in possession. Than the jewels o' her een. Bot alike to her was missing All the gowd that crouns the mynue; Sense, that jewel o' the bosom. She could nowthir buy nor fynde. He came, he saw, he overcame ; The sillie mayden blush'd consent, Hamewart as he bent his travel. Thus he thocht on his intent. " Though this lassie want a noddle, I ha'e wit to make amends ;_ Though I 'am ugly, yet her bewtie In our bairns will ser^'e like ends. " Our childer, I can never doubt it. Will comely as their mither be ; And in wit and prudence surelie Thay will copie after me. " Sne our race will bear perfection Baith in bodie and in saul ; Surelie a niair happy marriage To man's lot docht never fall." Sae the wicht fu' fondlie drerait. Alack the issue was far ither .' The baimis war ugly as th&ir daddie. And thay were foolish as thair mither. «^; i ^ *?'«^V^t^3^^^3i^^£uei?''4^.m^iS^- -vtj^:- ^"^-£^' r>2i SCOTTISH SONGS. v.- ^ g? Sn 1133 J gu^ctorlj. [QuoTBD by Ritson from a manuscript in the British JIuseum as old as the time of Cliarles the first.] Get up, gudewife, don on your claise. And to the market mak' you boune : 'Tis lang time sin" your neebors rase ; They're weal nigh gotten into the toune. ?^jfc ye don on your better goune. And gar the lasse big on the fyre. Dame, do not look as ye wad frow no. But doe the thing whilk 1 desyre. 1 spier what haste ye ha'e, guden' an ! Your mother staid till ye war born ; Wad ye be at the tother can. To secure your throat sae sune this morn<- ? Gude /aith, I haud it but a scorne. That ye suld with my rising mell ; For when ye have baith said and sworne, I'll do but what 1 like mysel'. Gudewife, we maun needs have a care, Sae lang's we wonne in neebor's rawe, O' neeborheid to tak' a share. And rise up when the cock does crawe , For I have heard an auld said sawe, " They that rise last big on the fyre." What wind or weather so ever blaw, 1 lame, do the thing whilk I desyre. Nay, what do ye talk of neeborheid J Gif I lig in my bed till noone. By nae man's shins I bake my breid. And ye need not reck what I have done. Nay, look to the clooting o' your shoone, And with my rising do not mell ; For, gin ye lig baith sheets abune, I'll do but what I will mysel". Gudewife, ye maun needs tik' a care To save the geare that we ha'e won ; Or lye away baith plow and car. And hang up Ring when a' is done. Then may our bairns a-begging run. To seek their mister in the mjTe. Sae fair a thread as we ha'e won I l>aine, do the thing whilk I require. Gudcinan, ye may weel a-begging ganir, Ye seem sae weel to bear the pocke ; Ye may as weel gang sune as syne. To seek your meat amang gude folke. In ilka house ye'U get a locke. When ye come whar your gossips dwell. Nay, lo you luik sae like a gowke, I'll do but what 1 list mysel". Gudewife, you promised, when we were wed, That ye wad me truly obey ; Mess John can witness what you said. And 111 go fetch him in this day : And, gif that haly man will say, Ye's do the thing that I desyre. Then sail we sune end up this fray. And ye sail do what I require. 1 nowther care for John nor Jacke— I'll tak' my pleasure at my ease ; I care not what you say a placke — Ye may go fetch him gin ye please. And, gin ye want ane of a mease. Ye may e'en gae fetch the deil frae helle ; I wad you wad let your japin cease. For I'll do but what I like mysel'. \Vell, sin' it will nae better bee, I'll tak' my share or a" bee gane : The warst card in my hand sail flee, And, i" faith, I wait I can shifte for ane. I'll sell the plow, and lay to wadd the waine, And the greatest spender sail beare the bell : And then, when all the gudes are gane, Dame, do the thing ye list youi'sel'. [This isasweetsingingand rather popular song, but we can say nothing of its authorship. It is here quoted from recitation, and may be imperfect.] 1 c ANN A like you, gentle sir. Although a lainl you be. For weel I like the bonnie lad Wha brought me frae Dundee. And I'll gang awa' wi' Jamie, O, 1 11 pang awa" wi' Jamie, O, I'll gang awa* wi' Jamie O'er the lea ; I'll gang awa' wi' a free gude w'll, , For he's a' the warld lo me. m^^^m^^'^^m:^^^^^^:t-ir^^^m& SCOTTISH SONGS I'll gang wi' Jamie frae Dun'lee, V To cheer the lanesome way ; j His cheeks are ruddy o'er ■wi' health, i He's frolicsome and gay. i And I'll gang, &c. t The laverock mounts to hail the morn^ j The lintwhite swells her throat. But nane o' them's sae sweet or clear As Jamie's tunefu' note. And I'll gang, &c. ©fli me, Mttkt. [Thomas C. Latto.— Here first printed.— Air, ' Loudon's bonnie woods and braes."j Tkll me, dear ! in mercy speak. Has heaven heard my prayer, lassie ? Faint the rose is on thy cheek. But still the rose is there, lassie ! Away, away, each dark foreboding, Heavy days with anguish clouding, Youthfu' love in sorrow shrouding. Heaven could ne'er allow, lassie ! Day and night I've tended thee, "Watching, love ! thy changing e'e ; Dearest gift that heaven could gi'e. Say thuu'rt happy now, lassie. Willie ! lay thy cheek to mine — Kiss me, oh, my ain laddie I Xever mair may lip o' thine Press where it hath lain, laddie 1 Hark ! I hear the angels calling, Heavenly strains are round me failiriL', But the stroke — thy soul appalling— "Tis my only pain, laddie .' Tet the love I bear to thee Shall follow whexie I soon maun be ; I'll teU how gude thou wert to rae — We part to meet again, laddie ; Lay thine arm beneath my head — Grieve n a sae for me, laddie ! I'll thole the doom that lays me dead. But no a tear frae thee, laddie ! Aft where yon dark tree is spreading, ^Vhen the sun's last beam is shedding, AVhere no earthly foot is treading, By my grave thoult be, laddie ! Though my sleep be wi' the dead, Frae on high my soul shail speed, And hover nightly round thy head. Although thou wilt na see, laddie. U n [This song is partly preserved by Herd in his collection, 1776, but is here given with son.e slight additions by Allan Cunningham. It is sunj to a reel tune, originally called " The Lasses o' the Ferry." Tannahill wTote a song with the same burthen, and to the same tune, which 13 also given in t hi s work.] Hey, how, my Johnnie lad. Ye 're no sae kind's ye should ha'e been, For gin your voice I had n^kent, I'm sure I couldna trust my een ; Sae weel's ye might ha'e courted me. And sweetly pree'd my mou' bedeen : Hey, how, my Johnnie lad, Ye're no sae kind's ye should ha'e been. My father, he was at the pleugh, ily mither, she was at the mill ,- 3Iy brother, he was at the moss. And no ane near our sport to spill : A lug to listen was na there. And still less fear o' being seen Hey, how, my Johnnie lad, Ye're no sae kind's ye should ha'e b-fcn. Wad ony lad who lo'ed me weel Ha'e left me a' my liefu' lane. To count the minutes as they crawled. And think life's sweetest moments gane. I wonder what was in your bead, I wonder what was in your ecn. Hey, how, my Johnnie lad, Ye're no sae kind's ye should ha'e l>een. But I shall seek some other lal, AVhose love is upmost in his mind ; As gleg as light, wha has the slight O' kenning when he should be kind. Then ye may woo wi' blinkin' Bess — For you nae mair I'll sigh and green : Hey, how, my Johnnie lad, Ye're no sae kind's ye should ha'e been. <^\ 526 3 ■'A E i ,-■■■) /J Mioe*^ mg l^cait. ["Woe's my heart that we should sunder " is , the name of a very old tune, at least as old as the reign of James the sixth, but the original words to the tune are lost. The two following soncs ore by Bamsay. The second is one of Peggie's . songs in " The Gentle Shepherd.'"] j 1. With broken words, and downcast eyes. Poor Colin spoke his passion tender; And, parting with his Grisy, cries. Ah ! woe's my heart that we should sunder. To others I am cold as snow. But kindle with thine eyes like tinder: Trom thee with pain I'm forced to go ; It breaks my heart that we should sunder. C'h.«iin'd to thy charms, I cannot range. No beauty new my love shall hinder. Nor time nor place shall ever change Jly vows, though we're obligeil to sunder. The image of thy graceful air, And beauties which invite our wonder. Thy lively wit and prudence rare. Shall still be present though we sunder. Vvar nymph, beheve thy swain in this, You'll ne'er engage a heart that 's kinder ; Then seal a promise with a kiss, Alw.iys to leve me thou.;h we sunder. Ye pods ! take care of my dear lass. That as I leave her 1 may find her ; ■VVi;i>n that blest time shall come to pass, "We'll meet again and never sunder. Pheak on— speak thus, and still my grief, Hold up a heart tliat's sinking under These fears that soon will want relief, When Pate must from his Peggy sunder A gentler face, and silk attire, A lady rich, in beauty's blossom. Alack, pf>or me ! will now conspire To steal thee from thy Peggy s bosom. bOXGS. ' ' J I»ae mair the shepherd wha excell'd The rest, whase wit made them to woncUr, Shall now his Peggj-'s praises tell ; Ah ! I can die, but never sunder. Ye meadows, where we alien stray'd. Ye banks, where we were wont to wander. Sweet-scented rucks, round which we play'd. You'll lose your sweets when we're asunder. Again, ah ! shall I never creep Around the knowe with silent duty. Kindly to watch thee, while asktp, ij And wonder at thy manly beauty ? I Hear, heaven, while solemnly I vow, I Tho' thou should'ft prove a wand'ring lover, |! Through life to thee 1 shall prove tme, 'I Kor be a wife to any other. [This song appears in Ruddiman's Edinburgh Magazine for April, 1758. Bums says that the author was a Mr. Macvicah, purser of the Solbay man of war.] Ko more my song shall be, ye swains. Of purling streams, or flowery plains; More pleasing beauties me inspire, And Phtebus tunes the warbUng lyre ; Divinely aided, thus I mean To celebrate my Highland queen. In her, sweet innocence ye'U find. With freedom, truth, and beauty join'd ; From pride and affectation free. Alike she smiles on you and me. The brightest nymph that trips the green, I do pronounce my Highland queen. Ko sordid wish, or trifling jfy. Her settled calm cf mind destroy; Strict honour fills her spotiess soul. And adds a lustre to the whole ; A matchless shape, a graceful mien. All centre in my Highland queen. How blest that youth, whom gentle fate Has destined for so fair a mate ! Has all these wond'rous gifts in store. And each returning day brings more; Xn youth so happy can be seen. Possessing thee, my Highland qttcpn. 3 I 'rfxm~^£mm'i'm^^^~i^''Msi SCOTTISH SONGS. ^In^'g skiitg c@met0ts)©2iBe. [By ^VILLIA>t AxDKBsox, author of " Land- scape Lyrics," &c.— Here printed for the first time. There's plenty come to woo me, And ca' me sweet and fair , There's plenty say t'ney lo'e me. But they never venture mair : They never say t'ney '11 marry, Though love is all their tune. From June to January, From January to June. I canna keep frae smiling. At their flatteries and art, ■V^'i' a' their fond beguiling. They'll ne'er beguile my heart ; For nought can fix a maiden \Vhase heart is warm and true. But vows wi' marriage laden. Though mony come to woo I That a's no gowd that glitters I've either heard or read. And that marriage has its bitters As well as sweets, is said : But though it gets the blame o' Some things that winDa tell. The fau't that folks complain o' Lies aften wi' themsel'. The year, as on it ranges. Within its twalmonths fa'. Shows mony fretful changes, And's lightsome wi' them a'. Though winters tempests thicken. Spring comes wi' cheerful (ace. And summer smiles to quicken A' nature wi' its grace. The year o' life is marriage. And we canna wed too sune, 'V\~nan twa divide the carriage. The wark Is cheerily dune. If one true heart wad ha'e me For better and for worse, "Wi' him I'd gladly share aye, , The blessing and the curse. Ke^lnnt? ^ttkt^.* [From Herd's Collection.] A Southland Jenny, that was right bonnie, Kad for a suitor a Norland Johnnie; But he was sicken a bashful wooer. That he could scarcely speak unto her ; Till blinks o' her beauty, and hopes o' her siller. Forced him at last to tell his mind till her. My dear, quoth he, we'll nae langer tarry. Gin ye can loo me, let's o'er the muir and marry. Come, come awa' then, my Norland laddie. Though we gang neatly, some are mair gawdy ; And albeit I have neither gowd nor money. Come, and I'll ware my beauty on thee. He. Ye lasses o' the south, ye're a' for dressing ; Lasses o' the north mind milking and threshing ; My minny wad be angry, and sae wad my daddy. Should I marry ane as dink as a lady ; For I maun ha'e a wife that will rise i" the morn- ing, Crudle a' the milk, and keep the house a' scolding, Toolie wi' her nei'bours, and learn at my minny, j A Norland Joeky maun ha'e a Norland Jenny. n My fothers only daughter, and twenty thousand pound, Shall never be bestow'd on sic a silly clown : For a' that I said was to try what was in ye ; Ga'e hame, ye Norland Jock, and court your Norland Jenny. [Thb tune and first verse of this song are old. The rest is by Ramsay.] My soger laddie is over the sea. And he wUl bring gold and money to me : And when he comes hame, he'll make me a lady; y.y blessing gang wi' my soger laddie. i 'm^^^ 3Iy (idughty laddie is handsome and bravo, And can as a soger and lover behave ; True to his country, to love he is steady ; There's few to compare with my soger laddie. Sh'eld him, ye angels, frae death in alarms, Return him with laurels to my langing arms ; fcjTie frae all my care ye'll pleasantly free me. When t)ack to my wjslies my soger ye gi'e me. O soon may his honours bloom fair on his brow. As quickly they must, if he gets his due : For in noble actions his courage is ready. Which makes me delight in my sogor laddie. I { }^ [From Ramsay's Gentle Shepherd.] k^ Patik. ( /j3t Hv the delicious warmness of thy mouth, I r^ And rowing eye, which smiling tells the truth, fVv ^ guess, my lassie, that, as weel as I, y.-c) You're made for love, and why should ye deny ? \sr^ Peggy. ' \* But ken ye, lad, gin we confess o'er soon, *~j- \ Ye think us cheap, and syne the wooing's d.-ne : vt ~j The maiden that o'er quickly tines her power, jj^ Like unripe fruit will taste but harfl and sour. ^T '» Patik. V~U But when they hing o'er lang upon the tree, J \ Their Rweetness they may tine, and 3ae may ye: /^ < Red-cheeked you completely ripe appear, ^,/n And I l..ive thol'd and woo'd a lang half yenr. ^^ Pho<*v. ^-^ Then dinna pu' me ; gently thus 1 la' faj7 Into my Patie's arms for good and a' ; \*~vl Hut stint your wishes to this frank embrace, V'j, And mint nae farther till we've got the grace. /W [W. B. Sangster.— Here first printed.— The '^J, Lady on whom these verses are written died at \\ / Madeira, Sth November, 1842.] f\ , 3 Cold, cold's the hand that oft in mine . JS Hath thrill'd with hope and feeling, ^^ And deadly still tlie gentle heart 'GS. Tell me that thou yet art true. And a' my wrongs shall be forgiven ; And when this heart proves false to thee. Yon sun shall cease his course in heaven. But to think I was betray'd. That falsehood e'er our loves should sunder ! To take the flow'ret to my breast. And find the guilefu' serpent under I Could I hope thou'dst ne'er deceive me. Celestial pleasures, might I choose 'em, I'd slight, nor seek in other spheres That heaven I'd find withiu thy bosom. y'.ll <© Eag t^g losi m min?, [Burks. — Tune, " Cordwainer's March."] O LAY thy loof in mine, lassie ; In mine, lass, in mine, lass ; And swear on thy white hand, lass. That thou wilt be mine ain. A slave to love's unbounded sway. He aft has wrought me meikle wae; But now he is my deadly fae. Unless thou be my ain. There's mony a l'ow I've gotten wife and bairns. And they crj- Crowdie evermair. i Ance crowdie, twice crowdlp. Three times crowdie in a day: Gin ye crowdie ony raair, ' Ye'U crowdie a' my meal away Waefu' want and hunger fley me, Glowrin' by the hallau en' : Sair 1 fecht them at the door ; But aye I'm eerie tliey come ben. Ance crowdie, ficc. i^2 ^^vh 0^f ^ajig mt [The air called "Oaye my wife she dang me" >:'^ is old, and there are old words to it, but of a very , ' l\ ' coarse character. Burns manufactured the fo!- t'iv^ I lowing verses from the old song, retaining .ts , '• " I spirit and subduing its coarseness.] 1 sTV O, AY my wife she dang me, • X^ And aft my wife she banged me ! ^^ If ye gi'e a woman a' her will, tS\ Gude faith, she'll soon owergang ye. Q") I On peace and rest my mind was bent. And, fool I was, I married ; But never honest man's intent As cursedly miscarried ! O, ay my wife, &c. Some sair o" comfort still at last. When a' thir days are dune, man — ily pains o' hell on earth are pa.*t, I'm sure o' heaven abooii, niun. O, ay my wife, &c. 1-a gon fSair^jr.. [GivBJ* in Johnson's Museum, (vol. VI. 1803,) ' from the singing of the publisher's father, Charles Johnson, who said it was an old song in his youtii: c-r days.] " 6t Ih yon garden fine and gay, Picking lilies a' the day. Gathering flowers o' ilka hue, i 1 wioti;a then what love could do. ^^^^l^''/s^gs^^'4iB^^^^^^^j|^i^ ^^^^^^t^^:^m^rmj^ "Where love is planted there it grows , It bads and blows lite any rose ; It has a sw eet and pleasant smell ; Ko ilower on earth can it excel. I put my hand into the bush. And thought the sweetest rose to find ; But pricked my finger to the bone. And left the sweetest rose behind. [Written by Robert Jamieson, and published in his Popular Ballads and Songs, (Edinburgh, 1806.) The tune called " Bobbing John" is an old English one.] Hey for bobbing John ! Kittle up the chanter I Bang up a strathspey. To fling wi' John the ranter. Johnnie's stout an' bald, is'e'er could thole a banter; Bein in byre and Ciuld, An', lasses, he's a wanter. Bacli as braid's a door ; Bowhought like a filly ; Thick about the brawns. An' o'er the breast and belly. Hey for bobbing John ! Kittle up the chanter : Queans are a' gane gyte. To fling wi' John the ranter. Bonnie's his black e'e, Blinkin', blythe, and vogie, "Wi' lassie on his knee, In his nieve a coggie ; Syne the lad will kiss. Sweetly ki^ an' cuddle ; Cauld wad be' her hsart. That could wi' Johnnie wiJdle. Sonse fa' bobbing John ; "Want aa' wae gae by him ; There's in town nor land Xae chiel disna envy him. FUngin' to the pipe. Bobbing to the fiddle, Koeif was ilka lass. That could wi' Jolinnie meddle. sEsJiia ^-^uire in "^mxM. \\ [This is the name of an old song and tune. ! The old words, however, are very coarse, and r BuRxs altered them as foUows for Johnson's Ij Museum, applying them to himself in the charac- 1; ter of a poet. The tune is sometimes erroneousiy 1 called "Bobbing John."] Boris shure in hairst ; I shure wi' him : Fient a heuk had I, Yet I stack by him. I gaed up to Dunse, To warp a wab o' plaidin' ; At his daddie's yet, WTia met me but Kotia ? "Wasna Eobin bauld,. Though he was a cottar. Played me sic a trick. And me the ellers doohter: Robin promised me A' my winter's vittle ; Fient haet he had but three Guse feathers and a whiitle ' i inns. [This highly impassioned lyric was written ty Blrns, while resident in Dumfiries. The heroine was Helen Ann Park, sister of Mrs. Hyslop, the landlady of the Globe Tavern, the poet's favourite " howff " there. — Tune " Banks of Banna."] Yestreen I had a pint o' wine, A place where body saw na ; Yestreen lay on this breast o' mice The raven locks of Anna. The hungry Jew in wilderness. Rejoicing ower his manna, "Was naething to luy hinny bUss, Upon the lips of Anna. Ye monarchs tak' the east and west, i Frae Indus to Savannah ! Ci'e me within my straining grasp The meltiug form of Anna. ^^^ism^ '^j^^^m w^^^t^'^^Jt f,;^2 SCOTTISH SONGS. '^ :> There I'll despise imperial charms, An enipross or sultana, ^VhiIe (Iving raptures, in her arms, I give and take fr^m Anna. Awa", thou flaunting god of day! Awa", thou pale ivianal Ilk star gae hide thy twinkling ray, When I'm to meet my Anna. Come, in thy raven plumnge, night. Sun, moon, and stars, withdrawn a' And bring an angel pen to write Wy transports wi" my Anna. ,' . [This is the name of a tune of conslderaMe an- • ' -. tiquity. O'Kecfs adopts it for one of his songs in •' liis still popular musical afterpiece called " The ^. Highland Reel,' first acted in 1788. His song ,^, begins, "Boys, when I play, crj-, O O-imini." \' ] , The old words to the tune, we ima;ine, are lost, ,;* I'ut the following song probably embraces a por- /V^ tion of them, or at least the spirit of them. It .' "- " was wTitten by John Anderson-, who served his <■■,''' .-ipprenticfship as a music-engraver, to Johnson, ' ^^ tiie publisher of the Museuns, in which work the /? E«>iip" appears.] . '• o fiix I were fairly shot o' her ! 4 -' liiirly, fairly, fairly shot o' her : ' -, ' <> pin 1 were fairly shot o" hor I j^V^ If she were dead, I wad dance on the top o' her! h. Till we were married, I cottldna see licht till her; For a month after, a' thing aye gaed richt wi' her: liut these ten years I ha'e prayed for a wright to her— <> gin 1 were Curly shot o' her ! Kr.ne o' her relations or friends could stay wi' her: The neeb*.urs and balms arc fain to flee firae her: And I my ain sel" am forced to gi'e way till her : Oh gin 1 were fairly shot C her ! f he gangs aye sae braw, she's sae muckle pride in her; There's no a eudewire in the haill country-side like her: [her: \f\' dress and wi' drink, the deil wadna bide wi' Oh gin I were fairly shot o' her ! s If the time were but come that to the kirk -gate wi' her. And into the yirU I'd mak' mysel' quit C her, I'd then be as blythe as first when I met wi' her. Oh gin I wtre fairly shot o' her ! guljc file i%vsitii. [Tins happy Bacchanalian ditty is an old song, anunded by Burns for Johnson's Museum. In C'rouick's Remains of Nithsdale and Calloway Song, another version is given, which is said to l>e the '' original of Burns's," but, of course, it is merely a fabrication ty Allan Cunningham. The song is adapted to an old tune called " The Bot- tom of the Punchbowl." In some collections we sc-e it inarktd to the tune of " The Happy Kar- ni(r," but whether these are different tunes or diff.rent names of the sxune tune we cannot s;iy.] ouDE ale comes, and gude ale goes ; Gude ale gars me sell my hose. Sell my hose, and pawn my shoon ; Gude ale keeps my heart aboon. 1 had sax owscn in a pleuch. And they drew teuch and weel encuch : 1 drank them a' just ane by ane ; Gude ale ketps my heart aboon. Gude ale hauds me bare and busy. Gars me moop wi' the servant hizzie. Stand i' the stool, when I ha'e done ; Gude ale keeps my heart aboon. O gude ale comes, and gude ale goes ; Gude ale gars me sell my hose. Sell my hose, and pawn my shoon ; Gude ale keeps my heart aboon. m [Miss Bi.AMiRE.— Aif, " The Siller Crown."— First published as a single sheet song by Kapler, and j.fterwards inserted in the third volunic cf Johnson's Museum.] And ye shall walk in silk attire, \ And siller ha'e to spare, I Gin ye'll consent to be his bride. Nor think o' Donald mair. r\ iJ I SCOTTISH 30NG3. 533 j in Oh, wha wad buy a silken goun, ■Wi' a puir broken heart ? Or what's to me a siller croun. Gin frae my love I part ? The mind whase every wish is pure. Far dearer is to me ; And ere I'm forced to break uny faith, I'll lay me down and dee ; For I ha'e pledged my virgin troth. Brave Donald's fate to share. And he has gi'en to me his heait, Wi' a' its virtues rare. Ilis genfe manners wan my heart, He gratefu' took the gift ; Could I but think to see it back. It wad be waur than theft. For langf St life can ne'er ref ay The love he bears to me ; And ere I'm forced to break my troth, I'll lay me doun and dee. [Written in imitation' of the above beautiful Ijric, and published in Urban is collection, adapt- ed to a tune composed by Miss Grace Corbet, ' v\ hile a very young girl.] O Maky, ye'se be clad in silk, A nd diamonds in your hair, Gin ye'll consent to be my bride, Xor think on Arthur mair. Oh, wha wad wear a silken goun, Wi' tears bUndin' their e'e ? Before I break my true love's chain, I'll lay me down and dee. For I have pledged my virgin troth. Brave Arthur's fate to share ; And he has gi'en to me his heart, Wi' a' its virtues rare. The mind whase evtry wish is pure. Far dearer is to me ; And, ere I'm forced to break my faith, I'll lay me down and dee. So trust me, when I swear to thee By a' that is on high ; Though ye had a' this warld's gear. My heart ye couldna buy ; For langest life can ne'er repay The love he Ixars to me ; And ere I'm forced to break my faith, I'll lay me down and dee. [This beautiful song, from being found in BuRNS'3 handivriting, was published as his in Johnson's Museum, but was afterwards disco- vered to be the composition of Helen Maria Williams, the authoress of " Letters written from France," and the translator of Humboldt's Personal Narrative. Miss WiUiams was a native of the north of England, where she was born in 176-2. She died at Paris in 1827. The locaUty celebrated in the song, '"■ Where Evan mingles with the Clyde," is one of very great beauty. It lies in the middle ward of Lanarkshire, near the town of Hamilton. Here, and for several miles above its confluence with the Clyde, the Evon or Avon f!ows between "lofty banks," overhung with "lavish woods." We cannot say whether the poetess had any con- nection in life with this scene, or merely admire " A\'Tiere dost thou wander, charming maid, I Now evening's shades begin to fall ?" — I " To view fair nature's face," she said. " For nature's chaniis are free to all '." — I " Speak ever thus in nature's praise ; I Thou giv'st to me a darling theme. On thee I'll lavish all my lays. Thou lovely lass of I'ittenweem !" There is a magic charm in youth. By which the heart of age is won ; That charm is innocence and truth. And beauty is its summer sun ! Long may it shine on that fair face. Where rosy health and pleasure beam ; Long lend its magic spell to grace The lovely lass of Pittenweem. %uU c' '£&0iGrje. [This originally appeared in a imall collection of poetry, published by Brash and Reid, Glasgow, about the end of the Kt t century. The author was William Reid, of that firm.— Tune, "Loch- erroch side."] Whf.n Katie was scarce out nineteen, _ O but she had twa ci\il-black een ; A bonnier lass ye wadna seen. In a' the Carse o' GowTie. Quite tired o" livin" a' his lane. Pate did to her his love explain. And swore he'd be, were she his ain. The happiest lad in Gowrie. Quo' she, I winna marry thee For a' the gear that ye can gi'e : Nor will I gang a step ajie. For a' the gowrt in Gowrie. My father will gi'e me twa kye ; My mother's gaun some yarn to dye; I'll get a gown just like the sky, Gif I'll no gang to Gowrie. ^^ Oh, my dear Katie, say na sae ; Ye little ken a heart that's wae ; Uae ! there's my hand ; hear me, I pray. Sin' thou'U no gang to Gowrie. Since first I met thee at the shell. My saul to thee's been true and leal ; The darkest night 1 fear nae dell. Warlock, or witch, in Growrie. i^l^^^:Bm. s SCOTTISH 30^-GS. I fear nae want o' elaes, nor nocbt; Sic silly things my mind ne'er taught. . I dream a' nieht. and start about. And wish for thee in Gowrie. I lo'e thee better, Kate, my dear. Than a' my rig?s and out-gaun gear ; Sit down by me till ance I swear, Thou'rt worth the Carse o' GJowrie. Syne on her mouth sweet kisses laid. Till blushes a' her cheeks o'erspread ; She sighed, and in soft whispers said, Pate, tak' me to Gowrie '. Quo" he, let's to the auld fouk gang; Say what they like, I'll bide their bang. And bide a' nicht, though beds be thrang. But I'll hae thee to Gowrie. The auld fouk syne baith gied consent : The priest was ca'd : a' were content ; And Katie never did repent That she gaed hame to Gowrie. For routh o' bonnie barms had she ; Mair strappin' lads ye wadna see ; And her braw lasses bore the gree Frae a' the rest o' Gowrie. ^5« Eag0 c' €&ofe!fi?. [MoDrLBS Versiox.] TTpox a simmer afternoon, A wee before the Bun gade down, 3Iy lassie, in a braw new gown. Cam' o'er the hiUs to Gowrie. The rose-bud, ting'd with morning show'r. Blooms fresh within the sunny bow'r , But Katie was the fairest flower That ever bloom'd in Gowrie. Nae thought had I to do her wrani, But round her waist my arms I flang. And said. My dearie, will ye gang. To see the Carse o' Gowrie ? I'll tak' ye to my father's ha". In yon green fields beside the shaw ; I'll mak' you lady o' them a'. The brawest wife in Gowrie. A silken gown o' siller gray, Jly mither coft last new-year's day. And buskit me frae tap to tae. To keep me out o' Gowrie. Daft 'Will, short syne, cam' courting Nell, And wan the lass, but what befel. Or whare she's gane, she kens hersel'. She staid na lang in Gowrie. Sic thoughts, dear Katie, ill combine ■Wi' beauty rare, and wit like thine ; Except yoursel', my bonnie quean, I care for nought in Gowrie. Since first I saw you in the sheal. To you my heart's been true and leal ; The darkest night I fear nae de'il, ■yVarlock, or Twitch, in Gowrie. Saft kisses on her lips I laid. The blush upon her cheeks soon spread She whisper'd modestly, and said, O Pate, I'll stay in Gowrie ! The auld folks soon ga'e their consent. Syne for Mess John they quickly sent, Wha ty'd them to their heart's content. And now she's Lady Gomrie. [■W. B. Sanosteb. — Cherry valley is a beauti- ful spot in the County of Down, Ireland. This song appeared in the Belfast Newsletter about The laverock sung at the break of day, All in the dewy dawn ; An' the mountain bee struck a fairy lay. As he sat on the rose new blawn. O but it was a lovely sang That through sweet Cherry valley rang,— It came o'er my heart like a dream gone by. An' it pass'd from my ears like a passing sigh but it was a lovely sang. An' the tear drap hang at my e'e — It W.1S nae wi' grief at the laverock's sang. Nor the lay o* tha mountain bee. 1 had heard the laverock's sang before, An' 1 had heard the mountain bee ; But oh ! it was on Scotia's shore, 'Twas that brought the tears in my e'e, I (feL'is-'^\^i£2$^'^^5^:^'5^<^5 \^i^^:0^5:^i^m'rM:^^^^'^ FOOTTI.-^H SOKCS, fytUe=%ud$=%si> HV :^ [William JIim.kr.] There is a country gentleman, ■who leads a thrifty life. Ilk morning scrapin' orra things thegithcr for bis wife : Ilis coat's o' glowin' ruddy brown, and wuvilet wi' gold— A crimson crown upon his head, well-fitting one so bold. If ithprs pick where he did scrape, he brings them to disgrace. For, like a man of mettle, he siclikc meets face to face ; He gi'es the loons a lethcrin', a crackit croon to claw — There is nae gaun about the buss wi' Cockie-leerie-la ! His step is firm and evenly, his look both grave and sage— To bear his rich and stately tail should have a pretty page ; And, though he hauds his head fu' hie, he glinteth to the grun, Nor fylcs his silver spurs in dubs wi' glowrin' at the sun : And whyles I've thocht had he a haun wharwi' to grip a stickle, A pair o' specks across his neb, an' roun' his neck a dickie. That weans wad laugh, an' haud their sides, an' cry — " Treserve us u' Ye're some frien' to Doctor Drawblood, douce Cockie-leerie-la '." So learn frae him to think nae shame to work for what ye need. For he that gapes till he be fed, may gape till he be dead ; j\ n' if ye live in idleness, ye'll find unto your cost. That thrpheus Caledonius, 1725, but it is not given by Eamsay in iiis Tea-Table Miscellany.] My daddy left me gear enough : A couter, and an auld beam-plough, A nebbed staff, a nutting-tj-ne, A fishing-wand with hook and lino; With twa auM stools, and a dirt-house, • A jerkenet, scarce worth a louse. An auld pat, that wants the lug, A spurtle and a sowen mug. A hempen heckle, and a mell, A tar-horn, and a weather's bell, A muck-fork, and an auld peak-creel. The spakts of our auld spinning-wheel ; A pair of branks, yea, and a saddle, AVith our auld brunt and broken laddlu, A whang-bit, and a snitHe-bit : Cheer up, my bairns, and dance a fit. A flailing-staff, a timmer-spit, An auld kirn and a hole in it, Yarn-winules, and a reel, A fetter-lock, a trump of steel, A whistle, and a tup-horn spoon, "VVi' ai auld pair o' clouted shoon, A timmer spade, and a gleg shear, A bonnet for my bairns to wear. A timmer tongs, a broken cra. The pinion of an auld car-saddle, A gullie-knife, and a horse-wand, A mitten for the left hand, "With an auld broken pan of brass. With an auld hyeuk for cutting grass. An auld band, and a hoodling-how, 1 hope, my bairns, ye're a' weel now. Aft have I borne ye on my back. With a' this riff-raff in my pack ; And it was a' for want of gear, 'I That part me st<>al Mess John's groy mare : I But now, my bairns, what ails ye now, I For ye ha'e naigs enouqh to plow : And hose and shoon fit for y ur ftet, 1| Cheer up, my bairns, and dinna greet. \6 Then with mysel" I did advise, Sly daddie's gear for to comprise; •Some neighbours I ca'd in to see What gear my daddy left to me. They sat three-quarters of a year. Comprising of my daddy's gear; And when they had gien a' their votes, 'Twas scarcely a' worth four pouucls .-icots. [This song was written by Burns in 17SS tor Johnson's Museum, but it does net appear in that work till near the close. It is supposed th;it Burns was indebted for the idea and some of the words of the song to an old licentious ditty. The tune to which the song is sung is a popular strathspey or reel tune, composed by James Gregg, a teacher of dancing in AjTshire. Gregg was a very ingenious man, and distinguished in particular for his skill in mechanics. He died in 1817.] My lady's gown there's gairs upon't, And gowden springs sae rare upon't; But Jennie's jimps and jerkinet. My lord thinks meikle mair upon't. My lord a-hunting he is gane ; But hounds and hawks wi' him are nane ; By CoUn's cottage lies his game. If Colin '3 Jennie be at hame. My lady's white, my lady's red. And kith and kin o" Cassilis' bludc ; But her ten-pund lands o' tocher gude Were a' the charms his lordship lo'td. Out ower yon muir, out ower yon moss. Where gor-cocks throush the heather pass. There wons auld Colin's bonnie lass, A lily in a wilderness. .Sae sweetly move her genty lin,bs. Like music-note-8 o' lovers' hjnnns; The diamond-dew in her een sae blue. Where laughing love sae wanton swims. My la 'y's dink, my lady's dress'd. The flower and fancy o' the west; But the lassie thrtt a man lo'ts k>eRt, O, that's the lass to roak' him blest. ^.^^sfe ^ap^^'i=Si.%<^m^ •«v^\-^y5; ??i^li^«^^ ®$j mm ffiijn. 'Hev. Henry Scott Eiddei.l. Set to music by Peter Macleod.] "Whex roy flocks upon the heathy hill are lying a' at rest. And the gloamin' spreads its mantle grey, o'er the world's dewy breast, I'U tak" my plaid and hasten through yon woody dell unseen. And meet my boanie lassie in the wild glen sae green. I'll meet her by the trystin' tree that's stannin' a' alane. Where 1 have carved her name upon the 'little moss-grey stane. There I will clasp her to my breast, and be mair blest, I ween. Then a' that are aneath the sky, in the wild glen sae green. My faldin* plaid shall shield her frae the gloamin's chilly gale The star o' eve shall mark our joy but shaU not teU her tale. Our simple tale o' tender love that tauld sae aft has been. To my bonnie bonnie lassie in the wild glen sae green. Oh ! I could wander earth a' owre nor care f*r aught o' bliss. If I might share at my return a joy sae pure as this ; And 1 could srurn a' earthly wealth, a palace and a queen. For my bonnie bonnie lassie in the wild glen sae green. ^|)e ^^n^f^mn "^xu. [Written by the Eev. W. Hetherogtok, A.M., of Torphichen.— Toe, Brijr Bush."] ' There grows a bonnie O SWEET are the blossoms o' tlie hawthorn tree. The bonnie mUky blossoms o' the hawthorn tree, WTien the saft wastlin' wind, as it wanders ower the lea. Comes laden wi' the breath o the hawthorn tree. Lovely is the rose in the dewy month o' June, And the lily gently bending beneath the sunny noon ; But the devyy rose, nor ICy fair, is half sae sweet to me. As the bonnie miljjy blossoms o' the hawthorn tree. O, blythe at fair and market fu' aftan ha'e I been. And wi' a crony frank and leal some happy hours I've seen ; But the blythest hours 1 e'er enjoy'rt were shar'd, my love, wi' thes. In the gloamin', 'neath the bonnie bonnie hawthorn tree. Sweetly sang the blac'^iljird, low in the woody glen. And fragrance sweet spread on the ga'.e, licht ower the dewy plain ; But thy saft voice and sighing breath were sweeter far to me. While whispering o' love beneath the hawthorn tree. 'S^^}^m^'^m^^(^^^m-^j^ .mr^. ^^k^^i^t^\^ ^A\ 542 SCOTTISH SONGS. JO ^Ai -Auld time may wave his dusky wing, and chance may cast liis die, '-V' •/W And the rainbow-hues o' flattering }iopc may darken in the sky, ^I p)C_/ Gay summer pass, and wmter 6t;»lk stern ower the frozen lea, K a y^ fj Nor leaf nor milky blossom deck the hawthorn tree ; , p ' \' But still maun be the pulse that wakes this glowing heart of mine, •X '^O^ For me nae mair the spring maun bud, nor summer blossoms shine, lV> ' And low maun be my hame, sweet maid, ere I be false to thee, '^»y' Or forget the vows 1 breathed beneath the hawthorn tree. -"r j [ Written by the Hev. Georgb Allan, D. D. Set to music by Peter Mackod, in bis '• Oiit'iia! MLiodies of Scotland."] Is your war-pipe asleep, and for ever, il'Crimman ? Ir your war pipe asleep, and for ever ? Shall the pibroch ttiat welcomed the foe to Benaer, _ Be hush'd when we seek the dark wolf in his lair, ^s^ To give back our wrongs to the giver? V ,' To the raid and the onslaught our chieftains have gone, . ; ,^ Like the course of the fire-flaught their clans-men pass'd on ; \ ' ^ With the lance and the shield 'gainst the foe they have bound them, t^y \ And have ta'en to the field with their vassals around them. 7 ' ^ Then raise your wild slogan-cry ! On to the foray ! u Ci Sons of the heather-hill, pine-wood, and glen ! X ^,s Shout for 3I'Pherson, M'Leod, and the Moray, Till the Lomonds re-echo the challenge again ! J Youth of the darini; heart, bright be thy doom. As the bodinps which light up thy told spirit now; But the fate of jrCrimman is closing in gloom, (ff** \ And the breath of the grey wraith hath pass'd o'er his brow : ^^ ' Victorious in joy thou'lt return to Benaer, ^ ; p * And be clasp'd to the hearts of thy In st beloved there ; ■ ',:* But M'Crimman, M'Crimman, M'Crinimau, never, never, ncvei, nev \^ . Wilt thou shrink from the doom thou canst shun not, M'Crimman r" c, ". Wilt thou shrmk from the doom thou canst shun not ? If thy course must be brief, let the proud Saxon know. That the soul of M'Crimman ne'er quail'd, when a foe Bared his blade in the land he had won not ! Where the light-footed roe leaves the wild breeze behind. And the reii heather bloom gives its sweets to the wind, There our broad pennon flies, and the keen steeds are prancing, 'Mid the startling war-cries, and the war-weapons glancing. Then raisu your wild slogan-cry ! On to the foray ! Sons of the heather-hill, pine-wood, and glen ! Shout for M'Pherson, M'Leod, and the Moray, Till the Lomonds re-echo the challenge again. ^!? I J \ SCOTTISH 30XGS. 543 ^00'^ an5i martlel) anh a\- ' [JoAKXA Bailhe.— This admirable version of it " Woo'd an' married an' a' " was first published i^ in Mr. George Thomson's collection of National f^ Melodies, and is here printed with his permis- The bride she is winsome and bonnie. Her hair it is snooded sae sleek. And faithful and kind is her Johnnie, Yet fast fa' the tears on her cheek. New pearlings are cause o' her sorrow, New pearlings and plenishing too ; The bride that has a' to borrow. Has e'en right meikle ado. Woo'd and married and a", "VV'oo'd and married and a". And is na she very wtel aff To be woo'd and married and a' ? Her mother then hastily spak' : " The lassie is glaiket wi' pride ; In my poaches I hadna a plack The day that I was a bride. E'en tak' to your wheel and be clever. And draw out your thread in the sun , The gear that is gifted, it never Will last like the gear that is won. ■Woo'd an' married an' a'. Tocher and havings sae sma' I think ye are very weel aff. To be woo'd and married an' a'," " Toot, toot !" quo' the grey-headed father, " She's less of a bride than a bairn , She's ta'en like a cowt frae the heatiier, Wi' sense and discrenon to learn. Half husband, I trow, and half daddy. As humour inconstantly leans; A chiel may be constant and steady That yokes wi' a mate in her teens. 'Kerchief to cover so neat. Locks the winds used to blaw, I'm baith like to laugh and to creet, WTien I think o' her married at a'." Then out spak' the wily bridegroom, Weel waled were his wordies I ween ; " I'm rich, though my coffer be toom, Wi' the blinks o' your bonnie blue een ; I'm prouder o' thee by my side, Thougii thy rufSes or ribbons be few. Than if Kate o' the craft were my bride, TVi' purples and pearlings enew. Dear and dearest of ony, Te're woo'd and bookit and a'. And do ye think scorn o' your Johnnie, And grieve to be married at a'." She turn'd, and she blush'd, and she smil'd. And she lookit sae bas'nfully down ; The pride o' her 'neart was beguil'd. And she play'd wi' the sleeve o' her gown ; She twirl'd the tag o' her lace. And she nippet her boddice sae blue. Syne blinket sae sweet in his face, And afif like a mawkin she flew. Woo'd and married and a'. Married and carried awa' ; She thinks hersel' very weel aff. To be woo'd and married and a". [C. J. FisLAYSox. — Here first printed.] Oh ! whar will I gae find a place To close my sleepless een , And whar will I gae seek the peace I witless tint yestreen ? 3Iy heart that wont to dance as licht As moonshine o'er the tide. Now pines in thrall by luckless love For the lass o' Carron side. She sat the Goddess of the stream That murmur'd at her feet, And aye she sung her artless sang Vi' a voice unearthly sweet; Pae sweet, — the birds that wont to • The morn wi' glee and pride. Sat mute, to hear the witching straiu O' the lass o' Carron side. Sair may I rue my reckless haste, Sair may I ban the hour. That lur'd me frae my peacefu' cot Within the Siren's power, Ch : had she sprung frae humble race As she's frae ane o' pride, I might ha'e dreed a better weird Wi' the lass o' Carron side. i i 'fi ^ Hoiv early I woo'd thee— how dearly I lo'ed thee — How sweet was thy voice, nnd how lovely thy smile ; The joy 'twas to see thee — the bliss to be wi' thee— 1 now UKiun reinember, and sigh all the while. 1 gazed on thy beauty, and a' things about thee .Seem'd too fair for earth, as 1 bent at th\ shrine . Hut fortune and fashion, inair powerfu' than passion. Could alter the boiom that seem'd so divine. Anither may praise thee, may fondle and fraize thee. And win thee wi' words when liis heart's far awa'; Hut oh! when sineerest — when warmest and dearest His vows, will my truth be forgot by thee a' ^ 'Mid pleasures and splendour thy fancy may wander, but moments o' solitude ilk ane maun dree ; Then feeling will find thee, and mem'ry remind thee ^\m:^^fm-^m^3^ .^^^fe? SCOTTISH SONGS. oio r- '^^^ ^^e "bmnu ^m^t o' flklr. [The House of Airly is thus described in the old Statistical Account of Scotland : " Airly cast'.e, which gave title to Ogilvy, Earl of Airly, is situated on the north-west comer of this parish (Airly in Forfarshire), at the coniiux of the Melgin and Isla. It is built on a promontory formed by these two rivers, and elevated above their ted more than one hundred feet. It has been a very large and strong fortress, seemingly inaccessible on every side but the south, on which it has been secured by a ditch and a draw-bridge, perhaps thirty feet wide, and a wall (the front of the castle) ten feet thick and thirty-five feet high." — During the great civil war of the seventeenth century, the house of Ogilvie adhered firmly to the royal cause ; and in July 1640, the castles of the Earl of Airly were plundered and burnt by the Covenanting party (then dominant,) while the Earl hims=lf was absent in EngLind. Mon- •-ose, who did not desert the party of the Cove- mters till the year 16il, was first sent to attack ■ £ house of Airly, andafterwardsArgyle was sent. -pa'ding gives the following account of the oc- arrences upon which this song is founded. — ' ■ The Earl of Airly went from home to England, fearing the troubles of the land, and that heshould be pressed to subscribe the Covenant, whether he would or not, whilk by fleeing the land he resolved »o eschew as well as he could, and left his eldest - n, the Lord Ogilvie, a brave young nobleman, ••hind him at home. The estates or tables hear- •ng of his departure, directed the Earls of Mon- trose and Kinghom to go to the place of A irly, and to take in the same, and for that effect to carry car- tows [cannon] with them; who went and sum- i.ioneJ the Lord Ogilvie to render the house, (being i I impregnable strength by nature, well manned ' ith all sort of munition and provision neces- iry.) who answered, his father was absent, and '. - left no such qpmmission with him as to render ,5 house to any subjects, and that he would de- ; jiii the samen to his power, till his father re- turned from England. There were some shots shot the house, and same from the house ; but the assailants finding the place unwinnable, by na- ture of great strength, without great skaith, left e place without meikle loss on either side ; then -parted therefrae in June. Now the committee Restates finding no conteDtment in this expedi- ^tion, and hearing how their friends of the name of Forbes, and othei-s in the country, were daily injured and opprest by Highland lymmers, brokt-n out of Lochaber, Clangregorout of Brae of Athol, Brae of 3Iar, and divers other places, therefore they gave order to the Earl of Argyle to raise men out of his own country, and first to go to Airly and Furtour, two of the Earl of Airly's principal houses, and to take in and destroy the same, and next to go upon thir Ij-mmers and punish them , likeas, conform to his ^rder, he raises an army of about five thousand men, and marches towards Airly ; but the Lord Ogilvie hearing of his com- ing with such irresistible force, resolves to flee and leave the house manless ; and so for their own I safety they wisely fled ; but Argyle most cruelly and inhumanely enters the house of Airly, and beats the same to the ground, and right sua he does to Furtour, syne spoiled all within both houses, and such as could not be carried (away,) they masterfully brake down and destroyed." — There are different readings of this old song. John Finlay was the first to rescue it fircm oral tradition, and we here follow his version.] It feU on a day, and a honnie summer day, AVhen the com grew green and yellow. That there fell out a great dispute Between Argyle and Airly. The Duke o" Montrose has wTitten to Argjle To come in the morning early. An' lead in his men, by the back o' Dunkeld, To plunder the bonnie house o' Airiy. The lady lookd o'er her window sae hie. And oh ! but she look'd weary. And there she espied the great Argyle [I Come to plunder the bonnie house o' Airly. I "Come down, come down. Lady Margaret," he j " Come down and kiss me fairly, [says, I Or before the morning clear day light, I'll no leave a standing stane in Airly." . " I wadna kiss thee, great Argyle, j I wadna kiss thee fairly, I j I wadna kiss thee, great A,rgyle, [Airly." J Gin you shouldna leave a standing stane in He has ta'en her by the middle sae sma', ' Says, " Lady, where is your drury?' , " It's up and down the bonnie bum side, ■J Amang the planting of Airly." t^' ^^r- li>-<- '•oci/. ^;^"CgtJSfr^^E*LS^'*S|P t^'^. ■:s^ih%!^^'^4>:^Kii^i^m^£:^=^.±^mf^^ S5i6 SCOTTISH SONGS. '4 •^ They sought it up, they sought it down. They sought it late and early. And found it hi the bonnie balm-tree. That shines ou the bowling-green o' Airly. He has ta'en her by the left shoulder. And oh ! but she grat sairly. And led her down'to yon green bank Till he plundered the bonnie house o' Airly " O ! its I ha'e seven brawsons," she says, •' And the youngest ne'er saw his daddie, A nd although I had as mony mae, 1 wad gi'e them a' to Charlie. " But gin my good lord had been at hanie. As this night he is wi" Charlie, There durst ua a Campbell in a' the west Hr.'e plundered the bonnie house o' Airly." ^ M-iD^e^ibu^, [ Writte!? by Burns in 1787, in compliment to the daughter of his friend William Cruikshank, "ith maun be my Muse's well. My muse maun be thy bonnie sell. On Corsincon I'll glowr and spell. And write how dear I los~e thee. Then come, sweet Muse, inspire my lay ; » For, a' the lee-lang simmer's day, I couldna sing, I couldna say. How much, how dear I love thee. I see thee dancing ower the creen. Thy waist sae jimp, thy limbs sae clean. Thy tempting lips, thy roguish eeo— By b^dven and earth, I love thee : By night, by day — a-field, at hame — The thoughts of the^ my breast inflame 1 And aye I muse and sing thy name — I only live to love thee. il WrXit e' mg sir.. [Robert Tf hitlev of Biggar in Lanarkshire.] Frak Clyde to the banks o' sweet Earn I've travell'd fu' mony a mile; But thoughts o' my dearest lass Ailie The wearisome hours did beguile. The happy wae night that we p.arteil. She vow'd she wad constant remain : My heart-strings a' dirl'd wi' fondness; I kiss'd and I kiss'd her again. 'Tis not that her cheeks are like roses, Nor yet for her dark-rowing e'e; 'Tis not for her sweet comely features ; These charms are a' naething to me. The storms o' this life may soon blast them. Or sickness may snatch them aw.ty, But virtue, when fix'd in the bosom. Will flourish and never decay. Nae langer I'll spend a' my siller : Xae langer I'll now lie my lane ; Xae lander I'll hunt after lasses; I'll soon ha'e a wife o' my ain. For mony a wild foot have I wander'd. An' mony a night spent in vain, Wi' drinking, and dancing, and courting: Cut I'll soon ha'e a wife o' my .lin. Her mother's aye roaring and flyting : " I rede ye, tak' tent o' that chiel ; He'll no be that canny to leeve wi' ; He'll ne'er be like douce Geordie Steele. He's courtit far ower mony lasses ; To sUght them he thinks it gude fun ; He'll mak' but a sober half-marrow ; Te'd best rue before ye be bun'." Though Geordie be laird o' a housie. And brags o' his kye and his pe;:'. And warlds gear I be richt scant o' ; A fig for't as lang's I've my health ; ft s .SCOTTISH SOXGS. It'ance I were kipplcd wi" Ailie, She'll svldom h.i'c cause to compla 4 AVe'U jog on through life aye right ■' When 1 get a wife o" my ain. r lint if that my Ailie prove faithless, ,/T And marry before 1 return, ^ I'll ne'er, like a coof, greet about hrr, ' _^ Nor yet for ae minute I'll mourn. ' Awa' straight to some other beauty Without loss o' time I will hie. And shaw to the lasses I'm careless, T'nl. s? they're as willing as I. iisTiTii? Ef^k; [Written by Burns in honour of Miss Lesley Eaillie of Ayrshire, afterwards Jlrs. Cumming of Logie, and sent to Thomson's collection for the tune of " The Collier's Bonnie Lassie." The poet, in a letter to Mrs Dunlop dated August, 1792, thus describf s the cause and manner of the composi- tion of this song. " Know th.Tt the heart -struck awe, the distant humble approach, the delight we should have in gazing upon and listening to a messenger of heaven, appearing in all the un- spotted purity of his celestial home, among the coarse, polluted, far inferior sons of men, to deli- ver to them tidings that make their hearts swim in joy, and their imaginations soar in transport —such, so delighting and so pure, were the emo- Tions of my soul on meeting the other day with Miss Lesley Baillie, your neighbour. 3Ir. Haillie, with his two daughters, accompanied by Mr. H. . f (;., p.assing through Dumfries a few days ago, ■ n their way to England, did me the honour of • tiling on me; on which I took my horse (though <;r.d knows I could ill spare the time,) and ac- I .mpanied them fourteen or fifteen miles, and lined and spent the day with them. 'Twas.ibout nine, I think, when I left them ; and riding home, 1 composed the following ballad."] O, SAW ye bonnie Lesley, As she gaed o'er the border ? She's gane, like Alexander, To spread hrr conquests farther. To see her is to love her, And love but her- breeze that kisses her, ■The flowery beds On which she treads, Though wae for ane that misses her. 7«^^^^£^^-<^m^<5^ i :^.^m} SCOTTISH SONGS. Did Then to meet my lassie yet. Up in yon glen sae grassy yet; For all I see Are nought to me. Save her that's but a lassie yet ! '%» i V \ e [The heroine of this song was a young girl re- I - " ' siding in Kirkoswald, with whom Burns got acquainted while attending a school there, in his eighteenth or nineteenth summer, with the view „^ _ of learning mensuration, surveying, dialling, &e. ^i^ His own account of the matter is as follows : " I gj went on with a high hand with my geometry tiU >i ■?' the sun entered Virgo, a month which is always a ; ' • ' carnival in my bosom, when a charming Jillette, •'i^' who lived next door to the school, overset my t ( « trigonometry, and set me off at a tangent from ^, the sphere of my studies. I, however, struggled ' ^"\) on with my sines and co-sines for a few days / /^ more : but st 'A but stepping into the garden one charm- ing noon to take the sun's altitude, there I met xN.j' my angel, V^x:) ' Like Proserpine gathering flowers, ( ' tJ Herself a fairer flower.' — . 5^ It was in vain to think of doing any more good \_ ■. 4 at school. The remaining week I staid I did f ■._ , nothing but craze the faculties of my soul about " ii her, or steal out to meet her; and the two last t^^ nights of my stay in the country, had sleep been a 3;<'-^ mortal sin, the image of this modest and inno- cent girl had kept me guiltless." — It may be thought prosaic to add, after this high-flown description, that the name of the " charming ^ ^ Jillette" was Peggy Thomson, and that she after- //a ' wards became Mrs. Neilson, and long lived in the {^J* town of Ayr, where her children still reside. — ^^-' The song is one of Bums's very early ones, and f* ';' -, appears in the first edition of his poems printed /"^ at Kilmarnock in 17S6, with the title of " Song «_/? composed in August." It is sung to the tune of , ^ -* " I had a horse, I had nae marr," and has also «.>^ been adapted to an old air called " "When the '.<'.. king came o'er the water."] Now westlin' winds and slaughtering gims Bring autumn's pleasant weather; ^P_^ The muircock springs on whirring wings, ,-^E*^ Amaug the blooming heather. Now waving grain, wide o'er the plain. Delights the weary farmer ; And the moon shines bright when 1 rove night. To muse upon my charmer. The partridge loves the iruitful fells ; The plover loves the mountains , The woodcock haunts the lonely dells. The soaring hem the fountains. Through lofty groves the cushat roves. The path of man to shun it ; TJie hazel bush o'erhangs the thrush. The spreading thorn the linnet. Thus every kind their pleasure find. The savage and the tender ; Some social join, and leagues combine ; Some solitary wander: Avaunt, away ! the cruel sway. Tyrannic man's dominion ; The sportman's joy, the murdering cry. The fluttering, gory pinion. But, Peggy dear, the evening's clear, Thick flies the skimming swallow ; The sky is blue, the fields in view. All fading green and yeUow : Come let us stray our gladsome way, And view the charms o' nature. The rustling com, the fruited thorn. And every happy creature. We'll gently walk and sweetly talk, Till the silent moon shine clearly; I'll grasp thy waist, and fondly press't. And swear I love thee dearly. Not vernal showers to budding flowers. Not autumn to the farmer. So dear can be as thou to me. My fair, my lovely charmer '. ^Immyi teinttt'^ come again. [James Aitchison, printer, Edinburgh.— Tun. • Gloomy winter's now awa'."] Gloomy winters come again ; Heavy fa's the sleet and rain ; Flaky snaw decks white the plain, Whare nature bloom 'd sae cheerie, 0. a ^g>5^?^rg='..«3g;^552S^x,^i;T^ "••^^ ■;s£.(^v^: ^.^W^^-^ ouO SCOTTISH SONGS. Hoar>' frost o'ersprcads the dell, (ilnzing firm each crj'stal vill ; They mind me o' thy fickle sel'. My fair yet faithless >lury, O. I lanely tread each trackless way, ■\Vhare wi' thee, Mary, I did stray , 5Iy heart's oppress'd wi' grief and wae, ThouYt false, and a' looks drearie, O. The snaw-clad hills o'ertap the cliids, Tlie hares rin tini'rous through the wudi The trees, forsaken by their buds, Are emblems o' my Mary, O. A' around deserted looks. Tangles fringe the barren rocks. While bairnies by the ingle nooks. Tell tales that mak' them eerie, O. Storms may rage, and tempests roar. Restless billows beat the shore, Joy on earth 111 find no more, I'nless I'm blest wi' Mary, O. ^fe^et ^r*Eie. [This is not properly a Scottish song, though admitted into all our Scott'sh collections, but rather an English imitation, both in words and music, of the .Scottish lyrical muse. The tune was composed by Dr. Maurice Greene, and published in Robart's " Caliope or Knglish Hnrmony" in 1739, and afterwards adopted by Oswald in his Pocket Companion, (1743.) The song :s said to have been written by Dr. John Hoadi^ey, son of Bishop Hoadley, and, considering that it is the production of an Englishman, its use of the Scot- tish language is pretty accurately sustained, tliough here and there, we th:nk, the Doric ear Avi'.l detect something false in its construction — .'■omething which betrays its bastard origin — and j-roves it to be " not the true Mackie" or " real Mmon Pure.-] .■3«HKT Annie frae the sea-beacn cime, ■ Where Jooky speeled the vessel's side. Ah ! wha can keep their heart at h.-ume, When Jocky's tossed abune the tide ! Ear aft to distant lands he gangs ; Yet I'll be true, as he has been : And when ilk lass about him thrangs, He'll think on Annie, his faithfu' ainl I met our wealthy laird yestreen Wi' gowd in hand he tempted me He praised my brow, my rolling een, And made a brag o' what he'd gi e. What though my Jocky's farawa'. Tossed up and down the awsome main, I'll keep my heart another day, Since Joeky may return again. Kae niair, false Jamie, sing nae mair. And fairly cast your pipe away ; My Ji.>cky wad be troubled sair. To see his friecd his love betray. For a" your songs and verse are vain, While Jocky's notes do faithful flow. My heart to him shall true remain : I'll keep it for my constant jo. Blaw saft, ye gales, round Jocky's head , And gar your waves be calm and still ! His hameward sail with breezes spet d, And dinna a' my pleasure spill. What though my Jocky's far aw.iy ; Yet he will bvaw in siUer shine ; I'll keep my heart another day. Since Jocky may again be mine. [Written by Anbrpw G. B.\in, Edinburih, on the death of a young gentleman who was liwt on the coast of Ireland in January, 1816. — Tune, " Flowers of the Forest." .Swfet as May mornint', the heath hills adorning, Decking with pearl the green flowery lea ; Sweet sing the thrushes among the hawthorn bushes. But sweeter by far was my Jamie to me. D.irk, dark and drearie, the moment was eerie, When the grim tyrant, by faUil decree, Snatch'd aff my treasure, my whole care and pleasure, Wha now sleeps in death 'neath the dark roll- ing sea. Lanely I wander whare burnies meander, Blythely the birds sing on ilka green tree; Nature looks eheerie — but waes me, I'm weary, > Joy fled wi' him wha sleeps cauld in the sea. ^: ^,?^-^v^::^S^,^%^i^^ 'g^^m^^^^^m^-m^^^w^mi^-'m^ SCOTTISH SONGS. Xae mair in the gloamin' I'll gaylie be roamin', - To meet wi' my darling beneath the haw tree, "Where kindly he'd press me, and fondly cr.ress me— My heart's still wi' him, though he's cauld in the sea. Tain are life's pleasures, its beauties and trea- s sires — Sweet spring the gowans adorning the lea : "Winter comes blasting, no longer they're lasting. But nipt in the bloom like my Jamie firae me. "Waukin' or sleeping I'm mourning and weeping: Tiiinking on Jamie tears gush frae my e'e ; Pleasure forsakes me, and sorrow o'ertakes me ; Death now alone mv consoler must be. h [It Is said that Buhxs wrote this charming ;it- I tie song on a real inoident. A young girl, pcs- ' sessed of some property which would be at her own !■ disposal when she attained majority, was urgtd I by her relations to accept an old and wealthy I suitor. This she refused, as her affections were 1 already placed on one whose youth, if not woilily I circumstances, was more in accordance with hst \\ own — and the song is supposed to express her own i ' feelings on the subject to her fevoured lover, and ji particularly the ardent desire she entertained to reach that age when she would be mistress of herself, and able to prove the sincerity of her attachment. The song is sung to a lively old tune called " The Moudiewort."] ["Written by Burks for Johnson's Museum to the tune of "You're welcome, Charlie Stewart." This tune was originally called "Miss Stewart's , Reel," but about the middle of the last century a Jacobite song was written to it, beginning as i above, from which it r And syne she denied that she did it at a . i 3«:'f^*5^\^c^/i^\^S:^i^'^,^^^i^-? OJ_' SCOTTISH SONGS. And wasna Cockpcn richt saucy witha'. And wasna Cockpen richt saucy witha'. In leaving the dochter of a lord. And kissing a coUier lassie au' a' ? O never look doun, my lassie, at a", O never look doun, my lassie, at a'. Thy lips are as sweet, and thy figure complete. As the finest dame in castle or ha'. Though thou ha'e nae silk and holland sae sma", Though thou ha'e nae silk and holland sae sma', Thy coat and thy sark are thy ain handywark. And Lady Jean was never sae braw. itam?. S( [By John Douoai., formerly of Paisley now of Jlontreal.] Oh ! tell na me that this is hame, — It is nae hame to me : Ilk thing is fremit to my heart. An' unco to my e'e. If I could see the bonnie brume f >n ilka sandy knowe ; An' the whins in a' their gowden pride. On green hill sides that grow: If I could see the primrose blume In mony a hazel glen, "VVhar linties chirp, and merles sing, Far free the step o' men : If I could see the morning sun Glint owre the dewy corn, AVhile a thousan' laverocks in tho sky Are welcoming the morn : If I could 9^e the gowan spread lis wee flowers on the lea, A ii' the heather blume on the mountain bare, And the ivy climb the tree: 1:' ! could see the sunny kirk -yard, Whar my frien's lie side by side , And think that I could lay my bancs Beside them when I died : — Then might I think that this was hame, And gladly live and dee, >'or feel this want at my heart's core, -My native lan ^ . ^ ^^'^^^&^^ SCOTTISH SONGS. 5.53 V^ '■ / • [WiiLiAM Knox, the author of this patriotic eflfusion, which is here printed for the first f ffA time, was bom on the 17th of August, 17S9, at Frith, in the parish of Lilliesleaf, Koxburgh- N^/^ shire ; he died on the 12th November, 1S25, at Ko. 9, Xavy Street, Leithwalk, Edinburgh, in the /\'^; 36th year of his age. Knox early evinced a passion for poetry, and during the latter part of his life s^, gave to the world many separate publications, which have been much esteemed. The first was ^^^ "The Lonely Hearth; and other Poems," published in North Shields in 1818. He successively pub- > * XV lished in Edinburgh " The Songs of Israel," " The Harp of Zion," and several other productions in V^ * prose and verse ; and contributed many articles to " The Edinburgh Magazine." In Volume XV. ^ - of that work, for the year 1824, he contributed a series of papers under the title of ""Walks in Edinburgh, by Dick Peppermint," which the late Dr. Robert Anderson, who thought highly of his a- abilities, declared were well worthy of separate publication. Knox was a kind and affectionate son, ^,-j ^^ -. and a most agreeable companion ; and his writings will obtain for him a respectable position among i' -. ,-^^"* the minor poets of our country.] . ^^ S^_'/ O BRAVE CaledonLans, my brothers, my friends, >TS aYj Now sorrow is borne on the wings of the winds, <»^ "^ ( j\J Care sleeps with the sun in the seas of the west, t_/\ li^ And courage is luU'd in the warrior's breast : ©)' j\^ Here social pleasure enlivens each heart, r^J, Yy' -^""^ friendship is ready its warmth to impart, \ <3 ' /jgj The goblet is fill'd, and each worn-one partakes, J^ '. ^ \^^ To drink plenty and peace to the dear Land of Cakes. ^/ \ J/^ Though the Bourbon may boast of his vine-cover'd hills. — s \ And ours are the shoulders that never shall bend '^CV To the rod of a tyrant, that scourge of a land, — N<^ / ~ Ours the bosoms no terror of death ever shakes, <->^ /^B When called in defence of the dear Land of Cakes! .•«-•» ^ gjj \- Shall the ghosts of our fethers, aloft on each cloud — ^^/ ^ J When the rage of the battle is dreadful and loud — i*£^^ P k See us shrink from our standard with fear and dismay, V\ yZj^ -4^nd leave to our foemen the pride of the day ? ('^ Mg No ; by heavens ! we will Stand to our honour and trust, Vt?' f^^ Till our hearts-blood be shed on our ancestors' dust ; — ^v ^^ Till we sink to the slumber no war-trumpet breaks, ^ \ Beneath the bro\\Ti heath of the dear Land of Cakes. i^ 554 SCOTTISH SONGS. I L "^ O peace to the ashes of those that have ble^«^ Wi' monie a hill between, ^|J Baith day and night, my fancy's flight Sji. Is ever wi' my Jean. <^ I see her in the dewy flowT, ('^ Sae lovely, sweet, and fair ; 'i' music charm the air : There's not a bonnie flower that springs. By fountain, shaw, or green, Xor yet a bonnie bird that sings. Cut minds me o' my Jean. TTpon the banks o' flowing Clyde The lasses busk them braw ; But when their best they ha'e put on, My Jeanie dings them a' ; In hamely weeds she far exceeds The fairest o' the town ; Baith sage and gay confess it sae. Though drest in russet gown. The gamesome lamb, that sucks its dam, Mair harmless canna be ; She has nae faut, if sic. ye ca't. Except her love for me : The sparkling dew, o' clearest hue. Is like her shining een ; In shape and air, wha can compare Wi' my sweet lovely Jean J O blaw, ye westlin' winds, blaw saft Amang the leafy trees ; Wi' gentle gale, frae muir and dale, Bring hame the laden bees ; And bring the lassie back to me That's aye sae neat and clean ; Ae blink o' her wad banish care, Sae lovely is my Jean. What sighs and vows amang the knov.ts Ha'e past atween us twa! How fain to meet, how wae to part. That day she gade awa' ! The powers aboon can only ken , To whom the heart is seen, That nane can be sae dear to me, As my sweet lovely Jean ! [From Ramsay's "Gentle Shepherd."— Tune, " Eye, gae rub her ower wi' strae."] Dear Roger, if your Jenny geek. And answer kindness with a slight. Seem unconcern'd at her neglect. For women in our vows delisht. Qt I (3^ ^^^mj'^''^^M^^^^^s:!^^i^^m^^^ ^:rz. y^ 5o6 SCOTTISH SONGS. ^■■' 5 But them despise who're soon defeat. And with a simple face give way To a repulse ; then, be not blate, Push bauldly on and win the day. These maiilens, innocently young. Say aften what they never mean ; Ne'er mind their pretty lying tongue, But tent the language of their eeu ; If these agree, and she persist To answer all your love with hr.te, Seek elsewhere to be better blest, And let her sigh when 'tis too late. [This fragment is given in Herd's collection, but is of older d.ate. In Johnson's Museum, it is said to have been composed on an amour of John iluke of Argjle. This John was Jeanie Deans's I >, as I was i kist yestreen,'- was originally called "Lumps o' , Pudding," which name was transferred to another [ old air, adopted by Gay for the finale in his " Ucg- I gar's Opera," " Thus 1 stand like a Turk," &c. It is well known that one object Gay had in a " The Beggar's Opera" was to supplant the Italian | opera, by the introduction of good old English L and Scottish tunes. An Italian speaking of this, said, with great indignation and scorn, " Saire, thit dam Sif^nor Ga)/ try to pelt my countrymen out of England rvith ' Lumps of Pudding.' "J O, AS 1 was kist yestreen ! O, as I was kist yestreen '. I'll never forget till the day that I dee, Sac mony braw kisses his grace ga'e me ! My father was sleeping, my mother was out. And 1 was my lane, and in cam' the duke : I'll never forget till the day that 1 dee, Sae mony braw kisses his grace ga'e me. Kist yestreen, kist yestreen, Vp the Gallowgat*, down the Green- I'll never forget till the day that I dee, Sae mony braw kisses his grace ga'e me. [Air, "Kist yestreen."— The first stanza of this song was a fragment which Tannahii.l left: the rest was added by Alex. Rodger.] The lasses a' leugh, and the carlin flate. But JIaggie was sitting fu' ourie and blate. The auld silly gawkie, she couldna conUiin, How brawly she was kist yestreen ; Kist yestreen, kist yestreen. How brawly she was kist yestreen ; She blethered it round to her fae an' her fixeii. How brawly she was kist yestreen. She loosed the white napkin frae 'bout her dun neck. An' cried, The big sorrow tak' lang Geordio Fleck ! D'ye see what a scart 1 gat frae a preen. By his towsling an' kissing at me yestreen ; At me yestreen, at me yestreen. By his towsling an' kissing at me yestreen ; I canna conceive what the fallow could mean. By his kissing sae meikle at me yestrceii. Then she pu'd up her sleeve an' shawtd a blae mark. Quo* she, I gat that frae young Diivy our dark, But the creature had surely forgat himsel' cKan, ^^'hen he nipt me sae hard for a kiss yestreen , For a kiss yestreen, for a kiss yestreen, ■\Vhen ho nipt me sae hard for a kiss yestreen ; 1 wonder what keepit my nails frae his een, When he nipt me sae hard for a kiss yestreen. Then she held up her check, an' cried. Foul fa" the laird. Just leuk what I gat wi' his black birsie biard, The vile filthy body ! was e'er the like seen ? To rub me sae sair for a kiss yestreen ; For a kiss yestreen, for a kiss yestreen ; To rub me sae sair for a kiss yestreen, I'm sure that nae woman o' judgment need green ' To be rubbit, like me, for a kiss j'.-stieen. ^ ^.' &^^)^'I'(*.^^<^.s^Ci& SCOTTISH SONGS. , * Syne she tal.l what grand offers she aften had had, -~ '^ But wad she tak' a man ? — na, she wasna sae mad, ! | - - ^i For the hale o' the sex she cared na a preen, j I VC/ An' she hated the way she was kissed yestreen ; | ^^ Kist yestreen, kist yestreen, ; ^^ She hated the way she was kist yestreen ; . ' ' /i 'Twaoamereythatnaithingmairserioushadbeen, ' ,^\fe For it's daneerous whiles to be kissed at e'en. ; H'-k.' [The author of this song was James Scadlock, a native of the banks of the Levem in Renfrew- »^^' shire, and by profession a copper-plate engraver. ^^- He was an intimate friend of Tannahill's. After , his death, which took place in 1818, a small ^jTS volume of his poems was printed for the benefit of .• / his familv. — Air, '" O mv love's bonnie."] rw October winds, wi' biting breath, yT^ Now nip the leaves that's yellow fading ; \0; Xae gowans glint upon the green, y'm, Alas I they're co'er'd wi' winter's cleading. (^: As through the woods I musing gang, Nae birdies cheer me frae the bushes, .-^ave little Robin's lanely sang. Wild warbling where the burnie gushes. .^mo^i^^ ^ The sun is jogging do^^•n the brae. Dimly through the mist he's shining. And cranreugh hoar creeps o'er the grass. As day resigns his throne to e'ening. Oft let me walk at twilight grey. To view the face of dying nature. Till spring again wi' mantle green. Delights the heart o' ilka creature. B'zx f^z mvs.it in J^sggg. r"^ [This is the name of an old Scottish air. The ^l| original words to the tune, however, are scarcely . (- fit for quoting. The following is EamsaVs ver- (•^S sion of the song.] AxD I'll owre the muir to Maggy, Her wit and sweetness call me; There to my fair I'll show my mind. Whatever may befall me : ^ H m L '^ If she love mirth, I'll learn to sing Or likes the Xine to follow, I'll lay my lugs in Pindus' spring. And invocate Apollo. If she admire a martial mind, I'll sheathe my limbs in armour ; If to the softer dance inclined, With gayest airs I'll charm her; If she love grandeur, day and night I'll plot my nation's glory. Find favour in my prince's sight. And shine in future story. Beauty can wonders work with ease, ^Tiere wit is corresponding , And bravest men know best to please, ^'ith complaisance abounding. My bonnie Maggj's love can turn Me to what shape she pleases. If in her breast that flame shall burn, \Miich in my bosom bleezes. [T. M. CtJN-NINGHAJt.j Ye briery bields, where roses blaw ! Ye flow'ry fells, an' sunny braes 1 Whase scroggie bosoms foster'd a' The pleasures o' my youthfu' days. Amang your leafy simmer claes. And blushin' blooms, the zephyr flies. Syne wings awa", and wanton pla>-s Around the grave whare Mary lies. Xae mair your bonnie birken bowers, .-V, Your streamlets fair, and woodlands gay. Can cheer the weary winged hours 5 -As up the glen I joyless stray : For a' my hopes ha'e flown away, And when they reach'd their native skies, Left me, amid the world o' wae. To weet the grave whare Mary lies. ; • ' It is na beauty's fairest bloom. It is na maiden charms consigned, >, And hurried to an early tomb, '■'' ' , That wrings my heart and clouds my mind; ^^•^- i^isky«"^$^^&^ *^/^ei^V?^v^/i?C 55S SCOTTISH SONGS. Dut sparkling wit, and sense refin'd. And spotless truth without disguise, Slake me with sighs enrich the wind Tliat fans the grave whare Marj- lies. <©| Ion a ti. f James Hoog. — Gaelic Air.] Oh hon a ri ! there's something wantin' ; Oh hon a ri ! I'm wearie ; >fac young, bljthe, and bonnie lad Comes o'er the knowe to cheer me. When the day wears away. Sad I look a' down the valley ;' Ilka soun', wi' a stoun". Sets my heart a thrillin'.-j AVhen I see the plover risin'. Or the curlew wheelin". Then I trow some bonnie lad Is coming to my sheelin'. Why should I sit an' sigh. While the greenwood blooms sac bonnie • Laverocks sing, flow'rets spring, A' but me are cheery. 3Iy wee cot is blest and happy ; Oh 'tis neat and cleanly! Sweet the brier that blooms beside it ; Kind the heart that's lanely. Conie away, come away. Herd, or hind, or boatman laddie, I lia'c a cow, kid, and ewe, Oiowd and gear, to gain ye. %obe at ®|5iitg=ninr. [John Nevay. — Here first printed.] O, NO ! I may not love thee now. As when thou wert the witching quean That charm'd my heart, I wot not how. And I could sing my lovely Jean : — I may not now so praise thy ecn, And say that they the stars outsliine; The love we felt at gay eighteen I a' not like that of Thirty-nine. Thy matron lip 1 may not kiss, As when the cherry ripen 'd there; Hot say, that in thy smile is bliss. Thy bosom more than lily fair ; Xor play me with thy tressed hair. And round thy brow sweet roses twine; Nor with an angel thee compare, With fading charms at Thirty-nine. And yet I love thee with a love That cannot fade or pass away ; And time alone such love can prove. As orient sunshine proves the clay. Sweet wert thou in thy maiden May : And all its balmy blooms were mine ; AVhen gently now these flowers decay. Truth makes us friends at Thirty-nine. n TThis admirable patriotic song was written by ' BuBxs in April, 1795, when Britain was threat- ; ened with invasion by the French republicans, ' and should have for ever put to rest any doubts that existed rtijarding the pni. Cogie, an the king come. Peggg, woJjj t^t tog'0 tamt. [From Ramsay's "Gentle Shepherd."] Peggy, now the king's come, Peggy, now the king's come, Thou may dance and I shall sing, Peggy, since the king's come. Kac mair the bawkies shalt thou milk, Ilut change thy plaiding-coat for s'Jk, And be a lady of that ilk, Kow, Peggy, since the king's come. ^il^ciciDS. [Gii.DERov, (a corruption of the Gaelic pUft roy, "red-haired boy,") was one of the proscribed clan Grcgor, and a notorious freebooter, or lifter ! of cattle, in the highlands of Perthshire for some time before the year 1638. In February of that year, seven of his accomplices were taken, tried, condemned, and executed at Edinburgh. They were apprehended chiefly tlirough the exertions of the Stewarts of Athol, and in revenge Gilderoy burned several houses belonging to the Stewarts. This proved his ruin. A reward of a thousand pounds was offered for his apprehension ; and he was ultimately taken, along with five more ac- etimplices, all of whom were hanged at the Gal- lowlee, between Leith and Edinburph, in the month of July, 1638. As a mark of unenviable distinction, Gilderoy was hung on a gallows higher than the rest. This is alluded to in the ballad. The ballad itself is said to have been originally composed by his mistress, a young woman belong- ing to the higher rixnks of life, who had become attached to this noted freebooter, and was induc- ed to live with him. It is to be found in black- letter broadsides at least as old as 1650. The pre- sent version is an amended copy by Laby Ward- i.Aw, in which she h.is retained some of the old verses, expunged ''thcrs, and added verses of her own. Lady Wardlaw was the wife of Sir Henry Wardlaw of Pitreavie and Ualmule, near Dum- fermline, and wasauthoress of the well-known bal- lad called •' Hardyknute." She was born in 1677, married in 1696, and died in 1727. Her maiden name was Elizabeth H.ilket, her father being Sir Charles Halket of Pitferran. The name has pro- bably led to the mistake in some collections of attributing the song here given to Sir Alexander Halket. The tune of " Gilderoy" is attached to several Scottish songs.] Gii.DKRov was a bonnie boy Had roses tull his shoon ; His stockings were of silken soy, ^ Wi' gartars hanging downe: i ^ i^^m^^^t^^f^^^^'^'^^^ SCOTTISH SONGS, 501 It was I ween a comely sicht. To see sae trim a boy ; He was my joy and heart's delicht, My handsome GUderoy. Oh, sic twa charming een he had, A breath as sweet's a rose ; He never wore a Highland plaid, But costly silken clothes : He gain'd the love o' ladies gay, Xane e'er to him was coy : Ah, wae is me ! I mourn the day, For my dear Gilderoy. My Gilderoy and I were born Baith in ae town thegither ; We scant were seven years before We 'gan to love each other. Our daddies and our mammies, they Were fill'd with meikle joy. To think upon the bridal day 'Twixt me and Gilderoy. For Gilderoy, that luve of mine, Gude faith, I freely bought A wedding sark of Holland fine, Vi'i' silken flowers wrought ; And he gied me a wedding ring, ■Which I received with joy : Xae lad nor lassie e'er could sing Like me and GUderoy. "Wi" msikle joy we spent our prime Till we were baith sixteen ; And aft we pass'd the langsome time Amang the leaves sae green : Aft on the banks we'd sit us there. And sweetly kiss and toy ; Wi' garlands gay wad deck my hair, My handsome Gilderoy. Oh, that he still had been content Wi' me to lead his life ! But, ah, his manfu' heart was bent To stir in feats of strife ; And he in many a venturous deed His courage bauld wad try. And now this gars my heart to bleed For my dear Gilderoy. And when of me his leave he took. The tears they wat mine e'e ; 1 cave him a love-parting look. My benison gang wi' thee ! God speed thee weel, mine ain dear heart, ..^.. ,■" For gane is all my joy ; T/l ^ My heart is rent, sith we maun part, [ ^': My handsome Gilderoy. ' : My Gilderoy, baith far and near, AA'as fear'd in ijka toun. And bauldly bari^way the gear Of mony a Lawland loun : Nane e'er durst meet him hand to 1 He was sae brave a boy; At length wi' numbers he was ta'ei My handsome Gilderov : The Queen of Scots possess; t nocht That my luve let me want ; For cow an' ewe he to me broeht. And e'en when they were scant : All those did honestly possess. He never did annoy. Who never fail'd to pay their cess To my love GUderoy. Vt'ae worth the loun that made the lawi To hang a man for gear ! To reave of life for ox or ass. For sheep, or horse, or mear ! Had not the laws been made so strict, I ne'er had lost my joy ; Wi' sorrow ne'er had wat my cheik For my dear GUderoy. Gif Gilderoy had done amiss. He micht have banish 'd been ; Ah, what sair craelty is this, To hang sic handsome men ' To hang the flower o' .Scottish land, Sae sweit and fair a boy ! Kae lady had sae white a hand As thee, my Gilderoy ! Of GUderoy sae fear'd they were. They bound him meikle strong : Tail Edinburgh they led him there. And on a gallows hung . They hung him high abune the rest, He was sae trim a boy; There died the youth whom I loo'd best. My handsome Gilderoy. Thus having j-ielded up his breath, I bare his corpse away ; Wi' tears that trickled for his death, 1 wash'd his comelv clay ; And sicker in a grave sae deep I laid the dear-Ioo'd boy ; A nd now for ever maun 1 weep, ily winsome Gilderoy. fit getting M^, [Fbom Ramsay's "Gentle Shepherd."— Tune, ' The Bush aboon Traquair."] At setting day and rising morn, With soul that stUl shall love thee, ni ask of heaven thy safe return. With all that can improve thee. I'll visit oft the birken bush. Where first thou kindly told ir.e .'^weet tales of love, and hid my blush. Whilst round thou didst enfold me. To all our haunts I will repair. By greenwood, shaw, or fountain ; Or where the summer day I'd share AVith thee upon yon mountain. There will I tell the trees and flowers. From thoughts unfeign'd and tender. By vows you're mine, by love is yours A heart which cannot wander. [Sir Walter Scott.— From "The Lady of the Lake."] TiiR heath this night must be my bed. The bracken curtain for my head, Wy lullaby the warder's tread. Far, far, from love and thee, Mary ; To-morrow eve, more stilly laid. My couch may be my bloody plaid, ^ly vesper song, thy wail, sweet maid ! It will not waken me, Mary! I may not, dare not, fancy now The grief that clouds thy lovely brow, I d.-ire not think upon thy vow. And all it promised me, Mary, No fond regret must Norman know ; When bursts Clan-Alpine on the foe. His heart must be like bended bow. His foot like arrow free, Mary. A time will come with feeling fraught For, if 1 fall in battle fought. Thy hapless lover's dying thoupht Shall be a thought on thee, Mary ? And if return'd from conquer'd foes. How blythely will the evening close. How sweet the linnet sing repose. To my young bride and me, Mary ! SI? ^^Igtli^gome Ea5J» [Alex. Lai.ng, of Brechin.] The blythesome lad o' bonnie Dundee, Sae young an' fair, sae frank an' free, Wi' heart sae leal, an' love sae true, O weel he kens the way to woo ; At ku'k an' fair he meets wi' me. An' aye he's kind as kind can be. For love is come o' gentle kin. An' is to keep as wcel's to win. I'm blythe an' h.ippy as ane can be. The sun wad seem to shine for me — There's nane may guess, an' nane shall ktii, The blissfiil hours we spent yestreen. Though lads should come in scores to woo. Though monarchs at my feet should bow, I'll kevp my heart an' fancy free. For the blythsome lad o' bonnie Dundee. [Tl-ne, " Sally Roy."— This is a hitherto un- V/ published song by William Glkn, the author cf it< I "A wee bird cam' to our ha' door," &c. (seep. 80.)J j^ Once William swore the sacred oath, That I my love had never wear>' And 1 gave him my virgin troth. But now he's turn'd awa' frae Marj. th, ^ ^'^^^^:^^^m:.f^^j^^^m^^<^^^ SCOTTISH SONGS. 563 .1 thought his heart was linlc'd to mine. So firm that it could never stray ; Tet, William, may that peace be thine, "Which thou hast ta'en frae Mary Gray. 1 once was happy in his love, Xo gloomy prospect made me dreary; I thought that he would never rove. But aye be faithfu' to his Mary. Bright on me shone sweet pleasure's sua, I sported in its gladdenmg ray ; But now the evening shades are come. And soon will close round Mary Gray. Yet, 'William, may no gloomy thought Of my love ever make thee dreary ; I've suffer'd much — 'twas dearly bought, — Peace now h.is fied frae wretched Marj-. — And when some maid, more loved thati me. Thou lead'st to church on bridal day. Perhaps the lowly grave you'll see. Of poor neglected Mary Gray. [The first two stanzas of this song were manu- factured by BvRxs from an old but somewhat licentious ditty called "The deiiks dang o'er my daddie." The two concluding verses are by Dr. Graham of Glasgow. The tune ;s old, and can be traced at least as far back as Playford's " Dancing Master," 1657.] The bairns gat out wi' an unco shout. The deuks dang o'er my daddie, ; Quo' our gudewife, " Let him lie there. For he's just a paidling body, ; He paidles out, and he paifUes in. He paidles late and early, O ; This tliirty years I ha'e been his wife. And comfort comes but sparely, O.' " Xow haud your tongue," quo" our gudeman, " And dinna be sae saucy, O, I've seen the day, and so ha'e ye, 1 was baith young and gaucy, O. I've seen the day you butter'd my br-'se. And cuitered me late and early, ; But auld age is on me now. And wow but I fin't richt sair'v. O." < " I carena though ye were i' the mcols. Or dookit in a boggie, ; I kenna the use o' the crazy auld fool. But just to toom the coggie, O. Gin the win' were out o' your whaisling hauzt I'd marry again and be voggie, O ; Some bonnie young lad would be my lot. Some rosy cheeked roggie, O." Quo' our gudeman, " Gi'e me that rung That's hingin' in the ingle, ; I'se gar ye haud that sorrowfu' tongue. Or else your lugs will tingle, O. Gang to your bed this blessed nicht. Or I'll be your undoing, O ;" The cannie auld wife crap out o' sicht, — ■What think ye o' sic wooing, O •" [Peter M'Akthcr. — Here first printed.] "When- ?Iary Shaw cam' to our v.iUey, Sweet and gentle was her form — A lily blossom drooping palely 'Neath the frown of early storm. Sad was her smile, but words o' pleasure Ever left her guileless tongue ; "We wonder'd aft that heaven's treasure Fill'd the heart o' ane sae young. She wander'd where the violet's b'ossom Spent its fragrance in the shade, Aft she bid it on her bosom Softly rest its purpled head. But aye it droop'd in pining sorrow. And seem'd as if it whispering said. Dear sister, ere the winters morrow, Cold will be our narrow bed. And when the year was sadly waning. Ere the rough winds 'gan to rave. Young JIary faded. imcompLoining, Wasted to an early grave. Now o'er her bed the autumn morrow Strews the wjther'd flower and le.-f. And the wind wakes its sighs of sorrow. In concert with our tears of grief. '^\ I fe1 (S^^^m^'f^^cm^^mM^^^^^s^^!^ ^^>^z^f6^.^v^^"^^fl^^'^g(^^ 564 SCOTTISH SONGS. [Petkii M'Arthur.— Here printed for the first time.] Yh (lark rolling clouds, round the brow of Ben Horrow, ^ O weep your dark tears to the green vales below ; Ye winds of the hill, wake your wailings of sorrow. S ■^t lYI I f^ No beams of the morning can gladness bestow ! w/^ Arise, ye grey mists, from the loud falling Corric, • ^,-. And shroud from our children the sad sight of wail ; *J. \ The warriors that left them high bounding for glory /%. ' Shall never return to the land of the Gael. Our maidens have twined the wild mountain flowers. To crown their young lovers they wait their return ; A las, for their fondness ! they know not of hours i**^' When tidings of sorrow shall bid them to mourn. 'ff^A. I heard the dread howl of the wolf from the mountain , •■'V" 1 saw the dark death-bird flit over the plain, 'l ^\ I saw a red stream, and a blood-curdled fountain, C": ' And the war-horse dash over the breasts of the slain. The Saxon has swept o'er the plains of Culloden, I [ ^ Our heroes have fallen, or wander'd afar f^^ 'Mong dark mounfciin caves, where the blue mist is shrouding 5^,y J<'o minstrel awaits their returning from war. ' 'A Ky yon gloomy pine, on the grey brow of Morra, - A young prince is wand'ring dejected and lone, •>-j I From his deep-troubled breast come the sad sighs of sorrow V -''-' For chieftains departed, and young virgins gone. ,%) He turns his sad eyes to the land of his fathers, ' '• Where the banners of welcome once waved on her towers ; f^' 1 Those honours departed are given to others, fc-, "^ The tears of regret wander down for those hours. - > I see a white sail through the dim mist of ocean, ^SNr It comes like the beam on the dawning of ilaj ; j^"^ Albyn — awake thee to mournful devotion, Q^J It bears him an exile for ever away. /- ^t. JMimgo'0 mirife=gart. [J AMM Lemon.— Here first printed.— The author of this piece (a letter-carrier to the Glasgow Post ' >. Office) published in 1840 a small collection of " Original Poems and Songs."] ' > 'WnEN the shadows o' midnicht fa' dark frae yon fane, , O'er the graves o' the dead a' sae silent an" lane ; A n' the yellow sered leaf wavers in the chill breeze, Singin' sadly the dirge o' the dead through the trees : ! then, when the moon lichtly skims the nirht blue. An' flings o'er a' nature a pale ghaistly hue, A 1 wander a' lanely, or lean on the sward, I J^j Jl.akin' main wi' the owl in St. Mungo's Kirk-yard. C ^^mi^''^^^^^^'^' ■.>9U'a? SCOTTISH S0>-G3. 56i Ah ! the sad hollow echoes sounin' doon the auld pile, Like the voice o* the dead risin' frae the dark aisle. To me is mair dear than the mirth-making croud. For a' my joy it is wrapt in my Peggy's death-shroud,— In my Peggy's death-shroud wi' my wee bairnies three. An' there 's nought worth the living for, if I could dee ; But though grey wi' grief I maun dree out my weird. Till laid "mang them a' in St. Mungo's Kirk -yard. Ye've seen in the lane wild a bonnie wee flower. Unconscious o' beauty, the pride o' its bower; Sae my Peggy was fair, unassumin', an' meek. The gowan's pure red an' white met in her cheek. Till death cross'd our hallin an' took our first wean. An' broke her sad heart aye sae dotin' an' fain ; For O i frae the day he was laid in the yird. Her bloom it gaed wi' him to St. ilungo's Kirk-yard. But had the fell spoiler but just stoppit here. The floweret, that was noo sae pallid an' sere, Wi' a mair sunny season micht bloom'd ance again. But affliction, alas ! seldom cometh alane ; For the death rap it knock'd mair tlian ance at our door. An' bairn followed bairn to the dark mystic shore ; An' Peggy's fond bosom was sae sadly sered. She followed them soon to St. Mungo's Kirk-yard. In the dream o' the nicht an' the vision o' daj-, I see her in a' her fond innocence gay, Wi' her wee totums fondlin' and makin' sic glee. An' O ! it's a sweet glimpse o' heaven to me. But 1 wake frae my dream to new sorrows again. An' my vision it leaves me like ane that 'a insane. For their green grassy graves by the wee cairn I rear'J Rushes sad on my sicht in St. Mungo's Kirk-yard. O : the warl' to me is a bleak, dreary waste, "Without a green spot where a fond hope micht rest ; An' I Stan' 'mid the gloom like a shelterless tree, Sair scathed wi' the blast left my blossoms frae me. The rose in its beauty wakes sympathies fain. An' the minstrel can soothe wi' his heart-meltin' strain ; But my peace, like a wee bird, awa' it is scar'd. And I look for it here in St. Mungo's Kirk-yard. But hush ! my dear Peggy, why should 1 repine ? For this pale wasted clay it will soon mix wi' thine— It will soon mix wi' thine an' my wee bairnies three, For where the heart lingers the body will be. An' yet in thy bosom I'll find my lost peace, "Where the weary frae a' their sad murmurin's cease. An' though in the warl' our lot has been hard. We'll rise yet wi' joy frae St. Mungo's Kirk-yard. i '^^^m^/^^^^c^^i^^^^^^^s^' [Pakt of this song is old, and part by Burns, as it went through his hands for Johnson's Mu- seum. In Croniek's Remains of Nithsdale and fialloway Song, some other verses are given as belonging to the old song, but they are interpola- tions by Allan Cunningham. William Gordon, viscount Kenmure, when the rebellion broke out in the year 1715, left Kenmure, in Galloway, with about 200 horsemen, and joined the Chevalier's forces at Preston in Lancashire. Here he was attacked by General Carpenter and taken prisoner, along with many of his unfortunate followers, to London. The prisoners with their arras pinioned were led on horseback through the principal streetsof tlie metropolis, and were obliged to sub- mit to the hootings and indignities of a London mob. KeniiiUre was beheaded on Tower Hill on the 24th Februar>-, 1716. His fate was much iamented.] O, Kenmubb's on and awa', Willie, O, Kenmurc's on and awa' ; And Kenmure's lord's the bravest lord That ever Galloway saw. Success to Kenmure's band, ■VA'illie, Success to Kenmure's band I There's no a heart that fears a Whig, That rides by Kenmure's hand. Here's Kenmure's health in wine, Willie, Here's Kenmure's health in wine ! There ne'er was a coward o' Kenmure's blude, 2«or yet o" Gordon's line. O, Kenmure's lads are men, AVillie, O, Kenmure's lads are men ! Their hearts and swords are metal true ; And that their laes shall ken. They'll live or die wi' fame, Willie, They'll live or die wi' fame ; But sune wi' sound and victorie May Kenmure's lord come hamc ! Here's him that's far awa", Willie, Here's him that's far awa' ; And here's the flower that I lo'e best, The rose that's like the snaw. ^OTial^ lEExgillafeTg. [This is given by Hooo, in his " Jacobite Relics," as " a capital old song, and very popular." In a rather caustic criticism of that work, the Edin- burgh Eeview quotes " Donald Maegillavry" asone of the best Jacobite reUcs in the collection. The Sheilherd afterwards avowed it to be a production of his own, and rejoiced in the thought that he liad exposed the reviewer's ignorance, without taking into calculation that he had also at the same time exposed his own literarj- dishonesty.] Donald's gane up the hill hard and hungry, Donald's come down the hill wild and angry ; Donald will clear the gowk's nest cleverly — Here's to the king and Donald MacgillavTy ! Come like a weigh-bauk, Donald JIacgillavry, Come like a weigh-bauk, Donald 3Iacgillavry ; Balance them fair, and balance them cleverly — OflF wi' the counterfeit, Donald Macgillavry. Donald's ran ower the hill, but his tether, man. As he were wud, or stang'd wi" an ether, man ; When he comes back there's some will look mer- rily — Here's to king James and Donald Macgillavi}- 1 Come like a weaver, Donald Macgillavry, Come like a weaver, Donald Jlacgillavry ; Pack on your back, and elwand sae cleverly, Gi'e them full measure, my Donald Macgillavry. Donald has foughten wi' reif and roguery, Donald has dinner'd wi' banes and beggary ; Better it were for Whigs and Whiggery Meeting the devil than Donald Macgillavry. Come like a tailor, Donald Macgillavry, Come like a tailor, Donald Macgillavry ; Push about, in and out, thimUe them cleverl) — Here's to king James and Donald Macgillavry ! Donald's the callan that brooks nae tangleness, Whigging and prigging, and a' newfanglecess ; They maun be gane, he winna be baukit, man , He maun ha'e justice, or faith he will tak' it, man. Come like a cobbler, Donald Macgillavry, Come like a cobbler, Donald Macgillavry; Beat them, and bore them, and Ungle them cleverly — Up wi' king James and Donald Macgillavry ! ^^^5g^^^ Donald was mumpit wi' mirds and mockery, Donald was blinded wi' blads o' property ; Aries were high, but makinga were naething, man — "Lord, how Donald is flyting and fretting, man ! Come like the devil, Donald MacgiUavry, Come like the devil, Donald Jlacgillavry ; Skelp them and scaud them that proved sae un- britherly — t'p wi' king James and Donald Macgillavrr ! ©9 t9 fiimj t^m. [EOBEBT JamISSOX.] Go to him, then, if thou canst go ; Waste not a thought on me; 3Iy heart and mind are a' my stor^ — They ance were dear to thee. But there is music in his gold, (I ne'er sae sweet could sing,) That finds a chord in every breast. In unison to ring. The modest virtues dread the spell ; The honest loves retire; The finer sympathies of soul Far other charms require. The breathings of my plaintive reed Sink dying in despair ; The still small voice of gratitude. Even that is heard nae mair. But, if thy heart can suffer thee. The powerful cause obey ; And mount the splendid bed that wealth And pride for thee display. There gaUy bid farewell to a* Love's trembling hopes and fears ; "While 1 my lonely pillow, here, "Wash with unceasing tears. Yet, in the fremmit arms of him. That half thy worth neer knew, O think na on my lang-tried love. How tender and how true ! For sure 'twould break thy tender heart, Jly breaking heart to see, V>'i- a' the wrangs and waes it tholed. And yet maun thole for thee. ^^e ^M^^t ©■? ^ivlh [Taxsahill — Music arranged by R. A. Smith. —The story of the Harper of 3Iull is to be found in " The Bee," a periodical edited by Dr. Ander- son, and published in Edinburgh towards the close of the last century. It is thus abridged in Mr. P. A. Ramsay's edition of TannahUl's Poems. " In the island of MuU there lived a harper who was distinguished for his professional skill, and the affectionate simpUcity of his manners. He was attached to Rosie, the fairest flower in the island, and soon made her his bride. J»'ot long afterwards, he set out on a visit to some low- countrj- friends, accompanied by his Rosie, and carrying his harp, which had been his companion in all his journeys for many years. Overtaken by the shades of night, in a soUtarj- part of the coun- try, a cold Ciintness fell upon Rosie, and she sank, almost lifeless, into the harper's arms. He hastily wrapped his plaid around her shivering frame; but to no purpose. Distract«i, he hurried firom place to place in search of fuel to revive the dying embers of life. Kone could be found. His harp lay on the grass, its neglected strings vibrating to the blast. The harper loved it as his own life, but he loved his Rosie better than eit'ner. His nervous arms were applied to its sides, and ere long it lay crackling and blazing on the heath. Eosie soon revived under its genial influence, and resumed the journey when morning began to purple the east. Passing down the side of a hill, they were met by a hunter, on horseback, who addressed Rosie in the style of aiyld and £uniliar friend. The harper, innocent himself, and unsus- picious of others, paced slowly along leaving her in converse with the stranger. 'Wondering at her delay, he turned round, and beheld the faithless fair seated behind the hunter on his steed, which speedily bore them out of sight, The unhappy harper, transfi.^ed with astonishment, gazed at them. Then, slowly turning his steps homewards, he sighing exclaimed, — ' Fool that I tvat, to Mim mj/ harp for her!' " — It is said that Tann.ihill first heard th i s story told at a convivial meeting, as an instance of the infidelity of the fair sei, whose fidelity he had been strenuously defending, not- withstanding that he himself was disappointed in the only love affair in which he was ever seriously engaged. The impression which the narrative made upon his mind led him to the composition of the song.] i -;^^ ^.'i'W/&&- '■: B68 SCOTTISH SONGrf. ^ When Rosic was faithful, how happy was I ! ■ Still gladsome as suramcr the time glided by ; 1 play'd my harp cheery, while fondly 1 sang Of the charms of my Eosie the winter nights lang: But now I'm as waefu' as waefu' can be. Come simmer, come winter, 'tis a' ane to me, For the dark gloom of falsehood sae clouds my sal soul. That cheerless for aye is the Harper of Mull. I wander the glens and the wild woods alane. In thtir deepest recesses I make my sad mane; My harp's mournful melody joins in the strain. While sadly I sing of the dayfjfhat are gane. Though Rosie is faithless, she's no the less fliir, And the thoughts of her beauty but feeds my despair ; With painful remembrance my besom is ftill. And weary of life is the Harper of Mull. As slumb'ring I lay by the dark mountain stream. My lovely young Rosie appear'd in my dream ; 1 thought her still kind, and I ne'er was sae blest, As in fancy I clasp'd the dear nymph to my breast : Thou false fleeting vision, too soon thou wert o'er, Thou wak'dst me to tortures unequall'd before ; ISut death's silent slumbers my griefs soon shall lull, A ud the green grass wave over the Harper of Mull. [Jacobite song. — Tune, " Hey, tuttie taitie." — The allusion in the last verse but one to the king of Sweden proves the sung to belong to about the beginning of the last century, when Charles XII. of Sweden was expected to espouse the cause of the Stuarts.] Hkiie's to the king, sir! Ye ken wha I mean, sir ; And to every honest man. That will do't again. Fill, fill your bumpers high ; Urain drain your glasses dry; Out upon h;m, fy ! oh ly 1 'i liat winna do't again. Here's to the chieftains Of the gallant Highland clans ! They ha'e done it niair nor ance. And will do't again. Fill, fill, &c. When you hear the trumpet sound , Tuttie taitie, to the drums ; Up wi' swords and down your guni-- An' to the loons again. Fill, fill, &c. Here 's to the king o' Swede ! Fresh laurels crown his head ! Shame fa' every sneaking blade. That winna do't again ! Fill, fill, &c. But to mak' a things right, now. He that drinks maun fight, too. To show his heart's upright, too, %.\nd that he'll do't again ! Fill, fill, &c [TuNK," Hey, tuttie, taitie."— Altered by Burns from an old ditty. The last verse of this son;? formed originally the first verse of the previous i song.] LANDiAny, count the lawin. The day is near the dawin ; Ye're a' blind drunk, boys. And I'm but jolly fou. Hey tuttie, taitie, How tuttie, taitie — Wha's fou now ? Cog an' ye were aye fou. Cog an' ye were aye fou, I wad sit and sing to you, If ye were aye fou. Weel may ye a' be ! Ill may we never see ! Cod bless the king, boys. And the companie ! Hey tuttie, taitie. How tuttie, taitie — Wha's fou now ? j>^&i'M^js^^^[S^f^s^f^^^0^^^sim :^'-< ?^- sm^s^^^^m^^' "^.-"mi^^^^' SCOTTISH SONGS. 509 ^|ie ^oibm'0 '^tit^mmt. [From Herd's Collection, 1776. " ' Gude day to uu, Robin," " says 3Ir. Robert Cliambers, " is a : song whicli I have heard sung by old women and nurses In my own young days. It may be loca- lized, from the various allusions, as belonging to Clydesdale ; and I should suppose it to have been ■written some time after 1622, probably not long, ' as the old bridge of Tay at Perth, built by Robert I Bruce, gave way that year, and was not again built tin 1772. The mending or re-erection of the bridge of Tay was a matter of agitation durinLT ; the reign of Charles I.: and that sovereign, when i I Scotland in 1641, subscribed an hundred pounds i for the purpose. May not the song have been 1 written at that precise era?"] Gude day now, bonnie Robin, How lang ha'e ye been here ? I've been a bird about this bush i This mair than twenty year. j But now I am the sickest bird That ever sat on brier ; | And I wad mak' my testament, Gudeman, if ye wad hear. i Gar tak' this bonnie neb o' mine, ; That picks upon the com ; ; And gi'e't to the duke o' Hamilton, To be a hunting-horn. Gar tak' thae bonnie feathers o' mine. The feathers o' my neb ; And gi'e to the lady Hamilton, To fill a feather bed. Gar tak' t'ais gude richt leg o' muw, And mend the brig o' Tay ; It will be a post and pillar gude. It will neither bow nor gae. A.n\ tak' this other leg of mine. And mend the brig o' Weir; It will be a post and pillar gude. It will neither bow nor steer. Gar tak' thae bonnie feathers o' mine. The feathers o' my tail ; And gi'e to the lads o' Hamilton To be a barn-flail. And tak' thae bonnie feathers o' mine. The feathers o' my breast; And gi'e them to the bonnie lad. Win bring to me a priest. .Xow in there cam' my lady wren, Wi' mony a sigh and groan, O what care I for a' the lads. If my ain lad be gone I Itien Robin turn'd him round about. E'en like a little king ; Gae pack ye out at my chamber-door. Ye little cutty-quean. [This is said to be a translation by Burns of a Gaelic nursery song which a Highland lady sung and interpreted to him. It appears to belong to the period when boldness and dexterity in cattle- lifting were accounted virtues.] Hee, baloo, my sweet wee Donald, Picture o' the great Clanronald ; Thou'lt be a chief o' a' thy clan. If thou art spared to be a man. Leeze me on thy bonnie craigie I .\n' thou live thou'lt lift a naigie. Travel the country through and through. And bring hame a Carlisle cow. Through the Lawlands, nea^he Border, Weel, my babie, may thou furder ; Herry thejjjpns o' the laigh countrie. Syne to the Highlands hame to me. jfegljaHfcE'sl-itSjiH.-^ [From " The North Countrie Garland smaU collection printed at Edinburgh in 1824 for private distribution.] If my dear wife should chance lo gang, Wi' me, to Edinburgh toun. Into a shop I will her tak', i And buy her a new goun. ^}S^^.'^^'^^^^^^m^m<^s^^m^^ But if my dear wife should ha:n the charge As 1 expect she will. And if she says. The auld will do, By my word she shall ha'e her will. Jf my dear wife should wish to gang, To see a neebor or friend, A horse or a chair I will provide. And a servant to attend. But if my dear wife shall hain the charge. As I expect she will, • And if she says, I'll walk on foot, By my word she shall lia'c her will. If my dear wife shall bring me a son. As I expect she will, Cake and wine I will provide. And a nurse to nurse the child. But if my dear wife shall hain the charge. As I expect she will, And if she says. She'll nurs't hersel', By my word she shall ha'e her will. %m^ ^umw. [Written by Burns for Thomson's collection. Peter Pindar (Dr. "Wolcot) had previously writ- ten verses on the same subject for the same col- lection. Both songs are founded on the fine old ballad called " The Lass of Lochryan."] Oh, mirk,jpirk is this midnight hour. And \^^^^)3^-'^^'^^^^^^-<'m'^&^ SCOTTISH soycs 573 ^heet Ms^iE, [From an anonymous sheet of music] WHERE are ye going, sweet Eobin ? Wliat makes you sae proud and sae shy ? 1 once saw the day, little Robin, My friendship you would not deny. But winter again is returning, And weather both stormy and sn?!! ; Gin ye will come back, little Eobin, I'll feed ye wl' moulins mysel'. When summer comes in, little Eobin Forgets all his friends and his care ; Away to the fields flies sweet Eobin, To wander the groves here and there. Though you be my debtor, sweet Robin, On you I will never lay blame ; For I've had as dear friends as Eobin, Who often have served me the same. 1 once had a lover like Eobin, W^o long for my love did implore ; At last he took flight, just like Eobin, And him I ne'er saw any more. But should the stem blast of misfortune Return him, as winter does thee. Though slighted by both, little Eobin, Yet both of your faults I'll forgi'e. ^■^e 1iig=lc!He^ Mottle, r/^ ' [This appears in the first Edinburgh edition of JHy' BuRNs's Poems, 1787. It is adapted to the old ■lill, "Wi' jokes rare and witty he kept up the glory, Till morning's faint glmimer was seen on the hill. I " Then score us another drappy, Kate, : I An' gi'e us a cake to our cappy, Kate ; ■ I For, by spigot an' pin, ! It were mair than a sin KTo fiit when we're sitting sae happy, Kate. fe^lK^'^^ag&.^iBJ^i^g^.^^S^ SCOTTISH SONGS. ';f (©iu ?;lax ©f tie msifWBg. [RoBKRT Gii,FiM,AN. — Tune, " One bumper at Tarting."] Our. star of the morning still lingers Amid the deep blue of the sky, O ! it waits for the sun and my Mary To light up the green earth with joy. Then haste, love, the fair lily's weeping, The young rose is drooping in dew ; The lark, in its sweet dream, is sleeping, ■Till wakened by nature and you ! There's joy when the soft morning blushes. And sunbeams on bright streamlets play. When the deep glen and dark misty mountain Etaoice at the coming of day : But not the gay gladness of nature, When summer and morning are young. Can equal that rapture of bosom. When you are the theme of my song. Yon bright star of mom is departing To skies ol a lovelier hue. To sparkle on lands that are fairer. But on maid never fairer than you ! The golden sun now walks in glory. And gladdens with smiles flower and tree"; Like you who, in joy or in sorrow, rftill gladdens this bleak world to me ! ?l^owttie %mn mu¥^ mmkU, [David Vkddeb.— This song was written for an ancient Scottish air to be found In the Skene collection of tunes, and entitled " Bonnie Jean makis meikle of me."] M V Lorde Kilspindie's crappe is in, Sae hail may skyte, an' rain may pour ; The norlan' blaste frae yonte the binnc May Bkelpe an' dadde fu' snelle an' dour: I 've noucht till doe but tende my flouir. As lanR as heaven sail health bestow mee; My life's ane rosie sun-licht hour, lor bonnie Jean mak's muckle o' mee. Thy bewtic is baith riche an' rare, — Thy cheeke's the rose, thy teethe's the pearlc, Love sportes amang thy coal-blacke hair. An' in thine eyne, my winesome girle! Her voice is niusick frae the merle. Or mavis in the glen below me; — I'm happier than Kilspindie's Karle, ■When bonnie Jean mak's muckle o' mee. Mess Jhone, our sanctimonious fHer, Screedcs frae the altar ilka Lente, That laicks a' were placed here To practise pennaunce, an' repentc ;— But frae sic doctrines I dissent. An' spurn his cauldriffe dogmas fro' mee; This warl's a' wi' flouris bcsprente. For bonnie Jean mak's muckle o' mee. I bous'd an' birl't at the yill. At bikkeris aye I bure the gree ; The roarin' channel-stane stude still TJpo' the ycc withouttcn mee : But now adieu to barley-bree, Whilke frae my balance aft did throw mee. For I've fcffsworn it a', ye see. Since bonnie Jean made muckle o" mee. I^atifie^ tie |Mora. [Edward Polik.— Here first printed.— Air, ' Woo'd an' married an' a'."] O Freedom, you're muckle deservin' A' the sangs that are sung in your praise. An' me ye've been scrvin' an' servin' A' the blythest an' best o' my days ; But we ne'er prize our pleasures eneuch Till we see that frae us they'll be torn, Sae I'm singing o' freedom the nicht. For I'm to be married the morn. Married at last tlie morn- Buckled sae fast the mom ; Sae I'm singing o' freedom the nicht. For I'm to be married the mom. But I trow ye 1 wadna be buckled Gin I saw it could otherwise be. For I ken that whan twa folk are coupled Nor ane nor the ither is free ; m u liS^:^'^'!^' ^fm^m:^0^ ^^:Sm^»£^S}^^^^^^^^^^^lS/^^, SCOTTISH S0NG3. 577 But that deil o' a lassie has wiled me— She's witched me as sure as I'm bom, "VVi' the glamour o' love she's beguiled me, Sae I'm to be married the mom. Married at last the mom — Buckled sae fast the mom ; ■\Vi' the glamour o' love she's beguiled me, Sae I'm to be married the morn. Already the lassie can guide me To gae or to come at her ca". Then what may I guess to betide me Whan she rules wi' baith love an' the law ; But gudesake ! it canna be helpit. To mak' her my ain I ha'e sworn — At the kirk a' the parish was tellt it, oae I'm to be married the morn. Married at last the morn- Buckled sae fast the mom ; At the kirk a' the parish was tellt it, Sae I'm to be married the mom. An' noo sin' it canna be better We'll e'en mak' the best o't we can, An' sin' for a wife I maun get her. She just maun get me for a man ; We dinna ken what was intended — We maybe for this o't were born ; An' noo, folk, my sang maun be ended, If or I'm to be married the mom. Married at last the morn — Buckled sae fast the mom ; An' noo, folk, my sang maun be ended, for I'm to be married the mom. [This is a brief but emphatic burst of enthu- siasm from BcRNs regarding his " bonnie Jean." It appears in the Museum to an old air com- municated by the poet.] Lous, what reck I by thee, Or Geordie on his ocean ? — Dj-vour, tieggar loons to me — 1 reign in Jeannie's bosom. Let her crown my love her law. An' io her breast enthrone me -. King and nations — swith, awa" 1 f randies, I disown ye ! «i^.>^t^ffi [Burns.— Tune, "The carUn o' the glen." YovNG Jamie, pride of a" the plain, Sae gallant and sae gay a swain ; Through a' our lasses he did rove. And reign'd resistless king of love : But now wi' sighs and starting tears. He strays among the woods and briers ; Or in the glens and rockj- caves. His sad complaining dowie raves. I wha sae late did range and rove. And chang'd with every moon my love, I little thought the time was near Repentance I should buy sae dear: The slighted maids my torments see. And laugh at a' the pangs I dree ; WTiile she, my cruel, scornfu' fair. Forbids me e'er to see her mair ! ^i 1 cam' ^eifeE. [BiBNs says that this song was very popular in Ayrshire. He sent a copy of the words and music to Johnson for insertion in his Museum.] As 1 cam' doun by yon castle wa'. And in by yon garden green, there I spied a bonnie, bonnie lass,— But the flower borders were us between. A bonnie, bonnie lassie she was. As ever mine eyes did sec : five hundred pounds would I give. For to have such a pretty bride as thee. To have such a pretty bride as me, Young man, ye are surely mista'en ; Though ye were king C fair Scotland, I wad disdain to be your queen. Talk not so very high, bonnie lass, O talk not so very, very high ; The man .it the fair that wad seU, He maun learn at the man that wad buy. 1 trust to climb a far higher tree, And harry a far richer nest : Tak' this advice C me, bonnie las3» J 1 1 umility wad set thee best. ^ 2«j ..> ' ^t^^^sS^^t- (-^ [Written- by Ramsay, who calls it in his Tea • ' Table Miscellany "The Auld JIan's best argu- , ^v j inent." It is sung to the tune of " Widow, are \,v' yt waking?" the beginning of an old licentious ^> \T song.. O WHA's that at my chamber-door ? " Fair widow, are ye waking ?" Auld carle, your suit give o'er. Your love lyes a" in tawking. Gi'e me the lad that's young and tight. Sweet like an April meadow ; 'Tis sic as he can bless the sight. And bosom of a widow. " O widow, wilt thou let me in I'm pawky, wise and thrifty, And come of a right gentle kin ; I'm little more than fifty." Daft carle, dit your mouth. What signifies how pawky. Or gentle born ye be, — bot youth. In love you're but a gawky. " Then, widow, let these guineas speak. That powerfully plead clinkan. And if they fail my mouth I'll steek. And nae mair love will think on." These court indeed, I maun confess, I think they make you young, sir. And ten times better can express Affection, than your tongue, sir. i $ ^ ^J [Addressed by Ta.snahill to a fair one who /*y, had forsaken him. — Air, " Lord Gregory."] y '-^ Accuse me not, inconstant fair, Of being false to thee, For I was true, would still been so, Ilad'st thou been true to me: But when 1 knew thy flighted lips Once to a rival's prest, love-smother'd independence rose. And spurn d thee from my breast. ®tie jpatctecIL The fairest flow'r in nature's field Conceals the rankling thorn ; So thou, sweet flow'r ! as false as fivir, This once kind heart h.ist torn : Tw.-is mine to prove the fellest pan^s That slighted love can feel ; 'Tis thine to weep that one rash act. Which bids this long Curewtll. 3lo|j^> tnmt kH^ me miB. [The tune called "John, come kiss me now," is of great antiquity, but the words to which it was originally sung, with the exception of the chorus, seem to be lost. At the Reformation, an endeavour was made by the more zealous of the clergy to give a spiritual meaning to the songs in popular use, and thus to con%-ert profane or licen- tious rhymes into holy hymns. Among the songs so metamorphosed was "John, come kiss me now ;" and we quote a verse of it in its spiritual- ized garb, to show the daring and unscrupulous lengths which the early reformers could go in combining familiar images with sacred. The effect is startling. Johne, cum kiss me now, Johne, cum kiss me now ; Johne, cum kiss me by and by. And make no more adow. The Lord thy God 1 am. That John dois thee call ; Jiihne represents man Uy grace celestiall, &c. The following fragment appears in Herd's Collec- tion, and seems to be all that remains of the ori- ginal song.J JoHK, come kiss me now, now, now, John come kiss me now, John come kiss me by and by. And make nae mair ado. Some will court and compliment, And make a great ado. Some will make of their goodman. And sae will I of you. John, come kiss, &c. fJi. m^si^^-^^^^^-^i^^^^^^' ^m'S^^' SCOTTISH SONGS ®^f i^ig'Man^ Witoi^* Ochon, ochon, oh, Donald, oh : ^,,' Ochon, oohon, ochrie ! /'-'"' Ifae woman in this warld wide Sae wretched now as me. [Thk pathetic lamentation was ^vritten by || ^jr^ Burns in imitation of some Gaelic chant be had | /^ heaM with the burthen " Ochon, ochon, ochrie." i ! CY It i^ inserted in the Museum to a Gaelic air also | V^ contributed by Boms. In the Jacobite Relics, ; t^-<^ Hogg gives it with three additional verses, pro- j ^jLA bably from his own pen. Of these verses, we re- | /^^ tain one, which fonris the last, except the chorus, ■ [Ramsay gives this in his Tea Table Miscellany (^'S» in the present song: the other two appear to us ' as an old piece in his day. It is also be fotii:a, V1(Jto injure the pathos of the piece, and we there- j; words and music, in the Orpheus Caledonius, ^f)$ iltj!^ ®ii^?inEi'. , fore leave them out.] Oh, I'm come to the Low C'ountrie, Ochon, ochon, ochrie ! "Without a penny in my purse To buy a meal to me. . It was na sae in the Highland hills, I Ochon, ochon, ochrie ! I >"ae woman in the country wide Sae happy was as me • For there I had a score o' kye, Ochon, ochon, ochrie ! Feeding' on yon hill sae high. And bringing milk to me. And there I had three score o' yowes, Ochon, ochon, ochrie! Skipping on yon bonnie knowes. And casting woo to me. 1 was the happiest o' the clan, Sair, sair may I repine ! For Donald was the bravest man. And Donald he was mine. T:U Charlie he cam* o'er at last, Sae far, to set us free; My Donald's arm was wanting then, For Scotland and for me. Their waefu" fate wh.at need I tell ' Richt to the wrang did yield ; My Donald and his country fell Vpon Culloden -field. >"ow I have nocht left me ava, Ochon, ochon, ochrie ! But bonnie orphan lad-weans twa. To seek their bread wi' me. I 1725. " The auld gudeman" I husband.^ means here thejirit Late in an evening forth I went, A little before the sun gaed down , And there I chanced, by accident. To light on a battle new begun. A man and his wife were faun in strife ; I canna weel tell how it began ; But aye she wail'd her wretched life. And cried ever, Alake, my auld gudem;. The auld gudeman that thou tells of. The country kenj where he was born, Was but a puir silly vagabond. And ilka ane leuch him to scorn ; For he did spend and mak' an end Of gear that his furefethers wau : He gart the purr stand frae the door : Sae tell nae mair of thy auld gudeman. She. My heart, alake, is like to bre.ak, VThen I think on my winsome John : His blinking een, and gait sae free, AVas naething like thee, thou dozent drone. His rosy face and flaxen hair. And skin as white as ony swan, Was large and tall, and comely withal: And thoult never be like my auld gudeman. He. "Why dost thou pleen ? I thee m.ainteen ; For meal and maut thou disna want : But thy wad bees I canna pkase, Now when our ge.ir "gins to grow sosir-.- Of household stuff thou hast enough; Thou wants f>jr neither pot nor pan : Of siclike ware he left thee bare : Sae tell me nae mair of thy auld gudenan. .i U^^smr^^S!3&^m^--m^t^^'m^i- V '^1^^ 580 SCOTTISH S0NG.1. >M<^ ^ She. Yes, I mny tell, and fret mysel'. To think on the blythe days I had, Vhen he and I thegither lay In arms, into a weel-made bed. But now I sigh, and may b» sad ; Thy courage is cauld, thy colour wan ; Thou foulds thy feet, and fa's asleep : And thoul't never be likemy auld gudeman. Then coming was the nicht sae dark. And gane was a' the licht of day ; The carle was fear'd to miss his mark, And therefore wad nae langer stay. Then up he gat, and he ran his way ; I trow the wife the day she wan And aye the owerword o' the fray Vas ever, Alake, my auld gudeman ! [G Ai.i.owAv Tam is said to have been astalwart gypsey in Galloway of the name of Thomas Mar- shall, some of \vhose descendants can still be traced. We canrtot speak as to the age of the song, but in Gordon of ritraloch's MS. Lute Book, 1637, " Gallua Tam" occurs as the title of an air. In the "Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song," two additional verses are given to the present, hut they are evidently spurious, and scarcely fit for quoting.] i j O, Galloway Tam came here to woo — I'd rather we'd gi'en him the bawsand cow; ! For our lass Bess may curse and ban The wanton wit o' Galloway Tam : IThk chorus of this song and the tune are old : the rtst was furnished by Burns for the Museum.] Thk weary pund, the weary pund. The weary pund o' tow ; I thought my wife w.id end her life Before she span her tow. I bought my wife a stane o' lint, As good as e'er did grow. And a" that she could mak' o' that Was ae weary pund o' tow. The weary pund, &c. There sat a bottle in a bole, Ayont the ingle low, A nd aye she took the tither sook. To drook the stoury tow. The weary pund, &c. For shame, said I, you dirty dame, Gae spin your tap o' tow : She took the roke, and, wi' a knock, She brak' it ower my pow. The weary pund, &c. At length her feet— I sang to see it- lined foremost ower the knowe ; And ere I wed another jade I'll wallop in a tow. The weary pund, &c. O Galloway Tam came here to shear — I'd rather we'd gi'en him the guid gray mare He kiss'd the gudewife, and dang the gudeman- And that's the tricks o' Galloway Tam '. [" I owe whatever is curious and humoroui of this ancient song to the kindness of Sir Wal- ter Scott, from whose recitation I wrote it. Whatever is new and dull must be attributed to me, since I ventured to alter the last lines of the second verse, and to add the third." — Allah CUN.NINOIIAW.] There dwalt a man into the west, And O gin he was cruel. For on his bridal night at e'en He gat up and grat for gruel. They brought to him a gude sheep head, A napkin and a towel : Gar tak' thae whim-whams fer frae roe, And bring to me my gruel. But there's nae meal in a' the house. What will we do, my jewel ? Get up the powk and shake it out, I winna want my gruel. But there's nae milk in a' the house, Nor yet a spunk o' fuel : Gae warm it in the light o" the moon, ^ I winna want my gruel. f^ i^im'^^^:^f^'i^C^^^5^^s^ '^i^j^^^'^:^Sm'-f^Mir^^ SCOTTISH S0NG3. ►81 i^ O lake-a-day for my first wife, \Vha was baith white and rosie. She cheer'd me aye at e'ening fa' Wi' siraething warm and cozie: Farewell to pleasant draps o' drink. To butter brose and gruel ; And farewell to my first sweet wife. My cannie Nancy Newell. [Burns.— Tune, "Robie donna Gorack." Mr. Riddell of Glenriddel also composed an air to this Bong. " The poet," says Allan Cunningham, " imagined himself in a distant land ; and recall- ing the romantic hills and lovely valleys of Niths- dale, as he mused, composed this sweet song. The Comyns ' once had high command' in the district : one of their strong places was at Castle- dykes, immediately below Dumfries : another was at Dalswinton, a spot of great beauty, now the residence of one more than worthy of being its proprietor — James Macalpine Leny, Esq. Part of Comyn's Castle was standing as late as the year 1794. The walls were twelve feet thick, composed of hewn free-stone, and cemented with mortar of such strength that the stones separated any where save at the joints. The castle had evidently been consumed by fire. Opposite Dalswinton stands The Isle, an old tower surrounded by gardens and orchards. EUisland is farther up the Nith ; with Friars-Carse, and Blackwood, the property of WiUiam Copland, descended from John Cop- land who took Davil Bruce prisoner in the battle of Durham. The house of Blackwood stands on abend of the stream ; behind is a lofty hill studded with fine clumps of natural wood, the relics of the old Caledonian forest; before it the Nith winds along a rich extent of holmland ; while towards the north, in the middle of the high road from Glasgow, grows that magnificent oak called the ' Three Brethren.' Three straight, tall shafts spring up at an equal distance from e.ich other, and it is believed that they unite in the ground below : they are of similar girth : the branches of each are perfectly alike; and the peasantry say there is not a bough nor a leaf on one but the same wiU be found on the other. The three, at a diatance, seem one vast tree, of a conical shape. "J The Thames flows proudly to the sea. Where royal cities stately stand ; But sweeter flows the Nith, to me. Where Cummins ance had high command : When shall I see that honour'd land. That winding stream I love so dear ; Must wayward fortune's adverse hand For ever, ever keep me here ? How lovely, Nith, thy fruitful vales. Where spreading hawthorns gaily bloom ! How sweetly wind thy sloping dales. Where lambkins wanton through the broomi Though wandering, now, must be my doom. Far from thy bonnie banks and braes. May there my latest hours consume,. Amang the friends of early days ! /Ji? (Sallknt llil?a!;n. I [Written by Burns for Johnson's Huseam, j where it appears set to a fine air called " The j Weaver's March." The Cart flows through Pais- ley, celebrated for its productions of the loom. , I and it is said that "a gallant weaver" there, n:imed Eobart AVilson, offered his hand in mar- ' riage to Jean Armour, at the time when she was [ obliged to seek refuge with a relation in that town, to avoid the effects of her father's disple;isure. I In these days, a weaver was considered superior [ in station to a husbandman ; and Burns was at I first deeply jealous of his Paisley rival ; but he afterwards, when Jean proved her fidelity, laughed over the subject— and the present song was in all probability suggested by reminiscences of this passage in his life.] Where Cart rins rowin' to the sea. By mony a flow'r and sprciding tree. There lives a lad, the lad for me. He is a gallant weaver. Oh, I had wooers aught or nine. They gied me rings and ribbons fine ; I And 1 was fear'd my heart would tine, I ! And 1 gied it to the weaver. J! My daddie sign'd my tocher- band, I i To gi'e the lad that h.as the land ; I I But to my heart I'll add my hand, •^f And gie it to the weaver. ^P ms>^^^^s2^-^-^^^^^mi^^ f^^t^Sh^ jCOTTISH song^. y While birds rejoice in leafy bowers ; "While bees delight in op'ning flowers ; "While corn grows green in summer showers, I U love my gallant weaver. [This was a popular song during the early part of last century, and may be quoted as a favoura- ble specimen of the fashionable pastoral which then prevailed. The author, Chari.es Hamil- ton, Lord Binning, eldest son of Thomas sixth earl of Haddington, was born in the year 1696, and died at Naples in 1732.] 1)11) ever swain a nymph adore As I ungrateful Nannie do? "Was ever shepherd's heart so sore ? Was ever broken heart so true ? My cheeks are swell'd with tears ; but she Has never shed a tear for me. If Nannie call'd, did Robin stay. Or linger when she bade me ruu ? She only had a word to say. And all she ask'd was quickly done. I always thought on her; but she ^^'ould ne'er bestow a thought on me. To let her cows my clover taste, Have I not rose by break of. day ? "When did her heifers ever fast* If Robin in his yard had hay ? Though to iTiy fields they welcome were, I never welcome was to her. 1 f Nannie ever lost a sheep, I cheerfully did give her two. Did not her lambs in safety sleep. Within my folds in frost and snow? Have they not there from cold been free ? But Nannie still is cold to me. T\'hene'er I climb'd our orchard trees. The ripest fruit was kept for Nan : (>h, how these hands that drown'd her bees ^Vere stung ! I'll ne'er forget the pain : Sweet were the combs as sweet could be ; But Nannie ne'er look'd sweet on me. ; If Nannie to the well did come, •Twas I that did her pitchers fill ; Full as they were, I brought them home ; Her corn I carried to the mill: Jly back did bear her sacks : but she Could never bear the sight o' mc. To Nannie's poultry oats I gave, I'm sure they always had the best; AVithin this week her pigeons have Eat up a peck of peas at least. Her little pigeons kiss ; but she AVuuld never take a kiss from me. Must Robin always Nannie woo ? And Nannie still on Robin frown ? Alas, poor wretch ! what shall I do. If Nannie does not love me soon ? If no relief to me she'll bring, I'll hang me in her apron string. Ill mtn hbi th$2 umt. [This is generally ascribed to James GRAnAii, j " the great marquis of Montrose," who was exe- I cuted at Kdinburgh by the covenanting party, I on the 21st May, 1650. It appears in "Watson's I Choice Collection of Scots I'oei.is, Kdinburgh I 1711, where is also given what is called a Second j Part, consisting of thirteen stanzas, but sceni- 1 ingly written by another hand. Among Cavaliers ' and Jacobites it was much admired, and used to , be sung to the old tune of" Chevy Chace."] i My dear and only love, I pray That little world of thee Be govern'd by no other swriv, But purest monarchy ; For if confusion have a part, Which virtuous souls abhor, I'll call a sjnod in my heart And never love thee more. As Alexander 1 will reign. And I will reign alone, , My thoughts did evermore disdain A rival on my tlirone. He either fears his fate too much. Or his deserts are small, "VATio dares not put it to the touch, To gain or lose it ali. (U: f^^^a^^C^ ■•^ ^Ti But 1 will reign, and govern still. And always give the law, And have each subject at my will. And all to stand in awe : But 'gainst my batt'ries if I find Thou storm or vex me sore. As if thou set me as a blind, I'U never love thee more. And in the empire of thy heart. Where I should solely be. If others should pretend a part. Or dare to share with me ; Or committees if thou erect. Or go on such a score, I'll smiling mock at thy neglect. And never love thee more. But if no feithless action stain Thy love and constant word, I'll make thee famous by my pen. And glorious by my sword. I'U serve thee in such noble ways. As ne'er were known before ; I'll deck and crown my head with bays. And love thee evermore. Mu Wi^eis ^Mnxiu. [Thomas C. Latto.— Air, " The Lothian Las- i THE days when I strutted (to think o't I'm sad) The heir to a cosy bit mailen, AMien sly Widow Skinner gat round me, thejaud! For she thocht my auld daddy -was failin', was failin'. For she thocht my auld daddy was faillin'. 1 promised to tak' her for better for worse. Though sma' was my chance to be happy. For I found she had courted na me but my purse, TiMiafs waur— that she liket a drappy, a drappy, ■VNTiat's waur that she liket a drappy. Then ae nicht at a kirn I saw Maggy .Hay, To see her was strait to adore her ; The Widow look'd blue when I pass'd her neist day. An' waited na e'en to speer for her, speerfor her. An' waited na e'en to speer for her. O pity my case, I was terribly raw, ».^ . And she was a terrible Tartar; ^' , She spak about " measures" and " takin' the law ," T ,' • And J set mysel' down for a martyr, a martyr, - 'v And I set mysel' down for a martyr. ff J[' Weel ! I buckled wi' Meg, an' the blythe honey- sj^ j moon ^.«V Scarce was owre when the Widow, I met her, f-,'« She gimingly whisper'd, "Hech! weel ha'e ye '£j dune, '., \ But tent me lad I can do better, do better, '- ' . . But tent me lad I can do better : — ; ' Gin ye canna get berries put up wi' the hools,' ■ "4^ Her proverb I coimtit a blether, • '■'i But, — widows for ever for hookin' auld fales, — . ^^ Keist week she was cryed wi' my feyther, my fey • T- ther ! , - ^ Neist week she was cryed wi' my fcytiier ! f;^? 5^^a^0 8' <^aner^r>-:?. [Written by Bur.vs in 1788, and set to music by his friend AUan JIasterton. Ballochmyle, before it came into the hands of Mr. Alexandor, was the seat of the \^'hitefoord family, and tli<' song was written as a farewell to the family rt-si- dence. The Maria mentioned in the song was the eldest daughter of Sir John Whitefoord. .*h > afterwards became Mrs. Cranston. Caleb \Miite- foord, celebrated by Goldsmith in his poem of " The Retaliation," belonged to this family.] The Ca trine woods were yellow seen, The flowers decay'd on Catrine lea, Ifae lav'rock sang on hillock green. But nature sieken'd on the e'e. Through faded groves Maria sang, Hersel' in beauty's bloom the while. And aye the wild-wood echoes rang, Fareweel the Braes o' Ballochmyle : Low in your wintry beds, ye flowers. Again ye'U flourish fresh and fair ; Te burdies dumb, in with'ring bowers, Again ye'U charm the vocal air. But here, alas ' for me nae mair Shall birdie charm, or floweret smile ; Fareweel, the bonnie banks of Ayr, Fareweel, fareweel : sweet Ballochmyle ! i-r-i ■^ m^'S^'f^^^^i^^i^^^^^^^^^m^ ^^W^^^O^'-^^^g?^^-^^^^-- 584 SCOTTISH SONGS. -vVfe, g 2©!acMo5:^ l^ill. Thb man wha lues fair nature's charms. Let him gae to Blackford hill ; And wander there amang the craigs. Or down aside the rill ; That murmuring through the pcblis plays. And banks whar daisies spring; While, frac ilk bush and tree, the birds In sweetest concert sing. The lintie the sharp treble sound ; The lav'rock tenor plays; The blackbird and the mavis join To form a solemn base ; Sweet echo the loud air repeats, Till a' the valley rings: While odorous scents the westlin' wind Frae thousand wild flowers brings. The hermitage aside the burn In shady covert lies, Frae pride and folly's noisy rounds Fit refuge for the wise ; Wha there may study as they list, And pleasures taste at will. Yet never leave the varied bounds Of bounie Blackford hill. ^^1? Umm |at| Sc^. [William Motherwell.] The bloom hath fled thy cheek, Jlary, As spring's rath blossoms die. And sadness hath o'ersbadowed now Thy once bright eye ; But, look on me, the prints of grief Still deeper lie. Farewell '. Thy lips are pale and mute, Marj-, Thy step is sad and slow. The morn of gladness hath gone by Thou trst did know ; I, too, am changed like thee, and weep For very woe. FarewRlll It seems as 'twere but yesterday We were the happiest twain. When murmured sighs and joyous tears. Dropping like rain, Discoursed my love, and told how loved I was again. Farewell ! 'Twas not in cold and measured phrase We gave our passion name ; Scorning such tedious eloquence. Our heart's fond flame And long imprisoned feelings fast In deep sobs came. Farewell ! Would that our love had been the love That aierest worldlings know. When passion's dr.iught to our doomed lii>s Turns utter woe. And our poor dream of happiness Vanishes so ! Farewell ! But in the wreck of all our hopes. There's yet some touch of bliss, Since fate robs not our wretchedness Of this last kiss:. Despair, and love, and madness, meet In this, in this. Farewell ! fli# abwi nj2 (®3Hg0. Comrades, push about the glass. An' mak' the cheerfu' ingle glow ; Time, a rogue that ne'er knew grace. Will urge alike his steady pace. Whether we are blest or no. Fill thritty bouts for ane o' his, Tooni ninety glasses for his three; For a' their saws and prattles, thi< The best and be.atcn road to bliss Wiser men have fund than we. If you can be blest the day, Ne'er defer it till the morn : Peril still attends delay. As all fools will find, whan they Have their happie hour forborne. -^m^^s^^~^^f>3w-^^,mi^'f^-^^-^'m'& SCOTTISH SONGS. Comrades, fill your glass wi" me ; let us drink, and laugh, and sing : Whan ye merry are and ree. Fear not to driiik out your glee ; New delights the morn will bring. [^ ^^ut ^u IsMu. [Egbert Jamieson.] O BLESSINGS attend my sweet wee laddie. That blinks sae bonnily now on my knee ; And thousands o' blessings attend on his daddie, Tbo' far awa' now frae his babie and me. It's aft ha'e I sitten, and sair ha'e I grutten. Till blear'd and blinded wi' tears was my e'e ; And aft I bethought me, how dearly I've bought thee; For dear hast thou been, and dear art thou to me. Yet blessings attend, &c. lanely and weary, cauld, friendless, and dreary. To me the wide warld's a wilderness a' ; Tet still ae dear blossom I cla.;p to ray bosom. And oh ! 'tis sae sweet — like the joy that's awa'! And blessings attend, &e. When thou lyest sleeping I hang o'er thee weep- ing. And bitter the tears that thy slumbers bedew ; Yet thy innocence smiling, sae sweetly beguiling. Half mak's me forget that I sorrow e'er knew. And blessings attend, &c. Then smile, my sweet laddie — O sniile like thy daddie ; i My heart will be light tho' the tear's in my e'e; 1 canna believe he will ever deceive me, Sae leal and sae kind as he kythed aye to be. And blessings attend, &e. And 0, 'mid mymourning to see him returningl — ^ Wj' thee to his arms, when with rapture I fly — Come weal of come wae then, nae fear I can ha'e ' then, And wha'U be sae blest as my babie and I ! Then blessings attend, &c. % EuIIaig. [Alex. A. EixeHiE.] O sAPELT sleep, my bonnie bairn ! Rock'd on this breast C mine ; The heart that beats sae sair within. Will not awaken thine. Lie still, lie still, ye canker'd thoughts I That such late watches keep ; An' if ye break the mother's heart. Yet let the baby sleep. Sleep on, sleep on, my ae, ae bairn : Nor look sae wae on me. As if ye felt the bitter tear That blin's thy mother's e'e. Dry up, dry up, ye saut, saut tears, Lest on my bairn ye dreep ; An' break in silence, waefu' heart. An' let my baby sleep. ®|f Mumper. [JoBK Donald Cabbick.] Some rail against drinking, and say 'tis a sin To tipple the juice of the vine ; But as tis allow'd that we all have our faults, I wish no other fault may be mine. But mark me, good fellows, I don't mean to say, Thatalways to tipple is right; * But 'tis wisdom to drown the dull cares of th* day. In a bowl with old cronies at night. See yon husbandman labours with care on tho plain. Yet his fai-e is lit up with a smile. For the whisp'rings of hope tell again and a^ain. That harvest rewards all his toil. Just so 'tis with us, though we labour with pain. Yet we hear with unmingled delight. The whisp'rings of hope tell again and again. Of a harvest of pleasure at night. k1 Ti- m^^^i^iM^^l^^m^a^-^i.^ !^ V H-^ ft ^ ^ ^^ 586 SCOTTISH SONGS. How soothins It is, wlion wf bumper it up, To a friend on a Cir distant shore, Or how sweetly it tastes, when we flavour the cup. With the name of the maid we adore ! Then here's to the maid, then, and here's to the friend, • 5Iay they always prove true to their plight. May their days glide as smooth and as merrily round. As the bumpers wc pledge them to-night. [Thb first stanza of this song is a fragment by Tannahill: the others are by Patrick Buchan.] Thou cauld gloomy Feberwar, Oh ! gin thou wert awa" ! I'm wae to hear thy soughin' winds, I'm wae to see thy snaw ; For my bonnie braw young Hielandman, The lad I lo'e sae dear. Has vow'd to come and see me. In the spring o' the year. A silken ban' he gae me. To bin' my gowden hair ; A siller brooch and tartan plaid, A' for his sake to wear : And oh ! my heart was like to break, (For partin' sorrows sair,) As he vow'd to come and see n.c, In the spring o' the year. Aft, aft as gloaming dims the sky, 1 wander out alanc, ■\Vhare buds the bonnie yellow wliins, • Around the trystin' stane: •Twas there he press'd me to his hcurt. And kiss'd awa' the tear. As he vow'd to come and see n.r. In the spring o' the year. Ve gentle breezes saftly blaw. And deed anew the wuds; Ve lav'rocks lilt your cheery sui.i;?, Amang the fleecy duds; Till Feberwar and a' his train. Affrighted disappear — I'll hail wi' you the blythsome change. The spring-time o' the year. fDuOALD MOOKK.] She was a sunbeam in the storn., — A star that gently lifted Above the dark its beauteous form. When the dull tempest shifte^5^>3^=j^^^«(^i^^M^^^^, 590 SCOTTISH SONGS. Upon his breast he lay along, Hard by a murm'ring river. And mournfully his doleful song With sighs he did deliver; Ah ! Jeany's face was comely grace. Her locks that shine like lainmer. With burning rays have cut my days; For Omnia vincit amor. Her glancy een like comets sheen. The morning sun outshining, Have caught my heart in Cupid's net. And makes me die with pining. Durst I complain, nature's to blame, So curiously to frame her. Whose beauties rare make rae, with care. Cry, Omnia vincit amor. Te crystal streams that swiftly glide, Be'partners of my mourning. Ye fragrant fields and meadows wide, ■ Condemn her for her scorning; Let every tree a witness be. How justly I may blame her; Ye chanting birds, note these my woi-ds. Ah ! Omnia vincit amor. Had she been kind as she was fair. She long had been admired, And been ador'd for virtues rare, Wh' of life now makes me tired. Thus said, his breath began to fail. He could not speak, but stammer ; He sigh'd full sore, and said no more. But Omnia vincit amor. When I observ'd him near to death, 1 run in haste to save him. But quickly he resign 'd his breath, 80 deep the wound love gave him. Xow for her sake this vow I'll make. My tongue shall aye defame her. While on his hearse I'll write this verse. Ah ! Omnia vincit amor. Straight I oonsider'd in my mind Upon the matter rightly. And found, though Cupid he be blind. He proves in pith most mighty. For warlike Mars, and thund'ring Jove, And Vulcan with his hammer. Did ever prove the slaves of love ; For Omnia vincit amor. Hence we may see the effects of love. Which gods and men keep under. That nothing can his bounds remove. Or torments break asunder : Nor wise nor fool need go to school To learn this from his grammar : His heart's the book where he's to lou For Omnia vincit amor. '^mx linU l^^^k. [James Hogo.] WHAT gart me greet when I partit wi' Willie, AVhile at his guid fortune ilk ane was sae fain ? The neibers upbraidit, and said it was silly. When I was sae soon to seo WilUe again. He ga'e me his hand as he gacd to the river. For oh ! he was aye a kind brother to me ; Eight sair w^s my heart frae my Willie to sever. An' saut was the dew-drop that smartit my e'e. It wasna the kiss that he ga'e me at parting. Nor yet the kind squeeze that he ga'e to my hand, It wasna the tear frae his blue e'e was starting,- As slaw they were shoving the boat frae the land. The tear that I saw owre his bonnie cheek straying. It pleased me, indeed, but it doubled my pain ; For something within me was constantly saying, "Ah, Jessie ! yc'll never see Willie again. The bturn'g unco wae to be ta'en frae its mother. The linnet laments when bereaved o' its young. But oh, to be reft of an only kind brother,— That feeling can neither be paintit nor sung. 1 dream'd a* tlie night that my Willie was wi' me, Sae kind to his Jessie, at meeting sae fain. An' just at the dawnirg a friend cam' to see me. And teU'd me 1 never wad see him again. I ha'e nae body now to look kind and caress nie ; I look for a friend, but nae friend can I see ; I dinna ken what's to become o' poor Jessie ; The warld has little mair pleasure for me. iA' r 'i Vn I i^^^'^^^}^'--^' SCOTTISH SONGS. 591 '^^ It's lang sin* I lost baith my father an' mother, (5^ I'm simple an' poor, an' forlorn on the way ; All had ane that I liUit, an only dear brother, '^ My Willie— but he's lying cauld i' the clay. ^ ift At morning when music is loud in the sky, I ! An' dew, like bright pearls, on roses' lips lie, ;l We'll saunter in joy where the lang shadows £a', jj 'ilang the ss^et-scented groves around .Sandy- 1 ford ha". I ^Andrew Park.— Air, " Laird o' Cockpen."] Yb'll a' get a bidding to Sandyford ha', Ye'U a' get a bidding to Sandyford ha' ; When summer returns wi' her blossoms sae traw, Ye'll a' get a bidding to Sandyford ha'. This dwelling though humble is airy and clean, Wi' a hale hearty wifie baith honest and bien. An' a big room below for the gentry that ca',— Ye'll a' get a bidding to Sandyford ha'. A wooden stair leads to the attics aboon, Whar ane can look out to his friends in the moon, Or rhyme till saft sleep on his eyelids shall fa', — Ye'll a' get a bidding to Sandyford ha'. An' when a lang day o' dark care we ha'e closed. An' our heart wi' the bitter ingredient is dozed. We'll puff our Havana, on hope we will ca'. An' our chief guest be pleasure at Sandyford ha'. Ye'll no need to ask me to sing you a sang, For the wee thochtless birdies lilt a' the day lang; The Untie, the laverock, the blackbir:! an' a', Ilk' day ha'e a concert at Sandyford ha". There's palace-like mansions at which ye may stare, "Where Luxury rolls in her saft easy -chair, — At least puir folks think sae,— their knowledge is sma'. There's far mairltontentment at Sandj-ford ha'. There's something romantic about an auld house. Where the cock ilka morning keeps crawing hi' crouse. An' the kye in the byre are baith sleekit an' braw. An' such is the case at blythe Sandyford ha'. In the garden we'll sit 'neath the big beechen tree, ; As the sun dips his bright -bumish'd face in the sea, * Till night her grey mantle around us shall draw. Then we'll a' be fu' cantie in Sandyford ha'. ^|i« JEaiJi s' iPc:ilxQgf , [Alex. Laing. — Air, " O tell me the way for to woo." — Here first published.] O SWEET is the calm dewy gloaming. When saftly, by Eossie-wood brae, The merle an' mavis are hymning ! The e'en o' the lang summer's day ! An' sweet are the moments, when o'er the blue ocean. The full moon arising m majesty glows ; An' I, breathing o'er ilka tender emotion Wi' my lovely Mary, the maid o' Montrose. The fopling sae fine an' sae airy, Sae fondly in love wi' himsel", Is proud vFi' his ilka new deary. To shine at the fair an' the ball, Sut gi'e me the grove where the broom's yellow blossom. Waves o'er the white lily an' red smiling rose An' ae bonnie lassie to lean on my bosom, My ain lovely Mary, the maid o' Montrose. O what is the haill warld's treasure. Gin nane o' its pleasures we prove. An' where can we taste o' true pleasure Gin nae wi' the lassie we love. O sweet are the smiles an' the dimples o' beauty. Where lurking the loves an' the graces repose. An' sweet is the form an' the air o' the pretty, But sweeter is Mary, the maid o' Montrose. Mary, 'tis nae for thy beauty, Though few are s.ne bonnie as thee : O Mary, 'tis nae for thy beauty, Though handsome as woman can be. The rose' bloom is gane when the chill autumn's low'ring ; j The aik's stately form when the wild wint< r I blows : ! But the charms o' thy mind are the ties mair en- |l during — These bind me to Mar>-, the maid o' Montrose. >^ i "i^ ? '^^^^^ v>;a 502 SCOTTISH SOKGS. # l^aiJt ^m Ut%ntUn, [Jambs Home.— Here first printed.] HA«T thou forgotten the birk tree's sliade. Ami this warm true heart of mine, Mary ? O hast thou forgotten the promise made When so fondly 'twas press'd to thine, Marj- 7 O h.-ust thou forgotten— what I ne'er can forget— The hours we have spent together ?— Those hours which, like stars, in my memory yet Shine on as brightly as ever ? O hast thou forgotten that moment of bless — !S<1 fraught with the heart's full feeling— As we clung to each other i' the last embrace. The soul of love revealing ? O hast thou forgotten that sacred spot. Where tlie farewell word was spoken ? Is the sigh and the tear and all forgot,— Is the vow and the promise broken ? Then, for ever farewell, thou false fair one ! Thou,'h other arms caress thee,— Though a fairer youth thy heart should gain. And a smoother tongue should bless tliee ; — Yet never again on thy warm, young cheek Will brtathe a soul more warm than mine; And never again will a lover speak Of love more pure to thine ! [John Stewart.] Oph ! you hafc left us a", You're teat's a stone now, Dannie; Ta cauld toor's on your heat. In ta krafe wi' your krannie. Och : ish O ! Och ! ish O ! Sair's ta heart o' your niither. She would not be so fcx Hat you left put a prither. Och ! prawlie she'll ha'e mint Whan ye'll ran 'mang ta heather Ant ta kyes ant ta shepps Ye'll prought hame to your mithcr. Och : ish O ! &c. Ant no more will you play " Gillie Callie" at ta wattin'. Or Shake Corton's strathspey. From ta kreen to ta pettin. Och ! ish O ! &c. Ycsh : you ncfer salt a swear. Or a cursh to your mither; Ant you ne'er lift your han' All your tays to your father. Och ! ish O ! &c. Your skin was white's a milk ; Your hair was fine's a moutie ; Your preath was sweeter far Than smell of putter't croutie. Och ! ish ! &c. Put och ! noo you are teat — Nefer more will she sawt you ; Ta cauld toor's on your heat — Your mither's tarlin' dawtie. Och ! ish O ! &c. llaike hi t|e %miAt, [WlI.I.lAM LAinl.AW.] Ai.AKF. for the lassie ! she's no right at a'. That lo'es a dear laddie, an' he far awa' ; Hut the lassie has muckle mair cause to complain, That lo'es a dear l.ad, when she's no lo'ed again. The fair was just coniin', my heart it grew fain To see my dear laddie, to see him again ; My heart it grew fain, an" lap light at the thought I Of milkin' the ewes my dear Jamie wad bught. I The bonnie grey morn scarce had open'd her e'e. I When we set to the gate a' wi' nae little glee; I I was blythe, but my mind oft misga'e me right 'l sair, \\ Tor I badna seen Jamie for five months an' mair. C:' C -m ^f^^i^s^. \p\ SCOTTISH SOXGS. 593 /1;V * , ^ V Uie hirln' right soon iny dear Jamie I saw, Vs. I saw nae ane like him, sae bonnie an' braw r\t; J 1 watch'd an" baid near him, his motion to see, f^~7 In hopes aye to catch a kind glance o' his e"e. y^ He never wad see me in ony ae place : I rVl At length I gaed up an' just smiled in his face, V>» I wonder aye yet my heart brackna in t^va , — , \^ He just said, " How are ye ?" and steppit awa". rvv /^^ My neeber" lads strave to entice me awa'; V^O* They roos'd me, an' hecht me ilk thing that was \^ ? braw ; - iji But I hatit them a', an' I hatit the fair, ■\I^? For Jaime's behaviour had wounded me sair. ^j^ His heart was sae leal, and his manners sae liind! '^^ He's someway ganewTang, he may alter hismind; JCk N An' sud he do sae, he's be welcome to me ; J^ I'm sure I can never like ony but he. int^ W^'d. [B. M. More. — Adapted to the music of an ancient Gaelic air.] Sweet, sweet is the rcse-tud Bathed in dew ; But sweeter art thou Sly Mary dhu. Oh ! the skies of night, "With their eyes of Ught, Are not so bright As my Mary dhu. ■Whenever thy radiant foce I see. The clouds of sorrow depart from me , As the shadows fly From day's bright eye, Thou lightest lil'e's sky. My Mary dhu ! • Sad, sad is my heart, WTien I sigh. Adieu ! Or gaz'; on thy parting, My Mary dhu ! Then for thee I mourn. Till thy steps- return Bids my bosom burn, — My Mary dhu. I think but of thee on the broom-clad hills I r.ius? but on thee by th$ moorland ril'i : (k^^^my^'^^M^ In the morning light. In the moonshine bright, Thou art still in my sight. My JIary dhu. Thy voice trembles through me i Like the breeze, i That ruffles, in gladness, 1 The leafy trees ; 'Tis a wafted tone ! From heaven's high throne, I Making hearts thine own, I My Mary dhu. j B? the flowers of joy ever round thy feet With colours glowing, and incense sweet ; j ^Vnd when thou must away. May life's rose decay In the west wind's sway — My Mary dhu ! %ts 9la^g d :rr,g ^eaxl. [William Motherwbll.] The murmur of the merry brook. As, gushingly and free, • It wimples, with its sun-bright look. Far down yon shelter'd lea. Humming to every drowsy flower A low quaint lullaby. Speaks to my spirit, .it this hour, Of love and thee. The music of the gay green wood, "WTien every leaf and tree Is coaxed by winds, of gentlest moci To utter h.irmony ; And the small birds, that answer niske To the winds' fitful glee. In me most blissful visions wake. Of love and thee. Th^ rose perks up its blushing eheeX, t;o soon as it can see, Alone: the eastern hills, one streak Of the sun's majesty : Laden with dewy gems, it gleams A precious freight to me. For each pure drop thereon me seems A type of thee. ^ ^ I I ■'-hi Jcryr-\-v.T^ m:f^^f>m^-^^^wrjm^-^'mii^^^- SCOTTISH SONGS. 8 i i AnU whon abroad in summcT reorn, I hear the Mythe boUl bee Winding aloft his tiny horn, (An errant knight perdy,) That winged hunter of rare sweets, O'er many a far countrj-, To me a lay of love repeats. Its subject — thee. And when, in midnight hour, 1 noto The stars so pensively. In their u.ild beauty, onward float Through heaven's own silent sea : My heart is in their voyaging To realms where spirits be. But its mate, in such wanderins, Is ever thee. But, oh, the murmur of the brook, The music of the tree ; The rose with its sweet shamefaced look. The booming of the bee; The course of each bright voyager. In heaven's unmeasurt-d s^a. Would not one heart pulse of me stir. Loved I not thee ' [GsoROB MuKBAY. — Air, "Ballenden Braes." — Once printed in Upper Canada.] One morning I dandtr'd, (Inee'^m^^^m^iS£s^^.^m^^ ^^^M-^^S:^^tfMj^^^<^3^^^ SCOTTISH SONGS. She'll ablins say, " Ye're no that blate, To speak to me at sic a rate ;" But never fear, for sune or late, Fu' glad they're to be married. Then ye'll whistle, then yell sing. Then ye'll caper, then ve'U fling, Wow but it's a happy thing, When-ane gets coshly married ! [From " The Gallovidian Dictionary," by T. J'-'Taggart. This " Lament" is written in the Galloway dialect, and displays much rough strength of thought and expression.] I DixNA like the Meg-o'-mony-feet, ifor the brawnet Conochworm, Quoth Mary Lee, as she sat and did greet, A-dadJing wi' the storm. Xowther like I the yellow-wymed ask, 'Xeath the root o' yon aik tree, Kor the hairy adders on the fog that bask ; But waur 1 like Eobin-a-Ree. Hatefu' it is to hear the whut-throat chark, Frae out the auld taff-dike ; And wha likes the e'ening singing lark. Or the auld moon-bowing tyke ? I hate them — and the ghaist at e'en That points at me, puir Mary Lee ! But ten times wanr hate I, I ween. That vile chield,*Kobin-a-E€e. Sourer than the green bullister. Is a kiss o' Kobin-a-Ree, And the milk on the taed's back I wad prefer To the poison on his lips that be. Oh ! ance I lived happy by yon bonnie bum — The warld was in love wi' me ; But now I maun sit "neath the cauld drift and mourn. And curse black Ei)bin-a-K€e. Then whudder awa', thou bitter-biting^ And sough through the scrunty free. And smoor me up in the snaw fu' fast. And ne'er let the sun me see : Oh . never melt awa', thou wTeath o' snaw. That's sae kind in graving me ; But hide me aye frae the scorn and gufiaw O' villains like Eobin-a-Eee ! <© mws. [This was written by Bcrns in 1776, when he was only about seventeen years of age. The sub- ject of the s ng is said to have been Isabella Steven, the daughter of a small laird near Loch- lee. — Tune, " Invercauld's Reel."] O Tibbie! I ha'e se«« the day Ye wadna been sae shy ; For lack o' gear ye lightly mt. But ne'er a hair care I. Yestreen I met you en the moor. Ye spak' na, but gaed by like stoure : Ye geek at me because I'm poor. But ne'er a hair care I. I doubt na, lass, but ye may think. Because ye ha'e the name o' clink. That ye can please me wi' a wink, AVTiene'er ye like to try. But sorrow take him that's sae mear.. Although his pouch o' coin were cle.nn, "Wha follows ony saucy quean. That looks sae proud and high. Although a lad were e'er sae smart. If he but want the yellow dirt, I ' Ye'll cast your head anither airt. And answer him fu' dry. i I But if he ha'e the name o' gear, I ! Y'ell fasten to him like a brier. I Though hardly he, for sense or lear. Be better than the kye. There lives a lass in yonder park, I wadna gi'e her in her sark For thee, wi' a' thy thousand mark : Thou needna look sae high. tto gae Music bv [Captain Cbarles Gray, R. M G. F. Graham.— Here first printed.] May blessings yet fa' on the widow sae young ; May blessings yet fa' on the widow sae young ; Her hopes ha'e been wither'd — ^her heart sairly , wnmg — Ah ! 'tis waesome to look on a widow sae young ! i? J^75^^T- ■^'^^) ^ SCOTTISH SOXGS. « 596 'WV a glance o' the e"e her misfortune wc trace v** In the cap that encircles her bonnie sweet face, That auce glow'd wi' gladness;— now meek and resign'd ; [mind. Though the shadows of sorrow aft brood o'er her A few fleeting months saw her blythsome and gay; But death reft her loved one, for ever away ! < > think on the anguish— Uie agony keen— AVheu her grief and his grave turf were baith alike green .' ■V\"er't no for her darling, the widow wad dee — The bonnie wee bairnie that sits on her knee; Tiiat smiles in her pale face, and pu's at her hair — But, it's sat like its daddy, she canna despair. i^-^^f^^^^'W'^^ ^^Uu, [ Writtkn by Burns aa a farewell to the bre- thren of St. James's Lodge, Tarbolton, when the jiiiet contemplated going to the "West Indies. — Tune, " Good night an' joy be wi' you a'."] Adibu ! a heart-warm fond adieu ! l)ear brothers of the mystic tie ! Ye favour'd, ye ehlighten'd few. Companions of my social joy ! Though I to foreign lands must hie, Purming fortune's sUddry ba'. With melting heart, and brimful eye, I'll mind you still, though far awa'. Oft have I met your social band. And spent the cheerful festive night ; Oft, honour'd with supreme command. Presided o'er the sons of light; And by that hieroglyphic bright. Which none but craftsmen evtr saw ; Strong memory on my heart shall write Those hiippy scents when tar awa ; M.iy freedom, harmony, and love. Unite you in the grand design. Beneath the omniscient eye above. The glorious .-wchitcct divine ! That you may keep tli' unerring line, Still rising by the plummets law. Till order bright completely shine — Shall be my prayer when far awa'. And you, farewell ! whose merits clnii.i. Justly, that highest badge to wear! Heaven bliss your honour'd, noble n.iiiie. To masonry and Seotia dear ! A last request permit nie here, When yearly yc assemble a'. One round, I ask it with a tear. To him, the bard, that's far awa'. ®c3i^ m%^t an^ 505. [ji Hogg. J Tnn ye.ir is wearin' to the wane. An' day is fadin' west awa", Loud raves the torrent an' the rain, An' dark the cloud comes down the 5.I11 But Itt the tenipest t* ut an' blaw, Tpon his loudest winter horn, Good night an' joy be wi" you a'. We'll maybe meet again the morn. O we ha'e wander'd far an' wide. O'er :»cotias land of firtli an' fell. An' mony a simple ^ower we've cuU'il. An' twined them wi' the heather-leil ; We've ranged the dingle an" the dell. The hamlet an' the baron's ha', ICow let us tak' a kind farewell. Good night an' joy be wi' you a' ! Ye ha'e been kind as I was keen. An' follow'd where I led the wny. Till ii;.a poets lure we've seen Of this an" mony a former day. If e'er I led your steps astray, • ^ Forgi'e your minstrel ance for a' ; A tear fa's wi' his parting lay — Good moht an' joy ub wi- you a ' '1 e^'^M-^f^ i^^fm^m ^iiS^>^5^^?^^i^^=?^^^^^e^^ INDEX ^. THE FIRST Ll>i:;> OF THE SOXGS. THOSE MARKED THUS f -ABE ORIGINAL CONTBIBVTIONi PAGE ^ t A bonnie wee lassie I ken, I ken 463' A bonnier lass there never was, the sun ne'er shone the like npon 2?9 A canty sac?, O, a canty sang 419 A captive maid pined in the tow'r of Bmunore 164 A cock-laird, fu' cad^rie 218 A cogie o' yill, and a pickle aitmeal 262^ A famous man was Robin Hood 324 A friend of mine cam' here yestreen 7 A Highland lad my love was bom 44 r A' kin's o' lads an' men I see 513 A laddie and a lassie fair 124 A lass lived down by yon bum braes 126 A lass that was laden wi' care 303 A lassie cam' to our gate 107 l! A lassie fair — the deil-may-care 273 \\ t A leal light heart's ne'er sad, my jo 421 i A rose-bud by my early walk 546 | A sousie anld carline is Janet Dunbar 224 |; A southland Jenny, that was right bonnie 527 A steed! a steed of matchless speed 424 A' the lads o' Thomie bank 529 A ' the witches langsyne were humpbackit and aold 189 A warlock cam' to our town 418 A weary lot is thine, fair maid 539 A wee bird cam' to our ha' door 80 A wet sheet and a flowing sea 271 About the closin' o' the day 261 Accuse me not, iccoiistant fair 578 Across the riggs we'll wander 382 Adieu! a heart-warm fond adieu 596 Adieu, for a while, my native green plains 517 Adieu! romantic banks of Clyde «349 Adieu to rock and to waterfall 125 Admiring nature's simple charms _ 348 Adown winding Nith I did wander 222 Ae fond kiss, and then we sever 428 Ae mom, last onk, as I gaed out 110 .A.emora of May, when fields were gay 357 t Ae summer eve o' rosy joy, when a' was quiet and stiU 452 Afore the Lammas tide 11 t A gain on Myot's lofty brow 425 Again rejoicing nature sees 447 Again the laverock seeks the sky 330 Ah, Chloris! could 1 now but sit 16 Ah! lassie, I think wi' a sair broken heart 284 Ah, Mary, sweetest maid, farewell 186 Ah, the poor shepherd's mournful fate 48 t Ah ! where are the days of my earliest youth 429 Alack, my sad heart ! how it throbs wi' its sorrow 391 AUkefor the lassie! she's no right at a' 592 All joy was bereft me, the day that you left me 315. TAG% AD lovely, on the sultry beach 446 AUen-a-bale has no faggot for btiming 74 Alone, alone, in the evening beam, „ ...310 Although I be but acountry lass 30* Amang the birks sae blythe an' gay 115 t Araang the braes aboon Dunoon 304 Amid Loch Cat'rinc's scenery wild 287 An auld Hielan' couple sat lane by the ingle 278 An eiry night, a cheerless day 459 An' O, may I never live single again fO An' thou wert my ain thing 5<-!0 And a' that e'er my Jenny had eo And are ve sure the news is true 112 And can thy bosom bear the thought „ 258 And fare ye weel, my auld wife 13 And I'll o'wre the muir to Maggy 557 And oh, for ane-and-twenty, Tam 551 T And thou wilt sins the song, sweet child 422 And ye shall walk in sQk attire 532 Ar-.-yll is my name, and you may think it strange.. .223 t Arise, myfaithfu' Phoebe Gnt me 139 As from a rock past all relief 498 As gloaming was drawing her veil o'er the moan- tains 226 As I cam' by Loch-Erroch side 241 As I cam' down by yon castle wa" 577 As I cam' dqwn tlie Cannogate ISIf. As 1 cam' in by Teviot side .481 As I came through Glendochart vale 196 As I sail'd past green Jura's isle 115 As I was a-walking ae May morning 355 As I was a-wand'ring ae momiog in spring 5-;6 As I was walking up the street 485 As I went forth to view the spring 599 As Jamie Gav gang'd bhthe his way 176 .Vs Jenny sat' down wi" her wheel by the fire JOS As late bv a sodger 1 happened to pass 517 As Fatic cam' np frae the glen 336 As walking forth to view the plain 48 At elo.-xmin grey, the close o' day 439 At Polwarth, on the green 123 At setting day and rising morn 5£3 At the sunset of glory the ev'ning is calm 372 At TVillie's wedding on the green 219 Auld farran' cantie bodie .2S7 Auld gudeman, ve're a drucken carle „.„ 13 Auld Janet Baird. auld Janet Baird _ 261 t Auld Peter MGowan cam' down the craft 4«2 Auld Rob Morris, that wous in yon glen 83 Auld Bob, the laird o' muckle land „2S« Awa' wi' your witchcraft o' beauty's alarms .„..;. J21 Awake, my love! with genial ray .'. i„5»l Away, ye gay landscapes, ye gardens of roses „X» i h 1?. ^'^^'^^^:^i^^^s^^^mcF^^^m ^ - ^^m^'-^tBm^^^^&^^iSx^^s^'m^i ;o8 i i 8 jJ.iloo, Iwloo, my wee wee thing Ba loo! my bounie Inmmie 469 Banners are waving o'er Mor%-en'8 dark heath 279 Bannocks o' bear-ineal, bannocks o" barley 223 Bauldy Baird's come again 275 t Beechen tree, ye was green, green 142 Beliave yournel' before folk 162 Behind yon hills, where Lugar flows ; 9 ^ehold ihe hour, the hoat arrive 311 Benealh a beech's grateful shade 498 Uencath a "reen shade, a lovely young swain 4;il i.'neath a hiU, 'nianjj birken bushes 29S "ri.itty, early gone a Maying 516 Bin! of the wilderness ." 269 Bli\ik o'er the burn, sweet Betty 519 Blythe are we set \vi' ither '. 267 BlyJie, blj-the, an' happy are we 234 Blyt.if, biytlie, and merry are we 211 Blythc, blytiie, p.nd meny was she 191 Blytl.e, blythe, aroind the napple 192 Blythe ha'e I been on yon hill .-. 429 Blythe was the time when he fee'd wi' my father, O 118 Blythe youn» Bess to Jean did say 17 " '.'loudr INDEX TO THE FIRST LIKES pageA 1 ye wander. . .191 BOUE Bonnifc lassie, blythsouie lassie _„ Bounie ir^^ie, mil ye go (two sets) 522, 523 Bonnie Mary Halliday...... 319 Bonnie Iijaiy Hay, I will lo'e thee yet 7 Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing 4,34 Bright ta the bloom of Calder Tjraes 348 + Bright sliines tlie simmer's morn 265 Bring a' yvur maut to me 464 Busk and eo, busk and go 3)1 Busk ye, I)"»k ye, my bounie bride 457 Busk ye. It-tV ye, my bonnie, bonnie bride 457 But lately seen in gladsome green 511 By Allan stroum I chanced to rove 470 t By Grampuk's towering mountains high 450 By Logan'n -.treams that rin sae deep By Ochtertvre there grows the aik By Pinkie House oft let me walk 3y pleasure I'-ng infected 318 Bjr smooth-winding Tay a swain was reclining Mi By the ban!:-, of the crj-stal-stream'd Esk 338 Joy the delicious wannness of thy mouth 528 By the light of the moon 430 By the side o' you cleiigh, whare the bnrnie rins still 347 By the side o' yon river, as Bessie sat sighing 297 By yon ca*th!-wa' at the close o' the day 484 Ca* thcyo»it)is to theknowea (two seU) 460 Caledonia, thou land of the mountain and rock 509 Caledonian*, Itravc and bold 325 Cam' ye by Athol, Ind wi' the philabeg 87 I an 1 beha'-e, can 1 behave 162 Can I bear 13 part wi' thee 12 + Can my di;arest Henry leave me 219 «:an ye lo'e me weel, lattie, to this heart then swiftly flee 289 ("an ye lo'e, my dear lassie 134 tJani-t then in^ve me thus, my Katy 529 Carle, an '.ii'; king come 560 Cauld blav* the wind frae cast to west .422 Cauld blcws the wind frae north to south 422 Char.ticlee.', wi' noisy whistle 323 ChauDt 1 1 more thy roundelay 256 Cheerly, »>I(!ier I the gladdening sun 331 Cl:ncr« r. ,d his Highlandmen 478 t Cold, cold's the hand that oft in mine 528 < o-ue a.: ye jolly shepherd? 155. come, row me over 491 ^ . Jarleycom, len' meyour aid 131 ,'*) he inspiring bowl 81 •jT^* , my brave boys 180 \, 5^ Montgomery cried 1 I't) PAGE Come, boat me over, come. Come, brawny John Barli t Come— fill brimful the ' Come fill up the bowl, Come, gie's a sang, Mont^ Come hame to your lingels, ye lie'er-do-weel loon 335 Come, let me take thee to my breast 512 + Come hsten now laddies,— it wiiina be lang 143 Come, ragged brethren o' the Nine 127 Come undermy plaidie, the night's gaun to fa' 32 Comin' through the broom at e'en 332 Comin' through the craigs o' Kyle 356 Coming through the rye, poor body 331 Comrades, push about the glass 584 Contented wi' little, and cautie wi' mair 77 Contented wi' Maggie, how blythe ha'e I been 73 Cope sent a letter frae Dunbar 129 Cou'd 1 be jlad or happy yestreen 199 Culloden muir, Culloden held 363 Dark lowers the night o'er the wide stormy main... 74 t Dear Aunty, I've lang been your caie 208 Dear Doctor, be clever, an' fling afif your beaver ...636 Dear l.ind of my birth, of my friends, of my love ... 16 Dear Slaggic, I'm doubtfu' ye're jokin' 323 tt)ear Roger, if your Jenny geek 555 Dcil tak' the wars that hurried Billie from me 177 Deluded swain, the pleasure 225 Did ever swain a nymph adore 583 Did you e'er see young Mysie Brown 250 Do you weep for the woes of poor wandering Nelly 320 Does haughty Gaul invasion threat 558 Donald Caii-d's come a^ain 158 Donald's gane up the hill hard and hungry 566 Doon i' the glen by the lown o' the trees 202 Doun in yon garden sweet and gay 456 Donn in yon meadow a couple did tnny 29 Down the bum and through the mead 801 Down whar the bumie rins wimplin' an' cheery ...167 Draw the sword, Scotland 354 t Dreigh to me are the hours I'm an unwoo'd maid 424 Dumbarton's drums beat bonnie, O .-. 46 ' Duncan Gray cam' here to woo 82 Duncan M'Cleary, an' Janet his wife 512 Each whirl of the wheel 113 Earl March look'd on his dying child 110 Eh, f|uo' the tod, it's a braw licht nicht 408 Eirich agus tiuginn, 26 Ehza wiui a bonnie lass 37 £ves>' day my wife tells me 559 Fair fa' the lasses, O 415 Fair in Kiurara blooms the rose 826 Fair modest flower, of matchless worth 400 t Fair Scotland ! dear as life to me 890 Far, far away, in strange country 324 Far from hope, and lost to pleasure 404 Far lone amang tbp Highland hills 272 Far over the huls of the heather so green 4t Fare thee weel, my bonnie lass 183 Fare thee wed, my native cot „402 • Fare thee weel, thoa bonnie river ,... 68 Fircweel to a' our .Scottish fame .'... 51 t Farewell to the bumie 852 Farewell ye prisons dark and strong 847 + Farewell! and when I'm far away 78 t Farewell, my bonnie yellow hair 552 1 Farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth and ye skies 64 e Farewell to Lochaber, farewell to my Jean 137 B i T-a.5^^^>^^^E^^^i:^g^..m^s4^ wN-* ^ v>; s ^ ^^^i^^^^3^i.'^?;>m^-'^^'^'^^^^ INDEX TO THE FIEST XINES. 590 PAGE, Farewell to the land of the rock and the wildwood 407 Farewell to tiiee, Scotland .-.306 t Farewell, ye haunts of joy, farewell 496 Farewell, je streams, sae dear to me 470 Farewell, ye vales where Avon flows 309 •First when Maggie was mj-care 206 Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy greeu braes S44 Forever, Fortune, wilt thou prove 24 For lack of gold she has left me, O 120 For mony l^g year I ha'e heard firae my grannie 197 For the sake of somebody 42 Forget na, dear lassie, when I'm far frae thee 167 Forlorn, my love, no comfort nejur 246 Frae Caledonia's climes afar 414 Frae Clyde to the banks o' sweet Earn 547 From off this sunny mountain's top 324 From perfect and unclouded day 174 From Boslin castle's echoinar walls 17+ From the village of Leslie with a heart full of glee 179 From thee, Eliza, I must go 365 Fy let us a' to the bridal 99 Gae bring my gude auld harp ance mair 247 t Gae range the warld haith far and near 131 Gather inr gather in, ane an' a', ane an' a' 467 Get up, guidwife, don on your claise 524 Gi'e me a lass with a lump o' land 121 Gilderoy was a bonnie boy SCO Gin a body meet a body 332 , Gin e'er I'm in love, it shall be with a lass 357 | Gin,i had a wee house, an' a canty wee fire 4 : Gin livin' worth could win my heart 528 | Gin ye meet a fcounie lassie 3S9 | Gin ye wad gang, lassie, to Garryhom 492 i Give the swains~bf Italia 132 Gloomy winters come again 549 Gloomy winter's now awa' 273 Go fetch to me a pint o' wine 311 Go to Berwick, Johnnie 571 Go to him, then, if thou canst »o 567 Green Albyn, farewell ! though oy us never more.. .488 Gude day iiow, bonnie Kobin 569 Gude'en to ycu kimmer 30, 31 Had I a cave on some wild distant shore 221 t Ha'e ye na seenihe miller's maid 444 Ha'e ye seen, in the calm dewy momin» 200 Ha'e ye seen in the chill-fa'in' gloamin 477 Hail to the chief who in triuniiTh advances 207 Hame, hame, Lame, O hame fain wad I be 43 Happy's the love which meets return 435 Hark! yonder eagle lonely wails 151 Have ye any pots or pans 125 He is gone on the mountain 559 Hear me, ye nymphs, and ev'ry swain 11 Hear what Highland Nora said 12 Heard ye e'er o' Donald Gunn 263 Hearke*n and I will tell you how 85 Heather Jock's now awa' 276 Hee, baloo, my sweet wee Donald 569 Her daddie forbade, her minnie forbade 363 Her kiss was soft and sweet 2S2 Her nainsel' come firae ta hielan' hill 149 t Her name '. oh, her name would' st thou have me to tell 78 Here around the ingle bleezing 477 Here awa", there awa', here awa', "Willie 337 Here awa', there awa", wandering Willie 338 Here is the glen, and here the bower 345 i Mere's a health lo ane I lo'e dear 133^ PAGE Here's a health to fair Scotland 346 Here's a health to them that's awa' 159 Here's health and hail to Goth and Gael. 185 Here's to the kin?. Sir 568 Here's to the year that's awa' 159 Here's to thee, my Scottish lassie 188 Hersell pe auchtyyears and twa. 147 Hersell pe Highland shentleman 117 He's a terrible man, John Tod, John Tod 154 He's owre the hills that I lo'e weel 214 Hey, Donald, howe Donald 27 Hey for bobbing JoUn 531 H^! for the Hielan heather 264 H^, how, my Johnnie lad ....„ '. 535 Hey, my bonnie wee lassie .' 10 Hey the bonnie, how the bonnie J84 Hey, the dusty miller .'. 178 Hie, bonnie lassie, blink over the biim 296 t Hie to the woodlands, hie 225 High upon Hielands, and laigh upon Tay 274 How ardently my bosom glows 283 How are ye a' at hame 138 How blythe ilk mom was I to see 34 How blythely the pipe thro' Glcnlyon was soondingiei How brightly beams the bonnie moon 437 How can my poor heart be glad 146 How dear to me yon broomy knowe 273 How dear to think on former davs 296 f How early I woo'd thee, how dearly I lo'ed thee 544 How eerily, how drearily 251 How green the fields, the flowers so fair 288 How hard's the fate of womankind 3C8 How happy is the rural clown 483 How pleasant the banks of the clear-winding Devon £09 t How sweet was my dream '. when the morning did break on't -46* How sweet the rose blaws, it fades, and it £»'s 3»5 How sweet this lone vale, and how sacred to feeling 442 How sweet thy modest light to Wew 320 How sweetly smells the simmer green 4 t Hurrah and hurrah — 415 Hurrah fcr the hi:hland<> '. the stem Scottish high- lands .■; 370 Hurrah for the thistle ! the brave Soottiah thistle 144 Husband, husband, cease your strife 41 Hush, hush, ye rude breeies 309 I am a bard of no regard 235 I am a puir siUy auld man 51i I am a young lass in my blossom .^ 322 I am my mammy's ae baira u. 123 I ance knew content, but its smiles ar^kwa' 193 I canua like you, gentle sir -. S24 I I canna sleep a wink, lassie 228 t I canna smile, I canna sing S67 I coft a stane o' haslock woo : 46* I dinna like the Meg-o'-mony-feet _.. 595 I doutna whiles but I could wale „ 420 I dream 'd I lay where flowers were springing 60 I gacd a waefu' gate yostreen 121 I I had a dream o' ilher days « 78 I had a horse, and I had nae mair 371 ..277 ha'e a green purse and a wee pickle gowd laid a herring 1 ha'e lost my love,' an' I dinna ken how I ha'e nae kith. I ha'e nae kin" I ha'e seen I ha'e wander I I have listen'd to your san; 1 1 hare wander'd afar 'ncath fee 355 /^ 364 S.A gre.it anes, and sat in RC«t)u'a JSO ^ ler'd mony a night in June 3 ''^ ^ , JI^^^^S^^^^^^£^3^j I'U tend thy bower, my bonnie May 495 I'D twine a wreath 3;!9 rU wake it no more 383 I'm jilted, forsaken, outwitted 411 t I'm uaebody now, though in days that are gane...282 I'm now a gude faimer, I ve acres o" land 9-1 t I'm wand'ring wide this wintry night 142 I'm wearing awa', Jean 91 t In a cozic white cottage upon In B »aft simmer gloamin' In airy dreams fond fancy flies 4fH In ancient times as bouga rehearse 455 lu April, when primroses paint the sweet plain 314 In coming by the brig o' Dye 529 In Flora's train the graces wait 194 In January last 522 In life's gay morn— when hopes beat high 376 t In life's sunny morning, by Esk's winding stream 231 In Scotland there lived a humble beggar 443 In summer, when the fields were green 376 In summer when the hay was mawn 283 In the garb of old Gaul, with the fire of old Rome 426 In the land of Fife there Uved a wicked wife 570 In the Kick o' the Balloch lived Muirland Tam ... 57 In winter, when the rain rain'd cauld 91 In you garden fine and gay 530 Is there for honest poverty 234 Is your war-pipe asleep and for ever 542 It fell about the Martinmas time 92 It fell on a day and a bonnie summer day 545 It fell on a morning whan we were thrang 18 It is na, Jean, thy bonnie face 490 f It stretches o'er the c4itle-burn, whar three farms It was at a wedding near Tranent I It was Uunois, the young and brave . inarch 471 '>5 Louisa's ne I It was ill and about the Martinmas time 412 1 It was upon a Lammas night 166 I It's dowie in the hint o' bairst 134 It's I ha'e seven braw new gouns 101 I It's no that thou'rt bonnie 163 It's rare to see the morning bleeze 390 I t It's true, frien'h, it's true 97 I I've been upon the moonlit deep 268 I I've heard the lilting, at our yowe-milking 368 I t I've loved thee, love, lang, I've loved thee, love, deep 471 I I've seen the hly of the wold 401 I've seen the smiling of Fortune beguiling 368 I've sjient my time in rioting 346 I've wander'd east, I've wauder'd west 50 Janet Macbean a public keeps 255 Jenny's heart was frank and free Ill Jockey fou, Jenny fain 461 Jockey he c.im' here to woo 84 Jockey met with Jenny fair 145 Jockey s.-iid to Jenny, Jenny wilt thou wed 14S Jockey's ta'en the parting kiss 440 John, come kiss me now, now, now 578 John Anderson, my jo, John 54 John Gruuilie swore by the light o' the moon 464 Keen blaws the wind o'er Donocht head 373 Keen blaws the wind o'er, the braes o' Gleniffer ...156 Keep the countrj-, bonnie lassie 441 t Kiilearn Glen's a bonnie glen ^ 488 Know'st thou the land of t£e hardy green thistle.. .328 Land of my fathers ! though no mangrove here ...406 Landlady, count the lawin 568 Lang ha*e we pai-ted been 571 Langsyne, beside the woodland burn 328 Lass, gin ye wad lo'e me 126 Lasses, lookna sourly meek 31i Lassie, lie near me 571 Lassie wi' the lint-white locks 209 Lassie m' the raven locks 295 Last May a braw wooer cam' down the lang glen. ..851 Last Monday night at sax o'clock 173 Late in an evening forth 1 went 579 I.«aiiing ower a window, and looking owcr a mound 119 Leave kindred and friends, sweet Betty 519 Let bardies tune the rural strain 242 Let me guze on those mountains 307 Let me in, my bonnie sweetheart 378 t Let sages tell of orbs so fair 342 Let the proud Indian boast of hit jessamine bowers 53 Let 'hcni bci.uit of the country- gavcPatrick his fame 572 I,t' i. |, :t,- ill i,i:dseofwiiie 239 1.,: ■■ Kih in grove, bonnie lassie, O 193 !.,• I.I ,in|.aieGlcn 849 L[<„i,^ !>, l.iM.H 1. ride cam' duue 323 Like Ci .1 ili.a Mic!i the morning dew 500 Life avt has betn a weary roun' 239 Longliave I pined for thee 395 Look up to Pentland'a tow'ring tap 389 Look where my dear Ilamilla smiles 504 Loose the yett, an' let me in 507 t Loo'st thou the tliistle that blooms on the moun- tain 432 Loudon's bonnie woods and braes 41 lK)ui», what reck I by thee 577 but a lassie yet..,. I % % H ^^^'^^^^■^^:s^^^mssm^i'^^jm^^ C- ^ INDEX TO THE FIE3T LIKES, 601 J J PAGE A lasr^'X Love U timid, love is sliy Lovciflpver more shall give me pain 493 LoveVgoddess, in a mji-tle grove Maid of my heart — a long farewell March, march, Ettrick and T^viotdale Mark youder pomp of costly fashion... Mary ance had mony a charm ab7 Mary, why thu6 waste thy youth-time in sorrow ...554 Maiwelton biaes are bonme (two sets) 438, 429 t May blessings yet fa' on the widow sae young ...595 Meg, muckin' at Geordie's byre 222 Meny may the maid be 17S My beltane o' life and my gay days are gane 345 My Bessie, O, but look upon ..540 ioi ^.y* 187 ^f[ ->- , ...". .^.^ "..-. "".... . ..-....-^- .-.- -as y*^^ I Nith, trembling to the reaper's sang 93 \^^ 23 i' No churchman am I, for to rail and to write 573 y 15 ij No more my song shall be, ye swains i26 ^,^ eath the wave er wedding, times bleak winter's cranreuch snell t Noo, by my troth, ilk blither dear 206 f Not the swan on the lake, or the foam on the shore 544 Now flowetv summer comes again 292 Now rU whistle, now I'U sing 594 Now in her green mantle blythe Nature arrays., Now Jenny lass, my bonnie bird 379 lanely I sit 'neath the green-spreading willow 398 Now Nature hangs her i My bonnie wee wifie, I'm waefu' to leave thee 472 I Now rosy May comes i Id ^ My daddy left me gear enough My daddy is a cankert carle as My dear and only love, I pray 582 | My dear little lassie, why, what's a' the matter 486 ; My father has baith gowd and gear 105 i My gudeman says aye to me 573 , tMy hame! I wadna lea' my hame 79 | My Haiiy was a gallant gay 4C5 ' My hawk is tired of perch and hood 397 t My heart, alack! is sair opprest 139 My heart is a breaking, dear tittie 92 i My heart is sair — Idaumatell 42 ■ My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here 89 j t My heartfelt thoughts to you are leal 427 ' My heather land, my heather land 412 | My heid is Uke to rend, "Willie 152 My Highland home, where tempests blow 8 My Jeanie and I havetoil'd 317 i My laddie is gane far awa' o'er the plain 176 | My lady's govrn there's gairs npon't 540 | My lassie is lovely as May-day-adoming 292 | My Lorde Ealspindie's crappe is in 576 i My love, come let us wander 3S8 My love is like my ain coimtrie 409 My love is like the wee primrose 329 My love she'.* but a lassie yet (.two sets) 512 & 548 My love was bom in Aberdeen 44 My love was once a bonnie lad .'.266 My luve's in Germany 406 I My Mary is a bonnie lassie 110 ' My mither men't my auld breeks 165 My mother bids mebind my hair 4Ci3 My mother sung a plaintive song £54 My mother's aye glowrin' ower me 386 t My mountain hame, my mountain bame 266 My name it is Donald Macdonald 67 My only love I canna me > 448 My own, my true-love Marion 397 My Patie is a lover gay 165 My Peggie is a young thing 27 My Peggie's face, my Peggie's form 181 My Sandy was handsome, good-natur'd and gay ...334 My sheep I neglected— 1 lost my sheep-hook 134 My soger laddie is over the sea 537 My soul b ravish'd with delight 55 My sweetest May, let love incline thee 516 My wife's a wanton wee thing 497 Nae gentle dames, though e'er sae fair 311 Nae mair we'll meet again, love 252 Nainsel pe Maister Shon M'Nab Nainsel she was pom 'mang ta Hielau' hills Nancy's to the greenwood gane 3 Kative land! I'll love thee ever 491 .14S Sandy, the winter's cauld blast* are awa' 293 Now simmer blinks on flowery braes 523 Now simmer decks the fields wi' flow'rs 163 Now smiling summers balmy breeze 116 Now spring again, wi' liesome tread , 410 Now the sun's gane out o' sight 240 N ow there's peace on the shore, now there's calm on the sea 64 Now wat ye wha I met yestreen 386 Now w^estlin' winds and slaughtering guns 549 Now winter comes, vri' breath sae snell 243 Now winter, wi' his cloudy brow 406 [Note.— As the distinction between the interjections " O " and " Oh" is not very well defined, most writers using either indiscriminately-, we here, to avoid eon- fusion, place them both together, arran«d as if they all commenced with the simple vowel " O," and with- out reference to the "h."! O Alhster M'.Ulister 212 O, are ye sleeping, Maggie 242 O, as 1 was kist yestreen '" O, ave my wife she dang me O BeU, thy looks ha'e kill'd my heart .. O Bessie Bell and Mary Gray O blessings attend my sweet wee laddie Oh! blythly shines the bonnie sun 419 to blythly smiles the moon 130 O bonnie are the howes 62 f O bonuie's the lily that blooms in the ralley 198 f O brave Caledonians, ray brothers, my Mends ...55S Oh! bright the beaming queen o' night 43 O brother Sandie, hear ye the news SSD O. cam' ve here the fight to shun ITS t O! carie Time, .luld carle Time .300 O chemb Content! at thy moss-cox er'd shrine lii O come awa', come awa' 49* i f O come with me, for the (jueen of night 421 1 f O ! coiJd'st thou for a moment look 475 I f O corv, cozy i' the neuk .358 Oh! deck thy hair wi' the heather bdl .265 Oh! dinna ask me gin I lo'e thee '*• O dinna think, bonnie lassie, I'm gaun to leave O! dinna think, though we, gnidwife f Oh ere we part, my heart leaps lue 38 O fare thee weel, fair Cartha's side 282 t O freedom, vou're muckle descrrin' 576 O gae to the kye wi' me, Johnnie 364 1 O Galloway Tarn came here to woo 5tO Oh, gin I were a barMi's heir 430 O gin I were fairly snot o' her .532 O! gin X were the balmy sleep 139 I O! gin I were where Gadie rins 183 6 O gin my love were yon red rose n ii Q? H 40R ^' i4 -^^^■f^'■ty^^^^^^^-^m'SSma^^M ?3 J^J P) 2'm^'^:^sm^mfw^^^^'mf^ 602 INDEX TO THE FIEST LINES. Oh! gin ve ivei-e but mint, lassie l-U t Oh ?ir»nie the ear that is deaf to the ills 269 O gude ale conies, and gude ale goes 532 T O guess je «ha I met jestreen 467 Uh, ha'e y e seen the Tnreed, ^^ hile the moon shone bright 269 O happy, happy were the days o' auld langsyne 280 t O hark to the strain that sae sweetly is riugin' ...231 t O hast thou forgotten the birk tree's shade 592 t Oh, Helen, deaf! oh, Helen dear 365 Ohhonari! there's something wantin' 558 O, how can I be blj-the and glad 117 Oh, how could I vc'nture to love one like thee 367 O how bhall I, unikilfu*, try -134 <), I ha'e lost my silken snood 333 Oh, I lo'ed my lassie weel 377 O, I maun braid my yellow hair 10 O! Ill ana' hame tc'niy mither, I will 164 Oh, I'm come to the Low Countrie 579 t Oh! Jeanie Graham, oh! Jeanie Graham 251 O, lassie, art thou sleeping yet 245 O lassie I lo'e dearest 312 O, lassie, wilt thou go 861 O lay thy loof in mine, iKssie 530 O, leave me not! the oening hour 375 O leeze me on my spinning-wheel 511 t O leeze me on the Glen, that Summer makes her Eden ha* 435 O Logan, sweetly didst thou glide 25 O Logic o' Buchan, O Logic the Laird 443 + O love delights in sunny bower 208 Olove! thou delights in man's ruin 2C3 Oh, love wiU venture in where it daurna weel be seen 451 O lovely Polly Stewart 551 O, Marv, at thy window be 49 O, Maty, turn awa' 424 O Mary, ye'ee be clad in silk 533 O merry row ! O mciry row 351 Oh, mirk, mirk, is this midui'>ht hour 570 Oh mony a year has come and gane 423 t O morning time o' happiness 290 O mother, tell tbe l.-iird o't 608 t O my bonnie lassie's dead 411 O ! my lassie, our joy to complete again C9 O! my love's bonnie, bonnie, bonme 241 (), i.iy lure's like a red red rose 35 Oh N'aiicy's hair it yellow like gowd 393 O Nature" is bonnie and blvthesome to see 179 Oh, neighbours I what haii I ado fur to mariy 30 to no: I may not love thee DOW 558 Oh: not when hopeti are brightest 459 O, once I lovi-—'^0 say not— Love will never 376 O, see that form that faintly gleams 363 O send Lewie Gordon hame 73 Oh: sing from thy spray 272 Oh, sisters, there are midnight dreams 459 O stay, sweet warbUng woodlark, .stay 226 O strike your harp, my Mary 388 O sweet are the blossoms o' the hawthorn tree 541 t O sweet is summer's scented breath 394 t O hwcet is the calm dewy gloamin' 591 Oh, take me to yon sunny isle that stands in Fortha's sea 280 Oh tell me, oh tell me, bounie young lassie 340 O tell na me of wind and rain 245 Oh, tell na me that this is hame 552 O that I ne'er had been married 530 t O the days when I strutted, to think o't I'm sad 583 O the ewe-bughting's bonnie, baith e'ening and morn 433 O the glass is no for you 510 O the sun frae the eastward was peeping 212 • Oh. the sunny peaches glow 231 it M O the weary siller 36 -^UT Oh,thewildrovingyearsofyouthareaU flowiiawayi89 / ti Oh, these are not my country's hills 63 [tit O, this is no my ain house 413 \ • } O this is uo my ain lassie 414 .>\' f> O this is no my plaid 414 L H\ O, thou hast seen the lily fair 108 hf] \ Oh, 'tis a heart-stirring sight to view 366 Sf J J Oh wae be to the orders that march'd my luve awa' 281 ry J^ O wake thee, O wake thee, my bonYiie bonnie bird 364 \<'X O waly, waly up the bank 521 |»\ \ Oh, Wc-ui not I a wearj- wight 95 rV|) O wat ye wha cam' here yestreen 493 J^y/ O, watye wha'sin yon toun 103 V^'4 O, we alt ha'e met at e"en, bonnie Peggy, O 284 Q\--^ t O we:irie fa' that little fairie, our Isabell 39 }px X t O weary long this lonely night 85S ft )| O weary on the toom pouch 106 r\\ } Oh, weel befa' the busy loom 229 ^ ^^ O, weel I ha'e mind o'my auld uncle Watty 575 .'. " :1 1 mind Uie happy days 271 I on the - ■ ! folk at Lindores ..317 O weel may I mind i O weel may the boatie row 233 \ ') O wecl's me on my ain man 318 ^►aj Oh, welcome, dear Scotland, my country, my home325 7; -9 O welcome winter, wi' thy storms 299 /"^A O were I able to rehearse 88 ( jj O were I as I ance ha'e been 434 >r^ O, were I on Parnassus Hill 547 yn * O were 1 on the heathy hills 258 yl \ O were my love von lilac fair 489 "^N O wcrt thou in the cauld blast 305 (V^V O, wha are sae happy as me and my Janet 247 t/^ O wha is he I Icve sae weel 264 \T^m O wha is she that lo'es me 132 ^^^^i^!^5$S^3c^'^-^^^^ INDEX TO THE FIEST LINES, 603 pageA ^ Oh, where will I gae find a place 543 O, whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad (2 seU) 334, 335 O why do I love thee, Glenaray, O why 133 Oh, why left I my hame 59 O, why should old age so much wound us, 45 O will ye go to yon bum side 114 O. wiU ve ha'e ta tartan plaid 495 O, ■WUlie brew'd a peck o' maut 216 O Willie, weel I mind, I lent you my hand 518 O, wilt thou go wi' me .•. 31 Oh! would that the wind that is sweeping now 312 Oh', ye wha here, wi' cheerfu' glee 474 T O years ha'e come, an' years ha'e gane 140 Och, hey! Johnnie lad 428 Och! you have left us a' 59a October winds, wi' biting breath 557 O'er hill and dale roamin', at daydawn or gloamin' 161 O'er the braes and o'er the bum 327 O'er the mist-shrouded difts 309 O'er the mountain, o'er the lea 327 Of a' the airts the wind can blaw 555 Of mighty nature's handyworks 438 Old King Coul was a joUy old soul. ^ : /. 19 On Braxlield braes, amang the broom 589 On Cessnock banks a lassie dwells 116 Ou Ettrick banks, ae simmer's night 2 On Ettrick clear there grows*a brier 192 On the airy Ben-ne%-is the wind is awaike 253 On the banks o' the bum while I pensively wander 316 On the bljthe Beltane, as I went 442 t On the ^een banks of Neidpath 39 | On the wild braes of Calder, I found a fair lily 348 OnTvsday gaun out i' the e'enin' 483 On AV hitsimday morning I went to the fair 315 t On yonder sunny brae we met 227 ■j- Once William swore the sacred oath 562 One day I heard Mary say, how shall I leave thee 302 One night as young Colin lay musing in bed 460 One star of the morning still lingers 576 Our bonnie Scots lads, in their green tartan plaids 407 Our Girzy was now thiit}-six 66 Our gudeman cam' hame at e'en 46 t Our gudeman's an unco body 420 Our gudeman's aye frae hame 405 Our gudewife's awa' 31 Our May had an e'e to a man 270 Onr native laud — our native vale 23 Ouryouthfu' days are lang awa' 230 Ours is the land' of gallant hearts 463 Ont over the Forth I iook'd to the north 325 Pain'd with her slighting Jamie's love 305 Pardon now the bold outlaw 246 Peggy, now the king's come 560 Pibroch of Donnil Dhu Pray came you here the fight to shun Preserve tis a' : what shall we do •iueer Willie Waggletail Quoth Rab to Kate, My sonsie dear . .206 Bed gleams the sun on yon hill tap 257 Rest, lovely babe, on mother's knee 287 Rising o'er the heaving billow 326 Rob Macgregor's come again 275 Robin is my only jo 2.^7 Robin share in hairst 531 Rob's Jock cam' to woo our Jenny S3 Row weel, my boatie, row weel 216 Roy's wife of Aldivalloch 8 PAGE Sae flaxen were her ringlets 21 Sair, sair was my heart, when I parted wi' my Jean 90 Sanct Mungo wals ane famous sanct 587 Saw ye Johnny comin' quo' she 2 Saw ye my Maggie 158 Saw ye nae my Peggie 158 Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure 197 ScoU, wha ha'e wi' Wallace bled 160 See spring her graces wild disclose.... 292 See, the city enshrouded in pestilent smoke 330 See the glow-worm Uts her faii-y lamp 19* See the moon o'er cloudless Jura 87 She left us when spring time 444 She is a winsome wee thing 497 She was a sunbeam in the storm 586 She whose lang loose unbraided hair 319 She's aff and awa' like the lang stunmer day 215 She's fair and fause that causes my smart 272 ShoxUd anld acquaintance be forgot (two sets). ..56, 57 Should old acquaintance be forgot 55 Since all thy vows, false maid 220 Since uncle's death I've lads anew U9 ' Sing a' ye bards wi' loud acclaim .207 Sing on, sing on, my bonnie bird 21 Sing on, thou httle bird 123 Sit you down here, my cronies, an' gi'e us your ciack 267 Sleep'st thou or wak st thou, fairest creature 177 Slow spreads the gloom my soul desires 533 Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er 232 Some love to roam o'er the dark sea's foam 430 t Some may delight to spend their hours 131 Some rail s^aiust drinking, and say 'tis a sin.,. SS5 Some sing of sweet Mally, some sing of fair 'Nelly 199 Son of the mighty and the firec 153 Sons of the mountain glen 3S6 Speed, O speed, thou bonnie bark 490 Speak not of love to one whose breast SSO Spe:- Stai Stay, my Willie — yet believe me 529 Subdued by misfurtune, \m\ bow'd down with pain 385 Surrounded wi' bent and wi' heather 9* Sweet .\nnie frae the sea-beach came 5.TO Sweet as May morning, the heath hills adnming...5S0 Sweet closes "the evening on Craigie-bum-wocd ...209 Sweet fa's the eve on Craigie-bum MO Sweet is the dawn of vernal mora 587 t Sweet Jeanie lass, my dearie 78 Sweet May! sweet May! revives again S88 Sweet Sir," for your courtesie 40 Sweet the bard, and sweet his strain 482 Sweet was her look when she smiling sat by my side 472 Sweet's the dew-deck'd rose in June 257 Symon Brodie had a cow 99 Tak' tent now, Jean,— ye mind yestreen Ill Tarry woo, tarry wno _ 496 ■J^te life's glad moments „ 187 ■^ell me, dear, in mercy speak 523 Tell me, thou soul of her 1 love S6 That Ufe's a faught there is nae doubt 40Et T The atild folks sit by the fire 381 The auld man's mear's dead (two sets) 128 t The autumn leaves fa' fast, dear May 300 The bairns gat out wi' an unco shout 563 T The birk grows green on Kennel banks 423 The bitteru^s quavering trump on high IIS The bloom hath ded thy cheek, Mary 584 The blude-red rose at Yule may blaw 501 The blythesome lad o' bonnie Dundee 562 •- ,3 ¥. >iiove to one wnose oreast aa> (^^ peak thus, and still my grief 526 ^TN \ a :?^839 The loved of eirl.v days 313 The lovely lass o' Inverness 32 The lave that I had chosen 107 t The maidens are smiling in rocky Glencoe 4S9 The man wha lo'es fair nature's charms 584 The meal wM dear short syne 8t TUe midges dance aboon the bum 407 The midnight hour is clinking, ladi 575 The moon had climb'd the highest hill 151 t The moon has row'd her in a cloud 6 The moon's on the lake, and the mist's on the brae 157 The mom was fair, taft was the air 454 The morn was fair, the skies were clear 17 The narrow house, the winding sheet 427 The news frae Moidart cam' yestreen 491 The nicht is mirk, and the wind blaws gchill 401 The night her sable mantle wore 244 The night it llcw, the grey cock crew 816 The pawkie auld carle came o'er the lea 96 The pearl of the fountain, the rose of the valley The ploughman he's a bonnie lad The primrose blooms beneath the brae S93 The primrose blooms by burn and brae 378 The red moon is up o'er the moss-covered mountain 228 The Rover o' Lochryan, he's gane 391 t The Scotch blue bell, the Scotch blue bell 417 t The setting sun in gowden light 377 The shepherd boy was far away 133 The silver moon's enamour'd beam 437 The simmer sun now bUnks again 253 The simmer sweetly smiles in Caledonia 249 The smiling morn, the breathing spring . The smiling plains, profusely gay .354 .152 t The song'rU sing, though laie'ly made, it tells of olden days ,1J t The spring comes back to woo the earth .... The spring time returns, and clothes the green ..358 the Yarrow's green The spring time plains The standard on the braes o' The summer hath pass'd o'ei — _ mountains »♦ The sun had slipp'd ayontthe hill 185 The sun has "ane down o'er the lofty Beulcmond 156 The sun lookM through an evening cloud 534 The sun on the billow 321 The sun raise sae rosy, the grey hills adorning 306 The sun rises bright m France 137 The sun sets in night, and the stars shun the day.. .404 The tears I shed must ever fall 343 The Thames flows proudly to the sea 581 The tither mom, when 1 forlorn 349 The troops were all embark'd on board 3.50 The wearic body's back again 276 The weary piuii, the weary pund 580 The widow can bake, and the widow can brew 370 The wind blew hie ovrre muir and lea 'Sb ' The winds thev were roaring "•««» The winter sat" lang on the spring o' the year 101 fThe winter's cauld and cheerless blast 893 The wren scho lyes in care's bed 513 -The yellow-hair'd laddie s^^ doun on yon btae 314 TVieir groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign land« reckon 89 There cam* a young man to my daddie's door 3.'>9 There dwall'd a man in Aberdeen 523 There dwalt a man into the west 580 There gaed a fair maiden out to walk S87 There grew in bonnie Scotland 109 There grows a bonnie brier bush in our kail-yard... 6 There is a bonnie blushing flower 8.W There is a country gentleman 536 There lived a Uss in Inverness 38 There livesaland.art l.iird in Fife 571 There lives a lassie on the brae 278 There lives a young lassie 7 There was a lass, and she was fair 40 There was a wee bit wifnkie 76 There was a wee cooper who lived in Fife The Minstrel sleeps', the charm is o'er 16 >,J There was an auld wife had a wee pickle =.3i<^ «"/ > Si 4 (» rj I l^DKX TO THE FIRST LINES. ( There was anes a may, an' she loo'd na men 135 ',^ There's avdd Kob Morris, that wons in yon glen ... KJ ff^i There's bonnie maids in Auchinhlae 492 " There's braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes 499 There's cauld kail in Aberdeen (four sets) 237, 23S, 256 There's fouth o' braw Jockies and Jennies 100 There's kames o' hinnie 'tween my luve's lips 20 There's meikle bliss in ae fond kiss 140 ^^j t There's monie lads and lasses braw 3r4 ' .i There's nae bard to charm us now 374 ' - There's nae covenant now, lassie 109 492 182 5S6 24-f tV-j There's nae laddie coming for thee, my dear Jean 201 ?N^, t There's naething on yiith 366 yC^ There's ne'er a nook in a' the land /V^j There's none to soothe my soul to rest \VL t There's plenty come to woo me J There's some say that we wan t There's waefu' news in yon town 3 They lighted a taper at the dead of night \ They say that Jockey '11 speed weel o't / Thickest night, o'erhang my dwelling , Thine am I, my faithful fair ^ ' This is no mine ain house ' N^ This is the night my Johnny set ^ ^ This lone heart is thine, lassie J.r7 Thou bonnie wood of Craigie-lea ■'' .'/ Thou cauld gloomy Feberwar ,.. //» Tliou dark winding Carron once pleasing '/w Thou hast left me ever, Jamie ' J 5?< Thou ling'riug star, with less'ningray N '. -■•'^ Thou nameless loveliness, whose mind (^^C) Thou art gane awa', thou art gaue awa' ... V>^ Thou'rt sair alter'd now. May 1N5 I /^ Though BorejB bauld, that carle auld 260 I ('S Though dowie's the winter sae gloomie an' drear 497 V^s^ Though, for se^'en years and mair, honour should C>."\ rea%-e me 505 yC^ Though simmer smiles on bank and brae 27 / ■' Jv Though the winter of age wreathes her snow on j I fe? his head 285 \ \v "^y braes wer« bonnie, Yarrow stream 456 V\* Thy cheek is o' the roses's hue 5 . -A Thy fatal shafts unerring move 319 tM Tibbie has a store o' charms 63 ^a -y Tibbie Fowler o' the Glen 61 -^-' t Time cannot blot from memory's book 405 ^^■& 'Tis no very lang sinsyne 285 ^^S 'Tie hinna ye heard, man, o' Barrochan Jean 108 ^*\ To arms! to arms! to arms, my lads 587 l^fc-/ To dantiton me, and me sae young 501 ^ rtr To ha'e a wife and rule a wife 262 ' ■ ^ Touch once more a sober measui* 475 /^ , TiiUing harp, come let us sing 293 (//_, Tune your tiddles, tune them sweetly 235 V-vJ' Turn again, thou fair Eliza 438 ^ 'T« as at the hour of dark midnight 135 t> t 'Twas at the hour o' gloamin" fa" 354 \,-''-f 'Twas even,— the dewy fields were green 473 'Twas in that season of the year 175 'Twas na her bonnie blue e'e was my ruin 441 'Twas on a Monday moniing 33 'Twas when the wan leaf frae the birk tree was fa'in 70 'Twas summer, and saftly the breezes were blowing 136 'Twas summer, and the day was fair 455 'Iwis summer tide; the cushat sang 124 'Twas within a mile of Edinburgh town 145 Up amangyon cliffy rocks '. 5 Upon a simmer altcmooa 535 'jj Page Was ever old warrior of suffering so weary 153 We sat beneath the trystin' tree 416 + We sat upon a grassy knowe 487 We sought the green, the shady grove 405 t We stood beaide the shore S65 Weary fa' you, Duncan Gray 82 Wee Johnnie, puir man! has nae mammy ava 310 M'ee Johnnie the hynd o' Rigghead 400 Weep not over poet's vrrong 253 Welcome, my Johnnie, beardless and bonnie 439 We'll hap and row 440 We'U meet beside the dusky glen on yon bumside 369 We've drunk to them that's here about 184 Wha is he I hear sae crouse 410 Wha my kettle now willboU. 377 Wha the deil ha'e we gotten for a king 520 W'ha wadna be in love wi' bonnie Maggie Lauder 259 Whan cluttering birds, on flicht'ring wing 255 Whan first I forgather'd wi' Peggie U4 Whar ha'e ye been a' day, my boy, Tammy 474 Wliar live ye, my bonnie lass 225 Wba's at the vriudow, wha, wha 368 Wha's this, bedight in tatter'd claes 318 Wha's this, wi' voice o' music sweet 393 What ails this heart o' mine 105 ■What ails yon now, my dainty Pate 296 What can a young lassie, what shall a young lassie 429 What's a' the steer, kimmer 361 When a' ither baimies are hush'd to their hame ...5S9 WTien Abercromby, gallant Scot 4&J When autumn has laid her sickle by 211 When cities of old days 4)8 When day declining gilds the west 468 When first I came to be a man 75 ■niien first I saw the witching smiles 350 WTien first my brave Johnnie lad 219 When first my dear laddie gaed to the green hill ...311 When gloamin o'er the welkin steaU 61 When gowans sprinkl'd a' the lea 411 t "When gowd's in the pocket there's mirth in the ha' 143 When I left thee, bonnie Scotbmd 485 When I ha'e a saxpence under my thoom 72 When 1 rov'd a young Highlander 65 t When I the dreary mountains pass'd 15 When I think on the sweet smiles o' my laasie 344 ■When I think (m this warld's pelf 518 When I upon thy bosom lean 301 When I was a miller in Fife 34S When I was in my sc'enteen year 446 WTien innocent pastime our pleasures did crowu...460 When John and me were married 4S0 When Katie was scarce out nineteen S3* When larks with little wing «2l When life was gay, an' hope was young 308 When lightning parts the thunder-cloud £5 When lonely thou wanderest along by the wild wood 130 When Maggv and I were acquaint 449 t When M"alV Shaw cam' to our valley 563 When my ilo'cks upon the heathy hill 541 When our ancient forefathers agreed wi' the Uird 63 When Phoebus bright the aiure skies 453 When poortith cauld, and sour disdain ,.288 WTien rosy May comes ip wi' flowers 98 When silent time, wi' lightly foot 104 When summer comes the swains on Tweed 34 When summer's sim shone warm and bright 3i9 When the fair one, and the dear one 514 When the rough north forgets to howl 51 t When the shadows o' mldnicht fa* dark frac yon fane m...... 56* ^0^iS4^'^^^m^C^^^^^<^£S'S0^ IKIlEX TO THE FIRST LINES. ft,-.'; A'; i When the shtep are in the fauld, and the kye i When the sun gaes down ^'~^ When trees did bud, and fields were green 480 When war had broke in on the peace o' auld men 118 When we two parted, on thy cheek 396 When we went to the field o' wiur ITO t When we're parted, think not thou 391 When white was my o'erlay, as foam o' the linn ... 72 When wild war's deadly blast was blawn 217 When winter's wind was blawin? cauld 441 Whene'er ye come to woo me, Tam 2S8 Where Cart rins rowin' to the sea 581 Where floated crane, and clam'rons guU 362 Where gang ve, ye silly auld carle 486 AVhereha'eye been sae biaw, lad 478 Where Kelvin rins to join the Clyde 830 Where Uuair rins sweet amang the flowers 416 Where the pools are bright and deep 215 Where shall the lover rest 339 Where winding Tarf, by broomy knowes 393 While fops, in salt Italian verse 98 While frequent on Tweed and on Tay 399 While I behold the moon's pale beam 404 ■While larks with little wing 221 While some to distant regions sail 316 Whoe'er beholds my Helen's face 589 t Why do von tarry 521 Why hangs that cloud upon thy brow 446 AVhy weep ye by the tide, ladye 22 Wi' heart smcere, I love thee. Bell 574 AVifie, come hame, my couthie wee dame 166 Will ye gae to the ewe-buchts, Marion 28 Will ye gang o'er the lea rig 3 Will ye gang wi* me, lassie 509 Will ye gang wi' me, Lizzy Lindsay 29 WiUye go to the Highlan's, my Mary 397 Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary 28 WaUe was a wanton wa» 20 WiUie Wastlc dwalt on Tweed 62 Wilt thou be my dearie 211' PAGE Wilt thou go, my bonnie lassie 210 With broken words, and downcast eyes 526 With tunefid pipe and hearty glee 586 With waefu' heart, and sorrowing e'e 513 Would you'll knaw me.my name it is'fugalM'TaggerlSO Ye banks, and braes, and streams around 49 Ye banks and braes o' bonuie Uoon 87 Ye bonnie haughsand heather braes 36/ t Ye bonnie woods o' castle Doune 431 Ye briery bields, where roses blaw 557 fYe daik roUing clouds, round the brow of Ben Borrow • 564 Ye dark tusged rocks, that recline o'er the deep ...447 t Ye fishermen of Scotland 79 Ye flowery banks o' bonnie Doon 86 Ye gales, that gently wave the sea 502 Ye gaUants bright, I rede you right 182 Ye gods', was Strephon's picture blest 236 Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear IW Ye lost companions of distress, adieu 391 t Ye maidens of England, O who can surpaaa ye ...462 Ye rivers so limpid and clear 89-^?^^^^^^ i ® iUi INDEX OF AUTHORS. The figures point out the page of the Book where each Author's song is to be found;— the word [bisj, means that two songs by the same writer are to be met with in that page ;— [ter] announces that three ; and [quater] that four are inserted in the same page. Adams, Jean, 112. . AinsUe, Hush, 57, 113, 131 [bis], 391, 396, 573. ' Aitchison, James, 549. Alexander, W., 269, 2S9. Allan, George, 459, 461, 542. Allan, Robert, 107, 109 [bis], 248, 249, 256, 402, 490. Allardice, Hev. Mr., 326. Anderson, , 288. Anderson, John, 363, 532. Anderson, Thomas, 365. Anderson, William, 227, 223 rbis], 527. Argyle, John, Duke of, 223. Amot, David, 130. Atkinson, Thomas, 215. Austin, Dr., 120. Baillie, Joanna, 18, 30, 69, 72, 543. BailUe, Lady Grizzel, 135, 433. Bain, Andrew, G., 550. Ballantine, James, 166, 179, 4f.»9. Barclay, Kev. John, 171. Bennie, William, 329. Bennoch, Francis, 10, 423 [bis], 424, 472, 4S2. Binning, Lord, 582. Bimie, Patrick, 128. Blacklock, Dr. Thomas. 399, 431, 460. Blamire, Susanna, 104, 105, 118, 528, 532. BosweU, Sir Alexander, 13, 60, 186, 1S7, 219. Breckinridge, , 212. Brown, James, 199. Brown, Thomas, 343. Bryce, Rev. .Alexander, 47. Brydsou, Rev. Thomas, 467, 469. Buchan, Patrick, 586. Buchanan, , 243. Buchanan, Alexander, 141, 424. Burne, Nicol, 453. Bums, John, 307. BCRNS, Robert, 6, 9, 21, 25, 28, 29,30, 31, 32, 33, 35, 40, 41, 42, 44, 49 [bis], 51, 54, 56, 60, 62, 64, 77, 82, S3, 86, 87, 89 [bU], 92, 98 [bis], 103, 116, 117 [bis], 120, 121 [bis], 123, 132, 133, 146, 139, 160, 166, 172, 175, 177 [bis], 181, 182 [bis], 191, 206, 209 [ter], 210, 214 [bis], 216, 217, 221 [ter], 223, 225, 226, 230, 234, 235, 241, 342, 245, 246, 260, 272, 283, 302, 305, 311 [bis], 325,«831, 334, 338, 339, 341, 342, 344, 345, 316, 349, 351, 352, 354, 365, 371, 382, 414, 428 [bis], 429 [bis], 434 [bis], 440, 441 [bis], 447, 451, 463, 465, 466, 470, 473, 477, 478, 484, 485, 488, 489, 490, 497, 499. 501, 5U [bis], 512 [bisl, 523, 529 [ter], 530, 531 [bis], 532, 539, 540, 546, 547, 548, 549, 551, 555, 558, 563, 566, 568, 569, 570 [bUT, 573, 574, 577 [bis], 579, 580, 581 [bis], 583, 593, 596. Bums, Robert, (a on of the Poet), 200, 201. Cameron, William, 43. Campbell, Duncan, 239. CampbeU, Thomas, 58, 110, 114, 182, 1S7. 411, 443. Carlyle, .Alexander, 363, 403. Carmichael, Robert, 414, 450. Carnegie, James, 33. Carrick, John Donald, 585. Chalmers, William, 123, 208, 331, 361. Clerk, Sir John, 178. * Clnnie, Rev. John, 337. Cochrane, Archibald, 73. Cockbum, Jlrs., 368, 533. Conollv, Erskine, 392, 416. Corbett, Miss, 419. Couper, Dr., 257. Crawford, Archibald, 7. Crawfiird, G., 310. Crawfurd, Robert, 11, 31, 302, 449, 454, 455, 480, 493, 493, 501. Cross, William, 270, 3(n, 345. Cumming, J. G., 352 [bis]. Cunninjham, Allan, 20, 31. 33. 43, 93, 115, 137, 261, 271, 319, 366, 438, 485, 486, 517, 525. Cunninffham, John, 437. Cunningham, T. Mouncey, 318, 388, 470, 557. Cunninghani, Thomas, 115, 116. Denovan, J. C, 333. Dick, Thomas, 544. Dobie. William, 81. Dodds, Thoma.s 409. 420, 461. Dougal, John, . ;las, ,433. llonj^as, Alex., 296. Drnmmond, Darid, 231. Drvden, , 321, 322. Dudjeon, William, 5. Dunfop, , 159, 332. D'Urfey, Thomas, 14J, 177, 317, 522. Elliot, Miss Jane, 363. Elliot, Sir Gilbert, 134, 135. Erskine, Hon. Andrew, 412. Erskine, Sir Harrj-, 426. ■Ening, John, 233. Falconer, Willi.T.m, 152. S9l. Fergusson, Bcbert, 3, 100. Fersusson, William, 133, 142 [bis], 300, 415, 193 Ferrier, Miss, 22. iFinlay, John, 353, 121. 'sm^>^^^m^^'^:^§^^m^£ U H ^s^^^mifW:^^'^^^m^^-. INDEX Of AUTUOEd. 1 ■3 ^>? ^>l) C^ <5i F-.nlm-, William, 1 I'li.lajsim, C. J., 241. £61, 366, 543. I'islier, .Mexander, 149, Memiiii;. John, 226. rietchir, A. 295 [biaT, 2M, 299. • Forbes, Hon. Duncan, 98. >"orbe», Peter, 506. Fordjce, Dr., 131. Foster, W. A., 143, 42.':, 407. Fraser, .1., 10, 410, 111. l'r:i.ser, Robert, 377. • Freeman, W. H., 246. Fullarton, Alexander, 398. rnll, nicbard, 5, 193, 196 [ter], 197 [bis], 393. Gcddes, Dr. Alexander, 73, 76. Gibson, , 27, I'JO, 4i7. Gillillan, Robert, 16, 59, 229, W7, 253, 280, 397. 419, 467, 576. GutUlan, W., 210. Glen, William, 80, 207, 251, 330, 372, 562. Glover, Jean, 356. Goldie, John, 257, 2.')8. Coidon, Duke of, 237. Graham, Doug.-Ud, 147. Graham of Gurtmore, 18. Graham, James, Marquis of Montrose, 5S2. Graham, Dr. John, 563. Grant, Joseph, 383, Grant, Mrs., of Carron, 8. Grant, Mrs., of Laggan, 52. Gr.\v, Captain Charles, 7S, 192, 211 [bis"", 230, 260 rei8\ 273, 353, 373, 415, 534, 574, 595. Gray, Lieut., T. C, 350. (iray, William, 366. Grieve, John, 124, 125, 292, 401. Halket, Georpc, 443. I!:illl-V, W., 414. n. ,,,.Ii .11, V.lizaheth, 190. .l.hn, 110, 422, 571. I'ohert, 181. I -■ . V. illiam, of Bnn;,'our, 4^!, 23C, 416, 457. i.-u.iti William, of Gilbcrtfield, 20. iiclderuick, James, 253. 268. Hetherington, W. M., 360, 541. Hewit, Richard, 17... Jloadlv, Dr. John, 550. llogg,'jame8, 12, 21, 44, 67, C9, ?7, 10?, 113, 122, M" 153, 155 fbis], 192, 201, 214, 215, 269. 298, 353, 3lVJ, 366, 388, 395, 402, 507, 508 [bis], 509 [bib], 510 [bisj, 536, 537, 548, 558, 5C6, .590, 596. Holmes, WiUiam, 127, 139, 405. Home, James, 5U2. Honeyman, Rei'. James, 298. Hume, Alexander, 37 [bis], 1 iO. 206, 109, 410, 471, 521. Hunter, Mrs. John, 103, 404 [quater]. Imlah, John, iii, 7, 183 [bis], 184, 185, 26J, 263, 100. Jaap, James, 289, Jack, John, 273. James V., 96. .i.%nueson, Robert, 531, 567, 585, 588. Jt tierys, C, 17, 430. K. U., 36,324[bi.]. Kcay, Alexander, lOO. Kfith, Mi&a Aun, 36:i. : ll.lnck, ,277. .a.y,W.,2ft»,477. Knowles, Sherid.in, 218. Knox, .\dam, 193. Knox, Patrick, 4+t. Knox, WilUam, 444, 553. Laidlaw, William, 70, 310, 59i Laing, Alexander, 36, SO, 111, 120, 181, 258, 2C7, : 358, 405 [bis], 448, 493, 497, 502, 591. Lapraik, John, 301. Lalto, Th<.3. C, 140, 141, 231, 162, 407, 167, 489, 525, Lawson, Jamei', 249. Leannont, John, 438. Lemon, James, 564. Lewis, Stewart. 349, 336. Leyden, Dr. John, 320, 406. Lindsay, Lady Ann, 204. Lockhart,J. G., 04, 475. Lockhart, William, 90. Logan, Rev. John, 399, 456, 487, 492. Lowe, John, 151, 174. Lyle, Thomas, 193, 194 [bit], 195. Macarthur, Peter, 503, 564. Mnccoli, Evan, 132, 1;S3 [bis], 422, 433. Macconachcy, Robert, 210. Macdiarmid, John, 468. Wacdonald, James, 38, 131, 198. 22.% 234, 251, 290, 392, 411, 431, 432, 435, 452, 488. Macf.irren, George, 325. Macgilvray, Alexander, 499. Macgregor, Joseph, 161, 107. Mackay, Arcnibald, 575. Mackay, C, 430. Maclachlan, Ewen, 541. Maclaggan, Alexander, 138, 1S9 [bis"i, 114, 300, 11 Maclrtren, W., 285. Macleod, Rev Dr. Norman, 26. Maclennan, Bev. Murdoch, 168. M.-icneill, Hector, 9, 32, 293, 308, 337, 310, 106, lOK, Macpha.l, Daniel, 192, 243, 280. Macv'car, , 526. , Mallet, David, 47. Maxwell, Patrick, 78, .188. Mayne, James, 2^.'2. Mayuc, John, 2S 101, 111, 350. Jlei-cer, Andrew, 514 [bis]. Miekle, Wiliiam Julius, 112, 338. MilLir, W., 271. Miller, Robert, 312, 313. Miller, Wilbam, 6, 78, 536. Milhken, Robert, 249. Mitchell, John, 79, 130, 131, 1 13, i5S, 205, 269, 421, Mitchell, Joseph, 502, 519. Moir, D. M., 593. Moore, Dugald, 418, 546, 586. Morton, . 8. M<>thenveU,WUU.am, 27,50, 152, 281, 367, 384, W5, 584, 593. Moultrie, Rev. Mr., 188. Muirhead, James, 17. Munro, , 359. Murray, George, 504. Murray, James, 39 [bis], 367, 394, 4S4. Nevay, John, 558. Nicliolion, William, 114 [bis]. 394, 397, 393. Nicol, Rev. J. 222, 316, 416, 486. NicoU, Robert, 224, 252, 255, 379, 380, »52, 306. Norton, Hon. Mrs., 381, I 0^ -^^'W^-'^m^^i^m^^m^^^^m ^^s^^^^. '^-^^ IT l^DEX OF AUTHOKS. 609 ay, A 240, u Pagan, Isabel or Tibbie, 466. ^ Park, Andrew, 270, 353, 381, 591. Parker, James, 290, 471, 475. Parry, John, 351. Paul, -William, 10, 105, 483. Pearson, , 294. Perry, D., 491. Picken, Ebenezer, 267, 31S. Pickering, George, 373. Pinkerton, John, 443. Planche, J. R., 354. PoUn, Edward, 97 rbis], 440, 513, 576. Pringle, Thomas, 23 [bis], 433, 459. Allan, 4, 27, 42, 56, 62, 121, 123, 137, 158, 165, 9, 274, 303, 305, 314 [bis], 339, 362, 370, 372, 386 [bis], 389, 413, 455, 457, 460, 481 [bisl, 438, iO-J, 502, 503 [bU], 505, 515 [bis], 516, 526, [bi> , 527, 5iS, 555, 557, 560, 562, 578. Reid, WUliam, 3, 51, 238, 400, 53i, 555. Biddel, Mrs., 529. Kiddel, Kev. H. S., 247, 261, 306, 459, 468, 541. Eitchie, Alexander, A., 585. Robertson, George, 474. Robertson, John, 507. Rodger, Alexander, 148, 150, 162, 163, 164, 165, 173, 335, 437, 556, 573, 587. Ross, Alexander, 360 [bisl. Ross, Miss, 279. Ryan, Richard, 74. Ryland, Miss Jauet, 496. Sangster, W. B., 353, 364, 528, 535, 532. Scadlock, James, 557. Scoit, Andrew, 94 [bis''. Scott, Charles, 365. Scott, Mrs., 66. Scott, Sir Walter, 12, 15, 22, 74, 90, 157 [l^i*]. 158, 207, 232, 315, 339, 397, 539, 559, 562. Scott, Sir WilUam, 99. Sedly, Sir Charles, 16. Semple, Francis, 99, 244, 259. Shand, W. A. C, 310. Sharpe, Andrew, 320, 334. Sheriffs, Andrew, 262. Sillery Charles Doyne, 53. Sim, John, 103, 193, 252, 282, 2g4, 287. Simson, Andrew, 309 ."bis]. Skinner, Rev. John, 1, 45, 75, 88, 233, 278. Skirving, .\dam, 129, 479. Sloan, Rev. Edward K., 463. Pmail, Thomas, 425. Smart, .\iexaader, 231, 375, 37K. Smibert, Thomas, 11, 62, 69, 97. Smith, Rev. C. I.,cssiDgham, M. A., 420. SmoUett, Dr., 51, 319. SpittHl, Dr. R., 265. Steele, , 317. Stewart, John, 592. Stewart, Mrs. Dugald, 343. Stirling, James, 317. Stirrat, James, 219, 374 [bis', 376, 377. Struthers, John, 216, 348 Tter], 369. Sutherland, Mr., 572. Tait, John, 136. Tannahill, Robert, 15, 27, 41, 58, 103, 106, UO, ll^. 156 [bisl, 238, 212, 272, 273, 327, 328, 335, 369, 406, 407 [bis], 428, 450, 465, 513, 554, 556, 567, 578, 586. Taylor, George, 378 [bis]. Thorn, William, 376, 412, 589. Thomson, D., 275. Thomson, James, 24, 36. Tough, David, 391. Train, Joseph, 326, 492. Train, William, 4C8, 498. Turner, James, 347. TyUer, James, 241, 335, 370. W. G. B., 14, 78, ISl, 342. Walkinshaw, M'illiam, 20. Wallace, William, 445. Wardlaw, Lady, 560. Watson, Alexander, 63. Watson, Walter, 163, 267, 314. Watson, , 322. Webster, .\lexander, 387 [bis]. Webster, David. 243, 263. Weir, Daniel, 87, 198, 296, 38S, 401. Westmacott. C. M., 492. White, Robert. 68 390, 436. Whitelaw, James T., 384. Whitley, Robert, 547. Williams, Helen Maria, 533. Wilson, , 319. Wilson, Alexander, 74, 179, 180, 447 Wilson, Professor, 25. Wilson, William. 322, 377. Wordsworth, William, 328. ir. O. BLACEIE AND CO., PRISTSRS. GLASGOW. '"-^'my^^^ssc^'^^ie^^^^^^-^- ^" ^^^mp-'^^m^^^^^^s:^^^mf^ .^S5^.■ Q I I I ii-"-. ^^.^^i^^ 4^ L'^jni^c^ow' , h,c^ 3 1970 00492 5100 fflWiWW'i'' 5"'000 016 419 A i*:*«'lt' ' ^ ^^^p^- - Im^^..:^.^