Poems, on sacred and other subjects and songs, humorous and sentimental: By the late William Watt. Third edition of the songs only--with additional songs |
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 | Poems, on sacred and other subjects |  |
171
SONGS.
DEAR CALEDONIA.
Hark, hark! yon sound from the temple of fame
To the praise of our dear native land;
See, see the bright blazon'd roll where the name
Of each genius doth brilliantly stand!
Who then would refrain
To join the sweet strain
Which the Muses in harmony swell?
While the chime they impart
Sweetly flows on the heart,
When the theme is the land where we dwell.
To the praise of our dear native land;
See, see the bright blazon'd roll where the name
Of each genius doth brilliantly stand!
Who then would refrain
To join the sweet strain
Which the Muses in harmony swell?
While the chime they impart
Sweetly flows on the heart,
When the theme is the land where we dwell.
Caledonia, Caledonia! dear Caledonia!
No spot on this earth
Can I love half so well
As the place of my birth,
The dear land where I dwell—
Caledonia, Caledonia! dear, dear Caledonia!
No spot on this earth
Can I love half so well
As the place of my birth,
The dear land where I dwell—
Caledonia, Caledonia! dear, dear Caledonia!
Strike, strike the harp and the sweet violin,
With the clarionet and mellow toned flute;
Come, come, let's with these the sweet prelude begin,
While Cecilia's fair daughters are mute.
Then, then let the fair
Aloud join the air
Which the Muses in harmony swell!
While the chimes they impart
Sweetly flow on the heart,
When the theme is the land where we dwell.
With the clarionet and mellow toned flute;
Come, come, let's with these the sweet prelude begin,
While Cecilia's fair daughters are mute.
Then, then let the fair
Aloud join the air
Which the Muses in harmony swell!
While the chimes they impart
Sweetly flow on the heart,
When the theme is the land where we dwell.
Caledonia, Caledonia! dear Caledonia!
The hero and bard
With thee always remain;
That thy freedom to guard,
This to cheer the sweet plain.
Caledonia, Caledonia! dear, dear Caledonia!
The hero and bard
With thee always remain;
That thy freedom to guard,
This to cheer the sweet plain.
Caledonia, Caledonia! dear, dear Caledonia!
172
THE STAR OF BRUNSWICK.
Illustrious Brunswick's glorious Star,
At last, with blaze effulgent shines;
The fiend of scandal flies afar,
Defeated in his base designs.
Sons of Freedom, the laurel-wreath entwine,
Round the crown of Caroline!
At last, with blaze effulgent shines;
The fiend of scandal flies afar,
Defeated in his base designs.
Sons of Freedom, the laurel-wreath entwine,
Round the crown of Caroline!
Thus virtue ever, in the end,
Can show her beauteous smiling face,
While none her en'mies will defend,
But brand them still with fell disgrace.
Hail, Britannia, Britannia, hail thy Queen,
Freed from harm by Power unseen.
Can show her beauteous smiling face,
While none her en'mies will defend,
But brand them still with fell disgrace.
Hail, Britannia, Britannia, hail thy Queen,
Freed from harm by Power unseen.
THE SOLDIER'S DIRGE.
“Blow softly, ye winds,” cried the poor homeless stranger,
As slowly he trudged o'er the dark dreary moor;
“Beat lightly, ye rains, on a wretch left to danger,
In quest, this sad night, of a lodging secure.
I've braved Gallic valour, and triumph'd victorious;
I've stood shot and shell on Corunna's cold shore,
And yet I must stray here, thus friendless, inglorious,
And ne'er see the smile of my Mary once more.”
As slowly he trudged o'er the dark dreary moor;
“Beat lightly, ye rains, on a wretch left to danger,
In quest, this sad night, of a lodging secure.
I've braved Gallic valour, and triumph'd victorious;
I've stood shot and shell on Corunna's cold shore,
And yet I must stray here, thus friendless, inglorious,
And ne'er see the smile of my Mary once more.”
His gore-tarnish'd helmet he tore off in anguish;
Exposed his dark locks to the night dews of heaven;
On the red field of Fleurus he left was to languish,
Where thousands that day were from life's mansions driven.
Around him the victims of slaughter were lying,
Around him the wounded in sorrow did wail;
The wind in the cannons' mouths wildly was sighing,
And the sentinel's lone foot was heard in the dale.
Exposed his dark locks to the night dews of heaven;
On the red field of Fleurus he left was to languish,
Where thousands that day were from life's mansions driven.
Around him the victims of slaughter were lying,
Around him the wounded in sorrow did wail;
The wind in the cannons' mouths wildly was sighing,
And the sentinel's lone foot was heard in the dale.
The thick film of death o'er his din eye was spreading,
His tongue, parched with thirst, to his palate did cling,
O'er the corses of comrades and foes he was treading,
Where the vulture's harsh scream did their requiem sing.
His brain reels, he faints, he falls prone on the damp ground;
Life's joys and life's woes to the warrior are o'er—
He sleeps now for aye 'neath the sward of the camp ground,
Unbless'd with the smile of his Mary once more.
His tongue, parched with thirst, to his palate did cling,
O'er the corses of comrades and foes he was treading,
Where the vulture's harsh scream did their requiem sing.
His brain reels, he faints, he falls prone on the damp ground;
Life's joys and life's woes to the warrior are o'er—
He sleeps now for aye 'neath the sward of the camp ground,
Unbless'd with the smile of his Mary once more.
173
THE BATTLE OF NAVARINO.
Awake, awake, bright freedom's sons, awake,
And flock to the shade of the verdant tree of liberty!
With fear, with fear oppression's minions quake,
When they deem the sons of slavery shall be free.
To Codrington, to Hayden, and Rigny, sons of valour,
Let us drain our brimmers dry, and to every gallant sailor,
Who mann'd our hearts of oak,
Amid thunder, fire, and smoke;
Who mann'd our hearts of oak
When they broke the Turkish yoke;
And freedom's blooming face
Aroused from base disgrace.
Then resound, resound their deathless names around,
While angels rejoin, from the gilded azure canopy:
Resound, resound their deathless names around,
Who proclaim'd that Greece—that Europe should be free!
And flock to the shade of the verdant tree of liberty!
With fear, with fear oppression's minions quake,
When they deem the sons of slavery shall be free.
To Codrington, to Hayden, and Rigny, sons of valour,
Let us drain our brimmers dry, and to every gallant sailor,
Who mann'd our hearts of oak,
Amid thunder, fire, and smoke;
Who mann'd our hearts of oak
When they broke the Turkish yoke;
And freedom's blooming face
Aroused from base disgrace.
Then resound, resound their deathless names around,
While angels rejoin, from the gilded azure canopy:
Resound, resound their deathless names around,
Who proclaim'd that Greece—that Europe should be free!
How glorious the scene, when, amid the battle's roar,
The flags of Europa were seen triumphant wave!
When thy children, O Greece, from the thunder-shaken shore,
Saw the tyrant's doom waft freedom to the slave.
As the sultan's crescent sank 'neath Britannia's direful thunder,
His trembling vassals saw, and were petrified with wonder;
While they reel'd into the deep
By our cannons' fatal sweep;
While they reel'd into the deep
To their everlasting sleep,
And the shrieks of wild despair
Rang throughout the sulph'rous air.
Then resound, resound the matchless deed around,
While angels rejoin, from the gilded azure canopy:
Resound, resound their deathless names around,
Who proclaim'd that Greece—that Europe should be free!
The flags of Europa were seen triumphant wave!
When thy children, O Greece, from the thunder-shaken shore,
Saw the tyrant's doom waft freedom to the slave.
As the sultan's crescent sank 'neath Britannia's direful thunder,
His trembling vassals saw, and were petrified with wonder;
While they reel'd into the deep
By our cannons' fatal sweep;
While they reel'd into the deep
To their everlasting sleep,
And the shrieks of wild despair
Rang throughout the sulph'rous air.
Then resound, resound the matchless deed around,
While angels rejoin, from the gilded azure canopy:
Resound, resound their deathless names around,
Who proclaim'd that Greece—that Europe should be free!
174
Prepare, prepare, ye dauntless Greeks, prepare
To wave freedom's flag o'er the golden Archipelago;
Come share, come share the prize of peace, come share,
Now wrested from your fierce marauding foe!
Let the spirits of your sires point the way to deeds of glory,
That your actions long may gild the true patriot's noble story;
And let Navarino bay
Swell the hero's lofty lay;
And let Navarino bay
Be a theme to last for aye,
When the Turkish fleet combined
To destruction was consign'd.
Then resound, resound the matchless deed around,
While angels rejoin, from the gilded azure canopy:
Resound, resound their deathless names around,
Who proclaim'd that Greece—that Europe should be free!
To wave freedom's flag o'er the golden Archipelago;
Come share, come share the prize of peace, come share,
Now wrested from your fierce marauding foe!
Let the spirits of your sires point the way to deeds of glory,
That your actions long may gild the true patriot's noble story;
And let Navarino bay
Swell the hero's lofty lay;
And let Navarino bay
Be a theme to last for aye,
When the Turkish fleet combined
To destruction was consign'd.
Then resound, resound the matchless deed around,
While angels rejoin, from the gilded azure canopy:
Resound, resound their deathless names around,
Who proclaim'd that Greece—that Europe should be free!
THE HUNGARIAN REFUGEE.
On the plains of Hungaria, when freedom unfurl'd
Her bright standard to float in the breeze,
Joy whisper'd that pleasure pervaded the world,
Nought frowned, and all rivall'd to please.
But a faint filmy cloud the horizon o'ercast,
And it deeper and darker shed gloom,
Till the pure banner's sheen, by a tempest's fell blast,
Was uprooted and shorn of its bloom.
Dear land! once so happy, my home, once bless'd,
A traitor's hand hath stain'd thy crest.
Her bright standard to float in the breeze,
Joy whisper'd that pleasure pervaded the world,
Nought frowned, and all rivall'd to please.
But a faint filmy cloud the horizon o'ercast,
And it deeper and darker shed gloom,
Till the pure banner's sheen, by a tempest's fell blast,
Was uprooted and shorn of its bloom.
Dear land! once so happy, my home, once bless'd,
A traitor's hand hath stain'd thy crest.
Thus the tyrant of Austria, and Czar of the north,
Leagued in merciless unholy faith,
Pour'd their legions of ruthless marauders forth,
Commission'd with torture and death.
Still the war-cry was Freedom or Death from our ranks,
Mingling wild with the canon's harsh roar,
Till we vanquish'd our foe on the dark Danube's banks,
And the spoil off in triumph we bore.
Alas! that warrior who thus fought best,
A traitor turn'd and stain'd our crest.
Leagued in merciless unholy faith,
Pour'd their legions of ruthless marauders forth,
Commission'd with torture and death.
Still the war-cry was Freedom or Death from our ranks,
Mingling wild with the canon's harsh roar,
Till we vanquish'd our foe on the dark Danube's banks,
And the spoil off in triumph we bore.
Alas! that warrior who thus fought best,
A traitor turn'd and stain'd our crest.
175
NON MI RICORDO.
Hark, yon traitor cries!
“You, who wealth are courting,
Here your treasure lies
In the lap of fortune!
All who wish may win,
And not risk a shilling—
Tumble, tumble in—
To the lucky bag of Milan.
To ra lo ra le, &c.
“You, who wealth are courting,
Here your treasure lies
In the lap of fortune!
All who wish may win,
And not risk a shilling—
Tumble, tumble in—
To the lucky bag of Milan.
To ra lo ra le, &c.
“Never mind the crime
Nor the nation's curses,
While the gold doth chime
Sweetly in your purses.
Swear the Queen's unchaste
On land, and when aboard, O;
And when cross-tried, in haste
Bawl out, ‘non mi ricordo!’”
To ra lo ra le, &c.
Nor the nation's curses,
While the gold doth chime
Sweetly in your purses.
Swear the Queen's unchaste
On land, and when aboard, O;
And when cross-tried, in haste
Bawl out, ‘non mi ricordo!’”
To ra lo ra le, &c.
Thus has the traitor got
The refuse of a nation,
By bribery and by plot
Well trained for defamation.
He cries, “I think we'll do—
We'll gain our point completely;
We'll prove it through and through—
For we've all the knaves in Italy.”
To ra lo ra le, &c.
The refuse of a nation,
By bribery and by plot
Well trained for defamation.
He cries, “I think we'll do—
We'll gain our point completely;
We'll prove it through and through—
For we've all the knaves in Italy.”
To ra lo ra le, &c.
But spite of all his skill,
His perjury and bluster,
He's in confusion still
For all his noisy fluster.
Demont's in error's thrall!
Help Sacchi can't afford, O!
Majacci cries to all
That's asked, “non mi ricordo!”
To ra lo ra le, &c.
His perjury and bluster,
He's in confusion still
For all his noisy fluster.
Demont's in error's thrall!
Help Sacchi can't afford, O!
Majacci cries to all
That's asked, “non mi ricordo!”
To ra lo ra le, &c.
176
Thy fate, O Britain, mourn,
To think of the expenses,
And eke the matchless scorn
And woeful consequences!
All Europe, laughing, jeers,
To see the bosom cronies
Of our great House of Peers
A band of Lazaronies.
To ra lo ra le, &c.
To think of the expenses,
And eke the matchless scorn
And woeful consequences!
All Europe, laughing, jeers,
To see the bosom cronies
Of our great House of Peers
A band of Lazaronies.
To ra lo ra le, &c.
Liverpool, take heed,
Lest foreign knaves befoil ye,
Premiers often need
Reflect on Cardinal Wolsey.
Caroline must reign,
Though we squander millions,
Far and near, to gain
A host of perjured scullions.
To ra lo ra le, &c.
Lest foreign knaves befoil ye,
Premiers often need
Reflect on Cardinal Wolsey.
Caroline must reign,
Though we squander millions,
Far and near, to gain
A host of perjured scullions.
To ra lo ra le, &c.
THE BARBER'S BRIBES.
GLEE.
A Barber in a borough town
A burgess was of note;
And both a Lord and Knight came down
To bribe him for his vote.
The Lord did give him fifty pounds
Each time that he was shaved;
The Knight but gave him fifty crowns,
So might his pains have saved.
A burgess was of note;
And both a Lord and Knight came down
To bribe him for his vote.
The Lord did give him fifty pounds
Each time that he was shaved;
The Knight but gave him fifty crowns,
So might his pains have saved.
The day arrived when they all met
To close the keen election;
The Lord the Barber's vote did get,
Which met with quick detection.
“Hold,” cried the Knight, “you shaved me once,
Pray, Barber, mind the price!”
“O yes,” said the Barber, “I own, Sir, you're right,
But I shaved his Lordship twice.”
To close the keen election;
The Lord the Barber's vote did get,
Which met with quick detection.
“Hold,” cried the Knight, “you shaved me once,
Pray, Barber, mind the price!”
“O yes,” said the Barber, “I own, Sir, you're right,
But I shaved his Lordship twice.”
177
THE BEADLE AND THE SEXTON.
The beadle and the sexton
Gaed in to drink a chappin,
And talk on ony odds and ends
That up and down did happen.
The tide o' trade is run sae ebb
That folk combine thegither,
Sae Rab and Will averr'd their right
As good as ony ither.
Gaed in to drink a chappin,
And talk on ony odds and ends
That up and down did happen.
The tide o' trade is run sae ebb
That folk combine thegither,
Sae Rab and Will averr'd their right
As good as ony ither.
Now Robin Grub the sexton was
A gash and gabby body,
Wha could wheep aff a horn o' yill,
Or glass o' reeking toddy;
The beadle's name was Willie Gled,
A slee and sleeky shaver,
Whase drouth as great as Robin's was,
But aye his face was graver.
A gash and gabby body,
Wha could wheep aff a horn o' yill,
Or glass o' reeking toddy;
The beadle's name was Willie Gled,
A slee and sleeky shaver,
Whase drouth as great as Robin's was,
But aye his face was graver.
When they had drunk to ither's health,
And talked on the weather,
Quo' Willie, “how's trade gaun wi' you?
Mine's reestin a' thegither!”
“Indeed, I canna sair complain,
To tell the truth,” said Robin,
“For aye somebody's drappin' aff,
Whilk hauds me hafflings jobbin'.
And talked on the weather,
Quo' Willie, “how's trade gaun wi' you?
Mine's reestin a' thegither!”
“Indeed, I canna sair complain,
To tell the truth,” said Robin,
“For aye somebody's drappin' aff,
Whilk hauds me hafflings jobbin'.
“The ither Monday mornin',
When I was at my labour,
Wha stappit owre the style to crack,
But just the priest, our neighbour!”
‘Robin,’ quo' he, ‘ye're eident at
Your dreary avocation;’
‘Yes, Sir,’ quo' I, ‘folk's blithe o' wark,
To keep them frae starvation.
When I was at my labour,
Wha stappit owre the style to crack,
But just the priest, our neighbour!”
‘Robin,’ quo' he, ‘ye're eident at
Your dreary avocation;’
‘Yes, Sir,’ quo' I, ‘folk's blithe o' wark,
To keep them frae starvation.
“‘But gin a stipend I could get,
Come labour or come nane, Sir,
Frae wishin' skaith to ony ane
For aye I would refrain, Sir;’
This touch'd him on the kittle flank,
And hafflins did him huff, man;
He said nae mair, but bade guid morn',
Syne walked aff right gruff, man.”
Come labour or come nane, Sir,
Frae wishin' skaith to ony ane
For aye I would refrain, Sir;’
178
And hafflins did him huff, man;
He said nae mair, but bade guid morn',
Syne walked aff right gruff, man.”
The beadle, wheepin' aff his cog,
Says, “Man, that's special reason;
It gars ane's elbow yeuk to hear
A word laid in—in season;
To help the clerk, he's raised the cries,
Whilks set the folk a-smugglin';
Sae ne'er a ane comes through the kirk—
They a' skip yont to Ruglen.
Says, “Man, that's special reason;
It gars ane's elbow yeuk to hear
A word laid in—in season;
To help the clerk, he's raised the cries,
Whilks set the folk a-smugglin';
Sae ne'er a ane comes through the kirk—
They a' skip yont to Ruglen.
“Rab Urie, there, for twa three gills,
Will splice a hasty couple;
And sae I lie out o' my dues,
And canna weet my thrapple:
I've been sae sair bestead o' late,
By rich and puir negleckit,
That twice or thrice I've spunged the plate,
And, heth, I'm now suspeckit.”
Will splice a hasty couple;
And sae I lie out o' my dues,
And canna weet my thrapple:
I've been sae sair bestead o' late,
By rich and puir negleckit,
That twice or thrice I've spunged the plate,
And, heth, I'm now suspeckit.”
Quo' Robin, “I an openin' see
To better our condition,
Gin we could only cautious be,
And keep awa' suspicion.
The kirkyaird's fairly in our power,
Unfasht wi' strict inspection;
What hauds our han's, but we, at times,
May try a resurrection?”
To better our condition,
Gin we could only cautious be,
And keep awa' suspicion.
The kirkyaird's fairly in our power,
Unfasht wi' strict inspection;
What hauds our han's, but we, at times,
May try a resurrection?”
Said Willie, wi' assentin' smile,
“I've whiles been thinkin' on it;
Yet couldna broach't, till ance I heard
What cam' frae 'neath your bonnet.
The doctors wad skip a' their lare
Withouten sic assistance;
Gin ye agree, come, there's my han',
I sal mak' nae resistance.”
“I've whiles been thinkin' on it;
Yet couldna broach't, till ance I heard
What cam' frae 'neath your bonnet.
The doctors wad skip a' their lare
Withouten sic assistance;
Gin ye agree, come, there's my han',
I sal mak' nae resistance.”
Ilk claucht the ither's horny paw,
And soukit aff his jorum,
To sanction the unhallow'd law
Pass'd by this twasome quorum.
They've startit trade, but how 'twill end,
A warlock couldna spae yet;
Perhaps in wealth, perhaps 'twill send
Them baith to Bot'ny Bay yet.
And soukit aff his jorum,
To sanction the unhallow'd law
Pass'd by this twasome quorum.
179
A warlock couldna spae yet;
Perhaps in wealth, perhaps 'twill send
Them baith to Bot'ny Bay yet.
CUPID'S CONQUEST.
Why brightens every brow
On the banks of Calder now?
Why flows the song of love from every tongue, tongue, tongue?
Sweet Cupid soon replies,
'Tis my darts, shot from the eyes
Of a girl that is charming and young, young, young.
On the banks of Calder now?
Why flows the song of love from every tongue, tongue, tongue?
Sweet Cupid soon replies,
'Tis my darts, shot from the eyes
Of a girl that is charming and young, young, young.
Young Johnnie thought to prove
He'd defy the powers of love
In the verdant palm of victory he'd won, won, won;
Till through the glen he stray'd
With that soul-enchanting maid,
For whom he now cries out, I'm undone, done, done.
He'd defy the powers of love
In the verdant palm of victory he'd won, won, won;
Till through the glen he stray'd
With that soul-enchanting maid,
For whom he now cries out, I'm undone, done, done.
She's like the lily fair
That perfumes the morning air,
And the soul of music hangs on her tongue, tongue, tongue.
Her wit and repartee
Have completely captured me,
For by Cupid's sharpest dart I'm stung, stung, stung.
That perfumes the morning air,
And the soul of music hangs on her tongue, tongue, tongue.
Her wit and repartee
Have completely captured me,
For by Cupid's sharpest dart I'm stung, stung, stung.
So killing are her smiles,
And so winning all her wiles,
That his heart she has quite overcome, come, come.
His fancy night and day
O'er love's flowery fields doth stray,
And still he exclaims, I'm undone, done, done.
And so winning all her wiles,
That his heart she has quite overcome, come, come.
His fancy night and day
O'er love's flowery fields doth stray,
And still he exclaims, I'm undone, done, done.
But when poor Johnnie knew
That a lover kind and true
From the bonnie banks of Cart he had come, come, come,
He cried out, in despair,
Blackest grief is now my share,
For by Cupid's timely dart I'm undone, done, done.
That a lover kind and true
From the bonnie banks of Cart he had come, come, come,
He cried out, in despair,
Blackest grief is now my share,
For by Cupid's timely dart I'm undone, done, done.
180
SEND THE COG ABOUT.
Hugh Merry and John Cherry
Met upon a simmer morn,
To drink a pint of perry
At the sign of Plenty's horn.
There Bauldy Black and Watty White,
And Barny Blue, the dyester's brither,
Wi' Geordie Green and Gibbie Gray,
Were sittin' singin' a' thegither—
Met upon a simmer morn,
To drink a pint of perry
At the sign of Plenty's horn.
There Bauldy Black and Watty White,
And Barny Blue, the dyester's brither,
Wi' Geordie Green and Gibbie Gray,
Were sittin' singin' a' thegither—
“Ca' roun' the bicker, boys,
Aye let's pree the reamin' cappie;
Care flees frae mornin' joys:
Send the cog about.”
Aye let's pree the reamin' cappie;
Care flees frae mornin' joys:
Send the cog about.”
The swats gaed roun' like drift,
And the crack grew loud and dreich,
But the birkies wadna lift,
Although the sun was wearin' heich.
Ilk fancy was sae weel inspired,
That every tongue grew glib and roarous,
And aye's they took the ither waucht,
They lilted up the merry chorus,
And the crack grew loud and dreich,
But the birkies wadna lift,
Although the sun was wearin' heich.
Ilk fancy was sae weel inspired,
That every tongue grew glib and roarous,
And aye's they took the ither waucht,
They lilted up the merry chorus,
Ca' roun' the bicker, &c.
The dyester's wife cam' doun,
Shorin' baith to scart and strike,
For aye she swore by a' aboon
That she wad quickly skail the byke.
She claucht her dearie's purple pow,
Misca'in' a' for graceless sinners,
And she haul'd him owre the table straucht,
And a' the dishes brak to flinners—
Shorin' baith to scart and strike,
For aye she swore by a' aboon
That she wad quickly skail the byke.
She claucht her dearie's purple pow,
Misca'in' a' for graceless sinners,
And she haul'd him owre the table straucht,
And a' the dishes brak to flinners—
Sayin'—“Ca' roun' your bicker, boys,
Pree now your reamin' cappie;
I'se gi'e ye mornin' joys:
Send the cog about!”
Pree now your reamin' cappie;
I'se gi'e ye mornin' joys:
Send the cog about!”
The host cam' ben fu' big,
To appease the spouse's ire;
But she claucht his braw new wig
And flung 't wi' vengeance on the fire.
The cronies slade out ane by ane,
The dyester's menseless wife misca'in',
While the landlord, in his wrath,
Baith forgat his graith and lawin'.
To appease the spouse's ire;
But she claucht his braw new wig
And flung 't wi' vengeance on the fire.
181
The dyester's menseless wife misca'in',
While the landlord, in his wrath,
Baith forgat his graith and lawin'.
Spoken.—And this for ance put an end to the merry Chorus of—
“Ca' roun' the bicker, boys,Aye let's pree the reamin' cappie;
Care flees frae mornin' joys:
Send the cog about.”
GET NELLY'S HAND.
Up and waur them a', Willie,
Up and waur them a';
Ye hae the airt to wile the heart
Frae lasses ane and a', Willie!
Up and waur them a';
Ye hae the airt to wile the heart
Frae lasses ane and a', Willie!
Though mony rin, wi' endless din,
Their thrawart joes to see, Willie;
Their bosoms knell, wi' pleasures swell,
At ae blink o' thy e'e, Willie.
Their thrawart joes to see, Willie;
Their bosoms knell, wi' pleasures swell,
At ae blink o' thy e'e, Willie.
But letna love thy bosom move
To join in wedlock's bands, Willie;
Unless she hae the powerfu' sway
O' siller and o' lands, Willie.
To join in wedlock's bands, Willie;
Unless she hae the powerfu' sway
O' siller and o' lands, Willie.
Young Nelly wons in yonder glen,
As blithe as rosy May, Willie;
Her try, as weel the way ye ken,
I'm sure she'll ne'er say nae, Willie.
As blithe as rosy May, Willie;
Her try, as weel the way ye ken,
I'm sure she'll ne'er say nae, Willie.
Around her mony wooers thrang,
And muckle love do show, Willie;
Enrol your name, and ere 'tis lang
You'll bear the gree awa', Willie.
And muckle love do show, Willie;
Enrol your name, and ere 'tis lang
You'll bear the gree awa', Willie.
Up and waur them a', Willie,
Up and waur them a';
Get Nelly's han', and a' her lan',
Ere Beltan winds do blaw, Willie.
Up and waur them a';
Get Nelly's han', and a' her lan',
Ere Beltan winds do blaw, Willie.
182
THE CADGER.
The cadger, mounted on cuddy and sodds,
To shun a' the tolls, aye took through the muir roads;
Of poachers and smugglers he kenn'd the abodes,
For in geography skill'd was the cadger.
Though nearly threescore, he was supple and stark,
As fresh as a trout, and as blithe as a lark;
As wily's a fox, whether daylight or dark,
He could bilk either beagle or gauger.
To shun a' the tolls, aye took through the muir roads;
Of poachers and smugglers he kenn'd the abodes,
For in geography skill'd was the cadger.
Though nearly threescore, he was supple and stark,
As fresh as a trout, and as blithe as a lark;
As wily's a fox, whether daylight or dark,
He could bilk either beagle or gauger.
The cadger was eident, ne'er sluggish nor slack
To rack out a penny frae bodle or plack;
His purse was weel stow'd, and weel clad was his back;
Sae baith mensefu' and bien was the cadger.
He twenty lang summers admired the ash trees
That waved round the dwellin' o' Mirren Braidlees;
Yet ne'er durst he hint o' her coffer'd bawbees,
For Mirren was shy as a badger.
To rack out a penny frae bodle or plack;
His purse was weel stow'd, and weel clad was his back;
Sae baith mensefu' and bien was the cadger.
He twenty lang summers admired the ash trees
That waved round the dwellin' o' Mirren Braidlees;
Yet ne'er durst he hint o' her coffer'd bawbees,
For Mirren was shy as a badger.
The sun had for thirty times come north the line
Since Mirren did first for a half-marrow pine;
But ne'er, till the last claucht o' hope she did tyne,
Did she e'er think o' weddin' a cadger.
Though the sages declare “that we see nothing new,”
Yet the pith o' this saw mony couldna see through;
E'en the dominie smiled, while his ink-cork he drew
To beuk Mirren Braidlees to a cadger.
Since Mirren did first for a half-marrow pine;
But ne'er, till the last claucht o' hope she did tyne,
Did she e'er think o' weddin' a cadger.
Though the sages declare “that we see nothing new,”
Yet the pith o' this saw mony couldna see through;
E'en the dominie smiled, while his ink-cork he drew
To beuk Mirren Braidlees to a cadger.
The cuddie he deck'd wi' a braw sprit-new saddle,
That day he set out to bid folk to the bridal;
Through bog, muir, and moss, whip and spur werena idle;
He rode as 'gainst time on a wager.
He was firmly intent ilka saul should be there
Wi' whom he had traffic in hen, duck, or hare,
Which brought on his roll the maist feck o' the shire:
Sic a rant was ne'er plann'd by a cadger.
That day he set out to bid folk to the bridal;
Through bog, muir, and moss, whip and spur werena idle;
He rode as 'gainst time on a wager.
He was firmly intent ilka saul should be there
Wi' whom he had traffic in hen, duck, or hare,
Which brought on his roll the maist feck o' the shire:
Sic a rant was ne'er plann'd by a cadger.
But waefu' mishap brak sweet wedlock's bright spell;
The frosty east win' blew the drift sharp and snell,
Whilk gart him tak' howff in a smuggler's snug stell,
For the cuddy nae langer could budge her.
He was primely acquant wi' the mountain-dew core,
Baith bottles and bladders he'd fill'd there before,
Sae the swats circled quick, wi' guid-will, in galore,
To the health o' the bride and the cadger.
The frosty east win' blew the drift sharp and snell,
Whilk gart him tak' howff in a smuggler's snug stell,
For the cuddy nae langer could budge her.
183
Baith bottles and bladders he'd fill'd there before,
Sae the swats circled quick, wi' guid-will, in galore,
To the health o' the bride and the cadger.
The pith o' the maut, and the toils o' the day,
Wintled Robin clean owre 'mang the rashes and hay,
To hiccup and snore, as he vanquish'd thus lay,
A hapless and helpless nicht lodger.
The moon, shining clear, now display'd, 'mang the whins,
The flickerin' gleam o' baith bay'nets and guns;
Sae for safety, in terror, ilk smuggler aff runs,
Leaving fate to tak' tent o' the cadger.
Wintled Robin clean owre 'mang the rashes and hay,
To hiccup and snore, as he vanquish'd thus lay,
A hapless and helpless nicht lodger.
The moon, shining clear, now display'd, 'mang the whins,
The flickerin' gleam o' baith bay'nets and guns;
Sae for safety, in terror, ilk smuggler aff runs,
Leaving fate to tak' tent o' the cadger.
Straucht aff, like a traitor, they trail'd in a cart
The bridegroom to bridewell, for twal months to smart,
Which brak up the bridal, and brak down his heart,
That, for steel, could ha'e sairt a drum-major.
Debarr'd now frae poachers, and smugglers, and stills,
Frae fresh braken glens, and frae red heather hills,
The staunchers and cells, wi' their thousands o' ills,
Made a sad total wreck o' the cadger.
The bridegroom to bridewell, for twal months to smart,
Which brak up the bridal, and brak down his heart,
That, for steel, could ha'e sairt a drum-major.
Debarr'd now frae poachers, and smugglers, and stills,
Frae fresh braken glens, and frae red heather hills,
The staunchers and cells, wi' their thousands o' ills,
Made a sad total wreck o' the cadger.
THE PAINTER.
The painter cam' to the castle ha',
The likeness o' lovely Miss Lillie to draw;
He screen'd a' the lozens but ane or twa,
And no ane the door durst enter.
The housemaids deck'd themselves in haste,
They crimped their frills, and their corsets they braced,
And their caps wi' pink ribbons most gaudily graced,
To entangle the heart o' the painter.
The likeness o' lovely Miss Lillie to draw;
He screen'd a' the lozens but ane or twa,
And no ane the door durst enter.
The housemaids deck'd themselves in haste,
They crimped their frills, and their corsets they braced,
And their caps wi' pink ribbons most gaudily graced,
To entangle the heart o' the painter.
The painter wroucht, while he sowtht and sang
His sweetest love ditties the hale day lang;
The cook whiles thoucht he wasna that thrang,
Sae to keek through the key-hole did venture.
She saw the canvas stood by to dry,
The brushes and palette unheeded did lie,
While bonnie Miss Lillie, wi' languishing eye,
Sat talkin' 'bout love wi' the painter.
His sweetest love ditties the hale day lang;
The cook whiles thoucht he wasna that thrang,
Sae to keek through the key-hole did venture.
She saw the canvas stood by to dry,
The brushes and palette unheeded did lie,
While bonnie Miss Lillie, wi' languishing eye,
Sat talkin' 'bout love wi' the painter.
184
She ran and tauld the governess a',
And it soon was rehearsed to mamma and papa;
The laird looked sour, and his haffits did claw,
And vow'd she o' that would repent her.
“A fine guffaw to the hale kintra wide,
To hear o' a lady, sae void o' a' pride
As lose a guid tocher, to be a bare bride
To a puir scowrie loun like the painter.”
And it soon was rehearsed to mamma and papa;
The laird looked sour, and his haffits did claw,
And vow'd she o' that would repent her.
“A fine guffaw to the hale kintra wide,
To hear o' a lady, sae void o' a' pride
As lose a guid tocher, to be a bare bride
To a puir scowrie loun like the painter.”
When the painter finish'd his peerless piece
Delight gart the ire o' the laird quickly cease;
Few pencils o' Rome, and few chisels o' Greece,
Sweet nature e'er hit like the painter.
The lady cried, “Eh! we see seldom sic sichts;
'Deed, laird, we maun e'en ha'e a' wrangs put to richts,
For, ye ken, when the king fa's a-dubbing o' knichts,
He wales out clever chields like the painter.”
Delight gart the ire o' the laird quickly cease;
Few pencils o' Rome, and few chisels o' Greece,
Sweet nature e'er hit like the painter.
The lady cried, “Eh! we see seldom sic sichts;
'Deed, laird, we maun e'en ha'e a' wrangs put to richts,
For, ye ken, when the king fa's a-dubbing o' knichts,
He wales out clever chields like the painter.”
The laird he keckled, and rubbed his brow,
Syne at the fine portrait he looked anew;
The lady's word aye he as gospel did view,
Sae langer he didna resent her.
“Weel, weel,” quo' he, “frae the plea I'se withdraw,
The bliss or the bann on your shouthers may fa';
Wi' women 'tis needless to gang to tongue-law:”
So Miss Lily's now tied to the painter.
Syne at the fine portrait he looked anew;
The lady's word aye he as gospel did view,
Sae langer he didna resent her.
“Weel, weel,” quo' he, “frae the plea I'se withdraw,
The bliss or the bann on your shouthers may fa';
Wi' women 'tis needless to gang to tongue-law:”
So Miss Lily's now tied to the painter.
THE MERRY NEW YEAR.
The kintra was knee-deep in snaw,
The trees a' wi' fleeces hung dreary;
Nae birdie was chirpin' ava,
And the hale warld look'd dowie and eerie:
When New'rday bade dulness be gane,
And kittled up mirth in the clachan;
Ilk carle, carline, lad, lass, and wean,
Lang ere daylicht, were rantin' and laughin',
To welcome the merry New-Year.
The trees a' wi' fleeces hung dreary;
Nae birdie was chirpin' ava,
And the hale warld look'd dowie and eerie:
When New'rday bade dulness be gane,
And kittled up mirth in the clachan;
Ilk carle, carline, lad, lass, and wean,
Lang ere daylicht, were rantin' and laughin',
To welcome the merry New-Year.
The steeple-clock scarce had struck twal
When ilk birkie bang'd to his kist shottle,
Determined to banish the caul'
Wi' a scour o' guid strunt frae his bottle.
The clachan was soon in a steer
Wi' reengin at doors and at winnocks,
Wi' whisky, and ither guid cheer,
Curran' buns, cheese, and weel-butter'd bannocks,
To hansel the merry New-Year.
When ilk birkie bang'd to his kist shottle,
Determined to banish the caul'
Wi' a scour o' guid strunt frae his bottle.
185
Wi' reengin at doors and at winnocks,
Wi' whisky, and ither guid cheer,
Curran' buns, cheese, and weel-butter'd bannocks,
To hansel the merry New-Year.
The best scene o' mirth in the town
Lay down in auld Ringan M'Aulay's;
This was the pole-star, that, a' roun',
Attracted in a' the young fallows.
His dochters, sae gleesome and braw,
Bewitch'd hearts and een just like glamour;
Sae, lang ere we heard the cock craw,
The house rang wi' taproom-like clamour,
To welcome the merry New-Year.
Lay down in auld Ringan M'Aulay's;
This was the pole-star, that, a' roun',
Attracted in a' the young fallows.
His dochters, sae gleesome and braw,
Bewitch'd hearts and een just like glamour;
Sae, lang ere we heard the cock craw,
The house rang wi' taproom-like clamour,
To welcome the merry New-Year.
Jock Jenkins cam' frae the Gearglen
To rival the smith and the miller,
Cocksure he wad win farthest ben
Wi' braggin o' gear and o' siller:
While touslin' wi' Nell in the neuk
He tumbled the cast-metal boiler,
That scaddit, by fearfu' misluck,
A' the shins o' Tam Bodkin the tailor,
To welcome the merry New-Year.
To rival the smith and the miller,
Cocksure he wad win farthest ben
Wi' braggin o' gear and o' siller:
While touslin' wi' Nell in the neuk
He tumbled the cast-metal boiler,
That scaddit, by fearfu' misluck,
A' the shins o' Tam Bodkin the tailor,
To welcome the merry New-Year.
He raised up a savage-like yell—
“Oh, murder! I'm dead now, I'm dead now!”
And straucht on Jock's summit he fell,
And rave nievefu's o' hair frae his head now;
But Nepps, to prevent further strife,
Strack in, to keep Tam's wrath in balance,
Else Jock's face had borne through his life
Fleesome scaurs frae the tailor's sharp talons,
For haudin the merry New-Year.
“Oh, murder! I'm dead now, I'm dead now!”
And straucht on Jock's summit he fell,
And rave nievefu's o' hair frae his head now;
But Nepps, to prevent further strife,
Strack in, to keep Tam's wrath in balance,
Else Jock's face had borne through his life
Fleesome scaurs frae the tailor's sharp talons,
For haudin the merry New-Year.
They balsam'd his shins wi' train-oil,
And wi' saft linen clouts gat them buckled;
And Jock, to avoid future broil,
A' morn to the tailor aye knuckled:
Sae a' was forgot and forgi'en
Out owre a guid bicker o' toddy,
And Tammie was singin' bedeen,
While the smith fell a-dancin' curcuddy,
To welcome the merry New-Year.
And wi' saft linen clouts gat them buckled;
And Jock, to avoid future broil,
A' morn to the tailor aye knuckled:
Sae a' was forgot and forgi'en
Out owre a guid bicker o' toddy,
And Tammie was singin' bedeen,
While the smith fell a-dancin' curcuddy,
To welcome the merry New-Year.
186
The butcher cam' ben wi' a breenge,
As blithesome and bung'd as auld Bacchus,
But fell owre the smith wi' a reenge,
Wha at his Scotch-waltz no that slack was;
This tickled the wabster, Will Thrum,
Wha flang a fou glass in the ingle;
Like lichtnin', it kindled the lum,
And fear wi' their mirth soon did mingle,
To welcome the merry New-Year.
As blithesome and bung'd as auld Bacchus,
But fell owre the smith wi' a reenge,
Wha at his Scotch-waltz no that slack was;
This tickled the wabster, Will Thrum,
Wha flang a fou glass in the ingle;
Like lichtnin', it kindled the lum,
And fear wi' their mirth soon did mingle,
To welcome the merry New-Year.
Fire, fire! was the cry roun' and roun':
Like sailors they speel'd to the riggin';
But twa gang o' water toom'd down,
Secured the contents o' the biggin'.
Auld Ringan sat singing Kail-brose
Meantime o' this fearfu' mishanter;
And scour'd aff the ither guid dose
O' hill-dew frae a chappin decanter,
To welcome the merry New-Year.
Like sailors they speel'd to the riggin';
But twa gang o' water toom'd down,
Secured the contents o' the biggin'.
Auld Ringan sat singing Kail-brose
Meantime o' this fearfu' mishanter;
And scour'd aff the ither guid dose
O' hill-dew frae a chappin decanter,
To welcome the merry New-Year.
But nae siccan hillabulloos
Were witness'd by auld Habbie Semple,
Wha pass'd the hail mornin' fou douse,—
He was priest o' the Teetotal Temple:
Till slee tricky Duncan M'Phail,
Determined to play him a pliskie,
Sugar'd up a het-pint o' strong ale
Wi' a mutchkin o' Campbelton whisky,
To welcome the merry New-Year.
Were witness'd by auld Habbie Semple,
Wha pass'd the hail mornin' fou douse,—
He was priest o' the Teetotal Temple:
Till slee tricky Duncan M'Phail,
Determined to play him a pliskie,
Sugar'd up a het-pint o' strong ale
Wi' a mutchkin o' Campbelton whisky,
To welcome the merry New-Year.
Hab rail'd against whisky and gin,
While he tootit aff aye the fou bicker;
Tint his hearin', and nearly grew blin',
And his tongue couldna wauchle that sicker:
Sae they happit him snug in his bed,
Wi' claes, shoon, and a' on thegither,
And Duncan the story soon spread,
Sayin', “Nane need now laugh at anither
For haudin the merry New-Year.”
While he tootit aff aye the fou bicker;
Tint his hearin', and nearly grew blin',
And his tongue couldna wauchle that sicker:
Sae they happit him snug in his bed,
Wi' claes, shoon, and a' on thegither,
And Duncan the story soon spread,
Sayin', “Nane need now laugh at anither
For haudin the merry New-Year.”
This was written during the Temperance movement, which only prohibited the use of alcoholic or distilled liquors, whilst it tolerated the moderate use of fermented.
187
TIT FOR TAT.
Geordie Bell cam' down yestreen,
Hoch, hey, the drinkin' o't!
To tak' a dram wi' Rab M'Queen,
Hoch, hey, the drinkin' o't!
Guid auld peat reak, Highlan' blue,
Did sae nobly fire their mou',
That they drank till they got roarin' fou,
Hoch, hey, the drinkin' o't!
Hoch, hey, the drinkin' o't!
To tak' a dram wi' Rab M'Queen,
Hoch, hey, the drinkin' o't!
Guid auld peat reak, Highlan' blue,
Did sae nobly fire their mou',
That they drank till they got roarin' fou,
Hoch, hey, the drinkin' o't!
Geordie's wife cam' down in haste,
Hoch, hey, the drinkin' o't!
Yoked on him clean barefaced,
Hoch, hey, the drinkin' o't!
Dang him owre, and brak' the wheel,
Bled his nose, pure luckless chiel'—
Raged and rampit like a de'il,
Hoch, hey, the drinkin' o't!
Hoch, hey, the drinkin' o't!
Yoked on him clean barefaced,
Hoch, hey, the drinkin' o't!
Dang him owre, and brak' the wheel,
Bled his nose, pure luckless chiel'—
Raged and rampit like a de'il,
Hoch, hey, the drinkin' o't!
Rab raise up to tak' his part,
Hoch, hey, the drinkin' o't!
Meg flew at him like a dart,
Hoch, hey, the drinkin' o't!
Fasten'd on him like a brier,
And to clouts his claes did tear;
Her rage o'ercam' baith love and fear,
Hoch, hey, the drinkin' o't!
Hoch, hey, the drinkin' o't!
Meg flew at him like a dart,
Hoch, hey, the drinkin' o't!
Fasten'd on him like a brier,
And to clouts his claes did tear;
Her rage o'ercam' baith love and fear,
Hoch, hey, the drinkin' o't!
While wi' Rab she was in grips,
Hoch, hey, the drinkin' o't!
Quietly out puir Geordie slips,
Hoch, hey, the drinkin' o't!
Hame he ran, and barr'd the door,
Meg without micht rant and roar,
She's got what she gied him before,
Hoch, hey, the drinkin' o't!
Hoch, hey, the drinkin' o't!
Quietly out puir Geordie slips,
Hoch, hey, the drinkin' o't!
Hame he ran, and barr'd the door,
Meg without micht rant and roar,
She's got what she gied him before,
Hoch, hey, the drinkin' o't!
188
MUNGO M'GILL.
Draw near ilka wicht, that's licensed to retail
A dribble o' spirits, and porter, and ale,
While I sing o' a carle, a great mense to your trade,
Though he forty lang miles frae King Willie was bred.
He keepit nae tavern nor splendid hotel,
Nae floors coort wi' carpets, nor dandy-hung bell,
But a cosie thack-house, at the fit o' the hill,
And baith auld and young liked queer Mungo M'Gill.
A dribble o' spirits, and porter, and ale,
While I sing o' a carle, a great mense to your trade,
Though he forty lang miles frae King Willie was bred.
He keepit nae tavern nor splendid hotel,
Nae floors coort wi' carpets, nor dandy-hung bell,
But a cosie thack-house, at the fit o' the hill,
And baith auld and young liked queer Mungo M'Gill.
His house was weel kenn'd by the sign o' the Chair,
An index o' meaning, although something rare;
For a birkie, ance seated, fan', to his surprise,
That the langer he sat he was sweerer to rise.
There the tailor and souter took their fittin' drams,
And the smith, owre a chappin, aft rested his trams,
And but seldom a lade gaed awa' frae the mill
But the stour was synt doun aside Mungo M'Gill.
An index o' meaning, although something rare;
For a birkie, ance seated, fan', to his surprise,
That the langer he sat he was sweerer to rise.
There the tailor and souter took their fittin' drams,
And the smith, owre a chappin, aft rested his trams,
And but seldom a lade gaed awa' frae the mill
But the stour was synt doun aside Mungo M'Gill.
Auld Mungo was gleesome, auld Mungo was gash,
Wore a grey worsit wig on his time-polish'd pash,
And a girdle-braid bonnet, fu' bien and fu' braw,
Wi' a tap like a red double-poppy in blaw:
A waistcoat o' red plush inclosed his round kyte,
His brown coat wi' ivory buttons shone white;
His knee and shoe-buckles were polish'd wi' skill:
Sae a snod clachan vintner was Mungo M'Gill.
Wore a grey worsit wig on his time-polish'd pash,
And a girdle-braid bonnet, fu' bien and fu' braw,
Wi' a tap like a red double-poppy in blaw:
A waistcoat o' red plush inclosed his round kyte,
His brown coat wi' ivory buttons shone white;
His knee and shoe-buckles were polish'd wi' skill:
Sae a snod clachan vintner was Mungo M'Gill.
When cronies cam' in for a cog and a crack,
Wi' joke and wi' jest seldom Mungo was slack;
He aye countenanced coshly ilk sentiment said;
Contradiction, he kenn'd, was nae help to his trade:
Or when chance brang a guest in sair laden wi' care,
Auld Mungo could balsam the wound to a hair;
He could quote frae the Beuk words o' comfort at will,
For nae priest was mair knacky than Mungo M'Gill.
Wi' joke and wi' jest seldom Mungo was slack;
He aye countenanced coshly ilk sentiment said;
Contradiction, he kenn'd, was nae help to his trade:
Or when chance brang a guest in sair laden wi' care,
Auld Mungo could balsam the wound to a hair;
He could quote frae the Beuk words o' comfort at will,
For nae priest was mair knacky than Mungo M'Gill.
When sederunts were dreigh, Mungo kenn'd when to please
His patients wi' ham, herrin', speldings, or cheese,
Things nobly adapted to gust a drunk mouth,
And as guid afterhind for increasin' a drouth.
When the crack had grown tiresome, and Mungo did think
It was lang 'tween the rounds that the gill-stoup play'd clink,
He wad look ben the trance, wishin' nae time to spill—
“Was't here ye were ca'in'?” quo' Mungo M'Gill.
His patients wi' ham, herrin', speldings, or cheese,
Things nobly adapted to gust a drunk mouth,
And as guid afterhind for increasin' a drouth.
189
It was lang 'tween the rounds that the gill-stoup play'd clink,
He wad look ben the trance, wishin' nae time to spill—
“Was't here ye were ca'in'?” quo' Mungo M'Gill.
Auld Nepple, his spouse, was nae waur than himsel'
For watchin' the motion o' baith stoup and bell;
And, when birkies were bungt, Neps but seldom did fail
To water the stoupie—to keep their heads hale:
Or, to please the rouch gabs o' the sons o' the mine,
She wad sharpen its taste wi' the spirit-o'-wine;
Syne auld Mungo wad laugh at his wife's pawkie skill,
For an inbringin' joke liked Mungo M'Gill.
For watchin' the motion o' baith stoup and bell;
And, when birkies were bungt, Neps but seldom did fail
To water the stoupie—to keep their heads hale:
Or, to please the rouch gabs o' the sons o' the mine,
She wad sharpen its taste wi' the spirit-o'-wine;
Syne auld Mungo wad laugh at his wife's pawkie skill,
For an inbringin' joke liked Mungo M'Gill.
To suit ilka company he had a rare knack,
Wi' drink to ilk taste, or wi' sang or wi' crack,
Frae the grave-spoken laird, wi' his dull hingin' brow,
To the cat-witted tailor, wi' drink ravin' fou.
He had liquor as guid as e'er gusted a gab,
And he had it as worthless as e'er fleeced a fab;
Yet the fient a ane ever disputed his bill,
For their trim was aye watch'd by slee Mungo M'Gill.
Wi' drink to ilk taste, or wi' sang or wi' crack,
Frae the grave-spoken laird, wi' his dull hingin' brow,
To the cat-witted tailor, wi' drink ravin' fou.
He had liquor as guid as e'er gusted a gab,
And he had it as worthless as e'er fleeced a fab;
Yet the fient a ane ever disputed his bill,
For their trim was aye watch'd by slee Mungo M'Gill.
The gauger and he aye squared 'counts to a tee;
Though fou ilka visit, he toddled hame free;
This strauchted the beuks, and prevented a' strife—
And ae permit sairt Mungo the hale o' his life.
But ilk thing has an end, and a puddin' has twa;
Auld age warsel'd round, and took Mungo awa';
And but few o' his trade e'er his fitstaps will fill,
For a dungeon for craft was auld Mungo M'Gill.
Though fou ilka visit, he toddled hame free;
This strauchted the beuks, and prevented a' strife—
And ae permit sairt Mungo the hale o' his life.
But ilk thing has an end, and a puddin' has twa;
Auld age warsel'd round, and took Mungo awa';
And but few o' his trade e'er his fitstaps will fill,
For a dungeon for craft was auld Mungo M'Gill.
The clachan was left in a pitifu' case,
Tears fill'd every e'e, and grief lengthen'd ilk face;
But the tailor, and souter, and miller, 'boon a',
To ha'e seen, wad ha'e melted a whinstane awa';
And the smith, at the dragie, sat back in the neuk,
Loudly sabbin' his lane—while nae whisky he took!
And ilk kimmer sigh'd out, that was sib to a gill—
“Sers! we'll ne'er see the like o' auld Mungo M'Gill!”
Tears fill'd every e'e, and grief lengthen'd ilk face;
But the tailor, and souter, and miller, 'boon a',
To ha'e seen, wad ha'e melted a whinstane awa';
And the smith, at the dragie, sat back in the neuk,
Loudly sabbin' his lane—while nae whisky he took!
And ilk kimmer sigh'd out, that was sib to a gill—
“Sers! we'll ne'er see the like o' auld Mungo M'Gill!”
190
THE RUNAWA' BRIDE.
A BALLAD.
There wonn'd a lass in yonder glen,
Wham auld and young did brawly ken;
She cracked the hearts o' a' the men—
Her name was Nancy Dawson.
But her auld daddie ne'er could bear
That ony ane her price should speer
Except the laird o' muckle gear,
Glee'd, wheezlin' Bauldy Lawson.
Wham auld and young did brawly ken;
She cracked the hearts o' a' the men—
Her name was Nancy Dawson.
But her auld daddie ne'er could bear
That ony ane her price should speer
Except the laird o' muckle gear,
Glee'd, wheezlin' Bauldy Lawson.
The lass was jimply out nineteen,
Wi' coral lips and diamond een,
And glowin' cheeks and gracefu' mien—
Oh but she was a darlin'!
And Bauldy, bleert o' baith the een,
Had mair than half a cent'ry seen,
And yet wad come, ilk Friday-'teen,
To rival Rab M'Farlane.
Wi' coral lips and diamond een,
And glowin' cheeks and gracefu' mien—
Oh but she was a darlin'!
And Bauldy, bleert o' baith the een,
Had mair than half a cent'ry seen,
And yet wad come, ilk Friday-'teen,
To rival Rab M'Farlane.
But Rab was young, and Rab was braw,
And had a tongue ayont them a';
Could wiled the egg frae 'neath the craw—
He was the lassie's fancy.
But Rab had neither gear nor lan',
Sae couldna please the auld guidman,
Whilk gart the carle aft rage and ban
That the loun wad ne'er get Nancy!
And had a tongue ayont them a';
Could wiled the egg frae 'neath the craw—
He was the lassie's fancy.
But Rab had neither gear nor lan',
Sae couldna please the auld guidman,
Whilk gart the carle aft rage and ban
That the loun wad ne'er get Nancy!
The father fleech'd, the mither flate,
And bother'd the lass baith air and late,
To wed the laird for his braw estate,
Else she wad get nae tocher.
But she at Glasgow town did ca',
And was advised by a limb o' the law
To please hersel' before them a',
For she was an only dochter.
And bother'd the lass baith air and late,
To wed the laird for his braw estate,
Else she wad get nae tocher.
But she at Glasgow town did ca',
And was advised by a limb o' the law
To please hersel' before them a',
For she was an only dochter.
The laird his beard did trimly maw,
And dress'd himsel' fu' trig and braw;
To strike the match for guid and a',
Cam' brankan up the entry:
But Nancy wish'd the carle at France
As he cam' hostin' ben the trance,
And thocht, wi' sigh and scornfu' glance—
This plan but answers gentry.
And dress'd himsel' fu' trig and braw;
To strike the match for guid and a',
Cam' brankan up the entry:
191
As he cam' hostin' ben the trance,
And thocht, wi' sigh and scornfu' glance—
This plan but answers gentry.
The match was settled, banns were ca'd,
The braws were boucht wi' great parad',
And Bauldy then fu' crousely craw'd,
Owre a' the lads victorious.
At length the bridal day cam' roun';
The gossips met, wi' gleesome soun';
But hope turn'd disappointment soon—
Hech! we seena far before us.
The braws were boucht wi' great parad',
And Bauldy then fu' crousely craw'd,
Owre a' the lads victorious.
At length the bridal day cam' roun';
The gossips met, wi' gleesome soun';
But hope turn'd disappointment soon—
Hech! we seena far before us.
Wi' pouther'd wig arrived the priest;
The brewer, wi' his sled, cam' neist;
The baker brang a special feast
O' roast, pyes, buns, and gravy.
The cry gat up—the bridegroom's comin'!
And auld and young without gaed rinnin',
For now they heard the fiddle bummin',
And liltin' Dainty Davie.
The brewer, wi' his sled, cam' neist;
The baker brang a special feast
O' roast, pyes, buns, and gravy.
The cry gat up—the bridegroom's comin'!
And auld and young without gaed rinnin',
For now they heard the fiddle bummin',
And liltin' Dainty Davie.
The bride's now left in the spence her lane;
But out at the back door she has gane,
And down the yard, and through the glen,
Amang the birks and hazles.
She ran straucht to the trystin' tree,
And met wi' Rab wi' muckle glee;
Now aff they're fled, across the lea,
As licht as hares or weasels.
But out at the back door she has gane,
And down the yard, and through the glen,
Amang the birks and hazles.
She ran straucht to the trystin' tree,
And met wi' Rab wi' muckle glee;
Now aff they're fled, across the lea,
As licht as hares or weasels.
Now Bauldy, he drew near the house,
And wow but he was skeigh and crouse,
Cock sure, ere lang, to ha'e a spouse
Surpass'd by nane ava, man:
He's welcomed ben, wi' muckle mense,
To see the bride within the spence;
But they were bereaved o' every sense
When they fan' she was awa', man.
And wow but he was skeigh and crouse,
Cock sure, ere lang, to ha'e a spouse
Surpass'd by nane ava, man:
He's welcomed ben, wi' muckle mense,
To see the bride within the spence;
But they were bereaved o' every sense
When they fan' she was awa', man.
They soucht her out, and they soucht her in,
But on the track they ne'er could win;
Some hinted lookin' round the linn—
The extericks seized ilk carline;
But Tam, the herd, cam' down the dale,
The herald o' the doolfu' tale;
Quoth he, “I saw her, blithe and hale,
Scourin' aff wi' Rab M'Farlane.”
But on the track they ne'er could win;
192
The extericks seized ilk carline;
But Tam, the herd, cam' down the dale,
The herald o' the doolfu' tale;
Quoth he, “I saw her, blithe and hale,
Scourin' aff wi' Rab M'Farlane.”
When Bauldy heard the luckless news,
He darts like lightnin' frae the house;
Puts on his specks, the hill he views,
And saw them turn the cairn, man:
He cried to the best-man, “Rodger, rin;
As yet, thou's no that far behin';
To me thou yet a wife may win,
And save the laird's dear bairn, man.”
He darts like lightnin' frae the house;
Puts on his specks, the hill he views,
And saw them turn the cairn, man:
He cried to the best-man, “Rodger, rin;
As yet, thou's no that far behin';
To me thou yet a wife may win,
And save the laird's dear bairn, man.”
Soon Rodger coost baith shoon and coat,
And took the road like a cannon shot;
The broosers, pityin' Bauldy's lot,
Flew aff as fleet as roes, man;
The fiddler, neither stiff nor slack,
Did rin till his lungs were like to crack—
But fell, and his bow and his brow he brack,
And cam' back wi' a bluidy nose, man.
And took the road like a cannon shot;
The broosers, pityin' Bauldy's lot,
Flew aff as fleet as roes, man;
The fiddler, neither stiff nor slack,
Did rin till his lungs were like to crack—
But fell, and his bow and his brow he brack,
And cam' back wi' a bluidy nose, man.
Wi' quakin' knees, and duntin' breast,
Puir Bauldy saw his cronies reist;
Gat consolation frae the priest,
Syne dichtit baith his een, man:
But aye he look'd, wi' ruefu' face,
To see the upshot o' the chase;
While ilka ane believed the race
Wad end at Gretna Green, man.
Puir Bauldy saw his cronies reist;
Gat consolation frae the priest,
Syne dichtit baith his een, man:
But aye he look'd, wi' ruefu' face,
To see the upshot o' the chase;
While ilka ane believed the race
Wad end at Gretna Green, man.
Now wha's to eat the feast sae fat?
And wha's to quaff the browst o' maut?
For Bauldy has nae taste for that,
Since Nancy's proved no sterlin'.
Sae they a' slade aff, like knotless threads,
To lay aside their bridal weeds;
And the morn they'll rise wi' braw hale heads,
And be thankin' Rab M'Farlane.
And wha's to quaff the browst o' maut?
For Bauldy has nae taste for that,
Since Nancy's proved no sterlin'.
Sae they a' slade aff, like knotless threads,
To lay aside their bridal weeds;
And the morn they'll rise wi' braw hale heads,
And be thankin' Rab M'Farlane.
193
Ye wha ha'e dochters, a' tak' tent,
And prudence learn frae this event;
Ne'er barter them 'gainst their consent,
Although it be the fashion;
Lest, on their blithesome bridal day,
They through the back-door chance to stray,
And lichtly skip out owre the brae,
Like charmin' Nancy Dawson.
And prudence learn frae this event;
Ne'er barter them 'gainst their consent,
Although it be the fashion;
Lest, on their blithesome bridal day,
They through the back-door chance to stray,
And lichtly skip out owre the brae,
Like charmin' Nancy Dawson.
A MASONIC SONG.
When brethren of free masonry
In harmony unite,
Each bosom thrills with ecstasy
'Neath the glorious mystic light.
Still the brow of care smooths its wrinkles there,
While love and joy entwine
Round a social horn of John Barleycorn,
Or the juice of the sparkling vine.
In harmony unite,
Each bosom thrills with ecstasy
'Neath the glorious mystic light.
Still the brow of care smooths its wrinkles there,
While love and joy entwine
Round a social horn of John Barleycorn,
Or the juice of the sparkling vine.
Ne'er jarring discord enters there,
Nor faction's hot debate,
No tales of slander taint the air,
Nor intrigues of the church or state.
But each heart and hand join in love's soft band,
Within the sacred shrine;
While each action we spy, is still guided by
Reason's compass, square, and line.
Nor faction's hot debate,
No tales of slander taint the air,
Nor intrigues of the church or state.
But each heart and hand join in love's soft band,
Within the sacred shrine;
While each action we spy, is still guided by
Reason's compass, square, and line.
The glorious art expands the heart,
And all distinction smothers;
Makes the peasant and king join hands and sing,
On the level met as brothers.
May the glorious light blaze with splendour bright,
Till time's last sun decline;
Then, pray ye, all comply to give heart, hand, and thigh,
And follow it with three times nine.
And all distinction smothers;
Makes the peasant and king join hands and sing,
On the level met as brothers.
May the glorious light blaze with splendour bright,
Till time's last sun decline;
Then, pray ye, all comply to give heart, hand, and thigh,
And follow it with three times nine.
194
MY WIFE'S AYE TIPPLIN'.
O my wife's aye tipplin', tipple, tipple, tipplin',
My wife's aye tipplin' when I'm awa frae hame.
My wife's aye tipplin' when I'm awa frae hame.
When we twa were married, she was a sonsy quean,
The rose was on her cheeks, and the diamond in her een;
Now she's wallow'd like a docken, and her een are blear'd and red,
For she lies, her drouth to slocken, wi' the bottle in her bed.
The rose was on her cheeks, and the diamond in her een;
Now she's wallow'd like a docken, and her een are blear'd and red,
For she lies, her drouth to slocken, wi' the bottle in her bed.
O my wife's aye tipplin', tipple, tipple, tipplin',
My wife, in her tipplin', sees neither sin nor shame.
My wife, in her tipplin', sees neither sin nor shame.
She wytes't upon the toothache, and on the stomach-cramp,
And aye on the rhumatiks, when the weather's cauld and damp;
But what or where the trouble is, between the tap and tae,
Nae potion and nae lotion she'll apply but usquabae.
And aye on the rhumatiks, when the weather's cauld and damp;
But what or where the trouble is, between the tap and tae,
Nae potion and nae lotion she'll apply but usquabae.
O my wife's aye tipplin', tipple, tipple, tipplin',
My wife's aye tipplin', and I get a' the blame.
My wife's aye tipplin', and I get a' the blame.
When I come frae my wark at een I aft the fire get out,
And the weans, wi' cauld and hunger, are wheengin' a' about:
She drank the sow, she drank the cow, and syne she drank the horse;
She's drucken a' the siller done, and now she's pawn'd the purse.
And the weans, wi' cauld and hunger, are wheengin' a' about:
She drank the sow, she drank the cow, and syne she drank the horse;
She's drucken a' the siller done, and now she's pawn'd the purse.
My wife, wi' her tipplin', tipple, tipple, tipplin',
My wife, wi' her tipplin', has made a doolfu' hame.
My wife, wi' her tipplin', has made a doolfu' hame.
Some say I should gae leave her; but how can I do that,
Wi' five wee helpless bairnies, wha maun hae bit and brat?
And when, at times, she's sober, it brings across my min'
The glow o' love I bore to her in days o' langsyne.
Wi' five wee helpless bairnies, wha maun hae bit and brat?
And when, at times, she's sober, it brings across my min'
The glow o' love I bore to her in days o' langsyne.
O wad she drap her tipplin', tipple, tipple, tipplin',
O wad she drap her tipplin', 'twad mak' a heaven o' hame.
O wad she drap her tipplin', 'twad mak' a heaven o' hame.
Ae truth I shall advance now, and bet my guid new spleuchan,
Ye'll get a cure for ilk disease within the boords o' Buchan;
But to reclaim a drucken wife wad gi'e the doctors wark,
For, when baith cash and tick are done, she'll pawn her hindmost sark.
Ye'll get a cure for ilk disease within the boords o' Buchan;
But to reclaim a drucken wife wad gi'e the doctors wark,
For, when baith cash and tick are done, she'll pawn her hindmost sark.
O their cursed tipplin', tipple, tipple, tipplin',
Their cursed tipplin' aye mak's a waefu' hame.
Their cursed tipplin' aye mak's a waefu' hame.
195
BOB O' THE BENT.
Come a' ye steeve tipplers, and listen to me,
And I'll show you the upshot o' John Barleybrie;
Ye may, aiblins, be laith to gi'e up the bit drap,
But, I trow, in the end, ye'll fin't craw in your crap:
Then scorn nae advice gi'en wi' frien'ly intent,
Though it come frae the gab o' auld Bob o' the Bent.
And I'll show you the upshot o' John Barleybrie;
Ye may, aiblins, be laith to gi'e up the bit drap,
But, I trow, in the end, ye'll fin't craw in your crap:
Then scorn nae advice gi'en wi' frien'ly intent,
Though it come frae the gab o' auld Bob o' the Bent.
My father, puir body, when death closed his een,
Left me laird o' the mailin, a' stocked fou bien,
Wi' three horses, twal' kye, and sax score o' tups and ewes,
That frisked and fed on the haughs and the knowes:
And a guid clash o' siller, that draw sax per cent.;
Sae but few chiels could brank then wi' Bob o' the Bent.
Left me laird o' the mailin, a' stocked fou bien,
Wi' three horses, twal' kye, and sax score o' tups and ewes,
That frisked and fed on the haughs and the knowes:
And a guid clash o' siller, that draw sax per cent.;
Sae but few chiels could brank then wi' Bob o' the Bent.
(Spoken.)—But when I gat the bridle in my ain han' I gaed on at a bonny carry; ran to a' fairs, markets, rockin's, sacraments, and weddin's —kent o' naething but fill and fetch mair; trowth, my nieve was ne'er out o' my purse frae June to Januar', sae, that e'er ye wad hae said Jock Robison, I gaed through as muckle o' my daddie's weel haint gear as wad hae been a guid nest-egg to a canny chiel a' the days o' his life. Mony a caution I gat frae my mither, puir body, wi' the tear in her e'e, and when I was sittin' hearin' her I saw my folly as clear's a bead. But whene'er I was out o' her sicht—fare-ye-weel, Tammy Orr! nae reformation wi' Bob, he's just the auld saxpence—in for another nievefu' o' siller frae the shuttle o' the kist, and awa to the nearest yill-house to get a slockenin', or, as a body may rather say, a kindlin' o' drouth, whare we wad hae clawt awa at the bicker till the mornin' sun wad been blinkin' owre the Shotts knowes.
Sae wi' tipplin' late, and wi' tipplin' soon,
My hale lyin' siller I soon tippled done.
When to Glasgow I gaed, wi' the butter and milk,
I ne'er fail'd, on the road, frae the auld naig to bilk,
And wad clatter and quaff till my siller gaed done,
Syne gaed staggerin' hame wi' the licht o' the moon:
While the beast toddled on, and aye hame fand the scent,
Leavin' fate to tak' charge o' doilt Bob o' the Bent.
My hale lyin' siller I soon tippled done.
When to Glasgow I gaed, wi' the butter and milk,
I ne'er fail'd, on the road, frae the auld naig to bilk,
And wad clatter and quaff till my siller gaed done,
Syne gaed staggerin' hame wi' the licht o' the moon:
While the beast toddled on, and aye hame fand the scent,
Leavin' fate to tak' charge o' doilt Bob o' the Bent.
(Spoken.)—And mony a dreary nicht I took the gate my lane, reelin' fou, when there was nae livin' saul to be seen a' the road hame, nor a lichted house, unless a bit blink frae the raikin'-coal o' somebody's
196
O' my ain dog's bark, and my ain cock's craw,
As I drew near my hame, when the day it did daw.
As I drew near my hame, when the day it did daw.
But my siller grew scarce, and my credit grew sma',
And, in time o' maist need, my best frien's did withdraw;
My servants they jauked, my labour fell back,
And I saw, gin I ment na, I'd soon gae to wrack;
But my head was yet licht, and my brow was yet brent,
And dull care couldna conjure blithe Bob o' the Bent.
And, in time o' maist need, my best frien's did withdraw;
My servants they jauked, my labour fell back,
And I saw, gin I ment na, I'd soon gae to wrack;
But my head was yet licht, and my brow was yet brent,
And dull care couldna conjure blithe Bob o' the Bent.
'Twas beltan before we our corn could get sawn,
'Twas lammas or e'er we our hay could get mawn;
Cauld winter at han' was when our corn was green,
For our kirn we got seldom before halloween:
Sae I fell far ahin' wi' the minister's stent,
Forebodin' destruction to Bob o' the Bent.
'Twas lammas or e'er we our hay could get mawn;
Cauld winter at han' was when our corn was green,
For our kirn we got seldom before halloween:
Sae I fell far ahin' wi' the minister's stent,
Forebodin' destruction to Bob o' the Bent.
(Spoken.)—When I'm carryin' on in this manner, borrowin' siller frae ane to pay anither, and gettin' the tither visit frae the beagle, I'm down at Hamilton court ae day, (a place o' business at whilk I was beginnin' to be owre weel kenn'd, and appearin' aftener as defendant than plaintiff) and ha'ein' settled accounts wi' my legal advisers, (a class o' gentlemen, by-the-by, wha had nae sooner gotten me out o' ae scrape than they had me landed into anither) we had, as usual, a dainty dreigh sederunt owre a jug o' toddy, and syne I took the airt hame, pinch'd enough to keep the crown o' the causey. Weel, gaun by an auld howff whare I had spent hunners o' pounds, though I was now beginnin' to be mair fash than profit to them, I hears the landlady say, “there's Bob o' the Bent, rin and bar the door and keep 'im out!” Sae I just steady'd mysel' on my staff a blink, and said in my ain min',—ay, ay, is this the gratitude o' changekeepers? The diel a ane o' your craft, Lucky, will e'er bar the door on Bob o' the Bent again! I gaed straucht hame to my bed, yoked my wark niest mornin', and hae continued as steady as the sun in the lift sin'syne, and I soon fan' my affairs tak' anither turn; and aye, as I persevered, I fan' my credit grow better, till I cleared ilka bodle o' debt that was on my farm, and can defy the hale warld to say I'm awn a doit!
197
Now I've plenty o' siller in purse and in pouch,
And to nane in the warld I, for favour, need crouch;
I ha'e braw piece o' min', and guid health to the boot,
Though I saur in the changekeeper's thrapples like soot:
Let ilk chiel aff the road, then, that leads to content,
Just gae tread the last fitstaps o' Bob o' the Bent.
And to nane in the warld I, for favour, need crouch;
I ha'e braw piece o' min', and guid health to the boot,
Though I saur in the changekeeper's thrapples like soot:
Let ilk chiel aff the road, then, that leads to content,
Just gae tread the last fitstaps o' Bob o' the Bent.
THE HEROIC TAILOR.
Ae nicht, at the heicht o' the Michaelmas moon,
The tailor at our house was sewin', O;
He gaed down the howm, ere his labour was done,
And wi' Nelly fell briskly a-wooin', O.
A swarm o' keen lovers cam' round the same nicht,
Ilk ane, for his ain int'rest, to use his hale micht;
But a' firm resolved wi' the tailor to fecht—
For mischief in ilk head was brewin', O.
The tailor at our house was sewin', O;
He gaed down the howm, ere his labour was done,
And wi' Nelly fell briskly a-wooin', O.
A swarm o' keen lovers cam' round the same nicht,
Ilk ane, for his ain int'rest, to use his hale micht;
But a' firm resolved wi' the tailor to fecht—
For mischief in ilk head was brewin', O.
The tailor was fearless, the tailor was stark,
And mindna their jibin' and jeerin', O;
Frae bother to blows they richt soon fell to wark,
And the tailor was fast the field clearin', O.
Ane, grippin' the cushion that was on his sleeve,
Declared he a hedgehog had claucht wi' his nieve,
While stabs frae his bodkin gart ithers believe
That the broil wad come to an ill-bearin', O.
And mindna their jibin' and jeerin', O;
Frae bother to blows they richt soon fell to wark,
And the tailor was fast the field clearin', O.
Ane, grippin' the cushion that was on his sleeve,
Declared he a hedgehog had claucht wi' his nieve,
While stabs frae his bodkin gart ithers believe
That the broil wad come to an ill-bearin', O.
But soon a re'nforcement cam' round to their aid,
And frae numbers they courage did muster, O;
The tailor foresaw, but was naething afraid,
That he'd come aff wi' skaith frae this cluster, O:
He sprang up the craft to the house, in his ire,
And bang'd out the red goose that lay in the fire,
Syne gied them, o' fechtin', mair than their desire,
For their hides he did sotter and blister, O.
And frae numbers they courage did muster, O;
The tailor foresaw, but was naething afraid,
That he'd come aff wi' skaith frae this cluster, O:
He sprang up the craft to the house, in his ire,
And bang'd out the red goose that lay in the fire,
Syne gied them, o' fechtin', mair than their desire,
For their hides he did sotter and blister, O.
198
A' airts o' the compass they fled frae the field,
Sair skaith'd by his red salamander, O,
Astonish'd to fin' that a young tailor chield
Had the courage o' great Alexander, O.
Young Hughoc, the laird, met the warst fate ava;
He a new suit had on, and was baith skeigh and braw,
But plunged in the midden when fleein' awa';
He wi' little mense hameward did wander, O.
Sair skaith'd by his red salamander, O,
Astonish'd to fin' that a young tailor chield
Had the courage o' great Alexander, O.
Young Hughoc, the laird, met the warst fate ava;
He a new suit had on, and was baith skeigh and braw,
But plunged in the midden when fleein' awa';
He wi' little mense hameward did wander, O.
O' a' the brisk wooers that flock about Nell,
There's nane now has charms like the tailor, O;
She jeers them awa', sin' that nicht's wark befell,
And no ane can guess what doth ail her, O.
She scorns a' their gear, and their bonnet-laird pride,
And vows that the tailor's got her for his bride;
Wi' a chiel o' sic mettle she'd range the warld wide,
For he's like a champion for valour, O.
There's nane now has charms like the tailor, O;
She jeers them awa', sin' that nicht's wark befell,
And no ane can guess what doth ail her, O.
She scorns a' their gear, and their bonnet-laird pride,
And vows that the tailor's got her for his bride;
Wi' a chiel o' sic mettle she'd range the warld wide,
For he's like a champion for valour, O.
FAR BEYOND THE ISLE OF KILDA.
Far beyond the Isle of Kilda,
Far beyond the Isle of Kilda,
The sun his daily course hath run,
And I must meet with fair Matilda.
Far beyond the Isle of Kilda,
The sun his daily course hath run,
And I must meet with fair Matilda.
Her father is a chieftain brave
As e'er wore tartan plaid or bonnet,
But vows no blood of Saxon slave
His clan will e'er have grafted on it.
As e'er wore tartan plaid or bonnet,
But vows no blood of Saxon slave
His clan will e'er have grafted on it.
Far beyond, &c.
I daurna in his ha' appear
For fear I rouse his Highland anger,
Sae I maun lanely linger here
Till she arrives who soothes my languor.
For fear I rouse his Highland anger,
Sae I maun lanely linger here
Till she arrives who soothes my languor.
Far beyond, &c.
A maid sae sweet and sae discreet
Ne'er brush'd the dew frae heather blossom;
Sae witchin' kind, sae pure her mind,
'Tis heaven to clasp her to my bosom.
Ne'er brush'd the dew frae heather blossom;
Sae witchin' kind, sae pure her mind,
'Tis heaven to clasp her to my bosom.
Far beyond, &c.
199
I've beauties seen by winding Forth,
I've beauties seen where Clyde meanders,
But there's a beauty farther north,
Wi' her my fancy ever wanders.
I've beauties seen where Clyde meanders,
But there's a beauty farther north,
Wi' her my fancy ever wanders.
Far beyond, &c.
'Twere mean that I, a border knight,
Should bide a norlan' chieftain's fury,
Sae, lang ere dawn of morning light,
Matilda leaves the heights of Jura.
Should bide a norlan' chieftain's fury,
Sae, lang ere dawn of morning light,
Matilda leaves the heights of Jura.
Far beyond the Isle of Kilda,
Far beyond the Isle of Kilda,
The shades of night assist my flight
To gay Tweedside with fair Matilda.
Far beyond the Isle of Kilda,
The shades of night assist my flight
To gay Tweedside with fair Matilda.
THINK OF THY VOWS.
When the blithe smile of spring
Decks the woods all in green,
And the birds sweetly sing
By the smooth winding stream;
When the daisies snow-white
Gem the green grassy lea,
I'll hie with delight,
My dear Mary, to thee.
Decks the woods all in green,
And the birds sweetly sing
By the smooth winding stream;
When the daisies snow-white
Gem the green grassy lea,
I'll hie with delight,
My dear Mary, to thee.
Oh! think of thy vows
In the green hazel bower,
On the sun-gilded knows,
By yon grey ruined tower;
When the sun's yellow rays
Slanted o'er the green plain,
And thy voice joined the lays
Of the pipe of thy swain:—
In the green hazel bower,
On the sun-gilded knows,
By yon grey ruined tower;
When the sun's yellow rays
Slanted o'er the green plain,
And thy voice joined the lays
Of the pipe of thy swain:—
There you vow'd, if sweet spring
Should to us e'er return,
And the merle again sing
In the shade by the burn,
That thy hand and thy heart
Should for ever be mine;
When we'd meet, ne'er to part,
At kind Hymen's fair shrine.
Should to us e'er return,
And the merle again sing
In the shade by the burn,
That thy hand and thy heart
Should for ever be mine;
When we'd meet, ne'er to part,
At kind Hymen's fair shrine.
200
FAR AWA' FRAE THEE, ANNA.
Far awa', far awa',
Far awa' frae thee, Anna,
I alane can tell the pain
I felt when leavin' thee, Anna.
Far awa' frae thee, Anna,
I alane can tell the pain
I felt when leavin' thee, Anna.
When first I saw the wileing glance
Shot frae thy lovely e'e, Anna,
My heart sunk into love's soft trance,
I thought on nought but thee, Anna.
Shot frae thy lovely e'e, Anna,
My heart sunk into love's soft trance,
I thought on nought but thee, Anna.
Far awa', &c.
The linn, wi' noddin' birks o'erhung,
Soft murmur'd down the vale, Anna,
Where sweet the mavis o'er us sung,
While whisp'ring love's kind tale, Anna.
Soft murmur'd down the vale, Anna,
Where sweet the mavis o'er us sung,
While whisp'ring love's kind tale, Anna.
Far awa', &c.
Thy charms beguiled the longest night,
Made short the longest day, Anna—
Bewitch'd me sae, while in thy sight,
They wadna let me gae, Anna.
Made short the longest day, Anna—
Bewitch'd me sae, while in thy sight,
They wadna let me gae, Anna.
Far awa', &c.
But now, when forced frae thee to roam
Far on a distant shore, Anna,
I pine in sorrow, while from home
And thee, whom I adore, Anna.
Far on a distant shore, Anna,
I pine in sorrow, while from home
And thee, whom I adore, Anna.
Far awa', &c.
Yet still hope's distant smile I see,
To glad the prospect drear, Anna,
That I shall yet return to thee,
Whom I o'er all revere, Anna.
To glad the prospect drear, Anna,
That I shall yet return to thee,
Whom I o'er all revere, Anna.
Far awa', &c.
THE FORTUNATE WANDERER.
Shepherd, rowe me in thy plaid,
And screen me frae the stormy weather;
I've stray'd on that bleak mountain side,
Forlorn and dreary 'mang the heather.
Owre the muir amang the heather,
Owre the muir amang the heather;
The lad I loved inconstant proved,
Which makes me wander 'mang the heather.
And screen me frae the stormy weather;
I've stray'd on that bleak mountain side,
Forlorn and dreary 'mang the heather.
201
Owre the muir amang the heather;
The lad I loved inconstant proved,
Which makes me wander 'mang the heather.
With him I stray'd through glen and glade,
By meadow green, and purling fountain;
But now I'm left, of peace bereft,
To wander lanely on the mountain.
Owre the muir, &c.
But now frae joy debarr'd am I,
To stray and weep amang the heather.
By meadow green, and purling fountain;
But now I'm left, of peace bereft,
To wander lanely on the mountain.
Owre the muir, &c.
But now frae joy debarr'd am I,
To stray and weep amang the heather.
His languid eyes and frequent sighs,
Bespoke a passion felt sincerely,
When close he press'd me to his breast,
And vow'd he'd ever love me dearly.
Owre the muir, &c.
By burn and brae, we spent the day,
On tales o' love wi' ane anither.
Bespoke a passion felt sincerely,
When close he press'd me to his breast,
And vow'd he'd ever love me dearly.
Owre the muir, &c.
By burn and brae, we spent the day,
On tales o' love wi' ane anither.
“Forgo thy fears, dry up thy tears,
Nor seek a faithless lover blindly;
If in my cot, thou'lt share my lot,
Here is the heart will treat thee kindly.
Owre the muir, &c.
Aloof frae strife, we'll glide through life,
Where lambkins play amang the heather.
Nor seek a faithless lover blindly;
If in my cot, thou'lt share my lot,
Here is the heart will treat thee kindly.
Owre the muir, &c.
Aloof frae strife, we'll glide through life,
Where lambkins play amang the heather.
Come in my plaid, my lovely maid,
Nor longer roam the mountain dreary;
Through summer mild, and winter wild,
Wi' me thou shalt be ever cheery.
Owre the muir, &c.
Till life's last day, I'll with thee stay,
Where blooms the bonny purple heather.
Nor longer roam the mountain dreary;
Through summer mild, and winter wild,
Wi' me thou shalt be ever cheery.
Owre the muir, &c.
Till life's last day, I'll with thee stay,
Where blooms the bonny purple heather.
To him she clings—he round her flings
His tartan plaid, the rain defending,
Her tear-soil'd eye now beams wi' joy,
While rapture's heaving sigh's ascending.
Owre the muir, &c.
Baith nicht and day, she's glad and gay,
Wi' her dear swain amang the heather.
His tartan plaid, the rain defending,
Her tear-soil'd eye now beams wi' joy,
While rapture's heaving sigh's ascending.
Owre the muir, &c.
Baith nicht and day, she's glad and gay,
Wi' her dear swain amang the heather.
202
FU' LEESOME AND LEAL IS MY LADDIE.
Fu' leesome and leal is my laddie,
And blithe is the blink o' his e'e;
At partin' my heart is richt sad aye,
At meetin' it dances wi' glee.
Yestreen we sat down 'mang the clover,
When the gloamin' her veil o'er us flang;
The time flew sae fleet wi' my lover,
I wist na till mornin' larks sang.
And blithe is the blink o' his e'e;
At partin' my heart is richt sad aye,
At meetin' it dances wi' glee.
Yestreen we sat down 'mang the clover,
When the gloamin' her veil o'er us flang;
The time flew sae fleet wi' my lover,
I wist na till mornin' larks sang.
A string o' blue pearlin's he boucht me
When I gaed to last Lammas fair,
And syne to the dancin' he soucht me,
And muckle he on me did ware.
Noo, aye when my pearlin's I blink on,
It mak's me baith blithesome and wae,
Far aften their cost I do think on,
Has gart him toil mony lang day.
When I gaed to last Lammas fair,
And syne to the dancin' he soucht me,
And muckle he on me did ware.
Noo, aye when my pearlin's I blink on,
It mak's me baith blithesome and wae,
Far aften their cost I do think on,
Has gart him toil mony lang day.
Nae lairdship has he but his labour,
Whilk's a' my folk 'gainst him can say;
But whae'er respects guid behaviour
Maun roose my true laddie for aye.
For love I will wed my dear laddie,
And tak' whate'er fortune may send,
For true love and virtue sae steady
Will surely come to a guid end.
Whilk's a' my folk 'gainst him can say;
But whae'er respects guid behaviour
Maun roose my true laddie for aye.
For love I will wed my dear laddie,
And tak' whate'er fortune may send,
For true love and virtue sae steady
Will surely come to a guid end.
THE LASS WITH THE AUBURN HAIR.
The crimson dawn flushed in the east,
To wake the smiling morn;
The lark his cheering lay increased,
On dew-wet wings upborne.
The mavis sang in greenwood shade,
Fresh flowers perfumed the air,
When first I spied, in yon green glade,
The lass with the auburn hair.
Sweet lass with the auburn hair,
Dear lass with the auburn hair;
She stole my joy with her bright eye,
The lass with the auburn hair.
To wake the smiling morn;
The lark his cheering lay increased,
On dew-wet wings upborne.
The mavis sang in greenwood shade,
Fresh flowers perfumed the air,
When first I spied, in yon green glade,
The lass with the auburn hair.
203
Dear lass with the auburn hair;
She stole my joy with her bright eye,
The lass with the auburn hair.
Let swains seek nature's garden through,
For flowers of sweetest dye,
As emblems of the snowy brow,
Red lip, fresh cheek, bright eye.
But though the rose's blush is sweet,
And the lily's bloom is fair,
They ne'er can vie those charms replete
Of the lass with the auburn hair.
Sweet lass, &c.
Dear lass, &c.
Devoid of art, she's won my heart,
The lass with the auburn hair.
For flowers of sweetest dye,
As emblems of the snowy brow,
Red lip, fresh cheek, bright eye.
But though the rose's blush is sweet,
And the lily's bloom is fair,
They ne'er can vie those charms replete
Of the lass with the auburn hair.
Sweet lass, &c.
Dear lass, &c.
Devoid of art, she's won my heart,
The lass with the auburn hair.
What though her sire a woodman be,
In yonder glen remote?
What though no courtly form she sees
Within her humble cot?
Her native grace all art disarms,
In features, form, and air;
Description fails to paint the charms
Of the lass with the auburn hair.
Sweet lass, &c.
Dear lass, &c.
No more I want, that fate can grant,
But the lass with the auburn hair.
In yonder glen remote?
What though no courtly form she sees
Within her humble cot?
Her native grace all art disarms,
In features, form, and air;
Description fails to paint the charms
Of the lass with the auburn hair.
Sweet lass, &c.
Dear lass, &c.
No more I want, that fate can grant,
But the lass with the auburn hair.
The lamb that's sporting on the hill
Is not more mild than she;
The thrush that's singing by the rill
More blythsome ne'er can be.
The joy that stole across my soul
Was bliss beyond compare,
When she complied to be my bride,
The lass with the auburn hair.
Sweet lass, &c.
Dear lass, &c.
Unknown to strife, I'll spend my life
With the lass with the auburn hair.
Is not more mild than she;
The thrush that's singing by the rill
More blythsome ne'er can be.
The joy that stole across my soul
Was bliss beyond compare,
When she complied to be my bride,
The lass with the auburn hair.
Sweet lass, &c.
Dear lass, &c.
Unknown to strife, I'll spend my life
With the lass with the auburn hair.
204
THE LUCKLESS WOOER.
O, wandought is waly Willie,
Wha wons in the warlock glen,
At wooin' he's cauldrife and silly,
An's been slichtit by nine or ten;
He's been slichtit by nine or ten,
When he paid a' the dues o' the kirk,
And yet the auld gleyt doitit havrel
Came to woo me yestreen when 'twas mirk.
Wha wons in the warlock glen,
At wooin' he's cauldrife and silly,
An's been slichtit by nine or ten;
He's been slichtit by nine or ten,
When he paid a' the dues o' the kirk,
And yet the auld gleyt doitit havrel
Came to woo me yestreen when 'twas mirk.
Loud the win' 'mang the ash-trees was brawlin',
When Willie dang up our back-door,
He stay'd na to chap the hallan,
But cam' lampin' ben the floor;
He cam' clinchin' ben the floor,
Wi' his bonnet ajee on his head;
Guid's! thinks I, or I'd marry ye, Willie,
I'd rather lie down wi' the dead.
When Willie dang up our back-door,
He stay'd na to chap the hallan,
But cam' lampin' ben the floor;
He cam' clinchin' ben the floor,
Wi' his bonnet ajee on his head;
Guid's! thinks I, or I'd marry ye, Willie,
I'd rather lie down wi' the dead.
Wi' kind welcome my mither did set him
Close up by the chimla cheek,
Where he thowt his cauld han's and he het him,
And dichtit his blae drappin' beak;
And at me he gied mony a keek,
As I sat wi' my seem in the neuk;
But a' his hale crack was o' thrashin',
And delvin', and drivin' o' muck.
Close up by the chimla cheek,
Where he thowt his cauld han's and he het him,
And dichtit his blae drappin' beak;
And at me he gied mony a keek,
As I sat wi' my seem in the neuk;
But a' his hale crack was o' thrashin',
And delvin', and drivin' o' muck.
But a tirl came upon the back winnock,
Whilk was a blythe signal to me,
Weel I kenn'd that it was my ain Sannock,
And my heart did gae dancin' wi' glee;
When I raise Willie looked ajee,
Syne he dichted his een, and he sigh'd;
But, gaun out, thinks I, fare-ye-weel, Willie,
Ye'll sit late if ye see me the nicht.
Whilk was a blythe signal to me,
Weel I kenn'd that it was my ain Sannock,
And my heart did gae dancin' wi' glee;
When I raise Willie looked ajee,
Syne he dichted his een, and he sigh'd;
But, gaun out, thinks I, fare-ye-weel, Willie,
Ye'll sit late if ye see me the nicht.
205
THE BRAES OF BUSBIE.
What anguish wrung my throbbing heart,
When fate decreed I should depart
Far from the lovely banks of Cart,
And the bonny braes of Busbie, O.
In vain I strove to check the sigh,
Or tear that glitter'd in the eye,
While thinking that the hour drew nigh
Which drove me far from Busbie, O.
When fate decreed I should depart
Far from the lovely banks of Cart,
And the bonny braes of Busbie, O.
In vain I strove to check the sigh,
Or tear that glitter'd in the eye,
While thinking that the hour drew nigh
Which drove me far from Busbie, O.
'Twas not to leave the verdant bowers,
Nor glen, bespread with summer flowers;
'Twas not to leave that stream, which pours
Its murmuring tide through Busbie, O.
But parting with Eliza dear,
Of blooming cheek, and eye so clear—
'Twas that which brought the frequent tear,
When I took leave of Busbie, O.
Nor glen, bespread with summer flowers;
'Twas not to leave that stream, which pours
Its murmuring tide through Busbie, O.
But parting with Eliza dear,
Of blooming cheek, and eye so clear—
'Twas that which brought the frequent tear,
When I took leave of Busbie, O.
Though far from her embraces torn,
Yet oft on fancy homeward borne,
With her I sat beneath yon thorn,
Among the braes of Busbie, O.
And cheering hope, with radiant smile,
Would still the fleeting hours beguile,
When far from my dear native isle,
And the bonny braes of Busbie, O.
Yet oft on fancy homeward borne,
With her I sat beneath yon thorn,
Among the braes of Busbie, O.
And cheering hope, with radiant smile,
Would still the fleeting hours beguile,
When far from my dear native isle,
And the bonny braes of Busbie, O.
But now return'd, again I rove
With her, by lonely grot or grove,
And fan the mutual flame of love,
Among the braes of Busbie, O.
Let heroes chase the phantom Fame,
Peru's rich ore let misers claim—
My only wish, my dearest aim,
Is that sweet nymph of Busbie, O.
With her, by lonely grot or grove,
And fan the mutual flame of love,
Among the braes of Busbie, O.
Let heroes chase the phantom Fame,
Peru's rich ore let misers claim—
My only wish, my dearest aim,
Is that sweet nymph of Busbie, O.
206
THE BLOOM OF KILBRIDE.
O blythe are the maids where the Forth wanders clearly,
And blooming and gay on the banks of the Clyde,
But none of them all can I love half so dearly,
As charming Eliza, the bloom of Kilbride.
She's cheerful as morning when gilding the mountain,
Or calm and serene as the mild even-tide,
And fair as the lily that blows by the fountain,
Is lovely Eliza, the bloom of Kibride:
Is lovely Eliza,
Is charming Eliza,
Is peerless Eliza, the bloom of Kilbride.
And blooming and gay on the banks of the Clyde,
But none of them all can I love half so dearly,
As charming Eliza, the bloom of Kilbride.
She's cheerful as morning when gilding the mountain,
Or calm and serene as the mild even-tide,
And fair as the lily that blows by the fountain,
Is lovely Eliza, the bloom of Kibride:
Is lovely Eliza,
Is charming Eliza,
Is peerless Eliza, the bloom of Kilbride.
Her ringlets are yellow, her voice clear and mellow,
The blush of the rose on her cheek doth reside;
Her black eyes are wiling, where modesty, smiling,
Displays half divine the fair bloom of Kilbride.
Oft lonely I wander, and pleasantly ponder
On all her dear charms by clear Calder's green side;
Roam, fancy, thou rover, thy fairy-fields over,
Thou'lt cull not a flower like the bloom of Kilbride:
Like lovely Eliza,
Like charming Eliza,
Like peerless Eliza, the bloom of Kilbride.
The blush of the rose on her cheek doth reside;
Her black eyes are wiling, where modesty, smiling,
Displays half divine the fair bloom of Kilbride.
Oft lonely I wander, and pleasantly ponder
On all her dear charms by clear Calder's green side;
Roam, fancy, thou rover, thy fairy-fields over,
Thou'lt cull not a flower like the bloom of Kilbride:
Like lovely Eliza,
Like charming Eliza,
Like peerless Eliza, the bloom of Kilbride.
A garland I wove her of each woodland flower,
That blooms fresh and fair by the streamlet's clear tide,
And softly I bound it, 'neath yon birken bower,
Around the fair brow of the bloom of Kilbride.
When gently I press'd her, and fondly caress'd her,
And vow'd in my love she might always confide,
She sank on my bosom, the virtuous blossom,
My charming Eliza, the bloom of Kilbride:
My lovely Eliza,
My charming Eliza,
My peerless Eliza, the bloom of Kilbride.
That blooms fresh and fair by the streamlet's clear tide,
And softly I bound it, 'neath yon birken bower,
Around the fair brow of the bloom of Kilbride.
When gently I press'd her, and fondly caress'd her,
And vow'd in my love she might always confide,
She sank on my bosom, the virtuous blossom,
My charming Eliza, the bloom of Kilbride:
My lovely Eliza,
My charming Eliza,
My peerless Eliza, the bloom of Kilbride.
207
I WILL STRAY TO YON GLEN.
I will stray to yon glen
Where the clear burnie's rowin',
Round the green fairy den,
In the sun's rays a' glowin'.
Where the thrush thrills his lay
'Mang the green birks sae clearly,
I will spend the lang day
Wi' the lass I like dearly.
Where the clear burnie's rowin',
Round the green fairy den,
In the sun's rays a' glowin'.
Where the thrush thrills his lay
'Mang the green birks sae clearly,
I will spend the lang day
Wi' the lass I like dearly.
O! what transport to lie
'Neath the broom's gowden blosom,
Wi' my hale earthly joy
Fondly pressed to my bosom!
While the mild western breeze
Fans the sweet-scented bowers,
And the saft hum of bees
Flows amang the wild flowers.
'Neath the broom's gowden blosom,
Wi' my hale earthly joy
Fondly pressed to my bosom!
While the mild western breeze
Fans the sweet-scented bowers,
And the saft hum of bees
Flows amang the wild flowers.
Let the vague city beau,
Sae affectedly witty,
Woo the gay belle of show,
Deck'd in satins sae pretty;
I nae envy can feel
For his heart-teasing treasure,
Since my Mary, mair leal,
Bears me love without measure.
Sae affectedly witty,
Woo the gay belle of show,
Deck'd in satins sae pretty;
I nae envy can feel
For his heart-teasing treasure,
Since my Mary, mair leal,
Bears me love without measure.
Then I'll stray to yon glen
Where the clear burnie's rowin',
Round the green fairy den,
In the sun's rays a' glowin'.
And there spend my hale life,
And will ne'er think it dreary,
Far frae wild jarring strife,
Wi' the lass I like dearly.
Where the clear burnie's rowin',
Round the green fairy den,
In the sun's rays a' glowin'.
And there spend my hale life,
And will ne'er think it dreary,
Far frae wild jarring strife,
Wi' the lass I like dearly.
MARY, THE MAID O' THE INN.
I've wandered o'er muir and o'er dale,
A courtin' baith early and late;
I to mony hae whispered love's tale—
Some were cadgie, and ithers seem'd blate;
But a lass wi' sae charmin' a mien,
Among either strangers or kin,
I declare I ha'e never yet seen,
As young Mary the Maid o' the Inn.
A courtin' baith early and late;
I to mony hae whispered love's tale—
Some were cadgie, and ithers seem'd blate;
208
Among either strangers or kin,
I declare I ha'e never yet seen,
As young Mary the Maid o' the Inn.
Modest mildness doth glance from her e'e,
Sweetest complaisance plays on her smile,
She frae pride and frae envy is free,
Fraut wi' charms my hale heart to beguile.
I would fain my warm passion disclose,
But I kenna weel how to begin,
Sic a tumult within my breast glows,
For sweet Mary the Maid o' the Inn.
Sweetest complaisance plays on her smile,
She frae pride and frae envy is free,
Fraut wi' charms my hale heart to beguile.
I would fain my warm passion disclose,
But I kenna weel how to begin,
Sic a tumult within my breast glows,
For sweet Mary the Maid o' the Inn.
When at gloamin' my labour is owre,
I sit by the ingle, and think
How the wearisome night I'll devour,
If I see nae dear Mary a blink;
Sae awa to her dwelling I hie,
To regale me wi' whisky or gin,
And the hours fleet as lichtning flee by
When wi' Mary the Maid o' the Inn.
I sit by the ingle, and think
How the wearisome night I'll devour,
If I see nae dear Mary a blink;
Sae awa to her dwelling I hie,
To regale me wi' whisky or gin,
And the hours fleet as lichtning flee by
When wi' Mary the Maid o' the Inn.
My mither cries,—“Poor, silly fool,
To spend a' your siller in vain;
Trowth, I fear that your love will soon cool,
For a gawkie like her ye'r owre fain!”
But what's siclike clatter to me,
Even though what I do be a sin;
I maun ilka nicht birl my bawbee
Beside Mary the Maid o' the Inn.
To spend a' your siller in vain;
Trowth, I fear that your love will soon cool,
For a gawkie like her ye'r owre fain!”
But what's siclike clatter to me,
Even though what I do be a sin;
I maun ilka nicht birl my bawbee
Beside Mary the Maid o' the Inn.
Oh! Hymen, come show me thy smile,
And waft to thy altar my love,
Then the sorrows of life I'll beguile
With her charms, which aye constant will prove.
She wi' pleasure my cottage will glad,
All remote frae the world's jarring din;
Nought on earth can my bosom make sad,
When wi' Mary the Maid o' the Inn.
And waft to thy altar my love,
Then the sorrows of life I'll beguile
With her charms, which aye constant will prove.
She wi' pleasure my cottage will glad,
All remote frae the world's jarring din;
Nought on earth can my bosom make sad,
When wi' Mary the Maid o' the Inn.
| Poems, on sacred and other subjects | |