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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THE RUNAWA' BRIDE.
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 | Poems, on sacred and other subjects |  |
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.
| Poems, on sacred and other subjects | |