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363

SONGS.

JACK JIBB.

[_]

MUSIC,—Original.

Jack Jibb went aloft to the topsail-yard,
To view the wide horizon;
And, while fancy did roam
With his Nancy at home,
He the blue hills of Wales cast his eyes on.
Oh how his manly bosom glow'd,
As in fancy she's clasped in his arms,
And the warm tear of joy
Glitter'd clear in his eye,
When he thought on his true love's charms,—
When he thought on his true love's charms,
When he thought on his true love's charms;
And the warm tear of joy
Glitter'd clear in his eye,
When he thought on his true love's charms.
When roaming afar on the desert deep,
In quest of India's treasure,
Still his thoughts, night and day,
With his Welsh maid did stray;
Her sweet smile was his life's dearest pleasure.
Now, as he nears his native shore,
Safe return'd from the ocean's alarms,
All the dangers of the deep
In oblivion now sleep,
When he views again his true love's charms,—
When he, &c.
When he, &c.
All the dangers of the deep
In oblivion now sleep,
When he views again his true love's charms.
364

Let raging tornadoes mix sea and sky,
Jack, now safe moor'd from danger,
Has furl'd all his sails,
By his pole-star of Wales,
O'er the ocean no longer a ranger.
The blithe bland smile of his faithful fair
His true bosom with ecstacy warms;
He quaffs his can of wine
Off, in bumpers divine,
Never more to leave his true love's charms,—
Never more, &c.
Never more, &c.
He quaffs his can of wine,
Off, in bumpers divine,
Never more to leave his true love's charms.

ROBIN GLEN'S COURTSHIP.

[_]

AIR,—“The Gobby, O.”

Auld Robin Glen crap owre the style
To clatter an hour wi' blithe Nepple Lyle;
The carlin leugh as he doitit ben,
Thinkin' love had come back to the lan' again.
He frae his bonnet shook aff the snaw,
And hang his plaid on a knag at the wa',
Syne in the big-chair, by the ingle's smile,
He his gloamin-shot took aside Nepple Lyle.
The crack gaed on 'bout the uncos roun',
That happen'd o' late in kintra and toun;
At length the kimmer, wi' paukie maen,
Said “Robin, ye'll now be e'en dull your lane.”
“Ay, ay,”, quo' Robin, wi' tearfu' e'e,
“It's now twal' simmers sin' Mirren did die,
And ilk o' my dochter's, as chance befell,
Has left her auld father, to please hersel'.
“Our Bell, the youngest o' aucht, yestreen,
Was beukit, although she's jimply fifteen;
And now, when left by my hindmost wean,
I'm min'd no to sit like an owl my lane.
365

Gin ye'll consent, we'll creep thegither,
And live fu' happy wi' ane anither;
There's nae man's marrow, in a' the isle,
Sal be beiner or blyther than Nepple Lyle!”
“Indeed,” quo' Nepps, “I'll ne'er say nay,
My han' and my heart ye frankly sal hae;
Your baith a man o' means and o' mense,
O' flawless conduct, and sterlin' sense.”
“Settled,” quo' Robin, “there's my neive;
Ye happy sal be as lang as I live;
I'se let my thouchtless dochter Bell
See, I hae got matchin' as soon's hersel'!”
He to the dominie's toddled straucht,
And, ere they parted, o' swats took a waucht;
Neist day ilk ane in the kirk did smile,
When Robin was twice cried to Nepple Lyle.
A canty bridal the hale toun gat,
They feasted and danced till they rifted and swat,
And ne'er a kimmer in Carrick or Kyle
Gat a better down-sittin' than Nepple Lyle.

GLASGOW FAIR.

[_]

AIR,—“Chelmsford Races.”

The rising sun, through mist and dew,
Was blinkin' owre the mountains blue;
The hares were whiddin, the heath-cock crew,
And fragrant and fresh was the air, man.
The lav'rocks scarce had tuned their throats,
When through the meadows, wi' kilted coats,
The lasses were springin' owre burns and gots,
A' braingin' awa' to the fair, man.
The lads soon follow'd, attired fou spree,
Wi' watch-chains bobbin' down to mid-thie;
To meet wi' their joes, and glowre at the shows,
Was the feck o' their business there, man.
Jockeys are scourin' alang the roads,
Prick-the-loops rinnin' wi' tables and brods;
Dicers and thimblers, and jugglers and tumblers,
Are a' startin' trade in the fair, man.
366

The hale toun's shakin' wi' prancin' steeds;
Wabsters are rinnin' wi' wallets and reeds;
Souters and sawyers, and doctors and lawyers,
Straucht aff to the shows a' repair, man:
The Calton keelies are fingerin' fabs,
Cloak'd in their knavery by barefitted drabs:
Folk in high fashion had need o' some caution,
To come aff hale-scart frae the fair, man.
Hark! the medley o' music around;
Melody's smother'd and harmony's drown'd;
Trombones gruntin', and bass-fiddles scruntin',
Now torture our lugs to despair, man:
The bagpipes yell, and the organ bums,
The cymbals clatter 'mang trumpets and drums;
French-horns yowlin', and wild beasts growlin',
Help up wi' the mirth o' the fair, man.
Business is brisk wi' the merry-go-roun's;
Waterloo swings are gaun up like balloons;
Rowley's rungs' reelin' folk's shins aften peelin',
Which min's them o' scaith to beware, man:
Merryman's showin' his wit and his pranks,
Heads-owre-heels wheelin', wi' quick-mettled shanks;
Fine ladies dancin', wi' spangles a' glancin',
Bewitchin' a' een in the fair, man.
The day grows het, and the crowd grows thrang,
Justlin' and bustlin' the merry day lang:
The Charlies, gleg watchin', are skiebalds quick catchin',
When ony ane's fab's riffled bare, man:
Fuddlers, forjeskit wi' stour and wi' drouth,
Flock to the tap-rooms to moisten their mouth,
Deemin' a bicker o' sterling maut liquor
The essence and saul o' the fair, man.
Gloamin' draws on, and dangers draw near,
Land'ard folk, guided by prudence and fear;
Spank up the hills, to escape a' the ills
That the brawlers behind them may share, man:
The carry's now mirk, and there's naething but wars
'Mang pedlars and pickpockets, tinklers and tars;
And the Office and Jail are fill'd in fine style,
To bring up the hale rear o' the fair, man.
367

THE ADVICE.

[_]

Air,—“John Anderson, my Joe.”

Dear lass, while lads are plenty,
Wale ane, if ye be wise;
For, ance ye're five-and-twenty,
But few will speer your price;
But few will speer your price, Jean;
And, mind, ye'll find it sae,
For the witchery o' your cheeks and een
Will rapidly decay.
I ance was young like you, Jean,
Aud wooers had nae few,
Wha roosed my een sae blue, Jean,
And neck o' lily hue;
Yet I, sae wise, took nae advice,
But teased them ane and a';
So now I'm left, o' joes bereft,
And ha'e nae choice ava.
When youth is on our side, Jean,
A' looks life fairy-land;
Age flings the curtain wide, Jean,
And breaks the magic wand:
Ye maun ha'e a' lads rich and braw,
O' fau'ts and failin's free;
But mark in time, while in your prime,
The fate o' ane like me.
“Dear aunt, ye counsel kindly,
I thank ye for the rede;
But think nae I act blindly,
Although I'm no yet wed.
My folk wad ha'e me tak' the laird,
But aye my heart says—no!
For him I can ha'e nae regard;—
Young Jamie is my joe.
“He tells his love sincerely;
Behaves himsel' wi' mense;
For lang has loe'd me dearly;
Can talk wi' muckle sense.
Though dad should preach, and minnie fleech,
And a' my kin should jeer,
I'll wed wi' nane but him alane,
To me than life mair dear.”
368

TAM TWIST.
[_]

AIR,—“Here am I, poor Jack.”

Tam Twist was a tailor true
As e'er put shears in claith,
But he liked the Norlan' blue
As dear as he liked his breath.
His wife was a thrifty dame,
And wish'd their trade extended;
But Tam's most fav'rite aim,
Was to draw in cash to spend it.

(Spoken.)—So he would cheer up his journeymen and apprentices, frae dawn till dusk, with his favourite chorus of—

Chalk before ye cut, cut, cut;
Base before ye sew—be handy;
Brew before ye drink, drink, drink, my boys;
O whisky is the dandy!
When Tam cam' hame in drink,
Then Nell gaed raving mad;
For then he'd curse and sink,
And ca' her a' 'twas bad:
But, when reason wad na do,
She seized him like a tiger,
And by force did him subdue,
For she sprang frae Rab M'Gregor.

(Spoken.)—But before Nell got the better o' him, there was whiles na lown sough in the house, wi' the reelin' o' chairs and stools, the jinglin' o' tangs and poker, and the squeelin' o' weans. It was like the rattlin' o' gabberty-shells, ere Nell could get him master'd, and flung in the bed like a sack o' draft, unable to sing—

Chalk before ye cut, &c.
When Tam arose neist morn,
He did, like ither folk,
To escape mair scaith and scorn,
Tak' a' 'twas said in joke.
Then, to shun Nell's tongue severe,
On the shop-board took his station,
Where his men he up did cheer,
With his wonton salutation—of
Chalk before you cut, &c.
369

Thus time roll'd weekly on,
In its common course, or so,
As other weeks had gone;
Whiles an ebb, and whiles a flow:
Till a luckless date cam' roun',
Tam, for sax lang days, ne'er tasted,
Sae, when Saturday's sun gaed down,
To a weel-kenn'd howff he hasted.

(Spoken.)—And this was neither mair nor less than the house o' Lucky Teughcallaps, that has the sign o' the pint-stoup and haggis, at the west end o' Gibson's Wynd, the place where he aye gaed to pay his men their week's wages, and tak', what he ca'd, in his ain genteel way o' speakin', a collation. Sae, after Tam had settled wi' his men, and they had eaten tripe and cowheel, and drucken a gye twa-three half-mutchkins o' Campbelton whisky thegither, the billies slippit awa, ane after anither, on some o' their ain errands, and left their master hickuppin' a' his lane. When Tam was warslin' awa wi' the yeskin, and fa'in' rather into a dover, in comes twa firebran's o' Irishmen,—ca' for a gill, —and syne began to quarrel about cock-fightin' and badger-drawin'. Tam waukens in a wee; and, hearin' the tongues o' the Hibernians gaun like Jehu, says (hickuppin'), “Frien's, whare got ye your manners, to come stavin' into ony gentleman's company, without speerin' whether ye were made welcome or no?” “Gemmini,” says one of them, “in a' nations of a better place than your pease-brose and brimstone country, where there's nothing but starvation for back and belly, and frost and snow the whole year through!” “Confound your Irish muzzle,” cried Tam, “that has the insolence to speak lightly o' a Scotchman's kintra; but, as sure's my name's Tam Twist, I'll twist the ragged carcase o' ye like a shapin o' duffle!” And syne flang a tankard o' yill in his face, and grippit him owre the table, that gaed awa' wi' a reinge, and brak' a' that was on't. When Lucky Teughcallaps heard that, she ran to the door, and gart a' the street echo, cryin',—Police! police! But the Irishmen, dreadin' skaith, ran out o' the house as fast as their legs could carry them, no sae muckle as takin' time to pay their reckonin', leavin' Tam to clear himsel', and sing—

Chalk before ye cut, &c.
Then in twa Charlies bounced,
And seized him in a trice,
And, though he flang and flounced,
They held him like a vice;
370

Although he cursed and swore,
And sometimes wad resisted,
Yet awa' their prize they bore,
For they soon were weel assisted—singing,
Chalk before ye cut, &c.
To the office straucht he's haul'd,
Amidst the roarin' croud,
Wi' rage and pride sair gall'd,
While the boys huzza'd aloud.
Soon before the judge he stands,
When he's safely moor'd in harbour,
Who consigns him to the hands
O' the doctor and the barber.

(Spoken.)—Sae ye maun be a' weel aware o' what wad follow. The doctor approved of the award of the judge, and the barber obeyed the directions of the doctor; and poor, harmless, merry Tam Twist's beard, whiskers, and bushy head, were shaven as bare as a painch, and his purse lighten'd o' five shillings, by way o' a friendly admonition, and memento, and judicious display of medical skill, to prevent inflammation of the brain, which might have arisen from the excessive exertion made in singing—

Chalk before ye cut, &c.
When Tam cam' frae their care,
Sic a droll sicht's seldom seen,
Wi' his head sae ghastly bare,
And his hat slouch'd owre his een;
When he set it on the left,
To catch his slidd'ry head, man,
Then the right, o' hair bereft,
Was an eldritch sicht indeed, man.

(Spoken.)—But ere Tam wan hame, Nell and the weans were bedded, and the door barr'd; and when Tam gied his usual chap and countersign, she gied a wheen indistinct grumblings about drunken brutes, wasterfu' blackguards, and torments to a' that's conneckit wi' them. But when she lighted the lamp, and drew the bar o' the door, and saw a man wi' lang bare chafts, and his hat restin' on the brig o' his nose, she dash'd the door too again, and squeel'd, Murder! robbers! Sae a' that Tam could say, to convince her o' his identity, was in vain, till the nei'bours, waukened by the soun', drew near, and got an explanation o' the hale affair; syne Nell loot him in, and gied him as muckle halesome admonition as put him for ae night frae singing—

Chalk before ye cut, &c.
371

Neist day Tam got a wig,
His credit in to keep,
Which made his head look trig,
Though it made his head not cheap.
Then let us all take care,
For they're dang'rous times we live in,
Lest we fall into Tam's snare,
And to purchase wigs be driven.

(Spoken.)—And, as a caution to all, I could not recommend a better maxim than Tam's favourite chorus, which, I'm sure, ye ha'e a' by heart by this time, by only alterin' the last line a kennin'—

Chalk before ye cut, cut, cut;
Base before ye sew—be handy;
Brew before ye drink, drink, drink, my boys;
But ne'er let drink command ye!

LOVE TRIUMPHANT.

[_]

AIR,—“The Maid of the North Countrie.”

A lovely young lady once dwelt in Argyle Street,
Surpassing, for charms and accomplishments rare;
Her equal you'd scarce in some thousands of miles meet;
Love shot from her eyes, and he play'd round her hair.
All her dress was so gracefully antic;
Angelic her look, but her fancy romantic;
The beaux of the city, about her grown frantic,
Were sighing and dying 'twixt hope and despair.
She held them in thrall, and capriciously teased them,
Yet ne'er durst a frown on her features be seen;
Intendedly vex'd, and immediately pleased them;
A coquette of skill was this fair nymph, I ween.
Thus did she drag them on in love's fetters,
All proud to be counted her most humble debtors;
But gay wealthy merchants, and deep men of letters,
Were foil'd by one glance of young Captain M'Queen.
When first she beheld this bewitching young officer,
He was a-drilling his troop on the Green;
Sweet rapture's sigh rose when she saw he did notice her;
Love seem'd far brighter to gild the gay scene.
372

Through all her flirting and promenading,
Her jaunting, and flaunting, and splendid parading,
At concerts, assemblies, and gay masquerading,
She still was escorted by Captain M'Queen.
Now all her fond lovers, entirely forsaken,
In pitiful plight, thought of cures for their spleen;
Their jealousy fled, but revenge did awaken
Each low passion's aid, the affront now to screen.
Hope's latest gleam some still fondly did flatter,
But all was delusion; nought could mend the matter;
Some plann'd their last exit by hemp or by water,
While some thought of pistolling Captain M'Queen.
Her father did threaten, her mother did scold her,
(Though sympathy's sigh would ofttimes intervene,)
To wreck all her hopes of the gaudy young soldier,
Though e'er so alluring his rank and his mein.
Thus was she toss'd on despair's surging billow;
All sadly she droop'd, like the lone weeping willow;
She sigh'd all day long, and by night, round her pillow,
Still hover'd the vision of Captain M'Queen.
At last came the rout, and, by six in the morning,
The regiment adieu bade to Clyde's banks so green;
This love-sick young lady, all counsel now scorning,
Resolved fate to follow, whate'er lay between.
To share her love's lot, she was fairly resign'd now;
With parents and lovers she care left behind now;
The door was fast lock'd, but she dropp'd from the window,
And straightway was wedded to Captain M'Queen.

WISHING FOR MARRIAGE.

[_]

AIR,—“Italian Manfrida.”

In vain do they tell me that love's a delight,
While dreaming all day, and tossing all night,
Alternately teased between pleasure and pain;
Afraid, when we part, lest we ne'er meet again;
Suspicious their smiling
May prove my beguiling;
And wishing for marriage, but wishing in vain.
373

How dreary to me is this dull rural life,
While longing to change the maid for the wife;
The wild ceaseless hum of yon foaming cascade
No pleasure can give like the grand masquerade;
The gay Trongate dandies
A sight far more grand is
Than e'er can be seen in the grotto and glade.
The tinkling piano may serve for a while
The slow-passing hours of day to beguile;
But sweeter by far is the gay blazing hall,
While amorous waltzing awakens the ball;
Thus tripping so sprightly,
As love glances brightly,
In Cupid's sweet snare, every heart could enthral.
But what if each trapping that I can devise
Doth fail in the end to gain me the prize?
I'll seek then the shades of the dark lonely bowers,
Where mirth never smiles, and where solitude lours;
Recluse by the wild wood,
The haunts of my childhood,
In silent retirement, I'll spend the lone hours.

HE'S AWA' AND LEFT US:

A DIRGE.

He's now awa' we a' kenn'd weel,
He's now awa' for evermair;
He's now awa' and left us a',
And for the loss our hearts are sair.
Wi' youth's warm cheek and heart sae leal,
Wi' love's sweet smile, kind, in his e'e,
He had to bid us a' fareweel,
And ne'er again his face we'll see.
He's now awa', &c.
Aft has he join'd our cheerfu' ring,
To spend in social glee the night,
Beneath the shade of pleasure's wing,
In harmony, till morning light.
He's now awa', &c.
374

THE INSTRUMENTAL BAND.

[_]

SUNG BY MR. JOHN BURNS, VOCALIST, EAST KILBRIDE, AT A CONCERT FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE E. K. INSTRUMENTAL BAND.

[_]

AIR,—“There's nae luck about the House.”

Stern winter, wi' his sullen gloom,
Again has left our isle,
And fresh and fragrant summer's bloom
O'er hills and glens doth smile:
The birds a universal cheer
Pour forth, in chorus grand,
And now, with joy, again we hear
Our Instrumental Band.

CHORUS.

Let music charm the ear and soul
With ecstacy sublime,
And, with increasing cadence, roll
Down to the end of time.
Long, long has dreary silence shed
Dull languor o'er this place,
And blithesome mirth seem'd ever fled
From every blooming face;
But now that gloom has vanish'd quite,
As touch'd by magic wand,
And young and old hail with delight
The Instrumental Band.
The youngsters quickly leave their play
Whene'er they hear the drum;
The auld folk fling their cares away,
Though nearly blind and dumb;
While lads and lasses, wives and weans,
Th' excitement can't withstand,
To revel 'neath the lofty strains
Of th' Instrumental Band.
Long may they peace and health enjoy
To ply their charming art;
May jarring discord ne'er annoy
The pleasures they impart;
Our gratitude we would express
With voice, and heart, and hand,
In three-times-three, to wish success
To th' Instrumental Band.
375

THE BRIDE OF LORN.

[_]

AIR,—“Rose of Lucerne.”

Before the break of day
The clansmen were ready,
And the bargemen in the bay
At their station sat steady;
And, soon as the sun tinged the summit of Benledi,
The chieftain cross'd the firth for his fair bride of Lorn;
The bride of Lorn, the bride of Lorn,
The chieftain cross'd the firth for his fair bride of Lorn.
No cloud was on the sky,
No wave on the water;
The chief heaved rapture's sigh
For M'Lean's lovely daughter.
The bard sang her praise, but her charms he could not flatter.
So peerless was the look of the fair bride of Lorn;
The bride of Lorn, the bride of Lorn,
So peerless was the look of the fair bride of Lorn.
When she graced the bridal hall,
With her ladies attending,
Amazed the guests were all,
At her beauty transcending.
The blaze of the di'mond, and brilliant topaz blending,
Was dimm'd beside the eyes of the fair bride of Lorn;
The bride of Lorn, the bride of Lorn,
Was dimm'd beside the eyes of the fair bride of Lorn.
With feasting, song, and dance,
Every hall echoed gladness,
Till the sun's departing glance
Tinged the dark clouds with sadness;
The wind howl'd, the sea scowl'd, all nature cried 'twas madness
To trust the surging waves with the fair bride of Lorn;
The bride of Lorn, the bride of Lorn,
To trust the surging waves with the fair bride of Lorn.
While raged the tempest wild
Round the high cliffs of Jura,
Fate whisper'd—“Chief, beguiled,
I of life can't insure ye!”
A huge billow burst, as it roll'd with frightful fury,
And sank the bonny barge with the fair bride of Lorn;
The bride of Lorn, the bride of Lorn,
And the mermaid sang the dirge of the fair bride of Lorn.
376

THE MAID OF ARRAN.

[_]

AIR,—“The Quaker's wife.”

I've wander'd here, and I've wander'd there,
Amang the western islands,
To view the scenes of nature fair
That grace the lanely Highlands.
But what to me seem'd nature's charms,
Dull, dreary, bleak, and barren,
Till I enfaulded in my arms
The lovely maid of Arran.
Her eye serene show'd beauty's queen,
To love the soul beguiling,
With charms to move all hearts to love,
Such rapture's in her smiling.
Her brow the lily's hue bespeaks,
Her lips, the rose of Sharon,
And warm's the glow that tints the cheeks
Of the lovely Maid of Arran.
'Twas on the smooth shell-bedded shore,
Wash'd by the rippling ocean,
I first her spied, whom I adore
With love's unfeign'd emotion.
Unusual transport seized my soul,
All nymphs beside debarrin';
For there she reigns without control,
The lovely Maid of Arran.
Within Glenrosy's sunny vale
How sweet wi' her to wander;
Or lofty Goatfell's brow to scale,
And on her beauties ponder!
Let merchants strive for wealth and fame,
Let kings for power be warrin',
For me, I wish nae higher aim
Than the lovely Maid of Arran.

CHORUS.

Hail, lovely maid! hail, charming maid!
Hail, peerless maid of Arran!
Nae lassie, though fair, can ever compare
Wi' the lovely Maid of Arran.
377

MY LASSIE'S FAR AWA'.

[_]

AIR,—“O' a' the airts the win' can blaw.”

The setting sun, through crimson clouds,
Shot wide his parting beam,
And tinged wi' gowd a' Cramond woods,
That shade sweet Almond stream,
When loud a swain did thus complain,
Beside the waterfa'—
“Nae joy to me can life now gi'e,
Sin' my dear love's awa'!
“The vi'let banks, the woodbine bowers,
And water wimplin' clear,
Shed countless charms, while in my arms
I clasp'd my true love dear.
Now a' looks wild that ance gay smiled,
Roun' bonny Craigie-ha';
Ilk birdie's lay to me doth say—
‘Your lassie's far awa'!’
“How could she leave her native plains,
Sae rich and fair to view,
And seek for love 'mong westlan' swains,
Than mine, mair warm and true?
Fate's sternest blast hath blawn at last,
And broke my heart in twa;
Now, een and morn, I sigh, lovelorn,
‘My lassie's far awa'.’
“Green spring may bud, gay summer bloom,
And autumn wave in vain,
But ne'er can cheer the darksome gloom
That maun wi' me remain.
Grim winter's storms, in direst forms,
That owre the Pentland's blaw,
Accord now best wi' my sad breast,
Sin' my dear love's awa'.”
378

SWEET MARIA.

[_]

AIR,—“Roslin Castle.”

Upon this verdant bank I'll lie
Till Phœbus quit the evening sky,
And Luna, with her visage pale,
Gleam faintly down this rural vale.
The birds sing sweetly through the grove,
And cheer this lone retreat of love;
Eden-fragrance breathes around
This charming fairy-haunted ground.
The raptured hour is drawing nigh,
And for Maria I espy;
With sprightly step, across the glade,
She hastens to the ivy shade.
The western breeze blows through the broom,
And wafts along a sweet perfume;
But nought, in all kind nature's charms,
Is like Maria in my arms.

THE LOST SMILE OF HOPE.

[_]

AIR,—“Roy's Wife of Aldivalloch.”

Canst thou, wilt thou leave me, Callum?
Dar'st thou then deceive me, Callum?
Ah! where now thy plighted vow,
That thou would'st never grieve me, Callum?
If to the lowlands thou should'st stray,
And leave me lone in wild Glengarry,
Some fairer maid, with dress more gay,
May haply turn thy love from Mary.
Canst thou, wilt thou, &c.
Where then the smile of hope so fair,
Of hope thou often bad'st me cherish?
All sunk in gloomy, breme despair,
And doom'd, alas! for aye to perish.
Canst thou, wilt thou, &c.
As fades the freshest flow'ret's bloom,
When by the eastern breeze 'tis blighted,
So fades the maid, in hopeless gloom,
When by a faithless lover slighted.
Canst thou, wilt thou, &c.
379

CORA LINN.

[_]

AIR,—“Ye banks and braes.”

Adieu! ye woods of mantle green,
Where lofty Cora thund'ring flows:
Where, twinkling in the sunny sheen,
The pearly dew-drops gem the rose.
Adieu! ye ivy-skirted rocks,
Which overhang the deep profound,
Ye long have stood fell winter's shocks,
And echo'd Cora's deaf'ning sound.
But yet that sound is, to my ear,
Sweet as Malvina's dulcet lyre,
Which rung, the poets mind to cheer,
While rapt in wild seraphic fire!
Yet I must leave the fragrant grove,
These giant rocks, and ruin'd dome,
The foaming Linn, the dark alcove,
And, musing dreary, wander home.
 

Written on returning from a view of Cora Linn, near Lanark.

Malvina was daughter-in-law to Ossian, and daughter of Toscar.

MATRIMONIAL JOYS.

[_]

AIR,—“The Opera Hat.”

Fill the glass, fill the glass,
Fill the glass up to the brim;
Here's a lass, here's a lass,
Here's a lass that's tight and trim!
Oh I've courted twenty years and more,
In hopes to find a wife;
Hard fate, thy banter now give o'er,
Else it will take my life!
Haste away, post away,
No longer let's delay;
Haste away, blithe and gay,
Come, thou happy marriage day!
All the pleasures that in life I've had
I count them only toys,
For nought my love-sick heart can glad
But matrimonial joys.
380

Last night I had a sorry sight,
When at the barber's shop,
For, grey wi' care, a tuft o' hair
From my temples he did lop:
The sight did shock my feelings so
I heaved this bitter sigh—
“If courtin' keen I do forego
A Bach'lor I must die.”

PARTING OF NORMA AND ANNA.

[_]

AIR,—“The Highland Plaid.”

Morning rose, but rose in vain,
To dispel love's teasing pain;
Still the bitter tear and sigh
Burst from Anna's heart and eye:
The grief she felt what tongue can tell,
To bid her Scottish lad—Farewell?
Still he tried, with cheering smile,
Sorrow from her look to wile;
But, alas! his every art
Fail'd to soothe her throbbing heart;
For still her breast did higher swell,
To bid her Scottish lad—Farewell!
Love's ecstatic tide did flow
Through her soul, though mix'd with woe;
Silence stay'd her falt'ring tongue
As around his neck she hung;
And still the tears in torrents fell,
To bid her Scottish lad—Farewell!
When they took the parting kiss,
Lovely sign of future bliss,
Long they gazed, with meaning eye,
Heaving oft the mutual sigh;
And each did feel the bosom knell,
To say the grievous word—Farewell!
381

THE ABSENT SWAIN.

[_]

AIR,—“Up and waur them a', Willie.”

Why sae soon awa', Jeanie?
Why sae soon awa'?
Come back again to Torrance glen,
And gang nae mair awa'.
The birks hing wavin' owre the rocks,
The primrose gilds the brae,
Laburnum waves her yellow locks
Within the sunny ray;
The mavis pours his meltin' strain
Within the greenwood shaw;
But nature smiles to me in vain,
For now thou'rt far awa'.
Why sae soon awa', &c.
Oh lay your love some ither airt
Before your face I saw?
O had some ither won your heart,
And won it ance for a'?
That noucht could gar your fancy jee,
To dwell by Calder's side,
When I could gi'e the warl' for thee,
Gin ye wad be my bride.
Why sae soon awa', &c.
Oh gin I kenn'd but whare ye dwell,
Though distant mony a mile,
Nae win' nor weet, nor snaw nor sleet,
Wad gar me think on toil;
If cheerin' hope ae ray wad drop,
To say ye wad return,
To spend your days on Calder braes,
Beside the wimplin burn.
Why sae soon awa', &c.

IN YON GREEN GLEN.

[_]

AIR,—“We'll meet beside the dusky Glen.”

My lovely shepherd tends his flock
In yon green glen,
Beside the ivy-skirted rock,
In yon green glen;
382

While the blithesome lambs do play,
'Mong the brackens waving gay,
On the bonnie sunny brae,
Down by yon green glen.
How sweetly swells his mellow flute
In yon green glen,
While echoes still his strains salute
In yon green glen:
Far remote from jarring strife,
There he spends his peaceful life,
Where the rural joys are rife,
Down in yon green glen.
Away, ye thoughts of grandeur, far
From yon green glen;
And shine, my fortune's gleaming star,
On yon green glen:
Guide me to my shepherd's arms,
Where no guile nor fear alarms;
Still my thrilling heart he charms,
Down in yon green glen.

THE MAID OF ARGYLL.

[_]

AIR,—“The Sprig of Shilellah.”

Give Erin and England their shamrock and rose,
Let Scotia the thistle's rude merits disclose,
Which bright on the ensigns of heraldry fly:
More pleasant to me is the look of my love,
While with her I stray through the dark birken grove;
For nothing that's earthly can vie with the smile
Of that lovely maid from the hills of Argyll,
Where the red heather blooms on the mountains so high.
How sweetly at morn blooms the red brier rose,
When, spangled with dew-drops, its bosom it shows,
Perfuming the air, and delighting the eye;
But more fresh than the rose is the cheek of my dear—
And more bright than the dew is her eye shining clear;
And powerful those charms, that each fancy can wile,
Of that lovely maid from the hills of Argyll,
Where the red heather blooms on the mountains so high.
383

Old poets have sung of the bright queen of love,
And Daphne, the pride of the dark shady grove,
In strains which the rude hand of time do defy:
But if pleasure can flow from the warm feeling heart,
And if beauty and youth any charms can impart,
Then dear, as the queen of the Cyprian isle,
Is that lovely maid from the hills of Argyll,
Where the red heather waves on the mountains so high.

THE LOVELY MAID OF JURA ISLE.

[_]

AIR,—“Thou bonny wood o' Craigie lea.”

O lovely maid of Jura isle,
O guileless maid of Jura isle,
There's nought can rival her sweet smile,
The darling maid of Jura isle!
The city belle may strive to gain
The am'rous heart by ilka wile;
But a' her arts would prove in vain
Beside the maid of Jura isle.
O lovely maid, &c.
When boreas owre the mountains blows,
And snow bedims the sky the while,
To me, they seem their force to lose
When wi' the maid of Jura isle.
O lovely maid, &c.
Her e'e sae meek, her blushin' cheek,
Her mind sae far remote frae guile,
Ha'e stung my heart wi' love's sweet dart,
Enchantin' maid of Jura isle.
O lovely maid, &c.
How aft, wi' sangs and tales o' glee,
She care did frae my breast exile,
While rangin' owre the mountains high
Wi' her, the flower of Jura isle.
O lovely maid, &c.
O fate, protect this charming maid,
Frae ilka knave's deludin' smile,
Till I recross the waves, to wed
The fairest maid of Jura isle.
O lovely maid, &c.
384

THE MAID OF COWAL.

[_]

AIR,—“Blithe young Bess to Jean did say.”

Beside Adrossan castle wa',
Awee before the dew did fa',
I met a lass surpassing a',
The brawest Maid of Cowal.
The rosebud and the lily meek
Sweet blended on her glowin' cheek;
An e'e that to the heart could speak,
Sweet, graced the Maid of Cowal.
The finest form, the sweetest face,
That e'er a Scottish lass did grace,
Maun surely evermair gi'e place
To her, the Maid of Cowal.
Wi' stately step she glided on,
Wi' mien that weel might grace a throne;
In a' her airs perfection shone,
Wi' her, the Maid of Cowal.
O blissful hour, when out I stray'd
To where I met that lovely maid,
In those enchanting charms array'd
Which grace the Maid of Cowal.
To see her mild angelic smile
Would cheer the weary pilgrim's toil—
The hermit frae his cell could wile—
To follow her to Cowal.
What e'e but beams wi' rapture's rays!
What heart but glows in transport's blaze!
When love her masterwork displays,
The peerless Maid of Cowal!
On Monarchs' crowns let diamonds shine,
Round heroes' brows let laurels twine,
Mair dear to me's the smile divine
Of her, the Maid of Cowal.
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