Poems and Songs Humorous, Serious and Satirical By Alexander Rodger; Edited, with Introduction and Notes by Robert Ford; New and Complete Edition |
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 | Poems and Songs Humorous, Serious and Satirical |  |
1
ROBIN TAMSON'S SMIDDY.
My mither men't my auld breeks,
An' wow! but they were duddy,
And sent me to get Mally shod
At Robin Tamson's smiddy;
The smiddy stands beside the burn
That wimples through the clachan,
I never yet gae by the door
But aye I fa' a-lauchin'.
An' wow! but they were duddy,
And sent me to get Mally shod
At Robin Tamson's smiddy;
The smiddy stands beside the burn
That wimples through the clachan,
I never yet gae by the door
But aye I fa' a-lauchin'.
For Robin was a walthy carle,
An' had ae bonnie dochter:
Yet ne'er wad let her tak' a man,
Tho' mony lads had socht her;
But what think ye o' my exploit?
The time the mare was shoeing,
I slippit up beside the lass
An' briskly fell a-wooing.
An' had ae bonnie dochter:
Yet ne'er wad let her tak' a man,
Tho' mony lads had socht her;
But what think ye o' my exploit?
The time the mare was shoeing,
I slippit up beside the lass
An' briskly fell a-wooing.
2
An' aye she ee'd my auld breeks,
The time that we sat crackin',
Quo' I, “My lass, ne'er mind the clouts,
I've new anes for the makin';
But gin ye'll just come hame wi' me,
An' lea' the carle, your faither,
Ye'se get my breeks to keep in trim,
Mysel', an' a' thegither.”
The time that we sat crackin',
Quo' I, “My lass, ne'er mind the clouts,
I've new anes for the makin';
But gin ye'll just come hame wi' me,
An' lea' the carle, your faither,
Ye'se get my breeks to keep in trim,
Mysel', an' a' thegither.”
“'Deed, lad,” quo' she, “your offer's fair,
I really think I'll tak' it;
Sae, gang awa', get out the mare,
We'll baith slip on the back o't;
For gin I wait my faither's time,
I'll wait till I be fifty;
But, na! I'll marry in my prime,
An' mak' a wife fu' thrifty.”
I really think I'll tak' it;
Sae, gang awa', get out the mare,
We'll baith slip on the back o't;
For gin I wait my faither's time,
I'll wait till I be fifty;
But, na! I'll marry in my prime,
An' mak' a wife fu' thrifty.”
Wow! Robin was an angry man
At tynin' o' his dochter;
Thro' a' the kintra-side he ran,
An' far an' near he socht her;
But when he cam' to our fire-end,
An' fand us baith thegither,
Quo' I, “Gudeman, I've ta'en your bairn,
An' ye can tak' my mither.”
At tynin' o' his dochter;
Thro' a' the kintra-side he ran,
An' far an' near he socht her;
3
An' fand us baith thegither,
Quo' I, “Gudeman, I've ta'en your bairn,
An' ye can tak' my mither.”
Auld Robin girn'd an' shook his pow,
“Guid sooth,” quo' he, “you're merry,
But I'll just tak' ye at your word
An' end this hurry-burry;”
So Robin an' our auld wife
Agreed to creep thegither;
Now I hae Robin Tamson's pet,
An' Robin has my mither.
“Guid sooth,” quo' he, “you're merry,
But I'll just tak' ye at your word
An' end this hurry-burry;”
So Robin an' our auld wife
Agreed to creep thegither;
Now I hae Robin Tamson's pet,
An' Robin has my mither.
LO'E ME LITTLE AND LO'E ME LANG.
Awa' wi' your wheezing, your coaxing, and teasing,
Your hugging and squeezing I beg you'll let be;
Your praising sae fulsome, too sweet to be wholesome,
Can never gang down wi' a lassie like me;
Nae mair than a woman, nae higher than human,
To Sylphs and to Seraphs I dinna belang;
Then if ye wad gain me, the way to attain me,
Is “Lo'e me little, an' lo'e me lang.”
Your hugging and squeezing I beg you'll let be;
Your praising sae fulsome, too sweet to be wholesome,
Can never gang down wi' a lassie like me;
Nae mair than a woman, nae higher than human,
To Sylphs and to Seraphs I dinna belang;
Then if ye wad gain me, the way to attain me,
Is “Lo'e me little, an' lo'e me lang.”
Wi' some silly gawkie, your fleeching sae pawkie,
Like sweet dozing draughts, will glide cannily down;
Hence, seek some vain hizzie, and doze her till dizzie,
She'll quickly consent a' your wishes to crown;
But pester na me wi't, my heart canna 'gree wi't,
I'm sick o' your cuckoo's unvarying sang,
Cease, therefore, your canting, your rhyming and ranting,
But “Lo'e me little, and lo'e me lang.”
Like sweet dozing draughts, will glide cannily down;
Hence, seek some vain hizzie, and doze her till dizzie,
She'll quickly consent a' your wishes to crown;
But pester na me wi't, my heart canna 'gree wi't,
I'm sick o' your cuckoo's unvarying sang,
Cease, therefore, your canting, your rhyming and ranting,
But “Lo'e me little, and lo'e me lang.”
12
The love that lowes strongest, say, lasts it the longest?
The fires that bleeze brightest burn soonest awa';
Then keep your flame steady—a moderate red aye,
Or else ye may yet hae a cauld coal tae blaw;
And quat your romantics, your airs, and your antics,
Tak' truth's honest track, and ye'll seldom gae wrang,
Then win me, and welcome, let weal or let ill come,
I'll “Lo'e you little, but lo'e you lang.”
The fires that bleeze brightest burn soonest awa';
Then keep your flame steady—a moderate red aye,
Or else ye may yet hae a cauld coal tae blaw;
And quat your romantics, your airs, and your antics,
Tak' truth's honest track, and ye'll seldom gae wrang,
Then win me, and welcome, let weal or let ill come,
I'll “Lo'e you little, but lo'e you lang.”
22
AH NO!—I CANNOT SAY.
Ah no!—I cannot say “farewell,”
'Twould pierce my bosom through,
And to this heart 'twere death's dread knell
To hear thee sigh—“adieu.”
Though soul and body both must part,
Yet ne'er from thee I'll sever,
For more to me than soul thou art,
And O! I'll quit thee—never.
'Twould pierce my bosom through,
And to this heart 'twere death's dread knell
To hear thee sigh—“adieu.”
Though soul and body both must part,
Yet ne'er from thee I'll sever,
For more to me than soul thou art,
And O! I'll quit thee—never.
Whate'er through life may be thy fate
That fate with thee I'll share,
If prosperous—be moderate,
If adverse—meekly bear;
This bosom shall thy pillow be
In every change whatever,
And tear for tear I'll shed with thee,
But O! forsake thee—never.
That fate with thee I'll share,
If prosperous—be moderate,
If adverse—meekly bear;
This bosom shall thy pillow be
In every change whatever,
And tear for tear I'll shed with thee,
But O! forsake thee—never.
One home—one hearth shall ours be still,
And one our daily fare;
One altar, too, where we may kneel
And breathe our humble prayer;
And one our praise that shall ascend
To one all-bounteous Giver,
And one our will, our aim, our end,
For O! we'll sunder—never.
And one our daily fare;
One altar, too, where we may kneel
And breathe our humble prayer;
And one our praise that shall ascend
To one all-bounteous Giver,
And one our will, our aim, our end,
For O! we'll sunder—never.
And when that solemn hour shall come
That sees thee breathe thy last,
That hour shall also fix my doom,
And seal my eyelids fast;
One grave shall hold us, side by side,
One shroud our clay shall cover—
And one then may we mount and glide
Through realms of love—for ever.
That sees thee breathe thy last,
That hour shall also fix my doom,
And seal my eyelids fast;
23
One shroud our clay shall cover—
And one then may we mount and glide
Through realms of love—for ever.
27
LAUCHIE FRASER'S PROMOTIONS.
Nainsel' she was porn 'mang ta Hielan' hills,
'Mang ta goats, an' ta sheeps, an' ta whiskee stills,
An' ta brochan, an' brogues, an' ta snuishin' mills,
Oich! she was ta ponnie land she was porn in;
For a' ta lads there will be shentlemans porn,
An' will wear skean-dhu an' ta praw snuishin' horn,
An' ta fine tartan trews her braw houghs to adorn,
An' mak' her look fu' spruce in ta mornin'.
'Mang ta goats, an' ta sheeps, an' ta whiskee stills,
An' ta brochan, an' brogues, an' ta snuishin' mills,
Oich! she was ta ponnie land she was porn in;
For a' ta lads there will be shentlemans porn,
An' will wear skean-dhu an' ta praw snuishin' horn,
An' ta fine tartan trews her braw houghs to adorn,
An' mak' her look fu' spruce in ta mornin'.
28
Noo, ta shentlemans will no like to be wroughtin' at a',
But she'll sit py ta grieshach her haffets to claw;
An' pe birsle her shanks till they're red as ta haw,
An' a' fu' o' measles ilka mornin'.
But her nainsel' at last to ta Lalans cam' doon,
An' will get her a place 'mang ta mhor Glaschow toon;
Whar she's noo prush-ta-poot an' pe polish-ta-shoon,
An' pe shentleman's flunkie in ta mornin'.
But she'll sit py ta grieshach her haffets to claw;
An' pe birsle her shanks till they're red as ta haw,
An' a' fu' o' measles ilka mornin'.
But her nainsel' at last to ta Lalans cam' doon,
An' will get her a place 'mang ta mhor Glaschow toon;
Whar she's noo prush-ta-poot an' pe polish-ta-shoon,
An' pe shentleman's flunkie in ta mornin'.
But at last she will turn very full o' ta proud,
An' she'll hold up her heads, an' she'll spoke very loud,
An' she'll look wi' disdains 'pon ta low tirty crowd,
Tat will hing 'pout ta doors ilka mornin'.
Noo, her nainsel' is go to have one merry ball,
Whar she'll dance Killum Callum, hoogh! ta best o' them all,
For ta ponniest dancer she'll pe in ta hall,
Ay, either 'mang ta evenin' or mornin'.
An' she'll hold up her heads, an' she'll spoke very loud,
An' she'll look wi' disdains 'pon ta low tirty crowd,
Tat will hing 'pout ta doors ilka mornin'.
Noo, her nainsel' is go to have one merry ball,
Whar she'll dance Killum Callum, hoogh! ta best o' them all,
For ta ponniest dancer she'll pe in ta hall,
Ay, either 'mang ta evenin' or mornin'.
Ither lads will have lassies, hersel' will have no,
It pe far too expense wi' ta lassie to go;
So she'll shust dance hersel', her fine preedings to show,
Tat she learn 'mang ta place she was porn in.
Then ta lads will cry “Lauchie, where from did you'll cam',
Tat you'll not give ta lassie ta dance an' ta dram?”
But te're a' trouster mosachs, every one shust ta sam'
They wad spulzie all her sporran ere ta mornin'.
It pe far too expense wi' ta lassie to go;
So she'll shust dance hersel', her fine preedings to show,
Tat she learn 'mang ta place she was porn in.
Then ta lads will cry “Lauchie, where from did you'll cam',
Tat you'll not give ta lassie ta dance an' ta dram?”
But te're a' trouster mosachs, every one shust ta sam'
They wad spulzie all her sporran ere ta mornin'.
Noo, she's thochtin' she'll yet turn a praw waiter's pell,
When she wear ta fine pump an' pe dress very well;
An' py Sheorge! ere she'll stop, she'll pe maister hersel',
In spite o' a' their taunts an' their scornin'.
Syne wha like ta great Maister Fraser will pe,
Whan she'll hing up ta sign o' the “Golden Cross Key.”
An' will sit in her parlour her orders to gie
To her waiters an' her boots in ta mornin'?
When she wear ta fine pump an' pe dress very well;
An' py Sheorge! ere she'll stop, she'll pe maister hersel',
In spite o' a' their taunts an' their scornin'.
Syne wha like ta great Maister Fraser will pe,
Whan she'll hing up ta sign o' the “Golden Cross Key.”
An' will sit in her parlour her orders to gie
To her waiters an' her boots in ta mornin'?
34
THE HIGHLANDER'S WELCOME TO THE QUEEN.
Come Tuncan, what for you be snorin'?
Get up, man, an' on wi' your praw,
Your kilt, an' your hose, an' your sporran,
Your plaid an' your ponnet an' a';
Our Queen—pless her ladyship's clory,
Is coming to see us ev'n noo,
Cresorst! tere be Lauchie an' Rory,
An' a' ta lads waitin' 'pon you.
Get up, man, an' on wi' your praw,
Your kilt, an' your hose, an' your sporran,
Your plaid an' your ponnet an' a';
Our Queen—pless her ladyship's clory,
Is coming to see us ev'n noo,
Cresorst! tere be Lauchie an' Rory,
An' a' ta lads waitin' 'pon you.
T'en hoogh for her ponnie young Queen!
An' heigh for her ponnie young Queen!
Go, sought all ta Heelan' an' Lawlan',
A prettier never was seen.
An' heigh for her ponnie young Queen!
Go, sought all ta Heelan' an' Lawlan',
A prettier never was seen.
Our Queen, she pe Queen o' ta Heelan',
An' Queen o' ta Lawlan' peside,
T'en quha wad refuse her a shielin'
To shield her as lang as she'll pide.
Our faithers wad shelter Prince Sharlie,
Poor lad, quhan she had not a hame:
Nainsel' love her Queen so sincerely,
T'at for her she'll shust tid t'at same.
An' Queen o' ta Lawlan' peside,
T'en quha wad refuse her a shielin'
To shield her as lang as she'll pide.
Our faithers wad shelter Prince Sharlie,
Poor lad, quhan she had not a hame:
Nainsel' love her Queen so sincerely,
T'at for her she'll shust tid t'at same.
T'en hoogh for her ponny praw Queen!
An' heigh for her ponnie praw Queen!
Ta Heelan'man's ne'er pe tisloyal,
Though change o' ta race she has seen.
An' heigh for her ponnie praw Queen!
Ta Heelan'man's ne'er pe tisloyal,
Though change o' ta race she has seen.
Our chiefs, how their clans they pe gather,
A' trest in their tartans sae praw,
To welcome our Queen to ta heather,
An' ponnie Prince Alpert an' a'.
My sang! he's a fine tecent laddie,
As praw as Prince Sharlie himsel',
An' sets, too, him's ponnet an' plaidie
As weel as ta laird o' Dunkel'.
A' trest in their tartans sae praw,
To welcome our Queen to ta heather,
An' ponnie Prince Alpert an' a'.
35
As praw as Prince Sharlie himsel',
An' sets, too, him's ponnet an' plaidie
As weel as ta laird o' Dunkel'.
T'en hoogh for our ponnie young Queen!
An' heigh for our ponnie young Queen!
Let's gie her a grand Heelan' welcome,
Ta kindest t'at ever has peen.
An' heigh for our ponnie young Queen!
Let's gie her a grand Heelan' welcome,
Ta kindest t'at ever has peen.
Got pless you, our ponnie young leddy,
If you'll 'mang ta Heelan' remain,
Our hearts an' claymores will be ready,
Your honours and rights to maintain.
Ta Gael has a hand for him's friend aye,
An' likewise a hand for him's foe;
Ta Gael, your dear sel' she'll defend aye,
An' guard you wherever you go.
If you'll 'mang ta Heelan' remain,
Our hearts an' claymores will be ready,
Your honours and rights to maintain.
Ta Gael has a hand for him's friend aye,
An' likewise a hand for him's foe;
Ta Gael, your dear sel' she'll defend aye,
An' guard you wherever you go.
T'en welcome our ponnie young Queen!
Thrice welcome our ponnie young Queen!
Ta Gael may be rude in him's manner,
But quhar is ta warmer heart seen?
Thrice welcome our ponnie young Queen!
Ta Gael may be rude in him's manner,
But quhar is ta warmer heart seen?
OUR AULD UNCLE JOHN.
Our auld Uncle John is an odd sort o' chiel',
As prim as the priest, an' as deep as the deil,
He's proud o' his person, his parts, and his pelf,
But sae closely encased in the mail-coat o' self,
That if saving frae skaith wad but cost a bawbee,
Even that for his mither he scarcely wad gi'e.
As prim as the priest, an' as deep as the deil,
He's proud o' his person, his parts, and his pelf,
But sae closely encased in the mail-coat o' self,
That if saving frae skaith wad but cost a bawbee,
Even that for his mither he scarcely wad gi'e.
Though now near the fifty-third milestane o' life,
He ne'er could be tempted to think on a wife.
“They're fashious,” quo' John, “and they're costly beside,
Wi' their muffs, ruffs, and ruffles, their pinks and their pride;
Na, na,” quo' our uncle, “nae woman for me,
The clack o' her clapper I never could dree.”
He ne'er could be tempted to think on a wife.
“They're fashious,” quo' John, “and they're costly beside,
Wi' their muffs, ruffs, and ruffles, their pinks and their pride;
Na, na,” quo' our uncle, “nae woman for me,
The clack o' her clapper I never could dree.”
Our auld Uncle John keeps a house by himsel',
But few, very few, ever tinkle his bell,
Except some poor victim to borrow or pay,
And wae on the debtor wha keeps na his day.
“Ye'll mind, Sir,” quo' John, “that the rule is wi' me,
When due, ye maun pay me down plack an' bawbee.”
But few, very few, ever tinkle his bell,
Except some poor victim to borrow or pay,
And wae on the debtor wha keeps na his day.
“Ye'll mind, Sir,” quo' John, “that the rule is wi' me,
When due, ye maun pay me down plack an' bawbee.”
Yet auld Uncle's biggin' is cosie and bein,
Where a' things are polish'd like ony new preen,
In ilk scouring dish you may view your ain face,
Ilk stool and ilk chair keeps its ain proper place,
Gin the carpet be crumpled, or hearth-rug ajee,
The moment it's noticed it righted maun be.
Where a' things are polish'd like ony new preen,
In ilk scouring dish you may view your ain face,
Ilk stool and ilk chair keeps its ain proper place,
Gin the carpet be crumpled, or hearth-rug ajee,
The moment it's noticed it righted maun be.
38
Gin the least puff o' reek down the vent chance to come,
He's up wi' the besom an' bannin' the lum;
Should a flee just but light on his winnock or wa',
He's up wi' the dishclout to daud it awa,'—
“Get out o' my house, ye vile vermin,” cries he,
“Though I've meat for mysel', I ha'e nane for the flee.”
He's up wi' the besom an' bannin' the lum;
Should a flee just but light on his winnock or wa',
He's up wi' the dishclout to daud it awa,'—
“Get out o' my house, ye vile vermin,” cries he,
“Though I've meat for mysel', I ha'e nane for the flee.”
Nae poor beggar bodies e'er darken his door,
The print o' their bauchels would sully his floor;
The toon collies daurna snoke in as they pass,
E'en baudrons maun dight her saft feet on the bass.
“Ay, pussy! ye'll no quat your raking,” quo' he,
“But just clean your feet ere you venture to me.”
The print o' their bauchels would sully his floor;
The toon collies daurna snoke in as they pass,
E'en baudrons maun dight her saft feet on the bass.
“Ay, pussy! ye'll no quat your raking,” quo' he,
“But just clean your feet ere you venture to me.”
Our youngsters wad visit him last new-year's day,—
He ne'er bade them welcome, nor wish'd them to stay,
But dealt them a crust frae a hard penny brick,
Saying, “Now, weans, our cheese, ye see, winna cut thick;
Rin hame to yer mither, and tell her frae me,
I wantna your visits,—I've naething to gie.”
He ne'er bade them welcome, nor wish'd them to stay,
But dealt them a crust frae a hard penny brick,
Saying, “Now, weans, our cheese, ye see, winna cut thick;
Rin hame to yer mither, and tell her frae me,
I wantna your visits,—I've naething to gie.”
Our auld Uncle John, when he sleeps his last sleep,
What friend will lament him — what kinsman will weep?
Poor pussy may miss him, but that will be a',
And her he just keeps to fricht mousie awa';
Weel—e'en lat him gang, never mair here to be,
A tear for his loss ne'er shall moisten an e'e.
What friend will lament him — what kinsman will weep?
Poor pussy may miss him, but that will be a',
And her he just keeps to fricht mousie awa';
Weel—e'en lat him gang, never mair here to be,
A tear for his loss ne'er shall moisten an e'e.
54
COME, BILLIES, LET'S STEER FOR OUR HAMMOCKS.
Come, billies, let's steer for our hammocks,
Consider the night's growing late,
Fy rax us our plaids and our crummocks,
It's time we were takin' the gate;
Our dawties at hame will be weary,
Wi' waiting upon us sae lang,
Then why keep them lanely and eerie
While we are enjoying our sang?
Consider the night's growing late,
Fy rax us our plaids and our crummocks,
It's time we were takin' the gate;
Our dawties at hame will be weary,
Wi' waiting upon us sae lang,
Then why keep them lanely and eerie
While we are enjoying our sang?
It's guid to be social and canty,
It's cheering to coup aff our horn—
But makin' owre free wi' our aunty
Is sure to bring trouble the morn;
For aunty's a dangerous kimmer,
And no to be dallied wi' aye,
She'll turn to bleak winter our simmer,
And sprinkle our haffet's wi' grey.
It's cheering to coup aff our horn—
But makin' owre free wi' our aunty
Is sure to bring trouble the morn;
For aunty's a dangerous kimmer,
And no to be dallied wi' aye,
She'll turn to bleak winter our simmer,
And sprinkle our haffet's wi' grey.
Come now, we ha'e a' gotten ready,
Na, laird, no anither drap mair,
Weel, Johnny. ye're foremost—be steady,
And mind there's a turn in the stair.
Shoot out your best fit now before ye,
And cannily catch ilka step,
A'e stagger, my blade, and we're owre ye
Syne wha your fat carcase will kep?
Na, laird, no anither drap mair,
Weel, Johnny. ye're foremost—be steady,
And mind there's a turn in the stair.
Shoot out your best fit now before ye,
And cannily catch ilka step,
A'e stagger, my blade, and we're owre ye
Syne wha your fat carcase will kep?
Now, since we're a' landed on Terra,
Let ilk tak' his several road,
Enough we may manage to carry,
Owre meikle's a troublesome load.
Gude e'en—ilka man to his dearie,
As fast as he's able to gang—
To meet a wife smiling and cheerie,
Is ten times mair sweet than a sang.
Let ilk tak' his several road,
Enough we may manage to carry,
Owre meikle's a troublesome load.
55
As fast as he's able to gang—
To meet a wife smiling and cheerie,
Is ten times mair sweet than a sang.
58
THE PEERLESS ROSE OF KENT.
When beauty, youth, and innocence,
In one fair form are blent,
And that fair form our vestal Queen,
The peerless Rose of Kent,
Say, where's the Briton's heart so cold—
The Briton's soul so dead,
As not to pour out ardent prayers
For blessings on her head?
In one fair form are blent,
And that fair form our vestal Queen,
The peerless Rose of Kent,
60
The Briton's soul so dead,
As not to pour out ardent prayers
For blessings on her head?
This is the day,—the joyous day,—
That sees our lady crown'd,
Hence, may not one disloyal heart,
In Albion's Isles be found;
But may she find in every breast
An undisputed throne,
And o'er a gallant people reign,
Whose hearts are all her own.
That sees our lady crown'd,
Hence, may not one disloyal heart,
In Albion's Isles be found;
But may she find in every breast
An undisputed throne,
And o'er a gallant people reign,
Whose hearts are all her own.
For ne'er did woman's hand more fair
The regal sceptre hold,
And ne'er did brow more spotless wear
The coronal of gold;
And ne'er beneath the purple robe
Did purer bosom beat;
So ne'er may truer lieges kneel
A lovelier Queen to greet.
The regal sceptre hold,
And ne'er did brow more spotless wear
The coronal of gold;
And ne'er beneath the purple robe
Did purer bosom beat;
So ne'er may truer lieges kneel
A lovelier Queen to greet.
May every blessing from above,
On Kent's fair Rose descend,
While wisdom, dignity, and grace,
On all her steps attend.
Still may she wear fair Virtue's bloom,
Throughout a happy reign,
And long be hail'd the “Queen of Isles”—
Fair Mistress of the Main!
On Kent's fair Rose descend,
While wisdom, dignity, and grace,
On all her steps attend.
Still may she wear fair Virtue's bloom,
Throughout a happy reign,
And long be hail'd the “Queen of Isles”—
Fair Mistress of the Main!
61
O MEET ME, LOVE, BY MOONLIGHT.
O meet me, love, by moonlight,
By moonlight, by moonlight,
And down the glen by moonlight,
How fondly will I welcome thee!
By moonlight, by moonlight,
And down the glen by moonlight,
How fondly will I welcome thee!
64
And there, within our beechen bower,
Far from ambition's giddy tower,
O what a heart-enthrilling hour,
My Mary dear, I'll spend with thee!
Then meet me, love, etc.
Far from ambition's giddy tower,
O what a heart-enthrilling hour,
My Mary dear, I'll spend with thee!
Then meet me, love, etc.
Reclining on our mossy seat,
The rivulet rippling at our feet,
Enrapt in mutual transport sweet,
O who on earth so blest as we?
Then meet me, love, etc,
The rivulet rippling at our feet,
Enrapt in mutual transport sweet,
O who on earth so blest as we?
Then meet me, love, etc,
Our hopes and loves each sigh will speak,
With lip to lip, or cheek to cheek,
O who more heartfelt joys would seek,
Than such, at eve, alone with thee?
Then meet me, love, etc.
With lip to lip, or cheek to cheek,
O who more heartfelt joys would seek,
Than such, at eve, alone with thee?
Then meet me, love, etc.
To clasp thy lovely yielding waist;
To press thy lips so pure and chaste;
An' be in turn by thee embraced,
O that were bliss supreme to me!
Then meet me, love, etc.
To press thy lips so pure and chaste;
An' be in turn by thee embraced,
O that were bliss supreme to me!
Then meet me, love, etc.
Not worldling's wealth, nor lordling's show,
Such solid joys can e'er bestow,
As those which faithful lovers know
When heart to heart beats fervently.
Then meet me, love, etc.
Such solid joys can e'er bestow,
As those which faithful lovers know
When heart to heart beats fervently.
Then meet me, love, etc.
73
PITY ME! WHAT I DREE.
Pity me! what I dree!
This poor aching heart is breaking,
Here I lie, moan and sigh,
Lanely and forsaken.
This poor aching heart is breaking,
Here I lie, moan and sigh,
Lanely and forsaken.
Lately I was blythe aud cheery,
As the merry maukin;
Now I'm dowie, dull, and dreary,
Baith asleep and waukin'.
As the merry maukin;
Now I'm dowie, dull, and dreary,
Baith asleep and waukin'.
Pity me! etc.
On the primrose bank nae mair
I'll flowery chaplets weave me,
Nor deck wi' silken snood my hair,
For ane wha'd sae deceive me.
I'll flowery chaplets weave me,
Nor deck wi' silken snood my hair,
For ane wha'd sae deceive me.
Pity me! etc.
A' my thochts are thochts o' sorrow,
A' my dreams are sadness;
Not a hope to light the morrow
Wi' a gleam o' gladness.
A' my dreams are sadness;
Not a hope to light the morrow
Wi' a gleam o' gladness.
Pity me! etc.
O! that I had never met him—
Never loved sae fondly,
O! that I could now forget him
Whom I lived for only.
Never loved sae fondly,
O! that I could now forget him
Whom I lived for only.
Pity me! etc.
A' my joys are fled for ever,
A' my peace is broken;
Bear, O bear to my fause lover
This unhonoured token.
A' my peace is broken;
Bear, O bear to my fause lover
This unhonoured token.
Pity me! etc.
74
Tell him o' a tender blossom,
Trampled down and faded,
Tell him o' a stainless bosom,
Now, alas! degraded.
Trampled down and faded,
Tell him o' a stainless bosom,
Now, alas! degraded.
Pity me! etc.
Yet amid this wreck and ruin—
Not a starlet gleamin',
She he wrong'd for peace is suing
To her faithless leman.
Not a starlet gleamin',
She he wrong'd for peace is suing
To her faithless leman.
Pity me! what I dree!
This poor aching heart is breaking,
Here I lie, moan and sigh,
Lanely and forsaken.
This poor aching heart is breaking,
Here I lie, moan and sigh,
Lanely and forsaken.
97
THE SPINNING O'T.
When Adam first delved in his bonnie kailyaird,
And Eve tried her hand at the spinning o't,
They never were troubled by factor nor laird—
Their gear was their ain for the winning o't;
Nae tax-grabber crossed their bien hallan ava,
Their goods were na poinded by limbs o' the law,
And though their first busking was scrimpitly braw,
They had a bit cozie beginning o't.
And Eve tried her hand at the spinning o't,
They never were troubled by factor nor laird—
Their gear was their ain for the winning o't;
Nae tax-grabber crossed their bien hallan ava,
Their goods were na poinded by limbs o' the law,
And though their first busking was scrimpitly braw,
They had a bit cozie beginning o't.
98
They pu'd their ain fruit, and they stoo'd their ain kail,
The grund was a' their's to the gleaning o't;
They made their ain maut, and they brewed their ain ale,
For gauger, they kent na the meaning o't;
The beasts o' the field were a' at their command;
The hawk and the eagle wad pick frae their hand;
The wild ass's colt at their bidding wad stand:
Creation confessed their dominion o't.
The grund was a' their's to the gleaning o't;
They made their ain maut, and they brewed their ain ale,
For gauger, they kent na the meaning o't;
The beasts o' the field were a' at their command;
The hawk and the eagle wad pick frae their hand;
The wild ass's colt at their bidding wad stand:
Creation confessed their dominion o't.
But times took a turn, and the pair gat a fa',—
Foul fa the Auld Thief for that sinning o't!
His fause loopy tongue maistly ruined us a',
O had it been scaumed to the skinning o't;
For man, ever since, has been doomed by hard toil,
To scrape a scant meal frae a niggardly soil,
'Mid sweat and anxiety, grief and turmoil,
Through life, frae his very beginning o't.
Foul fa the Auld Thief for that sinning o't!
His fause loopy tongue maistly ruined us a',
O had it been scaumed to the skinning o't;
For man, ever since, has been doomed by hard toil,
To scrape a scant meal frae a niggardly soil,
'Mid sweat and anxiety, grief and turmoil,
Through life, frae his very beginning o't.
And still must he labour 'mid hardship and care,
At delving, at ploughing, or spinning o't,
Wi' belly aft pinched, and wi' back nearly bare,
For comfort, there's now a sad thinning o't;
His substance is seized on for taxes or rent,
The priest comes and tythes him, then preaches content,
Wi' sickness and sorrow his frame's sairly bent;
Pale want on his face shows the grinning o't.
At delving, at ploughing, or spinning o't,
Wi' belly aft pinched, and wi' back nearly bare,
For comfort, there's now a sad thinning o't;
His substance is seized on for taxes or rent,
The priest comes and tythes him, then preaches content,
Wi' sickness and sorrow his frame's sairly bent;
Pale want on his face shows the grinning o't.
The farmer should fend by the fruits o' the soil,
The wabster be warmed by the spinning o't;
The honey-bee sip the reward o' his toil,
The drone suit his wame to his winning o't.
The gluttonous cormorant, sluggard, and sot,
Say, should they be whippit, or hangit, or shot?
No; hence wi' them aff to some bleak barren spot,
There, set them, gin-horse like, a-ginning o't.
The wabster be warmed by the spinning o't;
The honey-bee sip the reward o' his toil,
The drone suit his wame to his winning o't.
The gluttonous cormorant, sluggard, and sot,
Say, should they be whippit, or hangit, or shot?
No; hence wi' them aff to some bleak barren spot,
There, set them, gin-horse like, a-ginning o't.
But here's to the shuttle, the spade, and the plough,
And here's to the wheel, and the spinning o't,
May ilk ane wha lives by the sweat o' his brow,
Hae plenty o' wealth for the winning o't;
May want, discontent, and fell turbulence cease,—
May nation with nation exchange its increase;
And nature still yield a rich crop, and a fleece,
To encourage the ploughing and spinning o't.
And here's to the wheel, and the spinning o't,
May ilk ane wha lives by the sweat o' his brow,
Hae plenty o' wealth for the winning o't;
99
May nation with nation exchange its increase;
And nature still yield a rich crop, and a fleece,
To encourage the ploughing and spinning o't.
127
BE A COMFORT TO YOUR MITHER.
Come here, my laddie, come awa'!
And try your first new breekies on ye;
Weel, weel I like to see you braw,
My ain wee sonsy smiling Johnnie!
Strip aff, strip aff! your bairnish claes,
And be a laddie like your brither,
And gin you're blest wi' health and days,
Ye'll be a pleasure to your mither.
And try your first new breekies on ye;
Weel, weel I like to see you braw,
My ain wee sonsy smiling Johnnie!
Strip aff, strip aff! your bairnish claes,
And be a laddie like your brither,
And gin you're blest wi' health and days,
Ye'll be a pleasure to your mither.
Now rin and look ye in the glass!
And see how braw you're now, and bonnie;
Wha e'er wad think a change o' claes
Could mak' sic change on my wee Johnnie?
You're just your daddy's picture now!
As like as a'e bean's like anither!
And gin ye do like him, I trow,
Ye'll be an honour to your mither.
And see how braw you're now, and bonnie;
Wha e'er wad think a change o' claes
Could mak' sic change on my wee Johnnie?
You're just your daddy's picture now!
As like as a'e bean's like anither!
And gin ye do like him, I trow,
Ye'll be an honour to your mither.
But upward as ye grow apace,
By truth and right keep ever steady;
And gin life's storms ye whiles maun face,
Aye meet them firmly like your daddy.
If steep and rugged be your way,
Ne'er look behind nor stand and swither!
But set a stout heart to the brae.
And be a comfort to your mither.
By truth and right keep ever steady;
And gin life's storms ye whiles maun face,
Aye meet them firmly like your daddy.
If steep and rugged be your way,
Ne'er look behind nor stand and swither!
But set a stout heart to the brae.
And be a comfort to your mither.
128
GI'E AS YE WAD TAK'.
My bairnies dear, when ye gang out,
Wi' ither bairns to play,
Tak' tent o' every thing ye do,
O' every word ye say;
Frae tricky wee mischievous loons
Keep back, my dears, keep back:
And aye to a' such usage gi'e
As ye would like to tak'.
Wi' ither bairns to play,
Tak' tent o' every thing ye do,
O' every word ye say;
Frae tricky wee mischievous loons
Keep back, my dears, keep back:
And aye to a' such usage gi'e
As ye would like to tak'.
To thraw the mouth, or ca' ill names,
Is surely very bad;
Then, a' such doings still avoid,
They'd mak' your mither sad.
To shield the feckless frae the strong
Be neither slow nor slack;
And aye to a' such usage gi'e
As ye would like to tak'.
Is surely very bad;
Then, a' such doings still avoid,
They'd mak' your mither sad.
To shield the feckless frae the strong
Be neither slow nor slack;
And aye to a' such usage gi'e
As ye would like to tak'.
Ne'er beat the poor dumb harmless tribe,
Wi' either whip or stick;
The mildest beast, if harshly used,
May gi'e a bite or kick.
On silly Sam, or crooked Tam,
The heartless joke ne'er crack;
But aye to a' such usage gi'e
As ye would like to tak'.
Wi' either whip or stick;
The mildest beast, if harshly used,
May gi'e a bite or kick.
On silly Sam, or crooked Tam,
The heartless joke ne'er crack;
But aye to a' such usage gi'e
As ye would like to tak'.
A kindly look, a soothing word,
To ilka creature gi'e;
We're a' One Maker's handiwork,
Whatever our degree.
We're a' the children o' His care,
Nae matter white or black;
Then still to a' such usage gi'e
As ye would like to tak'.
To ilka creature gi'e;
We're a' One Maker's handiwork,
Whatever our degree.
We're a' the children o' His care,
Nae matter white or black;
Then still to a' such usage gi'e
As ye would like to tak'.
129
NURSERY SCARECROWS.
Gae wa' ye silly, senseless quean!
Nor frighten sae my wean
Wi' tales o' bogles, ghaists, and elves,
That he'll no sleep his lane.
Come! say your prayers, my bonnie bairn,
And saftly slip to bed—
Your guardian angel's waiting there,
To shield your lovely head.
Nor frighten sae my wean
Wi' tales o' bogles, ghaists, and elves,
That he'll no sleep his lane.
Come! say your prayers, my bonnie bairn,
And saftly slip to bed—
Your guardian angel's waiting there,
To shield your lovely head.
O, never mind the foolish things
That clavering Jenny says—
They're just the idle silly tales,
The dreams o' darker days;
Our grannies, and our gran'dads too,
They might believe them a',
And keep themsel's in constant dread
O' things they never saw.
That clavering Jenny says—
They're just the idle silly tales,
The dreams o' darker days;
Our grannies, and our gran'dads too,
They might believe them a',
And keep themsel's in constant dread
O' things they never saw.
Lie still, lie still, my ain wee man!
Sic stories are na true,
There's naething in the dark can harm
My bonnie harmless doo;
The Watchfu' E'e that never sleeps,
That never knows decay,
Will tent frae skaith my bonnie bairn,
By night as weel's by day.
Sic stories are na true,
There's naething in the dark can harm
My bonnie harmless doo;
The Watchfu' E'e that never sleeps,
That never knows decay,
Will tent frae skaith my bonnie bairn,
By night as weel's by day.
O LEESE ME ON THEE, BONNIE BAIRN.
O leese me on thee, bonnie bairn!
Sae sweet, sae wise, sae apt to learn.
And true as loadstone to the airn,
Thou dearly, dearly, lo'es me.
Thou'rt just thy daddy's wee-er sel',
Fresh—blooming as the heather bell;
While, blythe as lammie on the fell,
Thy frisking shows thou lo'es me.
Sae sweet, sae wise, sae apt to learn.
And true as loadstone to the airn,
Thou dearly, dearly, lo'es me.
130
Fresh—blooming as the heather bell;
While, blythe as lammie on the fell,
Thy frisking shows thou lo'es me.
Thy comely brow, thy ee's deep blue,
Thy cheek of health's clear rosy hue;
And O! thy little laughing mou',
A' tell me how thou lo'es me.
Reclining softly on this breast,
O how thou mak'st my bosom blest,
To see thee smiling, 'mid thy rest,
And ken how much thou lo'es me.
Thy cheek of health's clear rosy hue;
And O! thy little laughing mou',
A' tell me how thou lo'es me.
Reclining softly on this breast,
O how thou mak'st my bosom blest,
To see thee smiling, 'mid thy rest,
And ken how much thou lo'es me.
Wi' mother's e'e I fondly trace
In thee thy daddy's form and face,
Possess'd of every manly grace,
And mair—a heart that lo'es me.
Lang be thou spared, sweet bud, to be
A blessing to thy dad and me;
While some fond mate shall sing to thee,
“Dear laddie, how thou lo'es me.”
In thee thy daddy's form and face,
Possess'd of every manly grace,
And mair—a heart that lo'es me.
Lang be thou spared, sweet bud, to be
A blessing to thy dad and me;
While some fond mate shall sing to thee,
“Dear laddie, how thou lo'es me.”
THE FAMILY CONTRAST.
O Sirs! was e'er sic difference seen
As 'twixt wee Will and Tam?
The ane's a perfect ettercap,
The ither's just a lamb;
Will greets and girns the lee-lang day,
And carps at a' he gets—
Wi' ither bairns he winna play,
But sits alane and frets.
As 'twixt wee Will and Tam?
The ane's a perfect ettercap,
The ither's just a lamb;
Will greets and girns the lee-lang day,
And carps at a' he gets—
Wi' ither bairns he winna play,
But sits alane and frets.
He flings his piece into the fire,
He yaumers at his brose,
And wae betide the luckless flee
That lights upon his nose!
He kicks the collie, cuffs the cat,
The hens and birds he stanes—
Na, little brat! he tak's a preen
And jags the very weans.
He yaumers at his brose,
And wae betide the luckless flee
That lights upon his nose!
131
The hens and birds he stanes—
Na, little brat! he tak's a preen
And jags the very weans.
Wi' spite he tumbles aff his stool,
And there he sprawling lies,
And at his mither thraws his gab,
Gin she but bid him rise.
Is there in a' the world beside
Sae wild a wight as he?
Weel! gin the creature grow a man
I wonder what he'll be!
And there he sprawling lies,
And at his mither thraws his gab,
Gin she but bid him rise.
Is there in a' the world beside
Sae wild a wight as he?
Weel! gin the creature grow a man
I wonder what he'll be!
But Tammy's just as sweet a bairn
As ane could wish to see,
The smile aye plays around his lips,
While blythely blinks his e'e;
He never whimpers, greets, nor girns,
Even for a broken tae,
But rins and gets it buckled up,
Syne out again to play.
As ane could wish to see,
The smile aye plays around his lips,
While blythely blinks his e'e;
He never whimpers, greets, nor girns,
Even for a broken tae,
But rins and gets it buckled up,
Syne out again to play.
He claps the collie, dauts the cat,
Flings moolins to the doos,
To Bess and Bruckie rins for grass,
To cool their honest mou's;
He's kind to ilka living thing,
He winna hurt a flee,
And, gin he meet a beggar bairn,
His piece he'll freely gi'e.
Flings moolins to the doos,
To Bess and Bruckie rins for grass,
To cool their honest mou's;
He's kind to ilka living thing,
He winna hurt a flee,
And, gin he meet a beggar bairn,
His piece he'll freely gi'e.
He tries to please wee crabbit Will,
When in his cankriest mood,
He gi'es him a his taps and bools,
And tells him to be good.
Sae good a wean as oor wee Tam
It cheers the heart to see—
O! gin his brither were like him,
How happy might we be!
When in his cankriest mood,
He gi'es him a his taps and bools,
And tells him to be good.
Sae good a wean as oor wee Tam
It cheers the heart to see—
O! gin his brither were like him,
How happy might we be!
132
THE WASHING.
Bauld wee birkie, what's the matter,
That ye're raising sic a din?
Weel ye ken it's caller water
Gi'es ye sic a bonnie skin;
Cease your spurring, tak' your washing,
Syne ye'll get your milk and bread;
Gin you dinna quit your splashing,
I may douk ye ower the head.
That ye're raising sic a din?
Weel ye ken it's caller water
Gi'es ye sic a bonnie skin;
Cease your spurring, tak' your washing,
Syne ye'll get your milk and bread;
Gin you dinna quit your splashing,
I may douk ye ower the head.
Now it's ower, my bonnie dearie,
There's a skin like driven snaw,
Lively, louping, plump wee peerie,
See how soon I'll busk you braw;
Let me kame your pretty pow now,
Let me shed your shining hair—
To your gambles! romp and row now,
Whisk and whid round daddy's chair.
There's a skin like driven snaw,
Lively, louping, plump wee peerie,
See how soon I'll busk you braw;
Let me kame your pretty pow now,
Let me shed your shining hair—
To your gambles! romp and row now,
Whisk and whid round daddy's chair.
Now, ye funny frisking fairy!
See how snod ye're now and sleek!
Water mak's you brisk and airy,
Lights your e'e and dyes your cheek;
O there's nought like being cleanly!
Cleanliness is mair than wealth;
Let us cleed however meanly,
Cleanliness gi'es joy and health.
See how snod ye're now and sleek!
Water mak's you brisk and airy,
Lights your e'e and dyes your cheek;
O there's nought like being cleanly!
Cleanliness is mair than wealth;
Let us cleed however meanly,
Cleanliness gi'es joy and health.
YOUR DADDY'S FAR AT SEA.
Your daddy's far at sea, bonnie bairn! bonnie bairn!
Your daddy's far at sea, bonnie bairn!
Your daddy's far at sea! winning gold for you and me,
And how happy yet we'll be! bonnie bairn, bonnie bairn!
And how happy yet we'll be, bonnie bairn!
Your daddy's far at sea, bonnie bairn!
Your daddy's far at sea! winning gold for you and me,
And how happy yet we'll be! bonnie bairn, bonnie bairn!
And how happy yet we'll be, bonnie bairn!
133
Your daddy's leal and true, bonnie bairn, bonnie bairn!
Your daddy's leal and trne, bonnie bairn!
Your daddy's leal and true, to your minnie and to you,
And beloved by all the crew, bonnie bairn, bonnie bairn!
And beloved by all the crew, bonnie bairn!
Your daddy's leal and trne, bonnie bairn!
Your daddy's leal and true, to your minnie and to you,
And beloved by all the crew, bonnie bairn, bonnie bairn!
And beloved by all the crew, bonnie bairn!
Then we'll pray for daddy's weal, bonnie bairn, bonnie bairn,
Then we'll pray for daddy's weal, bonnie bairn;
We'll pray for daddy's weal, that distress he ne'er may feel,
While he guides the sheet or wheel, bonnie bairn, bonnie bairn!
While he guides the sheet or wheel, bonnie bairn!
Then we'll pray for daddy's weal, bonnie bairn;
We'll pray for daddy's weal, that distress he ne'er may feel,
While he guides the sheet or wheel, bonnie bairn, bonnie bairn!
While he guides the sheet or wheel, bonnie bairn!
Should hurricanes arise, bonnie bairn, bonnie bairn,
Should hurricanes arise, bonnie bairn,
Should hurricanes arise, lashing seas up to the skies,
May his guide be the All-Wise, bonnie bairn, bonnie bairn!
May his guide be the All-Wise, bonnie bairn!
Should hurricanes arise, bonnie bairn,
Should hurricanes arise, lashing seas up to the skies,
May his guide be the All-Wise, bonnie bairn, bonnie bairn!
May his guide be the All-Wise, bonnie bairn!
'Mid the tempest's gloomy path, bonnie bairn, bonnie bairn,
'Mid the tempest's gloomy path, bonnie bairn;
'Mid the tempest's gloomy path, may he brave its wildest wrath,
While it strews the deep with death, bonnie bairn, bonnie bairn!
While it strews the deep with death, bonnie bairn!
'Mid the tempest's gloomy path, bonnie bairn;
'Mid the tempest's gloomy path, may he brave its wildest wrath,
While it strews the deep with death, bonnie bairn, bonnie bairn!
While it strews the deep with death, bonnie bairn!
And on the wings of mercy borne, bonnie bairn, bonnie bairn,
And on the wings of mercy borne, bonnie bairn;
On wings of mercy borne, may he soon and safe return,
To make glad the hearts that mourn, bonnie bairn, bonnie bairn!
To make glad the hearts that mourn, bonnie bairn!
And on the wings of mercy borne, bonnie bairn;
On wings of mercy borne, may he soon and safe return,
To make glad the hearts that mourn, bonnie bairn, bonnie bairn!
To make glad the hearts that mourn, bonnie bairn!
236
SONG, COMPOSED FOR THE PUBLIC DINNER TO BE GIVEN TO THE EARL OF DURHAM.
Ye Patriot hearts of Scotland,
Who prize your country's weal,
Whose strenuous efforts still have been,
Her woes and wrongs to heal;
The glorious task be yours to-night,
To lay corruption low,
And tread
On her head,
While you strike the avenging blow.
Who prize your country's weal,
Whose strenuous efforts still have been,
Her woes and wrongs to heal;
237
To lay corruption low,
And tread
On her head,
While you strike the avenging blow.
That all-devouring monster,
Detested and accurs'd—
Whose thousand maws on Britain's blood
For ages have been nurs'd—
Now pale and prostrate, writhing lies,
With many a mortal throe:
Then smart,
Through her heart,
Let the sword of Justice go.
Detested and accurs'd—
Whose thousand maws on Britain's blood
For ages have been nurs'd—
Now pale and prostrate, writhing lies,
With many a mortal throe:
Then smart,
Through her heart,
Let the sword of Justice go.
Britannia, smiling, views you
With mild and placid eye,
And Freedom looks delighted down,
From her abode on high,
Approving of the manly strains,
Which from your lips do flow—
While your sires'
Spirit fires,
Every breast with Freedom's glow.
With mild and placid eye,
And Freedom looks delighted down,
From her abode on high,
Approving of the manly strains,
Which from your lips do flow—
While your sires'
Spirit fires,
Every breast with Freedom's glow.
Then hail the Noble Stranger
With gladsome welcome here;—
To Britain, and to Liberty,
May he be ever dear.
While others shrink, may Durham still,
Undaunted, forward go,
While the flame
Of his fame,
Bright and brighter still shall grow;
And ages hence revere the man
Who was Oppression's foe.
With gladsome welcome here;—
To Britain, and to Liberty,
May he be ever dear.
While others shrink, may Durham still,
Undaunted, forward go,
While the flame
Of his fame,
Bright and brighter still shall grow;
And ages hence revere the man
Who was Oppression's foe.
255
VERSES WRITTEN ON BOARD “THE AYRSHIRE LASSIE” STEAMER (CONSORT TO THE “ROBERT BURNS,”) DURING HER SECOND TRIP DOWN THE CLYDE, ON MONDAY, 22ND APRIL, 1839.
Welcome, bonnie Ayrshire Lassie!
To thy native home—the Clyde;
Wha in beauty may surpass thee
As thou brav'st the swelling tide?
Meet companion of thy “Robin,”
(He who took thee first in tow),
O'er the wavelets gently bobbin',
Beauty blooming on thy prow.
To thy native home—the Clyde;
Wha in beauty may surpass thee
As thou brav'st the swelling tide?
Meet companion of thy “Robin,”
(He who took thee first in tow),
O'er the wavelets gently bobbin',
Beauty blooming on thy prow.
256
As thou glidest o'er the waters,
Like a thing of life and light,
Say, 'mang Coila's far-famed daughters,
To whose name thou claim'st a right?
Light and lively as a fairy,
Buskit in thy robes o' green,
Art thou Burns' “Highland Mary”—
“Handsome Nell,” or “Bonnie Jean?”
Like a thing of life and light,
Say, 'mang Coila's far-famed daughters,
To whose name thou claim'st a right?
Light and lively as a fairy,
Buskit in thy robes o' green,
Art thou Burns' “Highland Mary”—
“Handsome Nell,” or “Bonnie Jean?”
Tell me art thou “Charming Chloris”—
“Nancy” on the “Banks o' Coil”—
“Darling” daughter o' “Rob Morris”—
Or the “Lass o' Ballochmyle?”
Art thou “Maggie,” proud and saucy,
Gecking at poor “Duncan Gray?”
Or the “milking shiel” “blythe Bessie,”
Lilting 'mang the new maun hay?
“Nancy” on the “Banks o' Coil”—
“Darling” daughter o' “Rob Morris”—
Or the “Lass o' Ballochmyle?”
Art thou “Maggie,” proud and saucy,
Gecking at poor “Duncan Gray?”
Or the “milking shiel” “blythe Bessie,”
Lilting 'mang the new maun hay?
Say, art thou the “Flower of Devon,”
“Once a Bud upon the Ayr?”
“Anna” wi' her light locks waving,
“Blooming Bell,” or “Lucy fair?”
Art thou “Bonnie Leslie Baillie,”
Fair as Eve in Eden's bower;
Or the fickle, “fair, fause Phely,”
Wi' a “new love” every hour?
“Once a Bud upon the Ayr?”
“Anna” wi' her light locks waving,
“Blooming Bell,” or “Lucy fair?”
Art thou “Bonnie Leslie Baillie,”
Fair as Eve in Eden's bower;
Or the fickle, “fair, fause Phely,”
Wi' a “new love” every hour?
Say, art thou the “spotless Nanny,”
Pure as dew-wet gowan's sheen?
Or the fond confiding “Annie,”
'Mang the “Barley rigs” at e'en?
Or, art thou the “artless lassie,”
Wi' the “lint white-locks” sae fair?
Or the peerless, hapless “Jessie,”
Waking thrillings o' despair?
Pure as dew-wet gowan's sheen?
Or the fond confiding “Annie,”
'Mang the “Barley rigs” at e'en?
Or, art thou the “artless lassie,”
Wi' the “lint white-locks” sae fair?
Or the peerless, hapless “Jessie,”
Waking thrillings o' despair?
Art thou—but nae mair I'll query;—
Lang may'st thou thy course pursue,
Tight and steady—light and airy,
O'er thy path of liquid blue.
Leeze me on thee! “Ayrshire Lassie,”
Thou may'st take each name by turns;
For these names were aft, my lassie,
Sweetly sung by “Robin Burns.”
Lang may'st thou thy course pursue,
Tight and steady—light and airy,
O'er thy path of liquid blue.
257
Thou may'st take each name by turns;
For these names were aft, my lassie,
Sweetly sung by “Robin Burns.”
STANZAS, WRITTEN ON READING IN AN AMERICAN NEWSPAPER AN ACCOUNT OF THE DEATH OF THOMAS PAINE, AUTHOR OF “COMMON SENSE,” “THE RIGHTS OF MAN,” ETC.
Tom Paine is dead—Satan, be on thy guard;
Remember, he's thy most inveterate foe;
Get thy strong Pandemonian gates well barr'd,
Nor let him enter thy dark realms below.
Remember, he's thy most inveterate foe;
Get thy strong Pandemonian gates well barr'd,
Nor let him enter thy dark realms below.
Else if thou do, prepare to meet thy fate,
Nor longer vainly boast of being king,
But quit thy throne—throw off thy robes of State,
Thy crown and sceptre from thee quickly fling.
Nor longer vainly boast of being king,
But quit thy throne—throw off thy robes of State,
Thy crown and sceptre from thee quickly fling.
For if his levelling doctrines once get ground,
Thy sooty subjects will in fact rebel,
Pull down thy throne, spread Deism around,
Chop off thy head, and make a—France of Hell.
Thy sooty subjects will in fact rebel,
Pull down thy throne, spread Deism around,
Chop off thy head, and make a—France of Hell.
THE END.
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