Peter Cornclips :: :: University of Virginia Library

[The first Stanzas of the six following Songs, are fragments which were left by the much-lamented Robert Tannahill, and published in the “Harp of Renfrewshire.” Thinking it a pity, that even a “fragment” of so celebrated a Song-writer should be lost, for want of something like a proper finish, I, perhaps with too presumptive a hand, have made the attempt of completing them, to the best of my abilities. How far I may have been successful, in entering into the spirit of the original, I must leave the candid reader to judge. The lines marked with inverted commas, are by Mr. Tannahill.]

“MEG O' THE GLEN.”

[_]

Air.—“When she cam' ben she bobbit.”

“Meg o' the glen set aff to the fair,
“Wi' ruffles an' ribbons, an' meikle prepare,

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“Her heart it was heavy, her head it was licht,
“For a' the lang way, for a wooer she sicht;
“She spak to the lads, but the lads slippet by,
“She spak to the lasses, the lasses were shy,
“She thocht she might do, but she didna weel ken,
“For nane seem'd to care for poor Meg o' the glen.”

But wat ye, what was't made the lads a' gae by?
An' wat ye, what was't made the lasses sae shy?
Poor Meg o' the glen had nae tocher ava,
And therefore could neither be bonnie nor braw;
But an uncle wha lang in the Indies had been,
Foreseeing death coming to close his auld een,
Made his will, left her heiress, o' thousand punds ten,
Now, wha is mair thocht o' than Meg o' the glen?

“THE LASSIE O' MERRY EIGHTEEN.”

“My father wad hae me to marry the miller,
“My mither wad hae me to marry the laird,

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“But brawly I ken it's the love o' the siller,
“That brightens their fancy to ony regard;
“The miller is crookit, the miller is crabbit,
“The laird, tho' he's wealthy, he's lyart and lean,
“He's auld, an' he's cauld, an' he's blin', an' he's bald,
“An' he's no for a lassie o' merry eighteen.”

But O there's a laddie wha tells me he loes me,
An' him I loe dearly, ay, dearly as life,
Tho' father an' mither should scold an' abuse me,
Nae ither shall ever get me for a wife;
Although he can boast na o' land nor yet siller,
He's worthy to match wi' a duchess or queen,
For his heart is sae warm, an' sae stately his form,
An' then, like mysel', he's just merry eighteen.

“COME HAME TO YOUR LINGELS.”

[_]

Air.—“Whistle an' I'll come to you my lad.”

“Come hame to your lingels, ye ne'er-do-weel loon,
“You're the king o' the dyvours, the talk o' the town,

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“Sae soon as the Munonday morning comes in,
“Your wearifu' daidling again maun begin.
“Gudewife, ye're a skillet, your tongue's just a bell,
“To the peace o' guid fallows it rings the death-knell,
“But clack, till ye deafen auld Barnaby's mill,
“The souter shall ay hae his Munonday's yill.”

Come hame to your lap-stane, come hame to your last,
It's a bonnie affair that your family maun fast,
While you and your crew here, a-guzzling maun sit,
Ye dais'd drunken guid-for-nocht heir o' the pit;
Just leuk, how I'm gaun without stocking or shoe,
Your bairns a' in tatters, an' fotherless too,
An' yet, quite content, like a sot, ye'll sit still,
Till your kyte's like to crack, wi' your Munonday's yill.

I tell you gudewife, gin ye haudna your clack,
I'll lend you a reestle wi' this, owre your back;
Maun we be abused, an' affronted by you,
Wi' siccan foul names as “loon,” “dyvour” an' “crew”?
Come hame to your lingels, this instant come hame,
Or I'll redden your face, gin ye've yet ony shame,

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For I'll bring a' the bairns, an' we'll just hae our fill,
As weel as yoursel' o' your Munonday's yill.

Gin that be the gate o't, sirs, come let us stir,
What need we sit here to be pester'd by her,
For she'll plague an' affront us as far as she can,
Did ever a woman sae bother a man?
Frae yill house to yill house she'll after us rin,
An' raise the hale town wi' her yelpin' an' din,
Come ca' the gudewife, bid her bring in her bill,
I see I maun quat takin' Munondays yill.

“THE LASSES A' LEUGH.”

[_]

Air.—“Kiss'd yestreen.”

“The lasses a' leugh, an' the carlin flate,
“But Maggie was sitting fu' ourie an' blate,
“The auld silly gawkie, she couldna contain,
“How brawly she was kiss'd yestreen;
“Kiss'd yestreen, kiss'd yestreen,
“How brawly she was kiss'd yestreen;

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“She blethered it round to her fae an' her freen,
“How brawly she was kiss'd yestreen.”

She loosed the white napkin frae 'bout her dun neck,
An' cried the big sorrow tak' lang Geordie Fleck,
D'ye see what a scart I gat frae a preen,
By his towsling an' kissing at me yestreen;
At me yestreen, at me yestreen,
By his towsling and kissing at me yestreen;
I canna conceive what the fellow could mean,
By kissing sae meikle at me yestreen.

Then she pu'd up her sleeve an' shawed a blae mark,
Quo' she, I gat that frae young Davy our clark,
But the creature had surely forgat himsel' clean,
When he nipt me sae hard for a kiss yestreen;
For a kiss yestreen, for a kiss yestreen,
When he nipt me sae hard for a kiss yestreen;
I wonder what keepit my nails frae his een,
When he nipt me sae hard for a kiss yestreen.

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Then she held up her cheek an' cried foul fa' the laird,
Just leuk what I gat, wi' his black birsie beard,
The vile filthy body! was e'er the like seen?
To rub me sae sair for a kiss yestreen,
For a kiss yestreen, for a kiss yestreen,
To rub me sae sair for a kiss yestreen,
I'm sure that nae woman o' judgment need green,
To be rubbit, like me, for a kiss yestreen.

Syne she tald what grand offers she aften had had,
But wad she tak' a man?—na, she wasna sae mad,
For the hale o' the sex she cared na a preen,
An' she hated the way she was kiss'd yestreen,
Kiss'd yestreen, kiss'd yestreen,
She hated the way she was kiss'd yestreen,
'Twas a mercy that naething mair serious had been,
For, it's dangerous, whiles, to be kiss'd at e'en.

186

BRAVE LEWIE ROY.

[_]

An old Gælic Air.

“Brave Lewie Roy was the flower of our highlandmen,
“Tall as the oak on the lofty Benvoirlich,
“Fleet as the light bounding tenants of Fillin-glen,
“Dearer than life to his lovely neen voiuch.
“Lone was his biding, the cave of his hiding,
“When forced to retire with our gallant Prince Charlie,
“Tho' manly and fearless, his bold heart was cheerless,
“Away from the lady he aye loved so dearly.”

But woe on the blood-thirsty mandates of Cumberland,
Woe on the blood-thirsty gang that fulfill'd them;
Poor Caledonia! bleeding and plunder'd land,
Where shall thy children now shelter and shield them?

187

Keen prowl the cravens, like merciless ravens,
Their prey,—the devoted adherents of Charlie,
Brave Lewie Roy is taen, cowardly hack'd and slain,
Ah! his neen voiuch will mourn for him sairly.

Beautiful Maid.

“O HOW CAN YOU GANG LASSIE.”

[_]

Air.—“The bonniest lass in a' the warld.”

“O how can you gang lassie, how can you gang,
“O how can you gang sae to grieve me?
“Wi' your beauty, and your art ye hae broken my heart,
“For I never, never dreamt ye could leave me.”
Ah wha wad hae thought that sae bonnie a face,
Could e'er wear a smile to deceive me?
Or that guile in that fair bosom could e'er find a place,
And that you wad break your vows thus, and leave me?

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O have you not mind, when our names you entwined,
In a wreath, round the purse, you did weave me?
Or have you now forgot the once-dear trysting spot,
Where so oft you pledged your faith ne'er to leave me?
But, changing as wind is your light fickle mind;
Your smiles, tokens, vows, all deceive me;
No more, then, I'll trust, to such frail painted dust,
But bewail my fate, till kind death relieve me.

Then gang fickle fair to your new-fangled jo,
Yes, gang, and in wretchedness leave me,
But, alas! should you be doomed to a wedlock of woe,
Ah, how would your unhappiness grieve me;
For, Mary! all faithless and false as thou art,
Thy spell-binding glances, believe me,
So closely are entwined round this fond foolish heart,
That the grave alone, of them can bereave me.