The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd Centenary Edition. With a Memoir of the Author, by the Rev. Thomas Thomson ... Poems and Life. With Many Illustrative Engravings [by James Hogg] |
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| 4. | CLASS FOURTH—NATIONAL SONGS. |
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 | The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd |  |
CLASS FOURTH—NATIONAL SONGS.
Bauldy Frazer.
My name is Bauldy Frazer, man;
I'm puir, an' auld, an' pale, an' wan:
I brak my shin, an' tint a han'
Upon Culloden lea, man.
Our Hielan' clans were bauld and stout,
An' thought to turn their faes about,
But gat that day a desperate rout,
An' owre the hills did flee, man.
I'm puir, an' auld, an' pale, an' wan:
I brak my shin, an' tint a han'
Upon Culloden lea, man.
Our Hielan' clans were bauld and stout,
An' thought to turn their faes about,
But gat that day a desperate rout,
An' owre the hills did flee, man.
Sic hurly-burly ne'er was seen,
Wi' cuffs, an' buffs, an' blindit e'en,
While Hielan' swords o' metal keen
War gleamin' grand to see, man.
The cannons routit in our face,
An' brak our banes an' raive our claes;
'Twas then we saw our ticklish case
Atween the deil an' sea, man.
Wi' cuffs, an' buffs, an' blindit e'en,
While Hielan' swords o' metal keen
War gleamin' grand to see, man.
The cannons routit in our face,
An' brak our banes an' raive our claes;
'Twas then we saw our ticklish case
Atween the deil an' sea, man.
Sure Charlie an' the brave Lochiel
Had been that time beside theirsel',
To plant us in the open fell,
In the artillery's e'e, man;
For had we met wi' Cumberland
By Athol braes or yonder strand,
The bluid o' a' the savage band
Had dy'd the German sea, man.
Had been that time beside theirsel',
To plant us in the open fell,
In the artillery's e'e, man;
For had we met wi' Cumberland
By Athol braes or yonder strand,
The bluid o' a' the savage band
Had dy'd the German sea, man.
But down we drappit dadd for dadd;
I thought it should hae put me mad,
To see sae mony a Hielan' lad
Lie bluthrin' on the brae, man.
I thought we ance had won the fray;
We smasht ae wing till it gae way;
But the other side had lost the day,
An' skelpit fast awa, man.
I thought it should hae put me mad,
To see sae mony a Hielan' lad
Lie bluthrin' on the brae, man.
I thought we ance had won the fray;
We smasht ae wing till it gae way;
But the other side had lost the day,
An' skelpit fast awa, man.
When Charlie wi' Macpherson met,
Like Hay he thought him back to get;
“We'll turn,” quo' he, “an' try them yet;
We'll conquer or we'll dee, man.”
But Donald shumpit o'er the purn,
An' sware an aith she wadna turn,
Or sure she wad hae cause to mourn;
Then fast awa' did flee, man.
Like Hay he thought him back to get;
“We'll turn,” quo' he, “an' try them yet;
We'll conquer or we'll dee, man.”
But Donald shumpit o'er the purn,
An' sware an aith she wadna turn,
Or sure she wad hae cause to mourn;
Then fast awa' did flee, man.
Oh! had you seen that hunt o' death!
We ran until we tint our breath,
Aye looking back for fear o' skaith,
Wi' hopeless shinin' e'e, man.
But Britain ever may deplore
That day upon Drumossie moor,
Whar thousands ta'en war drench'd in gore,
Or hang'd out-o'er a tree, man.
We ran until we tint our breath,
Aye looking back for fear o' skaith,
Wi' hopeless shinin' e'e, man.
But Britain ever may deplore
That day upon Drumossie moor,
Whar thousands ta'en war drench'd in gore,
Or hang'd out-o'er a tree, man.
O Cumberland, what mean'd ye then,
To ravage ilka Hielan' glen?
Our crime was truth, an' love to ane,
We had nae spite at thee, man:
An' you or yours may yet be glad,
To trust the honest Hieland lad;
The bonnet blue, and belted plaid,
Will stand the last o' three, man.
To ravage ilka Hielan' glen?
Our crime was truth, an' love to ane,
We had nae spite at thee, man:
An' you or yours may yet be glad,
To trust the honest Hieland lad;
The bonnet blue, and belted plaid,
Will stand the last o' three, man.
Scotia's Glens.
'Mang Scotia's glens and mountains blue,
Where Gallia's lilies never grew,
Where Roman eagles never flew,
Nor Danish lions rallied;
Where skulks the roe in anxious fear,
Where roves the swift an' stately deer,
There live the lads to freedom dear,
By foreign yoke ne'er galled.
Where Gallia's lilies never grew,
Where Roman eagles never flew,
Nor Danish lions rallied;
Where skulks the roe in anxious fear,
Where roves the swift an' stately deer,
There live the lads to freedom dear,
By foreign yoke ne'er galled.
There woods grow wild on every hill,
There freemen wander at their will,
And Scotland will be Scotland still,
While hearts so brave defend her:
“Fear not, our sovereign Liege,” they cry,
“We've flourished fair beneath thine eye;
For thee we'll fight, for thee we'll die,
Nor aught but life surrender!
There freemen wander at their will,
And Scotland will be Scotland still,
While hearts so brave defend her:
“Fear not, our sovereign Liege,” they cry,
“We've flourished fair beneath thine eye;
For thee we'll fight, for thee we'll die,
Nor aught but life surrender!
“Since thou hast watch'd our every need,
And taught our navies wide to spread,
The smallest hair from thy gray head
No foreign foe shall sever;
Thy honour'd age in peace to save,
The sternest enemy we'll brave,
Or stem the fiercest ocean wave,
Nor heart nor hand shall waver!”
And taught our navies wide to spread,
The smallest hair from thy gray head
No foreign foe shall sever;
Thy honour'd age in peace to save,
The sternest enemy we'll brave,
Or stem the fiercest ocean wave,
Nor heart nor hand shall waver!”
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Though nations join yon tyrant's arm,
While Scotia's noble blood runs warm,
Our good old man we'll guard from harm,
Or fall in heaps around him.
Although the Irish harp were won,
And England's roses all o'errun,
'Mang Scotia's glens, with sword and gun,
We'll form a bulwark round him.
While Scotia's noble blood runs warm,
Our good old man we'll guard from harm,
Or fall in heaps around him.
Although the Irish harp were won,
And England's roses all o'errun,
'Mang Scotia's glens, with sword and gun,
We'll form a bulwark round him.
The Jubilee.
Who will not join the lay,
And hail the auspicious day
That first gave great George the sway
Over our island?
Fifty long years are gone
Since he first fill'd the throne;
And high honours has he won
On sea and by land.
And hail the auspicious day
That first gave great George the sway
Over our island?
Fifty long years are gone
Since he first fill'd the throne;
And high honours has he won
On sea and by land.
Think on his heart of steel;
Think on his life so leal;
Think how he's watch'd our weal,
Till seiz'd with blindness!
In mercy first sent to us;
In love so long lent to us;
Grateful, let's vent our vows
For Heaven's kindness.
Think on his life so leal;
Think how he's watch'd our weal,
Till seiz'd with blindness!
In mercy first sent to us;
In love so long lent to us;
Grateful, let's vent our vows
For Heaven's kindness.
No foeman dare steer to us,
Nor tyrant come near to us;
Of all that's dear to us
He's the defender.
Raise the song! raise it loud!
Of our old king we're proud!
George the just, George the good,
Still reigns in splendour!
Nor tyrant come near to us;
Of all that's dear to us
He's the defender.
Raise the song! raise it loud!
Of our old king we're proud!
George the just, George the good,
Still reigns in splendour!
The Auld Highlandman.
Hersel pe auchty years an' twa,
Te twenty-tird o' May, man;
She twell amang te Hielan hills,
Ayont the rifer Spey, man.
Tat year tey foucht the Sherra-muir,
She first peheld te licht, man:
Tey shot my father in tat stoure—
A plaguit, vexin' spite, man.
Te twenty-tird o' May, man;
She twell amang te Hielan hills,
Ayont the rifer Spey, man.
Tat year tey foucht the Sherra-muir,
She first peheld te licht, man:
Tey shot my father in tat stoure—
A plaguit, vexin' spite, man.
I've feucht in Scotland here at hame,
In France and Shermanie, man;
And cot tree tespurt pluddy oons,
Beyond te 'Lantic sea, man:
But wae licht on te nasty gun,
Tat ever she pe porn, man;
While coot klymore te tristle gaird,
Her leaves pe never torn, man.
In France and Shermanie, man;
And cot tree tespurt pluddy oons,
Beyond te 'Lantic sea, man:
But wae licht on te nasty gun,
Tat ever she pe porn, man;
While coot klymore te tristle gaird,
Her leaves pe never torn, man.
Ae tay I shot, and shot, and shot,
Whane'er it cam my turn, man;
Put a' te force tat I could gie,
Te powter wadna purn, man.
A filty loun cam wi' his gun,
Resolvt to too me harm, man:
And wi' te tirk upon her nose
Ke me a pluddy arm, man.
Whane'er it cam my turn, man;
Put a' te force tat I could gie,
Te powter wadna purn, man.
A filty loun cam wi' his gun,
Resolvt to too me harm, man:
And wi' te tirk upon her nose
Ke me a pluddy arm, man.
I flang my gun wi' a' my micht,
And felt his nepour teit, man;
Tan drew my swort, and at a straik
Hewt aff te haf o's heit, man.
Be vain to tell o' a' my tricks:
My oons pe nae tiscrace, man:
Ter no pe yin pehint my back,
Ter a' pefor my face, man.
And felt his nepour teit, man;
Tan drew my swort, and at a straik
Hewt aff te haf o's heit, man.
Be vain to tell o' a' my tricks:
My oons pe nae tiscrace, man:
Ter no pe yin pehint my back,
Ter a' pefor my face, man.
Buccleuch's Birth-Day.
O fy, let's a' be merry, boys,
O fy, let's a' be merry;
This is a day we should rejoice;
Then fy, let's a' be merry.
Our auld gudeman is hale an' free,
An' that should surely cheer us;
An' the flowers o' a' the south countrie
Are sweetly smiling near us.
Our day's nae done though it be dark;
Put round the port an' sherry;
An' ask at James o' the Tower o' Sark,
If we should nae a' be merry.
O fy, let's a' be merry;
This is a day we should rejoice;
Then fy, let's a' be merry.
Our auld gudeman is hale an' free,
An' that should surely cheer us;
An' the flowers o' a' the south countrie
Are sweetly smiling near us.
Our day's nae done though it be dark;
Put round the port an' sherry;
An' ask at James o' the Tower o' Sark,
If we should nae a' be merry.
Blest be the day the Scot did gain
His name and a' surrounding,
“When in the cleuch the buck was ta'en,”
While hound and horn was sounding.
But ten times blessed be this day
That brought us noble Harry;
A nation's pride, a country's stay,
A friend that disna vary.
Then let's be merry ane an' a',
An' drink the port an' sherry;
An' spier at George o' the Carterha',
If we should nae a' be merry.
His name and a' surrounding,
“When in the cleuch the buck was ta'en,”
While hound and horn was sounding.
But ten times blessed be this day
That brought us noble Harry;
A nation's pride, a country's stay,
A friend that disna vary.
Then let's be merry ane an' a',
An' drink the port an' sherry;
An' spier at George o' the Carterha',
If we should nae a' be merry.
Then let us drink to brave Buccleuch,
An' our auld honest Geordie;
For, seek the country through an' through,
We'll light on few sae worthy:
The one protects our native land,
And on the sea keeps order;
The other guides the farmer's hand,
And rules the Scottish Border.
Then merry, merry, let us be,
An' drink the port an' sherry;
I'll refer to Wat o' the Frostylee,
If we should nae a' be merry.
An' our auld honest Geordie;
For, seek the country through an' through,
We'll light on few sae worthy:
The one protects our native land,
And on the sea keeps order;
The other guides the farmer's hand,
And rules the Scottish Border.
282
An' drink the port an' sherry;
I'll refer to Wat o' the Frostylee,
If we should nae a' be merry.
The above song was composed and sung at the celebration of the Duke of Buccleuch's birth-day at Langholm. The three gentlemen referred to, were Messrs. James Church, George Park, and Walter Borthwick, managers of the ball for that year, 1809.
Highland Harry back again.
[_]
This and the two following songs were composed for, and sung at, the celebration of the Earl of Dalkeith's birth-day, at Selkirk, on the 24th May.
Ye forest flowers so fresh and gay,
Let all your hearts be light and fain;
For once this blest, auspicious day,
Brought us a Harry back again.
The wild-bird's hush'd on Ettrick braes,
And northward turns the nightly wain;
Let's close with glee this wale of days,
To us so welcome back again.
Let all your hearts be light and fain;
For once this blest, auspicious day,
Brought us a Harry back again.
The wild-bird's hush'd on Ettrick braes,
And northward turns the nightly wain;
Let's close with glee this wale of days,
To us so welcome back again.
May blessings wait that noble Scot,
Who loves to hear the shepherd's strain;
And long in peace, may't be his lot
To see this day come back again.
His heart so kind, his noble mind,
His loyal course without a stain,
And choice's fair, all, all declare,
He'll just be Harry back again.
Who loves to hear the shepherd's strain;
And long in peace, may't be his lot
To see this day come back again.
His heart so kind, his noble mind,
His loyal course without a stain,
And choice's fair, all, all declare,
He'll just be Harry back again.
Hap an' rowe the feetie o't.
Gae hap an' rowe the feetie o't;
Gae hap an' rowe the feetie o't;
We'll never trow we hae a bairn
Unless we hear the greetie o't.
Gae hap an' rowe the feetie o't;
We'll never trow we hae a bairn
Unless we hear the greetie o't.
Auld fashion'd bodies whine an' tell,
In prophecies precarious,
That our young Charlie never will
Be sic a man as Harry was.
Auld Harry was an honest man,
An' nouther flush nor snappy, O;
An' a' the gear that e'er he wan,
Was spent in makin' happy, O.
In prophecies precarious,
That our young Charlie never will
Be sic a man as Harry was.
Auld Harry was an honest man,
An' nouther flush nor snappy, O;
An' a' the gear that e'er he wan,
Was spent in makin' happy, O.
Gae hap an' rowe, &c.
There grew a tree at our house-end,
We hack'd it down for fire, O;
An' frae the root, there did ascend
A straughter ane an' higher, O:
Then what's to hinder our young blade,
When sic a sample's shown him, O,
To trace the steps his father gaed,
An' e'en to gang beyon' them, O?
We hack'd it down for fire, O;
An' frae the root, there did ascend
A straughter ane an' higher, O:
Then what's to hinder our young blade,
When sic a sample's shown him, O,
To trace the steps his father gaed,
An' e'en to gang beyon' them, O?
Gae hap an' rowe, &c.
This day we'll chime in canty rhyme
What spirit we wad hae him, O,
An' if he run as he's begun,
Our blessin' aye we'll gie him, O:
We wish him true unto his king,
An' for his country ready, O;
A steady friend, a master kind,
An' nouther blate nor greedy, O.
What spirit we wad hae him, O,
An' if he run as he's begun,
Our blessin' aye we'll gie him, O:
We wish him true unto his king,
An' for his country ready, O;
A steady friend, a master kind,
An' nouther blate nor greedy, O.
Gae hap an' rowe, &c.
While he shall grace the noble name,
We'll drink his health in sherry, O;
An' aye this day we'll dance an' play
In reels an' jigs sae merry, O:
But if it's ken'd his actions tend
To ony ill behavin', O,
This bonny twenty-fourth o' May
In crape we's a' be wavin', O.
We'll drink his health in sherry, O;
An' aye this day we'll dance an' play
In reels an' jigs sae merry, O:
But if it's ken'd his actions tend
To ony ill behavin', O,
This bonny twenty-fourth o' May
In crape we's a' be wavin', O.
Gae hap an' rowe the feetie o't;
Gae hap an' rowe the feetie o't;
We'll aye believe 'tis but a bairn
If ance we hear the greetie o't.
Gae hap an' rowe the feetie o't;
We'll aye believe 'tis but a bairn
If ance we hear the greetie o't.
Born, Laddie.
Let wine gae round, an' music play,
This is the twenty-fourth o' May!
An' on this bonny blythesome day
Our young gudeman was born, laddie.
The Esk shall dance an' Teviot sing,
The Yarrow's bonnie banks shall ring,
An' Ettrick's muse shall streek her wing,
This day that he was born, laddie.
This is the twenty-fourth o' May!
An' on this bonny blythesome day
Our young gudeman was born, laddie.
The Esk shall dance an' Teviot sing,
The Yarrow's bonnie banks shall ring,
An' Ettrick's muse shall streek her wing,
This day that he was born, laddie.
Born, laddie! born, laddie!
Ilka e'en an' morn, laddie,
We will bless the happy day
When Charlie he was born, laddie.
Ilka e'en an' morn, laddie,
We will bless the happy day
When Charlie he was born, laddie.
May health an' happiness attend
The chief, for truth an' honour ken'd!
An' may he never want a friend
To cheer him when forlorn, laddie!
To him an' his we're a' in debt,
An' lang hae been, an' will be yet;
But may he thrive till we forget
The day when he was born, laddie!
The chief, for truth an' honour ken'd!
An' may he never want a friend
To cheer him when forlorn, laddie!
To him an' his we're a' in debt,
An' lang hae been, an' will be yet;
But may he thrive till we forget
The day when he was born, laddie!
Born, laddie, &c.
But should he stern misfortune find,
Then may he calmly call to mind,
'Tis but the lot of all mankind
That ever yet were born, laddie.
If pride shall e'er his bosom swell,
An' kindness frae his heart repel,
'Twill mind him, he maun die himsel',
As sure as he was born, laddie.
Then may he calmly call to mind,
'Tis but the lot of all mankind
That ever yet were born, laddie.
283
An' kindness frae his heart repel,
'Twill mind him, he maun die himsel',
As sure as he was born, laddie.
Born, laddie, &c.
Donald M'Donald.
My name it is Donald M'Donald,
I live in the Hielands sae grand;
I hae follow'd our banner, and will do,
Wherever my Maker has land.
When rankit amang the blue bonnets,
Nae danger can fear me ava;
I ken that my brethren around me
Are either to conquer or fa'.
Brogues an' brochen an' a',
Brochen an' brogues an' a';
An' is nae her very weel aff,
Wi' her brogues an' brochen an' a'?
I live in the Hielands sae grand;
I hae follow'd our banner, and will do,
Wherever my Maker has land.
When rankit amang the blue bonnets,
Nae danger can fear me ava;
I ken that my brethren around me
Are either to conquer or fa'.
Brogues an' brochen an' a',
Brochen an' brogues an' a';
An' is nae her very weel aff,
Wi' her brogues an' brochen an' a'?
What though we befriendit young Charlie?
To tell it I dinna think shame;
Poor lad! he came to us but barely,
An' reckon'd our mountains his hame.
'Twas true that our reason forbade us,
But tenderness carried the day;
Had Geordie come friendless amang us,
Wi' him we had a' gane away,
Sword an' buckler an' a',
Buckler an' sword an' a';
Now for George we'll encounter the devil,
Wi' sword an buckler an' a'!
To tell it I dinna think shame;
Poor lad! he came to us but barely,
An' reckon'd our mountains his hame.
'Twas true that our reason forbade us,
But tenderness carried the day;
Had Geordie come friendless amang us,
Wi' him we had a' gane away,
Sword an' buckler an' a',
Buckler an' sword an' a';
Now for George we'll encounter the devil,
Wi' sword an buckler an' a'!
An' oh, I wad eagerly press him
The keys o' the East to retain;
For should he gie up the possession,
We'll soon hae to force them again.
Than yield up an inch wi' dishonour,
Though it were my finishing blow,
He aye may depend on M'Donald,
Wi' his Hielanders a' in a row;
Knees an' elbows an' a',
Elbows an' knees an' a';
Depend upon Donald M'Donald,
His knees an' elbows an' a'!
The keys o' the East to retain;
For should he gie up the possession,
We'll soon hae to force them again.
Than yield up an inch wi' dishonour,
Though it were my finishing blow,
He aye may depend on M'Donald,
Wi' his Hielanders a' in a row;
Knees an' elbows an' a',
Elbows an' knees an' a';
Depend upon Donald M'Donald,
His knees an' elbows an' a'!
Wad Bonaparte land at Fort-William,
Auld Europe nae langer should grane;
I laugh when I think how we'd gall him,
Wi' bullet, wi' steel, an' wi' stane;
Wi' rocks o' the Nevis an' Gairy
We'd rattle him off frae our shore,
Or lull him asleep in a cairny,
An' sing him—“Lochaber no more!”
Stanes an' bullets an' a',
Bullets an' stanes an' a';
We'll finish the Corsican callan
Wi' stanes an' bullets an' a'!
Auld Europe nae langer should grane;
I laugh when I think how we'd gall him,
Wi' bullet, wi' steel, an' wi' stane;
Wi' rocks o' the Nevis an' Gairy
We'd rattle him off frae our shore,
Or lull him asleep in a cairny,
An' sing him—“Lochaber no more!”
Stanes an' bullets an' a',
Bullets an' stanes an' a';
We'll finish the Corsican callan
Wi' stanes an' bullets an' a'!
For the Gordon is good in a hurry,
An' Campbell is steel to the bane,
An' Grant, an' M'Kenzie, an' Murray,
An' Cameron will hurkle to nane;
The Stuart is sturdy an' loyal,
An' sae is M'Leod an' M'Kay;
An' I their gude-brither, M'Donald,
Shall ne'er be the last in the fray!
Brogues an' brochen an' a',
Brochen an' brogues an' a';
An' up wi' the bonnie blue bonnet,
The kilt an' the feather an' a'!
An' Campbell is steel to the bane,
An' Grant, an' M'Kenzie, an' Murray,
An' Cameron will hurkle to nane;
The Stuart is sturdy an' loyal,
An' sae is M'Leod an' M'Kay;
An' I their gude-brither, M'Donald,
Shall ne'er be the last in the fray!
Brogues an' brochen an' a',
Brochen an' brogues an' a';
An' up wi' the bonnie blue bonnet,
The kilt an' the feather an' a'!
I once heard the above song sung in the theatre at Lancaster, when the singer substituted the following lines of his own for the last verse:
“For Jock Bull he is good in a hurry,An' Sawney is steel to the bane,
An' wee Davie Welsh is a widdy,
An' Paddy will hurkle to nane;
They'll a' prove baith sturdy and loyal,
Come dangers around them what may,
An' I, their gudebrither, M'Donald,
Shall ne'er be the last in the fray!” &c.
It took exceedingly well, and was three times encored, and there was I sitting in the gallery, applauding as much as any body. My vanity prompted me to tell a jolly Yorkshire manufacturer that night that I was the author of the song. He laughed excessively at my assumption, and told the landlady that he took me for a half-crazed Scots pedlar.
Another anecdote concerning this song I may mention; and I do it with no little pride, as it is a proof of the popularity of “Donald M'Donald” among a class, to inspire whom with devotion to the cause of their country was at the time a matter of no little consequence. Happening upon one occasion to be in a wood in Dumfriesshire, through which wood the highroad passed, I heard a voice singing; and a turn of the road soon brought in sight a soldier, who seemed to be either travelling home upon furlough, or returning to his regiment. When the singer approached nearer I distinguished the notes of my own song of “Donald M'Donald.” As the lad proceeded with his song, he got more and more into the spirit of the thing, and on coming to the end,
“An' up wi' the bonnie blue bonnet
The kilt and the feather an' a'!”
in the height of his enthusiasm, he hoisted his cap on the end
of his staff, and danced it about triumphantly. I stood
ensconced behind a tree, and heard and saw all without being
observed.
The kilt and the feather an' a'!”
By a Bush.
By a bush on yonder brae,
Where the airy Benger rises,
Sandy tun'd his artless lay;
Thus he sung the lee-lang day:
“Thou shalt ever be my theme,
Yarrow, winding down the hollow,
With thy bonny sister stream
Sweeping through the broom so yellow.
On these banks thy waters lave,
Oft the warrior found a grave.
Where the airy Benger rises,
Sandy tun'd his artless lay;
Thus he sung the lee-lang day:
“Thou shalt ever be my theme,
Yarrow, winding down the hollow,
With thy bonny sister stream
Sweeping through the broom so yellow.
On these banks thy waters lave,
Oft the warrior found a grave.
284
“Oft on thee the silent wain
Saw the Douglas' banners streaming;
Oft on thee the hunter train
Sought the shelter'd deer in vain;
Oft, in thy green dells and bowers,
Swains have seen the fairies riding;
Oft the snell and sleety showers
Found in thee the warrior hiding.
Many a wild and bloody scene
On thy bonnie banks have been.
Saw the Douglas' banners streaming;
Oft on thee the hunter train
Sought the shelter'd deer in vain;
Oft, in thy green dells and bowers,
Swains have seen the fairies riding;
Oft the snell and sleety showers
Found in thee the warrior hiding.
Many a wild and bloody scene
On thy bonnie banks have been.
“Now, the days of discord gane,
Henry's kindness keeps us cheery;
While his heart shall warm remain,
Dule will beg a hauld in vain.
Bloodless now, in many hues
Flow'rets bloom, our hills adorning;
There my Jenny milks her ewes,
Fresh an' ruddy as the morning:
Mary Scott could ne'er outvie
Jenny's hue an' glancing eye.
Henry's kindness keeps us cheery;
While his heart shall warm remain,
Dule will beg a hauld in vain.
Bloodless now, in many hues
Flow'rets bloom, our hills adorning;
There my Jenny milks her ewes,
Fresh an' ruddy as the morning:
Mary Scott could ne'er outvie
Jenny's hue an' glancing eye.
“Wind, my Yarrow, down the howe,
Forming bows o' dazzling siller;
Meet thy titty yont the knowe:
Wi' my love I'll join like you.
Flow, my Ettrick, it was thee
Into life wha first did drap me:
Thee I've sung, an' when I dee
Thou wilt lend a sod to hap me.
Passing swains shall say, and weep,
Here our Shepherd lies asleep.”
Forming bows o' dazzling siller;
Meet thy titty yont the knowe:
Wi' my love I'll join like you.
Flow, my Ettrick, it was thee
Into life wha first did drap me:
Thee I've sung, an' when I dee
Thou wilt lend a sod to hap me.
Passing swains shall say, and weep,
Here our Shepherd lies asleep.”
Prince Owen and the Seer.
“O say, mighty Owen, why beams thy bright eye?
And why shakes thy plume, when the winds are so still?
What means the loud blast of the bugle so nigh,
And the wild warlike music I hear on the hill?”
“We are free, thou old seer; the Britons are free!
Our foes have all fallen or shrunk from our view;
And free as the bird of the mountain are we,
The roe of the forest, or fish of the sea.
My country! my brethren! my joy is for you;
My country! my brethren! my country! my brethren!
My country! my brethren! my joy is for you.”
And why shakes thy plume, when the winds are so still?
What means the loud blast of the bugle so nigh,
And the wild warlike music I hear on the hill?”
“We are free, thou old seer; the Britons are free!
Our foes have all fallen or shrunk from our view;
And free as the bird of the mountain are we,
The roe of the forest, or fish of the sea.
My country! my brethren! my joy is for you;
My country! my brethren! my country! my brethren!
My country! my brethren! my joy is for you.”
“Brave Owen, my old heart is fired by thine!
My dim eyes they glisten like tears of the morn.
Thy valour us guarded; thy wisdom has warded
The danger that threatened to lay us forlorn.
And when you and I have sunk into our graves;
When ages o'er ages time's standard shall rear;
When the bards have forgot o'er our ashes to weep,
When they scarcely can point out the place where we sleep;
That freedom shall flourish we've purchas'd so dear;
That freedom shall flourish, &c.
My dim eyes they glisten like tears of the morn.
Thy valour us guarded; thy wisdom has warded
The danger that threatened to lay us forlorn.
And when you and I have sunk into our graves;
When ages o'er ages time's standard shall rear;
When the bards have forgot o'er our ashes to weep,
When they scarcely can point out the place where we sleep;
That freedom shall flourish we've purchas'd so dear;
That freedom shall flourish, &c.
“The Arm that created our shores and our glens,
Design'd they unconquer'd should ever remain;
That Power, who inspired the hearts of our clans,
Design'd them, inviolate their rights to maintain.
Our castle the mountain; our bulwark the wave;
True courage and jealousy, buckler and shield;
We'll laugh at the force of the world combin'd,
And oppression shall fly like the cloud in the wind.
But the isles and the ocean to Britain must yield;
The isles and the ocean; the isles and the ocean;
The isles and the ocean to Britons must yield.”
Design'd they unconquer'd should ever remain;
That Power, who inspired the hearts of our clans,
Design'd them, inviolate their rights to maintain.
Our castle the mountain; our bulwark the wave;
True courage and jealousy, buckler and shield;
We'll laugh at the force of the world combin'd,
And oppression shall fly like the cloud in the wind.
But the isles and the ocean to Britain must yield;
The isles and the ocean; the isles and the ocean;
The isles and the ocean to Britons must yield.”
My Native Isle.
And must I leave my native isle!—
Fair friendship's eye, affection's smile;
The mountain sport, the angler's wile,
The birch an' weeping willow, O!
The Highland glen, the healthy gale,
The gloaming glee, the evening tale;
And must I leave my native vale,
And brave the boisterous billow, O?
Fair friendship's eye, affection's smile;
The mountain sport, the angler's wile,
The birch an' weeping willow, O!
The Highland glen, the healthy gale,
The gloaming glee, the evening tale;
And must I leave my native vale,
And brave the boisterous billow, O?
How sweet to climb the mountain high,
While dawning gilds the eastern sky;
Or in the shade at noon to lie
Upon the fell so airy, O.
And, when the sun is sinking low,
Through woodland walks to wander slow;
Or kindly in my plaid to rowe
My gentle rosy Mary, O.
While dawning gilds the eastern sky;
Or in the shade at noon to lie
Upon the fell so airy, O.
And, when the sun is sinking low,
Through woodland walks to wander slow;
Or kindly in my plaid to rowe
My gentle rosy Mary, O.
My native isle! I love thee well;
I love thee more than I can tell:
Accept my last, my sad farewell;
In thee I may not tarry, O.
What makes my bosom heave so high?
What makes the dew-drop gild mine eye?
Alas! that dew would quickly dry,
If 'twere not for my Mary, O!
I love thee more than I can tell:
Accept my last, my sad farewell;
In thee I may not tarry, O.
What makes my bosom heave so high?
What makes the dew-drop gild mine eye?
Alas! that dew would quickly dry,
If 'twere not for my Mary, O!
O youth, thou season light and gay,
How soon thy pleasures melt away!
Like dream dispell'd by dawning day,
Or waking wild vagary, O.
The thrush shall quit the woodland dale,
The lav'rock cease the dawn to hail,
Ere I forget my native vale,
Or my sweet lovely Mary, O!
How soon thy pleasures melt away!
Like dream dispell'd by dawning day,
Or waking wild vagary, O.
The thrush shall quit the woodland dale,
The lav'rock cease the dawn to hail,
Ere I forget my native vale,
Or my sweet lovely Mary, O!
285
Honest Duncan.
Now wha is yon comes o'er the knowe,
Sae stalwart an' sae brawny?
His hurchin beard, an' towzy pow,
Bespeak some Highland Sawney.
We'll hurt his spirit if we can,
Wi' taunt or jibe uncivil;
Before I saw a Highlandman,
I'd rather see the devil.
Sae stalwart an' sae brawny?
His hurchin beard, an' towzy pow,
Bespeak some Highland Sawney.
We'll hurt his spirit if we can,
Wi' taunt or jibe uncivil;
Before I saw a Highlandman,
I'd rather see the devil.
“Now wha are ye wi' tartan trews?
Or where hae ye been reaving?
Nae doubt to cleed your naked houghs
In England ye've been thieving.”
“She no pe heed ou, shentlemen,
Te whisky mak you trunken;
But, when I'm in the Athol glen,
Te ca' me 'onest Duncan.”
Or where hae ye been reaving?
Nae doubt to cleed your naked houghs
In England ye've been thieving.”
“She no pe heed ou, shentlemen,
Te whisky mak you trunken;
But, when I'm in the Athol glen,
Te ca' me 'onest Duncan.”
“An honest man in Athol glen!
We fear there's ne'er anither.
Nae wonder ye're sae lank an' lean,
Where a' are knaves thegither.”
“Hu, shay, Cot tamn, say tat akain!
Of her you might pe speakin';
But try misca' my countrymen,
I'll smash you like a breaken.”
We fear there's ne'er anither.
Nae wonder ye're sae lank an' lean,
Where a' are knaves thegither.”
“Hu, shay, Cot tamn, say tat akain!
Of her you might pe speakin';
But try misca' my countrymen,
I'll smash you like a breaken.”
From words the blows began to pass,
Stout Duncan sair laid on 'em;
At length he tumbled on the grass,
Wi' a' his faes aboon him.
But soon he rais'd his dusty brow,
An' bellow'd aiths right awfu';
Then whippit out a lang skein-dhu,
An' threaten'd things unlawfu'.
Stout Duncan sair laid on 'em;
At length he tumbled on the grass,
Wi' a' his faes aboon him.
But soon he rais'd his dusty brow,
An' bellow'd aiths right awfu';
Then whippit out a lang skein-dhu,
An' threaten'd things unlawfu'.
Then he ran here, an' he ran there,
The Highland durk sae fley'd 'em;
But Duncan chas'd, wi' hurdies bare,
An' ane by ane repaid 'em.
His Highland durk, an' heavy licks,
Soon taught them wha they strove wi';
An' he brought part o' a' their breeks
To Scotland for a trophy.
The Highland durk sae fley'd 'em;
But Duncan chas'd, wi' hurdies bare,
An' ane by ane repaid 'em.
His Highland durk, an' heavy licks,
Soon taught them wha they strove wi';
An' he brought part o' a' their breeks
To Scotland for a trophy.
“Now, you at nakit doups may laugh,
An' ye'll get some to join ye;
But troth you no maun cang to scaff
At tough auld Caledony.
Pe mony lad in Athol glen
Will join you like a brither;
But should you laugh at Highlandmen,
She a' tak low thegither.”
An' ye'll get some to join ye;
But troth you no maun cang to scaff
At tough auld Caledony.
Pe mony lad in Athol glen
Will join you like a brither;
But should you laugh at Highlandmen,
She a' tak low thegither.”
Highland Laddie.
“Were ye at Drummossie moor,
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie?
Saw ye the Duke the clans o'erpower,
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie?”
“Yes, I have seen that fatal fray,
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie;
And my heart bleeds from day to day,
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie.
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie?
Saw ye the Duke the clans o'erpower,
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie?”
“Yes, I have seen that fatal fray,
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie;
And my heart bleeds from day to day,
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie.
Many a lord of high degree,
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie,
Will never more their mountains see,
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie;
Many a chief of birth and fame,
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie,
Are hunted down like savage game,
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie.
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie,
Will never more their mountains see,
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie;
Many a chief of birth and fame,
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie,
Are hunted down like savage game,
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie.
What could the remnant do but yield,
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie?
A generous chief twice gains the field,
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie.
Posterity will ne'er us blame,
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie;
But brand with blood the Brunswick name,
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie.
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie?
A generous chief twice gains the field,
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie.
Posterity will ne'er us blame,
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie;
But brand with blood the Brunswick name,
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie.
Oh may it prove for Scotland's good!
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie;
But why so drench our glens with blood?
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie.
Duke William nam'd, or yonder moor,
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie,
Will fire our blood for evermore,
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie.
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie;
But why so drench our glens with blood?
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie.
Duke William nam'd, or yonder moor,
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie,
Will fire our blood for evermore,
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie.
The Emigrant.
May morning had shed her red streamers on high,
O'er Canada, frowning all pale on the sky;
Still dazzling and white was the robe that she wore,
Except where the mountain-wave dash'd on the shore.
Far heav'd the young sun, like a lamp, on the wave,
And loud scream'd the gull o'er his foam-beaten cave,
When an old lyart swain on a headland stood high,
With the staff in his hand, and the tear in his eye.
O'er Canada, frowning all pale on the sky;
Still dazzling and white was the robe that she wore,
Except where the mountain-wave dash'd on the shore.
Far heav'd the young sun, like a lamp, on the wave,
And loud scream'd the gull o'er his foam-beaten cave,
When an old lyart swain on a headland stood high,
With the staff in his hand, and the tear in his eye.
His old tartan plaid, and his bonnet so blue,
Declar'd from what country his lineage he drew;
His visage so wan, and his accents so low,
Announc'd the companion of sorrow and woe.
“Ah welcome, thou sun, to thy canopy grand,
And to me! for thou com'st from my dear native land!
Again dost thou leave that sweet isle of the sea,
To beam on these winter-bound valleys and me!
Declar'd from what country his lineage he drew;
His visage so wan, and his accents so low,
Announc'd the companion of sorrow and woe.
“Ah welcome, thou sun, to thy canopy grand,
And to me! for thou com'st from my dear native land!
Again dost thou leave that sweet isle of the sea,
To beam on these winter-bound valleys and me!
How sweet in my own native valley to roam!
Each face was a friend's and each house was a home;
To drag our live thousands from river or bay;
Or chase the dun deer o'er the mountain so gray.
Here daily I wander to sigh on the steep,
My old bosom friend was laid low in yon deep;
My family and friends, to extremity driven,
Contending for life both with earth and with heaven.
Each face was a friend's and each house was a home;
To drag our live thousands from river or bay;
Or chase the dun deer o'er the mountain so gray.
Here daily I wander to sigh on the steep,
My old bosom friend was laid low in yon deep;
My family and friends, to extremity driven,
Contending for life both with earth and with heaven.
286
My country, they said—but they told me a lie—
Her valleys were barren, inclement her sky;
Even now in the glens, 'mong her mountains so blue
The primrose and daisy are blooming in dew.
How could she expel from those mountains of heath
The clans who maintain'd them in danger and death!
Who ever were ready the broad-sword to draw
In defence of her honour, her freedom, and law.
Her valleys were barren, inclement her sky;
Even now in the glens, 'mong her mountains so blue
The primrose and daisy are blooming in dew.
How could she expel from those mountains of heath
The clans who maintain'd them in danger and death!
Who ever were ready the broad-sword to draw
In defence of her honour, her freedom, and law.
We stood by our Stuart, till one fatal blow
Loos'd ruin triumphant, and valour laid low:
Our chief, whom we trusted, and liv'd but to please,
Then turn'd us adrift to the storms and the seas.
O gratitude! where did'st thou linger the while?
What region afar is illum'd with thy smile?
That orb of the sky for a home will I crave,
When yon sun rises red on the Emigrant's grave.”
Loos'd ruin triumphant, and valour laid low:
Our chief, whom we trusted, and liv'd but to please,
Then turn'd us adrift to the storms and the seas.
O gratitude! where did'st thou linger the while?
What region afar is illum'd with thy smile?
That orb of the sky for a home will I crave,
When yon sun rises red on the Emigrant's grave.”
The British Tar.
I'm a jolly British tar,
Pull away, noble boys!
I'm a jolly British tar,
Pull away.
I'm a jolly British tar
Who have borne her thunders far,
Yet I'm here without a scar;
Pull away, noble boys!
Yet I'm here without a scar,
Pull away.
Pull away, noble boys!
I'm a jolly British tar,
Pull away.
I'm a jolly British tar
Who have borne her thunders far,
Yet I'm here without a scar;
Pull away, noble boys!
Yet I'm here without a scar,
Pull away.
I've with Nelson fac'd the foe,
Pull away, noble boys!
I've with Nelson fac'd the foe;
Pull away.
I've with Nelson fac'd the foe;
Quite enough to let you know
That I conquer where I go,
Pull away, noble boys!
Britons conquer where they go,
Pull away.
Pull away, noble boys!
I've with Nelson fac'd the foe;
Pull away.
I've with Nelson fac'd the foe;
Quite enough to let you know
That I conquer where I go,
Pull away, noble boys!
Britons conquer where they go,
Pull away.
We've stood many a dreadful shock,
Pull away, noble boys!
We've stood many a dreadful shock,
Pull away.
We've stood many a dreadful shock;
Like the thunder-stricken rock,
We've been splinter'd—never broke!
Pull away.
Pull away, noble boys!
We've stood many a dreadful shock,
Pull away.
We've stood many a dreadful shock;
Like the thunder-stricken rock,
We've been splinter'd—never broke!
Pull away.
Round the earth our glory rings,
Pull away, noble boys!
Round the earth our glory rings,
Pull away.
Round the earth our glory rings,
At the thought my bosom springs;
Of the ocean we're the kings,
Pull away, noble boys!
Of the ocean we're the kings,
Pull away.
Pull away, noble boys!
Round the earth our glory rings,
Pull away.
Round the earth our glory rings,
At the thought my bosom springs;
Of the ocean we're the kings,
Pull away, noble boys!
Of the ocean we're the kings,
Pull away.
Caledonia.
Caledonia! thou land of the mountain and rock,
Of the ocean, the mist, and the wind—
Thou land of the torrent, the pine, and the oak,
Of the roebuck, the hart, and the hind:
Though bare are thy cliffs, and though barren thy glens,
Though bleak thy dun islands appear,
Yet kind are the hearts, and undaunted the clans,
That roam on these mountains so drear!
Of the ocean, the mist, and the wind—
Thou land of the torrent, the pine, and the oak,
Of the roebuck, the hart, and the hind:
Though bare are thy cliffs, and though barren thy glens,
Though bleak thy dun islands appear,
Yet kind are the hearts, and undaunted the clans,
That roam on these mountains so drear!
A foe from abroad, or a tyrant at home,
Could never thy ardour restrain;
The marshall'd array of imperial Rome
Essay'd thy proud spirit in vain.
Firm seat of religion, of valour, of truth,
Of genius unshackled and free,
The Muses have left all the vales of the south,
My loved Caledonia, for thee!
Could never thy ardour restrain;
The marshall'd array of imperial Rome
Essay'd thy proud spirit in vain.
Firm seat of religion, of valour, of truth,
Of genius unshackled and free,
The Muses have left all the vales of the south,
My loved Caledonia, for thee!
Sweet land of the bay and the wild-winding deeps,
Where loveliness slumbers at even,
While far in the depth of the blue water sleeps
A calm little motionless heaven!
Thou land of the valley, the moor, and the hill,
Of the storm and the proud rolling wave—
Yes, thou art the land of fair liberty still,
And the land of my forefathers' grave!
Where loveliness slumbers at even,
While far in the depth of the blue water sleeps
A calm little motionless heaven!
Thou land of the valley, the moor, and the hill,
Of the storm and the proud rolling wave—
Yes, thou art the land of fair liberty still,
And the land of my forefathers' grave!
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