 | Miscellaneous songs and poems |  |
66
MISS BLAMIRE'S MISCELLANEOUS SONGS.
THE TRAVELLER'S RETURN.
When silent time, wi' lightly foot,
Had trod on thirty years,
I sought again my native land
Wi' mony hopes and fears:
Wha kens gin the dear friends I left
May still continue mine?
Or gin I e'er again shall taste
The joys I left langsyne?
Had trod on thirty years,
I sought again my native land
Wi' mony hopes and fears:
Wha kens gin the dear friends I left
May still continue mine?
Or gin I e'er again shall taste
The joys I left langsyne?
As I drew near my ancient pile,
My heart beat a' the way;
Ilk place I pass'd seem'd yet to speak
O' some dear former day;
Those days that follow'd me afar,
Those happy days o' mine,
Whilk made me think the present joys
A' naething to langsyne!
My heart beat a' the way;
Ilk place I pass'd seem'd yet to speak
O' some dear former day;
Those days that follow'd me afar,
Those happy days o' mine,
Whilk made me think the present joys
A' naething to langsyne!
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The ivy'd tower now met my eye,
Where minstrels used to blaw;
Nae friend stepp'd forth wi' open hand,
Nae weel-kenn'd face I saw;
Till Donald totter'd to the door,
Wham I left in his prime,
And grat to see the lad return
He bore about langsyne.
Where minstrels used to blaw;
Nae friend stepp'd forth wi' open hand,
Nae weel-kenn'd face I saw;
Till Donald totter'd to the door,
Wham I left in his prime,
And grat to see the lad return
He bore about langsyne.
I ran to ilka dear friend's room,
As if to find them there,
I knew where ilk ane used to sit,
And hang o'er mony a chair;
Till soft remembrance threw a veil
Across these een o' mine,
I clos'd the door, and sobb'd aloud,
To think on auld langsyne!
As if to find them there,
I knew where ilk ane used to sit,
And hang o'er mony a chair;
Till soft remembrance threw a veil
Across these een o' mine,
I clos'd the door, and sobb'd aloud,
To think on auld langsyne!
Some pensy chiels, a new sprung race
Wad next their welcome pay,
Wha shudder'd at my Gothic wa's,
And wish'd my groves away:
“Cut, cut,” they cried, “those aged elms,
Lay low yon mournfu' pine:”
Na! na! our fathers' names grow there,
Memorials o' langsyne.
Wad next their welcome pay,
Wha shudder'd at my Gothic wa's,
And wish'd my groves away:
“Cut, cut,” they cried, “those aged elms,
Lay low yon mournfu' pine:”
Na! na! our fathers' names grow there,
Memorials o' langsyne.
To wean me frae these waefu' thoughts,
They took me to the town;
But sair on ilka weel-kenn'd face
I miss'd the youthfu' bloom.
At balls they pointed to a nymph
Wham a' declar'd divine;
But sure her mother's blushing cheeks
Were fairer far langsyne!
They took me to the town;
But sair on ilka weel-kenn'd face
I miss'd the youthfu' bloom.
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Wham a' declar'd divine;
But sure her mother's blushing cheeks
Were fairer far langsyne!
In vain I sought in music's sound
To find that magic art,
Which oft in Scotland's ancient lays
Has thrill'd through a' my heart:
The sang had mony an artfu' turn;
My ear confess'd 'twas fine;
But miss'd the simple melody
I listen'd to langsyne.
To find that magic art,
Which oft in Scotland's ancient lays
Has thrill'd through a' my heart:
The sang had mony an artfu' turn;
My ear confess'd 'twas fine;
But miss'd the simple melody
I listen'd to langsyne.
Ye sons to comrades o' my youth,
Forgie an auld man's spleen,
Wha 'midst your gayest scenes still mourns
The days he ance has seen:
When time has past, and seasons fled,
Your hearts will feel like mine;
And aye the sang will maist delight
That minds ye o' langsyne!
Forgie an auld man's spleen,
Wha 'midst your gayest scenes still mourns
The days he ance has seen:
When time has past, and seasons fled,
Your hearts will feel like mine;
And aye the sang will maist delight
That minds ye o' langsyne!
71
AND YE SHALL WALK IN SILK ATTIRE.
“And ye shall walk in silk attire,
And siller hae to spare,
Gin ye'll consent to be his bride,
Nor think o' Donald mair.”
O wha wad buy a silken goun
Wi' a poor broken heart!
Or what's to me a siller croun,
Gin frae my love I part!
And siller hae to spare,
Gin ye'll consent to be his bride,
Nor think o' Donald mair.”
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Wi' a poor broken heart!
Or what's to me a siller croun,
Gin frae my love I part!
The mind wha's every wish is pure
Far dearer is to me;
And ere I'm forc'd to break my faith
I'll lay me doun an' dee!
For I hae pledg'd my virgin troth
Brave Donald's fate to share;
And he has gi'en to me his heart,
Wi' a' its virtues rare.
Far dearer is to me;
And ere I'm forc'd to break my faith
I'll lay me doun an' dee!
For I hae pledg'd my virgin troth
Brave Donald's fate to share;
And he has gi'en to me his heart,
Wi' a' its virtues rare.
His gentle manners wan my heart,
He gratefu' took the gift;
Could I but think to seek it back—
It wad be waur than theft!
For langest life can ne'er repay
The love he bears to me;
And ere I'm forc'd to break my troth
I'll lay me doun an' dee.
He gratefu' took the gift;
Could I but think to seek it back—
It wad be waur than theft!
For langest life can ne'er repay
The love he bears to me;
And ere I'm forc'd to break my troth
I'll lay me doun an' dee.
74
THE WAEFU' HEART.
Gin living worth could win my heart,
You would nae speak in vain;
But in the darksome grave it's laid,
Never to rise again.
My waefu' heart lies low wi' his,
Whose heart was only mine;
And, O! what a heart was that to lose,—
But I maun no repine.
You would nae speak in vain;
But in the darksome grave it's laid,
Never to rise again.
My waefu' heart lies low wi' his,
Whose heart was only mine;
And, O! what a heart was that to lose,—
But I maun no repine.
Yet, O! gin heaven in mercy soon
Would grant the boon I crave,
And take this life, now naething worth,
Since Jamie's in his grave.
And see! his gentle spirit comes
To show me on my way;
Surpris'd, nae doubt, I still am here,—
Sair wondering at my stay.
Would grant the boon I crave,
And take this life, now naething worth,
Since Jamie's in his grave.
And see! his gentle spirit comes
To show me on my way;
Surpris'd, nae doubt, I still am here,—
Sair wondering at my stay.
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I come, I come, my Jamie dear;
And O! wi' what good will
I follow wheresoe'er ye lead!
Ye canna lead to ill,
She said; and soon a deadly pale
Her faded cheek possess'd;
Her waefu' heart forgot to beat,—
Her sorrows sunk to rest.
And O! wi' what good will
I follow wheresoe'er ye lead!
Ye canna lead to ill,
She said; and soon a deadly pale
Her faded cheek possess'd;
Her waefu' heart forgot to beat,—
Her sorrows sunk to rest.
I'M TIBBY FOWLER O' THE GLEN.
I'm Tibby Fowler o' the glen,
And nae great sight to see;
But 'cause I'm rich, these plaguy men
Will never let me be.
And nae great sight to see;
But 'cause I'm rich, these plaguy men
Will never let me be.
There's bonny Maggy o' the brae
As gude as lass can be;
But 'cause I'm rich, these plaguy men
Hae a' run wud for me.
As gude as lass can be;
But 'cause I'm rich, these plaguy men
Hae a' run wud for me.
There's Nabob Jock comes strutting ben,
He think's the day's his ain;
But were he a' hung round wi' goud,
He'd find himsel mista'en.
He think's the day's his ain;
But were he a' hung round wi' goud,
He'd find himsel mista'en.
There's Wat aye tries to glowre and sigh
That I may guess the cause;
But, Jenny-like, I hate to spell
Dumb Roger's hums and ha's.
That I may guess the cause;
But, Jenny-like, I hate to spell
Dumb Roger's hums and ha's.
76
There's grinning Pate laughs a' day through,
The blithest lad you'll see;
But troth he laughs sae out o' place,
He'd laugh gin I did dee.
The blithest lad you'll see;
But troth he laughs sae out o' place,
He'd laugh gin I did dee.
There's Sandy, he's sae fou o' lear,
To talk wi' him is vain;
For gin we a' should say 'twas fair,
He'd prove that it did rain.
To talk wi' him is vain;
For gin we a' should say 'twas fair,
He'd prove that it did rain.
Then Jamie frets for good and ill,
'Bout sma' things maks a phrase;
And fears and frets, and things o' nought
Ding o'er his joyfu' days.
'Bout sma' things maks a phrase;
And fears and frets, and things o' nought
Ding o'er his joyfu' days.
The priests and lawyers ding me dead,
But gude kens wha's the best;
And then comes in the soldier brave,
And drums out a' the rest.
But gude kens wha's the best;
And then comes in the soldier brave,
And drums out a' the rest.
The country squire and city beau,
I've had them on their knee;
But weel I ken to goud they bow,
And no downright to me.
I've had them on their knee;
But weel I ken to goud they bow,
And no downright to me.
Should like o' them come ilka day,
They may wear out the knee;
And grow to the groun' as fast as stane,
But they shall ne'er get me.
They may wear out the knee;
And grow to the groun' as fast as stane,
But they shall ne'er get me.
81
WHEN SEVEREST FOES IMPENDING.
When severest foes impending
Seem to threaten dangers near,
Unexpected joys attending
Ease your mind and banish care.
Though to fortune's frowns subjected,
And depress'd by anxious care,
Servile souls are soon dejected,—
Noble minds will ne'er despair!
Seem to threaten dangers near,
Unexpected joys attending
Ease your mind and banish care.
Though to fortune's frowns subjected,
And depress'd by anxious care,
Servile souls are soon dejected,—
Noble minds will ne'er despair!
Prithee, friend, why then so serious?
Nought is got by grief or care;
Melancholy grows imperious
When it comes to domineer.
Be it business, love, or sorrow,
That does now distress thy mind,
Bid them call again to-morrow,
We to mirth are now inclin'd.
Nought is got by grief or care;
Melancholy grows imperious
When it comes to domineer.
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That does now distress thy mind,
Bid them call again to-morrow,
We to mirth are now inclin'd.
111
TO-MORROW.
WRITTEN DURING SICKNESS.
How sweet to the heart is the thought of to-morrow
When Hope's fairy pictures bright colours display;
How sweet when we can from Futurity borrow
A balm for the griefs which afflict us to-day!
When Hope's fairy pictures bright colours display;
How sweet when we can from Futurity borrow
A balm for the griefs which afflict us to-day!
When wearisome sickness has taught me to languish
For Health, and the blessings it bears on its wing;
Let me hope (ah! how soon would it lessen my anguish),
That to-morrow will ease and serenity bring.
For Health, and the blessings it bears on its wing;
Let me hope (ah! how soon would it lessen my anguish),
That to-morrow will ease and serenity bring.
The pilgrim sojourning alone, unbefriended,
Hopes, joyful, to-morrow his wanderings shall cease;
That at home, and with care sympathetic attended,
He shall rest unmolested, and slumber in peace.
Hopes, joyful, to-morrow his wanderings shall cease;
That at home, and with care sympathetic attended,
He shall rest unmolested, and slumber in peace.
112
When six days of labour each other succeeding,
The husbandman toils with his spirits depress'd;
What pleasure to think, as the last is receding,
To-morrow will be a sweet Sabbath of rest!
The husbandman toils with his spirits depress'd;
What pleasure to think, as the last is receding,
To-morrow will be a sweet Sabbath of rest!
And when the vain shadows of Time are retiring,
When life is fast fleeting, and death is in sight,
The Christian believing, exulting, expiring,
Beholds a to-morrow of endless delight!
When life is fast fleeting, and death is in sight,
The Christian believing, exulting, expiring,
Beholds a to-morrow of endless delight!
The Infidel then sees no joyous to-morrow,
Yet he knows that his moments must hasten away;
Poor wretch! can he feel without heart-rending sorrow,
That his joys and his life must expire with to-day!
Yet he knows that his moments must hasten away;
Poor wretch! can he feel without heart-rending sorrow,
That his joys and his life must expire with to-day!
115
MISS GILPIN'S SONG.
Let lords and fine ladies look round them and see
If e'er ane amang them be blyther than me;
I sit at my wheely and sing thro' the day,
And ca't my ain warld that runs rolling away.
If e'er ane amang them be blyther than me;
I sit at my wheely and sing thro' the day,
And ca't my ain warld that runs rolling away.
Sae twirl thee round, wheely, I'll sing while I may;
I'll try to be happy the hale o' the day:
If we wadna mak griefs o' bit trisles sae sma',
The warld wad run smoothly roun', roun' wi' us a'.
I'll try to be happy the hale o' the day:
If we wadna mak griefs o' bit trisles sae sma',
The warld wad run smoothly roun', roun' wi' us a'.
There's ups and downs in it I see very plain,
For the spoke that's at bottom, gets topmost again;
Sae twirl thee round, wheely, I see how things turn,
And I see too 'tis folly for mortals to mourn.
For the spoke that's at bottom, gets topmost again;
Sae twirl thee round, wheely, I see how things turn,
And I see too 'tis folly for mortals to mourn.
Sae twirl thee round, wheely, &c.
116
That life is a spinster I often have read,
And too fine she draws out her spider-like thread;
A breath can destroy what's so slenderly made,
And life for her trouble has seldom been paid.
And too fine she draws out her spider-like thread;
A breath can destroy what's so slenderly made,
And life for her trouble has seldom been paid.
Sae twirl thee round, wheely, &c.
'TIS FOR GLORY WE FIGHT.
Come join us, brave countrymen, now is the time
For Englishmen's courage and valour to shine;
O come, take up arms, 'tis for glory we fight,
To punish our foes and our freedom to right.
For Englishmen's courage and valour to shine;
O come, take up arms, 'tis for glory we fight,
To punish our foes and our freedom to right.
If a soldier in battle should happen to fall,
He's lov'd, he's lamented, he's honoured by all;
Or if he by chance leave a limb in the field
There's Chelsea and pension misfortune to shield.
He's lov'd, he's lamented, he's honoured by all;
Or if he by chance leave a limb in the field
There's Chelsea and pension misfortune to shield.
But come turn your thoughts to the prospect of peace
Our watchings, our marchings, our dangers shall cease,
In barracks our wants are all fully supplied
Sufficient for nature we care not beside.
Our watchings, our marchings, our dangers shall cease,
In barracks our wants are all fully supplied
Sufficient for nature we care not beside.
And when to a town or a village we come
The lassies all flock to the beat of the drum;
Their honest old sweethearts they set them at nought,
They slight even a laird for a bonny red-coat.
The lassies all flock to the beat of the drum;
Their honest old sweethearts they set them at nought,
They slight even a laird for a bonny red-coat.
We range thro' the world and we vary the scene
We please where we go from fourscore to fifteen;
And, then, when our locks look respectably gray,
“There goes an old veteran, O bless him,” they say.
We please where we go from fourscore to fifteen;
And, then, when our locks look respectably gray,
“There goes an old veteran, O bless him,” they say.
117
THE BANKS OF YARROW.
Why sighs the heart midst wealth and store?
Why all the anguish of the great?
Sure riches can elude the sigh,
And bribe the tear to shun the eye.
If so let's grasp the golden store,
And ev'ry moment gather more;
While milkmaids careless of to-morrow,
Are wand'ring on the banks of Yarrow.
Why all the anguish of the great?
Sure riches can elude the sigh,
And bribe the tear to shun the eye.
If so let's grasp the golden store,
And ev'ry moment gather more;
While milkmaids careless of to-morrow,
Are wand'ring on the banks of Yarrow.
Yet riches ne'er should be denied
A source of bliss if right applied;
For misery on her flock-worn bed
May sure be built a warmer shed;
And every ill that want can bring
'Tis happy wealth's to blunt the sting;
To help poor love to gain his marrow
And make a paradise on Yarrow.
A source of bliss if right applied;
For misery on her flock-worn bed
May sure be built a warmer shed;
And every ill that want can bring
'Tis happy wealth's to blunt the sting;
To help poor love to gain his marrow
And make a paradise on Yarrow.
If happiness you'd keep in view
The paths of splendour ne'er pursue;
The frowns of fortune likewise shun,
Or else you strive to be undone;
Watch o'er the feelings of the heart—
Forbid, nor yet indulge the smart:
Give much to joy—some tears to sorrow,
And make the mind the banks of Yarrow.
The paths of splendour ne'er pursue;
The frowns of fortune likewise shun,
Or else you strive to be undone;
Watch o'er the feelings of the heart—
Forbid, nor yet indulge the smart:
Give much to joy—some tears to sorrow,
And make the mind the banks of Yarrow.
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