 | Poems and songs |  |
103
SONGS.
HELEN'S LAMENT.
The sun in the west fa's to rest in the e'ening,
Ilk morning blinks cheerfu' upon the green lea,
But, ah! on the pillow o' sorrow aye leaning,
Nae morning, nae e'ening, brings pleasure to me.
O waefu' the parting, whan, smiling at danger,
Young Allan left Scotia to meet wi' the fae!
Cauld, cauld now he lies in a land amang strangers,
Frae friends an' frae Helen for ever away.
Ilk morning blinks cheerfu' upon the green lea,
But, ah! on the pillow o' sorrow aye leaning,
Nae morning, nae e'ening, brings pleasure to me.
O waefu' the parting, whan, smiling at danger,
Young Allan left Scotia to meet wi' the fae!
Cauld, cauld now he lies in a land amang strangers,
Frae friends an' frae Helen for ever away.
As the aik on the mountain resists the blast rairing,
Sae did he the brunt o' the battle sustain,
Till treachery arrested his courage sae daring,
An' laid him pale, lifeless, upon the drear plain.
Cauld Winter the flow'ret divests o' its cleeding,
In Simmer again it blooms bonny to see;
But naething, alas! can e'er heal my heart bleeding,
Drear Winter remaineth for ever wi' me.
Sae did he the brunt o' the battle sustain,
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An' laid him pale, lifeless, upon the drear plain.
Cauld Winter the flow'ret divests o' its cleeding,
In Simmer again it blooms bonny to see;
But naething, alas! can e'er heal my heart bleeding,
Drear Winter remaineth for ever wi' me.
105
BEAUTY'S BLOSSOM.
Sure my Jean is beauty's blossom,
Breathing sweets in ilka airt;
She's the tenant o' my bosom,
Frae that bower she'll ne'er depart.
Sweet the charm her looks discover,
In her breast what beauties lie,
Frae a fond an' constant lover
Wringing mony a deep-felt sigh.
Breathing sweets in ilka airt;
She's the tenant o' my bosom,
Frae that bower she'll ne'er depart.
Sweet the charm her looks discover,
In her breast what beauties lie,
Frae a fond an' constant lover
Wringing mony a deep-felt sigh.
I hae seen the floweret springing
Gaily o'er the scented lea,
I hae heard the mavis singing
On yon spreading hawthorn tree;
But, my Jeanie, peerless dearie,
She's the flower attracts my ee;
Whan she tunes her voice sae cheerie,
She's the mavis dear to me.
Gaily o'er the scented lea,
I hae heard the mavis singing
On yon spreading hawthorn tree;
But, my Jeanie, peerless dearie,
She's the flower attracts my ee;
Whan she tunes her voice sae cheerie,
She's the mavis dear to me.
106
SONG.
[The mists o' love dwell on my soul]
The mists o' love dwell on my soul,
An' dreary prospects fill my ee;
The mists o' love dwell on my soul,
Nae beam o' hope remains wi' me:
For Helen, fairest o' the fair,
On flowery brae or broomwood shaw,
Turns—turns frae me, by riches lured;
Ah! turns frae me her heart awa.
An' dreary prospects fill my ee;
The mists o' love dwell on my soul,
Nae beam o' hope remains wi' me:
For Helen, fairest o' the fair,
On flowery brae or broomwood shaw,
Turns—turns frae me, by riches lured;
Ah! turns frae me her heart awa.
O Helen fair, why didst thou smile?
Why make this breast wi' anguish burn?
Why didst thou rob me o' that peace
Which never, never will return?
Yet, Helen, sweetly pass thy days;
Nae storm invade that heart o' thine.
This breast for thee shall heave a sigh,
A tear bedim this ee o' mine.
Why make this breast wi' anguish burn?
Why didst thou rob me o' that peace
Which never, never will return?
Yet, Helen, sweetly pass thy days;
Nae storm invade that heart o' thine.
This breast for thee shall heave a sigh,
A tear bedim this ee o' mine.
107
SONG.
[There's waefu' news in yon town]
There's waefu' news in yon town,
As e'er the warld heard ava;
There's dolefu' news in yon town,
For Robbie's gane an' left them a'.
How blythe it was to see his face
Come keeking by the hallan wa'!
He ne'er was sweer to say the grace,
But now he's gane an' left them a'.
He was the lad wha made them glad,
Whanever he the reed did blaw:
The lasses there may drap a tear,
Their funny friend is now awa.
As e'er the warld heard ava;
There's dolefu' news in yon town,
For Robbie's gane an' left them a'.
How blythe it was to see his face
Come keeking by the hallan wa'!
He ne'er was sweer to say the grace,
But now he's gane an' left them a'.
He was the lad wha made them glad,
Whanever he the reed did blaw:
The lasses there may drap a tear,
Their funny friend is now awa.
108
Nae daffin now in yon town;
The browster-wife gets leave to draw
An' drink hersel, in yon town,
Sin' Robbie gaed an' left them a'.
The lawin's canny counted now,
The bell that tinkled ne'er will draw,
The King will never get his due,
Sin' Robbie gaed an' left them a'.
The squads o' chiels that lo'ed a splore
On winter e'enings, never ca';
Their blythesome moments a' are o'er,
Sin' Robbie's gane an' left them a'.
The browster-wife gets leave to draw
An' drink hersel, in yon town,
Sin' Robbie gaed an' left them a'.
The lawin's canny counted now,
The bell that tinkled ne'er will draw,
The King will never get his due,
Sin' Robbie gaed an' left them a'.
The squads o' chiels that lo'ed a splore
On winter e'enings, never ca';
Their blythesome moments a' are o'er,
Sin' Robbie's gane an' left them a'.
Frae a' the een in yon town
I see the tears o' sorrow fa';
An' weel they may, in yon town,
Nae canty sang they hear ava.
Their e'ening sky begins to lour,
The murky clouds thegither draw;
'Twas but a blink afore a shower,
Ere Robbie gaed an' left them a'.
The landwart hizzy winna speak;
Ye'll see her sitting like a craw
Amang the reek, while rattons squeak—
Her dawtit Bard is now awa.
I see the tears o' sorrow fa';
An' weel they may, in yon town,
Nae canty sang they hear ava.
Their e'ening sky begins to lour,
The murky clouds thegither draw;
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Ere Robbie gaed an' left them a'.
The landwart hizzy winna speak;
Ye'll see her sitting like a craw
Amang the reek, while rattons squeak—
Her dawtit Bard is now awa.
But could I lay my hand upon
His whistle, keenly wad I blaw,
An' screw about the auld drone,
An' lilt a lightsome spring or twa.
If it were sweetest aye whan wat,
Then wad I ripe my pouch, an' draw,
An' steep it weel amang the maut,
As lang's I'd saxpence at my ca'.
For warld's gear I dinna care;
My stock o' that is unco sma'.
Come, friend, we'll pree the barley-bree
To his braid fame that's now awa.
His whistle, keenly wad I blaw,
An' screw about the auld drone,
An' lilt a lightsome spring or twa.
If it were sweetest aye whan wat,
Then wad I ripe my pouch, an' draw,
An' steep it weel amang the maut,
As lang's I'd saxpence at my ca'.
For warld's gear I dinna care;
My stock o' that is unco sma'.
Come, friend, we'll pree the barley-bree
To his braid fame that's now awa.
110
SONG
[How sweet is the scene at the waking o' morning!]
How sweet is the scene at the waking o' morning!
How fair ilka object that lives in the view!
Dame Nature the valley an' hillock adorning,
The wild rose an' blue-bell yet wet wi' the dew.
How sweet in the morning o' life is my Anna!
Her smile's like the sunbeam that glents on the lea:
To wander an' leave the dear lassie, I canna;
Frae Truth, Love, an' Beauty, I never can flee.
How fair ilka object that lives in the view!
Dame Nature the valley an' hillock adorning,
The wild rose an' blue-bell yet wet wi' the dew.
How sweet in the morning o' life is my Anna!
Her smile's like the sunbeam that glents on the lea:
To wander an' leave the dear lassie, I canna;
Frae Truth, Love, an' Beauty, I never can flee.
O lang hae I lo'ed her, an' lo'ed her fu' dearly,
For saft is the smile o' her bonny sweet mou';
An' aft hae I read in her een, glancing clearly,
A language that bade me be constant an' true.
Then ithers may doat on their gowd an' their treasure;
For pelf, silly pelf, they may brave the rude sea;
To lo'e my sweet lassie, be mine the dear pleasure;
Wi' her let me live, an' wi' her let me die.
For saft is the smile o' her bonny sweet mou';
An' aft hae I read in her een, glancing clearly,
A language that bade me be constant an' true.
Then ithers may doat on their gowd an' their treasure;
For pelf, silly pelf, they may brave the rude sea;
To lo'e my sweet lassie, be mine the dear pleasure;
Wi' her let me live, an' wi' her let me die.
111
CAPTAIN O'KAIN.
Flow saftly, thou stream, thro' the wild-spangled valley;
O green be thy banks, ever bonny an' fair!
Sing sweetly, ye birds, as ye wanton fu' gaily,
Yet strangers to sorrow, untroubled by care.
The weary day lang
I list to your sang,
An' waste ilka moment, sad, cheerless, alane;
Each sweet little treasure
O' heart-cheering pleasure
Far fled frae my bosom wi' Captain O'Kain.
O green be thy banks, ever bonny an' fair!
Sing sweetly, ye birds, as ye wanton fu' gaily,
Yet strangers to sorrow, untroubled by care.
The weary day lang
I list to your sang,
An' waste ilka moment, sad, cheerless, alane;
Each sweet little treasure
O' heart-cheering pleasure
Far fled frae my bosom wi' Captain O'Kain.
Fu' aft on thy banks hae we pu'd the wild gowan,
An' twisted a garland beneath the hawthorn;
Ah! then each fond moment wi' pleasure was glowing,
Sweet days o' delight, which can never return!
Now ever, wae's me!
The tear fills my ee,
An' sair is my heart wi' the rigour o' pain;
Nae prospect returning
To gladden life's morning,
For green waves the willow o'er Captain O'Kain.
An' twisted a garland beneath the hawthorn;
Ah! then each fond moment wi' pleasure was glowing,
Sweet days o' delight, which can never return!
112
The tear fills my ee,
An' sair is my heart wi' the rigour o' pain;
Nae prospect returning
To gladden life's morning,
For green waves the willow o'er Captain O'Kain.
113
SONG.
[The sun gaes down the westlin sky]
The sun gaes down the westlin sky,
To take his nap at leisure;
But peerless Jeanie is the sun
That lights my soul to pleasure.
By night, by day, her bonny face,
Aye beets my bosom's fever;
By night, by day, she fills each thought,
An' lingers there for ever.
To take his nap at leisure;
But peerless Jeanie is the sun
That lights my soul to pleasure.
By night, by day, her bonny face,
Aye beets my bosom's fever;
By night, by day, she fills each thought,
An' lingers there for ever.
The rose sae gay, in flowery May,
Wad droop did she come near it;
The lily's hue, whan wet wi' dew,
Her neck can mair than peer it.
The wretch wha pines in sorrow's gloom,
Despair his bosom wringing,
What would he gie to feel like me,
To Jeanie's bosom clinging?
Wad droop did she come near it;
The lily's hue, whan wet wi' dew,
Her neck can mair than peer it.
The wretch wha pines in sorrow's gloom,
Despair his bosom wringing,
What would he gie to feel like me,
To Jeanie's bosom clinging?
114
SONG.
[As I came through Glendochart vale]
As I came through Glendochart vale,
Whare mists o'ertap the mountains gray,
A wee bit lassie met my view,
As cantily she held her way:
But O sic love each feature bore,
She made my saul wi' rapture glow!
An' aye she spake sae kind an' sweet,
I couldna keep my heart in tow.
Whare mists o'ertap the mountains gray,
A wee bit lassie met my view,
As cantily she held her way:
But O sic love each feature bore,
She made my saul wi' rapture glow!
An' aye she spake sae kind an' sweet,
I couldna keep my heart in tow.
O speak na o' your courtly queans!
My wee bit lassie fools them a':
The little cuttie's done me skaith,
She's town my thoughtless heart awa.
My wee bit lassie fools them a':
The little cuttie's done me skaith,
She's town my thoughtless heart awa.
Her smile was like the gray-e'ed morn,
Whan spreading on the mountain green;
Her voice saft as the mavis' sang;
An' sweet the twinkle o' her een:
Aboon her brow, sae bonny brent,
Her raven locks waved o'er her e'e;
An' ilka slee bewitching glance
Conveyed a dart o' love to me.
Whan spreading on the mountain green;
Her voice saft as the mavis' sang;
An' sweet the twinkle o' her een:
115
Her raven locks waved o'er her e'e;
An' ilka slee bewitching glance
Conveyed a dart o' love to me.
O speak na o' your courtly queans, &c.
The lasses fair in Scotia's isle,
Their beauties a' what tongue can tell?
But o'er the fairest o' them a'
My wee bit lassie bears the bell.
O had I never marked her smile,
Nor seen the twinkle o' her e'e!
It might na been my lot the day,
A waefu' lade o' care to dree.
Their beauties a' what tongue can tell?
But o'er the fairest o' them a'
My wee bit lassie bears the bell.
O had I never marked her smile,
Nor seen the twinkle o' her e'e!
It might na been my lot the day,
A waefu' lade o' care to dree.
O speak na o' your courtly queans, &c.
116
LOCHIE BRAES.
O MITHER, spare thy cruel wrath,
It makes my heart sae sadly sair;
Nor think that absence can remove
My heftit love for Willie fair.
Return wi' me to Lochie Braes,
To peacefu' haunts again return:
On Lochie Braes Love's ardent flame
First made my heart in anguish burn.
It makes my heart sae sadly sair;
Nor think that absence can remove
My heftit love for Willie fair.
Return wi' me to Lochie Braes,
To peacefu' haunts again return:
On Lochie Braes Love's ardent flame
First made my heart in anguish burn.
The tear aye trembles in my e'e,
The bursting sigh aft bids it fa',
Sin' thou frae faithfu' Willie's arms
Hast banished me sae far awa.
Think o' the pangs, wert thou bereft
O' the sweet bairnie on thy knee;
Then O forbear—forbear to part—
O, dinna part my love an' me!
The bursting sigh aft bids it fa',
Sin' thou frae faithfu' Willie's arms
Hast banished me sae far awa.
Think o' the pangs, wert thou bereft
O' the sweet bairnie on thy knee;
Then O forbear—forbear to part—
O, dinna part my love an' me!
117
MY ONLY JO AND DEARIE, O.
Thy cheek is o' the rose's hue,
My only jo an' dearie, O;
Thy neck is like the siller dew,
Upon the banks sae briery, O;
Thy teeth are o' the ivory,
O, sweet's the twinkle o' thine ee!
Nae joy, nae pleasure, blinks on me,
My only jo an' dearie, O.
My only jo an' dearie, O;
Thy neck is like the siller dew,
Upon the banks sae briery, O;
Thy teeth are o' the ivory,
O, sweet's the twinkle o' thine ee!
Nae joy, nae pleasure, blinks on me,
My only jo an' dearie, O.
The birdie sings upon the thorn
Its sang o' joy, fu' cheerie, O,
Rejoicing in the simmer morn,
Nae care to mak it eerie, O;
But little kens the sangster sweet,
Ought o' the care I hae to meet,
That gars my restless bosom beat,
My only jo an' dearie, O.
Its sang o' joy, fu' cheerie, O,
Rejoicing in the simmer morn,
Nae care to mak it eerie, O;
But little kens the sangster sweet,
Ought o' the care I hae to meet,
That gars my restless bosom beat,
My only jo an' dearie, O.
118
Whan we were bairnies on yon brae,
An' youth was blinking bonny, O,
Aft we wad daff the lee-lang day,
Our joys fu' sweet an' mony, O;
Aft I wad chase thee o'er the lea,
An' round about the thorny tree;
Or pu' the wild flowers a' for thee,
My only jo an' dearie, O.
An' youth was blinking bonny, O,
Aft we wad daff the lee-lang day,
Our joys fu' sweet an' mony, O;
Aft I wad chase thee o'er the lea,
An' round about the thorny tree;
Or pu' the wild flowers a' for thee,
My only jo an' dearie, O.
I hae a wish I canna tine,
'Mang a' the cares that grieve me, O;
I wish that thou wert ever mine,
An' never mair to leave me, O:
Then I wad dawt thee night an' day,
Nae ither warldly care wad hae,
Till life's warm stream forgat to play,
My only jo an' dearie, O.
'Mang a' the cares that grieve me, O;
I wish that thou wert ever mine,
An' never mair to leave me, O:
Then I wad dawt thee night an' day,
Nae ither warldly care wad hae,
Till life's warm stream forgat to play,
My only jo an' dearie, O.
119
SONG.
[O Mary, turn awa]
O Mary, turn awa
That bonny face o' thine!
O dinna, dinna shaw that breast,
That never can be mine!
Can aught o' warld's gear
Relieve my bosom's care?
Na, na! for ilka look o' thine,
Can only feed despair.
That bonny face o' thine!
O dinna, dinna shaw that breast,
That never can be mine!
Can aught o' warld's gear
Relieve my bosom's care?
Na, na! for ilka look o' thine,
Can only feed despair.
O Mary, turn awa
That bonny face o' thine!
O dinna, dinna shaw that breast,
That never can be mine!
Wi' love's severest pangs
My heart is laden sair,
An' o'er my breast the grass maun wave,
Ere I am free from care.
That bonny face o' thine!
O dinna, dinna shaw that breast,
That never can be mine!
Wi' love's severest pangs
My heart is laden sair,
An' o'er my breast the grass maun wave,
Ere I am free from care.
120
SONG.
[Now bank an' brae are clad in green]
Now bank an' brae are clad in green,
An' scattered cowslips sweetly spring;
By Girvan's fairy-haunted stream
The birdies flit on wanton wing;
By Cassillis' banks, whan e'ening fa's,
There let my Mary meet wi' me,
There catch her ilka glance o' love,
The bonny blink o' Mary's e'e.
An' scattered cowslips sweetly spring;
By Girvan's fairy-haunted stream
The birdies flit on wanton wing;
By Cassillis' banks, whan e'ening fa's,
There let my Mary meet wi' me,
There catch her ilka glance o' love,
The bonny blink o' Mary's e'e.
The chiel wha boasts o' warld's wealth
Is aften laird o' meikle care;
But Mary she is a' my ain,
An' Fortune canna gie me mair.
Then let me stray by Cassillis' banks,
Wi' her, the lassie dear to me,
An' catch her ilka glance o' love,
The bonny blink o' Mary's e'e.
Is aften laird o' meikle care;
But Mary she is a' my ain,
An' Fortune canna gie me mair.
Then let me stray by Cassillis' banks,
Wi' her, the lassie dear to me,
An' catch her ilka glance o' love,
The bonny blink o' Mary's e'e.
121
THE BRAES O' DRUMLEE.
Ere eild wi' his blatters had warsled me down,
Or reft me o' life's youthfu' bloom,
How aft hae I gane, wi' a heart louping light,
To the knowes yellow tappit wi' broom!
How aft hae I sat i' the beild o' the knowe,
While the laverock mounted sae hie,
An' the mavis sang sweet in the plantings around,
On the bonny green Braes o' Drumlee!
Or reft me o' life's youthfu' bloom,
How aft hae I gane, wi' a heart louping light,
To the knowes yellow tappit wi' broom!
How aft hae I sat i' the beild o' the knowe,
While the laverock mounted sae hie,
An' the mavis sang sweet in the plantings around,
On the bonny green Braes o' Drumlee!
But, ah! while we daff in the sunshine o' youth,
We see na the blasts that destroy;
We count na upon the fell waes that may come,
An' eithly o'ercloud a' our joy.
I saw na the fause face that Fortune can wear,
Till forced frae my country to flee,
Wi' a heart like to burst, while I sobbed “Fareweel
“To the bonny green Braes o' Drumlee!
We see na the blasts that destroy;
We count na upon the fell waes that may come,
An' eithly o'ercloud a' our joy.
I saw na the fause face that Fortune can wear,
Till forced frae my country to flee,
Wi' a heart like to burst, while I sobbed “Fareweel
“To the bonny green Braes o' Drumlee!
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“Fareweel, ye dear haunts o' the days o' my youth,
“Ye woods an' ye valleys sae fair;
“Ye'll bloom whan I wander abroad like a ghaist,
“Sair niddered wi' sorrow an' care.
“Ye woods an' ye valleys, I part wi' a sigh,
“While the flood it pours down frae my ee;
“For never again shall the tear weet my cheek,
“On the bonny green Braes o' Drumlee.
“Ye woods an' ye valleys sae fair;
“Ye'll bloom whan I wander abroad like a ghaist,
“Sair niddered wi' sorrow an' care.
“Ye woods an' ye valleys, I part wi' a sigh,
“While the flood it pours down frae my ee;
“For never again shall the tear weet my cheek,
“On the bonny green Braes o' Drumlee.
“O Time, could I tether your hours for a wee!
“Na, na, for they flit like the wind!”—
Sae I took my departure, an' sauntered awa,
Yet aften looked wistfu' behind.
O sair is the heart o' the mither to twin
Wi' the baby that sits on her knee;
But sairer the pang, whan I took a last peep
O' the bonny green Braes o' Drumlee.
“Na, na, for they flit like the wind!”—
Sae I took my departure, an' sauntered awa,
Yet aften looked wistfu' behind.
O sair is the heart o' the mither to twin
Wi' the baby that sits on her knee;
But sairer the pang, whan I took a last peep
O' the bonny green Braes o' Drumlee.
I heftit 'mang strangers years thretty-an'-twa,
But naething could banish my care;
An' aften I sighed whan I thought on the past,
Whare a' was sae pleasant an' fair:
But now, wae's my heart! whan I'm lyart an' auld,
An' fu' lint-white my haffet-locks flee,
I'm hamewards returned wi' a remnant o' life,
To the bonny green Braes o' Drumlee.
But naething could banish my care;
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Whare a' was sae pleasant an' fair:
But now, wae's my heart! whan I'm lyart an' auld,
An' fu' lint-white my haffet-locks flee,
I'm hamewards returned wi' a remnant o' life,
To the bonny green Braes o' Drumlee.
Poor body! Bewildered, I scarcely dow ken
The haunts that were dear ance to me;
I yirded a plant in the days o' my youth,
An' the mavis now sings on the tree.
But, haith! there's nae scenes I wad niffer wi' thae;
For it fills my fond heart fu' o' glee,
To think how at last my auld banes they will rest
Near the bonny green Braes o' Drumlee.
The haunts that were dear ance to me;
I yirded a plant in the days o' my youth,
An' the mavis now sings on the tree.
But, haith! there's nae scenes I wad niffer wi' thae;
For it fills my fond heart fu' o' glee,
To think how at last my auld banes they will rest
Near the bonny green Braes o' Drumlee.
124
SONG.
[O Anna, thou fairest an' dearest]
O Anna, thou fairest an' dearest,
My blessing upon thee befa',
Though thy charms, to my heart ever nearest,
Hae banished sweet comfort awa.
Thy smile, like a sunny beam breaking,
Bids hope through my soul brightly shine;
But, Anna, reflection awaking,
Aft whispers, thou wiltna be mine!
My blessing upon thee befa',
Though thy charms, to my heart ever nearest,
Hae banished sweet comfort awa.
Thy smile, like a sunny beam breaking,
Bids hope through my soul brightly shine;
But, Anna, reflection awaking,
Aft whispers, thou wiltna be mine!
It is na thy raven locks waving,
It is na the blink o' thy ee,
It is na thy bosom saft heaving,
That steals ilka pleasure frae me.
Thy mind's fairer beauties appearing,
Admiring, enraptured, I see;
These, these my poor bosom are tearing,
An' make me doat fondly on thee.
It is na the blink o' thy ee,
It is na thy bosom saft heaving,
That steals ilka pleasure frae me.
Thy mind's fairer beauties appearing,
Admiring, enraptured, I see;
These, these my poor bosom are tearing,
An' make me doat fondly on thee.
125
O Anna, if love, ne'er beguiling,
Regard an' thy friendship can gain,
Dispel then my grief wi' thy smiling,
An' let me e'en ca' thee my ain.
Without thee, each moment I measure,
How dreary, how lifeless, an' lang!
But wi' thee, O welcome each pleasure,
An' fareweel each anguishing pang!
Regard an' thy friendship can gain,
Dispel then my grief wi' thy smiling,
An' let me e'en ca' thee my ain.
Without thee, each moment I measure,
How dreary, how lifeless, an' lang!
But wi' thee, O welcome each pleasure,
An' fareweel each anguishing pang!
126
SONG.
[Ah, Mary, mony a day]
Ah, Mary, mony a day
I've gleefu' spent wi' thee,
Hae marked thae youthfu' beauties rise,
That tore my peace frae me.
The rose bloomed in thy cheek,
Sweet as the dawning day,
An' lovely was thy lily neck,
Whareon thy ringlets lay.
I've gleefu' spent wi' thee,
Hae marked thae youthfu' beauties rise,
That tore my peace frae me.
The rose bloomed in thy cheek,
Sweet as the dawning day,
An' lovely was thy lily neck,
Whareon thy ringlets lay.
But now thae days are gane,
The rose is fled awa;
Thy cheek, that ance was blooming red,
Is pale as drifted snaw;
Thy ee will wake nae mair,
That sheened sae fu' o' glee;
An' cauld, cauld, are these lips o' thine,
I've pressed sae tenderly.
The rose is fled awa;
Thy cheek, that ance was blooming red,
Is pale as drifted snaw;
Thy ee will wake nae mair,
That sheened sae fu' o' glee;
An' cauld, cauld, are these lips o' thine,
I've pressed sae tenderly.
127
O waefu' was the hour
That led thy steps astray;
An' cruel was the rowing flood,
That left thee lifeless clay!
But though thou'rt gane awa,
For ever gane frae me,
Thou'lt linger in ilk thought o' mine,
Till ance I follow thee.
That led thy steps astray;
An' cruel was the rowing flood,
That left thee lifeless clay!
But though thou'rt gane awa,
For ever gane frae me,
Thou'lt linger in ilk thought o' mine,
Till ance I follow thee.
128
SONG.
[I winna gang back to my mammy again]
I winna gang back to my mammy again,
I'll never gae back to my mammy again;
I've held by her apron these aught years an' ten,
But I'll never gang back to my mammy again.
I've held by her apron, &c.
I'll never gae back to my mammy again;
I've held by her apron these aught years an' ten,
But I'll never gang back to my mammy again.
I've held by her apron, &c.
Young Johnnie cam down i' the gloamin to woo,
Wi' plaidie sae bonny, an' bannet sae blue:
“O come awa, lassie, ne'er let mammy ken;”
An' I flew wi' my laddie o'er meadow an' glen.
O come awa, lassie, &c.
Wi' plaidie sae bonny, an' bannet sae blue:
“O come awa, lassie, ne'er let mammy ken;”
An' I flew wi' my laddie o'er meadow an' glen.
O come awa, lassie, &c.
He ca'd me his dawtie, his dearie, his dow,
An' pressed hame his words wi' a smack o' my mou';
While I fell on his bosom, heart-flichtered an' fain,
An' sighed out, “O Johnnie, I'll aye be your ain!”
While I fell on his bosom, &c.
An' pressed hame his words wi' a smack o' my mou';
While I fell on his bosom, heart-flichtered an' fain,
An' sighed out, “O Johnnie, I'll aye be your ain!”
While I fell on his bosom, &c.
129
Some lasses will talk to the lads wi' their e'e,
Yet hanker to tell what their hearts really dree;
Wi' Johnnie I stood upon nae stappin-stane,
Sae I'll never gang back to my mammy again.
Wi' Johnnie I stood, &c.
Yet hanker to tell what their hearts really dree;
Wi' Johnnie I stood upon nae stappin-stane,
Sae I'll never gang back to my mammy again.
Wi' Johnnie I stood, &c.
For mony lang year sin' I played on the lea,
My mammy was kind as a mither could be;
I've held by her apron these aught years an' ten,
But I'll never gang back to my mammy again.
I've held by her apron, &c.
My mammy was kind as a mither could be;
I've held by her apron these aught years an' ten,
But I'll never gang back to my mammy again.
I've held by her apron, &c.
130
THE BARD.
The Bard strikes his harp the wild valleys amang,
Whare the tall aiken trees spreading leafy appear,
While the murmuring breeze mingles sweet wi' his sang
An' wafts the saft notes till they die on the ear:
But Mary, whase presence sic transport conveys,
Whase beauties my moments o' pleasure control,
On the strings o' my heart ever wantonly plays,
An' each languishing note is a sigh frae my soul!
Whare the tall aiken trees spreading leafy appear,
While the murmuring breeze mingles sweet wi' his sang
An' wafts the saft notes till they die on the ear:
But Mary, whase presence sic transport conveys,
Whase beauties my moments o' pleasure control,
On the strings o' my heart ever wantonly plays,
An' each languishing note is a sigh frae my soul!
Her breath is as sweet as the sweet-scented brier,
That blossoms an' blaws in yon wild lanely glen;
Whan I view her fair form, which nae mortal can peer
A something o'erpowers me I dinna weel ken.
What sweetness her snawy white bosom displays!
The blink o' her bonny black e'e wha can thole!
On the strings o' my heart she bewitchingly plays,
An' each languishing note is a sigh frae my soul!
That blossoms an' blaws in yon wild lanely glen;
Whan I view her fair form, which nae mortal can peer
A something o'erpowers me I dinna weel ken.
131
The blink o' her bonny black e'e wha can thole!
On the strings o' my heart she bewitchingly plays,
An' each languishing note is a sigh frae my soul!
132
SONG, WRITTEN AND SUNG BY THE AUTHOR, WHEN AN EDINBURGH VOLUNTEER, AT A DINNER OF THE CORPS, IN CELEBRATION OF ADMIRAL DUNCAN'S VICTORY OVER THE DUTCH FLEET AT CAMPERDOWN.
Dread ye a foe? Dismiss that idle dread;
'Tis death with hostile step these shores to tread.
Safe in the love of Heaven, an ocean flows
Around our realm, a barrier from the foes.
Hom. Od. B. 6.
'Tis death with hostile step these shores to tread.
Safe in the love of Heaven, an ocean flows
Around our realm, a barrier from the foes.
Hom. Od. B. 6.
Nae mair need we sigh whan we reckon,
An' think on the days o' langsyne,
Whan bauld Scottish heroes, sae doughty,
Wi' laurels o' valour did shine;
For Duncan, a true Scottish callan,
Wha lang has been thirsting for fame,
Has yerkit our faes in a tulzie,
An' proved himsel' wordy the name.
An' think on the days o' langsyne,
Whan bauld Scottish heroes, sae doughty,
Wi' laurels o' valour did shine;
For Duncan, a true Scottish callan,
Wha lang has been thirsting for fame,
133
An' proved himsel' wordy the name.
The Frenchmen, thae ill-deedy bodies,
Wha never were sound at the bane,
Wi' hearts maist as black as a kettle,
An' o' their auld tricks unco fain;
Wi' fleechin, an' Hornie's assistance,
Gart meikle-breek'd Dutchmen agree
Their ships a' wi' haste to untether,
An' meet Adie Duncan at sea.
Wha never were sound at the bane,
Wi' hearts maist as black as a kettle,
An' o' their auld tricks unco fain;
Wi' fleechin, an' Hornie's assistance,
Gart meikle-breek'd Dutchmen agree
Their ships a' wi' haste to untether,
An' meet Adie Duncan at sea.
But fouk little ken, whan they travel,
What luckless mishaps may befa',
Or the Dutchmen wad ne'er been sae doited
As ventured frae Holland ava:
For Duncan, sae wily an' cunning,
Lay watching the time to begin;
Then belly-flaught banged in upo' them,
An' gied them a weel-licked skin.
What luckless mishaps may befa',
Or the Dutchmen wad ne'er been sae doited
As ventured frae Holland ava:
For Duncan, sae wily an' cunning,
Lay watching the time to begin;
Then belly-flaught banged in upo' them,
An' gied them a weel-licked skin.
134
Wi' legs snapped aff, broken noddles,
(My fegs! 'twas a sad ravelled pirn!)
The Dutchmen endeavoured to rin for't,
But fand themsels snib'd in a girn.
They looked like gryces new-sticked,
Whan siccan mishanters they saw,
An' heartily d---d the French vermin,
Wha o' them had made a cat's paw.
(My fegs! 'twas a sad ravelled pirn!)
The Dutchmen endeavoured to rin for't,
But fand themsels snib'd in a girn.
They looked like gryces new-sticked,
Whan siccan mishanters they saw,
An' heartily d---d the French vermin,
Wha o' them had made a cat's paw.
Yet Frenchmen (wha'll ne'er be tongue-tacked,)
Blaw aff at an unco degree;
Again 'bout Invasion they blether,
An' swear they'll be here in a wee.
But e'en let them yammer an' ettle,
Britannia laughs at their scheme;
She has Tars, wha are Kings o' the Ocean,
An' Volunteer birkies at hame.
Blaw aff at an unco degree;
Again 'bout Invasion they blether,
An' swear they'll be here in a wee.
But e'en let them yammer an' ettle,
Britannia laughs at their scheme;
She has Tars, wha are Kings o' the Ocean,
An' Volunteer birkies at hame.
Whan Scotia's braid shield, o'er her mountains,
Sae terribly sounds the alarm,
Her sons, looking forward to glory,
Rush bravely to guard her frae harm.
'Mang the lave o' her trusty defenders,
Whase praise weel deserves to be sung,
There's Campbells, a race lang respected,
Frae Dermid, great warrior, sprung.
Sae terribly sounds the alarm,
135
Rush bravely to guard her frae harm.
'Mang the lave o' her trusty defenders,
Whase praise weel deserves to be sung,
There's Campbells, a race lang respected,
Frae Dermid, great warrior, sprung.
Eke Ferguson, Dewar, an' Fraser;
Buchanan, wha seeks Scotia's weal;
Macdougal (the famed Lord o' Lorn,)
Macnab, an' Mackenzie, sae leal;
Wi' Gordon, Macleod, an' Macdonald,
Wha'll stand, but will ne'er turn awa;
An' bauldly to lead us to honour,
See Murray, the chief o' us a'.
Buchanan, wha seeks Scotia's weal;
Macdougal (the famed Lord o' Lorn,)
Macnab, an' Mackenzie, sae leal;
Wi' Gordon, Macleod, an' Macdonald,
Wha'll stand, but will ne'er turn awa;
An' bauldly to lead us to honour,
See Murray, the chief o' us a'.
Yes, we hae our bauld Highland Laddies,
Wi' bannets set briskly ajee,
Whase love for their Country's sae sicker,
Afore they forsake her they'll die.
Look round here! In ilka Scotch bosom
A flame for auld Scotia does burn;
A flame which nae dastardly traitor,
Nor dangers, nor death, can o'erturn.
Wi' bannets set briskly ajee,
Whase love for their Country's sae sicker,
Afore they forsake her they'll die.
136
A flame for auld Scotia does burn;
A flame which nae dastardly traitor,
Nor dangers, nor death, can o'erturn.
137
PEGGY WI' THE GOWDEN HAIR.
Ye roses, fa' at my love's feet!
Ye lilies, bend your heads an' die!
Your bonny beauties, lang sae sweet,
Are now for ever lost on me:
For though ye sweetly bud an' blaw,
To busk the valley blooming fair,
There's ae sweet flower excels ye a',
Young Peggy wi' the gowden hair.
Ye lilies, bend your heads an' die!
Your bonny beauties, lang sae sweet,
Are now for ever lost on me:
For though ye sweetly bud an' blaw,
To busk the valley blooming fair,
There's ae sweet flower excels ye a',
Young Peggy wi' the gowden hair.
I sigh at e'en, I sigh at morn;
Nae peace hae I within my breast;
I dander o'er the fields forlorn,
To muse on her wham I lo'e best.
Sweet, sweet she smiles, she's kind an' leal,
There's nane like her amang the fair,
Her bonny glance is love's saft seal,
Young Peggy wi' the gowden hair.
Nae peace hae I within my breast;
I dander o'er the fields forlorn,
To muse on her wham I lo'e best.
Sweet, sweet she smiles, she's kind an' leal,
There's nane like her amang the fair,
Her bonny glance is love's saft seal,
Young Peggy wi' the gowden hair.
138
Blaw, blaw, ye winds! your nipping cauld
Wi' cranreuch cleeds baith hill an' shaw;
Your blasts I scorn—love glows sae bauld
For her wha's stown my heart awa.
Ye Powers wha watch wi' tentie e'e,
An' blessings on us bodies skair,
O grant ae matchless boon to me,
Sweet Peggy wi' the gowden hair!
Wi' cranreuch cleeds baith hill an' shaw;
Your blasts I scorn—love glows sae bauld
For her wha's stown my heart awa.
Ye Powers wha watch wi' tentie e'e,
An' blessings on us bodies skair,
O grant ae matchless boon to me,
Sweet Peggy wi' the gowden hair!
139
LOUISA IN LOCHABER.
Can ought be constant as the sun,
That makes the world sae cheery?
Yes, a' the Powers can witness be,
The love I bear my dearie.
But what can make the hours seem lang,
An' rin sae wondrous dreary?
What but the space that lies between
Me an' my only dearie.
That makes the world sae cheery?
Yes, a' the Powers can witness be,
The love I bear my dearie.
But what can make the hours seem lang,
An' rin sae wondrous dreary?
What but the space that lies between
Me an' my only dearie.
Then fare ye weel, wha saw me aft
Sae blythe, baith late an' early;
An' fareweel scenes o' former joys,
That cherish life sae rarely!
Baith love an' beauty bid me flee,
Nor linger lang an' eerie,
But haste, an' in my arms enfauld
My only pride an' dearie.
Sae blythe, baith late an' early;
An' fareweel scenes o' former joys,
That cherish life sae rarely!
Baith love an' beauty bid me flee,
Nor linger lang an' eerie,
But haste, an' in my arms enfauld
My only pride an' dearie.
140
I'll hail Lochaber's valleys green,
Whare mony a rill meanders;
I'll hail wi' joy its birken bowers,
For there Louisa wanders:
There will I clasp her to my breast,
An' tent her smile fu' cheery;
An' thus, without a wish or want,
Live happy wi' my dearie.
Whare mony a rill meanders;
I'll hail wi' joy its birken bowers,
For there Louisa wanders:
There will I clasp her to my breast,
An' tent her smile fu' cheery;
An' thus, without a wish or want,
Live happy wi' my dearie.
141
SONG.
[Baloo, baloo, my wee wee thing]
Baloo, baloo, my wee wee thing,
O saftly close thy blinkin' e'e!
Baloo, baloo, my wee wee thing,
For thou art doubly dear to me.
Thy daddie now is far awa,
A sailor laddie o'er the sea;
But Hope aye hechts his safe return
To you, my bonny lamb, an' me.
O saftly close thy blinkin' e'e!
Baloo, baloo, my wee wee thing,
For thou art doubly dear to me.
Thy daddie now is far awa,
A sailor laddie o'er the sea;
But Hope aye hechts his safe return
To you, my bonny lamb, an' me.
Baloo, baloo, my wee wee thing,
O saftly close thy blinkin' e'e!
Baloo, baloo, my wee wee thing,
For thou art doubly dear to me.
Thy face is simple, sweet, an' mild,
Like ony simmer e'ening fa';
Thy sparkling e'e is bonny black;
Thy neck is like the mountain snaw.
O saftly close thy blinkin' e'e!
Baloo, baloo, my wee wee thing,
For thou art doubly dear to me.
Thy face is simple, sweet, an' mild,
Like ony simmer e'ening fa';
Thy sparkling e'e is bonny black;
Thy neck is like the mountain snaw.
142
Baloo, baloo, my wee wee thing,
O saftly close thy blinkin' e'e!
Baloo, baloo, my wee wee thing,
For thou art doubly dear to me.
O but thy daddie's absence lang,
Might break my dowie heart in twa,
Wert thou na left a dawtit pledge,
To steal the eerie hours awa.
O saftly close thy blinkin' e'e!
Baloo, baloo, my wee wee thing,
For thou art doubly dear to me.
O but thy daddie's absence lang,
Might break my dowie heart in twa,
Wert thou na left a dawtit pledge,
To steal the eerie hours awa.
143
THE HAZLEWOOD WITCH.
For mony lang year I hae heard frae my grannie,
Of brownies an' bogles by yon castle wa',
Of auld withered hags, that were never thought cannie,
An' fairies that danced till they heard the cock craw.
I leugh at her tales; an' last owk, i' the gloamin,
I dander'd, alane, down the Hazlewood green:
Alas! I was reckless, an' rue sair my roaming,
For I met a young witch, wi' twa bonny black een.
Of brownies an' bogles by yon castle wa',
Of auld withered hags, that were never thought cannie,
An' fairies that danced till they heard the cock craw.
I leugh at her tales; an' last owk, i' the gloamin,
I dander'd, alane, down the Hazlewood green:
Alas! I was reckless, an' rue sair my roaming,
For I met a young witch, wi' twa bonny black een.
I thought o' the starns in a frosty night glancing,
Whan a' the lift round them is cloudless an' blue;
I looked again, an' my heart fell a-dancing;
Whan I wad hae spoken, she glamoured my mou'.
O wae to her cantraips! for dumpish'd I wander;
At kirk or at market there's nought to be seen;
For she dances afore me wherever I dander,
The Hazlewood Witch wi' the bonny black een.
Whan a' the lift round them is cloudless an' blue;
I looked again, an' my heart fell a-dancing;
Whan I wad hae spoken, she glamoured my mou'.
O wae to her cantraips! for dumpish'd I wander;
At kirk or at market there's nought to be seen;
For she dances afore me wherever I dander,
The Hazlewood Witch wi' the bonny black een.
144
THE LANELY LOVER.
Ah! Willie now is gane frae me,
Frae Annie gane afar,
An' to the saft delights o' love
Preferred the din o' war.
Nae mair at e'en, wi' heartsome glee,
Thegither we are seen;
Nae mair we daff amang the lave,
Or wander o'er the green.
Frae Annie gane afar,
An' to the saft delights o' love
Preferred the din o' war.
Nae mair at e'en, wi' heartsome glee,
Thegither we are seen;
Nae mair we daff amang the lave,
Or wander o'er the green.
Now in a far aff foreign land,
My comely Willie strays,
An' soon, alake! the chance o' war
May end his youthfu' days:
But weel I ken, though far awa,
His faithfu' breast does burn
Wi' glowing love, while here I lang
An' sigh for his return.
My comely Willie strays,
An' soon, alake! the chance o' war
May end his youthfu' days:
But weel I ken, though far awa,
His faithfu' breast does burn
145
An' sigh for his return.
How dreary was that day to me,
Whan Willie gaed awa,
An' left me here!—the grief, I thought,
Wad break my heart in twa.
O may he lang, 'mang deadly faes,
Frae skaith be keepit free,
Till he again, wi' tearfu' joy,
Shall peacefu' Scotia see!
Whan Willie gaed awa,
An' left me here!—the grief, I thought,
Wad break my heart in twa.
O may he lang, 'mang deadly faes,
Frae skaith be keepit free,
Till he again, wi' tearfu' joy,
Shall peacefu' Scotia see!
Ye gentle breezes, saftly blaw,
Ye gales, auspicious prove,
An' fill the wide-spread milk-white sails,
An' waft me back my love!
Till then, I'll seek the silent glade,
Or flowery-selvaged burn,
An' wi' the lanely birdies roam,
An' sigh for his return.
Ye gales, auspicious prove,
An' fill the wide-spread milk-white sails,
An' waft me back my love!
Till then, I'll seek the silent glade,
Or flowery-selvaged burn,
An' wi' the lanely birdies roam,
An' sigh for his return.
146
FAREWELL TO AYRSHIRE.
Scenes of wo and scenes of pleasure,
Scenes that former thoughts renew,
Scenes of wo and scenes of pleasure,
Now a sad and last adieu!
Bonny Doon, sae sweet at gloamin,
Fare thee weel before I gang!
Bonny Doon, whare, early roaming,
First I weaved the rustic sang!
Scenes that former thoughts renew,
Scenes of wo and scenes of pleasure,
Now a sad and last adieu!
Bonny Doon, sae sweet at gloamin,
Fare thee weel before I gang!
Bonny Doon, whare, early roaming,
First I weaved the rustic sang!
Bowers, adieu! whare love decoying,
First enthralled this heart o' mine;
There the saftest sweets enjoying,
Sweets that memory ne'er shall tine.
Friends, sae near my bosom ever,
Ye hae rendered moments dear;
But, alas! whan forced to sever,
Then the stroke, oh! how severe.
First enthralled this heart o' mine;
There the saftest sweets enjoying,
Sweets that memory ne'er shall tine.
Friends, sae near my bosom ever,
Ye hae rendered moments dear;
But, alas! whan forced to sever,
Then the stroke, oh! how severe.
147
Friends, that parting tear, reserve it,
Though 'tis doubly dear to me;
Could I think I did deserve it,
How much happier would I be!
Scenes of wo and scenes of pleasure,
Scenes that former thoughts renew,
Scenes of wo and scenes of pleasure,
Now a sad and last adieu!
Though 'tis doubly dear to me;
Could I think I did deserve it,
How much happier would I be!
Scenes of wo and scenes of pleasure,
Scenes that former thoughts renew,
Scenes of wo and scenes of pleasure,
Now a sad and last adieu!
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