The Poetical Works of Hector MacNeill ... A New Edition, Corrected and Enlarged. In Two Volumes |
 | I. |
 | II. |
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| SONGS. |
 | The Poetical Works of Hector MacNeill |  |
91
SONGS.
93
THE LAMMIE.
‘Whar hae ye been a'day, my boy Tammy?
Whar hae ye been a'day, my boy Tammy?’
‘I've been by burn and flowery brae,
Meadow green, and mountain grey,
Courting o'this young thing,
Just come frae her mammy.’
Whar hae ye been a'day, my boy Tammy?’
‘I've been by burn and flowery brae,
Meadow green, and mountain grey,
Courting o'this young thing,
Just come frae her mammy.’
94
‘And whar gat ye that young thing,
My boy Tammy?’
‘I gat her down in yonder how,
Smiling on a broomy know,
Herding ae wee lamb and ewe
For her poor mammy.’
My boy Tammy?’
‘I gat her down in yonder how,
Smiling on a broomy know,
Herding ae wee lamb and ewe
For her poor mammy.’
‘What said ye to the bonie bairn,
My boy Tammy?’
‘I praised her een, sae lovely blue,
Her dimpled cheek, and cherry mou;—
I pree'd it aft as ye may true!—
She said, she'd tell her mammy.
My boy Tammy?’
‘I praised her een, sae lovely blue,
Her dimpled cheek, and cherry mou;—
I pree'd it aft as ye may true!—
She said, she'd tell her mammy.
95
I held her to my beating heart,
My young, my smiling lammie!
‘I hae a house, it cost me dear,
I've walth o'plenishen and geer;
Ye'se get it a'war't ten times mair,
Gin ye will leave your mammy.’
My young, my smiling lammie!
‘I hae a house, it cost me dear,
I've walth o'plenishen and geer;
Ye'se get it a'war't ten times mair,
Gin ye will leave your mammy.’
The smile gade aff her bonie face—
‘I maun nae leave my mammy;
She's gi'en me meat, she's gi'en me claise,
She's been my comfort a'my days:—
My father's death brought mony waes!—
I canna leave my mammy.’
‘I maun nae leave my mammy;
She's gi'en me meat, she's gi'en me claise,
She's been my comfort a'my days:—
My father's death brought mony waes!—
I canna leave my mammy.’
96
‘We'll tak her hame and mak her fain,
My ain kind-hearted lammie!
We'll gie her meat, we'll gie her claise,
We'll be her comfort a'her days.’
The wee thing gie's her hand, and says,—
‘There! gang, and ask my mammy.’
My ain kind-hearted lammie!
We'll gie her meat, we'll gie her claise,
We'll be her comfort a'her days.’
The wee thing gie's her hand, and says,—
‘There! gang, and ask my mammy.’
‘Has she been to kirk wi' thee,
My boy Tammy?’
‘She has been to kirk wi' me,
And the tear was in her ee,—
But O! she's but a young thing
Just come frae her mammy.’
My boy Tammy?’
‘She has been to kirk wi' me,
And the tear was in her ee,—
But O! she's but a young thing
Just come frae her mammy.’
97
I LOO'D NE'ER A LADDIE BUT ANE.
I loo'd ne'er a laddie but ane,
He loo'd ne'er a lassie but me;
He's willing to mak me his ain,
And his ain I am willing to be.
He has coft me a rocklay o'blue,
And a pair o'mittens o'green;
The price was a kiss o'my mou',
And I paid him the debt yestreen.
He loo'd ne'er a lassie but me;
He's willing to mak me his ain,
And his ain I am willing to be.
He has coft me a rocklay o'blue,
And a pair o'mittens o'green;
The price was a kiss o'my mou',
And I paid him the debt yestreen.
98
Let ithers brag weel o'their gear,
Their land, and their lordly degree;
I carena for ought but my dear,
For he's ilka thing lordlie to me;
His words are sae sugared, sae sweet!
His sense drives ilk fear far awa!
I listen—poor fool! and I greet,
Yet O! sweet are the tears as they fa'!
Their land, and their lordly degree;
I carena for ought but my dear,
For he's ilka thing lordlie to me;
His words are sae sugared, sae sweet!
His sense drives ilk fear far awa!
I listen—poor fool! and I greet,
Yet O! sweet are the tears as they fa'!
‘Dear lassie,’ he cries wi' a jeer,
‘Ne'er heed what the auld anes will say;
Though we've little to brag o'—ne'er fear,
What's gowd to a heart that is wae?
Our laird has baith honours and wealth,
Yet see how he's dwining wi' care;
Now we, tho' we've naithing but health,
Are canty and leil evermair.
‘Ne'er heed what the auld anes will say;
Though we've little to brag o'—ne'er fear,
What's gowd to a heart that is wae?
Our laird has baith honours and wealth,
Yet see how he's dwining wi' care;
99
Are canty and leil evermair.
‘O Marion! the heart that is true
Has something mair costly than gear,
Ilk e'en it has naithing to rue;
Ilk morn it has naithing to fear.
Ye warldlings! gae, hoard up your store,
And tremble for fear ought ye tyne:
Guard your treasures wi' lock, bar, and door,
While here in my arms I lock mine!’
Has something mair costly than gear,
Ilk e'en it has naithing to rue;
Ilk morn it has naithing to fear.
Ye warldlings! gae, hoard up your store,
And tremble for fear ought ye tyne:
Guard your treasures wi' lock, bar, and door,
While here in my arms I lock mine!’
He ends wi' a kiss and a smile—
Waes me! can I tak it amiss?
My laddie's unpractised in guile,
He's free ay to daut and to kiss!
Ye lassies, wha loo to torment
Your wooers wi' fause scorn and strife,
Play your pranks—I hae gi'en my consent,
And this night I am Jamie's for life.
Waes me! can I tak it amiss?
My laddie's unpractised in guile,
He's free ay to daut and to kiss!
100
Your wooers wi' fause scorn and strife,
Play your pranks—I hae gi'en my consent,
And this night I am Jamie's for life.
101
O TELL ME HOW FOR TO WOO.
Oh! tell me, bonie young lassie!
Oh tell me how for to woo!
Oh tell me, bonie sweet lassie!
Oh tell me how for to woo!
Say, maun I roose your cheeks like the morning?
Lips like the roses fresh moistened wi' dew!
Say, I maun I roose your een's pawkie scorning?—
Oh! tell me how for to woo!
Oh tell me how for to woo!
Oh tell me, bonie sweet lassie!
Oh tell me how for to woo!
Say, maun I roose your cheeks like the morning?
Lips like the roses fresh moistened wi' dew!
Say, I maun I roose your een's pawkie scorning?—
Oh! tell me how for to woo!
102
Far hae I wandered to see the dear lassie!
Far hae I ventured across the saut sea!
Far hae I travelled owre moorland and mountain,
Houseless, and weary, sleep'd cauld on the lea!
Ne'er hae I tried yet to mak luve to onie;
For ne'er loo'd I onie till ance I loo'd you;
Now we're alane in the green-wood sae bonie,
—Oh! tell me how for to woo!’
Far hae I ventured across the saut sea!
Far hae I travelled owre moorland and mountain,
Houseless, and weary, sleep'd cauld on the lea!
Ne'er hae I tried yet to mak luve to onie;
For ne'er loo'd I onie till ance I loo'd you;
Now we're alane in the green-wood sae bonie,
—Oh! tell me how for to woo!’
‘What care I for your wand'ring, young laddie?
What care I for your crossing the sea?
It was na for naithing ye left poor young Peggy;—
It was for my tocher ye cam to court me;—
Say, hae ye gowd to busk me aye gawdie?
Ribbans, and perlins, and breast-knots enew?
A house that is canty, wi' walth in't, my laddie?
Without this ye never need try for to woo.’
What care I for your crossing the sea?
It was na for naithing ye left poor young Peggy;—
It was for my tocher ye cam to court me;—
Say, hae ye gowd to busk me aye gawdie?
Ribbans, and perlins, and breast-knots enew?
A house that is canty, wi' walth in't, my laddie?
Without this ye never need try for to woo.’
103
‘I hae na gowd to busk ye aye gawdie;
I canna buy ribbans and perlins enew;
I've naithing to brag o'house, or o'plenty!
I've little to gie but a heart that is true.—
I cam na for tocher—I ne'er heard o'onie;
I never loo'd Peggy, nor e'er brak my vow.—
I've wandered, poor fool! for a face fause as bonie!
—I little thought this was the way for to woo!’
I canna buy ribbans and perlins enew;
I've naithing to brag o'house, or o'plenty!
I've little to gie but a heart that is true.—
I cam na for tocher—I ne'er heard o'onie;
I never loo'd Peggy, nor e'er brak my vow.—
I've wandered, poor fool! for a face fause as bonie!
—I little thought this was the way for to woo!’
‘Our laird has fine houses, and guineas in gowpins;
He's youthfu', he's blooming, and comely to see!
The leddies are a'ga'en wood for the wooer,
And yet, ilka e'ening, he leaves them for me!—
O! saft in the gloaming his luve he discloses!
And saftly yestreen, as I milked my cow,
He swore that my breath it was sweeter than roses,
And a'the gait hame he did naithing but woo.’
He's youthfu', he's blooming, and comely to see!
The leddies are a'ga'en wood for the wooer,
And yet, ilka e'ening, he leaves them for me!—
O! saft in the gloaming his luve he discloses!
And saftly yestreen, as I milked my cow,
He swore that my breath it was sweeter than roses,
And a'the gait hame he did naithing but woo.’
104
‘Ah, Jenny! the young laird may brag o'his siller,
His houses, his lands, and his lordly degree;
His speeches for true luve may drap sweet as honey,
But, trust me, dear Jenny! he ne'er loed like me.—
The wooing o'gentry are fine words o'fashion;
The faster they fa' as the heart is least true!—
The dumb look o'luve's aft the best proof o'passion;
—The heart that feels maist is the least fit to woo!’
His houses, his lands, and his lordly degree;
His speeches for true luve may drap sweet as honey,
But, trust me, dear Jenny! he ne'er loed like me.—
The wooing o'gentry are fine words o'fashion;
The faster they fa' as the heart is least true!—
The dumb look o'luve's aft the best proof o'passion;
—The heart that feels maist is the least fit to woo!’
‘Hae na ye roosed my cheeks like the morning!
Hae na ye roosed my cherry-red mou!
Hae na ye come owre sea, moor, and mountain,
What mair, Johnie, need ye to woo?
Far hae ye wandered, I ken, my dear laddie!
Now, that ye've found me, there's nae cause to rue;
Wi' health we'll hae plenty—I'll never gang gawdie,—
I ne'er wished for mair than a heart that is true.’
Hae na ye roosed my cherry-red mou!
Hae na ye come owre sea, moor, and mountain,
What mair, Johnie, need ye to woo?
Far hae ye wandered, I ken, my dear laddie!
Now, that ye've found me, there's nae cause to rue;
Wi' health we'll hae plenty—I'll never gang gawdie,—
I ne'er wished for mair than a heart that is true.’
105
She hid her fair face in her true lover's bosom;
The saft tear o'transport filled ilk lover's ee;
The burnie ran sweet by their side as they sabbit,
And sweet sang the mavis aboon on the tree.—
He clasped her, he pressed her, and ca'd her his hinny,
And aften he tasted her hinny-sweet mou;
And aye 'tween ilk kiss she sighed to her Johnie—
‘Oh! laddie! weel can ye woo!’
The saft tear o'transport filled ilk lover's ee;
The burnie ran sweet by their side as they sabbit,
And sweet sang the mavis aboon on the tree.—
He clasped her, he pressed her, and ca'd her his hinny,
And aften he tasted her hinny-sweet mou;
And aye 'tween ilk kiss she sighed to her Johnie—
‘Oh! laddie! weel can ye woo!’
106
TAK TENT, AND BE WARY
‘Hech! lass, but ye're canty and vogie!
Wow! but your een look pauky and roguie!
What war ye doing, Kate, down in yon bogie,
Up in the morning sae airy and grey?’
‘I've been wi' somebody!—what need ye to speer?
I've been wi' young Jamie!—I've been wi' my dear!
—God save me! my mither will miss me, I fear!—
D'ye ken, lass! he's courting me a'the lang day!’
Wow! but your een look pauky and roguie!
What war ye doing, Kate, down in yon bogie,
Up in the morning sae airy and grey?’
‘I've been wi' somebody!—what need ye to speer?
I've been wi' young Jamie!—I've been wi' my dear!
—God save me! my mither will miss me, I fear!—
D'ye ken, lass! he's courting me a'the lang day!’
‘O Kate, tak tent, and be wary!
Jamie's a sad ane!—he never will marry;
Think o'poor Tibby;—he's left her to carry
Black burning shame till the day that she'll die!’
‘I carena for Tibby—a glaiket young quean!
Her gaits wi' the fallows we a'ken lang syne!—
The heart o' my laddie, I never can tyne!
He promised to marry me down on yon lea!
Jamie's a sad ane!—he never will marry;
Think o'poor Tibby;—he's left her to carry
Black burning shame till the day that she'll die!’
107
Her gaits wi' the fallows we a'ken lang syne!—
The heart o' my laddie, I never can tyne!
He promised to marry me down on yon lea!
‘O no! I need na be wary!—
Yes! yes! he means for to marry!
Wi' mony sweet kisses he ca'd me his deary,
And swore he wad tak me afore Beltan day.’
‘O Kate! Kate! he'll deceive ye!
(The de'el tak the chiel! he does naithing but grieve me!)
He's fou o'deceit!—gin ye like to believe me,
The fause loon last night tald the same tale to me.’
Yes! yes! he means for to marry!
Wi' mony sweet kisses he ca'd me his deary,
And swore he wad tak me afore Beltan day.’
‘O Kate! Kate! he'll deceive ye!
(The de'el tak the chiel! he does naithing but grieve me!)
He's fou o'deceit!—gin ye like to believe me,
The fause loon last night tald the same tale to me.’
108
‘Dear Jean! but ye're unco camstary!
Ye'll ne'er let a bodie trou ever they'll marry!—
Ye've now gi'en me something that's no light to carry,
'Twill lie at my heart till the day that I die!’
She gaed awa sighing! she gaed awa wae;
Her mither flet sair for her byding away!
She sat down to spin!—ne'er a word could she say,
But drew out a thread wi' the tear in her ee.
Ye'll ne'er let a bodie trou ever they'll marry!—
Ye've now gi'en me something that's no light to carry,
'Twill lie at my heart till the day that I die!’
She gaed awa sighing! she gaed awa wae;
Her mither flet sair for her byding away!
She sat down to spin!—ne'er a word could she say,
But drew out a thread wi' the tear in her ee.
‘O yes!—it's time to be wary!
Jamie's a sad ane!—he ne'er means to marry!
He may rise in the morning, and wait till he's wearie!
He's no see my face for this year and a day!’
Jamie's a sad ane!—he ne'er means to marry!
He may rise in the morning, and wait till he's wearie!
He's no see my face for this year and a day!’
109
She raise wi' the lavroc; she milked her cow;
Sat down by her leglin, and 'gan for to rue:—
Young Jamie cam by—her heart lap to her mou!
And she trou'd ilka word that the fause loon did say!
—Hech! sirs! how lasses will vary!
Sometimes they're doubtfu'—'tis then they are wary;
But whan luve comes louping, they ay think we'll marry,
And trust, like poor Kate, to what fause loons will say.
Sat down by her leglin, and 'gan for to rue:—
Young Jamie cam by—her heart lap to her mou!
And she trou'd ilka word that the fause loon did say!
—Hech! sirs! how lasses will vary!
Sometimes they're doubtfu'—'tis then they are wary;
But whan luve comes louping, they ay think we'll marry,
And trust, like poor Kate, to what fause loons will say.
110
MALLY AIKEN.
AN OLD SONG REVIVED.
‘O listen! listen, and I'll tell ye
How this fair maid's played her part:—
First she vowed and promised to me,
Now she strives to break my heart!’
Eirin O! Mally Aiken,
Eirin O s'dhu ma roon.
How this fair maid's played her part:—
First she vowed and promised to me,
Now she strives to break my heart!’
Eirin O! Mally Aiken,
Eirin O s'dhu ma roon.
111
I coft you silken garters, Mally,
And sleeve-knots for your tartan gown;
I coft you a green necklace, Mally,
To busk you whan you gade to town:
You gae me kisses sweet as hinny!
You gae me words mair sweeet than true;
You swore you loo'd me best o'ony;
—Ah! why than, Mally, break your vow!
Eirin O! Mally Aiken,
Eirin O s'dhu ma roon.
And sleeve-knots for your tartan gown;
I coft you a green necklace, Mally,
To busk you whan you gade to town:
You gae me kisses sweet as hinny!
You gae me words mair sweeet than true;
You swore you loo'd me best o'ony;
—Ah! why than, Mally, break your vow!
Eirin O! Mally Aiken,
Eirin O s'dhu ma roon.
Yon auld man came wi' wyles sae bonie,
He bragged o'land and walth o'gear;
He promised braws mair fine than Johnie
To busk ye for the kirk and fair;
He gae up tocher to your daddy;—
Your mother sighed and thought o'me;
But Mally wished to be a lady,
And changed true luve for—high degree!
Eirin O! Mally Aiken,
Eirin O s'dhu ma roon.
He bragged o'land and walth o'gear;
He promised braws mair fine than Johnie
To busk ye for the kirk and fair;
112
Your mother sighed and thought o'me;
But Mally wished to be a lady,
And changed true luve for—high degree!
Eirin O! Mally Aiken,
Eirin O s'dhu ma roon.
He's ta'en you hame; he's made you gawdie,
He's busked you for the kirk and fair;
But you had better ta'en your laddie,
For happiness you'll ne'er see mair!
You may gang to kirk and fair, my Mally;
Your face and braws catch ilka ee,—
But happiness you'll ne'er see, Mally,
For breaking o'your vows to me!
Eirin O! Mally Aiken,
Eirin O s'dhu ma roon.
He's busked you for the kirk and fair;
But you had better ta'en your laddie,
For happiness you'll ne'er see mair!
You may gang to kirk and fair, my Mally;
Your face and braws catch ilka ee,—
But happiness you'll ne'er see, Mally,
For breaking o'your vows to me!
Eirin O! Mally Aiken,
Eirin O s'dhu ma roon.
This verse is all the author ever heard of the original.— The meaning of the Gaelic chorus is, O Mally Aiken, thou art my love.
113
TO GET A MAN.
This warld is a lottery, as ilk ane may ken;
There are prizes for women as weel as for men:
But as far as my faither and mither can see,
Though the're prizes for some, there are aye blanks for me!
There are prizes for women as weel as for men:
But as far as my faither and mither can see,
Though the're prizes for some, there are aye blanks for me!
Though black, I am comely; my een's like a slae!
Odd! I'm sure they're far better than een that are grey?
Yet the lads they court Katey as fast as they can,
While my father aye tells me—I'll ne'er get a man.
Odd! I'm sure they're far better than een that are grey?
Yet the lads they court Katey as fast as they can,
While my father aye tells me—I'll ne'er get a man.
114
I'm held down wi' wark frae morning till e'en,
May claise ay unsnod, and my face seldom clean!
How the sorrow! on me can our lads ever look,
Whan I gang aye sae thief-like, as black as the crook
May claise ay unsnod, and my face seldom clean!
How the sorrow! on me can our lads ever look,
Whan I gang aye sae thief-like, as black as the crook
For fairs and for preachings I hae but ae gown!
(Lord! I wish I was busked like our queans in the town!)
Yet whane'er I stay late—how my father he'll ban,
Wi' a—‘Divil confound ye! ye'll ne'er get a man!’
(Lord! I wish I was busked like our queans in the town!)
Yet whane'er I stay late—how my father he'll ban,
Wi' a—‘Divil confound ye! ye'll ne'er get a man!’
My mither ay thinks I'm to sit still and spin:
Whan the sogers gae by, war I felled, I maun rin;
Then she roars, and she flytes (though the sam's done by Kate)
Wi' a—‘Sorrow be on ye! ye'll gang a grey gate!’
Whan the sogers gae by, war I felled, I maun rin;
Then she roars, and she flytes (though the sam's done by Kate)
Wi' a—‘Sorrow be on ye! ye'll gang a grey gate!’
115
I fain wad hae Jamie—but then he loos Jean;
And I'd e'en tak lean Patie, tho' just skin and bane;
But my faither and mither tauld baith him and Dan,
That I'm three years owre young yet to hae a gudeman!
And I'd e'en tak lean Patie, tho' just skin and bane;
But my faither and mither tauld baith him and Dan,
That I'm three years owre young yet to hae a gudeman!
A usage sae barb'rous! nae mortal can bear!
—Odd! they'll drive me to madness wi' perfect despair!
If I canna get Jamie, nor yet Dan nor Pate,
Faith! I'll e'en tak the first chiel that comes in my gate.
—Odd! they'll drive me to madness wi' perfect despair!
If I canna get Jamie, nor yet Dan nor Pate,
Faith! I'll e'en tak the first chiel that comes in my gate.
Gle'yd Sawnie, the haivrel, he met me yestreen,
He roosed first my black hair, and syne my black een!
While he dawted and kissed, though I ken he's a fool,
Lord! I thought that my heart wad hae loupt out o'hool.
He roosed first my black hair, and syne my black een!
While he dawted and kissed, though I ken he's a fool,
Lord! I thought that my heart wad hae loupt out o'hool.
116
Quo he, ‘Bonny Maggy, gin ye war mine ain,
I hae house and plenty, for wife and for wean,
And whan my auld daddy staps aff to the grave,
Faith! we'll then had our head up as high as the lave.’
I hae house and plenty, for wife and for wean,
And whan my auld daddy staps aff to the grave,
Faith! we'll then had our head up as high as the lave.’
I dinna like Sawnie—he's blind o'an ee;
But then he's the first's talked o'marriage to me;
And whan folk are ill used they maun do what they can,
Sae I'll mak them a'liars, and tak a gudeman.
But then he's the first's talked o'marriage to me;
And whan folk are ill used they maun do what they can,
Sae I'll mak them a'liars, and tak a gudeman.
117
LASSIE WI' THE GOWDEN HAIR.
‘Lassie wi' the gowden hair,
Silken snood, and face sae fair;
Lassie wi' the yellow hair,
Think nae to deceive me!
Lassie wi' the gowden hair,
Flattering smile, and face sae fair;
Fare ye weel! for never mair
Johnie will believe ye!
O no! Mary bawn, Mary bawn, Mary bawn ,
O no! Mary bawn, ye'll nae mair deceive me!
Silken snood, and face sae fair;
Lassie wi' the yellow hair,
Think nae to deceive me!
Lassie wi' the gowden hair,
Flattering smile, and face sae fair;
Fare ye weel! for never mair
Johnie will believe ye!
O no! Mary bawn, Mary bawn, Mary bawn ,
O no! Mary bawn, ye'll nae mair deceive me!
118
Smiling, twice ye made me troo,
Twice—(poor fool!) I turned to woo;
Twice, fause maid! ye brak your vow,
Now I've sworn to leave ye!
Twice, fause maid! ye brak your vow,
Twice, poor fool! I've learned to rue!—
Come ye yet to mak me troo?
Thrice ye'll ne'er deceive me!
No! no! Mary bawn, Mary bawn, Mary bawn!
O no! Mary bawn! thrice ye'll ne'er deceive me.’
Twice—(poor fool!) I turned to woo;
Twice, fause maid! ye brak your vow,
Now I've sworn to leave ye!
Twice, fause maid! ye brak your vow,
Twice, poor fool! I've learned to rue!—
Come ye yet to mak me troo?
Thrice ye'll ne'er deceive me!
No! no! Mary bawn, Mary bawn, Mary bawn!
O no! Mary bawn! thrice ye'll ne'er deceive me.’
Mary saw him turn to part;
Deep his words sank in her heart;
Soon the tears began to start—
‘Johnie, will ye leave me!’
Soon the tears began to start,
Grit and gritter grew his heart!—
‘Yet ae word befort we part,
Luve cou'd ne'er deceive ye!
O no! Johnie dow, Johnie dow, Johnie dow ,
O no! Johnie dow—luve cou'd ne'er deceive ye.’
Deep his words sank in her heart;
Soon the tears began to start—
‘Johnie, will ye leave me!’
119
Grit and gritter grew his heart!—
‘Yet ae word befort we part,
Luve cou'd ne'er deceive ye!
O no! Johnie dow, Johnie dow, Johnie dow ,
O no! Johnie dow—luve cou'd ne'er deceive ye.’
Johnie took a parting keek,
Saw the tears hap owre her cheek!
Pale she stood, but coudna speak!—
Mary's cured o'smiling.
Johnie, took anither keek—
‘Beauty's rose has left her cheek!—
Pale she stands, and canna speak.
This is nae beguiling.
O no! Mary bawn, Mary bawn, dear Mary bawn,
No, no! Mary bawn—Luve has nae beguiling.
Saw the tears hap owre her cheek!
Pale she stood, but coudna speak!—
Mary's cured o'smiling.
Johnie, took anither keek—
‘Beauty's rose has left her cheek!—
120
This is nae beguiling.
O no! Mary bawn, Mary bawn, dear Mary bawn,
No, no! Mary bawn—Luve has nae beguiling.
121
JEANIE'S BLACK EE;
OR, THA MI'N AM CHODAL, 'SNA DUISGIBH MI.
The sun raise sae rosy, the grey hills adorning!
Light sprang the lavroc and mounted sae hie;
When true to the tryst o'blythe May's dewy morning
My Jeanie cam linking out owre the green lea.
To mark her impatience, I crap 'mang the brakens,
Aft, aft to the kent gate she turned her black ee;
Then lying down dowylie, sighed by the willow tree,
‘Ha me mohátel na dousku me .
Light sprang the lavroc and mounted sae hie;
When true to the tryst o'blythe May's dewy morning
My Jeanie cam linking out owre the green lea.
To mark her impatience, I crap 'mang the brakens,
Aft, aft to the kent gate she turned her black ee;
Then lying down dowylie, sighed by the willow tree,
‘Ha me mohátel na dousku me .
122
Saft through the green birks I sta' to my jewel,
Streik'd on spring's carpet aneath the saugh tree!
‘Think na, dear lassie, thy Willie's been cruel,’—
‘Ha me mohátel na dousku me.’
‘Wi' luve's warm sensations I've marked your impatience,
Lang hid 'mang the brakens I watched your black ee.—
You're no sleeping, pawkie Jean! open thae lovely een!’—
‘Ha me mohátel na dousku me.’
Streik'd on spring's carpet aneath the saugh tree!
‘Think na, dear lassie, thy Willie's been cruel,’—
‘Ha me mohátel na dousku me.’
‘Wi' luve's warm sensations I've marked your impatience,
Lang hid 'mang the brakens I watched your black ee.—
You're no sleeping, pawkie Jean! open thae lovely een!’—
‘Ha me mohátel na dousku me.’
‘Bright is the whin's bloom ilk green know adorning!
Sweet is the primrose bespangled wi' dew!
Yonder comes Peggy to welcome May morning!
Dark wave her haffet locks owre her white brow!
O! light! light she's dancing keen on the smooth gowany green,
Barefit, and kilted half up to the knee!
While Jeanie is sleeping still, I'll rin and sport my fill,’—
‘I was asleep, and ye've wakened me!’
Sweet is the primrose bespangled wi' dew!
Yonder comes Peggy to welcome May morning!
Dark wave her haffet locks owre her white brow!
123
Barefit, and kilted half up to the knee!
While Jeanie is sleeping still, I'll rin and sport my fill,’—
‘I was asleep, and ye've wakened me!’
‘I'll rin and whirl her round; Jeanie is sleeping sound;
Kiss her, and clasp her fast; nae ane can see!
Sweet! sweet's her hinny mou!’—‘Will, I'm no sleeping now,
I was asleep, but ye wakened me.’
Laughing, till like to drap, swith to my Jean I lap,
Kissed her ripe roses, and blest her black ee!
And ay since, whane'er we meet, sing, for the sound is sweet,
‘Ha me mohátel na dousku me.’
Kiss her, and clasp her fast; nae ane can see!
Sweet! sweet's her hinny mou!’—‘Will, I'm no sleeping now,
I was asleep, but ye wakened me.’
Laughing, till like to drap, swith to my Jean I lap,
Kissed her ripe roses, and blest her black ee!
And ay since, whane'er we meet, sing, for the sound is sweet,
‘Ha me mohátel na dousku me.’
124
THE PLAID AMANG THE HETHER.
The wind blew hie owre muir and lea,
And dark and stormy grew the weather;
The rain rained sair; nae shelter near,
But my luve's plaid amang the hether:
And dark and stormy grew the weather;
The rain rained sair; nae shelter near,
But my luve's plaid amang the hether:
O my bonie Highland lad!
My winsome, weel-far'd, Highland laddie!
Wha wad mind the wind and weit
Sae weel row'd in his tartan plaidie?
My winsome, weel-far'd, Highland laddie!
Wha wad mind the wind and weit
Sae weel row'd in his tartan plaidie?
125
Close to his breast he held me fast;
Sae cozy, warm, we lay thegither!
Nae simmer heat was half sae sweet
As my luve's plaid amang the hether!
Sae cozy, warm, we lay thegither!
Nae simmer heat was half sae sweet
As my luve's plaid amang the hether!
O my bonie, &c.
Mid wind and rain he tald his tale;
My lightsome heart grew like a feather;
It lap sae quick I coudna speak,
But silent sighed amang the hether!
My lightsome heart grew like a feather;
It lap sae quick I coudna speak,
But silent sighed amang the hether!
O my bonie, &c.
The storm blew past; we kissed in haste;
I hameward ran, and tald my mither;
She gloomed at first, but soon confessed
The bowls rowed right amang the hether!
I hameward ran, and tald my mither;
126
The bowls rowed right amang the hether!
O my bonie, &c.
Now Hymen's beam gilds bank and stream
Whar Will and I fresh flowers will gather;
Nae storms I fear, I've got my dear
Kind-hearted lad amang the hether!
Whar Will and I fresh flowers will gather;
Nae storms I fear, I've got my dear
Kind-hearted lad amang the hether!
O my bonie Highland lad!
My winsome, weel-far'd, Highland laddie!
Should storms appear, my Will's ay near
To row me in his tartan plaidie.
My winsome, weel-far'd, Highland laddie!
Should storms appear, my Will's ay near
To row me in his tartan plaidie.
127
COME UNDER MY PLAIDY;
OR, MODERN MARRIAGE DELINEATED.
‘Come under my plaidy, the night's gau'n to fa';
Come in frae the cauld blast, the drift and the snaw;
Come under my plaidy, and sit down beside me;
There's room in't, dear lassie! believe me, for twa.
Come under my plaidy, and sit down beside me,
I'll hap ye frae every cauld blast that can blaw:
O come under my plaidy, and sit down beside me,
There's room in't, dear lassie! believe me, for twa.’
Come in frae the cauld blast, the drift and the snaw;
Come under my plaidy, and sit down beside me;
There's room in't, dear lassie! believe me, for twa.
Come under my plaidy, and sit down beside me,
I'll hap ye frae every cauld blast that can blaw:
O come under my plaidy, and sit down beside me,
There's room in't, dear lassie! believe me, for twa.’
128
‘Gae 'wa wi' your plaidy! auld Donald, gae 'wa,
I fear na the cauld blast, the drift nor the snaw;
Gae 'wa wi' your plaidy! I'll no sit beside ye;
Ye may be my gutcher:—auld Donald, gae wa'.
I'm gau'n to meet Johnie, he's young and he's bonie;
He's been at Meg's bridal, sae trig and sae braw!
O nane dances sae lightly! sae gracefu'! sae tightly!
His cheek's like the new rose, his brow's like the snaw!’
I fear na the cauld blast, the drift nor the snaw;
Gae 'wa wi' your plaidy! I'll no sit beside ye;
Ye may be my gutcher:—auld Donald, gae wa'.
I'm gau'n to meet Johnie, he's young and he's bonie;
He's been at Meg's bridal, sae trig and sae braw!
O nane dances sae lightly! sae gracefu'! sae tightly!
His cheek's like the new rose, his brow's like the snaw!’
‘Dear Marion, let that flee stick fast to the wa',
Your Jock's but a gowk, and has naithing ava;
The hale o' his pack he has now on his back,
He's thretty, and I am but threescore and twa.
Be frank now and kindly; I'll busk you aye finely;
To kirk or to market they'll few gang sae braw;
A bein house to bide in, a chaise for to ride in,
And flunkies to tend ye as aft as ye ca.’
Your Jock's but a gowk, and has naithing ava;
The hale o' his pack he has now on his back,
He's thretty, and I am but threescore and twa.
Be frank now and kindly; I'll busk you aye finely;
To kirk or to market they'll few gang sae braw;
A bein house to bide in, a chaise for to ride in,
And flunkies to tend ye as aft as ye ca.’
129
‘My father's ay tauld me, my mither and a',
Ye'd make a gude husband, and keep me ay braw;
It's true I loo Johnie, he's gude and he's bonie,
But, waes me! ye ken he has naething ava!
I hae little tocher; you've made a gude offer;
I'm now mair than twenty; my time is but sma'!
Sae gi' me your plaidy, I'll creep in beside ye,
I thought ye'd been aulder than threescore and twa.’
Ye'd make a gude husband, and keep me ay braw;
It's true I loo Johnie, he's gude and he's bonie,
But, waes me! ye ken he has naething ava!
I hae little tocher; you've made a gude offer;
I'm now mair than twenty; my time is but sma'!
Sae gi' me your plaidy, I'll creep in beside ye,
I thought ye'd been aulder than threescore and twa.’
She crap in ayont him, aside the stane wa',
Whar Johnie was list'ning, and heard her tell a';
The day was appointed!—his proud heart it dunted,
And strack 'gainst his side as if bursting in twa.
He wandered hame weary, the night it was dreary!
And thowless, he tint his gate deep 'mang the snaw;
The howlet was screamin', while Johnie cried ‘Women
Wa'd marry Auld Nick, if he'd keep them ay braw.’
Whar Johnie was list'ning, and heard her tell a';
The day was appointed!—his proud heart it dunted,
And strack 'gainst his side as if bursting in twa.
He wandered hame weary, the night it was dreary!
And thowless, he tint his gate deep 'mang the snaw;
The howlet was screamin', while Johnie cried ‘Women
Wa'd marry Auld Nick, if he'd keep them ay braw.’
130
O the deel's in the lasses! they gang now sae braw,
They'll lie down wi' auld men o' fourscore and twa;
The hale o'their marriage is gowd and a carriage;
Plain luve is the cauldest blast now that can blaw!
They'll lie down wi' auld men o' fourscore and twa;
The hale o'their marriage is gowd and a carriage;
Plain luve is the cauldest blast now that can blaw!
131
VALOUR SHIELDS THE BRAVE.
J.
Hark!—hark! the sound of battle!
Warning thrice, the cannons rattle!—
Fast o'er plain and mountain brattle
Scotia's thousands brave!
Warning thrice, the cannons rattle!—
Fast o'er plain and mountain brattle
Scotia's thousands brave!
A.
Never!—never mair to tell
When freedom fought!—where valour fell!
Nor return! till death's sad knell
Toll warriors to the grave!
When freedom fought!—where valour fell!
Nor return! till death's sad knell
Toll warriors to the grave!
132
Awa wi' fear!—stop that tear!
Freedom's cause to freemen's dear!
Valour, Annie!—valour! valour!
True valour shields the brave!
Freedom's cause to freemen's dear!
Valour, Annie!—valour! valour!
True valour shields the brave!
A.
What shields the helpless? Johnnie,
Wha guards a wife like Annie?
Trembling here, wi' infants bonnie!
Sever'd frae the brave!
Wha smiles to banish fear?
Wha remains to stop the tear?
Wha guards a wife like Annie?
Trembling here, wi' infants bonnie!
Sever'd frae the brave!
Wha smiles to banish fear?
Wha remains to stop the tear?
J.
Faithful love, and heaven's kind care,
My Annie's peace will save!
Then banish dread!—tear ne'er shed!
Gallia's chains for slaves are made!—
Britons, Annie!—Britons! Britons!
Free Britons scorn the slave!
My Annie's peace will save!
133
Gallia's chains for slaves are made!—
Britons, Annie!—Britons! Britons!
Free Britons scorn the slave!
A.
Gang—gang! then, dearest Johnnie!
Slavery's ill's the warst o'ony!—
Heaven and virtue guard your Annie!—
God direct the brave!—
This warm kiss before you start!
Place this token near your heart!—
Friendship now and peace maun part,
Dear freedom's cause to save!
Slavery's ill's the warst o'ony!—
Heaven and virtue guard your Annie!—
God direct the brave!—
This warm kiss before you start!
Place this token near your heart!—
Friendship now and peace maun part,
Dear freedom's cause to save!
134
Then banish dread!—tear ne'er shed!
If freedom fa's, love's joys drap dead!
Freedom, Annie! Freedom! freedom!
Blest freedom! or—the Grave!
If freedom fa's, love's joys drap dead!
Freedom, Annie! Freedom! freedom!
Blest freedom! or—the Grave!
IV
Wi' trembling hand, and heart sair knockin,Round his neck she tied love's token;
Sighed, and cried, in words half spoken,
Heaven shield the brave!
The trumpet blew! the warrior flew;
Met Scotia's freemen, dauntless, true!
Firm their step! ranks red and blue,
Cried, Victory, or the Grave!
135
Bands in freedom's armour clad!—
Freedom! Tyrant!—Freedom! Freedom!
Blest Freedom! shield the brave!
Written during the prospect of an immediate invasion. The song represents the parting between a husband and wife on the first signal of the enemy's approach.
136
THE AULD WIFE'S LAMENT—1804.
This warld o'ours has been lang in a low!—
I wonder wha bred the beginning o't?
God send us a rock, and a wee pickle tow!
And let us again to the spinning o't!
Our spinning, God help us! is no ganging right;
Our men they're for fighting; our women tak fright;
We're vap'ring a'day; and we're blind-fou at night:
—But wha yet has heard o'the winning o't?
I wonder wha bred the beginning o't?
God send us a rock, and a wee pickle tow!
And let us again to the spinning o't!
Our spinning, God help us! is no ganging right;
Our men they're for fighting; our women tak fright;
We're vap'ring a'day; and we're blind-fou at night:
—But wha yet has heard o'the winning o't?
137
They crack o'our trade; and they crack o'our walth;
They brag o'our mills that are spinning o't;
But, spite o'our boasting, and spite o'our pelf,
Good faith! I hear few that are winning o't.
Our wabsters are breaking, our looms they stand still!
Our lads are doing little but tending the drill!—
I doubt if e'en lairds now their pouches can fill—
—Oh, hon! for the wearie beginning o't!
They brag o'our mills that are spinning o't;
But, spite o'our boasting, and spite o'our pelf,
Good faith! I hear few that are winning o't.
Our wabsters are breaking, our looms they stand still!
Our lads are doing little but tending the drill!—
I doubt if e'en lairds now their pouches can fill—
—Oh, hon! for the wearie beginning o't!
They're plenty, nae doubt, wha can had their head heigh,
And ay wad be thought to be winning o't;
We're a'ganging fine; but we ay keep abeigh,
When folk wad keek in at the spinning o't.
Our houses are glittering; our lasses gang bra'!
Our tables are costly—our pride's warst o'a'!
But gin we gae on, we shall soon get a fa'!
And then we'll hear nought but the tyning o't!
And ay wad be thought to be winning o't;
We're a'ganging fine; but we ay keep abeigh,
When folk wad keek in at the spinning o't.
Our houses are glittering; our lasses gang bra'!
Our tables are costly—our pride's warst o'a'!
But gin we gae on, we shall soon get a fa'!
And then we'll hear nought but the tyning o't!
138
Oh—oh! for the time when we sat at our wheel,
And ilka ane sang to the spinning o't!
A canty fire-side, and a cap o'good ale,
Gaed ay sweetly down wi' the winning o't!—
We're strutting!—we're blawing! morn, e'ening, and noon;
We're wishing to see our French friends unco soon!
But gif Bonaparte gangs on as he's done,
We'll neither see end nor beginning o't!
And ilka ane sang to the spinning o't!
A canty fire-side, and a cap o'good ale,
Gaed ay sweetly down wi' the winning o't!—
We're strutting!—we're blawing! morn, e'ening, and noon;
We're wishing to see our French friends unco soon!
But gif Bonaparte gangs on as he's done,
We'll neither see end nor beginning o't!
Yet think na, my lads, ye are yet to lye by!—
Its ay right to try a beginning o't;
Whan folk are sair put, they maun e'en ‘ride and tie;’
Its better than gi' up the spinning o't:
Then up wi' your muskets, and up wi' your might!
And up wi' your signals and fires on ilk height!
If ance we get steddy, we yet may get right,
And, ablins, ere lang prie the winning o't!
Its ay right to try a beginning o't;
Whan folk are sair put, they maun e'en ‘ride and tie;’
Its better than gi' up the spinning o't:
Then up wi' your muskets, and up wi' your might!
And up wi' your signals and fires on ilk height!
If ance we get steddy, we yet may get right,
And, ablins, ere lang prie the winning o't!
139
THERE'S NOUGHT I SEE, TO FEAR NOW.
Our good king sits in Windsor tower,
The sun-beams glint sae cheerfu'!
A birdie sang in yonder bower,
And O! but is sang fearfu'!
Tell me, my bird, my mourning bird,
What is't you sing so drearie?
I sing o'danger, fire, and sword,
Fell faes are coming near ye!
The sun-beams glint sae cheerfu'!
A birdie sang in yonder bower,
And O! but is sang fearfu'!
Tell me, my bird, my mourning bird,
What is't you sing so drearie?
I sing o'danger, fire, and sword,
Fell faes are coming near ye!
140
The king stept on his terraced height,
His heart was bauld and cheerie;
“I fear no foe, by day or night,
While Britain's sons are near me!”
The bird ay sang upon the thorn,
And ay its sang was fearfu';
Good king! your ships maun sail the morn,
For England's faes are near you.
His heart was bauld and cheerie;
“I fear no foe, by day or night,
While Britain's sons are near me!”
The bird ay sang upon the thorn,
And ay its sang was fearfu';
Good king! your ships maun sail the morn,
For England's faes are near you.
The king looked frae his castle hie!
His look was blythe and airy!
“There's not a foe dares face the sea!
Brave England's tars are there ay.”
The birdie sang ay on the thorn,
But now its sang grew cheerfu',
Good king! we'll laugh your faes to scorn;
There's nought I see to fear now!
His look was blythe and airy!
“There's not a foe dares face the sea!
Brave England's tars are there ay.”
The birdie sang ay on the thorn,
But now its sang grew cheerfu',
Good king! we'll laugh your faes to scorn;
There's nought I see to fear now!
141
The birdie flew on blythesome wing,
And O! but it sang rarely;
And ay it sang, “God bless our King!
Bauld Britons luve him dearly.”
It flew o'er hill, it flew o'er lea,
It sang o'er moor and hether,
Till it came to the north countrie,
Whar a'sang blythe thegither.
And O! but it sang rarely;
And ay it sang, “God bless our King!
Bauld Britons luve him dearly.”
It flew o'er hill, it flew o'er lea,
It sang o'er moor and hether,
Till it came to the north countrie,
Whar a'sang blythe thegither.
They sang o'fame and martial might,
(The pride o'Scottish story)
The sang o'Edward's wars and flight,
And Bruce's radiant glory!
They laughed at Gallia's threat'ning ills—
(Their shield was Patriot-honour;)
They rushed down Freedom's heath-flowered hills,
And, rattling, joined her banner!
(The pride o'Scottish story)
The sang o'Edward's wars and flight,
And Bruce's radiant glory!
They laughed at Gallia's threat'ning ills—
(Their shield was Patriot-honour;)
They rushed down Freedom's heath-flowered hills,
And, rattling, joined her banner!
| The Poetical Works of Hector MacNeill | |