Life and Songs of the Baroness Nairne With a Memoir and Poems of Caroline Oliphant the Younger: Edited by the Rev. Charles Rogers ... With a Portrait and Other Illustrations |
 | SONGS
OF
LADY NAIRNE. |
 |
 | Life and Songs of the Baroness Nairne |  |
SONGS OF LADY NAIRNE.
3
THE LAND O' THE LEAL.
I'm wearin' awa', John,
Like snaw-wreaths in thaw, John,
I'm wearin' awa'
To the land o' the leal.
There's nae sorrow there, John,
There's neither cauld nor care, John,
The day is aye fair
In the land o' the leal.
Like snaw-wreaths in thaw, John,
I'm wearin' awa'
To the land o' the leal.
There's nae sorrow there, John,
There's neither cauld nor care, John,
The day is aye fair
In the land o' the leal.
Our bonnie bairn's there, John,
She was baith gude and fair, John,
And oh! we grudg'd her sair
To the land o' the leal.
But sorrow's sel' wears past, John,
And joy's a-comin' fast, John,
The joy that's aye to last
In the land o' the leal.
She was baith gude and fair, John,
And oh! we grudg'd her sair
To the land o' the leal.
But sorrow's sel' wears past, John,
And joy's a-comin' fast, John,
The joy that's aye to last
In the land o' the leal.
4
Sae dear that joy was bought, John,
Sae free the battle fought, John,
That sinfu' man e'er brought
To the land o' the leal.
Oh! dry your glist'ning e'e, John,
My saul langs to be free, John,
And angels beckon me
To the land o' the leal.
Sae free the battle fought, John,
That sinfu' man e'er brought
To the land o' the leal.
Oh! dry your glist'ning e'e, John,
My saul langs to be free, John,
And angels beckon me
To the land o' the leal.
Oh! haud ye leal and true, John,
Your day it's wearin' thro', John,
And I'll welcome you
To the land o' the leal.
Now fare ye weel, my ain John,
This warld's cares are vain, John,
We'll meet, and we'll be fain,
In the land o' the leal.
Your day it's wearin' thro', John,
And I'll welcome you
To the land o' the leal.
Now fare ye weel, my ain John,
This warld's cares are vain, John,
We'll meet, and we'll be fain,
In the land o' the leal.
5
CALLER HERRIN'.
Wha'll buy my caller herrin'?
They're bonnie fish and halesome farin';
Wha'll buy my caller herrin',
New drawn frae the Forth?
They're bonnie fish and halesome farin';
Wha'll buy my caller herrin',
New drawn frae the Forth?
When ye were sleepin' on your pillows,
Dream'd ye aught o' our puir fellows,
Darkling as they fac'd the billows,
A' to fill the woven willows?
Buy my caller herrin',
New drawn frae the Forth.
Dream'd ye aught o' our puir fellows,
Darkling as they fac'd the billows,
A' to fill the woven willows?
Buy my caller herrin',
New drawn frae the Forth.
Wha'll buy my caller herrin'?
They're no brought here without brave daring;
Buy my caller herrin',
Haul'd thro' wind and rain.
Wha'll buy my caller herrin'? &c.
They're no brought here without brave daring;
Buy my caller herrin',
Haul'd thro' wind and rain.
Wha'll buy my caller herrin'? &c.
Wha'll buy my caller herrin'?
Oh, ye may ca' them vulgar farin',
Wives and mithers maist despairing,
Ca' them lives o' men.
Wha'll buy my caller herrin'? &c.
Oh, ye may ca' them vulgar farin',
Wives and mithers maist despairing,
Ca' them lives o' men.
Wha'll buy my caller herrin'? &c.
6
When the creel o' herrin' passes,
Ladies, clad in silks and laces,
Gather in their braw pelisses,
Cast their heads and screw their faces.
Wha'll buy my caller herrin'? &c.
Ladies, clad in silks and laces,
Gather in their braw pelisses,
Cast their heads and screw their faces.
Wha'll buy my caller herrin'? &c.
Caller herrin's no got lightlie,
Ye can trip the spring fu' tightlie,
Spite o' tauntin', flauntin', flingin',
Gow has set you a' a-singing.’
Wha'll buy my caller herrin'? &c.
Ye can trip the spring fu' tightlie,
Spite o' tauntin', flauntin', flingin',
Gow has set you a' a-singing.’
Wha'll buy my caller herrin'? &c.
Neebour wives, now tent my tellin:’
When the bonny fish ye're sellin',
At ae word be in ye're dealin'—
Truth will stand when a' thing's failin'.
Wha'll buy my caller herrin'?
They're bonnie fish and halesome farin'.
Wha'll buy my caller herrin',
New drawn frae the Forth?
When the bonny fish ye're sellin',
At ae word be in ye're dealin'—
Truth will stand when a' thing's failin'.
Wha'll buy my caller herrin'?
They're bonnie fish and halesome farin'.
Wha'll buy my caller herrin',
New drawn frae the Forth?
7
THE LASS O' GOWRIE.
'Twas on a summer's afternoon,
A wee afore the sun gaed doun,
A lassie wi' a braw new goun
Came owre the hills to Gowrie.
The rose-bud wash'd in summer's shower,
Bloom'd fresh within the sunny bower;
But Kitty was the fairest flower
That e'er was seen in Gowrie.
A wee afore the sun gaed doun,
A lassie wi' a braw new goun
Came owre the hills to Gowrie.
The rose-bud wash'd in summer's shower,
Bloom'd fresh within the sunny bower;
But Kitty was the fairest flower
That e'er was seen in Gowrie.
To see her cousin she cam' there;
An' oh! the scene was passing fair;
For what in Scotland can compare
Wi' the Carse o' Gowrie?
The sun was setting on the Tay,
The blue hills melting into grey,
The mavis and the blackbird's lay
Were sweetly heard in Gowrie.
An' oh! the scene was passing fair;
For what in Scotland can compare
Wi' the Carse o' Gowrie?
The sun was setting on the Tay,
The blue hills melting into grey,
The mavis and the blackbird's lay
Were sweetly heard in Gowrie.
O lang the lassie I had woo'd,
An' truth and constancy had vow'd,
But cam' nae speed wi' her I lo'ed,
Until she saw fair Gowrie.
I pointed to my faither's ha',
Yon bonnie bield ayont the shaw,
Sae loun' that there nae blast could blaw,
Wad she no bide in Gowrie.
An' truth and constancy had vow'd,
But cam' nae speed wi' her I lo'ed,
Until she saw fair Gowrie.
8
Yon bonnie bield ayont the shaw,
Sae loun' that there nae blast could blaw,
Wad she no bide in Gowrie.
Her faither was baith glad and wae;
Her mither she wad naething say;
The bairnies thocht they wad get play,
If Kitty gaed to Gowrie.
She whiles did smile, she whiles did greet,
The blush and tear were on her cheek—
She naething said, an' hung her head;
But now she's Leddy Gowrie.
Her mither she wad naething say;
The bairnies thocht they wad get play,
If Kitty gaed to Gowrie.
She whiles did smile, she whiles did greet,
The blush and tear were on her cheek—
She naething said, an' hung her head;
But now she's Leddy Gowrie.
9
THE LAIRD O' COCKPEN.
The laird o' Cockpen, he's proud an' he's great,
His mind is ta'en up wi' things o' the State;
He wanted a wife, his braw house to keep,
But favour wi' wooin' was fashious to seek.
His mind is ta'en up wi' things o' the State;
He wanted a wife, his braw house to keep,
But favour wi' wooin' was fashious to seek.
Down by the dyke-side a lady did dwell,
At his table head he thought she'd look well,
McClish's ae daughter o' Claverse-ha' Lee,
A penniless lass wi' a lang pedigree.
At his table head he thought she'd look well,
McClish's ae daughter o' Claverse-ha' Lee,
A penniless lass wi' a lang pedigree.
His wig was weel pouther'd, and as gude as new;
His waistcoat was white, his coat it was blue;
He put on a ring, a sword and cock'd hat,
And wha could refuse the laird wi' a' that?
His waistcoat was white, his coat it was blue;
He put on a ring, a sword and cock'd hat,
And wha could refuse the laird wi' a' that?
He took the grey mare, and rade cannily,
An' rapp'd at the yett o' Claverse-ha' Lee;
“Gae tell Mistress Jean to come speedily ben,
She's wanted to speak to the laird o' Cockpen.”
An' rapp'd at the yett o' Claverse-ha' Lee;
“Gae tell Mistress Jean to come speedily ben,
She's wanted to speak to the laird o' Cockpen.”
Mistress Jean was makin' the elder-flower wine.
“An' what brings the laird at sic a like time?”
She put aff her apron, and on her silk gown,
Her mutch wi' red ribbons, and gaed awa' down.
“An' what brings the laird at sic a like time?”
She put aff her apron, and on her silk gown,
Her mutch wi' red ribbons, and gaed awa' down.
10
An' when she cam' ben he bowed fu' low,
An' what was his errand he soon let her know;
Amazed was the laird when the lady said “Na,”
And wi' a laigh curtsie she turned awa.’
An' what was his errand he soon let her know;
Amazed was the laird when the lady said “Na,”
And wi' a laigh curtsie she turned awa.’
Dumfounder'd he was, nae sigh did he gie,
He mounted his mare—he rade cannily;
And aften he thought, as he gaed thro' the glen,
She's daft to refuse the laird o' Cockpen.
He mounted his mare—he rade cannily;
And aften he thought, as he gaed thro' the glen,
She's daft to refuse the laird o' Cockpen.
And now that the laird his exit had made,
Mistress Jean she reflected on what she had said;
“Oh, for ane I'll get better, its waur I'll get ten,
I was daft to refuse the Laird o' Cockpen.”
Mistress Jean she reflected on what she had said;
“Oh, for ane I'll get better, its waur I'll get ten,
I was daft to refuse the Laird o' Cockpen.”
Next time that the laird and the lady were seen,
They were gaun arm-in-arm to the kirk on the green;
Now she sits in the ha' like a weel-tappit hen,
But as yet there's nae chickens appear'd at Cockpen.
They were gaun arm-in-arm to the kirk on the green;
Now she sits in the ha' like a weel-tappit hen,
But as yet there's nae chickens appear'd at Cockpen.
11
HER HOME SHE IS LEAVING.
To the hills of her youth, cloth'd in all their rich wildness,
Farewell she is bidding, in all her sweet mildness,
And still, as the moment of parting is nearer,
Each long-cherish'd object is fairer and dearer.
Not a grove or fresh streamlet but wakens reflection
Of hearts still and cold, that glow'd with affection;
Not a breeze that blows over the flow'rs of the wild-wood,
But tells, as it passes, how blest was her childhood.
Farewell she is bidding, in all her sweet mildness,
And still, as the moment of parting is nearer,
Each long-cherish'd object is fairer and dearer.
Not a grove or fresh streamlet but wakens reflection
Of hearts still and cold, that glow'd with affection;
Not a breeze that blows over the flow'rs of the wild-wood,
But tells, as it passes, how blest was her childhood.
And how long must I leave thee, each fond look expresses,
Ye high rocky summits, ye ivy'd recesses,
How long must I leave thee, thou wood-shaded river,
The echoes all sigh—as they whisper—for ever!
Tho' the autumn winds rave, and the seared leaves fall,
And winter hangs out her cold icy pall—
Yet the footsteps of spring again ye will see,
And the singing of birds—but they sing not for me.
Ye high rocky summits, ye ivy'd recesses,
How long must I leave thee, thou wood-shaded river,
The echoes all sigh—as they whisper—for ever!
Tho' the autumn winds rave, and the seared leaves fall,
And winter hangs out her cold icy pall—
Yet the footsteps of spring again ye will see,
And the singing of birds—but they sing not for me.
12
The joys of the past, more faintly recalling,
Sweet visions of peace on her spirit are falling,
And the soft wing of time, as it speeds for the morrow,
Wafts a gale, that is drying the dew drops of sorrow.
Hope dawns—and the toils of life's journey beguiling,
The path of the mourner is cheered with its smiling,
And there her heart rests, and her wishes all centre,
Where parting is never—nor sorrow can enter!
Sweet visions of peace on her spirit are falling,
And the soft wing of time, as it speeds for the morrow,
Wafts a gale, that is drying the dew drops of sorrow.
Hope dawns—and the toils of life's journey beguiling,
The path of the mourner is cheered with its smiling,
And there her heart rests, and her wishes all centre,
Where parting is never—nor sorrow can enter!
13
THE AULD HOUSE.
Oh, the auld house, the auld house,
What tho' the rooms were wee?
Oh! kind hearts were dwelling there,
And bairnies fu' o' glee;
The wild rose and the jessamine
Still hang upon the wa',
How mony cherish'd memories
Do they, sweet flowers, reca'.
What tho' the rooms were wee?
Oh! kind hearts were dwelling there,
And bairnies fu' o' glee;
The wild rose and the jessamine
Still hang upon the wa',
How mony cherish'd memories
Do they, sweet flowers, reca'.
Oh, the auld laird, the auld laird,
Sae canty, kind and crouse,
How mony did he welcome to
His ain wee dear auld house;
And the leddy too, sae genty,
There shelter'd Scotland's heir,
And clipt a lock wi' her ain hand,
Frae his lang yellow hair.
Sae canty, kind and crouse,
How mony did he welcome to
His ain wee dear auld house;
And the leddy too, sae genty,
There shelter'd Scotland's heir,
And clipt a lock wi' her ain hand,
Frae his lang yellow hair.
The mavis still doth sweetly sing,
The blue bells sweetly blaw,
The bonny Earn's clear winding still,
But the auld house is awa'.
The auld house, the auld house,
Deserted tho' ye be,
There ne'er can be a new house
Will seem sae fair to me.
The blue bells sweetly blaw,
The bonny Earn's clear winding still,
But the auld house is awa'.
The auld house, the auld house,
Deserted tho' ye be,
There ne'er can be a new house
Will seem sae fair to me.
14
Still flourishing the auld pear tree
The bairnies liked to see,
And oh, how aften did they speir
When ripe they a' wad be?
The voices sweet, the wee bit feet
Aye rinnin' here and there,
The merry shout—oh! whiles we greet
To think we'll hear nae mair.
The bairnies liked to see,
And oh, how aften did they speir
When ripe they a' wad be?
The voices sweet, the wee bit feet
Aye rinnin' here and there,
The merry shout—oh! whiles we greet
To think we'll hear nae mair.
For they are a' wide scatter'd now,
Some to the Indies gane,
And ane alas! to her lang hame;
Not here we'll meet again.
The kirkyaird, the kirkyaird!
Wi' flowers o' every hue,
Shelter'd by the holly's shade
An' the dark sombre yew.
Some to the Indies gane,
And ane alas! to her lang hame;
Not here we'll meet again.
The kirkyaird, the kirkyaird!
Wi' flowers o' every hue,
Shelter'd by the holly's shade
An' the dark sombre yew.
The setting sun, the setting sun!
How glorious it gaed doon;
The cloudy splendour raised our hearts
To cloudless skies aboon!
The auld dial, the auld dial!
It tauld how time did pass;
The wintry winds hae dung it doon,
Now hid 'mang weeds and grass.
How glorious it gaed doon;
The cloudy splendour raised our hearts
To cloudless skies aboon!
The auld dial, the auld dial!
It tauld how time did pass;
The wintry winds hae dung it doon,
Now hid 'mang weeds and grass.
15
ADIEU TO STRATHEARN.
Strathearn, oh! how shall I quit thy sweet groves?
How bid thee a long, oh! an endless adieu?
Sad memory over such happiness roves,
As not hope's own magic can ever renew.
How bid thee a long, oh! an endless adieu?
Sad memory over such happiness roves,
As not hope's own magic can ever renew.
Sweet scene of my childhood, delight of my youth!
Thy far-winding waters no more I must see;
Thy high-waving bowers, thy gay woodland flowers,
They wave now, they bloom now, no longer for me.
Thy far-winding waters no more I must see;
Thy high-waving bowers, thy gay woodland flowers,
They wave now, they bloom now, no longer for me.
16
THE BANKS OF THE EARN.
Fair shone the rising sky,
The dew drops clad wi' mony a dye,
Larks lilting pibrochs high,
To welcome day's returning.
The spreading hills, the shading trees,
High waving in the morning breeze;
The wee Scots' rose that sweetly blows,
Earn's vale adorning.
The dew drops clad wi' mony a dye,
Larks lilting pibrochs high,
To welcome day's returning.
The spreading hills, the shading trees,
High waving in the morning breeze;
The wee Scots' rose that sweetly blows,
Earn's vale adorning.
Flow on sweet Earn, row on sweet Earn,
Joy to a' thy bonny braes,
Spring's sweet buds aye first do blow
Where thy winding waters flow.
Thro' thy banks, which wild flowers border,
Freely wind, and proudly flow,
Where Wallace wight fought for the right,
And gallant Grahams are lying low.
Joy to a' thy bonny braes,
Spring's sweet buds aye first do blow
Where thy winding waters flow.
Thro' thy banks, which wild flowers border,
Freely wind, and proudly flow,
Where Wallace wight fought for the right,
And gallant Grahams are lying low.
O Scotland! nurse o' mony a name
Rever'd for worth, renown'd in fame;
Let never foes tell to thy shame,
Gane is thine ancient loyalty.
But still the true-born warlike band
That guards thy high unconquer'd land,
As did their sires, join hand in hand,
To fight for law and royalty.
Rever'd for worth, renown'd in fame;
Let never foes tell to thy shame,
Gane is thine ancient loyalty.
But still the true-born warlike band
That guards thy high unconquer'd land,
As did their sires, join hand in hand,
To fight for law and royalty.
17
Oh, ne'er for greed o' worldly gear,
Let thy brave sons, like fugies, hide
Where lawless stills pollute the rills
That o'er thy hills and valleys glide.
While in the field they scorn to yield,
And while their native soil is dear,
Oh, may their truth be as its rocks,
And conscience, as its waters clear!
Let thy brave sons, like fugies, hide
Where lawless stills pollute the rills
That o'er thy hills and valleys glide.
While in the field they scorn to yield,
And while their native soil is dear,
Oh, may their truth be as its rocks,
And conscience, as its waters clear!
18
BONNIE RAN THE BURNIE DOON.
Bonnie ran the burnie doon,
Wand'rin' and windin';
Sweetly sang the birds aboon,
Care never mindin'.
Wand'rin' and windin';
Sweetly sang the birds aboon,
Care never mindin'.
The gentle simmer wind
Was their nursie saft and kind,
And it rockit them, and rockit them,
All in their bowers sae hie.
Bonnie ran, &c.
Was their nursie saft and kind,
And it rockit them, and rockit them,
All in their bowers sae hie.
Bonnie ran, &c.
The mossy rock was there,
And the water-lily fair,
And the little trout would sport about
All in the sunny beam.
Bonnie ran, &c.
And the water-lily fair,
And the little trout would sport about
All in the sunny beam.
Bonnie ran, &c.
Tho' summer days be lang,
And sweet the birdies' sang,
The wintry night and chilling blight
Keep aye their eerie roun'.
Bonnie ran, &c.
And sweet the birdies' sang,
The wintry night and chilling blight
Keep aye their eerie roun'.
Bonnie ran, &c.
19
And then the burnie's like a sea,
Roarin' and reamin';
Nae wee bit sangster's on the tree,
But wild birdies screamin'.
Roarin' and reamin';
Nae wee bit sangster's on the tree,
But wild birdies screamin'.
Oh that the past I might forget
Wand'rin' and weepin',
Oh that aneath the hillock green
Sound I were sleepin'.
Bonnie ran the burnie doon,
Wand'rin' and windin';
Sweetly sang the birds aboon,
Care never mindin'.
Wand'rin' and weepin',
Oh that aneath the hillock green
Sound I were sleepin'.
Bonnie ran the burnie doon,
Wand'rin' and windin';
Sweetly sang the birds aboon,
Care never mindin'.
20
THE HEIRESS.
I'll no be had for naething,
I'll no be had for naething,
I tell ye, lads, that's ae thing,
So ye needna follow me.
I'll no be had for naething,
I tell ye, lads, that's ae thing,
So ye needna follow me.
Oh! the change is most surprising;
Last year I was Betsy Brown;
Now to my hand they're a' aspiring,
The fair Eliza I am grown!
But I'll no, &c.
Last year I was Betsy Brown;
Now to my hand they're a' aspiring,
The fair Eliza I am grown!
But I'll no, &c.
Oh! the change is most surprising,
Nane o' them e'er look'd at me;
Now my charms they're a' admiring,
For my sake they're like to dee!
But I'll no, &c.
Nane o' them e'er look'd at me;
Now my charms they're a' admiring,
For my sake they're like to dee!
But I'll no, &c.
The laird, the shirra, and the doctor,
And twa-three lords o' high degree;
Wi' heaps o' writers, I could mention,
Surely, sirs, it is no me!
But I'll no, &c.
And twa-three lords o' high degree;
Wi' heaps o' writers, I could mention,
Surely, sirs, it is no me!
But I'll no, &c.
21
But there is ane, when I had naething,
A' his heart he gied to me;
And sair he toiled, to mak a wee thing,
To gie me when he cam frae sea.
Sae I'll no, &c.
A' his heart he gied to me;
And sair he toiled, to mak a wee thing,
To gie me when he cam frae sea.
Sae I'll no, &c.
And if e'er I marry ony,
He will be the lad for me;
For oh, he was baith gude and bonny,
And he thocht the same o' me.
Sae I'll no be had for naething,
I'll no be had for naething,
I tell ye, lads, that's ae thing,
So ye needna follow me.
He will be the lad for me;
For oh, he was baith gude and bonny,
And he thocht the same o' me.
Sae I'll no be had for naething,
I'll no be had for naething,
I tell ye, lads, that's ae thing,
So ye needna follow me.
22
THE MITHERLESS LAMMIE.
The mitherless lammie ne'er miss'd its ain mammie,
We tentit it kindly by nicht and by day;
The bairnies made game o't, it had a blythe hame o't,
Its food was the gowan, wi' dew drops o' May.
Without tie or fetter, it cou'dna been better,
But it wad gae witless the warld to see,
The foe that it fear'd not, it saw not, it heard not,
Was watching its wand'ring frae Bonnington Lea.
We tentit it kindly by nicht and by day;
The bairnies made game o't, it had a blythe hame o't,
Its food was the gowan, wi' dew drops o' May.
Without tie or fetter, it cou'dna been better,
But it wad gae witless the warld to see,
The foe that it fear'd not, it saw not, it heard not,
Was watching its wand'ring frae Bonnington Lea.
Oh what then befell it, 'twere waefu' to tell it,
Tod Lowrie kens best, wi' his lang head sae sly;
He met the pet lammie, that wanted its mammie,
And left its kind hame, the wide warld to try.
We miss'd at day dawin', we miss'd at night fa'in';
Its wee shed is tenantless under the tree;
Ae nicht i' the gloamin', it wad gae a roamin';
'Twill frolic nae mair upon Bonnington Lea.
Tod Lowrie kens best, wi' his lang head sae sly;
He met the pet lammie, that wanted its mammie,
And left its kind hame, the wide warld to try.
We miss'd at day dawin', we miss'd at night fa'in';
Its wee shed is tenantless under the tree;
Ae nicht i' the gloamin', it wad gae a roamin';
'Twill frolic nae mair upon Bonnington Lea.
23
SONGS OF MY NATIVE LAND.
Songs of my native land,
To me how dear!
Songs of my infancy
Sweet to mine ear!
Entwined with my youthful days,
Wi' the bonny banks and braes,
Where the winding burnie strays
Murmuring near.
To me how dear!
Songs of my infancy
Sweet to mine ear!
Entwined with my youthful days,
Wi' the bonny banks and braes,
Where the winding burnie strays
Murmuring near.
Strains of my native land
That thrill the soul,
Pouring the magic of
Your soft control!
Often has your minstrelsy
Soothed the pang of misery,
Winging rapid thought away
To realms on high.
That thrill the soul,
Pouring the magic of
Your soft control!
Often has your minstrelsy
Soothed the pang of misery,
Winging rapid thought away
To realms on high.
Weary pilgrims there have rest,
Their wand'rings o'er;
There the slave, no more oppressed,
Hails Freedom's shore.
Sin shall there no more deface,
Sickness, pain and sorrow cease,
Ending in eternal peace,
And songs of joy!
Their wand'rings o'er;
There the slave, no more oppressed,
Hails Freedom's shore.
Sin shall there no more deface,
Sickness, pain and sorrow cease,
Ending in eternal peace,
And songs of joy!
24
There, where the seraphs sing
In cloudless day,—
There, where the higher praise
The ransom'd pay.
Soft strains of the happy land,
Chanted by the heavenly band,
Who can fully understand
How sweet ye be!
In cloudless day,—
There, where the higher praise
The ransom'd pay.
Soft strains of the happy land,
Chanted by the heavenly band,
Who can fully understand
How sweet ye be!
25
THE BONNIEST LASS IN A' THE WARLD.
The bonniest lass in a' the warld,
I've often heard them telling,
She's up the hill, she's down the glen,
She's in yon lonely dwelling.
But nane could bring her to my mind,
Wha lives but in the fancy,
Is't Kate or Shusie, Jean or May?
Is't Effie, Bess, or Nancy?
I've often heard them telling,
She's up the hill, she's down the glen,
She's in yon lonely dwelling.
But nane could bring her to my mind,
Wha lives but in the fancy,
Is't Kate or Shusie, Jean or May?
Is't Effie, Bess, or Nancy?
Now lasses a' keep a gude heart,
Nor envy e'er a comrade,
For be ye're een black, blue, or grey,
Ye're bonniest aye to some lad.
The tender heart, the cheering smile,
The truth that ne'er will falter,
Are charms that never can beguile,
And time can never alter.
Nor envy e'er a comrade,
For be ye're een black, blue, or grey,
Ye're bonniest aye to some lad.
The tender heart, the cheering smile,
The truth that ne'er will falter,
Are charms that never can beguile,
And time can never alter.
26
HE'S LIFELESS AMANG THE RUDE BILLOWS.
He's lifeless amang the rude billows,
My tears and my sighs are in vain;
The heart that beat warm for his Jeanie,
Will ne'er beat for mortal again!
My lane now I am i' the warld,
And the daylight is grievous to me;
The laddie that lo'ed me sae dearly,
Lies cauld in the deeps o' the sea!
My tears and my sighs are in vain;
The heart that beat warm for his Jeanie,
Will ne'er beat for mortal again!
My lane now I am i' the warld,
And the daylight is grievous to me;
The laddie that lo'ed me sae dearly,
Lies cauld in the deeps o' the sea!
Ye tempests sae boist'rously raging,
Rage on as ye list—or be still—
This heart ye sae aften hae sicken'd,
Is nae mair the sport o' ye're will,
Now heartless, I hope not—I fear not—
High heaven hae pity on me!
My soul, tho' dismay'd and distracted,
Yet bends to thy awful decree!
Rage on as ye list—or be still—
This heart ye sae aften hae sicken'd,
Is nae mair the sport o' ye're will,
Now heartless, I hope not—I fear not—
High heaven hae pity on me!
My soul, tho' dismay'd and distracted,
Yet bends to thy awful decree!
27
KIND ROBIN LO'ES ME.
Robin is my ain gudeman,
Now match him, carlins, gin ye can,
For ilk ane whitest thinks her swan,
But kind Robin lo'es me.
To mak my boast, I'll e'en be bauld,
For Robin lo'ed me young and auld,
In simmer's heat, and winter's cauld,
My kind Robin lo'es me.
Now match him, carlins, gin ye can,
For ilk ane whitest thinks her swan,
But kind Robin lo'es me.
To mak my boast, I'll e'en be bauld,
For Robin lo'ed me young and auld,
In simmer's heat, and winter's cauld,
My kind Robin lo'es me.
Robin he comes hame at e'en,
Wi' pleasure glancin' in his een;
He tells me a' he's heard and seen,
And syne how he lo'es me.
There's some ha'e land, and some ha'e gowd,
Mair wad hae them gin they cou'd,
But a' I wish o' warld's guid
Is Robin aye to lo'e me.
Wi' pleasure glancin' in his een;
He tells me a' he's heard and seen,
And syne how he lo'es me.
There's some ha'e land, and some ha'e gowd,
Mair wad hae them gin they cou'd,
But a' I wish o' warld's guid
Is Robin aye to lo'e me.
28
MY AIN KIND DEARIE O.
Will ye gang owre the lea-rig,
My ain kind dearie, O?
Will ye gang owre the lea-rig,
My ain kind dearie, O?
Gin ye'll tak' heart, and gang wi' me,
Mishap will never steer ye, O;
Gude luck lies owre the lea-rig,
My ain kind dearie, O.
My ain kind dearie, O?
Will ye gang owre the lea-rig,
My ain kind dearie, O?
Gin ye'll tak' heart, and gang wi' me,
Mishap will never steer ye, O;
Gude luck lies owre the lea-rig,
My ain kind dearie, O.
There's walth owre yon green lea-rig,
My ain kind dearie, O;
There's walth owre yon green lea-rig,
My ain kind dearie, O;
It's neither land, nor gowd, nor braws,
Let them gang tapsle teerie, O;
It's walth o' peace, o' love, and truth,
My ain kind dearie, O.
My ain kind dearie, O;
There's walth owre yon green lea-rig,
My ain kind dearie, O;
It's neither land, nor gowd, nor braws,
Let them gang tapsle teerie, O;
It's walth o' peace, o' love, and truth,
My ain kind dearie, O.
29
THE AYRSHIRE LASSIE.
Some brag o' this, some brag o' that,
Some brag o' what they never saw;
But I will brag o' what I've seen,
For Ayrshire it dings ye a'.
Gang ye by land, or by the sea,
Ye'll heaps o' bonny places see,
An' mair than weel can counted be,
For Ayrshire it dings them a'.
Some brag o' what they never saw;
But I will brag o' what I've seen,
For Ayrshire it dings ye a'.
Gang ye by land, or by the sea,
Ye'll heaps o' bonny places see,
An' mair than weel can counted be,
For Ayrshire it dings them a'.
Oh, there is mony a bonnie bower
Frae Ardrossan to Arngower,
And mony mair than I can tell,
Where the Clyde's fair waters swell!
Gang ye by Irvine or by Troon,
Or by the bonnie banks o' Doon,
By Fairlie, Largs, or sweet Dunoon,
Oh! Ayrshire it dings them a'.
Frae Ardrossan to Arngower,
And mony mair than I can tell,
Where the Clyde's fair waters swell!
Gang ye by Irvine or by Troon,
Or by the bonnie banks o' Doon,
By Fairlie, Largs, or sweet Dunoon,
Oh! Ayrshire it dings them a'.
Amang Kelburn's woody braes
Mony wild flowers sweetly blaw,
An' there the windin' burnie strays,
Till owre the lin it tumblin' fa.'
Oh! when the settin sunbeams glance
O'er the waters' wide expanse—
Where Arran hills sae grandly rise,
An' hide their heads in Scotland's skies.
Mony wild flowers sweetly blaw,
An' there the windin' burnie strays,
Till owre the lin it tumblin' fa.'
Oh! when the settin sunbeams glance
O'er the waters' wide expanse—
Where Arran hills sae grandly rise,
An' hide their heads in Scotland's skies.
30
On Ayrshire laddie's manly brou,
How gracefu' is the bannet blue;
How weel our lasses set the plaid,
That is in Kilmarnock made!
Our weaver lads have lang been fam'd,
Our farmers they are a' weel kenn'd;
Their butter, cheese, and Ayrshire coo,
Ilk worthy ony ither two!
How gracefu' is the bannet blue;
How weel our lasses set the plaid,
That is in Kilmarnock made!
Our weaver lads have lang been fam'd,
Our farmers they are a' weel kenn'd;
Their butter, cheese, and Ayrshire coo,
Ilk worthy ony ither two!
Our lairds are clever ane an' a',
(Tho' some may think their sense is sma',)
Our lords and leddies I'll just say,
Their like ye'll no see ilka day—
But there is ane in yon green shaw,
The sweetest flower amang them a',
An' after her a ship I'll ca',
'Twill be “The Ayrshire Lassie,” O.
(Tho' some may think their sense is sma',)
Our lords and leddies I'll just say,
Their like ye'll no see ilka day—
But there is ane in yon green shaw,
The sweetest flower amang them a',
An' after her a ship I'll ca',
'Twill be “The Ayrshire Lassie,” O.
31
O, WEEL'S ME ON MY AIN MAN!
O, weel's me on my ain man!
My ain man, my ain man!
O, weel's me on my ain gudeman!
He'll aye be welcome hame.
My ain man, my ain man!
O, weel's me on my ain gudeman!
He'll aye be welcome hame.
I'm wae I blamed him yesternight,
For now my heart is feather light;
For gowd I wadna gie the sight,
I see him linkin' owre the height.
For now my heart is feather light;
For gowd I wadna gie the sight,
I see him linkin' owre the height.
O, weel's me on my ain man!
My ain man, my ain man!
O, weel's me on my ain gudeman!
He'll aye be welcome hame.
My ain man, my ain man!
O, weel's me on my ain gudeman!
He'll aye be welcome hame.
Rin, Jeanie, bring the kebbuck ben,
An' fin' aneath the speckl'd hen;
Meg, rise and sweep aboot the fire,
Syne cry on Johnnie frae the byre.
An' fin' aneath the speckl'd hen;
Meg, rise and sweep aboot the fire,
Syne cry on Johnnie frae the byre.
For weel's me on my ain man!
My ain man, my ain man;
For weel's me on my ain gudeman!
I see him linkin' hame.
My ain man, my ain man;
For weel's me on my ain gudeman!
I see him linkin' hame.
32
CAULD KAIL IN ABERDEEN.
There's cauld kail in Aberdeen,
There's castocks in Stra'bogie,
And, morn and e'en, they're blythe and bein,
That haud them frae the cogie.
Now haud ye frae the cogie, lads,
O bide ye frae the cogie,
I'll tell ye true, ye'll never rue,
O passin' by the cogie.
There's castocks in Stra'bogie,
And, morn and e'en, they're blythe and bein,
That haud them frae the cogie.
Now haud ye frae the cogie, lads,
O bide ye frae the cogie,
I'll tell ye true, ye'll never rue,
O passin' by the cogie.
Young Will was braw and weel put on,
Sae blythe was he and vogie,
And he got bonnie Mary Don,
The flower o' a' Stra'bogie.
Wha wad hae thought, at wooin' time,
He'd e'er forsaken Mary!
And ta'en him to the tipplin' trade,
Wi boozin' Rob and Harry?
Sae blythe was he and vogie,
And he got bonnie Mary Don,
The flower o' a' Stra'bogie.
Wha wad hae thought, at wooin' time,
He'd e'er forsaken Mary!
And ta'en him to the tipplin' trade,
Wi boozin' Rob and Harry?
Sair Mary wrought, sair Mary grat,
She searce could lift the ladle,
Wi' pithless feet, 'tween ilka greet,
She'd rock the borrow'd cradle.
Her weddin' plenishin' was gane,
She never thought to borrow;
Her bonnie face was waxin' wan,
And Will wrought a' the sorrow.
She searce could lift the ladle,
Wi' pithless feet, 'tween ilka greet,
She'd rock the borrow'd cradle.
Her weddin' plenishin' was gane,
She never thought to borrow;
Her bonnie face was waxin' wan,
And Will wrought a' the sorrow.
33
He's reelin' hame ae winter's night,
Some later than the gloamin';
He's ta'en the rig, he's miss'd the brig,
And Bogie's owre him foamin'.
Wi' broken banes, out owre the stanes
He creepit up Stra'bogie,
And a' the nicht he prayed wi' micht,
To keep him frae the cogie.
Some later than the gloamin';
He's ta'en the rig, he's miss'd the brig,
And Bogie's owre him foamin'.
Wi' broken banes, out owre the stanes
He creepit up Stra'bogie,
And a' the nicht he prayed wi' micht,
To keep him frae the cogie.
Now Mary's heart is light again,
She's neither sick nor silly,
For auld or young nae sinfu' tongue
Could e'er entice her Willie.
And aye the sang thro' Bogie rang,
O haud ye frae the cogie;
The weary gill's the sairest ill
On braes o' fair Stra'bogie.
She's neither sick nor silly,
For auld or young nae sinfu' tongue
Could e'er entice her Willie.
And aye the sang thro' Bogie rang,
O haud ye frae the cogie;
The weary gill's the sairest ill
On braes o' fair Stra'bogie.
34
CRADLE SONG.
Ballo loo, lammy, now baloo my dear;
Now, baloo loo, lammy, ain minnie is here:
What ails my sweet bairnie? What ails it this nicht?
What ails my wee lammy? is bairnie no richt?
Now, baloo loo, lammy, ain minnie is here:
What ails my sweet bairnie? What ails it this nicht?
What ails my wee lammy? is bairnie no richt?
Baloo loo, lammie, now baloo, my dear,
Does wee lammy ken that its daddie's no here?
Ye're rockin' fu' sweetly on mammie's warm knee,
But daddie's a-rockin' upon the saut sea.
Does wee lammy ken that its daddie's no here?
Ye're rockin' fu' sweetly on mammie's warm knee,
But daddie's a-rockin' upon the saut sea.
Now hush-a-ba, lammy, now hush-a my dear;
Now hush-a-ba, lammy; ain minnie is here:
The wild wind is ravin', and mammie's heart's sair
The wild wind is ravin', and ye dinna care.
Now hush-a-ba, lammy; ain minnie is here:
The wild wind is ravin', and mammie's heart's sair
The wild wind is ravin', and ye dinna care.
Sing, baloo loo, lammy, sing baloo, my dear;
Sing, baloo loo, lammy, ain minnie is here:
My wee bairnie's dozin', it's dozin' now fine,
And oh! may its wauk'nin' be blyther than mine.
Sing, baloo loo, lammy, ain minnie is here:
My wee bairnie's dozin', it's dozin' now fine,
And oh! may its wauk'nin' be blyther than mine.
35
THE ROBIN'S NEST.
Their nest was in the leafy bush,
Sae soft and warm, sae soft and warm,
And Robins thought their little brood
All safe from harm, all safe from harm.
The morning's feast wi' joy they brought,
To feed their young with tender care;
The plunder'd leafy bush they found—
But nest and nestlings saw nae mair!
Sae soft and warm, sae soft and warm,
And Robins thought their little brood
All safe from harm, all safe from harm.
The morning's feast wi' joy they brought,
To feed their young with tender care;
The plunder'd leafy bush they found—
But nest and nestlings saw nae mair!
The mother cou'dna leave the spot,
But wheeling round, and wheeling round,
The cruel spoiler aim'd a shot,
Cur'd her heart's wound, cur'd her heart's wound.
She will not hear their helpless cry,
Nor see them pine in slavery!
The burning breast she will not bide,
For wrongs of wanton knavery—
But wheeling round, and wheeling round,
The cruel spoiler aim'd a shot,
Cur'd her heart's wound, cur'd her heart's wound.
She will not hear their helpless cry,
Nor see them pine in slavery!
The burning breast she will not bide,
For wrongs of wanton knavery—
O! bonny Robin Redbreast,
Ye trust in men, ye trust in men,
But what their hearts are made o',
Ye little ken, ye little ken!
They'll ne'er wi' your wee skin be warmed,
Nor wi' your tiny flesh be fed,
But just 'cause you're a living thing,
It's sport wi' them to lay you dead!
Ye trust in men, ye trust in men,
But what their hearts are made o',
Ye little ken, ye little ken!
They'll ne'er wi' your wee skin be warmed,
Nor wi' your tiny flesh be fed,
But just 'cause you're a living thing,
It's sport wi' them to lay you dead!
36
Ye Hieland and ye Lowland lads,
As birdies gay, as birdies gay,
O spare them whistling like yoursel's,
And hopping blythe from spray to spray—
Their wings were made to soar aloft,
And skim the air at liberty;
And as you freedom gi'e to them,
May you and yours be ever free!
As birdies gay, as birdies gay,
O spare them whistling like yoursel's,
And hopping blythe from spray to spray—
Their wings were made to soar aloft,
And skim the air at liberty;
And as you freedom gi'e to them,
May you and yours be ever free!
37
TRUE LOVE IS WATERED AYE WI' TEARS.
True love is water'd aye wi' tears,
It grows 'neath stormy skies,
It's fenced around wi' hopes and fears
An' fann'd wi' heartfelt sighs.
Wi' chains o' gowd 'twill no be bound,
Oh! wha the heart can buy?
The titled glare, the warldling's care—
Even absence 'twill defy.
Even absence 'twill defy.
It grows 'neath stormy skies,
It's fenced around wi' hopes and fears
An' fann'd wi' heartfelt sighs.
Wi' chains o' gowd 'twill no be bound,
Oh! wha the heart can buy?
The titled glare, the warldling's care—
Even absence 'twill defy.
Even absence 'twill defy.
And time, that kills a' ither things,
His withering touch 'twill brave,
'Twill live in joy, 'twill live in grief,
'Twill live beyond the grave!
'Twill live, 'twill live, though buried deep,
In true hearts' memorie—
Oh! we forgot that ane sae fair,
Sae bricht, sae young, could dee.
So young could dee.
His withering touch 'twill brave,
'Twill live in joy, 'twill live in grief,
'Twill live beyond the grave!
'Twill live, 'twill live, though buried deep,
In true hearts' memorie—
Oh! we forgot that ane sae fair,
Sae bricht, sae young, could dee.
So young could dee.
Unfeeling hands may touch the chord
Where buried griefs do lie—
How many silent agonies
May that rude touch untie!
But oh! I love that plaintive lay—
The dear auld melodie!
For, oh, 'tis sweet!—yet I maun greet,
For it was sung by thee,
Sung by thee!
Where buried griefs do lie—
How many silent agonies
May that rude touch untie!
38
The dear auld melodie!
For, oh, 'tis sweet!—yet I maun greet,
For it was sung by thee,
Sung by thee!
They may forget wha lichtly love,
Or feel but beauty's chain;
But they wha loved a heavenly mind
Can never love again!
Oh! a' my dreams o' warld's gude
Aye were intwined wi' thee,
But I leant on a broken reed
Which soon was ta'en frae me,
Ta'en frae me.
Or feel but beauty's chain;
But they wha loved a heavenly mind
Can never love again!
Oh! a' my dreams o' warld's gude
Aye were intwined wi' thee,
But I leant on a broken reed
Which soon was ta'en frae me,
Ta'en frae me.
'Tis weel, 'tis weel, we dinna ken
What we may live to see,
'Twas Mercy's hand that hung the veil
O'er dark futurity!
Oh! ye whose hearts are scathed and riven,
Wha feel the warld is vain,
Oh, fix your broken earthly ties
Where they ne'er will break again,
Break again!
What we may live to see,
'Twas Mercy's hand that hung the veil
O'er dark futurity!
Oh! ye whose hearts are scathed and riven,
Wha feel the warld is vain,
Oh, fix your broken earthly ties
Where they ne'er will break again,
Break again!
39
THE ATTAINTED SCOTTISH NOBLES.
Oh, some will tune their mournfu' strains,
To tell of hame-made sorrow,
And if they cheat you o' your tears,
They'll dry afore the morrow.
Oh, some will sing their airy dreams,
In verity they're sportin',
My sang's o' nae sic thewless themes,
But wakin, true misfortune.
To tell of hame-made sorrow,
And if they cheat you o' your tears,
They'll dry afore the morrow.
Oh, some will sing their airy dreams,
In verity they're sportin',
My sang's o' nae sic thewless themes,
But wakin, true misfortune.
Ye Scottish nobles, ane and a',
For loyalty attainted,
A nameless bardie's wae to see
Your sorrows unlamented;
For if your fathers ne'er had fought
For heirs of ancient royalty,—
Ye're down the day that might hae been
At the top o' honour's tree a'.
For loyalty attainted,
A nameless bardie's wae to see
Your sorrows unlamented;
For if your fathers ne'er had fought
For heirs of ancient royalty,—
Ye're down the day that might hae been
At the top o' honour's tree a'.
For old hereditary right,
For conscience' sake they stoutly stood;
And for the crown their valiant sons
Themselves have shed their injured blood;
And if their fathers ne'er had fought
For heirs of ancient royalty,
They're down the day that might ha' been
At the top o' honour's tree a'.
For conscience' sake they stoutly stood;
And for the crown their valiant sons
Themselves have shed their injured blood;
And if their fathers ne'er had fought
For heirs of ancient royalty,
They're down the day that might ha' been
At the top o' honour's tree a'.
40
TO THEE, LOV'D DEE.
To thee, lov'd Dee, I glad return,
To where thy winding waters glide,
Amang thy bonnie banks and braes,
Aye there the trout and salmon hide.
'Mang England's vales, 'mang Erin's green,
'Mang Cambria's hills sae wild and hie,
I've mony bonnie places seen,
But what are they to bonnie Dee?
To where thy winding waters glide,
Amang thy bonnie banks and braes,
Aye there the trout and salmon hide.
'Mang England's vales, 'mang Erin's green,
'Mang Cambria's hills sae wild and hie,
I've mony bonnie places seen,
But what are they to bonnie Dee?
I've seen the Tay, I've seen the Clyde,
And e'en the Rhine, I've travelled far,—
But what are they to sweet Dee side,
Balmoral fair, and Loch-na-gar!
At Banchory and Ballater,
That are fam'd for trout and tree,
There sweetly ye may pass the day,
Amang the bonny banks o' Dee.
And e'en the Rhine, I've travelled far,—
But what are they to sweet Dee side,
Balmoral fair, and Loch-na-gar!
At Banchory and Ballater,
That are fam'd for trout and tree,
There sweetly ye may pass the day,
Amang the bonny banks o' Dee.
41
BONNY GASCON HA'
Lane, on the winding Earn, there stands
An unco tow'r, sae stern an' auld,
Biggit, by lang forgotten hands,—
Ance refuge o' the Wallace bauld.
An unco tow'r, sae stern an' auld,
Biggit, by lang forgotten hands,—
Ance refuge o' the Wallace bauld.
Time's restless finger sair hath waur'd,
And riv'd thy grey disjaskit wa';
But rougher hands than Time's ha'e daur'd
To wrang thee, bonny Gascon Ha';
And riv'd thy grey disjaskit wa';
But rougher hands than Time's ha'e daur'd
To wrang thee, bonny Gascon Ha';
O! may a muse unkent to fame,
For this dim gruesome relic sue:
'Tis linkit wi' a Patriot's name,
The truest Scotland ever knew.
For this dim gruesome relic sue:
'Tis linkit wi' a Patriot's name,
The truest Scotland ever knew.
Just leave in peace ilk mossy stane,
Tellin' o' nations' rivalry;
And for succeeding ages hain
Remains o' Scottish chivalry.
Tellin' o' nations' rivalry;
And for succeeding ages hain
Remains o' Scottish chivalry.
What tho' no monument to thee
Is biggit by thy country's hands,—
Engrav'd are thine immortal deeds
On ev'ry heart in this braid land.
Is biggit by thy country's hands,—
Engrav'd are thine immortal deeds
On ev'ry heart in this braid land.
42
Rude Time may monuments ding doun,
An' tow'rs an' wa's maun a' decay;
Enduring—deathless—noble Chief,
Thy name can never pass away!
An' tow'rs an' wa's maun a' decay;
Enduring—deathless—noble Chief,
Thy name can never pass away!
Gi'e pillar'd fame to common men,—
Nae need o' cairns for ane like thee;
In ev'ry cave, wood, hill, and glen,
Wallace! remembered aye shall be.
Nae need o' cairns for ane like thee;
In ev'ry cave, wood, hill, and glen,
Wallace! remembered aye shall be.
43
CASTELL GLOOM.
Oh, Castell Gloom! thy strength is gone,
The green grass o'er thee growin',
On hill of Care thou art alone,
The Sorrow round thee flowin'.
Oh Castell Gloom! on thy fair wa's
Nae banners now are streamin';
The houlit flits amang thy ha's,
And wild birds there are screamin'.
Oh! mourn the woe, oh mourn the crime,
Frae civil war that flows;
Oh! mourn, Argyle, thy fallen line,
And mourn the great Montrose.
The green grass o'er thee growin',
On hill of Care thou art alone,
The Sorrow round thee flowin'.
Oh Castell Gloom! on thy fair wa's
Nae banners now are streamin';
The houlit flits amang thy ha's,
And wild birds there are screamin'.
Oh! mourn the woe, oh mourn the crime,
Frae civil war that flows;
Oh! mourn, Argyle, thy fallen line,
And mourn the great Montrose.
Here ladies bright were aften seen,
Here valiant warriors trod;
And here great Knox has aften been,
Who feared nought but his God.
But a' are gane! the gude, the great,
And naething now remains,
But ruin sitting on thy wa's,
And crumblin' down the stanes!
Oh! mourn the woe, &C.
Here valiant warriors trod;
And here great Knox has aften been,
Who feared nought but his God.
But a' are gane! the gude, the great,
And naething now remains,
But ruin sitting on thy wa's,
And crumblin' down the stanes!
Oh! mourn the woe, &C.
44
The lofty Ochils bright did glow,
Tho' sleepin' was the sun:
But mornin's light did sadly show
What ragin' flames had done!
Oh! mirk, mirk, was the misty cloud,
That hung o'er thy wild wood;
Thou wert like beauty in a shroud,
And all was solitude.
Oh! mourn the woe, oh mourn the crime,
Frae civil war that flows;
Oh! mourn, Argyle, thy fallen line,
And mourn the great Montrose.
Tho' sleepin' was the sun:
But mornin's light did sadly show
What ragin' flames had done!
Oh! mirk, mirk, was the misty cloud,
That hung o'er thy wild wood;
Thou wert like beauty in a shroud,
And all was solitude.
Oh! mourn the woe, oh mourn the crime,
Frae civil war that flows;
Oh! mourn, Argyle, thy fallen line,
And mourn the great Montrose.
45
HEY THE RANTIN' MURRAY'S HA'
Hey the rantin' Murray's ha'!
Mirth and glee amang them a'!
The courtly laird, the leddy braw,
They'll welcome ye to Murray's ha'.
Come ye hungry, come ye dry,
Nane had never need to wait;
Come ye brisk, or come ye shy,
They'll meet ye or ye're at the yett.
Mirth and glee amang them a'!
The courtly laird, the leddy braw,
They'll welcome ye to Murray's ha'.
Come ye hungry, come ye dry,
Nane had never need to wait;
Come ye brisk, or come ye shy,
They'll meet ye or ye're at the yett.
Some were feasting in the ha',
Some at sports upon the green;
Peggy, flower amang them a',
Dancing like a Fairy Queen.
Blythest o' my blythesome days
I ha'e spent at Murray's ha',
But oh, my heart was like to break
When I saw Peggy gang awa.
Some at sports upon the green;
Peggy, flower amang them a',
Dancing like a Fairy Queen.
Blythest o' my blythesome days
I ha'e spent at Murray's ha',
But oh, my heart was like to break
When I saw Peggy gang awa.
Whaur she gaed or why gaed she,
Few were there that weel could tell;
I thought it was to lightlie me—
She maybe—scarcely kenn'd hersel'.
They said a ghaist was in the wa',
Sometimes aneath, sometimes aboon;
A' body heard—nae body saw,
But a' were sure, they'd see it soon.
Few were there that weel could tell;
I thought it was to lightlie me—
She maybe—scarcely kenn'd hersel'.
They said a ghaist was in the wa',
Sometimes aneath, sometimes aboon;
A' body heard—nae body saw,
But a' were sure, they'd see it soon.
46
Some say the General, honest man,
That fear'd na bullets, great or sma',
Wad rather fac'd the Mons Meg gun
Than meet the ghaist o' Murray's ha'.
'Tis no the gate I think ava,
To lay a ghaist wi' mirth and glee;
Scholar'd lads, and lassies braw,
Need nae ghaist nor goblin dree.
That fear'd na bullets, great or sma',
Wad rather fac'd the Mons Meg gun
Than meet the ghaist o' Murray's ha'.
'Tis no the gate I think ava,
To lay a ghaist wi' mirth and glee;
Scholar'd lads, and lassies braw,
Need nae ghaist nor goblin dree.
47
O STATELY STOOD THE BARON'SHA'.
O stately stood the Baron's ha',
His lady fair as ony;
Her gracefu' mien was like a queen,
Her smile it dimpled bonnie.
The heir of a' the Baron's wealth,
A manly bairn was he,
O, and aye he'd rin, and play his lane,
Aneath the greenwood tree, O.
His lady fair as ony;
Her gracefu' mien was like a queen,
Her smile it dimpled bonnie.
The heir of a' the Baron's wealth,
A manly bairn was he,
O, and aye he'd rin, and play his lane,
Aneath the greenwood tree, O.
But wae, wae was that heavy maen,
Gaed thro' that castle ha', O,
When gloamin' cam', ae simmer's e'en,
Young Ronald was awa', O.
They sought him east, they sought him west,
Baith north and south they sought him,—
And noble was the offered boon
To them that wad ha'e brought him.
Gaed thro' that castle ha', O,
When gloamin' cam', ae simmer's e'en,
Young Ronald was awa', O.
They sought him east, they sought him west,
Baith north and south they sought him,—
And noble was the offered boon
To them that wad ha'e brought him.
The lady pined, her cheek grew wan,
The wound was past a' curin',
The bowers whaur first she fostered him—
Were past her heart's endurin'.
Her lovin' lord, wi' tender care,
Took her to wander far, O,
And the only thought e'er dried her e'e,
Flew aboon the mornin' star, O.
The wound was past a' curin',
The bowers whaur first she fostered him—
Were past her heart's endurin'.
Her lovin' lord, wi' tender care,
Took her to wander far, O,
And the only thought e'er dried her e'e,
Flew aboon the mornin' star, O.
48
Her feckless frame could little bide,
Slow turned the tardy wheels, O,—
They saw a nut-brown bonny boy,
Fast rinnin' at their heels, O.
“Stay, faither, mither, stay for me!
I'll never, never leave ye!
It was na me that gaed awa,—
'Twas the gipsies took me frae ye.”
Slow turned the tardy wheels, O,—
They saw a nut-brown bonny boy,
Fast rinnin' at their heels, O.
“Stay, faither, mither, stay for me!
I'll never, never leave ye!
It was na me that gaed awa,—
'Twas the gipsies took me frae ye.”
Now, tell wha may, their joy that day,
Wha ne'er thought joy to meet, O,
Fresh roses budded on her cheek,
And her smile it dimpled sweet, O.
Frae greenwood bowers and stately towers,
Nae mair they wandered far, O,
And their gratefu' lays, o' love and praise,
Flew aboon the mornin' star, O!
Wha ne'er thought joy to meet, O,
Fresh roses budded on her cheek,
And her smile it dimpled sweet, O.
Frae greenwood bowers and stately towers,
Nae mair they wandered far, O,
And their gratefu' lays, o' love and praise,
Flew aboon the mornin' star, O!
49
THE COUNTY MEETING.
Ye're welcome, leddies, ane and a'
Ye're welcome to our County Ha';
Sae weel ye look, when buskit braw,
To grace our County Meeting!
An', gentlemen, ye're welcome, too,
In waistcoats white and tartan too,
Gae seek a partner, mak' yere bow,
Syne dance our County Meeting.
Ye're welcome to our County Ha';
Sae weel ye look, when buskit braw,
To grace our County Meeting!
An', gentlemen, ye're welcome, too,
In waistcoats white and tartan too,
Gae seek a partner, mak' yere bow,
Syne dance our County Meeting.
Ah, weel dune now, there's auld Sir John,
Wha aye maun lead the dancin' on,
An' Leddy Bet, wi' her turban prim,
An' wee bit velvet 'neath her chin.
See how they nimbly, nimbly, go!
While youngsters follow in a row,
Wi' mony a Belle, an' mony a Beau,
To dance our County Meeting.
Wha aye maun lead the dancin' on,
An' Leddy Bet, wi' her turban prim,
An' wee bit velvet 'neath her chin.
See how they nimbly, nimbly, go!
While youngsters follow in a row,
Wi' mony a Belle, an' mony a Beau,
To dance our County Meeting.
There's the Major, and his sister too,
He in the bottle-green, she in the blue;
(Some years sin' syne that gown was new,
At our County Meeting.)
They are a worthy, canty pair,
An' unco proud o' their nephew Blair;
O' sense, or siller, he's nae great share,
Tho' he's the King o' the Meeting.
He in the bottle-green, she in the blue;
(Some years sin' syne that gown was new,
At our County Meeting.)
They are a worthy, canty pair,
An' unco proud o' their nephew Blair;
O' sense, or siller, he's nae great share,
Tho' he's the King o' the Meeting.
50
An' there's our Member, and Provost Whig,
Our Doctor in his yellow wig,
Wi' his fat wife, wha takes a jig
Aye at our County meeting.
Miss Betty, too, I see her there,
Wi' her sonsy face, and bricht red hair,
Dancin' till she can dance nae mair
At our County Meeting.
Our Doctor in his yellow wig,
Wi' his fat wife, wha takes a jig
Aye at our County meeting.
Miss Betty, too, I see her there,
Wi' her sonsy face, and bricht red hair,
Dancin' till she can dance nae mair
At our County Meeting.
There's beauty Bell, wha a' surpasses,
An' heaps o' bonnie, country lasses;
Wi' the heiress o' the Gowden Lee,
Fo'k say she's unco dorty—
Lord Bawbee, aye, he's lookin' there,
An' sae is the Major, and Major's heir,
Wi' the Laird, the Shirra, and mony mair,
I could reckon them to forty.
An' heaps o' bonnie, country lasses;
Wi' the heiress o' the Gowden Lee,
Fo'k say she's unco dorty—
Lord Bawbee, aye, he's lookin' there,
An' sae is the Major, and Major's heir,
Wi' the Laird, the Shirra, and mony mair,
I could reckon them to forty.
See Major O'Neill has got her hand,
An' in the dance they've ta'en their stand;
(Impudence comes frae Paddy's land,
Say the lads o' our County Meeting.)
But ne'er ye fash! gang thro' the reel,—
The Country-dance, ye dance sae weel,—
An' ne'er let Waltz or dull Quadrille,
Spoil our County Meeting.
An' in the dance they've ta'en their stand;
(Impudence comes frae Paddy's land,
Say the lads o' our County Meeting.)
But ne'er ye fash! gang thro' the reel,—
The Country-dance, ye dance sae weel,—
An' ne'er let Waltz or dull Quadrille,
Spoil our County Meeting.
Afore we end, strike up the spring
O' Thulichan and Hieland-fling,
The Hay-makers, and Bumpkin fine!
At our County Meeting.
Gow draws his bow, folk haste away,
While some are glad and some are wae;
A' blythe to meet some ither day,
At our County Meeting.
O' Thulichan and Hieland-fling,
The Hay-makers, and Bumpkin fine!
At our County Meeting.
51
While some are glad and some are wae;
A' blythe to meet some ither day,
At our County Meeting.
52
TAMMY.
I wish I ken'd my Maggie's mind,
If she's for me or Tammy;
To me she is but passing kind,
She's caulder still to Tammy.
And yet she lo'es me no that ill,
If I believe her granny;
O sure she must be wond'rous nice
If she'll no hae me or Tammy.
If she's for me or Tammy;
To me she is but passing kind,
She's caulder still to Tammy.
And yet she lo'es me no that ill,
If I believe her granny;
O sure she must be wond'rous nice
If she'll no hae me or Tammy.
I've spier'd her ance, I've spier'd her twice,
And still she says she canna;
I'll try her again, and that maks thrice,
And thrice, they say, is canny.
Wi' him she'll hae a chaise and pair,
Wi' me she'll hae shanks-naggie;
He's auld and black, I'm young and fair,
She'll surely ne'er tak Tammy.
And still she says she canna;
I'll try her again, and that maks thrice,
And thrice, they say, is canny.
Wi' him she'll hae a chaise and pair,
Wi' me she'll hae shanks-naggie;
He's auld and black, I'm young and fair,
She'll surely ne'er tak Tammy.
But if she's a fule, and lightlies me,
I'se e'en draw up wi' Nancy;
There's as gude fish into the sea
As e'er cam out, I fancy.
And though I say't that shou'dna say't,
I'm owre gude a match for Maggie;
Sae mak up your mind without delay,
Are ye for me, or Tammy?
I'se e'en draw up wi' Nancy;
There's as gude fish into the sea
As e'er cam out, I fancy.
And though I say't that shou'dna say't,
I'm owre gude a match for Maggie;
Sae mak up your mind without delay,
Are ye for me, or Tammy?
53
THE PLEUGHMAN.
There's high and low, there's rich and poor,
There's trades and crafts eneuch, man;
But east and west his trade's the best,
That kens to guide the pleugh, man.
There's trades and crafts eneuch, man;
But east and west his trade's the best,
That kens to guide the pleugh, man.
Then, come, weel speed my pleughman lad,
And hey my merry pelughman;
Of a' the trades that I do ken,
Commend me to the pleughman.
And hey my merry pelughman;
Of a' the trades that I do ken,
Commend me to the pleughman.
His dreams are sweet upon his bed,
His cares are light and few, man;
His mother's blessing's on his head,
That tents her weel, the pleughman.
Then, come, weel speed, &c.
His cares are light and few, man;
His mother's blessing's on his head,
That tents her weel, the pleughman.
Then, come, weel speed, &c.
The lark sae sweet, that starts to meet
The morning fresh and new, man;
Blythe tho' she be, as blythe is he
That sings as sweet, the pleughman.
Then, come, weel speed, &c.
The morning fresh and new, man;
Blythe tho' she be, as blythe is he
That sings as sweet, the pleughman.
Then, come, weel speed, &c.
All fresh and gay, at dawn of day,
Their labours they renew, man;
Heaven bless the seed and bless the soil,
And heaven bless the pleughman.
Then, come, weel speed, &c.
Their labours they renew, man;
Heaven bless the seed and bless the soil,
And heaven bless the pleughman.
Then, come, weel speed, &c.
54
THE ROWAN TREE.
Oh! Rowan Tree, Oh! Rowan Tree, thou'lt aye be dear to me,
Intwin'd thou art wi' mony ties o' hame and infancy.
Thy leaves were aye the first o' spring, thy flow'rs the simmer's pride;
There was nae sic a bonny tree, in a' the countrie side.
Oh! Rowan tree.
Intwin'd thou art wi' mony ties o' hame and infancy.
Thy leaves were aye the first o' spring, thy flow'rs the simmer's pride;
There was nae sic a bonny tree, in a' the countrie side.
Oh! Rowan tree.
How fair wert thou in simmer time, wi' a' thy clusters white,
How rich and gay thy autumn dress, wi' berries red and bright;
On thy fair stem were mony names, which now nae mair I see,
But they're engraven on my heart—forgot they ne'er can be!
Oh! Rowan tree.
How rich and gay thy autumn dress, wi' berries red and bright;
On thy fair stem were mony names, which now nae mair I see,
But they're engraven on my heart—forgot they ne'er can be!
Oh! Rowan tree.
We sat aneath thy spreading shade, the bairnies round thee ran,
They pu'd thy bonny berries red, and necklaces they strang;
My mother! oh! I see her still, she smil'd our sports to see,
Wi' little Jeanie on her lap, an' Jamie at her knee!
Oh! Rowan tree.
They pu'd thy bonny berries red, and necklaces they strang;
55
Wi' little Jeanie on her lap, an' Jamie at her knee!
Oh! Rowan tree.
Oh! there arose my father's prayer, in holy evening's calm,
How sweet was then my mother's voice, in the Martyr's psalm;
Now a' are gane! we meet nae mair aneath the Rowan tree;
But hallowed thoughts around thee twine o' hame and infancy,
Oh! Rowan tree.
How sweet was then my mother's voice, in the Martyr's psalm;
Now a' are gane! we meet nae mair aneath the Rowan tree;
But hallowed thoughts around thee twine o' hame and infancy,
Oh! Rowan tree.
56
JOY OF MY EARLIEST DAYS.
Joy of my earliest days,
Why must I grieve thee?
Theme of my fondest lays,
Mary, I maun leave thee!
Leave thee, love, leave thee, love,
How shall I leave thee?
Now absence thy truth will prove,
For oh! I maun leave thee!
Why must I grieve thee?
Theme of my fondest lays,
Mary, I maun leave thee!
Leave thee, love, leave thee, love,
How shall I leave thee?
Now absence thy truth will prove,
For oh! I maun leave thee!
Think aft on the time that's gane,
When twa happy bairnies,
We played at penny stane
Amang the green fairnies.
Cauld an' hot, ear' an' late,
There we forgather'd;
Where yows wander'd on the knowes,
And Hawkie was tether'd.
When twa happy bairnies,
We played at penny stane
Amang the green fairnies.
Cauld an' hot, ear' an' late,
There we forgather'd;
Where yows wander'd on the knowes,
And Hawkie was tether'd.
When on yon mossy stane,
Wild weeds o'er growin',
Ye sit at e'en your waefu' lane,
And hear the burnie rowin';
Oh! think on this partin' hour,
Down by the Garry,
And to Him that has the pow'r
Commend me, my Mary!
Wild weeds o'er growin',
Ye sit at e'en your waefu' lane,
And hear the burnie rowin';
Oh! think on this partin' hour,
Down by the Garry,
And to Him that has the pow'r
Commend me, my Mary!
57
LAY BYE YERE BAWBEE.
Lay bye yere bawbee, my Jenny,
Lay bye your bawbee, my dear
Do as yere mither aye did,
She tuik guid care o' her gear.
Lay bye your bawbee, my dear
Do as yere mither aye did,
She tuik guid care o' her gear.
The way young kimmers are drest,
Wise folk are sorry to see;
Their winnin's are a' on their back,
And that's no the thing that sud be.
Wise folk are sorry to see;
Their winnin's are a' on their back,
And that's no the thing that sud be.
Work when ye're weel and ye're able,
Be honest and savin' ye're tauld;
'Twill help when trouble comes on,
And mak' ye respectit when auld.
Be honest and savin' ye're tauld;
'Twill help when trouble comes on,
And mak' ye respectit when auld.
Lasses and lads, tak' advice,
An' dinna ye gang for to woo,
Until ye hae gather'd the siller,
An' the weel plenish'd kist it is fu.'
An' dinna ye gang for to woo,
Until ye hae gather'd the siller,
An' the weel plenish'd kist it is fu.'
Luik to Archie and Peggy,
They married on naething ava;
And noo she's beggin' and greetin',
An' Archie, he's listed awa'.
They married on naething ava;
And noo she's beggin' and greetin',
An' Archie, he's listed awa'.
58
THE TWA DOOS.
There were twa doos sat in a dookit;
Twa wise-like birds, and round they luiket;
An' says the ane unto the ither,
What do ye see, my gude brither?
Twa wise-like birds, and round they luiket;
An' says the ane unto the ither,
What do ye see, my gude brither?
I see some pickles o' gude strae,
An' wheat, some fule has thrown away;
For a rainy day they should be boukit,
Sae down they flew frae aff their dookit.
An' wheat, some fule has thrown away;
For a rainy day they should be boukit,
Sae down they flew frae aff their dookit.
The snaw will come an' cour the grund,
Nae grains o' wheat will then be fund;
They pickt a' up, an' a' were boukit,
Then round an' round, again they luiket.
Nae grains o' wheat will then be fund;
They pickt a' up, an' a' were boukit,
Then round an' round, again they luiket.
O lang he thocht, an' lang he luiket,
An' aye his wise-like head, he shook it;
I see, I see, what ne'er should be,
I see what's seen by mair than me.
An' aye his wise-like head, he shook it;
I see, I see, what ne'er should be,
I see what's seen by mair than me.
Wae's me, there's thochtless, lang Tam Grey,
Aye spending what he's no to pay;
In wedlock, to a taupie, hookit,
He's taen a doo, but has nae dookit.
Aye spending what he's no to pay;
In wedlock, to a taupie, hookit,
He's taen a doo, but has nae dookit.
When we were young it was na sae;
Nae rummulgumshion folk now hae;
What gude for them can e'er be luiket,
When folk tak doos that hae nae dookit.
Nae rummulgumshion folk now hae;
What gude for them can e'er be luiket,
When folk tak doos that hae nae dookit.
59
SAW YE NE'ER A LANELY LASSIE?
Saw ye ne'er a lanely lassie,
Thinkin' gin she were a wife,
The sun o' joy wad ne'er gae down,
But warm and cheer her a' her life?
Saw ye ne'er a wearie wifie,
Thinkin' gin' she were a lass,
She wad aye be blythe and cheerie,
Lightly as the day wad pass?
Thinkin' gin she were a wife,
The sun o' joy wad ne'er gae down,
But warm and cheer her a' her life?
Saw ye ne'er a wearie wifie,
Thinkin' gin' she were a lass,
She wad aye be blythe and cheerie,
Lightly as the day wad pass?
Wives and lasses, young and aged,
Think na on each ither's state;
Ilka ane it has its crosses,
Mortal joy was ne'er complete.
Ilka ane it has its blessings,
Peevish dinna pass them bye,
But like choicest berries seek them,
Tho' amang the thorns they lie.
Think na on each ither's state;
Ilka ane it has its crosses,
Mortal joy was ne'er complete.
Ilka ane it has its blessings,
Peevish dinna pass them bye,
But like choicest berries seek them,
Tho' amang the thorns they lie.
60
THE MAIDEN'S VOW.
I've made a vow, I'll keep it true,
I'll never married be;
For the only ane that I think on
Will never think o' me.
I'll never married be;
For the only ane that I think on
Will never think o' me.
Now gane to a far distant shore,
Their face nae mair I'll see;
But often will I think o' them,
That winna think o' me.
Their face nae mair I'll see;
But often will I think o' them,
That winna think o' me.
Gae owre, gae owre noo, gude Sir John,
Oh, dinna follow me;
For the only ane I ere thocht on,
Lies buried in the sea.
Oh, dinna follow me;
For the only ane I ere thocht on,
Lies buried in the sea.
61
KITTY REID'S HOUSE.
Hech! hey! the mirth that was there,
The mirth that was there,
The mirth that was there;
Hech! how! the mirth that was there,
In Kitty Reid's house on the green, Jo.
There was laughin' and singin', and dancin' and glee,
In Kitty Reid's house, in Kitty Reid's house,
There was laughin' and singin', an' dancin' and glee,
In Kitty Reid's house on the green, Jo.
The mirth that was there,
The mirth that was there;
Hech! how! the mirth that was there,
In Kitty Reid's house on the green, Jo.
There was laughin' and singin', and dancin' and glee,
In Kitty Reid's house, in Kitty Reid's house,
There was laughin' and singin', an' dancin' and glee,
In Kitty Reid's house on the green, Jo.
Hech! hey! the fright that was there,
The fright that was there,
The fright that was there,
Hech! how! the fright that was there,
In Kitty Reid's house on the green, Jo.
The light glimmer'd in thro' a crack i' the wa',
An' a' body thocht the lift it would fa',
An' lads and lasses they soon ran awa
Frae Kitty Reid's house on the green, Jo.
The fright that was there,
The fright that was there,
Hech! how! the fright that was there,
In Kitty Reid's house on the green, Jo.
The light glimmer'd in thro' a crack i' the wa',
An' a' body thocht the lift it would fa',
An' lads and lasses they soon ran awa
Frae Kitty Reid's house on the green, Jo.
62
Hech! hey! the dule that was there,
The dule that was there,
The dule that was there,
The birds an' beasts it wauken'd them a'
In Kitty Reid's house on the green, Jo.
The wa' gaed a hurly and scatter'd them a',
The piper, the fiddler, auld Kitty, an' a',
The kye fell a routin', the cocks they did craw,
In Kitty Reid's house on the green, Jo.
The dule that was there,
The dule that was there,
The birds an' beasts it wauken'd them a'
In Kitty Reid's house on the green, Jo.
The wa' gaed a hurly and scatter'd them a',
The piper, the fiddler, auld Kitty, an' a',
The kye fell a routin', the cocks they did craw,
In Kitty Reid's house on the green, Jo.
63
WHEN FIRST I GOT MARRIED.
When first that I got married,
A happy man to be;
My wife turn'd out a very cross,
We never could agree;
And what I thought my greatest bliss,
Was grief without compare;
For all that I can say or do,
She's mine for evermair.
And she's aye plaguing me,
She's aye plaguing me,
And she's aye plaguing me,
She winna let me be.
A happy man to be;
My wife turn'd out a very cross,
We never could agree;
And what I thought my greatest bliss,
Was grief without compare;
For all that I can say or do,
She's mine for evermair.
And she's aye plaguing me,
She's aye plaguing me,
And she's aye plaguing me,
She winna let me be.
For the first week or something mair,
A bonny thing she was;
But ere the second Sunday came,
She made me cry alas!
Alas! alas! I often cry,
It's needless here to tell;
For what's the cause of all my grief,
Fu' weel she kens hersel'.
For she's aye plaguing me, &c.
A bonny thing she was;
But ere the second Sunday came,
She made me cry alas!
Alas! alas! I often cry,
It's needless here to tell;
For what's the cause of all my grief,
Fu' weel she kens hersel'.
For she's aye plaguing me, &c.
64
I daurna ca' the house my ain,
Or ony thing that's in't,
For if I chance to speak a word,
She flies like fire from flint;
An' when her barley ends are on,
Which often is the case,
The very first thing that she gets,
She dashes in my face.
And she's aye dashing me, &c.
Or ony thing that's in't,
For if I chance to speak a word,
She flies like fire from flint;
An' when her barley ends are on,
Which often is the case,
The very first thing that she gets,
She dashes in my face.
And she's aye dashing me, &c.
When I am for merriment,
She dowie is an' sad;
And when I am for soberness,
She gangs distracted mad.
When I am in a speaking mood,
She silent sits and dumb;
And when I wish for silence,
She rattles like a drum.
For she's aye drummin' me, &c.
She dowie is an' sad;
And when I am for soberness,
She gangs distracted mad.
When I am in a speaking mood,
She silent sits and dumb;
And when I wish for silence,
She rattles like a drum.
For she's aye drummin' me, &c.
Oh, marriage is a paradise,
As I have heard folk tell,
But it's been to me, from first to last,
A purgatory fell;
Yet I hae ae comfort left,
Ae comfort, an' nae mair,
The pains o' death will break my bonds,
And bury a' my care.
And she'll sune bury me,
She'll sune bury me,
She'll sune bury me,
An' then she'll let me be.
As I have heard folk tell,
But it's been to me, from first to last,
A purgatory fell;
Yet I hae ae comfort left,
Ae comfort, an' nae mair,
The pains o' death will break my bonds,
And bury a' my care.
And she'll sune bury me,
She'll sune bury me,
She'll sune bury me,
An' then she'll let me be.
65
WE'RE A' SINGIN'.
O we're a' singin', blythely singin',
We're a' singin', at our house at hame;
O! we're a' singin', blythely singin',
We're a' singin', at our house at hame.
We're a' singin', at our house at hame;
O! we're a' singin', blythely singin',
We're a' singin', at our house at hame.
The leddies a' are singin', baith the auld and young,
And the laird tak's a lesson alang wi' his son;
The lawyers an' doctors are singin' wi' their fees;
And precentors are learnin', believe it if you please.
And the laird tak's a lesson alang wi' his son;
The lawyers an' doctors are singin' wi' their fees;
And precentors are learnin', believe it if you please.
The gudeman gie's the air, tho' aft put out is he,
Wi' folks singin' low, an' ithers singin hie—
Nae skill ava has he in our new-fangled ways;
But wha's owre auld to learn? is aye what he says.
So we're a' singin,' &c.
Wi' folks singin' low, an' ithers singin hie—
Nae skill ava has he in our new-fangled ways;
But wha's owre auld to learn? is aye what he says.
So we're a' singin,' &c.
Our Jeanie sings the treble,—and she sings bonnilie;
An' Jamie tak's the bass, for a bass voice has he;
Baith our mither an' our auntie sing like the lave,
Wi' the bairnies on their knee, to see they weel behave.
So we're a' singin, &c.
An' Jamie tak's the bass, for a bass voice has he;
Baith our mither an' our auntie sing like the lave,
Wi' the bairnies on their knee, to see they weel behave.
So we're a' singin, &c.
66
The pussie likes to purr, and the doggies like to bark,
An' the birdies a' sing, frae the corbie to the lark;
Tunefu' is their melody, nae roarin' wi' their voice,
O mind ye, my freens, that music is not noise.
So we're a singin', &c.
An' the birdies a' sing, frae the corbie to the lark;
Tunefu' is their melody, nae roarin' wi' their voice,
O mind ye, my freens, that music is not noise.
So we're a singin', &c.
Oh! dear are our mountains, our banks, and our braes,
An' dear are our Scottish sangs, aboon a' ither lays;
But nae mair we'll sing in praise o' barley bree,
For that is Scotia's skaith, we're a' come to see.
So we're a' singin', &c.
An' dear are our Scottish sangs, aboon a' ither lays;
But nae mair we'll sing in praise o' barley bree,
For that is Scotia's skaith, we're a' come to see.
So we're a' singin', &c.
On cauld winter nichts, around our ain fire,
Wi' our knittin' an' our singin' we hae nae time to tire;
On Saturday e'en there's a hantle aye to do,
But, wi' willing hearts an' hands, the job is soon got thro'.
Wi' our knittin' an' our singin' we hae nae time to tire;
On Saturday e'en there's a hantle aye to do,
But, wi' willing hearts an' hands, the job is soon got thro'.
When the mendin', an' washin', and a' the wark is done,
Then slowly, an' solemnly, the psalmody's begun;
In sweet simmer time, aneath the ancient tree,
The blackbird an' mavis join our harmonie!
Then we're a' singin', thankfully singin',
Thankful and joyful, at our house at hame;
Oh! we're a' singin', blythely singin',
We're a' singin', at our house at hame.
Then slowly, an' solemnly, the psalmody's begun;
In sweet simmer time, aneath the ancient tree,
The blackbird an' mavis join our harmonie!
Then we're a' singin', thankfully singin',
Thankful and joyful, at our house at hame;
Oh! we're a' singin', blythely singin',
We're a' singin', at our house at hame.
67
WE'RE A' NODDIN'.
O we're a' noddin', nid nid noddin',
O we're a' noddin' at our house at hame;
How's a' wi' ye, kimmer, and how do ye thrive?
O we're a' noddin' at our house at hame;
How's a' wi' ye, kimmer, and how do ye thrive?
And how many bairns hae ye now? Bairns I hae five.
An' are they a' at hame wi' ye? Oh, na, na;
For twa o' them's a hirdin' aye sin' Jamie gaed awa.
And we're a' noddin, &c.
An' are they a' at hame wi' ye? Oh, na, na;
For twa o' them's a hirdin' aye sin' Jamie gaed awa.
And we're a' noddin, &c.
Granny nods i' the neuk, and fends as she may,
And brags that we'll ne'er be what she's been in her day,
Vow! but she was bonnie, and vow! but she was braw;
And she had routh o' wooers ance, I'se warrant, great and sma'.
And we're a' noddin, &c.
And brags that we'll ne'er be what she's been in her day,
Vow! but she was bonnie, and vow! but she was braw;
And she had routh o' wooers ance, I'se warrant, great and sma'.
And we're a' noddin, &c.
Weary fa' Kate, that she binna nod too;
She sits in a corner suppin' a' the broo;
And when the bit bairnies wad e'en hae their share,
She gies them the ladle, but ne'er a drap's there,
For she's aye suppin'.
She sits in a corner suppin' a' the broo;
And when the bit bairnies wad e'en hae their share,
She gies them the ladle, but ne'er a drap's there,
For she's aye suppin'.
68
Now fareweel, kimmer, and weel may ye thrive,
They say the French are rinnin' for't, and we'll hae peace belyve;
The bear's i' the breer, and the hay's i' the stack,
And a' will be right wi's, Jamie were cum back.
They say the French are rinnin' for't, and we'll hae peace belyve;
The bear's i' the breer, and the hay's i' the stack,
And a' will be right wi's, Jamie were cum back.
For we're a' noddin', nid nid noddin',
And we're a' noddin' at our house at hame.
And we're a' noddin' at our house at hame.
69
DOWN THE BURN, DAVIE.
When bonny daisies spread the sward,
An broom bloom'd fair to see;
Blythe Davie, wi' a heart sae light,
An' she, a maiden free,
Cries, “Down the bonny burn side,
And I will follow thee.”
An broom bloom'd fair to see;
Blythe Davie, wi' a heart sae light,
An' she, a maiden free,
Cries, “Down the bonny burn side,
And I will follow thee.”
When gracefu' birks hang drooping o'er
The deep pool's waveless side;
And shaded frae the simmer sun,
The wandrin' salmon hide.
where the little trouties play,
An' shine sae bonnilie,
“Gang down the burn,” cries Davie blythe,
“And I will follow thee.”
The deep pool's waveless side;
And shaded frae the simmer sun,
The wandrin' salmon hide.
where the little trouties play,
An' shine sae bonnilie,
“Gang down the burn,” cries Davie blythe,
“And I will follow thee.”
70
THE VOICE OF SPRING.
O say, is there ane wha does na' rejoice,
To hear the first note o' the wee birdie's voice;
When in the grey mornin' o' cauld early spring,
The snaw-draps appear, an' the wee birdies sing,
The voice o' the spring, O how does it cheer!
The winter's awa, the simmer is near.
To hear the first note o' the wee birdie's voice;
When in the grey mornin' o' cauld early spring,
The snaw-draps appear, an' the wee birdies sing,
The voice o' the spring, O how does it cheer!
The winter's awa, the simmer is near.
In your mantle o' green, we see thee, fair spring,
O'er our banks an' our braes, the wild flow'rs ye fling;
The crocus sae gay, in her rich gowden hue;
The sweet violets hid 'mang the moss an' the dew;
The bonnie white gowan, an' oh! the sweet brier
A' tell it is spring, an' simmer is near.
O'er our banks an' our braes, the wild flow'rs ye fling;
The crocus sae gay, in her rich gowden hue;
The sweet violets hid 'mang the moss an' the dew;
The bonnie white gowan, an' oh! the sweet brier
A' tell it is spring, an' simmer is near.
An' they, wha in sorrow or sickness do pine,
Feel blythe wi' the flowers an' sunshine o' spring;
Tho' aft, in dear Scotia, the cauld wind will blaw,
An' cow'r a' the blossoms wi' frost and wi' snaw,
Yet the cloud it will pass, the sky it will clear,
And the birdies will sing—the simmer is near.
Feel blythe wi' the flowers an' sunshine o' spring;
Tho' aft, in dear Scotia, the cauld wind will blaw,
An' cow'r a' the blossoms wi' frost and wi' snaw,
Yet the cloud it will pass, the sky it will clear,
And the birdies will sing—the simmer is near.
71
BESS IS YOUNG, AND BESS IS FAIR.
Bess is young, and Bess is fair,
Wi' light blue e'en, and yellow hair;
And few there be that can compare
Wi' Bess, tho' she's a Gawkie.
When first o' Bess I got a keek,
Wi' smiles and dimples on her cheek,
I lang'd to hear the lassie speak,
But, wae's me! what a Gawkie.
Wi' light blue e'en, and yellow hair;
And few there be that can compare
Wi' Bess, tho' she's a Gawkie.
When first o' Bess I got a keek,
Wi' smiles and dimples on her cheek,
I lang'd to hear the lassie speak,
But, wae's me! what a Gawkie.
Bess should like a picture be,
Nailed to a wa' whar a' might see,
And mickle thought o' she wad be,
And no kent for a Gawkie.
Oh, steek your mouth, then, cousin dear,
And nae mair havers let us hear;
Oh, steek your mouth, and never fear,
Ye'se no be ca'd a Gawkie.
Nailed to a wa' whar a' might see,
And mickle thought o' she wad be,
And no kent for a Gawkie.
Oh, steek your mouth, then, cousin dear,
And nae mair havers let us hear;
Oh, steek your mouth, and never fear,
Ye'se no be ca'd a Gawkie.
72
THE FIFE LAIRD.
Ye should na' ca' the Laird daft, tho' daft like he may be;
Ye should na' ca' the Laird daft, he's just as wise as me;
Ye should na' ca' the Laird daft, his bannet has a bee,—
He's just a wee bit Fifish, like some Fife Lairds that be.
Last Lammas when the Laird set out, to see Auld Reekie's toun,
The Firth it had nae waves at a', the waves were sleepin' soun;
But wicked witches bide about gude auld St. Andrews toun,
And they steered up an unco' blast, our ain dear Laird to droun.
Ye should na' ca' the Laird daft, he's just as wise as me;
Ye should na' ca' the Laird daft, his bannet has a bee,—
He's just a wee bit Fifish, like some Fife Lairds that be.
Last Lammas when the Laird set out, to see Auld Reekie's toun,
The Firth it had nae waves at a', the waves were sleepin' soun;
But wicked witches bide about gude auld St. Andrews toun,
And they steered up an unco' blast, our ain dear Laird to droun.
Afore he got to Inchkeith Isle, the waves were white an' hie—
“O weel I ken thae witches wud hae aye a spite at me!”
They drove him up, they drove him doon, the Fife touns a' they pass,
And up and round Queensferry toun, then doun unto the Bass.
The sailors row, but row in vain, Leith port they canna win—
Nae meat or beds they hae on board, but there they maun remain;
O mirk and cauld the midnight hour, how thankfu' did they see
The first blush o' the dawnin' day, fair spreadin' owre the sea.
Ye should na ca' the Laird daft, &c.
“O weel I ken thae witches wud hae aye a spite at me!”
73
And up and round Queensferry toun, then doun unto the Bass.
The sailors row, but row in vain, Leith port they canna win—
Nae meat or beds they hae on board, but there they maun remain;
O mirk and cauld the midnight hour, how thankfu' did they see
The first blush o' the dawnin' day, fair spreadin' owre the sea.
Ye should na ca' the Laird daft, &c.
“Gae hame, gae hame,” the Laird cried out, “as fast as ye can gang,
Oh! rather than wi' witches meet, I'd meet an ournatang,—
A' nicht and day I've been away, an' naething could I see,
But auld wives' cantrips on broomsticks, wild cap'ring owre the sea.
I hae na' had a mouth o' meat, nor yet had aff my claes—
Afore I gang to sea again, some folk maun mend their ways;”
The Laird is hame wi' a' his ain, below the Lomond hill,
Richt glad to see his sheep again, his doukit, and his mill!
Oh! rather than wi' witches meet, I'd meet an ournatang,—
A' nicht and day I've been away, an' naething could I see,
But auld wives' cantrips on broomsticks, wild cap'ring owre the sea.
I hae na' had a mouth o' meat, nor yet had aff my claes—
Afore I gang to sea again, some folk maun mend their ways;”
The Laird is hame wi' a' his ain, below the Lomond hill,
Richt glad to see his sheep again, his doukit, and his mill!
74
Ye should na ca' the Laird daft, tho' daft like he may be;
Ye should na' ca' the Laird daft, he's just as wise as me;
Ye should na' ca' the Laird daft, he's bannet has a bee,—
He's just a wee bit Fifish, like some Fife Lairds that be.
Ye should na' ca' the Laird daft, he's just as wise as me;
Ye should na' ca' the Laird daft, he's bannet has a bee,—
He's just a wee bit Fifish, like some Fife Lairds that be.
75
JEANIE DEANS.
St. Leonards' hill was lightsome land
Where gowan'd grass was growin',
For man and beast were food and rest,
And milk and honey flowin'.
A father's blessing followed close,
Where'er her foot was treading,
And Jeanie's humble, harmless joys,
On every side were spreading wide,
On every side were spreading.
Where gowan'd grass was growin',
For man and beast were food and rest,
And milk and honey flowin'.
A father's blessing followed close,
Where'er her foot was treading,
And Jeanie's humble, harmless joys,
On every side were spreading wide,
On every side were spreading.
The mossy turf on Arthur seat,
St. Anthon's well aye springing,
The lammies playing at her feet,
The birdies round her singing.
The solemn haunts o' Holyrood,
Wi' bats and houlits eerie,
The tow'ring craigs o' Salisbury,
The lowly wells o' Weary,
O, the lowly wells o' Weary.
St. Anthon's well aye springing,
The lammies playing at her feet,
The birdies round her singing.
The solemn haunts o' Holyrood,
Wi' bats and houlits eerie,
The tow'ring craigs o' Salisbury,
The lowly wells o' Weary,
O, the lowly wells o' Weary.
But evil days and evil men
Came owre their sunny dwelling,
Like thunder storms on sunny skies,
Or wastefu' waters swelling.
What ance was sweet is bitter now;
The sun of joy is setting;
In eyes that wont to glance wi' glee,—
The briny tear is wetting fast,
The briny tear is wetting.
Came owre their sunny dwelling,
Like thunder storms on sunny skies,
Or wastefu' waters swelling.
76
The sun of joy is setting;
In eyes that wont to glance wi' glee,—
The briny tear is wetting fast,
The briny tear is wetting.
Her inmost thought to heaven is sent,
In faithful supplication;
Her earthly stay's Macallummore,
The guardian o' the nation.
A hero's heart—a sister's love—
A martyr's truth unbending;
They're a' in Jeanie's tartan plaid,—
And she is gane, her liefu' lane
To Lunnon toun she's wending.
In faithful supplication;
Her earthly stay's Macallummore,
The guardian o' the nation.
A hero's heart—a sister's love—
A martyr's truth unbending;
They're a' in Jeanie's tartan plaid,—
And she is gane, her liefu' lane
To Lunnon toun she's wending.
77
CAIRNEY BURN.
Oh Cairney burn, sweet Cairney burn,
Thou makest many a winding turn;
How sweet thy murmurings to hear,
Like plaintive music to mine ear;
Tho' things sair chang'd we mourn to see,
Yet, burnie, there's nae change in thee,
Still, still, thy waters clear rin on,
'Mang woody braes and mossy stone.
Thou makest many a winding turn;
How sweet thy murmurings to hear,
Like plaintive music to mine ear;
Tho' things sair chang'd we mourn to see,
Yet, burnie, there's nae change in thee,
Still, still, thy waters clear rin on,
'Mang woody braes and mossy stone.
Oh, Cairney burn, sweet Cairney burn,
Half blythe, half wae, to thee I turn;
But where are they wha sat wi' me,
Sae pleased aneath thy shady tree?
Oh! where are they whase wee bit feet
Wad wade delighted thro' the weet?
Scrambling up 'mang thorns and beech,
The nits and brambles a' to reach.
Half blythe, half wae, to thee I turn;
But where are they wha sat wi' me,
Sae pleased aneath thy shady tree?
Oh! where are they whase wee bit feet
Wad wade delighted thro' the weet?
Scrambling up 'mang thorns and beech,
The nits and brambles a' to reach.
Oh, Cairney burn, sweet Cairney burn,
May Mammon's hand ne'er come to turn
Thy waters clear to dingy dye,
Nor smoky clouds obscure thy sky!
Let no rude revelling intrude
To break this holy solitude;
Here may no still—no barley-bree—
Augment poor Scotia's misery.
May Mammon's hand ne'er come to turn
Thy waters clear to dingy dye,
Nor smoky clouds obscure thy sky!
78
To break this holy solitude;
Here may no still—no barley-bree—
Augment poor Scotia's misery.
Oh, Cairney burn, sweet Cairney burn,
Still, still to thee my heart doth turn;
Wider, deeper streams, I see,
But nane sae sweet, sae dear to me.
Here first we heard the Cuckoo sing,
With all the melody of spring;
Here her footsteps first were seen,
Strewing flowers upon the green.
Still, still to thee my heart doth turn;
Wider, deeper streams, I see,
But nane sae sweet, sae dear to me.
Here first we heard the Cuckoo sing,
With all the melody of spring;
Here her footsteps first were seen,
Strewing flowers upon the green.
79
O MOUNTAINS WILD.
O mountains wild, on thee I gaze,
Tho' clouds and storms upon thee lie;
For gleams o' sunshine break on thee,
Like the smile and tear in beauty's eye.
O mountains wild, when setting beams
Shoot frae yonder canopy,
How glowing is thy lofty brow,
Clad in the evening's golden sky.
Tho' clouds and storms upon thee lie;
For gleams o' sunshine break on thee,
Like the smile and tear in beauty's eye.
O mountains wild, when setting beams
Shoot frae yonder canopy,
How glowing is thy lofty brow,
Clad in the evening's golden sky.
Thro' heath'ry braes thy shepherds stray,
And tales of love and sorrow tell,
Of lady's bower and baron's ha',
The grey stane where the martyr fell.
Who has not felt this witching charm,
Entwin'd around each Scottish scene,
When wand'ring thro' her bonnie braes,
Or musing by her past'ral stream?
And tales of love and sorrow tell,
Of lady's bower and baron's ha',
The grey stane where the martyr fell.
Who has not felt this witching charm,
Entwin'd around each Scottish scene,
When wand'ring thro' her bonnie braes,
Or musing by her past'ral stream?
O land of song and minstrel lay,
Cauld and dead the heart maun be,
That leaves thy wild, romantic shore,
And ne'er a tear-drap in his e'e.
O land beloved, yon whitening sail
Owre soon will shroud me from thy view;
My sighs will mingle wi' the gale
That wafts me frae thy mountains blue.
Cauld and dead the heart maun be,
That leaves thy wild, romantic shore,
And ne'er a tear-drap in his e'e.
O land beloved, yon whitening sail
Owre soon will shroud me from thy view;
My sighs will mingle wi' the gale
That wafts me frae thy mountains blue.
80
THERE GROWS A BONNIE BRIER BUSH.
There grows a bonnie brier bush in our kailyard,
And white are the blossoms o't in our kail-yard,
Like wee bit cockauds to deck our hieland lads,
And the lasses lo'e the bonnie bush in our kail-yard.
And white are the blossoms o't in our kail-yard,
Like wee bit cockauds to deck our hieland lads,
And the lasses lo'e the bonnie bush in our kail-yard.
An' it's hame, an' it's hame to the north countrie,
An' it's hame, an' it's hame to the north countrie,
Where my bonnie Jean is waiting for me,
Wi' a heart kind and true, in my ain countrie.
An' it's hame, an' it's hame to the north countrie,
Where my bonnie Jean is waiting for me,
Wi' a heart kind and true, in my ain countrie.
But were they a' true that were far awa?
Oh! were they a' true that were far awa?
They drew up wi' glaikit Englishers at Carlisle ha',
And forgot auld frien's that were far awa.
Oh! were they a' true that were far awa?
They drew up wi' glaikit Englishers at Carlisle ha',
And forgot auld frien's that were far awa.
“Ye'll come nae mair, Jamie, where aft ye have been,
Ye'll come nae mair, Jamie, to Atholl's green;
Owre weel ye lo'ed the dancin' at Carlisle ha',
And forgot the hieland hills that were far awa.”
Ye'll come nae mair, Jamie, to Atholl's green;
Owre weel ye lo'ed the dancin' at Carlisle ha',
And forgot the hieland hills that were far awa.”
81
“I ne'er lo'ed a dance but on Atholl's green,
I ne'er lo'ed a lassie but my dorty Jean,
Sair, sair against my will did I bide sae lang awa,
And my heart was aye in Atholl's green at Carlisle ha'.”
I ne'er lo'ed a lassie but my dorty Jean,
Sair, sair against my will did I bide sae lang awa,
And my heart was aye in Atholl's green at Carlisle ha'.”
The brier bush was bonny ance in our kail-yard;
The brier bush was bonny ance in our kail-yard;
A blast blew owre the hill, that ga'e Atholl's flowers a chill,
And the bloom's blawn aff the bonnie bush in our kail-yard.
The brier bush was bonny ance in our kail-yard;
A blast blew owre the hill, that ga'e Atholl's flowers a chill,
And the bloom's blawn aff the bonnie bush in our kail-yard.
82
AH, LITTLE DID MY MOTHER THINK.
Ah, little did my mother think,
When to me she sung,
What a heartbreak I would be,
Her young and dautit son.
When to me she sung,
What a heartbreak I would be,
Her young and dautit son.
And oh! how proud she was o' me
In plaid and bonnet braw,
When I bade farewell to the north countrie,
And marching gaed awa!
In plaid and bonnet braw,
When I bade farewell to the north countrie,
And marching gaed awa!
Ah! little did my mother think,
A banished man I'd be,
Sent frae a' my kith and kin,
Them never mair to see.
A banished man I'd be,
Sent frae a' my kith and kin,
Them never mair to see.
Oh! father, 'twas the sugar'd drap
Aft ye did gi'e to me,
That has brought a' this misery
Baith to you and me.
Aft ye did gi'e to me,
That has brought a' this misery
Baith to you and me.
83
ST. ANDREW'S TOUN.
O hae ye been by Magus Muir,
Or by St. Andrew's Toun?
Or hae ye seen the ruin'd wa's
That honest folk pu'd doun?
Or by St. Andrew's Toun?
Or hae ye seen the ruin'd wa's
That honest folk pu'd doun?
And o' the bluidy Cardinal,
Ye surely hae heard tell?
And the persecutin' Bishop Sharpe,
And a' that them befell!
Ye surely hae heard tell?
And the persecutin' Bishop Sharpe,
And a' that them befell!
The licht that martyr'd Wishart saw
Red risin' owre the sea,
I wat it soon came to the land,
And brake on the Castell hie.
Red risin' owre the sea,
I wat it soon came to the land,
And brake on the Castell hie.
“The death the wicked Bishop dee'd,
Some folk will murder ca';
But by a' it is agreed,—
‘The loun was weel awa.’”
Some folk will murder ca';
But by a' it is agreed,—
‘The loun was weel awa.’”
84
THE WOMEN ARE A' GANE WUD.
The women are a' gane wud,
Oh, that he had bidden awa!
He's turn'd their heads, the lad,
And ruin will bring on us a'.
I aye was a peaceable man,
My wife she did doucely behave;
But noo, dae a' that I can,
She's just as wild as the lave.
Oh, that he had bidden awa!
He's turn'd their heads, the lad,
And ruin will bring on us a'.
I aye was a peaceable man,
My wife she did doucely behave;
But noo, dae a' that I can,
She's just as wild as the lave.
My wife noo wears the cockade,
Tho' she kens 'tis the thing that I hate;
There's ane, too, prin'd on her maid,
An' baith will tak their ain gate.
The wild Hieland lads as they pass,
The yetts wide open do flee;
They eat the very house bare,
And nae leave's speer'd o' me.
Tho' she kens 'tis the thing that I hate;
There's ane, too, prin'd on her maid,
An' baith will tak their ain gate.
The wild Hieland lads as they pass,
The yetts wide open do flee;
They eat the very house bare,
And nae leave's speer'd o' me.
I've lived a' my days in the Strath,
Now Tories infest me at hame,
And though I take nae side at a',
Baith sides will gie me the blame.
The senseless craturs ne'er think
What ill the lad wad bring back;
The Pope we'll hae, and his hounds,
And a' the rest o' his pack.
Now Tories infest me at hame,
And though I take nae side at a',
Baith sides will gie me the blame.
The senseless craturs ne'er think
What ill the lad wad bring back;
The Pope we'll hae, and his hounds,
And a' the rest o' his pack.
85
DUNCAN GRAY.
Duncan Gray cam' here to woo,
A' but the wordin' o't;
He could scrape and he cou'd boo,
Mum was the burden o't,
Mony hums and mony heys,
Thumbs he twirl'd twenty ways,
But a sound he cou'd na raise,
Mum was the burden o't.
A' but the wordin' o't;
He could scrape and he cou'd boo,
Mum was the burden o't,
Mony hums and mony heys,
Thumbs he twirl'd twenty ways,
But a sound he cou'd na raise,
Mum was the burden o't.
Meg was blythe an' Meg was braw,
Hech, hey, the wooin' o't;
She had scorned ane or twa,
And ne'er tuik the maen for't.
“Dummy lad, now ye'll can spae,
Tell me wha for life I'll hae?”
He has written Duncan Gray;
Fair fa' the wordin' o't.
Hech, hey, the wooin' o't;
She had scorned ane or twa,
And ne'er tuik the maen for't.
“Dummy lad, now ye'll can spae,
Tell me wha for life I'll hae?”
He has written Duncan Gray;
Fair fa' the wordin' o't.
Meg bethought her it was time,
Hech, hey, the wooin' o't;
Dearth o' words it was nae crime,
Hech, hey, the wooin' o't;
Duncan yellow gowd cou'd tell,
Walth had he o' maut an' meal,
She would find the words hersel',
Hech, hey, the wooin' o't.
Hech, hey, the wooin' o't;
Dearth o' words it was nae crime,
Hech, hey, the wooin' o't;
Duncan yellow gowd cou'd tell,
Walth had he o' maut an' meal,
She would find the words hersel',
Hech, hey, the wooin' o't.
86
JAMIE THE LAIRD.
Send a horse to the water, ye'll no mak' him drink,
Send a fule to the College, ye'll no mak' him think;
Send a craw to the singin', an' still he will craw,
An' the wee laird had nae rummelgumshion ava.
Yet he is the pride o' his fond mother's e'e,
In body or mind nae faut can she see,
“He's a fell clever lad, an' a bonnie wee man,”
Is aye the beginnin' an' end o' her sang.
An' oh! she's a haverin' Lucky, I trow,
An' oh! she's a haverin' Lucky, I trow,
“He's a fell clever lad, an' a bonnie wee man,”
Is aye the beginnin' an' end o' her sang.
Send a fule to the College, ye'll no mak' him think;
Send a craw to the singin', an' still he will craw,
An' the wee laird had nae rummelgumshion ava.
Yet he is the pride o' his fond mother's e'e,
In body or mind nae faut can she see,
“He's a fell clever lad, an' a bonnie wee man,”
Is aye the beginnin' an' end o' her sang.
An' oh! she's a haverin' Lucky, I trow,
An' oh! she's a haverin' Lucky, I trow,
“He's a fell clever lad, an' a bonnie wee man,”
Is aye the beginnin' an' end o' her sang.
His legs they are bow'd, his e'en they do glee,
His wig, whiles it's aff, an' when on, it's ajee;
He's braid as he's lang,—an' ill-faur'd is he,
A dafter like body I never did see.
An' yet for this cratur, she says I am deein',
When that I deny, she's fear'd at my leein';—
Obliged to pit up wi' this sair defamation,
I'm liken to dee wi' grief and vexation.
An' oh! she's a haverin Lucky, &c.
His wig, whiles it's aff, an' when on, it's ajee;
He's braid as he's lang,—an' ill-faur'd is he,
A dafter like body I never did see.
An' yet for this cratur, she says I am deein',
When that I deny, she's fear'd at my leein';—
Obliged to pit up wi' this sair defamation,
I'm liken to dee wi' grief and vexation.
An' oh! she's a haverin Lucky, &c.
87
An' her cleish-ma-clavers gang a' thro' the toun,
An' the wee lairdie trows I'll hang or I'll droun;
Wi' his gawkie-like face, yestreen he did say,
“I'll maybe tak you, for Bess I'll no hae,
Nor Mattie, nor Effie, nor lang-legged Jeanie,
Nor Nelly, nor Katie, nor skirlin' wee Beenie.”
I stappit my ears, ran aff in a fury—
I'm thinkin' to bring them afore Judge an' Jury.
For oh! what a randy auld Lucky is she, &c.
An' the wee lairdie trows I'll hang or I'll droun;
Wi' his gawkie-like face, yestreen he did say,
“I'll maybe tak you, for Bess I'll no hae,
Nor Mattie, nor Effie, nor lang-legged Jeanie,
Nor Nelly, nor Katie, nor skirlin' wee Beenie.”
I stappit my ears, ran aff in a fury—
I'm thinkin' to bring them afore Judge an' Jury.
For oh! what a randy auld Lucky is she, &c.
Frien's! gie yere advice!—I'll follow yere counsel—
Maun I speak to the Provost, or honest Toun-Council?
Or the writers, or lawyers, or doctors? now say?
For the law o' the Lucky I shall an' will hae.—
The hale toun at me are jibin' an' jeerin',
For a leddy like me, it's really past bearin';
The Lucky maun now hae done wi' her claverin,’
For I'll no pit up wi' her, nor her haverin'!
For oh! she's a randy, I trow, I trow;
For oh! she's a randy, I trow, I trow;
“He's a fell clever lad, an' a bonnie wee man,”
Is aye the beginnin' an' end o' her sang.
Maun I speak to the Provost, or honest Toun-Council?
Or the writers, or lawyers, or doctors? now say?
For the law o' the Lucky I shall an' will hae.—
The hale toun at me are jibin' an' jeerin',
For a leddy like me, it's really past bearin';
The Lucky maun now hae done wi' her claverin,’
For I'll no pit up wi' her, nor her haverin'!
For oh! she's a randy, I trow, I trow;
For oh! she's a randy, I trow, I trow;
“He's a fell clever lad, an' a bonnie wee man,”
Is aye the beginnin' an' end o' her sang.
88
ARCHIE'S AN ARCHER.
O Archie's an archer, and a gude shot is he,
But tho' he's bit mony, he never hit me;
How handsome he looks, how stately his mien,
Wi' his bannet, and feather, and braw coat o' green!
Wi' his white gauntlet glove, an' his stiff stannin' ruff,
His clear shining buckles, his neat turned cuff;
Wi' his bow, and his quiver, a' filled with his darts,—
O! leddies, beware, beware o' your hearts!
Beware, beware o' Sir Archie M`Vie.
But tho' he's bit mony, he never hit me;
How handsome he looks, how stately his mien,
Wi' his bannet, and feather, and braw coat o' green!
Wi' his white gauntlet glove, an' his stiff stannin' ruff,
His clear shining buckles, his neat turned cuff;
Wi' his bow, and his quiver, a' filled with his darts,—
O! leddies, beware, beware o' your hearts!
Beware, beware o' Sir Archie M`Vie.
Oh high is his head, as that you may see,
But short is the purse o' Sir Archie M`Vie;
But though he has neither braw houses nor land,
His prospects he offers alang wi' his hand;—
An uncle o' eighty, wi' plenty to gie,
And an auntie, wha doats on Sir Archie M`Vie;
For an heiress he's busy preparing his darts,
O! leddies, beware, beware o' your hearts!
Beware, beware o' Sir Archie M`Vie.
But short is the purse o' Sir Archie M`Vie;
But though he has neither braw houses nor land,
His prospects he offers alang wi' his hand;—
An uncle o' eighty, wi' plenty to gie,
And an auntie, wha doats on Sir Archie M`Vie;
For an heiress he's busy preparing his darts,
O! leddies, beware, beware o' your hearts!
Beware, beware o' Sir Archie M`Vie.
89
He's weel descended and unco genteel,
That he's seekin' an heiress he does nae conceal;
He's a baronet now, and a lordlin' he'll be,
An' a trustworthy knicht is Sir Archie M`Vie.
He's lang had a sheep's-eye at mither an' me,
For something I hae, and mair she can gie;
He's offered his hand and his prospects to me,
But wi' a' his darts he never hit me!
Beware, beware o' Sir Archie M`Vie.
That he's seekin' an heiress he does nae conceal;
He's a baronet now, and a lordlin' he'll be,
An' a trustworthy knicht is Sir Archie M`Vie.
He's lang had a sheep's-eye at mither an' me,
For something I hae, and mair she can gie;
He's offered his hand and his prospects to me,
But wi' a' his darts he never hit me!
Beware, beware o' Sir Archie M`Vie.
90
O, WHA IS THIS COMIN'?
O wha is this comin', the folk are a' rinnin',
I wonder wha it can be;
Rin Jeanie, rin fast, or the show will be past,
Rin, rin an' bring word to me.
For there's somebody comin',
There's fifin' and drummin',
The folk are a' rinnin' to see;
If ye dinna rin fast, the show will be past,
Oh! I wonder wha it can be.
Sandy.
I wonder wha it can be;
Rin Jeanie, rin fast, or the show will be past,
Rin, rin an' bring word to me.
For there's somebody comin',
There's fifin' and drummin',
The folk are a' rinnin' to see;
If ye dinna rin fast, the show will be past,
Oh! I wonder wha it can be.
Oh! is it the Provost, and Toun Council a',
Or is it the Shirra', wi' limbs o' the Law;
Or the bra' paper Lords, in their wigs and their robes,
An' trumpets that loudly do blaw?
The bells are a' ringin', the folk are a' singin',
Sic a steer the Toun never saw;
A' guess you will see 'tis our ain M.P.
That's chair'd in spite o' them a'.
For there's somebody comin',
There's fifin' and drummin',
The folk are a' rinnin' to see;
If ye dinna rin fast, the show will be past,
Oh! I wonder wha it can be.
91
It's nane o' them a', but it's better than a',
'Tis our ain dear Laird, that's come hame;
Wi' a heart that is to Scotland true blue,
We'll welcome him back to his ain.
Oh! the banner o' blue, the banner o' blue,
Aye he held by the banner o' blue;
A' Scotland's strife and perils he shared,
An' Heaven be praised his life has been spared.
An' that's wha is comin',
Nae wonder we're rinnin',
Baith laddies and lassies and a',
Wi' fifin' an' drummin', the folk are a' comin',
To welcome the Laird to his ha'.
Sandy.
The Laird! oh, it's owre gude news to be true;
Oh Jeanie I'll now rin faster than you,
Wi' our band, and our flags, and banner o' blue,
We'll bring back the laird to his ha'.
Sae loudly we'll cheer,—
The hills far and near
Will echo our hearty hurra;
He's been lang awa', but he's back 'mang us a',
Wave your bannets, and join our hurra!
92
FAREWEEL, EDINBURGH.
Fareweel, Edinburgh, where happy we hae been,
Fareweel, Edinburgh, Caledonia's Queen!
Auld Reekie, fare-ye-weel, and Reekie New beside,
Ye're like a chieftain grim and gray, wi' a young bonny bride.
Fareweel, Edinburgh, and your trusty volunteers,
Your Council, a' sae circumspect, your Provost without peers,
Your stately College stuff'd wi' lear, your rantin' High-Scule yard;
The jib, the lick, the roguish trick, the ghaists o' auld toun-guard.
Fareweel, Edinburgh, Caledonia's Queen!
Auld Reekie, fare-ye-weel, and Reekie New beside,
Ye're like a chieftain grim and gray, wi' a young bonny bride.
Fareweel, Edinburgh, and your trusty volunteers,
Your Council, a' sae circumspect, your Provost without peers,
Your stately College stuff'd wi' lear, your rantin' High-Scule yard;
The jib, the lick, the roguish trick, the ghaists o' auld toun-guard.
Fareweel, Edinburgh, your philosophic men;
Your scribes that set you a' to richts, and wield the golden pen;
The session-court, your thrang resort, bigwigs and lang gowns a';
And if ye dinna keep the peace, it's no for want o' law.
Fareweel, Edinburgh, and a' your glittering wealth;
Your Bernard's Well, your Calton Hill, where every breeze is health;
An' spite o' a' your fresh sea-gales should ony chance to dee,
It's no for want o' recipe, the doctor, or the fee.
Your scribes that set you a' to richts, and wield the golden pen;
The session-court, your thrang resort, bigwigs and lang gowns a';
And if ye dinna keep the peace, it's no for want o' law.
Fareweel, Edinburgh, and a' your glittering wealth;
Your Bernard's Well, your Calton Hill, where every breeze is health;
An' spite o' a' your fresh sea-gales should ony chance to dee,
It's no for want o' recipe, the doctor, or the fee.
93
Fareweel, Edinburgh, your hospitals and ha's,
The rich man's friend, the Cross lang ken'd, auld Ports, and city wa's;
The Kirks that grace their honoured place, now peacefu' as they stand,
Where'er they're found, on Scottish ground, the bulwarks of the land.
Fareweel, Edinburgh, your sons o' genius fine,
That send your name on wings o' fame beyond the burnin' line;
A name that's stood maist since the flood, and just when it's forgot,
Your bard will be forgotten too, your ain Sir Walter Scott.
The rich man's friend, the Cross lang ken'd, auld Ports, and city wa's;
The Kirks that grace their honoured place, now peacefu' as they stand,
Where'er they're found, on Scottish ground, the bulwarks of the land.
Fareweel, Edinburgh, your sons o' genius fine,
That send your name on wings o' fame beyond the burnin' line;
A name that's stood maist since the flood, and just when it's forgot,
Your bard will be forgotten too, your ain Sir Walter Scott.
Fareweel, Edinburgh, and a' your daughters fair;
Your Palace in the sheltered glen, your Castle in the air;
Your rocky brows, your grassy knowes, and eke your mountain bauld;
Were I to tell your beauties a', my tale would ne'er be tauld;
Now, fareweel, Edinburgh, whar happy we hae been;
Fareweel, Edinburgh, Caledonia's Queen!
Prosperity to Edinburgh wi' every risin' sun,
And blessin's be on Edinburgh till time his race has run!
Your Palace in the sheltered glen, your Castle in the air;
Your rocky brows, your grassy knowes, and eke your mountain bauld;
Were I to tell your beauties a', my tale would ne'er be tauld;
Now, fareweel, Edinburgh, whar happy we hae been;
Fareweel, Edinburgh, Caledonia's Queen!
Prosperity to Edinburgh wi' every risin' sun,
And blessin's be on Edinburgh till time his race has run!
94
AIKIN DRUM.
There liv'd a man in our toun,
In our toun, in our toun,
There liv'd a man in our toun,
And they ca'd him Aikin Drum.
And he wad be a soger,
A soger, a soger,
And he wad be a soger,
And they ca'd him Aikin Drum.
In our toun, in our toun,
There liv'd a man in our toun,
And they ca'd him Aikin Drum.
And he wad be a soger,
A soger, a soger,
And he wad be a soger,
And they ca'd him Aikin Drum.
And his coat was o' the gude saut meat,
The gude saut meat, the gude saut meat,
And a waistcoat o' the haggis-bag
Aye wore Aikin Drum.
O the gude lang kail, and the Atholl brose,
Aye they made his trews and hose;
And he luiket weel, as ye may suppose,
And his name was Aikin Drum.
The gude saut meat, the gude saut meat,
And a waistcoat o' the haggis-bag
Aye wore Aikin Drum.
O the gude lang kail, and the Atholl brose,
Aye they made his trews and hose;
And he luiket weel, as ye may suppose,
And his name was Aikin Drum.
And his bannet was made o' pye crust,
O' pye crust, o' pye crust,
And his bannet was made o' pye crust,
Built baith thick an' roun'.
And he played upon a razor,
A razor, a razor,
And he played upon a razor,
And while's upon the kame.
O' pye crust, o' pye crust,
And his bannet was made o' pye crust,
Built baith thick an' roun'.
And he played upon a razor,
A razor, a razor,
And he played upon a razor,
And while's upon the kame.
95
And he lov'd weel the crappit heads,
The crappit heads, and singet heads,
And he lov'd weel the crappit heads,
And singet heads an' a';
And he lov'd weel the ait cake,
The ait cake, the ait cake,
And he lov'd weel the ait cake,
An' scones and bannocks a'.
The crappit heads, and singet heads,
And he lov'd weel the crappit heads,
And singet heads an' a';
And he lov'd weel the ait cake,
The ait cake, the ait cake,
And he lov'd weel the ait cake,
An' scones and bannocks a'.
But, wae's me, he turned soger,
A soger, a soger,
But, wae's me! he turned soger,
And he was marched awa.
'Bout him the carles were gabbin',
For him the laddies sabbin',
nd a' the lassies greetin',
For Aikin Drum's awa.
A soger, a soger,
But, wae's me! he turned soger,
And he was marched awa.
'Bout him the carles were gabbin',
For him the laddies sabbin',
nd a' the lassies greetin',
For Aikin Drum's awa.
96
WE'LL GANG NA MAIR A' ROVIN'.
The collic chased the beggar man,
Ayont the warlock's wa',
An' the collie chas'd the beggar man
Out owre the eldrich shaw.
An' we'll gang na mair a roving,
So late into the nicht,
An' we'll gang na mair a roving, boys,
Let the moon shine ne'er so bricht,
An' we'll gang na mair a roving
Ayont the warlock's wa',
An' the collie chas'd the beggar man
Out owre the eldrich shaw.
An' we'll gang na mair a roving,
So late into the nicht,
An' we'll gang na mair a roving, boys,
Let the moon shine ne'er so bricht,
An' we'll gang na mair a roving
O what was yon that glinted by,
An' bleezed upo' the tree?
'Twas but a glimmer o' the moon,
It cam na here for me,
An' we'll gang na mair, &c.
An' bleezed upo' the tree?
'Twas but a glimmer o' the moon,
It cam na here for me,
An' we'll gang na mair, &c.
But what's that purrin' at my frock,
An' trampin' on my heel?
Maun collies ken whan beggar men
Uplift a pickle meal.
An' we'll gang na mair, &c.
An' trampin' on my heel?
Maun collies ken whan beggar men
Uplift a pickle meal.
An' we'll gang na mair, &c.
Gin I were ance at hame again,
An' a' thing round me richt,
I ne'er would steal a crum o' meal,
By day nor yet by nicht.
An' we'll gang nae mair, &c.
An' a' thing round me richt,
I ne'er would steal a crum o' meal,
By day nor yet by nicht.
An' we'll gang nae mair, &c.
97
An' we'll gang na mair a roving,
So late into the nicht,
An' we'll gang na mair a roving, boys,
Let the moon shine ne'er so bricht,
An' we'll gang nae mair a roving.
So late into the nicht,
An' we'll gang na mair a roving, boys,
Let the moon shine ne'er so bricht,
An' we'll gang nae mair a roving.
98
YOUTHS' SOIREE.
'Tis pleasant and cheery, when brethren agree,
To meet a' thegither at a Soiree—
Where father, and mother, the lad, and the lass,
An evening wi' pleasure and profit may pass.
Let mental and moral instruction combine,
Our recreations to mend and refine;
Nae aid we seek frae the pipe or the bowl,—
We hae music and mirth to delight every soul!
To meet a' thegither at a Soiree—
Where father, and mother, the lad, and the lass,
An evening wi' pleasure and profit may pass.
Let mental and moral instruction combine,
Our recreations to mend and refine;
Nae aid we seek frae the pipe or the bowl,—
We hae music and mirth to delight every soul!
Prevention's far better than cure, we a' ken,
To begin wi' the bairns is far better than men;
Let us train them, when young, to make a bold stand
Against the bad customs, sae rife in the land.
Oh! weel they've begun—go on—go on—
Let each help the ither, be strong—be strong.
Mair courage is needed aft to say “No,”
Than a stalwart dragoon to hae for a foe!
To begin wi' the bairns is far better than men;
Let us train them, when young, to make a bold stand
Against the bad customs, sae rife in the land.
Oh! weel they've begun—go on—go on—
Let each help the ither, be strong—be strong.
Mair courage is needed aft to say “No,”
Than a stalwart dragoon to hae for a foe!
A gude education is better than wealth,
A drink frae the well is the best for the health;
Poortith, I trow, wad seldom be seen,
If Scotland was ance what Scotland has been!
On bannocks and parritch young folks work fu' weel,—
Sair heads and sair hearts they seldom will feel;
If they keep frae the treatings, our squabbling wad cease,
An' folk wad be peacefu' without a police!
A drink frae the well is the best for the health;
Poortith, I trow, wad seldom be seen,
If Scotland was ance what Scotland has been!
99
Sair heads and sair hearts they seldom will feel;
If they keep frae the treatings, our squabbling wad cease,
An' folk wad be peacefu' without a police!
An' now let us a', afore we retire,
Break forth into singing, baith people and choir;
The better for meeting, oh, may we aye be,
At kirk, or at schule, or at a Soiree!
Three cheers for the lads who have made a brave stand,
Three cheers for the speakers, the stewards, and the band;
Three cheers for the leddies, wha grace our Soiree,
Three cheers for our chairman, and ane mair for me!
Break forth into singing, baith people and choir;
The better for meeting, oh, may we aye be,
At kirk, or at schule, or at a Soiree!
Three cheers for the lads who have made a brave stand,
Three cheers for the speakers, the stewards, and the band;
Three cheers for the leddies, wha grace our Soiree,
Three cheers for our chairman, and ane mair for me!
100
HUNTINGTOWER.
When ye gang awa, Jamie,
When ye gang awa, laddie,
What will ye gie my heart to cheer,
When ye are far awa, Jamie?
When ye gang awa, laddie,
What will ye gie my heart to cheer,
When ye are far awa, Jamie?
I'll gie ye a braw new goun, Jeanie,
I'll gie ye a braw new goun, lassie,
An' it will be a silken ane,
Wi' Valenciennes trimm'd round, Jeanie.
I'll gie ye a braw new goun, lassie,
An' it will be a silken ane,
Wi' Valenciennes trimm'd round, Jeanie.
O that's nae luve at a', laddie,
That's nae luve at a', Jamie;
How could I bear braw gouns to wear,
When ye are far awa, laddie!
That's nae luve at a', Jamie;
How could I bear braw gouns to wear,
When ye are far awa, laddie!
But mind me when awa, Jamie,
Mind me when awa, laddie,
For out o' sicht is out o' mind
Wi' mony folk, we ken, Jamie.
Mind me when awa, laddie,
For out o' sicht is out o' mind
Wi' mony folk, we ken, Jamie.
Oh! that can never be, Jeanie,
Forgot ye ne'er can be, lassie,
Oh gang wi' me to the north countrie,
My bonny bride to be, Jeanie.
Forgot ye ne'er can be, lassie,
Oh gang wi' me to the north countrie,
My bonny bride to be, Jeanie.
101
The hills are grand and hie, Jeanie,
The burnies rinnin' clear, lassie,
Mang birks and braes, where wild deer strays,
Oh cum wi' me and see, lassie.
The burnies rinnin' clear, lassie,
Mang birks and braes, where wild deer strays,
Oh cum wi' me and see, lassie.
I winna gang wi' thee, laddie,
I tell't ye sae afore, Jamie;
Till free consent my parents gie,
I canna gang wi' thee, Jamie.
I tell't ye sae afore, Jamie;
Till free consent my parents gie,
I canna gang wi' thee, Jamie.
But when ye're wed to me, Jeanie,
Then they will forgie, lassie;
How can ye be sae cauld to me,
Wha's lo'ed ye weel and lang, lassie?
Then they will forgie, lassie;
How can ye be sae cauld to me,
Wha's lo'ed ye weel and lang, lassie?
No sae lang as them, laddie,
No sae lang as them, Jamie;
A grief to them I wadna be,
No for the Duke himsel', Jamie.
No sae lang as them, Jamie;
A grief to them I wadna be,
No for the Duke himsel', Jamie.
We'll save our penny fee, laddie,
To keep frae poortith free, Jamie;
An' then their blessing they will gie,
Baith to you an' me, Jamie.
To keep frae poortith free, Jamie;
An' then their blessing they will gie,
Baith to you an' me, Jamie.
Huntingtower is mine, lassie,
Huntingtower is mine, Jeanie;
Huntingtower, an' Blairnagower,
An' a' that's mine is thine, Jeanie!
Huntingtower is mine, Jeanie;
Huntingtower, an' Blairnagower,
An' a' that's mine is thine, Jeanie!
102
EPPIE MACNAB.
O mind ye nae, mind ye nae, Eppie Macnab,
It's no sae lang syne, O Eppie Macnab,
Sin' yere een they shone bright,
And yere heart it lap light,
Gin ye'd seen but the shadow o' blythe Jock Rab.
But weary now, weary now's wae Jock Rab,
O, weary now, weary now's wae Jock Rab,
My joy an' my pride, I lo'ed aye like a bride,
She's fause, an' forsaken her ain Jock Rab.
It's no sae lang syne, O Eppie Macnab,
Sin' yere een they shone bright,
And yere heart it lap light,
Gin ye'd seen but the shadow o' blythe Jock Rab.
But weary now, weary now's wae Jock Rab,
O, weary now, weary now's wae Jock Rab,
My joy an' my pride, I lo'ed aye like a bride,
She's fause, an' forsaken her ain Jock Rab.
O, wae worth the lordling, my Eppie Macnab!
O, wae worth the lordling, my Eppie Macnab!
His fancy ye'll tine,
Ye maun nae mair be mine,
And the warld's a waste to your ain Jock Rab.
O, weary now, &c.
An' ye saw your wee bairnies now, Eppie Macnab,
Your mitherless bairnies now, Eppie Macnab;
They girn and think shame,
Gin they hear but your name,
And they wring the heart's blude frae your ain Jock Rab.
O, weary now, weary now's wae Jock Rab,
O, weary now, weary now's wae Jock Rab.
My joy an' my pride, I lov'd aye like a bride,
She's fause, an' forsaken her ain Jock Rab.
O, wae worth the lordling, my Eppie Macnab!
His fancy ye'll tine,
Ye maun nae mair be mine,
And the warld's a waste to your ain Jock Rab.
O, weary now, &c.
An' ye saw your wee bairnies now, Eppie Macnab,
Your mitherless bairnies now, Eppie Macnab;
They girn and think shame,
Gin they hear but your name,
And they wring the heart's blude frae your ain Jock Rab.
103
O, weary now, weary now's wae Jock Rab.
My joy an' my pride, I lov'd aye like a bride,
She's fause, an' forsaken her ain Jock Rab.
104
DUNNOTTAR CASTLE.
When Royal pow'r was hunted down,
And Cromwell bore the bell, sir,
How safe and sound lay Scotland's crown,
Behad, I'm gaun to tell, sir,
And Cromwell bore the bell, sir,
How safe and sound lay Scotland's crown,
Behad, I'm gaun to tell, sir,
On fair Kincardine's rocky coast,
There's few that dinna ken yet,
Dunnottar's Castle, bauld and strong,
Stands tow'ring o'er the main, yet.
There's few that dinna ken yet,
Dunnottar's Castle, bauld and strong,
Stands tow'ring o'er the main, yet.
There Keith, Earl Marischal, warlike wight,
Sae noble and sae loyal,
He gat the guardin' o' them a',
Auld Scotia's ensigns royal.
Sae noble and sae loyal,
He gat the guardin' o' them a',
Auld Scotia's ensigns royal.
When arms like his could ill be spared,
And he fought for the Stewart,
He ga'e them owre to Ogilvie,
A trusty and a true heart.
And he fought for the Stewart,
He ga'e them owre to Ogilvie,
A trusty and a true heart.
Strong to the stronger aye maun yield,
The rebels ruled the nation,
Brave Ogilvie and a' his men,
They could na keep their station.
The rebels ruled the nation,
Brave Ogilvie and a' his men,
They could na keep their station.
105
His Leddy wi' a manly heart,
She tuik it a' upon her,
To save from skaith her captain dear,
And eke her country's honour.
She tuik it a' upon her,
To save from skaith her captain dear,
And eke her country's honour.
The crown, the sceptre, sword, an' a',
The lint she happit round them,
And a' unkend to Ogilvie,
Safe in the sack she bound them.
The lint she happit round them,
And a' unkend to Ogilvie,
Safe in the sack she bound them.
A simple lass upon her back,
Withouten fear or danger,
Soon brought them to the minister
Of Kinneff, gude James Grainger.
Withouten fear or danger,
Soon brought them to the minister
Of Kinneff, gude James Grainger.
Aneath the pulpit's sel they're laid,
To mak the secret faster,
As low as lay the royal head,
Short syne their rightfu' maister.
To mak the secret faster,
As low as lay the royal head,
Short syne their rightfu' maister.
The darkest night will wear awa,
Monk ga'e the bowls a row, man,
And Monarchy was up again,
And Roundheads down, I trow, man.
Monk ga'e the bowls a row, man,
And Monarchy was up again,
And Roundheads down, I trow, man.
The Marischal he cam frae the wars,
Sae blythe was he that day, sir,
When Ogilvie ga'e back his trust,
In spite o' a' the fray, sir.
Sae blythe was he that day, sir,
When Ogilvie ga'e back his trust,
In spite o' a' the fray, sir.
106
THE IDLE LADDIE.
Saw ye ere an idle laddie
Playing truant ilka day,
Thinking he wad happy be,
If frae the schule he'd bide away?
Saw ye ere an eident laddie,
Busy learnin' a' the day;
Aye sae thrang when at his wark,
Aye sae cheerie at his play?
Playing truant ilka day,
Thinking he wad happy be,
If frae the schule he'd bide away?
Saw ye ere an eident laddie,
Busy learnin' a' the day;
Aye sae thrang when at his wark,
Aye sae cheerie at his play?
Oh! mind, ye bairns, mind ye 're lear,
'Twill carry you the warld thro';
They wha bide awa' frae schule,
Aye in the end are sure to rue.
Be nae ye like idle Bell,
Wha comes, and then she bides away;
Syne her reading and her knitting,
She forgets frae day to day.
'Twill carry you the warld thro';
They wha bide awa' frae schule,
Aye in the end are sure to rue.
Be nae ye like idle Bell,
Wha comes, and then she bides away;
Syne her reading and her knitting,
She forgets frae day to day.
But Jeanie's parents they were wise,
An' that, they never wad allow;
For bairns are like sapling trees,
An' grow just as ye bend the bough.
Oh! bairns, aft ye hae been tauld,
An' owre, an' owre it should be sung,—
It's ill to learn when we are auld,
But unco easy when we're young!
An' that, they never wad allow;
For bairns are like sapling trees,
An' grow just as ye bend the bough.
107
An' owre, an' owre it should be sung,—
It's ill to learn when we are auld,
But unco easy when we're young!
Oh! mind ye, bairns, mind yere books,
Live in peace and Christian love—
Seek not to provoke each other,
Seek the wisdom frae above!
Oh! 'tis this will make ye happy,
Gentle, patient a' the day—
It will help ye at your wark,
An' mak' ye cheery at your play!
Live in peace and Christian love—
Seek not to provoke each other,
Seek the wisdom frae above!
Oh! 'tis this will make ye happy,
Gentle, patient a' the day—
It will help ye at your wark,
An' mak' ye cheery at your play!
108
THE PENTLAND HILLS.
The pilgrim's feet here oft will tread
O'er this sequestered scene,
To mark whare Scotland's Martyrs lie
In lonely Rullion Green,—
To muse o'er those who fought and fell—
All Presbyterians true—
Who held the League and Covenant—
Who waved the banner blue!
O'er this sequestered scene,
To mark whare Scotland's Martyrs lie
In lonely Rullion Green,—
To muse o'er those who fought and fell—
All Presbyterians true—
Who held the League and Covenant—
Who waved the banner blue!
Like partridge to the mountain driven—
Oh! lang and sairly tried!
Their cause they deemed the cause o' Heaven—
For that they liv'd and died!
Together here they met and prayed—
Ah! ne'er to meet again;
Their windin' sheet the bluidy plaid—
Their grave lone Rullion Green.
Oh! lang and sairly tried!
Their cause they deemed the cause o' Heaven—
For that they liv'd and died!
Together here they met and prayed—
Ah! ne'er to meet again;
Their windin' sheet the bluidy plaid—
Their grave lone Rullion Green.
Ah! here they sang the holy strain—
Sweet Martyrs' melodie;
When every heart and every voice
Arose in harmonie.
The list'ning echoes all around
Gave back their soft reply,
While angels heard the hallow'd sound,
And bore it to the sky.
Sweet Martyrs' melodie;
When every heart and every voice
Arose in harmonie.
The list'ning echoes all around
Gave back their soft reply,
While angels heard the hallow'd sound,
And bore it to the sky.
109
Oh! faithless King! hast thou forgot
Who gave to thee thy crown?
Hast thou forgot thy solemn oath,
At Holyrood and Scone?
Oh! fierce Dalziel! thy ruthless rage
Wrought langsome misery;
What Scottish heart could ever gi'e
A benison to thee!
Who gave to thee thy crown?
Hast thou forgot thy solemn oath,
At Holyrood and Scone?
Oh! fierce Dalziel! thy ruthless rage
Wrought langsome misery;
What Scottish heart could ever gi'e
A benison to thee!
Oh, Claverhouse! fell Claverhouse!
Thou brave, but cruel Graham!
Dark deeds like thine will last for aye,
Linked wi' thy blighted name.
Oh, Pentland hills, sae fair and green!
When in the sunrise gleaming—
Or in the pensive gloamin' hour,
Aneath the moonbeams streaming!
Thou brave, but cruel Graham!
Dark deeds like thine will last for aye,
Linked wi' thy blighted name.
Oh, Pentland hills, sae fair and green!
When in the sunrise gleaming—
Or in the pensive gloamin' hour,
Aneath the moonbeams streaming!
I love to wander there my lane,
Wi' sad and sacred feeling;
While hallowed mem'ries wake the tear,
In waefu' eye soft stealing.
I love thy wild sequester'd glen,
Thy bonny wimplin' burn;
For Scotland's brave and martyr'd men,
Still does it seem to mourn.
Wi' sad and sacred feeling;
While hallowed mem'ries wake the tear,
In waefu' eye soft stealing.
I love thy wild sequester'd glen,
Thy bonny wimplin' burn;
For Scotland's brave and martyr'd men,
Still does it seem to mourn.
110
LAMENT OF THE COVENANTER'S WIDOW.
O weet and weary is the night,
Wi' soughing wind and rain, O;
And he that was sae true to me,
Is on the hill-side slain, O!
Wi' soughing wind and rain, O;
And he that was sae true to me,
Is on the hill-side slain, O!
O that the hand that did the deed,
Had lain me where he's lying,
The green turf o'er my peacefu' head,
The night winds round me sighing.
Had lain me where he's lying,
The green turf o'er my peacefu' head,
The night winds round me sighing.
But I maun hear and I maun grieve,
And I maun thole the morrow;
This heart's no made o' flesh and blood,
It winna break wi' sorrow.
And I maun thole the morrow;
This heart's no made o' flesh and blood,
It winna break wi' sorrow.
What's a' this gaudy warld to me?
I canna bide the glare o't;
O gin it were the High Decree,
That I micht see nae mair o't.
I canna bide the glare o't;
O gin it were the High Decree,
That I micht see nae mair o't.
For he had ta'en the Covenant
For Scotland's sake to dee, O,
Death to him was gain we ken,
But oh! the loss to me, O!
For Scotland's sake to dee, O,
Death to him was gain we ken,
But oh! the loss to me, O!
111
THE REGALIA.
We hae the crown without a head,
The sceptre's but a hand, O;
The ancient warlike royal blade,
Might be a willow wand, O!
Gin they had tongues to tell the wrangs
That laid them useless by, a',
Fu' weel I wot, there's ne'er a Scot
Could boast his cheek was dry, a'.
Then flourish thistle, flourish fair,
Tho' ye've the crown na langer,
They'll hae the skaith that cross ye yet;
Your jags grow aye the stranger.
The sceptre's but a hand, O;
The ancient warlike royal blade,
Might be a willow wand, O!
Gin they had tongues to tell the wrangs
That laid them useless by, a',
Fu' weel I wot, there's ne'er a Scot
Could boast his cheek was dry, a'.
Then flourish thistle, flourish fair,
Tho' ye've the crown na langer,
They'll hae the skaith that cross ye yet;
Your jags grow aye the stranger.
O for a touch o' warlock's wand,
The byegane back to bring a',
And gie us ae lang simmer's day
O' a true born Scottish king a';
We'd put the crown upon his head,
The sceptre in his hand a',
We'd rend the welkin wi' the shout,
Bruce and his native land, a'.
Then flourish thistle, &c.
The byegane back to bring a',
And gie us ae lang simmer's day
O' a true born Scottish king a';
We'd put the crown upon his head,
The sceptre in his hand a',
We'd rend the welkin wi' the shout,
Bruce and his native land, a'.
Then flourish thistle, &c.
The thistle ance it flourish'd fair,
An' grew maist like a tree a',
They've stunted down its stately tap,
That roses might luik hie a'.
But tho' its head lies in the dust,
The root is stout and steady;
The thistle is the warrior yet,
The rose its tocher'd leddy.
Then flourish, thistle, &c.
An' grew maist like a tree a',
They've stunted down its stately tap,
That roses might luik hie a'.
112
The root is stout and steady;
The thistle is the warrior yet,
The rose its tocher'd leddy.
Then flourish, thistle, &c.
The rose it blooms in safter soil,
And strangers up could root it;
Aboon the grund he ne'er was fand
That pu'd the thistle out yet.
Then flourish, thistle, flourish fair,
Tho' ye've the crown nae langer,
They'll hae the skaith that cross ye yet;
Your jags grow aye the stranger.
And strangers up could root it;
Aboon the grund he ne'er was fand
That pu'd the thistle out yet.
Then flourish, thistle, flourish fair,
Tho' ye've the crown nae langer,
They'll hae the skaith that cross ye yet;
Your jags grow aye the stranger.
113
THE BOAT SONG O' THE CLYDE.
Row, row, ye sailors brave!
Row, regardless of the wave,
Fearless, tho' a tempest blow,
Down the Clyde we'll go, we'll go.
And oh, what bustle, and what din,
Afore the folk can a' win in,
The bairnies, gentry, great and sma',
Are blythe to leave the Broomielaw.
Row, row, ye sailors brave!
Row, regardless of the wave;
Fearless tho' a tempest blow,
Down the Clyde we'll go, we'll go.
Row, regardless of the wave,
Fearless, tho' a tempest blow,
Down the Clyde we'll go, we'll go.
And oh, what bustle, and what din,
Afore the folk can a' win in,
The bairnies, gentry, great and sma',
Are blythe to leave the Broomielaw.
Row, row, ye sailors brave!
Row, regardless of the wave;
Fearless tho' a tempest blow,
Down the Clyde we'll go, we'll go.
Countless boats and steamers ply,
Flags frae every nation fly,
Wi' pipers, fiddlers, noise, and clatter,
Doun we a' gang, doun the water!
An' oh! how sweet, in flow'ry June,
To leave auld Glasgow's smoky toun,
Wi' cloudless sky, an' fav'ring gale,
Doun the bonny Clyde to sail!
Row, row, &c.
Flags frae every nation fly,
Wi' pipers, fiddlers, noise, and clatter,
Doun we a' gang, doun the water!
An' oh! how sweet, in flow'ry June,
To leave auld Glasgow's smoky toun,
Wi' cloudless sky, an' fav'ring gale,
Doun the bonny Clyde to sail!
Row, row, &c.
114
What stately mansions come in view,
Elderslie and Scotston too,
Blythswood, on her lawn sae green,
Where Cart and Clyde are mingling seen.
An' oh! how fair on every side,
Spread the waters o' the Clyde,
Where Blantyre's noble woods appear,
Reflected in her waters clear.
Row, row, &c.
Elderslie and Scotston too,
Blythswood, on her lawn sae green,
Where Cart and Clyde are mingling seen.
An' oh! how fair on every side,
Spread the waters o' the Clyde,
Where Blantyre's noble woods appear,
Reflected in her waters clear.
Row, row, &c.
The wee waves ripple as they pass
The ivy'd wa's o' auld Dunglass;
Dumbarton Castle brave doth stand,
An' overlooks baith sea an' land!
The woods embow'ring half do hide
Ardgowan, in its beauty's pride,
An' Kelly House looks sweetly doun,
On wooded braes an' yellow broom.
Row, row, &c.
The ivy'd wa's o' auld Dunglass;
Dumbarton Castle brave doth stand,
An' overlooks baith sea an' land!
The woods embow'ring half do hide
Ardgowan, in its beauty's pride,
An' Kelly House looks sweetly doun,
On wooded braes an' yellow broom.
Row, row, &c.
Sailing on to Rothesay Bay,
Where sunbeams o'er the Cumbraes play
Or thro' the wooded straits o' Kyle,
Where rocks on rocks fantastic pile.
Nature's pencil never drew,
Aught mair charming than the view
Where sun and shadow ever change,
O'er that Hieland mountain range!
Row, row, &c.
Where sunbeams o'er the Cumbraes play
Or thro' the wooded straits o' Kyle,
Where rocks on rocks fantastic pile.
Nature's pencil never drew,
Aught mair charming than the view
Where sun and shadow ever change,
O'er that Hieland mountain range!
Row, row, &c.
115
How soft an' grand in azure hue,
Arran's peakèd hills we view;
Oh, what are all Italia's dyes,
To Scotland's cloudy sunset skies!
Ye talk o' charms o' foreign clime,
O' a' the beauties o' the Rhine;
They may a' be grand an' fine,
But oh, they'll ne'er compare wi' thine.
Row, row, &c.
Arran's peakèd hills we view;
Oh, what are all Italia's dyes,
To Scotland's cloudy sunset skies!
Ye talk o' charms o' foreign clime,
O' a' the beauties o' the Rhine;
They may a' be grand an' fine,
But oh, they'll ne'er compare wi' thine.
Row, row, &c.
Fair Roseneath, the mountains' screen,
'Neath Argyle's rude bowling green,
'Mang heath, and rocks, and moss, and fell,
Where eagles and the wild deer dwell!
Sail we up, or sail we doun,
By Kilmun, or sweet Dunoon,
By Ardincaple, or the Row,
By Gairloch an' her mountain blue!
Row, row, &c.
'Neath Argyle's rude bowling green,
'Mang heath, and rocks, and moss, and fell,
Where eagles and the wild deer dwell!
Sail we up, or sail we doun,
By Kilmun, or sweet Dunoon,
By Ardincaple, or the Row,
By Gairloch an' her mountain blue!
Row, row, &c.
The Holy Loch, where buried lie,
All that could o' Martyrs die,
Where the auld trees mournfu' wave,
Owre the Covenanters' grave!
Sequestered yont dark Cowal hill,
Thy waters, Echt, lie deep an' still,
Thy rocks and woods reflected there,
Wi' water lilies spreading fair.
Row, row, &c.
All that could o' Martyrs die,
Where the auld trees mournfu' wave,
Owre the Covenanters' grave!
Sequestered yont dark Cowal hill,
Thy waters, Echt, lie deep an' still,
Thy rocks and woods reflected there,
Wi' water lilies spreading fair.
Row, row, &c.
116
How many lovely scenes are thine,
Inverary and Loch Fine!
Loch Goil, Artinee, and Loch Long,
A' are worthy of a song.
Loch Lomond and the sweet Rossdhu,
Tarbet's boats wi' herrin' fu';
O, let a gratefu' thought arise
To Him who sends our rich supplies.
Row, row, &c.
Inverary and Loch Fine!
Loch Goil, Artinee, and Loch Long,
A' are worthy of a song.
Loch Lomond and the sweet Rossdhu,
Tarbet's boats wi' herrin' fu';
O, let a gratefu' thought arise
To Him who sends our rich supplies.
Row, row, &c.
Who has not felt the soothing power
O' Scotia's calm and gloamin' hour,
When, closed the eye of garish day,
The moonbeams on the waters play?
The Largs, and bonnie Fairlie lay
In the hues of parting day;
The shadows gath'ring o'er Wemyss Bay,
The sailors shout—Away, away.
Row, row, &c.
O' Scotia's calm and gloamin' hour,
When, closed the eye of garish day,
The moonbeams on the waters play?
The Largs, and bonnie Fairlie lay
In the hues of parting day;
The shadows gath'ring o'er Wemyss Bay,
The sailors shout—Away, away.
Row, row, &c.
Auld Clyde, ye mony sights ha'e seen,
Scenes o' joy and grief, I ween;
A' kinds o' folk on Clyde ha'e been,
An' last, not least, Hail! comes the Queen!
Fareweel, fareweel, auld Clyde to thee,
Enchanting is thy scenery!
Were I to tell your beauties a',
My sang could hae nae end at a'!
Row, row, ye sailors brave,
Row, regardless of the wave;
Fearless, though a tempest blow,
Down the Clyde we'll go, we'll go.
Scenes o' joy and grief, I ween;
A' kinds o' folk on Clyde ha'e been,
An' last, not least, Hail! comes the Queen!
Fareweel, fareweel, auld Clyde to thee,
Enchanting is thy scenery!
Were I to tell your beauties a',
My sang could hae nae end at a'!
Row, row, ye sailors brave,
Row, regardless of the wave;
Fearless, though a tempest blow,
Down the Clyde we'll go, we'll go.
117
CHARLIE'S LANDING.
There cam a wee boatie owre the sea,
Wi' the winds an' waves it strove sairlie;
But oh! it brought great joy to me,
For wha was there but Prince Charlie.
The wind was hie, and unco chill,
An' a' things luiket barely;
But oh! we come with right good-will,
To welcome bonnie Charlie.
Wi' the winds an' waves it strove sairlie;
But oh! it brought great joy to me,
For wha was there but Prince Charlie.
The wind was hie, and unco chill,
An' a' things luiket barely;
But oh! we come with right good-will,
To welcome bonnie Charlie.
Wae's me, puir lad, yere thinly clad,
The waves yere fair hair weeting;
We'll row ye in a tartan plaid,
An' gie ye Scotland's greeting.
Tho' wild an' bleak the prospect round,
We'll cheer yere heart, dear Charlie;
Ye're landed now on Scottish grund,
Wi' them wha lo'e ye dearly.
The waves yere fair hair weeting;
We'll row ye in a tartan plaid,
An' gie ye Scotland's greeting.
Tho' wild an' bleak the prospect round,
We'll cheer yere heart, dear Charlie;
Ye're landed now on Scottish grund,
Wi' them wha lo'e ye dearly.
O lang we've prayed to see this day;
True hearts they maist were breaking;
Now clouds an' storms will flee away,
Young hope again is waking.
We'll sound the Gathering, lang an' loud,
Your friends will greet ye fairlie;
Tho' now they're few, their hearts are true,
They'll live or die for Charlie.
True hearts they maist were breaking;
Now clouds an' storms will flee away,
Young hope again is waking.
We'll sound the Gathering, lang an' loud,
Your friends will greet ye fairlie;
Tho' now they're few, their hearts are true,
They'll live or die for Charlie.
118
WHA'LL BE KING BUT CHARLIE?
The news frae Moidart cam yestreen,
Will soon gar mony ferlie;
For ships o' war hae just come in,
And landit Royal Charlie.
Come thro' the heather, around him gather,
Ye're a' the welcomer early;
Around him cling wi' a' your kin;
For wha'll be king but Charlie?
Come thro' the heather, around him gather,
Come Ronald, come Donald, come a' thegither,
And crown your rightfu', lawfu' king!
For wha'll be king but Charlie?
Will soon gar mony ferlie;
For ships o' war hae just come in,
And landit Royal Charlie.
Come thro' the heather, around him gather,
Ye're a' the welcomer early;
Around him cling wi' a' your kin;
For wha'll be king but Charlie?
Come thro' the heather, around him gather,
Come Ronald, come Donald, come a' thegither,
And crown your rightfu', lawfu' king!
For wha'll be king but Charlie?
The Hieland clans, wi' sword in hand,
Frae John o' Groat's to Airlie,
Hae to a man declared to stand
Or fa' wi' Royal Charlie.
Come thro' the heather, &c.
Frae John o' Groat's to Airlie,
Hae to a man declared to stand
Or fa' wi' Royal Charlie.
Come thro' the heather, &c.
The Lowlands a', baith great an' sma,
Wi' mony a lord and laird, hae
Declar'd for Scotia's king an' law,
An' speir ye wha but Charlie.
Come thro' the heather, &c.
Wi' mony a lord and laird, hae
Declar'd for Scotia's king an' law,
An' speir ye wha but Charlie.
Come thro' the heather, &c.
119
There's ne'er a lass in a' the lan',
But vows baith late an' early,
She'll ne'er to man gie heart nor han'
Wha wadna fecht for Charlie.
Come thro' the heather, &c.
But vows baith late an' early,
She'll ne'er to man gie heart nor han'
Wha wadna fecht for Charlie.
Come thro' the heather, &c.
Then here's a health to Charlie's cause,
And be't complete an' early;
His very name our heart's blood warms;
To arms for Royal Charlie!
Come thro' the heather, around him gather,
Ye're a' the welcomer early;
Around him cling wi' a' your kin;
For wha'll be king but Charlie?
Come thro' the heather, around him gather,
Come Ronald, come Donald, come a' thegither,
And crown your rightfu,' lawfu' king!
For wha'll be king but Charlie?
And be't complete an' early;
His very name our heart's blood warms;
To arms for Royal Charlie!
Come thro' the heather, around him gather,
Ye're a' the welcomer early;
Around him cling wi' a' your kin;
For wha'll be king but Charlie?
Come thro' the heather, around him gather,
Come Ronald, come Donald, come a' thegither,
And crown your rightfu,' lawfu' king!
For wha'll be king but Charlie?
120
MY BONNIE HIELAND LADDIE.
Prince Charlie he's cum owre frae France,
In Scotland to proclaim his daddie;
May Heaven still his cause advance,
And shield him in his Hieland plaidie!
O my bonnie Hieland laddie,
My handsome, charming Hieland laddie!
May Heaven still his cause advance,
And shield him in his Hieland plaidie!
In Scotland to proclaim his daddie;
May Heaven still his cause advance,
And shield him in his Hieland plaidie!
O my bonnie Hieland laddie,
My handsome, charming Hieland laddie!
May Heaven still his cause advance,
And shield him in his Hieland plaidie!
First when he cam to view our land,
The gracefu' looks o' the princely laddie
Made a' our true Scots hearts to warm,
And blythe to wear the tartan plaidie.
O my bonnie, &c.
The gracefu' looks o' the princely laddie
Made a' our true Scots hearts to warm,
And blythe to wear the tartan plaidie.
O my bonnie, &c.
But when Geordie heard the news,
How he was cum afore his daddie,
He thirty thousand pounds wad gie,
To catch him in his Hieland plaidie.
O my bonnie, &c.
How he was cum afore his daddie,
He thirty thousand pounds wad gie,
To catch him in his Hieland plaidie.
O my bonnie, &c.
121
But tho' the Hieland folks are puir,
Yet their hearts are leal and steady;
And there's no ane amang them a',
That wad betray their Hieland laddie.
O my bonnie Hieland laddie!
My handsome, charming Hieland laddie;
May Heaven still his cause advance,
And shield him in his Hieland plaidie!
Yet their hearts are leal and steady;
And there's no ane amang them a',
That wad betray their Hieland laddie.
O my bonnie Hieland laddie!
My handsome, charming Hieland laddie;
May Heaven still his cause advance,
And shield him in his Hieland plaidie!
122
GATHERING SONG.
Oh come, come along, and join in our song,
And march wi' our lads, along an' along;
He's waiting us there where heather grows fair,
And the clans they are gath'ring strong and strong.
And march wi' our lads, along an' along;
He's waiting us there where heather grows fair,
And the clans they are gath'ring strong and strong.
He should be king, ye ken wha I mean,
Tho' Whigs that winna allow, allow;
We daurna speak out, but ye needna doubt,
That a' that we tell is true, is true.
Oh come, come along, &c.
Tho' Whigs that winna allow, allow;
We daurna speak out, but ye needna doubt,
That a' that we tell is true, is true.
Oh come, come along, &c.
On the steep mountains' breast, where shadows oft rest,
An' burnies are tumblin' down, and down;
In that deep recess, there's ane we can guess,
That is heir to our ain Scottish crown.
Oh come, come along, &c.
An' burnies are tumblin' down, and down;
In that deep recess, there's ane we can guess,
That is heir to our ain Scottish crown.
Oh come, come along, &c.
Like a sunbeam to cheer, he soon will appear,
Gracefu' and fleet, like a mountain deer;
Come gather, a' gather, along and along,
The clans and the echoes will join in our song.
Oh come, come along, and join in our song,
And march wi' our lads, along an' along;
He's waiting us there where heather grows fair,
And the clans they are gath'ring strong and strong.
Gracefu' and fleet, like a mountain deer;
Come gather, a' gather, along and along,
The clans and the echoes will join in our song.
123
And march wi' our lads, along an' along;
He's waiting us there where heather grows fair,
And the clans they are gath'ring strong and strong.
124
CHARLIE IS MY DARLING.
'Twas on a Monday morning,
Right early in the year,
When Charlie came to our toun,
The young Chevalier.
Oh, Charlie is my darling,
My darling, my darling;
Oh, Charlie is my darling,
The young Chevalier.
Right early in the year,
When Charlie came to our toun,
The young Chevalier.
Oh, Charlie is my darling,
My darling, my darling;
Oh, Charlie is my darling,
The young Chevalier.
As he came marching up the street,
The pipes play'd loud and clear,
And a' the folk came running out
To meet the Chevalier.
Oh, Charlie is my darling, &c.
The pipes play'd loud and clear,
And a' the folk came running out
To meet the Chevalier.
Oh, Charlie is my darling, &c.
Wi' Hieland bonnets on their heads,
And claymores bright and clear,
Th ey came to fight for Scotland's right,
And the young Chevalier.
Oh, Charlie is my darling, &c.
And claymores bright and clear,
Th ey came to fight for Scotland's right,
And the young Chevalier.
Oh, Charlie is my darling, &c.
They've left their bonnie Hieland hills,
Their wives and bairnies dear,
To draw the sword for Scotland's lord,
The young Chevalier.
Oh, Charlie is my darling, &c.
Their wives and bairnies dear,
To draw the sword for Scotland's lord,
The young Chevalier.
Oh, Charlie is my darling, &c.
125
Oh, there were mony beating hearts,
And mony a hope and fear,
And mony were the prayers put up
For the young Chevalier.
Oh, Charlie is my darling,
My darling, my darling,
Oh, Charlie is my darling,
The young Chevalier.
And mony a hope and fear,
And mony were the prayers put up
For the young Chevalier.
Oh, Charlie is my darling,
My darling, my darling,
Oh, Charlie is my darling,
The young Chevalier.
126
HE'S OWRE THE HILLS THAT I LO'E WEEL.
He's owre the hills that I lo'e weel,
He's owre the hills we daurna name;
He's owre the hills ayont Dunblane,
Wha soon will get his welcome hame.
He's owre the hills we daurna name;
He's owre the hills ayont Dunblane,
Wha soon will get his welcome hame.
My fahter's gane to fight for him,
My brithers winna bide at hame;
My mither greets and prays for them,
And deed she thinks they're no to blame.
He's owre the hills, &c.
My brithers winna bide at hame;
My mither greets and prays for them,
And deed she thinks they're no to blame.
He's owre the hills, &c.
The Whigs may scoff, the Whigs may jeer,
But ah! that love maun be sincere,
Which still keeps true whate'er betide,
An' for his sake leaves a' beside.
He's owre the hills, &c.
But ah! that love maun be sincere,
Which still keeps true whate'er betide,
An' for his sake leaves a' beside.
He's owre the hills, &c.
His right these hills, his right these plains;
O'er Hieland hearts secure he reigns;
What lads e'er did our lads will do;
Were I a laddie, I'd follow him too.
He's owre the hills, &c.
O'er Hieland hearts secure he reigns;
What lads e'er did our lads will do;
Were I a laddie, I'd follow him too.
He's owre the hills, &c.
127
Sae noble a look, sae princely an air,
Sae gallant and bold, sae young and sae fair:
Oh! did ye but see him, ye'd do as we've done;
Hear him but ance, to his standard you'll run.
He's owre the hills that I lo'e weel,
He's owre the hills we daurna name;
He's owre the hills ayont Dunblane,
Wha soon will get his welcome hame.
Sae gallant and bold, sae young and sae fair:
Oh! did ye but see him, ye'd do as we've done;
Hear him but ance, to his standard you'll run.
He's owre the hills that I lo'e weel,
He's owre the hills we daurna name;
He's owre the hills ayont Dunblane,
Wha soon will get his welcome hame.
128
JOHN TOD.
He's a terrible man, John Tod, John Tod
He's a terrible man, John Tod.
He scolds in the house,
He scolds at the door,
He scolds on the vera hie road, John Tod,
He scolds on the vera hie road.
He's a terrible man, John Tod.
He scolds in the house,
He scolds at the door,
He scolds on the vera hie road, John Tod,
He scolds on the vera hie road.
The weans a' fear John Tod, John Tod,
The weans a' fear John Tod;
When he's passing by,
The mithers will cry,
‘He's an ill wean,’ John Tod, John Tod,
‘He's an ill wean,’ John Tod.
The weans a' fear John Tod;
When he's passing by,
The mithers will cry,
‘He's an ill wean,’ John Tod, John Tod,
‘He's an ill wean,’ John Tod.
The callants a' fear John Tod, John Tod,
The callants a' fear John Tod,
If they steal but a neep,
The laddie he'll whip,
And its unco' weel done o' John Tod, John Tod,
Its unco weel done o' John Tod.
The callants a' fear John Tod,
If they steal but a neep,
The laddie he'll whip,
And its unco' weel done o' John Tod, John Tod,
Its unco weel done o' John Tod.
An' saw ye nae wee John Tod, John Tod,
O saw ye nae wee John Tod;
His bannet was blue,
His shoon maistly new,
And weel does he keep the kirk road, John Tod,
O weel does he keep the kirk road,
O saw ye nae wee John Tod;
His bannet was blue,
His shoon maistly new,
And weel does he keep the kirk road, John Tod,
O weel does he keep the kirk road,
129
How is he fendin', John Tod, John Tod?
How is he wendin', John Tod?
He's scourin' the land,
Wi' his rung in his hand,
An' the French wadna frighten John Tod, John Tod,
An' the French wadna frighten John Tod.
How is he wendin', John Tod?
He's scourin' the land,
Wi' his rung in his hand,
An' the French wadna frighten John Tod, John Tod,
An' the French wadna frighten John Tod.
Ye're sun-brint and batter'd, John Tod, John Tod,
Ye're tautit and tatter'd, John Tod,
Wi' your auld strippit coul,
Ye luik maist like a fule,
But there's nouse i' the lining, John Tod, John Tod,
But there's nouse i' the lining, John Tod.
Ye're tautit and tatter'd, John Tod,
Wi' your auld strippit coul,
Ye luik maist like a fule,
But there's nouse i' the lining, John Tod, John Tod,
But there's nouse i' the lining, John Tod.
He's weel respeckit, John Tod, John Tod,
He's weel respeckit, John Tod;
He's a terrible man,
But we'd a' gae wrang,
If e'er he sud leave us, John Tod, John Tod,
If e'er he sud leave us, John Tod.
He's weel respeckit, John Tod;
He's a terrible man,
But we'd a' gae wrang,
If e'er he sud leave us, John Tod, John Tod,
If e'er he sud leave us, John Tod.
130
YE'LL MOUNT, GUDEMAN.
Leddy.“Ye'll mount, gudeman; ye'll mount and ride;
Ye'll cross the burn syne doun the loch side,
Then up 'mang the hills and thro' the muir an' heather,
An' join great Argyle where loyal men gather.”
Laird.
“Indeed, honest luckie, I think ye're no blate,
To bid loyal men gang ony sic gate;
For I'm gaun to fecht for true loyaltie,
Had the Prince ne'er anither, he still will hae me.”
Leddy.
“About Charlie Stuart we ne'er could agree;
But, dearie, for ance, be counselled by me;
Tak nae pairt at a'; bide quietly at hame,
An' ne'er heed a Campbell, McDonal', or Graham.”
131
“Na, na, gudewife, for that winna do,
My Prince is in need, his friends they are few:
I aye lo'ed the Stuarts; I'll join them the day;
Sae gi'e me my boots, for my boots I will ha'e.”
Leddy.
“Oh! saftly, gudeman, I think ye're gane mad;
I ha'e na the heart to prin on your cockand;
The Prince, as ye ca' him, will never succeed;
Ye'll lose your estate, and may be your head!”
Laird.
“Come, cheer ye, my dear, an' dry up your tears!
I ha'e my hopes, an' I ha'e my fears;
But I'll raise my men, an' a' that is given,
To aid the gude cause—then leave it to Heaven!”
I ha'e my hopes, an' I ha'e my fears;
But I'll raise my men, an' a' that is given,
To aid the gude cause—then leave it to Heaven!”
“But, haste ye now, haste ye, for I maun be gaun,
The mare's at the yett, the bugle is blawn;
Gi'e me my bannet, it's far in the day,
I'm no for a dish, there's nae time to stay.”
The mare's at the yett, the bugle is blawn;
Gi'e me my bannet, it's far in the day,
I'm no for a dish, there's nae time to stay.”
Leddy.
“Oh dear! tak' but ane, it may do ye gude!”
But what ails the woman? she surely is wud!
She's lifted the kettle, but somehow it coup'd
On the legs o' the laird, wha roar'd and wha loup'd.
132
“I'm brent, I'm brent, how cam' it this way?
I fear I'll no ride for mony a day,—
Send aff the men, and to Prince Charlie say,
My heart is wi' him, but I'm tied by the tae.”
I fear I'll no ride for mony a day,—
Send aff the men, and to Prince Charlie say,
My heart is wi' him, but I'm tied by the tae.”
The wily wife fleech'd, and the laird didna see
The smile on her cheek thro' the tear in her e'e—
“Had I kent the gudeman wad hae had siccan pain,
The kettle, for me, sud hae couped its lane!”
The smile on her cheek thro' the tear in her e'e—
“Had I kent the gudeman wad hae had siccan pain,
The kettle, for me, sud hae couped its lane!”
133
THE HUNDRED PIPERS.
Wi' a hundred pipers an' a', an' a',
Wi' a hundred pipers an' a', an' a';
We'll up an' gie them a blaw, a blaw,
Wi' a hundred pipers an' a', an' a'.
Oh! it's owre the Border awa, awa,
It's owre the Border awa, awa,
We'll on and we'll march to Carlisle ha',
Wi' its yetts, its castell, an' a', an' a'.
Wi' a hundred pipers an' a', an' a';
We'll up an' gie them a blaw, a blaw,
Wi' a hundred pipers an' a', an' a'.
Oh! it's owre the Border awa, awa,
It's owre the Border awa, awa,
We'll on and we'll march to Carlisle ha',
Wi' its yetts, its castell, an' a', an' a'.
Oh! our sodger lads looked braw, looked braw,
Wi' their tartans, kilts, an' a', an' a',
Wi' their bonnets, an' feathers, an' glittering gear,
An' pibrochs sounding sweet and clear.
Will they a' return to their ain dear glen?
Will they a' return, our Hieland men?
Second-sighted Sandy looked fu' wae,
And mothers grat when they marched away.
Wi' a hundred pipers, &c.
Wi' their tartans, kilts, an' a', an' a',
Wi' their bonnets, an' feathers, an' glittering gear,
An' pibrochs sounding sweet and clear.
Will they a' return to their ain dear glen?
Will they a' return, our Hieland men?
Second-sighted Sandy looked fu' wae,
And mothers grat when they marched away.
Wi' a hundred pipers, &c.
Oh wha is foremost o' a', o' a'?
Oh wha does follow the blaw, the blaw?
Bonnie Charlie, the king o' us a', hurra!
Wi' his hundred pipers an' a', an' a'.
His bonnet an' feather, he's wavin' high,
His prancin' steed maist seems to fly,
The nor' wind plays wi' his curly hair,
While the pipers blaw in an unco flare.
Wi' a hundred pipers, &c.
Oh wha does follow the blaw, the blaw?
Bonnie Charlie, the king o' us a', hurra!
Wi' his hundred pipers an' a', an' a'.
134
His prancin' steed maist seems to fly,
The nor' wind plays wi' his curly hair,
While the pipers blaw in an unco flare.
Wi' a hundred pipers, &c.
The Esk was swollen, sae red and sae deep,
But shouther to shouther the brave lads keep;
Twa thousand swam owre to fell English ground,
An' danced themselves dry to the pibroch's sound.
Dumfounder'd, the English saw—they saw—
Dumfounder'd, they heard the blaw, the blaw;
Dumfounder'd, they a' ran awa, awa,
From the hundred pipers an' a', an' a'.
Wi' a hundred pipers an' a', an' a'.
Wi' a hundred pipers an a', an' a',
We'll up and gie them a blaw, a blaw,
Wi' a hundred pipers an' a', an' a.
But shouther to shouther the brave lads keep;
Twa thousand swam owre to fell English ground,
An' danced themselves dry to the pibroch's sound.
Dumfounder'd, the English saw—they saw—
Dumfounder'd, they heard the blaw, the blaw;
Dumfounder'd, they a' ran awa, awa,
From the hundred pipers an' a', an' a'.
Wi' a hundred pipers an' a', an' a'.
Wi' a hundred pipers an a', an' a',
We'll up and gie them a blaw, a blaw,
Wi' a hundred pipers an' a', an' a.
135
WILL YE NO COME BACK AGAIN?
Bonnie Charlie's now awa,
Safely owre the friendly main;
Mony a heart will break in twa,
Should he ne'er come back again.
Will ye no come back again?
Will ye no come back again?
Better lo'ed ye canna be,
Will ye no come back again?
Safely owre the friendly main;
Mony a heart will break in twa,
Should he ne'er come back again.
Will ye no come back again?
Will ye no come back again?
Better lo'ed ye canna be,
Will ye no come back again?
Ye trusted in your Hieland men,
They trusted you, dear Charlie;
They kent you hiding in the glen,
Your cleadin was but barely.
Will ye no, &c.
They trusted you, dear Charlie;
They kent you hiding in the glen,
Your cleadin was but barely.
Will ye no, &c.
English bribes were a' in vain,
An' e'en tho' puirer we may be;
Siller canna buy the heart
That beats aye for thine and thee.
Will ye no, &c.
An' e'en tho' puirer we may be;
Siller canna buy the heart
That beats aye for thine and thee.
Will ye no, &c.
We watched thee in the gloaming hour,
We watched thee in the morning grey;
Tho' thirty thousand pounds they'd gie,
Oh there is nane that wad betray.
Will ye no, &c.
We watched thee in the morning grey;
Tho' thirty thousand pounds they'd gie,
Oh there is nane that wad betray.
Will ye no, &c.
136
Sweet's the laverock's note and lang,
Lilting wildly up the glen;
But 'aye to me he sings ae sang,
Will ye no come back again?
Will ye no come back again?
Will ye no come back again?
Better lo'ed ye canna be,
Will ye no come back again?
Lilting wildly up the glen;
But 'aye to me he sings ae sang,
Will ye no come back again?
Will ye no come back again?
Will ye no come back again?
Better lo'ed ye canna be,
Will ye no come back again?
137
THE LASS OF LIVINGSTANE.
Oh! wha will dry the dreeping tear,
She sheds her lane, she sheds her lane?
Or wha the bonnie lass will cheer,
Of Livingstane, of Livingstane?
The crown was half on Charlie's head,
Ae gladsome day, ae gladsome day;
The lads that shouted joy to him
Are in the clay, are in the clay.
She sheds her lane, she sheds her lane?
Or wha the bonnie lass will cheer,
Of Livingstane, of Livingstane?
The crown was half on Charlie's head,
Ae gladsome day, ae gladsome day;
The lads that shouted joy to him
Are in the clay, are in the clay.
Her waddin' gown was wyl'd and won,
It ne'er was on, it ne'er was on;
Culloden field, his lowly bed,
She thought upon, she thought upon.
The bloom has faded frae her cheek
In youthfu' prime, in youthfu' prime;
And sorrow's with'ring hand has done
The deed o' time, the deed o' time.
It ne'er was on, it ne'er was on;
Culloden field, his lowly bed,
She thought upon, she thought upon.
The bloom has faded frae her cheek
In youthfu' prime, in youthfu' prime;
And sorrow's with'ring hand has done
The deed o' time, the deed o' time.
138
THE WHITE ROSE O' JUNE.
Now the bricht sun, and the soft summer showers,
Deck a' the woods and the gardens wi' flowers—
But bonny and sweet though the hale o' them be,
There's ane aboon a' that is dearest to me;
An' oh, that's the white rose, the white rose o' June,
An' may he that should wear it come back again sune!
Deck a' the woods and the gardens wi' flowers—
But bonny and sweet though the hale o' them be,
There's ane aboon a' that is dearest to me;
An' oh, that's the white rose, the white rose o' June,
An' may he that should wear it come back again sune!
It's no on my breast, nor yet in my hair,
That the emblem dear I venture to wear;
But it blooms in my heart, and its white leaves I weet,
When alane in the gloamin' I wander to greet,
O'er the white rose, the white rose, the white rose o' June,
An' may he that should wear it come back again sune!
That the emblem dear I venture to wear;
But it blooms in my heart, and its white leaves I weet,
When alane in the gloamin' I wander to greet,
O'er the white rose, the white rose, the white rose o' June,
An' may he that should wear it come back again sune!
139
Mair fragrant and rich the red rose may be,
But there is nae spell to bind it to me—
But dear to my heart and to fond memorie,
Tho' scathed and tho' blighted the white rose may be,
O the white rose, the white rose, the white rose o' June,
O may he that should wear it come back again sune!
But there is nae spell to bind it to me—
But dear to my heart and to fond memorie,
Tho' scathed and tho' blighted the white rose may be,
O the white rose, the white rose, the white rose o' June,
O may he that should wear it come back again sune!
An' oh! may the true hearts thy perils who share,
Remember'd wi' tears, and remember'd in prayer,
Whom misfortune's rude blast has sent far awa,
Fair breezes bring back sune to cottage and ha';—
Then, O sing the white rose, the white rose o' June,
An' may he that should wear it wear Scotland's auld croun!
Remember'd wi' tears, and remember'd in prayer,
Whom misfortune's rude blast has sent far awa,
Fair breezes bring back sune to cottage and ha';—
Then, O sing the white rose, the white rose o' June,
An' may he that should wear it wear Scotland's auld croun!
140
WHAT DO YE THINK O' GEORDIE NOO?
DUET SUNG BY THE LAIRD AND HIS DAUGHTER MYSIE.
Laird.“O what do you think o' Geordie noo?
O what do you think o' Geordie noo?
Come daughter mine, come tell me true,
O what do you think o' Geordie noo?”
Mysie.
“O Geordie we think nought ava,
O what has brought him here at a'?
We hae ae king, nae need o' twa,
Sae Geordie ye maun march awa.”
Laird.
“Oh daughter mine, I'm wae to see,
Ye speak sae light o' majestie;
Now Geordie's king o' kingdoms three,
Ye maun obey baith him and me.”
Mysie.
“O faither dear, I need na say,
Your will's a law, I'll aye obey,
But sure they're wud that can compare
King Geordie wi' auld Scotland's heir!”
141
“Fair faced, I grant, the Stuarts a' be,
But, oh, they're fu' o' treacherie;
O, Mysie, lass, ye little ken
The drift o' Cavaliering men!”
Mysie.
“We're wae to see a foreign loon,
Come over here to take our croun;
Outlandish gibberish on his tongue,
No understood by auld or young.
Come over here to take our croun;
Outlandish gibberish on his tongue,
No understood by auld or young.
“O Geordie's stout, and unco braid,
He's no like Charlie in his plaid;
To see him dance, to hear him sing;
O sure he is our rightfu' king!”
He's no like Charlie in his plaid;
To see him dance, to hear him sing;
O sure he is our rightfu' king!”
Laird.
“It's no to sing, nor yet to dance.
That we will tak' a king frae France;
A bird that's ta'en frae an ill nest,
It aye will do like a' the rest.”
Mysie.
“For nae offence that we can see,
Up in a rage will Geordie flee;
The flames get then his periwig,
That's no denied by ony whig.”
142
“A weel, a weel, and what's a' that,
To them wha promise and draw back?
Nae wiser by adversitie,
O! tyrants a' the Stuarts wad be.”
Mysie.
“O adverse winds round them did blaw,
And he has seen and felt it a';
O, dinna believe ill tales are true,
For that we all are apt to do.”
Laird.
“It's true the sun will melt the snaw,
It's true that time will wear awa,
It's true that nicht will follow day,
O, Mysie, there's truth in a' I say.
It's true that time will wear awa,
It's true that nicht will follow day,
O, Mysie, there's truth in a' I say.
“O, Mysie, lass, dry up thy tears,
And think nae mair o' cavaliers:
To fecht 'gainst heaven is a' in vain,
The Stuarts will never reign again.”
And think nae mair o' cavaliers:
To fecht 'gainst heaven is a' in vain,
The Stuarts will never reign again.”
Together.
“Auld Scotland is unconquered land,
And aye for freedom made a stand;
So let us a' in that agree,
Hurra, hurra, for liberty!
143
BANNOCKS O' BARLEY MEAL.
Wha, for auld Geordie, at Egypt and Maida,
Scotland's proud banner sae fearless display'd a'?
Broke the Invincible ranks blade to blade a'?
Wha but the lads wi' the bannocks o' barley?
Bannocks o' bear meal,
And bannocks o' barley;
Here's to the Hielandman's
Bannocks o' barley!
Scotland's proud banner sae fearless display'd a'?
Broke the Invincible ranks blade to blade a'?
Wha but the lads wi' the bannocks o' barley?
Bannocks o' bear meal,
And bannocks o' barley;
Here's to the Hielandman's
Bannocks o' barley!
Wha, on the Waterloo heights, wauken'd early?
Wha, when the bullets rain'd on them right sairly,
Charged back the faemen, an' stood their grund fairly?
Wha but the lads wi' the bannocks o' barley?
Bannocks o' bear meal, &c.
Wha, when the bullets rain'd on them right sairly,
Charged back the faemen, an' stood their grund fairly?
Wha but the lads wi' the bannocks o' barley?
Bannocks o' bear meal, &c.
Wha, when the coward loons first gan to swither,
Poured like the bleeze o' their ain mountain heather?
Wha from the eagle's wing plucked its last feather?
Wha but the lads wi' the bannocks o' barley?
Bannocks o' bear meal,
And bannocks o' barley;
Here's to the Hielandman's
Bannocks o' barley
Poured like the bleeze o' their ain mountain heather?
Wha from the eagle's wing plucked its last feather?
Wha but the lads wi' the bannocks o' barley?
Bannocks o' bear meal,
And bannocks o' barley;
Here's to the Hielandman's
Bannocks o' barley
144
THE TRUMP OF WAR.
The trump of war is sounding,
We hear, we hear the strain;
The steed impatient bounding,
Speeds to the battle-plain.
The hostile foe's advancing
In glittering array,
The sharpen'd steel is glancing,
With dread artillery.
Hey tutti taiti for our ain dear land!
Hey tutti taiti we fall where we stand!
Hey tutti taiti for our ain dear land!
Hey tutti taiti we fall where we stand!
We hear, we hear the strain;
The steed impatient bounding,
Speeds to the battle-plain.
The hostile foe's advancing
In glittering array,
The sharpen'd steel is glancing,
With dread artillery.
Hey tutti taiti for our ain dear land!
Hey tutti taiti we fall where we stand!
Hey tutti taiti for our ain dear land!
Hey tutti taiti we fall where we stand!
Scotland's clansmen gather,
Wi' the bonnet and the feather,
In grey and tartan plaidie,
Hanging sae gracefullie.
Hope our youth inspiring,
The battle-field desiring,
And, with a zeal untiring,
They shout for victory.
Hey tutti taiti, &c.
Wi' the bonnet and the feather,
In grey and tartan plaidie,
Hanging sae gracefullie.
Hope our youth inspiring,
The battle-field desiring,
And, with a zeal untiring,
They shout for victory.
Hey tutti taiti, &c.
145
The victory is glorious;
Britain still victorious;
While we rejoice in chorus,
Oh let us pray for peace.
Then heroes of the land and sea,
Returning to their ain countrie,
We'll live in peace and liberty,
And strife and warfare cease.
Hey tutti taiti for our ain dear land!
Hey tutti taiti we fall where we stand!
Hey tutti taiti for our ain dear land!
Hey tutti taiti we fall where we stand!
Britain still victorious;
While we rejoice in chorus,
Oh let us pray for peace.
Then heroes of the land and sea,
Returning to their ain countrie,
We'll live in peace and liberty,
And strife and warfare cease.
Hey tutti taiti for our ain dear land!
Hey tutti taiti we fall where we stand!
Hey tutti taiti for our ain dear land!
Hey tutti taiti we fall where we stand!
146
SAW YE NAE MY PEGGY?
Saw ye nae my Peggy?
Saw ye nae my Peggy?
Saw ye Peggy comin'
Thro' Tillibelton's broom?
I'm frae Aberdagie,
Owre the crafts o' Craigie,
For aught I ken o' Peggy,
She's ayont the moon.
Saw ye nae my Peggy?
Saw ye Peggy comin'
Thro' Tillibelton's broom?
I'm frae Aberdagie,
Owre the crafts o' Craigie,
For aught I ken o' Peggy,
She's ayont the moon.
'Twas but at the dawin'
Clear the cock was crawin',
I saw Peggy cawin'
Hawky by the brier.
Early bells were ringing,
Blythest birds were singing,
Sweetest flowers were springing,
A' her heart to cheer.
Clear the cock was crawin',
I saw Peggy cawin'
Hawky by the brier.
Early bells were ringing,
Blythest birds were singing,
Sweetest flowers were springing,
A' her heart to cheer.
Now the tempest's blowin',
Almond water's flowin',
Deep and ford unknowin',
She maun cross the day.
Almond water spare her,
Safe to Lynedoch bear her!
Its braes ne'er saw a fairer,
Bess Bell nor Mary Gray.
Almond water's flowin',
Deep and ford unknowin',
She maun cross the day.
Almond water spare her,
Safe to Lynedoch bear her!
Its braes ne'er saw a fairer,
Bess Bell nor Mary Gray.
147
Oh, now to be wi' her!
Or but ance to see her
Skaithless, far or near,
I'd gie Scotland's crown.
Byeword blind's a lover—
Wha's yon I discover?
Just yere ain fair rover
Stately stappin' down.
Or but ance to see her
Skaithless, far or near,
I'd gie Scotland's crown.
Byeword blind's a lover—
Wha's yon I discover?
Just yere ain fair rover
Stately stappin' down.
148
FELL HE ON THE FIELD OF FAME.
Fell he on the field of fame,
Glory resting on his name?
O'er his young and dauntless breast,
Does the sculptur'd marble rest?
Sad and silent passing by,
Ask not where his ashes lie;
Blooming gay, in manly prime,
Lowly laid before his time.
Glory resting on his name?
O'er his young and dauntless breast,
Does the sculptur'd marble rest?
Sad and silent passing by,
Ask not where his ashes lie;
Blooming gay, in manly prime,
Lowly laid before his time.
Smiling on the parent knee,
Beaming hope was linked with thee;
Grown at last her pride and boast,
Hope itself in joy was lost.
Where his youthful footsteps roved,
Thro' the woodland bowers he loved;
Once her dear delight and care—
Mother say what now they are.
Beaming hope was linked with thee;
Grown at last her pride and boast,
Hope itself in joy was lost.
Where his youthful footsteps roved,
Thro' the woodland bowers he loved;
Once her dear delight and care—
Mother say what now they are.
Honour's laws have dealt the blow;
Fear of man has laid him low;
Bound by human maxims vile,
Braving highest Heaven the while.
Fear of man has brought the snare,
Deathless souls entangled there,
Scorning mandates from on high,
Rush into eternity!
Fear of man has laid him low;
Bound by human maxims vile,
Braving highest Heaven the while.
149
Deathless souls entangled there,
Scorning mandates from on high,
Rush into eternity!
Christian hope, tho' high she spring,
Here must stoop the soaring wing;
Murderous laws, which men approve,
Pass not Heaven's courts of love!
O! might dark oblivion's power,
Shadow o'er this anguished hour,
And aid the wretched hope forlorn,
To forget he e'er was born!
Here must stoop the soaring wing;
Murderous laws, which men approve,
Pass not Heaven's courts of love!
O! might dark oblivion's power,
Shadow o'er this anguished hour,
And aid the wretched hope forlorn,
To forget he e'er was born!
150
THE LADY GRANGE.
Oh! lang the Ladye Grange did live
Upon St. Kilda's rock;
But surely sorrow winna kill,
Or else her heart had broke.
Far, far removed from kith and kin,
And a' that life endears,
She aft looked o'er the wat'ry waste
Whare ne'er a ship appears.
Upon St. Kilda's rock;
But surely sorrow winna kill,
Or else her heart had broke.
Far, far removed from kith and kin,
And a' that life endears,
She aft looked o'er the wat'ry waste
Whare ne'er a ship appears.
O! is it for my faither's crime
That I'm thus banish't far?
Or was it ony faut o' mine
That kindled civil war?
M`Leod and Lovat, weel I trow,
Hae wrought this treacherie;
But wherefore has their cruel spite
Fa'en a' on helpless me.
That I'm thus banish't far?
Or was it ony faut o' mine
That kindled civil war?
M`Leod and Lovat, weel I trow,
Hae wrought this treacherie;
But wherefore has their cruel spite
Fa'en a' on helpless me.
And thus she mourn'd, fair ladye Grange,
Thus sped her life away;
The morning sun it brought nae joy,
And night did close the day;
And nought was heard but sea-bird's cry,
To cheer her solitude,
Or the wild raging billow's roar
That broke o'er rocks sae rude.
Thus sped her life away;
The morning sun it brought nae joy,
And night did close the day;
151
To cheer her solitude,
Or the wild raging billow's roar
That broke o'er rocks sae rude.
At length a fav'ring wind did bring
An auld and worthy pair,
Wha wi' the kindest charitie,
Her sorrows a' did share.
They taught her pridefu' heart to bend
Aneath the chastening rod;
And then she ken'd her prison walls
Had been a blest abode.
An auld and worthy pair,
Wha wi' the kindest charitie,
Her sorrows a' did share.
They taught her pridefu' heart to bend
Aneath the chastening rod;
And then she ken'd her prison walls
Had been a blest abode.
152
WAKE, IRISHMEN, WAKE.
Wake, Irishmen, wake, let your slumbers be over,
Our children will look to our day when we're gone,
The clouds and thick darkness now o'er us may hover,
The sun will yet shine on fair Erin!
Our children will look to our day when we're gone,
The clouds and thick darkness now o'er us may hover,
The sun will yet shine on fair Erin!
Strong is the arm that is stretched out to save us,
High is the rock where our confidence rests,
It is not in man, with his worst threats, to brave us.
Then Irishmen, wake! let your slumbers be over,
Our children will look to our day when we're gone,
Tho' clouds and thick darkness now o'er us may hover,
The sun will yet shine on fair Erin!
High is the rock where our confidence rests,
It is not in man, with his worst threats, to brave us.
Then Irishmen, wake! let your slumbers be over,
Our children will look to our day when we're gone,
Tho' clouds and thick darkness now o'er us may hover,
The sun will yet shine on fair Erin!
What will numbers avail, when their strength is departed?
The bread sent from Heaven, they trample it down;
Our birthright—our portion—yet dark and coldhearted
They starve the poor sons of fair Erin.
The bread sent from Heaven, they trample it down;
Our birthright—our portion—yet dark and coldhearted
They starve the poor sons of fair Erin.
153
Shall Irishmen, bold as the king of the forest,
And free as the eagle that soars in the sky,—
Black slavery abhorring,—bow down to the sorest?
No—sons of old Ireland, too long kept in blindness,
High Heaven itself sends glad tidings to you;
Claim your Bibles, you'll find them all love and all kindness,
The joy and the peace of fair Erin!
And free as the eagle that soars in the sky,—
Black slavery abhorring,—bow down to the sorest?
No—sons of old Ireland, too long kept in blindness,
High Heaven itself sends glad tidings to you;
Claim your Bibles, you'll find them all love and all kindness,
The joy and the peace of fair Erin!
We love you as men,—and as brothers we love you,
Our hearts long to free you from Popery's hard chain;
For the sake of your undying souls, we would move you,
To know the true friends of fair Erin.
Our hearts long to free you from Popery's hard chain;
For the sake of your undying souls, we would move you,
To know the true friends of fair Erin.
Come better, come worse, we will never surrender,
For the cause that our forefathers stood, we will stand;
To the last drop of blood our own Isle we'll defend her.
Then Irishmen, rise! let your slumbers be over;
Our children will look to our day when we're gone,
Tho' clouds and thick darkness now o'er us may hover,
The sun will yet shine on fair Erin!
For the cause that our forefathers stood, we will stand;
To the last drop of blood our own Isle we'll defend her.
Then Irishmen, rise! let your slumbers be over;
Our children will look to our day when we're gone,
Tho' clouds and thick darkness now o'er us may hover,
The sun will yet shine on fair Erin!
154
A HEAVENLY MUSE.
A heavenly muse in green Erin is singing,His strains, all seraphic, ascend to the skies;
Fair blossoms of Eden around him all springing,
The soft balmy ether perfume as they rise.
Sweet poet! be true to thy lofty aspiring,
While bound by thy magic, the sky's half unfurl'd;
Youth, beauty, and taste are with rapture admiring;
O! spread not around them the fumes of this world!
155
AULD LANGSYNE.
What gude the present day can gie,
May that be yours an' mine;
But beams o' fancy sweetest rest
On auld langsyne.
On auld langsyne, my dear,
On auld langsyne;
The bluid is cauld that winna warm
At thoughts o' langsyne,
May that be yours an' mine;
But beams o' fancy sweetest rest
On auld langsyne.
On auld langsyne, my dear,
On auld langsyne;
The bluid is cauld that winna warm
At thoughts o' langsyne,
We twa hae seen the simmer sun,
And thought it aye would shine;
But mony a cloud has come between
Sin' auld langsyne.
Sin' auld langsyne, &c.
And thought it aye would shine;
But mony a cloud has come between
Sin' auld langsyne.
Sin' auld langsyne, &c.
But still my heart beats warm to thee,
And sae to me does thine;
Blest be the pow'r that still has left
The frien's o' langsyne.
O' auld langsyne, my dear,
O' auld langsyne;
The bluid is cauld that winna warm
At thoughts o' langsyne.
And sae to me does thine;
Blest be the pow'r that still has left
The frien's o' langsyne.
O' auld langsyne, my dear,
O' auld langsyne;
The bluid is cauld that winna warm
At thoughts o' langsyne.
156
THE CONVICT'S FAREWELL.
Oh, this is my departing night,
Fareweel, fareweel to ane an' a';
Alas! before the mornin's light,
Far maun I be frae ye a'.
Far frae hame a banish'd man,
To lands my kindred never saw;
My fireside dear, may peace be here,
When I am gane and far awa!
Fareweel, fareweel to ane an' a';
Alas! before the mornin's light,
Far maun I be frae ye a'.
Far frae hame a banish'd man,
To lands my kindred never saw;
My fireside dear, may peace be here,
When I am gane and far awa!
The nights and days that come to me,
O wae they'll be and heartless a';
I've seen what I nae mair maun see,
O' peace and joy amang ye a'.
But I ken weel, had I been leal,
An' held my country's honour'd law,
I need nae now been leaving you,
For foreign lands and far awa.
O wae they'll be and heartless a';
I've seen what I nae mair maun see,
O' peace and joy amang ye a'.
But I ken weel, had I been leal,
An' held my country's honour'd law,
I need nae now been leaving you,
For foreign lands and far awa.
The weary tipplin' trade, I trow,
Has brought me to this lost estate;
What in the morn wad been my scorn,
Wi' the bree o'ercome, I did at late.
Now gudewife true, fareweel to you,
An' fareweel bonnie bairnies a';
My broken heart frae ye maun part,
For lonely lands and far awa.
Has brought me to this lost estate;
What in the morn wad been my scorn,
Wi' the bree o'ercome, I did at late.
157
An' fareweel bonnie bairnies a';
My broken heart frae ye maun part,
For lonely lands and far awa.
It's a delusion, night and day,
That tempts us to transgress the law;
And own we must the sentence just,
That sends the offender far awa.
But oh! the heavy hour is come;
My last look I ha'e o' ye ta'en;
When I'm away, oh for me pray,
An' mind this nicht, when I am gane.
That tempts us to transgress the law;
And own we must the sentence just,
That sends the offender far awa.
But oh! the heavy hour is come;
My last look I ha'e o' ye ta'en;
When I'm away, oh for me pray,
An' mind this nicht, when I am gane.
158
YE SPIRES OF BANFF.
Ye spires of Banff, sae fair to see,
Now quickly fading frae my view,
Oh! when shall I return to thee,
How bid a sad, a long adieu?
'Tis duty calls me far away,
'Tis duty sends me owre the sea;
Tho' fond affection bids me stay—
Fareweel, fareweel, dear Banff, to thee!
Now quickly fading frae my view,
Oh! when shall I return to thee,
How bid a sad, a long adieu?
'Tis duty calls me far away,
'Tis duty sends me owre the sea;
Tho' fond affection bids me stay—
Fareweel, fareweel, dear Banff, to thee!
Oh! maun I cross the Moray Firth,
Where Souters guard fair Cromartie,
Frae the dearest, sweetest land on earth,
Soon, soon, owre soon, I'll parted be!
The waves are dancing in the sun,
The sail is spread, the breeze doth rise,
Frae a' that's dear we seem to run,
Fareweel, fareweel! to Scotland's skies!
Where Souters guard fair Cromartie,
Frae the dearest, sweetest land on earth,
Soon, soon, owre soon, I'll parted be!
The waves are dancing in the sun,
The sail is spread, the breeze doth rise,
Frae a' that's dear we seem to run,
Fareweel, fareweel! to Scotland's skies!
159
FAREWEEL, O FAREWEEL.
Fareweel, O fareweel!
My heart it is sair;
Fareweel, O fareweel!
I'll meet him nae mair.
My heart it is sair;
Fareweel, O fareweel!
I'll meet him nae mair.
Lang, lang was he mine,
Lang, lang, but nae mair;
I maunna repine,
But my heart it is sair.
Lang, lang, but nae mair;
I maunna repine,
But my heart it is sair.
His staff's at the wa',
Toom, toom is his chair!
His bannet an' a'!
An' I maun be here!
Toom, toom is his chair!
His bannet an' a'!
An' I maun be here!
But O! he's at rest,
Why sud I complain?
Gin my saul be blest,
I'll meet him again.
Why sud I complain?
Gin my saul be blest,
I'll meet him again.
O! to meet him again,
Whare hearts ne'er are sair;
O! to meet him again
To part never mair!
Whare hearts ne'er are sair;
O! to meet him again
To part never mair!
160
GUDE NICHT, AND JOY BE WI' YE A'.
The best o' joys maun hae an end,
The best o' friends maun part, I trow;
The langest day will wear away,
And I maun bid fareweel to you.
The tear will tell when hearts are fu';
For words, gin they hae sense ava,
They're broken, faltering, and few;
Gude nicht, and joy be wi' you a'.
The best o' friends maun part, I trow;
The langest day will wear away,
And I maun bid fareweel to you.
The tear will tell when hearts are fu';
For words, gin they hae sense ava,
They're broken, faltering, and few;
Gude nicht, and joy be wi' you a'.
O we hae wandered far and wide,
O'er Scotia's lands o' firth and fell,
And mony a simple flower we've pu'd,
And twined it wi' the heather bell.
We've ranged the dingle and the dell,
The cot-house and the baron's ha';
Now we maun tak a last farewell,
Gude nicht, and joy be wi' you a'.
O'er Scotia's lands o' firth and fell,
And mony a simple flower we've pu'd,
And twined it wi' the heather bell.
We've ranged the dingle and the dell,
The cot-house and the baron's ha';
Now we maun tak a last farewell,
Gude nicht, and joy be wi' you a'.
My harp fareweel, thy strains are past,
Of gleefu' mirth, and heartfelt wae;
The voice of song maun cease at last,
And minstrelsy itsel' decay.
But, oh! whare sorrow canna win,
Nor parting tears are shed ava,
May we meet neighbour, kith and kin,
And joy for aye be wi' us a'!
Of gleefu' mirth, and heartfelt wae;
The voice of song maun cease at last,
And minstrelsy itsel' decay.
But, oh! whare sorrow canna win,
Nor parting tears are shed ava,
May we meet neighbour, kith and kin,
And joy for aye be wi' us a'!
161
REST IS NOT HERE.
What's this vain world to me?—
Rest is not here;
False are the smiles I see,
The mirth I hear.
Where is youth's joyful glee?
Where all once dear to me?
Gone as the shadows flee—
Rest is not here.
Rest is not here;
False are the smiles I see,
The mirth I hear.
Where is youth's joyful glee?
Where all once dear to me?
Gone as the shadows flee—
Rest is not here.
Why did the morning shine
Blythely and fair?
Why did those tints so fine
Vanish in air?
Does not the vision say,
Faint lingering heart away,
Why in this desert stay?
Dark land of care!
Blythely and fair?
Why did those tints so fine
Vanish in air?
Does not the vision say,
Faint lingering heart away,
Why in this desert stay?
Dark land of care!
Where souls angelic soar,
Thither repair;
Let this vain world no more
Lull and ensnare.
That Heaven I love so well
Still in my heart shall dwell,
All things around me tell,
Rest is found there.
Thither repair;
Let this vain world no more
Lull and ensnare.
That Heaven I love so well
Still in my heart shall dwell,
All things around me tell,
Rest is found there.
162
OH! OCEAN BLUE.
Oh! ocean blue, thou seem'st at rest;
Upon thy bosom bear
A poor forlorn, whose aching breast
Has long been wreck'd with care.
Oh! bear me, bear me, far away,
With gentle gale and fav'ring wind—
And land me on some peaceful shore,
But leave, Oh! leave my grief behind!
Upon thy bosom bear
A poor forlorn, whose aching breast
Has long been wreck'd with care.
Oh! bear me, bear me, far away,
With gentle gale and fav'ring wind—
And land me on some peaceful shore,
But leave, Oh! leave my grief behind!
Ah! no, poor youth, thy wish is vain,
See stormy clouds arise,
There is no rest, for mariners,
Beneath these earthly skies
But look above, there is a port,
A pure and peaceful haven,
With faith and prayer, ply your oar,
And anchor, safe, in heaven.
See stormy clouds arise,
There is no rest, for mariners,
Beneath these earthly skies
But look above, there is a port,
A pure and peaceful haven,
With faith and prayer, ply your oar,
And anchor, safe, in heaven.
163
WOULD YOU BE YOUNG AGAIN?
Would you be young again?
So would not I—
One tear to memory giv'n,
Onward I'd hie.
Life's dark flood forded o'er,
All but at rest on shore,
Say, would you plunge once more,
With home so nigh?
So would not I—
One tear to memory giv'n,
Onward I'd hie.
Life's dark flood forded o'er,
All but at rest on shore,
Say, would you plunge once more,
With home so nigh?
If you might, would you now
Retrace your way?
Wander through thorny wilds,
Faint and astray?
Night's gloomy watches fled,
Morning all beaming red,
Hope's smiles around us shed,
Heavenward—away.
Retrace your way?
Wander through thorny wilds,
Faint and astray?
Night's gloomy watches fled,
Morning all beaming red,
Hope's smiles around us shed,
Heavenward—away.
Where are they gone, of yore
My best delight?
Dear and more dear, tho' now
Hidden from sight.
Where they rejoice to be,
There is the land for me;
Fly time, fly speedily,
Come life and light.
My best delight?
Dear and more dear, tho' now
Hidden from sight.
Where they rejoice to be,
There is the land for me;
Fly time, fly speedily,
Come life and light.
164
HERE'S TO THEM THAT ARE GANE.
Here's to them, to them that are gane;
Here's to them, to them that are gane;
Here's to them that were here, the faithful and dear,
That will never be here again—no, never.
But where are they now, that are gane?
Oh! where are the faithful and true?
They're gone to the light that fears not the night,
And their day o' rejoicing shall end—no, never.
Here's to them, to them that are gane;
Here's to them that were here, the faithful and dear,
That will never be here again—no, never.
But where are they now, that are gane?
Oh! where are the faithful and true?
They're gone to the light that fears not the night,
And their day o' rejoicing shall end—no, never.
Here's to them, to them, that were here,
Here's to them, to them, that were here;
Here's a tear and a sigh, to the bliss that's gone by,
But 'twas ne'er like what's coming, to last—for ever.
Oh! bright was their morning sun;
Oh! bright was their morning sun;
Yet, lang ere the gloaming, in clouds it gaed down,
But the storm, and the cloud, are now past—for ever.
Here's to them, to them, that were here;
Here's a tear and a sigh, to the bliss that's gone by,
But 'twas ne'er like what's coming, to last—for ever.
Oh! bright was their morning sun;
Oh! bright was their morning sun;
Yet, lang ere the gloaming, in clouds it gaed down,
But the storm, and the cloud, are now past—for ever.
165
Fareweel, fareweel! parting silence is sad,
Oh! how sad the last parting tear!
But that silence shall break, where no tear on the cheek
Can bedim the bright vision again—no, never.
Then speed to the wings of old Time,
That waft us, where pilgrims would be,
To the regions of rest, to the shores of the blest,
Where the full tide of glory shall flow—for ever!
Oh! how sad the last parting tear!
But that silence shall break, where no tear on the cheek
Can bedim the bright vision again—no, never.
Then speed to the wings of old Time,
That waft us, where pilgrims would be,
To the regions of rest, to the shores of the blest,
Where the full tide of glory shall flow—for ever!
166
THE DEAD WHO HAVE DIED IN THE LORD.
Go, call for the mourners, and raise the lament,
Let the tresses be torn, and the garments be rent;
But weep not for him who is gone to his rest,
Nor mourn for the ransom'd, nor wail for the blest.
The sun is not set, but is risen on high,
Nor long in corruption his body shall lie—
Then let not the tide of thy griefs overflow,
Nor the music of Heaven be discord below;
Rather loud be the song, and triumphant the chord,
Let us joy for the dead who have died in the Lord.
Let the tresses be torn, and the garments be rent;
But weep not for him who is gone to his rest,
Nor mourn for the ransom'd, nor wail for the blest.
The sun is not set, but is risen on high,
Nor long in corruption his body shall lie—
Then let not the tide of thy griefs overflow,
Nor the music of Heaven be discord below;
Rather loud be the song, and triumphant the chord,
Let us joy for the dead who have died in the Lord.
Go, call for the mourners, and raise the lament,
Let the tresses be torn, and the garments be rent;
But give to the living thy passion of tears
Who walk in this valley of sadness and fears;
Who are press'd by the combat, in darkness are lost,
By the tempest are beat, on the billows are toss'd.
Oh, weep not for those who shall sorrow no more,
Whose warfare is ended, whose combat is o'er;
Let the song be exalted, be triumphant the chord,
And rejoice for the dead who have died in the Lord.
Let the tresses be torn, and the garments be rent;
But give to the living thy passion of tears
Who walk in this valley of sadness and fears;
Who are press'd by the combat, in darkness are lost,
By the tempest are beat, on the billows are toss'd.
Oh, weep not for those who shall sorrow no more,
Whose warfare is ended, whose combat is o'er;
Let the song be exalted, be triumphant the chord,
And rejoice for the dead who have died in the Lord.
| Life and Songs of the Baroness Nairne | |