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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

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YE'LL MOUNT, GUDEMAN.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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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

Laird.
“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!”
“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.”

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

Laird.
“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.”
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!”