The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd Centenary Edition. With a Memoir of the Author, by the Rev. Thomas Thomson ... Poems and Life. With Many Illustrative Engravings [by James Hogg] |
 |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
|
| 1. | CLASS FIRST—PATHETIC SONGS. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
|
|
| 1. |
|
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
|
|
|
|
|
 | The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd |  |
CLASS FIRST—PATHETIC SONGS.
The Soldier's Widow.
An' art thou fled, my bonny boy,
An' left me here alane?
Wha now will love or care for me,
When thou art dead an' gane?
Thy father fell in freedom's cause,
With gallant Moore in Spain:
Now thou art gane, my bonny boy,
An' left me here alane!
An' left me here alane?
Wha now will love or care for me,
When thou art dead an' gane?
Thy father fell in freedom's cause,
With gallant Moore in Spain:
Now thou art gane, my bonny boy,
An' left me here alane!
I hop'd when thou wert grown a man
To trace his looks in thine,
An' saw, wi' joy, thy sparkling eye
Wi' kindling vigour shine.
I thought, when I was fail'd, I might
Wi' you an' yours remain;
But thou art fled, my bonny boy,
An' left me here alane!
To trace his looks in thine,
An' saw, wi' joy, thy sparkling eye
Wi' kindling vigour shine.
I thought, when I was fail'd, I might
Wi' you an' yours remain;
But thou art fled, my bonny boy,
An' left me here alane!
Now clos'd an' set that sparkling eye!
Thy breast is cauld as clay!
An' a' my hope, an' a' my joy,
Wi' thee are reft away.
Ah! fain wad I that comely clay
Reanimate again!
But thou art fled, my bonny boy,
An' left me here alane!
Thy breast is cauld as clay!
An' a' my hope, an' a' my joy,
Wi' thee are reft away.
Ah! fain wad I that comely clay
Reanimate again!
But thou art fled, my bonny boy,
An' left me here alane!
The flower, now fading on the lee,
Shall fresher rise to view;
The leaf, just fallen from the tree,
The year will soon renew:
But lang may I weep o'er thy grave,
Ere you revive again!
For thou art fled, my bonny boy,
An' left me here alane!
Shall fresher rise to view;
The leaf, just fallen from the tree,
The year will soon renew:
But lang may I weep o'er thy grave,
Ere you revive again!
For thou art fled, my bonny boy,
An' left me here alane!
The Flower.
Oh, softly blow, thou biting blast,
O'er Yarrow's lonely dale;
And spare yon bonny tender bud,
Exposed to every gale.
O'er Yarrow's lonely dale;
And spare yon bonny tender bud,
Exposed to every gale.
Long has she hung her drooping head,
Despairing to survive,
But transient sunbeams through the cloud
Still kept my flower alive.
Despairing to survive,
But transient sunbeams through the cloud
Still kept my flower alive.
One sweetly scented summer eve,
To yonder bower I strayed,
While little birds from every bough,
Their music wild conveyed:
To yonder bower I strayed,
While little birds from every bough,
Their music wild conveyed:
The sunbeam leaned across the shower;
The rainbow girt the sky;
'Twas then I saw this lovely flower,
And wonder filled mine eye.
The rainbow girt the sky;
'Twas then I saw this lovely flower,
And wonder filled mine eye.
Her cheek was then the ruddy dawn,
Stolen from the rising sun;
The whitest feather from the swan
On her fair breast was dun.
Stolen from the rising sun;
The whitest feather from the swan
On her fair breast was dun.
Her mould of modest dignity,
Was form'd the heart to win;
The dew-drop glistening in her eye
Showed all was pure within.
Was form'd the heart to win;
The dew-drop glistening in her eye
Showed all was pure within.
But frost on cold misfortune borne,
Hath crush'd her in the clay;
And ruthless fate hath rudely torn
Each kindred branch away.
Hath crush'd her in the clay;
And ruthless fate hath rudely torn
Each kindred branch away.
That wounded stem will never close,
But bleeding still remain:
Relentless winds, how can ye blow,
And nip my flower again?
But bleeding still remain:
Relentless winds, how can ye blow,
And nip my flower again?
The Moon was A-waning.
The moon was a-waning,
The tempest was over,
Fair was the maiden,
And fond was the lover;
But the snow was so deep
That his heart it grew weary,
And he sunk down to sleep
In the moorland so dreary.
The tempest was over,
Fair was the maiden,
And fond was the lover;
But the snow was so deep
That his heart it grew weary,
And he sunk down to sleep
In the moorland so dreary.
Soft was the bed
She had made for her lover;
White were the sheets,
And embroidered the cover.
But his sheets are more white,
And his canopy grander,
And sounder he sleeps
Where the hill-foxes wander.
She had made for her lover;
White were the sheets,
And embroidered the cover.
265
And his canopy grander,
And sounder he sleeps
Where the hill-foxes wander.
Alas, pretty maiden,
What sorrows attend you!
I see you sit shivering,
With lights at your window:
But long may you wait
Ere your arms shall inclose him,
For still, still he lies,
With a wreath on his bosom.
What sorrows attend you!
I see you sit shivering,
With lights at your window:
But long may you wait
Ere your arms shall inclose him,
For still, still he lies,
With a wreath on his bosom.
How painful the task
The sad tidings to tell you!—
An orphan you were
Ere this misery befell you.
And far in yon wild,
Where the dead tapers hover,
So cold, cold and wan,
Lies the corse of your lover.
The sad tidings to tell you!—
An orphan you were
Ere this misery befell you.
And far in yon wild,
Where the dead tapers hover,
So cold, cold and wan,
Lies the corse of your lover.
Mary at her Lover's Grave.
How swift flew the time, when I stray'd with my Jamie
On flower-fringed valleys by Yarrow's fair stream!
But all I held precious is now taken from me:
Sure every excess of delight is a dream!
Of fate I had never complained as unkindly,
Had it to a bed or a prison confined me,
Reproach, shame, and ruin, before and behind me,
Had Jamie been by me in every extreme.
On flower-fringed valleys by Yarrow's fair stream!
But all I held precious is now taken from me:
Sure every excess of delight is a dream!
Of fate I had never complained as unkindly,
Had it to a bed or a prison confined me,
Reproach, shame, and ruin, before and behind me,
Had Jamie been by me in every extreme.
But there, where my heart I had treasur'd for ever,
Where all my affections on earth were bestow'd,
With one fatal stroke to destroy; and to sever
Two bosoms with purest affection that glow'd!
Now dim is the eye that beam'd beauty and splendour,
And cold is the heart, that was constant and tender;
The sweet cherry lips to the worm must surrender,
With wisdom and truth that delightfully flow'd.
Where all my affections on earth were bestow'd,
With one fatal stroke to destroy; and to sever
Two bosoms with purest affection that glow'd!
Now dim is the eye that beam'd beauty and splendour,
And cold is the heart, that was constant and tender;
The sweet cherry lips to the worm must surrender,
With wisdom and truth that delightfully flow'd.
Hence, comfort and pleasure! I cannot endure ye;
Here, on this new grave, will I bid you adieu:
My reason is bleeding, and here will I bury
That mirror, where clearly my misery I view.
O thou who the days of all mankind hast measur'd,
A fate with my Jamie I'll cheerfully hazard!
Then drive me distracted to roam in the desert,
Or bear me to him, that our joys may renew.
Here, on this new grave, will I bid you adieu:
My reason is bleeding, and here will I bury
That mirror, where clearly my misery I view.
O thou who the days of all mankind hast measur'd,
A fate with my Jamie I'll cheerfully hazard!
Then drive me distracted to roam in the desert,
Or bear me to him, that our joys may renew.
Else, even in death my fond arms shall inclose him,
And my dust mix with his as we moulder away:
For here, with my hands, will I dig to his bosom,
Where closely I'll cling till the dawn of the day.
When the moon and the stars with a sob shall expire,
And the sun burst away like a flash of pale fire;
Then higher and higher we'll jointly aspire
To friendship that never shall end nor decay.
And my dust mix with his as we moulder away:
For here, with my hands, will I dig to his bosom,
Where closely I'll cling till the dawn of the day.
When the moon and the stars with a sob shall expire,
And the sun burst away like a flash of pale fire;
Then higher and higher we'll jointly aspire
To friendship that never shall end nor decay.
Bonnie Dundee.
O will you gang down to the bush i' the meadow,
Your daddy an' mammy wi' me winna dread you;
An' by the fair hand through the flowers I will lead you,
An' sing you The bonnets o' bonnie Dundee!
Wi' heart an' wi' hand, my dear lad, I'll gang wi' thee,
My daddy an' mammy think nought to belie thee;
I ken ye'll do naething but kiss me an' lead me,
An' sing me The bonnets o' bonnie Dundee.
Your daddy an' mammy wi' me winna dread you;
An' by the fair hand through the flowers I will lead you,
An' sing you The bonnets o' bonnie Dundee!
Wi' heart an' wi' hand, my dear lad, I'll gang wi' thee,
My daddy an' mammy think nought to belie thee;
I ken ye'll do naething but kiss me an' lead me,
An' sing me The bonnets o' bonnie Dundee.
Oh, why fled thy angel, poor lovely Macmillan,
An' left thee to listen to counsel sae killin'?
Oh, where were the feelings o' that cruel villain,
Who rifled that blossom, an' left it to die?
How pale is that cheek that was rosy an' red aye?
To see that sunk e'e wad gar ony heart bleed aye?
Oh, wae to the wild willow-bush i' the meadow!
Oh dule to the bonnets o' bonnie Dundee!
An' left thee to listen to counsel sae killin'?
Oh, where were the feelings o' that cruel villain,
Who rifled that blossom, an' left it to die?
How pale is that cheek that was rosy an' red aye?
To see that sunk e'e wad gar ony heart bleed aye?
Oh, wae to the wild willow-bush i' the meadow!
Oh dule to the bonnets o' bonnie Dundee!
My Peggy an' I.
I hae a wee wifie, an' I am her man,
My Peggy an' I, my Peggy an' I;
We waggle through life as weel as we can,
An' wha's sae happy as Peggy an' I?
We hae a wee lassie will keep up our line,
My Peggy an' I, my Peggy an' I;
I'm sure she is hers, an' I think she is mine,
An' wha's sae happy as Peggy an' I?
My Peggy an' I, my Peggy an' I;
We waggle through life as weel as we can,
An' wha's sae happy as Peggy an' I?
We hae a wee lassie will keep up our line,
My Peggy an' I, my Peggy an' I;
I'm sure she is hers, an' I think she is mine,
An' wha's sae happy as Peggy an' I?
We aftentimes dandle her up on our knee,
My Peggy an' I, my Peggy an' I;
In ilka bit smile her dear mother I see,
An' wha's sae happy as Peggy an' I?
Oh lang may she live to our honour an' joy,
My Peggy an' I, my Peggy an' I;
An' nae wicked fellow our darling decoy,
For wha's sae happy as Peggy an' I?
My Peggy an' I, my Peggy an' I;
In ilka bit smile her dear mother I see,
An' wha's sae happy as Peggy an' I?
Oh lang may she live to our honour an' joy,
My Peggy an' I, my Peggy an' I;
An' nae wicked fellow our darling decoy,
For wha's sae happy as Peggy an' I?
Though Peggy an' I hae little o' gear,
My Peggy an' I, my Peggy an' I;
We're healthy, an' handy, an' never need fear,
For wha's sae happy as Peggy an' I?
We sleep a' the night, an' we ply a' the day,
My Peggy an' I, my Peggy an' I;
Baith vices an' follies lie out o' our way,
An' wha's sae happy as Peggy an' I?
My Peggy an' I, my Peggy an' I;
We're healthy, an' handy, an' never need fear,
For wha's sae happy as Peggy an' I?
We sleep a' the night, an' we ply a' the day,
My Peggy an' I, my Peggy an' I;
Baith vices an' follies lie out o' our way,
An' wha's sae happy as Peggy an' I?
Contented we are in the highest degree,
My Peggy an' I, my Peggy an' I;
An' gratefu' to Him wha contentment can gie,
An' wha's sae happy as Peggy an' I?
Through life we will love, an' through life we will pray,
My Peggy an' I, my Peggy an' I;
Then, sidie for sidie, we'll sleep i' the clay,
An' wha's sae happy as Peggy an' I?
My Peggy an' I, my Peggy an' I;
An' gratefu' to Him wha contentment can gie,
An' wha's sae happy as Peggy an' I?
266
My Peggy an' I, my Peggy an' I;
Then, sidie for sidie, we'll sleep i' the clay,
An' wha's sae happy as Peggy an' I?
Cauld is the Blast.
Cauld is the blast on the braes of Strahonan,
The top of Ben-Wevis is driftin' wi' snaw;
The child i' my bosom is shiverin' an' moanin';
Oh! pity a wretch that has naething ava.
My feet they are bare, and my cleathin' is duddy,
Yes, look, gentle traveller—ance I was gay;
I hae twa little babies, baith healthy and ruddy,
But want will waste them and their mother away.
The top of Ben-Wevis is driftin' wi' snaw;
The child i' my bosom is shiverin' an' moanin';
Oh! pity a wretch that has naething ava.
My feet they are bare, and my cleathin' is duddy,
Yes, look, gentle traveller—ance I was gay;
I hae twa little babies, baith healthy and ruddy,
But want will waste them and their mother away.
We late were as blythe as the bird on the Beauly,
When the woodland is green, an' the flower on the lee;
But now he's ta'en frae us for aye, wha was truly
A father to them and a husband to me.
My Duncan supplied me, though far away lyin'
Wi' heroes, the glory and pride of our isle;
But orders obeyin' and dangers defyin'
He fell wi' Macleod on the banks of the Nile.
When the woodland is green, an' the flower on the lee;
But now he's ta'en frae us for aye, wha was truly
A father to them and a husband to me.
My Duncan supplied me, though far away lyin'
Wi' heroes, the glory and pride of our isle;
But orders obeyin' and dangers defyin'
He fell wi' Macleod on the banks of the Nile.
Pale, pale grew the traveller's visage so manly,
An' down his grave cheek the big rollin' tear ran;
“I am not alone in the loss has befa'n me!
Oh wae to ambition the misery of man!
But go to my hall; to the poor an' the needy
My table is furnish'd, an' open my door;
An' there I will cherish, an' there I will feed thee,
And often together our loss we'll deplore.”
An' down his grave cheek the big rollin' tear ran;
“I am not alone in the loss has befa'n me!
Oh wae to ambition the misery of man!
But go to my hall; to the poor an' the needy
My table is furnish'd, an' open my door;
An' there I will cherish, an' there I will feed thee,
And often together our loss we'll deplore.”
The traveller was Macleod of Geanies, father to the late brave Captain Macleod, who fell amongst his countrymen in Egypt.
The Gloamin'
The gloamin' frae the welkin high
Had chased the bonny gouden gleam;
The curtain'd east, in crimson die,
Lay mirror'd on the tinted stream;
The wild-rose, blushing on the brier,
Was set wi' draps o' pearly dew,
As full and clear the bursting tear
That row'd in Ellen's een o' blue.
Had chased the bonny gouden gleam;
The curtain'd east, in crimson die,
Lay mirror'd on the tinted stream;
The wild-rose, blushing on the brier,
Was set wi' draps o' pearly dew,
As full and clear the bursting tear
That row'd in Ellen's een o' blue.
She saw the dear, the little cot,
Where fifteen years flew swiftly by,
An' sair she wail'd the hapless lot
That forced her frae that hame to fly.
Though blythe an' mild the e'ening smiled,
Her heart was rent wi' anguish keen;
The mavis ceased his music wild,
And wonder'd what her plaint could mean.
Where fifteen years flew swiftly by,
An' sair she wail'd the hapless lot
That forced her frae that hame to fly.
Though blythe an' mild the e'ening smiled,
Her heart was rent wi' anguish keen;
The mavis ceased his music wild,
And wonder'd what her plaint could mean.
A fringe was round the orient drawn,
A mourning veil it seem'd to be;
The star o' love look'd pale and wan,
As if the tear were in her e'e.
The dowie dell, the greenwood tree,
With all their inmates, seem'd to mourn;
Sweet Ellen's tears they doughtna see,
Departing never to return.
A mourning veil it seem'd to be;
The star o' love look'd pale and wan,
As if the tear were in her e'e.
The dowie dell, the greenwood tree,
With all their inmates, seem'd to mourn;
Sweet Ellen's tears they doughtna see,
Departing never to return.
Alas! her grief could not be spoke,
There were no words to give it name;
Her aged parents' hearts were broke,
Her brow imbued with burning shame.
That hame could she ne'er enter mair,
Ilk honour'd face in tears to see,
Where she so oft had join'd the prayer
Pour'd frae the heart so fervently.
There were no words to give it name;
Her aged parents' hearts were broke,
Her brow imbued with burning shame.
That hame could she ne'er enter mair,
Ilk honour'd face in tears to see,
Where she so oft had join'd the prayer
Pour'd frae the heart so fervently.
Ah, no! the die was foully cast,
Her fondest earthly hope was gone:
Her soul had brooded o'er the past,
Till pale despair remain'd alone.
Her heart abused, her love misused,
Her parents drooping to the tomb,
Weeping, she fled to desert bed,
To perish in its ample dome.
Her fondest earthly hope was gone:
Her soul had brooded o'er the past,
Till pale despair remain'd alone.
Her heart abused, her love misused,
Her parents drooping to the tomb,
Weeping, she fled to desert bed,
To perish in its ample dome.
Lord Eglintoun's Auld Man.
The auld guidman came hame at night
Sair wearied wi' the way;
His looks were like an evening bright,
His hair was siller gray.
He spak o' days lang past an' gane,
When life beat high in every vein;
When he was foremost on the plain
On every blithesome day.
Sair wearied wi' the way;
His looks were like an evening bright,
His hair was siller gray.
He spak o' days lang past an' gane,
When life beat high in every vein;
When he was foremost on the plain
On every blithesome day.
“Then blithely blushed the morning dawn.
An' gay the gloaming fell;
For sweet content led aye the van,
An' sooth'd the passions well:
Till wounded by a gilded dart,
When Jeanie's een subdued my heart,
I cherished aye the pleasing smart—
Mair sweet than I can tell.
An' gay the gloaming fell;
For sweet content led aye the van,
An' sooth'd the passions well:
Till wounded by a gilded dart,
When Jeanie's een subdued my heart,
I cherished aye the pleasing smart—
Mair sweet than I can tell.
“We had our griefs, we had our joys,
In life's uneasy way;
We nourished virtuous girls an' boys,
That now are far away;
An' she, my best, my dearest part,
The sharer o' ilk joy an' smart,
Each wish an' weakness o' my heart,
Lies mouldering in the clay.
In life's uneasy way;
We nourished virtuous girls an' boys,
That now are far away;
An' she, my best, my dearest part,
The sharer o' ilk joy an' smart,
Each wish an' weakness o' my heart,
Lies mouldering in the clay.
267
“The life o' man's a winter day;
Look back, 'tis gone as soon;
But yet his pleasures halve the way,
An' fly before 'tis noon:
But conscious virtue still maintains
The honest heart through toils an' pains;
An' hope o' better days remains,
An' hauds the heart aboon.”
Look back, 'tis gone as soon;
But yet his pleasures halve the way,
An' fly before 'tis noon:
But conscious virtue still maintains
The honest heart through toils an' pains;
An' hope o' better days remains,
An' hauds the heart aboon.”
The Guardian Angel.
The dawning was mild, and the hamlet was wild,
For it stood by an untrodden shore of the main,
When Duncan was rais'd from his slumber, amaz'd
By a voice at his door, that did shortly complain—
“Rise, Duncan, I perish!” his bosom was fir'd
With feelings no language or pen can convey:
'Twas a voice he had heard, and with rapture admir'd,
Ere fatal Culloden had forced him away.
For it stood by an untrodden shore of the main,
When Duncan was rais'd from his slumber, amaz'd
By a voice at his door, that did shortly complain—
“Rise, Duncan, I perish!” his bosom was fir'd
With feelings no language or pen can convey:
'Twas a voice he had heard, and with rapture admir'd,
Ere fatal Culloden had forced him away.
He flew to the rock that o'ershadow'd his cot,
And wistfully look'd where his vision could reach;
He shouted—but only the echoes about
Him answer'd, and billows that rush'd on the beach.
For the winds were at rest, but the ocean, opprest,
Still heav'd like an earthquake, and broke on the shore;
The mist settled high on the mountains of Skye,
And the wild howling storm ruffled nature no more.
And wistfully look'd where his vision could reach;
He shouted—but only the echoes about
Him answer'd, and billows that rush'd on the beach.
For the winds were at rest, but the ocean, opprest,
Still heav'd like an earthquake, and broke on the shore;
The mist settled high on the mountains of Skye,
And the wild howling storm ruffled nature no more.
He search'd every glen, every creek, every isle,
Although every sense was with reason at strife;
When the sun blinked red o'er the hills of Argyle,
He found his Matilda, his lady, his wife!
Resign'd to her fate, on a little green plat,
Where a cliff intercepted the wanderer's way,
On her bosom so fair, and her fine yellow-hair,
The frost of the morning lay crisped and gray.
Although every sense was with reason at strife;
When the sun blinked red o'er the hills of Argyle,
He found his Matilda, his lady, his wife!
Resign'd to her fate, on a little green plat,
Where a cliff intercepted the wanderer's way,
On her bosom so fair, and her fine yellow-hair,
The frost of the morning lay crisped and gray.
He wept like a child, while beside her he kneel'd,
And cried, “O, kind Father, look down on my woe!
O, spare my sweet wife, and the whole of my life
My heart, for the gift, shall with gratitude glow!”
By care and attention she slowly recovers,
And found herself lock'd in her husband's embrace.
But, reader, if ever thou hast been a lover,
Thy heart will outgo me, and furnish this space.
And cried, “O, kind Father, look down on my woe!
O, spare my sweet wife, and the whole of my life
My heart, for the gift, shall with gratitude glow!”
By care and attention she slowly recovers,
And found herself lock'd in her husband's embrace.
But, reader, if ever thou hast been a lover,
Thy heart will outgo me, and furnish this space.
She said she had heard of his quiet retreat
And had come from the vale ere the tempest had lower'd;
That the snow and the sleet had benumb'd her weak feet,
And with hunger and cold she was quite overpower'd.
For her way she had lost, and the torrents she cross'd
Had often nigh borne her away to the main;
But the night coming on, she had laid herself down,
And pray'd to her Maker, nor pray'd she in vain.
And had come from the vale ere the tempest had lower'd;
That the snow and the sleet had benumb'd her weak feet,
And with hunger and cold she was quite overpower'd.
For her way she had lost, and the torrents she cross'd
Had often nigh borne her away to the main;
But the night coming on, she had laid herself down,
And pray'd to her Maker, nor pray'd she in vain.
“But did not you call at my cottage so early,
When morning's gray streamers scarce crested the fell?
A voice then did name me, and waken'd me fairly,
And bade me arise, and the voice I knew well.”
“Than where I was found I was never more nigh thee:
I sunk, overcome by toil, famine, and grief;
Some pitying angel, then hovering by me,
Has taken my voice to afford me relief.”
When morning's gray streamers scarce crested the fell?
A voice then did name me, and waken'd me fairly,
And bade me arise, and the voice I knew well.”
“Than where I was found I was never more nigh thee:
I sunk, overcome by toil, famine, and grief;
Some pitying angel, then hovering by me,
Has taken my voice to afford me relief.”
Then down they both bow'd, and most solemnly vow'd
To their great Benefactor his goodness to mind,
Both evening and morning unto them returning;
And well they perform'd the engagement we find.
They both now are cold; but the tale they have told
To many, while gratitude's tears fell in store;
And whenever I pass by the bonny Glenasby,
I mind the adventure on Morven's lone shore.
To their great Benefactor his goodness to mind,
Both evening and morning unto them returning;
And well they perform'd the engagement we find.
They both now are cold; but the tale they have told
To many, while gratitude's tears fell in store;
And whenever I pass by the bonny Glenasby,
I mind the adventure on Morven's lone shore.
| The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd | |