Poems by Robert Nicoll Second edition: with numerous additions, and a memoir of the author |
 | I. |
 | II. | PART II. SONGS, CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
 | Poems by Robert Nicoll |  |
44
II. PART II. SONGS, CHIEFLY SCOTTISH.
THE MUIR O' GORSE AND BROOM.
I winna bide in your castle ha's,
Nor yet in your lofty towers,—
My heart is sick o' your gloomy hame,
An' sick o' your darksome bowers;
An' O! I wish I were far awa'
Frae their grandeur an' their gloom,
Where the freeborn lintie sings its sang,
On the muir o' gorse an' broom.
Nor yet in your lofty towers,—
My heart is sick o' your gloomy hame,
An' sick o' your darksome bowers;
An' O! I wish I were far awa'
Frae their grandeur an' their gloom,
Where the freeborn lintie sings its sang,
On the muir o' gorse an' broom.
Sae weel as I like the healthfu' gale
That blads fu' kindly there,
An' the heather brown, an' the wild blue-bell,
That wave on the muirland bare;
An' the singing birds, an' the humming bees,
An' the little lochs that toom
Their gushin' burns to the distant sea,
O'er the muir o' gorse an' broom.
That blads fu' kindly there,
An' the heather brown, an' the wild blue-bell,
That wave on the muirland bare;
An' the singing birds, an' the humming bees,
An' the little lochs that toom
Their gushin' burns to the distant sea,
O'er the muir o' gorse an' broom.
45
O! if I had a dwallin' there,
Biggit laigh by a burnie's side,
Where ae aik-tree, in the simmer-time,
Wi' its leaves that hame might hide,—
O! I wad rejoice frae day to day,
As blithe as a young bridegroom;
For dearer than palaces to me
Is the muir o' gorse an' broom!
Biggit laigh by a burnie's side,
Where ae aik-tree, in the simmer-time,
Wi' its leaves that hame might hide,—
O! I wad rejoice frae day to day,
As blithe as a young bridegroom;
For dearer than palaces to me
Is the muir o' gorse an' broom!
In a lanely cot on a muirland wild,
My mither nurtured me:
O' the meek wild-flowers I playmates made,
An' my hame wi' the wandering bee:
An' O! if I were far awa'
Frae your grandeur an' your gloom,
Wi' them again, an' the bladding gale,
On the muir o' gorse an' broom!
My mither nurtured me:
O' the meek wild-flowers I playmates made,
An' my hame wi' the wandering bee:
An' O! if I were far awa'
Frae your grandeur an' your gloom,
Wi' them again, an' the bladding gale,
On the muir o' gorse an' broom!
THE BELOVED ONE.
O! the rose is like her ruby lip,
And the lily like her skin;
And her mouth like a faulded violet,
Wi' the scented breath within;
And her een are like yon bonnie flower
When the dew is in its cup;—
As the bee frae it its honey draws,
I love frae them maun sip.
And the lily like her skin;
And her mouth like a faulded violet,
Wi' the scented breath within;
And her een are like yon bonnie flower
When the dew is in its cup;—
As the bee frae it its honey draws,
I love frae them maun sip.
46
O! her voice is like yon little bird's
That sits in the cherry-tree:
For the air o' the sky and the heart o' man
It fills wi' its melodie.
Her hand is soft as the downy peach
Upon yon branch that hings;
An' her hair its gloss sae rich has stown
Frae the bonnie blackbird's wings!
That sits in the cherry-tree:
For the air o' the sky and the heart o' man
It fills wi' its melodie.
Her hand is soft as the downy peach
Upon yon branch that hings;
An' her hair its gloss sae rich has stown
Frae the bonnie blackbird's wings!
O! her smile is like the sun that shines
Upon yon fair wa'-flower—
As the bonnie buds this plays among,
Her face that wanders o'er.
But a love-warm kiss o' her rosy mou'
Wi' naething can compare,—
Sae meikle o' bliss an' holiness
The craving heart might sair.
Upon yon fair wa'-flower—
As the bonnie buds this plays among,
Her face that wanders o'er.
But a love-warm kiss o' her rosy mou'
Wi' naething can compare,—
Sae meikle o' bliss an' holiness
The craving heart might sair.
O! the garden-flowers are fair an' pure—
The rose an' the lily too;
An' the wall-flower rich in Nature's wealth—
An' the peeping violet blue:
O! bonnie as Heaven itsel', an' pure,
Are the flowers o' ilka kind;
But they ha'ena the womanly purity
O' my darling Jeanie's mind!
The rose an' the lily too;
An' the wall-flower rich in Nature's wealth—
An' the peeping violet blue:
O! bonnie as Heaven itsel', an' pure,
Are the flowers o' ilka kind;
But they ha'ena the womanly purity
O' my darling Jeanie's mind!
47
THE MAKING O' THE HAY.
Across the rigs we'll wander
The new-mawn hay amang,
And hear the blackbird in the wood,
And gi'e it sang for sang.
We'll gi'e it sang for sang, we will,
For ilka heart is gay,
As lads and lasses trip alang,
At making o' the hay!
The new-mawn hay amang,
And hear the blackbird in the wood,
And gi'e it sang for sang.
We'll gi'e it sang for sang, we will,
For ilka heart is gay,
As lads and lasses trip alang,
At making o' the hay!
It is sae sweetly scented,
It seems a maiden's breath;
Aboon, the sun has wither'd it,
But there is green beneath.
But there is caller green beneath,
Come, lasses, foot away!
The heart is dowie can be cauld,
At making o' the hay!
It seems a maiden's breath;
Aboon, the sun has wither'd it,
But there is green beneath.
But there is caller green beneath,
Come, lasses, foot away!
The heart is dowie can be cauld,
At making o' the hay!
Step lightly o'er, gang saftly by,
Mak' rig and furrow clean,
And coil it up in fragrant heaps,—
We maun ha'e done at e'en:—
We maun ha'e done at gloaming e'en;
And when the clouds grow gray,
Ilk lad may kiss his bonnie lass
Amang the new-made hay!
Mak' rig and furrow clean,
And coil it up in fragrant heaps,—
We maun ha'e done at e'en:—
We maun ha'e done at gloaming e'en;
And when the clouds grow gray,
Ilk lad may kiss his bonnie lass
Amang the new-made hay!
48
MENIE.
Fu' ripe, ripe was her rosy lip,
And raven was her hair;
And white, white was her swan-like neck—
Her een like starnies were!
And raven, raven was her hair,
And like the snaw her brow;
And the words that fell frae her wee saft mou'
Were happy words I trow!
And raven was her hair;
And white, white was her swan-like neck—
Her een like starnies were!
And raven, raven was her hair,
And like the snaw her brow;
And the words that fell frae her wee saft mou'
Were happy words I trow!
And pure, pure was her maiden heart,
And ne'er a thought o' sin
Durst venture there—an angel dwelt
Its borders a' within!
And fair as was her sweet bodie,
Yet fairer was her mind;
Menie's the queen amang the flowers—
The wale of womankind.
And ne'er a thought o' sin
Durst venture there—an angel dwelt
Its borders a' within!
And fair as was her sweet bodie,
Yet fairer was her mind;
Menie's the queen amang the flowers—
The wale of womankind.
DOWN BY THE WOOD.
Down by the wood
When daylight is breaking,
And the first breath of dawn
The green leaves is shaking,
'Tis bliss, without limit,
Alone to be straying—
To hear the wild-wood birds,
And what they are saying!
When daylight is breaking,
And the first breath of dawn
The green leaves is shaking,
49
Alone to be straying—
To hear the wild-wood birds,
And what they are saying!
Down by the wood
When its noon in the heaven,
And the steer to the shade
Of the hedgerow is driven,—
'Tis sweet to recline
In the beechen-tree's shadow,
And drink all the glories
Of field, forest, meadow!
When its noon in the heaven,
And the steer to the shade
Of the hedgerow is driven,—
'Tis sweet to recline
In the beechen-tree's shadow,
And drink all the glories
Of field, forest, meadow!
Down by the wood
At the fall of the gloaming,
'Mong clear crystal dew-drops
'Tis sweet to be roaming:—
The hush of the wheat-ears—
The gushing of water—
The shiver of green leaves—
The music of nature!
At the fall of the gloaming,
'Mong clear crystal dew-drops
'Tis sweet to be roaming:—
The hush of the wheat-ears—
The gushing of water—
The shiver of green leaves—
The music of nature!
MY AULD GUDEWIFE.
There's nane like you—there's nane like you:
The youngsters blithe around us now
Are bonnie a' baith grit an' sma';
But, auld gudewife, there's nane like you.
The youngsters blithe around us now
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But, auld gudewife, there's nane like you.
Nae doubt they're dear to ither hearts;
But since thae bairns atween us grew,
You're mair than a' the earth to me—
There's nane like you—there's nane like you.
But since thae bairns atween us grew,
You're mair than a' the earth to me—
There's nane like you—there's nane like you.
Chorus—
There's nane like you—there's nane like you, &c.
Within my arms ye now ha'e lain
For springs an' summers forty-two:
You've cheer'd my grief an' shared my joy—
There's nane like you—there's nane like you.
For springs an' summers forty-two:
You've cheer'd my grief an' shared my joy—
There's nane like you—there's nane like you.
Chorus—
There's nane like you—there's nane like you, &c.
Ye ance were fair as ony here—
Your cheek as fresh—your een as blue;
But wither'd, wrinkled as ye are—
There's nane like you—there's nane like you.
Your cheek as fresh—your een as blue;
But wither'd, wrinkled as ye are—
There's nane like you—there's nane like you.
Chorus—
There's nane like you—there's nane like you, &c.
Ye mind, gudewife, when we could loup
An' dance as they are dancin' now;
I lo'ed ye then—I lo'e ye yet—
There's nane like you—there's nane like you.
An' dance as they are dancin' now;
I lo'ed ye then—I lo'e ye yet—
There's nane like you—there's nane like you.
Chorus—
There's nane like you—there's nane like you, &c.51
A meikle share o' love we've had
The warld as we've warsled through:
My auld heart dances thinking o't—
There's nane like you—there's nane like you.
The warld as we've warsled through:
My auld heart dances thinking o't—
There's nane like you—there's nane like you.
Chorus—
There's nane like you—there's nane like you, &c.
There come your childer an' their joes
Wi' daffin' unco tired I trow:
Cleek hame wi' me, my auld gudewife—
There's nane like you—there's nane like you.
Wi' daffin' unco tired I trow:
Cleek hame wi' me, my auld gudewife—
There's nane like you—there's nane like you.
Chorus—
There's nane like you—there's nane like you:The youngsters blithe around us now
Are bonnie a' baith grit an' sma':
But, auld gudewife, there's nane like you.
THE COURTIN' TIME.
Our Jean likes the mornin' when milkin' the kye,
An' May thinks the noontide gangs merrily by;
But nane o' them a' are sae saft and serene
As the hours when the lads come a-courtin' at e'en.
A-courtin' at e'en—a-courtin' at e'en—
As the hours when the lads come a-courting at e'en!
An' May thinks the noontide gangs merrily by;
But nane o' them a' are sae saft and serene
As the hours when the lads come a-courtin' at e'en.
A-courtin' at e'en—a-courtin' at e'en—
As the hours when the lads come a-courting at e'en!
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The sun quietly slips o'er the tap o' the hill,
An' the plover its gloamin' sang whistles fu' shrill,
Syne dimness comes glidin' where daylight hath been,
An' the dew brings the lads who come courtin' at e'en.
Courtin' at e'en—courtin' at e'en—
An' the dew brings the lads who come courtin' at e'en!
An' the plover its gloamin' sang whistles fu' shrill,
Syne dimness comes glidin' where daylight hath been,
An' the dew brings the lads who come courtin' at e'en.
Courtin' at e'en—courtin' at e'en—
An' the dew brings the lads who come courtin' at e'en!
When the men-folk are crackin' o' owsen an' land,
An' the kimmers at spinnin' are tryin' their hand,
I see at the window the face o' a frien',
An' I ken that my joe 's come a-courtin' at e'en.
A-courtin' at e'en—a-courtin' at e'en—
An' I ken that my joe 's come a-courtin' at e'en!
An' the kimmers at spinnin' are tryin' their hand,
I see at the window the face o' a frien',
An' I ken that my joe 's come a-courtin' at e'en.
A-courtin' at e'en—a-courtin' at e'en—
An' I ken that my joe 's come a-courtin' at e'en!
I never lat on, but I cannily gang
To the door to my laddie, an' a' may think lang;
An' the warm simmer gale may blaw snelly an' keen
Ere I leave the braw lad who comes courtin' at e'en.
Courtin' at e'en—courtin' at e'en—
Ere I leave the braw lad who comes courtin' at e'en!
To the door to my laddie, an' a' may think lang;
An' the warm simmer gale may blaw snelly an' keen
Ere I leave the braw lad who comes courtin' at e'en.
Courtin' at e'en—courtin' at e'en—
Ere I leave the braw lad who comes courtin' at e'en!
Awa 'mang the stacks wi' my dearie I gae;
An' we dern oursel's down 'mang the fresh aiten strae—
There we cozilie crack, while thegether we lean;
An' blithe is the time o' our courtin' at e'en—
Courtin' at e'en—courtin' at e'en—
An' blithe is the time o' our courtin' at e'en!
An' we dern oursel's down 'mang the fresh aiten strae—
There we cozilie crack, while thegether we lean;
An' blithe is the time o' our courtin' at e'en—
Courtin' at e'en—courtin' at e'en—
An' blithe is the time o' our courtin' at e'en!
Neist mornin' they meet me wi' flouting an' jeers,
An' about my braw wooer ilk ane o' them speers;
But for floutin' an' scornin' I carena, I ween,
Compared wi' the lad who comes courtin' at e'en.
Courtin' at e'en—courtin' at e'en—
Compared wi' the lad who comes courtin' at e'en!
An' about my braw wooer ilk ane o' them speers;
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Compared wi' the lad who comes courtin' at e'en.
Courtin' at e'en—courtin' at e'en—
Compared wi' the lad who comes courtin' at e'en!
THE BONNIE HIELAND HILLS.
O! the bonnie Hieland hills,
O! the bonnie Hieland hills,—
The bonnie hills o' Scotland O!
The bonnie Hieland hills.
O! the bonnie Hieland hills,—
The bonnie hills o' Scotland O!
The bonnie Hieland hills.
There are lands on the earth where the vine ever blooms—
Where the air that is breathed the sweet orange perfumes;
But mair dear is the blast the lane shepherd that chills,
As it wantons alang o'er our ain Hieland hills.
Where the air that is breathed the sweet orange perfumes;
But mair dear is the blast the lane shepherd that chills,
As it wantons alang o'er our ain Hieland hills.
Chorus—
O! the bonnie Hieland hills,O! the bonnie Hieland hills,—
The bonnie hills o' Scotland O!
The bonnie Hieland hills.
There are rich gowden lands wi' their skies ever fair;
But o' riches or beauty we make na our care;
Wherever we wander ae vision aye fills
Our hearts to the burstin'—our ain Hieland hills.
But o' riches or beauty we make na our care;
Wherever we wander ae vision aye fills
Our hearts to the burstin'—our ain Hieland hills.
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Chorus—
O! the bonnie Hieland hills,O! the bonnie Hieland hills,—
The bonnie hills o' Scotland O!
The bonnie Hieland hills.
In our lone and deep valleys fair maidens there are,
Though born in the midst o' the elements' war:
O! sweet are the damsels that sing by our rills,
As they dash to the sea frae our ain Hieland hills.
Though born in the midst o' the elements' war:
O! sweet are the damsels that sing by our rills,
As they dash to the sea frae our ain Hieland hills.
Chorus—
O! the bonnie Hieland hills,O! the bonnie Hieland hills,—
The bonnie hills o' Scotland O!
The bonnie Hieland hills.
On the moss-cover'd rock, wi' their broadswords in hand,
To fight for fair freedom their sons ever stand;
A storm-nurs'd bold spirit ilk warm bosom fills,
That guards frae a' danger our ain Hieland hills.
To fight for fair freedom their sons ever stand;
A storm-nurs'd bold spirit ilk warm bosom fills,
That guards frae a' danger our ain Hieland hills.
Chorus—
O! the bonnie Hieland hills,O! the bonnie Hieland hills,—
The bonnie hills o' Scotland O!
The bonnie Hieland hills.
THE THISTLE.
By the Thistle we'll stand while there's blood in our veins:
We carena who loses—we carena who gains;
For our side is ta'en; an', while reason remains,
We'll stand by the auld Scottish Thistle.
We carena who loses—we carena who gains;
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We'll stand by the auld Scottish Thistle.
Chorus—
Put your foot to mine,Heart and hand let us join
To stand by the auld Scottish Thistle.
May it flourish! its hame is our dear native land;
While there's life in ilk heart—while there's strength in ilk hand,
Be 't by night or by day—be 't by sea or by land,
We'll stand by the auld Scottish Thistle.
While there's life in ilk heart—while there's strength in ilk hand,
Be 't by night or by day—be 't by sea or by land,
We'll stand by the auld Scottish Thistle.
While we hallow the graves o' the free an' the brave—
While the land hath a stream, while the sea hath a wave—
While the bold are the free, while the coward's a slave—
We'll stand by the auld Scottish Thistle.
While the land hath a stream, while the sea hath a wave—
While the bold are the free, while the coward's a slave—
We'll stand by the auld Scottish Thistle.
For the love of the maiden, the praise of the free—
For the blessings that father an' mother will gi'e—
For the hames that are dear baith to thee and to me,
We'll stand by the auld Scottish Thistle.
For the blessings that father an' mother will gi'e—
For the hames that are dear baith to thee and to me,
We'll stand by the auld Scottish Thistle.
By Freedom! our aith—be 't in peace or in war—
We'll mak' Honour an' Scotland our bright guiding star;
An' till valleys lie low, where our wild mountains are,
We'll stand by the auld Scottish Thistle.
We'll mak' Honour an' Scotland our bright guiding star;
An' till valleys lie low, where our wild mountains are,
We'll stand by the auld Scottish Thistle.
Chorus—
Put your foot to mine,Heart and hand let us join
To stand by the auld Scottish Thistle.
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THE HEATHER OF SCOTLAND.
The heather, the heather,
The bonnie brown heather—
The heather, the heather
Of Scotland O!
The bonnie brown heather—
The heather, the heather
Of Scotland O!
'Tis thy badge an' thy token, thou gem o' the North—
'Tis wide-spread as the fame o' thy honour an' worth:
It is welcomed wherever its red blossoms blow
As the bonnie brown heather of Scotland O!
'Tis wide-spread as the fame o' thy honour an' worth:
It is welcomed wherever its red blossoms blow
As the bonnie brown heather of Scotland O!
Chorus—
The heather, the heather, &c.
The dark hair of our maidens it decks on our hills,
An' the place of a plume in the bonnet it fills:
On the mountain it blooms and in valleys below;
O! the bonnie brown heather of Scotland O!
An' the place of a plume in the bonnet it fills:
On the mountain it blooms and in valleys below;
O! the bonnie brown heather of Scotland O!
Chorus—
The heather, the heather, &c.
'Tis the best pledge o' friendship, o' true love, an' truth;
'Tis the plant o' our hames—of the land o' our youth.
By our door-steps an' hamesteads it sweetly doth grow;
O! the bonnie brown heather of Scotland O!
'Tis the plant o' our hames—of the land o' our youth.
By our door-steps an' hamesteads it sweetly doth grow;
O! the bonnie brown heather of Scotland O!
Chorus—
The heather, the heather, &c.
For freedom, langsyne, when our forefathers fought—
When wi' blood frae their bold hearts our birthright they bought—
They fell free and unconquer'd, fronting the foe
On the bonnie brown heather of Scotland O!
When wi' blood frae their bold hearts our birthright they bought—
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On the bonnie brown heather of Scotland O!
Chorus—
The heather, the heather, &c.
The fields o' renown where our warriors have bled—
The cairns on our hills where our chieftains are laid—
Ilka scene that is dear to our hearts bright doth glow
Wi' the bonnie brown heather of Scotland O!
The cairns on our hills where our chieftains are laid—
Ilka scene that is dear to our hearts bright doth glow
Wi' the bonnie brown heather of Scotland O!
Chorus—
The heather, the heather, &c.
Let us stand and, uncover'd, our hands let us join,
Vowing high-hearted manhood we never will tyne;
But will strive to bring honour wherever we go
To the bonnie brown heather of Scotland O!
Vowing high-hearted manhood we never will tyne;
But will strive to bring honour wherever we go
To the bonnie brown heather of Scotland O!
Chorus—
The heather, the heather,The bonnie brown heather—
The heather, the heather
Of Scotland O!
THE BAGPIPES.
The bagpipe's wild music comes o'er the braid lea,
An' the thoughts o' langsyne it is bringin' to me,
When the warrior's foot on the heather was placed—
When his heart an' his hand for the combat were braced—
When the free by the brave to the battle were led,
An' when ilka man's hand had to keep his ain head:—
Thae auld-warld fancies my heart winna tyne,
Of the bold an' the true o' the days o' langsyne.
An' the thoughts o' langsyne it is bringin' to me,
When the warrior's foot on the heather was placed—
When his heart an' his hand for the combat were braced—
When the free by the brave to the battle were led,
An' when ilka man's hand had to keep his ain head:—
58
Of the bold an' the true o' the days o' langsyne.
When the bairn was born the bagpipes were brought;
The first sound in its ears was their bauld-speakin' note;
An' when forth came the Tartan in battle-array,
The proud voice o' war aye was leading the way:
An' when dead wi' his fathers the warrior was laid,
Aboon his low dwelling the coronach was play'd.
In weal, as in woe,—amid tears, amid wine,
The bagpipes aye moved the bold hearts o' langsyne.
The first sound in its ears was their bauld-speakin' note;
An' when forth came the Tartan in battle-array,
The proud voice o' war aye was leading the way:
An' when dead wi' his fathers the warrior was laid,
Aboon his low dwelling the coronach was play'd.
In weal, as in woe,—amid tears, amid wine,
The bagpipes aye moved the bold hearts o' langsyne.
Alang the hill-side comes the dear pibroch's sound,
And auld Scottish thoughts from my heart are unwound:
The days o' the past are around me again—
The hall of the chieftain—the field of the slain—
The men of the plaid an' the bonnet sae blue,
Who by Scotland, my country, stood leally an' true.
O! the land o' the bagpipes and thistle is mine,
Wi' its auld rousing thoughts of the days o' langsyne!
And auld Scottish thoughts from my heart are unwound:
The days o' the past are around me again—
The hall of the chieftain—the field of the slain—
The men of the plaid an' the bonnet sae blue,
Who by Scotland, my country, stood leally an' true.
O! the land o' the bagpipes and thistle is mine,
Wi' its auld rousing thoughts of the days o' langsyne!
FADING AWAY.
A starn shone out deep in the sky,
Blinkin' sae cheery cheerily:
It was seen an' loved by mony an eye—
That brightest speck in the Heavens high:
But in darkness sad the starn did die:
My sang sings dreary drearily.
Blinkin' sae cheery cheerily:
It was seen an' loved by mony an eye—
That brightest speck in the Heavens high:
But in darkness sad the starn did die:
My sang sings dreary drearily.
59
A flowrie grew in yonder wood,
Bloomin' sae cheery cheerily;
An' the light o' day did round it flood,
Till brightest amang the bright it stood:
But it faded an' wither'd leaf an' bud:
My sang sings dreary drearily.
Bloomin' sae cheery cheerily;
An' the light o' day did round it flood,
Till brightest amang the bright it stood:
But it faded an' wither'd leaf an' bud:
My sang sings dreary drearily.
A bonnie maiden loved me true,
An' time gaed cheery cheerily;
Her lip was red an' her een were blue,
A warm leal heart she had, I trow;
But alake! she's dead, the maid I lo'e:
My sang sings dreary drearily.
An' time gaed cheery cheerily;
Her lip was red an' her een were blue,
A warm leal heart she had, I trow;
But alake! she's dead, the maid I lo'e:
My sang sings dreary drearily.
REGRETS.
Tak' aff, tak' aff this silken garb,
An' bring to me a Hieland plaid:
Nae bed was e'er sae saft an' sweet
As ane wi' it an' heather made.
Tak' aff this gowd-encircled thing,
An' bring to me a bonnet blue,
To mind me o' the Hieland hills
That I ha'e left for ever now.
An' bring to me a Hieland plaid:
Nae bed was e'er sae saft an' sweet
As ane wi' it an' heather made.
Tak' aff this gowd-encircled thing,
An' bring to me a bonnet blue,
To mind me o' the Hieland hills
That I ha'e left for ever now.
Tak', tak' awa' this gaudy flower,
An' bring to me a sprig o' heather,
Like those langsyne among the hills
Of home and youth, I aft did gather.
For a' your luscious Indian fruit
The ripe blaeberry bring to me:
To be in braes where black they hing
There's nought on earth I wadna' gi'e.
An' bring to me a sprig o' heather,
60
Of home and youth, I aft did gather.
For a' your luscious Indian fruit
The ripe blaeberry bring to me:
To be in braes where black they hing
There's nought on earth I wadna' gi'e.
O! take away this tinsel wealth,
That wiled me frae my Hieland hame;
I cannot bear its glitter now,—
For it I've played a losing game.
O! bring me back my youthfu' heart—
The eye and hand of long ago—
Take a' I have, but place me syne
Afar where Hieland waters flow!
That wiled me frae my Hieland hame;
I cannot bear its glitter now,—
For it I've played a losing game.
O! bring me back my youthfu' heart—
The eye and hand of long ago—
Take a' I have, but place me syne
Afar where Hieland waters flow!
O! for an hour o' youth an' hope—
Ae moment o' my youthfu' years
Upon the hills of Scotland dear,
When I had neither cares nor fears.
I mauna sigh, I mauna mane—
Before my fate I laigh maun bow,—
Bring wealth—bring wine—till I forget
The time when round me heather grew!
Ae moment o' my youthfu' years
Upon the hills of Scotland dear,
When I had neither cares nor fears.
I mauna sigh, I mauna mane—
Before my fate I laigh maun bow,—
Bring wealth—bring wine—till I forget
The time when round me heather grew!
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THE HIELAND PLAID.
O! leeze me on the Hieland plaid,—
The tartan plaidie, tartan plaidie!
The very sight o't makes me glad—
The bonnie tartan plaidie!
The tartan plaidie, tartan plaidie!
The very sight o't makes me glad—
The bonnie tartan plaidie!
It minds me o' the happy days,
When blithe I herdit on the braes,
O' love an' a' its gladsome ways:
Be blessin's on the plaidie!
When blithe I herdit on the braes,
O' love an' a' its gladsome ways:
Be blessin's on the plaidie!
Chorus—
O! leeze me on the Hieland plaid, &c.
My Sandie was the triggest lad
That ever made a lassie glad;
An' O! a handsome look he had
When he put on his plaidie.
That ever made a lassie glad;
An' O! a handsome look he had
When he put on his plaidie.
Chorus—
O! leeze me on the Hieland plaid, &c.
I mind it as I mind yestreen,
When courtin' he would come at e'en:
We sat upo' the trystin' green
Beneath his tartan plaidie.
When courtin' he would come at e'en:
We sat upo' the trystin' green
Beneath his tartan plaidie.
Chorus—
O! leeze me on the Hieland plaid, &c.
At fairs and preachin's, far and near,
Baith Sandy an' his joe were there;
An' as we hame at night did wear,
He row'd me in his plaidie.
Baith Sandy an' his joe were there;
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He row'd me in his plaidie.
Chorus—
O! leeze me on the Hieland plaid, &c.
For monie a year, at hame, a-field,
The plaidie was his cosie bield:
O! vow, he was a sonsie chield
When he gat on his plaidie.
The plaidie was his cosie bield:
O! vow, he was a sonsie chield
When he gat on his plaidie.
Chorus—
O! leeze me on the Hieland plaid, &c.
When winter nights were lang an' cauld,
Upo' the hill he watch'd the fauld,
Frae e'en to morn sae crouse an' bauld,
Weel happit in his plaidie!
Upo' the hill he watch'd the fauld,
Frae e'en to morn sae crouse an' bauld,
Weel happit in his plaidie!
Chorus—
O! leeze me on the Hieland plaid, &c.
When Sandie gaed as I am gaun—
When frae our fireside he was ta'en—
They laid him low aneath the stane
Row'd in his tartan plaidie.
When frae our fireside he was ta'en—
They laid him low aneath the stane
Row'd in his tartan plaidie.
Chorus—
O! leeze me on the Hieland plaid,—The tartan plaidie, tartan plaidie!
The very sight o't maks me glad—
The bonnie tartan plaidie!
WHAT SHALL I DO?
I'm either gaun daft, or I'm donnert wi' drink,
My head is a' singin'—I'm deein', I think:—
Whene'er I see Mysie, I grane and I grue;
I maybe ha'e fa'en in love!—What shall I do?
My head is a' singin'—I'm deein', I think:—
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I maybe ha'e fa'en in love!—What shall I do?
That guess is the right ane, as sure as a gun;
But frae the deep sea to the de'il I ha'e run.
There are cures for a fever, but nane for me now:
To a lassie I canna speak!—What shall I do?
But frae the deep sea to the de'il I ha'e run.
There are cures for a fever, but nane for me now:
To a lassie I canna speak!—What shall I do?
Will I tell her I've plenty o' maut, meal, and milk—
A stockin' o' guineas—a gown-breed o' silk—
That my auld mither's plaid is as gude as when new—
An' the hale I will gi'e her?—O! what shall I do?
A stockin' o' guineas—a gown-breed o' silk—
That my auld mither's plaid is as gude as when new—
An' the hale I will gi'e her?—O! what shall I do?
It's weel kent I ne'er had a gift o' the gab,
An' my thoughts now ha'e gane, like a sair ravell'd wab:
If I try to speak saftly, I'll look unco blue,
An' stoiter an' stammer!—O! what shall I do?
An' my thoughts now ha'e gane, like a sair ravell'd wab:
If I try to speak saftly, I'll look unco blue,
An' stoiter an' stammer!—O! what shall I do?
What say ye? Gae praise her saft cheek an' blue een,
An' swear that their like on the earth ne'er was seen,
An' daut her fu' kindly?—Na! I canna woo,
Sae needna be tryin'!—O! what shall I do?
An' swear that their like on the earth ne'er was seen,
An' daut her fu' kindly?—Na! I canna woo,
Sae needna be tryin'!—O! what shall I do?
Gae, gar the auld wives o' the clachan come ben—
Can nae skilly body gi'e cures for sic pain?
If I die, the fau't, Mysie, will lie upo' you—
The de'il tak' the womenkind!—What shall I do?
Can nae skilly body gi'e cures for sic pain?
If I die, the fau't, Mysie, will lie upo' you—
The de'il tak' the womenkind!—What shall I do?
64
THE WOOING.
Though overly proud, she was bonnie an' young,
And, in spite o' her jeers an' her scornin',
I lo'ed her as weel, or mair than mysel';
An' I follow'd her e'enin' an' mornin'.
She trysted me ance, an' she trysted me twice,
But—the limmer!—she never came near me;
And, when I complain'd o't, she leuch, while she speer'd
Was I fear'd that the bogles would steer me?
And, in spite o' her jeers an' her scornin',
I lo'ed her as weel, or mair than mysel';
An' I follow'd her e'enin' an' mornin'.
She trysted me ance, an' she trysted me twice,
But—the limmer!—she never came near me;
And, when I complain'd o't, she leuch, while she speer'd
Was I fear'd that the bogles would steer me?
I gaed to the market to meet wi' my joe,
An' to buy her back-burdens o' fairin',
My lang-hoarded shillin's an' saxpences took;
For I vow'd that I wou'dna be sparin'.
She pouch'd a' my sweeties, my apples, an' rings,
Till awa' was ilk lang-treasured shillin',
Then says I, “We'll go hame;” “Losh, Geordie, gae wa',”
Says she, “for your supper is spillin'!”
An' to buy her back-burdens o' fairin',
My lang-hoarded shillin's an' saxpences took;
For I vow'd that I wou'dna be sparin'.
She pouch'd a' my sweeties, my apples, an' rings,
Till awa' was ilk lang-treasured shillin',
Then says I, “We'll go hame;” “Losh, Geordie, gae wa',”
Says she, “for your supper is spillin'!”
Wi' puir Geordie's fairings, sae fine, in her pouch,
She gaed an' drew up wi' anither—
The chield threw his arms about her sweet neck,
An' awa' hame they cleekit thegither.
Wi' a heart sad an' sair I follow'd the twa—
At her auld father's door saw them partin'—
Syne lifted the sneck, an' crap after my joe,
Wi' a waefu'-like look, I am certain!
She gaed an' drew up wi' anither—
The chield threw his arms about her sweet neck,
An' awa' hame they cleekit thegither.
Wi' a heart sad an' sair I follow'd the twa—
At her auld father's door saw them partin'—
Syne lifted the sneck, an' crap after my joe,
Wi' a waefu'-like look, I am certain!
65
I whisper'd her name, an' I clinkit me down
In the dark, on the settle, aside her,
An' clew at my head—I was sairly tongue-tied;
For I hadna the smeddum to chide her.
I now an' then mumbled a short word or twa—
A saft word or twa to my dearie;
But she gapit, an' gauntit, sae aft an' sae lang,
An' she said she o' courtin' was weary!
In the dark, on the settle, aside her,
An' clew at my head—I was sairly tongue-tied;
For I hadna the smeddum to chide her.
I now an' then mumbled a short word or twa—
A saft word or twa to my dearie;
But she gapit, an' gauntit, sae aft an' sae lang,
An' she said she o' courtin' was weary!
I raise to gae hame; but the deil, for my sins,
O'er the floor gart me stoiter an' stammer,
Till the pans made a noise, as the tinker had been
A-smashin' them a' wi' his hammer.
At the clatter, up startit the waukrife auld wife,—
Her claes she put on in a hurry;
Says she, “There 's a loun 'yont the hallan wi' Meg,
An' the tangs in his harns I will bury!”
O'er the floor gart me stoiter an' stammer,
Till the pans made a noise, as the tinker had been
A-smashin' them a' wi' his hammer.
At the clatter, up startit the waukrife auld wife,—
Her claes she put on in a hurry;
Says she, “There 's a loun 'yont the hallan wi' Meg,
An' the tangs in his harns I will bury!”
The flytin' auld rudas cam' but wi' a bang;
An' my bosom was in a sad swither;
An' maist I would 'greed to forgotten my Meg,
If I had got quit o' her mither.
The wife an' the tangs were ahint me, I trow;
An' the window was hie,—but I jumpit;
An' up to the neck in a deep midden-hole,
Like a trout in a bucket, I plumpit!
An' my bosom was in a sad swither;
An' maist I would 'greed to forgotten my Meg,
If I had got quit o' her mither.
The wife an' the tangs were ahint me, I trow;
An' the window was hie,—but I jumpit;
An' up to the neck in a deep midden-hole,
Like a trout in a bucket, I plumpit!
Baith mither an' dochter glower'd out on the fun,
An' the young gilpie Maggie was laughin'
The auld ane skreigh'd out wi' a terrible yowl,
“Hey, lad! ye are row'd in a rauchan.”
My face it was red, an' my heart it was sair,
While my fause love my sorrow was mockin';
And an uncanny something raise up in my throat,
Till I thought that I surely was choakin'.
An' the young gilpie Maggie was laughin'
66
“Hey, lad! ye are row'd in a rauchan.”
My face it was red, an' my heart it was sair,
While my fause love my sorrow was mockin';
And an uncanny something raise up in my throat,
Till I thought that I surely was choakin'.
I ran to the burn, an' to drown me I vow'd,
For my heart wi' my fause love was breakin';
But the banks were sae high, and the water sae deep,
That the sight o't wi' fear set me quakin'!
Says I, Why despair? Sae comfort I took:—
A sweetheart! I'll soon get anither:
Sae hamewith I toddled, an' endit it a'—
For I told my mischance to my mither!
For my heart wi' my fause love was breakin';
But the banks were sae high, and the water sae deep,
That the sight o't wi' fear set me quakin'!
Says I, Why despair? Sae comfort I took:—
A sweetheart! I'll soon get anither:
Sae hamewith I toddled, an' endit it a'—
For I told my mischance to my mither!
THE LAMENT OF BENEDICK THE MARRIED MAN.
I ance was a wanter, as happy's a bee:—
I meddled wi' nane, and nane meddled wi' me.
I whiles had a crack o'er a cog o' gude yill—
Whiles a bicker o' swats—whiles a heart-heezin' gill;
And I aye had a groat if I hadna a pound,—
On the earth there were nane meikle happier found:
But my auld mither died in the year aughty-nine,
An' I ne'er ha'e had peace in the warld sinsyne.
I meddled wi' nane, and nane meddled wi' me.
I whiles had a crack o'er a cog o' gude yill—
Whiles a bicker o' swats—whiles a heart-heezin' gill;
And I aye had a groat if I hadna a pound,—
On the earth there were nane meikle happier found:
But my auld mither died in the year aughty-nine,
An' I ne'er ha'e had peace in the warld sinsyne.
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Fu' sound may she sleep!—a douce woman was she,
Wi' her wheel, an' her pipe, an' her cuppie o' tea.
My ingle she keepit as neat as a preen,
And she never speer'd questions, as, “Where ha'e ye been?”
Or, “What were ye doin'?” an' “Wha were ye wi'?”—
We were happy thegither, my mither an' me:
But the puir bodie died in the year aughty-nine,
An' I ne'er ha'e had peace in the warld sinsyne.
Wi' her wheel, an' her pipe, an' her cuppie o' tea.
My ingle she keepit as neat as a preen,
And she never speer'd questions, as, “Where ha'e ye been?”
Or, “What were ye doin'?” an' “Wha were ye wi'?”—
We were happy thegither, my mither an' me:
But the puir bodie died in the year aughty-nine,
An' I ne'er ha'e had peace in the warld sinsyne.
When my mither was gane, for a while I was wae;
But a young chap was I, an' a wife I maun ha'e.
A wife soon I gat, an' I aye ha'e her yet,
An' folk think thegither we unco weel fit:
But my ain mind ha'e I, though I mauna speak o't,
For mair than her gallop I like my ain trot.
O! my auld mither died in the year aughty-nine,
An' I ne'er ha'e had peace in the warld sinsyne.
But a young chap was I, an' a wife I maun ha'e.
A wife soon I gat, an' I aye ha'e her yet,
An' folk think thegither we unco weel fit:
But my ain mind ha'e I, though I mauna speak o't,
For mair than her gallop I like my ain trot.
O! my auld mither died in the year aughty-nine,
An' I ne'er ha'e had peace in the warld sinsyne.
If I wi' a cronie be takin' a drap,
She'll yaumer, an' ca' me an auld drucken chap.
If an hour I bide out, loud she greets an' she yowls,
An' bans a' gude fellows, baith bodies an' souls:
And then sic a care she has o' her gudeman!
Ye would think I were doited—I canna but ban!
O! my auld mither died in the year aughty-nine,
An' I ne'er ha'e had peace in the warld sinsyne.
She'll yaumer, an' ca' me an auld drucken chap.
If an hour I bide out, loud she greets an' she yowls,
An' bans a' gude fellows, baith bodies an' souls:
And then sic a care she has o' her gudeman!
Ye would think I were doited—I canna but ban!
O! my auld mither died in the year aughty-nine,
An' I ne'er ha'e had peace in the warld sinsyne.
Our young gilpie dochters are lookin' for men,
An' I'll be a grandsire or ever I ken:
Our laddies are thinkin' o' rulin' the roast—
Their father, auld bodie, 's as deaf as a post!
But he sees their upsettin', sae crouse an' sae bauld:—
O! why did I marry, an' wherefore grow auld?
My mither! ye died in the year aughty-nine,
An' I ne'er ha'e had peace in the warld sinsyne!
An' I'll be a grandsire or ever I ken:
68
Their father, auld bodie, 's as deaf as a post!
But he sees their upsettin', sae crouse an' sae bauld:—
O! why did I marry, an' wherefore grow auld?
My mither! ye died in the year aughty-nine,
An' I ne'er ha'e had peace in the warld sinsyne!
THERE'S NEVER AN END O' HER FLYTIN AN' DIN.
There's joy to the lave, but there's sadness to me;
For my gudewife an' I can do a' thing but 'gree:
In but-house an' ben-house, baith outby an' in,
There's never an end o' her flytin' an' din.
For my gudewife an' I can do a' thing but 'gree:
In but-house an' ben-house, baith outby an' in,
There's never an end o' her flytin' an' din.
She's girnin' at e'enin'—she's girnin' at morn—
A' hours o' the day in my flesh she's a thorn:
At us baith a' the neighbour-folk canna but grin:
There's never an end o' her flytin' an' din.
A' hours o' the day in my flesh she's a thorn:
At us baith a' the neighbour-folk canna but grin:
There's never an end o' her flytin' an' din.
She scolds at the lasses, she skelps at the bairns;
An' the chairs an' the creepies she flings them in cairns.
I'm joyfu' when aff frae the house I can rin:
There's never an end o' her flytin' an' din.
An' the chairs an' the creepies she flings them in cairns.
I'm joyfu' when aff frae the house I can rin:
There's never an end o' her flytin' an' din.
When I bid her speak laigher, fu' scornfu' she sneers;
Syne she skreighs like a goslin', till a' body hears;
Then I maun sing sma', just to keep a hale skin:
There's never an end o' her flytin' and din.
Syne she skreighs like a goslin', till a' body hears;
69
There's never an end o' her flytin' and din.
Ance deaved to the heart by her ill-scrapit tongue,
To quiet her I tried wi' a gude hazel rung:—
Wi' the tangs she repaid me, and thought it nae sin:
There's never an end o' her flytin' an' din.
To quiet her I tried wi' a gude hazel rung:—
Wi' the tangs she repaid me, and thought it nae sin:
There's never an end o' her flytin' an' din.
There's ae thing I ken, an' that canna be twa—
I wish frae this world she ance were awa';
An' I trust, if ayont to the ill place she win,
They'll be able to bear wi' her flytin' an' din.
I wish frae this world she ance were awa';
An' I trust, if ayont to the ill place she win,
They'll be able to bear wi' her flytin' an' din.
To the wa' the door rattles—that's her comin' ben;
An' I maun gi'e o'er or the Luckie would ken.
Gude save us! she's clearin' her throat to begin:
The Lord keep ye a' frae sic flytin' an' din!
An' I maun gi'e o'er or the Luckie would ken.
Gude save us! she's clearin' her throat to begin:
The Lord keep ye a' frae sic flytin' an' din!
A MAIDEN'S MEDITATIONS.
Nae sweetheart ha'e I,
Yet I'm no that ill-faur'd:
But there's ower monie lasses,
An' wooers are scaur'd.
This night I the hale
O' my tocher would gi'e
If a' ither bodie
Were married but me.
Yet I'm no that ill-faur'd:
But there's ower monie lasses,
An' wooers are scaur'd.
This night I the hale
O' my tocher would gi'e
If a' ither bodie
Were married but me.
70
Syne I would get plenty
About me to speer—
Folk wou'dna be fashious
'Bout beauty or gear.
Hearts broken in dozens
Around I would see,
If a' ither bodie
Were married but me.
About me to speer—
Folk wou'dna be fashious
'Bout beauty or gear.
Hearts broken in dozens
Around I would see,
If a' ither bodie
Were married but me.
Ae lover would ha'e
A' my errands to rin;
Anither should tend me
Baith outby an' in;
An' to keep me gude-humour'd
Would tak twa or three,
If a' ither bodie
Were married but me.
A' my errands to rin;
Anither should tend me
Baith outby an' in;
An' to keep me gude-humour'd
Would tak twa or three,
If a' ither bodie
Were married but me.
Fond wooers in dozens
Where I hae'na ane,
An' worshippin' hearts
Where I'm langin' alane—
Frae mornin' to e'enin'
How bless'd would I be,
If a' ither bodie
Were married but me?
Where I hae'na ane,
An' worshippin' hearts
Where I'm langin' alane—
Frae mornin' to e'enin'
How bless'd would I be,
If a' ither bodie
Were married but me?
A daft dream was yon—
It has faded awa':
Nae bodie in passin'
E'er gi'es me a ca':
Nae sweetheart adorin'
I ever shall see,
Till a' ither bodie
Be married but me!
It has faded awa':
Nae bodie in passin'
E'er gi'es me a ca':
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I ever shall see,
Till a' ither bodie
Be married but me!
MY MINNIE MAUNA KEN.
Come sleely up the burnie's side
When starnies ope their een;
An' quietly through the winnock keek,
But say to nane, Gude-e'en!
An' creep alang ahint the dyke,
Where nane can hear or see;
For O! my minnie mauna ken
That ye come courtin' me!
When starnies ope their een;
An' quietly through the winnock keek,
But say to nane, Gude-e'en!
An' creep alang ahint the dyke,
Where nane can hear or see;
For O! my minnie mauna ken
That ye come courtin' me!
Ye'll wait nae lang till out I slip;
Syne gi'e a hoast or twa,
An' soon I'll sittin' be wi' you
Ahint the kailyard-wa'!
But there ye mauna keep me lang,
Wi' fleechin' words sae slee;
For O! my minnie mauna ken
That ye come courtin' me!
Syne gi'e a hoast or twa,
An' soon I'll sittin' be wi' you
Ahint the kailyard-wa'!
But there ye mauna keep me lang,
Wi' fleechin' words sae slee;
For O! my minnie mauna ken
That ye come courtin' me!
At kirk or market when we meet,
If I should pass ye by,
An' seem to think ye far ower laigh
To catch a maiden's eye:
Ne'er gloom at me, as ance ye did,
Nor think I lightly thee;
For O! my minnie mauna ken
That ye come courtin' me!
If I should pass ye by,
72
To catch a maiden's eye:
Ne'er gloom at me, as ance ye did,
Nor think I lightly thee;
For O! my minnie mauna ken
That ye come courtin' me!
My minnie brags o' a' her lands,
Her mailins, and her gear:
My brithers o' their sister fair
Are boastin' late an' air;
And kent they who that sister loved,
Their hate would follow thee;
And sae my minnie mauna ken
That ye come courtin' me!
Her mailins, and her gear:
My brithers o' their sister fair
Are boastin' late an' air;
And kent they who that sister loved,
Their hate would follow thee;
And sae my minnie mauna ken
That ye come courtin' me!
It may be good to live in wealth—
To walk in claithing braw;
But O! a leal young heart's first love
Is better than it a':
Than a', ae glint o' love frae thee
Is dearer to my e'e;
But O! my minnie mauna ken
That ye come courtin' me!
To walk in claithing braw;
But O! a leal young heart's first love
Is better than it a':
Than a', ae glint o' love frae thee
Is dearer to my e'e;
But O! my minnie mauna ken
That ye come courtin' me!
The time is comin' round about
When I will care for nane;
But take the laddie whom I love—
I never loved but ane.
A year or two will soon gang by,
An' syne I'll follow thee,
Although my minnie mauna ken
That ye come courtin' me.
When I will care for nane;
But take the laddie whom I love—
I never loved but ane.
A year or two will soon gang by,
An' syne I'll follow thee,
73
That ye come courtin' me.
Come sleely up the burnie's side
When starnies ope their een,
An' quietly through the winnock keek,
But say to nane, Gude e'en!
An' creep alang ahint the dyke,
Where nane can hear or see;
For O! my minnie mauna ken
That ye come courtin' me!
When starnies ope their een,
An' quietly through the winnock keek,
But say to nane, Gude e'en!
An' creep alang ahint the dyke,
Where nane can hear or see;
For O! my minnie mauna ken
That ye come courtin' me!
KATE CARNEGIE.
SONG.
My life is a burden—nae pleasure ha'e I;
I'm grainin', baith e'enin' an' mornin'.
'Cause why? I'm in love, and I darena e'en try,
For fear o' her floutin' an' scornin'.
She's a jewel of a kimmer—as straight as an ash;
But I fear I maun jump o'er a craigie;
For in spite o' my love, an' in spite o' my cash,
I'm nae favourite wi' Katie Carnegie!
I'm grainin', baith e'enin' an' mornin'.
'Cause why? I'm in love, and I darena e'en try,
For fear o' her floutin' an' scornin'.
She's a jewel of a kimmer—as straight as an ash;
But I fear I maun jump o'er a craigie;
For in spite o' my love, an' in spite o' my cash,
I'm nae favourite wi' Katie Carnegie!
Gudewife! bring a bicker, I'll slocken my drouth—
That ale was na spoilt i' the brewin'.
Heartbroken and wae in the hours o' my youth—
Love—true love—has been my undoin'!
And why should Kate care for a gomach like me?
I've glour'd aft her aft wi' a gleg e'e,
But though I'm in love—though I fear I maun die—
I ne'er spoke o't to Katie Carnegie.
That ale was na spoilt i' the brewin'.
Heartbroken and wae in the hours o' my youth—
Love—true love—has been my undoin'!
74
I've glour'd aft her aft wi' a gleg e'e,
But though I'm in love—though I fear I maun die—
I ne'er spoke o't to Katie Carnegie.
Gi'es a waucht o' the ale—she's the queen o' the Strath—
And what is to hinder me tryin'?
The hard-hearted kimmer! she cou'dna well laugh
An' jeer at a man who is dyin'!
Just ae ither stoup!—what the deil makes me sad?
Gae, laddie, and saddle my naigie;
And if ony ane speer where I'm till on the yaud,
I'm awa' to court Katie Carnegie!
And what is to hinder me tryin'?
The hard-hearted kimmer! she cou'dna well laugh
An' jeer at a man who is dyin'!
Just ae ither stoup!—what the deil makes me sad?
Gae, laddie, and saddle my naigie;
And if ony ane speer where I'm till on the yaud,
I'm awa' to court Katie Carnegie!
THE MAID I DAURNA NAME.
I wish I were a hinny-bee,
That I awa' might sing,—
Upo' the buds o' a bonnie bower,
When the e'enin' fa's, to hing,
And be bless'd wi' ae look o' a bonnie face
Like the sun-glint on the fell—
The face o' ane—a precious ane—
Whase name I daurna tell!
That I awa' might sing,—
Upo' the buds o' a bonnie bower,
When the e'enin' fa's, to hing,
And be bless'd wi' ae look o' a bonnie face
Like the sun-glint on the fell—
The face o' ane—a precious ane—
Whase name I daurna tell!
I wish I were a breathin' wind,
That I might pree her mou',
An' wander blessed by her side,
The woods an' valleys through;
An' clasp her waist sae jimpy sma',
Where grows the muirland bell;
An' pass ae hour o' love wi' her
Whase name I daurna tell.
That I might pree her mou',
75
The woods an' valleys through;
An' clasp her waist sae jimpy sma',
Where grows the muirland bell;
An' pass ae hour o' love wi' her
Whase name I daurna tell.
The laverock loves the simmer lift—
The corncraik clover green—
An' the mither loves her bairnie's face,
Where its father's smile is seen;
The lintie loves the hawthorn hedge—
The blackbird lo'es the dell—
But mair than a' I lo'e the maid
Whase name I daurna tell.
The corncraik clover green—
An' the mither loves her bairnie's face,
Where its father's smile is seen;
The lintie loves the hawthorn hedge—
The blackbird lo'es the dell—
But mair than a' I lo'e the maid
Whase name I daurna tell.
The misty mornin' often brings
A sunny afternoon;
An' March, wi' hands sae sleety cauld,
Leads gladsome May an' June:
An' maybe yet, or a' be done,
I'll happy be mysel',
When she is mine—the precious ane—
Whase name I daurna tell.
A sunny afternoon;
An' March, wi' hands sae sleety cauld,
Leads gladsome May an' June:
An' maybe yet, or a' be done,
I'll happy be mysel',
When she is mine—the precious ane—
Whase name I daurna tell.
76
THE PACKMAN.
The fire we sat round on a cauld winter night—
Mysel' an' my dochters were spinnin'—
When in came the pedler, wi' ellwand in hand,
And the sweat frae the bodie was rinnin'.
Wi' beck an' wi' bow, and wi' “Goodness be here!”
He trampit in o'er to the ingle;
Syne open'd his pack fu' o' claes o' the best—
Wi' the sight o't my lugs they play'd tingle!
Mysel' an' my dochters were spinnin'—
When in came the pedler, wi' ellwand in hand,
And the sweat frae the bodie was rinnin'.
Wi' beck an' wi' bow, and wi' “Goodness be here!”
He trampit in o'er to the ingle;
Syne open'd his pack fu' o' claes o' the best—
Wi' the sight o't my lugs they play'd tingle!
Fu' o' jokin' an' cracks was the slee, pawky loun—
Weel kent he how braw things becam' folk;
An' my dochters he praised till we cou'dna but buy;
For he ca'd a' our neighbours but sham folk.
The deil break his shanks! he had plenty o' news,
And he clatter'd, and coost me wi' glamour,
Till quarters I promised to gi'e for a night,
And to make our bien but-house his chaumer.
Weel kent he how braw things becam' folk;
An' my dochters he praised till we cou'dna but buy;
For he ca'd a' our neighbours but sham folk.
The deil break his shanks! he had plenty o' news,
And he clatter'd, and coost me wi' glamour,
Till quarters I promised to gi'e for a night,
And to make our bien but-house his chaumer.
The morn I got up, as gudewife should do,—
To packmen there's naething to lippen,—
And soon followed after me Chirsty and Meg,
But Jean came na after them skippin'.
Where is she? why waits she? my youngest and best—
My ain Jean, my bonnie wee burdie—
Run awa? The light limmer—the deil break his banes—
Was the oily-tongued chapman, Tam Purdie!
To packmen there's naething to lippen,—
And soon followed after me Chirsty and Meg,
But Jean came na after them skippin'.
Where is she? why waits she? my youngest and best—
My ain Jean, my bonnie wee burdie—
Run awa? The light limmer—the deil break his banes—
Was the oily-tongued chapman, Tam Purdie!
77
THE BONNIE ROWAN BUSH.
The bonnie rowan bush
In yon lane glen—
Where the burnie clear doth gush
In yon lane glen;
My head is white and auld,
An' my bluid is thin and cauld,—
But I lo'e the bonnie rowan bush
In yon lane glen.
In yon lane glen—
Where the burnie clear doth gush
In yon lane glen;
My head is white and auld,
An' my bluid is thin and cauld,—
But I lo'e the bonnie rowan bush
In yon lane glen.
My Jeanie first I met
In yon lane glen—
When the grass wi' dew was wet
In yon lane glen;
The moon was shinin' sweet,
An' our hearts wi' love did beat,—
By the bonnie, bonnie rowan bush
In yon lane glen.
In yon lane glen—
When the grass wi' dew was wet
In yon lane glen;
The moon was shinin' sweet,
An' our hearts wi' love did beat,—
By the bonnie, bonnie rowan bush
In yon lane glen.
O! she promised to be mine
In yon lane glen;
Her heart she did resign
In yon lane glen:
An' monie a happy day
Did o'er us pass away,
Beside the bonnie rowan bush
In yon lane glen.
In yon lane glen;
Her heart she did resign
In yon lane glen:
An' monie a happy day
Did o'er us pass away,
Beside the bonnie rowan bush
In yon lane glen.
78
Sax bonnie bairns had we
In yon lane glen—
Lads an' lasses young an' spree
In yon lane glen;
An' a blither family
Than ours there cou'dna be,
Beside the bonnie rowan bush
In yon lane glen.
In yon lane glen—
Lads an' lasses young an' spree
In yon lane glen;
An' a blither family
Than ours there cou'dna be,
Beside the bonnie rowan bush
In yon lane glen.
Now my auld wife's gane awa'
Frae yon lane glen;
An' though simmer sweet doth fa'
On yon lane glen,
To me its beauty's gane,
For alake! I sit alane,
Beside the bonnie rowan bush
In yon lane glen.
Frae yon lane glen;
An' though simmer sweet doth fa'
On yon lane glen,
To me its beauty's gane,
For alake! I sit alane,
Beside the bonnie rowan bush
In yon lane glen.
THE AULD BEGGAR MAN.
The Auld Beggar Man is a hearty auld cock;—
Wi' his sair-tatter'd rags an his meikle meal-pock,
He lives like a king in the midst o' the lan',—
He's a slee pawkie bodie the Auld Beggar Man.
Wi' his sair-tatter'd rags an his meikle meal-pock,
He lives like a king in the midst o' the lan',—
He's a slee pawkie bodie the Auld Beggar Man.
He has a white pow and a fresh ruddy cheek,
For there's Sabbath to him ilka day o' the week;
An' he daunders aye onward the best way he can:
He's a cantie bit carle the Auld Beggar Man.
For there's Sabbath to him ilka day o' the week;
An' he daunders aye onward the best way he can:
He's a cantie bit carle the Auld Beggar Man.
79
The gudewife sets his chair by the clear ingle-side,
Where his feet may grow warm an' his claes may be dried;
Syne the hale kintra's clashes he screeds them aff han':
He's a gash, gabbin' birkie, the Auld Beggar Man.
Where his feet may grow warm an' his claes may be dried;
Syne the hale kintra's clashes he screeds them aff han':
He's a gash, gabbin' birkie, the Auld Beggar Man.
Wi' the gudeman he cracks about cattle an' corn,—
Whether this rig or that ane the best crap has borne;
How aits up ha'e risen an owsen ha'e fa'n:
Like a beuk he can argue, the Auld Beggar Man.
Whether this rig or that ane the best crap has borne;
How aits up ha'e risen an owsen ha'e fa'n:
Like a beuk he can argue, the Auld Beggar Man.
The bairnies crowd round him his stories to hear,
While maistly the wee things are swarfin' wi' fear;
An' he tells them how witches wi' Auld Clootie ban,
Till they creep to the knee o' the Auld Beggar Man.
While maistly the wee things are swarfin' wi' fear;
An' he tells them how witches wi' Auld Clootie ban,
Till they creep to the knee o' the Auld Beggar Man.
“He's ane o' our ain folk,” the lasses aye say,
When their wooers drap in at the close o' the day;
Sae he hears them mak' up ilka lovin' bit plan,—
He's an auld-farrant bodie, the Auld Beggar Man.
When their wooers drap in at the close o' the day;
Sae he hears them mak' up ilka lovin' bit plan,—
He's an auld-farrant bodie, the Auld Beggar Man.
When the supper is done, an' the grace has been said,
'Mang the strae in the barn is the auld bodie's bed;
There he sleeps like a tap till the brak' o' the dawn,—
He's hale at the heart yet, the Auld Beggar Man.
'Mang the strae in the barn is the auld bodie's bed;
There he sleeps like a tap till the brak' o' the dawn,—
He's hale at the heart yet, the Auld Beggar Man.
Wi' his staff in his hand, and his pock on his back,
He stoiters through life on a rough staney track;
His days whiles are dowie, but sin' they began
He has trusted in Heaven, the Auld Beggar Man.
He stoiters through life on a rough staney track;
His days whiles are dowie, but sin' they began
He has trusted in Heaven, the Auld Beggar Man.
80
YE WINNA LET ME BE.
Thae een o' yours are bonnie blue,
An' O! they sparkle sae
That I maun look, an' I maun love,
Until my heart grow wae.
They jewels seem o' meikle price,
Aneath the dark e'ebree;
Ilk glance frae them gangs through my heart,—
O! they winna let me be.
An' O! they sparkle sae
That I maun look, an' I maun love,
Until my heart grow wae.
They jewels seem o' meikle price,
Aneath the dark e'ebree;
Ilk glance frae them gangs through my heart,—
O! they winna let me be.
Thae lips o' yours are cherries twa;
But floutin' words they speak;
An' ahint the door o' cauld disdain
My heart I canna' steek.
Your bonnie een an' your jeerin' words
Are ever grievin' me:
Ye cuttie quean! it 's an awfu' thing
That ye winna let me be.
But floutin' words they speak;
An' ahint the door o' cauld disdain
My heart I canna' steek.
Your bonnie een an' your jeerin' words
Are ever grievin' me:
Ye cuttie quean! it 's an awfu' thing
That ye winna let me be.
Whene'er I sleep I dream o' thee,
An' o' thy bonnie face;
I think nae then o' your scornfu' ways,
Ye little scant-o'-grace!
To break a truthfu' heart like mine
Is the height o' crueltie;
Ye've gi'en it monie a fearfu' stound,
For ye winna let me be.
An' o' thy bonnie face;
I think nae then o' your scornfu' ways,
Ye little scant-o'-grace!
To break a truthfu' heart like mine
Is the height o' crueltie;
Ye've gi'en it monie a fearfu' stound,
For ye winna let me be.
81
But I ha'e gotten a wylie plan
To haud ye out o' ill:
The holy priest—ye needna laugh;
Your mirth I wat he'll spill:
He'll say the fearsome words, that ane
Will make o' you an' me;
An' then you'll plague your bonnie sel'
If ye winna let me be!
To haud ye out o' ill:
The holy priest—ye needna laugh;
Your mirth I wat he'll spill:
He'll say the fearsome words, that ane
Will make o' you an' me;
An' then you'll plague your bonnie sel'
If ye winna let me be!
THE BANKS OF TAY.
The ship is on its seaward path,
An' frae the shore the breezes blaw:
Now Scotland's cliffs sae dear to me
Aneath the wavin' waters fa'.
My hame is growin' far awa'—
It lies aneath yon hill-tap gray—
Yon last-seen spot o' Scotland's soil
That rises by the Banks of Tay.
An' frae the shore the breezes blaw:
Now Scotland's cliffs sae dear to me
Aneath the wavin' waters fa'.
My hame is growin' far awa'—
It lies aneath yon hill-tap gray—
Yon last-seen spot o' Scotland's soil
That rises by the Banks of Tay.
Fareweel, ye mossy fountains wild!
Where yon fair stream doth softly rin:
To ilka wildwood-shaded pool
To ilka tumblin' roarin' linn—
To ilka burnie that doth win
Through heathery muirs its silent way—
I bid fareweel; for now my hame
Is biggit far frae bonnie Tay.
Where yon fair stream doth softly rin:
To ilka wildwood-shaded pool
To ilka tumblin' roarin' linn—
To ilka burnie that doth win
Through heathery muirs its silent way—
I bid fareweel; for now my hame
Is biggit far frae bonnie Tay.
82
Fareweel, ye hames o' pure delight,
That I ha'e lo'ed sae weel and lang!
Ye simmer birdies! ye maun sing
To others now your cheering sang!
Fareweel, ye holms, where lovers gang
Upon the peacefu' Sabbath-day:
In youth I lov'd—in age I'll mind
The green an' bonnie Banks of Tay.
That I ha'e lo'ed sae weel and lang!
Ye simmer birdies! ye maun sing
To others now your cheering sang!
Fareweel, ye holms, where lovers gang
Upon the peacefu' Sabbath-day:
In youth I lov'd—in age I'll mind
The green an' bonnie Banks of Tay.
Be blessin's on ilk cot an' ha'
That by thy braes o' hazel rise;
Be a' thing bonnie where thou rins,
An' a' thing happy 'neath thy skies.
Though far frae thee my boatie flies,
The friends I love beside thee stray:
My heart fu' dead an' cauld will be
Ere I forget the Banks of Tay.
That by thy braes o' hazel rise;
Be a' thing bonnie where thou rins,
An' a' thing happy 'neath thy skies.
Though far frae thee my boatie flies,
The friends I love beside thee stray:
My heart fu' dead an' cauld will be
Ere I forget the Banks of Tay.
The streams are wide where I am gaun,
An' on they row through boundless woods;
But dearer is thy Hieland wave
Than yonder wild and foreign floods.
Thy haughs sae green—the simmer clouds
That o'er thy shelter'd hamlets stray—
I'll mind for Love an' Friendship's sake:
Fareweel, ye bonnie Banks of Tay.
An' on they row through boundless woods;
But dearer is thy Hieland wave
Than yonder wild and foreign floods.
Thy haughs sae green—the simmer clouds
That o'er thy shelter'd hamlets stray—
I'll mind for Love an' Friendship's sake:
Fareweel, ye bonnie Banks of Tay.
83
THE LASS OF TURRIT HA'.
Amang the hills, the rocky hills,
Where whirrs the moorcock, waves the heather,
Ae bonnie morn, in lightsome June,
I wi' a lassie did forgather.
Her naked feet, amang the grass,
Seem'd dancin' snaw-white lambies twa,
As she gaed singin' through the glen—
The bonnie lass of Turrit Ha'!
Where whirrs the moorcock, waves the heather,
Ae bonnie morn, in lightsome June,
I wi' a lassie did forgather.
Her naked feet, amang the grass,
Seem'd dancin' snaw-white lambies twa,
As she gaed singin' through the glen—
The bonnie lass of Turrit Ha'!
I stood upon an auld gray stane,
An' follow'd her wi' straining e'e,
As bairnies look on fallin' starns
That o'er the lift glint silentlie.
Her sang, her bonnie mornin' sang,
Upon my heart did thrilling fa';
A thing of light and love was she,
The bonnie lass of Turrit Ha'!
An' follow'd her wi' straining e'e,
As bairnies look on fallin' starns
That o'er the lift glint silentlie.
Her sang, her bonnie mornin' sang,
Upon my heart did thrilling fa';
A thing of light and love was she,
The bonnie lass of Turrit Ha'!
I met her on the Sabbath-day,
When winds amang the woods were lown—
When o'er the muirs o' gorse an' broom
Came sweet the plaintive chanted tune.
And monie a bonnie quean was there;
But she was fairest o' them a'—
The bonniest tree within the wood—
The bonnie lass of Turrit Ha'!
When winds amang the woods were lown—
When o'er the muirs o' gorse an' broom
Came sweet the plaintive chanted tune.
And monie a bonnie quean was there;
But she was fairest o' them a'—
The bonniest tree within the wood—
The bonnie lass of Turrit Ha'!
84
An' when they sang the holy Psalm,
Her voice was sweetest, dearest there—
'Mang a' that gaed to God aboon,
Hers was the purest holy prayer!
I thought the light o' day was gane
When she ayont the kirkyard wa',
By yon burn-brae gaed wanderin hame—
The bonnie lass of Turrit Ha'!
Her voice was sweetest, dearest there—
'Mang a' that gaed to God aboon,
Hers was the purest holy prayer!
I thought the light o' day was gane
When she ayont the kirkyard wa',
By yon burn-brae gaed wanderin hame—
The bonnie lass of Turrit Ha'!
A' things in earth an' Heaven aboon
Ha'e something worthy to be loved;
But mair than a' I met afore,
That lassie's smile my bosom moved.
The birdie lo'es the summer bush,
The maukin' lo'es the greenwood-shaw;
But nane can tell how weel I lo'ed
The bonnie lass of Turrit Ha'!
Ha'e something worthy to be loved;
But mair than a' I met afore,
That lassie's smile my bosom moved.
The birdie lo'es the summer bush,
The maukin' lo'es the greenwood-shaw;
But nane can tell how weel I lo'ed
The bonnie lass of Turrit Ha'!
The summer bud o' Turrit Glen,
Alas! aneath the mools is laid;
The winds that waved her raven hair
Are cauldly whistlin' o'er her bed,
But, while yon silent moon doth shine—
Sae lang as I ha'e breath to draw—
I'll mind the gem o' youth an' love—
The bonnie lass of Turrit Ha'!
Alas! aneath the mools is laid;
The winds that waved her raven hair
Are cauldly whistlin' o'er her bed,
But, while yon silent moon doth shine—
Sae lang as I ha'e breath to draw—
I'll mind the gem o' youth an' love—
The bonnie lass of Turrit Ha'!
85
MARY HAMILTON.
As dreamin' in yon wood I lay,
A spirit came before me there,—
Immortal seem'd its holy form,
Frae Heaven sent, it was sae fair.
Its peacefu' presence seem'd to bring
Deep joy upon yon forest lone:
But aye I sigh'd, though fair eneuch,
Your no like Mary Hamilton!
A spirit came before me there,—
Immortal seem'd its holy form,
Frae Heaven sent, it was sae fair.
Its peacefu' presence seem'd to bring
Deep joy upon yon forest lone:
But aye I sigh'd, though fair eneuch,
Your no like Mary Hamilton!
Her heart by Gudeness' self was made—
Her laugh is like an angel's voice—
Her sang o' sweetness lightsomely
Gars Nature in her joy rejoice!
Her een are starns o' living love,
Whilk hallow a' they glint upon,—
The wale o' precious womankind
Is bonnie Mary Hamilton!
Her laugh is like an angel's voice—
Her sang o' sweetness lightsomely
Gars Nature in her joy rejoice!
Her een are starns o' living love,
Whilk hallow a' they glint upon,—
The wale o' precious womankind
Is bonnie Mary Hamilton!
When Life's rude storms are ragin' hie—
An' Poverty sits by my door—
When Wae is twinin' at my heart—
An' Envy counts my failin's o'er—
I'm sad eneuch; but in a blink
My grainin' sorrow a' is gone,
If ae kind glint on me fa' frae
The e'e o' Mary Hamilton.
An' Poverty sits by my door—
When Wae is twinin' at my heart—
An' Envy counts my failin's o'er—
I'm sad eneuch; but in a blink
My grainin' sorrow a' is gone,
If ae kind glint on me fa' frae
The e'e o' Mary Hamilton.
86
'Mong lowly folk her hame is made;—
A puir man's bairn I wat is she;
But Love sits in her smeeky hame,
An' kindly, kindly smiles to me.
Like some sweet rose 'mang heather brown,
Upon a barren mountain-throne,
Is she within her father's ha'—
My bonnie Mary Hamilton!
A puir man's bairn I wat is she;
But Love sits in her smeeky hame,
An' kindly, kindly smiles to me.
Like some sweet rose 'mang heather brown,
Upon a barren mountain-throne,
Is she within her father's ha'—
My bonnie Mary Hamilton!
Let a' wha think, if sic there be,
That Love an' Innocence are dreams—
That woman's heart is fause an' frail—
That purest Gudeness aft but seems—
That Maids are witches—we the fools
They cast their cheatrie glamour on—
Gae, look on her an' syne confess
There's truth in Mary Hamilton!
That Love an' Innocence are dreams—
That woman's heart is fause an' frail—
That purest Gudeness aft but seems—
That Maids are witches—we the fools
They cast their cheatrie glamour on—
Gae, look on her an' syne confess
There's truth in Mary Hamilton!
I wish upo' that bosky glen
The tearfu' e'enin' dew were come;
I wish yon sun were o'er the hill—
That gushin' burnie's waters dim;
I wish the wanderin' e'enin' wind
Were whistlin' round the breckens lone—
That I might live anither hour
O' love wi' Mary Hamilton.
The tearfu' e'enin' dew were come;
I wish yon sun were o'er the hill—
That gushin' burnie's waters dim;
I wish the wanderin' e'enin' wind
Were whistlin' round the breckens lone—
That I might live anither hour
O' love wi' Mary Hamilton.
87
JANET.
I'll mak' a fire upo' the knowe,
An' blaw it till it bleeze an' lowe;
Syne in 't I'll ha'e ye brunt, I trow—
Ye ha'e bewitch'd me, Janet!
An' blaw it till it bleeze an' lowe;
Syne in 't I'll ha'e ye brunt, I trow—
Ye ha'e bewitch'd me, Janet!
Your een in ilka starn I see—
The hale night lang I dream o' thee—
The bonnie lintie on the lea,
I liken to you, Janet!
The hale night lang I dream o' thee—
The bonnie lintie on the lea,
I liken to you, Janet!
When leaves are green, an' fresh an' fair—
When blithe an' sunny is the air—
I stroke my beard, and say they're rare;
But naething like you, Janet!
When blithe an' sunny is the air—
I stroke my beard, and say they're rare;
But naething like you, Janet!
'Twas but yestreen, as I gaed hame,
The Minister said, “What is your name?”
My answer—'deed I may think shame—
Was, “Sir, my name is Janet!”
The Minister said, “What is your name?”
My answer—'deed I may think shame—
Was, “Sir, my name is Janet!”
Last Sabbath, as I sang the Psalm,
I fell into an unco dwaum,
An' naething frae my lips e'er cam'
But “Janet! Janet! Janet!”
I fell into an unco dwaum,
An' naething frae my lips e'er cam'
But “Janet! Janet! Janet!”
I've fought, I've danced, an' drucken too;
But nane o' thae are like to do;
Sae I maun come an' speer at you,
“What ails me, think ye, Janet?”
But nane o' thae are like to do;
88
“What ails me, think ye, Janet?”
I'll soon be either dead or daft,
Sic drams o' love frae you I've quaff'd;
Sae lay aside your woman-craft—
Ha'e mercy on me, Janet!
Sic drams o' love frae you I've quaff'd;
Sae lay aside your woman-craft—
Ha'e mercy on me, Janet!
An' if ye winna, there's my loof,
I'll gar the Provost lead a proof,
An' pit ye 'neath the Tollbooth roof:
Syne what will ye do, Janet?
I'll gar the Provost lead a proof,
An' pit ye 'neath the Tollbooth roof:
Syne what will ye do, Janet?
I'll make a fire upo' the knowe,
An' blaw it till it bleeze an' lowe;
Syne in 't I'll ha'e ye brunt, I trow—
Ye ha'e bewitch'd me, Janet!
An' blaw it till it bleeze an' lowe;
Syne in 't I'll ha'e ye brunt, I trow—
Ye ha'e bewitch'd me, Janet!
THE FALSE ONE.
They told me thou hadst faithless grown—
That gowd had wiled thy love frae me;
But my fond heart was constant still,
An' thought that false ye could na be;
It thought that Truth and Constancy
Within thy bosom dwellers were—
My Love nae ill of thee could think:
And art thou then sae fause an' fair?
That gowd had wiled thy love frae me;
But my fond heart was constant still,
An' thought that false ye could na be;
It thought that Truth and Constancy
Within thy bosom dwellers were—
My Love nae ill of thee could think:
And art thou then sae fause an' fair?
89
My weary feet ha'e wander'd far,
That I might gaze upon thy brow—
That I might sit wi' thee again
Where mountain-burnies onward row.
An' hath it come to this? But now
Ye pass'd me wi' a heedless air:
An' can it be that I ha'e lo'ed
A thing sae very fause an' fair?
That I might gaze upon thy brow—
That I might sit wi' thee again
Where mountain-burnies onward row.
An' hath it come to this? But now
Ye pass'd me wi' a heedless air:
An' can it be that I ha'e lo'ed
A thing sae very fause an' fair?
An' hast thou then forgot the time
When bairnies, we thegither ran
Upon the wild blae-berrie braes,
Where Summer's breath the birks did fan?—
Hast thou forgot the lilies wan,
Wi' which I aften deck'd your hair?—
An' how I watch'd your infant sleep?—
And art thou then sae fause an' fair?
When bairnies, we thegither ran
Upon the wild blae-berrie braes,
Where Summer's breath the birks did fan?—
Hast thou forgot the lilies wan,
Wi' which I aften deck'd your hair?—
An' how I watch'd your infant sleep?—
And art thou then sae fause an' fair?
Your plighted vows are broken a'—
The maiden-vows ye gave to me;
Ye ha'e forgot the hazel glen—
Ye ha'e forgot the trystin' tree—
Where, under Heaven's open e'e,
Ye listen'd to my young heart's prayer.
How could ye, lass, beguile me sae?
How could ye prove sae fause an' fair?
The maiden-vows ye gave to me;
Ye ha'e forgot the hazel glen—
Ye ha'e forgot the trystin' tree—
Where, under Heaven's open e'e,
Ye listen'd to my young heart's prayer.
How could ye, lass, beguile me sae?
How could ye prove sae fause an' fair?
I see thee cast thy sun-like smiles
O'er yon fond heart that doats on thine:—
May Joy aye dwell wi' him an' thee,
Though, lassie, thou hast broken mine.
Yet, ere thy love I a' resign—
The sight o' thee for evermair—
Wi' tearfu' e'e I speer if ane
Can live sae very fause an' fair?
O'er yon fond heart that doats on thine:—
May Joy aye dwell wi' him an' thee,
Though, lassie, thou hast broken mine.
90
The sight o' thee for evermair—
Wi' tearfu' e'e I speer if ane
Can live sae very fause an' fair?
SUMMER WOOING.
The green broom was bloomin',—
The daisy was seen
Peerin' up to the sky
Frae the flower-spangled green,—
The burnie was loupin'
By bank an' by brae,
While alang by its margin
A lassie did gae.
She heard the wee birdies
Sing hie in the cluds,
An' the downy wing'd breezes
Creep through the green wuds;
An' she saw the bright e'enin' sun
Lighting the whole:—
There was joy in the lassie's face—
Peace in her soul!
The daisy was seen
Peerin' up to the sky
Frae the flower-spangled green,—
The burnie was loupin'
By bank an' by brae,
While alang by its margin
A lassie did gae.
She heard the wee birdies
Sing hie in the cluds,
An' the downy wing'd breezes
Creep through the green wuds;
An' she saw the bright e'enin' sun
Lighting the whole:—
There was joy in the lassie's face—
Peace in her soul!
She sat in the shade
Of a sweet-scented briar,
An' the sounds of the wild wood
Came saft on her ear;
While the flushes o' feelin'
Swept o'er her sweet face,
As the clouds o'er the moon
One another do chase.
In the peace of the twilight
Her soul did repose—
Where green leaves were wavin'
Her eyelids did close,
She lay in that bower
In her innocent sleep,
And spirits around her
Their vigils did keep.
Of a sweet-scented briar,
An' the sounds of the wild wood
Came saft on her ear;
91
Swept o'er her sweet face,
As the clouds o'er the moon
One another do chase.
In the peace of the twilight
Her soul did repose—
Where green leaves were wavin'
Her eyelids did close,
She lay in that bower
In her innocent sleep,
And spirits around her
Their vigils did keep.
The butterfly breathed
On her cheek for a flower,
As a pure maiden blush
Spoke the dream o' the hour.
While the lassie was sleepin'
A bauld youth came by,—
There was life in his footstep
An' love in his eye.
He stood by the maiden
Who lay in her dream,
An' heard her in slumber
Laigh murmur his name.
An idol she seem'd
Sae heavenly fair,
An' he an idolater
Worshippin' there.
He kiss'd her sweet lips,
An' her warm cheek he press'd;
An' the lassie awoke
On her leal lover's breast!
On her cheek for a flower,
As a pure maiden blush
Spoke the dream o' the hour.
While the lassie was sleepin'
A bauld youth came by,—
There was life in his footstep
An' love in his eye.
He stood by the maiden
Who lay in her dream,
An' heard her in slumber
Laigh murmur his name.
An idol she seem'd
Sae heavenly fair,
An' he an idolater
Worshippin' there.
92
An' her warm cheek he press'd;
An' the lassie awoke
On her leal lover's breast!
The e'enin was fa'in'
On mountain an' fell,
The rush o' the stream
Through the darkness did swell;
But the maid an' her true love
Ne'er heeded the hour,
As they sat in their bliss
In that green briar bower.
He tauld a' his love,
While her tears fell like rain,—
Their joy was sae joyfu'
It maistly was pain.
They hamewith return'd
Through the simmer mist gray,
An' twa hearts were happy
For ever and aye!
On mountain an' fell,
The rush o' the stream
Through the darkness did swell;
But the maid an' her true love
Ne'er heeded the hour,
As they sat in their bliss
In that green briar bower.
He tauld a' his love,
While her tears fell like rain,—
Their joy was sae joyfu'
It maistly was pain.
They hamewith return'd
Through the simmer mist gray,
An' twa hearts were happy
For ever and aye!
THE PRISONER'S SONG.
Were I a little simmer bird,
Awa', on twitterin' wing,
I far wad flee, 'mang wild-woods green,
An' blithely I would sing;
An' I wad sit by ilka flower,
An' taste ilk drap o' dew—
A' wad be mine where light hath shone,—
Green glens and waters blue.
Awa', on twitterin' wing,
I far wad flee, 'mang wild-woods green,
An' blithely I would sing;
93
An' taste ilk drap o' dew—
A' wad be mine where light hath shone,—
Green glens and waters blue.
O! I wad flit o'er heather'd hills,
An' sit by mountain streams—
O! I wad be where nightly yet
I wander in my dreams—
Pu'ing the bonnie mountain-flowers,
An' listening to the sang
O' mountain-birds,—the mossy rocks
An' hoary crags amang.
An' sit by mountain streams—
O! I wad be where nightly yet
I wander in my dreams—
Pu'ing the bonnie mountain-flowers,
An' listening to the sang
O' mountain-birds,—the mossy rocks
An' hoary crags amang.
The birds may sit where'er they list,
Where'er they list may flee;
They are na barr'd, as I am now,
Wi' wa's baith thick and hie.
My heart is dead wi' weariness,—
Here breezes never blaw;
An' tears, like those within my e'en,
Are a' the dews that fa'.
Where'er they list may flee;
They are na barr'd, as I am now,
Wi' wa's baith thick and hie.
My heart is dead wi' weariness,—
Here breezes never blaw;
An' tears, like those within my e'en,
Are a' the dews that fa'.
The simmer e'enin's settin' sun
Into my dungeon throws
Ae single ray,—a holy flower
That, 'mid the darkness, grows:
A joyfu' tale it tells to me
O' freedom's happiness;
And, though the joy I cannot taste,
I love it not the less.
Into my dungeon throws
Ae single ray,—a holy flower
That, 'mid the darkness, grows:
A joyfu' tale it tells to me
O' freedom's happiness;
And, though the joy I cannot taste,
I love it not the less.
94
It tells me o' a gowany glen
Afar, where it hath been—
A deep, wild dell, amang the hills,
A' spread wi' breckens green:—
O' singin' birds an' simmer suns,
An' winds, fu' gently swellin';—
O' bonnie burns—fair Freedom's type—
To me that ray is tellin'.
Afar, where it hath been—
A deep, wild dell, amang the hills,
A' spread wi' breckens green:—
O' singin' birds an' simmer suns,
An' winds, fu' gently swellin';—
O' bonnie burns—fair Freedom's type—
To me that ray is tellin'.
It whispers what the free enjoy
On mountain and in glen,—
Things holy, fresh, and beautiful,
That I maun never ken.—
O! stay a while, thou simmer ray,
Nor leave me thus alane;—
O! dim, an' dimmer, now it grows;
An' now—the light is gane!
On mountain and in glen,—
Things holy, fresh, and beautiful,
That I maun never ken.—
O! stay a while, thou simmer ray,
Nor leave me thus alane;—
O! dim, an' dimmer, now it grows;
An' now—the light is gane!
WE ARE BRETHREN A'.
A happy bit hame this auld world would be,
If men, when they're here, could make shift to agree,
An' ilk said to his neighbour, in cottage an' ha',
“Come, gi'e me your hand—we are brethren a'.”
If men, when they're here, could make shift to agree,
An' ilk said to his neighbour, in cottage an' ha',
“Come, gi'e me your hand—we are brethren a'.”
I ken na why ane wi' anither should fight,
When to 'gree would make a' body cosie an' right,
When man meets wi' man, 'tis the best way ava,
To say, “Gi'e me your hand—we are brethren a'.”
When to 'gree would make a' body cosie an' right,
95
To say, “Gi'e me your hand—we are brethren a'.”
My coat is a coarse ane, an' yours may be fine,
And I maun drink water while you may drink wine;
But we baith ha'e a leal heart, unspotted to shaw:
Sae gi'e me your hand—we are brethren a'.
And I maun drink water while you may drink wine;
But we baith ha'e a leal heart, unspotted to shaw:
Sae gi'e me your hand—we are brethren a'.
The knave ye would scorn, the unfaithfu' deride;
Ye would stand like a rock, wi' the truth on your side;
Sae would I, an' nought else would I value a straw;
Then gi'e me your hand—we are brethren a'.
Ye would stand like a rock, wi' the truth on your side;
Sae would I, an' nought else would I value a straw;
Then gi'e me your hand—we are brethren a'.
Ye would scorn to do fausely by woman or man;
I haud by the right aye, as weel as I can;
We are ane in our joys, our affections, an' a';
Come, gi'e me your hand—we are brethren a'.
I haud by the right aye, as weel as I can;
We are ane in our joys, our affections, an' a';
Come, gi'e me your hand—we are brethren a'.
Your mither has lo'ed you as mithers can lo'e;
An' mine has done for me what mithers can do;
We are ane hie an' laigh, an' we should na be twa:
Sae gi'e me your hand—we are brethren a'.
An' mine has done for me what mithers can do;
We are ane hie an' laigh, an' we should na be twa:
Sae gi'e me your hand—we are brethren a'.
We love the same simmer day, sunny and fair;
Hame! Oh, how we love it, an' a' that are there!
Frae the pure air o' Heaven the same life we draw—
Come, gi'e me your hand—we are brethren a'.
Hame! Oh, how we love it, an' a' that are there!
Frae the pure air o' Heaven the same life we draw—
Come, gi'e me your hand—we are brethren a'.
Frail, shakin' Auld Age, will soon come o'er us baith,
An' creepin' alang at his back will be Death;
Syne into the same mither-yird we will fa':
Come, gi'e me your hand—we are brethren a'.
An' creepin' alang at his back will be Death;
96
Come, gi'e me your hand—we are brethren a'.
STEADFASTNESS.
Folk sillerless may ca' us,—
We ha'e unco little gear;
Our wealth is gatherin' gey an' slow,—
'Twill ne'er be great, I fear.
But, though our lot be laigh eneuch,
An' though our life be wae,
We never yet ha'e fail'd a friend
And never fear'd a fae!
We ha'e unco little gear;
Our wealth is gatherin' gey an' slow,—
'Twill ne'er be great, I fear.
But, though our lot be laigh eneuch,
An' though our life be wae,
We never yet ha'e fail'd a friend
And never fear'd a fae!
Although our parritch-cap be sma',
To him who needs it yet
We'll spare a sup, an' wi' the lave
A blessin' we will get.
We 've fendit aye in days gane by—
We'll fend through monie mae—
An' never fail a trustin' friend
An' never fear a fae!
To him who needs it yet
We'll spare a sup, an' wi' the lave
A blessin' we will get.
We 've fendit aye in days gane by—
We'll fend through monie mae—
An' never fail a trustin' friend
An' never fear a fae!
Though some folk think that a' thing gude
In palaces doth dwell—
An' though the poor, to tempt an' vex,
Ha'e mair than I may tell;
There's ae thing yet—there's twa things yet—
To brag o' that we ha'e—
We never, never fail'd a friend,
An' never fear'd a fae!
In palaces doth dwell—
An' though the poor, to tempt an' vex,
Ha'e mair than I may tell;
97
To brag o' that we ha'e—
We never, never fail'd a friend,
An' never fear'd a fae!
Folk shou'dna mind the ragged coat,
Nor yet the horny han',—
'Tis by the heart his breast doth hap
That they should judge the man.
Ye ken there are in cottages,
Where poor folk plackless gae,
True hearts that never fail'd a friend,
An' never fear'd a fae!
Nor yet the horny han',—
'Tis by the heart his breast doth hap
That they should judge the man.
Ye ken there are in cottages,
Where poor folk plackless gae,
True hearts that never fail'd a friend,
An' never fear'd a fae!
THE HONEST AND TRUE.
Your soldier is bloody, your statesman a knave;
Frae the true heart nae honour they ever shall have:
Their glitter an' fauseness may gar our hearts grue;
But honour to him wha is honest and true!
Frae the true heart nae honour they ever shall have:
Their glitter an' fauseness may gar our hearts grue;
But honour to him wha is honest and true!
Will we bow to the coof wha has naething but gear?
Or the fool whom a college has fitted wi' lear?
Na, troth! we'll gi'e honour where honour is due—
To the Man wha has ever been honest and true!
Or the fool whom a college has fitted wi' lear?
Na, troth! we'll gi'e honour where honour is due—
To the Man wha has ever been honest and true!
98
We'll ne'er speer if he come frae France, Holland, or Spain,
Ere we pledge manly friendship wi' him to maintain—
Be he Mussulman, Christian, Pagan, or Jew,
'Tis a' ane to us if he's honest and true!
Ere we pledge manly friendship wi' him to maintain—
Be he Mussulman, Christian, Pagan, or Jew,
'Tis a' ane to us if he's honest and true!
His skin may be black, or his skin may be white,—
We carena a fig, if his bosom be right:
Though his claes be in rags, an' the wind blawin' through,
We'll honour the man wha is honest and true!
We carena a fig, if his bosom be right:
Though his claes be in rags, an' the wind blawin' through,
We'll honour the man wha is honest and true!
While the sun's in the heavens, the stars in the sky,—
Till the earth be a sea, till the ocean run dry,—
We'll honour but him to whom honour is due,
The Man wha has ever been honest and true!
Till the earth be a sea, till the ocean run dry,—
We'll honour but him to whom honour is due,
The Man wha has ever been honest and true!
THE WARLD'S FU' O' SKAITH AND TOIL.
The warld's fu' o' skaith and toil—
Its gruesome face doth seldom smile;
But what care I how sad it be?
Its sadness shall never danton me!
Its gruesome face doth seldom smile;
But what care I how sad it be?
Its sadness shall never danton me!
An' men are fause an' women frail—
An' Friendship aft at need doth fail;
But, though the warst o't I may see,
Their fauseness shall never danton me!
An' Friendship aft at need doth fail;
But, though the warst o't I may see,
Their fauseness shall never danton me!
99
Life's dearest lights may fade awa',
An' dour misfortunes down may fa';
But I will keep a spirit hie,—
The warst o't shall never danton me!
An' dour misfortunes down may fa';
But I will keep a spirit hie,—
The warst o't shall never danton me!
O! let me ha'e a leal true heart—
Let honour never frae me part;
And, though in want, sae cauld, I dee,
Even that shall never danton me!
Let honour never frae me part;
And, though in want, sae cauld, I dee,
Even that shall never danton me!
THE SHEPHERDESS.
To yon deep mountain glen my wee lambkins I'll ca',
Where o'er the brown heather the saftest winds blaw;
And there, 'mang the broom bushes, blithely I'll sing,
Till the crags on the hill-taps fu' cheerily ring!
Where o'er the brown heather the saftest winds blaw;
And there, 'mang the broom bushes, blithely I'll sing,
Till the crags on the hill-taps fu' cheerily ring!
And then when I've herded till fair eventide,
I'll see a bit doggie come down the hill-side;
And soon 'neath the broom, where naebody can see,
My dearie will share his gray plaidie wi' me!
I'll see a bit doggie come down the hill-side;
And soon 'neath the broom, where naebody can see,
My dearie will share his gray plaidie wi' me!
He'll ca' me his dear, and he'll ca' me his pet—
He'll seek but ae kiss,—and he twa-three will get:
How can I refuse them?—my heart is sae fain
When he dauts me and ca's me his dearest—his ain!
He'll seek but ae kiss,—and he twa-three will get:
How can I refuse them?—my heart is sae fain
When he dauts me and ca's me his dearest—his ain!
100
Wi' sour, unco looks, I awhile may him tease,
And tell him that true love and falsehood are faes;
And syne, to repay him, a kiss I will gi'e,
And a press o' the hand, and a glance o' the e'e!
And tell him that true love and falsehood are faes;
And syne, to repay him, a kiss I will gi'e,
And a press o' the hand, and a glance o' the e'e!
Rin down the glen, burnie—rin saftly alang—
Adown the glen, burnie, wi' you I'll no gang;
At gloaming I'll meet him, and cannily he
Will guide to the fauld my wee lammies and me.
Adown the glen, burnie, wi' you I'll no gang;
At gloaming I'll meet him, and cannily he
Will guide to the fauld my wee lammies and me.
BE STILL, BE STILL, THOU BEATING HEART.
A SONG.
Be still, be still, thou beating heart,—
Oh cease, ye tears, that fill my e'e:
In warldly joys I ha'e nae part—
Nae blithesome morning dawns for me.
I once was glad as summer winds,
When fondling 'mang the grass sae green;
But pleasure now hath left my breast—
I am na like what I ha'e been.
Oh cease, ye tears, that fill my e'e:
In warldly joys I ha'e nae part—
Nae blithesome morning dawns for me.
I once was glad as summer winds,
When fondling 'mang the grass sae green;
But pleasure now hath left my breast—
I am na like what I ha'e been.
I once was loved,—I loved again
The spreest lad in a' our glen;
I kent na then o' care or pain,
Or burning brow, or tortured brain.
I braided, then, my flowing hair,
And had o' love and peace my fill;
Deep, deep I drank—but a' has gane—
Oh, cease thy beating: Heart, be still.
The spreest lad in a' our glen;
I kent na then o' care or pain,
Or burning brow, or tortured brain.
101
And had o' love and peace my fill;
Deep, deep I drank—but a' has gane—
Oh, cease thy beating: Heart, be still.
Why should two hearts, together twined,
Be sever'd by stern Fate's decree?
Why doth the brightest star of mind
Oft turn its darkest cloud to be?
My Jamie left his native glen,
My silken purse wi' gowd to fill;
But oh, he ne'er came back again—
Oh, cease thy beating: Heart, be still.
Be sever'd by stern Fate's decree?
Why doth the brightest star of mind
Oft turn its darkest cloud to be?
My Jamie left his native glen,
My silken purse wi' gowd to fill;
But oh, he ne'er came back again—
Oh, cease thy beating: Heart, be still.
Why should I longer watch and weep?
Hame, hame to yonder glen I'll gae;
There in my bridal bed I'll sleep,
Made i' th' kirkyard cauld and blae.
I'll soon, soon wi' my Jamie meet,
Where sorrow has nae power to kill;
Earth's woes are past—and my poor heart
Will soon have peace—will soon be still.
Hame, hame to yonder glen I'll gae;
There in my bridal bed I'll sleep,
Made i' th' kirkyard cauld and blae.
I'll soon, soon wi' my Jamie meet,
Where sorrow has nae power to kill;
Earth's woes are past—and my poor heart
Will soon have peace—will soon be still.
102
TO THE LADY OF MY HEART.
I dream'd I had a diamond mine
Ayont yon billowy sea,
An' a' thing rich an' a' thing rare
Was brought to pleasure me.
Earth's fairest things were at my gate
An' standing in my ha';
But forth I came in that proud hour
An' chose thee 'mang them a'.
Ayont yon billowy sea,
An' a' thing rich an' a' thing rare
Was brought to pleasure me.
Earth's fairest things were at my gate
An' standing in my ha';
But forth I came in that proud hour
An' chose thee 'mang them a'.
I dream'd I was a powerful king,
Wi' servants at command,—
Ae word wad brought unto my knee
The brightest in the land;
But ne'er on palaced halls I look'd—
I hied me to the lea,
An', mair than crowns, a loving heart
I blithely gave to thee.
Wi' servants at command,—
Ae word wad brought unto my knee
The brightest in the land;
But ne'er on palaced halls I look'd—
I hied me to the lea,
An', mair than crowns, a loving heart
I blithely gave to thee.
I woke, and was, what I am now,
A man o' laigh degree,—
Nae wealth ha'e I—nae silken pomp—
Nae gather'd gowd to gi'e:
But I ha'e something yet to boast,
Ne'er bought wi' warld's gear,—
A heart that never fail'd a friend,—
An' what wad ye ha'e mair?
A man o' laigh degree,—
Nae wealth ha'e I—nae silken pomp—
Nae gather'd gowd to gi'e:
But I ha'e something yet to boast,
Ne'er bought wi' warld's gear,—
A heart that never fail'd a friend,—
An' what wad ye ha'e mair?
103
A CASTLE IN THE AIR.
Come, sit amang the daisies,
Beside the violets blue,
A dream I have to tell you—
An' O! if it were true!
For 'tis o' love an' happiness,
An' ither fireside things:
The scenes o' Scotland's cottage hames
That dream before me brings.
Beside the violets blue,
A dream I have to tell you—
An' O! if it were true!
For 'tis o' love an' happiness,
An' ither fireside things:
The scenes o' Scotland's cottage hames
That dream before me brings.
I thought that baith thegither
We gaed across the sea,
An' deep into the forest land
O' yon far countrie;
Syne we chose a very pleasant spot
Beside a woodland lake,
An' there a lowly forest hame,
Of tall trees, we did make.
We gaed across the sea,
An' deep into the forest land
O' yon far countrie;
Syne we chose a very pleasant spot
Beside a woodland lake,
An' there a lowly forest hame,
Of tall trees, we did make.
We biggit it beside a stream,
Within a forest glade,
Where the fairest o' the woodland things
Their dwelling-place had made.
It was a lowly hamestead,
An' round it, to an' fro,
A sun-nurs'd flower its clusters rich
Fu' gracefully did throw.
Within a forest glade,
Where the fairest o' the woodland things
Their dwelling-place had made.
It was a lowly hamestead,
An' round it, to an' fro,
A sun-nurs'd flower its clusters rich
Fu' gracefully did throw.
104
We rear'd our modest dwelling—
We clear'd our forest land—
An' through the bosky glens sae wild
We wander'd hand in hand.
Like a voice frae hame, the blue bird
Aye cheer'd us wi' its sang;—
We were as happy in the woods
As simmer days are lang.
We clear'd our forest land—
An' through the bosky glens sae wild
We wander'd hand in hand.
Like a voice frae hame, the blue bird
Aye cheer'd us wi' its sang;—
We were as happy in the woods
As simmer days are lang.
My dream o' peace an' happiness
Was far o'er gude to last:
The light grew dim, syne pass'd away,—
The sky grew sair o'ercast.
'Twas but a vision o' the night,
An' came but to deceive;
But, boding o' a gown o' gowd,
We'll maybe get the sleeve!
Was far o'er gude to last:
The light grew dim, syne pass'd away,—
The sky grew sair o'ercast.
'Twas but a vision o' the night,
An' came but to deceive;
But, boding o' a gown o' gowd,
We'll maybe get the sleeve!
THE LASSES.
The lasses yet! the lasses yet!
Rise up, ye louns—ye daurna sit—
Around me join ilk voice to mine—
The lasses yet! the lasses yet!
Rise up, ye louns—ye daurna sit—
Around me join ilk voice to mine—
The lasses yet! the lasses yet!
Though some may geck at womankind,
An' slight them sair to shaw their wit—
Their loving subjects leal are we—
The lasses yet! the lasses yet!
An' slight them sair to shaw their wit—
105
The lasses yet! the lasses yet!
Chorus—
The lasses yet! the lasses yet! &c.
Their kindly an' their lovesome ways
To them ilk manly heart should knit:
The flowers o' earth an' joys o' life—
The lasses yet! the lasses yet!
To them ilk manly heart should knit:
The flowers o' earth an' joys o' life—
The lasses yet! the lasses yet!
Chorus—
The lasses yet! the lasses yet! &c.
We dinna like a weary wind
That ever in ae airt doth sit:
They change, an' changes lightsome are—
The lasses yet! the lasses yet!
That ever in ae airt doth sit:
They change, an' changes lightsome are—
The lasses yet! the lasses yet!
Chorus—
The lasses yet! the lasses yet! &c.
Wha on the earth ha'e warmest hearts?
Wha welcome first the stranger fit?
Wha bless our youth an' cheer our age?—
The lasses yet! the lasses yet!
Wha welcome first the stranger fit?
Wha bless our youth an' cheer our age?—
The lasses yet! the lasses yet!
Chorus—
The lasses yet! the lasses yet! &c.
They're kindly, frae the grannie auld,
That crooning in the neuk doth sit,
To laughing gilpies herding kye—
The lasses yet! the lasses yet!
That crooning in the neuk doth sit,
To laughing gilpies herding kye—
The lasses yet! the lasses yet!
Chorus—
The lasses yet! the lasses yet! &c.
The lift is sweet in summer rain,
And when the sun its arch doth light;
And sweet are they in smiles or tears—
The lasses yet! the lasses yet!
And when the sun its arch doth light;
106
The lasses yet! the lasses yet!
Chorus—
The lasses yet! the lasses yet! &c.
Auld gabbin' gray-beards please at morn;
And rantin' chields when yill we get;
But, ance and aye, the dearies charm—
The lasses yet! the lasses yet!
And rantin' chields when yill we get;
But, ance and aye, the dearies charm—
The lasses yet! the lasses yet!
Chorus—
The lasses yet! the lasses yet! &c.
Camsterie they at times may be;
But louring clouds will quickly flit:
The warmest sun comes after shade—
The lasses yet! the lasses yet!
But louring clouds will quickly flit:
The warmest sun comes after shade—
The lasses yet! the lasses yet!
Chorus—
The lasses yet! the lasses yet! &c.
The lasses! frae the jewell'd queen
To rosy dears, in ha' and hut,—
The lasses! here and everywhere—
The lasses yet! the lasses yet!
To rosy dears, in ha' and hut,—
The lasses! here and everywhere—
The lasses yet! the lasses yet!
Chorus—
The lasses yet! the lasses yet!Rise up, ye louns—ye daurna sit—
Around me join ilk voice to mine—
The lasses yet! the lasses yet!
| Poems by Robert Nicoll | |