The poetical works of Sir Alexander Boswell ... Now first collected and edited, with memoir, by Robert Howie Smith |
 | I. | [PART I.]
SONGS
CHIEFLY IN THE
SCOTTISH DIALECT. |
 | II. |
 | The poetical works of Sir Alexander Boswell |  |
3
I. [PART I.] SONGS CHIEFLY IN THE SCOTTISH DIALECT.
Nulla venenato litera mixta joco est.
5
THE MAID OF ISLA—SONG.
HE.Ah! Mary, sweetest maid, fareweel,
My hopes are flown, for a's to wreck;
Heaven guard you, love, and heal
Your heart, though mine, alas! must break.
SHE.
Dearest lad, what ills betide?
Is Willie to his love untrue?
Pledg'd the morn to be your bride—
O ha'e ye, ha'e ye, ta'en the rue?
HE.
Ye canna wear a ragged gown,
And beggar wed wi' nought ava;
My kye are lost, my house is down—
My last sheep lies aneath the snaw.
6
Tell na me o' storm or flood,
Or sheep a' smoor'd ayont the hill;
For Willie's sake I Willie loo'd;
Though poor, ye are my Willie still.
HE.
Ye canna thole the wind and rain,
Nor wander friendless far frae hame;
Cheer—cheer your heart, some richer swain
Will soon blot out lost Willie's name.
SHE.
I'll tak my bundle i' my hand,
And wipe the dew-drop frae my e'e;
I'll wander wi' ye ow'r the land—
I'll venture wi' ye ow'r the sea.
HE.
Pardon, love, 'twas a' a snare;
My stocks are safe—we needna part;
I'd forfeit them, and ten times mair,
To clasp thee, Mary, to my heart.
SHE.
Could ye wi' my feelings sport,
Or doubt a heart sae kind and true?
I should wish mischief on ye for't,
But canna wish ought ill to you.
The air is a reel of the island of Isla, brought over by Lady Charlotte Campbell. Like many others, when played slow, it is very plaintive.
7
SONG.
[Let my lass be young, my wine be old]
Let my lass be young, my wine be old,
My cottage snug, friends never cold,
My life no tedious tale twice told,
And happy shall I be.
My cottage snug, friends never cold,
My life no tedious tale twice told,
And happy shall I be.
Tempt me not with pageant power—
Give me not the miser's hoard;
May contentment cheer my bower,
And plenty deck my board.
Give me not the miser's hoard;
May contentment cheer my bower,
And plenty deck my board.
The selfish wretch in pride may roll,
And viands cull from pole to pole;
My purse shall serve each kindred soul,
And set the hapless free.
And viands cull from pole to pole;
My purse shall serve each kindred soul,
And set the hapless free.
These, when partial Fate has given—
These, with health to taste the store,
Earth itself becomes a heaven,
And nought to wish for more.
These, with health to taste the store,
Earth itself becomes a heaven,
And nought to wish for more.
8
EAST NUIK O' FIFE—SONG.
SHE.Auld gudeman, ye're a drunken carle, drunken carle;
A' the lang day ye are winkin', drinkin', gapin', gauntin';
O' sottish loons ye're the pink and pearl, pink and pearl—
Ill-far'd, doited, ne'er-do-weel.
HE.
Hech, gudewife, ye're a flytin' body, flytin' body;
Will ye ha'e walth, troth! but gude be praised, the Wit's awantin';
The puttin' cow sou'd be aye a doddy, aye a doddy.
Mak na sic an awesome reel.
SHE.
Ye're a sow, auld man;
Ye get fou, auld man;
Fye shame, auld man,
To your wame, auld man;
Pinch'd I win, wi' spinnin' tow,
A plack to clead ye're back and pow.
9
It's a lie, gudewife,
It's ye're tea, gudewife;
Na, na, gudewife—
Ye spend a', gudewife;
Dinna fa' on me pell-mell—
Ye like a drap fu' weel yersel.
SHE.
Ye's rue, auld gowk, yer jest and frolick, jest and frolick;
Dare ye say, goose, I ever lik'd to tak a drappy?
In't werena just aiblins to cure the cholick, cure the cholick,
De'il a drap wad weet my mou'.
HE.
Troth, auld gudewife, ye wadna swither, wadna swither,
Soon—soon to tak a cholick whan it brings a cappy;
But twa score o' years we ha'e fought thegither, fought thegither,
Time it is to 'gree, I trow.
SHE.
I'm wrang, auld John,
Ower lang, auld John,
For nought, gude John,
We ha'e fought, gude John;
Let's help to bear ilk ither's weight,
We're far ower feckless now to fecht.
10
Ye're richt, gudewife,
The nicht, gudewife;
Our cup, gude Kate,
We'll sup, gude Kate;
Thegither frae this hour we'll draw,
And toom the stoup atween us twa.
11
JENNY'S BAWBEE—SONG.
Imet four chaps yon birks amang,
Wi' hingin' lugs and faces lang;
I speer'd at neebour Bawldy Strang,
Wha's they I see?
Quo' he, “Ilk cream-fac'd pawky chiel,
Thought himsel' cunnin' as the de'il,
And here they cam awa to steal
Jenny's bawbee.”
Wi' hingin' lugs and faces lang;
I speer'd at neebour Bawldy Strang,
Wha's they I see?
Quo' he, “Ilk cream-fac'd pawky chiel,
Thought himsel' cunnin' as the de'il,
And here they cam awa to steal
Jenny's bawbee.”
The first, a Captain till his trade,
Wi' skull ill-lined and back weel clad,
March'd round the barn and by the shed,
And pap'd on his knee.
Quo' he, “My goddess, nymph, and queen,
Your beauty's dazzled baith my e'en;”
But de'il a beauty he had seen
But—Jenny's bawbee.
Wi' skull ill-lined and back weel clad,
March'd round the barn and by the shed,
And pap'd on his knee.
Quo' he, “My goddess, nymph, and queen,
Your beauty's dazzled baith my e'en;”
But de'il a beauty he had seen
But—Jenny's bawbee.
12
A lawyer neist, wi' blathrin' gab,
Wha speeches wove like ony wab,
In ilk ane's corn aye took a dab,
And a' for a fee.
Accounts he had through a' the toon,
And tradesmen's tongues nae mair could droon;
Haith now he thought to clout his gown
Wi' Jenny's bawbee.
Wha speeches wove like ony wab,
In ilk ane's corn aye took a dab,
And a' for a fee.
Accounts he had through a' the toon,
And tradesmen's tongues nae mair could droon;
Haith now he thought to clout his gown
Wi' Jenny's bawbee.
A Norland laird neist trotted up,
Wi' bawsen'd naig and siller whup,
Cried, “There's my beast, lad, had the grup,
Or tie't till a tree.
What's gowd to me, I've walth o' lan',
Bestow, on ane o' worth, yer han'.”
He thought to pay what he was awn
Wi' Jenny's bawbee.
Wi' bawsen'd naig and siller whup,
Cried, “There's my beast, lad, had the grup,
Or tie't till a tree.
What's gowd to me, I've walth o' lan',
Bestow, on ane o' worth, yer han'.”
He thought to pay what he was awn
Wi' Jenny's bawbee.
A' spruce, frae ban'-boxes and tubs,
A Thing cam neist, (but life has rubs),
Foul were the roads, and fou the dubs,
Ah! wae's me!
A' clatty, squinting through a glass,
He girn'd “I' faith a bonny lass!”
He thought to win, wi' front o' brass,
Jenny's bawbee.
A Thing cam neist, (but life has rubs),
Foul were the roads, and fou the dubs,
Ah! wae's me!
A' clatty, squinting through a glass,
He girn'd “I' faith a bonny lass!”
He thought to win, wi' front o' brass,
Jenny's bawbee.
13
She bade the laird gang comb his wig,
The soger no to strut sae big,
The lawyer no to be a prig,
The fool cry'd, “Te hee!
I kent that I could never fail!”
She prin'd the dish-clout till his tail,
And cool'd him wi' a water-pail,
And kept her bawbee.
The soger no to strut sae big,
The lawyer no to be a prig,
The fool cry'd, “Te hee!
I kent that I could never fail!”
She prin'd the dish-clout till his tail,
And cool'd him wi' a water-pail,
And kept her bawbee.
As this song has been very unfairly interpreted, the Author takes this opportunity of unequivocally disavowing any allusion to individuals. Let the blame rest with those who applied it and those who felt the application.
14
JENNY DANG THE WEAVER—SONG.
At Willie's wedding o' the green,
The lassies, bonnie witches,
Were busked out in aprons clean,
And snaw-white Sunday's mutches.
Auld Maysie bade the lads tak tent,
But Jock wad na believe her,
But soon the fool his folly kent,
For—Jenny dang the Weaver.
The lassies, bonnie witches,
Were busked out in aprons clean,
And snaw-white Sunday's mutches.
Auld Maysie bade the lads tak tent,
But Jock wad na believe her,
But soon the fool his folly kent,
For—Jenny dang the Weaver.
In ilka countra dance and reel
Wi' her he wad be babbin';
When she sat doun, then he sat doun,
And till her wad be gabbin';
Whare'er she gaed, or butt or ben,
The coof wad never leave her,
Aye cacklin' like a clockin' hen,
But—Jenny dang the Weaver.
Wi' her he wad be babbin';
When she sat doun, then he sat doun,
And till her wad be gabbin';
Whare'er she gaed, or butt or ben,
The coof wad never leave her,
Aye cacklin' like a clockin' hen,
But—Jenny dang the Weaver.
Quo' he, “My lass, to speak my mind,
Gude haith, I needna swither,
Ye've bonny e'en, and gif ye're kind,
I needna court anither.”
He humm'd and haw'd—the lass cried pheugh!
And bade the fool no deave her;
Then crack'd her thumb, and lap, and leugh,
And—dang the silly Weaver.
Gude haith, I needna swither,
Ye've bonny e'en, and gif ye're kind,
I needna court anither.”
He humm'd and haw'd—the lass cried pheugh!
And bade the fool no deave her;
Then crack'd her thumb, and lap, and leugh,
And—dang the silly Weaver.
15
THE CHANGE OF EDINBURGH—SONG.
Hech! what a change ha'e we now in this toun!
A' now are braw lads—the lassies a' glancin';
Folk maun be dizzie gaun aye in the roun',
For de'il a haet's done now but feastin' and dancin'.
A' now are braw lads—the lassies a' glancin';
Folk maun be dizzie gaun aye in the roun',
For de'il a haet's done now but feastin' and dancin'.
Gowd's no that scanty in ilk siller pock,
When ilka bit laddie maun hae his bit staigie;
But I ken't the day when there was nae a Jock
But trotted about upon honest shanks-naigie.
When ilka bit laddie maun hae his bit staigie;
But I ken't the day when there was nae a Jock
But trotted about upon honest shanks-naigie.
Little was stown then, and less gaed to waste,
Barely a mullin for mice or for rattens;
The thrifty housewife to the Flesh Market pac'd,
Her equipage a', just a gude pair o' pattens.
Barely a mullin for mice or for rattens;
The thrifty housewife to the Flesh Market pac'd,
Her equipage a', just a gude pair o' pattens.
Folk were as good then, and friends were as leal,
Though coaches were scant, wi' their cattle a-cantrin';
Right air we were tel't by the housemaid or chiel,
Sir, an' ye please, here's—your lass and a lantern.
Though coaches were scant, wi' their cattle a-cantrin';
Right air we were tel't by the housemaid or chiel,
Sir, an' ye please, here's—your lass and a lantern.
The town may be clouted and piec'd till it meets
A' neebours benorth and besouth without haltin',
Brigs may be biggit ow'r lums and ow'r streets—
The Nor-loch itsel' heaped heigh as the Calton.
A' neebours benorth and besouth without haltin',
Brigs may be biggit ow'r lums and ow'r streets—
The Nor-loch itsel' heaped heigh as the Calton.
16
But whar is true friendship? And whar will you see
A' that is gude, honest, modest, and thrifty?
Tak' grey hairs and wrinkles, and hirple wi' me,
And think on the seventeen hundred and fifty.
A' that is gude, honest, modest, and thrifty?
Tak' grey hairs and wrinkles, and hirple wi' me,
And think on the seventeen hundred and fifty.
17
TO AN IRISH AIR—SONG.
By the late James Boswell, Esq.
Larghan clanbrassil, how sweet is thy sound!
To my tender remembrance as Love's sacred ground;
For there Marg'ret Caroline first charm'd my sight,
And fill'd my young heart with a flutt'ring delight.
To my tender remembrance as Love's sacred ground;
For there Marg'ret Caroline first charm'd my sight,
And fill'd my young heart with a flutt'ring delight.
When I thought her my own, ah! too short seem'd the day
For a jaunt to Downpatrick, or a trip on the sea;
To express what I felt then all language were vain,
'Twas in truth what the poets have studied to feign.
For a jaunt to Downpatrick, or a trip on the sea;
To express what I felt then all language were vain,
'Twas in truth what the poets have studied to feign.
But too late I found even she could deceive,
And nothing was left but to weep, sigh, and rave;
Distracted I fled from my dear native shore,
Resolved to see Larghan Clanbrassil no more.
And nothing was left but to weep, sigh, and rave;
Distracted I fled from my dear native shore,
Resolved to see Larghan Clanbrassil no more.
Yet still in some moments enchanted I find
A ray of her fondness beam soft on my mind;
While thus in bless'd fancy my angel I see,
All the world is a Larghan Clanbrassil to me.
A ray of her fondness beam soft on my mind;
While thus in bless'd fancy my angel I see,
All the world is a Larghan Clanbrassil to me.
18
SHELAH O'NEAL—SONG.
Oft I went to her,
To sigh and to woo her;
Of mighty fine things did I say a great deal;
Above all the rest,
What still pleased her the best,
Was, “Och! will you marry me, Shelah O'Neal?”
To sigh and to woo her;
Of mighty fine things did I say a great deal;
Above all the rest,
What still pleased her the best,
Was, “Och! will you marry me, Shelah O'Neal?”
My point I soon carried,
For fast we got married;
The weight o' my bargain I then 'gan to feel;
She scolded and sisted,
O! then I enlisted,
Left Ireland, and whisky, and Shelah O'Neal.
For fast we got married;
The weight o' my bargain I then 'gan to feel;
She scolded and sisted,
O! then I enlisted,
Left Ireland, and whisky, and Shelah O'Neal.
But tir'd and dull-hearted,
My corps I deserted,
And fled off to regions far distant from home,
To Frederick's army,
Where nought was to harm me,
Not the devil himself in the shape of a bomb.
My corps I deserted,
And fled off to regions far distant from home,
To Frederick's army,
Where nought was to harm me,
Not the devil himself in the shape of a bomb.
I fought every battle,
Where cannon did rattle,
Felt sharp shot, alas! and their sharp-pointed steel;
But in all the wars round,
Thank my stars I ne'er found
Ought so sharp as thy tongue, O! curs'd Shelah O'Neal.
Where cannon did rattle,
Felt sharp shot, alas! and their sharp-pointed steel;
But in all the wars round,
Thank my stars I ne'er found
Ought so sharp as thy tongue, O! curs'd Shelah O'Neal.
19
SONG. FREU'T EUCH DES LIBENS.
Chorus.
Taste life's glad momentsWhilst the wasting taper glows;
Pluck, ere it withers,
The quickly fading rose.
Man blindly follows grief and care,
He seeks for thorns and finds his share,
Whilst vi'lets to the passing air
Unheeded shed their blossoms.
He seeks for thorns and finds his share,
Whilst vi'lets to the passing air
Unheeded shed their blossoms.
Chorus.
Though tim'rous nature veils her form,
And rolling thunder spreads alarm;
Yet, ah! how soft when lull'd the storm
The sun smiles forth at ev'n!
And rolling thunder spreads alarm;
Yet, ah! how soft when lull'd the storm
The sun smiles forth at ev'n!
Chorus.
To him who Spleen and Envy flies,
And meek Contentment well can prize,
The humble plant a tree shall rise,
Which golden fruit will yield him.
And meek Contentment well can prize,
The humble plant a tree shall rise,
Which golden fruit will yield him.
Chorus.
20
Who fosters Faith in upright breast,
And freely gives to the distress'd,
There shall Contentment build her nest,
And flutter round his bosom.
And freely gives to the distress'd,
There shall Contentment build her nest,
And flutter round his bosom.
Chorus.
And when life's path grows dark and strait,
And pressing ills on ills await,
Then Friendship, sorrow to abate,
The helping hand will offer.
And pressing ills on ills await,
Then Friendship, sorrow to abate,
The helping hand will offer.
Chorus.
She dries his tears—she strews his way,
Ev'n to the grave, with flow'rets gay,
Turns night to morn, and morn to day,
And pleasure still increases.
Ev'n to the grave, with flow'rets gay,
Turns night to morn, and morn to day,
And pleasure still increases.
Chorus.
Of Life she is the fairest band,
Joins brothers truly hand in hand;
Thus onward to a better land
Man journeys light and cheer'ly.
Joins brothers truly hand in hand;
Thus onward to a better land
Man journeys light and cheer'ly.
Chorus.
Taste Life's glad momentsWhilst the wasting taper glows;
Pluck, ere it withers,
The quickly fading rose.
Translated at Leipsic in 1795. Several versions of this song have been published. If this is the least elegant, it is perhaps the most literal.
21
SONG.
[Come rest ye here, Johnnie—what news frae the south?]
SHE.
Come rest ye here, Johnnie—what news frae the south?
Here's whey in a luggie to slocken yer drouth;
Our sogers are landed—my hopes are maist dieing;
I'm fear'd, John, to spier if my Jamie's in being.
Here's whey in a luggie to slocken yer drouth;
Our sogers are landed—my hopes are maist dieing;
I'm fear'd, John, to spier if my Jamie's in being.
HE.
Aye, troth, lass, they're landed, and norward they're comin',
In braw order marching, wi' fifing and drummin';
I felt my gray plaid, my cauld winter's warm happin',
To cheer their leal hearts wi' a gill and a chappin'.
In braw order marching, wi' fifing and drummin';
I felt my gray plaid, my cauld winter's warm happin',
To cheer their leal hearts wi' a gill and a chappin'.
Yer father's gude-brither, the sergeant, wi' glee
Pu'd a crown frae his pouch, and loud laughin', quo' he,
“Ye're ow'r auld to list, or ye'd rug this fast frae me.
Mair drink here!”
Pu'd a crown frae his pouch, and loud laughin', quo' he,
“Ye're ow'r auld to list, or ye'd rug this fast frae me.
Mair drink here!”
SHE.
But, John, O, nae news o' poor Jamie?
22
The deil's i' the lassie, there's nought in her noddle,
But Jamie—aye Jamie; she cares na ae boddle
For gray-headed heroes—Weel, what should I say now?
The chiel's safe and weel, and what mair wad ye hae now?
But Jamie—aye Jamie; she cares na ae boddle
For gray-headed heroes—Weel, what should I say now?
The chiel's safe and weel, and what mair wad ye hae now?
SHE.
He's weel! gude be prais'd, my dear laddie is weel!
Sic news! hech man, John, ye're a sonsie auld chiel!
I'm doited or daiz'd; it's fu' time I were rinnin',
The wark might be done or I think o' beginnin'.
Sic news! hech man, John, ye're a sonsie auld chiel!
I'm doited or daiz'd; it's fu' time I were rinnin',
The wark might be done or I think o' beginnin'.
I'll rin like a mawkin, and busk in my braws,
And link ow'r the hills whar the caller wind blaws,
And meet the dear lad wha was true to me ever,
And, dorty nae mair, O! I'll part wi' him never.
And link ow'r the hills whar the caller wind blaws,
And meet the dear lad wha was true to me ever,
And, dorty nae mair, O! I'll part wi' him never.
23
ON THE FIDELITY OF THE HIGHLANDERS IN THE REBELLION, 1745–6.
Fatal the cause to the sons of the hill,
Who rushed to the standard, the boast of a day;
More fatal the Captain, whose merciless will
Bade sweep the bold chief and his vassals away.
Who rushed to the standard, the boast of a day;
More fatal the Captain, whose merciless will
Bade sweep the bold chief and his vassals away.
Scotland, beloved for the blood of thy sons,
Ah! never again spread the heath-cover'd plain!
Thou stream of the mountain, that wandering runs,
Ah! never be purpled by faction again!
Ah! never again spread the heath-cover'd plain!
Thou stream of the mountain, that wandering runs,
Ah! never be purpled by faction again!
I'll-fated Stuart! thy hopes we bemoan;
Bold, rash, and ardent, deceived and elate,
The crown of your fathers you sought as your own,
Unaided by Britain, and thwarted by fate.
Bold, rash, and ardent, deceived and elate,
The crown of your fathers you sought as your own,
Unaided by Britain, and thwarted by fate.
Disown'd by the land that your fathers had sway'd,
Ah! why didst thou rouse the calamitous flame?
In vain were the clans in thy legions array'd,
For victims they fell to a desperate claim.
Ah! why didst thou rouse the calamitous flame?
In vain were the clans in thy legions array'd,
For victims they fell to a desperate claim.
24
Fierce and untam'd, yet devoted to thee,
Proud that their death should their loyalty seal,
In the torrent of battle, the block, or the tree;
Though blind and mistaken, we honour their zeal.
Proud that their death should their loyalty seal,
In the torrent of battle, the block, or the tree;
Though blind and mistaken, we honour their zeal.
The chieftain,
undaunted, press'd onward and fell,
Firm to the last, in the face of his clan;
The wandering hind did his duty as well,
And seeking thy safety did honour to man.
Firm to the last, in the face of his clan;
The wandering hind did his duty as well,
And seeking thy safety did honour to man.
To virtue awake, to fidelity true;
Wealth with dishonour was spurn'd by the brave.
O Charles! while in pity we sorrow for you,
Exulting we'll think on Glenmorriston's cave.
Wealth with dishonour was spurn'd by the brave.
O Charles! while in pity we sorrow for you,
Exulting we'll think on Glenmorriston's cave.
Alluding to the severities which were inflicted after the Battle of Culloden, altogether omitted in Home's “History of the Rebellion.”
The cave where seven Highlanders concealed Charles Stuart, and in disguise procured necessaries and information. Although fugitives, and in poverty, these seven had the nobleness of mind to prefer fidelity, to the man whom they considered as their Prince, to £30,000, the reward offered for his person.—See Home's History.
25
TO A GERMAN AIR—SONG.
Ah, life is but a dream!Still from futurity we borrow
The pleasing hope of new delight;
The hours pass on, and coming night
Foretells that joy shall deck to-morrow:
It comes—we find, alas! in sorrow,
That life is but a dream.
26
DRINKING SONG.
WENN'S IMMER SO WAR.
Here's a toast—charge your glasses—your bumpers are out,
Then quick seize the bottle and push it about
Don't fill on a heel-tap, it is not decorous;
Like true thirsty souls let us drink what's before us,
Be it wine from the Rhine, France, Oporto, or Spain.
Ah! could we thus merry for ever remain!
For ever, for ever, for ever remain!
Then quick seize the bottle and push it about
Don't fill on a heel-tap, it is not decorous;
Like true thirsty souls let us drink what's before us,
Be it wine from the Rhine, France, Oporto, or Spain.
Ah! could we thus merry for ever remain!
For ever, for ever, for ever remain!
True topers drink all things from claret to ale;
The butt may be finish'd, but we'll never fail:
We'll ne'er pick a quarrel whatever the liquor;
If strong we'll drink slower, if weak we'll drink quicker;
Whate'er makes us merry we'll never disdain.
Ah! could we thus happy for ever remain!
For ever, for ever, for ever remain!
The butt may be finish'd, but we'll never fail:
We'll ne'er pick a quarrel whatever the liquor;
If strong we'll drink slower, if weak we'll drink quicker;
Whate'er makes us merry we'll never disdain.
Ah! could we thus happy for ever remain!
For ever, for ever, for ever remain!
The Turks, who are ninnies, to drink never dare,
But with poisonous opium deaden their care;
In sleepy stupidity vie with each other,
And one napping Mussulman snores to his brother;
But we taste delight, not mere absence from pain.
Ah! may we thus happy for ever remain!
For ever, for ever, for ever remain!
But with poisonous opium deaden their care;
In sleepy stupidity vie with each other,
And one napping Mussulman snores to his brother;
But we taste delight, not mere absence from pain.
Ah! may we thus happy for ever remain!
For ever, for ever, for ever remain!
27
BRAES OF OCHTERTYRE—SONG.
Quick beats my fever'd brain,
Distraction shakes my wasting frame;
Dark seems the new day,
And darker still to-morrow;
Wild are the images
That rush upon me at her name;
Yet not a tear bedews this cheek,
So pale and wan with sorrow:
Distraction shakes my wasting frame;
Dark seems the new day,
And darker still to-morrow;
Wild are the images
That rush upon me at her name;
Yet not a tear bedews this cheek,
So pale and wan with sorrow:
For low beneath yon grassy turf
Soft slumbers all I e'er could prize.
Death struck the dread blow,
And murder'd peace and pleasure:
Soon, ah soon this heart must break!
How keen these feelings agonize!
Lost for ever to my sight,
The grave holds my soul's treasure.
Soft slumbers all I e'er could prize.
Death struck the dread blow,
And murder'd peace and pleasure:
Soon, ah soon this heart must break!
How keen these feelings agonize!
Lost for ever to my sight,
The grave holds my soul's treasure.
Time was, with joyful step
I hasten'd here at eventide;
Life fled too fleeting
The hours with her beguiling:
Mild shone the setting sun,
And ting'd with gold yon mountain's side;
Mild were his last rays
That smil'd on Mary smiling.
I hasten'd here at eventide;
Life fled too fleeting
The hours with her beguiling:
Mild shone the setting sun,
And ting'd with gold yon mountain's side;
Mild were his last rays
That smil'd on Mary smiling.
28
He set—and with him set those orbs
That beam'd serenity and love;
Cold grew that warm heart—
Ah, would that mine were colder!
With Mary perish'd ev'ry joy—
Peace beckons only from above.
The last sad wish this heart can frame,
Is here with her to moulder.
That beam'd serenity and love;
Cold grew that warm heart—
Ah, would that mine were colder!
With Mary perish'd ev'ry joy—
Peace beckons only from above.
The last sad wish this heart can frame,
Is here with her to moulder.
29
THE EXILE'S RETURN—SONG.
Harsh is he who brands with shame
A loyal Scot's unsullied name;
True his heart and fair his fame,
Who now in dust is sleeping.
From Stuart's flow'd our wealth and pride—
My sire, on lov'd Loch Erroch Side,
The summons heard—he fought and died,
And left his orphan weeping.
A loyal Scot's unsullied name;
True his heart and fair his fame,
Who now in dust is sleeping.
From Stuart's flow'd our wealth and pride—
My sire, on lov'd Loch Erroch Side,
The summons heard—he fought and died,
And left his orphan weeping.
Ah! had he liv'd to mark the fate
Of those who brav'd cool William's hate,
Then had he drank the dregs, though late,
Of sorrow's bitter potion.
Heir of misfortune, not disgrace,
Shame ne'er crimson'd o'er my face,
The lone, lost remnant of our race,
I cross'd the Western Ocean.
Of those who brav'd cool William's hate,
Then had he drank the dregs, though late,
Of sorrow's bitter potion.
Heir of misfortune, not disgrace,
Shame ne'er crimson'd o'er my face,
The lone, lost remnant of our race,
I cross'd the Western Ocean.
My fortunes bounteous heaven bless'd,
My wealth increased, lov'd and caress'd,
Yet still my soul in vain sought rest
Amidst these friends caressing.
To tread again my native shore,
To share with those I lov'd my store,
To see Loch Erroch Side once more,
Beam'd hope's benignest blessing.
My wealth increased, lov'd and caress'd,
Yet still my soul in vain sought rest
Amidst these friends caressing.
30
To share with those I lov'd my store,
To see Loch Erroch Side once more,
Beam'd hope's benignest blessing.
Ah! little reck'd 'midst my fears,
The havoc of the lapse of years,
Since beggar'd, fatherless, in tears,
I hasten'd far from danger.
How false the picture fancy drew,
How chang'd those scenes that well I knew!
No friend is left—Scotland, adieu!
I am indeed a stranger.
The havoc of the lapse of years,
Since beggar'd, fatherless, in tears,
I hasten'd far from danger.
How false the picture fancy drew,
How chang'd those scenes that well I knew!
No friend is left—Scotland, adieu!
I am indeed a stranger.
31
CAPTAIN O'FLYN AND MISS DOLLY O'LYNN—DUET.
Ein mudchen oder werbchen.
CAPTAIN.
On charms of wit and beauty
My heart's too prone to doat;
But prudence, teaching duty,
Cries, Love won't boil the pot!
Oh! could I but hit on an heiress,
Who in some old Tabitha's care is,
I'd take her for better, for worse,
With money enough in her purse.
MISS.
The Captain is quite pleasing;
Pray who can say he's not?
But is it not quite teazing,
He is not worth a groat?
Oh! could I but hit on an Earl,
And in a gay equipage whirl,
I'd take him for better, for worse,
With money enough in his purse.
32
—Since Fate, then, is so cruel,
'Tis better far to part.
Miss.
—Than ride, my dearest jewel,
Together in a—cart!
Captain.
—What signifies making wry faces?
Miss.
—Let's part in each other's good graces.
Both.
—You never can hit on a worse,
For I have not a coin in my purse.
33
THE OLD CHIEFTAIN TO HIS SONS—SONG.
Gude night, and joy be wi' ye a';
Your harmless mirth has cheer'd my heart.
May life's fell blasts out o'er ye blaw!
In sorrow may ye never part!
Your harmless mirth has cheer'd my heart.
May life's fell blasts out o'er ye blaw!
In sorrow may ye never part!
My spirit lives, but strength is gone;
The mountain fires now blaze in vain:
Remember, sons, the deeds I've done,
And in your deeds I'll live again!
The mountain fires now blaze in vain:
Remember, sons, the deeds I've done,
And in your deeds I'll live again!
When on yon muir our gallant clan
Frae boasting foes their banners tore,
Wha show'd himself a better man,
Or fiercer wav'd the red claymore?
Frae boasting foes their banners tore,
Wha show'd himself a better man,
Or fiercer wav'd the red claymore?
But when in peace—then mark me there—
When through the glen the wanderer came,
I gave him of our hardy fare,
I gave him here a welcome hame.
When through the glen the wanderer came,
I gave him of our hardy fare,
I gave him here a welcome hame.
The auld will speak, the young maun hear;
Be canty, but be gude and liel;
Yer ain ills aye ha'e heart to bear,
Anither's aye ha'e heart to feel.
Be canty, but be gude and liel;
Yer ain ills aye ha'e heart to bear,
Anither's aye ha'e heart to feel.
34
So, ere I set, I'll see you shine,
I'll see you triumph ere I fa';
My parting breath shall boast you mine.
Gude night, and joy be wi' ye a'.
I'll see you triumph ere I fa';
My parting breath shall boast you mine.
Gude night, and joy be wi' ye a'.
End of Part I.
| The poetical works of Sir Alexander Boswell | |