DESDALF --. , mib of SONGS AND BALLADS OF CLYDESDALE. Mitb Jllustrative Botes BY A. NIMMO. EDINBURGH AND GLASGOW : JOHN MENZIES & CO. MDCCCLXXXII. LOAN STACK PR 8 (.11 CcMv ^o JUielaifoe JEarg Bertram of $er0etDelI, (tontoath. MADAM, It is not that my grandfather was an old tenant of the Kersewell family ; it is not that my father was Quarter-Master in the Kegiment of Cavalry commanded by the late Col. Bertram of Kersewell, and who, on returning with his comrade, Sergeant Martin, had the interesting and memorable interview with Jean Armour at the grave of Burns, as related by Gilfillan in his account of the Poet. The deep interest you have long taken in the religious instruction of the young, and the warm sympathy you have shown for the unfortunate, the old and the imbecile, in being mainly instrumental in supporting for such a lengthened period the soup kitchen for their comfort, certainly entitles you to the gratitude of the recipients, and the public respect. For these reasons, Madam, I take the liberty of most respectfully dedicating this volume to you, a trifling com- pliment, no doubt, but I had nothing better to offer. With warmest wishes for prosperity and happiness to Mr. Bertram, yourself, and your interesting family, I remain, MADAM, Your much obliged and most obedient A. NIMMO. CARNWATH, May, 1882. P.S. It is another striking instance of the awful uncertainty of human life, that after the above lines of dedication were not only written but printed, Mrs. Bertram had an attack of illness on Thursday, the 25th of May, 1882, which closed her valuable life in a few hours. Mrs. Bertram was the daughter of John Bateman, Esq. This gentle- man, many years ago, hired a small vessel at Tasmania to carry him and his two daughters to Australia ; and these three, we believe, were the first settlers in Victoria, and thus in a sense may be said to have laid the foundations of what will yet be a great and flourishing empire. A. N. June, 1883. PREFACE. PERHAPS no man in the wide region of Upper Strathclyde was more universally esteemed than the late Adam Sim, Esq., of Coulter Maynes. It is a curious circumstance, that it was only at a very early and a rather late period of our lives that we had any friendly intercourse. When a boy residing with his grandfather, Mr. John Stodart, farmer, Bank, Carnwath, I was one of the herds, and on the most intimate and familiar terms with young Mr. Sim. Even then he was beginning to show some of those traits for which he afterwards became so remarkable. The rhymes and traditions of the district, especially those respecting Wallace and the Covenanters, interested him deeply, and the finding of a small bronze figure of a pig, in a marsh at the foot of the Bank Brae, was the incident which first awakened in his mind a taste for antiquities a taste which " grew with his growth and strengthened with his strength," until it culminated in that extraordinary collection at Coulter Maynes, which, for a private collection, I believe, was second only to that of Abbotsford. After the days of boyhood our course in life was widely divergent, but a few years before he died I received an invitation to visit him, and was most kindly received. In the course of our intercourse, he suggested that I should make a collection of " The Songs and Ballads of Clydesdale," and he would have them published. After I had a goodly number collected, his sudden death put an end to that specu- lation as far as he was concerned. There are many very excellent people, who ridicule the 8 PREFACE. idea of any good being produced by songs, yet one dis- tinguished statesman, who knew human nature well, said he did not care who made the laws if he could get the making of the songs. In this collection I have paid due attention to the lays of the Covenanters. Many people think them fools, rogues, or hypocrites, with no taste for literature, yet Cleland, one of the best poets in Scotland at the time, assisted to hunt the brave hero Claverhouse from Drumclog, and with the single regiment of Covenanters repulsed and defeated the repeated attacks of an army of 5,000 Highlanders at Dunkeld. All they fought for was a free parliament and a free assembly. And it is a curious fact, that the bulk of our best song writers are either natives, or intimately associated with the land of the Covenant. I need only men- tion Ramsay, Burns, Tannahill, Campbell, Joanna Baillie, Henry S. Riddell, &c., &c. Clydesdale is a Covenanting district. The present collection, instead of a compilation of the songs of these writers, is rather meant to show the state of the Scottish lyre, in past and present times, among the people of Clydesdale. A few pieces are included which, although not written by natives, are favourites in the district. CONTENTS. PAGE Dedication, 5 Preface, 7 Our Auld Scots Sangs, 13 The Banks o' Clyde, 15 My Landlady's Nose, 16 Smile alone on Me, 17 The Gowd upon Charlie, 17 I'll soon hae a Wife o' My Ain, .18 Lockhart's Farewell to Carnwath, 21 The Fishwife's Advice to her Bairn, 23 The Covenanter's Lament, 24 The Martyrs' Widows, 25 The Gudewife o' Willowden Ha', 26 To Mary Fleming, Daughter of the Earl of Wigton, ... 28 Elegiac Ballad, 29 Lines on seeing Tombstones in a Flower Garden, .... 32 Change, .34 Carnwath Fair in 1770, .34 Our Auld Gudeman has left Us, 35 Lady Grange, 36 John Frost, 38 Never Despair, 40 Jeanie Dixon, ........... 40 Morrison's Pills, 41 Liberton Moor, 43 In Memory of Hugh Miller, . . 45 Tolsabelle, ........... 4G Phillis the Fair, 46 Down Winding Nith I did Wander 47 On a Sprig of Heather from Home, 49 The Drucken Laird of Lamington, 51 To Eliza, 52 The Bonnie Bawbee, 53 The Ice-Bound Wave, 54 Trial and Death of Robert Baillie of Jerviswood, .... 55 Day Dreams of Other Years, . 61 10 CONTENTS. PAGE Newbiggin Nell, 62 The Covenanters in Carnwath Moor, 63 Bundle and Go, 65 PuirFolk, 67 Sir William Wallace, the Knight of Ellerslie, .... 68 Verses on the late Mr. Hall, 70 Quothquan, 74 Song of the Old Carnwath Church Bell, 76 Nethan Water, .77 The Westsidewood, 79 Song on the Cattle Disease, 80 The Lassie's Wardrobe, : . . 81 Lines on Quothquan Law, ........ 82 The Cameronian's Dream, . 83 Mortality, 85 Katie Glasgow, 87 A Crack owre a Chappin in America, 88 A Prayer, 90 Carnwath Kirkyard, 91 The Covenanters' Hymn, 92 John Copland's Shop, 93 Morris's Smiddy, 94 Lanark Mills, 96 The Wee, Wee German Lairdie, ....... 97 The Flower of Abbey Green, 99 Bonnie Annie Gray, . . .100 Carnwath Lasses, .......... 101 The Lads of Carnwath, 102 Katie Core o' Coulter, . 103 Davie's left Bankmains, 105 Covin'ton Manse, . . . . . . . . . . 106 On the Skulls of my Ancestors, . 107 The Highland Host, 108 Curling on Carnwath Loch in 1766, Ill Lamington, 113 The Merry.Maids o' Scotland, 115 Poverty parts Good Company, ....... 116 Hooly and Fairly, 117 Our Native Hills, 119 The Days when we were Young, . 119 Langsyne when a Laddie, 121 CONTENTS. 11 PAGE Biggar Auld Cross Knowe, 122 The Gray Brother, .123 Verses by W. Lithgow, 128 The Bower o' Clyde, 129 The Twa Brothers, 131 Willie and May Margaret 134 The Martyr's Grave, 138 To Carnwath Moat, 140 Lord Laminton, 141 Changes of Carnwath, 144 Lines on a Death-Bed, 146 Smoking Spiritualised, 147 The Old Maid's Song Wae's me ! 148 The Bridal King, , 150 TheTrysi, 152 Lay by your Bawbee, . . . . . . . . . 153 The Operatives' March, May, 1831, 154 Young Hyndford, .155 Cowdailly Castle, 162 On the Power of Imagination, . . 165 To Mr. James Hodge, Farmer, Arthursheil, Liberton, . . . 167 Loyal Peter, .169 The Contrast, 170 Mind and Body, .172 The Falls of Clyde, 174 Wallace's Cave at Corra Linn, 176 Pentland Hills, 177 Bothwell Bank, thou Bloomest Fair, 180 The Vale of Clyde, 181 Sweet Mary, Adieu, 181 The Dying Mason, . . . 182 The Merry Bachelor, .184 Wooed an' Married an' a', .185 Daylight Wooin', . 187 The Auld Beggar Man, 188 Tibbie Fowler, 190 Sae will We Yet, 191 Tranent Wedding, 192 Babity Bowster, 194 Glasgow Fair, 194 I'll gar our Guidman trow, . . . . . . . 198 12 CONTENTS. PAGE Address to William Bertram, Esq., 199 Welcome for Lord and Lady Douglas to Bothwell Castle, . . 200 Covington Mill, 202 Carnwath Brass Band, 203 Bothwell Brig, 205 The Douglas Tragedy, 207 Adieu to Clydesdale, 230 Kichie Storrie, . 211 Clydesdale Folk, 213 Dollerie Mills 214 The Westport Tree, 215 Want o' Siller, 216 The Death of Dr. Livingstone, 217 WishawGill, 218 Jacobite Song, 219 Down the Water, 221 In Memoriam of A. Walkinshaw, 222 Peden at the Grave of Cameron, 223 Lines on the Scottish Martyrs, 226 Poor Daft Jamie, 229 The Burnhouse Kirn, 231 The Flower of Westraw, 232 Aye Work Awa', 233 Glaisca Whisky , 234 The Bad Wife, 235 The Battle of Waterloo, . . .237 By Medwin's Streams, ... 239 My Mother, .240 A Mother's Dirge, 241 The Lairds o' Carnwath, 243 Old Scotch Tunes, 244 When shall we Meet again ? 245 Going Home, ........... 246 SONGS AND BALLADS OF CLYDESDALE, OUR AULD SCOTS SANGS. Air " Traveller's Return." WEEL I lo'e our auld Scots sangs, The mournfu' and the gay ; They charmed me by a mother's knee, In bairnhood's happy day : And even yet, though owre my pow The snaws o' age are flung, The bluid loups joyfu' in my veins, Whene'er I hear them sung. They bring the fond smile to the cheek, Or tear-drap to the e'e ; They bring to mind auld cronies kind, Wha sung them aft wi 7 glee. We seem again to hear the voice Of mony a lang-lost frien' ; We seem again to grip the hand That lang in dust has been. And oh, how true our auld Scots sangs, When nature they portray ! We think we hear the wee bit burn Gaun bickerin' doun the brae ; 14 SONGS AND BALLADS OF CLYDESDALE. "We see the spot, though far awa', Where life's first breath we drew, And a' the gowden scenes of youth Seem risin' to the view. And dear I lo'e the wild war strains Our langsyne minstrels sung They rouse wi ; patriotic fire The hearts of auld and young ; And even the dowie dirge that wails Some brave but ruined band, Inspires us wi' a warmer love For hame and fatherland. Yes, leese me on our auld Scots sangs The sangs of love and glee, The sangs that tell of glorious deeds That made auld Scotland free. What though they sprang frae simple bards, Wha kent nae rules of art ! They ever, ever yield a charm That lingers round the heart. A. MACKAY. THE BANKS O' CLYDE. 15 THE BANKS O' CLYDE. ON the grassy banks o' Clyde, bonnie lassie, O, Oft we've roamed at eventide, bonnie lassie, O, 'Mang the bonnie yellow broom When the air was all perfume Wi' the simmer flowers in bloom, bonnie lassie, O. Auld Tintoc looked so grand, bonnie lassie, 0, Over all the smiling land, bonnie lassie, 0, While all the green-wood rang Wi' the blackbird's evening sang, As we roamed the birks amang, bonnie lassie, O. Happy, happy was the time ! bonnie lassie, O, When we heard the soothing chime, bonnie lassie, O, Of the distant village bell, Tolling day's departing knell, As we trode the flowery del], bonnie lassie, O. When the swallows o' Clyde Stairs, 1 bonnie lassie, O, A' were sleepin' in their lairs, bonnie lassie, O, And the stars in heaven so high, Were reflected from the sky, In the river gliding by, bonnie lassie, O. Then we sought the fairy bower, bonnie lassie, O ; Where the brier and hawthorn flower, bonnie lassie, 0, While the heaven's lovely queen, In all her radiant sheen, Rose, resplendent, o'er the scene, bonnie lassie, 0. Then you'll aye be leal and true, bonnie lassie, ; I'll be firm and true to you, bonnie lassie, 0, Thro' all the care and strife All the ups and downs of life, Be my true and faithful wife, bonnie lassie, O. 1 Clyde Stairs is a high shelving bank on the right side of the river, at the point nearest Carnwath, which, in summer, is usually tenanted by a great flock of swallows. 16 SONGS AND BALLADS OF CLYDESDALE. MY LANDLADY'S NOSE. O'ER the evils of life it's a folly to fret, Despondence and grief never lessened them yet, Then a fig for the world, let it come as it goes I'll sing to the praise of my landlady's nose ! Oh ! my landlady's nose is in noble condition, For longitude, latitude, shape, and position ; It's as round as a horn, and as red as a rose Success to the trunk of my landlady's nose ! To jeweller shops, your fine ladies repair, For trinkets and nick-nacks to give them an air, Here, living carbuncles, a score of them glows ! On the big, massy sides of my landlady's nose. Ye wishy-wash, weak water drinkers so cold, Come here, and the virtues of brandy behold, Here's red-burning Etna a mountain of snows Would roar down in streams from my landlady's nose ! But O ! when this nose, with an uplifted arm, She grasps in the dishclout to sound an alarm, Horns, trumpets, and drums, are mere screaming o' crows ; To the loud thunderin' twang o' my landlady's nose ! Oh ! my landlady's nose unto me is a treasure, A care-killing nostrum a fountain of pleasure, When I want a loud laugh, to discharge all my woes, I only look up to my landlady's nose ! A. WILSON. It is certainly very remarkable that all our poets, poetasters, and balladmongers never make the least allusion to the ladies' noses j they rave away about rosy cheeks, ruby lips, ivory teeth, dimpled chins, alabaster brows, and eyes like stars, while the poor nose, standing alone, yet most conspicuously, in the very centre of all these beauties, is passed and repassed, around and around, without the least compliment or note of recognition. And if we would only think what the greatest beauty would be without a nose ! this silence is the more culpable and inexcus- able. We hold that Wilson, merely from the selection of this subject, is one of our most original song writers. SMILE ALONE ON ME. 17 SMILE ALONE ON ME. LASSIE, veil that rosy blush, And hide frae me that killin' ee ; Or grant that other dearest wish, That thou wilt smile alone on me. The infant days of pleasure took To wander wi' thee o'er the lea, For early by yon purlin' brook I felt the magic o' thine e'e. 1 gathered wild flowers frae the vale, I pu'd fruit's ripeness frae the tree, And with an infant, artless tale, I made an offering unto thee. With ardent love I view thee still, Tho' infant hours no longer be ; Oh, then, thy face in pity veil, Or let it smile alone on me ! J. PAIRMAN, BIGGAR. Mr. Pairman was highly esteemed by a numerous circle of friends and acquaintances. He died suddenly at his house in Edinburgh on the 14th December, 1843, in the 55th year of his age ; his ashes repose in Biggar Churchyard. He was a well-known portrait painter. THE GOWD UPON CHARLIE. IP ye'd drink ale and be cantie still, Sin' the breeks hae banged the kiltie, Wale out the lads wore the white cockades, An' delight in a Jacobite liltie. Then up wi' the lads wore the white cockades, Altho' they be scattered richt sairlie ; There's a sough in the land, there's a heart and a hand That may yet pit the gowd upon Charlie ! 18 SONGS AND BALLADS OF CLYDESDALE. Tho' a puir German claw's got the crap o' the wa', An' oor ain bonnie doo it has pookit, We've gude falconers still, an' when they get their will They'll pit the richt doo in the dookit. Then up wi' the lads, &c. Then keep your blue bonnet a wee ere you don it, An* keep your claymore frae the stourin', Ye may yet hear a horn, on a braw simmer morn, That may thank ye weel for the scourin'. Then up wi' the lads, &c. Tho' base hireling swords and cauld-bluided words Hae yirded the pride o' the thistle ; Tho' the book's in the grun, a soul's in the son That may yet gar auld Hanover fistle ! Then up wi' the lads, &c. AINSLIE. In the pilgrimage from Auld Keekie to the Land of Burns, by Edie Ochiltree, Jinglin' Jock, and the Lang Linker, it is stated that the writer took down this song from the singing of an auld wife at Carnwath, who affirmed that her father had more pleasure in hearing that song sung, when he was ill, than in any of the Psalms of David. Carnwath was reckoned a stronghold of Jacobitism, both in 1715 and in the '45. I'LL SOON HAE A WIFE O' MY AIN. FRAE Clyde to the banks o' sweet Earn I've wandered for mony a long mile, The thochts o' my dearest lass, Ailie, The wearisome hours did beguile ; The happy wae nicht that we parted She vowed she would constant remain ; My heart-strings a' dirled wi' fondness, I kissed her and kissed her again ! I'LL SOON HAE A WIFE O ? MY AIN. 19 It's no that her cheeks are like roses, Nor yet for her dark rollin' e'e ; It's no for her sweet comely features These charms are a' naething to me. The storms o' this life may soon blast them, Or sickness may snatch them away, But virtue when fixed in the bosom Will nourish and never decay ! Nae 1 anger I'll spend a' rny siller, Nae langer I'll noo lie my ain, Nae langer I'll rin after lasses I'll soon hae a wife o' my ain ! For mony a long fit I've wandered, And mony a nicht spent in vain, Wi' drinkin' and dancin' and courtin' But I'll soon hae a wife o' my ain ! Her mother's aye roarin' and fly tin' I rede ye tak' tent o' that chiel, He'll no be that canny to live wi', He'll ne'er be like douce Geordie Steel ! He's courted far owre mony lasses, Tae slicht them he thinks it gude fun, He'll mak but a drucken half-marrow, Ye'll best rue before ye be bun'. Tho' Geordie be laird of a housie, And brags o' his kye and his pelf, And warld's wealth I be richt scant o' A fig for't as lang's I've my health. If ance I were coupled wi' Ailie, She'll seldom hae cause to complain ; We'll jog on thro' life aye richt canny When I get a wife o' my ain. But if that my Ailie prove faithless, And marry before I return, I'll no like a coof grieve about her, Nor yet for ae minute I'll mourn, 20 SONGS AND BALLADS OF CLYDESDALE. But straight unto some other beauty, Without loss o' time I will hie, And shew to the lasses I'm careless, Unless they're as willin' as I ! EGBERT WHITELEY, CARNWATH. This song first appeared in Chambers' Scottish Anthology, yet, although it is there stated to be the production of Robert, there is good reason to believe his brother Smollet, was the author. Robert was an excellent singer of Scottish songs, and had the merit of first introducing it to the notice of the public, and uniformly stated that it was his own. However, those who knew them both, were decidedly of opinion that Smollet was the real author. One incident in his career tends to confirm this opinion while an apprentice to the stocking-making trade at Carnwath, he fell deeply in love with a girl named Alison Bogle, the heroine of the song. One night when visiting her, they quarrelled, and the mischievous girl, acting in the character of her name, donned a white thirt over her clothes, stood upright on the road before him when he was going home, with her arms extended, and gave the poor fellow such a fright, and such a sweat in run- ning from the ghost, that he caught a severe cold. Robert was a notorious poacher. On one occasion he was summoned to appear before Col. Rentpn, of Symington Lodge, who had got some of his snares on his lands. Holding them up he asked : "Well, Rob, can you tell me what these are ? " Rob took them in his hand, and looking very green, replied : "Od, I'm sure I dinna ken, Col., if they're no some new-fashioned couples ye've gotten for yer young dougs." "Couples for dogs, you rascal; they are snares for hares," replied the Col. ; u ay, and they were set, too, by Rob Whitley." At this stage of the interview, the report of a gun was heard, and Rob retorted in a triumphant tone "Say ye're no sure, Cornel, div ye no hear that, and if I werna here, just standing in your ain room at this precious moment, ye wad be saying, ' that's that d rascal Whitley ' ; but suppose I do nab a bit hare noo and then, what aboot it, Cornel, what aboot it, man ; ' The earth is the Lord's and the fulness thereof.' " " You are quite mistaken there, Rob, quite mistaken ; all the land hereabouts, at any rate, belongs to me and Mr. Carmichael of Eastend." Some time after this, Rob removed to Carnwath, but continuing his poaching habits, was at length sentenced to one month's imprisonment in Lanark Jail. These were the days of old when matters in some respects were taken very coolly. Rob got so far into the confidence of the jailer, that he was allowed to go out upon his parole and visit his acquaintances. One night, Rob, being treated to a little toddy by a few friends, got so engrossed with the conversation and song singing, that it was far past the hour when he should have returned. The Jailer said : "Rob, whatna' a wark's this wi' ye ; I'll just tell ye plainly, sir, if ye dinna keep mair regular hours, I'll bar ye oot a' thegither." "Friend," replied Rob; " I'll just tell you, if ye dinna keep a mair civil tongue in your head, I'll change my lodgings ; do you really think I'm to be bothered and insulted by a body like you; but just keep quiet, man it's a' nae use for you and me to cast oot; just hae patience if once my time was out, if I dinna send ye in twa o' the fattest hares that Liberton Muir can turn oot, my name's no Rob Whitley." Rob died in the spring of 1836, and was buried in Carnwath Churchyard. Both the brothers were natives of Symington. LOCKH ART'S FAREWELL TO CARNWATH. 21 LOCKHART'S FAREWELL TO CARNWATH. ! IT'S hard to leave the halls where my fathers reigned of yore : It's hard to be exiled and to seek a foreign shore ; It's hard to leave the moat, so delightful aye to view But the hour is come at last I must bid them all adieu ! Farewell to towering Tintoc, and lofty Coulter Fell, The hills of Walston and Dunsyre, the scenes I loved so well; Tho' oceans wide may us divide, while memory is true, I'll ne'er forget your much-loved scenes tho' now I say adieu ! I've oft surveyed with joy, my fair domains so wide; Oft ranged o'er hill and valley with my staghounds by my side ; And rambled o'er the plains where my falcons often flew But the hour's come at last I must bid them all adieu ! No more I'll chase the deer, o'er the mountain and the plain ; No more I'll steer my skiff, o'er my ain white loch again; Nor gaze on Clyde's proud streams, rushing from the moun- tains blue The bitter hour is come I must bid them all adieu ! No more I'll quench my thirst, at St. Mary's crystal well Nor listen to the chime of St. Mary's auld kirk bell ; Nor hear the bugle summons, my clansmen ever true For my gallant Prince's sake, I must bid them all adieu ! My sisters fair have wept, till they have no tears to shed ; For our gallant Prince's sake my mother's heart has bled ; My sire is far away, pierced with sorrows not a few, Yet for Royal Charlie's sake I can bid them all adieu ! 1 am hunted like the wolf, and price is on my head, "The wee, wee German lairdie" would rejoice if I was dead; But to him I'll ne'er submit, to honour I'll be true ; Dear as friends and Carnwath are I must bid them all adieu ! 22 SONGS AND BALLADS OF CLYDESDALE. No ! it never shall be said that the Lockhart e'er did wince To share whatever fate has been allotted for his Prince ; I could die for Charlie's cause, and the " red rose " yet may rue The hour when Lockhart bade Carnwath a long, a last adieu ! W. G. The Lockhart referred to in this song was George Lockhart, younger, of Carnwath. This gentleman and his father, George Lockhart, senior, were both at the battle of Prestonpans, fighting gallantly on the side of Prince Charles. As soon as victory was declared for the Prince, Mr. Lockhart, senior, who was esteemed the best horseman in Scotland, rode across the country in steeple chase fashion to his seat at Dryden in twenty minutes. Being there so early it was deemed impossible he could have been at the battle. He surrendered himself to Duncan Forbes, and asked what he was to do, as he knew he was a suspected person, and was ordered to go to Yorkshire, and consider that county his prison. There he remained until the rebellion was quashed. George Lockhart, junior, remained an officer in the Prince's army, and when the Prince left Edinburgh for the South on Sunday, Nov. 3rd, Carnwath people being quietly engaged in public worship, the church-door was thrown open with great violence, and a man with a loud, stentorian voice, exclaimed "The rebels are comin' ! the rebels are comin' ! " The people started to their feet in confusion. The minister, raising his voice, asked the messenger, " "Where are they at ?" "They were at Newbigging when I came away, and they will be at Kaimend, now." ""Well, my friends," said the minister, "let us implore the divine protection before we separate," which he did, and among other petitions, prayed the Lord to put "Hooks in their noses, and bridles in their jaws, and turn them back by the way that they came,'" but instead of that, the congregation met them all in the teeth (a troop of horse) some two hundred yards from the church-door. They took possession of Carnwath House, carried off a great number of horses which were provided for them by Mr. Lockhart, and about a dozen others, with their proprietors as prisoners, to Broughton ; where they met young Mr. Lockhart, who sent them and their horses all home again, retaining none but those which were provided by his father. Same day Liberton congregation broke up in great alarm, on account of the rebels being at Carnwath, so that no collection was made for the poor. The person who alarmed the people of Carnwath was English Jack, Mr. Bertram's footman. After Culloden young Lockhart came to Carnwath one Saturday evening, mounted on the Prince's horse, which was the one he rode when not walking on foot. On the Sunday it became known that young Lockhart was in Carnwath House, and a number of people assembled in a tumul- tuous manner round the house. Sir Archibald Denholm, of "Westshiel, was visiting there ere going home from church, and his butler, John Kobertson, came out and asked what they wanted. One cried "We want the young laird ! " " Weel, weel, callans," replied he, " I wad advise ye a' to gang peaceably away hame, for there are loaded blunder- busses lyin' on the table, that will clear the first stairfu' o' ye at ony rate ! "'' This intimation had the desired effect. The people went quietly THE FISHWIFE'S ADVICE TO HER BAIRN. 23 away, but on Monday morning a great crowd came down from the moor- lands, armed with guns, scythes, and pitchforks, to apprehend young Lockhart. But they were too late Lockhart was gone. After leaving Carnwath his horse cast a shoe. He went to the smith of Carstairs and got his horse shod ; and, while this was doing, walked up and down the smiddy with a drawn sword in one hand and a loaded pistol in the other. When mounted, at the west of Carstairs, he met the Lesmahagow carrier. Being a powerful man, he seized the carrier by the collar, and swore where'er he went he would go. He trailed him as far as Raven- struther, and then threw him from him. The Jacobites had a violent hatred of Lesmahagow people for apprehending Macdonald of Kinloch- moidart, and taking him prisoner to Edinburgh. From thence he was sent to Carlisle and executed. Mr. Lockhart got safe to the West Highlands, and thence to France in the same ship with Prince Charles, but he never saw Carnwath again. In all the acts of peace and pardon to the adherents of the Stuarts, George Lockhart, younger of Carnwath, was expressly mentioned by name as a person to whom no favours were to be extended. The Prince's horse was brought back to Carnwath, and for the Prince's sake had an easy and happy life as long as it lived. Years rolled on, and his father getting frail, it was considered to be an awkward matter if he should die and the heir attainted, so it was given out that he was very ill, then that he was dead. At Paris a funeral of a coffin filled with stones took place, word sent home that the young laird was dead, and the next son succeeded to the estate, burdened with a pension to his dead brother. Such is the traditional story of the people of Carnwath. THE FISHWIFE'S ADVICE TO HER BAIKN. KEN the kintra, Kirsty, Ken it wide and weel, Ere ye cry a codlin, Ere ye back a creel. Mini be wi' the leddies, Words are easy spared, Sellin' flukes and haddies, Bargain wi' the laird. Cosh be wi' your kirnmers, Whether auld or young, But wi' flytin Kramers, Mind your mither's tongue. 24 SONGS AND BALLADS OF CLYDESDALE. Let the auld and needy Ken ye hae a creel, But the grippin' greedy Pit it to them weel. Freely birl your bodle When the wark goes weel, But ne'er lade your nodle Till ye've toomed your creel. ' Learn io blaw and blether, Baith wi' lad and lass ; Gie yer tongue nae tether, Lang's it brings the brass. Sae ken the kintra, Kirsty, Ken. it wide and weel, Ere ye cry a codlin, Ere ye back a creel. AINSLIE. It may appear to some rather superfluous that the " Fishwife's Advice to her Bairn" should appear among the songs of Clydesdale, but in that well-known song, " The Newhaven Fishwife," the heroine states in the very first stanza that her "mither cam frae Stra'ven ;" and there is an old prophecy that Carnwath will yet be a sea-port, reasons sufficient cer- tainly for the " Fishwife's Advice to her Bairn" being enrolled among the songs of Clydesdale. THE COVENANTER'S LAMENT. THERE'S nae Covenant noo, lassie ! There's nae Covenant noo; The Solemn League and Covenant Are a' broken through. There's nae Renwick noo, lassie, There's nae gude Cargill, Nor holy Sabbath preachin' Upon the Martyrs' Hill. THE MARTYRS' WIDOWS. 25 It's naething but a sword, lassie 1 A bluidy, bluidy ane ! Wavin' owre puir auld Scotland For her rebellious sin. Scotland's a' wrang, lassie, Scotland's a' wrang ; It's neither to the hill nor dale, Lassie, we daur gang. The Martyrs' Hill's forsaken In simmer dusk sae calm, There's nae gath'rin' noo, lassie, To sing the eveniii' psalm. But the martyr's grave will rise, lassie, Aboon the warrior's cairn ; An' the martyr soon will sleep, lassie, Aneath the wavin' fern. ALLAN. THE MARTYKS' WIDOWS. SIT down, sit down by your martyr's grave, And I will sit by mine, And mourn for your kind and godly man. And I will mourn for mine. It's wae to thee and it's wae to me, For oor happy days are gane, And we maun sit wi' a tearfu' e'e In our bourach ha' alane. O Scotland ! Scotland ! it's wae to thee, When thy lichts are ta'en awa'; And it's wae ! and its wae to a sinfu' land When the righteous sae maun fa'. 26 SONGS AND BALLADS OF CLYDESDALE. It was a holy covenant vow, We made to heaven to keep, And it's a' for our broken covenant vow, That we maun sit and weep. The gerse may be green on yon bonnie hill tap, And the heather sweetly bloom, But there nae mair will we sit at e'en, For our hearts are in the tomb ! The hectic glow is upon my cheek, And the lily hue on thine, And sune will ye sleep by your martyr's side, And sune will I sleep by mine ! K. ALLAN. THE GUDEWIFE O' WILLOWDEN HA'. THE waefu' gudewife o' the Willowden Ha' Was ance the beauty and pride o' the parish ; Her daddie had died and left her his a', Her uncle had siller and she was his heiress. Sic comiii' and gangin', and wooin' and thrangin', And tynin' and winnen', was ne'er i' your kennin' ; But the laddie that carried the lassie aw a', Was Johnnie Gilfillan o' Willowden Ha'. The lassie was bred in a braw borough toon, Where fouth o' gude manners she learned fu' ready; When a' the new fashions frae Lunnon cam' doun, Where a' the young misses are fine as my lady. Wi' ribbons and ruffles, wi' feathers and muffles, Wi' fringes and laces, and pearlins and braces, Wi' everything bonnie and everything braw, She dazz'lt the folks o' the Willowden Ha'. THE GUDEWIPE O J WILLOWDEN HA J . 27 His daddie was vauntie, his minnie was vain, They gied to their Johnnie the house and hadden ; And muckle was gotten, and plenty was gaun For the back and the belly the day o' the waddin'. Wi' dautin' and kissin', wi' keekin' and dressin', Wi' janntin' and callin', and rantin' and ballin', The day slippit owre and the nicht flew awa,' And a' was fu' happy at Willowden Ha.' But wae to the wane o' the blythe hinnymoon, The luve o' the bonnie young leddy miscarried ; When the damn' was dune she gaed a' out o' tune, An' she thocht an unco thing noo to be marry't. An' thinkin' and ruein', an' wishin' an' trewin', An' greetin' an' sighin', an' sabbin' an' cryin' ; The country was dull and the hadden was sma', An' sair, sair she weari't o' Willowden Ha'. Tho' Johnnie was young and had siller fu' rife, A braw plenish't house and weel-stocket mailin', Yet a' wadna pleasure his gentle gudewife, And happiness never wad enter his dwellin'. Sae broken and bleerie, and daizent and drearie, And gloomin' and grievin', and daunted and driven, He sought in the howff, wham 1 the drouthy loons ca', For the peace that had fled frae Willowden Ha' ! At mornin' and e'enin', at nicht and at noon, They wasted, they wared, and they wrangl't wi' ither, Till the siller, the gear, and the credit gaed dune, And auld uncle's penny was gien till anither. Then waefu' and weary, and wilfu' and eerie, Wi' poverty pressin' and a' thing distressing His honour, the laird, he cam' in wi' the law, An' roupit the hadden o' Willowden Ha' ! LAING. Seldom has the muse of Scottish song imparted a more important lesson to young married people than in the story of " The Gudewife o r Willowden Ha.' " 28 SONGS AND BALLADS OF CLYDESDALE. TO MARY FLEMING, DAUGHTER OF THE EARL OF WIGTON. BY LOT QUEEN FOR ONE DAY AT THE COURT OF QUEEN MARY OF SCOTLAND. A ROYAL sceptre would be thine, Aye, Fleming in thy hand to wave, If either worth or famous line The prize of royal sceptre gave. If either grace or beauty's power, That in a noble mistress shine, Nor any grace nor beauty's dower Is worthier of the prize than thine. If favour with the gods in heaven The prayers and vows of men obtain, The sceptre has to thee been given By the fond vows and prayers of men. If fickle as the changing wind, The goddess chance our hap control, Though deaf of years, of eyesight blind, Devoid of understanding soul \ Yet neither deaf nor blind was she, Nor lacked a soul to understand, When she bestowed the realm on thee, And gave the sceptre to thy hand ; Or if she were, the truth to tell, If blind and deaf and void of mind, I credit when she chose so well, That virtue must have led the blind. Translated from BUCHANAN by A. GIBB, Free Church School, Carnwath. Lady Mary Fleming was one of the Queen's Marys, and must have been a paragon of beauty. Buchanan, being a poet, may be supposed to ELEGIAC BALLAD. 29 have had a warm imagination, but the following prose description of her appearance on that day by the cool-headed statesman, Thomas Eandolph, proves that she was no ordinary lady : l< That day it was seen, by her princely pomp, how fit a match she would be were she to contend either with Venus in beauty, Minerva in wit, or Juno in worldly wealth, having the two former by nature, and of the third so much as is contained in this realm at her command and free disposition. The treasure of Solomon, I trow, was not to be compared to that which that day hanged upon her back. Happy was it unto this realm that her reign endured no longer ! Two such sights in one State, in so good accord, I believe was never seen, as to behold two worthy Queens possess, without envy, one kingdom both upon a day. My pen staggereth, my head faileth, farther to write. Their praises surmount whatsoniever may be thought of them. The Queen of Beauty was that day in a gown of cloth of silver ; her head, her neck, her shoulders, the rest of her whole body, so beset with stones, that more in our whole jewel house could not be found. " It was part of the amusement of Mary's Court that once a-year one of her attendant ladies was chosen by lot to be for one day the Queen of Beauty ; on this occa- sion the lot fell upon Mary Fleming, whose father's home was Boghall Castle, Biggar. ELEGIAC BALLAD. ALL on the grass-green margin of Clyde, A fair maiden disconsolate lay tied swoll'n were her eyes with the salt trickling tear, And her cheek was as pale as the clay. Withered and wan was her once red-rose lip, And the charms of her youth were all flown, Like a flower that is scorched by the midsummer heat, Or is plucked before it be blown. Loose on her neck hung her bonnie long hair, No green garland the ringlets combined ; Of her lover's false vows, and his late pledged troth, And misery she sang to the wind " Clyde ! Clyde ! roll on your clear crystal waves ;" It was thus with a sigh she began ; " But roll where you will, you never will find Such a lovely and faithless young man. 30 SONGS AND BALLADS OF CLYDESDALE. " Beware, oh, beware ! ye fair, fair maids ; Oh, beware ! and take warning by me, Nor trust not a swain, though he swears to be true They are false, but not lovely as he. " It was in yon osier leaf-lined bower Oh, too well I remember the place ! For my own fingers wove the green bending twigs, And he covered the benches with grass ; " That he took me in his soft circling arms, And did fondlingly kiss me the while ; But beware, oh, beware ! of the heart-stealing kiss, For men kiss where they mean to beguile ; " * Eliza, to hang on thy lily-white neck, And to press thy fair bosom to mine Is enough ; yes, away with that base dirty pelf, 'Tis enough 'tis enough to be thine. " ' Proud damsels may deck them in fine rich array, And every rude feature adorn, But can riches or pride e'er attire them like thee In the purple and freshness of morn. " ' Away, foolish grandeur, 111 ne'er change my love, Or this kiss, this sweet kiss, be my last ; Yes, the gods, who look down on that leaf-lined bower, Can witness how truly I'm blest ! ' " Such, such were his words, when close to his breast With many a sigh he me drew ; So kind, so sincere, and so hearty they seemed, That I could not but think they were true. " How frail and how feeble a fond maid's bliss, Overturned by all breezes that blow ! How weak is the barrier, how narrow the line, That separates our love from our woe ! ELEGIAC BALLAD. 31 " Where are ye now, ye false flattering joys, Ye prospects of pleasures unknown ? Like my false love, ye faithless have left me to weep, And with him ye to Clara have flown. " Ah ! do not believe them, thou rash, rash maid, Or farewell thy composure of mind ; They may charm for a little, but beware, ah ! beware, Of a poison that festers behind. " Look, look but on me nay, nay, never fear, I'm a rival you scarcely can dread ; No roses now bloom on this pale lily cheek, Nor is mine the fair flock that I fed. " Look, look yet again, and tell unto me And ah ! see it be truth that you tell Can your fondness secure you the false wand'ring swain, When I'm thus but for loving too well ? " Away, haste away, ye slow, slow hours, And be dipped, O yon sun in the sea Ah me ! but I rave, for the time is no more When the evening brought comfort to me. " Sad, ever sad ! is there no kind cure, Not a balsam provided for woe 1 Oh, tell me, some angel ! in what happy clime Does the precious remedy grow ? " Kindly remembered, thou fire-clad sprite It is there, it is certainly there ; And soon will I seek, in the cold darksome grave, For a balsam to love and despair ! " From " Poems by James Graeme," published in 1773 by W. Somerville, Lanark. Graeme was the fellow-student and early friend of Dr. Ander- son of Edinburgh. He died on the 26th of July, 1772, at the early age of 21. Dr. Anderson superintended the original edition, and likewise included his friend's works, in his edition of the British Poets. There is good reason to believe that the doctor himself was the author of this 32 SONGS AND BALLADS OF CLYDESDALE. ballad. He states in the preface that there are a few pieces by a different writer, which the ingenious reader would easily distinguish, from the difference of style and subject, from the rest of the volume, and from this statement, we believe this to be the doctor's own juvenile performance. It is said by tradition, that the heroine of the ballad was Miss Elizabeth Kello, daughter of a very worthy man, who bore the singular sobriquet of " Gospel Johnnie," a Carnwath David Deans in his way. Johnnie had once the misfortune to lose a cow, and so much was he esteemed by young Count Lockhart, that he saved as much from his pocket money while a minor, as bought another cow for Johnnie. The lovely and faithless young man, we are happy to say, was not so bad as represented in the text ; he was gamekeeper on the Carnwath estate, and made the love-lorn damsel a happy wife. One of their sons, who bore his father's name (George Ramsay), was for several years sub-editor of the Scotsman. Dr. Anderson was the early friend of Thomas Campbell. The first edition of " The Pleasures of Hope" was inscribed to Dr. Anderson. LINES, BY GEORGE RAMSAY OF CARNWATH, ON SEEING TOMBSTONES STAND- ING IN THE MIDST OF A FLOWER GARDEN AT CASTLE CRAIG, THE SEAT OF SIR THOMAS G. CARMICHAEL, BART., IN THE PARISH OF KIRKURD, PEEBLESSHIRE. OH ! who could have deemed, that those gay smelling flowers, To the bones of the dead were a covering ; That bodies lay festering, under these bowers, Or spirits around them were hovering. For no narrow bed, with its green, grassy mound, Is seen round their bones to be swelling, Yet the grey tombstones, that are scattered around, Are the bounds of a cemetery telling. And so lowly and still is this place of the dead, So holy, so soothing to feeling, So charming the pall that has o'er it been spread, No gloom to the heart can be stealing. Oh ! then can these flowers, as in mockery bloom, O'er the bodies that 'neath them are lying 1 Or can they in spirit thus encircle the tomb, As if life with corruption was vying? ON SEEING TOMBSTONES IN A FLOWER GARDEN. 33 No, though to the mouldering dwellers beneath. They vainly their fragrance are giving- They were placed o'er their graves, sweetest incense to breathe, By the kind, pious hand of the living. And here in this flower bed, and meet is the place, In this flower bed so gay and imposing, The once faithful swain, and the maid of his choice, Perhaps are together reposing. Perhaps in this spot lie the bridegroom and bride, Who in life were so dear to each other ; The brother and sister may sleep side by side, The babe on the breast of its mother. So lovely their beds who that o'er them e'er tread Could think of their fate to be weeping ; Or who ever mused o'er their flower spangled bed But envied the depth of their sleeping. May mine be the spot when o'er my dark grave The roses I cherished when living, The flowers that I loved all their beauties may crave, And all their sweet perfume be giving. May such be the spot, in some flowery dell, where The larks from its turf may be springing, Where the blackbird and mavis may love to repair The dirge of my rest to be singing. Oh ! not in the dark, dripping tomb be my bed, Its breath all of verdure consuming, But give me green tendrils, to wave o'er my head, O'er my breast let the daisy be blooming. 34 SONGS ASD BALLADS OP CLYDESDALE. CHANGE. WE mark it in the fleecy clouds That ghost-like wander by; The brightest flower has but its hour, To bud, to bloom, and die; 'Tis read in old familiar things, As in the new and strange, Where'er we go, whate'er we know, 'Tis change for ever change ! 'Tis written on the tranquil waves, Oh ! fearfully and strong ; The rivers that now calmly glide, In torrents gush along ; The birds that glad our summer woods, Have still their hour to range ; The leaves must fall the doom of all ! 'Tis change for ever change ! But oh ! not only in the woods, The streams, the flowers, the trees, Do we appear, from year to year, Less changed than aught of these ? Old loves we leave, old links we break, Old friends to us grow strange The saddest emblem of the heart Is change for ever change ! CAKNWATH FAIR IN 1770. THE sun shines potent from the mid-day sky, His rays glance dazzling from the tinsled head, The noon-tide fervour smooths the glossy hair, And aids the blushing of the panting maid. CAKNWATH FAIR. 35 The rustic gallants, with their reddening prize, Retire exulting from the dusty street, Quaff the cool beer, and mixed with kisses bland, And forceful sighs, the tender tale repeat. While coyly passive sits the modest fair, With breast wild throbbing, and dejected eye ; Or should she kind adjust the rosy lip, Or yield the embrace, no envious tell-tale nigh. On yonder board the bowl and tumbler marks More costly liquor and a richer miss ; Fast by her side the brawny stripling smiles, Nor values sixpence while he gains a kiss. If such the blessings of a low estate, Who would not joy to guide the shining share, To whirl the flail, ingulf the delving spade, Or tune the reed beside the fleecy care. Name not the biting blast the peasant bears, The face embrowned, the blister-swollen hand ; A day like this rewards an age of toil ! Softens the voice of many a rough command ! JAMES GK^)ME, CAENWATH. OUR AULD GUDEMAN HAS LEFT US. OUR auld gudeman has left us we have lost a friendly guide, His big arm-chair is vacant noo, his staff is laid aside ; Its aid he needs nae langer as a prop against the blast, He is resting now in safety, his pilgrimage is past ! Our auld gudeman has left us the venerable form That long had stood the summer's sun, and braved the winter's storm, Has yielded now to nature's call, and the angel's welcome kiss, Hath changed his hoary winter into spring's eternal bliss ! 36 SONGS AND BALLADS OF CLYDESDALE. Our auld gudeman has left us and our eyes with tears are dim, The churchyard bell, so often heard, hath called at last for him ; Full many dear ones passed away, while years still crowned his brow, But God hath taken to reward His old disciple now. Our auld gudeman has left us tho' we fain would think him near, His cautious step and kindly voice we often seem to hear ; But ah ! that voice is silent now, and many a happy wean Has sorrow felt, and blessings lost since grandpapa is gane. Our auld gudeman has left us ! nae mair auld freends he'll meet, Or at the kirk on Sabbath morn amang them tak' his seat ; For he in hope o' brighter joys, by past assurance given, Hath left the Church on earth, and joined the Church of God in heaven. JAMES WATSON, DOUGLAS. LADY GRANGE. Air " In Lonely Wilds." OH ! lang the Lady Grange did live Upon St. Kilda's rock ; But sorrow surely winna kill, Or else her heart had broke. Far, far removed from kith and kin, And a' that life endears, She aft looked o'er the watery waste, Where ne'er a ship appears. " Oh ! is it for my father's crime That I'm thus banished far 1 Or was it ony faut o' mine That kindled civil war? LADY GRANGE. 37 M'Leod and Lovat, weel I trow, Has wrought this treacherie ; But wherefore has their cruel spite Fa'en a' on helpless me." And thus she mourned, fair Lady Grange, Thus sped her life away ; The morning sun it brought no joy, And night did close the day ; And nought was heard but the sea-birds' cry To cheer her solitude, Or the wild billows raging roar, That broke o'er rocks so rude. At length a favouring wind did bring An auld and worthy pair, Wha wi' the kindest charitie Her sorrows a' did share. They taught her pridefu' heart to bend Aneath the chast'ning rod, And then she kenned her prison walls Had been a blest abode. LADY NAIRN. The story of Lady Grange is one of the most remarkable in Scottish history. She was the daughter of Chiesly, Laird of Kersewell, Carnwath. This gentleman being remarkable for the violence of his temper, his lady left him after being the mother of eleven children, and sued him for a separate maintenance. They agreed to submit the matter for arbitration to Sir George Lockhart, Lord President of the Court of Session, and Lord Kemnay, who decided that Chiesly was to pay 90 per annum for the support of his wife and family. Chiesly considered himself greatly injured by this decision, and vowed revenge. Some time after he watched the Lord President, and on Sunday, the 31st March, 1689, after forenoon service, went behind him on the street, and shot him in the back. Sir George fell mortally wounded, and was carried to his house in the Lawn Market, only a few yards from where he fell, and died in a few minutes. Chiesly was immediately apprehended, tried on Monday, sentenced to be executed on Wednesday, with the pistol with which he committed the murder hung round his neck, his right hand which fired the pistol to be struck off by the hangman ere he was turned over, and his body to be hung in chains. This dreadful sentence was carried into effect, at the Gallowlee between Leith and Edinburgh, on the third day after the murder; but on the very first night after the execution Chiesly's body disappeared, and it was never known what became of it until a few years 38 SONGS AND BALLADS OF CLYDESDALE. ago, when Dairy House (which at the time of the murder was Chiesly's town residence) was undergoing some repairs, the workmen had occasion to lift the kitchen floor, and there found the skeleton of a man in chains, being no doubt the remains of Chiesly, whose body had been removed in the night and buried in the floor of his own house by his family. Sir George Lockhart was buried in the Greyfriars Church, with an extra- ordinary attendance, the Convention Parliament, which had deposed King James and elected William and Mary, being in session at the time. This is her father's crime alluded to in the text. But it was not for this she was so illegally secluded. Unfortunately for this lady, she inherited the violent temper of her father. Erskine of Grange had courted her and promised marriage, but rather seemed disposed to resile from his engagement, when Miss Chiesly told him very sternly, "Take care what you are about, sir ; remember I am a daughter of Chiesly's." So Erskine, somewhat reluctantly it is believed, had to go through with the marriage for his personal safety. Mrs. Erskine was a woman of ungovernable temper. Her husband was the brother of the Earl of Mar who raised the standard of rebellion in 1715 ; and although he professed loyalty to the reigning house in order to retain his office, was a Jacobite at heart, and secretly abetted the efforts of his brother to overturn the Revolution Settlement. By concealing herself under a sofa in his business room, she heard the conversation of her husband with Lord Lovat and other adherents of the exiled house, and in the course of her ebullitions of temper, which were frequent and terrible, she threatened to denounce him and his friends to the Government. He was seriously afraid she would carry her threats into effect ; so, consulting with her children, who were grown up, and obtaining their approval, Lord Grange had his wife seized by the emissaries of the notorious Lord Lovat on the 22nd April, 1732, and conducted from place to place by night journeys till she reached the Hebrides. She was detained in the Isle of Hisker two years, in St. Kilda seven, and in the Isle of Skye four, till her death in 1745. It is to be hoped that Lady Nairn's statement of the poor lady's temper being subdued by her secluded exile is well founded. The people of Carnwath have often seen their church arrayed in the ensigns of mourn- ing; but surely there never was so much cause as when Sir George Lockhart, the principal heritor of the parish, was murdered on the Sunday, and Chiesly of Kersewell, another of the chief heritors, publicly executed on the following Wednesday ! JOHN FEOST. YE'VE been owre long o' coming this year, John Frost, Wi' your snaws and your cauld icy gear, John Frost, And I'm ne'er a bit blate, Ye auld scoundrel, to say't, That ye've nae business noo to appear, John Frost. JOHN FROST. 39 Tho' a dour-lookin' red-nebbit chiel, John Frost, In your ain place I like ye fu' weel, John Frost, When oor callants I see, On your sides fu' o' glee, And their sires at the roarin' bonspiel, John Frost. But it's daft-like, to say naething mair, John Frost, A' winter to skulk in your lair, John Frost, And now owre sweet spring Your cauld mantle to fling I'm a saint if it's even half fair, John Frost. Wee birds 'mang the snaws whistled sweet, John Frost, And flowers glinted fresh at oor feet, John Frost, And oor auld apple tree, Like a bride tae the e'e Noo the sicht o't could maist gar me greet, John Frost. An' last week, in the auld Winterlaw, John Frost, The nest o' the mavis I saw, John Frost, In the breist o' a yew, Wi' four eggs a' bricht blue Noo the deuce ye'll hae played wi' them a', John Frost. The past was a stepmother year, John Frost, Leavin' 'tatoes and meal baith owre dear, John Frost, And puir folk scant o' claes, Wi' toom wames and cauld taes, And praying ye sair to forbear, John Frost. Then tak' my advice as a frien', John Frost, Cut your stick, and be aff trig and clean, John Frost, And as sure as I'm here, When ye come back next year, We'll shake hands and this thraw'll be forgi'en, John Frost. MACDONALD. 40 SONGS AND BALLADS OP CLYDESDALE. NEVER DESPAIR NEVER despair let the feeble in spirit Bow like the willow that stoops to the blast ; Droop not in peril 'tis manhood's true merit Nobly to struggle and hope to the last. When by the sunshine of fortune forsaken, Faint sinks the heart of the feeble with fear, Stand like the oak of the forest unshaken Never despair, boys ! never despair ! Never despair tho' adversity rages Fiercely and fell as the surge on the shore, Firm as the rock on the ocean for ages, Stem the rude torrent till danger is o'er. Fate with its whirlwind our joys may all sever, True to ourselves we have nothing to fear j This be our hope and our anchor for ever Never despair, boys ! never despair 1 LAKE. JEANIE DIXON. O BONNIE Jeanie Dixon ! I often mind the time, When first we met, when we were young, in simmer's glori- ous prime ; The sun shone bright, the leaves were green, the lark sang loud and free, And merry, merry were the hearts that danced in you and me. O bonnie Jeanie Dixon ! happy, happy were the days, When we climbed the steeps of Arthur's Seat, and roamed the broomy braes, And by the Wells o' Wearie sat, till the dews o' heaven cam doon, And the stars aboon shone clear and bright, as we gaed to the toon. JEANIE DIXON. 41 bonnie Jeanie Dixon ! I think I see you still As fair, as young, as lovely trippin' round the Calton Hill ; 1 hear the music o' thy voice, I see the witchin' smile, The dimpled cheek and laughin' e'e, that sweetened a' my toil! O bonnie Jeanie Dixon ! lang years have passed away ; My locks were dark and glossy then, and now are thin and And the mists o' age are gatherin' fast around this heart o' mine, Yet aye I mind the happy dreams the dear dreams o' lang- syne ! O bonnie Jeanie Dixon ! ye have passed that dreary bourne That bounds the close of human life, and never can return ! But I will follow soon, my love, and we will meet again, In that bright land where peace, and joy, and love for ever reign ! Jeanie Dixon was a most amiable and beautiful girl, a native of Collie- burn in the parish of "West Linton. She died at Glasgow, about 1844, in the prime of life. MORRISON'S PILLS. OF all the wonders we have read since first the world began, The greatest lately has appeared, and Morrison's the man ; No longer death we need to fear, or labour under ills, For all diseases now are cured by the Vegetable Pills ! He says they're sure to do it, They're very sure to do it, They're safe and sure to do it, Are the Vegetable Pills ! 42 SONGS AND BALLADS OF CLYDESDALE. If all your hair should tumble off, you need not care a fig, Just take the Pills, 'twill grow again you'll never need a wig; If you're in love vour fair's unkind despair your bosom fills, She'll soon consent if you give her the Vegetable Pills ! You'll then be sure to do it, &c. In a battle what a charming thing for all who have to go, That they may cut and slash away, nor loss of limb can know For should they lose a leg or arm, the cure is at their wills, They'll grow again if they but take the Vegetable Pills ! They'll find 'em sure to do it, &c. And if they chance to lose their heads, they've nothing more to do Take twenty pills of No. 1, and forty No. 2 ; Or if you should be cut in halves, by some sharp engine wheel, You're whole again if you but take the Vegetable Pill ! You'll find 'em sure to do it, &c. If appetite be lost, the Pills restore it in a day, Or if your appetite's too great, they'll take it quite away ; They'll make you hot, or make you cold do all but pay your bills ; If you'd be rich, and wish for gold, take Vegetable Pills ! They're sure to do it, &c. The Rosslyn folks no longer now can sad mishaps forebode ; No matter if the powder mills should happen to explode ; Though blown to atoms, they may be united at their wills, And every particle replaced by Vegetable Pills ! They're sure to do it, &c. Young married folks may now rejoice, and discord set at rest, For if for little ones they sigh, the Pills will make them blest ; An heir or heiress they may have, as inclination wills, If dear mamma will only take the Vegetable Pills ! I'm very sure they'll do it, &c. LIBERTON MOOR. 43 In short, the blind may gain their sight, the dumb may find a tongue, The lame may quickly run a race, the old again be young ; One dose will make them laugh or cry, and every belly fill, In fact, if you would never die, take a Yegetable Pill ! For the College says they'll do it, &c. EGBERT WILKIE, ESQ., OP LADTTHOKN. This exquisite jeu cT esprit is from the drama of " Yalla Gaiters." LIBERTON MOOR. THERE is a track which I never tread, But it fills my heart with pain ; 'Tis one of the few, few places we see, And wish never to see again ! In the lone churchyard it is sad to stray Where the graves are growing green, But still our pensiveness is shared With thoughts of life that has been. But how could this waste have otherwise looked, Though it ne'er by men had been trod ? More desolate hardly could it appear, Though left and forgotten by God ! The husbandman's feeble attempts but shew Thy cursed soil the more ; His spirit soon fails, rude Nature prevails, And leaves thee, the same as before. Vain as the haughty Persian's lash, On the free and unfettered main, Which felt not the stroke, nor heeded the threat, But rushed to its strength again. 44 SONGS AND BALLADS OF CLYDESDALE. On the right and left, and all around, Lies the same unlovely scene, And well I see thou must ever remain The same as thou ever hast been. Thy birthday ode was the lapwing's shriek, The heath thy swaddling band ; Thy dirge shall be the curlew's cry Thy shroud the barren sand. The spring can bring no spring to thee ; Summer to thee is a curse 'Tis needless for winter to revel here It cannot make thee worse. If some poor wretch now would hang himself, This is the spot he would choose For here no charm would make him regret, To tie the unholy noose. But, if at last, for sad relief, To the arms of death he would flee, And gladly hang himself for grief, He must live for want of a tree ! Let me hasten away from this dreary spot, For my bosom swells with pain ; 'Tis one of the few, few places we see, And wish never to see again 1 ? EEV. JAMES PROUDFOOT. "When these lines were written, Liberton Moor was an open waste ; it is now enclosed, sub-divided, and adorned with plantations, where the would-be suicide would find trees in abundance. It is curious that Robert Chambers had similar feelings on passing through the Lang Whang. "The scene,' he said, " was so desolate, it could not be recollected without horror." On the other hand, we have heard of a Yankee who, when he reached the summit of Achinool Hill, and saw the long treeless expanse of the Lang Whang stretched out before him, clapped his hands and exclaimed in a perfect rapture * ' Well, well ! such a splendid view ! I never saw a sight like that in all my life ; such a large tract of well- cleared land ! " it was so different from the forest scenery of America. Liberton Moor was improved while the first Sir Norman M. Lockhart was proprietor, and that energetic gentleman, Mr. James Brown, was farmer. IN MEMORY OF HUGH MILLER. 45 IN MEMORY OF HUGH MILLER. BORN in a cottage, schooled in cottage lore, ; Midst toilsome labour, plodding day by day, He shamed the pride of colleges, and bore The palm from academic halls away. And never did strong-built Scottish frame enclose A heart to Scotland more entirely true ; Bruce, Wallace, Burns, let Miller now repose In patriotic fellowship with you. A Bible-champion bold, what sceptic dared To meet the sweep of his resistless rod, As down into the earth he dug, and bared The mighty footprints of the Christian's God. He feared not the astronomer, whose flight Soared high enough into the blue recess ; He feared not the geologist, whose sight Dived deep enough into the dark abyss. The paths of that abyss he downward trod, Till Reason's lamp no more his guide would be ; And when he stumbled in the dark, O God ! Thou knowest he fell in seeking after Thee ! Go, build his monument, and build it one Like his own genius, broad, and deep, and high And build it not of marble, but of stone, The Red Sandstone of his loved Cromarty. Yet build it not, for monuments must fall, And columns rich with hieroglyphic lore ; Be his enduring monument the wall Of giant rock that guards his native shore. REV. J. PROUDFOOT. 46 SONGS AND BALLADS OF CLYDESDALE. TO ISABELLE. O STAY not here, my fair Isabelle, For the dews of heaven are falling, And the lonely craik, mid the sweet blue bells, To his gentle mate is calling. The evening star burns bright on high, Thousands around us are rolling ! And the dulcet tones of the vesper bell From afar are faintly tolling. The waterfalls and the rocky shoals Of the Clyde are sounding loudly, While the moon looks down from her radiant throne On all the world so proudly. The fox howls loud on the distant fell, The owl screams lonely and weary ; Then stay here no longer, my fair Isabelle, For oh, it is cold and dreary ! PHILLIS THE FAIK. Tune "Kobin Adair." WHILE larks with little wing Fanned the pure air, Tasting the breathing spring, Forth I did fare ; Gay the sun's golden eye Peeped o'er the mountains high Such thy morn ! did I cry, Phillis the fair. In each bird's ceaseless song Glad did I share ; While yon wild flowers among, Chance led me there ; DOWN WINDING NITH I DID WANDER. 47 Sweet to the opening day, Rosebuds bent the dewy spray ; Such thy bloom ! did I say, Phillis the fair. Down in a shady walk, Doves cooing were \ I marked the cruel hawk, Caught in a snare ; So kind may fortune be, Such make his destinie, He who would injure thee, Phillis the fair. So much for namby-pamby. I may after all try my hand on it in Scots verse, there I always find myself most at home. BUKNS. Burns is understood to have in "Phillis the Fair," represented the tender feelings which Clarke entertained towards Miss Philadelphia M'Murdo, one of his pupils. This lady afterwards became Mrs. Norman Lockhart, of Carnwath. K. CHAMBERS. DOWN WINDING NITH I DID WANDER. Tune " The Muckiu' o' Geordie's Byre." ADOWN winding Nith I did wander To mark the sweet flowers as they spring, Adown winding Nith I did wander, Of Phillis to muse and to sing. Chorus Awa' wi' your belles and your beauties, They never wi' her can compare j Wha ever has met wi' my Phillis, Has met wi' the queen o' the fair. The daisy amused my fond fancy, So artless, so simple, so wild j Thou'rt emblem, said I, o' my Phillis ! For she is simplicity's child. 4:8 SONGS AND BALLADS OF CLYDESDALE. The rosebud's the blush o' my charmer, Her sweet balmy lip when it's press'd;. How fair and how pure is the lily, But fairer and purer her breast. Yon knot of gay flowers in the arbour, They ne'er wi' my Phillis can vie ; Her breath is the breath o' the woodbine, Its dewdrop o' diamond her eye. Her voice is the song of the morning, That wakes through the green spreading grove, When Phoebus peeps over the mountains, On music, and pleasure, and love. But beauty ! how frail and how fleeting The bloom of a fine summer day ! While worth in the mind o' my Phillis Will flourish without a decay. BURNS. Mr. Clarke begs of you to give Miss Phillis a corner in your book, as she is a particular flame of his. She is a Miss Phillis M'Murdo, sister to " Bonnie Jean." They are both pupils of his. BURNS TO MR. THOMPSON. " Phillis the Fair," during her happy married life, resided with her husband in Carnwath House, and there became the mother of a numerous family. She was much admired for her beauty and personal attractions, and esteemed and beloved for her kindly sympathies for all in distress. This was the estimation in which she was held by the people of Carn- wath ; and the following inscription upon her tombstone in St. Mary's Aisle was the genuine expression of her husband's feelings on her untimely death after a short illness : THIS TABLET IS INSCRIBED BY NORMAN LOCKHART, ESQ., TO RECORD, HOWEVER INADEQUATELY, HIS DEEP SENSE OV THE MANIFOLD VIRTUES WHICH ADORNED THE CHARACTER OF PHILADELPHIA BARBARA M'MURDO, HIS BELOVED WIFE; WHO, AFTER BEING ENABLED BY DlVINE GRACE, TO DISCHARGE IN AN ENDEARING AND EXEMPLARY MANNER THE DUTIES OF A "WlFE AND PARENT, FELL ASLEEP IN JESUS, SEPTEMBER 5TH, 1825, TO BE FOR EVER WITH THE LORD. ON A SPRIG OP HEATHER FROM HOME. 49 O see how soon the flowers of life decay, How soon terrestrial pleasures fade away ; The star of comfort, for a season given, First shone on earth, then sets to rise in heaven. But mourn not as of life bereft her doom, Nor sorrowing water with thy tears her tomb ; Redeemed by God from sin, released from pain , To her to live was Christ, to die was gain. ON A SPRIG OF HEATHER FROM HOME. BY AN EMIGRANT FROM COVINGTON. How many scenes of childhood's days Pass through my mind in close review, Though thirty years have passed, I ween, Since I was where this heather grew. Sad memories crowd around my heart, Sweet heather, as I gaze on you, Of that dear land across the sea My birth-place where this heather grew. The castle old, its garden wild, Where still rare flowers in spring peep through The grass that lined the half-filled moat, And gowans with this heather grew. The tales our father loved to tell Of barons bold and vassals true, Who chased the deer o'er moss and fell And moorland, where this heather grew. The dovecot, built long years ago, From which at morn the pigeons flew ; The grey old kirk, whose Sabbath bell Sounds sweetly where this heather grew, D 50 SONGS AND BALLADS OF CLYDESDALE. The stately trees, the sweetbriar hedge, Which o'er the air such fragrance threw ; The blackberry copse, the school, the verge, The moss, where once this heather grew. The haunted saugh, the stories told Of ghosts and goblins not a few ; The witch rowan tree, 'neath which the thyme Bloomed sweetest where this heather grew. The dear old Clyde, the bubbling springs, From which such cooling draughts we drew ; The broomy knowes, the fairy rings On moors, where once this heather grew. I think I hear the quaint old rhyme, Which to our childish minds seemed true, Of Tinto, with her top of mist, And at whose foot the heather grew. Full many of that kindred band, Who crossed with me the ocean blue, Alas ! are laid in their cold graves, Far, far from where this heather grew. Though in this land I've happy been, With many friends both tried and true, My memory will forever cling To home, where once this heather grew. H. W. The writer of these lines is evidently an emigrant from Covington, tbe scenery of which is very well depicted, and his feelings well-expressed. Covington has sent a great number of enterprising spirits across the Atlantic the Prentices and Purdies and have founded no less than sixteen Covingtons in the United States. THE DRUCKEN LAIRD OF LAMINGTON. 51 THE DRUCKEN LAIRD OF LAMINGTON. CAN I bear to part with thee, Never mair thy face to see 1 Can I bear to part with thee, Drucken Laird of Lamington 1 Canty were ye owre yer kaii, Toddy jugs and jaups o' ale, Heart aye kind and leal and hale, Honest Laird of Lamington. He that swears is but so-so, He that cheats to hell must go, He that falls in bagnio, Falls in the devil's frying-pan. Wha was't ne'er pat aith to word, Never cringed to duke or lord, Never sat at sinfu' board? The honest Laird of Lamington. He that cheats can ne'er be just, He that lees is no to trust, He that drinks to drauk his dust, Wha can say that wrang is done ? Wha was ne'er to fraud inclined, Never le'ed sin' he could mind, Ane whase drouth there's few can find, The drucken Laird of Lamington. I like a man to take his glass, Toast his friend, and bonnie lass j He that winna is an ass Deil send him ane to gallop on. 52 SONGS AND BALLADS OP CLYDESDALE. I like a man that's frank and kind, Meets me when I hae a mind, Sings his song and drinks me blind, Like the dmcken Laird of Lamington. J. HOGG, ETTRICK SHEPHERD. James W. Baillie, Esq., of Culterallers, author of the "Lives of the Baillies," is of opinion that the hero of this song is Sir William Maxwell Baillie, son of Margaret Baillie, and heiress of Lamington, and her husband, Sir William Maxwell. Sir William Baillie, this gentleman's maternal grandfather, was the eighth laird in succession, and the last of the male line of the Baillies of Lamington. The " Drucken" Laird was knighted by James VI., and in 1612 was one of the members of Parlia- ment for Lanarkshire. He was a great horse-racer, and had races at Lamington, and on the public road between Lamington and Coulter, at the Black Coal Heads. The Baillies are a very ancient family. Three brothers, of Saxon origin, Lambinus, Robertus, and Wicius, left England after the Norman Conquest, settled in the Upper Ward of Clydesdale, and founded the three parishes of Lamington, Roberton, and Wiston. This ancient family is now represented by Lord Lamington of Lamington, who is also the descendant of the heiress of Lamington, and our great national hero, Sir William Wallace. TO ELIZA. WHILE the night-bird screams, and the moonlight gleams, On the loch in a dazzling sheen, At the midnight hour, in the greenwood bower, I muse on our parting scene. O Eliza dear ! the heart-wrung tear Flows afresh on this fatal eve, Which beheld thee remove to the regions above, And left me alone to grieve. The sound of thy name still thrills my frame, And my pulse beats quick and strong, When as now I pace, o'er the sacred place, Where we met when our love was young. THE BONNIE BAWBEE. 53 And my heart still warms, when I think of the charms, Of thine eyes so darkly blue ; Of that rose-bud cheek, of that brow so meek, And that heart so kind and true. But death's fell worm, blasts the loveliest form, And thine seemed of heavenly mould ; But now in the dust it sleeps with the just, Till time's last hour be tolled. Thy life has been, like the opening scene, Of a glorious summer day ; But long ere noon, the storm's dark frown Veiled every shining ray. The bright, bright beams of hope's gay dreams Enchant my heart no more ; For I look not for rest, till with her I love best, I meet on a heavenly shore ! Written in memoriam of Miss Eliza Ormiston, a beautiful young girl of Carnwath. THE BONNIE BAWBEE ! WHAT a wonderfu' thing is the face of a king, Even on copper to see ; It pleases the child, and auld age is beguiled, By the aid of the bonnie bawbee ! Chorus Then, oh ! how I love the bawbee, bawbee ! Its name is so charming to me ; The mint or the reign, I mind not a grain, In pouchin' the bonnie bawbee, bawbee ! The love-stricken swain may fortune disdain, But oh, what a ninnie is he ! 'Tis easy to prove the most lasting love Is love for the bonnie bawbee ! 54 SONGS AND BALLADS OF CLYDESDALE. The most worthless hash, with plenty of cash, His neebours may find frank and free ; But from him soon they will all wheel away, For lack o' the bonnie bawbee ! The soldier for pay fights oft by the day ; The lawyer fights hard for his fee ; The bustle and strife in the battle o' life Is all for the bonnie bawbee ! The preacher loves well his hearers to tell, How they should bestow charity ; Yet nae man I wist can keep in his fist, Such a grip o' the bonnie bawbee ! That friendship in need is friendship indeed, All mankind will ever agree ; But sages contend, the most worthy friend, Is found in the bonnie bawbee ! Yet let not this lay lead any astray, Of high or of humble degree, His rank to forego, by stooping too low, To pick up a passing bawbee ! Yet hail to the bonnie bawbee, bawbee ! Best emblem of true liberty, liberty ! We cannot our ain independence maintain Without aid o' the bonnie bawbee ! TRAIN. THE ICE-BOUND WAVE. WHEN the green leaves o' simmer a' are faded and gane, And the rich stores of autumn are swept from the plain, Round Tintoc's high cairn, while the wintry winds rave, Keen curlers seek the joys o' the ice-bound wave. TRIAL OF ROBERT BAILLIE OF JERVISWOOD. 55 The warm climes o' the south, where the sun ever shines, May boast o' their myrtles and rich laden vines ; Tho' the choicest productions of nature they have, Yet they never knew the joys o' the ice-bound wave. The puir dozen'd things under tropical skies Wad shiver in the land where the snow-wreath lies ; But the sons of Caledonia, the free and the brave, Have joys that kings might envy on the ice-bound wave. On our ain White Loch, when the frost was nippin' keen, Wi' the comrades o' my youth mony a glorious game I've seen, And mony mae I hope to hae, before I reach the grave, Wi' the curlers o' Carstairs on the ice-bound wave. Now here's to Johnnie Frost, on his throne the icy pole, May he ne'er forget to visit us, while round the seasons roll; And here's to a' keen curlers too, come pledge me all I crave, Wha love the roarin' joys o' the ice-bound wave ! Written for the Carnwath Curling Club, many years ago, when Mr. John Dymock was Secretary. The reference to Carstairs is explained by the fact that for the previous forty years Carstairs curlers had always defeated those of Carnwath, but at that time victory passed over to Carnwath. The cause of the loss by Carstairs was supposed to be the drainage, some time before, of Carstairs Dub, where in former times the youths of that town were from their infancy trained in the science of curling. After it was drained, the right hand of Carstairs lost its cunning. TRIAL AND DEATH OF ROBERT BAILLIE, OF JERVISWOOD. TWAS when December's darkening scowl the face of heaven o'ercast, And vile men high in place were more unpitying than the blast ; Before their grim tribunal's front, firm and undaunted stood That patriot chief of high renown, the noble Jer vis wood. 56 SONGS AND BALLADS OF CLYDESDALE. The hand of death is on him pressed the seal of death is there ! Oh, the savage of the wilderness those weak old limbs would spare ! Frail, frail his step, and spent his frame, and ye may plainly trace The shadow of death's wing upon his pale and sunken face. These twenty long and dreary months in the dungeon he hath lain Long days of sickness, weary nights of languishing and pain; For him no gale hath breathed its balm, no sun hath blest the year, No friendly hand to smooth his couch, nor friendly voice to cheer j His lady in their lonely hall doth mournful vigils keep, And where he sat and where he walked, his children watch and weep. Yet o'er his weakness and decay, an ancient grandeur falls, Like the majesty that lingers round some mould'ring palace walls ; The light of calm and noble thoughts is bright within that eye, And purged of earthly taint, his soul prepares to mount on high. Nor is he left alone : a sister faithful to him clung, With woman's heart, with home-born love, with woman's look and tongue ; There in that Golgotha she sits, so tender, so benign, Fair as the moon's sweet glimpses through the cloudy tem- pests shine. The court is met, the assize are set, the robes of state look brave, Yet the proudest and the lordliest there is but a tyrant's slave ; Blood-hirelings they, who earn their pay by foul and treach'rous deeds, For swift and fell the hound must be, whom the hunter richly feeds. TRIAL OF ROBERT BAILLIE OF JERVISWOOD. 57 What tho' no act of wrong e'er stained the fame of Jervis- wood, Shall it protect him in those times that he is wise and good 1 So wise, so good, so loved of all, though weak and worn with care; Though death comes fast, he is the last whom Antichrist would spare. For his the bold and free-born mind, the wisdom of a sage, The glow of youth still cherished in the sober breast of age ; The soul of chivalry is his, and honour pure from stain, A heart that beats for liberty, and spurns each galling chain, Whether entwined by hands that bear the crosier or the sword, For he would see all nations free in Christ, who is their Lord. And once with England's patriot band, by tyrant power oppressed, He had dreamt of free and happy homes in the forests of the west; To breathe the uncorrupted air, to tread the fresh green sod, And where the broad Savannah rolls in peace to worship God. These are his crimes ! the treason this for which he now is tried ! But though the forms of law are kept, all justice is denied. Woe to that land, so favoured once should witness such disgrace ! Shame that a land so powerful yet should brook a scene so base ! Unroll your parchments black with lies, shut fast your coward doors, And brand the aged chief with crimes his generous heart abhors ; When truth avails not, well you know how to supply the lack With secret tales, and then with words extorted by the rack ! There is an hour for every power, the hour of darkness this! Spur on ye slaves of Antichrist, or ye the goal may miss ! 58 SONGS AND BALLADS OP CLYDESDALE. His strength increasing with his need, he raises bold and high, And fixes on Mackenzie a clear and searching eye : " How canst thou thus, my lord, 'gainst me such accusations bring, That I have been a man of strife in plots against the King 1 I hate the way of violence, the anarchist I spurn ; "Who scatters firebrands little knows where they may fall and burn. In my degree I have been bold to guard the nation's right, And keep alive within these realms the lamp of Gospel light. But in my gloomy dungeon bed didst thou not visit me, And solemnly avow that I from wicked plots was free ? How canst thou, then, unto my charge such grievous actions lay, And all thou hast so solemn said as solemnly unsay ? " The whole assembled multitude full on Mackenzie turned, That even his hardened countenance with shame and anger burned : " True, Jerviswood, I told thee so, as my own private view : Here I discharge the functions which to the crown are due." " If thou hast a conscience for thyself, and another for this place, I leave tbee to the God of heaven, and His all-pardoning grace ! My lords, I add no more : proceed, right well I know my doom; Death hath no terrors for my soul, the grave it hath no gloom ! " 'Tis one from old St. Giles : the blasts of midnight shake the hall, Hoarse sounding like a demon's voice, which the stoutest hearts appal ! His doom is uttered: "Twelve hours hence thy traitorous head shall fall, And for a terror be exposed upon the city wall ; TRIAL OP ROBERT BAILLIE OP JERVISWOOD. 59 Thy limbs shall quartered be, and hung all mutilate and bare, At Jedburgh and Lanark towns, at G-lasgow and at Ayr, That all good subjects thence may learn obedience to the State, Their duty to our gracious King, and bloody treason's fate." A horror seizes every breast a stifled cry of dread : " Who sheds the blood of innocence, the blood's on his own head." That packed and perjured jury shrink in conscience-struck dismay, And wish their hands as clear of guilt as they were yesterday. Mackenzie's cold and flinty face is quivering like a leaf, Whilst with quick and throbbing fingers he turns o'er and o'er his brief. And the misnamed judges vainly try their rankling thoughts to hide Beneath an outward painted mask of loftiness and pride. Even she, the sweet heroic one, aye watchful at his side Whose courage ne'er hath blanched as yet, though sorely, sharply tried Even she is crushed beneath the weight of this last and deadly blow, And sinks upon her brother's neck, o'erwhelmed in deadly woe. He, he alone is calm of soul ! Powers of no mortal birth Are gently loosening every tie that binds him to the earth ; And inward faith gives outward force, strong is his deep, dark eye, And his brow and lip are beautiful as in the days gone by. Meekly he rises to depart, but pauses for a space, And looks upon his cowering foes with calm and saintly grace " The time is short, the sentence sharp your malice I for- give; For God hath made me fit to die, as ye, my lords, to live ! " 60 SONGS AND BALLADS OF CLYDESDALE. And meekly he departs his toils, his work, and warfare done And his martyr chariot waits him, and his triumphs are begun ! And twelve hours thence, upon the block his reverend head did fall, And for a terror was exposed upon the city wall \ His limbs were quartered and were hung, all mutilate and bare, At Jedburgh and at Lanark town, at Glasgow and at Ayr j And thus through all broad Scotland these martyred relics go, Like a fiery cross to rouse them to the tyrant's overthrow ! The ancient halls of Jerviswood are desolate and gray, And its ancient oaks and lime trees are sinking to decay ; These are of things that perish, and their place soon knows them not, But a glory from the past illumes this consecrated spot. To him who braves the martyr's death is deathless honour given, For the faith that breeds heroic deeds is dear to earth and heaven, And through all succeeding ages, amongst the wise and good, Enshrined shall be the memory of the noble Jerviswood. DODDS. After the dreadful sentence upon this glorious martyr had been carried into execution, William Leechman, a farmer at Roberton, in the parish of Dolphinton, travelled all the way to Lanark one dark night, a distance of 14 miles, and managed, at the risk of his life, to remove the portion of Jerviswood's body exposed on Lanark jail, and procured for it an honourable interment. After the Revolution, the family of Jerviswood, as a recompense to Leechman for this mark of respect to their ancestor, assisted him to educate his son for the Church the well-known Dr. William Leechman, for many years Professor of Divinity and Principal of the University of Glasgow. Had it not been for this deed of his father, Dr. Leechman, in all probability, would have passed through life unnoticed and unknown. Jerviswood is in the immediate vicinity of Lanark. DAY DREAMS OF OTHER YEARS. 61 DAY DREAMS OF OTHER YEARS. THERE are moments when my spirit wanders back to other years, And time long, long departed, like the present still appears ; And I revel in the sunshine of those happy, happy hours, When the sky of youth was cloudless, and its path was strewn with flowers. Oh, those days of dreamy sweetness ! Oh, those visions of delight ! Weaving garlands for the future, making all of earth too bright ; They come creeping through my memory like messengers of peace, Telling tales of bygone blessings, bidding present sorrows cease. Long lost friends are gathering round me, smiling faces, gentle forms, All unconscious of earth's struggles, all unmindful of its storms Beaming radiantly and beautiful, as in the days of youth, When friendship was no mockery, when every thought was truth. Joy, illuming every bosom, made fair nature fairer still Mirth sported on each summer breeze, and sung on every rill ; Beauty gleaming all around us, bright as dreams of fairy- land Oh, faded now that lustre, scattered far that happy band. Now deeply traced with sorrow is the once unclouded brow, And eyes that sparkled joyously are dim with weeping now; We are tasting life in earnest all its vain illusions gone And the stars that glistened o'er our path are falling one by one. 62 SONGS AND BALLADS OP CLYDESDALE. Some are sleeping with their kindred summer blossoms o'er them wave ; Some, lonely and unfriended, with thfe stranger found a grave; While others now are wandering on a far and foreign shore, And that happy, loving company shall meet ah ! never more. But afar in memory's garden, like a consecrated spot, The heart's first hopes are hidden, and can never be forgot ; And the light that cheered us onward, in our early, airy days, Oft we linger in the distance to look back upon its rays. Old Time, with hand relentless, may shed ruins o'er the earth, May strew our path with sorrow, make a desert of our ' hearth Change may blight our fairest blossoms, shroud our clearest light in gloom, But the flowery fields of early years, shall never lose their bloom. MARGARET CRAWFORD, OF CARNWATH. NEWBIGGIN NELL. O Newbiggin Nell, sweet Newbiggin Nell, T ne'er saw a lassie like Newbiggin Nell ! O' a' the braw lassies that trip to the well, There was ne'er ane to me like Newbiggin Nell. Newbiggin Nell is so bonnie and braw, And Newbiggin Nell is the flower o' them a' ; Our strong-lunged precentor, na' Baitlaw himsel', Ne'er sung of a fairer than Newbiggin Nell ! Her breath is as sweet as the flower of the haw, Her neck is as white as the new driven snaw, Her cheek is as fair as the red heather bell O ! there ne'er was a lassie like Newbiggin Nell 1 THE COVENANTERS IN CARNWATH MOOR. 63 There's a lad in Dunsyre, fu' campie and crouse, That fain wad hae Nelly to keep his bit house, But she bade him gang name to his auld Kirkland Bell ! And no come a-courtin' to Newbiggin Nell ! The Dolphington dandie was a' fidgen fain, To get bonnie Nell for a wife o' his ain ; But she bade him gang back to Dolphington Dell, And come nae mair a-courtin' to Newbiggin Nell ! Newbiggin Nell has a dark rollin' e'e, And kindly and sweetly she smiles upon me ; And I'll lay my life, to an auld mason's mell, I'm the lad that will marry sweet Newbiggin Nell ! Nell was a comely damsel in the employment of the late Mr. Ritchie, farmer, Newbigging. THE COVENANTERS IN CABNWATH MOOR. THE moors and the mountains of Scotland were red, With the blood of our best and our dearest ; And the martyr's narrow and lonely bed, Rose afar in the solitudes drearest. Thick lay the mist over Clyde's lovely vale, And slowly the morning was breaking ; O'er the dark woods of Kersewell the stars glimmered pale, And the blackbird her song was awaking. Then bright rose the sun o'er the moors of Carnwath, And the laverock was merrily singing ; The cry of the moorcock in Falla's green Strath, From the yelpin' Craigs echoes were ringing. The dew glistened bright on the red heather bells, The wild flowers in beauty were blooming ; And far o'er the vales, and the high mountain fells, The wild bees in thousands were humming. 64 SONGS AND BALLADS OF CLYDESDALE. The butterfly danced in the gay sunny beam, And wantoned from blossom to blossom ; The speckled trout sprang from the dazzling stream, At the fly sailing over its bosom. When afar in the wilds of the moors of Carnwath, The faithful and few met together, Undaunted by threatenings of torture and death, In a valley of sweet blooming heather. There was Denholm the bold, from the shades of Westshield, The cottars of lone Auchingray ; And the stern Laird of Kersewell had met on the field, With his tenants around him to pray. The preacher was Peden, the fearless and bold, And around him the scattered flocks gathered, As sheep seek the home of the sheltering fold When a rude, stormy day has been weathered. Aloud rose the psalm with melodious swell, And each heart was attuned for devotion, When a sign from the watch on Cobbenshaw Fell, Shewed the ruthless dragoons were in motion. Then fervent, though briefly, the minister prayed, " God of our fathers, our safety be, And shield us, O Lord, from his merciless raid Who comes to destroy us for worshipping Thee ? " Then all sought in haste the mossy retreat, And the brown heather's friendly cover ; Claverhouse soon arrived, but nothing could meet Save the cry of the moorfowl and plover. But he saw from the marks on the fresh trodden heath, That a meeting had lately been there, Of those whom he hunted o'er mountain and strath, For seeking the Saviour in prayer. BUNDLE AND GO. 65 He raged and he fumed, he stormed and blasphemed, Disappointed at losing his prey ; And scoured every glen with his merciless men, To find where the fugitives lay. Oft he passed and repassed in hot, fiery haste, Where in trembling concealment they lay ; But searched all in vain over mountain and plain, Then slowly at last rode away. O, happy are they who the statutes obey Of creation's Omnipotent King ; Though destruction and wrath be around their path, Safety and peace He can suddenly bring. And even though the worst on their heads should burst, With composure, with triumph they die ; For the Saviour they love is in heaven above, And their home is with Him in the sky. This meeting was held on the farm of Woolfords. A large stone on which the preacher stood still bears the name of "Peden's Poopit." Sir William Denholm, of Westshield, was attainted, confiscated, and sentenced to be executed, as soon as he could be apprehended. He was implicated in Argyle's attempt to revolutionise the country. He con- cealed himself 14 days in Oranly Moss, near Westshield House, which was then occupied by a party of dragoons sent to apprehend him. He escaped to Holland ; returned with William ; had his estates restored, and was for many years M.P. for Lanark, and Master of the Mint. The stern Laird of Kersewell was Sir Eobert Chiesly, a gentleman of consider- able influence among the Covenanters. He acted as one of the agents for that body when in arms, to attempt a pacific arrangement with Charles I. BUNDLE AND GO. "FRAE the foot o' the Tintoc, where Clyde rins sae smoothly, And lasses and lads sing o' love a' the day, I'm come, my dear lassie, to mak' my last offer, Sae mak' up your mind noo, and dinna delay. E 66 SONGS AND BALLADS OF CLYDESDALE. I've now ta'en leave o' my comrades so loving, While tears of affection in plenty did flow j Thy glove, my love, is here as a token So mak' up your mind noo, and bundle and go." " Still true to you a season I'll tarry, Mair kind you'll find my daddie will grow ; I fain would gain his blessing to marry, And then, my dear lad, I wad bundle and go. But if I were to gang without tellin' my faither, My tocher he'd keep, sheets and blankets also ; My mother wad rage and forever disown me, Yet fain, very fain wad I bundle and go." " My mother she's gane, and the house it is eerie, This nicht you may rue if you answer me no ; Ere day be grey, a stranger and weary, I'll mourn thy refusal to bundle and go. But a fig for excuses ! come, kilt up your coatie ; Owre muirs and thro' mosses ye ken we've to go, The Clyde we've to cross at the Lampits' auld boatie, So mak' up your mind noo, and bundle and go." Love lent wings to baith, in a blink they coupled, With peace and with pleasure their years glide along ; Their young sprouts are innocent, noisy, and healthy, And aye to please a' she lilts owre a sweet song. His Jean now is a' his delight and his pleasure, Their love to each other continues to glow ; She blesses the day she left faither and mother, And took his advice and did bundle and go. WALTEK WATSON, OF CHRYSTON. There are many versions of the above song ; but we deem it right to enter a protest against the example which it gives to the young ladies. For one runaway marriage which is followed by such happy results as the above, there are ten followed by great misery. Remember the proverb, ladies, "They who marry in haste, repent at leisure." Be prudent, be cautious before you do what you never, never can undo ! PUIR FOLK. 67 PUIR FOLK. SOME folk grow proud o'er bags o' gowd, And some are proud o' learning ; An honest puir man's worthy name I take delight in earning. Slaves needna try to haud us down, To knaves we're unco dour folk ; We're aften wranged, but deil may care, We're honest folk the puir folk. Wi' Wallace wight we fought fu' weel, When lairds and lords were jinkin' ; They knelt before the tyrant loon ; We brak' his crown, I'm thinkin'. The muckle men he bought wi' gowd, Syne he began to jeer folk ; But neither sword, nor gear, nor guile, Could turn the sturdy puir folk. When auld King Charlie tried to bind Wi' airn soul and conscience, In virtue o' his right divine And ither daft-like nonsense ; Wha raised at Marston such a stour As made the tyrants fear folk 1 Wha prayed and fought wi' Pym and Noll 1 The sturdy, trusty puir folk. And wha upon auld Scotland's hills Were hunted like the paitrick, And hacked' wi' swords and shot wi' guns Frae Tummel's banks to Ettrick, Because they wadna let the priest Aboon the conscience steer folk ? The lairds were bloodhounds to the clans ; The martyrs were the puir folk. 68 SONGS AND BALLADS OF CLYDESDALE. We saw the corn and baud the plough ; We a' work for our leevin' ; We gather nought but what we've sawn A' else we reckon thievin'. And for the loon wha fears to say He comes o' lowly sin a' folk, A wizen'd soul the creature has Disown him a', ye puir folk. Great sirs and mighty men o' earth, Ye aften sair misca' us, And hunger, cold, and poverty Come after ye to thraw us ; Yet up our hearts we try to heise In spite o' you and your folk : But mind enough as gude's a feast, Altho' we be but puir folk. We thank the powers for gude and ill, As gratefu' folk should do, men ; But maist ava because our sires Were tailors, smiths, and ploughmen. Gude men they were, as true as steel They didna rack and screw folk Wi' empty pouches, honest hearts Thank Heaven we're come o' puir folk ! Poor R. Nicoll, on him, if on any, had fallen the mantle of Burns. He just lived long enough to show what was in him, when he was summoned away, and all his brilliant prospects closed for ever ! SIR WILLIAM WALLACE, THE KNIGHT OF ELLERSLIE. THE Southron loons wrought muckle skaith, Unto our West countrie ; He's ta'en the gear, but he's gat the wrath O' the knight o' Ellerslie. SIR WILLIAM WALLACE. 69 Sir William's ta'en his sword in hand It was weel proved and gude ; Three waps o't round his buirdly breast, Has cleared a Scottish rood ! Upon his lip there is a vow, Upon his brow, a ban ; He'll learn our foemen their ain march, If it may be learned by man. To see him in his weeds o' peace, Wi' the dimple on his chin, O stood there e'er a fairer knight A lady's love to win. To see him in his shell o' sleel, His broadsword by his thie, O stood there e'er a braver knight, To save a hail countrie ! Step oot, step oot, my gallant knight ! By thysel' thou shanna stride, Tho' white the locks lie on my brow And my sheet o' mail hings wide. Blaw up ! there's gallant hearts in Kyle, And the Upper Ward o' Clyde ; Blaw up, blaw up, a thousand spears Will glitter by thy side ! There's mony vow to guard, I trow, There's mony may through dread ; But blaw a blast, thou wight- Wallace, And look for man and steed. Oh ! wha could bide by plough and spade, While a Southron's in the land ; Oh ! wha can lag when Wallace wight, Has ta'en his sword in hand. 70 SONGS AND BALLADS OF CLYDESDALE. To him that does a righteous deed, A righteous strength is given ; And he that fights for liberty Will be free in earth or heaven. HEW AINSLIE. Of all the poetry of which Wallace has been the subject, the above lines are the only ones in which a special notice of the fealty of the Upper Ward of Clyde to Wallace is recorded ; and they were written and first published in America, too. At the battle of Biggar, the great hero led the first division of the army against Edward in person ; Sir John Graham, the second, and under him Sir Thomas Spmerville of Carnwath ; Sir Walter of Newbigging, the third, and under him were Sir John Tinto of Crimp Cramp, and David, son of Sir Walter Newbigging. Some people question the truth of the battle of Biggar altogether, and say that Edward was in Normandy at the time Blind Harry affirms the battle took place. But in addition to the tradition and Blind Harry's statement, there was lately found a number of coins of Edward I. on the very site where tradition affirmed it to have taken place. The late Mr. Sim of Coulter had a number of these in his possession, and they may have been missed in the hurried retreat. Harry may have mistaken the date ; but that the battle of Biggar really took place there can be no reasonable doubt. A little runlet of water, which that day ran with blood, still bears, from that incident, the name of The Red Syke. The day before the battle, Wallace exchanged dress with a gaberlunzie, and in that disguise went in and deliberately inspected Edward's camp. It would appear that one sharp fellow had some suspicion of the beggar, for tradition states that he said