THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES kM^ \iry ORIGINAL SONGS. ORIGINAL SONGS. BY KOBEllT GILFILLAN. ' -7 .-^ 9 f]^ EDINBURGH: PUBLISHED BY JOHN ANDERSON, JUN. OO, NOllTH IlKIDC.i: ; WHn TAKKR, THKACIIEII AND CO. LONDON ; AND JAMKS IlI.nNEl, I, KITH. 1831. LKITH : rHlNTED BY JAMES BURNET, /5r TO ALLAN CUNNINGHAM, Esq. AS A HUMBLK TRIBUTE; OF ESTEKW AND RESPECT FOR HIS AVORTH AS A MAN, AND HIS TA1.ENTS AS A POET, THIS VOLUME IS, WITH HIS PERMISSION, INSCRIBED TA\ THE AUTHOR. \. PREFACE. That the obtrusion on the public of this little Volume of Songs will be deemed an act of temerity, I am pre- pared to expect ; and I am also prepared, if I am not much mistaken, to bear, with all patience and humility, the animadversions to which that temerity may subject me ; perfectly satisfied as I am that, in general, every justice will be done me, and that if my humble efforts at Song possess any merit, that merit will be readily acknowledged. If. on the contrary, they are found wanting, I shall, I trust, derive a lesson from the issue, which will be useful to me hereafter : thus I conceive that, in either event, I shall not be altogether a loser. It is customary, I believe, with aspirants in poetry to apologize for the intrusion of their lucubrations on the public, — " Obliged by liuiiger, or reqiu-st of friends." For myself, I have neither of these apologies to offer, nor any otlier, I fear, that would be considered satisfac- tory. — Some of my Songs met with the ;ipprobation of a VIU PREKACK. pretty numerous circle of acquaintance. Encourageil by this limited and partial success to hope that this gra- tification might be a little extended, I have ventured on the somewhat hazardous step which has rendered these introductory lines necessary ; and this is all I have to offer in extenuation of my hardihood. It may be thought that the names of Burns, of Tan- NAHiLL, and of Macneill,, as well as those of the living masters of Scottish Song, might have deterred me from this attempt ; but I beg it to be understood, as it most certainly is my own feeling on the subject, that I enter the lists with no pretensions to the character of a com- petitor, but merely as a humble follower — not as a belted knight, but as a " lowly squire." Had my education been better than it is, this little Work would probably have presented fewer inelegan- cies of language, and feAver violations of grammar, than it now exhibits. As the former, however, is a circum- stance over which I had no control, some small indul- gence on the latter points may possibly be granted me. R. G. Leith, Sept. 18S1. ORJGINAL SONGS. ]\rARY'S BOWER. (Set lo an orif/inal melodi/, % Pktkk M'Leod.) The mavis sings on IMary's bower, The lav'rock in the sky ; An' a' is fair round Mary's bower. An' a' aboon is joy ! But sad's the gloom in Mary's bower, Though ii' without be gay ; Nae music comes to greet the morn, Nae smile to glad the day. A MARY S BOWER. Her lover left young Mary's bower, His ship has crossed the main ; There's waefu' news in Mary's bower. He ne'er returns again. A breaking heart's in Mary's bower, A wasting form is there ; The glance has left that e'e sae blue. The rose that cheek sae fair. The mavis flees frae IMary's bower, The lav'rock quits the sky ; An' simmer sighs o'er Mary's bower, For coming winter's nigh. The snaw fa's white on Mary's bo\ver. The tempests loudly rave ; The flowers that bloomed round Mary's bovver Now wither on her grave ! C ^ ] THE HAPPY DAYS O' YOUTH. Tune — " My ain Countrie." O ! THE happy days o' youth. Are fast gauii by : An' age is coming on, Wi' it's bleak winter sky. An' whar shall we shelter Frae its storms when they blaw ? When the gladsome days o' youth Are flown awa' ? They said that wisdom cam Wi' manhood's riper years. But naething did they tell O' its sorrows and tears. THK HAPPY DAYS O YOUTH. ! I'd gie a' the wit^ Gif ony ^vit be mine. For ae sunny morning O' bonnie langsyne. 1 canna dow but sigh, I canna dow but mourn, For the blythe happy days That never can return. When joy was in the heart. An' love was on the tongue. An' mirth on ilka face, For ilka face was young. O ! the bonnie Avaving broom, Whar aften we did meet ; Wi' its yellow flowers, that fell Like gowd 'mang our feet. The bird would stop its sang. But only for a wee ; As we gaed by its nest, Near its aiu birk tree. THE HAPPV DAYS O YOUTH. O ! the sunny days o' youth. They couklna aye remain ; There was ower muckle joy, An' ower little pain. Sae fareweel happy days. An' fg.reweel yeuthfu' glee ; The young may court your smiles, But ye're gane frae me. h glp:nyalven braes. (\V KITTEN IN AllGYLSIIIRE IN THE SUMMER OF 1827.) Tune — " Loyan IValcr." Glenyalven, wi' thy valleys green, An' joukin burnies scarcely seen, A-list'ning to the cuckoo's sang, I've tint my heart thy braes amang. 6 GI^ENYALVEN BRAES. Thy mountain breezes saftly blaw. An' sweet's the flower in Yalven shaw ; Thy woods are green, thy braes are fair. An' a bonnie Highland lassie's there. Wand'ring doun Tayvalloch burn, — A bonnie stream wi' mony a turn, — I met the maiden blushing young, Wi' Highland heart and Highland tongue. Wi' looks an' sighs I her did woo. Though mute the tongue, the heart was fu' ; But vain my sighs an' silent vows. She wouldna leave her heathery knowes. My Lawland pipe I sey'd to play. To steal the lassie's heart away ; But sweetly she, in Highland sang Replied, She wouldna — couldna gang. She gave her hand, but kept her heart ; An' yet, when rising to depart, A tear upo' her cheek had fa'n, Like dew-drap on a rose new blawn. r.I-KNYALVKN BRAES. Tayviilloch burn, an' Yalven braes, — Though still unsung in bardie's lays, — Ye're dear, O ! dearer far to me. Than " Braes o' Doon," or " Banks o' Dee." Adieu ! thou land of hill an' glen, Of lovely maids and gallant men : In gazing on the fairest she, I've tint my peace — my heart in thee ! WHY TARRIES IVIY TRUE LOVE? Tune — " Robin Adair." Why tarries my true love so long on sea ? Spirits of ocean ! tell, why tarries he ? Dark is the midnight sky. Loud raves the storm on high ! Where closeth he his eye ? To dream of mc ! 8 WHY TARRIES MY TRUK LOVE ? When once my love returns, we part no more Spirits ! oh ! where is he, by sea or shore ? " Far in the ocean's deeps, " Where death his vigil keeps, " There thy fond lover sleeps, " 'Neath its loud roar !" '**s*# ****** THE SAFT SIMMER BENIN' IS GLIDING AWA'. Tune — " Hie, bonnie Lassie, blink over the burn," The saft simmer e'enin' is gliding awa'. An' a' thing is still, baith in cot an' in ha' ; There's peace for ilk bosom and sleep for ilk e'e. But Jeanie, young Jeanie, has stown them frae me ! An' yet I might sleep, wi' a heart free o' care. For Jeanie's as true as she's bonnie and fair : THE SAFT SIMMER K ENIN IS GLIDING AWA . !> But, for joy at the thocht, I'm \vhiles like to dee. That Jeanie, young Jeanie, my ain bride sal be ! If I hae nae walth, I've as little to tiiie^ It's maybe as weel that walth isna mine ; 'Twould only divide the love her's a' suld be ; O ! Jeanie, young Jeanie's the treasure for me ! It is nae aye simmer when I'm on the hill, An' winter is cauld, an' frosty winds chill ; But tliis cheers my heart, when the snaw's on the lea. That Jeanie, young Jeanie, my ain bride sal be ! I'll pit her sweet name in some simple bit sang, An' sing't to mysel' a' the simmer day lang ; My skill is but sma', but the burden sal be, — " O ! Jeanie, young Jeanie's the treasure for me !" I'll big a wee housie, far up in yon glen, No mony will see it, no mony sal ken ; But when the brown leaves fa' frae yon birken tree, O ! Jeanie, young Jeanie, my ain bride sal be ! [ 10 ] I LOOKED LONG AT THY WINDOW, LOVE. Tune — " The young May Moon:'' I LOOKED long at thy window, love, Thy lovely sweet glance to see, my love ; The ev'ning sun On thy window shone, And I thought for a while it was thee, my love. But when thou cam'st with a smile, my love, A smile that is just thine own, my love ; The sun, at thy sight. Withdrew his clear light. And left thee shining alone, my love ! Then, O ! give a smile to me, my love, ■Who often have sighed for thee, mv love ; I I>OOKEU LON(; AT THY U'lNUOW, LOVK. 11 And my days, though o'ercast With misfortune's keen blast, ^Vill appear bright sunshine to me, my love. The sun shines bright at parting, love. When he kisses the western sea, my love ; But the sun's bright ray, At departing of day. Was never so lovely as thee, my love. O ! COULD I LOSE THE POWER OF THOUGHT. Tu N E — " Gratnachree." O ! COULD I lose the power of thought, I still might happy be ; At least this grief might leave my heart. Could busy mcmor\ ik-e ! 12 O ! COULD I LOSE THK POWER OK THOUGHT. And yet, though anguish wrings my soul, Would I the task forego Of counting o'er each moment pass'd With her who caus'd my woe ? I loved as none have ever loved, Whate'er their love might be. Else would not parting with her wrung Such bitter pangs from me. Yet, musing on what might have been, I dream my time away ; 'Tis idle as my early dreams. But, ah ! 'tis not so gay- If aught of pleasure yet is mine, — A pleasure mixed with pain, — 'Tis pond'ring on the days gone by. Which ne'er can come again ! When she, all lovely as she's still. Blushed when I called her fair. And, if she never bade me hope. She ne'er bade me despair. O ! COUIiD I LOSE THE POAVEK OF THOUGHT. 13 For thee, dear maid^ I fondly sighed, For thee I now repine, Since Fate has sAvorn, in solemn words. Thou never canst be mine ! Yet fondly do I love thee still, Though hope ne'er mingles there ; A wilder passion sways me now — 'Tis love joined to despair. Farewell a world, whose gayest scenes No pleasure brings to me ; I'd hate it's smile, did I not think It may give joy to thee. But, if thou ever lov'dst like me. No joy will light thine eye. Save transient gleams, like wintry suns. Short glancing in the sky. [ 14 ] TENTING SHEEP BY MUIR AND GLEN. Tune — " Oxver the Mziir amang the Heather." Tenting sheep by muir and glen. Is a' my airt, — I ken nae ither, — Save courting o' my bonnie Jean, Amang the fragrant blooming heather. O ! the bonnie blooming heather, O ! the bonnie blooming heather ; Content is mair than kings can buy, An' yet 'tis found amang the heather ! Her hair is like the glints o' gowd. The sun lets fa' in simmer weather ; Her face would shame the sweetest flower, Tliat blaws amang the blooming heather. TENTING SHEKP BV MUIR AND GLEN. 15 Her glancing een, — sic ne'er were seen, — They've clean bewitched me a' thegither ; An' aye say slee they blink on me. Whene'er we meet amang the heather. I sing o' her/frae rising sun. Till e'enin' draw the cluds thegither. An' then I dream the nicht awa'. Till she, wi' morn, come ower the heather, I've neither gowd nor warld's gear. Save owsen twa, left by my father ; An' yon wee cot, down by the burn. That flings its reek out ower the heather. But Jeanie's love is mair than gowd. Her lieart worth kingdoms tied thegither ; Gie me that heart, — sae void o' art, — Tlie heart I fand amang the heather. O ! the bonnie blooming heather, O ! the bonnie blooming heather ; 1(J TKNTING SHEEP BY MUITI AND GLEN. Content is niair than kings can buy, An' yet 'tis found amang the heather ! WRITE, WRITE, TOURIST AND TRAVELLER. (Published in' BlnckwootV s Magaxine, Jamtary 1828, Noctex AmbrosiancB, No. XXXV. ) Write, write, tourist and traveller. Fill up your pages and write in good order ; Write, write, scribb'ler and driveller. Why leave such margins ? — come nearer the border. jMany a laurel dead flutters around your head. Many a tome is your memento viorx ! Come from your garrets, then, sons of the quill and pen, Write for snuff-shops, if you write not for glory. WIllTK, WniTB, TOURIST AND TllAVELIvER. 17 Come from your rooms where the farthing wick's burnings Come with your tales full of gladness or woe ; Come from your small-beer to vinegar turning. Come where the Port and the Burgundy flow ! Fame's trump is sounding, topics abounding. Leave, then, each scribbler, your high attic story ; Critics shall many a day speak of your book, and say, " Pie wrote for the snufF-shop, he wrote not for glory !" Write, write, tourist and traveller. Fill up your pages and write in good order ; Write, write, scribb'ler and driveller. Why leave such margins ? — come nearer the border. J) [ 18 ] THE HOUR IS COME, MY MARY DEAR. (Set to an original melody, by Fixlay Dun.) The hour is come, my Mary dear. That bids us part, an' part in sorrow ; A waefu' fare thee well is near, Wi' nae blythe word to meet the morrow. Fare thee well ! There's love that time can ne'er subdue. An' hearts that absence ne'er can alter ; As mine still constant is, and true. Though fausely thus my tongue does faulter, — " Fare thee well !" The simmer winds around us blaw. The broom, wi' yellow flowers, is waving ; THE HOUR IS COMK, .MY MAltV DKAK. 19 But, ere its gowdeii blossoms fa'. Thy love will angry seas be braving. Fare thee well ! I mourn not leaving glens an' braes, Where wil^- woods wave o'er streams the clearest. But there's a voice within that says, — " A lang adieu to thee, my dearest !" Fare thee well ! AGAIN LET US WELCOME THIS DAY MAIR THAN ONY. (WinriKV roH riir UrNTKRAiiivr. Bi;rns' Ci.l'b, 2uTii Januauv, 1822.) Tune—" Wandering WUlier V Again let us welcome this day mair than ony. This day that, wi' ])leasure, aye welcome returns ; 20 AGAIN LET US WELCOME THIS UAY. For then was proclaimed o'er thy wilds^ Caledoni, The birth-day of genius — the birth-day of Burns ! The deeds of our fame sunk in time's rapid river, Auld Scotia sat wae, till his wild harp was strung ; That harp, whose sweet tones, O ! they'll vibrate for ever The strains that breathe freedom where'er they are suns ■ Nae doubt, there were ithers that shone bright before him, — The pastoral Allan, whose name is aye dear ; And Ferguson, O ! every heart will adore him. And shed o'er his memory sympathy's tear : And names that will shine in auld Scottish story. Bright stars that give lustre to Fame's glitt'ring sky ; But Burns, he arose, like the sun in his glory. With splendour unrivalled, that never will die ! But soon was the wild harp hung on the willow. Soon closed was the hand that 'woke the sweet strain ; And soon was he laid on his low earthy pillow. To charm and awaken us never again ! AGAIN LKT US WKLCOMK THIS DAY. 21 But Still is he sung 'mong our glens and our mountains, — For echo hath whispered his name to the air, — And still is he heard by our sweet gurg'ling fountains. And still, in our bosoms, he's permanent fhere ! He came 'mid the storm, O ! 'twas a sad omen, Nae simnjer smiled sweet when his birth-day was nigh ; He came 'mid the roar of the angry waves foamin', He came 'mid the gloom of a bleak winter sky : And sad was his fate, as the wild breeze around him. And loud were his wails, as the stormy sea wave ; At the dawning of life, misfortune it found him. And only departed when he reached the grave ! But yet, though his life showed a prospect sae dreary, He whiles bade defiance to sorrow and care ; And aften the time slipped by unco cheery, When friendship, unfeigned, was mingling there. Then may the bright halo of friendship be ever Around us, when this day aye welcome returns ; A day that, in Scotland, will pass away never. Without being hailed as the birth-day of Burns ! [ 22 3 THE KING'S VISIT. August, 1822. Tune — " Johnie Cope." Edina's town^ wi' nieikle glee. Ye now may cock your crest fu' hie. Your King is coming ower the sea. To speer for you some morning. Come down, ye clans, frae yont Braemar, Wi' Lawland lads that ne'er feared Avar ; Your fame has risen like the star That shines bright in the morning. It's no to use the dirk nor gun. For a' our vict'ries ye hae won, THE KINGS VISIT. 23 An' mony thanks for what ye've done ; Mak haste and come that morning. Come hame baith marquis, duke, an' peer, Ower seldom do we see you here ; Auld Reeljie's in an unco steer — Ye'Il surely come that morning. Come ilka stalwart yeoman too, We ne'er but faund ye stanch an' true ; We canna weel do wanting you ; Ye'll mind an' come that morning: »• Ye cotters, come frae glen an' brae. In bannets blue, an' hodden gray ; My faith ! ye maunna bide away On sic a joyous morning. Come a', ye bonnie lassies rare, Wi' glancing een an' flowing hair ; There's ane that day will ca' ye fair. Ye dinna see ilk morning. 24 THK king's visit. Waes me ! it's lang an' mony a day Sin' Halyrood Avi' kings was gay ; O ! wad he only 'mang us stay. When he comes down that morning. We couldna busk him just sae braw As they do in his Lon'on ha'. But hearts an' hands, aye at his ca'. Would ready be ilk morning. Come down, ye clans, frae yont Braemar, Wi' Lawland lads that ne'er feared war ; Your fame has risen like the star That shines bright in the morning. [ 25 ] THE FIRST ROSE OF SUMMER. 'Tis the first nese of summer that opes to my view, With its bright crimson bosom all bathed in the dew ; It bows to its green leaves, with pride from its throne, 'Tis the queen of the valley, and reigneth alone. O ! why, lovely stranger, thus early in bloom ? Art thou here to assure us that summer is come ? The primrose and harebell appear with the spring, But tidings of summer the young roses bring. Thou fair gift of nature, I welcome the boon ; Was't the lark of the morning that 'woke thee so soon r Yet I weep, thou s«'eet How'ret ; for soon from the sky The lark shall repose, where thy leaves withered lie. O ! if lieauty could save thee, thou ne'er would'st decay, But. alas! soon thou'lt perish and witluT away; 26' THK FIRST HOSE OK SUMMER. And thy kindred may blossom, and blossom as fair, Yet I'll mourn, lonely rose-bud, when thou art not there. AWA', YE CAULD LOVERS ! TUKE — " Lnmjjs o' Pttddin\" Awa', ye cauld lovers ! what pleasure does't bring ? Ye seek na to taste o' the charms that ye sing; Gie me the sweet lassie baith modest an' free. The lassie that's kind is the lassie for me ! Would I hae a lassie, however sae fair, Wha, saving her beauty, could boast naething mair ? I'll tell ye, the lass that mine ain lass would be. The lassie that's kind is the lassie for me ! A sprinklin' o' modest wit, seasoned wi' sense, I'd quarrel nae meikle though she had the pence ! am'a', ye caulu L()\'Kns ! 27 Nile doubt, had she nane, it were better, I say, But whan will folk get a' thing just as they'd hae ? A heart, at the sad tale of sorrow, would mourn. An' dance wi' wild gladness when joy did return : A cheek that is'fair, an' a e'e that is blue, I'll speak na o' beauty — I've felt it ere noo. Sic is the lassie I'd hae — wad ye ken ? Gude keep me frae wranglings an' janglings o' men ! The dear ties o' love, an' warm friendship be mine. Where manly hearts glow, an' where lovely eyes shine. The sweetest wee Howcr that on earth ever grew, Wha'd prize sae its beauty gif nane durst it pu' ? An' O ! durst I pu' my ain flow'ret sae fair, I'd place't in my bosom an' bid it grow there ! The saft showers o' love on its blossoms A^'ould fa, I'd tent it as suns do the roses that blaw : O ! gie me my lassie baith modest an' free. The lassie that's kind is the lassie for me ! [ 28 ] THE BOATIE'S ROWING OWER THE DEEP. Ttne — " The boatie »wm." The boatie's rowing ower the deep, An' hast'ning to the shore ; O ! guard it frae ilk rocky steep, Or ocean's angry roar ! The boatie rows, the boatie rows. The boatie rows ashore ; Lightsome be the sailor's heart, When a' his toils are o'er. The ship lies in the Roads o' Leith, Rich laden frae the sea, But Willie, coming in the boat. Is mair than gowd to me ! THE BOATIIi's ItOWING OWER THE DEEP. 21) The boatie rows, the boatie rows. The boatie rows ashore ; Lightsome be the sailor's heart, Wlien a' his toils are o'er. When i^inds blew an' the tempest roared, Wi' sleety blasts and rain, I thought upon my Willie's ship, Far drifting ower the main : But the boatie rows, the boatie rows, The boatie rows ashore ; Liglitsome be the sailor's heart. When a' his toils are o'er. An' now, though winds an' waves coinl)ine To gar the tempest roar, I carena now, let them rave on. Sin' he is safe im shore. The boatie rows, the boatie rows, Tlie boatie rows ashore ; Lightsome be the sailor's heart. When a' liis toils jirc ofr. [ 30 ] AGAIN MY NATIVE COT APPEARS. TuxE — " My only jo and dearie, O /" Again my native cot appears. My early haunts appear, in view : How mony days, how mony years Hae fled, sin' last I gazed on you ! Tlie bonnie woods are waving green. An' flowers are blooming, just as fair As if the simmer aye had been. Sin' last I took my fareweel there ! There stands the loch, as fresh an' clear. There blossoms still the hawthorn tree. But, ah ! where are the voices fled That 'neath its shade aye welcomed me ? AGAIN MY NATIVE COT APPKAKS. 31 The burnie rins as biytlie alang As it was wont in days bygaiie. An', hark ! there's still the blackbird's sang, But, ah ! I'm list'ning till't my lane ! How aft, in yonder planting's glade, I've pondered mony an hour an' day ; An' aften, 'mang yon braes, I've strayed Wi' playmates, happy, young, an' gay. An', did I their glad faces see. By sunny knowe or lanely glen, (For ilka spot is dear to me !) I'd think my boyhood come again ! How teems this hour wi' thoughts o' thiuirs Lang past, though crowding into mind ; What sad emotions memory brings. When nought save memory's left behind ! The birds, when simmer Hees awa', A' sympathize in plaintive strain ; But wlia' marks here these tears that fa' For days lang lied, an' friends laujj gane ! C 32 ] THE TRUMP OF WAR HATH CEASED TO BLOW. Tune—" The White Cockade.''' The trump of war hath ceased to blow, And Britain hath no more a foe ; The sword is sheathed that Scotia drew. That gleamed so red on Waterloo. That morn, unclouded, rose the sun, Our army^ too, in brightness shone ; But night displayed another view. When all was still on Waterloo. At morn they rushed to meet the foe. But night beheld the warriors low ; At morn they marched o'er spangled dew, At night they bled on Waterloo. THE TRUMP OF WAR HATH CEASED TO BLOW. 33 The shout of vict'ry rose on high. But closed in death the victors lie ; Yet the sun shall take his last adieu. Ere the fame shall cease of Waterloo ! The trumpet sounds, but ne'er again Shall Scotia's warriors hear the strain ; They sleep, but not on their mountains blue. The heroes' bed is Waterloo ! Britannia weeps for many a son. And a wail is heard in Caledon For the gallant youths, so brave and true. Who, fighting, fell on Waterloo ! [ 34 ] 6 O! THE SWEET SOUND IS FLED. (Written on Miss Stephens leaving Edinburgh in 1823, and published in the dramatic review for july of that year.) Tune — " Blue Bells of Scotland." O ! the sweet sound is fled, the seraph song is o'er, And thou, the sweet melodist, art leaving our shore ; But the music of thy song in our memory will dwell. When thou art far away — lovely Stephens, fare thee well ! O ! I'll think I hear thee sing, when the loud storm's asleep. And nought, save the soft wind, murmurs o'er the deep ; Or, in some sequestered valley, where echo loves to dwell. O ! THK SWKET SOUND is KLKU. S5 O ! I'll think I hear thee sing — lovely Stephens, fare thee well ! O ! 'tis sweet as the dawn when the infant sun is nigh. And soft as the breeze that flits across the sky. And pure as yortder streamlet that sparkles in the dell, Btit the silver tones have died — lovely Stephens, fare thee well ! O ! when the heart is sad, the mind oppressed with care. Thy song can chase the gloom, and bid sweet peace be there ! For who, o'er Scotia's melodies, e'er wakened such a spell. But the magic charm is o'er — lovely Stephens, fare thee well ! [ M ] AGAIN THE DAY. (Written for the First Anniversary of the Leith Burns' Club, 25th January, 1827.) Tune — " Good night an" joy.'''' Again the day, the happy day. To Scotia ever dear, returns, (O ! it demands your noblest lay). That gave to Caledonia Burns ! A day that we shall ne'er forget. As lang as we hae breath to draw ; For we will drink the memory yet Of Burns, the bard, that's now awa'. His tales, how aften they've been tauld. His sangs, how aften they'll be sung ; AGAIN THE DAY. 37 His sterling sense aye charms the auld. His playfu' strains aye please the young. An', no confined to Scotia's tongue. But spread through ilka English ha'. His fame, in Foreign lands, has rung — The fame o' him that's now awa'. Oh ! what a great an' glorious band Hae raised themsels to heights o' fame ! The patriots, guardians o' our land. The poet an' the warrior's name ! To these, ilk Scotsman proudly turns Wi' fondest pride, wi' deepest awe ; But Nature only made one Burns, The proudest name the warld e'er saw. An' aye, when this glad tipie returns. While years, insidious, steal away. To celebrate the birth of Bukns, Some social few shall meet this day. Then raise the cuj), with heartfelt joy. Though haply in't a tear may fa'. 38 AGAIN THE DAY. An' drink it to the memory Of Burns, the bard, that's now awa' ! FARE THEE WELL.* ( Written to the Air " Roy^s Wife," afterwards set to an, original melody, by R. A. Smith.) Fare thee well, for I must leave thee. But, O ! let not our parting grieve thee ; Happier days may yet be mine, At least I wish them thine — believe me ! * In a work, entitled the " Spirit of British Song," these verses will be found, with the name of " Moreland" attached to them as the author. This mistake, however, the publishers readily acknow- ledged, in a very handsome letter of apology, which I have now in my possession. FARE XH££ WELL. 39 We part — but, by those dew-drops clear. My love for thee will last forever ; I leave thee — but thy image dear. Thy tender smiles, will leave me never. Fare thee well, &c. O ! dry those pearly tears that How — One farewell smile before we sever ; The only balm for parting woe Is — fondly hope 'tis not forever. Fare thee well, &c. Though dark and dreary lowers the night, Calm and serene may be the morrow ; The cup of pleasure ne'er shone bright. Without some mingling drops of sorrow Fare thee well, for I must leave thee. But, O ! let not our parting grieve thee ; Happier days may yet be mine. At least I wish them thine — believe me ! C 40 ] IN THE DAYS O' LANGSYNE. Tune — " The Boys of Kilkenny." In the days o' langsyne, when we carles were young, An' nae Foreign fashions amang us had sprung ; When we made our ain bannocks, an' brewed our ain yill. An' were clad frae the sheep that gaed white on the hill : O ! the thocht o' the days gars my auld heart aye fill ! In the days o' langsyne, we were happy and free. Proud lords on the land, an' kings on the sea ! To our foes we were fierce, to our friends we were kind, An', where battle raged loudest, you ever did find The banner of Scotland float high in the wind ! IN THE DAYS o' LANGSYNE. 41 In the days o' langsyne^, we aye ranted an' sang By the warm ingle side, or the wild braes amang ; Our lads busked braw, an' our lasses looked fine, An' the sun on our mountains seemed ever to shine : O ! whar is the Scotland o' bonnie langsyne ! In the days o' langsyne, ilka glen had its tale. Sweet voices were heard in ilk breath o' the gale ; An' ilka wee burn had a sang o' its ain. As it trotted alang through the valley or plain : Shall we e'er hear the music o' streamlets again ? In the days o' langsyne, there was feasting an' glee, Wi' pride in ilk heart, and joy in ilk e'e ; An' the auld, 'mang the nappy, their eild seemed to tine, It was your stoup the nicht, an' the morn 'twas mine : O ! the days o' langsyne — O ! the days o' langsyne ! C 42 ] O! BID THAT SUN NOT SHINE SO BRIGHT. Tune — " O .' no, we never mention her." O ! bid that sun not shine so bright. In yonder summer sky ; His glancing beams, on woods and streams. Mind me of days gone by. Give me the gloom of forest drear. Or rock, by stormy shore; Why does he shine, since Madaline Now smiles on me no more ? I thought that love was ever kind, That truth was ever true, O ! BID THAT SUN NOT SHINE SO BRIGHT. 43 Nor thought I that a form so fair Or change or coldness knew : But now the bright illusion's gone. My dream of joy is o'er. For Madaline, once true and kind, Now smiles on me no more. Thou sun, that vvak'st each blushing flower. Thy light I still could see. Did it bring forth a flower as fair. One half so fair as she : But blushing flowers are changing, too. Like woman's love — soon o'er ; O ! do not shine, since Madaline Now smiles on me no more ! C 44 ] YOUNG WILLIE, THE PLOUGHMAN. Tune — " Bonnie Dundee." Young Willie, the ploughman, has nae land nor siller. An' yet the blythe callant's as crouse as a king ; He courts his ain lass, an' he sings a sang till her, Tak tent an' ye'se hear what the laddie does sing : — " O ! Jenny, to tell that I loe you 'fore ony. Wad need finer words than I've gatten to tell ; Nor need I say to ye, Ye're winsome and bonnie, — I'm thinkin' ye ken that fu' brawly yoursel' ! " I've courted you lang — do ye hear what I'm telling ? — I've courted you, thinkin' ye yet wad be mine ; And, if we suld marry wi' only ae shilling, At the warst, only ae shilling, Jenny, we'se tine. But love doesna aye lie in gowpens o' guineas. Nor happiness dwall whar the coffers are fu' ; YOUNG WILLIE, THE PLOUGHMAN. 45 As muckle we'll surely aye gather atween us. That want ne'er sal meet us, nor mis'ry pursue. "■ The chiels that are christened to riches an' grandeur. Ken nought o' the pleasure that hard labour brings ; What in idleness comes, they in idleness squander. While the lalfring man toils a the lang day and sings ! Then why suld we envy the great an' the noble. The tkockt is a kingdom — it's ours what we hae ! A boast that repays us for sair wark an' trouble, ' I've earned it !' is mair than a monarch can say. " The green buds now peep through the auld runkled timmer. The sun, at a breath, drinks the hale morning dew, An' nature is glad at the comin' o' simmer, As glad as I'm aye at the smiling o' you! The flowers are a' springing, the birds are a' singing, An' beauty an' pleasure are wooin' the plain ; Then let us employ it, while we may enjoy it. The simmer o' life, Jenny, comes na again !" [ 46 : THE MARINER TO HIS BARK. O I my bark, dost thou long to be free. That thou chaf st thus thy keel on the sand ? Then, away ! for I love to career it with thee. Far away, far away, from the land. We shall traverse where nought meets the eye. Save the green wave, or high flashing spray ; Where no sound, save the wild wheeling sea-bird's lone cry, Screaming welcome to us on our way. Let us haste, for the light breeze is near That shall waft us o'er yon summer sea ; By the sun, bright and clear, our wild course we shall steer. And the stars our night com])ass shall be. THE MARINER TO HIS BARK. 47 Then, away ! my sAvift bark, o'er the deep. Bound along o'er the vast rolling main ; Like an eagle across the broad wave thou wilt sweep. And return to thine eyry again. Many tempests have braved been by thee. Where no haven of shelter was nigh ; Tlion hast plunged thy bold prow in each wave of the sea. Spread thy white flag beneath every sky. Is there bliss to be found in this world ? O ! that bliss I can tell where to find, — On thy deck, my tight bark, with thy sails all unfurled. And thou shooting away 'fore the wind ! O ! I dreamed, in my night-troubled sleep, That our loved ocean wand'rings Avere o'er ; Unheeded, I sunk in the dark stormy deep, And thou lay a frail wreck on the .shore ! But away with such visions as these. When thy true helm I thus grasp again ; Than art leaving behind thee thy track on the seas, And our home is the far distant main ! L 48 ] OF BESSY BELL AN' MARY GRAY. Tune — " My love, she^s but a lassie yet." Of Bessy Bell an' Mary Gray Wha hasna heard, wha hasna sung ? Twa bonnie — but it's mony a day Sin' they were blooming, fair, an' young. Ae lass, gude sooth, is plenty O, For ony douce an' sober man ; Yet, though I'm baith, I've gatten twa, — My Maggie an' my IMary Ann. O ! Maggie is a bonnie lass. As e'er gaed barefit through a glen ; I'd toast her in anither glass. Though I before had tipled ten : ^ OF BESSY BELL AN* MAKY GHAY. 49 E'en, after that, I'd uiblins brew, Did strength permit, anither can, An' drink to — Maggie ? — no ! — to you, My bonnie blue-e'ed Mary Ann. I think on Maggie a' the day, I dream o Mary a' the night : Maggie'a the sun's bright sliining ray^ Mary the moon's pale modest liglit. How liappy could I be wi' baith, Or either, as the auld sang sings ; But, as it is, I'll tak my aith. Nor day nor night me gladness brings. My Maggie is the blushing roscj That in the valley blooms sae fair ; ]\Iary the primrose wild, that grows 'Mang sweetest flowers, the sweetest ilion-. My Maggie fair, for you I'd dee. My face, you see, is pale an' Man ; But I maun live, to gaze a wee On bonnie blue-e'od Mary Ann I o r. 50 ] BLYTIIE, BLYTHE, WE'LL A' BE MERRY. Tune — "Andro and his cult?/ gun." Blythc, blytlie, we'll a' be merry, Let social harmony prevail ; Wha wad care for port or sherry^ Whan they've Scotia's nappy alo ? It cheers the heart frae gloomy care. It gies new vigour to the mind ; It stilleth strife to rise nae mair. An' friendship's social link does bind. Blythe, blythe, &c. In days o' yore, liow aft we've seen A bicker rouse a sang or tale ; ULYTHK, BLYTHE, WK'LL a' BK MEKKY. 51 Sae let us be as we hae been, For here's the nappy — here's the ale ! Blythe, biythe, &c. Here's to the land o' rock and stream, The land o' mountain, muir, and dale ; The land where freedom's star does gleam, The land o' cakes and nappy ale ! Biythe, biythe, we'll a' be merry. Let social harmony prevail ; Wha wad care for port or sherry. Whan they've Scotia's nappy ale r* c 52 n DUMFERLINE TOUN. Tune — " The bonniest lass in a' the warld.'" O, DuMPERLiNE toun is a bonnie bonnie toun, An' wha says that it isna bonnie ? For gin we had again braw kings o' our ain. It would lift up its head yet wi' ony. O, Dumferline toun is a bonnie bonnie toun. An' it tells o' auld Scotland's grandeur ; For within it, langsyne, kings " drank the bluid red wine," While their queens 'mang its bonnie braes did wan- der. O;, Dumferline toun, an' my ain native toun. Will ony ane daur to deride thee ? DUMKERLINE TOUN. 53 Thou place of ancient name, which kings aye made their hame. And now they're a' sleeping beside thee ! Brave Malcolm the sceptre, wi' Marg'eet, did sway In yonder palace, auld now and hoary ; An' there Bruce did ponder ower his country's wae. How he'd aohieve her freedom, fame, and glory ! O, Dumferlino toun, thou bonnie bonnie toun, Wi' thy green woods thy valleys lining ; An' the sun shines sae gay on ilka turret gray, As if for thee alane he was shining. (), Dumferlinc toun, thou art still a bonnie toun, An' thy braes are as bonnie as ever ; But the gowan's pu'd nae mair by the princely bairnies fair. And our gallant chiefs hac left thee a' thegither. O, Dumferlinc toun, thou hast tint thy king an' croun. An' thy queens nae langer would tarry ; But there's still a lovely quecn^ near thy palace to be seen, An' I ca' her my bonnie '* queen Mary !" 54 DUWFERLINE TOUN. U O, Dumfcrliue toiin, an' my Mary's toun, Though the fates hac caused us to sever, Let days be as I've seen, an' let Mary aye be queen, An' I'll be her subject forever ! O GIN I HAD A KEEKIN GLASS. TuNK— " Loch Erroch side." GIN I had a keekin' glass, 1 then might see my bonnie lass ; gin I had a keekin' glass To keek at my love's windoAv. Her bonnie face I daurna spy. For cowart love has made me shy ; 1 canna look as I gae by, Nor blink up to her windoiv. O GIN 1 HAD A KEEKIN' GLASS. 55 Had she been only half sae fair, Ane might hae gazed wi' heedless air. But ae glance — I could thole nae mair — Clean killed me at her window. But yet the sicht I wadna shun For a' that e'er was looked upon ; Nae Indian worshipeth the sun As I'd do at her window. Her neck, sae fair, the lily dings, ''x An* round it mony a jet lock hings ; Her face wad draw a sigh frae kings, Gif they gacd by her window. O gin I had a keckin' glass To sec my bonnic charming lass ; O gin I had a keckin' glass l'" keck at my love's window. C 56 J LET GALLED GREECE. (Wkitten for Burns' Ankiversary, 25th January, 1828.) Tune — ''■ Whistle oivcr the lave o't." Let galled Greece an', fettered Spain^ An' ither lands enslaved, complain ^ Gic us that spat — for it's our ain — They ca' it Caledonia. Our fathers' bluid bought us that land Whilk nane shall e'er wrench from our hand. For Burns bade ilka Scotsman stand Or fa' wi' Caledonia. Hail to the day that gave him birth ! Be it aye marked for social mirth ; LET GALLED OREEOB. 57 Let latest ages o' the earth Aye hail't in Caledonia ! Hail to the land from whence he sprung ! Tlie land that's named in ilka tongue ; Where Bruce has fought an' Burns has sung, TJie land o' Caledonia. Waes me ! puir Scotia, mony a day Thy face was dowie, douf, an' wac ; Few o' thy bardies tuned a lay In praise o' Caledonia. Thy warriors fought — but wha could tell How beauty wept when lovers fell .^ Till Burns awoke the harp's wild swell, An' sang o' Caledonia ! His sangs an' tales breathed Nature's laii , Bout blythsomc lads an' lasses fair ; An' nappy, famed for killin" care. When brewed in Caledonia, 58 LKT GALLED GRKKCK. He sang — for wccl the minstrel knew Ilk valley green an* mountain blue, Whar flowers before unheeded grew, A' dear to Caledonia. But, ah ! how quickly ceased the strain. Begun in care and closed in pain ; It paused — then faintly thrilled again. An' whispered — " Caledonia !" 'Twas he that raised our country's name. We owe to him our highest fame ; For, when we're mentioned wi' acclaim, 'Tis — " Burns an Caledonia !" L io ] MY LOVE IS NO FOR GO^Vl>. TuN^, — " Lucy CampbeWs deliyfit," My love is no for gowd nor gear, An' neither is't for house nor Ian' ; It's a' for her, my charming fair, My bonnie blue-e'ctl Mary Ann. The snaw is wliite on Arthur's hill. On the loch below white swims the swan, But Mary's hand is fairer still, The lily hand o' Mary Ann ! In flowery June, the roses blaw Their crimson leaves — the saft winds fan ; But Mary's cheek would shame them a', The bloomin' cheek o' JMary Ann ! 60 MY LOVE IS NO FOR GOWD. I've speered at trav'llers, wha hae been Frac John o' Groat's House to Japan, But fairer maid they ne'er hae seen Than bonnie blue-e'ed Mary Ann ! BY ROSLIN'S ANCIENT TOWERS. Tune — " Sae flaxen u-erc her riiiglels." Bv Roslin's ancient towers. Where Esk steals slowly to the sea, 'Twas there, ae morn in simmer. My bonnie lassie fled frae me. Nae smile then — beguiled then A heart ower aften filled wi' care, But, eerie an' weary, I sighed for her I saw nac mair ; BY ROSLIN's ancient TOWERS. Gl An' sought her 'mang the woods an' glens. Where bonnie wild HoAvers blooming sprang. An' A\'andered by the tinklin' burns That echoed ilka birdie's sang. I speered for ane whase beauty Nane could forget that ever saw, A form that had nae equal In lowly cot or lordly ha'. A pleasure — past measure Within lier presence aye was found, Sae cheering — endearing Was ilka smile she coost around. I said her een were saftly blue. Than jewels rare they brighter shone. But nane had seen a face sae fair. Though it seemed made for gazing on. At length, in yonder valley, To find her out I gat a sign, For, round her ivy'd u indow. Birds sang mair sweet, Hower** bloomed mail line. 02 BY roshn's ancient towers. There; peering — careering. The lav'rock waked the blusliing day. Inviting — delighting, The blackbird sang his e'enin' lay. , Twas there, in beauty's guise, I found The lass for whom a' else I'd tine ; An' now, on earth, what seek I mair > I've found this bonnie lass o' mine ! ■^^^^^**^* j-^^^f , JANET AN' ME. Tune — " Vd rather hue a -piece than a kiss o" my jo.'" O, WHA are sae happy as me an' my Janet ? O, wha are sae happy as Janet an' me .'' We're baith turning auld, an' our walth is sune tuuld. But contentment ye'll find in our cottage sae wee. She spins the lang day when I'm out wi' the owsen. She croons i' the house ^vhile I sing at the plough ; JANET an' me. 63 And iiye lier blythe smile walcomes me frae my toil, As up the laiig glen I come M'earied, I trow ! Wjjen I'm at the Beuk she is mending the cleadin'. She's darnin' the stockings when I sole the shoon ; Our cracks keep us cheery — we work till we're weary^ An' syne we sup sowans when ance we are done. She's bakin' a scon ^\hile I'm smokin' my cutty. When I'm i' the stable she's milkin' the kye ; I envy not kings, wlion the gloamin' time brings The canty fireside to my Janet an' I ! vVboon our auld heads we've a decent clay biggin', ^ That keeps out the cauld when the simmer's awa ; We've twa wabs o' linen o' Janet's ain spinnin'. As thick as dog-lugs, an' as white as the snaw ! VVe've a kebbuck or twa, an' some meal i' the girnel. Yon sow is our ain that j)lays grumph at the door ; An' something, I've guessed, 's in you ;iuld painted kist. That Janet, fell !)o ] THE SUN BEHIND YON MOUNTAIN. Tune—" The mse tire.'" The sun, behind yoii mountain^ Is setting lovely, bright, and fair, While I, the moments counting. Am filled wi' anguish, grief, and care : For, ere he beams to-morrow. An' streaks wi' gowd yon sky sae blue, I'll hear that word of sorrow. That fareweel parting word — adieu ! Had Willie wooed less kindly, Wi' nae sic truth an' witchin' power ; Had I but lo'ed less fondly, I might have borne the parting hour ! E 66 THE SUN BEHIND YON MOUNTAIN. On bygane joys I ponder. While future woes appear in view : 'Twill break my heart asunder To hear that parting word — adieu ! The ship is now in motion That wafts my lover ower the sea ; And soon the swelling ocean Shall roll between my love an' me ! No that the waves can sever His love an' mine, sae tender, true ! But what if 'tis forever I hear that parting word — adieu ! [ ^i7 ] THE POETS, WHAT FOOLS THEY'RE TO DEAVE US. TuxE — " Fy, let vs a' to the bridaV^ Thk poets, what fools they're to deave us^ How ilka ane's lassie's sae fine ; The tane is an angel, and, save us ! The niest ane you meet wi's divine ! An' then there's a lang-nebbit sonnet, Be't Katty, or Janet, or Jean ; An' the moon or some far awa' planet's Compared to the blink o' her een. The earth an' the sea they've ransackit For sim'lies to set afl" their charms, An' no a wee flower but's attackit By poets, like bumbees in swarms. 6H THE I'OKTSj WHAT FOOJ>S THEY'rE TO DEAVE US. Now, Avhat signifies a' this clatter By chiels that the truth winna tell ? Wad it no be settlin' the matter To say — Lass, ye're just like yoursel ? An' then there's nae end to the evil. For they are no deaf to the din. That, like me, ony puir luckless deevil Daur scarce look the gate they are in ! But, e'en let them be wi' their scornin'. There's a lassie Avhase name I could tell, Her smile is as sweet as the mornin'. But, whisht ! I am ravin' mysel. But he that o' yaviu' 's convickit. When a l)onnie sweet lass he thinks on, ]\Iay he ne'er get anither strait jacket Than that buckled to by Mess John ! An' he wha, though cautious an' canny, The charms o* the fair never saw. Though wise as king Solomon's grannie, I swear is the daftest of a'. C «n J (), MY LOVE, NIGHT IS CO.^IE. (), MY love, niglit is come, the soft night is come. And fled is the glory and splendour of day ; The bright flaming sun, with the daylight, hath gone Ti» his pahice of ocean, love, far far away. C), night, niv lt»ve, night ! to a lover is dear, ^^'hen the M'iiid is all hushed and the moon in the sky ; Tlien, haste to thy lattice, love, quickly apjicar With the smile on thy cheek and the glance in Uiine eye. O, my love, ever gay is the clear noon of day, With the bird's happy song and the bloom of the rose ; But, at night, roses wee]), and the little birds sleep All still as the green leaves on which they rej)ose. 1 7f> O, MV LOVK, NIGHT IS COfllK. Yet night, my love, night ! O ! 'tis dearer to me. Though the floAvers are in tears, that the sun does not shine ; For thou art the flow'ret I ever would see. And the music I'd hear is that sweet voice of thine ! DAYS OF SORROW, NIGHTS OF MOURNING. Tune—" Roi/s Wife." Days of sorrow, nights of mourning, Dreams of joy that's ne'er returning; I try to weep, but canna weep. Can tears flow when the heart is burning JVIy Willie's love was kind an' true, Nor did he lo'e a faithless JMary ; DAYS OF SORROW, NHillTS OF MOURNING. 71 But, Avaes my heart ! the loved hours flew, 8ic hours o' love, they couldua tarry ! Days of sorrctw, &c. He said he'd bring a gowdeii ring, An' silks frae India to his deary .; An' he'd be blest aboon a king. When ayce I was his ain dear Mary. Days of sorrow, &c. I waited lang tor Willie's ring, I waited langer for my lover ; What would I now wi' silks or ring ? Nae silks a breaking heart should cover ! Days of sorrow, &c. In vain I seek Kdina's shore. And fondly gaze the braid sea over ; Ye waves ! when will ye cease to roar, An' gie me back my ain true lover ? Days of sorrow. Sec C 72 ] O, JENNY, LET THIS STRIFE BE OWER. Tune—" Willie was a ivanton uiuff.^' O, Jknny, let this strife be ower. An' let this weary wark be done ; Ye ken I'm subject to your power As ocean is to yonder moon ! I've ca'd ye aften fair and braw. The sweetest lass by hill or plain ; Now, I've a reason — maybe twa — To tell it ower an' ower again. Ye say ye hae nae heart to gie. Ye say ye hae nae love to spare ; O, then, accept o' some frae me^ I'm sure I've gat an unco share ! O, .TENNY, IvET THIS STRIFE niC OWER. 'J^ 'Twill maybe free my mind <>' care, 'Twill maybe ease my heart o' pain ; An' if, like me, it wound ye there. Ye just can gie me't back again. I'll woo ye wi' a lovers flame, I'll roose ye in a bardie's sang ; Ye'll be my muse, an', at your name. The todlin' words will jump alang. I'll sing ye bloomin', young, an' kind, Wi' laughin' een o' clearest blue. But naething o' your heart an' mind. Else a' the warld were courtin' you ! I winna mind your words ava, Frae your sweet mouth although they come ; The tongue's aye ready saying — Na, Though a' the time the heart be dumb ! But I will mark your redd'ning cheek. An' I will watch your glancin' e'e, For love's true language these ave speak ; () ! Jeniiv. lot them speak fur mv ! [ 74 ] DRINK IT YET. Tune — " Bide ye yet.'" Drink it yet, drink it yet. We're no just sae fou but we'll drink it yet ; To the name that is dear, though we winna lell here, We'll tout afF a bumper, and think it yet. It's never ower late when sittin' wi' you. The warst that can happen is only get fou ; But, though we get fou, we'll never forget Our friend and our lassie — sae drink it yet. Drink it yet, &c. They say, Avlien drink's in that Avit it is oui, But ho tliat says sae is a knave and a lout ; It DRINK IT YKT. 7'"> For what gieth life to friendship and wit Like a fu' sparklin' glass ? — sae drink it yet. Drink it yet, &c. It isna sae aften I meet ^i' ye a', Time enough to be sad when gangin' awa' ; A charm's in the bowl round which gude friends sit, An' the xpc/l to awaken't is — " Drink it yet !" Drink it yet, &c. When Fate, fickle jade, throws friends in our wny, 'Tis a moment of sunshine in life's winter day ; Then, ere the clouds gather, and joy's sun set, Let tlie pass-word to pleasure be — " Drink it yet ! " Drink it yet, drink it yet. We're no just sae fou but we'll drink it yet ; To the name that is dear, though we winna tell here. In a fu' flowing bumper we'll lliiii/,- it yet ! C 76 ] AGAIN LET'S HAIL THE CHEERING SPRING. * Again let's hail the cheering spring That now returns, an' a' that ; The little birds now gladly sing Their artless notes for a' that. For a' that an' a' that. Bleak winter's fled an' a' that ; Nae mair we see the leafless tree, For verdure blooms ower a' that. The snawy glen an' gloomy fen That dreary seemed, an' a' that. * AViittPU in Spiins,' liiKi — my tirst attempt at rhyinp. * AGAIN LETS UAIl. TIIK CIIEKKINO SPUING. 7/ Hae now become the shepherd's home, Wha envies nane for a' that. Fur a' that an' a' that, Keal grandeur we may ca' that ; Content doe.s sniik', an' fraud an' fjuile Ne'er enters there for a' that. The primrose, frae it.s grassy bed Adorns the banks an' a' that ; The daisy lifts its crimson head Amang the braes for a' that. For a' that an' a' that, For Nature's hand maks braw that ; Art still niiu try, but \\heii will't vie Wi' Nature's sel in a' that .'' The farmer now gars " speed the plew," An' seed fu' thrang does saw that ; lie dreads nae harms nor war'.s alarms. For peace smiles sweet ower a' tlmt. F<»r a' that an' a' tliat, Lang may't abide for a' that : 78 AGAIN LKt's hail THK CHEKRING SPRING. The sword an' sprear no^\' grand uptear, As men of old foresaw that ! Lang may auld Scotland aye retain Her ancient worth an' a' that ; Ilk knavish plot may she disdain^ An' slavery keep awa' that. For a' that an' a' that. Her rights there's nane shall thraw that ; May peace an' wealth, an' joy an' health. Reign ower her plains for a' that ! C 79 ] I COURTED MAGGIE MONY A DAY. ■PtrvK — " Johiiie's gray brreks.''' I COURTED Maggie niony a day, To tell how lang, I'd weary, O ; But ne'er a word wad Maggie say — Slie wadna be my dearie, O. But, O ! her smile, her bonnie smile, Though she'd nae speak, it spak again ; Though slie wad say — Gae, bide aM'ay ; It bade mo aye come back again ! I pat a saxpence in my jxtuch To mak mo orouso an' cheery, (). 80 I C'OURTKl) MAG(JIK JIONY A DAY. But jMaggie's heart nae words could touch — She wadna be my deary, O. But, O ! her smile, &c. I pat the yill-cap to my head, An' took anither smack again ; Quo' I — " O ! Mag, ye'se be my dead!" " Yes," quo' she, " an' ye come back again !" But, O ! her smile, &:c. She laid a kebbuck on the boardj But tient a knife my Maggie brang ; She then, wi' jeering scornfu' word, Bade me sit in an' cut a whang ! But, O ! her smile, iv'C. She tried to gloom, but couldna gloom, I syne grew bauld an' spak again ; Quo' she — Gae whistle on your thoum, But, gudesake ! comena back again ! But, O ! her smile, &c. 1 COURXKD 3IAGGIE WONY A DAY. 81 But tauntiii' word and woman's wile Suld never mak a lover shy ; t I've gained my IMaggie's bonnie smile, I've gained my IMaggie's heart forbye ! For, O ! her smile, her bonnie smile, Though she'd nae speak, it spak again ; Though she wad say — Gae, bide away ; It bade me aye come back again ! COME A', YE JOVIAL TOPERS. TuNK— " The hlatherie oV." Come a', ye jovial topers. That drink the rosy wine ; An' ye, wha quaff Glenlivet, Attend this sang o' mine. p 82 COME a', ye jovial topers. I'll tell ye o' a pleasure That some folk daurna name, 'Tis to meet Avi' twa three social friends At our ain house at hame. O, Otir ain house at hame — O, our ain house at hame, A charm's round the ingle o' our ain house at hame. When the toddj^-bowl is filling, O, a pleasant sight to see ! An" the bonnie wee bit bairnies Hr faulded up their e'e : O ! there's a joy sae dear. To which a' joys are tame. The sweetest blinks are those that shine On our ain house at hame. O, our ain house, &c. It's no the ale o' Edinbro', Nor yet the Lon'on brown, Nor is't beside the brandy punch. In taverns o' the town : COME a', vk jovial, topkrs. H'.l 'Tis beside the mountain dew, Frae the stell without the name. When we toast our friend and lassie At our ain house at hame. (), our ain house, &c. See, yonder pawkie landlord The, bowl he's gaun to fill ; Though the night is stealin' hame, His friends are sittin' still : For they downa gang to rest Till their noddle's in a flame. An' they mind nae mair on a' the earth But our ain house at hame. O, our ain house, &c. Awa', ye hen-pecked husbands, What happiness hae ye ? Instead o' friends an' Avhisky-punch, Ye've cookies, care, an' tea ! Gie me the honest-hearted chiel That owns nae frowning dame. 84 c'OMK a', ye jovial topkrs. But can sport his jug o' toddy At his ain house at hame. His ain house at hame — O, his ain house at hame, Has a friend for ilka tumbler at his ain house at hame. ONE STAR OF THE MORNING. One star of the morning still lingers Amid the deep blue of the sky, O ! it waits for the sun and my Julia, To light up the green earth with joy. Then haste, love, the fair lilly's weeping, The young rose is drooping in dew ; The lark, in its sweet dream, is sleeping, ■ Till wakened by Nature and you ! There's joy when the soft morning blushes. And sunbeams on bright streamlets play. J ONE STAR OK THE SiOllNlNG. 85 When the deep glen and dark misty mountain Rejoice at the coming of day : But not the gay gladness of nature. When summer and morning are young, Can equal that rapture of bosom. When you are the theme of my song. Yon bright star of morn is departing To skies of a lovelier hue. To sparkle on lands that are fairer. But on maid never fairer than you ! The golden sun now walks in glory. And gladdens with smiles flower and tree ; Like you who, in joy or in sorrow. Still gladdens this bleak world to me ! [ 8(5 ] A CANTY SANG. Tune—" The Laird o' Cockpen." A canty sang, O, a canty sang. Will naebody gie us a canty sang ? There's naething keeps nights frae turning ower lang Like a canty sang, like a canty sang. If folk wad but sing when they're gaun to flyte. Less envy ye'd see, less anger an' spite ; What saftens doun strife and maks love mair Strang Like a canty sang, like a canty sang ? A canty sang, &c. If lads wad but sing when they gang to woo. They'd come na aye hauie wi' thoum i' their mou' : A CANTY SANG. 87 The chiel that, wi' lasses, wad be fu' thrang, Suld learn to lilt to them a canty sang. A canty sang, &c. When fools become quarrelsome ower their ale, I'se gie ye a cure whilk never will fail, — When their tongues get short an' their arms get lang. Aye drown the din \vd' a canty sang ! A canty sang, &c. I downa bide strife, though fond o' a spree. Your sair Mordy bodies are no for me : A wee dribble punch, gif it just be Strang, Is a' my delight, an' a canty sang ! A canty sang, O, a canty sang. Will naebody gie us a canty sang ? There's naething keeps nights frae turning ower lang Like a canty sang, like a canty sang. C 88 ] AWAKE, MY HARP, THY SAFTEST LAY. Tune — '* Fy, gae rub her oiver wi" strae.'^ Awake, my harp, thy saftest lay. And, O ! let love be a' the strain. While ower thy strings I deftly play Till echo bring the notes again ! An' sing how Peggie's blooming, fair. An' tell how Peggie's loving, kind ; The sweetest form an' simplest air. The warmest heart an' noblest mind. Her een wad strike a bodie blin', But, 'neath their darts, young love-beams play Like streaks of morn, that usher in The splendours o' the coming day. AWAKE, MY HARP, THY SAFTEST LAY. 89 Her waving ringlets glossy hing, Her neck is pure as snaw new driven ; Her eyebrows nane daur ever sing. They seem the pencil-wark o' heaven ! When Peggie walks at morning ray. The wee birds round her beauty thrang ; And, when she smiles, the infant day Awakes a' Nature into sang. Where'er she strays there I'll be found, For I will follow in her train. Until the happy time come round That lovely Peggie's a' my ain ! [ 90 ] PITY THE LADS THAT ARE FREE. Tune — " / hue a wife o' my ainy Pity the lads that are free. Pity the chiels that are single ; For gude sake ! tak pity on me, I'm teased night an' day wi' Jean Pringle. For lasses I carena a preen. My heart's my ain an' I'm cheery. An', were't nae for that cutty Jean, I'd sleep as soun' as a peerie ! What's beauty ? — it a' lies in taste ! For nane o't wad I gie a bodle ; But hers, hauntin' me like a ghaist, Is whiles like to turn mv noddle ! PITY THE LADS THAT ARE FREE. J)l She's wooers — but what's that to me ? They're walcome to dance a' about her ; Yet I like na her smilin' sae slee To lang Sandy Lingles the souter ! Yestreen I cam in frae the plew. The lasses were a' busy spinnin' ; I stoitered as if I'd been fou, For Jeanie a sang was beginnin'. I hae heard fifty maids sing. Whiles ane, an' whiles a' thegither ; But nane did the starting tears bring Till she sung the " Braes o' Balquhither." Last Sunday, when gaun to the kirk, I met wi' my auld aunty Beenie, I looked as stupid's a stirk When simply she said — " How is Jeanie ?" An' at e'en, when I, wi' the rest. Was carritched baith Larger an' Single, When specred — Wham we suld like best ? I stammered out — " YounIi I tliink I'se st-iul ower for the dark, He miglit cry us out the niest Sunday ; It's winter — we're nae thrang at wark, Sae I think I'll just marry 'gin JMonday •' EMIGRANT'S SONG. Tune — " Gildcroy." The gallant bark now quits the strand, That bears me far away From kindred, and the friends I love — Alas ! and lose for aye ! And soon my native hills and glens. Now robed in summer's hue. Shall vanish like a passing thought That memory never knew ! 94 emigrant's song. The swelling sails are flapping wide. As struggling to be free ; And ocean, with its thousand waves. Will soon my dwelling be : For every sound that greets mine ear. Of parting seems to tell ; And wavelets, rippling to the shore, Half-whisper — " Fare thee well !" Edina, with her rocks and towers, Now dazzles in my sight, And ne'er, until this hour, appeared So lovely and so bright ! And yet a sadd'ning thought awakes My bosom's every pain, For ne'er, in gladness nor in gloom. Shall I see her again ! Adieu ! thou seat of palaces. Thou native spot of mine ! Where maiden charms and manly worth In happy blendings shine. emigkant's song. 95 Ye bright blue skies, that circle in Romantic Scotia's shore, I leave you for the murky cloud And gath'ring tempest's roar. Farewell my harp ! that oft hath woke The wildest, sweetest strain ; I may not, will not, cannot touch Thy thrilling chords again, — Since her I leave, whose heav'nly name Thy silver tones well know : In joy I might of Mary sing, But not in madd'ning woe ! [ 90 ] THE BRIGHT SUN O' SIMMER. Tune — " The cold frosty morning." The bright sun o' simmer but lately was shining. The birds sang in joy and the earth blossomed green ; An' hope spoke of days without care or repining. Like those that in dreams o' mv childhood I've seen. But now the brown leaves o' the forest are fa'ing. An' quickly the sun hastens down through the sky ; The winds, frae the caverns of winter, are blawing, They tell me that simmer, like youth, has gone by. O ! where are the fond hearts o' life's sunny morning ? Nae mair by the greenwood or valley they're seen : They've perished, like flow'rets the fair earth adorning, As if childhood and young simmer never had been. THK BinUHT SUN o' SIMMKK. 97 And Avhere is the music, the joy, and the gladness. That swelled through the grove a' the lang simmer day ? Alas ! a' is fled, and my heart's filled wi' sadness. For the music of youth, too, hath melted away ! O ! farewell, ye flow'rets, the fairest an' brightest That sprung on the mountain, or bloomed on the lea ; And farewell, ye fond hearts, the warmest and lightest, Nae mair ye return to charm Nature an' me. And welcome bleak winter, wi' days wild and dreary. For the blasts of misfortune have left me forlorn ; And my soul it is sad, an' my spirit is weary, Wi' pond'ring on joys fled that ne'er can return ! G [ 98 ] A BUMPER TO THEE ! (Set lo a spirited Air, from a forthcoming volume of Original Melodies, hy Petfb M'Leod, Esq.) A bumper to thee ! a bumper to thee ! A cup to the fair^ and a health to the free ; O ! this toast hath a spell, we shall quaff it with glee, A bumper to thee ! a bumper to thee ! Let the wine mantle high in a goblet of joy. Be it Alicant bright or Burgundy famed, O ! my soul, like the cup, to my lip shall spring up, When friendship and thou in a bumper art named ! A l)umper to thee, &c. O ! the Arno rolls deep through Italia's gay land, And fair on its banks grows the wide-spreading vine ; A BUMPKIt lO THKK ! 91( In the juice of that vine I shall ])ledge heart and hand To hright eyes that sparkle, as sparkles the wine ! A hamper to thee, Sec. As the Arah, while wand'ring the desert along. Forgets half his toil if a streamlet he find, So, in life's dreary waste, fill a cup deep and strong. And sorrow and care we shall throw to the wind In a bumper to thee, &c. Since the past is away, let this night be our day. Nor brood on to-morrow to waken a sigh ; For to souls, if there's bliss, 'tis a moment like this, When cups flow ^ith wine, and bosoms with joy ! A bumper to thee ! a bumper to thee ! A cup to the fair, and a health to the free ; O ! fhis toast hath a spell, we shall quafl^ it with glee, A bumjier to thee ! a bumper to thee ! [ 100 ] THOU WEARY MORN. Tune—" Gude nicht an' joy."— {Old Set.) Thou weary morn, when wilt thou dawn ? And yet nae gladness comes wi' day ; But day an' night I mourning sigh For loved hours fled an' joys away. My laddie was the kindest swain. An' sought my heart wl' a' his skill, An' yet I've tint that lad sae true Wi' woman's pride an' woman's will. It wasna but I lo'ed him weel. It wasna but I thought him kind. But just that silly pride o' heart That lovers shouldna ever mind. TllOir WKAKY MOllN. 101 He tauld me that my heart A^as proud, An' what lie said was maybe true. But little does my laddie ken How humbled low that heart is now ! At kirk, I keekit afF my beuk To see if he Avould look at me. But ne'er a blink gat I frae him. Although the tear stood in my e'e. An' when the preachin'-time was done, Ilk lassie liad her lover gay. While I gaed dowie hame alane, An', O ! it was a weary way ! But the lav'rock sings high i' the lift. Although his nest's deep i' the glen ; Sae, though my withered hopes are low. They maybe yet will rise again ! The sun behind the cloud does shine, Although his face we dinna see ; Sae my dear lad may yet prove kind, Although it a' seems dark to me ! [ 102 ] THERE'S PLEASURE WHEN THE MORNING SUN. ■( Written to an ancient Border melody.) There's pleasure when the morning sun looks ower the mountain gray. And shines on the flow'rets a' blushing in the dew ; When the starnies in the blue lift in dimness fade away. And the little singing birdies their sangs a' renew. But no the siin o' morn, though in brightness he ap- pear. And simmer in gladness comes ower the flowery lea. Can gie me sic delight as a smile frae my dear. The lassie o' my heart that is dearest to me ! **^ Her face it is the rose ne\vly washed wi' a shower, Her ringlets the slae-berries o' the jetty dye ; THKKe's PLKA.SURK H'lIKN THK MOIiNING SUN. 103 Her neck, vsae round and sma', is the bonnie lily tlovver. Her een the dewy pearls in its bosom that lie. The mavis' sang is sweet when at e'enin' hour he sings. And sweet is the blackbird singin' on the tree. But the voice o' my hissie a sweeter music brings. The lassie o' my heart that is dearest to me ! The shepherd loves the shade at the sunny hour o' noon. When his flocks on the green braes are a' feeding by ; 'V\w bard loves to wander beneath the smiling moon, Wlien the wind scarcely breathes through the blue e'ening sky. The bee loves the wild flowers adown the glen that blaw. The lammie the gowan that blossoms on the lea ; Sae I lo'e my bonnie lassie, the fairest of a', The lassie o' my heart that is dearest to me ! I carena for grandeur nor fortune's fickle smile, I sigh nae for walth, sin it never can be mine : Could riches bring me joy, or my sorrows beguile, Like the jewel tliat I prize an' never sal tine ? 104 there's pleasure when the morning sun. Her beauty's but the image o' her pure heart within. The language o' her soul it is tauld in her e'e ; And her love, mair than gowd, I will ever seek to win. The love o' my lassie that's dearest to me ! O! THOU BROOM, THOU BONNIE BUSH O' BROOM. Tune — " Coivdenknowes." O ! thou broom, thou bonnie bush o' broojm, I leave that land and thee, Where freedom and thou hae flourished lang. Where freemen still are free ! The Indian vales are rich and fair. And bright is the flow'ret's bloom. But what are the flowers and the myrtle bowers. If I miss my native broom .'' O ! THOU BROOM, THOU BONNIE BUSH o' BROOM. 105 Then wilt thou come, thou bonnie bush o' broom. And grow on a Foreign strand ? That I may think, when I look on thee, I'm still in fair Scotland ! But, ah ! that thought could ne'er be mine. Though thou beside me sprang ; Nor though yon bird, to Scotia dear. Did follow wi' its sang. Thy branches green might Mave at e'en,. At morn thy Howers might blaw. But it wadna be on Cowdenknowes, Nor yet by Ettrick shaw. () ! thou broom, thou bonnie bush o' broom, Thou bonnie bonnie broom, I maist could weep for days that are gane, When I think on days to come. ]My native land ca's forth a sigh. And thou, sweet broom, a tear. 106 O ! THOU BROOiAI, THOU BONNIE BUSH o' BROOM. For I canna tak thee frae the braes To which thou's lang been dear. O ! thou broom, thou bonnie bush o' broom, I leave that land and thee. Where freedom and thou hae flourished lang, Where freemen still are free ! WHAT MEANS A' THIS SCORNING, MY LASSIE ? Tune—" ram Glen." What means a' this scorning, my lassie ? An' what mean thae looks o' disdain ? It wasna your wont to be saucy. It isna your nature, I ken. Langsyne, when we met 'mang the breckan, You laughed the young simmer day by ; WHAT MEANS A* THIS SCORNING? 1 OJ But HOW, sin' this turn yti hfie taken, Ye've ijrown unco scornfu' and shy ! If love be the cause, though I doubt it. Be frank just at ance, now, an' tell ; I'll deave ye nae mair, lass, about it. Gin I be the loved ane mysel. But I'll steal to the fair agin Monday, An' buy you a braw prentit gown ; An', faitli ! ye'se appear the niest Sunday The fairest young bride in the toun. Then cease Avi' your scorning, my lassie^ An' gie me a kind look the while ; Leave them to be frowning and saucy Whase faces were ne'er made to smile. I'm but a puir hand at beseeching. And words hae nae mony to spare, Sae I'll mak a short end o' the preaching, (Jill ve will but listen tla- prayer! : 108 ] THE BONNIE SHIP COMES HAME AGAIN. Tune — " Hiyhland Laddie.^'' Thk bonnie ship comes hame again, Wi' wliite sails skimming ower the main ; I've gatten word frae Germanic That my love's ship comes ower the sea. Its ower the sea and ower the wave, O, ilka tempest she will brave. Though tempest rude should never be When my love's coming ower the sea. Wi' my dear lad wha can compare ? His eye is bright, his face is fair ; His heart is kind, his step is free, O ! my love's coming ower the sea. THE BONNIE SHIP COMES HAME AGAIN. 109 The sun at morn will guide him hame, The moon at e'en will light the faem, An' starnies they'll blink bonnilie, For my love's coming ower the sea. O, simmer's blythsome days are near. The blackbird's e'enin' sang I hear ; ' In gladsome notes he sings to me, For my love's coming ower the sea. Welcome, ye woods, a' waving green. An' welcome days, sic as I've seen When my kind lad did gang wi' me. Far frae the din o' stormy sea ! [ no ] AWAKE, DEAREST MADALINE. ( Written to the Air " My lodging is on the cold ground," and set to an original melody, by Finlay Duk.) Awake, dearest Madaline ; sweet love, arise This fair summer morning to view ; The sun's left his bed where the seas kiss the skies. The lark his green couch 'mong the dew. But the sun, brightly rising o'er Nature all gay, On one fair as thee does not shine ; Nor voice of the morning lark, wak'ning the day. Can equal the music of thine ! From the long night of winter the flow'rets come forth, And modestly blush into day ; A joy and a gladness are over the earth, — Arise, my sweet love, come away ! AWAKK, UEAREST MADALINK. Ill The summer appears, half in smiles half in tears, Thy beauty Avill heighten't the while : The sweet little Hower will outlive its short hour, If thou on its fair blossoms smile ! The earth is all green and all bright is the sky. With songs grove and glen loudly ring ; 'Tis surely the season of love and of joy. When summer is wooed by the spring ! There's nothing awanting from pleasure like this, Which Nature gives fondly and free. Save one to partake in the banquet of bliss, And that one, fair JMadaline, thee ! C 112 ] MY BONNIE BELL. Tune — " The mill, mill, O." My bonnie Bell, my bonnie Bell, Ye've left me filled wi' sorrow ; A waefu' day is ilka day, A grieving day ilk morrow. Ye've left the bonnie Lawland braes, • Where the heather-bell is blooming. For the craggy steep and the valley deep. Where the Highland deer is roaming. The Highland hills are high an' wide. And no for your feet clim'ing ; Far better by your ain burn side. Where the siller trouts are sAvimming. MV BONNIK BELL. 1 1 .'i There's moiiy a heart will beat, as ye Cross mountain, miiir, or river ; But there is ane, in a Lawland glen. His heart is thine forever ! A dowie face \vears burn an' brae. They've tint wi' you their grandeur ; While proud will seem ilk mountain stream, As by its "banks ye wander ! O, haste ye hame, for nae bird sings Save waesome notes o' mourning ; They keep their sangs an' canty springs To welcome your returning ! r iM 1 THE AUTUMN WINDS ARE BLAWING. KRAGMENT. Tune — " I'lowers o' the forest." Thk autumn winds are blawing, red leaves are fa'ing, An' Nature is mourning the simmer's decay ; The wee birdies singing, the wee floAv'rets springing, Hae tint a' their sangs an' withered away ! I, too, am mourning, for death has nae returning ; Where are my bairnies, the young an' the gay ? Why should they perish, the blossoms we cherish ? The beautiful are sleeping cauld in the clay ! Fair was their morning, their beauty adorning. The mavis sang sweet at the closing u' day. THE AUTUMN AVINDS ARK B[.A\VING. 1 1 f) Now tlie winds are raving, the green grass is waving Ower the buds o' innocence cauld in the clay- Ilka night brings sorrow, grief comes ilk morrow — Should gowden locks fade before the auld an' gray ? But still, still they're sleeping, wi' nae care nor weeping, The robin sits chirping ower their cauld clay ! In loveliness smiling, ilka day beguiling In joy and in gladness, time murmured by : What now were pleasure, wi' a' the warld's treasure ? I\Iy heart's in the grave where my fair blossoms lie ! The autumn winds are blawing, red leaves are fa'ing, iVIoaning is the gale as it rides on its way ; A wild music's sighing, it seems a voice crying, — " Happy is that land that knows no decay !" [ 116] O, COULD I BUT PICTURE MY LASSIE. TuxE — " JJnmovrs of G/eii.'" O, COULD I but picture my lassie sae charming. As Aveel as the charms o' my lassie I see ! But whar hae I phrases or language sae warming. As tell o' the smile o' her bonnie black e'e ? Her lips are as red as the saft rose o' simmer^ Or berries that grow on the tall rowan tree ; The moon-beam that sleeps on the white snaw is dimmer Than the glance that fa's down frae her bonnie black e'e. ' I've seen maidens decked out wi' art's richest gran- deur, A' sparkling in diamonds that come ower the sea ; O, COULD I BUT PICTURK MY LASSIE. 117 I'm tliinkin' they need them to gie them some splen- dour. But IMary needs nane, save her bonnie black e'e ! O, dear to the lammie's the green grassy mountain. And dear is the flower to the young hiney bee. And dear to the trav'ller the desert's lone fountain, But dearer to me is her bonnie black e'e ! She whiles trfes to jeer me, she whiles Avinna hear me. She whiles is, or seems to be, saucy to me ; But there is nae hiding, for a' her coy chiding, The tell-tale that lies in her bonnie black e'e. I speered gif she wanted to part wi' her lover ? I speered gif she wanted lier lover to dee ? An' keekit to see if niv words thev did move her. An' saw a tear blindin' her bonnie black e'e ! " O ! come to me, Mary, an' ye'se be my dearie !" She turned round her head, an' she lookit ajee ; I took lier an' kissed her, an' to me I pressed her. An' dichted the tear frae her bonnie black e'e. 118 O, COULD I BUT PICTURK MY LASSIE. Her sweet smile returning, she blushed like the morn- ing. An' said, " I am yours till the day that I dee !" O^ love ! e\er tarry wi' me an' my Mary, I'm blest 'neath the smile o' her bonnie black e'e ! YESTREEN I SLEPT. Tune—" Emhro' Katter Yestreen I slept an' dreamed of her Wha aften keeps the sleep frae me, I thought we met in some bright land. Some holy land where angels be ! For every face we there did see Was dimmed by neither woe nor care. And harps woke heaven's high minstrelsey, Because mv love was list'ning there ! YKSTKKEN I SLKl'T. 119 She seemed as lovely as she is. And as bewitching she did seem : I thought her mine, ah ! cruel bliss, This might have shown me 'twas a dream ! But could such visions me, forlorn, Revisit aft, or aye remain ; I'd wake nae mair, nor e'er return Back to this weary warld again ! w For what is life withouten love ? And what is love wi' nae return ? Oh ! is there aught her heart could move. Or cause mine, mourning, cease to mourn ? If life give nought but dark despair, If hopes an' joys but visions seem, I'd rather wish my days nae mair, Or passed in an eternal dream ! [ 120 ] BONNIE PEGGIE GORDON. Tltke — " Highland Harry hack again." Now simmer walks in robes o' green. On ilka flowery bank she's seen. Then come, my love, thou'rt simmer's queen, Bonnie Peggie Gordon. We'll wander where the primrose springs. Where the rose-bud dewy hings. Where the burnie murm'ring sings, " Bonnie Peggie Gordon !" I'll lead thee doAvn yon sunny lea. Where the scented hawthorn tree fJONMK PKGGIK GOHDON. 121 Shfds its frugraiit sweets for thee, Bdiinie Peggie Gordon. The hee hus left its foggy den. An' comes — O ! Aveel its notes I ken — Saft humming frae the moorland glen, > " Bonnie Peggie Gordon !" O, saftVthe burnie's rocky fa', An' saft's the winds that ower it blaw. But h»ve has tales mair saft than a', Bonnie Peggie Gordon. The riowery earth, the sunny sky, ]\lay please the sense, may charm the eye. But, to my heart, nought gies sic joy As bonnie Peggie Gordon. "&&' Down yon birken shaws amang, Where the blackbird wakes his sang. There, my fairest, wilt thou gang ? Bonnie Peggie Gordon. 122 BONNIE PEGGIE GORDON. There I'll woo thee, seen by naiie, Gaze on thy fair charms alane. Forgetting a' this warld o' pain In bonnie Peggie Gordon. GATHER IN, GATHER IN. code, ivritlenfor the Anniversary of Burns'' birthday, to the Air " Who's at my window, icha V set to an original melody, by Petek M'Leod, Esq.) Gather in, gather in, ane an' a', an' a'. Gather in, gather in, ane an' a' ; This night, ever dear. Claims a cup an' a tear To the memory of Burns that's awa', awa'. To the memory of Burns that's awa' ! Auld Scotland's had bards ane or twa, or twa, Auld Scotland's had bards ane or twa. GATHER IN, GATHER IN, 123 But the minstrel that sang Coila's wild braes amang, O ! he was the sM'eetest of a', of a', () ! he was the sweetest of a' ! He came like the How'rets that blaw, that blaw, He came like the How'rets that blaw. But his bright op'ning spring Nae simmer did bring, For soon soon he faded awa', awa'. For soon soon he faded aAva' ! But short thougli he sang 'mang us a', us a'. But short though he sang 'mang us a'. His name from our heart Will never depart. And his fame it shall ne'er fade awa', awa'. And his fame it shall ne'er fade awa' I C 12-1 ] O ! TAKE ME TO YON SUNNY ISLE. Tl'ne — " dramachree," O ! TAKE me to yon sunny isle that stands in Fortha's sea. For there, all lonely, I may weep, since tears my lot must be ! The caverned roclts alone sluU hear my anguish and my woe. But can their eclioes STary bring ? Ah ! no, no, no ! I'll wander by the silent shore, or climb the rocky steep. And list to ocean murmuring the music of the deep ; But, when the soft moon lights the waves in ev'ning's silver glow. Shall Mary meet me 'ncath its light ? Ah ! no, no, no ! I O ! TAKE ME TO YON SUNNY ISLE. 125 '! f I'll speak (tf her to t'vcM-y iUtwer, and lovely tl()\\ers are there. They'll maybe bo\\' tlu'ir lu-ads and weep, for she, like them, was fair ; * ' And every bird I'll teach a song, a plaintive song of woe, But lAIary cannot hear their strains ? Ah ! no, no, no ! Slow steals the sun adown the sky, as loath to part with day. But airy morn,» \\ith carolling voice, shall wake him forth as gay ; Yet Mary's sun rose bright and fair, and now that sun is lo^^', Shall its fair beam e'er grace the morn ? Ah ! no, no, no ! But I must shed the hidden tear, lest IMary mark my care. The stifling groan may break my heart, but it .shall rankle there ! I'll even feign the outward smile to hide my inward woe, I would not have her weep in heaven r Ah ! no. no, no ! MISCELLANEOUS BALLADS, &c. &c. BALLADS, &c. BALLAD. It was 'bout the auld hansel Monanday time. When dancin', an' drinkin', an' singin' 's nae crime, That a canty auld carle cam down by the burn, An' towards our dwallin' his feet he did turn. The gudeman cried, " Eppie ! gae rise, let him in."- " Ye're welcome, auld man, to our feastin' an' din ; What news do ye bring frae the kintra or town ?" Sae we dichted a chyre, an' he sat himsel down. 1 130 BALLAD. Across his braid shouthers a Scotch plaid was flung, At his feet was a dog, and his hand held a rung ; An' his auld-fashant coat, o' patches no few. Might, thretty year syne, hae aiblins been new ! A braw demas' wais'coat, the best o' his claes, Sair worn — like its owner, bespak better days ; But his white sark, sae hale, as if just frae the loom, Shawed a pride in the heart though the pouch might be toom ! Strange ferlies he tauld us, an' braw sangs he sung, Wi' the sense o' the auld an' the wit o' the young, An' sae weel they cam in, an' sae fine they did chime, That they seemed as they'd a' .just been made for the time. ^ He toomed out the bicker an' whanged down the cheese, Than the gudeman himsel he seemed mair at his ease ; But yet, naething forward, nor saucy, nor high, 'Twas the ease o' a king when his crown is laid by ! i BALLAD. l.{| He touzled the lasses an' joked wi' the men. He drank afF his cap])ie an' crackit again : His noddle wi' lair was fu' to the brim. E'en auld Rabbie Gordon had nae chance wi' him ! The lads were dumfoun'ered, the lasses amazed, An' Saunders Kil])atrick sat gaping, an' gazed ; An' Willie Carmichael, in wham gude sense lies. Said something 'bout folk being lords in disguise ! Sae kindly he spak to the lasses sae braw. That you'd thocht the auld carle was courtin' them a' ; But there aye was a dignity mixed wi' his fun, An' his e'e claimed that rev'rence his arm could hae won. Fell stories he tauld us of battles an' scars, He spak o' the Turks an' the Wallington wars — But his picture of Waterloo made our hearts sair. An' the round siller medal shawed he had been there ! Sic a blythe happy group \\ as ne'er seen afore, An' the doffie an' bairns were as thick on the floor ; ^ 132 BALLAD. For the curly wee corp'ral, sae pawkie an' slee. Seemed to share, wi' his master, the daffin' an' glee ! But the blythest that meet, be't in cot or in ha'. Maun aye dree the fell thocht o' gangin' awa' ; If the meeting gie pleasure, the parting gies pain- Shall we e'er see the canty auld carle again ? When the wee starnies peeped ower the auld castle wa'. Our canty auld carle said — " Fare ye weel a' !" We pressed him to bide, but he wadna sit still. But said he'd be back when the snaw left the hill. The auld folk were grieved, an* the wee bairnies grat. An' looked to the place where the auld man had sat : AVe sought him in hamlet, we sought him in glen. But the canty auld carle cam ne'er back again ! I 133 ] BALLAD. O TELL me, gin thou wert a king, what pleasure would be thine ? Wouldst thou for pearls explore the deep, for diamonds search the mine ? To sparkle on thy silken robes, or glitter on thy crown. With lords and ladies worshipping thy glory and renown ! O tell me, gin thou wert a king, what pleasure would be thine ? Would sumptuous banquets be thy fare, thy drink the ruby wine ? With ladies fair to sing to thee the minstrel's sweetest lay. And lords to laugh at ilka word that thou wert pleased to say. 134 BALLAD. O tell me, gin thou vvert a king, what pleasure would be thine ? Wouldst thou for feats of chivalry or deeds of valour shine ? Or follow at the gallant chase, or lead the glorious 1 war, » Returning Avith the laureled brow, and breast with ho- nour's star ? O tell me, gin thou wert a king, what pleasure would be thine ? Wouldst thou pursue the road to fume, and woo the iickle Nine ? Have earth to laud thy heaven-born strains, and praise thy 'witching theme ? Enjoy the dream of poesy ? — it is a pleasing dream ! O tell me, gin thou wert a king, what pleasure would be thine ? Wouldst thou cause genius cease to mourn, an' poortith cease to pine ? BALLAD. ]35 Bring halcyon days to all thy land, such as the poets sing ? I What pleasure would be thine, O ! tell, gin thou wert made a king ? O gin I were a king, I'll tell the pleasure mine should be: I'd have nor wealth, nor fame, nor power, nor cruel ty- rannic ; Nor lords nor 'ladies gay should wait upon me or my crown. Save ane, whase bonnie smiling face would gar them a' look down ! AVithout a crown, this bonnie lass would mak a king o' me ; And, had I ane, this bonnie lass my lovely queen should be: The ]>earl might sleep in ocean's bed, the diamond in the mine, A fairer jewel I \vould hae in bonnie IMadaline ! [ 136 : BALLAD. There cam to our village a stranger, A braw chiel frae braw Lon'on town. An' aff a braw naig at the alehouse Fu' brawly he lighted him down. The landlord, auld Rabbie M'Vicar, Wi' booing I wat didna spare^ Said, " Walcome to this our plain dwallin*. Yet bravely I vow ye sal fare ! " I'll thraw round the neck o' a chuckle. The fattest e'er ran on twa legs ; I'll slit up the craig o' a grumphie. They mak famous eatin' — young pigs ! There's a clag o' cowheel on a trencher, A gude haggis sooms i' the pat. BALLAD. 137 An' Girzy, yc see, 's makin' puddin's. What else could we do wi' the fat ? " The paitricks play whirr ! 'mang the claver. The trouties dance by in the burn ; It's fine to kill birds an' catch fishes, An' eat them when ance we return. An', after a's done, we've a drappie, — The gauger ye'll surely no tell, — I say we sal hae a gude cappie. We whiles brew the whisky oitrsel ! " For beuks we've a gay wheen amang us, We've somebody's something on law ; We've Burns ' complete in ae volume,' But then the best half o't 's awa' ! We yince had a Patie and Roger, I think we've still gatten a part. But auld Tibby Gowans, the howdie, Can rhyme ower the maist o't by heart " For sangs, ye may hac half a hun'er, Our Jenny hersel can sing ten ; 138 BALLAD. The ' Braw lads o' ' famed ' Galla water/ An' the lass that made love to Tarn Glen. There's Sandy Macgregor, the piper. His music micht charm down a saunt ; I, mysel, am a bit o' a scraper, Sae what the deil else wad ye want ? " There's twa three droll folk in the village. For sample I'se name ye a few : — There's Jamie Macfarlane, the skipper, He's been whar the oranges grew ! An' there's Eppie Blake, decent bodie, Brings cookies frae Auld Reekie's town ; Na, mair — she sells tea, tripe> an' soda. An' sugar baith candied and brown. " Tammie Scott an' his wife, Nelly Grundy, Are great friends o' auld wives an' brats. For the taen's near as famed sellin' gundy As the tither's at killin' the rats ! There's the black-horn spectacled dominie — He's a deep-learned bodie the dark : BALLAD. 139 ^V'^e've a priest reads us sermons ilk Sunday, I own he's weel paid for the wark ! " I've a swurd that shed bluid at Culloden ; O' Charlie's gowd locks I've a hair ; A shoe that has Africa trodden — It belanged to puir Mango Park's mare ! Then sic is a spice o' our village, O' what you may baith eat an' see, An' now, by the ghaist o' my gutcher ! We'll hae ben a bottle an' pree !" PARODY. Tune — " Blue Bonnets over the Border." Read, read, ^V'(K)d.stock and Waverley, Turn every page and read forward in order ; 140 PARODY. Read, read, every tale cleverly, All the old novels are over the border ! Many a book lies dead, dusty, and never read. Many a chiel wants a thread to his story ; While Walter, that king o' men, just with his single pen. Like a giant, well grogged, marches on in his glory ! Come from your tales full of murders amazing. Come from romaunts gone to bed long ago ; Come from the scribb'lers whom pye-men are praising, Come to Redgauntlet and brave Ivanhoe ! Scot's fame is sounding, readers abounding. May laurels long circle his locks thin and hoary ! Scotland shall many a day speak of her bard, and say, " He lived for his country, and wrote for her glory !" I C 141 ] THE UALF-DROJVNDED TAR. PARODY. Along by the banks of Leith's ancient harbour. Jack Oakuifi reeled drunk from a dive on the shore, O ! whither, they cried, dost thou steer so to larboard ? When, plump, from the quay-side, be quickly fell o'er I What voice did I hear ? Was't a pilot that bawled ? Full loudly he bawled, though he ventured not far; But Jack, by the moonlight, a rope's end espied. And, swearing, he landed a ha\{-drow7ided tar ! From his bosom, that heaved, the salt water was stream- ing. And wet was his jacket, deep marked o'er M-itli tar ; 142 PARODY. And empty that purse, once with sovereigns full swim- ming. For he'd melted in love what he earned in war ! So they hied him away to a tavern that night. Where the rendezvous stood in the time of the war. But the landlord looked blue at his pitiful plight. And offered no grog to the haU-divivuded tar ! Thou shalt drink, they all cried, the landlord will trust thee. We shall ring for some rum and a lighted cigar ! Ah ! no. Jack replied, he looks devilish crusty. No grog will he draw for a halt- droiv ml ed tar. Split my timbers ! cried Jack, while his jacket he threw, And the landlord he floored with a terrible scar ; The pilots ne'er waited to bid him adieu. But ran, like the devil, from the ha\f-droivnded tar ! [ 143 ] PARODY. ( Wrktioi when part of the Duty ivas taken off Whisky, in October, 1823.> Scots 'wha hae the duties paid ; Scots wham whisky's aft made glad ; Welcome, for the duty's fled. And it shall be free ! Now's the time and now's the hour ; See the shades of evening lour ; See the streams of toddy pour — Pledge it three-times-three ! Wha wad be a brandy slave ? Wha wad shilpit claret lave ? Wha of rum wad ever rave ? When tlie whisky's free ! 144 PARODY. Wha for Scotia's ancient drink, Will fill a bicker to the brink ! Scotsmen wake or Scotsmen wink, Aquavitse aye for me ! By taxation's woes and pains ! By the smuggler's ill-got gains ! We shall raise our wildest strains. For it shall be free ! Lay the big gin bottle low ! In the fire the port wine throw ! Let the tide of whisky flow ! Like liberty, aye free ! C 145 ] vSONG. The grave it holds my fairest now, The loved one of my heart ; Ah ! little thought I we so soon. So sadly soon should part ! She perished in her loveliness. In beauty pined away Like flower that falls beneath the storm, Before its leaves decay ! Hope drew a picture lovely, bright. Nor cloud nor storm was there ; But sunny tints, in golden hues. Tinged all the landscape fair. But, ah ! the low'ring tempest fell. And hope's gay vision fled ; And life has nou' no charm for nie, Since all my life is dead ! C 146 ] SONG. Ye rax me a bicker an' dunch me to sine ! Waes me ! ye ken naething o' love's dreadfu' sting ; Or, after sic trifles, ye never Avad speer, Nae sang could ye sing, nae sang could ye hear ! I yince had a lassie, baith sonsy an' fair, Wha jilted me fairly — sae 'bout her nae mair ; Yet thinkin' o' her wham I courted sae lang, I'd as sune mak a preachin' as sing ye a sang ! To sing ! by my faith, ither thochts I hae taen, What new way I might leave this warld o' pain ; For hangin's threadbare, an' the knife's no for me. An' arsnic micht no wi' my weak stamack gree ! I whiles think my heart's gaun to break, but I find It's only my wais'coat grown straiter behind ! Sae I maun just thole what is no like to kill, I'se no sing a sang but I'se preeve o' your yill. SONG. 147 Glide wife, ye brew weel, will ye try it yoursel ? Ken ye aught o' Tani Spears,. or his fair dochter, Bell ? She's his ae only bairn, but she's worth half a score, I'm daft no to think o' that lassie before ! Come, lads ! dinna tarry, the nicht's glidin' by, I doubt na but thun'ers in yon troubled sky ! Let's chap for the lawin, an' settle the soom, I'll down to Tarn Spears' when the bicker is toom ! BALLAD. O ! THE merry hunting days are gone. When gallant hearts led beauty on O'er moorland wild, or winding hill. When hounds were fleet and horns were slirill ! But summer's fled and winter's come. No more my dog and I can roam ; Yet, when flowers are fair and fields are dry, To the hunting goes my dog and I. ' ^ 148 BALLAD. The day is short, the night is cold. And darkness falls o'er glen and wold. Save when the sun shows feebly bright One snowy waste of endless white ! How changed from days when hunter's horn Awoke the lark at early morn ! O ! for days like these I fondly sigh. When a-hunting goes my dog and I. In slumbers deep my dog does lie. Save when he dreams of fields gone by. And, starting, thinks he still does trace The by-gone glories of the chase ! Sleep on, my dog ! for fierce winds blow. And streams run hoarse 'neath ice and snow. But when summer comes and fields are dry. To the hunting goes my dog and I. The wand'ring minstrel's at my door, A homeless pilgrim old and poor : Come in, lone man, and wake a chime Of song and tale of olden time ! BALLAD. 149 Recall those scenes still in ray mind^ Of stag before and steed behind ! The storm is loud, but the time draws nigh When a-hunting goes my dog and I. Strike loud the harp, fill high the wine. Fair hands will spread that couch of thine ; One night in dreams forget thy woes. Though minstrel's sleep is short repose ! The wand'rer sleeps ; ah ! soon, forlorn. He'll sleep that sleep which knows no morn ! Yet, o'er his grave, oft will I sigh. When a-hunting goes my dog and I. THE END. LEITH : nilNTED BY JAMES BURNET. INDEX. Again let us welcome this day niair than ony, Awa', ye cauld lovers, Again my native cot appears. Again the day, the happy day. Again let's hail the cheering spring, A canty sang, a canty sang, Awake, my harp, thy saftest lay, A bumper to thee ! a bumper to thee, Awake, dearest Madaline, Along by the banks of Leith's ancient harbour, Blythe, blythe, we'll a' be merry, By Roslin's ancient towers, Come a', ye jovial topers. Days of sorrow, nights of moimiing, Drink it yet, drink it yet, Edina's town, wi' meikle glee. Fare thee well, for I must leave thee,, Glenyalven, wi' thy valleys green. Gather in, gather in, ane an' a', an' a', I looked long at thy window, love. In the days o' langspie, when we carles were young, I courted Maggie mony a day, PAGE 19 26 30 36 76 86 88 98 110 141 50 60 81 70 74 22 38 5 122 10 40 79 INDKX. 151 It was 'bout the aiild hansel Moiianday time, Let galled Grreece an' fettered Spain, My love is no for gowd nor gear. My bonnie Bell, my bonnie Bell, Now simmer walks in robes o' gieen, O ! the happy days o' youth, O ! could I lose the power of thought, O ! the sweet sound is ded, the seraph song is o'er O ! bid that sun not shine so bright, O ! my bark, dost thou long to be free, Of Bessy Bell an' Mary Gray, (), Duniferline toiuf is a bonnie bonnie toim, O, gin I had a keekin' glass, O, M'ha are sae happy as me an' my Janet, . O, ray love, night is come, O, Jcmiy, let this strife be ower, One star of the morning still lingers, O ! thou broom, thou bonnie bush o' broom, O, could I but picture my lassie, sae charming, O ! take me to yon sunny isle, O tell me, gin thou wert a king, O ! the merry hunting days are gone. Pity the lads that are free. Read, read, Woodstock and Waverley, Scots wha hae the duties paid. The njavis snigs on Mary's bower. The saft simmer c'euin' is gliding awa', . Touting shw^p by rauir and glen, PAGE 129 . 56 59 . 112 120 3 11 '> . 34 42 . 46 48 . 52 54 . 62 69 . 72 84 . 104 116 . 124 133 • . 147 90 . . 139 143 , 1 8 , 14 152 JNDEX. PAGE The hour is come, my Mary dear, . . . 18 'Tis the first' rose of summer that opes to my view, . . 25 The boatie's rowing ower the deep, ... 28 The trump of war hath ceased to blow, . . .32 The sun, behind yon nioimtain, ... 65 The poets, what fools they're to deave us, . . .67 The gallant bark now quits the strand, . . 93 The bright sun o' simmer but lately was shining, . . 96 Thou weary mom, when wilt thou dawn, . . 100 There's pleasure when the morning sun, . . . 102 The bonnie ship comes hame again, . . . 108 The autumn winds are blawing, red leaves are fa'ing, . 114 There cam to our village a stranger, . . . 136 The grave it holds my fairest now, . . . 145 Why tarries my true love so long on tlie sea, . . 7 Write, write, tourist and traveller, . . . .16 What means a' this scorning, my lassie, . . . 106 Young Willie, the ploughman, has nae land nor siller, . 44 Yestreen I slept an' dreamed o' her, . . . 118 Ye rax me a bicker an' duncli me to sing, . . .146 i' This book is DUE on the last date stamped below lOm-ll, '50(2555)470 THE I.IBRART UNIVERS.ITY OF CALIFORNM LOS ANGELES UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY [ACIUTy AA 000 385 918 8 Ii7l5 G8iio