UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 AT LOS ANGELES
 
 P 
 
 I
 
 SCOTTISH SONCx 
 
 A SELECTION OF THE 
 
 CHOICEST LYRICS OF SCOTLAND 
 
 COMPILED AND ARRANGED, WITH BRIEF NOTES 
 
 BV 
 
 MARY CARLYLE AITKEN 
 
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 MAC MILL AN AND CO. 
 
 1874 
 
 All rights reserved.
 
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 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 PREFACE. - ..... V 
 
 PARTI., I 
 
 PART II., - 137 
 
 PART III., - 171 
 
 PART ir., - - 249 
 
 GLOSSARY, - - . - ... 277 
 
 INDEX OF WRITERS, - - ... 293 
 
 INDEX OF TITLES, 207 
 
 INDEX OF FIRST LINES, .... 303
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 The peculiar merits of the Songs of Scotland 
 have so often been insisted upon, that little 
 remains for me here, except to point out what 
 my aim has been in adding one more to the 
 already long list of printed collections. Hither- 
 to compilers have studied to have quantity 
 rather than quality ; there is not a sufficient 
 number of really excellent Scottish Songs, ex- 
 clusive of Burns's, to fill more than a small 
 volume ; so that the wheat has in few cases been 
 separated from the chaff. I have inserted no song 
 except such as I believed to be possessed of 
 real merit ; and, at the same time, have chosen 
 only those that have won their way to the hearts 
 of the Scottish people, and dwelt there, — in 
 itself a good test, for, as Goethe says, 'What 
 has kept its place in the hearts of the people
 
 vi PREFACE. 
 
 even for twenty years is pretty certain to have 
 tme merit' 
 
 The smallness of the space at my command, 
 while allowing me to exclude such as I deemed 
 inferior, has compelled me to leave out man}- 
 excellent songs of Burns, whose name will be 
 lovingly cherished as long as there are Scotch 
 hearts in the world. Mr. Carlyle says of him, 
 ' It will seem a small praise if we rank him as 
 the first of all our song-writers ; for we know 
 not where to find one worthy of being second 
 to him.' I should have preferred to make 
 these songs the foundation of this collection, 
 but they have been so often printed, and are so 
 well known, that it has been thought advisable 
 to introduce them rather as a spice than as the 
 piece dc resistance. 
 
 In the case ot a few of the older songs, written 
 in an age, as far as language is concerned at 
 least, more rude than our own, where I have 
 not been able to give the earliest versions entire, 
 I have chosen to omit an indelicate stanza, 
 when not destroying the sense, rather than sub- 
 stitute commonplace vulgarized readings of them. 
 When there are changes they are for most part 
 by the delicate masterly hand of Bums. When
 
 PREFACE. vii 
 
 no author's name is affixed to a song, it is 
 because it is unknown. 
 
 The notes, which have been made as sliort as 
 possible, are given in the text, instead of at the 
 end of the vokune, and, it is hoped, may be 
 more acceptable in that form. 
 
 The Songs are divided into four parts, and 
 are classed, as will be seen, according to subject, 
 not according to date, that arrangement being 
 the only one practicable, for not only are the 
 dates of many of the gems unknown, but even 
 the names of their authors have perished. 
 
 In Part I. are such songs as are devoid, or 
 almost devoid, of the comic element, viz., 
 serious love-songs, for most part lyrical, what 
 Wordsworth would call ' Songs of the Affec- 
 tions,' an unsuitable name here, however, the 
 Scotch being by nature a taciturn people, and 
 mere affection seldom tempting them to sing. 
 
 In Part II. are social and drinking songs, 
 with which latter Scotland is abundantly sup- 
 plied. In this province, too, Burns has lavishly 
 poured out his splendid genius, with a strange 
 fatality, singing the praises of the Syren that 
 lured him to his own ruin.
 
 viii PREFACE. 
 
 In Part III. are love-songs of another class 
 than the first, admitting the comic and jovial 
 element. 
 
 In Part IV. are Jacobite and war-songs. 
 
 I have tried, by careful reading, and by the 
 use of all the opportunities in my power, to 
 make an attractive volume of the really good 
 songs of my native country. As to whether I 
 have succeeded or failed, it is fit that the reader, 
 not I, should be the judge. 
 
 M. C A. 
 
 Chelsea, March, 18^4.
 
 Ihvl £
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 I. 
 
 CA' THE YOWES. 
 
 Ca' the yowes to the knowes, 
 Ca' them whare the heather grows, 
 Ca' them whare the burnie rows, 
 My bonnie dearie. 
 
 As I gaed down the water side, 
 There I met my shepherd lad, 
 He row'd me sweetly in his plaid. 
 And he ca'd me his dearie. 
 
 Will ye gang down the water side, 
 And see the waves sae sweetly glide 
 Beneath the hazels spreading wide, 
 The moon it shines fu' clearly. 
 
 I was bred up at nae sic school, 
 My shepherd lad, to play the fool ; 
 And a' the day to sit in dool. 
 And naebody to see me. 
 
 § A
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 Ye shall get go^\^ls and ribbons meet, 
 Cauf leather shoon upon your feet, 
 And in my arms ye'se lie and sleep, 
 And ye shall be my dearie. 
 
 If ye'll but stand to what ye've said, 
 I'se gang wi' you, my shepherd lad ; 
 And ye may row me in your plaid, 
 And I shall be your dearie. 
 
 While waters wimple to the sea, 
 While day blinks in the lift sae hie ; 
 Till clay-cauld death shall blin' my e'e. 
 Ye aye shall be my dearie. 
 
 "This beautiful song is in the true old Scotch taste." 
 — Burns, 
 
 II. 
 
 THE EWE BUGHTS. 
 
 Will ye gang to the ewe-bughts, Marion^ 
 And wear-in the sheep wi' me ? 
 
 The sun shines sweet, my Marion, 
 But no half sae sweet as thee. 
 
 O, Marion's a bonnie lass, 
 
 And the blythe blink's in her e'e ; 
 
 And fain wad I marry Marion, 
 Gin Marion wad marry me.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. - 
 
 There's gowd in your garters, Marion, 
 And silk on your white haus-bane ; 
 
 Fu' fain wad I kiss my Marion, 
 At e'en when I come hame. 
 
 There's braw lads in Earnslaw, Marion, 
 Wha gape, and glower with their e'e. 
 
 At kirk when they see my Marion ; 
 But nane of them loves like me. 
 
 I've nine milk-ewes, my Marion, 
 
 A cow and a brawny quey, 
 I'll gie them a' to my Marion, 
 
 Just on her bridal-day. 
 
 And ye'se get a green sey apron, 
 And waistcoat o' London broun ; 
 
 And wow but ye'll be vap'rin' 
 Whene'er ye gang to the toun. 
 
 I'm young and stout, my Marion, 
 Nane dances like me on the green ; 
 
 And gin ye forsake me, Marion, 
 I'll e'en gae draw up wi' Jean. 
 
 Sae put on your pearlings, Marion, 
 
 And kirtle o' cramasie ; 
 And sune as my chin has nae hair on, 
 
 I shall come west, and see ye. 
 
 "This sonnet appears to be ancient : that and its sim- 
 plicity have recommended it to a place Yi&xe."— Percy's 
 Reliques.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 III. 
 
 O'ER THE MOOR AMANG THE 
 HEATHER. 
 
 Jean Glover. — Born 1758 ; Died 180 1. 
 
 Coming through the craigs o' Kyle, 
 Amang the bonnie blooming heather, 
 
 There I met a bonnie lassie, 
 Keeping a' her ewes thegither. 
 
 O'er the moor amang the heather, 
 O'er the moor amang the heather ; 
 
 There I met a bonnie lassie, 
 Keeping a' her ewes thegither. 
 
 Says I, my dear, where is thy hame, — 
 In moor or dale, pray tell me whether? 
 
 She says, I tend the fleecy flocks 
 
 That feed amang the blooming heather. 
 
 We laid us down upon a bank, 
 
 Sae warm and sunny was the weather : 
 
 She left her flocks at large to rove 
 Amang the bonnie blooming heather. 
 
 While thus we lay, she sang a sang. 
 Till echo rang a mile and farther j 
 
 And aye the burden of the sang 
 
 Was, o'er the moor amang the heather. 
 
 She charmed my heart, and aye sinsyne 
 I couldna' think on ony ither ;
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 5 
 
 By sea and sky, she shall be mine, 
 The bonnie lass amang the heather ! 
 
 O'er the moor amang the heather, 
 
 Down amang the blooming heather, — 
 
 By sea and sky she shall be mine, 
 The bonnie lass amang the heather ! 
 
 Bums says that he wrote out the words of this song 
 from the singing of the author — a girl, whose character 
 does not concern us here — "as she was strolling through 
 the country with a slight-of-hand blackguard." 
 
 IV. 
 
 THE LASS 6>' FA TIE'S MILL. 
 
 Allan Ramsay. — Born 1686 ; Died lyjy. 
 
 The lass o' Patie's Mill, 
 
 Sae bonnie, blythe, and gay. 
 In spite of a' my skill. 
 
 She stole my heart away. 
 Wlien teddin' out the hay, 
 
 Bareheaded on the green. 
 Love midst her locks did play, 
 
 And wanton'd in her een. 
 
 Her arms, white, round, and smooth. 
 
 Breasts in their rising dawn. 
 To age it would give youth. 
 
 To press them with his han'. 
 Through all my spirits ran 
 
 An ecstasy of bliss, 
 When I such sweetness fan' 
 
 Wrapt in a balmy kiss.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 Without the help of art, 
 
 Like flowers that grace the wild, 
 She did her sweets impart, 
 
 Whene'er she spak' or smiled : 
 Her looks they were so mild, 
 
 Free from affected pride, 
 She me to love beguil'd, 
 
 I wish'd her for my bride. 
 
 Oh ! had I a' the wealth 
 
 Hopetoun's high momitains fill, 
 Insured lang life and health, 
 
 And pleasure at my will ; 
 I'd promise, and fulfil. 
 
 That nane but bonnie she, 
 The lass o' Patie's Mill, 
 
 Should share the same wi' me. 
 
 Allan Ramsay, who, after Bums, may still be called 
 the most distinguished Scottish poet, was bom at Lead- 
 hills, in Lanarkshire, in 1686. His father, the manager 
 of Lord Hopetoun's mines there, died soon after his son's 
 birth. His mother having married again, Allan was 
 apprenticed by his step-father to a wigmaker in Edin- 
 burgh, which career he continued till 17 18, when he 
 became a bookseller. He published a collection of 
 Scottish songs, among which there are several of his own, 
 called Tlie Tea Table Miscellany. The first complete 
 edition of it appeared in London in 1733. It is the 
 parent of nearly all subsequent collections. Ritson and 
 others have blamed him for his want of fidelity in editing 
 some of the old songs ; but it is evident from the polished 
 specimens, that it would have been impossible for him, 
 even wdth his by no means narrow ideas on the subject, 
 to print them without alterations or omissions. It is, of 
 course, a pity that he did not more clearly mark the 
 changes which he and the "ingenious young gentlemen"
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 7 
 
 who helped in the task, had made. Ramsay's Gentle 
 Shepherd is thought, by competent judges, to be the most 
 complete and beautiful of modem pastorals. His son 
 Allan was also a remarkable man ; and his name is still 
 well known as a portrait painter. 
 
 V. 
 
 THE BROOM OF COWDENKNOWS. 
 
 How blyth, ilk morn, was I to see 
 
 My swain come o'er the hill ! 
 He skipt the burn, and flew to me ; 
 
 I met him with good will. 
 
 O, the broom, the bonnie, bonnie broom, 
 The broom of the Cowdenknows ! 
 
 I wish I were wi' my dear swain, 
 Wi' his pipe, and my yowes. 
 
 I neither wanted yowe nor lamb, 
 
 While his flocks near me lay : 
 He gather'd in my sheep at night, 
 
 And cheer'd me a' the day. 
 
 He tmied his pipe and reed sae sweet, 
 
 The birds sat list'ning by ; 
 E'en the dull cattle stood and gazed, 
 
 Charm'd wi' his melody. 
 
 While thus we spent our time, by turns. 
 
 Betwixt our flocks and play, 
 I envied not the fairest dame, 
 
 Though e'er so rich and gay.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 Hard fate ! that I should banish'd be, 
 
 Gang heavily, and mourn, 
 Because I loved the kindest swain 
 
 That ever yet was born. 
 
 He did oblige me every hour ; 
 
 Could I but faithfu' be ? 
 He staAv my heart ; could I refuse 
 
 Whate'er he ask'd of me ? 
 
 My doggie, and my little kit, 
 That held my wee sowp whey, 
 
 ]\Iy plaidie, broach, and crooked-stick,. 
 Maun now lie useless by. 
 
 Adieu, ye Cowdenknows, adieu ! 
 
 Fareweel a' pleasures there ! 
 Ye gods, restore me to my swain, 
 
 It's a' I crave or care. 
 
 This and the following song are from The Tea Table 
 Miscellany. 
 
 VI. 
 
 THE BROOM OF THE CO WDEN- 
 KNO J VS. 
 
 Robert Crawford. — Born i6gj ? Died 17 JJ. 
 
 When summer comes, the swains on Tweed" 
 
 Sing their successful loves, 
 Around the ewes and lambkins feed, 
 
 And music fills the groves.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 But my lov'd song is then the broom 
 
 So fair on Cowdenknows ; 
 For sure, so sweet, so soft a bloom, 
 
 Elsewhere there never grows. 
 
 There Colin tuned his oaten reed, 
 
 And won my yielding heart ; 
 No shepherd e'er that dwelt on Tweed, 
 
 Could play with half such art. 
 
 He sang of Tay, of Forth, and Clyde, 
 
 The hills and dales all round, 
 Of Leader-haughs, and Leader-side, 
 
 Oh ! how I bless'd the sound. 
 
 Yet more delightful is the broom 
 
 So fair on Cowdenknows ; 
 For sure, so fresh, so bright a bloom. 
 
 Elsewhere there never grows. 
 
 Not Teviot braes, so green and gay. 
 May with this iDroom compare ; 
 
 Not Yarrow banks in flow'ry May, 
 Nor the bush aboon Traquair. 
 
 More pleasing far are Cowdenknows, 
 
 My peaceful happy home, 
 Where I was wont to milk my ewes, 
 
 At ev'n among the broom. 
 
 Ye powers that haunt the woods and plains 
 Where Tweed with Teviot flows, 
 
 Convey me to the best of swains, 
 And my loved Cowdenknows.
 
 10 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 VII. 
 
 THE WAUKING OF THE FAULT)* 
 
 Allan Ramsay. 
 
 My Peggy is a young thing, 
 Just enter'd in her teens. 
 Fair as the day, and sweet as May, 
 Fair as the day, and ahvays gay : 
 My Peggy is a young thing, 
 
 And I'm no very auld, 
 Yet weel I like to meet her at 
 The wauking of the fauld. 
 
 My Peggy speaks sae sweetly 
 
 Wliene'er we meet alane, 
 I \vish nae mair to lay my care, 
 I wish nae mair o' a' that's rare : 
 My Peggy speaks sae sweetly. 
 
 To a' the lave I'm cauld ; 
 But she gars a' my spirits glow 
 At wauking of the fauld. 
 
 My Peggy smiles sae kindly 
 Whene'er I whisper love, 
 That I look down on a' the towTi, 
 That I look do^vn upon a cro\\Ti : 
 My Peggy smiles sae kindly, 
 
 It makes me blyth and bauld, 
 And naething gi'es me sic delight, 
 As wauking of the fauld. 
 
 « 
 
 Wauking the Fauld : watching the sheep-folds at 
 night during the season when the lambs are being weaned.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 1 1 
 
 My Peggy sings sae saftly, 
 
 When on my pipe I play ; 
 By a' the rest it is confest, 
 By a' the rest that she sings best : 
 My Peggy sings sae saftly, 
 
 And in her sangs are tauld, 
 Wi' innocence the wale o' sense, 
 At wauking of the fauld. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 PEGGY AND PA TIE. 
 
 Allan Ramsay, 
 
 Peggy. 
 
 When first my dear laddie gaed to the green hill, 
 And I at ewe-milking first say'd my young skill. 
 To bear the milk-bowie nae pain was to me, 
 When I at the bughting forgather'd with thee. 
 
 Patie. 
 
 When corn-riggs wav'd yellow, and blue heather- 
 bells 
 
 Bloom'd bonnie on moorland and sweet rising 
 fells, 
 
 Nae birns, briers, or bracken, gave trouble to me, 
 
 If I found but the berries right ripen'd for thee. 
 
 Fe^y. 
 
 When thou ran, or wrestled, or putted the stane, 
 And cam' aff" the victor, my heart was aye fain : 
 Thy ilka sport manly gave pleasure to me, 
 For nane can putt, wrestle, or run swift as thee.
 
 12 
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 Patic. 
 
 Our Jenny sings saftly the ' Cowden Broom- 
 
 knowes,' 
 And Rosie lilts sweetly the * Milking the Ewes,' 
 There's few ' Jenny Nettles' like Nancy can sing: 
 With, 'Through the wood, Laddie/ Bess gars 
 
 our lugs ring : 
 
 But when my dear Peggy sings, with better skill, 
 The ' Boatman,' ' Tweedside,' or the ' Lass of 
 
 the Mill,' 
 'Tis many times sweeter and pleasant to me ; 
 For though they sing nicely, they cannot like thee. 
 
 Peggy. 
 
 How easy can lassies trow what they desire ! 
 With praises sae kindly increasing love's fire : 
 Give me still this pleasure, my study shall be 
 To make myself better and sweeter for thee. 
 
 Peggy and Patie are the heroine and hero of the 
 Gentle Shepherd ; from which this song, as well as the 
 one preceding it, is taken. 
 
 IX. 
 BONNIE CHRISTY. 
 
 Allan Ramsay. 
 
 How sweetly smells the simmer green ! 
 
 Sweet taste the peach and cherry ; 
 Painting and- order please our e'en, 
 
 And claret makes us merry :
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 13 
 
 But finest colours, fruits and flowers, 
 
 And wine, though I be thirsty. 
 Lose a' their charms, and weaker powers, 
 
 Compared wi' those of Christy. 
 
 When wand'ring o'er the flow'ry park. 
 
 No natural beauty wanting : 
 How lightsome is't to hear the lark, 
 
 And birds in concert chanting ! 
 But if ray Christy tunes her voice, 
 
 I'm rapt in admiration : 
 My thoughts wi' ecstasies rejoice. 
 
 And drap the hale creation. 
 
 Whene'er she smiles a kindly glance, 
 
 I take the happy omen. 
 And aften mint to make advance. 
 
 Hoping she'll prove a woman. 
 But, dubious of my ain desert. 
 
 My sentiments I smother, 
 Wi' secret sighs I vex my heart. 
 
 For fear she love another. 
 
 Thus sang blate Edie by a bum, 
 
 His Christy did o'erhear him ; 
 She doughtna let her lover mourn ; 
 
 But, ere he wist, drew near him. 
 She spak' her favour wi' a look, 
 
 Which left nae room to doubt her ; 
 He wisely this white minute took, 
 
 And flang his arms about her. 
 
 My Christy ! witness, bonny stream 
 Sic joys frae tears arising !
 
 14 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 I wish this may na be a dream, 
 O love the maist surprising ! 
 
 Time was too precious now for tauk ; 
 This point of a' his wishes 
 
 He wadna \\i' set speeches bauk, 
 But wared it a' on kisses. 
 
 Ramsay places this song first in The Tea Table Mis- 
 cellany ; so, probably, it was his favourite. 
 
 X. 
 
 ROSLIN CASTLE. 
 
 Richard Hewitt. — Died 1764. 
 
 'Twas in that season of the year, 
 "When all things gay and sweet appear, 
 That Colin, with the morning ray, 
 Arose and sung his rural lay. 
 Of Nanny's charms the shepherd sung : 
 The hills and dales with Nanny rung ; 
 Wliile Roslin Castle heard the swain. 
 And echoed back his cheerful strain. 
 
 Awake, sweet Muse ! The breathing spring 
 With rapture warms : awake, and sing ! 
 Awake and join the vocal throng, 
 And hail the morning with a song : 
 To Nanny raise the cheerful lay, 
 O ! bid her haste and come away ; 
 In sweetest smiles herself adoni, 
 And add new graces to the mom i
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 1 5 
 
 O look, my love ! on ev'ry spray 
 Each feather'd warbler tunes his lay : 
 'Tis beauty fires the ravish'd throng, 
 And love inspires the melting song : 
 Then let the raptur'd notes arise, 
 For beauty darts from Nanny's eyes ; 
 And love my rising bosom warms. 
 And fills my soul with sweet alarms. 
 
 Oh, come, my love ! Thy Colin's lay 
 
 With rapture calls, O come away ! 
 
 Come while the muse this wreath shall twine 
 
 Around that modest brow of thine. 
 
 O hither haste, and with thee bring 
 
 That beauty blooming like the spring. 
 
 Those graces that divinely shine, 
 
 And charm this ravish'd heart of mine ! 
 
 Burns speaks of the above as " beautiful verses. "^ 
 
 XI. 
 
 TWEEDSIDE. 
 
 Attributed to Lord Yester. — Born 164^; Died I'/ij. 
 
 When Maggy and I were acquaint 
 
 I carried my noddle fu' hie ; 
 Nae lintwhite in a' the gay plain, 
 
 Nae gowdspink sae bonnie as she I 
 I whistled, I piped, and I sang ; 
 
 I woo'd, but I cam' nae great speed : 
 Therefore I maun wander abroad. 
 
 And lay my banes far frae the Tweed.
 
 1 6 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 To Maggy my love I did tell ; 
 
 My tears did my passion express : 
 Alas ! for I lo'ed her ower weel, 
 
 And the women lo'e sic a man less. 
 Her heart it was frozen and cauld ; 
 
 Her pride had my ruin decreed ; 
 Therefore I maun wander abroad, 
 
 And lay my banes far frae the Tweed. 
 
 XII. 
 
 TWEEDSIDE. 
 
 R, Crawford. 
 
 What beauties does Flora disclose ! 
 
 How sweet are her smiles upon Tweed 
 Yet Mary's, still sweeter than those, 
 
 Both nature and fancy exceed. 
 Nor daisy nor sweet-blushing rose. 
 
 Not all the gay flowers of the field, 
 Not Tweed gliding gently through those, 
 
 Such beauty and pleasure does yield. 
 
 The warblers are heard in the grove, 
 
 The linnet, the lark, and the thrush. 
 The blackbird, and sweet-cooing dove. 
 
 With music enchant ev'ry bush. 
 Come, let us go forth to the mead, 
 
 Let us see how the primroses spring ; 
 We'll lodge in some village on Tweed, 
 
 And love while the feather'd folks sing.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. ly 
 
 How does my love pass the long day ? 
 
 Does Mary not tend a few sheep? 
 Do they never carelessly stray, 
 
 While happily she lies asleep ? 
 Tweed's murmurs should lull her to rest ; 
 
 Kind nature indulging my bliss, 
 To relieve the soft pains of my breast, 
 
 I'd steal an ambrosial kiss. 
 
 'Tis she does the virgins excel, 
 
 No beauty with her may compare ; 
 Love's graces all round her do dwell ; 
 
 She's fairest, where thousands are fair. 
 Say, charmer, where do thy flocks stray. 
 
 Oh ! tell me at noon where they feed ; 
 Shall I seek them on sweet-winding Tay 
 
 Or the pleasanter banks of the Tweed. 
 
 Burns had been informed that the "Mary" of this 
 •song was a Mary Stewart of the CastlemilK family ; 
 Scott, on the other hand, says that she was a Mary 
 Lilhas Scott, daughter of Walter Scott. Esq. of Harden, 
 and a descendant of the celebrated " Flower of Yarrow." 
 It is now supposed that the latter opmion is the correct 
 one. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 A RED, RED ROSE. 
 
 R. Burns. — Born I'JSg ; Died i'jg6. 
 
 O, my luve's like a red, red rose, 
 
 That's newly sprung in June, 
 O, my luve's like the melodic. 
 That's sweetly play'd in tune. 
 
 B
 
 1 8 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, 
 
 Sae deep in love am I ; 
 And I will love thee still, my dear, 
 
 Till a' the seas gang dry. 
 
 Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear. 
 And the rocks melt wi' the sun ; 
 
 O, I will love thee still, my dear, 
 While the sands o' life shall run. 
 
 And fare thee weel, my only luve, 
 And fare thee weel a while ; 
 
 And I will come again, my luve, 
 Though it were ten thousand mile. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 GH! DINNA ASK ME GINILGE THEE, 
 
 John Dimlop, — Born i7S5 y Died 1 8 20. 
 
 Oh ! dinna ask me gin I lo'e thee ; 
 
 Troth I dar'na' tell : 
 Dinna ask me gin I lo'e thee ; 
 
 Ask it o' yoursel'. 
 
 Oh ! dinna look sae sair at me, 
 
 For weel ye ken me true ; 
 O, gin ye look sae sair at me 
 
 I dar'na' look at you. 
 
 When ye gang to yon braw, braw town, 
 
 And bonnier lassies see, 
 O, dinna, Jamie, look at them. 
 
 Lest you should mind na me.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. I^ 
 
 For I could never bide the lass, 
 
 That ye'd lo'e mair than me ; 
 And O, I'm sure, my heart would break, 
 
 Gin ye'd prove false to me. 
 
 XV. 
 
 IN YON GARDEN 
 
 In yon garden fine and gay. 
 Picking lilies a' the day, 
 Gathering flowers o' ilka hue, 
 I wistna then what love could do. 
 
 Wliere love is planted there it grows ; 
 It buds and blooms like any rose ; 
 It has a sweet and pleasant smell ; 
 No flower on earth can it excel. 
 
 I put my hand into the bush, 
 And thought the sweetest rose to find ; 
 
 But pricked my finger to the bone, 
 And left the sweetest rose behind. 
 
 A very old fragment, first printed in The Scots Musical 
 Museiun, a well-known work (commenced 1787, com- 
 pleted 1803), which owes much of its worth to Bums, 
 who generously helped Johnson, an engraver in Edin- 
 burgh, the editor and publisher of it, in his patriotic task. 
 Burns, although admitting that it has defects, says of 
 it, *' I will venture to prophecy that, to future ages, 
 your Publication will be the text-book and standard of 
 Scottish Song and Music." Under the new and luminous 
 editorship of Mr. David Laing (Blackwood and Sons, 
 1853), it now contains a copious, almost endless, mass of 
 annotations, elucidations, and anecdotes of the songs and 
 song-writers of Scotland.
 
 20 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 BESSY BELL AND MARY GRAY. 
 
 O Bessy Bell and Mary Gray, 
 
 They war t^va bonnie lasses ! 
 They biggit a bower on yon bum brae, 
 
 And theekit it o'er wi' rashes. 
 They theekit it o'er wi' rashes green, 
 
 They theekit it o'er m' heather, 
 But the pest cam frae the burrow's town 
 
 And slew them baith thegither ! 
 
 They thought to lie in Methven kirk-yard, 
 
 Amang their noble kin, 
 But they maun lie in Stronach-Haugh, 
 
 To biek forenent the sin. 
 And Bessy Bell and Mary Gray, 
 
 They war twa bonnie lasses ! 
 They biggit a bower on yon bum brae. 
 
 And theekit it o'er wi' rashes. 
 
 "There is much tenderness and simplicity in these 
 verses." — Walter Scott. 
 
 According to tradition, Bessy Bell and Mary Gray were 
 two young ladies of Perthshire, who, at the time of the 
 plague (in 1645), retired for safety to some cottage or 
 "bower," about a mile from Lynedoch House, Mary 
 Gray's home. A youth, who was much attached to them, 
 supplied them with food from Perth, but, at last brought 
 the infection, and they both died ; according to custom, 
 they were buried in a lonely spot, instead of with *' their 
 noble kin." — For Ramsay's modem song on this subject 
 see p. 194.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 21 
 
 XVII. 
 AN' THOU WERE MY AIN THING. 
 
 An' thou were my ain thing, 
 I would love thee, I would love thee ; 
 An' thou were my ain thing, 
 How dearly would I love thee ! 
 
 Of race divine thou needs must be, 
 Since nothing earthly equals thee ; 
 For heaven's sake, oh, favour me, 
 Wlao only live to love thee. 
 
 The gods one thing peculiar have, 
 To ruin none whom they can save ; 
 O, for their sake, support a slave. 
 Who only lives to love thee. 
 
 To merit I no claim can make. 
 But that I love, and, for your sake, 
 What man can name I'll undertake. 
 So dearly do I love thee. 
 
 My passion, constant as the sun. 
 Flames stronger still, will ne'er have done, 
 Till fate my thread of life have spun. 
 Which breathing out, I'll love thee. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 SHE IS A WINSOME WEE THING. 
 
 R. Burns. 
 
 She is a winsome wee thing, 
 She is a winsome wee thing,
 
 22 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 She is a bonnie wee thing, 
 This sweet wee wife o' mine ! 
 
 I never saw a fairer, 
 I never loo'd a dearer ; 
 And neist my heart I'll wear her, 
 For fear my jewel tine. 
 
 She is a winsome wee thing, 
 She is a handsome wee thing. 
 She is a bonnie wee thing, 
 This sweet wee wife o' mine. 
 
 The world's WTak we share o't. 
 The warstle and the care o't ; 
 Wi' her I'll blythely bear it. 
 And think my lot divine. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 GIN MY LOVE. 
 
 O were my love yon lilac fair, 
 
 Wi' purple blossoms to the spring. 
 
 And I a bird to shelter there, 
 When wearied on my little wing. 
 
 How I wad mourn when it was torn, 
 By autumn wild, and winter rude ! 
 
 But I wad sing on wanton wing, 
 
 When youthfu' May its bloom renew'd. 
 
 O gin my love were yon red rose, 
 That grows upon the castle wa'.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 23 
 
 And I mysel' a drap o' dew, 
 Into her bonnie breast to fa' ! 
 
 O ! there beyond expression blest, 
 I'd feast on beauty a' the night ; 
 
 Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest, 
 Till fley'd awa' by Phcebus' light. 
 
 The first two verses of this song are by Bums. 
 
 XX. 
 
 THE LASS OF BALLOCHMYLE. 
 
 R. Burns. 
 
 'Twas even, — the dewy fields were green, 
 
 On every blade the pearls hang ; 
 The zephyr wanton'd round the bean, 
 
 And bore its fragrant sweets alang ; 
 In ev'ry glen the mavis sang : 
 
 All nature list'ning seem'd the while, 
 Except where greenwood echoes rang, 
 
 Amang the braes o' Ballochmyle. 
 
 With careless step I onward stray'd. 
 
 My heart rejoiced in nature's joy ; 
 When, musing in a lonely glade, 
 
 A maiden fair I chanced to spy ; 
 Her look was like the morning's eye. 
 
 Her air like nature's vernal smile ; 
 Perfection whisper'd, passing by, 
 
 Behold the lass o' Ballochmyle !
 
 24 
 
 SCOTTISH SONG, 
 
 Fair is the mom in flowery May, 
 
 And sweet is night in Autumn mild, 
 When roving through the garden gay, 
 
 Or wand'ring in the lonely wild ; 
 - But woman, nature's darling child ! 
 
 There all her charms she does compile ;• 
 Even there her other works are foil'd, 
 
 By the bonny lass o' Ballochmyle. 
 
 Oh, had she been a country maid, 
 
 And I the happy country swain. 
 Though sheltefd in the lowest shed 
 
 That ever rose on Scotland's plain ! 
 Through weary winter's wind and rain, 
 
 With joy, with rapture, I would toil; 
 And nightly to my bosom strain 
 
 The bonny lass o' Ballochmyle. 
 
 Then pride might climb the slippery steep,- 
 
 Where fame and honours lofty shine ; 
 And thirst of gold might tempt the deep. 
 
 Or downward dig the Indian mine. 
 Give me the cot below the pine, 
 
 To tend the flocks, or till the soil, 
 And every day have joys divine. 
 
 With the bonny lass o' Ballochmyle. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 BUSK YE, BUSK YE, 
 
 Allan Ramsay, 
 
 Busk ye, busk ye, my bonnie bride. 
 Busk ye, busk ye, my bonnie marrovrV
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 25 
 
 Busk ye, busk ye, my bonnie bride, 
 And let us to the braes of Yarrow. 
 There will we sport and gather dew, 
 Dance while lav'rocks sing i' the morning ; 
 Then learn frae turtles to prove true, 
 O Bell, ne'er vex me with thy scorning ! 
 
 To westlin' breezes Flora yields. 
 
 And when the beams are kindly warming, 
 
 Blytheness appears o'er all the fields. 
 
 And nature looks mair fresh and charming. 
 
 Learn frae the burns that trace the mead, 
 
 Though on their banks the roses blossom. 
 
 Yet hastily they flow to Tweed, 
 
 And pour their sweetness in his bosom. 
 
 Haste ye, haste ye, my bonnie Bell, 
 
 Haste to my arms, and there I'll guard thee ; 
 
 With free consent my fears repel, 
 
 I'll with my love and care reward thee. 
 
 Thus sang I saftly to my fair, 
 
 Wha rais'd my hopes with kind relenting. 
 
 O ! queen of smiles, I ask nae mair. 
 
 Since now my bonnie Bell's consenting. 
 
 The first four lines of this song are much older. 
 XXII. 
 
 WILLIE'S DROWNED IN YARROW. 
 
 Doun in yon garden sweet and gay, 
 Wliere bonnie grows the lilie, 
 
 I heard a fair maid, sighing, say 
 " My wish be wi' sweet Willie !
 
 26 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 O Willie's rare, and Willie's fair, 
 And Willie's wondrous bonny ; 
 
 And Willie hecht to marry me, 
 Gin e'er he married ony. 
 
 Oh, gentle wind, that bloweth south, 
 From where my love repaireth, 
 
 Convey a kiss frae his dear mouth. 
 And tell me how he fareth ! 
 
 O tell sweet Willie to come doun, 
 
 And bid him no be cruel ; 
 And tell him no to break the heart 
 
 Of his love and only jewel- 
 
 O tell sweet Willie to come doun, 
 
 And hear the mavis singing ; 
 And see the birds on ilka bush. 
 
 And leaves around them hinging. 
 
 The lav'rock there, wi' her white breist, 
 And gentle throat so narrow ; 
 
 There's sport eneuch for gentlemen. 
 On Leader Haughs and Yarrow. * 
 
 O Leader Haughs are wide and braid, 
 And Yarrow Haughs are boxmy ; 
 
 There Willie hecht to marry me, 
 If e'er he married ony. 
 
 But Willie's gone, whom I thought on, 
 And does not hear me weeping : 
 
 * Leade)- Haughs : the valley of the Leader or Lauder, a 
 river in Bei"vwckshire. Yarrow : a stream in Selkirkshire.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 2 7 
 
 Draws many a tear frae true love's e'e, 
 When other maids are sleeping. 
 
 Yestreen I made my bed fu' braid, 
 
 The nicht I'll mak' it narrow ; 
 For, a' the live-lang winter nicht, 
 
 I lie twinn'd o' my marrow. 
 
 O came ye by yon water side ? 
 
 Pou'd you the rose or lilie ? 
 Or cam' ye by yon meadow green ? 
 
 Or saw ye my sweet Willie ? " 
 
 She sought him up, she sought him doun. 
 She sought the braid and narrow ; 
 
 Syne, in the cleaving o' a craig, 
 She found him drowned in Yarrow. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 WALY, WALY. 
 
 O waly, waly up yon bank. 
 
 And waly, waly doun yon brae, 
 
 x\nd waly, waly by yon burn-side. 
 Where I and my love wont to gae ! 
 
 waly, waly, but love is bonny 
 A little while when it is new ; 
 
 But when 'tis auld, it waxes cauld, 
 And wears away like morning dew. 
 
 1 lean'd my back unto an aik, 
 
 I thought it was a trusty tree ;
 
 28 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 But first it bowed, and then it brak'; 
 
 And sae did my fause love to me. 
 O wherefore need I busk my head, 
 
 Or wherefore need I kame my hair ? 
 Sin my fause love has me forsook. 
 
 And says he'll never love me mair. 
 
 Now Arthur's Seat shall be my bed. 
 
 The sheets shall ne'er be press'd by me^ 
 Saint Anton's Well shall be my drink, 
 
 Since my true love's forsaken me. 
 Mart'mas wind, when wilt thou blaw, 
 
 And shake the green leaves aff the tree ? 
 O, gende death, when wilt thou come 
 
 And tak a life that wearies me ? 
 
 'Tis not the frost that freezes fell. 
 
 Nor blawing snaw's inclemencie ; 
 'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry : 
 
 But my love's heart's grown cauld to me. 
 When we came in by Glasgow toun, 
 
 We were a comely sicht to see ; 
 My love was clad in velvet black, 
 
 And I mysel' in cramasie. 
 
 But had I wist, before I kiss'd, 
 
 That love had been sae ill to win, 
 I'd lock'd my heart in a case of gold, 
 
 And pinn'd it wi' a siller pin. 
 Oh, oh ! if my young babe were bom. 
 
 And set upon the nurse's knee, 
 And I mysel' were dead and gane. 
 
 For a maid again I'll never be.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 XXTV. 
 
 THE BRAES OF YARROW. 
 
 John Logan. — Born i'/48 ; Died, lySS. 
 
 Thy braes were bonnie, Yarrow stream, 
 
 When first on them I met my lover ; 
 Thy braes how dreary, Yarrow stream, 
 
 IVhen now thy waves his body cover ! 
 For ever now, O Yarrow stream ! 
 
 Thou art to me a stream of sorrow ; 
 For never on thy banks shall I 
 
 Behold my love, the flower of Yarrow. 
 
 He promised me a milk-white steed, 
 
 To bear me to his father's bowers ; 
 He promised me a little page, 
 
 To squire me to his father's towers ; 
 He promised me a wedding-ring ; 
 
 The wedding day was fixed to-morrow ; 
 Now he is wedded to his grave, 
 
 Alas, his watery grave, in Yarrow ! 
 
 Sweet were his words when last we met ; 
 
 My passion I as freely told him ; 
 Clasp'd in his arms, I never thought 
 
 That I should never more behold him ! 
 Scarce was he gone, I saw his ghost ; 
 
 It vanish'd with a shriek of sorrow ; 
 Thrice did the water-wraith ascend. 
 
 And gave a doleful groan through Yarrow. 
 
 His mother from the window looked, 
 With all the longing of a mother ; 
 
 29
 
 30 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 His little sister, weeping, walked 
 
 The greenwood path to meet her brother. 
 
 They sought him east, they sought him west, 
 They sought him all the forest thorough ; 
 
 They only saw the cloud of night, 
 They only heard the roar of Yarrow ! 
 
 No longer from thy window look ; 
 
 Thou hast no son, thou tender mother ! 
 No longer walk, thou lovely maid ; 
 
 Alas, thou hast no more a brother ! 
 No longer seek him east or west, 
 
 And search no more the forest thorough I 
 For, wandering in the night so dark, 
 
 He fell a lifeless corpse in Yarrow. 
 
 The tear shall never leave my cheek ; 
 
 No other youth shall be my marrow : 
 I'll seek thy body in the stream. 
 
 And then with thee I'll sleep in Yarrow. 
 The tear did never leave her cheek ; 
 
 No other youth became her marrow ; 
 She found his body in the stream. 
 
 And now with him she sleeps in Yarrow. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 THE LAD THAT'S FAR A1VA\ 
 R. Burns. 
 
 O how can I be blythe and glad, 
 Or how can I gang brisk and braw,
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 When the bonnie lad that I lo'e best 
 Is o'er the hills and far awa' ? 
 
 It's no the frosty winter wind, 
 
 It's no the driving drift and snaw ; 
 
 But aye the tear comes in my e'e 
 To think on him that's far awa'. 
 
 My father pat me frae his door, 
 
 My friends they ha'e disown'd me a' ; 
 
 But there is ane will take my part, 
 The bonnie lad that's far awa'. 
 
 A pair of gloves he bought to me. 
 And silken snoods he ga'e me twa ; 
 
 And I will wear them for his sake, 
 The bonnie lad that's far awa'. 
 
 The weary winter soon will pass, 
 
 And spring will deed the birken shaw ; 
 
 And my sweet babie will be born. 
 And he'll be hame that's far awa'. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 LEADER HAUGHS AND YARROW. 
 
 Minstrel Burne. 
 
 When Phoebus bright the azure skies 
 
 With golden rays enlight'neth. 
 He makes all nature's beauties rise. 
 
 Herbs, trees, and flowers he quick'neth : 
 Amongst all those he makes his choice, 
 
 31
 
 22 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 And with delight goes thorow, 
 With radiant beams, the silver streams 
 O'er Leader Haughs and Yarrow. 
 
 WTien Aries the day and night 
 
 In equal length divideth, 
 And frosty Saturn takes his flight, 
 
 Nae langer he abideth ; 
 Then Flora queen, with mantle green, 
 
 Casts off her former sorrow, 
 And vows to dwell with Ceres' sel', 
 
 In Leader Haughs and Yarrow. 
 
 Pan, playing on his aiten reed. 
 
 And shepherds, him attending. 
 Do here resort, their flocks to feed, 
 
 The hills and haughs commending ; 
 With cur and kent, upon the bent, 
 
 Sing to the sun, good-morrow, 
 And swear nae fields mair pleasures yields 
 
 Than Leader Haughs and Yarrow. 
 
 A house there stands on Leader side, 
 
 Surmounting my descriving. 
 With rooms sae rare, and endows fair. 
 
 Like Dtedalus' contrivmg : 
 Men passing by do often cry, 
 
 In sooth it hath nae marrow ; 
 It stands as sweet on Leader side 
 
 As Newark does on Yarrow. 
 
 A mile below, wha lists to ride. 
 Will hear the mavis singing ; 
 Into Saint Leonard's banks she'll bide.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 33 
 
 Sweet birks her head owerhinging. 
 The Unt-white loud, and gowdspink* proud, 
 
 With tuneful throats and narrow, 
 Into Saint Leonard's banks they sing, 
 
 As sweetly as in Yarrow. 
 
 The lapwing lilteth ower the lea, 
 
 With nimble wing she sporteth ; 
 But vows she'll flee far from the tree 
 
 Where Philomel resorteth : 
 By break of day the lark can say, 
 
 I'll bid you a good-morrow, 
 I'll streek my wing, and, mounting, sing 
 
 O'er Leader Haughs and Yarrow. 
 
 Park, Wanton-wa's, and Wooden-cleugh, 
 
 The East and Wester Mainses, 
 The wood of Lauder's fair eneugh, 
 
 The corns are good in Blainshes, 
 Where aits are fine, and sold by kind. 
 
 That if ye search all thorough 
 Meams, Buchan, Mar, nane better are 
 
 Than Leader Haughs and Yarrow. 
 
 In Bummill Bog and Whiteslade Shaws, 
 
 The fearful hare she haunteth ; 
 Brig-haugh and Braidwoodshiel she knaws, 
 
 And Chapel-wood frequenteth : 
 Yet when she irks to Kaidslie Birks, 
 
 She rins and sighs for sorrow, 
 
 * We have here used the word gcnvdspink, instead of 
 Progne, as being more in keeping with the simplicity of 
 the song ; and, at any rate, Progne is inappropriate, as 
 the swallow never sings. — Ed. 
 
 C
 
 24 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 That she should leave sweet Leader Haughs, 
 And cannot win to Yarrow. 
 
 What sweeter music wad ye hear 
 
 Than hounds and beagles crying ? 
 The startled hare rins hard with fear, 
 
 Upon her speed relying : 
 But yet her strength it fails at length ; 
 
 Nae bielding can she borrow, 
 In Sorrel's fields, Clackmae, or Hags ; 
 
 And sighs to be on Yarrow. 
 
 For Rockwood, Ringwood, Spotty, Shag, 
 
 With sight and scent pursue her ; 
 Till, ah, her pith begins to flag ; 
 
 Nae cunning can rescue her : 
 Ower dub and dyke, ower seugh and syke, 
 
 She'll rin the fields all thorough. 
 Till, failed, she fa's on Leader Haughs, 
 
 And bids fareweel to Yarrow. 
 
 Sing Erslington and Cowdenknowes, 
 
 Where Homes had ance commanding ; 
 And Drygrange, with the milk-white yowes, 
 
 'Twixt Tweed and Leader standing. 
 The bird that flees through Reedpath trees 
 
 And Gledswood banks ilk morrow, 
 May chaunt and sing sweet Leader Haughs 
 
 And bonnie Ho\vTns of Yarrow. 
 
 But Minstrel Bume cannot assuage 
 
 His grief, while life endureth, 
 To see the changes of this age. 
 
 That fleeting time procureth :
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 35 
 
 For many a place stands in hard case, 
 Where blythe folk kend nae sorrow, 
 
 With Homes that dwelt on Leader-side, 
 And Scotts that dwelt on Yarrow. 
 
 This very long song, in which, however, the old 
 violer (or " minstrel," as he styles himself) does little more 
 than lovingly repeat the names of the places dear to him, 
 is so full of melody and of tender mournful simplicity that 
 it has for a long time, some say two centuries, been a 
 favourite with the Scotch people ; and on this account we 
 have inserted it here. Of the author, nothing whatever 
 is known, except the name which his song gives him, 
 " Minstrel Burne." 
 
 XXVI r. 
 AULD ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 Lady Anne Lindsay, afterwards Barnard. 
 Born j'j^o ; Died iS2_s. 
 
 When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at 
 
 hame, 
 And a' the warld to sleep are gane ; 
 The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my e'e, 
 When my gudeman lies sound by me. 
 
 Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and sought me for 
 
 his bride, 
 " But saving a crown he had naething else beside ; 
 To make that crown a pound, my Jamie gaed to 
 
 sea; 
 And the crown and the pound were baith for 
 
 me.
 
 36 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 He hadna been awa' a week but only tvv^a, 
 When my mother she fell sick, and the cow was 
 
 stown awa' ; 
 My father brak' his arm, and my Jamie at the 
 
 sea, 
 And auld Robin Gray cam a-courting me. 
 
 My father couldna work, and my mother couldna 
 
 spin, 
 I toil'd day and night, but their bread I couldna 
 
 win; 
 Auld Rob maintain'd them baith, and wi' tears 
 
 in his e'e. 
 Said, Jenny, for their sakes, O marry me. 
 
 My heart it said nay, I look'd for Jamie back ; 
 But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a 
 
 wreck : 
 The ship it was a wTeck, why didna Jamie dee ? 
 And why do I live to say, Wae's me ? 
 
 My father argued sair, though my mother didna 
 
 speak. 
 She look'd in my face till my heart was like to 
 
 break ; 
 So they gi'ed him my hand, though my heart was 
 
 at the sea, 
 And auld Robin Gray is gudeman to me. 
 
 I hadna' been a wife a week but only four. 
 When moumfu' as I sat on the stane at the door, 
 I saw my Jamie's wraith, for I couldna think it he. 
 Till he said, I'm come back for to marry thee 
 
 i
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. -, 7 
 
 01 
 
 sair did we greet, and muckle did we say, 
 We took but ae kiss, and we tore ourselves away ; 
 
 1 wish I were dead ! but I'm no like to dee ; 
 And why do I live to say, Wae's me ? 
 
 I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin ; 
 I darena think on Jamie, for that would be a sin ; 
 But I'll do my best a gude wife to be. 
 For auld Robin Gray is kind to me. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 THE FLOWERS OF THE FOREST* 
 
 Jane Elliot. — Born 1^2^ ; Died 1S03. 
 
 I've heard them lilting, at our ewe-milking, 
 Lasses a-lilting, before the dawn of day ; 
 But now they are moaning, on ilka green loaning; 
 The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. 
 
 At bughts in the morning nae blythe lads are 
 
 scorning ; 
 The lasses are lanely, and dowie, and wae ; 
 Nae dafiing, nae gabbing, but sighing and sabbing. 
 Ilk ane lifts her leglin, and hies her away. 
 
 In hairst, at the shearing, nae youths now are 
 
 jeering. 
 The bandsters are lyart, and runkled and gray ; 
 At fair or at preaching, nae wooing, nae fleech- 
 
 ing— 
 The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. 
 
 * Ettrick Forest ; it comprehends a great part of the 
 county of Selkirk.
 
 38 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 At e'en, in the gloaming, nae swankies are roam- 
 ing 
 'Bout stacks wi' the lasses at bogle to play; 
 But ilk ane sits eerie, lamenting her dearie — 
 The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. 
 
 Dool and wae for the order sent our lads to the 
 
 Border ! 
 The English, for ance, by guile wan the day ; 
 The Flowers of the Forest, that fought aye the 
 
 foremost, 
 The prime of our land, lie cauld in the clay. 
 
 We'll hear nae mair lilting at our ewe-milking. 
 Women and bairns are heartless and wae ; 
 Sighing and moaning on ilka green loaning, 
 The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 THE FLOWERS OF THE FOREST 
 
 AlUon Rutherford, afterwards Mrs. Cockburn. 
 Died i'jg4 ; Aged about 80. 
 
 I've seen the smiling of fortune beguiling, 
 I've felt all its favours, and found its decay ; 
 Sweet was its blessing, and kind its caressing. 
 But now it is fled — it is fled far away. 
 
 I've seen the Forest adorned of the foremost, 
 With flowers of the fairest, most pleasant and gay; 
 Full sweet was their blooming, their scent the 
 
 air perfuming. 
 But now they are withered, and a' wede away.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 39 
 
 I've seen the morning, with gold the hills adorn- 
 ing, 
 And the loud tempest roaring, before the parting 
 
 I've seen Tweed's silver streams, glittering in the 
 
 sunny beams, 
 Turn dnmily and dark, as they rolled on their 
 
 way. 
 
 O fickle Fortune ! why this cruel sporting ? 
 
 Why thus perplex us, poor sons of a day ? 
 
 Thy froAvns cannot fear me, thy smiles cannot 
 
 cheer me, 
 For the Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 THE BONNY EARL OF MURRAY. 
 
 Ye highlands and ye lawlands, 
 Oh ! where ha'e ye been ? 
 
 They ha'e slain the Earl of Murray, 
 And ha'e laid him on the green. 
 
 Now wae be to thee Huntley ! 
 
 And wherefore did you sae ? 
 I bade you bring him wi' you, 
 
 But forbade you him to slay. 
 
 He was a braw gallant ; 
 
 And he rade at the ring ; 
 And the bonny Earl of Murray, 
 
 Oh ! he might ha' been a king.
 
 40 
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 He was a braw gallant, 
 And he play'd at the ba' ; 
 
 And the bonny Earl of Murray 
 Was the flower amang them a'. 
 
 He was a braw gallant, 
 
 And he play'd at the glove ; 
 
 And the bonny Earl of Murray, 
 Oh ! he was the queen's love. 
 
 Oh ! lang will his lady 
 
 Look ow'r the castle dowTie, 
 
 Ere she see the Earl of Murray 
 Cum sounding throw the towne. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 GILDEROY. 
 
 Gilderoy was a bonnie boy 
 
 Had roses tull his shoon ; 
 His stockings were of silken soy, 
 
 Wi' gartars hanging do\\Tie ; 
 It was I ween a comely sicht, 
 
 To see sae trim a boy ; 
 He was my joy and heart's dehcht, 
 
 My handsome Gilderoy. 
 
 O sic twa charming een he had, 
 A breath as sweet's a rose ; 
 
 He never wore a Highland plaid. 
 But costly silken clothes : 
 
 He gain'd the love of ladies gay, 
 Nane e'er to him was coy :
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 Ah, wae is me ! I mourn the day, 
 For my dear Gilderoy. 
 
 For Gilderoy, that love of mine, 
 
 Gude faith, I freely bought 
 A wedding sark of hoUand fine, 
 
 Wi' silken flowers wrought ; 
 And he gied me a wedding ring, 
 
 Which I received wi' joy : 
 Nae lad nor lassie e'er could sing 
 
 Like me and Gilderoy. 
 
 Oh, that he still had been content 
 
 Wi' me to lead his life ! 
 But, ah, his manfu' heart was bent 
 
 To stir in feats of strife ; 
 And he in many a venturous deed 
 
 His courage bauld wad try, 
 And now this gars my heart to bleed 
 
 For my dear Gilderoy. 
 
 And when of me his leave he took, 
 
 The tears they wat mine e'e ; 
 I gave to him a parting look, 
 
 " My benison gang wi' thee ! 
 God speed thee weel, mine ain dear heart 
 
 For gane is all my joy ; 
 My heart is rent, sith we maun part. 
 
 My handsome Gilderoy." 
 
 My Gilderoy, baith far and near. 
 
 Was fear'd in ilka toun. 
 And bauldly bare away the gear 
 
 Of mony a Lawland loun : 
 
 41
 
 42 
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 Nane e'er durst meet him man to man, 
 
 He was sae brave a boy ; 
 At length wi' numbers he was ta'en, 
 
 My handsome Gilderoy. 
 
 Wae worth the loun that made the laws 
 
 To hang a inan for gear ! 
 To reave of life for ox or ass, 
 
 For sheep, or horse, or mear ! 
 Had not the laws been made so strick, 
 
 I ne'er had lost my joy, 
 Wi' sorrow ne'er had wat my cheik 
 
 For my dear Gilderoy. 
 
 Gif Gilderoy had done amiss, 
 
 He micht have banish'd been ; 
 Ah ! what sair cruelty is this. 
 
 To hang sic handsome men ! 
 To hang the flower o' Scottish land, 
 
 Sae sweet and fair a boy ! 
 Nae lady had sae white a hand 
 
 As thou, my Gilderoy. 
 
 Of Gilderoy sae fear'd they were, 
 
 They bound him meikle strong ; 
 Tull Edinburgh they led him there, 
 
 And on a gallows hung ; 
 They hung him high abune the rest. 
 
 He was sae trim a boy ; 
 There died the youth whom I lo'ed best, 
 
 My handsome Gilderoy. 
 
 Gilderoy was a celebrated Highland freebooter, who, 
 with five of his comrades, was executed in Edinburgh in
 
 SCOTTISH SONG, 
 
 43 
 
 1638. This ballad is a great favourite in Scotland ; and 
 is sung to what Miss Ferrier calls the queen of all the 
 Scotch tunes. Lady Wardlaw (1677 to 1727) altered the 
 words of the older ballad, which were supposed to be 
 somewhat indelicate ; we have given her version minus 
 four stanzas. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 THE LOW LANDS OF HOLLAND. 
 
 My love has built a bonnie ship, and set her on 
 
 the sea, 
 With seven-score good mariners to bear her 
 
 companie, 
 There's three-score is sunk, and three-score dead 
 
 at sea. 
 And the low lands of Holland hae twin'd my 
 
 love and me. 
 
 My love he built anither ship, and set her on 
 
 the main, 
 And nane but twenty mariners for to bring her 
 
 hame. 
 But the weary wind began to rise, and the sea 
 
 began to rout, 
 My love then and his bonnie ship turn'd wither- 
 
 shins about. 
 
 There shall neither coif come on my head, nor 
 
 comb come in my hair. 
 There shall neither coal nor candle light shine 
 
 in my bower mair ; 
 Nor will I love anither ane until the day I dee ; 
 For I never loved a love but ane, and he's 
 
 drown'd in the sea.
 
 44 
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 Oh haud your tongue, my daughter dear, be still 
 
 and be content; 
 There are mair lads in Galloway, ye needna sair 
 
 lament. 
 Oh ! there is nane in Galloway, there's nane at 
 
 a' for me ; 
 For I never loved a love but ane, and he's 
 
 drown'd in the sea. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 BARBARA ALLAN. 
 
 It was in and about the Martinmas time, 
 When the green leaves were a-fallin', 
 
 That Sir John Graeme in the west countrie, 
 Fell in love wi' Barbara Allan. 
 
 He sent his man down through the town, 
 To the place where she was dwallin', 
 
 O, haste and come to my master dear. 
 Gin ye be Barbara Allan. 
 
 O, hooly, hooly, rase she up 
 
 To the place where he was lying, 
 
 And when she drew the curtain by, 
 " Young man, I think ye're dying." 
 
 " It's oh, I'm sick, I'm very very sick. 
 
 And it's a' for Barbara Allan." 
 " O, the better for me ye'se never be, 
 
 Though your heart's blude were a-spillin'."
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 45 
 
 " Oh, dinna you mind, young man," said she, 
 " When ye was in the tavern a-drinkin'. 
 
 That ye made the healths gae round and round 
 And shchtit Barbara Allan?" 
 
 He turned his face unto the wall. 
 
 And death was with him dealin' : 
 " Adieu, adieu, my dear friends a'. 
 
 And be kind to Barbara Allan." 
 
 Then slowly, slowly rase she up, 
 
 And slowly, slowly left him, 
 And sighin', said, she could not stay. 
 
 Since death of life had reft him. 
 
 She hadna gane a mile but twa, 
 
 When she heard the deid-bell ringin' ; 
 
 And every jow that the deid-bell gied. 
 It cried, woe to Barbara Allan. 
 
 " Oh, mother, mother, mak' my bed. 
 
 And mak' it saft and narrow ; 
 Since my love died for me to-day, 
 
 I'll die for him to-morrow." 
 
 We have heard it remarked of this ballad, that 
 " there is not a more gratuitous tragedy on record." 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 WARE N A MY HEART LIGHT I WAD 
 
 DEE. 
 
 Lady Gf isell Heme, aflenvards Baillie. 
 Born i66j ; Died 1746. 
 
 There ance was a May, and she lo'ed na men. 
 She biggit her bonnie bower doun in yon glen ;
 
 46 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 But now she cries, Dool ! and awell-a-day ! 
 Come down the green gate, and come here away. 
 
 When bonnie young Johnnie cam' o'er the sea, 
 He said he saw naething sae lovely as me ; 
 He hecht me rings and monie braw things 
 And were na my heart licht I wad dee. 
 
 He had a wee titty that lo'ed na me, 
 Because I was twice as bonnie as she ; 
 She rais'd such a pother 'twixt him and his mother. 
 That were na my heart licht I wad dee. 
 
 The day it was set, and the bridal to be, 
 The wife took a dwam, and lay down to dee ; 
 She man'd and she graned, out of dolour and pain. 
 Till he voVd he never wad see me again. 
 
 His kin was for ane of a higher degree. 
 Said, ^Vhat had he to do with the like of me ? 
 Albeit I was bonnie, I was na for Johnnie : 
 And were na my heart licht I wad dee. 
 
 They said I had neither cow nor calf, 
 Nor dribbles of drink rins through the draff. 
 Nor pickles of meal rins through the mill-e'e; 
 And were na my heart licht I wad dee. 
 
 His titty she was baith Avylie and slee, 
 She spied me as I cam' ower the lea ; 
 And then she ran in, and made a loud din, 
 Believe your ain een, an ye trow no me. 
 
 His bonnet stood aye fu' round on his brow ; 
 His auld ane look'd aye as weel as some's new ;
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 47 
 
 But now he lets 't wear ony gate it will hing, 
 And casts himself dowie upon the corn-bing. 
 
 And now he gaes daundring about the dykes, 
 And a' he dow do is to hund the tykes : 
 The Hve-lang nicht he ne'er steeks his e'e ; 
 And were na my heart Ucht I wad dee. 
 
 Were I young for thee, as I ha'e been, 
 
 We should ha'e been gallopin' down on yon green,. 
 
 And linkin' it on the lily-white lea ; 
 
 And wow ! gin I were but young for thee ! 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 THE POOR AND HONEST SODGER. 
 
 R. BttJ-ns. 
 
 When wild war's deadly blast was blawn, 
 
 And gentle peace returning, 
 Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless, 
 
 And mony a widow mourning j 
 I left the lines and tented field, 
 
 Where lang I'd been I lodger, 
 My humble knapsack a' my wealth, 
 
 A poor but honest sodger. 
 
 A leal light heart beat in my breast, 
 My hands unstain'd wi' plunder ; 
 
 And for fair Scotia hame again, 
 I cheery on did wander. 
 
 I thought upon the banks o' Coil, 
 I thought upon my Nancy ;
 
 48 
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 I thought upon the witching smile, 
 That caught my youthful fancy. 
 
 At length I reach'd the bonnie glen, 
 
 Where early life I sported ; 
 I pass'd the mill and trysting thorn, 
 
 Where Nancy oft I courted. 
 Wha spied I but my ain dear maid, 
 
 Down by her mother's dwelling ? 
 And turned me round to hide the flood 
 
 That in my e'e was swelling. 
 
 Wi' alter'd voice, quoth I, Sweet lass, 
 
 Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom, 
 O ! happy, happy may he be. 
 
 That's dearest to thy bosom. 
 My purse is light, I've far to gang. 
 
 And fain would be thy lodger, 
 I've served my king and country lang ; 
 
 Take pity on a sodger. 
 
 Sae wistfully she gazed on me. 
 
 And lovelier grew than ever \ 
 Quoth she, A sodger ance I lo'ed. 
 
 Forget him shall I never. 
 Our humble cot and hamely fare, 
 
 Ye freely shall partake o't ; 
 That gallant badge, the dear cockade, 
 
 Ye're welcome for the sake o't. 
 
 She gazed — she redden'd like a rose — 
 
 Syne pale as ony lily ; 
 She sank within my arms, and cried. 
 
 Art thou my ain dear Willie ?
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. ^^ 
 
 By Him, who made yon sun and sky, 
 By whom true love's regarded, 
 
 I am the man ! and thus may still 
 True lovers be rewarded. 
 
 The wars are o'er, and I'm come hame, 
 
 And find thee still true-hearted ; 
 Though poor in gear, we're rich in love, 
 
 And mair we'se ne'er be parted. 
 Quoth she. My grandsire left me gowd, 
 
 A mailin' plenish'd fairly ; 
 Then come, my faithfu' sodger lad, 
 
 Thou'rt welcome to it dearly ! 
 
 For gold the merchant ploughs the main, 
 
 The farmer ploughs the manor ; 
 But glory is the sodger's prize. 
 
 The sodger's wealth is honour ; 
 The brave poor sodger ne'er despise, 
 
 Nor count him as a stranger ; 
 Remember he's his country's stay. 
 
 In day and hour of danger. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 .ANNAN'S WINDING STREAM. 
 
 Stewart Letuis. — Died 1818. 
 
 On Annan's banks, in life's gay mom, 
 I tuned my wood-notes wild ; 
 
 D
 
 so 
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 I sang of flocks and flow'ry plains, 
 
 Like nature's simple child. 
 Some talked of wealth — I heard of fame,, 
 
 But thought 'twas all a dream ; 
 For dear I loved a village maid 
 
 By Annan's winding stream. 
 
 The dew-bespangled blushing rose, 
 
 The garden's joy and pride, 
 Was ne'er so fragrant nor so fair, 
 
 As she I wished my bride. 
 The sparkling radiance of her eye, 
 
 Was bright as Phoebus' beam ; 
 Each grace adorn'd my village maid 
 
 By Annan's windmg stream. 
 
 But war's shrill clarion fiercely blew ; 
 
 The sound alarmed my ear ; 
 My country's wrongs call'd for redress ; 
 
 Could I my aid forbear? 
 No ; — soon, in warlike garb array'd, 
 
 With anns that bright did gleam, 
 I sigh'd, and left my village maid 
 
 By Annan's winding stream. 
 
 Perhaps blest peace may soon return^ 
 
 With all her smiling train ; 
 For Britain's conquests still proclaim 
 
 Her sovereign of the main. 
 With joy I'd quit the gay parade. 
 
 And canvass-cover'd plain ; 
 And haste to clasp my village maid 
 
 By Annan's winding stream.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. e j 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 DO NO CUT-HE An. 
 
 Keen blaws the wind o'er Donocht-Head, 
 
 The snaw drives snelly through the dale, 
 The gaberlunzie tirls my sneck, 
 
 And, shiv'ring, tells his waefu' tale : 
 ' Cauld is the night, O let me in, 
 
 And dinna let your Minstrel fa', 
 And dinna let his winding-sheet 
 
 Be naething but a wreath o' snaw. 
 
 Full ninety winters ha'e I seen. 
 
 And piped whare gorcocks whirring flew 
 And mony a day ye've danc'd, I ween. 
 
 To lilts which frae my drone I blew '. — 
 My Eppie wak'd, and soon she cried, 
 
 ' Get up, gudeman, and let him in ; 
 For weel ye ken the winter night 
 
 Was short when he began his din.' 
 
 My Eppie's voice, O wow ! it's sweet ! 
 
 E'en though she bans and scolds a wee ; 
 But when it's tuned to sorrow's tale 
 
 O, haith, it's doubly dear to me ! 
 
 ' Come in, auld carle ! I'll steer my fire, 
 And mak' it bleeze a bonnie flame ; 
 
 Your blude is thin, ye've tint the gate, 
 Ye should nae stray sae far frae hame.' 
 
 * Nae hame ha'e I,' the Minstrel said, 
 ' Sad party strife o'erturn'd my ha' ;
 
 52 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 And, weeping, at the eve o' life 
 
 I wander through a wreath o' snaw.' 
 
 " Donnocht-Hcad is not mine ; I would give ten 
 pounds it were. " — Burns. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 MARY MORI SON. 
 
 R. Burns. 
 
 Mary, at thy window be, 
 
 It is the wish'd, the trysted hour ! 
 Those smiles and glances let me see 
 
 That make the miser's treasure poor. 
 How blithely wad I bide the stoure, 
 
 A weary slave frae sun to sun. 
 Could I the rich reward secure, 
 
 The lovely Mary Morison. 
 
 Yestreen, when to the trembling string 
 The dance gaed through the lichtit ha', 
 
 To thee my fancy took its ^ving — 
 I sat, but neither heard nor saw. 
 
 Though this was fair, and that was braw, 
 And yon the toast of a' the town, 
 
 1 sigh'd, and said amang them a', 
 
 " Ye are na Mary Morison." 
 
 O Mary, canst thou \vreck his peace, 
 Wha for thy sake wad gladly die ? 
 
 Or canst thou break that heart of his, 
 Whase only faut is loving thee ?
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 53 
 
 If love for love thou wilt na gie, 
 
 At least be pity to me shown ; 
 A thought ungentle canna be 
 
 The thought o' Mary Morison. 
 
 Hazlitt considers this one of the best songs which 
 Bums has written. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 AFTON WATFR. 
 
 R. Burns. 
 
 Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, 
 Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise ; 
 My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream ; 
 Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. 
 
 Thou stock-dove, whose echo resounds through 
 the glen. 
 
 Ye wild whistling blackbirds, in yon thorny den, 
 
 Thou green-crested lap-wing, thy screaming for- 
 bear, 
 
 I charge you, disturb not my slumbering fair. 
 
 How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills, 
 Far mark'd with the courses of clear, winding 
 
 rills; 
 There daily I wander, as noon rises high, 
 My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye. 
 
 How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below. 
 Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow ; 
 There oft, as mild evening creeps over the lea. 
 The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me.
 
 54 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides, 
 And winds by the cot where my Mary resides, 
 How wanton thy waters her sno^vy feet lave, 
 As gathering sweet flow'rets, she stems thy cleai 
 wave. 
 
 Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes. 
 Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays ; 
 My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, 
 Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. 
 
 XL. 
 
 HIGHLAND MARY. 
 R. Burns. 
 
 Ye banks and braes and streams around 
 
 The castle o' Montgomery, 
 Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, 
 
 Your waters never drumlie ! 
 There simmer first unfaulds her robes, 
 
 And there the langest tarry ; 
 For there I took the last fareweel 
 
 O' my sweet Highland Mary. 
 
 How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk, 
 
 How rich the hawthorn's blossom, 
 As underneath their fragrant shade, 
 
 I clasp'd her to my bosom ! 
 The golden hours, on angel wings, 
 
 Flew o'er me and my dearie ; 
 For dear to me as light and life 
 
 Was my sweet Highland Mary.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 55 
 
 Wi' monie a vow, and lock'd embrace, 
 
 Our parting was fu' tender ; 
 And pledging aft to meet again, 
 
 We tore ourselves asunder : 
 But oh ! fell death's untimely frost, 
 
 That nipt my flower sae early ! — 
 Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay. 
 
 That wraps my Highland Mary ! 
 
 O pale, pale now those rosy lips 
 
 I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly ! 
 And clos'd for aye the sparkling glance, 
 
 That dwelt on me sae kindly ; 
 And mouldering now in silent dust, 
 
 That heart that lo'ed me dearly — 
 But still within my bosom's core 
 
 Shall live my Highland Mary. 
 
 "The subject of this song is one of the most interest- 
 ing passages of my youthful days, and I own that I 
 should be much flattered to see the verses set to an air 
 which would ensure celebrity." — Burns. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 TO MARY JIV HE A VEN. 
 
 R. Burns. 
 
 Thou ling'ring star, with less'ning ray, 
 
 That lov'st to greet the early morn. 
 Again thou usher'st in the day, 
 
 My Mary from my soul was torn. 
 Oh, Mary, dear departed shade ! 
 
 Where is thy place of blissful rest ? 
 See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ? 
 
 Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?
 
 56 
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 That sacred hour can I forget, 
 
 Can I forget the hallow'd grove, 
 Where, by the winding Ayr, we met, 
 
 To live one day of parting love ? 
 Eternity can not efface 
 
 Those records dear of transports past. 
 Thy image at our last embrace ; 
 
 Ah ! little thought we 'twas our last ! 
 
 Ayr, gurgling, kiss'd his pebbled shore, 
 
 O'erhung with wild woods, thick'ning green ;. 
 The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, 
 
 Twined am'rous round the raptur'd scene. 
 The flow'rs sprang wanton to be prest, 
 
 The birds sang love on every spray ; 
 Till too, too soon, the glowing west 
 
 Proclaim'd the speed of winged day. 
 
 Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes, 
 
 And fondly broods with miser care ; 
 Time but the impression stronger makes, 
 
 As streams their channels deeper wear. 
 My Mary, dear departed shade ! 
 
 Where is thy place of blissful rest ? 
 See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ? 
 
 Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? 
 
 XLII. 
 
 MARTS DREAM. 
 John Lowe. — Born iJSo ; Died ijgS. 
 
 The moon had climb'd the highest hill, 
 Which rises o'er the source of Dee,
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. jy 
 
 And from the eastern summit shed 
 Her silver light on tower and tree ; 
 
 When Mary laid her down to sleep, 
 Her thoughts on Sandy far at sea ; 
 
 When soft and low, a voice was heard, 
 Saying, " Mary, weep no more for me !" 
 
 She from her pillow gently raised 
 
 Her head, to ask who there might be; 
 She saw young Sandy shivering stand. 
 
 With visage pale, and hollow e'e. 
 " O Mary dear, cold is my clay ; 
 
 It lies beneath a stormy sea. 
 Far, far from thee, I sleep in death, 
 
 So, Mary, weep no more for me ! 
 
 Three stormy nights and stormy days. 
 
 We tossed upon the raging main ; 
 And long we strove our bark to save, 
 
 But all our striving was in vain. 
 Even then, when horror chilled my blood, 
 
 My heart was filled with love for thee : 
 The storm is past, and I at rest ; 
 
 So, Mary, weep no more for me ! 
 
 O maiden dear, thyself prepare ; 
 
 We soon shall meet upon that shore. 
 Where love is free from doubt and care. 
 
 And thou and I shall part no more ! " 
 Loud crowed the cock, the shadow fled : 
 
 No more of Sandy could she see. 
 But soft the passing spirit said, 
 
 " Sweet Mary, weep no more for me !"
 
 58 
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 XLIII. 
 James Beattie.—Born 173s ; Died 1803. 
 
 On a rock by seas surrounded, 
 
 Distant far from sight of shore, 
 When the shipAvreck'd wretch, confounded. 
 
 Hears the bellowing tempest roar, 
 Hopes of life do then forsake him, 
 
 In this last deplor'd extreme ; 
 When, lo ! his own loud shrieks awake him, 
 
 And he finds it all a dream. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 Thomas Campbell. — Born ITJT ; Died 1844. 
 
 A chieftain to the Highlands bound, 
 Cries, ' Boatman, do not tarry ! 
 
 And I'll give thee a silver pound 
 To row us o'er the ferry ! ' — 
 
 * Now who be ye would cross Lochgyle, 
 
 This dark and stormy water?' 
 ' O I'm the chief of Ulva's Isle, 
 And this Lord Ullin's daughter. 
 
 * And fast before her father's men 
 
 Three days we've fled together, 
 Por should he find us in the glen 
 My blood would stain the heather.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 * His horsemen hard behind us ride — 
 
 Should they our steps discover. 
 Then who will cheer my bonny bride 
 When they have slain her lover ? ' — 
 
 Out spoke the hardy Highland wight, 
 ' I'll go, my chief, I'm ready : 
 
 It is not for your silver bright, 
 But for your winsome lady : — 
 
 * And by my word ! the bonny bird 
 
 In danger shall not tarry ; 
 So though the waves are raging white, 
 I'll row you o'er the ferry.' 
 
 By this the storm grew loud apace, 
 The water-wraith was shrieking ; 
 
 And in the scowl of heaven each face 
 Grew dark as they were speaking. 
 
 But still as wilder blew the mnd 
 And as the night grew drearer, 
 
 Adown the glen rode armed men. 
 Their trampling sounded nearer. 
 
 ' O haste thee, haste!' the lady cries, 
 ' Though tempests round us gather ; 
 
 I'll meet the raging of the skies, 
 But not an angry father.' 
 
 The boat has left a stormy land, 
 A stormy sea before her, — 
 
 When O ! too strong for human hand. 
 The tempest gather'd o'er her. 
 
 59
 
 6o SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 And still they row'd against the roar 
 
 Of waters fast prevailing ; 
 Lord UUin reach'd that fatal shore, — 
 
 His wrath was changed to wailing. 
 
 For sore dismayed, through storni and shade, 
 
 He did his child discover : — 
 One lovely hand she stretched for aid, 
 
 And one was round her lover. 
 
 ' Come back ! come back !' he cried in grief, 
 
 ' Across this stormy water : 
 And I'll forgive your Highland chief, 
 
 My daughter ! — O my daughter ! ' 
 
 'Twas vain : the loud waves lash'd the shore, 
 
 Return or aid preventing : 
 The waters wild went o'er his child, 
 
 And he was left lamenting. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 MY DEARIE, IE THOU DEE. 
 
 R. Crazvford. 
 
 Love never more shall give me pain, 
 
 My fancy's fixed on thee ; 
 Nor ever maid my heart shall gain, 
 
 My Peggie, if thou dee. 
 Thy beauties did such pleasure give, 
 
 Thy love's so true to me ; 
 Without thee I shall never live, 
 
 My dearie, if thou dee.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 6 1 
 
 If fate shall tear thee from my breast, 
 
 How shall I lonely stray ! 
 In dreary dreams the night I'll waste, 
 
 In sighs the silent day. 
 I ne'er can so much virtue find, 
 
 Nor such perfection see : 
 Then I'll renounce all womankind, 
 
 My Peggie, after thee. 
 
 No new-blown beauty fires my heart, 
 
 With Cupid's raving rage ; 
 But thine, which can such sweets impart. 
 
 Must all the world engage. 
 'Twas this that like the morning sun. 
 
 Gave joy and life to me ; 
 And, when its destin'd day is done, 
 
 With Peggie let me dee. 
 
 Ye powers that smile on virtuous love. 
 
 And in such pleasure share, 
 Ye who its faithful flames approve. 
 
 With pity view the fair : 
 Restore my Peggie's wonted charms, 
 
 Those channs so dear to me ; 
 Oh, never rob them from my arms ; 
 
 I'm lost if Peggie dee. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 FAREWELL TO LOCHABER. 
 
 Allan Ramsay, 
 
 Farewell to Lochaber, and farewell, my Jean, 
 Where heartsome with thee I've mony a day been ;
 
 62 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 For Lochaber no more, Lochaber no more, 
 We'll maybe return to Lochaber no more. 
 These tears that I shed, they're a' for my dear, 
 And no for the dangers attending on weir ; 
 Though borne on rough seas to a far bloody 
 
 shore, 
 Maybe to return to Lochaber no more ! 
 
 Though hurricanes rise, and rise every wind. 
 They'll ne'er make a tempest like that in my mind : 
 Though loudest of thunders on louder waves roar, 
 That's naething like leaving my love on the shore. 
 To leave thee behind me my heart is sair pain'd, 
 But by ease that's inglorious no fame can be 
 
 gain'd : 
 And beauty and love's the reward of the brave ; 
 And I maun deserve it before I can crave. 
 
 Then glory, my Jeany, maun plead my excuse. 
 Since honour commands me, how can I refuse ? 
 Without it I ne'er can have merit for thee ; 
 And wanting thy favour I'd better not be. 
 I go then, my lass, to win honour and fame ; 
 And if I should luck to come gloriously hame, 
 I'll bring thee a heart with love running o'er, 
 And then I'll leave thee and Lochaber no more. 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 THE WIDOW'S LAMENT. 
 
 Thotnas Smibert. 
 
 Afore the Lammas tide 
 Had dun'd the birken tree,
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 In a' our water-side 
 
 Nae wife was blest like me ; 
 A kind gudeman, and twa 
 
 Sweet bairns were round me here, 
 But they're a' ta'en awa' 
 
 Sin' the fa' o' the year. 
 
 Sair trouble cam' our gate, 
 
 And made me, when it cam', 
 A bird without a mate, 
 
 A ewe without a lamb. 
 Our hay was yet to maw, 
 
 And our corn was to shear. 
 When they a' dwined awa' 
 
 In the fa' o' the year. 
 
 I do^vna look a-field. 
 
 For aye I trow I see, 
 The form that was a bield 
 
 To my wee bairns and me ; 
 But wind, and weet, and snaw, 
 
 They never mair can fear. 
 Sin' they a' got the ca' 
 
 In the fa' o' the year. 
 
 Aft on the hill at e'ens 
 
 I see him mang the ferns. 
 The lover o' my teens. 
 
 The father o' my bairns : 
 For there his plaid I saw 
 
 As gloaming aye drew near— 
 But my a's now awa' 
 
 Sin' the fa' o' the year. 
 
 63
 
 64 
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 Our bonnie rigs theirsel', 
 
 Reca' my waes to mind, 
 Our puir dumb beasties tell 
 
 O' a' that I have tined ; 
 For whae our wheat will saw, 
 
 And whae our sheep will shear, 
 Sin' my a' gaed awa' 
 
 In the fa' o' the year? 
 
 My heart is gromng cauld, 
 
 And A\ill be caulder still ; 
 And sair, sair in the fauld 
 
 Will be the winter's chill ; 
 For peats were yet to ca', 
 
 Our sheep they were to smear. 
 When my a' dwined awa' 
 
 In the fa' o' the year. 
 
 I ettle whiles to spin, 
 
 But wee, wee patterin' feet 
 Come rinnin' out and in, 
 
 And then I just maun greet : 
 I ken it's fancy a', 
 
 And faster rows the tear, 
 That my a' dwined awa' 
 
 In the fa' o' the year. 
 
 Be kind, O heav'n abune ! 
 
 To ane sae wae and lane, 
 An' tak' her hamewards sune, 
 
 In pity o' her mane : 
 Long ere the March winds blaw, 
 
 May she, far far frae here, 
 Meet them a' that's awa' 
 
 Sin' the fa' o' the year.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 XLVIII. 
 LOGAN BRAES. 
 
 John Mayne. — Bo7-n i7Sg ; Died i8j6. 
 
 By Logan's streams that rin sae deep 
 Fu' aft, wi' glee, I've herded sheep, 
 I've herded sheep,- or gather'd slaes, 
 Wi' my dear lad, on Logan braes. 
 But wae's my heart ! thae days are gane, 
 And fu' o' grief I herd alane, 
 While my dear lad maun face his faes, 
 Far, far frae me and Logan braes. 
 
 Nae mair, at Logan kirk, will he, 
 Atween the preachings, meet wi' me — 
 Meet wi' me, or when it's mirk. 
 Convoy me hame frae Logan kirk. 
 I weel may sing thae days are gane — 
 Frae kirk and fair I come alane, 
 While my dear lad maun face his faes, 
 Far, far frae me and Logan braes ! 
 
 At e'en, when hope amaist is gane, 
 I dander dowie and forlane. 
 Or sit beneath the trysting-tree. 
 Where first he spak o' love to me. 
 O ! cou'd I see thae days again. 
 My lover skaithless, and my ain ; 
 Rever'd by friends, and far frae faes. 
 We'd live in bliss on Logan braes. 
 
 65 
 
 ■^o*- 
 
 Mayne was the author of the Siller Gun, a Poem de- 
 scribing the practice of shooting for a little silver gun, 
 
 E
 
 66 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 which James VI. had presented to the town of Dumfries, 
 and which was, at stated intervals, for many years com- 
 peted for by the townspeople. The Poem is witty and 
 clever, in a rather unusual degi^ee ; but the allusions being 
 chiefly local and personal, it is now to a great extent 
 forgotten. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 THE BUSH ABO ON TRAQUAIR. 
 
 Robert Crawford. 
 
 Hear me, ye nymphs, and ev'ry swain, 
 
 I'll tell how Peggy grieves me ; 
 Tho' thus I languish and complain, 
 
 Alas, she ne'er believes me. 
 My vows and sighs, like silent air, 
 
 Unheeded never move her. 
 The bonny bush aboon Traquair, 
 
 Was where I first did love her. 
 
 That day she smiled, and made me glad. 
 
 No maid seem'd ever kinder, 
 I thought myself the luckiest lad. 
 
 So sweetly there to find her. 
 I tried to soothe my am'rous flame, 
 
 In words that I thought tender : 
 If more there pass'd, I'm not to blame 
 
 I meant not to offend her. 
 
 Yet now she scornful flees the plain. 
 The fields we then frequented ; 
 
 If e'er we meet, she shows disdain, 
 She looks as ne'er acquainted.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 67 
 
 The bonnie bush bloom'd fair m May, 
 It's sweets I'll aye remember; 
 
 But now her frowns make it decay ; 
 It fades as in December. 
 
 Ye rural pow'rs who hear my strains, 
 
 Why thus should Peggy grieve me? 
 Oh ! make her partner in my pains ; 
 
 Then let her smiles relieve me. 
 If not, my love will turn despair, 
 
 My passion no more tender, 
 I'll leave the bush aboon Traquair, 
 
 To lonely wilds I'll wander. 
 
 The 'Bush aboon Traquair' was a plantation, of which, 
 we are told, only a "few solitary ragged trees" now 
 remain, close to Traquair House in Peebleshire. 
 
 L. 
 William Hamilton of Bangom: — Born 170^; Died ly^^. 
 
 Ah the shepherd's mournful fate, 
 
 When doom'd to love and doom'd to languish, 
 To bear the scornful fair one's hate, 
 
 Nor dare disclose his anguish ! 
 Yet eager looks, and dying sighs 
 
 My secret soul discover, 
 While rapture, trembling through mine eyes, 
 
 Reveals how much I love her. 
 The tender glance, the reddening cheek, 
 
 O'erspread with rising blushes, 
 A thousand various ways they speak 
 
 A thousand various wishes.
 
 68 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 For, oh ! that form so heavenly fair, 
 
 Those languid eyes so sweetly smiling, 
 That artless blush and modest air, 
 
 So fatally beguiling, 
 Thy every look, and every grace, 
 
 So charm, whene'er I view thee, 
 Till death o'ertake me in the chase 
 
 Still will my hopes pursue thee. 
 Then, when my tedious hours are past, 
 
 Be this last blessing given. 
 Low at thy feet to breathe my last. 
 
 And die in sight of heaven. 
 
 Hamilton was one of tlie " ingenious young gentle- 
 men" who contributed to Allan Ramsay's Tea Table Mis- 
 cellany. His songs were at one time popular in Scot- 
 land. He became involved in the rebellion of I745 5 after 
 lurking for some time in the Highlands, he escaped to 
 France, where, after several years of exile, he died. 
 
 LI. 
 
 WHY HANGS THAT CLOUD. 
 
 William Hamilton of Bangour. 
 
 Why hangs that cloud upon thy brow. 
 That beauteous heav'n erewhile serene ? 
 Whence do these storms and tempests flow. 
 Or what this gust of passion mean ? 
 And must then mankind lose that light 
 Which in thine eyes was wont to shine. 
 And lie obscur'd in endless night, 
 For each poor silly speech of mine ?
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. Op 
 
 Dear child, how could I wrong thy name, 
 Since 'tis acknowledged on all hands, 
 That could ill tongues abuse thy fame, 
 Thy beauty would make large amends : 
 Or if I durst profanely try 
 Thy beauty's pow'rful charms t' upbraid, 
 Thy virtue well might give the lie, 
 Nor call thy beauty to its aid. 
 
 For Venus every heart t' ensnare, 
 With all her charms has deck'd thy face, 
 And Pallas, with unusual care, 
 Bids wisdom heighten every grace. 
 Who can the double pain endure ? 
 Or who must not resign the field 
 To thee, celestial maid, secure 
 With Cupid's bow and Pallas' shield ? 
 
 If then to thee such power is giv'n, 
 Let not a wretch in torment live. 
 But smile, and learn to copy Heav'n, 
 Since we must sin ere it forgive. 
 Yet pitying Heaven not only does 
 Forgive th' offender and the offence. 
 But even itself, appeas'd, bestovv's. 
 As the reward of penitence. 
 
 LII. 
 
 THOU ART GANE A WA\ 
 Sir Alexander Boswell, Bart. — Born lyys i Died 1S22. 
 
 Thou art gane awa', thou art gane awa' 
 Thou art gane awa' frae me, Mary !
 
 -JO SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 Nor friends nor I could make thee stay, 
 Thou has cheated them and me, Mary. 
 
 Until this hour I never thought 
 
 That aught could alter thee, Mary ; 
 
 Thou'rt still the mistress of my heart, 
 Think what you will of me, Mary. 
 
 Whate'er he said or might pretend. 
 
 Who stole that heart of thine, Mary, 
 True love, I'm sure, was ne'er his end. 
 
 Or nae sic love as mine, Mary. 
 I spoke sincere, nor flattered much, 
 
 Nae selfish thoughts in me, Mary ; 
 Ambition, wealth, nor naething such ; 
 
 No, I loved only thee, Mary. 
 
 Though you've been false, yet while I live, 
 
 I'll lo'e nae maid but thee, Mary ; 
 Let friends forget, as I forgive, 
 
 Thy wrongs to them and me, Mary : 
 So then, fareweel ! of this be -sure, 
 
 Since you've been false to me, Mary ; 
 For all the world I'd not endure 
 
 Half what I've done for thee, Mary. 
 
 Alexander Boswell (created a baronet in 1821), the 
 author of tliis and one or two other songs, was the eldest 
 son of Johnson's Boswell. He was connected with a 
 violent Toiy newspaper, in which there had appeared 
 several insulting articles upon a Mr. Stuart of Duneam, 
 a peaceable, well-esteemed man, who, however, was a 
 Whig. Stuart, after having in vain tried to find out who 
 was the author, had the MS. of one of the articles, 
 severely handling his private character, brought to him by 
 a needy partner in the concern (who, it is said, demanded 
 £2,00 for the favour). The MS. was in Boswell's hand-
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 7 1 
 
 writing. Stuart challenged him, and though till the last 
 moment Stuart urged him to apologise, the duel was 
 fought (Boswell's second, the Hon. J. Douglas ; Stuart's, 
 the Earl of Rosslyn). Boswell was wounded, and was 
 carried to Lord Balmuto's house, Fifeshire, in whose 
 grounds the duel took place ; and there died. "We have 
 heard from a gentleman, who was living in those circles 
 at the time, that Boswell's conduct in the affair was 
 altogether unjustifiable. 
 
 LI 1 1. 
 
 THE LEA-RIG. 
 
 R. Fergusson. — Born 17S0 ; Died I'j'j^^ 
 
 Will ye gang o'er the lea-rig 
 
 My ain kind dearie, O ; 
 And cuddle there fu' kindly, 
 
 Wi' me, my kind dearie, O ! 
 At thorny dike and birken tree, 
 
 We'll daff and ne'er be weary O ; 
 They'll scug ilk e'e frae you and me. 
 
 My ain kind dearie, O. 
 
 Nae herds wi' kent or colly there, 
 
 Shall ever come to fear ye, O ; 
 But lav'rocks whistling in the air 
 
 Shall woo, like me, their dearie O. 
 While ithers herd their lambs and yowes, 
 
 And toil for warld's gear, my jo, 
 Upon the lea my pleasure grows 
 
 Wi' thee, my kind dearie, O. 
 
 Poor Fergusson's career was very short ; he died in a 
 madhouse at four-and-twenty. Bums, it is well known,
 
 72 
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 as soon as he had extricated himself from his pressing 
 money difficulties, placed a simple stone on the grave of 
 this youth, whom he called his "elder Brother in mis- 
 fortune. " 
 
 LIV. 
 
 THE LEA-RIG. 
 R. Burns. 
 
 When o'er the hill the eastern star, 
 
 Tells bughtin-time is near, my jo ; 
 And owsen frae the furrowed field, 
 
 Return sae dowf and weary, O ; 
 Doun by the burn where scented birks 
 
 Wi' dew are hanging clear, my jo ; 
 I'll meet thee on the lea-rig, 
 
 My ain kind dearie O ! 
 
 In mirkest glen, at midnight hour, 
 
 I'd rove, and ne'er be eerie, O ; 
 If thro' that glen I gaed to thee, 
 
 My ain kind dearie, O ! 
 Altho' the night were ne'er sae wild, 
 
 And I were ne'er sae wearie, O, 
 I'd meet thee on the lea-rig. 
 
 My ain kind dearie, O ! 
 
 The hunter lo'es the morning sun. 
 To rouse the mountain deer, my jo ; 
 
 At noon the fisher seeks the glen. 
 Along the bum to steer, my jo;
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 73 
 
 Gie me the hour o' gloamin' gray, 
 It maks my heart sae cheery, O, 
 
 To meet thee on the lea-rig, 
 My am kind dearie, O ! 
 
 LV. 
 
 DOUN THE BURN, DAVIE. 
 
 R. Crawford. 
 
 IVhen trees did bud, and fields were green, 
 
 And broom bloom'd fair to see ; 
 AVhen Mary was complete fifteen, 
 
 And love laugh'd in her c'e ; 
 Blythe Davie's blinks her heart did move 
 
 To speak her mind thus free. 
 Gang doun the bum, Davie, love, 
 
 And I will follow thee. 
 
 Now Davie did each lad surpass 
 
 That dwelt on this bumside ; 
 And Mary was the bonniest lass. 
 
 Just meet to be a bride : 
 Her cheeks were rosie, red and white ; 
 
 Her een were bonnie blue ; 
 Her looks were like Aurora bright, 
 
 Her lips like dropping dew. 
 
 What pass'd, I guess, was harmless play. 
 
 And naething sure unmeet ; 
 For ganging hame I heard them say, 
 
 They liked a walk sae sweet ;
 
 74 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 And that they often should return 
 
 Sic' pleasure to renew. 
 Quoth Mary, Love, I like the bum, 
 
 And aye shall follow you. 
 
 We have omitted one stanza of this song. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 O M ALLY'S MEEK. 
 
 R. Burns. 
 
 As I was walking up the street, 
 A barefit maid I chanc'd to meet ; 
 
 But O the road was very hard 
 For that fair maiden's tender feet. 
 
 O Mally's meek, Mally's sweet, 
 Mally's modest and discreet, 
 
 Mally's rare, Mally's fair, 
 Mally's every way complete. 
 
 It were mair meet, that those fine feet 
 Were weel lac'd up in silken shoon, 
 
 And 'twere more fit that she should sit 
 Within yon chariot gilt aboon. 
 
 Her yellow hair, beyond compare, 
 
 Comes trinkling down her swan-white neck; 
 And her two eyes, like stars in skies. 
 
 Would keep a sinking ship frae wreck.
 
 75 
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 LVII. 
 DAINTY DA VIE. 
 
 R, Burns. 
 
 Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers, 
 To deck her gay, green-spreading bowers, 
 And now come in my happy hours, 
 To wander wi' my Davie. 
 
 Meet me on the warlock knowe. 
 Dainty Davie, dainty Davie ; 
 
 There I'll spend the day wi' you, 
 My ain dear dainty Davie. 
 
 The crystal waters round us fa', 
 The merry birds are lovers a'. 
 The scented breezes round us blaw, 
 A-wandering wi' my Davie. 
 
 When purple morning starts the hare, 
 To steal upon her early fare, 
 Then through the dews I will repair. 
 To meet my faithfu' Davie. 
 
 Wlien day, expiring in the west. 
 The curtain draws o' Nature's rest, 
 I'll flee to his arms I lo'e best. 
 And that's my dainty Davie.
 
 76 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 LVIII. 
 I LOVE MY JEAN. 
 
 R. Burns. 
 
 Of a' the airts the Avind can blaw, 
 
 I dearly Hke the west ; 
 For there the bonnie lassie lives, 
 
 The lassie I lo'e best : 
 There wild-woods grow, and rivers row. 
 
 And monie a hill between. 
 But day and night, my fancy's flight 
 
 Is ever wi' my Jean. 
 
 I see her in the dewy flowers, 
 
 I see her sweet and fair ; 
 I hear her in the tunefu' birds, 
 
 I hear her charm the air. 
 There's not a bonnie flow'r that springs, 
 
 By fountain, shaw, or green ; 
 There's not a bonnie bird that sings, 
 
 But minds me o' my Jean. 
 
 LIX. 
 
 THEIR GROVES O' SWEET MYRTLE. 
 R. Burns. 
 
 Their groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign lands 
 reckon. 
 Where bright-beaming summers exalt the per- 
 fume.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 77 
 
 Far dearer to me yon lone glen o' green breckan, 
 Wi' the burn stealing under the lang yellow 
 broom ; 
 Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers, 
 Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk lowly un- 
 seen ; 
 For there, lightly tripping amang the wild flowers, 
 A-listening the linnet, aft wanders my Jean. 
 
 Though rich is the breeze in their gay sunny 
 valleys, 
 And cauld, Caledonia's blast on the wave ; 
 Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the 
 proud palace, 
 What are they ? The haunt of the t)a-ant and 
 slave ! 
 The slave's spicy forests, and gold-bubbling foun- 
 tains. 
 The brave Caledonian views with disdain ; 
 He wanders as free as the winds of his moun- 
 tains, 
 Save love's willing fetters, the chains of his 
 Jean ! 
 
 LX. 
 
 SAE MERRY AS WE TWA HA'E 
 BEEN. 
 
 A lass that was laden wi care 
 Sat heavily under yon thom ;
 
 78 
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 I listen'd a while for to hear, 
 
 When thus she began for to mourn — 
 
 Whene'er my dear shepherd was there, 
 The birds did melodiously sing. 
 
 And cold nipping winter did wear, 
 A face that resembled the spring. 
 
 Sae merry as we twa ha'e been, 
 Sae merry as we twa ha'e been ; 
 
 My heart is like for to break. 
 
 When I think on the days we ha'e seen. 
 
 Our flocks feeding close by our side. 
 
 He gently pressing my hand, 
 I viewed the wide world in its pride. 
 
 And laugh'd at the pomp of command ! 
 My dear, he would oft to me say. 
 
 What makes you hard-hearted to me ? 
 Oh, why do you thus turn away, 
 
 From him who is dying for thee ? 
 
 But now he is far from my sight, 
 
 Perhaps a deceiver may prove, 
 Which makes me lament day and night, 
 
 That ever I granted my love. 
 At eve, when the rest of the folk, 
 
 Are merrily seated to spin, 
 I set myself under an oak. 
 
 And heavily sigh for him. 
 
 This song "is beautiful; the chorus in particular is 
 truly pathetic. I never could learn anything of its 
 author. " — Bia-iis.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 79 
 
 LXI. 
 
 JESSY. 
 
 R. Burns. 
 
 Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear, 
 
 Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear ; 
 
 Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers 
 
 meet, 
 And soft as their parting tear — ^Jessy ! 
 
 Altho' thou maun never be mine, 
 
 Altho' even hope is denied ; 
 'Tis sweeter for thee despairing, 
 
 Than ought in the world beside — Jessy ! 
 
 I mourn through the gay, gaudy day, 
 As, hopeless, I muse on thy charms ; 
 
 But welcome the dream o' sweet slumber. 
 For then I am lock'd in thy arms — Jessy ! 
 
 I guess by the dear angel smile, 
 
 I guess by the love-rolling e'e ; 
 But why urge the tender confession, 
 
 'Gainst fortune's fell cruel decree? — Jessy! 
 
 The Jessy of this, and several other songs, was Jessy 
 Levvars, sister of a fellow-exciseman of Burns' in Dum- 
 fries. She was distinguished from many of his contem- 
 porary admirers by the affectionate sympathy which she 
 always had for him and for his wife ; and which, during 
 his last illness, took the form of a daughter's watchful 
 care. This is the last song Bums ever wrote.
 
 8o SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 LXII. 
 FOR LACK OF GOLD. 
 
 Adam Austin, M.D. — Born 1^26? ; Died i'j'j4. 
 
 For lack of gold she's left me, O, 
 And of all that's dear bereft me, O ; 
 She me forsook for Athole's duke, 
 
 And to endless woe she has left me, O. 
 A star and garter have more art 
 Than youth, a true and faithful heart ; 
 For empty titles we must part. 
 
 And for glittering show she's left me, 0. 
 
 No cruel fair shall ever move 
 My injur'd heart again to love ; 
 Through distant climates I must rove ; 
 
 Since Jeany she has left me, O. 
 Ye powers above, I to your care 
 Give up my faithless, lovely fair ; 
 Your choicest blessings be her share, 
 
 Though she's for ever left me, O. 
 
 The cruel fair alluded to became the wife of James, 
 Dul<e of Athole, and afterwards, having survived him, 
 wife of Lord Adam Gordon. Dr. Austin did not "rove 
 to distant climates," but continued to practise medicine in 
 Edinburgh, where, some four or five years afterwards, he 
 was married. 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 MY SHEEP r VE FORSAKEN. 
 
 Sir Gilbert Elliot, Bati. — Born 1^22 ; Died J'777. 
 
 My sheep I've forsaken, and left my sheep-hook, 
 And all the gay haunts of my youth I forsook ;
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 8 1 
 
 No more for Amynta fresh garlands I wove ; 
 For ambition, I said, would soon cure me of love. 
 
 Oh, what had my youth with ambition to do ? 
 Why left I Amynta? Why broke I my vow? 
 Oh, give me my sheep, and my sheep-hook 
 
 restore. 
 And I'll wander from love and Amynta no more. 
 
 Through regions remote in vain do I rove, 
 And bid the wide ocean secure me from love ! 
 Oh, fool ! to imagine that aught could subdue 
 A love so well-founded, a passion so true ! 
 
 Alas ! 'tis too late at thy fate to repine ; 
 Poor shepherd, Amynta can never be thine : 
 Thy tears are all fruitless, thy wishes are vain, 
 The moments neglected return not again. 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 STREPHON AND LYDIA. 
 
 William Wallace. — Born 1J12? ; Died 1^63. 
 
 All lonely, on the sultry beach. 
 
 Expiring Strephon lay ; 
 No hand the cordial draught to reach. 
 
 Nor cheer the gloomy way. 
 Ill-fated youth ! no parent nigh 
 
 To catch thy fleeting breath, 
 No bride to fix thy swimming eye, 
 
 Or smooth the face of death. 
 
 F
 
 82 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 Far distant from the mournful scene, 
 
 Thy parents sit at ease j 
 Thy Lydia rifles all the plain, 
 
 And all the spring, to please. 
 Ill-fated youth ! by fault of friend, 
 
 Not force of foe depress'd. 
 Thou fall'st, alas ! thyself, thy kind, 
 
 Thy country, unredress'd. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 CROMLETS LILT. 
 
 Since all thy vows, false maid, 
 
 Are blown to air. 
 And my poor heart betray'd 
 
 To sad despair ; 
 Into some wilderness 
 My grief I will express, 
 And thy hard-heartedness, 
 
 Oh, cruel fair ! 
 
 Have I not graven our loves 
 
 On every tree 
 In yonder spreading groves. 
 
 Though false thou be ? 
 Was not a solemn oath 
 Plighted betwixt us both, 
 Thou thy faith, I my troth. 
 
 Constant to be ?
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. ^t, 
 
 Some gloomy place I'll find, 
 
 Some doleful shade, 
 WTiere neither sun nor wind 
 
 E'er entrance had. 
 Into that hollow cave 
 There will I sigh and rave. 
 Because thou dost behave 
 
 So faithlessly. 
 
 Wild fruit shall be my meat, 
 
 I'll drink the spring ; 
 Cold earth shall be my seat ; 
 
 For covering, 
 I'll have the starry sky 
 My head to canopy, 
 Until my soul on high 
 
 Shall spread its wing. 
 
 I'll have no funeral fire, 
 
 No tears for me ; 
 No grave do I require, 
 
 Nor obsequies : 
 The courteous red-breast, he 
 With leaves will cover me. 
 And sing my elegy 
 
 With doleful voice. 
 
 And when a ghost I am, 
 
 I'll visit thee, 
 Oh, thou deceitful dame. 
 
 Whose cruelty 
 Has kill'd the kindest heart 
 That e'er felt Cupid's dart.
 
 84 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 And never can desert 
 From loving thee ! 
 
 An interesting account of this song or dirge will be 
 found in Burns' Reliqucs, p. 226, et seq. 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 HAD I A CA VE. 
 
 R. Burns. 
 
 Had I a cave on some wild distant shore, 
 Where the winds howl to the waves' dashing roar ; 
 
 There would I weep my woes, 
 
 There seek my lost repose, 
 
 Till grief my eyes should close. 
 Ne'er to wake more. 
 
 Falsest of womankind, canst thou declare. 
 All thy fond-plighted vows fleeting as air ! 
 
 To thy new lover hie, 
 
 Laugh o'er thy perjury. 
 
 Then in thy bosom try 
 What peace is there ! 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 MY MOTHER BIDS ME. 
 
 Amu Home, afteiivards Mrs. Hunter. 
 Born 1742 ; Died 1S21. 
 
 My mother bids me bind my hair 
 With bands of rosy hue,
 
 SCOTTISH SOXG. 
 
 85 
 
 Tie up my sleeves with ribbons rare, 
 And lace my boddice blue. 
 
 For why, she cries, sit still and weep, 
 While others dance and play ? 
 
 Alas ! I scarce can go or creep, 
 While Lubin is away. 
 
 'Tis sad to think the days are gone, 
 When those we love were near ; 
 
 I sit upon this mossy stone, 
 And sigh when none can hear. 
 
 And while I spin my flaxen thread. 
 
 And sing my simple lay. 
 The village seems asleep, or dead, 
 
 Now Lubin is away. 
 
 The authoress of this, and several other songs, was 
 the wife of Jolin Hunter of Glasgow, the celebrated 
 anatomist and physiologist. 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 TAM GLEN. 
 
 R. Burns, 
 
 My heart is a-breaking, dear Tittie ! 
 
 Some counsel unto me come len' ; 
 To anger them a' is a pity, 
 
 But what will I do wi' Tarn Glen?
 
 86 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 I'm thinking wi' sic a braw fallow, 
 In poortith I might mak' a fen : 
 
 What care I in riches to wallow, 
 If I maunna marry Tam Glen ? 
 
 There's Lowrie, the laird o' Drumeller, 
 ' Good day to you, brute ! ' he comes ben ; 
 
 He brags and he blaws o' his siller, 
 
 But when will he dance like Tam Glen ? 
 
 My minnie does constantly deave me, 
 And bids me beware o' young men ; 
 
 They flatter, she says, to deceive me. 
 But wha can think sae o' Tam Glen ? 
 
 My daddie says, gin I'll forsake him, 
 He'll gie me gude hunder marks ten ; 
 
 But, if it's ordain'd I maun take him, 
 O, wha will I get but Tam Glen ? 
 
 Yestreen at the valentine's dealin', 
 My heart to my mou' gied a sten ; 
 
 For thrice I drew ane without failin'. 
 And thrice it was written, Tam Glen. 
 
 The last Hallowe'en I was waukin' 
 My drookit sark-sleeve, as ye ken ; 
 
 His likeness cam' up the house staukin'. 
 And the very gray breeks o' Tam Glen ! 
 
 Come, counsel, dear Tittie, don't tarry ; 
 
 I'll gie you my bonnie black hen, 
 Gif ye will advise me to marry 
 
 The lad I lo'e dearly, Tam Glen.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 87 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 BEWARE O' BONNIE ANN. 
 
 J?. Slims. 
 
 Ye gallants bright, I rede ye right, 
 
 Beware o' bonnie Ann, 
 Her comely face sae fu' o' grace, 
 
 Your heart she will trepan. 
 Her een sae bright, like stars by night, 
 
 Her skin is like the swan ; 
 Sae jimply laced her genty waist, 
 
 That sweetly ye might span. 
 
 Youth, grace, and love, attendant move. 
 
 And pleasure leads the van ; 
 In a' their charms, and conquering arms, 
 
 They wait on bonnie Ann. 
 The captive bands may chain the hands, 
 
 But love enslaves the man ; 
 Ye gallants braw, I rede ye a', 
 ■ Beware o' bonnie Ann ! 
 
 LXX. 
 
 I GAED A WAEFU' GATE. 
 
 R. Burns. 
 
 I gaed a waefu' gate yestreen, 
 
 A gate, I fear, I'll dearly rue ; 
 I gat my death frae twa sweet een, 
 
 Twa lovely een o' bonnie blue.
 
 88 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 'Twas not her golden ringlets bright, 
 Her lips, like roses wet wi' dew, 
 
 Her heaving bosom, lily-white, 
 It was her een sae bonnie blue. 
 
 She talk'd, she smil'd, my heart she wil'd. 
 
 She charm'd my soul, I wist na how, 
 And aye the stound, the deadly wound, 
 
 Cam' frae her een sae bonnie blue. 
 But, spare to speak, and spare to speed, 
 
 She'll aiblins listen to my vow ; 
 Should she refuse, I'll lay me dead 
 
 To her twa een sae bonnie blue. 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 BONNIE LESLEY. 
 
 R. Buj-ns. 
 
 O, saw ye bonnie Lesley, 
 As she gaed o'er the border? 
 
 She's gane, like Alexander, 
 
 To spread her conquests farther. 
 
 To see her is to love her. 
 And love but her for ever ; 
 
 For nature made her what she is, 
 And never made anither ! 
 
 Thou art a queen, fair Lesley, 
 Thy subjects we before thee : 
 
 Thou art divine, fair Lesley, 
 The hearts o' men adore thee.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. g^ 
 
 The deil he coudna scaith thee, 
 Or aught that wad belang thee ; 
 
 He'd look into thy bonnie face, 
 And say, ' I canna wrang thee ! ' 
 
 The powers aboon will tent thee ; 
 
 Misfortune shanna steer thee ; 
 ThouTt like themselves sae lovely. 
 
 That ill they'll ne'er let near thee. 
 
 Return again, fair Lesley, 
 
 Return to Caledonie ! 
 That we may brag we ha'e a lass 
 
 There's nane again sae bonnie. 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 LOGIE C BUCHAN. 
 
 Attributed to George Halket. — Died i^S^- 
 
 O Logie o' Buchan, O Logie the laird, 
 
 They ha'e ta'en awa' Jamie, that delved in the 
 
 yard, 
 Wha play'd on the pipe, and the viol sae sma'. 
 They ha'e ta'en awa Jamie, the flow'r o' them a'. 
 
 He said, Think na lang lassie, tho' I gang awa' ; 
 He said. Think na lang lassie, tho' I gang awa' ; 
 For simmer is coming, cauld winter's awa', 
 And I'll come and see thee in spite o' them a'.
 
 90 
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 Tho' Sandy has ousen, has gear, and has kye ; 
 A house, and a hadden, and siller forbye : 
 Yet I'd tak' my ain lad, wi' his staff in his hand, 
 Before I'd ha'e him, wi' the houses and Istnd. 
 
 My daddie looks sulky, my minnie looks sour, 
 They frown upon Jamie because he is poor ; 
 Tho' I lo'e them as weel as a daughter should do, 
 They're nae hauf sae dear to me, Jamie, as you. 
 
 I sit on my creepie, I spin at my wheel. 
 And think on the laddie that lo'ed me sae weel ; 
 He had but ae saxpence, he brak it in twa. 
 And gied me the hauf o't when he ga'ed awa', 
 
 Then haste ye back, Jamie, and bide na awa', 
 Then haste ye back, Jamie, and bide na awa', 
 The simmer is coming, cauld winter's awa'. 
 And ye'll come and see me in spite o' them a'. 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 LUCY'S FLITTING. 
 
 William Laidlaw. — Born lySo ; Died 184s . 
 
 Twas when the wan leaf frae the birk tree was 
 
 fa'in. 
 And Martinmas dowie had wound up the year, 
 That Lucy row'd up her wee kist wi' her a' in't, 
 And left her auld maister and neebours sae dear :
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. gi 
 
 For Lucy had served in the glen a' the simmer ; 
 She cam' there afore the flower bloomed on the 
 
 pea; 
 An orphan she was, and they had been kind till 
 
 her, 
 Sure that was the thing brocht the tear to her e'e.. 
 
 She gaed by the stable where Jamie was stan'in' ; 
 Richt sair was his kind heart, the flittin' to see 
 Fare ye weel, Lucy ! quo' Jamie, and ran in ; 
 The gatherin' tears trickled fast frae his e'e. 
 As down the burn-side she gaed slow wi' the 
 
 flittin', 
 Fare ye weel, Lucy ! was ilka bird's sang ; 
 She heard the craw sayin't, high on the tree 
 
 sittin'. 
 And robin was chirpin't the bro\vn leaves amang. 
 
 Oh, what is't that pits my puir heart in a flutter ? 
 And what gars the tears come sae fast to my e'e ? 
 If I wasna ettled to be ony better, 
 Then what gars me wish ony better to be ? 
 I'm just like a lammie that loses it's mither ; 
 Nae mither or friend the puir lammie can see; 
 I fear I ha'e tint my puir heart a'thegither, 
 Nae wonder the tears fa' sae fast frae my e'e. 
 
 Wi' the rest o' my claes I ha'e row'd up the 
 
 ribbon. 
 The bonnie blue ribbon that Jamie ga'e me ; 
 Yestreen, when he ga'e me't, and saw I was 
 
 sabbin', 
 I'll never forget the wae blink o' his e'e.
 
 92 
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 Though now he said naething but Fare ye weel, 
 
 Lucy ! 
 It made me I neither could speak, hear, nor see ; 
 He couldna say mair but just, Fare ye weel, Lucy ! 
 Yet that I will mind till the day that I dee. 
 
 The lamb likes the gowan \vi' dew when it's 
 
 drookit ; 
 The hare likes the brake and the braird on the lea; 
 But Lucy likes Jamie, — she turn'd and she lookit, 
 She thocht the dear place she wad never mair see. 
 Ah, weel may young Jamie gang dowie and 
 
 cheerless ! 
 And weel may he greet on the bank o' the bum ! 
 For bonnie sweet Lucy, sae gentle and peerless, 
 Lies cauld in her grave, and will never return ! 
 
 The author of this sweet little song was Scott's valued 
 friend and steward. On Scott's return to Abbotsford from 
 Naples, after having travelled from London in a state of 
 utter prostration and semi-unconsciousness, seeing Laidlaw 
 at his bedside, he said, his eyes brightening, " Is that 
 you, Willie? I ken I'm hame noo."* 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 WANDERING WILLIE. 
 
 R. Biii'ns. 
 
 Here awa', there awa', wandering Willie, 
 Here awa', there awa', haud awa' hame ; 
 
 * The Songs of England and Scotland {hor\Aox\, 1835), 
 Vol. 11. , p. 325.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. cj-j 
 
 Come to my bosom, my ain only dearie, 
 
 Tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same. 
 
 Winter winds blew loud and cauld at our parting; 
 
 Fears for my Willie brought tears in my e'e ; 
 Welcome now, simmer, and welcome, my Willie, 
 
 The simmer to nature, my Willie to me. 
 
 Rest, ye wild storms, in the caves o' your slum- 
 bers ; 
 How your dread howling a lover alarms ! 
 Wauken, ye breezes ! row gently, ye billows ! 
 And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my 
 arms. 
 
 But, oh, if he's faithless, and minds na his Nannie, 
 Flow still between us, thou wide, roaring main; 
 
 May I never see it, may I never trow it. 
 
 But, dying, believe that my Willie's my ain ! 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 AULD ROB MORRIS. 
 R. Burns. 
 
 There's auld Rob Morris, that wons in yon glen, 
 He's the king o' gude fellows, and wale of auld 
 
 men; 
 He has gowd in his coffers, and owsen and kine. 
 And ae bonnie lassie, his darling and mine. 
 
 She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May ; 
 She's sweet as the ev'ning amang the new hay ; 
 As blythe and as artless as the lambs on the lea. 
 And dear to my heart as the licht to my e'e.
 
 94 
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 But, oh, she's an heiress, auld Robin's a laird. 
 And my daddie has nocht but a cot-house and 
 
 yard; 
 A wooer hke me maunna hope to come speed ; 
 The wounds I maun hide that will soon be my 
 
 deid. 
 
 The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane ; 
 The nicht comes to me, but my rest it is gane ; 
 I wander my lane, like a nicht-troubled ghaist. 
 And I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breast. 
 
 Oh, had she but been of a lower degree, 
 I then micht ha'e hop'd she wad smil'd upon me ! 
 Oh, how past describing had then been my bliss, 
 As now my distraction no words can express ! 
 
 There is an older Rob Morris (Bums has taken his 
 two first lines from it) ; which, however, would be less 
 appropriate here than the one given. 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 JMY BONNIE MARY. 
 
 R. Burns. 
 
 Go fetch to me a pint o' wine. 
 
 An' fill it in a silver tassie ; 
 That I may drink, before I go, 
 
 A service to my boimie lassie. 
 The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith, 
 
 Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the ferry ; 
 The ship rides by the Ben\dck Law ; 
 
 And I maun leave my bonnie Mary.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. c)^ 
 
 The trumpets sound, the banners fly ; 
 
 The glittering spears are ranked ready ; 
 The shouts o' war are heard afar ; 
 
 The battle closes thick and bloody : 
 But it's not the roar o' sea or shore 
 
 Would mak' me langer wish to tarry ; 
 Nor shouts of war, that's heard afar, 
 
 It's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary. 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 CRADLE SONG. 
 Richard Gall. — Born 1^66 ; Died i So i. 
 
 Baloo, baloo, my wee wee thing, 
 
 O saftly close thy blmking e'e ! 
 Baloo, baloo, my wee wee thing, 
 
 For thou art doubly dear to me. 
 Thy daddie now is far awa', 
 
 A sailor laddie o'er the sea ; 
 But Hope aye hechts his safe return 
 
 To you, my bonnie lamb, an' me. 
 
 Baloo, baloo, my wee wee thing, 
 
 O saftly close thy blinking e'e ! 
 Baloo, baloo, my wee wee thing, 
 
 For thou art doubly dear to me. 
 Thy face is simple, sweet, an' mild. 
 
 Like ony simmer e'ening fa', 
 Thy sparkling e'e is bonnie black. 
 
 Thy neck is like the mountain snaw.
 
 96 
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 Baloo, baloo, my wee wee thing, 
 
 O saftly close thy blinkin' e'e ! 
 Baloo, baloo, my wee wee thing, 
 
 For thou art doubly dear to me. 
 O but thy daddie's absence lang, 
 
 Might break my dowie heart in twa, 
 Wert thou no left a dawtit pledge, 
 
 To steal the eerie hours awa'. 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 WILT THOU BE MY DEARIE. 
 
 R. Burns. 
 
 Wilt thou be my dearie? 
 
 When sorrow Avrings thy gentle heart, 
 
 Wilt thou let me cheer thee ? 
 
 By the treasures of my soul. 
 
 That's the love I bear thee ! 
 
 I swear and vow that only thou 
 
 Shall ever be my dearie. 
 
 Only thou, I swear and vow, 
 
 Shall ever be my dearie. 
 
 Lassie, say thou lo'es me, 
 Or if thou wilt not be my ain. 
 Say na thou'lt refuse me : 
 If it winna, canna be, 
 Thou for thine may choose me. 
 Let me, lassie, quickly die. 
 Trusting that thou lo'es me. 
 Lassie, let me quickly die, 
 Trusting that thou lo'es me.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. g ■. 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 jREiy GLEAMS THE SUN. 
 R. Caliper, M.D.—Born ly^o ; Died 1818. 
 
 Red gleams the sun on yon hill tap, 
 
 The dew sits on the gowan ; 
 Deep murmurs through her glens the Spey, 
 
 Around Kinrara rowan. 
 Where art thou, fairest, kindest lass ? 
 
 Alas ! wert thou but near me. 
 Thy gentle soul, thy melting eye. 
 
 Would ever, ever cheer me. 
 
 The lav'rock sings amang the clouds, 
 
 The lambs they sport so cheery, 
 And I sit weeping by the birk, 
 
 O where art thou my deary ? 
 Aft may I meet the morning dew, 
 
 Lang greet till I be weary, 
 Thou canna, winna, gentle maid, 
 
 Thou canna be my deary. 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 MY NANNIE, O. 
 H. Burns. 
 
 Eehind yon hills where Lugar flows, 
 'Mang moors and mosses many, O, 
 
 G
 
 gS SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 The wintry sun the day has clos'd, 
 
 And I'll awa' to Nannie, O. 
 The westlin wind blaws loud and shrill 
 
 The night's baith mirk and rainy, O, 
 But I'll get my plaid, and out I'll steal, 
 
 And o'er the hills to Nannie, O. 
 
 My Nannie's charming, sweet, and young : 
 
 Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, O ; 
 May ill befa' the flattering tongue 
 
 That wad beguile my Nannie, O. 
 Her face is fair, her heart is true, 
 
 And spotless as she's bonnie, O ; 
 The opening gowan wat wi' dew, 
 
 Nae purer is than Nannie, O. 
 
 A country lad is my degree. 
 
 And few there be that ken me, O ; 
 But what care I how few they be ? 
 
 I'm welcome aye to Nannie, O. 
 My riches a's my penny fee. 
 
 And I maun guide it cannie, O ; 
 But warl's gear ne'er troubles me. 
 
 My thoughts are a' my Nannie, O. 
 
 Our auld gudeman delights to view 
 
 His sheep and kye thrive bonnie, O ; 
 But I'm as blythe that hands his pleugh. 
 
 And has nae care but Nannie, O. 
 Come weel, come woe, I carena by, 
 
 I'll tak' what heaven will send me, Of 
 Nae ither care in life have I, 
 
 But live and love my Nannie, O.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 09 
 
 LXXXI. 
 THE LASS a ARRANTEENIE. 
 
 Robert Tannahill. — Born 1774; Died 1 8 10. 
 
 Far lone amang the Highland hills, 
 
 Midst nature's wildest grandeur, 
 By rocky dens and woody glens, 
 
 With weary steps I wander. 
 The langsome way, the darksome day, 
 
 The mountain, misty, rainy. 
 Are naught to me, when gaun to thee, 
 
 Sweet lass o' Arrantcenie. 
 
 Yon mossy rose-bud down the howc, 
 
 Just opening fresh and bonny. 
 It blinks beneath the hazel bough, 
 
 And's scarcely seen by ony. 
 Sae sweet amidst her native hills, 
 
 Obscurely blooms my Jeanie, 
 Mair fair and gay than rosy May, 
 
 The flower o' Arranteenie. 
 
 Now from the mountains lofty brow, 
 
 I view the distant ocean, 
 There avarice guides the bounding prow, 
 
 Ambition courts promotion. 
 Let fortune pour her golden store. 
 
 Her laurell'd favours many. 
 Give me but this, my soul's first wish, 
 
 The lass o' Arranteenie. 
 
 Arranteenie, or Ardentinny, is beautifully situated oa 
 the banks of Loch Long.
 
 100 
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 LXXXII. 
 
 GLOOMY WINTER. 
 
 R. Tannahill, 
 
 Gloomy winter's now awa', 
 Saft the westlin' breezes blaw : 
 'Mang the birks o' Stanley-shaw 
 
 The mavis sings fu' cheerie, O. 
 Sweet the craw-flower's early bell 
 Decks Gleniffer's dewy dell, 
 Blooming like thy bonnie sel', 
 
 My young, my artless dearie, O. 
 
 Come, my lassie, let us stray 
 O'er Glenkilloch's sunny brae, 
 Blythly spend the gowden day 
 
 'Midst joys that never weatie, O. 
 Towering o'er the Newton woods, 
 Laverocks fan the snaw-white clouds ; 
 Siller saughs, wi' downie buds. 
 
 Adorn the banks sae brierie, O. 
 
 Round the sylvan fairy nooks, 
 Feath'ry breckens fringe the rocks, 
 'Neath the brae the bumie jouks, 
 
 And ilka thing is cheerie, O. 
 Trees may bud, and birds may sing, 
 Flowers may bloom, and verdure spring, 
 Joy to me they canna bring. 
 
 Unless wi' thee, my dearie, O.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. loi 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 THE RO WAN TREE. 
 
 Carolina Olipkant, afterwards Lady Nairne. 
 Bo7-n 1^66 ; Died 184^. 
 
 Oh, Rowan tree ! Oh, Rowan tree ! thou'lt aye 
 
 be dear to me, 
 Intwined thou art wi' mony ties o' hame and 
 
 infancy. 
 Thy leaves were aye the first o' spring, thy flowr's 
 
 the simmer's pride ; 
 There was na sic a bonnie tree in a' the countrie 
 
 side. 
 
 How fair wert thou in simmer time, wi' a' thy 
 
 clusters white, 
 How rich and gay thy autumn dress, wi' berries 
 
 red and bright, 
 On thy fair stem were mony names, which now 
 
 nae mair I see, 
 But they're engraven on my heart, forgot they 
 
 ne'er can be ! 
 
 We sat aneath thy spreading shade, the bairnies 
 
 round thee ran ; 
 They pu'd thy bonnie berries red, and necklaces 
 
 they Strang ; 
 My mither, oh, I see her still ! she smil'd our 
 
 sports to see ; 
 Wi' little Jeanie on her lap, an' Jamie at her 
 
 knee !
 
 I02 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 Oh ! there arose my father's prayer, in holy 
 
 evening's calm, 
 How sweet was then my mother's voice, in the 
 
 Martyr's psalm ; 
 Now a' are gane ! we meet nae mair, aneath the 
 
 Rowan tree, 
 But hallowed thoughts around thee twine o' hame 
 
 and infancy. 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 CRAIGJE-LEA. 
 
 R. Tannahill. 
 
 Thou bonnie wood of Craigie-lea, 
 Thou bonnie wood of Craigie-lea, 
 
 Near thee I pass'd life's early day, 
 And won my Mary's heart in thee. 
 
 The broom, the brier, the birken bush. 
 Bloom bonnie o'er thy flowery lea. 
 
 An' a' the sweets that ane can wish 
 
 Frae nature's hand, are strew'd on thee. 
 
 Far ben thy dark-green planting's shade. 
 The cushat croodles am'rously, 
 
 The mavis, down thy buchted glade. 
 Gars echo ring frae every tree. 
 
 Awa', ye thoughtless, murd'ring gang, 
 "Wha tear the nestlings ere they flee !
 
 SCO TTISH SONG. 103 
 
 They'll sing ye yet a canty sang, 
 Then, O in pity let them be ! 
 
 When winter blaws in sleety showers, 
 Frae aff the Norlan' hills sac hie, 
 
 He lightly skiffs thy bonnie bowers, 
 As laith to harm a flower in thee. 
 
 Though fate should drag me south the line, 
 
 Or o'er the wide Atlantic sea ; 
 The happy hours I'll ever min' 
 
 That I in youth hae spent in thee. 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 O JEANIE. 
 
 James Hogg. — Born 1770; Died 183s. 
 
 O my lassie ! our joy to complete again, 
 
 Meet me again in the gloamin', my dearie; 
 Low down i' the dell let us meet again, 
 O Jeanie ! there's naething to fear ye. 
 Come when the wee bat flits silent an eerie ; 
 Come when the pale face o' nature looks weary, 
 Love be thy sure defence, 
 Beauty and innocence — 
 O Jeanie ! there's naething to fear ye. 
 
 Sweetly blows the haw and the rowan-tree, 
 Wild roses speck our thicket sae breerie ; 
 
 Still, still will our bed in the greenwood be — 
 O Jeanie ! there's naething to fear ye :
 
 104 SCOTTISH'SONG. 
 
 Note when the blackbird o' singing grows wear}', 
 List when the beetle-bee's bugle comes near ye : 
 Then come with fairy haste, 
 Light foot and beating breast — 
 O Jeanie ! there's naething to fear ye. 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 PHILLIS THE FAIR, 
 R. Burns. 
 
 Wliile larks with little wing 
 
 Fann'd the pure air, 
 Tasting the breathing spring, 
 
 Forth I did fare ; 
 Gay the sun's golden eye, 
 Peep'd o'er the mountains high ; 
 Such thy mom ! did I cry, 
 
 Phillis the fair. 
 
 In each bird's careless song, 
 
 Glad did I share ; 
 While yon wild flowers among. 
 
 Chance led me there : 
 Sweet to the opening day, 
 Rosebuds bent the dewy spray ;. 
 Such thy bloom ! did I say, 
 
 Phillis the fair. 
 
 Down in a shady walk, 
 
 Doves cooing were : 
 I mark'd the cruel hawk 
 
 Caught in a snare :
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 105 
 
 So kind may fortune be, 
 Such make his destiny ! 
 He who would injure thee, 
 PhiUis the fair. 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 ODE TO THE CUCKOO. 
 
 yo/in Logatii 
 
 Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove ! 
 
 Thou messenger of spring ! 
 Now heaven repairs thy rm^al seat, 
 
 And woods thy welcome sing. 
 
 What time the daisy decks the green, 
 
 Thy certain voice we hear : 
 Hast thou a star to guide thy path, 
 
 Or mark the rolling year ? 
 
 Delightful visitant ! with thee 
 
 I hail the time of flowers. 
 And hear the sound of music sweet 
 
 From birds among the bowers. 
 
 The school-boy, wandering through the wood. 
 
 To pull the primrose gay. 
 Starts the new voice of spring to hear, 
 
 And imitates thy lay. 
 
 What time the pea puts on the bloom. 
 Thou fliest thy vocal vale,
 
 io6 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 An annual guest in other lands, 
 Another spring to hail. 
 
 Sweet bird thy bower is ever green, 
 
 Thy sky is ever clear ; 
 Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, 
 
 No winter in thy year ! 
 
 Oh could I fly, I'd fly with thee 
 We'd make, with joyful wing. 
 
 Our annual visit o'er the globe. 
 Companions of the spring. 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 
 THE SKY-LARK, 
 yatnes Hogg. 
 
 Bird of the wilderness, 
 
 Blythesome and cumberless, 
 Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea .' 
 
 Emblem of happiness. 
 
 Blest is thy dwelling-place, 
 O, to abide in the desert with thee ! 
 
 Wild is thy lay and loud. 
 
 Far in the downy cloud ; 
 Love gives it energy, love gave it birth ; 
 
 Wliere, on thy deAvy wing, 
 
 "NVliere art thou journeying? 
 Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth.
 
 J07 
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 O'er fell and fountain sheen, 
 
 O'er moor and mountain green, 
 O'er the red streamer that heralds the day, 
 
 Over the cloudlet dim, 
 
 Over the rainbow's rim, 
 Musical cherub, soar, singing, away. 
 
 Then, when the gloaming comes. 
 
 Low in the heather blooms. 
 Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be ! 
 
 Emblem of happiness, 
 
 Blest is thy dwelling-place, 
 O, to abide in the desert with thee. 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 NANCY. 
 R. Burns. 
 
 Thine am I, my faithful fair, 
 Thine, my lovely Nancy ; 
 
 Ev'ry pulse along my veins, 
 Ev'ry roving fancy. 
 
 To thy bosom lay my heart, 
 There to throb and languish : 
 
 Though despair had wrung its core, 
 That w^ould heal its anguish. 
 
 Take away these rosy lips, 
 Rich with balmy treasure ;
 
 Io8 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 Turn away thine eyes of love, 
 Lest I die with pleasure. 
 
 What is life when wanting love ? 
 
 Night without a morning : 
 Love's the cloudless summer sun. 
 
 Nature gay adorning. 
 
 xc. 
 FAIR MODEST FLOWER. 
 
 William Reid. — Born ly 64; Died 183 1. 
 
 Fair modest flower, of matchless worth ! 
 
 Thou sweet, enticing, bonnie gem, 
 Blest is the soil that gave thee birth, 
 
 And blest thine honour'd parent stem. 
 But doubly blest shall be the youth, 
 
 To whom thy heaving bosom warms ; 
 Possess'd of beauty, love and truth, 
 
 He'll clasp an angel in his arms. 
 
 Though storms of life were blowing snell. 
 
 And on his brow sat brooding care. 
 Thy seraph smile would quick dispel 
 
 The darkest gloom of black despair. 
 Sure heaven hath granted thee to us, 
 
 And chose thee from the dwellers there. 
 And sent thee from celestial bliss. 
 
 To show what all the virtues are.
 
 I09 
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 XCI. 
 jfavies Thomson. — Bo7-n I'joo ; Died 1^48. 
 
 Come, gentle god of soft desire, 
 
 Come and possess my happy breast. 
 
 Not fury-like in flames and fire. 
 Or frantic folly's wildness drest ; 
 
 But come in friendship's angel-guise ; 
 
 Yet dearer thou than friendship art, 
 More tender spirit in thy eyes, 
 
 More sweet emotions at thy heart. 
 
 O come with goodness in thy train. 
 
 With peace and pleasure void of storm, 
 
 And would'st thou me for ever gain. 
 Put on Amanda's winning form. 
 
 XCII. 
 
 TALK NOT OF LOVE. 
 
 Agnes Craig, afterwards Mrs. M^Lehose. 
 Bortt ly^g ; Died about 1841. 
 
 Talk not of love, it gives me pain, 
 
 For love has been my foe ; 
 He bound me with an iron chain, 
 
 And plunged me deep in woe. 
 But friendship's pure and lasting joys, 
 
 My heart was fonned to prove ; 
 There, welcome, win and wear the prize, 
 
 But never talk of love.
 
 1 1 o SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 Your friendship much can make me blest, 
 
 Oh, why that bhss destroy ! 
 Why urge the only, one request 
 
 You know I will deny ! 
 Your thought, if love must harbour there, 
 
 Conceal it in that thought ; 
 Nor cause me from my bosom tear 
 
 The very friend I sought. 
 
 The authoress of this song, — the * Clarinda,' whom 
 Bums has made famous, — is also the heroine of the one 
 which follows, as well as of several other songs. A touch- 
 ing account of her life will be found in the Correspondence 
 between Biiryis and Clarinda (Edin., 1843); a book well 
 worth reading, not only on this gi'ound, but as illustrative 
 of an interesting section of Burns's life. 
 
 XCIII. 
 
 AE FOND KISS. 
 
 R. Bums. 
 
 Ae fond kiss, and then we sever ; 
 Ae farewell, alas, for ever ! 
 Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee 
 Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee. 
 Who shall say that fortune grieves him 
 While the star of hope she leaves him ? 
 Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me ; 
 Dark despair around benights me. 
 
 I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy, 
 Naething could resist my Nancy ;
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. nj 
 
 But to see her, was to love her ; 
 Love but her, and love for ever. 
 Had we never loved sae kindly, 
 Had we never loved sae blindly, 
 Never met — or never parted, 
 We had ne'er been broken-hearted. 
 
 Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest ! 
 Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest ! 
 Thine be ilka joy and treasure, 
 Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure ! 
 Ae fond kiss, and then we sever ; 
 Ae farewell, alas, for ever ! 
 Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee, 
 Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee ! 
 
 "The following exquisitely affecting stanza contains the- 
 essence of a thousand love tales : — 
 
 ' Had we never loved sae kindly, 
 Had we never loved sae blindly. 
 Never met— or never parted. 
 We had ne'er been broken-hearted.'" — Scott. 
 
 Byron adopts this same stanza as motto to The Brule of 
 
 A by do s. 
 
 XCIV. 
 
 rZL NEVER LOVE THEE MORE. 
 
 Attributed to James, Marquis of Montrose. 
 Borti 1612 ; Executed i6jo. 
 
 My dear and only love, I pray 
 
 This little world of thee 
 Be govern'd by no other sway, 
 
 But purest monarchy ;
 
 112 
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 For if confusion have a part, 
 Which virtuous souls abhor, 
 
 I'll call a synod in my heart, 
 And never love thee more. 
 
 As Alexander I will reign, 
 
 And I will reign alone. 
 My thoughts shall evermore disdain 
 
 A rival on my throne. 
 He either fears his fate too much, 
 
 Or his deserts are small. 
 Who puts it not unto the touch, 
 
 To win or lose it all. 
 
 But I must rule and govern still, 
 
 And always give the law ; 
 And have each subject at my will, 
 
 And all to stand in awe : 
 But 'gainst my batteries if I find 
 
 Thou storm, or vex me sore. 
 Or if thou set me as a blind, 
 
 I'll never love thee more. 
 
 Or in the empire of thy heart, 
 
 Where I should solely be, 
 Another do pretend a part. 
 
 And dare to vie with me ; 
 Or if committees thou erect. 
 
 Or go on such a score, 
 I'll sing and laugh at thy neglect, 
 
 And never love thee more. 
 
 But if thou wilt be constant then, 
 And faithful to thy word.
 
 SCO TTISH SONG. ^ j . 
 
 I'll make thee famous by my pen 
 
 And glorious by my sword. 
 I'll serve thee in such noble ways, 
 
 As ne'er were known before : 
 I'll crown and deck thy head with bays 
 
 And love thee more and more. 
 
 xcv. 
 INCONSTANCY REPROVED. 
 
 Attributed to Sir Robert Aytoun. — Born i^yo ; Died 1638. 
 
 I do confess thou'rt smooth and fair, 
 
 And I might have gone near to love thee, 
 Had I not found the slightest pray'r 
 
 That lips could speak, had power to move thee, 
 But I can let thee now alone. 
 As worthy to be lov'd by none. 
 
 I do confess thou'rt sweet, yet find 
 
 Thee such an unthrift of thy sweets, 
 "Thy favours are but like the wind. 
 That kisseth everything it meets ; 
 
 And since thou can'st love more than one, 
 Thou'rt worthy to be lov'd by none. 
 
 The morning rose that untouch'd stands, 
 
 Arm'd with her briars, how sweetly smells, 
 But, pluck'd and strain'd through ruder hands, 
 Her charm no longer with her dwells, 
 But scent and beauty both are gone. 
 And leaves fall from her one by one, 
 H
 
 1 1 4 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 Such fate e're long will thee betide, 
 
 When thou hast handled been awhile ; 
 Like fair flowers to be thrown aside, 
 And thou shalt sigh when I shall smile 
 To see thy love to every one, 
 Hath brought thee to be lov'd by none. 
 
 xcvi. 
 THERE WAS A LASS. 
 
 R. Burns. 
 
 There was a lass, and she was fair, 
 At kirk and market to be seen. 
 
 When a' the fairest maids were met, 
 The fairest maid was bonnie Jean. 
 
 And aye she wrought her mammie's wark. 
 And aye she sang sae merrilie : 
 
 The blithest bird upon the bush 
 Had ne'er a lighter heart than she. 
 
 But hawks will rob the tender joys 
 That bless the little lintwhite's nest ; 
 
 And frost will blight the fairest flowers. 
 And love will break the soundest rest. 
 
 Young Robie was the brawest lad. 
 The flower and pride of a' the glen : 
 
 And he had owsen, sheep, and kye. 
 And wanton naigies nine or ten.
 
 SCO TTISII SONG. t j ^ 
 
 He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryste, 
 He danc'd wi' Jeanie on the down ; 
 
 And lang ere witless Jeanie wist, 
 
 Her heart was tint, her peace was stown. 
 
 As in the bosom o' the stream. 
 
 The moonbeam dwells at dewy e'en ; 
 
 So trembling, pure, was tender love, 
 Within the breast o' bonnie Jean. 
 
 And now she works her mammie's wark, 
 And aye she sighs wi' care and pain ; 
 
 Yet wist'na what her ail might be. 
 Or what wad mak' her weel again. 
 
 But didna Jeanie's heart loup light, 
 
 And didna joy blink in her e'e. 
 As Robie tauld a tale o' love, 
 
 Ae e'enin' on the lily lea? 
 
 The sun was sinking in the west. 
 The birds sang sweet in ilka grove ; 
 
 His cheek to her's he fondly prest, 
 And whisper'd thus his tale o' love : 
 
 O Jeanie fair, I lo'e thee dear; 
 
 O canst thou think to fancy me ; 
 Or wilt thou leave thy mammie's cot, 
 
 And learn to tent the farms wi' me ? 
 
 At bam or byre thou shalt na drudge. 
 Or naething else to trouble thee ; 
 
 But stray amang the heather-bells. 
 And tent the waving corn wi' mc.
 
 1 1 6 SCO TTISH SONG. 
 
 Now what could artless Jeanie do ? 
 
 She had nae will to say him na : 
 At length she blush'd a sweet consent, 
 
 And love was aye between them twa. 
 
 XCVII. 
 
 O TELL ME HOW TO WOO THEE. 
 
 Robert Graham of Gartmore. — Born lyjo ; Died I'jgy. 
 
 If doughty deeds my lady please, 
 
 Right soon I'll mount my steed ; 
 And strong his arm, and fast his seat, 
 
 That bears from me the meed. 
 I'll wear thy colours in my cap, 
 
 Thy picture in my heart ; 
 And he that bends not to thine eye, 
 
 Shall rue it to his smart ! 
 
 Then tell me how to woo thee, love, 
 O tell me how to woo thee ! 
 
 For thy dear sake, nae care I'll take, 
 Though ne'er another trow me. 
 
 If gay attire delight thine eye, 
 
 I'll dight me in array ; 
 I'll tend thy chamber door all night. 
 
 And squire thee all the day. 
 If sweetest sounds can win thine ear, 
 
 These sounds I'll try to catch ; 
 Thy voice I'll steal to woo thysell, 
 
 That voice that nane can match.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 But if fond love thy heart can gain, 
 
 I never broke a vow ; 
 Nae maiden lays her skaith to me ; 
 
 I never loved but you. 
 For you alone I ride the ring, 
 
 For you I wear the blue ; 
 For you alone I strive to sing — 
 
 O tell me how to woo ! 
 
 XCVIII. 
 
 PINKIE HOUSE. 
 
 Joseph Mitchell. — Born 1684; Died //j^. 
 
 By Pinkie House oft let me walk, 
 
 While, circled in my arms, 
 I hear my Nelly sweetly talk, 
 
 And gaze on all her charms. 
 O let me ever fond behold 
 
 Those graces void of art. 
 Those cheerful smiles that sweetly hold, 
 
 In willing chains, my heart ! 
 
 O come, my love ! and bring anew 
 
 That gentle turn of mind ; 
 That gracefulness of air, in you 
 
 By nature's hand design'd. 
 That beauty like the blushing rose, 
 
 First lighted up this flame. 
 Which, like the sun, for ever glows 
 
 Within my breast the same. 
 
 117
 
 1 1 8 SCO TTISH SONG. 
 
 Ye light coquettes ! ye airy things ! 
 
 How vain is all your art, 
 How seldom it a lover brings, 
 
 How rarely keeps a heart ! 
 O gather from my Nelly's charms 
 
 That sweet, that graceful ease. 
 That blushing modesty that warms, 
 
 That native art to please ! 
 
 Come then, my love ! O, come along ! 
 
 And feed me with thy charms ; 
 Come, fair inspirer of my song ! 
 
 Oh, fill my longing arms ! 
 A flame like mine can never die, 
 
 While charms so bright as thine. 
 So heavenly fair, both please the eye. 
 
 And fill the soul divine ! 
 
 xcix. 
 
 MY AIN FIRESIDE. 
 
 Elizabeth Hamilton. — Died 1816, aged bj. 
 
 I ha'e seen great anes, and sat in great ha's, 
 Mang lords and fine ladies a' cover'd wi' braws ; 
 At feasts made for princes, wi' princes I've been, 
 WTiare the grand shine o' splendour has dazzled 
 my e'en ;
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 H9 
 
 But a sight sae delightfu', I trow, I ne'er spied, 
 As the bonnie blythe bUnk o' my ain fireside. 
 My ain fireside, my ain fireside, 
 ■0 cheery's the blink o' mine ain fireside. 
 
 My ain fireside, my ain fireside, 
 
 O there's nought to compare wi' ane's ain 
 fireside. 
 
 Ance mair, gude be thanket, round my ain 
 
 heartsome ingle, 
 Wi' the friends o' my youth I can cordially mingle; 
 Nae forms to compel me to seem wae or glad, 
 I may laugh when I'm merry, and sigh when 
 
 I'rii sad. 
 Nae falsehood to dread, and nae malice to fear. 
 But truth to delight me, and friendship to cheer; 
 Of a' roads to happiness ever were tried. 
 There's nane half so sure as ane's ain fireside. 
 My ain fireside, my ain fireside, 
 O there's nought to compare wi' ane's ain 
 fireside. 
 
 When 1 draw in my stool on my cosey hearth- 
 
 stane. 
 My heart loups sae light I scarce ken't for my 
 
 ain ; 
 'Care's down on the wind, it is clean out o' sight, 
 Past troubles they seem but as dreams of the 
 
 night. 
 I hear but kend voices, kend faces I see. 
 And mark saft affection glent fond frae ilk e'e ; 
 Nae fleechings o' flattery, nae boastings of pride,
 
 1 2 o SCO TTISH SONG. 
 
 'Tis heart speaks to heart at ane's ain fireside. 
 My ain fireside, my ain fireside, 
 O there's nought to compare wi' ane's ain 
 fireside. 
 
 This song is by the authoress of The Cottagers of Glcii- 
 burnie, a genial and well-known Scotch story. 
 
 C. 
 
 BIDE YE YET. 
 
 Gin I had a wee house and a canty wee fire, 
 A bonnie wee wife to praise and admire ; 
 A bonnie wee yardie aside a wee burn, 
 Farewell to the bodies that yammer and mourn. 
 
 And bide ye yet, and bide ye yet, 
 Ye little ken what may betide ye yet ; 
 
 Some bonnie wee bodie may fa' to my lot,. 
 And I'll aye be canty wi' thinking o't. 
 
 When I gang a-field, and come hame at e'en, 
 I'll get my wee wifie fu' neat and fli' clean ; 
 And a bonnie wee baimie upon her knee, 
 That will cry papa or daddy to me. 
 
 And if there should happen ever to be 
 A difference a'tween my wee wifie and me ; 
 In hearty good humour, although she be teaz'd,. 
 I'll kiss her and clap her until she be pleas'd. 
 
 From David Herd's Collection (Glasgow, 1776).
 
 SCO TTISH SONG. 121 
 
 CI. 
 WHEN THE ICYE COME HAME. 
 
 James Hogg. 
 
 Come all ye jolly shepherds 
 
 That whistle through the glen, 
 I'll tell ye of a secret 
 
 That courtiers dinna ken. 
 What is the greatest bliss 
 
 That the tongue' o' man can name 1 
 'Tis to woo a bonnie lassie 
 
 When the kye come hame. 
 
 When the kye come hame, 
 When the kye come hame, 
 
 'Tween the gloamin and the mirk,. 
 When the kye come hame. 
 
 'Tis not beneath the burgonet, 
 
 Nor yet beneath the crown, 
 'Tis not on couch of velvet, 
 
 Nor yet on bed of down : 
 'Tis beneath the spreading birk. 
 
 In the dell without a name, 
 Wi' a bonnie, bonnie lassie. 
 
 When the kye come hame. 
 
 Then the eye shines sae bright, 
 
 The haill soul to beguile, 
 There's love in every whisper, 
 
 And joy in every smile ;
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 O, who would choose a crown, 
 Wi' its perils and its fame, 
 
 And miss a bonnie lassie 
 When the kye come hame ? 
 
 See yonder pawky shepherd 
 
 That lingers on the hill- — 
 His yowes are in the fauld, 
 
 And his lambs are lying still ; 
 Yet he downa gang to rest, 
 
 For his heart is in a flame 
 To meet his bonnie lassie 
 
 When the kye come hame. 
 
 Awa' wi' fame and fortune ; 
 
 What comfort can they gie ? 
 And a' the arts that prey 
 
 On man's life and libertie ! 
 Gi'e me the highest joy 
 
 That the heart o' man can frame ; 
 My bonnie, bonnie lassie, 
 
 When the kye come hame. 
 
 en, 
 
 WHEN I UPON THY BOSOM LEAN. 
 
 John Lapraik. — Born 1717 ; Died i Soy. 
 
 When I upon thy bosom lean, 
 And fondly clasj) thee a' my ain,
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 123 
 
 I glory in the sacred ties 
 
 That made us ane, wha ance were twain ! 
 A mutual flame inspires us baith, 
 
 The tender look, the melting kiss : 
 Even years shall ne'er destroy our love, 
 
 But only gi'e us change o' bliss. 
 
 Ha'e I a wish ? it's a' for thee ; 
 
 I ken thy wish is me to please ; 
 Our moments pass sae smooth away, 
 
 That numbers on us look and gaze ; 
 Weel pleas'd they see our happy days,. 
 
 Nor envy's sel' finds aught to blame ; 
 And aye, when weary cares arise. 
 
 Thy bosom still shall be my hame. 
 
 I'll lay me there and take my rest, 
 
 And, if that aught disturb my dear, 
 I'll bid her laugh her cares away, 
 
 And beg her not to shed a tear. 
 Ha'e I a joy; it's a' her ain ; 
 
 United still her heart and mine ; 
 They're like the woodbine round the tree. 
 
 That's twin'd till death shall them disjoin. 
 
 Fjums alludes to this song in a rhyming letter addressed 
 to its author : 
 
 "There was ae sang amang the rest, 
 Aboon them a' it pleased me best. 
 That some kind husband had addrest 
 To some sweet wife : 
 It thrill'd the heart-strings thro' the breast, 
 A' to the life."
 
 124 ^CO TTISH SONG. 
 
 cm. 
 THE DA Y RETURNS. 
 
 R. Burns. 
 
 The day returns, my bosom burns, 
 
 The bhssful day we twa did meet ; 
 Though winter wild in tempest toil'd. 
 
 Ne'er summer-sun was half sae sweet. 
 Than a' the pride that loads the tide, 
 
 And crosses o'er the sultry line ; 
 Than kingly robes, than crowns and globes. 
 
 Heaven gave me more — it made thee mine ! 
 
 "While day and night can bring delight, 
 
 Or nature aught of pleasure give. 
 While joys above my mind can move. 
 
 For thee, and thee alone, I'll live ! 
 When that grim foe of life below 
 
 Comes in between to make us part ; 
 The iron hand that breaks our band. 
 
 It breaks my bliss — it breaks my heart. 
 
 CIV. 
 
 THERE'S NAE LUCK ABOUT THE 
 HOUSE. 
 
 And are ye sure the news is true ? 
 
 And are ye sure he's weel ? 
 Is this a time to talk of wark ? 
 
 Ye jauds, fling by your wheel.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 125 
 
 Is this a time to talk o' wark, 
 
 When Colin's at the door? 
 Gie me my cloak ! I'll to the quay, 
 
 And see him come ashore. 
 
 For there's nae luck about the house, 
 
 There's nae luck ava ; 
 There's little pleasure in the house, 
 
 When our gudeman's awa. 
 
 Rise up and mak' a clean fireside ; 
 
 Put on the muckle pot ; 
 Gi'e httle Kate her cotton gown, 
 
 And Jock his Sunday coat : 
 And mak' their shoon as black as slaes, 
 
 Their hose as white as snaw ; 
 It's a' to please my ain gudeman, 
 
 For he's been lang awa'. 
 
 There's twa fat hens upon the bauk, 
 
 Been fed this month and mair; 
 Mak' haste and thraw their necks about, 
 
 That Colin Aveel may fare ; 
 And mak' the table neat and clean, 
 
 Gar ilka thing look braw ; 
 It's a' for love of my gudeman, 
 
 For he's been lang awa'. 
 
 O gi'e me down my bigonet, 
 
 My bishop satin gown, 
 For I maun tell the bailie's wife 
 
 That Colin's come to town. 
 My Sunday's shoon they maun gae on. 
 
 My hose o' pearl blue \
 
 126 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 'Tis a' to please my ain gudeman, 
 For he's baith leal and true. 
 
 Sae true his words, sac smooth his speedi, 
 
 His breath's like caller air ! 
 His very foot has music in't, 
 
 As he comes up the stair. 
 And will I see his face again ? 
 
 And will I hear him speak ? 
 I'm downright dizzy with the thought, — 
 
 In troth, I'm like to greet. 
 
 The cauld blasts o' the winter wind, 
 
 That thrilled through my heart. 
 They're a' blawn by ; I ha'e him safe, 
 
 Till death we'll never part : 
 But what puts parting in my head ? 
 
 It may be far awa' ; 
 The present moment is our ain, 
 
 The neist we never saw. 
 
 Since Colin's well, I'm well content, 
 
 I ha'e nae mair to crave ; 
 Could I but live to mak' him blest, 
 
 I'm blest aboon the lave : 
 And will I see his face again ? 
 
 And will I hear him speak? 
 I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought, — • 
 
 In troth, I'm like to greet. 
 
 "This is one of the most beautiful songs in the Scots 
 or any other language". — Bums. 
 
 It is uncertain who was the author, whether ' W. J- 
 Mickle,' to whom it is oftener ascribed, or 'Jean Adams-,' 
 who is understood to have claimed it as hers.
 
 SCO TTISH SONG. 127 
 
 CV. 
 THE BOATIE ROWS. 
 
 John Eiuen.—Born 1741 ; Died 1S21. 
 
 weel may the boatie row, 
 And better may she speed ; 
 
 And leesome may the boatie row, 
 
 That wins the bairns's bread ! 
 The boatie rows, the boatie rows, 
 
 The boatie rows indeed. 
 And weel may the boatie row. 
 
 That wins my bairns's bread. 
 
 1 oust my Hne in Largo Bay, 
 And fishes I caught nine ; 
 
 There's three to boil, and three to fry. 
 
 And three to bait the line. 
 The boatie rows, the boatie rows, 
 
 The boatie rows indeed ; 
 And happy be the lot of a' 
 
 That wishes her to speed ! 
 
 O weel may the boatie row, 
 
 That fills a heavy creel, 
 And cleads us a' frae head to feet, 
 
 And buys our parritch meal. 
 The boatie rows, the boatie rows, 
 
 The boatie rows indeed ; 
 And happy be the lot of a' 
 
 That wish the boatie speed.
 
 f 2 8 SCO TTISH SONG. 
 
 When Jamie vow'd he would be mine, 
 And wan frae me my heart, 
 
 muckle lighter grew my creel ! 
 He swore we'd never part. 
 
 The boatie rows, the boatie rows, 
 
 The boatie rows fu' weel ; 
 And muckle lighter is the load, 
 
 When love bears up the creel. 
 
 My kurtch I put upon my head. 
 And dress'd mysel' fu' braw ; 
 
 1 trow my heart was dowf and wae. 
 When Jamie gaed awa : 
 
 But weel may the boatie row. 
 
 And lucky be her part ; 
 And lightsome be the lassie's care 
 
 That yields an honest heart ! 
 
 When Sawnie, Jock, and Janetie, 
 
 Are up and gotten lear, 
 They'll help to gar the boatie row. 
 
 And lighten a' our care. 
 The boatie rows, the boatie rows, 
 
 The boatie rows fu' weel ; 
 And lightsome be her heart that bears 
 
 The murlain and the creel ! 
 
 And when wi' age we are worn down. 
 And hirpling round the door. 
 
 They'll row to keep us dry and Avarm, 
 As we did them before : 
 
 Then, weel may the boatie row. 
 That wins the bairn s's bread ;
 
 SCO TTISH SONG. 1 2 o 
 
 And happy be the lot of a' 
 That wish the boat to speed ! 
 
 "The ' Boatie Rows' is a charming display of womanly 
 affection mingling with the concerns and occupations of 
 \\i&:'— Burns. 
 
 CVI. 
 CALLER HERRLN\ 
 
 Lady Nairne. 
 
 Wha'll buy my caller herrin' ? 
 They're bonnie fish and dainty fairin' ; 
 Wha'll buy my caller herrin' ? 
 New drawn frae the Forth. 
 
 When ye were sleepin' on your pillows, 
 Dream'd ye aught of our puir fellows, 
 Darkling as they fac'd the billows, 
 A' to fill our woven willows ? 
 
 Wha'll buy my caller herrin' ? 
 
 They're no brought here without brave darin', 
 
 Buy my caller herrin', 
 
 Haul'd through wind and rain. 
 
 Wha'll buy my caller herrin' ? 
 Ye may ca' them vulgar fairin' ; 
 AVives and mithers, maist despairin', 
 Ca' them lives o' men. 
 
 I
 
 .Q SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 When the creel o' herrin' passes, 
 Ladies clad in silks and laces, 
 Gather in their braw pelisses, 
 Cast their necks and screw their faces. 
 
 Caller herrin's no got lightlie, 
 Ye can trip the spring fu' tightlie, 
 Spite o' tauntin', llauntin', flinging, 
 Gow has sent you a' a-singing. 
 
 Neighbour wives, now tent my tellin', 
 When tlie bonnie fish ye're sellin', 
 At ae word be in your dealin'. 
 Truth will stand when a' thing's failin'. 
 
 CVII. 
 
 TAK' YOUR AULD CLOAK ABOUT 
 YOU. 
 
 In winter, when the rain rain'd cauld, 
 
 And frost and snaw on ilka hill. 
 And Boreas, wi' his blasts sae bauld. 
 
 Was threat'nin' a' our kye to kill : 
 Then Bell, my wife, wha lo'es nae strife, 
 
 She said to me richt hastilie. 
 Get up, gudeman, save Crummie's life, 
 
 And tak' your auld cloak about ye 
 
 My Cmmmie is a usefu' cow. 
 And she is come of a good kin', 
 
 Aft has she wet the bairns's mou'. 
 And I am laith that she should tyne ;
 
 SCO TTISH SONG. 1 3 1 
 
 Get up, gudeman, it is fu' time, 
 
 The sun shines frae the Hft sae hie ; 
 
 Sloth never made a gracious end ; 
 Gae tak' your auld cloak about ye. 
 
 My cloak was ance a gude grey cloak, 
 
 When it was fitting for my wear ; 
 But now it's scantly worth a groat, 
 
 For I have worn't this thretty year ; 
 Let's spend the gear that we ha'e won. 
 
 We little ken the day we'll die ; 
 Then I'll be proud, since I have sworn 
 
 To ha'e a new cloak about me. 
 
 In days when our King Robert rang, 
 
 His trews they cost but half a croun ; 
 He said they were a groat ower dear. 
 
 And ca'ed the tailor thief and loon : 
 He was the king that wore a croun. 
 
 And thou the man of laigh degree : 
 'Tis pride puts a' the country doun ; 
 
 Sae tak' your auld cloak about ye. 
 
 Ilka land has its ain laigh,* 
 
 Ilk kind o' corn has its ain hool ; 
 I think the warld is a' gane wrang. 
 
 When ilka wife her man wad rule : 
 Do ye no see Rob, Jock, and Hab, 
 
 As they are girded gallantlie, 
 While I sit hurklin' in the asse ; 
 
 I'll ha'e a new cloak about me. 
 
 * 'Laigh' — the undrainable portion of a farm, as use- 
 less as the ' hool' of the com is. — Ritson.
 
 132 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 Gudeman, I wat its thretty year 
 
 Sin' we did ane anither ken ; 
 And we ha'e had atween us twa 
 
 Of lads and bonnie lassies ten : 
 Now they are women grown and men, 
 
 I wish and pray weel may they be ; 
 If you would prove a gude husband, 
 
 E'en tak' your auld cloak about ye. 
 
 Bell, my wife, she lo'es nae strife, 
 
 But she would guide me, if she can ; 
 And to maintain an easy life, 
 
 I aft maun yield, though I'm gudeman : 
 Nocht's to be won at woman's hand, 
 
 Unless ye gie her a' the plea ; 
 Then I'll leave aff where I began 
 
 And tak' my auld cloak about me. 
 
 Percy, in his Reliqiies of Ancient English Poetry, prints 
 an English version of this song ; though he supposes it to 
 be originally Scotch. It will be remembered that lago 
 sings, with only a few changes (as Stephen for Robert), 
 the fourth stanza beginning — 
 
 " In days when our King Robert rang." 
 
 CVIII. 
 
 BLINK OVER THE BURN SWEET 
 BETTY. 
 
 In summer I mawed my meadow. 
 In harvest I shure my corn, 
 
 In winter I married a widow, 
 I wish I was free the morn !
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 1 3 3 
 
 Blink o'er the bum, sweet Betty, 
 
 Blink o'er the burn to me : 
 Oh, it is a thousand pities 
 
 But I was a widow for thee. 
 
 In King Lear, Act iii., Scene vi., Edgar says :— 
 
 Come o'er the bourn, Bessy, to me. 
 
 And the Fool : — 
 
 Her boat hath a leak. 
 
 And she must not speak 
 
 Why she dares not come over to thee. 
 
 So we presume there must have been an old English song 
 with a somewhat similar burden. 
 
 CIX. 
 
 AYE WAKIN\ OH. 
 
 Aye wakin' oh, 
 Wakin' aye and wearie, 
 
 Sleep I canna get. 
 For thinkin' o' my dearie. 
 
 When I sleep I dream, 
 When I wake I'm eerie; 
 
 Rest I canna get, 
 For thinkin' o' my dearie. 
 
 Ritson, in 1794, says that the above was 'dictated to him 
 many years ago by a young gentleman, who had it from 
 liis grandfather.'
 
 134 
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 ex. 
 UF IN THE MORNING EARL Y. 
 
 „ ■ ,^ . R. Burns. 
 
 Cauiti blawb'i.ag'wind frae east to west, 
 
 The drift is driving sairly ; 
 Sae loud and shrill's I hear the blast, 
 
 I'm sure its Avinter fairly. 
 
 Up in the morning's no for me 
 
 Up in the morning early ; 
 When a' the hills are covered wi' suaw, 
 
 I'm sure it's winter fairly ! 
 
 The birds sit chittering in the thorn, 
 
 A' day they fare but sparely ; 
 And lang's the nicht frae e'en to morn — 
 
 I'm sure it's winter fairly. 
 
 Tlie chorus and tune of this song are very old. 
 
 CXI. 
 
 THE LAND 6>' THE LEAL. 
 
 I'm wearin' awa' Jean, 
 
 Like snaw when its thaw, Jean, 
 
 I'm wearin' awa' 
 
 To the land o' the leal. 
 There's nae sorrow there, Jean, 
 There's neither cauld nor care, Jean, 
 The day is aye fair 
 
 In the land o' the leal.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. j 3 5 
 
 Our bonnie bairn's there, Jean, 
 She was baith gude and fair, Jean, 
 And oh ! we grudged her sair 
 
 To the land o' the leal. 
 But sorrow's sel' wears paau, Je^'^ 
 And joy is coming fac*- J ^^n, 
 The joy that's aye to last 
 
 In the land o' the leal. 
 
 Ye were aye leal and true, Jean, 
 Your task's ended now, Jean, 
 And I'll welcome you 
 
 To the land o' the leal. 
 Now fare ye well, my ain Jean, 
 This warld's care is vain, Jean, 
 We'll meet and we'll be fain, 
 
 In the land o' the leal. 
 
 Lady Nairne is essentially the authoress of this song ; 
 but in its popular recitation it has been much altered, 
 and, it seems to us, improved. It appeai^ed soon after 
 Bums's death, and was supposed to express his dying 
 thoughts ; although in its original form there is no trace 
 of such an intention on the part of the authoress. 
 
 CXII. 
 
 JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO. 
 
 R. Burns. 
 
 John Anderson, my jo, John, 
 When we were first acquent. 
 
 Your locks were like the raven, 
 Your bonnie brow was brent ;
 
 136 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 But now your brow is held, John, 
 Your locks are like the snaw; 
 
 But blessings on your frosty pow, 
 John Anderson, my jo. 
 
 John Anderson, my jo, John, 
 
 We clamb the hill thegither, 
 And mony a canty day, John, 
 
 We've had wi' ane anither ; 
 Now we maun totter doun, John, 
 
 But hand in hand we'll go, 
 And we'll sleep thegither at the foot, 
 
 John Anderson, my jo.
 
 iart I£
 
 CXIII. 
 
 WILLIE BRE WD A PECK O' AIA UT. 
 
 R. Burns. 
 
 O, Willie brew'd a peck o' maut, 
 And Rab and Allan cam' to prie ; 
 
 Three blyther lads, that lee lang night, 
 We wadna fand in Christendie. 
 
 We are na fou, we're no that fou, 
 But just a wee drap in our e'e ; 
 
 The cock may craw, the day may daw, 
 But aye we'll taste the barley bree. 
 
 Here are we met three merry boys ; 
 
 Three merry boys I trow are we : 
 And mony a nicht we've merry been, 
 
 And mony mae we hope to be ! 
 
 It is the mune — I ken her horn — 
 That's blinkin' in the lift sae hie ; 
 
 She shines sae bright to wyle us hame, 
 But by my sooth she'll wait awee.
 
 I40 SC0J7/S// ^0/^G. 
 
 Wha first shall rise to gang awa', 
 A cuckold coward loun is he ; 
 
 Wha last beside his chair shall fa', 
 He is the king amang us three. 
 
 The three "merry boys" were, Bums and his two 
 intimate friends, William Nicol and Allan Masterton, (both 
 masters in the Edinburgh High School). The latter 
 set the song to music. 
 
 CXIV. 
 
 TODLIN' HAME. 
 
 When I ha'e a saxpence under my thoom, 
 
 Then I get credit in ilka toun ; 
 
 But aye when I'm puir they bid me gang by, 
 
 Oh, poverty parts gude company ! 
 Todlin' hame, todlin' hame, 
 Couldna' my love come todlin' hame. 
 
 Fair fa' the gudewife, and send her gude sale ; 
 She gi'es us white bannocks to relish her ale ; 
 Syne, if that her tippeny chance to be sma', 
 We tak' a gude scour o't, and ca't awa. 
 
 Todlin' him, todlin' hame, 
 
 As round as a neep come todlin' hame. 
 
 My kimmer and I lay down to sleep, 
 Wi' twa pint-stoups at our bed feet ;
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 141 
 
 And aye when we waken'd we drank them dry. 
 What think ye o' my wee kimmer and I ? 
 
 Todhn' but, and todhn' ben, 
 
 Sae round as my love comes todhn' hame. 
 
 Leeze me on hquor, my todhn' dow, 
 
 Ye're aye sae gude-humour'd when weetin' your 
 
 mou' ! 
 When sober sae sour, ye'll fecht wi' a flee, 
 That 'tis a blythe nicht to the bairns and me, 
 
 When todhn' hame, todhn' hame. 
 
 When, round as a neep, ye come todhn' hame. 
 
 "This is perhaps the first bottle-song that ever was 
 composed. " — Burns. 
 
 cxv. 
 ANDRO' AND HIS CUTTY GUN. 
 
 Blythe, blythe, blythe was she, 
 
 Blythe was she but and ben ; 
 And weel she loo'd a Hawick gill. 
 
 And leuch to see a tappit hen. 
 She took me in, and set me down, 
 
 And hecht to keep me lawing-free ; 
 But cunning carline that she was, 
 
 She gart me birl my bawbee. 
 
 We loo'd the liquor well enough ; 
 
 But wae's my heart my cash was done,
 
 142 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 Before that I had quench'd my drouth, 
 And laith I was to pawn my shoon. 
 
 When we had three times toom'd our stoup, 
 And the neist chappin new begun, 
 
 In started, to heeze up our hope, 
 Young Andro' wi' his cutty gun. 
 
 The carhne brought her kebbuck ben, 
 
 With girdle-cakes weel toasted brown, 
 Weel does the canny kimmer ken 
 
 They gar the swats gae gUbber down. 
 We ca'd the bicker aft about ; 
 
 Till dawning we ne'er jee'd our bun, 
 And aye the cleanest drinker out. 
 
 Was Andro' wi' his cutty gun. 
 
 He did like ony mavis sing. 
 
 And as I in his oxter sat. 
 He ca'd me ay his bonnie thing, 
 
 And mony a sappy kiss I gat. 
 I hae been east, I hae been west, 
 
 I hae been far ayont the sun ; 
 But the blythest lad that e'er I saw, 
 
 ^^'as Andro' wi' his cutty gun. 
 
 "Andro' and his Cutty Gun is the work of a master. "- 
 Burns. 
 
 CXVI. 
 
 THE SOCIAL CUP. 
 
 Captain Charles Gray, R.M. 
 
 Blythe, blythe, and merry are we, 
 Blythe are we, ane and a' ;
 
 M3 
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 Aften ha'e we cantie been, 
 But sic a nicht we never saw 
 
 The gloamin saw us a' sit down, 
 
 And meikle mirth has been our fa'; 
 Then let the sang and toast gae roun' 
 
 Till chanticleer begins to craw ! 
 Blythe, blythe, and merry are we — 
 
 Pick and wale o' merry men ; 
 What care we though the cock may craw, 
 
 We're masters o' the tappit-hen ; 
 
 The auld kirk bell has chappit twal — 
 
 Wha cares though she had chappit twa ! 
 We're licht o' heart and winna part, 
 
 Though time and tide may rin awa ! 
 Blythe, blythe, and merry are we — 
 
 Hearts that care can never ding ; 
 Then let time pass — we'll steal his glass. 
 
 And pu' a feather frae his wing ! 
 
 Now is the witching time of nicht. 
 
 When ghaists, they say, are to be seen ; 
 And fays dance to the glow-worm's licht 
 
 Wi' fairies in their gowns of green. 
 Blythe, blythe, and merry are we — 
 
 Ghaists may tak' their midnight stroll ; 
 Witches ride on brooms astride, 
 
 While we sit by the witchin' bowl ! 
 
 Tut ! never speir how wears the morn — 
 The moon's still blinkin' i' the sky. 
 
 And, gif like her we fill our horn, 
 I dinna doubt we'll drink it dry !
 
 144 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 Blythe, blythe, and merry are we — 
 Blythe out-owre the barley bree ; 
 
 And let me tell, the moon hersel' 
 Aft dips her toom horn i' the sea ! 
 
 Then fill us up a social cup, 
 
 And never mind the dapple-dawn \ 
 Just sit awhile — the sun may smile 
 
 And licht us a' across the lawn ! 
 Blythe, blythe, and merry are we \ — 
 
 See ! the sun is keekin' ben ; 
 Gi'e time his glass — for months may pass 
 
 Ere we ha'e sic a nicht again ; 
 
 This song was written in 1S14. 
 
 CXVII. 
 
 THE DEirS A WA IVF TH' 
 EXCISEMAN. 
 
 R. Burns. 
 
 The deil cam' fiddlin' through the toun, 
 And danced awa' wi' th' exciseman ; 
 
 And ilka auld wife cries, Auld Mahoun, 
 I wish you luck o' the prize man. 
 
 The deil's awa', the deil's awa', 
 The deil's awa' wi' th' exciseman ; 
 
 He's danced awa', he's danced awa', 
 He's danced awa' wi' th' exciseman !
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 14^ 
 
 We'll mak' our maut, and we'll brew our drink, 
 We'll laugh, sing, and rejoice, man ; 
 
 And mony braw thanks to the meikle black deil, 
 That danc'd awa' wi' th' exciseman. 
 
 There's threesome reels, there's foursome reels, 
 There's hornpipes and strathspeys, man ; 
 
 But the ae best dance e'er cam' to the land, 
 Was, The deil's awa' wi' th' exciseman. 
 
 CXVIII. 
 
 CA ULD KAIL IN ABERDEEN. 
 
 There's cauld kail in Aberdeen, 
 
 And castocks in Stra'bogie, 
 Where ilka lad maun ha'e his lass, 
 But I maun ha'e my cogie. 
 
 For I maun ha'e my cogie, sirs, 
 
 I canna want my cogie ; 
 I wadna gi'e my three-gir'd cog 
 For a' the wives in Bogie. 
 
 Johnny Smith has got a wife 
 
 Wha scrimps him o' his cogie ; 
 But were she mine, upon my life, 
 I'd dook her in a bogie. 
 
 For I maun ha'e my cogie, sirs, 
 
 I canna want my cogie ; 
 I wadna gi'e my three-gir'd cog 
 For a' the wives in Bogie. 
 
 Tvva three todlin' weans they ha'e, 
 The pride o' a' Stra'bogie ; 
 
 K
 
 146 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 Whene'er the totums cry for meat, 
 She curses aye his cogie ; 
 
 Crying, Wae betide the three-gir'd cog ! 
 
 Oh, wae betide the cogie ; 
 It does mair skaith than a' the ills 
 That happen in Stra'bogie. 
 
 She fand him ance at Willie Sharp's ; 
 And, what they maist did laugh at, 
 She brak the bicker, spilt the drink, 
 And tightly gouff'd his haffet ; 
 
 Crying, Wae betide the three-gir'd cog ! 
 
 Oh, wae betide the cogie. 
 It does mair skaith than a' the ills • 
 That happen in Stra'bogie. 
 
 Yet here's to ilka honest soul 
 
 "Wha'll drink wi' me a cogie ; 
 And for ilk silly v/hinging fool, 
 We'll dook him in a bogie. 
 
 For I maun ha'e my cogie, sirs, 
 
 I canna want my cogie ; 
 I wadna gi'e my three-gir'd cog 
 For a' the queans in Bogie. 
 
 Bums speaks of this as an old song ; but the author is 
 unknown. 
 
 CXIX. 
 
 NEIL GO W'S FAREWELL TO WHISKY. 
 
 Mrs. Lyon. — Bo7-n 1^62 ; Died 1840. 
 
 You've surely heard o' famous Neil, 
 The man that play'd the fiddle weel ;
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 147 
 
 I wat he was a canty cheil, 
 
 And dearly lo'ed the whiskey, O ! 
 And, aye sin he wore the tartan trews, 
 He dearly lo'ed the Athole brose ; 
 And wae was he, you may suppose. 
 
 To play fareweel to whiskey, O. 
 
 Alake, quoth Neil, I'm frail and auld, 
 And find my blude grow unco cauld ; 
 I think 'twad make me blythe and bauld, 
 
 A wee drap Highland whiskey, O. 
 Yet the doctors they do a' agree, 
 That whiskey's no the drink for me. 
 Saul ! quoth Neil, 'twill spoil my glee, 
 
 Should they part me and whiskey, O. 
 
 Though I can baith get wine and ale. 
 And find my head and fingers hale, 
 I'll be content, though legs should fail. 
 
 To play fareweel to whiskey, O. 
 But still I think on auld lang syne. 
 When Paradise our friends did tyne, 
 Because something ran 'in their mind. 
 
 Forbid like Highland whiskey, 0. 
 
 Come, a' ye powers o' music, come ; 
 I find my heart grows unco glum, 
 My fiddle-strings will no play bum. 
 
 To say, Fareweel to whiskey, O. 
 Yet I'll take my fiddle in my hand, 
 And screw the pegs up while they'll stand ; 
 To make a lamentation grand, 
 
 On gude auld Highland whiskey, O.
 
 14^ 
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 cxx. 
 TULL O CHG OR UM. 
 
 Rev. J. Sk'uincy.—Bom, 1721 ; Died, i8cy. 
 
 Come gie's a sang Montgomery cried, 
 And lay your disputes all aside, 
 What signifies't for folk to chide 
 
 For what's been done before them ? 
 Let Whig and Tory all agree, 
 Whig and Tory, Whig and T017, 
 Let Whig and Tory all agree, 
 
 To drop their Whig-mig-morum ; 
 Let Whig and Tory all agree, 
 'Yo spend the night in mirth and glee, 
 And cheerfu' sing, alang wi' me, 
 
 The reel o' TuUochgorum. 
 
 O, Tullochgoram's my delight. 
 
 It gars us a' in ane unite, 
 
 And ony sumph that keeps up spite, 
 
 In conscience I abhor him. 
 For blythe and cheery we's be a', 
 Blythe and cheery, blythe and cheery, 
 Blythe and cheery we's be a', 
 
 And mak' a happy quorum. 
 For blythe and cheery we's be a', 
 As lang as we hae breath to drav/, 
 And dance, till we be like to fa', 
 
 The reel of TuUochgorum. 
 
 There needs na' be sac great a phrase, 
 Wi' dringing dull Italian lays, 
 I wadna gi'e our ain strathspeys 
 For half a hundred score o* em.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 They're douff and dowie at the best, 
 Douff and dowie, douff and dowie, 
 They're douff and dowie at the best 
 
 Wi' a' their varionnn. 
 They're douff and dowie at the best, 
 Their allegi-os and a' tlie rest. 
 They canna please a Scottish taste, 
 
 Compar'd wi' TuUochgorum. 
 
 Let warldly minds themselves oppress 
 Wi' fears of want, and double cess. 
 And sullen sots themselves distress 
 
 Wi' keeping up deconun : 
 Shall we sae sour and sulky sit, 
 Sour and sulky, sour and sulky, 
 Shall we sae sour and sulky sit. 
 
 Like auld Philosophorum ? 
 Shall we so sour and sulky sit, 
 Wi' neither sense, nor mirth, nor vrit, 
 Nor ever rise to shake a fit 
 
 To the reel of TuUochgorum ? 
 
 May choicest blessings still attend 
 Each honest open-hearted friend, 
 And calm and quiet be his end, 
 
 And a' that's good watch o'er him ! 
 May peace and plenty be his lot, 
 Peace and plenty, peace and plenty, 
 May peace and plenty be his lot. 
 
 And dainties a great store o' 'em ; 
 May peace and plenty be his lot, 
 Unstain'd by any vicious spot ! 
 And may he never want a groat 
 
 That's fond of TuUochgorum. 
 
 149
 
 1 5 o SCO TTISH SONG. 
 
 But for the dirty, yawning fool, 
 Who wants to be oppression's tool, 
 May envy gnaw his rotten soul. 
 
 And discontent devour him ! 
 May dool and sorrow be his chance, 
 Dool and sorrow, dool and sorrow, 
 May dool and sorrow be his chance, 
 
 And nane say wae's me for 'im ! 
 May dool and sorrow be his chance, 
 Wi' a' the ills that come frae France, 
 AVliae'er he be, that winna dance 
 
 The reel of Tullochgorum. 
 
 This is a good song ; but when Burns says it is ' the 
 best that Scotland ever saw,' we may be allowed to repeat 
 to ourselves, there is flattery in friendship. 
 
 CXXI. 
 
 TUNE YOUR FIDDLES. 
 
 John Skinner. 
 
 Tune your fiddles, tune them sweetly, 
 Play the marquis' reel discreetly, 
 Here we are a band completely, 
 
 Fitted to be jolly. 
 Come, my boys, blythe and gawcie. 
 Every youngster choose his lassie, 
 Dance wi' life and be not saucy, 
 
 Shy nor melancholy. 
 
 Lay aside your sour grimaces, 
 Clouded brows and drumlie faces, 
 Look about and see their Graces, 
 
 How they smile delighted :
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 Now's the season to be merrj', 
 Hang the thoughts of Charon's ferry, 
 Time enough to come camsterry, 
 
 When we're auld and doited. 
 
 Butler, put about the claret, 
 Through us a' divide and share it, 
 Gordon Castle weel can spare it, 
 
 It has claret plenty : 
 Wine's the true inspiring liquor, 
 Draffy drink may please the vicar, 
 ^\'hen he grasps the foaming bicker, 
 
 Vicars are not dainty. 
 
 We'll extol our noble master, 
 
 Sprung from many a brave ancestor, — 
 
 Heaven preserve him from disaster. 
 
 So we pray in duty, 
 Prosper, too, our pretty duchess. 
 Safe from all distressful touches, 
 Keep her out of Pluto's clutches. 
 
 Long in health and beauty. 
 
 Angels guard their gallant boy, 
 Make him long his father's joy, 
 Sturdy like the heir of Troy, 
 
 Stout and brisk and healthy. 
 Pallas grant him every blessing. 
 Wit and strength, and size increasing, 
 Plutus, what's in thy possession. 
 
 Make him rich and wealthy. 
 
 Youth, solace him with thy pleasure, 
 In refined and worthy measure : 
 
 151
 
 1 2 2 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 Merit gain liim choicest treasure, 
 From the Royal donor : 
 
 Famous may he be in story, 
 
 Full of days and full of glory ; 
 
 To the grave, when old and hoary. 
 May he go with honour ! 
 
 Gordons, join our hearty praises. 
 Honest, though in homely phrases, 
 Love our cheerful spirit raises, 
 
 Lofty as the lark is : 
 Echo, waft our wishes daily. 
 Through the grove and through the alley ; 
 Sound o'er every hill and valley, 
 
 Blessings on our Marquis. 
 
 CXXII. 
 
 WILLIE WAS A WANTON WAG. 
 
 Willie was a wanton wag, 
 
 The blythest lad that e'er I sav/, 
 At bridals still he bore the brag. 
 
 An' carried aye the gree awa'. 
 His doublet was of Zetland shag, 
 
 And wow ! but Willie he was brav/, 
 And at his shoulder hung a tag. 
 
 That pleased the lasses best of a'. 
 
 He was a man without a clag. 
 
 His heart was frank without a flaw ; 
 
 And aye whatever Willie said, 
 It still was hauden as a law.
 
 ^53 
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 His boots they were made of the jag, 
 When he went to the weaponschaw, 
 
 Upon the green nane durst him brag, 
 The fiend a ane amang them a'. 
 
 And wasna WilHe well worth gowd? 
 
 He wan the love o' great and sma'; 
 For after he the bride had kiss'd, 
 
 He kiss'd the lasses hale sale a'. 
 Sae merrily round the ring they rovv^'d, 
 
 When by the hand he led them a', 
 And smack on smack on them bestowed, 
 
 By virtue of a standing law. 
 
 And wasna Willie a great loon, 
 
 As shyre a lick as e'er was seen ? 
 When he danc'd wi' the lasses roun'. 
 
 The bridegroom speir'd where he had been. 
 Quoth Willie, I've been at the ring, 
 
 Wi' bobbing baith my shanks are sair, 
 Gae ca' your bride and maidens in, 
 
 For Willie he dow do nae main 
 
 Then rest ye, Willie, I'll gae out, 
 
 And for a wee fill up the ring. 
 But, shame light on his souple snout, 
 
 He wanted Willie's wanton fling. 
 Then straight he to the bride did fare, 
 
 Says, Weels me on your bonnie face ; 
 Wi' bobbing Willie's shanks are sair. 
 
 And I'm come out to fill his place. 
 
 Bridegroom, she says, ye'll spoil the dance, 
 And at the ring ye'll aye be lag,
 
 1 5 4 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 Unless like Willie ye advance : 
 
 O ! Willie has a wanton leg : 
 For Avi't he learns us a' to steer, 
 
 And foremost aye bears up the ring : 
 We will find nae sic dancing here, 
 
 If we want Willie's wanton fling. 
 
 Mr. David Laing inclines to think that William 
 Hamilton of Gilbertfield, (Born i6So?; Died 1751), other- 
 wise called "Wanton Willie," is the author as well as 
 hero of this song. 
 
 CXXIII. 
 
 TRANENT WEDDING. 
 
 Peter Forbes. 
 
 It was at a wedding near Tranent, 
 Where scores an' scores on fun were bent. 
 An' to ride the broose wi' full intent, 
 Was either nine or ten, jo ! 
 
 Then aff they a' set galloping, galloping, 
 Legs an' arms a walloping, walloping, 
 Shame take the hindmost, quo' Duncan 
 
 M'Calpin, 
 Laird o' Jelly Ben, jo. 
 
 The souter he was fidging fain. 
 An' stuck like roset till the mane. 
 Till smash like auld boots in a drain. 
 He nearly reach'd his end, jo !
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 155 
 
 The miller's mare flew o'er the souter, 
 An' syne began to glow'r about her, 
 Cries Hab, I'll gi'e ye double mouter, 
 Gin ye'll ding Jelly Ben, jo. 
 
 Now Will the weaver rode sae kittle, 
 Ye'd thought he was a flying shuttle. 
 His doup it daddet like a bittle, 
 But wafted till the end, jo. 
 
 The taylor had an awkward beast. 
 It funket first an' syne did reest, 
 Then threw poor snip five ell at least, 
 Like auld breeks, o'er the mane, jo. 
 
 The blacksmith's beast was last of a', 
 Its sides like bellowses did blaw. 
 Till he an' it got sic a fa'. 
 An' bruises nine or ten, jo. 
 
 Now Duncan's mare she flew like drift, 
 And aye sae fast her feet did lift. 
 Between ilk stenn she ga'e a rift, 
 Out frae her hinder end, jo. 
 
 Now Duncan's mare did bang them a', 
 To rin wi' him they manna fa', 
 Then up his grey mare he did draw, 
 The broose it was his ain, jo. 
 
 Published in 1S12. Riding the Broose is a noisy race 
 run by young men at countiy weddings, generally from 
 the bride's old home to tliat which is going to be her new.
 
 156 
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 The winner's prize is a kiss from the bride. Bums says 
 of his Aitld Mare Maggie, 
 
 'At Brooses thou had ne'er a fellow 
 
 For pith and speed.' 
 
 CXXIV. 
 
 RATTLIN\ ROARIN' WILLIE. 
 
 O rattlin', roarin' Willie, 
 
 O he held to the fair, 
 And for to sell his fiddle, 
 
 And buy some other ware ; 
 But parting wi' his fiddle, 
 
 The saut tear blin't his ee ; 
 And rattlin', roarin' Willie, 
 
 Ye're welcome hame to me. 
 
 O Wilhe, come sell your fiddle, 
 
 sell your fiddle sae fine ; 
 O Willie come sell your fiddle, 
 
 And buy a pint o' wine. 
 If I should sell my fiddle, 
 
 The warl' wad think I was mad ; 
 For mony a rantin' day. 
 
 My fiddle and I hae had. 
 
 As I cam' by Crochallan, 
 
 1 cannily keekit ben ; 
 Rattlin', roarin' Willie, 
 
 Was sitting at yon board-en'.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 Sitting at yon board-en', 
 
 And amang gude companie ; 
 
 Rattlin', roarin' Willie, 
 
 Ye're welcome hame to me? 
 
 Bums added the last verse to tins old sonsr. 
 
 cxxv. 
 BRIDEKIRK'S HUNTING. 
 
 Adam Carlyle. 
 
 The cock's at the crawing, 
 The day's at the dawing, 
 The cock's at the crawing, 
 We're o'er lang here. 
 
 Bridekirk's hunting, 
 Bridekirk's hunting, 
 Bridekirk's hunting 
 'S the morn, an' it be fair. 
 
 There's Bridekirk and Brackenwhat, 
 Limekilns and Murraywhat, 
 Daltonhook and Dormont, 
 An' a' shall be there. 
 
 Daltonhook and Dormont, 
 Aye our Lord Stormont, 
 Aye our Lord Stormont, 
 An' a' shall be there. 
 
 ^57
 
 158 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 Ah, sic' a joimphing, 
 Ah, sic' a jaimphing, 
 Ah, sic' a yumphing, 
 About the little hare. 
 
 There's Gingler and Jowler, 
 Tingler and Towler, 
 Proudfit and Bawtie, 
 And a' shall be there. 
 
 Thy dog and my dog, 
 ]\Iy dog and thy dog, 
 Thy dog and my dog. 
 About the little hare. 
 
 Fie rin Mopsey, 
 Fie rin Cropsey, 
 Fie rin Mopsey, 
 
 Or Cropsey '11 hae the hare. 
 
 Up and down yon bonnie lea, 
 
 Up and dovm. yon bonnie lea. 
 
 Up and do\ni yon bonnie lea. 
 
 The hun's '11 hae the hare. 
 
 The author of this song, the Laird of Bridekirk, was a 
 well-known man in Annandale, Dumfriesshire. Carlyle 
 of Inveresk,* speaks of him as a kinsman. Fifty or sixty 
 years agoV there were many traditions of his exploits, 
 current in that region, amongst others that on one hunting 
 occasion his voice had been heard from ' Woodcockair 
 to Wintrop Head', — a distance of ten miles as the crow 
 tlies ! He was a Whig ; and as he took no pains to 
 
 * Autobiography of the Rcv. Alexander Carlyle. (Edin. , 
 iSS9), p. 23.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 159 
 
 conceal his feelings, he was seized, on the highway near 
 his own house, by the Pretender's army, in 1745, on its 
 retreat from Carlisle. In passing through Dumfries, as 
 their prisoner, he made himself conspicuous at the officers' 
 mess by obstinately refusing to give any sign when Prince 
 Charlie's health was drunk. When the enthusiasm had 
 subsided a little, however, he stood up alone, and drank, 
 "Confusion to the Pretender." 
 
 CXXVI. 
 
 FOR A' THAT AND A' THAT 
 R. Burns. 
 
 Is there, for honest poverty, 
 
 That hangs his head and a' that ? 
 The coward-slave, we pass him by 
 
 "We dare be poor for a' that ! 
 For a' that, and a' that. 
 
 Our toils obscure, and a' that ; 
 The rank is but the guinea's stamp, 
 
 The man's the gowd for a' that. 
 
 What tho' on hamely fare we dine. 
 
 Wear hoddin gray, and a' that ; 
 Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, 
 
 A man's a man for a' that : 
 For a' that, an' a' that. 
 
 Their tinsel show, and a' that ; 
 The honest man, though e'er sae poor. 
 
 Is king o' men, for a' that. 
 
 Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord, 
 
 Wha struts, and stares, and a' that ; 
 
 Tho' hundreds worship at his word. 
 He's but a coof, for a' that.
 
 i6o SCOTTISH SOXG. 
 
 For a' that, and a' that, 
 
 His riband, star, and a' that. 
 
 The man of independent mind, 
 He looks and laughs at a' that. 
 
 A prince can make a belted knight, 
 
 A marquis, duke, and a' that ; 
 But an honest man's aboon his might, 
 
 Guid faith, he mauna fa' that ! 
 For a' that, and a' that, 
 
 Their dignities, and a' that, 
 The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, 
 
 Are higher ranks than a' that. 
 
 Then let us pray, that come it may, '■ 
 
 As come it will, for a' that. 
 That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, 
 
 May bear the gree, and a' that. 
 For a' that, and a' that. 
 
 It's comin' yet, for a' that. 
 That man to man, the warld o'er, 
 
 Shall brothers be, for a' that. 
 
 CXXVII, 
 
 TARRY IV00\ 
 
 Tarry woo', tany woo', 
 Tarry woo' is ill to spin ; 
 
 Card it weil, card it weil. 
 Card it weil, ere ye begin.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. ; 6 ; 
 
 Wlien it's cardit, row'd, and spun, 
 Then the wark is haflins done ; 
 But when woven, dress'd, and clean, 
 It may be cleadin' for a queen. 
 
 Sing my bonnie hamiless sheep, 
 
 That feed upon the mountains steep, 
 
 Bleating sweetly, as ye go 
 
 Through the winter's frost and snow. 
 
 Hart, and hynd, and fallow-deer. 
 
 Not by half sae useful are, 
 
 Frae kings, to him that hauds the plou'. 
 
 All are obliged to tarry woo'. 
 
 Up, ye shepherds, dance and skip ; 
 Ower the hills and valleys trip ; 
 Sing up the praise of tarry woo', 
 Sing the flocks that bear it too ; 
 Harmless creatures, without blame. 
 That dead the back, and cram the vrame ; 
 Keep us warm and hearty fou'; 
 Leeze me on the tarry woo'. 
 
 How happy is the shepherd's life. 
 Far frae courts and free of strife ! 
 While the gimmers bleat and bae. 
 And the lambkins answer mae ; 
 No such music to his ear ! 
 Of thief or fox he has no fear ; 
 Sturdy kent and collie true, 
 Weil defend the tarry woo'. 
 
 He lives content and envies none ; 
 Not even the monarch on his throne, 
 
 L
 
 J 6 2 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 Tho' he the royal sceptre sways, 
 Has such pleasant holidays. 
 Who'd be king, can ony tell, 
 When a shepherd sings sae well ? 
 Sings sae well, and pays his due 
 With honest heart and tarry woo' 1 
 
 From the Tea-Table Miscellany. ' A very pretty song ; 
 but I fancy that the first half stanza, as well as the tune 
 itself, is much older than the rest of the words'. — Burns. 
 
 CXXVIII. 
 
 10 HN OF BADENYON. 
 Rev. John Skinner. 
 
 When first I came to be a man of twenty years 
 
 or so, 
 I thought myself a handsome youth, and fain 
 
 the world would know ; 
 In best attire I stept abroad, with spirits brisk and 
 
 gay; 
 
 And here, and there, and everywhere, was like a 
 
 mom in May. 
 No care I had, no fear of want, but rambled up 
 
 and down ; 
 And for a beau I might have pass'd in country 
 
 or in town : 
 I still was pleased where'er I went ; and, when 
 
 I was alone, 
 I tuned my pipe, and pleased myself wi' John 
 
 of Badenyon.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. l6. 
 
 Now in the days of youthful prime a mistress I 
 
 must find ; 
 For love, they say, gives one an air, and ev'n 
 
 improves the mind : . 
 On Phillis fair, above the rest, kind fortune 
 
 fix'd my eyes ; 
 Her piercing beauty struck my heart and she 
 
 became my choice : 
 To Cupid, then, with hearty prayer, I offer'd 
 
 many a vow, 
 And danced and sung, and sigh'd and swore, as 
 
 other lovers do ; 
 But when at last I breathed my flame, I found 
 
 her cold as stone ; 
 I left the girl, and tuned my pipe to John of 
 
 Badenyon. 
 
 When love had thus my heart beguiled with 
 
 foolish hopes and vain, 
 To friendship's port I steer'd my course, and 
 
 laugh'd at lovers' pain ; 
 A friend I got, by lucky chance, 'twas something 
 
 like divine ; 
 An honest friend's a precious gift, and such a 
 
 gift was mine. 
 And now, whatever might betide, a happy man 
 
 was I, 
 In any strait I knew to whom I freely might 
 
 _ apply. 
 A strait soon came ; my friend I tried, he laugh'd, 
 
 and spurn'd my moan ; 
 I hied me home, and pleased myself with John 
 
 of Badenyon.
 
 164 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 I thought I would be wiser next, and would a 
 
 patriot turn, 
 Began to doat on Johnie Wilkes, and cr/d up 
 
 parson Home ; 
 Their noble spirit I admir'd, and praised their 
 
 noble zeal, 
 Who had, with flaming tongue and pen, maintain'd 
 
 the public weal. 
 But, e'er a month or tAvo had pass'd, I found 
 
 myself betray'd ; 
 'Twas Self and Party, after all, for all the stir 
 
 they made. 
 At last I saw these factious knaves insult the 
 
 very throne ; 
 I cui-sed them all, and tuned my pipe to John of 
 
 Badenyon. 
 
 What next to do I mused a while, still hoping 
 
 to succeed ; 
 I pitch'd on books for company, and gravely 
 
 tried to read ; 
 I bought and borrowed every where, and studied 
 
 night and day. 
 Nor miss'd what dean or doctor Avrote, tliat 
 
 happen'd iu my M^ay. 
 Philosophy I now esteem'd the ornament of 
 
 youth. 
 And carefully, through many a page, I hunted 
 
 after truth : 
 A thousand various schemes I tried, and yet 
 
 was pleased Avith none ; 
 I threw them by, and tuned my pipe to John 
 
 of Badenyon.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 1 65 
 
 And now, ye youngsters everywhere, who wish 
 
 to make a show, 
 Take heed in time, nor vainly hope for happiness 
 
 below ; 
 What you may fancy pleasure here is but an 
 
 empty name ; 
 And girls, and friends, and books also, you'll 
 
 find them all the same. 
 Then be advised, and warning take from such 
 
 a man as me ; 
 I'm neither pope nor cardinal, nor one of high 
 
 degree ; 
 You'll meet displeasure every where; then do 
 
 as I have done — 
 But tune your pipe and please yourself with John 
 
 of Badenyon. 
 
 "This excellent song is the composition of my worthy 
 friend, old Skinner, at Linshart." — Burns. 
 
 Pity that Burns, who saw the excellence of this patri- 
 archal song, had not told us the meaning of John oj 
 Badenyon ! 
 
 CXXIX. 
 
 AULD LANG SYNE. 
 Ji. Bzirns. 
 
 Should auld acquaintance be forgot. 
 
 And never brought to min' ? 
 Should auld acquaintance be forgot. 
 
 And days o' lang syne ? 
 
 For auld lang syne, my dear, 
 
 For auld lang syne. 
 We'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet, 
 
 For auld lang syne.
 
 1 66 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 We twa ha'e run about the braes, 
 
 And pu'd the gowans fine ; 
 But Ave've wander'd mony a weary foot, 
 
 Sin' auld lang syne. 
 
 We twa ha'e paid'lt in the bum, 
 
 Frae momin' sun till dine : 
 But seas between us braid ha'e roar'd, 
 
 Sin' auld lang syne. 
 
 And here's a hand, my trusty fiere. 
 
 And gi'e's a hand o' thine ; 
 And we'll tak' a richt gude-willie waught, 
 
 For auld lang sjme. 
 
 And surely ye'll be your pint-stoup. 
 
 And surely I'll be mine; 
 And we'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet. 
 
 For auld lang syne. 
 
 There are several versions of Atild Lang Syne ; but 
 this of Bums has now deservedly got complete possession 
 of the tune. 
 
 cxxx. 
 
 GOOD NIGHT AND JO V BE WP 
 YOU A\ 
 
 Sir Alexander Boswell. 
 
 Good night, and joy be wi' ye a' 
 
 Your harmless mirth has cheered my heart : 
 May life's fell blast out o'er ye blaw ! 
 
 In sorrow may ye never part !
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 167 
 
 My spirit lives, but strength is gone ; 
 
 The mountain-fires now blaze in vain : 
 Remember, sons, the deeds I've done, 
 
 And in your deeds I'll live again ! 
 
 When on yon muir our gallant clan 
 
 Frae boasting faes their banners tore, 
 Wha showed himself a better man. 
 
 Or fiercer waVd the red claymore ? 
 But when in peace — then mark me there, 
 
 When through the glen the wand'rer came 
 I gave him of our hardy fare, 
 
 I gave him here a welcome hame. 
 
 The auld will speak, the young maun hear ; 
 
 Be canty, but be good and leal ; 
 Your ain ills aye ha'e heart to bear, 
 
 Anither's aye ha'e heart to feel. 
 So, ere I set, I'll see you shine, 
 
 I'll see you triumph ere I fa' ; 
 My parting breath shall boast you mine, 
 
 Good night, and joy be wi' ye a'. 
 
 cxxxi. 
 
 MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS. 
 
 R. Burns. 
 
 My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here ; 
 My heart's in the Highlands, a-chasing the deer ; 
 Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe ; 
 My heart's in the Highlands Avherever I go.
 
 1 68 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the north, 
 The birth-place of valour, the country of worth ; 
 Wherever I wander, wherever I rove, 
 The hills of the Highlands for ever I love. 
 
 Farewell to the mountains high-cover'd with snow ; 
 Farewell to the straths and green valleys below ; 
 Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods ; 
 Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods. 
 My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here; 
 My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer ; 
 Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe, 
 My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go. 
 
 The first four lines of this song are from a distracted' 
 old Scotch-Irish ballad. 
 
 CXXXII. 
 
 A WET SHEET 
 
 Allan Cunningha?n. — Bo7'n J'jSj ; Died 1842. 
 
 A wet sheet and a flowing sea, 
 
 A wind that follows fast. 
 And fills the white and rustling sail, 
 
 And bends the gallant mast ; 
 And bends the gallant mast, my boys^ 
 
 "VVliile, like the eagle free, 
 Away the good ship flies, and leaves 
 
 Old England on the lee.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 169 
 
 Oh for a soft and gentle wind ! 
 
 I heard a fair one cry ; 
 But give to me the swelling breeze, 
 
 And white waves heaving high ; 
 The white waves heaving high, my boys, 
 
 The good ship tight and free — 
 The world of waters is our home, 
 
 And merry men are we. 
 
 There's tempest in yon homed moon 
 
 And lightning in yon cloud ; 
 And hark the music, mariners. 
 
 The wind is piping loud ; 
 The wind is piping loud, my boys. 
 
 The lightning flashes free — 
 The hollow oak our palace is. 
 
 Our heritage the sea. 
 
 CXXXIII. 
 
 THE EMIGRANT'S FAREWELL, 
 
 Thomas Pringle. — Born lySg ; Died 1834. 
 
 Our native land, our native vale, 
 
 A long and last adieu ! 
 Farewell to bonny Teviotdale, 
 
 And Cheviot mountains blue ! 
 
 Farewell, ye hills of glorious deeds. 
 And streams renown'd in song ; 
 
 Farewell, ye braes and blossom'd meads 
 Our hearts have lov'd so long.
 
 17° 
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 Farewell the blythesome broomy knowes 
 Where thyme and harebells grow ; 
 
 Farewell the hoary, haunted howes, 
 O'erhung with birk and sloe ! 
 
 The mossy cave and mouldering tower 
 
 That skirt our native dell ; 
 The martyr's grave, and lover's bower, 
 
 We bid a sad farewell ! 
 
 Home of our love ! our fathers' home, 
 
 Land of the brave and free ! 
 The sail is flapping on the foam 
 
 That bears us far from thee ! 
 
 We seek a wild and distant shore, 
 
 Beyond the western main : 
 We leave thee to return no more, 
 
 Nor view thy cliffs again ! 
 
 Our native land, our native vale, 
 
 A long, a last adieu ! 
 Farewell to bonny Teviotdale, 
 
 And Scotland's mountains blue.
 
 llni III,
 
 CXXXIV. 
 
 THE GABERLUNZIE MAN. 
 
 Attributed to James V. — Born 1J12 ; Died ij^- 
 
 The pawky auld carle came o'er the lea, 
 Wi' mony gude e'ens and days to me, 
 Saying, Gudewife, for your courtesie, 
 
 Will you lodge a silly puir man ? 
 The nicht was cauld, the carl was wat, 
 And down ayont the ingle he sat; 
 My dochter's shoulders he 'gan to clap, 
 
 And cadgily ranted and sang. 
 
 O AVOW ! quo' he, were I as free. 
 As first when I saw this countrie, 
 How blythe and merry wad I be ! 
 
 And I wad never think lang. 
 He canty grew, and she grew fain ; 
 But little did her auld minny ken, 
 What thir slee twa together were sayin', 
 
 When wooing they were sae thrang.
 
 J74 
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 And O ! quo' he, an ye were as black 
 As e'er the croAvn of my daddy's hat, 
 'Tis I wad lay thee by my back, 
 
 And awa' wi' me thou should gang. 
 And O ! quo' she, an' I were as white, 
 As e'er the snaw lay on the dike, 
 I'd deed me braw and lady like, 
 
 And awa wi' thee I'd gang. 
 
 Between the twa was made a plot, 
 They raise a wee before the cock, 
 And wilily they shot the lock. 
 
 And fast to the bent are they gane. 
 Up the morn the auld wife raise 
 And at her leisure put on her claise ; 
 Syne to the servant's bed she gaes, 
 
 To speer for the silly poor man. 
 
 She gaed to the bed where the beggar lay. 
 The strae was cauld, he was away, 
 She clapt her hands, cried, Waladay, 
 
 For some of our gear will be gane. 
 Some ran to coffer, and some to kist, 
 But nought was stoun that could be miss'd ; 
 She danced her lane, cried, Praise be blest, 
 
 I have lodged a leal poor man. 
 
 Since naething's awa', as we can learn. 
 
 The kirn's to kim, and milk to earn, 
 
 Gae butt the house, lass, and wauken my bairn. 
 
 And bid her come quickly ben. 
 The servant gaed where the dochter lay, 
 The sheets were cauld, she was away.
 
 i7i 
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 And fast to the gudewife 'gan say 
 She's aff wi' the gaberlunzie-man. 
 
 O fy gar ride, and fy gar rin, 
 
 And haste ye find these traytors again ; 
 
 For she's be burnt, and he's be slain, 
 
 The wearifu' gaberlunzie-man. 
 Some rode upo' horse, some ran a-fit, 
 The wife was wud, and out o' her wit: 
 She couldna gang, nor yet could she sit 
 
 But aye she cursed and she bann'd. 
 
 Meantime far hind out o'er the lea 
 
 Fu' snug in a glen where nane could see, 
 
 The twa, with kindly sport and glee, 
 
 Cut frae a new cheese a whang : 
 The priving was good, it pleased them baith, 
 To lo'e her for aye, he ga'e her his aith ; 
 Quo' she, to leave thee I will be laith, 
 
 My winsome gaberlunzie-man. 
 
 O kenn'd my minny I were wi' you, 
 I'11-far'dly wad she crook her mou', 
 Sic a poor man she'd never trow, 
 
 After the gaberlunzie-man. 
 My dear, quo' he, ye're yet o'er young. 
 And haena learn'd the beggars' tongue, 
 To follow me frae toun to toun, 
 
 And carry the gaberlunzie on. 
 
 Wi' cauk and keel I'll win your bread, 
 And spindles and whorles for them wha need, 
 Whilk is a gentle trade indeed, 
 To cany the gaberlunzie on.
 
 J 7 6 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 I'll bow my leg, and crook my knee, 
 And draw a black clout o'er my e'e, 
 A cripple or blind they will ca' me. 
 While we shall be merry and sing. 
 
 cxxxv. 
 MY JO JANET. 
 
 Sweet sir, for your courtesie. 
 
 When ye come by the Bass, then, 
 For the love ye bear to me, 
 
 Buy me a keekin' -glass, then. 
 Keek into the draw-well, 
 
 Janet, Janet ; 
 
 There ye'll see your bonnie sel'. 
 
 My jo Janet. 
 
 Keekin' in the draw-well clear, 
 
 What if I fa' in, sir? 
 Then a' my kin will say and swear 
 
 I droun'd mysel' for sin, sir. 
 Hand the better by the brae, 
 
 Janet, Janet ; 
 Haud the better by the brae. 
 My jo Janet. 
 
 Gude sir, for your courtesie. 
 
 Coming through Aberdeen, then, 
 
 For the love ye bear to me. 
 Buy me a j^air o' shoon, then.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 Clout the auld, the new are dear, 
 
 Janet, Janet ; 
 Ae pair may gain ye half a year, 
 
 My jo Janet. 
 
 But what if dancing on the green, 
 
 And skippin' like a maukin. 
 They should see my clouted shoon. 
 
 Of me they will be talkin'. 
 Dance aye laigh, and late at e'en, 
 
 Janet, Janet ; 
 Syne a' their fau'ts will no be seen, 
 My jo Janet 
 
 Kind sir, for your courtesie, 
 
 When ye gae to the cross, then. 
 For the love ye bear to me, 
 
 Buy me a pacin'-horse, then. 
 Pace upon your spinnin' -wheel, 
 
 Janet, Janet; 
 Pace upon your spinnin'-wheel. 
 My jo Janet. 
 
 My spinnin'-wheel is auld and stiff. 
 
 The rock o't winna stand, sir ; 
 To keep the temper-pin in tiif, 
 
 Employs richt aft my hand, sir. 
 Mak' the best o't that ye can, 
 
 Janet, Janet ; 
 But like it never wale a man, 
 My jo Janet. 
 
 M 
 
 177
 
 1^8 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 CXXXVI. 
 
 SCORNFU' NANCY. 
 
 Nancy's to the green-wood gane, 
 
 To hear the gowdspink chatt'ring ; 
 And WiUie he has follow'd her, 
 
 To gain her love by flatt'ring : 
 But a' that he could say or do, 
 
 She geck'd and scorned at him : 
 And aye when he began to woo 
 
 She bid him mind wha' gat him. 
 
 What ails ye at my dad, quoth he, 
 
 My minny or my aunty ? 
 With crowdy-mowdy they fed me, 
 
 Lang-kail and ranty-tanty : 
 With bannocks of good barley-meal, 
 
 Of thae there was right plenty. 
 With chappit stocks fu' butter'd weel ; 
 
 And was not that right dainty ? 
 
 Altho' my father was nae laird 
 
 ('Tis daffin to be vaunty), 
 He keepit aye a good kail-yard, 
 
 A ha' house and a pantry : 
 A good blue bonnet on his head, 
 
 An owrlay 'bout his craigy ; 
 And aye, until the day he died, 
 
 He rade on good shanks-nagy. 
 
 Now wae and wonder on your snout, 
 Wad ye hae bonny Nancy ?
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 179 
 
 Wad ye compare yoursel' to me, 
 
 A docken till a tansy? 
 I have a wooer o' my ain, 
 
 They ca' him souple Sandy, 
 And well I wat, his bonny mou' 
 
 Is sweet like sugar-candy. 
 
 Now Nancy, Avhat needs a' this din ? 
 
 Do I not ken this Sandy? 
 I'm sure the chief of a' his kin 
 
 Was Rab the beggar randy : 
 His minny, Meg, upo' her back. 
 
 Bare baith him and his billy ; 
 Will ye compare a nasty pack 
 
 To me your winsome Willy ? 
 
 My gutcher left a good braid sword ; 
 
 Tho' it be auld and rusty. 
 Yet ye may tak' it on my word, 
 
 It is baith stout and trusty ; 
 And if I can but get it drawn. 
 
 Which will be right uneasy, 
 I shall lay baith my lugs in pawn, 
 
 That he shall get a heezy. 
 
 Then Nancy turn'd her round about, 
 
 And said. Did Sandy hear ye, 
 Ye wadna' miss to get a clout ; 
 
 I ken he disna' fear ye : 
 Sae baud your tongue, and say nae mair. 
 
 Set somewhere else your fancy ; 
 For as lang's Sandy's to the fore 
 
 Ye never shall get Nancy. 
 
 This is supposed to be a very old song, and to have 
 come down to us without mutilation.
 
 i8o SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 CXXXVII. 
 
 JOCKY SAID TO JENNY. 
 
 Jocky said to Jenny, Jenny, wilt thou do't? 
 Ne'er a fit, quo' Jenny, for my tocher good ; 
 For my tocher good, I winna marry thee. 
 E'en's ye like, quo' Jocky ; ye may let it be ! 
 
 I ha'e gowd and gear, I ha'e land eneugh, 
 I ha'e seven good owsen gangin' in a pleugh, 
 Gangin' in a pleugh, and linkin' ower the lea : 
 And gin ye winna tak' me, I can let ye be. 
 
 I ha'e a gude ha' house, a bam, and a b}Te, 
 A stack afore the door, I'll mak' a rantin fire : 
 I'll mak' a rantm fire, and merry shall we be : 
 And, gin ye winna tak' me, I can let ye be. 
 
 Jenny said to Jocky, Gin ye winna tell. 
 Ye shall be the lad ; I'll be the lass mysel' : 
 Ye're a bomiie lad, and I'm a lassie free ; 
 Ye're wel comer to tak' me than to let me bL\ 
 
 CXXXVIII. 
 
 DUNCAN GRAY. 
 R. Burns. 
 
 Duncan Gray cam' here to woo, 
 
 Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 
 On blythe Yule nicht, when we were fou. 
 
 Ha, ha, the wooing o't ;
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 1 8 1 
 
 Maggie coost her head fu' high, 
 Look'd asklent, and unco sleigh, 
 Gart puir Duncan stand abeigh. 
 Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 
 
 Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd, 
 
 Ha, ha, the wooing o't ; 
 Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig, 
 
 Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 
 Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, 
 Grat his e'en baith bleert and bhn', 
 Spak' o' louping o'er a hnn ; 
 
 Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 
 
 Time and chance are but a tide, 
 
 Ha, ha, the wooing o't ; 
 Slighted love is sair to bide, 
 
 Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 
 Shall I, like a fool, quoth he. 
 For a haughty hizzie die ? 
 She may gae to — France for me ! 
 
 Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 
 
 How it comes, let doctors tell, 
 
 Ha, ha, the wooing o't ; 
 Meg grew sick, as he grew hale, 
 
 Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 
 Something in her bosom wrings. 
 For relief a sigh she brings ; 
 And O, her e'en they spak' sic things ! 
 
 Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 
 
 Duncan was a lad o' grace, 
 Ha, ha, the wooing o't ;
 
 I S 2 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 Maggie's was a piteous case, 
 Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 
 
 Duncan couldna' be her death, 
 
 Swelhng pity smoor'd his wTath ; 
 
 Now they're crouse and canty baith. 
 Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 
 
 CXXXIX. 
 
 JOCK O' HAZELDEAN 
 
 Sir Walter Scott, Bart.— Born 177 1 ; Died 1832. 
 
 " Wliy weep ye by the tide, ladye, 
 
 Why weep ye by the tide ? 
 I'll wed ye to my youngest son, 
 
 And ye shall be his bride ; 
 And ye shall be his bride, ladye, 
 
 Sae comely to be seen :" 
 But aye she loot the tears down fa', 
 
 For Jock o' Hazeldean, 
 
 " Now let this wilful grief be done, 
 
 And dry that cheek so pale : 
 Young Frank is chief of Errington, 
 
 And Lord of Langley-dale ; 
 His step is first in peaceful ha', 
 
 His sword in battle keen :" 
 But aye she loot the tears down fa', 
 
 For Jock o' Hazeldean. 
 
 " A chain o' gold ye sail not lack. 
 
 Nor braid to bind your hair, 
 Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk, 
 
 Nor palfrey fresh and fair :
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 183 
 
 And you, the foremost o' them a', 
 
 Shall ride, our forest queen :" 
 But aye she loot the tears down fa', 
 
 For Jock o' Hazeldean. 
 
 The kirk was deck'd at morning-tide, 
 
 The tapers glimmered fair ; 
 The priest and bridegroom Avait the bride 
 
 And dame and knight were there : 
 They sought her baith by bower and ha' ; 
 
 The ladye was not seen ! 
 She's o'er the border, and awa, 
 
 Wi' Jock o' Hazeldean. 
 
 CXL. 
 
 ROY'S WIFE. 
 
 Airs. Grant, of Car r on. — Born ly^^ ; Died 1814I 
 
 Roy's wife of Alldivalloch, 
 
 Roy's wife of Alldivalloch, 
 
 Wat ye how she cheated me, 
 
 As I cam' o'er the Braes o' Balloch. 
 
 She vow'd, she swore, she wad be mine, 
 She said she lo'ed me best o' ony ; 
 
 But oh ! the fickle, faithless quean, 
 
 She's ta'en the carle, and left her Johnnie. 
 
 O, she was a canty quean, 
 
 We' el could she dance the Hielan' walloch: 
 How happy I, had she been mine, 
 
 Or I been Roy of Alldivalloch !
 
 I S4 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 Her face sae fair, her e'en sae clear, 
 
 Her wee bit mou' sae sweet an' bonnie ; 
 
 To me she ever will be dear. 
 
 Though she's forever left her Johnnie. 
 
 CXLI. 
 
 THE R UNA WA Y BRIDE. 
 
 A laddie and a lassie, 
 
 Dwelt in the south countrie ; 
 They ha'e coost their claes thegither, 
 
 And wedded they wad be : 
 On Tuesday to the bridal feast 
 
 Cam fiddlers flocking free ; 
 But hey play up the rinaway bride, 
 
 For she has ta'en the gee. 
 
 She had nae run a mile or mair, 
 
 Till she 'gan to consider 
 The angering of her father dear. 
 
 The vexing of her mither ; 
 The slighting of the silly bridegroom. 
 
 The warst of a' the three ; 
 Then hey play up the rinaway bride, 
 
 For she has ta'en the gee. 
 
 Her father and her mither baith 
 
 Ran after her wi' speed ; 
 And aye they ran until they came, 
 
 Unto the water of Tweed : 
 
 And when they came to Kelso town, 
 They gar't the clap gang through ;
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 185. 
 
 Saw ye a lass ^vi' a hood and mantle, 
 
 The face o't lined up \vi' blue, 
 The face o't lined up wi' blue, 
 
 And the tail lin'd up wi' green ; 
 Saw ye a lass wi' a hood and mantle. 
 
 Should ha'e been married on Tuesday 't ee'n? 
 
 CXLII. 
 
 SLICHTIT NANCY. 
 
 'Tis I ha'e seven braw new gowns. 
 
 And ither seven better to mak' ; 
 And yet, for a' my new gowns, 
 
 My wooer has turn'd his back. 
 Besides, I have seven milk-kye, 
 
 And Sandy he has but three ; 
 And yet, for a' my gude kye, 
 
 The laddie wimia ha'e me. 
 
 My daddy's a delver of dikes, 
 
 My mother can card and spin. 
 And I'm a fine fodgel lass. 
 
 And tlie siller comes linkin' in. 
 The siller comes linkin' in. 
 
 And it's fu' fair to see ; 
 And fifty times wow ! O wow ! 
 
 What ails the lads at me ? 
 
 Whenever our Bawty does bark. 
 Then fast to the door I rin, 
 
 To see gin ony young spark. 
 Will light and venture in :
 
 J 86 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 But ne'er a ane will come in, 
 
 Tho' mony a ane gaes by, 
 Sine far ben the house I rin ; 
 
 And a weary wight am I. 
 
 When I was at my first prayers, 
 
 I pray'd but ance i' the year, 
 I wish'd for a handsome young lad. 
 
 And a lad wi' muckle gear. 
 When I was at my neist prayers, 
 
 I pray'd but now and than, 
 I fash'd na my head about gear. 
 
 If I got a handsome young man. 
 
 Now I am at my last prayers, 
 
 I pray on baith nicht and day, 
 And, oh, if a beggar wad come. 
 
 With that same beggar I'd gae. 
 And, oh, and what '11 come o' me ! 
 
 And, oh, and what will I do ! 
 That sic a braw lassie as I 
 
 Should die for a wooer, I trow ! 
 
 We believe this song to be much older than Ramsay's 
 time ; probably he added to it. It was printed first in 
 his Tea Table Miscellany, 
 
 CXLIII. 
 
 HEY, HOW, MY JOHNIE LAD. 
 
 Hey, how, my Johnie lad, 
 
 Ye're no sae kind's ye should ha'e been. 
 For gin your voice I hadna kent, 
 
 I'm sure I couldna trust my een :
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 1 8 7 
 
 Sae weel's ye might ha'e courted me, 
 Sae sweetly ' courted me ' bedeen ; 
 
 Hey, how, my Johnie lad, 
 
 Ye're no sae kind's ye should ha'e been. 
 
 My father, he was at the pleugh, 
 
 My mither, she was at the mill ; 
 My billie, he was at the moss, 
 
 And no ane near our sport to spill ; 
 The feint a body was there in. 
 
 Ye needna fley'd for being seen. 
 Hey, how, my Johnie lad, 
 
 Ye're no sae kind's ye should ha'e been. 
 
 But I maun ha'e anither joe, 
 
 Wliase love gangs never out o' mind. 
 And winna let the moment pass 
 
 When to a lass he can be kind : 
 Then gang ye're ways to blinking Bess, 
 
 Nae mair for Johnie shall she grean ; 
 Hey, how, my Johnie lad, 
 
 Ye're no sae kind's ye should ha'e been. 
 
 From Herd's Collection, 1776. 
 
 CXLIV. 
 
 THE YELLOW-HAIR' D LADDIE. 
 
 The yellow-hair'd laddie sat doun on yon brae. 
 Cried, Milk the yowes, lassie, let nane 0' them 
 gae;
 
 1 88 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 And aye as she milkit, she merrily sang, 
 The yellow-hair'd laddie shall be my gudeman. 
 And aye as she milkit, she merrily sang, 
 The yellow-hair'd laddie shall be my gudeman. 
 
 The weather is cauld, and my cleadin is thin, 
 The yowes are new clipt, and they winna bucht 
 
 in; 
 They Avinna bucht in, although I should dee : 
 Oh, yellow-hair'd laddie, be kind unto me. 
 
 The gudewfe cries butt the house, Jennie, come 
 
 ben; 
 The cheese is to mak', and the butter's to kim. 
 Though butter, and cheese, and a' should gang 
 
 sour, 
 I'll crack and I'll kiss wi' my love ae half-hour. 
 It's ae lang half-hour, and we'll e'en mak' it 
 
 three, 
 For the yellow-hair'd laddie my gudeman shall 
 be. 
 
 Printed by Ramsay as an old song. 
 
 CXLV. 
 
 COLIN CLOUT. 
 
 Chanticleer, wi' noisy whistle, 
 Bids the housewife rise in haste, 
 
 Colin Clout begins to hirsle, 
 Slawly frae his sleepless nest,
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 Love that raises sic a clamour, 
 Drivin' lads and lassies mad ; 
 
 Wae's my heart ! had coost his glamour, 
 O'er poor Colin, luckless lad. 
 
 Cruel Jenny, lack a daisy ! 
 
 Lang had gart him greet and grane, 
 Colin's pate Avas haflins crazy, 
 
 Jenny laughed at Colin's pain. 
 Slawly, up his duds he gathers, 
 
 Slawly, slawly trudges out, 
 An' frae the fauld he drives his wedders, 
 
 Happier far than Colin Clout 
 
 Now the sun, rais'd frae his nappie. 
 
 Set the orient in a lowe, 
 Drinkin' ilka glancin' drappie, 
 
 I' the field, an' i' the knowe. 
 Mony a birdie, sweetly singin', 
 
 Flaffer'd briskly round about ; 
 An' monie a daintie flowerie springin', 
 
 A' were blythe but Colin Clout. 
 
 What is this ? cries Colin glow'rin', 
 
 Glaiked-like, a' round about, 
 Jenny ! this is past endurin' : 
 
 Death man ease poor Colin Clout. 
 A' the night I toss and tumble. 
 
 Never can I close an e'e, 
 A' the day I grane an' giiimble, 
 
 Jenny, this is a' for thee. 
 
 Ye'U ha'e nane but fanner Patie, 
 'Cause the fallow's rich, I trow, 
 
 1S9
 
 190 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 Aiblins though he shouldna cheat ye, 
 Jenny, ye'U ha'e cause to rue. 
 
 Auld, and gleed, and crooked-backed, — 
 Siller bought at sic a price, — 
 
 All, Jenny ! gin you lout to tak' it, 
 Folk will say ye're no o'er nice. 
 
 Fragment of an old song ; the rest is supposed to be 
 lost. 
 
 CXLVI. 
 
 YOUNG JOCKEY. 
 
 R. Burns. 
 
 Young Jockey was the blythest lad, 
 
 In a' our town and here awa' ; 
 Fu' blythe he whistled at the gaud, 
 
 Fu' lichtly danced he in the ha' ! 
 He roosed my een sae bonnie blue, 
 
 He roosed my waist sae genty sma' ; 
 And aye my heart cam' to my mou', 
 
 When ne'er a body heard or saw. 
 
 My Jockey toils upon the plain, 
 
 Thro' wind and weet, thro' frost and snaw ; 
 And ower the lee I look fu' fain, 
 
 When Jockej^s OAvsen hameward ca'. 
 And aye the nicht comes round again, 
 
 When in his arms he taks me a', 
 And aye he vows he'll be my ain 
 
 As lang as he has breath to draw.
 
 191 
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 CXLVII. 
 
 MY COLLIER LADDIE 
 
 Wliar live ye, my bonnie lass, 
 
 And tell me what they ca' ye ? 
 My name, she says, is Mistress Jean^ 
 
 And I follow the collier laddie. 
 
 See ye not yon hills and dales. 
 The sun shines on sae brawUe ! 
 
 They a' are mine, and they shall be thine 
 Gin ye leave your collier laddie. 
 
 Ye shall gang in gay attire, 
 
 Weel buskit up sae gawdy ; 
 And ane to wait on every hand, 
 
 Gin ye leave your collier laddie. 
 
 Though you had a' the sun shines on, 
 And the earth conceals sae lowly, 
 
 I wad turn my back on you and it a', 
 And embrace my collier laddie. 
 
 I can win my five-pennies in a day, 
 And spen't at nicht fu' brawlie ; 
 
 And make my bed in the collier's neuk, 
 And lie down wi' my collier laddie. 
 
 Love for love is the bargain for me, 
 Tho' the wee cot-house should haud me, 
 
 And the warld before me to win my bread, 
 And fair fa' my collier laddie. 
 
 ' I do not know a biytlier old song than this.' — Burns.
 
 192 
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 CXLVIII. 
 
 LOW DO WN IN THE BROOM. 
 
 My daddie is a cankert carle, 
 
 He'll no twin wi' his gear : 
 Mv minnie she's a scauldin' wife, 
 
 Hands a' the house asteer. 
 
 But let them say, or let them do, 
 
 It's a' ane to me, 
 For he's low doim, he's in the broom, 
 
 That's waiting on me : 
 Waiting on me, my love, 
 
 He's waitin' on me. 
 For he's low doun, he's in the broom. 
 
 That's waitin' on me. 
 
 My auntie Kate sits at her wheel, 
 
 And sair she lightlies me ; 
 But weel I ken it's a' envy, 
 
 For ne'er a joe has she. 
 
 My cousin Kate was sair beguiled 
 
 Wi' Johnnie o' the Glen ; 
 And aye sinsyne she cries, Beware 
 
 Of fause deluding men. 
 
 deed Sandy he cam' wast yestreen, 
 And speir'd when I saw Pate ; 
 
 And aye sinsyne the neebors round 
 They jeer me air and late.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 But let them say, or let them do, 
 
 It's a' ane to me. 
 For he's low doun, he's in the broom, 
 
 That's waiting on me ; 
 Waiting on me, my love, 
 
 He's waiting on me. 
 For he's low doun, he's in the broom. 
 
 That's waiting on me. 
 
 CXLIX. 
 
 ETTRICK BANKS. 
 
 On Ettrick banks, on a simmer's night. 
 
 At gloamin' when the sheep drave hame, 
 I met my lassie braw and tight. 
 
 Come wading, bare-foot, a' her lane. 
 My heart grew licht, I ran, I flang 
 
 My arms about her lily neck. 
 And kiss'd and clapp'd her there fu' lang. 
 
 My words they were na monie feck. 
 
 I said. My lassie, will ye gang 
 
 To the Highland hills the Erse* to learn 
 I'll gie thee baith a cow and ewe, 
 
 When ye come to the brig o' Earn. 
 At Leith auld meal comes in, ne'er fash. 
 
 And herrings at the Broomielaw, 
 Cheer up your heart, my bonnie lass, 
 
 There's gear to win ye never saw. 
 
 * Erysche, or Gaelic, the language of the Highlands. 
 
 N 
 
 ^93
 
 194 
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 All day when we ha'e A\Tought eneucli, 
 
 When whiter frosts and snaw begin, 
 Soon as the sun gaes west the loch, 
 
 At night when ye sit down to spin, 
 I'll screw my pipes, and play a spring ; 
 
 And thus the weary night will end, 
 Till the tender kid and lamb-time bring 
 
 Our pleasant simmer back agam. 
 
 Syne, when the trees are in their bloom, 
 
 And gowans glent o'er ilka fiel', 
 I'll meet my lass amang the broom, 
 
 And lead ye to my simmer shiel', 
 Then far frae a' their scomfu' din, 
 
 That mak' the kindly heart their sport, 
 We'll laugh, and kiss, and dance, and sing, 
 
 And gar the langest day seem short. 
 
 An old song ; from Herd's Collection. 
 
 CL. 
 
 BESSY BELL AND MAR Y GRA Y 
 
 Allan Ramsay. 
 
 O, Bessy Bell, and Mary Gray, 
 
 They were t\va bonnie lasses ; 
 They biggit a bouir on yon bum-brac, 
 
 And theekit it ower wi' rashes. 
 Fair Bessy Bell I lo'ed yestreen. 
 
 And thocht I ne'er could alter ; 
 But Mary Gray's twa pawky een 
 
 They gar my fancy falter.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. ic;5 
 
 « 
 
 Bessy's hair's like a lint-tap, 
 
 She smiles like a May morning, 
 When Phoebus starts frae Thetis' lap, 
 
 The hills with rays adorning : 
 White is her neck, saft is her hand, 
 
 Her waist and feet fu' genty ; 
 With ilka grace she can command : 
 
 Her lips, O, wow ! they're dainty. 
 
 But Maiy's locks are like the craw, 
 
 Her een like diamond's glances ; 
 She's aye sae clean, redd-up, and braw ; 
 
 She kills whene'er she dances ; 
 Blythe as a kid, wi' wit at will. 
 
 She blooming, tight, and tall is ; 
 And guides her airs sae gracefu' still : 
 
 O, Jove, she's like thy Pallas. 
 
 Dear Bessie Bell and Mary Gray, 
 
 Ye unco sair oppress us ; 
 Our fancies jee between ye twa, 
 
 Ye are sic bonnie lasses. 
 Wae's me ! for baith I canna get ; 
 
 To ane by law we're stented ; 
 Then Fll draw cuts, and tak' my fate, 
 
 And be wi' ane contented. 
 
 CLI. 
 
 THE HIGHLAND LADDIE. 
 
 Allan Ramsay. 
 
 The Lawland lads think they are fine. 
 But, O, they're vain and idly gawdy !
 
 igg SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 How much unlike the gracefu' mien, 
 
 And manly looks of my Highland laddie. 
 
 O my bonny Highland laddie, 
 My handsome, charming Highland laddie ; 
 May heaven still guard and love reward, 
 Our Lawland lass, and her Highland laddie. 
 
 If I were free at will to choose. 
 To be the wealthiest Lawland lady, 
 
 I'd tak' young Donald without trews, 
 Witli bonnet blue, and belted plaidie. 
 
 The brawest beau in burrows-town. 
 
 In a' his airs, wi' art, made ready, 
 Compared to him, he's but a clown. 
 
 He's finer far in 's tartan plaidie. 
 
 O'er benty hill wi' him I'll run. 
 
 And leave my Lawland kin and daddie ; 
 
 Frae winter's cauld and summer's sun. 
 He'll screen me wi' his Highland plaidie. 
 
 A painted room, and silken bed. 
 
 May please a Lawland laird and lady ; 
 
 But I can kiss and be as glad, 
 
 Behind a bush in 's Highland plaidie. 
 
 Few compliments between us pass ; 
 
 I ca' him my dear Highland laddie, 
 And he ca's me his Lawland lass. 
 
 Syne rows me in beneath his plaidie.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 1 5 7 
 
 Nae greater joy I'll e'er pretend, 
 
 Than that his love prove true and steady, 
 
 IJke mine to him, which ne'er shall end, 
 
 While heaven preserves my Highland laddie. 
 
 The tune to which these words are sung is very old, it 
 was printed in 16S7 ; but the old words are now lost. 
 
 CLII. 
 KIND ROBIN LO'ES ME. 
 
 Robin is my only jo, 
 Robin has the art to lo'e, 
 So to his suit I mean to bow, 
 
 Because I ken he lo'es me. 
 Happy, happy was the shower, 
 That led me to his birken bower, 
 Whare first of love I felt the power, 
 
 And ken'd that Robin lo'ed me. 
 
 They speak of napkins, speak of rings, 
 Speak of gloves and kissing strings, 
 And name a thousand bonnie things. 
 
 And ca' them signs he lo'es me. 
 But I prefer a smack of Rob, 
 Sporting on the velvet fog. 
 To gifts as lang's a plaid en wob, 
 
 Because I ken he lo'es me. 
 
 He's tall and sonsy, fran"k and free, 
 Lo'ed by a', and dear to me, 
 Wi' him I'd live, Avi' him I'd die, 
 Because my Robin lo'es me.
 
 198 
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 My titty Mary said to me, 
 Our courtship but a joke wad be, 
 And I, or lang, be made to see, 
 That Robin didna lo'e me. 
 
 But httle kens she what has been. 
 Me and my honest Rob between, 
 And in his wooing, 0,sae keen. 
 
 Kind Robin is that lo'es me. 
 Then fly, ye lazy hours, away, 
 And hasten on the happy day. 
 When "join your hands," Mess John shall say, 
 
 And mak' him mine that lo'es me. 
 
 Till then let every chance unite. 
 To weigh our love, and fix delight. 
 And I'll look down on such wi' spite, 
 
 Who doubt that Robin lo'es me. 
 O hey, Robin, quo' she, 
 O hey, Robin, quo' she, 
 O hey, Robin, quo' she, 
 
 Kind Robin lo'es me. 
 
 From Herd's Collection. There are much older words 
 to the tune, but they would be unsuitable here. 
 
 CLIII. 
 
 I LO'E NE'ER A LADDIE BUTANE. 
 
 I lo'e ne'er a laddie but ane ; 
 
 He lo'es ne'er a lassie but me ; 
 He's willing to mak' me his ain; 
 
 And his ain I am willing to be.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 199 
 
 He coft me a rockley o' blue, 
 And a pair o' mittens o' green ; 
 
 The price was a kiss o' my mou' ; 
 An' I paid him the debt yestreen. 
 
 CLIV. 
 
 LOCH-EROCH SIDE. 
 
 James Ty tier.— Born 1747 ; Died iSoj. 
 
 As I came by Loch-Eroch side, 
 
 The lofty hills surveying, 
 The water clear, the heather blooms 
 
 Their fragrance sweet conveying, 
 I met, unsought, my lovely maid, 
 
 I found her hke May morning ; 
 With graces sweet, and charms so rare, 
 
 Her person all adorning. 
 
 How kind her looks, how blest was I, 
 
 While in my arms I prest her ! 
 And she her wishes scarce conceal'd. 
 
 As fondly I caress'd her. 
 She said. If that your heart be true. 
 
 If constantly you'll love me, 
 I heed not care, nor fortune's frowns, 
 
 For nought but death shall move me. 
 
 -'5' 
 
 Eut faithful, loving, true, and kind, 
 For ever thou shalt find me ; 
 
 And of our meeting here so sweet, 
 Loch-Eroch side shall mind me.
 
 200 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 Enraptured then, " My lovely lass," 
 I cried, " No more we'll tarry ! 
 
 We'll leave the fair Loch-Eroch side, 
 For lovers soon should marry." 
 
 The author of this song was an ' obscure tippling but 
 extraordinary body commonly called Balloon Tytler, from 
 his having projected a balloon : a mortal who, though he 
 drudges about Edinburgh as a common printer, with leaky 
 shoes, a sky-lighted hat, and knee-buckles as unlike 
 as George-by-the-grace-of-God and Solomon-the-son-of- 
 David, yet that same unknown drunken mortal is author 
 and compiler of three-fourths of Elliot's pompous Encydo- 
 ptrdia Britantiica, which he composed at half-a-guinea a 
 week !' — Burns, 
 
 CLV. 
 
 THE YOUNG LAIRD AND EDIN- 
 BURGH KATIE. 
 
 Allan Ramsay. 
 
 Now wat ye wha I met yestreen, 
 
 Coming doAvn the street, my jo? 
 My mistress, in her tartan screen, 
 
 Fu' bonnie, braw, and sweet, my jo. 
 My dear, quoth I, thanks to the nicht 
 
 That never wiss'd a lover ill, 
 Sin' ye're out o' your mither's sicht, 
 
 Let's talc' a walk up to the hill. 
 
 Oh, Katie, wilt thou gang wi' me, 
 
 And leave the dinsome toun a while ? 
 
 The blossom's sprouting frae the tree. 
 And a' the simmer's gaun to smile.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 201 
 
 The mavis, nightingale, and lark, 
 
 The bleating lambs and whistling hynd, 
 
 In ilka dale, green shaw, and park, 
 
 Will nourish health, and glad your mind. 
 
 Sune as the clear gudeman o' day 
 
 Bends his morning draught o' dew. 
 We'll gae to some burn-side and play, 
 
 And gather flouirs to busk your brow. 
 We'll pou the daisies on the green. 
 
 The lucken-gowans frae the bog ; 
 Between hands, now and then, we'll lean 
 
 And sport upon the velvet fog. 
 
 There's, up into a pleasant glen, 
 
 A wee piece frae my -father's tower, 
 A canny, saft, and flowery den. 
 
 Which circling birks have made a bower. 
 Whene'er the sun grows high and warm. 
 
 We'll to the caller shade remove ; 
 There will I lock thee in my ami. 
 
 And love and kiss, and kiss and love. 
 
 The first stanza belongs to an older song. 
 
 CLVI. 
 MUIRLAND WILLIE. 
 
 Hearken, and I will tell ye how, 
 Young Muirland Willie came to woo ; 
 Tho' he could neither say nor do. 
 
 The truth I tell to you. 
 But aye, he cries, whate'er betide, 
 Maggie I'se ha'e to be my bride.
 
 202 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 On his gray yade as he did ride, 
 Wi' durk and pistol by his side, 
 He prick'd her on wi' meikle pride, 
 
 Wi' meikle mirth and glee. 
 Out o'er yon moss, out o'er yon muir 
 Till he came to her daddy's door. 
 
 Goodman, quoth he, be ye within, 
 I'm come your dochter's love to win, 
 I carena for making meikle din, 
 
 What answer gi'e ye me ? 
 Now wooer, quoth he, wou'd you light down, 
 I'll gi'e ye my dochter's love to win. 
 
 Now, wooer, sin' ye are lighted down. 
 Where do ye won, or in what town ? 
 I think my dochter winna gloom. 
 
 On sic a lad as you. 
 The wooer he stepp'd up the house, 
 And wow but he was wond'rous crouse. 
 
 I have three owsen in a pleugh, 
 
 Twa good gaun yads, and gear enough, 
 
 The place they ca' it Cadeneugh ; 
 
 I scorn to tell a lie : 
 Besides, I ha'e frae the great laird, 
 A peat-pat, and a lang kail yard. 
 
 The maid put on her kirtle brown. 
 She was the brawest in a' the town ; 
 I wat on him she didna gloom, 
 
 But bUnkit bonnilie. 
 The lover he st ended up in haste. 
 And gript her hard about the waist.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 203 
 
 To win your love, maid, I'm come here, 
 I'm young and ha'e enough o' gear ; 
 And for mysel' ye needna fear, 
 
 Trowth try me whan ye hke. 
 He took aff his bonnet, and spat in his chow, 
 He dightit his gab, and he prie'd her mou'. 
 
 The maiden bkish'd and bing'd fu' law, 
 She hadna will to say him na. 
 But to her daddy she left it a', 
 
 As they twa cou'd agree. 
 The lover he gied her the tither kiss, 
 Syne ran to her daddy, and tell'd him this. 
 
 Your dochter wadna say me na. 
 But to yoursel' she's left it a', 
 As we cou'd agree between us twa ; 
 Say, what ye'll gi'e me wi' her? 
 Now wooer, quoth he, I ha'e na meikle, 
 But sic's I ha'e ye's get a pickle. 
 
 A kilnfu' of corn I'll gi'e to thee. 
 
 Three soums o' sheep, twa good milk kye, 
 
 Ye's ha'e the wadding-dinner free ; 
 
 Trowth I dow do nae mair. 
 Content, quoth he, a bargain be't, 
 I'm far frae hame, make haste, let's do't. 
 
 The bridal day it came to pass, 
 Wi' mony a blythsome lad and lass ; 
 But sicken a day there never was. 
 
 Sic mirth was never seen. 
 This winsome couple strakit hands. 
 Mess John ty'd up the marriage bands.
 
 204 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 And our bride's maidens were na few, 
 Wi' tap-knots, lug-knots, a' in blue, 
 Frae tap to tae they were braw new. 
 
 And blinkit bonnilie. 
 Their toys and mutches were sae clean, 
 They glanced in our lads's een. 
 
 Sic hirdum, dirdum, and sic din, 
 Wi' he o'er her, and she o'er him \ 
 The minstrels they did never blin, 
 
 Wi' meikle mirth and glee. 
 And aye they reel'd and aye they set. 
 And lads's lips with lasses' met. 
 
 ' This lightsome ballad gives a particular drawing of 
 those ruthless times, %i<ha>i tkiez'es were rife, and the lads 
 went a wooing in their warlike habiliments, not knowing 
 whether they would tilt with lips or launces'. — Btirns. 
 
 It was first printed by Ramsay, as an old song. 
 
 CLVII. 
 WOO'D AND MARRIED AND A\ 
 
 The bride cam' out o' the byre, 
 
 And, O, as she dighted her cheeks ! 
 Sirs, I'm to be married the night, 
 
 And has neither blankets nor sheets; 
 Has neither blankets nor sheets, 
 
 Nor scarce a coverlet too ; 
 The bride that has a' thing to borrow. 
 
 Has e'en right muckle ado. 
 
 Woo'd and mairied and a'. 
 Married and woo'd and a' !
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 205 
 
 And was she no very weel off, 
 
 That was woo'd, and married and a' ? 
 
 Out spake the bride's father, 
 As he cam' in frae the pleugh, 
 
 haud your tongue, my dochter, 
 And ye'se get gear eneugh ; 
 
 The stirk stands i' th' tether. 
 
 And our braw bawsint yade, 
 Will carry ye hame your com ; 
 
 What wad ye be at, ye jade? 
 
 Out spake the bride's mither. 
 What deil needs a' this pride? 
 
 1 had na a plack in my pouch 
 That nicht I was a bride ; 
 
 My gown was linsy-woolsy, 
 
 And neer a sark ava ; 
 And ye ha'e ribbons and buskins, 
 
 Mae than ana or twa. 
 
 Out spake the bride's brither, 
 
 As he came in wi' the kye : 
 Poor Willie wad ne'er ha'e ta'en ye, 
 
 Had he kent ye as well as I ; 
 For ye're baith proud and saucy, 
 
 And no for a poor man's wife ; 
 Gin I canna get a better, 
 
 I'se never tak' ane i' my life. 
 
 Out spake the bride's sister, 
 
 As she came in frae the byre ; 
 O gin I were but married. 
 
 It's a' that I desire;
 
 2o6 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 But we poor folk maun live single, 
 
 And do the best we can ; 
 I dinna care what I should want 
 
 If I could but get a man. 
 
 Printed first in 1776 ; but it is of much older date. 
 
 CLVIII. 
 
 THE CARLE HE CAME O'ER THE 
 CRAFT. 
 
 The carle he came o'er the craft, 
 
 Wi' his beard new-shaven j 
 He look'd at me as he'd been daft, — 
 
 The carle trov/d that I wad ha'e him. 
 Hout awa' ! I winna ha'e him ! 
 
 Na, forsooth, I winna ha'e him ! 
 For a' his beard new-shaven, 
 
 Ne'er a bit o' me will ha'e him. 
 
 A siller brooch he ga'e me neist, 
 
 To fasten on my curchie nookit ; 
 I wore 't a wee upon my breist, 
 
 But soon, alake ! the tongue o't crookit ; 
 And sae may his ; I winna ha'e him ! 
 
 Na, forsooth, I winna ha'e him ! 
 Twice-a-bairn's a lassie's jest; 
 
 Sae ony fool for me may ha'e him. 
 
 The carle has nae fault but ane \ 
 
 For he has lands and dollars plenty, 
 
 But, waes me for him, skin and bane 
 Is no for a plump lass o' twenty.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 207 
 
 Hout awa', I winna ha'e him ! 
 
 Na, forsooth, I winna ha'e him ! 
 What signifies his dirty riggs, 
 
 And cash, without a man wi' them ? 
 
 An old song, which Ramsay 'pohshed a little.' \Ye 
 have omitted the last stanza. 
 
 CLIX. 
 
 BESS THE GAWKIE. 
 
 James Muirhead, D.D. — Born 1740; Died 1S08. 
 
 Blythe young Bess to Jean did say, 
 
 Will ye gang to yon sunny brae, 
 
 ^Vhere flocks do feed, and herds do stray, 
 
 And sport a while wi' Jamie? 
 Ah, na lass ! I'll no gang there, 
 Nor about Jamie tak' a care, 
 Nor about Jamie tak' a care, 
 
 For he's ta'en up wi' Maggie. 
 
 For hark, and I will tell you, lass, 
 Did I not see young Jamie pass 
 Wi' meikle blytheness in his face, 
 
 Out o'er the muir to Maggie. 
 I wat he ga'e her monie a kiss. 
 And Maggie took them ne'er amiss, 
 'Tween ilka smack pleased her wi' this, 
 
 That Bess was but a gawkie : 
 
 For when a civil kiss I seek. 
 
 She turns her head and thraws her cheek,
 
 2o8 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 And for an hour she'll hardly speak : 
 Wha'd no ca' her a gawkie ? 
 
 But sure my Maggie has mair sense, 
 
 She'll gie a score without offence ; 
 
 Now gie me ane into the mense, 
 And ye shall be my dawtie. 
 
 Jamie, ye hae mony ta'en, 
 But I will never stand for ane 
 Or twa when we do meet again, 
 
 So ne'er think me a gawkie. 
 Ah, na, lass, that canna be ; 
 Sic thoughts as thae are far frae me, 
 Or ony thy sweet face that see, 
 
 E'er to think thee a gawkie. 
 
 But, whisht, nae mair o' this we'll speak. 
 For yonder Jamie does us meet : 
 Instead o' Meg he kiss'd sae sweet, 
 
 I trow he likes the gawkie. 
 * O dear Bess, I hardly knew, 
 When I cam' by, your gown sae new ; 
 
 1 think you've got it wet wi' dew.' 
 
 Quoth she, ' That's like a gawkie ; 
 
 ' It's wat wi' dew, and 'twill get rain, 
 And I'll get gowns when it is gane ; 
 Sae ye may gang the gate ye came, 
 
 And tell it to your dawtie.' 
 The guilt appear'd on Jamie's cheek ; 
 He cried, ' O cruel maid, but sweet, 
 If I should gang anither gate, 
 
 I ne'er could meet my dawtie.'
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 209 
 
 The lasses fast frae him they flew, 
 And left poor Jamie sair to rue 
 That ever Maggie's face he knew, 
 
 Or yet ca'd Bess a gawkie. 
 As they gade ower the muir they sang, 
 The hills and dales wi' echo rang, 
 The hills and dales wi' echo rang, 
 
 ' Gang o'er the muir to Maggie.' 
 
 " It is a beautiful song, and in the genuine Scot's taste, 
 we have few pastoral compositions, I mean the pastoral 
 of nature, that are equal to this." — Bu7-ns. 
 
 CLX. 
 
 DEAR ROGER, IF YOUR JENNY 
 GECK. 
 
 Allan Ramsay. 
 
 Dear Roger, if your Jenny geek, 
 
 And answer kindness with a slight, 
 Seem unconcem'd at her neglect, 
 
 For women in our vows delight. 
 But them despise who are soon defeat, 
 
 And with a simple face give way 
 To a repulse ; then be not blate, 
 
 Push bauldly on and win the day. 
 
 When maidens, innocently young, 
 Say aften what they never mean ; 
 
 Ne'er mind their pretty lying tongue, 
 But tent the language o' their e'en ; 
 o
 
 2 1 o SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 If these agree, and she persist 
 
 To answer all your love with hate, 
 
 Seek elsewhere to be better blest, 
 And let her sigh, when tis' too late. 
 
 CLXI. 
 
 THE CAULDRIFE WOOER. 
 
 There cam' a young man to my daddie's door, 
 My daddie's door, my daddie's door ; 
 There cam' a young man to my daddie's door, 
 Cam' seeking me to woo. 
 
 And wow ! but he was a braw young lad, 
 A brisk young lad, and a braw young lad, 
 And wow ! but he was a braw young lad, 
 Cam' seeking me to woo. 
 
 But I was baking when he came. 
 When he came, when he came ; 
 I took him in and gied him a scone. 
 To thowe his frozen mou'. 
 
 I set him in aside the bink ; 
 I ga'e him bread and ale to drink ; 
 But ne'er a blythe styme wad he blink. 
 Until his wame was fu'. 
 
 Gae, get ye gone, ye cauldrife wooer, 
 Ye sour-looking, cauldrife wooer ! 
 I straightway show'd him to the door. 
 Saying, Come nae mair to woo.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 211 
 
 There lay a deuk-dub before the door, 
 Before the door, before the door ; 
 There lay a deuk-dub before the door, 
 And there fell he, I trow ! 
 
 (Jut cam' the gudeman, and high he shouted ; 
 Out cam' the gudewife, and laigh she louted ; 
 And a' the toun-neebors were gather'd about it ; 
 And there lay he, I trow ! 
 
 Then out cam' I, and sneer'd and smil'd ; 
 Ye cam' to woo, but ye're a' beguiled ; 
 Ye've fa'en i' the dirt, and ye're a' befyled ; 
 We'll ha'e na' mair o' you ! 
 
 From Herd's Collection. 
 
 CLXII. 
 
 / HA'E LAID A HERRING IN SAUT. 
 
 Javies Tytler. 
 
 I ha'e laid a herring in saut. 
 Lass gin ye lo'e me tell me now ! 
 I ha'e brew'd a forpet o' maut. 
 An' I canna come ilka day to woo. 
 I ha'e a calf will soon be a cow, 
 Lass gin ye lo'e me tell me now ! 
 I ha'e a pig will soon be a sow, 
 An' I canna come ilka day to woo. 
 
 I've a house on yonder muir. 
 Lass gin ye lo'e me tell me now I
 
 2 1 2 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 Three sparrows may dance upon the floor, 
 An' I canna come ilka day to woo. 
 I ha'e a but an' I ha'e a ben, 
 Lass gin ye lo'e me tell me now ! 
 I ha'e three chickens an' a fat hen, 
 An' I canna come ony mair to w^oo. 
 
 I've a hen wi' a happity leg, 
 Lass gin ye lo'e me tak' me now ! 
 Which ilka day lays me an egg. 
 An' I canna come ilka day to woo. 
 I ha'e a kebbuck upon my shelf, 
 Lass gin ye lo'e me tak' me now ; 
 I downa eat it a' myself; 
 An' I winna come ony mair to woo. 
 
 CLXIII. 
 
 GREEN GRO W THE RASHES, O. 
 
 R. Burns. 
 
 Green grow the rashes, O ! 
 
 Green grow the rashes, O ! 
 The sweetest hours that e'er I spend, 
 
 Are spent amang the lasses, O ! 
 
 There's nought but care on eVry han' 
 In ev'ry hour that passes, O ; 
 
 What signifies the life o' man, 
 An' 'twere na for the lasses, O. 
 
 The warly race may riches chase, 
 An' riches still may fly them, O ;
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 2 1 3 
 
 An' though at last they catch them fast, 
 Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O. 
 
 But gie me a canny hour at e'en, 
 My arms about my dearie, O ; 
 
 An' warly cares, an' warly men. 
 May a' gae tapsalteerie, O. 
 
 For you so douce, ye sneer at this. 
 Your nought but senseless asses, O ; 
 
 The wisest man the world e'er saw, 
 He dearly lo'ed the lasses, O. 
 
 Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears. 
 Her noblest work she classes, O ; 
 
 Her 'prentice han' she tried on man, 
 And then she made the lasses, O. 
 
 CLXIV. 
 
 MAGGIE LAUDER. 
 
 Attiibutedto Francis Semple of Beltrees. 
 Circa i6jo. 
 
 Wha wadna be in love 
 
 Wi' bonnie Maggie Lauder? 
 A piper met her gaun to Fife, 
 
 And speir'd what was't they ca'd her ;- 
 Right scornfully she answer'd him, 
 
 Begone you hallanshaker ! 
 Jog on your gate, you bletherskate, 
 
 My name is Maggie Lauder.
 
 2 1 4 SCO TTISH SONG. 
 
 Maggie, quo' he, now by my bags, 
 
 I'm fidgin' fain to see thee ; 
 Sit down by me, my bonnie bird, 
 
 In troth I ■vvinna steer thee ; 
 For I'm a piper to my trade, 
 
 My name is Rab the Ranter ; 
 The lasses loup as they were daft, 
 
 When I blaw up my chanter. 
 
 Piper, quo' Meg, ha'e ye your bags, 
 
 Or is your drone in order ! 
 If ye be Rab, I've heard of you, 
 
 Live ye upo' the border ? 
 The lasses a', baith far and near, 
 
 Have heard o' Rab the Ranter ; 
 I'll shake my foot wi' right gude will, 
 
 Gif you'll blaw up your chanter. 
 
 Then to his bags he flew wi' speed, 
 
 About the drone he twisted ; 
 Meg up and wallop'd o'er the green. 
 
 For brawly could she frisk it. 
 Well done ! quo' he — play up ! quo' she ; 
 
 Well bobb'd ! quo' Rab the Ranter ; 
 'Tis worth my while to play indeed. 
 
 When I ha'e sic a dancer. 
 
 Weel ha'e ye play'd your part, quo' Meg, 
 Your cheeks are like the crimson ; 
 
 There's nane in Scotland plays sae weel. 
 Since we lost Habbie Simpson. * 
 
 * A celebrated Piper in Renfrewshire.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 2 1 5 
 
 I've lived in Fife, baith maid and wife, 
 These ten years, and a quarter j 
 
 Gin' ye should come to Anster fair, 
 Speir ye for Maggie Lauder. 
 
 CLXV. 
 
 FEE HIM, FATHER. 
 
 Saw ye Johnny comin', quo' she, 
 
 Saw ye Johnny comin', 
 Saw ye Johnny comin', quo' she, 
 
 Saw ye Johnny comin'; 
 Saw ye Johnny comin', quo' she, 
 
 Saw ye Johnny comin'; 
 Wi' his blue bonnet on his head. 
 
 An' his doggie rinnin', quo' she, 
 
 An' his doggie rinnin' ? 
 
 Fee him, father, fee him, quo' she, 
 
 Fee him, father, fee him ; 
 Fee him, father, fee him, quo' she, 
 
 Fee him, father, fee him, 
 For he is a gallant lad. 
 
 And a weel-doin'; 
 And a' the wark about the house, 
 
 Gaes wi' me when I see him, quo' she, 
 
 Wi' me when I see him. 
 
 What will I do wi' him, hussy, 
 
 What will I do wi' him ? 
 He's ne'er a sark upon his back, 
 
 And I ha'e nane to ga'e him.
 
 2 1 6 SCO TTISH SONG. 
 
 I ha'e tvva sarks into my kist, 
 And ane o' them I'll gi'e him ; 
 
 And for a merk o' mair fee 
 Dinna stand wi' him, quo' she, 
 Dinna stand wi' him. 
 
 For weel do I lo'e him, quo' she, 
 
 Weel do I lo'e him ; 
 For weel do I lo'e him, quo' she, 
 
 Weel do I lo'e him. 
 O fee him, father, fee him, quo' she, 
 
 Fee him, father, fee him ; 
 He'll haud the pleugh, thrash in the barn, 
 
 And crack wi' me at e'en, quo' she, 
 
 And crack wi' me at e'en. 
 
 "This song, for genuine humour in the verses and 
 lively originahty in the air, is unparalleled. I take it 
 to be very old." — Burns. 
 
 CLXVI. 
 
 WHEN SHE CAM' BEN. 
 
 O when she cam' ben she bobbit fu' law, 
 O when she cam' ben she bobbit fu' law, 
 And when she cam' ben, she kiss'd Cockpen, 
 And syne denied she did it at a'. 
 
 And wasna Cockpen richt saucy witha', 
 And wasna Cockpen richt saucy witha', 
 In leaving the dochter of a lord. 
 And kissing a collier lassie an' a'?
 
 SCO TTISH SONG. 2 1 7 
 
 O never look doun, my lassie, at a', 
 
 O never look doun, my lassie, at a', 
 
 Thy lips are as sweet, and thy figure complete. 
 
 As the finest dame in castle or ha'. 
 
 Though thou has nae silk and holland sae sma', 
 Though thou has nae silk and holland sae sma'. 
 Thy coat and thy sark are thy ain handywark, 
 And Lady Jean was never sae braw. 
 
 This is an old song with a few alterations by Bums. 
 
 CLXVII. 
 THE LAIRD O' COCKPEN. 
 
 Lady A^ah-nc. 
 
 The Laird o' Cockpen, he's proud an' he's great, 
 His mind is ta'en up wi' the things o' the state, 
 He wanted a wife his braw house to keep ; 
 But favour wi' wooin' was fashions to seek. 
 
 Doun by the dyke-side a lady did dwell, 
 At his table-head he thought she'd look well ; 
 M'Clish's ae daughter o' Claverse-ha' Lee. 
 A pennyless lass wi' a lang pedigree. 
 
 His wig was weel pouther'd, as guid as when 
 
 new, 
 His waiscoat was white, his coat it was blue ; 
 He put on a ring, a sword, and cock'd hat — 
 And wha could refuse the Laird wi' a' that ?
 
 2 T 8 SCO TTISH SONG. 
 
 He took the gray mare, and rade cannilie ; 
 And rapped at the yet o' Claverse-ha' Lee ; 
 "Gae tell Mrs. Jean to come speedily ben; 
 She's wanted to speak wi' the Laird o' Cockpen." 
 
 Mistress Jean was makin' elder flower wine ; 
 "And what brings the Laird at sic' a like time?" 
 She put off her apron, and on her silk goun, 
 Her mutch wi' red ribbons, and gaed awa' doun. 
 
 And when she cam' ben, he boued fu' low ; 
 And what was his errand he soon let her know. 
 Amazed was the Laird when the Lady said, Na, 
 And wi' a laigh curtsie she turned awa'. 
 
 Dumfounder'd he was, but nae sigh did he gie ; 
 
 He mounted his mare and rade cannilie ; 
 
 And often he thought, as he gaed through the 
 
 glen, 
 She's daft to refuse the Laird o' Cockpen. 
 
 And now that the Laird his exit had made. 
 Mistress Jean she reflected on what she had 
 
 said; 
 " Oh ! for ane I'll get better, it's waur I'll get 
 
 ten — 
 I was daft to refuse the Laird o' Cockpen." 
 
 Neist time that the Laird and the lady were 
 
 seen, 
 They were gaun arm and ami to the kirk on the 
 
 green:
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 2 1 9 
 
 Now she sits in the ha' Hke a weel-tappit hen, 
 But as yet there's nae chickens appear'd at 
 Cockpen. 
 
 Miss Ferrier, who wrote Marriage, Destiny, etc., added 
 the last two verses. 
 
 CLXVIII. 
 
 ROBIN TAMSON. 
 
 Alexander Rodger. — Born 17 84; Died 1S46. 
 
 My mither men't my auld breeks, 
 
 An' wow ! but they were duddy, 
 And sent me to get Mally shod 
 
 At Robin Tamsons' smiddy ; 
 The smiddy stands beside the burn 
 
 That wimples through the clachan, 
 I never yet gae by the door, 
 
 But aye I fa' a-laughin'. 
 
 For Robin was a wealthy carle, 
 
 And had ae bonnie dochter, 
 Yet ne'er wad let her tak' a man. 
 
 Though mony lads had sought her ; 
 And what think ye o' my exploit ? — 
 
 The time our mare was shoeing, 
 I slippit up beside the lass, 
 
 An' briskly fell a-wooing. 
 
 An' aye she e'ed my auld breeks, 
 The time that we sat crackin',
 
 2 2 o SCO TTISH SONG. 
 
 Quo' I, my lass, ne'er mind the clouts, 
 I've new anes for the makin'; 
 
 But gin ye'll just come hame wi' me, 
 An' lea' the carle, your father, 
 
 Ye'se get my breeks to keep in trim, 
 Mysel', an' a' thegither. 
 
 Deed, lad, quo' she, your offer's fair, 
 
 I really think I'll tak' it, 
 Sae, gang awa', get out the mare, 
 
 We'll baith slip on the back o't ; 
 For gin I wait my father's time, 
 
 I'll wait till I be fifty; 
 But na ; — I'll marry in my prime, 
 
 An' mak' a wife most thrifty. 
 
 Wow ! Robin was an angry man, 
 
 At tyning o' his dochter ; 
 Through a' the kintra-side he ran. 
 
 An' far an' near he sought her ; 
 But when he cam' to our fire-end, 
 
 An' fand us baith thegither, 
 Quo' I, gudeman, I've ta'en your bairn, 
 
 An' ye may tak' my mither. 
 
 Auld Robin grin'd, an' sheuk his pow, 
 
 Guid sooth ! quo' he, you're merry, 
 But I'll just tak' ye at your word, 
 
 An' end this hurry-burry ; 
 So Robin an' our auld wife 
 
 Agreed to creep thegither ; 
 Now I hae Robin Tamson's pet, 
 
 An' Robin has my mither.
 
 SCO TTISH SONG. 2 2 1 
 
 CLXIX. 
 
 THE DUSTY MILLER. 
 
 Hey, the dusty Miller, 
 
 And his dusty coat. 
 He will win a shilling, 
 
 Or he spend a groat. 
 
 Dusty was the coat, 
 
 Dusty was the colour, 
 Dusty was the kiss 
 
 That I got frae the Miller. 
 
 CLXX. 
 
 THE MILLER. 
 
 Sir John Clerk, Bart. — Born 1680; Died lyyj. 
 
 Merry may the maid be, 
 
 That marries the miller, 
 For foul day and fair day 
 
 He's aye bringing till her ; 
 Has aye a penny in his purse 
 
 For dinner and for supper ; 
 And gin she please, a good fat cheese, 
 
 And lumps of yellow butter. 
 
 When Jamie first did woo me, 
 I speir'd what was his calling ; 
 
 Fair maid, says he, O come and see, 
 Ye're welcome to my dwalling :
 
 222 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 Though I was shy, yet I cou'd spy 
 The truth of what he told me, 
 
 And that his house was warm and couth- 
 And room in it to hold me. 
 
 Behind the door a bag of meal, 
 
 And in the kist was plenty 
 Of good hard cakes his mither bakes, 
 
 And bannocks were na scanty ; 
 A good fat sow, a sleeky cow 
 
 Was standin' in the b}Te ; 
 ^Vhile lazy puss with mealy mou' 
 
 Was playing at the fire. 
 
 Good signs are these, my mither says. 
 
 And bids me tak' the miller ; 
 For foul day and fair day 
 
 He's aye bringing till her ; 
 For meal and malt she does na want, 
 
 Nor anything that's dainty ; 
 And now and then a keckling hen 
 
 To lay her eggs in plenty. 
 
 In winter when the wind and rain 
 
 Blaws o'er the house and byre, 
 He sits beside a clean hearth stane 
 
 Before a rousing fire. 
 With nut-brown ale he tells his tale, 
 
 Which lows him o'er fu' nappy : 
 Who'd be a king — a petty thing, 
 
 When a miller lives so happy ?
 
 SCO TTISH SONG. 223 
 
 CLXXI. 
 TAK' IT, MAN, TAK' IT. 
 
 David Webster. 
 
 When I was a miller in Fife, 
 
 Losh ! I thought that the sound o' the happer 
 Said, Tak' hame a wee flow to your wife, 
 
 To help to be brose to your supper. 
 Then my conscience was narrow and pure, 
 
 But someway by random it rackit ; 
 For I liftet twa neivefu' or mair, 
 
 While the happer said, Tak' it, man, tak' it. 
 
 Then hey for the mill and the kill, 
 The garland and gear for my cogie, 
 
 And hey for the whiskey and yill, 
 That washes the dust frae my craigie. 
 
 Although it's been lang in repute, 
 
 For rogues to make rich by deceiving : 
 Yet I see that it disna weel suit 
 
 Honest men to begin to the thieving. 
 For my heart it gaed dunt upon dunt, 
 
 Od, I thought ilka dunt it wad crackit ; 
 Sae I flang frae my neive what was in't, 
 
 Still the happer said, Tak' it, man, tak' it. 
 
 A man that's been bred to the plough, 
 
 Might be deav'd with its clamorous clapper ; 
 
 Yet there's few but would suffer the sough, 
 After kenning what's said by the happer.
 
 2 24 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 I whiles thought it scofFd me to scorn, 
 
 Saying, Shame, is your conscience no chackit ; 
 
 But when I grew dry for a horn, 
 
 It chang'd aye to Tak' it, man, tak' it. 
 
 The smugglers whiles cam wi' their packs, 
 
 'Cause they kent that I liked a bicker, 
 Sae I bartered whiles wi' the gowks, 
 
 Gi'ed them grain for a soup o' their liquor. 
 I ha'e lang been accustomed to drink, 
 
 And aye when I purposed to quat it. 
 The thing wi' its clapertie clink. 
 
 Said aye to me, Tak' it, man, tak' it. 
 
 But the warst thing I did in my life, 
 
 Nae doubt but ye'll think I was wrang o't. 
 Od, I tauld a bit bodie in Fife 
 
 A' my tale, and he made a bit sang o't. 
 I have aye had a voice a' my days, 
 
 But for singin' I ne'er got the knack o't ; 
 Yet I try whiles, just thinking to please 
 
 My frien's here, wi' Tak' it, man, tak' it. 
 
 Printed 1835. 
 
 CLXXII. 
 
 A LASS WITH A L UMP OF LAND. 
 
 Allan Ramsay. 
 
 Gie me a lass with a lump of land, 
 And we for life shall gang thegither, 
 
 Tho' daft or wise, I'll ne'er demand. 
 Or black or white, it mak's na whether.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 225 
 
 I'm aff with wit, and beauty will fade, 
 And blood alane's no worth a shilling, 
 
 But she that's rich, her market's made, 
 For ilka charm about her's killing. 
 
 Gi'e me a lass with a lump of land, 
 
 And in my bosom I'll hug my treasure ; 
 Gin I had ance her gear in my hand. 
 
 Should love turn dowf, it will find pleasure. 
 Laugh on wha likes, but, there's my hand, 
 
 I hate with poortith, tho' bonny, to meddle. 
 Unless they bring cash, or a lump of land, 
 
 They'se never get me to dance to their fiddle. 
 
 There's meikle good love in bands and bags, 
 
 And siller and gowd's a sweet complexion ; 
 But beauty and wit, and virtue in rags. 
 
 Have tint the art of gaining affection : 
 Love tips his arrows with w'oods and parks, 
 
 And castles, and rigs, and muirs and meadows. 
 And naething can catch our modern sparks, 
 
 But well-tocher'd lasses, or jointured widows. 
 
 CLXXIII. 
 
 COME UNDER MY PLAID IE. 
 
 Hector Macneil. — Born 1746; Died iS 18. 
 
 Come under my plaidie ; the night's gaun to fa' ; 
 Come in frae the cauld blast, the drift, and the 
 
 snaw : 
 Come under my plaidie, and sit down beside me ; 
 There's room in't, dear lassie, believe me, for twn. 
 
 p
 
 2 26 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 Come under my plaidie, and sit doAvn beside me ; 
 I'll hap ye frae every cauld blast that can blaw : 
 Come under my plaidie, and sit down beside me : 
 There's room in't, dear lassie, believe me, for twa. 
 
 Gae 'wa wi' your plaidie ! auld Donald, gae 'wa, 
 I fear na the cauld blast, the drift, nor the snaw ! 
 Gae 'wa wi' your plaidie ! I'll no sit beside ye ; 
 Ye micht be my gutcher ! auld Donald, gae 'wa. 
 I'm gaun to meet Johnnie— he's young and he's 
 
 bonnie ; 
 He's been at Meg's bridal, fu' trig and fu' braw ! 
 Nane dances sae lichtly, sae gracefu', or tichtly, 
 His cheek's like the new rose, his brow's like the 
 
 snaw ! 
 
 Dear Marion, let that flee stick fast to the wa' ; 
 Your Jock's but a gowk, and has naething ava ; 
 The haill o' his pack he has now on his back ; 
 He's thretty, and I am but three score and twa. 
 Be frank now and kindly — I'll busk ye aye finely ; 
 To kirk or to market there'll few gang sae braw ; 
 A bein house to bide in, a chaise for to ride in. 
 And flunkies to 'tend ye as aft as ye ca'. 
 
 My father aye tauld me, my mother and a', 
 Ye'd mak' a gude husband, and keep me aye 
 
 braw ; 
 It's true I lo'e Johnnie; he's young and he's 
 
 bonnie : 
 But wae's me ! I ken he has naething ava ! 
 I ha'e little tocher : ye've made a gude offer ; 
 I'm now mare than twenty, my time is but sma' ! 
 
 ,
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 227 
 
 Sae gi'e me your plaidie : I'll creep in beside ye ; 
 I thocht ye'd been aulder than three score and 
 twa. 
 
 She crapt in ayont him, beside the stane wa', 
 Whare Johnnie was listnin' and heard her tell a' : 
 The day was appointed ! his proud heart it dunted, 
 And stack 'gainst his side, as if burstin' in twa. 
 He wandered hame wearie, the nicht it was 
 
 drearie. 
 And, thowlcss, he tint his gate 'mang the deep 
 
 snaw : 
 The howlet was screamin', while Johnnie cried, 
 
 Women 
 AVad marry Auld Nick, if he'd keep them aye braw. 
 
 CLXXIV. 
 
 JAMIE O' THE GLEN. 
 
 Auld Rob, the laird o' muckle land. 
 To woo me was na very blate. 
 
 But spite o' a' his gear he fand 
 He cam' to woo a day ower late. 
 
 A lad sae blythe, sae fu' o' glee, 
 
 My heart did never ken, 
 And nane can gi'e sic joy to me 
 
 As Jamie o' the glen. 
 
 My minnie grat like daft, and rair'd. 
 To gar me wi' her will comply, 
 
 But still I wadna hae the laird, 
 Wi' a' his ousen, sheep, and kye.
 
 2 28 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 Ah, what are silks and satins braw ? 
 
 What's a' his warldly gear to me ? 
 They're daft that cast themsel's awa', 
 
 Where nae content or love can be. 
 
 I cou'dna bide the silly clash 
 
 Cam hourly frae the gawky laird ! 
 
 And sae, to stop his gab and fash, 
 Wi' Jamie to the kirk repair'd. 
 
 Now ilka summer's day, sae lang. 
 
 And winter's, clad wi' frost and snaw, 
 
 A tunefu' lilt and bonnie sang 
 
 Aye keep dull care and strife awa'. 
 
 Printed first in yo/nisoii's Musical Mtiseiiin ; but it is 
 of much older date. 
 
 CLXXV. 
 
 TWINE WEEL THE PLAIDEN. 
 
 O, I ha'e lost my silken snood,* 
 That tied my hair sae yellow ; 
 
 * ' The snood or riband, with which a Scottish lass 
 braided her hair, had an emblematical signification, and 
 applied to her maiden character. It was exchanged for 
 the curch, toy, or coif, when she passed, by man-iage, into 
 the matron state. But if the damsel was so unfortunate 
 as to lose pretensions to the name of maiden, without 
 gaining a right to that of matron, she was neither per- 
 mitted to use the snood, nor advanced to the graver 
 dignity of the curch. In old Scottish songs there occur 
 many sly allusions to such misfortune, as in the old ■\\ords 
 to the popular tune of "O'er the Muir amang the 
 heather. " ' — Scott.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 229 
 
 I've gi'en my heart to the lad I lo'ed, 
 He was a gallant fellow. 
 
 And twme it weel, my bonnie dow, 
 And twine it weel the plaiden ; 
 
 The lassie lost her silken snood, 
 In pu'ing o' the breckan. 
 
 He praised my een sae bonnie blue, 
 
 Sae lily-white my skin, O, 
 And syne he prie'd my bonnie mou'. 
 
 And said it was nae sin, O. 
 
 But he has left the lass he lo'ed, 
 
 His own true love forsaken ; 
 AVhich gars me sair to greet the snood, 
 
 I lost amang the breckan. 
 
 This song can be traced no fartlier back than JoJuison's 
 Musical Museum, although it is understood to be much 
 older. 
 
 CLXXVI. 
 
 SOMEBODY. 
 R. Burns. 
 
 My heart is sair — I daurna tell— 
 My heart is sair for somebody ; 
 
 I could wake a winter night, 
 For the sake of somebody. 
 
 Ochon, for somebody ! 
 Och hey, for somebody !
 
 230 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 I could range the warld round, 
 For the sake of somebody. 
 
 Ye powers that smile on virtuous love, 
 O, sweetly smile on somebody ! 
 
 Frae ilka danger keep him free, 
 And send me safe my somebody. 
 
 Ochon, for somebody ! 
 Och hey, for somebody ! 
 I wad do — what wad I not? — 
 For the sake of somebody. 
 
 Bums has borrowed some of the lines of this song from 
 one by Ramsay. 
 
 CLXXVII. 
 
 TIBBIE FOWLER. 
 
 Tibbie Fowler o' the Glen, 
 
 There's ower mony wooin' at her ; 
 
 Tibbie Fowler o' the Glen, 
 
 There's ower mony wooin' at her. 
 
 Wooin' at her, pu'in' at her, 
 
 Courtin' her, and canna get her. 
 
 Filthy elf, it's for her pelf. 
 
 That a' the lads are wooin' at her. 
 
 Ten cam' east, and ten cam' west ; 
 
 Ten cam' rowin' ower the water ; 
 Twa cam' down the lang dyke-side ; 
 
 There's twa-and-thirty wooin' at her.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 2 3 r 
 
 There's seven but, and seven ben, 
 
 Seven in the pantry wi' her ; 
 Twenty head about the door : 
 
 There's ane-and-forty wooin' at her ! 
 
 She's got pendles in her lugs : 
 Cockle-shells wad set her better ! 
 
 High-heel'd shoon, and siller tags. 
 And a' the lads are wooin' at her. 
 
 Be a lassie e'er sae black, 
 
 An' she hae the name o' siller, 
 
 Set her up on Tintock-tap, 
 
 The wind will blaw a man till her. 
 
 Be a lassie e'er sae fair, 
 
 An' she want the penny siller, 
 
 A flie may fell her in the air, 
 Before a man be even'd till her. 
 
 The first complete copy of these words was prmted in 
 Johnson's Musical Alnscum. 
 
 CLXXVIII. 
 
 WHEN MAGG Y GANGS A WA K 
 
 James Hogg. 
 
 O, what will a' the lads do 
 
 When Maggy gangs away ? 
 O, what will a' the lads do 
 
 When Maggy gangs away ?
 
 232 
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 There's no a heart in a' the glen 
 That disna dread the day. 
 
 O, what will a' the lads do 
 When Maggy gangs away ? 
 
 Young Jock has ta'en the hill for't — 
 
 A waefu' wight is he ; 
 Poor Harry's ta'en the bed for't, 
 
 An' laid him doun to dee ; 
 An' Sandy's gane unto the kirk, 
 
 An's learning fast to pray. 
 And, O, what will the lads do 
 
 When IVIaggy gangs away ? 
 
 The young laird o' the Lang Shaw 
 
 Has drunk her health in wine ; 
 The priest has said — in confidence — 
 
 The lassie was divine : 
 And that is mair in maiden's praise 
 
 Than ony priest should say : 
 But, O, what will the lads do 
 
 When Maggy gangs away ? 
 
 The wailing in our green glen 
 
 That day will quaver high ; 
 'Twill draw the red-breast frae the wood, 
 
 The laverock frae the sky ; 
 The fairies frae their beds o' dew 
 
 Will rise and join the lay : 
 An' hey ! what a day 'twill be 
 
 \\'hen Maggy gangs away !
 
 p 
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 233 
 
 CLXXIX. 
 COMIN' THRO' THE RYE. 
 
 Coming through the rye, poor body, 
 
 Coining through the rye, 
 She draiglet a' her petticoatie, 
 
 Coming through the rye. 
 
 Oh Jenny's a' wat poor body, 
 
 Jenny's seldom dry ; 
 She draiglet a' her petticoatie, 
 
 Coming through the rye. 
 
 Gin a body meet a body — 
 
 Coming through the rye. 
 Gin a body kiss a body — 
 
 Need a body cry ? 
 
 Gin a body meet a body 
 
 Coming through the glen, 
 Gin a body kiss a body — 
 
 Need the warld ken? 
 
 There are many versions of this old song. We give the 
 one which Burns chose for Johnson'' s Musical Museum. 
 
 CLXXX. 
 
 THE WAYWARD WIRE. 
 
 yanet Graham. — Born 1724; Died i8oj. 
 
 Alas ! my son, you little know 
 The sorrows that from wedlock flow. 
 Farewell to every day of ease. 
 When you have got a wife to please.
 
 2 -, 4 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 Sae bide you yet, and bide you yet 
 Ye little ken what's to betide you yet, 
 The half of that will gane you yet, 
 If a wayward wife obtain you yet. 
 
 Sometimes the rock, sometimes the reel. 
 Or some piece of the spinning-wheel 
 She'll drive at you, my bonnie chiel ; 
 And then she'll send you to the deil. 
 
 When I like you was young and free, 
 I valued not the proudest she ; 
 Like you I vainly boasted then, _ 
 That men alone were born to reign. 
 
 Great Hercules and Samson too, 
 Were stronger men than I or you, 
 Yet they were baffled by their dears, 
 And felt the distaff and the shears. 
 
 Stout gates of brass and well-built walls. 
 Are proof 'gainst swords and cannon balls 
 But nought is found by sea or land, 
 That can a wayward wife withstand. 
 
 CLXXXI. 
 
 THE AULD GOODMAN.'' 
 
 Late in an evening forth I went, 
 A little before the sun gaed down ; 
 
 And then I chanced by accident, 
 Xo light on a battle new begun. 
 
 "" Aitld Goodman means here, late Husband.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 235 
 
 A man and his wife were faun in a strife ; 
 
 I canna weel tell how it began 
 But aye she wail'd her wretched life, 
 
 And cried ever, Alake, my auld goodman ! 
 
 The auld goodman that thou tells of, 
 
 The country kens where he was born, 
 Was but a puir silly vagabond. 
 
 And ilka ane leuch him to scorn ; 
 For he did spend and mak' an end 
 
 Of gear that his forefathers wan ; 
 He gart the poor stand frae the door : 
 
 Sae tell nae mair of thy auld goodman. 
 
 My heart, alake, is like to break. 
 
 When I think on my winsome John ; 
 His blinking e'e, and gait sae free. 
 
 Was naething like thee, thou dozent drone. 
 His rosy face and flaxen hair, 
 
 And skin as white as ony swan, 
 "\^'as large and tall, and comely withal ; 
 
 And thou'lt never be like my auld goodman. 
 
 Why dost thou pleen ? I thee mainteen ; 
 
 For meal and maut thou disna want ; 
 But thy wild bees I canna please. 
 
 Now when our gear 'gins to grow scant. 
 Of household stuff thou hast enough; 
 
 Thou wants for neither pot nor pan ; 
 Of siclike ware he left thee bare : 
 
 Sae tell nae mair of thy auld goodman. 
 
 Tliis song is at least as old as the seventeenth century.
 
 236 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 CLXXXII. 
 OURG UDEAIAN CAM' HAAIE A TEEN. 
 
 Our gudeman cam' hame at e'en, 
 
 And hame cam' he \ 
 And there he saw a saddle-horse, 
 
 Where nae horse should be. 
 
 Oh how cam' this horse here? 
 
 How can this be ? 
 How cam' this horse here, 
 
 Without the leave o' me? 
 
 A horse ! quo' she : 
 Ay, a horse, quo' he. 
 Ye auld dotard carl, 
 
 And blinder mat ye be. 
 It's but a bonnie milk-cow 
 My minnie sent to me. 
 
 A milk-cow, quo' he : 
 Ay, a milk-cow, quo' she. 
 Far hae I ridden. 
 
 And muckle hae I seen, 
 But a saddle on a cow's back 
 Saw I never nane. 
 
 Our gudeman cam' hame at e'en. 
 
 And hame cam' he ; 
 He spied a pair of jackboots 
 
 AVhere nae boots should be.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 What's this now, gudewife ? 
 
 What's this I see ? 
 How cam' these boots here 
 
 Without the leave o' me ? 
 
 Boots ! quo' she : 
 Ay, boots, quo' he. 
 Ye auld dotard carl, 
 
 I'll mat ye see. 
 It's but a pair of water-stoups 
 The cooper sent to me. 
 
 Water-stoups ! quo' he : 
 Ay, Avater-stoups, quo' she. 
 Far hae I ridden. 
 
 And far hae I gane, 
 But siller spurs on water-stoups 
 Saw I never nane. 
 
 Our gudeman cam' hame at e'en, 
 
 And hame cam' he ; 
 And there he saw a siller sword. 
 
 Where nae sword should be. 
 
 'What's this now, gudewife ? 
 
 What's this I see? 
 O how cam' this sword here, 
 
 Without the leave o' me ? 
 
 A sword ! quo' she : 
 Ay, a sword, quo' he. 
 Ye auld dotard carl, 
 I'll mat ve see. 
 
 237
 
 ,,8 . SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 It's but a parridge spurtle 
 My minnie sent to me. 
 
 A parridge spurtle ! quo' he : 
 Ay, a pan-idge spurtle, quo' she. 
 Weel, far hae I ridden, 
 
 And muckle hae I seen, 
 But siller-handed parridge spurtles 
 Saw I never nane. 
 
 Our gudeman cam' hame at e'en, 
 
 And hame cam' he ; 
 There he spied a powder'd wig, 
 
 Where nae wig should be. 
 
 What's this now, gudewife? 
 
 What's this I see ? 
 How cam' this wig here, 
 
 Without the leave o' me? 
 
 A wig ! quo' she : 
 Ay, a wig, quo' he. 
 Ye auld dotard carl, 
 
 I'll mat ye see, 
 It's naething but a clockin-hen 
 My minnie sent to me. 
 
 A clockin-hen ! quo' he : 
 Ay, a clockin-hen, quo' she. 
 Far hae I ridden, 
 
 And muckle hae I seen, 
 But powder on a clockin-hen 
 Saw I never nane.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 239 
 
 Our gudeman cam' hame at e'en, 
 
 And hame cam' he; 
 And there he saw a muckle-coat, 
 
 Where nae coat should be. 
 
 O how cam' this coat here ? 
 
 How can this be ? 
 How cam' this coat here, 
 
 Without the leave o' me? 
 
 A coat ! quo' she : 
 Ay, a coat, quo' he. 
 Ye auld blind dotard carl, 
 
 Blind mat ye be, 
 It's but a pair a blankets 
 My minnie sent to me. 
 
 Blankets ! quo' he : 
 Ay, blankets, quo' she. 
 Far hae I ridden. 
 
 And muckle hae I seen. 
 But buttons upon blankets 
 Saw I never nane. 
 
 Ben gaed our gudeman, 
 
 And ben ga'ed he ; 
 And there he spied a sturdy man 
 
 Where nae man should be. 
 
 How cam' this man here? 
 
 How can this be? 
 How cam' this man here, 
 
 Without the leave o' me ?
 
 240 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 A man ! quo' she : 
 Ay, a man, quo' he. 
 Poor bhnd body. 
 
 And bhnder mat ye be, 
 It's a new milking maid 
 My mither sent to me. 
 
 A maid ! quo' he : 
 Ay, a maid, quo' she, 
 Far hae I ridden. 
 
 And muckle hae I seen. 
 But lang-bearded maidens 
 Saw I never nane. 
 
 'This capital old song was first printed by Herd, in 1776. 
 CLXXXIII. 
 
 GET UP AND BAR THE DOOR. 
 
 It fell about the Martinmas time, 
 
 And a gay time it was then, 
 When our gudewife got puddings to mak' ; 
 
 And she boiled them in the pan. 
 
 The wind sae cauld blew south frae north. 
 
 And blew into the floor : 
 Quoth our gudeman to our gudewife, 
 
 " Gae out and bar the door." 
 
 " My hand is in my hussy'fskap, 
 
 Gudeman, as ye may see ; 
 An' it shouldna' be barr'd this hunder year, 
 
 It's no be barr'd for me."
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 241 
 
 They made a paction 'tween them tvva, 
 
 They made it firm and sure, 
 That whae'er should speak the foremost word, 
 
 Should rise and bar the door. 
 
 Then by there cam' twa gentlemen, 
 
 At twelve o'clock at night. 
 And they could neither see house nor ha', 
 
 Nor coal nor candle light. 
 
 Now, whether is this a rich man's house ? 
 
 Or whether is it a poor ? 
 But never a word wad ane o' them speak. 
 
 For the barrin' of the door. 
 
 And first they ate the white puddmgs, 
 
 And then they ate the black ; 
 Tho' muckle thought our gudewife to hersel', 
 
 Yet ne'er a word she spak'. 
 
 Then said the ane unto the ither, 
 
 " Here, man, tak' ye my knife ; 
 Do ye tak' aff the auld man's beard, 
 
 And I'll kiss the gudewife." 
 
 '• But there's nae water in the house, 
 
 And what shall we do than ? 
 What ails ye at the pudding-bree, 
 
 That boils into the pan ? " 
 
 Up then started our gudeman. 
 
 An angry man was he ; 
 " Will ye kiss my wife before my e'en. 
 
 And scad me wi' the pudding bree?" 
 O
 
 242 
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 Then up and started our gudewife, 
 
 Gied three skips on the floor ; 
 " Goodman, ye've spak the foremost word, 
 
 Get up and bar the door. 
 
 There is a translation of this song by Goethe, in which, 
 however, the catastrophe is somewhat different ; we have 
 been told that the version from which he translated had 
 been altered, unknown to him, by some foolish English 
 lady. 
 
 CLXXXIV. 
 
 HAP AND ROW. 
 IVillianu Creech. — Born 174s; Dud 181J. 
 
 We'll hap and roA\', we'll hap and row, 
 We'll hap and row the feetie o't ; 
 
 It is a wee bit weary thing. 
 I downa bide the greetie o't. 
 
 And we pat on the wee bit pan, 
 To boil the lick o' meatie o't ; 
 
 A cinder fell and spoil'd the plan, 
 And burnt a' the feetie o't. 
 
 Fu' sair it grat, the puir wee brat, 
 And aye it kick'd the feetie o't, 
 
 Till, puir wee elf, it tired itself; 
 And then began the sleepie o't. 
 
 The skirling brat nae parritch gat, 
 When it gaed to the sleepie o't ; 
 
 It's waesome true, instead o' 'ts mou', 
 They're round about the feetie o't.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 CLXXXV. 
 ROBIN RED-BREAST. 
 
 Gude day now, bonny Robin, 
 How lang ha'e ye been here ? 
 
 I've been a bird about this bush 
 This mair than twenty year. 
 
 But now I am the sickest bird 
 
 That ever sat on brier ; 
 And I wad mak' my testament, 
 
 Gudeman, if ye wad hear. 
 
 Gar tak' this bonny neb o' mine, 
 That picks upon the corn ; 
 
 And gi'e't to the Duke of Hamilton, 
 To be a hunting-horn. 
 
 243 
 
 -'& 
 
 Gar tak' thae bonnie feathers o' mine, 
 
 The feathers o' my neb ; 
 And gi'e to the Tady Hamilton, 
 
 To fill a feather-bed. 
 
 Gar tak' this gude richt-leg o' mine. 
 And mend the brig o' Tay ; 
 
 It will be a post and pillar gude, 
 It will neither bow nor gae. 
 
 And tak' this other leg o' mine, 
 And mend the brig o' Weir ; 
 
 It will be a post and pillar gude, 
 It'll neither bow nor steer.
 
 244 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 Gar tak' they bonnie feathers o' mine, 
 
 The feathers o' my tail ; 
 And gi'e to the lads o' Hamilton 
 
 To be a barn flail. 
 
 And tak' thae bonnie feathers o' mine, 
 The feathers o' my breast ; 
 
 And gi'e them to the bonnie lad, 
 Will bring to me a priest. 
 
 Now in there cam' my Lady Wren, 
 W^i' mony a sigh and groan, 
 
 O what care I for a' the lads, 
 If my wee lad be gone ! 
 
 Then Robin turn'd him round about, 
 
 E'en like a little king ; 
 Gae pack ye out at my chamber-door, 
 
 Ye little cutty-quean. 
 
 From Herd's collection, 1776. 
 CLXXXVI. 
 
 WILLIE WASTLE. 
 
 R. Burns. 
 
 Willie Wastle dwelt on Tweed, 
 
 The spot they ca'd it Linkumdoddie ; 
 Willie was a wabster gude, 
 
 Cou'd stown a clue wi' ony bodie ; 
 He had a wife was dour and din, 
 O Tinkler Madgie was her mither : 
 Sic a wife as Willie had, 
 I wad nae gie a button for her.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 245 
 
 She has an ee, she has but ane, 
 
 The cat has twa the very colour ; 
 Five rusty teeth, forbye a stump, 
 
 A clapper tongue wad deave a miller ; 
 A whiskin' beard about her mou', 
 
 Her nose and chin they threaten ither : 
 Sic a wife as Willie had, 
 I wad na gie a button for her. 
 
 She's bow-hough'd, she's hein-shinn'd, 
 
 Ae limpin' leg a hand-breed shorter ; 
 She's twisted right, she's twisted left, 
 
 To balance fair on ilka quarter : 
 She has a hump upon her breast, 
 The twin o' that upon her shouther : 
 Sic a wife as Willie had, 
 I wad na gie a button for her. 
 
 Auld baudrans by the ingle sits, 
 
 An' wi' her loof her face a washin' ; 
 But Willie's wife is nae sae trig, 
 
 She dights her grunzie wi' a hushion : 
 Her walie nieves like midden-creels. 
 Her face wad fyle the Logan-water : 
 Sic a wife as Willie had. 
 I wad na gie a button for her. 
 
 In Whitlocke * there is the following curious notice of 
 a "William of the Wastle," cited by Carlyle,t which 
 may, perhaps, have suggested the name in this song. 
 In Feb., 1650, on Fenwick's demanding the surrender of 
 
 * Memorials of English Affairs (London, 1682), p. 464. 
 t Cromwcirs Letters and Speeches (Library Edition), 
 Vol. III., p. 116.
 
 246 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 Hume Castle, its owner answered, 'That he knew not 
 Cromwell, and for his castle, it was built upon a rock.' 
 Four days afterwards, when the geat guns were opened 
 upon him, he sent another letter, as follows : — 
 
 ' I, William of the Wastle, 
 Am now in my castle ; 
 And aw the dogs in the tovra 
 Shanna gar me gang down.' 
 
 The mortars, however, were opened upon him, 'which 
 did gar him gang down,' Carlyle says, 'more fool than 
 he went up.' 
 
 CLXXXVII. 
 
 JANET MACBEAN. 
 
 Robert Nicoll. — Born 18 14 ; Died 1837. 
 
 Janet Macbean a public keeps, 
 
 An' a meny auld wife is she ; 
 An' she sells her yill wi' a jaunty air 
 
 That wad please your heart to see. 
 Her drink's o' the best — she's hearty aye, 
 
 An' her house is neat an' clean — 
 There's no an auld wife in the public line 
 
 Can match wi' Janet Macbean. 
 
 She has aye a curtsey for the laird 
 
 When he conies to di-ink his can, 
 An' a laugh for the farmer an' his wife. 
 
 An' a joke for the farmer's man. 
 She toddles but an' she toddles ben, 
 
 Like onie wee bit queen — 
 There's no an auld wife in the public line 
 
 Can match wi' Janet Macbean.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 247 
 
 The beggar wives gang a' to her, 
 
 An' she sairs them wi' bread an' cheese : — 
 Her bread in bannocks an' cheese in whangs 
 
 Wi' a blythe gudewill she gi'es. 
 Vow, the kintra-side will miss her sair 
 
 When she's laid aneath the green — ^ 
 There's no an auld wife in the public line 
 
 Can match wi' Janet Macbean. 
 
 Amang alehouse wives she rules the roast ; 
 
 For upo' the Sabbath days 
 She puts on her weel hain'd tartan plaid 
 
 An' the rest o' her Sabbath claes \ 
 An' she sits, nae less ! in the minister's seat : 
 
 Ilk psalm she lilts, I ween — 
 There's no an auld wife in the public line 
 
 Can match wi' Janet Macbean. 
 
 CLXXXVIII. 
 
 WHISTLE, AND PLL COME TO YOU, 
 MY LAD, 
 
 R. Burns. 
 
 O, whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad ; 
 O, whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad ; 
 Tho' father, and mother, and a' should gae mad, 
 O, whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad.
 
 248 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 But warily tent, when you come to court me, 
 And come na unless the back-yett be a-jee ; 
 Syne up the back-stile, and let nae body see, 
 And come as ye were na comin' to me, 
 And come as ye were na comin' to me. 
 
 At kirk or at market, whene'er ye meet me, 
 Gang by me as though ye cared na a flie ; 
 But steal me a blink o' your bonnie black e'e, 
 Yet look as ye were na lookin' at me, 
 Yet look as ye were na lookin' at me. 
 
 Aye vow and protest that ye care na for me, 
 And whyles ye may lichtly my beauty a wee ; 
 But court na anither, though jokin' ye be. 
 For fear that she wyle your fancy frae me, 
 For fear that she wyle your fancy frae me.
 
 
 '% 
 
 Q^: 
 
 fart II.
 
 CLXXXIX. 
 
 BRUCE' S ADDRESS. 
 
 R. Biir)is. 
 
 Scots, wha ha'e wi' Wallace bled ; 
 Scots, wham Bruce has aften led ! 
 Welcome to your gory bed, 
 
 Or to victorie ! 
 Now's the day, and now's the hour : 
 See the front of battle lour : 
 See approach proud Edward's pow'r- 
 
 Chains and slaverie ! 
 
 Wha will be a traitor knave ? 
 Wha can fill a coward's grave ? 
 Wha sae base as be a slave ? 
 
 Let him turn and flee ! 
 Wha, for Scotland's king and law, 
 Freedom's sword will strongly draw. 
 Freeman stand, or freeman fa', 
 
 Let him follow me !
 
 2^2 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 By oppression's woes and pains, 
 By your sons in servile chains, 
 We will drain our dearest veins, 
 
 But they shall be free. 
 Lay the proud usurpers low ! 
 T>Tants fall in every foe ! 
 Liberty's in every blow ! 
 
 Let us do or die ! 
 
 ' So long as there is wami blood in the heart of Scotch- 
 man or man, it will move in fierce thrills under this war- 
 ode ; the best, we believe, that ever was written by any 
 pen'. — Carlyle. 
 
 cxc. 
 CHARLIE IS MY DARLING. 
 
 Lady Nairne. 
 
 'Twas on a Monday morning, 
 
 Richt early in the year, 
 That Charlie cam' to our toun, 
 
 The young Chevalier. 
 
 Oh, Charlie is my darling, 
 My darling, my darling ; 
 
 Charlie is my darling. 
 The young Chevalier. 
 
 As he came marching up the street, 
 The pipes played loud and clear ; 
 
 And a' the folk cam' running out 
 To meet the Chevalier.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 253 
 
 Wi' Hieland bonnets on their heads, 
 And claymores bright and clear, 
 
 They've come to fight for Scotland's right, 
 And the young Chevalier. 
 
 They've left their bonnie Hieland hills, 
 
 Their wives and baimies dear ; 
 They've drawn the sword for Scotland's lord, 
 
 And the young Chevalier. 
 
 cxci. 
 KENMURE'S ON AND AWA\ 
 
 O, Kenmure's on and awa', Willie, 
 
 O, Kenmure's on and awa'; 
 And Kenmure's lord's the bravest lord 
 
 That ever Galloway saw. 
 
 Success to Kenmure'^ band, Willie, 
 
 Success to Kenmure's band ! 
 There's no a heart that fears a Whig, 
 
 That rides by Kenmure's hand. 
 
 Here's Kenmure's health in wine, Willie, 
 Here's Kenmure's health in wine ! 
 
 There ne'er was a coward o' Kenmure's blude, 
 Nor yet o' Gordon's line. 
 
 O, Kenmure's lads are men, Willie, 
 
 O, Kenmure's lads are men ! 
 Their hearts and swords are metal true ; 
 
 And that their faes shall ken.
 
 254 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 They'll live or die wi' fame, Willie, 
 
 They'll live or die wi' fame ; 
 But sune wi' sound and victorie 
 
 May Kenmure's lord come hame. 
 
 Here's Him that's far awa', Willie, 
 
 Here's Him that's far awa' ; 
 And here's the flower that I lo'e best, 
 
 The rose that's like the snaw. 
 
 In 1 715, William Gordon, Viscount Kenmure, left 
 Galloway with about 200 horsemen, and joined the Pre- 
 tender at Preston in Lancashire. There he was made 
 prisoner. He and many of his men were taken to 
 London, where, with their arms pinioned, they were led 
 on horseback through the chief streets, to their respective 
 prisons, amidst the din of victorious music, and the yelling 
 and hooting of the mob. Kenmure was beheaded on 
 Tower Hill in 1716. 
 
 CXCII. 
 
 JOHNNIE COPE. 
 
 Adam Skirviiig. — Born i^ig ; Died i8oj. 
 
 Cope sent a challenge frae Dunbar : — 
 Charlie, meet me an ye daur, 
 And I'll learn you the art o' war, 
 If you'll meet wi' me i' the momin. 
 
 Hey, Johnnie Cope, are ye wauking yet? 
 Or are your drums a-beating yet ? 
 If ye were wauking, I wad wait 
 
 To gang to the coals i' the morning.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 255 
 
 When Charlie look'd the letter upon, 
 He drew his sword the scabbard from : 
 Come follow me, my merry merry men, 
 
 And we'll meet Johnnie Cope in the morning. 
 
 Now, Johnnie, be as good's your word, 
 Come let us try both fire and sword ; 
 And dinna flee away like a frighted bird, 
 That's chased frae its nest in the morning. 
 
 W'lien Johnnie Cope he heard of this, 
 He thought it wadna be amiss. 
 To ha'e a horse in readiness, 
 To flee awa' in the morning. 
 
 Fy now, Johnnie, get up and rin. 
 The Highland bagpipes mak' a din ; 
 It is best to sleep in a hale skin, 
 For 'twill be a bluidy morning. 
 
 When Johnnie Cope to Dunbar came, 
 They speer'd at him, Where's a' your men? 
 The deil confound me gin I ken, 
 For I left them a' i' the mornino:. 
 
 '■a- 
 
 Now, Johnnie, troth ye are na blate, 
 To come wi' the news o' your ain defeat. 
 And leave your men in sic a strait, 
 Sae early in the morning. 
 
 Oh ! faith, quo' Johnnie, I got sic flegs 
 Wi' their claymores and philabegs ;
 
 256 
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 If I face them again, deil break my legs — 
 So I wish you a' gude morning. 
 
 Sir John Cope was tried by court-martial for his " foul 
 flight " (as Colonel Gardiner called it) from the field at 
 Prestonpans, 171S; but was acquitted. 
 
 CXCIII. 
 
 HE'S OWRE THE HILLS. 
 
 Lady Nairnc. 
 
 He's o\vre the hills that I lo'e weel ; 
 He's owre the hills we darena name, 
 He's owre the hills ayont Dumblane, 
 Wha soon will get his welcome hame. 
 
 My father's gane to fight for him, 
 My brithers winna bide at hame, 
 My mither greets and prays for them, 
 But deed she thinks they're no to blame. 
 
 The Whigs may scoff", the Whigs may jeer, 
 But ah ! that love maun be sincere. 
 Which still keeps true whate'er betide. 
 And for his sake leaves a' beside. 
 
 His right these hills ; his right these plains ; 
 O'er Hieland hearts secure he reigns; 
 What lads e'er did our lads will do ; 
 Were I a laddie, I'd follow him too.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 257 
 
 Sae noble a look, sae princely an air, 
 Sae gallant and bold, sae young and sae fair ; 
 Oh ! did ye but see him, ye'd do as we've done ; 
 Hear him but ance, to his standard you'll run. 
 
 cxciv. 
 O WHERE, TELL ME WHERE. 
 
 Anne Macivar, afterivards Mrs. Grant. 
 Born I'/SS '> Died iSjS. 
 
 O where, tell me where, is your Highland laddie 
 
 gone? 
 O where, tell me where, is your Highland laddie 
 
 gone? 
 He's gone with streaming banners, where noble 
 
 deeds are done, 
 And my sad heart will tremble till he come safely 
 
 home. 
 
 O where, tell me where, did your Highland 
 
 laddie stay ? 
 O where, tell me where, did your Highland 
 
 laddie stay ? 
 He dwelt beneath the holly trees, beside the 
 
 rapid Spey, 
 And many a blessing foUow'd him, the day he 
 
 went away. 
 
 O what, tell me what, does your Highland laddie 
 
 wear ? 
 O what, tell me what, does your Highland laddie 
 
 wear? 
 
 R
 
 258 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 A bonnet with a lofty plume, the gallant badge 
 
 of war, 
 And a plaid across the manly breast that yet 
 
 shall wear a star. 
 
 Suppose, ah suppose, that some cruel, cruel 
 
 wound 
 Should pierce your Highland laddie, and all 
 
 your hopes confound ! 
 The pipe would play a cheering march, the 
 
 banners round him fly, 
 The spirit of a Highland chief would lighten in 
 
 his eye. 
 
 But I will hope to see him yet in Scotland's 
 
 bonnie bounds. 
 But I will hope to see him yet in Scotland's 
 
 bonnie bounds, 
 His native land of liberty shall nurse his glorious 
 
 wounds, 
 "While wide through all our Highland hills his 
 
 warlike name resounds. 
 
 This song was written on the Marquis of Huntley's 
 departure for Holland, with the British forces, under the 
 command of Sir Ralph Abercromby, in 1799. 
 
 cxcv. 
 LEWIS GORDON. 
 
 Alexander Gcddes, D.D. — Born 1737 ; Died 1S02. 
 
 Oh ! send my Lewis Gordon hame 
 And the lad I daurna' name ; 
 Although his back be at the wa', 
 Here's to him that's far awa.
 
 SCO TTISH SONG. 259 
 
 Hech hey ! my Highlandman ! 
 My handsome, charming Highlandman ! 
 Weel could I my true love ken, 
 Amang ten thousand Highlandmen. 
 
 Oh, to see his tartan trews, 
 Bonnet blue and laigh-heel'd shoes, 
 Philabeg aboon his knee ! 
 That's the lad that I'll gang wi'. 
 
 This lovely lad of whom I sing. 
 Is fitted for to be a king ; 
 And on his breast he wears a star, 
 You'd take him for the god of war. 
 
 Oh, to see this princely one 
 Seated on his father's throne ! 
 Our griefs would then a' disappear, 
 We'd celebrate the jub'lee year. 
 
 Lewis Gordon commanded a detachment for "the 
 Chevalier" in 1715. He died in France in 1754. 'It 
 needs not a Jacobite prejudice to be affected with this 
 song. ' — Burns. 
 
 CXCVI. 
 
 CARLE, AN THE KING COME. 
 
 Carle, an the king come. 
 Carle, an the king come. 
 Thou shalt dance and I will sing, 
 Carle, an the king come.
 
 26o SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 An somebody were come again, 
 Then somebody maun cross the main ; 
 And every man shall ha'e his ain, 
 Carle, an the king come. 
 
 I trow we swappit for the worse ; 
 We ga'e the boot and better horse ; 
 And that we'll tell them at the cross, 
 Carle, an the king come. 
 
 Cogie, an the king come, 
 Cogie, an the king come, 
 I'se be fou' and thou'se be toom, 
 Cogie, an the king come. 
 
 CXCVII. 
 
 PEGGY, NOW THE KING'S COME. 
 
 Allan Ramsay. 
 
 Peggy, now the king's come, 
 Pegg}^, now the king's come, 
 Thou may dance and I shall sing, 
 Peggy, since the king's come. 
 
 Nae mair the hawkies shalt thou milk, 
 But change thy plaiding-coat for silk. 
 And be a lady of that ilk, 
 
 Now, Peggy, since the king's come. 

 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 26 1 
 
 CXCVIII. 
 
 Tir£ WHITE COCKADE. 
 
 My love was bom in Aberdeen, 
 The bonniest lad that e'er was seen ; 
 But now he makes our hearts fu' sad — 
 He's ta'en the field wi' his white cockade. 
 
 O, he's a ranting, roving blade ! 
 O, he's a brisk and a bonnie lad ! 
 Betide what may, my heart is glad 
 To see my lad wi' his white cockade. 
 
 O, leeze me on the philabeg, 
 The hairy hough, and garter'd leg ; 
 But aye the thing that glads my e'e, 
 Is the white cockade aboon the bree. 
 
 I'll sell my rock, I'll sell my reel, 
 
 My rippling kame, and spinning wheel, 
 
 To buy my lad a tartan plaid, 
 
 A braidsword and a white cockade. 
 
 I'll sell my rokely and my tow, 
 
 My gude gray mare and hawket cow, 
 
 That ev'ry loyal Buchan lad 
 
 May tak' the field wi' his white cockade. 
 
 cxcix. 
 
 O'ER THE WATER TO CHARLIE. 
 
 Come, boat me ower, come, row me ower. 
 Come, boat me ower to Charlie ;
 
 262 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 I'll gi'e John Brown another half-crown, 
 To boat me ower to Charlie. 
 
 We'll o'er the water, and o'er the sea, 
 We'll o'er the water to CharHe ; 
 
 Come weel, come woe, we'll gather and go. 
 And live or die wi' Charlie. 
 
 It's I lo'e weel my Charlie's name, 
 
 Though some there be that abhor him ; 
 
 But O, to see Auld Nick gaun hame, 
 And Charlie's faes before him ! 
 
 I swear by moon and stars sae bricht, 
 
 And the sun that glances early, 
 If I had twenty thousand lives, 
 
 I'd die as aft for Charhe. 
 
 cc. 
 THE CAMPBELLS ARE COMING. 
 
 The Campbells are coming, 0-ho, 0-ho ! 
 
 The Campbells are coming, O-ho ! 
 The Campbells are coming to bonnie Lochleven I 
 
 The Campbells are coming, 0-ho, 0-ho ! 
 
 Upon the Lomonds I lay, I lay ; 
 
 Upon the Lomonds I lay ; 
 I lookit doun to bonnie Lochleven, 
 
 And saw three perches play. 
 
 Great Argyle he goes before ; 
 
 He makes the cannons and guns to roar ;
 
 SCOTTISH SONG, 263 
 
 With sound of trumpet, pipe, and dmm ; 
 The Campbells are coming, 0-ho, 0-ho ! 
 
 The Campbells they are a' in arms, 
 Their loyal faith and truth to show, 
 
 With banners rattling in the wind, 
 
 The Campbells are coming 0-ho, 0-ho ! 
 
 CCI. 
 
 THE WEE GERMAN LAIRDIE. 
 
 Wha the deil ha'e we gotten for a king, 
 But a wee, wee German lairdie ? 
 
 And, when we gaed to bring him hame, 
 He was delving in his yairdie : 
 
 Sheughing kail, and laying leeks. 
 
 But the hose and but the breeks ; 
 
 Up his beggar duds he cleeks — 
 This wee, wee German lairdie. 
 
 And he's clapt down in our gudeman's chair, 
 
 The wee, wee German lairdie ; 
 And he's brought fouth o' foreign leeks, 
 
 And dibbled them in his yairdie. 
 He's pu'd the rose o' English loons. 
 And broken the harp o' Irish clowns ; 
 But our thistle taps will jag his thoon.s — 
 
 This wee, wee German lairdie. 
 
 Come up amang our Highland hills, 
 Thou wee, wee German lairdie. 
 
 And see the Stuart's lang-kail thrive 
 We dibbled in our yairdie :
 
 264 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 But if a stock ye dare to pu', 
 Or baud the yoking o' a plough, 
 We'll break your sceptre o'er your mou', 
 Thou wee bit German lairdie. 
 
 Our hills are steep, our glens are deep, 
 
 No fitting for a yairdie. 
 And our Norland thistles winna pu', 
 
 Thou wee bit German lairdie : 
 And we've the trenching blades o' weir. 
 Wad lib ye o' your German gear — 
 We'll pass ye 'neath the claymore's shear, 
 
 Thou feckless German lairdie ! 
 
 Auld Scotland, thou'rt ower cauld a hole 
 
 For nursin' siccan vermin ; 
 But the very dougs o' England's court 
 
 They bark and howl in German ! 
 Then keep thy dibble in thy ain hand, 
 
 Thy spade but and thy yairdie, 
 For wha the deil ha'e we gotten for a king, 
 
 But a wee, wee German lairdie ? 
 
 ecu. 
 WHA'LL BE KING BUT CHARLIE. 
 
 Lady Nairne. 
 
 The news frae Moidart cam' yestreen. 
 
 Will soon gar mony ferlie. 
 For ships o' war have just come in. 
 
 An' landed Royal Charlie.
 
 SCO TTISH SONG. 265 
 
 Come thro' the heather, around him gather, 
 
 Ye're a' the welcomer early ; 
 Around him cling wi' a' your kin ; 
 
 For wha'll be king but Charlie ? 
 
 Come through the heather, around him gather, 
 Come Ronald, come Donald, come a' thegither, 
 
 And crown him rightfu', laAvful king ; 
 For wha'll be king but Charlie ? 
 
 The Highland clans wi' sword in hand, 
 Frae John o' Groats to Airlie, 
 
 Ha'e to a man declared to stand 
 Or fa' wi' royal Charlie. 
 
 The Lowlands a', baith great an' sma', 
 Wi' mony a lord an' laird, ha'e 
 
 Declared for Scotia's king an' law, 
 An' spier ye wha but Charlie ? 
 
 There's ne'er a lass in a' the land, 
 But vows baith late an' early. 
 
 To man she'll ne'er gi'e heart or hand, 
 Wha wadna fecht for Charlie. 
 
 Then here's a health to Charlie's cause, 
 
 An' be't complete and early, 
 His very name my heart's blood warms, — 
 
 To arms for royal Charlie !
 
 2 66 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 CCIII. 
 YE JACOBITES BY NAME. 
 
 R. Burns. 
 
 Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear, give an ear; 
 Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear ; 
 Ye Jacobites by name, 
 
 Your fautes I will proclaim, 
 
 Your doctrines I maun blame — 
 You shall hear. 
 
 What is right, and what is wrang, by the law, by 
 the law? 
 What is right, and what is wrang, by the law i^ 
 What is right, and what is wrang ? 
 A short sword, and a lang, 
 A weak arm, and a Strang 
 For to draw. 
 
 What makes heroic strife, fam'd afar, fam'd afar? 
 What makes heroic strife, fam'd afar ? 
 WTiat makes heroic strife ? 
 To whet th' assassin's knife, 
 Or hunt a parent's life 
 Wi' bluidie war. 
 
 Then let your schemes alone, in the state, in the 
 state ; 
 Then let your schemes alone in the state ; 
 Then let your schemes alone. 
 Adore the rising sun. 
 
 And leave a man undone 
 To his fate.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 267- 
 
 CCIV. 
 STR AT ff ALLAN'S LAMENT. 
 
 R. Burns. 
 
 Thickest night, surround my dwelling ! 
 
 Howling tempests, o'er me rave ! 
 Turbid torrents, wintry swelling, 
 
 Roaring by my lonely cave. 
 Crystal streamlets, gently flowing, 
 
 Busy haunts of base mankind. 
 Western breezes, softly blowing, 
 
 Suit not my distracted mind. 
 
 In the cause of right engaged, 
 
 Wrongs injurious to redress. 
 Honour's war we strongly waged, 
 
 But the heavens denied success. 
 Ruin's wheel has driven o'er us, 
 
 Not a hope that dare attend. 
 The wide world is all before us — ■ 
 
 But a world without a friend ! 
 
 This song was written to describe the feehngs of James 
 Dnunmond, Viscount of Strathallan, who, after his father's 
 death at Culloden, escaped, with several of his country- 
 men, to France, where he died in exile. 
 
 CCV. 
 
 ADIEU FOR EVERMORE. 
 
 It was a' for our rightfu' king, 
 We left fair Scotland's strand !
 
 268 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 It was a' for our richtfu' king, 
 We e'er saw Irish land, my dear, 
 We e'er saw Irish land. 
 
 Now a' is done that men can do, 
 
 And a' is done in vain ; 
 My love, my native land, fareweel. 
 
 For I maun cross the main, my dear, 
 For I maun cross the main. 
 
 He turn'd him right and round about 
 
 Upon the Scottish shore, 
 He gave his bridle-reins a shake. 
 
 With, Adieu for evermore, my dear, 
 ■ With, Adieu for evermore. 
 
 The sodger frae the war returns, 
 The sailor frae the main ; 
 
 But I ha'e parted frae my love. 
 Never to meet again, my dear. 
 Never to meet again. 
 
 When day is gane, and nicht is come. 
 
 And a' folk bound to sleep, 
 I think on him that's far awa'. 
 
 The lee-lang night, and weep, my dear. 
 The lee-lang night, and weep. 
 
 This song refers to the insurrection in Ireland, under 
 James II., which ended in the Battle of the Boyne.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 269 
 
 CCVI. 
 WAR'S ME FOR PRINCE CHARLIE. 
 
 William Glen.— Died 1826. 
 
 A wee bird cam' to our ha' door, 
 
 He warbled sweet and clearly, 
 An' aye the o'ercome o' his sang 
 
 Was ' Wae's me for Prince Charlie !' 
 Oh ! when I heard the bonnie bird, 
 
 The tears cam' happin' rarely, 
 I took my bannet aff my head, 
 
 For weel I lo'ed Prince Charlie. 
 
 Quoth I, ' My bird, my bonnie bonnie bird, 
 
 Is that a sang ye borrow, 
 Are these some words ye've learnt by heart, 
 
 Or a lilt o' dool an' sorrow?' 
 * Oh ! no, no, no,' the wee bird sang, 
 
 ' I've flown sin' mornin' early. 
 But sic a day o' wind and rain — 
 
 Oh ! wae's me for Prince Charlie ! 
 
 ' On hills that are, by right, his ain 
 
 He roves a lanely stranger, 
 On every side he's press'd by want, 
 
 On every side is danger ; 
 Yestreen I met him in a glen, 
 
 My heart maist bursted fairly. 
 For sadly chang'd indeed was he — 
 
 Oh ! wae's me for Prince Charlie !
 
 .270 
 
 SCOx TISH SONG. 
 
 ' Dark night cam' on, the tempest roar'd 
 
 Loud o'er the hills an' valleys ; 
 An' whare was't that your Prince lay down 
 
 Whase hame should be a palace ? 
 He row'd him in a Highland plaid, 
 
 Which cover'd him but sparely, 
 An' slept beneath a bush o' broom — 
 
 Oh ! wae's me for Prince Charlie !' 
 
 But now the bird saw some red coats, 
 
 An' he shook his wings wi' anger, 
 ' Oh ! this is no a land for me, 
 
 I'll tarry here nae langer.' 
 He hover'd on the wing a while 
 
 Ere he departed fairly. 
 But weel I mind the fareweel strain 
 
 Was, ' Wae's me for Prince Charlie !' 
 
 CCVII. 
 
 COLONEL GARDINER. 
 
 Sir Gilbert Elliot. 
 
 'Twas at the hour of dark midnight. 
 
 Before the first cock's crowing, 
 When westland winds shook Stirling's towers 
 
 With hollow murmurs blowing ; 
 When Fanny fair, all woe begone. 
 
 Sad on her bed was lying, 
 And from the ruin'd towers she heard 
 
 The boding screech-owl crying.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 O dismal night ! she said, and wept, 
 
 night presaging sorrow, 
 
 O dismal night ! she said, and wept, 
 But more I dread to-morrow. 
 
 For now the bloody hour draws nigh. 
 Each host to Preston bending ; 
 
 At morn shall sons their fathers slay, 
 With deadly hate contending. 
 
 Even in the visions of the night, 
 
 1 saw fell death wide sweeping ; 
 And all the matrons of the land, 
 
 And all the virgins, weeping. 
 And now she heard the massy gates 
 
 Harsh on their hinges turning ; 
 And now, through all the castle, heard 
 
 The woeful voice of mourning. 
 
 Aghast, she started from her bed, 
 
 The fatal tidings dreading ; 
 O speak, she cried, my father's slain ! 
 
 I see, I see him bleeding ! 
 A pale corse on the sullen shore, 
 
 At mom, fair maid, I left him ; 
 Even at the threshold of his gate, 
 
 The foe of life bereft him. 
 
 Bold, in the battle's front he fell, 
 With many a wound deformed ; 
 
 A braver knight, nor better man. 
 This fair Isle ne'er adorned. 
 
 While thus he spoke the grief-struck maid 
 A deadly swoon invaded ; 
 
 271
 
 2 y 2 ■SCO TTISH SONG. 
 
 Lost was the lustre of her eyes, 
 And aU her beauty faded. 
 
 Sad was the sight, and sad the news, 
 
 And sad was our complaining ; 
 But oh ! for thee, my native land, 
 
 What woes are still remaining ! 
 But why complain ? the hero's soul 
 
 Is high in heaven shining : 
 May Providence defend our Isle 
 
 From all our foes designing 
 
 Colonel Gardiner, the hero of this song, fell at Preston- 
 pans in 1745. It is distinguished by being one of the 
 very few which are extant, not on the Stuart side. 
 
 CCVIII. 
 
 MACFHERSON'S RANT. 
 
 I've spent my time in rioting, 
 
 Debauch'd my health and strength 
 I've pillaged, plunder'd, murdered, 
 
 But now, alas, at length, 
 I'm brought to punishment direct ; 
 
 Pale death draws near to me ; 
 This end I never did project, 
 
 To hang upon a tree. 
 
 To hang upon a tree, a tree ! 
 
 That curs'd unhappy death 
 Like to a wolf to worried be, 
 
 And choaked in the breath.
 
 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 My very heart wad surely break 
 When this I think upon, 
 
 Did not my courage singular 
 Bid pensive thoughts begone. 
 
 No man on earth that draweth breath 
 
 More courage had than I ; 
 I dared my foes unto their face, 
 
 And would not from them fly. 
 This grandeur stout I did keep out, 
 
 Like Hector, manfullie ; 
 Then wonder one like me so stout 
 
 Should hang upon a tree. 
 
 The Egyptian band I did command, 
 
 With courage more by far, 
 Than ever did a general 
 
 His soldiers in the war. 
 Being fear'd by all, both great and small, 
 
 I lived most joyfullie : 
 Oh, curse upon this fate of mine. 
 
 To hang upon a tree ! 
 
 As for my life, I do not care, 
 
 If justice would take place. 
 And bring my fellow-plunderers 
 
 Unto the same disgrace. 
 But Peter Brown, that notour loon, 
 
 Escap'd, and was made free : 
 Oh, curse upon this fate of mine, 
 
 To hang upon a tree ! 
 s 
 
 273
 
 2 74 SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 Both law and justice buried are, 
 
 And fraud and guile succeed ; 
 The guilty pass unpunished, 
 
 If money intercede. 
 The Laird of Grant, that Highland saunt, 
 
 His mighty majestic, 
 He pleads the cause of Peter Brown, 
 
 And lets Macpherson die. 
 
 The dest'ny of my life contrived 
 
 By those whom I obliged, 
 Rewarded me much ill for good, 
 
 And left me no refuge. 
 For Braco Duff, in rage enough, 
 
 He first laid hands on me ; 
 And if that death did not prevent, 
 
 Avenged would I be. 
 
 As for my life, it is but short, 
 
 When I shall be no more ; 
 To part with life I am content. 
 
 As any heretofore. 
 Therefore, good people all, take heed, 
 
 This warning take by me, 
 According to the lives you lead, 
 
 Rewarded you shall be. 
 
 Macpherson was a noted freebooter, executed at Banff 
 in 1 700. He is said to have played this ' ' rant " at the 
 gallows, and then offered his fiddle to any Macpherson 
 who would consent to play it again over his dead body ; 
 none came forward, so he threw it on the ground and 
 crashed it to pieces under his feet.
 
 SCO TTISH SONG. 275 
 
 CCIX. 
 
 MACPHERSON'S FAREWELL. 
 R. Burns. 
 
 Farewell, ye dungeons dark and strong, 
 
 The wretch's destinie ! 
 Macpherson's time will not be long 
 
 On yonder gallows tree. 
 
 Sae rantingly, sae wantonly, 
 
 Sae dauntingly gaed he, 
 He play'd a spring, and danced it round, 
 
 Below the gallows tree ! 
 
 Oh, what is death, but parting breath ? 
 
 On mony a bluidy plain 
 I've daur'd his face, and in this place 
 
 I scorn him yet again. 
 
 Untie these bands frae aff my hands. 
 
 And bring to me my sword ; 
 And there's no a man in all Scotland 
 
 But I'll brave him at a word. 
 
 I've lived a life of sturt and strife ; 
 
 I die by treacherie : 
 It bums my heart I must depart, 
 
 And not avenged be. 
 
 Now farewell, light, thou sunshine bright, 
 
 And all beneath the sky ! 
 May coward shame distain his name. 
 
 The wretch that dares not die !
 
 276 SCO TTISH SONG. 
 
 CCX. 
 
 ARMSTRONG'S GOOD-NIGHT. 
 
 this is my departing time ! 
 
 For here nae langer maun I stay : 
 There's not a friend or foe of mine 
 But wishes that I were away. 
 
 What I have done for lack o' wit, 
 I never, never can recall ; 
 
 1 hope you're a' my friends as yet : 
 
 Good-night and joy be wi' you all. 
 
 ' These verses are said to have been composed by one 
 of the Annstrongs, executed for the murder of Sir John 
 Carmichael of Edrom, Warden of the Middle Marches. 
 Whether these are the original words, will admit of a 
 doubt.' — ScoU. 
 
 This is one of the songs which so touched Goldsmith in 
 his youth that nothing he heard sung in after years had an 
 equal chaiTn for him. " The music of the finest singer," 
 he wrote in the Bee, October 13, 1759, "is dissonance 
 to what I felt when our old dairy-maid sung me into tears 
 with Johnny AiTnstrong's Last Good-night, or the craelty 
 of Barbara Allen ; " and in a letter to his Irish friend 
 Ilodson, December 27, 1757, he says, "If I go to the 
 opera where Signora Columba pours out all the mazes of 
 melody, I sit and sigh for Lishoy's fireside, and Johnny 
 Annstrong's Last Good-night from Peggy Golden."
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 A, at, on; 'a fit/ on foot. 
 
 A', all ; 'a' \\img,^ everything. 
 
 Abeigh, aside. 
 
 Aboon, Abune, above. 
 
 Acquaint, Acquent, acquain- 
 r ted. 
 
 p Ae, one, only, sole, each, 
 every. 
 ■ Aff, off. 
 
 Afore, before. 
 
 Aften, often. 
 
 Aiblins, possibly, perhaps. 
 
 Aik, oak. 
 
 Ail, ailment. 
 
 Ain, own. 
 
 Air, early. 
 
 Airts (G. orte), points of the 
 compass. 
 
 Aiten, oaten. 
 
 Aith (A. S. dth), oath. 
 
 Aits, oats. 
 
 Alane, alone, 
 
 Alang, along. 
 
 Amaist, almost. 
 
 Amang, among. 
 
 An, and, if. 
 
 Ance, once. 
 
 Ane, one. 
 
 Aneath, beneath. 
 
 Anither, another. 
 
 Arms, 'in arms,' in each 
 other's arrns ; arm-in-ai-m. 
 
 Aside, beside. 
 
 Asklent, aslant. 
 
 Asse, ashes. 
 
 Asteer, astir, in a clatter, or 
 fennent. 
 
 Athegither, all together, alto- 
 gether. 
 
 A'thing, everything. 
 
 Athole-brose, whisky and oat 
 meal mixed together. 
 
 Atween, between. 
 
 Auld, old. 
 
 Auld - jNIahoun (Mahomet) 
 the Devil. 
 
 Ava, at all. 
 
 Awa, away. 
 
 Awee, a little ; some time. 
 
 Aye, ever, always. 
 
 Ayont (A. S. <7^t»«(/), beyond. 
 
 Ba', ball. 
 
 Bailie, Magistrate of a Scotch 
 
 Burgh, synon3'mous with. 
 
 A Iderman — Ritson. 
 Bairn [boi-n), child. 
 Baith, both. 
 Baloo, hush. 
 Ban, curse. 
 
 Bane (A. S. ban), bone. 
 Bang, beat, overcome. 
 Bannock, thick cake. 
 Barefit, barefoot, barefooted. 
 Baudrans, pet name for a cat 
 
 (probably derived from the 
 
 sound of her purring). 
 Bauk, balk; 'henbauk,'/^^- 
 
 roost. 
 Bauld, bold, strong.
 
 278 
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 Bawsint, having a white mark 
 
 on the brow. 
 Bedeen, immediately, at 
 
 once, in a short time. 
 Befa' befall. 
 
 Bein, snug, wann and com- 
 fortable. 
 Belang, belong, belong to. 
 Beld, bald. 
 Bellowses, bellows. 
 Ben {fy-i/i) ,within, in, inner 
 
 part of a house. See But. 
 Benison, blessing. 
 Bent, the open country ; 
 
 coarse grass. 
 Benty, abounding in bent. 
 Bicker, a wooden vessel used 
 
 for drinking ale. 
 Bide (A. S. bidaii), abide, 
 
 stay, endure 
 Biek,Beek (lit. Dake),to bask. 
 Bield, Bidding, shelter. 
 Biggit, built. 
 
 Bigonet, linen cap or coif. 
 Billy, Billie, brother. 
 Bing, bin ; 'corn-bing,Vo;7Z- 
 
 I'in. 
 Bing'd, curtsied. 
 Bink (G. bank), bench. 
 Birk, birch. 
 Birken, birchen. 
 Birkie, stratting, conceited 
 
 fellow. 
 Birl, to spin round, to expend 
 
 in drink. 
 Bims, stalks of burnt heather. 
 Bittle (A. S. bid), beetle, 
 
 heavy wooden mallet. 
 Elate (G. blode), blushing, 
 
 bashful. 
 Blaw, blow. 
 Blawn, blown. 
 Bleert, bleared. 
 
 Bleeze, blaze. 
 
 Blin', blind. 
 
 Blin (A. S. blinnan), cease. 
 
 Blink, glance, sparkle, 
 
 twinkle. 
 Blude, Bluid, blood. 
 Blythesome, blithesome. 
 Bobbit, danced, moved up 
 
 and down, ducked down, 
 
 curtsied. 
 Bogie, dim. of bog. 
 Bogle, the game hide and seek. 
 Boued, bowed. 
 Bouir, bower. 
 Bowie (dim. of bent; bole), 
 
 milk-pail. 
 Bracken [brake), fern ; Pteres 
 
 aqjiilijia. 
 Brae, the side of a hill. 
 Brag, boast, crow over. 
 Braid, broad. 
 Braid, to plait. 
 Braird, first sprouting of sowTi 
 
 grain. 
 Brak, broke. 
 
 Braw, brave, handsome, gal- 
 lant, oftenest well dressed. 
 Brawlie, Brawly, beautifully, 
 
 well. 
 Braws, finery. 
 Brecken, Breckan. See 
 
 Bracken. 
 Bree, brow. 
 Bree (something brewed), 
 
 juice, essence. 
 Breeks, breeches. 
 Breer, brier. 
 Breerie, briery. 
 Breist, breast. 
 Brent, smooth, unwrinkled; 
 
 burnt. 
 Bricht, bright. 
 Brig, bridge.
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 279 
 
 Brocht, brought. 
 
 Broose, a tumultuous race at 
 a country-wedding. 
 
 Brose, boiling water poured 
 upon meal, formerly made 
 with fat broth and oatmeal. 
 
 Bucht, Bught (G. biicht\\\iWt 
 fold for inclosing ewes at 
 milking-time. 
 
 Buchtin', Buchting, inclosing 
 sheep in a fold. 
 
 Burn, Burnie, Burny, brook, 
 rill, rivulet. 
 
 Burrow's-toun, burgh, cor- 
 porate town. 
 
 Busk, dress, deck, prepare. 
 
 Buskit, Busket, dressed, 
 decked. 
 
 But, without. 
 
 But, Butt(('y-w^/), the kitchen; 
 inferior, or outer part of a 
 house ; ' but and ben, ' the 
 outer and inner jvoms of a 
 house. 
 
 Byre, cowhouse. 
 
 Ca', call, drive. 
 
 Ca'd, called, turned, put 
 round. 
 
 Cadgily, jauntily. 
 
 Caller, cool, fresh, untainted, 
 
 Camsteery, Camsterry, per- 
 verse, quarrelsome. 
 
 Cankert, when applied to 
 persons, ill-conditioned, 
 thwarted, cross. 
 
 Canna, cannot. 
 
 Cannily, Cannilie, softly, 
 gently, quietly. 
 
 Canny, Cannie, cautious, com- 
 fortable, gentle, knowing. 
 
 Canty (L. canto), disposed to 
 sing, cheerful. 
 
 Carl, Carle, Carlie (A. S. 
 
 ceorl), old man, churl. 
 Carline, old woman. 
 Castocks, cores or piths of 
 
 cabbage stalks. 
 Cauf, calf. 
 Cauk, chalk. 
 Cauld, cold. 
 Cauldrife, chilly, sensitive to 
 
 cold. 
 Cess, city-tax ; composition 
 paid by the Scotch to free- 
 booters for sparing their 
 cattle, better known as 
 black mail — Ritson. 
 Chackit, checked. 
 Chap, knock, strike ; 'chap- 
 pit twal,' sir nek twelve. 
 Chappet-stocks, boiled cab- 
 bage. 
 Chappin, Chopin, a fluid 
 measure of two English 
 pints. 
 Cheery, cheerful. 
 Cheil, Chiel, childe, young 
 
 man, fellow. 
 Chittering, shivering, trem- 
 bling, 
 Christendie, Christendom. 
 Clachan, hamlet, little vil- 
 lage. 
 Claes, Claise, clothes. 
 Clag, flaw, fault, failing."' 
 Clamb (A.' S. climban, 
 
 clamb), climbed. 
 Clap, an instrument, used, 
 instead of a bell, for 
 making public proclama- 
 tions. 
 Clash, gossip, idle nimour. 
 Clead, Cleed (G. kleiden), 
 
 clothe. 
 Cleadin', Cleading, clothing.
 
 280 
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 Cleek, clutch, catch. 
 
 Clockin'-hen, clucking or 
 hatching-hen. 
 
 Clout, blow, stroke ; patch, 
 rag. 
 
 Coft (G. gekauft), bought. 
 
 Cog, Cogie, small wooden 
 vessel without handles. 
 
 Coil, Coila, Bums' name for 
 'Kyle,' a district in Ayr- 
 shire. 
 
 Collie, Colly, Colin or shep- 
 herd's dog. 
 
 Coof, a simpleton, a con- 
 temptible fellow. 
 
 Coost, Cust, cast. 
 
 Cosy, Cosey, warm, snug, 
 comfortable. 
 
 Couth, comfortable. 
 
 Crack, chat, talk. 
 
 Crackin', talking, chatting. 
 
 Craft, Croft, a field of kindly 
 soil near the dwelling- 
 house. 
 
 Craig {ditn. Craigie, Craigy), 
 crag, rock ; throat, neck. 
 
 Cramasie (Fr. cramotsi), 
 crimson. 
 
 Crap (A. S. crcdp), crept. 
 
 Craw, crow. 
 
 Crawflower, crowflower. 
 
 Creel, an ozier basket or 
 
 Crhamper, made to be carried 
 on the back, 
 eepie, low stool. 
 
 Croodle, to coo. 
 
 Crouse, brisk, smart, lively, 
 triumphant. 
 
 Crowdy-mowdy, milk and 
 meal boiled together. 
 
 Curchie (dim. of ciirch), a 
 kerchief tied over the head 
 to form a cap. 
 
 Cushat, ring-dove, wood- 
 pigeon. 
 
 Cutty, short ; anything small ; 
 a pretty name for the wren ; 
 'cutty-gun,' supposed to 
 mean tobacco-pipe. 
 
 Daddet, thumped, struck 
 violently. 
 
 Dadie, daddy, father. 
 
 Daff, to sport, to be gay, to 
 play the fool. 
 
 Baffin', Daffing, foolish di- 
 version, sport, absurd 
 gaiety. 
 
 Daft, foolish, elated to giddi- 
 ness. 
 
 Dander, Daunder, saunter, 
 move about idly. 
 
 Daur, dare; 'dauma,' dare 
 not. 
 
 Daw, Dawing, dawn, dawn- 
 ing. 
 
 Dawtie, darling, pet, favour- 
 ite. 
 
 Dawtit, cherished, caressed, 
 fondled. 
 
 Deave, deafen. 
 
 Dee, die. 
 
 Deed, indeed. 
 
 Deid, dead, death ; ' deid- 
 htW-,' passing bell. 
 
 De'il, Devil. 
 
 Descriving, describing. 
 
 Deuk, duck ; ' deuk-dub,' 
 duck puddle. 
 
 Didna, did not. 
 
 Dight, to ^vipe, to clean ; to 
 winnow corn. 
 
 Dike. See Dyke. 
 
 Din, dun, sallow. 
 
 Ding, strike, beat, overcome 
 in competition.
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 281 
 
 Dinna, do not. 
 
 Disna, does not. 
 
 Dochter, daughter. 
 
 Docken, dock. 
 
 Doited (doited), grown stupid 
 with age. 
 
 Dook (Fr. doiccher), douse, 
 duck, bathe. 
 
 Dool, ill-luck, sorrow ; an ex- 
 clamation of pain or sor- 
 row. 
 
 Do't, do it. 
 
 Douce, sober, wise, pnident. 
 
 Douff. See Dowf. 
 
 Doug, dog. 
 
 Doughtna, was not able to, 
 could not. 
 
 Doune, Doun, down. 
 
 Doup, butt-end of anything. 
 
 Dour (Fr. dur), sullen; 'dour 
 and din,' sullen and sallow. 
 
 Dow, dove. 
 
 Dow (Gr. /(7«or«),can,is able. 
 
 Dowff, flaccid, spiritless. 
 
 Dowie, sad, doleful, melan- 
 choly. 
 
 Dozent, sleepy, benumbed, 
 lifeless. 
 
 Draiglet, draggled. 
 
 Drap, drop. 
 
 Drave, drove. 
 
 Dribbles, drops ; ' nor drib- 
 bles of drink rins through 
 the draff,' i. e., no brewing 
 goes on. 
 
 Drift, something driven, as 
 snow, dust, or the like. 
 
 Dringing, trilling. 
 
 Drookit, drenched. 
 
 Droun, drown. 
 
 Drouth, thirst, drought. 
 
 Drumly, muddy, disturbed, 
 troubled. 
 
 Uub, a puddle, a little pool 
 
 of water. 
 Duddy, ragged, tattered. 
 Duds, rags, clothes. 
 Dunt, stroke, blow, throb. 
 Durk,dirk, Highland dagger. 
 Dwallin', Dwalling, dwelling. 
 Dwine,Dwyne(A. 'A.dwtnan), 
 
 to dwindle, fade. 
 Dyke (G. teick), wall, hedge, 
 
 ditch. 
 
 Earn, coagulate, curdle. 
 
 E'e, eye. 
 
 E'ed, eyed. 
 
 E'en, eyes ; even, evening. 
 
 E'ens, even as ; ' e'ens ye 
 \\\^e,' just as you like. 
 
 Eerie, Earie, timorous, lis- 
 tening for supernatural 
 sounds. 
 
 Eneugh, Eneuch, enough. 
 
 Ettle, intend, mean, aim. 
 
 Evened, paired, matched. 
 
 Ewe-buchts, sheepfolds. 
 
 Eke (A. S. edc), also. 
 
 Fa', chance, fate, luck. 
 Fa', fall; 'fa' that,' aitempi 
 
 thai. 
 Fa' en. See Faun. 
 Faes, foes. 
 Fairin', like English fairing ; 
 
 also fare. 
 Fallow, fellow. 
 Fand, found. 
 Fare (A. S. faran), to go, to 
 
 move forward; 'early fare,' 
 
 early niairh. 
 Fash (Fr. fac/ier), to trouble. 
 
 to vex ; vexation, trouble. 
 Fashious, troublesome. 
 Fauld, fold.
 
 282 
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 Faun, fallen. 
 
 Fause, false. 
 
 Fecht (G.fechtoi), fight. 
 
 Feck (A. S. fu-c), quantity ; 
 ' nionie feck,' of much ac- 
 count 
 
 Feckless, feeble, pithless, 
 weak. 
 
 Feint, Fient, fiend ; 'the feint 
 a body,' the devil a one. 
 
 Fen, to make a shift, to 
 scramble for a livelihood. 
 
 Ferlie, wonder. 
 
 ' P'idging-fain,' shaking with 
 Joy. 
 
 Fiere, compeer, mate. 
 
 Fire-end, fire-side. 
 
 Fit, foot ; ' aboon his fit,' 
 beyond his fazver. 
 
 Flaffered, fluttered. 
 
 Flang, flung. 
 
 Flee, Flie, fly. 
 
 Fleech (Fr. jUchir), suppli- 
 cate, pray. 
 
 Fleeching, coaxing, persuad- 
 ing by flattery. 
 
 Fleg, fright ; frighten. 
 
 Fleyed, feared ; ' needna 
 fleyed,' Jiced not have been 
 afraid. 
 
 Flitting, change of abode ; 
 things flitted. 
 
 Flouris, flowers. 
 
 Fodgel, fat, squat, plump. 
 
 Fog, the generic name for 
 moss, after-gi-ass. 
 
 Forebears (forebetv-j), ances- 
 tors. 
 
 Foreby, besides. 
 
 Forenent, opposite. 
 
 Forgather, encounter, meet. 
 
 Forlane, lonely, forlorn. 
 
 Forpet, fourth part of a peck. 
 
 Fou, Fu', full, tipsy. 
 Frae, from. 
 Frighted, frightened. 
 Funket, kicked, reared. 
 Fyle (A. S. fulian), to make 
 dirty. 
 
 Gab, the mouth. 
 
 Gaberlunzie, a wallet which 
 hangs on the side or loins. 
 
 Gaberlunzie-man, a wallet- 
 man or tinker, who appears 
 to have been formerly a 
 jack-of-all-trades. — Ritson. 
 Sometimes only called 
 Gaberlunzie. 
 
 Gabbing, prating, talking 
 pertly ; speech coming only 
 from the gab. 
 
 Gae, go, gave, give. 
 
 Gaed, Gade, Gaid, went. 
 
 Gane, gone. 
 
 Gane, Gain, suit, last, serve. 
 
 Gang, go. 
 
 Gar (Fr. guerre), compel, 
 cause, force. 
 
 Gart, compelled, forced, 
 caused. 
 
 Gat, got. 
 
 Gate, way, lane, habit. 
 
 Gaud (A. S. gad), goad ; ' at 
 the gaud,' at the plough. 
 
 Gaun, going. 
 
 Gawcie, jolly, large, buxom. 
 
 Gawdy, gaudy. 
 
 Gear, wealth, property. 
 
 Geek, to toss the head in dis- 
 dain, to mock. 
 
 Gee (pron. ghee), the pet. 
 
 Genty (Fr. gentil), elegant, 
 small, graceful. 
 
 Ghaist, ghost. 
 
 Gie, give ; ' gie's,' give us.
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 283 
 
 Gied, gave. 
 
 Gif, Gin (given), if. 
 
 Gimniers, ewe-sheep under 
 two years old. 
 
 Gimp, Jimp, slender. 
 
 Gir'd, hooped. 
 
 Girdle-cakes, oat cakes, 
 baked over the fire on a 
 girdle, or flat plate of 
 iron. 
 
 Girn, to grin in anger. 
 
 Glaiket, idle, foolish, spell- 
 bound. 
 
 Glamour, charm, spell. 
 
 Gleed, squinting. 
 
 Glen, a narrow valley be- 
 tween mountains. 
 
 Glent, glance, glitter, shine. 
 
 Gloaming, Gloamin' (A. S. 
 glonmng), twilight. 
 
 Glove, 'play at the glove,' 
 play at the glove-tilt. — Rit- 
 son. 
 
 Glower, to glare, stare 
 broadly. 
 
 Glum, gloomy, displeased. 
 
 Gorcock, moorcock. 
 
 Gouff'd, stmck a blow (meta- 
 phor from the game of 
 golf). • 
 
 Goun, gown. 
 
 Gow, Neil Gow, a celebrated 
 fiddler. 
 
 Gowan, field daisy, Bellis 
 perennis. 
 
 Gowd, gold. 
 
 Gowdspink, goldfinch. 
 
 Gowk (cuckoo), simpleton, 
 fool. 
 
 Grane, Grean, groan. 
 
 Grat, wept. See Greet. 
 
 Gree, degree, victory. 
 
 Gree (Fr. grt)\, agree. 
 
 Greet (A. S. gt-crtan), weep. 
 
 Grunzie (Fr. groin, and grog- 
 ner), snout, nose. 
 
 Gude, Guid, good. 
 
 Gudeman, goodman, hus- 
 band ; ' gudeman of day,' 
 the sun. 
 
 Gudewife, wife, landlady. 
 
 Gude-willie, with good-will, 
 coi-dial. 
 
 Gutcher, gi-andfather. 
 
 PIa', hall. 
 
 Hae, have ; ' haena, ' /laz-e not. 
 
 Haffet (Dan. /loved), the 
 temple; 'gouff'd his haf- 
 fet, ' slapped his face. 
 
 Haflins, half. 
 
 Haill. See Hale. 
 
 Hained, saved, spared. 
 
 Haith (Faith), petty oath. 
 
 Hairst, harvest. 
 
 Hale, whole; 'hale-sale/ 
 IV holes ale. 
 
 Hallanshaker, ragamuffin, 
 sturdy beggar. 
 
 Halloween, 31st October, the 
 Eve of Allhallows, the old 
 superstitious rites connect- 
 ed with which are still 
 celebrated in Scotland. 
 
 Hame, home. 
 
 Hand-breed, hand's breadth. 
 
 Hang, did hang, hung. 
 
 Hap, wrap, cover up. 
 
 Happer, hopper of a mill. 
 
 Happin, hopping. 
 
 Happity, hopping, lame. 
 
 Haud, hold. 
 
 Hauden, dwelling-house ; 
 holden, held. 
 
 Hawick-gill.a half mutchkin, 
 double the ordinary gill.
 
 2S4 
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 Hawket-cow, white-faced 
 cow. 
 
 Hawkies, white-faced cows, 
 an affectionate name for 
 cows in general. 
 
 Hecht, Heght, promised, en- 
 gaged. 
 
 Herd (G. hirte), shepherd. 
 
 Herd, to tend, guard, watch. 
 
 Hereawa Thereawa, hither- 
 ward thitherward. 
 
 Heeze, hoist, raise, hft up. 
 
 Heezy, hoist, toss. 
 
 He's, he shall. 
 
 Hie, high. 
 
 Hielan', Hieland, highland. 
 
 Hill, ' at,the hill, ' i. e. , tending 
 the sheep; ' ta'en the hill,' 
 gone mad. 
 
 Hind, beyond, behind. 
 
 Hing, hang. 
 
 Hirpling, halting, walking 
 lame. 
 
 Hirsel, crawl. 
 
 Hizzie, Hussy, a goodnatured 
 name for a buxom lively 
 girl. 
 
 Hodden-gi^ay, coarse woollen 
 cloth of a gray colour. 
 
 Hool, hull, husk. 
 
 Hooly, softly, slowly. 
 
 Horn, drinking-horn. 
 
 Hout, an exclamation like 
 ♦ Tush.' 
 
 Howe, hollow. 
 
 Hun', Hund (G. hund ), dog ; 
 ' hund the tykes,' incite the 
 dogs to keep the sheep to- 
 gether. 
 
 Hunder, hundred. 
 
 Hurklin', crouching, cower- 
 ing. 
 
 Hurry-burry, hurly-burly. 
 
 Hussyffskap, housewifery, 
 
 housewifeship. 
 Hynd, hind. 
 
 Ilk, Ilka (A. S. ylc), same, 
 eveiy; ' that ilk,' that same. 
 
 Ill-far'dly, ill-favouredly, un- 
 becomingly. 
 
 In, into. 
 
 Ingle, fire. 
 
 Into, in. 
 
 Irk, to grow weary. 
 
 I'se, I shall or will. 
 
 Ither (A. S. cither), other, 
 each other. 
 
 Ithers, others, each others. 
 
 ' It's no,' it shall not, it is 
 not. 
 
 Jade, Jaud, a rather kindly 
 name fora mischievousgirl. 
 
 Jag, the best part of calf- 
 leather. 
 
 Jee, to move aside, sway, 
 vibrate. 
 
 Jimp, slender, neat. 
 
 Jimply, neatly, tightly. 
 
 Jo, Joe, sweetheart, darling. 
 
 Jouic (G. ducken), to duck, 
 evade, bow, stoop. 
 
 Jow, jolt, knell ; 'it includes 
 both the swinging motion 
 and pealing sound of a 
 large bell.' — Butns. 
 
 Kail, Kale, colewort; broth. 
 Kail-yard, kitchen-garden. 
 Kama (G. kdmtnen), comb. 
 Kebbuck, cheese. 
 Keckling, cackling. 
 Keek (G. gucken), to peep ; 
 
 'keeking-glass,' looking- 
 
 glass.
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 285 
 
 Keekit, peeped. 
 
 Keel, red-ochre. 
 
 Keen ( G. kuh n ) , ardent, brave. 
 
 Ken, to know, to be ac- 
 quainted with. 
 
 Kent, a long staff used by 
 shepherds for leaping 
 ditches. 
 
 Kent, Kenned, knew, known. 
 
 Kill, kiln. 
 
 Kimmer, gossip, wife, mar- 
 ried woman. 
 
 Kintra, countiy. 
 
 Kirn, chum. 
 
 Kist (A. S. cyst), chest. 
 t Kit, a little wooden vessel 
 hooped and staved. 
 
 Kittle (G. kiizcHg), ticklish, 
 ticklishly. 
 
 Knaws, knows. 
 
 Knowe, knoll, hillock. 
 
 Kurch, Curchie (old Fr. coic- 
 vrechef), kerchief tied over 
 the head instead of a 
 cap. 
 
 Ky, Kye, cows. 
 
 Kyle, a district in Ayrshire. 
 
 Lag, hindmost. 
 
 Laigh, low ; a low field re- 
 claimed from a marsh ; the 
 tmdrainable portion of a 
 farm. 
 
 Lair, Lear (A.S. laer), learn- 
 ing, lore. 
 
 Laird, landlord, proprietor of 
 land or houses. 
 
 Laith, loath, unwilling. 
 
 Lammie, lambkin. 
 
 Lane, Lain, alone; 'her lane,' 
 by herself. 
 
 Lang, long; 'or lang,' ere 
 long. 
 
 Lang-kail, ' pottage made of 
 
 coleworts. ' — Ritson. 
 Langsome, tedious. 
 Lave, the remainder, the 
 
 rest. 
 Laverock, Lavrock, lark. 
 Law, low. 
 
 Lawing, tavern reckoning. 
 Lawlands, lowlands. 
 Lay, allay, alleviate, exorcise 
 Lea', leave. 
 
 Leal, loyal, honest, true. 
 Lear. See Lair. 
 Learns (G. lehren), teaches. 
 Lee, lea. 
 
 Leelang, live-long. 
 Leesome {lief some), happy, 
 
 joyous. 
 Leeze me (probably lief's me, 
 like zveeVs me), dear is to 
 me. 
 Leglin, a wooden milking- 
 
 pail. 
 Leuch, Leugh, laughed. 
 Lib, shear, p. 264. 
 Licht, light. 
 Lick, a wag, cheat, one who 
 
 plays tricks. 
 Lift (A. S. lyft), air, sky, fir- 
 mament. 
 Lig, lie. 
 
 Lightlie, jeer, despise, mock. 
 Lightsome, cheerful. 
 Lilt, to sing, to sing in re- 
 citative. 
 Limmer, slut ; 'an opprobri- 
 ous temi applied to young 
 women, expressive of dis- 
 pleasure, but not implying 
 immorality of conduct.' — 
 Ritson. 
 Link, to step lightly and 
 nimbly.
 
 286 
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 Linn, a waterfall, cascade, 
 
 precipice covered with 
 
 brushwood. 
 Lint-white, linnet. 
 Loaning, loan, lane, where 
 
 in summer the cows are 
 
 milked. 
 Lo'ed, Loo'd, loved. 
 Loof, palm of the hand. 
 Loot, did let. 
 Losh (Lord), petty oath. 
 Loup, leap. 
 
 Loupin', Louping, leaping. 
 Loun, Loon, rogue, rascal, 
 
 M'orthless fellow. 
 Lout (A. S. liitan), to bow, 
 
 stoop. 
 LoM-e, flame. 
 Luck, to prosper. 
 Lucken-gowan, the globe 
 
 flower, TroUuts EuroJ>criis. 
 Lyart (A. S. he, locks, and 
 
 hcu; hoar), hoary headed. 
 
 ALVE, more. 
 
 ]\Iahoun (Mahomet), the 
 devil. 
 
 Mailing (A. S. ;;/«-/), rented 
 farm. 
 
 Main, Mane, moan. 
 
 Mainteen, maintain. 
 
 Mair (G. tnehr), more. 
 
 Maist, most. 
 
 Maister, master. 
 
 Mak', make. 
 
 Mark. See Merk. 
 
 Marrow, mate, companion. 
 
 Martinmas : in Scotland ser- 
 vants are engaged by the 
 half-year, ' Whitsunday ' 
 and ' IMartinmas ' being the 
 two terms, p. 90. 
 
 IMat (A. S. mot), may, must. 
 
 Maukin, hare. 
 
 Maun, must ; ' maunna, 
 must not. 
 
 Maut, malt. 
 
 Maw, mow. 
 
 May, maiden. 
 
 Mear, mare. 
 
 Meikle, much, large, big. 
 
 Mense, to grace ; ' into the 
 mense,' into the bargain. 
 
 Men't, mended. 
 
 Merk, ancient Scottish coin, 
 value one shilling and four- 
 pence farthing, English. 
 
 Micht, might. 
 
 Midden-creels, panniers in 
 which horses carry manure. 
 
 Milk-bowie, a shallow milk- 
 ing-pail. 
 
 Milket, milked. 
 
 ISIin', Mind, remind, remem- 
 ber. 
 
 Minnie, Minny, mother. 
 
 Mint, was minded, meant. 
 
 Mirk (A. S. myrc), dark. 
 
 Monie, Mony, many. 
 
 Morn, 'the morn,' to-vior- 
 ro70. 
 
 Mou', mouth. 
 
 Mouter, the miller's mulct or 
 due for grinding grain. 
 
 Muckle. See Meikle. 
 
 Muir, moor. 
 
 Mune, moon. 
 
 Mutch (G. mi'dze), woman's 
 linen cap. 
 
 Na, no, not. 
 
 Nae, none, no. 
 
 Naething, nothing. 
 
 Nagy, Nagie, Naigie, little 
 nag, pony ; ' shanks-nag- 
 gie,' on his aionfeet.
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 287 
 
 Napkin, pocket handker- 
 chief. 
 
 Nappie, Najipy, ale ; to be 
 tipsy. 
 
 Nane, none. 
 
 Neebours, neighbours. 
 
 Neist, next. 
 
 Neive, Nieve, fist. 
 
 Neivefu', handful. 
 
 Neep, turnip. 
 
 Neuk, nook, corner. 
 
 Nicht, night. 
 
 Nocht, Nought, nothing. 
 
 Nookit, cornered. 
 
 Notour, notorious. 
 
 OcHT, Aught, anything. 
 Oercome. See Owerword. 
 Ony, any. 
 Or, ere, before. 
 O't, of it. 
 Out-owre, over. 
 Ower, over. 
 
 Owerword, burden of a song. 
 Owrlay, cravat. 
 Owsen, Ousen, oxen. 
 Oxter, arm-pit, ' in his oxter,' 
 under his arm. 
 
 PAiDLE,paddle, patrol, walk 
 with short childish steps. 
 
 Parritch, oatmeal porridge. 
 In the mouth of the people, 
 ' parritch ' is almost uni- 
 versally spoken of in the 
 plural, as is also barley 
 broth, i.e. , ' They're round 
 about the feetie o't,' p. 242. 
 
 Tat, pot. 
 
 Pat, put. 
 
 Pawky, sly, shrewd, knowing. 
 
 Pearl! ngs, apparellings, ap- 
 parel. 
 
 Peat-pat, the hole from which 
 the peat is dug. 
 
 Pendles, pendants, earrings. 
 
 Philabeg, Highland kilt. 
 
 Pickle, a grain of corn, a 
 single seed of any kind, a 
 small quantity. 
 
 Piece, way, distance. 
 
 Pits, puts. 
 
 Plack, ancient Scotch coin, 
 value a third of a penny, 
 English. 
 
 Plaiden, a thick woollen stuff 
 for making plaids ; ' plaid- 
 ing coat,' coarse ivoollen 
 petticoat. 
 
 Pleen, complain. 
 
 Plenished, furnished, stocked. 
 
 Pleuch, Pleugh, plough. 
 
 Poortith, poverty. 
 
 Pou, pull ; Pou'd, pulled. 
 
 Pouther, powder. 
 
 Pow, poll, pate. 
 
 Prie, try, taste, prove. 
 
 Priving, proving, trying, tast- 
 ing. 
 
 Pu', pull; Pu'in', Pu'ing, 
 pulling. 
 
 Puir, poor. 
 
 Putted, threw ; ' putted the 
 stane, ' threza the stone, a 
 game for proving strength. 
 
 QUAT, quit, quitted. 
 
 Quean (queen, in its primary 
 
 signification) woman, young 
 
 woman. 
 Quey (Icel. kviga), young 
 
 cow. 
 Quo', quoth. 
 
 Rackit, racked, stretched. 
 Rade, rode.
 
 288 
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 Raired (A. S. reord), made a 
 clangour. 
 
 Raise, Rase, rose. 
 
 Randy, a shrew, a boisterous, 
 ill natured person. 
 
 Rang, reigned. 
 
 Ranting-fire, roaring fire. 
 
 Ranty-tanty, 'the broad - 
 leaved sorrel, Rumex ace- 
 tosella, which was boiled 
 with colewort and beat up 
 together. ' — Ritson. 
 
 Reaming, foaming, frothing. 
 
 Reca', recall. 
 
 Rede (G. reden), speak, ad- 
 vise. 
 
 Red-up, Redd-up, tidy, neat. 
 
 Reest, to become restive. 
 
 Richt, right. 
 
 Rift, to eractate, belch. 
 
 Rigs, Riggs, ridges. 
 
 Rin, nm; Rinnin', running. 
 
 Rippling-kame, a coarse 
 comb used for separating 
 the flax from the stalks. 
 
 Rock, distaff. 
 
 Rockley, Rokely, (G. rocklein, 
 short cloak. 
 
 Row, roll, wrap. 
 
 Roosed, praised, admired. 
 
 Roset, shoemakers' wax. 
 Rowan, berry of the moun- 
 tain ash; the mountain ash. 
 
 Runkled, wrinkled. 
 
 Sabbin', Sabbing, sobbing. 
 
 Sae, so, thus. 
 
 Saft, soft. 
 
 Sair (G. sehr), sore, much. 
 
 Sairly, Sarely, sorely. 
 
 Sairs, serves. 
 
 Sail, shall. 
 
 Sang, song. 
 
 Sark, shirt, chemise. 
 
 Saugh, willow. 
 
 Saul ! petty oath {by my soul). 
 
 Saunt, saint. 
 
 Saut, salt. 
 
 Saxpence, sixpence. 
 
 Sayed, essayed, tried. 
 
 Scad, scald. 
 
 Scantly, scantily, hai'dly, 
 
 scarcely. 
 Scauldin', Scaulding, scold- 
 ing. 
 Scone, a small soft cake com- 
 mon in Scotland. 
 Screen, — ' tartan - screo-C , a 
 large scarf forming a kind 
 of plaid. 
 Scrimp, to stint, to deal out 
 
 in a niggardly way. 
 Scug, shelter, ward off, defend. 
 Sel'', self. 
 Set (A. S. settan), appoint, 
 
 fix; appointed, fixed. 
 Seugh, furrow, ditch. 
 Sey, a kind of woollen stuff. 
 Shanks (A. S. sceancd), legs. 
 ' Shanks-nagy,' euphemism 
 
 for walking. 
 Shanna, shall not. 
 Shaw, a wood, plantation, 
 
 woody bank. 
 Shearing, reaping, harvest. 
 Sheughing, planting. 
 Sheuk, shook. 
 She's, she is, she shall. 
 Shiel, a temporaiy shed for 
 shepherds on the moun- 
 tains. 
 Shoon, shoes. 
 Shoulter, shoulder. 
 Shure, shore, sheared, reaped. 
 Shyre, sheer, 'as shyi-e a 
 lick,' as bright a cheat.
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 289 
 
 Sic, Siccan (A. S. s'uvyk), 
 such. 
 
 Siller, silver, money. 
 
 Simmer, summer. 
 
 Sin, since ; Sinsyne, since 
 then. 
 
 Sith (A. S. sithaii), since. 
 
 Skaith, hurt, damage, injury, 
 undoing. 
 
 Skaithless, unhurt. 
 
 Skirling, shrieking, scream- 
 ing. 
 
 .Slaes, sloes. 
 
 Slawly, slowly. 
 
 Slee, sly. 
 
 Sleigh, sly. 
 
 Slippit, slipped, glided. 
 
 Sma', small ; ' linen sae 
 small,' //;?c« so fine. 
 
 .S middy (G. schniicdc), 
 smithy. 
 
 Smoor (A. S. sniontn), 
 smother. 
 
 -Sna', Snaw, snow. 
 
 .Snell (G. schiiell), keen, 
 sharp, piercing. 
 
 Snood, ribbon for the hair. 
 See p. 228, n. 
 
 Sonsy, Sonsey, buxom, well- 
 favoured, blooming. 
 
 vSougli, sigh, dreary sound 
 made by the wind among 
 trees. 
 
 Soum, relative number of 
 sheep or cattle to a pasture; 
 ten, and sometimes five. 
 
 Soup, Sowp, sip, small quan- 
 tity of anything fluid. 
 
 Souple, supple. 
 
 Souter, cobbler, shoemaker. 
 
 Spak, spoke. 
 
 Speer, Spier (A. S. s/iriaii), 
 to ask, inquire. 
 
 Spill, spoil, destroy. 
 
 Spindles and Whorles, im- 
 plements used in spinning 
 with the distaff. 
 
 Stack, peat-stack. 
 
 Stack, stuck. 
 
 Staukin', stalking. 
 
 Staw, stole. 
 
 Sten, .Stenn, start, leap. 
 
 Stended, started. 
 
 Stented, stinted. 
 
 Steer, stir, move, touch, in- 
 jure. 
 
 Stirk (A. S. sfvir), young 
 bull. 
 
 Stoun, Stown, stolen ; ' could 
 sto\\'n, ' could have stolen. 
 
 Stound, throb, sudden pang. 
 
 Stoup, deep vessel for liquids, 
 a measure for spirits, 
 &c., as gill-stoup, pint- 
 stoup. 
 
 Strae, straw. 
 
 Strakit, struck. 
 
 Strang, strong ; strung. 
 
 Strath, valley. 
 
 Strathspey, a dance, so called 
 from the district in which 
 it originated. 
 
 Streek, stretch, extend. 
 
 Strick, strict. 
 
 Sturt, strife, trouble, vexa- 
 tion. 
 
 Styme, glance. 
 
 Sumph, lout. 
 
 Sune, soon. 
 
 .Swankies (sruahtkins), lively 
 young fellows. 
 
 Swats, new ale, small ale. 
 
 Syke, a rill, usually dry in 
 summer time. 
 
 Syne, then, since, ago ; 
 ' Lang syne, ' long ago. 
 
 T
 
 290 
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 Ta'en, taken. 
 
 Tap, top ; ' tap to tae,' top 
 
 to toe. 
 Tappit-hen, crested hen ; 
 
 Scotch quart -measure, so 
 
 called from a knob on the 
 
 lid. 
 Tapsalteerie, topsy-turvy. 
 Tassie (Fr. tasse), cup. 
 Tank, talk. 
 Tauld, told. 
 Taylor, tailor. 
 Temper-pin, a ^\'ooden pin 
 
 for regulating the motion 
 
 of a spinning-wheel. 
 Tent, tend, attend, heed. 
 Thae (A. S. thd), these, 
 
 those. 
 Thanket, thanked. 
 Theek (G. decken), thatch. 
 Theekit, thatched. 
 Thegither, together. 
 They'se, they shall. 
 Thir, these. 
 Thocht, thought. 
 Thoom, thumb. 
 Thovve, thaw. 
 Thowless {dcLidt'ss), helpless, 
 
 inert, lazy, without power. 
 
 See Dow. 
 Thrang, (G. dringen), busy, 
 
 crowded. 
 Thraw, throw, twist, 'thraw 
 
 their neck about,' i.e., kill. 
 Thrawn, ill - conditioned, 
 
 cross, ill-natured. 
 Thretty, thirty. 
 Thysell, Thysel', thyself. 
 Tichtly, tightly, completely. 
 Tiff, order. 
 Till, to, until. 
 Tine, Tyne, loss, die. 
 Tint, lost. 
 
 Tintock-tap, the top of Tint( ■- 
 a high hill in Lanarkshire. 
 
 Tippenny, twopenny ; ale 
 sold at 2d. the Scotch pint. 
 
 Tirl, twirl; 'tirl the sneck,' 
 17017-1 the latch. 
 
 Tither, other. 
 
 Titty, sistei". 
 
 Tocher, properly Tocher- 
 Gude (G. 7'ochtergiit). 
 marriage-portion, fortune. 
 
 Todlin', toddling. 
 
 Toom(part.of old Eng. teem). 
 empty. 
 
 Toomed, emptied, poured 
 out. 
 
 Toun, town ; also farm or in- 
 closed land (G. saim). 
 
 Toys, head-dresses. 
 
 Trews, breeches. 
 
 Trig, compact, neat. 
 
 Trinkling, trickling, waving. 
 
 Troth, Trowth, truth, indeed. 
 
 Trow, to believe, to be cer- 
 tain, to trust to, to con- 
 fide in. 
 
 Tryste, appointment ; also a 
 fair. 
 
 Tull, to. 
 
 Twa, two. 
 
 Twal, twelve. 
 
 Twin, Twine, to part, sepa- 
 rate, "divide. 
 
 Twin'd, Twinned, parted, 
 separated. 
 
 Tyne. See Tine. 
 
 Tyke, an opprobrious name 
 for a dog. 
 
 Unco, Unca (nn-^uoth), 
 
 strange, veiy wonderful. 
 Uneasy, not easy, difficult. 
 Unfauld, unfold.
 
 GLOSSAKY. 
 
 291 
 
 Vaunty, boastful, vain. 
 
 Wabster (webster), weaver. 
 
 Wad, would; Wadna, would 
 not. 
 
 Wae (A. S. 7ud), woe, sad ; 
 'wae's me,' woe is vie. 
 
 Waefu', ^YaefuI, woeful. 
 
 Waesome, woeful. 
 
 Waladay, well-a-day. 
 
 Wale (G. 7vii/ilen), choose, 
 select. 
 
 Walie, large, ample. 
 
 Walloch, 'a kind of dance 
 familiar to the Highlands,' 
 — yaviieson. 
 
 Waly (waely), an exclama- 
 tion of grief; sadly, woe- 
 fully. 
 
 AVame, belly. 
 
 Wan, pale. 
 
 Wan, won, got, gained. 
 
 Ware, to spend, expend, be- 
 stow. 
 
 Wark, work, 
 
 Warl, Warld, world ; Warly, 
 worldly. 
 
 Warlock (A. S. wccrloga), 
 wizard ; ' Warlock -kno we, ' 
 knoll supposed to be fre- 
 qitentcd by ivarlocks. 
 
 Warsle, wrestle, struggle. 
 
 Warst, worst. 
 
 Wast, west. 
 
 Wat (A.S. ivilan. hewdt, he 
 knows), know, believe, de- 
 clare. 
 
 Wat, Avet. 
 
 Waught, deep draught. 
 
 Wauken, waken. 
 
 Wauking, waking, awake. 
 
 W^auk, walk ; to shrink as 
 fuller's thicken cloth. 
 
 ^^'eans (7i'ec ones), children. 
 Wear (G. wehren), drive, 
 
 gather together partly by 
 
 force. 
 Wearifu', wearisome, vexa- 
 tious. 
 Wedders, wethers, 
 Wede, weeded. 
 Wee, small, little ; 'a wee,' 
 
 or ' awee,' a short while. 
 Weel, Weil, well; 'weel'sme 
 
 on,' zvell is to vie on {/ am 
 
 delighted witJi). 
 Weet, wet. 
 Weir, war. 
 We'se, we .shall. 
 Westlin, westerly. 
 Wha, Whae, who; Wha- 
 
 e'er, whoever ; Wham, 
 
 whom. 
 Whang, slice, slash, large 
 
 piece slashed off. 
 Whar, AMiare, M'here. 
 Whiles, Whyles, at times, 
 
 occasionally. 
 Whilk, which. 
 Whinging, whining. 
 Whisht, hush, 
 Whorles. See Spindles. 
 Widow, widow, widower. 
 Wilily, slyly, cunningly. 
 Wiltu, wilt thou. 
 Win, to eani, to get. 
 Winna, will not. 
 Winsome, winning, comely, 
 
 engaging. 
 W^iss'd, wished. 
 Wist (A. S. wilan), knew, 
 
 know ; ' wistna,' kneu> 
 
 not. 
 Wi't, with it. 
 Withershins, contrary to the 
 
 course of the sun.
 
 292 
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 Witless, iinheetling, unsus- 
 pecting. 
 
 Wob, web. 
 
 Won (G. wohiifu), dwell, 
 • live. 
 
 Woo, wool. 
 
 Wow, (/ vcnv), an exclama- 
 tion denoting eagerness or 
 surprise. 
 
 Wraith, ghost, spirit, appari- 
 tion. 
 
 Wrak (wreck), confusion, 
 vexation. 
 
 Wud (G. wiit/i), ma<l, dis- 
 tracted. 
 Wylie, wily. 
 
 Yad, Yade, Yaud, jade, 
 
 mare. 
 Yaird, Yard, Yairdie, Yardie, 
 
 garden, little garden. 
 Yammer (G. jainmen!), to 
 
 murmur, whimper, whine. 
 'Ye'd thought,' yo2i ivoiild 
 
 have thought. 
 Ye'se, you shall. 
 Yestreen (yestereven), last 
 
 night. 
 Yet (A. S. gcdt), gate. 
 Yill, ale. 
 Yowes, ewes. 
 Yule, Christmas. 
 Yumphing, noise made by 
 dogs in hunting.
 
 INDEX OF WRITERS. 
 
 WITH DATES OF BIRTH AND DEATH. 
 
 Adams, Jean ( 1765)? civ. 
 
 Austin, Adam (1726 ?- 1774), i.Xli. 
 Aytoun, Robert (1570-1638) ? xcv. 
 
 Baillie, Lady Grisell Home (1665-1746) x.xxiv. 
 
 Barnard. See Lindsay. 
 
 Beattie, James (1735-1803), XLiir. 
 
 Boswell, Alexander (1775-1822), Lii, cxxx. 
 
 Burne, Minstrel, xxvi. 
 
 Burns, Robert (1759-1796), xiii, xviii, xx, xxv, 
 
 XXXV, XXXVIII, XXXIX, XL, XLI, LIV, LVI, LVII, 
 LVIII, LIX, LXI, LXVI, LXVIII, LXIX, LXX, LXXI, 
 LXXIV, LXXV, LXXVI, LXXVIII, LXXX, LXXXVI, 
 
 Lxxxix, xciii, xcvi, cm, ex, CXII, CXIII, CXVII, 
 
 CXXVI, CXXIX, CXXXI, C.XX.XVIII, CXLVI, CLXHI, 
 CLXXVI, CI.XXXVI, CLXXXVIII, CI.XXXIX, CCIII, CCIV. 
 CCIX. 
 
 CAMriiKLL, Thomas (1777-1844), xi.iv. - 
 Carlyle, Adam («;ra 1745), cxxv. 
 Clarinda. See M'Lehose. 
 Clerk, John (1680-1755), ci.xx. 
 
 Cockburn, Alison Rutherford ( 1794), XXIX. 
 
 Couper, R. (1750-1818), Lxxix. 
 
 Crawford, Robert (1695 ?-l733), vi, Xli, XLV, XLIX, l.V. 
 
 Cunningham, Allan (1785-1842), cxxxil.
 
 2 94 INDEX OF WRITERS. 
 
 DUNLOP, John (1755-1S20), XIV. 
 
 Elliot, Gilbert (1722-1777), lxiii, ccvii. 
 Elliot, Jane (1727-I805), xxviii. 
 Ewen John (1741-1821), cv. 
 
 Fergusson, Robert (1750-1774), Liii. 
 Forbes, Peter (present century), cxxiii. 
 
 Gall, Richard (1766-1S01), Lxxvn. 
 Geddes, Alexander (1737-1802), cxcv. 
 
 Glen, William ( 1826), CCV. 
 
 Glover, Jean (1758-1801), in. 
 Graham, Janet (1724- 1805), CLXXX. 
 Graham, Robert (1750- 1797), xcvii. 
 Grant, Anne Macivar (1755-1838), cxciv. 
 Grant, Mrs., of Carron (1745-1814 ?), CXL. 
 Gray, Charles (present century), cxvi, 
 
 Halket, George ( 1756)? Lxxii. 
 
 Hamilton, Elizabeth ( 1816), xcix. 
 
 Hamilton, \Yilliam, of Bangour (1704-1754), L, LI. 
 Hamilton, William, of Gilbertfield (i68o?-i75i?), cxxii. 
 
 Hewitt, Richard ( 1764), x. 
 
 Hogg, James (1770- 1 835), lxxxv, lxxxviii, ci, clxxviii. 
 Hunter, Anne Plome (1742-1821), LXVii. 
 
 James V. (1512-1542) ? cxxxiv. 
 
 Laidlaw, William (1780-1845), Lxxiii. 
 Lapraik, John (1717-1807), cii. 
 
 Lewis, Stewart ( 1818), xxxvi. 
 
 Lindsay, Lady Anne (1750-1825), xxvii. 
 Logan, John (1748-1788), xxiv, i.xxxvii. 
 Lowe, John (1750- 1798), XLii. 
 Lyon, Mrs. (1762- 1840), cxix. 
 
 Macneil, Hector (1746-1818), CLXXin. 
 Mayne, John (1759-1836), XLViii. 
 M'Lehose, Agnes Craig (1759-1841 ?), XCII. 
 Mickle, William Julius (1734- 1788) ? civ. 
 Mitchell, Joseph (1684-1734), xcviii.
 
 INDEX OF WE ITERS. 295 
 
 Montrose, James, :\Iarqiiis of (1612-1650)?, xciv. 
 .Muirhead, Jamas (1740-180S), CLix. 
 
 Nairne, Carolina Oliphant, Lady (1766-1845), Lxxxiii, 
 
 cvi, CXI, CLXvii, cxc, cxciii, ecu. 
 Nicoll, Robert (1814-1837), CLXXXVli. 
 
 Pringle, Thomas {1789-1834), cxxxiii. 
 
 Ramsay, Allan (16S6-1757), iv, vii, viii, ix, xxi, XLvi, 
 
 CL, CLI, CLV, CLX, CLXXII, CXCVII. 
 
 Reid, William {1764- 1 834), xc. 
 
 Rodger, Alexander (17S4-1846), CLXVIII. 
 
 ScoTT, Walter (1771-1832), cxxxix. 
 
 Semple, Francis, of Beltrees [circa 1650?) CLXIV. 
 
 Skinner, John (1721-1807), cxx, cxxi, cxxviil. 
 
 Skirving, Adam (1719-1803), CXCII. 
 
 Smibert, Thomas (present century), XLVii. 
 
 Tannahill, Robert (1774-1810), Lxxxi, lxxxii, 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 Thomson, James (1700-174S), xci. 
 Tytler, James (1747-1805), CLiv, CLXli. 
 
 Wallace, William (1712 ?-i763), lxiv. 
 Webster, David (present century), CLXXi. 
 
 Yester, Lord( 1645-1713) ? xr.
 
 INDEX OF TITLES. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Adieu for evermore, ...... 267 
 
 Ae fond kiss, .... 
 
 
 
 
 1 10 
 
 Afton water, .... 
 
 
 
 
 53 
 
 A lass with a lump of Iniid, 
 
 
 
 
 224 
 
 Andro and his cutty gun. 
 
 
 
 
 141 
 
 Annan's winding stream, 
 
 
 
 
 49 
 
 An thou were my ain thing, 
 
 
 
 
 21 
 
 A red, red rose, 
 
 
 
 
 17 
 
 Armstrong's Good-night, 
 
 
 
 
 276 
 
 Auld I>ang Syne, . 
 
 
 
 
 165 
 
 Auld Robin Gray, . 
 
 
 
 
 35 
 
 Auld Rob Morris, . 
 
 
 
 
 93 
 
 A wet sheet, .... 
 
 
 
 
 168 
 
 Aye wakin', oh. 
 
 
 
 
 133 
 
 Barf-ara Allan, 
 
 
 
 
 44 
 
 Bess the Gawkie, . 
 
 
 
 
 207 
 
 Bessie Bell and Mary Ciray, 
 
 
 
 
 20 
 
 Do. do. {/\(! Ill Sill 
 
 '), 
 
 
 
 194 
 
 Beware 0' bonnie Ann, . 
 
 
 
 
 87 
 
 Bide ye yet, ..... 
 
 
 
 
 120 
 
 Blink over the burn, sweet Betty, 
 
 
 
 
 132 
 
 Bonnie C'hristy, 
 
 
 
 
 12 
 
 Bonnie Lesley, 
 
 
 
 
 SS 
 
 Bridekirk's hunting, 
 
 
 
 
 157 
 
 Bruce's Address, 
 
 
 
 
 251 
 
 Busk ye, busk ye, . 
 
 
 
 
 24
 
 :gS 
 
 INDEX OF TITLES. 
 
 Caller Henin', . 
 Ctii-le, an the king come, 
 Ca' the yowes, 
 Cauld kail in Aberdeen, . 
 Charlie is my darling, 
 Colin Clout, . 
 Colin Gardiner, 
 Come under my plaidie, . 
 Comin' thro' the rye. 
 Cradle Song, . 
 Craigie-Lea, . 
 Cromlet's Lilt, 
 
 Dainty Davie, 
 
 Dear Roger, if your Jenny geek 
 
 Donnocht Head, 
 
 Doun the burn, Davie, 
 
 Duncan Gray, 
 
 Ettrick banks, 
 
 Fair modest flower, 
 Farewell to Lochaber 
 Fee him, father. 
 For a' that, and a' that, . 
 For lack of gold, 
 
 Get up and bar the door, 
 
 Gilderoy, 
 
 Gloomy winter. 
 
 Good night, and joy be wi' you 
 
 Green grow the rashes, O, 
 
 Had I a cave, 
 
 Hap and row. 
 
 He's ower the hills, 
 
 Hey, how, my Johnie, lad, 
 
 Highland ]\Iary, 
 
 I GAED a waefu' gate, 
 
 I hae laid a herring in saut, 
 
 I'll never love thee more.
 
 INDEX OF TITLES. 
 
 299 
 
 T love my Jean, 
 
 I lo'e ne'er a laddie but ane, 
 
 Inconstancy reproved, 
 
 In yon garden, 
 
 Jamie o' the glen, . 
 Janet Macbean, 
 Jessy, . 
 Jock o' Hazeldean, 
 Jocky said to Jenny, 
 John Anderson, my Jo, 
 Johnnie Cope, 
 John of Badenyon, . 
 
 Kenmure's on and awa'. 
 Kind Robin lo'es me. 
 
 Leader Haughs and Yarrow, 
 Lewis Gordon, 
 Loch-Eroch side, . 
 Logan braes, . 
 Logie o' Buchan, 
 Lord Ullin's daughter, . 
 Low down in the broom, 
 Lucy's flitting, 
 
 Macpherson's farewell, 
 
 Macpherson's i-ant, . 
 
 Maggie 1-auder, 
 
 Mary Morison, 
 
 Mary's dream, 
 
 Muirland Willie, . 
 
 My ain fireside, 
 
 i\Iy bonnie Mary, 
 
 My collier laddie, . 
 
 My dearie, if thou dee, 
 
 ]My heart 's in the Highlands, 
 
 My jo Janet, . 
 
 ^ly mother bids me, 
 
 :\Iy Nannie, O, 
 
 My sheep I've forsaken, . 
 
 76 
 198 
 113 
 
 19 
 
 227 
 246 
 
 79 
 182 
 180 
 
 135 
 254 
 162 
 
 197 
 
 31 
 
 258 
 199 
 
 65 
 89 
 58 
 192 
 90 
 
 275 
 272 
 213 
 52 
 56 
 201 
 118 
 
 94 
 191 
 
 60 
 167 
 176 
 
 84 
 
 97 
 80
 
 ?oo 
 
 INDEX OF TITLES. 
 
 Nancy, 
 
 Neil Sow's farewell to whisky, 
 
 Ode to the cuckoo. 
 
 O'er the moor amang th^ heather, 
 
 O'er the water to Charlie, 
 
 O gin my love, 
 
 Oh ! dinna ask me gin I lo'e thee, 
 
 O Jeanie, .... 
 
 O Mally's meek, 
 
 O tell me how to woo thee, 
 
 Our gudeman cam' hame at e'en, 
 
 O \Ahere, tell me where, . 
 
 Peggy and Patie, . 
 
 Peggy, now the king's come, . 
 
 Phillis the fair, 
 
 Pinkie house, .... 
 
 Ratti.in', roarin' Willie, 
 
 Red gleams the sun, 
 
 Robin red-breast, 
 
 Robin Tamson, 
 
 Roslin Castle, 
 
 Roy's wife, .... 
 
 Sae merry as we twa hae been, 
 
 Scomfu' Nancy, 
 
 She is a winsome wee thing, 
 
 Slichtit Nancy, 
 
 Somebody, 
 
 Strathallan's lament, 
 
 .Strephon and Lydia, 
 
 Tak' it, man, tak' it, 
 
 Tak' your auld cloak about you, 
 
 Talk not of love, 
 
 Tam Glen, 
 
 Tarry Woo', . 
 
 The auld goodman, 
 
 The boatie rows. 
 
 The bonny Earl of Murray,
 
 INDEX OF TITLES. 
 
 \o\ 
 
 The braes of Yarrow, 
 
 The broom of Cowdenknows, 
 
 Do. do. (moder 
 
 The busli aboon Traquair, 
 The Campbells are coming, 
 The carle he came o'er the craft, 
 The cauldrife wooer, 
 The day returns. 
 The deil's awa \\i ih' exciseman 
 The dusty miller, 
 The emigrant's farewell, . 
 The ewe-bughts. 
 The flowers of the forest. 
 
 Do. do. . 
 
 The gaberlunzie man, 
 The Highland laddie. 
 The lad that's far awa, 
 The laird o' Cockpen, 
 The land o' the leal. 
 The lass o' Arranteenie, . 
 The lass of Ballochmyle, 
 The lass of Patie's Mill, . 
 The lea-rig (Fcrgnsson), . 
 Do. (Bit7-Jts), . 
 
 The low lands of Holland, 
 The miller. 
 
 The poor and honest sodger, 
 There's nae luck about the house, 
 There was a lass, 
 The rowan tree. 
 The runaway bride, 
 The sky-lark, . 
 The social cup, 
 The wauking of the fauld, 
 The wayward wife, 
 The wee German lairdie. 
 The white cockade, 
 The widow's lament, 
 The yellow hair'd laddie, 
 The young laird and Edinburgh Kat 
 Their groves o' sweet myrtle, 
 Thou art gane awa', 
 
 n), 
 
 t-S 
 
 PAGR 
 29 
 
 7 
 8 
 
 66 
 262 
 206 
 210 
 124 
 144 
 221 
 169 
 2 
 
 37 
 
 38 
 173 
 195 
 
 30 
 217 
 
 134 
 
 99 
 
 23 
 
 5 
 
 71 
 
 72 
 
 43 
 221 
 
 47 
 124 
 114 
 
 lOI 
 
 184 
 
 106 
 
 142 
 
 10 
 
 233 
 
 203 
 
 261 
 
 62 
 
 187 
 
 200 
 
 76 
 
 09
 
 INDEX OF TITLES. 
 
 Tibbie Fowler, 
 Toddlin' hame, 
 To Mary in Heaven, 
 Tranent wedding, . 
 Tullochgorum, 
 Tune your fiddles, . 
 Tweedside ( Yester), 
 
 Do. ( Crawford), 
 Twine weel the plaiden. 
 
 Up in the morning early, 
 
 Waly, Waly, 
 
 Wandering Willie, . 
 
 Wae's me for Prince Charlie, . 
 
 Warena my heart licht I \^•ad dee, 
 
 Wha'll be king but Charlie ? . 
 
 When I upon thy bosom lean, 
 
 Wlien Maggie gangs away, 
 
 When she cam' ben. 
 
 When the kye come hame. 
 
 Whistle, and I'll come to you my lad, 
 
 Why hangs that cloud, . 
 
 Willie brewed a peck o' maut, 
 
 Willie's drowned in Yarro\\-, . 
 
 Willie was a wanton wag, 
 
 Willie Wastle, 
 
 Wilt thou be my dearie, . 
 
 Woo'd and married and a'. 
 
 Ye Jacobites by name, . 
 Young Jockey, 
 
 I'AGt: 
 230 
 140 
 
 55 
 154 
 148 
 
 150 
 
 15 
 16 
 
 228 
 
 134 
 
 27 
 
 92 
 
 269 
 
 45 
 204 
 
 122 
 
 231 
 
 216 
 
 121 
 
 247 
 OS 
 
 139 
 25 
 
 152 
 
 244 
 
 96 
 
 204 
 
 266 
 190
 
 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 
 
 A chieftain to the Highlands Ijound, 
 Ae fond ]<.iss, and then \ve sever, 
 Afore the Lammas tide, . 
 Ah, the shepherd's mournful fate, 
 A laddie and a lassie, 
 Alas ! my son you little know, 
 A lass that was laden wi' care. 
 All lonely on the sultry beach. 
 And are ye sure the news is true, 
 An thou were my ain thing. 
 As I came by Loch-Eroch side. 
 As I was walking up the street, 
 Auld Rob, the laird o' muckle land 
 A wee bird cam' to our ha' door, 
 A wet sheet and a flowing sea. 
 Aye wakin', oh, 
 
 58 
 
 no 
 
 62 
 
 67 
 
 184 
 
 233 
 
 77 
 
 81 
 
 124 
 
 21 
 
 199 
 
 74 
 227 
 269 
 168 
 133 
 
 Baloo, baloo, my wee, wee thing, . 
 Behind yon hills where Lugar flows. 
 Bird of the wilderness, 
 Blythe, blythe and merry are we, 
 Blythe, blythe, blythe was she, 
 Blythe young Bess to Jean did say, . 
 Busk ye, busk ye, my bonnie bride. 
 By Logan's streams that rin sae deep. 
 By Pinkie House oft let me walk, . 
 
 95 
 97 
 io{> 
 142 
 141 
 207 
 24 
 
 65 
 117
 
 )04 
 
 IXDEX OF FIRST LIXES. 
 
 Carle, an the king come, 
 
 Ca' the yowes to the knowes, . 
 
 Caukl blaws the wind frae east to west, 
 
 Chanticleer, wi' noisy whistle, 
 
 Come all ye jolly shepherds, . 
 
 Come boat me ower, come row me ower, 
 
 Come, gentle god of soft desire, 
 
 Come, gie's a sang, Montgomery cried, 
 
 Coming through the craigs of Kyle, 
 
 Come under my plaidie ; the night's gaun to f: 
 
 Coming through the rye, puir body. 
 
 Cope sent a challenge frae Dunbar, . 
 
 Dear Rodger, if your Jenny geek, . 
 Doun in yon garden sweet and gay, . 
 Duncan Gray cam' here to woo. 
 
 Fair, modest flower, of matchless worth. 
 Farewell to Lochabei", and farewell, my Jean. 
 F"arewell, ye dungeons dark and strong. 
 Far lone, amang the Highland hills. 
 Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green br 
 For lack of gold she's left me, O, 
 
 . Gie me a lass with a lump of land, . 
 Gilderoy was a bonnie boy, 
 Gin I had a wee house and a canty \\ee fire. 
 Gloomy winter's now awa'. 
 Go fetch to me a pint of wine, 
 Good night, and joy be wi' you a', . 
 Green grow the rashes, O, 
 Cnide day, now, bonny Robin, 
 
 Had I a cave on some wild distant shore, 
 Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove, 
 Harken, and I will tell ye how, 
 Hear me, ye nymphs and ev'ry swain, 
 Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie. 
 Here's a healtli to ane I lo'e dear, . 
 He's ov,-er the hills that I lo'e \\eel, . 
 Hey, how, my Johnie lad, 
 Hey, the dusty milker. 
 
 aes,
 
 IXDJ£X OF FIRST IJXES. 
 
 305 
 
 How blythe, ill; morn, was I to see," 
 How sweetly smells the simmer gi-een, 
 
 T do confess thou'rt smooth ami fair. 
 
 If doughty deeds my lady ]ilease, 
 
 1 gaed a waefu' gate yestreen, . 
 
 1 ha'e laid a herring in saiit, 
 
 I ha'e seen great anes, and sat in great ha 
 
 I lo'e ne'er a laddie but ane, . 
 
 I'm wearin' awa, Jean, . 
 
 In summer I mawed my meadow, . 
 
 In \\-inter when the rain rain'd cauld. 
 
 In yon garden tine and gay, 
 
 Is there, for honest poverty, . 
 
 It fell about the Martinmas time. 
 
 It was a' for our rightfu' king, 
 
 It was at a wedding near Tranent, . 
 
 It was in and about the Martinmas time, . 
 
 V\Q heard them lilting, at our ewe-milkin 
 
 I've seen the smiling of fortune beguiling, 
 
 I've spent my time in rioting, . 
 
 Janet Macbean a public keeps, 
 John Anderson, my jo, John, . 
 Jocky said to Jenny, Jenny, wilt you do't? 
 
 Keen blaws the wind o'er Donocht head. 
 
 Late in an evening forth I went, 
 Love never more shall gi\e me ]iain, 
 
 I\Ierry may the maid be, . 
 My daddie is a cankert carle, . 
 My dear and only love, I pray, 
 My heart is a-breaking, dear Tittie, 
 My heart is sair, I daurna tell. 
 My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here. 
 My love has built a bonnie shi]i, and set her on the sea 
 My love was born in Alx;rdeen, 
 My mither men't my auld breeks, . 
 My mother bids me bind my hair, . 
 My Peggy is a young thing, .... 
 j\Iy sheep I've forsaken, and k-fi n,y sheep-hook, 
 
 U 
 
 PAGE 
 
 7 
 12 
 
 "3 
 
 116 
 
 87 
 
 211 
 118 
 198 
 
 132 
 
 240 
 
 267 
 
 44 
 
 37 
 
 38 
 
 272 
 
 246 
 
 135 
 180 
 
 51 
 
 234 
 60 
 
 221 
 192 
 III 
 
 85 
 229 
 
 167 
 
 43 
 261 
 219 
 84 
 10 
 80
 
 3o6 
 
 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 
 
 Nancy's to the greenwood gane, 
 Now rosy May comes in Avi' flowcr.s, 
 Now wat ye wha I met yestreen, 
 
 O Bessy Bell and Mary Gray, . 
 
 Do. do. (Ramsay), 
 
 Of a' the ah-ts the wind can blaw, 
 O how can I be blythe and glad, 
 Oh ! dinna ask me gin I lo'e thee, . 
 Oh, Rowan-tree ! Oh, Rowan-tree I tho 
 
 dear to me, .... 
 
 O how can I be blythe and glad. 
 Oh ! send my Le\\is Gordon hame, 
 O, I ha'e lost my silken snood, 
 O, Kenmure's on and awa, Willie, . 
 O Logic o' Buchan, O Logic the laird, 
 O Mary, at thy window be, 
 O my lassie ! our joy to complete again, 
 O, my luve's like a red, red rose. 
 On Annan's banks, in life's gay mom, 
 On a rock by seas surrounded. 
 On Ettrick banks, on a summer's night, 
 O rattlin', roaring Willie, 
 O saw ye bonnie Lesley, 
 O this is my departing time, . 
 Our gudeman cam' hame at e'en. 
 Our native land, our native vale, 
 O waly, waly up yon bank, 
 O weel may the boatie row, 
 O were my love yon lilac fair, 
 O what will a' the lads do, 
 O when she cam' ben she bobbit fu' law, 
 O where, tell me A\here, is your Highland 
 
 gone, 
 
 O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad, . 
 O, Willie bre\\ed a peck o' maut, . 
 
 Peggy, now the king's come, . 
 
 Red gleams the sun on yon hill tap, 
 Robin is my only jo, ... . 
 
 Roy's wife of Aldivalloch, 
 
 u'lt aye be 
 
 laddi 
 
 PAGE 
 178 
 
 75 
 200 
 
 20 
 
 194 
 
 76 
 
 30 
 18 
 
 lOI 
 
 30 
 258 
 228 
 
 253 
 
 89 
 
 52 
 
 103 
 
 17 
 
 49 
 
 58 
 
 193 
 
 15& 
 
 88 
 
 276 
 
 236 
 
 169 
 
 27 
 
 127 
 
 22 
 
 231 
 
 2I(> 
 
 257 
 247 
 139 
 
 260 
 
 97 
 197 
 
 183 
 
 le
 
 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 
 
 307 
 
 Saw ye Jolmny comin', quo' she, 
 Scots wha lia'e \\\ Wallace bled, 
 She is a winsome wee thin^, . 
 Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 
 Since all thy vows, false maid, 
 Sweet sii', for your courtesie, . 
 
 Talk not of love, it gives me pain, . 
 
 Tarry woo', tariy woo', . 
 
 The bride cam' out o' the byre. 
 
 The Campbells are coming, O-ho, O-ho, 
 
 The carle he came o'er the craft, 
 
 The cock's at the crawing. 
 
 The day returns, my bosom bums, . 
 
 The deil cam' fiddlin' thro' the toun, 
 
 Their groves of sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon 
 
 The laird o' Cockpen, he's proud an' he's great. 
 
 The lass o' Patie's mill, . 
 
 The lawland lads think they are fine, 
 
 The moon had climbed the highest hill, 
 
 The ne\YS frae Moidart cam' yestreen. 
 
 The pawkie auld carl came o'er the lea. 
 
 There ance was a May, and she lo'ed na men, 
 
 There cam' a young man to my daddie's door, 
 
 There's auld Rob Morris, that wons in yon gler 
 
 There's cauld kail in Aljerdeen, 
 
 There was a lass, and she was fair, . 
 
 The yellow hair'd laddie sat down on yon brae, 
 
 Thickest night, surround my dwelling, 
 
 Thine am I, my faithful fair, . 
 
 Thou art gane awa', thou art gane awa', 
 
 Thou bonnie wood of Craigie-lea, . 
 
 Tliou ling'ring star, with lessening ray. 
 
 Thy braes were bonnie, Yarrow stream, 
 
 Tibbie Fowler o' the glen, 
 
 'Tis I ha'e se\-en braw new gowns, 
 
 Tune your fiddles, tune them sweetly, 
 
 'Twas at the hour of dark midnight, . 
 
 'Twas even, the dewy fields were green, 
 
 'Twas in that season of the year, 
 
 'Twas on a Monday morning, . 
 
 'Twas when the wan leaf frae the birk-tree was fa': 
 
 I'AGE 
 
 21 
 
 82 
 176 
 
 109 
 160 
 204 
 262 
 206 
 
 124 
 
 144 
 
 76 
 
 217 
 
 5 
 
 195 
 
 56 
 
 264 
 
 173 
 
 45 
 
 210 
 
 93 
 145 
 114 
 
 187 
 267 
 107 
 69 
 102 
 
 55 
 29 
 
 230 
 18s 
 150 
 270 
 
 23 
 14 
 
 252 
 90
 
 3o8 
 
 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 
 
 We'll hap and row, we'll hap and row, 
 
 AVha'll buy my caller herrin', . 
 
 Whar live ye, niy bonnie lass, . 
 
 What beauties does Flora disclose, . 
 
 Wha the deil ha'e wt gotten for a king, 
 
 Wha wadna be in love, . 
 
 When first I came to be a man of twenty years or so, 
 
 When first my dear laddie gaed to the green hill, 
 
 When I ha'e a saxpence under my thoom, 
 
 When I upon thy bosom lean, . 
 
 When I was a miller in Fife, . 
 
 When Maggie and I were acquaint, 
 
 When o'er the hill the eastern star, . 
 
 When Phfjebus bright the azure skies. 
 
 When summer comes, the swains on Tweed, 
 
 When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hann 
 
 When trees did bud, and fields were green, 
 
 When wild war's deadly blast was blawn. 
 
 While larks with little wing, . 
 
 Why hangs that cloud upon th\- brow, 
 
 Why weep ye by the tide, ladye, 
 
 Willie was a wanton wag, 
 
 Willie Wastle dwelt on Tweed, 
 
 Will ye gang o'er the lea-rig, . 
 
 Will ye gang to the ewe-bughts, Marion, 
 
 \\\\\. thou be my dearie, . 
 
 Ye banks and braes and streams around, 
 
 Ye gallants bright, I rede ye right, . 
 
 Ye highlands and ye lawlands. 
 
 Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear, give an ear. 
 
 Young Jockey was the blythest lad, . 
 
 You've surelv heard o' famous Neil, . 
 
 ]".\c;f. 
 242 
 129 
 191 
 
 16 
 263 
 213 
 162 
 
 II 
 140 
 122 
 223 
 
 15 
 
 J 
 
 I 
 
 S 
 
 3:) 
 73 
 47 
 
 104 
 68 
 
 182 
 
 152 
 
 244 
 
 71 
 
 2 
 96 
 
 54 
 
 «7 
 
 39 
 
 266 
 
 190 
 
 146
 
 This book is DUE on the last 
 date stamped below 
 
 flOV 2 9 19^2 
 
 OCT 2 4 I93i^ 
 
 ii^ 
 
 i303 
 
 MAR 24 1948 
 
 5m-2.'31
 
 (^r,^^. IIIB 
 
 lilliiliiii 
 
 3 i'i 58 00125 5842 
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACIU 
 
 AA 000 457 112 1 
 
 tJNlVERSI'n^ 
 
 ;■■;>"" 
 
 ^sru 
 
 LIBRAEY