Poems and Songs
Imlah, John
Published 1841
MY AIN COUNTRIE.
O! my heart is at hame in my ain countrie,
It hath ever been-it will ever be
Where Albyn's Alps in hundreds rise,
Climb thro' the clouds to scale the skies !
There tho' black be the winter's sullen scowl,
And loud the wroth storm's maniac howl,
Yet dear to my heart and fair to my e'e
Are the hills and glens o' my ain countrie !
For monie a soft scene blooms below
O' broomie knock and whinnie knowe,
O' thymy bank and mossy seat,
Where blue-bells blaw sae wild and sweet,
And the haw-tree scents the gloamin' gale,
List'ning to lovers' troth and tale ;
And the birken shaw and the tall pine tree
On the banks and the braes o' myain countrie.
The fox-glove flowers by the cairnie dyke,
And the fog-turf hides the wild bee's byke,
Where reevin' youth oft search'd of yore
To herry the hidden hinney store,
Or hunted each bush on the heather brae,
To gather the dimpled berries blae,
Or hied to the hazel's tempting tree
Mid the wild-grown woods o' my ain countrie.
When the winter winds blaw sharp and shrill ,
And the snaw is deep o'er moor and hill,
When the burn is bound wi' fetters o' frost,
And the woods bare branches tempest-tost,
When thick and fast the feathery drift
Comes whirlin' down frae the angry lift,
O! then are the nights o' mirth and glee
By the ingle neuks o' my ain countrie !
O ! I wish I were in my ain countrie,
On the haughs o' Don or the hills o' Dee,
Where sweet as the love-lorn nightingale,
That charms the eve on the southern vale,
The cushie do'e at the gloamin' croods,
To the echo o' the wildering woods
And the laverock wauks the morn wi' glee,
O'er the clover fields o' my ain countrie.
How stirs my heart on a foriegn strand
To the ancient strains o' my native land !
How fires my soul at the pealing tone [drone !
Of the highland pipe wi' the deep- voiced
Tho' they carry me back to other years,
And turn my heart to a well o' tears,
Yet in melting grief, or in madd'ning glee,
Awake the strains o' my ain countrie !
In frequent dreams o' former days,
On the scenes o' youth I fondly gaze,
On the wings o' thought I oft return
To the gowanie glen and the bickerin' burn,
To the heughs that hang o'er the loch and linn,
To the heath-roof'd hames o' my kith and kin,
O ! had I the wings of a dove to flee,
And be at rest in my ain countrie !
Mid the scenes o' youth, wild, fair, and sweet,
Fain-fain would I stay my wandering feet,
The clime where I drew life's earliest breath,
'Tis there I would gasp its last in death ;
In the green kirk-yard by the grey head- stanes
Be lowly laid my weary banes ;
I will hope this hap tho' it ne'er may be
To sleep neath the sod o' my ain countrie !
Land o' the North ! my ain countrie,
My lay will be oft o' thine and thee,
And wake I ween but little skill :
Would it were worthier o' the will,
For what richer story-richer strand
For the poet's harp or the painter's hand ,
Than thine in the clasp o' the circling sea
Land o' the North, my ain countrie !
Yet ne'er may my weak hands add a stone
To prop thy cairn, if not thy own,
Nor vainly-vilely seek to raise
In vaunting verse the pile of praise,
That would an envious shade expand
O'er the fair fame of other land :
But worthy the truth and my love for thee
Land o' the North, my ain countrie.
DRUMNAGARROW.
To be a bard it disna follow
In trio, duet, or in solo,
That I maun pipe to please Apollo,
His bow and arrows,
I'll roose the bow that beats his hollow,
That's Drumnagarrow's.
The bow that bids the catgut chords
Speak far mair eloquent than words,
When lads and lasses bend the boards
O' ha' or laft,
That even ladies wi' their lords
Gars dance like daft.
O! Drumnagarrow, how few now
Like thee can draw the bold lang bow,
To warm the breast and weet the brow
Wi' madd'ning glee :
The mantle o' the mighty Gow
Was fa'en on thee.
Last ouk I heard you scrape at Shene,
Where gladdened ears and glancing e'en,
And pechin' breath, tauld, weel I ween,
Frae a' afore ye,
Thou'rt Orpheus o' Aberdeen,
Glenbickit's glory !
The " Braes o' Mar" prime can ye play,
And " Lady Mary Ramsay's" lay
But, when the order o' the day
Is Tulloch's lilt,
Then feet and fingers, heugh ! and hey !
Will answer till't.
Why need I mention those or these,
Thou hast the soul and elbow- grease
To play, wi' earnest vir and ease,
The hale collection
O'Neil and ithers' too, and please
A' to perfection.
In brogue or boot, for spring-heeled pump,
Thou madest the rustic dancers jump,
Till I was fley'd ilk ither thump
That shook the biggin
Wad bring the house down in a lump,
Floor, wa's and riggin.
Music, ' tis said, can rive the rock,
And rend the trunk o' gnarl'd oak !
This will I say, and nae in joke,
A strain frae Strachan
Will mak' a man o' stiffest stock
As swack as saughen.
Wae worth the wretch! foul be his fa' !
Our ancient springs wad chase awa'
Frae lowly cot or lofty ha'
Our rants and reels
To wanton waltzes bring us a' ,
And queer quadrilles.
Gie me the gear that gars me feel
The life o' life, frae head to heel !
To whirl thro' jig, strathspey, or reel,
As licht's a feather
Quadrilles and waltzes to the d-1,
May gang thegither.
New fangled notions over nice,
Are now our vile besettin' vice !
And close as iron, cauld as ice,
Our generation !
Alas ! that "auld springs gie nae price"
Thro'out our nation.
That man o' marvels, Paganini !
Some thocht a d-1, some a genii,
He monie a bonnie gowden guinea
Out o' us diddled,
Had he been Scotch, I'd bet a pin, he
Had poorly fiddled .
The limmer fashion-plague upon her !
She mak's an honest stamach scunner,
And, widenin' a' our een wi' won'er,
At our gyte gentrie !
We see a prophet has nae honor
In his ain kintrie.
Foul fa' the tempora mutantur,
They've work'd wi' monie things mishanter,
I fear some modish ban or banter
Will daur to middle
Wi' puir auld Scotland's pipe and chanter
And four-stringed fiddle.
Fareweel to feeling when ye part,
Ye strains that need nae aid frae art,
That come and gang frae heart to heart,
Yet hae the skill
To bid emotion's tear- drap start,
Or rapture thrill !
O! let near ilka ingle neuk
The green- bagged fiddle hae its heuk,
To hang like smoket flitch or fleuk,
Wi some ane near it ;
Wi' willing heart, by ear or beuk,
To let us hear it.
Alas ! my dancin' days are o'er,
My feats are past on festive floor,
The spirit and the spunk o' yore,
Waes me, I ween,
Are nae sae apt for spree or splore
As they hae been.
Yet now to Norlan rant or reel,
Some stirrin' o' langsyne I feel,
Whene'er our hame o'er dances wheel,
I tak' a part ;
But och ! I've now a heavier heel
And heavier heart !
There was a time - a joyous time,
Lang ere I tried the trade of rhyme,
When Lewie Fleemin's strains sublime
Were a' the go ;
Then boyhood, prankit in its prime,
Nor wist o' woe.
And ne'er was galliard better graced,
And ne'er was fiddler blither faced,
That hour was his Cremona placed
"Tween chin and shouther !
Losh ! how the daffin younkers raced,
In transports thro'ther.
Can I forget thee in my metre,
No! by the Pope and eke St. Peter,
For fiddler finer ne'er was eater
O'brose and brochan
Magnus Apollo o' Monquhitter
And boast o' Buchan !
When ye screw'd roun' your temp'ring pegs,
And made the thairms to thirl-- my fegs,
Callant and quean, loupt to their legs,
To foot it finely !
As rants and reels, strathspeys and jigs
Ye played divinely !
Peace to thy shade !-unstrain'd, unstrung,
Thy bow and fiddle, that have hung
Lang on the willow-mute thy tongue,
And thrilling tones !
The girse and gowan lang have sprung
Above thy bones !
Still fiddlest thou in men's abodes,
Untainted yet by modern modes,
Who oft the lofty play-house gods,
Hast fired to frenzy ?
Or stiff and streekit ' neath the clods,
Art thou M'Kenzie ?
I hope thou'rt twistin' still the pins
To active limbs aud sweatin' skins,
Lest gout get at our shanks and shins,
Lang be ye liver ;
"O! gin I were, where Gadie rins"
Play that for ever !
I'll nae deny't-tho ' vulgar be't,
I've listen'd strains in lane and street
O' native birth sae simply sweet,
Artless and wild,
That made me merry, garr'd me greet,
Even like a child !
How aft it was my wont to jog
Amid thy train blin' Willie Hogg,
When "Cock-a-Bendy" was in vogue,
And sack'd thee siller ;
Or Drone's braid- shouther'd brawny rogue,
The brosy miller.
Then, Willie, ye your sweet voice lent
To your as sweet accompaniment,
O' the poor stranger maid that went
Too far from home
I hope maids will tak' better tent
In days to come.
Art thou in being still ? and he,
The Turkey merchant, wont to be
Fidus Achates unto thee,
A blin'-e'ed brither ;
Wha heard delights he could na see
As weel's anither.
What feeling did your friendship bind ?
"Twas fellow-feeling made ye kind,
For as the baith o' ye were blind,
As a stane-wa',
Nae fauts wi' ither could ye find,
Ye never saw.
In London lives as choice a chiel,
Born of the land o' " famous Neil,"
As ever heated rustic's heel,
Or cit's or sailor's ;
And finely can he play "The D-
Amang the Tailors."
Fair Athole's woods, Braedalbin's braes
First heard his hand at Highland lays
Lang time ago ; yet Willie plays
In London now
The music o' the olden days
Wi' brilliant bow.
And few you'll find sae pleased to play,
To matron grave and maiden gay,
When join'd wi' mates at close o' day
By choice or chance,
To wile an idle hour away
Wi' friendly dance.
Forego not Willie, nor forget
The Norlan springs o ' native set,
When friends wi' friends for mirth are met
To foot it fine ;
But keep thou up the auld style yet,
For auld lang syne !
O ! mair than a' thy minstrel art,
In which sae weel thou play'st thy part,
For manners bland and honest heart
My rhyme wad roose thee ;
The curse o' Cromwell be their smart
Wha wad abuse thee !
To mark, it never was my lot,
A countryman was worth a groat
In head or heart, wha kindled not
At native strains,
And felt not a' the brither Scot
Throb thro' his veins !
There's ane I ken o' Border birth
That's wander'd to the ends o' earth,
And round has ranged its globular girth ;
Yet Scotia's still
Her strains, to mourning or to mirth
Can work at will.
"Flowers o' the Forest " let but glide,
Then tears will answer in a tide,
And the " Blue Bonnets " spur the pride
O' the old Border ;
But kittle up Lock Erochside,
He's prime in order.
And nearer to the northern star,
Where waves amid the wilds o' Mar,
An ancient forest wide and far,
By nature planted.
He loves the lay o' " Lochnagar
Young Byron chanted.
I like to see sic specimen
O' man, begat in Scottish glen,
Wha loves the land, the but or ben
That gae him birth ;
I find them aye the best o' men
In wit or worth.
I'm now a stranger on that strand,
Albeit it is my native land ;
Yet here's my head, my heart, my hand,
Wi' him wha will
For Scotland strike, for Scotland stand,
Thro' good and ill .
Her worthiest sons hae loved her best,
Her heroism in honour'd rest,
Proved well the patriots sternest test
In battle gory,
That dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori !
Oh ! music, in thy charmed shell,
What mystic mighty powers dwell ;
How grief will sigh and gladness swell
At thy controul !
All own the magic o' thy spell
Wha hae a soul.
Well hath the Bard of Avon wrote
That man but breathes to plague and plot,
In love a blank, on life a blot,
Wha music loathes ;
And let such man be trusted not
The Goth o' Goths !
The painter's tints may be profane,
Polluted be the poet's strain ;
But she, in every varied vein,
The sister art,
Sweet music ! never stamps a stain
On mind or heart.
When deep her plaintive measures flow,
The brain will think, the breast will throe,
The soul be wrapt wi' genial glow
In musings meet,
And " learn the luxury of woe,"
Though sad-yet sweet !
When d-ls held in hellish thrall
The spirit o' the wayward Saul,
As music came at David's call
Like breathing balm,
(Music to deils is bitter gall, )
The king grew calm.
O! is it not a sight o' sights ,
When music cheers blithe auld Yule nights,
To view our day-toiled rustic wights
Sic lively prancers,
Gleg jinkin' like the Northern lights,
The Merry Dancers.
Sae was it twenty years ago,
In thee braid Buchan thro' and thro',
And fain my hope it still is so,
Or then, alas !
Our ancient countrie's come unto
A woeful pass.
In England, " Merrie England " ance
(As still amid the vines o' France) ,
The village fête and rural dance
Cheer'd peer and peasant, [glance
Now chilled and changed, ne'er meets your
Such prospect pleasant.
Now leisure comes to wearied labour,
But brings na neighbour blithe wi' neighbour,
Enjoying merry pipe and tabor,
But pipes and porter ;
And waur than these, in tap-room gabber,
A summat shorter.
Ye men o' title, might, and treasure,
O! still gie labour in its leisure,
For hours o' pain ae hour o❜ pleasure,
What nature wants ;
And less o' legislative measure,
Frae M. P. saunts.
The peasants base the social pillar,
The brookie smith, the dusty miller ;
The clod-shod clown, earth's humblest tiller
In sod-bulit sheeling,
May hae mair sense than some wi' siller,
And finer feeling.
The horny hand that hauds the plough,
The thud that fells the forest bough,
The pith that gars the furnace glow
And stithie ring,
To these a' classes meikle owe,
Frae kerne to king.
To them wha weave or twirl the pirn
For cotton claith, or woo', or yarn,
Wha speel the wud, or hew the cairn,
We a' are debtors ;
Then lat them ease, enjoyment earn,
As weel's their betters.
Their feelings, flesh-their blude and bane,
By passion, appetite, and pain,
Are acted on the same's your ain,
Tho' low their station ;
Then think and thole, as men for men,
O' God's creation.
Some plough the sea, and some the soil,
And some maun tro'ck wi' ither's toil,
While some maun spend and some maun spoil.
The warld's a wheel,
And elbow-grease the essential oil
To gar it reel.
The man o' lear, and man o' leather,
Are necessary to each ither,
We're a' dependent things thegither,
Thro' every grade,
And he's the greatest man o' either
Best at his trade.
We've ministers to pray and preach,
And dominies to task and teach ;
We've doctors too, to lance and leech,
O' sma' pretence ;
And lawyer louns less spare or speech
Than sober sense.
Pity their parents didna find
Lines meeter for their lack o' mind ;
Better to be a burn- the-wind,
And nae a failure ;
Or, even that fraction o' mankind,
A decent tailor.
Better to be an honest yeoman,
A trusty herd, a steady ploughman,
Or flunky to some gentlewoman,
If good at either,
Than learning Hebrew, Greek and Roman,
Wi' nous for neither.
The many are a country's stay,
Base tho' they be to gentler clay,
If ' neath the fabric they decay,
A mole may see it,
Column and cap, where will be they?
In ruins wi' it !
Then never be that class neglected,
But ever be their rights respected,
And every end by law effected ;
Improve their pleasures
Whose sweat created and collected
Our trade and treasures.
Wise in their own conceit, M. P.'s,
Having, when gout will let, their ease,
Plan out for puir folk what they please,
What may be fairly meant,
Trusting frae acts o' grace to free's
By acts o' Parliament.
They deal not law wi' even hand,
They press the lowly o' the land,
But spare the spread on Sunda' grand,
O'er fine mahogany.
O! fie! fie! Pouter-Plumptre, and
Sir Andrew Agony!
I freely own the impropriety,
Nay, waur, the imprudence—e'en impiety,
O' sots that soak to inebriety ;
'Tis man's black bane,
The very sorrow o' society,
The curse o' Cain !
That ill that wimples thro' the worm,
Ca'd mountain dew, frae Cairngorm,
Frae glens o' stills, or hills o' storm ,
Wi' anti-bottlers,
Has ceased the cry, refrain ! reform
And be teetottlers !
But why at whisky a' this wrath,
Wi' a' the scorn and a' the scaith ?
But few the comforts poortith hath
Whence joy to borrow,
And cheer it on its plodding path
O' sweat and sorrow !
For ever since the warld began,
Since " Adam spaded and Eve span,"
Hath wine made glad the heart o' man ;
Then sure its use
Should ne'er be barr'd by mortals ban,
For its abuse.
The grapes that purple southern plain
Will cluster not in our domain,
But bear will braird, a goodly grain,
And so I say,
It's aye the safest drink to drain,
The vin du pays.
"There is a time for all things," so
The Preacher said, lang, lang ago,
Atime for joy, a time for woe,
And in its season,
For soul and song, and flask to flow,
Yet a' in reason.
I hae a notion in my noddle,
May be it is nae worth a boddle,
That some that wi' the mash-pot muddle
On trash o' tea,
Are just as daft as they wha fuddle
On barley bree.
But I'll leave preaching to the priest,
It's nae my taste, or trade at least,
For they wha on the Fiars feast
Should teach the people,
And guard frae Babylonish beast,
Stipend and steeple !
I first begoud about a bow,
A lang ane I've been drawin' now,
And shootin' on the wing I trow,
Wi' aimless arrow.
What was my theme ? O! what but thou,
Blithe Drumnagarrow !
O! Drumnie, words are a' too weak,
In English, Latin, erse or Greek,
The sum o' thy deserts to speak
In ample phrase ;
And sic a screed as I can squeak
Is sorry praise .
I've lang been frae my native sphere
Wi' English jinglin' in my ear,
That faith I've lost the knack I fear
O' scribblin' Scotch,
And now hae gabbered out some gear,
Like a hotch-potch.
There' some ca' rhyme a graceless crime,
A woefu' wastin' o' our time,
The mair sae mine that hath nae styme,
O' licht frae heaven ;
It's like the Wall o' Spa, my rhyme (4)
As got 'tis given.
Still fires the soul to hear and hail,
O' Clann na Gael ann gualibh a chielle,
The Pibroch pealing on the gale,
Or melts wi' grief,
When wakes the Coronach's deep wail
O'er cairn-tombed chief.
By birken shaw and flowery mead,
The shepherd loves the aiten reed,
Beside the Teviot and the Tweed
And dowie Yarrow,
Let Dee and Don' aye hae a screed
Frae Drumnagarrow.
O ! Drumnie, never may thy heart
Affliction's arrows make to smart ;
Proof against a' but Cupid's dart,
Unless, already,
Thou'st safely placed that tender part
Wi' some kind lady.
I've heard and wonder'd wi' the rest,
Our finish'd fiddlers bow their best,
Wha science, but not soul, expressed !
Like thy wild lays,
That kindle up the zeal and zest
O' ither days !
If e'er again we twa should meet,
Atween your fiddle and my feet,
We'll gar the hours fly swift and sweet
Wi' step and strain,
Until auld Time wi' speed sae fleet
Shall pech again !
Strachan ! thou ultimus Romanorum,
That scrap'st in Scotia's quire and quorum,
Lang may ye push about the jorum
Wi' choicest chiels,
And drive them wud wi' " Tullochgorum,"
The reel o' reels !
Be life wi' thee a cloudless simmer,
Welcome to cronie and to kimmer ;
Lang mayst thou mak' the tremblin ' timmer
Thy music feel,
While sturdy loun and strappin' limmer
Loup, skip, and squeel !
In fame and favour mayst thou grow,
Shunning the broadway leading low,
Mid a' the fiddles in a row
That top the narrow,
Flourish, like Aaron's rod, the bow
O' Drumnagarrow !
Gude prosper a' that may concern
Thy hame an' haddin', board and bairn,
Be evergreen the bays ye earn,
Till full o' days
And lowly laid, a noble cairn
May Scotia raise .
On ilka Scot be dool and shame,
Upon his head, upon his hame,
And a' the plagues that ever came,
Of old, on Pharoah,
Wha scorns thy numbers and thy name,
O ! Drumnagarrow !
A SCOTTISH MERRY MAKING.
HARK ! the merry music soundin’,
How it glads us ane and a',
Mark the lighted ha' surroundin'
Lasses bonnie, blithe an' braw!
May our frailty be forgiven
Gif, throughout this joyous night,
We may think our hearts in heaven :
Sae transported wi' delight !
Can we see sic bonnie lasses,
An' nae prie ae smilin' mou?
Can we toom sic glorious glasses,
An' forbear frae gettin' fou ?
Is there ane that lo’es not woman,
Even as a second sel,'
Tho' his beard's like birse, he's no man,
Hatefu' baith to heaven and--
Dinna deave's wi' cat-gut scrapers,
Born an' bred in far-aff parts ;
Minuet and cotillion capers,
Shew na here sic apish arts.
Dinna lat this fluir be shauken
Wi' your feckless French quadrilles ;
Roset nae your bows to wauken
Waltzes for our heavy heels.
Wauk that music's wilder measure
Which the honest heart can gie ;
Sense o' sweetest, purest, pleasure,
Scotia's matchless minstrelsie !
Feshna here the kicks o' Fashion,
Swith ! awa' wi' bows and scrapes,
Dinna put us in a passion
Wi' your stinted schule-taught steps.
Knack your thum's wi' heuch ! and hollo !
Clap your hands, and reel an' set,
Ither fowks may fashions follow,
We will keep up auld style yet !
See yon mimic o' a monkey,
Booin' like a willow wan'
Like to some French friz or flunkey,-
Like to onie thing but man.
When our heels the maist are heichten'd,
Mark how cannilie he gaes,
Ane wad think the fule was frichten'd,
Lest he birzed his bits o' taes.
Wha could here sit sad or sulky?
Wha that has the use o' lugs ?
Wha but loup tho' auld and bulky,
Licht as life in buits or brogues ?
Even frae the bed o' sickness
Scotia's strains might gar us spring
Thro' the figure, wi' the quickness
O' a swallow on the wing !
Till the morn, at sax or seven,
Keep it up wi' meikle glee,
Wha daurs doubt there is a heaven,
Bid him here but wait awee!
THE LAND O' CAKES.
THE Land O' Cakes ! the Land o' Cakes !
O ! monie a blessing on it,
Its hills and howes-its linns and lakes,
The bagpipe and the bonnet ;
The braes that bred the kilted Clans,
That cowed the Dane and Roman,
Whase sons hae still the hearts and han's
To welcome friend or foeman !
Then swell the sang-baith loud and lang,
As echo answered never,
And fill ye up and toast the cup,
The Land o' Cakes for ever !
Fair flower the gowans down our glens,
The heather up our mountains,
The harebells hing round wizard dens,
And fairy-haunted fountains ;
The milk-white thorn-the gowden broom,
For lovers' trystin' bowers,
Net even Eden's sel' in bloom
Unfaulded lovelier flowers !
Then swell the sang, [and]c.
Be scorn'd the Scot-within whose heart,
Nae patriot flame is burning,
Wha kent nae grief frae hame to part―
Nae joy when back returning !
Nae love for him in life shall yearn,
Nae tears in death deplore him,
He hath nae Coronach-nae Cairn,
Wha shamed the land that bore him !
Then swell the sang, [and]c.
When flows our quaich in Highland glen,
In Lawland hall our glasses,
We'll toast auld Scotland's honest men
Thrice o'er her bonnie lasses !
And deep we'll drink-the Queen-the Kirk,
Our country and our freedom,
Wi' braid claymore, skein-dhu and dirk,
We're ready when they need them !
Then swell the sang, [and]c.
ALVA
HAVE ye been on the braes by the brig of sweet Alva,
Where winds the dark Deveron slow to the sea
Saw ye ever bonnier braes than at Alva?
Tell me where-tell me how, can there bonnier be,
Of rock and of river-of braeside and bower,
A scene of enchantment—more varied and sweet ;
The smile of the sunbeams-the tears of the shower,
The kiss of the summer gale never may meet !
The walks in the woodlands, what pathways of pleasure !
All fragrant with flowery thickets of thorn,
Where many a bird to its merriest measure
Awakens the music that welcomes the morn !
Yet, sweetest of all, when the shadowy even,
Descends on that spot with the wings ofa dove,
When the waters reflect back the stars of high heaven,
Like the eyes of the lovely we look on with love !
Not the Land of the Promise-the pasture-clad Prairie
To Israel's hope to the emigrant's heart ;-
Not the Edens of bliss - nor the regions of Faery,
Rapt visions to pilgrim and poet impart,
Oh ! Alva, sweet Alva ! were prospect more pleasant,
For all I would have, or could hope for, thou hast
And, alas ! to behold thee, thejoy of the present,
Must soon-ah ! too soon-be a pang for the past !
AULD LOWRIE'S BONNIE MARY
O! THERE were wooers nine or ten,
Some down the burn-some up the glen,
Cam' courting daily, but an' ben,
Auld Lowrie's bonnie Mary.
Her fame-her name spread far an' near,
She kept the countrie in a steer,
An' monie cam' her price to spier,
Auld Lowrie's bonnie Mary.
The wealthy vowed to keep her grand,
As onie lady in the land,
Wad she but plight them heart an' hand,
Auld Lowrie's bonnie Mary.
An' ithers deaved her wi' their din,
O! gentle bluid an' muckle kin,
But little reck'd they how to win
Auld Lowrie's bonnie Mary.
At last our Jock gae'd oure the gate,
An' nae oure bauld, an' nae oure blate,
An' woo'd wi' love baith ear' an' late,
Auld Lowrie's bonnie Mary.
An' wha could Jock an' love withstan' ?
Sae he, wi' holy beuk an' bann,
Made her gudewife —whare's he's gudeman,
Auld Lowrie's bonnie Mary !
THE SOUTER'S ONLY DOCHTER.
THE Souter's only dochter,
Oh wow but she is bonnie ;
An' she's an angel upon earth
If ever there was onie.
She's fair as thocht can fashion,
She's dear as love can treasure
An' day an' nicht I dote on her
Wi' mingled pain and pleasure.
Her brows, arch'd like the rainbow,
" Twa heaven-blue orbs bend over,
The stars o' love whase influence mak'
Each looker-on a lover.
Twa tempting red ripe cherries
Are the lips o' this fair maiden
An' to taste sic sweet forbidden fruit,
I'd tine a second Eden !
O! wha is this fair wonder
An' what is it they ca' her ?
An' gin ye dinna care to tell,
Sae when, an' whare, ye saw her.
Last year I met wi' Maggie,
Sae fair o' shape an' feature
An' gin ye gang to Ballater,
Spier for the comlie creature.
I tint my heart for ever
The moment that I met her.
And gin I lived a thousand years,
I never could forget her.
The gentle and the semple—
A' that hae seen hae socht her!
An' I'm out-owre the lugs in love,
Wi' the souter's bonnie dochter!
LANG SYNE !
O ITS Sweet to see the bonnie bark skip,
Like a roe o'er the silver sea ;
O! it's fine to mark the merrie morn trip
Like a sylph o'er the flowery lea ;
An' the simmer sheen,
O' gowd and green,
Mak' nature sweet an' fine,
But its far mair sweet,
When the parted meet—
The friends o' lang syne !
How fair the fields o'bloom that smile
Thro' a ceaseless simmer time,
On some southern shore, or eastern isle ,
Of a warm an' sunny clime ;
But in bloom or blight,
In lour or light,
What scenes such charms combine
As the banks an' braes
Of our early daysThe haunts o' lang syne !
Dear dear is the shade o' the gloamin grey,
To the worn wi' toil or care ;
An' doubly dear hope's morning ray
On the night o' deep despair !
But when noon o' life
Hath pass'd in strife,
O! what joy half sae divine
As to calmly close
Its eve wi' those
We hae loved sin lang syne !
A HAPPY NEW YEAR!
A HAPPY NEW YEAR ! —A Happy New Year !
To the friends that are far, and the friends that are near !
We will fill to the fair-we will drink to the dear
A happy New Year !-a happy New Year!
Here's a health - drink it deep-to the bonniest lass-
Her name, by my sooth, their is nae need to speir
Oh ! we a' ken fu' brawlie wha's best worth the glass-
Our love and gude wishes- a happy New Year !
A happy New Year, [and]c.
And oh while we drink to the friends that are met,
To the absent and far, whom we wish had been here
Here's a cup to the foe can forgie and forget
Our hand and our heart, and--a happy New Year!
A happy New Year, [and]c.
There are some worn awa' to the land o' the leal,'
We will name wi' a sigh-we will pledge wi' a tear!
Why hae joined in our cup and our sang at blithe Yule,
An' wi' whom we hoped mony a happy New Year !
A happy New Year, [and]c.
All hail ! —wi' a sang, to the year at i
Adieu !-wi' a sigh, to the ane on it
Oh! in this may a' mourning be chang mirth
Atowmon's millenium !-ahappy New Year !
A happy New Year ! —a happy New Year !
To the friend and the foe-to the far and the near !
Here's wishing them health - meikle wisdom and wealth
And mony a merry and happy New Year !
A FAREWEEL TO BANFF.
FAREWEEL to bonnie Banff-fareweel !
The hour is come I maun awa',
And what I fear and what I feel
Are like to brak' my heart in twa,
I fear that never mair for me
Shall bloom yon bowers sae gaily green
I feel nae ither bowers can be
So dear to me as they hae been !
Where Deveron wends its darken'd way,
Thro' woody Alva's rocky den,
I've daff'd fu' mony a happy day,
But I was young and thoughtless then.
And tho' these melting een may meet
In distant countries scenes as fair,
My heart will thrill mid scenes as sweet
Nae mair - oh never - - never mair !
At morn I've tript the dewy green,
At evening thro' the lighted ha' ,
Wi' mony a happy one I ween,
Now weeping that I maun awa' !
Where'er betake-whate'er betide
The tearful thought shall aft be thine,
Home of my youth ! - sweet Deveron- side,
Tho' thou canst never mair be mine !
The parting cup hath wat my lip,
The parting tear now weets my e'e,
The sails are bending on the ship
To waft me o'er the western sea.
Adieu to all that bless'd the past !
The worst to fear-the worst to feel,
On all I love I look my last
Fareweel to bonnie Banff-fareweel !
MARION GRAEME.
YOUNG Marion Graeme, how fair thou art,
O! fair beyond comparing !
And, Marion Graeme, as hard thy heart,
That I must die despairing !
And hard indeed his pangs to prove
Whom falsehood dooms to sever,
From all he loves and still must love,
For ever-yes, for ever !
How often to thy cottage bower
I've stol'n so late and lonely,
And deemed thee in a happier hour,
Mine own love-and mine only.
I reck'd not in a form so fair
The heart of a deceiver,
I dreamt not of the deep despair
That must be mine for ever !
O! Marion Graeme, false as thou art,
These bursting tears betoken,
How dear thou still art to this heart
The heart that thou hast broken !
Yet in its lone and deep despair,
Shall love desert it never,
Though peace and hope be banished there,
For ever-yes, for ever!
THE KING'S COME O'ER THE BORDER.
THROUGH town and glen rejoice, ―rejoice !
Right glad o' heart and loud o' voice,
For news the choicest o' the choice,
The King's come o'er the Border !
Auld Scotland shame-fa' them in thee,
Wha winna join our jubilee
We'll a' gang daft wi' mirth and glee,
The King's come o'er the Border !
Thy courts and chambers, Holyrood,
Hae lang been hush'd in solitude,
Now faith thou'lt tremble stane and wood,
The King's come o'er the Border !
The song, the dance, and ruddy wine,
Wi' lords and ladies busket fine ,
Will mak' thee look like auld lang syne,
The King's come o'er the Border !
The castle cannons reek and rair,
Whare banners flaunt sae braid and fair,
A royal welcome rends the air,
The King's come o'er the Border !
A merry peal the Kirk bells ring,
While joyous thousands shout and sing,
Huzza ! Huzza ! - God save the King !
He's welcome o'er the Border !
See how the bonfire in the breeze,
Wi' casks o' tar and clunks o' trees,
Gars Arthur's seat like Etna bleeze,
The King's come o'er the Border !
The startled stars ha'e ta'en to flight,
For, faith, Auld Reekie's tapers bright
Mak' midnight clear as braid day-light.
The King's come o'er the Border !
Come Pipers ! gar your chaunters squeak,
And Fiddlers mak' your cat-gut speak,
Ye shanna sleep a wink the week,
The King's come o'er the Border !
We'll dance like fairies on the lea ;
We'll drink like fishes in the sea,
And cheer his health wi' three times three,
We welcome o'er the Border !
THE BONNIE LASSIE.
O ! MET ye Mary down the glen ?
Then ha'e ye seen our fairest lassie,
And little care I wha may ken,
To me she is the dearest lassie.
Her cheek o' bloom and e'e o' light,
Was e'er the like in onie lassie ?
By a' that charms the soul and sight,
My Mary is a bonnie lassie.
How blest the gowans down yon glen,
They kiss the little feet o' Mary,
The birds that hush their music when
They hear the voice mair sweet o' Mary!
Ye stars that light the trysts o' love,
Say, saw ye ever onie lassie
Sae like yoursel's or aught above,
As Mary is - my bonnie lassie ?
She's sweet as simmer's morning smile,
As gentle as its eve - my lassie,
And friends may frown and wealth may wile,
But never make me leave my lassie.
By ilka grace o' mien and mind,
That e'er exalted onie lassie,
Say, wha's the wale o' womankind?
O! wha but she-my bonnie lassie !
THE BLUE E'ED LASSIE.
I LOVE thee, lassie ! - ah ! how weel,
Nae thocht can reach-nae word reveal
As nane hae felt- - as nane can feel,
My bonnie blue e'ed lassie, O.
I lo'e thee mair, sweet Isabel,
Than sign can shew, or tongue can tell,
My love-my life-my second sel',
My bonnie blue e'ed lassie, O.
O! then by lip or look convey,
How I may wile thy heart away,
And I will bless thee night and day,
My bonnie blue e'ed lassie, O.
Say, shall I roose thy roguish mou',
Or praise thy pawkie e'en sae blue,
What shall I say? what can I do ?
My bonnie blue e'ed lassie, O.
Should cares combine, and ills increase,
To wreck my pleasure, rest, and peace,
Were life but torment-death release,
My bonnie blue e'ed lassie, O.
For thy sweet sake-for thine alane,
Through toil and trouble, grief and pain,
I'd live to lo'e, and ca' my ain,
My bonnie blue e'ed lassie, O.
THE PAWKIE BLACK E'E !
THE Pawkie Black e'e ! the pawkie black e'e
The warmest in grief, and the wildest in glee
O! I'll never get rest till the day that I die,
For love o' the lass wi' the pawkie black e'e !
She's blithe as the morning, the blithest in May ;
She lilts like a laverock-an daff's a' the day,
Like a fawn in the forest - a lamb on the lea
But ' ware ye the wile o' the pawkie black e'e !
An' the lassie is dear as the lassie is fair :
As Heaven to devotion-as hope to despair !
As the sun to the simmer-the bud to the bee,
Tho' my peace was the prey o' her pawkie black e'e !
O she's work'd mickle mischief wi' monie ane mair,
An' hard is his hap wha maun dote an' despair !
O ! I'll surely gang daft —or I surely will die,
For love o' the lass wi' the pawkie black e'e !
THE BIRKS OF ABERGELDIE
WILD they bloom and bonnie, O,
Bonnie, O-bonnie, O;
Wild they bloom and bonnie, O,
The Birks of Abergeldie.
Let cauldrife hearts seek out the south,
But gie me back the bowers o' youth,
Tho' wild the countrie and uncouth,
Round the Birks of Abergeldie.
Wi' gleesome speed the burnie rins ;
Wi' merry murmurs lowps the linns,
Thro' purple heather-gowden whins
And the Birks of Abergeldie.
The birdie lilts its blithest lay,
Frae rosie morn till gloamin grey,
And flits about frae spray to spray,
'Mang the Birks of Abergeldie.
O! tell na me o' fruit an' flower,
In southern grove or eastern bower,
Be mine, until my dying hour,
The Birks of Abergeldie !
Wild they bloom and bonnie, O,
Bonnie, O-bonnie, O ;
Wild they bloom and bonnie, O,
The Birks of Abergeldie.
THE BONNIE BLUE E'E.
O! LOVE to the lass wi' the bonnie blue e'e,
O! love to the lass wi' the bonnie blue e'e,
Though sma' be her tocher, and low her degree,
Here's love to the lass wi' the bonnie blue e'e ! dear,
The blue e'e o' beauty how sweet and how
When dipt in the dew of a trembling bright tear,
And blithe is the smile in its sunshine o' glee,
For love's in the light o' the bonnie blue e'e.
There's meikle o' mischief in ebon-black een,
As weel I may say to my sorrow I ween,
AWill- o'-the-Wisp blinks their wild fire to me,
But the beacon o' truth is the bonnie blue e'e
Thou star of my destiny beaming and bright,
Thou blue orb of beauty, of love and of light,
Thou load-star of lovers, my blessing on thee,
And love to the lass wi' the bonnie blue e'e.
O! love to the lass wi' the bonnie blue e'e,
O! love to the lass wi' the bonnie blue e'e,
Thoughsma' be her tocher and low her degree,
Here's love to the lass wi' the bonnie blue e'e.
YOUNG MARY.
YOUNG Mary by the burn,
I lo'ed her o'er them a' !
But Mary by the burn
She's wedded and awa',
She's wedded and awa',
And I maun hope nae mair,
But live to love thro' a'
The future o' despair !
The laverock lo'es the morn,
The merle the evening close,
The lintie lo'es the thorn,
The nightingale the rose ;
Sae lo'ed I Mary's bower,
But how I lo'ed hersel',
O! words wad need the power
O' Angel's tongue to tell !
Young Mary to yon burn,
That wimples in the west,
May never mair return
To bless as she hath bless'd .
My blessings gang the gate,
My love and peace ha'e gane,
Tho' mine maun be his fate
Wha lives and loves in vain !
O BONNIE WERE THE BOWERS.
O BONNIE were the bowers,
And blithesome were the braes,
And fair and sweet the flowers,
Sae dear to ither days ;
When mountain, glen and wildwood,
We wander'd thro' and thro' ;
The scenes that charmed our childhood
Sae lang, lang ago.
When the gowden- breasted gowan
Was glintin' on the lea,
And the rantin burnie rowin'
In music to the sea :
When the summer beam and blossom
This heart delighted so,
Now big within my bosom,
For lang, lang ago.
When bairns we daff'd the-gither,
Or chased wi' childish glee,
'Mang the hinny bells o' heather,
The wild and wand'ring bee' ,
O we may roam for ever
This wide world to and fro ;
And scenes see new-but never
Like lang, lang ago!
My brow may wear the furrow,
My cheek may bear the blight,
And my heart o'er sib wi' sorrow,
Be dowie day and night :
But let this pulse be perish'd
Beneath its weight of woe,
Ere it change frae a' it cherish'd
Sae lang, lang ago.
THERE LIVES A YOUNG LASSIE.
THERE lives a young lassie
Far down in yon glen,
And I lo'e that lassie
As nae ane may ken ;
O! a saint's faith may vary,
But faithful I'll be,
For weel I lo'e Mary,
As Mary lo'es me.
Red-red as the rowan
Her smiling wee mou',
And white as the gowan
Her breast and her brow !
Wi' the foot of a fairy
She links o'er the lea,
O! weel I lo❜e Mary,
And Mary lo'es me.
She sings sweet as onie
Wee bird of the air,
And she's blithe as she's bonnie,
She's guid as she's fair ;
Like a lammie sae airy
And artless is she,
O ! weel I lo'e Mary
And Mary lo'es me!
FARE THEE WEEL, MY BONNIE LASS.
FARE thee weel, my bonnie lass,
Fare thee weel, my ain lassie !
Monie a day maun come and pass,
Ere we shall meet again, lassie !
Monie a chance and monie a change,
Ere that lang day we'll see, lassie !
But where'er my feet may range,
My heart shall be with thee, lassie !
Fair may bloom my future bower,
On some far Indian isle-lassie !
Rich and rare its fruit and flower,
My wearie hours may wile-lassie !
But the burn and hazel brae,
Where we sae aft ha'e met, lassie ;
I for ever may foregae,
But never can forget, lassie !
Whate'er betide-where'er betake,
My lot ' mid strangers cast-lassie !
Joy may come, but never make
The present like the past-lassie !
Fare thee weel ! the future will
Through peril, toil, and pain, lassie,
Bring me back to find thee still,
In faithful love my ain lassie !
SONG.
THOU'RT sair alter'd now, May,
Thou'rt sair alter'd now,
The rose is wither'd frae thy cheek,
The wrinkle's on thy brow ;
And grey hath grown the locks o' jet,
Sae shining wont to be,
Thou'rt alter'd sair, —but May, thou'rt yet
The May o' yore to me.
Thy voice is faint and low, May,
That aft in former time
Hath woke the wild bird's envious chant,
The echo's amorous chime ;
Thy e'e hath lost its early light,
My star in ither years,
That aye hath beam'd sae kindly bright,
To me thro' smiles and tears.
For a' the signs that shew, May,
The gloamin o' our day,
I lo'ed thee young-I lo'e thee yet,
My ain auld wifie May ;
Nae dearer hope hae I than this,
Beyond the day we die,
Thy charms shall bloom again to bless
My halidome on hie !
THE BRIDAL O' BALGOWNIE.
It was afore the pease-bread year,
When meal and maut were scant and dear,
That fowk forgathered far and near,
To the Bridal o' Balgownie.
Frae dawning day to setting sun,
The like sic feastin ' and sic fun
Was never seen by Dee or Don,
As the Bridal o' Balgownie.
The saumon-fisher Saunders Main,
Could thole nae mair to lie his lane,
Sae Naunie Ga'in he made his ain,
At the Bridal o' Balgownie.
They made a penny wedding o't,
And monie a thiggin bit they got,
And monie paid their drunken groat,
For the Bridal o' Balgownie.
The Fittie fishers a' forsook
Creel, yawl and coble, net, and hook,
And spinners left the Poynernook,
For the Bridal o ' Balgownie.
The Spittal wabsters quat their looms,
The Gran❜hom queans their reelin rooms,
To shak' their hochs and knack their thooms,
At the Bridal o' Balgownie !
The Braidgate sparks cam' braw and spruce,
Frae counter-board and countin' house,
And baillies big and deacons douce,
To the Bridal o' Balgownie.
They cam' frae north-they cam' frae south,
Frae yont the Month, and Tap o' Noth,
To cram their craps, and slock their drouth,
To the Bridal o' Balgownie !
O! there was haggis, and hotch potch,
The standard dainties o' the Scotch,
And kebbucks baith Dunlap and Dutch,
At the Bridal o' Balgownie.
Dried skate, wi' saut, and cauler fish,
And kipper saumon-ilka dish
That hungry kyte could wale or wish,
At the Bridal o' Balgownie.
And down they sweelt this choicest cheer,
Wi' brisk brown stout, and hame-brew'd beer,
And how they drank ye needna' spier,
At the Bridal o' Balgownie.
For aye they booz'd the barley bree,
And smuggled gin frae o'er the sea,
Till there grew mickle mirth and glee,
At the Bridal o' Balgownie.
Fu' loud the Garioch callants laugh'd,
The men o' Mar drank deep and aft,
And Buchan bodies danced like daft,
At the Bridal o' Balgownie !
The Alton fowk, tho' aft ahin',
Set to wi' frem't fowk, kith and kin,
To dance them burst, and drink them blin',
At the Bridal o' Balgownie.
I trow the auld fowk crack'd fu' crouse,
The countra claik, and market news,
And bobbit but and ben the house,
At the Bridal o' Balgownie.
But aye the younkers lap and leuch,
And drank-but ne'er could drink eneuch,
And kicket up an awfu' sough,
At the Bridal o' Balgownie '
But a' that on that night befell,
Wha wants to ken maun spier himsel',
For time 'twad meikle tak' to tell,
A' the Bridal o' Balgownie.
But I may say what may be seen,
That, branching like a bay-tree green,
The line and name o' Main hath been,
Sin' the Bridal o' Balgownie.
Then fill the bicker-fill it fu',
To weet the e'e as weel's the mou',
We'll drain it dry ' tween me and you,
To the Bridal o' Balgownie.
Waesucks ! we weel may greet and grane,
The days are gane, for ever gane,
O' Nannie Ga'in, and Saunders Main,
And the Bridal o' Balgownie !
BON ACCORD
COME fill a bumper o' the best
That man can mak' frae grape or grain,
Let clean cap out our zeal attest
For Deeside dichtin' o'er again ;
And here's a stoup, and hame-o'er strain,
For social souls, at bowl and board,
That winna gang against the grain
Wi' them wha bide in Bon-Accord !
Some grun' is gude for wood and wheat,
And others rich in coal and airn ;
For neeps and nowt, for stane and peat,
Match Buchan and the Dancin' Cairn !
Or folk, frae bearded man to bairn,
By thocht and thrift to hive and hoard
For horn, corn, woo, and yarn,
Mak' busy folk in Bon-Accord.
Banff ne'er was dung for bottl❜d skate,
And Athole ne'er was bang'd for brose ;
But coast or country ne'er has beat
Our ain for haddocks or for hose
Cauld kail, and castocks that compose
A dainty dish for loun or lord,
And never be they scant wi' those
Wha coup the cog in Bon-Accord.
If back to ancient times we turn,
Our bauld forbears did weapons draw
To fecht for Bruce at Bannockburn,
And be the heroes of Harlaw !
In vain did Donald's bagpipes blaw
Before the " braif toun's" burgess sword ;
Tho' Drum and Davidson did fa',
Aproud day was't for Bon-Accord.
The Forbes and the Farquharson
Are ours, and baith are names o' note ;
By Bogie, Deveron, Dee, and Don,
The Gordons hae the guidin' o't ;
Frae Border Tweed to John o' Groat
Can lines o' meikle fame afford ;
But nane mair free o' blur or blot
Than what belang to Bon- Accord.
Still may Auld Reekie her renown
Uphaud for lancet, law, and lear ;
"Let Glasgow flourish !" trade and town,
Wi' ship and shuttle, steam and steer ;
May Paisley goods bring Paisley gear,
The touns on Tay still heap their hoard ;
And nae waur tidings may we hear
Of our "braif toun" o' Bon-Accord.
"Then Aberdeen and time till't !" as
The auld wife said at Loch o' Skene,
The city o' St. Nicholas,
And be it aye what it hath been,
As meikle famed for beets and sheen
As social sons at bowl and board
Here's the four Bows o' Aberdeen,
The braw, "braif toun" o' Bon- Accord !
O! GIN I WERE WHERE GADIE RINS.
O! GIN I were where Gadie rins,
Where Gadie rins - where Gadie rins,
O! gin I were where Gadie rins,
By the foot o' Bennachie !
I've roam'd by Tweed-I've roam'd by Tay,
By border Nith and highland Spey,
But dearer far to me than they,
The braes o' Bennachie.
When blade and blossoms sprout in spring,
And bid the birdies wag the wing,
They blithely bob, and soar, and sing,
By the foot o' Bennachie.
When simmer cleeds the varied scene,
Wi' licht o' gowd and leaves o' green,
I fain wad be where aft I've been,
At the foot o' Bennachie.
When autumn's yellow sheaf is shorn,
And barn-yards stored wi' stooks o' corn,
"Tis blithe to toom the clyack horn,
At the foot o' Bennachie !
When winter winds blaw sharp and shrill,
O'er icy burn and sheeted hill,
The ingle neuk is gleesome still,
At the foot of Bennachie.
Though few to welcome me remain,
Though a' I loved be dead and gane,
I'll back, though I should live alane,
To the foot of Bennachie.
O! gin I were where Gadie rins,
Where Gadie rins-where Gadie rins,
O! gin I were where Gadie rins,
By the foot o' Bennachie!
ST. ANDREW'S DAY.
HERE'S health and hail to Goth and Gael,
Wha bear the Norlan' name,
Blithe be they a' - the far awa',
And happier folk at hame !
And spend we gowd or but a groat,
Our drink be what it may,
Let Scot rejoice wi' brither Scot,
Upon St. Andrew's Day.
Where'er we live, whate'er our lot,
Still will I plead and pray
That Scot rejoice wi' brither Scot,
Upon St. Andrew's Day.
Some seek the Edens o' the east,
Some Carib isles explore—
The forests of the " far-off" west,
And Afric's savage shore ;
Still charms of native speech and spot,
And native springs for aye,
Will band like brithers Scot with Scot,
Upon St. Andrew's Day.
Where'er we live, [and]c.
Some that have won an honour'd name,
Some that have gather'd gear,
And others a' unknown to fame
Or fortune may be here ;
But be we clad in braid-claith coat,
Or hame-spun hodden gray,
Let Scot rejoice wi' brither Scot,
Upon St. Andrew's Day !
Where'er we live, [and]c.
Have we not cause to crack fu' crouse,
When this dear day returns,
Dear to the land of Robert Bruce,
The land of Robert Burns !
Wha better raised the patriot brand,
And pour'd the patriot lay,
Than prince and peasant of the land
That loves St. Andrew's Day!
Where'er we live, [and]c.
"The better day the better deed,"
The saying's auld, I trow,
Those of our nation here in need,
Be they remember'd now ;
Each mite on high is treasure stored
We here to poortith pay,
"Twill crown our cup-'twill bless our board,
Upon St. Andrew's Day !
Where'er we live, whate'er our lot,
Still will I plead and pray
That Scot rejoice wi' brither Scot,
Upon St. Andrew's Day !
WE'VE DRUNK TO THEM THAT'S HERE ABOUT.
WE'VE drunk to them that's here about,
We've drunk to them that's far awa;
But fill again, there's ane, nae doubt,
We yet could drink abune them a' ,
Wha drinks - and deep-fair be his fa' ,
On him that winna, meikle shame,
As round and round the cup we ca'
A health to her-we need na name !
I gie you joy, wha hae found grace,
Wi' ane that's comely, kind, and true !
I feel for you-I ken the case
Whom some fair thief o' hearts gars rue,
Though nocht you say, and swear, and do,
Can wauk in her's the tender flame,
Yet we're forgiving when we're fou
Here's health to her-whate'er her name !
O! wearie fa' the womankind,
They've been, sin' first the warld began,
O' winning mien-and wayward mind,
The blessing or the bane o' man ;
Yet after a', do what we can,
The bonnie dears we canna blame ;
Sae a benison gae wi' our ban,
And the wish that some would bear our name !
Auld Adam led a wearie life
Till Eve, in Eden's bonnie bowers ,
Was made the first o' men's gudewife
The fairest o' the garden's flowers ;
Though dearly bought, the social hours,
Wi' dool and death-wi' sin and shame
We think them cheap, when pass we ours
Wi' her we'll drink-but daurna name.
The waukrife cock fu' loudly craws,
The merry morn begins to blink,
And troth, it's time to wear our wa's
When folk begin to lisp and wink ;
Whate'er we thole, whate'er we think,
In this we'll do and say the same,
We'll brim the bowl, and deep we'll drink
A health to her—that each could name !
THE GLOAMIN'
WHEN day wanes to the gloamin',
And night glooms o'er the glen, my boys !
When cogs are fu' and foamin' ,
Ajovial time ' tis then, my boys !
Let daffin' youth gang roamin',
By burn and trystin' tree, my boys,
But when day wanes to the gloamin',
We meet for mirth and glee, my boys !
See, the drouthie sun is sinking
To tipple in the sea, my boys !
But the moon will soon be blinking,
To brighten lift and lea, my boys !
And the flowers of earth be drinking
Their cups of hinney dew, my boys !
And the stars of heaven be winking
Like us-when roaring fou, my boys !
Lest kirk-yard ghaists be gliding,
At night's mirk eerie noon, my boys !
Or witch or warlock riding
On broomsticks, to the moon, my boys !
Lest kelpie wait our guiding,
Across the speated stream, my boys !
A' evil snares avoiding,
We'll wait the morning beam, my boys !
Gie me-gie me the gloamin',
When light wanes in the west, my boys !
It is the hour for roaming,
It is the hour for rest, my boys !
Here's love to winsome woman,
And luck to honest men, my boys !
O ! when day wanes to the gloamin',
Ajovial time ' tis then, my boys !
AULD SCOTLAND YET.
AULD Scotland yet ! - Auld Scotland yet !
And what for no Auld Scotland yet ?
We'll crack-we'll cry-we'll do- we'll die,
For bonnie, braid Auld Scotland yet !
And be't strong drink, or sober yill
If but the water frae the well,
While I've a mou' to wag or wet,
Here's bonnie, braid Auld Scotland yet !
Let gowks gae simmer i' the south,
To get them glib and mim o' mouth,
And tine their guid auld mither tongue,
That Ramsay, Burns, and Scott ha'e sung ;
Though braid our brogue-be lov'd its lays,
Bequeathed us down from better days.
Let schules forego-and scribes forget,
But Scotland speak like Scotland yet !
Whatever portion of the earth
May claim our breeding and our birth,
However humble, bleak, or bare,
Regard it with a filial care.
Afilthy fowl's the bird at best
That seeks to soil its nursling's nest
Be never hers sic graceless gett,
But bairns a boast to Scotland yet !
Wha wad deface- wha wad defame
The honest countrie whence he came,
O! shun the wretch, and name him not,
As fellow man, or brither Scot !
And bless'd be his-and bless'd be he
In life that is, in life to be
Let friends beseech, or foes beset
Cries, bonnie, braid Auld Scotland yet !
DINNA FORGET !
(PARTING. )
DINNA forget ! laddie-dinna forget !
Ne'er make me rue that we ever have met ;
Wide though we sever-parted for ever
Willie ! when far awa' - dinna forget !
We part—and it may be-we meet never mair,
Yet myheart, as in hope, will be true in despair,
And the sigh of remembrance, the tear of regret,
For thee will be frequent- then dinna forget !
When the star o' the gloamin' is beaming above,
Think how oft it hath lighted the tryst of our love !
O! deem it an angel's e'e Heaven hath set
To watch thee-to warn thee-sae dinna forget !
By the tears of this parting that flow big and fast,
By the hopes of the future, the vows of the past,
O! whatever beseem, or whatever beset,
Though we never should meet again, dinna forget !
THE BEAUTY O' BUCHAN.
THERE are howes on the Don, there are hills on the Dee,
That are worthy to sing o' as weel as to see,
And Buchan has glories in craigs and in caves,
The marvels o' masonry work'd by the waves ;
Braid Buchan has meikle to brag o' beside,
But now its my pleasure to sing o' its pride,
A nymph-be she nameless, yet sooth ' tis to say,
The Beauty o' Buchan's the Lass o' Lonmay!
The earth's fairest rose and the morn's richest streak,
They vie but in vain wi' the charms o' her cheek,
Like the raven her ringlets that rowe down a skin
As white as the water that loups o'er the linn !
And the blink o' her black e'e is brighter by far
Than the glance o' the dew-drap-the glint o' the star.
O! woman ne'er walk'd in the light o' the day,
Like the Beauty o' Buchan-the Lass o' Lonmay !
Cauld and cloudy's the lift-tame and treeless the lea,
Where Mormon looks down to the shoreso' the sea,
Yet the laverocks lilt blithe o'er the blade and the braird,
When the gowans glent white on the green simmer swaird ;
And the sun o' the south ne'er unfaulded a flower
Sae lovely to look on in garden or bower
As her wha hath waken'd my love and my lay,
The Beauty o' Buchan-the Lass o' Lonmay !
MY BONNIE JO-MY JEAN.
My bonnie Jo-my Jean,
My cherish'd and my choice,
There's magic in thy een,
There's music in thy voice ;
Need I say what may be seen,
And thou of a' maun see,
My bonnie Jo-my Jean,
I'm in love wi' thee !
O! fair art thou, .my Jean,
The fairest o' them a',
Mang the maidens on the green,
The ladies in the ha' ;
Thou mayst mark it in my mien,
Thou mayst read it in my e'e,
My bonnie Jo-my Jean,
I'm in love wi' thee !
Be joy wi' thee, my Jean,
Thou art-thou ever wertThe fairest to my een,
The dearest to my heart !
O ! monie hae I seen,
And monie may I see,
But, my bonnie Jo- my Jean,
Nane to love like thee !
MARY AND ME.
O ! DULL was my dwallin', and lanesome my life,
Till Mary I met wi' and made her my wife ;
But I trowthe time gaily hath glented sin syne,
When my heart was my Mary's—and Mary's was mine.
Let the bachelor blaw o' his freedom and fare,
And rail at a married man's charges and care ;
If I've care, I ha'e comforts, the best that can be,
For hame is aye happy to Mary and me !
Now howkin' a drain, and now heapin' a dyke,
Wi' thraivin' and thrashin', and labour sic like,
Are no just the way to get bonds on a bank
The bizz o' renown or the blazon o' rank ;
Yet enough is as good as a feast, says the saw
An honest man's name is the noblest of a' ;
And smoky and sma' tho' the biggin may be,
My hameis fu' happy to Mary and me!
What music sae sweet as the bairns shouting shrill
To welcome their weary dad hame frae the hill !
They climb to my neck, and they clasp to my knee,
Then dance wi' their daffin', and giggle wi' glee.
In their pleasures and ploys, I join freely and fain,
Till I feel I am young as the youngest again!
O ! there's naething like hame-if sic hame it may be,
And naething to envy but Mary and me !
THIS WARLD A WASTE OR VALE O' TEARS.
THIS warld a waste or vale o' tears,
Fanatic fools may ca' that,
There's meikle comfort mid our cares,
Within this warld-for a' that ;
The sad may wail, and a' that,
The sour may rail, and a' that,
This warld will do for me and you,
And others too-for a' that.
Is there nae joy in friendship's bond,
When nocht can snap in twa that ?
In woman's love ? O! bliss beyond
The wealth o' warlds-and a' that ;
The sage máy teach, and a' that,
The saint may preach, and a' that,
This warld is nae sae bad's they say,
Its dullest day-for a' that.
I'll nae deny the lot o' man
May monie ills befa' that,
But, if he do the best he can,
We'll bang the warst-for a' that.
The faint may fail, and a' that,
The coward quail, and a' that,
If man thou art—tak' heed-tak' heart,
And play your part—for a' that.
What we've done wrang we may regret,
Tho' never can reca' that ;
If we've done weel-we'll may be yet
Do better far than a' that ;
Thro' change and chill, and a' that,
Thro' guid and ill, and a' that,
Come weal or wae-let come what may,
We'll live our day—for a' that.
THE GORDONS HAE THE GUIDIN' O'T!
WRITTEN ON THE OCCASION OF LORD HADDO ATTAINING
HIS MAJORITY.
Air-"My love she's but a lassie yet."
UP ! young and auld on Ythanside,
Up ! merrie lads and lasses, O !
And busk like bridegroom and like bride
Afore your keekin ' glasses, O!
For O! this day will be a day
O' pleasurin' and pridin' o't,
A feast sae fine—and weel it may--
The Gordons hae the guidin' o't !
Come Methlick, Tarves, and New Deer
Come Udny folk and Fyvie, O !
And drink as ye'd been dry a year,
And feast as ye wad rive ye, O !
Come leave the hook and harvest rig,
The stookin' and the leadin' o't,
The feast bids welcome sma' and big
The Gordons hae the guidin' o't !
The heir of Haddo's noble line
This day is ane and twenty, O!
Gude faith, the whisky punch and wine
Shall pour in horns o' plenty, O!
Then wha will on his Lordship's land,
That has a hame and bidin' o't,
Be absent frae this gatherin' grand ?
The Gordons hae the guidin' o't !
Let gun and pistol flame and smoke,
Wi' loud huzzas rejoice ye, O !
Let bonfires bleeze on Bennagoak,
And on the hill of Ythsie, O !
O ! let there be of joy to day
Nae hainin' and nae hidin' o't,
But let the countrie see and say
The Gordons hae the guidin' o't !
We'll trip it gleesome o'er the green,
Wi' lasses blithe and bonnie, O !
We'll drink the heir of Aberdeen,
Wi' happy years and monie, O!
And should we prie a maiden's mou'
They'll no' be muckle chidin' o't,
And should we a' get fairly fou'—
The Gordons hae the guidin' o't !
Be his the wisdom and the worth
To fill a lofty station, O !
Among the nobles o' the north
The nobles o' the nation, O!
An honour to his father's house,
His father's name the pridin' o't,
That we may crack, and that fu' crouse,
The Gordons hae the guidin' o't !
And here's the Sire as weel's the Son,
The Lord o' fair Formartin, O!
Worth a' the honours worth hath won,
O' ribbon, star, or garten, O!
The learn'd and sage he aye hath been,
His clan--the prop and pridin' o't,
Lang may we chiefs like Aberdeen,
The Gordons hae the guidin' o't !
Up ! young and auld on Ythanside,
Up ! merrie lads and lasses, O !
And busk like bridegroom and like bride,
Afore your keekin' glasses, O!
Though rough the road- through burn and bog,
We'll never reck the ridin' o't,
But lilt our song—as on we jog,
The Gordons hae the guidin' o't !
THE DEAR ONE.
THOU dear one, I daurna name-happy as heaven,
In truth maun he be wha is dearest to thee ;
What bloom of the earth, or what beam of the even,
Like the rose on thy cheek-like the star in thy e'e?
Thy lang locks, tho' black as the wing o'the craw,
Are twined down a neck in their amorous play,
As spotless-as pure as a wreath o' the snaw
And look in the contrast like night wooing day !
All, all wha behold thee-divinest and dearest,
Will join in the wish and the prayer wi' me,
That friendship the truest, and love the sincerest,
The sweetest-the purest may thine ever be !
O ! what could I wish for if thou wert but mine,
But langest o' life then sae blest to excess,
And what could I want-in a fate bound wi' thine,
But words fit and full all my joy to express !
YORE.
WRITTEN ON THE FORMATION OF A CALEDONIAN SOCIETY IN LONDON.
FOR Scotia's sake-for auld lang syne,
Frae hielan' hill and laigh countrie,
Wi' kindred love we here combine,
To share the social glass wi' glee ;
To hear some hame-o'er lilt or lay,
We've heard mid native scenes before,
And be thegither blithe and gay,
As we have been in days of yore.
We hold to him the welcome hand
Of Scotia's ancient lineage sprung,
Whose soul still loves his father-land,
Whose voice still loves his mither- tongue ;
Whose heart warms to the tartan plaid,
Whose hand would clasp the braid claymore,
When freemen arm to freedom's aid,
As did our dads in years of yore.
Here fancy stirr'd will fondly stray,
To broomy knowe and gowany lea,
To hazel bank and heather brae,
Where sing the summer bird and bee ;
Or haunt the burn or hawthorn bow'r,
That time the stars are blinkin' o'er,
Whare love has stown a happy hour,
Wi' Norlan nymph, in days of yore.
Thus thro' life's vale of toil and tears,
Shall mem❜ry lend us to the last,
To gild the gloom of future years,
Some pleasant visions of the past ;
The thoughts that make us young again
Will early feelings here restore,
That pledge the stoup and prompt the strain,
To scenes-to friends and years of yore !
GIN I HAD A BONNIE LASSIE.
GIN I had a bonnie lassie,
Little's left to sigh for,
Gin I get a bonnie lassie,
Her I'd live-I'd die for !
A lassie fair and sweet as May,
How little wad I do or say,
But daut the dear thing night and day,
Sae fondly-sae sincerely.
Gin I had, [and]c.
The bonnie lass wad be a gift,
Without a plack-without a shift,
By dint o' thocht-and dint o' thrift,
We'll fend thro' life, ne'er fear ye.
Gin I had, [and]c.
A haflin being, man, thou art,
Without a fairer, better part,
To keep thy house and keep thy heart,
To cherish and to cheer thee.
Gin I had, [and]c.
Tho' aften strait, and aiblins strife,
May mark the state o' man and wife,
They'll love-and that's the life o' life,
Sae deeply and sae dearly.
Gin I had, [and]c.
FOUL FA' YE A', YE BACHELORS.
FOUL fa' ye a' , ye bachelors,
A murrain on ye ane and a' ;
My malison on you and yours,
To let the bonniest lass awa'
That ever tripped in city ha' ,
Or ever roamed o'er rural plain ;
She's o'er the seas and far awa'-
We'll never see her like again !
My blessings on her bonnie face,
Her gentle mien and genial mind,
And form sae rich o' ilka grace—
She hasna left her like behind ;
We'll seek to view, we'll search to find
For ane to fill her place in vain ;
Sae pure, sae comely, and sae kind
We'll never see her like again !
The first was she at banquet board
For whom the wine wad freely pour ;
The first, to music's quivering chord,
To lead the dance o'er festal floor,
Where monie watched her movements o'er,
Harmonious wi' the mirthful strain
But now she treads a foreign shoreW
e'll never see her like again !
What use are ye for, jauberin' Jock ?
Ye flirt and woo, but never wive ;
It's time to yield to Hymen's yoke,
Thou decent youth of fifty-five ;
A by-word will ye be belyve,
For years will wear and youth will wane ;
Ye never now may think to thrive,
Ye'll never hae sic chance again.
Had I been young as I hae been,
And could hae wooed and prospered well,
Ye bachelors, ye should hae seen
I'd haen this lassie to mysel ;
Ye mayna trow-I canna tell,
How deep the passion and the pain
I ha'e for her wha bore the bell,
As nane may bear sae well again !
FAREWEEL ! MY BLESSING WI' YOU A'.
FAREWEEL ! my blessing wi' you a',
Baith for the present and the past,
Fareweel ! my blessing wi' you a',
The best o' friends maun part at last ;
Where'er my future lot be cast,
Whate'er my future life befa',
My heart will haud your friendships fast,
Fareweel ! - my blessing wi' you a' !
If o'er the bowl wi' heated brain,
Did hasty word bad will beget,
I freely tak' it back again,
Let friends o' youth be friends aye yet ;
May baith forgie-may baith forget
The things we never can reca' ,
And hope to meet as we hae met
Fareweel ! my blessing wi' you a' !
Adieu to them wha wish me weel,
Adieu to them wha wish me wrang !
O! these a kindlier change might feel,
Heard they my prayer-kent they my pang
My peace be wi' them ere I gang,
Be wi' them when I'm far awa',
We'll a' be better friends ere lang
Fareweel ! my blessing wi' you a' !
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