“Dumfoundered, the English saw, they saw;Dumfoundered, they heard the blaw, the blaw;Dumfoundered, they a’ ran awa, awa,From the hundred pipers an’ a’, an’ a’.Wi’ a hundred pipers an’ a’, an’ a’,Wi’ a hundred pipers an’ a’, an’ a’,We’ll up and gie them a blaw, a blaw,Wi’ a hundred pipers an’ a’, an’ a’.”
“Dumfoundered, the English saw, they saw;Dumfoundered, they heard the blaw, the blaw;Dumfoundered, they a’ ran awa, awa,From the hundred pipers an’ a’, an’ a’.Wi’ a hundred pipers an’ a’, an’ a’,Wi’ a hundred pipers an’ a’, an’ a’,We’ll up and gie them a blaw, a blaw,Wi’ a hundred pipers an’ a’, an’ a’.”
“Dumfoundered, the English saw, they saw;Dumfoundered, they heard the blaw, the blaw;Dumfoundered, they a’ ran awa, awa,From the hundred pipers an’ a’, an’ a’.Wi’ a hundred pipers an’ a’, an’ a’,Wi’ a hundred pipers an’ a’, an’ a’,We’ll up and gie them a blaw, a blaw,Wi’ a hundred pipers an’ a’, an’ a’.”
“Dumfoundered, the English saw, they saw;
Dumfoundered, they heard the blaw, the blaw;
Dumfoundered, they a’ ran awa, awa,
From the hundred pipers an’ a’, an’ a’.
Wi’ a hundred pipers an’ a’, an’ a’,
Wi’ a hundred pipers an’ a’, an’ a’,
We’ll up and gie them a blaw, a blaw,
Wi’ a hundred pipers an’ a’, an’ a’.”
Then, in the way of humorous character-sketching, what can surpass theLaird o’ Cockpen, or the immortalJohn Tod? So well known are these throughout Scotland that it would be absurd to quote them if only Scottish readers were concerned; but, for the convenience of other readers, here they are, each entire:—
THE LAIRD O’ COCKPEN.“The Laird o’ Cockpen, he’s proud and 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 fashious to seek.Doun by the dyke-side a lady did dwell;At his table-head he thocht she’d look well:McClish’s ae dochter o’ Claverse-ha’ Lea,—A pennyless lass wi’ a lang pedigree.His wig was weel pouther’d, and as guid as new;His waistcoat was white, and 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?He took the gray mare and rade cannilie,And rapp’d at the yett o’ Claverse-ha’ Lea:‘Gae tell Mistress Jean to come speedily ben;She’s wanted to speak wi’ the Laird o’ Cockpen.’Mistress Jean she was makin’ the elder-flower wine:‘And what brings the Laird at sic a like time?’She put aff her apron, and on her silk goun,Her mutch wi’ red ribbons, and gaed awa’ doun.And, when she cam ben, he bowed fu’ low;And what was his errand he soon let her know:Amazed was the Laird when the lady said ‘Na,’And wi’ a laich curtsey she turned awa’.Dumfoundered he was, but nae sigh did he gie:He mounted his mare, and he rade cannilie;And aften he thocht, as he gaed through the glen,‘She’s daft to refuse the Laird o’ Cockpen!’”
THE LAIRD O’ COCKPEN.“The Laird o’ Cockpen, he’s proud and 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 fashious to seek.Doun by the dyke-side a lady did dwell;At his table-head he thocht she’d look well:McClish’s ae dochter o’ Claverse-ha’ Lea,—A pennyless lass wi’ a lang pedigree.His wig was weel pouther’d, and as guid as new;His waistcoat was white, and 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?He took the gray mare and rade cannilie,And rapp’d at the yett o’ Claverse-ha’ Lea:‘Gae tell Mistress Jean to come speedily ben;She’s wanted to speak wi’ the Laird o’ Cockpen.’Mistress Jean she was makin’ the elder-flower wine:‘And what brings the Laird at sic a like time?’She put aff her apron, and on her silk goun,Her mutch wi’ red ribbons, and gaed awa’ doun.And, when she cam ben, he bowed fu’ low;And what was his errand he soon let her know:Amazed was the Laird when the lady said ‘Na,’And wi’ a laich curtsey she turned awa’.Dumfoundered he was, but nae sigh did he gie:He mounted his mare, and he rade cannilie;And aften he thocht, as he gaed through the glen,‘She’s daft to refuse the Laird o’ Cockpen!’”
THE LAIRD O’ COCKPEN.
THE LAIRD O’ COCKPEN.
“The Laird o’ Cockpen, he’s proud and 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 fashious to seek.
“The Laird o’ Cockpen, he’s proud and 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 fashious to seek.
Doun by the dyke-side a lady did dwell;At his table-head he thocht she’d look well:McClish’s ae dochter o’ Claverse-ha’ Lea,—A pennyless lass wi’ a lang pedigree.
Doun by the dyke-side a lady did dwell;
At his table-head he thocht she’d look well:
McClish’s ae dochter o’ Claverse-ha’ Lea,—
A pennyless lass wi’ a lang pedigree.
His wig was weel pouther’d, and as guid as new;His waistcoat was white, and 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?
His wig was weel pouther’d, and as guid as new;
His waistcoat was white, and 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?
He took the gray mare and rade cannilie,And rapp’d at the yett o’ Claverse-ha’ Lea:‘Gae tell Mistress Jean to come speedily ben;She’s wanted to speak wi’ the Laird o’ Cockpen.’
He took the gray mare and rade cannilie,
And rapp’d at the yett o’ Claverse-ha’ Lea:
‘Gae tell Mistress Jean to come speedily ben;
She’s wanted to speak wi’ the Laird o’ Cockpen.’
Mistress Jean she was makin’ the elder-flower wine:‘And what brings the Laird at sic a like time?’She put aff her apron, and on her silk goun,Her mutch wi’ red ribbons, and gaed awa’ doun.
Mistress Jean she was makin’ the elder-flower wine:
‘And what brings the Laird at sic a like time?’
She put aff her apron, and on her silk goun,
Her mutch wi’ red ribbons, and gaed awa’ doun.
And, when she cam ben, he bowed fu’ low;And what was his errand he soon let her know:Amazed was the Laird when the lady said ‘Na,’And wi’ a laich curtsey she turned awa’.
And, when she cam ben, he bowed fu’ low;
And what was his errand he soon let her know:
Amazed was the Laird when the lady said ‘Na,’
And wi’ a laich curtsey she turned awa’.
Dumfoundered he was, but nae sigh did he gie:He mounted his mare, and he rade cannilie;And aften he thocht, as he gaed through the glen,‘She’s daft to refuse the Laird o’ Cockpen!’”
Dumfoundered he was, but nae sigh did he gie:
He mounted his mare, and he rade cannilie;
And aften he thocht, as he gaed through the glen,
‘She’s daft to refuse the Laird o’ Cockpen!’”
JOHN TOD.“He’s a terrible man, John Tod, John Tod;He’s a terrible man, John Tod.He scolds in the house; he scolds at the door;He scolds in the vera high road, John Tod;He scolds in the vera high road.The weans a’ fear John Tod, John Tod;The weans a’ fear John Tod:When he’s passing by, the mithers will cry:—‘Here’s an ill wean, John Tod, John Tod;Here’s an ill wean, John Tod.’The callants a’ fear John Tod, John Tod;The callants a’ fear John Tod:If they steal but a neep, the laddie he’ll whip;And it’s unco’ weel done o’ John Tod, John Tod;And it’s unco’ weel done o’ John Tod.And saw ye nae wee John Tod, John Tod?O saw ye nae wee John Tod?His bannet was blue, his shoon maistly new;And weel does he keep the kirk road, John Tod;And weel does he keep the kirk road.How is he fendin’, John Tod, John Tod?How is he fendin’, John Tod?He’s scourin’ the land wi’ a rung in his hand,And the French wadna frichten John Tod, John Tod;And the French wadna frichten John Tod.Ye’re sun-brint and battered, John Tod, John Tod;Ye’re tautit and tattered, John Tod:Wi’ your auld strippit coul, ye look maist like a fule,But there’s nous i’ the lining, John Tod, John Tod;But there’s nous i’ the lining, John Tod.He’s weel respeckit, John Tod, John Tod;He’s weel respeckit, John Tod:He’s a terrible man; but we’d a’ gae wrangIf e’er he sud leave us, John Tod, John Tod;If e’er he sud leave us, John Tod.”
JOHN TOD.“He’s a terrible man, John Tod, John Tod;He’s a terrible man, John Tod.He scolds in the house; he scolds at the door;He scolds in the vera high road, John Tod;He scolds in the vera high road.The weans a’ fear John Tod, John Tod;The weans a’ fear John Tod:When he’s passing by, the mithers will cry:—‘Here’s an ill wean, John Tod, John Tod;Here’s an ill wean, John Tod.’The callants a’ fear John Tod, John Tod;The callants a’ fear John Tod:If they steal but a neep, the laddie he’ll whip;And it’s unco’ weel done o’ John Tod, John Tod;And it’s unco’ weel done o’ John Tod.And saw ye nae wee John Tod, John Tod?O saw ye nae wee John Tod?His bannet was blue, his shoon maistly new;And weel does he keep the kirk road, John Tod;And weel does he keep the kirk road.How is he fendin’, John Tod, John Tod?How is he fendin’, John Tod?He’s scourin’ the land wi’ a rung in his hand,And the French wadna frichten John Tod, John Tod;And the French wadna frichten John Tod.Ye’re sun-brint and battered, John Tod, John Tod;Ye’re tautit and tattered, John Tod:Wi’ your auld strippit coul, ye look maist like a fule,But there’s nous i’ the lining, John Tod, John Tod;But there’s nous i’ the lining, John Tod.He’s weel respeckit, John Tod, John Tod;He’s weel respeckit, John Tod:He’s a terrible man; but we’d a’ gae wrangIf e’er he sud leave us, John Tod, John Tod;If e’er he sud leave us, John Tod.”
JOHN TOD.
JOHN TOD.
“He’s a terrible man, John Tod, John Tod;He’s a terrible man, John Tod.He scolds in the house; he scolds at the door;He scolds in the vera high road, John Tod;He scolds in the vera high road.
“He’s a terrible man, John Tod, John Tod;
He’s a terrible man, John Tod.
He scolds in the house; he scolds at the door;
He scolds in the vera high road, John Tod;
He scolds in the vera high road.
The weans a’ fear John Tod, John Tod;The weans a’ fear John Tod:When he’s passing by, the mithers will cry:—‘Here’s an ill wean, John Tod, John Tod;Here’s an ill wean, John Tod.’
The weans a’ fear John Tod, John Tod;
The weans a’ fear John Tod:
When he’s passing by, the mithers will cry:—
‘Here’s an ill wean, John Tod, John Tod;
Here’s an ill wean, John Tod.’
The callants a’ fear John Tod, John Tod;The callants a’ fear John Tod:If they steal but a neep, the laddie he’ll whip;And it’s unco’ weel done o’ John Tod, John Tod;And it’s unco’ weel done o’ John Tod.
The callants a’ fear John Tod, John Tod;
The callants a’ fear John Tod:
If they steal but a neep, the laddie he’ll whip;
And it’s unco’ weel done o’ John Tod, John Tod;
And it’s unco’ weel done o’ John Tod.
And saw ye nae wee John Tod, John Tod?O saw ye nae wee John Tod?His bannet was blue, his shoon maistly new;And weel does he keep the kirk road, John Tod;And weel does he keep the kirk road.
And saw ye nae wee John Tod, John Tod?
O saw ye nae wee John Tod?
His bannet was blue, his shoon maistly new;
And weel does he keep the kirk road, John Tod;
And weel does he keep the kirk road.
How is he fendin’, John Tod, John Tod?How is he fendin’, John Tod?He’s scourin’ the land wi’ a rung in his hand,And the French wadna frichten John Tod, John Tod;And the French wadna frichten John Tod.
How is he fendin’, John Tod, John Tod?
How is he fendin’, John Tod?
He’s scourin’ the land wi’ a rung in his hand,
And the French wadna frichten John Tod, John Tod;
And the French wadna frichten John Tod.
Ye’re sun-brint and battered, John Tod, John Tod;Ye’re tautit and tattered, John Tod:Wi’ your auld strippit coul, ye look maist like a fule,But there’s nous i’ the lining, John Tod, John Tod;But there’s nous i’ the lining, John Tod.
Ye’re sun-brint and battered, John Tod, John Tod;
Ye’re tautit and tattered, John Tod:
Wi’ your auld strippit coul, ye look maist like a fule,
But there’s nous i’ the lining, John Tod, John Tod;
But there’s nous i’ the lining, John Tod.
He’s weel respeckit, John Tod, John Tod;He’s weel respeckit, John Tod:He’s a terrible man; but we’d a’ gae wrangIf e’er he sud leave us, John Tod, John Tod;If e’er he sud leave us, John Tod.”
He’s weel respeckit, John Tod, John Tod;
He’s weel respeckit, John Tod:
He’s a terrible man; but we’d a’ gae wrang
If e’er he sud leave us, John Tod, John Tod;
If e’er he sud leave us, John Tod.”
Again, in another key, how would Edinburgh, how would Newhaven, how would all the coasts of the Forth, like to lose that famous song of the fisherwomen, written long ago for Neil Gow, and sent to him anonymously for the purposes of his concerts?
“Wha’ll buy my caller herrin’?They’re bonnie fish and halesome farin’.Wha’ll buy my caller herrin’,New drawn frae the Forth?When ye were sleepin’ on your pillows,Dreamed ye aught o’ our puir fellows,Darkling as they faced the billows,A’ to fill the woven willows?Buy my caller herrin’,New drawn frae the Forth.Wha’ll buy my caller herrin’?They’re no brocht here without brave darin’:Buy my caller herrin’,Hauled through wind and rain.Wha’ll buy my caller herrin’?Oh! ye may ca’ them vulgar farin’:Wives and mithers, maist despairin’,Ca’ them lives o’ men.”
“Wha’ll buy my caller herrin’?They’re bonnie fish and halesome farin’.Wha’ll buy my caller herrin’,New drawn frae the Forth?When ye were sleepin’ on your pillows,Dreamed ye aught o’ our puir fellows,Darkling as they faced the billows,A’ to fill the woven willows?Buy my caller herrin’,New drawn frae the Forth.Wha’ll buy my caller herrin’?They’re no brocht here without brave darin’:Buy my caller herrin’,Hauled through wind and rain.Wha’ll buy my caller herrin’?Oh! ye may ca’ them vulgar farin’:Wives and mithers, maist despairin’,Ca’ them lives o’ men.”
“Wha’ll buy my caller herrin’?They’re bonnie fish and halesome farin’.Wha’ll buy my caller herrin’,New drawn frae the Forth?When ye were sleepin’ on your pillows,Dreamed ye aught o’ our puir fellows,Darkling as they faced the billows,A’ to fill the woven willows?Buy my caller herrin’,New drawn frae the Forth.Wha’ll buy my caller herrin’?They’re no brocht here without brave darin’:Buy my caller herrin’,Hauled through wind and rain.Wha’ll buy my caller herrin’?Oh! ye may ca’ them vulgar farin’:Wives and mithers, maist despairin’,Ca’ them lives o’ men.”
“Wha’ll buy my caller herrin’?
They’re bonnie fish and halesome farin’.
Wha’ll buy my caller herrin’,
New drawn frae the Forth?
When ye were sleepin’ on your pillows,
Dreamed ye aught o’ our puir fellows,
Darkling as they faced the billows,
A’ to fill the woven willows?
Buy my caller herrin’,
New drawn frae the Forth.
Wha’ll buy my caller herrin’?
They’re no brocht here without brave darin’:
Buy my caller herrin’,
Hauled through wind and rain.
Wha’ll buy my caller herrin’?
Oh! ye may ca’ them vulgar farin’:
Wives and mithers, maist despairin’,
Ca’ them lives o’ men.”
Yet in another strain take this little advice of ethical wisdom, which, simple though it is, might have been written by Goethe:—
“Saw ye ne’er a lanely lassie,Thinkin’, gin she were a wife,The sun o’ joy wad ne’er gae doun,But warm and cheer her a’ her life?Saw ye ne’er a weary wifie,Thinkin’, gin she were a lass,She wad aye be blithe and cheery,Lightly as the day wad pass?Wives and lasses, young and aged,Think na on each other’s state:Ilka ane it has its crosses;Mortal joy was ne’er complete.Ilka ane it has its blessings;Peevish dinna pass them by;But, like choicest berries, seek them,Though amang the thorns they lie.”
“Saw ye ne’er a lanely lassie,Thinkin’, gin she were a wife,The sun o’ joy wad ne’er gae doun,But warm and cheer her a’ her life?Saw ye ne’er a weary wifie,Thinkin’, gin she were a lass,She wad aye be blithe and cheery,Lightly as the day wad pass?Wives and lasses, young and aged,Think na on each other’s state:Ilka ane it has its crosses;Mortal joy was ne’er complete.Ilka ane it has its blessings;Peevish dinna pass them by;But, like choicest berries, seek them,Though amang the thorns they lie.”
“Saw ye ne’er a lanely lassie,Thinkin’, gin she were a wife,The sun o’ joy wad ne’er gae doun,But warm and cheer her a’ her life?Saw ye ne’er a weary wifie,Thinkin’, gin she were a lass,She wad aye be blithe and cheery,Lightly as the day wad pass?
“Saw ye ne’er a lanely lassie,
Thinkin’, gin she were a wife,
The sun o’ joy wad ne’er gae doun,
But warm and cheer her a’ her life?
Saw ye ne’er a weary wifie,
Thinkin’, gin she were a lass,
She wad aye be blithe and cheery,
Lightly as the day wad pass?
Wives and lasses, young and aged,Think na on each other’s state:Ilka ane it has its crosses;Mortal joy was ne’er complete.Ilka ane it has its blessings;Peevish dinna pass them by;But, like choicest berries, seek them,Though amang the thorns they lie.”
Wives and lasses, young and aged,
Think na on each other’s state:
Ilka ane it has its crosses;
Mortal joy was ne’er complete.
Ilka ane it has its blessings;
Peevish dinna pass them by;
But, like choicest berries, seek them,
Though amang the thorns they lie.”
Another and another still might be quoted, each with its peculiarity, hardly any two alike; and I am not sure but some of those that would be selected as of the highest quality were among the earliest. Certainly among the very earliest was that with which Lady Nairne’s name will ever be most fondly associated, though even that can hardly be called a song of her youth. While there is death in the world, and the heart will think of what may be beyond death, or the tears will come at the thought of parting with loved ones, or at the memory of their vanished faces in the mystic musings of the night, will not this song, wherever the Scottish tongue is spoken, be the very music of resignation struggling with heart-break?—
“I’m wearin’ awa’, Jean,Like snaw-wreaths in 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 fairIn the land o’ the leal.Our bonnie bairn’s there, Jean;She was baith gude and fair, Jean;And oh! we grudged her sairTo the land o’ the leal.But sorrow’s sel’ wears past, Jean;And joy’s a-comin’ fast, Jean,The joy that’s aye to lastIn the land o’ the leal.Then dry that tearfu’ e’e, Jean;My soul langs to be free, Jean;And angels wait on meTo the land o’ the leal.Now, fare ye weel, my ain Jean!This warld’s care is vain, Jean;We’ll meet and aye be fainIn the land o’ the leal.”
“I’m wearin’ awa’, Jean,Like snaw-wreaths in 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 fairIn the land o’ the leal.Our bonnie bairn’s there, Jean;She was baith gude and fair, Jean;And oh! we grudged her sairTo the land o’ the leal.But sorrow’s sel’ wears past, Jean;And joy’s a-comin’ fast, Jean,The joy that’s aye to lastIn the land o’ the leal.Then dry that tearfu’ e’e, Jean;My soul langs to be free, Jean;And angels wait on meTo the land o’ the leal.Now, fare ye weel, my ain Jean!This warld’s care is vain, Jean;We’ll meet and aye be fainIn the land o’ the leal.”
“I’m wearin’ awa’, Jean,Like snaw-wreaths in 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 fairIn the land o’ the leal.
“I’m wearin’ awa’, Jean,
Like snaw-wreaths in 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.
Our bonnie bairn’s there, Jean;She was baith gude and fair, Jean;And oh! we grudged her sairTo the land o’ the leal.But sorrow’s sel’ wears past, Jean;And joy’s a-comin’ fast, Jean,The joy that’s aye to lastIn the land o’ the leal.
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 past, Jean;
And joy’s a-comin’ fast, Jean,
The joy that’s aye to last
In the land o’ the leal.
Then dry that tearfu’ e’e, Jean;My soul langs to be free, Jean;And angels wait on meTo the land o’ the leal.Now, fare ye weel, my ain Jean!This warld’s care is vain, Jean;We’ll meet and aye be fainIn the land o’ the leal.”
Then dry that tearfu’ e’e, Jean;
My soul langs to be free, Jean;
And angels wait on me
To the land o’ the leal.
Now, fare ye weel, my ain Jean!
This warld’s care is vain, Jean;
We’ll meet and aye be fain
In the land o’ the leal.”
In quoting this song I have given the words as it has been universally voted, by men at least, that they should be accepted. Lady Nairne wrote “I’m wearin’ awa’,John,” meaning the song to be the supposed address of a dying wife to her husband; and so the words still stand, with other differences of text, in the authentic original. I know not by what warrant the change was introduced; though, for my own part, I join in the vote for adopting it, and so making the song the address of a dying husband to his wife. Had there been such a various reading in the text of one of the odes of Horace, what comments there would have been upon it, what dissertations! But, though the song ofThe Land o’ the Lealis more touching than any in Horace,the modification of its original form has passed hitherto without much comment. The most obvious comment perhaps is that, whateverJeanmay produce, it will be appropriated byJohn, if he likes it, to his own use.