I 'm wearin' awa', John,Like snaw wreaths in thaw, John;I 'm wearin' awa'To the land o' the leal.There 's nae sorrow there, John;There 's neither cauld nor care, John;The day 's aye fairI' the land o' the leal.Our bonnie bairn 's there, John;She was baith gude and fair, John;And, oh! we grudged her sairTo the land o' the leal.But sorrows sel' wears past, John,And joy 's a-comin' fast, John—The joy that 's aye to lastIn the land o' the leal.Sae dear 's that joy was bought, John,Sae free the battle fought, John,That sinfu' man e'er broughtTo the land o' the leal.Oh, dry your glist'ning e'e, John!My saul langs to be free, John;And angels beckon meTo the land o' the leal.Oh, haud ye leal and true, John!Your day it 's wearin' thro', John;And I 'll welcome youTo the land o' the leal.Now, fare ye weel, my ain John,This warld's cares are vain, John;We 'll meet, and we 'll be fain,In the land o' the leal.
I 'm wearin' awa', John,Like snaw wreaths in thaw, John;I 'm wearin' awa'To the land o' the leal.There 's nae sorrow there, John;There 's neither cauld nor care, John;The day 's aye fairI' the land o' the leal.
Our bonnie bairn 's there, John;She was baith gude and fair, John;And, oh! we grudged her sairTo the land o' the leal.But sorrows sel' wears past, John,And joy 's a-comin' fast, John—The joy that 's aye to lastIn the land o' the leal.
Sae dear 's that joy was bought, John,Sae free the battle fought, John,That sinfu' man e'er broughtTo the land o' the leal.Oh, dry your glist'ning e'e, John!My saul langs to be free, John;And angels beckon meTo the land o' the leal.
Oh, haud ye leal and true, John!Your day it 's wearin' thro', John;And I 'll welcome youTo the land o' the leal.Now, fare ye weel, my ain John,This warld's cares are vain, John;We 'll meet, and we 'll be fain,In the land o' the leal.
The Laird o' Cockpen he 's proud and he 's great,His mind is ta'en up with the things o' the state;He wanted a wife his braw house to keep,But favour wi' wooin' was fashious to seek.Down 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 penniless lass wi' a lang pedigree.His wig was weel pouther'd, and as gude as new;His waistcoat 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?He took the gray mare, and rade cannily—And rapp'd at the yett o' Claverse-ha' Lee;"Gae tell Mistress Jean to come speedily ben,She 's wanted to speak to the Laird o' Cockpen."Mistress Jean 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 gown,Her mutch wi' red ribbons, and gaed awa' down.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 laigh curtsie she turned awa'.Dumbfounder'd he was, nae sigh did he gie;He mounted his mare—he rade cannily;And aften 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."Next time that the Laird and the Lady were seen,They were gaun arm-in-arm to the kirk on the green;Now she sits in the ha' like a weel-tappit hen,But as yet there 's nae chickens appear'd at Cockpen.
The Laird o' Cockpen he 's proud and he 's great,His mind is ta'en up with the things o' the state;He wanted a wife his braw house to keep,But favour wi' wooin' was fashious to seek.
Down 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 penniless lass wi' a lang pedigree.
His wig was weel pouther'd, and as gude as new;His waistcoat 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?
He took the gray mare, and rade cannily—And rapp'd at the yett o' Claverse-ha' Lee;"Gae tell Mistress Jean to come speedily ben,She 's wanted to speak to the Laird o' Cockpen."
Mistress Jean 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 gown,Her mutch wi' red ribbons, and gaed awa' down.
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 laigh curtsie she turned awa'.
Dumbfounder'd he was, nae sigh did he gie;He mounted his mare—he rade cannily;And aften 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."
Next time that the Laird and the Lady were seen,They were gaun arm-in-arm to the kirk on the green;Now she sits in the ha' like a weel-tappit hen,But as yet there 's nae chickens appear'd at Cockpen.
Air—"Mordelia."
In all its rich wildness, her home she is leaving,In sad and tearful silence grieving,And still as the moment of parting is nearer,Each long cherish'd object is fairer and dearer.Not a grove or fresh streamlet but wakens reflectionOf hearts still and cold, that glow'd with affection;Not a breeze that blows over the flowers of the wild wood,But tells, as it passes, how blest was her childhood.And how long must I leave thee, each fond look expresses,Ye high rocky summits, ye ivy'd recesses!How long must I leave thee, thou wood-shaded river,The echoes all sigh—as they whisper—for ever!Tho' the autumn winds rave, and the seared leaves fall,And winter hangs out her cold icy pall—Yet the footsteps of spring again ye will see,And the singing of birds—but they sing not for me.The joys of the past, more faintly recalling,Sweet visions of peace on her spirit are falling,And the soft wing of time, as it speeds for the morrow,Wafts a gale, that is drying the dew-drops of sorrow.Hope dawns—and the toils of life's journey beguiling,The path of the mourner is cheer'd with its smiling;And there her heart rests, and her wishes all centre,Where parting is never—nor sorrow can enter.
In all its rich wildness, her home she is leaving,In sad and tearful silence grieving,And still as the moment of parting is nearer,Each long cherish'd object is fairer and dearer.Not a grove or fresh streamlet but wakens reflectionOf hearts still and cold, that glow'd with affection;Not a breeze that blows over the flowers of the wild wood,But tells, as it passes, how blest was her childhood.
And how long must I leave thee, each fond look expresses,Ye high rocky summits, ye ivy'd recesses!How long must I leave thee, thou wood-shaded river,The echoes all sigh—as they whisper—for ever!Tho' the autumn winds rave, and the seared leaves fall,And winter hangs out her cold icy pall—Yet the footsteps of spring again ye will see,And the singing of birds—but they sing not for me.
The joys of the past, more faintly recalling,Sweet visions of peace on her spirit are falling,And the soft wing of time, as it speeds for the morrow,Wafts a gale, that is drying the dew-drops of sorrow.Hope dawns—and the toils of life's journey beguiling,The path of the mourner is cheer'd with its smiling;And there her heart rests, and her wishes all centre,Where parting is never—nor sorrow can enter.
The bonniest lass in a' the warld,I 've often heard them telling,She 's up the hill, she 's down the glen,She 's in yon lonely dwelling.But nane could bring her to my mindWha lives but in the fancy,Is 't Kate, or Shusie, Jean, or May,Is 't Effie, Bess, or Nancy?Now lasses a' keep a gude heart,Nor e'er envy a comrade,For be your een black, blue, or gray,Ye 're bonniest aye to some lad.The tender heart, the charming smile,The truth that ne'er will falter,Are charms that never can beguile,And time can never alter.
The bonniest lass in a' the warld,I 've often heard them telling,She 's up the hill, she 's down the glen,She 's in yon lonely dwelling.But nane could bring her to my mindWha lives but in the fancy,Is 't Kate, or Shusie, Jean, or May,Is 't Effie, Bess, or Nancy?
Now lasses a' keep a gude heart,Nor e'er envy a comrade,For be your een black, blue, or gray,Ye 're bonniest aye to some lad.The tender heart, the charming smile,The truth that ne'er will falter,Are charms that never can beguile,And time can never alter.
Will ye gang ower the lea-rig,My ain kind dearie, O?Will ye gang ower the lea-rig,My ain kind dearie, O?Gin ye'll tak heart, and gang wi' me,Mishap will never steer ye, O;Gude luck lies ower the lea-rig,My ain kind dearie, O!There 's walth ower yon green lea-rig,My ain kind dearie, O!There 's walth ower yon green lea-rig,My ain kind dearie, O!Its neither land, nor gowd, nor braws—Let them gang tapsle teerie, O!It 's walth o' peace, o' love, and truth,My ain kind dearie, O!
Will ye gang ower the lea-rig,My ain kind dearie, O?Will ye gang ower the lea-rig,My ain kind dearie, O?Gin ye'll tak heart, and gang wi' me,Mishap will never steer ye, O;Gude luck lies ower the lea-rig,My ain kind dearie, O!
There 's walth ower yon green lea-rig,My ain kind dearie, O!There 's walth ower yon green lea-rig,My ain kind dearie, O!Its neither land, nor gowd, nor braws—Let them gang tapsle teerie, O!It 's walth o' peace, o' love, and truth,My ain kind dearie, O!
Air—"The Muckin' o' Geordie's Byre."
He 's lifeless amang the rude billows,My tears and my sighs are in vain;The heart that beat warm for his Jeanie,Will ne'er beat for mortal again.My lane now I am i' the warld,And the daylight is grievous to me;The laddie that lo'ed me sae dearlyLies cauld in the deeps o' the sea.Ye tempests, sae boist'rously raging,Rage on as ye list—or be still;This heart ye sae often hae sicken'd,Is nae mair the sport o' your will.Now heartless, I hope not—I fear not,—High Heaven hae pity on me!My soul, tho' dismay'd and distracted,Yet bends to thy awful decree.
He 's lifeless amang the rude billows,My tears and my sighs are in vain;The heart that beat warm for his Jeanie,Will ne'er beat for mortal again.My lane now I am i' the warld,And the daylight is grievous to me;The laddie that lo'ed me sae dearlyLies cauld in the deeps o' the sea.
Ye tempests, sae boist'rously raging,Rage on as ye list—or be still;This heart ye sae often hae sicken'd,Is nae mair the sport o' your will.Now heartless, I hope not—I fear not,—High Heaven hae pity on me!My soul, tho' dismay'd and distracted,Yet bends to thy awful decree.
Air—"I'll never leave thee."
Joy of my earliest days,Why must I grieve thee?Theme of my fondest lays,Oh, I maun leave thee!Leave thee, love! leave thee, love!How shall I leave thee?Absence thy truth will prove,For, oh! I maun leave thee!When on yon mossy stane,Wild weeds o'ergrowin',Ye sit at e'en your lane,And hear the burn rowin';Oh! think on this partin' hour,Down by the Garry,And to Him that has a' the pow'r,Commend me, my Mary!
Joy of my earliest days,Why must I grieve thee?Theme of my fondest lays,Oh, I maun leave thee!Leave thee, love! leave thee, love!How shall I leave thee?Absence thy truth will prove,For, oh! I maun leave thee!
When on yon mossy stane,Wild weeds o'ergrowin',Ye sit at e'en your lane,And hear the burn rowin';Oh! think on this partin' hour,Down by the Garry,And to Him that has a' the pow'r,Commend me, my Mary!
Air—"Landlady count the lawin'."
Oh, weel's me on my ain man,My ain man, my ain man!Oh, weel's me on my ain gudeman!He 'll aye be welcome hame.I 'm wae I blamed him yesternight,For now my heart is feather light;For gowd I wadna gie the sight;I see him linking ower the height.Oh, weel's me on my ain man, &c.Rin, Jamie, bring the kebbuck ben,And fin' aneath the speckled hen;Meg, rise and sweep about the fire,Syne cry on Johnnie frae the byre.For weel's me on my ain man,My ain man, my ain man!For weel's me on my ain gudeman!I see him linkin' hame.
Oh, weel's me on my ain man,My ain man, my ain man!Oh, weel's me on my ain gudeman!He 'll aye be welcome hame.
I 'm wae I blamed him yesternight,For now my heart is feather light;For gowd I wadna gie the sight;I see him linking ower the height.Oh, weel's me on my ain man, &c.
Rin, Jamie, bring the kebbuck ben,And fin' aneath the speckled hen;Meg, rise and sweep about the fire,Syne cry on Johnnie frae the byre.For weel's me on my ain man,My ain man, my ain man!For weel's me on my ain gudeman!I see him linkin' hame.
Robin is my ain gudeman,Now match him, carlins, gin ye can,For ilk ane whitest thinks her swan,But kind Robin lo'es me.To mak my boast I 'll e'en be bauld,For Robin lo'ed me young and auld,In summer's heat and winter's cauld,My kind Robin lo'es me.Robin he comes hame at e'enWi' pleasure glancin' in his e'en;He tells me a' he 's heard and seen,And syne how he lo'es me.There 's some hae land, and some hae gowd,Mair wad hae them gin they could,But a' I wish o' warld's guid,Is Robin still to lo'e me.
Robin is my ain gudeman,Now match him, carlins, gin ye can,For ilk ane whitest thinks her swan,But kind Robin lo'es me.To mak my boast I 'll e'en be bauld,For Robin lo'ed me young and auld,In summer's heat and winter's cauld,My kind Robin lo'es me.
Robin he comes hame at e'enWi' pleasure glancin' in his e'en;He tells me a' he 's heard and seen,And syne how he lo'es me.There 's some hae land, and some hae gowd,Mair wad hae them gin they could,But a' I wish o' warld's guid,Is Robin still to lo'e me.
Air—"Country Bumpkin."
Hech, hey! the mirth that was there,The mirth that was there,The mirth that was there;Hech, how! the mirth that was there,In Kitty Reid's house on the green, Jo!There was laughin' and singin', and dancin' and glee,In Kitty's Reid's house, in Kitty Reid's house,There was laughin' and singin', and dancin' and glee,In Kitty Reid's house on the green, Jo!Hech, hey! the fright that was there,The fright that was there,The fright that was there;Hech, how! the fright that was there,In Kitty Reid's house on the green, Jo!The light glimmer'd in through a crack i' the wa',An' a'body thocht the lift it wad fa',And lads and lasses they soon ran awa'Frae Kitty's Reid's house on the green, Jo!Hech, hey! the dule that was there,The dule that was there,The dule that was there;The birds and beasts it wauken'd them a',In Kitty Reid's house on the green, Jo!The wa' gaed a hurley, and scatter'd them a',The piper, the fiddler, auld Kitty, and a';The kye fell a routin', the cocks they did craw,In Kitty Reid's house on the green, Jo!
Hech, hey! the mirth that was there,The mirth that was there,The mirth that was there;Hech, how! the mirth that was there,In Kitty Reid's house on the green, Jo!There was laughin' and singin', and dancin' and glee,In Kitty's Reid's house, in Kitty Reid's house,There was laughin' and singin', and dancin' and glee,In Kitty Reid's house on the green, Jo!
Hech, hey! the fright that was there,The fright that was there,The fright that was there;Hech, how! the fright that was there,In Kitty Reid's house on the green, Jo!The light glimmer'd in through a crack i' the wa',An' a'body thocht the lift it wad fa',And lads and lasses they soon ran awa'Frae Kitty's Reid's house on the green, Jo!
Hech, hey! the dule that was there,The dule that was there,The dule that was there;The birds and beasts it wauken'd them a',In Kitty Reid's house on the green, Jo!The wa' gaed a hurley, and scatter'd them a',The piper, the fiddler, auld Kitty, and a';The kye fell a routin', the cocks they did craw,In Kitty Reid's house on the green, Jo!
Air—"Lochiel's awa' to France."
Their nest was in the leafy bush,Sae soft and warm, sae soft and warm,And Robins thought their little broodAll safe from harm, all safe from harm.The morning's feast with joy they brought,To feed their young wi' tender care;The plunder'd leafy bush they found,But nest and nestlings saw nae mair.The mother cou'dna leave the spot,But wheeling round, and wheeling round,The cruel spoiler aim'd a shot,Cured her heart's wound, cured her heart's wound.She will not hear their helpless cry,Nor see them pine in slavery!The burning breast she will not bide,For wrongs of wanton knavery.Oh! bonny Robin Redbreast,Ye trust in men, ye trust in men,But what their hard hearts are made o',Ye little ken, ye little ken.They 'll ne'er wi' your wee skin be warm'd,Nor wi' your tiny flesh be fed,But just 'cause you 're a living thing,It 's sport wi' them to lay you dead.Ye Hieland and ye Lowland lads,As birdies gay, as birdies gay,Oh, spare them, whistling like yoursel's,And hopping blythe from spray to spray!Their wings were made to soar aloft,And skim the air at liberty;And as you freedom gi'e to them,May you and yours be ever free!
Their nest was in the leafy bush,Sae soft and warm, sae soft and warm,And Robins thought their little broodAll safe from harm, all safe from harm.The morning's feast with joy they brought,To feed their young wi' tender care;The plunder'd leafy bush they found,But nest and nestlings saw nae mair.
The mother cou'dna leave the spot,But wheeling round, and wheeling round,The cruel spoiler aim'd a shot,Cured her heart's wound, cured her heart's wound.She will not hear their helpless cry,Nor see them pine in slavery!The burning breast she will not bide,For wrongs of wanton knavery.
Oh! bonny Robin Redbreast,Ye trust in men, ye trust in men,But what their hard hearts are made o',Ye little ken, ye little ken.They 'll ne'er wi' your wee skin be warm'd,Nor wi' your tiny flesh be fed,But just 'cause you 're a living thing,It 's sport wi' them to lay you dead.
Ye Hieland and ye Lowland lads,As birdies gay, as birdies gay,Oh, spare them, whistling like yoursel's,And hopping blythe from spray to spray!Their wings were made to soar aloft,And skim the air at liberty;And as you freedom gi'e to them,May you and yours be ever free!
Saw ye nae my Peggy?Saw ye nae my Peggy?Saw ye nae my Peggy comin'Through Tillibelton's broom?I 'm frae Aberdagie,Ower the crafts o' Craigie,For aught I ken o' Peggie,She 's ayont the moon.'Twas but at the dawin',Clear the cock was crawin',I saw Peggy cawin'Hawky by the brier.Early bells were ringin',Blythest birds were singin',Sweetest flowers were springin',A' her heart to cheer.Now the tempest's blawin',Almond water 's flowin',Deep and ford unknowin',She maun cross the day.Almond waters, spare her,Safe to Lynedoch bear her!Its braes ne'er saw a fairer,Bess Bell nor Mary Gray.Oh, now to be wi' her!Or but ance to see herSkaithless, far or near,I 'd gie Scotland's crown.Byeword, blind 's a lover—Wha 's yon I discover?Just yer ain fair rover,Stately stappin' down.
Saw ye nae my Peggy?Saw ye nae my Peggy?Saw ye nae my Peggy comin'Through Tillibelton's broom?I 'm frae Aberdagie,Ower the crafts o' Craigie,For aught I ken o' Peggie,She 's ayont the moon.
'Twas but at the dawin',Clear the cock was crawin',I saw Peggy cawin'Hawky by the brier.Early bells were ringin',Blythest birds were singin',Sweetest flowers were springin',A' her heart to cheer.
Now the tempest's blawin',Almond water 's flowin',Deep and ford unknowin',She maun cross the day.Almond waters, spare her,Safe to Lynedoch bear her!Its braes ne'er saw a fairer,Bess Bell nor Mary Gray.
Oh, now to be wi' her!Or but ance to see herSkaithless, far or near,I 'd gie Scotland's crown.Byeword, blind 's a lover—Wha 's yon I discover?Just yer ain fair rover,Stately stappin' down.
The best o' joys maun hae an end,The best o' friends maun part, I trow;The langest day will wear away,And I maun bid fareweel to you.The tear will tell when hearts are fu',For words, gin they hae sense ava,They 're broken, faltering, and few:Gude nicht, and joy be wi' you a'!Oh, we hae wander'd far and wide,O'er Scotia's lands o' frith and fell!And mony a simple flower we 've pu'd,And twined it wi' the heather-bell.We 've ranged the dingle and the dell,The cot-house, and the baron's ha';Now we maun tak a last farewell:Gude nicht, and joy be wi' you a'!My harp, fareweel! thy strains are past,Of gleefu' mirth, and heartfelt care;The voice of song maun cease at last,And minstrelsy itsel' decay.But, oh! whar sorrow canna win,Nor parting tears are shed ava',May we meet neighbour, kith, and kin,And joy for aye be wi' us a'!
The best o' joys maun hae an end,The best o' friends maun part, I trow;The langest day will wear away,And I maun bid fareweel to you.The tear will tell when hearts are fu',For words, gin they hae sense ava,They 're broken, faltering, and few:Gude nicht, and joy be wi' you a'!
Oh, we hae wander'd far and wide,O'er Scotia's lands o' frith and fell!And mony a simple flower we 've pu'd,And twined it wi' the heather-bell.We 've ranged the dingle and the dell,The cot-house, and the baron's ha';Now we maun tak a last farewell:Gude nicht, and joy be wi' you a'!
My harp, fareweel! thy strains are past,Of gleefu' mirth, and heartfelt care;The voice of song maun cease at last,And minstrelsy itsel' decay.But, oh! whar sorrow canna win,Nor parting tears are shed ava',May we meet neighbour, kith, and kin,And joy for aye be wi' us a'!
There 's cauld kail in Aberdeen,There 's castocks in Strabogie;And morn and e'en, they 're blythe and bein,That haud them frae the cogie.Now, haud ye frae the cogie, lads;O bide ye frae the cogie!I 'll tell ye true, ye 'll never rue,O' passin' by the cogie.Young Will was braw and weel put on,Sae blythe was he and vogie;And he got bonnie Mary Don,The flower o' a' Strabogie.Wha wad hae thocht, at wooin' time,He 'd e'er forsaken Mary,And ta'en him to the tipplin' trade,Wi' boozin' Rob and Harry?Sair Mary wrought, sair Mary grat,She scarce could lift the ladle;Wi' pithless feet, 'tween ilka greet,She 'd rock the borrow'd cradle.Her weddin' plenishin' was gane,She never thocht to borrow:Her bonnie face was waxin' wan—And Will wrought a' the sorrow.He 's reelin' hame ae winter's nicht,Some later than the gloamin';He 's ta'en the rig, he 's miss'd the brig,And Bogie 's ower him foamin'.Wi' broken banes, out ower the stanes,He creepit up Strabogie;And a' the nicht he pray'd wi' micht,To keep him frae the cogie.Now Mary's heart is light again—She 's neither sick nor silly;For auld or young, nae sinfu' tongue,Could e'er entice her Willie;And aye the sang through Bogie rang—"O had ye frae the cogie;The weary gill 's the sairest illOn braes o' fair Strabogie."
There 's cauld kail in Aberdeen,There 's castocks in Strabogie;And morn and e'en, they 're blythe and bein,That haud them frae the cogie.Now, haud ye frae the cogie, lads;O bide ye frae the cogie!I 'll tell ye true, ye 'll never rue,O' passin' by the cogie.
Young Will was braw and weel put on,Sae blythe was he and vogie;And he got bonnie Mary Don,The flower o' a' Strabogie.Wha wad hae thocht, at wooin' time,He 'd e'er forsaken Mary,And ta'en him to the tipplin' trade,Wi' boozin' Rob and Harry?
Sair Mary wrought, sair Mary grat,She scarce could lift the ladle;Wi' pithless feet, 'tween ilka greet,She 'd rock the borrow'd cradle.Her weddin' plenishin' was gane,She never thocht to borrow:Her bonnie face was waxin' wan—And Will wrought a' the sorrow.
He 's reelin' hame ae winter's nicht,Some later than the gloamin';He 's ta'en the rig, he 's miss'd the brig,And Bogie 's ower him foamin'.Wi' broken banes, out ower the stanes,He creepit up Strabogie;And a' the nicht he pray'd wi' micht,To keep him frae the cogie.
Now Mary's heart is light again—She 's neither sick nor silly;For auld or young, nae sinfu' tongue,Could e'er entice her Willie;And aye the sang through Bogie rang—"O had ye frae the cogie;The weary gill 's the sairest illOn braes o' fair Strabogie."
He 's ower the hills that I lo'e weel,He 's ower the hills we daurna name;He 's ower the hills ayont Dunblane,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,And 'deed she thinks they 're no to blame.He 's ower the hills, &c.The Whigs may scoff, the Whigs may jeer;But, ah! that love maun be sincereWhich still keeps true whate'er betide,An' for his sake leaves a' beside.He 's ower the hills, &c.His right these hills, his right these plains;Ower Hieland hearts secure he reigns;What lads e'er did our laddies will do;Were I a laddie, I 'd follow him too.He 's ower the hills, &c.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.He 's ower the hills, &c.Then draw the claymore, for Charlie then fight;For your country, religion, and a' that is right;Were ten thousand lives now given to me,I 'd die as aft for ane o' the three.He 's ower the hills, &c.
He 's ower the hills that I lo'e weel,He 's ower the hills we daurna name;He 's ower the hills ayont Dunblane,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,And 'deed she thinks they 're no to blame.He 's ower the hills, &c.
The Whigs may scoff, the Whigs may jeer;But, ah! that love maun be sincereWhich still keeps true whate'er betide,An' for his sake leaves a' beside.He 's ower the hills, &c.
His right these hills, his right these plains;Ower Hieland hearts secure he reigns;What lads e'er did our laddies will do;Were I a laddie, I 'd follow him too.He 's ower the hills, &c.
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.He 's ower the hills, &c.
Then draw the claymore, for Charlie then fight;For your country, religion, and a' that is right;Were ten thousand lives now given to me,I 'd die as aft for ane o' the three.He 's ower the hills, &c.
Air—"Loch Erroch Side."
'Twas on a summer's afternoon,A wee afore the sun gaed down,A lassie, wi' a braw new gown,Cam' ower the hills to Gowrie.The rose-bud, wash'd in summer's shower,Bloom'd fresh within the sunny bower;But Kitty was the fairest flowerThat e'er was seen in Gowrie.To see her cousin she cam' there,An', oh, the scene was passing fair!For what in Scotland can compareWi' the Carse o' Gowrie?The sun was setting on the Tay,The blue hills melting into gray;The mavis' and the blackbird's layWere sweetly heard in Gowrie.Oh, lang the lassie I had woo'd!An' truth and constancy had vow'd,But cam' nae speed wi' her I lo'ed,Until she saw fair Gowrie.I pointed to my faither's ha',Yon bonnie bield ayont the shaw,Sae loun' that there nae blast could blaw;Wad she no bide in Gowrie?Her faither was baith glad and wae;Her mither she wad naething say;The bairnies thocht they wad get playIf Kitty gaed to Gowrie.She whiles did smile, she whiles did greet,The blush and tear were on her cheek;She naething said, an' hung her head;But now she's Leddy Gowrie.
'Twas on a summer's afternoon,A wee afore the sun gaed down,A lassie, wi' a braw new gown,Cam' ower the hills to Gowrie.The rose-bud, wash'd in summer's shower,Bloom'd fresh within the sunny bower;But Kitty was the fairest flowerThat e'er was seen in Gowrie.
To see her cousin she cam' there,An', oh, the scene was passing fair!For what in Scotland can compareWi' the Carse o' Gowrie?The sun was setting on the Tay,The blue hills melting into gray;The mavis' and the blackbird's layWere sweetly heard in Gowrie.
Oh, lang the lassie I had woo'd!An' truth and constancy had vow'd,But cam' nae speed wi' her I lo'ed,Until she saw fair Gowrie.I pointed to my faither's ha',Yon bonnie bield ayont the shaw,Sae loun' that there nae blast could blaw;Wad she no bide in Gowrie?
Her faither was baith glad and wae;Her mither she wad naething say;The bairnies thocht they wad get playIf Kitty gaed to Gowrie.She whiles did smile, she whiles did greet,The blush and tear were on her cheek;She naething said, an' hung her head;But now she's Leddy Gowrie.
There grows a bonnie brier bush in our kail-yard,And white are the blossoms o't in our kail-yard,Like wee bit white cockauds to deck our Hieland lads,And the lasses lo'e the bonnie bush in our kail-yard.An' it 's hame, an' it 's hame to the north countrie,An' it 's hame, an' it 's hame to the north countrie,Where my bonnie Jean is waiting for me,Wi' a heart kind and true, in my ain countrie."But were they a' true that were far awa?Oh! were they a' true that were far awa'?They drew up wi' glaikit Englishers at Carlisle Ha',And forgot auld frien's that were far awa."Ye 'll come nae mair, Jamie, where aft ye 've been,Ye 'll come nae mair, Jamie, to Atholl's green;Ye lo'ed ower weel the dancin' at Carlisle Ha',And forgot the Hieland hills that were far awa'.""I ne'er lo'ed a dance but on Atholl's green,I ne'er lo'ed a lassie but my dorty Jean,Sair, sair against my will did I bide sae lang awa',And my heart was aye in Atholl's green at Carlisle Ha'."* * * * *The brier bush was bonnie ance in our kail-yard;The brier bush was bonnie ance in our kail-yard;A blast blew ower the hill, that gae Atholl's flowers a chill,And the bloom 's blawn aff the bonnie bush in our kail-yard.
There grows a bonnie brier bush in our kail-yard,And white are the blossoms o't in our kail-yard,Like wee bit white cockauds to deck our Hieland lads,And the lasses lo'e the bonnie bush in our kail-yard.
An' it 's hame, an' it 's hame to the north countrie,An' it 's hame, an' it 's hame to the north countrie,Where my bonnie Jean is waiting for me,Wi' a heart kind and true, in my ain countrie.
"But were they a' true that were far awa?Oh! were they a' true that were far awa'?They drew up wi' glaikit Englishers at Carlisle Ha',And forgot auld frien's that were far awa.
"Ye 'll come nae mair, Jamie, where aft ye 've been,Ye 'll come nae mair, Jamie, to Atholl's green;Ye lo'ed ower weel the dancin' at Carlisle Ha',And forgot the Hieland hills that were far awa'."
"I ne'er lo'ed a dance but on Atholl's green,I ne'er lo'ed a lassie but my dorty Jean,Sair, sair against my will did I bide sae lang awa',And my heart was aye in Atholl's green at Carlisle Ha'."
* * * * *
The brier bush was bonnie ance in our kail-yard;The brier bush was bonnie ance in our kail-yard;A blast blew ower the hill, that gae Atholl's flowers a chill,And the bloom 's blawn aff the bonnie bush in our kail-yard.
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 on the vera hie road, John Tod,He scolds on the vera hie 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 callant he 'll whip,And it 's unco weel done o' John Tod, John Tod,It 's unco weel done o' John Tod.An' saw ye nae wee John Tod, John Tod?Oh, saw ye nae wee John Tod?His bannet was blue,His shoon maistly new,An' weel does he keep the kirk road, John Tod,Oh, weel does he keep the kirk road.How is he fendin', John Tod, John Tod?How is he wendin', John Tod?He 's scourin' the land,Wi' his rung in his hand,An' the French wadna frighten John Tod, John Tod,An' the French wadna frighten John Tod.Ye 're sun-brunt and batter'd, John Tod, John TodYe 're tantit and tatter'd, John Tod;Wi' your auld strippit coul,Ye look maist like a fule,But there 's nouse i' the lining,[57]John Tod, John Tod,But there 's nouse 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 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 on the vera hie road, John Tod,He scolds on the vera hie 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 callant he 'll whip,And it 's unco weel done o' John Tod, John Tod,It 's unco weel done o' John Tod.
An' saw ye nae wee John Tod, John Tod?Oh, saw ye nae wee John Tod?His bannet was blue,His shoon maistly new,An' weel does he keep the kirk road, John Tod,Oh, weel does he keep the kirk road.
How is he fendin', John Tod, John Tod?How is he wendin', John Tod?He 's scourin' the land,Wi' his rung in his hand,An' the French wadna frighten John Tod, John Tod,An' the French wadna frighten John Tod.
Ye 're sun-brunt and batter'd, John Tod, John TodYe 're tantit and tatter'd, John Tod;Wi' your auld strippit coul,Ye look maist like a fule,But there 's nouse i' the lining,[57]John Tod, John Tod,But there 's nouse 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.
Bonnie Charlie 's now awa',Safely ower the friendly main;Mony a heart will break in twaShould he ne'er come back again.Will ye no come back again?Will ye no come back again?Better lo'ed ye canna be—Will ye no come back again?Ye trusted in your Hieland men,They trusted you, dear Charlie!They kent your hiding in the glen,Death or exile braving.Will ye no, &c.English bribes were a' in vain,Tho' puir, and puirer, we maun be;Siller canna buy the heartThat beats aye for thine and thee.Will ye no, &c.We watch'd thee in the gloamin' hour,We watch'd thee in the mornin' gray;Though thirty thousand pound they gi'e,Oh, there is none that wad betray!Will ye no, &c.Sweet 's the laverock's note, and lang,Lilting wildly up the glen;But aye to me he sings ae sang,Will ye no come back again?Will ye no, &c.
Bonnie Charlie 's now awa',Safely ower the friendly main;Mony a heart will break in twaShould he ne'er come back again.Will ye no come back again?Will ye no come back again?Better lo'ed ye canna be—Will ye no come back again?
Ye trusted in your Hieland men,They trusted you, dear Charlie!They kent your hiding in the glen,Death or exile braving.Will ye no, &c.
English bribes were a' in vain,Tho' puir, and puirer, we maun be;Siller canna buy the heartThat beats aye for thine and thee.Will ye no, &c.
We watch'd thee in the gloamin' hour,We watch'd thee in the mornin' gray;Though thirty thousand pound they gi'e,Oh, there is none that wad betray!Will ye no, &c.
Sweet 's the laverock's note, and lang,Lilting wildly up the glen;But aye to me he sings ae sang,Will ye no come back again?Will ye no, &c.
Air—"The Rock and the Wee Pickle Tow."
Send a horse to the water, ye 'll no mak him drink,Send a fule to the college, ye 'll no mak him think;Send a craw to the singin', an' still he will craw,An' the wee laird had nae rummulgumshion ava.Yet is he the pride o' his fond mother's e'e,In body or mind, nae fau't can she see;"He 's a fell clever lad, an' a bonny wee man,"Is aye the beginnin' an' end o' her sang.An' oh! she 's a haverin' lucky, I trow,An' oh! she 's a haverin' lucky, I trow;"He 's a fell clever lad, an' a bonny wee man,"Is aye the beginnin' an' end o' her sang.His legs they are bow'd, his een they do glee,His wig, whiles it 's aff, and when on, it 's ajee;He 's braid as he 's lang, an' ill-faur'd is he,A dafter-like body I never did see.An' yet for this cratur' she says I am deein',When that I deny, she 's fear'd at my leein';Obliged to put up wi' this sair defamation,I'm liken to dee wi' grief an' vexation.An' oh! she 's a haverin' lucky, &c.An' her clishmaclavers gang a' through the toun,An' the wee lairdie trows I 'll hang or I 'll droun.Wi' his gawky-like face, yestreen he did say,"I 'll maybe tak you, for Bess I 'll no hae,Nor Mattie, nor Effie, nor lang-legged Jeanie,Nor Nelly, nor Katie, nor skirlin' wee Beenie."I stappit my ears, ran aff in a fury—I 'm thinkin' to bring them afore judge an' jury.For oh! what a randy auld luckie is she, &c.Freen's! gi'e your advice!—I 'll follow your counsel—Maun I speak to the Provost, or honest Toun Council,Or the writers, or lawyers, or doctors? now say,For the law on the lucky I shall an' will hae.The hale toun at me are jibin' and jeerin',For a leddy like me it 's really past bearin';The lucky maun now hae dune wi' her claverin',For I 'll no put up wi' her nor her haverin'.For oh! she 's a randy, I trow, I trow,For oh! she 's a randy, I trow, I trow;"He 's a fell clever lad, an' a bonny wee man,"Is aye the beginnin' an' end o' her sang.
Send a horse to the water, ye 'll no mak him drink,Send a fule to the college, ye 'll no mak him think;Send a craw to the singin', an' still he will craw,An' the wee laird had nae rummulgumshion ava.Yet is he the pride o' his fond mother's e'e,In body or mind, nae fau't can she see;"He 's a fell clever lad, an' a bonny wee man,"Is aye the beginnin' an' end o' her sang.An' oh! she 's a haverin' lucky, I trow,An' oh! she 's a haverin' lucky, I trow;"He 's a fell clever lad, an' a bonny wee man,"Is aye the beginnin' an' end o' her sang.
His legs they are bow'd, his een they do glee,His wig, whiles it 's aff, and when on, it 's ajee;He 's braid as he 's lang, an' ill-faur'd is he,A dafter-like body I never did see.An' yet for this cratur' she says I am deein',When that I deny, she 's fear'd at my leein';Obliged to put up wi' this sair defamation,I'm liken to dee wi' grief an' vexation.An' oh! she 's a haverin' lucky, &c.
An' her clishmaclavers gang a' through the toun,An' the wee lairdie trows I 'll hang or I 'll droun.Wi' his gawky-like face, yestreen he did say,"I 'll maybe tak you, for Bess I 'll no hae,Nor Mattie, nor Effie, nor lang-legged Jeanie,Nor Nelly, nor Katie, nor skirlin' wee Beenie."I stappit my ears, ran aff in a fury—I 'm thinkin' to bring them afore judge an' jury.For oh! what a randy auld luckie is she, &c.
Freen's! gi'e your advice!—I 'll follow your counsel—Maun I speak to the Provost, or honest Toun Council,Or the writers, or lawyers, or doctors? now say,For the law on the lucky I shall an' will hae.The hale toun at me are jibin' and jeerin',For a leddy like me it 's really past bearin';The lucky maun now hae dune wi' her claverin',For I 'll no put up wi' her nor her haverin'.For oh! she 's a randy, I trow, I trow,For oh! she 's a randy, I trow, I trow;"He 's a fell clever lad, an' a bonny wee man,"Is aye the beginnin' an' end o' her sang.
Air—"Happy Land."
Songs of my native land,To me how dear!Songs of my infancy,Sweet to mine ear!Entwined with my youthful days,Wi' the bonny banks and braes,Where the winding burnie strays,Murmuring near.Strains of my native land,That thrill the soul,Pouring the magic ofYour soft control!Often has your minstrelsySoothed the pang of misery,Winging rapid thoughts awayTo realms on high.Weary pilgrimstherehave rest,Their wand'rings o'er;There the slave, no more oppress'd,Hails Freedom's shore.Sin shall then no more deface,Sickness, pain, and sorrow cease,Ending in eternal peace,And songs of joy!There, when the seraphs sing,In cloudless day;There, where the higher praiseThe ransom'd pay.Soft strains of the happy land,Chanted by the heavenly band,Who can fully understandHow sweet ye be!
Songs of my native land,To me how dear!Songs of my infancy,Sweet to mine ear!Entwined with my youthful days,Wi' the bonny banks and braes,Where the winding burnie strays,Murmuring near.
Strains of my native land,That thrill the soul,Pouring the magic ofYour soft control!Often has your minstrelsySoothed the pang of misery,Winging rapid thoughts awayTo realms on high.
Weary pilgrimstherehave rest,Their wand'rings o'er;There the slave, no more oppress'd,Hails Freedom's shore.Sin shall then no more deface,Sickness, pain, and sorrow cease,Ending in eternal peace,And songs of joy!
There, when the seraphs sing,In cloudless day;There, where the higher praiseThe ransom'd pay.Soft strains of the happy land,Chanted by the heavenly band,Who can fully understandHow sweet ye be!
Oh, Castell Gloom! thy strength is gone,The green grass o'er thee growin';On hill ofCarethou art alone,TheSorrowround thee flowin'.Oh, Castell Gloom! on thy fair wa'sNae banners now are streamin',The houlet flits amang thy ha's,And wild birds there are screamin'.Oh! mourn the woe, oh! mourn the crime,Frae civil war that flows;Oh! mourn, Argyll, thy fallen line,And mourn the great Montrose.Here ladies bright were aften seen,Here valiant warriors trod;And here great Knox has aften been,Wha fear'd nought but his God!But a' are gane! the guid, the great,And naething now remains,But ruin sittin' on thy wa's,And crumblin' down the stanes.Oh! mourn the woe, &c.Thy lofty Ochils bright did glow,Though sleepin' was the sun;But mornin's light did sadly show,What ragin' flames had done.Oh, mirk, mirk was the misty cloud,That hung o'er thy wild wood!Thou wert like beauty in a shroud,And all was solitude.Oh! mourn the woe, &c.
Oh, Castell Gloom! thy strength is gone,The green grass o'er thee growin';On hill ofCarethou art alone,TheSorrowround thee flowin'.Oh, Castell Gloom! on thy fair wa'sNae banners now are streamin',The houlet flits amang thy ha's,And wild birds there are screamin'.Oh! mourn the woe, oh! mourn the crime,Frae civil war that flows;Oh! mourn, Argyll, thy fallen line,And mourn the great Montrose.
Here ladies bright were aften seen,Here valiant warriors trod;And here great Knox has aften been,Wha fear'd nought but his God!But a' are gane! the guid, the great,And naething now remains,But ruin sittin' on thy wa's,And crumblin' down the stanes.Oh! mourn the woe, &c.
Thy lofty Ochils bright did glow,Though sleepin' was the sun;But mornin's light did sadly show,What ragin' flames had done.Oh, mirk, mirk was the misty cloud,That hung o'er thy wild wood!Thou wert like beauty in a shroud,And all was solitude.Oh! mourn the woe, &c.