O, my lassie, our joy to complete again,Meet me again i' the gloamin', my dearie;Low down in the dell let us meet again—O, Jeanie, there 's naething to fear ye!Come, when the wee bat flits silent and eiry,Come, when the pale face o' Nature looks weary;Love be thy sure defence,Beauty and innocence—O, Jeanie, there 's naething to fear ye!Sweetly blaw the haw an' the rowan tree,Wild roses speck our thicket sae breery;Still, still will our walk in the greenwood be—O, Jeanie, there 's naething to fear ye!List when the blackbird o' singing grows weary,List when the beetle-bee's bugle comes near ye,Then come with fairy haste,Light foot, an' beating breast—O, Jeanie, there 's naething to fear ye!Far, far will the bogle and brownie be,Beauty an' truth, they darena come near it;Kind love is the tie of our unity,A' maun love it, an' a' maun revere it.'Tis love maks the sang o' the woodland sae cheery,Love gars a' Nature look bonny that 's near ye;That makes the rose sae sweet,Cowslip an' violet—O, Jeanie, there 's naething to fear ye!
O, my lassie, our joy to complete again,Meet me again i' the gloamin', my dearie;Low down in the dell let us meet again—O, Jeanie, there 's naething to fear ye!Come, when the wee bat flits silent and eiry,Come, when the pale face o' Nature looks weary;Love be thy sure defence,Beauty and innocence—O, Jeanie, there 's naething to fear ye!
Sweetly blaw the haw an' the rowan tree,Wild roses speck our thicket sae breery;Still, still will our walk in the greenwood be—O, Jeanie, there 's naething to fear ye!List when the blackbird o' singing grows weary,List when the beetle-bee's bugle comes near ye,Then come with fairy haste,Light foot, an' beating breast—O, Jeanie, there 's naething to fear ye!
Far, far will the bogle and brownie be,Beauty an' truth, they darena come near it;Kind love is the tie of our unity,A' maun love it, an' a' maun revere it.'Tis love maks the sang o' the woodland sae cheery,Love gars a' Nature look bonny that 's near ye;That makes the rose sae sweet,Cowslip an' violet—O, Jeanie, there 's naething to fear ye!
Air—"Shame fa' the gear and the blathrie o't."
Come all ye jolly shepherds,That whistle through the glen,I 'll tell ye of a secretThat courtiers dinna ken:What is the greatest blissThat the tongue o' man can name?'Tis to woo a bonny lassieWhen the kye comes hame.When the kye comes hame,When the kye comes hame,'Tween the gloamin' an' the mirk,When the kye comes hame.'Tis not beneath the coronet,Nor canopy of state,'Tis not on couch of velvet,Nor arbour of the great—'Tis beneath the spreadin' birk,In the glen without the name,Wi' a bonny, bonny lassie,When the kye comes hame.When the kye comes hame, &c.There the blackbird bigs his nestFor the mate he lo'es to see,And on the topmost bough,O, a happy bird is he;Where he pours his melting ditty,And love is a' the theme,And he 'll woo his bonny lassieWhen the kye comes hame.When the kye comes hame, &c.When the blewart bears a pearl,And the daisy turns a pea,And the bonny lucken gowanHas fauldit up her e'e,Then the laverock frae the blue liftDoops down, an' thinks nae shameTo woo his bonny lassieWhen the kye comes hame.When the kye comes hame, &c.See yonder pawkie shepherd,That lingers on the hill,His ewes are in the fauld,An' his lambs are lying still;Yet he downa gang to bed,For his heart is in a flame,To meet his bonny lassieWhen the kye comes hame.When the kye comes hame, &c.When the little wee bit heartRises high in the breast,An' the little wee bit starnRises red in the east,O there 's a joy sae dearThat the heart can hardly frame,Wi' a bonny, bonny lassie,When the kye comes hame!When the kye comes hame, &c.Then since all Nature joinsIn this love without alloy,O, wha would prove a traitorTo Nature's dearest joy?Or wha would choose a crown,Wi' its perils and its fame,And miss his bonny lassieWhen the kye comes hame?When the kye comes hame,When the kye comes home,'Tween the gloamin' an' the mirk,When the kye comes hame!
Come all ye jolly shepherds,That whistle through the glen,I 'll tell ye of a secretThat courtiers dinna ken:What is the greatest blissThat the tongue o' man can name?'Tis to woo a bonny lassieWhen the kye comes hame.When the kye comes hame,When the kye comes hame,'Tween the gloamin' an' the mirk,When the kye comes hame.
'Tis not beneath the coronet,Nor canopy of state,'Tis not on couch of velvet,Nor arbour of the great—'Tis beneath the spreadin' birk,In the glen without the name,Wi' a bonny, bonny lassie,When the kye comes hame.When the kye comes hame, &c.
There the blackbird bigs his nestFor the mate he lo'es to see,And on the topmost bough,O, a happy bird is he;Where he pours his melting ditty,And love is a' the theme,And he 'll woo his bonny lassieWhen the kye comes hame.When the kye comes hame, &c.
When the blewart bears a pearl,And the daisy turns a pea,And the bonny lucken gowanHas fauldit up her e'e,Then the laverock frae the blue liftDoops down, an' thinks nae shameTo woo his bonny lassieWhen the kye comes hame.When the kye comes hame, &c.
See yonder pawkie shepherd,That lingers on the hill,His ewes are in the fauld,An' his lambs are lying still;Yet he downa gang to bed,For his heart is in a flame,To meet his bonny lassieWhen the kye comes hame.When the kye comes hame, &c.
When the little wee bit heartRises high in the breast,An' the little wee bit starnRises red in the east,O there 's a joy sae dearThat the heart can hardly frame,Wi' a bonny, bonny lassie,When the kye comes hame!When the kye comes hame, &c.
Then since all Nature joinsIn this love without alloy,O, wha would prove a traitorTo Nature's dearest joy?Or wha would choose a crown,Wi' its perils and its fame,And miss his bonny lassieWhen the kye comes hame?When the kye comes hame,When the kye comes home,'Tween the gloamin' an' the mirk,When the kye comes hame!
O sarely may I rue the dayI fancied first the womenkind;For aye sinsyne I ne'er can haeAe quiet thought or peace o' mind!They hae plagued my heart, an' pleased my e'e,An' teased an' flatter'd me at will,But aye, for a' their witchery,The pawky things I lo'e them still.O, the women folk! O, the women folk!But they hae been the wreck o' me;O, weary fa' the women folk,For they winna let a body be!I hae thought an' thought, but darena tell,I 've studied them wi' a' my skill,I 've lo'ed them better than mysel,I 've tried again to like them ill.Wha sairest strives, will sairest rue,To comprehend what nae man can;When he has done what man can do,He 'll end at last where he began.O, the woman folk, &c.That they hae gentle forms an' meet,A man wi' half a look may see;An' gracefu' airs, an' faces sweet,An' waving curls aboon the bree;An' smiles as soft as the young rose-bud,An' e'en sae pauky, bright, an' rare,Wad lure the laverock frae the clud—But, laddie, seek to ken nae mair!O, the woman folk, &c.Even but this night, nae farther gane,The date is neither lost nor lang,I tak ye witness ilka ane,How fell they fought, and fairly dang.Their point they 've carried right or wrang,Without a reason, rhyme, or law,An' forced a man to sing a sang,That ne'er could sing a verse ava.O, the woman folk! O, the woman folk!But they hae been the wreck o' me;O, weary fa' the women folk,For they winna let a body be!
O sarely may I rue the dayI fancied first the womenkind;For aye sinsyne I ne'er can haeAe quiet thought or peace o' mind!They hae plagued my heart, an' pleased my e'e,An' teased an' flatter'd me at will,But aye, for a' their witchery,The pawky things I lo'e them still.O, the women folk! O, the women folk!But they hae been the wreck o' me;O, weary fa' the women folk,For they winna let a body be!
I hae thought an' thought, but darena tell,I 've studied them wi' a' my skill,I 've lo'ed them better than mysel,I 've tried again to like them ill.Wha sairest strives, will sairest rue,To comprehend what nae man can;When he has done what man can do,He 'll end at last where he began.O, the woman folk, &c.
That they hae gentle forms an' meet,A man wi' half a look may see;An' gracefu' airs, an' faces sweet,An' waving curls aboon the bree;An' smiles as soft as the young rose-bud,An' e'en sae pauky, bright, an' rare,Wad lure the laverock frae the clud—But, laddie, seek to ken nae mair!O, the woman folk, &c.
Even but this night, nae farther gane,The date is neither lost nor lang,I tak ye witness ilka ane,How fell they fought, and fairly dang.Their point they 've carried right or wrang,Without a reason, rhyme, or law,An' forced a man to sing a sang,That ne'er could sing a verse ava.O, the woman folk! O, the woman folk!But they hae been the wreck o' me;O, weary fa' the women folk,For they winna let a body be!
Come o'er the stream, Charlie,Dear Charlie, brave Charlie;Come o'er the stream, Charlie,And dine with M'Lean;And though you be weary,We 'll make your heart cheery,And welcome our Charlie,And his loyal train.We 'll bring down the track deer,We 'll bring down the black steer,The lamb from the braken,And doe from the glen,The salt sea we 'll harry,And bring to our CharlieThe cream from the bothyAnd curd from the penn.Come o'er the stream, Charlie,Dear Charlie, brave Charlie;Come o'er the sea, Charlie,And dine with M'Lean;And you shall drink freelyThe dews of Glen-sheerly,That stream in the starlightWhen kings do not ken;And deep be your meedOf the wine that is red,To drink to your sire,And his friend The M'Lean.Come o'er the stream, Charlie,Dear Charlie, brave Charlie;Come o'er the stream, Charlie,And dine with M'Lean;If aught will invite youOr more will delight you'Tis ready, a troop of our bold Highlandmen,All ranged on the heather,With bonnet and feather,Strong arms and broad claymores,Three hundred and ten!
Come o'er the stream, Charlie,Dear Charlie, brave Charlie;Come o'er the stream, Charlie,And dine with M'Lean;And though you be weary,We 'll make your heart cheery,And welcome our Charlie,And his loyal train.We 'll bring down the track deer,We 'll bring down the black steer,The lamb from the braken,And doe from the glen,The salt sea we 'll harry,And bring to our CharlieThe cream from the bothyAnd curd from the penn.
Come o'er the stream, Charlie,Dear Charlie, brave Charlie;Come o'er the sea, Charlie,And dine with M'Lean;And you shall drink freelyThe dews of Glen-sheerly,That stream in the starlightWhen kings do not ken;And deep be your meedOf the wine that is red,To drink to your sire,And his friend The M'Lean.
Come o'er the stream, Charlie,Dear Charlie, brave Charlie;Come o'er the stream, Charlie,And dine with M'Lean;If aught will invite youOr more will delight you'Tis ready, a troop of our bold Highlandmen,All ranged on the heather,With bonnet and feather,Strong arms and broad claymores,Three hundred and ten!
'Twas on a Monday morning,Right early in the year,That Charlie cam' to our town,The young Chevalier.An' Charlie is my darling,My darling, my darling;Charlie is my darling,The young Chevalier.As Charlie he came up the gate,His face shone like the day;I grat to see the lad come backThat had been lang away.An' Charlie is my darling, &c.Then ilka bonny lassie sang,As to the door she ran,Our King shall hae his ain again,An' Charlie is the man:For Charlie he 's my darling, &c.Out ow'r yon moory mountain,An' down the craggy glen,Of naething else our lasses sing,But Charlie an' his men.An' Charlie he 's my darling, &c.Our Highland hearts are true an' leal,An' glow without a stain;Our Highland swords are metal keen,An' Charlie he 's our ain.An' Charlie he 's my darling,My darling, my darling;Charlie he 's my darling,The young Chevalier.
'Twas on a Monday morning,Right early in the year,That Charlie cam' to our town,The young Chevalier.An' Charlie is my darling,My darling, my darling;Charlie is my darling,The young Chevalier.
As Charlie he came up the gate,His face shone like the day;I grat to see the lad come backThat had been lang away.An' Charlie is my darling, &c.
Then ilka bonny lassie sang,As to the door she ran,Our King shall hae his ain again,An' Charlie is the man:For Charlie he 's my darling, &c.
Out ow'r yon moory mountain,An' down the craggy glen,Of naething else our lasses sing,But Charlie an' his men.An' Charlie he 's my darling, &c.
Our Highland hearts are true an' leal,An' glow without a stain;Our Highland swords are metal keen,An' Charlie he 's our ain.An' Charlie he 's my darling,My darling, my darling;Charlie he 's my darling,The young Chevalier.
Air—"Paddy's Wedding."
I lately lived in quiet ease,An' never wish'd to marry, O!But when I saw my Peggy's face,I felt a sad quandary, O!Though wild as ony Athol deer,She has trepann'd me fairly, O!Her cherry cheeks an' e'en sae clearTorment me late an' early, O!O, love, love, love!Love is like a dizziness,It winna let a poor bodyGang about his business!To tell my feats this single week,Would mak' a daft-like diary, O!I drave my cart outow'r a dike,My horses in a miry, O!I wear my stockings white an' blue,My love 's sae fierce an' fiery, O!I drill the land that I should plough,An' plough the drills entirely, O!O, love, love, love! &c.Ae morning, by the dawn o' day,I rose to theek the stable, O!I keust my coat an' plied awayAs fast as I was able, O!I wrought that morning out an' out,As I 'd been redding fire, O!When I had done an' look'd about,Gude faith, it was the byre, O!O, love, love, love! &c.Her wily glance I 'll ne'er forget,The dear, the lovely blinkin' o'tHas pierced me through an' through the heart,An' plagues me wi' the prinklin' o't.I tried to sing, I tried to pray,I tried to drown 't wi' drinkin' o't,I tried wi' sport to drive 't away,But ne'er can sleep for thinkin' o't.O, love, love, love! &c.Nae man can tell what pains I prove,Or how severe my pliskie, O!I swear I 'm sairer drunk wi' loveThan e'er I was wi' whisky, O!For love has raked me fore an' aft,I scarce can lift a leggie, O!I first grew dizzy, then gaed daft,An' soon I 'll dee for Peggy, O!O, love, love, love!Love is like a dizziness,It winna let a poor bodyGang about his business!
I lately lived in quiet ease,An' never wish'd to marry, O!But when I saw my Peggy's face,I felt a sad quandary, O!Though wild as ony Athol deer,She has trepann'd me fairly, O!Her cherry cheeks an' e'en sae clearTorment me late an' early, O!O, love, love, love!Love is like a dizziness,It winna let a poor bodyGang about his business!
To tell my feats this single week,Would mak' a daft-like diary, O!I drave my cart outow'r a dike,My horses in a miry, O!I wear my stockings white an' blue,My love 's sae fierce an' fiery, O!I drill the land that I should plough,An' plough the drills entirely, O!O, love, love, love! &c.
Ae morning, by the dawn o' day,I rose to theek the stable, O!I keust my coat an' plied awayAs fast as I was able, O!I wrought that morning out an' out,As I 'd been redding fire, O!When I had done an' look'd about,Gude faith, it was the byre, O!O, love, love, love! &c.
Her wily glance I 'll ne'er forget,The dear, the lovely blinkin' o'tHas pierced me through an' through the heart,An' plagues me wi' the prinklin' o't.I tried to sing, I tried to pray,I tried to drown 't wi' drinkin' o't,I tried wi' sport to drive 't away,But ne'er can sleep for thinkin' o't.O, love, love, love! &c.
Nae man can tell what pains I prove,Or how severe my pliskie, O!I swear I 'm sairer drunk wi' loveThan e'er I was wi' whisky, O!For love has raked me fore an' aft,I scarce can lift a leggie, O!I first grew dizzy, then gaed daft,An' soon I 'll dee for Peggy, O!O, love, love, love!Love is like a dizziness,It winna let a poor bodyGang about his business!
O, weel befa' the maiden gay,In cottage, bught, or penn,An' weel befa' the bonny MayThat wons in yonder glen;Wha loes the modest truth sae weel,Wha 's aye kind, an' aye sae leal,An' pure as blooming asphodelAmang sae mony men.O, weel befa' the bonny thingThat wons in yonder glen!'Tis sweet to hear the music floatAlong the gloaming lea;'Tis sweet to hear the blackbird's noteCome pealing frae the tree;To see the lambkins lightsome race—The speckled kid in wanton chase—The young deer cower in lonely place,Deep in her flowing den;But sweeter far the bonny faceThat smiles in yonder glen!O, had it no' been for the blushO' maiden's virgin flame,Dear beauty never had been known,An' never had a name;But aye sin' that dear thing o' blameWas modell'd by an angel's frame,The power o' beauty reigns supremeO'er a' the sons o' men;But deadliest far the sacred flameBurns in a lonely glen!There 's beauty in the violet's vest—There 's hinney in the haw—There 's dew within the rose's breast,The sweetest o' them a'.The sun will rise an' set again,An' lace wi' burning goud the main—The rainbow bend outow'r the plain,Sae lovely to the ken;But lovelier far the bonny thingThat wons in yonder glen!
O, weel befa' the maiden gay,In cottage, bught, or penn,An' weel befa' the bonny MayThat wons in yonder glen;Wha loes the modest truth sae weel,Wha 's aye kind, an' aye sae leal,An' pure as blooming asphodelAmang sae mony men.O, weel befa' the bonny thingThat wons in yonder glen!
'Tis sweet to hear the music floatAlong the gloaming lea;'Tis sweet to hear the blackbird's noteCome pealing frae the tree;To see the lambkins lightsome race—The speckled kid in wanton chase—The young deer cower in lonely place,Deep in her flowing den;But sweeter far the bonny faceThat smiles in yonder glen!
O, had it no' been for the blushO' maiden's virgin flame,Dear beauty never had been known,An' never had a name;But aye sin' that dear thing o' blameWas modell'd by an angel's frame,The power o' beauty reigns supremeO'er a' the sons o' men;But deadliest far the sacred flameBurns in a lonely glen!
There 's beauty in the violet's vest—There 's hinney in the haw—There 's dew within the rose's breast,The sweetest o' them a'.The sun will rise an' set again,An' lace wi' burning goud the main—The rainbow bend outow'r the plain,Sae lovely to the ken;But lovelier far the bonny thingThat wons in yonder glen!
Air—"The Blue Bells of Scotland."
What are the flowers of Scotland,All others that excel—The lovely flowers of Scotland,All others that excel?The thistle's purple bonnet,And bonny heather-bell,O, they 're the flowers of Scotland,All others that excel!Though England eyes her rosesWith pride she 'll ne'er forego,The rose has oft been troddenBy foot of haughty foe;But the thistle in her bonnet blue,Still nods outow'r the fell,And dares the proudest foemanTo tread the heather-bell.For the wee bit leaf o' Ireland,Alack and well-a-day!For ilka hand is free to pu'An' steal the gem away.But the thistle in her bonnet blueStill bobs aboon them a';At her the bravest darena blink,Or gie his mou' a thraw.Up wi' the flowers o' Scotland,The emblems o' the free,Their guardians for a thousand years,Their guardians still we 'll be.A foe had better brave the deil,Within his reeky cell,Than our thistle's purple bonnet,Or bonny heather-bell.
What are the flowers of Scotland,All others that excel—The lovely flowers of Scotland,All others that excel?The thistle's purple bonnet,And bonny heather-bell,O, they 're the flowers of Scotland,All others that excel!
Though England eyes her rosesWith pride she 'll ne'er forego,The rose has oft been troddenBy foot of haughty foe;But the thistle in her bonnet blue,Still nods outow'r the fell,And dares the proudest foemanTo tread the heather-bell.
For the wee bit leaf o' Ireland,Alack and well-a-day!For ilka hand is free to pu'An' steal the gem away.But the thistle in her bonnet blueStill bobs aboon them a';At her the bravest darena blink,Or gie his mou' a thraw.
Up wi' the flowers o' Scotland,The emblems o' the free,Their guardians for a thousand years,Their guardians still we 'll be.A foe had better brave the deil,Within his reeky cell,Than our thistle's purple bonnet,Or bonny heather-bell.
"Afore the muircock begin to craw,Lass, an' ye lo'e me, tell me now,The bonniest thing that ever ye saw,For I canna come every night to woo.""The gouden broom is bonny to see,An' sae is the milk-white flower o' the haw,The daisy's wee freenge is sweet on the lea,But the bud of the rose is the bonniest of a'.""Now, wae light on a' your flow'ry chat,Lass, an' ye lo'e me, tell me now;It 's no the thing that I would be at,An' I canna come every night to woo!The lamb is bonny upon the brae,The leveret friskin' o'er the knowe,The bird is bonny upon the tree—But which is the dearest of a' to you?""The thing that I lo'e best of a',Lass, an' ye lo'e me, tell me now;The dearest thing that ever I saw,Though I canna come every night to woo,Is the kindly smile that beams on me,Whenever a gentle hand I press,And the wily blink frae the dark-blue e'eOf a dear, dear lassie that they ca' Bess.""Aha! young man, but I cou'dna see,What I lo'e best I 'll tell you now,The compliment that ye sought frae me,Though ye canna come every night to woo;Yet I would rather hae frae youA kindly look, an' a word witha',Than a' the flowers o' the forest pu',Than a' the lads that ever I saw.""Then, dear, dear Bessie, you shall be mine,Sin' a' the truth ye hae tauld me now,Our hearts an' fortunes we 'll entwine,An' I 'll aye come every night to woo;For O, I canna descrive to theeThe feeling o' love's and nature's law,How dear this world appears to meWi' Bessie, my ain for good an' for a'!"
"Afore the muircock begin to craw,Lass, an' ye lo'e me, tell me now,The bonniest thing that ever ye saw,For I canna come every night to woo.""The gouden broom is bonny to see,An' sae is the milk-white flower o' the haw,The daisy's wee freenge is sweet on the lea,But the bud of the rose is the bonniest of a'."
"Now, wae light on a' your flow'ry chat,Lass, an' ye lo'e me, tell me now;It 's no the thing that I would be at,An' I canna come every night to woo!The lamb is bonny upon the brae,The leveret friskin' o'er the knowe,The bird is bonny upon the tree—But which is the dearest of a' to you?"
"The thing that I lo'e best of a',Lass, an' ye lo'e me, tell me now;The dearest thing that ever I saw,Though I canna come every night to woo,Is the kindly smile that beams on me,Whenever a gentle hand I press,And the wily blink frae the dark-blue e'eOf a dear, dear lassie that they ca' Bess."
"Aha! young man, but I cou'dna see,What I lo'e best I 'll tell you now,The compliment that ye sought frae me,Though ye canna come every night to woo;Yet I would rather hae frae youA kindly look, an' a word witha',Than a' the flowers o' the forest pu',Than a' the lads that ever I saw."
"Then, dear, dear Bessie, you shall be mine,Sin' a' the truth ye hae tauld me now,Our hearts an' fortunes we 'll entwine,An' I 'll aye come every night to woo;For O, I canna descrive to theeThe feeling o' love's and nature's law,How dear this world appears to meWi' Bessie, my ain for good an' for a'!"
Here we go upon the tide,Pull away, jolly boys!With heaven for our guide,Pull away!Here 's a weather-beaten tar,Britain's glory still his star,He has borne her thunders far,Pull away, jolly boys!To your gallant men-of-war,Pull away!We 've with Nelson plough'd the main,Pull away, jolly boys!Now his signal flies again,Pull away!Brave hearts, then let us goTo drub the haughty foe,Who once again shall know,Pull away, gallant boys!That our backs we never shew,Pull away!We have fought and we have sped,Pull away, gallant boys!Where the rolling wave was red,Pull away!We 've stood many a mighty shock,Like the thunder-stricken oak,We 've been bent, but never broke,Pull away, gallant boys!We ne'er brook'd a foreign yoke,Pull away!Here we go upon the deep,Pull away, gallant boys!O'er the ocean let us sweep,Pull away!Round the earth our glory rings,At the thought my bosom springs,That whene'er our pennant swings,Pull away, gallant boys!Of the ocean we 're the kings,Pull away!
Here we go upon the tide,Pull away, jolly boys!With heaven for our guide,Pull away!Here 's a weather-beaten tar,Britain's glory still his star,He has borne her thunders far,Pull away, jolly boys!To your gallant men-of-war,Pull away!
We 've with Nelson plough'd the main,Pull away, jolly boys!Now his signal flies again,Pull away!Brave hearts, then let us goTo drub the haughty foe,Who once again shall know,Pull away, gallant boys!That our backs we never shew,Pull away!
We have fought and we have sped,Pull away, gallant boys!Where the rolling wave was red,Pull away!We 've stood many a mighty shock,Like the thunder-stricken oak,We 've been bent, but never broke,Pull away, gallant boys!We ne'er brook'd a foreign yoke,Pull away!
Here we go upon the deep,Pull away, gallant boys!O'er the ocean let us sweep,Pull away!Round the earth our glory rings,At the thought my bosom springs,That whene'er our pennant swings,Pull away, gallant boys!Of the ocean we 're the kings,Pull away!
O, saw ye this sweet bonny lassie o' mine,Or saw ye the smile on her cheek sae divine;Or saw ye the kind love that speaks in her e'e?Sure naebody e'er was so happy as me!It 's no that she dances sae light on the green,It 's no the simplicity mark'd in her mien;But O, it 's the kind love that speaks in her e'e,That makes me as happy as happy can be.To meet her alane 'mang the green leafy trees,When naebody kens, an' when naebody sees;To breathe out the soul of a saft melting kiss—On earth here there 's naething is equal to this!I have felt every bliss which the soul can enjoy,When friends circled round me, and nought to annoy;I have felt every joy that illumines the breast,When the full flowing bowl is most warmly caress'd:But O, there 's a sweet and a heavenly charmIn life's early day, when the bosom is warm;When soul meets wi' soul in a saft melting kiss—On earth sure there 's naething is equal to this!
O, saw ye this sweet bonny lassie o' mine,Or saw ye the smile on her cheek sae divine;Or saw ye the kind love that speaks in her e'e?Sure naebody e'er was so happy as me!
It 's no that she dances sae light on the green,It 's no the simplicity mark'd in her mien;But O, it 's the kind love that speaks in her e'e,That makes me as happy as happy can be.
To meet her alane 'mang the green leafy trees,When naebody kens, an' when naebody sees;To breathe out the soul of a saft melting kiss—On earth here there 's naething is equal to this!
I have felt every bliss which the soul can enjoy,When friends circled round me, and nought to annoy;I have felt every joy that illumines the breast,When the full flowing bowl is most warmly caress'd:
But O, there 's a sweet and a heavenly charmIn life's early day, when the bosom is warm;When soul meets wi' soul in a saft melting kiss—On earth sure there 's naething is equal to this!
Hersell pe auchty years and twa,Te twenty-tird o' May, man;She twell amang te Heelan hills,Ayont the reefer Spey, man.Tat year tey foucht the Sherra-muir,She first peheld te licht, man;Tey shot my father in tat stoure—A plaguit, vexin' spite, man.I 've feucht in Scotland here at hame,In France and Shermanie, man;And cot tree tespurt pluddy oons,Beyond te 'Lantic sea, man.But wae licht on te nasty cun,Tat ever she pe porn, man;Phile koot klymore te tristle caird,Her leaves pe never torn, man.Ae tay I shot, and shot, and shot,Phane'er it cam my turn, man;Put a' te force tat I could gie,Te powter wadna purn, man.A filty loon cam wi' his cun,Resolvt to to me harm, man;And wi' te tirk upon her nose,Ke me a pluddy arm, man.I flang my cun wi' a' my micht,And felt his nepour teit, man;Tan drew my swort, and at a straikHewt aff te haf o 's heit, man.Be vain to tell o' a' my tricks;My oons pe nae tiscrace, man;Ter no pe yin pehint my back,Ter a pefore my face, man.
Hersell pe auchty years and twa,Te twenty-tird o' May, man;She twell amang te Heelan hills,Ayont the reefer Spey, man.Tat year tey foucht the Sherra-muir,She first peheld te licht, man;Tey shot my father in tat stoure—A plaguit, vexin' spite, man.
I 've feucht in Scotland here at hame,In France and Shermanie, man;And cot tree tespurt pluddy oons,Beyond te 'Lantic sea, man.But wae licht on te nasty cun,Tat ever she pe porn, man;Phile koot klymore te tristle caird,Her leaves pe never torn, man.
Ae tay I shot, and shot, and shot,Phane'er it cam my turn, man;Put a' te force tat I could gie,Te powter wadna purn, man.A filty loon cam wi' his cun,Resolvt to to me harm, man;And wi' te tirk upon her nose,Ke me a pluddy arm, man.
I flang my cun wi' a' my micht,And felt his nepour teit, man;Tan drew my swort, and at a straikHewt aff te haf o 's heit, man.Be vain to tell o' a' my tricks;My oons pe nae tiscrace, man;Ter no pe yin pehint my back,Ter a pefore my face, man.
Ah, Peggie! since thou 'rt gane away,An' left me here to languish,I canna fend anither dayIn sic regretfu' anguish.My mind 's the aspen i' the vale,In ceaseless waving motion;'Tis like a ship without a sail,On life's unstable ocean.I downa bide to see the moonBlink owre the glen sae clearly;Aince on a bonnie face she shone—A face that I lo'ed dearly!An' when beside yon water clear,At e'en I 'm lanely roaming,I sigh an' think, if ane was here,How sweet wad fa' the gloaming!When I think o' thy cheerfu' smile,Thy words sae free an' kindly,Thy pawkie e'e's bewitching wile,The unbidden tear will blind me.The rose's deepest blushing hueThy cheek could eithly borrow,But ae kiss o' thy cherry mou'Was worth a year o' sorrow.Oh! in the slippery paths of love,Let prudence aye direct thee;Let virtue every step approve,An' virtue will respect thee.To ilka pleasure, ilka pang,Alak! I am nae stranger;An' he wha aince has wander'd wrangIs best aware o' danger.May still thy heart be kind an' true,A' ither maids excelling;May heaven distil its purest dewAround thy rural dwelling.May flow'rets spring an' wild birds singAround thee late an' early;An' oft to thy remembrance bringThe lad that loo'd thee dearly.
Ah, Peggie! since thou 'rt gane away,An' left me here to languish,I canna fend anither dayIn sic regretfu' anguish.My mind 's the aspen i' the vale,In ceaseless waving motion;'Tis like a ship without a sail,On life's unstable ocean.
I downa bide to see the moonBlink owre the glen sae clearly;Aince on a bonnie face she shone—A face that I lo'ed dearly!An' when beside yon water clear,At e'en I 'm lanely roaming,I sigh an' think, if ane was here,How sweet wad fa' the gloaming!
When I think o' thy cheerfu' smile,Thy words sae free an' kindly,Thy pawkie e'e's bewitching wile,The unbidden tear will blind me.The rose's deepest blushing hueThy cheek could eithly borrow,But ae kiss o' thy cherry mou'Was worth a year o' sorrow.
Oh! in the slippery paths of love,Let prudence aye direct thee;Let virtue every step approve,An' virtue will respect thee.To ilka pleasure, ilka pang,Alak! I am nae stranger;An' he wha aince has wander'd wrangIs best aware o' danger.
May still thy heart be kind an' true,A' ither maids excelling;May heaven distil its purest dewAround thy rural dwelling.May flow'rets spring an' wild birds singAround thee late an' early;An' oft to thy remembrance bringThe lad that loo'd thee dearly.
I 'll sing of yon glen of red heather,An' a dear thing that ca's it her hame,Wha 's a' made o' love-life thegither,Frae the tie o' the shoe to the kaime,Love beckons in every sweet motion,Commanding due homage to gie;But the shrine o' my dearest devotionIs the bend o' her bonny e'ebree.I fleech'd an' I pray'd the dear lassieTo gang to the brakens wi' me;But though neither lordly nor saucy,Her answer was—"Laith wad I be!I neither hae father nor mither,Sage counsel or caution to gie;An' prudence has whisper'd me neverTo gang to the brakens wi' thee.""Dear lassie, how can ye upbraid me,An' try your ain love to beguile?For ye are the richest young ladyThat ever gaid o'er the kirk-stile.Your smile that is blither than ony,The bend o' your cheerfu' e'ebree,An' the sweet blinks o' love there sae bonny,Are five hunder thousand to me!"She turn'd her around an' said, smiling,While the tear in her blue e'e shone clear,"You 're welcome, kind sir, to your mailing,For, O, you have valued it dear:Gae make out the lease, do not linger,Let the parson indorse the decree;An' then, for a wave of your finger,I 'll gang to the brakens wi' thee!"There 's joy in the bright blooming feature,When love lurks in every young line;There 's joy in the beauties of nature,There 's joy in the dance and the wine:But there 's a delight will ne'er perish,'Mang pleasures all fleeting and vain,And that is to love and to cherishThe fond little heart that's our ain!
I 'll sing of yon glen of red heather,An' a dear thing that ca's it her hame,Wha 's a' made o' love-life thegither,Frae the tie o' the shoe to the kaime,Love beckons in every sweet motion,Commanding due homage to gie;But the shrine o' my dearest devotionIs the bend o' her bonny e'ebree.
I fleech'd an' I pray'd the dear lassieTo gang to the brakens wi' me;But though neither lordly nor saucy,Her answer was—"Laith wad I be!I neither hae father nor mither,Sage counsel or caution to gie;An' prudence has whisper'd me neverTo gang to the brakens wi' thee."
"Dear lassie, how can ye upbraid me,An' try your ain love to beguile?For ye are the richest young ladyThat ever gaid o'er the kirk-stile.Your smile that is blither than ony,The bend o' your cheerfu' e'ebree,An' the sweet blinks o' love there sae bonny,Are five hunder thousand to me!"
She turn'd her around an' said, smiling,While the tear in her blue e'e shone clear,"You 're welcome, kind sir, to your mailing,For, O, you have valued it dear:Gae make out the lease, do not linger,Let the parson indorse the decree;An' then, for a wave of your finger,I 'll gang to the brakens wi' thee!"
There 's joy in the bright blooming feature,When love lurks in every young line;There 's joy in the beauties of nature,There 's joy in the dance and the wine:But there 's a delight will ne'er perish,'Mang pleasures all fleeting and vain,And that is to love and to cherishThe fond little heart that's our ain!
Lock the door, Lariston, lion of Liddisdale,Lock the door, Lariston, Lowther comes on,The Armstrongs are flying,Their widows are crying,The Castletown's burning, and Oliver's gone;Lock the door, Lariston,—high on the weather gleam,See how the Saxon plumes bob on the sky,Yeoman and carbineer,Billman and halberdier;Fierce is the foray, and far is the cry.Bewcastle brandishes high his broad scimitar,Ridley is riding his fleet-footed grey,Hedley and Howard there,Wandale and Windermere,—Lock the door, Lariston, hold them at bay.Why dost thou smile, noble Elliot of Lariston?Why do the joy-candles gleam in thine eye?Thou bold Border rangerBeware of thy danger—Thy foes are relentless, determined, and nigh.Jock Elliot raised up his steel bonnet and lookit,His hand grasp'd the sword with a nervous embrace;"Ah, welcome, brave foemen,On earth there are no menMore gallant to meet in the foray or chase!Little know you of the hearts I have hidden here,Little know you of our moss-troopers' might,Lindhope and Sorby true,Sundhope and Milburn too,Gentle in manner, but lions in fight!"I 've Margerton, Gornberry, Raeburn, and Netherby,Old Sim of Whitram, and all his array;Come, all Northumberland,Teesdale and Cumberland,Here at the Breaken Tower end shall the fray."Scowl'd the broad sun o'er the links of green Liddisdale,Red as the beacon-light tipp'd he the wold;Many a bold martial eyeMirror'd that morning sky,Never more oped on his orbit of gold!Shrill was the bugle's note, dreadful the warrior shout,Lances and halberts in splinters were borne;Halberd and hauberk thenBraved the claymore in vain,Buckler and armlet in shivers were shorn.See how they wane, the proud files of the Windermere,Howard—ah! woe to thy hopes of the day!Hear the wide welkin rend,While the Scots' shouts ascend,"Elliot of Lariston, Elliot for aye!"
Lock the door, Lariston, lion of Liddisdale,Lock the door, Lariston, Lowther comes on,The Armstrongs are flying,Their widows are crying,The Castletown's burning, and Oliver's gone;Lock the door, Lariston,—high on the weather gleam,See how the Saxon plumes bob on the sky,Yeoman and carbineer,Billman and halberdier;Fierce is the foray, and far is the cry.
Bewcastle brandishes high his broad scimitar,Ridley is riding his fleet-footed grey,Hedley and Howard there,Wandale and Windermere,—Lock the door, Lariston, hold them at bay.Why dost thou smile, noble Elliot of Lariston?Why do the joy-candles gleam in thine eye?Thou bold Border rangerBeware of thy danger—Thy foes are relentless, determined, and nigh.
Jock Elliot raised up his steel bonnet and lookit,His hand grasp'd the sword with a nervous embrace;"Ah, welcome, brave foemen,On earth there are no menMore gallant to meet in the foray or chase!Little know you of the hearts I have hidden here,Little know you of our moss-troopers' might,Lindhope and Sorby true,Sundhope and Milburn too,Gentle in manner, but lions in fight!
"I 've Margerton, Gornberry, Raeburn, and Netherby,Old Sim of Whitram, and all his array;Come, all Northumberland,Teesdale and Cumberland,Here at the Breaken Tower end shall the fray."Scowl'd the broad sun o'er the links of green Liddisdale,Red as the beacon-light tipp'd he the wold;Many a bold martial eyeMirror'd that morning sky,Never more oped on his orbit of gold!
Shrill was the bugle's note, dreadful the warrior shout,Lances and halberts in splinters were borne;Halberd and hauberk thenBraved the claymore in vain,Buckler and armlet in shivers were shorn.See how they wane, the proud files of the Windermere,Howard—ah! woe to thy hopes of the day!Hear the wide welkin rend,While the Scots' shouts ascend,"Elliot of Lariston, Elliot for aye!"
I hae naebody now, I hae naebody nowTo meet me upon the green,Wi' light locks waving o'er her brow,An' joy in her deep blue e'en;Wi' the raptured kiss an' the happy smile,An' the dance o' the lightsome fay,An' the wee bit tale o' news the whileThat had happen'd when I was away.I hae naebody now, I hae naebody nowTo clasp to my bosom at even,O'er her calm sleep to breathe the vow,An' pray for a blessing from heaven.An' the wild embrace, an' the gleesome faceIn the morning, that met my eye,Where are they now, where are they now?In the cauld, cauld grave they lie.There 's naebody kens, there 's naebody kens,An' O may they never prove,That sharpest degree o' agonyFor the child o' their earthly love—To see a flower in its vernal hourBy slow degrees decay,Then, calmly aneath the hand o' death,Breathe its sweet soul away.O, dinna break, my poor auld heart!Nor at thy loss repine,For the unseen hand that threw the dartWas sent frae her Father and thine;Yet I maun mourn, an' I will mourn,Even till my latest day;For though my darling can never return,I can follow the sooner away.
I hae naebody now, I hae naebody nowTo meet me upon the green,Wi' light locks waving o'er her brow,An' joy in her deep blue e'en;Wi' the raptured kiss an' the happy smile,An' the dance o' the lightsome fay,An' the wee bit tale o' news the whileThat had happen'd when I was away.
I hae naebody now, I hae naebody nowTo clasp to my bosom at even,O'er her calm sleep to breathe the vow,An' pray for a blessing from heaven.An' the wild embrace, an' the gleesome faceIn the morning, that met my eye,Where are they now, where are they now?In the cauld, cauld grave they lie.
There 's naebody kens, there 's naebody kens,An' O may they never prove,That sharpest degree o' agonyFor the child o' their earthly love—To see a flower in its vernal hourBy slow degrees decay,Then, calmly aneath the hand o' death,Breathe its sweet soul away.
O, dinna break, my poor auld heart!Nor at thy loss repine,For the unseen hand that threw the dartWas sent frae her Father and thine;Yet I maun mourn, an' I will mourn,Even till my latest day;For though my darling can never return,I can follow the sooner away.
The moon was a-waning,The tempest was over;Fair was the maiden,And fond was the lover;But the snow was so deep,That his heart it grew weary,And he sunk down to sleep,In the moorland so dreary.Soft was the bedShe had made for her lover,White were the sheetsAnd embroider'd the cover;But his sheets are more white,And his canopy grander,And sounder he sleepsWhere the hill foxes wander.Alas, pretty maiden,What sorrows attend you!I see you sit shivering,With lights at your window;But long may you waitEre your arms shall enclose him,For still, still he lies,With a wreath on his bosom!How painful the task,The sad tidings to tell you!—An orphan you wereEre this misery befell you;And far in yon wild,Where the dead-tapers hover,So cold, cold and wanLies the corpse of your lover!
The moon was a-waning,The tempest was over;Fair was the maiden,And fond was the lover;But the snow was so deep,That his heart it grew weary,And he sunk down to sleep,In the moorland so dreary.
Soft was the bedShe had made for her lover,White were the sheetsAnd embroider'd the cover;But his sheets are more white,And his canopy grander,And sounder he sleepsWhere the hill foxes wander.
Alas, pretty maiden,What sorrows attend you!I see you sit shivering,With lights at your window;But long may you waitEre your arms shall enclose him,For still, still he lies,With a wreath on his bosom!
How painful the task,The sad tidings to tell you!—An orphan you wereEre this misery befell you;And far in yon wild,Where the dead-tapers hover,So cold, cold and wanLies the corpse of your lover!
The year is wearing to the wane,An' day is fading west awa',Loud raves the torrent an' the rain,And dark the cloud comes down the shaw;But let the tempest tout an' blawUpon his loudest winter horn,Good night, and joy be wi' you a',We 'll maybe meet again the morn!O, we hae wander'd far and wideO'er Scotia's hills, o'er firth an' fell,An' mony a simple flower we 've cull'd,An' trimm'd them wi' the heather-bell!We 've ranged the dingle an' the dell,The hamlet an' the baron's ha',Now let us take a kind farewell,—Good night, an' joy be wi' you a'!Though I was wayward, you were kind,And sorrow'd when I went astray;For O, my strains were often wild,As winds upon a winter day.If e'er I led you from the way,Forgie your Minstrel aince for a';A tear fa's wi' his parting lay,—Good night, and joy be wi' you a'!
The year is wearing to the wane,An' day is fading west awa',Loud raves the torrent an' the rain,And dark the cloud comes down the shaw;But let the tempest tout an' blawUpon his loudest winter horn,Good night, and joy be wi' you a',We 'll maybe meet again the morn!
O, we hae wander'd far and wideO'er Scotia's hills, o'er firth an' fell,An' mony a simple flower we 've cull'd,An' trimm'd them wi' the heather-bell!We 've ranged the dingle an' the dell,The hamlet an' the baron's ha',Now let us take a kind farewell,—Good night, an' joy be wi' you a'!
Though I was wayward, you were kind,And sorrow'd when I went astray;For O, my strains were often wild,As winds upon a winter day.If e'er I led you from the way,Forgie your Minstrel aince for a';A tear fa's wi' his parting lay,—Good night, and joy be wi' you a'!
James Muirhead was born in 1742, in the parish of Buittle, and stewartry of Kirkcudbright. His father was owner of the estate of Logan, and representative of the family of Muirhead, who, for several centuries, were considerable landed proprietors in Galloway. He was educated at the Grammar School of Dumfries, and in the University of Edinburgh. Abandoning the legal profession, which he had originally chosen, he afterwards prosecuted theological study, and became, in 1769, a licentiate of the Established Church. After a probation of three years, he was ordained to the ministerial charge of Urr, a country parish in the stewartry. In 1794 he received the degree of D.D. from the University of Edinburgh. Warmly attached to his flock, he ministered at Urr till his death, which took place on the 16th of May 1806.
Dr Muirhead was a person of warm affections and remarkable humour; his scholarship was extensive and varied, and he maintained a correspondence with many of his literary contemporaries. As an author, he is not known to have written aught save the popular ballad of "Bess, the Gawkie,"—a production which has been pronounced by Allan Cunningham "a song of original merit, lively without extravagance, and gay without grossness,—the simplicity elegant, and the naïveté scarcely rivalled."[61]
Tune—"Bess, the Gawkie."