But wither'd beldams, auld and droll, Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal, Lowping an' flinging on a crummock, I wonder didna turn thy stomach. But Tam kenn'd what was what fu' brawlie, But here my muse her wing maun cour; As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke, When, pop! she starts before their nose; When "Catch the thief!" resounds aloud; Ah, Tam! ah, Tam! thou'll get thy fairin! In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin! la vain thy Kate awaits thy comin! ⚫a well known fact that witches, or any evil spirits, have no power to follow a poor wight any farther than fedle of the next running stream.-It may be proper likewise to mention to the benighted traveller, that when be falls in with bogles, whatever danger may be in his plag forward, there is much more hazard in turning back Ae spring brought off her master hale, Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read, SONGS. THE LEA-RIG. WHEN o'er the hill the eastern star, Tells bughtin-time is near, my jo; And owsen frae the furrow'd field, Return sae dowf and weary, 0; Down by the burn, where scented birks, Wi' dew are hanging clear, my jo, I'll meet thee on the lea-rig, My ain kind dearie, O. In mirkest glen, at midnight hour, My ain kind dearie, O. The hunter lo'es the morning sun, To rouse the mountain deer, my jo, At noon the fisher seeks the glen, Along the burn to steer, my jo; It maks my heart sae cheery, 0, TO MARY. TUNE-"Ewe-bughts, Marion." WILL ye go to the Indies, my Mary, O sweet grows the lime and the orange, But a' the charms o' the Indies, I hae sworn by the heavens to my Mary, O plight me your faith, my Mary, And plight me your lily-white hand; O plight me your faith, my Mary, Before I leave Scotia's strand. We hae plighted our troth, my Mary, In mutual affection to join, And curst be the cause that shall part us! The hour, and the moment o' time! MY WIFE'S A WINSOME WEE THING. SHE is a winsome wee thing, I never saw a fairer, I never lo'ed a dearer, And niest my heart I'll wear her, She is a winsome wee thing, How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk, How rich the hawthorn's blossom; As underneath their fragrant shade I clasped her to my bosom ! The golden hours on angel wings Flew o'er me and my dearie; For dear to me, as light and life, Was my sweet Highland Mary. Wi' mony a vow, and lock'd embrace, But O! fell death's untimely frost, That nipt my flower sae early! O pale, pale now, those rosy lips BONNIE LESLEY. O SAW ye bonnie Lesley To spread her conquests farther. To see her is to love her, And love but her for ever; The hearts o' men adore thee. And say, "I canna wrang thee." The powers aboon will tent thee; Misfortune sha'na steer thee; Thou'rt like themselves sae lovely That ill they'll ne'er let near thee. Return again, fair Lesley, Return to Caledonie ! That we may brag, we hae a lass AULD ROB MORRIS. THERE'S auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen, She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May; The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane; O, had she been but of lower degree, I then might hae hoped she wad smiled upon me! O, how past describing had then been my bliss, As now my distraction no words can express! HIGHLAND MARY. TUNE-" Catharine Ogie." YE banks, and braes, and streams around, The castle o' Montgomery, Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, Your waters never drumlie! There simmer first unfauld her robes, And there the langest tarry; For there I took the last fareweel O' my sweet Highland Mary. DUNCAN GRAY. DUNCAN GRAY came here to woo, Ha, ha, the wooing o't, On blithe yule night when we were fou, Maggie coost her head fu' high, Ha, ha, the wooing o't. Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd; Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig, Ha, ha, &c. Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, Time and chance are but a tide, Slighted love is sair to bide, Shall I, like a fool, quoth he, How it comes let doctors tell, Meg grew sick-as he grew heal. Something in her bosom wrings, And O, her een, they spak sic things! Ha, ha, &c. Duncan was a lad o' grace, Ha, ha, &c. Maggie's was a piteous case, Duncan could na be her death, SONG. TUNE-"I had a horse." O POORTITH Cauld, and restless love, Ye wreck my peace between ye; Yet poortith a' I could forgive, An' 'twere na for my Jeanie. O why should fate sic pleasure have, This warld's wealth when I think on, Her een sae bonnie blue betray O wha can prudence think upon, O why, &c. How blest the humble cotter's fate! O why should fate sic pleasure have, GALLA WATER. THERE's braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes, Aboon them a' I lo'e him better; Although his daddie was nae laird, And though I hae nae meikle tocher; Yet rich in kindest, truest love, We'll tent our flocks by Galla water. It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth, That coft contentment, peace, or pleasure, The bands and bliss o' mutual love, O that's the chiefest warld's treasure! LORD GREGORY. O MIRK, mirk is this midnight hour, An exile frae her father's ha', At least some pity on me shaw, If love it may na be. Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grove, By bonnie Irwine side, Where first I own'd that virgin love I lang, lang had denied. How aften didst thou pledge and vow, Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory, Ye mustering thunders from above, But spare and pardon my fause love, MARY MORISON. O MARY, at thy window be, It is the wish'd, the trysted hour! Those smiles and glances let me see, That make the miser's treasure poor: Yestreen when to the trembling string, Though this was fair, and that was braw, O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace, Whase only fault is loving thee? A thought ungentle canna be WANDERING WILLIE. HERE awa, there awa, wandering Willie, Here awa, there awa, haud awa hame; Come to my bosom my ain only dearie, Tell me thou bringst me my Willie the same. Winter winds blew loud and cauld at our parting; Fears for my Willie brought tears in my e'e: Welcome now simmer, and welcome my Willie, The simmer to nature, my Willie to me. Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave of your slumbers, How your dread howling a lover alarms! Wauken, ye breezes, row gently, ye billows, And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms. But O! if he's faithless, and minds na his Nannie, Flow still between us, thou wide-roaring main; May I never see it, may I never trow it, But, dying, believe that my Willie's my ain! JESSIE. TUNE-"Bonny Dundee." TRUE hearted was he, the sad swain o' the Yarrow, Enthroned in her e'en he delivers his law; WHEN WILD WAR'S DEADLY BLAST WAS BLAWN. AIR-"The mill mill O." WHEN wild war's deadly blast was blawn, And gentle peace returning, Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless, And mony a widow mourning, I left the lines and tented field, A leal, light heart was in my breast, I cheery on did wander. I thought upon the banks o' Coil, Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom, That's dearest to thy bosom! And fain wad be thy lodger; Sae wistfully she gazed on me, And lovelier was than ever: Ye freely shall partake it, Ye're welcome for the sake o't. The wars are o'er, and I'm come hame, Thou'rt welcome to it dearly! The sodger's wealth is honour; SONG. Texs-Logan Water." O LOGAN, sweetly didst thou glide, That day I was my Willie's bride; And years sinsyne has o'er us run, Like Logan to the simmer sun. But now thy flowery banks appear Like drumlie winter, dark and drear, While my dear lad maun face his faes, Far, far frae me and Logan braes. Again the merry month o' May Has made our hills and valleys gay; The birds rejoice in leafy bowers, The bees hum round the breathing flowers: Within yon milk-white hawthorn bush, O wae upon you, men o' state, BONNIE JEAN. THERE was a lass, and she was fair, At kirk and market to be seen, When a' the fairest maids were met, The fairest maid was bonnie Jean. And aye she wrought her mammie's wark, And aye she sang sae merrilie : The blithest bird upon the bush Had ne'er a lighter heart than she. But hawks will rob the tender joys That bless the little lintwhite's nest; And frost will blight the fairest flowers, And love will break the soundest rest. Young Robic was the brawest lad, The flower and pride o' a' the glen; And he had owsen, sheep, and kye, And wanton naigies nine or ten. He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryste, He danced wi' Jeanie on the down; And lang ere witless Jeanie wist, Her heart was tint, her peace was stown As in the bosom o' the stream, The moonbeam dwells at dewy e'en; So, trembling, pure, was tender love, Within the breast o' bonnie Jean. And now she works her mammie's wark, But did na Jeanie's heart loup light, The sun was sinking in the west, The birds sang sweet in ilka grove; His cheek to hers he fondly prest, And whisper'd thus his tale o' love: O Jeanie fair, I lo'e thee dear; AULD LANG SYNE. SHOULD auld acquaintance be forgot, CHORUS. For auld lang syne, my dear, For auld lang syne, We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, We twa hae ran about the braes, And pu't the gowans fine; But we've wander'd mony a weary foot, Sin auld lang syne. For auld, &c. We twa hae paidl't i' the burn, But seas between us braid hae roar'd, For auld, &c. And here's a hand, my trusty fier, And gie's a hand o' thine; And we'll tak a right guid willie waught, For auld lang syne. For auld, &c. And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp, And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, BANNOCKBURN. ROBERT BRUCE'S ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY. U |