I never needed tar nor keil To ken her by amo' them a'; Was never sweir to lead nor caw, Baith to the fauld and to the cot, &c. Cauld nor hunger never dang her, Wind nor wet could never wrang her, Anes she lay an ouk and langer, Furth aneath a wreath o' snaw: Whan ither Ewies lap the dyke, And eat the kail for a' the tyke, My Ewie never play'd the like, But tyc'd about the barn wa'; My Ewie never play'd the like, &c. A better or a thriftier beast, For silly thing she never mist, To hae ilk' year a lamb or twa'; The first she had I gae to Jock, To be to him a kind o' stock, And now the laddie has a flock O' mair nor thirty head ava'; And now the laddie has a flock, &c. I lookit aye at even' for her, Lest mishanter shou'd come o'er her, My Ewie wi' the crookit horn, Here-about nor far awa. Sic a Ewe was never born, &c. Yet last ouk, for a' my keeping, (Wha can speak it without weeping?) A villain cam when I was sleeping, Sta' my Ewie, horn and a' ; I sought her sair upo' the morn, O! gin I had the loun that did it, I never met wi' sic a turn, My Ewie wi' the crookit horn, &c. O! had she died o' crook or cauld, Sae sair a heart to nane o's a': Had fair strae-death ta'en her awa'. The loss o' her we cou'd hae born, &c. But thus, poor thing, to lose her life, I'm really fley't that our guidwife Will never win aboon't ava: O! a' ye bards benorth Kinghorn, Call your muses up and mourn, Our Ewie wi' the crookit horn, Stown frae's, and fellt and a'! Our Ewie wi' the crookit horn, &c. CRAIGIE-BURN WOOD.* IT is remarkable of this air, that it is the confine of that country where the greatest part of our Lowland music, (so far as from the title, words, &c. we can localize it,) has been composed. From Craigie-burn, near Moffat, until one reaches the West Highlands, we have scarcely one slow air of any antiquity. The song was composed on a passion which a Mr. Gillespie, a particular friend of mine, had for a Miss Lorimer, afterwards a Mrs. Whelpdale.—The young lady was born at Craigie-burn wood.—The chorus is part of an old foolish ballad.— Beyond thee, dearie, beyond thee, dearie, * "Craigie-burn wood is situated on the banks of the river Moffat, and about three miles distant from the village of that name, celebrated for its medicinal waters. The woods of Craigie-burn and of Dumcrief, were at one time favourite haunts of Burns. It was there he met the "Lassie wi' the lint-white locks," and that he conceived several of his beautiful lyrics." Dr. Currie. VOL. II. L CRAIGIE-BURN WOOD. Sweet closes the evening on Craigie-burn wood, And blythely awakens the morrow; But the pride of the spring in the Craigie-burn wood, Can yield me to nothing but sorrow. I see the spreading leaves and flowers, I canna tell, I maun na tell, I dare na for your anger; Beyond thee, &c. I see thee gracefu', straight and tall, To see thee in anither's arms, In love to lie and languish, |