sebr. Edwards 5·20-43 47609 313 THOU HAST LEFT ME EVER, JAMIE. BURNS. TUNE-Fee him, Father. THOU hast left me ever, Jamie, Thou hast left me ever; Thou hast left me ever. Now thou'st left thy lass for aye— Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, "I enclose you," says Burns to Mr Thomson, [Correspondence, No. XLII.]" Frazer's set of Fee him, father.' When he plays it slow, he makes it, in fact, the language of despair. I shall here give you two stanzas in that style, merely to try if it will be any improvement. Were it possible, in singing, to give it half the pathos which Frazer gives it in playing, it would make an admirable pathetic song. I do not give these verses for any merit they have. I composed them at the time Patie Allan's mother died; that was about the back of midnight; and by the lee-side of a bowl of punch, which had overset every mortal in company, except the hautbois and the muse." The editor of this work had the pleasure of hearing Mr Frazer play "Fee him, father," in the exquisite style above described, at his benefit in the Theatre-Royal, Edinburgh, 1822. After having for many years occupied the station of hautbois-player, in the orchestra of that place of amusement, he died in 1825, with the character of having been the very best performer on this difficult, but beautiful instrument, of his time, in Scotland. THE AULD STUARTS BACK AGAIN. TUNE-Auld Stuarts back again. THE auld Stuarts back again! There's Ayr, and Irvine, wi' the rest, And they'll set up their crack again! Give ear unto this loyal sang, There ye might see the noble Mar, And mony mae, what reck, again. Can they forstand the tartan trews, SHE ROSE AND LET ME IN. SEMPLE. TUNE-She rose and let me in. THE night her silent sable wore, I begg'd my fair, my lovely dame, But she, with accents all divine, Then who would cruelly deceive, My eager fondness I obey'd, Resolved she should be mine, Till Hymen to my arms convey'd My treasure so divine. Now, happy in my Nelly's love, No greater blessing can I prove, For beauty may a while retain THE WEE WIFIKIE. DR A. GEDDES. TUNE-The wee bit Wifikie. THERE was a wee bit wifikie was comin' frae the fair, Had got a wee bit drappikie, that bred her muckle care; It gaed about the wifie's heart, and she began to spew : O quo' the wifikie, I wish I binna fou. I wish I binna fou, I wish I binna fou, O quo' the wifikie, I wish I binna fou. If Johnnie find me barley-sick, I'm sure he'll claw my skin; But I'll lie doun and tak a nap before that I gae in. He's clippit a' her gowden locks, sae bonnie and sae lang ;+ He's ta'en her purse and a' her placks, and fast awa he ran : Altered from the original, which appeared in the Tea-Table Miscellany, 1724. + During the last century, when borrowed locks were fashionable, pedlars used to buy hair from persons in humble life throughout the country, to be disposed of again to peruke-makers in large towns, for the purpose of being converted into wigs for fine ladies and gentlemen. I have been informed by an aged relative, that a particular individual, who lived about s that you, Bessikie?-Wow, na, man! hundred years ago at Peebles, used to get a guinea every year from a travelling merchant, or pedlar, for her hair, which was of a particularly e golden colour. Thus, the pedlar in the song was only prosecuting part his calling, when he clipped all Bessikie's "gowden locks, sae bonnie d sae lang." |