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To win me frae these waefu' thoughts,

They took me to the toun;
Where soon, in ilka weel-kenn'd face,

I miss'd the youthfu' bloom.
At balls they pointed to a nymph

Whom all declared divine;
But sure her mother's blushing face

Was fairer far langsyne.

Ye sons to comrades o' my youth,

Forgive an auld man's spleen,
Wha 'midst your gayest scenes still mourns

The days he ance has seen.
When time is past, and seasons fled,

Your hearts may feel like mine;

will maist delight,
That minds you o' langsyne.



TUNE_Leader Haughs and Yarrow.

When Phæbus bright the azure skies

With golden rays enlight'neth,
He makes all nature's beauties rise,

Herbs, trees, and flowers he quick’neth : * This song is little better than a string of names of places. Yet there is something so pleasing in it, especially to the ear of “ a south-country man,” that it has long maintained its place in our collections. We all know what impressive verse Milton makes out of mere catalogues of localities.

The author, Nicol Burne, is supposed to have been one of the last of the old race of minstrels. In an old collection of songs, in their original state of ballants, I have seen his name printed as “ Burne the violer,” which seems to indicate the instrument upon which he was in the practice of accompanying his recitations. I was told by an aged person at Earlston, that there used to be a portrait of him in Thiristane Castle, representing him as a douce old man, leading a cow by a straw-rope.

Thirlstane Castle, the seat of the Earl of Lauderdale, near Lauder, is the castle of which the poet speaks in such terms of admiration. It derives the

Amongst all those he makes his choice,

And with delight goes thorow,
With radiant beams, the silver streams

Of Leader Haughs and Yarrow.

When Aries the day and night

In equal length divideth,
And frosty Saturn takes his flight,

Nae langer he abideth ;
Then Flora queen, with mantle green,

Casts aff her former sorrow,
And vows to dwell with Ceres' sell,

In Leader Haughs and Yarrow.

Pan, playing on his aiten reed,

And shepherds, him attending,
Do here resort, their flocks to feed,

The bills and haughs commending ;
With cur and kent, upon the bent,

Sing to the sun, Good-morrow,
And swear nae fields mair pleasures yield,

Than Leader Haughs and Yarrow.

A house there stands on Leader side,

Surmounting my descriving,
With rooms sae rare, and windows fair,

Like Daedalus' contriving :
Men passing by do aften cry,

In sooth it bath no marrow;
It stands as fair on Leader side,

As Newark does on Yarrow.

massive beauties of its architecture from the Duke of Lauderdale, who built it, as the date above the door-way testifies, in the year 1671. The song must therefore have been composed since that era. It was printed in the Tea-Table Miscellany; which, taken in connexion with the last stanza, seems to point out that it was written at some of the periods of national commotion between the reign of the last Charles and the first George-probably the Union.

The Blainslie oats are still in repute, being used in many places for seed ; and Lauderdale still boasts of all the other pleasant farms and estates which are here so endearingly commemorated by the poet,

A mile below, who lists to ride,

Will hear the mavis singing ; Into St Leonard's banks she bides,

Sweet birks her head owerhinging. The lint-white loud, and Progne proud,

With tuneful throats and narrow, Into St Leonard's banks they sing,

As sweetly as in Yarrow.

The lapwing lilteth ower the lea,

With nimble wing she sporteth ;
But vows she'll flee far from the tree

Where Philomel resorteth:
By break of day the lark can say,

I'll bid you a good morrow;
I'll stretch my wing, and, mounting, sing

O'er Leader Haughs and Yarrow.

Park, Wanton-wa's, and Wooden-cleuch,

The East and Wester Mainses, The wood of Lauder 's fair eneuch,

The corns are good in the Blainslies : There aits are fine, and sald by kind,

That if ye search all thorough Mearns, Buchan, Mart, nane better are

Than Leader Haughs and Yarrow.

In Burn-mill-bog and Whitslaid Shaws,

The fearful hare she haunteth;
Brig-baugh and Braidwoodshiel she knaws,

And Chapel wood frequenteth :
Yet, when she irks, to Kaidslie Birks,

She rins, and sighs for sorrow,
That she should leave sweet Leader Haughs,

And cannot win to Yarrow.

What sweeter music wad ye hear,

Than hounds and beagles crying ?

The started hare rins hard with fear,

Upon her speed relying :
But yet her strength it fails at length ;

Nae bielding can she borrow,
In Sorrowless-fields, Clackmae, or Hags;

And sighs to be in Yarrow.

For Rockwood, Ringwood, Spotty, Sbag,

With sight and scent pursue her;
Till, ah, her pith begins to flag ;

Nae cunning can rescue her:
Ower dub and dyke, ower sheuch and syke,

She'll rin the fields all thorough,
Till, fail'd, she fa’s in Leader Haughs,

And bids fareweel to Yarrow.

Sing Erslington * and Cowdenknowes,

Where Humes had anes commanding ;
And Drygrange, with the milk-white yowes,

'Twixt Tweed and Leader standing :
The bird that flees through Redpath trees

And Gladswood banks ilk morrow,
May chaunt and sing sweet Leader Haughs

And bonny howms of Yarrow.

But Minstrel Burne can not assuage

His grief, while life endureth,
To see the changes of this age,

Which fleeting time procureth:
For mony a place stands in hard case,

Where blythe folk kend nae sorrow,
With Humes that dwelt on Leader-side,

And Scotts that dwelt on Yarrow,

* Earlston, formerly spelled Ercildoun. The editor thinks it proper here to mention, that this is the first copy of “ Leader Haughs and Yarrow" in which any attempt has been made to spell the names of the places correctly. The spelling and punctuation hitherto adopted have been such as to render the song almost unintelligible.


TUNE-The Yowebuchts.

Will ye go to the yowe-buchts, Marion,

And weir in the sheep wi' me?
The sun shines sweet, my Marion,

But nae hauf sae sweet as thee.
O, Marion's a bonnie lass,

And the blythe blink 's in her ee;
And fain wad I marry Marion,
Gin Marion wad



There's gowd in your garters, Marion, *

And silk on your white hause-bane ;
Fou fain wad I kiss my Marion,

At een, when I come hame.
There's braw lads in Earnslaw, Marion,

Wha gape, and glower wi' their ee,
At kirk when they see my Marion ;

But nane o' them lo'es like me.

I've nine milk-yowes, my Marion,

A cow and a brawny quey;
I'll gie them a' to my Marion,

Just on her bridal-day.
And ye’se get a green sey apron,

And waistcoat o' London broun;
And wow but we'se be vap’rin'

Whene'er ye gang to the toun.


young and stout, my Marion ; Nane dances like me on the green:

* At the time when the ladies wore hoops, they also wore finely-embroidered garters for exhibition; because, especially in dancing, the hoop often shelved aside, and exposed the leg to that height.-See Traditions of Edinburgh, vol. II. page 57.

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