He maun either fa' or flee,
In the cause of loyalty;
Send him hame, send him hame;
In the cause of loyalty;
Send him hame.
Your luve ne'er learnt to flee,
Bonnie dame, winsome dame;
Your luve ne'er learnt to flee,
Winsome dame.
Your luve ne'er learnt to flee,
But he fell in Germanie,
Fighting brave for loyalty,
Mournfu' dame, mournfu' dame;
Fighting brave for loyalty,
Mournfu' dame.
He'll ne'er come ower the sea;
Willie's slain, Willie's slain ;
He'll ne'er come ower the sea;
Willie's gane!
He will ne'er come ower the sea,
To his luve and ain countrie.
This warld's nae mair for me;
Willie's gane, Willie's gane;
This warld's nae mair for me:
Willie's gane!
O WHARE did ye get that haver-meal bannock? O, silly auld body, O, dinna ye see,
I gat it frae a young brisk sodger laddie,
Between St Johnston and bonnie Dundee.
O, gin I saw the laddie that gae me 't!
Aft has he dandled me upon his knee;
May heaven protect my bonnie Scots laddie,
And send him safe hame to his baby and me.
My blessings upon thy sweet wee lippie!
My blessings upon thy bonnie ee-bree!
Thy smiles are sae like my blythe sodger laddie,
Thou's aye
be the dearer and dearer to me!
But I'll bigg a bowir on yon bonnie banks,
Where Tay rins wimpling bye sae clear;
And I'll cleid thee in the tartan sae fine,
And mak' thee a man like thy daddie sae dear.*
JENNY'S BAWBEE.
[EARLIEST VERSES.]
TUNE-Jenny's Barbee.
AND a' that e'er my Jenny had,
My Jenny had, my Jenny had;
And a' that e'er my Jenny had,
Was ae bawbee.
There's your plack, and my plack,
And your plack, and my plack,
And my plack and your plack,
And Jenny's bawbee.
We'll put it a' in the pint-stoup,
The pint-stoup, the pint-stoup,
We'll put it in the pint-stoup,
And birle 't a' three.t
*The second verse of this song is by Burns. The first is old. +From Herd's Collection, 1776.
THERE was a jolly miller once
Lived on the river Dee;
He wrought and sung from morn till night,
No lark more blythe than he.
And this the burden of his song
For ever used to be;
I care for nobody, no, not I,
If nobody cares for me.
And this, &c.
When spring began its merry career,
O, then his heart was gay;
He feared not summer's sultry heat,
Nor winter's cold decay.
No foresight marred the miller's cheer,
Who oft did sing and say,
Let others live from year to year,
I'll live from day to day.
No foresight, &c.
Then, like this miller, bold and free,
Let us be glad and sing;
The days of youth are made for glee,
And life is on the wing.
The song shall pass from me to you,
Around this jovial ring.
Let heart, and hand, and voice agree:
And so, God save our king.*
From an old MS. copy. The song seems to have been first printed in
THE MAID THAT TENDS THE GOATS.
TUNE-The Maid that tends the Goats.
UP amang yon cliffy rocks,
Sweetly rings the rising echo,
To the maid that tends the goats,
Lilting o'er her native notes.
Hark, she sings, Young Sandy's kind,
And has promised aye to lo'e me;
Here's a broach I ne'er shall tine,
Till he's fairly married to me:
Drive awa, ye drone, time,
And bring about our bridal day.
Sandy herds a flock o' sheep;
Aften does he blaw the whistle,
In a strain sae saftly sweet,
Lammies list'ning darena bleat.
He's as fleet's the mountain roe,
Hardy as the Highland heather,
Wading through the winter snaw,
Keeping aye his flocks thegither;
But a plaid, wi' bare houghs,
He braves the bleakest norlan blast.
Brawly can he dance and sing,
Cantie glee, or Highland cronach ;
Nane can ever match his fling,
At a reel, or round a ring.
Wightly can he wield a rung;
In a brawl he's aye
The son, we are informed by Burns, of a respectable farmer in Berwickshire.
A' his praise can ne'er be sung
By the langest-winded sangster.
Sangs, that sing o' Sandy,
Seem short, though they were e'er sae lang.
KEEN blaws the wind ower Donocht Head ;*
The snaw drives snelly through the dale;
The gaberlunzie tirls my sneck,
And shivering tells his waefu' tale:
"Cauld is the nicht; O let me in,
And dinna let your minstrel fa',
And dinna let his winding-sheet
Be naething but a wreath o' snaw.
Full ninety winters hae I seen,
And piped where gorcocks whirring flew ; And mony a day ye've danced, I
To lilts which frae my drone I blew."
My Eppie waked, and sune she cried,
"Get up, gudeman, and let him in;
For weel ye ken the winter nicht
Was short when he began his din."
My Eppie's voice, O wow it's sweet,
Ev'n though she bans and scaulds a wee;
But when it's tuned to sorrow's tale,
Oh haith, it's doubly dear to me!
"Come in, auld carle! I'll steer my fire;
I'll mak it bleeze a bonnie flame.
Your blude is thin; ye've tint the gate;
Ye shouldna stray sae far frae hame."
* A mountain in the north of Scotland.
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