Imagens da página

Nae sooner they smile on the lasses,

Than they are taen far eneuch ben ; But when I speak to them that's stately,

I find them aye taen wi' the gee, And get the denial fu' flatly ;

What think ye can ail them at me?

I have a gude offer to make them,

If they would but hearken to me; And that is, I'm willing to take them,

Gin they wad be honest and free. Let her wha likes best write a billet,

And send the sweet message to me; By sun and by moon, I'll fulfil it,

Though crooked or crippled she be !



Nith, trembling to the reaper's sang,
Warm glitter'd in the harvest sun,
And murmured down the lanesome glen,
Where a wife of wanton wit did won.
Her tongue wagged wi' unhaly wit,
Unstent by kirk or gospel bann;
An' aye she wished the kirkyard mools
Green growing o'er her auld gudeman.

Her auld gudeman drapped in at e'en,
Wi' harvest heuk-sair toiled was he ;
Sma' was his cog and cauld his kail,

anger never raised his ee; He blessed the little, and was blithe, While spak the dame, wi' clamorous tongue,

O sorrow clap your

auld beld pow, And dance wi' ye to the mools, gudeman.

He bang his bonnet on the pin,
And down he lay, his dool to drie ;
While she sat singing in the neuk,
And tasting at the barley bree.
The lark, 'mid morning's siller grey,
That wont to cheer him warkward gaun,
Next morning missed amang the dew
The blithe and dainty auld gudeman.

The third morn's dew on flower and tree 'Gan glorious in the sun to glow, When sung

the wanton wife to mark His feet gaun foremost o'er the know. The first flight o' the winter's rime That on the kirkyard sward had faun, The wanton wife skiffed aff his grave, A-kirking wi' her new gudeman.

A dainty dame I wat was she,
High brent and burnished was her brow,
Mang lint-locks curling; and her lips
Twin daisies dawned through honey dew.
And light and loesome in the dance,
When ha' was het, or kirn was won ;
Her breasts twa drifts o' purest snaw,
In cauld December's bosom faun.

But lang ere winter's winds blew by,
She skirled in her lonesome bow;
Her new gudeman, wi' hazle rung,
Began to kame her wanton pow.
Her hearth was slokent out wi' care,
Toom grew her kist and cauld her pan,
And dreigh and dowie waxed the night,
Ere Beltane, wi' her new gudeman.

She dreary sits 'tween naked wa's,
Her cheek ne'er dimpled into mirth ;
Half-happit, haurling out o' doors,
And hunger-haunted at her hearth.
And see the tears fa' frae her een,
Warm happin down her baffits wan;

her bitterness of saul In sorrow for her auld gudeman !



Now nature hangs her mantle green

On ilka blooming tree, And spreads her sheets o' daisies white Out ower the



Now Phæbus cheers the crystal streams,

And glads the azure skies ; But nought can glad the weary wicht,

That fast in durance lies.

Now blooms the lily by the bank,

The primrose doun the brae;
The hawthorn's budding in the glen,

And milk-white is the slae.

Now laverocks wake the merry morn,

Aloft on dewy wing,
The merle, in his noontide bower,

Makes woodland echoes ring.

The mavis, mild wi' mony a note,

Sings drowsy day to rest ;

In love and freedom they rejoice,

Wi' care nor thrall opprest.

The meanest hind in fair Scotland

May rove these sweets amang ; But I, the Queen o' a' Scotland,

Maun lie in prison strang.

I was the Queen o' bonnie France,

Where happy I hae been; Fu' lightly rase I in the morn,

As blithe lay down at e'en.

And I'm the sovereign of Scotland,

And mony a traitor there; Yet here I lie in foreign bands,

And never-ending care.

But as for thee, thou false woman,

My sister and my fae,
Grim vengeance yet shall whet a sword,

That through thy soul shall gae.
The weeping blood in woman's breast,

Was never known to thee; Nor the balm that draps on wounds of woe,

From woman's pitying ee.

My son ! my son! may kinder stars

Upon thy fortune shine ;
And may those pleasures gild thy reign,

That ne'er would blink on mine.

God keep thee frae thy mother's faes,

Or turn their hearts to thee; And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend,

Remember him for me.

Oh, soon to me may summer suns

Nae mair licht up the morn!
Nae mair, to me, the autumn winds

Wave o'er the yellow corn.

And in the narrow house o' death

Let winter round me rave;
And the next flowers that deck the spring

Bloom on my peaceful grave!


TUNE-The Smith's a gallant fireman.

O DINNA think, bonnie lassie, I'm gaun to leave thee; Dinna think, bonnie lassie, I'm gaun to leave thee; Dinna think, bonnie lassie, I'm gaun to leave thee ; I'll tak a stick into my hand, and come again and see


Far's the gate ye hae to gang; dark's the night and

eerie ; Far’s the gate ye bae to gang ; dark's the night and

eerie ; Far's the gate ye hae to gang ; dark's the night and

eerie; O stay this night wi' your love, and dinna gang and

leave me.

It's but a night and hauf a day that I'll leave my dearie; But a night and hauf a day that I'll leave my dearie ; But a night and hauf a day that I'll leave my dearie ; Whene'er the sun gaes west the loch, I'll come again

and see thee.

« AnteriorContinuar »