COWDENKNOWES. CRAWFORD. TUNE-The Brume o' Cowdenknowes. WHEN summer comes, the swains on Tweed But my loved song is then the broom There Colin tuned his aiten reed, He sung of Tay, of Forth, of Clyde, Yet more delightful is the broom Elsewhere there never grows. gay, Not Teviot braes, so green and More pleasing far are Cowdenknowes, Where I was wont to milk my yowes Ye powers, that haunt the woods and plains, THE SOLDIER'S RETURN. BURNS. TUNE-The Mill, Mill, O. WHEN wild war's deadly blast was blawn, My humble knapsack a' my wealth; A poor A leal light heart beat in my breast, I thought upon the banks o' Coil, At length I reach'd the bonnie glen, Wi' alter'd voice, quoth I, Sweet lass, * From the Tea-Table Miscellany, 1724. My purse is light, I've far to gang, Sae wistfully she gazed on me, Our humble cot and hamely fare, She gazed-she redden'd like a rose- She sank within my arms, and cried, I am the man! and thus may still True lovers be rewarded. The wars are o'er, and I'm come hame, Then come, my faithfu' sodger lad, For gold the merchant ploughs the main, The farmer ploughs the manor; But glory is the sodger's prize, "Burns, I have been informed," says a clergyman of Dumfries-shire, in a letter to Mr George Thomson, editor of the Select Melodies of Scotland," was one summer evening in the inn at Brownhill, with a couple THE WEE, WEE GERMAN LAIRDIE. WHA the deil hae we gotten for a king, But a wee, wee German lairdie? And he's clapt down in our gudeman's chair, Come up amang our Highland hills, And if a stock ye dare to pu', We'll break your sceptre o'er your mou', Our hills are steep, our glens are deep, And our Norland thistles winna pu', Thou wee bit German lairdie: Wad prune ye o' your German gear- of friends, when a poor way-worn soldier passed the window. Of a sudden it struck the poet to call him in, and get the recital of his adventures; after hearing which, he all at once fell into one of those fits of abstraction, not unusual to him. He was lifted to the region where he had his garland and his singing-robes about him, and the result was this admirable song he sent you for The Mill, Mill, O.'" Auld Scotland, thou'rt ower cauld a hole But the very dougs o' England's court WHEN I upon thy bosom lean, And fondly clasp thee a' my ain, I glory in the sacred ties That made us ane, wha ance were twain. The tender look, the meltin' kiss: Hae I a wish? it's a' for thee! Thy bosom still shall be my hame. A Jacobite song, evidently written immediately after the accession of George I., in 1714. †This very beautiful song possesses an external distinction, on account of its having been eulogized by Burns, who, in consequence of hearing it sung at a rustic merry-meeting, commenced a series of lively epistles to its author, which may be found in his works. Lapraik was portioner of Dalfram, near Muirkirk, in the eastern part of Ayrshire. He had attained a considerable age during the youth of his illustrious correspondent. The occasion of the song was this" Lapraik, in a moment when he forgot whether he was rich or poor, became security for some person concerned in a ruinous speculation called the Ayr Bank, and was compelled to sell the little estate on which his name had been sheltered for many centuries. His securities were larger than the produce of his ground covered, and he found his way into the jail of Ayr when he was sixty years old. In this uncomfortable abode, his son told me, he composed this song: it is reconcilable with the account which he gave to Burns-that he made it one day when he and his wife had been mourning over their misfortunes."-Cunningham's Songs of Scotland, vol. iii. p. 282. |