Sic unco hacks, and deadly whacks,
I never saw the like, man;

Lost hands and heads cost them their deads,
That fell near Preston-dyke, man.

That afternoon, when a' was done,
I gaed to see the fray, man;
But had I wist what after past,
I'd better staid away, man:
In Seaton Sands, wi' nimble hands,
They pick'd my pockets bare, man;
But I wish ne'er to drie sic fear,
For a' the sum and mair, man. *

MY NANIE, O.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.

TUNE-My Nanie, O.

RED rowes the Nith 'tween bank and brae,
Mirk is the nicht and rainie, O;

Though heaven and earth should mix in storm,
and see my Nanie, O:

I'll gang

My Nanie, O, my Nanie, O!

My kind and winsome Nanie, O!
She balds my heart in love's dear bands,
And nane can do't but Nanie, O.

In preachin'-time, sae meek she stands,
Sae saint-like and sae bonnie, O,

*From Herd's Collection, 1776. This was for a long time the only song regarding the Insurrection of 1745, which could be sung by either party without offence to the other. The author was a farmer near Haddington, and father to the late Mr Skirving, portrait-painter, of eccentric memory. There is a story told in connexion with the song, that proves the author to have been a man of great humour. The "Lieutenant Smith" of the ninth stanza thought proper, some time after, to send a friend to the honest farmer, requesting to have satisfaction for the injury which it had done to his honour. Skirving, who happened to be forking his dunghill at the moment the man arrived, first put that safe barrier between himself and the messenger, and then addressed him in these words: "Gang awa back to Mr Smith, and tell him that I hae na time to gang to Haddington to see him; but, if he likes to come here, I'll tak a look o' him; and if I think I'm fit to fecht him, I'll fecht him; and if no, I'll just do as he did-I'll rin awa!"

I canna get ae glimpse o' grace,
For thieving looks at Nanie, O:
My Nanie, O, my Nanie, O!

The warld's in love wi' Nanie, O!
That heart is hardly worth the wear,
That wadna love my Nanie, O.

My breist can scarce conteen my heart,
When, dancin', she moves finely, O;
I what heaven is by her eyes,
They sparkle sae divinely, O:
My Nanie, O, my Nanie, Ŏ!

guess

The flower o' Nithisdale's Nanie, O!
Love looks frae 'neath her lang brown hair,
And says I dwell wi' Nanie, O.

Tell not, thou star at grey day-licht,
O'er Tinwald-tap sae bonnie, O,
My fitsteps 'mang the mornin' dew,
When comin' frae my Nanie, 0:
My Nanie, O, my Nanie, O!

Nane ken o' me and Nanie, O !
The stars and mune may tell't abune,
They winna wrang my Nanie, O.

WE'RE A' NODDIN.

TUNE-Nid noddin.

O, WE'RE a' noddin, nid, nid, noddin,
O, we're a' noddin, at our house at hame.

How's a' wi' ye, kimmer? and how do ye thrive?
And how mony bairns hae ye now ?-Bairns I hae five.
And are they a' at hame wi' you?—Na, na, na;
For twa o' them's been herdin' sin' Jamie gaed awa.
And we're a' noddin, nid, nid, noddin;
And we're a' noddin at our house at hame.

Grannie nods i' the neuk, and fends as she may,
And brags that we'll ne'er be what she's been in her day.

Vow! but she was bonnie; and vow! but she was braw, And she had rowth o' wooers ance, I'se warrant, great and sma'.

And we're a' noddin, &c.

Weary fa' Kate, that she winna nod too;
She sits i' the corner, suppin' a' the broo;

And when the bit bairnies wad e'en hae their share,
She gies them the ladle, but deil a drap's there.
And we're a' noddin, &e.

Now, fareweel, kimmer, and weel may ye thrive; They sae the French is rinnin' for't, and we'll hae peace belyve.

The bear's i' the brear, and the hay's i' the stack,
And a' 'll be right wi' us, gin Jamie were come back.
And we're a' noddin, &c.

THERE was a lass, they ca'd her Meg,
And she held o'er the moor to spin;
There was a laddie follow'd her,

They ca'd him Duncan Davison:
The moor was dreigh, and Meg was skeigh;
Her favour Duncan couldna win;
For wi' the roke she shored to knock,
And aye she shook the temper-pin.

As ower the moor they lightly foor,*

A burn ran clear, a glen was green;
Upon the banks they eased their shanks,
And aye she set the wheel between;
But Duncan swore a holy aith,

That Meg should be a bride the morn―

* Went.

And she took up her spinning graith,
And flang it a' out ower the burn.

We'll big a house, a wee wee house,
And we shall live like king and queen:
Sae blythe and merry's we will be,
When ye set by the wheel at e'en.
A man may drink, and no be drunk
A man may fight, and no be slain;
A man may kiss a bonnie lass,

And aye be welcome back again.

MY NATIVE CALEDONIA.

SAIR, sair was my heart, when I parted frae my Jean, And sair, sair I sigh'd, while the tears stood in my een; For my daddie is but poor, and my fortune is but sma'; Which gars me leave my native Caledonia.

When I think on days now gane, and how happy I hae been,

While wandering wi' my dearie, where the primrose blaws unseen;

I'm wae to leave my lassie, and my daddie's simple ha', Or the hills and healthfu' breeze o' Caledonia.

But wherever I wander, still happy be my Jean!
Nae care disturb her bosom, where peace has ever

been!

Then, though ills on ills befa' me, for her I'll bear them a',

Though aft I'll heave a sigh for Caledonia.

But should riches e'er be mine, and my Jeanie still be

true,

Then blaw, ye favourin' breezes, till my native land I

view;

Then I'll kneel on Scotia's shore, while the heart-felt tear shall fa',

And never leave my Jean and Caledonia.

SHE SAYS SHE LO'ES ME BEST OF A'.

BURNS.

TUNE-Unagh's Lock.

SAE flaxen were her ringlets,
Her eye-brows of a darker hue,
Bewitchingly o'erarching

Twa laughing een o' bonnie blue.
Her smiling, sae wyling,

Wad mak a wretch forget his woe;
What pleasure, what treasure,

Unto those rosy lips to grow!
Such was my Chloris' bonnie face,
When first her bonnie face I saw ;
And, aye my Chloris' dearest charm,
She says she lo'es me best of a'.

Like harmony her motion;

Her pretty ankle is a spy,
Betraying fair proportion,

Wad mak a saint forget the sky.
Sae warming, sae charming,

Her faultless form and gracefu' air;
Ilk feature-auld nature

Declared that she could do nae mair.
Hers are the willing chains o' love,

By conquering beauty's sovereign law;
And aye my Chloris' dearest charm,
She says she lo'es me best of a'.

Let others love the city,

And gaudy show at sunny noon;

Gie me the lonely valley,

The dewy eve, and rising moon,

Fair-beaming, and streaming,

Her silver light the boughs amang;

While falling, recalling,

The amorous thrush concludes her sang;

There, dearest Chloris, wilt thou rove
By wimpling burn and leafy shaw,