THE BIRKS OF INVERMAY.*

DAVID MALLET,

TUNE-The Birks of Invermay.

THE smiling morn, the breathing spring,
Invite the tunefu' birds to sing;

And, while they warble from the spray,
Love melts the universal lay.

Let us, Amanda, timely wise,

Like them, improve the hour that flies ;
And in soft raptures waste the day,
Among the birks of Invermay.

For soon the winter of the year,
And age, life's winter, will appear;
At this thy living bloom will fade,
As that will strip the verdant shade.
Our taste of pleasure then is o'er,
The feather'd songsters are no more ;
And when they drop, and we decay,
Adieu the birks of Invermay !

[REV. DR BRYCE OF KIRKNEWTON.]

The laverocks, now, and lintwhites sing,
The rocks around with echoes ring;
The mavis and the blackbird vie,
In tuneful strains, to glad the day;

The woods now wear their summer suits;
To mirth all nature now invites:

* Invermay is a small woody glen, watered by the rivulet May, which there joins the river Earn. It is about five miles above the bridge of Earn, and nearly nine from Perth. The seat of Mr Belsches, the proprietor of this poetical region, and who takes from it his territorial designation, stands at the bottom of the glen. Both sides of the little vale are completely wooded, chiefly with birches; and it is altogether, in point of natural loveliness, a scene worthy of the attention of the amatory muse. The course of the May is so sunk among rocks, that it cannot be seen, but it can easily be traced in its progress by another sense. The peculiar sound which it makes in rushing through one particular part of its narrow, rugged, and tortuous channel, has occasioned the descriptive appellation of the HumbleBumble to be attached to that quarter of the vale. Invermay may be at once and correctly described as the fairest possible little miniature specimen of cascade scenery.

The song appeared in the 4th volume of the Tea-Table Miscellany.

Let us be blythesome, then, and gay,
Among the birks of Invermay.

Behold the hills and vales around,
With lowing herds and flocks abound;
The wanton kids and frisking lambs
Gambol and dance around their dams:
The busy bees, with humming noise,
And all the reptile kind rejoice:
Let us, like them, then, sing and play
About the birks of Invermay.

Hark, how the waters, as they fall,
Loudly my love to gladness call;
The wanton waves sport in the beams,
And fishes play throughout the streams :
The circling sun does now advance,
And all the planets round him dance :
Let us as jovial be as they,

Among the birks of Invermay.

THE MUCKIN' O' GEORDIE'S BYRE.

TUNE-The muckin' o' Geordie's Byre.

THE muckin' o' Geordie's byre,

And the shoolin' the gruip sae clean,
Has gar'd me weit my cheeks,
And greit wi' baith my een.
It was ne'er my father's will,
Nor yet my mother's desire,
That e'er I should fyle my fingers,
Wi' muckin' o' Geordie's byre.

The mouse is a merry beast,

The moudiewort wants the een; But the warld shall ne'er get wit,*

Sae

merry as we hae been.

It was ne'er, &c.t

*i. e. Never be informed.

† From Herd's Collection, 1776.

PATIE'S COURTSHIP.

TUNE-Patie's Wedding.

AS PATIE came in frae the dale,
Drivin' his wedders before him,
He met bonnie Meg ganging hame-
Her beauty was like for to smoore him.

O Maggie, lass, dinna ye ken

That you and I's gaun to be married?
I rather had broken my leg,

Before sic a bargain miscarried.

O Patie, lad, wha tell'd ye that?

I trow o' news they've been scanty:
I'm nae to be married the year,

Though I should be courted by twenty!

Now, Maggie, what gars ye to taunt?
Is 't 'cause that I haena a mailen ?
The lad that has gear needna want
For neither a half nor a haill ane.*

My dad has a gude grey meare,
And yours has twa cows and a filly;
And that will be plenty o' gear:
Sae, Maggie, be na sae ill-willy.

Weel, Patie, lad, I dinna ken;

But first ye maun speir at my daddie;

You're as weel born as Ben,

And I canna say but I'm ready.

We hae wealth o' yarn in clews,
To mak me a coat and a jimpey,
And plaidin' eneuch to be trews-

Gif ye get it, I shanna scrimp ye!

* It was formerly customary in Scotland for two or more farmers to unite in leasing and cultivating one farm. There is a mailen in the neighbourhood of the town of Peebles, now occupied by one person, but which, little more than forty years ago, sustained and gave employment to three farmers, each of whom reared a large family.

Now fair fa' ye, my bonnie Meg!
I'se e'en let a smackie gae wi'
ye:
May my neck be as lang as my leg,
If I be an ill husband unto ye!

Sae gang your ways hame e'en now;
Mak ready gin this day fifteen days;
And tell your father frae me,

I'll be his gude-son * in great kindness.

Maggie's as blythe as a wran,

Bodin' the blast o' ill weather; And a' the gaite singin' she ran, To tell the news to her father.

But aye the auld man cried out,
He'll no be o' that mind on Sunday.
There's nae fear o' that, quo' Meg;
For I gat a kiss on the bounty.

And what was the matter o' that?
It was naething out o' his pocket.
I wish the news were true,

And we had him fairly bookit.

For Patie's a very gude lad,

And wedders has little frae twenty,

And mony gude trifles beside;

He's no to fling at, gin he want ye.

A very wee while after that,

Wha cam to our biggin but Patie? Dress'd up in a braw new coat,

And wow but he thocht himsell pretty!

His bonnet was little frae new,
And in it a loop and a slittie,

To draw in a ribbon sae blue,

To bab at the neck o' his coatie.

Then Patie cam in wi' a stend;
Cried, Peace be under the biggin !

Son-in-law.

You're welcome, quo' William, Come ben,
Or I wish it may rive frae the riggin !

Come in your ways, Pate, and sit doun,
And tell's a' your news in a hurry;
And haste ye, Meg, and be dune,

And hing on the pan wi' the berry.

Quoth Patie, My news is na thrang;
Yestreen I was wi' his honour;
I've taen three rigs o' braw land,
And bound mysell under a bonour :

And, now, my errand to you,

Is for Maggie to help me to labour; But I'm fear'd we'll need your best cow, Because that our haddin's but sober.

Quoth William, To harl ye through,
I'll be at the cost o' the bridal;
I'se cut the craig o' the ewe,

That had amaist dee'd o' the side-ill:

And that'll be plenty o' broe,

Sae lang as our well is na reested,

To a' the neebors and you;

Sae I think we'll be nae that ill feasted.

Quoth Patie, O that'll do weel,

And I'll gie you your brose i' the mornin',

O' kail that was made yestreen,

For I like them best i' the forenoon.

Sae Tam, the piper, did play;

And ilka ane danced that was willin';

And a' the lave they rankit through ;

And they held the wee stoupie aye fillin'.

The auld wives sat and they chew'd;

And when that the carles grew nappy, They danced as weel as they dow'd,

Wi' a crack o' their thooms and a happie.