DONOCHT HEAD. WILLIAM PICKERING. KEEN blaws the wind ower Donocht Head ;* And shivering tells his waefu' tale: Full ninety winters hae I seen, And piped where gorcocks whirring flew; And mony a day ye've danced, I ween, 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, Oh haith, it's doubly dear to me! Your blude is thin; ye've tint the gate; "Nae hame have I," the minstrel said; I wander through a wreath o' snaw." "Wae's me, auld carle! sad is your tale; Your scrip is toom, your claithing thin: Mine's no the hand to steek the door, When want and wae wad fain be in." *A mountain in the north of Scotland. Wi' tottering step he reached the spence, LASSIE, LIE NEAR ME. DR BLACKLOCK. TUNE-Laddie, lie near me. LANG hae we parted been, Lassie, lie near me. Near me, near me, Lassie, lie near me." Lang hast thou lain thy lane; A' that I hae endured, Lassie, my dearie, Here in thy arms is cured; The first three and a half stanzas of this poem were published, as a fragment, in Johnson's Musical Museum, Part IV, 1792; having been sent to the editor of that work in an anonymous letter, which bore, however, the Newcastle post-mark. They were at first attributed to Burns, but were afterwards discovered to be the composition of William Pickering, a poor North of England poet, who never wrote any thing else of the least merit. The additional lines have been presented to the editor of this work by their author, Captain Charles Gray, of the Royal Marines, author of the lively drinking song to the tune of " Andro and his Cutty Gun," inserted in another part of this collection. + From Johnson's Musical Museum, Part III, 1790. THOURT GANE AWA. TUNE-Haud awa frae me, Donald. THOU'RT gane awa, thou'rt gane awa, That ought would alter thee, Mary; Whate'er he said or might pretend, Though you've been false, yet, while I live, Thy wrongs to them and me, Mary. For a' the world I'd not endure Half what I've done for thee, Mary.* WHEN SHE CAM BEN SHE BOBBIT. TUNE-The Laird o' Cockpen. O WHEN she cam ben she bobbit fu' law, * From Johnson's Musical Museum, Part III, 1790. And wasna Cockpen richt saucy witha', O never look doun, my lassie, at a', Thy lips are as sweet, and thy figure complete, Though thou hae nae silk and holland sae sma', THE CAMPBELLS ARE COMING. TUNE-The Campbells are coming. THE Campbells are coming, O-ho, O-ho! Upon the Lomonds I lay, I lay; Upon the Lomonds I lay; I lookit doun to bonnie Lochleven, The Campbells are coming, &c. Great Argyle he goes before; He makes the cannons and guns to roar; The Campbells they are a' in arms, * From Johnson's Musical Museum, Part IV, 1792. There is, however, an earlier and less delicate version in Herd's Collection, 1776. The present was probably improved for Johnson by Burns. With banners rattling in the wind; MERRY HAE I BEEN TEETHING A TUNE-Lord Breadalbane's March. O MERRY hae I been teething a heckle, merry And kissin my Katie when a' was dune. O a' the lang day I ca' at my hammer, And a' the lang day I whistle and sing; A' the lang nicht I cuddle my kimmer, And a' the lang nicht as happy's a king. Bitter in dule I lickit my winnins, O' marrying Bess, to gie her a slave: Blest be the hour she cooled in her linens, And blythe be the bird that sings over her grave! Come to my arms, my Katie, my Katie, And come to my arms, my Katie again! Drucken or sober, here's to thee, Katie ! And blest be the day I did it again!† *From Johnson's Musical Museum, Part III, 1790; where it is insinuated, as an on dit, that it was composed on the imprisonment of Queen Mary in Lochleven Castle. The Lomonds are two well-known hills, overhanging Lochleven to the east, and visible from Edinburgh. The air is the well-known family tune or march of the Clan Campbell. +From Johnson's Musical Museum, Part III, 1790. The object of this song seems to be a delineation of the light sentiments which a gipsy or tinker may be supposed to entertain on the sacred subject of matrimony. That it is not overcharged, I can attest by an anecdote of a person in a similar rank in society-Ginge'breid Ned, who may be remembered by many of my readers as a noted figure at the south-country fairs, from thirty to forty years ago; it being his profession to deal in gingerbread. Ned had been married in his time to no fewer than seven wives, each of whom-at least scandal never asserted the contrary-had died before her successor came upon the carpet. Somebody asked the fellow one day what he thought of himself for having gone through such an immense number of spouses, or what was the chief impression of his mind on the subject. "Deed, sir," answered the man of gingerbread, "a' that I can say about it, is, that I aye got an auld kist wi' them, and they took away a new ane!" The first chest was that in which they brought their clothes, &c. (called in Scotland their providing ;) the second was the coffin which transported them to the grave. |