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DONOCHT HEAD.

WILLIAM PICKERING.

KEEN blaws the wind ower Donocht Head ;*
The snaw drives snelly through the dale;
The gaberlunzie tirls my sneck,

And shivering tells his waefu' tale:
"Cauld is the nicht; O let me in,
And dinna let your minstrel fa',
And dinna let his winding-sheet
Be naething but a wreath o' snaw.

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,
Ev'n though she bans and scaulds a wee;
But when it's tuned to sorrow's tale,

Oh haith, it's doubly dear to me!
"Come in, auld carle! I'll steer my fire ;
I'll mak it bleeze a bonnie flame.

Your blude is thin; ye've tint the gate;
Ye shouldna stray sae far frae hame."

"Nae hame have I," the minstrel said;
"Sad party-strife owerturned my ha';
And, weeping, at the close o' life,

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,
Whar sune the ingle bleezed fu' hie :
The auld man thought himsell at hame,
While the tear stood twinkling in his ee.
He took his pipes, and played a spring;
But, oh, it was a strain of woe;
It spoke of Scotland's chiefs and king,
And wailed a nation's overthrow.*

LASSIE, LIE NEAR ME.

DR BLACKLOCK.

TUNE-Laddie, lie near me.

LANG hae we parted been,
Lassie, my dearie;
Now we are met again,

Lassie, lie near me.

Near me, near me,

Lassie, lie near me."

Lang hast thou lain thy lane;
Lassie, lie near me.

A' that I hae endured,

Lassie, my dearie,

Here in thy arms is cured;
Lassie, lie near me.t

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,
Thou'rt gane awa frae me, Mary:
Nor friends nor I could mak thee stay;
Thou hast cheated them and me, Mary.
Until this hour I never thought

That ought would alter thee, Mary;
Thou'rt still the mistress of my heart,
Think what thou wilt of me, Mary.

Whate'er he said or might pretend,
That staw that heart o' thine, Mary,
True love, I'm sure, was ne'er his end,
Or nae sic love as mine, Mary.
I spake sincere, nor flattered much,
Nae selfish thoughts in me, Mary;
Ambition, wealth, nor naething such:
No, I loved only thee, Mary.

Though you've been false, yet, while I live,
I'll loe nae maid but thee, Mary.
Let friends forget, as I forgive,

Thy wrongs to them and me, Mary.
So then, fareweel! Of this be sure,
Since you've been false to 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,
O when she cam ben she bobbit fu' law,
And when she cam ben, she kissed Cockpen,
And syne she denied that she did it at a'.

* From Johnson's Musical Museum, Part III, 1790.

And wasna Cockpen richt saucy witha',
And wasna Cockpen richt saucy witha',
In leaving the dochter of a lord,
And kissing a collier lassie an' a'?

O never look doun, my lassie, at a',
O never look doun, my lassie, at a';

Thy lips are as sweet, and thy figure complete,
As the finest dame in castle or ha'.

Though thou hae nae silk and holland sae sma',
Though thou hae nae silk and holland sae sma',
Thy coat and thy sark are thy ain handywark,
And Lady Jean was never sae braw.*

THE CAMPBELLS ARE COMING.

TUNE-The Campbells are coming.

THE Campbells are coming, O-ho, O-ho!
The Campbells are coming, Q-ho!
The Campbells are coming to bonnie Lochleven!
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,
And saw three perches play.

The Campbells are coming, &c.

Great Argyle he goes before;

He makes the cannons and guns to roar;
With sound o' trumpet, pipe, and drum;
The Campbells are coming, O-ho, O-ho!

The Campbells they are a' in arms,
Their loyal faith and truth to show,

* 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;
The Campbells are coming, O-ho, O-ho!*

MERRY HAE I BEEN TEETHING A
HECKLE.

TUNE-Lord Breadalbane's March.

O MERRY hae I been teething a heckle,
And
hae I been shapin a spune;
O merry hae I been cloutin a kettle,

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.

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