The green leaf o' loyaltie's beginning now to fa';
The bonnie white rose it is withering an' a';
But we'll water't wi' the blude of usurping tyrannie,
And fresh it shall blaw in my ain countrie.
Hame, hame, hame! O hame fain wad I be !
O hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!
O there's nocht now frae ruin my country can save,
But the keys o' kind heaven, to open the grave,
That a' the noble martyrs, who died for loyaltie,
May rise again and fight for their ain countrie.
Hame, hame, hame! O hame fain wad I be !
O hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!
The great now are gane, wha attempted to savé ;
The green grass is growing abune their graves;
Yet the sun through the mirk seems to promise to me,
I'll shine on ye yet in your ain countrie.
Hame, hame, hame! Hame fain wad I be!
O hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!
How pleasant the banks of the clear-winding Devon, With green-spreading bushes, and flowers blooming fair!
But the bonniest flower on the banks of the Devon
Was once a sweet bud on the braes of the Ayr.
Mild be the sun on this sweet blushing flower,
In the gay rosy morn, as it bathes in the dew;
And gentle the fall of the soft vernal shower,
That steals on the evening each leaf to renew.
O
spare
the dear blossom, ye orient breezes,
With chill hoary wing as ye usher the dawn!
And far be thou distant, thou reptile that seizes
The verdure and pride of the garden and lawn!
Let Bourbon exult in her gay gilded lilies,
And England triumphant display her proud rose; A fairer than either adorns the green valleys, Where Devon, sweet Devon, meandering flows.*
SIR WALTER SCOTT.
HEAR what Highland Nora said:
The Earlie's son will not wed,
Should all the race of nature die,
And none be left but he and I.
For all the gold, and all the gear,
And all the lands, both far and near,
That ever valour lost or won,
I will not wed the Earlie's son.
A maiden's vows, old Callum spoke,
Are lightly made and lightly broke.
The heather on the mountain's height
Begins to bloom in purple light;
The frost wind soon shall sweep away
That lustre drop from glen and brae;
Yet Nora, ere its bloom be gone,
May blithely wed the Earlie's son.
The swan, she said, the lake's clear breast
May barter for the eagle's nest;
"These verses were composed on a charming girl, Miss Charlotte Hamilton, who is now married to James Adair, physician. She is sister to my worthy friend, Gavin Hamilton of Mauchline, and was born on the banks of the Ayr, but was residing, when I wrote these lines, at Harveyston, in Clackmannanshire, on the romantie banks of the little river Devon."
The Awe's fierce stream may backward turn,
Ben Cruachan fall and crush Kilchurn;
Our kilted clans, when blood is high,
Before their foes may turn and fly:
But I, were all these marvels done,
Would never wed the Earlie's son.
Still in the water-lily's shade
Her wonted nest the wild swan made;
Ben Cruachan stands as fast as ever;
Still downward foams the Awe's fierce river;
To shun the flash of foemen's steel
No Highland brogue has turn'd the heel:
But Nora's heart is lost and won-
She's wedded to the Earlie's son.*
TURNIMSPIKE.
TUNE-Clout the Caudron.
HERSELL pe Highland shentleman,
Pe auld as Pothwell Prig, man;
And many alterations seen
Amang te Lawland Whig, man.
Fa a dra, diddle diddle dee, &c.
First when she to te Lawlands came
Nainsell was driving cows, man,
There was nae laws about him's nerse,
About te preeks or trews, man.
Nainsell did wear te philabeg,
Te plaid prick'd on her shouder;
Translated from the Gaelic, for Mr Campbell's voluminous collection of Highland music, entitled Albyn's Anthology. "In the original," says the author in a note, "the lady makes protestations that she will not go with the Red Earl's son, until the swan should build in the cliff and the eagle in the lake--until one mountain should change places with another, and so forth. It is but fair to add, that there is no authority for supposing that she altered her mind-except the vehemence of her protestations."
Te gude claymore hung py her pelt;
Her pistol sharged with powder.
But for whereas these cursed preeks,
Wherewith her legs pe lockit;
Ohon that ere she saw the day!
For a' her houghs pe prokit.
Every thing in te Highlands now
Pe turn'd to alteration;
Te sodger dwall at our door cheek,
And tat pe great vexation.
Scotland pe turn'd a Ningland now,
The laws pring in te caudger;
Nainsell wad dirk him for his deeds,
But, oh she fears te sodger.
Anither law came after tat,
Me never saw the like, man, They mak a lang road on te crund, And ca' him Turnimspike, man;
And wow she be a ponny road,
Like Loudon corn riggs, man,
Where twa carts may gang on her,
And no preak ither's legs, man.
They charge a penny for ilka horse,
In troth she'll no be sheaper,
For nought but gaun upon the ground,
And they gie her a paper.
They take the horse then py te head,
And there they make him stand, man;
She tell them she had seen the day
They had nae sic command, man.
Nae doubt nainsell maun draw her purse,
And
pay him what him like, man;
She'll see a shudgement on his toor,
That filthy turnimspike, man.
But she'll awa to te Highland hills,
Where deil a ane dare turn her,
And no come near te turnimspike,
Unless it pe to purn her.
He's a terrible man, John Tod, John Tod,
He's a terrible man, John Tod;
He scolds in the house, he scolds at the door,
He scolds in the very hie road, John Tod,
He scolds in the very
hie road.
The weans a' fear John Tod, John Tod,
The weans a' fear John Tod;
When he's passing by, the mothers will cry,
Here's an ill wean, John Tod, John Tod,
Here's an ill wean, John Tod.
The callants a' fear John Tod, John Tod,
The callants a' fear John Tod;
If they steal but a neap, the laddie he'll whip,
And it's unco weel done o' John Tod, John Tod,
And it's unco weel done o' John Tod.
And saw ye nae little John Tod, John Tod,
O saw ye nae little John Tod?
His shoon they were re'in, and his feet they were seen,
But stout does he gang on the road, John Tod,
But stout does he gang on the road.
*From Herd's Collection, 1776.
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