TUNE-The Braes o' Ballendine.
BENEATH a green shade, a lovely young swain
Ae evening reclined, to discover his pain;
So sad, yet so sweetly, he warbled his woe,
The winds ceased to breathe, and the fountain to flow;
Rude winds wi' compassion could hear him complain,
Yet Chloe, less gentle, was deaf to his strain.
How happy, he cried, my moments once flew,
Ere Chloe's bright charms first flash'd in my view!
Those eyes then wi' pleasure the dawn could survey;
Nor smiled the fair morning mair cheerful than they.
Now scenes of distress please only my sight;
I'm tortured in pleasure, and languish in light.
Through changes in vain relief I pursue,
All, all but conspire my griefs to renew;
From sunshine to zephyrs and shades we repair-
To sunshine we fly from too piercing an air;
But love's ardent fire burns always the same,
No winter can cool it, no summer inflame.
But see the pale moon, all clouded, retires;
The breezes grow cool, not Strephon's desires :
I fly from the dangers of tempest and wind,
Yet nourish the madness that preys on my mind.
Ah, wretch! how can life be worthy thy care?
To lengthen its moments, but lengthens despair.*
*The celebrated Tenducci used to sing this song, with great effect, in St Cecilia's Hall, at Edinburgh, about fifty years ago. Mr Tytler, who was a great patron of that obsolete place of amusement, says, in his Dissertation on Scottish Music, "Who could hear with insensibility, or without being moved in the highest degree, Tenducci sing, I'll never leave thee,' or, The Braes o' Ballendine?"" The air was composed by Oswald.
"Ballendine, or Bellendean Braes," which have given name to another
TUNE-Bonnie Wee Thing.
BONNIE Wee thing, cannie wee thing,
Lovely wee thing, wert thou mine,
I wad wear thee in my bosom,
Lest my jewel I should tine.
Wistfully I look and languish
In that bonnie face o' thine;
And my heart it stounds wi' anguish,
Lest my wee thing be na mine.
Wit, and grace, and love, and beauty,
In ae constellation shine;
To adore thee is my duty,
Goddess o' this soul o' mine!
Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing,
Lovely wee thing, wert thou mine,
I wad wear thee in my bosom,
Lest my jewel I should tine.*
BALOO, baloo, my wee wee thing,
O saftly close thy blinkin' ee!
Baloo, baloo, my wee wee thing,
For thou art doubly dear to me.
Scottish song, are situated in the Carse of Gowrie; or, rather, they rise in gentle undulations from that fine piece of champagne ground_towards the Sidlaw Hills. Ballendean is the estate of William Trotter, Esq. who was Lord Provost of Edinburgh in 1826-7.
"Composed," says Burns, (Reliques,) " on my little idol, the charming, lovely Davics."
Thy daddie now is far awa,
A sailor laddie o'er the sea;
But hope aye hechts his safe return
To you, my bonnie lamb, an' me.
Baloo, baloo, my wee wee thing,
O saftly close thy blinkin' ee!
Baloo, baloo, my wee wee thing,
For thou art doubly dear to me.
Thy face is simple, sweet, an' mild,
Like ony summer e'ening fa';
Thy sparkling e'e is bonnie black;
Thy neck is like the mountain snaw.
Baloo, baloo, my wee wee thing,
O saftly close thy blinkin' ee!
Baloo, baloo, my wee wee thing,
For thou art doubly dear to me.
O but thy daddie's absence lang
Would break my dowie heart in twa,
Wert thou no left, a dautit pledge,
To steal the eerie hours awa.
COME, LET ME TAKE THEE TO MY BREAST.
TUNE-Cauld Kail in Aberdeen.
COME, let me take thee to my breast,
And pledge we ne'er shall sunder ;
And I shall spurn, as vilest dust,
The warld's wealth and grandeur:
And do I hear my Jeanie own,
That equal transports move her?
I ask for dearest life alone
That I may live to love her.
Thus in my arms, wi' a' thy charms,
I clasp my countless treasure;
I'll seek nae mair o' heaven to share,
Than sic a moment's pleasure:
And, by thy een sae bonnie blue,
I swear I'm thine for ever!
And on thy lips I seal my vow,
And break it shall I never.
TUNE-Tullochgorum.
COME gie's a sang, Montgomery cried,
And lay your disputes all aside;
What signifies't for folks to chide
For what's been done before them?
Let Whig and Tory all agree,
Whig and Tory, Whig and Tory,
Let Whig and Tory all agree
To drop their Whiginegmorum.
Let Whig and Tory all agree
To spend this night with mirth and glee,
And cheerfu' sing alang wi' me
The reel of Tullochgorum.
O, Tullochgorum's my delight;
It gars us a' in ane unite;
And ony sumph that keeps up spite,
In conscience I abhor him.
Blithe and merry we's be a',
Blithe and merry, blithe and merry,
Blithe and merry we's be a',
And mak' a cheerfu' quorum.
Blithe and merry we's be a',
As lang as we hae breath to draw,
And dance, till we be like to fa',
The reel of Tullochgorum.
There need na be sae great a phraise,
Wi' dringing dull Italian lays;
I wadna gi'e our ain strathspeys
For half a hundred score o' 'em.
They're douff and dowie at the best,
Douff and dowie, douff and dowie,
They're douff and dowie at the best,
Wi' a' their variorums.
They're douff and dowie at the best,
Their allegros, and a' the rest,
They canna please a Highland taste,
Compared wi' Tullochgorum.
Let warldly minds themselves oppress
Wi' fear of want, and double cess,
And sullen sots themselves distress
Wi' keeping up decorum.
Shall we sae sour and sulky sit,
Sour and sulky, sour and sulky,
Shall we sae sour and sulky sit,
Like auld Philosophorums ?
Shall we sae sour and sulky sit,
Wi' neither sense, nor mirth, nor wit,
And canna rise to shake a fit
At the reel of Tullochgorum?
May choicest blessings still attend
Each honest-hearted open friend;
And calm and quiet be his end,
And a' that's good watch o'er him ! May peace and plenty be his lot, Peace and plenty, peace and plenty, May peace and plenty be his lot,
And dainties, a great store o' 'em! May peace and plenty be his lot, Unstain'd by any vicious blot; And may he never want a groat, That's fond of Tullochgorum.
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