Imagens da página

Still have we left a sacrifice

To offer on our bier.

[ocr errors]

A foreign and fanatic sway

Our Southron foes may gall;
The cup is fill'd they yet shall drink,

And they deserve it all.
But there is nocht for us or ours,

In which we hope or trust,
But hide us in our fathers'

Beside our fathers' dust.



SCENE-A Field of Battle.-TIME OF THE DAY-Evening. The

Wounded and ying of the Victorious Army are supposed to

join in the following Song: FAREWELL, thou fairday, thou green earth, and ye skies, Now


with the bright setting sun; Farewell, loves and friendships, ye dear tender ties,

Our race of existence is run !

Thou grim King of Terrors, thou life's gloomy foe,

Go, frighten the coward and slave;
Go teach them to tremble, fell tyrant I but know,

No terrors hast thou to the brave.

Thou strikest the dull peasant; he sinks in the dark,

Nor saves even the wreck of a name;
Thou strikest the young bero—a glorious mark !

He falls in the blaze of his fame!

In the proud field of honour-our swords in our hands,
Our king and our country to save
* From Mr Hogg's Jacobite Relice, 1821,

While victory shines on life's last ebbing sands,

0! who would not die with the brave !




FAREWELL to a' our Scottish fame,

Farewell our ancient glory;
Farewell ev'n to the Scottish name,

Sae famed in ancient story!
Now Sark rins ower the Solway sands,

And Tweed rins to the ocean,
To mark where England's province stands :
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation !

What force or guile could not subdue,

Through many warlike ages,
Is wrought now by a coward few,

For hireling traitors' wages.
The English steel we could disdain,

Secure in valour's station ;
But English gold has been our bane :

Such a parcel of rogues in a nation!

I would, ere I had seen the day,

That treason thus could sell us,
My auld grey head bad lain in clay,

Wi' Bruce and loyal Wallace !
But pith and power, to my last hour

I'll make this declaration,
We're bought and sold for English gold :

Such a parcel of rogues in a nation !



TUNE-Lochaber no more.

FAREWELL to Lochaber, farewell to my Jean,
Where heartsome wi' her I hae mony a day been;
To Lochaber no more, to Lochaber no more,
We'll maybe return to Lochaber no more.
These tears that I shed, they're a' for


dear, And no for the dangers attending on weir; Though borne on rough seas to a far bloody shore, Maybe to return to Lochaber no more ! Though hurricanes rise, thongh rise every wind, No tempest can equal the storm in my mind; Though loudest of thunders on louder waves roar, There's naething like leavin' my love on the shore. To leave thee behind me my heart is sair pain'd; But by ease that's inglorious no fame can be gain’d: And beauty and love's the reward of the brave; And I maun deserve it before I can crave.

Then glory, my Jeanie, maun plead my excuse;
Since honour commands me, how can I refuse?
Without it, I ne'er can have merit for thee;
And losing thy favour I'd better not be.

gae then, my lass, to win honour and fame;
And if I should chance to come glorious hame,
I'll bring a heart to thee with love running o'er,
And then I'll leave thee and Lochaber no more.*

* Although the air of Farewell to Lochaber is completely identified in the mind of a Scotsman with the idea of quitting his native country, and seems as if composed on purpose to express the mournful associations connected with that idea, it, in reality, appears to have been originally adapted to a song of a totally different cast. In a MS. book of Scottish airs, compiled in the reign of William III., (in the possession of Mr Andrew Blaikie, engraver, Paisley,) it is entitled, King James's March to Ireland.



FALSE luve! and bae ye play'd me this,

In summer, 'mid the flowers ?
I shall repay ye back again

In winter, 'mid the showers.

But again, dear luve, and again, dear luve,

Will ye not turn again ?

look to other women
Shall I to other men ? *

* From Herd's Collection, 1776.-A slightly different version is put by Sir Walter Scott into the mouth of Davie Gellatley, in the celebrated novel of Waverley :

“ False love, and hast thou play'd me this

In summer, among the flowers ?
I will repay thee back again

In winter, among the showers.
“ Unless again, again, my love,

Unless you turn again,
As you with other maidens rove,

I'll smile on other men." There is, in Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, (Edin. 1827, ] a wild and very poetical old ballad, entitled The Gardener, where, after a person of that profession has entreated the love of a young lady, by promising her a dress made up of his best flowers, she answers thus:

“ O, fare ye weil, young man, she says,

Fareweil, and I bid adieu ;
Gin ye've provided a weed for me

Amang the simmer flowers,
It's I've provided another for you

Amang the winter showers.
• The new-fawn snaw to be your smock,

It becomes your bodie best;
Your heid sall be wrapt in the blae east wind,

And the cauld rain on your breist.”



TUNE-For lack of Gold.
For lack of gold she has left me, 0,
And of all that's dear she's bereft me, 0;
She me forsook for Athole's duke,
And to endless woe she has left


A star and garter have more art
Than youth, a true and faithful heart;
For empty titles we must part
For glittering show she has left


No cruel fair shall ever move
My injured heart again to love;

distant climates I must rove,
Since Jeany she has left me, O.

powers above, I to your care
Resign my faithless, lovely fair ;
Your choicest blessing be her share,

Though she has ever left me, 0.*

* This song was written by the author, on his being jilted by Miss Jean Drummond, daughter of John Drummond, Esq. of Megginch, Perthshire; who, after having given him some encouragement, thought proper, on the 7th of May, 1749, to marry a nobler though an older suitor, James, second Duke of Athole, maternal grandfather and paternal granduncle of the present most noble possessor of that title. She

had no issue by his Grace, after whose death she married Lord Adam Gordon, (fourth son of Alexander, second Duke of Gordon,) Commander of the Forces in Scotland. She died at the Palace of Holyroodhouse, on the 22d of February, 1795, and was buried at Inveresk.

Of Dr Austin all I know is, that he resided for many years, during the latter half of the last century, in a house in Brown's Square, Edinburgh, where he practised as a physicia).

Mr Thomson, in his excellent collection of Scottish music and song, mentions, that an old lady of his acquaintance remembers a line of a song, once popular, regarding the heroine :

“ Bonnie Jeanie Drummond, she towers aboon them a'.' The song, “ For lack of Gold," appeared in Herd's Collection, 1776.

« AnteriorContinuar »