O, dear Bess, I hardly knew, It's wat wi' dew, and 'twill get rain, The guilt appeared in Jamie's cheek: I ne'er could meet my dawtie. The lasses fast frae him they flew, As they gaed ower the muir, they sang, JOHN HAY'S BONNY LASSIE. By smooth-winding Tay a swain was reclining, Το my bonny Hay, that I am her lover! Nae mair it will hide; the flame waxes stranger ; This song is stated by Mr Cunningham, in his Songs of Scotland, to have been written by the Rev. Mr Muirhead, (minister, about fifty years ago, of the parish of Urr, in Galloway,) upon a youthful adventure of his It appears in Herd's Collection, 1776. own. She's fresh as the spring, and sweet as Aurora, But if she appear where verdure invite her, The mair that I gaze, the deeper I'm wounded; ANNIE. BURNS. TUNE-Allan Water. By Allan stream I chanced to rove, From the Tea-Table Miscellany, 1724.-I have found it asserted by a credible tradition in Roxburghshire, that this song was written by a working joiner, in honour of a daughter of John, first Marquis of Tweeddale, who is here familiarly called by his simple name, John Hay. She was a sister of the second Marquis, who, under his junior title of Lord Yester, is usually given as the author of the first version of " Tweedside." The first Marquis of Tweeddale had two daughters, Lady Margaret and Lady Jean; but, Burns having somewhere mentioned, that the song was written in honour of one who was afterwards Countess of Roxburghe, we are enabled to set forward the eldest, Lady Margaret, as the heroine. We are further enabled, by Mr Wood's Peerage, to state the probable era of the song. Lady Margaret Hay, wife of the third Earl of Roxburghe, was a widow, at the age of twenty-five, in the year 1682. Allowing from thirteen to five-and-twenty as the utmost range of age during which she could be celebrated as " John Hay's Bonny Lassie," the song must have been written between the years 1670 and 1682, probably nearer the first era than the last. It may be mentioned as a remarkable circumstance regarding this interesting lady, that she survived her husband, in uninterrupted widowhood, the amazingly long period of seventy-one years. She died at Broomlands, near Kelso, on the 23d of January, 1753, at the age of ninety-six, after having seen out several generations of her shortlived descendants; the third person in descent being then in possession of the honours of Roxburghe. Her husband was one of the unfortunate persons who were drowned at Yarmouth-roads, on the occasion of the shipwreck of the Gloucester frigate, which was bringing the Duke of York down to Scotland, May 1682. The winds were whisp'ring through the grove, And thought on youthful pleasures many; aye O, dearly do I love thee, Annie ! O, happy be the woodbine bower; The place and time I meet my dearie! She, sinking, said, I'm thine for ever! The haunt o' Spring's the primrose brae ; Or chain the soul in speechless pleasure, SCOTIA'S SONS HAE AYE BEEN FREE. M'PHAIL. TUNE-Andrew and his cuttie Gun. BLYTHE, blythe, around the nappie, While we're here we'll bae a drappie- "I walked out," says Burns, "with the Museum in my hand, (Johnson's Musical Museum,) and turning up Allan Water,' the words appeared to me rather unworthy of so fine an air: so I sat and raved under the shade of an old thorn, till I wrote one to suit the measure." Our auld forbears, when ower their yill, Some hearty cock wad then hae sung Thus cracks, and jokes, and sangs, gaed roun', The landlord then the nappie brings, Then like our dads o' auld lang syne, Aye blythe to meet, our mou's to weet, THERE'S NAE LUCK ABOUT THE HOUSE. WILLIAM JULIUS MICKLE. BUT are ye sure the news is true? Is this a time to think o' wark? Ye jauds, fling bye your wheel. For there's nae luck about the house, There's nae luck about the house, Is this a time to think o' wark, Rise up and make a clean fireside, Mak their shoon as black as slaes, There are twa hens into the crib, My turkey slippers I'll put on, For he's baith leal and true. Sae sweet his voice, sae smooth his tongue; His very fit has music in't, And will I see his face again? *From Herd's Collection, 1776. |