Wi' sma' to sell, and less to buy,
Aboon distress, below envy,-
Oh, wha wad leave this humble state,
For a' the pride of a' the great?
Amid their flaring idle toys,
Amid their cumbrous dinsome joys,
Can they the peace and pleasure feel
Of Bessy at her spinning-wheel?
BALOO, baloo, my wee wee thing,
Oh, saftly close thy blinkin' ee!
Baloo, baloo, my wee wee thing,
For thou art doubly dear to me
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,
Oh, 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 simmer e'ening fa';
Thy sparkling ee is bonnie black,
Thy neck is like the mountain snaw.
Baloo, baloo, my wee wee thing,
Oh, saftly close thy blinkin' ee!
Baloo, baloo, my wee wee thing,
For thou art doubly dear to me.
Oh, but thy daddie's absence lang
Might break my dowie heart in twa,
Wert thou na left a dawtit pledge,
To steal the eerie hours awa'.
But lately seen in gladsome green,
The woods rejoiced the day,
Through gentle showers the laughing flowers
In double pride were gay;
But now our joys are fled
On winter-blasts awa';
Yet maiden May, in rich array,
Again shall bring them a’.
But my white pow nae kindly thowe
Shall melt the snaws of age;
My trunk of eild, but buss or beild,
Sinks in time's wintry rage.
Oh, age has weary days,
And nights o' sleepless pain!
Thou golden time o' youthful prime,
Why com'st thou not again?
BIRD of the wilderness,
Blythesome and cumberless, Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea Emblem of happiness,
Bless'd is thy dwelling-place:
Oh, to abide in the desert with thee!
Wild is thy lay and loud,
Far in the downy cloud;
Love gives it energy, love gave it birth!
Where on the dewy wing,
Where art thou journeying?
Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth.
O'er fell and mountain sheen,
O'er moor and mountain green,
O'er the red streamer that heralds the day;
Over the cloudlet dim,
Over the rainbow's rim,
Musical cherub, hie, hie thee away!
Then when the gloaming comes,
Low in the heather blooms,
Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be;
Bird of the wilderness,
Bless'd is thy dwelling-place:
Oh, to abide in the desert with thee!
WILLIAM CREECH, born 1745, died 1815.
WE'LL hap and row, we'll hap and row,
We'll hap and row the feetie o't;
It is a wee bit weary thing :
I downa bide the greetie o't.
And we pat on the wee bit pan,
To boil the lick o' meatie o't;
A cinder fell and spoil'd the plan,
And burnt a' the feetie o't.
Fu' sair it grat, the puir wee brat,
And aye it kick'd the feetie o't,
Till, puir wee elf, it tired itself,
And then began the sleepie o't.
The skirling brat nae parritch gat,
When it gaed to the sleepie o't;
It's waesome true, instead o' 'ts mou',
They're round about the feetie o't.
Written for "Albyn's Anthology," 1816. Air-" Thain a' Grigalach."
THE moon's on the lake, and the mist's on the brae, And the clan has a name that is nameless by day: Then gather, gather, gather, Grigalach! &c.
Our signal for fight, which from monarchs we drew,
Must be heard but by night in our vengeful halloo :
Then halloo, halloo, halloo, Grigalach!
Glenorchy's proud mountains, Coalchuirn and her towers,
Glenstrae, and Glenlyon, no longer are ours:
We're landless, landless, landless, Grigalach!
But, doom'd and devoted by vassal and lord,
Macgregor has still both his heart and his sword:
Then courage, courage, courage, Grigalach!
If they rob us of name, and pursue us with beagles,
Give their roof to the flames and their flesh to the eagles:
Then vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, Grigalach!
While there's leaves on the forest, or foam on the river,
Macgregor, despite them, shall flourish for ever:
Then gather, gather, gather, Grigalach!
Through the depths of Loch Katrine the steed shall career
O'er the peak of Ben Lomond the galley shall steer;
And the rocks of Craig Royston like icicles melt,
Ere our wrongs be forgot, or our vengeance unfelt :
Then gather, gather, gather, Grigalach!
SIR WALTER SCOTT. From " Albyn's Anthology."
Air-" Malcolm Caird's come again."
DONALD CAIRD's come again!
Donald Caird's come again!
Tell the news in brugh and glen,
Donald Caird's come again!
Donald Caird can lilt and sing,
Blythely dance the Highland fling;
Drink till the gudeman be blind,
Fleech till the gudewife be kind;
Hoop a leglan, clout a pan,
Or crack a pow wi' ony man:
Tell the news in brugh and glen,
Donald Caird's come again!
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