Obrázky stránek
PDF
ePub
[ocr errors]

MY MOTHER BIDS ME BIND MY HAIR.

MRS. JOHN HUNTER, wife of the celebrated surgeon, born 1742, died 1821.

My mother bids me bind my hair
With bands of rosy hue,

Tie up my sleeves with ribands rare,
And lace my bodice blue.

For why, she cries, sit still and weep,
While others dance and play?
Alas! I scarce can go or creep
While Lubin is away.

"Tis sad to think the days are gone
When those we love were near :

I sit upon this mossy stone,

And sigh when none can hear.

And while I spin my flaxen thread,
And sing my simple lay,

The village seems asleep, or dead,
Now Lubin is away.

ROY'S WIFE.

MRS. GRANT of Carron, born 1745, died 1814.

Roy's wife of Aldivalloch,

Roy's wife of Aldivalloch,
Wat
ye how she cheated me

As I cam o'er the braes of Balloch?

She vow'd, she swore she wad be mine,

She said she lo'ed me best o' onie ;

But ah! the faithless, fickle quean,
She's ta'en the carle, and left her Johnnie.
Roy's wife, &c.

O she was a cantie quean,

Weel could she dance the Highland walloch;
How happy I, had she been mine,

Or I'd been Roy of Aldivalloch !
Roy's wife, &c.

Her hair sae fair, her een sae clear,

Her wee bit mou' sae sweet and bonnie;
To me she ever will be dear,

Though she's for ever left her Johnnie.
Roy's wife, &c.

In r. Peter Buchan's manuscript collection of the songs taken down from the mouths of the peasantry in the North of Scotland appears the following version of a song to the same air and with the same title :

Davie Gordon in Kirktown

And Tibbie Stewart o' Aldivalloch,

Sae merrily's they play'd the loon

As they sat in the braes o' Balloch.

Roy's wife o' Aldivalloch,

Roy's wife o' Aldivalloch;

She's gien her puir auld man the glaiks
Coming through the braes o' Balloch.

Auld Roy spied them's he passed by,

An, oh, he gae an unco walloch;

And after them he soon did hie,

And chas'd them through the braes o' Balloch.
Roy's wife, &c.

Silly body, Aldivalloch;

Puir body, Aldivalloch;

He lost his hose and baith his sheen
Coming through the braes o' Balloch.
Roy's wife, &c.

He drew a stick when he came near,

And sware he'd gie the lad a thrashin';

Than he lap and vow'd and sware,

He was in sic an awfu' passion.
Roy's wife, &c.

But Davie soon did rin awa,

He wudna bide to banter wi' him;

Syne Roy Tibbie's back did claw,
An' hame she ran like birds a-flying.
Roy's wife, &c.

Now Tibbie's promised there for life
To meet nae ither man in Balloch;

But be a gude an' kindly wife,
And gang nae mair to Aldivalloch,
Roy's wife, &c.

[graphic]

MY BOY TAMMY.

HECTOR MACNEIL. Born 1746, died July 15, 1818. WHAR ha'e ye been a' day,

My boy Tammy ?

I've been by burn and flow'ry brae,
Meadow green and mountain grey,
Courting o' this young thing,

Just come frae her mammy.

And whar gat ye that young thing,
My boy Tammy ?-

I got her down in yonder howe,
Smiling on a bonnie knowe,
Herding ae wee lamb and ewe
For her poor mammy.

What said ye to the bonnie bairn,
My boy Tammy ?—

I praised her een sae lovely blue,
Her dimpled cheek and cherry mou';
I pree'd it aft, as ye may trow,-

She said she'd tell her mammy.

e

I held her to my beating heart,

My young, my smiling lammie;

I hae a house, it cost me dear,
I've walth o' plenishen and gear;

Ye'se get it a', were't ten times mair,
Gin ye will leave your mammy.

The smile ga'ed aff her bonny face-
I mauna leave my mammy;

She's gien me meet, she's gien me claise,
She's been my comfort a' my days;
My father's death brought monny waes:
I canna leave my mammy.

We'll tak her hame and mak her fain,
My ain kind-hearted lammie;
We'll gie her meet, we'll gie her claise,
We'll be her comfort a' her days.
The wee thing gies her hand and says,
There, gang and ask my mammy.

Has she been to the kirk wi' thee,
My boy Tammy ?-

She has been to the kirk wi' me,
And the tear was in her ee:

For, oh, she's but a young thing,

Just come frae her mammy!

THE WEE THING.

HECTOR MACNEIL. Air-" Bonnie Dundee."

"SAW ye my wee thing? saw ye my ain thing?

Saw ye my true-love down on yon lea?

Cross'd she the meadow yestreen at the gloamin? Sought she the burnie whar flow'rs the haw-tree?

Her hair it is lint-white, her skin it is milk-white;
Dark is the blue o' her saft-rolling ee;

Red, red her ripe lips, and sweeter than roses;
Whar could my wee thing wander frae me?"

"I saw nae your wee thing, I saw nae your ain thing,
Na saw I your true-love on yon lea;

But I met my bonnie thing late in the gloamin
Down by the burnie whar flow'rs the haw-tree.

Her hair it was lint-white, her skin it was milk-white;
Dark is the blue o' her saft-rolling ee;

Red were her ripe lips, and sweeter than roses;
Sweet were the kisses that she gae to me!"

"It was na my wee thing, it was na my ain thing,
It was na my true-love ye met by the tree:
Proud is her lael heart, and modest her nature;
She never lo'ed onie till ance she lo'ed me.

Her name it is Mary; she's frae Castle-Cary`;
Aft has she sat, when a bairn, on my knee;
Fair as your face is, war't fifty times fairer,

Young braggart, she ne'er would gie kisses to thee!"

"It was then your Mary; she's frae Castle-Cary;
It was then your true-love I met by the tree;
Proud as her heart is, and modest her nature,
Sweet were the kisses that she ga'e to me."

Sair gloom'd his dark brow-blood-red his cheek grew— Wild flash'd the fire frae his red-rolling ee :

"Ye'se rue sair this morning your boasts and your scorning: Defend ye, fause traitor! fu' loudly ye lee!"

"Awa wi' beguiling!" cried the youth, smiling :
Aff went the bonnet, the lint-white locks flee;
The belted plaid fa'ing, her white bosom shawing,
Fair stood the loved maid wi' the dark-rolling ee!

"Is it my wee thing? is it mine ain thing?

Is it my true-love here that I see?"—

66 Oh, Jamie, forgive me; your heart's constant to me; I'll never mair wander, dear laddie, frae thee !"

« PředchozíPokračovat »