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 Tie up my sleeves with ribands rare, For why, she cries, sit still and weep, "Tis sad to think the days are gone I sit upon this mossy stone, And sigh when none can hear. And while I spin my flaxen thread, The village seems asleep, or dead, ROY'S WIFE. MRS. GRANT of Carron, born 1745, died 1814. Roy's wife of Aldivalloch, Roy's wife of Aldivalloch, 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, O she was a cantie quean, Weel could she dance the Highland walloch; Or I'd been Roy of Aldivalloch ! Her hair sae fair, her een sae clear, Her wee bit mou' sae sweet and bonnie; Though she's for ever left her Johnnie. 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 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. Silly body, Aldivalloch; Puir body, Aldivalloch; He lost his hose and baith his sheen 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. But Davie soon did rin awa, He wudna bide to banter wi' him; Syne Roy Tibbie's back did claw, Now Tibbie's promised there for life But be a gude an' kindly wife, My boy Tammy ? I've been by burn and flow'ry brae, Just come frae her mammy. And whar gat ye that young thing, I got her down in yonder howe, What said ye to the bonnie bairn, I praised her een sae lovely blue, 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, Ye'se get it a', were't ten times mair, The smile ga'ed aff her bonny face- She's gien me meet, she's gien me claise, We'll tak her hame and mak her fain, Has she been to the kirk wi' thee, She has been to the kirk wi' me, 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; Red, red her ripe lips, and sweeter than roses; "I saw nae your wee thing, I saw nae your ain thing, But I met my bonnie thing late in the gloamin Her hair it was lint-white, her skin it was milk-white; Red were her ripe lips, and sweeter than roses; "It was na my wee thing, it was na my ain thing, Her name it is Mary; she's frae Castle-Cary`; Young braggart, she ne'er would gie kisses to thee!" "It was then your Mary; she's frae Castle-Cary; 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 : "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 !" |