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I never needed tar nor keil
To mark her upo' hip or heel,
Her crookit horn did as weel

To ken her by amo' them a';
She never threaten'd scab nor rot,
But keepit ay her ain jog trot,
Baith to the fauld and to the cot,

Was never sweir to lead nor caw, Baith to the fauld and to the cot, &c.

Cauld nor hunger never dang her, Wind nor wet could never wrang her, Anes she lay an ouk and langer,

Furth aneath a wreath o'snaw : Whan ither Ewies lap the dyke, And eat the kail for a' the tyke, My Ewie never play'd the like,

But tyc'd about the barn wa'; My Ewie never play'd the like, &c.

A better or a thriftier beast,
Nae honest man could weel hae wist,
For silly thing she never mist,

To hae ilk' year a lamb or twa';
The first she had I gae to Jock,
To be to him a kind o' stock,

And now the laddie has a flock

O’mair nor thirty head ava'; And now the laddie has a flock, &c.

I lookit aye at even' for her,
Lest mishanter shou'd come o'er her,
Or the fowmart might devour her,

Gin the beastie bade awa ;

Ewie wi' the crookit horn, Well deserv'd baith girse and corn, Sic a Ewe was never born,

Here-about nor far awa. Sic a Ewe was never born, &c.


Yet last ouk, for a' my keeping, (Wha can speak it without weeping ?) A villain cam when I was sleeping,

Sta’ my Ewie, horn and a';
I sought her sair upo' the morn,
And down aneath a buss o' thorn
I got my Ewie’s crookit horn,

But my Ewie was awa'.
I got my Ewie's crookit horn, &c.

O! gin I had the loun that did it,
Sworn I have as well as said it,
Tho' a' the warld should forbid it,

I wad gie his neck a thra':

I never met wi' sic a turn,
As this sin ever I was born,
My Ewie wi' the crookit horn,

Silly Ewie stown awa',
My Ewie wi' the crookit horn, &c.

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O! had she died o' crook or cauld,
As Ewies do when they grow auld,
It wad na been, by mony fauld,

Sae sair a heart to nane o's a':
For a the claith that we hae worn,
Frae her and her's sae aften shorn,
The loss o’her we cou'd hae born,

Had fair strae-death ta'en her awa'. The loss o' her we cou'd hae born, &c.

But thus, poor thing, to lose her life,
Aneath a bleedy villain's knife,
I'm really fley't that our guidwife

Will never win aboon't ava:
O! a' ye bards benorth Kinghorn,
Call your muses up and mourn,
Our Ewie wi' the crookit horn,

Stown frae's, and fellt and a'! Our Ewie wi' the crookit horn, &c.


It is remarkable of this air, that it is the confine of that country where the greatest part of our Lowland music, (so far as from the title, words, &c. we can localize it,) has been composed. From Craigie-burn, near Moffat, until one reaches the West Highlands, we have scarcely one slow air of any antiquity.

The song was composed on a passion which a Mr. Gillespie, a particular friend of mine, had for a Miss Lorimer, afterwards a Mrs. Whelpdale.The young lady was born at Craigie-burn wood. The chorus is part of an old foolish ballad,

Beyond thee, dearie, beyond thee, dearie,

And O to be lying beyond thee,
O sweetly, soundly, weel may he sleep,

That's laid in the bed beyond thee.

* “ Craigie-burn wood is situated on the banks of the river Moffat, and about three miles distant from the village of that name, celebrated for its medicinal waters. The woods of Craigie-burn and of Dumcrief, were at one time favourite haunts of Burns. It was there he met the “ Lassie wi' the lint-white locks,” and that he conceived several of his beautiful lyrics.”

Dr. Currie. VOL. II.




Sweet closes the evening on Craigie-burn wood,

And blythely awakens the morrow; But the pride of the spring in the Craigie-burn

Can yield me to nothing but sorrow.

Beyond thee, 8c.
I see the spreading leaves and flowers,

I hear the wild birds singing ;
But pleasure they hae nane for me,
While care my heart is wringing.

Beyond thee, 8c.
I canna tell, I maun na tell,

I dare na for your anger ;
But secret love will break my heart,
If I conceal it langer.

Beyond thee, 8c.
I see thee gracefu', straight and tall,

I see thee sweet and bonie,
But oh, what will my torments be,
If thou refuse thy Johnie !

Beyond thee, &c.

To see thee in anither's arms,

In love to lie and languish,

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