Слике страница
PDF
ePub

THE CHEVALIER'S LAMENT.+

TUNE CAPTAIN O'KEAN.'

THESmall birds rejoice in the green leaves returning, The murmuring streamlet winds clear thro' the

vale;

The hawthorn trees blow1 in the dews of the morning, And wild scatter'd cowslips bedeck the green

dale:

But what can give pleasure, or what can seem fair, While the lingering moments are number'd by

care?

No flowers gaily springing, nor birds sweetly singing,2

Can sooth the sad bosom of joyless despair.

VAR. The primroses blush.

66

2 No birds sweetly singing, nor flowers gaily springing. In a letter from Burns to Mr. Robert Cleghorn, dated Mauchline, 31st March, 1788, he says, Yesterday, my dear sir, as I was riding through a track of melancholy, joyless muirs, between Galloway and Ayrshire, it being Sunday, I turned my thoughts to psalms and hymns, and spiritual songs; and your favourite air, Captain O'Kean,' coming at length in my head, I tried these words to it. You will see that the first part of the tune must be repeated. I am tolerably pleased with these verses, but as I have only a sketch of the tune, I leave it with you to try if they suit the measure of the music."

[ocr errors]

The first two stanzas have been collated with a copy in the Poet's autograph. "These admirable stanzas,' says Thomson, " are supposed to be spoken by the young Prince Charles Edward, when wandering in the Highlands of Scotland, after his fatal defeat at Culloden."

The deed that I dar'd could it merit their malice, A King or a Father to place on his throne? His right are these hills, and his right are these valleys,

Where the wild beasts find shelter, but I can find none.

But 'tis not my sufferings thus wretched, forlorn, My brave gallant friends, 'tis your ruin I mourn : Your deeds prov'd so loyal in hot bloody trial, Alas! can I make you no sweeter3 return?

THE BELLES OF MAUCHLINE. +

TUNE BONNIE DUNDEE.'

IN Mauchline there dwells six proper young Belles, The pride of the place and its neighbourhood a', Their carriage and dress, a stranger would guess, In Lon'on or Paris they'd gotten it a':

Miss Miller is fine, Miss Markland's divine,
Miss Smith she has wit, and Miss Betty is braw:
There's beauty and fortune to get wi' Miss Morton,
But Armour's* the jewel for me o' them a'.

[blocks in formation]

* This was one of Burns' early productions.-Miss Armour became Mrs. Burns.

[blocks in formation]

HERE'S A HEALTH TO THEM THAT'S AWA.*

HERE'S a health to them that's awa,

Here's a health to them that's awa;

And wha winna wish guid luck to our cause,
May never guid luck be their fa'!
It's guid to be merry and wise,
It's guid to be honest and true,
It's guid to support Caledonia's cause,
And bide by the buff and the blue.

Here's a health to them that's awa,

Here's a health to them that's awa,

Here's a health to Charlie § the chief o' the clan,

Altho' that his band be sma'.

May liberty meet wi' success!

May prudence protect her frae evil!

May tyrants and tyranny tine in the mist,

And wander their way to the devil!

Here's a health to them that's awa,

Here's a health to them that's awa;

Here's a health to Tammie,‡ the Norland laddie, That lives at the lug o' the law!

* This song, which is in Cromek's Reliques, has been collated with a copy in the poet's writing.

§ Charles Fox.

Thomas Erskine.

Here's freedom to him that wad read,

Here's freedom to him that wad write!

There's nane ever fear'd that the truth should be heard,

But they wham the truth wad indite.

Here's a health to them that's awa,

Here's a health to them that's awa,

Here's Chieftain M'Leod,|| a Chieftain worth gowd, Tho' bred amang mountains o' snaw!

I'M OWRE YOUNG TO MARRY YET.+

I AM my mammie's ae bairn,
Wi' unco folk I weary, Sir;

And lying in a man's bed,

I'm fley'd wad mak me eerie, Sir.

CHORUS.

I'm owre young, I'm owre young,
I'm owre young to marry yet;
I'm owre young, 'twad be a sin
To tak me frae my mammie yet.

M'Leod, Chief of that clan.

+ Burns says, the chorus of this song is old, the rest of it, such as it is, is mine.

My mammie coft me a new gown,
The kirk maun hae the gracing o't;
Were I to lie wi' you, kind Sir,

I'm fear'd ye'd spoil the lacing o't.
I'm owre young, &c.

[blocks in formation]

The nights are lang in winter, Sir;

And you an' I in ae bed,

In troth I dare na venturé, Sir.
I'm owre young, &c.

Fu' loud and shrill the frosty wind
Blaws thro' the leafless timmer, Sir;

But if ye come this gate again,
I'll aulder be gin simmer, Sir.
I'm owre young, &c.

DAMON AND SYLVIA.

TUNE- THE TITHER MORN, AS I FORLORN."

YON wand'ring rill, that marks the hill,
And glances o'er the brae, Sir:
Slides by a bower where monie a flower
Sheds fragrance on the day, Sir.

There Damon lay, with Sylvia gay :

To love they thought nae crime, Sir; The wild-birds sang, the echoes rang, While Damon's heart beat time, Sir.

« ПретходнаНастави »