I hae sworn by the Heavens to my Mary,
I hae sworn by the Heavens to be true;
And sae may the Heavens forget me,
When I forget my vow!
O plight me your faith, my Mary,
And plight me your lily-white hand;
O plight me your faith, my Mary,
Before I leave Scotia's strand.
We hae plighted our troth, my Mary,
In mutual affection to join,
And curst be the cause that shall part us!
The hour, and the moment o' time!
TUNE- Bide ye yet!
O MARY, at thy window be,
It is the wish'd, the trysted hour! Those smiles and glances let me see, That make the miser's treasure poor; How blithely wad I bide the stoure,
A weary slave frae sun to sun; Could I the rich reward secure, The lovely Mary Morison.
Yestreen, when to the trembling string The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha', To thee my fancy took its wing,
I sat, but neither heard or saw :
Tho' this was fair, and that was braw,
And yon the toast of a' the town,
I sigh'd, and said amang them a',
'Ye are na Mary Morison.'
O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace,
Wha for thy sake wad gladly die?
Or canst thou break that heart of his,
Whase only faut is loving thee?
If love for love thou wilt na gie,
At least be pity to me shown!
A thought ungentle canna be
The thought o' Mary Morison.
TUNE- The Mill Mill O'
WHEN wild war's deadly blast was blawn,
And gentle peace returning,
Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless, And mony a widow mourning: I left the lines and tented field,
Where lang I'd been a lodger, My humble knapsack a' my wealth, A poor and honest soger.
A leal, light heart was in my breast, My hand unstain'd wi' plunder; And for fair Scotia, hame again
I cheery on did wander. I thought upon the banks o' Coil, I thought upon my Nancy, I thought upon the witching smile That caught my youthful fancy.
At length I reach'd the bonie glen,
Where early life I sported;
I pass'd the mill, and trysting thorn,
Where Nancy aft I courted:
Wha spied I but my ain dear maid,
Down by her mother's dwelling!
And turn'd me round to hide the flood
That in my een was swelling.
Wi' alter'd voice, quoth I, Sweet lass,
Sweet as yon hawthorn blossom,
O! happy, happy may he be,
That's dearest to thy bosom !
My purse is light, I've far to gang,
And fain wad be thy lodger;
I've serv'd my King and Country lang-
Take pity on a soger!
Sae wistfully she gaz'd on me,
And lovelier was than ever : Quo' she, a soger ance I lo'ed,
Forget him shall I never : Our humble cot, and hamely fare, Ye freely shall partake it, That gallant badge, the dear cockade, Ye're welcome for the sake o't.
She gaz'd-she redden'd like a rose-
Syne pale like onie lily;
She sank within my arms, and cried,
Art thou my ain dear Willie?
By Him who made yon sun and sky,
By whom true love's regarded,
I am the man; and thus may still
True lovers be rewarded!
The wars are o'er, and I'm come hame,
And find thee still true-hearted;
Tho' poor in gear, we're rich in love,
And mair we'se ne'er be parted.
Quo' she, My grandsire left me gowd,
A mailen plenish'd fairly;
And come, my faithful soger lad,
Thou'rt welcome to it dearly!
For gold the merchant ploughs the main,
The farmer ploughs the manor ;
But glory is the soger's prize;
The soger's wealth is honour:
The brave poor soger ne'er despise,
Nor count him as a stranger,
Remember he's his Country's stay
In the day and hour o' danger.
MY FATHER WAS A FARMER.
TUNE- The Weaver and his Shuttle, O.
My Father was a Farmer upon the Carrick border, O
And carefully he bred me in decency and order, O
He bade me act a manly part, though I had ne'er a farthing, O
For without an honest manly heart, no man was worth regarding, O.
Then out into the world my course I did determine, O
Tho' to be rich was not my wish, yet to be great was charming, O
My talents they were not the worst; nor yet my education, O
Resolv'd was I, at least to try, to mend my situation, O.
In many a way, and vain essay, I courted fortune's favour; O
Some cause unseen still stept between, to frustrate each endeavour, O
Sometimes by foes I was o'erpower'd; sometimes by friends forsaken; O
And when my hope was at the top, I still was worst mistaken, O.
Then sore harass'd, and tir'd at last, with fortune's vain delusion; O
I dropt my schemes, like idle dreams, and came to this conclusion; (
The past was bad, and the future hid; its good or ill untried; O
But the present hour was in my pow'r, and so I would enjoy it, O.
No help, nor hope, nor view had I; nor person to befriend me; O
So I must toil, and sweat and broil, and labour to sustain me, O
To plough and sow, to reap and mow, my father bred me early; O
For one, he said, to labour bred, was a match for fortune fairly, O.
Thus all obscure, unknown, and poor, thro' life I'm doom'd to wander, O
Till down my weary bones I lay in everlasting slumber; O
No view nor care, but shun whate'er might breed me pain or sorrow; O
I live to-day as well's I may, regardless of to-morrow, O.
But cheerful still, I am as well as a monarch in a palace, O
Tho' fortune's frown still hunts me down, with all her wonted malice; O
I make indeed my daily bread, but ne'er can make it farther; O
But as daily bread is all I need, I do not much regard her, O.
When sometimes by my labour I earn a little money, O
Some unforeseen misfortune comes generally upon me; O
Mischance, mistake, or by neglect, or my good-natur'd folly; O
But come what will, I've sworn it still, I'll ne'er be melancholy, O.
All you who follow wealth and power, with unremitting ardour, O
The more in this you look for bliss, you leave your view the farther; O
Had you the wealth Potosi boasts, or nations to adore you, O
A cheerful honest-hearted clown I will prefer before you, O.
WHEN FIRST I CAME TO STEWART KYLE.
A MOTHER'S LAMENT FOR THE DEATH OF HER SON.
TUNE- Finlayston House.
FATE gave the word, the arrow sped, And pierc'd my darling's heart; And with him all the joys are fled Life can to me impart !
By cruel hands the sapling drops,
In dust dishonour'd laid:
So fell the pride of all my hopes,
My age's future shade.
The mother-linnet in the brake
Bewails her ravish'd young;
So I, for my lost darling's sake,
Lament the live-day long.
Death, oft I've fear'd thy fatal blow,
Now, fond, I bare my breast,
O, do thou kindly lay me low
With him I love, at rest!
BONIE LESLEY.
TUNE- The Collier's bonie Dochter?
O SAW ye bonie Lesley
As she gaed o'er the border? She's gane, like Alexander,
To spread her conquests farther.
To see her is to love her,
And love but her for ever;
For Nature made her what she is,
And ne'er made sic anither!
Thou art a queen, Fair Lesley,
Thy subjects we, before thee:
Thou art divine, Fair Lesley,
The hearts o' men adore thee.
The Deil he could na scaith thee,
Or aught that wad belang thee; He'd look into thy bonie face,
And say, 'I canna wrang thee.' The Powers aboon will tent thee; Misfortune sha'na steer thee; Thou'rt like themselves sae lovely, That ill they'll ne'er let near thee.
Return again, Fair Lesley,
Return to Caledonie !
That we may brag, we hae a lass
There's nane again sae bonie.
TUNE-' The King of France, he rade a race.'
AMANG the trees where humming bees
At buds and flowers were hinging,
Auld Caledon drew out her drone,
And to her pipe was singing; O
'Twas Pibroch, Sang, Strathspey, or
Reels,
She dirl'd them aff fu' clearly, O When there cam a yell o' foreign squeels, That dang her tapsalteerie, O
Their capon craws and queer ha ha's,
They made our lugs grow eerie; O
The hungry bike did scrape and pike
Till we were wae and wearie: O-
But a royal ghaist wha ance was cas'd
A prisoner aughteen year awa,
He fir'd a fiddler in the north
That dang them tapsalteerie, O.
WHEN FIRST I CAME TO
STEWART KYLE.
TUNE-I had a horse and I had nae mair.'
WHEN first I came to Stewart Kyle,
My mind it was na steady,
Where'er I gaed, where'er I rade,
A mistress still I had aye:
But when I came roun' by Mauchline town,
Not dreadin' onie body,
My heart was caught before I thought, And by a Mauchline lady.
ON SENSIBILITY.
TO MY DEAR AND MUCH HONOURED FRIEND, MRS. DUNLOP, OF DUNLOP.
AIR-Sensibility.'
SENSIBILITY, how charming,
Thou, my friend, canst truly tell; But distress, with horrors arming, Thou hast also known too well!
Fairest flower, behold the lily,
Blooming in the sunny ray : Let the blast sweep o'er the valley, See it prostrate on the clay.
O RAGING FORTUNE'S WITHERING BLAST.
Hear the wood-lark charm the forest,
Telling o'er his little joys;
Hapless bird! a prey the surest
To each pirate of the skies.
Dearly bought the hidden treasure
Finer feelings can bestow;
Chords that vibrate sweetest pleasure
Thrill the deepest notes of woe.
MONTGOMERIE'S PEGGY.
TUNE-'Galla Water?
ALTHO' my bed were in yon muir,
Amang the heather, in my plaidie,
Yet happy, happy would I be,
Had I my dear Montgomerie's Peggy.
When o'er the hill beat surly storms,
And winter nights were dark and rainy, I'd seek some dell, and in my arms I'd shelter dear Montgomerie's Peggy. Were I a Baron proud and high, And horse and servants waiting ready, Then a' 'twad gie o' joy to me, The sharin't wi' Montgomerie's Peggy.
ON A BANK OF FLOWERS.
ON a bank of flowers, in a summer day,
For summer lightly drest,
The youthful blooming Nelly lay,
With love and sleep opprest;
When Willie, wand'ring thro' the wood, Who for her favour oft had sued; Hegaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd,
And trembled where he stood.
Her closed eyes, like weapons sheath'd,
Were seal'd in soft repose;
Her lips, still as she fragrant breath'd,
It richer dy'd the rose.
The springing lilies sweetly prest,
Wild-wanton kiss'd her rival breast;
Hegaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd,
His bosom ill at rest.
Her robes, light waving in the breeze,
Her tender limbs embrace!
Her lovely form, her native ease,
All harmony and grace!
Tumultuous tides his pulses roll,
A faltering ardent kiss he stole ;
Hegaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd,
And sigh'd his very soul.
As flies the partridge from the brake
On fear-inspired wings;
So Nelly, starting, half awake,
Away affrighted springs :
But Willie follow'd-as he should,
He overtook her in the wood :
He vow'd, he pray'd, he found the maid
Forgiving all, and good.
O RAGING FORTUNE'S
WITHERING BLAST.
O RAGING fortune's withering blast
Has laid my leaf full low! O
O raging fortune's withering blast
Has laid my leaf full low! O.
My stem was fair, my bud was green,
My blossom sweet did blow; O
The dew fell fresh, the sun rose mild,
And made my branches grow; O.
But luckless fortune's northern storms
Laid a' my blossoms low, O
But luckless fortune's northern storms
Laid a' my blossoms low, O.
TUNE-'Savourna Delish!
SLOW Spreads the gloom my soul desires,
The sun from India's shore retires :
To Evan Banks with temp'rate ray,
Home of my youth, he leads the day.
Oh Banks to me for ever dear!
Oh stream, whose murmurs still I hear!
All, all my hopes of bliss reside
Where Evan mingles with the Clyde.
And she, in simple beauty drest,
Whose image lives within my breast;
Who trembling heard my parting sigh,
And long pursued me with her eye :
Does she, with heart unchang'd as mine,
Oft in the vocal bowers recline?
Or, where yon grot o'erhangs the tide,
Muse while the Evan seeks the Clyde ?
Ye lofty Banks that Evan bound,
Ye lavish woods that wave around,
And o'er the stream your shadows throw,
Which sweetly winds so far below;
What secret charm to mem'ry brings,
All that on Evan's border springs!
Sweet Banks! ye bloom by Mary's side:
Blest stream! she views thee haste to
Clyde.
Can all the wealth of India's coast
Atone for years in absence lost!
Return, ye moments of delight,
With richer treasures bless my sight!
Swift from this desert let me part,
And fly to meet a kindred heart!
No more may aught my steps divide
From that dear stream which flows to
Clyde !
THO' women's minds like winter winds
May shift and turn, and a' that,
The noblest breast adores them maist,
A consequence I draw that.
For a' that, and a' that,
And twice as meikle's a' that, The bonie lass that I loe best She'll be my ain for a' that.
Great love I bear to all the fair,
Their humble slave, and a' that;
But lordly will, I hold it still
A mortal sin to thraw that.
For a' that, &c.
|