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LOGIE O' BUCHAN.

Tune-" Logie o' Buchan."

O, LOGIE O' Buchan, O, Logie, the laird, They hae ta'en awa Jamie that delved in the yard;

He play'd on the pipe and the viol sae sma'; They hae ta'en awa Jamie, the flower o' them a'. He said, Think na lang, lassie, though I

gang awa;

He said, Think na lang, lassie, though I gang awa;

For the simmer is coming, cauld winter's

awa,

And I'll come back and see thee in spite o' them u'.

O, Sandie has owsen, and siller, and kye,
A house and a haddin, and a' things forbye,
But I wad hae Jamie, wi's bonnet in's hand,
Before I'd hae Sandy wi' houses and land.
He said, &c.

My daddie looks sulky, my minnie looks sour, They frown upon Jamie, because he is poor; But daddie and minnie although that they be, There's nane o' them a' like my Jamie to me. He said, &c.

I sit on my creepie, and spin at my wheel,
And think on the laddie that lo'ed me sae weel;
He had but ae sixpence-he brak it in twa,
And he gi'ed me the hauf o't when he gaed awa.
Then, haste ye back, Jamie, and bide na awa,
Then haste ye back, Jamie, and bide na awa;
Simmer is comin', cauld winter's awa,
And ye'll come and see me in spite o' them

a'."

"gudeman" of this song was a person of the name of John Blunt, who lived of yore in Crawford-Muir. There are two tunes to which it is often sung. One of them is in most of the Collections of Scottish Tunes;

HERE'S A HEALTH TO THEM THAT'S

AWA.

Tune-"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;

Here's a health to them that were here short syne,

And canna be here the day.

It's gude to be merry and wise;

It's gude to be honest and true;
It's gude to be aff wi' the auld love,
Before ye be on wi' the new.

HEY, CA' THROUGH. Tune-"Hey, ca' through." Up wi' the carles o' Dysart,

And the lads o' Buckhaven,
And the kimmers o' Largo,
And the lasзes o' Leven.

Hey, ca' through, ca' through,
For we hae muckle ado:
Hey, ca' through, ca' through,
For we hae muckle ado.

We hae tales to tell,

And we hae sangs to sing; We hae pennies so spend, And we hae piuts to bring.

Hey, ca' through, &c.

We'll live a' our days;
And them that comes behin',
Let them do the like,
And spend the gear they win.
Hey, ca' through, &c.

the other, though to appearance equally ancient, seems I LO'ED NE'ER A LADDIE BUT ANE

to have been preserved by tradition alone, as we have never seen it in print. A third tune, to which we have heard this song sung, by only one person, an American student, we suspect to have been imported from his own country.

"Logie o' Buchan" is stated by Mr. Peter Buchan of Peterhead, in his Gleanings of Scarce Old Ballads (1827), to have been the composition of Mr. George Halket, and to have been written by him while schoolmaster of Rathen, in Aberdeenshire, about the year 1736. "The poetry of this individual," says Mi. Buchan," was chiefly Jacobitical, and long remained familiar amongst the peasantry in that quarter of the Country: One of the best known of these, at the present, is Wherry, Whigs, awa, man! In 1746, Mr. Halket wrote a dialogue betwixt George II. and the Devil, which falling into the hands of the Duke of Cumberland while on his march to Culloden, he offered one hundred pounds reward for the person or the head of its author. Mr. Halket died in 1756.

"The Logie here mentioned, is in one of the adjoining parishes (Cramond) where Mr. Halket then resided; and the hero of the piece was a James Robertson, gardener at the place of Logie."

CLUNIE.

Tune-" My lodging is on the cold ground."

I LO'ED ne'er a laddie but ane;

He lo'ed ne'er a lassie but me; He's willing to mak me his ain;

And his ain I am willing to be. He has coft me a rokelay o' blue,

And a pair o' mittens o' green; The price was a kiss o' my mou';

And I paid him the debt yestreen.

Let ithers brag weel o' their gear,

Their land, and their lordly degree, I carena for ought but my dear,

For he's ilka thing lordly to me: His words are sae sugar'd, sae sweet! His sense drives ilk fear far awa!

I listen-poor fool! and I greet;

Yet how sweet are the tears as thev fa'!

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To the streamlet winding clear,

To the fragrant-scented brier,

E'en to thee of all most dear, bonnie lassie, Q

For the frowns of fortune low'r, bonnie lassie, O, On thy lover at this hour, bonnie lassie, O: Ere the golden orb of day,

Wakes the warblers from the spray, From this land I must away, bonnie lassie, O.

And when on a distant shore, bon rie lassie, O, Should I fall 'midst battle's roar, bonnie lassie, O, Wilt thou, Helen, when you hear

Of thy lover on his bier,

To his memory shed a tear, bonnie lassie? O.⚫

BLUE BONNETS OVER THE BORDER. SIR WALTER SCOTT.

Tune-" Blue Bonnets over the Border." MARCH, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale, Why, my lads, dinna ye march forward in order?

March, march, Eskdale and Liddesdale ;

All the blue bonnets are over the Border. Many a banner spread flutters above your head; Many a crest that is famous in story: Mount and make ready, then, sons of the mountain glen;

Fight for your Queen and the old Scottish glory.

Come from the hills where your hirsels are graz

ing;

Come from the glen of the buck and the roe; Come to the crag where the beacon is blazing; Come with the buckler, the lance, and the bow Trumpets are sounding, war steeds are bounding;

Stand to your arms, and march in good order. England shall many a day tell of the bloody fray, When the blue bonnets came over the Border.

COMIN' THROUGH THE RYE.

Tune-" Gin a Body meet a Bodv.
GIN a body meet a body

Comin' through the rye,
Gin a body kiss a body,
Need a body cry?
Ev'ry lassie has her laddie,
Nane, they say, hae I!
Yet a' the lads they smile at me,

When comin' through the rye.
Amang the train there is a swain

I dearly lo'e mysell;

But whaur his hame, or what his name, I dinna care to tell.

Kelvin Grove is a beautifully wooded dell, about two miles from Glasgow, forming a sort of lovers' walk for the lads and lasses of that city.

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night and eerie ;

Far's the gate ye hae to gang; dark's the night and eerie; Far's the gate ye hae to gang; dark's the night and eerie;

O stay this night wi' your love, and dinna gang and leave me.

It's but a night and hauf a day that I'll leave my dearie;

But a night and hauf a day that I'll leave my dearie;

But a night and hauf a day that I'll leave my dearie;

Whene'er the sun gaes west the loch I'll come again and see thee. Dinna gang, my bonnie lad, dinna gang and leave me;

Dinna gang, my bonnie lad, dinna gang and leave me ;

When a' the lave are sound asleep, I'm dull

and eerie ;

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While the winds and waves do roar, I am wae and dreary;

And gin ye lo'e me as ye say, ye winna gang and leave me.

O never mair, bonnie lassie; will I gang and leave thee;

Never mair, bonnie lassie,will I gang and leave thee;

Never mair, bonnie lassie, will I gang and leave thee;

E'en let the world gang as it will, I'll stay

at hame and cheer thee.

Frae his hand he coost his stick; I winna gang and leave thee;

Threw his plaid into the neuk; never can I grieve thee;

Drew his boots, and flang them by ; cried my lass, be cheerie ;

I'll

kiss the tear frae aff thy check, and never leave my dearie.

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O, bonnie Mary Hay, it is haliday to me,
When thou art couthie, kind, and free;
There's nae clouds in the lift, nor storms in
the sky,

Bonnie Mary Hay, when thou art nigh.
O, bonnie Mary Hay, thou mauna say me nay,
But come to the bower, by the hawthorn brae;
But come to the bower, and I'll tell ye a' what's
true,

How, wonnie Mary Hay, I can loe nane but you.

CARLE, AN THE KING COME.
Tune-"Carle, an the King come."
CARLE, an the king come,
Carle, an the king come,
Thou shalt dance and I will sing,

Carle, an the king come.

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Gae 'wa wi' yere plaidie! auld Donald, gae 'wa; I fear na the cauld blast, the drift, nor the snaw! Gae 'wa wi' your plaidie! I'll no sit beside ye; Ye micht be my gutcher! auld Donald, gae 'wa. I'm gaun to meet Johnnie-he's young and he's bonnie;

He's been at Meg's bridal, fou trig and fou braw! Nane dances sae lichtly, sae gracefu', or tichtly, His cheek's like the new rose, his brow's like the snaw!

Dear Marion, let that flee stick to the wa'; Your Jock's but a gowk, and has naething ava; The haill o' his pack he has now on his back; He's thretty, and I am but three score and twa.

This is an old favourite cavalier song; the chorus, at least, is as old as the time of the Commonwealth, when the return of King Charles II. was a matter of daily prayer to the Loyalists.

Be frank now and kindly-I'll busk ye aye finely;

To kirk or to market there'll few gang sae braw; A bien house to bide in, a chaise for to ride in, And flunkies to 'tend ye as aft as ye ca'.

My father aye tauld me, my mother and a', Ye'd mak a gude husband, and keep me aye braw;

It's true, I lo'e Johnnie; he's young and he's bonnie;

But, wae's me! I ken he has naething ava!
I hae little tocher; ye've made a gude offer;
I'm now mair than twenty; my time is but
s:na'!

Sae gie my your plaidie; I'll creep in beside ye; I thocht ye'd been aulder than three score and twa!

She crap in ayont him, beside the stane wa', Whare Johnnie was listnin', and heard her tell a'. The day was appointed!-his proud heart it dunted,

And strack 'gainst his side, as if burstin' in

twa.

He wander'd hame wearie, the nicht it was drearie,

And, thowless, he tint his gate 'mang the deep

snaw:

The howlet was screamin', while Johnnie cried, Women

Wad marry auld Nick, if he'd keep them aye braw.

O, the deil's in the lasses! they gang now sae braw,

They'll lie down wi' auld men o' fourscore and twa;

The hail o' their marriage is gowd and a carriage;

Plain love is the cauldest blast now that can blaw.

Auld dotards, be wary! tak tent when ye marry;

Young wives, wi' their coaches, they'll whip and they'll ca',

Till they meet wi' some Johnnie that's youthfu' and bonnie,

And they'll gie ye horns on ilk haffet to claw.

DUSTY MILLER.

Tune-" The dusty Miller." HEY, the dusty miller,

And his dusty coat! He will win a shilling, Ere he spend a groat. Dusty was the coat, Dusty was the colour; Dusty was the kiss,

That I gat frae the miller

Hey, the dusty miller,
And his dusty sack!
Leeze me on the calling
Fills the dusty peck;
Fills the dusty peck,
Brings the dusty siller :

I wad gie my coatie
For the dusty miller.

THE WEARY PUND O' TOW.
FROM RECITATION.
Tune-"The weary pund o' tow."

I BOUGHT my wife a stane o' lint
As good as ere did grow,
And a' that she could make o' that
Was ae weary pund o' tow.
The weary pund, the weary pund,
The weary pund o' tow,

I thought my wife would end her life
Before she span her tow.

I lookit to my yarn-nag,
And it grew never mair;
I look it to my beef-stand—
My heart grew wonder sair;
I lookit to my meal-boat,

And O, but it was howe!
I think my wife will end her life

Afore she spin her tow.

But if your wife and my wife
Were in a boat thegither,
And yon other man's wife

Were in to steer the ruther;
And if the boat were bottomless,

And seven mile to row,

I think they'd ne'er come hame again, To spin the pund o' tow!

KEEP THE COUNTRY, BONNIE LASSIE.

Tune-" Keep the Country, bonnie Lassie."

KEEP the country, bonnie lassie,

Keep the country, keep the country;
Keep the country, bonnie lassie;
Lads will a' gie gowd for ye:

Gowd for ye, bonnie lassie, Gowd for ye, gowd for ye: Keep the country, bonuie lassie ; Lads will a' gie gowd for ye.

HAP AND ROW THE FEETIE O'T.

WILLIAM CREECH.

Tune-" Hap and Rowe the Feetie o't." We'll hap and row, we'll hap and row, We'll hap and row the feetie o't.

It is a wee bit weary thing:

I downa bide the greetie o't.

AND we pat on the wee bit pan,
To boil the lick o' meatie o't;
A cinder fell and spoil'd the plan,
And burnt a' the feetie o't.
We'll hap and row, &c.

Fu' sair it grat, the puir wee brat,
And aye it kicked the feetie o't,
Till, puir wee elf, it tired itself;
And then began the sleepie o't.
We'll hap and row, &c.

The skirling brat nae parritch gat,
When it gaed to the sleepie o't;
It's waesome true, instead o' t's mou',
They're round about the feetie o't.
We'll hap and row, &c.

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A gentleman long at the head of the bookselling trade in Edinburgh, and who had been Lord Provost of the city. A volume of his miscellaneous prose es

Landward-that is, living in a part of the country says has been published, under the title of "Edinburgh at some distance from any town.

+ Shoulder.

Wedder.
This curious and most amusing old ditty is from
Mr. Jamieson's "Popular Ballads and Songs," 1806.

Fugitive Pieces." He was not only remarkable for his literary accomplishments, but also for his conver. sational powers, which were such as to open to hir the society of the highest literary men of his day.

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