Three stormy nights and stormy days So, Mary, weep no more for me! O maiden dear, thyself prepare; We soon shall meet upon that shore "Sweet Mary, weep no more for me!" LOGIE O' BUCHAN. GEORGE HALKET, died 1756. O LOGIE O' Buchan, O Logie the laird! They ha'e ta'en awa' Jamie, that delved in the yard, He said, Think na lang, lassie, though I gang awa'; Though Sandy has ousen, has gear, and has kye, Yet I'd tak' mine ain lad wi' his staff in his hand, He said, Think na lang, &c. My daddie looks sulky, my minnie looks sour, He said, Think na lang, &c. I sit on my creepie, I spin at my wheel, And think on the laddie that lo'ed me sae weel; Then haste ye back, Jamie, and bide na awa'; And ye'll come back and see me in spite o' them a'. Mr. Peter Buchan states that this song was written by a schoolmaster at Rathen in Aberdeenshire, of the name of George Halket, who died in 1756. Mr. Halket was a Jacobite, and wrote some squibs after the "Forty-five," which gave such offence to the Duke of Cumberland, that he offered a reward of 100%. for the author's head. The poet, however, escaped the danger, and died peaceably in his bed. The hero of the piece was a James Robertson, gardener at Logie. LOW DOUN I' THE BRUME. JAMES CARNEGIE. From "The Lark," a collection of Scottish Songs, 1765. My daddie is a cankert carle, My minnie she's a scauldin' wife, But let them say, or let them do, It's a' ane to me; For he's low doun, he's in the brume, That's waitin' on me : Waitin' on me, my love, He's waitin' on me: For he's low doun, he's in the brume, My auntie Kate sits at her wheel, And sair she lightlies me; But weel ken I it's a' envy, For ne'er a joe has she. But let them say, &c, My cousin Kate was sair beguiled But let them say, &c. Gleed Sandy he cam' wast yestreen, MATRIMONIAL HAPPINESS. JOHN LAPRAIK. 1780. WHEN I upon thy bosom lean, And fondly clasp thee a' my ain, glory in the sacred ties That made us ane wha ance were twain. A mutual flame inspires us baith, The tender look, the meltin' kiss : Even years shall ne'er destroy our love, Hae I a wish? it's a' for thee! And aye when weary cares arise, Thy bosom still shall be my hame. I'll lay me there and tak' my rest; And beg her not to drop a tear. Hae I a joy it's a' her ain! United still her heart and mine; They're like the woodbine round the tree, That's twined till death shall them disjoin. The author of this beautiful song was the friend and correspondent of Robert Burns. In his "Epistle to J. Lapraik, an old Scottish bard," dated April 1st, 1785, Burns pays his predecessor the following fine compliment: 66 To your crack. 'Lapraik," says Burns, was a very worthy facetious old fellow, late of Dalfram near Muirkirk, which little property he was obliged to sell in consequence of some connexion as security for some persons concerned in that villanous bubble, 'the Ayr Bank.' He has often told me that he composed this song one day when his wife had been fretting over their misfortunes." Lapraik died in 1807. f "TWAS within a mile of Edinburgh town, In the rosy time of the year; Sweet flowers bloom'd, and the grass was down, And each shepherd woo'd his dear. Bonnie Jocky, blythe and gay, Kiss'd sweet Jenny making hay: The lassie blush'd, and frowning cried, "No, no, it will not do; cannot, cannot, wonnot, wonnot, mannot buckle to." Jocky was a wag that never would wed, Though long he had follow'd the lass: Contented she earn'd and eat her brown bread, And merrily turn'd up the grass. Bonnie Jocky, blythe and free, Won her heart right merrily: Yet still she blush'd, and frowning cried, "No, no, it will not do; I cannot, cannot, wonnot, wonnot, mannot buckle to." But when he vow'd he would make her his bride, Though his flocks and herds were not few, She gave him her hand, and a kiss beside, And vow'd she'd for ever be true. |