12 * Fecket. An under waistcoat with sleeves. † The following is a complete copy of the old Song : O Donaldie, Donaldie, where hae you been? A hawking and hunting,-gae make my bed clean; Gae make my bed clean, and stir up the strae, My heart's in the Highlands wherever I gae. Let's drink and gae hame, boys, let's drink and gae hame, There's Meg wi' the mailen And Susie, whose daddy was laird o' the ha'; There's lang-tocher'd Nancy But the laddie's dear sel' he lo'es dearest of a'. [In his notes to the Museum, Burns says"This air is claimed by Neil Gow, who calls it a Lament for his brother. The first half-stanza of the song is old, the rest is mine." "It must be borne in mind that the Poet was sometimes summoned hastily to fill up the gaps which time had made in ancient song, and that he supplied the publisher with the first-fruits of his fancy. Yet, even in the most careless of these effusions, there is a happiness of thought or of expression which few can reach by study." - CUNNINGHAM.] O bonny Portmore, ye shine where you charm, There are mony words, but few o' the best, "Donald Cameron was the author of this very beautiful and very old song. It is well known to most poetical readers, with how little success Burns endeavoured to graft upon this 1 John Anderson, my jo, John, Ye'll blear out a' your e'en, John, Gang sooner to your bed at e'en, 11. John Anderson, my jo, John, stock a twig of his own rearing. Even Mr. Cunningham, in his songs of Scotland, admits the fact, and regrets that he could give no more than the first four lines of the original. The whole is now, for the first time, given complete, from the recitation of a very old person."-BUCHAN. Notwithstanding the specialities enumerated by our friend Mr. Buchan, we are inclined to look upon this song as an importation from the north of Ireland. The province of Ulster, we believe, is still an untrodden field for the collection of ancient Scottish song and ballad lore, which would be well worth the while of any one, having sufficient leisure and a taste that way, to explore. In a colony, old songs and traditions are generally preserved in a higher state of purity * In the first edition of Bishop Percy's work, the second stanza ran thus: "And how do ye, Cummer? And how do ye thrive? I. As I gaed down the water-side, CHORUS. Ca' the ewes to the knowes, II. Will ye gang down the water-sid?. And see the waves sae sweetly glide, Beneath the hazels spreading wide? The moon it shines fu' clearly. 111. I was bred up at nae sic school, IV. Ye sall get gowns and ribbons meet, Cauf-leather shoon upon your feet, And in my arms ye'se lie and sleep, And ye sall be my dearie. If ye'll but stand to what ye've said, I'se gang wi' you, my shepherd lad, And ye may rowe me in your plaid, And I sall be your dearie. VI. While waters wimple to the sea; Ca' the ewes to the knowes, ["Much of this sweet pastoral is old; Burns made several changes and emendations in the ancient words, and added the concluding lines. An old verse or so will show the nature of the Poet's alterations: 'Yon yowes an' lambs upo' the plain, Come weal, come woe, whate'er betide, My winsome dearie.' a "The Poet afterwards mused upon the same subject and air, and produced pastoral lyric more worthy of his fame than this pieced and patched composition. The scene of the new song is laid in Cluden side, nigh the ruined towers: the flowers and the hazels which flourish in the verse are to be found on the banks of the stream; and all the singer has to do is to add the figure of some one dear to him, and the picture of the Poet is complete."-CUNNINGHAM.] Brose and Butter. I. O GIE my love brose, brose, II. The lav'rock lo'es the grass, merry hae I been teethin' a heckle. Tune-Lord Breadalbane's March. I. O MERRY hae I been teethin' a heckle, II. Bitter in dool I lickit my winnins, O' marrying Bess, to gie her a slave: Blest be the hour she cool'd in her linnens, And blythe be the bird that sings on her grave! Come to my arms, my Katie, my Katie, An' come to my arms and kiss me again! Drunken or sober, here's to thee Katie! And blest be the day I did it again. ["Flax-dressing is a dusty business, nor did the Poet love it much; for he but twice alludes to it in his poetry. In his letter to Parker, he says of taste in Nithsdale, Here words ne'er crost the muses' heckles, "In the song before us he goes no deeper into the mystery. It is put into the hands of a travelling tinker, whose craft extended to the repairing of pots and pans, clasping of china, making of spoons, and the teething of heckles. The flax-dresser, as he pulls the head or handful of lint across the steel prongs, is apt, if he pulls rashly, to break some of the teeth, which are made of sheer steel. To restore these is to teethe a heckle." CUNNINGHAM.] The braes o' Ballochmyle. Tune-Braes o' Ballochmyle. I. THE Catrine woods were yellow seen, 11. Low in your wintry beds, ye flowers, ["Maria Whitefoord, eldest daughter of Sir John Whitefoord, and now Mrs. Cranston, was the heroine of this sweet song; it was written as a farewell to the family residence. The scenery is varied and beautiful; the banks of the river are broken into fine dens and glades, and clothed with rich wood part natural, part planted. The ancestor of the Whitefoords supplied, it is said, the groundwork of the character of Sir Arthur Wardour in the Antiquary: one of the family, Caleb Whitefoord, was a small Poet and critic, and lived and died in London. Ballochmyle passed into the hands of Mr. Alexander, a gentleman who had enriched himself by trade: it is now the property of his son, who resides almost constantly on the estate, and, by his attention to the condition of his peasantry, supplies worthily the place of the ancient family." CUNNINGHAM.] * Catrine, in Ayr-shire, the seat of the late Dugald Stewart, Professor of Moral Philosophy in the University of Edinburgh. † [VAR. Nae joys, alas! for me are here, - To Mary in Heaven. Tune-Death of Captain Cook. I. THOU ling'ring star, with less'ning ray,. Again thou usher'st in the day II. That sacred hour can I forget? Can I forget the hallowed grove, Where by the winding Ayr we met, To live one day of parting love? Eternity will not efface Those records dear of transports past; Thy image at our last embrace; Ah! little thought we 'twas our last! III. Ayr, gurgling, kiss'd his pebbled shore, IV. Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes, Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? [The story of Mary Campbell, and the his tory of this exquisite soug, have been related in the life of the Poet. She was from CampbellTown, in Argyll-shire, and lived at Coilsfield, in the humble situation of dairy-maid to Colonel Montgomery. She also lived, at one time, as nursery-maid in the family of Burns's friend and patron, Gavin Hamilton, Esq., of Mauchline, where Burns visited her clandestinely. She was handsome rather than lovely, and had the neat foot, and the low melodious voice which the Poet loved. Burns was delighted with her good sense, and on Sundays loved to show her his favourite walks on the banks of the Ayr, in the woods of Coilsfield, and by the stream of Faile, where a thorn is pointed out as connected † VAR. Can.-Poet's own MS. VAR.-Heavenly.-MS. 1 |