Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and he sought me for his bride, But saving a crown he had naething else beside; To make that crown a pound, my Jamie gade to sea, And the crown and the pound were baith for me. He hadna been gane a year and a day, When my father brak his arm, and my Jamie at the sea, [away; My mither she fell sick, and our cow was stown And auld Robin Gray came a courting to me. My father coudna work, and my mither coudna spin, [win; I toil'd day and night, but their bread I coudna Auld Rob maintain'd them baith, and wi' tears in his e'e, Said, "Jenny, for their sakes, O marry me." My heart it said nae, for I look'd for Jamie back, [a wrack; But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was The ship it was a wrack, why didna Jenny die, And why do I live to say, wae's me? * [Pinkerton, after observing that none of the "Scotch amatory ballads are written by ladies;" and that the "profligacy of manners which always reigns before women can so utterly forget all sense of decency and propriety as to commence authors, is yet almost unknown in Scotland," adds, in a note, that "there is indeed, of very late years, one in significant exception to this rule; 'Auld Robin Gray, having got his silly psalm set to soporific music, is, to the credit of our taste, popular for the day. But after lulling some good-natured audiences asleep, he will soon fall asleep himself." Ritson, with a becoming boldness and indignation at the author of these ungracious and ungallant remarks, steps forward with his accustomed bantom-cock courage, and thus strikes at the hard forehead of Pinkerton. "Alas! this I hadna been a wife a week but only four, When, sitting sae mournfully at the door, I saw my Jamie's wraith, for I coudna think [thee." 'Till he said, "I'm come back for to marry it he, O sair did we greet, and mickle did we say, I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin, seem Donald and Flora. THIS is one of those fine Gaelic tunes, preserved from time immemorial in the Hebrides; they to be the ground-work of many of our finest Scots pastoral storal tunes. The words of this song were written to commemorate the unfortunate expedition of General Burgoyne in America, in 1777. [This fine ballad is the composition of Hector Macneil, Esq., author of the celebrated poem, "Will and Jean," and other popular works. Hector Macneil was looked up to as Scotland's hope in song when Burns died; his poems flew over the north like wildfire, and half a dozen editions were bought up in a year. The Donald of the song was Captain Stewart, who fell at the battle of Saratoga, and Flora was a young lady of Athole, to whom he was betrothed.] WHEN merry hearts were gay, Loose flow'd her coal black hair, Quick heav'd her bosom bare, As thus to the troubled air She vented her sorrow : "Loud howls the northern blast, Bleak is the dreary waste; Haste thee, O! Donald, haste, Haste to thy Flora! "Where now is Donald dear?" "Come then, O come away! From his lov'd Flora? "Never, ah! wretched fair! Meet his lov'd Flora! "Well fought our gallant men, Headed by brave Burgoyne, Our heroes were thrice led on To British glory. "Here, take this trusty blade, Tell her, oh Allan! tell, He thought on his Flora." Mute stood the trembling fair, Sigh'd out, Poor Flora!' The Captive Ribband. THIS air is called "Robie donna Gorach." [The song of "The Captive Ribband" hus been generally imputed to Burns. Here are the words the reader may judge for himself they are adapted to a Gaelic air, called Ro donna Gorach, or Daft Robin. This air evidently a slight alteration of the fine old tr ple tune, entitled Earl Douglas's Lament. DEAR Myra, the captive Ribband's mine, Go, bid the hero who has run Thro' fields of death to gather fame, The ribband shall its freedom lose, It shall upon my bosom live, The Bridal o't. THIS song is the work of a Mr. Alexander Ross, late schoolmaster at Lochlee; and auther of a beautiful Scots poem, called "The Fortunate Shepherdess." * ["The reader will be pleased to find," says Cromek, "from the following communication to the editor, by Mrs. Murray, of Bath (authoress of 'Roy's Wife of Aldivalloch,'), that Mr. Ross was one of the very few writers that practised what they taught. ""I knew a good deal of Mr. Ross, author of 'The Fortunate Shepherdess, but it was many years ago:-I still remember him with respect, as a man of most amiable character. His genius and talents speak for themselves in the above-mentioned beautiful little poem, and one cannot help regretting that such abilities were only born to blush unseen, and waste their sweetness on the desert air;' for in truth his humble abode was little better than a desert, thouch not inhabited by savages; nothing on earth being less sav than a mere uncultivated Highlander. I speak from the en perience of many years of the early part of my life, which had the happiness of spending in the North Highlands Scotland, the country of Honest men and bonny lasses" "Mr. Ross was also author of two excellent songs, ca 'What ails the Lasses at me?' and 'The Rock and the wor pickle tow.' They are printed in the Museum immediate after 'The Bridal o't.' He was born about the year 1 His father was a farmer in the parish of Kincardine O'Ne Aberdeen-shire. His first settleinent was at Birs, as parochia schoolmaster, about the year 1733. He removed to Lochlee, Forfar-shire, where he died in May, 1783, after residing fifty years in the centre of the Grampians, almost secluded from the converse of men and books. Mr. Ross's grandson, the Rev. Alexander Thomson, gives the following account of him in a letter to Mr. Campbell, author of 'An Introduction to the History of Poetry in Scotland, dated Lintrethen, 14th June, 1798.- He (Ross) was a plain man, had the character of being a good schoolmaster, was very religious, which appeared by his behaviour as much as by his profession. He [THEY say that Jockey'll speed weel o't, They say that Jockey'll speed weel o't, For he grows brawer ilka day- An we had but a bridal o't, And young folks like the coming o't, And scribblers they bang up their rhymes, And pipers they the bumming o't. The lasses like a bridal o't, The lasses like a bridal o't, The pipers and the fiddlers o't, Fan they hae done wi' eating o't, Todlen Kame. THIS is perhaps the first bottle song that ever was composed. The author's name is unknown. [WHEN I've a saxpence under my thumb, Coudna my love come todlen hame? Fair fa' the goodwife, and send her good sale, She gi'es us white bannocks to drink her ale, Syne if her tippeny chance to be sma', We'll tak a good scour o't, and ca't awa'. Todlen hame, todlen hame, As round as a neep come todlen hame. My kimmer and I lay down to sleep, Sae round as my love comes todlen hame. Leeze me on liquor, my todlen dow, your mou'; When sober sae sour, ye'll fight wi' a flee, That 'tis a blyth sight to the bairns and me, When todlen hame, todlen hame, [hame.] When round as a neep ye come todlen The Shepherd's Preference. THIS song is Dr. Blacklock's. -I don't know how it came by the name, but the oldest appellation of the air was, "Whistle and I'll come to you my lad." It has little affinity to the tune commonly known by that name. [IN May, when the daisies appear on thegreen, And flow'rs in the field and the forest are [up sprung, Where lilies bloom'd bonnie, and hawthorns A pensive young shepherd oft whistled and sung. [flow'rs, But neither the shades nor the sweets of the Nor the blackbirds that warbled in blossoming bowers; seen; was an excellent Latin scholar, and wrote with considerable accuracy, till the days of old age and infirmity, when he composed a poem, entitled 'The Orphan,' and attempted to publish it at Aberdeen, with some other little performances, which, on account of their inaccuracy, of which the worthy author was not so sensible as he would have formerly been, he was advised by Dr. Beattie, one of his best friends, not to publish." '"] * Fan, when the dialect of Angus. ["The songs of Skinner deserve to the full the eulogiums of Burns. Our ancestors tolerated strains of a length that would weary out the patience of their descendants in singing. But then amusements in those days were few, and he who could sing a long song, or recite a long story, was of some account: at present we have so multiplied our enjoyments that he who would sing John of Badenyond, or one of Robin Hood's Ballads, would be looked upon as one who desired to rob us of variety in pleasure." CUNNINGHAM. WHEN first I cam to be a man Of twenty years or so, I thought myself a handsome youth, With spirits brisk and gay, But rambled up and down, And for a beau I might have pass'd I still was pleas'd where'er I went, I tun'd my pipe and pleas'd myself Wi' John o' Badenyon'. * [The words of Burns's celebrated Dirge "Man was made to Mourn," were composed to this tune.] Now in the days of youthful prime, For love, they say, gives one an air, And danc'd, and sung, and sigh'd, and swore, But, when at last I breath'd my flame, When love had thus my heart beguil'd I thought I should be wiser next, And prais'd their noble zeal, I curs'd them a', and tun'd my pipe And now, ye youngsters every where What you may fancy pleasure here For girls and friends, and books, and so, From such a man as me, I'm neither Pope, nor Cardinal, Nor one of high degree: You'll find displeasure everywhere ; Then do as I have done, E'en tune your pipe, and please yourself With John o' Badenyon'.] A Waukrife Minnie.* I PICKED up this old song and tune from a country girl in Nithsdale. - I never met with it elsewhere in Scotland : "WHARE are you gaun, my bonnie lass? "O whare live ye, my bonnie lass? But I foor up the glen at e'en, And lang before the grey morn cam, O weary fa' the waukrife cock, And the foumart lay his crawin! An angry wife I wat she raise, And o'er the bed she brought her; And wi' a mickle hazle rung She made her a weel pay'd dochter. "O fare thee weel, my bonnie lass! ["I have frequently heard this song sung in Nithsdale-and sung too with many variations. I am of opinion, nevertheless, that a large portion of it is the work of Burns himself. That several of the verses have been amended by him I have not the least doubt. It may gratify some to know that he lessened the indelicacy without impairing the wit of the song: his omissions too are on the same side: the concluding verse may be quoted-I have no wish to restore it THIS FIRST of SONGS is the master-piece of my old friend SKINNER. He was passing the day, at the town of Cullen, I think it was [he should have said Ellon], in a friend's house, whose name was Montgomery. Mrs. Montgomery observing, en passant, that the beautiful reel of Tullochgorum wanted words, she begged them of Mr. Skinner, who gratified her wishes, and the wishes of every lover of Scottish song, in this most excellent ballad. These particulars I had from the author's son, Bishop Skinner, at Aberdeen. I. COME gie's a sang, Montgomery cry'd, For what was done before them: Let Whig and Tory all agree, To drop their Whig-mig-morum. Let Whig and Tory all agree The Reel o' Tullochgorum. II. O, Tullochgorum's my delight, The Reel o' Tullochgorum. III. What needs there be sae great a fraise, For half a hunder score o' em. |