I saw my Jamie's wraith, for I couldna think it he Till he said, I'm come hame to marry thee.
O sair, sair did we greet, and muckle did we say;
We took but ae kiss, and I bad him gang away;
I wish that I were dead, but I'm no like to dee;
And why was I born to say, Wae's me!
I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin;
I daurna think on Jamie, for that wad be a sin;
But I'll do my best a gude wife aye to be,
For auld Robin Gray he is kind unto me.
[1752-1770]
SONG FROM ELLA
O SING unto my roundelay,
O drop the briny tear with me;
Dance no more at holyday,
Like a running river be:
My love is dead,
Gone to his death-bed
All under the willow-tree.
Black his cryne' as the winter night,
White his rode as the summer snow,
Red his face as the morning light,
Cold he lies in the grave below:
My love is dead,
Gone to his death-bed
All under the willow-tree.
Sweet his tongue as the throstle's note,
Quick in dance as thought can be,
Deft his tabor, cudgel stout;
O he lies by the willow-tree!
My love is dead,
Gone to his death-bed
All under the willow-tree.
Hark! the raven flaps his wing
In the brier'd dell below;
Hark! the death-owl loud doth sing
To the nightmares, as they go:
My love is dead,
Gone to his death-bed
All under the willow-tree.
See! the white moon shines on high;
Whiter is my true-love's shroud:
Whiter than the morning sky,
Whiter than the evening cloud:
My love is dead,
Gone to his death-bed
All under the willow-tree.
CAROLINA OLIPHANT, LADY NAIRNE
I'm wearing awa', Jean,
Like snaw when its thaw, Jean,
I'm wearing awa'
To the land o' the leal.'
There's nae sorrow there, Jean,
There's neither cauld nor care, Jean,
The day is aye fair
In the land o' the leal.
Ye were aye leal and true, Jean,
Your task's ended noo, Jean,
And I'll welcome you
To the land o' the leal.
Our bonnie bairn's there, Jean,
She was baith guid and fair, Jean;
O we grudged her right sair
To the land o' the leal!
Then dry that tearfu' e'e, Jean,
My soul langs to be free, Jean,
And angels wait on me
To the land o' the leal.
Now fare ye weel, my ain Jean,
This warld's care is vain, Jean;
We'll meet and aye be fain
In the land o' the leal.
HE'S OWER THE HILLS THAT I Lo'E WEEL
HE'S Ower the hills that I lo'e weel,
He's ower the hills we daurna name;
He's ower the hills ayont Dunblane,
Wha soon will get his welcome hame.
1 Loyal.
(D) HC XLI
My faither's gane to fecht for him,
My brithers winna bide at hame;
My mither greets and prays for them,
And, 'deed, she thinks they're no to blame.
The Whigs may scoff, the Whigs may jeer,
But ah! that love maun be sincere
Which still keeps true whate'er betide,
And for his sake leaves a' beside.
His right these hills, his right these plains;
O'er Hieland hearts secure he reigns;
What lads e'er did our lads will do;
Were I a laddie I'd follow him too.
Sae noble a look, sae princely an air,
Sae gallant and bold, sae young and sae fair;
O did ye but see him ye'd do as we've done;
Hear him but once, to his standard you'll run,
He's ower the hills that I lo'e weel;
He's ower the hills we daurna name;
He's ower the hills ayont Dunblane,
Wha soon will get his welcome hame.
THE AULD HOUSE
Oн, the auld house, the auld house!
What though the rooms were wee?
Oh, kind hearts were dwelling there,
And bairnies fu' o' glee!
The wild rose and the jessamine
Still hang upon the wa':
How mony cherished memories
Do they, sweet flowers, reca'!
Oh, the auld laird, the auld laird,
Sae canty, kind, and crouse!
How mony did he welcome to
His ain wee dear auld house!
And the leddy, too, sae genty,
That sheltered Scotland's heir, And clipt a lock wi' her ain hand Frae his lang yellow hair.
The mavis still doth sweetly sing,
The blue-bells sweetly blaw;
The bonnie Earn's clear winding still,
But the auld house is awa'.
The auld house, the auld house!
Deserted though ye be,
There ne'er can be a new house
Will seem sae fair to me.
Still flourishing the auld pear tree,
The bairnies liked to see;
And oh, how often they did speir
When ripe they a' wad be!
The voices sweet, the wee bit feet
Aye rinnin' here and there;
The merry shout-oh! whiles we greet
To think we'll hear nae mair.
For they are a' wide scattered now,
Some to the Indies gane,
And ane, alas! to her lang hame;
Not here will meet again.
The kirkyaird! the kirkyaird!
Wi' flowers o' every hue,
Sheltered by the holly's shade,
And the dark sombre yew.
The setting sun, the setting sun,
How glorious it gaed doun!
The cloudy splendour raised our hearts
To cloudless skies abune.
The auld dial, the auld dial,
It tauld how time did pass;
The wintry winds ha'e dung it doun,
Now hid 'mang weeds and grass.
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