I opened her coffin,
And saw my wife laughing.
Now the world went so rarely with me then, O then,
As my old wife came home with me again.
However much the fastidious critic may be inclined to snarl
upon perusing the above plainly told and probable tale (which is
here taken down from recitation), we cannot help thinking that
it possesses some little merits in its own way, and also that it is
worthy of preservation. The ditty itself is old, whilst the melody
is brisk and lively; the original tune, we think, is to be found in
Ravenscroft's " Melismata," air 19th, " Country Rounds:"
" As I went by the way, holom, trolom,
There I met by the way, hazom," &c.
I AM TOO YOUNG.
As I went out on a May morning,
A May morning it happened to be;
Then I was aware of a weel-far't lass,
Coming linkin over the lea to me;
154 I AM TOO YOUNG.
She had a voice that was more clear,
Than any damsel's under the sun;
I asked at her if she'd marry me?
But her answer it was, " I am too young:"
"I am too young; with you to wed
It would bring shame to all my kin,
So begone young man, and trouble me no more,
For you never shall my favour win."
I took her by the lily-white hand,
Aboon our heads the lavrocks sung;
Syne kiss'd her cherry cheeks and mou',
And told her she was not a day too young.
Her colour came, her colour went
Awa frae me, the damsel sprung
With colly o'er the gowany bent,
While in my ear her sweet voice voice rung,
Saying, " As I maut, sae maun I brew,
And as I brew, sae maun I tun,
Gae tell your tale to some other fair May,
For to marry with you, I am too young."
This Ballad in its original dress, at one time, we recollect, was
not only extremely popular, but a great favourite amongst the
young peasantry in the West of Scotland. To suit the times*
however, we have been necessitated to throw out the intermediate
stanzas, as their freedom would not bear transcription, while the
second and third verses have been slightly altered from the recited
copy. In the 4th volume of Johnston's Museum, another version
of it will be found, also a metaphrase from the same in volume
second of Cunningham's " Songs of Scotland." The air, tradition
affixes to it, is lively and peculiar to itself, and certainly merits
to be revived again.
THE WAKERIFE MAMMY. 155
THE WAKERIFE MAMMY.
As I gaed o'er the Highland hills,
I met a bonnie lassie;
Wha' look'd at me, and I at her,
And O but she was saucy.
Whare are ye gaun, my bonnie lass,
Whare are ye gaun, my lammy;
Right saucily she answer'd me,
An errand to my mammy.
An' whare live ye, my bonnie lass,
Whare do ye won, my lammy;
Right modestly she answer'd me,
In a wee cot wi' my mammy.
Will ye tak' me to your wee house,
I'm far frae hame, my lammy;
Wi' a leer o' her eye, she answer'd me,
I darna for my mammy.
But I fore up the glen at e'en,
To see this bonnie lassie;
And lang before the gray morn cam',
She wasna' half sae saucie.
O weary fa' the wakerife cock,
An' the fumart lay his crawing;
He wauken'd the auld wife frae her rest,
A wee blink or the dawing.
156 THE WAKERIFE MAMMY.
Wha straught began to blaw the coal,
To see gif she could ken me ;
But I crap out from whare I lay,
And took the fields to skreen me.
She took her by the hair o' the head,
As frae the spence she brought her,
An' wi' a gude green hazel wand,
She's made her a weel paid dochter.
Now fare thee weel, my bonnie lass,
An fare thee weel, my lainmy,
Tho' thou has a gay, an' a weel-far't face,
Yet thou has a wakerife mammy.
, The " Wakerife mammy," is here noted down with some trifling
corrections, from the west country set of the Ballad, where its
day of popularity amongst the peasantry, was equal, at least, with
that of the foregoing one. Burns says that he picked up a ver-
sion of it from a country girl's singing in Nithsdale, and that he
never either met with the song or the air to which it is sung
elsewhere in Scotland. We marvel not a little at this, after con-
sidering how very common the Ballad has been over the shires of
Ayr and Renfrew, both before and since the Poet's day; so com-
mon, indeed, is it still, that we have had some demurings about
inserting it here at all. The air is a very pretty one, with two
lines of a nonsensical chorus, sung after each stanza, which cer-
tainly merits other verses to be adapted for it, when like many
other wanderers of the day, it then might again be received into
favour. Burns's copy, in Johnston's Museum, differs a good deal
from the foregoing one, besides wanting the commencing stanza.
Cunningham's set of words in the second volume of his " Songs of
Scotland," is equally faulty.
THE DESPONDING MAIDEN. 157
THE DESPONDING MAIDEN.
As Jockie was trudging the meadows along.
So blythsome, so cheerful, and gay,
He happen'd to meet a young girl by the way,
And her face it was o'ercover'd with care,
And her face it was o'ercover'd with care.
He asked the maiden what made her so sad,
Said, 'twas pity that she should complain;
She told him, she had lost her very best lad,
And she ne'er would behold him again,
No, she ne'er would behold him again.
Come dry up your tears, and no longer do mourn,
Said Jockie to soothe her despair,
Since your swain's o'er the plain with another fair maid,
Take my love for his, and chase away thy care,
Who was faithless as thou, sweet maid, art fair.
The foregoing pastoral, although apparently of English extrac-
tion, is one of a numerous class of compositions, now almost ex-
tinct, in a perfect state, from the Western Shires of Scotland ;
these acknowledge sweet plaintive airs of their own, hut now
are gliding fast down into ohlivion's vale, along with the chants
themselves.
All the fragments of olden Song, we at present recollect any
thing ahout (and these are not a few), along with entire pieces,
which have heen home down to us hy tradition, are accompanied
hy some characteristic air or other, peculiar to themselves, which
might still be redeemed from perishing, were the snatches of song
taken down, and committed to paper, as they fall from the lips of our
native-taught peasantry. These reminiscences assimilate upon
the mind with each other, till called up unconsciously again, when
P
158 BEAUTY ASLEEP.
a note of the one or a line of the other hreaks in upon the fancy,
thereby embodying the whole anew into a Song, long unheeded,
perhaps, and half forgotten there; a bar or two is chanted; we
strain our fancy anew, to recollect the words, and soon arouse it
from this state of pristine dormancy, by gathering together all the
dismembered links of the chain, into a continuous whole. It is
difficult at times, to define the minute workings of the mind upon
paper, even upon such a trifling subject as the one we have just
now been tiring our readers with.
BEAUTY ASLEEP.
As I went out on an evening clear,
Down by yon shady grove,
With pensive steps, I wander'd on,
Till there I spied my love ;
As she lay sleeping on the grass,
So beautiful and fair:
Had you seen the lass, you would have sworn
The Queen of Love was there.
The spring-flowers bent their gentle stems,
Above the dreaming maid,
Where zephyr bade the primrose-breath,
Diffuse where she was laid;
The small birds sang, their mates replied,
To soothe the virgin's dream :
May the draps in life's cup, aye be as sweet
To thee, as now they seem.
BONNIE BEDS OF ROSES. 159
There are twelve months into the year,
Some sad, some sweet, and gay;
But the merriest months in all the year,
Are the months of June and May.
These are the months I'll choose my love,
Their blythness me inspire:
Young women carry the keys of love,
Men's hearts are still on fire.
The first and concluding stanzas of the foregoing, are here re-
vived from an old traditional Ballad, while the intermediate verse
is original. The piece acknowledges a very pretty and character-
istic air of its own, not yet, we presume, noted down.
This Ballad is another of that peculiar class of compositions,
which still lingeringly retain their hold amongst the peasantry in
the West of Scotland, a literal version of which cannot now be
" conveyed to a cleanly mind, by any language, translation, or
periphrasis whatever," and whose plot ought rather to have come
under the surveillance of the judge than of the poet. It is singular
to find such a number of our old traditional chants striking into the
same vein of perversion and gross indelicacy, without the slightest
assignable reason or necessity, while our own romantic and pastoral
country presented so many darling themes for the chaste and
sportive muse, to cull her flower, from the sweets scattered in such
profusion around her fairy footsteps.
BONNIE BEDS OF ROSES.
As I was a walking one morning in May,
The small birds were singing delightfully and gay,
Where I with my true love did often sport and play,
Down amang the bonnie beds of roses.
160 BESSY BELL AN* MARY GRAY.
My pretty brown girl, come sit on my knee,
For there's none in the world I can fancy but thee;
Nor ever will I change my old love for a new,
So mfy pretty brown girl do not leave me.
My daddy and mammy they often used to say,
That I was a naughty boy, and wont to run away;
If they bid me go to work, I would sooner run to play,
Down amang the bonnie beds of roses.
If ever I will marry, I will marry in the spring,
When small birds are singing, and summer's coming in,
By glens where rows the burnie, and wandering echoes ring,
Down amang yon bonnie beds of roses.
As I was a walking one morning in the spring,
The winter going out, and the summer coming in,
The cuckoo sang, cuckoo, you're welcome here again !
And I pray you stay amang the green bushes.
The foregoing has been collated with two several copies, the one
a stall, and the other, a traditional one. It belongs to that class of
simple pastoral chants, which have been preserved from perishing,
chiefly on account of their accompanying airs, that of the present
being among the sweetest of our old traditional melodies.
BESSY BELL AN' MARY GRAY.
O Bessy Bell an* Mary Gray,
They were twa bonnie lassies;
They biggit a house on yon burn-brae,
An' theekit it o'er wi' rashes:
BESSY BELL AN* MARY GRAY. 161
They theekit it o'er wi' birk and brume,
They theekit it o'er wi' heather,
Till the pest cam' frae the neib'rin town,
An' streekit them baith thegither,
They were na' buried in Meffen kirk-yard,
Amang the rest o' their kin;
But they were buried by Dornoch-haugh,
On the bent before the sun:
Sing, Bessy Bell an' Mary Gray,
They were twa bonnie lasses,
Wha' biggit a bower on yon burn-brae,
An' theekit it o'er wi' thrashes.
The above fragment is here collated from the singing of two
aged persons, one of them a native of Perthshire. It is to be
regretted, that none of the intermediate stanzas of this fine old
Ballad are upon record ; neither Bannatyne nor Maitland, have
the Ballad entered into their MSS. whilst all the information
gained respecting it, is obtained from country traditions.
Elizabeth Bell is said to have been a gentleman's daughter in
Perthshire, while Mary Gray belonged to the house of Lindoch.
The ladies were intimate friends, and while the plague raged in
Scotland, in 1666, they retired to a glen near Lindoch, to avoid
the contagion, and there built for themselves a bower, where they
might have remained in security, until its fury had been spent,
but for the imprudence of a young gentleman, ardently attached to
one of the young ladies, and who imparted to both the contagion,
when they drooped and died. A large flat stone rests above their
remains, pointing out to strangers the site of their interment.
162 PRETTY PEG OF DERBY.
PRETTY PEG OF DERBY.
A Captain of Irish Dragoons on parade,
While his regiment was stationed in Derby, O,
Fell in love, as it is said,
With a young blooming maid,
Though he sued in vain to win pretty Peggy, O.
To-morrow I must leave thee, pretty Peggy, O,
Though my absence may not grieve thee, pretty Peggy, O,
Braid up thy yellow hair,
Ere thou tripp'st it down the stair,
And take farewell of me, thy soldier laddie, O.
Ere the dawn's reveillie sounds to march, I'm ready, O,
To make my pretty Peg a Captain's lady, O,
Then, what would your mammy think,
To hear the guineas clink,
And the hautboys playing before thee, O.
Must I tell you, says she, as I've told you before,
With your proffers of love, not to tease me more,
For I never do intend,
Ere to go to foreign land,
Or follow to the wars a soldier laddie, O.
Out spake a brother officer, the gallant De Lorn,
As he eyed the haughty maiden, with pity and scorn,
Never mind, we'll have gallore
Of pretty girls more,
When we've come to the town of Kilkenny, O.
THE SHANNON SIDE. 163
But when they had come to Kilkenny, O,
Where the damsels were lovely and many, O,
Sighing deeply, he would say,
Though we're many miles away,
Let us pledge a health to pretty Peg of Derby, O.
Collated with a copy taken down from recitation, we never
having seen the original Ballad in print. The opening stanza of
this once popular piece, whose air has been adapted to songs
without number, and latterly, by Moor, for his " Eveleen's
Bower," is the best, which we here present to our readers in its
original dress :
O there was a regiment of Irish dragoons,
And they were marching through Derby, O,
The Captain fell in love
With a young chamber-maid,
And her name it was called pretty Peggy, O.
THE SHANNON SIDE.
'TwAS in the month of April,
One morning by the dawn,
When violets and cowslips,
Bestrewed every lawn,
Where Flora's flowery mantle,
Bedeck'd the fields with pride,
I met a lovely damsel,
Down by the Shannon side.
" Good-morrow, pretty fair one,"
To the maiden I did say;
" Why are you up so early,
And how far go you this way?"
164 THE SHANNON SIDE.
With cheeks like blooming roses,
The damsel she replied,
" I go to feed my father's sheep,
Down by the Shannon side."
From budding elm, and branching thorn,
Each little native sung,
But wilder thrilling melody,
Down glen and greenwood rung;
As o'er the velvet moss we pass'd,
Where Erin's daughters glide,
And flit along the Sylvan shores,
And bowers on Shannon side.
We kiss'd, shook hands, and parted,
When the bud was on the breer;
I did not come that way again,
Till autumn sered the year,
When crossing o'er a pleasant lawn,
By chance, my love I spied
Beside her father's bleating flock,
Down by the Shannon side.
I never dream'd a maiden
Could my wavering fancy win,
Till first I met this fair one,
Then love he enter'd in,
And wreck'd my former peace of mind :
I sought her for my bride,
Now happiness shall crown our days,
Down by the Shannon side.
Altered from a well known old free Ballad of Irish extraction,
bearing the same title with the foregoing, while the third and fifth
stanzas are original.
LIGHT OF THE MOON. LATE WOOER. 165
ALONE BY THE LIGHT OF THE MOON.
WHEN fairies dance light on the grass,
Wha revel a' night in a roun';
There, say will you meet me, sweet lass,
Alone by the light of the moon.
Though sweet be the jessamine grove,
And fragrant the roses in June,
More bland are the whispers of love,
Breath'd forth by the light of the moon.
Where the nightingale perch'd on the thorn,
Enchants every ear with her tune,
Rejoicing soft twilight's return,
Let us meet by the light of the moon.
Yes ! Rosa, will hie to her love,
Through the glen by the burnie, as soon
As evening has silver'd the grove,
Alone by the light of the moon.
Altered from the olden copy, while the last stanza is original.
THE LATE WOOER.
THE auld man he came over the lea,
Ha, ha, ha, I'll no hae him,
Out over the lea,
He came to court me,
With his auld gray beard newly shaven.
166 THERE WAS ANE MAY.
My mither bade me marry the Laird,
Ha, ha, ha, I'll no hae him;
Sin' his wealth bears the bell,
Ye may wed him yoursel',
With his auld gray beard newly shaven.
Wad mither and friends but let me alane,
And tell the Laird, I'll no hae him,
He'd forget to complain,
Nor come o'er here again,
With his auld gray beard newly shaven.
First stanza old, rest original.
THERE WAS ANE MAY.
THERE was ane May, and she lo'ed nae men,
She biggit her bonny bower down in yon glen,
But now she cries dool! and a-well-a-day!
Come down the green gate, and come here away.
When bonny young Johnny came o'er the sea,
He said he saw naithing sae lovely as me;
He height me baith rings and mony braw things ;
And were na' my heart light, I wad die.
He had a wee titty that lo'ed na me,
Because I was twice as bonny as she;
She rais'd such a pother 'twixt him and his mother,
That were na' my heart light, I wad die.
THERE WAS ANE MAY. 167
The day it was set, and the bridal to be,
The wife took a dwaum, and lay down to die:
She main'd and she grain'd out of dolour and pain,
Till he vowed he never wad see me again.
His kin was for ane of a higher degree,
Said, what had he to do with the like of me?
Albeit I was bonny, I was na for Johnny;
And were na my heart light, I wad die.
They said, I had neither cow nor cawf,
Nor dribbles of drink rins through the draff,
Nor pickles of meal rins through the mill e'e :
And were na my heart light, I wad die.
His titty she was baith wylie and slee,
She spied me as I came o'er the lee,
And then she ran in and made a loud din;
Believe your ain een, an' ye trow na me.
His bonnet stood aye fou round on his brow,
His auld ane looks aye as well as some's new;
But now he lets't wear ony gate it will hing,
And casts himself dowie upon the corn-bing.
And now he gangs dandering about the dykes,
And a' he dow do is to hund the tykes :
The live-lang night he ne'er steeks his eye,
And were na my heart light, I wad die.
168 PRESTWICK DRUM.
Were I young for thee, as I hae been,
We shou'd hae been galloping down on yon green,
And linking it on the lily-white lee;
And wow gin I were but young for thee.
" There is no single word in modern English," says Lord Hales,
in notes to his Selections from the Bannatyne MSS. " which
corresponds with dow : that which approaches the nearest to it, is
list, from which the adjective listless. The force of the word dow,
is well expressed in the penultimate stanza of the foregoing Ballad.
The lines alluded to, are in the description of one crossed in love,
hy an envious sister's machination, and a peevish mother's fro-
wardness:"
And now he gangs dandering ahout the dykes,
And all he dow do is to hund the tykes."
" The whole," continues his Lordship, " is executed with equal
truth and strength of colouring." This Ballad is the composition
of Lady Grissel Baillie, daughter of Patrick, the first Earl of
Marchmont, and wife of George Baillie of Jarviswood, whose
widow she died in 1746.
PRESTWICK DRUM.
Air AITKEN DRUM.
AT gloamin' gray, the close o' day,
When saftly sinks the village hum,
Nor far nor near ought meets the ear,
But aiblins Prestwick drum.
Nae bluidy battle it betides,
Nor sack, nor siege, nor ought besides,
Twa gude sheep-skins, wi' oaken sides,
An' leather lugs aroun'.
BAILLIE'S DAUGHTER OF BONNY DUNDEE. 169
In days o' yore, when to our shore,
For aid the gallant Bruce did come,
His lieges leal, did tak' the fiel',
An' march'd to Prestwick drum.
Gude service aften is forgot,
An' favour won by crafty plot,
An' sik, alas! has been the lot
O' Prestwick's ancient drum.
" The original charter of Prestwick is now lost, hut is referred
to, in the renewed grant hy James VI. of Scotland. Bruce having
at first been unsuccessful, after passing some time in exile, re-
appeared in Arran, and crossing the Frith, landed on Prestwick
shore, where the inhabitants joined his standard in considerable
force; for which service, the king was pleased to erect their town
into a barony, with a jurisdiction extending from the Water of
Ayr to the Water of Irvine."
THE BAILLIE'S DAUGHTER OF BONNY DUNDEE.
Oh, have I burned, or have I slain,
Or have I done ought of injury !
IVe slighted the lass I may ne'er see again,
The Baillie's daughter of bonny Dundee.
Bonny Dundee, and bonny Dundas,
Where shall I meet sae comely a lass!
Open your ports and let me gang free,
I maunna stay langer in bonny Dundee!
It is barely necessary to mention here, that the two con-
cluding lines of the above lively fragment, are those sung by
Rob Roy, towards the finale of his midnight interview with
Baillie Nicol Jarvie, in the Tolbooth of Glasgow. See the
historical novel of " Rob Roy."
Q
170 WILL YE GO TO ALDAVALLOCH.
WILL YE GO TO ALDAVALLOCH.
IMITATED FROM THE GAELIC.
Will ye go to Aldavalloch?
Will ye go to Aldavallocb ?
Sweet the mellow mavis sings,
Amang the braes of Aldavalloch.
There, beneath the spreading boughs,
Amang the woods of green Glenfalloch,
Softly murmuring as it flows,
Winds the pure stream of Aldavalloch.
The first golden smile of morn,
And the last beam that evening sheddeth,
Baith that echoing vale adorn
That brightly glows, this mildly fadeth.
Short is there hoar winter's stay,
When spring returns like Hebe blooming-
Hand in hand with rosy May,
With balmy breath the air perfuming.
But there's a flower, a fairer flower
Than ever grew in green Glenfalloch,
The blithesome maiden I adore,
Young blooming May of Aldavalloch.
THE ADIEU.
Let me but pu' this opening rose,
And fondly press it to my bosom;
I ask no other flower that blows,
Be mine this modest little blossom.
" The lady who favoured the public with the well-known Song
called ' Roy's Wife,' says a writer in the Literary Chronicle, for-
got to mention the obligation she lay under to the original, of
which the above is a close imitation, and, in some instances, a
literal translation. This beautiful air is at least a hundred and
twenty years old, for I learned it twenty- eight years ago, from a
Mrs. M'Hardy, who was then in the hundred and sixth year of
her age, and who said, that when a little girl, she had learned it of
her mother; whereas, the Scottish words to the same tune have not
been known half that time. Indeed, the greater part of the old
Scottish melodies may be traced back to the Gaelic bards : The
ewie wi' the crooked horn,' ' The rock and the wee pickle tow,' &c.
are of Gaelic original, and have been known in the Highlands from
time immemorial. As I am now upon this subject, I cannot help
mentioning, that the last stanza of ' Roy's Wife' has been rendered
downright nonsense, by the creation of the uncouth term Walloch,
in order to rhyme with the proper name, Aldavalloch. New words
are daily invented, to designate things not already adequately
described, but no such dance as ' The Highland Walloch' ever did
exist, though any one but a Highlander, on reading the stanza in
question, would be led to suppose the reverse."
THE ADIEU.
THE boatmen shout, " 'tis time to part,
No longer can we stay;"
'Twas thus Maimuna taught my heart,
How much a glance could say.
MATILDAS DREAM.
With trembling steps to me she came;
" Farewell," she would have cried!
But ere her lips the word could frame,
In half-form'd sounds it died.
Then kneeling down with looks of love,
Her arms she round me flung;
And as the gale hangs on the grove,
Upon my breast she hung.
My willing arms embraced the maid,
My heart with raptures beat;
While she but wept the more, and said,
" Would we had never met."
Abou Mohammed, a celebrated musician of Bagdad, says Pro-
fessor Carlyle in his Selections from Arabian Poetry, 1810, being
desired to produce a specimen of his abilities before the Khaliph
Wathek, A. Hejrse 227, sung the foregoing, and such were its
effects upon the Khaliph, that he immediately testified his approba-
tion of the performance, by throwing his own robe over the poet's
shoulders, and ordering him to receive a present of one hundred
thousand dirhams.
Twenty-two and a half dirhams, according to our authority,
the Hindostan Dictionary, being about equal to nine shillings ster-
ling, any gentle poet of calculation may, at his leisure, sum up the
copy-right price of this eminently beautiful Eastern production.
MATILDA'S DREAM.
NIGHT closed around: in gusts the hail
Beat furious down the rocky steep :
Matilda's ruddy cheek grew pale,
As the blast yell'd round in angry sweep.
MATILDA'S DREAM. 173
The thunders roll'd above the wood,
The red-stream'd lightnings play'd around;
Near a lone blasted oak she stood,
Where the pale glow-worms lit the ground.