But fickle fortune frowns on me, Altho' thro' foreign climes I range, I know her heart will never change, For her bosom burns with honour's glow, My faithful Highland lassie, O. For her I'll dare the billows' roar, She has my heart, she has my hand, Farewell the glen sae bushy, O! John Barleycorn. TO THEE, LOV'D NITH. To thee, lov'd Nith, thy gladsome plains, I love thee, Nith, thy banks and braes, 27 JOHN BARLEYCORN.* A BALLAD. THERE were three kings into the east, Three kings both great and high; And they ha'e sworn a solemn oath John Barleycorn should die. They took a plough and plough'd him down, Put clods upon his head; And they ha'e sworn a solemn oath John Barleycorn was dead. *This is partly composed on the plan of an old song known by the same name. But the cheerful spring came kindly on, And show'rs began to fall; John Barleycorn came up again, And sore surpris'd them all. The sultry suns of summer came, The sober autumn enter'd mild, His colour sicken'd more and more, He faded into age; And then his enemies began To show their deadly rage. They 've ta'en a weapon long and sharp, And cut him by the knee; Then tied him fast upon a cart, Like a rogue for forgerie. They laid him down upon his back, John Barleycorn. They filled up a darksome pit They heaved in John Barleycorn, They laid him out upon the floor They wasted o'er a scorching flame But a miller us'd him worst of all, For he crush'd him 'tween two stones. And they ha'e ta'en his very heart's blood, And still the more and more they drank, John Barleycorn was a hero bold, Of noble enterprise; For if you do but taste his blood, 'Twill make your courage rise. "Twill make a man forget his woe; "Twill heighten all his joy; "Twill make the widow's heart to sing, Though the tear were in her eye. 29 Then let us toast John Barleycorn, Each man a glass in hand; And may his great posterity Ne'er fail in old Scotland! THE RIGS O' BARLEY. TUNE-"Corn rigs are bonnie." Ir was upon a Lammas night, The time flew by wi' tentless heed, CHORUS. Corn rigs, and barley rigs, And corn rigs are bonnie: The sky was blue, the wind was still, I kent her heart was a' my ain; |