ing words of the sentence, and the Poet's eulogium on our native race of princes must remain imperfect. We subjoin a few verses of— The Flowers of Edinburgh. My love was once a bonnie lad; He was the flow'r of a' his kin; The absence of his bonnie face Has rent my tender heart in twain. I day nor night find no delight In silent tears I still complain; And exclaim 'gainst those, my rival foes. That hae taen frae me my darling swain. Despair and anguish fill my breast Since I have lost my blooming rose: I sigh and moan while others rest; His absence yields me no repose. To seek my love I'll range and rove Thro' every grove and distant plain ; Thus I'll never cease, but spend my days T'hear tidings from my darling swain. There's nothing strange in nature's change, Since parents shew such cruelty; They caus'd my love from me to range, And know not to what destiny. The pretty kids and tender lambs May cease to sport upon the plain; But I'll mourn and lament, in deep discontent, For the absence of my darling swain!] Fye, gae rub her o'er wi' Strat. Ir is self-evident that the first four lines of this song are part of a song more ancient than Ramsay's beautiful verses which are annexed to them. As music is the language of nature; and poetry, particularly songs, are always less or more localized (if I may be allowed the verb) by some of the modifications of time and place, this is the reason why so many of our Scots airs have outlived their original, and perhaps many subsequent sets of verses; except a single name, or phrase, or sometimes one or two lines, simply to distinguish the tunes by. To this day, among people, who know nothing of Ramsay's verses, the following is the song, and all the song that ever I heard: "GIN ye meet a bonnie lassie, Gie her a kiss and let her gae; Fye, gae rub her o'er wi' strae.” ["Ramsay's spirited imitation," says Cromek, "of the "Vides ut alta stet nive candidum, Socrate,' of Horace, is considered as one of the happiest efforts of the author's genius. For a very elegant critique on the poem, and a comparison of its merits with those of the original. the reader is referred to Lord Woodhouselee's 'Remarks on the Writings of Ramsay.' "Look up to Pentland's tow'ring tap, Bury'd beneath great wreaths of snaw, Driving their baws frae whins or tee, There are nae gowfers to be seen; Nor dousser fowk wysing a-jee The byass-bouls on Tamson's Green. Then fling on coals, and ripe the ribs, And beek the house baith but and ben; That mutchkin stowp it hauds but dribs, Then let's get in the tappit hen. Good claret best keeps out the cauld, Let next day come as it thinks fit, Be sure ye dinna quit the grip Of ilka joy, when ye are young, Before auld age your vitals nip, And lay ye twafald o'er a rung. Now to her heaving bosom cling, And sweetly tastie for a kiss; Frae her fair finger whoop a ring, As token of a future bliss. These benisons, I'm very sure, Are of the Gods' indulgent grant; Then, surly Carles, whisht, forbear, To plague us wi' your whining cant. Sweet youth's a blyth and heartsome time; Then, lads and lasses, while 'tis May, Gae pu' the gowan in its prime, Before it wither and decay. Watch the saft minutes of delyte, On you, if she kepp ony skaith, 'Haith, ye're ill-bred,' she'll smiling say; 'Ye'll worry me, ye greedy rook ;' Syne frae your arms she'll rin away, And hide hersel in some dark nook. Her laugh will lead you to the place Where lies the happiness you want, And plainly tells you, to your face, Nineteen nay-says are ha'f a grant." The song of "Fye, gae rub her o'er wi' strae" is composed of the first four lines mentioned by Burns, and the seven concluding verses of Ramsay's spirited and elegant Scottish version of Horace's ninth Ode, given above.] The Lass of Livingston. THE old song, in three eight line stanzas, is well known, and has merit as to wit and humour; but it is rather unfit for insertion.-It begins, "THE bonnie lass o' Livingston, Her name ye ken, her name ye ken, [The modern version by Allan Ramsay is as follows: "PAIN'D with her slighting Jamie's love, From her own tongue, from her own tongue, Who now converted was to truth, And thus she sung, and thus she sung: Bless'd days, when our ingenious sex, But spoke their mind-but spoke their mind. Repenting now, she promis'd fair, Would he return-would he return, Why lov'd I the deserving swain, [shame, Yet still thought shame-yet still thought When he my yielding heart did gain, To own my flame-to own my flame, Why took I pleasure to torment, And seem too coy-and seem too coy, Which makes me now, alas! lament My slighted joy-my slighted joy! Ye Fair, while beauty's in its spring, Own your desire-own your desire, While love's young pow'r, with his soft wing, Fans up the fire-fans up the fire; O do not with a silly pride, Or low design or low design, Refuse to be a happy bride, But answer plain-but answer plain. Thus the fair mourner 'wail'd her crime, With sweet surprise-with sweet surprise. Some god had led him to the grove, His mind unchang'd-his mind unchang'd; Flew to her arms, and cried, my love, I am reveng❜d-I am reveng❜d."] The last Time I came o'er the Moor. RAMSAY found the first line of this song, which had been preserved as the title of the charming air, and then composed the rest of the verses to suit that line. This has always a finer effect than composing English words, or words with an idea foreign to the spirit of the old title. Where old titles of songs convey any idea at all, it will generally be found to be quite in the spirit of the air. ["There are," says Allan Cunningham, "some fine verses in this song, though some fastidious critics pronounce them over warm: THE last time I came o'er the moor, Beneath the cooling shade we lay, Ev'n kings, when she was nigh me; In rapture I beheld her eyes, Which could but ill deny me. Should I be call'd where cannons roar, Where mortal steel may wound me; Or cast upon some foreign shore, Where danger may surround me; In all my soul there's not one place In her my love shall centre: The next time I go o'er the moor, And that my faith is firm and pure, Then Hymen's sacred bonds shall chain There, while my being does remain, My love more fresh shall blossom."} Johnnie's grey Brecks. THOUGH this has certainly every evidence of being a Scottish air, yet there is a well-known tune and song in the North of Ireland, called "The Weaver and his Shuttle, O," which, though sung much quicker, is every note the very tune. [Burns, when a lad, wrote verses to the same tune, beginning, "My father was a Farmer upon the Carrick border." The older set of verses, which Johnson, from an unaccountable fastidiousness, had rejected, are not destitute of merit. These artless strains are still sung in Scotland, at every country fire-side, and it now becomes a matter of justice to restore them :WHEN I was in my se'enteenth year, I was baith blythe and bonnie, O; He was a handsome fellow; His humour was baith frank and free; His honny locks sae yellow, Like gowd they glitter'd in my ee; His dimpl'd chin and rosy cheeks, And face sae fair and ruddy, 0; And then a-day his grey breeks, Were neither auld nor duddy, O. They're wider than they wont to be; For he's weel worthy o' them, And strive frae fau'ts to keep them free. The happy Marriage. ANOTHER, but very pretty, Anglo-Scottish piece. We subjoin the whole of this charming lyric. see, And borrow their looks from my Jessy and me. To try her sweet temper, oft-times am I seen, In revels all day with the nymphs on the green; Though painful my absence, my doubts she beguiles, [smiles. And meets me at night with complaisance and What tho' on her cheeks the rose loses its hue, Her wit and her humour bloom all the year thro'; Time still, as he flies, adds increase to her truth, And gives to her mind what he steals from her youth. Ye shepherds so gay, who make love to ensnare, And cheat with false vows the too credulous fair, In search of true pleasure how vainly you roam! To hold it for life, you must find it at home. [The above elegant song was written by Edward Moore, author of " Fables for the Female Sex," &c. In it the author exhibits not only a charming picture of real domestic happiness, but has likewise paid a delicate compliment to the amiable virtues of his wife. This lady, whose maiden name was Janet Hamilton, had a great turn for poetry, and assisted her husband in writing his tragedy of "The Gamester." One specimen of her poetry was handed about before their marriage, and afterwards appeared in "The Gentleman's Magazine" for 1749. It was addressed to a daughter of the famous Stephen Duck, and begins with the following stanza: You will think it, my Duck, for the fault I must own, Your Jessy, at last, is quite covetous grown; Though millions, if fortune should lavishly pour, I still should be wretched, if I had not MORE. After playing on his name, with great delicacy and ingenuity, through half-a-dozen stanzas, she thus concludes: You will wonder, my girl, who this dear one can be, Whose merit can boast such a conquest as me; But you sha'n't know his name, though I told you before It begins with an M ; but I dare not say MORE.] The Lass of Patie's Mill. IN Sinclair's Statistical Account of Scotland, this song is localized (a verb I must use for want of another to express my idea) somewhere in the north of Scotland, and likewise is claimed by Ayr-shire. The following anecdote I had from the present Sir William Cunningham of Robertland, who had it from the last John Earl of Loudon. The then Earl of Loudon, and father to Earl John before-mentioned, had Ramsay at Loudon, and one day walking together by the banks of Irvine water, near New Mills, at a place called Patie's Mill, they were struck with the appearance of a beautiful country girl. His lordship observed that she would be a fine theme for a song. Allan lagged behind in returning to Loudon Castle, and at dinner produced this identical song. ["The Lass of Patie's Mill' is one of the happiest of all Ramsay's songs. The poet said in his preface to the Tea-Table Miscellany,' that he had omitted in his collection all songs liable to raise a blush on the cheek of beauty: this fine lyric has been pointed out as likely to do what he desired to shun, but with how little reason, these verses will prove."-CUNNING НАМ. THE lass of Patie's mill, So bonny, blyth, and gay In spite of all my skill, Hath stole my heart away. When tedding of the hay, Bare-headed on the green, Love midst her locks did play, And wanton'd in her een. Her arms white, round, and smooth, To press them with his hand : Without the help of art, Like flow'rs which grace the wild, She did her sweets impart, Whene'er she spoke or smil'd. I wish'd her for my bride O! had I all that wealth I'd promise and fulfil, That none but bonny she, The lass o' Patie's Mill, Should share the same wi' me. The heroine of this fine song was the only daughter of John Anderson, Esq., of Patie's Mill, in the parish of Keith-Hall, and county of Aberdeen.] The Turnimspike.* THERE is a stanza of this excellent song for local humour, omitted in this set,-where I have placed the asterims. "They tak te horse then by te head, Tey no had sic comman', man." [A highlander laments, in a half-serious and half-comic way, the privations which the act of parliament anent kilts has made him endure, and the miseries which turnpike roads and tollbars have brought upon his country :— "HERSELL pe highland shentleman, Pe auld as Pothwell Prig, man; And mony alterations seen Amang te lawland whig, man. First when her to the lawlands came, Nainsell was driving cows, man; Nainsell did wear the philabeg, The plaid prick't on her shoulder; But for whereas these cursed preeks, Every ting in de highlands now [Burns says nothing about the authorship of this humorous song; but we may mention that it, and its counterpart, "John Hielandman's remarks on Glasgow," are from the pen of Dougald Graham, Bellman in Glasgow, and author of the facetious histories of "Lothian Tam," "Leper the Tailor," "Simple John and his Twelve Misfortunes," "Jocky and Maggy's Courtship," ""John Cheap the Chapman," "The Comical sayings of Paddy from Cork with his Coat buttoned behind," "John Falkirk's Carritches," "Janet Clinker's Orations in the Society of Clashin' Wives," and a "Metrical History of the Rebellion in 1745," in which he had a personal share, &c. His works, in the form of Penny Histories, have long formed staple articles in the hawker's basket; and, while the classic presses of Paisley, Stirling, and Falkirk, Scotland be turn't a Ningland now, An' laws pring on de cadger; Anither law came after that, An' wow! she pe a pouny road, An' no preak ithers' legs, man. They sharge a penny for ilka horse, In troth she'll no be sheaper, For nought put gaen upo' the ground, An' they gi'e me a paper. Nae doubts, himsell maun tra her purse, And pay them what hims like, man; I'll see a shugement on his toor; That filthy Turnimspike, man. But I'll awa to te Highland hills, Where te'il a ane dare turn her, And no come near your Turnimspike, Unless it pe to purn her."] Highland Laddie. As this was a favourite theme with our later Scottish muses, there are several airs and songs of that name. That which I take to be the oldest is to be found in the "Musical Museum," beginning "I hae been at Crookieden." One reason for my thinking so is that Oswald has it in his collection by the name of "The auld Highland Laddie." It is also known by the name of "Jinglan Johnnie," which is a well-known song of four or five stanzas, and seems to be an earlier song than Jacobite times. As a proof of this, it is little known to the peasantry by the name of "Highland Laddie;" while every body knows "Jinglan Johnnie." The song begins "Jinglan John, the meickle man He met wi' a lass was blythe and bonnie." have groaned with them, the sides of the Scottish lieges have been convulsed with them, for the greater part of a century. -MOTHERWELL. Graham was born about 1724, and died in the year 1779. His "History of the Rebellion," 1745, was a favourite work of Sir Walter Scott, and was first printed under the following quaint title :— A full, particular, and true account of the Rebellion in 1745-6. Composed by the Poct, D. GRAHAM. In Stirling-shire he lives at hame. To the tune of the gallant Grahams, &c., Glasgow, 1746.] |