I've liv'd a life of sturt and strife; It burns my heart I must depart, Sae rantingly, &c. Now farewell light, thou sunshine bright, And all beneath the sky! May coward shame distain his name, The wretch that dare not die! STAY MY CHARMER Tune-" An gille dubh ciar-dhubh." STAY my charmer, can you leave me! Cruel, cruel to deceive me; Well you know how much you grieve me; Cruel charmer, can you go! Cruel charmer, can you go! By my love so ill-requited, SONG MY HOGGIE WHAT Will I do gin my Hoggie die? My joy, my pride, my Hoggie! My only beast, I had nae mae, And vow but I was vogie! The lee-lang night we watch'd the fauld, Me and my faithfu' doggie; We heard nocht but the roaring linn, Amang the braes sae scroggie. But the houlet cry'd frae the castle wa', The tod reply'd upon the hill, I trembled for my Hoggie. When day did daw, and cocks did craw, The morning it was foggie; And maist has kill'd my Hoggie! RAVING WINDS AROUND HER BLOWING Tune-" M' Grigor of Roro's Lament." I composed these verses on Miss Isabella M'Leod of Raza, alluding to her feelings on the death of her sister, and the still more melancholy death of her sister's husband, the late Earl of Loudoun, who shot himself out of sheer heart-break at some mortifications he suffered, owing to the deranged state of his finances.-R. B., 1791. RAVING winds around her blowing, "Farewell, hours that late did measure "O'er the past too fondly wandering, "Life, thou soul of every blessing, UP IN THE MORNING EARLY CAULD blaws the wind frae east to west, Sae loud and shill's I hear the blast- Chorus.-Up in the morning's no for me, When a' the hills are covered wi' snaw, The birds sit chittering in the thorn, And lang's the night frae e'en to morn- Up in the morning's, &c. HOW LONG AND DREARY IS THE NIGHT How long and dreary is the night, I sleepless lie frae e'en to morn, When I think on the happy days And now what lands between us lie, How can I be but eerie! How slow ye move, ye heavy hours, It was na sae ye glinted by, HEY, THE DUSTY MILLER HEY, the dusty Miller, Or he spend a groat: Dusty was the colour, That I gat frae the Miller. Hey, the dusty Miller, And his dusty sack; I wad gie my coatie DUNCAN DAVISON THERE was a lass, they ca'd her Meg, They ca'd him Duncan Davison. The moor was dreigh, and Meg was skeigh, As o'er the moor they lightly foor, That Meg should be a bride the morn; We will big a wee, wee house, And we will live like king and queen; And aye be welcome back again! THE LAD THEY CA' JUMPIN JOHN HER daddie forbad, her minnie forbad, She wadna trow't, the browst she brew'd, Chorus. The lang lad they ca' Jumpin John The lang lad they ca' Jumpin John A cow and a cauf, a yowe and a hauf, The lang lad, &c. |