Imágenes de página
PDF
ePub

FLORA MACDONALD'S FAREWELL

Was composed to an air handed me by the late lamented Niel Gow, junior. He said it was an ancient Skye air, but afterwards told me it was his own. When I first heard the song sung by Mr Morison, I never was so agreeably astonished, -I could hardly believe my senses that I had made so good a song without knowing it.

Far over yon hills of the heather sae green,

An' down by the correi that sings to the sea, The bonny young Flora sat sighing her lane,

The dew on her plaid, and the tear in her ee. She look'd at a boat wi' the breezes that swung

Away on the wave, like a bird of the main, An'aye as it lessen'd, she sigh’d and she sung,

Fareweel to the lad I shall ne'er see again! Fareweel to my hero, the gallant an' young,

Fareweel to the lad I shall ne'er see again!

The moorcock that craws on the brows of Ben-Connal,

He kens of his bed in a sweet mossy hame;
The eagle that soars o'er the cliffs of Clan-Ronald,

Unawed and unhunted, his eyry can claim;
The solan can sleep on the shelve of the shore,

The cormorant roost on his rock of the sea, But, ah! there is one whose hard fate I deplore,

Nor house, ha', nor hame, in his country has heThe conflict is past, and our name is no more

There's nought left but sorrow for Scotland and me!

The target is torn from the arm of the just,

The helmet is cleft on the brow of the brave, The claymore for ever in darkness must rust,

But red is the sword of the stranger and slave; The hoof of the horse, and the foot of the proud,

Have trod o'er the plumes on the bonnet of blue ! Why slept the red bolt in the breast of the cloud

When tyranny revell’d in blood of the true ? Fareweel, my young hero, the gallant and good !

The crown of thy fathers is torn from thy brow!

BONNY PRINCE CHARLIE.

Is it not singular how this song should have been so popular ? There can be no dispute that it is one of my worst. The air was likewise given me by my friend the late Mr Niel Gow, and to it I dashed down the words at random. Afterwards, when there was like to be a dust among the music-sellers about the tune, Mr Robertson wrote to me about it, and to justify his appropriation, assured me that the air was that of " Gala Water !” I answered that I would not dispute his authority, but after that, no man was entitled to disbelieve that a horsehair would turn an eel.–For the music of this and the foregoing song, the best sets are to be found in Mr Purdie's Border Garland, by Dewar.

Cam ye by Athol, lad wi' the philabeg,
Down by the Tummel, or banks o' the Garry,
Saw ye our lads, wi' their bonnets and white cockades,
Leaving their mountains to follow Prince Charlie ?

Follow thee! follow thee! wha wadna follow thee ?
Lang hast thou loved and trusted us fairly !
Charlie, Charlie, wha wadna follow thee,
King o' the Highland hearts, bonny Prince Charlie ?

I hae but ae son, my gallant young Donald ;
But if I had ten, they should follow Glengarry!
Health to M‘Donnell and gallant Clan-Ronald,
For these are the men that will die for their Charlie !

Follow thee! follow thee! &c.

I'll to Lochiel and Appin, and kneel to them,
Down by Lord Murray, and Roy of Kildarlie;
Brave MʻIntosh he shall fly to the field with them;
These are the lads I can trust wi' my Charlie !

Follow thee! follow thee! &c.

Down through the Lowlands, down wi' the Whigamore! Loyal true Highlanders, down wi' them rarely! Ronald an' Donald, drive on, wi' the broad claymore, Over the necks of the foes o' Prince Charlie!

Follow thee! follow thee! wha wadna follow thee?

Lang hast thou loved and trusted us fairly!
Charlie, Charlie, wha wadna follow thee,
King o' the Highland hearts, bonny Prince Charlie ?

THE SKYLARK.

A LITTLE pastoral song, worth half-a-dozen of the foregoing. - For the fine original air, see Mr Purdie's Border Garland.

Bird of the wilderness,

Blithesome and cumberless,
Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea!

Emblem of happiness,

Blest is thy dwelling-place-
O to abide in the desert with thee !

Wild is thy lay and loud,

Far in the downy cloud,
Love gives it energy, love gave it birth.

Where, on thy dewy wing,

Where art thou journeying ?
Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth.

« AnteriorContinuar »