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Was written at the request, and for the singing, of Dr Clarkson of Selkirk, who liked the old air, and sung it well. Of course, the song is meant to express his own sentiments. He said he did not wish fo a long song—a short song, by all manner of means. But when he got it he was in a mighty passion, because there was no more of it. no song at all,” he said ; " it was not well begun till it was done."

" It was

Up wi' the Souters o' Selkirk,

The sons of an auld pedigree!
An' up wi’ the lads o' the Forest,

Renown’d for their leal loyaltye!

be mista'en, but I carena,
My error I never shall rue;
Of all manly virtues I value
The heart that is loyal and true.

Sing umptidy-tumptidy tearhim, &c

Let them brag o’ their factious republics,

Of brawling an' plebeian birth; The land that has got a good sovereign,

Has got the best blessing on earth. Then up wi' our auld-fashion'd structure,

An' Willie the tap o' the tree ! An' up

wi' the Souters o' Selkirk !
The sons o' auld heroes for me!
Sing umptidy-tumptidy tearhim,

Sing umptidy-tumptidy tee;
Then up wi' the Souters o' Selkirk !

The sons o' auld heroes for me!


HAPPENING to spend an evening, as I had done many, with Patrick Maxwell, Esq., he played the old air, “ Over the Border,” so well, that I could get no rest or sleep till I had composed the following verses for it that I could croon to myself. The late Mrs Gray went over and corrected them next day. It has been by far the most popular love-song I ever wrote. For the air, see The Border Garland.

0, my lassie, our joy to complete again,

Meet me again i' the gloaming, my dearie ; Low down in the dell let us meet again

O, Jeanie, there's naething to fear ye ! Come, when the wee bat flits silent and eiry, Come, when the pale face o' Nature looks weary;

Love be thy sure defence,

Beauty and innocence-
O, Jeanie, there's naething to fear ye!



Sweetly blows the haw an' the rowan-tree,

Wild roses speck our thicket sae breery; Still, still will our walk in the greenwood be

0, Jeanie, there's naething to fear ye ! List when the blackbird o' singing grows weary, List when the beetle-bee's bugle comes near ye,

Then come with fairy haste,

Light foot, an' beating breast0, Jeanie, there's naething to fear ye !

Far, far will the bogle an’ brownie be,

Beauty an' truth, they darena come near it; Kind love is the tie of our unity,

A' maun love it, an' a' maun revere it. 'Tis love makes the sang o'the woodland sae cheery, Love

gars a' nature look bonny that's near ye;

That makes the rose sae sweet,

Cowslip an' violet0, Jeanie, there's naething to fear ye!


These verses were written to an Arabian air, sent me by R. A. Smith, which I lost. They were subsequently set to music by Bishop, to an air which I liked much better. See Select Scottish Melodies, by Goulding and D'Almaine.

Meet me at even, my own true love,
Meet me at even, my honey, my dove,

Where the moonbeam revealing
The cool fountain stealing
Away and away

Through flow'rets so gay,
Singing its silver roundelay.

Love is the fountain of life and bliss,
Love is the valley of joyfulness;

A garden of roses,
Where rapture reposes

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