« AnteriorContinuar »
THE NOCTES SANG
Was made one day in Edinburgh, for singing in Ambrose's at night, on a particular occasion, when a number of foreign literary gentlemen were to be of the party. I did not sing it till late at night, when we were all beginning to get merry; and the effect on the party was like electricity. It was encored I know not how oft, and Mr Gillies ruffed and screamed out so loud in approbation, that he fell from his chair, and brought an American gentleman down with him. I have lost a verse of it, but it is likely to have been preserved in the Noctes Ambrosianæ. It has been always the first song at our jovial meetings ever since. The air is my own, and a very capital one. I believe it is preserved in the Noctes, and nowhere else.
IF e'er you wad be a brave fellow, young man,
For if ye wad be strang,
An' wad wish to live lang, Come join wi’ the lads that get mellow, young man ! Like the crack of a squib that is thrawn on, young man, Compared wi' the roar of a cannon, young man,
Sae is a Whig's blow
To the pith that's below
I heard a bit burd in the braken, young man,
the sad lay
Its notes o’ despair
Are sae loud in the air, That the windows of heaven play jingle, young man !
I'll gie you a toast of the auldest, young man,
Our King an' his Throne,
Be his glory our own, An' the last o' his days aye the bauldest, young man!
But as for the rogue that wad hector, young man,
May he dance Cutty-mun, t
Wi' his neb to the sun, An' his doup to the General Director,f young man!
* A celebrated London professor was lecturing here then.
+ Cutty-mun ; an old Scottish tune of exceedingly quick and cramp time.
# This is a mysterious allusion to the common place of execution in Edinburgh. C. N. Blackwood's Magazine.
THE SOUTERS O' SELKIRK
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 for 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. “ It was no song at all,” he said ; " it was not well begun till it was done.”
Up wi' the Souters o' Selkirk,
The sons of an auld pedigree!
Renown'd for their leal loyaltye!
My error I never shall rue;
Sing umptidy-tumptidy tearhim, &c
Let them brag o’their factious republics,
Of brawling an' plebeian birth;
Has got the best blessing on earth.
An' Willie the tap o' the tree !
Sing umptidy-tumptidy tee;
The sons o' auld heroes for me!