O, let me lie, and weep my fill O'er wounds that heal can never; And O, kind Heaven! were it thy will, To close these eyes for ever; For how can maid's affections dear Recall her love mistaken? Or how can heart of maiden bear To know that heart forsaken ? O, why should vows so fondly made, To one who loved as never maid Loved in this world of sorrow? Farewell, dear Yarrow's mountains green, And banks of broom so yellow! Too happy has this bosom been Within your arbours mellow. That happiness is fled for aye, Save in the opening gates of day, And the dear home beyond them! As a note to the above song, I may quote a stanza from another poem written at the same time:— 1 Woe to the guileful tongue that bred A minstrel's malison remain ! S JOHN O' BRACKADALE. WRITTEN for, and published in, Albyn's Anthology. HEY, John, ho, John, Hey, John o' Brackadale; Auld John, bauld John, Brave John o' Brackadale! Came ye o'er by Moravich, Saw ye John o' Brackadale, At his nose a siller queich, Copper nose an' haffets grey, John has drunken usquebae Mair than a' Loch Brackadale! Hey, John, ho, John, &c. Sic a carle! to wear away, An' lye down quiet i' the yird, Just when the glorious usquebae Is growing cheaper by a third ;It winna do-I'll no believe it, For ne'er was carle sae blithe an' hale; Then hey for routh o' barley bree, An' brave John o' Brackadale! Hey, John, ho, John, Hey, John o' Brackadale; Auld John, bauld John, Brave John o' Brackadale! BAULDY FRAZER Is a rant which I composed for my own singing, in the broken Highland dialect, when I was a shepherd. AIR-Whigs o' Fife. HER name pe Bauldy Frazer, man, She proke her shin, and tint a han', Our Heelant clans pe creat forworn, But sic a tey was nefer porn For Heelant mans to tee, man. Och, sic a hurly-purly rase, On Heelant mans to flee, man. |