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I like thee weel, my wee auld house,

Though laigh thy wa's an' flat the riggin', Though round thy lum the sourock grows,

An' rain-draps gaw my cozy biggin'. Lang hast thou happit mine and me,

My head's grown grey aneath thy kipple, And aye thy ingle cheek was free

Baith to the blind man an' the cripple.

What gart my ewes thrive on the hill,

An' kept my little store increasin'? The rich man never wish'd me ill,

The poor man left me aye his blessin'. Troth I maun greet wi' thee to part,

Though to a better house I'm flittin'; Sic joys will never glad my heart

As I've had by thy hallan sittin'.

My bonny bairns around me smiled,

My sonsy wife sat by me spinning, Aye lilting o'er her ditties wild,

In notes sae artless an' sae winning. Our frugal meal was aye a feast,

Our e'ening psalm a hymn of joy; Sae calm an' peacefu' was our rest,

Our bliss, our love, without alloy.

I canna help but haud thee dear,

My auld, storm-batter'd, hamely shieling; Thy sooty lum, an' kipples clear,

I better love than gaudy ceiling. Thy roof will fa', thy rafters start,

How damp an' cauld thy hearth will be ! Ah! sae will soon ilk honest heart,

That erst was blithe an' bauld in thee !

I thought to cower aneath thy wa',

Till death should close my weary een, Then leave thee for the narrow ha',

Wi' lowly roof o’sward sae green.

Fareweel, my house an’ burnie clear,

My bourtree bush an' bowzy tree ! The wee while I maun sojourn here,

I'll never find a hame like thee.

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This song was written for, and published as the concluding song of, Smith's Scottish Minstrel; a work, the music of which is singular for its sweetness and true Scottish simplicity. The song, with a little variation, forms an appropriate conclusion to these simple lyrical effusions.

The year is wearing to the wane,

An' day is fading west awa',
Loud raves the torrent an' the rain,

And dark the cloud comes down the shaw;
But let the tempest tout an' blaw

Upon his loudest winter horn,
Good night, an' joy be wi' you a',

We'll maybe meet again the morn!

O, we hae wander'd far and wide

O'er Scotia's hills, o'er firth an' fell,
An' mony a simple flower we've culld,

An' trimm'd them wi' the heather-bell!

We've ranged the dingle an' the dell,

The hamlet an' the baron’s ha', Now let us take a kind farewell,

Good night, an' joy be wi' you a'!

Though I was wayward, you were kind,

And sorrow'd when I went astray ; For O, my strains were often wild

As winds upon a winter day. If e'er I led you from the way,

Forgie your Minstrel aince for a'; A tear fa's wi' his parting lay,

Good night, and joy be wi’ you a'!




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