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O he lies by the willow-tree!
My love is dead,

Gone to his death-bed

All under the willow-tree.

Hark! the raven flaps his wing
In the brier'd dell below;
Hark! the death-owl loud doth sing
To the nightmares, as they go:
My love is dead,

Gone to his death-bed

All under the willow-tree.

See! the white moon shines on high;

Whiter is my true-love's shroud:
Whiter than the morning sky,

Whiter than the evening cloud:
My love is dead,

Gone to his death-bed

All under the willow-tree.

Here upon my true-love's grave
Shall the barren flowers be laid;

Not one holy saint to save

All the coldness of a maid:
My love is dead,

Gone to his death-bed
All under the willow-tree.

With my hands I'll dent

the briers

Round his holy corse to gre:

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Ouph and fairy, light your fires,
Here my body still shall be:

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330

331

CAROLINA OLIPHANT, LADY NAIRNE

[1766-1845]

THE LAND O' THE LEAL

I'm wearing awa', Jean,

Like snaw when its thaw, Jean,
I'm wearing awa'

To the land o' the leal.'
There's nae sorrow there, Jean,
There's neither cauld nor care, Jean,
The day is aye fair

In the land o' the leal.

Ye were aye leal and true, Jean,
Your task's ended noo, Jean,
And I'll welcome you

To the land o' the leal.

Our bonnie bairn's there, Jean,
She was baith guid and fair, Jean;
O we grudged her right sair
To the land o' the leal!

Then dry that tearfu' e'e, Jean,
My soul langs to be free, Jean,
And angels wait on me

To the land o' the leal.

Now fare ye weel, my ain Jean,
This warld's care is vain, Jean;
We'll meet and aye be fain

In the land o' the leal.

HE'S OWER THE HILLS THAT I LO'E WEEL

HE'S Ower the hills that I lo'e weel,
He's ower the hills we daurna name;
He's ower the hills ayont Dunblane,
Wha soon will get his welcome hame.

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My faither's gane to fecht for him,
My brithers winna bide at hame;

My mither greets and prays for them,
And, 'deed, she thinks they're no to blame.

The Whigs may scoff, the Whigs may jeer,
But ah! that love maun be sincere
Which still keeps true whate'er betide,
And for his sake leaves a' beside.

His right these hills, his right these plains;
O'er Hieland hearts secure he reigns;
What lads e'er did our lads will do;
Were I a laddie I'd follow him too.

Sae noble a look, sae princely an air,
Sae gallant and bold, sae young and sae fair;
O did ye but see him ye'd do as we've done;
Hear him but once, to his standard you'll run.

He's ower the hills that I lo'e weel;
He's ower the hills we daurna name;
He's ower the hills ayont Dunblane,
Wha soon will get his welcome hame.

332

THE AULD HOUSE

Oн, the auld house, the auld house!
What though the rooms were wee?
Oh, kind hearts were dwelling there,
And bairnies fu' o' glee!

The wild rose and the jessamine
Still hang upon the wa':
How mony cherished memories
Do they, sweet flowers, reca'!

Oh, the auld laird, the auld laird,
Sae canty, kind, and crouse!
How mony did he welcome to

His ain wee dear auld house!

And the leddy, too, sae genty,

That sheltered Scotland's heir, And clipt a lock wi' her ain hand Frae his lang yellow hair.

The mavis still doth sweetly sing,
The blue-bells sweetly blaw;
The bonnie Earn's clear winding still
But the auld house is awa'.
The auld house, the auld house!
Deserted though ye be,

There ne'er can be a new house
Will seem sae fair to me.

Still flourishing the auld pear tree,
The bairnies liked to see;

And oh, how often they did speir
When ripe they a' wad be!
The voices sweet, the wee bit feet
Aye rinnin' here and there;

The merry shout-oh! whiles we greet
To think we'll hear nae mair.

For they are a' wide scattered now,
Some to the Indies gane,

And ane, alas! to her lang hame;
Not here will meet again.
The kirkyaird! the kirkyaird!
Wi' flowers o' every hue,
Sheltered by the holly's shade,
And the dark sombre yew.

The setting sun, the setting sun,
How glorious it gaed doun!

The cloudy splendour raised our hearts
To cloudless skies abune.

The auld dial, the auld dial,

It tauld how time did pass;

The wintry winds ha'e dung it doun,
Now hid 'mang weeds and grass,

333

THE LAIRD O' COCKPEN

THE Laird o' Cockpen, he's proud and he's great
His mind is ta'en up wi' things o' the State:
He wanted a wife, his braw house to keep;
But favour wi' wooin' was fashious' to seek.

Down by the dyke'-side a lady did dwell;
At his table-head he thought she'd look well—
McClish's ae' daughter o' Clavers-ha' Lee,
A penniless lass wi' a lang pedigree.

His wig was weel pouther'd' and as gude as new;
His waistcoat was white, his coat it was blue;
He put on a ring, a sword, and cocked hat,-
And wha could refuse the Laird wi' a' that!

He took the grey mare, and rade cannily,
And rapped at the yett o' Clavers-ha' Lee:
'Gae tell Mistress Jean to come speedily ben,-
She's wanted to speak to the Laird o' Cockpen.'

Mistress Jean was makin' the elder-flower wine:
'And what brings the Laird at sic a like time?'
She put aff her apron and on her silk goun,
Her mutch' wi' red ribbons, and gaed awa doun.

And when she cam' ben he bowed fu' low;
And what was his errand he soon let her know.
Amazed was the Laird when the lady said 'Na ';—
And wi' a laigh' curtsey she turn'd awa'.

Dumfounder'd was he; but nae sigh did he gi'e,
He mounted his mare, and rade cannily;
And aften he thought as he gaed through the glen,
'She's daft' to refuse the Laird o' Cockpen!

1 Troublesome.

* Stone wall. 3 One. • Powdered.
• Gate. 7 Cap. 8 Low.

• Mad.

'Cautiously.

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