This is a digital copy of a book that was preserved for generations on library shelves before it was carefully scanned by Google as part of a project
to make the world's books discoverable online.

It has survived long enough for the copyright to expire and the book to enter the public domain. A public domain book is one that was never subject
to copyright or whose legal copyright term has expired. Whether a book is in the public domain may vary country to country. Public domain books
are our gateways to the past, representing a wealth of history, culture and knowledge that's often difficult to discover.

Marks, notations and other marginalia present in the original volume will appear in this file - a reminder of this book's long journey from the
publisher to a library and finally to you.

Usage guidelines

Google is proud to partner with libraries to digitize public domain materials and make them widely accessible. Public domain books belong to the
public and we are merely their custodians. Nevertheless, this work is expensive, so in order to keep providing this resource, we have taken steps to
prevent abuse by commercial parties, including placing technical restrictions on automated querying.

We also ask that you:

+ Make non-commercial use of the files We designed Google Book Search for use by individuals, and we request that you use these files for
personal, non-commercial purposes.

+ Refrain from automated querying Do not send automated queries of any sort to Google's system: If you are conducting research on machine
translation, optical character recognition or other areas where access to a large amount of text is helpful, please contact us. We encourage the
use of public domain materials for these purposes and may be able to help.

+ Maintain attribution The Google "watermark" you see on each file is essential for informing people about this project and helping them find
additional materials through Google Book Search. Please do not remove it.

+ Keep it legal Whatever your use, remember that you are responsible for ensuring that what you are doing is legal. Do not assume that just
because we believe a book is in the public domain for users in the United States, that the work is also in the public domain for users in other
countries. Whether a book is still in copyright varies from country to country, and we can't offer guidance on whether any specific use of
any specific book is allowed. Please do not assume that a book's appearance in Google Book Search means it can be used in any manner
anywhere in the world. Copyright infringement liability can be quite severe.

About Google Book Search

Google's mission is to organize the world's information and to make it universally accessible and useful. Google Book Search helps readers
discover the world's books while helping authors and publishers reach new audiences. You can search through the full text of this book on the web

at http : //books . google . com/|

Digitized by VjOOQIC

Z%'oL . e

^^

J

Digitized by VjOOQIC

Digitized by VjOOQIC

Digitized by VjOOQIC

Vagabond Songs & Ballads of Scotland

Digitized by VjOOQIC

Digitized by VjOOQIC

Vagabond Songs and
Ballads of Scotland

With Many Old & Familiar Melodies
Edited, with Notes, by Robert Ford

NEW AND IMPROVED EDITION

PAISLEY: ALEXANDER GARDNER

^ttiblisher be Jl^oinlnunt to Vat l«t« Qiutn VUtorts

1904

Digitized by VjOOQIC

NOTE.

This work, originally issued in two large volumes
(the first in 1899, and the second in 1901) — the
earlier of which went suddenly out of print, and is
now sought for by collectors — is here issued in one
VOLUME, the lesser prized and less characteristic
songs and ballads only being omitted, while many
new tunes are added, and fuller notes are occasionally
given.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

PKEFACE

Not many words are required to introduce a work
the scope and character of which are so fully ex-
pressed on the title-page as in the present instance.
I desire only to say, therefore, that the songs and
ballads embraced in the succeeding pages — many of
them not to be found in any previous collection —
are more genuinely those of the rural population of
the Scotland of yesterday than almost any that
have heretofore appeared together in book form.
A number of the pieces, to be sure, including " The
Wee Wifukie,'' "Heather Jock,'' and ''The Barrin'
o' the Door,'' are common to all the modern
standard collections of Scottish song. But the
career of each of these has been nomadic and vaga-
bond, notwithstanding; and while I expect that
" The Barrin o' the Door " will be welcome in the
company of the old melody to which the country
people have always preferred to sing it, " Heather
Jock" should be equally, if not more welcome.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

▼i. PREFACE

because it is printed here entire for the first time in
any book, and because, further, in the note accom-
panying the song, the author is named for the first
time, and interesting particulars are furnished re-
garding the hero of the vei'ses which have not
pi-eviously appeared. Each and every song, indeed,
which is common to the standard collections, and
included here, has been admitted for some good
reason which will be found stated. What I would
esteem to have acknowledged to be a characteristic
and distinguishing feature of the collection, and
what I claim as its rnlson d'etre^ is the fact that it
embraces not less than nearly a hundred favourite
blads of lyric verse which till now have escaped the
vigilance of the song-collector. Among these latter
— and by far the larger number in the volume —
"Dumb, Dumb, Dumb,"" may be cited as a song
which the late Professor Aytoun knew to be much
in favour with country people, and regretted his
inability to recover. ^*The Tinklers'* Waddin',""
"The Bonnie Wee Window," "Bundle and Go,''
" Jinkin' you, Jockie Lad,'' " The Plains o' Water-
loo,'' "My Rolling Eye," "The Bonnet o' Blue,"
and "The Jolly Ploughboy," too, may be named

Digitized by VjOOQIC

PREFACE tH.

as songs which, though widely popular for many
years, have existed chiefly in the rural memory.
For a good long time I have practised the conceit of
noting down these vagabond songs and ballads when
and wherever I was favoured with the opportunity
of hearing them. Some I secured through corres-
pondence. Some from obscure publications. On
the invitation of the proprietors of The People's
Journal^ a selection of them recently appeared in
the columns of that widely circulating periodical,
with the result that I obtained fresh and interesting
particulars about some, and additional verses to
others. What was most surprising and gratifying
at the same time, as a result of the " sifting *" of the
pieces through the columns of that paper, was to
discover that in all parts of the country, despite the
fact of their enjoying an almost exclusively oral
existence, the versions in use, north, east, south, and
west, were nearly always identical. This, if neces-
sary, might be taken as an eloquent proof of the
excellent memory of the Scottish people; or perhaps
as an evidence of their common taste in matters
literary and poetical. Anyway, here are the songs.
It is chiefly to the older members of the living

Digitized by VjOOQIC

▼ill. PREFACE

generation that I am indebted for them. The rapid
and general railway service that now obtains, not to
speak of the ubiquitous bicycle, has brought the
village so close to the town, the hill so near to the
street recently, that the rising generations in the
country are catching up the howling rhapsodies of
the music halls only a day later than the people of
the city. It may be vain to expect, then — and I
have myself no such hope or expectation — that the
time-worn lilts and characteristic pieces forming the
present budget will, by virtue of their collected
publication, immediately re-engage the popular
favour. All I dare hope for them is that they will
be cherished by many — not for their literary quality,
perhaps, as some of them deserve to be — but as a
species of folk-lore, and as songs and ballads that
have been the familiar entertainment of the country
people of Scotland during three-quarters of the
nineteenth century. As a species of folk-lore alone,
even the crudest of them are eminently deserving of
rescue. Some are dear to us as " Sangs our Mithers
sung.'' All for one reason or another — but chiefly
for the joy they have given to Scottish rural life —
are particularly interesting.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

PREFACE It,

The collection could easily have been made larger^
but a line had to be drawn with respect to quality
and consistency as well as quantity.

Some once-popular ditties, like "The Miller o'
Drone,'^ and " The Young Laird o' Kelty,'' were not
admissible by reason of their high-kilted aspect and
over-luxuriant character. A hundred years ago^
when they were freely sung in mixed companies^
they might have been printed without hesitation,
and without the risk of giving offence; but the
advance in public taste as well a^ in editorial
scrupulousness, renders them now-a-days, happily^
an impossible entertainment, either one way or
another.

For the old and familiar melodies which appear
in the work, and many of them in print now for the
first time — melodies, forsooth, which are as charac-
teristically vagabond and national as the ballads
they are wedded to, and whose names they bear —
my special and grateful thanks are due, and freely
acknowledged, to Mr. D. Kippen, of Crieff, from
whom, as will be seen in the notes to the songs,
textual help has also been occasionally received.

Thanks further are gratefully accorded to Bailie

Digitized by VjOOQIC

PREFACE

George Taggart, Glasgow, and to Mr. Alan Reid,

Edinburgh, and other musical experts, for the supply

of tunes, and no less for their painstaking and

capable revision of many of the melodies. Very

specially I acknowledge my indebtedness to the late

Mr. Craibe Angus, so well known in art circles in

Glasgow and the West of Scotland, and to Mr.

George Gray, the respected town-clerk of Ruther-

glen, who freely submitted for perusal, to aid in the

work, each his very extensive and valuable collection

of Scottish Song Chapbooks. These, though they

yielded little, proved valuable often by offering

examples for comparison.

R. F.

287 Onslow Drive,
Glasgow, 1904.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

CONTENTS

A-Begging We Will Go, -

A* Body's like to be Married but Me,

Adieu to Bogieside,

A Cogie o* Yill,

A Cronie o' Mine,

A Lassie Lives by Yonder Bum,

Auld Eddie Ochiltree, -

A Wee Drappie O't, -

Bannocks o* Barley Meal,

Bold Brannon on the Moor, -

Bonnie Barbara, O, - -

Bonnie George Campbell,

Bonnie Jeanie Cameron,

Bonnie Johnnie Lowrie,

Bonnie Mally Stewart, -

Bonnie Susie Cleland,

Bundle and Go, - - -

Bundle and Go, - - .

Burns and his Highland Mary, -

Cairn-o*-Mount, - - .

Corunna's Lone Shore, -

Donald and Glencoe,

PAQB
267

299
265
329

92
229
218
181
142
245
121
310
221
194
174
117

35

37
112
106

81
247

Digitized by VjOOQIC

xii.

CONTENTS

DonaF Blue,

DonaF Don, - - -

Donald o' Dundee,
Do Ye Mind Lang Syne,
Dumb, Dumb, Dumb,
Duncan and Janet M'Cleary,
Duncan M^Callipin,
Erin-Go-Bragh,
Farewell to Fiunary,
Gilderoy, - - -

Glowerowerem, -
Half-past Ten,
Heather Jock, -
Hey ! John Barleycorn,
How Sweet the Rose Blaws,
I Wonder Wha'll be My Man,
I Wonder Wha'll be My Wife,
Jinkin' You, Jockie, Lad,
Jamie Raebum's Fareweel,
Jean and Caledonia, -
Jockey to the Fair,
Johnnie and Mary, -
Johnnie, My Man,
John o' Badenyon, -
Katey of Lochgoil,
Lassie wi* the Yellow Coatie,
Leezie Lindsay, -
Linten Lowrin,

FAGB
48

180
306
190

32
302

42

49
208

27
119
110
131
227
176
262
264

45
243
237

90
272
327

51
241
198
314
207

Digitized by VjOOQIC

CONTENTS

ziii.

Love Will Find Out the Way, -

PACK

- 204

Lovely Molly, - - .
Low Down in the Broom,

187
- 234

Lubin's Rural Cot, -

178

Mally Leigh, - - . .
Mormond Braes, - - .

- 176
171

Mossie and His Mare, - - -

- 39

My Rolling Eye, - - .

Naebody Comin* to Marry Me, -

Nae Bonnie Laddie Will Tak' Me Awa',

99

- 189

315

Nancy Dawson, - - - .
Neerie Norrie, - - . .

- 71
271

No to be Married Ava, - - .

- 308

Old King Coul, . - . .
O What a Parish !

151
- 217

Pawkie Adam Glen,

300

Pawkie Paiterson's Auld Yaud, -

- 311

Rosey Anderson, - - - .
Sae Will We Yet,

184
- 256

Ta Clerk in ta Offish,

283

Tkk' It, Man, Tak' It, -

- 15

Tam Frew's Hat, - . . .

65

The Auld Man's Mare's Dead, -

- 280

The Auld Quarry Knowe,
The Band o' Shearers, -

141
- 196

The Banks o' Claudy,

The Banks of Inverurie, - - -

317
- 258

The Banks of Sweet Dundee,

78

Digitized by VjOOQIC

xiv.

CONTENTS

PAGE

The Barrin' o' the Door,

-

- 148

The Birken Tree, -

-

88

The Blinkin' O't,

-

- 169

The Bold Sodger Boy,

-

321

The Bonnet o' Blue,

-

- 212

The Bonnie Banks o* Loch Lomond, -

145

The Bonnie Breist-Knots,

-

- 303

The Bonnie Brier Bush,

. - 157

The Bonnie House o* Airlie,

-

- 296

The Bonnie Lassie's Answer,

-

68

The Bonnie Wee Window,

-

- 20

The Braes o' Strathblane,

-

77

The Brewer Laddie,

-

- 95

The Brisk Young Lad,

-

294

The Broon Cloak on.

-

- 86

The Cameronian Cat,

-

319

The Carle He Cam* Ower the Craft,

- 128

The Cork Leg,

-

332

The Comcraik Amang the Whinny Knowes, - 32.5

The Crook and Plaid,

-

58

The Dottered Auld Carle,

-

- 130

The Farfar Sodger, -

-

163

The Feeing Time,

-

- 323

The Gallant Hussar,

-

254

The Glenorchy Maid,

-

- 135

The Goulden Vanitee,

-

103

The Heights of Alma, -

-

- 249

The Iron Horse,

-

158

Digitized by VjOOQIC

CONTENTS XV.

PAGE

The Jolly Beggar^ - - - - 9

The Jolly Ploughboy, ... 284

The Kilties in the Crimea, - - - 223

The Laird o* Drum, - . - - 4

The Lass o* Glenshee, - - - - 12

The Lowlands o' Holland, - - - 55

The Massacre of ta Phairshon, - - - 287

The Mill o* Lour, - - - - 330

The Muckle Meal-Pock, - - - 239

The Ould Bog Hole, - . - 290

The Pedlar, - - - - - 126

The Perthshire Pensioner, - - - I66

The Piper o' Dumbarton, - - - 138

The Plaidie Awa', - - - - 75

The Plains of Waterloo, . - - - 61

The Queer Folk i' the Shaws, - - 97

The Ram o* Bervie, - - - - 124

The Rose-a-Lyndsaye, - - - I61

The Shepherd on the Hill, - - - 293

The Tinklers* Waddin*, . - - 1

The Twa Bumbees, - - - - 231

The Waggin' o' Our Dog s Tail, - - 214

The Wark o' the Weavers, - - - 200

The Weary Farmers, - . - 202

The Webster of Brechin's Mare, - - 154

The Wee Cooper o* Fife, - - - 192

The Wee Toun Clerk, - - - . 277

The Wee Wifukie, - - - - 23

Digitized by VjOOQIC

CONTENTS

PAGE

This is no My Plaid, - - - - 260

This is the Night my Johnnie set, - - 84

Tugal M^Tagger, - - - - 252

We're A* John Tamson's Bairns, - - 199

What Do You Think of Me Noo, Kind Sirs ? - 115

When John's Ale Was New, - - 273

Where Are You Going, My Pretty;Fau- Maid? - KS7

Young Jamie Foyers, - - - 18

Digitized by VjOOQIC

VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

THE TINKLERS' WADDIN'.

Lively,

^^

In June, when broom in bloom was seen, And bracken waved fu'

^^^S^^^^S

fresh and green, And warm the sun, wi' sil - ver sheen, The

*

^w--^=mz

±i2=

€==tz

zeidS:

:^ -^-.^->

hills and glens did gladden, O ; Ac day up - on the

=^^^

Border bent, The tinklers pitch'd their gipsy tent. And

auld and young, wi' ae consent, Resolved to baud a waddin', O.

Chorus.

^

^-fr— fe->-

s^

5e^

^st

Dirrim dey, doo a day, Dirrim doo a da dee, O,

Dirrim dey, doo a day, Hurrah for the tinklers' waddin', O.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

In June, when broom in bloom was seen,
And bracken waved fu** fresh and green,
And warm the sun, wi** silver sheen.

The hills and glens did gladden, O ;
Ae day, upon the Border bent.
The tinklers pitch'*d their gipsy tent,
And auld and young, wi' ae consent.

Resolved to haud a waddin\ O.

Dirrim dey, doo a day,

Dirrim doo a da dee, O,
Dirrim dey, doo a day.

Hurrah for the tinklers'* waddin', O.

The bridegroom was wild Norman Scott,
Wha thrice had broke the nuptial knot.
And ance was sentenced to be shot

For breach o^ martial orders, O.
His gleesome Joe was Madge M'Kell,
A spaewife, match for Nick himseP,
Wi'' glamour, cantrip, charm, and spell.

She frichted baith the Borders, O.

Nae priest was there, wi** solemn face,
Nae clerk to claim o' crowns a brace ;
The piper and fiddler played the grace

To set their gabs a-steerin\ O.
^Mang beef and mutton, pork and veal,
'Mang paunches, plucks, and fresh cow-heel.
Fat haggises, and cauler jeel.

They clawed awa^ careerin', O.

Fresh salmon, newly taen in Tweed,
Saut ling and cod o^ Shetland breed,
They worried, till kytes were like to screed,
'Mang flagons and flasks o^ gravy, O.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

TH£ TINKL£RS* WADDIN'

There was raisin-kail and sweet-milk saps,
And ewe-milk cheese in whangs and flaps,
And they rookit, to gust their gabs and craps,
Richt mony a cadger^s cavie, O.

The drink flew round in wild galore,
And soon upraised a hideous roar,
Blythe Comus ne'er a queerer core

Saw seated round his table, O.
They drank, they danced, they swore, they sang.
They quarrelPd and 'greed the hale day lang,
And the wranglin' that rang amang the thrang

Wad matched the tongues o' Babel, O.

The drink gaed dune before their drooth,
That vexed baith mony a maw and mooth,
It damped the fire o' age and youth.

And every breast did sadden, O ;
Till three stout loons flew ower the fell.
At risk o' life, their drouth to quell,
And robb'd a neebourin' smuggler's stell,

To carry on the waddin', O.

Wi' thunderin' shouts they haiPd them back.
To broach the barrels they werena slack,
While the fiddler's plane-tree leg they brak'

For playin' " Fareweel to Whisky, O.'
Delirium seized the 'roarous thrang.
The bagpipes in the fire they flang.
And sowtherin' aims on riggin's rang.

The drink play'd siccan a plisky, O.

The sun fell laich owre Solway banks,
While on they plied there roughsome pranks.
And the stalwart shadows o' their shanks,
Wide, ower the muir were spreadin', O.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

Till, heads and thraws, amang the whins,
They fell with broken brows and shins,
And sair craist banes filled mony skins.
To close the tinklers' wadding O.

Who, I wonder, is he that was reared in any country district in
Scotland and is old enough to have cut his wisdom teeth and never
heard the rarely humorous, graphic, and rattling song of "The
Tinklers' Waddin'," which is quite a classic of its kind, though
seldom met with in printed form ? Even when printed the author's
name has not been attached. Yet we know that it was written by
William Watt, who was born at West Linton, i'eeblesshire, 1792,
and was author, besides, of the inimitable song of "Kate Dalrymple. "
Watt, who was a weaver to trade, cultivated with success the three
sister arts of poesy, painting, and music. In his early career he
removed to East Kilbiide, where for a time he was Parish Kirk
precentor. Two editions of his poems were published during his
life— one in 1835 and another in 1844 — both of which sold rapidly.
A third and last edition, issued in four monthly parts, one shilling
each, and comprising in all 338 pages, appeared soon after his death.
He died as late as 1859.

THE LAIRD O' DRUM.

ing her fa

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE LAIRD O' DRUM

••My

bon - nie May, my

ta=

weel - faur'd May, It's

The Laird o' Drum has a-hunting gane,

All in the morning early ;
And he has spied a weel-faur'd May

A-shearing ber father's barley.
" My bonnie May, my weel-faur'd May,

Ifs will ye fancy me, O,
And gang and be the Leddy o' the Drum,

And let your shearing a-be, O ? *"

" O, I mauna fancy you, kind sir,

Nor lat my shearing a-be, O ;
For Fm owre low to be Leddy o' the Drum,

And your Miss I scorn to be, O.
" My father he is a shepherd mean,

Keeps sheep on yonder hill, O ;
And ye may gang and speir at him,

Tm entirely at his will, O.'"

Now Drum has to her father gane,
Keeping sheep on yon green hill, O :

" Fm come to mairy your a''e dochter
If ye'll gi'e your goodwill, O.''

Digitized by VjOOQIC

VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

"My dochter can neither read nor write,

She ne'*er was bred at school, O ;
But weel she can work, baith oot and in.

For I learned the girlie inyseP, O.

" She'll work in your barn and at your mill.

Shell brew your malt or ale, O ;
She'll saddle your steed in the time o' need.

And she'll draw aff your boots herseP, ()."
" ril learn the lassie to read and write.

And ril put her to the school, O ;
And she'll never need to saddle my steed,

Nor draw aff my boots herseF, O.

" But wha will bake my bridal bread.

Or wha will brew my ale, O ;
And wha will welcome my lowly bride.

Is mair than I can tell, O."
O, four-and-twenty gentle knights,

Gaed in at the yett o' Drum, O ;
But ne'er a ane has lifted his hat

When the Leddy o' Drum cam' in, O.

But he has ta'en her bv the hand.

And led her but and ben, O ;
Says, " You're welcome hame, my Leddy Drum,

For this is a' your ain, O."
And he has ta'en her by the hand.

And led her through the ha', O ;
Says, " You're welcome hame, my Leddy Drum,

To your bowers, ane and a', O."

Then up and spak' his brother John,
" Ye've done us meikle wrang, O ;

Ye've married a wife 'neath your degree.
She's a mock to a' our kin, O.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

TH£ LAIRD O' DRUM

It's Peggie Coutts is a bonnie bride,

And Drum is big and gaucey ;
But ye micht hae chosen a higher match

Than just a shepherd'*s lassie.'^

Out then spak' the Laird o' Drum,

Says, " IVe dune ye nae wrang, O ;
Tve married a wife to work and win,

Ye've married ane to spend, O.
The first time that I married a wife.

She was far owre my degree, O ;
And I durstna gang in the room where she was

But my hat below my knee, O !

" For the first wife, sirs, that I did wed.

She lookit doon on me, O ;
She wadna walk to the yetts o' Drum

But the pearlins abune her bree, O.
And she was adored but for her gold,

As Peggie for her beautie, O ;
And she might walk to the yetts o' Drum

In as gude companie, O.*"

Yet four-and-twenty gentle knights

Stood at the yette o"* Drum, O,
And there wasna ane amang them a**

Would welcome Peggie in, O.
So he's taen her by the milk-white hand

And led her in himseP, O ;
And through the ha's, and through the bowers,

And " YeVe welcome, Leddy Drum, O ! "

And twice he kissed her cherry cheek,

And thrice her cherry chin, O,
And twenty times her comely mou' —

And " YeVe welcome, Lecfdy Drum, O ! ^

Digitized by VjOOQIC

VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

When they had eaten and drunken weel,

And a' were bound for bed, O,
The Laird o** Drum and his Leddy fair

In a'e bed they were laid, O.

" Gin ye had been o' high renown,

As ye're o' low degree, O,
We might hae baith gane down the street

Amang gude companie, O.
And o' a' yon four-and-twenty knights

That gaed in at the yett o"* Drum, O,
There ne''er was ane but wad lifted his hat

When the Leddy o' Drum cam^ in, O/'

" I teird ye weel ere we were wed

Ye was far abune my degree, O ;
But now Fm married, in your bed laid,

Fm just as gude as ye, O.
And when I am dead and you are dead

And baith in a'e grave lain, O,
Ere seven years are at an end

They'll no ken your dust frae mine, O.''

Professor Aytoun, in his introduction to this popular country
ballad, says : — *'Few families in the North of Scotland can boast of
"redder blood" than the Irvines of Drun-, who still remain in
possession of the estates granted, for Royal service, to their ancestor
by King Robert the Bruce. Inflexible 'Kingsmen,' their names
appear in the records of almost every stirring period, from the battle
of Harlaw, where they were represented by

* Gude Sir Alexander Irvine,

The much renowned Laird of Drum,
Nane in his days was better seen,
When they were semblit all and some,'

down to the Great Rebellion, when another Alexander received the
compliment of excommunication at the hands of the Covenanters on
account of his devotion to the cause of Charles I., and was under
sentence of death when rescued by the Marquis of Montrose. This
latter Alexander is the Laird of Drum celebrated in the following
ballad. His first wife was a daughter of the Marquis of Huntly ;
but in his advanced years he took to himself a second of humble

Digitized by VjOOQIC

TH£ JOLLY BEGGAR

degree, Margaret Coutts by name, an alliance which gave great
offence to his kindred, but which seems to have gratified the com-
nionfc, with whom the ballad is still a favourite." Certainly thia
last statement is true, for there is no ploughman's bothy in Scotland
in which "The Laird o' Drum" has not been sung times without
number, and the copy here printed is the pure bothy version of the
ballad — preferable in every way to Bnchan's, Kinloch's, or Aytoun's
copies of it.

THE JOLLY BEGGAR.

\. There was a jolly beggar, and a - begging he was boun , And

Chorus. /

E^H^

r^

'^

And we'll gang nae mair a

ing So

l ^ ££ ^ ^^^gi^li

late in • to the night, And we'll gang nae mair a • roving, Let the

M rail, e firrte. ^ ^

^

m

s=f^

IS

^-^ J-*-^J

*=*-:

moon shine ne'er so bright. And we '11 gang nae mair a - rov - ing.

There was a jolly beggar, and a-begging he was

boun\
And he took up his quarters into a land**art toun.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

10 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

And well gang nae mair a-roving
So iate into the night,

And we'll gang nae ifnair a-roving.
Let the moon shine ne'er soijri^t.
And we'll gang nae mair a-roving.

He wad neither lie in barn, nor yet wad he in byre,
But in ahint the ha'-door, or else afore the fire.

And we'll gang nae mair, etc.

The beggar's bed was made at e'en wi' gude clean

strae and hay,
And in ahint the ha'-door, and there the beggar lay.

And we'll gang nae mair, etc.

Up raise the gudeman's dochter, and for to bar the

door.
And there she saw the beggarman standing i' the

floor.

And we'll gang nae mair, etc.

He took the lassie in his arms, and to the bed he

ran,
" O hooly, hooly, wi' me, sir, ye'll watiken our gude-

man."

And we'll gang nae mair, etc.

The beggar was a cunning loon, and ne'er a word he

spak'
Until he got his turn dune, syne he began to crack.

And we'll gang nae mair, etc.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE JOLLY BEGGAR II

" Is there ony dogs into this toun, maiden, tell me

true?^
" And what wad ye do wi' them, my hinny and my

doo?"

And we'll gang nae mair, etc.

** They'll rive a' my meal pocks, and do me meikle

wrang.''
*' dool for the doing o't ! are ye the poor man ? "

And well gang nae mair, etc.

Then she took up the meal pocks and flang them

owre the wa' ;
*' The deil gae wi' the meal pocks, my maidenhead

and a'.''

And we'll gang nae mair, etc.

" 1 took ye for some gentleman, at least the laird o'

Brodie ;
O dool for the doing o't ! are ye the poor bodie ? "

And we'll gang nae mair, etc.

He took the lassie in his arms, and gae her kisses

three.
And four-and-twenty hunder merk to pay the nurse's

fee.

And we'll gang nae mair, etc.

He took a horn frae his side, and blew baith loud

and shrill,
And four-and-twenty belted knights came skipping

o'er the hill.

And we'll gang nae mair, etc.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

It VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

And he took out his little knife, loot a' his duddies

fa',
And he was the brawest gentleman that was amang

them a\

And we'll gang nae mair, etc.

The beggar was a clever loon, and he lap shouther-

heicht.
" O, aye for siccan quarters as I gat yesternicht ! '"
And we'll gang nae mair, etc.

This song of splendid abandon, which has been sun^ high and low,^
and will never cease to find admirers, is attributed to King James V.,
and is supposed to celebrate one of the ** merrie Monarch's " own
adventures in clandestine love-making. James, when he wandered
abroad among his people in the disguise of the "Gudeman u' Ballen-
geich," was moved largely to this romantic issue by a sincere regard
for the well-being of his humbler subjects, for the protection of the
oppressed, and the punishment of crime ; and the abuses he thus
discovered, and subsequently remedied, gave him the complimentary
and merited title of "the King: of the Commons. " The song of **The
Jolly Beggar," notwithstanding, reveals quite a real feature in his
character ; and a tradition is recorded by Percy which narrates how
the King used to visit a smith's daughter at Niddry, near Edinburgh.
His adventures there possibly form the ground of the song, and sug-
gested also, we may presume, his not less graphic ballad of ** The
Gaberlunzieman. " '* The Jolly Beggar ** is generally epitomized. It
appears here entire, with the original tune.

THE LASS O' GLENSHEE.

Ae braw summer day, when the heather was
blooming.
And the silent hills hummed wi' the honey-lade
bee,
I met a fair maid as I hameward was roaming,
A-herdin** her sheep on the hills o' Glenshee.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE LASS O* GLENSHEE 13

The rose on her cheek, it was gem'd wi' a dimple,
And blythe was the blink o' her bonnie blue e'e ;

Her face was enchantiii', sae sweet and sae simple,
My heart soon belanged to the lass o** Glenshee.

I kiss'd and caress'd her, and said, " My dear lassie,
If you will but gang to St. Johnstone wi** me.

There's nane o' the fair shall set foot on the
causeway
Wi** clothing mair fine than the lass o' Glenshee.

" A carriage o' pleasure ye shall ha'e to ride in, *
And folks shall say ' madam ' when they speak
to thee ;

An' servants ye'U ha'e for to beck at your biddin' ;
ril make you my lady, sweet lass o' Glenshee.*"

*' Oh ! mock na me, sir, wi' your carriage to ride in.
Nor think that your grandeur I value a flee ;

I would think myseP blessed in a coatie o' plaidin',
Wi' an innocent herd on the hills o' Glenshee.'''

" Believe me, dear lassie, Caledonia's clear waters
May alter their course and run back frae the sea —

Her brave, hardy sons may submit to the fettei-s.
But alter what will I'll be constant to thee.

" The lark may forget his sweet sang in the momin'.
The spring may forget to revive on the lea.

But never will I, while my senses do govern.
Forget to be kind to the lass o' Glenshee."

" Oh, leave me, sweet lad, for I'm sure I would
blunder.
An' set a' the gentry a-laughin' at ipe ;
They are book-taught in manners, baith auld and
young yonder,
A thing we ken nocht o' up here in Glenshee.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

^^

14 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

" They would say, look at him wi' his dull Highland
lady,

Set up for a show in a window sae hie,
Roll'd up like a witch in a hameit-spun plaidie,

And, pointing, they'd jeer at the lass o' Glenshee.*"

" Dinna think o' sic stories, but come up behind me,
Ere Phoebus gae round my sweet bride you shall
be —
This night, in my arms, TU dote on you kindly ; "
, She smiled, she consented, I took her wi' me.

Now years ha'^e gane by since we bus kit thegither,
And seasons ha'e changed, but nae change is
wi' me.
She's ever as gay as the fine summer weather,

When the sun's at its height on the hills o'
Glenshee.

To meet wi' my Jenny my life I would venture.
She's sweet as the echo that rings on the lea ;

She's spotless and pure as the snaw-robe o' winter,
When laid out to bleach on the hills o' Glenshee.

Few ballads of its class have enjoyed a more intimate lease of
popularity in the contiguous shires of Perth, Forfar, and Fife than
this. Its story, it will be seen, is somewhat similar to that of *' The
Laird o' Drum," and may refer to a Perthshire alliance of the same
character. But of that we have no data. This we only know, that
the ballad was composed by a Perth man, Andrew Sharpe, who was
author besides of the once popular ballad of " Oorunna's Lone
Shore." Sharpe was a shoemaker to trade, and, in addition to beat-
ing leather on a lapstone, he played the German flute and taught it,
painted landscapes and taught drawing, and composed love songs
and sang them. He died at Bfidgend, Perth, on the 5th February,
1817, and lies buried on the sunny side of the old church of KinnouU.
An upright slab marks the spot, and bears this quaint but expressive
epitaph, written by himself same years before his death : —

" Halt for a moment, passenger, and read,
Here Andrew dozes in his daisied bed ;
Silent his liute, and torn off the key ;
His pencils scattered, and bis muse set free."

Digitized by VjOOQIC

TAK' IT. MAN, TAK' IT

15

Also this addition by hid wife :—

*' An affectionate husband, a faithful friend, and an honest man."

The well-known duet, "The Crookit Bawbee," which was sung
into fame by the late Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton Nimmo, of Ayr, and
over which a lengthened and ruinous law plea was waged having
reference to the copyright of the music, is simply a free adaptation,
in words and music alike, of this rustic yet wonderfully fascinating
ballad.

TAK' It, MAN, TAK' IT.

^

5

3N=:t*=:1^

^— ^ - >-

;!^^?^^

When I was a miller in Fife, Losh! I thought that the

i

5^E

fciH::

■s-h:

nir-,s~s

^ . M

s

N IK h

:Si:wi

:i=i=

-^-m-

-J-J-J-

sound o'

^

the happer Said, " Tak' hame a' wee flow to

your wife, To

\J ^

A "^

s N .^

/^ h

^ ^^ m ^ fu (c

'^ 1 J

K

K ^ L ^ * J fe ft

S ^

J '^ [j ^ J^ J^

*^ ....~?

s

4 ^

help to mak' brose to your supper." Then my conscience was

narrow and pure, But someway by random it rackit : For I

lifted twa neivefu', or mair. While the happer said, "Tak' it, man, tak' it."

Chorus.

-is— N -

iK-r^-

:jN=: srns~T

3±x:

:it*:

:i=i=i=i=i:

iiitS

Then hey for the mill and the kiln, The garland and gear for my cogie;

And hey for the whisky and yill, That washes the dust frae my craigie.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

16 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

When I was a miller in Fife,

Losh ! I thought that the sound o' the happer
Said, " Tak** hame a wee flow to your wife.
To help to mak' brose to your supper.''
Then my conscience was narrow and pure.

But someway by random it rackit ;
For I lifted twa neivefu', or mair.

While the happer said, "Tak' it, man, tak' it.''
Then hey for the mill and the kiln.

The garland and gear for my cogie ;
And hey for the whisky and yill.

That washes the dust frae my craigie.

Although it's been lang in repute

For rogues to mak' rich by deceiving.
Yet I see that it disna weel suit

Honest men to begin to the thieving.
For my heart it gaed dunt upon dunt.

Oh, I thought ilka dunt it wad crack it ;
Sae I flang frae my neive what was in't.

Still the happer said, "Tak' it, man, tak' it."
Then hey for the mill, etc.

A man that's been bred to the plough.

Might be deavM wi' its clamorous clapper ;
Yet there's few that would suffer the sough.

After kennin' what's said by the happer.
I whiles thought it scofTd me to scorn.

Saying, " Shame, is your conscience no chackit ? '
But when I grew dry for a horn.

It chang'd aye to " Tak' it, man, tak' it."
Then hey for the mill, etc.

The smugglers whiles cam' wi' their pocks,
'Cause they kent that I likit a bicker,

Sae I bartered whiles wi' the gowks,

Gied them grain for a sowp o' their liquor.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

TAK' IT, MAN, TAK' IT 17

I had lang been accustomed to drink,

And aye when I purposed to quat it,
That thing wi' its clappertie clink

Said aye to me, " Tak' it, man, tak' if
Then hey for the mill, etc.

But the warst thing I did in my life,

Nae doot but you'll think I was wrang o't ;
Od ! I tauld a bit bodie in Fife

A' my tale, and he made a bit sang o't.
I have aye had a voice a' my days,

But for singin' I ne'er gat the knack o't ;
Yet I trv whyles, just thinking to please

The greedy, wi' "Tak' it, man, tak' iV
Then hey for the mill, etc.

Now, miller and a' as I am.

This far I can see through the matter :
There's men mair notorious to fame,
Mair greedy than me o' the muter.
For 'twad seem that the hale race o' men,
Or, wi' safety, the hauf we may mak' it,
Ha'e some speaking happer within.

That said to them, "Tak' it, man, tak' it."
Then hey for the mill and the kiln.

The garland and gear for my cogie ;
And hey for the whisky and yill.

That washes the dust frae my craigie.

Few songs have enlivened the ploughmen's bothies of Scotland
more fre<]^uently than this happily conceived and richly humorous
ditty, which may occasionally be heard emanating, besides, from the
village inns, the smiddies, or the cottage ingle-nooks in the land.
The more popular and effectiv^^ay of rendering it is for the singer
to be seated on a chair or form, and to beat a mill-clapper-like
accompaniment with his elbows and fists, or with an empty brose-
caup, on a table before him.

In Perthshire, to which county it particularly belongs, it has
enjoyed, perhaps, the greatest popularity. Its author, David
Webster, bom in 1787, was a native of Dunblane. He was a weaver
to trade, and died at Paisley in 1837. Another song of Webster's,
"Donald Gunn," is well known in Scottish country circles.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

18

VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

YOUNG JAMIE FOYERS.

Far distant, far dis - tant, lies Scotia, the brave ! No

$

■j_-h--fc-iJ- ^ H rT i r-K r-r^-

-* ^- * * J J J m-^

i^g^F^^^^

i^k:

tombstone me - mo - ri • al to hal - low his grave : His

H-

-N— >■

s^e

s

bones now lie scattered on the rude soil of Spain, For

^

£^

bt=&=^^7^

-^^?ff

iSirs:

15^

young Jamie Foy - ers in battle was slain. From the

I

'^^^S^^^&

^i=^

fc=s=

=t^i:

Perthshire Mil - i

tia to serve in the line, The

brave Forty - sec - ond we sailed away to join ;

To

Well - ing - ton's arm - y we did vol • un - teer.

A-

^

E£

SE

:5=^:

long with young Foy - ers, that bold hal • ber - dier.

Far distant, far distant, lies Scotia, the brave !
No tombstone memorial to hallow his grave ;
His bones now lie scattered on the rude soil of Spain,
For young Jamie Foyers in battle was slain.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

YOUNG JAMIE FOYERS 19

From the Perthshire Militia to serve in the line,
The brave Forty-Second we sailed away to join ;
To Wellington''s army we did volunteer,
Along with young Foyers, that bold halberdier.

That night when we landed the bugle did sound.
The General gave orders to form on the ground.
To storm Burgos Castle before the break of day,
And young Jamie Foyers to lead on the way.

But, mounting the ladder for scaling the wall,
By a shot from a French gun young Foyers did fall ;
He leaned his right arm upon his left breast.
And young Jamie Foyers his comrades addressed :

" For you, Robert Percy, that stands a campaign.
If goodness should send to auld Scotland again,
You will tell my old father, if yet his heart warms.
That young Jamie Foyers expired in your arms.

" But if a few moments in Campsie I were.
My mother and sisters my sorrow would share ;
Now, alas ! my poor mother, for long may she mourn.
Her son, Jamie Foyers, will never return.

" Oh ! if I had a drink of Baker Brown's Well,

My thirst it would quench, and my fever would

quell;''
But life's purple current was ebbing so fast
That young Jamie Foyers soon breathed his last.

They took for his winding-sheet his tartan plaid,
And in the cold grave his body was laid ;
With hearts full of serrow they covered his clay,
And muttering " Poor Foyers ! " marched slowly
away.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

to

VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

His father and mother and sisters will mourn,
But Foyers, the brave hero, will never return ;
His friends and his comrades lament for the brave,
Since young Jamie Foyers is laid in his grave.

The bugle may sound and the war-drum may rattle,
No more will they raise this young hero to battle ;
He fell from the ladder like a hero so brave.
And rare Jamie Foyers is lying in his grave.

This typical bothy ballad, which, perhaps, appears in a book now
for the first time, was a prime favourite at the harvest homes, foys,
and Handsel- Monday gatherings in the rural parts of Perthshire
before and about the middle of the last century. Like the ballads
of the olden time generally, its story in the main is presumably
based on a matter of fact, so that one Jamie Foyers, from the Perth-
shire Militia, went cut under the **Iron Duke" to fight the French
in Portugal and Spain in 1810, and, as the reward for his heroism,
met the fate accorded to him in the verses, may be accepted freely
as a bit of real history. The Campsie referred to is, presumably,
the village of that name in Stirlingshire, as Foyers is a name that
was once common thereabout ; and in this Campsie there is, or was,
I have been told, a well, known as "Baker Brown's Well." The
ballad itself T copied thirty years before from the singing of a Perth-
shire woman, who died in 1899. A writer in the (Jlasyow Weekly
Herald names one Joun McNeill as the author.

THE BONNIE WEE WINDOW.

hoose it was wee, but the window was less ; It

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE BONNIE WEE WINDOW tl

^lg^3^^^^

i^

had but four panes, and ane wanted gless. 'Twas a

fJ

■s—s-

p^

^ — ^^-

bonnie wee window, A sweet little window. The

a

:i=*r=?=i

E^

bonniest wee window that ev - er ye saw.

There was a young lass, and her name it was Nell,
In a bonnie wee hoose wi' her grannie did dwell ;
The hoose it was wee, but the window was less,
It had but four panes, and ane wanted gless.

Twas a bonnie wee window, a sweet b'ttle
window.

The bonniest wee window that ever ye saw.

For this broken pane they a purpose did fin\
To lat onything oot, or tak' onything in ;
But to Nelly it served for a purpose raaist dear.
For her lovers at nicht cam'' a-courtin' her here,
At this bonnie wee window, etc.

It happened ae nicht grannie gaed to her bed.
That Johnnie, the brawest lad young Nelly had,
Cam' far o''er the hills his dear lassie to see.
And wi' high expectations there planted was he,
At this bonnie wee window, etc.

But the fond, youthfu' pair hadna got muckle said,
Whem grannie cried, " Nell, come awa' to your bed !''
'* I'm comin', dear grannie," young Nelly aid say ;
" So fare-ye-weel, Johnnie, for I maun away
Frae this bonnie wee window," etc.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

It VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

** Oh ! Nelly, dear lass, dinna tak' it amiss.
But before ye gae Va' ye maun grant me a kiss.'^
So aff gaed his bannet, but gudeness kens hoo
He managed sae quickly to get his head through
This bonnie wee window, etc.

A kiss Johnnie got, and sweet was the smack,
But for his dear life couldna get his head back.
He ruggit, he tuggit, he bawled, and he cursed,
Till Nell's sides wi** lauchin' were baith like to burst.
At his head in the window, etc.

Noo when the auld grannie did heaf the uproar.
She rax^ for the poker, syne ran to the door.
And ower Johnnie'^s back sic a thump she laid on,
Anither sic like would have crack'^d his backbone.
And his head in the window, etc.

A' burning wi' shame, and smarting wi' pain.
He ruggit and tuggit wi' micht and wi' main.
Till the jambs they gied way and the lintel did

break,
Though still the best hauf o't stuck fast to his neck.
Twas an awfu' wee window, etc.

As soon as the window in ruins did lie,
Auld grannie let out such a horrible cry.
It alarm'd a' the neighbours — lad, lass, man and wife,
And caused poor Johnnie to rin for his life,
Frae the bonnie wee window, etc.

O'er hill and o'er dale he pursued his way hame.
Like a bear that was hunted, ne'er lookin' behin' ;
And the neighbours they follow'd wi' clamour and

While some of them hunted their dogs at his heels.
'Twas a bonnie wee window, etc.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE WEE WIFUKIE t3

When Johnnie got harae, wi' a hatchet did he
Frae his wooden gravat syne set himseF free ;
But he vow'd that the deil micht tak' hira for his ain
If he e'er kiss'd a lass through a window again,

Be she ever sae bonnie, or live wi' her grannie.
Or the bonniest wee lassie that ever he saw.

The humours of a country courtship have never perhaps l>een more
graphically set forth than hy the unknown writer of this seldom
printed, though well known, song. James Nicholson's '*Imphm/'
not less popular, is set to the same tune.

THE WEE WIFUKIE.

There was a wee bit wifukie was comin'' frae the fair,
Had got a wee bit drappukie, that bred her meikle

care ;
It gaed about the wifie's heart, and she began to

spew.
Oh ! quo** the wee wifukie, I wish I binna fou.

I wish I binna fou, quo"* she, I wish I binna

fou.
Oh ! quo' the wee wifukie, I wish I binna fou.

If Johnnie find me barley-sick, Tm sure he'll claw
my skin ;

But ril lie down an' tak** a nap before that I gae in.

Sitting at the dyke-side, and taking o' her nap.

By came a packman laddie wi' a little pack.

Wi' a little pack, quo' she, wi' a little pack.
By came a packman laddie wi' a little pack.

He's clippit a' her gowden locks sae bonnie and sae

lang;
He's ta'en her purse and a' her placks, and fast awa'

he ran ;

Digitized by VjOOQIC

14 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

And when the wifie waken'd up her head was like a

Dee^
Oh ! quo' the wee wifukie, this is nae me.

This is nae me, quo** she, this is nae me,
Somebody has been felling me, and this is nae
me.

When I was bonnie Bessukie, my locks were like the

gowd,
And I lookM like ony lassukie, sic times as they were

cowed.
And Johnnie was aye tellin^ me I was richt fair to see ;
But somebody has been felling me, and this is nae me.
This is nae me, quo' she, this is nae me.
Somebody has been felling me, and this is nae
me.

I met wi' kindly company, and birPd my bawbee !
And still, if this be Bessukie, three placks remain wi'

me.
But I will look the pursie nooks, see gin the cunyie

be: —
There's neither purse nor plack about me ! — this is
nae me.

This is nae me, quo' she, this is nae me.
Somebody has been felling me, and this is nae
me.

I have a little housukie, but, and a kindly man ;
A dog, they ca' him Doussiekie ; if this be me he'll

fawn ;
And Johnnie, he'll come to the door, and kindly

welcome gi'e.
And a' the the bairns on the floor will dance if this
be me.

But this is nae me, quo' she, this is nae me.
Somebody has been felling me, and this is nae
me.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

wm^^mmm^mmmmmmmmmtm

THE WCE WIFUKIE t5

The nicht was late and dang out weet, and oh but it

was dark ;
The doggie heard a body's foot, and he began to

bark.
And when she heard the doggie bark, and kennin' it

was he,
Oh, weel ken ye, Doussie, quo' she, this is nae me.
This is nae me, quo' she, this is nae me.
Somebody has been felling me, and this is nae
me.

When Johnnie beard his Bessie's word, fast to the

door he ran :
Is that you, Bessukie ? — Wow, na, man !
Be kind to the bairns a', and weel may ye be ;
And fare weel, Johnnie, quo' she, this is nae me !
This is nae me, quo' she, this is nae me.
Somebody has been felling me, and this is nae
me.

John ran to the minister, his hair stood a' on end,
I've gotten sic a fright, sir, I fear I'll never mend ;
My wife's come hame without a head, crying out

most piteously.
Oh, fareweel, Johnnie, quo' she, this is nae me !
This is nae me, quo' she, this is nae me.
Somebody has been felling me, and this is nae
me.

The tale you tell, the parson said, is wonderful to me.
How that a wife, without a head could speak, or

hear, or see !
But things that happen hereabout so strangely alter'd

be,
That I could maist wi' Bessie say, 'tis neither you nor

she.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

26 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

Neither you nor she, quo** he, neither you nor

she.
Wow na, Johnnie man, 'tis neither you nor

she.

Now Johnnie he cam** hame again, and oh ! but he

was fain
To see his little Bessukie come to herseP again.
He got her sitting on a stool, wi' Tibbuk on her

knee ;
Oh ! come awa\ Johnnie, quo' she, come awa' to me.
For Tve got a nap wi' Tibbukie, and this is now me.
This is now me, quo' she, this is now me,
I've got a nap wi' Tibbukie, and this is now
me.

This rarely humorous song, which reveals the folly of excessive
drinking with almost equal success to that achieved by Burns in his
immortal poem of "Tarn o' Shanter," has been generally ascribed to
Dr. Alexander Geddes, a Roman Catholic clergyman, well known for
his translation of the Holy Scriptures, and other works chiefly of a
theological cast. Dr. Geddes was the son of a small farmer in the
parish of btuthven, Banflfshire, and was born in the year 171^7. He
was educated at Paris, and officiated as a priest for several years in
different parts of the north of Scotland, but chiefly in the vicinity
of Dundee. Latterly he settled in London, where he died in 1802.
By Allan Cunningham, Dr. Hately Waddell, and other biographers
of Burns, this Dr. Alexander Greddes, has been mistaken for Dr.
John Geddes, his cousin, an assistant Bishop of the Romish Church,
in Edinburgh, who was the esteemed friend of the poet and his fair
correspondent "Clarinda." i^r. John, an excellent gentleman, was
known in Edinburgh as " the most fashionable man in this city,''
but Dr. Alexander, by virtue of his one elever and original song,
enjoys a greater and, as time will prove, a more abiding fame. The
fourth verse in the present version I discovered recently in an old
chap-book copy of the song. Whoever cast it out did so without
warrant, and with questionable taste.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

GILDEROY

27

GILDEROY.

roses till his shoon; His stock - ings were of

S^

i!st

J^i ^^J- :^

1=

jstdif

silk - en soy, Wi' gar - ters hangin' doun. It

L-fc

w:a^r ~ f'r=^'^

was, I ween,

come - ly sight, To

see so trim a boy ; He was my joy, my

tzl

^^r?rg"ru

ff=F^

:^=p:

=;r=lr

^

^tSif

heart's delight, My hand - some Gil - de - roy.

O GiLDEiioY was a bonnie boy ;

Had roses till his shoon ;
His stockings were of silken soy,

Wi' garters hangin' doun.
It was, I ween, a comely sight

To see so trim a boy ;
He was my joy, my heart's deUght,

My handsome Gilderoy.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

2t VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

O, sic twa charming een he had ;

His breath as sweet's a rose ;
He never wore a Highland plaid,

But costly silken clothes.
He gained the love of ladies gay,

Nane e'*er to him was coy ;
Ah, wae'^s me, I mourn the day.

For my dear Gilderoy.

My Gilderoy and I were born

Baith in a'e toun thegither :
We scant were seven years before

We 'gan to love each other.
Our daddies and our mammies they

Were filPd with meikle joy
To think upon the bridal day

'Twixt me and Gilderov.

For Gilderoy, that love of mine,

Gude faith, I freely bpught
A wedding sark of holland fine,

Wi' silken flowers wrought,
And he gied me a wedding ring.

Which I received with joy ;
Nae lad and lassie ere could sing

Like me and Gilderov.

Wi' meikle joy we spent our prime.

Till we were baith sixteen ;
And aft we passed the langsome time

Amang the leaves sae green ;
Aft on the banks we'd sit us there.

And sweetly kiss and toy ;
Wi' garlands gay wad deck my hair.

My handsome Gilderoy.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

GILDEROY 29

O, that he still had been content

Wi' me to lead his life ;
But ah, his manfu** heart was bent

To stir in feats of strife ;
And he in many a venturous deed

His courage bauld wad try,
And now this gars my heart to bleed

For my dear Gilderoy.

And when of me his leave he took.

The tears they wat mine e'e.
I gave him a love-parting look,

My benison gang wi' thee !
God speed thee weel, mine ain dear heart,

For gane is all my joy ;
My heart is rent sith we maun part,

My handsome Gilderoy.

My Gilderoy baith far and near

Was feared in ilka toun.
And bauldly bear away the gear

Of mony a lowland loun ;
Nane e'er durst meet him hand to hand,

He was sae brave a boy.
At length wi' numbers he was ta'en.

My handsome Gilderoy.

The Queen of Scots possessit noucht

That my love lat me want ;
For cow and ewe he to me broucht,

And e'*en when they were scant ;
All those did honestly possess,

He never did annoy,
Who never failed to pay their cess

To my love Gilderoy.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

30 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

Wae worth the loon that made the laws

To hang a man for gear !
To reave of life for ox or ass,

For sheep, or horse, or mear.
Had not the laws been made so strict

I ne'er had lost my joy ;
Wi' sorrow ne'er had wat my cheek

For my dear Gilderoy.

Gif Gilderoy had done amiss.

He micht have banished been ;
Ah, what sair cruelty is this.

To hang sic handsome men !
To hang the flower o' Scottish land,

Sae sweet and fair a boy !
Nae lady had sae white a hand

As thee, my Gilderoy !

Of Gilderoy sae fear'd they were.

They bound him meikle strong ;
Till Edinburgh they led him there.

And on a gallows hung ;
They hung him high abune the rest,

He was sae trim a boy ;
There died the youth whom I loved best.

My handsome Gilderoy.

Thus having yielded up his breath,

I bore his corpse away ;
Wi' tears that trickled for his death

I washed his comely clay ;
And siccar in a grave sae deep

I laid the dear loved boy ;
And now for ever maun I weep

For winsome Gilderoy.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

GILDEROY Sr

This good old ballad, at one time a universal favourite, is still
distinctly popular in many country districts of Scotland. The hero
whose exploits it celebrates, and whose death it pathetically deplores,
was a man named Patrick Macgregor, but more familiarly Gilderoy
(Gillie Roy— the red-haired lad), whose life and morals, like those
of his illustrious namesake and kinsman, were framed on

** The good old rule, the simple plan.
That they should take who have the power,
And they should keep who can."

Gilderoy was, in fact, a noted freebooter, or cattle-lifter, wha
flourished in the seventeenth century, and was the leader of a gang
of caterans who practised stouthrief and robbery with violence far
and wide, but chiefly in the Highlands of Perthshire and Aberdeen-
shire. In February, 1636, seven t)f his accomplice^ were taken,
tried, condemned, and executed at Edinburgh. They were appre-
hended chiefly through the exertions of the Stewarts of Athole ;
and, in revenge, Gilderoy burned several houses belonging to the
Stewarts, which act proved his speedy ruin. A reward of a thousand
pounds was offered for his apprehension, and he was soon taken,
along with five more accomplices (some accounts say ten), and the
whole srang were executed at the Cross of Edinburgh on the 27th
July, 1636, the leader, as a mark of unenviable distinction, receiving
a higher gibbet than the others— a circumstance which is alluded to
in the ballad. Some wonderful stories are told of this wild cateran
(most of which, however, should be taken with a grain of salt), such
as his having picked the pocket of Cardinal Kichelieu while he was
celebrating high mass in the Church of St. Dennis, Paris ; his having^
carried off, with consummate assurance, a trunk of plate from the
house of the Duke Medina-Celi, at Madrid ; and his having attacked
Oliver Cromwell and two servants while travelling from Portpatrick
to Glasgow, and shooting the Protector's horse which fell upon him
and broke his leg, whereupon he placed Oliver on an ass, tied his-
Ifgs under its belly, and dismissed the pair to seek their fortune.
Cromwell first visited Scotland in 1648, and Gilderoy was executed
in 1636. The dates disprove the story.

The ballad is said to have been originally composed by the hero's^
mistress, a young woman belonging to the higher ranks of life, who
had become attached to the noted cateran, and was induced to live
with him. It is to be found in black letter broadsides as far back
as 1650. The foregoing improved version— and the one always sung^
— was printed in Durfey*s ** Pills to Purge Melancholy," Volume V.,
1790, and is thought to have been re-set by Lady Wardlaw, authoress
of the well-known ballad of ** Hardyknute." The original, according:
to Percy, contained '*some indecent luxuriances that required the
pruning-hook."

Gilderoy, it may be mentioned, has been the subject of more than
one prose romance that have been written within recent years, but,
such is the power of words which move in rhythmic order, the^
simple ballad story can never be overlaid by them. This, whiclx hag.
lived throui<h many vicissitudes, will still survive.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

zt

VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

I

DUMB, DUMB, DUMB.

Moderate.

^

JSISI

^E^^=p=^

^&

M=^Z

^S£*S^E^

^^

All ye that pass along, come and listen to my song, It is

1

:?E^«5=M

^-'

%

of a fair young maid that did mum, mum, mum, She was

^^

■^-=^

W^^^

^tscpc:

handsome, neat, and trim, and complete in every limb. But, a

i

:l!5zrf*:

s

5^=e:

It

:*=*!

X

las, poor girl, she was dumb, dumb, dumb.

All ye that pass along, come and listen to my song,
It is of a fair young maid that did mum, mum,
mum.
She was handsome, neat and trim, and complete in
every limb.
But, alas, poor girl, she was dumb, dumb, dumb.

There was a country blade, and he woo'd this pretty
maid,
He conducted her safe to his home, home, home ;
She was neat in every part, and pleased him to the
heart.
But, alas, poor girl, she was dumb, dumb, dumb.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

DUMB. DUMB, DUMB 33

She could shape and she could sew, she could bake
and she could brew,
She could sweep up the house with a broom,
broom, broom.
She could card and she could spin, and do any kind
of thing.
But, alas, poor girl, she was dumb, dumb, dumb.

To the doctor then he goes, with his heart full of
woes —
" Can you cure my wife of her mum, mum, mum?''
Said the doctor, " For my part, it's the easiest of
my art,
To make a woman speak when she's dumb, dumb,
dumb."

To the doctor her he brings, who cuts her chattering
strings,
And at liberty sets her tongue, tongue, tongue,
Her new faculty she tries, and she fills the house
with cries,
And she rattles in his ears like a drum, drum,
drum.

To the doctor back he goes, with his heart full of
woes —
" Oh doctor, you have me undone, done, done ;
Now my wife she's gi'en to scold, and her tongue
she'll never hold,
I'd give any kind o' thing were she dumb, dumb,
dumb."

" O, I did undertake to make your wife to speak,
'Twas the simplest kind o' thing to have done,
done, done ;

Digitized by VjOOQIC

34 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

But it^s past the art o' man, let him do the best he
can,
To make a scolding woman hold her tongue,
tongue, tongue.

" Yet, since to me you've come, I advise you to go
home,
Take the oil of the hazel so strong, strong, strong;
When she begins to sound, then anoint her body
round ;
That should make a scolding woman hold her
tongue, tongue, tongue.

" But alas, if that won't do, there's no cure on earth
for you,
But to thole just the best way you can, can, can ;
Ye maun look before ye loup or ye'U fa' upon yer
doup.
For haste's the ruination *o' man, man, man ! "

This is a ballad that was sung in Perthshire when I was a very
small boy, and which has not escaped my memoiy since. I have
never seen it in print before. Certainly it is not included in any
song or ballad collect:on that is well known, although it would form
no unworthy companion to *'The Wee Cooper o' Fife," "John
Grumlie," and all the best humorous ballads of matrimonial infelicity.

Turning on the same kind of hinge, there is a fragment of verse
preserved in the Maitiand manuscripts in the Pepysian Library, and
also in another manuscript in the University Library at Cambridge.
When introducing a collated version of these, imder the title of
"The Dumb Wife of Aberdour," in his collection of the ballads of
{Scotland, Professor Aytoun refers to the ballad now presented, of
which, to his regret, he could recover no more than three imperfect
stanzas, although he knew and acknowledged it had once been very
popular. Why a thing so pithy and clever should have escaped
collection so long it is difficult to understand. The tune, I think,
is original.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

BUNDLE AND GO

35

BUNDLE AND GO.

'm^

^g S

f^nzfd

ff3=?r-=P=

3^

^

Z^HJg^

te

The winter is gane, love, the sweet spring again, love, Be -

N N -

H^^:q^

:is=r

-^ — ^—^

decks the blue mountain and gilds the dark sea, Giein*

birth to the blossom, and bliss to the bosom, And

^fc

^=f:

=^^

:tii=^

-fciS=:^i

hope for the future to you, love, and me ;

For

I

=t*==f*=

1^=1^

^^bp3=;p=^

IE

r

tj

m

far to the West, to the land of bright freedom, The

m^

W

IT

land where the vine and the orange trees grow,

■:^^=t!0=f!r

-W=-W=^

=C2=t2=t

l^=fc

fain would conduct thee, my ain winsome dearie; Then

*=?:

=P=:pi

hey, bonnie lass, will you bundle

and go ?

The winter is gane, love; the sweet spring again,
love.

Bedecks the blue mountain and gilds the dark sea,
Giein** birth to the blossom, and bliss to the bosom.

And hope for the future to you, love, an' me.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

36 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

For far to the West, to the land of bright freedom,
The land where the vine and the orange trees
grow,

I fain would conduct thee, iny ain winsome dearie —
Then hey, bonnie lass, will you bundle and go ?

The vales an** the wild wood, the scenes o** our child-
hood.

Will ever be dear to your memory an' mine ;
But cauld blasts o** poortith that sweep Scotland'*s
mountains

Gars mony a fond heart in sorrow repine ;
Mak's aft the leal laddie to lose his dear lassie.

Or opens the fount for her saut tears to flow.
But the land o"" fair plenty invites us, my Mary —

Then hey, bonnie lass, will you bundle and go ?

Weel, weel ha''e I lo'^ed thee, an"* lang ha'e I woo'd
thee.

An' faes to our sweet future hopes there are nane;
Then why should we tarry, my ain bonnie Mary,

Or sever twa hearts that will aye beat as ane ?
Frae poortith to shield thee, in bliss to upbuild thee,

Will aye be the first dearest wish I can know ;
To mak' thy hame cheerie, and tend thee, my dearie —

Then hey, bonnie ass, will you bundle and go ?

To the deep, verdant valleys and braid hills sae
fertile.
Where wealth's for the winning, if will guides the
hand.
Where flowers bloom fairer, and landscapes are rarer,
And the skies are more bright than in our father-
land.
Where great rolling rivers are laden wi' riches,
Upon the inhabitants wealth to bestow ;

Digitized by VjOOQIC

BUNDLE AND GO 37

To the West, to the land of bright freedom and
plenty,
Rise up, bonnie lass, an** we*'ll bundle and go.

I ken, my dear laddie, ifs true a** youVe tauld me,

An' ril say nae langer that I winna gang,
Though Fm wae, wae to leave my sweet hame in the
Hielands,

An** a** the dear friends wha hae lo'ed me sae lang.
But my father an' mither are happy thegither,

I ken noo, my laddie, they winna say no ;
For baith hae consentit that I should gae wi' you.

Then up, my dear laddie, we'll bundle and go.

The refrain of no song peculiar to country life is better known aU
over Scotland than that of ** Bundle and Go," which is familiarity's
self. And, curiously, there are two distinct versions of the song
which have enjoyed nearly equal popularity. Neither has been
often printed, except in the common ballad sheet-form. Walter
Watson, the weaver-poet of Chryston, near Glasgow, author of
" Jockie's Far Awa'," and '• The Unco Bit Want," etc., wrote also a
song entitled "Bundle and Go.**' But Watson's verses never
secured the public ear to any appreciable extent. The present
songs — both of unknown authorship, unknown origin, kith or kin —
are the ones that have maintained, as already stated, about equal
favour in the country.

BUNDLE AND GO.

*'Frae Clyde's bonnie hills, whaur the heather is
blooming.
An' laddies an' lassies lo'e a' the lang day,
I'm come, my dear lassie, to mak' the last oflFer,
Sae male' up your mind noo an' dinna delay.
My mither is gane, an' the house it is eerie.

This nicht ye may rue if ye answer me no ;
Ye hae't in your offer to aye be my dearie —
Rise up, bonnie Annie, an' bundle an' go.
Chorus — Bundle an' ga, bundle an' go.

Rise up, bonnie lassie, an' bundle an' go.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

38 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

" My father is dead, an' has left me some siller,

He bade me ne'er marry anither but you ;
Fve ta en his advice, lang, lang ha'e we courted,

An' ye canna say but I'm constant an' true,
Altho' we be poor, yet our minds will be cheerie,

Our hearts will ne'er sink tho' our purse it be low;
I'll count mysel' happy when kissing my dearie —

Rise up, bonnie Annie, an' bundle an' go.

" It's true I hae courted wi' Mattie an' Tibbie ;

An' ither daft gawkies at kirk an' at fair ;
But nanc o' them a' set ray bosom a-dunting.

Or gart my heart loup between hope an' despair.
When out o' my sicht I care nae mair aboot them ;

The caper is o'er, I leave them to go ;
But you, my dear lassie, I lang hae loved dearly ;

Mak' haste, — are ye ready to bundle an' go ? "

Her young tender mind it began for to swither.

She said, while the tears of affection did flow,
" It's hard to be pressed thus between love an' duty.

Vet fain, very fain, would I bundle an' go.
An' if I should gang without telling my faither.

My tocher he'll keep, sheets an' blankets also ;
My mither she'll rage an' for ever disown me.

Yet fain, very fain, would I bundle an' go."

" A fig for excuses ! come, kilt up your coaties.

O'er moors an' o'er mosses ye ken we've to gang ;
There's danger in sitting, an' lingering, an' thinking.

The day will be breaking before it be lang.
Nae doubt but your faither an' mither'll be angry.

Yet love soon in its auld channel will flow.
When they see our wee totums aroun' the fire
dancin** —

Mak' haste, — are you ready to bundle an' go ? "

Digitized by VjOOQIC

MOSSIE AND HIS MARE

39

O Love lent his wings — in a blink they were
coupled —

In joy an** in pleasure their years row alang ;
Their young sprouts are innocent, noisy, an' healthy.

An' Tam, to please Annie, lilts aft a bit sang.
His Annie is a** his hale joy an' his pleasure,

Wi' love to each other their bosoms do glow ;
She blesses the day she left faither an' mither,

An' took his advice an' did bundle an' go.

MOSSIE AND HIS MARE.

Dorian mode.

O, Mossie was a cunning man, A little mare did buy ; For

winking and for jinking There were few could her come nigh ; She

was as cunning as a fox, As soople as a hare, And

I will tell you by and by How Mossie catch'd his mare.

Chorus.

^^^

4*=^

S^g

img, da di ump

the da dee, Sing, da di ump the dey. Sing,

:?5==t*=

i:

^

It

rum, tum, turn, tum. Da di ump the dey.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

40 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

O MossiE was a cunning man,

A little mare did buy ;
For winking and for jinking

There were few could her come nigh ;
She was as cunning as a fox,

As soople as a hare ;
And I will tell you by and by

How Mossie catched his mare.

Sing, da di ump the da dee.
Sing, da di ump the dey.

Sing, rum, tum, tum, tum,
Ua di ump the dey.

Mossie on a morning

Gaed oot his mare to seek.
And round about the frosty knowes

Upon his knees did creep.
At length he found her in a ditch.

And glad he got her there,
He flang the halter o'er her neck.

And Mossie catched his mare.

Now a** ye gilpy lasses,

When e'^er you courting go.
Ye may kiss and ye may cuddle.

But beware when doing so.
For a dip into the honey-mug

May lead you in a snare.
And the deil will catch ye mumpin".

As Mossie catch'd his mare.

And a' ye crafty ale wives,

Wha use the false measure.
By cheating and dissembling

To heapen up your treasure ;

Digitized by VjOOQIC

IfOSSIE AND HIS MARE 41

Your cheating and dissembling

Will lead you in a snare.
And the deil may catch ye mumpin\

As Mossie catch'd his mare.

And a' ye lousy tailors,

Wha cabbage aye the cloth.
Ye tak** a quarter frae the yard,

Fm free to gie my oath ;
But, if ye dinna mend your ways,

Yell fa" into the snare,
And the deil will catch ye mumpin\

As Mossie catch'd his mare.

And a"* ye pettyfoggcrs,

Wha plead your neighbour''s cause,
The puir ye often do oppress.

Though aye within the laws.
But when ye least expect it.

Yell hirsle to your share.
For the deil will catch ye mumpin\

As Mossie catchM his mare.

Last, a' ye Whigs about the land,

Wha (leny our lawfu' King,
May ye be gruppit ere ye wit.

And hung upon a string.
Lang be your corns and short your shoon.

And justice get her share.
And the deevil get ye by the neck.

As Mossie catch'd his mare.

This curiouf*, pithy, and diverting hallad was wont to be sung by
an old man in the parish of Cargill, Perthshire, more than forty
years ago ; and, sung as it was to a common Strathspey tune, and
delivered in a manner peculiarly the singer's own, it was in regular
demand at every Handsel Monday, Fasternse'en, and Hallowe'^-n
meeting that John Steenson could be prevailed upon to attend. It
was esteemed an old song then ; and, indeed, from the Jacobitish dirl
that occurs in the concluding stanza, wc may safely infer it belongs

Digitized by VjOOQIC

42

VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

to, or was rejuvenated in the first half of the eighteenth century.
The frequent allusions which occur in it to the common enemy—
"Auld Hornie, Sawton, Nick, or Clootie" — when considered in
relation to the context and the time, need not, I think, shock
unduly even the most sensitive nature. Yea, verily, the main pur-
pose of the ballad is wise and good.

p

DUNCAN M'CALLIPIN.

Lively,

It

It was at

wedding

Tranent, When

'-=r^

E^

= g— *-- J-

:*=ij:

scores an scores on

fun were bent, An' to

=Jt

1=1=

mz

ride the broose

full

in - tent Was

i

:^rp:

eith - er nine

Chorus.

or ten,

--0-

:^s— i!cdt=(E:

An* afF they a* set gallopin', gallopin' ;

ii

— ^ \=- — ! ^T 1^ ^= 1^ ^ IS

f

Legs an' arms

wallopin', wallopin' ;

> — V

^ "Shame tak' the hindmost," quo' Duncan M* • Call - i - pin

teE=E

Laird

Jelly

Ben,

Digitized by VjOOQIC

o^f^^^^^B^m^mt^mmmBBm^mammm^

DUNCAN M*CALLIPIN 43

It was at a wedding near Tranent,
When scores an' scores on fun were bent,
An' to ride the broose wi' full intent,

Was either nine or ten, jo !
An' aff they a' set gallopin*, gallopin'.
Legs an' arms a-wallopin', wallopin',
"Shame tak' the hindmost," quo' Duncan M*Callipin,

Laird o' Jelly Ben, jo.

The souter he was iidgin' fain,
An' stuck like roset till the mane.
Till smash, like auld boots in a drain.
He nearly reach'd his end, jo !
Yet still they a' gaed, etc.

The miller's mare flew o'er the souter,
An' syne began to glower aboot her ;
Cries Hah, *' I'll gie ye double muter.
Gin ye'U ding Jelly Ben, jo ! "
Then still they a' gaed, etc.

Now Will the weaver rode sae kittle,
Ye'd thocht he was a flyin' shuttle.
His doup it daddit like a bittle.
But wafted till the end, jo !
Yet still they a' gaed, etc.

The taylour had an awkward beast.
It funkit first, and syne did reist.
Then threw poor snipe five ell at least.
Like auld breeks ower the mane, jo !
Yet a' the rest gaed, etc.

The blacksmith's beast was last of a'.
Its sides like bellowses did blaw.
Till him an' it got sic a' fa'.

An' bruises nine or ten, jo !

An' still the lave gaed, etc.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

44 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

Now, Duncmi's marfe she flew like drift,
An** aye sae fast her feet did lift,
Tween ilka sten' she gae a rift.
Out frae her hinder end, jo.
Yet aye they a"* gaed, etc.

Yet Duncan's mare did bang' them a\
To rin wi' him they maunna fa',
When up his grey mare he did draw.

The broose it was his ain, jo.
Nae mair wi' him they'*ll gallop, they'll gallop,
Nae mair wi' him they'll wallop, they'll wallop.
Or they will chance to get some jalkip,

Frae the laird o' Jelly Ben, jo !

It is only country -bred people who can thoroughly understand and
enjoy this song, bearing, as it doe^, exclusively on an old popular
country custom. It was written by Peter Forbes, a gardener, who,
from the contents of a volume of his collected poems, printed at
Edinburgh ** for the author" in 1812. appears to have lived and sung
chiefly in" or about the neighbt»urhood of Dalkeith. It is from a
rambling rhynie in his book, entitled " Lang ^Syne," that we gather
any biographical particulars regarding him ; and from this we glean
only that he had first learned shoemaking, and afterwards took to
the more poetical occupation of gardening, and worked among
" mony braw plants wi' queer kittle names " in various parts of
Scotland and England. His rhymed ware is mostly of the doggerel
order, not more than two or three of the forty-eight pieces which
make up the sum-total of the contents rising t-o the level of respect-
able verse. "Soda Water," long a favourite at temperance penny
readings, is one of the best. It opens thus : —

** Poor Scotland's skaitu is whisky rife.

The very king o' curses.
Breeds ilka ill, care, trouble, strife.

Ruins health, and empties purses ;
It fills a poacefu' land wi' strife.

The alehouse fills wi' roarin' ;
It fills wi' bioils domestic life.

And fills the kirk wi' snorin'."

** Duncan M*Callipin," sometimes called " Tranent Wedding," is
decidedly his best effort ; and this is really a happy one. Its subject
is the riding of the broose at a country wedding — a custom now
entirely obsolete. The broose took the form of a race on foot, or on
horseback, according to the distance or social standing of the bride
and bridegroom, from the house of the groom to the habitation of

Digitized by VjOOQIC

JINKIN* YOU, JOCKIE LAD 45

the bride's parents, where the marriage ceremony generally took
place, and the winner claimed the privilege of kissing the bride, of
welcoming her to her new home, and alo of opening the "ball"
with her. These races sometimes extended over large tracts of
country, and if the bride was pretty and a toast, the competitors
were often many and the conteHts keen. Brooses were common in
liurns's time ; and in his *' New Year's Morning Salutation to his
Auld Mare Maggie," it will be remembered, the poet says—

'* At brooses thou had ne'er a fallow
For pith and speed."

There is a perverted version of the song, which turns on a race for
a wager, beginning —

" It was for a peck o' meal or mair,
Ae day as comin' frae the fair.
That Duncan lai<l wi' his grey mare,

To rMe wi' nine or ten, jo.
Sjne aflF they set a' gallopin', gallopin'.
Arms an' legs a' wallopin', wallopiii*,
' Deil hae the last,' quo' Duncan M*Callochan,

Laird o' Tuliyben, jo."

But its coarseness damages its chance of popularity. Forbes's
song deservedly has held the field.

JINKIN^ YOU, JOCKIE LAD.

O, KEN ye my love Jockie, wha wons on yonder lea ?
He's aye lookin", aye joukin\ aye watchin' me.
I tell him Fve nae love for him, an' that I never had,
Tho' there's nane on earth I lo'e so weel's my ain

Jockie lad.
My ain Jockie lad, O niy ain Jockie lad ;
There's nane on earth 1 lo'e sae weel's iny ain Jockie

lad.

When the sheep are in the fauld, an' the kye are in

the byre,
An' ither lads an' lasses sittin' roond a rovin' fire.
There's me, a glaiket lassie, gae on as I was mad,
Aroond the stooks an' barn nooks, jinkin' you, Jockie

lad.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

46 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

It*s you, Jockie lad, an' it's you, Jockie lad ;
Nane can tease me an* please me like mv ain Jockie
lad.

Last hairst, when oor toon it was a' in a roar

To welcome peace and plenty to Great Britain's

shore,
He took me by the hand, and he lookit, oh, sae glad !
That my heart grew sae warm, it never could be sad.
It's my ain Jockie lad, O my ain Jockie lad ;
That my heart grew sae warm to my ain Jockie lud.

O my love is blythe an' bonnie, he's the pride o' a'

yon lea,
An' I lo'e him best o' ony, though he's aye teasin'

me ;
Tho' he teases me, an' squeezes me, and tickles me

like mad ;
Nane comes near me that can cheer me like my ain

Jockie lad.
It's you, Jockie lad, an' it's you, Jockie lad ;
Nane can tease me an' please me like mv ain Jockie

lad.

He tells me that he has a wee hoosie o' his ain,
An' he whispers things into my lug that gars me

whiles think shame.
But for a* that, an' a' that, his meanin's no sae bad,
An' there's nane on earth can please me like my ain

Jockie lad.
It's you, Jockie lad, an' it's you, Jockie lad ;
Nane can tease me an' please me like mv ain Jockie

lad.

O when I'm married to him I'll lo'e but him alane ;
A' my wealth I'd freely gi'e him, tho* the warld were
my ain.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

JINKIN' YOU. JOCKIE LAD 47

For nae treasure could gi'e pleasure, O there'*s nocht

could mak' me glad ;
E'en in Heaven Fd be grievin' wantin' you, Jockie

lad!
It's you, Jockie lad, an' it's you, Jockie lad ;
Nane teases me an' pleases like my ain Jockie lad !

Thirty and more years ago this happy and rather ingenious song
was a common favourite in most of the northern counties of Scot-
land—particularly in Aberdeenshire— and was frequently sung as far
down as the Howe of Strathmore. About ten years since I made a
public appeal for it, which produced a number of letters from widely
situated correspondents, some of whom forwarded entire copies of
the song — all <»f them furnishing less or more of it. The complete
copies were in each instance in (trint, the same being a clipping
from a penny songster— a channel through which few songs, unfor-
tunately, can pass without receiving sad defacement at the hands of
the printer. This one had fared worse than usual. The better
copies of the song were found to be those written out from memory.
The late Mr. Thomas Cromb, Wolfhill, Perthshire, a well-known
dancing-master, furnished the most of the foregoing version. Few
persons have seen more of the social life of the Scottish peasantry
in the last half-century than did Mr. Cromb. He was accustomed,
be said, to hear the song many years ago, and, adding to a good
memory a fine appreciation of lyric po^-try, his versions of songs—
nearly all acquired from having heard them sung — were not less to
be relied upon than his judgment in relation to their poetic merits.

Peter Buchan, in his A ncient Ballads and i^07igs oj the North uf
Scotland^ prints a song imder the title of "Johnny Lad," which he
claims to be the oric^inal of all the songs— and they are not a few^
he says — of this name. I will quote the first verse :—

** I bouGrht a wife in Edinburgh

For ae bawbee,
I got a farthing in again

To buy tobacco wi'.
We'll bore a hole in Aaron^s nose,

And put therein a ring ;
And straight we'll lead him to and fro,

Yea, lead him wi* a string.

And wi' you, and wi' you.

And wi' vou, my Johnny lad,
I'll drink the buckles o' my sheen

Wi' you, my Johnny lad."

Older that may be ; but it won't compare with our version as a.
long to sing and enjoy.

Digitized by

Google

48 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

DONAU BLUE.

My name is DonaP Blue, an** ye ken me fu"* weel,
Straik me canny by the hair, Fm a quiet, simple

chieP,
But gin ye rouse the bear, I'm as rouch as the deil,
Gin I get a claueht o** yer noddle.

But ril tell ye o' a trick, man, that happen**d in the

south,
A smith got a wife, an** she had an unco drouth ;
She liket it sae weel, put sae muckle in her mouth.
She was aften helpit hame in the mornin\

So it happenM ae day, when the smith he was thrang.
They brocht a wife till him — a wife that couldna

gang ;
He took her on his back, an** up the stair he ran.
An' flang her on the bed wi' a fury.

He lockit the door, brocht the key in his han*,
And cam' doon the stair, cryin\ " Oh, bewitchM

man ;
This conduct o' hers Fm no fit to stan' —
FU list for a sodger in the momin\"

He fell to his wark — he was shoein' at a horse ;
They cried '' Tak* in your wife, smith, she's lyin' at

the Cross."
He lifted up his hammer, and strack wi' siccan force.
He knockit doon the studdy in his fury.

" The deil's in the folk ! What do they mean ava ?
Gin Fve ae drucken wife, Lo'd! I*m no needin' twa;"
But they cried aye the louder, " Tak' her in frae the
snaw.
Or surely she will perish ere the mornin'."

Digitized by VjOOQIC

ERIN-GO-BRAGH

49

So the smith he gaed oot, an'' viewed her a** roun' ;
" By my sooth, and it**s her ; but hoo did she win

doon r ""
He hoisted her awa' on his back up to the room,
Whaur the ither wife was lyin' soondly snorin\

The smith, to his surprise, couldna tell which was

his,
Frae the tap to the tae they were dressed in a piec»e :
An' sae close they resembled each ither in the face,
He couldna tell which was his Jeanie.

" Deil-ma-care,^ says the smith, "let them baith He

still.
When ance she is sober, shell surely ken herser/'
Noo, frae that day to this Jeanie never buys a gill.
Nor will she weet her mou' in the mornin\

This will be readily recognised as a common favourite at merry
meetings throughout the shires of Perth, Stirling, Forfar, and Fife.
Though somewhat rough in its texture, it conveys a palpable moral,
and is gripped together in a way which shows that its unknown
author had no mean sleight of the song-maker's art. I have never
seen the song in print. It sings to the air of '* Johnnie Cope."

ERIN-GO-BRAGH.

Dorian iw/fle. Slowly,

B^E?

i^

:^=^

My name's Duncan Campbell, from the shire of Argyle; I've

^-— Kl^rqsrfi,

^

■i^ r^ :, ^ *.

J^

^ ^ -

travelled this country for many a mile ; I *ve travelled thro' England, and

Ireland, and a'; And the name I go under 's bold Erin - go-bragh.
4

Digitized by VjOOQIC

50 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

My name**s Duncan Campbell, from the shire of

Argyle,
rve travelled this country for many a mile —
Tve travelled thro* England and Ireland and a' ;
And the name I go under ''s bold Erin-go-Bragh.

One night in Auld Reekie, as I walked down the

street,
A saucy policeman by chance I did meet ;
He glowered in my face and he gave me some jaw,
Saying "When came ye over, bold Erin-go-Bragh ? "

** I am not a Paddy, though Ireland Tve seen.
Nor am I a Paddy, though in Ireland Fve been ;
But though I were a Paddy, thafs nothing ava,
There's many a bold hero from Erin-go-Bragh.**'

" I know you are a Pat by the cut of your hair,
But you all turn Scotchmen as soon's you come here;
You have left your own country for breaking the law.
We are seizing all stragglers from Erin-go-Bragh.*"

" Though I were a Paddy, and you knew it to be

true ;
Or were I the devil — pray, what's that to you ?
Were it not for the baton you have in your paw,
I would show you a game played in Erin-go-Bragh."

Then a switch of blackthorn that I held in my fist,
Across his big body I made it to twist ;
And the blood from his napper I quickly did draw,
And paid him stock and interest for Erin-go-Bragh.

The people came round like a flock of wild geese.
Crying, "Stop, stop the rascal, he has killed the

police ; "
And for every friend I had, I'm sure he had twa —
It was very tight times with bold Erin-go-Bragh.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

JOHN O* BADENYON

51

But I came to a wee boat that sails on the Forth,
I picked up my all, and I steered for the North ;
Farewell to Auld Reekie, policeman and a\
May the devil be with them, says Erin-go-Bragh.

Now, all you brave fellows that listen to my song,
I don't care a farthing to where you belong ;
I come from Argyle, in the Highlands so braw.
But I ne''er take it ill when called Erin-go-Bragh.

Xot an Irish song this, as the title would make the novice infer.
But natives of the Western Highlands and Islands of Scotland have
a good deal in common — in accent and otherwise — with the people
of the North of Ireland ; and the verses describe only how ** Duncan
Campbell, from the Shire of Argyle," suffered in Edinburgh, in the
" No Irish need apply ** days, by being mistaken for a son of Saint
Patrick. Many will recognise the song as an old and common
favourite in Scotland.

JOHN O' BADENYON.

■ S' -*-' — ^i^-^ -^

When first I came to be a man of twenty years or so, I

>-fe^

^(CI^G

iSipq^

^=fe:

thought myself a handsome youth, and fain the world would know ; In

i

[,1^ g u-^-g ^

-&^

f

^

iB=^:

-b

best attire I stept abroad, with spirits brisk and gay ; And

^^^

' * F'

M-jH ^

-^ ^ u

here, and there, and everywhere was like a mom in May : No

Digitized by VjOOQIC

51

VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

i

-^^

H*-^»

^^i^^sigzrr^g

?^^g

mi

i

care I had, nor fear of want, but rambled up and down ; And

^E5^El^EiE£

^^^

P=(^

I

f

for a beau I might have pass'd in country or in town ; I

r v- g-^-r-v-p^^^ '^

S±=fe:

Eii

z^:r^c±:

Still was pleased where'er I went ; and, when I was a - lone, I

/7\

<B— >— aM?-*= — 9 —

=p

^

l^->;-j!C

tuned my pipe and pleased myself wi' John o' Bad - en - yon.

When first I came to be a man, of twenty years or

so,
I thought myself a handsome youth, and fain the

world would know ;
In best attire I stept abroad, with spirits brisk and

gay;
And here, and there, and everywhere was like a morn

in May.
No care 1 had, nor fear of want, but rambled up and

down ;
And for a beau I might have pass'*d in country or in

town ;
I still was pleased where'*er I went ; and, when I was

alone,
I tuned my pipe, and pleased myself wi' John o'

Badenyon.

Now in the days of youthful prime a mistress I must

find.
For love, they say, gives one an air, and ev'*n improves

the mind ;

Digitized by VjOOQIC

JOHN O' BADENYON 5;^

On Phillis fair, above the rest, kind fortune fix'd

mine eyes ;
Her piercing beauty struck my heart, and she became

my choice.
To Cupid now, with hearty prayer, I offered many a

vow,
And danced and sang, and sigh**d and swore, as other

lovers do ;
But when at last I breathed my flame, I found her

cold as stone —
I left the girl, and tuned my pipe to John o^

Badenyon.

When love had thus my heart beguiled with foolish

hopes and vain.
To friendship's port I steer'd my course, and laughed

at lovers' pain ;
A friend I got by lucky chance — 'twas something

like divine;
An honest friend's a precious gift, and such a gift

was mine.
And now, whatever may betide, a happy man was I,
In any strait I knew to whom I freely might apply,
A strait soon came; my friend I tried — he heard,

and spurn'd my moan ;
I hied me home, and tuned my pipe to John o'

Badenyon.

I thought I should be wiser next, and would a

patriot turn.
Began to doat on Johnnie Wilkes, and cry'd up

parson Home ; *
Their manly spirit I admir'd, and praised their noble

zeal.

* The song was written when Wilkes and Home were making &
noise about liberty.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

94 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

Who had, with flaming tongue and pen, maintained

the public weal.
But, e'er a month or two had pass'd, I found myself

betrayed ;
Twas Self and Party, after all, for a' the stir they

made.
At last I saw the factious knaves insult the very

throne ;
I cursed them &\ and tuned my pipe to John o'

Badenyon.

What next to do I mused a while, still hoping to

succeed ;
I pitched on books for company, and gravely tried to

read ;
I bought and borrowed everywhere, and studied

night and day.
Nor miss'd what dean or doctor wrote, that happeii'd

in my way.
Philosophy I now esteemed the ornament of youth.
And carefiiUy, through many a page, I hunted after

truth ;
A thousand various schemes I tried, and yet was

pleased with none ;
I threw them by, and tuned my pipe to John o'

Badenyon.

And now, ye youngsters everywhere, who wish to

make a show.
Take heed in time, nor vainly hope for happine^s

below;
What you may fancy pleasure here is but an empty

name ;
And girls, and friends, and books, and so, you'*ll find

them all the same.
Then be advised, and warning take from such a man

as me ;

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE LOWLANDS OF HOLLAND

55

Fm neither Pope nor Cardinal, nor one of high

degree ;
You'll meet displeasure everywhere; then do as I

have done —
E'*en tune your pipe, and please yourselves wi' John

o** Badenyon.

Along and well-established favourite, "John o' Badenyon" waa
written by the Rev. John Skinner, of Linshart, Aberdeenshire, who
was author besides of the immortal " TuUochgorum " and "The
Ewie wi' the Crookit Horn," and waa a much esteemed correspon-
dent of Robert Burns. Skinner was born at Balfour, in the parish
of Birse, in 1721, was a teacher for a time, first at Kemnay and then
at Monymusk. In 1742 he was appointed Episcopal minister at
Longside, where he officiated for the long period of sixty-five years,
residing all that time in a small thatched cottage at Linshart, where
he died in 1807.

What the reverend author meant by *' John o' Badenyon " has
more than once been the subject of debate. The natural idea is that
" John o' Badenyon " was a favourite air to which the hero tuned his
pipes and played to comfort himself by on any occasion of sorrow or
disappointment. But some one has affirmed that he had authority
for oelieving that this was the name which Skinner gave to his
family Bible, which had presumably been the gift of the farmer of
Badenyon, a place not very distant from Birse, his birthplace.
Another tradition is that "John o' Badenyon'' was the name or
nickname of a relative of Skinner's whom he was fond of chaffing.
Neither of these two latter explanations, however, harmonises with
the tenor of the song. " Tuning one's pipes," as the Rev. William
Walker says, " is surely no suitable preparation for chaffing a
friend, still less for reading one's Bible." That is so ; and what
suits best with the moral of the song is a simple, solitary amusement,
such as playing a tune on the pipes, which is wholly within one's
own power.

THE LOWLANDS OF HOLLAND.

i^^f^s^^^^

The love that I had chos - en was to my heart's content ; The

n #

J ir m • m ^ m

^

^ - '

7S^ ^ ^ \ ^ ^ m

1* M _l

r" n

I(\ Lj^L^Lii^*

N"

J * '

r ^ «' • 1

VJJ ^ ^ ^ ^ i^J

^ L^ ' ^

^ 1

^ u_ii u_ r-^

f^.-. *K,

'^ ^

\>m .

saut sea shall be fro - zen be

re - pent :

Digitized by VjOOQIC

56 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

pent me will I nev - er, un - til the day I dee ; Tho* the

m

:j^m=ze%=^-:gz JErj^ -P-ft,^

Low - lands o* Hoi • land ha'e twined my love and me.

The love that I had chosen

Was to my hearts content ;
The saut sea shall be frozen

Before that I repent ;
Repent me will I never,

Until the day I dee ;
Tho' the Lowlands o* Holland

Hae twined mv love and me.

My love lies in the saut sea,

And I am on the side,
Enough to break a young thing's heart,

Wha lately was a bride ;
Wha lately was a bonnie bride,

Wi' pleasure in her e'e ;
But the Lowlands o' Holland

Hae twined my love and me.

My love he built a bonnie ship.

And sent her to the sea,
Wi' seven score brave marinei's

To bear her companie ;
Three score gaed to the bottom,

And three score died at sea ;
And the Lowlands o"* Holland

Hae twined mv love and me.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE LOWLANDS OF HOLLAND 57

My love he built anither ship,

And sent her to the main ;
He had but twenty mariners,

And a' to bring her hame ;
But the weary wind began to rise.

And the sea began to rout ;
My love then and his bonnie ship

Turned widdershins * about.

There shall nae coif come on my head,

Nae kame conie in my hair ;
There^s neither coal nor candle licht

Shine in my bower mair ;
Nor shall I hae anither love

Until the day I dee ;
I never loved a love but ane,

And he's drowned in the sea.

O baud yer tongue my daughter dear,

Be still, and be content ;
There are mair lads in Galloway,

Ye needna sair lament.
Oh, there is nane in Galloway,

There's nane at a' for me ;
For I never h^ed a lad but ane.

And he's drown'd in the sea.

According to a pop alar tra<lition, this plaintive ballad, which has
been an established favourite with the country people of Scotland
for several generations, though seldom printed in the collections,
was composed about the beginnina^ of last century by a young lady
in Galloway, whose husband w.js drowned in the course of a voyage
to Holland. It may, however, as Mr. George Eyre-Todd shrewdly
suggests, belong to an earlier period, when Scottish knights, in times
of peace at home, were accustomed, as soldiers of fortune, to carry
their swords and followers to the wars in the Low Countries. Its
original air, from which Miss Admiral Gordon's Strathspey was
made, is preserved in the " Caledonian Pocket Companion." David
Herd was the first to print the ballad, but four verses make the
total of his version. Here are six, all <»f which have been accustomed
to be sung.

* In a direction contrary to the sun.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

58

VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

THE CROOK AND PLAID.

Tenderly.

S — N — ^

=?^

Sn^

i&p:

—0 m

winna love the lad - die that ca's the cart and

*z^r

pleugh. Though he should own that tender love that '* on - ly felt by

i

r^p^

5^

::k^

■e=^w-

^Efci

l^IZ^l

few;

For he that has this bosom a' to fondest love be

i

=^=^=e=g

■f=v--

f^

=I5:f,

5

:fc^:&i!zk

£

^=te

*->-

tray'd, Is the faithfu' shepherd lad - die that wears the crook and

plaid. For he's aye tiue to his lassie, aye

8=^

^ to hi:

to his lassie, Aye true to his lassie, wha wears the crook and plaid.

1 WINNA love the laddie that ca's the cart and pleugh,
Though he should own that tender love that's only

felt by few ;
For he that has this bosom a' to fondest love betrayed,
Is the faithfu' shepherd laddie that wears the crook

and plaid ;

For he's aye true to his lassie, aye true to his lassie,
Aye true to his lassie, wha wears the crook and plaid.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE CROOK AND PLAID 59

At morn he climbs the mountains wild, his fleecy

flocks to view,
While o'^er him sweet the laverock sings, new sprung

frae 'mang the dew ;
His doggie frolics roun' and roun"*, and may not weel

be stayed,
Sae blythe it is the laddie wi' that wears the crook

and plaid.

And he's aye true, etc.

At noon he leans him doon upon the high and

heathy fell.
And views his flocks beneath him a' fair feeding in

the dell ;
And then he sings the sangs o' love, the sweetest

ever made ;
O ! how happy is the laddie that wears the crook

and plaid.

And he's aye true, etc.

He pu's the bells o' heather red, and the lily flowers

sae meek,
Ca's the lily like my bosom, and the heathbell like

my cheek ;
His words are sweet and tender, as the dews frae

heaven shed,
And weel I love to list the lad wha wears the crook

and plaid.

For he's aye true, etc.

When the dews begin to fauld the flowers, and the

gloamin' shades draw on ;
When the star comes stealing through the sky, and

the kve are in the loan ;

Digitized by VjOOQIC

60 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

He whistles through the glen sae sweet, the heart is

lighter made
To ken the laddie hauieward hies wha wears the

crook and plaid.

For he's ave tine, etc.

Beneath the spreading hawthorn grey, that's growing

in the glen.
He meets me in the gloamin* aye, when nane on

earth can ken.
To woo and vow, and there, I trow, whatever may

be said.
He kens aye unco weel the way to row me in his

plaid.

For he'*s aye true, etc.

The youth o' mony riches may to his fair one ride.
And woo across the table cauld his madam -titled

bride ;
But I'll gang to the hawthorn grey, where cheek to

cheek is laid,
O ! nae wooer's like the laddie that rows me in his

plaid.

For he's aye true, etc.

To own the truth o' tender love, what heart wad no

comply,
Since love gives purer happiness than aught aneath

the sky ?
If love be in the bosom, then the heart is ne'er

afraid.
And through life I'll love the laddie that wears the

crook and plaid.

For he\s aye true to his lassie, aye true to his lassie.
Aye true to his lassie, wha wears the crook and plaid.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE PLAINS OF WATERLOO

ei

Here is a song of country love, by one who thoroughly understood
country life, hence its favour with rural lads and lasses, who have
sung it rejfularly for half a century. It was con»pt>sed by Henry
Scott Kiddell, who was author, besides, of *' Scotland Yet,'* *'The
Wild Glen sae Green," and other lyrics of rare vim and quality.
Riddell was born at Sorbie, in the Vale of Ewes, in Dumfriesshire,
in 1798. His father was a shepherd, and Henry's early years were
spent at the same calling. In course of time, however, he threw
aside the crook and plaid, studied at the University of Edinburgh,
and became the minister of 'I'eviotdale, where he laboured faithfully
for nearly nine years. In 1841 a serious attack of nervous disease
came upon him, and he had to abandon for ever the labours of his
pastorate. He died in 1870. Kiddell wrote a great deal, and much
that he wrote became exceedingly popular ; but nothing more so than
** The Crook and the Plaid," which was written to supplant a song
of questionable character called *'The Plough Boy." Isobel Pagan,
an earlier singer, who was author of a version of ** Ca' the Yowes to
the Knowes.'* it is fair to state, wrote also a song entitled **The
Crot>k and Plaid." It is Kiddell 's song, however, that every country
person knows and nings.

THE PLAINS OF WATERLOO.

Dorian mode, MajenticaHy.

On the sixteenth day of June, my boys, In Flanders, where we lay.

^P_^

=1^=^

l^f=^-

i^=^

^^^-

SE^^

Our bugles the a - larm did sound, Be - fore the break of day ;

^5^^^^^^^^

The British, Belgians, Brunswickers, And Han - o - verians, too,

All Brussels left that morning For the plains of Wat-er • loo.

On the sixteenth day of June, my boys,

In Flanders, where we lay.
Our bugles the alarm did sound

Before the break of day ;

Digitized by VjOOQIC

62 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

The British, Belgians, Brunswickers,

And Hanoverians, too,
All Brussels left that morning

For the plains of Waterloo.

By a forced march we did advance.

Till thi-ee in the afternoon ;
Each British heart with ardour burned

To pull the tyi*ant down.
At Quatre Bras we met the French —

Their form to us was new ;
For in steel armour they were clad

On the plains of Waterloo.

Napoleon to his men did say.

Before the fight began ; —
" My heroes, if this day we lose,

Our nation is undone.
The Prussians we've already beat.

Well beat the British too,
And display victorious eagles

On the field of Waterloo."

Our immortal hero, Wellington,

No speech to us did make.
We were Peninsula heroes

And oft had made them quake ;
At Vittoria, Salamanca,

Toulouse, and Burgos, too —
They beheld their former conquerors

On the plains of Waterloo.

In bright array Britannia stood

And viewed her sons that day.
Then to her much-loved hero went

And thus to him did say : —

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE PLAINS OF WATERLOO 6^

" If you the wreath of laurel grasp

From yon usurper's brow,
Through ages all shall you be called

The Prince of Waterloo.""

The bloody fight it then began,

The cannons they did roar ;
We being short of cavalry,

They pressed us full sore.
Three British cheers we gave them.

With volleys not a few,
Which made^hem wish themselves in France^

And far from Waterloo.

For full four hours, or longer, we

Sustained the bloody fray ;
And during a long, darksome night

Upon our arms we lay.
The orders of our General

Next day we did pursue,
We retired[ in files for near six miles.

To the plains of Waterloo.

This day both armies kept their ground.

When scarce a shot was fired ;
The French did boast a victory gained

Because we had retired.
This noble act of generalship

Them from their strongholds drew ;
Then we'd some share by fighting fair

On the plains of Waterloo.

On the eighteenth, in the morning.

Both armies did advance.
On this side stood brave Albion's sons,.

On that the pride of France.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

64 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

The fate of Europe in his hands,

Each man his sabre drew,
And' death or victory was the word.

On the plains of Waterloo.

Upon our right they did begin.

Prince Jerome led the van.
With Imperial Guards and Cuirassiers,

Thought none could them withstand ;
But British steel soon made them yield,

Though our numbers were but few ;
Prisoners we made, but more lay dead.

On the plains of Waterloo.

When to our left they bent their course

In disappointed rage,
The Belgian line fought for a time.

But could not stand the charge ;
Then Caledon took up her drone.

And loud her chanter blew ;
Played Marshall Ney a new strathspey.

To the tune of Waterloo.

Before the tune was half played o'^er

The French had danced their fill ;
Ten thousand of their warriors

Lay dead upon the field.
Ten thousand prisoners we took.

Imperial eagles too ;
Oh ! British valour was displayed

On the plains of Waterloo.

A health to George, our Royal King,

And long may he govern ;
Likewise the Duke of Wellington,

That noble son of Erin !

Digitized by VjOOQIC

TAM FREWS HAT 65

Two years they added to our time,

With pay and pension too ;
And now we are recorded all

As " men of Waterloo/^

Every schoolboy in Scotland is familiar with Lord Byron's blood-
kindling verses on "The Eve of Waterloo," and all who presume
to be read in poetical literature beyond the mere alphabet of the
subject know also Sir Walter Scott's poem descriptive of the " king-
making victory" of that terrible Sabbath in mid- June, 1815, when
Napoleon and Wellington met face to face for the first and last time,
and the " terror of Europe " was fain to flee from the death-spitting
mouths of the British guns. But not the infinitely greater poems
of Byron and Scott— nor either of them— has captivated more
thoroughly tne common heart of the peasantry of this country than
the unsophisticated ballad printed above, which is supposed to have
been written by a Scottish soldier who took part in the engagement.
To wit, John (better known as Jock) Robertson, a bugler in the 92rkd
Highlanders It is worth noting here, besides, that une who fought
with the Scots Greys at Waterloo, on being asked many years after
how he would like to fight it over again, replied at once, while his
eye brightened at the question, " In my shirt sleeves."

Except in broadsheet form, this ballad has been seldom printed.

TAM FREW'S HAT.

YouVe a' heard tell o"* aiild Tam Frew,

Wha ance lived down at SheepFord Locks,
Whase only way o' livin' noo

Is gaun aboot and cleanin' clocks.
He's unco queer in a* his ways,

And aye as dry's he licket saut ;
But the oddest o' his queerest ways —

He keeps his smiddy in his hat.

Dirrim dey, doo a day,

Diirim doo a da dee, O.
Dirrim dey, doo a day,

He keeps his smiddy in his hat.

5

Digitized by VjOOQIC

66 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

Noo, auld Tamls hafs nae ord'nar hat,

Though unco bare and gey far through ;
It has seen better days, I wat,

Although it bauds a smiddy noo.
When it was new Laird Waddell woreH,

And out frae ^neath 't gied mony a squint ;
I'm sure he paid a guinea for't,

Though noo Tarn bauds his smiddy in't.

A vice, a studdy, and a file,

A cramp, and twa or three screw-taps.
An eight-day clock^s bell packit fu'

O"* auld watch gear and bits o' scraps.
Twa pendulums and a chapper wecht,

Twa hammers, and twa drills, I wat ;
Twa hanks o' cage wire, if Fm richt,

Were a' panged into Tammy's hat.

A wee pock fu"* o' points o' preens,

For pinnin' wheels, an' points, an' gear ;
An ink-glass, fu' o' gude sweet oil,

A feather in't, ye needna fear.
A saw made o' an auld knife blade,

A punch an' brogue, for widenin' holes ;
An' ilka thing a smith micht need.

But bellows, hearth, an' smiddy coals.

Noo, auld Tam's smiddy needs nae lums.

Nor doors nor winnocks, roun' an' roun'.
But he fa's to work as soon's it comes.

And turns his smiddy upside doun.
An' aft he'll yoke to cuckoo nocks.

And gar them speak tho' ten years dead ;
As soon's work's dune awa' he rocks,

Wi' his smiddy hotchin' on his head.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

TAM FREWS HAT 67

Auld Tain when young could crack and joke,

And play that way richt weel, I wat;
Haund doon his name like ither folk,

Though noo his smiddy's in his hat.
There's mony a slip 'tween cup and lip,

Tho' bodies they think nocht o' that ;
For wha wad thocht that time wad slip

Tarn's smiddy stock intil his hat ?

Noo, Tarn's like mony ither smiths.

He likes a drap to weet his reed.
And gangs to whaur it's gude atweel,

Wi' his smiddy placed upon his head.
And down he sits and smokes and drinks,

Until that he be roarin' fu' ;
There's three o' them ye maist wad think —

The hat, the smiddy, and Tam Frew.

But auld Tam's race is nearly run,

His smiddy roof is nearly bare.
An' aft his bits o' tools are fun',

A' fankled in amang his hair.
Regardless o' yon auld fell chiel',

Wha passing by may gie 'm a bat,
An' gar him tak' a lang fareweel

O' baith his smiddy and his hat.

Though not included in any collection of note, this has been a
popular song— and deservedly so - all over Scotland for nearly half
a century. Jt has been printed again and again in broadsheets and
penny songsters, etc., but always anonymously; and it was my
privilege not many years ago to print it for the first time with the
authors name attached, and to furnish particulars regarding the
subject and history of the effusion.

The allusion in the opening stanza to the " Sheepford Locks "
denotes the vicinity of Airdiie and Coatbridge as being the native
locality of the song ; and inquiring thereaway, through the medium
of a friend, I learned on very reliable authority that the author's
name was John M'Lay. He would be born about the end of the
eighteenth or the beginning of the last century, and at the time the
song appeared — about fifty years ago — was a miner in the employ-

Digitized by VjOOQIC

68

VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

ment of the Cahler Iron Company, and resided at Greenwood, on
the Monk land Canal, between Airdrie and Coatbridge, and not far
from the spot where once stood Tarn's Smiddy, at the Sheepford
Locks. He appears to have been able to pick out a character, and
to appreciate with whom he had to deal. Tani Frew, of course, was
a real personage, and one day, some time after the song had been
composed, M'Lay was in company with a few other miners in a
public-house in Holytown, when, lo ! who should enter but the
redoubtable Tarn with ** his smiddy hotchin' on his head." Sotto
voce the conversation turned on the song, when Tam offered to give
any man a gill who would sing it to him. The author at once stood
up and sang it, to the delight of the company. When it was finished,
Tam declared h^ '* would gie another gill to ken wha wrote it." He
was inf(»rmed on the spot, and a jolly night ensued. M'Lay is
reputed to have written other songs besides the present. One en-
titled '• Nosey," now lost, which hit off a person in the district with
an abnormally long prtiboscis, my informant once heard him sing,
though not until some considerable time after the decease of the
person to whom it alluded. He has been named, indeed, as the
author of '* Heather Jock." Certainly the hand that delineated
Tam Frew so graphically was equal to the task ; but *' Heather
Jock," as will be seen further on in this work, was not written by
John M'Lay. The air here is ** The Tinkler's Waddin'."

THE BONNIE LASSIE'S ANSWER.

»w oil - y, like - wise lo Lan - ark -

"Farewell to Glasgow oil - y, like - wise lo Lan - ark -

Fare - well, my dear - est par - ents, I '11

— s-

^

• ^

nev - er see you mair,

For I am bound to

i

=p=«^

^«=p:

?«=*=

i t giz^Lia

g

W

■JO=9^

it

go, my love, where no one shall me know ; " But the

i

^in

=t=

i^

^ — ^.

:5l=i:

bon - nic lass - ie's answer vi-as aye np,

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE BONNIE LASSIE'S ANSWER

69

IlEFIlAIN.

" Farewell to Glasgow City, likewise to Lanark-
shire,

Farewell, niy dearest parents, FU never see you mair.

For I am bound to go, my love, where no one shall
me know.""

But the bonnie lassie's answer was aye no, no.

""Twas aye no, no, my love ; 'twas aye no, no ;
The bonnie lassie's answer was aye no, no.

** It's for the want of pocket-money, and for the

want of cash,
Makes mony a bonnie laddie to leave his bonnie lass ;
So I am bound to go, my love, where no one shall

me know,"
But the bonnie lassie's answer was aye no, no.

** The Queen is wanting men, they say, and I for one

should go ;
And for my very life, love, I dare not answer no."
** O, stay at home, my bonnie lad, and dinna gang

afar.
For little, little do you ken the dangers of the war.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

70 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

" Tis ni cut off my yellow hair and gang alang wi'

thee,
And be your faithful comrade in ilk' foreign

countrie ; '**
** O, stay at hame, my bonnie lass, and dinna gang

wi' me,
For little, little do ye ken the dangers of the sea.

" The fervent love I bear to you is constant, true,

and kind ;
You are always present to my view, and never fnmi

my mina ;
But I am bound to go, my love, where no one shall

me know,''
And the bonnie lassie's answer was aye no, no.

" Farewell to Cathkin's sunny braes, where oft times

we have been;
Farewell unto the banks of Clyde, and bonnie

Glasgow Green ;
Farewell, my loving comrades, I own my heart is

sair;
Farewell for aye, my bonnie Jean, I'll never see you

mair.

** For 1 am bound to go, my love, where no one

shall me know,"
But the bonnie lassie's answer was aye no, no ;
'Twas aye no, no, my love : 'twas aye no, no ;
The bonnie lassie's answer was aye no, no.

Originally from the West, perhaps, we have here a sone that will
be at once recognised as a common favourite all over rural Scotland,
the custom being for the singer to make it apply to the nearest mili-
tary town.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

NANCY DAWSON 71

NANCY DAWSON.

There lived a lass in yonder glen
Wham auld and young did brawly ken,
She crackit the hearts o"* a"* the men,

Her name was Nancy Dawson.
But her auld daddie ne'er could bear
That ony ane her price should speir,
Except the laird o' Mucklegear,

Gleed, whistlin' Bauldy Lawson.

The lass was scarcely out nineteen,
Wi' coral lips and diamond een,
Wi' rosy cheeks and gracefu* mien.

Oh, but she was a darlin"* !
But Bauldy, bleer'd in baith his een,
Had mair than half a century seen.
Yet he wad come ilk' Friday's e'en

To rival Rab M'Farlane.*

But Rab was young and Rab was braw.

He had a tongue ayont them a** ;

He could wile an egg frae 'neath the craw,

And pleased the lassie's fancy ;
But Rab had neither gear nor Ian',
So couldna please the auld gudeman ;
It made the carle to rage and ban.

The loon should ne'er get Nancy.

The faither fleeched, the mither flate.
They bother'd the lass baith ear' and late
To wed the laird for his braw estate.

Or she wad get nae tocher ;
But she in Glasgow toon did ca',
And was advised by a limb o' the law
To please hersel* afore them a'.

For she was an only dochter.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

72 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

The laird his beard did triinly maw,
And dressed himseP fu** trig and braw ;
To strike the match for good and a"*

Cam' bran kl in"* ben the entry ;
But Nancy wished the carle at France,
As he cam' hoastin"* ben the trance ;
She thocht, wi' sigh and scornfu' glance,

This plan but answers genti'v.

The day was fix'd, the banns were ca'd.
The braws were bocht wi' great paraud.
An' Bauldy he fu* croosely craw'd

Ower a' the lads victorious.
At length the bridal day cam' roon'.
The gossips met wi* gleesome soun' ;
But hope turns disappointment soon ;

We see nae far afoie us.

Wi* poothered wig arrived the priest,
The brewer and his lade cam' neist,
The baker brang a special feast

O' roast, pies, buns, and gravy.
The cry gat up, " The bridegroom's comin' ! *
Baith auld and young did oot come rinnin* ;
For then thev heard the fiddle bummin'.

An' liltin'*" Dainty Davie."

The bride was left i' the spence her lane.
And oot at the back door she has gane.
And through the yard, and doon the glen,

Amang the birks and hazels :
She ran straucht to the trysting tree.
And met wi' Rab in muckle glee ;
And they hae fled across the lea

As swift as hares or weasels.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

NANCY DAWSON 73

Noo Bauldy he drew near the hoose,
And, vow ! but he was skeich and croose,
Cock-sure ere lang to hae a spouse,

SurpassM wi' nane ava, man.
He was welcomed in wi' muckle mense,
To see his bride within the spense ;
But they were bereaved o' every sense,

When they found she was awa\ man.

They socht her oot, they socht her in,
But on the track they ne'er could win ;
Some hintit leukin' roon the linn —

Hysteiics seized ilk' carline ;
Till Tam the herd cam' down the dale.
The herald o' a dolef'u' tale ;
Quo' he, '" I saw her bly the and hale,

Scoorin' afF wi' Rab M'Farlane."

Thin kin' in vain the lass he'd wooed,
Puir Bauldy ran as hard's he could ;
Put on his specs, the hills he viewed.

And saw them turn the cairn.
He cried to the best-man, " Roger, rin.
As yet we're no that far ahin' ;
To me a wife you yet may win.

And save the laird's dear bairn."

So Roger cuist his shoon and coat.
Took to the road like cannon shot.
And neebours, pityin' Bauldy's lot,

Set aff as swift as roes, man.
The fiddler, neither stiff nor slack.
Ran till his limbs were like to crack ;
He fell on his broo, an' his bow he brak'

And returned wi' bluidy nose, man.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

74 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

Wi' quakiu' knees and daunted breist,
Puir Bauldy saw his cronie reist,
Took consolation frae the priest,

And dichted baith his een, man.
Yet aye he looked wi' ruefu' face
To see the up-shot o' the chase ;
For ilka ane believed the race

Wad end at Gretna Green, man.

Noo, wha''s to eat the feast sae fat ?
And wha's to quaff* the brews o' maut ?
For Bauldy hasna taste for that.

Sin' Nancy's proved na sterlin'.
They a' slade aft* like knotless thieeds.
To lay aside their bridal weeds,
Savin', "The morn we'll rise wi' braw hale heids.

An' be thankin' Rab M'Farlane."

Ye wha hae dochters a' tak' tent.
And prudence learn from this event.
Ne'er barter them Against their consent,

Although it be the fashion ;
I^st on their blythesome bridal day
They oot at the back door chance to stray,
And lichtly slip across the lea.

Like charming Nancy Dawson.

From various correspondents I have received versions of this song,
more or less incompleto ; but Mrs. Krtbertson, Birnam, furnishes
apparently the complete and perfect article. Mrs. Kobertson never
saw the song in print, but committed it to memory from hearing it
sung by her mother in Ayrshire many years ago. About the middle
of the eighteenth century a theatre version of ** Nancy Dawson,"
written in celebration of a noted dancer of that name, appearing
then at Saddlers AVells and at Coven t Garden, and who, besides, on
account of her beauty, was a vast public favourite, was very popular,
the first verse of which ran : —

'* Of all the girls in our town—
The black, the fair, the red, the brown —
That prance and dance it up and down,
There's none like Nancy Dawson.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE PLAIDIE AWA' 75

Her easy mien, her shape so neat.
She foots, she trips, she looks so sweet,
Her every motion is complete —
I'd die for Nancy Dawson. "

It contained four stanzas, the above being the best, so that ic cannot
thole to be compared with the humorous old ditty given here, and
printed now, perhaps, for the first time. The tune is *' The Cauldrife
Wooer," or *' The Brisk Young Lad."

THE PLAIDIE AWA\

Frae flesher Rab that lived in Crieff*,

A boniiie lassie wanted to buy some beef ;

He took her in his arms and down she did fa\

And the wind blew the bonnie lassie'*s plaidie awa\

Her plaidie awa\ her plaidie awa\
The wind blew the bonnie lassie'^s plaidie awa' ;
He took her in his arms and down she did fa\
And the wind blew the bonnie lassie"*s plaidie awa\

The plaidie was lost and couldna be fun\
The deiPs in the plaid, it's awa' wi' the win' ;
An' what shall I say to the auld folks ava ?
I daurna say the wind blew the plaidie awa'.

It wasna lang after the plaidie was lost,

Till the bonnie lassie grew thick about the waist.

And Rabbie was blamed for the hale o' it a**.

And the wind blawin' the bonnie lassie's plaidie awa\

When Rabbie was summoned to answer the Session,
They a' cried out ye maun mak' a confession ;
But Rabbie ne'er answered them ae word ava.
But "the wind blew the bonnie lassie's plaidie awa'."

Digitized by VjOOQIC

76 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

The auld wife came in puir Rab to accuse,

The minister and elders began to abuse

Puir Rabbie for tryin' to mak'' ane into twa ;

But Rabbie said, " The wind blew the plaidie awa"."'

The lassie was sent for to come there herseP,
She look'd in his face, says, *' Ye ken hoo I fell ;
And ye had the cause o't, ye daurna say na ; ""*
But Rabbie said, "The wind blew the plaidie awa\'^

Rab looked in her face and gied a bit smile,
He says, " My bonnie lass, I winna you beguile ;
The minister is here, hell make ane o*" us twa.
That will pay for the plaid that the wind blew awa\""

The whisky was sent for to mak' a"* thing right.
The ministers and elders they sat a' the night.
And sang till the cock began for to craw,
" The wind blew the bonnie lassie's plaidie awa\'^

Now Rab and his lassie are hand in hand,

They live as contented as ony in the land ;

And when he gets fou he minds o** the fa\

An\ "The wind blew the bonnie lassie'*s plaidie awa\'"

This favourite song has the true marrow of the Scottish lyre in it.
Humorous, and although a little high kilted, it is by no means
rudely indelicate, while the glorious denouement of the st(»ry makes
up for all previous indiscretions and offences.

My friend, Mr. D. Kippen, of Crieff, has it that the song was
composed by an Irishman who lived in Crieff, near to the Cross, in
the early years of last century, and was known familiarly by the
name of ** Blind Rob." This frong, at least, and *' Molly M 'Kay,"
which was a favourite itinerant song between 1820 and 1840, *' Blind
Rob " sang into fame. Mr. Kippen avers, Hnd he claimed the
authorship of both. It is sung to the air of "The AVhite Cockade,"
to which so many popular lyrics are fitted.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE BRAES O' STRATHBLANE 77

THE BRAES O^ STRATHBLANE.

As I was a walking one morning in May,
Down by yon green meadow I carelessly did stray,
I espied a fair maid, she was standing her lane,
While bleaching her claes on the braes o"* Strathblane.

I stepped up towards her, as I seemed to pass,
"You are bleaching your claes here, my bonnie

young lass ;
If*s a twelvemonth and more since I had you in my

mind.
And oh, to be married, if you would incline.'''

" To marry ! to marry ! Fm sure I'm too young.
Besides the young men have a flattering tongue ;
My father and mother displeasW would be
If I were to marry a rover like thee.'*''

" Oh, lassie ! oh, lassie ! how can you say so 't
You know not the pains which I undergo ;
Consent, my dear lassie, to be a' my ain.
And we will live happy on the braes o' Strathblane.'''*

" Oh, tempt me no longer,'" the fair maid did say,
" It's better for you to jog on your way ;
It's better for me to bide here my lane
Than with you and your stell on the braes o'
Strathblane.''

I turned about with a tear in my e''e,

Saying, "I wish you a good man, whoe'er he may be ;

I wish you a good one, as we are here alane,

And I'll court another on the braes o' Strathblane.*"

Digitized by VjOOQIC

78

VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

" Oh, stop,^ says the lassie, " for yo\i\e won my

heart.
There is my hand, we never shall part ;
We never shall part till the day that we dee.
And may goodness attend us wherever we be.'*'*

" It's now youVe consented, but quite out of time.
Since you spoke these few words, I have changed my

mind ;
The clouds lower heavy, Fm afraid we'll have rain — ''
So we shook hands and parted on the braes o'

Strathblane.

Come all you fair maidens, where'er you may be,

And ne'er slight a young man who'd prove true to
thee:

For the slighting of this young man Tm afraid I'll
get nane,

But forlorn aye must wander on the braes o' Strath-
blane.

Poor in the literary sense — the merest doggerel, indeed — there has
yet been no ploughman, or ploucrhman's sweetheart, or wife, in all
the Blane Valley for fifty years and more with whom this song has
not been as familiar as the lines of the 28rd Psalm ; and as a rural
folk-song, if for no better reason, it is worthy of preservation. It
has often been printed in broadsheet form ; and ballad-hawkers
continue to find ready sale for it at feeing markets in Glasgow and
the West of Scotland.

THE BANKS OF SWEET DUNDEE.

^4^

-^-

zMzMz

:1=i=

^

It 's of a farmer's daughter, so beau - ti - ful, I 'm told,

=^=t

w=w=w.

&

:ti

It

Her parents died and left her five hundred pounds in gold.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE BANKS OF SWEET DUNDEE

79

i

^

^.

fcp:

P=«=^

33

it=t

n=tt

She lived with her un - cle, the cause of all her woe;

^ES

--^-

H-

:;?=i=

^Hl

You soon shall hear this maiden fair did prove his ov - er - throw.

It's of a farmer's daughter, so beautiful, Fin told,
Her parents died and left her five hundred pounds

in gold ;
She lived with her uncle, the. cause of all her woe ;
You soon shall hear this maiden fair did prove his

overthrow.

Her uncle had a ploughboy young Mary loved full

well.
And in her uncle's garden their tales of love would

tell;
There was a wealthy squire who oft came her to see.
But still she loved the ploughboy on the banks of

sweet Dundee.

It was on a summer's morning her uncle went

straightway.
He knocked at Mary's bedroom door, and unto her

did say —
" Come, rise up, pretty maiden, a lady you may be ;
The squire is waiting for you on the banks of sweet

Dundee."

" A fig for all your squires, your lords and dukes

likewise.
My William he appears to me like diamonds in my

eyes."
" Begone, unruly female, you ne'er shall happy be,
I mean to banish William from the banks of sweet

Dundee."

Digitized by VjOOQIC

80 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

Her uncle and the squire rode out one summer"'s day,
" Young William is in favour,"'* her uncle he did

say;
" Indeed, 'tis my intention to tie him to a tree,
Or else to bribe the press-gang on the banks of

sweet Dundee/''

The press-gang came to William when he was all

alone.
He boldly fought for liberty, but they were six to

one.
The blood did flow in torrents. " Pray, kill me

now,"'* said he,
" I would rather die for Mary on the banks of sweet

Dundee."

This maid one day was walking, lamenting for her

love.
She met the wealthy squire down in her uncle's grove.
He put his arms around her — "Stand off, base man,'*'

said she,
" You sent the only lad I love from the banks of

sweet Dundee.'*"'

He clasped his arms around her and tried to throw

her down.
Two pistols and a sword she spied beneath his

morning gown.
Young Mary took the pistols, his sword he used so

free.
Then she did fire, and shot the squire, on the banks

of sweet Dundee.

Her uncle overheard the noise, and hastened to the

ground,
*' O. since you'^ve kill'd the squire, FU give you your

death- wound ; '*'*

Digitized by VjOOQIC

CORUNNA*S LONE SHORE 81

" Stand off, then,*" cried young Mary, *' undaunted I

will be—"
She trigger drew, her uncle slew, on the banks of

sweet Dundee.

A doctor soon was sent for, a man of noted skill,
Likewise came his lawyer, for him to sign his will ;
He willed his gold to Mary, who fought so manfully,
And closed his eyes, no more to rise, on the banks
of sweet Dundee.

Young William he was sent for, and quickly did

return.
As soon as he came back again, young Mary ceased

to mourn ;
The day it was appointed, they joined their hands so

free,
And now they live in splendour on the banks of

sweet Dundee.

Seldom printed, but passed down faithfully from mouth to mouth,
this rudely-girded, tragic love-ballad cannot be less than a hundred
years old. Fifty years ago, when harvest work in Scotland was
almost wholly done by the hand-hook, it was a common son^ among
the bands of shearers in the Carse of Gowrie and thereabout when
songs went round in the bothies at night. Poetically it is a poor
affair. But will any one say that **Ta-ra-ra-boom -de-ay," for
instance, appeals to a higher culture ? I trow the old one has it.

CORUNNA'S LONE SHORE.

Do you weep for the woes of poor wandering Nelly ?

I love you for that, but I love now no more ;
All I had long ago lies entombM with my Billy,

Whose grave rises green on Corunna'*s lone shore.

6

Digitized by VjOOQIC

82 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

Oh! they tell me my Billy looked noble when dying,
That round him the noblest in battle stood crying.
While from his deep wound life's red floods were
drying,
At evening's pale close on Corunna's lone shore.

That night Billy died, as I lay on my pillow,

I thrice was alarmed by a knock at my door ;
Thrice my name it was called in a voice soft and
mellow.
And thrice did I dream of Corunna's lone shore.
Methought Billy stood on the beach where the billow-
Boomed over his head, breaking loud, long, and

hollow.
In his hand he held waving a flag of gieen willow,
"Save me, God !"" he exclaimed on Corunna's lone
shore.

And now when I mind on't, my dear Billy told me.
While tears wet his eyes, but those tears are no
more.
At our parting, he never again would behold me,
Twas strange, then I thought on Corunna's lone
shore.
But shall I ne'*er see him when drowsy-eyed night

falls.
When through the dark arch Luna's tremulous light

falls.
As o'^er his new grave slow the glow-worm of night
crawls.
And ghosts of the slain trip Corunna'^s lone shore.

Yes, yes, on this spot shall these arms enfold him,
For here hath he kissed me a thousand times o'er ;

How bewildered'*s my brain, now methinks I behold
him.
All bloody and pale on Corunna's lone shore.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

CORUNNA'S LONE SHORE 83

Come away, mv sweetheart, come in haste, my dear

On the wind'*s wafting wing to thy languishing Nelly ;
Fve got kisses in store, Fve got secrets to tell thee,
Come, ghost of my Bill, from Corunna'^s lone shore.

Oh ! Fm told that my blue eyes have lost all their

splendour.
That my locks, once so yellow, now wave thin and

hoar ;
Tis, they tell me, because Fm so restless to wander.
And from thinking so much on Corunna's lone

shore.
But, God help me, where shall I go to forget him ?
If to father'^s, at home in each corner I meet him.
The arbour, alas ! where he used aye to seat him.
Says, "Think, Nelly, think on Corunna's lone

shore."

And here as I travel all tatter'd and torn.

By bramble and briar, over mountain and moor,

Ne*'er a bird bounds aloft to salute the new morn.
But warbles aloud, " Oh, Corunna\s lone shore. ''^

It is heard in the blast when the tempest is blowing;

It is heard in the white, broken waterfall flowing ;

It is heard in the songs of the reaping and mowing,
Oh, my poor bleeding heart ! Oh, Corunna's lone
shore !

Written by the author of **The Lass o' Glenshee," the present
song— at one time familiar in every Perthshire cottage — does more
credit to his lyric power than the fore- mentioned. Whitelaw pi ints
it in his '* Book of Scottish Song," but has not a word about its
tragic origin and deeply moving history. For its story we are in-
debted to the late Mr. P. R. Drummond, bookseller and historian,
who, in his "Perthshire in Bygone Days," says:— "The chain of
unfortunate circumstances which suggested to the mind of Andrew
Sharpe the composition of the ode, *Corunna's Lone Shore,* was
shortly this. In the year 1808, William Herdman, a handsome and
well-conducted young tradesman, lived in a land of houses facing

Digitized by VjOOQIC

84 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

the river, which has lately been removed to make way for Tay
Street, and on the opposite side dwelt Ellen Kankine, whose father
was gardener at Bellwood. Frequently passing and repassing across
the river, the two formed a fond mutual attachment, which was
about to resolve itself into their becoming man and wife, when a
misunderstanding of a very trivial nature arose between Herdman
and Helen's father, which became aggravated into a quarrel, and
th^ young man, being too proud to submit, took revenge on all by
enlisting in the 92nd Regiment, then under orders for foreign
service. Within a few months he was carrying a musket and knap-
sack across the trodden and hungry orange groves of Old Castile,
and under Sir David Baird, eventually joined Sir John Moore's
retreat upon Corunna. The same evening, the 16th of January,
1809, that they buried Sir John Moore in the centre of the battery
at Corunna, they buried William Herdman under the green turf on
the outside of the battery walls, and within a few feet of the ebbing
and flowing waters of the Bay of Biscay. The first news William
Herdman's father and mother heaid of him, after his enlistment,
was the news of his death — terribly distracting nf.wu to them, ac-
companied as they were with full details of his last moments on the
field or battle. Andrew Sharpe had observed that, since Herdman's
departure, Ellen Rankine was greatly changed. Her passionate
blue eyes had begun to fade, and her luxuriant brown hair, the
pride of better days, to get tangled and dry ; but when the news of
his death came she sank into helpless idiocy, and despite the careful
watchings of her distressed parents, she stole from them in a luck-
less moment, and, taking the back of the 1 ill, went crooning and
singing for a whole week away through the Howe of Strafchmore,
the burden of her song taken, no doubt, from Sharpe —

* Oh ! Corunna's lone shore.*

The interest taken in the beautiful but crazed maiden, and the
kindness shown to her wherever she wenfc, have been the theme of
many a story. She has been described by those who had seen her as
walking at a rapid pace, bareheaded and barefooted, waving a red
handkerchief in her right hand, and under her white, naked arm
canning her masses of brown hair tied up in an inextricable bundle."

One of the earliest recollections of my life, and a tender one, is
my own mother's crooning of these touching verses of an evening.

THIS IS THE NIGHT MY JOHNNIE SET.

This is the night my Johnnie set,

And promised to be here ;
Oh, what can stay his longing step ?

He'*s fickle grown, I fear.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THIS IS THE NIGHT MY JOHNNIE SET 85

Wae warth this wheel, "'twill no rin ioun\

I hae nae heart to spin,
But count each minute wi' a sigh,

Till Johnnie he steal in.

How snug that canty fire it burns,

For twa to sit boside ;
And there fu' aft my Johnnie sat.

And I my blushes hid.
My father now he snugly snores,

My mother s fast asleep ;
He promised aft, but, oh ! I fear.

His word he winna keep.

What can it be keeps him frae me ?

The road it^s no sae lang ;
And frost and snaw are nought ava.

If folk are fain to gang.
Some ither lass wi** bonnier face

Has caught his wandering e'^e ;
Than thole their jeers at kirk an"* fair,

Oh ! sooner let me dee.

Oh ! if we lasses could but gang

And woo the lads we like,
rd run to thee, my Johnnie dear.

Nor stop at bog or dyke.
But custom's such a powerfu' thing.

Men aye their will maun hae.
While mony a bonnie lassie sits

And mourns from day to day.

But wheesht ! I hear my Johnnie's fit.

It's just his very jog.
He snecks the fa'-yett saftly too —

Oh, hang that collie dog !

Digitized by VjOOQIC

86

VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

And now for mony sugared words,

And kisses no a few ;
Oh, but this worId\s a paradise

When lovers they prove true.

Whitelaw includes this song in his collection, but has nothing to
say about it further than the fact that it is sung to the tune of
**Low down he's in the Broom." It is one of the happiest and
knack iest of all the wandering country lilts, and has been carried
from mouth to mouth in a very ]>erfect way. The unknown framer
of it certainly had no mean sleight of the poet's art. Our copy is
from an old broadsheet, and differs verbally from Whitelaw's.
Differs for betterment, too.

THE BROON CLOAK ON.

<9> ^^^ -Fi^ ja *

!5=^^±il

IMtt^I

I. Some lads are ne'er at rest Till wi' creeds e* lasses press'd, A'

^e^eSeS^^^eI

* JB_

-^— ^ — ^'

*•'' tesh'd up in their best,

Wi'

their kirk claes on ; But

y i^ ^ m P m

Vhn(*Pr r--

' ^ — "^ ^ ^

fr^'^[J|i_iL^ L-

^

• i ^ • ' J

Vsj ^ ^ y "^ ^

-^-

U* L • # * •

pleastlre mair 1 find, And as much content o' mind, Wi' a'e

-I-

^fcqs=^

ZilMl

lassie true and kind, And her broon cleak on.

Some lads are ne'er at rest
Till wi' crowds o' lassies pressed
A' tosh'd up in their best —

Wi' their kirk claes on ;
But pleasure mair I find.
And as much content o' mind,
Wi' a'e lassie true and kind.

And her broon cloak on.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE BROON CLOAK ON 87

Ye leddies wha are great,
A' dressed in pomp and state,
Ye may thank your lucky fate

For the claes you hae on.
Though in gaudy pomp ye move.
There's a cauldness in yer love,
When compared wi' my sweet dove

Wi' her broon cloak on.

My grannie says, " Beware
O"* the curls o"* their hair,*"
And " They will your heart ensnare,

Wi' the dresses they hae on."*"*
But had my grannie seen
The smiling charms o' Jean
As she cam' oot yestreen

Wi' her broon cloak on !

Fve heard my uncle tell.
When wi' a lass himseP,
When he heard the ten-'oor bell,

For hame he would run.
But, lay a' jokes aside.
To the mornin' I would bide
Wi' my Jeanie by my side

And her broon cloak on.

My mither she says, " Son,
YeVe unco sune begun
'Mang the lasses for to run ;

It's ruin's road ye're on."
Though I own her counsel's richt.
Yet, when young hersel' at nicht.
She could hide a lad frae sicht

Wi' her broon cloak on.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

88

VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

My faither, honest carl.
Sighs " Oh, this weary warP,
It make's my heart to dirl,

For joys it has none."
But weary though it be,
O, it never fashes me.
When my comforter I see

Wi' her broon cloak on.

Like many more of the same vagabond class, the foregoing lively
and ingenious song has been seldom printed, yet was much sung be-
tween thirty and fifty years ago. There have been slightly varying
versions. Here it appears in what I esteem its best form. The air
to which it is sung is simple and appropriate.

THE BIRKEN TREE.

Dorian mode. Lively.

O lass, gin ye wad think it right To gang wi' me this very night,

^.feS

We '11 cuddle till the morning light, By a' the lave un - seen

It 's ye shall be my dear - ie, Gin ye meet me at e'en

'' O, LASS, gin ye wad think it right
To gang wi' me this very night.
We"*!! cuddle till the morning light.
By a' the lave unseen, O ;

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE BIRKEN TREE 89

And ye shall be my dearie.
My ain dearest dearie ;
It''s ye shall be my dearie
Gin ye meet me at e'en, O/**

" I daurna for my mammie gaV,
She locks the door and keeps the key,
And een and morning charges me,
And aye aboot the men, O.
She says theyVe a' deceivers.
Deceivers, deceivers ;
She says they*re a' deceivers.
We canna trust to ane, O."''

" O never mind your mammie's yell,
Nae doubt she met your dad lierseF ;
And should she flyte ye may her tell
She''s aften dune the same, O.
Sae, lassie, gie'^s yer hand on''t.
Your bonnie milk-white hand on"'t ;

lassie, gie's your hand on't,
And scorn to lie your lane, O.^

" O, lad, my hand I canna gie,
But aiblins I may steal the key,
And meet you at the birken tree
That grows down in the glen, O.
But dinna lippen, laddie,

1 canna promise, laddie,
O dinna lippen, laddie,

In case I canna win, O."

Now, he'^s gane to the birken tree.
In hopes his true love there to see ;
And wha cam' tripping o'er the lea.
But just his bonnie Jean, O.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

90 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

And she cHnk'd doon beside him,
Beside him, beside him,
And she clink'd doon beside him,
Upon the grass sae green, O.

*' Fm overjoyed wi'' rapture noo,*"
Cried he, and pree'^d her cherry mou".
And Jeannie ne'er had cause to rue
That nicht upon the green, O.
For she has got her Johnnie,
Her sweet and loving Johnnie,
For she has got her Johnnie,
And Johnnie*'s got his Jean, O.

A simple country courtship is here preserved in a simple country
song, which had Burns or Lady Nairne ever heard, together with its
pleasing melody, might have been touched into a thing of real beauty
and become famous.

JOCKEY TO THE FAIR.

^TwAS on the morn of sweet Mayday —
When nature painted all things gay.
Taught birds to sing, and lambs to play.

And deck'd the meadows fair —
Young Jockey early in the morn.
Arose and tripped it o'er the lawn ;
His Sunday coat the youth put on.
For Jenny had vowed away to run

With jockey to the fair.
For Jenny, etc.

The cheerful parish bells had rung.
With eager steps he trudged along.
Sweet flowVy garlands round him hung.

Which shepherds used to wear ;
He tapp'd the window, " Haste, my dear ! "'

Digitized by VjOOQIC

JOCKEY TO THE FAIR 91

Jenny, impatient, cried, " Who's there?'''
" 'Tis I, my love, and no one near ;
Step gently down, you've naught to fear.
With Jockey to the fair.
Step gently," etc.

" My dad and mam are fast asleep,
My brother's up and with the sheep,
And will you still your promise keep,

Which I have heard you swear.
That you will ever constant prove?"
'' I will, by all the powers above.
And ne'er deceive my charming dove ;
Dispel these doubts, and haste, my love.

With Jockey to the fair.
Dispel these," etc.

" Behold the ring ! " the shepherd cried,
" Wilt, Jenny, be my charming bride ?
Let Cupid be our happy guide.

And Hymen meet us there ! "
Then Jockey did his vows renew ;
He would be constant, would be true,
His word was pledged — away she flew.
O'er cowslips sparkling with the dew,

With Jockey to the fair.
O'er cowslips, etc.

Soon did they meet a joyful throng,
Their gay companions blythe and young ;
Each joins the dance, each joins the song.

To hail the happy pair.
What two were e'er so fond as they !
All bless the kind, propitious day.
The smiling morn and blooming May,
When lovely Jenny ran away

With Jockey to the fair.
When lovely, etc.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

92

VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

The date uf this sprightly rustic ballad is unceHain, but there is
reason to believe that the melody, which is of a lively character, is
very old. Though of English origin, it has enjoyed unbroken popu-
larity for at least a hundred years in every country district on this
side of the Tweed, and is entitled to rank permanently among the
bothy and vagabond ballads of Scotland. It is to the rural manner
perfect.

A CRONIE O' MINE.

EEE

3^^^

:=s=

-^

Ye '11 mount your bit nalggie and ride your wa's doun, 'Bout a

I

arprpi

1-^ 1 ^

W^=^^=^^

: USL4^-

iSt

mile and a half

frae the

neist borough ti un,

There

y ^ ' F ^ m

M-'-M

1 l"^ 1^ 1

/Tv t lj i r

^ \Z

"M M • fm ' ' '^ 1

in^ u itf

CI K

m • m 1

\X) ^ ^ \ w ^

S_U_l J

wons an' auld blacksmith, wi' Janet

his wife, And a

^

1^

queerer auld

Refrain.

cock

ye ne'er met in your life,

arxff:

ip=pi

iprrt

^--it

f^^^^^

-*-:i:.i

laL-it?:

-J^

Than this cronie o' mine, than this cronie

o* mine ; be

y 1* ^ ^ r^

II

/^ ; ^ 1* J 1 _,

^ K

11

fr\\ ' r ^ J t^

K s 1

\A) ■■■• ^ "^ «■■ "^

^ J

' r* ;^ ! II

d

s

_^_ ^. ^-

sure that ye

on this cron - ie o* mine.

YeYl mount yer bit naiggie an' ride your wa's doun,
'Bout a mile an' a half frae the neist borough toun,
There wons an auld blacksmith, wi' Janet his wife,
And a queerer auld cock ye ne'er met in your life,

Than this cronie o' mine, than this cronie o' mine ;

O ! be sure that ye ca' on this cronie o' mine.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

A CRONIE O* MINE 93

Yell find him, as I do, a trustworthy chieP,
Weel tempered wi' wit frae his heid to his heel,
Wi' a saul in his body auld Nick ne'er could clout,
And a spark in his throat, whilk is ill to drown out.

This cronie o** mine, this cronie o' mine ;

For a deil o' a drouth has this cronie o' mine.

His smiddie yell ken by the twa trough stanes

At the auld door cheeks, an' the black batter'd

panes —
By the three airn cleeks whilk he drave in the wa\
To tie up wild yauds when heigh customers ca\

O ! this cronie o' mine, this cronie o' mine ;

Sure the hale country kens him, this cronie o' mine.

Up agen the auld gable 'tis like you may view
A tramless cart, or a couterless plough.
An auld teethless harrow, a brechem ring rent,
Wi' mae broken gear, whilk are meant to be men"'t

By this cronie o' mine, this cronie o' mine ;

He's a richt handy craftsman, this cronie o' mine.

There's an auld broken sign-board looks to the

hie-road,
Whilk tells ilka rider whaur his naig may be shod.
There's twa or three wordies that ye'll hae to spell.
But ye needna find fault, for he wrote it himsel' ;

This cronie o' mine, this cronie o' mine ;

He's an aul'-farrant carle, this cronie o' mine.

When ye fin' his auld smiddie, ye'll like, there's nae

doubt.
To see the inside o't as weel as the out ;
Then step ye in bauldly, altho' he be thrang,
Gif the pint stoup but clatter, ye'll ken him ere lang,

This cronie o' mine, this cronie o' mine ;

Baith wit, fun, and fire has this cronie o' mine.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

94 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

Twa or three chiels frae the toon end are sure to be

there —
There's the bauld-headed butcher, wha tak's aye the

chair —
'Mang the queerest auld fallows a'*e way and anither,
That e'er in this world were clubbit thegither ;
A' cronies o' mine, a cronies o* mine ;
They'll a' mak' ye welcome, thae cronies o' mine.

There's Dominie Davie, sae glib o' the mou' ;
But it's like ye will fin' the auld carle blin' fou ;
Wi' the wee barber bodie, an' his wig fu o' news,
Wha wad shave ony chap a' the week for a booze ;

A' cronies o' mine, a' cronies o' mine ;

They'll a' mak' ye welcome, thae cronies o' mine.

There's our auld Toun Clerk, wha has ta'en to the

pack,
Whilk is naething in bulk to the humph on his back;
His knees are sae bow't, his splay feet sae thrawn.
Troth, it's no easy telling the road whilk they're
gaun,
Tho' a cronie o' mine, a bauld cronie o' mine ;
They'll a' mak' ye welcome, thae cronies o' mine.

There's Robin the ploughman, wha's crammed fu' o'

fun.
Wee gamekeeper Davie, wi' bag, dog, and gun.
And the miller, wha blythely the pipes can play on,
So you're sure to fa' in wi' the " Miller o' Drone " ;

A' cronies o' mine, a' cronies o' mine ;

They'll a' mak' ye welcome, thae cronies o' mine.

Then wi' thumpin' o' hammers, and tinklin' o' tangs,
Wi' auld-fashion'd stories wrought into queer sangs,
Wi' this soun', and that, yell aiblins be deaved —

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE BREWER LADDIE 95

And tak' care o' your breeks that they dinna get
sieved,
Wr this cronie o' mine, this cronie o' mine ;
For an arm o' might has this cronie o"* mine.

Then the Vulcan his greybeard is aye sure to draw,
Frae a black sooty hole whilk ye''ll see i"* the wa\
And lang or it^s empty, frien\ I meikle doubt,
Gif the tae chap kens weel what the tither's about ;
Wi' this cronie o' mine, this cronie o' mine —
O ! be sure that ye ca' on this cronie o' mine.

Come now, my gude frien\ gie\s a shake o"* your haun\
The night's wearin' thro\ an' ye maun be gaun ;
The callan' will bring down your naig in a blink ;
But before that ye mount, again let us drink —

To this cronie o"* mine, this cronie o' mine ;

Here's lang life and pith to this cronie o' mine !

How often the walls of the roadside smiddy, the village inn, the
ploughmen's bothy, and the shoemaker's shop have rung with the
refrain of this inspiring song the statistical demon will never be
able to tell us. Lately, to be sure, it has been out of vogue ; but
when you and I were ycung, my reader— ah, then, then, then!
There was pith and vim in the singing of those days, and *' A Cronie
o' Mine " for a chorus all round — you remember ! The author was
Alexander Maclagan, a native of Bridgend, Perth, who died in
Edinburgh in 1879, in his 68th year. He was a song-writer of note,
and, besides the present excellent ditty, gave his country "Hurrah
for the Thistle," "We'H Hae Nane but Hieland Bonnets Here,"
** My Auld Granny's Leather Pouch," and other songs equally well
known.

THE BREWER LADDIE.

In Perth there lived a bonnie lad,

A brewer to his trade, O,
And he has courted Peggy Roy,
A rum but handsome maid, O.

She was a mm one, fal da reedle I do.
She was a rum one, fal da reedle ay.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

96 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

He courted her for seven long years,

All for to gain her favour ;
When there came a lad from Edinburgh town,

And he swore that he would have her.

" So wilt thou go along with me,

O, wilt thou go, my honey ?
And wilt thou go along with me.

And leave your own dear Johnnie?"

** Yes, I will go along with you,
And along with you 1*11 ride, O ;

Yes, I will go along with you.

Though Tm the brewer's bride, O."

The brewer he came hame at e'en,

Enquiring for his honey ;
Her father he made then reply,

'* Fve ne'er seen her since Monday.*"

*' Be it not, or be it so,

Little does it grieve me ;
Fm a young man, free, as you may see,

And a small thing will relieve me.

*' There are as good fish in the sea

As ever yet were taken ;
And ni cast out my net again,

Although I am forsaken."

She's rambled up, she's rambled down,
She's rambled through Kirkcaldy ;

And many's the time she's rued the day
She jilted her brewer laddie.

She's rambled up, she's rambled down.
She's rambled through Perth town, O ;

And when she cam' to the brewer's door,
She daur'd na venture in, O.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

TH£ QUEER FOLK I* THE SHAWS 97

He's drawn his course where'er he's gane,

His country he has fled, O !
And he left na a shiii: upon her back,

Nor a blanket on her bed, O !

The brewer he set up in Perth,
And there he brews gude ale, O ;

And he has courted another lass,
And ta'en her to himseF, O.

Ye lovers all, where'er you be,

By this now take a warning,
And never slight your ain true love.

For fear you get a waur ane.

The story embraced in this rude and once familiar ditty, we need
not doubt, is all perfectly true. Its truth alone, indeed, may
uccount for its popularity.

THE QUEER FOLK I' THE SHAWS.

I THOCHT unto mysel' ae day I'd like to see a Race,
For mony ither lads like me had been to sic a place;
Sae up I gat an' washed mysel', put on my Sunday

braws.
An' wi' a stick into my hand I started for the Shaws !

My mither tichtly coonsell'd me before that I gaed

oot,
To tak' gude care and mind my e'e wi' what I was

aboot ;
Said she, ''Ye may be trod to death beneath the

horses' paws ;
An' mind ye, lad, the sayin's true — ' There's queer

folk i' the Shaws!'"

Digitized by VjOOQIC

98 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

The Races pleased me unco weel — gosh ! they were

grand to see :
The horses ran sae awfu** swift, I thocht they maist

did flee ;
When they cam' near the winnin'^-post — O, siccan

loud huzzas !
Ye wad hae thocht they'd a' gane daft — the queer

folk i' the Shaws !

A bonnie lass cam' up to me and asked me for a

gi";

Quoth I, " If that's the fashion here, I maunna tak"

it ill."
She wiled me owre intil a tent, an' half-a-mutchkin

ca's;
Thinks I, my lass, I see it's true — ^There's queer folk

i' the Shaws !

The whisky made my love to bleeze, I fand in perfect

bliss,
So I gripp'd the lassie roun' the neck to tak' a wee

bit kiss ;
When in a crack she lifts her neive and bangs it in

my jaws ;
Says I, "My dear, what means a' this?" — There's

queer folk i' the Shaws !

A strappin' chiel cam' forrit then and took awa' my

lass,
Misca'd me for a kintra clown — a stupid, silly avss ;
Says I, " If I've dune ony ill juist lat me ken the

cause " —
He made his fit spin afF my hip — There's queer folk

i' the Shaws !

Digitized by VjOOQIC

MY ROLLING EYE

99

Aroused at last, I drew my fist, and gied him on the

lug5
Though sairly I was won'ied for''t by his big collie

.dog;
It bit my legs, it bit my airms, it tore my Sunday

braws.
And in the row I lost my watch, wi** the queer folk

i' the Shaws.

The police then cam' up to me, and hauPd me afF to

quod ;
They put their twines aboot my wrists, and thump'^d

me on the road ;
They gar'd me pay a gude pound-note ere I got oot

their claws ;
Catch me again when Tm ta'en in by the queer folk

i' the Shaws.

Forty years ago this was a popular song all over Scotland, but
particularly so in the West, whence it emanated about that time.
It was written by James Fisher, a native of Glasgow, who was born
in 1818, and has resided successively in Barrhead, Manchester, and
Kilmarnock. More than twenty years asjo he returned to his native
city, where, it may be, he still moves and has his being. Another
song of Fisher's, **Pat M'Garadie's Lodgings," had a vogue for a
while. The '* Shaws " of the song, it is scarcely necessary to add, is
Pullokshaws, near Glasgow, and the *' race'" mentioned in the open-
ing line has reference to the annual races that were wont to be held
on the Follok estate contiguous to the village in question.

MY ROLLING EYE.

Lively,

As I gaed up yon Hieland hill, I met a bonnie

lass • ie ; She looked at me and I at her. And,

Digitized by VjOOQIC

100

VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

Chorus.

ESE

PE

itz*:

oh, but .she was saucy.

31

^

With my rolling eye,

^

IP=P=?£

tzrtMzESt

-"" — ^— --^-^ — -i^ -F-— ' — — - ■ — — w-

FaV the diddle eye, Rolling eye dum derry, With my rolling eye.

As I gaed up yon Hielaiid hill,

I met a bonnie lassie.
She looked at me and I at her,

And, oh, but she was saucy.

With my rolling eye,

Fal the diddle eye.
Rolling eye, dum derry.

With my rolling eye.

** Where are you going, my bonnie lass ?

Where are you going, my lammie .'*'*'
Right modestly she answered me —

" An errand to my mammie."

With my rolling eye, etc.

" Where do you live, my bonnie lass ?

Where do you won, my lammie ?'''*
Right modestly she answered me —

•"' In a wee house wi' my mammie.''

With my rolling eye, etc.

" What is your name, my bonnie lass ?

What is your name, my lammie ? *"
Right modestly she answered me —

" My name is Bonnie Annie.^

With my rolling eye, etc.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

MY ROLLING EYE lOI

*' How old are you, my bonnie lass ?

How old are you, my lammie ?'''*
Right modestly she answered me —

" Fm sixteen years come Sunday .**"

With my rolling eye, etc.

" Where do you sleep, my bonnie lass ?

Where do you sleep, my lammie ? ''
Right modestly she answered me —

'• In a wee bed near my m.ammie.''

With my rolling eye, etc.

" If I should come to your board-end
When the moon is shining clearly.

Will you rise and let me in

That tlie auld wife mayna hear me ? ''

With my rolling eye, etc.

" If you will come to my bower door
When the moon is shining clearly,

I will rise and let you in,

And the auld wife winna hear ye."*'

With my rolling eye, etc.

When I gaed up to her bower door,

I found my lassie wauken.
But lang before the grey morn cam'.

The auld wife heard us talkin\

With my rolling eye, etc.

Ifs weary fa' the waukrife cock,
May the foumart lay his crawing,

He wauken'd the auld wife frae her sleep,
A wee blink ere the dawing.

With my rolling eye, etc.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

102 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

She gaed to the fire to blaw the coal,

To see if she would ken me,
But I dang the auld runt in the fire.

And bade my heels defend me.

With my rolling eye, etc.

" Oh, sodger, you maun marry me.
And now'*s the time or never ;

Oh, sodger, you maun marry me.
Or 1 am done for ever.'^

With my rolling eye, etc.

" Blink ower the burn, my bonnie lass.
Blink ower the burn, my lammie.

Ye are a sweet and kindly queen,
For a' yer waukrife minnie."

With my rolling eye,

Fal the diddle eye.
Rolling eye, dum derry.

With my rolling eye.

There are many people living who vividly remember an odd char-
acter known as *' Kolling Eye "or ** Singing Sandy," who from forty
to fifty years ago regularly visited the villages of Perthshire and
Fifeshire in the capacity of an itinerant luusicinn, and sang regularly
this song; while he also pang others, including "Johnnie Cope,"
and **The Miller o' Drone." It was customary for Sandy (his real
name, I believe, was Alexander Smith, and he hailed originally from
Freuchie) in the summer months to have his hat profusely adorned
with gay-coloured ribbons and natural flowers. His antics, too,
when singing were particularly lively and attractive, and a tre-
mendous slap on the thigh with his hand always, as he started the
chorus of **My Kolling Eye," was the signal for those standing
about to join in. Wherever he went he was followed by a crowd of
delighted children, for whose attachment he had the utmost esteem.

The song, in one form (►r another, is no doubt very old. Burns
picked up a version of it considerably different from this (see '* The
Waukrife Minnie ') from the singing of a country girl in Nithsdale,
and said he never mer with it, or the air to which it is sung, else-
where in Scotland. That it was known elsewhere than in Nithsdale,
even in Burns's time, however, is very likely. The present version,
so far as I am aware, appears in print now for the first time.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE GOULDEN VANITEE

103

THE GOULDEN VANITEE.

^

iS^Fl S^Bq^

^

:p=P=

M^4

tri^

fe Lj:^ - g

*j

^-*

^=?

a^t

There was a gallant ship, and a gallant ship was she.

£ek iddle dee, to the Lowlands low ; And she was called the

I

rM.

tempo.

5=15=

E^^

^=^

::^=*

Goulden Van - i - tee, As she sailed to the Lowlands low ;

I

S=15:^

fe— j^

jt^

W=:j.

They had not sailed a league, a league but on • ly three.

g^^^^^ ^g jg

i

Eek iddle dee, to the Lowlands low. When she came up to a

ralL f^ tempo.

^^^3S

I

r

S^t

±zMz

French gal • lee, As she sailed to the Lowlands low.

There was a gallant ship, and a gallant ship was she,

Eek iddle dee, to the Lowlands low ;
And she was called the Goulden Vanitee,

As she sailed to the Lowlands low.

They had not sailed a league, a league but only three,

Eek iddle dee, to the Lowlands low,
When she came up to a French gallee.

As she sailed to the Lowlands low.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

104 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

Out spoke the little cabin boy, out spoke he,

Eek iddle dee, to the Lowlands low,
** What will ye gi'e me if I sink that French gallee?'^

As she sailed to the Lowlands low.

Then out spoke the captain, out spoke he,

Eek iddle dee, to the Lowlands low,
" We'll gi'e ye an estate in the North Countrie,^

As she sailed to the Lowlands low.

" Then row me up tight in a black bulFs skin,*"

Eek iddle dee, to the Lowlands low,
" And throw me over deck -board, sink I or swim,"'

As she sailed to the Lowlands low.

They've row'*d him up tight in a black bull's skin,

Eek iddle dee, to the Lowlands low.
And theyVe thrown him over deck-board, sink he or
swim,

As she sailed to the Lowlands low.

Then about, about, about, and about went he,

Eek iddle dee, to the Lowlands low,
Till he came up to the French gallee,

As she sailed to the Lowlands low.

O, some were playing cards, and some were playing
dice,
Eek iddle dee, to the Lowlands low.
When he took out an instrument, bor'*d thirty holes
in twice,
As she sailed to the Lowlands low.

Then some they ran with cloaks, and some they lan
with caps,

Eek iddle dee, to the Lowlands low.
To see if they could stop the saut-water draps.

As she sunk to the depths below.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE GOULDEN VANITEE 105

Then about, about, about, and about went he,

Eek iddle dee, to the Lowlands low,
Till he came back to the Goulden Vanitee,

As she sailed to the Lowlands low.

"Now throw me out a rope, and pull me up on board,"'

Eek iddle dee, to the Lowlands low,
" And prove unto me as good as your v^ ord,"'

As she sailed to the Lowlands low.

" We'*ll no throw ower a rope, nor pu' ye up on
board,''

Eek iddle dee, to the Lowlands low,
" Nor prove unto ye as good as our word,"

As she sailed to the Lowlands low.

Out spoke the little cabin boy, out spoke he,

Eek iddle dee, to the Lowlands low,
"Ye will not ? then I'll sink ve as I sunk the French
gallee!"

As she sailed to the Lowlands low.

Now they've thrown him ower a rope, and pu'd him
up on board,

Eek iddle dee, to the Lowlands low,
And proved unto him far better than their word.

As she sailed to the Lowlands low.

The words and music of this quaint ballad appear in the Memoir
of '* Christopher North," from the pen of his daughter, Mrs. Gordon.
It was a great favourite with the genial and gifted Professor, who
was wont to sing it at convivial gatherings, to the supreme delight
of his companions. Someone, indeed, has even ventured the sugges-
tion that the words fell in a whimsical mome.it from the pen of the
versatile author of the "Noctes." But an English version, and
likely the original, is as oUl really as the days of Sir Walter
Raleigh. This was printed repeatedly between 1648 and 1680 as
*' Sir Walter Raleigh sailing to thp Lowlands, showing how the
famous ship the Sweet Trinity was taken by a false galley ; and how
it was recovered by the craft of a little sea-boy, who sunk the
galley." It begins :—

Digitized by VjOOQIC

106 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

*' Sir Walter Raleigh has built a ship
In the Netherlands,
And it is called the i^weH Trinity
And was taken by the false Gallaly
Sailing in the Lowlands."

The late David Kennedy, the eminent Scottish vocalist, sang our
version with great birr. It has not been often printed, and, together
with its characteristic air, will be welcome here.

CAIRN-O'-MOUNT.

I LKFT the banks o** winding Dee,

An^ haughs o** bonny green,
Where birds sang blythe on ilka tree,

An** flowers bloomed fair atween.
As I rode on by Brig d" Dye,

Just as the sun gaed down,
A maiden sang fu** merrily

Amang the heather brown —

" Tho' Cairn-o-Mount is bleak an' bare,

An** cauld is Clochnabane,
rd rather meet my Donald there

Than be fair Scotland'*s Queen/**

I jumpit aff my dapple grey,

An** walked by her side ;
*' O, lassie, I hae lost my way

Amang the muirs sae wide :
Yet lee^e me on your face sae fair,

An** een sae bonny blue,
The langest day Fd blythely spare

To kiss your cherry mou\'"

" Tho' Cairn-o''-Mount is bleak an^ bare,

An"* Clochnabane is cauld,
If Shepherd Donald saw you here

Ye wadna be sae bauld.'**'

Digitized by VjOOQIC

CAIRN-O'-MOUNT 107

" O, lassie, wilt thou gang wi*" me,

An' leave this cauldrife glen ?
0'*er a** your kin you'se bear the gree

Wi' wealth baith but an' ben ;
In silks an' satins busk it braw,

Wi** ribbons for your hair.
An' maids to answer when ye ca' —

Say, could ye wish for mair ? ""

" Tho** Cairn -o'-Mount is bleak an' bare,

An' cauld is Clochnabane,
I wadna leave mv Donald there

To be fair Scotland's Queen !"

" Dear lassie, think ! your Donald's poor.

Has neither horse nor coo ;
A shepherd wanderin' o'er the muir

Was ne'er a match for you.
Twad break my heart, sweet Highland maid.

If e'er it sud be tauld
Ye cower'd aneath a shepherd's plaid.

To screen ye frae the cauld ! "

" O, Cairn-o'-Mount is bleak an' bare.

An' cauld is Clochnabane,
An' ye may see the snaw- wreaths there

That mock the simmer sheen.

"But tho' our hills are bleak and bare.

Our winters lang and cauld.
Yet halesome is our mountain air.

An' sweet's the shepherd's fauld.
My Donald's rich in love and health.

There's truth upon his tongue ;
An honest heart's the noblest wealth ;

Ye've heard what I have sung —

Digitized by VjOOQIC

108 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

" Tho" Cairn-o'-Mount is bleak an' bare,

An' cauld is Clochnabane,
I wadna leave my Donald there

To be fair Scotland's Queen ! "

" My bonnie lass, yet think a wee,

My lands are fair and wide,
Tve gowd in banks an' ships at sea;

Say, will ye be my bride ?
My father left me lairdships twa,

A coach at my command ;
I'll mak' you lady o' them a"

If you'll gie me your hand."

"O, Caini-o'-Mount is bleak an' bare,
You're nae a match for me ;

My Donald's heart is a' my care.
Ride on, an" lat me be ! "

" Sweet lassie, tho' Fm laith to tell.

Ye fling your love awa' ;
An' Donald brawly kens himsel'

What I this gloamin' saw.
As I cam' past yon shielin' door

I spied a Highland maid.
Your Donald kissed her o'er an' o'er

And row'd her in his plaid ! "

" O, Cairn-o'-Mount is bleak an caul',

An' caulder Clochnabane,
But caulder still your coward saul ;

Ye shanna be forgi'en.

" Tho' ye wad swear wi' solemn aith

What now yeVe tauld to me,
I wadna doubt my Donald's faith.

But say, ' Pause loon, ye lee ! '

Digitized by VjOOQIC

CAIRN-O'-MOUNT 109

■Hell meet me \yont yon hillock green

Wi' heart baith leal and true ;
An^ sud he read my angry een
Fu** sairly wad ye rue !

" O, Cairn-o''-Mount is bleak an^ cauP,

An' caulder Clochnabane ;
But caulder still your coward saul ;
Ye'll never be iForgi'*en ! '*'*

I flang aside my lowland dress,

Kaimed down my yellow hair,
Cried, " Leeze me on thee, bonnie Jkss,

We meet to part nae mair !
Nae langer Donald o** the glen,

Fm laird ayont the Dee ;
The heart that's proved ye for its ain.
Sail aye be true to thee ! **'

Tho' Cairn-o'-Mount is bleak an** bare,

An** cauld is Clochnabane,
Yet faithfu' love can linger there,
Amang the heather green.

This ballad, long a favourite in the North, has been frequently
inquired for by widely separated correspondents, and Mr. Jonathan
Gauld, Edinburgu, to whom I am indebted for the copy, in an
accompanying letter, says :—" A few years ago there appeared in
the I'eoplc's Journal eleven four-line verses of an old ballad with
this title. In a note the editor said it was forwarded by a Cromar
cr)rrespondent, who stated it was very popular in the rural districts
of Aberdeen, Kincardine, and Forfarshires more than a century
since, but that it had never been printed, and that nothing was then
known of its authorship, being copied from a manuscript comedy
entitled *The Humours of the Forest,' which bore to have been
written by K. Lumsden, Esq., author of 'Jean of Bogniore, or a
Cromar Maiden's Wooing,' dated 1789. Lately I nicked up a book
entitled 'Contemplation and other Poems.' by Alexander Balfour,
published in ISt^O, and dedicated to the Marchioness of Huntly.
Some of the poems are dated in the eighteenth century ; and among
these Cairn-o'-Mount ' appears under the title of * Donald, a Ballad. '
I am sorry I cannot give you any particulars of Balfour. He is not
mentioned in either Edwards* or Murdoch's ' Poets. * '*

Alexander Balfour, a poet, novelist, and miscellaneous writer of
some note in his day, was a native of the parish of Monikie, in For-
farshire. He was for some time a iranufacturer in Arbroath, but
latterly gravitated to Edinburgh, where he died in 1829.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

no

VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

HALF-PAST TEN.

^^1^^^==^^

I mind when I courted my ain wifie Jean ; Though

i

^^m

m

aften

I gaed she

little was seen, For her

i

^*

Ih^:

-W=^

w

3i=pS

-d—^ -J-

faither, the eld - er, like

gudely men, Aye

i

--^

-M

ip=pi

=ft=«=

rt^zita:

=62=5^

steekit

his door

about

half • past ten.

I MIND when I courted my ain wifie Jean ;
Though aften I gaed she little was seen,
For her faither, the elder, like a** gudely men,
Aye steekit his door about half-past ten.

Ae Sacrament Sabbath I saw Jeanie hame,
Ony lad wi** his lassie wad hae dune the same ;
We crackit sae lang at the cosy fire-en\
That the time slipt awa' till near half-past ten.

The worthy man read, syne fervently pray'*d.
And when he was dune he solemnly said —
" It has aye been a rule — but ^tis likely ye ken-
That we steek a** our doors about half-past ten.**^

The hint was eneuch for a blate lad like me.
But I catchM a bit blink o' Jeanie^s black e^e.
As much as to say — Come ye back to the glen.
An' ye'U maybe stay langer than half-past ten.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

HALF-PAST TEN III

Ae nicht twa-three lads an' myseP did agree
To gang some place near just to hae a bit spree ;
Quo I, " What d'ye think o' gaun doon to the glen,
For we're sure to be harae about half-past ten ? ^

We a' were received wi' hearty gudewill,

An' the elder, nae less, broached a cask o' his yill ;

Syne gaed afF to his bed, and says, " Jean, ye'U

atten'
That the doors are a' lockit by half-past ten/'

" Ou, ay," says Jean, but the best o' the joke
Was her slippin' ben an' stoppin' the clock,
Fm no gaun to tell the hoo or the when.
But the hands werena pointin' to half-past ten.

About four i' the mornin' the auld man arose,
An' lichtin' a spunk, to the clock straucht he goes.
" Gude sauf us, gudewife ! did ye hear me gae ben ?
Lod, the lads are awa' before half-past ten."

But the cat very soon was let oot o' the poke
By the kecklin' o' hens, an' the craw o' the cock ;
An' opening the shutters he clearly saw then
We wad a' hae our breakfasts ere half- past ten.

Ye ne'er heard sic lauchin' a' the days o' yer life.
An' nane were sae hearty's the auld man an' wife ;
Quo' he, " What'U lassies no do for the men ?
Even cheat their auld faithers wi' half-past ten."

It was a' settled then that Jean should be mine.
The waddin' sune followed ; an' we've aye sin' syne
Lived happy thegither, an' hope to the en'
We'll aye mind that nicht an' its half-past ten.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

112

VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

An' noo, here a wee bit advice I wad gie —

Ne'^er stint young folks'* time when they gang to a

spree ;
Fm a faither myseP, but brawly I ken
That the fun just begins about half-past ten.

This has been, and deservedly so, a popular song among country
people in Scotland for many years, and will be welcome here— the
more especially as it is seldom seen in print. It was written, Mr.
Alan Reid tells us, by Mrs. James Bacon {nee (Jatherin* 6. Mackay),
who resides at Bainsfurd, near Falkirk. 8ome sing it to an adapta-
tion of the '* Laird o' Cockpen,*' but the air that fits it best, and the
one that all singers of taste have been accustomed to use, is the one
here reproduced.

BURNS AND HIS HIGHLAND MARY.

Dorian mode. Slowly.

m.

:=|ir=fii:

itp:

:^:^

^

=t2=^-

In green Cal - e - don - ia there ne'er were twa lov • ers Sae en -

ZB^J^

:^=^:

--f.-^.

raptured and happy

■^^^^^

her

3

mm

in each ither's arms, As

Burns, the sweet bard, and his dear Highland Ma - ry, And

=l^=F

^=SS

fondly and sweet - ly he sang

her charms.

In green Caledonia there ne'*er were twa lovei-s
Sae enraptured and happy in each ither^s arms,

As Burns, the sweet bard, and his dear Highland
Mary,
And fondly and sweetly he sang o' her charms.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

BURNS AND HIS HIGHLAND MARY 113

And lang will his sang, sae enchanting and bonnie,
Be heard wi' delight on his ain native plains,

And lang will the name o' his dear Highland Mary
Be sacred to love in his heart-melting strains.

Oh, 'twas a May-day, and the flowers o' the summer
Were blooming in wildness, a** lovely and fair.

When our twa lovers met in a grove o** green bowers,
Which grew on the banks o"* the clear winding
Ayr ;

And oh, to them baith 'twas a meeting fu' tender,
As it was the last for a while they could hae ;

Sae in love's purest raptures they feasted thegither,
Till the red setting sun shi)w'*d the close of the
day.

"Oh, Mary, dear Mary," exclaimed her fond lover,
" Ye carry my heart to the Highlands with thee ;

Every burn, every grove, and every green bower.
May talk of the love of my lassie and me ;

" My life's sweetest treasure, my ain charming Mary,
To thee I'll be ever devoted and true ;

For the heart that is beating so hard in this bosom
Is a heart that can never love ony but you.

" O dinna bide lang in the Highlands, my Mary,

dinna bide lang in the Hi^lands frae me ;
For I love thee sincerely, I love thee owre dearly.

To be happy, sae far, my dear Mary, frae thee."

*' I winna bide lang, my dear l«id, in the Highlands,

1 canna bide lang, for ye winna be there ;
Altho' I hae friends I like weel in the Highlands,

The ane I love best's on the banks of the Ayr."

8

Digitized by VjOOQIC

114 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

Then he kissed her red lips, they were sweeter than

roses,

And he strained her lily-white breast to his heart.

And his tears fell like dew-draps at e'en on her

bosom.

And she said, " My fond lover, alas ! we maun part."

"Then farewell," he said, and flew frae his Mary ;

" Oh, farewell," said Mary, she could say nae mair;
Oh, little they kenn''d they had parted for ever,

When they parted that night on the banks of the
Ayr.

Yet the green summer saw but a few sunny mornings.
Till she, in the bloom of her beauty and pride.

Was laid in her grave like a bonnie young nower
In Greenock Kirkyard, on the banks of the Clyde;

And Burns, the sweet bard of his ain Caledonia,
Lamented his Mary in mony a sad sti-ain.

And sair did he weep for his dear Highland lassie,
And ne'er did his heart love sae deeply again.

Then bring me the lilies, and bring me the roses.
And bring me the daisies that grow in the vale.

And bring me the dew o' the mild simmer's evening.
And bring me the breath o' the sweet-scented gale.

And bring me the sigh o"* a fond lover's bosom,
And bring me the tear o' a fond lover's e'e.

And I'll pour them a' down on thy grave. Highland
Mary,
For the sake o' thy Burns wha sae dearly lo'ed thee.

No song touching the life of Robert Burns and his idealised High-
land Mary — not one of the poet's own, perhaps— has found roore
favour with the country people of Scotland than this rhapsody of
unknown authorship, which has been widely circulated in broad-
sheet form. Ballad-hawkers, indeed, still find it a *' catch" at
country markets and fairs.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF ME NOOT

115

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF ME NOO,
KIND SIRS?

^^fe^

S=l^

itrp:

■g=tc

t=ii

5i:=3C

I am a young man, I live wi' my mither, A

braw decent kimmer, I trow ; But when I speak o'

takin' a wife, She aye gets up in a lowe.

=;fc±

s

^^

zr=e^W=fr.

-p»— a>-

:«=rp=

Sae what do ye think o' me noo, kind sirs? And
/7S rt\

what do ye think I shud try? Gin my mither was deein', there's

7 - fc. . .

^ w — .

_,^

T' — ^

P P P >

N 1 h i^r •

^

^^^ *i

-MtH

1 ^ ' ' ^

_^J

£=^:

nae - body livin' to mind the hoose and the kye.

I AM a young man, I live wf my mither,

A braw dacent kimmer, I trow ;
But when I speak o** takin** a wife.

She aye gets up in a lowe.

Sae what do ye think o' me noo, kind sirs ?

And what do ye think I shud try ?
Gin my mither was deein\ there's naebody livin'

To mind the hoose and the kve.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

116 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

There's red-headed Jenny, lives doon by our side,

At shearin' she aye dings them a',
But her very face niither canna abide,

And her a wild hizzie does ca\
Sae what do ye think, etc.

Yestreen my mither she pouther^ my wig

As white as the new-driven snaw ;
She took an auld mutch and made me a gravat.

Stuck in a big breastpin and a\
Sae what do ye think, etc.

'* Noo gang awa"* Sandy, yeVe gaun to the waddin',

Ye ken yeVe to be the best man,
And Betty M'Haffie s to be the best maid ;

Mak' up to her noo like a man."
Sae what do ye think, etc.

I gaed to the waddin\ and Betty was there ;

And, losh, but she was buskit braw ;
She had ribbons and lace a' deck'd round her face,

And necklaces twa or three raw.
Sae what do ye think, etc.

To please my auld mither, by makin' up till her,

At aince I thocht I micht try ;
So I speir'd at Betty if ever she heard
That we had twa dizzen o** kye.

Sae what do ye think o' me noo, kind sirs ?

And what do ye think 1 shud try ?
Wi' a toss o** her head, she answered, "Indeed !
Wha cares for you or your kye ? "

There is a very full flavour of the country about this rarely
humorous and clever song, which cannot be so very old. And
seeing that it must have leaped almost immediately into popular
favour, it is strange that the author has never been named, nor even
guessed at. Whitelaw has no note of it. Until now, indee<l, it
has been embraced in no collection worthy of the name, but has led
a lively vagabond life notwithstanding.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

BONNI£ SUSI£ CL£LAND 117

BONNIE SUSIE CLELAND.

There lived a lady in Scotland,

Hey, my love, and ho, my jo ;
There lived a lady in Scotland,

And dearly she loved me ;
There lived a lady in Scotland,
And she's fallen in love wi** an Englishman,

And bonnie Susie Cleland is to be burnt at Dundee.

The father unto the daughter came.

Hey, my love, and ho, my jo ;
The father unto the daughter came.

And dearly she loved me ;
The father unto the daughter came,
Saying — " Will you forsake that Englishman ?^

And bonnie Susie Cleland is to be burnt at Dundee.

'* If you will not that Englishman forsake,

Hey, my love, and ho, my jo ;
If you will not that Englishman forsake,

So dearly loved by thee ;
If you will not that Englishman forsake.
Oh, I will burn you at the stake ! ''

And bonnie Susie Cleland is to be burnt at Dundee.

" I will not that Englishman forsake,

Hey, my love, and ho, my jo ;
I will not that Englishman forsake,

Who dearly loveth me ;
I will not that Englishman forsake,
Though you should burn me at a stake ! ''

And bonnie Susie Cleland is to be burnt at Dundee.

" Oh, where will I get a pretty little boy ?

Hey, my love, and ho, my jo ;
Where will I get a pretty little boy

Who dearlv loveth me ;

Digitized by VjOOQIC

118 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLAD9

Oh, where will I get a pretty little boy
Who will carry tidings to my joy,

That bonnie Susie Cleland is to bfe burnt at
Dundee?''

" Here am I, a pretty little boy.

Hey, my love, and ho, my jo ;
Here am t, a pretty little boy.

Who dearly loveth thee ;
Here am I, a pretty little boy.
Who will carry tidings to your joy,

That bonnie Susie Cleland is to be burnt at
Dundee."

" Oh, give to him this right hand glove

Hey, my love, and ho, my jo ;
Give to him this right hand glove

Who dearly loveth me ;
Oh, give to him this right hand glove.
Tell him to get another love.

For bonnie Susie Cleland is to be burnt at Dundee.

'* Give to him this little penknife.

Hey, my love, and ho, my jo ;
Give to him this little penknife.

Who deaily loveth me ;
Give to him this little penknife.
Tell him to get another wife.

For bonnie Susie Cleland is to be burnt at Dundee.

" And give to him this gay gold ring,

Hey, my love, and ho, my jo ;
Give to him this gay gold ring.

Who dearly loveth me ;
Oh, give to him this gay gold ring.
Say Fm going to my burying.

For bonnie Susie Cleland is to be burnt at Dundee.''

Digitized by VjOOQIC

GLOWEROWEREM

119

Her father he ca'd up the stake,

Hey, my love, and ho, rny jo ;
Her father he ca'd up the stake,

So dearly she loved me;
Her father he ca''d up the stake.
Her brother he the fire did make.

And bonnie Susie Cleland she W6is burnt at Dundee,

Here is a curious old tragic ballad, the cadences of which linger in
one's ears long after reading it or hearing it sung. It forms one of
the many valuable fragments of ballad poetry that were rescued
from oblivion by William Motherwell, the poet. Motherwell does
not mention whence he derived it, although in a note he confesses
his inability to trace it to any historical source. In Ariosto's
"Ginerva'* ifc is mentioned that ladies guilty of incontinence were,
by the laws of Scotland, doomed to the ^ames : but this cruel enact-
ment has no foundation in the ciiminal code of the land— at least,
within historic times. To some other circumstance, then, must be
attributed the terrible doom of bonnie Susie Cleland. Was it for
merely failing in love with an Englishman, which is all she is
charged with in the ballad ? Then surely Bannockburn was due.

GLOWEROWEREM.

There lived an auld man at the head o' yon knowes, His
Chorus. — Whilk 6' ye lasses is gaun to Glowerowerent ?

^

S=^

■=^-^:^^=J^.

legs were as bent as twa auld wizzend boughs ; 'Twad
Whilk €> ye lass • es is gaun to Glowerowerem ?

set him far better
Whilk o* ye lasses

to be herdin' his yowes, Than
is gaun to Glowerowerem^ To

Digitized by VjOOQIC

120 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

atentpo. Repeat for Chorus.

m

:^=S:

startin' a farm on bonnie Glowerowerem.

be the gude • ivife o' bonnie Glowerowerem t

There lived an auld man on the head o' yon knowes,
His legs were as bent as twa auld wizen 'd boughs ;
Twad set him far better to be herdin** his yowes,
Than startin' a farm on bonnie Glowerowerem.

Whilk o"* ye lasses is gaun to Glowerowerem ?
Whilk o' ye lasses is gaun to Glowerowerem ?
Whilk o' ye lasses is gaun to Glowerowerem ?
To be the gudewife o* bonnie Glowerowerem ?

" Mither, Fm gaun to Lowden Fair."
" Laddie, what are ye gaun to do there ? ""
" Fm gaun to buy horses, harrows, and plows.
An' start wi' a pair on Glowerowerem Knowes.''

Whilk o' ye lasses, etc.

" Fll get a thiggin' frae auld John Watt,
An' Fll get ane frae the Leddy o' Glack,
An' Fll get anither frae auld John Grey,
For keppin' his sheep sae lang on the brae."

Whilk o' ye lasses, etc.

" Fm no for the lassie that speaks for us a',

Fll no hae the lassie that speaks nane ava,

Fm no for the lassie that rages and flytes.

An' blames the gudeman when it's a' her ain wytes."

Whilk o' ye lasses, etc.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

BONNI£ BARBARA, O 121

" I'm no for the lass w¥ the braw ribbon knots.
Nor yet for the lass wi** the bonnie black locks,
But Fm for the lass wi"* the bonnie bank notes.
To plenish the farm o"* bonnie Glowerowerem/'

Whilk o* ye lasses, etc.

*' Mither, Fm gaun to Lowden Fair/'
" Lassie, what are ye gaun to do there ? ""
" Fm gaun to buy ribbons, an' laces, an"* lawn
To put on my head when I get a gudeman.

" For Fm the lass thafs gaun to Glowerowerem,
Fm the lass thafs gaun to Glowerowerem ;
And tho"* he's a feckless body, Glowerowerem,
A braw, braw farm is bonnie Glowerowerem."

This song, being a favourite with country people no»th of the Tay,
on the few occasions on which it has received the honour (>f print,
has had nearly in every instance ** Buchairn " named as its locality,
and not "Glowerowerem." Notwithstanding, the latter name has
been often used in ringing, antl I confess at once to a preference for
it. The editor of the National Choir, to whom the country is
indebted for the rescue of many bemi-neglected yet excellent bits of
lyric verse, while admitting the song to be well known in Forfar^
shire, where it has been heard of under the title of "The Laird o'
Buchairn,** says — "Fife appears to have the stronger claim upon it ;
indeed, Glowerowerem is the name of a farm lying on the Fife shore
of the Forth, and we have heard several *Fifers' from widely
different parts of the Kingdmn render it." Quite so. But "Low-
den" or "Laurence Fair," we know, refers to a fair at Laurence-
kirk, whither Fife lasses and lads have not been in the habit of
going, to buy one thing or another. Therefore, though we admit
Glowerowerem, because of its glamour and euphony, we do not by
virtue of this act alone give the song away from its original owners
—the people of Forfarshire and the Mearn-.

BONNIE BARBARA, O.

Theue cam' ance a troop o' Irish Dragoons,
And they lodged a''e nicht into Derby, O ;

The captain fell in love wi''a handsome servant maid.
And I think they ca*d her name bonnie Barbara, O.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

122 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

** O, come doon the stair, bonnie Barbara, O,
O, come doon the stair, bonnie Barbara, O ;

O, come doon the stair, and comb back your yellow
hair.
Take your last fareweel o' your mammie, O."

" How can I come doon the stair, bonnie Sandy, O ?

How can 1 come doon the stair, bonnie Sandy, O ?
O, how can I come doon when Fm locked up in a
room.

And a deep draw-well below my window, O ? ^

" ril buy you ribbons, and Fll buy you rings.
And ril buy you beads o"* the amber, O ;

ril buy you silken gowns to roll you up and down.
And I'll follow you into your chamber, O.'"

" ril hae nane o' your ribbons, I'll hae nane o' your
rings,

I'll hae nane o* your beads o' the amber, O ;
As for your silken gowns, I'll never put them on.

And you never shall enter my chamber, O."

" What would your mammie think, bonnie Barbara,
O?
What would vour mammie think, bonnie Barbara,
O? '

What would your mammie think to hear the guineas
clink.
And the oboes playing on before you, O ?"

** Little would my mammie think, bonnie Sandy, O,
Little would my mammie think, bonnie Sandy, O ;

Little would my mammie think though she heard
the guineas clink.
If her daughter was following a sodger, O."

Digitized by VjOOQIC

BONNIE BARBARA. O 123

" A sodger, my dear, youll never need to fear,
A sodger will never, never wrang ye, O ;

He'll make his troop to stand with their hats in their
hand
When they enter the presence o' his Barbara, O/'

It was up then and spake our bold brother John ;

And oh ! but he spake angry, O !
" If she winna buckle-to I'm sure that she will rue ;

Ye'll get mony greater beauties e*en than Barbara,
O."

" There's bonnie lassies here, and bonnie lassies there.
And braw bonnie lassies into Derby, O ;

But there's nane amang them a', the bonnie or the
braw.
The match o' my bonnie lassie Barbara, O."

They hadna gane a mile, a mile oot frae the town ;

And oh ! but the pipes play'd drearily, O !
They gae the drum a beat, and his tender heart did
break ;

And he died for the sake o' bonnie Barbara, O.

Here we find a «urious mixture of a ballad. The scene is laid in
Derby, in England, although the hero and heroine are evidently
both Scotch, and the former, curiously, is a Captain in a troop of
Irish Dragoons, which has a pipe band. Notwithstanding, the
piece has enjoyed a deal of popular favour in rural Scotland. I
noted it some years ago from the singing of an old lady in Dundee,
who committed it to memory when she was a girl residing in the
Carse of Gowrie. In Aberdeenshire, I am aware, Fyvie is sub-
stituted for Derby ; but not to improve matters.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

124 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

THE RAM O^ BERVIE.

As I went up to Bervie

Upon a market day,
I saw the fattest ram, sir,

That ever was fed on hay.

Singing hey dingle derby.

Hey dingle day ;
This was the greatest ram, sir,

That ever was fed on hay.

The ram it had a foot, sir.

Whereon to sit or stand ;
And when it laid it down, sir.

It covered an acre of land.

The ram it had a horn, sir.

That reached up to the moon ;

A man went up in December,
And didn't come down till June.

The ram it had two teeth, sir.
Each like a hunter''s horn ;

And every meal it took, sir.
It ate five bolls of corn.

The ram it had a back, sir,
That reached up to the sky ;

The eagles built their nests there.
For I've heard the young ones cry.

The ram it had a tail, sir,

Most wonderful to tell ;
It reached across to Ireland,

And rang St. Patrick's bell.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE RAM O* BERVIE 129

The wool of this rare big ram, sir,
It trailed upon the ground ;

It was taken away to London,
And sold for a hundred pound.

The man that killed the ram, sir,
Was up to the eyes in blood ;

And the boy that lield the basin
Was washed away in the flood.

The blood of this wonderful ram, sir.

It ran for many a mile ; .
And it turned the miller's wheel, sir.

As it hadn't been for a while.

Oh, the man that owned the ram, sir.
He must have been very rich ;

And the man that sings the song, sir.
Must be the son of a witch.

Now, if you don''t believe me.
And think Fm telling a sham.

You may go your way to Bervie,
And there you will see the ram.

There are various readings of this curiously extravagant old
country song — which, by the bye, has a wonderful fascination for
the rural mind — each one localised to a different part of the country.
Here it is the '* Ram o' Bervie," there the *' Ram o' Derby," in
another place the " Ram o* Diram," again the " Ram o* Doram,'* and
so on. What its origin may have been it is impossible to say ;
although I have heard a story about it to the effect that a prisoner
had been condemned to death, in the time of the feudal laws, and
was promised free pardon should he succeed in composing a song
without a grain of truth in it. and that this was the song he pro-
duced. Surel> the man deserved not only free pardon, but a life
pension as welL

Digitized by VjOOQIC

126 VAGABbND SONGS AND BALLADS

THE PEDLAR.

The pedlar ca'd in by the house o** Glenneuk,
When the family were by wi' the breakfast an' beuk ;
The lassies were kaimin' an' curlin' their hair,
To gang to the bridal o' Maggie M'Nair.
" Gude morn,'' quo' the pedlar, fu' frank, an' fu' free,
" Let's see wha this day will be handsel to me ;
An' if an ill bargain she happen to mak',
I'll gie her mysel' and the hale o' my pack."

"Aha ! " the gudewife cried, " gif I've ony skill,

I fear that wad be makin* waur oot o' ill ;

My dochters, gude certes, o' wark wad be slack.

To trudge thro' the k intra an' carry a pack."

" Gudewife," quo' the pedlar, " 'tis only a joke,"

And he flang down his wallet to show them his

stock ;
When she saw his rich cargo she rued e'er she spak'
Sae lichtly o' either the pedlar or pack.

The lassies drew roun' wi' their gleg glancin' een
To glower on his ware that micht fitted a queen ;
They waled, an' they bought satins, ribbons, an' lace.
Till they raised mony lirks on the laird's niggard

face.
His brooches and bracelets, wi' diamonds enrich'd,
They green't for, till baith hearts an' een were be-

witch'd ;
But bonnie blate Nelly stood aye a bit back,
Stealin' looks at the pedlar, but ne'er min't the pack.

This lovely young lassie his fancy did move ;
He saw that her blinks were the glances o' love ;
A necklace he gied her, wi' pearlins beset,
Sayin', "Wha kens but we twa may be married yet!"

Digitized by VjOOQIC

TH£ P£DLAR 127

The blush flushed her cheek, an' the tear filPd her e'e,
She gaed oot to the yaird, an" sat doon 'iieath a tree ;
When something within her aye silently spak\
" I could gang wi' this pedlar an' carry his pack."

Her heart lap wi* joy ilka time he cam' roun\

Till he tauld her he'd ta'en a braw shop in the toun;

Then the rose left her cheek, an' her head licht did

reel,
For she dreaded this wad be his hin'maist fareweel.
''. Look blythe, my dear lassie, your fears banish a",
Vour parents may flyte, an' your titties may jaw :
But they'll heartily rue yet that e'er their jokes

brak'
Upon me when the kintra I rang'd wi' my pack."

The auld wife kent nocht o' the secret ava,

Till a'e day to the kirk she gaed vogie and braw ;

Her heart to her mouth lap, the sweat on her brak',

When she heard Nelly cried to the lad wi' the pack.

She sat wi' a face hafflins roasted wi' shame,

Syne awa' at twal hours she gaed scourin' straucht

hame ;
She min't na the text nor a word the priest spak' —
A* her thochts were ta'en up wi' the pedlar an' pack.

" What's wrang," quo' the laird, " that ye're hame

here sae soon ?
The kail's no lang on ; is the day's service done ? "
'' Na, na," quo' the kimmer; " but I've got an affront
That for months yet to come will my bosom gar

dunt !
That glaikit slut, Nell, we hae dautit sae weel.
Has now wound us a pirn that will sair us to reel ;
For a' we've wared on her o' pound an' o' plack.
She is thrice cried this day to yon chiel' wi' the pack."

Digitized by VjOOQIC

128 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

" Cd saufs ! *" sigh''d the laird, " gif she be sic a fule,
He sail get her as bare as the birk-tree at Yule !
Whaiir is she, the slut ? gif I could but her fin\
Fient baud me, gin 1 wadna reesil her skin ! ""
But Nellie foresaw what the upshot wad be,
Sae she gaed 'cross the moor to a freen's house a wee,
Whaur a chase-an'-pair cam'; an' whene'er daylicht

brak' .
She set afF wi' the pedlar, unfasht wi' the pack.

They were lawfully spliced by the Rev'rend J.P.,
Whilk the hale k intra roun' in the Herald may see*;
Now his big shop's weel stow'd, baith for bed an' for

back,
That was started wi' ballads an' trumps in a pack.
He raise up in rank an" he raise up in fame,
An' the title o' Bailie's affixed to his name ;
Now the laird o' Glenneuk aboot naething will crack
Save the Bailie — but ne'er hints a word o' the pack.

This, by William AVatt, the talented author of "The Tinkler's
Waddin'," has long been a favourite song with the country people
of Scotland. The copy presented I recently received from Mr.
Alexander Watt, the author's son, who, in a note accompanying it,
said, "I have copied from the original MS., as several spurious ver-
sions of the ballad are abroad." It sings to the air of "Come under
ray Plaidie.'" ft was because I had several copies of the ballad, all
varying, that I recently appealed t() the readers of the People's
Journal for supply. The appeal brought in written and printed
copies from all parts of Scotland, England, and America. Now, to
those obliging correspondents, as well as to all besides, it will be a
special gratification to possess the really authentic and only true
version ; for which thanks to Mr. Alexander Watt.

THE CARLE HE CAM' OWER THE
CRAFT.

The carle he cam' ower the craft,

Wi' his beard new shaven ;
He looked at me as he'd been daft —

The c«u*le trowed that I wad hae him.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE CARL£ HE CAM* OWER THE CRAFT 129

Hout awa ! I winna hae him !

Na, forsooth, I winna hae him !
For a' his beard's new shaven,

Ne'er a bit o' me will hae him.

A siller brooch he gae me neist.

To fasten on my curchie nookit ;
I wore't awee upon my breist,

But soon, alake ! the tongue o't crook it ;
And sae may his, I winna hae him !

Na, forsooth, I winna hae him !
Twice-a-bairn's a lassie's jest ;

Sae ony fool for me may hae him.

The carle has nae faut but ane ;

For he has land and dollars plenty ;
But, wae's me for him, skin and bane

Is no for a plump lass o"* twenty.
Hout awa\ I winna hae him !

Na, forsooth, I winna hae him I
What signifies his dirty riggs.

And cash, without a man wi' them ?

But should my cankert daddie gar

Me tak' him 'gainst my inclination,
I warn the fumbler to beware

That antlers dinna claim their station.
Hout awa^ I I winna hae him !

Na, forsooth, I winna hae him !
Fm jfleyed to crack the holy band,

Sae lawty says, I should na hae him.

This is a very old song, as may be gathered from the fact that it
appears in Ramsay's Tea-Table Miscellany, But it has more than
age to recommend it, having been sung by many thousands of
country people in the last hundred years who never saw it in print.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

190 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

THE DOTTERED AULD CARLE.

A DOTTERED auld carle cam' ower the lea,
Ha, ha, ha ! but I wadna hae him ;

Cam' ower the lea, an** a' to court me,
Wr his grey beard newly shaven.

My mither telPd me to open the door.

Ha, ha, ha ! but I wadna hae him ;
I opened the door an' he tottered inower,

Wi' his grey beard newly shaven.

My mither telPd me to gie him a chair,

Ha, ha, ha ! but I wadna hae him ;
I gae him a chair, he sat down on the floor,

Wi' his grey beard newly shaven.

My mither telPd me to gie him some meat.

Ha, ha, ha ! but I wadna hae him ;
I gae him some meat, but he'd nae teeth to eat,

Wi' his grey beard newly shaven.

My mither telPd me to gie him some drink.
Ha, ha, ha ! but I wadna hae him ;

I gae him some drink, an' he began to wink,
Wi' his grey beard newly shaven.

My mither tell'd me to gie him a kiss.

Ha, ha, ha ! but I wadna hae him ;
When ye like him sae weel ye can kiss him yersel',

Wi' his grey beard newly shaven.

The above is evidently iust another version of the preceding song :
which is the older might be the question. In my opinion this is the
more felicitous of the two. It has been widely sung in the country
districts of Scotland ; but, so far as I am aware, has not previously
appeared in any song collection.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

HEATHER JOCK

131

HEATHER JOCK.

Chorus.

=i n^~i sqN=

Heather Jock's noo a - wa' ; Heather Jock *s noo a - wa' ; The

Fine.

muir-cock he may croosely craw, Sin' Heather Jock 's noo a - wa'.

15:^

=f5=fs=

i

5^

X. Heather Jock was stark and grim ; Faucht wi' a' wad fecht wi* him ;

:^^:S=

- '- '-^^j ^

Swank and soople, sharp and thin ; Fine for gaun against the win*.

w^-i=fm

>->-!-

--Sirfr.

^E^

^3tZ3

Tawny face and towsy hair ; In his deeding unco bare ;

D.C.

cotild equal Heather Jock.

Cursed and swore whene'er he spoke ; Nane c

Heathee Jock's noo awa' ;
Heather Jock'^s noo awa' ;
The moorcock he may croosely craw,
Sin' Heather Jock's noo awa\

Heather Jock was stark and grim ;
Faucht wi' a' wad fecht wi' him ;
Swank and soople, sharp and thin ;
Fine for gaun against the win\

Digitized by VjOOQIC

132 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

Tawny face an** towsy hair ;
In his deeding unco bare;
Cursed an** swore whenever he spoke ;
Nane could equal Heather Jock.

Jock kent ilka bore an^ bole ;
Could creep through a wee bit hole ;
Quietly pilfer eggs an' cheese,
Dunts o** bawcon, skeps o" l>ees ;
Sip the kirn an** steal the butter ;
Nail the hens without a flutter ;
Na ! the watchfu' wily cock
Durstna craw for Heather Jock.

Eppie Blaikie lost her gown
She coft sae dear at borough town ;
Sandy Tamson'^s Sunday wig.
Left the house to rin the rig ;
Jenny Baxter's blankets a'
Took a thocht to slip awa' :
E'en the wean's bit printed frock ;
Wha was thief but Heather Jock ?

Jock was nae religious youth ;

At the priest he thraw'd his mouth ;

He wadna say a grace nor pray,

But played his pipes on Sabbath day ;

Robb'd the kirk o' baan and book ;

Everything wad lift, he took ;

He didna Tea' the weather-cock.

Sic a thief was Heather Jock.

Nane wi' Jock could draw a tricker ;
'Mang the muirfowl he was siccar ;
He watched the wild ducks at the springs.
And hang'd the hares in hempen strings.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

HEATHER JOCK 133

Biassed the burns and speared the fish ;
Jock had many a dainty dish ;
The best o^ muirfowl and blackcock
Graced the board o' Heather Jock.

Keepers catch'd him on the muir ;
Kickit up an unco stoure ;
Charged him to lay doun his gun,
Or his nose should delve the grun'.
Jock slipped doun ahint a hui*st.
Cried, *'Ye swabs, I'll empty't first !''
They saw his fingers at the lock.
And left the field to Heather Jock.

Aften fuddling at the stills ;
Sleepin** sound amang the hills ;
Blazin^ heath and cracklin^ whins
Choked his breath and brunt his shins ;
[Jp he gat in terror vast,
Thocht ^twas doomsday come at last ;
Glowerin** dazed thro' fire and smoke,
" Fm in hell ! '' cried Heather Jock.

Nane wi^ Jock had ony say
At the neive or cudgel play ;
Jock for bolt nor bar e''er stayed
Till ance the jail his courage laid.
Then the Judge without delay
Sent him afF to Botany Bay,
And bade him mind the laws he broke.
And never mair play Heather Jock.

Jock^^s bit housie i** the glen
Lies in ruins, but an^ ben ;
There the maukin safe may rest,
And the muirfowl build her nest.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

194 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

Ower the sea Jock's herdin' swine,
Glad wi' them on husks to dine ;
Sae tak' warnin\ honest folk —
Never do like Heather Jock.

When introducing '*Tam Frew's Hat," I mentioned that the
author of that clever humorous ditty ha<l been credited also with
the production of " Headier Jock." I have been assured, however,
that John M'Lay was nof the author, but that the reckless poacher
and reiver was limned by the dexterous hand of Dr. James Stirling,
who was born on the Keir estate, in western Perthshire, in the
end of the eighteenth or beginning of last century, and died in
Ontario, Canada, in the year 1857.* By Captain W. M. Somerville,
of Washington, O.C, who is a native of Dunblane, which he left
fifty years ago, I am in ormed that the doctor learned the dr^ goods
business in Perth, but afterwards studied medicine in Edinburgh
and Paris. He emigrated to Canada with his family in the early
twenties, and settled near Caledonia Springs, a place of fashionable
resort, where he edited a paper called Life at the Spnngs^ and pub-
lished many of his poetical pieces, but issued no collection of tnem.

The original of the song -John Ferguson— lived, moved, and had
his being in and about Dunblane, near to where he was bom, in a
small thatched house on the old Doime Koad, in the parish of Kil-
niadock , a little more than a century ago. And his picture, as pre-
sented in the song, does not seem to have been overdrawn ; for be
was not only a poacher, says my informant, but a daring thief as
well, and a terror to the district. Jock always went to Dunblane
for his shot, and so notorious a character was he that half the folks
would turn out to see him on his home-going. When Handsel
Monday came round with its shooting matches, Jock was sure to be
forward and carry off the best prizes. One verse about his shooting
which is founded on fact (the fifth in our version) has not been

§enerally printed. It refers to an occasion when Jock was hunting
eer on Siumaback Hill, Cambushinnie. John Drummond, game-
keeper for Mr. Stirling of Kippendavie, challenged him. Jock fired
point blank at John: and only distance saved him, as the bullet
struck the turf just a few yards in front of the keeper. A washing
having disappeared from Kilbride Castle, Jock was at once suspected,
and on search beins: made he was found drying the clothes in the
Shank Wood on the Sabbath day. When his mother, poor body,
hanged herself, he cut her down, and with the same rope went off
and stole a cow. The parties who had lost the cow found out who
was the thief, and on searching Jock's house found the cow shut up
in a press bed ; and when they were leading her away Jock
indignantly demanded the rope, saying that he was not going to
part with the rope that had hanged his mother. Ultimately Jock
was tried for cattle-stealing, convicted, and sent to Botany Bay.

* George Gray, Esq., the esteemed Town Clerk of Rutherglen, and a native
of Doune, opposes the claim for Dr. Htirling, however, and says that
William Morrison, who was latterly beadle in ti^e Free Kirk at Doune, was
the autibor.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE GLENORCHY MAID

139

Bat after a lapse of years he succeeded in finding his way back to
his old familiar haunts, and was commencing his former practices,
when he wai re -apprehended and sent permanently out of the
country. By the courtesy of Mr. George Gray, already mentioned
here, indeed, I had recently in my possession a copy of the printed
indictment *' at the instance of Archibald Colquhoun of Killermont,
His Majesty's Advocate for His Majesty's interest." which was
served on "John Ferguson, commonly called Heather Jock," within
the tolbooth of Perth, in April, 1812, and charged him with various
acts of theft, "more especially Stealing of Cows and Black Cattle,"
and ordered his appearance "in a Circuit Court of Justiciary to be
holden within the burgh of Stirling, in the month of April in thui
present year," when '*You, the said John Ferguson, Ought to be
punished with pains of law, to deter others from committing the
like crimes in all time coming." On the 18th of April the case was
tried before Lord Meadowbank, when— as quaintly intimated by a
newspaper clipping of the time — "Accused having confessed his
guilt, tne libel was restricted to an arbitary punishment ; he was
thereupon sentenced to transportation for life."

No previous Editor of songs has afforded these or any par-
ticulars regarding " Heather Jock," which has invariably been
printed anonymously, and none of the collections contains a copy so
complete as the present.

i

THE GI^NORCHY MAID.

Slowly.

Itrft

fe^

fir

w-1-

=P=3-J

When Spring spreads her green velvet claes on the common,

When Summer wi' flow'rs decks the sweet heather braes,

$

1t=l5r

i^

How rich then to view, on the tow'ring Ben Lomond,

I

^S^=^-^

^

f

--^=3i

-J;/—^

he loch's silver waves meet the sun's golden rays.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

136

VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

How clear every fountain, and green every mountain

-f-^-w-f-

T^=W-

^=w-

-^

H^zzt^r

bi^l?^

Wi' moorlands and meadows and glens rich - ly clad ;

=bB=fe?:

--f=w

*—\ ^r-^

- w—*— ^

But far more in - vit - ing, to me more de - lighting,

:^^F=?^

^El

i^^

'=M-

.■!i=:^z=3t:

_l^_^j pi_E — 1^ . « —

Is the pride o' the Highlands, my Glen - orch - y maid !
Last line variant to finish.

£^^^

^9=^

T

?^^

:*==*=■!=

Is the pride o' the Highlands, my Glen - orch - y maid !

When Spring spreads her green velvet claes on the
common,

When Summer wi' flowVs decks the sweet heather
braes,
How rich, then, to view on the towVing Ben Lomond

The loch's silver waves meet the sun's golden rays.
How clear every fountain, and green every mountain,

Wi' moorlanSs, and meadows, and glens richly clad ;
But far more inviting, to me more delighting,

Is the pride o'the Highlands, my Glenorchy maid.

Her skin's like the lily, her hair's like the raven,
Wi' nature's simplicity kindly she speaks ;

Her face sae bewitching, her een sae enslaving.
Like the rose after rain are her soft blushing cheeks.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

MY PRETTY FAIR MAID 137

Sae smiling, sae wiling, sae cheering, endearing,
Whilst we roam o^er the heather or rest by the
shade;
There first I break silence to tell of my feeling —
She^s the pride o' the Highlands, my Glenorchy
maid.

How delightfu' is gloamin% when every sweet blossom

Is wet wi"* the drops o^ the clear shining dew ;
But sweeter my charmer when, close to my bosom.

She blushed, and consented she''d ever prove true.
Let Art and let Nature display their fond treasures,

ril row my dear lass in my soft tartan plaid ;
O, great is my bliss, and sweeter my pleasure,

Wi' the pride o** the Highlands, my Glenorchy
maid.

Mr. Duncan Kippen, of Crieff, to whom I have been indebted for
various excellent examples of these floating country ballads and
songs, t^k me that he noted this one, words and music both, from
the singing of an old man at a fair in Aberfeldy many years ago, and
has heard it sung repeatedly since in the lower reaches of western
Perthshire. The melody, which is preserved in The National Choir,
at well as here, Mr. Kippen avers, **has a freshness and artless
beauty which is wanting in many modern song tunes."

WHERE ARE YOU GOING, MY PRETIY
FAUt MAID.?

" Where are you going, my pretty fair maid.
With red rosy cheeks an^ coal black hair ? "^

" I'm going a -milking, kind sir,'' she replied,
" Rolling on the dew makes a milkmaid fair."

" May I go )vith you, my pretty fair maid.

With red rosy cheelcs and coal black hair ? "
" O, just if you're willing, kind sir," she replied,

" Rolling on the dew makes a milkmaid fair.'*

Digitized by VjOOQIC

138 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

" What is your father, my pretty fair maid,
With red rosy cheeks and coal black hair ?^

*' My father'^s a farmer, kind sir,'^ she replied,
** Rolling on the dew makes a milkmaid fair.**'

" And what is your mother, my pretty fair maid.
With red rosy cheeks and coal black hair ? ^

" A wife to my father, kind sir,^ she replied,
" Rolling on the dew makes a milkmaid fair.''

" And what is your fortune, my pretty fair maid.
With red rosy cheeks and coal black hair ? ^

" A coo an' a wee calf, kind sir," she replied,
** Rolling on the dew makes a milkmaid fair."

" Then I won't go with you, my pretty fair maid.
With red rosy cheeks and coal black hair."

" And naebody asked ye, kind sir," she reolied,
** Rolling on the dew makes a milkmaid fair."

An English version of this song has gained much popularity, due,
doubtless, to the lively and catching air to which it is set. Our
Scotch variety, however, perhaps never previoasly printed, and
which Mr. Hugh M*Aulay, of Johnstone, tells me he learned more
than twenty-five years ago from the singing of a girl named Bath-

gate, who had quite a host of these simple old wandering songs, is
y far the more fascinating in respect of words.

THE PIPER O' DUMBARTON.

Saw ye Rory Murphy,
Rory Murphy, Rory Murphy ;
Saw ye Rory Murphy
Comin" through Dumbarton ?

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE PIPER O' DUMBARTON 139

Rory was a piper guid,

As ever cam' o' Hielan' bluid ;

The Lowland bodies' hearts aye glowed

To the times o* Rory Murphy.
Though Rory's pipes were rude an' rough,
His drones were dainty, auld, an' teuch.
And like to Boreas was their sough

When blawn by Rory Murphy.

Saw ye Rory, etc.

When Rory drank an extra gill,

He made his chanter sound sae shrill,

Ye'd heard it on Benlomond hill

As weel as in Dumbarton.
He filled the wamor's breast wi' fire.
He charmed the hearts o' sage an' sire.
And made the listenin' groups admire.

When comin' through Dumbarton.

Saw ye Rory, etc.

He had a beard o' amber gloss,
Twa cheeks the colour o' the rose,
Twa spark lin' een as black as sloes.

Ana a nose as red's a partan ;
He had a plaid o' plaids the wale.
That screened him frae the winter gale,
Arrayed he was frae tap to tail

In claes o' praw, praw tartan.

Saw ye Rory, etc.

When lords and lairds wad wedded be.
And kintra bodies needed glee.
They didna grudge the minstrel's fee
When they got Rory Murphy.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

140 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

For Rory sang, an' leuch, an' drank,
Wi* cronies leal he aye was frank,
And mony a tune he played for thank
When comin' through Dumbarton.

Saw ye Rory, etc.

But Rory had a lowin' drouth,

He liked a drap to weet his mouth ;

Dumbarton bodies ken it's truth

I say o' Rory Murphy.
And Rory had a ready tale
To tell the wives that sell't guid ale ;
He charmed the swats frae cog and pail

When comin' through Dumbarton.

Saw ye Rory, etc.

But whisky proved to him a fae,

For stotterin' hameward drunk ae day.

He fell heid-foreraost doun a brae,

That killed him deid for certain.
Nae mair we'll hear his witchin' tones,
Nae mair he'll blaw his Hielan' drones.
His banes lie cauld beneath the stones

In the kirkyaird o' Dumbarton.

Farewell, Rory Murphy,
Rory Murphy, Rory Murphy ;
Farewell, Rory Murphy,
Piper o' Dumbarton.

There is an old song in the Tea- Table Miscellany , which tells
that " Dumharton drums beat bonnie, O." but whether these or the
pipes of Eory Murphy were the first to give musical celebrity to the
Royal Burgh it would be difScult to say. Mr. Donald Macleod, the
veteran historian of the town and shire, in his Past Worthies of
the Lennox : A Garland of their Droll Hayings and Doings^ CluhSy
and Election Incidents, says : — " I have not been able to obtain

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE AULD QUARRY KNOWE 141

information from the burgh records that our good town ever had a
piper it could call its own. However, tradition has it that in a far
back period in its history it could boast a piper high^ Rory Murphy,
a rantin' rovin', clever, drucken cratur, who, on account o' his lowin*
drooth, came to a bad end. I have in my time seen what purported
to be a portrait of the illustrious Kory, and intended at one time to
have inserted it here, but as I think it a spurious production, I do
not give it a place in this veracious chronicle. As lar as Dumbarton
is concerned, the long line of those whose duty it was to blow the
pipes, tuck the drum, and ring the bell, the latter dating from 1634
according to the Town^s Kecords, ceased and determined when John
Orme in 1889 was deprived of his ofSce as town's drummer and
bellman."

This means that it must be a long time since Rory Murphy
** screwed his pipes and gar^t them skirl." Anyway, he was doubt-
less a real character, and a kenspeckle one to boot, if the author of
the song is to be trusted — and who would doubt him ? It was
written, I have discovered, by David Webster, the author of **Tak*
it, man, tak it."

THE AULD QUARRY KNOWE.

Oh, weel I naind the jo^^s we liiid,

In youth''s bright sunny days,
When we were pu'in' buttercups

On Cathkin's flowery braes.
But better far I mind the time

When first my heart took lowe.
When dafiin' wi' my Jessie

On the auld quarry knowe.

WeM watch the water- wagtail,

As he skimmM the river side ;
Or cocked upon a mossy stane

And beckoned to his bride ;
Or we'd look ower yonder rocky cliffy.

Till our heads would dizzy grow,
As we held by ane anither

On the auld quarry knowe.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

142 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

I used to think on summer nichts

The bellman whiles got fou**,
When he rang the bell at ten at e'en,

I ne'er could think it true.
And I ne'er could say guid nicht in til

Its tones rang out, I trow ;
I was sweer't to leave my Jessie

And the auld quarry knowe.

But noo these days are gane, alas !

And auld grey-bearded Time
Has heaped years upon oor heids ;

We're far beyond oor prime.
But I never can forget them,

Tho' my heid be like the tow.
Nor the daffin' and the courtin'

On the auld quarry knowe.

Two versions of this happy, natural, and sweetly reminiscent song
have appeared, but the present, which is the older and better lyric
of the pair, is the one generally sung. It has not hitherto won its
way into any collection of importance ; has not been much seen in
print, indeed ; and the author, who may still be living, has not
been revealed.

BANNOCKS O' BARLEY ^EAL.

An auld Hieland couple sat lane by the ifigle,

While smoking their cutties and crackilig awa' ;
They spak' o' lang syne, o' their daffin' wl^eii single,

O' the freaks o' their childhood, their auld age
an* a\
To his wife Donald bragg'd o' his bauldest o' ae4:ions.

When he was a sodger wi' Geordie the Third ;
Hoo his foes fell afore him, the leader o' factions.

And Donald he grat as his faes bit the yird.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

BANNOCKS O' BARLEY MEAL 143

Sae up vfV the kilties and bonnie blue bonnets,
When put to their mettle they're ne'er kent
to fail ;
For a Highlandman's heart is upheld wi' a
haggis
And weel-buttered bannocks o' barley meal.

Thus Donald was blessed, an' his wife heard wi'
pleasure
His stories o* danger, his troubles, an* toils ;
** My country," he cried, '* is my heart's dearest
treasure.
And, Mary, thou'rt next, for I lo'e thy saft smiles.''
This puir, happy couple, their broom-covered dwell-
ing
Stood lane frae the world, its tidings, and cares,
And the news never reached their snug little hallan
Unless when a packman stapp'd in wi' his wares.

Sae up wi' the kilties, etc.

The Romans lang syne loot a clacht at oor bannock.
The Danes and the Normans they tried the same
game,
But Donald cam' doon wi' his claymore and crum-
mack,
Maul'd maist o' them stark, chased the lave o'
them hame.
An' should ony mair ever play sic a plisky.

She vows by her dirk an' the Laird o' Kintail
That she'll pairt wi' her bluid, or she'll pairt wi' her
whisky.
Ay, or pairt wi' her bannocks o' barley meal.

Sae up wi' the kilties, etc.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

144 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

There's Muugo M^Farlane, the Laird o** Drumgarlan,

A birsy auld carle o' three-score an** five,
He'll wield his lang airm, an' he'll gie them a
haurlin',

And keep his ain grund wi' the glegest alive.
There's Michael, the sodger, wha foucht wi* the
rebels,

And lost his left leg just a wee ere they ran ;
He has got ane o' wud, an* he gai*s it play thud,

And whaur there's a row Michael's aye in the van.

Sae up wi' the kilties, etc.

Then fill up a glass, let us hae a guid waucht o't,
Oor Mither Meg's mutch be't oor care to keep
clean ;
And the foul silly loon that wad try to lay claucht
on't.
May Clootie's lang claws haul oot baith o' his een.
She's auld, an' she's runkled, she'll no bide their
scorning.
She'll beat them whan tried in a battle, I'll bail ;
So we'll ne'^r lat her want Athole brose i' the
morning,
Nor weel-buttered bannocks o' barley meal.

Sae up wi' the kilties, etc.

There is a song with this title, said to have been written by the
celebrated John, Duke of Argyll and Greenwich, who figures favour-
ably in the Heart of Midlothian as the patron of Jeanie Deans ; and
Robert Burns picked up a fragment of a still older ditty, the ower-
turn of which was —

Bannocks o* here meal, bannocks o' barley !
Here's to the Highlandman's bannocks o' barley !

These have been often printed. But here is a song, a very worthy
one of its kind — which, though it has seldom seen the light of the
printed page, has been sung by several generations of country people
m Scotland.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE BONNIE BANKS O' LOCH LOMOND

145

THE BONNIE BANKS O' LOCH LOMOND.

f

tf^ ..^^^:

^=*=i-.

"^

By yon bonnie banks, and by yon bonnie braes,

I

f^

IP=«1

Where the sun shines bright on Loch - lo

f m

^

^

r*-H=

"t

-Jf-Lj — ^-^^^

Where me and my true love were ever wont to gae

q=

*=;^=s^^

On t

3C3^

=i^

i

^n the bonnie, bonnie banks o' Loch - lo

pE=^

A-

;^=i=

x

^:

:*r=*:

O ye '11 tak' the high road, and I '11 tak' the lo^ road,

fei3;

=^

f

ZltlzM

And I '11 be in Scotland

fore ye,

>- :> /T^

=ts:q^

-^ —r-w -

I ^ \^ '^ ' ]^

But me and my true love will never meet again,

i

Ei=^

^

ip3=r:

f

:J2=t:

•n the bonnie, bonnie banks o' Loch - lo
lO

Digitized by VjOOQIC

146 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

By yon bonnie banks, and by yon bonnie braes,
Where the sun shines bright on Loch Lomon\

Where me and my true love were ever wont to gae,
On the bonnie, bonnie banks o"* Loch Lomon\

O, ye'U tak' the high road, and FU tak' the low
road,

And ril be in Scotland afore ye ;
But me and my true love will never meet again

On the bonnie, bonnie banks o' Loch Lomon'.

Twas there that we parted in yon shady glen,
On the steep, steep side o' Ben Lomon\

Where in purple hue the Hieland hills we view,
And the moon coming out in the gloamin\

O, ye'll tak' the high road, etc.

The wee birdies sing, and the wild flowers spring.
And in sunshine the waters are sleepin' ;

But the broken heart it kens nae second spring again,
Tho" the waefu' may cease frae their greetin'.

O, yell tak"* the high road, etc.

The refrain of this puzzling song, which has recently enjoyed a
vogue in the highest circles, is supposed in suhstance to have heen
the adieu to his sweetheart by one of Prince Charlie's followers in
the *45, before the poor fellow's execution at Carlisle. The tradition
is that his sweetheart was at the side of the scaffold, and his parting
words to her were — ** Ye'll tak' the high road, and I'll tak' the low
road, and I'll be in Scotland afore y«.' The low road, we are told,
meant for the prisoner the grave, and his words indicated that death
would bring his spirit to Scotland before his sweetheart could travel
back to the banks of Loch Lomond, where they had learned to love
each other, and had hoped to spend a long and prosperous married
career.

I do not doubt that the song we have heard so much of recentlj* is
but the rescued fragment of an old country ballad of the same name.
So evident is this, indeed, that a large portion is actually extant,
which Lady John Scott, the writer of the modern version of "Annie
Laurie,*' picked up in the streets of Edinburgh, I do not know how
many years ago. Miss F. Mary Colquhoun, of Luss, has also
gathered some wandering verses, notably these —

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE BONNIE BANKS O' LOCH LOMOND 147

"We'll meet where we parted in bonnie Luss Glen
'Mang the heathery braes o' Ben Lomon* ;

Starts the roe frae the pass an' the fox frae his den,
While abune gleams the mane thro' the rowan.

WV yer bonnie laced shoon an' yer buckles sae clear,
An' yer plaid ower yer shouther sae rarely ;

Ae glance o' yer e'e wad chase awa' ray fear,
Sh^ winsome are yer looks, O, my dearie ?

What has been sung of late, however, is perhaps enough for the
singer's purpose. William Black, the novelist, and others have
given it as their opinion that the song is wholly of recent origin ;
but Mr. Kippen, of Crieff, assures me that he heard it frequently on
the streets, in one form or another, more than sixty years ago.

THE BONNIE BANKS O' LOCH LOMOND.

"Oh ! whither away, my bonnie, bonnie May,

So late, an' so far in the gloamin' ?
The mist gathers grey o'er muirland an' brae.

Oh ! whither alane art thou roamin' ? "

" I trysted my ain hjve the nicht in the broom.
My Ranald, wha lo"'es me sae dearly ;

For the morrow he marches to Edinburgh toun.
To fecht for the King an' Prince Charlie ! "

" Yet why weep ye sae, my bonnie, bonnie May,
Your true luve from battle returnin'.

His darlin' will claim in the micht o' his fame.
An' change into gladness her mournin' ! "

" Oh ! weel may I weep — ^yestreen in my sleep
We stood bride an' bridegroom thegither !

But his lips an' his breath were as chilly as death,
An' his heart's bluid was red on the heather !

Digitized by VjOOQIC

148

VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

" Oh ! dauntless in battle as tender in love,
He'll yield ne'er a foot to the foeman ;

But never again frae the field o' the slain
To Moira he'll come an' Loch Lomon'.

" Oh ! he'll gang the hie road an' I'll gang the low,

But I'll be in Heaven afore him ;
For my bed is prepar'd in the mossy graveyard,

'Mang the hazels o' green Inverarnan.

" The thistle shall bloom, an' the King hae his ain.
An' fond lovers meet in the gloamin'.

An' I an' my true luve will yet meet again
Far abune the bonnie banks o' Loch Lomon'."

These are the verses, alluded to in the note to the foregoing song,
which the late Lady John Scott picked up in the streets of Edinburgh.

THE BARRIN' O' THE DOOR.

Livdij.

It fell about the Martinmas time, And a gay time it was

/7N

then, O ! That our gudewife had puddin's to mak'. And she

f

:S=l5qK:

r •'■' ^-^tHrrx^^H^ ^ i^Ulj

boil'd them in the pan, O ! The barr - in' o* our door,

weel, weel, weel, O, the barrin' o' our door, weel.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE BARRIN' O' THE DOOR 149

It fell about the Martinmas time,
And a gay time it was then, O !

That our gudewife had puddin's to mak'.
And she boird them in the pan, O !

The ban in' o' our door, weel, weel, weel,
O, the barrin' o"* our door, weel.

The win' blew cauld frae north to south.

It blew into the floor, O !
Quoth our gudeman to our gudewife,

" Get up and bar the door, O r

" My hand is in my husswifeskip,

Gudeman, as ye may see, O !
An' it should na be barr'd this hundred year.

It's no be barr'd by me, O ! "

They made a {2^*tion 'tween them twa,

They made it firm an' sure, O !
Whaever spak' the foremost word

Should rise and bar the door, O !

Then by there cam' twa gentlemen,

At twelve o'clock at nicht, O !
And they could neither see house nor ha'.

Nor coal nor candle licht, O !

And, oh, they were hungry, cauld, and weet.

An' it was an awfu' nicht, O !
And when they saw the open door

Their hearts lap at the sicht, O !

" Now, whether is this a rich man's house.

Or whether is it a poor, O ? "
But ne'er a word wad ane o' them speak.

For the barrin' o' the door, O !

Digitized by VjOOQIC

190 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

And first they ate the white puddin'^s.
And syne they ate the black, O !

And muckle thocht the gudewife to herseP,
Yet ne"*er a word she spak\ O !

Then said the ane unto the other —
" Here, man, tak' ye my knife, O !

Do ye tak' aft* the auld man''s beani,
And ril kiss the gudewife, O ! "

" But there's nae water in the house.
And what shall we do then, O ? ''

" What ails ye at the puddin' bree
That boils into the pan, O ?""

O, up then started our gudeman,

And an angry man was he, O !
"Would you kiss my wife before my e'en.

An' scauld me wi' puddin"* bree, O ? "*'

Then up and started oor gudewife,
Gae three skips owre the floor, O !

" Gudeman, yeVe spoke the foremost word.
Get up and bar the door, O ! '"*

The little comic difficulties of rural domestic life have seldom been
so neatly hit off as in this rare old song, which is of great antiquity,
though still well known, and frequently sung, It forms one of the
many songs snatched from oblivion by David Herd, being first
printed in his collection in 1776. No trace of its authorship or
origin survives. A song with a similar subject, bearing the title of
"John Bl«nt,'* but of a rather coarser order, was transmitted by
Bums for Johnson's Afusewn. No such objection applies here,
where the fun is even richer. I have printed the song with a chorus,
as it is generally sung at country meetings ; and have introduced a
stanza not often seen— the sixth— which was added by the late
David Kennedy, and aptly fills a slight hiatus in the narrative.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

OLD KING COUL 191

OLD KING COUL.

Old King Coul was a jolly old soul,

And a jolly old soul was he ;
And he callea for his pipe, and he called for his bowl,

And he called for his fiddlers three ;
And every fiddler had a fiddle,

And a very fine fiddle had he.
Fiddle-dee-dee, fiddle-dee-dee, fiddle-dee-dee, went
the fiddlers,

Happy men are we,
And there"*s none so rare as can compare
With the sons of harmonie.

Old King Coul was a jolly old soul,

And a jolly old soul was he ;
And he called for his pipe, and he called for his bowl,

And he called for his pipers three ;
And every piper had his pipes.
And very good pipes had he.
Ha-diddle, how-diddle, ha, went the pipers.
Fiddle-dee-dee, fiddle-dee-dee, fiddle-dee-dee, went
the fiddlers,

Happy men are we.
And there'^s none so rare as can compare
With the sons of harmonie.

Old King Coul was a jolly old soul.

And a jolly old soul was he ;
And he called for his pipe, and he called for his bowl,

And he called for his harpers three ;
And every harper had a harp.

And a very good harp had he.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

192 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

Twingle-twangle, twingle-twangle, twingle-twangle,

went the harpers,
Ha-diddle, how-diddle, ha, went the pipers,
Fiddle-dee-dee, fiddle-dee-dee, fiddle-dee-dee, went
the fiddlers,

Happy men are we.
And there'^s none so rare as can compare
With the sons of harmonie.

Old King Coul was a jolly old soul,

And a jolly old soul was he ;
And he called for his pipe, and he called for his bowl,

And he called for his trumpeters three ;
And every trumpeter had a trump.

And a very fine trump had he.
Twana-rang, twana-rang, twana-rang, went the

trumpeters,
Twingle-twangle, twingle-twangle, twingle-twangle,

went the harpers,
Ha-diddle, how-diddle, ha, went the pipers,
Fiddle-dee-dee, fiddle-dee-dee, fiddle-aee-dee, went
the fiddlers,

Happy men are we.
And there's none so rare as can compare
With the sons of harmonie.

Old King Coul was a jolly old soul.

And a jolly old soul was he ;
And he called for his pipe, and he called for his bowl,

And he called for his drummers three ;
And every drummer had a drum.

And a very fine drum had he.
Rub-a-dub, rub-a-dub, rub-a-dub, went the drummers,^
Twana-rang, twana-rang, twana-rang, went the
trumpeters.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

OLD KING COUL 195

Twingle-twangle, twingle-twangle, twingle-twangle,

went the harpers,
Ha-diddle, how-diddle, ha, went the pipers,
Fiddle-dee-dee, fiddle-dee-dee, fiddle-dee-dee, went
the fiddlers,

Happy men are we,
And there"*s none so rare as can compare
With the sons of harmonic.

Some correspondents of The Literary World were recently claiming
the worthy old monarch of this jolly old song as a Welsh hero. They
spelt his name " Coal," and concluded that he was a jolly old soul
because of the jolly pood dividends that accrued to him from his
shares in coal mines. But such finding could never result from a
study of the earliest version of the song or from any knowledge of
its history. The fact is, old King Coul, or Cole, or Coil, as he has
been variably termed, and whose strikingly convivial characteristics
have formed the subject-matter of several very funny songs, accord-
ing to fabulous Scottish history, flourished in the fifth century, and
was father of the giant. Fin M'Coul. Coila (Ayrshire) —

"That place o' Scotland's isle
That bears the name o' auld King Coil—"

was under his sway. The earlier version of the commoner of the
two well-known forms of the song appeared in Herd's collection of
1776. The same song, slightly altered by Bums, appeared again in
Johnson's Museum. The ancient version runs : —

" Old King Coul was a jolly old soul.

And a jolly old soul was he ;
And old King Coul he had a brown bowl.

And they brought him in fiddlers three ;
And every fiddler was a good fiddler.

And a very good fiddler was ) e.
Fiddle -diddle, fiddle-diddle, went the fiddlers three,

And there's no a lass in a' Scotland
Compared to our sweet Marjorie."

And so on, in substance the same as the foregoing, which we have
often heard sung, and which is smoother in the lines than the older
copy. Sung with action and mimicry, indeed, it forms excellent
entertainment.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

194 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

THE WEBSTER OF BRECHIN'S MARE.

In Brechin did a weaver dwell

Who was a man of fame,
He was the deacon o' his trade,

John Steinson was his name.
A mare he had, a lusty jade,

Sae sturdy, stark, and Strang,
Baith lusty and trusty.

And he had spared her lang.

The Webster bade his mare go work.

Quoth she — ^^ I am not able.
For neither get I corn nor hay.

Nor stand I in a stable.
Thou hunts me and dunts me

And dings me frae the toon.
And fells me and tells me

I am not worth my room.*"

The Webster swore a horrid oath.

And out he drew a knife,
*' If one word mair come frae thy mouth

I vow ril take thy life."
The mare, then, for fear, then.

Fell fainting to the ground.
And groaning and moaning

Gaed in a deadly swoon.

They clipped her and nipp'd her,

Then took from her the skin.
The haunches and the painches

They quickly brought them in.
*' Make haste, dame,"*** said he then,

'' And wash the grease and dry't.
For I will hazard on my life

The doctor"'s wife will buy't.*"

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE WEBSTER OF BRECHIN'S MARE 195

They rumbled her, they tumbled her,

They shot her ower the brae ;
With rumbling and tumbling

She to the ground did gae.
But the nicht it being cauld,

And the mare wanting her skin,
And darkness coming ower the land,

It's fain wad she be in.

She rappit and she chappit

Wi"* her twa forther hooves ;
They beared it and feared it,

And thocht it had been thieves.
The webster"*s son was stout o' heart,

He ran unto the door.
And thrust a spear into the mare

Five quarters lang and more.

The door ay, with more ay.

He closed richt hastily,
All quaking and shaking.

And then for help did cry.
*' What ails thee, my son,*" says he ;

" O, tell me if you can ? "*'
" Ah, and alas ! father,"" he says,

" For I have killed a man !

" If magistrates and senators

Get knowledge of this deed.
They'll whang us, and they'll hang us,

"Thout mercy or remede.""
Then they ran unto the door

To bury the man for fear ;
But when they came — lo, and beh»)ld ! —

They fauna it was the mare !

Digitized by VjOOQIC

196 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

" Go, has^ you, I request you,

And tell me, father, dear,
What will we or shall we

Wi' this auld wicked mare ? ^
" O hold thy tongue, my son,^ says he,

" I think you are a fool,
I wish we had her hung in cords,

We^l eat her against Yule.

" Well wash her and we''ll dash her,

She'^s a' smeared ower wi' dub.
We'll wring her and fling her.

And saut her in a tub ;
And we''ll gang roond the neighbours

And bid them a' come in —
John Dunkinson, John Davidson,

And kindly Patie Grinn.*"

On Christmas Day the greasy pack

Did a' convene in haste.
The hale tribe o"* yarn-stealers

Cam' marching to the feast.
They ate and drank and made a rant,

The end no man could tell ;
On terms good I do conclude.

And bid you now farewell.

Thia quaintly humorous old country ballad is preserved in A
Pedlar's Pack of Ballad* and Songs, edited, with illustrative notes,
by W. H. Logan, into which it was copied from a chap book bearing
the imprint of the well-known flying stationer of Falkirk, T. John-
ston, whose business flourished in the beginning of the last century.
A specimen of an earlier version is given in Johnson's Scuts Musical
Miueum, of which Mr. Steuhouse, in his Illustrations of the Lyric
Poetiy and Music of Scotland, says—" This is only a fragment of a
long ballad frequently heard at country firesides, entitled *The
Brechin Weaver,' the tune of which is very pretty."

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH 197

THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH.

There grows a bonnie brier bush in oor kailyaird,
And sweet are the blossoms on"*t in oor kailyaird ;
Beneath the bonnie brier bush a lad and lass were

scared,
Richt busy, busy courtin' in oor kailyaird.

In days o** mair simplicity, sic things were aften dared.
An' mony a maid's been woo'd and won in a kailyaird.
But noo they're sae fasteedious, their beauty needs a

guard.
An' ladies screw their mou's at love in oor kailyaird.

Whae'er may think wi' pen and ink true love can be

declared.
Will find that passion by a pen is wofuUy impaired.
I dinna like the kind o' love that's written on a card,
I'd rather hae't by word o' mou' in oor kailyaird.

When Adam in a single state o' blessedness despaired,
His courtin' was begun, I ween, in his kailyaira ;
Let's follow, then, the first o' men, nor be by fashion

scared.
As he began, we'll end the plan in oor kailyaird.

Burns, Lady Naime, the late Dr. Charles Mackay, and an older
bard than either whose name has not come down with his verses, all
tried their hands at the making of a song with this title. Burns's
deviations from the somewhat crude and hazy original are too
slight, and where alterations are made he fails in giving the life-
touch that is so characteristic of his song-work in general. Lady
Naime is but slightly more successful. The version of the song
which, I think, is destined ultimately to eclipse all others, is the
one here printed, which was written a number of years ago by an
Edinburgn man whose name I have heard and forgotten. This one
has no '* dancings at Carlisle ha* " to perplex the understanding, or
to confound the sense and jumble the judgment, but is a simple song
of country courtship— and therein lies the charm.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

198 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

THE IRON HORSE.

Come Hielandman, come Lowlandman, come every

man on earth, man,
And ril tell you how I got on atween Dundee and

Perth, man ;
I gaed upon an iron road — a rail they did it ca\ man —
An' ruggit by an iron horse, an awfu' beast to draw,

man.

Sing fal, lal, la.

Then first and foremost, near the door, there was a

wee bit wicket.
It was there they gar'd me pay my ride, and they

gied me a ticket ;
I gaed awa' up through the house, sat down upon a

kist^ man.
To tak" a look o"* a' I saw on the great big iron beast,

man.

Sing fal, lal, la.

There was houses in a lang straucht raw, a' stannin*

upon wheels, man.
And then the chiePs that fed the horse were as black's

a pair o' deils, man ;
And the ne'er a thing they gae the brute but only

coals to eat, man —
He was the queerest beast that e'er I saw, for he had

wheels for feet, man.

Sing fal, lal, la.

A chap cam' up, and round his cap he wore a yellow

band, man.
He bade me gang and tak' my seat. Says I, " Fd

rather stand, man."

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE IRON HORSE 199

He speer^d if I was gaun to Perth. Says I, " And

that I be, man ;
But Vm weel enough just whaur I am, because I

want to see, man.''

Sing fal, lal, la.

He said I was the greatest fule that e'er he saw on

earth, man !
For 'twas just the houses on the wheels that gaed

frae this to Perth, man.
And then he laughed, and wondered hoo I hadna

mair discernment,
Says I, " The ne'er a ken kent I ; I thought the

hale concern went."

Sing fal, lal, la.

The beast it roared, and afF we gaed, through water,

earth, and stanes, man ;
We ran at sic a fearfu' rate, I thought we'd brak'

oor banes, man.
Till by and by we stoppit at a place ca'd something

Gowrie,
But ne'er a word had I to say, but only sit and

glower aye.

Sing fal, lal, la.

Then after that we made a halt, and in comes Yellow

Band man ;
He asked me for the ticket, and I a' my pouches

fand, man ;
But ne'er a ticket I could get — I'd tint it on the

road, man —
So he gar'd me pay for't ower again, or else gang aff

to quod, man.

Sing fal, lal, la.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

160 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

Then after that we crossed the Tay, and landit into
Perth, man ;

I vow it was the (jueerest place that e'er I saw on
earth, man ;

For the houses and the iron horsQ were far aboon the
land, man,

And hoo they got them up the stairs I canna under-
stand, man.

Sing fal, lal, la.

But noo Fm safely landit, and my feet are on the

sod, man.
When I gang to Dundee again FU tak** anither road,

man ;
Though I shcruld tramp upon my feet till Fm no fit

to stand, man.
Catch me again when I'm ta'en in wi' a chap in a

yellow band, man.

Sing fal, la, la.

Few songs that have been seldom printed have enjoyed greater
popularity about the districts of Perth and Dundee than "The Iron
Horse," which had its rise and go in a time when the country people
of Scotland were less familiar with railway travelling than now, and
funny incidents were common. It was written by Charles Balfour,
for many years, and even until recently, station master at Glencarse,
and was first sung, the author has told me, at a festival of railway
servants held in Perth in 1848. If the ditty had any origin in fact
at all, the following incident which occurred in Mr. Balfour's own
experience when he was a guard on the Dundee and Arbroath line
may bear the ** wyte." One day a sailor with his chest entered the
Dundee station bound for Arbroath. He had never seen a railway
before, and pitching his chest from his shoulder on to the platform
he quietly sat down on the top of it, as if to wait the course of
events. "Well, Jack," said Mr. B., "are you for Arbroath?"
" Yes." "Well, then, you had better take your seat at once." " I
think I'll do nicely here, mate." " But you must get into the train,
you know." "Oh, hang the train," ejaculated the sailor. "I
thought the whole concern went." This occurrence, it will be seen,
is partially utilised in the song.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE ROSE-A-LYNDSAYE 161

THE ROSE-A-LYx\DSAYE.

There are seven fair flowers iif yon green wood.

On a bush in the woods o' Lindsaye ;
There are seven braw flowers and a'e bonnie bud,

Oh ! the bonniest flower in Lyndsaye.
An' weel I luve the bonnie, bonnie rose—

The bonnie, bonnie Rose-a-Lyndsaye ;
An' ril big my bower o"* the forest boughs,

An"* ril dee in the green woods o"* Lyndsaye.

Therie are jewels upon her snawy breist.

An"* her hair is wreathed wi' garlan's,
An' a cord o' gowd hangs round her waist.

An' her shoon are sewed wi' pearlyns.
And, oh, but she is the bonnie, bonnie rose.

She's the gentle Rose-a-Lyndsaye ;
An' I'll big my bower where my blossom grows,

An' 111 dee in the green woods o' Lyndsaye.

Her face is like the evenin' lake

That the birch or the willow fringes,
Whase peace the wild winds canna break.

Or but its beauty changes.
An' she is aye my bonnie, bonnie rose.

She's the bonnie young Rose-a-Lyndsaye ;
An' a'e blink o' her e'e wad be dearer to me

Than the wale o' the lands o' Lyndsaye.

Her voice is like the gentle lute

When minstrel tales are tellin'.
An' ever saftly steps her fute,

Like autumn leaves a-fallin'.
An', oh, she's the rose, the bonnie, bonnie rose,

She's the snaw-white Rose-a-Lyndsaye ;
An' I'll kiss her steps at the gloamin' close,

Thixiugh the flowery woods o' Lyndsaye.
II

Digitized by VjOOQIC

162 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

Oh, seven brave sons has the gude Lord James,

Their worth I downa gainsay ;
For Scotsmen ken they are gallant men.

The children o' the Lyndsaye ;
An' proud are they o' their bonnie, bonnie rose,

O' the fair young Rose-a-Lyndsaye ;
But pride for love makes friends like foes,

An' woe in the green woods o' Lyndsaye.

But should I weep when I daurna woo.

An' the land in sic disorder ?
My arm is strong, my heart is true,

An' the Percy's over the border ;
Then, fare ye weel, my bonnie, bonnie rose.

An' blest be the woods o' Lyndsaye ;
I'll gild my spui*s i' the bluid o' her foes.

And come back to the Rose-a-Lyndsave.

The curiously charming bit of country ballad verse here presented,
strongly reminiscent as it is of an ancient and noble Forfar county
family, was written by William Forsyth, a native of Turriff, in
Aberdeenshire, who had a reputable career as a student, a surgeon,
a journalist, and a poet. In his capacity of journalist, Mr. Forsyth
acted first on the Inverness Courier and latterly on the Aherf*een
Herald. He was bom in 1818, and died at Aberdeen in 1879. Two
volumes of his poems were published in the author*s lifetime — The
Martyrdom af Kelavane, in 1851, and Idylls and Lyrics — where the
ballad appears— in 1872. I first met with " The Rose-a-Lyndsaye "
in the family history-book, The Lives of the Lindsays, Later I came
across it in the pages of The National Choir ^ where it is set to finely
appropriate music by John Taylor. There the words, printed from
memory, are ascribed to the late Dr. M'Gregor Peter. "But," says
the discerning editor (Mr. Alan Heid), in a note, " the, evidence
available meanwhile regarding the authorship is presumptive." In
his more recent work, The Bards of Angus ana the Si earns, Mr.
Reid cancels the name of Peter, and awards the song properly to
Mr. Forsyth.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE FARFAR SODGER

163

THE FARFAR SODGER.

In Farfar I was born and bred, But, troth, I maist think shame, sir,

To tell the weary life I led A - fore I gaed frae hame, sir :

^^^^^

5=6cfc

My daddy was a weaver poor As ev - er ca'd a spule, man ;

S^^^^

■g:^_ig_^:

:^^-r^^'

For beef was ne'er inowre the door But juist a pound at Yule, man.

In Farfar I was born and bred,

But, troth, I maist think shame, sir,
To tell the weary life I led

Afore I gaed frae hame, sir ;
My daddy was a weaver poor

As ever ca"'d a spule, man ;
For beef was ne'er inowre the door

But just a pound at Yule, man.

I learned fu' sune the pirns to fill.

And rock the cradle too, sir ;
And though I liked it unco ill.

What ither could I do, sir ?
A" day I was obleeged to work.

To keep me frae a thrashin' ;
And ilka Sabbath gaed to kirk.

Because it was the fashion.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

164 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

I entered schule at twaP year auld,

But aft the truan' did play, sir,
Which made my dad and mam to scan Id,

And beat me every day, sir ;
But when I could baith write and read,

And count the rule o' three, man,
The noble scheme cam** in my heid,

A sodger I wad be, man.

To be sae beat by mam and dad,

Nae longer wad I stay, sir.
But I wad try the sodger trade.

And sae I ran away, sir.
I ran till I was wast at Glamis,

A toun in Farfar County,
And listed there wi' Sergeant Fauns,

For fifteen pound o"* bounty.

He learned me hoo to set my taes.

And hoo to fire an' a\ sir,
Tha't I micht bauldly face my faes,

When I was ca''d awa\ sir.
He gae me claes to hap my back,

And mittens for my ban's, man,
And swore I was the prettiest chap

In a"* the toun o' Glamis, man.

I ran aboot frae place to place.

To markets up and down, sir,
My coat half covered ower wi' lace,

Wi' pouther on my crown, sir.
And hoo puir sodgers foucht and fared

In climates distant far, man.
In sooth ! I never kent nor cared.

Nor felt the woes o' war, man.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE FARFAR SODGER 165

But sune they gar'd me change my go,

For I was sent to Spain, sir.
Where twenty regiments in a row

Were marchin ower the plain, sir.
At night when on our guns we lay,

That we micht aye be ready.
My drowsy thochts aft fand their way

To Farfar and my daddie.

When first the French cam^ in my view,

My heart began to beat, sir.
But Farfar bluid was ever true,

And how could I retreat, sir ?
Ifs true I got a wee bit fleg.

But grumlin' I disdain, man ;
For tho' a ball gaed thro' my leg,

I fired and load again, man.

The bluid cam' bock in' thro' my hose,

And when I couldna gang, sir,
I toom'd my gun among my foes.

And syne sat doon and sang, sir.
At " Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled,"

An' ** Up wi't Maggie Dick," man ;
But sune wi' cauld my woUndit leg

It grew as stifTs a stick, man.

I crawled and crept on hands and feet

Till I got frae the thrang, sir.
And when I loot the doctor see't,

Gude safe's ! hoo he did ban, sir.
My limb he instantly cut aff.

And noo that I was lame, man,
I got a great big oxter staff*.

And I cam' hirplin' hame, man.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

166 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

I hae been twice three years abroad

In service o' my King, sir ;
Fve wandered mony a dreary road,

And unco sichts I've seen, sir.
There's mony a place I hae been at

That here I needna mention,
But snug in Farfar noo I sit.

And thrive upon a pension.

Recently I received a garbled copy of this song from a corres-
pondent in thh "borough toun,'*to which it belongs, who, when
sending it, assured me it was common in the country round Forfar,
both in and out of bothies, when he was a young man. How long it
is since then, however, he did not state, lest perhaps I might pubUsh
his name and ** spoil his market." I may remark that a Kirriemuir
man of ray acouaintance sang it regularly in Dundee about thirty
years ago ; and, indeed, got no peace at any social gathering until
he produced "The Farfar Sodger," the immediate effect of which
inv'ariably was— largely by reason of his rare abandon in singing it —
to put the company in an excellent mood for enjoyment.

The much-esteemed verses weie writtei. by David Shaw, a Forfar
weaver-poet, who produced other screeds of humorous lyric verse,
notably the song of "The Weavers," which held the local fancy in
thrall for many a day. Shaw was a native of the little village of
Auchterforfar, and was born in or about 1786. He died in Forfar,
where most of his life was passed, in 1856.

THE PERTHSHIRE PENSIONER.

In Perthshire I was born an' bred, and though my
dad was poor, sir,

A gay and happy life I led, an' seldom wrought, Fm
sure, sir ;

Till to my grief my daddy died when I was twenty-
two, man ;

Then, as I had to win my bread, I fee'd to be a
plooman.

But fegs, I couldna thole to work, and when I did
complain, sir.

They said I was a lazy stirk, and heard me wf dis-
dain, sir ;

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE PERTHSHIRE PENSIONER 167

I still was forced to toil ilk day, an' a' my meat was

stinted,
An' though for lang I tried to stay, I grew mair

discontented.

At last a thoucht cam' in my head, that I wad bide

nae langer.
But I wad leave the plooman trade, an' then defy

their anger ;
And so I bundled up my claes, and strapt them on

my shoulders.
An' cheerfully trudged on my way to Perth to join

the sodgers.

I didna tarry on the road, and soon I reached Perth

toon, man,
Whaur sodgers, dressed in tartan duds, were marchin'

up an' doon, man ;
A sergeant, decked wi' ribbons gay, and scarlet claes

sae gaudy,
Cam' up an' asked if I wad gae an' be a sodger

laddie.

I answered " Yes," just whaur I stood, " wi' a' my

heart I'm willin';"
And so to mak' the bargain good, he handed me

a shillin'.
Twas then I got a suit o' claes weel trimmed wi'

lace sae braw, man,
An' neist a gun to shoot my faes, wi' bagnet, sword,

an' a', man.

Dressed up I marched through Perth ilk day, ad-
mired by each beholder.

An' aft I heard the townsfolk say, "Eh, what a
handsome soldier ! "

Digitized by VjOOQIC

168 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

But to my grief, aboot this time the Czar becam'

oor foe, man.
An** then, to tame his stubborn mind, the sodgers

had to go, man.

An' so at last we sailed awa' an' left the shores o'

Britain,
An' soon we cam' to Russia, all keen for fun an'

fightin' ;
We then got landit safe an' soond, and marched to

Alma's Heicht, man,
An' pitched oor tents upon the ground and waited

for daylicht, man.

Neist day the battle raged like hell, an' mony a lad
did fa', man.

For ilka chap was for himsel', an' God was for us a',
man ;

But wha can face the British fire, or beat oor High-
land men, sir ?

We forced the Russians to retire, wi' thousands
maimed an' slain, sir.

Since then I've been in mony a fight, an' unco sights

I've seen, sir.
An' Fve got wounds baith sair an' slight, an' roond

the warld I've been, sir ;
But a' my warlike deeds o' fame some ither time I'll

mention.
For noo Tm safe an' snug at hame, an' livin on my

pension.

This song, which was presumably suggested by the one preceding
it here, appeared in the People's Journal a good many years ago,
over the initials ** J.M." In Perthshire, at leabt, it has enjoyed
considerable popularity.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE BLINKIN* 0*T 169

THE BLINKIN' OT.

O IT wasna her daddy's lairdly kin,

It wasna her siller — the clink in' o't ;
It wasna her minny's welcome in ;

Twas her ain blue e'e — the blinkin' o't.
The blinkin' o't, the blinkin' o't,

O weary fa' the blinkin' o't ;
My heart an' a' she's stown awa'

Wi' the lythesorae, blythesome blinkin' o't.

It wasna the licht o' her snavvy broo.

Nor her gowden hair — the dinkin' o't ;
Her dimpled cheek, nor her cherry mou',

Nor her braw, braw gown — the prinkin' o't.
'Twas a' her e'e — the blinkin' o't,

O weary fa' the blinkin' o't ;
Nae a' her charms could work sic harms

As the lythesome, blythesome blinkin' o't.

A' day I dream o' its witchin' gleam,

A' nicht I wauk wi' thin kin' o't ;
Afield, at hame, wi' sib or frem'd,

I'm glamour't wi' the blinkin' o't.
The blinkin' o't, the blinkin' o't,

O weary fa' the blinkin' o't ;
My peace is ta'en, my wits are gane,

Wi' the lythesome, blythesome blinkin' o't.

Fanever I teach, fanever I preach,

I'm dottled 's gin I'd been drinkin' o't ;

Fanever I sing or play a spring.
The burden's aye — the blinkin' o't.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

170 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

The blinkin' o% the blinkiii' o't,

O weary fa** the blinkin' o't ;
I'm fcart fu' aft I gang clean daft

Wr the lythesome, blythesome blinkin'' ©''t.

Tween hopes and fears, 'tween joys and tears,

My heart is at the sinkin' o't ;
I'd better dee at ance than dree

The pain I thole fme the blinkin' o't.
The blinkin' o't, the blinkin' o't,

O weary fa' the blinkin' o't;
I'm sad, I'm sair, I'm in despair

Wi' the lythesome, blythesome blinkin' o't.

But, oh, gin she wad smile on me.

And gie Mess John the linkin' o*'t ;
Nae wardle's care should ever mair

Torment me wi' the jinkin' o't.
O ! then I'd bless the blinkin' o't.

The smilin', wilin' blinkin' o't ;
An' cheerfu' live, or happy dee,

r the lythesome, blythesome blinkin' o't.

Scottish poetical literature has been indebted to the occupants of
the rural pulpit for not a few of its brightest lyric gems — notably,
among northern divines, to Skinner, of Longside, for "Tullocn-
gorum " and other songs ; to Bishop Geddes, of Ruthven, for " The
Wee Wifukie ; " and to the Rev. James Greig, of Chapel of Garioch,
for the equally happy song here presented. Mr. Grei^ was an
Aberdeenshire man both by birth and training, and, distmguished
as a scholar, he was aisc* known as an accomplished musician, a skil-
ful violinist, and a successful song- writer. For sixteen years, dating
from 1843, he was parish minister of Chapel of Garioch. He died in
August, 1859, at the ear'y age of forty-eight. Mr. Greig's love of
music and poetry rendered Mr. William Camie, of Aberdeen, the
well-known poet and musician, a frequent and welcome visitor at
his manse; and the manuscript of the song, "The Blinkin' o*t,**
was discovered by Mr. Camie, in Mr. Greig's handwriting, on the
back of an old letter. It soon found its ^ay into an Aberdeen paper,
where it at once won the great and worthy admiration which will
sustain it in living power for many a day.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

MORMOND BRAES

171

MORMOND BRAES.

$

Slowly.

^^^

On Mormond braes, where heather grows, I heard a fair maid mourning :

q^^» ----K|- "f*'> » N J H^h!^

My bonnie laddie's far awa', And I pine for his re - turning.

^

^g-^

^

-^S — S-i

t?-^-t?-

So, fare ye weel, ye Mormond braes, Where aften I 've been cheerie ;

j ^rTp ^ xpa^ pas

Oh, fare ye weel, ye Mormond braes, Sin' I ha'e lost my dearie.

On Mormond braes, where heather grows,
I heard a fair maid mourning :

My bonnie laddie's far awa\
And I pine for his returning.

So, fare ye weel, ye Mormond braes.
Where aften Fve been cheerie ;

Oh, fare ye weel, ye Mormond braes.
Sin"* I hae lost mv dearie.

He promised aft to marry me,

I for a while did think it ;
But now he'^s courting anither sweetheart,

And you see how Fve been blinkit.

Oh, fare ye weel, etc.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

172 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

Young men are fickle, I do know,

Young maids should ne'er believe them :

For though young maids were e'er sae true,
Young men they would deceive them.

Oh, fare ye weel, etc.

But ril put on a gown o** green,

For a forsaken token ;
And every one will very well know

That the band o' love'*s been broken.

Oh, fare ye weel, etc.

There's mony a hoi*se has snappert and fa'n.

And risen and gane fu' rarely ;
There's mony a lass has lost her lad.

And I hae lost mine fairly.

Oh, fare ye weel, etc.

There are as good fish in the sea

As ever yet were taken ;
ril cast my net and try again,

I've been but ance forsaken.

Oh, fare ye weel, etc.

I'll gae doun to bonnie Strichen toun.

Where I was bred and born ;
And there I'll get anither sweetheart,

Wha'll marry me the morn.

Then fare ye weel, ye Mormond braes,
Wheie aften I've been cheerie ;

Oh, fare ye weel, ye Mormond braes,
I'll get anither deane.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

MORMOND BRAES 173

Mr. John Cranna, Fraserburgh, to whom, among others, I am
indebted for a copy of this interesting north-country song, assures
me that it enjoyed an immense popularity in the Buchan district
from thirty to forty years ago ; and anybody who could sing it with
taste and expression was esteemed no mean artist. ''Its strains
captivated all classes," writes Mr. Cranna, " in those old days, when
the musical taste was not so severely classic as it is now, and when
Wagner, Verdi, Bach, and the host of lesser musical lights were an
unknown quantity in this remote corner of Buchan. To show the
general favour in which the song was held here about the time
I speak of, the fact has only to be mentioned that if a company was
allowed by the singer to choose the song *Mormond Braes was
almost invariably selected. The song may yet be common enough,
too, among the country people, but it must be quite thirty years
since I heard of it as the full dress effort of a soloi&t."

From notes I have otherwise gathered on the song it appears that
in some parts it was sung as if a man had been the jilted party,
while in others a woman was acknowledged to have been the victim
of decMt. By the substitution of lad for lass and be for she, and
vice versa, the verses, it will be seen, without being too critically
examined, might be easily applied to either sex. One of the verses,
however, has the expression which is common to all the versions —

** But III put on a goun o' green
For a forsaken token. "

And this of itself makes it clear beyond dispute that the song origin-
ally was tho moan of a maid, and not of a man.

Mr. James Moir, in his notes on Strichen, in the Peterhead
Sentinel some time ago, printed a version of the song, and said it
was written by an unknown poet, who was born and bred in
Strichen. ''Perhaps," »ays Mr. John Milne, of Maud, "he founds
this assertion on the fifth verse, which says :—

* I'll gae d<»un to bonnie Strichen toun.
Where I was bred and born.'

But the fifth verse is an interpolation, and was grafted on to the
original between the years 18^ and 1860, and many of our older
singers refuse to give it a place when singing the song. The popular
belief in the district has always been that the song was written by
Dr. Gavin, father of the present Dr. Gavin, of iStrichen. I have
no proof for this, other than the persistency of local gossip, but I
never heard another author hinted at." The version of the song
now submitted is collated slightly from at least half-a-dozen copies,
all varying in minor details, but none of them so singable as the
present copy should prove to be.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

174 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

BONNIE MALLY STEWART.

The cold winter is past and gone
And now conies on the spring,

And I am one of the Kings's Life-Guards
And must go fight for my King,

My dear,
And must go fight for my King.

Now since to the wai^s you must go.
One thing pray grant to me ;

That I dress myself in man's attire
And march along with thee.
My dear.
And march along witli thee.

I would not for ten thousand worlds
My love should danger know ;

The rattling of drums and shining swords
Would cause you sorrow and woe,

My dear.
Would cause you sorrow and woe.

I will do the thing for my true love

She will not do for me,
I'll put cuffs of black on my red coat.

And mourn till the day I dee.
My dear,

And mourn till the day I dee.

So farewell my father and my mother.

Farewell and adieu also.
And farewell my bonnie Mally Stewart,

The cause of all my woe.

My dear.

The cause of all my woe.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

BONNIE MALLY STEWART 175

When we came to bonnie Stirling toun,

As we all lay in tent ;
The King's orders came, and we are ta'en,

And to Germany are sent,
My dear.

And to Germany are sent.

So farewell bonnie Stirling toun.

And the maids therein also.
And farewell my bonnie Mally Stewart,

For from you I must go.

My dear.

For from you I must go.

She took the slippers aff her feet,

And the cockups aff her hair.
And she has ta"'en a lang journey

For seven lang years and mair,
My dear.

For seven lang years and mair.

Sometimes she rade, sometimes she gaed,

Sometimes sat doun to mourn.
And 'twas aye the overcome o' her tale.

Shall my oonnie lad e'er return.
My dear !

Shall ray bonnie lad e'er return I

The trooper turned himself about,

All on the Irish shore.
He has gi'en the bridle-reins a shake.

Saying, Adieu for evermore,
My dear.

Saying, Adieu for evermore.

This song, which I have copied mainly from an old eight-page
chapbook, * Sprinted and sold, wholesale and retail, byW. Macnie,
bookseller, Stirling," is of great interest, because undoubtedly the
original on which Burns modelled his splendid romantic lyric,
beginning, "It was a* for our Rightfu' King," a song over which
there has been much controversy.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

176 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

HOW SWEET THE ROSE BLAWS.

How sweet the rose blaws, it fades and it fa's ;

Red is the rose and bonnie, O !
It brings to my mind what my dear laddie was ;

So bloomed, — so cut off, was my Johnnie, O.

Now peace is returned, but nae joy brings to me :

Red is the rose and bonnie, O !
For cauld is his cheek, and blameless his e''e.

And nae mair beats the heart o"* my Johnnie, O.

Ah ! why did he love me, and leave those sweet
plains ?

Red is the rose and bonnie, O !
Where smiling contentment and peace ever reigns ;

But they'll ne'er bloom again for my Johnnie, O.

Nor to me will their beauty e'er pleasure impart,

Red is the rose and bonnie, O !
For sunk is my spirit and broken my heart :

Soon ril meet ne'er to part frae my Johnnie, O.

MALLY LEIGH.

When Mally Leigh came doun the street her capau-

chin did flee ;
She coost a look behind her to see her negligee.

We're a' gaun east and west,

We're a' gaun ajee ;
We're a' gaun east and west

Courting Mally Leigh.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

P ^' I L » I J I W^ >

MALLY LEIGH 177

She had twa lappets at her head, that flaunted

gallantlie,
And ribbon knots at back and breast o' bonnie

Mally Leigh.

WeVe a' gaun east and west, etc.

A' doun alang the Canongate were beaux o** ilk

degree,
And mony ane turned roun** to look at bonnie

Mally Leigh.

WeVe a^ gaun east and west, etc.

At ilka bab her pong-pong gied, ilk lad thought —

thafs to me.
But feint a ane was in the thought o' bonnie Mally

Leigh.

WeVe a' gaun east and west, etc.

Frae Seaton^s land a Countess fair looked owre a

window hie.
And pined to see the genty shape o** bonnie Mally

Leigh.

We're a' gaun east and west, etc.

And when she reached the Palace porch, there stood

earls three,
And ilk ane thocht his Kate or Moll a drab to

Mally Leigh.

WeVe a** gaun east and wefet, etc.

The dance gaed through the Palace ha\ a comely

sight to see,
And nane was there sae bright and braw as bonnie

Mally Leigh.

WeVe a** gaun east and west, etc.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

178

VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

Though some had jewels in their hair, like stars

^mang clouds did shine,
Yet Mally did surpass them a\ wi** but her glancing

een.

We're a' gaun east and west, etc.

A Prince cam' oot frae 'mang them a\ wi' garters at

his knee,
And danced a stately minuet wi'bonnie Mally Leigh.

WeVe a"" gaun east and west,

WeVe a' gaun ajee ;
We're a** gaun east and west

Courting Mally Leigh.

Here is a charming and clever song, in celebration of the many
winsome ways of an Edinburgh belle of the olden time. Why it has
not commanded a place in the popular collections is a curious prob-
lem. The first verse appears in a manuscript subsequent to 1760,
where, however, the name is Sleigh, and not Leigh. In 1/25,
Mrs. Mally Sleigh was married to the Lord Lyon Br<^ie of Brodie.
Allan Bamsay celebrates her. This song, we need scarcely doubt,
celebrates the same party.

p

LUBIN'S RURAL COT.

^ iS-

^

±iit:

Re - turn - ing home - wards o'er the plain, Up
St With anxious eye I look'd around To

^^^^^

T*^-

ibfc

ijfc^

on a mark • et
find some sheltered

I

day, A sudden storm of

spot. And from the storm I

D.S.

?

the

■*3:

way:
cot.

wind and rain O'er
shel • ter found In

took me on
Lub • in's rur

Digitized by VjOOQIC

LUBIN*S RURAL COT

179

Chorus.

q^!=l=

In

Lub

rur - al

cot,

# r ^ I li^F^

^5^

^^t*:

Lub - in's rur

cot!

And from the storm I

3=1=

^m

:it:i=

— mm

shel - ter found In

--i)--^

Lub - in's rur - al

Returning homewards o''er the plain,

Upon a market day,
A sudden storm of wind and rain

Overtook me on the way.
With anxious eye I looked around

To find some sheltered spot.
And from the storm I shelter found

In Lubin's rural cot.

The rain swept fiercely o'er the plain,

I saw the lightning glare.
But Lubin brought forth cakes and milk

And other kindly fare ;
It seem'd to me the sun within

Did shine, without when not.
So homely, happy, bright appeared

Young Lubin's rural cot.

This youth had long concealed a flame

Within his truthful breast ;
And when this happy moment came

His love he thus expressed —

Digitized by VjOOQIC

180 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

" Fair maid, if thou my love return,

And share my humble lot,
Then stay with me and mistress be

Of Lubin^s rural cof

His words so well did please my heart,

I trembling answerea ** Yes'' :
And said that I would faithful be —

We sealed it with a kiss.
Next day the wedding ring was bought,

I all my cares forgot :
I bless the day I shelter sought

In Lubin's rural cot.

This was a favourite soDg in the rural districts of Central Scot-
land more than half a century ago, and up to a very recent date
might be heard occasionally sung to its own air, at festal gatherings,
or in the turnip-field at hoeing- time, in Western Perthshire. It has
been sung also by country people in Devonshire in England. Indeed,
it was probably brought here from England by some wandering
Orpheus.

DONAU DON.

Wha hasna heard o' DonaV Don,
Wi** a' his tanterwallops on ;
I trow, he was a lazy drone,

And smuggled Hieland whisky, O.

When first he cam** to auld Dundee,
Twas in a smeeky hole lived he;
Where ganger bodies cou'*dna see.
He played the king a pliskie, O.

When he was young an' in his prime.
He lo'ed a bonnie lassie fine ;
She jilted him, and aye sin' syne

He's dismal, dull, and dusky, O.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

A WEE DRAPPIE 0*T

181

A bunch o** rags is a' his braws,

His heathery wig wad fricht the craws ;

His dusky face and clorty paws

Wad fyle the Bay o' Biscay, O.

He has a sark, he has but aiTe,
IVs fairly worn to skin an' bane,
A** loupin', like to rin its lane,

Wi' troopers bauld and frisky, O.

Whene'er his sark's laid out to dry,
The blockhead in his bed maun lie,
An' wait till a' the troopers die.

Ere he gangs oot wi' whisky, O.

Yet, here's a health to DonaP Don,
Wi' a' his tanterwallops on ;
An' may he never want a scone

While he mak's Hieland whisky, O.

This graphic and clever, though slightly uncouth, ditty, which I
have never seen in print, was common enough in all the valley of
the Tay about fifty years ago, and has not yet passed out of memory
in that district. The tune, as will be readily apprehended, is '' Neil
Gow's Fareweel to Whisky."

A WEE DRAPPIE O'T.

Oh ! life is a journey we a* hae to gang. And

W:^

--tt=^

ifcgi

SE^

^-,J t^-r:

care is the burden we car • ry alang ; But though

Digitized by VjOOQIC

182

VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

grief be our portion and pov-er - ty our lot, We are
happy a' the - gether owre a wee drappie o't.

' Chords.

^s

/T\

¥=F^S

m

i^^F?^

W

g

U-T— ig- g:

wee drappie o*t, a

i

^

:1tqs=

wee drappie o't; We are

e^

15=^

w

*=*t

sr^

*=*:

happy a' the - gether owre a wee drappie o't.

Oh, life is a journey we a' hae to gang,

And care is the burden we carry alang ;

But though grief be our portion and poverty our lot,

We are happy a' thegither owre a wee drappie o^t.

A wee drappie o''t, a wee drappie o't ;

We are happy a' thegither owre a wee drappie o't

Gae view the birk in winter, a' leafless and bare,

Resemblin' a man wi' a burden o' care ;

But see the birk in summer, wi' its braw, verdant

coat,
Rejoicin' like a man owre a wee drappie o't.

A wee drappie o^t, etc.

We're a' met thegither owre a glass and a sang,

We're a' met thegither by special comman' ;

Free frae a' mean ambition, and frae every evil

thought.
We're a' met thegither owre a wee drappie o't.

A wee drappie o't, etc.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

A WEE DRAPPIE 0*T 183

When friendship and truth and gude fellowship
reign,

And fouk grown auld are made youthfu' again ;

Where ilka heart is happy, and a** warldly cares for-
got.

Is when we'*re met thegither owre a wee drappie o't.

A wee drappie o't, etc.

Job in his Lamentation says man was made to

mourn,
That there's nae sic thing as pleasure frae the cradle

to the urn ;
But in his meditation, oh, he surely had forgot
The warmth that spreads sae sweetly owre a wee

drappie o'*t.

A wee drappie oH, etc.

A wee drappie o't mak'*s kmd hearts agree.

Yet a big drappie o*t mak''s a** true wisdom flee ;

So ilka chier that wants to wear an honest man's

coat.
Maun never ance tak' mair than j ust a wee drappie

o't.

A wee drappie o't, a wee drappie o't ;

We'll aye sit and tipple owre a wee drappie o't.

It has been s^id by a great critic of songs that love and wine are
the exclusive themes of song- writing. In Scotland certainly love
has commanded something like a monopoly of poetic attention. Our
best songs are our love songs. Yet we possess a few lyrics of a

Sorely social kind, including "Auld Lang Syne," and '* Willie
rewed a Peck o' Maut," which are, in their order, of the first class.
Not less successful is the present contribution to the social pro-
gramme, by an unknown hand, which happily is better described as
a temperance than a bacchanalian song. It is sung to the air of
another good song of the same class — ** Sae will we yet."

Digitized by VjOOQIC

184 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

BOSEY ANDERSON.

Hay Marshall was a gentleman as ever lived on

earth.
He courted Rosey Anderson, a lady into Perth ;
He courted her, he married her, made her his

wedded wife.
And at that day, I dare to say, he loved her as his

hfe.

There was an Assembly into Perth, and Rosey she

was there.
Lord Elgin danced with her that night, and did her

heart ensnare.
Lord Elgin danced with her that night, she walked

home on his arm.
Hay Marshall he came rushing in, in very great

alarm.

" I am all into surprise,**' he says, " I am all into

sui-prise.
To see you kiss my wedded wife before my very

eyes."
" Do not be in surprise," he says, " I'm near my own

abode.
And Fve conveyed your lady home from the dangers

on the road.

*' I did not kiss your wedded wife, nor did I with

her stay,
I only brought her safely home from the dangers of

the way."
" Oh, had she not a maid, a maid, of what was she

afraid ?
Oh, had she not a lantern her wayward steps to

guide?"

Digitized by VjOOQIC

^^ff^^9^^

ROSEY ANDERSON 185

Betty she was called upon, the quarrel for to face, —
" I would have brought my lady home, but Lord

Elgin took my place.'^
" Although you be a Lord,'^ he said, " and I but a

Provosfs son,
ril make you smart for this, my I^rd, although you

think it's fun."

He took his Rosey by the hand, and led her through

the room.
Saying, " Til send you up to fair London till all this

clash goes down ;
ni send you up to fair London, your mother to be

your guide,
And let them all say what they will, Til still be on

your side.''

Weeks barely nine she had not been into fair London

toun,
Till word came back to Hay Marshall that Rosey

play'd the loun :
"Oh, woe be to your roses red that ever I loved

you.
For to forsake your own husband amongst the beds

of rue."

A lady from a window high was spying with her

glass.
And what did sbe spy but a light grey gown rolling

amongst the grass ?
Hay Marshall had twenty witnesses, and Rosey had

but two :
" Waes me ! " cries Rosev Anderson. Alas ! what

shall I do .?

Digitized by VjOOQIC

186 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

" My very meat I cannot take, my clothes I wear

them worse:
Waes me ! *" cries Rosey Anderson : " my life to me's

a curse.
If it was to do what's done,"" she says, " if it was to

do what's done.
Hay Marshall's face I would adore. Lord Elgin's I

would shun.

" The Spring it is coming on, some regiments will be
here:

I hope to get an officer my broken heart to cheer."

Now she has got an officer her broken heart to bind ;

And now she's got an officer ; now he has proved un-
kind.

He's left her for to lie her lane, which causes her to

cry:
" In Bedlam I must lie my lane, in Bedlam I must

die!
Ye ladies all, both far and near, a warning take by

me.
And don't forsake your own husbands for any Lords

you see."

Who that has been reared in Perthshire has not heard of the
ballad of *' Rosey Anderson," which, fifty and more years ago, was
sung at all the markets and fairs in the valley of Strathmore, and
ever to greedy and delighted ears ? Though, not its poetry— not its
music— but the truth of its story alone, and the cause to which it
referred, we may be sure, made it the popular favourite it was.
The heroine was the only daughter of a merchant in Perth, and
evidently a too much indulged child, who at the age of sixteen was
married to Mr. Thomas Hay Marshall, another Perth merchant,
and ere while Lord Provost of the Fair City, To all appearance, the
husband and wife lived happily together for a^ number of years. But
the lady had been fond of gaiety, went gadding about to balls and
card assemblies, etc., while her husband, who had no taste for such
pursuits, stayed at home. Circumstances subsequently transpired
which led to a process of divorce being raised, the husband being the
appellant. After a keen and protracted litigation, extending over a

Digitized by VjOOQIC

LOVELY MOLLY

187

period of six years, a bill of divorce was granted. Afterwards the
unfortunate Rosey Anderson became so abandoned as to be com-
pelled to seek for a living on the streets of London.

These things happened towards the close of the eighteenth and
about the beginning of the last century. The nobleman mentioned
in the ballad, it wul.be interesting to know, who it was admitted
had been in the habit of meeting Mrs. Marshall on KinnouU Hill,
was afterwards British Ambassador at Constantinople, and none
other than the individual who obtained permission from the Sultan
of Turkey to remove the Marbles, which were gradually perishing,
from Athens to Great Britain, and which are now in the British
Museum, and commonly known as "The Elgin Marbles." All
curious enough this, surely.

LOVELY MOIXY.

±i=z

i

^

-i^—w—i^

As

Molly was milk - ing her yowes on

-0

3

±2:

day, Oh, by came young Jam - ie, who to her did

say, — " Your Angers go nimbly, your yowes they milk

i

^^^^^

=^=S=

zwt^r.

:cz

-nir^-d

free;

Ca'

the

i

^

?^

zt

yowes to the knowes,

lovely Molly.

As Molly was milking her yowes on a day.
Oh, by crame young Jamie, who to her did say, —
" Your fingers go nimbly, your yowes they milk free;
C(C the yowes to the knowes^ lovely Molly ! ""

Digitized by VjOOQIC

188 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

"Oh, where is your father?"'' the young man he

said ;
" Oh, where is your father, my tender young maid ?''
" He^s up in yon greenwood a-waiting for me.'''*

Ca the yowen to the knowes^ lovely Molly !

" My father''s a shepherd, has sheep on yon hill.
If you get his sanction Fll be at your will ;
And if he does grant it right glad will I be."
Co" the yowes to the knowes^ lovely Molly !

" Good morning, old man, you are herding your

flock,
I want a yowe lamb to rear a new stock ;
I want a yowe lamb, and the best maun she be.*"

CcC the yowes to the knozves^ lovely Molly !

*' Go down to yon meadow, choose out your own

lamb.
And be sure you are welcome as any young man ;
You are heartily welcome — the best may she be.'"

Co" the yowes to the knowes^ lovely Molly !

He's down to yon meadow, ta'en Moll by the hand.

And soon before the old man the couple did stand :

Says, "This is the yowe lamb I purchased from thee.""

Co" the yowes to the ktiowes^ lovely Molly !

" Oh, was e''er an auld man so beguiled as I am.
To sell my a'e daughter instead of a lamb !
Yet, since I have said it, e'en sae let it be.""
CcC the yowes to the knowesy lovely Molly !

Mr. John Graham, Comrie, who supplied me with the bulk of the
above song recently, said he had a day or two previously copied the
verses from an old man of his acquaintance who used to sing the
song in his youth. Other correspondents, who have supplied ver-
sions nearly similar, remember the song as one common at country
social meetings in Perthshire about the middle of last century.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

NAEBODY COMIN* TO MARRY ME 189

NAEBODY COMIN' TO MARRY ME.

Yestreen the dogs they were barking,

I gaed to the gate to see,
When every lassie was sparking.
Yet naebody comin** to me.

O dear, what shall become o' me,

O dear, what shall I do ?

Naebody comin' to marry me,

Naebody comin' to woo.

Last time that I went to my prayers,

I prayed for the half o' a day.
Come cripple, come lame, come blind.

Come somebody take me away.
O dear, etc.

My father's a hedger and ditcher,
My mither does naething but spin.

And I am a handsome young lassie ;
'Tis siller comes slowly in.
O dear, etc.

There's some say Fm bonnie and fair,
Some say Fm scornfu' and bauld,

Alas I I am maist in despair.
Because I am grow in** sae auld.
O dear, etc.

If it comes that I dee an auld maid,
O dear, how shocking a thought !

And a' my beauty maun fade,
Fm sure it'll no be 'my fau't.
O dear, etc.

The late David Kennedy, the singer, it will be remembered, was
wont to lUt a verse of the above song in the course of the story he
told so well of ** Saunders M'Glashan's Courtship." Perhaps I have
not been able to recover it all.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

190 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

DO YE MIND LANG SYNE.

Do ye mind lang syne,

When the simmer days were fine.
When the sun it shone far brichter than it's ever
dune sin' syne ?

Do ye mind the ha'brig turn.

Where we guddled in the burn.
An' were late for the schule in the mornin' ?

Do you mind the sunny braes.

Where we gathered hips an' slaes,
An' fell amang the bramble busses, tearin' a' our
claes ;

An' for fear we might be seen.

We cam' slippin' hame at e'en,
An' got licket for our pains in the mornin' ?

Do ye mind the miller's dam.

When the frosty winter cam',
Hoo we slade across the curlers' rink, an' made their
game a sham ;

When they chased us through the snaw.

We took leg-bail ane an' a' ;
But we did it owre again in the mornin' ?

What famous fun was there,

Wi' our games at " hounds-an'-hare,"
An' we played the truant frae the schule, because it
was the Fair ;

When we ran frae " Patie's Mill,"

Thro' the wuds on Whinnyhill,
An' were thrashed wF the tawse in the mornin' I

Digitized by VjOOQIC

DO YE MIND LANG SYNE I^I

Where are thae licht hearts noo

That were ance sae leal an' true ?
Oh ! some hae left this earthly scene, an' some are
strugglin' thro\

While some hae risen high

In life's changefu' destiny,
For they rose wi** the lark in the mornin\

Noo youth's sweet spring is past.

An' the autumn's come at last ;
Our simmer day has passed away, an' winter's comin'
fast;

But though lang the nicht may seem,

May we sleep without a dream
Till we wauken on yon bricht Sabbath mornin'.

The above has been a popular song over all Scotland for a good
many years, and was some time established in public favour, too,
before the author's name was ever so much as mentioned in connec-
tion with it. I had the privilege, considerably more than a decade
ago, to issue it for the first time with the author's name attached,
together with some particulars of his career. It was composed by
the Rev. Dr. George James Laurie, of Monkland, Ayrshire, who was
born in 1797 (the year after the death of Robert Burns), and died as
recently as 1878. Dr. Laurie's grandfather and father were succes-
sively the ministers of Loudoun parish. They enjoyed the intimate
friendship of the National Poet, and greatly esteemed his genius.
Over the door of Loudoun Manse, indeed, there is still to the fore, I
believe, an inscribed quotation from a writing of Burns' which has
reference to the Laurie family.

The air of the song is the well-known one of "John Peel." The
reverend author himself was wont to sing it with much zest and
feeling. And in the later years of his life, after some of the mem-
bers of his family had been removed by death, when he came to the
stanza beginning —

"Where are thae licht hearts noo,"

it has been told, his voice began to quiver with emotion, and the
tears would be seen coursing down his still handsome and kindly
expressive face.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

192

VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

THE WEE COOPER O^ FIFE.

tfc

^^. s -

i

h h h h :^

■^-^-

ITierc was a wee cooper that lived in Fife,

Cho. f Verse.

:|t=isr

=£

-k — g-

Nick - et - y - nack - ct

noo, noo, noo; And

Cho. /

he has gotten a gen - tic wife. Hey Willie Wallacky,

/7>

-f—r-r

::p=e

^H?

5=t2=^d:*=*

how John Dougall ; A - lane, quo' Rush - i - ty, roue, roue, roue.

There was a wee cooper that lived in Fife,
Nickety-naekety, noo, noo, noo ;

And he has gotten a gentle wife,

Hey Willie Wallacky, how John Dougall ;
Alane, quo** Rushity, roue, roue, roue.

She wadna bake, nor she wadna brew,

Nickety, etc..
For the spoiling o' her comely hue.

Hey Willie, etc.

She wadna card, nor she wadna spin,

Nickety, etc..
For the shaming o** her gentle kin,

Hev Willie, etc.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE WEE COOPER O* FIFE 195

She wadna wash, nor she wadna wring,

Nickety, etc.,
For the spoiling o** her gowden ring,

Hey Willie, etc.

The cooper'^s awa*" to his woo pack,

Nickety, etc..
And he's laid a sheep skin on his wife's back.

Hey Willie, etc.

^* It's ril no thrash ye for your proud kin,

Nickety, etc..
But I will thrash my ain sheep skin.

Hey Willie, etc.''

^' Oh ! I will bake and I will brew,

Nickety, etc.
And never mair think on my comely hue,

Hey Willie, etc.

^' Oh ! I will card and I will spin,

Nickety, etc..
And never mair think on my gentle kin.

Hey Willie, etc.

^' Oh ! I will wash and I will wring,

Nickety, etc..
And never mair think on my gowden ring,

Hey Willie, etc."

A' ye wha hae gotten a gentle wife,
Nickety-nackety, noo, noo, noo.

Send ye for the wee cooper o' Fife,

Hey Willie Wallacky, how John Dougall ;
Alane, quo' Rushity, roue, roue, roue.

13

Digitized by VjOOQIC

194

VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

Neither Ramsay nor Herd has any notice of this song. It is not
mentioned by Chambers in , Scottish Songs prior to BumSy and
"Whitelaw prints it without comment. Notwithstanding, it must
have been in existence, I think, before the publication of the Tea-
Table Miscellany.

The late David Kennedy used to sing it with rare effect, and I
would recommend it unreservedly to anyone who may be on the
outlook for a really entertaining, humorous Scotch song.

That the "Wee Cooper" was a veritable character, and that the^
incidents of the song really happened there is little reason to doubt ;.
rather, we would say, the enigmatical nature of the refrain—

" Hey, Willie Wallacky, how John Dougall,
Alane, quo' Rushity, roue, roue, roue " —

substantiates the reality of its subject-matter. These words must
have some meaning ; and the characters they introduce must have
stood in such relationship to the '* cooper " as to give colouring and
effect to the song, or the author, who was assuredly no novice in the
art, would not have introduced them. Any explanation of^he lines,
is, of course, simply hazarding a solution. Our wise and good
friend, the late Mr. W. D. LattOj the editor of the People's Journal,
writing in this regard, says : —

"The words * nickety-nackety * may have had some reference to-
the hero's profession, which was that of a cooper, being intended,
perhaps to imitate the sounds produced by the cooper*s tools as he
prosecuted his daily avocations. The allusions to * Willie^
Wallacky * and * John Dougall ' are not difficult of explanation.
Mr. William Wallacky and Mr. John Dougall bad, doubtless, been
old sweethearts of this * gentle wife.* They had been displaced in
the affections of the good lady by the superior address of the Wee
Cooper, who intimates in a rather obscure way that he rue, rue,
rued the luckless day whereon he had been buckled to such a lazy,,
useless ' limmer o' a lassie. * " This speculative interpretation should
be readily accepted, as it supplies a more intelligent reading of the
song than most people without it could possibly enjoy.

BONNIE JOHNNIE LOWRIE.

Lively.

Of a' the lads in Tinwald toun, The lovely fair, or black, or broun,

^p:^

=F^

:t2=l?

s^

gl ^_jLl

There never was sae droll a loon As bonnie Johnnie Lowrie.

Digitized by

Google

BONNIE JOHNNIE LOWRIE

195

$

Chorus.

q==1:

S N

S

:r=S=

^

'^^^^^

:it=#

Tenrie owcTcn dowdcn day,
IK

Terric owden dowden day.

The queerest loon in laich or brae, Is bonnie Johnnie Lowrie.

Of a' the lads in Tinwald toun,
The lovely fair, or black, or broun,
There never was sae droll a loon
As bonnie Johnnie Lowrie.

Terrie owden dowden day,
Terrie owden dowden day,
The queerest loon in laich or brae.
Is bonnie Johnnie Lowrie.

My dad a peck o' lint did sow,
I gaed to see how it did grow.
When wha come skipping owre the knowe.
But bonnie Johnnie lowrie.

I wandered oot to weed the same.
My laddie ken'd I was frae haine ;
To follow me he wasna lame,
My bonnie Johnnie Lowrie.

I took the flax unto the mill.
My jewel followed after still ;
And coming hame I gat a gill
Frae bonnie Johnnie Lowrie.

When I gaed to the Bar to shear,
Close at my heels I had my dear ;
I in the kemp the gree did bear
Wi** bonnie Johnnie Lowrie.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

196

VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

And when I went to the Rood-fair,
I wat I didna want my share
O** a** the good things that were there,
Frae bonnie Johnnie Lowrie.

At last, a''e nicht, into the park,
I met wi' him when it was dark,
And, oh, the kissin' that I gat
Frae bonnie Johnnie Lowrie !

But Johnnie''s true ; he did me wed ;
Yestreen before the priest we gaed ;
I carena noo for mam or dad.
Sin' I hae Johnnie Lowrie.

A fig, say I, for jacking gown.
Or priest or elder in the toun ;
I'll tak' the warld, rough and roun\
Wi' bonnie Johnnie Lowrie.

tTntil recently I knew this song by name only, though, by name,
very well ; and the copy here presented — with slight modifications
— I discovered in a chap-book, printed at Kilmarnock (no date),
which contains besides " Willie was a Wanton Wag," "Bailie Kicol
Jarvie*s Journey to Aberfoyle," " Whistle and I'll come to you, my
lad," and "Scottish Whiskie." The mention of Tinwald in the
opening line marks the song as presumably a native of Dumfries-
shire.

THE BAND O' SHEARERS.

4 f ^ :: — 7

=P=p:

:g=^

'^

z. When Autumn comes, and heather bells Bloom

^.

S

::ff::?K

3;

-^ \ 1

bonnie owre yon muir - land fells, And com that waves in

Repeat Chortis, ad lib^ using words of verse ^.

rV.r-J^^

=&i

low - land dells Is yell • ow

ripe ap - pear - mg.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE BAND O' SHEARERS 197

When autumn comes, and heather bells
Bloom bonnie ower yon muirland feUs^
And corn that waves in lowland dells
Is yeDow ripe appearing.

My bonnie lassie will ye gang
And shear wi** me the hale day lang^
And love will make us eithly bang
The weary toil o' shearing.

And if the others should envy
Or say we love, then you and I
Will pass ilk other sleely by,
As if we were na caring.

But aye I wi** my hook will whang
The thistles, if in prickles strang
Your bonnie milk-white hands they wrang
When we gang to the shearing.

And aye well hand our rig afore,
And ply to hae the shearing o'er ;
Syne you will sune forget you bore
Your neebours* gibes and jeering.

For then, my lassie, well be wed.
When we hae proof o' ither had,
And nae mair need to mind what's said,
When we're thegether shearing.

Many a time and oft bare I as a boy been charmed by the singing
of this song on the way to and from the '* hairst-rig," and by singers
who had no idea that the words originally came from a nephew of
the **£ttriok bhepherd"— Kobert U.*gg, to wit, who belongtd to
Stobo, in Peebles-Hhire, and was born in 1799. The days.cf ''oands
of shearers ** have gone by for ever in Scotknd, but so long as the
memory of them lasts tfaiis song will have a sweet savour. I am
indebted to Mr. Alan Keid of Edinburgh for the pleasing melody.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

198 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

LASSIE WV THE YELLOW COATIE.

Lassie wi' the yellow coatie,
Will ye wed a muirlan' Jockie ?
Lassie wi' the yellow coatie
Will ye busk an' gang wi' me ?

I hae meal and milk in plenty,
I hae kail an' cakes fu' dainty ;
Fve a but an' ben fu' genty,
But I want a wife like thee.

Lassie wi*" the yellow coatie, etc.

Although my maileu be but sma\
An' little gowd I hae to shaw,
I hae a heart without a flaw,
An' I will gi'e it a' to thee.

Lassie wf the yellow coatie, etc.

Wi' my lassie an' my doggie,
O'er the lea an' through the boggie,
Nane on earth was e'er sae vogie.
Or as blythe as we will be.

Lassie wi' the yellow coatie, etc.

Haste ye, lassie, to my bosom
While the roses are in blossom ;
Time is precious, dinna lose them —
Flowers will fade, an** sae will ye.

Lassie wi** the yellow coatie.
Ah ! tak' pity on your Jockie ;
Lassie wi' the yellow coatie,
I'm in haste, an' sae should ye.

Fifty years ago, this was a popular song in Perthshire, to which
county by authorship it belongs. The writer, James Duff, known
as **The Methven Poet," was a gardener to trade, and flourished in
the early years of last century. A volume of his poems was pub-
lished at Perth in 1816.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

WE'RE A' JOHN TAMSON'S BAIRNS 199

WKRE A^ JOHN TAMSON'S BAIRNS.

John Tamson was a merry auld carle,

And reign'd proud king o' the Dee ;
A braw laird, weel-to-do in the warP,

For raony a farm had he,
And mony a servant-maid and man.

Wham he met aft a year ;
And fu' proud and jolly he wav'd his han'

While they sang wi' richt guid cheer —

O ! we're a** John Tamson's bairns.
We're a' John Tamson's bairns.

There ne'er will be peace till the world
again

Has learned to sing wi' micht and main,
O I we're a' John Tamson's bairns 1

John Tamson sat at the table head.

And sipp'd the barley-bree ;
And drank success to the honest and gude.

And heaven when they would dee.
But the tyrant loon, the ne'er-do-weel.

The leear, the rake, and the knave.
The sooner they a' were hame wi* the deil,

Lod ! the better for a' the lave.

O ! weVe a** John Tamson's bairns, etc.

Since Adam fell ftke Eden's bower,

And put things sair ajee.
There's aye some weakness to look owre,

And folly to forgi'^e.
And John would sit and chat sae proud.

And just before he'd gang.
He'd gi'e advice and blessings gude.

Till roof and rafters rang

Wi', we're a' John Tamson's bairns, etc.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

too VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

Then here's to you, and here's to mysel*,

Sound hearts, lang life, and glee ;
And if you be weel as I wish you a\

Gude faith, you'll happy be.
Then let us do what gude we can,

Though the best are whiles to blame,
For in spite o' riches, rank, and Ian',

Losh man I we are a' the same.

For we're a' John Tamson^s bairns, etc.

Quite a number of songs have appeared under this title, but tbe
present, though perhaps not the first, and not included in any of
the standard collections, enjoys much the largest popularity. When
it has appeared in print the author's name has been seldom given,
though we know it was written by Dr. Joseph Roy, of Glasgow.
Dr. Boy was bom of Scottish parents at Ballybeams, County Down^
Ireland, in May, 1841. Early in life he mierated to Glasgow, where
he attended the University, and afterwards est<ablished himself in
medical practice in the east end of the city.

THE WARK O' THE WEAVERS.

We're a' met thegether here to sit and to crack,
Wi' a gless in our hand, and our wark on our back.
For there is na a tradesman that can either mend or
mak'

But what wears the wark o' the weaves.

An' it werena the weavers what wad we do ?
We wadna get claith made o' our 'oo ;
We wadna get a coat, either black or blue.
An' it werena for the honourable weavers.

There's fouk independent o' ither tradesmen's wark.
For women need nae barber — dykers need nae clerk ;
But there's no ane o' them a' but needs a coat or
sark.

Which maun be the wark o' some weaver.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE WARK O' THE WEAVERS 201

Tbe ploughmen lads they mock us, and speak aye

aboot^s,
And say we are thin-faced, bleachM-like clouts ;
But yet for a' their mockery they canna do with-

oot's —

Na, they canna want the honourable weavers.

There's smiths, and there's wrights, and there's-

masons an' a',
There's doctors, and dominies, and men that live by

law,
And our friends that bide atour the sea in South

America,

And they a' need the wark o' the weavers.

Our sodgers and our sailors, o'd ! we mak' them a"

bauld,
For gin they hadna claes, faith, they couldna fecht

for cauld ;
The high and low, the rich and puir — a'body, young

and auld,

Mair or less need the wark o' the weavers.

So the weavin's a trade that never can fail,
While we aye need a clout to baud anither hale ;
So let us now be merry ower a bicker o' gude ale.
And drink to the health o' the weavers.

For 'twema the weavers what wad we do ?
We wadna get claith made o' our 'oo ;
And the very best o' tailors wad get nae-
thing to sew.
An' it werena for the honourable weavers.

This is the second lilt of the muse of David Shaw (see " The Pariar
Sod^or ") to which, by virtue of its vagabond career, I have been con*
strained to ^ve a place in this collection. Himself a weaver, th&
author set his claim beyond dispute to be the accepted laureate of the

Digitized by VjOOQIC

202 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

fidging fraternity, locally, if not generally. In felicitous measures,
once and again, he sang the joys and sorrows of the shuttle-drivinfjr
<jraft. Thus, in "Tainmie Treadlefeet." who lived in "Shuttle Ha*,"
he tells that

'* The weaver lads were merry blades

When Osnaburgs sell'd weel,

And when the price o' ilka piece

Did pay a bow o' meal ;
Then fouks got sale for beef and veal,

For cash was rife wi' everybody,
And ilka alehouse ha4 the smell
0' roas'en pies and reekin' toddy."

Now, alas (about the middle of last century), an evil time had fallen
•on the handloom weaver ; but he hopes to "see the day when trade
would tak' a loup," and the weavers would again rejoice,

** Wi' fouth o' ale frae cask and pail,
Or foamin' in a luggit bicker ;
Forbye a dose o' gude thick brose,
And draps o' gin to hand them siccar."

In "The Wark o* the Weavers" he claims a dignity for the craft it
would be difficult to dispute ; and at the same time supplies an
ingenious and amusing song. It was originally composed for and sung
at the annual meeting of the Forfar Weavers' Friendly Society ; but
lias been sung often since then, and far from the town of Forfar.

THE WEARY FARMERS.

There''s some that sing o** Comar Fair,

An^ sound oat an alarm,
But the best sane that e''er was sung.

It was about the terra ;
The term-time is drawing near

When we will a"* win free,
An' wi' the weary farmers

Again we'll never 'gree.

Singing, fal al al the derry,

Fal al the dee ;
Fal the diddle al the derry,

Fal al the dee.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE WEARY FARMERS 203

Wi' broad-taird coats and qaaker hats,

And whips below their arms,
Theyll hawk and ca' the country round

Until they a' get farms.
Their boots a' glawr, and glitterin**

Wi' spurs upon their heels ;
Yet though ye ca' the country round

Ye winna find sic deils.

They'll tip you on the shoulder

And speir gin yeVe to fee ;
They'll i^U ye a fine story.

That's every word a lee ;
They'll tell you a fine story,

And get ye to perform ;
But, lads, when ye are under them

Ye'U stand the raging storm.

They'll tak' ye to an alehouse

And gie ye some sma' beer ;
They'll tak' a drap unto therasel's

Till they get better cheer ;
And when the bargain's ended

They'll toll ye out a shillin'.
And grunt and say the siller's scarce —

The set o' leein' villains !

On cauld kail and tawties

They'll feed ye up like pigs,
While they sit at their tea and toast,

Or ride into their gigs.
The mistress must get '' Mem " — ^and ye

Maun lift yer cap to her ;
And ere ye find an entrance

The master must get " Sir."

Digitized by VjOOQIC

t04 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

The harvest time, when it comes on

They'll grudge ye Sabbath rest ;
Theyll let you to the worship.

But they like the workin' best.
The diet hour it vexes them,

And then to us they'll say —
" Come on, my lads, ye'U get your rest

When lyin' in the clay.*^

They'll say unto the foreman,

" Keep on when leading grain,
And dinna let the orra lads

Stand idle at the end ;
I pay them a' good wages.

And pray ye to get on ;
For when they're dead and in the grave

There's mair when they are done."

Here is a bothy song that has been long popular over a wide area
in Scotland, and copies of it that have come to me from ploughmen in
vanons widely-separated quarters show haw little the text has suffered
or changed in the course of its strictly oral and wandering career. It
may be, as I am fain to regard it, more like a kick at existing circum-
stances — tdways a gratifying exercise to most people — than the result
of any real determination on the part of the unknown author or singer^
to change the order of his occupation at the next opportunity ; for
certainly it has been sung as enthusiastically at fovs and other gather-
ings, by those who meant to *' fee again " for another term as by those
who did not. Farmers' sons, even, have been wont to sing it with as
much birr in the big houses above as the ploughmen in the bothies
below. The air will be found with *^ Mossie and his Mare.^

LOVE WILL FIND OUT THE WAY.

Over the mountains.

And under the waves,
Over the fountains.

And under the graves ;

Digitized by VjOOQIC

I^VE WILL FIND OUT THE WAY 209

Under floods that are deepest
Which do Neptune obey ;

Over rocks that are steepest
Love will find out the way.

Where there is no place

For the glow-worm to lie ;
Where there is no place

For the receipt of a fly ;
Whei-e the midge dare not venture

I iest herself fast she lay ;
If Love come, he will enter

And soon find out the way.

You may esteem him

A child in his force,
Or you may deem him

A coward, which is worse ;
But if she whom Love doth honour

Be concealed from the day,
Set a thousand guards upon her.

Love will find out the way.

Some think to lose him,

Which is too unkind ;
And some do suppose him.

Poor thing, to be blind ;
But if ne'er so close you wall him,

Do the best you may,
Blind Love, if so you call him.

He will find out the way.

You may train the eagle

To stoop to your fist ;
Or you may inveigle

The Phoenix of the East ;

Digitized by VjOOQIC

206 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

The lioness, you may move her

To give over her prey,
But youll never stop a lover —

He will find out the way.

The Gordian knot

Which true-lovers knit.
Undo it ye cannot.

Nor yet break it ;
Make use of your inventions

Their fancies to betray ;
To frustrate their intentions

Love will find out the way.

In Court and in cottage.

In bower and in hall ;
From the king to the beggar

Love conquers all.
Though ne'er so stout and lordly^

Strive or do what you may ;
Yet, be you ne''er so hardy,

Love will find out the way.

Love hath power over princes

And greatest emperors ;
In any provinces.

Such is Love'^s powers.
There is no resisting.

But him to obey ;
In spite of all contesting.

Love will find out the way.

If that he were hidden.

And all men that are
Were strictly forbidden

That place to declare ;

Digitized by VjOOQIC

LINTEN LOWRIN 207

Winds that have no abidings,

Pitying their delay,
Would come and bring him tidings,

And direct him the way.

If the earth should part him,

He would gallop it o'er ;
Let the seas o'erthwai-t him,

He would swim to the shore ;
Should his love become a swallow

Through the air to stray.
Love will find wings to follow,

And will find out the way.

There is no striving.

To cross his intent ;
There is no contriving

His plots to prevent ;
But if once the message greet him

That his true-love doth stay.
If death should come and meet him,

Love will find out the way.

** This admirable old song " as Allan Cunningham not unwarrant-
ably calls it, is common both to Scotland and England, tliough in
which of the countries it originated may never be known. Percy
includes a version of it in his ReliqwSf and perhaps gave it, as
Ritson believes, **a few of his own brilliant touches." But it forms
the forty-fifth song in the second edition of the Aberdeen Canttcs,
printed as earlv as 1666, and Kamsay again has an abbreviated copy^
in the Tea-Taole Miscellany ^ issued in 1724. Sometimes it is printed
in two parts, with more verses than are here. I have given the song
as I have been accustomed hearing it sung to the extreme delight of
many a country audience.

LINTEN LOWRIN.

I shear'd my first hairst in Bogend,
Doun bv the fit o' Benachie ;

And sair I wrought and sair I fought.
But I wan out my penny fee.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

208

VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

Liiiten lowrin, lowrin linten,
Linten lowrin, linten lee ;

ni gang the gait I cam' again,
And a better bairnie I will be.

O ! Rhynie's wark is ill to work,
And Rhynie's wages are but sma' ;

And Rhynie's laws are double straight,
And that does grieve me maist o' a\

Linten lowrin, etc.

O ! Rhynie is a Hieland place.
It doesna suit a Lawland loon :

And Rhynie is a cauld clay hole.
It is na like my fai therms toun.

Linten lowrin, etc.

An old Aberdeenshire song this, which had seen little of the
printed page until gathered into Hongs of the Sorlh, by Miss A. C.
Macleod and Mr. Harold Boulton, only a few years ago.

I

FAREWELL TO FIUNARY.

Slow and sustained.

§3^

^^

^^

ElE?

The wind is fair,

the day

fine, And

i

1=3*:

^gS^piSip^^^

qiii=qs:

swiftly, swiftly runs the time ; The boat is floating

S=

^=^--

on the tide That wafts me far from Fuin - ar - y.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

FAREWELL TO FIUNARY

209

Chorus.

^- — I*-

3§E5

-*=*=

=^^-^^^

Eirich agus tiugaiim 1 Eirich agus tiugainn O !

Eirich agus tiugainn O ! Farewell, farewell to Finn • ar • y.

Eirich agus tiugainn, O !
Eirich agus tiugainn, O !
Eirich agus tiugainn, O !

Farewell, farewell to Fiunary.

The wind is fair, the day is fine.
And swiftly, swiftly runs the time ;
The boat is floating on the tide

That wafts me oft* from Fiunary.

Eirich, etc.

A thousand thousand tender ties
Awake this day my plaintive sighs ;
My heart within me almost dies

At thought of leaving Fiunary.

Eirich, etc.

With pensive steps Fve often strolPd
Where FingaFs Castle stood of old,
And listened while the shepherds told
The legend tales of Fiunary.

Eirich, etc.

14

Digitized by VjOOQIC

210 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

I've often paused at close of day
Where Ossian sang his martial lay,
And viewed the sun's departing ray

When wand'ring o'er Dun-Fiunary.
Eirich, etc.

Aultan Caluch's gentle stream,
That murmurs sweetly through the green,
What happy, joyful days I've seen,
Beside the banks of Fiunary.
Eirich, etc.

Farewell, ye hills of storm and snow.
The wild resorts of deer and roe.
In peace the heath-cock long may crow
Along the banks of Fiunary.
Eirich, etc.

It's not the hills, nor woody vales.
Alone my joyless heart bewails ;
A mournful group this day remains
Within the Manse of Fiunary.
Eirich, etc.

Can I forget Glen Turrit's name ?
Farewell, dear father, best of men.
May Heaven's joys with thee remain
Within the Manse of Fiunary.
Eirich, etc.

Mother ! a name to me so dear.
Must I, must I leave thy care.
And try a world that's full of snares
Far, far from thee and Fiunary ?
Eirich, etc.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

FAREWELL TO FIUNARY 211

Brother of my love, farewell —
Sister, all thy griefs conceal —
Thy teal's suppress, thy sorrows quell,
Be happy while at Fiunary.

Eirich, etc.

Archibald ! my darling child,
May Heaven thy infant footsteps guide.
Should I return, Oh, may I fina
Thee smiling still at Fiunary.

Eirich, etc.

Oh ! must I leave these happy scenes.
See, they spread the flapping sails ;
Adieu, adieu my native plains.
Farewell, farewell to Fiunary.

Eirich agus tiugainn, O !
Eirich agus tiugainn, O !
Eirich agus tiugainn, O !

Farewell, farewell to Fiunary.

It is seldom that a social gathering anywhere in all the Western
Isles is dispersed, I am told, without the company singing as their
parting song — ^just as in the Lowlands we sing ** Auld Lang Syne " —
the Gktelic version of ** Farewell to Fiunary,' which was written by
Dr. Norman M'Leod of St. Mungo's, the father of the ** great " Dr.
Norman M'Leod of the Barony, Glasgow. The refrain — "Eirich
agus tiugainn, O ! "—it may be as well to explain, means " Arise
and Come Away." Not often, surely, has a song with so much in it
personal and particular to the author been as widely adopted to ex-
press a common sentiment. But now, by virtue of use and wont,
"Fiunary" to the Western Highlander is just another name for
home.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

212

VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

THE BONNET O' BLUE.

^

:f^^

-JLZZ^^

It was down in Green willow, a town in York - shire, I

^

--fr=M.-=.-^^

lived in great splendour, and free from all care ;

I

f

=P=P^

^i^

^ lived in great splendour, had" sweethearts no few, Till
^ fc_

/ -* ^ ns

N N '

iS 1 1 i

»^ ^ -J S S H R h ^

^

^ ^ ^ ^

\k ) ^ m J J^ J h J ^

d

^ '- ^s^^V C^

wounded by a bonnie boy and his bonnet

blue.

It was down in Greenwillow, a town in Yorkshire,
I lived in great splendour, and free from all care ;
I lived in great splendour, had sweethearts no few,
Till wounded by a bonnie boy and his bonnet o' blue.

There came a troop of soldiers, as you now shall hear.
From Scotland to Kingston, abroad for to steer :
There is one man amongst them I wish I neV knew,
He''s a bonnie Scotch lad and his bonnet o' blue.

His cheeks are like roses, his eyes black as sloes.
He is handsome and proper, wherever he goes ;
Likewise he'^s good-natured and comely to view.
And right well he becomes his fine bonnet o' blue.

It was early one morning I rose from my bed,
I called upon Sally, my own waiting-maid.
Saying, " Dress me as fine as your two hands can do,
And ril go seek my lad and his bonnet o' blue.*"

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE BONNET O' BLUE 213

So quickly she dressed me, as quickly I came,
To mingle with persons and hear my love's name ;
Charlie Stuart they called him, I felt it was true,
My bonnie young lad with his bonnet </ blue.

When I came to the regiment, tliey were on parade,
I stood with great pleasure to hear what was said ;
His name^s Charlie Stuart, I love him most true,
My bonnie young lad with his bonnet o' blue.

My love he marched by with his gun in his hand,
I strove to speak to him, but he would not stand ;
I strove to speak to him, but away past he flew.
And away went my heart with his bonnet o' blue.

I said, " My dear jewel, Til buy your discharge,
ni free you from soldiering, and set you at large ;
ril free you from soldiering if your heart will prove

true.
And I'^ll ne'er cast a stain on your bonnet o' blqe.''

He says, " My dear lassie, you'll buy my discharge.
You'll free me from soldiers and set me at large ?
For your very kind offer I bow, ma'am, to you.
But I'll ne'er wear a stain on my bonnet o' blue.

" I have a sweet girl in my own country town
Who I ne'er will forsake, although poverty frown ;
To the girl that I love I will always prove true,
And I'll ne'er put a stain on my bonnet o' blue."

I will send for a limner, from London to Hull,
I'll have my love's picture drawn out in the full ;
And in my bed chamber I often will view
My bonnie Scotch lad and his bonnet o' blue.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

214 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

The **blue bonnet," being a distinguishing badge of the High-
landers, and more particularly of those attached to the family of the
Koyal Stuarts, receives frequent celebration in Scottish song, but in
no instance, where it is the main theme, with perhaps the single
exception of "All the Blue Bonnets are over the Biorder," has it
moved the hearts and charmed the sensibilities of the rural popula-
tion of Scotland oftener than through the medium of the above
unsophisticated ballad, which has been seldom printed, unless in the
broad-sheets commonly sold by hawkers at country fairs, etc.
I have not met with a copv of it in anj book, indeed, except in
W. H. Logan's Pedlars Pack of Ballads and Songt; and the version
there printed, I am sure, is not so near to the form in which it was
wont to be sung, and as I have, happily, been able to produce it.
Perthshire people especially are familiar with "The Boi.net o*
Blue," and the above version of it, as a song much sung by a wan-
dering character named Katie Craigie.

THE WAGGIN^ O' OUR DOG'S TAIL.

We ha'e a dog that wags his tail —
He's a bit o' a wag himseP, O !

A' day he wanders thro' the toun —
At nicht has news to tell, O !

The waggin' o' our dog's tail, bow-wow !
The waggin' o' our dog's tail I

He saw the Provost o' the toun

Paraudin' down the street, O !
Quo' he, " My Lord, you're no like me —

Ye canna see yer feet, O ! ^

He saw a man grown unco poor.

And lookin' sad and sick, O !
Quo' he, " Cheer up, for ilka dog

Has aye a bane to pick, O ! "

He saw a man wi' mony a smile.

Without a grain o' sowl, O !
Quo' he, " Pve noticed mony a dog.

Could bite and never growl, O ! "

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE WAGGIN' O' OUR DOG'S TAIL 215

He saw a man look gruff and cross.

Without a grain o' spite, O !
Quo' he, *' He's like a hantle dogs,

Whase bark's waur than their bite, O ! "

He saw an M.P. unco proud.

Because o' power and pay, O !
Quo he, " Your tail is cockit heich.

But ilk' dog has his day, O ! "

He saw some ministei*s fechtin' hard

And a' frae a bit o' pride, O !
" It's a pity," quo' he, " when dogs fa' out

About their ain fireside, O ! "

He saw a man gaun staggering hame.
His face baith black and blue, O !

Quo' he, " I think shame o' the stupid brute,
For never a dog gets fou, O ! "

He saw a man wi' a hairy face,
Wi' beard and big moustache, O !

Quo' he, " We baith are touzie dogs.
But ye ha'e claes and cash, O ! "

He saw a crowd in a bonnie park.
Where dogs were not allowed, O !

Quo' he, "The rats in Kirk and State,
If we were there micht rue't, () ! "

He saw a man that fleech'd a lord,

And flatterin' lees did tell, O !
Quo' he, " A dog's ower proud for that,

He'll only claw himsel'O!"

Digitized by VjOOQIC

216 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

He saw a doctor drivin' aboot,

And ringin^ every bell, O !
Quo' he, " IVe been as sick's a dog.

But I could cure myseP, O ! '"*

He heard a lad and leddy braw

Singin' a grand duet, () !
Quo' he, " Fve heard a cat and dog

Could yowl as weel as that, O ! ''

He saw a youth gaun swaggerin' by

Frae tap to tae sae trim, O !
Quo' he, " It's no for a dog to lauch

That was ance a puppy like him, O ! "

Our doggie he cam' hame at e'en.
And scartit baith his lugs, O !

Quo' he, " If fouk had only tails.

They'd be maist as gude as dogs, O ! "

The waggin' o' our dog's tail, bow-wow !
The waggin' o' our dog's tail !

Here is a song which has been leading a lively vagabond life ever
since it was ushered into being, more than forty years ago. As
everybody well knows, it was written by the great and good Dr.
Norman M*Leod. There have been few great men who have not
had a keen and lovable sense of humour, and Norman enjoyed the
gift in its supreme essence. It ran, indeed, like a rich golden thread
throughout the entire web of his ever active life, bubbling up in a
flower-bud here, and a great bright blossom there, and bftaumying
and gladdening all and everything that came within the range of his
influence. He was the very heart and soul of an evening party.
Besides innumerable stories, pat and droll, he was ready on any
occasion to favour his friends with a comic song of his own makins
— by preference this one, or "The Nose of Captain Fraser." It wiU
surprise people to know that these, and such-like sprightly verses,
were mostly written when their author was enduring such violent
pain that the night was spent in his study, and he had occasionally
to bend over the back of a chair for relief. " * The Waggin o* Our
Dog*s Tail,' in which are embodied the supposed reflections of his
own dog, Skye, upon men and manners, was frequently sung by him
in later years," says his biographer. '*The earnest, meditative

Digitized by VjOOQIC

O WHAT A PARISH! 217

countenance and the quaint accentuation with which he rendered it,
accompanied by a suggestive twirl of his thumb to indicate the
approving *wag' of the tail, lent indescribable drollery to the
words." The air is the familiar one of " The Barrin' o' the Door,"
already printed in this collection.

O WHAT A PARISH !

O WHAT a parish, a terrible parish,
O what a parish is that o' Dunke? !

They hangit their minister, droon'd their pre-
centor,
Dang doun the steeple, and fuddled the bell.

Though the steeple was doun, the Kirk was still
staunin\

They biggit a lum whaur the bell used to hang ;
A stell-pat they gat, and they brewed Hieland whisky.

On Sundays they drank it, and ranted and sang.

O what a parish, etc.

O had you but seen how gracefu' it lookit.
To see the cramm'd pews sae socially join ;

Macdonald the piper stuck up in the poopit.
He made the pipes skirl out music divine.

O what a parish, etc.

When the heart-cheerin'' spirit had mounted the
garret.
To a ball on the green they a' did adjourn ;
Maids wi^ their coats kilted, they steppit and liltit.
When tired they shook hands, and a^ hame did
return.

O what a parish, etc.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

218 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

Wad the kirks a' owre Britain baud sic social meetin'^s,
Nae warnin' they'd need from a far-tinklin' bell ;

For true love and friendship wad ca' them thegither
Far better than roarin' o' holTors o' hell.

O what a parish, etc.

More than the first stanza of the abote, which long formed the
entire bulk of this wihi satire, is not generally familiar ; but every-
one at all versed in Scottish place-rhymes knows that well. The
additional verses, Dr. Robert Chambers informs us, were made by
Adam Crawford, a tailor in Edinburgh, who was the author of some
other good songs. How the original frolic came to be inflicted has
not been guessed at by any writer on Dunkeld ; and there is no his-
torical circumstance— no known tradition even— to justify it. Still,
it is theie, and it will cling, and may tempt another poet yet. Yea,
it has tempted another besides the Edinburgh tailor already. In a
small collection, entitled The Cumic Vocalist^ published by G. & J.
Cameron, Glasgow, in 1851. I find a song which, opening with and
using the original stanza as a chorus, has these added verses : —

** While the bodies drink beer, they'd curse and lhey*d swear,
They ranted and sang what they dauma weel tell ;

'Bout Geordie and Chairlie they bothered fu* rarely,
But wi' whisky they're waur than the devil himsel*.

** And let me advise, sin' mischief there lies.
Whan neebors are drinkin' wi' mae than thomsel' ;

O'er your heart an* your hand aye keep the command,
Or you may be as bad as the folk o' Dunkel'."

Not Dunkeld at all, however, but Kinkell, in Strathearn, 1 fancy,
was the original "terrible parish." Here, in a far-away time,
according to Mr. A. G. Reid, author of Anncda of AtLchterarder^ —
and all within a brief space —the minister was actually hanged, the
precentor was drowned in attempting to cross the Earn from the
adjoining parish of 1'rinity Gask, the steepl« was taken down, and
the bell was sold to the parish of Cockpen, near Edinburgh. The
misapplication may have arisen from the similarity of the names.
All tne same, the popular mind has fixed the rhyme on Dunkeld,
and, as I have soid, to Dunkeld it will cling.

AULD EDDIE OCHILTREE.

() HEARD you o' the bauld Blue-gown,
Auld Eddie Ochiltree.?

Weel kent in ilka country town,
Aiild Eddie Ochiltree ;

Digitized by VjOOQIC

AULD EDDIE OCHILTREE 219

When beggars o** the gangrel corps
Are driven frae the hallan door.
The gudewife cries " Come ve in-ower,
Auld Eddie Ochiltree.^

The bairns are a^ fu' glad to see

Auld Eddie Ochiltree.
" Fling by your pocks,'' they cry wi' glee,

« Auld Eddie Ochiltree."
The gudewife says, " Wll a' hinch roun\
An' let Auld Eddie lean him doun ;
Sit Heist the fire, my braw Blue-gown,

Auld Eddie Ochiltree."

Syne Eddie tak's his wallets aflF,

Auld Eddie Ochiltree,
Sets in the nook his auld pike-staff,

Auld Eddie Ochiltree;
The lasses a' they look fu' fain,
To see Auld Eddie come again.
The maiden brings a gude rough bane

To Auld Eddie Ochiltree.

The news are gi'en fu' waggishlie
By Auld Eddie Ochiltree ;
An' jokes — " for mony a joke had he,"

Auld Eddie Ochiltree.
He tells wha's bridal's to be neist.
An' wha has little time to waste.
An' wha's to stand afore the priest,
Auld Eddie Ochiltree.

The uncos are by him rehearsed,

Auld Eddie Ochiltree,
In births and bridals he's weel versed,

Auld Eddie Ochiltree.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

220 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

He kens what's done at kirk or fair,
At mill or smithy far and near,
An** hoo some wives their gudemen queer —
Auld Eddie Ochiltree.

Nae ferlie though the lassies grin,

Auld Eddie Ochiltree,
To hear his cracks an' jokes ilk' ane,

Auld Eddie Ochiltree ;
The weans the gaberlunzie hail.
The ploughmen chiels lay by the flail.
The collie barks an' wags his tail

At Auld Eddie Ochiltree.

The time it comes when man an' beast,

•Auld Eddie Ochiltree,
Maun gang an' tak' the needfu* rest,

Auld Eddie Ochiltree ;
The auld gudeman the spence comes frae,
Cries, " Jock ! ye'll to the barn gae,
An' mak' a bed o' gude clean strae

For Auld Eddie Ochiltree."

The graphic and felicitous picture there jiresented of a Blue-gown
beggar, or Gaberlunzie, came first before the public from the press
of David Webster, Horse Wynd, Edinburgh, shortly after the
appearance of Scott's admirable novel, The Antiquary^ in which it
will be remembered the immortal blue-gown ot the same name
figures so prominently. Many of the old Scottish mendicants, as
Scott rightly remarks, in his advertisement to the romance in ques-
tion, were by no means to be confounded with the utterly degrading
class of beings who now practise that wandering trade. Such of
them as were in the habit of travelling through a particular district,
were usually well received both in the farmer's ha*, and in the
kitchens of the country gentlemen. Further he tells us, these
Bedesmen or Blue-gowns were an order of paupers to whom the
kings of Scotland were in the custom of distributing a certain alms
in conformity with the ordinances of the Catholic Church, and who
were expected in return to pray for the Boyal welfare and that of the
State. Their number was equal to the number of years His Majesty
had lived : and one Blue-gown additional was put on the roll for
every returning Royal birth-day. In the same auspicious era, each
Bedesman received a new cloak, or gown of coarse doth, the colour

Digitized by VjOOQIC

BONNIE JEANIE CAMERON

221

light blue, with a pewter badge, which confeiTed on him the general
privilege of asking alms through all Scotland— all laws against ■om-
ing, masterful beggary, and every other species of mendacity, being
suspended in favour of the privileged class. With his cloak, each
received a leathern purse, containing as many shillings Scots as the
sovereign was years old, on which occasion the Koyal chaplain
regularly preached a sermon to the Bedesmen. Andrew Gemmills,
the acknowledged prototype of Eddie Ochiltree, referring once to
the Bedesman's living, said, as a trade, it was forty pounds a year
worse since he had first practised it. On another occasion he ob-
served, begging was in modern times scarcely the profession of a
gentleman, and, if he had twenty sons, he would not easily be in-
duced to breed one of them up in his own line. *' Anciently, on
Maundy Thursday,'* we are told in Hone's Every -d^y Booky **the
Kings and Queens of England washed and kissed the feet of as many
poor men and women as they were years old, besides bestowing their
Maundy on each. This was in imitation of Christ washing his
disciples' feet. James II. is said to have been the last of our
monarchs who performed the ceremony in person." The tune is
** Duncan Gray."

BONNIE JEANIE CAMERON.

You '11 a' ha'e heard tell o* bonnie Jeanie Cameron,

r^s=^

^5^^

zM=M--^z

:B-*=:*^=S

How she fell sick.

and

she was like to dee ;

And

^==;

-=t*=q=

:s=pc

^E^

that

they could re

commend her was

Pl ri -7^

=^E

*^

^^

«-^

a'e blythe blink o' the Young Pretender. Rare, O rare,

^^^

bonnie Jeanie Cameron ! Rare, O rare, Jeanie Cameron !

Digitized by VjOOQIC

ttt VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

You'^LL a^ ha^e heard tell o** bonnie Jeanie Cameron,

How she fell sick, and she was like to dee ;
And a' that they could recommend her
Was a'e blythe blink o' the Young Pretender :

Rare, O rare, bonnie Jeanie Cameron !

Rare, O rare, Jeanie Cameron !

The doctor was sent for, to see if he could cure her,

Quickly he came — he made no delay ;
But a' that he could recommend her
Was a^e blythe blink o' the Young Pretender :

Rare, O rare, bonnie Jeanie Cameron !

Rare, O rare, Jeanie Cameron !

To Charlie she wrote a very long letter,

Stating who were his friends and who were his foes;
And a^ her words were sweet and tender,
To win the heart o' the Young Pretender :

Rare, O rare, bonnie Jeanie Cameron !

Rare, O rare, Jeanie Cameron !

O scarcely had she sealed the letter wi' a ring.

When up flew the door and in came her king ;
She prayed to the saints — bade angels defend her,
And sank in the arms o"* the Young Pretender:

Rare, O rare, bonnie Jeanie Cameron !

Rare, O rare, Jeanie Cameron !

For this interesting ballad, and its beautiful air, I am indebted to
my friend W. V. Jacknon, Esq., who has delighted his fellow mem-
bers of the Glasgow Ballad Club by his musical rendering of it,
oftener, I am sure, than he can fcell, in the last dozen years. The
verses have been handed down by tradition in the Jackson family
from Jacobite times ; and regarding the subsequent fate of the
heroine, Mr. Jackson possesses a curious piece of information.
** One of his forbeirs," 1 have heard him tell (but I quote from Mr.
George Eyre-Todd's Ancient Scots Ballads, now sometime before the
public with the information from the same source). '* sometime in
the latter half of the eighteenth century, was one day buying snuff
in a shop in Edinburgh, when a beggar came in. The shopman,
without a work spoken, handed a groat over the counter, which the
beggar took, still without a word, and departed. The customer had,

Digitized by VjOOQ IC

THE KILTIES IN THE CRIMEA

225

however, noticed with some surprise the delicacy of the' hand which
wai» extended to receive the coin. Something also in the air of the
mendicant had struck him as unusual. He mentioned what he had
noticed to the shopman, with whom he was accustomed to deal, and
the latter, first looking curiously at him, informed him that the per-
son he had just seen was no man, though in man's dress, hut a
Woman, and no other than Jeanie Cameron, of the gentle blood of
Scotland. An ardent t)acobite — as much, it may be suspected, for
the sake of the Prince as for the sake of the cause — she had followed
Charles to France, only, like so many others, to find herself an en-
cumbrance upon a broken man. Neglected and cast off, she had
returned to Scotland to discover that she was disowned by her
people there ; and finally, after many hardships, she had come to
subsist upon the doles of a few sympathisers with the lost cause
among the kindly burgesses of Edinburgh."

Dr. Kobert Chambers, in a note in the second volume of bis
Trafiitiona of /Edinburgh, mentions, among other particulars of
Jeanie Cameron, that she was seen, dressed in men's clothes, in the
streets of the capital, by an acquaintance of his, about the year 1786.
and that she afterwards died on a stair-foot, somewhere in the
Caaongate. Dr. Chambers' tradition is in part, however, opposed
by another, which avers, that Jeanie Cameron latterly retired to the
dreary residence of Blacklaw, or Mount Cameron, on Colonel Stuart's
estate at East Kilbride, where she received her fiiends, many of
whom remained to her to the very last, and where she died in 1773.
According to her own wish, as this story has it, she was buried in a
field at the back of Mount Cameron, where tradition still points out
her grave. No stone, no cross, marks the spot, although until
recently the succeeding generations of farmers, while reaping or
ploughing, respected the spot, which, when the field was bare, was
distinguishable from afar by the luxuriant crop of weeds and herbage
that crowned it. Lately it was levelled to the ground, and no sign
now remains to mark the spot where so much ambition, passion, and
frailty was laid to rest. Ure, con- men ting on Jeanie's case, says,
"Her enemies, indeed, took unjust freedoms with her good name."

THE KILTIES IN THE CRIMEA.

—I —

m

m

The Kil

ties are the lads for me, They're

"1 K^ F=^ — fc- F— I is~l ^

aye the foremost in a spree, And when they're in they'll

Eife^^

:i=S=

uo come cot, The'

the world should turn aboot.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

224

VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

$

-■it

5^

wiU

They're no

the lads

But

fore the foe, And shouther to shouther a - wa' they go.

The Kilties are the lads for me,
TheyVe aye the foremost in a spree.
And when they're in theyll no come oot
Tho' a** the world should turn aboot.
They're no the lads will rin awa',
But fecht while they ha'e breath to draw ;
Just tell them whaur they'll meet the foe,
And, shouther to shouther, awa' they go.

Hurrah for a' the kiltie lads,
Wi' tartan plaids and white cockades ;
Just set them down before the foe.
And, shouther to shouther, awa' they go.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE KILTIES IN THE CRIMEA 225

O ! wha can match them in the ranks
For burly breasts and sturdy shanks,
Or wha daur meet them in the fiel\
And face their deadly raw o** steel.
A thousand o** your feckless loons
That wear the breeks and live in toons,
Wad flee awa' whene'^er they saw
A score o' kilties in a raw.

Noo, there's the Royal Forty-twa,
They care for neither frost nor snaw,
The rain may pour, the wind may blaw.
And a' the lightnings bleeze awa' ;
But aye they're foremost in the fry —
Stan' oot the road, and let them by,
Or, fegs, ye'U get a dose o' lead
Will gar ye dance wi' heels o'er head.

The kilties gaed to help the Turks,
Wi' a' their pistols, guns, and dirks.
But when the bagpipes ga'e a blaw
The Turkies fainted clean awa'.
Their lassies, too, and wives sae queer
They werena like our lassie's here.
For they buckled up their e'en wi' clouts,
As if our kilties haa been brutes.

At Alma, when the shot and shell
Were sounding many a soldier's knell ;
When the bravest hearts drew back aghast
Before the dense and deadly blast ;
Sir Colin, wi' his kilted clan.
Came bounding forward in the van —
" Hurrah," he cried, wi' voice sae clear,
" The kilted lads are wanted here."

IS

Digitized by VjOOQIC

226 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

" Noo, a' ye rantin\ roarin'' chiePs,
That like the mountain dew sae weel,
Rin up an' prog them wi' your steel
As soon's ye hear the bagpipes squeal.
Blaw up your pipes wi** micht and main,
Altho' you ne^er should grunt again. ^
And when they're frichtet at the blaw,
Draw oot yer dirks, and at them a'.*"

Sir Colin waved his sword on high,
Then, wi' a wild unearthly cry,
Up rushed the kilties to the foe,
And felled a man at every blow.
Ower horses, men, and guns they speeled,
And cleared the Russians frae the field,
While far and near was heard the cheer
Aboon the pibroch sounding clear.

The Russian General, when he saw
The kilties chase his men awa\
Cried oot, " Does ony mortal ken
Whether they're wild beasts or men ? "
Sir Colin cried, '^ Come here, my man.
And I will tell, for weel I can,
The kilted lads are just," he says,
" Our horsemen's wives in Sunday claes."

Sir Colin Campbell kent fu' weel

The Ninety-third were true as steel.

When up he drew them in a raw

At Balaclava, kilts and a'.

The Russian horsemen charged them then,

Our horsemen's wives stood up like men,

And gied them sic a dose o' lead

That a' ran afF that werena dead.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

HEY! JOHN BARLEYCORN

227

But, och ! nae mair we**!! fecht ava.
This waefu" peace has spoilt it a' —
Has garred our kilties lose their wark,
And ne'^er a lad maun draw his dirk.
But a' oor wives and woman folk
Wi' perfect joy are like to choke,
And mony a ane ''U get a smack
When the gallant kilted lads come back.

Hurrah for a' the kiltie lads, etc.

The arduous and prolonged Crimean War, so full of incident, pro-
voked many songs in praise of our soldiers' valour, but few more
robust than the above, which is well knovvn from being a street song
all over Scotland for many years. The author, John Lorimer, was
a native of Paisley, and Town Chamberlain there for a time. He
wrote the song in 1856, about which time also he composed the
spirited air to which it is sung. He was bom in 1812, and died in
1878.

HEY! JOHN BARLEYCORN.

i

3m

l=lj»

P=^

w

?±^

^<^^

=^

«±^

John Barleycorn is a hero bold as any in the land,

i

For ages good his fame has

ages good his fame has stood, and will for ages stand ;

i

-P=p:

W?^.

^

=t=t

The whole wide world re - spects him, no matter friend or foe,

$

^

w=f^

?2j

• Whoe'er they be that make too free he 's sure to lay them low.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

228

VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

m

tJ The

^^

^ <^"

^ES

R^

gj g;

Then, hey ! John Barley - com,

m

a

ho ! John Barley - corn.

2?^

ff- " ^ " ■- ^ "-^ 1 — ^-^

^ Old and young thy praise have sung, John Bar • ley •

John Barleycorn is a hero bold as any in the land,
For ages good his fame has stood, and will for ages

stand;
The whole wide world respect him, no matter friend

or foe,
Whoe'er they be that makes too free he's sure to lay

them low.

Then hey ! John Barleycorn, ho I John Barley-
corn,

Old and young thy praise have sung, John
Barleycorn.

Now, see him in his pride of growth, his robes all
rich and green.

His head is spread with prickly beard, fit knight to
serve a queen ;

And when the reaping time comes on poor John is
stricken down.

He yields his blood for England's good, and English-
men's renown.

Hey ! John Barleycorn, etc.

The lord in courtly castle, and the squire in stately

hall.
The great of name, of birth, and fame, on John for

succour call ;

Digitized by VjOOQIC

A LASSIE LIVES BY YONDER BURN

229

He bids the troubled heart rejoice, gives warmth to

nature's cold,
Makes weak men strong, and old ones young, and

all men brave and bold.

Hey ! John Barleycorn, etc.

Then shout for great John Barleycorn, head of the

luscious vine,
I've not the mind such charms to find in potent

draughts of wine ;
Give me my native nut-brown ale, all other drinks I

scorn.
The English cheer is English beer — our own John

Barleycorn.

Originally from England, I presume, this song has, notwithstand-
ing, enjoyed no small vogue in Scottish social life, though it will be
looked for in vain in any former song-collection issued on this side
of the Border. As poetry, of course, it does not compare favourably
with the older ballad on the same siibject which was re-set by Burns.
But that's no matter ; it is mainly vagabonds we are housing here.
For a rattling chorus all round this has few equals.

A LASSIE LIVES BY YONDER BURN.

lassie lives by yonder burn That jinks about the

i

t^s

^

q^=*=

w

^^^^

ss

segg - ins, And aft she gi'es her sheep a turn, To

^=

=^

EBE3;

p — »►

l?=l=tz=

feed a • mong the brack • ens. Could I be • lieve she 'd

Digitized by VjOOQIC

250

VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

»

t^^

5Efa=*:

WOO wi' me, In spite o' mam or dad • die, I 'd

^

e

^^^f^^^

aften slip out owre the lea, And row her in my plaidie.

A Lassie lives by yonder burn,

That jinks about the seggins ;
And aft she gi'es her sheep a turn,

To feed amang the brackens.
Could I believe ^he'd woo wi' me,

In spite of mam or daddie,
rd aften slip out owre the lea.

And row her in my plaidie.

Her breast to busk Td violets pu\

That blaw aboon the boggie,
And blue-bells hingin' wat wi** dew,

Frae yonder glen sae foggie.
Could I believe she'd woo wi"* me.

And tak' me for her laddie,
rd aften slip out owre the lea,

And row lier in my plaidie.

I maun awa\ I canna stay.

Though a' gang tapsalteerie.
Should boggles meet me by the way.

This night 111 see my dearie,
ril ben the spence and dress a wee,

Wi** knots aud bughts sae gaudy.
For I ctanna rest until I see

Gin she'll come in my plaidie.

For quite a long time I had been on the hunt for the above song,
until recently I received a copy from my friend, Mr. John Cranston,
Perth, who discovered it, as he relates, '* in a dilapidated volume,

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE TWA BUMBEES 251

which, like the fatted calf, has been in the family for yean and
years. The booklet is called The British iiong^terfor 1834, and pro-
fesses the songs contained to have been received with approbation
and applause at the Theatren, Yauxhall Gardens, and other public
places of amusement, during the Present Season ! *' It was a favourite
song in various parts of Scotland, I know, less than fifty years ago.
Mr. Cranston has also supplied the pleasing melody — from memory.

THE TWA BUMBEES.

Thkrk were twa bumbees met on a twig,

Fim-fam, fiddle-faddle, fum, fizz !
Said, " Whaur will we gang our byke to big ? "^

Tig-a-leery, twig-a-leery, bum, bizz !
The modest miss, being rather shy.
Twiggy round her head and look'^d awry.
And gae her dandy nae reply

But " Tig-a-leery, twig-a-leery, bum, bizz ! "

" O ! we will gang to yon sunny bank,

Fim-fam, fiddle-faddle, fum, fizz !
Whaur the flowers bloom fair, and the fog grows
rank,

Tig-a-leery, twig-a-leery, bum bizz ! ^
They sought the bank frae side to side.
In every hole baith straucht and wide.
But nane they saw could please the bride^

Tig-a-leery, twig-a-leery, bum bizz !

When they had sought frae noon till six,

Fim-fam, fiddle-faddle, fum, fizz !
And on nae place their choice could fix ;

Tig-a-leery, twig-a-leery, bum, bizz !
They saw a hole beneath a tree,
** O ! this our dwelling-place shall be,*^
They said, and entei'ed cheerfully,

Tig-a-leery, twig-a-leery, bum, bizz !

Digitized by VjOOQIC

231 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

Jenny Wren cam' hame at night,

Fim-fam, fiddle-faddle, fum, fizz !
And, O ! but she got an unco fright,

Tig-a-leery, twig-a-leery, bum, bizz !
She entered in, ne*'er dreading harm.
When in her chamber, snug and warm.
The roving pair rang the alarm —

" Tig-a-leery, twig-a-leery, bum, bizz ! ^

Jenny Wren, bein' smit wi' fear,

Fim-fam, fiddle-faddle, fum, fizz !
Flew afF, and ne'er again cam' near,

Tig-a-leery, twig-a-Ieery, bum, bizz !
Quoth the gudewife to the gudeman,
" When night her mantle has withdrawn,
And Phoebus shines upon the lawn,

Tig-a-leery, twig-a-leery, bum, bizz !

" We'll gather honey from each flower,

Fim-fam, fiddle-faddle, fum, fizz !
And when the night begins to lower,

Tig-a-leery, twig-a-leery, bum, bizz !
We*ll hither hie, and here we'll meet.
All shielded from the wind and weet.
And a' night lang enjoy the sweet,

Tig-a-leery, twig-a-leery, bum, bizz ! "

They hadna been lang beneath the tree,

Fim-fam, fiddle-faddle, fum, fizz?
When out cam' bum bees, ane, twa, three,

Tig-a-leery, twig-a-leery, bum, bizz !
Quoth Mr. Rum to Mrs. Bee,
" O ! had ye a' these bees by me ! "
Whilst jealousy lurked in his e'e,

Tig-a-leery, twig-a-leery, bum, bizz !

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE TWA BUMBEES 23»

Quoth Mrs. Bee to Mr. Bum 9

Fim-fam, fiddle-faddle, fum, fizz !
" They're a^ as like you's mum^s like mum,

Tig-a-leery, twig-a-leery, bum, bizz !
I rowed the horns frae aft* your brow.''
Quoth Mr. Bum, " O, wow, wow, wow !
And had I horns then to cowe ? **'

Tig-a-leery, twig-a-leery, bum, bizz !

" O ! a' ye bumbees, whaure'er ye be,

Fim-fam, fiddle-faddle, fum, fizz !
I pray a warning tak' by me,

Tig-a-leery, twig-a-leery, bum, bizz !
Far rather lead a single life
Than wed a wayward, wanton wife,
Wha'll cause you meikle dule and strife,

Tig-a-leery, twig-a-leery, bum, bizz ! ""

Long lost and sorely lamented, this excellent song was composed
by OfaarleSiSpenoe, who was born at Cockerhall, on the Braes o* the
Carse of Crowrie, in Perthshire, in 1779, and died at Mancbester
exactly ninety years later. The origin and history of the song are
worth relating.

Mr. George Porter, the schoolmaKter of Moneydie, and the author
were bosom friends in youth and age, and equally enjoyed a social
hour. It was Mr. Porter's long c<mtinued regret that he had not
been gifted with a voice that would enable him to bear his share in
a bout of quiet entertainment. Ultimately he commissioned Spence
to write a song for him, such that its wit and humour would make
an effect irrespective of musical execution. The result was ''The
Twa Bumbees, ' which Porter soon committed to memory, and sang,
I have heard, with such inimitable drollery that it was often in
demand, and came to be known, considerably beyond the Braes of
the Carse, as Afr. Porter's ouni special song. The late Mr. P. R.
Drummond, of Perth, when prejtaring his sketch of Spence for
Perthshire in Bygone Days (issued in 1879), quoted the first four
lines, which, he said, was all of the song he could recall. For years,
both before and after the above date, Mr. Drummond endeavoured
to recover a full copy, but did not succeed. It was my very good
fortune to receive more than a dozen years ago a complete copy of
** The Twa Bumbees " from the late Mr. Peter Norval, schoolmaster,
Collace, himself a poet, and the intimate friend of both Spence and
Porter. Soon after, at my instance, the song appeared in print for
the first time. But it is not so widely known yet as it deserves ;
and I cannot serve its author and my readers better than by repro-
ducing it here. |t will satisfy the latter that when Charles Spence
set himself to be funny he could make fun to some purpose.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

234 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

LOW DOWN IN THE BROOM.

'TwAs on a Monday morning,

The day appointed was,
That Pate went forth unto the broom,

To meet his bonny lass ;
Blythe and merry was his heUrt,

And sweetly then sung he,
She's low down, she's in the broom

That's waiting for me.

Waiting for me, my dear.

Waiting for me ;
She's low down, she's in the broom.

Where merry we shall be.

Now Jenny she's gane down the broom.

And it's to meet wi' Pate,
. And what they said and what they did.

We shortly will relate ;
Blythe and tnerry was her heart,

And sweetly then sung she.
He's low down and in the broom

That's waiting for me.

Waiting for me, etc.

O, she look'd o'er her shoulder.

To see what she could see.
And there she spied her own true love

Come linking o'er the lea;
With his little bonnet on his head.

His plaid above his knee,
" He's coming skipping o'er the broom

For to meet with me.

For to meet with me," etc.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

LOW DOWN IN THE BROOM 255

He took his true love in his arms,

Sae merry was his heart,
And said, *' My life, my lovely jewel.

My dear, we'll never part ; "
He said, " My dear, we'll never part,

Until the day we dee,
And since we're down among the broom,

Merry shall we be.

Merry shall we be,'' etc.

** Hold off your hand, young man," she said,

" And do not use me so,
For little does ray father

Or yet my mother know ;
And they will wonder in their minds

What is become of me ;
They'll little think I'm in the broom

Talking with thee.

Talking with thee, etc.

'* My daddy is a canker'd carle.

He'll no twine wi' his gear.
My minny she's a scaulding wife

Hands a' the house asteer ;
But let them say, or let them do.

It's a' ane to me.
For he's low down, he's in the broom

That's waited on me.

Waited on me, etc.

" My Aunty Kate sits at her wheel

And sair she lightlies me ;
But weel I ken it's a' envy.

For ne'er a joe has she ;

Digitized by VjOOQIC

236 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

My cousin Bet was sair beguiled

By Johnny o' the glen,
And aye sin syne she cries, * Beware

O' false deluding men/
But let them say, etc.

" Gleed Sandy he came wast a''e night

And speir'd when I saw Pate;
And aye sin' syne the neighbours round.

They jeer me ear' and late ;
But let them say, or let them do,

It's a' ane to me ;
For I ha'e vow'd to love you, lad.

Until the day I dee.

Until the day I dee,'' etc.

They parted blythe and weel content,

Sae merry may they be ;
For a constant swain has Patie proved.

And a kind lass she.
'* Ye've waited on me, my love,

Ye've waited on me ;
Ye've waited lang amang the broom.

Now I am bound to thee.

I am bound to thee, my love,

I am bound to thee ;
Ye've waited lang amang the broom.

And I am bound to thee."

The above appears in a chapbook of ** Five Ejccellent New Songs.'*
No imprint, no date. Part, it will be seen, beginning with the verse —

** My daddy is a canker *d carle,"
forms the song which is common to the larger collections, and regu-
larly ascribed to James Carnegie, Esq., of Balnamoon, near Brechin,
who lived in the latter half of the eighteenth century. The first
five and the closing verses, however, not a whit inferior to the rest,
are entirely the work of the chapbook writer, who must perforce
complete the story. The original air is now incorporated, indissolubly,
with Bums's ** O, my Love is like a red, red Rose."

Digitized by VjOOQIC

JEAN AND CALEDONIA

237

JEAN AND CALEDONIA.

Sair, sair was my heart, and the tears stood in my een, As I

view'd my native hills, and I thought upon my Jean ; For I

2zp:

■f=w^

=pc-pc

f:2i^

:p=Sr

:j^z^

:*ziz*=

ken'd the ruthless fate that was forcing me a - wa',. Far,

-t?:

^ X ^VT^

^

q=?:

±fc

^^^

T

i^i:^

i

far frae Jean and my native Cal - e - don

-I

a. When I

=s=^

n=^f^

=s=i»

qs: J— T-^

^r*;

5=E55*

^=5t

think on days now gane, and sae happy I ha'e been, While

^~pT'r~ F=?F?^

1*=^

:tz=tz=^

=^

wand'ring wi' my dear where the primrose blaws unseen, I 'm

^

^

-i=H-

^

it^qvP

^=12:

g^J— U-

wae to leave my lass - ie, my daddy's cot an' a*. And to

i

^

^-¥=^

--w=ir.

tZ=8^

*=^=^M— «t

leave the healthfu* breeze o* Cal - e - don - i - a.

Sair, sair was my heart, an' the tears stood in my

een,
As I view'd my native hills an' I thought upon my

Jean;
For I ken'd the ruthless fate that was forcing me awa',
Far, far frae Jean, an' my native Caledonia.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

238 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

When I think on days now gane, and sae happy I

hae been,
While wandVing wi' my dear where the primrose

blaws unseen ;
Fra wae to leave my lassie, my daddy's cot an' a'.
And to leave the healthfu' breeze o' Caledonia.

ril ever mind the time when beneath the milk-white

thorn,
I last parted frae my Jean, for wi' love my heart

was torn ;
I ken'd na how to tell her I had soon to gang awa'
Far, far frae my true love and Caledonia.

The scene was sweet, the evening sun was wearing to
his bed,

And half behind the western hills had sunk his
golden head.

When I seized my Jeanie's hand an' sighed, " Noo I
maun gang awa'.

But my heart I leave wi' you, my dear, and Cale-
donia."

Her lovely downcast eyes they seemed to dwell upon

a flower,
I marked her heaving bosom, and saw the coming

shower ;
The bursting tears began to drap like pearls amang

snaw.
And they stained the whitest breast in fair Caledonia.

And as she saftly sighed, she fell into my arms.

And fondly prayed that Heaven kind would shield
me from all harms ;

** Mav storm an' tempest aye be hush'd, and saft the
breezes blaw.

That wafts my love from me," she cried, " in Cale-
donia."

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE MUCKLE MEAL-POCK 23»

^ Dry up your tears, dear Jeanie, though I leave you

for a while
To stem Dame Fortune's frowns, I yet hope to share

her smile ;
Whafs a' the wealth o' India's coast ; its riches are

but sma'
Compared wi' thy sweet smile, my dear, an' Caledonia.

" Now, Jeanie, dear, before we pairt, I promise to be

true.
Ye ha'e my heart, and there's my hand, I'll wed wi'

nane but you ;
Whene'er kind Fortune brings me back, the priest

shall join us twa.
And we'll spend our happy days in fair Caledonia."

There are few better specimens of the wandering country song^
than the one here given, which is printed partly from memor}', and
partly from a copy in manuscript received from Mr. John Graham,
Oomrie. So far as I am aware, it has not previously appeared in
print, yet many, I am sure, will recognise it as a prime old favouiite.
Whitelaw's book includes a song of two double stanzas bearing on
the same theme, and with some lines nearly identical, but ours is a
much more interesting, a fuller, and more individual performance.

THE MUCKLE MEAL-POCK.

I AM a sturdy beggar loon, weel kent the country

through,
I hae a crap for ilka corn — or tawties, meal, or 'oo' ;
A lauch aye for the lasses — tell the news, an' crack

an' joke,
An' that aye lats them ken o' my muckle meal-pock.

If you think there's only meal in't, it's then ye're far

wrang,
ITiere's cakes in't, an' scones in't, an' cheese, a dainty^

whang ;

Digitized by VjOOQIC

140 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

There's whiles a bit tobacco when I want a chew or

smoke,
An' I hide a' my failings in my muckle meal-pock.

But ye maun keep yer thoom on't, a secret IVe to

tell,
Awa' doon in the bottom oH I keep a wee bit stell ;

The farmers' wives they hae a drooth as weel as

other folk ;

There's aye a wheel within a wheel — sae in my

muckle pock.

I tak' the bits o' errands when I dander to the

toun —
A parasol to mend, or whiles a pair o' shoon ;
The handle o' a parritch-pat — a pend'lum for a

clock —
An' they a' find a place in my muckle meal-pock.

I tak' eggs by the dozen, to the clachan, or the

toon,
I niffer them for pocks o' tea, an' sugar, white or

broon ;
I've whiles sae mony buns an' baps, a baker's shop

'twould stock.
An' they're a' stow'd awa' in my muckle meal-pock.

As lang's the loads do pay me weel, I dinna care a
preen,

Be't bumbees' skeps, tawtie grapes, or e'en a crino-
line;

What do ye think a farmer said ?^-of course it was
a joke—

^' Bring us up a rake o' coals in your muckle meal-
pock."

Digitized by VjOOQIC

KATEY OF LOCHGOIL 241

But youll hear how I fared wi' my graspin' an' my
greed —

The e'e mair than the stammick, it has aye been ill
to feed ;

I cramM it, an^ squeezed it, till it was like to choke,

I was scarcely fit to wauchle wi' my muckle meal-
pock.

When I cam' to the ford, whaur ye cross the stappin'-

stanes,
I hitch'd it aff my shouther for to rest my weary

banes,
The string around the mouth, wi' the wecht within

it, broke.
And oot fell a' the hams o' my muckle meal-pock.

Noo, Fve laid awa' my meal -pock, ance dear to my

heart.
An' I hae got instead o' it a cuddy an' a cart ;
I'm a cadger an' a carrier, an' rank wi' decent folk ;
I'm a gentleman compared to the owner o' a pock.

I have not been able to gather particulars about this song, which
I fancy belongs to the West of Scotland, where it has been chiefly
sung, and was commonly known about forty years ago.

KATEY OF LOCHGOIL.

'TWAS on the year Eleventy-nine,
And March the fortieth day,

That Katey of Lochgoil, my boys.
To sea she'll bore away.

To my fal al de dal, etc.
i6

Digitized by VjOOQIC

242 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

Now Katey, she's as fine a ship

As ever yet was rig ;
And when shell got her mainsail up,

Got ! youll tuke her for a prig.

l^ere was Tonald More an' Tugald More,

Shon Tamson an' Shon Roy ;
And all our whole ship's companie

Was one laddie an' a poy.

As we'll sail by the Pladda light,

She'll plew a terrible plow ;^
Says Tonald More to Tugald More,

" She'll think she's pest pelow."

As we steer round the Ailsa Craig,

She'll plew a wonderous gale ;
Says Tugald More to Tonald More,

'' We'll turn apoot her tail."

As we steer round the Toward Point,

She'll plew a terrible plast ;
She'll plew up such a hurricane.

She'll plew away her mast.

As we came by the Cloch light-house,

She'll plaw a terrible plew :
It's Tonald at the poo, my poys,

O ! she'll be tuke a spew.

The captain, being kind to us.

Put on the muckle pot,
Wi' scatyuns for to boil to us —

But de'il a one we'll got.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

JAMIE RAEBURN'S FAREWEEL 243

T'ere was Tonald More an' Tugald More,

Shon Tamson an' his mate,
Was putting his cousin's son ashore,

For break in' a scatyun plate.

Ta signal that our Katey had.

Was Tonald's ponnet plue ;
Ta skipper being out on shore.

It's he the signal knew.

Noo Katey, she is home again,

And safe on Greenock quay;
And ere she'll go to sea again.

She'll tuke new hands for me.

This was long, and even until recently, a popular song at smaU
social parties throughout the West of Scotland ; all readily engaging
lustily in the chorus. The tune is " The Whale."

JAMIE RAEBURN'S FAREWEEL.

My name is Jamie Raeburn, in Glasgow I was born,
My place and habitation I'm forced to leave with

scorn ;
From my place and habitation I pow must gang

awa'.
Far frae the bonnie hills and dales of Caledonia.

Twas early one morning, just by the break of day,
I overheard the turn-key, who unto us did say : —
** Arise, ye hapless convicts, arise ye ane and a',
This is the day ye are to stray from Caledonia."

We all arose, put on our clothes, our hearts were

full of grief.
Our friends they a' stood round the coach, could

grant us no relief ;

Digitized by VjOOQIC

244 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

Our friends they a' stood round the coach, their

hearts were broke in twa,
To see us leave the bonnie braes of Caledonia.

Fareweel, my aged mother, Fm vexed for what Fve

done,
I hope none will upcast to you the race that I have

run ;
I hope youll be provided for when I am far awa\
Far from the bonnie hills and dales of Caledonia.

Fareweel, my honoured father, he is the best of men,
And likewise my own sweetheart, it's Catherine is

her name ;
Nae mair well walk by Clyde's clear stream, nor by

the Broomielaw,
For I must leave the hills and dales of Caledonia.

If e'er we chance to meet again I hope 'twill be

above.
Where hallelujahs will be sung to Him who reigns

in love ;
Nae earthly judge shall judge us then, but He who

rules us a' ;
Fareweel, ye bonnie hills and dales of Caledonia.

The above was long a popular street song, all over Scotland, and
sold readily in penny sheet form. The hero of the verses, in whose
mouth the words are put, I recently learned on enquiry, through
the columns of the Olasgow Evening Times, was a baker to trade,
who was sentenced to banishment for theft, more than sixty years
ago. His sweetheart, Catherine Cbandlier, thus told the story of
his misfortunes : — ** We parted at ten o'clock and Jamie was in the
police office at twenty minutes past ten. Going home, he met an
acquaintance of his boyhood, who took him in to treat him for auld
langsyne. Scarcely had they entered when the detectives appeared
and apprehended them. Searched, the stolen property was found.
They were tried and banished for life to Botany Bay. Jamie was
innocent as the unborn babe, but his heartless companion spoke not
a word of his innocence.** The tune is "The Plains of Waterloo,"
already included.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

BOLD BRANNAN ON THE MOOR

245

BOLD BRANNAN ON THE MOOR.

The first of my misfortunes was to list and desert ; The

r-P^^^^^3

=*=i=

=?s=l5:

:i=*:

S

way for to rob, boys, I

soon found the art ; Over

3^3^&

~mzz^

r|trrp3pr

:lz=tz:

=^=t

hedges and ditches I soon found my way; And

H — if^-M-

M r^ N

=1^

:s=i^=^

I went a robbing by night and by day. Bold

k K K

'^^

^B

Brannan on the moor, Bold Brannan on the moor; So

i^

^-K-^-> s=

^^^^^^^

S

bold

and un • daunted stood Bold Brannan on the moor.

The first of my misfortunes was to list and desert ;
The way for to rob, boys, I soon found the art ;
Over hedges and ditches I soon found my way,
And I went a robbing by night and by day.

Bold Brannan on the moor.
Bold Brannan on the moor ;
So bold and undaunted stood
Bold Brannan on the moor.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

246 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

As Braniian was walking on yon mountains high,
A coach with four horses he chanced to espy ;
With but a blunderbuss alone in his hand,
He made the guard and horses at once for to stand.
Bold Branjian, etc.

As Brannan was riding up yon mountains high,
A coach and six horses he happened to spy ;
He robbed from the rich but he gave to the poor.
He's over the mountains and youll never see him
more.

Bold Brannan, etc. -

But oh, do you see yon crowds a-coming.
And oh, do you see yon constables a-running.
And oh, do you see yon high gallows tree ;
They're hanging bold Brannan for highway robbery.
Bold Brannan, etc.

Bold Brannan he is taken and condemned to die,
And many a fair maiden for Brannan will cry ;
But for all their crying they'll not save me.
Nor keep me from disgrace on yon high gallows tree.
Bold Brannan, etc.

I am wae for my wife and my children three.
My poor aged mother, I never will see ;
My poor aged father, with grey locks, he cried,
" Oh, I wish my bold Brannan in his cradle had died.''
Bold Brannan, etc.

Thoroughly Irish as it may be, the above was nerer more popular
in Ireland than it was with itinerant vocalists in Scotland about
sixty years ago. And judging by the writings of M'Levy, the famous
detective, and others, no song was more in favour am<mg the '*li^ht-
fingered gentry" in Edinburgh down even to a much later period.
For the melody, which is quaint and characteristic, I am indebted
to my good friend, Mr. Kippen, of Crieff, who fixed it on paper from
the lips of a wandering Orpheus many years ago.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

PONALD AND GLENCOE 247

DONALD AND GLENCOE.

As I was a- walking one evening of late
Where Flora'^s gay mantle the fields decorate,
I carelessly wandered, where I did not know.
On the banks of a fountain that lies in Glencoe.

Like her whom the prize of Mount Ida had won.
There approached me a lassie as bright as the sun ;
The ribbons and tartans around her did flow.
That once graced Macdonald, the pride of Glencoe.

With courage undaunted to her I drew nigh,
The red rose and lily on her cheek seemed to vie ;
I asked her her name, and how far she'd to go,
" Young man,^ she replied, " I am bound for Glen-
coe.^

I said, " My dear lassie, your enchanting sweet

smile.
And comely fair features my heart does beguile ;
If your young affections on me you'll bestow.
You'll aye bless the hour that we met in Glencoe."

" Young man," she made answer, " your love I dis-
dain,
I once had a sweetheart, young Donald by name ;
He went to the wars nearlv ten years ago.
And a maid I'll remain till he comes to Glencoe."

"Perhaps your young Donald regards not your

name.
But has placed his affections on some foreign dame ;
And may have forgotten, for aught that you know.
The lovely young lassie he left in Glencoe."

Digitized by VjOOQIC

248 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

" My Donald's true valour when tried in the field,
Like his gallant ancestors, disdaining to yield.
The Spaniards and French he will soon overthrow.
And in splendour return to my arms in Glencoe.'^

"The power of the French, love, is hard to pull

down.
They have beat many heroes of fame and renown ;
And with your young Donald it may happen so —
The man you love dearly perchance is laid low.""

" My Donald can ne''er from his promise depart.
For love, truth, and honour, abound in his heart ;
But should I ne'*er see him I single will go.
And mourn for my Donald, the pride of Glencoe.'*'

Now proving her constant, I pulled out a glove,
Which at parting she gave me in token of love ;
She flew to my breast, while the tears down did

flow.
Crying, " YouVe my dear Donald, returned to Glen-

coe.""

" Yes, yes, my dear Flora, your sorrows are o er.
While life does remain, we will part never more ;
The rude blasts of war at a distance may blow.
But in peace and content well abide in Glencoe.""

When recently I. appealed to the older readers of the People*s
Journal for copies of such wandering songs and ballads as were
popular in their youth and still lingered in their memory, I
received, of course, many duplicates of the more widely known
pieces. But of few ballads did so many copies come to hand, and
irom such widely separated parties, as this one of ** Donald and
Glencoe." Mr. H. Mutch, Ellon, Aberdeenshire, says he learned it
when he was a herd laddie in the Parish of Udny, upwards of fifty
years ago, and it was then a popular song in that district. Corres-
pondents, south and west, furnishiog almost identical versions, tell
a similar story.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE HEIGHTS OF ALMA

24»

THE HEIGHTS OF ALMA.

Lively.

loyal Britons, pray give ear Un - to the news I

= h-ir^-

I

:ie=P=

e^

^•— «-it

^

t?~p-l^

bring you here ; While joy each Briton's heart doth cheer, For the

f—f-^rf;

IZ^t^ZMI

£=^^3

AI - ma.

vict'ry gained at

'Twas on Sep - tem - her the

S3^

:^*

it=^:

fourteenth day. In spite of the salt sea's dashmg spray, We

landed safe in the Crim-e - a, All on the route for Al - ma.

Ye loyal Britons, pray, give ear

Unto the news I bring you here ;

While joy each Briton's heart doth cheer.

For the vicfry gained at Alma.
'Twas on September the fourteenth day.
In spite of the salt sea's dashing spray,
We landed safe on the Crimea,

All on the route for Alma.

That night we lay on the cold ground.
No tent nor shelter could be found ;
With rain we all were nearly drowned,
To cheer us for the Alma.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

250 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

Next morn a burning sun did rise,
Beneath the cloudless Eastern skies ;
Our gallant chief, Lord Raglan, cries —
" Prepare to march for Alma.'**

And when the Alma came in view,
It did the stoutest heart subdue.
To see the mighty Russian crew

Upon the heights of Alma.
They were so strongly fortified.
With batteries on the mountain-side,
Our general viewed the forts, and cried —

"There^l be hot work at Alma/'

The balls did fall as thick as rain.
When we the batteries tried to gain,
And many a hero there was slain

Upon the heights of Alma.
The Thirty-third and the Fusiliei-s,
They climbed the hills and gave three cheers ;
While "Faugh a ballagh'' rent our ears,

From the Irish boys at Alma.

Our Highland lads, with kilt and hose.
They were not last, you may suppose ;
But boldly faced their Russian foes.

To gain the heights of Alma.
And when the heights we did command.
We fought the Russians hand to hand ;
But the Russian force could not withstand

The British charge at Alma.

Their guns and knapsacks they threw down.
And ran like hares before the hound,
While '* Vive L'Empereur" did resound,
From the sons of France at Alma.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE HEIGHTS OF ALMA 291

But though the battle we have got.
And gallantly our heroes fought ;
Yet dearly was the victory bought.
For thousands died at Alma.

Between the wounded and the slain,
The Russians lost eight thousand men ;
And had three thousand prisoners ta'en

Upon the heights of Alma.
Two thousand British, I heard say,
Did fall upon that fatal day ;
And fourteen hundred Frenchmen lay

In bloody graves at Alma.

To Sebastopol the Russians fled.

They left their wounded and their dead ;

The river that day ran crimson red.

With the blood that was spilled at Alma.
From orphans* eyes the tear-drops roll.
And none the widows can console.
While parents mourn, beyond control.

The sons they lost at Alma.

And many a pretty maid does mourn.
Her lover who will ne'er return ;
By cruel war he's from her torn,

And his body lies at Alma.
With France and England, hand in hand.
What force on earth can them withstand ;
So sound the news throughout the land —

The victory of the Alma.

The above was a common street song, and always a "catch," not
in Scotland alone, but all over Britain, for many years succeeding
the great Crimean War. Many thousands of it must have been sold
in broad-sheet form .

Digitized by VjOOQIC

292

VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

TUGAL M'TAGGEK.

Would you '11 know me, my name it is Tugal M 'Tagger, She'll

brought hersel' down frae the braes o' Lochaber, To learn her nainsel' to be

She '11 being a stranger, she '11 look very shy-like ; She 's no weel a

lIjt N^.^

quaint wi' your laich k intra dialect, But hooch ! never heed, she 's got

i

■ wrrwT

■ ft r g r _ p^p^

r-P=l*:

r* , s k

:^«i

gZ ^T^-

i^zrts:

^btst

plenty o' Gaelic— She comes frae ta house at the fit o' Glendhu.

Would you*Il know nie, my name it is Tugal M'Tagger,
Shell brought hersel' down frae the braes o' Lochaber,
To learn her nainsel' to be praw habberdaber

Or fine linen-draber, the tane or the two.
She'll being a stranger, shell look very shy-like:
She's no weel acquaint wi' your laich kintra dialect ;
But, hooch ! never heed, she's got plenty o' Gaelic —

She comes frae ta house at the fit o' Glendhu.

Digitized by VjOOQ IC

TUGAL M'TAGGER 299

But her kilt she'll exchange for ta praw tandy trowser,
An** she'll learn to ta lady to scrape an' to pow, sir,
An' say to ta shentlemans, " How did you'll do, sir?"

An* ten she'll forgot her poor freen's o' Glendhu.
An' when she'll pe spoket ta laich kintra jabber.
She'll gie hersel' out for ta Laird o' Lochaber.
Shust come for amusements to turn habberdaber,

For tat will pe prawer tan herding ta cow.

She'll got a big shop, an' she'll turned a big dealer ;
She was caution hersel', for they'll no sought no

bailer.
But Tugal M'Tagger hersel' makes a failure —
They'll call her a bankrumpt, a trade she'll not
knew.
They'll called a great meeting, she'll look very quiet

now.
She'll fain win awa' but they'll tell her to wait now,
They'll spoket a lang time about her estate now ;
I'll thocht that they'll thocbt me ta Laird o'
Glendhu.

They'll wrote a lang while about a trust deeder.
She'll no write a word, for hersel' couldna read her ;
They'll sought compongzition, hooch ! hooch ! never
heed her —

There's no sic a word 'mang ta hills o' Glendhu.
But had she her durk, hersel' would come o'er them,
They'll put her in jail when she'll stood there before

them ;
But faith she'll got out on a hashimanorum ;

And now she's as free as ta win's o' Glendhu.

Eminently singable, and a humorous entertainment of no mean

quality, the above is in addition one of the raciest examples of John

Uighlandman's English in verse or prose. It was sung into fame by

' Livingstone, the Scottish vocalist, at the Theatre Royal, Qla&gow,

more than fifty years ago, and is worthy of the author of **8hon

Digitized by VjOOQIC

294

VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

M'Nab/' who has, indeed, sometimes been credited with the author-
ship. Not Sandy Rodger, however, but Dougal Graham, the
Glasgow skellat-bellroan. and chapbook maker, wrote the song.
Dougal Graham died in 1779. Until recently the song was widely
sung.

THE GALLANT HUSSAR.

A damsel possess'd of great beauty, Stood near by her own father's

gate:

r^^^5^*^

i

:gzmz

The gallant Hussars were on du - ty— To

s > h

^f^^i=^=F=^

i±^

3?rtz

S3tztz±tzi^=tz

view them this maiden did wait. Their horses were cap'ring and

m

=S=P!^

5^^^

E£

^^^

pranc - ing, Their accoutrements shone like a star ; From the

fe

h s h r*j^

:s?cs

■X.

«5ac

plains they were quickly ad • vancing, She espied her young gallant Hussar.

A DAMSEL possess'd of great beauty,

Stood near by her own father's gate ;
The gallant Hussars were on duty —

To view them this maiden did wait.
Their horses were cap'ring and prancing.

Their accoutrements shone like a star ;
From the plains they were quickly advancing

She espied her young gallant Hussar.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE GALLANT HUSSAR 295

The pelisses slung over their shoulders,

So careless they seem'^d for to ride ;
So warlike appeared those young soldiers.

With glittering swords by their side.
To the barracks next morning so early,

This damsel she went in her car,
Because that she loved him sincerely —

Young Edwin, the gallant Hussar.

It was there she conversed with her soldier.

These words they were heard for to say.
Said Jean, " IVe a heart, none is bolder.

To follow my laddie away.'^
O fie,*" said young Edwin, " be steady.

And think on the dangers of war ;
When the trumpet sounds I must be ready.

So wed not your gallant Hussar.'^

((

" For twelve months on bread and cold water.

My parents confined me from you ;
O, hard-hearted friends to a daughter.

Whose heart is so loyal and true !
But unless they confine me for ever.

Or banish me from you afar,
I will follow my soldier so clever.

And wed with my gallant Hussar.''

Said Edwin, "Your friends you must mind them>.

Or else youVe for ever undone ;
They will leave you no portion behind them.

So, pray, do my company shun."
She said, "If you will be true-hearted,

I have gold of my uncle's in store ;
From this time no more we'll be parted,

I'll wed with my gallant Hussar."

Digitized by VjOOQIC

196 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

As he gazed on each beautiful feature,

The tears they did flow from each eye,
** ril wed with this beautiful creature,

And forsake cruel war," he did cry.
So now they're united together.

Friends think on them now when afar.
Crying, " Heaven bless them now and for ever,

Young Jean and her gallant Hussar.'*'

The poetry here is rather indifferent, but the music, which is ori-
ginal, and never before printed, so far as I know, is eminently worth
preserving. The song was long a favourite with itinerant vocalists,
us well as with the resident rural population all over West, Mid, and
North Scotland.

SAE WILL WE YET.

Sit ye down here, my cronies, and gi'e us your crack,
Let the wind tak' the care o"* this life on its back ;
Our hearts to despondency we never will submit.
For we've aye been provided for, and sae will we yet.

And sae will we yet, and sae will we yet ;
For we've aye been provided for, and sae will we
yet.

The miser delights in the hoardin' o' his pelf,
Since he has na the soul to enjoy it himself:
The bounties o' Providence are new every day :
As we journey thro' life, let us live by the way.

Let us live by the way, etc.

Then bring us a tankard o' nappy brown ale.
It will comfort our hearts, and enliven the tale :
Well aye be the merrier the langer that we sit ;
WeVe ^rank wi' ither mony a time, and sae will we
yet.

And sae will we yet, etc

Digitized by VjOOQIC

SA£ WILL WE YET 257

Sae rax me your mill, and my nose I will prime.
Let mirth and sweet inni^cenee employ a' our time ;
Nae quarrelin' nor feehtin'' we ever will admit ;
We've parted aye in unity, and sae will we yet.

And say will we yet, etc.

Success to the farmer, and prosper his plough.
Rewarding his eident toils a** the year through ;
His seed-time and harvest we ever will get ;
WeVe lippep'd aye to Providence, and say will we
yet.

And sae will we yet, etc.

Lang live the Queen, and happy may she be.
And success to her forces by land and by sea ;
Her enemies to triumph we never will permit ;
Britain aye has been victorious, and sae will she yet.

And say will she yet, etc.

Let the glass keep its course, and gae merrily roun\
For the sun it will rise tho' the moon has gaen down ;
Till the house be rinnin' round about, ifs time

enough to flit ;
When we fell we aye got up again, and sae will we

yet.

And sae will we yet, etc.

This admirable song of Rood fellowship, which is often printed
faultfully, was written by Walter Watson, of Chryston, near Glas-
gow, the author of "My Jockie's Far Awa'" and "The Unco Bit
Want/' and other excellent and esteemed lyrical pieces. It is
' likely, however, that an afterhand added some verses. Anyway,
neither the second, nor the fifth and sixth stanzas in onr version are
embraced in the posthumous edition of Watson's poems and songs
published in 1877 — twenty-three years after his death. I have given
the song as it is generally sung. With reference to its quality the
late Professor Black ie wrote shrewdly and well:— "It will be

17

Digitized by VjOOQIC

298 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

observed that not only the Queen on the throne, the army, the
navy, and the prod acerb of the staff of life, receive the loyal and
grateful recognition that they deserve, but there is a vein of con-
tentment and cheerful resignation running through it, which
elevates the drinking-song into a sermon : and a sermon, too,
preached on a text not the least prominent in a discourse (Matthew
vi 25-34), full of that mellow wisdom which all Christians profess
to admire, but only a few attempt to realise." The song is one
among many which the late David Kennedy sang into fame, equally
among Scots at home and Scots abroad. The air will be found
printed with "A Wee Drappie O't."

THE BANKS OF INVERURIE.

One day as I was walking, and down as I did pass,
On the banks of Inverurie I spied a bonnie lass ;
Her hair hung o'er her shoulders broad, and her

eyes like stars did shine.
On the banks of Inverurie, and oh ! gin she were

mine

I ran, embraced this fair maid, as fast as e^er I could.
Her hair hung o'er her shoulders broad just like the

threads of gold ;
Her hair hung o'er her shoulders broad, and her

eyes like drops of dew,
"On the banks of Inverurie I long to walk with

you.''

She says, " Young man, give over deluding of me so^
For after kissing cometh wooing, after wooing woe ;
My tender heart you will ensnare and I'll beguilM

be;
" On the banks of Inverurie, I'll walk alone," said

she.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE BANKS OF INVERURIE 299

She said, " Young man, give over, my company re-
frain,

I know you are of gentle blood, but of a graceless
clan ;

I know your occupation, lad, and good you cannot
be;

On the banks of Inverurie, I'll walk alone," said she.

He said, " My pretty fair maid, the truth Til not

deny.
On the banks of Inverurie, twelve maids beguiled

have I ;
I own I used to flatter maids, but now FU faithful

be.
On the banks of Inverurie, if you will walk with me.''

He put a horn to his lips, he blew both loud and

shrill.
Till six-and-thii-ty armed men came to their master's

call;
He said, " I used to flatter maids, but now it shall

not be.
On the banks of Inverurie my wedded wife you'll be.

"Come, then, my pretty fair maid, and mount on

horseback high.
And we will to a parson go, and that immediately ;
And I will sing those lines with joy until the day I

dee.
To the praise of Inverurie banks, where first I met

with thee."

The above characteristic country ballad I wrote down recently
from the singing of Mrs. Peter Rutherford, Wolfhill, Perthshire,
who learned it from her mother, words and music both, more than
fifty years ago. In The Blackbird : A Selection of Celebrated Songs,
printed by T. Johnston, Falkirk, in 1818, I have since discovered a
copy almost identical.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

VAGABONV SONGS ANO BAU.AOS

THIS IS NO MY PLAID.

^m

i->-^-^-

tlm

my pLud, mcj
-1^— N ^

^ ■ % ^

:J£^

g;^=g=it=

— ir-

Tlm is no

mj plsud, boonie tbongfa tlie co l oui> be.

=€=r:

<> • *

:e^

-^— U-

The groond o' mine was mixed wT blue.

," > ,s qezr^rgrrp:

^i^t

gat it frae the lad I loe. He ne'er has gTen me

Btpeat Befrain,

t?— ^ -ty-

— *-*-

cauM to rue. And O ! the plaid is dear to me. O.

O THIS is no my plaid,

]Vly plaid, my plaid ;
This is no my plaid,

Bonnie though the colours be.

The ground o** mine was mixed wi** blue,
I gat it frae the lad I lo'e ;
He ne'^er has gi'en me cause to rue,
And O ! the plaid is dear to me.

Fareweel, ye lowland plaids o** gray,
Nae kindly charm for me ye ha'e ;
The tartan shall be mine for aye.
For O ! the colour^s dear to me.

fj

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THIS IS NO MY PLAID 261

For mine was silky, saft and warm,
It wrapp'^d me round frae arm to arm ;
And like himseP it bore a charm,
And O ! the plaid is dear to me.

Although the lad the plaid wha wore
Is now upon a distant shore,
And cruel seas between us roar,

I'll mind the plaid that sheltered me.

The lad that ga'e me't likes me well,
Although his name I daurna tell ;
He likes me just as weel'*s himseP,
And O ! the plaid is dear to me.

may the plaid ie yet be worn
By Caledonians still unborn ;

111 fa' the wretch whae"'er jrfiall scorn
The plaid ie that's sae dear to me.

Frae surly blasts it covers me,
He'll me himsel' protection gi'e,
I'll lo'e him till the day I dee.
And O ! his plaid is dear to me.

1 hope he'll no' forget me now.
Each aften pledged aith and vow ;
I hope he'll yet return to woo

Me in the plaid sae dear to me.

And may the day come soon, my lad.
When we will to the kirk and wed,
Weel happit in the tartan plaid —
The plaidie that's sae dear to me.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

262

VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

O ! this will then be my plaid,
My plaid, my plaid ;
. This will then be my plaid,

And while I live shall ever be.

This is one of the commonest songs in the Scottish chapbooks,
from which fact I presume it to have been a popuhir favourite in
the end of the eighteenth century. Whitelaw prints an abridged
version, and attributes the authorship to W. Halley. of whom, by
the by, he gives no biographical ur other particulars.

I WONDER WHA'LL BE MY MAN.

^m,

^^s=?c:jsz

P--

■mrZM~tti

A' kinds o' lads an' men we see, The youngest an' the

blatest. and the bauldest ; An* mony a lauchin*

^^1^"^

sirs, 'niang a' the lads that rin, I wonder wha '11 be my man.

A' KINDS o' lads an' men I see,

The youngest an' the auldest ;
The fair, the dark, the big, the wee.

The blatest, an' the bauldest ;

Digitized by VjOOQIC

I WONDER WHAXL BE MY MAN 265

An' mony a lauchin' canty ane,
An' mony a coaxing sly man ;

Hech, sirs, 'mang a' the lads that rin,
I wonder whall be my man.

I wonder whaur he is the noo —

I wonder gin' he's near me !
An' whaur we'll meet at first, an* hoo,

An' when he'll come to speir me ;
I wonder gin he kens the braes —

The bonnie braes whaur I ran ;
Was't there he lived his laddie days?

I wonder wha'll be my man.

O, gudesake ! how I wish to ken

The lad that I'm to marry,
The ane amang sae mony men —

I wish I kent a fairy.
Or ony body that can see

A farrer gait than I can ;
I wonder wha the chieFs to be —

I wonder wha'll be my man.

But, losh na ! only hear to me.

It's neither wise nor bonnie
In ask in' wha the lad may be —

I'll maybe ne^er get ony.
But if for me indeed there's ane,

I think he's but a shy man.
To keep me crying, late an' soon,

I wonder wha'll be my man.

This Bong of natural enquiry, common to every female heart, was
written by Edward Polin, a native of Paisley, born in 1816, who
originally followed the business of a pattern-setter in his native
town, and in course of time adopted a journalistic career. For a
space he acted as sub-editor of the EdiiiJburgh Weekly Chronicle^ and
in 1843 accepted the editorship of the Newcastle Courantf in which
year he was drowned in the course of a voyage to London.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

264 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

I WONDER WHAXL BE MY WIFE.

A' KINDS o** queens an" belles I see,

The youngest an' the auldest ;
The fair, the fause, the big, the wee.

The warmest an' the cauldest :
An' mony a lauchin' cantie ane.

For SIC as they are aye rife ;
Hech, sirs ! I canna live my lane —

I wonder wha'll be my wife.

I wonder whaur she's stoppin' noo !

I wonder gin she's near me !
Or if her een be black or blue,

Or if she'll scratch an' tear me !
I wonder gin she'll bless my days.

Or be the plague o' my life !
Or if she'll pawn an' drink my claes ! —

I wonder wha'll be my wife.

For, by my sooth ! I wish to ken

The wench that I maun marry ;
For if I'm snubbed like other men

I'll send her to auld Harry.
Nae lass unkind or harsh to me

Shall e'er cut beef wi' my knife ;
She maun ha'e heart an' hand to gie —

I wonder wha'll be my wife.

But losh na ! only hear to me.

It's neither wise nor bonnie.
In askin' wha the lass may be,

I'll maybe ne'er get ony.
But if for me indeed there's ane,

I'll ha'e the cash, an' aye rife ;
An' herd it weel to mak' her fain —

I wonder wha'll be my wife.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

ADIEU TO BOGIESIDE SW

Amang her ither qualities.

Why, she maun do her duty,
By keepin' a' thing trig an' nice —

Let virtue be her beauty !
An** should I meet wi' ane like this,

I staun' bv her through my life.
An' this will mak' our earthly bliss —

I wonder whall be my wife.

Suggested, do doubt, by the preceding soug, the above, from an
unkuown hand, though less felicitously manipulated, forms an
agreeable and natural companion to the earlier measure.

ADIEU TO BOGIESIDE.

Assist me all ye muses.

My downcast spirits raise ;
And join me in full chorus.

To sing brave Huntly's praise.
For I left the girl behind me,

Whose charms were all my pride ;
When I said farewell to Huntly,

And adieu to Bogieside.

Down the road to Huntly Lodge,

With pleasant steps Tve roved ;
Almost inspired with rapture.

For the sweet girl I loved,
Who joined me in my rambles.

And chose me for her guide.
To walk upon sweet Deveron's banks.

Or on sweet Bogieside.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

266 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

Farewell, ye lads o' Huntly,

I bid you a** adieu ;
The pleasures of an evening walk,

ril share nae mair wi"* you.
But till my heart forgets to beat,

Or death will us divide,
ril sing the praise o"* Huntly town.

On bonnie Bogieside.

Farewell J ye pleasant plantains,

Of you ril often talk;
Likewise the hawthorn bushes,

Which grace yon gravel walk.
The sky was clear and bonnie.

When on an even -tide,
I set me down to rest a while

Upon sweet Bogieside.

May the powers above protect the girl.

So young, and fair, and fine ;
And Keep her from all danger.

Who has this heart of mine.
And keep her in contentment.

And always free from pride ;
And ril return to Huntly yet.

And bonnie Bogieside.

Mr. John Ord, a native of the North of Scotland, now residing in
Glasgow, from whom I recently received the above, writes with
regard to it — **Thi8 song is a great favourite in Strathbogie, and
throughout the whole of the north-east of Scotland. So far as I am
aware, it has only been once in print, viz., when it appeared, by
request, in The i'eoples Journal (Aberdeen and Banff edition), in
the summer of 1878. I do not know who the author was, but I
know the song has been in existence for not less than half a century.**

Digitized by VjOOQIC

A-BEGGING WE WILL GO

267

A-BEGGING WE WILL GO.

m

^

=s=l*

F^cff:

f^^333?;^S5EE

a' the trades that I do ken, The begging is the best, For

when the beggar's wear - y, He can sit down and rest. To the

i

g ^^ s a s^^^^

begging we will go, will go, To the begging we will go.

C a' the trades that I do ken,

The begging is the best ;
For when the beggar's weary,

He can sit down and rest.

To the begging we will go, will go.

To the begging we will go.

%

First I maun ha'^e a meal-poke,

O' leather fitly made ;
Will hand at least a firlot,

Wr room for beef and bread.

Syne I will to the cobbler.
And gar him sort my shoon ;

An inch thick i' the boddam.
And clouted weel aboon.

And I will to the greasy cook,

Frae him will buy a hat,
Weel pressed and weather-beaten.

Ana glitterin' ower wi' fat.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

26S VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

And I will to the tailor,

Wi' a wab o** hodden grey,
And gar him mak' a cloak for me,

Will hap me nicht and day.

And I will to the turner gang.

And gar him turn a dish.
Will haud at least three chappins.

For less I couldna wish.

Then wi' my pike-staff in mv hand.

To close my begging stock,
ril go unto some lucky wife.

To hansel my new poke.

And yet ere I begin my trade,
ril let my beard grow Strang ;

Nor para my nails this year and day.
For beggars wear them lang.

ril put nae water on my hands,

As little on my face ;
For still the lowner like I am.

The mair my trade FU grace.

And ril look out my quarters.

Aye lang or it be late ;
At ilka cosy corner

ril ha'e a canny seat.

When I come to a farm-toun,

ril say, wi' hat in hand :
" Will the beggar-man get quarters here ?

Alas ! I canna stand.*"

Digitized by VjOOQIC

A-BEGGING WE WtLh GO 269

It*s maybe the gudeman will say,
" Puir man, we ha'e nae room ;

Gin a"* our folks were in about,
We couldna lodge yer thoom.""

It*s maybe the gudewife will say,

" O, puir man, come in-bye ;
We'll budge a bit, and mak' a seat,

IVs been a cauldrife day.**'

And when they're a' come in about.

Then I will start and sing.
And do my best to gar them lauch,

A' round about the ring.

And when the gudewife rises up.

To mak' the brose and kail.
Syne 111 tak' out my meal dish,

And tramp it fu' o' meal.

It's likely the gudewife will say,
" Puir man, put past yer meal ;

Ye're welcome to your brose, I'm sure,
Yer bread ; ay, and yer kail."

In the mornin' I'll no stir mysel',

Whae'er to labour cries ;
Till the theevil on the parritch-pot

Will strike the hour to rise.

When twistin' up my meal^pokes.

Before I gang awa'.
It's then, nae doubt, the wife will say,

*' Come back our pan to claw."

Digitized by VjOOQIC

270 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

If there''s a waddin'' in a toun,

ril airt me to be there,
And pour my kindest benisons

Upon the winsome pair.

And some will gi'e me beef and bread.
And some will gi'e me cheese ;

Syne FlI slip out amang the folk,
And gather the bawbees.

And I will wallop out a dance,

Or tell a merry tale ;
Till some gude fellow in my dish.

Will pour a sowp o' ale.

If begging is as gude's I tl;iink,

And as I hope it may.
It's time that I was out the gate.

And trudgin' ower the brae.

And if I chance to prosper,

I may come back and tell ;
But if the trade gaes backlin's,

ril keep it to myseP.

To the begging we will go, will go,
To the begging we will go.

I have received no few»-r than four manuscript copies of this really-
worthy and curious song, all differing materially, from correspond-
ents in widely separated parts of Scotland ; and in addition, one
from a Scotsman long resident in America. The copy presented,
however, is collated mainly from two of these — one from Banffshire,
the other from Aberdeenshire. There is an English begging song
with a similar refrain ; but beyond the refrain and the measure,
there is little resemblance, and no comparison, in respect of quality.
The English song has been attributed to Kichard Brome, who ** per-
formed a servant's faithful part " to rare Ben Jonson. The Scottish
song, with which the above is almost identical, was written by
Alexander Ross, of Lochlee, the gifted author of Belenore, or the
FortuncUe Shepherdess,

Digitized by VjOOQIC

NEERIE NORRIE 271

NEERIE NORRIE.

O, Fll sing ye a sang, and Fll tell ye a tale,

Fal lal the dal, fal the dandie, O ;
And it's a' very true, frae the head to the tail,

Wi' my neerie-norrie, neerie-norrie, nandie O.

Owre the hill o" Benachie I saw a skate flee,

Fal lal, etc..
And four and twenty little flookies chasin' her wi*
glee,

Wi' ray neerie, etc.

Four and twenty pairtricks were drawin' at a pleuch,.

Fal lal, etc..
And little robin redbreast haudin' weel eneuch,

Wi' ray neerie, etc.

Four and twenty Hielandmen were ridin' on a snail^

Fal lal, etc..
When up cam' the hindmost and trampit on her tail,.

Wi' my neerie, etc.

The snail shot out her horns, just like a hummel coo,.

Fal lal, etc.,
" Fie,*" quo' the foremost, " we'll a' be stickit noo,"

Wi* my neerie, etc.

Four and twenty tailors were killin' at a loose,

Fal lal, etc.,
" Hillo," says ane o' them, " he's fat and fu' o' juice,"^

Wi' my neerie, etc.

Four and twenty headless men were playin' at the ba',.

Fal lai, etc..
When by c^m' footless, and took it frae them a',

Wi' my neerie, etc.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

272 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

Up started mou^ess, and merrily he leuch,

Fal lal, etc.,
Up started tongueless and tauld his tale teuch,

Wi' ray neerie, etc.

As I gaed by the mill door, out cam' Miller Reid,

Fal lal, etc.,
Wi' his bonnet on his feet, and his breeks upon his
head,

Wi' my neerie, etc.

'Then forth cam"* the raaiden — Miller Reid's mither,

Fal lal, etc.,
Riddlin' at her green cheese, and siftin' at her butter,

Wi"* my neerie, etc.

Now, Fve sung ve a sang, and Fve telPd ye a tale,

Fal lal, etc.
And it's a' big lees frae the head to the tail,

Wi' my neerie, etc.

Peter Buchan prints a ballad somewhat resembling the above, in
all but the beginning and the end, the inter-lines of which are,
** Quo* the man to the joe, Quo' the man to the joe,'' and ** Quo' the
merry, merry men to the green joe." The present version was
taken recently from the singing of the late Mr. Thomas Hill,
Glasgow, who assured me it was much sung, as he then sang it, in
•country districts in Forfarshire when he was a boy, more than forty
years ago.

JOHNNIE AND MARY.

Down the burn and thro' the mead.

His golden locks wav'd ower his brow ;
Johnnie, liltin'', tuned his reed.

And Mary wiped her bonnie mou\
Dear she lo'ed the well-known song.
While her Johnnie, blythe and young,
Sang her praise the whole day long.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

WHEN JOHN'S ALE WAS NEW

279

Down the burn and. thro"* the mead,
His golden locks wav'^d ower his brow ;

Johnnie, liltin', tuned his reed,
And Mary wiped her bonnie mou\

Costly clothes she had but few,

Of rings and jewels nae great store ;

Her face was fair, her love was true.
And Johnnie, wisely, wished no more.

Love**s the pearl, the shepherd''s prize,

Ower the mountain, near the fountain.

Love delights the shepherd'^s eyes.
Down the bum, etc.

Gold and titles give not health.

And Johnnie could not these impart ;

Youthfu' Mary's greatest wealth.

Was still her faithfu' Johnnie'*s heart.

Sweet the joy that lovers find.

Great the treasure, sweet the pleasure.

Where the heart is always kind.
Down the burn, etc.

Clearly an imitation of the Caledonian manner, and interesting
mainly as such, the above was introduced as a Scotch song in
Bickerstaff's opera of Love in a ViUcLge^ first acted at Covent Garden,
London, in 1762. It was a favourite with Scottish chapbook
publishers in the early years of last century.

WHEN JOHN'S ALE WAS NEW.

:tEq^:

^

:*=it

There were some jolly tradesmen Went out to spend an

evening, Went out to spend an evening, A ranting jovial crew.

i8

Digitized by VjOOQIC

274

VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

John's ale was new, brave boys, When John's ale was new.

There were some jolly tradesmen,
Went out to spend an evening,
Went out to spend an evening,

A ranting jovial crew ;
They called for drink in a hurry.
That o'er it they might be merry,
That o''er it they might be merry.

When John'^s ale was new, brave boys.
When John'*s ale was new.

There soon came in a hatter.
Who asked what was the matter ;
He scorned to drink cold water.

Amongst the jovial crew ;
He dashed his hat upon the ground.
Said, "Every man must drink a crown ;''
The company drank his health around.

When John'^s ale was new, brave boys.
When John''s ale was new.

There next came in a dyer.
Who sat down by the fire ;
And no man could be higher.
Amongst the jovial crew ;

Digitized by VjOOQIC

WHEN JOHN'S ALE WAS NEW 275

He told the landlord to his face,
The chimley corner was the place.
Where he would sit and dye his face.

When John's ale was new, brave boys.
When Johns's ale was new.

In came a jolly mason.

His hammer to put a face on ;

No man could be more decent.

Amongst the jovial crew ;
He dashed his trowel against the wa\
And wished the kirk and tower should fa\
Then work would be for masons a\

When John's ale was new, brave boys.
When John's ale was new.

There next came in a soldier,
No captain e''er looked bolder ;
His gun on his right shoulder.

His good broad-sword he drew ;
'*The French,'' quoth he, "are fear'd to fight.
They know we keep our bayonets bright.
So we will spend a jovial night.

When John's ale is new, brave boys.
When John's ale is new."

Next came a tailor, nimble.

With lapbroad, shears, and thimble ;

And, oh, how he did tremble.

Amongst the jovial crew ;
They made him pay for drink and smoke.
Until poor snip was fairly broke.
And he was forced to pawn his cloak.

When John's ale was new, brave boys,
When John's ale was new.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

276 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

There next came in a tinker,
Who was no small-beer drinker ;
He scorned to be a trinker,
Amongst the jovial crew ;
He had rivets made of metal.
To mend each broken kettle ;
What he drank he swore he'd settle.

When John's ale was new, brave boys,
When John's ale was new.

Last came a rag-man wary.
His rag-bags he did carry.
And he sought to be merry.
Amongst the jovial crew ;
He threw his wallets on the ground,
Said he would pay for drink a crown ;
They drank his health right merrily round.

When John's ale was new, brave boys.
When John's ale was new.

The ale was aye improving,
None ever thought of moving ;
The longer they sat bousing.

The greater friends they grew ;
They drank each man full glasses,
Till they were drunk as asses.
And the rag-bags burnt to ashes.

When John's ale was new, brave boys.
When John's ale was new.

Originally in some form, I suspect, from the south of the Tweed,
the above rant has yet enjoyed a firm hold, and received embellish-
ments here, where distilling of whisky more than brewing of ale
abounds. I have talked with many persons, at any rate, not yet
greatly stricken in years, who remember it as a popular song at
small convivial gatherings in village inns and in city tap-rooms in
Scotland, when they were young. Of the particular John, who
brewed such tempting ale, it would be interesting to have personal
notanda, but none is to hand. On the occasion described at least.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE WEE TOUN CLERK

277

bis house must have preseBted a scene not less wildly baechanalian
than the revels of the '* Jolly Beggars,*' as depicted by Bums, in
Poosie Nancy's lodging-house in Mauchline ; an excess of drinking
and high jinks happily little known in those more rational times, or,
when discovered, not deemed a subject fit for celebration in song.
The version here printed is collated from a broad-sheet copy, and
several in manuscript received from correspondents. A very ser-
viceable copy was one obtained from Mr. Duncan Graham, Crieff,
from whose singing the air was written for us by his friend, Mr.
Alexander Christie.

THE WEE TOUN CLERK.

As Mysie she gaed up the street, Some white fish for to buy,

^ ji un poco rail. ^-^

^3f EE^^^^^5^5^-^

1?=t2=t2=

The wee toun clerk he heard her feet, And he follow'd her by and by :

Chorus, a tempo, f

Rick-i - doo-dum-day, doo-dum-day ;Rick-i-dick-i-doo-dum-day.

As Mysie she gaed up the street,

Some white fish for to buy ;
The wee toun clerk he heard her feet.

And he followed her by and by.

Rickidoo duni day, doo dum day,
Rickidicki doo, dum day.

" O, where live ye, my bonnie lass,

I pray you, tell to me ;
For gin the nicht were e'er sae mirk,

I wad come and visit thee."*'

Digitized by VjOOQIC

27S VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

" My father he aye locks the door,
My mither keeps the key ;

Gin ye were iieVr sae wily a wicht,
Ye canna win in to nie."*'

" I will get a ladder made,
Full thirty steps and three ;

ril syne get up to the chimla-tap,
And then come doun to thee.^

The clerk he had a true brither,

And a wily wicht was he ;
And he has made a lang ladder.

Was thirty steps and three.

He has made a cleek but and a reel,

A creel but and a pin ;
And he''s awa' to the chimla-tap,

And he's latten the wee clerk in.

The auld wife could na sleep that nicht,

Tho' late, late was the hour ;
"Til lay my life,"" quo' the silly auld wife,

" There's a man in our dochter's bower.*"

The auld man he gat owre the bed,

To see if the thing was true ;
But she's ta en the wee clerk in her arms,

And covered him owre wi' blue.

" O where are you gaun now, faither," she says,

" Where are you gaun sae late ?
Ye've disturbed me in my evening prayers,

And O, but they were sweet."

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE WEE TOUN CLERK 279

" O, ill betide ye, silly auld wife,

And an ill death may ye dee ;
She has the Gude Book in her arms,

And she''s praying for you and me.**'

The auld wife still lay wauken yet,

Till something mair was said ;
" ril lay my life,'" quo** the silly auld wife,

"There's a man by mydochter's bed."

The auld wife then got up herseP,

To see if the thing was true ;
But what the wrack took her fit in the dark.

For into the creel she flew.

The man that was at the chimla-tap.

Finding the creel was fu\
He wrappit the rope his elbow round.

And fast to him he drew.

" O, help ! O, help ! my hinny, noo help I

O, help ! my hinny, do ;
For him that ye hae wished me at,

He**s carryin"* me aff just noo.'**

" O, gin the foul thieFs gotten ye, wife,

I wish he may keep his haud ;
For a** the lee-lang winter's nicht.

Yell never lie in your bed.*"

He's towed her up, he^s towed her doun.
He's towed her through and through ;

" O, Gude assist ! " cried the silly auld wife,
*' For I'm just departin' noo."

Digitized by VjOOQIC

2d0

VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

He's towed her up, he''s towed her doun,

He's let the creel douii fa* ;
Till every rib i' the auld wife's side,

Played nick-nack on the wa\

O, the blue, the bonnie, bonnie blue,
And I wish the blue aye weel ;

And may every jealous silly auld wife.
Be rock'd in the same auld creel.

The above graphic and clever ballad, though it has been seldom
printed, unless in mangled form in obscure publications, is perhaps
more than two hundred years old. While it has been ignored by, or
has eluded, the major collectors, however, down to Whitelaw, it has
been preserved by the people ; and it is not many years since I heard
it sung by a Paisley gentleman, who never saw it in print. I plead
guilty to a few simple and necessary emendations of the text.
Whitelaw gives it the title of ** The Keach i' the Creel," but its
better known name is **The Wee Toun Clerk." Motherwell men-
tions the ballad merely in the appendix to his Minstrelsy.

THE AULD MAN'S MARKS DEAD.

j:^^

'ZZZZW.

?F^-

^^^^

The auld man's mare's dead, The puir man's mare's dead, Ihe

n^'^.^-r^ rq =q^

=s=^

iztt

Si^

auld man's mare 's dead, A mile aboon Dundee. There was

hay to ca', and lint to lead, A hunder hotts o' muck to spread, And

-» M-

r&=^l

35^

?=^iE^^3i?

5E^

m

^ . — ^ , - -^,

peats and truffs and a' to lead— And yet the jaud to dee

Digitized by VjOOQIC

nW AULD MAN'S MARE'S DEAO 291

The auld man'^s mare'^s dead ;
The puir man''s march's dead ;
The auld man''s inare'*8 dead,
A mile aboon Dundee.

There was hay to ca\ and lint to lead,
A hunder hotts o** muck to spread.
And peats and truffs and a' to lead —
And yet the jaud to dee !

She had the fiercie and the fleuk,
The wheezloeh and the wanton yeuk ;
On ilka knee she had a breuk —
What aiPd the beast to dee ?

The auld man''s mare^^s dead ;
The puir man's mare''s dead ;
The peats, and neeps, and a' to lead^
And she is gane — wae's me !

She was lang-tooth'd and blench-lippit,
Heam-hough'd and haggis-fittit,
Lang-neckit, chandler-chaftit.
And yet the jaud to dee !

She was cut-luggit, painch-lippit.
Steel- wamet, staincher-fittit,
Chanler-ehaftit, lang-neckit,
And yet the brute did dee !

The auld man's mare'^s dead ;
The puir man's mare's dead ;
The auld man's mare's dead —
A better ne'er did dee*

The puir man's head's sair,
Wi* greetin' for his gude grey mare ;
He's like to dee himsel' wi' care.
Aside the green kirk-yard.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

282 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

He's thinkin* on the by-gane days,
And a' her douce and canny ways ;
And how his ain gudewife, auld Bess,
Micht maist as weel been spared.

The auld man''s mare"'s dead ;
The puir man'^s mare''s dead ;
The auld mane's mare\s dead,
A mile aboon Dundee.

Patrick, or Patie Birnie, the author of the original of this humor-
ous old ditty, was a well-known rhymer and fiddler in Kinf^hom,
Fifeshire, where he fiounshed towards the close of the seventeenth
and in the beginning of the eighteenth centuries. His portrait,
painted by Aikman, is still extant, and exhibits, as Chambers re-
marks, ** a face mingling cleverness, drollery, rojjuery, and im-
pudence in harmonious proportions." Patie is described as being at
the Battle of Bothwell Bridge, probably as one of the militia of his
native county ; but, Horace like, he ran away, and never stopped
till he landed in Edinburgh . With a dwarf, named Stocks, who
danced on the table to the strains of his violin, Patie gave entertain-
ments in the inns of Fife, and seldom failed to secure a paying
auditory. In 1721, Allan Ramsay published an **Eleg> on Patie
Birnie,'* in which, while describing the violer's deportment towards
inn company, he says : —

" soon his face wad mak ye' fain.

When he did sough ;
* O wiltu, wiltu, do't again,'

And graned and leuch.

** This sang he made frae his ain head,
And eke ' The auld man's mare she's dead,
And peats and turrs and a' to lead,'

O fye upon her !
A bonnie auld thing this, indeed,

An't like your honour.

*' After ilka tune he took a sowp," etc.

There are two versions of the song, sometimes varying, but always
printed distinctly in the song collections. Singers, however, have
frequently made one song of the two, and I have printed it in col-
lated form, arranging it in the order in which it has been offcen sung
with rare effect.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

TA CLERK IN TA OFFISH ^83

TA CLERK IN TA OFFISH.

Noo Rosie shell be prood, and Rosie shell be praw,
She'll be whiter than ta roses, an' redder than ta

snaw ;
For ta praw, praw lad''s come an' tookit her awa' ;
She s a praw lad, a clerk in an offish.

Wi' my hi hoo honel, an' my honel hoo hi,
Camlachie, Auchtermuchty, Ecclefechan, an'

Mullguy ;
Wi' my hi hoo honel, an' my honel hoo hi.
She's a praw lad, ta clerk in ta offish.

Ay, an' this praw lad was o' shentle parents porn.
Her great grandfather was head piper to Lord Shon,

Shuke o' Lorn ;
An' her nainsels ancestor he played upon ta horn,
She's a praw lad, ta clerk in ta offish.

Ay, an' this praw lad, when she was but a pairn.
She was sent to ta College her eedication to learn ;
An' oh, but she could tell hoo niony panes was in a
herrin',
She's a praw lad, ta clerk in ta offish.

Ay, an' tliis praw lad she could tell ye a' forbye,
Hoo mony sousan' miles Ben Nevis she'll be high ;
An' hoo mony million stars will be hangin' in ta sky,
She's a praw lad, ta clerk in ta offish.

Na, she'll no took ta mason, an' she'll no took ta

Wright,
She'll no took ta weaver, ta toosie-lookin' sight ;
But she'll shust took ta lad scrapes ta black upon ta

white,
Wi' a sma' ponny stick in an offish.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

284

VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

O, we'll a' be prood o' Rosie, o' Rosie well be prood.
An*" on ta very place this present moment she'll!

stood ;
For she's married to ta lad that 's come o' shentle

plood,
Ta praw lad, ta clerk in an offish.

Here is a song not less grotesquely funny than Alexander Rodger^s
*'Shon M'Nab," or the half-dozen or more efforts in the same vein
of humorous caricature from the pen of Alexander Fisher, which
adorn the pages of Whistle Binkie, It belongs also, I fancy, to a
not much later date. Anyway, it was a common song in the East
and West of Scotland alike more than thirty years ago Recently it
was revived in one of the Glasgow Christmas pantomimes, since
when its vogue has gi'eatly increased. It has been seldom printed,
and not previously in any collection. The air is " Johnnie Cope.*'

THE JOLLY PLOUGHBOY.

As Jack the jolly plough boy was ploughing of his land.

I

:^=^

^ With his

•^ y— *^

With his horses be - neath yon green shade,

He

g^^-g^i;

^!S

whistled and he sang, as his plough it went alang, And his

fe^.^V^ '^

?2-

-P=F=

^' chance it was to meet a pretty maid, pretty

maid,

And his chance it was to meet a pretty maid.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE JOLLY PLOUGHBOY 289

As Jack the jolly ploughboy was ploughing of his
land,
With his horses beneath yon green shade.
He whistled and he sang, as his plougli it went alang,
And his chance it was to meet a pretty maid,

pretty maid,
And his chance it was to meet a pretty maid.

(), he whistled and he sang as his plough it slade

alang,
, " She''s a maiden of higher degree ;
If her parents come to know she is courted on the
plain,
They will send her bonnie laddie to the sea, to

the sea,
They will send her bonnie laddie to the sea.'**

It happened to be so when her parents came to know,
That she was being courted on the plain ;

A press-gang o** soldiers did huny him awa\

And they sent him to the wars to be slain, to be

slain.
And they sent him to the wars to be slain.

Now she''s dress'd herself up in a young man's array.
With her pockets well lined with gold ;

And she''s marched up the street so nimbly and so
neat.
That she look'd like a jolly sailor bold, sailor bold.
That she look'd like a jolly sailor bold.

The first that she met was a mounted dragoon,
She said, " Did you see my dear swain ? **'

*' He is sailing on the deep, he is off to face the fleet,
He'*s awa* to the wars to be slain, to be slain,
He''s awa** to the wars to be slain."**

Digitized by VjOOQIC

286 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

She went to the captain that ruled ©""er the ship,

And to him she did grievously complain ;
She said, "Tm gone a-seeking for my jolly plough-
boy,
They have sent him to the wars to be slain, to be

slain,
They have sent him to the wars to be slain.*"

She has pullfed out her purse of five hundred pounds.
Of five hundred pounds, ay, and more ;

And she paid it freely down for her jolly ploughboy.
And she rolled him in her arms to the shore, to

the shore.
And she rolled him in her arms to the shore.

Oh, happy was the day when thae twa lovers met.

And trials they've since had no more ;
And they whistle and they sing till the woods and
valleys ring.
Since she''s found out the laddie she adores, she

adores,
Since she's found out the laddie she adores.

Copies of this song, only slightly varying, I have received fronk
correspondents north, south, east, and west, all of whom testify t«i
its popularity among the country people. In the rural districts of
Perthshire, I am sure, no song was better known fifty years ago ; and
it is still occasionally sung, I am told, both in Aberdeenshire and in
Roxburghshire. I have never seen it in print : never in the above
foi-m, a^way. The Rev. b. Baring-Gould, in his Songs and Ballads
of the Westy prints an English song, with its music, noted from the
singing of a man in Bradstone, which, known as '*The Simple
Ploughboy," tells an almost identical story ; but, while the melody
here is more characteristic, the words also have more character and
force. A verse will be sufficient to show this : —

*' O the ploughboy was a ploughing
With his horses on the plain.

And was singing of a song as on went he,
* Since that I have fall'n in love
If the parents disapprove,

*Tui the first thing that will send me to the sea.' *"

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE MASSACRE OF TA PHAIRSHON

287

THE MASSACRE OF TA PHAIRSHON.

Phairshon swore a feud

a - gainst the Clan Mac - Tavish, And

^i:

:1^=fs

*'ff »-

iazzfctai

d-jtLM .

march'd in • to their land, to murder and to rafish ;

SOsc

^^

For he did re - solve to ex - tirpate the vipers With

^^i

M=s=ftqs;=

W

-W^r : ^ ^

four - an - twenty men, and five • an' - thirty pipers.

i^

5SE

f

f^-^»C

i*=iii

1^=^

Yochen, ochen, oo !

Yochen, ochen, adle !

f

3S

^^

5^

Yochen, ochen, oo I

Yochen, ochen, o - ool

Phairshon swore a feud,

Against the Clan MacTavish;
And marched into their land,

To murder and to rafish ;
For he did resolve

To extirpate the vipers,
With four-and-twenty men

And five-and-thirty pipers.

Yochen, ochen, oo !

Yochen, ochen, adle !
Yochen, ochen, oo,

Yochen, ochen, o-oo I

Digitized by VjOOQIC

288 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

But when he had gone

Half-way down Strath Canaan,
Of his fighting tail

Just three were remainin' ;
They were all he had

To back him in ta battle ;
All the rest had gone

Off to drive ta cattle.

"Fery coot !'' cried Phairshon,

" So my clan disgraced is ;
Lads, we'll need to fight

Pefore we touch ta peasties.
Here''s Mhic-Mac-Methusaleh,

Coming wi"* his fassals —
Gillies seventy- three,

And sixty Dhuine wassails ! *"

" Coot tay to you, sir !

Are you not ta Phairshon ?
Was you coming here

To visit any pershon ?
You are a plackguard, sir !

It is now six hundred
Coot long years, and more.

Since my glen was plundered.''

*' Fat is tat you say ?

Dare you cock your peaver ?
I will teach you, sir.

Fat is coot pehaviour !
You shall not exist

For another day more ;
I will shoot you, sir.

Or stap you with my claymore ! '

Digitized by VjOOQIC

TH£ MASSACRE OF TA PHAIRSHON 289

" I am fery glad

To learn what you mention,
Since I can prevent

Any such intention."'
So Mhic-Mac-Methusaleh

Gave some warlike howls,
Trew his skhian-dhu,

And stuck it in his powels.

In this fery way

Tied the gallant Phairshon,
Who was always thought

A superior pershon.
Phairshon had a son

Who married Noah's daughter,
And nearly spoiled the Flood

By drinking up ta water.

Which he would have done,

I at least pelieve it,
Had ta mixture peen

Only half Glenlivet.
This is all my tale,

Sii-s, I hope tis new t'ye.
Here's your ferry coot healths

And tamn ta whusky tuty !

In the memoirs of Professor Ayfcoun, written by his friend and
collaborator, Sir Theodore Martin, the following account is giren of
the origin of the above clever and amusing ballad :^" Being asked
to get up an impromptu amusement at a friend's house in 1844 for
some English visitors, who were enthusiastic about the Highlanders
and the Highlands, he [Ajrtoun] fished out from his wardrobe the
kilt with which he had electrified the men of Thurso in his boyish
days. Arra3ring himself in this, and a blue cloth jacket wifch white
metal buttons, which he had got years before to act a charity boy in
a charade, he completed his costume by a scarf across his shoulders,
short hose, and brogues ! The brevity of the kilt produced a most
ludicrous effect, and not being eked out with the usual ' sporran '
left him very much in the condition of the * Cutty Sark ' of Burns's
poem. With hair like Katterfelto's, on end in wild disorder,
Aytoun was ushered into the drawing-room. He bore himself with

19

Digitized by VjOOQIC

290 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

more than Celtic dignity, and saluted the Southrons with stately
courtesy, being introduced to them as the famous laird of Macnab.
The ladies were delighted with the Cheft^in, who related many
highly exciting traits of Highland manners. Among other things,
when his neighbours, as he told them, made a foray, which they
often did, upon his cattle, he thought nothing of * sticking a tirk
into their powels,' when the ladies exclaimed in horror, 'O, Laird,
you don't say so ! ' ' Say so ! ' he replied. ' on my saul, laties, and
to pe surely, I to it.' At supper he was asked to sing a song, * I am
fery sorry, laties,' he replied, * that I have no voice : but I will speak
to you a translation of a fery ancient Gaelic poem,' and proceeded to
chant *The Massacre of ta Phairson,' which came ui)on all present as
if it were the invention of the moment, and was greeted with roars
of laughter. The joke was carried on until the party broke up, and
the strangers were not undeceived for some days as to the true
character of the great Celtic Chief. "

The piece forms one of the Bon Oaxiltier Ballads^ which were the
joint productions of Aytoun and Martin. When properly sung with
mock bagpipe accompaniment in the chorus, it forms an excellent
and unique entertainment.

THE OULD BOG HOLE.

O, THE pigs are in the mire, and the cow is at the

grass.
And a man without a woman is no better than an

ass,
My mother likes her ducks, and the ducks like the

drake.
And sweet Judy Flannigan, Td die for her sake.
For Judy is as fair as the flower on the lea,
She is nate and com plate from the neck to the knee,
We met fother night, and my heart to condole,
Och ! I set Judy down by the Old Bog Hole.

Saying, " Cushla mavoumeen, would you many

me.'*
Gramachree avourneen, could you marry me ?
Cushla mavoumeen, would you marry me .'*
Could you fancy the bouncing young Barney

M agee f "

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THC OULD BOG HOLE 291

Sweet Judy she blushed, and she hung down her

head ;
" Sure, Barney, you blackguard, Td like to get wed.
But they say youVe so rough, and you are such a

rake"—
" Don't believe it,"' says I, " for it's all a mistake.
To keep you gentale I will toil at my trade,
I will handle the flail, or the hook, or the spade,
And the turf to procure which is better than coal,
Och, ril work to my knees in the Ould Bog Hole.

Then,cushla mavourneen, would you marry me?
Gramachree avourneen, could you marry me ?
Cushla mavourneen, would you marry me ?
Wid the ould britches tattering all over my
knee ?

" Now give me your hand, and consent just at once.
For ifs not every day that you'll get such a chance ;
When the priest makes us one, then how happy

you'll be
As the beautiful, dutiful Mistress Magee.
Though the male may be scarce, we'll have praties

enough.
And if you should long for more delicate stuffs.
Sure I'll bring out the rod which my grandfather stole,
And I'll fish for the eels in the Old Bog Hole.

Then, cushla mavourneen, would you marry me.'*
Gramachree avourneen, could you marry me.'*
Cushla mavourneen, would you marry me ?
Sure, my heart is the part that's devoted to thee.

"And the childer we'll have, sure we mustn't miss

that—
There'll be Darby, and Barney, and Murphy, and Pat,
Wid Kitty so fair, and Judy so bluff.
And " — " Stop, stop," she cried, " have you not got

enough.?"

Digitized by VjOOQIC

t9t VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

"Arrah, fait, I have not, for Til ne^er be content,
Till you bring home as many as there^s days in the

Lent;
How the neighbours will stare when we go for a

stroll,
And we'll all promenade round the Ould Bog Hole.

Then,cushla mavoumeen, would you marry me?
Gramachree avoumeen, could you marry me ?
Cushla mavourneen, would you marry me ?
Oh, wurra ! wurra ! wurra ! how Fm doating on
thee!''

" By the hokey," says she, " I can hardly refuse.
For, Barney^the blarney you know how to use,
YouVe charmed my heart wid the picture you've

drawn —
If I thought I could trust you the job might be done."
" Arrah, murther," says I, "do you doubt what I say.'^
If I thought 'twould convince vou I'd swear half a

day;"
*' Och, no," she replied, " that is no use at all " —
Then she whispered consent by the Old Bog Hole.

"Arrah,give me a kiss now, my joy and delight."
" Och, be aisy, you blackguard, till once ye've a

right ;
Sure, after we're wed ye may kiss and cajole" —
"And we'll fish for the eels in the Ould Bog

Hole."

Many will recall the above as a familiar and attractive street song
in Scotland more than forty years ago. I have never seen it in print
except in the long and narrow penny sheet forms so commonly hawked
at country fairs and feeing markets abont the middle of last century.
At " Little Dunning " market, at Perth, in the later fifties, I can
testify, no song ever attracted greater crowds than *' The Ould Bog
Hole.'* A song of the Green Isle, it had been brought **over" with
*' Brannan on the Moor," and others, by the harvesters, I presume,
who annually visited our shores in shiploads for the cutting of the
com.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE SHEPHERD ON THE HILL 293

THE SHEPHERD ON THE HILL.

Whaur Gairn^s bonnie mountain stream

Fa's into winding Dee,
Aft 'mang the shady birks weVe met,

My shepherd lad and me.
We've courted there the lee lang nicht,

Wi' hearty richt gudewill ;
But noo I fear I'll meet nae mair,

My shepherd on the hill.

My Colin's was the fairest face

And manly was his form,
And he wad meet wi** dauntless step

The winter's wildejjt storm ;
He climbed the rocky mountain steep.

And crossed the angry rill.
And true and kindly was his heart.

My shepherd on the hill.

That nicht he left my father's cot,

His fleecy flocks to care ; —
Oh, when I saw him leave the door,

My very heart grew sair.
The snaw fell fast, the wind blew loud,

Alang the mountain side :
I placed a licht the window in.

My Colin safe to guide.

*Twas aye I thocht I heard his fit,

My heart it boded ill ;
'Twas aye I feared I'd court nae mair

My snepherd on the hill.
At length the weary nicht gaed by,

Wi' lang and di'eary 'oors :
At last the daylicht did appear,

Wi' cauld and sleety shooers.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

294

VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

We searched the glen baith up and doun ;

Oh, weary was the day !
Until we reached the fatal heath,

Whaiir Colin lifeless lay.
His faithful dog lay by his side,

Near to the winding rill ;
'Twas then I knew Fd court nae raair

My shepherd on the hill.

Twas thrice I kissed his clay-cold lips,

Wi' mony a blinding tear ;
The meeting there it was to me

A trial most severe.
Now since that Colin he is dead,

My sorrow FU fulfil ;
Till death shall lay me lowly by

My shepherd on the hill.

The above sone, of which I have received several copies in manu-
«cript, less or more complete, has* been «ung chiefly in Aberdeenshire,
to which county, by mention of the Gairn, it is evident that it
belongs. Mr. John Forbes, Inspector of Police, Ayr, who used to
hear it sunof in the north when he was a boy, says the air is very sweet
and plaintive. A version, 1 should say, and verv likely the original,
from which I have culled the secoml verse, i« printe<l in T?ie Tales of
Scotland (1845), «<iitecl by l?obert 8cott Fittis. The composition
there is attributed to ** G. M'Farl^ue, Montrose."

THE BRISK YOUNG LAD.

Lively,

dad - die's door, my dad - die's door, There cam' a young man to my

:*^

dad - die's door A • seek • ing me

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE BRISK YOUNG LAD

299

And, wow ! but he was a braw young lad

i

brisk young lad, and a braw young lad, And, wow I but he was a

iX^

qN=q=3z

p

-J-^^^-,

ij — ^— i— " —

braw young lad. Cam' seek - ing me

There cam'' a young man to my daddie's door,
My daddie"'s door, my daddie's door ;
There cam^ a young man to my daddie''s door,
A-seeking me to woo.

And, wow ! but he was a braw young lad,
A brisk young lad, and a braw young lad ;
And, wow ! but lie was a braw young lad.
Cam' seeking me to woo.

But I was baking when he cam**.
When he cam\ when he cam** ;
I took him in and ga*e him a dram,
To thowe his frozen mou\

I set him in beside the bink,
I ga"'e him bread and ale to drink ;
But ne"'er a blythe styme wad he blink,
Until his wame was fou\

" Gae, get you gane, ye cauldrife wooer,
Ye sour-looking, hungry wooer ; *"
I straightway showed him to the door.
Saying, " Come nae mair to woo.*"

Digitized by VjOOQIC

296 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

A deuk-dub lay before the door,
Before the door, before the door ;
A deuk-dub lay before the door.
And there fell he, I trew.

Out cam^ the gudeman and high he shouted,
Out cam' the gudewife, and laich she louted ;
And a' the toun-neighbours were gathered about it,
And there lay he, I trew.

Then out cam I and sneered and smiled,
" Ye cam' to woo, but yeVe a' beguiled ;
YeVe fa'en i' the dirt, and yeVe a' befyled ;
Well ha'e nae mair o** you.'"

Yet, wow ! but he was a braw young lad,
A brisk young lad, and a braw young lad ;
And gay and gallantly was he clad.
Cam' seeking me to woo.

For this characteristic and clever song, which appears in Herd's
collection, into which it was gathered from the stalls and menflicant's
baskets, no author has ever been assigned. It sings to the old tune,
"Bungf^your Eye in the Morning.*' Editors generally have given it
the title of "The Caftldrife Wooer," but the title of **The Brisk
Young Lad," it will be readily admitted, I think, is more in harmony
with the prevailing sarcasm of the song.

THE BONxNIE HOUSE O' AIRLIE.

It fell upon a day, and a bonnie summer day.
When the aits grew green and the barley.

That there fell out a great dispute
Between Argyle and Airlie.

The Duke o' Montrose has written to Argyle

To come in the morning early ;
And he's up and awa' by the back o** Dunkeld,

To plunder the bonnie House o' Airlie.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE BONNIE HOUSE O' AIRLIE 297

Lady Ogilvie look^ ower frae her high Castle wa\

And O, but she sigh'd sairly,
When she saw Argyle wi' a hunder o** his men.

Come to plunder the bonnie House o** Airlie.

" Come down, come down, Lady Ogilvie,^ he says,

" Come down, and kiss me fairly ;
Or I swear by the sword that hangs in my hand,

I winna leave a stannin' stane in Airlie.'"

" ril no come down to thee, proud Argyle,

Nor wad I kiss thee fairly ;
ril no come down thou fause, fause lord,

Tho' thou shouldna leave a stannin** stane in Airlie.

" If my gude lord had been at hame.

As ne's awa' wi' Charlie,
There durstna a Campbell in a' Argyle,

Set a fit upon the bonnie green o** Airlie.

" If mv gude lord were here this nicht.

As he is wi' King Charlie,
The dearest blude o' a' thy kin.

Wad slocken the burnin' o' Airlie.

" O, I ha'*e borne him seven bonnie sons,

The youngest ne'er saw his daddie,
And though I had as mony ower again,

I wad gi'^e them a** to Prince Charlie. **'

Argyle in a rage attacked the bonnie ha\

And he's to the plundering fairly ;
And tears tho' he saw, like dewdrops fa\

In a lowe he set the bonnie House o** Airlie !

Digitized by VjOOQIC

298 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

" What lowe is yon ?'" quo" the glide Lochiel,
That loups ower the hilltaps clearly P'**

" By the God of my kin ! "" ci'ied the young Ogilvie,
" It's my ain dear bonnie House o** Airlie ! *"

" It\s no the bonnie house, nor the lands a** reft.

That grieves my heart sae sairly ;
But O, the winsome dame and the sweet babes I left.

They'll be smoor'd in the black reek o' Airlie."*'

" Draw your dirks ! draw your dirks ! " cried the
brave Lochiel ;

'* Unsheath your swords ! " cried Charlie,
"And we'll kindle a lowe round the fause Argyle,

And licht it wi' a spark out o* Airlie."

No Scottish song or ballad has had a more lively vagabond career
than "The Bonnie House o' Airlie," which has formed an item in the
repertoire of wandering musicians for many generations. Thirty and
odd years ago there was a decrepit old man who used to hunt the
Nethergate and Perth Road of Dundee who sang nothing else, and his
rendition was so singularly absurd that he had many mock imitators
among the younger generations thereaway, who knew the old vocalint
only by the self-created name of "Leddy Ogilby." The ballad, as Is
well known, describes a real incident in the history of the country, as
old as the great civil war of the seventeenth century. Spalding's
account is that the Earl of Airlie went from home to England, fearing
the troubles of the land, and that he should be pressed to subscribe this
Covenant, and left his olHest son. the Lord Ogilvie, a brave young
nobleman, behind him at home. The Estates of Parliament learning
of his departure, directed the Earls of Montrose and Kinghorn, to go
to the place of Airlie, and to take it, and for that effect to carry
cannon with them. On arrival thev summoned the young Ogilvie to
surrender the house. The son's reply was that his father was absent,
and had left no commission with him to yield up the house to any
subjects, and that he would defend the same till his father returned
from Englapd. Some shots were exchanged, but the assailants finding
the placH invulnerable, by nature of its great strength, retired. The
Committee of Estates, finding no contentment in this expedition, next
gave orders to the Earl of Argyle to raise men out of his own country,
and to go first to Airlie and Forter, and to take and destroy both of
these strongholds of the Ogilvie family, and next to go upon their
" lymmers " and punish them. Argyle was nt lend with the Ogilvies
at the time, and is said to have heartily enjoyed the commission to
sack their castles, and lost no time in putting his orders into execution.
Taking with him an army of about five thousand men,

Digitized by VjOOQIC

A' BODY'S LIKE TO BE MARRIED BUT ME 299

** lie's up and awa' by the back o' Dunkeld

To plunder the bonnie House o' Airlie."

After plundering Airlie Castle, he set it on fire, and afterwards razed
the walls. From Airlie he proceeded to Forter— which, by the way,
is the scene of the dialogue of the ballad, and not Airlie at all — whence
Lady Ogilvie and her family had removed in the interval. Here Argyle
is said to have behaved with much cruelty, turning Lady Ogilvie out
of doors, though she was then nearing her confinement, and even
refusing to grant permission to her grandmother, and his own kins-
woman, Lady Drummie, to receive her into her house of Kelly. The
castle of Forter was in turn razed to the ground, but not until the
Campbells had held possession of it for several months.

There are various readings of the ballad ; but they differ only in
details, the main features being always the same. I have aimed at
selecting the one most generally sung. Everybody knows the air.

A' BODY'S LIKE TO BE MARRIED BUT
ME.

As Jenny sat down wi' her wheel by the fire,
An** thoucht o** the time that was fast fleein' by 'er,
She said to herseP, wi' a heavy hoch hey ! —
Oh ! a' body's like to be married but me.

My youthfu"* companions are a' won awa\
And though Fve had wooers mysel' ane or twa,
Yet a lad to my mind I ne'er could yet see ;
Oh ! a' body's like to be married but me.

There's Lowrie, the lawyer, wad ha'e me fu' fain,
Wha has baith a house an' a yard o' his ain :
But before I'd gang to it I rather wad dee ;
A wee stum pin' body — he'll never get me.

There's Tammie, my cousin, frae Lunnon cam down,
Wi' fine yellow buskins that dazzled the town ;
But, puir deevil, he gat ne'er a blink o' my e'e ;
Tho' a' body's like to be married but me.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

900 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

But I saw a lad by yon sauchie burn-side,
Wha weel wad deserve ony queen for his bride;
Gin I had my will soon his ain I wad be ;
Oh ! a' body's like to be married but me.

I gied him a look, as a kind lassie should,
My friends, if they kenn'd it, wad surely run wud ;
For tho' bonnie and gude he's no worth a bawbee ;
Oh ! a' body'*s like to be married but me.

Tis hard to tak** shelter behint a laich dyke,
1'is hard for to tak' ane we never can like,
'Tis hard to forsake ane we fain wad be wi\
Yet ifs harder that a** should be married but me.

The earliest trace of the above happily-conceived son$; is in the Scots
Magazine for July, 1802, where it is higned ** Duncan Gray." It has
been much surfg, and often reprinted, but the author has never been
discovered.

PAWKIE ADAM GLEN.

Pawkik Adam Glen,

Piper o' the dachan,
When he stoited ben,

Sairly was he pechin' ;
Spak' a wee, but tint his win' ;
Hurklet down an' hoastit syne.
Blew his beik, an** dichtit's e'en ;

And whauzled a' forfouehen.

But his coughin' dune,

Cheerie kyth'd the bodie —

Crackit like a gun.

And leuch to auntie Madie ;

Digitized by VjOOQIC

PAWKIE ADAM OLEN 301

Cried, " My callan'^s, name a spring,
' Jinglin"* John,' or ony thing.
For weel I*d like to see the fling
O' ilka lass and laddie."'

Blythe the dancers flew,

Usquabae was plenty,
Blythe the piper grew,

Tho' shaking hands wi' ninety ;
Seven times his bridal vow, '

Ruthless fate had broken thro" ;
Wha wad thocht hi§ coming now,

Was for our maiden auntie.

She had ne'er been soucht,

Cheerie hope was fadin' ;
Dowie is the thoucht.

To live an' dee a maiden.
How it comes, we dinna ken,
Wanters aye maun wait their ain,
Madge is liecht to Adam Glen,

And sune well hae a weddin*.

Written by Alexander laing, the well-known Brechin poet, who
was author besides of "The Braes o' Mar," and the widely esteemed
metrical tale of "Archie Allan,'* the above very pa wkie and clever
sung has, all its time, been a prime favourite at country convivial
meetings in the central shires of Scotland. The heio of the verses,
Adam Glen, who composed the air to which they are sung, was a
well-known wandering minstrel, long a favourite in every farmer's
ha', village, and fair, in the west of Angus, and in eastern Forfar-
shire. He was an excellent performer on the bagpipe, a faithful
reciter of old ballads, and in every way an eccentric and queer bodie.
In the memorable year of Mar's rebellion, he joined the battalion of
his county on its march to Sheriflfmuir. The ballad tells that
** Some Angusmen and Fife men.
They ran for their life, man. "
Adam Glen, however, remained behind, winding his warlike instru-
ment in the front and fire of the enemy, and fell on the field of
battle, 13th November, 1715, in the 90th year of his age. A few
months prior to his death, he espoused his seventh wife, a maiden
lady of forty-five, on which circumstance the song is founded.
When rallied on the number of his wives, he replied in his own way,
" A'e kist comin' in is worth twa gaun out."

Digitized by VjOOQIC

302 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

DUNCAN AND JANET M'CLEARY.

Duncan M'Cleauy, an' Janet his wife,
Duncan M'Cleary, he played on the fife :
Janet she danced until she cried wearie ;
" It's unco weel danced,'' quo' Duncan M'Cleary.

Duncan M'Cleary an' Janet M'Cleary,

Duncan was blin', and Janet was blearie ;

He was deafish beside, an' could na just hear aye ;

" There's nae muckle matter," quo' Janet M'Cleary.

Duncan M'Cleary an' Janet his wife.
Were peaceable bodies, avoid in' a' strife ;
She rubbit his beard, he ca'd her his dearie ;
O, couthie was Duncan wi' Janet M'Cleary.

Duncan M'Cleary an' Janet his wife.
They toitet an' toil'd thegither through life;
When Duncan was doufF, she never was cheerie,
Sae a'esome was Janet an' Duncan M'Cleary.

Duncan M'Cleary an' Janet M'Cleary,
Tho' lovin' an* sweet, the twa couldna wear aye ;
Sae Duncan he dee'd, syne Janet grew drearie,
An' sune stapp'd awa' after Duncan M'Cleary.

There is real character, albeit much reserve, in this brief song of
happy, healthy, unsophisticated connubial life. The pity is we can
gather nothing in respect of its source and authorship.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE BONNIE BREIST-KNOTS

303

i

THE BONNIE BREIST-KNOTS.

Lively.

^^si^i^i^^^i

Hey ! the bonnie, ho ! the bonnie, Hey ! the bonnie briest knots ;

^eS

ffi

Blythe and merry were they a', When they got on their breist knots. There

_ /TN _rz\

W

£=^5^

pc=li=pcq5=fe

^^^-^^

il^cift:

was a bridal in the toun, And till't the lassies a' were boun', Wi'

tempo.

rail.

mankie facings on their goun, And some of them had breist knots. Singing,

5^ii

::15:

--^^

^_g_

:^

^

Hey! the bonnie.

S=PE

^:«i

ho ! the bonnie, Hey ! the bonnie breist knots ;

=P=f

^_j^

:to=s?:

Blythe and merry were they a', When they put on the breist knots.

Hky ! the bonnie, ho ! the bonnie,
Heif ! the bonnie breist-knots !

Blythe and merry were they a\

When they got on their breist-knots.

There was a bridal in the toun.
And tiirt the lasses a** were boun',
Wi' mankie facings on their goun,
And some o' them had breist-knots.

Hey ! the bonnie, etc.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

504 VAGABOND 80N0S AND BALLADS

And there was inony a lusty lad,
A3 ever handled grape and gaud ;
I wat, theu* manhood weel they shawed,
At ruffling o' the breist- knots.

Hey ! the bonnie, etc.

At nine o'^clock they did convene,
Some clad in blue, some clad in green,
Wi** glancing buckles on their sheen,
And flowers upon their waist-coats.

Hey ! the bonnie, etc.

The bride by this time was richt fain,
When she saw sae light a train.
She prayed the day might keep frae rain.
For spoiling o' the breist-knots.

Hey ! the bonnie, etc.

Forth came the wives a"* wi' a phrase.
And wished the lassie happy days.
And muckle made they o' ner claes,
And 'specially the breist-knots.

Hey ! the bonnie, etc.

Forth spake the mither, when she saw
The bride and maidens a' sae braw,
*' Wi' cackling clouts, black be th^r fa\
They've made a bonnie cast o't."

Hey ! the bonnie, etc.

Next doun their breakfast it was set,
Some barley lippies o' milk meat ;
It leipit them it was sae het.
As soon as they did taste o't.

Hey ! the bonnie, etc.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE BONNIK BRCI8T-KNOTS 305

Till some frae them the spoon they threw,
And swore that they had burnt their mou' ;
And some into their cutty blew,
I wat, their will they mist not.

Hey ! the bonnie, etc.

When ilka ane had clawed his plate,
The piper lad he lookit blate ;
Altho** they said that he should eat,
I trow, he lost the best o''t.

Hey ! the bonnie, etc.

Syne forth they got a' wi* a loup,
Cer creels and deals and a' did coup,
The piper said wi' them de'^il scoup,
He^ make a hungry feast o't.

Hey I the bonnie, etc.

Syne aff they got a' wi' a fling.
Each lass unto her lad did cling,
And a' cried for a different spring,

The bride she sought " The Breist-knots.*"

Hey ! the bonnie, etc.

When they tied up the marriage band,
At the bridegroom's they neist did land ;
Forth came auld Madge wi' her split maund,
And bread and cheese a feast o^'t.

Hey ! the bonnie, etc.

She took a quarter and a third.
On the bride's head she gae't a gird.
Till farles flew athort the yird ;
She parted round the rest o't.

Hey ! the bonnie, etc.
20

Digitized by VjOOQIC

306

VAGABOND SONOS AND BALLADS

The bride then by the hand they took,
Twice, thrice, they led her round the crook ;
Some said, " Gude-wife, weel mat ye brook,*"
And some great count they cast on'^t.

Hey ! the bonnie, etc.

A^ ran to kilns and bams in ranks,
Some sat on deals, and some on planks ;
The piper lad stood on his shanks.
And dirled up " The Breist-knots.''

Hey ! the bonnie, etc.

Universally popular in title and refrain, abridgements of the
above are not uncommon in the collections. But it is only the com-
plete ballad, as it was written by Alexander Koss, of Lochlee the
poet of The Fortunate Shepherdess, as it appears in Johnson's
Musetim, and as it is reprinted here, that can appeal with interest
and satisfaction to anybody. Three stanzas only have generally-
appeared, whereas the piece in its full extent presents a picture of
a rural merry-making in the olden time valuable for its truth and
vivid presentation. The *' breist-knot," it may not be unnecessary
to explain, was a fashionable piece of female adornment upwards of
a century ago, examples of the varying style of which are preserved
in the pictures of Sir Joshua Keynolds. The tune of the same
name, which all fiddlers know, must be older than the song, or the
last line of the last verse has no meaning.

DONALD O' DUNDEE.

5f^^E^=t5=K:

When - e'er he's by, my heart is glad, He seems so gay and free.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

DONALD O' DUNDEE

307

Then on his pipe he plays so sweet, And in his plaid he looks so neat ;

It cheers my heart at e'en to meet Young Donald o' Dundee.

Young Donald is the blythest lad

That e'er made love to me ;
Whene'*er he's by, my heart is glad,

He seems so gay and free.
Then on his pipe he plays so sweet,
And in his plaid he look^ so neat ;
It cheers my heart at e'en to meet

Young Donald o' Dundee.

Whene'er I gang to yonder grove.

Young Sandy follows me,
And fain he wants to be my love,

But ah ! it canna be.
Though mither frets baith ear' and late
For me to wed this youth I hate ;
There's nane need hope to gain young Kate

But Donald o' Dundee.

When last we ranged the banks o' Tay,

The ring he showed to me ;
And bade me name the bridal-day,

And happy would he be.
I ken the youth will aye prove kind,
Nae mair my mither will I mind ;
Mess John to me shall quickly bind

Young Donald o' Dundee.

Long and still a favourite song in town and country all over the
shires of Forfar, Perth, and Fife, ** Donald o* Dundee, * though fre-
quently printed in chap and other popular collections, has seldom in
all its busy career been attributed to its author, David Yedder, the
sailor-poet, who was born at Bumess, Orkney, in 1790, and died at
Edinburgh in 1854. It goes with a pleasing air, which, I believe, is
originaL

Digitized by VjOOQIC

308 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

NO TO BE MARRIED AVA.

Our Girzie was noo thirty-six,

Though some rather mair did her ca\
And ane quite sae auld to get married

Has little or nae chance ava.
And Girzie, aft thinkin' on this,

Lang sighs frae her bosom wad draw ;
Oh ! is it no awfu' to tliink

I may na be married ava ?

No to be married ava,

No be married ava ;
Oh ! is it no awfu** to think

I may na be married ava ?

For ilka young lass that can brag

That she has a lover or twa.
Will haud out her finger and say,

" Puir body, she''s got nane ava ! "
And then, when they a' get married.

Their husbands will let them gang braw,
While they lauch at auld maids like myseP,

For no gettin' married ava.

No to be married ava, etc.

Some women are wasters o"* men,

Wear dune naething less than their twa ;
Now this I wad haud as a crime.

That oucht to be punished by law ;
For are they no muckle to blame,

When thus to therasel's they tak' a\
Ne'er thinkin'' o' mony an auld maid,

That\s no to be married ava ?

No to be married ava, etc.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

NO TO BE MARRIED AVA 309

But as for the men that g^t wives,

Although it were some ayont twa,
I think they should aye be respeckit

For helpin' sae mony awa\
Though, for thae auld bachelor bodies.

Their necks every ane I wad thraw ;
For what is the use o** their lives.

If they never get married ava ?

No to be married ava, etc.

Oh ! gin I could get a bit husband.

E'en though he were never sae sma' ;
If he's only a man, I would tak' him.

Though scarce like a creature ava !
Come souter, come tailor, come tinkler.

Oh ! come but and tak' me awa* ;
And gie me a bode ne'er so little,

ril tak' it and never say na !

No to be married ava, etc.

Come deaf, or come dumb, or come cripple,

Wi' a'e leg, or nae leg ava,
Or come ye wi' a'e e'e, or nae e'e,

111 tak' ye as ready's wi' twa.
Come young, or come auld, or come doited,

Oh ! come ony ane o' ye a'.
Far better be married to something

Than no to be maiTied ava !

No to be married ava, etc.

Now, lads, if there's ony amang ye

Wad like just upon me to ca',
Ye'll find me no ill to be courted,

For shyness I ha'e flung awa' ;

Digitized by VjOOQIC

310 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

And if you should want a bit wifie,
Ye ken in what quarter to draw,

And e'en should we no mak"* a bargain,
We'll yet get a kissie or twa !

No to be married ava, etc.

** It's a solemn thing to get married, Jeanie lass," remarked an old
Cameroniau to his daughter, who was asking permission to enter the
united state. **I ken that, father,'* returned the thoughtful girl,
** but it^s a solemner thing no to get married." In the view of the
heroine of this song, indeed, it was a calamity not to be married, and
she would give her hand to the first man who asked it, not counting
the consequences, silly body ! As to the humorous ditty itself, Mr,
Whitelaw says it was composed about the year 1826 or 1827, by a
young probationer of the Cnurch of Scotland, a native of Ayrshire,
who in 1844 was settled as minister of a parish in Aberdeenshire.
This statement is, however, only in part, correct. The author left
the Establishment at the Disruption, and though really subsequently
settled in Aberdeenshire, it was not as a parish minister. The song
first appeared, says the editor of Ayrshire fialla^Sf in a small weekly
publication issued at Kilmarnock, in 1827, and was subsequently
copied into Chambers' Journal^ with some account of the author. It
was at first dressed out iu semi-antique language, but was latterly
altered and improved and set out in every-day Scotch, by Dr. A.
Crawford, of Lochwinnoch. The air is *' Woo'd and Married and A'.**

BONNIE GEORGE CAMPBELL.

High upon Hielands, and laich upon Tav,
Bonnie George Campbell rade out on a day ;
Saddled and bridled, and gallant rade he ;
Hauie cam' his gude lu)i*se, but never cam' he.

Doun' cam his mither dear, grcetin' fu' sair,
Out cam' his bonnie bride, riving her hair;
The meadow lies green, and the com is unshorn.
But bonnie Geoige Campbell will never return.

Saddled and bridled, and booted rade he,
A plume in his helmet, a sword at his knee ;
But toom cam' the saddle, all bloody to see ;
Hame cam' his gude horse, but never cam' he.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

PAWKIE PAITERSON*S AULD YAUD

311

Where is he lying, ye winds, will ye say ?
Is he drowned in the Tumniel, or lost in the Tay ?
Oh, vain are our wailings, in vain our despair ;
Bonnie George Campbell we'll never see mair.

Recovered in part from tradition by John Finlay, the author of
WtiUacef an abridgment of the above Was printed by MotherweU in
his MinHrelsyt Ancient and Modem, who suggests that it might be
the lament for some adherent of the house of Argyll who fell at the
battle of Glenlivet, in October, 1594. Maidment, on the other hand,
believed it to allude to the murder of Ctlmpbell of Cawdor, by one
of his adherents, in 1591. The 6rst two stanzas are undoubtedly
ancient, but the third and fourth are evidently of modem origin.
The last, indeed, with neither rhyme nor reason in it, is generally
printed to read —

** Where is he lying, tell me but where,
Is he drowned in the Yarrow, or lost in the Quair?
O vain are thy wailings. the echoes reply,
Bonnie George Campbell, ye'U see him nae mair.''

The case being as stated, I have dared, by a slight alteration, to
give it both rhyme and geogra|»hical consistency. I hope I may not
be blamed. Brief almost to a fault is this, yet a beautiful and sug-
gestive ballad.

PAWKIE PAITERSON'S AULD YAUD.

■M=W-

«=^

^

^=^^

As I gaed up by Hawick Loan A'e Monanday at nune,

^

F^^^

:lz=t

— i^-l

Twas there I heard an auld yaud Gi'e mony a heavy grane ;

i

eigs^

'm=w=w=w=-f^

^ ikkU l ^

Gi'e mony a heavy grane, sirs, And this she said to mie,

^^^^^^

:«=«:

^^

■^ir^ffr

I'm Pawkie Paiterson*s auld yaud, See how they're guidin' mie,

Digitized by VjOOQIC

5» VAGABOND SONOS AND BALLADS

As I gaeM up by Hawick I.ioan

A'*e Monanday At nune,
Twas there I heard an auld yaud

Gie mony a heavy grane ;
Gie mony a heavy grane, sirs,

And this she said to mie,
'* Fm Pawkie Paiterson's auld yaud,

See how theyVe guidin** mie.

" The miller o' Hawick he bred mie,

And that you a** do ken ;
Hie brocht mie up and fed mie

On mony a kind o' grain.
But now he'*s gane and selPt mie.

And that has ruined mie ;
Fm Pawkie Paiterson's auld yaud.

See how they're guidin' mie,

" When a' the rest get com and hay.

They feed mie on the fog ;
When a' the rest get corn and hay.

They send mie to the bog.
When I gang into Hawick Moss

It's like to swallow mie ;
Fm Pawkie Paiterson's auld yaud,

See how they're guidin' mie.

" And as for Nellie Harkness,

She rises aye sae sune ;
And ' Lo'*dsake ! Jock, get up,"* she cries,

* The yaud's amang the corn.''
And hie has ta''en the pleugh-staff.

And cam' and swabbled mie ;
Fm Pawkie Paiterson's auld yaud.

See how they're guidin' mie.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

PAWKIE PAITERSON'S AULD TAUP SIA

" There's Rob Young o" the Back Eaw,

He*'s aften shod my clutes ;
And ril leave him my auld stumps

To mak' a pair o^ boots.
And when he puts his fit in

HeHl slump up to the knee ;
Fm Pawkie Paiterson^s auld yavid.

See how theyVe guidin"* mie.

" And as for Peggie Duncan,

She is a bonnie lass,
And ril leave her my e^e-holes

To mak' a keeking-glass ;
They'll gar her een see straichter, '

They aften squint aglee ;
Fm Pawkie Paitei'son'^s auld yaud,

See how they''re guidin' mie.

" For the minister o' Wilton,

His coat is worn sae thin,
That for to keep him frae the caiald'

FU leave him my auld skin :
Baith hide and hair to keep him warm

As lang as they've done mie ;
Fm Pawkie Pai terson^s auld yaud,

See how theyVe guidin' mie.

"And as for Dyker Stewart,

He's aye sae scarce o' stanes.
That to mend his fael dykes,

FIl leave him my aula banes.
And a' the callants o' Hawick

Will mak' bonfires o' mie ;
Fm Pawkie Paiterson's auld vaud.

See how theyVe guidin' mie."

This quaint and curious ditty is popularly ascribed to George
Ballantyne, a stocking-maker in Hawick, well known in his day as
" Soapy Ballantyne," who died many years ago. Supposed i» be

Digitized by VjOOQIC

914 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

a parody on an old Northumbrian ballad, the piece first came be-
fore the public in or about the year 1811 ; and set out as it is in the
true Teri vernacular, it has always been very popular in the district
to which it belongs. But it has been sung far from Hawick, and its
appearance here will afford it yet a wider field. The author of the
words, by the bye, receives credit also for the music, and popularised
the ballad, I have been told, by singing it at weddings and social
gatherings generally, where he frequently officiated as fiddler and
minstrel. For the words here I am indebted to my friend, Mr.
George Deans, of the dUugnw Evening CUizen ; and for the music to
Mr. Duncan Smirth, Glasgow, who noted it down from Mr. Deans*
singiOig.

LEEZIE LINDSAY.

" Will ye gang wi' me, Leezie Lindsay ?

Will ye gang to the Hielands wi' me .''
Will ye gang wi** me, Leezie Lindsay,

My bride and my darling to be ? ^

" To gang to the Hielands wi' you, sir,

I dinna ken how that may be ;
For I ken na the land that ye live in.

Nor ken I the lad Fm gaun m\'"

** O Leezie, lass, ye maun ken little.

If sae l)e ye dinna ken me :
My name is Lord Ronald Macdonald,

A chieftain o" high degree."***

She has kilted her coats o** green satin.
She has kilted them up to her knee ;

And she's aft* wi' Lord Ronald Macdonald,
His bride and his darling to be.

At least seven different versions of this ballad, some of them ex-
tending to great length, have been printed, but the few simple and
direct verses given here are all that have generally been sung.
Bums sent the first verse, in flightly different form, with its air, to
Johnson, and Robert Allan of Kilbarchau has been credited with the
other three. The lady, according to a tradition of the Meams, was
a daughter of Lindsay of Edzell ; but Kinloch, the antiquarian, says
be searched in vain for any confirmation of the story. John Wilscm,
the famous vocalist, sang the piece into universal knowledge. Few
airs are better known.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

NAE BONNIE LADDIE WILL TAK ME AWA' 319

NAE BONNIE LADDIE WILL TAK ME
AWA\

My name it is Jean, and my age is fifteen ;
My father^s a farmer, he lives on the plain ;
Of money he s plenty, which mak''s me sae braw,
Yet there'^s nae bonnie laddie will tak' me awa\

Each morning I rise, and mak' myseP clean,
Wi' ruffles and ribbons, and everything fine :
WT the finest hair cushions, and French curls twa,
Yet there's nae bonnie laddie will tak' me awa\

Around my fair neck I wear gauze that's most fine,
That the boys may easily view my white skin ;
For my skin is as white as the new-driven snaw,
Yet there\s nae bonnie laddie will tak** me awa\

In my barrel-breast stays I am laced sae neat,
That scarcely I'm able to stoop to my feet ;
My gown\s in the fashion, wi"* haunch-knots sae braw,
Yet there''s nae bonnie laddie will tak' me awa\

My petticoats, too, they are flowered sae deep,
Wi' box- plaits and fringes close down to my feet ;
My apron is fringed wi' a fine fa** belaw.
Yet theie\s nae bonnia laddie will tak' me awa\

My shoon they are made o' the lasting sae strong,
Fm sure they're admired by Imith auld and young ;
A saxpence will cover my heels, they're sae sma',
Yet there's nae bonnie laddie will tak' me awa'.

My fine Holland smock I had almost forgot,
Without ony stain, and without ony spot ;
O, the weaver he says he ne'er wrocht ane sae sma'.
Yet there's nae bonnie laddie will tak' me awa'.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

316 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

Of all education Fm sure Tve the best,
For 1 can mak' everything up to the taste ;
I can work the fine laces, like Dresden sae sma\
Yet there's nae bonnie laddie will tak' me awa\

And when that I dance, my feet due time do keep.
From under my petticoat playing bo-peep ;
My stockings are made of cotton sae sma\
Yet there''s nae bonnie laddie will tak' me awa\

Ifs ten times a day I look in the glass,
And think in my heart that I am a fine lass ;
I gie a loud laugh, and a louder guffaw,
Yet there's nae bonnie laddie will tak** me awa\

At kirk, ilka Sunday, Vm sure to be there.

But our priest he ne'er mentions in preaching or

prayer ;
In preaching or prayer there's no a'e word at a'.
For to order young men to tak' maidens awa'.

And when I come hame then my mother does cry,
" For as braw as ye'i-e dress'd a' the lads aye pass by ;
Ere I was your age I had lads twenty-twa.
But I think ne'er a laddie will tak' ye awa'."

This speech o' my mother's it mak's me quite mad,
For to think that I'm courted by never a lad ;
Yet I hope the time's comin' when it will end a'.
And some bonnie laddie will tak' me awa'.

And when I am married I'll do what I can,
To mak' a gude wife, and please my gudeman ;
We'll maybe hae bairns in years less than twa.
Then I'll bless aye the day I was taken awa'.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE BANKS O' CLAUDY

317

Then, be na offended at what I ha'e said.
For ifs but the language o' ev^ry young maid :
It's the wish o' a' wishes, o** ane and o"* a\
That some bonnie laddie will tak' them awa\

James Maidment says the above was written by an inhabitant of
Falkirk, of the name of Thomas Scot, on a young lady of the name
of Russel, the daughter of a farmer in the neighbourhood. And he
adds that the young lady actually did find a *' bonnie laddie to takf
her awa'," and she had at least one daughter who was also in due
time ** taken awa'." The song is of speeial value and interest from
the fact of its supplying a fairly exhaustive catalogue of the ward-
robe of a well-to-do farmer's daughter in Scotland about a hundred
years ago. A piece with a similar burden, but written in the necond
person, beariuK the title of "The Lass's Wardrobe," may be seen in
No. 175 of Chambers^s Journal, which is said to have been written
by an unmarried lady as a kind of burlesque of her own habits abd
history. It clearly suggested this song, or thi^ suggested it.

THE BANKS O' CLAUDY.

N— i ^-

p^l 3 ^33g^-3SB

:s=;S:

As I walked out one evening clear, all in the month of

^

r-p-w

1^.

:l5St

gr^t^-^i:

Down in yon flow'r - y

gar - den I

^^

•Ji::

S^E'^Eg

*±*r

IS--:*:

ly did stray,

I ov - er - heard a

lt:^=PE

^=^

isi

^^B.

-f=P-

young maid, in sor - row sad com - plain, All

PJ

^^-^

u

-^-^dUUd

for her absent lov - er, and Johnnie is • his name.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

318 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

As I walked out one evening clear, all in the month

of May,
Down in yon flowVy garden I carelessly did stray,
I overheard a young maid, in sorrow sad complain,
All for her absent lover, and Johnnie is his name.

I boldly stepped up to her, I put her in surprise ;
I own she did not know me, I being in disguise :
I said, " My pretty fair maid, my joy and heart'^s

delight.
How far do you mean to wander this dark and dreary

night ? ''

" Kind sir, the road to Claudy will you be pleased to

show ?
And pity the distressed, for there I mean to go.
In search of a faithless young man, and Johnnie is

his name.
And on the banks of Claudy Fm told he does remain.'*'

" This is the banks o^ Claudy, fair maid, whereon

you stand.
But don'^t depend on Johnnie, for he's a false young

man ;
It"*s don't depend on Johnnie, for he'll not meet you

here,
Tarrv with me in the greenwood, no danger you need

fear." .

" If Johnnie he was here to-night he'd keep me from

all harm.
But he's in the field of battle, all in his uniform ;
He's in the field of battle, his foes he does defy.
Like a ruling king of honour, all on the walls of

Troy."

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE CAMERONIAN CAT 5I»

" Ifs ten long weeks and better since Johnnie left

the shore,
He's crossing the main ocean where lofty billows roar;
He'*s crossing the main ocean for honour and for fame,
And I am told the ship was wrecks upon the coast

of Spain.'"

It's when she heard the dreadful news she fell in

deep despair,
With the wringing of her hands and the tearing of

her hair —
" Than my true and faithful Johnnie, no other man

ril take ;
Thro' lonesome groves and valleys I'll wander for his

sake."

Ifs when he saw her loyalty, no longer could he

stand.
He fell into her arms, saying, " Bessie, I'm the

man ; "
Saying, '' Bessie, I'm the young man, the cause of all

your pain.
And, since we've met on Claudy's banks, we ne'er

shall part again."

Many will recognise and welcome an old country favourite here ;
and will be grateful not more for the words than for the pleasing
ballad melody with which they have been so intimately associated.
The drift of the song is common to its class (see '*Caim-o'-Mount"
and *' Donald and Glencoe "), and bad the dignity of being employed
by Bums in "The Soldier's Return." The air is supplied fronk
memory, by Mr. Walter Deans, Glasgow.

THE CAMERONIAN CAT.

There was an auld Seceder's cat

Gaed hunting for a prey,
And ben the house she catch'd a mouse

Upon the Sabbath day.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

320 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

The Whig, he being offended

At such an act profane,
Laid by the lk)ok, the cat he took.

And bound her in a chain.

" Thou damned, thou cursed creature.

This deed so dark with thee,
Think''st thou to bring to hell below

My holy wife and me ?

** Assure thyself that for the deed
Thou blood for blood shall pay,

For killing of the Lord''s own mouse
Upon the Sabbath day.""

The Presbyter laid by the Book,

And earnestly he pray'd
That the great sin the cat had done

Might not on him be laid.

And straight to execution

Poor pussy she was drawn,
And high hang''d up upon a tree —

The preacher sang a psalm.

And when the work was ended.
They thought the cat was dead,

She gave a paw, and then a meow.
And stretched out her head.

" Thy name,'' said he, " shall certainly

A beacon still remain ;
A terror unto evil doers

For evermore. Amen."

These humorous verses, though they have not been often printed,
have been passed down from mouth to mouth. Hogg, to be sure,
includes the piece in The Jacobite Relics, where he says it is very old.
Further he says, " It is by some called * The Presbyterian Cat,' bat
more generally as above ; and is always sung by the wags in mockery

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE BOLD SODGER BOY 321

of the great pretended strictness of the Covenanters, which is
certainly, in some cases, carried to an extremity rather ludicrous.
1 have heard them myself when distributing the Sacrament, formally
debar from the table the King and all his ministers ; all witches and
warlocks ; all who had committed or attempted suicide ; all ^ho
played at cards and dice ; all the men who had over danced opposite
to a woman, and every woman who had ever danced with her face
toward a man ; all the men who looked at their cattle or crops, and
all the women who nulled green kail or scraped potatoes, on the
Sabbath-day ; and I have been told, that in former days they de-
barred all whio used fanners for cleaning their oats, instead of Grod's
natural wind. The air is very sweet, but has a strong resemblance
to one of their popular psalm-tunes. " It is a psalm tune, indeed —
"Coleshill" (though it is also sung to "Irish*')— and the practice
when singing the piece is to **read the line,'* in imitation of the old
style in vogue in public worship when so many of the common
people could not read for themselves.

THE BOLD SODGER BOY.

Oh ! there^s not a trade thafs going,
Worth showing or knowing,
Like that from glory growing.

For the bold sodger boy.
Where right or left we go,
We know no friend or foe,
But will have the hand or toe

From the bold sodger boy.
There''s not a town we march through,
But ladies looking arch through
The window-panes will search through.

The ranks to find their joy ;
While up the street each girl we meet.
Will quickly cry, as we pass by,
** Oh, isn''t he a darling, the bold sodger boy ? ^

But when we get the rout.
How they pout and they shout.
While to the right about

Goes the bold sodger boy ;

Digitized by VjOOQIC

322 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

Oh, "'tis then the ladies fair,
In despair tear their hair,
.But the devil a hair I care,

Says the bold sodger boy.
For the world is all before us.
Where the landladies adore us.
And ne'er refuse to score us.

But chalk us out with joy ;
We taste her tap, we tear her cap,
" Oh, that^s the chap for me,'' says she,
" For isn't he a darling, the bold sodger boy ? "

Then come along with me,
Gramachree, and you'll see
How happy you will be

With your bold sodger boy ;
Faith, if you're up to fun.
With me run, 'twill be done
In the snapping of a gun,

Says the bold sodger boy.
And 'tis then, without scandal.
Myself will proudly dandle
The little farthing candle

Of our mutual flame, my joy ;
May his light shine as bright as mine,
Till in the line he'll blaze and raise
The glory of his corps, like a bold sodger boy.

Many will recall the above as a popular street song all over
Scotland forty and mure years ago. Exhibiting no less style, it
embraces statements and suggestions more characteristic of our
, country's fighting men than, perhaps, the best that is enshrined in
Kipling's recent and hugely over-rated " Absent-minded Beggar/*
It displays more of the typical soldier spirit, too : and that means a
deal. We have adopted it from Ireland, with so many sons and
daughters of the Green Isle. It was written by Samuel Lover.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE FEEING TIME

32»

THE FEEING TIME.

^

m

3s=F=

^

-■m ^-

A friend and I struck frae Mill - guy ; For

-M^

:5tq=5:

liCSrf^

^

Glas - gow town we took our way ; When all a - long the

road was strung With lads and bon - nie lass - es gay. When

draw - ing nigh, one I did spy, Was walk - ing slow - ly

±

m

^

uj ^

by hersel' ; For fear the rain her dress might stain, I

m.

-f i -rr.

z^^.

=f2^S3

e^

=p

;«=St:

J J ^

did dis-play my um - ber-ell*. My um - ber • ell', my

^ um - ber-eir, I did dis-play mi

J

um - ber-eir.

did dis-play my um • ber • ell*.

A FRIEND and I struck frae Millguy ;

For Glasgow town we took our way ;
When all along the road was strung,

With lads and bonnie lassies gay.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

324 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

When drawing nigh, one I did spy^

Was walking slowly by herseP ;
For fear the rain her dress might stain,

I did display my umberelP,

Mv umbereir, my umberelP.
I ^id display my umberelP.

" Where are you gaun, my bonnie lass ?

How far now are you gaun this way ? ^
" To Glasgow town, sir, I am bound.

For this, you know, is feeing-day."
Says I, " The day seems wet to be.

Although the morning did look fine/'*
Smiling, she said, " I am afraid,

ril no be in by feeing-time.****

*' Heeze up your heart, my bonnie lass,

We''ll ha'e gude weather by-and-bye ;
And don't be sad when wi' a lad —

A roving baker frae Millguy.
And if you'll here accept my cheer,

A cup o"* tea, or glass o* wine ;
We'll rest awhile, and yet we will

Reach Glasgow ere the feeing- time."

She gave consent, and in we went

Into an ale-house by the. way ;
Wi' crack and glass tne time did pass

Till baith forgot the feeing-day.
The clock struck three, she smiled on me,

" Young man," says she, " the fault is thine :
The night is on, and Fm from home —

Besides, Fve lost the feeing-time."

*' My lass, don't grieve, for while I live,

I ne'er intend to harm you ;
The marriage tie if you will try.

Your baker lad will aye prove true."

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE CORNCRAIK

525

** I am too young to wed a man —
My mother she has nane but me ;

Yet ril comply, and ne'er deny ;
Far better wed than take a fee.""

We spent the night in merriment.

We wedded finely were next day ;
And aye my lass she did confess

*Twas weel to lose the feeing-day.
My love and me, we sae agree,

Fm sure she never will repine ;
But every day will smile and say,

" Fm glad I lost the feeing time.'"

Like so many of the wandering country^ class to which it belongs,
the above song is poor as literature. It is yet, however, worth pre-
serving for the sake of the vogue it once enjoyed, and to fix in per-
manency the characteristic rural melody belonging to it, and for
which I am indebted, as so frequently in the same way, to Mr. D.
Kippen, of Crieff, who noted it many years ago from the singing of
a& itinerant musician at a village fair ia Perthshire. I have
modified some of the verses.

THE CORNCRAIK AMANG THE WHINNY
KNOWES.

O, the lass that I had first o' a* Was handsome, young, and fair, Wi'

^^ ggg^S^S^

her I spent some merry nichts Up - on the banks o' Ayr. Wi*

Digitized by VjOOQIC

326 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

fe^^?rz*=,zirx^-iqr:

I^^^Se.^^:

her I spent some happy nichts, Whaur yonder bumie rows, And the

a^s^

^^3^3E

£:iT:

e - cho mocks the corn - craik, A - niang the whiiiny knowes.

O, THE lass that I had first o** a'

Was handsome, young, and fair,
Wi' her I spent some merry nichts

Upon the banks o"* Ayr.
Wi' her I spent some happy nichts

Whaur yonder burnie rows.
And the echo mocks the corncraik,

Amang the whinny knowes.

We lo'^ed each other dearly.

Disputes we never had !
As constant as the pendulum.

Her heart- beat always gaed.
We sought for joy and found it,

Whaur yonder burnie rows.
And the echo mocks the corncraik,

Amang the whinny knowes.

O, maidens fair, and pleasure\s dames.

Drive to the banks o' Doon ;
You'll dearly pay your every cent

To barbers for perfume ;
But rural joy is free to a*,

Whaur scented clover grows.
And the echo mocks the corncraik,

Amang the whinny knowes.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

JOHNNIE, MY MAN 327

O, the corncraik is noo awa\

The burn is to the brim ;
The whinny knowes are clad wi' snaw

That taps the highest whin.
But when cauld winter is awa\

And summer clears the sky,
We'll welcome back the corncraik,

The bird o' rural joy.

This is the first and only occasion, I think, in which the Corncraik
— beautifully feathered, but most unmelodious of birds—has been
mixed up in a love song ; and the performance, even if it possessed
less literary merit— and it has little to boast of — is worth preserving
on that account. It is quite evidently a modern effusion, and the
author may be living. I have met with it in various cheap song-
sheets, but nowhere with any name attached. Presumably an Ayr-
shire ditty, it has yet been sung over the wider area of Scotland.
The air, a genuine country one, and attached to other songs, is
supplied by Mr. Walter Deans, Glasgow.

JOHNNIE, MY MAN.

*' O, Johnnie, my man, do ye no think on risin' ?
The day is far spent, and the nichfs comin' on ;
YeVe siller's near dune, and the stoup's toom before ye;
O, rise up, my Johnnie, and come awa** hame.*"

" O, wha is it that I hear speaking sae kindly ?
I think it's the voice o** my ain wifie Jean ;
Come in by, my dearie, and sit down beside me,
It's time enough yet to be gaun awa' hame.*"

" O, Johnnie, my man, when we first fell a-courting.
We had naething but love then to trouble our mind;
We spent a' our time 'mang the sweet scented roses.
And I ne'er thocht it lang then to gang awa' hame."

Digitized by VjOOQIC

32^ VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

** I remember richt weel, Jean, the time that ye

speak o\
And weel I remember the sweet flowery glen ;
But thae days are a** past, and will never return, love,
Sae sit down beside me, nor think o" gaun hame.**"

" O, Johnnie, my man, our bairns are a^ greetin\
Nae meal in the barrel to fill their wee wajmes ;
While sittin' here drinking, ye leave me lamentin'* ;
O, rise up, my Johnnie, and come awa' hame.*"

Then Johnnie he rase, and he bang^ the door open,
Saying, " Curs'd be the tavern that ere let me in ;
And curs'd be the whisky that's made me sae frisky ;
O, fare-ye-weel whisky, for Fll awa"* hame.

" And Jeanie, my dear, your advice will be taken,
ril leave aff the auld deeds, and follow thee hame ;
Live sob^r and wisely, and aye be respected ;
Nae mair in the ale-house Fll sit, but at hame.""

Noo Johnnie gaes out ilka fine summer even,
Wi- his wife and his bairns fu"* trig and fu' bein.
Though a wee while sin" syne, in rags they were

rinnin\
While Johnnie sat fou' in the ale-house at e'en.

Contented and crouse he sits by his ain fireside.
And Jeannie, a happier wife there is nane ;
Nae mair to the tavern at nicht does he wander,
Bufs happy wi' Jean and his baimies at hame.

Forty and more years ago, this was a common street song in
various parts of Scotland, and found ready sale always in penny-
sheet form, chiefly among thoee who required most its pointed moral
lesson.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

A COGIE O' YILL 529

A COGIE O' YILL.

A coGiK o' yill, and a pickle ait meal,

And a dainty wee drappie o' whisky,
Was our forefathers' dose, to sweel down their brose.

And keep them aye cheerie and frisky.

Then hey for the whisky, and hey for the meal.
And hey for the cogie, and hey for the yill;

Gin ye steer a' thegither, they'll do unco weel
To haud the heart cheerie and brisk aye.

When I see our Scots lads, wi' their kilts and
cockauds.

That sae aften ha'e lounder'd our foes, man,
I think to myseP on the meal and the yill,

And the fruits o' our Scottish kail brose, man.

Then hey for the whisky, etc.

When our brave Hieland blades, wi'' their claymores
and plaids,

In the field drive like sheep on our foes, man ;
Their courage and power spring frae this to be sure —

They're the noble effects o' the brose, man.

Then hey for the whisky, etc.
But your spindle-skank'd sparks, wha sae ill fill their

Your pale-visaged milksops and beaux, man ;
I think when I see them 'twere kindness to gfe them
A cogie o' yill, or o' brose, man.

Then hey for the whisky, etc.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

950

VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

What John Bull despises our better sense prizes ;

He denies eatin"* blanter ava, man ;
Tho' by eatin' o' blanter, his mare's grown, FIl w'rant
her.

The nobler brute o' the twa, man.

Then hey for the whisky, etc.

The Scots are generaUy esteemed a hardy race, and not without
reason, but a mixture such as the chorus of this ditty proposes to
'* haud them cheerie and brisk aye," would, I am afraid, *' make the
boldest hold their breath for a time." Sandy enjoys his dram on all
proper occasions ; he discards not at any time his ** cogie o' yill, and a
pickle ait meal ; " but " steered a' thegither "—never ! He would die
first. The author of the song, Andrew Sheriffs, " a little decrepid
body, with some abilities,'* as Burns describes him, was at one time
editor of the Aberdeen Chronicle, and author of a Scottish pastoral
entitled Jamie and Beas^ printed first at Aberdeen, in 1787, and
Afterwards at Edinburgh, in 1790.

THE MILL O' LOUR.

>— ^ N W T— N— N 1 — g — ^

We a* agreed at Martinmas On Mill o' Lour to dwell :

They said it was a very fine place, But it tum'd out not so well.

„ Chorus. z-s

:s=3^

^=^-i^i^:^^^^^^^

Ah riddel dec, ill - dum, da - dee, Ah, riddel doo, ill • dum, day.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE MILL O' LOUR 991

We a' agreed at Martinmas,

On Mill o"* Lour to dwell ;
They said it was a very fine place

But it turn'd cot not so well.

Ah riddel doo, ill-dum, da-dee,
Ah riddel doo, ill-dum, day.

The Lour Mi IPs a heavy mill.

And unco ill to ca' ;
Tho"* we yoke a"* the horses in

She'll hardly draw ava.

Sandy works the foremost pair.

They are a pair o"* blues ;
Altho* ye had them at your wale

Ye wadna ken which to choose.

Jamie works the second pair,

A black ane and a broon ;
There'*s no a catinier, trustier pair

In a** the country roun\

Jess comes in ahint the lave,

She'*s ca'd the orra mare ;
In winter when we're sheuchin" neeps

She rins like ony hare.

The foregoing fragment of a genuine ploughman's song is so glori-
ously redolent of the soil that its origin need scarcely be stated.
Sung in ampler measure, or sung as above and re-sung, it was a
prime favourite in Perth, Forfar, and Angus bothies, as many who
are still to the fore are able to testify, fifty and more years ago ;
and its effect when led out by a good soloist, with the ringing
chorus engaged in by the '* squad," and emphasised by a *'tackity
boot" accompaniment, was lively and inspiring in the extreme.
Some versions substituted other local farm names for that of Lour,
and verses were freely added here and there to suit the piece to the
varying situations. As ** The Mill o* Lour," however, it prevailed
over a wider area than under any other place-name ; and the snatch
printed here calls for respect as forming the main body of one of the
topical songs of a vanished time connected with the interesting
class among whom it sprung. The tune, of no less interest than
the words, is supplied by Mr. Alan Reid, Edinburgh.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

992 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

THE CORK LEG.

A TALE I will tell, without any flam —
In Holland dwelt Mynheer Von Clam,
Who every morning- said, " I am
The richest merchant in Rotterdam.*"

Ri-tooral, ooral, ooral, allidy
Ri-too looral i-do.

One day he had stuffed till full as an egg.
When a poor relation came to beg ;
But he kicked him out without broaching a keg,
And in kicking him out he broke his own leg.

Then a surgeon, the first in his vocation,
Came and made a long oration.
He wanted a job for atomization.
But finished his jaw by amputation.

Said Mynheer, when he'd done his work,
" It's by your knife I lose one fork ;
But upon two crutches Fll never stalk.
For lil have a beautiful leg of cork.*"

Now an artist in Rotterdam, 'twould seem.
Had made cork legs his study and theme ;
Each joint was as strong as an iron beam.
The springs were a compound ot clockwork and
steam.

The leg was made ; it fitted right ;
Inspection the artist did invite ;
The fine shape gave Mynheer delight.
So he fixed it on and screwed it tight.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

THE CORK LEG 935

Then he walked through squares, and passed each

shop,
At speed he went at the very top ;
Each step he took was a bound and a hop,
Till he found that his leg he could not stop.

Horror and fright were in his face ;
The neighbours thought he was running a race ;
He clung to a ],amp-post to stay his pace,
But the leg, remorseless, kept up the chase.

Then he called to some men with all his might,
*' Oh, stop me ! or Fm murdered quite ; ^
But though they heard him aid invite.
He, in less than a minute, was out of sight.

He walked o^er hill and dale and plain ;
To ease his wearied bones he fain
Did throw himself down ; but all in vain.
For the leg got up, and was off again.

He walked of days and nights a score ;
Of Europe he had made the tour ;
He died, and though he was no more,
The leg walked on the same as before.

In Holland sometimes it comes in sight,

A skeleton on a cork leg tight.

No cash did the artisfs skill requite :

He never was paid — and it served him right.

My tale Tve now told both plain and free.
Of the richest merchant that ever could be ;
Who never was buried, though dead, we see,
And I have been singing his L. E. G.

Having been seldom seen in print for many yean, the above
should be welcome here ; and surprise will be added to the reader's
pleasure when he is told that the whimsical entertainment owes

Digitized by VjOOQIC

354 VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS

its wonderfully tough existence to SheriflP Henry Glassford BelL
Writing in the Dundee Advertiser, on the 15th of June, 1903, Mr.
A. II. Millar, F.S.A., Scot., who had intimate means of information,
says : — '* Those who remember the faded frivolities of the Scottish
Concert Rooms in the early Sixties will recollect two favourite
comic songs of the period, *Tbe Cork Jjeg' and * The Steam Arm/
The first of those described how a Dutchman had devised an auto-
mobile cork leg which ultimately brought disaster upon him. * The
Steam Arm ' was founded on a similar iilea. It whs started and
could not be stopped until it had spread devastation around. It is
not generally known that both these songs, with their extravagant
humour, were written by Henry Glassford Bell, the genial Sh» riflf
of Lanarkshire, who is chiefly remembered us the author of the
famous poem on * Mary, Queen of Scots,' which is still a favourite
as a schoolroom recjtation. Possibly even those who knew the
secret of the authorship have no idea of the source whence Henry
Glassford Bell derived his inspiration. In 1832, there was pub-
lished by F. Morley a book entitled The Fitting Burgrnnaater : a
Legend of the Black Forest, by an anonymous author. The volume
is of * great scarcity,* to use the bookseller's phrase, and has an
etched title-page with 15 full-page octavo etched plates, the textr
being 'in poetical form.' Very few copies of this work are known
to exist, and the story is identical with that of *The Cork Leg.* It-
is ' the strange legend of a man with a mechanical leg which carried
him forward in spite of himself until he became a skeleton.' A
copy of this curious book is now in the possession of Mr. William
Downing, bookseller, Birmingham." Later, in a letter to the editor
of this work, Mr. Millar adds :— "My father was on very intimate-
terms with Bell, and it was quite an accepted tradition in our house
that he was the author of both ' The Cork Leg ' and ' The Steam
Arm.' He was a genial humorist, and was guilty of more than one
or two jocular poems."

THE END.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

F'eap. 4to. First and Second Series.

VAGABOND SONGS AND BALLADS
OF SCOTLAND.

OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.

** Our fullest thanks are due to Mr. Robert Ford for Vagabond Songs and
Ballads of Scotland^ a book which is a notable testimony to his thorough
methods of search when engaged in the task of rescuing from the rural
population of Scotland the songs that have been handed down from father
to son for so many years. It is a book to keep and to l)e remembered." —
The Literary World.

** Mr. Ford, whose labour thnmghout many years in collecting the more
obscure songs deserves the heartiest recognition, has enriched his work with
copious, critical, and bibliographical notes. ... A very agreeable mis-
cellany indeed has been produced." — C?ta>*groM> Herald,

" To Mr. Robert Ford has occurred the happy and praiseworthy idea of
hunting for and bringing together songs and ballads of Scotland which, in
spite of many merits, poetical and musical, and of the popularity they enjoy
with country audiences, have led hitherto a vagabond kind of existence, and
have made little figure or none in ordinary lyrical collections, or in concert
or drawing- room, and has given them most handsome housing and sympa-
thetic elucidation in his volume." — Scotsman,

** Of tragic and romantic ballads we have volumes galore^ but not hitherto
has there been issued from the press a collection of * broad-sheet ' pieces —
established favourites among the common people of Scotland — at once so
full, so well annotated, and so handsomely printed. The book is one which
reflects great credit on both editor and publisher." — Kilmarnock Standards

** We have nothing but praise for the book, which represents a great deal
of loving research on the part of the editor, and a discriminating eye and ear
for the folk-song. The book is one to be heartily recommended, and its
format y its paper, print, and binding, are most artistic and highly creditable
to the publisher. " — Glastjow Evening News.

** To many a reader the titles of these songs will recall fragmentary verses-
of old familiar ballads which were learned by hearsay in childhood and
rarelv seen in print. The brief notes appended to the songs are of very
considerable value."— i>MiMife Advertiser.

" Mr. Ford has done a good service most admirably by collecting and
editing the Vagabond Songs of Scothind which make up this very handsome
volume. It must have cost no small amount of trouble to recover several of
the pieces which are here printed in a volume for the first time." — Dumfries
and OaUovjay Standard,

ALEXANDER GARDNER, PAISLEY.

Digitized by VjOOSIC

BY THE SAME AUTHOR.

Crown 8vo. 300 pages. Price 3t. 6a. nett.

CHILDREN'S RHYMES,

CHILDREN'S GAMES,

CHILDREN'S SONGS,

CHILDREN'S STORIES.

A Book for BAimt and Big Folk.

OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.

* ' This is ostensibly a book for children, and its themes are sure to prove
attractive, not only to the bairns, but to all kindly dispositioned children of
a larger growth." — Dundee Advei'tiser.

** If there is any more entertaining book for juveniles who *want to
know * than Mr. Robert Ford's ChUdren'^H Rhymes^ Children's Garnet*,
Childrt^'s Songn, Children's Stories, we have not yet made its acquaintance.
The title is descriptive, as few titles are, of the unusual range of the book,
which, be it also said, will probably be read with as much zest by *big
folk * as by bairns — which is one of Mr. Ford's natural desires." — Glasgow
Herald.

** The volume partakes of the character both of a book of folk-lore, a
children's story book, and a book of humour ; and it will be highly appre-
ciated on all three grounds, and not least on account of the close sympathy
with the children's ideas, tastes, and point of view which Mr. Ford blends
with an intimate knowledge of the traditional sports and rhymes, fascinating
even where they are meaningless, of childhood." — Scotsman.

" This man Ford has his heart in the right place. He loves the children,
and a man who loves children is on the way to heaven. With a gotxi deal
of labour he has in this book preserved much of the patter beloved of the
Scottish child, at a period, too, when the rush and hurry of life and the
clamour for violent things pooh-pooh any consideration at all for such gentle
matters." — Daily Record and Mail.

" He would be a case-hardened creature indeed who would not be carried
back to childhood's happy loves by such a feast of youth's familiar delights
in song and game and story as Mr. Ford has provided in what ought to be
a specially welcome volume." — Glasgow Evening News.

ALEXANDER GARDNER, PAISLEY.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

Crown 8vo. 550 pages. With Etched Frontispiece and Facsimile.
Price 7s. 6d. ; Large Paper, I5s.

THE HARP OF PERTHSHIRE.

A Collection of Songs and other Poetical Pieces, many of which
are Original. With Notes Explanatory, Critical, and Biographical.

"The author has done his work well, and every true son of Perthshire
will feel indebted to him for giving us the hesi collection of Perthshire songs
and ballads that ever has been published. No library in the county, public
or private, will be complete without it. It is a storehouse of local material
that must endure for all time." — Perthshire Advertise!',

** Taking the volume as a whole, it contains some of the best poetry in
the language. *' — PfviJishire Constitutional.

**This is indeed a brilliant list of poets, and more than justifies the
appearance of the Harp of Perthnhire. Mr. Fonl, himself a Perthshire man
and poet, has shown fine critical ability in the selections given, and the bio-
graphical memoirs and notes are all that could be desired — short and to the
point." — Scottish Leader,

** Mr. Ford has produced a volume of which any county in Scotland may
justly feel proud. . . . The book is on the whole a most complete gallery
of Perthshire poets, and a judiciously selected representative collection of the
best of their poetry."~Pfop/e'« Friend,

New, Enlarged, and Illustrated Edition. Price 3s. 6d. Post free.

THISTLEDOWN.

A Book of Scotch Humour, Character, Folk-Lore. Story,
and Anecdote.

** Mr. Ford is an experienced raconteur^ and he has a keen sense of the
ludicrous that enables him to seize upon the main point in a stoty and to
emphasise it in the most telling manner. He has exhibited the humour to
be found in all classes of society, from the minister to the village fool, in
the pulpit and the pew, at the Bench and at the Bar ; and his pages are
replete with wit and overflowing with genuine merriment. Manv a pleasant
hour may be spent in innocent mirth over the amusing pages of Thistledown."
— Dundee Advertiser.

ALEXANDER GARDNER, PAISLEY.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

Cloth, gilt top, bevelled edges. 975 pages. With Frontispiece.
Price 6s. Post free.

BALLADS OF BAIRNHOOD.

The object of this work is to place in the hands of the public,
in an elegant, convenient, and enduring form, a comprehensive
collection of the choicest poems, songs, and ballads, by Scottish
authors, relating to the subject of child-life. To the well-known
nursery songs of William Miller, the author of " Wee Willie
Winkie," Thorn's " Mitherless Bairn," Ballantine's " Castles in
the Air," etc., and to the various touching and animated songs
of child-life from the pens of Rodger, Donald, Smart, Fergus-
son, Latto, and the other champions of the famous " Whistle
Binkie" brotherhood, are added the most fascinating and
engaging pieces in the same way that have since been written
by Dr. George MacDonald, R. L. Stevenson, Alexander Ander-
son, Robert Buchanan, William Allan, James Smith, James
Nicholson, and other recent and living authors who have earned
distinction in this as well as in other fields of literary endea-
vour ; the whole making a collection of " bairns* sangs " unique
in Scottish literature.

OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.

**A charming volume — one that will greatly delight the children, and
their seniors too. Mr. Ford has a fine literary taste, and has shown it in
the numerous songs and ballads which he has selected for this volume. They
are of various kinds, moving to mirth and drawing tears. . . . We antici-
pate that his volume will be a universal favourite." — Daily Mail,

** Who could have dreamed there were so many ballads of bairnhood in
the Scots tongue ? Who ever heard of half their authors — except Mr. Ford,
who edits the volume? " — The Sunday School.

'* Ballads of Bairnhood is one of the best and at the same time most dis-
criminating selections of poems dealing with a particular subject which has-
ever been published." — TJie Academy,

"There is much fine matter in this book, which has evidently been most
judiciously edited, and it is got up in a very attractive style."— Mr. J. M.
Barrie.

" It will be read and cherished by many a Scottish mother who at the
present moment is nursing a doll." — Alexander Anderson.

*' Mr. Ford has already published several analogous works, such as Th^
Harp of Prrthshire. and Auld Scots Ballants^ which have had a wide appre-
ciation. Most readers will agree with us, however, in the opinion that the
present volume puts the crown upon all his works. A more singular or
delightful anthology of the kind has never been published, and it may be
safely predicted that it will take an enduring place in the lyrical literature of
the country." — Glasgow Herald.

ALEXANDER GARDNER, PAISLEY.

Digitized by VjOOQIC

LONDON :
SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, HAMILTON, KENT & CO., LMD,

PKINTED BY Al EXANDER GARDNKK, PAISLEV..

Digitized by VjOOQIC

' Digitized by VjOOQIC

Digitized by VjOOQIC

Digitized by

Google

gitized by

Google

Digitized by VjOOQIC