DUNCAN DAVISON. There was a lass, they ca'd her Meg, They ca'd him Duncan Davison: The moor was dreigh, and Meg was skeigh, As o'er the moor they lightly foor, A burn ran clear, a glen was green, Upon the banks they eased their shanks, And ay she set the wheel between ; But Duncan swore a holy aith That Meg should be a bride the morn— Then she took up her spinning graith, And flang it a' out o'er the burn. queen We'll big a house, a wee wee house, A man may fight, and no be slain ;— And ay be welcome back again. The old song of "Ye'll ay be welcome back again," which assisted Burns in composing this very free and humorous lyric, was inferior both in mirth and decency. There is, however, another version of Duncan Davison, which I would rather describe than quote, that contributed several lines to the present song; and any one who knows it will feel that he who extracted the spirit, without the indelicacy, accomplished a very difficult task. The grossness indeed fairly exceeds the humour. I am not without fear that this song may be looked upon with suspicion, since it has lines in common with its impure namesake; but many a beautiful song might become outcast upon the same suspicion, for a good spirit seems to have made one version, and an evil spirit another, of many of our lyrics, ancient and modern. WHAT WILL I DO GIN MY HOGGIE DIE. What will I do gin my hoggie die? My joy, my pride, my hoggie; My only beast, I had nae mae, And vow but I was vogie. The lee-lang night we watched the fauld, We heard nought but the roaring linn, Amang the braes sae scroggie. The howlet cried frae the castle wa', The blitter frae the boggie, The tod reply'd upon the hill I trembled for my hoggie: When day did daw and cocks did craw, The morning it was foggie; An unco tyke lap oure the dyke, And maist has killed my hoggie. "It happened," says Burns, "that some gentlemen who were riding a few years ago through Liddesdale stopped at a hamlet, consisting of a few houses, called Mosspaul, when they were struck with this tune, which an old woman, spinning on her roke at her door, sat singing. All that she could tell concerning it was, that she learned it when a child, and that it was called 'What will I do gin my Hoggie die.' No person except a few females at Mosspaul knew this fine old tune, which in all probability would have been lost had not one of the gentlemen taken it down." The song has been attributed to Burns; and I question not but that some of it is his. When the old Liddesdale woman sung the air, she sung words also, and Mr. Clarke, who copied her music, forgot not the language which expressed it. I have no wish to deprive Burns of what can be honestly conceded to him; but it follows not that every song which he copied he composed also. It is but fair to say, that the oldest copy I have seen of the song is that in Johnson's Museum. TO DAUNTON ME. The blood-red rose at Yule may blaw, The frost may freeze the deepest sea, But an auld man shall never daunton me. Wi' his cauld heart and flattering tongue- But an auld man shall never daunton me. For a' his meal, for a' his maut, An auld man shall never daunton me. and fair, To daunton ane sae young The auld man that wad daunton me. His gear may buy him kye and ewes, For an auld man shall never daunton me. He hirples twa-fauld as he dow, Wi' his toothless gab and his auld beld pow— And the rain dreeps down frae his bleared ee, Oh! yonder he comes, slow moving on, Much of this song is very old. The air and some of the lines were pressed into the service of the house of Stuart. The love and solicitation of opulent old age for youth and beauty was a favourite theme with our early bards; and, true to the nature of woman, the ancient lyrics generally represent it as successful. The readiness with which rich old gentlemen can furnish themselves with young and blooming wives is matter of every day remark; and if one may impute truth to verse, we might safely conclude that the heroine and hero of this song were, within a week, bride and bridegroom. |