The neist I gae to Jean, and now
The bairn sae braw has fauls sae fu',
That lads sae thick come her to woo,
They're fain to sleep on hay or straw.
Cauld nor hunger never dang her,
Wind or rain could never wrang her;
Ance she lay an ouk and langer
Forth aneath a wreath o' snaw.
When other ewies lap the dyke,
And ate the kail for a' the tyke,
My ewie never play'd the like,
But teesed about the barn wa'.
I lookit aye at even for her,
Lest mishanter should come ower her,
Or the fumart micht devour her,
Gin the beastie bade awa'.
Yet, last ouk, for a' my keeping,
(Wha can tell o't without greeting?)
A villain cam', when I was sleeping,
Stow my ewie, horn and a'.
I socht her sair upon the morn,
And down aneath a bush o' thorn,
There I fond her crookit horn,
But my ewie was awa'.
But gin I had the loon that did it,
I hae sworn as weel as said it,
Although the laird himsel' forbid it,
I sall gie his neck a thraw.
I never met wi' sic a turn,
At e'en I had baith ewe and horn,
Safe steekit up; but gin the morn
Baith ewe and horn were stown awa'.
A' the claes that we hae worn
Frae her and hers sae aft was shorn;
The loss o' her we could hae borne
Had fair-strae death ta'en her awa'.
Oh, had she died o' croup or cauld,
As ewies die when they grow auld,
It hadna been by mony fauld
Sae sair a heart to ane o' us a'.
But thus, puir thing, to lose her life
Beneath a bluidy villain's knife,—
In troth I fear that our gudewife
Will never get abune't ava.
Oh, a' ye bards benorth Kinghorn,
Call up your Muses, let them mourn,
Our ewie wi' the crookit horn
Frae us stown, and fell'd and a'.
THE AULD MINISTER'S SONG.
REV. JOHN SKINNER. Air-" Auld lang syne."
SHOULD auld acquaintance be forgot,
Or friendship e'er grow cauld?
Should we nae tighter draw the knot,
Aye as we're growing auld?
How comes it then, my worthy frien',
Who used to be sae kin',
We dinna for each ither speer,
As we did langsyne?
What though I am some aulder grown,
An' ablins nae sae gay;
What though these locks, ance hazel brown,
Are now well mix'd wi' gray :
I'm sure my heart nae caulder grows,
But as my years decline,
Still friendship's flame as warmly glows
Sae well's I min' upo' the days
That we in youthfu' pride
Had used to ramble up the braes
On bonny Boggie's side.
Nae fairies on the haunted green,
Where moonbeams twinkling shine,
Mair blythely frisk aroun' their queen,
Than we did langsyne.
Sae well's I min' ilk bonny spring
Ye on your harp did play;
An' how we used to dance and sing
The livelang simmer's day.
If ye hae not forgot the art
To strike that harp divine,
Ye'll fin' I still can play my part,
An' sing as auld langsyne.
Though ye live on the banks o' Doun,
And me besooth the Tay,
Ye well might ride to Faukland town
Some bonny simmer's day.
And at that place where Scotland's king
Aft birl'd the beer and wine,
Let's drink an' dance, an' laugh an' sing,
An' crack o' auld langsyne.
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 every where, was like a morn in May.
No care I had, no 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.
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 offer'd many a vow,
And danced and sung, 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 laugh'd 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 laugh'd, 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 Johnie Wilkes, and cry'd up Parson Horne;
Their noble spirit I admired, and praised their noble zeal,
Who had, with flaming tongue and pen, maintain'd the public weal.
But, e'er a month or two had pass'd, I found myself betray'd;
'Twas Self and Party, after all, for all the stir they made.
At last I saw these factious knaves insult the very throne;
I cursed them all, and tuned my pipe to John o' Badenyon.
What next to do I mused a while, still hoping to succeed;
I pitch'd on books for company, and gravely tried to read :
I bought and borrow'd every where, and studied night and day,
Nor miss'd what dean or doctor wrote that happen'd in my way.
Philosophy I now esteem'd the ornament of youth,
And carefully, 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 every where, who wish to make a show,
Take heed in time, nor vainly hope for happiness below;
What you may fancy pleasure here is but an empty name;
And girls, and friends, and books also, you'll find them all the same.
Then be advised, and warning take from such a man as me;
I'm neither pope nor cardinal, nor one of high degree;
You'll meet displeasure every where; then do as I have done-
E'en tune your pipe, and please yourself with John of Badenyon.
REV. JOHN SKINNER. From a manuscript collection of songs of the North of Scotland, by Peter Buchan.
Air-" The broom o' the Cowden Knowes."
WHEN I began the world first, it was not then as now,
For all was plain and simple then, and friends were kind and true;
Oh, the times! the weary times! the times that I now see,—
I think the world is all gone wrong from what it used to be.
There was not then high-cap'ring heads prick'd up from ear to ear,
And cloaks and caps were rarities for gentle folks to wear;
Oh, the times! the weary times! the times that I now see,-
I think the world is all gone wrong from what it used to be.
There's not an upstart mushroom but what pretends to taste,
And not a lass in a' the land but must be lady-dress'd;
Oh, the times! the weary times! the times that I now see,-
I think the world is all gone wrong from what it used to be.
Our young men married then for love, so did our lassies too,
And children loved their parents dear, as children ought to do;
Oh, the times! the weary times! the times that I now see,—
I think the world is all gone wrong from what it used to be.
For, oh, the times are sadly changed, a heavy change indeed,
For love and friendship are no more, and honesty is fleed;
Oh, the times! the weary times! the times that I now see,—
I think the world is all gone wrong from what it used to be.
There's nothing now prevails but pride among the high and low,
And strife and greed and vanity is all that's minded now;
Oh, the times! the weary times! the times that now I see,-
I think the world is all gone wrong from what it used to be.
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