Oh, it's not my ain ruin That saddens aye my ee, The bud comes back to summer, I'm leal to the high Heaven, Which will be leal to me; And there I'll meet a' sune Frae my ain countrie. HAME, HAME, HAME! ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. From Cromek's "Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song." HAME, hame, hame! oh, hame fain wad I be! Oh, hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie! When the flower is i' the bud, and the leaf is on the tree, The lark shall sing me hame to my ain countrie. Hame, hame, hame! oh, hame fain wad I be ! The green leaf o' loyaltie's beginning now to fa'; Oh, there's nocht now frae ruin my countrie can save, grave; The great now are gane wha attempted to save, Hame, hame, hame! oh, hame fain wad I be! FAREWELL TO BONNIE TEVIOTDALE. THOMAS PRINGLE, born 1789, died 1834. OUR native land, our native vale, And Cheviot's mountains blue! Farewell, ye hills of glorious deeds, Farewell the blythesome broomy knowes O'erhung with birk and sloe! The mossy cave and mouldering tower The martyr's grave and lover's bower Home of our love, our father's home, That bears us far from thee! IN winter, when the rain rain'd cauld, And frost and snaw on ilka hill, And Boreas wi' his blasts sae bauld Was threat'ning a' our kye to kill; Then Bell my wife, wha lo'es nae strife, She said to me richt hastilie, Get up, gudeman, save Crummie's life, And tak' your auld cloak about ye. My Crummie is a usefu' cow, The sun shines frae the lift sae hie; Sloth never made a gracious end,— Gae, tak' your auld cloak about ye. My cloak was ance a gude grey cloak, When it was fitting for my wear; But now it's scantly worth a groat, For I hae worn't this thretty year: Let's spend the gear that we hae won, We little ken the day we'll dee; Then I'll be proud, since I hae sworn To hae a new cloak about me. In days when our king Robert rang, His trews they cost but half-a-croun, He said they were a great ower dear, And ca'd the tailor thief and loon. He was the king that wore the croun, And thou the man of laigh degree: It's pride puts a' the country doun, Sae tak' your auld cloak about ye. Ilk kind o' corn has its ain hool; When ilka wife her man wad rule. I'll hae a new cloak about me. Of lads and bonnie lasses ten; Now they are women grown and men, |