With honour it doth not consist "Tis not my freedom I do crave, By deprecating pains; Sure, liberty he would not have Who glories in his chains; But this I wish-the gods would move That noble soul of thine To pity, if thou canst not love, For old long syne. Allan Ramsay also wrote a song under this title. It appeared as follows in the "Tea-Table Miscellany." Should auld acquaintance be forgot, Though they return with scars? These are the noble hero's lot, And make me once again as blest Methinks around us on each bough A thousand Cupids play; Whilst through the groves I walk with you Each object makes me gay. Since your return the sun and moon With brighter beams do shine; Streams murmur soft notes while they run As they did lang syne. SPEAK ON, SPEAK THUS. ALLAN RAMSAY, born Oct. 15, 1686, died Jan 7, 1758. From the "Gentle Shepherd." Air-" Wae's my heart that we should sunder." SPEAK on, speak thus, and still my grief; Hold up a heart that's sinkin' under These fears that soon will want relief When Pate must from his Peggy sunder. A gentler face and silk attire, A lady rich in beauty's blossom, To steal thee from thy Peggy's bosom. No more the shepherd who excell'd The rest, whose wit made them to wonder, Oh, I can die, but never sunder! Ye meadows where we often stray'd, Ye banks where we were wont to wander, Again, ah, shall I never creep Around the knowe, with silent duty, And wonder at thy manly beauty? Hear, heaven, while solemnly I vow, Though thou shouldst prove a wand'ring lover, Through life to thee I shall prove true, Nor be a wife to any other. I'LL NEVER LEAVE THEE. ALLAN RAMSAY. From the "Tea-Table Miscellany." JOHNNY. THOUGH for seven years and mair honour should reave me Gang the warld as it will, dearest, believe me. NELLY. O Johnny, I'm jealous, whene'er ye discover JOHNNY. My Nelly, let never sic fancies oppress ye; NELLY. Then, Johnny, I frankly this minute allow ye JOHNNY. Bid ice-shogles hammer red gauds on the studdy, LOCHABER NO MORE. ALLAN RAMSAY. FAREWELL to Lochaber, farewell to my Jean, We'll maybe return to Lochaber no more! Though hurricanes rise, though rise every wind, To leave thee behind me my heart is sair pain'd; Then glory, my Jeanie, maun plead my excuse; The exquisite melody to which this song is sung has rendered it a general favourite. Its effect upon the mind of Highlanders in a foreign land, or in emigration, is sometimes painful, and has been known to melt the roughest and rudest of men to tears. The song itself, as a literary composition, is of little or no merit. It first appeared in the "Tea-Table Miscellany," 1724. The air was originally entitled "King James's march to Ireland." Bessie Bell I lo'ed yestreen, Bessie's hair's like a lint-tap, She smiles like a May mornin', Mary's locks are like the craw, Young Bessie Bell and Mary Gray, Our fancies jee between ye twa, Ye are sic bonnie lasses. Wae's me! for baith I canna get, To ane by law we're stentit; And be wi' ane contentit. The heroines of this well-known ballad were the daughters of two Perthshire gentlemen. Bessy Bell was the daughter of the Laird of Kinnaird, and Mary Gray of the Laird of Lynedoch. A romantic attachment subsisted between them, and they retired together to a secluded spot called the "Burn Braes," in the neighbourhood of Lynedoch, to avoid the plague that then raged in Perth, Dundee, and other towns. They caught the infection, however, and both died. Tradition asserts that a young gentleman, in love with one of them, visited them in their solitude, and that it was from him they caught the contagion. The late gallant Lord Lynedoch, on whose estate the heroines lie buried, erected a kind of bower over their graves. The fol |