In vain do I praise thee, or strive to reveal With thee in my bosom, how can I despair? LASS, GIN YE LO'E ME. JAMES TYTLER. Born 1747, died 1805. I HAE laid a herring in saut- An' I canna come ilka day to woo. I hae a house upon yon moor- sparrows may dance upon the moor, Lass, gin ye lo'e me, tell me now; I hae a hen wi' a happitie leg- An' I canna come ilka day to woo. Lass, gin ye lo'e me, tell me now; An' I canna come ilka day to woo. The following, which is another version of the above, appeared in Herd's Collection, 1776 I hae a herrin' in saut Bonnie lassie, gin ye'll tak' me, tell me now; An' I hae brewn three pickles o' maut, An' I canna come ilka day to woo To woo, to woo, to lilt and to woo; I hae a wee calf that wad fain be a cow Bonnie lassie, gin ye'll tak' me, tell me now; An' I canna come ilka day to woo To woo, to woo, to lilt and to woo; WHILE FREQUENT ON TWEED. WHILE frequent on Tweed and on Tay, Their harps all the Muses have strung, The poet with pastoral strains: On Mary, the pride of the plains? Oh, nature's most beautiful bloom A form that might shine on a throne. How often the beauty is hid Amid shades that her triumphs deny ! How often the hero forbid From the path that conducts to the sky! A Helen has pined in the grove, A Homer has wanted his name, Unseen in the circle of love, Unknown to the temple of fame. Yet let us walk forth to the stream, How the echoes will spread to the shore! If the voice of the Muse be divine, Thy beauties shall live in my lay; THE BRAES OF YARROW. REV. JOHN LOGAN. THY braes were bonnie, Yarrow stream, Thou art to me a stream of sorrow; For ever on thy banks shall I Behold my love, the flower of Yarrow! He promised me a milk-white steed, He promised me a little page, To squire me to his father's towers; He promised me a wedding-ring The wedding-day was fixed to-morrow: Now he is wedded to his grave, Alas, his watery grave in Yarrow! Sweet were his words when last we met; That I should never more behold him. And gave a doleful groan through Yarrow. His mother from the window look'd, The greenwood path to meet her brother: They only saw the cloud of night, They only heard the roar of Yarrow. No longer from thy window look ; Thou hast no son, thou tender mother! No longer search the forest thorough; The tear shall never leave my cheek, And then with thee I'll sleep in Yarrow. No other youth became her marrow; She found his body in the stream, And now with him she sleeps in Yarrow. This beautiful song was founded upon the well-known story made immortal in the ballads of Scotland, both old and new. There are several versions-the story being the same in each, but in none of them told so exquisitely as by Mr. William Hamilton of Bangour, in his ballad commencing, "Busk ye, busk ye, my bonnie, bonnie bride!" and rendered still more famous than it formerly was by the fine poem of Wordsworth, "Yarrow Unvisited." THE FLOWERS OF THE FOREST. FIRST VERSION. JANE ELLIOT, about the year 1750. I'VE heard the lilting at our yowe-milking, At bughts in the morning nae blythe lads are scorning, In hairst at the shearing nae youths now are jeering, At e'en at the gloaming nae swankies are roaming Dule and wae for the order sent our lads to the border! We hear nae mair lilting at our yowe-milking, The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. The "Flowers of the Forest" were the young men of the districts of Selkirkshire and Peebleshire, anciently known as "The Forest." The song is founded by the authoress upon an older composition of the same name, deploring the loss of the Scotch at Flodden Field. |