My heart grew light, I ran, I flang My arms about her lily neck, And kiss'd and clapp'd her there fu' lang; My words they were na mony feck. I said, my lassie, will ye go To the highland hills, the Erse to learn? I'll gi'e thee baith a cow and ewe, When ye come to the brigg of Earn. At Leith auld meal comes in, ne'er fash, And herrings at the Broomy Law Chear up your heart, my bonny lass, There's gear to win we never saw. All day when we have wrought enough, At night when ye sit down to spin, Syne when the tress are in their bloom, And lead you to my summer-shiel. That make the kindly hearts their sport, We'll laugh and kiss, and dance and sing, And gar the langest day seem short. [From the Tea Table Miscellany.] SAW YE JOHNIE COMING, O saw ye Johnie coming, quo' she, ye Johnie coming; Saw O saw ye Johnie coming, quo' she, Wi' his blue bonnet on his head, O fee him, father, fee him, quo' she, O fee him, father, fee him, quo' she, For he is a gallant lad, And a weel doin'; And a' the wark about the town Gaes wi' me when I see him, quo' she, Gaes wi' me when I see him. O what will I do wi' him, hizzie,' He's ne'er a 'sark' upon his back, For weel do I lo'e him, quo' she, For weel do I lo'e him, quo' she, Weel do I lo'e him. O fee him, father, fee him, quo' she, Fee him, father, fee him; He'll haud the pleugh, thrash in the barn, ["This is a very old and a very admirable song. Burns praises it for the genuine humour of the delineation: it is an unconscious humour, the humour of simplicity, always the richest and happiest." -ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. First published by Herd in 1769.] HEY, HOW MY JOHNIE LAD. Hey, how my Johnie lad, Ye're no sae kind's ye shou'd hae been; I'm sure I couldna trust my een: Ye're no sae kind's ye shou'd hae been. My father, he was at the moor; And no ane near our sport to spill: t A lug to listen was na there, And still less fear o' being seen: Ye're no sae kind's ye shou'd hae been. Wad ony lad who lo'ed me weel Hae left me a' my liefu' lane, To count the minutes as they crawled, Ye're no sae kind's ye shou'd hae been. But I shall seek some other lad, Whose love is upmost in his mind; Ye're no sae kind's ye shou'd hae been. [From Herd's Collection, 1776, with a few emendations by Mr. Cunningham.] AN THOU WERT MY AIN THING. An thou wert my ain thing, I would love thee, I would love thee; How dearly would I love thee! Of race divine thou need'st must be, The gods one thing peculiar have, To merit I no claim can make, My passion, constant as the sun, Which, breathing out, I'll love thee. [These very beautiful verses were printed in the Tea Table Mis. cellany-they are old-but the additional stanzas are undoubtedly from the pen of Ramsay : Like bees that suck the morning dew, And gar the gods envy me. Sae lang's I had the use of light, How fair and ruddy is my Jean! |