I hae naebody now, I hae naebody now O'er her calm sleep to breathe the vow, An' the wild embrace, an' the gleesome face Where are they now, where are they now? In the cauld, cauld grave they lie. There's naebody kens, there's naebody kens, An' O may they never prove, That sharpest degree o' agony For the child o' their earthly love To see a flower in its vernal hour By slow degrees decay, Then calmly aneath the hand o' death O dinna break, my poor auld heart, Nor at thy loss repine, For the unseen hand that threw the dart Was sent frae her Father and thine; Yet I maun mourn, an' I will mourn, Even till my latest day, For though my darling can never return, I can follow the sooner away. THE FORTY-SECOND'S WELCOME TO SCOTLAND WAS written, at the suggestion of Mr George Thomson, on the return of that gallant regiment from Waterloo, and harmonized beautifully by him to the old air bearing the name of the regiment. It is to be found, I think, in Mr Thomson's first volume, small edition. OLD Scotia! wake thy mountain strain, In all its wildest splendours, And welcome back the lads again, Your honour's dear defenders. Be every harp and viol strung, Till all the woodlands quaver; Of many a band your bards have sung, Raise high the pibroch, Donald Bane, That warriors bold may hear it. Ye lovely maids, pitch high your notes Small is the remnant you will see, Lamented be the others, But such a stem of such a tree Take to your arms like brothers. Then raise the pibroch, Donald Bane, Strike all the glen with wonder; Let the chanter yell, and the drone-notes swell, What storm can rend your mountain-rock, Long have they stood the tempest's shock, Sooner your eye those cliffs shall view Split by the wind and weather, Than foeman's eye the bonnet blue Behind the nodding feather. |