SONG OF DEATH. I'll be merry and free, 53 SONG OF DEATH. SCENE-a Field of Battle; Time of the Day-EVENING: the Wounded and Dying of the victorious Army are supposed to join in the following Song. A Gaelic Air. FAREWELL, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies, Now gay with the bright setting sun; Farewell,loves and friendships, ye dear tender ties, Our race of existence is run! Thou grim king of terrors, thou life's gloomy foe, Go, frighten the coward and slave; Go, teach them to tremble, fell tyrant! but know, No terrors hast thou to the brave! Thou strik'st the dull peasant-he sinks in the dark, Nor saves e'en the wreck of a name; Thou strik'st the young hero-a glorious mark! He falls in the blaze of his fame! In the field of proud honour-our swords in our Our King and our country to save- [hands, While victory shines on life's last ebbing sands, O! who would not rest with the brave! MY AIN KIND DEARIE O. WHEN o'er the hill the eastern star My ain kind dearie O. In mirkest glen, at midnight hour, Altho' the night were ne'er sae wild, The hunter lo'es the morning sun, MY WIFE'S A WINSOME WEE THING. SHE is a winsome wee thing, AULD ROB MORRIS. I never saw a fairer, I never loe'd a dearer, And niest my heart I'll wear her, She is a winsome wee thing. The warld's wrack we share o't, Wi' her I'll blithely bear it, 55 AULD ROB MORRIS. THERE'S auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen, He's the king o'guid fellows and wale of auld men; He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine, And ae bonnie lassie, his darling and mine. She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May; She's sweet as the ev'ning amang the new hay; As blithe and as artless as the lamb on the lea, And dear to my heart as the light to my ee. But oh! she's an heiress, auld Robin's a laird, And my daddie has nought but a cot-house and yard; A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed, The wounds I must hide that will soon be my dead. The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane; O, had she but been of lower degree, I then might hae hop'd she wad smil'd upon me! O, how past describing had then been my bliss, As now my distraction no words can express! DUNCAN GRAY. DUNCAN Gray came here to woo, Ha, ha, the wooing o't, On blithe yule night when we were fou, Maggie coost her head fu' high, Ha, ha, the wooing o't. Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd; Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig, Ha, ha, &c. Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, Spak o' lowpin o'er a linn ; Ha, ha, &c. Time and chance are but a tide, Ha, ha, &c. Slighted love is sair to bide, Ha, ha, &c. Shall I, like a fool, quoth he, For a haughty hizzie die? She may gae to--France for me! O POORTITH. How it comes let doctors tell, Meg grew sick- -as he grew heal, Something in her bosom wrings, And O, her een, they spak sic things! Duncan was a lad o' grace, Ha, ha, &c. Maggie's was a piteous case, Ha, ha, &c. Duncan couldna be her death, Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath; 57 O POORTITH. TUNE-I had a Horse. O POORTITH cauld, and restless love, O, why should fate sic pleasure have, This warld's wealth when I think on, Fie, fie on silly coward man, VOL. II. F |