Obrázky na stránke

Whilst the warm blood bedews my veins,
And unimpair’d remembrance reigns,
Resentment of my country's fate


filial breast shall beat,
And, spite of her insulting foe,
My sympathizing verse shall flow.
Mourn, hapless Caledonia, mourn
Thy banish'd peace, thy laurels torn!

when men may

Smollett was a Jacobite, but it required little party spirit to inspire a song which gives a moving picture of domestic desolation and human sorrow. The Duke of Cumberland nearly fulfilled the prediction ascribed to Alexander Peden ; “ The day will come, ride an hundred miles in Scotland, nor see a reeking house, nor hear a crowing cock!"-This moving song was made on the ravages of the Duke of Cumberland, in 1746. The eastern Cameronians, during the rebellion of 1715, acted a curious but characteristic part. They armed and advanced upon Dumfries, but seemed uncertain whether they would fight for the “ man who sought the temporal crown, or the man who wore it." They refused to acknowledge any king but Jesus, or to mingle with any people who were not covenanted—they prayed, preached, disputed, and dispersed.




When I left thee, bonny Scotland,

O fair wert thou to see!
And blithe as a bonny bride i' the morn,

When she maun wedded be.
When I came back to thee, Scotland,

Upon a May-morn fair,
A bonny lass sat at our town end,

A kaming her yellow hair.

Oh hey! oh hey! sung the bonny lass,

Oh hey, and wae is me!
There's siccan sorrow in Scotland,

As een did never see.
Oh hey, oh hey, for my father auld !

Oh hey, for my mither dear!

heart will burst for the bonny lad Wha left me lanesome here.

I hadna gane in my ain Scotland

Mae miles than twa or three, When I saw the head o'


ain father Borne

up the gate to me. A traitor's head! and, A traitor's head!

Loud bawld a bloody loon; But I drew frae the sheath my glaive o' weir,

And strack the reaver down.

I hied me hame to my father's ha',

My dear auld mither to see;
But she lay 'mang the black eizels,

Wi' the death-tear in her e'e.
O wha has wrought this bloody wark?

Had I the reaver here,
I'd wash his sark in his ain heart's blood,

And gie't to his love to wear.

I hadna gane frae my ain dear hame

But twa short miles and three,
Till up came a captain o' the whigs,

Says, Traitor, bide ye me!
I grippet him by the belt sae braid,

It bursted i' my hand,
But I threw him frae his weir-saddle,

And drew my burly brand.

Shaw mercy on me! quo' the loon,

And low he knelt on knee;
And by his thigh was my father's glaive

Which gude King Bruce did gi'e ;
And buckled round him was the broider'd belt


mither's hands did weaveMy tears they mingled wi' his heart's blood,

And reek'd upon my glaive.

I wander a' night 'mang the lands I own'd,
When a' folk are asleep;

And I lie o'er my father and mither's grave

An hour or twa to weep.
O, fatherless and mitherless,

Without a ha' or hame,
I maun wander through my dear Scotland,

And bide a traitor's name.


This is copied from Cromek’s Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song, where it first appeared; it has since found its way into many collections. Mr. Hogg admitted it into the Jacobite Relics, accompanied by such praise of the author as I would rather allude to than quote. It would be uncandid 'to say such praise is unwelcome ; for the praise of a man of original genius will always be considered by the world as an acceptable thing, and I am willing to acknowledge its value. The song contains no imaginary picture of Jacobite suffering: tradition still tells a similar tale of a Galloway gentleman, and points out the banks of the water of Dee as the scene of his single combat with the spoiler of his house.


O send Lewie Gordon hame,
And the lad I darena name!
Tho' his back be at the wa',
Here's to him that's far awa.

Ohon, my highlandman !
O my bonny highlandman !
Weel wad I my true love ken
Amang ten thousand highlandmen.

O to see his tartan trews,
Bonnet blue, and laigh heel'd shoes,
Philabeg aboon his knee-
That's the lad that I'll



The princely youth that I do mean
Is fitted for to be a king ;
On his breast he wears a star-
You'd take him for the god of war.

O to see this princely one
Seated on his father's throne !
Disasters a' wad disappear,
Then begins the jub'lee year.

Ohon, my highlandman !
O my bonny highlandman!
Weel wad I my true love ken
Amang ten thousand highlandmen,

« PredošláPokračovať »