« PredošláPokračovať »
Whilst the warm blood bedews my veins,
filial breast shall beat,
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.
THE WAES OF SCOTLAND.
When I left thee, bonny Scotland,
O fair wert thou to see!
When she maun wedded be.
Upon a May-morn fair,
A kaming her yellow hair.
Oh hey! oh hey! sung the bonny lass,
Oh hey, and wae is me!
As een did never see.
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;
Wi' the death-tear in her e'e.
Had I the reaver here,
And gie't to his love to wear.
I hadna gane frae my ain dear hame
But twa short miles and three,
Says, Traitor, bide ye me!
It bursted i' my hand,
And drew my burly brand.
Shaw mercy on me! quo' the loon,
And low he knelt on knee;
Which gude King Bruce did gi'e ;
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,
And I lie o'er my father and mither's grave
An hour or twa to weep.
Without a ha' or hame,
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,
Ohon, my highlandman !
O to see his tartan trews,
The princely youth that I do mean
O to see this princely one
Ohon, my highlandman !