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n For I have vowed a virgin's vow,
My lover's fate to share,
And what can man do mair?
His mind and manners wan my heart,
He gratefu' took the gift,
It wad be waur than theft.
The love he bears to me
I'll lay me down and die.
This is not an old song; yet its sweetness and beauty and popularity have not induced the author to claim it. It made its first appearance about six-and-thirty years ago, and has maintained a place among the national songs, after submitting to a few unimportant emendations. The name of the lover was Donald at first-and so let it remain : but like Sandy in our lowland songs, it personates a people rather than an individual, and all such names should be avoided in either tender or pathetic poetry.
LOGIE OF BUCHAN.
O Logie of Buchan, it's Logie the laird,
Keep up yere heart, lassie, though I'm gaun awa'-
Though Sandie has horses and houses and land, And Jamie has nought but his heart and his hand, Yet his look is my life, and his wish is my law ;They have ta’en awa' Jamie, the flower o' them a'!
My daddie looks sadly, my mother looks sour ;-
I sit in the sunshine and spin on my wheel,
Popular belief assigns this song to Lady Ann Lindsay; and it is every way worthy of the accomplished authoress of “ Auld Robin Gray.” Many liberties have been taken with the words: there are few songs which have undergone more changes within these forty years. The present version differs from all that precede it; and it seems to me to have increased in sweetness and simplicity. The story of the song
is very simple, and is generally felt, because it is true.Some forty years ago, in the north country, oppressors like “ Logie the laird” were not wanting, to dispose of the surplus youth of the district to the army or the plantations; and many moving stories might be told of such acts of tyranny and injustice.
THE HIGHLAND CHARACTER.
In the garb of old Gaul, with the fire of old Rome,
Such is our love of liberty, our country, and our laws,
cause : We'll bravely fight, like heroes bold, for honour and
applause, And defy the French, with all their force, to alter our
No effeminate customs our sinews unbrace;
We're tall as the oak on the mount of the vale,
As a storm in the ocean, when Boreas blows,
Quebec and Cape Breton, the pride of old France,
In our realm may the fury of faction long cease,
Sir Harry Erskine of Torry wrote this song, and the fine air has combined with national vanity to give greater popularity to the words than they seem to merit. There is a good deal of animation and some pedantry-a great
love of country and a moderate love of truth, and an enthusiasm which carries patriotism into bombast. A wish his praise of our valour had been more modest, and his account of our exploits more discreet. It was printed by David Herd in 1769, and the music was added by General Reid. More natural strains and more accurate praise have succeeded in rendering this far-famed song less a favourite than heretofore.
The smiling plains, profusely gay,
O soft as love! as honour fair!