Obrázky na stránke
PDF
ePub

His sorrows, hapless bird, display

An image of my soul's dismay!

Dr. Fordyce, the author of this song, perished at sea in the year 1755. It was long known under the name of "The Black Eagle," and the song commenced thus:

"Hark! yonder eagle lonely calls."

But it has been felt, and felt justly, that a ravenous bird of prey formed a strange and unnatural image of the woes of the hero of the song; and the eagle has been displaced by a softer bird, the naming of which is left to the reader's fancy. The Delia of the original song has also been dethroned; but as no Scottish family can be supposed to suffer by the removal, and as the name injures rather than assists the pathos of the story, it can be spared without pain.

THEY SAY THAT JOCK WILL SPEED WEEL O'T.

They say that Jock will speed weel o't,
They say that Jock will speed weel o't;
For he grows brawer ilka day-
I hope we'll hae a bridal o't.
'Twas yesternight, nae farther gane,

The back house at the side-wall o't,
He there wi' Meg was mirding seen-
I hope we'll hae a bridal o't.

[blocks in formation]

We'll leave what follows to gude luck,
Although there should betide ill o't.
O bridal-days are merry times,

And young folks like the coming o't;
The bards lilt up their merry rhymes,
And pipers like the bumming o't.

The lasses like a bridal o't,

The lasses like a bridal o't;

Their braws maun be in rank and file,

Although that they should guide ill o't.

The bottom of the kist is then

Turn'd up unto the inmost o't;

The end that held the claes sae clean
Is now become the toomest o't.

The barnman at the threshing o't,
The barnman at the threshing o't,

Afore it comes is fidgin fain,

And ilka day is clashing o't.
He'll sell his jerkin for a groat,
His bonnet for anither o't;
And ere he want to clear his shot,
His sark shall pay the tither o't.

When they have done wi' eating o't,
When they have done wi' eating o't,
For dancing they gae to the green,
And aiblins to the beating o't.
He dances best that dances fast,
And loups at ilka reesing o't,

And claps his hands frae hough to hough,
And furls about the feezings o't.

This rough provincial strain was written by Alexander Ross, author of the "Fortunate Shepherdess." It brought no increase to his reputation: the festivities of a rustic bridal had been chanted before him by livelier spirits, and, like other imitators, he has failed in equalling his prototypes. The "Blythesome Bridal" could not be

surpassed in its kind: Ross had little to add, and he could not excel. There is some truth and life in the closing verse. To clap the hands in the dance, in the manner described, is a common feat of rustic activity; but the continual ducking of the head is ungraceful, and the din of the hands more clamorous than agreeable. A battle was formerly, and indeed lately, no uncommon termination to religious as well as festive meetings. A devout lowlander once informed me that in his youth he attended a highland kirk, to which the pastor regularly went with an excellent staff of root-grown oak, to arbitrate between his quarrelsome parishioners, who, after sermon, amused themselves with fighting in the kirkyard.

O'ER THE MOOR AMANG THE HEATHER.

Coming through the crags o' Kyle,
Amang the bonnie blooming heather,

There I met a bonnie lassie,

Keeping a' her ewes thegither.

O'er the moor amang the heather,

O'er the moor amang the heather;

There I met a bonnie lassie,

Keeping a' her ewes thegither.

[ocr errors]

Says I, my dear, where is thy hame,
In moor or dale, pray tell me whether?
She says, I tend the fleecy flocks

That feed amang the blooming heather.

We laid us down upon a bank,

Sae warm and sunnie was the weather:
She left her flocks at large to rove

Amang the bonnie blooming heather.

While thus we lay, she sang a sang,
Till echo rang a mile and farther;
And aye the burden of the sang

Was, O'er the moor amang the heather.

She charm'd my heart, and aye sinsyne
I couldna think on ony other:-
By sea and sky, she shall be mine,
The bonnie lass amang the heather!

O'er the moor amang the heather,

Down amang the blooming heather,-
By sea and sky, she shall be mine,

The bonnie lass amang the heather!

[ocr errors]

A singular story is told about the origin of this very beautiful song.-Burns says, " Coming through the Crags o' Kyle" is the composition of Jean Glover, a girl who was not only a whore but a thief, and in one or

« PredošláPokračovať »