She lifted up her wondering een To see from whence the voice might be, I'm in death-thraws below the sea; The wind slept when we left the bay, But soon it waked and raised the main, Wha strave wi' him but strave in vain? Tak aff the bride sheets frae thy bed, I'll meet wi' thee in heaven hie. Sweet Mary, weep nae mair for me! This variation of Lowe's beautiful lyric is copied from Cromek's Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song, where it was accompanied by remarks on its claims to notice as a Scottish version and variety of the other. It has been described as an attempt to injure the fame of Lowe, as if variations of songs had now for the first time appeared in the language; and it has been also represented as dull and stupid. To seek to injure a poet's fame by publishing a variation of his song, sprinkled with the native dialect of the land, is a charge that might have been made against both Ramsay and Burns: their works abound with such lyrics. And to write a good song down by means of a duller one, reminds me of the clergyman who came to London on purpose to write down Paradise Lost. It is needless to say more: if I abstain from noticing the printed folly of one of the district authors, it is only because I wish not to revive the memory of a work which the world has so willingly and so hastily forgotten. I feel reluctance at waging war with a candidate for a pulpit-besides I have a reverence for gravity and dulness, and a sympathy for those who seem largely endowed by nature with the power of promoting the slumbers of a respectable congregation. CAULD KAIL IN ABERDEEN. There's cauld kail in Aberdeen, And castocks in Stra'bogie; Gin I hae but a bonnie lass, And ye may sit up a' the night, In cotillons the French excel, In foursome reels the Scots delight, At threesomes they dance wond'rous light, Come, lads, and view your partners weel, Wale each a blithesome rogie: I'll tak this lassie to mysel', She looks sae keen and vogie: Now, piper lad, bang up the spring ; Το pree their mou's ere we begin To dance the reel o' Bogie. Now ilka lad has got a lass Save yon auld doited fogie, As they do in Stra'bogie; grass, But a' the lasses look sae fain We canna think oursels to hain, For they maun hae their come-again Now a' the lads hae done their best, And tipple out a cogie. Come now, my lads, and tak your glass, And try ilk other to surpass In wishing health to ev'ry lass, To dance the reel o' Bogie. Cauld Kale in Aberdeen has been a standing dish for the bards of that district for many years: but though numerous verses have been poured forth in its honour, none of them are excellent. Fame imputes the present song to the Duke of Gordon; and if fame is right, his grace has been free and condescending in his enjoyments: he dances on the green with much animation, and salutes his rustic partner with a gallantry worthy of the house of Gordon. Of the other songs, ancient and modern, few quotations will serve : There's cauld kale in Aberdeen, And castocks in Stra'bogie, This Aberdeenshire toper goes on to complain of a neighbour's wife, whose numerous children somewhat scrimped her husband in his cups, while she gave him other intelligible admonitions: She fand him ance at Willie Sharp's, |