SELECT SCOTISH SONGS, &c.

THE HIGHLAND QUEEN.

THE Highland Queen, music and poetry, was composed by a Mr. M'Vicar, purser of the Solbay man of war.—This I had from Dr. Blacklock.

BESS THE GAWKIE.*

THIS song shews that the Scotish Muses did not all leave us when we lost Ramsay and Oswald,+ as I have good reason to believe that the verses and

*The Editor has been told by Mrs. William Copland, in Dalbeattie, Galloway, (a lady to whose taste, and accuracy of information he has been often indebted), that this Song is the production of the late Reverend Morehead, minister of

Urr parish, in Galloway.

+ Oswald was a music-seller in London, about the year 1750. He published a large collection of Scotish tunes, which he called the Caledonian Pocket Companion. Mr. Tytler observes, that his genius in composition, joined to his taste in the performance of Scotish music, was natural and pathetic.

VOL. I.

B

music are both posterior to the days of these two gentlemen. It is a beautiful song, and in the genuine Scots taste. We have few pastoral compositions, I mean the pastoral of nature, that are equal to this.

Blythe young Bess to Jean did say,
Will ye gang to yon sunny brae,
Where flocks do feed and herds do stray,
And sport awhile wi' Jamie?
Ah na, lass, I'll no gang there,
Nor about Jamie tak nae care,
Nor about Jamie tak nae care,

For he's taen up wi' Maggy!

For hark, and I will tell you, lass,
Did I not see your Jamie pass,
Wi' meikle gladness in his face,

Out o'er the muir to Maggy.
I wat he gae her mony a kiss,
And Maggy took them ne'er amiss;
"Tween ilka smack, pleas'd her with this,
That Bess was but a gawkie.

For when a civil kiss I seek,
She turns her head, and thraws her cheek,
And for an hour she'll scarcely speak;
Who'd not call her a gawkie?

But sure my Maggie has mair sense,
She'll gie a score without offence;
Now gie me ane unto the mense,
And ye shall be my dawtie.

O, Jamie, ye ha'e mony tane,
But I will never stand for ane,
Or twa, when we do meet again;

Sae ne'er think me a gawkie.
Ah, na, lass, that ne'er can be,
Sic thoughts as these are far frae me,
Or ony that sweet face that see,

E'er to think thee a gawkie.

But whisht!-nae mair of this we'll speak, For yonder Jamie does us meet;

Instead of Meg he kiss'd sae sweet,
I trow he likes the gawkie.

O dear Bess, I hardly knew,
When I came by, your gown sae new,
I think you've got it wat wi' dew;

Quoth she, that's like a gawkie:

It's wat wi' dew, and 'twill get rain,
And I'll get gowns when it is gane,
Sae you may gang the gate you came,
And tell it to your dawtie.

The guilt appear'd in Jamie's cheek ;
He cry'd, O cruel maid, but sweet,
If I should gang anither gate,

I ne'er could meet my dawtie!

The lasses fast frae him they flew,
And left poor Jamie sair to rue,
That ever Maggy's face he knew,

Or yet ca'd Bess a gawkie.

As they went o'er the muir they sang;
The hills and dales with echoes rang,
The hills and dales with echoes rang,
Gang o'er the muir to Maggy!

OH, OPEN THE DOOR, LORD GREGORY.

IT is somewhat singular, that in Lanark, Renfrew, Ayr, Wigton, Kirkcudbright, and Dumfriesshires, there is scarcely an old song or tune which, from the title, &c. can be guessed to belong to, or be the production of these countries. This, I conjecture, is one of these very few; as the ballad, which is a long one, is called both by tradition and in printed collections, The Lass o' Lochroyan, which I take to be Lochroyan, in Galloway.

THE BANKS OF THE TWEED.

THIS song is one of the many attempts that English composers have made to imitate the Scotish manner, and which I shall, in these strictures, beg leave to distinguish by the appellation of AngloScotish productions. The music is pretty good, but the verses are just above contempt.

ROSLIN CASTLE.

THESE beautiful verses were the production of a Richard Hewit,* a young man that Dr. Blacklock,

* Richard Hewit was taken when a boy, during the residence of Dr. Blacklock in Cumberland, to lead him.- He addressed a copy of verses to the Doctor on quitting his service. Among the verses are the following lines:

"How oft those plains I've thoughtless prest;

"Whistled or sung some Fair distrest,

"When fate would steal a tear."

Alluding,