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286

MACPHERSON'S FAREWELL.

Now simmer blinks on flowery braes,
And o'er the crystal streamlet plays;
Come, let us spend the lightsome days
In the birks of Aberfeldy.

While o'er their heads the hazels hing,
The little birdies blithely sing,
Or lightly flit on wanton wing
In the birks of Aberfeldy.

The braes ascend, like.lofty wa's,
The foaming stream deep-roaring fa's,
O'erhung wi' fragrant spreading shaws,
The birks of Aberfeldy.

The hoary cliffs are crowned wi' flowers,
White o'er the linns the burnie pours,
And rising, weets wi' misty showers
The birks of Aberfeldy.

Let Fortune's gifts at random flee,
They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me,
Supremely blest wi' love and thee,
In the birks of Aberfeldy.
Bonnie lassie, will ye go,

Will

ye go, will ye go;

Bonnie lassie, will ye go
To the birks of Aberfeldy?

MACPHERSON'S' FAREWELL.

Tune-"M'Pherson's Rant."

FAREWELL, ye dungeons dark and strong,
The wretch's destinie!
Macpherson's time will not be long

On yonder gallows-tree.

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1 Macpherson was chief of a branch of the clan Chattan, and a famous freebooter. "Macpherson's Lament," says Sir Walter Scott, was a well-known song many years before the Ayrshire Bard wrote these additional verses, which constitute its principal merit. This noted freebooter was executed at Inverness about the beginning of the last century. When he came to the fatal tree, he played the tune to which he has bequeathed his name upon a favourite violin; and, holding up the instrument, he offered it to any one of his clan who would undertake to play the tune over his body at the lyke-wake. As none answered, he dashed it to pieces on the executioner's head, and flung himself from the ladder,"

THE CHEVALIER'S LAMENT

Sae rantingly, sae wantonly,

Sae dauntingly gaed he;

He played a spring, and danced it round,
Below the gallows-tree.

Oh! what is death but parting breath?

On mony a bloody plain

I've dared his face, and in this place
I scorn him yet again!

Untie these bands from off my hands,
And bring to me my sword!

And there's no a man in all Scotland
But I'll brave him at a word.

I've lived a life of sturt and strife;
I die by treacherie :

It burns my heart I must depart,
And not avengèd be.

Now farewell light-thou sunshine bright
And all beneath the sky!

May coward shame disdain his name,

The wretch that dares not die!

Sae rantingly, sae wantonly,

Sae dauntingly gaed he;

He played a spring and danced it round,.
Below the gallows-tree.

287

THE CHEVALIER'S LAMENT.

THE small birds rejoice in the green leaves returning,
The murmuring streamlet winds clear through the vale;
The hawthorn trees blow in the dews of the morning,
And wild scattered cowslips bedeck the green dale:
But what can give pleasure, or what can seem fair,
While the lingering moments are numbered by care?
No flowers gaily springing, nor birds sweetly singing,
Can soothe the sad bosom of joyless despair.

The deed that I dared could it merit their malice,
A king and a father to place on his throne?
His right are these hills and his right are these valleys,
Where the wild beasts find shelter, but I can find none.

But 'tis not my sufferings thus wretched, forlorn,
My brave gallant friends, 'tis your ruin I mourn:
Your deeds proved so loyal in hot bloody trial,
Alas! can I make you no sweeter return!

BRAW LADS OF GALLA WATER.

Tune-"Galla Water."

CHORUS.

BRAW, braw lads of Galla Water;
O braw lads of Galla Water!
I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee,

And follow my love through the water.

Sae fair her hair, sae brent her brow,
Sae bonny blue her een, my dearie;
Sae white her teeth, sae sweet her mou',
The mair I kiss she 's aye my dearie.

O'er yon bank and o'er yon brae,
O'er yon moss amang the heather,
I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee,

And follow my love through the water.

Down amang the broom, the broom,
Down amang the broom, my dearie,
The lassie lost a silken snood,

That cost her mony a blirt and bleary.

Braw, braw lads of Galla Water;

O braw lads of Galla Water!

I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee,
And follow my love through the water.

STAY, MY CHARMER.

Tune-"An Gille dubh ciar dhubh."

STAY, my charmer, can you leave me?
Cruel, cruel to deceive me!

Well you know how much you grieve me!
Cruel charmer, can you go?
Cruel charmer, can you go?

By my love so ill requited;
By the faith you fondly plighted;
By the pangs of lovers slighted;
Do not, do not leave me so!
Do not, do not leave me so!

STRATHALLAN'S LAMENT.

THICKEST night, o'erhang my dwelling!
Howling tempests, o'er me rave!
Turbid torrents, wintry swelling,
Still surround my lonely cave!
Crystal streamlets gently flowing,
Busy haunts of base mankind,
Western breezes softly blowing,
Suit not my distracted mind.

In the cause of right engagèd,
Wrongs injurious to redress,
Honour's war we strongly wagèd,
But the heavens denied success.

Farewell, fleeting, fickle treasure,

"Tween Misfortune and Folly shared!
Farewell, Peace, and farewell, Pleasure!
Farewell, flattering man's regard!

Ruin's wheel has driven o'er me;
Nor dare my fate a hope attend;
The wide world is all before me-
But a world without a friend!

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5

But the houlet cried frae the castle wa',

The blitter frae the boggie,

The tod replied upon the hill:

I trembled for my hoggie.

James Drummond, Viscount Strathallan, who is believed to have escaped from the field of Culloden, and to have died in exile.

3 Vain of it. Full of stunted undergrowth.

2 A two-year-old sheep.

5 Owl.

6 Mire-snipe. 7 Fox.

L

290

HER DADDY FORBADE.

When day did daw', and cocks did craw,
The morning it was foggy;
An unco tyke lap o'er the dyke,
And maist has killed my hoggie.

HER DADDY FORBADE.

Tune-Jumpin' John."

HER daddie forbade, her minnie forbade;
Forbidden she wadna be;

She wadna trow't the browst she brewed 2
Wad taste sae bitterlie.

The lang lad they ca' Jumpin' John
Beguiled the bonnie lassie,

The lang lad they ca' Jumpin' John
Beguiled the bonnie lassie.

A cow and a cauf, a yowe and a hauf,
And thretty guid shillin's and three;
A vera gude tocher, a cotter-man's dochter,
The lass with the bonnie black e'e.

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UP IN THE MORNING EARLY.

CHORUS.

Up in the morning's no for me,
Up in the morning early;

When a' the hills are covered wi' snaw,

I'm sure it's winter fairly.

Cauld blaws the wind frae east to west,
The drift is driving sairly;

Sae loud and shrill I hear the blast,
I'm sure it's winter fairly.

The birds sit chittering in the thorn,
A' day they fare but sparely;
And lang's the night frae e'en to morn
I'm sure it's winter fairly.

Up in the morning's no for me,
Up in the morning early;

When a' the hills are covered wi' snaw,

'm sure it's winter fairly.

2 She would not believe the drink she brewed.

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