Snaw-white stockins on his legs, With fine silks from the Indies, Tea, pepper, and tobacco, They must have beer and biscuit, To feed the jovial sailors, Upon the roaring seas; Likewise they must have cables, With ropes and sails anew, And things like those we cannot have, But by the painful plough. The gentry of Great Britain, With Ireland, France, and Spain, The Turk and his seraglio, And all his gorgeous train; And every new plantation, With Pagan, Turk, and Jew, There's none of them can live without The virtue of the plough. Nor can our own tradesmen live, If we consider right, The mason, smith, and weaver, Commend me to the barn-yard, And the corn-mou, man; I never gat my coggie fou, You see the curious baker, Of bread both wheat and rye, The maltster and the ale-wives, But here's a great vexation, Which makes our spirits fail, Come on our wives sell ale, For we have malt and barley, The less it harms our brain; And clothes we'll get but few, Such things are now become so dear, Can just have what they please; Up wi' my ploughman lad, And hey my merry ploughman Commend me to the ploughman. The poor no meat nor clothes, We hear from distant nations, Still making new encroachments While we are glad to live in peace, With what springs from the plough. Three mighty powers in Europe, To quell that restless crew, And us the true enjoyment Of what springs from the plough. May heaven send prosperity, And long life to our king, For we've had many peaceful days, And may our foes, by George's sword, Be glad for peace to sue, And let us say with one accord, I hope there's none offended For to be ta'en amiss; If ye consider rightly, You'll say 'tis all but true, All trades that I have mentioned, Live by the painful plough. Sixty years ago the length of a song seems to have been an essential recommendation, nowadays it is the very reverse.-M. TO THEE, LOVED NITH. To thee, lov'd Nith, thy gladsome plains, I love thee, Nith, thy banks and braes, The first eight lines are copied verbatim from Herd's Collection, vol. ii. p. 205. The sentiments in the second eight lines are somewhat akin to those expressed in Herd's version.—M. MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS.* Tune-" Failte na Miosg." My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here; The hills of the Highlands for ever I love. In the notes to Johnson's Museum on this song, Burns says, "The first half-stanza is old; the rest mine." Had he said the last half-stanza was old, as well as the first, he would have told no more than the truth. Allan Cunningham says, "Of the old song no one has given specimens." Not only a specimen of this excellent old song has been given, but the whole complete, in the "Ancient Ballads and Songs of the North of Scotland," published half a dozen years ago. But for the sake of the readers of Burns, who, like my friend Allan, have not seen it, I do myself the pleasure of inserting it here, accompanied with the explanatory note appended to it : O Donaldie, Donaldie, where hae you been? A hawking and hunting,-go make my bed clean; My heart's in the Highlands wherever I gae. Let's drink and gae hame, boys, let's drink and gae hame, If we stay ony langer we'll get a bad name; We'll get a bad name, and we'll fill oursell's fou, My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here; O bonny Portmore, ye shine where you charm, When I look from you, my heart it is sore, When I mind upon Valianty, and on Portmore. |