Loudon.-The then Earl of Loudon, father to MAY EVF OR KATE OF ABERDEEN. | Ayrshire. The following anecdote I had from the present Sir William Cunningham, of RobertKATE of Aberdeen, is, I believe, the work of land, who had it from the last John, Earl of poor Cunningham the player; of whom the following anecdote, though told before, deserves a recital. A fat dignitary of the church coming past Cunningham one Sunday as the poor poet was busy plying a fishing-rod in some stream near Durham, his native country, his reverence reprimanded Cunningham very severely for such an occupation on such a day. The poor poet, with that inoffensive gentleness of manners which was his peculiar characteristic, replied, that he hoped God and his reverence would forgive his seeming profanity of that sacred day, "as he had no dinner to eat, but what lay at the bottom of that pool!" This, Mr. Woods, the player, who knew Cunningham well, and esteemed him much, assured me was true.-BURNS. E silver moon's enamour'd beam, To beds of state go balmy sleep, ('Tis where you've seldom been), May's vigil while the shepherds keep With Kate of Aberdeen! Upon the green the virgins wait, Strike up the tabor's boldest notes, We'll rouse the nodding grove; The nested birds shall raise their throats, Fond bird! 'tis not the morning breaks, Now lightsome o'er the level mead, For see the rosy May draws nigh, She claims a virgin queen ; And hark, the happy shepherds cry, ""Tis Kate of Aberdeen !" THE LASS OF PATIE'S MILL. IN Sinclair's Statistical Account of Scotland, this song is localized (a verb I must use for want of another to express my idea) somewhere in the North of Scotland. and likewise is claimed by THE lass of Patie's mill, So bonny, blythe, and gay, She stole my heart away. Her arms white, round, and smooth, To age it would give youth, To press 'em with his hand : An ecstasy of bliss, Without the help of art, Like flowers which grace the wild, Whene'er she spoke or smil'd. I wish'd her for my bride. O had I all that wealth, HOPETON'S high mountains⚫ fill, I'd promise and fulfil, That none but bonny she, The lass of Patie's mill Shou'd share the same wi' me. THE TURNIMSPIKE. THERE is a stanza of this excellent song for local humour, omitted in this set,-where I have placed the asterisms.† HERSELL pe highland shentleman, Thirty-three miles south-west of Edinburgh, where the Earl of Hopeton's mines are. t Burns had placed the asterisms between the 9th and 10th verses. The verse is here restored. And mony alterations seen Amang te lawlard whig, man. Fal, &c, First when her to the lawlands came, Nainsel was driving cows, man; There was nae laws about him's nerse, About the preeks or trews, man. Nainsell did wear the philabeg, The plaid prick't on her shouder; The guid claymore hung pe her pelt, De pistol sharg'd wi' pouder. But for whereas these cursed preeks, Wherewith man's nerse be locket, O hon! that e'er she saw the day! For a' her houghs be prokit. Every ting in de highlands now Pe turn'd to alteration; The sodger dwall at our door-sheek, And tat's te great vexation. Scotland be turn't a Ningland now, An' laws pring on de cager; Nainsell wad durk him for his deeds, But oh! she fear te sodger. Anither law came after dat, Me never saw de like, man; They mak a lang road on de crund, And ca' him Turnimspike, man. An' wow! she pe a ponny road, Like Louden corn-rigs, man; Where twa carts may gang on her, An' no preak ithers legs, man. They sharge a penny for ilka horse, (In troth, they'll no pe sheaper); For nought but gaen upo' the crund, And they gie me a paper. They tak the horse then py te head, And tere tey mak her stan, man ; Me tell tem, me hae seen te day, Tey had na sic comman', man. Nae doubt, Nainsell maun traw his purse, But I'll awa to the Highland hills, Fal, &c. HIGHLAND LADDIE. As this was a favourite theme with our later Scottish muses, there are several airs and songs of that name. That which I take to be the oldest, is to be found in the Musical Museum, beginning, I hae been at Crookie-den. IHAE been at Crookie-den,* My bonnie laddie, Highland laddie; Viewing Willie and his men, My bonnie laddie, Highland laddie. There our faes that burnt and slew, My bonnie laddie, Highland laddie; There, at last, they gat their due, My bonnie laddie, Highland laddie. Satan sits in his black neuk, My bonnie laddie, Highland laddie; My bonnie laddie, Highland laddie; One of my reasons is, that Oswald has it in his collection by the name of The auld Highland Laddie. It is also known by the name of Jinglan Johnie, which is a well known song of four or five stanzas, and seems to be an earlier song than Jacobite times. As a proof of this, it is little known to the peasantry by the name of Highland Laddie; while every body knows Jinglan Johnie. The song begins, Jinglan John, the meickle man, He met wi' a lass was blythe and bonnie. Another Higland Laddie is also in the Museum, vol. v. which I take to be Ramsay's original, as he has borrowed the chorus "O my bonnie Highland lad, &c." It consists of three stanzas, besides the chorus; and has humour in its composition-it is an excellent but somewhat licentious song. It begins, As I cam o'er Cairney-Mount, And down amang the blooming heather, &c. This air, and the common Highland Laddie, seem only to be different sets. Another Highland Laddie, also in the Museum, vol. v. is the tune of several Jacobite frag ments. One of these old songs to it, only exists, as far as I know, in these four lines Whare hae ye been a' day, Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie? Down the back o' Bell's brae, Courtin Maggie, courtin Maggie. • A cant name for Hell Another of this name is Dr. Arne's beautiful air, | And how the lass that wants it is by the lads called, the new Highland Laddie.❤ THE BLAITHRIE O'T. THE following is a set of this song, which was the earliest song I remember to have got by heart. When a child, an old woman sung it to me, and I picked it up, every word, at first hearing. O WILLY weel I mind, I lent you my hand, I'll not sing about confusion, delusion, or pride, And preferable to gear and the blaithrie o't. Tho' my lassie hae nae scarlets or silks to put on, We envy not the greatest that sits upon the throne ; I wad rather hae my lassie, tho' she cam in her smock, Than a princess wi' the gear and the blaithrie o't. Tho' we hae nae horses or menzie at command, And when wearied without rest, we'll find it If we hae ony babies, we'll count them as lent; Than the miser wi' his gear and the blaithrie o't. I'll not meddle wi' th' affairs o' the kirk or the queen; They're nae matters for a sang, let them sink let them swim, On your kirk I'il ne'er encroach, but I'll hold it still remote, Sae tak this for the gear and the blaithrie o't. THE BLAITHRIE O'T. WHEN I think on this warld's pelf, The following observation was found in a memorandum book belonging to Burns: The Highlanders' Prayer at Sheriff-Muir. "OLd be thou with us; but, if thou be not with us, be not against us; but leave it between the red coats and us!" forgot, May the shame fa'the gear and the blaithrie o't! TWEEDSIDE. IN Ramsay's Tea-table Miscellany, he tells us that about thirty of the songs in that publication were the works of some young gentlemen with the letters D. C., &c.—Old Mr. Tytler, of his acquaintance; which songs are marked of Woodhouselee, the worthy and able defender of the beauteous Queen of Scots, told me that the songs marked C, in the Tea-table, were the composition of a Mr. Crawford, of the house of Achinames, who was afterwards unfortunately most intimately acquainted with Allan Ramsay, drowned coming from France.-As Tytler was I think the anecdote may be depended on. consequence, the beautiful song of Tweedside is Mr. Crawford's, and indeed does great honour to his poetical talents. He was a Robert Crawof the Castlemilk family, afterwards married to ford; the Mary he celebrates, was Mary Stuart, a Mr. John Belches. WHAT beauties does Flora disclose! How sweet are her smiles upon Tweed: Both nature and fancy exceed. Such beauty and pleasure does yield. The warblers are heard in the grove, The linnet, the lark, and the thrush, Of Shame fall the gear and the blad'ry o't, is the turn of an old Scottish song, spoken when a young handsome girl marries an old man, upon the account of his wealth.-Kelly's Scots Proverbs. 'Tis she does the virgins excel, No beauty with her may compare ; Love's graces around her do dwell; She's fairest, where thousands are fair. Say, charmer, where do thy flocks stray? Oh! tell me at noon where they feed; Shall I seek them on sweet winding Tay, Or the pleasanter banks of the Tweed? I have seen a song, calling itself the original Tweedside, and said to have been composed by a Lord Yester. It consisted of two stanzas, of which I still recollect the first. WHEN Maggy and I was acquaint, I woo'd, but I came nae great speed; The last stanza runs thus :-ED. To Meiggy my love I did tell, Saut tears did my passion express, An' the women loo sic a man less. THE BOATIE ROWS. The author of the Boatie Rows, was a Mr. Ewen of Aberdeen. It is a charming display of womanly affection mingling with the concerns and occupations of life. It is nearly equal to There's nae luck about the house. O WEEL may the boatie row, When Jamie vow'd he would be mine, My kurtch I put upo' my head, But weel may the boatie row, When Sawney, Jock, an' Janetie, The boatie rows, the boatie rows, And lightsome be her heart that bears The boatie rows indeed; How blest has my time been, what joys have I known, Since wedlock's soft bondage made Jessy my own! So joyful my heart is, so easy my chain, Thro' walks grown with woodbines, as often we stray, Around us our boys and girls frolic and play: How pleasing their sport is! the wanton ones see And borrow their looks from my Jessy and me. To try her sweet temper, oft times am I seen And meets me at night with complacence and smiles. What tho' on her cheeks the rose loses its hue, Her wit and good humour bloom all the year thro'; Time still, as he flies, adds increase to her truth, And gives to her mind what he steals from her youth. Ye shepherds so gay, who make love to ensnare, And cheat, with false vows, the too credulous fair; In search of true pleasure, how vainly you roam! To hold it for life, you must find it at home. THE POSIE. Ir appears evident to me that Oswald composed his Roslin Castle on the modulation of this air. In the second part of Oswald's, in the three first bars, he has either hit on a wonderful similarity to, or else he has entirely borrowed the three first bars of the old air; and the close of both tunes is almost exactly the same. The old verses to which it was sung, when I took down the notes from a country girl's voice, had no great merit.-The following is a speci Where, like an aged man, it stands at break o' day, But the songster's nest within the bush I winns tak away; And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May The woodbine I will pu', when the e'ning sta. is near, And the diamond draps o' dew shall be her e'er The violet's for modesty which weel she fa's tc sae clear; wear, And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. I'll tie the posie round wi' the silken band o luve, And I'll place it in her breast, and I'll swear by a' above, That to my latest draught o' life the band shall ne'er remuve, And this will be a posie to my ain dear Mav |