Old Ballads Part 6

For now I have found my own true love, Whom I thought I should never see more.

THE MILLER OF DEE.

There was a jolly miller once lived on the river Dee, He danced and sang from morn till night, no lark so blithe as he; And this the burden of his song for ever used to be: "I care for n.o.body, no, not I, if n.o.body cares for me.

"I live by my mill, G.o.d bless her! she's kindred, child, and wife; I would not change my station for any other in life.

No lawyer, surgeon, or doctor, e'er had a groat from me, I care for n.o.body, no, not I, if n.o.body cares for me."

When spring begins his merry career, oh! how his heart grows gay; No summer's drought alarms his fears, nor winter's cold decay; No foresight mars the miller's joy, who's wont to sing and say: "Let others toil from year to year, I live from day to day."

Thus, like the miller, bold and free, let us rejoice and sing, The days of youth are made for glee, and time is on the wing; This song shall pa.s.s from me to thee, along the jovial ring, Let heart and voice and all agree to say, "Long live the King!"

_Isaac Bickerstaffe._

THE ANGEL'S WHISPER.

A baby was sleeping, Its mother was weeping, For her husband was far on the wild raging sea, And the tempest was swelling Round the fisherman's dwelling, And she cried, "Dermot, darling, oh come back to me."

Her beads while she numbered, The baby still slumbered.

And smiled in her face, as she bended her knee; Oh! bless'd be that warning, My child, thy sleep adorning, For I know that the angels are whispering with thee.

And while they are keeping Bright watch o'er thy sleeping, Oh, pray to them softly, my baby, with me, And say thou would'st rather They watch'd o'er thy father!

For I know that the angels are whispering with thee.

The dawn of the morning Saw Dermot returning, And the wife wept with joy her babe's father to see, And closely caressing Her child with a blessing, Said, "I knew that the angels were whispering with thee."

_Samuel Lover_.

SIMON THE CELLARER.

Old Simon the Cellarer keeps a large store Of Malmsey and Malvoisie, And Cyprus and who can say how many more?

For a chary old soul is he, A chary old soul is he; Of Sack and Canary he never doth fail, And all the year round there is brewing of ale; Yet he never aileth, he quaintly doth say, While he keeps to his sober six flagons a day: But ho! ho! ho! his nose doth shew How oft the black Jack to his lips doth go; But ho! ho! ho! his nose doth shew How oft the black Jack to his lips doth go.

Dame Margery sits in her own still-room.

And a Matron sage is she; From thence oft at Curfew is wafted a fume, She says it is Rosemarie, She says it is Rosemarie; But there's a small cupboard behind the back stair, And the maids say they often see Margery there.

Now, Margery says that she grows very old And must take a something to keep out the cold!

But ho! ho! ho! old Simon doth know Where many a flask of his best doth go; But ho! ho! ho! old Simon doth know Where many a flask of his best doth go.

Old Simon reclines in his high-back'd chair, And talks about taking a wife; And Margery often is heard to declare She ought to be settled in life, She ought to be settled in life; But Margery has (so the maids say) a tongue, And she's not very handsome, and not very young; So somehow it ends with a shake of the head, And Simon he brews him a tankard instead; While ho! ho! ho! he will chuckle and crow, What! marry old Margery? no no, no!

While ho! ho! ho! he will chuckle and crow, What! marry old Margery? no, no, no!

_W. H. Bellamy_.

AULD ROBIN GRAY.

When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hame, And a' the warld to sleep are gane, The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my ee, When my gudeman lies sound by me.

Young Jamie loo'd me wed, and socht me for his bride; But, saving a croun, he had naething else beside.

To mak that croun a pund young Jamie gaed to sea, And the croun and the pund were baith for me.

He hadna been awa a week but only twa, When my mother she fell sick, and the cow was stown awa; My father brak his arm, and young Jamie at the sea, And auld Robin Gray cam' a-courtin' me.

My father couldna work and my mother couldna spin; I toiled day and nicht, but their bread I couldna win; Auld Rob maintain'd them baith, and, wi' tears in his ee, Said "Jennie, for their sakes, oh, marry me!"

My heart it said nay, for I look'd for Jamie back; But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a wreck; The ship it was a wreck--why didna Jamie dee?

Or why do I live to say, Wae's me?

My father argued sair, my mother didna speak, But she lookit in my face till my heart was like to break; Sae they gied him my hand, though my heart was in the sea; And auld Robin Gray was gudeman to me.

I hadna been a wife a week but only four, When, sitting sae mournfully at the door, I saw my Jamie's wraith, for I couldna think it he, Till he said, "I'm come back for to marry thee."

Oh, sair did we greet and muckle did we say, We took but ae kiss and we tore ourselves away; I wish I were dead! but I'm no like to dee; And why do I live to say, Wae's me?

I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin; I daurna think on Jamie, for that wad be a sin.

But I'll do my best a gude wife to be, For auld Robin Gray is kind unto me.

_Lady Anne Lindsay._

BONNIE DUNDEE.

To the lords of Convention, 'twas Claverhouse spoke, Ere the king's crown go down there are crowns to be broke; Then each cavalier who loves honour and me, Let him follow the bonnets of Bonnie Dundee.

Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, Come saddle my horses and call out my men, Unhook the west port, and let us gae free, For it's up with the bonnets of Bonnie Dundee.

Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the street, The bells they ring backward, the drums they are beat, But the Provost (douce man) said, "Just e'en let it be, For the town is well rid o' that deil o' Dundee."

Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, etc.

There are hills beyond Pentland, and lands beyond Forth; If there's lords in the south, there are chiefs in the north, There are brave Duneva.s.sals, three thousand times three, Will cry hey! for the bonnets of Bonnie Dundee.

Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, etc.