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She hung her head and sweetly smiled-- The bonnie la.s.s of Logie!
But she has smiled, and fate has frown'd, And wrung my heart with sorrow; The bonnie la.s.s sae dear to me Can never be my marrow.
For, ah! she loves another lad-- The ploughman wi' his cogie; Yet happy, happy may she be, The bonnie la.s.s of Logie!
MY AIN WIFE.
AIR--_"John Anderson, my Jo."_
I wadna gi'e my ain wife For ony wife I see; For, Oh! my dainty ain wife, She 's aye sae dear to me.
A bonnier yet I 've never seen, A better canna be; I wadna gi'e my ain wife For ony wife I see.
Though beauty is a fadin' flower, As fadin' as it 's fair, It looks fu' well in ony wife, An' mine has a' her share.
She ance was ca'd a bonnie la.s.s-- She 's bonnie aye to me; I wadna gi'e my ain wife For ony wife I see.
Oh, couthy is my ingle-cheek, An' cheery is my Jean; I never see her angry look, Nor hear her word on ane.
She 's gude wi' a' the neebours roun', An' aye gude wi' me; I wadna gi'e my ain wife For ony wife I see.
But Oh, her looks sae kindly, They melt my heart outright, When ower the baby at her breast She hangs wi' fond delight.
She looks intill its bonnie face, An' syne looks to me; I wadna gi'e my ain wife For ony wife I see.
THE MAID O' MONTROSE.
AIR--_"O tell me the Way for to Woo."_
O sweet is the calm dewy gloaming, When saftly by Rossie-wood brae, The merle an' mavis are hymning The e'en o' the lang summer's day!
An' sweet are the moments when o'er the blue ocean, The full moon arising in majesty glows; An' I, breathing o'er ilka tender emotion, Wi' my lovely Mary, the Maid o' Montrose.
The fopling sae fine an' sae airy, Sae fondly in love wi' himsel', Is proud wi' his ilka new dearie, To shine at the fair an' the ball; But gie me the grove where the broom's yellow blossom Waves o'er the white lily an' red smiling rose, An' ae bonnie la.s.sie to lean on my bosom-- My ain lovely Mary, the Maid o' Montrose.
O what is the haill warld's treasure, Gane nane o' its pleasures we prove?
An' where can we taste o' true pleasure, Gin no wi' the la.s.sie we love?
O sweet are the smiles an' the dimples o' beauty, Where lurking the loves an' the graces repose; An' sweet is the form an' the air o' the pretty, But sweeter is Mary, the Maid o' Montrose.
O Mary, 'tis no for thy beauty, Though few are sae bonnie as thee; O Mary, 'tis no for thy beauty, Though handsome as woman can be.
The rose bloom is gane when the chill autumn's low'ring; The aik's stately form when the wild winter blows; But the charms o' the mind are the ties mair enduring-- These bind me to Mary, the Maid o' Montrose.
JEAN OF ABERDEEN.
AIR--_"Miss Forbes's Farewell to Banff."_
Ye 've seen the blooming rosy brier, On stately Dee's wild woody knowes; Ye 've seen the op'ning lily fair, In streamy Don's gay broomy howes: An' ilka bonnie flower that grows, Amang their banks and braes sae green-- These borrow a' their finest hues Frae lovely Jean of Aberdeen.
Ye 've seen the dew-ey'd bloomy haw, When morning gilds the welkin high; Ye 've heard the breeze o' summer blaw, When e'ening steals alang the sky.
But brighter far is Jeanie's eye, When we 're amang the braes alane, An' softer is the bosom-sigh Of lovely Jean of Aberdeen.
Though I had a' the valleys gay, Around the airy Bennochie; An' a' the fleecy flocks that stray Amang the lofty hills o' Dee; While Mem'ry lifts her melting ee, An' Hope unfolds her fairy scene, My heart wi' them I'd freely gie To lovely Jean of Aberdeen.
THE HOPELESS EXILE.
AIR--_"Alas! for Poor Teddy Macshane."_
Oh! where has the exile his home?
Oh! where has the exile his home?
Where the mountain is steep, Where the valley is deep, Where the waves of the Ohio foam; Where no cheering smile His woes may beguile-- Oh! there has the exile his home.
Oh! when will the exile return?
Oh! when will the exile return?
When our hearts heave no sigh, When our tears shall be dry, When Erin no longer shall mourn; When his name we disown, When his mem'ry is gone-- Oh! then will the exile return!
GLEN-NA-H'ALBYN.[29]
AIR--_"O rest thee, my Darling."_
On the airy Ben-Nevis the wind is awake, The boat 's on the shallow, the ship on the lake; Ah! now in a moment my country I leave; The next I am far away--far on the wave!
Oh! fare thee well, fare thee well, Glen-na-h'Albyn!
Oh! fare thee well, fare thee well, Glen-na-h'Albyn!
I was proud of the power and the fame of my chief, And to build up his House was the aim of my life; And now in his greatness he turns me away, When my strength is decay'd and my locks worn gray.
Oh! fare thee well!
Farewell the gray stones of my ancestors' graves, I go to my place 'neath the foam of the waves; Or to die unlamented on Canada's sh.o.r.e, Where none of my fathers were gathered before!
Oh! fare thee well, fare thee well, Glen-na-h'Albyn!
Oh! fare thee well, fare thee well, Glen-na-h'Albyn!
FOOTNOTES:
[29] "Glen-na-h'Albyn, or Glen-more-na-h'Albyn, the great Glen of Caledonia, is a name applied to the valley which runs in a direction from north-east to south-west, the whole breadth of the kingdom, from the Moray Firth at Inverness to the Sound of Mull below Fort-William, and is almost filled with lakes."
