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1 Written for Albyn's Anthology, vol. ii., 1818, and set to highly amused with a sly allusion to his two-fold character of music in Mr. Thomson's Collection, in 1822
Sheriff of Selkirkshire, and author-suspect of “Rob Roy," in · Caird signifies Tinker.
the chorus, 8 Mr. D. Thomson, of Galashiels, produced a parody on this song at an annual dinner of the manufacturers there,
“ Think ye, does the Shirra ken which Sir Walter Scott usually attended; and the Poet was
Rob M Gregor's come again ?"
I glance like the wildfire through country and town; Here little, and hereafter biiss,
Is best from age to age.
“ As Jeanie entered, she heard first the air, and then
a part of the chorus and words of what had been, What did ye wi’ the bridal ring-bridal ring—bridal perhaps, the song of a jolly harvest-home.”
ring? What did ye wi' your wedding ring, ye little cutty Our work is over- over now,
The goodman wipes his weary brow, I gied it till a sodger, a sodger, a sodger,
The last long wain wends slow away, I gied it till a sodger, an auld true love o' mine, 0.
And we are free to sport and play.
Good even, good fair moon, good even to thee;
The night comes on when sets the sun,
It is the bonny butcher lad,
That wears the sleeves of blue,
On Friday that he slew.
There is a bloodhound ranging Tinwald Wood,
There's harness glancing sheen; There's a maiden sits on Tinwald brae,
And she sings loud between.
“ The attendant on the hospital arranged her in her bed as she desired, with her face to the wall, and her back to the light. So soon as she was quiet in this new position, she began again to sing in the same low and modulated strains, as if she was recovering the state of abstraction which the interruption of her visitants had disturbed. The strain, however, was different, and rather resembled the music of the methodist hymns, though the measure of the song was similar to that of the former:”
Up in the air,
In the bonnie cells of Bedlam,
Ere I was ane and twenty,
prayer and fasting plenty.
When the fight of grace fought,-
fragment of some old
My banes are buried in yon kirk-yard
Sae far ayont the sea,
That's speaking now to thee.
“ Her next seemed to be ballad :"
I'm Madge of the country, I'm Madge of the town,
Cauld is my bed, Lord Archibald,
And sad my sleep of sorrow:
My fause true-love! to-morrow,
And weep ye not, my maidens free,
Though death your mistress borrow;
Shall die for me to-morrow
I am Queen of the Wake, and I'm Lady of May,
“ Again she changed the tune to one wilder, less monotonous, and less regular. But of the words only a fragment or two could be collected by those who listened to this singular scene :*?
He that is down need fear no fall,
He that is low no pride;
Have God to be his guide.
Proud Maisie is in the wood,
Walking so early;
Singing so rarely.
Fulness to such a burthen is
That go on pilgrimage ;
(2.)-NORMAN THE FORESTER'S SONG. (2.)—MOTTOES.
“ AND humming his rustic roundelay, the yeoman
went on his road, the sound of his rough voice gradu(1.)-CHAP. XIX.
ally dying away as the distance betwixt them inTo man, in this his trial state,
The monk must arise when the matins ring,
The abbot may sleep to their chime;
'Tis time, my hearts, 'tis time.
But a lily white doe in the garden goes,
She 's fairly worth them a'.
(3.)- THE PROPHECY.
“ With a quivering voice, and a cheek pale with These tears beseech you, and these chaste hands apprehension, Caleb faltered out the following lines :" woo you,
WHEN the last Laird of Ravenswood to Ravenswood That never yet were heaved but to things holy-
shall ride, Things like yourself-You are a God above us; Be as a God, then, full of saving mercy!
And wooe a dead maiden to be his bride,
He shall stable his steed in the Kelpie's flow,
And his name shall be lost for evermoe!
Nor envy me my lot;
(1.)-CHAP. VIII. Lady CC-.
The hearth in hall was black and dead,
No board was dight in bower within,
Nor merry bowl nor welcome bed;
thirty inches in height, she accompanied it with her “ Here 's sorry cheer,” quoth the Heir of Linne. voice. The air was an ancient Gaelic melody, and the
words, which were supposed to be very old, were in [Altered from “ The Heir of Linne.”] the same language; but we subjoin a translation of
them, by Secundus M‘Pherson, Esq. of Glenforgen; (2.)-CHAP. XIV.
which, although submitted to the fetters of English As, to the Autumn breeze's bugle-sound,
rhythm, we trust will be found nearly as genuine as Various and vague the dry leaves dance their round; the version of Ossian by his celebrated namesake.” Or, from the garner-door, on æther borne, The chaff flies devious from the winnow'd corn;
1. So vague, so deviousy at the breath of heaven,
BIRDS of omen dark and foul, From their fix'd aim are mortal counsels driven. Night-crow, raven, bat, and owl,
Anonymous. Leave the sick man to his dream
All night long he heard you scream.
Haste to cave and ruin'd tower,
Ivy tod, or dingled-bower, Make her the stop-gap to some canker'd feud,
There to wink and mop, for, hark !
In the mid air sings the lark.
Hie to moorish gills and rocks, (4.)--CHAP. XVIII.
Prowling wolf and wily fox, Sir, stay at home and take an old man's counsel: Hie ye fast, nor turn your view, Seek not to bask you by a stranger's hearth;
Though the lamb bleats to the ewe.
Couch your trains, and speed your flight,
And on distant echo borne,
(1.)--ANCIENT GAELIC MELODY.
“TUNING her instrument, and receiving an assenting “ So saying, Annot Lyle sate down at a little dis- look from Lord Monteith and Allan, Annot Lyle exetance upon the bench on which Allan M'Aulay was cuted the following ballad, which our friend, Mr. placed, and tuning her clairshach, a small harp, about Secundus M.Pherson, whose goodness we had beford