sword, and James, the late prisoner, got off on horseback. He was, some time after, betrayed by a man of his own tribe; and was the last person executed at Banff, previous to the abolition of hereditable jurisdiction. He was an admirable performer on the violin; and his talent for composition is still evidenced by Macpherson's Rant, and Macpherson's Pibroch. He performed these tunes at the foot of the fatal tree; and then asked if he had any friend in the crowd to whom a last gift of this instrument would be acceptable. No man had hardihood to claim friendship with a delinquent, in whose crimes the acknowledgment might implicate an avowed acquaintance. As no friend came forward, Macpherson said the companion of so many gloomy hours should perish with him; and, breaking the violin over his knee, he threw away the fragments. Donald Macpherson picked up the neck of the violin, which to this day is preserved, as a valuable memento, by the family of Cluny, chieftain of the Macphersons."] Braw Lads of Galla Water. Tune-Galla Water. CHORUS. BRAW, braw lads of Galla Water; I. SAE fair her hair, sae brent her brow, Sae bonny blue her een, my dearie; Sae white her teeth, sae sweet her mou', The mair I kiss she's aye my dearie. II. O'er yon bank and o'er yon brae, III. Down amang the broom, the broom, That cost her mony a blirt and bleary. And follow my love thro' the water. [Perhaps the air of this song is the very sweetest of all the fine airs of Caledonia. It * Viscount Strathallan, whom these verses commemorate, was James Drummond, who escaped with difficulty from the field of Culloden, where his father fell, and died abroad, an exile." The air," says the Poet, "is the composition of one of the worthiest and best-hearted men living-Allan Masterton, schoolmaster in Edinburgh. As he and I were charmed Haydn so much that he wrote under it in the best English he could muster, "This one Dr. Haydn favourite song." The air is very old, nor are some of the verses modern: these are the most ancient: "Braw, braw lads of Galla Water, And follow my love through the water. O'er yon moss amang the heather, And follow my love through the water." Burns admired the air so much that he wrote, in 1793, another version of the song which will be found in his correspondence with Thomson: less of the old strain mingles with his second | effort. The naïvetè of the first verse of the first! hasty version will always make it a favourite.] Stay my Charmer. Tune-An Gille dubh ciar dhubh. I. STAY, my charmer, can you leave me? Well you know how much you grieve me ; II. By my love so ill requited; [The air to which these verses were composed is called "The black-haired lad:" it is simple and affecting. Burns picked it up in the north; and, touched by the slight which a Highland damsel put on him by quitting his side when he was discoursing on tender things, he embodied his feelings in these fine verses.] Strathallan's Lament.* I. THICKEST night, o'erhang my † dwelling! Still surround my || lonely cave! both sprouts of Jacobitism, we agreed to dedicate the words and air to that cause. To tell the truth, except when my passions were heated by some accidental cause, my Jacobitism was merely by way of vive la bagatelle." † VAR. Darkness surround. Sweeping Turbid. Roaring by. POET's MS. O MY HOGGIE-HER DADDIE FORBAD. WHAT Will I do gin my hoggie die? The lee-lang night we watch'd the fauld, But the houlet cry'd frae the castle wa', I trembl'd for my hoggie. When day did daw, and cocks did craw, And maist has kill'd my hoggie. [Burns has refrained from claiming this song -it is his, however, beyond all question; he communicated it to Johnson with the following remarks:- Dr. Walker, who was Minister at Moffat in 1772, and is now (1791) Professor of Natural History in the University of Edinburgh, told me the following anecdote concerning this air. He said that some gentlemen, riding a few years ago through Liddesdale, stopped at a hamlet consisting of a few houses, called Moss Platt; when they were struck with VAR. Me. † Nor dare my fate a hope attend. 365 this tune, which an old woman, spinning on a rock at her door, was singing.-All she could tell concerning it was that she was taught it when a child, and it was called, 'What will I do gin my hoggie die. No person, except a few females at Moss Platt, knew this fine old tune; which, in all probability, would have been lost, had not one of the gentlemen, who happened to have a flute with him, taken it down."] Her Daddie Forbad. Tune-Jumpin' John. 1. HER daddie forbad, her minnie forbad; She wadna trow't the browst she brew'd The lang lad they ca' Jumpin' John II. A cow and a cauf, a yowe and a hauf, The lang lad they ca' Jumpin' John [Part of these verses are from the pen of Burns, and part from a humorous old ballad of the olden day, of which some fragments still remain among the curious "Jumpin' John o' the green He has tint his dearie, Hey, come blirt, come blearie !" More verses might be quoted, but they are more lively than delicate an imperfection common to our early songs. Our simple ancestors made use of expressions and allusions then reckoned perfectly innocent; but the meaning has been pronounced indecorous by their more scrupulous descendants. The air to which the words are adapted has a strong affinity to the well-known tune called Lillibulero, composed, it is said, by Henry Purcell: but the name Lillibulero, at least, was popular before the days of that eminent composer.-CUNNINGHAM.] Up in the Morning Early. CHORUS. UP in the morning's no for me, The sun peeps o'er the southlan' hill, Just blinks a wee, then sinks again, When snaw blaws into the chimley cheek, Nae linties lilt on hedge or bush, Poor things, they suffer sairly; Nac fate can be waur, in winter time, 'A cosey house, and cantie wife, Keeps aye a body cheerly; And pantry stow'd wi' meal and mau', But up in the morning, na, na, na, Up in the morning early; The gowans maun glent on bank and brae, When I rise in the morning early.'" THE Young Highland Rober. Tune-Morag. I. LOUD blaw the frosty breezes, The snaw the mountains cover; Like winter on me seizes, Since my young Highland Rover Far wanders nations over. Where'er he go, where'er he stray, May Heaven be his warden; Return him safe to fair Strathspey, And bonnie Castle-Gordon! II. The trees now naked groaning, Shall a' be blithely singing, [The young Highland Rover is supposed to be the young Chevalier, Prince Charles Edward.-CURRIE. Jacobitism was long worn as a sort of cos tume by families in the north; the ladies loved the white rose, and it is not improbable that her Grace the Duchess encouraged the Bard to wish Prince Charles back in Strathspey, and bonnie Castle-Gordon. Morag, the name I. THERE was a lass, they ca'd her Meg, II. As o'er the moor they lightly foor, A burn was clear, a glen was green, Upon the banks they eas'd their shanks, And aye she set the wheel between: But Duncan swore a haly aith, That Meg should be a bride the morn, Then Meg took up her spinnin' graith, And flang them a' out o'er the burn. III. We'll big a house-a wee, wee house, When ye set by the wheel at e'en. And aye be welcome back again. [The old song of this name, sung to the tune of "You'll aye be welcome back again," is much inferior to the Duncan Davison of Burns in wit and delicacy. The Poet was delighted with this lively old air, and, brooding over the old words, conceived the present strain, which is full of the graphic spirit of other days.] My point I soon carried, for straight we were married, Then the weight of my burden I soon 'gan to feel, For she scolded, she fisted, O then I enlisted, Left Ireland, and whiskey, and Shelah O'Neil. Then tir'd and dull-hearted, O then I deserted, And fled into regions far distant from home, To Frederick's army, where none e'er could harm me, Save Shelah herself in the shape of a bomb. I fought every battle, where cannons did rattle, Felt sharp shot, alas! and the sharp-pointed steel; But, in all my wars round, thank my stars, I ne'er found Ought so sharp as the tongue of curs'd Shelah O'Neil. Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary. Tune-The Ruffian's Rant. I. IN coming by the brig o' Dye, At Darlet we a blink did tarry; As day was dawin in the sky, We drank a health to bonnie Mary. Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary, Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary; Charlie Gregor tint his plaidie, Kissin' Theniel's bonnie Mary. II. Her een sae bright, her brow sae white, Her haffet locks as brown's a berry; And aye, they dimpl't wi' a smile, The rosy cheeks o' bonnie Mary. III. We lap and danc'd the lee lang day, Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary, Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary; Charlie Gregor tint his plaidie, Kissin' Theniel's bonnie Mary. [This song seems to have been written by Burns, during his first Highland tour, when he danced among the merry lasses of the north all night to the air of "Bab at the Bowster," and went out with a bowl of punch between his hands in the morning, to drink a welcome to the god of day, rising over the peak of Ben-Lomond. Who "Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary" was, it is now, perhaps, vain to inquire; that she was a lass of spirit, the disaster that befel the plaid of Charlie Gregor sufficiently intimates. The Poet composed other verses to the same air: it is the well-known melody of that exquisite song, "Roy's Wife of Aldivalloch." The following is the old version of this song: In Scotland braid and far awa', Where lasses painted, busk sae braw, A bonnier lass I never saw Than Thenie Menzie's bonny Mary. CHORUS. Thenie Menzie's bonny Mary, For a kiss o' Thenie's bonny Mary. The miser's joy and gowden bliss I never kent, nor sought to guess; O' Thenie Menzie's bonny Mary. Some dozen'd loons sit douf and caul', And they hae liv'd till they've grown aul', Scarce ever kent they had a saul, Till they saw Thenie's bonny Mary. Her dimply chin and rosy cheeks, For a kiss o' Thenie's bonny Mary.] |