My gallant, braw John Highlandman!
Thy crystal stream, Afton, now lovely it glides, | But he still was faithful to his c.an,
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides!
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave,
As, gath'ring sweet flow'rets, she stems thy
clear wave!
Sing hey, my braw John Highlandman !
Sing ho, my braw John Highlandman !
There's not a' lad in a the land,
Was match for my braw John Highlandman!
With his philabeg and tartan plaid,
And gude claymore down by his side,
The ladies' hearts he did trepan,
My gallant braw John Highlandman.
Sing hey, &c.
We ranged a' from Tweed to Spey,
And lived like lords and ladies gay;
For a Lawland face he feared none,
My gallant braw John Highlandman.
Sing hey, &c.
They banished him beyond the sea;
But, ere the bud was on the tree,
Adown my cheeks the pearls ran,
Embracing my braw John Highlandman.
Sing hey, &c.
But, och! they catched him at the last,
And bound him in a dungeon fast;
My curse upon them every one,
They've hanged my braw John Highlandman'
Sing hey, &c.
And now, a widow, I must mourn
Departed joys that ne'er rcturn,
No comfort but a hearty can,
When I think on John Highlandman.
Sing hey, &c.
AMANG THE TREES WHERE HUM.
MING BEES.
Tune-"The King of France, he rade a Race."
AMANG the trees where humming bees
At buds and flowers were hinging, O;
Auld Caledon drew out her drone,
And to her pipe was singing, O;
'Twas Pibroch, sang, strathspey, or reels,
She dirl'd them aff, fu' clearly, O;
When there cam a yell o' foreign squeels,
That dang her tapsalteerie, O-
Their capon craws and queer ha ha's,
They made our lugs grow eerie, O;
The hungry bike did scrape and pike
'Till we were wae and weary, O-
But a royal ghaist wha ance was cas'd
A prisoner aughteen year awa,
He fir'd a fiddler in the North
That dang them tapsalteerie, O.
ADIEU! A HEART-WARM FOND ADIEU! | Who shall say that fortune grieves him,
My gallant, braw John Highlandman!
Thy crystal stream, Afton, now lovely it glides, | But he still was faithful to his c.an,
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides!
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave,
As, gath'ring sweet flow'rets, she stems thy
clear wave!
Sing hey, my braw John Highlandman!
Sing ho, my braw John Highlandman !
There's not a' lad in a the land,
Was match for my braw John Highlandman!
With his philabeg and tartan plaid,
And gude claymore down by his side,
The ladies' hearts he did trepan,
My gallant braw John Highlandman.
Sing hey, &c.
We ranged a' from Tweed to Spey,
And lived like lords and ladies gay;
For a Lawland face he feared none,
My gallant braw John Highlandman.
Sing hey, &c.
They banished him beyond the sea;
But, ere the bud was on the tree,
Adown my cheeks the pearls ran,
Embracing my braw John Highlandman.
Sing hey, &c.
But, och they catched him at the last,
And bound him in a dungeon fast;
My curse upon them every one,
They've hanged my braw John Highlandman'
Sing hey, &c.
And now, a widow, I must mourn
Departed joys that ne'er rcturn,
No comfort but a hearty can,
When I think on John Highlandman.
Sing hey, &c.
AMANG THE TREES WHERE HUM.
MING BEES.
Tune-"The King of France, he rade a Race."
AMANG the trees where humming bees
At buds and flowers were hinging, O;
Auld Caledon drew out her drone,
And to her pipe was singing, O;
'Twas Pibroch, sang, strathspey, or reels,
She dirl'd them aff, fu' clearly, O;
When there cam a yell o' foreign squeels,
That dang her tapsalteerie, O-
Their capon craws and queer ha ha's,
They made our lugs grow eerie, O;
The hungry bike did scrape and pike
'Till we were wae and weary, O.
But a royal ghaist wha ance was cas'd
A prisoner aughteen year awa,
He fir'd a fiddler in the North
That dang them tapsalteerie, O.
I maun hae a wife that will rise i' the mornin,
THIS song I composed on Miss Jenny Cruikshank, only child to my worthy friend Mr. Cruddle a' the milk, and keep the house a William Cruikshank of the High-School, Edin-Tulzie wi' her neebors, and learn at my minnie, burgh. The air is by David Sillar, quondam A Norland Jocky maun hae a Norland Jenny. merchant, now schoolmaster, in Irvine: the Davie to whom I address my poetical epistle.
A ROSE-BUD by my early walk,
Adown a corn-inclosed bawk,
Sae gently bent its thorny stalk,
All on a dewy morning.
Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fled,
In a' its crimson glory spread,
And drooping rich the dewy head,
It scents the early morning.
Within the bush, her covert nest
A little linnet fondly prest,
The dew sat chilly on her breast
Sae early in the morning.
She soon shall see her tender brood,
The pride, the pleasure o' the wood,
Amang the fresh green leaves bedewed,
Awake the early morning.
So thou, dear bird, young Jeany fair,
On trembling string or vocal air,
Shall sweetly pay the tender care
That tents thy early morning.
So thou, sweet rose-bud, young and gay,
Shalt beauteous blaze upon the day,
And bless the parent's evening ray
That watched thy early morning.
My father's only dochter, wi' farms and siller
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