The Modern Scottish Minstrel Volume V Part 11

Oh, dear to our hearts Is the hand that first fed us, And dear is the land And the cottage that bred us.

And dear are the comrades With whom we once sported, And dearer the maiden Whose love we first courted.

Joy's image may perish, E'en grief die away; But the scenes of our youth Are recorded for aye.

DOWIE IN THE HINT O' HAIRST.

Its dowie in the hint o' hairst, At the wa'-gang o' the swallow, When the wind grows cauld, and the burns grow bauld, And the wuds are hingin' yellow; But oh, its dowier far to see The wa-gang o' her the heart gangs wi', The dead-set o' a s.h.i.+nin' e'e-- That darkens the weary warld on thee.

There was mickle love atween us twa-- Oh, twa could ne'er be fonder; And the thing on yird was never made, That could hae gart us sunder.

But the way of heaven's aboon a' ken, And we maun bear what it likes to sen'-- It's comfort, though, to weary men, That the warst o' this warld's waes maun en'.

There's mony things that come and gae, Just kent, and just forgotten; And the flowers that busk a bonnie brae, Gin anither year lie rotten.

But the last look o' that lovely e'e, And the dying grip she gae to me, They're settled like eternitie-- Oh, Mary! that I were wi' thee.

ON WI' THE TARTAN.

Can you lo'e, my dear la.s.sie, The hills wild and free; Whar' the sang o' the shepherd Gars a' ring wi' glee?

Or the steep rocky glens, Where the wild falcons bide?

Then on wi' the tartan, And, fy, let us ride!

Can ye lo'e the knowes, la.s.sie, That ne'er war in rigs?

Or the bonnie loune lee, Where the sweet robin bigs?

Or the sang o' the lintie, Whan wooin' his bride?

Then on wi' the tartan, And, fy, let us ride!

Can ye lo'e the burn, la.s.sie, That loups amang linns?

Or the bonnie green howmes, Where it cannilie rins, Wi' a cantie bit housie, Sae snug by its side?

Then on wi' the tartan, And, fy, let us ride!

THE ROVER O' LOCHRYAN.

The Rover o' Lochryan, he's gane, Wi' his merry men sae brave; Their hearts are o' the steel, an' a better keel Ne'er bowl'd owre the back o' a wave.

Its no when the loch lies dead in his trough When naething disturbs it ava; But the rack and the ride o' the restless tide, Or the splash o' the gray sea-maw.

Its no when the yawl an' the light skiffs crawl Owre the breast o' the siller sea; That I look to the west for the bark I lo'e best, An' the rover that's dear to me, But when that the clud lays its cheek to the flud, An' the sea lays its shouther to the sh.o.r.e; When the win' sings high, and the sea-whaup's cry, As they rise frae the whitening roar.

Its then that I look to the thickening rook, An' watch by the midnight tide; I ken the wind brings my rover hame, An' the sea that he glories to ride.

Oh, merry he sits 'mang his jovial crew, Wi' the helm heft in his hand, An' he sings aloud to his boys in blue, As his e'e's upon Galloway's land:

"Unstent and slack each reef an' tack, Gae her sail, boys, while it may sit; She has roar'd through a heavier sea afore, An' she'll roar through a heavier yet.

When landsmen sleep, or wake an' creep, In the tempest's angry moan, We dash through the drift, and sing to the lift O' the wave that heaves us on."

THE LAST LOOK O' HAME.

Bare was our burn brae, December's blast had blawn, The last flower was dead, An' the brown leaf had fa'n: It was dark in the deep glen, h.o.a.ry was our hill; An' the win' frae the cauld north, Cam' heavy and chill:

When I said fare-ye-weel, To my kith and my kin; My barque it lay ahead, An' my cot-house ahin'; I had nought left to tine, I'd a wide warl' to try; But my heart it wadna lift, An' my e'e it wadna dry.

I look'd lang at the ha', Through the mist o' my tears, Where the kind la.s.sie lived, I had run wi' for years; E'en the glens where we sat, Wi' their broom-covered knowes, Took a haud on this heart That I ne'er can unloose.

I hae wander'd sin' syne, By gay temples and towers, Where the ungather'd spice Scents the breeze in their bowers; Oh! sic scenes I could leave Without pain or regret; But the last look o' hame I ne'er can forget.

THE LADS AN' THE LAND FAR AWA'.

AIR--_'My ain fireside.'_

When I think on the lads an' the land I hae left, An' how love has been lifted, an' friends.h.i.+p been reft; How the hinnie o' hope has been jumbled wi' ga', Then I sigh for the lads an' the land far awa'.

When I think on the days o' delight we hae seen, When the flame o' the spirit would spark in the e'en; Then I say, as in sorrow I think on ye a', Where will I find hearts like the hearts far awa?

When I think on the nights we hae spent hand in hand, Wi' mirth for our sowther, and friends.h.i.+p our band, This world gets dark; but ilk night has a daw', And I yet may rejoice in the land far awa'!

MY BONNIE WEE BELL.

My bonnie wee Bell was a mitherless bairn, Her aunty was sour, an' her uncle was stern; While her cousin was aft in a cankersome mood; But that hinder'd na Bell growing bonnie and gude.

When we ran to the schule, I was aye by her han', To wyse off the busses, or help owre a stran'; An' as aulder we grew, a' the neighbours could tell Hoo my liking grew wi' thee, my bonnie wee Bell.

Thy cousin gangs d.i.n.kit, thy cousin gangs drest, In her silks and her satins, the brawest and best; But the gloss o' a cheek, the glint o' an e'e, Are jewels frae heaven, nae tocher can gie.

Some goud, an' some siller, my auld gutcher left, An' in houses an' mailins I'll soon be infeft; I've a vow in the heaven, I've an aith wi' thysel', I'll make room in this world for thee, bonnie Bell.