Part 84

I picked up this old song and tune from a country girl in Nithsdale.--I never met with it elsewhere in Scotland.

"Whare are you gaun, my bonie lass, Whare are you gaun, my hinnie, She answer'd me right saucilie, An errand for my minnie.

O whare live ye, my bonnie lass, O whare live ye, my hinnie, By yon burn-side, gin ye maun ken, In a wee house wi' my minnie.

But I foor up the glen at e'en, To see my bonie lassie; And lang before the gray morn cam, She was na hauf sa sacie.

O weary fa' the waukrife cock, And the foumart lay his crawin! He wauken'd the auld wife frae her sleep, A wee blink or the dawin.

An angry wife I wat she raise, And o'er the bed she brought her; And wi' a mickle hazle rung She made her a weel pay'd dochter.

O fare thee weel, my bonie lass! O fare thee weel, my hinnie! Thou art a gay and a bonie lass, But thou hast a waukrife minnie."

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TULLOCHGORUM.

This first of songs, is the master-piece of my old friend Skinner. He was passing the day, at the town of Cullen, I think it was, in a friend's house whose name was Montgomery. Mrs. Montgomery observing, _en passant_, that the beautiful reel of Tullochgorum wanted words, she begged them of Mr. Skinner, who gratified her wishes, and the wishes of every Scottish song, in this most excellent ballad.

These particulars I had from the author's son, Bishop Skinner, at Aberdeen.

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FOR A' THAT AND A' THAT.

This song is mine, all except the chorus.

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AULD LANG SYNE.

Ramsay here, as usual with him, has taken the idea of the song, and the first line, from the old fragment which may be seen in the "Museum," vol. v.

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WILLIE BREW'D A PECK O' MAUT.

This air is Masterton's; the song mine.--The occasion of it was this:--Mr. W. Nicol, of the High-School, Edinburgh, during the autumn vacation being at Moffat, honest Allan, who was at that time on a visit to Dalswinton, and I, went to pay Nicol a visit.--We had such a joyous meeting that Mr. Masterton and I agreed, each in our own way, that we should celebrate the business.

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KILLIECRANKIE.

The battle of Killiecrankie was the last stand made by the clans for James, after his abdication. Here the gallant Lord Dundee fell in the moment of victory, and with him fell the hopes of the party. General Mackay, when he found the Highlanders did not pursue his flying army, said, "Dundee must be killed, or he never would have overlooked this advantage." A great stone marks the spot where Dundee fell.

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THE EWIE WI' THE CROOKED HORN.

Another excellent song of old Skinner's.

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CRAIGIE-BURN WOOD.

It is remarkable of this air that it is the confine of that country where the greatest part of our Lowland music (so far as from the title, words, &c., we can localize it) has been composed. From Craigie-burn, near Moffat, until one reaches the West Highlands, we have scarcely one slow air of any antiquity.

The song was composed on a passion which a Mr. Gillespie, a particular friend of mine, had for a Miss Lorimer, afterwards a Mrs. Whelpdale. This young lady was born at Craigie-burn Wood.--The chorus is part of an old foolish ballad.

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FRAE THE FRIENDS AND LAND I LOVE.

I added the four last lines, by way of giving a turn to the theme of the poem, such as it is.

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HUGHIE GRAHAM

There are several editions of this ballad.--This, here inserted, is from oral tradition in Ayrshire, where, when I was a boy, it was a popular song.--It originally had a simple old tune, which I have forgotten.

"Our lords are to the mountains gane, A hunting o' the fallow deer, And they have gripet Hughie Graham, For stealing o' the bishop's mare.

And they have tied him hand and foot, And led him up, thro' Stirling town; The lads and lasses met him there, Cried, Hughie Graham, thou art a loun.

O lowse my right hand free, he says, And put my braid sword in the same; He's no in Stirling town this day, Dare tell the tale to Hughie Graham.

Up then bespake the brave Whitefoord, As he sat by the bishop's knee, Five hundred white stots I'll gie you, If ye'll let Hughie Graham gae free.

O haud your tongue, the bishop says, And wi' your pleading let me be; For tho' ten Grahams were in his coat, Hughie Graham this day shall die.

Up then bespake the fair Whitefoord, As she sat by the bishop's knee; Five hundred white pence I'll gie you, If ye'll gie Hughie Graham to me.

O haud your tongue now, lady fair, And wi' your pleading let it be; Altho' ten Grahams were in his coat, It's for my honour he maun die.

They've ta'en him to the gallows knowe, He looked to the gallows tree, Yet never colour left his cheek, Nor ever did he blink his e'e

At length he looked around about, To see whatever he could spy: And there he saw his auld father, And he was weeping bitterly.

O haud your tongue, my father dear, And wi' your weeping let it be; Thy weeping's sairer on my heart, Than a' that they can do to me.

And ye may gie my brother John My sword that's bent in the middle clear; And let him come at twelve o'clock, And see me pay the bishop's mare.

And ye may gie my brother James My sword that's bent in the middle brown; And bid him come at four o'clock, And see his brother Hugh cut down.

Remember me to Maggy my wife, The neist time ye gang o'er the moor, Tell her she staw the bishop's mare, Tell her she was the bishop's whore.

And ye may tell my kith and kin, I never did disgrace their blood; And when they meet the bishop's cloak, To mak it shorter by the hood."

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A SOUTHLAND JENNY.

This is a popular Ayrshire song, though the notes were never taken down before. It, as well as many of the ballad tunes in this collection, was written from Mrs. Burns's voice.

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MY TOCHER'S THE JEWEL.

This tune is claimed by Nathaniel Gow.--It is notoriously taken from "The muckin o' Gordie's byre."--It is also to be found long prior to Nathaniel Gow's era, in Aird's Selection of Airs and Marches, the first edition under the name of "The Highway to Edinburgh."

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THEN, GUID WIFE, COUNT THE LAWIN'.

The chorus of this is part of an old song, no stanza of which I recollect.

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THERE'LL NEVER BE PEACE TILL JAMIE COMES HAME.

This tune is sometimes called "There's few gude fellows when Willie's awa."--But I never have been able to meet with anything else of the song than the title.

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I DO CONFESS THOU ART SAE FAIR.

This song is altered from a poem by Sir Robert Ayton, private secretary to Mary and Ann, Queens of Scotland.--The poem is to be found in James Watson's Collection of Scots Poems, the earliest collection printed in Scotland. I think that I have improved the simplicity of the sentiments, by giving them a Scots dress.

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THE SODGER LADDIE.

The first verse of this is old; the rest is by Ramsay. The tune seems to be the same with a slow air, called "Jackey Hume's Lament"--or, "The Hollin Buss"--or "Ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten?"

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WHERE WAD BONNIE ANNIE LIE.

The old name of this tune is,--

"Whare'll our gudeman lie."

A silly old stanza of it runs thus--

"O whare'll our gudeman lie, Gudeman lie, gudeman lie, O whare'll our gudeman lie, Till he shute o'er the simmer?

Up amang the hen-bawks, The hen-bawks, the hen-bawks, Up amang the hen-bawks, Amang the rotten timmer."

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GALLOWAY TAM.

I have seen an interlude (acted at a wedding) to this tune, called "The Wooing of the Maiden." These entertainments are now much worn out in this part of Scotland. Two are still retained in Nithsdale, viz. "Silly Pure Auld Glenae," and this one, "The Wooing of the Maiden."

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AS I CAM DOWN BY YON CASTLE WA.

This is a very popular Ayrshire song.

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LORD RONALD MY SON.

This air, a very favourite one in Ayrshire, is evidently the original of Lochaber. In this manner most of our finest more modern airs have had their origin. Some early minstrel, or musical shepherd, composed the simple, artless original air; which being picked up by the more learned musician, took the improved form it bears.

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O'ER THE MOOR AMANG THE HEATHER.

This song is the composition of a Jean Glover, a girl who was not only a whore, but also a thief; and in one or other character has visited most of the Correction Houses in the West. She was born I believe in Kilmarnock,--I took the song down from her singing, as she was strolling through the country, with a sleight-of-hand blackguard.

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TO THE ROSE-BUD.

This song is the composition of a ---- Johnson, a joiner in the neighbourhood of Belfast. The tune is by Oswald, altered, evidently, from "Jockie's Gray Breeks."

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YON WILD MOSSY MOUNTAINS.

This tune is by Oswald. The song alludes to a part of my private history, which it is of no consequence to the world to know.

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IT IS NA, JEAN, THY BONNIE FACE.

These were originally English verses:--I gave them the Scots dress.

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EPPIE M'NAB.

The old song with this title has more wit than decency.

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WHA IS THAT AT MY BOWER DOOR.

This tune is also known by the name of "Lass an I come near thee." The words are mine.

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THOU ART GANE AWA.

This time is the same with "Haud awa frae me, Donald."

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THE TEARS I SHED MUST EVER FALL.

This song of genius was composed by a Miss Cranston. It wanted four lines, to make all the stanzas suit the music, which I added, and are the four first of the last stanza.

"No cold approach, no alter'd mien, Just what would make suspicion start; No pause the dire extremes between, He made me blest--and broke my heart!"

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THE BONIE WEE THING.

Composed on my little idol "the charming, lovely Davies."

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THE TITHER MORN.

This tune is originally from the Highlands. I have heard a Gaelic song to it, which I was told was very clever, but not by any means a lady's song.

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A MOTHER'S LAMENT FOR THE DEATH OF HER SON.

This most beautiful tune is, I think, the happiest composition of that bard-born genius, John Riddel, of the family of Glencarnock, at Ayr. The words were composed to commemorate the much-lamented and premature death of James Ferguson, Esq., jun. of Craigdarroch.

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DAINTIE DAVIE.

This song, tradition says, and the composition itself confirms it, was composed on the Rev. David Williamson's begetting the daughter of Lady Cherrytrees with child, while a party of dragoons were searching her house to apprehend him for being an adherent to the solemn league and covenant. The pious woman had put a lady's night-cap on him, and had laid him a-bed with her own daughter, and passed him to the soldiery as a lady, her daughter's bed-fellow. A mutilated stanza or two are to be found in Herd's collection, but the original song consists of five or six stanzas, and were their _delicacy_ equal to their _wit_ and _humour_, they would merit a place in any collection. The first stanza is

"Being pursued by the dragoons, Within my bed he was laid down; And weel I wat he was worth his room, For he was my Daintie Davie."

Ramsay's song, "Luckie Nansy," though he calls it an old song with additions, seems to be all his own except the chorus:

"I was a telling you, Luckie Nansy, Luckie Nansy Auld springs wad ding the new, But ye wad never trow me."

Which I should conjecture to be part of a song prior to the affair of Williamson.

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BOB O' DUMBLANE.

RAMSAY, as usual, has modernized this song. The original, which I learned on the spot, from my old hostess in the principal inn there, is--

"Lassie, lend me your braw hemp heckle, And I'll lend you my thripplin-kame; My heckle is broken, it canna be gotten, And we'll gae dance the bob o' Dumblane.

Twa gaed to the wood, to the wood, to the wood. Twa gaed to the wood--three came hame; An' it be na weel bobbit, weel bobbit, weel bobbit An' it be na weel bobbit, we'll bob it again."

I insert this song to introduce the following anecdote, which I have heard well authenticated. In the evening of the day of the battle of Dumblane, (Sheriff Muir,) when the action was over, a Scots officer in Argyll's army, observed to His Grace, that he was afraid the rebels would give out to the world that _they_ had gotten the victory.--"Weel, weel," returned his Grace, alluding to the foregoing ballad, "if they think it be nae weel bobbit, we'll bob it again."

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 293: _Fan_, when--the dialect of Angus.]

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THE BORDER TOUR.

Left Edinburgh (May 6, 1787)--Lammermuir-hills miserably dreary, but at times very picturesque. Lanton-edge, a glorious view of the Merse--Reach Berrywell--old Mr. Ainslie an uncommon character;--his hobbies, agriculture, natural philosophy, and politics.--In the first he is unexceptionably the clearest-headed, best-informed man I ever met with; in the other two, very intelligent:--As a man of business he has uncommon merit, and by fairly deserving it has made a very decent independence. Mrs. Ainslie, an excellent, sensible, cheerful, amiable old woman--Miss Ainslie--her person a little _embonpoint_, but handsome; her face, particularly her eyes, full of sweetness and good humour--she unites three qualities rarely to be found together; keen, solid penetration; sly, witty observation and remark; and the gentlest, most unaffected female modesty--Douglas, a clever, fine, promising young fellow.--The family-meeting with their brother; my _compagnon de voyage_, very charming; particularly the sister. The whole family remarkably attached to their menials--Mrs. A. full of stories of the sagacity and sense of the little girl in the kitchen.--Mr. A. high in the praises of an African, his house-servant--all his people old in his service--Douglas's old nurse came to Berrywell yesterday to remind them of its being his birthday.

A Mr. Dudgeon, a poet at times,[294] a worthy remarkable character--natural penetration, a great deal of information, some genius, and extreme modesty.

_Sunday._--Went to church at Dunse[295]--Dr. Howmaker a man of strong lungs and pretty judicious remark; but ill skilled in propriety, and altogether unconscious of his want of it.

_Monday._--Coldstream--went over to England--Cornhill--glorious river Tweed--clear and majestic--fine bridge. Dine at Coldstream with Mr. Ainslie and Mr. Foreman--beat Mr. F---- in a dispute about Voltaire. Tea at Lenel House with Mr. Brydone--Mr. Brydone a most excellent heart, kind, joyous, and benevolent; but a good deal of the French indiscriminate complaisance--from his situation past and present, an admirer of everything that bears a splendid title, or that possesses a large estate--Mrs. Brydone a most elegant woman in her person and manners; the tones of her voice remarkably sweet--my reception extremely flattering--sleep at Coldstream.

_Tuesday._--Breakfast at Kelso--charming situation of Kelso--fine bridge over the Tweed--enchanting views and prospects on both sides of the river, particularly the Scotch side; introduced to Mr. Scott of the Royal Bank--an excellent, modest fellow--fine situation of it--ruins of Roxburgh Castle--a holly-bush, growing where James II. of Scotland was accidentally killed by the bursting of a cannon. A small old religious ruin, and a fine old garden planted by the religious, rooted out and destroyed by an English hottentot, a _maitre d'hotel_ of the duke's, a Mr. Cole--climate and soil of Berwickshire, and even Roxburghshire, superior to Ayrshire--bad roads. Turnip and sheep husbandry, their great improvements--Mr. M'Dowal, at Caverton Mill, a friend of Mr. Ainslie's, with whom I dined to-day, sold his sheep, ewe and lamb together, at two guineas a piece--wash their sheep before shearing--seven or eight pounds of washen wool in a fleece--low markets, consequently low rents--fine lands not above sixteen shillings a Scotch acre--magnificence of farmers and farm-houses--come up Teviot and up Jed to Jedburgh to lie, and so wish myself a good night.

_Wednesday._--Breakfast with Mr. ---- in Jedburgh--a squabble between Mrs. ----, a crazed, talkative slattern, and a sister of hers, an old maid, respecting a relief minister--Miss gives Madam the lie; and Madam, by way of revenge, upbraids her that she laid snares to entangle the said minister, then a widower, in the net of matrimony--go about two miles out of Jedburgh to a roup of parks--meet a polite, soldier-like gentleman, a Captain Rutherford, who had been many years through the wilds of America, a prisoner among the Indians--charming, romantic situation of Jedburgh, with gardens, orchards, &c., intermingled among the houses--fine old ruins--a once magnificent cathedral, and strong castle. All the towns here have the appearance of old, rude grandeur, but the people extremely idle--Jed a fine romantic little river.

Dine with Capt. Rutherford--the Captain a polite fellow, fond of money in his farming way; showed a particular respect to my bardship--his lady exactly a proper matrimonial second part for him. Miss Rutherford a beautiful girl, but too far gone woman to expose so much of a fine swelling bosom--her face very fine.

Return to Jedburgh--walk up Jed with some ladies to be shown Love-lane and Blackburn, two fairy scenes. Introduced to Mr. Potts, writer, a very clever fellow; and Mr. Somerville, the clergyman of the place, a man and a gentleman, but sadly addicted to punning.--The walking party of ladies, Mrs. ---- and Miss ---- her sister, before mentioned.--N.B. These two appear still more comfortably ugly and stupid, and bore me most shockingly. Two Miss ----, tolerably agreeable. Miss Hope, a tolerably pretty girl, fond of laughing and fun. Miss Lindsay, a good-humoured, amiable girl; rather short _et embonpoint_, but handsome, and extremely graceful--beautiful hazel eyes, full of spirit, and sparkling with delicious moisture--an engaging face--_un tout ensemble_ that speaks her of the first order of female minds--her sister, a bonnie, strappan, rosy, sonsie lass. Shake myself loose, after several unsuccessful efforts, of Mrs. ---- and Miss ----, and somehow or other, get hold of Miss Lindsay's arm. My heart is thawed into melting pleasure after being so long frozen up in the Greenland bay of indifference, amid the noise and nonsense of Edinburgh. Miss seems very well pleased with my bardship's distinguishing her, and after some slight qualms, which I could easily mark, she sets the titter round at defiance, and kindly allows me to keep my hold; and when parted by the ceremony of my introduction to Mr. Somerville, she met me half, to resume my situation.--Nota Bene--The poet within a point and a half of being d--mnably in love--I am afraid my bosom is still nearly as much tinder as ever.

The old cross-grained, whiggish, ugly, slanderous Miss ----, with all the poisonous spleen of a disappointed, ancient maid, stops me very unseasonably to ease her bursting breast, by falling abusively foul on the Miss Lindsays, particularly on my Dulcinea;--I hardly refrain from cursing her to her face for daring to mouth her calumnious slander on one of the finest pieces of the workmanship of Almighty Excellence! Sup at Mr. ----'s; vexed that the Miss Lindsays are not of the supper-party, as they only are wanting. Mrs. ---- and Miss ----still improve infernally on my hands.

Set out next morning for Wauchope, the seat of my correspondent, Mrs. Scott--breakfast by the way with Dr. Elliot, an agreeable, good-hearted, climate-beaten old veteran, in the medical line; now retired to a romantic, but rather moorish place, on the banks of the Roole--he accompanies us almost to Wauchope--we traverse the country to the top of Bochester, the scene of an old encampment, and Woolee Hill.

Wauchope--Mr. Scott exactly the figure and face commonly given to Sancho Panca--very shrewd in his farming matters, and not unfrequently stumbles on what may be called a strong thing rather than a good thing. Mrs. Scott all the sense, taste, intrepidity of face, and bold, critical decision, which usually distinguish female authors.--Sup with Mr. Potts--agreeable party.--Breakfast next morning with Mr. Somerville--the _bruit_ of Miss Lindsay and my bardship, by means of the invention and malice of Miss ----. Mr. Somerville sends to Dr. Lindsay, begging him and family to breakfast if convenient, but at all events to send Miss Lindsay; accordingly Miss Lindsay only comes.--I find Miss Lindsay would soon play the devil with me--I met with some little flattering attentions from her. Mrs. Somerville an excellent, motherly, agreeable woman, and a fine family.--Mr. Ainslie, and Mrs. S----, junrs., with Mr. ----, Miss Lindsay, and myself, go to see _Esther_, a very remarkable woman for reciting poetry of all kinds, and sometimes making Scotch doggerel herself--she can repeat by heart almost everything she has ever read, particularly Pope's Homer from end to end--has studied Euclid by herself, and in short, is a woman of very extraordinary abilities.--On conversing with her I find her fully equal to the character given of her.[296]--She is very much flattered that I send for her, and that she sees a poet who has _put out a book_, as she says.--She is, among other things, a great florist--and is rather past the meridian of once celebrated beauty.

I walk in _Esther's_ garden with Miss Lindsay, and after some little chit-chat of the tender kind, I presented her with a proof print of my Nob, which she accepted with something more tinder than gratitude. She told me many little stories which Miss ---- had retailed concerning her and me, with prolonging pleasure--God bless her! Was waited on by the magistrates, and presented with the freedom of the burgh.

Took farewell of Jedburgh, with some melancholy, disagreeable sensations.--Jed, pure be thy crystal streams, and hallowed thy sylvan banks! Sweet Isabella Lindsay, may peace dwell in thy bosom, uninterrupted, except by the tumultuous throbbings of rapturous love! That love-kindling eye must beam on another, not on me; that graceful form must bless another's arms; not mine!