While there's leaves on the forest, or foam on the river,
Macgregor, despite them, shall flourish for ever!
Then gather, gather, gather, Grigalach!
Donald Caird.
[Written by Sir Walter Scott for Albyn's Anthology, vol. ii. 1818, and set to music in Mr. Thomson's collection, 1822.]
Donald Caird's come again!
Donald Caird's come again!
Tell the news in brugh and glen,
Donald Caird's come again!
Donald Caird can lilt and sing,
Blithely dance the Highland fling;
Drink till the gudeman be blind,
Fleech till the gudewife be kind;
Hoop a leglan, clout a pan,
Or crack a pow wi' ony man:
Tell the news in brugh and glen,
Donald Caird's come again.
Donald Caird can wire a maukin,
Kens the wiles o' dun-deer staukin;
Leisters kipper, makes a shift
To shoot a muir-fowl i' the drift:
Water-bailiffs, rangers, keepers,
He can wauk when they are sleepers;
Not for bountith, or reward,
Daur they mell wi' Donald Caird.
Donald Caird can drink a gill,
Fast as hostler-wife can fill;
Ilka ane thrt sells gude liquor,
Kens how Donald bends a bicker:
When he's fou he's stout and saucy,
Keeps the cantle o' the causey;
Highland chief and Lawland laird
Maun gi'e way to Donald Caird.
Steek the awmrie, lock the kist,
Else some gear will sune be mist;
Donald Caird finds orra things
Where Allan Gregor fand the tings:
Dunts o' kebbuck, taits o' woo,
Whiles a hen and whiles a soo,
Webs or duds frae hedge or yard—
Ware the wuddie, Donald Caird!
On Donald Caird the doom was stern,
Craig to tether, legs to airn:
But Donald Caird, wi' muckle study,
Caught the gift to cheat the wuddie.
Rings o' airn, and bolts o' steel,
Fell like ice frae hand and heel!
Watch the sheep in fauld and glen,
Donald Caird's come again.
Saw ye nae my Peggy.
[This song, though old, was not inserted in any regular collection of Scottish songs till that of David Herd in 1769. "There is another set of the words," says Burns, "much older still, and which I take to be the original one, as follows—a song familiar from the cradle to every Scottish ear:
Saw ye my Maggie,
Saw ye my Maggie,
Saw ye my Maggie,
Linkin ower the lea?
High-kiltit was she,
High-kiltit was she,
High-kiltit was she,
Her coat aboon her knee.
What mark has your Maggie,
What mark has your Maggie,
What mark has your Maggie,
That ane may ken her be? (by).
Though it by no means follows that the silliest verses to an air must, for that reason, be the original song, yet I take this ballad, of which I have quoted part, to be the old verses. The two songs in Ramsay, one of them evidently his own, are never to be met with in the fire-side circle of our peasantry; while that which I take to be the old song is in every shepherd's mouth."]
Saw ye nae my Peggy,
Saw ye nae my Peggy,
Saw ye nae my Peggy,
Coming ower the lea?
Sure a finer creature
Ne'er was formed by Nature,
So complete each feature,
So divine is she!
