Though green be thy banks, sweet Clutha!
Thy beauties ne'er charm me ava;
Forgive me, ye maids o' sweet Clutha,
My heart is wi' her that's awa'.
O love, thou'rt a dear fleeting pleasure!
The sweetest we mortals here know;
But soon is thy heav'n, bright beaming,
O'ercast with the darkness of woe.
As the moon, on the oft-changing ocean,
Delights the lone mariner's eye,
Till red rush the storms of the desert,
And dark billows tumble on high.
The Auld Highlan’ Piper.
[Said also to be a production of Robert Burns, Junior, eldest son of the poet. It is given in the "Spirit of British Song" (Glasgow, 1825,) where it is stated that it was communicated by the author, before he went to London, to a near relation residing at Mauchline, from whose recitation it was taken down for that work.]
Oh! pity an auld Highlan' piper,
An' dinna for want let him dee;
Oh! look at my faithfu' wee doggie,
The icicle hangs frae his e'e.
I ance had a weel theekit cot-house
On Morvala's sea-beaten shore;
But our laird turn'd me out frae my cot-house;
Alas! I was feckless an' puir.
My twa sons were baith press'd for sailors,
An' brave for their kintra did fa';
My auid wife she died soon o' sorrow,
An' left me bereft o' them a'.
I downa do ony sair wark,
For maist bauld is my lyart auld pow,
So I beg wi' my pipes, an' my doggie,
An' mony a place we've been through.
I set mysel' down i' the gloamin',
An' tak' my wee dog on my knee,
An' I play on my pipes wi' sad sorrow,
An' the tear trickles doun frae my e'e.
The tear trickles doun frae my e'e,
An' my heart's like to break e'en in twa,
When I think on my auld wife an' bairns,
That now are sae far far awa'.
Come in thou puir lyart auld carle,
And here nae mair ill shalt thou dree;
As lang as I'm laird o' this manor,
There's nane shall gae helpless frae me.
And ye shall get a wee cot-house,
An' ye shall get baith milk an' meal;
For he that has sent it to me,
Has sent it to use it weel.
There’s nae laddie coming.
[James Hogg.]
There's nae laddie coming for thee, my dear Jean,
There's nae laddie coming for thee, my dear Jean;
I ha'e watch'd thee at mid-day, at morn, an' at e'en,
An' there's nae laddie coming for thee, my dear Jean.
But be nae down hearted though lovers gang by,
Thou'rt my only sister, thy brother am I;
An' aye in my wee house thou welcome shalt be,
An' while I ha'e saxpence, I'll share it wi' thee.
O Jeanie, dear Jeanie, when we twa were young,
I sat on your knee, to your bosom I clung;
You kiss'd me, an' clasp'd me, an' croon'd your bit sang,
An' bore me about when you hardly dought gang.
An' when I fell sick, wi' a red watery e'e
You watch'd your wee brother, an' fear'd he wad dee;
I felt the cool hand, and the kindly embrace,
An' the warm trickling tears drappin' aft on my face.
Sae wae was my kind heart to see my Jean weep,
I closed my sick e'e, though I wasna asleep;
An' I'll never forget till the day that I dee,
The gratitude due, my dear Jeanie, to thee!
Then be nae down-hearted, for nae lad can feel
Sic true love as I do, or ken ye sae weel;
My heart it yearns o'er thee, and grieved wad I be
If aught were to part my dear Jeanie an' me.
