Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done;
While our slumb'rous spells assail ye,
Dream not, with the rising sun,
Bugles here shall sound reveillie.
Sleep!—the deer is in his den;
Sleep!—thy hounds are by thee lying;
Sleep!—nor dream in yonder glen
How thy gallant steed lay dying.
Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done;
Think not of the rising sun;
For at dawning to assail ye,
Here no bugles sound reveillie.
The Boatie Rows.
[This song appears in Johnson's Museum with three different sets of music, but it is satisfactory to know that the air now universally adopted is the genuine old one. It was arranged into a glee by William Knyvett of London. Burns says, "The author of the song beginning 'O weel may the boatie row' was a Mr. Ewen of Aberdeen. It is a charming display of womanly affection mingling with the concerns and occupations of life. It is nearly equal to 'There's nae luck about the house.'" The Mr. Ewen here spoken of was John Ewen, Esq., who died at Aberdeen on the 21st October, 1821, in the 80th year of his age. He was a native of Montrose, but went early in life to Aberdeen, where he accumulated a fortune, partly as a dealer in hardware goods and partly by marriage. On his death, he bequeathed the bulk of his property (something above L.15,000) towards the founding of an Hospital at Montrose, similar to Gordon's Hospital of Aberdeen, for the maintenance and education of boys, overlooking entirely his only child, a daughter, who had married in 1787, and gone abroad. The will was challenged by his daughter, and finally set aside by the House of Lords, in consequence of its uncertainty and want of precision both as to the sum to be accumulated by the trustees before they were to commence building the hospital, and as to the number of boys to be educated in it when built.]
O weel may the boatie row,
And better may she speed!
And weel may the boatie row,
That wins the bairns's bread!
The boatie rows, the boatie rows,
The boatie rows indeed;
And happy be the lot of a'
That wishes her to speed!
I cuist my line in Largo Bay,
And fishes I caught nine;
There's three to boil, and three to fry,
And three to bait the line.
The boatie rows, the boatie rows,
The boatie rows indeed;
And happy be the lot of a'
That wishes her to speed!
O weel may the boatie row,
That fills a heavy creel,
And cleads us a' frae head to feet,
And buys our parritch meal.
The boatie rows, the boatie rows,
The boatie rows indeed;
And happy be the lot of a'
That wish the boatie speed.
When Jamie vow'd he would be mine,
And wan frae me my heart,
O muckle lighter grew my creel!
He swore we'd never part.
The boatie rows, the boatie rows,
The boatie rows fu' weel;
And muckle lighter is the lade,
When love bears up the creel.
My kurtch I put upon my head,
And dress'd mysel' fu' braw;
I trow my heart was dowf and wae,
When Jamie gaed awa:
But weel may the boatie row,
And lucky be her part;
And lightsome be the lassie's care
That yields an honest heart!
When Sawnie, Jock, and Janetie,
Are up, and gotten lear,
They'll help to gar the boatie row,
And lighten a' our care.
The boatie rows, the boatie rows,
The boatie rows fu' weel;
And lightsome be her heart that bears
The murlain and the creel!
And when wi' age we are worn down,
And hirpling round the door,
They'll row to keep us hale and warm
