The Spinnin' Wheel.
[This song is by Robert Nicoll, who early distinguished himself as a poet, and early fell a sacrifice to his literary exertions. He was the son of a small farmer in Perthshire, where he was born in January, 1814. When only 21 years of age, he published a volume of poems, which were much admired. He latterly conducted "The Leeds Times." His death took place in the house of his kind friend, patron, and biographer, Mrs. Johnstone of Laverock Bank, in Dec. 1837. The present song, and others by Nicoll extracted elsewhere, we are permitted to give through the courtesy of his publisher, Mr. Tait of Edinburgh.]
I winna sing o' bluidy deeds an' waefu' war's alarms,
For glancin' swords and prancin' steeds for me possess nae charms;
But I will sing o' happiness, which fireside bosoms feel,
While listenin' to the birrin' soun' o' Scotland's Spinnin' Wheel.
The Spinnin' Wheel! the Spinnin' Wheel! the very name is dear—
It minds me o' the winter nights— the blythest o' the year—
O' cozie hours in hamely ha's, while snaw is on the hill;
And sonsie lasses while they ca' auld Scotland's Spinnin' Wheel.
The auld wife by the ingle sits an' draws her cannie thread—
It hauds her baith in milk an' meal, an' a' thing she can need;
An' gleesome scenes o' early days upon her spirits steal,
Brought back to warm her wither'd heart by Scotland's Spinnin' Wheel.
O, there is gladsome happiness, while roun' the fire are set
The younkers—when ahint the backs a happy pair are met,
Wha wi' a silent kiss o' love their blessed paction seal—
While sittin' in their truth beside auld Scotland's Spinnin' Wheel.
O! weal I lo'e the blackbird's sang in spring time o' the year—
O! weal I lo'e the cushat's croon in merry May to hear;
But o' the soun's o' love an' joy there's nane I lo'e sae weel—
There's nane sae pleasant—as the birr o' Scotland's Spinnin' Wheel.
Nae mair we'll meet.
[John Sim.—Air, "We'll meet beside the dusky glen."]
Nae mair we'll meet again, my love, by yon burn side,
Nae mair we'll wander through the grove, by yon burn side,
Ne'er again the mavis' lay will we hail at close o' day,
For we ne'er again will stray down by yon burn side.
Yet mem'ry oft will fondly brood, on yon burn side,
O'er haunts which we sae aft ha'e trod, by yon burn side,
Still the walk wi' me thou'lt share, though thy foot can never mair
Bend to earth the gowan fair, down by yon burn side.
Now far remov'd from every care, 'boon yon burn side,
Thou bloom'st, my love, an angel fair, 'boon yon burn side;
And if angels pity know, sure the tear for me will flow,
Who must linger here below, down by yon burn side.
