I heard my mother sing that song,
And then I left our hall;
Ere I returned again, 'twas long,
But death had reft me all.
The wallflower hung on turret strong,
The moss on ruin grey,
And all who sung or heard that song
Were gone—were wede away.
I heard a stranger sing that air—
A little fair-haired child,
With sunny brow that knew no care,
With joyous eye and mild;
She warbled snatches of that strain,
And laughed right joyously;
In after years she may retain
Its memory, like me.
The woods of Dunmore.
[Music by James Jaap.]
This lone heart is thine, lassie, charming and fair,
This fond heart is thine, lassie dear.
Nae warld's gear ha'e I, nae oxen nor kye,
I've naething, dear lassie, save a puir heart to gi'e;
Yet dinna say me na, but come, come awa',
An' wander, dear lassie, 'mang the woods o' Dunmore,
An' wander, dear lassie, 'mang the woods o' Dunmore.
O sweet is thy voice, lassie, charming an' fair,
Enchanting thy smile, lassie dear.
I'll toil aye for thee, for ae blink o' thine e'e
Is pleasure mair sweet than siller to me;
O dinna say me na, but come, come awa',
An' wander, dear lassie, 'mang the woods o' Dunmore,
An' wander, dear lassie, 'mang the woods o' Dunmore.
O come to my arms, lassie charming an' fair,
Awa' wild alarms, lassie dear.
This fond heart an' thine like ivy shall twine,
I'll lo'e thee, dear lassie, till the day that I dee.
Sae dinna say me na, but come, come awa',
An' wander, dear lassie, 'mang the woods o' Dunmore,
An' wander, dear lassie, 'mang the woods o' Dunmore.
Janet Macbean.
[From "Poems and Songs by Robert Nicoll." W. Tait, Edinburgh.]
Janet Macbean a public keeps,
An' a merry auld wife is she;
An' she sells her yill wi' a jaunty air
That wad please your heart to see.
Her drink's o' the best—she's hearty aye,
An' her house is neat an' clean—
There's no an auld wife in the public line
Can match wi' Janet Macbean.
She has aye a curtsey for the laird
When he comes to drink his can,
An' a laugh for the farmer an' his wife,
An' a joke for the farmer's man.
She toddles but an' she toddles ben,
Like onie wee bit queen—
There's no an auld wife in the public line
Can match wi' Janet Macbean.
The beggar wives gang a' to her,
An' she sairs them wi' bread an' cheese,—
Her bread in bannocks an' cheese in whangs
Wi' a blythe gudewill she gi'es.
Vow, the kintra-side will miss her sair
When she's Laid aneath the green—
There's no an auld wife in the public line
Can match wi' Janet Macbean.
Amang alehouse wives she rules the roast;
For upo' the Sabbath days
She puts on her weel hain'd tartan plaid
An' the rest o' her Sabbath claes,
An' she sits, nae less! in the minister's seat:
Ilk psalm she lilts, I ween—
There's no an auld wife in the public line
Can match wi' Janet Macbean.
The Curler's Song.
[Air, "Cauld kail in Aberdeen."]
Whan chittering birds, on flicht'ring wing,
About the barn doors mingle,
And biting frost, and cranreuch cauld,
