Sae merry as we ha'e been.
[This is the title of a very old air, which is to be found in our oldest musical collections. The original words to the tune are probably lost. The old chorus, however, is retained in the following beautifully-natural song, which was first printed in Herd's collection, 1776. Burns characterizes the chorus as "truly pathetic."
"Sae merry as we twa ha'e been,
Sae merry as we twa ha'e been!
My heart it is like for to break,
When I think on the days we ha'e seen."
The version here given of the present song differs somewhat, but chiefly in verbal points, from that given by Herd.]
A lass that was laden wi' care
Sat heavily under a thorn;
I listen'd a while for to hear,
When thus she began for to mourn:—
Whene'er my own lover was near,
The birds seem'd far sweeter to sing;
The cold nipping winter-time wore
A face that resembled the spring.
Sae merry as we twa ha'e been,
Sae merry as we twa ha'e been!
My heart is like for to break,
When I think on the days we ha'e seen.
There was love in his sweet silent looks,
There was love in the touch of his hand;
I liked mair the glance o' his e'e,
Then a' the green earth to command:
A word, and a look, and a touch—
Hard-hearted, oh! how could I be?
Oh! the cauldest lass i' the land
Wad ha'e sigh'd and ha'e melted like me!
Sae merry as we twa ha'e been,
Sae merry as we twa ha'e been!
I wonder my heart disna break,
When I think on the days we ha'e seen.
But now he is far, far awa',
Between us is the rolling sea;
And the wind that wafts pleasure to a',
Brings nae word frae Willie to me.
At night, when the rest o' the folk
Are merrily seated to spin,
I sit mysel' under an oak,
A-heavily sighing for him.
Sae merry as we twa ha'e been,
Sae merry as we twa ha'e been!
My heart it will break ere the spring,
As I think on the days that are gane.
Hap me wi' thy petticoat.
[There was an old nursery song, the words of which ran somewhat thus:
"I'll hap ye wi' my petticoat,
My ain kind dow;
I'll hap ye wi' my petticoat,
My ain kind dow.
The wind blaws cauld, my claithing's thin,—
O dearie, on me rue;
And hap me wi' thy petticoat,
My ain kind dow."
The tune to which this was sung was one of great beauty and simplicity, although its simplicity has been somewhat injured by modern changes. Ramsay wrote the following words to the tune, but mistook himself greatly, we think, when he endeavoured to weave the words of a nurse's lullaby into an impassioned lover's address.]
O Bell, thy looks ha'e kill'd my heart,
I pass the day in pain;
When night returns, I feel the smart,
And wish for thee in vain.
I'm starving cold, while thou art warm;
Have pity and incline,
And grant me for a hap that charm-
ing petticoat of thine.
My ravish'd fancy in amaze
Still wanders o'er thy charms,
Delusive dreams ten thousand ways
Present thee to my arms.
But waking, think what I endure,
While cruel thou decline
Those pleasures, which alone can cure
This panting breast of mine.
I faint, I fail, and wildly rove,
Because you still deny
The just reward that's due to love,
And let true passion die.
Oh! turn, and let compassion seize
That lovely breast of thine;
Thy petticoat could give me ease,
If thou and it were mine.
