PATIE.
Our Jenny sings saftly the "Cowden Broom-knowes,"
And Rosie lilts sweetly the "Milking the Ewes,"
There's few "Jenny Nettles" like Nancy can sing;
With, "Through the wood, Laddie," Bess gars our lugs ring.
But when my dear Peggy sings, with better skill,
The "Boatman," "Tweedside," or the "Lass of the Mill,"
'Tis many times sweeter and pleasing to me
For though they sing nicely, they cannot like thee.
PEGGY.
How easy can lasses trow what they desire,
With praises sae kindly increasing love's fire!
Give me still this pleasure, my study shall be
To make myself better and sweeter for thee.
On Whitsunday morning.
["The Yellow-Hair'd Laddie" must have been a favourite tune in Ramsay's day. Here is another song which appears in the "Tea-Table Miscelleny," adapted to the same air. It is marked by simplicity and natural feeling.]
On Whitsunday morning
I went to the fair;
My yellow-hair'd laddie
Was selling his ware;
He gied me sic a blithe blink,
With his bonnie black e'e,
And a dear blink, and a fair blink,
It was unto me.
I wist not what ailed me,
When my laddie cam' in;
The little wee sternies
Flew aye frae my een;
And the sweat it dropt down
Frae my very e'e-bree,
For my heart aye played
Dunt, dunt, dunt, pittie pattie.
I wist not what ailed me,
When I went to my bed,
I tossed and I tumbled,
And sleep frae me fled,
Now, it's, sleeping and waking,
He's aye in my e'e,
And my heart aye plays
Dunt, dunt, dunt, pittie pattie.
All joy was bereft me.
[This song was written by Sir Walter Scott in the year 1806. If we had not found it in the collected edition of his poems, we would not readily have believed it to be a production of his.]
All joy was bereft me the day that you left me,
And climb'd the tall vessel to sail yon wide sea;
O weary betide it! I wander'd beside it,
And bann'd it for parting my Willie and me.
Far o'er the wave hast thou follow'd my fortune,
Oft fought the squadrons of France and of Spain;
Ae kiss of welcome's worth twenty at parting,
Now I ha'e gotten my Willie again.
When the sky it was mirk, and the winds they were wailing,
I sat on the beach wi' the tear in my e'e,
And thought o' the bark where my Willie was sailing,
And wish'd that the tempest could a' blaw on me.
Now that thy gallant ship rides at her mooring,
Now that my wanderer's in safety at hame,
Music to me were the wildest winds' roaring,
That e'er o'er Inch-Keith drove the dark ocean faem.
When the lights they did blaze, and the guns they did rattle,
And blithe was each heart for the great victory,
In secret I wept for the dangers of battle,
And thy glory itself was scarce comfort to me.
But now shalt thou tell, while I eagerly listen,
Of each bold adventure, and every brave scar;
And, trust me, I'll smile, thouch my een they may glisten,
For sweet after danger's the tale of the war.
And oh, how we doubt when there's distance 'tween lovers,
When there's naething to speik to the heart through the e'e,
How often the kindest and warmest prove rovers,
And the love of the faithfulest ebbs like the sea.
