The Narrow House.
[Gibson.]
The narrow house, the winding sheet,
Haud a' that e'er war dear to me;
My Mary, an' her baby sweet,
That ere yestreen smiled on her knee.
I laid them where the weary rest,
An' shortly I shall rest wi' them,
The hearts are cauld that lo'ed me best,
An' hame to me's a weary hame.
Her father frown'd, her mother flaet,
An' mony tears she shed her lane;
But parent's frown or hapless fate,
She'll never thole, nor mourn again.
Whate'er the warl' like to ca't,
Be't this or that, or sin or shame;
The fau't was love—if love's a fau't,
Let love an' me bear a' the blame.
O saw ye my Father.
[This is an old song, and the tune to which it is attached is also old and beautiful. The words, however, can be traced no farther back than to Herd's collection. In Cromek's "Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song," a spurious version of the song is given, evidently from the pen of Allan Cunningham.]
O saw ye my father, or saw ye my mither,
Or saw ye my true love John?
I saw nae your father, I saw nae your mither,
But I saw your true love John.
It's now ten at night, and the stars gi'e nae light,
And the bells they ring ding dang,
He's met wi' some delay that causes him to stay,
But he will be here ere lang.
The surly auld carle did naething but snarl,
And Johnny's face it grew red,
Yet tho' he often sigh'd he ne'er a word replied,
Till a' were asleep in bed.
Then up Johnny rose, and to the door he goes,
And gently tirled at the pin,
The lassie taking tent unto the door she went,
And she open'd and lat him in.
And are ye come at last! and do I hold you fast!
And is my Johnny true?
I have nae time to tell, but sae lang's I like mysel',
Sae lang sall I like you.
Flee up, flee up, my bonnie grey cock,
And craw when it is day,
And your neck shall be like the bonnie beaten gold,
And your wings of the silver grey.
The cock proved false, and untrue he was,
For he crew an hour owre soon:
The lassie thought it day when she sent her love away,
And it was but a blink of the moon.
Gude Coldstream toon.
[William Air Foster.—Here first piinted.]
My heartfelt thoughts to you are leal,
Gude folks o' Coldstream toon!
My heart was sair to bid fareweel
To a' the neebours roun'.
'Twas here my earliest breath was drawn;
And mony a happy day
I spent wi' neebour callants then,
Though I've been lang away.
But since I left gude Coldstream toon,
O time has changed it sair;
The bairnie then upon the lap
Has grown a woman fair;
The young and comlie lads I left
Are now grown bauld and grey,
And auld folks scarce, that ance I kenn'd
Before I gaed away.
There's something in gude Coldstream toon
That mak's my bosom beat,
Wi' an instinct like the hunted hare
To gain its native seat—
To see Tweed's bonnie stream again,
Ilk plantain, haugh, and brae,
That bore the charm o' auld langsyne
When ane was far away.
