I held her to my beating heart,
My young, my smiling lammie!
I ha'e a house, it cost me dear,
I've wealth o' plenishen and gear;
Ye'se get it a', were't ten times mair,
Gin ye will leave your mammy.
The smile gaed aff her bonnie face—
I maunna leave my mammy.
She's gien me meat, she's gien me claes,
She's been my comfort a' my days:—
My father's death brought monie waes—
I canna leave my mammy.
We'll tak' her hame and mak' her fain,
My ain kind-hearted lammie.
We'll gi'e her meat, we'll gi'e her claise,
We'll be her comfort a' her days.
The wee thing gi'es her hand, and says—
There! gang and ask my mammy.
Has she been to the kirk wi' thee,
My boy, Tammy?
She has been to the kirk wi' me,
And the tear was in her e'e;
For O! she's but a young thing,
Just come frae her mammy.
The secret lover.
[James Parker.—Here first printed.]
O! could'st thou for a moment look
Within this heart o' mine;
An' there peruse, as in a book,
Ilk' feeling's secret sign;
It couldna—wouldna but reveal
Its deepest thought to thee;
Then only—only could'st thou feel
How dear thou art to me.
It ne'er could be by look or sigh
Or word frae me exprest—
The fond deep love that fervently
Is throbbin' in my breast,—
Although uncherish'd and unblest
Wi' kindred flame in thine—
Like angel holiness imprest
Upon some earthly shrine.
Captain Paton’s Lament.
[This vivid personal portraiture of a gentleman of the old school first appeared in Blackwood's Magazine for September, 1819, and its authorship is generally ascribed, we believe with truth, to J. G. Lockhart. Captain Paton was a real personage, and lived for many years with two maiden sisters in a tenement of his own opposite the Old Exchange, Glasgow. His title of Captain he claimed from a commission which he held in a regiment that had been raised in Scotland for the Dutch serrice. His death took place on the 30th of July, 1807, at the age of 63. Mr. lockhart's description of him is said by these who remember "the venerable beau" to be accurate as it is graphic. In an old view of the Trongate of Glasgow, the captain is seen picking his way with his rattan across the street, which proves that he was in his own day, before the poet immortalized him, a somewhat noted personage. The "Wynd Kirk," mentioned in the last verse but two, although situated in a narrow lane of Glasgow, was, in the captain's day, the most fashionable place of worship in the town. In 1809, Dr. Porteous and his congregation there transferred themselves to an elegant new church built for them, called St. George's. Captain Paton, it seems, was not in reality buried "by the Ram's-horn-kirk," now St. David's, as stated in the ballad, but in the High Church burying ground.]
Touch once more a sober measure,
And let punch and tears be shed,
For a prince of good old fellows,
That, alack-a-day! is dead;
For a prince of worthy fellows,
And a pretty man also,
That has left the Saltmarket
In sorrow, grief, and woe—
Oh! we ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo'e!
His waistcoat, coat, and breeches,
Were all cut off the same web,
Of a beautiful snuff-colour,
Or a modest genty drab;
The blue stripe in his stocking
Round his neat slim leg did go,
And his ruffles of the cambric fine
They were whiter than the snow—
Oh! we ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo'e!
