The gifts of nature and fortune
May flee by chance as they came;
They're grounds the destinies sport on,
But virtue is ever the same.
Although my fancy were roving,
Thy charms so heav'nly appear,
That other beauties disproving,
I'd worship thine only, my dear.
And should life's sorrows embitter
The pleasure we promis'd our loves,
To share them together is fitter,
Than moan asunder like doves.
Oh! were I but ance so blessed,
To grasp my love in my arms!
By thee to be grasp'd and kissed!
And live on thy heaven of charms!
I'd laugh at fortune's caprices,
Should fortune capricious prove;
Though death should tear me to pieces,
I'd die a martyr to love.
The wee German Lairdie.
[This is one of the most spirited of all the Jacobite songs, and was one of the most popular. The presumption is, that it was written after the accession of George I. to the throne of Britain in 1714, but where or when it first appeared, we cannot say. The version which we here follow is that given in Hogg's "Jacobite Relics of Scotland," vol. I. Edinburgh, 1819. Hogg set the words to music, and boasts that his tune supplanted the old one.]
Wha the deil ha'e we gotten for a king,
But a wee, wee German lairdie?
And, when we gaed to bring him hame,
He was delving in his kail-yardie:
Sheughing kail, and laying leeks,
But the hose, and but the breeks;
And up his beggar duds he decks—
This wee, wee German lairdie.
And he's clapt down in our gudeman's chair,
The wee, wee German lairdie;
And he's brought fouth o' foreign leeks,
And dibbled them in his yardie.
He's pu'd the rose o' English loons,
And broken the harp o' Irish clowns;
But our thistle taps will jag his thumbs—
This wee, wee Ginnan lairdie.
Come up amang our Highland hills,
Thou wee, wee German lairdie,
And see the Stuart's lang-kail thrive
They dibbled in our yardie:
And if a stock ye dare to pu',
Or haud the yoking o' a plough,
We'll break your sceptre o'er your mou',
Thou wee bit German lairdie.
Our hills are steep, our glens are deep,
Nae fitting for a yardie;
And our Norland thistles winna pu',
Thou wee bit German lairdie:
And we've the trenching blades o' weir,
Wad prune ye o' your German gear—
We'll pass ye 'neath the claymore's shear,
Thou feckless German lairdie!
Auld Scotland, thou'rt ower caald a hole
For nursin' siecan vermin;
But the very dougs o' England's court
They bark and howl in German.
Then keep thy dibble in thy ain hand,
Thy spade but and thy yardie;
For wha the deil ha'e we gotten for a king,
But a wee, wee German lairdie?
O brother Sandie.
[After the above severe Jacobite effusion, it may be but fair to give a Whig song on the other side of the question. Burns was mistaken in thinking that all the political songs of the period were in favour of the Stuart dynasty, but it is not to be denied, that those on that side were by far the most numerous and the best. The following was written on the rebellion of '45, and sung to the tune of "Lillibulero, bullen a la," (Uncle Toby's tune.) Lillibulero, bullen a la, were the pass words used by the Catholics during the dreadful Irish massacre of 1641.]
O brother Sandie, hear ye the news?
Lillibulero, bullen a la,
An army 's just coming without any shoes,
Lillibulero, bullen a la.
