Donald was mumpit wi' mirds and mockery,
Donald was blinded wi' blads o' property;
Aries were high, but makinga were naething, man—
Lord, how Donald is flyting and fretting, man!
Come like the devil, Donald Macgillavry,
Come like the devil, Donald Macgillavry;
Skelp them and scaud them that proved sae unbritherly—
Up wi' king James and Donald Macgillavry!
Go to him, then.
[Robert Jamieson.]
Go to him, then, if thou canst go;
Waste not a thought on me;
My heart and mind are a' my story—
They ance were dear to thee.
But there is music in his gold,
(I ne'er sae sweet could sing,)
That finds a chord in every breast,
In unison to ring.
The modest virtues dread the spell;
The honest loves retire;
The finer sympathies of soul
Far other charms require.
The breathings of my plaintive reed
Sink dying in despair;
The still small voice of gratitude,
Even that is heard nae mair.
But, if thy heart can suffer thee,
The powerful cause obey;
And mount the splendid bed that wealth
And pride for thee display.
There gaily bid farewell to a'
Love's trembling hopes and fears;
While I my lonely pillow, here,
Wash with unceasing tears.
Yet, in the fremmit arms of him,
That half thy worth ne'er knew,
O think na on my lang-tried love,
How tender and how true!
For sure 'twould break thy tender heart,
My breaking heart to see,
Wi' a' the wrangs and waes it tholed,
And yet maun thole for thee.
The Harper of Mull.
[Tannahill.—Music arranged by R. A. Smith.—The story of the Harper of Mull is to be found in "The Bee," a periodical edited by Dr. Anderson, and published in Edinburgh towards the close of the last century. It is thus abridged in Mr. P. A. Ramsay's edition of Tannahill's Poems. "In the island of Mull there lived a harper who was distinguished for his professional skill, and the affectionate simplicity of his manners. He was attached to Rosie, the fairest flower in the island, and soon made her his bride. Not long afterwards, he set out on a visit to some low-country friends, accompanied by his Rosie, and carrying his harp, which had been his companion in all his journeys for many years. Overtaken by the shades of night, in a solitary part of the country, a cold faintness fell upon Rosie, and she sank, almost lifeless, into the harper's arms. He hastily wrapped his plaid around her shivering frame; but to no purpose. Distracted, he hurried from place to place in search of fuel to revive the dying embers of life. None could be found. His harp lay on the grass, its neglected strings vibrating to the blast. The harper loved it as his own life, but he loved his Rosie better than either. His nervous arms were applied to its sides, and ere long it lay crackling and blazing on the heath. Rosie soon revived under its genial influence, and resumed the journey when morning began to purple the east. Passing down the side of a hill, they were met by a hunter, on horseback, who addressed Rosie in the style of an old and familiar friend. The harper, innocent himself, and unsuspicious of others, paced slowly along leaving her in converse with the stranger. Wondering at her delay, he turned round, and beheld the faithless fair seated behind the hunter on his steed, which speedily bore them out of sight, The unhappy harper, transfixed with astonishment, gazed at them. Then, slowly turning his steps homewards, he sighing exclaimed,—'Fool that I was, to burn my harp for her!'"—It is said that Tannahill first heard this story told at a convivial meeting, as an instance of the infidelity of the fair sex, whose fidelity he had been strenuously defending, notwithstanding that he himself was disappointed in the only love affair in which he was ever seriously engaged. The impression which the narrative made upon his mind led him to the composition of the song.]
