The Highland Widow.
[This pathetic lamentation was written by Burns in imitation of some Gaelic chant be had heard with the burthen "Ochon, ochon, ochrie." It is inserted in the Museum to a Gaelic air also contributed by Boms. In the Jacobite Relics, Hogg gives it with three additional verses, probably from his own pen. Of these verses, we retain one, which forms the last, except the chorus, in the present song: the other two appear to us unto injure the pathos of the piece, and we therefore leave them out.]
Oh, I'm come to the Low Countrie,
Ochon, ochon, ochrie!
Without a penny in my purse
To buy a meal to me.
It was na sae in the Highland hills,
Ochon, ochon, ochrie!
Nae woman in the country wide
Sae happy was as me!
For there I had a score o' kye,
Ochon, ochon, ochrie!
Feeding' on yon hill sae high,
And bringing milk to me.
And there I had three score o' yowes,
Ochon, ochon, ochrie!
Skipping on yon bonnie knowes,
And casting woo to me.
I was the happiest o' the clan,
Sair, sair may I repine!
For Donald was the bravest man,
And Donald he was mine.
Till Charlie he cam' o'er at last,
Sae far, to set us free;
My Donald's arm was wanting then,
For Scotland and for me.
Their waefu' fate what need I tell?
Richt to the wrang did yield;
My Donald and his country fell
Upon Culloden-field.
Now I have nocht left me ava,
Ochon, ochon, ochrie!
But bonnie orphan lad-weans twa,
To seek their bread wi' me.
Ochon, ochon, oh, Donald, oh
Ochon, ochon, ochrie!
Nae woman in this warld wide
Sae wretched now as me.
The Auld Gudeman.
[Ramsay gives this in his Tea Table Miscellany as an old piece in his day. It is also be found, words and music, in the Orpheus Caledonius, 1725. "The auld gudeman" means here the first husband.]
Late in an evening forth I went,
A little before the sun gaed down
And there I chanced, by accident,
To light on a battle new begun.
A man and his wife were faun in strife;
I canna weel tell how it began;
But aye she wail'd her wretched life,
And cried ever, Alake, my auld gudeman!
He.
The auld gudeman that thou tells of,
The country kens where he was born,
Was but a puir silly vagabond,
And ilka ane leuch him to scorn;
For he did spend and mak' an end
Of gear that his forefathers wan:
He gart the puir stand frae the door:
Sae tell nae mair of thy auld gudeman.
She.
My heart, alake, is like to bre.ak,
When I think on my winsome John:
His blinking een, and gait sae free,
Was naething like thee, thou dozent drone.
His rosy face and flaxen hair,
And skin as white as ony swan,
Was large and tall, and comely withal:
And thoult never be like my auld gudeman.
He.
Why dost thou pleen? I thee mainteen;
For meal and maut thou disna want:
But thy wild bees I canna please,
Now when our gear 'gins to grow scant.
Of household stuff thou hast enough;
Thou wants for neither pot nor pan:
Of siclike ware he left thee bare:
Sae tell me nae mair of thy auld gudenan.
