I dream'd I lay.
["These two stanzas," says Burns, "I composed when I was about seventeen. They are among the oldest of my printed pieces." They are given in Johnson's Museum, adapted to an old air harmonized by Stephen Clarke.]
I dream'd I lay where flowers were springing,
Gaily in the sunny beam;
List'ning to the wild birds singing,
By a falling, crystal stream:
Straight the sky grew black and daring;
Through the woods the whirlwinds rave;
Trees with aged arms were warring
O'er the swelling, drumlie wave.
Such was my life's deceitful morning,
Such the pleasures I enjoy'd:
But lang or noon, loud tempests storming
A' my flow'ry bliss destroy'd.
Though fickle fortune has deceiv'd me,
She promis'd fair, and perform'd but ill;
Of mony a joy and hope bereav'd me,
I bear a heart shall support me still.
Jenny's Bawbee.
I.
[The following fragment, to the favourite old reel tune of "Jenny's Bawbee," is all that has come down to us of the original song. It is given in Herd's collection, 2d edition, 1776.]
And a' that e'er my Jenny had,
My Jenny had, my Jenny had;
And a' that e'er my Jenny had,
Was ae bawbee.
There's your plack, and my plack
And your plack, and my plack,
And my plack, and your plack,
And Jenny's bawbee.
We'll put it in the pint-stoup,
The pint-stoup, the pint-stoup,
We'll put it in the pint-stoup,
And birle 't a' three.
II.
[The composition of Sir Alexander Boswell, Bart. of Auchinleck, and excellently adapted to the old tune. It was originally published by the author in 1803, and afterwards presented to George Thomson for insertion in his collection of Scottish Melodies. The last stanza did not appear in the early copies of the song. Whether or not added by the author himself has not been ascertained. Sir Alexander was the eldest son of the well-known biographer of Dr. Johnson, and was born in 1775. He died on the 27th March, 1822, from a wound received in a duel, the previous day, with James Stuart, Esq. younger of Dunearn. The duel arose in consequence of a political squib which Sir Alexander had sent to the Glasgow Sentinel, a high-tory paper of short-lived existence.]
I met four chaps yon birks amang,
Wi' hinging lugs and faces lang:
I spiered at neebour Bauldy Strang,
Wha's they I see?
Quo' he, ilk cream-faced pawky chiel,
Thought he was cunning as the deil,
And here they cam', awa' to steal
Jenny's bawbee.
The first, a Captain to his trade,
Wi' skull ill-lined, but back weel-clad,
March'd round the barn, and by the shed,
And papped on his knee:
Quo' he, "My goddess, nymph, and queen,
Your beauty's dazzled baith my een!"
But deil a beauty he had seen
But—Jenny's bawbee.
A Lawyer neist, wi' blatherin gab,
Wha speeches wove like ony wab,
In ilk ane's corn aye took a dab,
And a' for a fee.
Accounts he owed through a' the toun,
And tradesmen's tongues nae mair couid drown,
But now he thocht to clout his goun
Wi' Jenny's bawbee.
A Norland Laird neist trotted up,
Wi' bawsand nag and siller whip,
Cried, "There's my beast, lad, haud the grup,
Or tie 't till a tree:
What's gowd to me?—I've walth o' lan'!
Bestow on ane o' worth your han'!"—
He thocht to pay what he was awn
Wi' Jenny's bawbee.
