But, O! my hame, my humble hame,
Whene'er I thought of thee,
The wreathed smile, the minstrel's fame,
Were a' forgot by me.
Ev'n yet, though on my head the snaws
O' Time begins to steal,
Youth's joys still smile within the wa's
O' my wee cozy biel.
And though to me nae gardens fair
Their sunny smiles display,
A fairer flower is blooming there
Than e'er graced minstrel's lay.
And, Peggy dear, thou art that flower,
And I will tent thee weel,
And bless, while I ha'e life, the hour
That gave thee to my biel.
My hame, my hame, my ain dear hame,
Wha wad the biggin lea',
Where smile the bairns that wear his name
Frae aff a mother's knee?
The Happy Mother.
[Alex. Laing of Brechin.]
An' O, may I never live single again—
I wish I may never live single again;
I ha'e a gudeman, an' a hame o' my ain,
An' O, may I never live single again.
I've twa bonnie bairns the fairest of a',
They cheer up my heart when their daaddie's awa';
I've ane at my foot, and I've ane on my knee;
An' fondly they look, an' say "Mammie" to me.
At gloamin' their daddie comes in frae the plough,
The blink in his e'e, an' the smile on his brow,
Says, "how are ye, lassie, O, how are ye a',
An' how's the wee bodies sin' I gade awa'?"
He sings i' the e'enin' fu' cheery an' gay—
He tells o' the toil an' the news o' the day:
The twa bonnie lammies he tak's on his knee,
An' blinks o'er the ingle fu' couthie to me.
O happy's the father that's happy at hame—
An' blythe is the mither that's blythe o' the name;
The cares o' the warld they fear na to dree—
The warld is naethirg to Johnny an' me.
Though crosses will mingle wi' mitherly cares,
Awa' bonnie lassies—awa' wi' your fears;
Gin ye get a laddie that's loving an' fain,
Ye'll wish ye may never live single again.
Wae's me for Prince Charlie.
[The author of this sweetly-tender Jacobite strain was William Glen, a native of Glasgow, who died about 1824. He was for some period of his life a manufacturer in his native city, but his latter days were marked by the poet's too frequent lot—poverty and misfortune. He wrote a variety of songs and other poetical pieces, but the present one is perhaps his happiest. It is sung to the old air of "Johnnie Faa, or the Gypsy Laddie."—During the late visit of Her Majesty the Queen to the North, this song received a mark of royal favour which would have sweetened, had he been alive, poor Glen's bitter cup of life. While at Taymouth Castle, the Marquis of Breadalbane had engaged Mr. Wilson, the celebrated vocalist, to sing before her Majesty. A list of the songs Mr. Wilson was in the habit of singing was submitted to the Queen, that she might signify her pleasure as to those which she would wish to hear, when her Majesty immediately fixed upon the following:—"Lochaber no more,"—"The Flowers of the Forest,"—"The Lass o' Gowrie,"—"John Anderson, my jo,"—"Cam' ye by Athol,"—and "The Laird o' Cockpen." The present song was not in Mr. Wilson's list, but her Majesty herself asked if he could sing "Wae's me for Prince Charlie," which fortunately he was able to do. The selection of songs which the Queen made displays eminently her sound taste and good feeling. A better, or one more varied both as regards music and words, taking the number of pieces into account, could not easily be formed.]
A wee bird cam' to our ha' door,
He warbled sweet and clearly,
An' aye the o'ercome o' his sang
Was "Wae's me for Prince Charlie!"
Oh! when I heard the bonnie soun'
The tears cam' happin' rarely,
I took my bannet aff my head,
For weel I lo'ed Prince Charlie.
