The Book of Scottish Song/Up amang yon cliffy rocks
Up amang yon cliffy rocks.
[The composition of Mr. William Dudgeon (often by mistake called Robert Dudgeon) the son of a farmer in East Lothian, and himself an extensive farmer for many years at Preston, in Berwickshire. He died in October, 1813, aged about sixty. It will be remembered, that Burns, on his Border tour in May, 1787, fell in with him at Berrywell, and thus records his opinion of him: "Mr. Dudgeon—a poet at times—a worthy remarkable character—natural penetration—a great deal of information, some genius, and extreme modesty."]
Up amang yon cliffy rocks,
Sweetly rings the rising echo,
To the maid that tends the goats,
Lilting o'er her native notes.
Hark, she sings, "Young Sandy's kind,
An' he's promis'd aye to lo'e me;
Here's a broach I ne'er shall tine,
Till he's fairly married to me;
Drive away, ye drone, Time,
An' bring about our bridal day.
"Sandy herds a flock o' sheep,
Aften does he blaw the whistle,
In a strain sae saftly sweet,
Lammies list'ning daurna bleat.
He's as fleet's the mountain roe,
Hardy as the highland heather,
Wading through the winter snow,
Keeping aye his flock together;
But a plaid, wi' bare houghs,
He braves the bleakest norlan blast.
"Brawly can he dance and sing,
Canty glee or highland cronach;
Nane can ever match his fling,
At a reel, or round a ring;
Wightly can he wield a rung,
In a brawl he's aye the bangster:
A' his praise can ne'er be sung
By the langest-winded sangster.
Sangs that sing o' Sandy
Seem short, tho' they were e'er sae lang."