Volume I Part 19 (1/2)

THE WEE PICKLE TOW.[32]

A lively young la.s.s had a wee pickle tow, And she thought to try the spinnin' o't; She sat by the fire, and her rock took alow, And that was an ill beginnin' o't.

Loud and shrill was the cry that she utter'd, I ween; The sudden mischanter brought tears to her een; Her face it was fair, but her temper was keen; O dole for the ill beginnin' o't!

She stamp'd on the floor, and her twa hands she wrung, Her bonny sweet mou' she crookit, O!

And fell was the outbreak o' words frae her tongue; Like ane sair demented she lookit, O!

”Foul fa' the inventor o' rock and o' reel!

I hope, gude forgi'e me! he 's now wi' the d--l, He brought us mair trouble than help, wot I weel; O dole for the ill beginnin' o't!

”And now, when they 're spinnin' and kempin' awa', They 'll talk o' my rock and the burnin' o't, While Tibbie, and Mysie, and Maggie, and a', Into some silly joke will be turnin' it: They 'll say I was doited, they 'll say I was fu'; They 'll say I was dowie, and Robin untrue; They 'll say in the fire some luve-powther I threw, And that made the ill beginning o't.

”O curst be the day, and unchancy the hour, When I sat me adown to the spinnin' o't!

Then some evil spirit or warlock had power, And made sic an ill beginnin' o't.

May s.p.u.n.kie my feet to the boggie betray, The lunzie folk steal my new kirtle away, And Robin forsake me for douce Effie Gray, The next time I try the spinnin' o't.”

[32] ”The Wee Pickle Tow” is an old air, to which the words of this song were written.

THE GOWAN GLITTERS ON THE SWARD.

The gowan glitters on the sward, The lav'rock's in the sky, And collie on my plaid keeps ward, And time is pa.s.sing by.

Oh, no! sad and slow, And lengthen'd on the ground; The shadow of our trysting bush It wears so slowly round.

My sheep-bells tinkle frae the west, My lambs are bleating near; But still the sound that I lo'e best, Alack! I canna hear.

Oh, no! sad and slow, The shadow lingers still; And like a lanely ghaist I stand, And croon upon the hill.

I hear below the water roar, The mill wi' clacking din, And lucky scolding frae the door, To ca' the bairnies in.

Oh, no! sad and slow, These are nae sounds for me; The shadow of our trysting bush It creeps sae drearily!

I coft yestreen, frae chapman Tam, A snood o' bonnie blue, And promised, when our trysting cam', To tie it round her brow.

Oh, no! sad and slow, The mark it winna pa.s.s; The shadow o' that dreary bush Is tether'd on the gra.s.s.

O now I see her on the way!

She 's past the witch's knowe; She 's climbing up the brownie's brae-- My heart is in a lowe.

Oh, no! 'tis not so, 'Tis glamrie I hae seen; The shadow o' that hawthorn bush Will move nae mair till e'en.

My book o' grace I 'll try to read, Though conn'd wi' little skill; When collie barks I 'll raise my head, And find her on the hill.

Oh, no! sad and slow, The time will ne'er be gane; The shadow o' our trysting bush Is fix'd like ony stane.

SAW YE JOHNNIE COMIN'?

”Saw ye Johnnie comin'?” quo' she; ”Saw ye Johnnie comin'?