Volume Ii Part 19 (1/2)
Frae the south and the north, o'er the Tweed and the Forth, Sic coming and ganging there never was seen; The comers were cheerie, the gangers were blearie, Despairing or hoping for Barrochan Jean!
The carlines at hame were a' girning and graning, The bairns were a' greeting frae morning till e'en; They gat naething for crowdy, but runts boil'd to sowdie, For naething gat growing for Barrochan Jean!
The doctors declared it was past their descriving, The ministers said 'twas a judgment for sin; But they lookit sae blae, and their hearts were sae wae, I was sure they were deeing for Barrochan Jean!
The burns on road-sides were a' dry wi' their drinking, Yet a' wadna slockin' the drouth i' their skin; A' around the peat-stacks, and alangst the d.y.k.e-backs, E'en the winds were a' sighing, ”Sweet Barrochan Jean!”
The timmer ran done wi' the making o' coffins, Kirkyards o' their sward were a' howkit fu' clean; Dead lovers were packit like herring in barrels, Sic thousands were deeing for Barrochan Jean!
But mony braw thanks to the Laird o' Glen Brodie, The gra.s.s owre their graffs is now bonnie and green, He sta' the proud heart of our wanton young lady, And spoil'd a' the charm o' her twa pawky e'en.
[85] Writing to his friend Barr, on the 24th December 1809, Tannahill remarks:--”You will, no doubt, have frequently observed how much some old people are given to magnify the occurrences of their young days.
'Barrochan Jean' was written on hearing an old grannie, in Lochwinnoch parish, relating a story something similar to the subject of the song; perhaps I have heightened her colouring a little.”
O, ROW THEE IN MY HIGHLAND PLAID!
Lowland la.s.sie, wilt thou go Where the hills are clad with snow; Where, beneath the icy steep, The hardy shepherd tends his sheep?
Ill nor wae shall thee betide, When row'd within my Highland plaid.
Soon the voice of cheery spring Will gar a' our plantin's ring, Soon our bonny heather braes Will put on their summer claes; On the mountain's sunny side, We 'll lean us on my Highland plaid.
When the summer spreads the flowers, Busks the glens in leafy bowers, Then we 'll seek the caller shade, Lean us on the primrose bed; While the burning hours preside, I 'll screen thee wi' my Highland plaid.
Then we 'll leave the sheep and goat, I will launch the bonny boat, Skim the loch in canty glee, Rest the oars to pleasure thee; When chilly breezes sweep the tide, I 'll hap thee wi' my Highland plaid.
Lowland lads may dress mair fine, Woo in words mair saft than mine; Lowland lads hae mair of art, A' my boast 's an honest heart, Whilk shall ever be my pride;-- O, row thee in my Highland plaid!
”Bonny lad, ye 've been sae leal, My heart would break at our fareweel; Lang your love has made me fain; Take me--take me for your ain!”
Across the Firth, away they glide, Young Donald and his Lowland bride.
BONNY WOOD OF CRAIGIE LEA.[86]
Thou bonny wood of Craigie lea!
Thou bonny wood of Craigie lea!
Near thee I pa.s.s'd life's early day, And won my Mary's heart in thee.
The broom, the brier, the birken bush, Bloom bonny o'er thy flowery lea, And a' the sweets that ane can wish Frae Nature's hand, are strew'd on thee.
Far ben thy dark green plantin's shade, The cooshat croodles am'rously, The mavis, down thy bughted glade, Gars echo ring frae every tree.
Thou bonny wood, &c.
Awa, ye thoughtless, murd'ring gang, Wha tear the nestlings ere they flee!
They 'll sing you yet a canty sang, Then, O, in pity, let them be!