Volume Iv Part 13 (1/2)
Dunallan's halls ring loud with glee-- The feast-cup glads Glengarry; The joy that should for ever be When mutual lovers marry.
The shout and sh.e.l.l the revellers raise, Dunallan and Clanronald; And minstrel measures pour to praise Fair Kath'rine and brave Donald!
GUID NIGHT, AN' JOY BE WI' YOU A'.
Guid night, and joy be wi' you a'!
Since it is sae that I maun gang; Short seem'd the gate to come, but ah!
To gang again as wearie lang.
Sic joyous nights come nae sae thrang That I sae sune sou'd haste awa'; But since it's sae that I maun gae, Guid night, and joy be wi' ye a'!
This night I ween we've had the heart To gar auld Time tak' to his feet; That makes us a' fu' laith to part, But aye mair fain again to meet!
To dree the winter's drift and weet For sic a night is nocht ava, For hours the sweetest o' the sweet; Guid night, an' joy be wi' you a'!
Our bald-pow'd daddies here we've seen, In younker revels fidgin' fain; Our gray-hair'd grannies here hae been, Like daffin hizzies, young again!
To mony a merrie auld Scot's strain We've deftly danced the time awa': We met in mirth--we part wi' pain, Guid night, an' joy be wi' you a'!
My nimble gray neighs at the yett, My shouthers roun' the plaid I throw; I've clapt the spur upon my buit, The guid braid bonnet on my brow!
Then night is wearing late I trow-- My hame lies mony a mile awa'; The mair's my need to mount and go, Guid night, an' joy be wi' you a'!
THE GATHERING.[12]
Rise, rise! Lowland and Highlandman, Bald sire to beardless son, each come and early; Rise, rise! mainland and islandmen, Belt on your broad claymores--fight for Prince Charlie; Down from the mountain steep, Up from the valley deep, Out from the clachan, the bothie, and s.h.i.+eling, Bugle and battle-drum Bid chief and va.s.sal come, Bravely our bagpipes the pibroch is pealing.
Men of the mountains--descendants of heroes!
Heirs of the fame as the hills of your fathers; Say, shall the Southern--the Sa.s.senach fear us When to the war-peal each plaided clan gathers?
Too long on the trophied walls Of your ancestral halls, Red rust hath blunted the armour of Albin; Seize then, ye mountain Macs, Buckler and battle-axe, Lads of Lochaber, Braemar, and Breadalbin!
When hath the tartan plaid mantled a coward?
When did the blue bonnet crest the disloyal?
Up, then, and crowd to the standard of Stuart, Follow your leader--the rightful--the royal!
Chief of Clanronald, Donald Macdonald!
Lovat! Lochiel! with the Grant and the Gordon!
Rouse every kilted clan, Rouse every loyal man, Gun on the shoulder, and thigh the good sword on!
FOOTNOTES:
[12] A MS. copy of this song had been sent by the author to the Ettrick Shepherd. Having been found among the Shepherd's papers after his decease, it was regarded as his own composition, and has consequently been included in the posthumous edition of his songs, published by the Messrs Blackie. The song appears in Imlah's ”May Flowers,” published in 1827.