Зображення сторінки

Think of Clan-Alpine with fear and with wo;

Lennox and Leven-glen

Shake when they hear agen, Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!' Row, Vassals, row, for the pride of the Highlands!

Stretch to your oars, for the ever-green Pine! 0! that the rose-bud that graces yon islands, Were wreathed in a garland around him to twine!

O that some seeding-gem,

Worthy such noble stem, Honor'd and bless'd in their shadow might grow!

Loud should Clan-Alpine then

Ring from her deepmost glen, • Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!


The morn was fair, the skies were clear,

No breath came o'er the sea,
When Mary left her Highland cot,

And wander'd forth with me;
Though flowers deck'd the mountain's side

And fragrance fill’d the vale,
By far the sweetest flower there

Was the Rose of Allandale.

Where'er I wander'd, east or west,

Though fate began to lour,
A solace still was she to me

In sorrow's lonely hour:
When tempests lash'd our gallant bark

And rent her shiv'ring sail,
One maiden form withstood the storm

'Twas the Rose of Allandale.

And when my fever'd lips were parch’d,

On Afric's burning sand,

She whisper'd hopes of happiness

And tales of distant land:
My life had been a wilderness,

Unblest by fortune's gale,
Had not fate link'd my lot to hers-

The Rose of Allandale.

LET us go, lassie, go
To the

Braes of Balquither,
Where the blue-berries grow

'Mong bonnie Highland heather;
Where the deer and the rae,

Lightly bounding together,
Sport the lang summer day

On the braes of Balquither.
I will twine thee a bow'r,

By the clear siller fountain,
And I'll cover it o'er

Wi' the flow’rs o' the mountain,
I will range through the wilds,

And the deep glens sae dreary,
And return wi’ their spoils

* To the bow'r o' my dearie.
When the rude wintry win’

Idly raves round our dwelling,
And the roar of the linn

On the night breeze is swelling,
So merrily we'll sing

As the storm rattles o'er us,
Till the dear sheeling ring

Wi' the light lilting chorus.
Now the summer is in prime

Wi' the flow’rs richly blooming,

And the wild mountain thyme,

A’ the moorland perfuming!
To our dear native scenes

Let us journey together,
Where glad innocence reigns

'Mang the braes of Balquither.


YE banks and braes o' bonnie Doon,

How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair? How can ye chant, ye little birds,

And I sae weary fu' o' care? Thou'll break my heart, thou warbling bird,

That wanton'st through the flow’ry thorn; Thou mind’st me of departed joys,

Departed never to return.
Oft have I rov'd by bonnie Doon,

To see the rose and woodbine-twine;
And ilka biru sang o' its love,

And fondly sae did I o’mine;
Wi’ lightsome heart, I pu'd a rose,

Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree,
And my fause lover staw my rose,

But ah! he left the thorn wi' me.

ROY'S WIFE. Roy's wife of Aldivalloch,

Roy's wife of Aldivalloch; Wat ye how she cheated me,

As I came o'er the braes of Balloch.

She vow'd, she swore she wad be mine,

She said that she lov'd me best of ony;

[ocr errors]

But oh the fickle, faithless quean,
She's ta’en the car and left her Johnny.

Roy's wife, &c,
Roy's wife of Aldivalloch,

Roy's wife of Aldivalloch;
Wat ye how she cheated me,

As I came o'er the braes of Balloch.
O she was a canty quean,

And weel could dance the Highland walloch,
How happy I, had she been mine,
Or I'd been Roy of Aldivalloch.

Roy's wife, &c.
Roy's wife of Aldivalloch,

Roy's wife of Aldivalloch;
Wat ye how she cheated me,

As I came o'er the braes of Balloch.
Her hair sae fair, her e'en sae clear,

Her wee bit mou', sae sweet and bonny,
To me she ever will be dear,
Tho’ she's forever left her Johnny.

Roy's wife, &c.
Roy's wife of Aldivalloch,

Roy's wife of Aldivalloch;
Wat ye how she cheated me,

As I came o'er the braes of Balloch.
But Roy's age is three times mine,
I think his

days will nae be mony,
And when the carl's dead and gane,
She'll, may be, rue and tak' her Johnny.

Roy's wife, &c.

JESSIE, THE FLOWER O' DUMBLANE. THE sun has gane down o'er the lofty Benlomond, And left the red clouds to preside o'er the scene,


While lanely I stray in the calm simmer gloaming,

To muse on sweet Jessie, the flow'r o' Dumblane. How sweet is the brier wi' its saft faulding blossom,

And sweet is the birk wi’ its mantle о'green,
Yet sweeter an' fairer an' dear to my bosom,
Is lovely young Jessie, the flow'r o' Dumblane,

Is lovely young Jessie, is lovely young Jessie,

Is lovely young Jessie, the flow'r o'Ďumblane. She's modest as ony, an' blyth as she's bonny,

For guileless simplicity marks her its ain, An' far be the villain divested o' feeling, Wha'd blight in its blossom the sweet flow'r o' Dum

blane. Sing on, thou sweet Mavis, thy hymn to the e'ening,

Thou’rt dear to the echoes o’ Calderwood glen, Sae dear to this bossom, sae-artless and winning,

Is charming young Jessie, the flow'r o' Dumblane. How lost were my days, till I met wi' my Jessie,

The sports o' the city seem'd foolish and vain, I ne'er saw a nymph I would ca' my dear lassie, Till charm'd wi' sweet Jessie, the flow'r o' Dum

Tho' mine were the station o' loftiest grandeur,

Amidst its profüsion I'd languish in pain,
An' reckon as naething the height o'its splendor,

If wanting sweet Jessie, the How'r o' Dumblane.

THERE's news from Moidart cam' yestreen,

Will coon gar mony farlie,
For ships of war hae just come in,
And lạnded Royal Charlie;

Come thro' the heather,
Around him gither,

« НазадПродовжити »