O the deil's in the lasses! they gang now sae bra' They'll lie down wi' auld men o' fourscore nd twa; The hale o' their marriage is gowd and a carriage; Plain luve is the cauldest blast now that can blaw! VALOUR SHIELDS THE BRAVE.* Air.-An old Gaelic tune. J. HARK!-hark! the sound of batttle! A. Never!-never mair to tell When freedom fought !-where valour fell! Toll warriors to the grave! J. Awa wi' fear!-stop that tear! True valour shields the brave! II. A. Whar shields the helpless? Johnnie, Sever'd frae the brave! * Written during the prospect of an immediate invasion. The song represents the parting between a husband and wife, on the first signal of the enemy's approach. Wha smiles to banish fear? Wha remains to stop the tear? J. Faithful love, and heaven's kind care, My Annie's peace will save! Free Britons scorn the slave ! III. A. Gang-gang! then, dearest Johnnie! This warm kiss before you start! IV. Wi' trembling hand, and heart sair knockin, The trumpet blew! the warrior flew; Cried, Victory, or the Grave! Then, Tyrant, dread! to conquest led Blest Freedom! shield the brave! THE AULD WIFE'S LAMENT.-1804. Air.-A rock, and a wee pickle tow. THIS warld o' ours has been lang in a low!- Our spinning, God help us! is no ganging right; Our men they're for fighting; our women tak fright; We're vap'ring a' day; and we're blind-fou at night: -But wha yet has heard o' the winning o't? They crack o' our trade, and they crack o' our walth; They brag o' our mills that are spinning o't; But, spite o' our boasting, and spite o' our pelf, Our wabsters are breaking, our looms they stand still! Our lads doing little but tending the drill!— I doubt if e'en lairds now their pouches can fill-Oh, hon! for the wearie beginning o't! They're plenty, nae doubt, who can haud their head high, And ay wad be thought to be winning o't; Oh-oh! for the time when we sat at our wheel, A canty fire-side, and a cap o' good ale, We're wishing to see our French friends unco soon? We'll neither see end nor beginning o't! Yet think na, my lads, ye are yet to lie by !— When folk are sair put, they maun e'en ride and tie;' Its better than gi' up the spinning o't: Then up wi' your muskets, and up wi' your might! O JOHNIE! CAN YOU PITY ONY. Air.-Katey, will ye marry Patie.* O JOHNIE! can you pity ony! Owre lang hae I pin'd in sorrow! Then tak your smiles and fause deceiving, Yet ae word before our parting, Gin your hearts no turn'd to stane, *This is an attempt to show that many of our Seottish airs hitherto accounted lively, are (if sung slow and accompanied with appropriate words) likewise favourable for the tender or the pathetic. |