The Modern Scottish Minstrel Volume V Part 22

THE BONNIE REDESDALE La.s.sIE.

The breath o' spring is gratefu', As mild it sweeps alang, Awakening bud an' blossom The broomy braes amang, And wafting notes o' gladness Frae ilka bower and tree; Yet the bonnie Redesdale la.s.sie Is sweeter still to me.

How bright is summer's beauty!

When, smilin' far an' near, The wildest spots o' nature Their gayest livery wear; And yellow cups an' daisies Are spread on ilka lea; But the bonnie Redesdale la.s.sie Mair charming is to me.

Oh! sweet is mellow autumn!

When, wide oure a' the plain, Slow waves in rustlin' motion The heavy-headed grain; Or in the suns.h.i.+ne glancin', And rowin' like the sea; Yet the bonnie Redesdale la.s.sie Is dearer far to me!

As heaven itsel', her bosom Is free o' fraud or guile; What hope o' future pleasure Is centred in her smile!

I wadna lose for kingdoms The love-glance o' her e'e; Oh! the bonnie Redesdale la.s.sie Is life and a' to me!

THE MOUNTAINEER'S DEATH.

I pray for you, of your courtesy, before we further move, Let me look back and see the place that I so dearly love.

I am not old in years, yet still, where'er I chanced to roam, The strongest impulse of my heart was ever link'd with home: There saw I first the light of heaven--there, by a mother's knee, In time of infancy and youth, her love supported me: All that I prize on earth is now my aching sight before, And glen and brae, and moorland gray, I'll witness never more.

Beneath yon trees, that o'er the cot their deep'ning shadows fling, My father first reveal'd to me the exile of our king; Upon yon seat beside the door he gave to me his sword, With charge to draw it only for our just and rightful lord.

And I remember when I went, unfriended and alone, Amidst a world I never loved--ay! yonder is the stone At which my mother, bending low, for me did heaven implore-- Stone, seat and tree are dear to me--I'll see them never more!

Yon hawthorn bower beside the burn I never shall forget; Ah! there my dear departed maid and I in rapture met: What tender aspirations we breathed for other's weal!

How glow'd our hearts with sympathy which none but lovers feel!

And when above our hapless Prince the milk-white flag was flung, While hamlet, mountain, rock, and glen with martial music rung, We parted there; from her embrace myself I wildly tore; Our hopes were vain--I came again, but found her never more.

Oh! thank you for your gentleness--now stay one minute still; There is a lone and quiet spot on yonder rising hill; I mark it, and the sight revives emotions strong and deep-- There, lowly laid, my parents in the dust together sleep.

And must I in a land afar from home and kindred lie?

Forbid it, heaven! and hear my prayer--'tis better now to die!

My limbs grow faint--I fain would rest--my eyes are darkening o'er; Slow flags my breath; now, this is death--adieu, for evermore!

WILLIAM CAMERON.

William Cameron was born on the 3d December 1801, in the parish of Dunipace, and county of Stirling. His father was employed successively in woollen factories at Dumfries, Dalmellington, and Dunipace. He subsequently became proprietor of woollen manufactories at Slamannan, Stirlings.h.i.+re, and at Blackburn and Torphichen, in the county of Linlithgow. While receiving an education with a view to the ministry, the death of his father in 1819 was attended with an alteration in his prospects, and he was induced to accept the appointment of schoolmaster at the village of Armadale, parish of Bathgate. In 1836 he resigned this situation, and removed to Glasgow, where he has since prosperously engaged in mercantile concerns. Of the various lyrics which have proceeded from his pen, "Jessie o' the Dell" is an especial favourite.

The greater number of his songs, arranged with music, appear in the "Lyric Gems of Scotland," a respectable collection of minstrelsy published in Glasgow.

SWEET JESSIE O' THE DELL.

O bright the beaming queen o' night s.h.i.+nes in yon flow'ry vale, And softly sheds her silver light O'er mountain, path, and dale.

Short is the way, when light 's the heart That 's bound in love's soft spell; Sae I 'll awa' to Armadale, To Jessie o' the Dell, To Jessie o' the Dell, Sweet Jessie o' the Dell; The bonnie la.s.s o' Armadale, Sweet Jessie o' the Dell.

We 've pu'd the primrose on the braes Beside my Jessie's cot, We 've gather'd nuts, we 've gather'd slaes, In that sweet rural spot.

The wee short hours danced merrily, Like lambkins on the fell; As if they join'd in joy wi' me And Jessie o' the Dell.

There's nane to me wi' her can vie, I 'll love her till I dee; For she's sae sweet and bonnie aye, And kind as kind can be.

This night in mutual kind embrace, Oh, wha our joys may tell; Then I 'll awa' to Armadale, To Jessie o' the Dell.

MEET ME ON THE GOWAN LEA.

Meet me on the gowan lea, Bonnie Mary, sweetest Mary; Meet me on the gowan lea, My ain, my artless Mary.

Before the sun sink in the west, And nature a' hae gane to rest, There to my fond, my faithful breast, Oh, let me clasp my Mary.

Meet me on the gowan lea, Bonnie Mary, sweetest Mary; Meet me on the gowan lea, My ain, my artless Mary.

The gladsome lark o'er moor and fell, The lintie in the bosky dell, Nae blyther than your bonnie sel', My ain, my artless Mary.

Meet me, &c.

We 'll join our love notes to the breeze That sighs in whispers through the trees, And a' that twa fond hearts can please Will be our sang, dear Mary.

Meet me, &c.

There ye shall sing the sun to rest, While to my faithfu' bosom prest; Then wha sae happy, wha sae blest, As me and my dear Mary.

Meet me, &c.

MORAG'S FAIRY GLEN.

Ye ken whar yon wee burnie, love, Rins roarin' to the sea, And tumbles o'er it's rocky bed, Like spirit wild and free.

The mellow mavis tunes his lay, The blackbird swells his note, And little robin sweetly sings Above the woody grot.

There meet me, love, by a' unseen, Beside yon mossy den, Oh, meet me, love, at dewy eve, In Morag's fairy glen; Oh, meet me, love, at dewy eve, In Morag's fairy glen.

Come when the sun, in robes of gold, Sinks o'er yon hills to rest, An' fragrance floating in the breeze Comes frae the dewy west.

And I will pu' a garland gay, To deck thy brow sae fair; For many a woodbine cover'd glade An' sweet wild flower is there.

There 's music in the wild cascade, There 's love amang the trees, There 's beauty in ilk bank and brae, An' balm upon the breeze; There 's a' of nature and of art, That maistly weel could be; An' oh, my love, when thou art there, There 's bliss in store for me.

OH! DINNA CROSS THE BURN, WILLIE.