The Modern Scottish Minstrel Volume Ii Part 18

O! Are ye sleeping, Maggie?

O! are ye sleeping, Maggie?

Let me in, for loud the linn Is roaring o'er the warlock craigie.

Mirk and rainy is the night, No a starn in a' the carry;[84]

Lightnings gleam athwart the lift, And winds drive wi' winter's fury.

O! are ye sleeping, Maggie? &c.

Fearful soughs the bourtree bank, The rifted wood roars wild and dreary, Loud the iron yate does clank, And cry of howlets makes me eerie.

O! are ye sleeping, Maggie? &c.

Aboon my breath I daurna' speak, For fear I rouse your waukrife daddie, Cauld 's the blast upon my cheek, O rise, rise, my bonny lady!

O! are ye sleeping, Maggie? &c.

She opt the door, she let him in, He cuist aside his dreeping plaidie: "Blaw your warst, ye rain and win', Since, Maggie, now I 'm in aside ye."

Now, since ye 're waking, Maggie!

Now, since ye 're waking, Maggie!

What care I for howlet's cry, For bourtree bank, or warlock craigie?

[84] This expression commonly means, the direction in which the clouds are carried by the wind, but it is here used to denote the firmament.

NOW WINTER, WI' HIS CLOUDY BROW.

AIR--_"Forneth House."_

Now Winter, wi' his cloudy brow, Is far ayont yon mountains; And Spring beholds her azure sky Reflected in the fountains: Now, on the budding slaethorn bank, She spreads her early blossom, And wooes the mirly-breasted birds To nestle in her bosom.

But lately a' was clad wi' snaw, Sae darksome, dull, and dreary; Now laverocks sing to hail the spring, And Nature all is cheery.

Then let us leave the town, my love, And seek our country dwelling, Where waving woods, and spreading flowers, On every side are smiling.

We 'll tread again the daisied green, Where first your beauty moved me; We 'll trace again the woodland scene, Where first ye own'd ye loved me; We soon will view the roses blaw In a' the charms of fancy, For doubly dear these pleasures a', When shared with thee, my Nancy.

THE DEAR HIGHLAND LADDIE, O!

GAELIC AIR--_"Mor nian a Ghibarlan."_

Blithe was the time when he fee'd wi' my father, O!

Happy were the days when we herded thegither, O!

Sweet were the hours when he row'd me in his plaidie, O!

And vow'd to be mine, my dear Highland laddie, O!

But, ah! waes me! wi' their sodgering sae gaudy, O!

The laird's wys'd awa my braw Highland laddie, O!

Misty are the glens, and the dark hills sae cloudy, O!

That aye seem'd sae blythe wi' my dear Highland laddie, O!

The blaeberry banks now are lonesome and dreary, O!

Muddy are the streams that gush'd down sae clearly, O!

Silent are the rocks that echoed sae gladly, O!

The wild melting strains o' my dear Highland laddie, O!

He pu'd me the crawberry, ripe frae the boggy fen: He pu'd me the strawberry, red frae the foggy glen; He pu'd me the row'n frae the wild steeps sae giddy, O!

Sae loving and kind was my dear Highland laddie, O!

Fareweel, my ewes, and fareweel, my doggie, O!

Fareweel, ye knowes, now sae cheerless and scroggie, O!

Fareweel, Glenfeoch, my mammy and my daddie, O!

I will leave you a' for my dear Highland laddie, O!

THE MIDGES DANCE ABOON THE BURN.

AIR--_"The Shepherd's Son."_

The midges dance aboon the burn, The dews begin to fa'; The pairtricks down the rushy holm, Set up their e'ening ca'.

Now loud and clear the blackbirds' sang Rings through the briery shaw, While flitting, gay, the swallows play Around the castle wa'.

Beneath the golden gloamin' sky, The mavis mends her lay, The redbreast pours his sweetest strains, To charm the ling'ring day.

While weary yeldrins seem to wail, Their little nestlings torn; The merry wren, frae den to den, Gaes jinking through the thorn.

The roses fauld their silken leaves, The foxglove shuts its bell, The honeysuckle and the birk Spread fragrance through the dell Let others crowd the giddy court Of mirth and revelry-- The simple joys that Nature yields Are dearer far to me.

BARROCHAN JEAN.[85]

AIR--_"Johnnie M'Gill."_

'Tis haena ye heard, man, o' Barrochan Jean?

And haena ye heard, man, o' Barrochan Jean?

How death and starvation came o'er the hail nation, She wrought sic mischief wi' her twa pawky e'en.

The lads and the la.s.ses were deeing in dizzins, The tane kill'd wi' love and the t.i.ther wi' spleen; The ploughing, the sawing, the shearing, the mawing, A' wark was forgotten for Barrochan Jean!