CAROLINA OLIPHANT, LADY NAIRNE
THE LAND O' THE LEAL
I'm wearing awa', Jean,
Like snaw when its thaw, Jean,
I'm wearing awa'
To the land o' the leal.1
There's nae sorrow there, Jean,
There's neither cauld nor care, Jean,
The day is aye fair
In the land o' the leal.
HE'S OWER THE HILLS THAT I LO'E WEEL
HE'S Ower the hills that I lo’e weel,
He's ower the hills we daurna name;
He's ower the hills ayont Dunblane,
Wha soon will get his welcome hame.
1 Loyal.
My faither's gane to fecht for him,
My brithers winna bide at hame;
My mither greets and prays for them,
And, 'deed, she thinks they're no to blame.
The Whigs may scoff, the Whigs may jeer,
But ah! that love maun be sincere
Which still keeps true whate'er betide,
And for his sake leaves a' beside.
His right these hills, his right these plains;
O'er Hieland hearts secure he reigns;
What lads e'er did our lads will do;
Were I a laddie I'd follow him too.
Sae noble a look, sae princely an air,
Sae gallant and bold, sae young and sae fair;
O did ye but see him ye'd do as we've done;
Hear him but once, to his standard you'll run,
He's ower the hills that I lo'e weel;
He's ower the hills we daurna name;
He's ower the hills ayont Dunblane,
Wha soon will get his welcome hame.
THE AULD HOUSE
Он, the auld house, the auld house!
What though the rooms were wee?
Oh, kind hearts were dwelling there,
And bairnies fu' o' glee!
The wild rose and the jessamine
Still hang upon the wa':
How mony cherished memories
Do they, sweet flowers, reca'!
Oh, the auld laird, the auld laird,
Sae canty, kind, and crouse!
How mony did he welcome to
His ain wee dear auld house!
And the leddy, too, sae genty,
That sheltered Scotland's heir, And clipt a lock wi' her ain hand Frae his lang yellow hair.
The mavis still doth sweetly sing,
The blue-bells sweetly blaw;
The bonnie Earn's clear winding still
But the auld house is awa'.
The auld house, the auld house!
Deserted though ye be,
There ne'er can be a new house
Will seem sae fair to me.
Still flourishing the auld pear tree,
The bairnies liked to see;
And oh, how often they did speir
When ripe they a' wad be!
The voices sweet, the wee bit feet
Aye rinnin' here and there;
The merry shout-oh! whiles we greet
To think we'll hear nae mair.
For they are a' wide scattered now,
Some to the Indies gane,
And ane, alas! to her lang hame;
Not here will meet again.
The kirkyaird! the kirkyaird!
Wi' flowers o' every hue,
Sheltered by the holly's shade,
And the dark sombre yew.
The setting sun, the setting sun,
How glorious it gaed doun!
The cloudy splendour raised our hearts
To cloudless skies abune.
The auld dial, the auld dial,
It tauld how time did pass;
The wintry winds ha'e dung it doun,
Now hid 'mang weeds and grass,
THE Laird o' Cockpen, he's proud and he's great
His mind is ta'en up wi' things o' the State:
He wanted a wife, his braw house to keep;
But favour wi' wooin' was fashious' to seek.
Down by the dyke'-side a lady did dwell;
At his table-head he thought she'd look well-
McClish's ae" daughter o' Clavers-ha' Lee,
A penniless lass wi' a lang pedigree.
His wig was weel pouther'd' and as gude as new;
His waistcoat was white, his coat it was blue;
He put on a ring, a sword, and cocked hat,―
And wha could refuse the Laird wi' a' that!
He took the grey mare, and rade cannily,
And rapped at the yett o' Clavers-ha' Lee:
'Gae tell Mistress Jean to come speedily ben,—
She's wanted to speak to the Laird o' Cockpen.'
Mistress Jean was makin' the elder-flower wine:
'And what brings the Laird at sic a like ime?'
She put aff her apron and on her silk goun,
Her mutch' wi' red ribbons, and gaed awa doun.
And when she cam' ben he bowed fu' low;
And what was his errand he soon let her know.
Amazed was the Laird when the lady said 'Na’;—
And wi' a laigh curtsey she turn'd awa'.
Dumfounder'd was he; but nae sigh did he gi'e,
He mounted his mare, and rade cannily;
And aften he thought as he gaed through the glen,
'She's daft' to refuse the Laird o' Cockpen!'
And now that the Laird his exit had made,
Mistress Jean she reflected on what she had said;
'Oh, for ane I'll get better its waur 10 I'll get ten,
I was daft to refuse the Laird o' Cockpen.'
Next time that the Laird and the lady were seen,
They were gaun arm-in-arm to the kirk on the green;
Now she sits in the ha' like a weel-tappit hen,
But as yet there's nae chickens appeared at Cockpen.
O ROWAN1 tree, O rowan tree! thou'lt aye be dear to me!
Intwined thou art wi' mony ties o' hame and infancy.
Thy leaves were aye the first o' spring, thy flowers the
simmer's pride;
There wasna sic3 a bonnie tree in a' the country side.
How fair wert thou in simmer time, wi' a' thy clusters white, How rich and gay thy autumn dress, wi' berries red and
On thy fair stem were mony names which now nae mair I
But they're engraven on my heart-forgot they ne'er can be! O rowan tree!
We sat aneath thy spreading shade, the bairnies round thee
They pu'd thy bonnie berries red, and necklaces they strang. My mother! O I see her still, she smiled our sports to see, Wi' little Jeanie on her lap, and Jamie at her knee.
O there arose my father's prayer, in holy evening's calm; How sweet was then my mother's voice in the Martyr's psalm!
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