Page:The Book of Scottish Song.djvu/431

Rh My heather land, my heather land!

Though fairer lands there be—

Thy gowanie braes in early days

Were gowden ways to me.

Maun life's poor boon gae dark'ning doun,

Nor die whaur it had dawn'd,

But claught a grave ayont the wave,—

Alas, my heather land!

My heather land, my heather land!

Though chilling winter pours

Her freezing breath round fireless hearth,

Whaur breadless misery cowers!

Yet breaks the light that soon shall blight

The godless reivin' hand—

Whaun wither'd tyranny shall reel

Frae our roused heather land.

[ following song is by, but there existed a ditty long before his day which runs somewhat thus:

"This is no my ain house" is often sung, not to its own original tune, but to another old tune called "Deil stick the minister," or "Shantrews."]

is no mine ain house,

I ken by the rigging o't;

Since with my love I've changed vows,

I dinna like the bigging o't.

For now that I'm young Robbie's bride,

And mistress of his fire-side,

Mine ain house I'll like to guide,

And please me with the rigging o't.

Then fareweel to my father's house,

I gang whare love invites me;

The strictest duty this allows,

When love with honour meets me.

When Hymen moulds us into ane,

My Robbie's nearer than my kin,

And to refuse him were a sin,

Sae lang's he kindly treats me.

When I'm in my ain house,

True love shall be at hand aye,

To make me still a prudent spouse,

And let my man command aye;

Avoiding ilka cause of strife,

The common pest of married life

That mak's ane wearied of his wife,

And breaks the kindly band aye.

[ following is a Jacobite version of "This is no my ain house." Whether or not it is older than Ramsay's we cannot say.]

is no my ain house,

I ken by the biggin' o't;

For bow-kail thrave at my door cheek,

And thristles on the riggin' o't.

A carle came wi' lack o' grace,

Wi' unco gear and unco face;

And sin' he claim'd my daddie's place

I downa bide the triggin' o't.

O, this is no my ain house, &c.

Wi' routh o' kin, and routh o' reek,

My daddie's door it wadna steek;

But bread and cheese were his door cheek,

And girdle-cakes the riggin' o't.

O, this is no my ain house, &c.

My daddie bigg'd his housie weel,

By dint o' head, and dint o' heel,

By dint o' arm, and dint o' steel,

And muckle weary priggin' o't.

O, this is no my ain house, &c.

Then was it dink, or was it douce,

For ony cringing foreign goose,

To claught my daddie's wee bit house,

And spoil the hamely triggin' o't?

O, this is no my ain house, &c.