Page:The Book of Scottish Song.djvu/527

Rh He'll no wake, he'll no wake,

He'll no wake wi' Annie, O.

Nor sit his lane o'er night wl' ane

Sae thraward an' uncanny, O!

The night it was a simmer night,

An' oh! the glen was lanely, O,

For just ae sternie's gowden e'e

Peep'd o'er the hill serenely, O.

The twa are in the flow'ry heath,

Ayont the muir sae flowy, O,

An' but ae plaid between them baith,

An' wasna that right dowie, O?

He maun wake, he maun wake,

He maun wake wi' Annie, O;

An' sit his lane o'er night wi' ane

Sae thraward an' uncanny, O!

Neist morning at his mother's knee

He blest her love unfeign'dly, O;

An' aye the tear fell frae his e'e,

An' aye he clasp'd her kindly, O.

"Of a' my griefs I've got amends,

In yon wild glen sae grassy, O;

A woman only woman kens,—

Your skill has won my lassie, O.

I'll aye wake, I'll aye wake,

I'll aye wake wi' Annie, O,

An' sit my lane ilk night wi' ane

Sae sweet, sae kind, an' canny, O!"

[.]

! thou land of the mountain and rock,

Of the ocean, the mist, and the wind—

Thou land of the torrent, the pine, and the oak,

Of the roebuck, the hart, and the hind:

Though bare are thy cliffs, and though barren thy glens,

Though bleak thy dun islands appear,

Yet kind are the hearts, and undaunted the clans,

That roam on these mountains so drear!

A foe from abroad, or a tyrant at home,

Could never thy ardour restrain;

The marshall'd array of imperial Rome

Essay'd thy proud spirit in vain!

Firm seat of religion, of valour, of truth,

Of genius unshackled and free,

The muses have left all the vales of the south,

My loved Caledonia, for thee!

Sweet land of the bay and the wild-winding deeps

Where loveliness slumbers at even,

While far in the depth of the blue water sleeps

A calm little motionless heaven!

Thou land of the valley, the moor, and the hill,

Of the storm and the proud rolling wave—

Yes, thou art the land of fair liberty still,

And the land of my forefathers' grave!

[ twenty years ago, this was a popular street song. It was written by the to the tune of "Braes of Tullimet."]

ye gang wi' me, lassie,

To the braes o' Birniebouzle?

Baith the yird an' sea, lassie,

Will I rob to fend ye.

I'll hunt the otter an' the brock,

The hart, the hare, an' heather cock,

An' pu' the limpet aff the rock,

To batten an' to mend ye.

If ye'll gang wi' me lassie,

To the braes o' Birniebouzle,

Till the day you dee, lassie,

Want shall ne'er come near ye.

The peats I'll carry in a scull,

The cod an' ling wi' hooks I'll pull,

An' reave the eggs o' mony a gull,

To please my dainty dearie.

Sae canty will we be, lassie,

At the braes o' Birniebouzle,

Donald Gun and me, lassie,

Ever sail attend ye.

Though we ha'e nowther milk nor meal,

Nor lamb nor mutton, beef nor veal,

We'll fank the porpy and the seal,

And that's the way to fend ye.

An' ye sall gang sae braw, lassie,

At the kirk o' Birniebouzle,

Wi' littit brogues an' a', lassie,

Wow but ye'll be vaunty!