Oh, it's not my ain ruin That saddens aye my ee, The bud comes back to summer, And the blossom to the tree; I'm leal to the high Heaven, Which will be leal to me; HAME, HAME, HAME! ALAAN CUNNINGHAM. From Cromek's "Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song." HAME, hame, hame! oh, hame fain wad I be ! Oh, hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie! When the flower is i' the bud, and the leaf is on the tree, Hame, hame, hame! oh, hame fain wad I be! The green leaf o' loyaltie's beginning now to fa'; Hame, hame, hame! oh, hame fain wad I be ! Oh, there's nocht now frae ruin my countrie can save, The great now are gane wha attempted to save, Hame, hame, hame! oh, hame fain wad I be ! FAREWELL TO BONNIE TEVIOTDALE. THOMAS PRINGLE, born 1789, died 1834. OUR native land, our native vale, And Cheviot's mountains blue! Farewell, ye hills of glorious deeds, Farewell the blythesome broomy knowes O'erhung with birk and sloe! The mossy cave and mouldering tower The martyr's grave and lover's bower Home of our love, our fathers' home, Land of the brave and free, The sail is flapping on the foam That bears us far from thee! In winter, when the rain rain'd cauld, And Boreas wi' his blasts sae bauld Was threat'nin' a' our kye to kill; Then Bell my wife, wha lo'es nae strife, My Crummie is a usefu' cow, And I am laith that she should tyne : Get up, gudeman, it is fu' time, The sun shines frae the lift sae hie; Sloth never made a gracious end,Gae, tak' your auld cloak about ye. My cloak was ance a gude grey cloak, When it was fitting for my wear; But now it's scantly worth a groat, For I hae worn't this thretty year: Let's spend the gear that we hae won, We little ken the day we'll dee; Then I'll be proud, since I hae sworn To hae a new cloak about me. In days when our king Robert rang, His trews they cost but half-a-croun, He said they were a groat ower dear, And ca'd the tailor thief and loon. He was the king that wore the croun, And thou the man of laigh degree: It's pride puts a' the country doun, Sae tak' your auld cloak about ye. Ilka land has its ain lauch, Ilk kind o' corn has its ain hool; I think the warld has a' gane wrang, When ilka wife her man wad rule. Do ye no see Rob, Jock, and Hab, As they are girded gallantlie, While I sit huyklin i' the asse?— I'll hae a new cloak about me. Gudeman, I wat it's thretty year |