THE HIGHLAND LADDIE. ALLAN RAMSAY. From the "Tea-Table Miscellany." THE Lawland lads think they are fine, My handsome, charming Highland laddie; If I were free at will to choose To be the wealthiest Lawland lady, The brawest beau in burrows town, O'er benty hill wi' him I'll run, And leave my Lawland kin and daddie ; Frae winter's cauld and summer's sun He'll screen me wi' his Highland plaidie. A painted room and silken bed May please a Lawland laird and lady ; But I can kiss and be as glad Behind a bush in's Highland plaidie. Few compliments between us pass; Nae greater joy I'll e'er pretend Than that his love prove true and steady, Like mine to him, which ne'er shall end While Heaven preserves my Highland laddie. O my bonnie, &c. OWER THE MUIR TO MAGGY. ALLAN RAMSAY. From the "Tea-Table Miscellany." I'LL Ower the muir to Maggy; If she love mirth, I'll learn to sing; If she admire a martial mind, If to the softer dance inclined, Beauty can wonders work with ease, AN' THOU WERE MY AIN THING. AN' thou were my ain thing, I would lo'e thee, I would lo'e thee; An' thou were my ain thing, How dearly would I lo'e thee! My passion, constant as the sun, Flames stronger still, will ne'er have done Till fates my thread of life have spun, Like bees that suck the morning dew Sae wad I dwell upo' thy mou', And gar the gods envy mc. An' thou were, &c. Sae lang's I had the use of light, How fair and ruddy is my Jean, I'd grasp thee to this breast of mine, An' thou were, &c. Time's on the wing, and will not stay; Oh, let nae scorn undo thee. While love does at his altar stand, This song appears in Allan Ramsay's "Tea-Table Miscellany," with the signature X., indicating that he did not know who the author was. The air is very beautiful, and is traced to as early a period as 1627, but is supposed to be much older. The last six stanzas were written by Allan Ramsay, and appended to the original song. BARBARA ALLAN. ANONYMOUS. From the "Tea-Table Miscellany." It was in and about the Martinmas time, He sent his man down through the town Oh, hooly, hooly, rase she up To the place where he was lyin', It's oh I'm sick, I'm very very sick, Oh, dinna ye mind, young man, she said, He turn'd his face unto the wa', And be kind to Barbara Allan. And slowly, slowly rose she up, She hadna gane a mile but twa, When she heard the deid-bell ringin', Oh, mother, mother, mak' my bed, A version of this celebrated old song has been inserted in Percy's "Reliques of Ancient English Poetry;" but it seems to be generally acknowledged that the Scottish is the original, upon which the English has been founded, without being improved. The author of the song is unknown. The world is indebted to Allan Ramsay for its preservation. |