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THE TEARS I SHED MUST EVER FALL.
Mes. DUGALD STEWART, wife of the philosopher. From “Johnson's
The tears I shed must ever fall,
I mourn not for an absent swain ;
And parted lovers meet again.
Their toils are past, their sorrows o'er ;
And death shall join to part no more.
Though boundless oceans rolld between,
If certain that his death is near,
Soft is the sigh and sweet the tear.
Can gild the horrors of the gloom.
But bitter, bitter are the tears
Of her who slighted love bewails;
No pleasing melancholy hails.
Of blasted hope, of wither'd joy ;
The flame of love burns to destroy.
In vain does memory renew
The hours once tinged in transport's dye ;
And turns the past to agony.
Those pangs to every feeling due :
To win a heart and break it too !
No cold approach, no alter'd mien,
Just what would make suspicion start;
heart. * From hope, the wretched's anchor, torn ;
Neglected and neglecting all,
The tears I shed must ever fall.
Oh, weel may the boatie row,
And better may she speed;
That wins the bairns' bread.
The boatie rows indeed ;
That wins the bairns' bread.
I coost my line in Largo Bay,
And fishes I caught nine;
And three to bait the line. * The first four lines of the last stanza are by Burns.-C. R.
And when wi' age we're worn down,
And hirpling round the door,
As we did them before.
That wins the bairns' bread,
That with the boatie speed !
The author of this song, Mr. John Ewen, ironmonger in Aberdeen, died on the 21st October, 1821, in his eightieth year. He bequeathed his fortune of £16,000 to found and endow an hospital for children at Montrose, of which place he was a native. In this settlement he entirely overlooked his daughter, who married, as he thought imprudently. An action was raised for the reduction of the will; it was carried in the House of Lords.-C.R.
From “ Johnson's Museum," 1787. Air—"The Ewe-Bughts."
Will ye gang to the Highlands wi' me ?
My bride and my darling to be ?”
dinna ken me;
A chieftain o' high degree."
She has kilted them up to the knee,
His bride and his darling to be.
There is another and more modern version of this song by Mr. Robert Gilfillan, which appears in some collections of Scottish songs,
AULD ROBIN GRAY.*
LADY ANNE LINDSAY.
YOUNG Jamie lo'ed me weel, and he sought me for his bride,
mither she fell sick, and the cow was stown awa', My father brak his arm, and my Jamie at the sea, And auld Robin Gray cam' a-courting to me. My father cou'dna work, and my mither cou'dna spin ; I toil'd baith day and night, but their bread I cou'dna win ; Auld Rob maintain'd them baith, and wi' tears in his ee Said, Jeanie, for their sakes, oh, will you marry me? My heart it said nay; I look'd for Jamie back ; But the wind it blew high, and the ship it proved a wreck; The ship it proved a wreck,—why didna Jeanie die ? And why do I live to say, Oh, waes me ! My father urged me sair ; my mither didna speak, But she look'd in my face till my heart was like to break; So they gied him my hand, though my heart was at the sea, And auld Robin Gray is gudeman to me. I hadna been a wife a week but only four, When sitting sae mournfully ae day at the door, saw my
Jamie's wraith, for I cou'dna think it he, Until he said, Jeanie, I'm come to marry thee.
*“This pathetic ballad, of which the authorship was long a mystery, was written by Lady Anne Lindsay, daughter of the Earl of Balcarras, and afterwards Lady Barnard. It appears to have been composed at the commencement of the year 1772, when the author was yet a young girl. It was published anonymously, and acquired great popularity. No one, however, came forward to lay claim to the laurels lavished upon it; and a literary controversy sprung up to decide the authorship. Many conjectured that it was as old as the days of David Rizzio, if not composed by that unfortunate minstrel himself; while others considered it of a much later date. The real author was, however, suspected; and ultimately, when she was an old woman, Sir Walter Scott received a letter from Lady Anne herself, openly avowing that she had written it. She stated that she had been long suspected by her more intimate friends, and often questioned with respect to the mysterious ballad, but that she had always managed to keep her secret to herself without a direct and absolute denial. She was induced to write the song by a desire to see an old plaintive Scottish air (“ The bridegroom grat when the sun gaed down"), which was a favourite with her, fitted with