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MY NATIVE LAND SAE FAR AWA.

(JOHNSON'S MUSEUM, 1796.)

O SAD and heavy, should I part,
But for her sake, sae far awa;
Unknowing what my way may thwart,
My native land sae far awa.

Thou that of a' things Maker art,
That formed this Fair sae far awa,
Gie body strength, then I'll ne'er start,
At this my way sae far awa. *

How true is love to pure desert!

Like mine for her sae far awa';

And nocht shall heal my bosom's smart, nothing
While, oh, she is sae far awa!

Nane other love, nane other dart,

I feel but her's sae far awa;

But fairer never touched a heart

Than her's, the Fair, sae far awa.

20

[This song would almost pass for one of the series composed at this period in reference to the author's parting with Clarinda. Others have been pressed into the same service by some of the poet's editors, such as "My Nannie's Awa," "Wandering Willie," &c.; but the dates of these are considerably later, as may be ascertained from the Thomson correspondence. The air to which this in the text is set in the Museum, is called "Dalkeith Maiden Bridge," from Aird's collection.] (See our note on Wandering Willie."-J. H.)

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* Grant bodily strength, then I shall not be startled at the length of way I have to go to see her, however far away she may be.-J. H.

LINES ON FERGUSSON, THE POET.

(CHAMBERS, 1852.)

ILL-FATED genius! Heaven-taught Fergusson,
What heart that feels and will not yield a tear,
To think Life's sun did set e'er well begun
To shed its influence on thy bright career.

O why should truest Worth and Genius pine
Beneath the iron grasp of Want and Woe,
While titled knaves and idiot-Greatness shine

In all the splendor Fortune can bestow?

[Chambers assigns this little effusion to the early portion of 1792, and informs us that the poet had inscribed the lines on a blank leaf of a publication, called The World, which we find he ordered from Peter Hill on 2nd February 1790.]

I DO CONFESS THOU ART SAE FAIR.

ALTERATION OF AN OLD POEM.

(JOHNSON'S MUSEUM, 1792.)

I DO confess thou art sae fair,

I wad been o'er the lugs in love,

Had I na found the slightest prayer

That lips could speak thy heart could move :

I do confess thee sweet, but find

Thou art so thriftless o' thy sweets,

Thy favors are the silly wind

That kisses ilka thing it meets.

See yonder rosebud, rich in dew,
Amang its native briers sae coy;
How sune it tines its scent and hue,
When pu'd and worn a common toy;

ears

every

loses

pulled

Sic fate ere lang shall thee betide,

Tho' thou may gaily bloom awhile;
And sune thou shalt be thrown aside,

Like ony common weed and vile.

[In his Glenriddell Notes the Poet says:-"This song is altered from a poem by Sir Robert Aytoun, private secretary to Mary and Anne, Queens of Scotland. I do think that I have improved the simplicity of the sentiments by giving them a Scots dress." Many readers, however, will prefer the old fashioned quaintness of expression in the original, although it wants the compression and Doric sweetness of Burns's adaptation. The following specimen of the older version will explain this :

I do confess thee sweet, yet find

Thee such an unthrift of thy sweets,
Thy favors are but like the wind

That kisses every thing it meets;
And since thou canst with more than one
Thou'rt worthy to be kiss'd by none.

The morning rose, untouch'd that stands,
Arm'd with her briars, and sweetly smells,
Once pluck'd and strain'd thro' ruder hands,
No more that sweetness with her dwells;
Her leaves fall from her one by one,
And scent and beauty both are gone."]

THE WEARY PUND O' TOW.

(JOHNSON'S MUSEUM, 1792.)

Chorus-The weary pund, the weary pund,

The weary pund o' tow;

I think my wife will end her life,
Before she spin her tow.

pound

filax-fibre

I bought my wife a stane o' lint, stone flax-stalks
As gude as e'er did grow,

And a' that she has made o' that

Is ae puir pund o' tow,*

The weary pund, &c.

poor

"Tow" is the fibre derived from "lint" or the stalks of the flax-plant, by first steeping them in water and then beating them with a mallet. All that this

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Quoth I, for shame, ye dirty dame,

Gae spin your tap o' tow!t

She took the rock, and wi' a knock,
She brake it o'er my pow,

The weary pund, &c.

At last her feet-I sang to see't!

Gaed foremost o'er the knowe,‡

And or I wad anither jad,

distaff

head

went knoll

before I'd risk

rope

I'll wallop in a tow,

The weary pund, &c.

[This was a favorite subject among the old song writers.

In

a later edition of Herd's Collection (1791) we find the following:

"If my wife and thy wife

Were in a boat thegither,

And yon honest man's wife

Were there to steer the ruther;

And if the boat was bottomless,

And seven miles to row;

We ne'er would wish them back again,

To spin their taps o' tow."

Burns is undoubtedly the author of the version of the song which forms the text. The title and music are taken from Oswald's Caledonian Pocket Companion, Book 8. The tune has been much admired and was selected to suit Mr. Graham of Gartmore's chivalrous words, published by Sir Walter Scott in the Border Minstrelsy. The first verse will indicate the song.

"If doughty deeds my ladye please,
Right soon I'll mount my steed;
And strong his arm and fast his seat,
That bears from me the meed.

wife seemed to have got from a whole stone of "lint" was a single pound of "tow." In reality she had sold or exchanged the rest for whisky. A statutory stone is now 14 lbs., but, in Scotland formerly, it varied for almost every material. In none was it under 16 lbs., in many it was 171⁄2 lbs.-J. H.

* Concealed in a hole behind where the fire burned on the hearth.-J. H.

Tap o' tow, the quantity of flax on the distaff to be spun.-J. H.

She went out in her coffin "feet-foremost," as the Scotch say.—J. H.

I'll wear thy colors in my cap,

Thy picture in my heart;

And he that bends not to thine eye
Shall rue it to his smart.

Chorus.-Then tell me how to woo thee, love,

O tell me how to woo thee!

For thy dear sake, nae care I'll take,
Tho' ne'er another trow me."]

WHEN SHE CAM' BEN SHE BOBBET.

(JOHNSON'S MUSEUM, 1792.)

in

O WHEN she cam' ben she bobbet fu' low, curtseyed O when she cam' ben she bobbet fu' low, And when she cam' ben, she kiss'd Cockpen,' And syne she deny'd she did it ava.

then at all

And was na Cockpen right saucy witha'? And was na Cockpen right saucy witha'? In leaving the daughter o' a lord,

And kissin' a collier lassie an' a'!

O never look down, my lassie, at a',

O never look down, my lassie, at a',
Thy lips are as sweet, and thy figure complete,
As the finest dame in castle or ha'.

Tho' thou hast nae silk, and holland sae sma', Tho' thou hast nae silk, and holland sae sma', Thy coat and thy sark are thy ain handywark, chemise And lady Jean was never sae braw.

[This is certainly more of a dressed-up old ballad than an original song. Such as it is, however, it was destined to give the hint to Lady Nairne, out of which issued her famous ballad

"The Laird o' Cockpen, he's proud and he's great."]

* We have several times indicated that in Scotland a proprietor is addressed by the name of his estate.-J. H.

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