THE LAND O' THE LEAL. I'm wearin' awa', John, Like snaw-wreaths in thaw, John: To the land o' the leal. There's nae sorrow there, John ; There neither cauld nor care, John; The day is aye fair In the land o' the leal. Our bonnie bairn's there, John; She was baith gude and fair, John; And, oh! we grudged her sair To the land o' the leal. But sorrow's sel' wears past, John, And joy's a-comin' fast, JohnThe joy that's aye to last In the land o' the leal. Sae dear's that joy was bought, John, To the land o' the leal. Oh, dry your glist'ning ee, John ! To the land o' the leal. Oh, haud ye leal and true, John! To the land o' the leal. THE LAIRD O' COCKPEN. The Laird o' Cockpen, he's proud an' he's great, His mind is ta'en up wi' the things o' the state; He wanted a wife his braw house to keep, But favour wi' wooin' was fashious to seek. And now that the Laird his exit had made, Mistress Jean she reflected on what she had said; "Oh! for ane I'll get better, it's waur I'll get ten I was daft to refuse the Laird o' Cockpen." Next time that the Laird and the Lady were seen, When the creel o' herrin' passes, They were gaun arm-in-arm to the kirk Gow has set you a' a-singin'. Wha'll buy caller herrin ? &c. Truth will stand when a' thing's failin'. CALLER HERRIN'. Wha'll buy my caller herrin'? THE LASS O' GOWRIE. They're bonnie fish and halesome farin'; 'Twas on a simmer's afternoon, Wha'll buy my caller herrin', When ye were sleepin' on your pillows, Buy my caller herrin', New drawn frae the Forth. Wha'll buy my caller herrin'? Buy my caller herrin', Haul'd thro' wind and rain. Wha'll buy caller herrin'? &c. Wha'll buy my caller herrin'? Wha'll buy caller herrin'? &c. A wee afore the sun gaed doun, Cam ower the hills to Gowrie. That e'er was seen in Gowrie. To see her cousin she cam' there, O lang the lassie I had woo'd, I pointed to my father's ha', The last two stanzas were added by Miss Sae loun' that there nae blast could blaw, Ferrier, the authoress of Marriage. Wad she no bide in Gowrie? Her faither was baith glad and wae ; She whiles did smile, she whiles did greet, HUNTINGTOWER. When ye gang awa', Jamie, When ye gang awa', laddie, What will ye gi'e my heart to cheer, When ye are far awa', Jamie? I'll gi'e ye a braw new goun, Jeanie, I'll gi'e ye a braw new goun, lassie, An' it will be a silken ane, Wi' Valenciennes trimm'd round, O that's nae luve at a', laddie, But mind me when awa', Jamie, Oh! that can never be, Jeanie, The hills are grand and hie, Jeanie, The burnies rinnin' clear, lassie, 'Mang birks and braes, where the wild deer strays, Oh come wi' me and see, lassie ! I winna gang wi' thee, laddie, Jeanie, But when ye're wed to me, Then they will forgi'e, lassie ; How can ye be sae cauld to me, Wha's lo'ed ye weel and lang, lassie ! No sae lang as them, laddie, No sae lang as them, Jamie; A grief to them I wadna be, No for the Duke himsel', Jamie. We'll save our penny fee, laddie, Huntingtower is mine, lassie, THE HUNDRED PIPERS. Wi' a hundred pipers an' a', an' a', Wi' a hundred pipers an' a', an' a', We'll up and gie them a blaw, a blaw, Wi' a hundred pipers an' a', an' a'. Oh it's ower the Border awa', awa', It's ower the Border awa', awa', We'll on and we'll march to Carlisle ha', Wi' its yetts, its castell, an' a', an' a'. Oh! our sodger lads looked braw, looked braw, Wi' their tartans, kilts, an a', an' a', ing gear, An' pibrochs sounding sweet and clear. Will they a' return to their ain dear glen? Will they a' return, our Highland men? Second-sighted Sandy looked fu' wae, And mothers grat when they marched away. Wi' a hundred pipers, &c. Oh wha is foremost o' a', o' a'? Bonnie Charlie the king o' us a', hurrah! The Esk was swollen sae red and sae deep, But shouther to shouther the brave lads keep : Twa thousands swam ower to fill English We sat aneath thy spreading shade, the An' says the ane unto the ither, bairnies round thee ran, They pu'd thy bonny berries red, and necklaces they strang; My mother! oh! I see her still, she her knee! Oh! Rowan Tree. Oh! there arose my father's prayer, in holy evening's calm, What do you see, my good brither? I see some pickles o' guid strae The snaw will come an' cour the grund, How sweet was then my mother's voice, O lang he thocht and lang he luiket, An' aye his wise-like head he shook it ; Now a' are gane! we meet nae mair I see, I see, what ne'er should be, aneath the Rowan Tree; But hallowed thoughts around thee twine, o' hame and infancy. Oh! Rowan Tree. THE TWA DOOS. There were twa doos sat in a dookit; I see what's seen by mair than me. Wae's me, there's thochtless, lang Tam Aye spending what he's no to pay; When we were young it was na sae ; JAMES HOGG. 1770-1835. THE Ettrick Shepherd is as distinct, original, and thoroughly national an individuality in Scottish literature as any that can be named, and though not the greatest, is one of the most spontaneous geniuses that it has produced. If his conceptions of proportion, symmetry, and perspective, were equal to the luxuriance of his imagination and command of language, his poetic rank would have been much higher. A somewhat similar want of balance marks his career in life, of which a large proportion must be attributed to defective education and training; yet, taking him all in all, we could hardly wish, were it in our power, to improve him-his very foibles add a charm to his character. James Hogg's birthday is unknown; and he himself, with characteristic sim |