Auld Robin Gray
When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hame,
And a' the warld tae rest are gane,
The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my e'e,
While my gudeman lies sound by me.
Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and sought me for his bride;
But saving a croun he had naething else beside:
Tae make the croun a pund, young Jamie gaed tae sea;
And the croun and the pund were baith for me.
He hadna been awa' a week but only twa,
When my father brak his arm, and the cow was stown awa;
My mother she fell sick,—and my Jamie at the sea—
And auld Robin Gray came a-courtin' me.
My father couldna work, and my mother couldna spin;
I toil't day and night, but their bread I couldna win;
Auld Rob maintain'd them baith, and wi' tears in his e'e
Said, 'Jennie, for their sakes, O, marry me!'
My heart it said nay; I look'd for Jamie back;
But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a wrack;
His ship it was a wrack—Why didna Jamie dee?
Or why do I live tae cry, Wae 's me?
My father urged me sair: my mother didna speak;
But she look'd in my face till my heart was like tae break:
They gi'ed him my hand, tho' my heart was in the sea;
Sae auld Robin Gray he was gudeman tae me.
I hadna been a wife a week but only four,
When mournfu' as I sat on the stane at the door,
I saw my Jamie's wraith,—for I couldna think it he,
Till he said, 'I'm come hame tae marry thee.'
O sair, sair did we greet, and muckle did we say;
We took but ae kiss, and we tore ourselves away:
I wish that I were dead, but I'm no like tae dee;
And why was I born tae say, Wae 's me!
I gang like a ghaist, and I carena tae spin;
I daurna think on Jamie, for that wad be a sin;
But I'll do my best a gude wife aye tae be,
For auld Robin Gray he is kind untae me.
poem by Lady Anne Barnard
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Little Jamie
Ither laddies may ha's finer claes, and may be better fed,
But nane o' them a'has sic a bonnie curly heid,
O sie a blythe blink in their e'e,
As my ain curly fair-hair'd laddie, Little Jamie.
When I gang oot tae tak' a walk wi' him, alang the Magdalen Green,
It mak's my heart feel lichtsome tae see him sae sharp and keen,
And he pu's the wee gowans, and gie's them to me,
My ain curly fair-hair'd laddie, Little Jamie.
When he rises in the mornin' an' gets oot o' bed,
He says, mither, mind ye'll need tae toast my faither's bread.
For he aye gie's me a bawbee;
He's the best little laddie that ever I did see,
My ain curly fair-hair'd laddie, Little Jamie.
When I gang oot tae tak' a walk alang the streets o' Dundee,
And views a' the little laddies that I chance to see,
Nane o' them a' seems sae lovely to me,
As my ain curly fair-hair'd laddie, Little Jamie.
The laddie is handsome and fair to be seen,
He has a bonnie cheerie mou', and taw blue e'en,
And he prattles like an auld grandfaither richt merrily;
He's the funniest little laddie that ever I did see,
My ain curly fair-hair'd Iaddie, Little Jamie.
Whene'er that he kens I am coming hame frae my wark,
He runs oot tae meet me as cheerful as the lark,
And he says, faither, I'm wanting just a'e bawbee,
My ain curly fair-hair'd laddie, Little Jamie.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bide A Wee
'The puir auld folk at home, ye mind,
Are frail and failing sair;
And weel I ken they'd miss me, lad,
Gin I come hame nae mair.
The grist is out, the times are hard,
The kine are only three;
I canna leave the auld folk now.
We'd better bide a wee.
'I fear me sair they're failing baith;
For when I sit apart,
They talk o' Heaven so earnestly,
It well nigh breaks my heart.
So, laddie, dinna urge me now,
It surely winna be;
I canna leave the auld folk yet.
We'd better bide a wee.'
poem by Louisa May Alcott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Jamie Telfer
It fell about the Martinmas tyde,
When our Border steeds get corn and hay
The captain of Bewcastle hath bound him to ryde,
And he's ower to Tividale to drive a prey.
The first ae guide that they met wi',
It was high up Hardhaughswire;
The second guide that we met wi',
It was laigh down in Borthwick water.
'What tidings, what tidings, my trusty guide?'
'Nae tidings, nae tidings, I hae to thee;
But, gin ye'll gae to the fair Dodhead,
Mony a cow's cauf I'll let thee see.'
And whan they cam to the fair Dodhead,
Right hastily they clam the peel;
They loosed the kye out, ane and a',
And ranshackled the house right weel.
Now Jamie Telfer's heart was sair,
The tear aye rowing in his e'e;
He pled wi' the captain to hae his gear,
Or else revenged he wad be.
The captain turned him round and leugh;
Said--'Man, there's naething in thy house,
But ae auld sword without a sheath,
That hardly now wad fell a mouse!'
The sun was na up, but the moon was down,
It was the gryming o' a new fa'n snaw,
Jamie Telfer has run three myles a-foot,
Between the Dodhead and the Stobs's Ha'
And whan he cam to the fair tower yate,
He shouted loud, and cried weel hie,
Till out bespak auld Gibby Elliot--
'Wha's this that brings the fraye to me?'
'It's I, Jamie Telfer o' the fair Dodhead,
And a harried man I think I be!
There's naething left at the fair Dodhead,
But a waefu' wife and bairnies three.
'Gae seek your succour at Branksome Ha'.
For succour ye'se get nane frae me!
Gae seek your succour where ye paid black-mail,
For, man! ye ne'er paid money to me.'
Jamie has turned him round about,
I wat the tear blinded his e'e--
'I'll ne'er pay mail to Elliot again,
And the fair Dodhead I'll never see!
'My hounds may a' rin masterless,
My hawks may fly frae tree to tree;
My lord may grip my vassal lands,
For there again maun I never be.'
He has turned him to the Tiviot side,
E'en as fast as he could drie,
Till he came to the Coultart Cleugh
And there he shouted baith loud and hie.
Then up bespak him auld Jock Grieve--
'Wha's this that brings the fray to me?'
'It's I, Jamie Telfer o' the fair Dodhead,
A harried man I trow I be.
'There's naething left in the fair Dodhead,
But a greeting wife and bairnies three,
And sax poor ca's stand in the sta',
A' routing loud for their minnie.'
'Alack a wae!' quo' auld Jock Grieve,
'Alack! my heart is sair for thee!
For I was married on the elder sister,
And you on the youngest of a' the three.'
Then he has ta'en out a bonny black,
Was right weel fed wi' corn and hay,
And he's set Jamie Telfer on his back,
To the Catslockhill to tak' the fray.
And whan he cam to the Catslockhill,
He shouted loud and weel cried he,
Till out and spak him William's Wat--
'O wha's this brings the fraye to me?'
'It's I, Jamie Telfer o' the fair Dodhead,
A harried man I think I be!
The captain of Bewcastle has driven my gear;
For God's sake rise, and succour me!'
'Alas for wae!' quo' William's Wat,
'Alack, for thee my heart is sair!
I never cam by the fair Dodhead,
That ever I fand thy basket bare.'
He's set his twa sons on coal-black steeds,
Himsel' upon a freckled gray,
And they are on wi, Jamie Telfer,
To Branksome Ha to tak the fray.
And whan they cam to Branksome Ha',
They shouted a' baith loud and hie,
Till up and spak him auld Buccleuch,
Said--'Wha's this brings the fray to me?
'It's I, Jamie Telfer o' the fair Dodhead,
And a harried man I think I be!
There's nought left in the fair Dodhead,
But a greeting wife and bairnies three.'
'Alack for wae!' quoth the gude auld lord,
'And ever my heart is wae for thee!
But fye gar cry on Willie, my son,
And see that he come to me speedilie!
'Gar warn the water, braid and wide,
Gar warn it soon and hastily!
They that winna ride for Telfer's kye,
Let them never look in the face o' me!
'Warn Wat o' Harden, and his sons,
Wi' them will Borthwick water ride;
Warn Gaudilands, and Allanhaugh,
And Gilmanscleugh, and Commonside.
'Ride by the gate at Priesthaughswire,
And warn the Currors o' the Lee;
As ye come down the Hermitage Slack,
Warn doughty Willie o' Gorrinbery.'
The Scots they rade, the Scots they ran,
Sae starkly and sae steadilie!
And aye the ower-word o' the thrang,
Was--'Rise for Branksome readilie!'
The gear was driven the Frostylee up,
Frae the Frostylee unto the plain,
Whan Willie has looked his men before,
And saw the kye right fast driving.
'Wha drives thir kye?' 'gan Willie say,
'To mak an outspeckle o' me?'
'It's I, the captain o' Bewcastle, Willie;
I winna layne my name for thee.'
'O will ye let Telfer's kye gae back,
Or will ye do aught for regard o' me?
Or, by the faith o' my body,' quo' Willie Scott,
'I se ware my dame's cauf's-skin on thee!'
'I winna let the kye gae back,
Neither for thy love, nor yet thy fear,
But I will drive Jamie Telfer's kye,
In spite of every Scot that's here.'
'Set on them, lads!' quo' Willie than,
'Fye, lads, set on them cruellie!
For ere they win to the Ritterford,
Mony a toom saddle there sall be!
But Willie was stricken ower the head,
And through the knapscap the sword has gane;
And Harden grat for very rage,
Whan Willie on the ground lay slain.
But he's ta'en aff his gude steel-cap,
And thrice he's waved it in the air--
The Dinlay snaw was ne'er mair white,
Nor the lyart locks of Harden's hair.
'Revenge! revenge!' auld Wat 'gan cry;
'Fye, lads, lay on them cruellie!
We'll ne'er see Tiviotside again,
Or Willie's death revenged shall be.'
O mony a horse ran masterless,
The splintered lances flew on hie;
But or they wan to the Kershope ford,
The Scots had gotten the victory.
John o' Brigham there was slain,
And John o' Barlow, as I hear say;
And thirty mae o' the captain's men,
Lay bleeding on the grund that day.
The captain was run thro' the thick of the thigh--
And broken was his right leg bane;
If he had lived this hundred year,
He had never been loved by woman again.
'Hae back thy kye!' the captain said;
'Dear kye, I trow, to some they be!
For gin I suld live a hundred years,
There will ne'er fair lady smile on me.'
Then word is gane to the captain's bride,
Even in the bower where that she lay,
That her lord was prisoner in enemy's land,
Since into Tividale he had led the way.
'I wad lourd have had a winding-sheet,
And helped to put it ower his head,
Ere he had been disgraced by the Border Scot,
When he ower Liddel his men did lead!'
There was a wild gallant amang us a',
His name was Watty wi' the Wudspurs,
Cried--'On for his house in Stanegirthside,
If ony man will ride with us!'
When they cam to the Stanegirthside,
They dang wi' trees, and burst the door;
They loosed out a' the captain's kye,
And set them forth our lads before.
There was an auld wife ayont the fire,
A wee bit o' the captain's kin--
'Wha daur loose out the captain's kye,
Or answer to him and his men?'
'It's I, Watty Wudspurs, loose the kye,
I winna layne my name frae thee!
And I will loose out the captain's kye,
In scorn of a' his men and he.'
When they cam to the fair Dodhead,
They were a wellcum sight to see!
For instead of his ain ten milk-kye,
Jamie Telfer has gotten thirty and three.
And he has paid the rescue shot,
Baith wi' goud, and white monie;
And at the burial o' Willie Scott,
I wot was mony a weeping e'e.
poem by Andrew Lang
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Wife Of Usher's Well
There lived a wife at Usher's Well,
And a wealthy wife was she;
She had three stout and stalwart sons,
And sent them oer the sea,
They hadna been a week from her,
A week but barely ane,
When word came to the carline wife
That her three sons were gane.
They hadna been a week from her,
A week but barely three,
Whan word came to the carlin wife
That her sons she'd never see.
'I wish the wind may never cease,
Nor fashes in the flood,
Till my three sons come hame to me,
In earthly flesh and blood!'
It fell about the Martinmass,
Whan nights are lang and mirk,
The carline wife's three sons came hame,
And their hats were o the birk.
It neither grew in syke nor ditch,
Nor yet in ony sheugh;
But at the gates o Paradise
That birk grew fair eneugh.
* * * * *
'Blow up the fire, my maidens!
Bring water from the well;
For a' my house shall feast this night,
Since my three sons are well.'
And she has made to them a bed,
She's made it large and wide;
And she's taen her mantle her about,
Sat down at the bedside.
* * * * *
Up then crew the red, red cock,
And up and crew the gray;
The eldest to the youngest said,
''Tis time we were away.'
The cock he hadna crawd but once,
And clapp'd his wings at a',
Whan the youngest to the eldest said,
'Brother, we must awa.
'The cock doth craw, the day doth daw,
The channerin worm doth chide;
Gin we be mist out o our place,
A sair pain we maun bide.
'Fare ye weel, my mother dear!
Fareweel to barn and byre!
And fare ye weel, the bonny lass
That kindles my mother's fire!'
poem by Andrew Lang
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Jamie
Jamie, what you doing now?
What you doing now girl?
Please, please tell me
Cause I need to know, I need to know now
When I was down, you came to me
And promised you'd always be
By my side, now you're gone
And I'm waiting patiently
Jamie, I want you to know
Jamie, oh Jamie, I'm so glad you're mine
We'll be together a long time
Jamie, what you doing now?
He's dialin' your car phone
Please, please be true
You know that I trust you, do that which you must do
When I was down, you came to me
And promised you'd always be
By my side, now you're gone
And I'm waiting patiently
Jamie, I want you to know
Jamie, oh Jamie, I'm so glad you're mine
We'll be together a long time
You've got the Beach Boys, and your firm's got the Stones
But I know you won't leave me alone
Sometimes it seems you're not with me
It hurts me so much, it hurts me so much
Sometimes it seems you're not with me
It hurts me so much, it hurts me so much
You are the most, you're so rad, you're so fresh
And I'm so glad I am yours, you are mine
Show me where and I will sign
When I was down, you came to me
And promised you'd always be
By my side, now you're gone
And I'm waiting, waiting
Jamie, oh Jamie, I'm so glad you're mine
We'll be together a long time
Jamie, believe me, I won't let you down
Cause you are the best lawyer in town
Sometimes it seems you're not with me
It hurts me so much, it hurts me so much
Sometimes it seems you're not with me
It hurts me so much, it hurts me so much
It hurts me so much, it hurts me so much
[Thanks to [email protected] for these lyrics]
song performed by by Dashboard Confessional
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Wife of Usher's Well
THERE lived a wife at Usher's well,
And a wealthy wife was she;
She had three stout and stalwart sons,
And sent them o'er the sea.
They hadna been a week from her,
A week but barely ane,
When word came to the carline wife
That her three sons were gane.
They hadna been a week from her,
A week but barely three,
When word came to the carline wife
That her sons she'd never see.
'I wish the wind may never cease.
Nor fashes in the flood,
Till my three sons come hame to me,
In earthly flesh and blood!'
It fell about the Martinmas,
When nights are lang and mirk,
The carline wife's three sons came hame,
And their hats were o' the birk.
It neither grew in syke nor ditch,
Nor yet in ony sheugh;
But at the gates o' Paradise
That birk grew fair eneugh.
'Blow up the fire, my maidens!
Bring water from the well!
For a' my house shall feast this night,
Since my three sons are well.'
And she has made to them a bed,
She 's made it large and wide;
And she 's ta'en her mantle her about,
Sat down at the bedside.
Up then crew the red, red cock,
And up and crew the gray;
The eldest to the youngest said.
''Tis time we were away.'
The cock he hadna craw'd but once,
And clapp'd his wings at a',
When the youngest to the eldest said,
'Brother, we must awa'.
'The cock doth craw, the day doth daw,
The channerin' worm doth chide;
Gin we be miss'd out o' our place,
A sair pain we maun bide.'
'Lie still, lie still but a little wee while,
Lie still but if we may;
Gin my mother should miss us when she wakes,
She'll go mad ere it be day.'
'Fare ye weel, my mother dear!
Fareweel to barn and byre!
And fare ye weel, the bonny lass
That kindles my mother's fire!'
Am I The Only One Who Cares
(don schlitz,reba mcentire)
Jamie turned 13 tonight
But she didnt blow out the birthday lights
Jamie and her momma had another big fight
She locked herself in her room
She climbed up on her windowsill
Sat and stared at the cars on the street
And listened to her own heart beat
And whispered to the moon
Am I the only one who cares what I do
Cause if Im the only one then who can I turn to
Oh moon can you tell me that its not just me and you
Or am I the only one who cares what I do
The moon said jamie cant you hear yourself
Youre acting like there aint nobody else
Come on girl take a big ole breath
You know what you gotta do
Theres one more thing before I go
A womans been standing at the window below
Searching for the words to let you know
How much she loves you too
And youre not the only one who cares what you do
And Im not the only one that you can turn to
Now jamie please believe me
Its not just me and you
And Im not the only one who cares
She cares too
Jamie heard her mama
Softly knocking at her door
The moon just smiled and whispered
You all dont need me anymore
Im not the only one who cares what you do
And Im not the only one you can tell your troubles to
Ive done the best I can
Now the rest is up to you
And Im not the only one who cares
You both care too
You both care too
song performed by by Reba Mcentire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Jamie G.
Jamie g. I want you
Even though I know that I cant have you
Even though
I dont know which way you go
Im dying to come with you
What kind of times are these
A guy cant do what he pleases
But the way that you tease
Id risk all diseases
Jamie g. I want you
Even though I know that I cant have you
Even though
I dont know which way you go
Im dying to come with you
Cmon lets drink champagne
Before they bring back prohibition
Smoke a pack or two
Then try another position
Jamie g. I want you
Even though I know that I cant have you
Even though
I dont know which way you go
Im dying to come with you
song performed by by Joe Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Jamie
Jamie, what you doin now
What you doin now girl?
Please, please tell me
Cuz I need to know, I need to know now
When I was down, you came to me
And promised youd always be
By my side, now youre gone
And Im waiting patiently
But jamie, I want you to know
Jamie, jamie, Im so glad youre mine
Well be together a long time
Jamie, whos faxin you now?
Whos dialin your car phone?
Please, please be true
You know that I trust you, do that which you must do
Youve got the beach boys, and your firms got the stones
But I know you wont leave me alone
Sometimes it seems youre not with me
It hurts me so much, it hurts me so much
You are the most, youre so rad, youre so fresh
And Im glad I am yours, you are mine
Show me where and I will sign
Jaime, beleive me, I wont let you down
Cuz you are the best lawyer in town.
song performed by by Weezer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Jamie's Puzzle
There was grief within our household
Because of a vacant chair.
Our mother, so loved and precious,
No longer was sitting there.
Our hearts grew heavy with sorrow,
Our eyes with tears were blind,
And little Jamie was wondering,
Why we were left behind.
We had told our little darling,
Of the land of love and light,
Of the saints all crowned with glory,
And enrobed in spotless white.
We said that our precious mother,
Had gone to that land so fair,
To dwell with beautiful angels,
And to be forever there.
But the child was sorely puzzled,
Why dear grandmamma should go
To dwell in a stranger city,
When her children loved her so.
But again the mystic angel
Came with swift and silent tread,
And our sister, Jamie's mother,
Was enrolled among the dead.
To us the mystery deepened,
To Jamie it seemed more clear;
Grandma, he said, must be lonesome,
And mamma has gone to her.
But the question lies unanswered
In our little Jamie's mind,
Why she should go to our mother,
And leave her children behind;
To dwell in that lovely city,
From all that was dear to part,
From children who loved to nestle
So closely around her heart.
Dear child, like you, we are puzzled,
With problems that still remain;
But think in the great hereafter
Their meaning will all be plain.
poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Auld Lang Syne
(r.burns)
Traditional new years eves song. jeff performed it live at mercury lounge, new york, on december 31 1995.
Should auld acquaintance be forgot
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot
And auld lang syne!
For auld lang syne, my dear
For auld lang syne
Well tak a cup o kindness yet
For auld lang syne.
And surely yell be your pint stowp
And surely Ill be mine!
And well tak a cup o kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.
For auld lang syne, my dear
For auld lang syne
Well tak a cup o kindness yet
For auld lang syne.
We twa hae run about the braes
And poud the gowans fine
But weve wanderd mony a weary fit
Sin auld lang syne.
For auld lang syne, my dear
For auld lang syne
Well tak a cup o kindness yet
For auld lang syne.
We twa hae paidld in the burn
Frae morning sun till dine
But seas between us briad hae roard
Sin auld lang syne.
For auld lang syne, my dear
For auld lang syne
Well tak a cup o kindness yet
For auld lang syne.
And theres a hand, my trusty fere
And gies a hand o thine
And well tak a right gude-willie waught
For auld lang syne.
For auld lang syne, my dear
For auld lang syne
Well tak a cup o kindness yet
For auld lang syne.
song performed by by Jeff Buckley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Market-Wife's Song
The butter an' the cheese weel stowit they be,
I sit on the hen-coop the eggs on my knee,
The lang kail jigs as we jog owre the rigs,
The gray mare's tail it wags wi' the kail,
The warm simmer sky is blue aboon a',
An' whiddie, whuddie, whaddie, gang the auld wheels twa.
I sit on the coop, I look straight before,
But my heart it is awa' the braid ocean owre,
I see the bluidy fiel' where my ain bonny chiel',
My wee bairn o' a', gaed to fight or to fa',
An' whiddie, whuddie, whaddie, gang the auld wheels twa.
I see the gran' toun o' the big forrin' loun,
I hear the cannon soun', I see the reek aboon;
It may be lang John lettin' aff his gun,
It may be the mist-your mither disna wist-
It may be the kirk, it may be the ha',
An' whiddie, whuddie, whaddie, gang the auld wheels twa.
An' I ken the Black Sea, ayont the rock o' dool,
Like a muckle blot o' ink in a buik fra' the schule,
An' Jock! it gars me min' o' your buikies lang syne,
An' mindin' o' it a' the tears begin to fa',
An' whiddie, whuddie, whaddie, gang the old wheels twa.
Then a bull roars fra' the scaur, ilka rock's a bull agen,
An' I hear the trump o' war, an' the carse is fu' o' men,
Up an' doun the morn I ken the bugle horn,
Ilka birdie sma' is a fleein' cannon ba',
An' whiddie, whuddie, whaddie, gang the auld wheels twa.
Guid Heavens! the Russian host! We maun e'en gie up for lost!
Gin ye gain the battle hae ye countit a' the cost?
Ye may win a gran' name, but wad wee Jock come hame?
Dinna fecht, dinna fecht! there's room for us a',
An' whiddie, whuddie, whaddie, gang the auld wheels twa.
In vain, in vain, in vain! They are marchin' near and far!
Wi' swords an' wi' slings an' wi' instruments o' war!
Oh, day sae dark an' sair! ilka man seven feet an' mair!
I bow my head an' say, 'Gin the Lord wad smite them a'!'
An' whiddie, whuddie, whaddie, gang the auld wheels twa.
Then forth fra' their ban' there steps an armed man,
His tairge at his breast an' his claymore in his han',
His gowd pow glitters fine an' his shadow fa's behin',
I think o' great Goliath as he stan's before them a',
An' whiddie, whuddie, whaddie, gang the auld wheels twa.
To meet the Philistine leaps a laddie fra' our line,
Oh, my heart! oh, my heart! 'tis that wee lad o' mine!
I start to my legs-an' doun fa' the eggs-
The cocks an' hens a' they cackle an' they ca',
An' whiddie, whuddie, whaddie, gang the auld wheels twa.
Oh, Jock, my Hielan' lad-oh, Jock, my Hielan' lad,
Never till I saw thee that moment was I glad!
Aye sooner sud thou dee before thy mither's ee'
Than a man o' the clan sud hae stept out but thee!
An' sae I cry to God-while the hens cackle a',
An' whiddie. whuddie, whaddie, gang the auld wheels twa.
poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
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Auld Maitland
There lived a king in southern land,
King Edward hight his name;
Unwordily he wore the crown,
Till fifty years were gane.
He had a sister's son o's ain,
Was large of blood and bane;
And afterward, when he came up,
Young Edward hight his name.
One day he came before the king,
And kneel'd low on his knee:
'A boon, a boon, my good uncle,
I crave to ask of thee!
'At our lang wars, in fair Scotland,
I fain ha'e wish'd to be,
If fifteen hundred waled wight men
You'll grant to ride with me.'
'Thou shall ha'e thae, thou shall ha'e mae;
I say it sickerlie;
And I myself, an auld gray man,
Array'd your host shall see.'
King Edward rade, King Edward ran--
I wish him dool and pyne!
Till he had fifteen hundred men
Assembled on the Tyne.
And thrice as many at Berwicke
Were all for battle bound,
[Who, marching forth with false Dunbar,
A ready welcome found.]
They lighted on the banks of Tweed,
And blew their coals sae het,
And fired the Merse and Teviotdale,
All in an evening late.
As they fared up o'er Lammermoor,
They burn'd baith up and down,
Until they came to a darksome house,
Some call it Leader-Town.
'Wha hauds this house?' young Edward cried,
'Or wha gi'est o'er to me?'
A gray-hair'd knight set up his head,
And crackit right crousely:
'Of Scotland's king I haud my house;
He pays me meat and fee;
And I will keep my gude auld house,
While my house will keep me.'
They laid their sowies to the wall,
With mony a heavy peal;
But he threw o'er to them agen
Baith pitch and tar barrel.
With springalds, stanes, and gads of airn,
Amang them fast he threw;
Till mony of the Englishmen
About the wall he slew.
Full fifteen days that braid host lay,
Sieging Auld Maitland keen;
Syne they ha'e left him, hail and feir,
Within his strength of stane.
Then fifteen barks, all gaily good,
Met them upon a day,
Which they did lade with as much spoil
As they you'd bear away.
'England's our ain by heritage;
And what can us withstand,
Now we ha'e conquer'd fair Scotland,
With buckler, bow, and brand?'
Then they are on to the land of France,
Where auld king Edward lay,
Burning baith castle, tower, and town,
That he met in his way.
Until he came unto that town,
Which some call Billop-Grace:
There were Auld Maitland's sons, all three,
Learning at school, alas!
The eldest to the youngest said,
'Oh, see ye what I see?
If all be true yon standard says,
We're fatherless all three.
'For Scotland's conquer'd up and down;
Landmen we'll never be!
Now, will you go, my brethren two,
And try some jeopardy?'
Then they ha'e saddled twa black horse,
Twa black horse and a gray;
And they are on to king Edward's host,
Before the dawn of day.
When they arrived before the host,
They hover'd on the lay:
'Wilt thou lend me our king's standard,
To bear a little way?'
'Where wast thou bred? where wast thou born?
Where, or in what countrie?'
'In north of England I was born;'
(It needed him to lee.)
'A knight me gat, a ladye bore,
I am a squire of high renown;
I well may bear't to any king
That ever yet wore crown.'
'He ne'er came of an Englishman,
Had sic an e'e or bree;
But thou art the likest Auld Maitland,
That ever I did see.
'But sic a gloom on ae browhead,
Grant I ne'er see again!
For mony of our men he slew,
And mony put to pain.'
When Maitland heard his father's name,
An angry man was he;
Then, lifting up a gilt dagger,
Hung low down by his knee,
He stabb'd the knight the standard bore,
He stabb'd him cruellie;
Then caught the standard by the neuk,
And fast away rode he.
'Now, is't na time, brothers,' he cried,
'Now, is't na time to flee?'
'Ay, by my sooth!' they baith replied,
'We'll bear you companye.'
The youngest turn'd him in a path,
And drew a burnish'd brand,
And fifteen of the foremost slew,
Till back the lave did stand.
He spurr'd the gray into the path,
Till baith his sides they bled:
'Gray! thou maun carry me away,
Or my life lies in wad!'
The captain lookit o'er the wall,
About the break of day;
There he beheld the three Scots lads
Pursued along the way.
'Pull up portcullize! down draw-brig!
My nephews are at hand;
And they shall lodge with me to-night,
In spite of all England.'
Whene'er they came within the yate,
They thrust their horse them frae,
And took three lang spears in their hands,
Saying--'Here shall come nae me!'
And they shot out, and they shot in,
Till it was fairly day;
When mony of the Englishmen
About the draw-brig lay.
Then they ha'e yoked the carts and wains,
To ca' their dead away,
And shot auld dykes abune the lave,
In gutters where they lay.
The king, at his pavilion door,
Was heard aloud to say:
'Last night, three of the lads of France
My standard stole away.
'With a fause tale, disguised they came,
And with a fauser trayne;
And to regain my gaye standard,
These men where all down slayne.'
'It ill befits,' the youngest said,
A crowned king to lee;
But, or that I taste meat and drink,
Reproved shall he be.'
He went before king Edward straight,
And kneel'd low on his knee:
'I wou'd ha'e leave, my lord,' he said,
'To speak a word with thee.'
The king he turn'd him round about,
And wistna what to say:
Quo' he, 'Man, thou's ha'e leave to speak,
Though thou should speak all day.'
'Ye said that three young lads of France
Your standard stole away,
With a fause tale and fauser trayne,
And mony men did slay;
'But we are nane the lads of France,
Nor e'er pretend to be:
We are three lads of fair Scotland,--
Auld Maitland's sons are we.
'Nor is there men in all your host
Daur fight us three to three.'
'Now, by my sooth,' young Edward said,
'Weel fitted ye shall be!
'Piercy shall with the eldest fight,
And Ethert Lunn with thee;
William of Lancaster the third,
And bring your fourth to me!
'Remember, Piercy, aft the Scot
Has cower'd beneath thy hand;
For every drap of Maitland blood,
I'll gi'e a rig of land.'
He clanked Piercy o'er the head
A deep wound and a sair,
Till the best blood of his body
Came running down his hair.
'Now, I've slayne ane; slay ye the twa;
And that's gude companye;
And if the twa shou'd slay ye baith,
Ye'se get nae help frae me.'
But Ethert Lunn, a baited bear,
Had many battles seen;
He set the youngest wonder sair,
Till the eldest he grew keen.
'I am nae king, nor nae sic thing:
My word it shanna stand!
For Ethert shall a buffet bide,
Come he beneath my brand.'
He clankit Ethert o'er the head
A deep wound and a sair,
Till the best blood in his body
Came running o'er his hair.
'Now, I've slayne twa; slay ye the ane;
Isna that gude companye?
And though the ane shou'd slay ye baith.
Ye'se get nae help of me.'
The twa-some they ha'e slayne the ane,
They maul'd him cruellie;
Then hung him over the draw-brig,
That all the host might see.
They rade their horse, they ran their horse,
Then hover'd on the lee:
'We be three lads of fair Scotland,
That fain wou'd fighting see.'
This boasting when young Edward heard,
An angry man was he:
'I'll take yon lad, I'll bind yon lad,
And bring him bound to thee!
'Now, God forbid,' king Edward said,
'That ever thou shou'd try!
Three worthy leaders we ha'e lost,
And thou the forth wou'd lie.
'If thou shou'dst hang on yon draw-brig,
Blythe wou'd I never be.'
But, with the poll-axe in his hand,
Upon the brig sprang be.
The first stroke that young Edward ga'e,
He struck with might and main;
He clove the Maitland's helmet stout,
And bit right nigh the brain.
When Maitland saw his ain blood fall,
An angry man was he;
He let his weapon frae him fall,
And at his throat did flee.
And thrice about he did him swing,
Till on the ground he light,
Where he has halden young Edward,
Tho' he was great in might.
'Now let him up,' king Edward cried,
'And let him come to me;
And for the deed that thou hast done,
Thou shalt ha'e earldomes three!'
'It's ne'er be said in France, nor e'er
In Scotland, when I'm hame,
That Edward once lay under me,
And e'er gat up again!'
He pierced him through and through the heart,
He maul'd him cruellie;
Then hung him o'er the draw-brig,
Beside the other three.
'Now take frae me that feather-bed,
Make me a bed of strae!
I wish I hadna lived this day,
To make my heart sae wae.
'If I were ance at London Tow'r,
Where I was wont to be,
I never mair shou'd gang frae hame,
Till borne on a bier-tree.'
poem by Andrew Lang
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Auld Rob Morris
There's Auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen,
He's the King o' gude fellows, and wale o' auld men;
He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine,
And ae bonie lass, his dautie and mine.
She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May;
She's sweet as the ev'ning amang the new hay;
As blythe and as artless as the lambs on the lea,
And dear to my heart as the light to my e'e.
But oh! she's an Heiress, auld Robin's a laird,
And my daddie has nought but a cot-house and yard;
A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed,
The wounds I must hide that will soon be my dead.
The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane;
The night comes to me, but my rest it is gane;
I wander my lane like a night-troubled ghaist,
And I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breast.
O had she but been of a lower degree,
I then might hae hop'd she wad smil'd upon me!
O how past descriving had then been my bliss,
As now my distraction nae words can express.
poem by Robert Burns (1792)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Valentine
YE are twa laddies unco gleg,
An' blithe an' bonnie:
As licht o' heel as Anster's Meg;--
Gin ye'd a lassie's favor beg,
I' faith she couldna stir a peg
Ance lookin' on ye!
He's a douce wiselike callant--Jim:
Of wit aye ready.
Cuts aff ane's sentence, 't ither's limb,
An' whiles he's daft and whiles he's grim,
But brains?--wha's got the like o'him
In's wee bit heidie?
Dear laddie wi' the curlin' hair,
Gentlest of ony:
That gies kind looks an' speeches fair
To dour auld wives as lassies rare,--
I ken a score o' lads an' mair,
But nane like Johnnie!
And gin ye learn the way to woo,
Hae sweethearts mony,
O laddie, never say ye loe
An' gie fause coin for siller true;
A lassie's sair heart's naething new,--
Mind o' that, Johnnie.
An' dinna change your luve sae fast
For ilk face bonnie,
Lest waefu' want track wilfu' waste,
And a' your youthfu' years lang past,
Ye get the crookit stick at last,
Ochone, puir Johnnie!
But callants baith, tak tent, and when
Bright e'en hae won ye,
Tak each your jo--and keep her--then
Be faithfu' as ye're fond, ye ken,
Or--gang your gate like honest men,
Young Jim and Johnnie.
Sae when auld Time his crookit claw
Sall lay upon ye,
When, Jim, your feet that dance sae braw
Are no the lightest in the ha',
An' a' your curly haffets fa',
My winsome Johnnie,--
May each his ain warm ingle view,
Cosie as ony:
A gudewife sonsie, leal and true,
O' bonnie dochters not a few,
An' lads--sic lads as ye're the noo--
Dear Jim and Johnnie!
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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The Sodger's Lassie
A'the toun is to the doun
Puin' o' the blaeberrie.
Ab's gane, Rab's gane,
Aggie's gane, Maggie's gane,
A' the toun is to the doun,
An's left the house to wae and me.
Heigho the blaeberrie!
Wha'll hae a blaeberrie?
Ah, to min' o' auld lang syne,
Puin' o' the blaeberrie!
Sodger Tam, he cam an' cam,
Puin' o' the blaeberrie;
Still I went, an' still I bent,
Puin' o' the blaeberrie.
Berries high, an' berries low,
Heigho the blaeberrie!
Tam maun come where berries grow,
Puin' o' the blaeberrie.
Heigho the blaeberrie!
Wha'll hae a blaeberrie?
Ah, to min' o' auld lang syne,
Puin' o' the blaeberrie!
Never ance I looked at Tam,
Heigho the blaeberrie!
Weel I kent him when he cam,
Puin' o' the blaeberrie.
Baith our faces to the groun',
Puin' o' the blaeberrie,
Tam cam near without a soun',
Heigho the blaeberrie!
Wow! but we were near, I ween,
Puin' o' the blaeberrie!
A' the air was warm between,
Heigho the blaeberrie!
Could a lassie think o' ill,
Puin' o' the blaeberrie?
Berries e'en grow where they will,
Heigho the blaeberrie!
Berries here, an' berries there,
Heigho the blaeberrie!
I was kissed or I was ware,
Puin' o' the blaeberrie.
Wha wad fash wi' ane anither
Puin' o' the blaeberrie?
Berries whiles will grow thegither,
Heigho the blaeberrie!
I was kissed or I could speer,
Heigho the blaeberrie!
Hech! that folk sud come sae near,
A' to pu' a blaeberrie!
While I grat and chid forbye,
Heigho the blaeberrie!
Doun we sat-I ken na why-
A' amang the blaeberrie.
Heigho the blaeberrie!
Wha 'll hae a blaeberrie?
Oh, to min' o' auld lang syne,
A' amang the blaeberrie!
Sidelong Tam he cam an' cam
A' amang the blaeberrie.
Wha could tell he meant na fair?
Weel I ken I chid him sair,
But that day we gaed na mair
Puin' o' the blaeberrie!
Heigho the blaeberrie!
Wha 'll hae a blaeberrie?
Oh, to min' o' auld lang syne,
Doun amang the blaeberrie!
poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
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Binnorie
THERE were twa sisters sat in a bour;
Binnorie, O Binnorie!
There cam a knight to be their wooer,
By the bonnie milldams o' Binnorie.
He courted the eldest with glove and ring,
But he lo'ed the youngest abune a thing.
The eldest she was vexed sair,
And sair envìed her sister fair.
Upon a morning fair and clear,
She cried upon her sister dear:
'O sister, sister tak my hand,
And let 's go down to the river-strand.'
She 's ta'en her by the lily hand,
And led her down to the river-strand.
The youngest stood upon a stane,
The eldest cam and push'd her in.
'O sister, sister reach your hand!
And ye sall be heir o' half my land:
'O sister, reach me but your glove!
And sweet William sall be your love.'
Sometimes she sank, sometimes she swam,
Until she cam to the miller's dam.
Out then cam the miller's son,
And saw the fair maid soummin' in.
'O father, father draw your dam!
There 's either a mermaid or a milk-white swan.'
The miller hasted and drew his dam,
And there he found a drown'd women.
You couldna see her middle sma',
Her gowden girdle was sae braw.
You couldna see her lily feet,
Her gowden fringes were sae deep.
All amang her yellow hair
A string o' pearls was twisted rare.
You couldna see her fingers sma',
Wi' diamond rings they were cover'd a'.
And by there cam a harper fine,
That harpit to the king at dine.
And when he look'd that lady on,
He sigh'd and made a heavy moan.
He 's made a harp of her breast-bane,
Whose sound wad melt a heart of stane.
He 's ta'en three locks o' her yellow hair,
And wi' them strung his harp sae rare.
He went into her father's hall,
And there was the court assembled all.
He laid his harp upon a stane,
And straight it began to play by lane.
'O yonder sits my father, the King,
And yonder sits my mother, the Queen;
'And yonder stands my brother Hugh,
And by him my William, sweet and true.'
But the last tune that the harp play'd then--
Binnorie, O Binnorie!
Was, 'Woe to my sister, false Helen!'
By the bonnie milldams o' Binnorie.
Auld Lang Syne
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind ?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and auld lang syne ?
CHORUS
For auld lang syne, my dear,
for auld lang syne,
we’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.
And surely ye’ll be your pint-stoup !
and surely I’ll be mine !
And we’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.
CHORUS
We twa hae run about the braes,
and pou’d the gowans fine ;
But we’ve wander’d mony a weary fit,
sin’ auld lang syne.
CHORUS
We twa hae paidl’d in the burn,
frae morning sun till dine ;
But seas between us braid hae roar’d
sin’ auld lang syne.
CHORUS
And there’s a hand my trusty fiere !
and gies a hand o’ thine !
And we’ll tak a right gude-willie waught,
for auld lang syne.
CHORUS
poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Auld Lang Syne
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot
And days of auld lang syne?
For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
Well take a cup o kindness yet
For auld lang syne.
We twa hae run aboot the braes
And poud the gowans fine;
Weve wanderd mony a weary foot
Sin auld lang syne.
We two hae paidled i the burn,
Frae mornin sun till dine;
But seas between us braid hae roard
Sin auld lang syne.
And heres a hand, my trusty friend,
And gies a hand o thine;
Well take a cup o kindness yet
For auld lang syne.
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot
And days of auld lang syne?
For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
Well take a cup o kindness yet
For auld lang syne.
For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
Well take a cup o kindness yet
For auld lang syne.
song performed by by Boney M.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fair Annie
'It's narrow, narrow, make your bed,
And learn to lie your lane:
For I'm ga'n oer the sea, Fair Annie,
A braw bride to bring hame.
Wi her I will get gowd and gear;
Wi you I neer got nane.
'But wha will bake my bridal bread,
Or brew my bridal ale?
And wha will welcome my brisk bride,
That I bring oer the dale?'
'It's I will bake your bridal bread,
And brew your bridal ale,
And I will welcome your brisk bride,
That you bring oer the dale.'
'But she that welcomes my brisk bride
Maun gang like maiden fair;
She maun lace on her robe sae jimp,
And braid her yellow hair.'
'But how can I gang maiden-like,
When maiden I am nane?
Have I not born seven sons to thee,
And am with child again?'
She's taen her young son in her arms,
Another in her hand,
And she's up to the highest tower,
To see him come to land.
'Come up, come up, my eldest son,
And look oer yon sea-strand,
And see your father's new-come bride,
Before she come to land.'
'Come down, come down, my mother dear,
Come frae the castle wa!
I fear, if langer ye stand there,
Ye'll let yoursell down fa.'
And she gaed down, and farther down,
Her love's ship for to see,
And the topmast and the mainmast
Shone like the silver free.
And she's gane down, and farther down,
The bride's ship to behold,
And the topmast and the mainmast
They shone just like the gold.
She's taen her seven sons in her hand,
I wot she didna fail;
She met Lord Thomas and his bride,
As they came oer the dale.
'You're welcome to your house, Lord Thomas,
You're welcome to your land;
You're welcome with your fair ladye,
That you lead by the hand.
'You're welcome to your ha's, ladye,
You're welcome to your bowers;
Your welcome to your hame, ladye,
For a' that's here is yours.'
'I thank thee, Annie; I thank thee, Annie,
Sae dearly as I thank thee;
You're the likest to my sister Annie,
That ever I did see.
'There came a knight out oer the sea,
And steald my sister away;
The shame scoup in his company,
And land where'er he gae!'
She hang ae napkin at the door,
Another in the ha,
And a' to wipe the trickling tears,
Sae fast as they did fa.
And aye she served the lang tables
With white bread and with wine,
And aye she drank the wan water,
To had her colour fine.
And aye she served the lang tables,
With white bread and with brown;
And aye she turned her round about,
Sae fast the tears fell down.
And he's taen down the silk napkin,
Hung on a silver pin,
And aye he wipes the tear trickling
A'down her cheek and chin.
And aye he turn'd him round about,
And smiled amang his men;
Says, 'Like ye best the old ladye,
Or her that's new come hame?'
When bells were rung, and mass was sung,
And a' men bound to bed,
Lord Thomas and his new-come bride
To their chamber they were gaed.
Annie made her bed a little forbye,
To hear what they might say;
'And ever alas!' Fair Annie cried,
'That I should see this day!
'Gin my seven sons were seven young rats,
Running on the castle wa,
And I were a grey cat mysell,
I soon would worry them a'.
'Gin my young sons were seven young hares,
Running oer yon lilly lee,
And I were a grew hound mysell,
Soon worried they a' should be.'
And wae and sad Fair Annie sat,
And drearie was her sang,
And ever, as she sobbd and grat,
'Wae to the man that did the wrang!'
'My gown is on,' said the new-come bride,
'My shoes are on my feet,
And I will to Fair Annie's chamber,
And see what gars her greet.
'What ails ye, what ails ye, Fair Annie,
That ye make sic a moan?
Has your wine-barrels cast the girds,
Or is your white bread gone?
'O wha was't was your father, Annie,
Or wha was't was your mother?
And had ye ony sister, Annie,
Or had ye ony brother?'
'The Earl of Wemyss was my father,
The Countess of Wemyss my mother;
And a' the folk about the house
To me were sister and brother.'
'If the Earl of Wemyss was your father,
I wot sae was he mine;
And it shall not be for lack o gowd
That ye your love sall fyne.
'For I have seven ships o mine ain,
A' loaded to the brim,
And I will gie them a' to thee
Wi four to thine eldest son:
But thanks to a' the powers in heaven
That I gae maiden hame!'
poem by Andrew Lang
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