The Home Book of Verse Volume Ii Part 70

You'll say and unsay, and you'll flatter, 'tis true!

Then to leave a young maiden's the first thing you do.

O judge not so harshly, the shepherd replied, To prove what I say, I will make you my bride.

To-morrow the parson--(well-said, little swain!)-- Shall join both our hands, and make one of us twain.

Then what the nymph answered to this isn't said, The very next morn, to be sure, they were wed.

Sing hey-diddle,--ho-diddle,--hey-diddle-down,-- Now when shall we see such a wedding in town?

Unknown

"O MERRY MAY THE MAID BE"

O merry may the maid be That marries wi' the miller, For, foul day and fair day, He's aye bringing till her,-- Has aye a penny in his purse For dinner or for supper; And, gin she please, a good fat cheese And lumps of yellow b.u.t.ter.

When Jamie first did woo me, I speired what was his calling; "Fair maid," says he, "O come and see, Ye're welcome to my dwalling."

Though I was shy, yet could I spy The truth o' what he told me, And that his house was warm and couth, And room in it to hold me.

Behind the door a bag o' meal, And in the kist was plenty O' guid hard cakes his mither bakes, And bannocks werena scanty.

A guid fat sow, a sleeky cow Was standing in the byre, Whilst lazy puss with mealy mouse Was playing at the fire.

"Guid signs are these," my mither says, And bids me tak' the miller; For, fair day and foul day, He's aye bringing till her; For meal and maut she doesna want, Nor anything that's dainty; And now and then a kecking hen, To lay her eggs in plenty.

In winter, when the wind and rain Blaws o'er the house and byre, He sits beside a clean hearth-stane, Before a rousing fire.

With nut-brown ale he tells his tale, Which rows him o'er fu' nappy:-- Wha'd be a king--a petty thing, When a miller lives so happy?

John Clerk [1684-1755]

THE La.s.s O' GOWRIE

'Twas on a simmer's afternoon, A wee afore the sun gaed doun, A la.s.sie wi' a braw new goun Cam' owre the hills to Gowrie.

The rosebud washed in simmer's shower Bloomed fresh within the sunny bower; But Kitty was the fairest flower That e'er was seen in Gowrie.

To see her cousin she cam' there; And oh! the scene was pa.s.sing fair, For what in Scotland can compare Wi' the Ca.r.s.e o' Gowrie?

The sun was setting on the Tay, The blue hills melting into gray, The mavis and the blackbird's lay Were sweetly heard in Gowrie.

O lang the la.s.sie I had wooed, And truth and constancy had vowed, But could nae speed wi' her I lo'ed Until she saw fair Gowrie.

I pointed to my faither's ha'-- Yon bonnie bield ayont the shaw, Sae loun that there nae blast could blaw:-- Wad she no bide in Gowrie?

Her faither was baith glad and wae; Her mither she wad naething say; The bairnies thocht they wad get play If Kitty gaed to Gowrie.

She whiles did smile, she whiles did greet; The blush and tear were on her cheek; She naething said, and hung her head;-- But now she's Leddy Gowrie.

Carolina Nairne [1766-1845]

THE CONSTANT SWAIN AND VIRTUOUS MAID

Soon as the day begins to waste, Straight to the well-known door I haste, And rapping there, I'm forced to stay While Molly hides her work with care, Adjusts her tucker and her hair, And nimble Becky scours away.

Entering, I see in Molly's eyes A sudden smiling joy arise, As quickly checked by virgin shame: She drops a curtsey, steals a glance, Receives a kiss, one step advance.-- If such I love, am I to blame?

I sit, and talk of twenty things, Of South Sea stock, or death of kings, While only "Yes" or "No," says Molly; As cautious she conceals her thoughts, As others do their private faults:-- Is this her prudence, or her folly?

Parting, I kiss her lip and cheek, I hang about her snowy neck, And cry, "Farewell, my dearest Molly!"

Yet still I hang and still I kiss, Ye learned sages, say, is this In me the effect of love, or folly?

No--both by sober reason move,-- She prudence shows, and I true love-- No charge of folly can be laid.

Then (till the marriage-rites proclaimed Shall join our hands) let us be named The constant swain, the virtuous maid.

Unknown

"WHEN THE KYE COMES HAME"

Come, all ye jolly shepherds That whistle through the glen, I'll tell ye of a secret That courtiers dinna ken: What is the greatest bliss That the tongue o' man can name?

'Tis to woo a bonnie la.s.sie When the kye comes hame.

When the kye comes hame, When the kye comes hame, 'Tween the gloamin and the mirk, When the kye comes hame.

'Tis not beneath the coronet, Nor canopy of state, 'Tis not on couch of velvet, Nor arbor of the great-- 'Tis beneath the spreading birk, In the glen without the name, Wi' a bonnie, bonnie la.s.sie, When the kye comes hame.

There the blackbird bigs his nest For the mate he lo'es to see, And on the topmost bough, O, a happy bird is he!

Then he pours his melting ditty, And love is a' the theme, And he'll woo his bonnie la.s.sie When the kye comes hame.

When the blewart bears a pearl, And the daisy turns a pea, And the bonnie lucken gowan Has fauldit up her e'e, Then the laverock frae the blue lift Draps down, and thinks nae shame To woo his bonnie la.s.sie When the kye comes hame.

See yonder pawkie shepherd That lingers on the hill-- His ewes are in the fauld, And his lambs are lying still; Yet he downa gang to bed, For his heart is in a flame To meet his bonnie la.s.sie When the kye comes hame.

When the little wee bit heart Rises high in the breast, And the little wee bit starn Rises red in the east, O there's a joy sae dear, That the heart can hardly frame, Wi' a bonnie, bonnie la.s.sie, When the kye comes hame.

Then since all nature joins In this love without alloy, O, wha wad prove a traitor To Nature's dearest joy?

Or wha wad choose a crown, Wi' its perils and its fame, And miss his bonnie la.s.sie When the kye comes hame?

When the kye comes hame, When the kye comes hame 'Tween the gloamin' and the mirk, When the kye comes hame!

James Hogg [1770-1835]

THE LOW-BACKED CAR

When first I saw sweet Peggy, 'Twas on a market day, A low-backed car she drove, and sat Upon a truss of hay; But when that hay was blooming gra.s.s And decked with flowers of Spring, No flower was there that could compare With the blooming girl I sing.