Five Scotch Songs/John O' Badenyon
JOHN O' BADENYON.
Where now the trees are budding green,
And flowers bloom on the lea,
The time I us'd to meet my love,
Beneath yon spreading tree,
My happy days it brings to mind,
But, ah! those days are gone:-
Yet still I'll tune the pipe I got
Frae John o' Badenyon.
For my false love he prov'd untrue,
And left me here to mourn;
And often wet wi' ev'ning dew,
I've sat beneath this thorn.
I've wander'd here, I've wander'd there,
But rest I could find none,
Until I met beneath this shade,
Wi' John o' Badenyon.
Why is thy face o'ercast with woe,
He said, or why oppressed?
Should worldly care, or hapless love,
E’er rob thy youth of rest!
He tun'd his pipe, and play'd sae sweet,
He gart my cares stand yon';
I bless the day I chanc'd to meet
Wi' John o' Badenyon.
'Twas he first taught my youth to sing,
And weave the rustic lay,
And to his pipe the woods would ring
The lee lang summer day.
Nane had sic art to soothe my heart,
But now, alas! he's gone,
For nane could ever play or sing
Like John o' Badenyon.
He, dying, gave to me this pipe,
On which he us'd to play;
Be thou its second lord, he said,
And soothe thy care away;
And seize each op'ning bud of joy,
That blooms the thorns among;
So, dying said, he left this scene—
Dear John o' Badenyon.
I laid his head beneath the yird.
And dew'd it wi' a tear;
I often wander near the spot
For he to me was dear.
Now spring's green mantle clothes the field,
But, ah! I sing alone;
For spring's green mantle clothes the grave
Of John o' Badenyon.