His cauldrife jokes an' ghastly fun
He mak's an' cracks till out o' wun',
Then tells me o' his gowd an' grun,
To wyle my heart awa'.
He woo's like a beggar that's seeking his bread,
Sae pityfu'-like his e'e stands in his head,
A' trembling, just as he was in a weed,
He says, "Tak' me an' a'."
If I but smile, the body is glad;
If I but gloom, the body is sad;
For fear I put the body mad,
I daurna tell him na.
Sandy Allan.
[Alex. Hume.—Air, "Saw ye Johnny coming."]
Wha is he I hear sae crouse,
There ahint the hallan?
Whase skirling rinus through a' the house,
Ilk corner o' the dwallin'.
O! it is ane, a weel kent chiel,
As mirth e'er set a bawlin',
Or filled a neuk in drouthy biel,—
It's canty Sandy Allan.
He has a gauey kind gude wife,
This blythesome Sandy Allan,
Wha lo'es him mickle mair than life,
An' glories in her callan.
As sense an' sound are ane in song,
Sae's Jean an' Sandy Allan,
Twa hearts, yet but ae pulse an' tongue,
Ha'e Luckie an' her callan.
To gi'e to a', it's aye his rule,
Their proper name an' callin';
A knave's a knave, a fule's a fule,
Wi' honest Sandy Allan.
For ilka vice he has a dart,
An' heavy is it's fallin';
But aye for worth a kindred heart
Has ever Sandy Allan.
To kings his knee he wunna bring,
Sae proud is Sandy Allan;
The man wha richtly feels is king,
Owre rank, wi' Sandy Allan.
Auld Nature just to show the warl',
Ae truly honest callan;
E'en strippit till't, and made a carle,
An' ca'd him Sandy Allan.
Now spring again.
[This and the following song are from a small volume entitled, "A Pilgrimage to Craigmillar Castle, and other Poems, by James Fraser, Edinburgh, 1817." Mr. Fraser is author of "The Soldier's Grave," given at page 16 of the present collection.]
Now spring again, wi' liesome tread,
'Mang Bernard's bow'rs is seen;
The modest snaw-drap hangs its head,
True emblem o' my Jean.
But though fell winter's reign be ower,
And storms nae mair do blaw,
Yet cauld and cheerless is the bow'r,
If love is far awa'.
The sun shines clearer i' the lift,
The breeze mair gentle sighs,
And glowin' is the sleety drift,
If warm'd by beauty's eyes.
An' O gin love but lead the way,
What cares can e'er befa'?
The sun o' pleasure shines a' day,
If love's no far awa'.
How swift the langest night flees by
When twa fond lovers meet—
An' balmy kiss and breathing sigh
Together mingle sweet.
And oh! how wae ilk ane's to part,
When forc'd at duty's ca';
But dowie, dowie is the heart
Whase love is far awa'.
Then, while our youth is i' the prime,
Let's catch the fleeting hour;
And offer vows at beauty's shriue,
In token o' her pow'r.
An' when auld age upon our pow
Begins to fling his snaw,
We'll welcome him wi' friendly low,
If love's no far awa'.
