I'll gang wi' Jamie frae Dundee,
To cheer the lanesome way;
His cheeks are ruddy o'er wi' health,
He's frolicsome and gay.
And I'll gang, &c.
The laverock mounts to hail the morn,
The lintwhite swells her throat,
But nane o' them's sae sweet or clear
As Jamie's tunefu' note.
And I'll gang, &c.
Tell me, Dear.
[Thomas C. Latto.—Here first printed.—Air, "Loudon's bonnie woods and braes."]
Tell me, dear! in mercy speak,
Has heaven heard my prayer, lassie?
Faint the rose is on thy cheek,
But still the rose is there, lassie!
Away, away, each dark foreboding,
Heavy days with anguish clouding,
Youthfu' love in sorrow shrouding,
Heaven could ne'er allow, lassie!
Day and night I've tended thee,
Watching, love! thy changing e'e;
Dearest gift that heaven could gi'e,
Say thou'rt happy now, lassie.
Willie! lay thy cheek to mine—
Kiss me, oh, my ain laddie I
Never mair may lip o' thine
Press where it hath lain, laddie!
Hark! I hear the angels calling,
Heavenly strains are round me falling,
But the stroke—thy soul appalling—
'Tis my only pain, laddie!
Yet the love I bear to thee
Shall follow where I soon maun be;
I'll tell how gude thou wert to me—
We part to meet again, laddie!
Lay thine arm beneath my head—
Grieve na sae for me, laddie!
I'll thole the doom that lays me dead,
But no a tear frae thee, laddie!
Aft where yon dark tree is spreading,
When the sun's last beam is shedding,
Where no earthly foot is treading,
By my grave thou'lt be, laddie!
Though my sleep be wi' the dead,
Frae on high my soul shall speed,
And hover nightly round thy head.
Although thou wilt na see, laddie.
Hey, how, my Johnnie lad.
[This song is partly preserved by Herd in his collection, 1776, but is here given with some slight additions by Allan Cunningham. It is sung to a reel tune, originally called "The Lasses o' the Ferry." Tannahill wrote a song with the same burthen, and to the same tune, which is also given in this work.]
Hey, how, my Johnnie lad,
Ye're no sae kind's ye should ha'e been,
For gin your voice I had na kent,
I'm sure I couldna trust my een;
Sae weel's ye might ha'e courted me,
And sweetly pree'd my mou' bedeen:
Hey, how, my Johnnie lad,
Ye're no sae kind's ye should ha'e been.
My father, he was at the pleugh,
My mither, she was at the mill;
My brother, he was at the moss,
And no ane near our sport to spill:
A lug to listen was na there,
And still less fear o' being seen
Hey, how, my Johnnie lad,
Ye're no sae kind's ye should ha'e been.
Wad ony lad who lo'ed me weel
Ha'e left me a' my liefu' lane,
To count the minutes as they crawled,
And think life's sweetest moments gane.
I wonder what was in your head,
I wonder what was in your een,
Hey, how, my Johnnie lad,
Ye're no sae kind's ye should ha'e been.
But I shall seek some other lad,
Whose love is upmost in his mind;
As gleg as light, wha has the slight
O' kenning when he should be kind.
Then ye may woo wi' blinkin' Bess—
For you nae mair I'll sigh and green:
Hey, how, my Johnnie lad,
Ye're no sae kind's ye should ha'e been.
