327 ISOBEL PAGAN (?) [1741 (?)-1821] CA' THE YOWES TO THE KNOWES CA' the yowes' to the knowes," As I gaed down the water side, 'Will ye gang down the water side, The moon it shines fu' clearly.' 'I was bred up at nae sic school, And naebody to see me.' 'Ye sall get gowns and ribbons meet, 'If ye'll but stand to what ye've said, 'While waters wimple to the sea, 328 LADY ANNE LINDSAY [1750-1825] AULD ROBIN GRAY WHEN the sheep are in the fauld,' and the kye' at hame, The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my e'e, Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and sought me for his bride; To make the croun a pund, young Jamie gaed to sea; 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— My father couldna work, and my mother couldna spin; I toil'd 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; My father urgit sair: my mother didna speak; But she look'd in my face till my heart was like to break: They gi'ed him my hand, but my heart was at the sea; Sae auld Robin Gray he was gudeman to me. I hadna been a wife a week but only four, 1 Fold. 2 Cows. * Stolen. I saw my Jamie's wraith, for I couldna think it he Till he said, I'm come hame to marry thee. O sair, sair did we greet, and muckle did we say; I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin; 329 THOMAS CHATTERTON [1752-1770] SONG FROM ELLA O SING unto my roundelay, O drop the briny tear with me; My love is dead, Gone to his death-bed All under the willow-tree. 2 Black his cryne1 as the winter night, My love is dead, Gone to his death-bed All under the willow-tree. Sweet his tongue as the throstle's note Deft his tabor, cudgel stout; • Ghost. Weep. • Much. 1 Hair. * Complexion. O he lies by the willow-tree! Gone to his death-bed All under the willow-tree. Hark! the raven flaps his wing Gone to his death-bed All under the willow-tree. See! the white moon shines on high; Whiter is my true-love's shroud: Whiter than the morning sky, Whiter than the evening cloud: Gone to his death-bed All under the willow-tree. Here upon my true-love's grave Not one holy saint to save All the coldness of a maid: Gone to his death-bed All under the willow-tree. With my hands I'll dent the briers Round his holy corse to gre:* 5 Ouph and fairy, light your fires, Here my body still shall be: My love is dead, Gone to his death-bed All under the willow-tree. 330 331 CAROLINA OLIPHANT, LADY NAIRNE [1766-1845] THE LAND O' THE LEAL I'm wearing awa', Jean, Like snaw when its thaw, Jean, To the land o' the leal.1 In the land o' the leal. Ye were aye leal and true, Jean, To the land o' the leal. Our bonnie bairn's there, Jean, Then dry that tearfu' e'e, Jean, To the land o' the leal. Now fare ye weel, my ain Jean, In the land o' the leal. HE'S OWER THE HILLS THAT I LO'E WEEL HE'S Ower the hills that I lo'e weel, |