Oldalképek
PDF
ePub

ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF SCOTS MUSIC.

Ilk carline now may grunt and grane,
Ilk bonny lassie mak great mane,
Since he's awa', I trow there's nane

Can fill his stead;

The blithest sangster on the plain!
Alake, he's dead.

Now foreign sonnets bear the gree,

And crabbed queer variety

Of sounds fresh sprung frae Italy,

A bastard breed!

Unlike that saft-tongu'd melody

Which now lies dead.

Cou'd lav'rocks at the dawning day,
Cou'd linties chirming frae the spray,
Or todling burns that smoothly play

O'er gowden bed,

Compare wi' Birks of Invermay?

But now they're dead.

ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF SCOTS MUSIC.

O Scotland! that could aince afford

To bang the pith of Roman sword,
Winna your sons, wi' joint accord,

To battle speed?

And fight till Music be restor❜d,

Which now lies dead.

[graphic][merged small][merged small]

"HALLOW-FAIR.

AT Hallowmas, whan nights grow lang,

And starnies shine fu' clear,

Whan fouk, the nippin' cauld to bang,
Their winter hap-warms wear,

Near Edinbrough a fair there hauds,
I wat there's nane whase name is,
For strappin dames an' sturdy lads,
An' cap an' stoup, mair famous
Than it that day.

Upo' the tap o' ilka lum

The sun began to keek,

And bade the trig-made maidens come
A sightly joe to seek

At Hallow-fair, whare browsters rare

Keep gude ale on the gantries,

An' dinna scrimp ye o' a skair

O' kebbucks frae their pantries,

Fu' saut that day.

[graphic][merged small]
« ElőzőTovább »