The Poetical Works of George MacDonald (Parables)
Home - George MacDonald - The Poetical Works of George MacDonald (Parables)SCOTS SONGS AND BALLADS.
ANNIE SHE'S DOWIE.
Annie she's dowie, and Willie he's wae: What can be the matter wi' siccan a twae, For Annie she's fair as the first o' the day, And Willie he's honest and stalwart and gay?
Oh, the tane has a daddy is poor and is proud, And the tither a minnie that cleiks at the goud '. They lo'ed are anither, and said their say, But the daddy and minnie hae partit the twae!
O LASSIE AYONT THE HILL!
O lassie ayont the hill,
Come ower the tap o' the hill,
Come ower the tap wi' the breeze o' the hill,
Bidena ayont the hill!
I'm needin ye sair the nicht, For I'm tired and sick o' mysel.
A body's sel 's the sairest weicht: O lassie, come ower the hill!
Gien a body could be a thoucht o' grace,
And no a sel ava! I'm sick o' my heid and my ban's and my face,
O' my thouchts and mysel and a';
I'm sick o' the warl' and a'; The win' gangs by wi' a hiss;
Throu my starin een the sunbeams fa' But my weary hert they miss!
O lassie ayont the hill, Come ower the tap o' the hill, Come ower the tap wi' the breeze o' the hill, Bidena ayont the hill! &c.
For gien I but saw yer bonnie heid,
And the sunlicht o' yer hair, The ghaist o' mysel wud fa' doun deid,
I wud be mysel nae mair.
I wud be mysel nae mair,
Filled o' the sole remeid,
Slain by the arrows o' licht frae yer hair, Killed by yer body and heid!
O lassie ayont the hill, &c.
My sel micht wauk up at the saft fitfa'
O' my bonnie departin dame; But gien she lo'ed me ever sae sma'
I micht bide it--the weary same! Noo, sick o' my body and name
Whan it lifts its upsettin heid,
I turn frae the cla'es that cover my frame As gien they war roun the deid.
O lassie ayont the hill, &c.
But gien ye lo'ed me as I lo'e you
I wud ring my ain deid knell; The spectre wud melt, shot through and through
Wi' the shine o' your sunny sel! By the shine o' yer sunny sel,
By the licht aneth yer broo
I wud dee to mysel, ring my ain deid-bell, And live again in you!
O lassie ayont the hill,
Come ower the tap o' the hill,
Come ower the tap wi' the breeze o' the hill,
For I want ye sair the nicht!
I'm needin ye sair the nicht,
For I'm tired and sick o' mysel.
A body's sel 's the sairest weicht: O lassie, come ower the hill!
THE BONNY, BONNY DELL.
Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the yorlin sings, Wi' a clip o' the sunshine atween his wings; Whaur the birks are a' straikit wi' fair munelicht, And the brume hings its lamps by day and by nicht; Whaur the burnie comes trottin ower shingle and stane Liltin bonny havers til 'tsel its lane; And the sliddery troot wi' ae soop o' its tail Is ahint the green weed's dark swingin veil! Oh, the bonny, bonny dell, whaur I sang as I saw The yorlin, the brume, and the burnie, and a'!
Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the primroses won, Luikin oot o' their leaves like wee sons o' the sun; Whaur the wild roses hing like flickers o' flame, And fa' at the touch wi' a dainty shame; Whaur the bee swings ower the white-clovery sod, And the butterfly flits like a stray thoucht o' God; Whaur, like arrow shot frae life's unseen bow, The dragon-fly burns the sunlicht throu! Oh, the bonny, bonny dell, whaur I sang to see The rose and the primrose, the draigon and bee!
Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the mune luiks doon As gien she war hearin a soughless tune, Whan the flooers and the birdies are a' asleep, And the verra burnie gangs creepy-creep; Whaur the corn-craik craiks i' the lang-heidit rye, And the nicht is the safter for his rouch cry; Whaur the win' wud fain lie doon on the slope, And the gloamin waukens the high-reachin hope! Oh, the bonny, bonny dell, whaur, silent, I felt The mune and the darkness baith into me melt!
Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the sun luiks in Sayin, "Here awa, there awa, hand awa, Sin!" Sayin darkness and sorrow a' work for the licht, And the will o' God was the hert o' the nicht; Whaur the laverock hings hie, on his ain sang borne, Wi' bird-shout and tirralee hailin the morn; Whaur my hert ran ower wi' the lusome bliss That, come winter, come weather, nocht gaed amiss! Oh, the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the sun luikit in Sayin, "Here awa, there awa, hand awa, Sin!"
Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur aft I wud lie, Wi' Jeanie aside me sae sweet and sae shy; Whaur the starry gowans wi' rose-dippit tips War as white as her cheek and as reid as her lips; Whaur she spread her gowd hert till she saw that I saw, Syne fauldit it up and gied me it a'; Whaur o' sunlicht and munelicht she was the queen, For baith war but middlin withoot my Jean! Oh, the bonny, bonny dell, whaur aft I wud lie, Wi' Jeanie aside me sae sweet and sae shy!
Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the kirkyard lies A' day and a' nicht luikin up to the skies; Whaur the sheep wauken up i' the simmer nicht, Tak a bite and lie doon, and await the licht; Whaur the psalms roll ower the grassy heaps; Whaur the win' comes and moans, and the rain comes and weeps; Whaur my Jeanie's no lyin in a' the lair, For she's up and awa up the angels' stair! Oh, the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the kirkyard lies, Whaur the stars luik doon, and the nicht-wind sighs!
NANNIE BRAW.
I like ye weel upo Sundays, Nannie,
I' yer goon and yer ribbons and a'; But I like ye better on Mondays, Nannie,
Whan ye're no sae buskit and braw.
For whan we're sittin sae douce, Nannie,
Wi' the lave o' the worshippin fowk, That aneth the haly hoose, Nannie,
Ye micht hear a moudiwarp howk,
It will come into my heid, Nannie,
O' yer braws ye are thinkin a wee; No alane o' the Bible-seed, Nannie,
Nor the minister nor me!
Syne hame athort the green, Nannie,
Ye gang wi' a toss o' yer chin; And there walks a shadow atween 's, Nannie,
A dark ane though it be thin!
But noo, whan I see ye gang, Nannie,
Eident at what's to be dune, Liltin a haiveless sang, Nannie,
I wud kiss yer verra shune!
Wi' yer silken net on yer hair, Nannie,
I' yer bonnie blue petticoat, Wi' yer kin'ly arms a' bare, Nannie,
On yer ilka motion I doat.
For, oh, but ye're canty and free, Nannie,
Airy o' hert and o' fit! A star-beam glents frae yer ee, Nannie--
O' yersel ye're no thinkin a bit!
Fillin the cogue frae the coo, Nannie,
Skimmin the yallow ream, Pourin awa the het broo, Nannie,
Lichtin the lampie's leme,
Turnin or steppin alang, Nannie,
Liftin and layin doon, Settin richt what's aye gaein wrang, Nannie,
Yer motion's baith dance and tune!
I' the hoose ye're a licht and a law, Nannie,
A servan like him 'at's abune: Oh, a woman's bonniest o' a', Nannie,
Doin what maun be dune!
Cled i' yer Sunday claes, Nannie,
Fair kythe ye to mony an ee; But cled i' yer ilka-day's, Nannie,
Ye draw the hert frae me!
OWER THE HEDGE.