"Tis not beneath the coronet,

Nor canopy of state, "Tis not on couch of velvet, Nor arbor of the great'Tis beneath the spreading birk, In the glen without the name, Wi' a bonnie, bonnie lassie,

When the kye comes hame.

There the blackbird bigs his nest
For the mate he lo'es to see,
And on the topmost bough,
O, a happy bird is he!

Then he pours his melting ditty,
And love is a' the theme,
And he'll woo his bonnie lassie
When the kye comes hame.

When the blewart bears a pearl,
And the daisy turns a pea,
And the bonnie lucken gowan

Has fauldit up her e'e,

Then the laverock frae the blue lift

Draps down, and thinks nae shame

To woo his bonnie lassie

When the kye comes hame.

See yonder pawkie shepherd

That lingers on the hillHis ewes are in the fauld,

And his lambs are lying still; Yet he downa gang to bed,

For his heart is in a flame

To meet his bonnie lassie

When the kye comes hame.

When the little wee bit heart

Rises high in the breast, And the little wee bit starn

Rises red in the east,

The Low-Backed Car

O there's a joy sae dear,

That the heart can hardly frame, Wi' a bonnie, bonnie lassie,

When the kye comes hame.

Then since all nature joins

In this love without alloy,
O, wha wad prove a traitor
To Nature's dearest joy?
Or wha wad choose a crown,
Wi' its perils and its fame,
And miss his bonnie lassie
When the kye comes hame?
When the kye comes hame,

When the kye comes hame

'Tween the gloamin' and the mirk,
When the kye comes hame!

777

James Hogg [1770-1835]

THE LOW-BACKED CAR

WHEN first I saw sweet Peggy,

'Twas on a market day,

A low-backed car she drove, and sat

Upon a truss of hay;

But when that hay was blooming grass

And decked with flowers of Spring,
No flower was there that could compare
With the blooming girl I sing.
As she sat in the low-backed car,
The man at the turnpike bar

Never asked for the toll,

But just rubbed his ould poll, And looked after the low-backed car.

In battle's wild commotion,

The proud and mighty Mars,

With hostile scythes, demands his tithes

Of death-in warlike cars;

While Peggy, peaceful goddess,
Has darts in her bright eye,

That knock men down in the market town,
As right and left they fly;-
While she sits in her low-backed car,

Than battle more dangerous far,

For the doctor's art

Cannot cure the heart

That is hit from that low-backed car.

Sweet Peggy round her car, sir,
Has strings of ducks and geese,
But the scores of hearts she slaughters
By far outnumber these;

While she among her poultry sits,

Just like a turtle-dove,

Well worth the cage, I do engage,

Of the blooming god of Love! While she sits in her low-backed car, The lovers come near and far,

And envy the chicken

That Peggy is pickin',

As she sits in her low-backed car.

O, I'd rather own that car, sir,

With Peggy by my side,

Than a coach-and-four, and goold galore,

And a lady for my bride;

For the lady would sit forninst me,

On a cushion made with taste,
While Peggy would sit beside me,

With my arm around her waist,—
While we drove in the low-backed car,
To be married by Father Mahar,
O, my heart would beat high

At her glance and her sigh,

Though it beat in a low-backed car!

Samuel Lover [1797-1868]

The Pretty Girl of Loch Dan 779

THE PRETTY GIRL OF LOCH DAN

THE shades of eve had crossed the glen
That frowns o'er infant Avonmore,
When, nigh Loch Dan, two weary men,
We stopped before a cottage door.

"God save all here!" my comrade cries,
And rattles on the raised latch-pin;
"God save you kindly!" quick replies
A clear sweet voice, and asks us in.

We enter; from the wheel she starts,
A rosy girl with soft black eyes;
Her fluttering curtsey takes our hearts,
Her blushing grace and pleased surprise.

Poor Mary, she was quite alone,

For, all the way to Glenmalure,

Her mother had that morning gone,
And left the house in charge with her.

But neither household cares, nor yet

The shame that startled virgins feel, Could make the generous girl forget Her wonted hospitable zeal.

She brought us, in a beechen bowl,

Sweet milk that smacked of mountain thyme,

Oat cake, and such a yellow roll

Of butter, it gilds all my rhyme!

And, while we ate the grateful food
(With weary limbs on bench reclined),
Considerate and discreet, she stood
Apart, and listened to the wind.

Kind wishes both our souls engaged,

From breast to breast spontaneous ran

-

The mutual thought, we stood and pledged

THE MODEST ROSE ABOVE LOCH DAN.

"The milk we drink is not more pure,

Sweet Mary, bless those budding charms!— Than your own generous heart, I'm sure, Nor whiter than the breast it warms!"

She turned and gazed, unused to hear
Such language in that homely glen;
But, Mary, you have naught to fear,
Though smiled on by two stranger-men.

Not for a crown would I alarm

Your virgin pride by word or sign, Nor need a painful blush disarm

My friend of thoughts as pure as mine.

Her simple heart could not but feel

The words we spoke were free from guile; She stooped, she blushed, she fixed her wheel,-'Tis all in vain,-she can't but smile!

Just like sweet April's dawn appears
Her modest face,-I see it yet,—
And though I lived a hundred years
Methinks I never could forget

The pleasure that, despite her heart,
Fills all her downcast eyes with light;
The lips reluctantly apart,

The white teeth struggling into sight,

The dimples eddying o'er her cheek,—
The rosy cheek that won't be still:-
O, who could blame what flatterers speak,
Did smiles like this reward their skill?

For such another smile, I Vow,

Though loudly beats the midnight rain, I'd take the mountain-side e'en now,

And walk to Luggelaw again!

Samuel Ferguson [1810-1886]