But still thro' life we'll happy be, at fate ne'er repine; Tho' warldly cares, at times, should thraw, we'll ne'er our pleasures tyne; While seated here, in frien❜ly glow, wi' hearts an' han's we join, And bring again, wi' cantie glee, the days o' langsyne. While seated here, &c. * TAM GLEN. TUNE-"The Mucking o' Geordie's Byre." But what will I do wi' Tam Glen? There's Lowrie, the laird o' Drummeller, But whan will he dance like Tam Glen? My daddie says, gin I'll forsake him, He'll gie me gude hunder marks ten; * This song is the production of a Mechanic in Glasgow, who is also the author of Scotia's Sons, The Coggie, and several other pieces of considerable merit. Some of them will be found in our subsequent pages. But if it's ordain'd I maun take him, My heart to my mou' gied a sten, The last Hallowe'en I was waukin', Gif ye will advise me to marry The lad I loo dearly, Tam Glen. THE BONNIE BRUCKET LASSIE. THE bonnie brucket lassie, She was the fairest lassie That danc'd on the green. A lad he loo'd her dearly, She did his love return; But he his vows has broken, And left her for to mourn. My shape, she says, was handsome, My person it was comely, O could I live in darkness, Her lover heard her mourning, I'll faithful prove to you. * "The two first lines of this song are all of it that is old. The rest of the song, as well as those songs in the Museum (Johnson's) marked T, are the works of an obscure, tippling, but extraordinary body of the name of Tytler, commonly known by the name of Balloon Tytler, from his having projected a fire balloon: a mortal who, though he trudges about Edinburgh as a common Printer, with leaky shoes, a sky-lighted hat, and kneebuckles [as unlike each other as a rush cap and a diadem;] yet that same unknown drunken mortal is author and compiler three-fourths of Elliot's pompous Encyclopedia Britannica, which he composed at half-a-guinea a-week!" of UP IN THE MORNING EARLY. Up in the morning's no for me, When a' the hills are cover'd wi' snaw, COLD blaws the wind frae east to west, Sae loud and shrill's I hear the blast, Up in the morning, &c. The birds sit chittering in the thorn, BIDE YE YET.' Он had I a house and a cantie wee fire, Ye little ken what may betide you yet; When I gang afield, and come hame at e'en, And bide ye yet, &c. I carena a button for sack fu's o' cash; Gie me my dear lassie to sit on my knee, And if there ever should happen to be AULD LANGSYNE. SHOU'D auld acquaintance be forgot, For auld langsyne, my dear, We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, We twa hae run about the braes, But we've wander'd monie a wearie foot For auld langsyne, &c. We twa hae paidel't i' the burn, For auld langsyne, &c. Now there's a hand, my trusty fiere, And we'll tak a right gude willie waught For auld langsyne. For auld langsyne, &c. |