Hae I a joy? it's a' her ain! United still her heart and mine; That's twined till death shall them disjoin. The author of this beautiful song was the friend and correspondent of Robert Burns. In his "Epistle to J. Lapraik, an old Scottish bard," dated April 1st, 1785, Burns pays his predecessor the following fine compliment: "Lapraik," says Burns, "was a very worthy facetious old fellow, late of Dalfram, near Muirkirk, which little property he was obliged to sell in consequence of some connexion as security for some persons concerned in that villanous bubble, the Ayr Bank.' He has often told me that he composed this song one day when his wife had been fretting over their misfortunes." Lapraik died in 1807. "TWAS within a mile of Edinburgh town, In the rosy time of the year; Sweet flowers bloom'd, and the grass was down, And each shepherd woo'd his dear. Bonnie Jockie, blythe and gay, Kiss'd sweet Jenny making hay : The lassie blush'd, and frowning cried, "Na, na, it winna do ; I canna, canna, winna, winna, maunna buckle to." Jockie was a wag that never would wed, Though long he had follow'd the lass: Contented she earn'd and eat her brown bread, And merrily turn'd up the grass. Bonnie Jockie, blythe and free, Won her heart right merrily: Yet still she blush'd, and frowning cried, "Na, na, it winna do; I canna, canna, winna, winna, maunna buckle to." But when he vow'd he would make her his bride, Though his flocks and herds were not few, She gave him her hand, and a kiss beside, Bonnie Jockie, blythe and free, Won her heart right merrily: At church she no more frowning cried, “Na, na, it winna do; I canna, canna, winna, winna, maunna buckle to." Modernised from a song by Thomas D'Urfey. The air to which the song is now usually sung is of more recent origin than the words, having been the composition of Mr. Hook, father of the late Theodore Hook the novelist. Mr. Hook, besides composing many beautiful English melodies, wrote several in imitation of the Scottish manner, many of which are still popular. THOU ART GANE AWA'. ANONYMOUS. From "Johnson's Museum," 1787. To the tune of THOU art gane awa', thou art gane awa', That aught could alter thee, Mary; Whate'er he said or might pretend That stole the heart of thine, Mary, Though you've been false, yet while I live Thy wrongs to them and me, Mary. Half what I've done for thee, Mary. THE TEARS I SHED MUST EVER FALL. MRS. DUGALD STEWART, wife of the philosopher. From "Johnson's Museum," 1792. THE tears I shed must ever fall,— I mourn not for an absent swain; I weep not for the silent dead,— Their toils are past, their sorrows o'er ; And those they loved their steps shall tread, And death shall join to part no more. Though boundless oceans roll'd between, But bitter, bitter are the tears Of her who slighted love bewails; The flattering veil is rent aside, The flame of love burns to destroy. In vain does memory renew The hours once tinged in transport's dye; The sad reverse soon starts to view, And turns the past to agony. Those pangs to every feeling due: No cold approach, no alter'd mien, Just what would make suspicion start; No pause the dire extremes between, He made me blest-and broke my heart. From hope, the wretched's anchor, torn; Neglected and neglecting all, Friendless, forsaken, and forlorn, The tears I shed must ever fall. Он, weel may the boatie row, And better may she speed; That wins the bairns' bread. I coost my line in Largo Bay, |