For old hereditary right,
For conscience’
sake they stoutly stood;
And for the crown their valiant
sons
Themselves have
shed their injured blood;
And if their fathers ne’er
had fought
For heirs of ancient
royalty,
They ’re down the day
that might hae been
At the top o’
honour’s tree a’.
[64] This song having become known to George IV., it is said to have induced his Majesty to award the royal sanction for the restitution of the title of Baron to Lady Nairn’s husband.—(See Memoir.)
TRUE LOVE IS WATERED AYE WI’ TEARS.[65]
True love is water’d
aye wi’ tears,
It grows ’neath
stormy skies,
It ‘s fenced around
wi’ hopes and fears
An’ fann’d
wi’ heartfelt sighs.
Wi’ chains o’
gowd it will no be bound,
Oh! wha the heart
can buy?
The titled glare, the warldling’s
care,
Even absence ’twill
defy,
Even
absence ’twill defy.
And time, that kills a’
ither things,
His withering
touch ’twill brave,
’Twill live in joy,
’twill live in grief,
’Twill live
beyond the grave!
’Twill live, ’twill
live, though buried deep,
In true heart’s
memorie—
Oh! we forgot that ane sae
fair,
Sae bricht, sae
young, could dee,
Sae
young could dee.
Unfeeling hands may touch
the chord
Where buried griefs
do lie—
How many silent agonies
May that rude
touch untie!
But, oh! I love that
plaintive lay—
That dear auld
melodie!
For, oh, ’tis sweet!—yet
I maun greet,
For it was sung
by thee,
Sung
by thee!
They may forget wha lichtly
love,
Or feel but beauty’s
chain;
But they wha loved a heavenly
mind
Can never love
again!
A’ my dreams o’
warld’s guid
Aye were turn’d
wi’ thee,
But I leant on a broken reed
Which soon was
ta’en frae me,
Ta’en
frae me.
’Tis weel, ’tis
weel, we dinna ken
What we may live
to see,
’Twas Mercy’s
hand that hung the veil
O’er sad
futurity!
Oh, ye whose hearts are scathed
and riven,
Wha feel the warld
is vain,
Oh, fix your broken earthly
ties
Where they ne’er
will break again,
Break
again!
[65] Here first printed.
AH, LITTLE DID MY MOTHER THINK.[66]
Ah, little did my mother think
When to me she
sung,
What a heartbreak I would
be,
Her young and
dautit son.
And oh! how fond she was o’
me
In plaid and bonnet
braw,
When I bade farewell to the
north countrie,
And marching gaed
awa!