Part 3
The Young Volunteers frae the vale o' the Nith, May their herts never fail, nor their airms lose their pith. As we hear o' their daurin', oor hert it aye cheers, An' we pray for the lads in the Young Volunteers.
The day will sune dawn, in the East an' the West, Whaur oor brave lads are gieing the foemen nae rest. The fecht will be owre when the morning appears, Wi' victory's croon for the Young Volunteers.
Some are awa' tae the Land o' the Leal, Forgotten are bullets an' deidly cauld steel, Whaur there's angels, bricht angels, tae wipe awa' tears, An' the watchword is love, wi' oor ain Volunteers.
THE PONY DRIVER'S LAMENT FOR PUIR GEORDIE,
_Who, going lame, had to be shot before he could be drawn from the mine._
Puir Geordie! ye are deid an' gane, An' free frae every ache an' pain; Frae tip o' tail tae glossy mane Ye were a beauty, An' when ye were upon this plane Ye did yer duty.
Tae draw an' kep, tae turn an' back, An' lift a hutch when aff the track, Ye werena feart yer limbs tae wrack But strained wi' micht: A horse like ye for daein' wark Ne'er saw the licht.
Shame! that a beast like ye sae fine Should e'er been pitten doon a mine, Awa' frae a' the gled sunshine. Ah! cruel fate, They thocht tae bring ye up again, Alas! owre late.
When ye gaed lame an' couldna' draw, They killed ye wi' a rifle ba'; I couldna' stan' tae see ye fa', Sae turned tae rear Tae hide my grief an' wipe awa' The startin' tear.
An' noo when in the grave ye lie I think on ye wi' mony a sigh; Owre milk that's spilt nae use tae cry, Say tak' yer rest, But this I ken, as low ye lie, Auld freens are best.
THE BRIDE'S LAMENT.
_Song._ _Tune, "Bonnie Light Horseman."_
REFRAIN.
I had a true lover, he gaed to the war; 'Twas a lasting farewell; here I'll ne'er see him more.
We were happy together on yon mountain side, Where we met and we parted; he made me his bride.
REFRAIN.
At Loos in the battle my lover fought well; Though wounded and bleeding, still fighting he fell.
No more he will wander his own Highland glen, For my lover lies buried on fair Flanders' plain.
REFRAIN
When this wild war is over I will go to his grave, The salt tear to shed for my gallant and brave.
Oh! bitter is my sorrow, and sadly I weep, And fain would I join in my lover's last sleep.
REFRAIN.
When God in His mercy shall call me above We shall meet and rejoice in His infinite love.
AT DAVY'S GRAVE.
The life of one we called our own Has ended here. Here lies his frame; his soul has flown To grander sphere, Where pain and suffering come no more, Where silver waves lap the golden shore, Where the music of the angelic choir Falls on the ear.
His simple life showed noble parts From day to day: By love and trust, o'er all our hearts He gained the sway. Our love and care tenfold repaid By him, now "dear departed shade," Resigned to suffering, while he made His heavenward way.
The circling lapwing's eerie cry O'er the wind-swept mound, And Afton sweetly singing by Doth requiem sound. We'll leave him here with Nature's wild, Fit resting-place for Nature's child, Whose life was pure and undefiled, In hallowed ground.
SONGS.
THE AULD SANGS.
_Medley._ _Tune, "The Auld Hoose."_
When first I heard the auld sangs 'Twas at my mither's knee; I'll min' her voice sae sweet an' low Until the day I dee. She sang the sang o' Auld Lang Syne, The Braes Abune Bonaw, The Bonnie Woods o' Craigielea, An' Nannie's Noo Awa'.
CHORUS.
The Auld Sangs, the Auld Sangs, I like sae weel tae hear. O, sing tae me the Auld Sangs Tae hert an' memory dear.
Yestreen I gaed a waefu' gait, I tramped o'er moss an' fen Tae haud a tryst wi' Bonnie Kate In Moraig's fairy glen. Ye Banks an' Braes o' Bonnie Doon, The Lass o' Ballochmyle, An' ye shall walk in silk attire Wi' Mary o' Argyle.
CHORUS.
Braw, Braw Lads on Yarrow Braes, Wi' Rabbie's Bonnie Jean, Royal Chairlie's noo awa', An' Jock o' Hazeldean. Gae bring tae me a pint o' wine, Get up an' bar the door. Guidnicht, an' joy be wi' ye a', My bark is on the shore.
MY AULD VIOLIN.
When I was a callan jist entered my teens, Wi' my ain penny savin's an' help o' my freens, I managed tae gether a pickle o' tin Tae buy ye in Glesca, my auld violin.
I min' when I got ye hoo prood I was then, I couldna' been mair sae tho' laird o' the glen; As I lovingly cuddled ye under my chin I vowed I wad cherish my auld violin.
The first time I tried ye yer notes soonded queer, But at scrapin' an' shiftin' I did persevere; "The Last Rose o' Simmer" and "Father O'Flynn" I sune learned tae play on my auld violin.
I thocht when I'd learned weel tae han'le the bow There had ne'er been aic-like since the days o' Neil Gow; For Skinner or Murdoch I cared na a pin As I drew oot the chords frae my auld violin.
Ye gaed tae the concerts, the waddin's, and balls, An' encores were rife frae the pit an' the stalls; An' the youths wi' the dancin' were fain tae begin When they heard the blithe lilt o' my auld violin.
Tho' hard be my fortune an' sair be my toil Tae gain me a leevin' frae mine or frae soil, I'll sit by the fire when my day's darg is dune, An' drive awa' care wi' my auld violin.
When the Trumpet shall soun' an' the ca' shall go forth, Tae the east, tae the wast, tae the sooth, an' the north, When they that are ready shall be a' gethered in, I fain wad be there wi' my auld violin.
THE AULD THACKIT HOOSE.
I'll sing ye a sang aboot the days o' langsyne When the thochts o' the past are the first on my min'; Then many happy days I spent when I was young In the Auld Thackit Hoose on the braes o' the burn.
My faither an' my mither, sae canty an' sae croose, Were happy wi' their bairns in their ain auld hoose; Noo they're sleepin' in the mools an' sair dae I murn, In the Auld Thackit Hoose on the braes o' the burn.
My brithers an' my sisters hae a' taen their flicht, An' they're far frae the bield whaur they first saw the licht; But I'm shair that in longin' their thochts aften turn Tae the Auld Thackit Hoose on the braes o' the burn.
Noo I'm gettin' auld an' doited an' I'm wearin' awa' Tae the land whaur there's nae pain nor sorrow ava', An' lanesome I'm waitin' till the Maister says, Come, Frae the Auld Thackit Hoose on the braes o' the burn.
THE AULD GREY GLEN.
_WANLOCK._
Sixty years hae gane an' mair, an' yet I mind fu' weel, When I was but a laddie jist ready for the schule, The bonnie strappin' lassies an' the brawny stalwart men Reared amang the heather in the Auld Grey Glen.
Each hame was warm in winter an' cool 'neath simmer sun, Built against the hillside wi' routh o' lime an' whun; Nae drawin'-room or parlour but jist a but an' ben, Weel theekit ower wi' heather in the Auld Grey Glen.
Tae meet wi' yin anither we cheerily wad gang, An' be happy a' thegither wi' a guid auld sang; Tho' puir we helped ilk ither an' wad borrow an' wad len', 'Twas a rale communal system in the Auld Grey Glen.
The lads when gaun a-coortin' in guid hamespun were dressed, Wi' braw Balmoral bonnets, a heidgear o' the best; Nae hats wi' gaudy feathers had Mary, Mag, or Jen-- They were cuddled 'neath a plaidie in the Auld Grey Glen.
Tho' customs, fashions a' hae changed the spirit's still the same, An' we're ready aye tae play oor pairts for country an' for hame, Oor dearest, bravest laddies we wullingly did sen' Tae fecht for love and honour an' the Auld Grey Glen.
LEVEL NO. 6.
_Song._ _Tune, "Bound to be a Row."_
Come a' ye jolly miners an' listen tae ma sang, An' then in pity drap a tear as doon the vale ye gang, For a puir unlucky chappie wha's been in mony a fix, An' is noo a powny driver doon in Level No. 6.
CHORUS.
In Level No. 6--in Level No. 6. Yer sorrows are nae far tae seek, In Level No. 6.
There are twa pownies in the mine, a braw an' bonnie pair, An' physically fit are they tae dae their wark an' mair; But Dandy wi' his funeral step, an' Bobbie wi his tricks, Mak' the driver's life a burden doon in Level No. 6.
CHORUS.
An' then the ruif is far owre low, wi' the hinger hingin' doon, Yer needin' stickin' plaister aye, for the dressin' o' yer croon; Sometimes ye think ye've got it, frae a hunerwecht o' bricks-- Job's patience wadna' stan' the test in Level No. 6.
CHORUS.
Whiles when ye think ye're daein' weel, an' a sang begin tae croon, It's then ye hear the gaffer's plaint--"Is this a' ye hae dune?" If ye dinna get the ha'pence, ye're shair tae get the kicks Frae the gaffers or the pownies doon in Level No. 6.
CHORUS.
The miners doon in No. 6 are awfu' han's tae sweer; Gang and hear them for yersel' gin ye think that I'm a leear; There's the Billys and the Sandys, the Taffys and the Micks, Cosmopolitan is jist the word for Level No. 6.
CHORUS.
Wi' a' this fash an' worry, I'm seek an' tired o' life, An' I'd gledly gang an' droon masel' gin that would end the strife; But a worse micht then befa' me, for I'm nae freen o' Auld Nick's, Sae I think I'd better work awa' in Level No. 6.
CHORUS.
EMERGENCY PUMP, LEVEL No. 4.
In 1908 we set ye up, A mechanism fine; We a' admired ye as ye lashed The water frae the mine.
Noo that anither's taen yer place Ye're reckoned second-rate, An' dark an' silent there ye stan' Until there comes a spate.
But when we ask ye for a lift Ye start aff wi' a roar, Sae keen are ye tae dae yer bit At Level No. 4.
When oiled an' greased an' packit weel, An' steady hauds the steam, Ye gang as smooth as ony clock Or ony poet's dream.
Tae pumps, an' horse, an' human kind, The kindlier we are The mair o' guid we get frae them, The less tae fret an' jar.
Sae let us aye keep this in mind When ilka spell is o'er, An' kindly tend ye while ye rest At Level No. 4.
THE TURNING O' THE WHEEL.
_New Song with an Old Title._ _Old Country Style._
As I was a-walking upon a simmer day I spied a bonnie lassie a-winnowin' the hay; Says I, "My bonnie lassie, true love for you I feel. Will ye wed and share what fortune brings wi' the turnin' o' the wheel?"
Says she, "My bonnie laddie, I'm far ower young for thee; My faither an' my mither they baith wad angry be Were I sae young tae wed wi' you an' leave their hamely biel Tae share what fortune brings you wi' the turnin' o' the wheel."
Says I, "My bonnie lassie, O! dinna say me nay; Tho' young you be, that is a faut that's mendin' every day; If ye'll consent tae mairry me ye'll find me kind an' leal, An' we'll share what fortune brings us wi' the turnin' o' the wheel."
Says she, "My bonnie laddie, yer offer tempts me sair; Gin ye can win the auld folks I'll hesitate nae mair, An' I'll lay by my winin's, likewise my rock an' reel, An' share what fortune brings ye wi' the turnin' o' the wheel."
Noo we've been mairried mony a year, an' happy we hae been, We watch oor children's children a-sportin' on the green; Let ilka lad an' lassie wha lo'e each ither weel Get wed an' share what fortune brings wi' the turnin' o' the wheel.
TO ARMS!
_Song._ _Recruiting Call._
Arise! Arise! Britannia's sons! And forward go with flag unfurled, And help to crush this murderous Power That seeks to dominate the world.
Arise and answer to the call, And strike for freedom and the name Of manhood 'gainst a foe that's lost Alike to honour and to shame!
Then dauntless let your courage be Upon the land, upon the sea; Blood of the innocent cries to you For vengeance on the fiendish crew.
Fear not to fight, fear not to die In the dear cause of Liberty; Then righteousness shall be your guard, The God of justice will reward.
THE HAPPY LOVER.
_Song._ _In light vein._
'Twas in the guid auld simmer time, When birdies sang sae cheery O, Yae nicht I busket in my best, An' gaed tae meet my dearie O.
CHORUS.
Singin' fal the dal, fal the didle al; Singin' fal the doo a di dee O.
I met her comin' ower the muir, I was richt gled tae see her O; I kissed her twenty times an' mair Afore that I wad free her O.
CHORUS.
Her dainty heid weel filled wi' sense Aneath her cockernonie O; Her hair the jet, her e'e the slae, Her rosy cheeks sae bonnie O.
CHORUS.
Her lips sae sweet, her chin sae neat Her teeth sae white an' pearly O, Her form the fairest o' the fair, Her voice jist like the merlie O.
CHORUS.
We'll yokit be at Martimas, Tae pu' thro' life thegither O; That happy nicht we'll ever mind Amang the bloomin' heather O.
CHORUS.
NEVER SEEN MORE.
_Song._ _1st Verse, Old Song._
Some die when they're young and some live to old age; Man is a play-actor, this world is a stage; Each one plays his part, and when it is o'er The Curtain drops down and he's never seen more.
He toils from the rise till the set of the sun, And the shadows come down ere his labour is done; Still he holds on his way till his harvest is o'er, Then the Curtain drops down and he's never seen more.
O, man breathes to live, and he lives but to die; His life's a short dream, with eternity nigh; His joys and his sorrows are very soon o'er, For the Curtain drops down and he's never seen more.
As we go thro' this world let us fight the good fight, Let us help one another and do what is right. If we all do our best there's naught to deplore When the Curtain drops down and we're never seen more.
WANLOCK'S BUIRDLY ROBIN.
_To ROBERT WANLOCK REID, born in Wanlockhead, 1850._
_Song. Tune, "Neil Gow."_
Up in the sooth whaur chill win's blaw, An' aft betide rain, rowk an' snaw, 'Twas there the advent did befa' O' Wanlock's Buirdly Robin.
CHORUS
He was a rantin' clever chiel, Could gie a screed richt aff the reel, An' sing a cantie sang as weel, Wanlock's Buirdly Robin.
The fairy folk, a merry ban', Aroon his cradle bed did stan' While the Fairy Princess waved her wan' Owre Wanlock's Buirdly Robin.
CHORUS.
Years syne, in youth's bricht sunny days, He ran aboot the bonnie braes, Mang Nature's wilds he tuned his lays, Wanlock's Buirdly Robin.
CHORUS.
Like Burns, an' Hogg, an' Tannahill, He plied the Muse wi' muckle skill, An' aften did oor hert-strings thrill, Wanlock's Buirdly Robin.
CHORUS.
He's noo awa', far owre the main, An's added lustre tae his name; Oh! wull he no come back again, Wanlock's Buirdly Robin?
CHORUS.
THE LASS O' DURISDEER.
_Song._ _Tune, "My love is like a red, red rose."_
REFRAIN.
Oh! bonnie burn, Oh! bonnie burn, Wi' water crystal clear, Sing sweetly by the hame whaur bides The Lass o' Durisdeer.
Though but a lass o' low estate, I care'na wha may hear Me sing her praise wi' a' ma hert, The Lass o' Durisdeer.
REFRAIN.
In Carron's wild majestic glen Flowers bloom the hert tae cheer, But the fairest flower amang them a' The Lass o' Durisdeer.
REFRAIN.
Wi' voice sweet as the lintie's sang; Melodious on the ear, Wi' een sae blue an' hert sae true, The Lass o' Durisdeer.
REFRAIN.
Though I hae gane sae far awa' Tae fecht for country dear, My fondest hopes are centred on The Lass o' Durisdeer.
REFRAIN.
A fairy guard frae Enterkin Is wi' me, hae nae fear! For I'll come safely hame and wed The Lass o' Durisdeer.
REFRAIN.
BONNIE JEAN.
_Song._
A kennan yont the Lowther Hills, In a miner's cot sae trig an' clean, A lass was born in sixty-twa, The gossips ca'ed her Bonnie Jean. She was her mither's pride an' joy, An angel in her faither's een; O! ne'er was lass in a' the glen That could compare wi' Bonnie Jean.
REFRAIN.
Then here's tae the lass there's nane can surpass, An' may a' that's guid befa' her.
Aye foremaist in the merry ploy 'Mang lads an' lassies on the green; Tae sing an' dance an' play the game, Nane blither there than Bonnie Jean. I've heard the lintie sing his sang, An' mony fairy dawns I've seen, But naething could the fancy stir Or touch ma hert like Bonnie Jean.
REFRAIN.
Yae nicht aneath the mune's pure licht That bathed the moor in silvery sheen I spiered her gin her hert was mine; "It's yours for aye," quo' Bonnie Jean. The years rolled owre oor heids since then Hae mony joys an' sorrows gi'en, But still I share them, yin an' a', Wi' my leal-hearted Bonnie Jean.
REFRAIN.
BETTY O' THE STRANKLY.[1]
_Song._
I've been in London and Paree,[2] I've seen the beauties owre the sea, But nane o' them could please ma e'e Like Betty o' the Strankly.
REFRAIN.
O' a' the lassies I hae seen, This I'll say fu' frankly, There ne'er was yin amang them a' Like Betty o' the Strankly.
O' Nature's charms she has full share, Besides her virtues are so rare That she wi' angels micht compare, Blithe Betty o' the Strankly.
REFRAIN.
Oh! gin I were a worthy swain I'd strive an' work an' siller hain Tae win her hert and mak' a hame For Betty o' the Strankly.
REFRAIN.
Tae comfort her owre life's short span, O, may she wed a leal guidman; For kindly hert an' open han' Has Betty o' the Strankly.
REFRAIN.
[1] Strancleugh.
[2] Paris.
LASS O' GLENDOWERAN.
Glendoweran sits upon a hill, Sae bonnie, all alone; Ye'll find it gin ye tak' a walk Sooth-wast frae Crawfordjohn. An' when ye get upon the hill Amang the sheep an' kye, Jist ca' upon the farmer's folk, Ye maunna pass them by.
Ye'll see a bonnie lassie there, I daurna tell her name; For look an' airt she'd envied be By mony a titled dame. Her music fills the hoose wi' soun' Sae pleasin' tae the ear, It touches baith the hert an' min', An' waukens mem'ries dear.
The lad that wins this lassie's hert Will happy be, I'm shair; Wi' love an' soul-inspiring airt, What could he wish for mair? Then may their lives like pleasant dreams Sae smoothly pass away, Till frae the hill they hae tae gang When life has closed its day.
SAE WULL WE YET.
_New Version._
Come, cheer up, my comrades, an' never say die, There's nae cloud in the lift the wun canna blaw by; 'Neath the sway of a despot we never did sit, We've aye held tae Freedom, an' sae wull we yet.
A Tiger came forth an' Europe was his prey, For mony a year his cubs have drunk success to "the Day;" But the day will come roun', an' the biter will be bit, For we've aye laid the tyrant low, an' sae wull we yet.
Here's a health tae oor lads on the land an' the sea, An' may a' guid attend them whaure'er they may be! In the days that are gane they hae nobly dune their bit, In purpose they are still as strong, an' sae wull they yet.
Why should we sorrow for the brave that are no more? They fought for right an' justice, an' they've reached a fairer shore, Where we'll see them yince again when we prove oorsels as fit, We've trusted aye in Providence, an' sae wull we yet.
Wi' oor leal-herted Allies, then, hand in hand we'll go Till we've silenced all his mighty guns an' vanquished the foe; Then peace frae oor country may ne'er hae tae flit, We've aye believed that this would come, an' sae wull we yet.
THE BONNIE AULD DORIC O' SCOTLAND.
_Tune, "Kail Brose o' Auld Scotland."_
I've been tauld by a freen--tho' I'm laith sae tae think-- That the Auld Scottish Doric is noo on the brink O' passin' awa' an' becomin' extinct, The Bonnie Auld Doric o' Scotland, The Auld Scottish Doric sae fine.
When I first saw the licht in a wee but an' ben An' startit life's battle tae fecht amang men, Fu' soothin' tae me was the soun' o' it then, The Bonnie Auld Doric o' Scotland, The Auld Scottish Doric sae fine.
The days o' my boyhood sair trouble did bring (Time always carries it under his wing), Tae ease me o' pain my mither wad sing In the Bonnie Auld Doric o' Scotland, The Auld Scottish Doric sae fine.
Weel rowed in a plaidie, an' beilt frae the wun', I coortit a lassie sae winsome an' young, I whispered my love in the auld mither tongue-- The Bonnie Auld Doric o' Scotland, The Auld Scottish Doric sae fine.
Where'er I may roam on the land or the sea Oor Doric will aye be the sweetest tae me; It cheers the lane hert and it lichts the sad e'e, The Bonnie Auld Doric o' Scotland, The Auld Scottish Doric sae fine.
It's nonsense tae say that the Doric maun gang, For Rabbie has made it immortal in sang. Sae noo, my auld freen, jist admit ye are wrang 'Boot the Bonnie Auld Doric o' Scotland, The Auld Scottish Doric sae fine.
CHEER UP!
Wee bairnies in the city slum, the time is drawing near When in your lives of want and gloom the daylight will appear; There's men and women working hard; before their work is done They'll take you from your darksome home and place you in the sun.
CHORUS.
Then, cheer up! cheer up! Don't let your spirits go down! Always trust in Providence and never wear a frown. Cheer up! cheer up! Keep smiling if you can, It's an antidote for trouble in the life of man.
Now, all young men and maidens, in the heyday of your charm, Be sure and mate with those you love, 'twill save you future harm. But if a man or maiden gay should bring your love to naught, There's as good fish in the sea to-day as ever have been caught.
CHORUS.
You married men and women, who have realised love's dream, And now with quiver filling, "pulling hard against the stream" You strive and work, yet wonder how your offspring may be fed; Look up! the dawn is breaking; there are better times ahead.
CHORUS.