When Molly's father heard of it, a solemn oath he swore, That if she'd wed a foreigner he'd never see her more. He sent for young MacDonald and he plainly told him so - "I'll never give to such as you my Irish Molly O!"
MacDonald heard the heavy news, and grievously did say - "Farewell, my lovely Molly, since I'm banished far away, A poor forlorn pilgrim I must wander to and fro, And all for the sake of my Irish Molly O!
"There is a rose in Ireland, I thought it would be mine: But now that she is lost to me, I must for ever pine, Till death shall come to comfort me, for to the grave I'll go, And all for the sake of my Irish Molly O!
"And now that I am dying, this one request I crave, To place a marble tombstone above my humble grave! And on the stone these simple words I'd have engraven so - "'MacDonald lost his life for love of Irish Molly O!'"
Unknown
SONG
At setting day and rising morn, Wi' soul that still shall love thee, I'll ask o' Heaven thy safe return, Wi' a' that can improve thee. I'll visit aft the birken bush Where first thou kindly tauld me Sweet tales o' love, and hid my blush, Whilst round thou didst infauld me.
To a' our haunts I will repair, By greenwood, shaw, or fountain, Or where the summer day I'd share Wi' thee upon yon mountain: There will I tell the trees an' flooers, From thoughts unfeigned an' tender; By vows you're mine, by love is yours A heart that cannot wander.
Allan Ramsay [1686-1758]
LOCHABER NO MORE
Farewell to Lochaber, an' farewell my Jean, Where heartsome wi' thee I hae mony day been; For Lochaber no more, Lochaber no more! We'll maybe return to Lochaber no more! These tears that I shed, they are a' for my dear, An' no for the dangers attending on weir, Though borne on rough seas to a far bloody shore, Maybe to return to Lochaber no more.
Though hurricanes rise, an' rise every wind, They'll ne'er mak' a tempest like that in my mind; Though loudest o' thunders on louder waves roar, That's naething like leaving my love on the shore. To leave thee behind me my heart is sair pained; By ease that's inglorious no fame can be gained; An' beauty an' love's the reward o' the brave, An' I must deserve it before I can crave.
Then glory, my Jeanie, maun plead my excuse; Since honor commands me, how can I refuse? Without it I ne'er can have merit for thee, An' without thy favor I'd better not be, I gae, then, my lass, to win honor an' fame, An' if I should luck to come gloriously hame, I'll bring a heart to thee wi' love running o'er, An' then I'll leave thee an' Lochaber no more.
Allan Ramsay [1686-1758]
WILLIE AND HELEN
"Wharefore sou'd ye talk o' love, Unless it be to pain us? Wharefore sou'd ye talk o' love Whan ye say the sea maun twain us?"
"It's no because my love is light, Nor for your angry deddy; It's a' to buy ye pearlins bright, An' to busk ye like a leddy."
"O Willy, I can caird an' spin, Sae ne'er can want for cleedin'; An' gin I hae my Willy's heart, I hae a' the pearls I'm heedin'.
"Will it be time to praise this cheek Whan years an' tears hae blenched it? Will it be time to talk o' love Whan cauld an' care hae quenched it?"
He's laid ae han' about her waist - The ither's held to heaven; An' his luik was like the luik o' man Wha's heart in twa is riven.
Hew Ainslie [1792-1878]
ABSENCE
With leaden foot Time creeps along While Delia is away: With her, nor plaintive was the song, Nor tedious was the day.
Ah, envious Power! reverse my doom; Now double thy career, Strain every nerve, stretch every plume, And rest them when she's here!
Richard Jago [1715-1781]
"MY MOTHER BIDS ME BIND MY HAIR"
My mother bids me bind my hair With bands of rosy hue; Tie up my sleeves with ribbons rare, And lace my bodice blue!
"For why," she cries, "sit still and weep, While others dance and play?" Alas! I scarce can go, or creep, While Lubin is away!
'Tis sad to think the days are gone When those we love were near! I sit upon this mossy stone, And sigh when none can hear:
And while I spin my flaxen thread, And sing my simple lay, The village seems asleep, or dead, Now Lubin is away!
Anne Hunter [1742-1821]
"BLOW HIGH! BLOW LOW!"
Blow high, blow low! let tempest tear The mainmast by the board! My heart (with thoughts of thee, my dear! And love well stored) Shall brave all danger, scorn all fear, The roaring wind, the raging sea, In hopes, on shore, To be once more Safe moored with thee.
Aloft, while mountain-high we go, The whistling winds that scud along, And the surge roaring from below, Shall my signal be To think on thee. And this shall be my Song, Blow high, blow low! let tempest tear. . . .
And on that night (when all the crew The memory of their former lives, O'er flowing cans of flip renew, And drink their sweethearts and their wives), I'll heave a sigh, And think of thee. And, as the ship toils through the sea, The burden of my Song shall be, Blow high, blow low! let tempest tear. . . .
Charles Dibdin [1745-1814]
THE SILLER CROUN
"And ye sall walk in silk attire, And siller ha'e to spare, Gin ye'll consent to be his bride, Nor think o' Donald mair."
Oh, wha wad buy a silken goun Wi' a puir broken heart? Or what's to me a siller croun, Gin' frae my luve I part?
The mind wha's every wish is pure Far dearer is to me; And ere I'm forced to break my faith, I'll lay me doun and dee.
For I ha'e pledged my virgin troth Brave Donald's fate to share; And he has gi'en to me his heart, Wi' a' its virtues rare.
His gentle manners wan my heart, He gratefu' took the gift; Could I but think to tak' it back, It wad be waur than theft.
For langest life can ne'er repay The love he bears to me; And ere I'm forced to break my troth I'll lay me doun and dee.
Susanna Blamire [1747-1794]
"MY NANNIE'S AWA'"
Now in her green mantle blithe Nature arrays, An' listens the lambkins that bleat o'er the braes, While birds warble welcome in ilka green shaw; But to me it's delightless - my Nannie's awa'.
The snaw-drap an' primrose our woodlands adorn, An' violets bathe in the weet o' the morn; They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw, They mind me o' Nannie - an' Nannie's awa'.
Thou laverock that springs frae the dews of the lawn, The shepherd to warn o' the gray-breaking dawn, An' thou mellow mavis that hails the night-fa', Give over for pity - my Nannie's awa'.
Come, autumn, sae pensive, in yellow an' gray, An' soothe me wi' tidings o' Nature's decay; The dark, dreary winter, an' wild-driving snaw Alane can delight me - now Nannie's awa'.
Robert Burns [1759-1796]
"AE FOND KISS"
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever; Ae fareweel, alas, for ever! Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee, Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee!
Who shall say that Fortune grieves him While the star of Hope she leaves him? Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me, Dark despair around benights me.
I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy; Naething could resist my Nancy; But to see her was to love her, Love but her, and love for ever.
Had we never loved sae kindly, Had we never loved sae blindly, Never met, or never parted, We had ne'er been broken-hearted.
Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest! Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest! Thine be ilka joy and treasure, Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure!
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever! Ae fareweel, alas, for ever! Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee, Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee!
Robert Burns [1759-1796]
"THE DAY RETURNS"
The day returns, my bosom burns, The blissful day we twa did meet; Though winter wild in tempest toiled, Ne'er summer sun was half sae sweet. Than a' the pride that loads the tide, And crosses o'er the sultry line, - Than kingly robes, and crowns and globes, Heaven gave me more, - it made thee mine.
While day and night can bring delight. Or Nature aught of pleasure give, - While joys above my mind can move, For thee, and thee alone, I live. When that grim foe of life below Comes in between to make us part, The iron hand that breaks our band, It breaks my bliss, - it breaks my heart.
Robert Burns [1759-1796]
MY BONNIE MARY
Go fetch to me a pint o' wine, And fill it in a silver tassie, That I may drink, before I go, A service to my bonnie lassie. The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith, Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the ferry, The ship rides by the Berwick-law, And I maun leave my bonnie Mary.
The trumpets sound, the banners fly, The glittering spears are ranked ready; The shouts o' war are heard afar, The battle closes thick and bloody; But it's no the roar o' sea or shore Wad mak me langer wish to tarry; Nor shout o' war that's heard afar - It's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary!
Robert Burns [1759-1796]
A RED, RED ROSE
O, my luve's like a red, red rose That's newly sprung in June; O, my luve's like the melodie That's sweetly played in tune.
As fair thou art, my bonnie lass, So deep in luve am I; And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a' the seas gang dry.
Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, And the rocks melt wi' the sun; I will luve thee still, my dear, While the sands o' life shall run.
And fare-thee-weel, my only luve! And fare-thee-weel a while! And I will come again, my luve, Though it were ten thousand mile.