II. For beauty and fortune The laddie's been courtin'; Weel-featured, weel-tocher'd, weel-mounted, and braw; But chiefly the siller, That gars him gang till her, That fain wad a haen him; And Susie, whose daddy was laird o' the ha'; Maist fetters his fancy But the laddie's dear sel' he lo'es dearest of a'. In his notes on the Museum, Burns says-" This air is claimed by Neil Gow, who calls it a Lament for his Brother. The first half-stanza of the song is old, the rest is mine." It must be borne in mind that the Poet was sometimes summoned hastily to fill up the gaps which time had made in ancient song, and that he supplied the publisher with the first-fruits of his fancy. Yet, even in the most careless of these effusions, there is a happiness of thought or of expression which few can reach by study. MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS. Tune-"Failte na Miosg." I. My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here; The hills of the Highlands for ever I love. II. Farewell to the mountains high cover'd with snow; "The first half-stanza," says Burns, "of this song is old, the rest is mine." Of the old song no one has given any specimens; it is said by tradition to be the lamentation of a Highland chief, imprisoned in the Lowlands, who languished for his green glens, his boundless hills, and sylvan liberty. Scott, with his usual happiness, touched on the same sentiment, in describing the singing of the Highland reapers : "Oft have I listened, and stood still, As it came soften'd up the hill; And deem'd it the lament of men Who languished for their native glen; And thought how drear had been such sound On Susquehana's swampy ground." Burns had the north of Scotland spirit strong within him. His father was of that land; his language is tinged with that of the district of "The Keith Marischall," and his love of the wild woods and lonesome glens is Celtic rather than Saxon. This accounts for his love of Ossian's poems: no one can properly feel the poetry of those compositions who shares not in the blood of the Gael, and is unacquainted with Highland scenery and Highland chivalry. JOHN ANDERSON. Tune-" John Anderson my jo." I. JOHN Anderson my jo, John, When we were first acquent; Your locks were like the raven, Your bonnie brow was brent; But now your brow is beld, John, Your locks are like the snaw; But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson my jo. II. John Anderson my jo, John, And mony a canty day, John, Now we maun totter down, John, And sleep thegither at the foot, The north is fruitful in John Andersons; but none of them can be compared with that of Burns. The old minstrel sings in Percy's Black-Book of Ballads :"John Anderson my jo, Come in as ye gae by; And ye sall get a sheep's-head Weel baken in a pie; Weel baken in a pie, And the haggis in a pat, John Anderson my jo, Come in an' ye's get that." Brash and Reid gave what they called an improved "John Anderson from the pen of Burns. The second stanza is clever : "John Anderson my jo, John, When nature first began Sae trig frae tap to toe, She proved to be nae journey-work, John Anderson my jo." The hand of Burns is so visible in this verse, that a singer might safely add it, were the song not long enough for the voice already. |