And when they came to Kelso town,
They gaur'd the clap gang through;
Saw ye a lass wi' a hood and mantle,
The face o't lined up wi' blue?
The face o't lined up wi' blue,
And the tail turn'd up wi' green;
Saw ye a lass wi' a hood and mantle,
Should ha'e been married on Tuesday 't e'en?
O at the saft and silly bridegroom
The bridemaids a' were laughin';
When up there spake the bridegroom's man,
Now what means a' this daffin'?
For woman's love's a wilfu' thing,
And fancy flies fu' free;
Then hey play up the rinaway bride,
For she has ta'en the gee.
Exile of Uldoonan.
[John Grieve.—The air of this is given in "The Scottish Minstrel," and is said to have been long current in the north of Scotland as the composition of John M'Murdo of Kintall. It is the same as what appears among the Irish Melodies under the name of "The Legacy."]
Adieu to rock and to water-fall,
Whose echoes start among Albyn's hills,
A long adieu, Uldoonan! and all
Thy wildwood steeps, and thy sparkling rills.
From the dreams of my childhood and youth I awaken,
And all the sweet visions that fancy wove;
Adieu! ye lone glens, and ye braes of green braken,
Endeared by friendship, and hope, and love.
The stranger came, and adversity's wind
Blew cold and chill on my father's hearth;
I strove, but vainly, some shelter to find
Among the fields of my father's birth:
But my desolate spirit shall never be severed
From the home where a sister and mother once smiled,
Though within its bare walls lies the roof-tree all shivered,
And mouldering rubbish is spread and piled.
I hear before me the waters roar;
I see the galley in yonder bay,
All ready and trim, she beckons the shore,
And seems to chide my longer stay.
Uldoonan! when lingering afar from thy valley,
At my pilgrimage close o'er the billowy brine,
Harps long will be strung, and new voices will hail thee,
Without devotion and love like mine.
Clout the Caldron.
[From the first vol. of Ramsay's Tea-Table Miscellany. "A tradition," says Burns, "is mentioned" in the 'Bee,' that the second Bishop Chisholm, of Dunblane, used to say, that if he were going to be hanged, nothing could soothe his mind so much by the way as to hear 'Clout the Caldron' played. I have met with another tradition, that the old song to this tune,
'Ha'e ye ony pots or pans,
Or ony broken chandlers,'
was composed by one of the Kenmure family, in the cavalier times; and alluding to an amour he had, while under hiding, in the disguise of an itinerant tinker. The air is also known by the name of 'The Blacksmith and his Apron,' which from the rhythm, seems to have been a line of some old song to the tune."]
Have ye any pots or pans,
Or any broken chandlers?
I am a tinker to my trade,
And newly come frae Flanders,
As scant of siller as of grace:
Disbanded, we've a bad run;
Gar tell the lady of the place,
I'm come to clout her caldron.
Fa, adrie, diddie, diddle, &c.
Madam, if you have wark for me,
I'll do't to your contentment;
And dinna care a single flie
For any man's resentment;
For, lady fair, though I appear
To every ane a tinker,
Yet to yoursell I'm bauld to tell,
I am a gentle jinker.
Love Jupiter into a swan
Turned, for his loved Leda;
He like a bull ower meadows ran,
To carry off Europa.
