Jocky met wi' Jenny.
[The tune of "O'er the hills and far away" is a very old Scottish melody. We find it mentioned by Pepys in the days of Charles the Second. It is also selected by Gay for one of his songs in the Beggar's Opera, "Were I laid on Greenland's coast." The song here given is, with the exception of the chorus, not properly a Scottish production, being rather a London imitaticn of Scottish song, brought out about the beginning of the last century, and published with the music in the "Pills to Purge Melancholy," (2d edition, 1709) where it is called "Jocky's Lamentation." Ramsay adopts the song in his Miscellany, with some verbal alterations.]
Jocky met with Jenny fair,
Aft by the dawning of the day;
But Jocky now is full of care,
Since Jenny staw his heart away.
Although she promised to be true,
She proven has, alake! unkind;
Which gars poor Jocky often rue,
That e'er he loved a fickle mind.
And it's over the hills and far away,
Over the hills and far away,
Over the hills and far away,
The wind has blawn my plaid away.
Now Jocky was a bonnie lad
As e'er was born in Scotland fair;
But now, poor man! he's e'en gane wud,
Since Jenny has gart him despair.
Young Jocky was a piper's son,
And fell in love when he was young;
But a' the springs that he could play,
Was o'er the hills, and far away.
And it's o'er the hills, &c.
He sung—When first my Jenny's face
I saw, she seem'd sae fu' of grace,
With meikle joy my heart was fill'd,
That's now, alas! with sorrow kill'd.
Oh! was she but as true as fair,
'Twad put an end to my despair;
Instead of that she is unkind,
And wavers like the winter wind.
And it's o'er the hills, &c.
Ah! could she find the dismal wae,
That for her sake I undergae,
She could nae choose but grant relief,
And put an end to a' my grief,
But, oh! she is as fause as fair,
Which causes a' my sighs and care;
But she triumphs in proud disdain,
And takes a pleasure in my pain.
And it's o'er the hills, &c.
Hard was my hap to fa' in love
With ane that does sae faithless prove;
Hard was my fate to court a maid,
That has my constant heart betray'd.
A thousand times to me she swore,
She wad be true for evermore;
But, to my grief, alake! I say,
She staw my heart and ran away.
And it's o'er the hills, &c.
Since that she will nae pity take,
I maun gae wander for her sake,
And, in ilk wood and gloomy grove,
I'll sighing sing, adieu to love!
Since she is fause whom I adore,
I'll never trust a woman more;
Frae a' their charms I'll flee away,
And on my pipe I'll sweetly play.
And it's o'er the hills, &c.