The Book of Scottish Song/Nae luck about the house
Nae luck about the house.
["This," says Burns, "is one of the most beautiful songs in the Scots, or any other language.— The two lines,
'And will I see his face again,
And will I hear him speak!'
as well as the two preceding ones, are unequalled almost by any thing I ever heard or read: and the lines,
'The present moment is our ain,
The neist we never saw,'
are worthy of the first poet. It is long posterior to Ramsay's days. About the year 1771 or 1772 it came first on the streets as a ballad; and I suppose the composition of the song was not much anterior to that period."—Burns says nothing about the authorship of the song, which has been made in later days a subject of much dispute. It was generally ascribed to William Julius Mickle, the translator of the Lusiad, until Cromek claimed it as the production of a poor school-mistress, named Jean Adams, who lived in Crawford's-dyke, Greenock, early in the last century. Cromek founded his claim on the testimony of Mrs. Fullarton, a pupil of Jean Adams, and others, who had frequently heard Jean repeat the song, and affirm it to be her own composition. But he afterwards abandoned the claim, when he understood from Mickle's editor, the Rev. John Sim, that a copy of the song in Mickle's handwriting was found among his papers after his death, bearing marks of correction as a first copy, and that Mrs. Mickle perfectly recollected her husband giving her the ballad as his own composition, and explaining to her (she being an Englishwoman) the Scottish words and phrases. Still, we have so much reliance on the testimony of Mrs. Fullarton, and the probity of Jean, that we are inclined to believe, that the poor school-mistress really did write some song with a similar burthen ("There's nae luck about the house") and on a similar subject, which song probably gave inspiration to Mickle's version. We are the more disposed to think so, when we recollect that Mickle's studies were mostly classical—that he was little likely to originate the subject of this song—that his poems were more marked by elegance than vigour, and that, with the present exception, none of them were written in the Scottish dialect. Add to this, the schoolmistress was brought up at a sea-port, which Mickle was not, and must have been often the witness of partings and meetings between sailors and their wives. The very familiar expression in the song—"I'll to the quay"—is in her favour, as is also the name of the hero, "Colin," which is a name only common in the West Highlands.—Jean Adams by all accounts was a woman of natural talent and great enthusiasm of character, but her life was chequered and unfortunate, and at last she was constrained to seek shelter in the Town's Hospital, Glasgow, where she died in 1765. A volume of her poems, chiefly of a moral and religious cast, was published by subscription at Glasgow in 1734. It does not, of course, contain the present song, otherwise the question would have been settled, but neither do any of the editions of Mickle's poems published during his life time contain it. Though previously printed on broadsheets, the song can now be traced no farther back than to Herd's collection of 1776. The sixth stanza, as it stands in the present copy, beginning
"The cauld blasts o' the winter wind,"
did not appear in Herd, but was an interpolation by Dr. Beattie.]
And are ye sure the news is true?
And are ye sure he's weel?
Is this a time to think o' wark?
Ye jauds, fling bye your wheel.
Is this a time to think o' wark,
When Colin's at the door?
Rax me my cloak,—I'll to the quay,
And see him come ashore.
For there's nae luck about the house,
There's nae luck at a';
There's little pleasure in the house,
When our gudeman's awa'.
And gi'e to me my biggonet,
My bishops' satin gown,
For I maun tell the bailie's wife
That Colin's come to town.
My turkey slippers maun gae on,
My hose o' pearl blue;
'Tis a' to please my ain gudeman,
For he's baith leal and true.
For there's nae luck, &c.
Rise up and mak' a clean fireside;
Put on the muckle pot;
Gi'e little Kate her button gown,
And Jock his Sunday coat:
And mak' their shoon as black as slaes,
Their hose as white as snaw;
It's a' to please my ain gudeman,
For he's been lang awa'.
For there's nae luck, &c.
There's twa fat hens upon the bauk,
They've fed this month and mair;
Mak' haste and thraw their necks about,
That Colin weel may fare;
And spread the table neat and clean,
Gar ilka thing look braw;
For wha can tell how Colin fared,
When he was far awa'.
For there's nae luck, &c.
See true heart, sae smooth his speech,
His breath like caller air;
His very foot has music in't,
As he comes up the stair.
And will I see his face again?
And will I hear him speak?
I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought,—
In troth, I'm like to greet.
For there's nae luck, &c.
The cauld blasts o' the winter wind,
That thirl'd through my heart,
They're a' blawn by, I ha'e him safe,
Till death we'll never part:
But what puts parting in my head?
It may be far awa',
The present moment is our ain,
The neist we never saw.
For there's nae luck, &c.
Since Colon's weel, I'm weel content,
I ha'e nae mair to crave;
Could I but live to mak' him blest,
I'm blest aboon the lave:
And will I see his face again?
And will I hear him speak?
I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought,—
In troth, I'm like to greet.
For there's nae luck, &c.