The Scottish songs - National Library of Scotland

The Scottish songs - National Library of Scotland The Scottish songs - National Library of Scotland

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356 ROSLIN CASTLE, HEWIT. Tune—Roslin Castle. 'TwAS in that season of the year, When all things gay and sweet appear. That Colin, with the morning ray, Arose and sung his rural lay. Of Nannie's charms the shepherd sung : The hills and dales with Nannie rung While Roslin Castle heard the swain, And echoed back his cheerful strain. The breathing spring Awake, sweet Muse ! With rapture warms : awake, and sing I Awake and join the vocal throng. And hail the morning with a song To Nannie raise the cheerful lay O, bid her haste and come away ; In sweetest smiles herself adorn. And add new graces to the morn I O look, my love ! on every spray A feather'd warbler tunes his lay 'Tis beauty fires the ravish'd throng. And love inspires the melting song Then let the raptured notes arise : For beauty darts from Nannie's eyes And love my rising bosom warms. And fills my soul with sweet alarms, Thy Colin's lay Ot, come, my love ! With rapture calls : O, come away ! Come, while the Muse this wreath shall twin* Around that modest brow of thine.

357 O I hither haste, and with thee bring That beauty blooming like the spring, Those graces that divinely shine, And charm this ravish'd heart of mine ! * LUCY'S FLITTIN'.f WILLIAM LAIDLAW. 'TwAS when the wan leaf frae the birk-tree was fa'in', And Martinmas dowie had wound up the year, That Lucy row'd up her wee kist wi' her a' in't, And left her auld maister and neebours sae dear For Lucy had served in the Glen a' the simmer She cam there afore the flower blumed on the pea An orphan was she, and they had been kind till her, Sure that was the thing brocht the tear to her ee. She gaed by the stable where Jamie was stannin' Richt sair was his kind heart, the flittin' to see Fare ye weel, Lucy I quo Jamie, and ran in ; The gatherin' tears trickled fast frae his ee. As down the burn-side she gaed slow wi' the flittin', Fare ye weel, Lucy I was ilka bird's sang She heard the craw sayin't, high on the tree sittin'. And Robin was chirpin't the brown leaves amang. Oh, what is't that pits my puir heart in a flutter ? And what gars the tears come sae fast to my ee ? * Richard Hewit, the author of this song, was employed hy the blind poet Blacklock to act as his leader or guide during his residence in Cumberland ; and for some years afterwards he served him as his amanuensis. I have not been able to perceive the song in any older collection than that of Herd, 1776. The air was composed by Oswald, about the beginning of the eighteenth century. f It is a somewhat remarkable circumstance regarding this exquisitely pathetic and beautiful little poem, that its author has written hardly any other thing of any description.

356<br />

ROSLIN CASTLE,<br />

HEWIT.<br />

Tune—Roslin Castle.<br />

'TwAS in that season <strong>of</strong> the year,<br />

When all things gay and sweet appear.<br />

That Colin, with the morning ray,<br />

Arose and sung his rural lay.<br />

Of Nannie's charms the shepherd sung :<br />

<strong>The</strong> hills and dales with Nannie rung<br />

While Roslin Castle heard the swain,<br />

And echoed back his cheerful strain.<br />

<strong>The</strong> breathing spring<br />

Awake, sweet Muse !<br />

With rapture warms : awake, and sing I<br />

Awake and join the vocal throng.<br />

And hail the morning with a song<br />

To Nannie raise the cheerful lay<br />

O, bid her haste and come away ;<br />

In sweetest smiles herself adorn.<br />

And add new graces to the morn I<br />

O look, my love ! on every spray<br />

A feather'd warbler tunes his lay<br />

'Tis beauty fires the ravish'd throng.<br />

And love inspires the melting song<br />

<strong>The</strong>n let the raptured notes arise :<br />

For beauty darts from Nannie's eyes<br />

And love my rising bosom warms.<br />

And fills my soul with sweet alarms,<br />

Thy Colin's lay<br />

Ot, come, my love !<br />

With rapture calls : O, come away !<br />

Come, while the Muse this wreath shall twin*<br />

Around that modest brow <strong>of</strong> thine.

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