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Broadside ballads entitled 'Home, Dearie, Home', 'He was only a Private Soldier' and 'Hunting Tower, Or, When Ye Gang Awa' Jamie'


Home Dearie Home
He was only a Private Soldier.   


A beauteous fair damsel in London did dwell,
A young man fell in love with her as some people tell,
A young man fell in love with her as plain as you could see,
And he rolled her in his arms in the north countrie.

Home, dearie, home, and its home that I must be,
Our topsails are hoisted, and we'll away to sea,
Oh, the oak and the ash and the bonnie elm tree,

They are growing green in my ain countrie.

Some say it is a bonnie place when the heather's in full bloom,
To pull the blae berries in the merry month of June ;
But I'll pull a rose from the top of yonder tree,
And I'll plant it in the bosom of my ain countrie.

Some say I am with child, but I am not a bit the worse,
The father of my baby will send it out to nurse,
The father of my baby will pay the nurse's fee,
And I'll pass for a maid in my ain countrie.

Now hold your tongue, dear Sallie, nor speak like that to me,
Since you have come a maid to this north countrie,
As a maid I have found you, my wedded wife you'll be,

And you'll return no more to your ain countrie.

He was only a Private Soldier.
He was only a private soldier--
One of the rank and file;
He fought for the honour of England?

A son of the Emerald Isle.
He had left a grey-haired mother,
A father old and grey,
In a dear little cot in old Ireland;
How they cried when he sailed away.

He thought of his dear old mother,
Thought of his good old dad;
He knew if he fell in action
Their cot would be lone and sad.
Where the shot and the shell were flying,
He fought in the bravest style,
And fell like a genuine-hearted son
Of Erin's Isle.

On the evening before the battle
His sleep was far from sound ;
He dreamt of the loved ones in Ireland,
As he lay on the cold, cold ground.
As the day of strife was dawning
He went down upon his knees,
And he prayed for the ones he loved dearest,
In the village far over the seas.

By the side of his sword they found him,
Covered with wounds was he,
His hands tightly clasping a picture
Of those he no more would see.
With the Union Jack wrapt round him?
The flag he'd died to save,
Near the spot where he nobly fell fighting,
He was laid in a soldier's grave.

Copies can always be had at the Poet's Box, Overgate, Dundee.

Hunting Tower,
Or when ye Gang Awa' Jamie.

When ye gang awa', Jamie,
Far across the sea, laddie;
When ye gang to Germanie,
What will ye send to me, laddie?


I'll send ye a braw new gown, Jeanie,
I'll send ye a braw new gown, lassie,
And it shall be o' silk an' gowd,
Wi' Valenciennes set round, lassie.


That's nae gift ava', Jamie,
That's nae gift ava', laddie ;
There's ne'er a gown in a' the land,
I'd like when you're awa', laddie.

When I come back again, Jeanie,
When I come back again, lassie,
I'll bring wi' me a gallant gay.
To be your ain guidman, lassie.

Be my guidman yoursel', Jamie,
Be my guidman yersel', laddie,
An' tak' me owre to Germanie,
Wi' you at hame to dwell, laddie.


I dinna ken how that wad do, Jamie,
I dinna ken how that can be, lassie,
For I've a wife an' bairnies three,
An' I'm no' sure how ye'd 'gree, lassie.

Yon should hae tell''t me that in time, Jamie
You should ha'e tell't me that in time, laddie
For had I ken't o' your fause heart,
You ne'er had gotten mine, laddie.

Your e'en were like a spell, Jeanie,
Your e'en were like a spell, lassie,
That ilka day bewitched me sae,
I couldna help mysel, lassie.

Gae back to your wife and hame, Jamie,
Gae back to your bairnies three, laddie,
And I will pray they ne'er may thole,
A broken heart like me, laddie.


Dry that tearfu' e'e, Jeanie,
My story's a' a lee, lassie;
I've neither wife nor bairnies three,
And I'll wed nane but thee, lassie.

Think weel before ye rue, Jamie,
Think weel for fear ye rue, laddie,
For I have neither gowd nor lands,
To be a match for you, laddie.


Blair in Atholl's mine, Jeanie,
Little Dunkeld is mine, lassie ;
Saint Johnston's Bow'r land Hunting Tower,
An' a' 'that's mine is thine, lassie.

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shelfmark: RB.m.143(127)
Broadside ballads entitled 'Home, Dearie, Home', 'He was only a Private Soldier' and 'Hunting Tower, Or, When Ye Gang Awa' Jamie'
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