Broadside ballads entitled 'Loch na Garr' and 'Feyther's Old Sow'

Transcription

Loch na Garr.

BY LORD BYRON.
Harkness, Printer, Church St., Preston.

Away, ye gay landscapes ! ye gardens of roses,
In you let the minions of luxury rove ;
Bestow me the rocks, where the snow-flake reposes,
Tho' still they are sacred to freedom and love ;
Yet, Caladonia, belov'd are thy mountains,
Round their white summits tho' elements war,
Tho' cataracts foam 'stead of smooth-flowing fountains,
I sigh for the valley of dark Loch na Garr.

Ah ! there my young footsteps in infancy wander'd
My cap was the bonnet, my cloak, was the plad,
On chiestains, long perish'cl, my memcry ponder'd,
As lonely I stole through the pine-cover'd glade;
I sought not my home till the (lay's dying glory
Gave place to the rays of the bright polar star,
For infancy was cheer'd by traditional story,
Disclos'd by the natives of dark Loch na Garr,

Shades of the dead ! have I not heard your voices,
Rise on the night- rolling breath of the gale,
Surely the soul of the hero rejoices,
And rides on the wind, o'er his own Highland vale ;
Round Loch na Garr while the stormy mist gathers,
Winter presides in his cold icy car ;
Clouds there encircle the forms of my fathers,
They dwell in the tempests of dark Loch na Garr.

I ll starr'd, tho' brave, did not visions foreboding,
Tell you that Fate had forsaken your cause,
Ah ! were you destin'd to die at Colloden ?
Victory crown'd not your fall with applause ;
Still were you happy in death's earthly slumber,
You rest with your clan in the caves of Braemar,
The pibroch resounds to the piper's loud number,
Your deeds on the echoes of dark Loch na Garr.

Years have roll'd on, Loch na Garr, since I left you,
Years must elapse ere I tread you again ;
Nature of verdure and flowers has berelt you,
Yet still are you dearer than Albion's plain ,
England, thy beauties are tame and domestic,
To one who has rov'd on the mountains afar,
Oh ! for the crags that are wild and magestic,
The steep, frowning glories of dark Loch na Garr.

FEYTHER'S

OLD SOW.

Good morrow, Miss Biddy, pray how do you do
I dare say you guesses at what 1 become about,
Feyther and mother say, I mun court you,
And so if sou please, I'll tell you my mind out,
You shall ha' a poney to carry ye,
Cocks and hens?a bull and a sow;
Only say that I shall marry ye,
I'll feed ye as fat as my feyther's old sow.

Be'ant my old feyther got farms o' his own,
Harrows and ploughs, and hedges and ditches too
And when he goes dead, be'ant it well known,
I be heir to the whole of his riches too ;
Are ye content to take me and half of it,
Yo'd better say yes and accept of it now ;
You'll repent if you do make a laugh of it,
For I'll feed you as fat as my feyther's old sow.

I'll buy ye new silk, and fine satins to wear,
You dress yourself up every day like a lady bright
Sit yourself down in mother's' great chair,
And scold all the servants from morning till night
You shall sit at the top of the table,
While all the conpany to you shall bow,
Marry me, I am willing and able,
To feed you as fat as my feythers old sow,

You do want a husband?and I' ll be your man,
Say ye will have me, depend on't I,ll love you dear,
And make you quite happy I' ll do all I can,
To gi' you a thumping boy every year;
Then I'll go fetch doctor and nurse to ye,
At christ'nings we'll make such a deuce of a row
And you know good eating shall foster ye,
For I'll feed ye as fat as my feyther's old sow,

When we've been to church on our grand wed-
ding day,
To dinner & supperwe'll ha, all our best friends,
Wi, bacon and pork and strong ale we,ll be gay
And you, if you like, shall be stuffed at both ends,
Here now, I make the first proffer,
And give you sincerely my true virgin vow,
You,d better, much better, accept of my offer,
For I can feed ye as fat as my feyther's old sow,

Come gi' your consent now & let's marry straight
All the village shall ring with a peal from the
belles,
My love is so hot that I'm sure I can't wait,
So if you won't ha' me I'll get somebody else ;
Time flies, come dont be sappy,
See there's our bull running after your cow,
Be wise and make us both happy,
'll feed you as fat as my feyther's old sow.

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