Glen Collection of printed music > Printed music > Lyric gems of Scotland

191
O ! had she dee'd o' crook or cauld,
As ewies do when they are auld,
It wadna been, by mony fauld,
Sae sair a heart to nane o's a'.
For a' the claith that we ha'e worn,
Frae her and her's sae aften shorn;
The loss o' her we could ha'e borne,
Had fair strae-death ta'en her awa'.
But thus, puir thing, to lose her life,
Aneath a bloody villain's knife ;
I'm really fley't that our gudewife
Will never win aboon't ava.
! a' ye bards benorth Kinghorn,
Call your muses up and mourn
Our ewie wi' the crookit horn,
Stown frae's, an' fell' t an' a' I
SPEED, LORD NITHSDALE.
Words by Robert Allan.
Slow.
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O speed, Lord Nithsdale, speed ye fast, Sin' ye maun frae your coun-trie
flee, Nae mer-cy mot fa' to your share; Nae pi - ty is for thine and thee.
Thy la -dy sits in lone - ly bow'r, And fast the tear fa's frae her e'e; And
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aye she sighs, blaw ye winds, And bear Lord Niths-dale far frae me.
Her heart, sae wae, was like to break,
While kneeling by the taper bright ;
But ae red drap cam' to her cheek,
As shone the morning's rosy light.
Lord Nithsdale's bark she mot na see,
Winds sped it swiftly o'er the main ;
" ill betide," quoth that fair dame,
" Wha sic a comely knight had slain !"
Lord Nithsdale lov'd wi mickle love ;
But he thought on his countrie's wrang,
And he was deem'd a traitor syne,
And forc'd frae a' he lov'd to gang.
" Oh ! I will gae to my lov'd lord,
He may na smile, I trow, bot me ; "
But hame, and ha', and bonnie bowers,
Nae mair will glad Lord Nithsdale's e'e.