Read The Canongate Burns Online
Authors: Robert Burns
Â
Tune: Druimionn Dudh
First printed in S.M.M., 1792.
Our lords are to the mountains gane,
gone
      A hunting o' the fallow deer;
And they hae gripet Hughie Graham
grasped
      For stealing o' the Bishop's mare,
5
And they hae tied him hand and foot,
have
      And led him up thro' Stirling town;
The lads and lasses met him there,
      Cried, Hughie Graham thou art a loun. â
fool
O lowse my right hand free, he says,
loosen
10
      And put my braid sword in the same;
broad
He's no in Stirling town this day
      Daur tell the tale to Hughie Graham. â
dare
Up then bespake the brave Whitefoord,
      As he sat by the bishop's knee;
15
Five hundred white stots I'll gie you,
young bullocks, give
      If ye'll let Hughie Graham gae free. â
go
O haud your tongue the bishop says,
hold
      And wi' your pleadings let me be;
For tho' ten Grahams were in his coat,
20
      Hughie Graham this day shall die. â
Up then bespake the fair Whitfoord,
      As she sat by the bishop's knee;
Five hundred white pence I'll gie you,
give
      If ye'll gie Hughie Graham to me. â
25
O haud your tongue now lady fair,
hold
      And wi' your pleading let me be;
Altho' ten Grahams were in his coat,
      It's for my honor he maun die. â
shall
They've taen him to the gallows knowe,
taken, hill
30
      He looked to the gallows tree,
Yet never colour left his cheek,
      Nor ever did he blin' his e'e. â
blink, eye
At length he looked round about,
      To see what he could spy;
35
And there he saw his auld father,
old
      And he was weeping bitterly. â
A haud your tongue, my father dear.
hold
      And wi' your weeping let it be;
Thy weeping's sairer on my heart,
sorer
40
      Than a' that they can do to me. â
And ye may gie my brother John
give
      My sword that's bent in the middle clear,
And let him come at twelve o'clock
      And see me pay the bishop's mare. â
45
And ye may gie my brother James
give
      My sword that's bent in the middle brown;
And bid him come at four o'clock
      And see his brother Hugh cut down. â
Remember me to Maggy my wife,
50
      The niest time ye gang o'er the moor;
next, go
Tell her, she staw the bishop's mare,
stole
      Tell her, she was the bishop's whore. â
And ye may tell my kith and kin,
      I never did disgrace their blood;
55
And when they meet the bishop's cloak,
      To mak it shorter by the hood. â
Burns comments in the
Interleaved Scots Musical Museum
that he took this work from oral tradition and made minor improvements to the lyric. His verse is set in Stirling; a few older versions take place
in Carlisle. Kinsley states there are âmarks of literary revision' (Vol. III, p. 1384). The reference to the Whitefoord family of Ayrshire was inserted by Burns. This ballad has all the stark, intransigent violence we associate with such great Scottish poetry.
Â
First printed in S.M.M 1796.
O where hae ye been, Lord Ronald, my son?
have
      O where hae ye been, Lord Ronald, my son?
I hae been wi' my sweetheart, mother, make my bed soon;
have
      For I'm weary wi' the hunting, and fain wad lay down. â
desire to lie down
What got ye frae your sweetheart, Lord Ronald, my son?
from
      What got ye frae your sweetheart, Lord Ronald, my son?
I hae got deadly poison, mother, make my bed soon;
      For life is a burden that soon I'll lay down. â
Burns abbreviated a longer, traditional ballad
Lord Ronald
, to make this brief lyric.
Â
Tune: The Old Highland Laddie First printed in S.M.M. 1796.
I hae been at Crookieden,
have
      My bonie laddie, Highland laddie,
Viewing Willie and his men,
      My bonie laddie, Highland laddie,
5
There our faes that burnt and slew,
      My bonie laddie, Highland laddie,
There at last they gat their due,
got
      My bonie laddie, Highland laddie.
Satan sits in his black neuk,
corner
10
      My bonie laddie, Highland laddie,
Breaking sticks to roast the Duke,
      My bonie laddie, Highland laddie. â
The bloody monster gae a yell,
gave
      My bonie laddie, Highland laddie,
15
And loud the laugh gaed round a' Hell!
      My bonie laddie, Highland laddie. â
This is a song reworked by Burns, sent for inclusion in the 1796 edition of S.M.M. Willie (l. 3) and the Duke (l. 11) are both, in this Highland revenge fantasy, Cumberland, the Butcher of Culloden.
First printed in S.M.M 1796.
There was a battle in the north,
      And nobles there was many,
And they hae kill'd Sir Charlie Hay,
      And they laid the wyte on Geordie.
blame
5
O he has written a lang letter,
long
      He sent it to his lady;
Ye maun come up to Enbrugh town
must, Edinburgh
      To see what words o Geordie.
When first she look'd the letter on,
10
      She was baith red and rosy;
both
But she had na read a word but twa,
not, two
      Till she wallow't like a lily.
went pale
Gar get to me my gude grey steed,
go, good
      My menzie a' gae wi' me;
armed company all go
15
For I shall neither eat nor drink,
      Till Enbrugh town shall see me.
And she has mountit her gude grey steed,
mounted, good
      Her menzie gaed wi her;
And she did neither eat nor drink
20
      Till Enbrugh town did see her.
And first appear'd the fatal block,
      And syne the aix to head him;
axe, behead
And Geordie cumin down the stair,
coming
      And bands o' airn upon him.
iron
25
But tho he was chain'd in fetters strang,
strong
      O' airn and steel sae heavy,
iron, so
There was na ane in a' the court,
not one
      Sae braw a man as Geordie.
so fine
O she's down on her bended knee,
30
      I wat she's pale and weary,
bet
O pardon, pardon noble king,
      And gie me back my Dearie!
give
I hae born seven sons to my Geordie dear,
have
      The seventh ne'er saw his daddie;
35
O pardon, pardon noble king,
      Pity a waefu lady!
woeful
Gar bid the headin-man make haste!
go, axeman
      Our king reply'd fu' lordly:
O noble king, tak a' that's mine,
40
      But gie me back my Geordie.
give
The Gordons cam and the Gordons ran,
      And they were stark and steady;
strong
And ay the word amang them a'
among
      Was, Gordons keep you ready.
45
An aged lord at the king's right hand
      Says, noble king but hear me;
Gar her tell down five thousand pound
go
      And gie her back her Dearie.
give
Some gae her marks, some gae her crowns,
give
50
      Some gae her dollars many;
And she's tell'd down five thousand pound
      And she's gotten again her Dearie.
She blinkit blythe in her Geordie's face,
glanced
      Says, dear I've bought thee, Geordie;
55
But there sud been bluidy bouks on the green,
should have, bloody corpses
      Or I had tint my laddie.
before, lost
He claspit her by the middle sma,
clasped, small
      And kisst her lips sae rosy;
so
The fairest flower o woman-kind
60
      Is my sweet, bonie Lady.
Various versions of this ballad existed during Burns's period. It is generally agreed that this was improved by Burns. Geordie has been identified as either George Gordon, Fourth Earl of Huntly who was
apparently imprisoned in Edinburgh castle in 1554, or the Fifth Earl of Huntly who was convicted of treason in 1563. Sir Charles Hay (l. 3) has never been adequately identified.
First printed with Cromek, 1808.
HEALTH to the Maxwells' vet'ran Chief!
Health, ay unsour'd by care or grief:
Inspir'd, I turn'd Fate's sibyl leaf,
      This natal morn,
5
I see thy life is stuff o' prief,
substance
      Scarce quite half-worn. â
This day thou metes threescore eleven,
completes
And I can tell that bounteous Heaven
(The Second-sight, ye ken, is given
know
10
      To ilka Poet)
every
On thee a tack o' seven times seven
lease
      Will yet bestow it. â
If envious buckies view wi' sorrow
young people
Thy lengthen'd days on thy blest morrow,
15
May DESOLATION'S lang-teeth'd harrow,
long-
      Nine miles an hour,
Rake them like Sodom and Gomorrah,
      In brunstane stoure. â
brimstone dust
But for thy friends, and they are monie,
many
20
Baith honest men and lasses bonie,
both, bonny
May couthie Fortune, kind and cannie
loving, careful
      In social glee,
Wi' mornings blythe and e'enings funny
      Bless them and thee: â
25
Fareweel, auld birkie! Lord be near ye,
old fellow
And then the Deil, he daur na steer ye:
devil, dare not, afflict
Your friends ay love, your foes ay fear ye!
always
      For me, Shame fa' me,
befall
If neist my heart I dinna wear ye,
next, do not
      While BURNS they ca' me!
call
John Maxwell was born 7th February 1720 and died 25th January, 1814, 94 yrs old. Although the estate at Terraughty had been in the Maxwell family, it was sold due to financial problems. Maxwell managed to buy back the family estate and by the late 1780s and early 1790s, when Burns met him, he was among the notable landowners of the Dumfries area. One of the manuscripts of this work is dated 10th February, 1792, which indicates composition just after the old man's 72nd birthday, not the 71st as generally believed.
First printed in S.M.M 1796.
The Shepherd's wife cries o'er the knowe,
hill's ridge
Will ye come hame, will ye come hame;
home
The Shepherd's wife cries o'er the knowe,
Will ye come hame again een, jo?
evening, darling
5
What will I get to my supper,
Gin I come hame, gin I come hame?
if, home
What will I get to my supper,
Gin I come hame again een, jo?
Ye'se get a panfu' o' plumpin parridge,
porridge
10
And butter in them, and butter in them,
Ye'se get a panfu' o' plumpin parridge,
Gin ye'll come hame again een, jo. â
Ha, ha, how! that 's naething that dow,
nothing, of value
I winna come hame, I canna come hame;
will not, cannot
15
Ha, ha how! that 's naething that dow,
can
I winna come hame gin een, jo. â
at evening
Ha, ha, how! &c.?
The Shepherd's wife &c.
What will I get &c.
A reekin fat hen, weel fryth'd i' the pan,
cooking, well fried
Gin ye'll come hame, gin ye'll come hame,
A reekin fat hen weel fryth'd i' the pan,
20
Gin ye'll come hame again een, jo. â
Ha, ha, how! &c.
The Shepherd's wife &c.
What will I get &c.
A weel made bed and a pair o' clean sheets,
well
Gin ye'll come hame, gin ye'll come hame,
A weel made bed and a pair o' clean sheets,
Gin ye'll come hame again een, jo. â
Ha, ha, how! &c.
The Shepherd's wife &c.
What will I get &c.
25
A luving wife in lily-white linens,
Gin ye'll come hame, gin ye'll come hame,
A luving wife in lily-white linens.
Gin ye'll come hame again een, jo. â
Ha, ha, how! that's something that dow,
of value
30
I will come hame, I will come hame;
Ha, ha, how! that's something that dow,
I will come hame again e'en, jo. â
This was taken and reworked by Burns from a song in Herd's collection (1769). It again reveals the complete erotic compatibility between Burns and the folk tradition that nourished him, as it did the shepherd of this matrimonial dialogue.