A CAMERONIAN BALLAD. By JAMES HOGG. "O WHAT is become of your leel, good man, "When rank oppression rends the heart, Then say nae the rebel gang, ladye, "O wae is my heart for thee, Janet, When mony a head in death lies low, "Ay, but death lasts no for aye, ladye, We'll see who look in their Saviour's face, Whether they who shed his servants' blood, "I wadna be the highest dame That ever this country knew, And take my chance to share the doom Then ca' us nae rebel gang, ladye, Nor take us fools to be, For there is nae ane of all that gang, VOL. LXXII. "O weel may you be, my poor Janet, But wi' your fightings an' your faith, "And what's to come o' ye, my poor Janet, Wi' these twa babies sweet? Ye hae nobody now to work for them, It is that which makes my heart sae wae, Poor Janet kissed her youngest babe, But for the cause we have espous'd, I will yield thy life and mine. "O! had I a friend, as I hae nane, "But I went to Bothwell Brigg, Janet, And there I found your brave husband, He was lying in the very foremost rank, Then Janet held up her hands to Heaven, An' she grat, an' she tore her hair, "() sweet ladye, O! dear ladye, Dinna tell me ony mair! There is a hope will linger within, But when one kens the very worst, "O! wae is my heart, John Carr,' said I, That I this sight should see!' And when I said these waefu' words, 'O art thou there, my kind ladye, And are you gangin' your lieve lane, "I hae servants within my ca', John Carr, And a chariot in the dell, An' if there is ony hope o' life, I will carry you hame mysel." 'O! lady, there is nae hope o' life And what were life to me! Wad ye save me frae the death of a man, "I hae nae hame to fly to now, There is not a door in fair Scotland, Durst open to let me in. But I hae a loving wife at hame, An' twa babies dear to me; They hae nobody now that dares favour them, An' of hunger they a' maun dee. "Oh! for the sake of thy Saviour dear, Whose mercy thou hop'st to share, Dear lady, take the sachless things, A wee beneath thy care! A lang farewell, my kind ladye, O'er weel I ken thy worth, Gae send me a drink o' the waters o' Clyde, "O! dinna tell ony mair, ladye, "He was nae fear'd to dee, Janet, For he gloried in his death, And wish'd to be laid with those who had bled For the same enduring faith. "There were three wounds in his boardly breast, And his limb was broke in twain, And the sweat ran down with his red heart's blood, I row'd my apron round his head, "An' the best leeches in a' the land And he never has lack'd my helping hand, I durst'na tell you before, Janet, Then Janet she fell at her lady's feet, And she steepit them a' with the tears o' joy, "Oh! ye are an angel sent frae Heaven, To lighten calamitye! For in distress, a friend or a foe, Is a' the same to thee. "If good deeds count in Heaven, ladye, Ye hae done a deed will save your soul, وو Wha wadna hae shar'd that lady's joy, Rather than those of the feast and the dance, Which her kind heart resign'd? Wha wadna rather share that lady's fate, When the stars shall melt away, Than that of the sternest anchorite, That can naething but graen and pray? INDEX. |