WHEN I WAS A YOUNG MAN. At market or fair, man, ye may be there, man, Taupie young lassies, keeking in glasses, Ye may do war than draw up wi' the widow. 151 This cleverly descriptive Song of its class, was several years ago, noted down by us, from the singing of a lady. We never have seen it in print, among the numerous Song collections turned over in quest of it, nor ever since or before heard it sung; yet from the perfect manner in which we found it, we do not think it can be an old one, nor is the piece, for rustic humour, and painting, unworthy the pen of the Ettrick Shepherd himself. WHEN I WAS YOUNG MAN. WHEN I was a young man, O then, O then, When I was a young man, O then, I'd a horse for to ride, With a sword by my side, And the world it went rarely with me, then, O then, O the world it went rarely with me, then. I married a wife, O then, O then, I married a wife, O then: My saddle and my bridle Turn'd to rocking a cradle, And the world it went worse with me then, just then, O the world it went worse with me then. My wife she fell sick, O then, O then, She droop'd, and fell sick, And a fever follow'd it, So the world went poorly with me then, O then, O the world it went poorly with me then. My wife she did die, O then, just then My poor wife did die, O then, I tried for to sigh As I found I could not cry, Though the world went so ill with me then, just then, Though the world went so ill with me then. I buried my wife, O then, O then, I buried my wife, O then, I laid her in her grave, And return'd brisk and brave, For the world was before me, just then, even then, The world was now before me, again. As homeward I hied me, O then, O then, I chanced for to spy me, just then, A young blooming lass, Who was viewing in her glass, What a beauty I thought her just then, even then, I AM TOO YOUNG. I married this maiden, O then, O then, And lov'd her pipe and pot, So I wish'd for my old wife, again, again, o I wish'd my old wife back again. So I went to her grave, O then, O then, I opened her coffin, And saw my wife laughing. 153 Now the world went so rarely with me then, O then, As my old wife came home with me again. However much the fastidious critic may be inclined to snarl upon perusing the above plainly told and probable tale (which is here taken down from recitation), we cannot help thinking that it possesses some little merits in its own way, and also that it is worthy of preservation. The ditty itself is old, whilst the melody is brisk and lively; the original tune, we think, is to be found in Ravenscroft's "Melismata,” air 19th, "Country Rounds:" "As I went by the way, holom, trolom, I AM TOO YOUNG. As I went out on a May morning, She had a voice that was more clear, But her answer it was, "I am too young:" "I am too young; with you to wed So begone young man, and trouble me no more, I took her by the lily-white hand, Aboon our heads the lavrocks sung; Syne kiss'd her cherry cheeks and mou', Her colour came, her colour went— With colly o'er the gowany bent, While in my ear her sweet voice voice rung, Gae tell your tale to some other fair May, For to marry with you, I am too young." This Ballad in its original dress, at one time, we recollect, was not only extremely popular, but a great favourite amongst the young peasantry in the West of Scotland. To suit the times, however, we have been necessitated to throw out the intermediate stanzas, as their freedom would not bear transcription, while the second and third verses have been slightly altered from the recited copy. In the 4th volume of Johnston's Museum, another version of it will be found, also a metaphrase from the same in volume second of Cunningham's "Songs of Scotland." The air, tradition affixes to it, is lively and peculiar to itself, and certainly merits to be revived again. THE WAKERIFE MAMMY. 155 THE WAKERIFE MAMMY. As I gaed o'er the Highland hills, Wha' look'd at me, and I at her, Whare are ye gaun, my bonnie lass, An' whare live ye, my bonnie lass, Will ye tak' me to your wee house, But I fore up the glen at e'en, To see this bonnie lassie; And lang before the gray morn cam', An' the fumart lay his crawing; He wauken'd the auld wife frae her rest, A wee blink or the dawing. |