Will ye gang down the water-side, And see the waves sae sweetly glide Beneath the hazels spreading wide, The moon it shines fu’ clearly. Ca’ the yowes, &c. Ye sall get gowns and ribbons meet, Cauf-leather shoon upon your feet, And in my arms ye’se lie and sleep, An’ ye sall be my dearie. Ca’ the yowes, &c. If ye’ll but stand to what ye’ve said, I’se gang wi’ thee, my shepherd lad, And ye may row me in your plaid, And I sall be your dearie. Ca’ the yowes, &c. While waters wimple to the sea, While day blinks in the lift sae hie, Till clay-cauld death sall blin’ my e’e, Ye sall be my dearie. Ca’ the yowes, &c. I Gaed A Waefu’ Gate Yestreen I gaed a waefu’ gate yestreen, A gate, I fear, I’ll dearly rue; I gat my death frae twa sweet een, Twa lovely een o’bonie blue. ’Twas not her golden ringlets bright, Her lips like roses wat wi’ dew, Her heaving bosom, lily-white— It was her een sae bonie blue. She talk’d, she smil’d, my heart she wyl’d; She charm’d my soul I wist na how; And aye the stound, the deadly wound, Cam frae her een so bonie blue. But “spare to speak, and spare to speed;” She’ll aiblins listen to my vow: Should she refuse, I’ll lay my dead To her twa een sae bonie blue. Highland Harry Back Again My Harry was a gallant gay, Fu’ stately strade he on the plain; But now he’s banish’d far away, I’ll never see him back again. Chorus.—O for him back again! O for him back again! I wad gie a’ Knockhaspie’s land For Highland Harry back again. When a’ the lave gae to their bed, I wander dowie up the glen; I set me down and greet my fill, And aye I wish him back again. O for him, &c. O were some villains hangit high, And ilka body had their ain! Then I might see the joyfu’ sight, My Highland Harry back again. O for him, &c. The Battle Of Sherramuir Tune—“The Cameronian Rant.” “O cam ye here the fight to shun, Or herd the sheep wi’ me, man? Or were ye at the Sherra-moor, Or did the battle see, man?” I saw the battle, sair and teugh, And reekin-red ran mony a sheugh; My heart, for fear, gaed sough for sough, To hear the thuds, and see the cluds O’ clans frae woods, in tartan duds, Wha glaum’d at kingdoms three, man. La, la, la, la, &c. The red-coat lads, wi’ black cockauds, To meet them were na slaw, man; They rush’d and push’d, and blude outgush’d And mony a bouk did fa’, man: The great Argyle led on his files, I wat they glanced twenty miles; They hough’d the clans like nine-pin kyles, They hack’d and hash’d, while braid-swords, clash’d, And thro’ they dash’d, and hew’d and smash’d, Till fey men died awa, man. La, la, la, la, &c.