Neebour wives, now tent my tellin', When the bonny fish ye 're sellin', At ae word be in yer dealin'-- Truth will stand when a' thing 's failin'. Wha 'll buy caller herrin'? &c. [48] This song has acquired an extensive popularity, for which it is much indebted, in addition to its intrinsic merits, to the musical powers of the late John Wilson, the eminent vocalist, whose premature death is a source of regret to all lovers of Scottish melody. Mr Wilson sung this song in every principal town of the United Kingdom, and always with effect. THE LAND O' THE LEAL.[49] I 'm wearin' awa', John, Like snaw wreaths in thaw, John; I 'm wearin' awa' To the land o' the leal. There 's nae sorrow there, John; There 's neither cauld nor care, John; The day 's aye fair I' the land o' the leal. Our bonnie bairn 's there, John; She was baith gude and fair, John; And, oh! we grudged her sair To the land o' the leal. But sorrows sel' wears past, John, And joy 's a-comin' fast, John-- The joy that 's aye to last In the land o' the leal. Sae dear 's that joy was bought, John, Sae free the battle fought, John, That sinfu' man e'er brought To the land o' the leal. Oh, dry your glist'ning e'e, John! My saul langs to be free, John; And angels beckon me To the land o' the leal. Oh, haud ye leal and true, John! Your day it 's wearin' thro', John; And I 'll welcome you To the land o' the leal. Now, fare ye weel, my ain John, This warld's cares are vain, John; We 'll meet, and we 'll be fain, In the land o' the leal. [49] This exquisitely tender and beautiful lay was composed by Lady Nairn, for two married relatives of her own, Mr and Mrs C----, who had sustained bereavement in the death of a child. Such is the account of its origin which we have received from Lady Nairn's relatives. THE LAIRD O' COCKPEN.[50] The Laird o' Cockpen he 's proud and he 's great, His mind is ta'en up with the things o' the state; He wanted a wife his braw house to keep, But favour wi' wooin' was fashious to seek. Down by the dyke-side a lady did dwell, At his table-head he thought she 'd look well; M'Clish's ae daughter o' Claverse-ha' Lee, A penniless lass wi' a lang pedigree. His wig was weel pouther'd, and as gude as new; His waistcoat was white, his coat it was blue; He put on a ring, a sword, and cock'd hat, And wha' could refuse the Laird wi' a' that? He took the gray mare, and rade cannily-- And rapp'd at the yett o' Claverse-ha' Lee; "Gae tell Mistress Jean to come speedily ben, She 's wanted to speak to the Laird o' Cockpen." Mistress Jean was makin' the elder-flower wine, "And what brings the Laird at sic a like time?" She put aff her apron, and on her silk gown, Her mutch wi' red ribbons, and gaed awa' down.