An sic a weary buryin,
I’m sure ye never saw,
As wis the Sunday after that,
On the muirs aneath Harlaw.
Gin anybody speer at ye
For them ye took awa,
Ye may tell their wives and bairnies,
They’re sleepin at Harlaw.
DICKIE MACPHALION
(Sharpe’s Ballad Book, No. XIV.)
I went to the mill, but the miller was gone,
I sat me down, and cried ochone!
To think on the days that are past and gone,
Of Dickie Macphalion that’s slain.
Shoo, shoo, shoolaroo,
To think on the days that are past and gone,
Of Dickie Macphalion that’s slain.
I sold my rock, I sold my reel,
And sae hae I my spinning wheel,
And a’ to buy a cap of steel
For Dickie Macphalion that’s slain!
Shoo, shoo, shoolaroo,
And a’ to buy a cap of steel
For Dickie Macphalion that’s slain.
A LYKE-WAKE DIRGE
(Border Minstrelsy, vol. ii., p. 357.)
This ae nighte, this ae nighte,
Every nighte and alle,
Fire, and sleet, and candle-lighte,
And Christe receive thye saule.
When thou from hence away art paste,
Every nighte and alle,
To Whinny-muir thou comest at laste;
And Christe receive thye saule.