The best o' joys maun hae an end,
The best o' friends maun part, I trow;
The langest day will wear away,
And I maun bid fareweel to you.
The tear will tell when hearts are fu',
For words, gin they hae sense ava,
They 're broken, faltering, and few:
Gude nicht, and joy be wi' you a'!
Oh, we hae wander'd far and wide,
O'er Scotia's lands o' frith and fell!
And mony a simple flower we 've pu'd,
And twined it wi' the heather-bell.
We 've ranged the dingle and the dell,
The cot-house, and the baron's ha';
Now we maun tak a last farewell:
Gude nicht, and joy be wi' you a'!
My harp, fareweel! thy strains are past,
Of gleefu' mirth, and heartfelt care;
The voice of song maun cease at last,
And minstrelsy itsel' decay.
But, oh! whar sorrow canna win,
Nor parting tears are shed ava',
May we meet neighbour, kith, and kin,
And joy for aye be wi' us a'!
CAULD KAIL IN ABERDEEN.[54]
There 's cauld kail in Aberdeen,
There 's castocks in Strabogie;
And morn and e'en, they 're blythe and bein,
That haud them frae the cogie.
Now, haud ye frae the cogie, lads;
O bide ye frae the cogie!
I 'll tell ye true, ye 'll never rue,
O' passin' by the cogie.
Young Will was braw and weel put on,
Sae blythe was he and vogie;
And he got bonnie Mary Don,
The flower o' a' Strabogie.
Wha wad hae thocht, at wooin' time,
He 'd e'er forsaken Mary,
And ta'en him to the tipplin' trade,
Wi' boozin' Rob and Harry?
Sair Mary wrought, sair Mary grat,
She scarce could lift the ladle;
Wi' pithless feet, 'tween ilka greet,
She 'd rock the borrow'd cradle.
Her weddin' plenishin' was gane,
She never thocht to borrow:
Her bonnie face was waxin' wan—
And Will wrought a' the sorrow.
He 's reelin' hame ae winter's nicht,
Some later than the gloamin';
He 's ta'en the rig, he 's miss'd the brig,
And Bogie 's ower him foamin'.
Wi' broken banes, out ower the stanes,
He creepit up Strabogie;
And a' the nicht he pray'd wi' micht,
To keep him frae the cogie.
Now Mary's heart is light again—
She 's neither sick nor silly;
For auld or young, nae sinfu' tongue,
Could e'er entice her Willie;
And aye the sang through Bogie rang—
"O had ye frae the cogie;
The weary gill 's the sairest ill
On braes o' fair Strabogie."