No. XLVII.-PAGE 333.

AULD ROBIN GRAY.'

By Lady Anne Lindsay, by marriage Barnard.

When the sheep are in the fauld, when the kye's come hame,
And a' the weary warld to rest are gane,

The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my e'e,
Unkent by my gudeman, wha sleeps sound by me.

Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and sought me for his bride,
But saving ae crown-piece he had naething beside;

To make the crown a pound my Jamie gaed to sea,

And the crown and the pound-they were baith for me.

He hadna been gane a twelvemonth and a day,

When my father brake his arm and the cow was stown away; My mither she fell sick-my Jamie was at sea,

And Auld Robin Gray came a courting me.

My father couldna wark—my mither couldna spin

I toiled day and night, but their bread I couldna win,—
Auld Rob maintained them baith, and, wi' tears in his e'e,
Said "
Jeanie, O for their sakes will ye no marry me?"

My heart it said na, and I looked for Jamie back,
But hard blew the winds, and his ship was a wrack,

His ship was a wrack-why didna Jamie die,

Or why am I spared to cry wae is me?

My father urged me sair--my mither didna speak,

But she looked in my face till my heart was like to break; They gied him my hand-my heart was in the sea

And so Robin Gray he was gudeman to me.

I hadna been his wife a week but only four,
When, mournfu' as I sat on the stane at my door,
I saw my Jamie's ghaist, for I couldna think it he
Till he said "I'm come hame, love, to marry thee!"

Oh sair sair did we greet, and mickle say of a',
I gied him ae kiss, and bade him gang awa',—
I wish that I were dead, but I'm na like to die,

For, though my heart is broken, I'm but young, wae is me!

I

gang like a ghaist, and I carena much to spin,

I darena think o' Jamie, for that wad be a sin,

But I'll do my best a gude wife to be,

For, O! Robin Gray, he is kind to me.

VARIOUS READINGS.

Various copies of Auld Robin Gray' have been sanctioned by the authoress at different periods of her life, each more or less varying from its predecessor. Believing, myself, that the simpler the expression, the deeper the pathos and the truer to nature-and knowing in the present instance that most of those expletives which occur in the later versions of the ballad originated in the artless and irregular air to which it was written being abandoned for the more elaborate one which has since obtained by prescription the character of its legitimate spouse—I have taken the liberty of selecting the above text from the different authentic copies now before me at the same time subjoining here the most important of the "various readings" consequent on so many transcriptions, in order to put it in the power of every one to arrange the text of the ballad to his own liking.

2. When a'... quiet rest.. 4. . . wha soundly,.. 6. .. naething else.. 8. Oh! they were baith. . 9. Before he had been gane . 10. My father brake his arm-our cow.. I and our cow.. 12. And Auld Robin Gray he came.. Oh! he came.. 14. night-their bread.. 16. . will

ye marry me?.. 18. But the wind it blew hard..

66

19. In the copy sent to Sir W. Scott this line appeared differently, which occasioned the following remonstrance :-" I observe an alteration in ‘Auld Robin,' in an important passage—

"The ship it was a wreck, why did not Jeanie die ?"

"I have usually heard or read it,

Or why do I live," &c.

66 Why didna Jamie die?

"I am not quite sure whether, in their mutual distress, the wish that Jamie had not survived, beloved as he was, is not more deeply pathetic than that which she utters for her own death. Besides, Jamie's death is immediately connected with the shipwreck, and her own more remotely so,-' It had been better for either of us to have died, than to be as we are now.' I speak all this under great correction, because, when one's mind and ear become accustomed to a reading, as mine to this one, it frequently happens that they are impatient even of the substitution of something decidedly better in its place." Your query," replied Lady Anne, "is a very natural one. When I wrote it first, it was, 'Why didna Jamie die ?' Would he not have been happier dead than seeing my wretchedness and feeling his own?'-But the pens of others have changed this to their own fancy, and I suppose my young transcriber has put the word Jeanie instead of Jamie in the copy you got. I feel the justness of your criticism, and from the first meant it to be as you recommend it."

23. They gied

21. My father argued sair-my . . . sair, though my him my hand, while . . . hand, but.. 24. And so Auld Robin Gray . . . 27... ghaist-I could not . . 28. my love.. 29. Oh sair did we greet and mickle did we say.. 30. Ae kiss we took, nae mair. . I gied him ae sad kiss.. 32. For oh! I am but young to cry out wae's me!The line in

the text is the original. 33. I wander like a ghaist .. 35. to be.. 36. For oh! Auld Robin Gray he's sae kind to Robin Gray, oh! he is sae kind to me.

a good wife aye me.. For Auld

SECOND PART, OR CONTINUATION.
VERSION I.

The following fragment I owe to the kindness of my dear and excellent friend the late Mrs. Pringle of Whytbank, who learnt it from Lady Anne's mother, Lady Balcarres, and whose recollection of it was awakened by perusal of the Lives of the Lindsays' in the original edition. I prefix a few sentences from the letter which accompanied it :"At the time of my sister's marriage," she says, "in 1788, I enjoyed much of her society... About that time a ballad entitled a Continuation, &c., was sung in the streets, and published in magazines and newspapers, which greatly annoyed the family, and was very trying to the sweet temper of Lady Anne, but which was not considered worthy of being disclaimed; however, in order to prove its spurious origin, Lady Anne retired to her room, and in a short time produced the fragment from which Sir Walter Scott quoted a verse in The Pirate,' which induced Lady Anne to open a correspondence with him... What I enclose is the reminiscence of my venerable friend's frequent repetitions of what her daughter entrusted to her memory. Although it was not committed to me in confidence, I considered it a kind of trust,-it was therefore only to my friend Mrs. Colonel Russell that I put it on paper; she having been one of Lady Anne's early friends, I thought it no sin to comply with her request. Mrs. Russell died soon after, and I suppose it must have been from amongst her repositories that her sister, Miss Rutherford, supplied her nephew, Sir Walter, with the eight verses of the 'Fragment' alluded to in his letter to Lady Anne."

"Since writing the foregoing," adds my revered friend, "my son David tells me that his brother William, who went to Bengal as a writer in 1811, and who was the songster of the family, having learned from a child to sing and admire the little fragment, it became a fashionable lilt among his countrymen, and much was he annoyed when the spurious edition found its way to Calcutta; and so scandalised did my poor boy feel at the abuse of his favourite ballad that he got his own edition printed, with a little memoir of its history, which, David tells me, was delicately and well expressed, and answered the purpose he hoped for."

The winter was come, 't was simmer nae mair,

And trembling the leaves were fleeing thro' the air;
"Oh! winter," says Jeanie, "we kindly agree,
For the sun he looks wae when he shines upon me!"

Nae langer she mourn'd, her tears were a' spent,
Despair it was come, and she took it for content,—
She thought it content, but her cheek it grew pale,
And she bent like a snawdrop broke down by the hail.

Her father and mother observed her decay,
"What ails ye, my bairn?" they ofttimes would say;
"Ye turn round your wheel, but you come little speed,
For feeble's your hand and silly's your thread."

She smiled when she heard them, to banish their fear,
But wae looks the smile that is seen through a tear;
And bitter's the tear that is forced by a love
Which honour and virtue can never approve.

Her father was vexed and her mother was wae,
But pensive and silent was Auld Robin Gray;
He wandered his lane, and his face it grew lean
Like the side of a brae where the torrent has been.
Nae questions he spier'd her concerning her health,
He look'd at her often, but aye 't was by stealth,
When his heart it grew grit, and sichin' he feign'd
To gang to the door to see if it rain'd.

He took to his bed,-nae physic he sought,
But ordered his friends all around to be brought;
While Jeanie supported his head in its place,
Her tears trickled down, and fell on his face.

"Oh! kill me not, Jeanie! wi' kindness this day,-
That I've not deserved, but I've something to say;
I knew not of Jamie, I never heard your vow-
In mercy forgi'e me, 't was I stealt the cow!

"I cared not for Crummie, I thought but of thee,
I thought it was her stood between you and me,-
While she fed your parents, Oh! didna you say
You never would marry wi' Auld Robin Gray?”

VERSION II.

At a later period probably, but still during her youth, Lady Anne completed the Fragment which I have just given in its original form. It had been better left as a fragment, but as it is alluded to in its completed state in the correspondence between Sir Walter Scott and Lady Anne, I subjoin it here:

The spring had passed over, 't was summer nae mair,
And trembling were scattered the leaves in the air;
"O winter," cried Jeanie, "we kindly agree,
For wae looks the sun when he shines upon me."

Nae langer she wept, her tears were a' spent-
Despair it was come and she thought it content,
She thought it content, but her cheek was grown pale,
And she drooped like a snowdrop broke down by the hail.

Her father was sad and her mother was wae,
But silent and thoughtfu' was Auld Robin Gray;
He wandered his lane, and his face was as lean
As the side of a brae where the torrents have been.

He gaed to his bed, but nae physic would take,
And often he said, "It is best for her sake!"
While Jeanie supported his head as he lay,
The tears trickled down upon Auld Robin Gray.

VOL. II.

2 H

66

Oh greet nae mair, Jeanie,” said he wi' a groan,
"I'm no worth your sorrow-the truth maun be known!
Send round for your neighbours-my hour it draws near,
And I've that to tell that it's fit a' should hear.

“I've wrong'd her," he said, “but I kent it o'er late,
I've wrong'd her, and sorrow is speeding my date,
But a's for the best, since my death will soon free
A faithfu' young heart that was ill matched wi' me.
"I lo'ed and I courted her mony a day,
The auld folks were for me, but still she said nay-
I kentna o' Jamie, nor yet of her vow—

In mercy forgi'e me, 't was I stole the cow!

"I cared not for Crummie, I thought but o' thee!
I thought it was Crummie stood 'twixt you and me;
While she fed your parents, O did you not say,
You never would marry wi' Auld Robin Gray?

"But sickness at hame and want at the door

You gi'ed me your hand, while your heart it was sore;
I saw it was sore, why took I her hand?

O that was a deed to cry shame o'er the land!

"How truth soon or late comes to open daylight!
For Jamie came back, and your cheek it grew white;
White, white grew your cheek, but aye true unto me!
O Jeanie, I'm thankfu'-I'm thankfu' to die!

"Is Jamie come here yet?" and Jamie they saw-
"I've injured you sair, lad, so leave me you my a',
Be kind to my Jeanie, and soon may it be!
Waste no time, my dauties, in mourning for me."

They kissed his cauld hands, and a smile o'er his face
Seemed hopefu' of being accepted by grace;
"Oh doubt na," said Jamie, "forgi'en he will be,
Wha wouldna be tempted, my love, to win thee?"

*

The first days were dowie, while time slipt awa',
But saddest and sairest to Jeanie of a'

Was thinking she couldna be honest and right
Wi' tears in her e'e, while her heart was sae light.

But nae guile had she, and her sorrow away,
The wife of her Jamie, the tear couldna stay-

A bonnie wee bairn-the auld folks by the fire,

Oh now she has a' that her heart can desire.

VARIOUS READINGS.

8... like a lily.. 16. Her tears.. 37. But truth, soon or late, it comes ever to light. 51. Was fearing..