BETA

The Lyke-Wake Song.

1.

The corn may shake owre ripe on the rigs,1
The Queensberry gimmers may rot on their legs,2
The swan forhoo the flood and the lake,3
The elf-shot crummie may die at the stake,4
The maiden may moil in vain at the kirn,5
For gruesome death has won us a pirn6
We have paid the grave a golden kain,7
The life o’ the sie our cummer, is gane.8

2.

Frae the pulpit we weel might spare the priest,9
And spare the black-cock frae the mountain-crest10
Spare the sweet May wind, though it decks our bowers,11
And showers us lilies and rains us flowers12
Spare the sang o’ the thrush, though its sang is sweet13
Lend a month o’ winter to summer’s heat14
Bid the singing burnie do nought but mane15
The life o’ the land, kind cummer, is gane.16

3.

And o’ her wanton tricks and her pranks,17
How the flooded burns leaped over their banks18
How the bonny sloops on the Solway faem, ;19
Through the sundering brine, came snoring hame ;20
But dule to the ship that sailed the saut sea,21
And broughtnae cummer her bountith and fee22
Now the waves whelm, and the widows mane,23
The ruler o’ waves, our cummer, is gane24

4.

She’s sained, and shrouded, and doomed to the mools25
Now wanton hizzies and cutty stools26
Will swarm i’ the kirks, and there will be wailin’,27
For cummer, in cottage, in manor, and mailen ;28
The dainty bridegroom may stint in his pride,29
Wha will dish out in lily-white linens the bride,30
And whisper a cannie kind word in her ear,31
When she’s blushing blude-red wi’ maidenly fear,32
And spae the fate o’ the braw knave wean,33
Since kind and cantie auld cummer is gane.34

5.

When the brown bees on the braes are swarming,35
And the early maid and the lark sing charming ;36
When the summer moon ’ mang the clouds is roaming,37
And sees me musing on some sweet woman ;38
When my purest thoughts on a loved one tarry,39
On thee, my mild Cameronian Mary ;40
Oh ! then I shall miss thee as autumn wad summer,41
My kind, and cantie, and cannie cummer.42

6.

Let John Macmukle love still to be sighing,43
That Quarrelwood’s more like Gomorrah than Zion,44
And Francie Mackittrick mourn that the lord45
O’ creation’s as steeve as the steel o’ his sword ;46
Let Willie Dargavel sigh on to be sinning47
Wi’ a rosie lass in landered linen ;48
And wee Jamie Dobie like to be roaming49
Whare the cakes are brown, and the flagons foaming ;50
And Mary Macmukle’s bright eyes cease to rain51
Love owre the wide earth, and make silly man vain ;52
And Annan, and Nith, and the sweet simmering stream53
O’ Ae, be as mute and gone by as a dream ;54
Birds may leave the pure air, fish may fly the clear river, 55
But my cummer’s proud name lives for ever and ever.56