"Pipe a song about a Lamb!"
So I piped with merry cheer.
"Piper, pipe that song again;"
So I piped: he wept to hear.

"Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe;
Sing thy songs of happy cheer!"'
So I sang the same again,
While he wept with joy to hear.

"Piper, sit thee down and write
In a book, that all may read."
So he vanish'd from my sight;
And I plucked a hollow reed,

And I made a rural pen,
And I stain'd the water clear,
And I wrote my happy songs
Every child may joy to hear.

THE LAMB

(From the same)

Little lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee? Gave thee life, and bade thee feed By the stream and o'er the mead; Gave thee clothing of delight, Softest clothing, woolly, bright; Gave thee such a tender voice, Making all the vales rejoice?

Little lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee?

Little lamb, I'll tell thee;

They're douff and dowie at the best

Wi' a' their variorium.
They're douff and dowie at the best,
Their allegros and a' the rest,
They canna please a Scottish taste,
Compar'd wi' Tullochgorum.

Let warldly minds themselves oppress
Wi' fears of want, and double cess,"
And sullen sots themselves distress
Wi' keeping up decorum.
Shall we sae sour and sulky sit,
Sour and sulky, sour and sulky,
Shall we sae sour and sulky sit,
Like auld Philosophorum?
Shall we so sour and sulky sit,
Wi' neither sense, nor mirth, nor wit,
Nor ever rise to shake a fit

To the reel of Tullochgorum?
May choicest blessings still attend
Each honest open-hearted friend,
And calm and quiet be his end,

And a' that's good watch o'er him! May peace and plenty be his lot,

And dainties a great store o' 'em; May peace and plenty be his lot, Unstained by any vicious spot! And may be never want a groat

That's fond of Tullochgorum. But for the dirty, yawning fool, Who wants to be oppression's tool, May envy gnaw his rotten soul,

And discontent devour him! May dool' and sorrow be his chance, Dool and sorrow, dool and sorrow, May dool and sorrow be his chance, And nane say wae's me for 'im! May dool and sorrow be his chance, Wi' a' the ills that come frae France, Whae'er he be, that winna dance The reel of Tullochgorum.

Jane Elliot

1727-1805

Sheughing kail, and laying leeks,
Without the hose and but the breeks;4
And up his beggar duds he cleeks,
The wee, wee German lairdie!

And he's clappit down in our gudeman's chair,
The wee,
wee German lairdie!
And he's brought fouth' o' foreign trash,

And dibbled them in his yardie:
He's pu'd the rose o' English loons,
And brake the harp o' Irish clowns,
But our Scot's thistle will jag his thumbs,
The wee, wee German lairdie!

Come up amang the Highland hills,
Thou wee, wee German lairdie,
And see how Charlie's' lang-kail thrive,
That he dibbled in his yardie:

And if a stock ye daur to pu',

Or haud the yoking o' a pleugh,
We'll break your sceptre o'er your mou',
Thou wee bit German lairdie!

5

10

15

20

5

For a wee bit German lairdie! And we've the trenching blades o' weir, Wad glib ye o' your German gear,

30

But sorrow's sel' wears past, John,

To the land o' the leal.

And joy's a-coming fast, John, The joy that's aye to last

In the land o' the leal.

Sae dear's the joy was bought, John, Sae free the battle fought, John, That sinfu' man e'er brought,

To the land o' the leal.

O, dry your glistening e'e, John!
My saul langs to be free, John,
And angels beckon me

To the land o' the leal.

O, haud ye leal and true, John!

And pass ye neath the claymore's sheer Thou feckless German lairdie!

Your day it's wearin' through, John,

And I'll welcome you

That Charlie1 came to our town, The young Chevalier.

To the land o' the leal.

Now fare-ye-weel, my ain John,

And Charlie he's my darling, My darling, my darling,

5

This warld's cares are vain, John, We'll meet, and we'll be fain,

30

In the land o' the leal.

And Charlie he's my darling,
The young Chevalier.

As Charlie he came up the gate,
His face shone like the day:

I grat to see the lad come back
That had been lang away.
And Charlie he's my darling, etc.

10

"the young Pretender,"

A pointed tool, used to make holes for planting seeds, or "dibbling."

1 Charles Stuart, "the young Pretender," as his father James Edward Stuart, was called the "Chevalier" by his friends, Charles gained the title of "the young Chevalier."