# The Book of Scottish Song/Broom of Cowdenknows

Broom of Cowdenknows.
[The fine old melody, called "The Broom of Cowdenknows," is of great antiquity, and is known to have existed at least before the union of the crowns of Scotland and England in 1603. Gay adopted it in his Beggar's Opera, (first acted in 1728,) for his song beginning "The miser thus a shilling sees." The words to which the tune was originally united are lost, with the exception of the chorus, which ran thus:
O, the broom, the bonnie, bonnie broom, The broom of the Cowdenknows; I wish I were at hame again, Milking my daddy's ewes.
The two sets of verses here given are both from the Tea-Table Miscellany published by Ramsay. The author of the first and most popular set is unknown, but it is subscribed with the initials, S. R. The author of the second set is Robert Crawford, second son of Patrick Crawford of Drumsey. "Cowdenknows" is a ridgy district in Lauderdale, Berwickshire, once overgrown with tall and luxuriant broom, but now subjected to the plough.]
[FIRST SET.]
How blythe ilk morn was I to see My swain come o'er the hill! He skipt the burn, and flew to me, I met him wi' good will.
O, the broom, the bonnie, bonnie broom, The broom of the Cowdenknows! I wish I were wi' my dear swain, Wi' his pipe, and my ewes.
I neither wanted ewe nor lamb, While his flocks near me lay; He gather'd in my sheep at night, And cheer'd me a' the day. O, the broom, &c.
He tuned his pipe and reed sae sweet, The birds stood list'ning by; Ev'n the dull cattle stood and gazed, Charm'd wi' his melody. O, the broom, &c.
While thus we spent our time by turns, Betwixt our flocks and play, I envied not the fairest dame, Though e'er so rich and gay. O, the broom, &c.
Hard fate! that I should banish'd be, Gang heavily, and mourn, Because I loved the kindest swain That ever yet was born. O, the broom, &c.
He did oblige me every hour; Could I but faithfu' be? He staw my heart; could I refuse Whate'er he ask'd of me? O, the broom, &c.
My doggie, and my little kit, That held my wee soup whey, My plaidie, broach, and crooked stick, Maun now lie useless by. O, the broom, &c.
Adieu, ye Cowdenknows, adieu! Fareweel a' pleasures there! Ye gods, restore me to my swain, It's a' I crave or care. O, the broom, &c.
[SECOND SET.]
When summer comes, the swains on Tweed Sing their successful loves, Around the ewes and lambkins feed, And music fills the groves. ​ But my loved song is then the broom So fair on Cowdenknows; For sure, so sweet, so soft a bloom, Elsewhere there never grows.
There Colin tuned his oaten reed, And won my yielding heart; No shepherd e'er that dwelt on Tweed, Could play with half such art.
He sung of Tay, of Forth, and Clyde, The hills and dales all round, Of Leader-haughs, and Leader-side, Oh! how I bless'd the sound.
Yet more delightful is the broom So fair on Cowdenknows; For sure, so fresh, so bright a bloom, Elsewhere there never grows.
Not Tiviot braes, so green and gay, May with this broom compare; Not Yarrow banks in flowery May, Nor the bush aboon Traquair.
More pleasing far are Cowdenknows, My peaceful happy home, Where I was wont to milk my ewes, At e'en amang the broom.
Ye powers that haunt the woods and plains Where Tweed and Tiviot flows, Convey me to the best of swains, And my loved Cowdenknows.