# Two songs/The blaeberries

Dated from period of activity of publisher and external evidence.
The Blaeberries.
WILL you'go to Highlands, my jewel, with me Will you go to the Highlands the flocks for to see, It is health to my jewel to breathe the sweet air? And to pull the blaeberries in the forrest so fair. To the Highlands, my jewel, I'll go to with thee For the road it is long and the hills they high I love these low vallies and the sweet corn fields, More than all the blaeberries your wild mountains yields, Our hills they are bonny when the heather's in bloom It would cheer a fine fancy in the month of June, To pull the blaeberries and carry them home, And set them on your table when December does come Out spake her father, the fancy old man, You might have chosen a mistress among your own clan It's but poor entertainment to our lowland dames, To promise them berries and blue heather blooms. Kilt up your green plaidie and walk over yon hill, For the sight of your highland face does me much ill; For I'll wed my daughter, and spare pennies too To whom, my heart pleases, and what's that to you? My plaidie is broad, it has colours anew, Guedman, for your kindness, I'll leave with you; I have got a warm cordial, ⟨keeps⟩ a cold from me, The blythe blinks of love from your daughter's eye. My flocks are but thin and my lodging but bare, And you that has meikle, the ⟨more you⟩ can spare, Some of your spare pennies with us you will share, And you winnna send your lassie out o'er the hills bare ​He went to his daughter and gave her advice, ⟨Said⟩ if you go with him I'm sure you're not wise; ⟨He's⟩ a rude highland fellow as poor a crow, ⟨He's⟩ the clan of the Catharine for ought that I know. But if you go with him I'm sure you'll gang bare ⟨You⟩ shall have nothing that father or mother can spare; ⟨Of⟩ all I possess I'll deprive you for ay, ⟨If⟩ over the hills you do go away. It's father keep what you're not willing to give, ⟨For⟩ I fain would go with him as sure as I live; ⟨What⟩ signifies gold or treasure to me, ⟨When⟩ the highland hills is between my love and me. No she has gone with him in spite of them a', ⟨Away⟩ to a place that her eyes never saw. ⟨She had⟩ no steed for to carry her on, ⟨But still⟩ he said lassie think not the road long. In a warm summer's evening they came to a glen, ⟨Being⟩ weary with travel, the lassie sat down; ⟨Get⟩ up my brave lassie and let us step on, ⟨For⟩ the sun will go round before we get home. My feet are all ⟨torn⟩, my shoes are all rent. ⟨I'm⟩ wearied with travel, and just like to faint. ⟨Were⟩ it not for the sake of your kind company, ⟨I⟩ would lie in this desert until that I die. The day is far spent, and night coming on: ⟨And⟩ step you aside to yon bonny mill town, ⟨And⟩ there you ask lodgings for thee and for me; ⟨For⟩ glad would I be in a barn to be. The place it is bonny and pleasant indeed, ⟨But⟩ the people hard-hearted to those who're in need; ⟨Perhaps⟩ they'll not grant us barn nor byre; ⟨But⟩ I shall go ask, as it is your desire. ​The lassie went foremost, sure I was to blame, To ask for a lodging, myself I thought shame, The lassie replied, with tears not a few It is ill ale, she said, that is sour when it's new. In a short time thereafter they came to a grove, Where his flocks they were feeding in numberless droves, Allan stood musing his flocks for to see; ⟨Step on,⟩ says the lady, that's no pleasure to me. A beautiful laddie with green tartan treuse, And twa bonny lasses were bughting in ewes; They said, Honour'd Master are you come again? For long have we look'd for your coming hame. Bught in your ewes lasses and go your way home, I've brought a swan from the north I have her to tame, Her feathers are ⟨fallen⟩, and where can she fly?
The best bed in all my house there she shall lye. The lady's heart was fallen and it cou'dna well rise, Till mony a lad and lass came in with a fraise, To welcome the lady, to welcome her home; Such a bed in the highlands she never thought on. The laddies did whistle and the lasses did sing, They made her a supper that might have serv'd a queen With ale and good whisky they drank her health round And they made to the lassie a braw bed of down. Early next morning he led her up high, And bid her look round her as far as she could spy, These lands and possessions are my debts for to pay, And you cannot walk round them in a long summer's day; O Allan, O Allan I'm indebted to thee It is a debt, dear Allan, I never can pay. O ⟨Allan⟩, O Allan, how came you for me? Sure I am not worthy your bride for to be. ​How call you me Allan, when Sandy's name, Why call you me Allan? sure you are to blame; For don't you remember when at school with thee, ⟨I⟩ was hated by all the rest, loved by thee. How oft have I fed on your bread and your cheese, Likewise when you had but a handful of pease, Your cruel hearted father would hound at me his dogs They tore all my bare heels and rave all my rags. Is this my dear Sandy whom I lov'd so dear, I have not heard of you this many long year; When all the rest went to bed sleep was far frae me, ⟨For⟩ thinking what was become of thee. My parents were born long before me, ⟨Perhaps⟩ by this time they are drown'd in the sea; These lands and possessions they gave them to me, And now, my dear jewel, ⟨you⟩ shall share them with me. In love we began, and in love we will end, With joy and great mirth our days we will spend, And a voyage to our father once more we will go, To relieve the old farmer of his trouble and woe. With men and maid servants to wait them upon, And away to her father's in a chaise they are gone; The laddie went foremost, the brave highland lown, Till he came to the road that leads to the town. When he came to the gate he gave a loud roar, Come down gentle farmer Catherin's at your door. He look'd out at the window and saw his dauhter's face With his hat in his hand he made a great fraise. Keep on your hat farmer and don't let it fa', ⟨For⟩ it ⟨sets⟩ not a peacock to bow to a crow, ⟨It's⟩ hold your tongue Sandy and do not taunt me, ⟨For⟩ my daughter's not worthy your bride for to be. ​Now he held the bridle reins till he came down. And then he convey'd them to fine room; With the finest of spirits they drank a fine toss, And the father and son drank out of one glass.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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