‘’Twas when the wan leaf frae the birk-tree was fa’in,
And Martinmas dowie had wound up the year,
That Lucy row’d up her wee kist wi’ her a’ in ’t,
And left her auld master and neebours sae dear.
For Lucy had serv’d i’ the Glen16 a’ the simmer;
She cam there afore the bloom cam on the pea;17
An orphan was she, an’ they had been gude till her;
Sure that was the thing brought the tear to her ee.
She gaed by the stable, where Jamie was stan’in’,
Right sair was his kind heart her flittin’ to see;
Fare ye weel, Lucy! quo’ Jamie, and ran in—
The gatherin’ tears trickled fast frae her ee.
As down the burn-side she gaed slow wi’ her flittin’,
Fare ye weel, Lucy! was ilka bird’s sang;
She heard the craw sayin ’t, high on the tree sittin’,
And Robin was chirpin ’t the brown leaves amang.
O what is’t that pits my puir heart in a flutter?
And what gars the tears come sae fast to my ee?
If I wasna ettled to be ony better,
Then what gars me wish ony better to be?
I ’m just like a lammie that loses its mither,
Nae mither nor frien’ the poor lammie can see;
I fear I hae tint my bit heart a’ thegither;
Nae wonder the tear fa’s sae fast frae my ee.
Wi’ the rest o’ my claes, I hae row’d up the ribbon,
The bonnie blue ribbon that Jamie gae me;
Yestreen, when he gae me ’t, and saw I was sabbin’,
I’ll never forget the wae blink o’ his ee.
Though now he said naething but Fare ye weel, Lucy!
It made me I neither could speak, hear, nor see;
He couldna say mair but just Fare ye weel, Lucy!
Yet that I will mind till the day that I dee.
The lamb likes the gowan wi’ dew when it’s droukit;
The hare likes the brake and the braird on the lea;
But Lucy likes Jamie;—she turn’d, and she lookit;
She thought the dear place she wad never mair see!’

In publishing the ballad, Hogg added the following verse, in order, as he said, to complete the story; but it will be felt, we think, that he has marred the pathetic simplicity of the original, which was complete enough as a picture of the flittin’:

‘Ah, weel may young Jamie gang dowie and cheerless,
And weel may he greet on the bank o’ the burn!
His bonnie sweet Lucy, sae gentle and peerless,
Lies cauld in her grave, and will never return.’

Lockhart has truly characterised Laidlaw’s ballad as ‘a simple and pathetic picture of a poor Ettrick maiden’s feelings in leaving a service where she had been happy,’ and he adds that it has ‘long been and must ever be a favourite with all who understand the delicacies of the Scottish dialect, and the manners of the district in which the scene is laid.’ A no less flattering or discriminating notice had been previously given by a critic in the Edinburgh Review, who, in quoting one song from the four volumes of Allan Cunningham’s Songs of Scotland, Ancient and Modern, selected Laidlaw’s ‘simple ditty’ as a ‘fair example of the lowly pathetic’ which would ‘go to the heart of many a village-bred Scotchman in remote regions and all conditions of society.’

THE END.

Edinburgh:
Printed by W. & R. Chambers.