LADY ANNE BARNARD,

Born

died 1825,

Sister of the late Earl of Balcarras, and wife of Sir Andrew Barnard, wrote the charming song of Auld Robin Gray.

A quarto tract, edited by "the Ariosto of the North," and circulated among the members of the Bannatyne Club, contains the original ballad, as corrected by Lady Anne, and two Continuations by the same authoress; while the Introduction consists almost entirely of a very interesting letter from her to the Editor, dated July 1823, part of which I take the liberty of inserting here:

"Robin Gray,' so called from its being the name of the

old herd at Balcarras, was born soon after the close of the year 1771. My sister Margaret had married, and accompanied her husband to London; I was melancholy, and endeavoured to amuse myself by attempting a few poetical trifles. There was an ancient Scotch melody, of which I was passionately fond;

who lived before your day, used to sing it to us at Balcarras. She did not object to its having improper words, though I did. I longed to sing old Sophy's air to different words, and give to its plaintive tones some little history of virtuous distress in humble life, such as might suit it. While attempting to effect this in my closet, I called to my little sister, now Lady Hard

wicke, who was the only person near me, 'I have been writing a ballad, my dear; I am oppressing my heroine with many misfortunes. I have already sent her Jamie to sea- -and broken her father's arm-and made her mother fall sick-and given her Auld Robin Gray for her lover; but I wish to load her with a fifth sorrow within the four lines, poor thing! Help me to one.' Steal the cow, sister Anne,' said the little Elizabeth. The cow was immediately lifted by me, and the song completed. At our fireside, and amongst our neighbours, 'Auld Robin Gray' was always called for. I was pleased in secret with the approbation it met with; but such was my dread of being suspected of writing anything, perceiving the shyness it created in those who could write nothing, that I carefully kept my own secret.

"Meantime, little as this matter seems to have been worthy of a dispute, it afterwards became a party question between the sixteenth and eighteenth centuries. Robin Gray' was either a very very ancient ballad, composed perhaps by David Rizzio, and a great curiosity, or a very very modern matter, and no curiosity at all. I was persecuted to avow whether I had written it or not, where I had got it. Old Sophy kept my counsel, and I kept my own, in spite of the gratification of seeing a reward of twenty guineas offered in the newspapers to the person who should ascertain the point past a doubt, and the still more flattering circumstance of a visit from Mr. Jerningham, secretary to the Antiquarian Society, who endeavoured to entrap the truth from me in a manner I took amiss. Had he asked me the question obligingly, I should

have told him the fact distinctly and confidentially. The annoyance, however, of this important ambassador from the Antiquaries, was amply repaid to me by the noble exhibition of the Ballat of Auld Robin Gray's Courtship,' as performed by dancing-dogs under my window. It proved its popularity from the highest to the lowest, and gave me pleasure while I hugged myself in my obscurity."

The two versions of the second part were written many years after the first; in them, Auld Robin Gray falls sick,-confesses that he himself stole the cow, in order to force Jenny to marry him,-leaves to Jamie all his possessions,dies,—and the young couple, of course, are united. Neither of the Continuations is given here, because, though both are beautiful, they are very inferior to the original tale, and greatly injure its effect.

Auld Robin Gray.*

1.

WHEN the sheep are in the fauld, when the cows come hame,

When a' the weary world to quiet rest are gane, The woes of my heart fa' in showers frae my ee, Unken'd by my gudeman, who soundly sleeps by

me.

* The text of the corrected copy is followed.

2.

Young Jamie loo'd me weel, and sought me for his bride;

But saving ae crown-piece, he'd naething else beside.

To make the crown a pound,* my Jamie gaed to

sea;

And the crown and the pound, O they were baith for me!

3.

Before he had been gane a twelvemonth and a

day,

My father brak his arm, our cow was stown

away;

"I must also mention" (says Lady Anne, in the letter already quoted) "the Laird of Dalziel's advice, who, in a tête-à-tête, afterwards said, My dear, the next time you sing that song, try to change the words a wee bit, and instead of singing, 'To make the crown a pound, my Jamie gaed to sea,' say, to make it twenty merks, for a Scottish pund is but twenty pence, and Jamie was na such a gowk as to leave Jenny and gang to sea to lessen his gear. It is that line [whisper'd he] that tells me that sang was written by some bonnie lassie that didna ken the value of the Scots money quite so well as an auld writer in the town of Edinburgh would have kent it.'"'

My mother she fell sick-my Jamie was at seaAnd auld Robin Gray, oh! he came a-courting me.

4.

My father cou'dna work-my mother cou'dna spin;

I toil'd day and night, but their bread I cou'dna

win;

Auld Rob maintain'd them baith, and, wi' tears

in his ee,

Said, "Jenny, oh! for their sakes, will you marry me?"

5.

My heart it said na, and I look'd for Jamie back; But hard blew the winds, and his ship was a wrack:

His ship it was a wrack! Why didna Jamie dee? Or, wherefore am I spar'd to cry out, Woe is me!

6.

My father argued sair-my mother didna speak, But she look'd in my face till my heart was like to break;

They gied him my hand, but my heart was in the

sea;

And so Auld Robin Gray, he was gudeman to me.

B B