Chorus

O, ye’ve been lang o’ coming, Lang, lang, lang o’ coming; O, ye’ve been lang o’ coming, Welcome, royal Geordie! O blaw, ye breezes! favouring blaw Around North Berwick’s lofty Law, And gently on the squadron fa’, That brings us royal Geordie!

The king has pass’d St Abb’s rough head, Now loyal laird of Spott mak’ speed, Your guns and bonfire quickly feed, And welcome royal Geordie.

Dunbar, your ancient fort prepare, (In a’ that’s guid you tak’ a share,) Your burghers to the beach repair, And welcome royal Geordie.

The cannon’s voice is heard afar, The royal fleet has pass’d Dunbar;— Upon his breast he wears a star, A stately lad is Geordie!

Thou ancient crag, romantic Bass! Salute the squadron as they pass: Let Janet get her keeking glass, And busk her braw for Geordie.

North Berwick’s lads your sweethearts bring, Your idle violins blithely string, Till Fidra’s isle and Craig Leith ring A blithe salute to Geordie.

He leaves his royal rich domains, That stand so beauteous by the Thames, To see our blooming nymphs and swains, A courteous lad is Geordie.

And, O! amang our mountains blue, Dwell loyal chiefs, to valour true; And beauteous dames, may wind a clue Around the heart o’ Geordie.

Thrice welcome to green Albyn’s shore, As Bruce and Wallace were of yore;— Our ancient kings the lion bore, And sae does royal Geordie!

Auld Holyrood again looks gay, Her martial files, in bright array, Are glitt’ring in the gouden ray, To welcome royal Geordie.

And Calton’s terrace-walks so green Are fringed with tents and culverin; On Sal’sbury’s craigs the same is seen, To welcome royal Geordie.

From hill to hill the tidings fly, Proud Arthur’s crest is blazing high, Trapren glowers up, and lights the sky, To welcome royal Geordie.

Dunedin’s streets are in a blaze, As when great Nelson ruled the seas! Is Wellington upon the breeze?— O, no! it’s royal Geordie!—

Come, Scotia! tune your aiken reed, Sir Walter’s blithely ta’en the lead; And blaw your chanters till they screed To welcome royal Geordie!

The wine-cup, flowing, pass around, A flourish let the trumpets sound, While ships and castle’s cliffs resound A blithe salute to Geordie!

SONG, WRITTEN FOR THE OCCASION, AND SUNG AT A DINNER GIVEN IN THE ASSEMBLY ROOM, ON THE HADDINGTON ST JOHN’S KILWINNING LODGE LAYING THE FOUNDATION STONE OF THE EARL OF HOPETOUN’S MONUMENT ON BYRES-HILL, 3D MAY, 1824.

While nations enjoy the glad blessings of peace, We meet in the hall to remember the brave, Who bought with their blood bonded Europe’s release, And fought for their country’s repose or a grave. Then charge, brethren, charge, a full bumper is due To Abercrombie’s name And his comrade in fame, Great Hopetoun, in battle so val’rous and true.

O bright were the laurels they won on that strand, Where Gallia’s tricolour’d flag was unfurl’d; They conquer’d Napoleon’s Egyptian band, Invincible deem’d by the rest of the world. With Hope and Abercrombie, O ne’er be forgot Our Ramsay and Hay, Both worthy the bay, Where the battle is raging ’mongst sabres and shot.

While Scotia weeps on Corunna’s sad shore The fate of her warriors, Iberia mourns, And hallows the memory of glorious Moore, Who died like a soldier in victory’s arms! As lone on the field her Baird wounded lay, Great Hopetoun when crost, Of himself was a host, And led his brave comrades triumphant away.

Then high raise the cairn upon the green hill, To valour ’twill rouse as we gaze on the pile, Though the eyes of the veteran with tears it may fill, And cloud as she passes young beauty’s fair smile. Now peace be to Hopetoun, who rests with the brave, While Ramsay and Hay Must contend for the bay, Should the tempest of war in our valleys e’er rave.

MASONIC SONG. WRITTEN AND SUNG ON OCCASION OF MR WILLIAM FERME’S PORTRAIT (PAINTED BY WATSON) BEING PLACED IN THE MASONIC LODGE OF HADDINGTON, 1823.

O Willie is a canty chiel! The mason-art he kens sae weel, To raise a laugh or—raise the de’il— It’s just the same to Willie, O! We’ve had him lang, we’ll haud him fast, This night auld Fame shall blaw a blast, While far away our cares we cast, And drink success to Willie, O!

Our sacred art, by Heav’n refined, That joins and blesses all mankind, For such as Willie was design’d, Wha counts each man his brither, O! Wi’ mystic lore, and humorous art, He steals sae o’er the craftsmen’s heart, That when we meet we scarce can part— Sae blest wi’ ane anither, O!

Immortal be great Hiram’s name, And Solomon’s undying fame!— We hail their bright united flame, Reflected in our Willie, O! The rule and square is still his badge; Nor orient seer, nor Tyrian sage, Could ever handle plumb or gauge Like our great master, Willie, O!

How oft our little social band Has met beneath his high command, While beauteous order round did stand, Supported aye by Willie, O! No faction e’er our lodge divides, Where truth and friendship still abides; Nor ever shall, while here presides Our gude auld master, Willie, O!