ANDREW LAMMIE.

"FROM a stall copy published at Glasgow several years ago, collated with a recited copy, which has furnished one or two verbal improvements." Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 239.

Mr. Jamieson has published two other sets of this simple, but touching ditty, (i. 126, ii. 382,) one of which is placed after the present. Motherwell's text is almost verbatim that of Buchan's Gleanings, p. 98. The Thistle of Scotland copies Buchan and Jamieson without acknowledgment.

The story has been made the foundation of a rude drama in the North of Scotland. For a description of similar entertainments, see Cunningham's Introduction to his Songs of Scotland, i. 148.

The unfortunate maiden's name, according to Buchan, (Gleanings, p. 197,) was Annie, or Agnes, (which are synonymous in some parts of Scotland,) Smith, who died of a broken heart on the 9th of January, 1631, as is to be found on a roughly cut stone, broken in many pieces, in the green churchyard of

Fyvie." "What afterwards became of Bonny Andrew Lammie," says Jamieson, "we have not been able to learn; but the current tradition of the 'Lawland leas of Fyvie,' says, that some years subsequent to the melancholy fate of poor Tifty's Nanny, her sad story being mentioned, and the ballad sung in a company in Edinburgh when he was present, he remained silent and motionless, till he was discovered by a groan suddenly bursting from him, and several of the buttons flying from his waistcoat.”

AT Mill o' Tifty liv'd a man,

In the neighbourhood of Fyvie;
He had a lovely daughter fair,
Was called bonny Annie.

He had the art to gain the heart
Of Mill o' Tiftie's Annie.

Proper he was, both young and gay,
His like was not in Fyvie;

No one was there that could compare

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With this same Andrew Lammie.

Lord Fyvie he rode by the door,
Where lived Tiftie's Annie;
His trumpeter rode him before,

Even this same Andrew Lammie.

Her mother call'd her to the door:
"Come here to me, my Annie;
Did you ever see a prettier man
Than this Trumpeter of Fyvie?”

She sighed sore, but said no more,

Alas, for bonny Annie!

She durst not own her heart was won

By the Trumpeter of Fyvie.

At night when they went to their beds,

All slept full sound but Annie; Love so opprest her tender breast, Thinking on Andrew Lammie.

“Love comes in at my bed side,

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And love lies down beyond me;

Love has possess'd my tender breast,
And love will waste my body.

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"The first time I and my love met Was in the woods of Fyvie;

His lovely form and speech so sweet

Soon gain'd the heart of Annie.

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"He called me mistress; I said, No,
I'm Tiftie's bonny Annie;

With apples sweet he did me treat,
And kisses soft and many.

“It's up and down in Tiftie's den,

Where the burn runs clear and bonny,

I've often gone to meet my love,

My bonny Andrew Lammie.”

But now, alas! her father heard
That the Trumpeter of Fyvie
Had had the art to gain the heart
Of Tiftie's bonny Annie.

Her father soon a letter wrote,
And sent it on to Fyvie,

To tell his daughter was bewitch'd

By his servant Andrew Lammie.

When Lord Fyvie had this letter read,

O dear! but he was sorry;

The bonniest lass in Fyvie's land

Is bewitched by Andrew Lammie.

Then up the stair his trumpeter

He called soon and shortly:

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"Pray tell me soon, what's this you've done To Tiftie's bonny Annie?"

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"In wicked art I had no part,

Nor therein am I canny;

True love alone the heart has won

Of Tiftie's bonny Annie.

"Woe betide Mill o' Tiftie's pride,

For it has ruin'd many;

He'll no ha'e 't said that she should wed

The Trumpeter of Fyvie.

“Where will I find a boy so kind,

That'll carry a letter canny,

Who will run on to Tiftie's town,
Give it to my love Annie?"

"Here you shall find a boy so kind,
Who'll carry a letter canny,
Who will run on to Tiftie's town,
And gi'e 't to thy love Annie."

"It's Tiftie he has daughters three,

Who all are wondrous bonny; But ye'll ken her o'er a' the lave, Gi'e that to bonny Annie.”

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"It's up and down in Tiftie's den,

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Where the burn runs clear and bonny;

There wilt thou come and meet thy love,

Thy bonny Andrew Lammie.