Highland Fling by Nancy Mitford Page A

a beautiful ballad. Personally, I think it one of the most beautiful that Scotland has produced, although it is comparatively little known. Let me see if I can remember it.’ And clearing his throat, he recited the following ballad:
    THE LAMENT OF THE LADY MUSCATEL
               
My lo’e he war winsome, my lo’e he war braw
, 1
               
Every nicht ’neath my windie he cam’
.
               
He wad sing, oh, sae saft, till the nicht it waur o’er
               
I’ the morn he was sadly gang ham’
.
                            
The pibroch i’ the glen is bonny
,
                            
But waley, waley, wheer’s ma Ronnie?
                  
His e’en they were blew and his mou
2
it war red
,
                  
And his philabeg
3
cam’ to the knee;
                  
But noo ma puir Ronnie he’s skaithless and deid
,
                  
Ah, wud that I a’so could dee
.
                            
The pibroch i’ the glen is bonny
,
                            
But waley, waley, wheer’s ma Ronnie?
                  
I ganged ma gait sairly to yon branksome brae
,
                  
Wheer ma true lo’e war killed i’ the ficht
,
                  
I sat on a creepy
4
and I greeted
5
the day
,
                  
And I sat greeting there till the nicht
.
                            
The pibroch i’ the glen is bonny
,
                            
But waley, waley, wheer’s ma Ronnie?
                  
Ah, Ronnie, my true lo’e, ah, Ronnie, mine ane
,
                  
Shall I niver muir see ye ava?
                  
I see your life’s bluid poured out o’er yonder stane
,
                  
But your sperrit has flane far awa
.
                            
The pibroch i’ the glen is bonny
,
                            
But waley, waley, wheer’s ma Ronnie?
                  
They gave me your heid, Ronnie, wropped oop i’ sae
, 6
                  
And I buried it ’neath yonder saugh;
7
                  
For ye’ve left me, my Ronnie, to gang a’ agley
                  
And I niver shall see ye nae muir
.
                            
The pibroch i’ the glen is bonny
,
                            
But waley, waley, wheer’s ma Ronnie?
                  
Ma mither she mad’ me ane parritch o’ kail
,
                  
And she gave me ane snood for ma heid;
                  
But a’ I can do is to greet and to wail
,
                  
Ah, Mither, I wud I were deid
.
                            
The pibroch i’ the glen is bonny
,
                            
But waley, waley, wheer’s ma Ronnie?
                  
But e’er the sun rise, Mither, muir o’er the brae
,
                  
And e’er ane muir morrow shall dawn;
                  
Ma heid on its pillow sae saftly I’ll lay
,
                  
But ma sperrit to him will ha’ flawn
.
                            
The pilbroch i’, the glen is bonny
,
                            
But waley, waley, wheer’s ma Ronnie?
    There was a short silence, broken by Albert, who said:
    ‘How beautiful, and what a touching story! We must tell it to Walter; he will be so much interested and might, I feel, write one of his charming poems round it. I think the ballad quite the finest I have ever heard.’
    ‘I think so, too,’ said Mr Buggins, who had rarely known such an appreciative audience and was greatly enjoying himself. ‘To the