A young woman pours out her quandary to her friend Tittie: her heart is breaking because everyone—her mother, her father—warns her against Tam Glen. They push a wealthy laird, Lowrie, who brags about his silver but can’t dance like Tam. Yet she can’t help thinking that even in poverty, she’d make do with her “braw fellow.” Superstition only deepens her resolve: on Valentine’s night she drew Tam’s name three times, and on Halloween, a dripping-sleeve ritual conjured his very figure stalking through the house. The speaker is torn between head and heart, but her question is hardly a question; she’s already decided. Her final bribe—a bonnie black hen for the advice she wants to hear—gives the whole confession a playful, conspiratorial warmth. The mood is intimate and wry, full of affection for Tam and gentle exasperation with meddling family.
273. Song—Tam Glen — Summary
MY heart is a-breaking, dear Tittie, Some counsel unto me come len’, To anger them a’ is a pity, But what will I do wi’ Tam Glen?
I’m thinking, wi’ sic a braw fellow, In poortith I might mak a fen; What care I in riches to wallow, If I maunna marry Tam Glen!
There’s Lowrie the Laird o’ Dumeller— “Gude day to you, brute!” he comes ben: He brags and he blaws o’ his siller, But when will he dance like Tam Glen!
My minnie does constantly deave me, And bids me beware o’ young men; They flatter, she says, to deceive me, But wha can think sae o’ Tam Glen!
My daddie says, gin I’ll forsake him, He’d gie me gude hunder marks ten; But, if it’s ordain’d I maun take him, O wha will I get but Tam Glen!
Yestreen at the Valentine’s dealing, My heart to my mou’ gied a sten’; For thrice I drew ane without failing, And thrice it was written “Tam Glen”!
The last Halloween I was waukin My droukit sark-sleeve, as ye ken, His likeness came up the house staukin, And the very grey breeks o’ Tam Glen!
Come, counsel, dear Tittie, don’t tarry; I’ll gie ye my bonie black hen, Gif ye will advise me to marry The lad I lo’e dearly, Tam Glen.