Robert Tannahill (1774–1810)

THE EVENING sun’s gaen down the west,

The birds sit nodding on the tree;

All nature now prepares for rest,

But rest prepared there’s none for me.

The trumpet sounds to war’s alarms,

The drums they beat, the fifes they play,—

Come, Mary, cheer me wi’ thy charms,

For the morn I will be far away.

Good night, and joy—good night, and joy,

Good night, and joy be wi’ you a’;

For since it’s so that I must go,

Good night, and joy be wi’ you a’!

I grieve to leave my comrades dear,

I mourn to leave my native shore;

To leave my agèd parents here,

And the bonnie lass whom I adore.

But tender thoughts maun now be hushed,

When danger calls I must obey,

The transport waits us on the coast,

And the morn I will be far away.
Good night, and joy, etc.

Adieu, dear Scotia’s sea-beat coast!

Though bleak and drear thy mountains be,

When on the heaving ocean tost

I’ll cast a wishful look to thee!

And now, dear Mary, fare thee well,

May Providence thy guardian be!

Or in the camp, or on the field,

I’ll heave a sigh, and think on thee!

Good night, and joy—good night, and joy,

Good night, and joy be wi’ you a’;

For since it’s so that I must go,

Good night, and joy be wi’ you a’!