I Class! Book S Sfcl PR1-SKNTED BY f \_ 5 7TK. >{^W^^vi 7 7l ) *5\ frvur A J^USUmm ^ Gift MR. HUTCHES'^ 7 N ? 05 London : — Printed by Richard Clay Bread Street Hill. H This selection from the Poetical Works of Robert Burns includes such of his popular Poems as may with propriety be given in a volume intended for the Drawing-room ; and nearly all the Songs which are usually published. j. c. CONTENTS. PAGE ADDRESS TO EDINBURGH 44 ANSWER TO A MANDATE 85 AULD FARMER'S NEW-YEAR MORNING SALUTATION TO HIS AULD MARE MAGGIE T3 A VISION 66 COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT I DEATH AND DR. HORNBOOK 92 DEATH AND DYING WORDS OF POOR MAILIE II HALLOWE'EN . 56 HUMBLE PETITION OF BRUAR WATER 4O JOHN BARLEYCORN 99 LAMENT FOR JAMES, EARL OF GLENCAIRN 72 LAMENT OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS 24 LINES ADDRESSED TO MR. MITCHELL, COLLECTOR OF EXCISE . 9 1 MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN 87 ON SCARING SOME WATER-FOWL 53 ON SEEING A WOUNDED HARE LIMP BY ME 52 ON THE BIRTH OF A POSTHUMOUS CHILD 27 ON THE LATE CAPTAIN GROSE'S PEREGRINATIONS THROUGH SCOTLAND 46 SONNET ON HEARING A THRUSH SING IN A MORNING WALK . 68 SONNET ON THE DEATH OF ROBERT RIDDEL, ESQ 67 STANZAS IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH 29 TAM O' SHANTER 75 THE TWA DOGS 32 TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY 69 TO A MOUSE 22 TO MISS CRUICKSHANKS 28 TO MISS LOGAN 55 VERSES LEFT AT A REVEREND FRIEND'S HOUSE, IN THE ROOM WHERE THE AUTHOR SLEPT IO WINTER 30 Vlll CONTENTS. PAGE WINTER NIGHT, ..■......■..'.,..'... 18 WRITTEN IN FRIARS-CARSE HERMITAGE 50 WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL .......,.....'.. 49 SONGS AND BALLADS, ADOWN WINDING NITH 220 AE FOND KISS -177 A RED, RED ROSE 20T A ROSE-BUD BY MY EARLY WALK . 132 AS I WAS A-WANDERING .182 AULD LANG SYNE .225 AULD ROB MORRIS -193 BANNOCKBURN ...... 211 BEHOLD THE HOUR 228 BESSY AND HER SPINNING-WHEEL 176 BLITHE WAS SHE ng bonnie ann ^6 bonnie bell . . . 196 bonnie jean 164 bonnie lassie, will ye go . 142 bonnie lesley , i0 7 bonnie peggy alison 124 by allan stream 224 caledonia 262 ca' the ewes 249 ca' the yowes 138 cassillis' banks ^ CHLOE 233 CHLORIS . 189 COME, LET ME TAKE THEE 232 COMING THROUGH THE RYE 264 CONTENTED Wl' LITTLE 244 COUNTRY LASSIE ^3 DAINTY DAVIE 206 DELUDED SWAIN, THE PLEASURE 230 DUNCAN GREY 133 ELIZA I36 FAIR ELIZA 18J FAIR JENNY 230 FAREWELL, THOU STREAM 252 FLOW GENTLY, SWEET AFTON 227 FORLORN, MY LOVE, NO COMFORT NEAR 113 FOR THE SAKE OF SOMEBODY 202 CONTENTS. ix PAGE fragment , . . . 219 galla- water 214 gane is the day 1 72 gloomy december 162 had i a cave 1 68 handsome nell . 106 her flowing locks 1 14 here is the glen ■. 238 here's a health 256 hey for a lass wl' a tocher 265 highland mary 190 how can i be blithe and glad , 192 how lang and dreary is the night 145 husband, husband, cease your strife . . , 226 i do confess thou art sae fair 1 73 i dream'd i lay where flowers were springing. . . . i io i gaed a waefu' gate, yestreen 151 is there, for honest poverty 259 it is nae, jean, thy bonnie face . 24 1 JESSIE 222 JOCKEY'S TA'EN THE PARTING KISS ........... 1 88 JOHN ANDERSON MY JO 167 LASSIE Wl' THE LINT-WHITE LOCKS 209 LAST MAY A BRAW WOOER ' . . 25 1 LET NOT WOMAN E'ER COMPLAIN 243 LOGAN BRAES 215 LORD GREGORY 221 LOVELY DAVIES 241 MARY 136 MARY CAMPBELL 2 IO MARY MORISON 163 MEG O' THE MILL 223 MEIKLE THINKS MY LUVE 170 MENIE 128 MONTGOMERY'S PEGGY. ...... Il8 MUSING ON THE ROARING OCEAN I47 MY AIN KIND DEARIE, O - 239 MY BONNIE MARY 152 MY HARRY . 156 MY HEART IS A-BREAKING, DEAR TITTIE 159 MY HEART 's IN THE HIGHLANDS . . . 194 MY JEAN Il8 my nannie's awa 255 my peggy's face 208 NAEBODY l8l NANCY, . 231 b CONTENTS. PAGE NANNIE 112 O AY MY WIFE SHE DANG ME 237 O BONNIE WAS YON ROSY BRIER 263 O FOR ANE-AND-TWENTY, TAM 192 O LASSIE, ART THOU SLEEPING YET? 257 O LEAVE NOVELS 124 O LUVE WILL VENTURE IN 178 O MAY, THY MORN 204 O PHILLY, HAPPY BE THAT DAY 247 O POORTITH CAULD 195 O, WAT YE WHA'S IN YON TOWN 206 O, WERE I ON PARNASSUS' HILL ! 167 O WHA IS SHE THAT LO'ES ME 25 1 OF A' THE AIRTS THE WIND CAN BLAW 161 OH ! OPEN THE DOOR TO ME 218 ON CESSNOCK BANKS 130 ON THE SEAS AND FAR AWAY 234 OUT OVER THE FORTH 240 PHILLIS THE FAIR 205 POLLY STEWART 203 RAVING WINDS AROUND HER BLOWING 137 ROBIN 123 SHE SAYS SHE LO'ES ME BEST OF A' 213 SHE'S FAIR AND FAUSE 198 SONG IO4 SONG OF DEATH 1 82 STAY, MY CHARMER I48 STREAMS THAT GLIDE 135 SWEET CLOSES THE EVENING 216 THE AUTHOR'S FAREWELL TO HIS NATIVE COUNTRY . . . . I40 THE BANKS O' DOON. — FIRST VERSION 185 THE BANKS O' DOON. — SECOND VERSION 186 THE BANKS OF NITH 200 THE BANKS OF THE DEVON 127 THE BATTLE OF CULLODEN 202 THE BONNIE WEE THING 1 74 THE BRAES O' BALLOCHMYLE . . . 175 THE CHEVALIER'S LAMENT . 199 THE DAY RETURNS, MY BOSOM BURNS 161 THE EXCISEMAN , . 198 THE GALLANT WEAVER 197 THE HIGHLAND LASSIE II r THE HIGHLAND WIDOW'S LAMENT , 245 THE LASS O' BALLOCHMYLE . . I49 THE LAZY MIST 157 THE LOVER'S MORNING SALUTE TO HIS MISTRESS 242 CONTENTS. XI PAGE the old man 236 the rigs o' barley 115 the winsome wee thing 208 there'll never be peace 173 there's a youth in this city 158 there's nought but care 117 thickest night, o'erhang my dwelling 145 this is no my ain lassie 262 thou hast left me ever 229 tibbie dunbar 126 tibbie, i ha'e seen the day i43 to charlotte hamilton 266 TO MARY 237 TO MARY IN HEAVEN 108 TO THEE, LOVED NITH 204 'TWAS NA HER BONNIE BLUE EEN 248 UP IN THE MORNING EARLY I46 WAE IS MY HEART 155 WANDERING WILLIE 2l8 WHAT CAN A YOUNG LASSIE 180 WHEN WILD WAR'S DEADLY BLAST WAS BLAWN 120 WHERE, BRAVING ANGRY WINTER'S STORMS 141 WHISTLE, AND I'LL COME TO YOU, MY LAD 1 69 WHISTLE OWRE THE LAVE O'T 166 WILLIE BREW'D A PECK O' MAUT 531 WILT THOU BE MY DEARIE? 235 YON WILD MOSSY MOUNTAINS 171 YOUNG HIGHLAND ROVER 147 YOUNG JOCKEY 151 YOUNG PEGGY 125 ILLUSTRATIONS THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. TV expectant wee-things, toddlin\ stacker through To meet their Dad, wi flichterin noise and glee. C. W. Cope, r.a. . E. Evans ... j 7 he wily mother sees the conscious flame Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek. C. W. Cope, r.a. . E. Evans ... 4 The priest-like father reads the sacred page, How Abram was the friend of God on high. C W. Cope, r.a. . E. Evans ... 7 The parent pair their secret homage pay, And proffer up to Heav'n the warm request. C. W. Cope, r.a. . Hammond. . . 9 THE AULD FARMER'S SALUTATION. A gude New- Year I wish thee, Maggie ! Hae, there's a ripp to thy auld baggie. Harrison Weir . J. Cooper . . 15 A WINTER NIGHT. Blow, blow, ye winds, with heavier gust! And freeze, thou bitter-biting frost. Birket Foster . . E, Evans ... 20 LAMENT OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS. But I, the Queen of a? Scotland, Maun lie in prison Strang. J. C. Horsley, a.r.a. T. Bolton ... 24 WINTER. While, tumbling brown, the burn comes down, And roars frae bank to brae. Birket Foster. . E. Evans ... 30 ILLUSTRATIONS. ENGEA.VER. THE TWA DOGS. Twa dogs, that were na thrang at hame, Forgather d ance upon a time. Harrison Weir THE HUMBLE PETITION OF BRUAR WATER. Here, foaming down the shelvy rocks, In twisting strength I rin. Birket Foster . CAPTAIN GROSE'S PEREGRINATIONS. By some auld, howlet-haunted biggin' ', Or kirk deserted by its riggin\ J. Archer, R.S.A. ON SCARING SOME WATER-FOWL. J. Greenaway E. Evans . . E. Evans Why, ye tenants of the lake, For me your wafry haunt forsake 1 HALLOWE'EN. To burn their nits, and pit their stocks, Harrison Weir . W. Wright And hand their Hallowe" 1 en. He roar'd a horrid murder -shout — And wha was it but Grumphie. TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY. Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower, Thou 's met me in an evil hour. TAM O' SHANTER. S. Edmonston S. Edmonston E. Evans . E. Evans . . Harrison Weir . J-. Cooper The souter tauld his queerest stories ; The landlord's laugh was ready chorus. George Thomas . H. Harral . Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh, Whare ghaists and howlets nightly cry. Birket Foster . . W. Thomas. The carline claught her by the rump, And left poor Maggie scarce a stump. MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN. Unmindful, though a weeping wife, And helpless offspring, mourn. DEATH AND DR. HORNBOOK. S. Edmonston Come, gie's your hand, and say wire gree't ; We'll ease our shanks and tak" 1 a seat. J. Archer, r.s.a. E. Evans . E. Evans 35 4i 46 53 58 63 69 77 80 George Thomas . H. Harral . . 83 90 95 XIV ILLUSTRATIONS. ENGRAVER. PAGE NOW WESTLIN' WINDS. We'll gently walk, and sweetly talk, Till the silent moon shine clearly. TO MARY IN HEAVEN. Can I forget the hallow 'd grove, Where by the winding Ayr we met ? THE RIGS O' BARLEY. My blessing on that happy place Amang the rigs "*3frs>Mi; \ ^v^w- - -,,•*. FORLORN, MY LOVE, NO COMFORT NEAR. Tune — " Let me in this ae night." Forlorn, my love, no comfort near, Far, far from thee, I wander here ; Far, far from thee, the fate severe At which I most repine, love. O wert thou, love, but near me, But near, near, near me ; How kindly thou wouldst cheer me, And mingle sighs with mine, love. Q 114 FORLORN, MY LOVE, NO COMFORT NEAR. Around me scowls a wintry sky, That blasts each bud of hope and joy, No shelter, shade, nor home have I, Save in those arms of thine, love. O wert thou, &c. Cold, alter'd friendship's cruel part, To poison fortune's ruthless dart — Let me not break thy faithful heart, And say that fate is mine, love. O wert thou, &>c. But dreary though the moments fleet, O let me think we yet shall meet ! That only ray of solace sweet Can on thy Chloris shine, love. O wert thou, &c. +gfc HER FLOWING LOCKS. Her flowing locks, the raven's wing, Adown her neck and bosom hing ; How sweet unto that breast to cling And round that neck entwine her. Her lips are roses wat wi' dew, O what a feast her bonnie mou' ! Her cheeks a mair celestial hue, A crimson still diviner. THE RIGS O' BARLEY. Tune — " Com rigs are bonnie." It was upon a Lammas night, When corn rigs are bonnie, Beneath the moon's unclouded light. I held awa' to Annie : Il6 THE RIGS O' BARLEY. The time flew by wi' tentless heed, Till 'tween the late and early, Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed, To see me thro' the barley. The sky was blue, the wind was still, The moon was shining clearly ; I set her down wi' right good will Amang the rigs o' barley. I ken'd her heart was a' my ain ; I loved her most sincerely ; I kiss'd her owre and owre again Amang the rigs o' barley. I lock'd her in my fond embrace ; Her heart was beating rarely ! My blessings on that happy place Amang the rigs o' barley. But by the moon and stars sae bright That shone that hour sae clearly, She aye shall bless that happy night, Amang the rigs o' barley. I ha'e been blithe wi' comrades dear • I ha'e been merry drinking ; I ha'e been joyfu' gathering gear ; I ha'e been happy thinking ; But a' the pleasures e'er I saw, Though three times doubled fairly, That happy night was worth them a', Amang the rigs o' barley. CHORUS. Corn rigs an' barley rigs, And corn rigs are bonnie ; Pll ne'er forget that happy night Amang the rigs 7C? Annie. iiy THERE'S NOUGHT BUT CARE. Tune — "Green grow the Rashes." Green grow the rashes, O f Green grow the rashes, Of The sweetest hours that e *er I spent, Were spent amang the lasses, Of There's nought but care on ev'ry han', In ev'ry hour that passes, O ; What signifies the life o' man, An 'twere na for the lasses, 0% The war'ly race may riches chase, An' riches still may fly them, O ; And tho' at last they catch them fast, Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O. But gi'e me a cannie hour at e'en, My arms about my dearie, O ; An' war'ly cares, an' war'ly men, May a' gae tapsalteerie, O. For you sae douce, wha sneer at this, Ye're nought but senseless asses, O; The wisest man the warl' e'er saw, He dearly loved the lasses, O. Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears Her noblest work she classes, O ; Her 'prentice han' she tried on man, An' then she made the lasses, O, Green grow the rashes, Of Green grow the rashes, O f The sweetest hours that e^er I spent, Were spent amang the lasses, Of n8 MONTGOMERY'S PEGGY. Tune—" Galla Water." Altho' my bed were in yon muir, Amang the heather, in my plaidie, Yet happy, happy would I be Had I my dear Montgomerie's Peggy. When o'er the hill beat surly storms, And winter nights were dark and rainy ; I'd seek some dell, and in my arms I'd shelter dear Montgomerie's Peggy. Were I a baron proud and high, And horse and servants waiting ready, That a' 'twad gi'e o' joy to me, The sharin' 't with Montgomerie's Peggy. MY JEAN. "Tune — The Northern Lass." Though cruel Fate should bid us part, As far's the Pole and Line, Her dear idea round my heart Should tenderly entwine. Though mountains frown and deserts how And oceans roar between ; Yet, dearer than my deathless soul, I still would love my Jean. BLITHE WAS SHE. Tune — " Andro and his aitty gun." Blithe, blithe and merry was she, Blithe was she but and ben : Blithe by the banks of Em, But blither in Glenturit glen. By Oughtertyre grows the aik, On Yarrow banks, the birken shavv ; But Phemie was a bonnier lass Than braes o' Yarrow ever saw. Her looks were like a flower in May, Her smile was like a simmer morn ; She tripped by the banks of Ern, As light's a bird upon a thorn. Her bonnie face it was as meek As ony lamb's upon a lea, The evening sun was ne'er sae sweet As was the blink o' Phemie's e'e. The Highland hills I've wander'd wide, And o'er the Lowlands I ha'e been ; But Phemie was the blithest lass That ever trod the dewy green. Blithe, blithe and merry was she, Blithe was she but and ben : Blithe by the banks of Em, But blither in Glenturit glen. WHEN WILD WARS DEADLY BLAST WAS BLAWN. When wild war's deadly blast was blawn, And gentle peace returning, Wi J mony a sweet babe fatherless, And mony a widow mourning : WHEN WILD WARS DEADLY BLAST. 121 I left the lines and tented field, Where lang I'd been a lodger, My humble knapsack a' my wealth, A poor and honest sojer. A leal, light heart was in my breast, My hand unstain'd wi' plunder; And for fair Scotia, name again, I cheery on did wander. I thought upon the banks o' Coil, I thought upon my Nancy, I thought upon the witching smile That caught my youthful fancy. At length I reach'd the bonnie glen, Where early life I sported ; I pass'd the mill, and trysting thorn, Where Nancy aft I courted : Wha spied I but my ain dear maid, Down by her mother's dwelling ! And turn'd me round to hide the flood That in my een was swelling. Wi' alter'd voice, quoth I, "Sweet lass, Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom, O ! happy, happy may he be, That's dearest to thy bosom ! My purse is light, I've far to gang, And fain wad be thy lodger ; I've served my King and Country lang, Take pity on a sojer." Sae wistfully she gazed on me, And lovelier was than ever : Quo' she, "A sojer ance I lo'ed, Forget him shall I never : R 122 WHEN WILD WARS DEADLY BLAST. Our humble cot, and hamely fare, Ye freely shall partake it, That gallant badge, the dear cockade, Ye 're welcome for the sake o't." She gazed — she redden'd like a rose — Syne pale like onie lily ; She sank within my arms, and cried, " Art thou my ain dear Willie ? " " By Him who made yon sun and sky — By whom true love's regarded, I am the man ; and thus may still True lovers be rewarded ! " The wars are o'er, and I 'm come hame, And find thee still true-hearted ; Tho' poor in gear, we're rich in love, And mair we'se ne'er be parted." Quo' she, " My grandsire left me gowd, A mailen plenish'd fairly ; And Come, my faithfu' sojer lad, Thou'rt welcome to it dearly " For gold the merchant ploughs the main, The farmer ploughs the manor; But glory is the sojer's prize, The sojer's wealth is honour ; The brave poor sojer ne'er despise, Nor count him as a stranger, Remember he's his country's stay In the day and hour o' danger. I2 3 ROBIN. There was a lad was born at Kyle, But what na day o' what na style — I doubt it's hardly worth the while To be sae nice wi' Robin. Robin was a rovin' boy, Rantin' rovin\ ranthi rovirt ; Robin was a rovht boy, Rantiri rovirt Robin. Our monarch's hindmost year but ane Was five-and-twenty days begun, 'Twas then a blast o' Januar' win' Blew handsel in on Robin. The gossip keekit in his loof : Quo' scho, "Wha lives will see the proof, This waly boy will be nae cuif, I think we'll ca' him Robin. " He'll ha'e misfortunes great and sma', But ay a heart aboon them a' ; He'll be a credit till us a', We'll a' be proud o' Robin. " But sure as three times three mak' nine, I see by ilka score and line, This chap will dearly like our kin' — So leeze me on thee, Robin ! " Guid faith," quo' scho, " I doubt ye' 11 gar The bonnie lasses lie aspar, But twenty faults ye may ha'e waur, So blessin's on thee, Robin ! " Robin was a roviri boy, &*c. 124 BONNIE PEGGY ALISON. Tune — " Braes d 1 Balquhidder." I'll kiss thee yet, yet, Art I'll kiss thee o'er again, Art I'll kiss thee yet, yet, My bonnie Peggy Alison! Ilk care and fear when thou art near, I ever mair defy them, O ; Young kings upon their handsel throne Are no sae blest as I am, O ! When in my arms, wi' a' thy charms, I clasp my countless treasure, O ; I seek nae mair o' Heaven to share, Than sic a moment's pleasure, O ! And by thy een, sae bonnie blue, I swear I'm thine for ever, O ; — And on thy lips I seal my vow, And break it shall I never, O ! ^RS^A^O^ O LEAVE NOVELS. O leave novels, ye Mauchline belles, Ye're safer at your spinning-wheel ; Such witching books are baited hooks For rakish rooks, like Rob Mossgiel. Your fine Tom Jones and Grandisons, They make your youthful fancies reel, O LEAVE NOVELS. 1 25 They heat your brains, and fire your veins, And then you're prey for Rob Mossgiel. Beware a tongue that's smoothly hung, A heart that warmly seems to feel ; That feeling heart but acts a part, 'Tis rakish art in Rob Mossgiel. The frank address, the soft caress, Are worse than poison' d darts of steel. The frank address, and politesse, Are all finesse in Rob Mossgiel. YOUNG PEGGY. Tune — " The last time we came owre the Muir." Young Peggy blooms our bonniest lass, Her blush is like the morning, The rosy dawn, the springing grass, With pearly gems adorning. Her eyes outshine the radiant beams That gild the passing shower, And glitter o'er the crystal streams, And cheer each freshening flower. Her lips more than the cherries bright, A richer dye has graced them ; They charm th' admiring gazer's sight, And sweetly tempt to taste them. Her smiles are like the evening mild, When feather' d pairs are courting, And little lambkins wanton wild, In playful bands disporting. 126 YOUNG PEGGY. Were fortune lovely Peggy's foe, Such sweetness would relent her ; As blooming spring unbends the brow Of savage, surly winter. Detraction's eye no aim can gain Her winning powers to lessen ; And spiteful envy grins in vain, The poison'd tooth to fasten. Ye powers of honour, love, and truth, From every ill defend her ; Inspire the highly favour' d youth The destinies intend her. Still fan the sweet connubial flame, Responsive in each bosom ; And bless the dear parental name With many a filial blossom. TIBBIE DUNBAR. Tune—" Jonny M'Gill. " O wilt thou go wi' me, sweet Tibbie Dunbar ? wilt thou go wi' me, sweet Tibbie Dunbar 1 ? Wilt thou ride on a horse, or be drawn in a car, Or walk by my side, O sweet Tibbie Dunbar % 1 carena thy daddie, his lands and his money, I carena thy kin sae high and sae lordly : But say thou wilt ha'e me for better for waur, And come in thy coatie, sweet Tibbie Dunbar. THE BANKS OF THE DEVON. Tune — " Bhannerach dhon na crV How pleasant the banks of the clear-winding Devon, With green-spreading bushes, and flowers blooming fair 128 THE BANKS OF THE DEVON. But the bonniest flower on the banks of the Devon Was once a sweet bud on the braes of the Ayr. Mild be the sun on this sweet blushing flower, In the gay rosy morn as it bathes in the dew ! And gentle the fall of the soft vernal shower, That steals on the evening each leaf to renew. O spare the dear blossom, ye orient breezes, With chill hoary wing as ye usher the dawn ! And far be thou distant, thou reptile that seizes The verdure and pride of the garden and lawn ! Let Bourbon exult in his gay gilded Lilies, And England triumphant display her proud Rose ; A fairer than either adorns the green valleys Where Devon, sweet Devon, meandering flows. MENIE. Tune — "Johnny's Grey Breeks.^ Again rejoicing nature sees Her robe assume its vernal hues, Her leafy locks wave in the breeze, All freshly steep'd in morning dews. And maun I still on Menie doat, And bear the scorn thafs in her e'e ? For ifs jet, jet black, an' it's like a hawk, An' it winna let a body be! MENIE. 129 In vain to me the cowslips blaw, In vain to me the vi'lets spring ; In vain to me, in glen or shaw, The mavis and the lintwhite sing, The merry ploughboy cheers his, team, Wi' joy the tentie seedsman stalks, But life to me's a weary dream, A dream of ane that never wauks. The wanton coot the water skims, Amang the reeds the ducklings cry, The stately swan majestic swims, And every thing is blest but I. The sheep-herd steeks his faulding slap, And owre the moorlands whistles shrill, Wi' wild, unequal, wand'ring step, I meet him on the dewy hill. And when the lark, 'tween light and dark, Blythe waukens by the daisy's side, And mounts and sings on flittering wings, A woe-worn ghaist I hameward glide. Come, Winter, with thine angry howl, And raging bend the naked tree ; Thy gloom will soothe my cheerless soul, When nature all is sad like me ! And maun I still on Menie doat, And bear the scorn that's in her e'e ? For its jet, jet black, aii its like a hawk, Art it winna let a body be! V 13° ON CESSNOCK BANKS. Tune — " If he be a Butcher neat and trim" On Cessnock banks there lives a lass — Could I describe her shape and mien ; The graces of her weel-far'd face, And the glancin' of her sparklin' een. She's fresher than the morning dawn When rising Phoebus first is seen, When dew-drops twinkle o'er the lawn ; An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' een. She's stately like yon youthful ash That grows the cowslip braes between, And shoots its head above each bush ; An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' een. She's spotless as the flow'ring thorn With flow'rs so white and leaves so green. When purest in the dewy morn ; An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' een. Her looks are like the sportive lamb, When flow'ry May adorns the scene, That wantons round its bleating dam ; An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' een. Her hair is like the curling mist That shades the mountain-side at e'en, When flow'r-reviving rains are past ; An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' een. ON CESSNOCK BANKS. T3I Her forehead's like the show'ry bow, When shining sunbeams intervene, And gild the distant mountain's brow ; An ; she's twa glancin' sparklin' een. Her voice is like the ev'ning thrush That sings on Cessnock banks unseen, While his mate sits nestling in the bush ; An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' een. Her lips are like the cherries ripe That sunny walls from Boreas screen, They tempt the taste and charm the sight ; An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' een. Her teeth are like a flock of sheep, With fleeces newly washen clean, That slowly mount the rising steep ; An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' een. Her breath is like the fragrant breeze That gently stirs the blossom'd bean, When Phoebus sinks behind the seas ; An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' een. But it's not her air, her form, her face, Tho' matching Beauty's fabled queen, But the mind that shines in ev'ry grace, An' chiefly in her sparklin' een. !3 : A ROSE-BUD BY MY EARLY WALK. Tune— " The Shepherd's Wife? A rose-bud by my early walk, Ad own a corn-enclosed bawk, Sae gently bent its thorny stalk, All on a dewy morning. Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fled, In a' its crimson glory spread, And drooping rich the dewy head, It scents the early morning. Within the bush, her covert nest A little linnet fondly prest, The dew sat chilly on her breast Sae early in the morning. She soon shall see her tender brood, The pride, the pleasure o' the wood ; Amang the fresh green leaves bedew' d, Awake the early morning. So thou, dear bird ! young Jeannie fair, On trembling string or vocal air, Shall sweetly pay the tender care, That tents thy early morning. So thou, sweet rose-bud ! young and gay, Shall beauteous blaze upon the day, And bless the parent's evening ray, That watch'd thy early morning. DUNCAN GRAY. Duncan Gray came here to woo, Ha, ha, the wooing o't, On blythe Yule night when we were fou, Ha, ha, the wooing o't. Maggie coost her head fu' high, Look'd asklent and unco skeigh, Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh ; Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 134 DUNCAN GRAY. Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd ; Ha, ha, the wooing o't, Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig, Ha, ha, the wooing o't. Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, Grat his een baith bleer't and blin', Spak o' lowpin' owre a linn ; Ha, ha, the wooing o't, Time and chance are but a tide, Ha, ha, the wooing o't, Slighted love is sair to bide, Ha, ha, the wooing o't, Shall I, like a fool, quoth he, For a haughtie hizzie die 1 She may gae to — France for me ! Ha, ha, the wooing o't. How it comes let doctors tell, Ha, ha, the wooing o't, Meg grew sick — as he grew well, Ha, ha, the wooing o't. Something in her bosom wrings, For relief a sigh she brings ; And O, her een, they spak sic things ! Ha, ha, the wooing o't. Duncan was a lad o' grace, Ha, ha, the wooing o't, Maggie's was a piteous case, Ha, ha, the wooing o't. Duncan could na be her death, Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath ; Now they're crouse and canty baith. Ha, ha, the wooing o't. i35 STREAMS THAT GLIDE. Tune— "Morag." Streams that glide in orient plains, Never bound by winter's chains, Glowing here on golden sands, There commix'd with foulest stains From tyranny's empurpled bands ; These, their richly-gleaming waves, I leave to tyrants and their slaves ; Give me the stream that sweetly laves The banks by Castle Gordon. Spicy forests, ever gay, Shading from the burning ray Hapless wretches sold to toil, Or the ruthless native's way, Bent on slaughter, blood, and spoil : Woods that ever verdant wave, I leave the tyrant and the slave ; Give me the groves that lofty brave The storms by Castle Gordon. Wildly here, without control, Nature reigns and rules the whole ; In that sober pensive mood, Dearest to the feeling soul, She plants the forest, pours the flood ; Life's poor day, Til musing rave, And find at night a sheltering cave, Where waters flow and wild woods wave By bonnie Castle Gordon. i 3 6 MARY. Tune—" Blue Bonnets.'" Powers celestial, whose protection Ever guards the virtuous fair, While in distant climes I wander Let my Mary be your care : Let her form sae fair and faultless, Fair and faultless as your own ; Let my Mary's kindred spirit Draw your choicest influence down. Make the gales you waft around her, Soft and peaceful as her breast ; Breathing in the breeze that fans her, Soothe her bosom into rest : Guardian angels, O protect her, When in distant lands I roam ; To realms unknown while fate exiles me, Make her bosom still my home. m^ ELIZA. Tun e — ' ' Gilder oy. ' ' From thee, Eliza, I must go, And from my native shore ; The cruel fates between us throw A boundless ocean's roar ; But boundless oceans roaring wide Between my love and me, They never, never can divide My heart and soul from thee. ELIZA. 137 Farewell, farewell, Eliza dear, The maid that I adore ! A boding voice is in my ear, We part to meet no more ! But the last throb that leaves my heart, While death stands victor by, That throb, Eliza, is thy part, And thine that latest sigh. RAVING WINDS AROUND HER BLOWING. Tune — " M'Gregor of RuarcCs Lament. " Raving winds around her blowing, Yellow leaves the woodlands strowing, By a river hoarsely roaring, Isabella stray'd deploring : "Farewell, hours that late did measure Sunshine days of joy and pleasure ; Hail, thou gloomy night of sorrow, Cheerless night that knows no morrow! "O'er the past too fondly wandering, On the hopeless future pondering ; Chilly grief my life-blood freezes, Fell despair my fancy seizes. Life, thou soul of every blessing, Load to misery most distressing, O, how gladly I'd resign thee, And to dark oblivion join thee!" CA' THE YOWES. ' Tune— " Cci the Yowes to the KnowesP Cct the yowes to the knowes, Cd them where the heather gro7vs, CA THE YOWES. 1 39 Cc£ them where the biirnie rows, My bonnie dearie. Hark, the mavis' evening sang, Sounding Clouden's woods amang : Then a-faulding let us gang, My bonnie dearie. We'll gae down by Clouden side, Thro' the hazels spreading wide, O'er the waves that sweetly glide To the moon sae clearly. Yonder Clouden's silent towers, Where at moonshine midnight hours, O'er the dewy-bending flowers, Fairies dance sae cheery. Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear ; Thou'rt to love and heaven sae dear, Nocht of ill may come thee, near, My bonnie dearie. Fair and lovely as thou art, Thou hast stown my very heart : I can die — but canna part, My bonnie dearie. While waters wimple to the sea ; While day blinks in the lift sae hie ; Till clay-cauld death shall blin' my ee, Ye shall be my dearie. Co* the yowes to the knowes, CcC them where the heather grows, Co' them where the burnie rows, My bonnie dearie. 140 THE AUTHOR'S FAREWELL TO HIS NATIVE COUNTRY. Burns intended this song as a farewell dirge to his native land, from which he was to embark in a few days for Jamaica. "I had taken," says he, " the last farewell of my friends : my chest was on the road to Green- ock : I composed the last song I should ever measure in Caledonia — ' The gloomy night is gath'ring fast.'" Tune — ' ' Roslin Castle. " The gloomy night is gath'ring fast, Loud roars the wild inconstant blast, Yon murky cloud is foul with rain, I see it driving o'er the plain ; The hunter now has left the moor, The scatter'd coveys meet secure, While here I wander, prest wi' care, Along the lonely banks of Ayr. The Autumn mourns her rip'ning corn, By early Winter's ravage torn : Across her placid azure sky She sees the scowling tempest fly ; Chill runs my blood to hear it rave, I think upon the stormy wave, Where many a danger I must dare, Far from the bonnie banks of Ayr. 'Tis not the surging billow's roar, Tis not that fatal deadly shore ; Tho' death in ev'ry shape appear, The wretched have no more to fear ; But round my heart the ties are bound, That heart transpierced with many a wound ; THE AUTHORS FAREWELL. I4I These bleed afresh, those ties I tear, To leave the bonnie banks of Ayr. Farewell old Coila's hills and dales, Her heathy moors and winding vales ; The scenes where wretched fancy roves, Pursuing past, unhappy loves ! Farewell, my friends ! farewell, my foes ! My peace with these, my love with those — The bursting tears my heart declare, Farewell the bonnie banks of Ayr ! WHERE, BRAVING ANGRY WINTER'S STORMS. Tune — "Neil Gow^s La?ue ntation for Abercaimy.''' Where braving angry winter's storms, The lofty Ochils rise, Far in their shade my Peggy's charms First blest my wondering eyes. As one who, by some savage stream, A lonely gem surveys, Astonish'd, doubly marks its beam With art's most polish'd blaze. Blest be the wild, sequester'd shade, And blest the day and hour, Where Peggy's charms I first survey' d, When first I felt their pow'r ! The tyrant Death, with grim control, May seize my fleeting breath ; But tearing Peggy from my soul Must be a stronger death. 142 BONNIE LASSIE, WILL YE GO. Tune—" The Birks of Aberfeldy. " Bonnie lassie, will ye go, will ye go, will ye go ; Bonnie lassie, will ye go to the Birks of Aberfeldy ? Now simmer blinks on flowery braes, And o'er the crystal streamlet plays, Come let us spend the lightsome days In the Birks of Aberfeldy. Bonnie lassie, &c. While o'er their heads the hazels hing, The little birdies blithely sing, Or lightly flit on wanton wing In the Birks of Aberfeldy. Bonnie lassie, &c. The braes ascend like lofty wa's, The foaming stream deep roaring fa's, O'er-hung wi' fragrant spreading shaws, The Birks of Aberfeldy. Bonnie lassie, &c. The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' flowers, White o'er the linns the burnie pours, And rising, weets wi' misty showers The Birks of Aberfeldy. Bonnie lassie, &c. Let fortune's gifts at random flee, They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me, Supremely- blest wi' love and thee, In the Birks of Aberfeldy. Bonnie lassie, &c. TIBBIE, I HAE SEEN THE DAY. Tune — " InvercaulcP s Reel. " O Tibbie, I hae seen the day, Ye wad nae been sae shy; For lack d gear ye lightly me, trowth, I care na by. Yestreen I met you on the moor, Ye spak na, but gaed by like stoure Ye geek at me because I'm poor, But fient a hair care I. 144 TIBBIE, I HAE SEEN THE DAY. I doubt na, lass, but ye may think, Because ye hae the name o' clink, That ye can please me at a wink, Whene'er ye like to try. But sorrow tak him, that's sae mean, Although his pouch o' coin were clean, Wha follows onie saucy quean That looks sae proud and high. Altho' a lad were e'er sae smart, If that he want the yellow dirt, Ye'll cast your head anither airt, And answer him fu 5 dry. But if he hae the name o' gear, Ye'll fasten to him like a brier, Tho' hardly he, for sense or lear, Be better than the kye. But, Tibbie, lass, tak my advice, Your daddy's gear maks you sae nice The deil a ane wad spier your price, Were ye as poor as I. There lives a lass in yonder park, I wad na gie her in her sark, For thee wi' a' thy thousand mark ; Ye need na look sae high. 145 HOW LANG AND DREARY IS THE NIGHT. Tune — " Cauld Kail in Aberdeen" How lang and dreary is the night, When I am frae my dearie ; I restless lie frae e'en to morn, Tho' I were ne'er sae weary. For oh, her lanely nights are lang; And oh, her dreams are eerie ; And oh, her widow' d heart is sair, That's absent frae her dearie. When I think on the lightsome days I spent wi' thee, my dearie ; And now that seas between us roar, How can I be but eerie ! How slow ye move, ye heavy hours ; The joyless day how drearie ! It was na sae ye glinted by, When I was wi' my dearie. THICKEST NIGHT, O'ERHANG MY DWELLING. Tune — " Strathallari 's Lament. " Thickest night, o'erhang my dwelling ! Howling tempests, o'er me rave ! Turbid torrents, wintry swelling, Still surround my lonely cave ! u I46 THICKEST NIGHT, o'ERHANG MY DWELLING. Crystal streamlets, gently flowing, Busy haunts of base mankind, Western breezes, softly blowing, Suit not my distracted mind. In the cause of right engaged, Wrongs injurious to redress, Honour's war we strongly waged, But the heavens denied success. Ruin's wheel has driven o'er us, Not a hope that dare intend, The wide world is all before us — But a world without a friend ! 4^ UP IN THE MORNING EARLY. Up in the mornings no for me, Up in the morning early ; When d the hills are covered wt snaw, Fm sure its winter fairly. Cauld blaws the wind frae east to west, The drift is driving sairly ; Sae loud and shrill's I hear the blast, I'm sure it's winter fairly. Up in the morning, &c. The birds sit chittering in the thorn, A' day they fare but sparely ; And langs the night frae e'en to morn, I'm sure it's winter fairly. Up in the morning, &c. 147 THE YOUNG HIGHLAND ROVER. Tune — " Morag." Loud blaw the frosty breezes, The snaws the mountains cover ; Like winter on me seizes, Since my young Highland Rover Far wanders nations over. Where'er he go, where'er he stray, May heaven be his warden : Return him safe to fair Strathspey, And bonnie Castle-Gordon ! The trees now naked groaning, Shall soon wi' leaves be hinging, The birdies dowie moaning, Shall a' be blithely singing, And every flower be springing. Sae I'll rejoice the lee-lang day, When by his mighty warden My youth's return' d to fair Strathspey, And bonnie Castle-Gordon. /S' MUSING ON THE ROARING OCEAN. Tune — " Drumion dub/i." Musing on the roaring ocean, Which divides my love and me ; Wearying Heaven in warm devotion, For his weal where'er he be. 148 MUSING ON THE ROARING OCEAN. Hope and fear's alternate billow Yielding late to nature's law ; Whisp'ring spirits round my pillow Talk of him that's far awa'. Ye whom sorrow never wounded, Ye who never shed a tear, Care untroubled, joy surrounded, Gaudy day to you is dear. Gentle night, do thou befriend me • Downy sleep, the curtain draw ; Spirits kind, again attend me, Talk of him that's far awa' ! STAY, MY CHARMER. Tune — " An Gillie-dubh ciar dkubh" Stay, my charmer, can you leave me 1 Cruel, cruel to deceive me ! Well you know how much you grieve me ; Cruel charmer, can you go ? Cruel charmer, can you go 1 By my love so ill requited ; By the faith you fondly plighted ; By the pangs of lovers slighted ; Do not, do not leave me so ! Do not, do not leave me so ! THE LASS O' BALLOCHMYLE. Tune — "Miss Forbes 's Farewell to Banff?' 'Twas even — the dewy fields were green, On every blade the pearls hang ; The zephyrs wantoned round the bean And bore its fragrant sweets alang : In every glen the mavis sang, All nature listening seem'd the while, Except where green-wood echoes rang, Amang the braes o' Ballochmyle. 150 THE LASS O' BALLOCHMYLE. With careless step I onward stray'd, My heart rejoic'd in nature's joy, When musing in a lonely glade, A maiden fair I chanc'd to spy; Her look was like the morning's eye, Her air like nature's vernal smile, Perfection whisper' d, passing by, Behold the lass o' Ballochmyle ! Fair is the morn in flowery May, And sweet is night in autumn mild ; When roving thro' the garden gay, Or wandering in a lonely wild : But woman, nature's darling child ! There all her charms she does compile ; Ev'n there her other works are foil'd By the bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle. O, had she been a country maid, And I the happy country swain, Tho' shelter'd in the lowest shed That ever rose in Scotland's plain ! Thro' weary winter's wind and rain, With joy, with rapture, I would toil ; And nightly to my bosom strain The bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle. Then pride might climb the slipp'ry steep, Where fame and honours lofty shine ; And thirst of gold might tempt the deep, Or downward seek the Indian mine ; Give me the cot below the pine, To tend the flocks and till the soil, And every day have joys divine With the bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle. I5T I GAED A WAEFU' GATE YESTREEN. Tune — " The Blue-eyed Lassie." I gaed a waefu' gate yestreen, A gate, I fear, I'll dearly rue ; I gat my death frae twa sweet een, Twa lovely een o' bonnie blue. 'Twas not her golden ringlets bright ; Her lips like roses weet wi' dew, Her heaving bosom lily-white ; — It was her een sae bonnie blue. She talk'd, she smil'd, my heart she wyl'd, She charm'd my soul I wist na how ; And aye the stound, the deadly wound, Came frae her een sae bonnie blue. But spare to speak, and spare to speed ; She'll aiblins listen to my vow : Should she refuse, I'll lay my dead To her twa een sae bonnie blue. YOUNG JOCKEY. Young Jockey was the blithest lad In a' our town or here awa ; Fu' blithe he whistled at the gaud, Fu' lightly danced he in the ha' ! He roos'd my een sae bonnie blue, He roos'd my waist sae genty sma'j An' aye my heart came to my mou, When ne'er a body heard or saw. 152 YOUNG JOCKEY. My Jockey toils upon the plain, Thro' wind and weet, thro' frost and snaw ; And o'er the lea I look fu' fain When Jockey's owsen hameward ca'. An' aye the night comes round again, When in his arms he taks me a' ; An' aye he vows he'll be my ain As lang's he has a breath to draw. MY BONNIE MARY. Go fetch to me a pint o' wine, An' fill it in a silver tassie ; That I may drink before I go, A service to my bonnie lassie. The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith ; Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the ferry The ship rides by the Berwick-law, And T maun leave my bonnie Mary. The .trumpets sound, the banners fly, The glittering spears are ranked ready : The shouts o' war are heard afar, The battle closes thick and bloody ; But it's not the roar o' sea or shore Wad mak me longer wish to tarry ; Nor shout o' war that 's heard afar : It's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary, i53 WILLIE BREW'D A PECK O' MAUT. These verses were composed to celebrate a visit which the Poet and Allan Masterton made to William NichoL of the High-school, Edin- burgh, who happened to be at Moffat during the autumn vacation. — The air is by Masterton. O, Willie brew'd a peck o' maut, And Rob and Allan came to see ; Three blither hearts, that lee-lang night Ye wad na find in Christendie. We are na? foil, we're nae that fou, But just a drappie in our e'e; The cock may craw, the day may daw', But aye we'll taste the barley-bree. Here are we met, three merry boys, Three merry boys, I trow, are we ; And mony a night we've merry been, And mony mae we hope to be ! It is the moon, I ken her horn, That's blinkin' in the lift sae hie; She shines sae bright to whyle us hame, But, by my sooth, she'll wait a wee I Wha first shall rise to gang awa', A cuckold, coward loon is he ! Wha last beside his chair shall fa', He is the king amang us three ! We are na' fou, we're nae that fou, But just a drappie in our e'e; The cock may craw, the day may daw', But aye we'll taste the barley-bree. x ^-rf 2 ^ ^^\v^-^ CASSILLIS' BANKS. Now bank an' brae are claith'd in green, An' scattered cowslips sweetly spring; CASSILLIS BANKS. 1 55 By Girvan's fairy-haunted stream The birdies flit on wanton wing. To Cassillis' banks when e'ening fa's, There wi' my Mary let me flee, There catch her ilka glance of love, The bonnie blink o' Mary's e'e! The chield wha boasts o' warld's wealth Is aften laird o' meikle care ; But Mary she is a' my ain— Ah ! fortune canna gi'e me mair. Then let me range by Cassillis' banks, Wi' her, the lassie dear to me, And catch her ilka glance o' love, The bonnie blink of Mary's e'e ! WAE IS MY HEART. Wae is my heart, and the tear's in my e'e ; Lang, lang joy's been a stranger to me: Forsaken and friendless my burden I bear, And the sweet voice o' pity ne'er sounds in my ear. Love, thou hast pleasures ; and deep ha'e I loved ; Love, thou hast sorrows ; and sair ha'e I proved : But this bruised heart that now bleeds in my breast, I can feel by its throbbings will soon be at rest. O if I were happy, where happy I ha'e been, Down by yon stream, and yon bonnie castle green : For there he is wand'ring and musing on me, Wha wad soon dry the tear frae Phillis's e'e. 156 BONNIE ANN. Ye gallants bright, I rede you right, Beware o' bonnie Ann ; Her comely face sae fu' o' grace, Your heart she will trepan. Her een sae bright, like stars by night, Her skin is like the swan ; Sae jimpy lac'd her genty waist, That sweetly ye might span. Youth, grace, and love, attendant move, And pleasure leads the van ; In a' their charms, and conquering arms, They wait on bonnie Ann. The captive bands may chain the hands, But love enslaves the man : Ye gallants braw, I rede you a', Beware o' bonnie Ann. MY HARRY. Tune — " Highlander's Lament. " My Harry was a gallant gay, Fu' stately strode he on the plain But now he's banish'd far away, I'll never see him back again. for him back again ! O for him back again ! 1 wad g? a' Knockhaspiis land, For Highland Hairy back again. MY 'HARRY. I 57 When a' the lave gae to their bed, I wander dowie up the glen ; I sit me down and greet my fill, And ay I wish him back again. O were some villains hangit high, And ilka body had their ain ! Then I might see the joyfu' sight, My Highland Harry back again. a^Sfe- THE LAZY MIST. Irish Air — " Coolun." The lazy mist hangs from the brow of the hill, Concealing the course of the dark-winding rill ; How languid the scenes, late so sprightly, appear As autumn to winter resigns the pale year ! The forests are leafless, the meadows are brown, And all the gay foppery of summer is flown : Apart let me wander, apart let me muse, How quick time is flying, how keen fate pursues ; How long I have lived, but how much lived in vain ; How little of life's scanty span may remain : What aspects, old Time, in his progress, has worn ; What ties, cruel fate in my bosom has torn. How foolish, or worse, till our summit is gain'd ; And downward, how weakened, how darken'd, how pain d This life's not worth having with all it can give, For something beyond it poor man sure must live. i 5 8 THERE'S A YOUTH IN THIS CITY. TlTNE- Neil Gow's Lament. " There's a youth in this city, It were a great pity, That he from our lasses should wander awa' ; For he's bonnie an' braw, Weel favour'd an' a', And his hair has a natural buckle and a'. His coat is the hue Of his bonnet sae blue ; His fecket is white as the new-driven snaw ; His hose they are blae, And his shoon like the slae, And his clear siller buckles they dazzle us a'. For beauty and fortune The laddie's been courtin' ; Weel-featur'd, weel-tocher'd, weel-mounted, and braw ; But chiefly the siller, That gars him gang till her, The pennie's the jewel that beautifies a'. There's Meg wi ; the mailin That fain wad a haen him, And Susy, whase daddy was laird o' the ha' ; There's lang-tocher'd Nancy Maist fetters his fancy, — But the laddie's dear sel' he lo'es dearest of a'. MY HEART IS A-BREAKING, DEAR TITTIE. Tune — " The Mucking d Geor die's Byre. My heart is a-breaking, dear Tittie, Some counsel unto me come Ten', To anger them a' is a pity ; But what will I do wi' Tarn Glen 1 l6o MY HEART IS A-BREAKING, DEAR TITTIE. I'm thinking wi' sic a braw fallow 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, " Guid-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'll gie me guid hunder marks ten : But, if it's ordain'd I maun tak' him, O wha will I get but Tam Glen? Yestreen at the Valentines' 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 cam up the house staukin — And the very grey breeks o' Tam Glen ! Come counsel, dear Tittie, don't tarry ; I'll gi'e you my bonnie black hen, Gif ye will advise me to marry The lad I lo'e dearly, Tam Glen. i6i OF A' THE AIRTS THE WIND CAN BLAW. Tune — " Miss Admiral Gordon's Strathspey." Of a' the airts the wind can blaw, I dearly like the west, For there the bonnie lassie lives, The lass I lo'e the best : There wild woods grow, and rivers row, And mony a hill between ; But day and night my fancy's flight Is ever wi' my Jean. I see her in the dewy flowers, I see her sweet and fair : I hear her in the tuneful' birds, I hear her charm the air : There's not a bonnie flower that springs By fountain, shaw, or green ; There's not a bonnie bird that sings But minds me o' my Jean. THE DAY RETURNS, MY BOSOM BURNS, Tune — " Seventh of November.' 1 '' The day returns, my bosom burns, The blissful day we twa did meet, Tho' winter wild in tempest toil'd, Ne'er summer-sun was half sae sweet. Y 1 62 THE DAY RETURNS, MY BOSOM BURNS. Than a' the pride that loads the tide, And crosses o'er the sultry Line ; Than kingly robes, than crowns and globes, Heaven gave me more, it made thee mine. While day and night can bring delight, Or nature aught of pleasure give ; While joys above my mind can move, For thee, and thee alone, I live ! When that grim foe of life below Comes in between to make us part ; The iron hand that breaks our band, It breaks my bliss — it breaks my heart. GLOOMY DECEMBER. Ance mair I hail thee, thou gloomy December ! Ance mair I hail thee wi' sorrow and care ; Sad was the parting thou makes me remember, Parting wi' Nancy, oh ; ne'er to meet mair. Fond lovers' parting is sweet painful pleasure, Hope beaming mild on the soft parting hour ; But the dire feeling, O farewell for ever, Is anguish unmingled and agony pure. Wild as the winter now tearing the forest, Till the last leaf of the summer is flown, Such is the tempest has taken my bosom, Since my last hope and my comfort is gone ; Still as I hail thee, thou gloomy December, Still shall I hail hee wi' sorrow and care; For sad was the parting thou makes me remember, Parting wi' Nancy, oh ! ne'er to meet mair. 163 MARY MORISON. Tune — ' ' Bide ye yet. " O Mary, at thy window be, It is the wish'd, the trysted hour ! Those smiles and glances let me see, That make the miser's treasure poor. How blithely wad I bide the stoure, A weary slave frae sun to sun ; Could I the rich reward secure, The lovely Mary Morison. Yestreen, when to the trembling string The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha', To thee my fancy took its wing, I sat, but neither heard or saw : Tho' this was fair, and that was braw, And yon the toast of a' the town, I sigh'd, and said amang them a', " Ye are na Mary Morison." O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace, Wha for thy sake wad gladly die % Or canst thou break that heart of his, Whase only faut is loving thee 1 If love for love thou wilt na gie, At least be pity to me shown ! A thought ungentle canna be The thought o' Mary Morison. L fe BONNIE JEAN. There was a lass, and she was fair, At kirk and market to be seen, When a' the fairest maids were met, The fairest maid was bonnie Jean. And aye she wrought her mammie's wark. And aye she sang sae merrily : The blithest bird upon the bush Had ne'er a lighter heart than she. BONNIE JEAN. I 65 But hawks will rob the tender joys That bless the little lintwhite's nest ; And frost will blight the fairest flowers, And love will break the soundest rest. Young Robie was the brawest lad, The flower and pride of a' the glen ; And he had owsen, sheep and kye, And wanton naigies nine or ten. He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryst, He danced wi' Jeanie on the down ; And lang ere witless Jeanie wist, Her heart was tint, her peace was stown. As in the bosom o' the stream The moonbeam dwells at dewy e'en ; So trembling, pure, was tender love Within the breast o' bonnie Jean. And now she works her mammie's wark, And aye she sighs wi' care and pain ■ Yet wistna what her ail might be, Or what wad mak her weel again. But didna Jeanie's heart loup light, And didna joy blink in her e'e, As Robie tauld a tale o' love, Ae e'enin on the lily lea ? The sun was sinking in the west, The birds sang sweet in ilka grove ; His cheek to hers he fondly prest, And whisper'd thus his tale o' love : " O Jeanie fair. I lo'e thee dear ; O canst thou think to fancy me 1 I 66 BONNIE JEAN. Or wilt thou leave thy mammie's cot, And learn to tent the farms wi' me ? " At barn or byre thou shaltna drudge, Or naething else to trouble thee ; But stray amang the heather-bells, "And tent the waving corn wi' me." Now what could artless Jeanie do 1 She had nae will to sae him na : At length she blush'd a sweet consent, And love was aye between them twa. WHISTLE OWRE THE LAVE OT First when Maggie was my care, Heaven, I thought, was in her air ; Now we're married — spier nae mair — Whistle owre the lave o't. Meg was meek, and Meg was mild, Bonnie Meg was nature's child — Wiser men than me's beguil'd — Whistle owre the lave o't. How we live, my Meg and me, How we love and how we 'gree, I care na by how few may see — Whistle owre the lave o't. Wha I wish were maggots' meat, Dish'd up in her winding sheet, I could write — but Meg maun see't — Whistle owre the lave o't. i6 7 JOHN ANDERSON MY JO. John Anderson my jo, John, When we were first acquent, Your locks were like the raven, Your bonnie brow was brent ; But now your brow is beld, John, Your locks are like the snaw ; But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson my jo. John Anderson my jo, John, We clamb the hill thegither; And monie a canty day, John, We've had wi' ane anither : Now we maun totter down, John, But hand in hand we'll go, And sleep thegither at the foot, John Anderson my jo. O, WERE I ON PARNASSUS' HILL ! [THIS SONG WAS WRITTEN IN HONOUR OF MRS. BURNS.] O, were I on Parnassus' hill ! Or had of Helicon my fill ; That I might catch poetic skill, To sing how dear I love thee. But Nith maun be my Muse's well, My Muse maun be thy bonnie sel' ; On Corsincon I'll glowr and spell, And write how dear I love thee. 1 68 O, WERE I ON PARNASSUS' HILL. Then come, sweet Muse, inspire my lay For a' the lee-lang simmer's day, I couldna sing, I couldna say, How much, how dear I love thee. I see thee dancing o'er the green, Thy waist sae jimp, thy limbs sae clean, Thy tempting lips, thy roguish e'en — By Heaven and earth I love thee ! By night, by day, a-field, at hame, The thoughts o' thee my breast inflame ; And aye I muse and sing thy name, I only live to love thee. Tho' I were doom'd to wander on, Beyond the sea, beyond the sun, Till my last weary sand was run ; Till then — and then I'd love thee. HAD I A CAVE. Had I a cave on some wild, distant shore, Where the winds howl to the waves' dashing roar, There would I weep my woes, There seek my lost repose, Till grief my eyes should close, Ne'er to wake more. Falsest of womankind, canst thou declare All thy fond plighted vows — fleeting as air 1 To thy new lover hie, Laugh o'er thy perjury, Then in thy bosom try, What peace is there ! WHISTLE, AND I'LL COME TO YOU, MY LAD. O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad; O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad: Though father and mither and d should gae mad, O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad z 1 70 WHISTLE, AND I'LL COME TO YOU, MY LAD. But warily tent, when ye come to court me, And come na unless the back-yett be a-jee ; Syne up the back-stile, and let naebody see, And come as ye were na comin' to me. And come, &c. O whistle, &*c. At kirk, or at market, whene'er you meet me, Gang by me as though that ye cared na a flie But steal me a blink o' your bonnie black e'e, Yet look as ye were na looking at me. Yet look, &c. O whistle, &c. Aye vow and protest that ye care na for me, And whyles ye may lightly my beauty a wee ; But court na anither, though jokin' ye be, For fear that she wyle your fancy frae me. For fear, &c. O w his tie, 6rc. MEIKLE THINKS MY LUVE. Tune— "My Tocher's the Jewel:" O meikle thinks my luve o' my beauty, And meikle thinks my luve o' my kin ; But little thinks my luve I ken brawlie, My tochers the jewel has charms for him. It 's a' for the apple he'll nourish the tree ; It 's a' for the hiney he '11 cherish the bee ; My laddie's sae meikle in luve wi' the siller, He canna ha'e luve to spare for me. MEIKLE THINKS MY LUVE. 171 Your proffer o' luve's an airl-penny, My tocher's the bargain ye wad buy ; But an ye be crafty, I am cunnin', Sae ye wi' anither your fortune maun try. Ye 're like to the timmer o' yon rotten wood, Ye 're like to the bark o' yon rotten tree, Ye '11 slip frae me like a knotless thread, An' ye '11 crack your credit wi' mae nor me. YON WILD MOSSY MOUNTAINS. Yon wild mossy mountains sae lofty and wide, That nurse in their bosom the youth o' the Clyde, Where the grouse lead their coveys through the heather to feed, And the shepherd tents his flock as he pipes on his reed : Not Gowrie's rich valley, nor Forth's sunny shores, To me hae the charms o' yon wild, mossy moors ; For there, by a lanely, sequester'd, clear stream, Resides a sweet lassie, my thought and my dream. Amang thae wild mountains shall still be my path, Ilk stream foaming down its ain green, narrow strath ; For there, wi' my lassie, the day lang I rove, While o'er us, unheeded, fly the swift hours o' love. She is not the fairest, altho' she is fair ; O' nice education but sma' is her share ; Her parentage humble as humble can be ; But I lo'e the dear lassie because she lo'es me. 172 YON WILD MOSSY MOUNTAINS. To beauty what man but maun yield him a prize, In her armour of glances, and blushes, and sighs 1 And when wit and refinement ha'e polish'd her darts, They dazzle her een, as they fly to our hearts. But kindness, sweet kindness, in the fond sparkling ee, Has lustre outshining the diamond to me ; And the hearf-beating love, as I 'm clasp'd in her arms, O, these are my lassie's all-conquering charms ! GANE IS THE DAY. Tune — " Guidwife, count the lawm." Gane is the day, and mirk's the night, But we'll ne'er stray for faute o' light, For ale and brandy's stars and moon, And bluid-red wine's the risin' sun. Then guidwife, count the lawin, The lawin, the lawin, Then guidwife, count the lawin, And bring a coggie mair. There's wealth and ease for gentlemen, And semple-folk maun fecht and fen', But here we 're a' in ae accord, For ilka man that's drunk's a lord. Then guidwife, &c. My coggie is a haly pool, That heals the wounds o' care and dool And pleasure is a wanton trout, An' ye drink deep ye '11 find him out. Then guidwife, &c. 173 THERE'LL NEVER BE PEACE. By yon castle wa', at the close of the day, I heard a man sing, though his head it was grey ; And as he was singing the tears fast down came — There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. The church is in ruins, the state is in jars, Delusions, oppressions, and murderous wars ; We dare na weel say % but we ken wha's to blame- There '11 never be peace till Jamie comes hame. My seven braw sons for Jamie drew sword, And now I greet round their green beds in the yerd It brak the sweet heart o' my faithfu' auld dame — There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. Now life is a burden that sair bows me down, Sin' I tint my bairns, and he tint his crown ; But till my last moment my words are the same — There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. I DO CONFESS THOU ART SAE FAIR. I do confess thou art sae fair, I wad been o'er the lugs in luve • Had I na found the slightest prayer That lips could speak, thy heart could muve. I do confess thee sweet, but find Thou art sae thriftless o' thy sweets, 174 I D0 CONFESS THOU ART SAE FAIR. Thy favours are the silly wind That kisses ilka thing it meets. See yonder rose-bud, rich in dew, Amang its native briers sae coy, How soon it tines its scent and hue When pu'd and worn a common toy ! Sic fate ere lang shall thee betide, Though thou may gaily bloom a while Yet soon thou shalt be thrown aside, Like ony common weed and vile. THE BONNIE WEE THING. Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing, Lovely wee thing, wast thou mine, I wad wear thee in my bosom, Lest my jewel I should tine. Wistfully I look and languish In that bonnie face o' thine ; And my heart it stounds wi' anguish, Lest my wee thing be na mine. Wit, and grace, and love, and beauty In ae constellation shine ; To adore thee is my duty, Goddess o' this soul o' mine ! Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing, Lovely wee thing, wast thou mine, I wad wear thee in my bosom, Lest my jewel I should tine. THE BRAES O' BALLOCHMYLE, Air — " Miss Forbes." The Catrine woods were yellow seen, The flowers decay'd on Catrine lee, Nae lav'rock sang on hillock green, But nature sicken' d on the ee. 176 THE BRAES o' BALLOCHMYLE. Thro' faded groves Maria sang, Hersel' in beauty's bloom the while, And aye the wild-wood echoes rang, Fareweel the braes o' Ballochmyle. Low in your wintry beds, ye flowers, Again ye '11 flourish fresh and fair ; Ye birdies dumb, in with'ring bowers, Again ye '11 charm the vocal air. But here, alas ! for me nae mair Shall birdie charm, or floweret smile ; Fareweel the bonnie banks of Ayr, Fareweel, fareweel ! sweet Ballochmyle. BESSY AND HER SPINNING-WHEEL Tune — " The sweel lass that lo'es me" O leeze me on my spinning-wheel, O leeze me on my rock and reel ; Frae tap to tae that deeds me bien, And haps me fiel and warm at e'en ! I'll set me down and sing and spin, While laigh descends the simmer sun, Blest wi' content, and milk and meal — O leeze me on my spinning-wheel. On ilka hand the burnies trot, And meet below my theekit cot ; The scented birk and hawthorn white Across the pool their arms unite, BESSY AND HER SPINNING-WHEEL. 1 77 Alike to screen the birdie's nest, And little fishes' caller rest ; The sun blinks kindly in the biel' Where blithe I turn my spinning-wheel. On lofty aiks the cushats wail, And echo cons the doolfu' tale ; The lintwhites in the hazel braes, Delighted, rival ither's lays : The craik amang the claver hay, The paitrick whirrin' o'er the ley, The swallow jinkin' round my shiel, Amuse me at my spinning-wheel. Wi' sraa' to sell, and less to buy, Aboon distress, below envy, O wha would leave this humble state, For a' the pride of a 1 the great ? Amid their flaring, idle toys, Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys, Can they the peace and pleasure feel Of Bessy at her spinning-wheel'? « irP' AE FOND KISS. Tune — " Rory DalVs port. " Ae fond kiss, and then we sever ! Ae fareweel, alas, for ever ! Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee, Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee, Who shall say that Fortune grieves him, While the star of hope she leaves him? Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me ; Dark despair around benights me. A A 178 AE FOND KISS. I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy, Naething could resist my Nancy : But to see her, was to love her ; Love but her, and love for ever. Had we never loved sae kindly, Had we never loved sae blindly, Never met — or never parted, We had ne'er been broken-hearted. Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest ! Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest ! Thine be ilka joy and treasure, Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure ! Ae fond kiss, and then we sever ! Ae fareweel, alas for ever ! Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee, Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee. O LUVE WILL VENTURE IN. Tune— " The Posie." O luve will venture in where it daurna weel be seen, O luve will venture in where wisdom ance has been ; But I will down yon river rove, amang the woods sae green, And a' to pu' a posie to my ain dear May. The primrose I will pu', the firstling o' the year, And I will pu' the pink, the emblem o J my dear, For she's the pink o' womankind, and blooms without a peer ; And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. O LUVE WILL VENTURE IN. 1 79 I'll pu' the budding rose, when Phoebus peeps in view, For it's like a baumy kiss o' her sweet bonnie mou' ; The hyacinth's for constancy, wi' its unchanging blue, And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. The lily it is pure, and the lily it is fair, And in her lovely bosom I'll place the lily there ; The daisy's for simplicity and unaffected air, And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. The hawthorn I will pu', wi' its locks o' siller grey, Where, like an aged man, it stands at break o' day; But the songster's nest within the bush I winna take away; And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. The woodbine I will pu' when the e'ening star is near, And the diamond .drops o' dew shall be her een sae clear : The violet 's for modesty which weel she fa's to wear, And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. I'll tie the posie round wi' the silken band o' luve, And I'll place it in her breast, and I'll swear by a' above, That to my latest draught o' life the band shall ne'er remuve, And this will be a posie to my ain dear May. WHAT CAN A YOUNG LASSIE, What can a young lassie, what shall a young lassie, What can a young lassie do wi' an auld man 1 Bad luck on the penny that tempted my minnie To sell her poor Jenny for siller an' Ian' ! He's always compleenin' frae mornin' to e'enin', He hoasts and he hirples the weary day lang, He's doylt and he's dozen, his bluid it is frozen, O, dreary's the night wi' a crazy auld man ! WHAT CAN A YOUNG LASSIE. 1 8 He hums and he hankers, he frets and he cankers, I never can please him, do a' that I can ; He's peevish and jealous of a' the young fellows : O, dool on the day I met wi' an auld man ! My auld auntie Katie upon me takes pity, I'll do my endeavour to follow her plan; I'll cross him, and rack him, until I heart-break him, And then his auld brass will buy me a new pan. NAEBODY. I ha'e a wife o' my ain, I'll partake wi' naebody ; I'll tak' cuckold frae nane, I'll gie cuckold to naebody. I ha'e a penny to spend, There — thanks to naebody ; I ha'e nothing to lend, I'll borrow frae naebody. I am naebody's lord, I'll be slave to naebody; I ha'e a guid braidsword, I'll tak' dunts frae naebody. I'll be merry and free, I'll be sad for naebody; If naebody care for me, I'll care for naebody. 182 SONG OF DEATH. Scene. — A field of battle. Time of the day — Evening. The wounded and dying of the victorious army are supposed to join in the follow- ing Song. Farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies, Now gay with the bright setting sun ! Farewell, loves, and friendships, ye dear, tender ties, Our race of existence is run ! Thou grim King of Terrors, thou life's gloomy foe, Go, frighten the coward and slave ; Go, teach them to tremble, fell tyrant ! but know, , No terrors hast thou for the brave. Thou strik'st the dull peasant — he sinks in the dark, Nor saves e'en the wreck of a name; Thou strik'st the young hero — a glorious mark ! He falls in the blaze of his fame. In the field of proud honour — our swords in our hands Our King and our Country to save — While victory shines on life's last ebbing sands, O ! who would not rest with the brave. mt» AS I WAS A-WANDERING. [This is an old Highland air, and the title means "My Love did deceive me." There is much feeling expressed in this song.] Tune — "Rinn Mendial mo Mhealladh." As I was a-wand'ring ae midsummer e'enin', The pipers and youngsters were making their game ; Amang them I spied my faithless fause lover, Which bled a' the wounds o' my dolour again. AS I WAS A- WANDERING. 1 83 Weel, since he has left me, may pleasure gae wi' him ; I may be distress'd, but I winna complain ; I natter my fancy I may get anither, My heart it shall never be broken for ane. I couldna get sleeping till dawnin' for greetin', The tears trickled down like the hail and the rain. Had I na got greetin', my heart would ha'e broken, For, oh ! love forsaken 's a tormenting pain. Although he has left me for greed o' the siller, I dinna enz^ him the gains he can win ; I rather wad bear a' the lade o' my sorrow, Than ever ha'e acted sae faithless to him. Weel, since he has left me, may pleasure gae wi' him ; I may be distress'd, but I winna complain ; I flatter my fancy I may get anither, My heart it shall never be broken for ane. COUNTRY LASSIE. Tune — "John, come kiss me now.'" In simmer when the hay was mawn, And corn waved green in ilka field, While clover blooms white- o'er the lea, And roses blaw in ilka bield; Blithe Bessie in the milking shiel, Says, "I'll be wed, come o't what will." Out spak' a dame in wrinkled eild, " O' guid advisement comes nae ill. T84 country lassie. "It's ye ha'e wooers mony a ane, And, lassie, ye 're but young, ye ken ; Then wait a wee, and cannie wale A routhie but, a routhie ben : There's Johnnie o' the Buskie-glen, Fu' is his barn, fu' is his byre ; Tak' this frae me, my bonny hen, It's plenty beets the luver's fire.*' " For Johnnie o' the Buskie-glen I dinna care a single flie ; He lo'es sae well his craps and kye, He has na luve to spare for me : But blithe 's the blink o' Robie's e'e, And weel I wat he lo'es me dear ; Ae blink o' him I wad na'e gi'e For Buskie-glen and a' his gear." "O thoughtless lassie! life's a faught ; The canniest gate the strife is sair ; But aye fu' -han't is fechtin best, An hungry care's an unco care : But some will spend, and some will spare, An' wilfu' folk maun ha'e their will ; Syne as ye brew, my maiden fair, Keep mind that ye maun drink the yill." " O, gear will buy me rigs o' land, And gear will buy me sheep and kye ; But the tender heart o' leesome luve, The gowd and siller canna buy : We may be poor — Robie and I, Light is the burden luve lays on ; Content and luve bring peace and joy, What mair ha'e queens upon a throne V THE BANKS O' BOON. FIRST VERSION. Tune — " Catharine Ogie. " Ye flowery banks o' bonnie Doon, How can ye blume sae fair ! How can ye chant, ye little birds, And I sae fu' o' care ! B B 1 86 THE BANKS O' DOON. Thou 'It break my heart, thou bormie bird, That sings upon the bough ; Thou minds me o' the happy days When my fause luve was true. Thou 'It break my heart, thou bonnie bird, That sings beside thy mate ; For sae I sat, and sae I sang, And wist na o' my fate. Aft ha'e I roved by bonnie Doon, To see the woodbine twine, And ilka bird sang o' its luve, And sae did I o' mine. Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, Frae off its thorny tree, And my fause luver staw the rose, But left the thorn wi' me. THE BANKS O' DOON. SECOND VERSION. Tune — " Caledonian Hunt's Delight." Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon, How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair ! How can ye chant, ye little birds, And I sae weary, fu' o' care ! Thou 'It break my heart, thou warbling bird, That wantons through the flowering thorn ; Thou minds me o' departed joys, Departed — never to return. THE BANKS O' DOON. 1 87 Oft ha'e I roved by bonnie Doon, To see the rose and woodbine twine ; And ilka bird sang o' its luve, And fondly sae did I o' mine. Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree : But my false luver stole my rose, And ah ! he left the thorn wi' me. FAIR ELIZA. Tune — " The bonnie bracket Lassie." Turn again, thou fair Eliza, Ae kind blink before we part, Rew on thy despairing lover ! Canst thou break his faithfu' heart ? Turn again, thou fair Eliza ; If to love thy heart denies, For pity hide the cruel sentence Under friendship's kind disguise ! Thee, dear maid, ha'e I offended 1 The offence is loving thee : Canst thou wreck his peace for ever, Wha for thine would gladly die 1 While the life beats in my bosom, Thou shalt mix in ilka throe : Turn again, thou lovely maiden, Ae sweet smile on me bestow. FAIR ELIZA. Not the bee upon the blossom. In the pride o' sunny noon ; Not the little sporting fairy, All beneath the simmer moon ; Not the poet in the moment Fancy lightens in his e'e, Kens the pleasure, feels the rapture, That thy presence gi'es to me. JOCKEY'S TA'EN THE PARTING KISS. Jockey's ta'en the parting kiss, Owre the mountains he is gane, And with him is a' my bliss, Nought but griefs with me remain. Spare my love, ye winds that blaw, Plashy sleets and beatin' rain ! Spare my love, thou feathery snaw, Drifting owre the frozen plain ! When the shades of evening creep Owre the day's fair, gladsome e'e, Sound and safely may he sleep, Sweetly blythe his waukening be ! He will think on her he loves, Fondly he'll repeat her name; For where'er he distant roves, Jockey's heart is still at hame. t89 CHLORIS. TUNE — " My lodging is on the cold ground." 1 My Chloris, mark how green the groves, The primrose banks how fair : The balmy gales awake the flowers, And wave thy flaxen hair. The lav'rock shuns the palace gay, And o'er the cottage sings : For nature smiles as sweet, I ween, To shepherds as to kings. Let minstrels sweep the skilfu' string In lordly lighted ha' : The shepherd stops his simple reed, Blithe, in the birken shaw. The princely revel may survey Our rustic dance wi' scorn ; But are their hearts as light as ours Beneath the milk-white thorn % The shepherd, in the flowery glen, In shepherd's phrase will woo ; The courtier tells a finer tale, But is his heart as true 1 These wild-wood flowers I've pu'd, to deck That spotless breast o' thine : The courtiers' gems may witness love — But 'tis na love like mine. HIGHLAND MARY. Ye banks, and braes, and streams around The castle o' Montgomery, Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, Your waters never drumlie ! HIGHLAND MARY. 191 There simmer first unfauld her robes, And there the langest tarry ; For there I took the last fareweel O' my sweet Highland Mary. How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk, How rich the hawthorn's blossom, As underneath their fragrant shade I clasp'd her to my bosom ! The golden hours, on angel wings, Flew o'er me and my dearie ; For dear to me, as light and life, Was my sweet Highland Mary. Wi' mony a vow, and lock'd embrace, Our parting was fu' tender ; And, pledging aft to meet again, We tore oursel's asunder ; But oh ! fell death's untimely frost, That nipt my flower sae early ! — Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay, That wraps my Highland Mary. O pale, pale now, those rosy lips I aft ha'e kiss'd sae fondly ! And closed for aye the sparkling glance, That dwelt on me sae kindly ! And mouldering now in silent dust, That heart that lo'ed me dearly ! But still within my bosom's core Shall live my Highland Mary. 192 O FOR ANE-AND-TWENTY, TAM. Aii O for ane-and-twenty, Tam : Art hey, sweet ane-and-twenty, Tam : Pll learn my kin a rattlirt sang, Art I saw ane-and-twenty, Tam. They snool me sair, and haud me down, And gar me look like bluntie, Tam ! But three short years will soon wheel roun', And then comes ane-and-twenty, Tam ! A gleib o' Ian', a claut o' gear, Was left me by my aunty, Tam : At kith or kin I need na spier, An I saw ane-and-twenty, Tam. They'll ha'e me wed a wealthy coof, Tho' I mysel' ha'e plenty, Tam : But hear'st thou, laddie ? there's my loof, I'm thine at ane-and-twenty, Tam ! HOW CAN I BE BLITHE AND GLAD. Tune — " Over the hills and far awa\" O how can I be blithe and glad, Or how can I gang brisk and braw, When the bonnie lad that I lo'e best Is o'er the hills and far awa % It's no the frosty winter wind, It's no the driving drift and snaw ; HOW CAN I BE BLITHE AND GLAD. 1 93 But aye the tear comes in my e'e, To think on him that's far awa\ My father pat me frae his door, My friends they ha'e disown'd me a*, But I ha'e ane will tak' my part,. The bonnie lad that's far awa'. A pair o' gloves he gave to me, And silken snoods he gave me twa ; And I will wear them for his sake, The bonnie lad that's far awa'. The weary winter soon will pass, And spring will deed the birken-shaw ; And my sweet babie will be born, And he'll come hame that's far awa'. AULD ROB MORRIS. There's auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen, He's the king o' guid fellows and wale of auld men ; He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine, And ae bonnie lassie, his darling and mine. She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May ; She's sweet as the evening amang the new hay; As blithe and as artless as the lamb on the lea, And dear to my heart as the light to my e'e. But oh ! she's an heiress, auld Robin's a laird, And my daddie has nought but a cot-house and yard; c c 194 AULD ROB MORRIS. A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed, The wounds I must hide that will soon be my dead. The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane ; The night comes to me, but my rest it is gane ; I wander my lane like a night-troubled ghaist, And I sigh as my heart it would burst in my breast. had she but been of a lower degree, 1 then might ha'e hoped she wad smil'd upon me ; O, how past describing had then been my bliss, As now my distraction no words can express ! MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS. My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here, My heart's in the Highlands a chasing the deer ; Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe, My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go. Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North, The birth-place of valour, the country of worth ; Wherever I wander, wherever I rove, The hills of the Highlands for ever I love. Farewell to the mountains high cover'd with snow; Farewell to the straths and green valleys below ; Farewell to the forests and wild -hanging woods ; Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods. My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here ; My heart's in the Highlands a chasing the deer ; Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe, My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go. O POORTITH CAULD. Tune — "I had a horse.'''' O poortith cauld, and restless love, Ye wreck my peace between ye ; Yet poortith a' I could forgive, An 'twere na for my Jeanie. O why should Fate sic pleasure have Life's dea?-est bands untwining? Or why sae sweet a flower as love Depend on Fortune's shining ? 196 O POORTITH CAULD. This warld's wealth when I think on, Its pride, and a' the lave o 't ; Fie, fie on silly coward man, That he should be the slave o't. Her een, sae bonnie blue, betray How she repays my passion ; But prudence is her o'erword aye, She talks of rank and fashion. O wha can prudence think upon, And sic a lassie by him 1 O wha can prudence think upon, And sae in love as I am 1 How blest the humble cotter's fate ! He woos his simple dearie ; The sillie bogles, wealth and state, Can never make them eerie. O why should Fate sic pleasure have, 6°^*. &>c. BONNIE BELL. The smiling Spring comes in rejoicing, And surly Winter grimly flies ; Now crystal clear are the falling waters, And bonnie blue are the sunny skies. Fresh o'er the mountains breaks forth the morning, The ev'ning gilds the ocean's swell ; BONNIE BELL. 1 97 All creatures joy in the sun's returning, And I rejoice in my bonnie Bell. The flowery Spring leads sunny Summer, And yellow Autumn presses near, Then in his turn comes gloomy Winter, Till smiling Spring again appear. Thus seasons dancing, life advancing, Old Time and Nature their changes tell, But never ranging, still unchanging, I adore my bonnie Bell. THE GALLANT WEAVER. Where Cart rins rowin' to the sea, By monie a flow'r and spreading tree, There lives a lad, the lad for me, He is a gallant weaver. Oh ! I had wooers eight or nine. They gi'ed me rings and ribbons fine ; And I w r as fear'd my heart would tine, And gi'ed it to the weaver. My daddie sign'd my tocher band, To gi'e the lad that has the land ; But to my heart I'll add my hand, And gi'e it to the weaver. While birds rejoice in leafy bowers ; While bees rejoice in opening flowers ; While corn grows green in simmer showers ; I'll love my gallant weaver. SHE'S FAIR AND FAUSE. She's fair and fause that causes my smart, I lo'ed her meikle and lang ; She's broken her vow, she's broken my heart, And I may e'en gae hang. A coof came in with rowth o' gear, And I ha'e tint my dearest dear ; But woman is but warld's gear, Sae let the bonnie lass gang. Whae'er ye be that woman love, To this be never blind, Nae ferlie 'tis though fickle she prove, A woman has't by kind : O woman lovely, woman fair ! An angel form's faun to thy share, 'Twad been owre meikle to 've gi'en thee mair- I mean an angel mind. THE EXCISEMAN. The de'il cam' fiddling through the town, And danced awa' wi' the Exciseman ; And ilka wife cried — "Auld Mahoun, I wish you luck o' your prize, man ! The dills awa\ the diiVs awa\ The diiVs aiuci wi* the Exciseman : Ties danced awa\ he's danced awa\ He's danced awd wi" the Exciseman. THE EXCISEMAN. 199 "We'll mak' our maut, well brew our drink, We'll dance, and sing, and rejoice, man ; And monie thanks to the meikle black de'il That danced awa' wi' the Exciseman. " There's threesome reels, there's foursome reels, There's hornpipes and strathspeys, man ; But the ae best dance e'er cam' to the land Was — the de'il's awa' wi' the Exciseman." ^Igptf: THE CHEVALIER'S LAMENT. Tune — " Captain CKane." The small birds rejoice in the green leaves returning, The murmuring streamlet winds clear through the vale ; The hawthorn trees blow in the dews of the morning, And wild scattered cowslips bedeck the green dale : But what can give pleasure, or what can seem fair, While the lingering moments are numbered by care % No flowers gaily springing, nor birds sweetly singing, Can soothe the sad bosom of joyless despair. The deed that I dared, could it merit their malice, A king and a father to place on his throne 1 His right are these hills and his right are these valleys, Where the wild beasts find shelter, but I can find none. But 'tis not my sufferings thus wretched, forlorn ; My brave gallant friends, 'tis your ruin I mourn : Your deeds proved so. loyal in hot bloody trial, Alas ! can I make you no sweeter return ? '^■u/st.V^ <5 THE BANKS OF NITH. Tune — " Robie Donna Gorach." The Thames flows proudly to the sea ; Where royal cities stately stand; But sweeter flows the Nith to me, Where Cummins ance had high command When shall I see that honoured land, That winding stream I love so dear? Must wayward fortune's adverse hand, For ever, ever keep me here ? THE BANKS OF NITH. How lovely, Nith, thy fruitful vales, Where spreading hawthorns gaily bloom ; How sweetly wind thy sloping dales, Where lambkins wanton through the broom ! Though wandering, now, must be my doom, Far from thy bonnie banks and braes, May there my latest hours consume, Amang the friends of early days ! A RED, RED ROSE. Tune — " IVis/mw's Favourite." O, my hive's like a red, red rose, That's newly sprung in June : O, my luve's like the melodie That's sweetly play'd in tune. As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in luve am I : And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a ; the seas gang dry. Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, And the rocks melt wi' the sun : I will luve thee still, my dear, While the sands o' life shall run. And fare thee weel, my only luve And fare thee weel awhile ! And I will come again, my luve, ^hough it were ten thousand mile. D D 202 THE BATTLE OF CULLODEN. The lovely lass o' Inverness, Nae joy nor pleasure can she see ; For e'en and morn she cries — "Alas!" And aye the saut tear blin's her e'e : " Drumossie moor, Drumossie day, A waefu' day it was to me; For there I lost my father dear, My father dear, and brethren three. "Their winding-sheet the bluidy clay, Their graves are growing green to see ; And by them lies the dearest lad That ever blest a woman's e'e. Now wae to thee, thou cruel Lord ! A bluidy man I trow thou be ; For monie a heart thou hast made sair, That ne'er did wrong to thine or thee." FOR THE SAKE OF SOMEBODY. Tune—" The Highland Watch's Farewell:' My heart is sair, I darena tell, My heart is sair for somebody ; I could wake a winter night For the sake o' somebody. Oh-hon ! for somebody \ Oh-hey ! for somebody ! I could range the world around, For the sake o' somebody ! FOR THE SAKE OF SOMEBODY. 203 Ye powers that smile on virtuous love, O, sweetly smile on somebody! Frae ilka danger keep him free, And send me safe my somebody. Oh-hon ! for somebody ! Oh-hey ! for somebody ! I wad do — what wad I not ? For the sake o' somebody ! POLLY STEWART. Tune — " Ye 1 re welcome, Charlie Stewart." O lovely Polly Stewart, O charmi?ig Polly Stewart, Therms ne'er a flower that blooms in May Thats half so fair as thou art. The flower it blaws, it fades, it fa's, And art can ne'er renew it ; But worth and truth eternal youth Will gi*e to Polly Stewart. May he whase arms shall fauld thy charms Possess a leal and true heart ; To him be given to ken the heaven He grasps in Polly Stewart ! O lovely Polly Stewart, O charming Polly Stewart, There's ne'er a flower that blooms in May Thafs half so fair as thou art. 204 TO THEE, LOVED N1TH. To thee, lov'd Nith, thy gladsome plains Where late wi' careless thought I ranged, Tho' prest wi' care and sunk in woe, To thee I bring a heart unchanged. I love thee, Nith, thy banks and braes, Tho' mem'ry there my bosom tear; For there he roved that brake my heart, Yet to that heart, ah ! still how dear ! O MAY, THY MORN. O May, thy morn was ne'er sae sweet As the mirk night o' December ; For sparkling was the rosy wine, And private was the chamber : And dear was she I darena name, But I will aye remember; And dear was she I darena name, But I will aye remember. And here's to them, that like oursel', Can push about the jorum ; And here's to them that wish us weel, May a' that's guid watch o'er them ! And here's to them, we darena tell, The dearest o' the quorum; And here's to them, we darena tell, The dearest o' the quorum ! PHILLIS THE FAIR. Tune— "Robin Adah-: While larks with little wing Fann'd the pure air, Tasting the breathing spring, Forth I did fare: Gay the sun's golden eye Peep'd o'er the mountains high, Such thy morn ! did I cry, Phillis the fair. 206 PHILLIS THE FAIR. In each bird's careless song, Glad did I share ; While yon wild flow'rs among, Chance led me there : Sweet to the opening day, Rosebuds bent the dewy spray ; Such thy bloom ! did I say, Phillis the fair. Down in a shady walk, Doves cooing were, I mark'd the cruel hawk Caught in a snare : So kind may Fortune be, Such make his destiny, He who would injure thee, Phillis the fair. O, WAT YE WHA'S IN YON TOWN. Tune — " /'// gang nae mair to yon town." O, wat ye wha's in yon town, Ye see the e'enin' sun upon 1 The fairest dame's in yon town, That e'enin' sun is shining on. Now haply down yon gay green shaw, She wanders by yon spreading tree; How blest, ye flow'rs, that round her blaw, Ye catch the glances o' her e'e ! O, WAT YE WHAS IN YON TOWN. 207 How blest, ye birds that round her sing, And welcome in the blooming year ; And doubly welcome be the spring, The season to my Lucy dear ! The sun blinks blithe on yon town, And on yon bonnie braes of Ayr ; But my delight in yon town, And dearest bliss, is Lucy fair. Without my love, not a' the charms O' Paradise could yield me joy ; But gi'e me Lucy in my arms, And welcome Lapland's dreary sky. My cave wad be a lover's bower, Tho' raging winter rent the air ; And she a lovely little flower, That I wad tent and shelter there. sweet is she in yon town, Yon sinking sun's gaun down upon; A fairer than's in yon town, His setting beam ne'er shone upon. If angry Fate is sworn my foe, And suff'ring I am doom'd to bear; 1 careless quit all else below, But spare me, spare me Lucy dear! For while life's dearest blood is warm, Ae thought frae her shall ne'er depart ; And she — as fairest is her form, She has the truest, kindest heart. 208 MY PEGGY'S FACE. My Peggy's face, my Peggy's form, The frost of hermit age might warm ; My Peggy's worth, my Peggy's mind, Might charm the first of human kind. I love my Peggy's angel air, Her face so truly, heavenly fair, Her native grace so void of art, But I adore my Peggy's heart. The lily's hue, the rose's dye, The kindling lustre of an eye ; Who but owns their magic sway, Who but knows they all decay ! The tender thrill, the pitying tear, The generous purpose, nobly dear, The gentle look that rage disarms — These are all immortal charms. ^AAir^-~- THE WINSOME WEE THING. She is a winsome wee thing, She is a handsome wee thing, She is a bonnie wee thing, This sweet wee wife o' mine. I never saw a fairer, I never lo'ed a dearer, And niest my heart I '11 wear her, For fear my jewel tine. THE WINSOME WEE THING. 209 She is a winsome wee thing, She is a handsome wee thing, She is a bonnie wee thing, This sweet wee wife o' mine. The warld's wrack we share o 't, The warstle and the care o 't ; Wi' her I'll blithely bear it, And think my lot divine. SE- LASSIE WF THE LINT-WHITE LOCKS. Tune — " Rothiemut -chits Rant. " Lassie wV the lint-white locks, Bonnie lassie, artless lassie, Wilt thou wi' me tent the flocks, Wilt thou be my dearie, O ? Now nature deeds the flowery lea, And a' is young and sweet like thee ; O wilt thou share its joys wi' me, And say thou'lt be my dearie, O % And when the welcome simmer-shower Has cheer'd ilk drooping little flower, We '11 to the breathing woodbine bower At sultry noon, my dearie, O. When Cynthia lights, wi' silver ray, The weary shearer's hameward way ; Through yellow waving fields we '11 stray, And talk o' love, my dearie, O. And when the howling wintry blast Disturbs my lassie's midnight rest ; E E 2IO LASSIE WI THE LINT-WHITE LOCKS. Enclasped to my faithfu' breast, I'll comfort thee, my dearie, O. Lassie wV the lint-white locks, Bonnie lassie, artless lassie, Wilt thou wi me tent the flocks, Wilt thou be my dearie, O ? MARY CAMPBELL. Tune — " Ewe-bughts, Marion. " Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, And leave auld Scotia's shore? Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, Across th' Atlantic's roar 1 sweet grow the lime and the orange, And the apple on the pine ; But a' the charms o' the Indies Can never equal thine. 1 ha'e sworn by the heavens to my Mary, I ha'e sworn by the heavens to be true ; And sae may the heavens forget me, When I forget my vow ! O plight me your faith, my Mary, And plight me your lily-white hand ; O plight me your faith, my Mary, Before I leave Scotia's strand. We ha'e plighted our troth, my Mary, In mutual affection to join, And curst be the cause that shall part us The hour, and the moment o' time ! BANNOCKBURN. Tune— "Hey, tuttie, tutUe." Scots wha ha'e wi' Wallace bled, Scots, wham Bruce has aften led ; Welcome to your gory bed, Or to glorious victorie ! 212 BANNOCKBURN. Now's the day, and now's the hour See the front o' battle lower; See approach proud Edward's power- Edward ! chains and slaverie ! Wha will be a traitor knave 1 Wha can fill a coward's grave? Wha sae base as be a slave? Traitor ! coward ! turn and flee ! Wha for Scotland's king and law Freedom's sword will strongly draw, Free-man stand, or free-man fa', Caledonian ! on with me ! By oppression's woes and pains ! By your sons in servile chains ! We will drain our dearest veins, But they shall — they shall be free, Lay the proud usurpers low ! Tyrants fail in every foe ! Liberty 's in every blow ! Forward ! let us do, or die ! 21,3 SHE SAYS SHE LO'ES ME BEST OF A' Tune — " OnagVs Waterfall." Sae flaxen were her ringlets, Her eyebrows of a darker hue, Bewitchingly o'er-arching Twa laughing een o' bonnie blue. Her smiling, sae wyling, Wad make a wretch forget his woe ; What pleasure, what treasure, Unto these rosy lips to grow; Such was my Chloris' bonnie face, When first her bonnie face I saw; And aye my Chloris' dearest charm, She says she lo'es me best of a'. Like harmony her motion ; Her pretty ancle is a spy Betraying fair proportion, Wad mak a saint forget the sky; Sae warming, sae charming, Her faultless form, and gracefu' air ; Ilk feature — auld Nature Declared that she could do nae mair. Hers are the willing chains o' love By conquering beauty's sovereign law; And aye my Chloris' dearest charm, She says she lo'es me best of a'. Let others love the city, And gaudy show at sunny noon ; Gi'e me the lonely valley, The dewy eve, and rising moon ; Fair beaming, and streaming, 214 SHE SAYS SHE LO'ES ME BEST OF a\ Her silver light the boughs amang ; While falling, recalling, The amorous thrush concludes his sang There, dearest Chloris, wilt thou rove By wimpling burn and leafy shaw, And hear my vows o' truth and love, And say thou lo'es me best of a'. GALLA-WATER. There's braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes, That wander through the blooming heather; But Yarrow braes, nor Ettrick shaws, Can match the lads o' Galla-water. But there is ane, a secret ane, Aboon them a' I lo'e him better ; And I'll be his, and he'll be mine, The bonnie lad o' Galla-water. Although his daddie was nae laird, And though I ha'e no meikle tocher; Yet rich in kindest, truest love, We '11 tent our flocks by Galla-water. It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth, That coft contentment, peace, or pleasure ; The bands and bliss o' mutual love, O that 's the chiefest warld's treasure ! 215 LOGAN BRAES. O Logan, sweetly didst thou glide, That day I was my Willie's bride ; And years sinsyne ha'e o'er us run, Like Logan to the simmer sun. But now thy flow'ry banks appear Like drumlie winter, dark and drear, While my dear lad maun face his faes, Far, far frae me and Logan braes. Again the merry month o' May Has made our hills and valleys gay; The birds rejoice in leafy bow'rs, The bees hum round the breathing rlow'rs Blythe morning lifts his rosy eye, And ev'ning's tears are tears of joy : My soul, delightless, a' surveys, While Willie's far frae Logan braes. Within yon milk-white hawthorn bush, Amang her nestlings, sits the thrush ; Her faithfu' mate will share her toil, Or wi' his song her cares beguile : But I, wi' my sweet nurslings here, Nae mate to help, nae mate to cheer, Pass widow'd nights and joyless days, While Willie's far frae Logan braes. O wae upon you, men o' state, That brethren rouse to deadly hate ! As ye make monie a fond heart mourn, Sae may it on your heads return ! How can your flinty hearts enjoy The widow's tears, the orphan's cry 1 But soon may peace bring happy days, And Willie hame to Logan braes ! itPiSfsa SWEET CLOSES THE EVENING. Tun E — ' ' Cra igie- bu rn-zoood. ' ' Beyond thee, dearie, beyond thee, dearie, And to be lying beyond thee, O sweetly, soundly, weel may he sleep, That's laid in the bed beyond thee. SWEET CLOSES THE EVENING. 217 Sweet closes the evening on Craigie-burn-wood, And blythely awakens the morrow; But the pride of the spring in the Craigie-burn-wood, Can yield to me nothing but sorrow. I see the spreading leaves and flowers, I hear the wild birds singing; But pleasure they hae nane for me, While care my heart, is wringing. I canna tell, I maun na tell, I dare na for your anger ; But secret love will break my heart If I conceal it langer. I see thee gracefu', straight and tall, I see thee sweet and bonnie, But oh, what will my torments be, If thou refuse thy Johnie ! To see thee in anither's arms, In love to lie and languish, 'Twad be my dead, that will be seen, My heart wad burst wi' anguish. But, Jeanie, say thou wilt be mine, Say, thou lo'es nane before me ; An' a' my days o' life to come I'll gratefully adore thee. F F 2l8 OH! OPEN THE DOOR TO ME. Oh ! open the door, some pity to show, Oh, open the door to me, O ! Though thou hast been false, I'll ever prove true, Oh, open the door to me, O ! Cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek, But caulder thy love for me, O ! The frost that freezes the life at my heart, Is nought to my pains frae thee, O ! The wan moon is setting behind the white wave, And time is setting with me, O ! False friends, false love, farewell ! for mair I '11 ne'er trouble them, nor thee, O ! She has open'd the door, she has open'd it wide : She sees his pale corse on the plain, O ! " My true love," she cried, and sank down by his side, Never to rise again, O ! «p^ IN^ WANDERING WILLIE. Here awa'«^ there awa', wandering Willie, Here awa', there awa', haud awa' hame ; Come to my bosom, my ain only dearie, Tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same. Winter winds blew loud and cauld at our parting, Fears for my Willie brought tears in my e'e, Welcome now simmer, and welcome my Willie, The simmer to nature, my Willie to me. WANDERING WILLIE. 219 Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave of your slumbers, How your dread howling a lover alarms ! Wauken, ye breezes, row gently, ye billows, And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms. But oh, if he's faithless, and minds na his Nannie, Flow still between us, thou wide roaring main ; May I never see it, may I never trow it, Bur, dying, believe that my Willie's my ain. FRAGMENT. Air — " Hughie Graham.'''' O gin my love were yon red rose, That grows upon the castle wa', And I mysel' a drop o' dew, Into her bonnie breast to fa' ! Oh, there beyond expression blest, I'd feast on beauty a' the night ; Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest, Till fley'd awa' by Phoebus' light. O were my love yon lilac fair, Wi' purple blossoms to the spring; And I, a bird to shelter there, When wearied on my little wing : How I wad mourn, when it was torn By autumn wild, and winter rude ! But I wad sing on wanton wing, W T hen youthfu' May its bloom renew" d. ^20 ADOWN WINDING NITH. Tune — "The muckie d Geordiis Byre." Adown winding Nith I did wander, To mark the sweet flowers as they spring ; Adown winding Nith I did wander, Of Phillis to muse and to sing. Aw a wV your belles and your beauties, They never wf her can compare; Whaever has met wf my Phillis, Has met wi 1 the queen d the fair. The daisy amused my fond fancy, So artless, so simple, so wild ; Thou emblem, said I, o' my Phillis, For she is simplicity's child. The rose-bud's the blush o' my charmer, Her sweet balmy lip when 'tis prest : How fair and how pure is the lily ! But fairer and purer her breast. Yon knot of gay flowers in the arbour, They ne'er wi' my Phillis can vie : Her breath is the breath of the woodbine, Its dew-drop o' diamond, her eye. Her voice is the song of the morning, That wakes thro' the green-spreading grove, When Phoebus peeps over the mountains, On music, and pleasure, and love. But beauty, how frail and how fleeting, The bloom of a fine summer's day ! While worth in the mind o' my Phillis Will flourish without a decay. LORD GREGORY O mirk, mirk is this midnight hou; And loud the tempest's roar; A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tow'r, Lord Gregory, ope thy door. 222 LORD GREGORY. An exile frae her father's ha', And a' for loving thee ; At least some pity on me shaw, If love it may na be ! Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grove, By bonnie Irwin side, When first I own'd that virgin-love I lang, lang had denied? How aften didst thou pledge and vow, Thou wad for aye be mine ! And my fond heart, itsel' sae true, It ne'er mistrusted thine. Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory, And flinty is thy breast : Thou dart of heaven, that flashest by, O wilt thou give me rest ! Ye mustering thunders from above, Your willing victim see ! But spare, and pardon my fause love, His wrangs to heaven and me ! JESSIE. Tune — " Bonnie Dundee " True-hearted was he, the sad swain o' the Yarrow, And fair are the maids on the banks o' the Ayr; But by the sweet side o' the Nith's winding river Are lovers as faithful, and maidens as fair ; JESSIE. 223 To equal young Jessie seek Scotland all over ; To equal young Jessie you seek it in vain ; Grace, beauty, and elegance fetter her lover, And maidenly modesty fixes the chain. O, fresh is the rose in the gay, dewy morning, And sweet is the lily at evening close ; But in the fair presence o' lovely young Jessie, Unseen is the lily, unheeded the rose. Love sits in her smile, a wizard ensnaring; Enthroned in her een he delivers his law, And still to her charms she alone is a stranger! Her modest demeanour's the jewel of a'. MEG O' THE MILL. Air — " O bonnie lassie, will you lie in a barrack ? " O ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten, An' ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten ? She has gotten a coof wi' a claut o' siller, And broken the heart o' the barley Miller. The Miller was strapping the Miller was ruddy ; A heart like a lord, and a hue like a lady; The Laird was a widdiefu', bleerit knurl ; She's left the guid fellow and ta'en the churl. The Miller he hecht her a heart leal and loving : The Laird did address her wi' matter mair moving, A fine pacing horse wi' a clear chained bridle, A whip by her side, and a bonnie side-saddle. 224 MEG O THE MILL. O wae on the siller, it is sae prevailing; And wae on the love that is nx'd on a mailen ! A tocher's nae word in a true lover's parle, But, gi'e me my love, and a fig for the warl' ! BY ALLAN STREAM. By Allan stream I chanced to rove, While Phoebus sank beyond Benleddi ; The winds were whispering thro' the grove, The yellow corn was waving ready : I listen' d to a lover's sang, And thought on youthfu' pleasures mony ; And ay the wild-wood echoes ran — O, dearly do I love thee, Annie ! O, happy be the woodbine bower, Nae nightly bogle mak' it eerie ; Nor ever sorrow stain the hour, The place and time I met my dearie ! Her head upon my throbbing breast, She, sinking, said, " I'm thine for ever ! " While mony a kiss the seal imprest, The sacred vow, we ne'er should sever. The haunt o' spring's the primrose brae, The simmer joys the flocks to follow ; How cheery thro' her shortening day Is autumn in her weeds o' yellow ! But can they melt the glowing heart, Or chain the soul in speechless pleasure, Or thro' each nerve the rapture dart, Like meeting her, our bosom's treasure 1 225 AULD LANG SYNE. Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And never brought to min' 1 Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And days o' lang syne ? For auld lang syne, my dear, For auld lang syne, Will tak' a cup o' kindness yet, For auld lang syne. We twa ha'e run about the braes, And pu'd the gowans fine \ But we've wandered mony a weary foot, Sin' auld lang syne. We twa ha'e paidl't i' the burn, Frae mornin' sun till dine : But seas between us braid ha'e roar'd, Sin' auld lang syne. And here's a hand, my trusty tier, And gie's a hand o' thine ; And we'll tak' a right good-willie waught, For auld lang syne. And surely ye '11 be your pint-stowp, And surely I'll be mine; And we'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet, For auld lang syne. G G 226 HUSBAND, HUSBAND, CEASE YOUR STRIFE. Tune— " Myjo, Janet" Husband, husband, cease your strife, No longer idle rave, Sir ; Though I am your wedded wife, Yet I am not your slave, Sir. " One of two must still obey, Nancy, Nancy ; Is it man or woman, say, My spouse, Nancy?" If 'tis still the lordly word, Service and obedience ; I'll desert my sov'reign lord, And so, good b'ye allegiance ! "Sad will I be, so bereft, Nancy, Nancy ; Yet I'll try to make a shift, My spouse, Nancy." My poor heart then break it must, My last hour I'm near it: When you lay me in the dust, Think, think how you will bear it ! " I will hope and trust in heaven, Nancy, Nancy ; Strength to bear it will be given, My spouse, Nancy. Well, Sir, from the silent dead Still I'll try to daunt you; Ever round your midnight bed Horrid sprites shall haunt you. " I '11 wed another, like my dear Nancy, Nancy; Then all hell will fly for fear, My spouse, Nancy." FLOW GENTLY, SWEET AFTON. Tune— "Afton Water.'" Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise; 2 28 FLOW GENTLY, SWEET AFTON. My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. Thou stock-dove, whose echo resounds through the glen, Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den, Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear, I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair. How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills, Far mark'd with the courses of clear, winding rills ; There daily I wander, as noon rises high, My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye. How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below, Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow; There oft as mild ev'ning weeps over the lea, The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me. Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides, And winds by the cot where my Mary resides ; How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave, As gathering sweet flow'rets she stems thy clear wave. Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays ; My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. BEHOLD THE HOUR. Behold the hour, the boat arrive ! Thou goest, thou darling of my heart ! Sever'd from thee can I survive? But fate has will'd, and we must part ! BEHOLD THE HOUR. 229 I'll often greet this surging swell, Yon distant isle will often hail ; " E'en here I took the last farewell ; There latest mark'd her vanish'd sail." Along the solitary shore, While flitting sea-fowls round me cry, Across the rolling, dashing roar, I'll westward turn my wistful eye : "Happy, thou Indian grove," I'll say, "Where now my Nancy's path may be ! While through thy sweets she loves to stray, O tell me, does she muse on me?" QP^S- THOU HAST LEFT ME EVER. Tune — " Fee him, Father." Thou hast left me ever, Jamie, thou hast left me ever ; Thou hast left me ever, Jamie, thou hast left me ever. Aften hast thou vow'd that death only should us sever ; Now, thou'st left thy lass for aye — I maun see thee never, Jamie, I shall see thee never. Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, thou hast me forsaken ; Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, thou hast me forsaken. Thou canst love anither jo, while my heart is breaking. Soon my weary een I'll close — never mair to waken, Jamie, Never mair to waken. 230 FAIR JENNY. Where are the joys I have met in the morning, That danced to the lark's early song? Where is the peace that awaited my wand'ring, At evening the wild woods among? No more a-winding the course of yon river, And marking sweet flow'rets so fair : No more I trace the light footsteps of pleasure, But sorrow and sad sighing care. Is it that summer's forsaken our valleys, And grim, surly winter is near? No, no, the bees humming round the gay roses Proclaim it the pride of the year. Fain would I hide what I fear to discover, Yet long, long too well have I known : All that has caused this wreck in my bosom, Is Jenny, fair Jenny alone. Time cannot aid me, my griefs are immortal, Nor hope dare a comfort bestow : Come then, enamour'd and fond of my anguish, Enjoyment I'll seek in my woe. DELUDED SWAIN, THE PLEASURE. Tune—" The Collier's Dochter." Deluded swain, the pleasure The fickle fair can give thee, DELUDED SWAIN, THE PLEASURE. 23 1 Is but a fairy treasure — Thy hopes will soon deceive thee. The billows on the ocean, The breezes idly roaming, The clouds' uncertain motion — They are but types of woman. O ! art thou not ashamed, To dote upon a feature? If man thou would'st be named, Despise the silly creature. Go, find an honest fellow ; Good claret set before thee : Hold on till thou art mellow, And then to bed in glory. NANCY. Tune— " The Quaker's Wife:' Thine am I, my faithful fair, Thine, my lovely Nancy; Ev'ry pulse along my veins, Ev'ry roving fancy. To thy bosom lay my heart, There to throb and languish : Though despair had wrung its core, That would heal its anguish. 232 NANCY. Take away these rosy lips, Rich with balmy treasure ! Turn away thine eyes of love, Lest I die with pleasure. What is life when wanting love? Night without a morning : Love's the cloudless summer sun, Nature gay adorning. COME, LET ME TAKE THEE. Tune— < ' Cauld Kail. " Come, let me take thee to my breast, And pledge we ne'er shall sunder ; And I shall spurn, as vilest dust, The warld's wealth and grandeur : And do I hear my Jeanie own That equal transports move her? I ask for dearest life alone, That I may live to love her. Thus in my arms, wi' all thy charms, I'll clasp my countless treasure ; HI seek nae mair o' heaven to share, Than sic a moment's pleasure : And by thy e'en, sae bonnie blue, I swear I'm thine for ever ! And on thy lips I seal my vow, And break it shall I never. CHLOE. ALTERED FROM AN OLD ENGLISH SONG. Tune— "Dainty Davie" It was the charming month of May, When all the flow'rs were fresh and gay, One morning, by the break of day, .The youthful, charming Chloe ; H H 234 CHLOE. From peaceful slumber she arose, Girt on her mantle and her hose, And o'er the flow'ry mead she goes, The youthful, charming Chloe. Lovely was she by the dawn, Youthful Chloe, charming Chloe, Tripping o'er the pearly lawn, The youthful, charming Chloe. The feather'd people you might see, Perch'd all around on every tree, In notes of sweetest melody They hail the charming Chloe ; Till, painting gay the eastern skies, The glorious sun began to rise, Out-rivall'd by the radiant eyes Of youthful, charming Chloe, ON THE SEAS AND FAR AWAY. Tune— "O'er the I/ills," &c. How can my poor heart be glad, When absent from my sailor lad ? How can I the thought forego, He's on the seas to meet the foe? Let me wander, let me rove, Still my heart is with my love ; Nightly dreams and thoughts by day Are with him that's far away. On the seas and far azaay, On stormy seas and far away : Nightly dreams and thoughts by day Are aye with him that's far aivay. ON THE SEAS AND FAR AWAY. 235 When in summer's noon I faint, As weary flocks around me pant, Haply in this scorching sun My sailor's thund'ring at his gun : Bullets, spare my only joy ! Bullets, spare my darling boy ! Fate, do with me what you may, Spare but him that's far away ! At the starless midnight hour, When winter rules with boundless power ; As the storms the forest tear, And thunders rend the howling air, Listening to the doubling roar, Surging on the rocky shore, All I can — I weep and pray, For his weal that's far away. Peace thy olive wand extend, And bid wild war his ravage end, Man with brother man to meet, And as a brother kindly greet : Then may heaven, with prosp'rous gales, Fill my sailor's welcome sails, To my arms their charge convey, My dear lad that's far away. WILT THOU BE MY DEARIE? Wilt thou be my dearie 1 When sorrow wrings thy gentle heart, Wilt thou let me cheer thee % By the treasure of my soul, 236 WILT THOU BE MY DEARIE ? That's the love I bear thee ! I swear and vow that only thou Shalt ever be my dearie ; Only thou, I swear and vow, Shalt ever be my dearie. Lassie, say thou lo'es me ; Or if thou wiltna be my ain, Say na thou'lt refuse me : If it winna, canna be, Thou for thine may choose me, Let me, lassie, quickly die, Trusting that thou lo'es me ; Lassie, let me quickly die, Trusting that thou lo'es me. THE AULD MAN. But lately seen in gladsome green The woods rejoice the day, Through gentle showers the laughing flowers In double pride were gay ; But now our joys are fled, On winter blasts awa' ! Yet maiden May, in rich array, Again shall bring them a'. But my white pow, nae kindly thowe Shall melt the snaws of age ; My trunk of eild, but buss or bield, Sinks in time's wintry rage. Oh, age has weary days, And nights o' sleepless pain ! Thou golden time o' youthfu' prime, Why com'st thou not again ! 2.37 O AY MY WIFE SHE DANG ME. O ay my wife she dang me, Aii aft my wife she bangd me; If ye gi'e a woman & TO MARY. Tune — " Could aught of song" Could aught of song declare my pains, Could artful numbers move thee, The muse should tell, in labour'd strains O Mary, how I love thee ! They who but feign a wounded heart, May teach the lyre to languish ; But what avails the pride of art, When wastes the soul with anguish? Then let the sudden bursting sigh The heart-felt pang discover ; And in the keen, yet tender eye, O read th' imploring lover, 238 TO MARY. For well I know thy gentle mind Disdains art's gay disguising ; Beyond what fancy e'er refined, The voice of nature prizing. HERE IS THE GLEN. Tune — "Banks of Cree" Here is the glen, and here the bower All underneath the birchen shade ; The village-bell has toll'd the hour — O what can stay my lovely maid % 'Tis not Maria's whispering call, 'Tis but the balmy, breathing gale, Mix'd with some warbler's dying fall, The dewy star of eve to hail. It is Maria's voice I hear ! So calls the woodlark in the grove, His little, faithful mate to cheer, At once 'tis music — and 'tis love. And art thou come? and art thou true? O welcome, dear, to love and me ! And let us all our vows renew, Along the flowery banks of Cree. MY AIN KIND DEARIE, O. Tune— " The Lea Rig." When o'er the hill the eastern star Tells bughtin'-time is near, my jo ; And owsen frae the furrow' d field, Return sae dowf and wearie, O ; 240 MY AIN KIND DEARIE, O. Down by the burn, where scented birks Wi' dew are hanging clear, my jo, I'll meet thee on the lea-rig, My ain kind dearie, O. In mirkest glen, at midnight hour, I'd rove, and ne'er be eerie, O, If through that glen, I gaed to thee, My ain kind dearie, O. Although the night was ne'er sae wild, And I were ne'er sae wearie, O, I'd meet thee on the lea-rig, My ain kind dearie, O. The hunter lo'es the morning sun, To rouse the mountain deer, my jo, At noon the fisher seeks the glen, Along the burn to steer, my jo ; Gi'e me the hour o' gloamin' grey, It maks my heart sae cheery, O, To meet thee on the lea-rig,. My ain kind dearie, O. OUT OVER THE FORTH. Out over the Forth I look to the north, But what is the north and its Highlands to me 1 The south nor the east gi'e ease to my breast, The far foreign land, or the wild rolling sea. But I look to the west, when I gae to rest, That happy my dreams and my slumbers may be ; For far in the west lives he I lo'e best, The lad that is dear to my babie and me. 241 IT IS NA, JEAN, THY BONNIE FACE. Tune—" The Maid's Complaint." It is na, Jean, thy bonnie face, Nor shape that I admire, Altho' thy beauty and thy grace Might weel awake desire. Something, in ilka part o' thee, To praise, to love, I find ; But dear as is thy form to me, Still dearer is thy mind. Nae mair ungen'rous wish I ha'e, Nor stronger in my breast, Than if I canna mak' thee sae, At least to see thee blest. Content am I, if Heaven shall give But happiness to thee ; And as wi' thee I'd wish to live, For thee I'd bear to die. LOVELY DAVIES. Tune— "Miss Muir." O how shall I, unskilfu', try The poet's occupation, The tunefu' powers, in happy hours, That whispers inspiration 1 Even they maun dare an effort mair, Than aught they ever gave us, Ere they rehearse, in equal verse, The charms o' lovely Davies. 1 1 242 LOVELY DA VIES. Each eye it cheers, when she appears, Like Phoebus in the morning, When past the shower, and ev'ry flower The garden is adorning. As the wretch looks o'er Siberia's shore, When winter-bound the wave is ; Sae droops our heart when we maun part Frae charming lovely Davies. Her smile's a gift, frae 'boon the lift, That mak's us mair than princes ; A scepter'd hand, a king's command, Is in her darting glances : The man in arms, 'gainst female charms, Even he her willing slave is ; He hugs his chain, and owns the reign Of conquering, lovely Davies. My muse to dream of such a theme, Her feeble pow'rs surrender ; The eagle's gaze alone surveys The sun's meridian splendour. I wad in vain essay the strain, The deed too daring brave is ; I'll drap the lyre, and mute admire The charms o' lovely Davies. THE LOVER'S MORNING SALUTE TO HIS MISTRESS. Tune— ' ' Deil tat? the Wars. ' ' Sleep'st thou, or wak'st thou, fairest creature ? Rosy morn now lifts his eye, Numbering ilka bud which Nature Waters wi' the tears o' joy : THE LOVERS MORNING SALUTE. 243 Now thro' the leafy woods, And by the reeking floods, Wild Nature's tenants freely, gladly stray ; The lintwhite in his bower Chants o'er the breathing flower ; The lav'rock to the sky Ascends wi' sangs o' joy, While the sun and thou arise to bless the day. Phcebus, gilding the brow o' morning, Banishes ilk darksome shade, Nature gladdening and adorning ; Such to me my lovely maid. When absent frae my fair, The murky shades o' care With starless gloom o'ercast my sullen sky : But when, in beauty's light, She meets my ravish'd sight, When through my very heart Her beaming glories dart ; 'Tis then I wake to life, to light, and joy. LET NOT WOMAN E'ER COMPLAIN. Let not woman e'er complain Of inconstancy in love ; Let not woman e'er complain, Fickle man is apt to rove : Look abroad through Nature's range, Nature's mighty law is change ; Ladies, would it not be strange, Man should then a monster prove ? 244 LET N0T WOMAN E'ER COMPLAIN. Mark the winds, and mark the skies ; Ocean's ebb, and ocean's flow : Sun and moon but set to rise, Round and round the seasons go. Why then ask of silly man To oppose great Nature's plan ? We'll be constant while we can — You can be no more, you know. CONTENTED WI' LITTLE. Tune — "Lumps o 1 Pudding." Contented wi' little, and cantie wi' mair, Whene'er I forgather wi' sorrow and care, I gi'e them a skelp, as they're creepin' alang, Wi' a cog o' guid swats, and an auld Scottish sang. I whyles claw the elbow o' troublesome Thought ; But man is a soger, and life is a faught : My mirth and guid humour are coin in my pouch, And my Freedom's my lairdship nae monarch dare touch. A towmond o' trouble, should that be my fa, A night o' guid fellowship sowthers it a' : When at the blithe end o' our journey at last, Wha the de'il ever thinks o' the road he has past ? Blind Chance, let her snapper and stoyte on her way, Be't to me, be't frae me, e'en let the jade gae : Come ease, or come travail ; come pleasure or pain, My warst word is, " Welcome, and welcome again ! " THE HIGHLAND WIDOW'S LAMENT. Oh ! I am come to the low countrie, Och-on, och-on, och-rie ! Without a penny in my purse, To buy a meal to me. 246 THE HIGHLAND WIDOW'S LAMENT. It was na sae in the Highland hills, Och-on, och-on, och-rie ! Nae woman in the country wide Sae happy was as me. For then I had a score o' kye, Och-on, och-on, och-rie ! Feeding on yon hills so high, And giving milk to me. And there I had three score o' yowe^ Och-on, och-on, och-rie ! Skipping on yon bonnie knowes, And casting woo' to me. I was the happiest of a' the clan, Sair, sair may I repine ; For Donald was the brawest lad, And Donald he was mine. Till Charlie Stewart cam' at last, Sae far to set us free ; My Donald's arm was wanted then, For Scotland and for me. Their waefu' fate what need I tell, Right to the wrang did yield : My Donald and his country fell Upon Culloden's field. Oh ! I am come to the low countrie, Och-on, och-on, och-rie ! Nae woman in the world wide Sae wretched now as me. 2 4 7 O PHILLY, HAPPY BE THAT DAY. He — O Philly, happy be that day When, roving through the gather'd hay, My youthful' heart was stown away, And by thy charms, my Philly. She — O Willy, aye I bless the grove Where first I own'd my maiden love, Whilst thou didst pledge the Powers above, To be my ain dear Willy. He — As songsters of the early year Are ilka day mair sweet to hear, So ilka day to me mair dear And charming is my Philly. She — As on the brier the budding rose Still richer breathes, and fairer blows, So in my tender bosom grows The love I bear my Willy. He — The milder sun and bluer sky, That crown my harvest cares wi' joy, Were ne'er sae welcome to my eye As is a sight o' Philly. She — The little swallow's wanton wing, Though wafting o'er the flowery spring, Did ne'er to me sic tidings bring As meeting o' my Willy. He — The bee that through the sunny hour Sips nectar in the opening flower, Compared wi' my delight is poor, Upon the lips o' Philly. 248 O PHILLY, HAPPY BE THAT DAY. She — The woodbine in the dewy weet, When evening shades in silence meet, Is not sae fragrant or sae sweet As is a kiss o' Willy. He — Let fortune's wheel at random rin, And fools may tine, and knaves may win ; My thoughts are a' bound up in ane, And that's my ain dear Philly. She — What's a' the joys that gowd can gi'e ! I care nae wealth a single me ; The lad I love's the lad for me, And that's my ain dear Willy. 'TWAS NA HER BONNIE BLUE EEN. Tune — "Laddie, lie near me." 'Twas na her bonnie blue een was my ruin ; Fair though she be, that was ne'er my undoing : 'Twas the dear smile when naebody did mind us, 'Twas the bewitching, sweet, stown glance o' kindness. Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me, Sair do I fear that despair maun abide me ! But though fell fortune should fate us to sever, Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever. Mary, I'm thine wi' a passion sincerest, And thou hast plighted me love o' the dearest, And thou'rt the angel that never can alter, Sooner the sun in his motion would falter. CA' THE EWES. CcC the ewes to the knowes, Cd them whare the heather grows K K 250 CA THE EWES. Cd them whare the burnie rowes, My bonnie dearie ! As I gaed down the water-side, There I met my shepherd lad, He row'd me sweetly in his plaid, And he ca'd me his dearie. Will ye gang down the water-side, And see the waves sae sweetly glide, Beneath the hazels spreading wide? The moon it shines fu' clearly. I was bred up at nae sic school, My shepherd lad, to play the fool, And a' the day to sit in dool, And naebody to see me. Ye sail get gowns and ribbons meet, Cauf-leather shoon upon your feet, And in my arms ye'se lie and sleep, And ye sail be my dearie. If ye'll but stand to what ye've said, I'se gang wi' you, my shepherd lad, And ye may rowe me in your plaid, And I sail be your dearie. While waters wimple to the sea ; While day blinks in the lift sae hie ; Till clay-cauld death sail blin' my e'e, Ye sail be my dearie. 251 O WHA IS SHE THAT LO'ES ME? O wha is she that lo'es me, And has my heart a-keeping 1 O sweet is she that lo'es me, As dews o' simmer weeping, In tears the rose-buds steeping. O that's the lassie d my heart. My lassie ever dearer; O that's the queen d woman-kind. And ne'er a ane to peer her. If thou shalt meet a lassie, In grace and beauty charming, That e'en thy chosen lassie, Erewhile thy breast sae warming, Had ne'er sic powers alarming; If thou hadst heard her talking, And thy attentions plighted, That ilka body talking But her by thee is slighted ; And thou art all delighted ; If thou hast met this fair one ; When frae her thou hast parted, If every other fair one But her thou hast deserted, And thou art broken-hearted ; . O that's the lassie d my heart, My lassie ever dearer; O that's the queen d woman-kind, And neer a ane to peer her. 252 FAREWELL, THOU STREAM. Farewell, thou stream that winding flows Around Eliza's dwelling ! Mem'ry ! spare the cruel throes Within my bosom swelling : Condemn'd to drag a hopeless chain, And yet in secret languish, To feel a fire in ev'ry vein, Nor dare disclose my anguish. Love's veriest wretch, unseen, unknown, I fain my griefs would cover : The bursting sigh, th' unweeting groan, Betray the hapless lover. 1 know thou doom'st me to despair, Nor wilt, nor canst relieve me : But oh, Eliza, hear one prayer, For pity's sake forgive me ! The music of thy voice I heard, Nor wist while it enslaved me ; I saw thine eyes, yet nothing fear'd, Till fears no more had saved me : Th' unwary sailor thus aghast, The wheeling torrent viewing, Mid circling horrors sinks at last In overwhelming ruin. LAST MAY A BRAW WOOER. Tune — " The Lothian Lassie.'" Last May a braw wooer cam' down the lang glen, And sair wi' his love he did deave me ; I said there was naething I hated like men — The deuce gae wi'm, to believe me, believe me, The deuce gae wi'm to believe me ! 254 LAST MAY A BRAW WOOER. He spak' o' the darts in my bonnie black een, And vow'd for my love he was dying ; I said he might die when he liked, for Jean — • The Lord forgi'e me for lying, for lying, The Lord forgi'e me for lying ! A well-stocked mailen, himsel' for the laird. And marriage aff-hand, were his proffers : I never loot on that I kenn'd it, or cared, But thought I might ha'e waur offers, waur offers. But thought I might ha'e waur offers. But what wad ye think 1 in a fortnight or less, The de'il tak' his taste to go near her ! He up the lang loan to my black cousin Bess- Guess ye how, the jad ! I could bear her, could bear her, Guess ye how, the jad ! I could bear her. But a' the niest week as I fretted wi' care, I gaed to the tryste o' Dalgarnock, And wha but my fine fickle lover was there ! I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock, a warlock, I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock. But owre my left shouther I gae him a blink, Lest neebors might say I was saucy : My wooer he caper'd as he'd been in drink, And vow'd I was his dear lassie, dear lassie, And vow'd I was his dear lassie. I spier'd for my cousin fu' couthy and sweet, Gin she had recover' d her hearin', And how her new shoon fit her auld shackl't feet, But, heavens ! how he fell a swearin', a swearin,' But, heavens ! how he fell a swearin'. LAST MAY A BRAW WOOER. 255 He begged, for Gudesake ! I wad be his wife, Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow ; So e'en to preserve the poor body in life, I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow, I think I maun wed him to morrow. MY NANNIE'S AWA\ Tune — " There'll never be peace.'''' Now in her green mantle blithe Nature arrays, And listens the lambkins that bleat o'er the braes, While birds warble welcomes in ilka green shaw ; But to me it's delightless — my Nannie's awa'. The snaw-drap and primrose our woodlands adorn, And violets bathe in the weet o' the morn ; They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw, They mind me o' Nannie — my Nannie's awa'. Thou lav'rock that springs frae the dews of the lawn, The shepherd to warn o' the grey-breaking dawn, And thou, mellow mavis that hails the night-fa', Give over for pity — my Nannie's awa'. Come autumn, sae pensive, in yellow and grey, And soothe me wi' tidings o' nature's decay : The dark, dreary winter, and wild-driving snaw, Alane can delight me — now Nannie's awa'. 2U HERE'S A HEALTH. Tune— " The Bonnets o 1 blue. Here's a health to them that 's awa', Here's a health to them that's awa' ; And wha winna wish guid luck to our cause, May never guid luck be their fa ! It's guid to be merry and wise, It's guid to be honest and true, It's guid to support Caledonia's cause, And bide by the buff and the blue. Here's a health to them that's awa', And here's to them that's awa' ; Here's a health to Charlie, the chief o' the clan, Although that his band be sma\ May liberty meet wi' success ! May prudence protect her fra' evil ! May tyrants and tyranny tine in the mist, And wander their way to the devil ! Here's a health to them that's awa', And here's to them that's awa' ; Here's a health to Tammie, "the Norland laddie, That lives at the lug o' the law ; Here's freedom to him that wad read, Here's freedom to him that wad write ! There's nane ever fear'd that the truth should be heard, But thev wham the truth wad indite. Here's a health to them that's awa', And here's to them that 's awa' ; Here's Maitland and Wycombe, and wha does na like 'em, We'll build in a hole o' the wa'. HERES A HEALTH. 25 Here's timmer that's red at the heart, Here's fruit that's sound at the core ! May he that would turn the buff and blue coat, Be turn'd to the back o' the door. Here's a health to them that's awa', And here's to them that's awa' ; Here's Chieftain M'Leod, a chieftain worth gowd, Though bred amang mountains o' snaw ! Here's friends on baith sides o' the Forth, And friends on baith sides o' the Tweed, And wha would betray old Albion's rights, May they never eat of her bread. O LASSIE, ART THOU SLEEPING YET? Tune — "Let me in this ae night" O lassie, art thou sleeping yet % Or art thou wakin', I would wit % For love has bound me, hand and fit, And I would fain be in, jo. O let me in this ae night, This ae, ae, ae night; For pity's sake this ae night, O rise and let me in, jo. Thou hear'st the winter wind and weet, Nae star blinks through the driving sleet Tak' pity on my weary feet, And shield me frae the rain, jo. L L 2 5 8 O LASSIE, ART THOU SLEEPING YET? The bitter blast that round me blaws, Unheeded howls, unheeded fa's ; The cauldness o' thy heart's the cause Of a' my grief and pain, jo. O let me in this ae flight, This ae, ae, ae night; For pity's sake this ae night, O rise and let me in, jo. HER ANSWER. O tell na' me o' wind and rain, Upbraid na' me wi' cauld disdain ! Gae back the gate ye cam' again, I winna let you in, jo. / tell you Jtow this ae night, This ae, ae, ae night; And a7ice for cC this ae night, I winna let you in, jo. The snellest blast, at mirkest hours, That round the pathless wand'rer pours, Is nocht to what poor she endures, That's trusted faithless man, jo. The sweetest flower that deck'd the mead, Now trodden like the vilest weed : Let simple maid the lesson read, The weird may be her ain, jo. The bird that charm'd his summer-day, Is now the cruel fowler's prey; Let witless, trusting woman say, How aft her fate's the same, jo. 259 IS THERE, FOR HONEST POVERTY. Tune — "For a' that, and a' t/iat." Is there, for honest poverty, That hangs his head, and a' that 1 The coward-slave, we pass him by, We dare be poor for a' that ! For a' that, and a' that, Our toils obscure, and a' that ; The rank is but the guinea's stamp, The man's the gowd for a' that ! What tho' on namely fare we dine, Wear hoddin grey, and a' that; Gi'e fools their silks, and knaves their win A man's a man for a' that ! For a' that, and a' that, Their tinsel show, and a' that ; The honest man, though e'er sae poor, Is king o' men, for a' that. Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord, Wha struts, and stares, and a' that ; Though hundreds worship at his word, He's but a coof for a' that : For a' that, and a' that, His riband, star, and a' that ; The man of independent mind, He looks and laughs at a' that ! A king can mak' a belted knight, A marquis, duke, and a' that ) But an honest man's aboon his might, Guid faith he maunna fa that ! 260 IS THERE, FOR HONEST POVERTY. For a' that, and a' that, Their dignities, and a' that, The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, Are higher ranks than a' that. Then let us pray that come it may — As come it will for a' that — That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, May bear the gree and a' that ; For a' that, and a' that, It's comin' yet for a' that, That man to man, the world o'er, Shall brothers be for a' that. B®£ DAINTY DAVIE. Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers, To deck her gay, green-spreading bowers ; And now comes in my happy hours, To wander wi' my Davie. Meet me on the warlock knowe, Dainty Davie, dainty Davie; There Pil spend the day wi' yon, My ain dear dainty Davie. The crystal waters round us fa', The merry birds are lovers a', The scented breezes round us blaw, A wandering wi' my Davie. ^/•%-~ When purple morning starts the hare, To steal upon her early fare, Then through the dews I will repair, To meet my faithfu' Davie. When day, expiring in the west, The curtain draws o' nature's rest, I flee to his arms I lo'e best, And that's my ain dear Davie. 262 CALEDONIA. Tune — " Humours of Glen!'' Their groves o' sweet myrtles let foreign lands reckon, Where bright-beaming summers exalt their perfume, Far clearer to me yon lone glen o' green breckan, Wi' the burn stealing under the lang yellow broom. Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers, Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk lowly unseen : For there, lightly tripping amang the wild flowers, A-listening the linnet, aft wanders my Jean. Though rich is the breeze in their gay sunny valleys, And cauld Caledonia's blast on the wave ; Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud palace, What are they ? The haunt of the tyrant and slave ! The slave's spicy forests, and gold bubbling fountains, The brave Caledonian views wi' disdain ; He wanders as free as the winds of his mountains, Save love's willing fetters, the chains o' his Jean. THIS IS NO MY AIN LASSIE. Tune — " This is no my ain House" O this is no my ain lassie, Fair though the lassie be; O weel ken I my ain lassie, Kind love is in her