Shall I, like a fool, quoth he, She may gae to-France for me! How it comes let doctors tell, Meg grew sick—as he grew well, Something in her bosom wrings, And O, her een, they spak sic things! Duncan was a lad o' grace, Maggie's was a piteous case, Duncan couldna be her death, O POORTITH. TUNE I HAD A HORSE." O POORTITH cauld, and restless love, O why should fate sic pleasure have, This warld's wealth when I think on, Its pride, and a' the lave o't; That he should be the slave o't. Her een sae bonie blue betray O wha can prudence think upon, How blest the humble cotter's fate! O why should fate sic pleasure have, GALLA WATER. THERE'S braw braw lads on Yarrow braes, That wander thro' the blooming heather; But Yarrow braes nor Ettrick shaws, Can match the lads o' Galla Water. But there is ane, a secret ane, Altho' his daddie was nae laird, We'll tent our flocks by Galla Water. It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth, O that's the chiefest warld's treasure! LORD GREGORY. O MIRK, mirk is this midnight hour, A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tow'r, An exile frae her father's ha', At least some pity on me shaw, If love it mayna be. Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grove, By bonie Irwine side, Where 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! Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory, And flinty is thy breast: Thou dart of heaven that flashest by, Ye mustering thunders from above, But spare, and pardon my fause love, OPEN THE door to mE, OH! WITH ALTERATIONS. OH, open the door, some pity to shew, Tho' thou hast been false, I'll ever prove true, Cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek, The wan moon is setting behind the white wave, And time is setting with me, Oh! False friends, false love, farewell! for mair I'll ne'er trouble them, nor thee, Oh! She has open'd the door, she has open'd it wide; She sees his pale corse on the plain, Oh! My true love, she cried, and sank down by his side, Never to rise again, Oh ! MEG O' THE MILL. AIR-'O, BONIE LASS, WILL YOU LIE IN A BARRACK.' O KEN ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten, The Miller was strappin, the Miller was ruddy; The Miller he hecht her a heart leal and loving; O wae on the siller, it is sae prevailing ; JESSIE. TUNE- BONIE 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: |