Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, Grat his een baith bleer't and blin', Spak o' lowpin owre a linn; Ha, ha, &c. Time and chance are but a tide, Slighted love is sair to bide, How it comes let doctors tell, Meg grew sick-as he grew heal. Something in her bosom wrings, And O, her een, they spak sic things! Duncan was a lad o' grace, Ha, ha, &c. Maggie's was a piteous case, Duncan could na be her death, SONG. 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 dearest bands untwining? Or why sae sweet a flower as love Depend on fortune's shining? This warld's wealth when I think on, Her een sae bonnie blue betray O wha can prudence think upon, O why, &c. How blest the humble cotter's fate! O why should fate sic pleasure have, GALLA WATER. THERE's braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes, 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 hae nae meikle tocher; Yet rich in kindest, truest love, We'll 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! LORD GREGORY. O MIRK, mirk is this midnight hour, An exile frae her father's ha', At least some pity on me shaw, If love it may na be. Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grove, By bonnie Irwine side, Where first I own'd that virgin love I lang, lang had denied. How aften didst thou pledge and vow, Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory, Ye mustering thunders from above, But spare and pardon my fause love, MARY MORISON. 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 through the lighted ha', To thee my fancy took its wing, I sat, but neither heard or saw: Though this was fair, and that was braw, O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace, A thought ungentle canna be The thought o' Mary Morison. 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 bringst 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. 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 O! 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, But, dying, believe that my Willie's my ain! JESSIE. TUNE-"Bonny Dundee." TRUE hearted was he, the sad swain o' the Yarrow, O fresh is the rose in the gay, dewy morning, Enthroned in her e'en he delivers his law; WHEN WILD WAR'S DEADLY BLAST WAS BLAWN. AIR" The mill mill O." WHEN wild war's deadly blast was blawn, And gentle peace returning, Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless, And mony a widow mourning, I left the lines and tented field, A leal, light heart was in my breast, I cheery on did wander. I thought upon the banks o' Coil, I thought upon the witching smile That's dearest to thy bosom ! Sae wistfully she gazed on me, And lovelier was than ever : Forget him shall I never: Ye freely shall partake it, She sank within my arms, and cried, I am the man; and thus may still The wars are o'er, and I'm come hame, Thou'rt welcome to it dearly! For gold the merchant ploughs the main, The sodger's wealth is honour; SONG. TUNE-"Logan Water." O LOGAN, Sweetly didst thou glide, That day I was my Willie's bride; And years sinsyne has o'er us run, Like Logan to the simmer sun. But now thy flowery 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 The bees hum round the breathing flowers: Within yon milk-white hawthorn bush, O wae upon you, men o' state, BONNIE JEAN. THERE was a lass, and she was fair, And aye she wrought her mammie's wark, The blithest bird upon the bush 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 o' a' the glen; And he had owsen, sheep, and kye, And wanton naigies nine or ten. He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryste, 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, But did na Jeanie's heart loup light, And did na 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, And whisper'd thus his tale o' love: O Jeanie fair, I lo'e thee dear; O canst thou think to fancy me! Or wilt thou leave thy mammie's cot, And learn to tent the farms wi' me? At barn or byre thou shalt na 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? She had nae will to say him na: At length she blush'd a sweet consent, And love was aye between them twa. Now's the day and now's the hour; Wha will be a traitor knave? Traitor coward! turn and flee! Wha for Scotland's king and law Freedom's sword will strongly draw, Freeman stand, or freeman fa', Caledonian on wi' me! By oppression's woes and pains! FOR A' THAT, AND A' THAT. Is there, for honest poverty, That hangs his head, and a' that; Our toil's obscure and a' that, What though on hamely fare we dine, Wear hoddin gray, and a' that; Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, 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, Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord, Wha struts, and stares, and a' that; His riband, star, and a' that, Their dignities, and a' that, That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, For a' that, and a' that, It's coming yet, for a' that, That man to man, the warld o'er, Shall brothers be for a' that. SCOTTISH BALLAD. TUNE-"The Lothian Lassie." LAST May a braw wooer cam down the lang glen, I said there was nothing I hated like men; He spak o' the darts in my bonnie black e'en, I said he might die when he liked, for Jean; A weel-stocked mailen, himsel for the laird, I never loot on that I kenn'd it, or cared, But thought I might hae waur offers, waur offers, But what wad ye think? in a fortnight or less, Guess ye how, the jad! I could bear her. I spier'd for my cousin fu' couthy and sweet, And how her new shoon fit her auld shachl't feet, He begg'd, for Gudesake! I wad be his wife, I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow, SONG. TUNE-"Here's a health to them that's awa, hiney." CHORUS. Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear, ALTHOUGH thou maun never be mine, 'Tis sweeter for thee despairing, Than aught in the world beside Jessy! I mourn through the gay, gaudy day, TUNE-" Miss Admiral Gordon's Strathspey." Or a' the airts the wind can blaw, I dearly like the west, For there the bonnie lassie lives, The lassie I lo'e 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 hear her in the tunefu' birds, I hear her charm the air: There's not a bonnie flower that springs, And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. The lily it is pure, and the lily it is fair, And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 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 draps o' dew shall be her e'en 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 of 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. 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; THE BANKS O' DOON. 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! |