THOU HAST VOW'D BY THY FAITH, MY

JEANIE.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM,

Thou hast vow'd by thy faith, my Jeanie,
By that pretty white hand of thine,
And by all the lowing stars in heaven,
That thou wad aye be mine:

And I have sworn by my faith, my Jeanie,
And by that kind heart of thine,
By all the stars sown thick o'er heaven,
That thou shalt aye be mine.

Foul fa' the hands wad loose sic bands,
And the heart wad part sic love;
But there's nae hand can loose the band,
But the finger of Him above.

Though the wee wee cot maun be my bield,
And my clothing e'er sae mean,

I should lap up rich in the faulds of love
Heaven's armfu' of my Jean.

Thy white arm wad be a pillow to me,

Far softer than the down;

And love wad winnow o'er us his kind kind wings, And sweetly we'd sleep and soun'.

Come here to me, thou lass whom I love,
Come here and kneel wi' me,

The morning is full of the presence of God,
And I cannot pray but thee.

The wind is sweet amang the new flowers,
The wee birds sing saft on the tree,
Our goodman sits in the bonnie sunshine,
And a blithe auld bodie is he;

The Beuk maun be ta'en when he comes hame,

Wi' the holie psalmodie,

And I will speak of thee when I pray,
And thou maun speak of me.

MY NANIE-O.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.

Red rowes the Nith 'tween bank and brae,
Mirk is the night and rainie-o,

Though heaven and earth should mix in storm, and see my Nanie-o;

I'll gang

My Nanie-o, my Nanie-o;

My kind and winsome Nanie-o,

She holds

my heart in love's dear bands, And nane can do't but Nanie-o.

In preaching time sae meek she stands,
Sae saintly and sae bonnie-o,

I cannot get ae glimpse of grace

For thieving looks at Nanie-o; My Nanie-o, my Nanie-o;

The world's in love with Nanie-o; That heart is hardly worth the wear That wadnae love my Nanie-o.

My breast can scarce contain my heart,
When dancing she moves finely-o;

I

guess what heaven is by her eyes,

They sparkle so divinely-o;

My Nanie-o, my Nanie-o;

The flower o' Nithsdale's Nanie-o;

Love looks frae 'neath her long brown hair, And says, I dwell wi' Nanie-o.

Tell not, thou star at gray day light,
O'er Tinwald-top so bonnie-o,
My footsteps 'mang the morning dew
When coming frae my Nanie-o;
My Nanie-o, my Nanie-o;

None ken o' me and Nanie-o;

The stars and moon may tell't aboon,

They winna wrong my

Nanie-o.

THE ROSE OF SHARON.

Oh saw ye

JAMES HOGG.

the rose of the east

In the valley of Sharon that grows? Ye daughters of Judah, how blest

To breathe in the sweets of my rose. Come, tell me, if yet she's at rest

On her couch with the lilies inwove? Or if wantons the breeze with her breast? For my heart it is sick for my love.

I charge you, ye virgins unveiled,

That stray 'mong the pomegranate trees, By the roes and the hinds of the field, That

ye wake not my love till she please. The garden with flowers is in blow, And roses unnumbered are thereThen tell how thy love we shall know, For the daughters of Zion are fair.

A bed of frankincense her cheek;

A wreath of sweet myrrh is her hand; Her eye the bright gem that they seek By the rivers and streams of the land;

Her smile from the morning she wins;
Her teeth are the lambs on the hill;
Her breasts two young roes that are twins,
And feed in the valleys at will.

As the cedar that smiles o'er the wood;
As the lily mid shrubs of the heath;
As the tower of Damascus that stood
Overlooking the hamlets beneath;
As the moon that in glory you see,

Mid the stars and the planets above-
Even so among women is she,

And my bosom is ravished with love.

Return with the evening star,

And our couch on Amana shall be:

From Shinar and Hermon afar,

Thou the mountain of leopards shalt see.

O Shulamite! turn to thy rest,

Where the olive o'ershadows the landAs the roe of the desert make haste, For the singing of birds is at hand.