She has an ee-she has but ane,
The cat has twa the very colour;
Five rusty teeth, forbye a stump,

A clapper-tongue wad deave a miller:
A whiskin' beard about her mou',

Her nose and chin they threaten itherSic a wife as Willie had,

I wadna gie a button for her.

She's bough-houghed, she's hein-shinned,
Ae limpin' leg a hand-breed shorter ;
She's twisted right, she's twisted left,
To balance fair in ilka quarter:
She has a hump upon her breast,
The twin o' that upon her shouther-
Sic a wife as Willie had,

I wadna gie a button for her.

Auld baudrons by the ingle sits,
And wi' her loof her face a-washin';
But Willie's wife is na sae trig,

She dights her grunzie wi' a hushion;
Her walie nieves like midden-creels,
Her face wad fyle the Logan-Water-
Sic a wife as Willie had,

I wadna gie a button for her.

eye, one two besides

would, deafen

each other

breadth

each

shoulder

cat, fire palm

not so tidy

wipes, mouth, cushion

huge fists would dirty

FLOW GENTLY, SWEET AFTON.

TUNE-The Yellow-haired Laddie.

FLOW gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,
Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise;
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 marked 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 evening 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 flowerets she stems thy clear wave.

green fields

birch

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.

THE SMILING SPRING.

TUNE-The Bonny 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 evening gilds the ocean's swell;
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.

TUNE-The Weavers' March.

WHERE Cart rins rowin to the sea,

rolling

By mony a flower and spreading tree,

many

There lives a lad, the lad for me,

He is a gallant weaver.

OI had wooers aucht or nine,
They gied me rings and ribbons fine;
And I was feared my heart would tine,
And I gied it to the weaver.

My daddie signed my tocher-band,
To gie the lad that has the land;
But to my heart I'll add my hand,
And gie it to the weaver.

While birds rejoice in leafy bowers;
While bees delight in opening flowers;
While corn grows green in simmer showers,
I'll love my gallant weaver.

eight

gave

afraid, be lost

dowry-bond

give

summer

R

SHE'S FAIR AND FAUSE.

TUNE-She's Fair and Fause.

SHE'S fair and fause that causes my smart,

I loed her meikle and lang;

She's broken her vow, she's broken my heart,
And I may e'en gae hang.

A coof cam in wi' routh o' gear,
And I hae 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!

false loved, much

go

fool, abundance, wealth

have lost

world's

go

wonder

An angel form's fa'n to thy share,

"Twad been ower meikle to gien thee mairI mean an angel mind.

'twould, too,

[given, more

The castle o' Montgomery,

Green be your woods, and fair your flowers,
Your waters never drumlie!

winning

loved

next

lose

blessings

so long, have

world's much more

muddy

There Simmer first unfauld your 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;

summer, unfold longest

birch

For dear to me, as light and life,

Was my sweet Highland Mary.

That nipt my flower sae early!

Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay,

cold

AULD ROB MORRIS.

THERE'S auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen,
He's the king o' guid fellows and wale o' 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 lambs on the lea,
And dear to my heart as the light to my ee.

But oh! she's an heiress, auld Robin's a laird,
And my daddie has nought but a cot-house and yard;
A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed,
The wounds I must hide that will soon be my deid.
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.

O had she but been of a lower degree,
I then might hae hoped she wad smiled upon me!
O how past descriving had then been my bliss,
As now my distraction no words can express !

dwells

choice gold, oxen

one

pasture eye

must not death

none

gone

alone, ghost would

have describing

DUNCAN GRAY.

DUNCAN Gray cam here to woo,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't,

On blithe Yule-night when we were fou',

Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

Maggie coost her head fu' high,

Looked asklent and unco skeigh,

Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh;
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

Duncan fleeched, and Duncan prayed;
Ha, ha, the wooing o't;

Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

Duncan sighed baith out and in,
Grat his een haith bleert and blin',
Spak o' lowpin' owre a linn;

Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

came

Christmas

raised

sideways, very disdainful made, aloof

flattered

(a rock in the Clyde)

both

wept, eyes both jumping