A RED RED ROSE.' Tune-" Low down in the Brume." O, MY luve's like a red red rose, That's sweetly play'd in tune. As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, And fare thee weel, my only luve, A ROSE-BUD BY MY EARLY WALK. A SOUTHLAND JENNY. THIS is a popular Ayrshire song, though the notes were never taken down before.-It, well as many of the ballad tunes in this collection, was written from Mrs. Burns's voice. A SOUTHLAND Jenny that was right bonny, But blinks o' her beauty, and hopes o' her siller, Come awa then, my Norland laddie, Ye lasses o' the South, ye're a' for dressin; Should I marry ane as dink as a lady. I maun hae a wife that will rise i' the mornin, scauldin ; THIS song I composed on Miss Jenny Cruikshank, only child to my worthy friend Mr. Cruddle a' the milk, and keep the house a William Cruikshank of the High-School, Edin-Tulzie wi' her neebors, and learn at my minnie, burgh. The air is by David Sillar, quondam A Nurland Jocky maun hae a Norland Jenny. merchant, now schoolmaster, in Irvine: the Davie to whom I address my poetical epistle. A ROSE-BUD by my early walk, Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fled, Within the bush, her covert nest She soon shall see her tender brood, So thou, dear bird, young Jeany fair, That tents thy early morning. So thou, sweet rose-bud, young and gay, That watched thy early morning. My father's only dochter, wi' farms and siller Wad be ill bestowed upon sic a clownish body; Blest wi' content, and milk, and mealO leeze me on my spinning-wheel! On ilka hand the burnies trot, The sun blinks kindly in the biel, On lofty aiks the cushats wail, Wi' sma' to sell, and less to buy, Ir is remarkable of this air, that it is the confine of that country where the greatest part of our Lowland music, (so far as from the title, words, &c. we can localize it), has been composed. From Craigie-burn, near Moffat, until one reaches the West Highlands, we have scarcely one slow air of any antiquity. The song was composed on a passion which a Mr. Gillespie, a particular friend of mine, had for a Miss Lorimer, afterwards a Mrs. Whelpdale. The young lady was born at Craigieburn wood. The chorus is part of an old foolish ballad. Beyond thee, dearie, beyond thee, dearie, BLYTHE HAE I BEEN ON YON HILL Tune-" Liggeram cosh." BLYTHE hae I been on yon hill, As the lambs before me; As the breeze flew o'er me: Care and anguish seize me. Heavy, heavy is the task, Hopeless love declaring: Trembling, I dow nocht but glowr, Sighing, dumb, despairing! If she winna ease the thraws, In my bosom swelling; Underneath the grass-green sod, Soon maun be my dwelling. She tripped by the banks of Eru, Her bonny face it was as meek As ony lamb upon a lee; The evening sun was ne'er sae sweet As was the blink o' Phemie's e'e. Blythe, &c. The Highland hill's I've wander❜d wide, BONNIE WEE THING, Tune-" Bonnie Wee Thing." BONNIE wee thing, cannie wee thing, 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, To adore thee is my duty, BONNIE LESLEY. Tune The Collier's bonnie Lassie. O, SAW ye bonnie Lesley, As she gaed o'er the Border? She's gane, like Alexander, To spread her conquests farther. To see her is to love her, And love but her for ever; For nature made her what she is, And never made anither! Thou art a queen, fair Lesley, The hearts o' men adore thee. Or aught that wad belang thee; He'd look into thy bonnie face, And say, I canna wrang thee! The Powers aboon will tent thee, Misfortune shanna steer thee; Thou'rt like themselves sae lovely, That ill they'll ne'er let near thee. Return again, fair Lesley, Return to Caledonie ! That we may brag we hae a lass BONNIE JEAN. Tune-" 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 maminie's wark, Had ne'er a lighter heart than she. 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 tryste, He danced wi' Jeanie on the down; And lang ere witless Jeanie wist, Her heart was tint, her peace was stown. Written in honour of Miss Lesley Baillie of Aytshire, (now Mrs. Cumming of Logie), when on her way to England, through Dumfries, |