The bursting sigh, th' unweeting groan
Betray the hopeless lover.
I know my doom must be despair,
Thou wilt, nor canst relieve me ;
But oh, Maria, hear one prayer,
For pity's sake forgive me.

The music of thy tongue I heard,

Nor wist while it enslav'd me;
I saw thine eyes, yet nothing fear'a,
'Till fears no more had saved me.
The unwary sailor thus aghast,

The wheeling torrent viewing; 'Mid circling horrors yields at last To overwhelming ruin.

To thee my fancy took its wing

I sat, but neither heard nor saw.
Though this was fair, and that was braw,
And you the toast o' a' the town,
I sigh'd, and said amang them a',
Ye are na Mary Morison.

O, Mary, canst thou wreck his peace,
Wha for thy sake wad gladly dee?
Or canst thou break that heart of his,
Whase only faut is loving thee?
If love for love thou wilt na gie,
At least be pity to me shown;
A thocht ungentle canna be
The thocht of Mary Morison.

But did you see my dearest Chloris,

In simplicity's array;

Lovely as yonder sweet opening flower is, .Shrinking from the gaze of day.

O then the heart alarming,

And all resistless charming,

MEG O' THE MILL.

Tune-" O bonnie lass, will you lie in a barrack.”
O, KEN ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten,
An' ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten?
She has gotten a coof wi' a claut o' siller,
And broken the heart o' the barley miller.

The miller was strappin', the miller was ruddy;
A heart like a lord, and a hue like a lady:
The laird was a wuddiefu' bleerit knurl;
She's left the guid fallow, and ta'en the churl.

The miller he hecht her a heart leal and loving:
The laird did address her wi' matter mair mo-

ving;

A fine pacing-horse wi' a clear-chain'd bridle,
A whip by her side, and a bonny side-saddle.

O wae on the siller, it's sae prevailing ;
And wae on the love that's âx'd on a mailin'!
A tocher's nae word in a true lover's parle.

ling soul!

Care-untroubled, joy-surrounded, Gaudy day to you is dear.

Gentle night, do thou befriend me,
Downy sleep the curtain draw;
Spirits kind, again attend me,
Talk of him that's far awa!

MY BONNIE MARY.

MY LADY'S GOWN THERE'S GAIRS UPON'T.

My lady's gown there's gairs upon't,
And gowden flowers sae rare upon't;
But Jenny's jimps and jirkinet,
My lord thinks muckle mair upon't.

My lord a-hunting he is gane,

But hounds or hawks wi' him are nane; By Colin's cottage lies his game,

If Colin's Jenny be at hame.

My lady's white, my lady's red,

of the song is old, the rest mine."

Go fetch to me a pint o' wine,
An' fill it in a silver tassie;
That I may drink before I go,

A service to my bonnie lassie ;
The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith;

Fu' lond the wind blaws frae the ferry;

The ship rides by the Berwick-law,
And I maun lea'e my bonnie Mary.

The trumpets sound, the banners fly,
The glittering spears are ranked ready;
The shouts o' war are heard afar,

The battle closes thick and bloody;
But it's not the roar o' sea or shore

Wad make me langer wish to tarry ; Nor shouts o' war that's heard afar, It's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary.

But her ten-pund lands o' tocher gude Were a' the charms his lordship lo'ed.

Out o'er yon moor, out o'er yon moss,
Whare gor-cocks through the heather pass.
There wons auld Colin's bonny lass,
A lily in a wilderness.

Sae sweetly move her genty limbs,
Like music notes o' lover's hymns:
The diamond dew is her een sae blue,
Where laughing love sae wanton swins.

My lady's dink, my lady's drest,
The flower and fancy o' the west;
But the lassie that man lo'es the best,
O that's the lass to mak him blest.

MY NANNIE, O.
Tune-" My Nannie, O."

BEHIND yon hills where Stinchar flows,
Mang moors an' mosses many, O,
The wintry sun the day has clos'd,
And I'll awa to Nannie, O.

The westland wind blaws loud an' shrill;
The night's baith mirk and rainy, O;
But I'll get my plaid and out I'll steal,
An' owre the hills to Nannie, O.

My Nannie's charming, sweet, an' young;
Na' artfu' wiles to win ye, O;
May ill befa' the flattering tongue

That wad beguile my Nannie, O.
Her face is fair, her heart is true,
As spotless as she's bonnie, O:
The opening gowan, wet wi' dew,
Nae purer is than Nannie, O.

A country lad is my degree,

An' few there be that ken me, O; But what care I how few they be, I'm welcome aye to Nannie, O. My riches a' 's my penny-fee,

An' I maun guide it cannie, O;
But warl's gear ne'er troubles me,
My thoughts are a' my Nannie, O.

Our auld Guidman delights to view
His sheep an' kye thrive bonnie, O;
But I'm as blythe that hauds his pleugh,
An' has nae care but Nannie, O.
Come weel, come woe, I care na by,
I'll take what Heaven will sen' me, O;
Nae ither care in life hae I,

But live, an' love my Nannie, O.

MY PEGGY'S FACE.

Mr Peggy's face, my Peggy's form
The frost of Hermit age might warm;
My Peggy's worth, my Peggy's mind,
Might charm the first of human kind :
I love my Peggy's angel air,
Her face so truly, heavenly fair,
Her native grace so void of art,
But I adore my Peggy's heart,

The lily's hue, the rose's dye, The kindling lustre of an eye; Who but owns their magic sway, Who but knows they all decay! 'The tender thrill, the pitying tear, The generous purpose, nobly dear, The gentle look, that rage disarms, These are all immortal charms.

I ONCE was a maid, tho' I canna tell when,
And still my delight is in proper young men ;
Some one of a troop of dragoons was my daddie,-
No wonder I'm fond of a sodger laddie.
Sing, Lal de lal, &c.

The first of my loves was a swaggering blade,
To rattle the thundering drum was his trade;
His leg was so tight, and his cheek was so ruddy,
Transported I was with my sodger laddie.
Sing, Lal de lal, &c.

But the godly old chaplain left him in the lurch,
The sword I forsook for the sake of the church,
He ventur'd the soul, and I risked the body,
'Twas then I prov'd false to my sodger laddie.
Sing, Lal de lal, &c.

But the peace it reduc'd me to beg in despair,
Till I met my old boy at Cunningham fair;
His ray regimental they flutter'd so gaudy,
My heart it rejoic'd at my sodger laddie.
Sing, Lal de lal, &c.

And now I have liv'd-I know not how long,
And still I can join in a cup or a song;
But whilst with both hands I can hold the glass
steady,

Here's to thee, my hero, my sodger laddie.
Sing, Lal de lal, &c.

MY SPOUSE NANCIE.

Tune-" My Jo, Janet."
HUSBAND, husband, cease your strife,
Nor longer idly rave, Sir;
Though I am your wedded wife,
Yet I'm not your slave, Sir.

One of two must still obey,
Nancie, Nancie ;

Is it man or woman, say,

My spouse Nancie ?

If 'tis still the lordly word,
Service and obedience;
I'll desert my sovereign lord,
And so good-bye allegiance
Sad will I be so bereft,
Nancie, Nancie;

Yet I'll try to make a soift, My spouse Nancie.

My poor heart then break it must,
My last hour I'm near it;
When you lay me in the dust,
Think-think how you will bear it.

I will hope and trust in Heaven,
Nancie, Nancie,
Strength to bear it will be given,
My spouse Nancie.

Well, Sir, from the silent dead,
Still I'll try to daunt you;
Ever round your midnight bed
Horrid sprites shall haunt you.

I'll wed another like my dear
Nancie, Nancie ;
Then all hell will fly for fear,
My spouse Nancie !

MY TOCHER'S THE JEWEL.

O MEIKLE thinks my luve o' my beauty,
And meikle thinks my luve o' my kin;
But little thinks my luve I ken brawlie,

My tocher's the jewel has charms for him. It's a' for the apple he'll nourish the tree;

It's a' for the hinney he'll cherish the bee, My laddie's sae meikle in luve wi' the siller, He canna hae luve to spare for me.

Your proffer o' luve's an arle penny,

My tocher's the bargain ye wad buy; But an' ye be crafty, I am cunnin,

Sae ye wi' anither your fortune maun try. Ye're like to the timmer o' yon rotten wood, Ye're like to the bark o' yon rotten tree, Ye'll slip frae me like a knotless thread, And ye'll crack your credit wi' mae nor me.

MY WIFE'S A WINSOME WEE THING.

Tune--" My wife's a wanton wee thing."
SHX is a winsome wee thing,
She is a handsome wee thing,
She is a bonnie wee thing,

This sweet wee wife of mine!

I never saw a fairer,

I never loo'd a dearer;

And neist my heart I'll wear her,

For fear my jewel tine.

She is a winsome wee thing,
She is a handsome wee thing,
She is a bonnie wee thing,

This sweet wee wife o' mine,

The warld's wrack we share o't,
The warstle and the care o't;
W' her I'll blythely bear it,
And think my lot divine.

NAE-BODY.

I HAE a wife o' my ain,
I'll partake wi' nae-body;
I'll tak cuckold frae nane,

I'll gie cuckold to nae-body.

I hae a penny to spend,
There-thanks to nae-body;
I hae naething to lend,
I'll borrow frae nae-body.

I am nae-body's lord,

I'll be slave to nae-body; I hae a guid braid sword, I'll tak dunts frae nae-body.

I'll be merry and free,

I'll be sad for nae-body; If nae-body care for me, I'll care for nae-body.

NANCY.

THINZ am I, my faithful fair,
Thine, my lovely Nancy;
Ev'ry pulse along my veins,
Ev'ry roving fancy.

To thy bosom lay my heart,

There to throb and languish ; Tho' despair had wrung its core, That would heal its anguish.

Take away these rosy lips,

Rich with balmy treasure: Turn away thine eyes of love, Lest I die with pleasure.

What is life when wanting love? Night without a morning: Love's the cloudless summer sun Nature gay adorning.

NOW SPRING HAS CLAD THE GROVE IN GREEN.

Now spring has clad the grove in green, And strew'd the lea wi' flowers;

The furrow'd waving corn is seen

Rejoice in fostering showers ;

NOW WESTLIN' WINDS.

Tune-" I had a horse, I had nae mair.”

Now westlin' winds, and slaughtering guns,
Bring autumn's pleasant weather;
The muircock springs, on whirring wings,
Amang the blooming heather.

Now waving grain, wide o'er the plain,
Delights the weary farmer;

And the moon shine's bright, when I rove at night,

To muse upon my charmer.

The partridge loves the fruitful fells;
The plover loves the mountains;
The woodcock haunts the lonely dells;
The soaring hern the fountains.
Through lofty groves the cushat roves,

The path of man to shun it;
The hazel bush o'erhangs the thrush,
The spreading thorn the linnet.

Thus every kind their pleasure find,
The savage and the tender;
Some social join, and leagues combine;
Some solitary wander:
Avaunt, away! the cruel sway,

Tyrannic man's dominion;
The sportman's joy, the murdering cry,
The flutt'ring, gory pinion.

But, Peggy dear, the evening's clear,
Thick flies the skimming swallow;
The sky is blue, the fields in view,
All fading green and yellow :
Come let us stray our gladsome way,

And view the charms of nature;
The rustling corn, the fruited thorn,

And every happy creature.

We'll gently walk, and sweetly talk,

Till the silent moon shine clearly; I'll grasp thy waist, and fondly press't, And swear I love thee dearly. Not vernal showers to budding flowers, Not autumn to the farmer, So dear can be as thou to me, My fair, my lovely charmer!