SONGS. HERE AWA, THERE AWA, &c. H Air.-HERE AWA, THERE AWA. ERE awa, there awa, wandering Here awa, there awa, haud awa hame; 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. A Reft, ye wild ftorms, in the cave of flumbers, your 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 oh, if he's faithless, and minds na his Nanie, BRAW LADS ON YARROW BRAES. B Air.-GALLA WATER. RAW, braw lads on Yarrow braes, Ye wander thro' the blooming heather; But Yarrow braes, nor Ettrick fhaws, Can match the lads o' Galla water. But there is ane, a fecret anę, Aboon them a' I loo him better; And I'll be his, and he'll be mine, Altho' his daddie was nae laird, And tho' I hae na meikle tocher, Yet rich in kindeft, trueft 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 blifs o' mutual love, O that's the chiefeft warld's treasure! THERE'S AULD ROB MORRIS, &c. T Air.-AULD ROB MORRIS. HERE'S auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen, He's the king of gude fellows, and wale of auld men; He has gowd in his coffers, he has sheep, he has kine, And ae bonnie laffie, his darling and mine. She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May, She's sweet as the ev'ning amang the new hay; As blythe and as artless as the lambs on the lea, And dear to my heart as the light to my e'e. But oh, fhe's an heirefs, 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 muft hide which will foon be my dead. 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 figh as my heart it wad burst in my breast. O had the but been of a lower degree, I then might hae hop'd she wad smil'd upon me! O, how past descriving had then been my bliss, As now my diftraction no words can express! OH, OPEN THE DOOR, &c. AS ALTERED BY ROBERT BURNS. H, open Ο the door, fome pity to fhew, Oh, open the door to me, Oh; Tho' thou haft been falfe, I'll ever prove true, Oh, cold is the blast upon my pale cheek, The froft that freezes the life at my breast, The wan moon is setting behind the white wave, False friends, falfe love, farewel! for more, She has open'd the door, fhe has open'd it wide, She fees his pale corfe on the plain, Oh; My true love! she cried,—and funk down by his fide, Never to rise again, Oh! |