Nae mair, false Jamie, sing nae mair, To see his friend his love betray: Blaw saft, ye gales, round Jockie's head, THE BRAES O' GLENIFFER. TUNE-"Bonnie Dundee." KEEN blaws the win' o'er the braes o' Gleniffer, Then ilk thing around us was blythsome and cheerie, Then ilk thing around us was bonnie and braw; Now naething is heard but the wind whistling drearie, And naething is seen but the wide-spreading snaw. The trees are a' bare, and the birds mute and dowie; They shake the cauld drift frae their wings as they flee; And chirp out their plaints, seeming wae for my John nie; "Tis winter wi' them, and 'tis winter wi' me. Yon cauld sleety cloud skiffs alang the bleak mountain, That murmur'd sae sweet to my laddie and me. nnnnn O STAY, SWEET WARBLING WOOD-LARK. O STAY, Sweet warbling wood-lark, stay, Thy soothing fond complaining. Say, was thy little mate unkind, And heard thee as the careless wind? THE LILY OF THE VALE. TUNE-"Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon." THE lily of the vale is sweet, And sweeter still the op'ning rose; Than any blooming flower that blows. By Forth, sweet Forth's meandering tide. There will we walk at early dawn, HERE'S A HEALTH TO ANE I LOO DEAR. TUNE-" Here's a health to them that's awa." Here's a health to ane I loo dear, Here's a health to ane I loo dear; Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers meet, And soft as their parting tear—Jessy! ALTHO' thou maun never be mine, Altho' even hope is denied ; 'Tis sweeter for thee despairing, Than aught in the world beside-Jessy! Here's a health, &c. I mourn thro' the gay, gaudy day, As, hopeless, I muse on thy charms; I guess by the dear angel smile, I guess by the love-rolling ee; But, why urge the tender confession, 'Gainst fortune's fell cruel decree-Jessy! * CAPTAIN O'KAINE. Row saftly thou stream, thro' the wild spangled valley, And waste ilka moment, sad, cheerless, alane: Each sweet little treasure o' heart-cheering pleasure, Far fled frae my bosom wi' Captain O'Kaine. * BURNS, in a letter to Mr. THOMSON, written a few weeks previous to his death, says, "I once mentioned to you an air which I have long admired-Here's a health to them that's awa, hiney, but I forget if you took any notice of it. I have just been trying to suit it with verses; and I beg leave to recommend the air to your attention once more. I have only begun it." In the letter to Mr. THOMSON, the first three stanzas only are given, and Mr. THOMSON supposed our poet had never gone farther. Among his MSS. however, was found the fourth stanza, which completes this exquisite song, the last finished offspring of his muse. Fu' aft on thy banks have we pu'd the wild gowan, And sair is my heart wi' the rigour o❜ pain; VITTORIA. TUNE-"Whistle o'er the lave o't." SING a' ye bards wi' loud acclaim, Triumphant freedom smil'd on Spain, Let blust'rin' Suchet crouslie crack, If e'er they meet their worthy King, Gie truth an' honour to the Dane, Gie Britons a Vittoria. The English rose was ne'er sae red, An' smil'd upon Vittoria. |