« ПретходнаНастави »
THE HIGHLAND LASSIE.
But aft they're sour and unco saucy;
bonnie Highland lassie,
But bloom of youth still bless my lassie.
Wha mak their cheeks wi' patches mottie,
O my bonnie, fc.
Whene'er I kiss and court my dawtie,
O my bonnie, 8c.
Wi' cockit gun and ratches tenty,
lass on dishes dainty. O my bonnie, &c. There's nane shall dare, by deed or word,
'Gainst her to wag a tongue or finger,
O my bonnie, &c.
And berries ripe, invite my treasure
O my bonnie, fc.
MEG O' THE MILL. TUNE—“O bonnie lass will ye 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 miler. The miller was strappin', the miller was ruddy; A heart like a lord, and a hue like a lady: The laird was a widdiefu', bleerit knurl: She's left the guid fellow, and ta’en the churl. The miller he hecht her, a heart leal and loving: The laird did address her wi' matter mair moving; A fine pacing horse, wi' a clear chained bridle, A whip by her side, and a bonnie side-saddle. O wae on the siller, it is sae prevailing; And wae on the love that is fix'd on a mailin'! A tocher's nae word in a true lover's parle, But, gie me my love, and a fig for the warl !
THE LEA RIG.
Tells bughtin-time is near, my jo,
Return sae dowf and wearie, 0;
Wi' dew are hanging clear, my jo,
My ain kind dearie, O.
I'd rove, and ne'er be eerie, 0,
My ain kind dearie, O.
And I were ne'er sae wearie, 0,
The hunter lo'es the morning sun,
To rouse the mountain deer, my jo; At noon the fisher seeks the glen,
Along the burn to steer, my jo. Gie me the hour o'gloamin grey,
It makes my heart sae cheerie, 0, To meet thee on the lea-rig,
My ain kind dearie, 0.
THE TRAVELLER'S RETURN.
TUNE_" Auld langsyne.”
Had trode on thirty years,
Wi' monie hopes and fears.
Will still continue mine,
The joys I left langsyne?
My heart beat a' the way ;
Of some dear former day:
Those happy days o' mine,
Were naething to langsyne.
Where minstrels us'd to blaw;
Nae weel.ken'd face I saw,
Whom I left in his prime,
He bore about langsyne.
I ran through ilka weel kent room,
In hopes to meet friends there;
And hang o'er ilka chair.
Across these een o' mine,
As I thought o’ langsyne.
Would now their welcome pay,
And wish'd my groves away.
Lay low yon mournfu' pine!
Memorials o' langsyne.
MARK YONDER POMP OF COSTLY FASHION.
TUNE" Deil tak the wars."
Round the wealthy, titled bride ;
Poor is all that princely pride.
The polish'd jewel's blaze
The fancy may delight,
In simplicity's array;
Shrinking from the gaze of day.
O then the heart alarming,
And all resistless charming,
His worshipp'd deity,
And feel thro' ev'ry vein Love's raptures roll. * * This song was composed on the lady who is celebrated in Craigie.burn Wood, to whom BURNS assures us we have been indebted for many of his best songs. In a letter to Mr. THOMSON, he says, “ do you think that the sober, gin-horse routine of existence, could inspire a man with life, and love, and joy-could fire him with enthusiasm, or melt him with pathos, equal to the genius of your book? No! no!_Whenever I want to be more than ordinary in song; to be in some degree equal to your
diviner airs; do yon imagine I fast and pray for the celestial emanation ? Tout au contraire! I have a glorious recipe; the very one that for his own use was invented by the divinity of healing and poetry, when erst he piped to the flocks of Admetus. I put myself in the regimen of admiring a fine woman; and in proportion to the adorability of her charms, in proportion you are delighted with my verses. The lightning of her eye is the godhead of Par. nassus; and the witchery of her smile the divinity of Helicon!" The following is the original of this song, and is undoubtedly the best.
Sleeps't thou, or wak'st thou, fairest creature;
Rosy morn now lifts his eye,
Waters wi' the tear o' joy.
And by the reeking floods,
The lintwhite in his bower
Ascends wi' sangs o’joy,
Banishes ilk darksome shade,