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Thy cheek is o' the roşe's hue,

My only jo and dearie, 0;
Thy neck is o' the siller dew

Upon the banks sae brierie, O.
Thy teeth are o' the ivory;
O sweet's the twinkle o' thine ee:
Nae joy, nae pleasure, blinks on me,

My only jo and dearie, 0.
The birdie sings upon the thorn

Its sang o’joy, fu’ cheerie, 0,
Rejoicing in the simmer morn,

Nae care to mak it eerie, 0;
Ah! little kens the sangster sweet,
Aught o' the care I hae to meet,
That gars my restless bosom beat,

My only jo and dearie, o.
When we were bairnies on yon brae,

And youth was blinkin bonnie, 0,
Aft we wad daff the li’elang day,

Our joys fu’ sweet and monie, O.
Aft I wad chase thee o'er the lee,
And round about the thorny tree;

the wild flow'rs a' for thee,
My only jo and dearie, 0.
I hae a wish I canna tine,

'Mang a' the cares that grieve me, 0;

the Works of BURNS, supposed that the Bard, when he wrote this Song, had that portion of his countrymen in view who had expatriated themselves, and taken up their residence in foreign lands. He denominates it a “ beautiful strain," and adds, “ it may be confidently predicted, that it will be sung with equal or superior interest on the banks of the Ganges or of the Mississippi, as on those of the Tay or the Tweed.”

I wish that thou wert ever mine,

And never mair to leave me, 0;
Then I wad daut thee night and day,
Nae ither warldly care l'd hae,
Till life's warm stream forgat to play,

My only jo and dearie, o.

LOGIE O' BUCHAN. O LOGIE O' Buchan, O Logie the Laird, They've ta’en awa Jamie, that delv'd in the yard, Wha play'd on the pipe, wi’ the viol sae sma”; They've ta’en awa Jamie, the flow'r o' them a'.

He said, think na lang, lassie, though I gang awa; He said, think na lang, lassie, though I gang awa ; For simmer is coming, cauld winter's awa,

And I'll come and see thee in spite o' them a'.
Sandy has ousen, has gear, and has kye;
A house and a hadden, and siller forbye:
But I'd tak my ain lad, wi' his staff in his hand,
Before I'd hae him, wi' his houses and land,

He said, think na lang, 8c.
My daddie looks sulky, my minnie looks sour,
They frown upon Jamie because he is

poor: Tho' I lo'e them as weel as a daughter should do, They're nae hauf sae dear to me, Jamie, as you.

He said, think na lang, 8c.
I sit on my creepie, I spin at my wheel,
And think on the laddie that lo'ed me sae weel;
He had but ae saxpence, he brak it in twa,
And gied me the hauf o't when he gade awa.

Then haste ye back, Jamie, and bide na awa,
Then haste ye back, Jamie, and bide na awa ;
The simmer is coming, cauld winter's awa,
And ye'll come and see me in spite o' them a'.


TUNE-" The Ewe-bughts, Marion.”
How blythe hae I been wi' my Sandy,

As we sat in the howe o' the glen!
But nae mair can I meet wi' my Sandy,

To the banks o' the Rhine he is gane.
Alas! that the trumpet's loud clarion

Thus draws a' our shepherds afar ;
O cou’dna the ewe-bughts and Marion

Please mair than the horrors o' war!

Not a plough in our land has been ganging;

The ousen hae stood in their sta';
Nae flails in our barns hae been banging,

For mair than a towmond or twa.

Waes me, that the trumpet's shrill clarion

Thus draws a' our shepherds afar! 0, I wish that the ewe-bughts and Marion

Could charm frae the horrors o' war.



TUNE_" Katharine Ogie.
YE banks, and braes, and streams around

The Castle o' Montgomery,
Green be your woods, and fair your flow'rs,

Your waters never drumlie.
There simmer first unfaulds her robes,

And there they langest tarry: -
For there I took the last fareweel,
O’my sweet Highland Mary.

How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk,

How rich the hawthorn's blossom,
As underneath their fragrant shade,

I clasp'd her to my bosom!
The golden hours, on angel wings,

Flew o’er me, and my dearie;
For dear to me as light and life,

Was my sweet Highland Mary.
Wi' monie a vow, and lock'd embrace,

Our parting was fu' tender,
And pledging aft to meet again,

We tore ourselves asunder.
But, Oh! fell death's untimely frost,

That nipt my flower sae early !
Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay,

That wraps my Highland Mary!
O pale, pale now, those rosy lips,

I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly!
And clos'd for aye, the sparkling glance,

That dwelt on me sae kindly;
And mouldering now in silent dust,

That heart that lo'ed me dearly!
But still within my bosom's core,

Shall live my Highland Mary.

* This beautiful and pathetic piece is written in Burns's happiest manner. “ The subject of it,” he says, in one of his Letters, • is one of the most interesting passages of my youthful days." Highland Mary is the theme of a song written in the Poet's early days, entitled, The Highland Lassie, O. She is also the same individual to whom the exquisite Ode is addressed, beginningThou lin'gring star, with less'ning ray. See both of these Pieces. Of the verses of this Song it has been said by one of Burns's correspondents, that “they breathe the genuine spirit of poetry, and, like the music, will last for ever. Such verses, united to such an air, with the delicate harmony of Pleyel superadded, might form a treat worthy of being presented to Apollo himself.”

My daddie is a canker'd carle,

He'll no twin wi' his gear,
My minnie she's a scaulding wife,
Hauds a’ the house a-steer;
But let them say, or let them do,

It's a' ane to me;
For he's low down, he's in the broom,

That's waiting on me;
Waiting on me, my love,

He's waiting on me;
For he's low down, he's in the broom,

That's waiting on me.
My auntie Kate sits at her wheel,

And sair she lightlies me;
But weel ken I, it's a' envy,
For ne'er a jo has she.

But let them say; &c.
My cousin Kate was sair beguild

Wi' Johnnie in the glen ;

ay sin' syne, she cries, beware
O'false deluding men.

But let them say, fc.
Gleed Sandy he cam wast ae night,

And spear'd when I saw Pate?
And ay

the neighbours round
They jeer me air and late.
But let them say, or let them do,

It's a' ane to me ;
For I'll gae to the bonnie lad

That's waiting on me ;
Waiting on me, my love.

waiting on me ;
For he's low down, he's in the broom,

That's waiting on me.

sin' syne

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