FAIR ELIZA.

A GAELIC AIR.

TURN again, thou fair Eliza,
Ae kind blink, before we part,

Rew on thy despairing lover;

Canst thou break his faithful heart? Turn again, thou fair Eliza;

If to love thy heart denies,
For pity hide the cruel sentence
Under friendship's kind disguise.

Thee, dear maid, hae I offended?
The offence is loving thee!
Canst thou wreck his peace for ever,
Wha for thine would gladly die?
While the life beats in my bosom,
Thou shall mix in ilka throe;
Turn again, thou lovely maiden,
Ae sweet smile on me bestow.

Not the bee upon the blossom,
In the pride o' sinny noon;
Not the little sporting fairy,

All beneath the simmer moon;

Not the poet, in the moment
Fancy lightens on his e'e,

Kens the pleasure, feels the rapture,
That thy presence gies to me.

TUNE

ELIZA.

-"Nancy's to the Greenwood," &c.

FAREWELL, thou stream that winding flows Around Eliza's dwelling!

O mem'ry, spare the cruel throes

Within my bosom swelling. Condemn'd to drag a hopeless chain,

And yet in secret languish,

To feel a fire in ev'ry vein,

Nor dare disclose my anguish.

Love's veriest wretch, unseen, unknown,
I fain my griefs would cover;
The bursting sigh, th' unweeting groan,
Betray the hapless lover.

I know thou doom'st me to despair,

Nor wilt nor canst relieve me;

But oh, Eliza, hear one prayer,
For pity's sake, forgive me.

The music of thy voice I heard,
Nor wist, while it enslav'd me;
I saw thine eyes, yet nothing fear'd, .
Till fears no more had sav'd me:
Th' unwary sailor thus aghast,
The wheeling torrent viewing;
'Mid circling horrors, sinks at last
In overwhelming ruin.

THE BRAES O' BALLOCHMYLE.

THE Catrine woods were yellow seen,
The flow'rs decay'd on Catrine lea;
Nae lav'rock sang on hillock green,
But Nature sicken'd on the e'e.

Thro' faded groves Maria sang,

Hersel' in beauty's bloom the whyle;
And ay the wild-wood echoes rang,
Farewell the braes o' Ballochmyle.

Low in your wint'ry beds, ye flow'rs,
Again ye'll flourish fresh and fair;
Ye birdies dumb, in with'ring bow'rs,
Again ye'll charm the vocal air:

But here, alas! for me, nae mair

Shall birdie charm, or flow'ret smile,

Farewell the bonie banks of Ayr,

Farewell, farewell! sweet Ballochmyle.

GLOOMY DECEMBER.

ANCE mair I hail thee, thou gloomy December! Ance mair I hail thee, wi' sorrow and care; Sad was the parting thou makes me remember, Parting wi' Nancy, oh! ne'er to meet mair!

Fond lovers' parting is sweet, painful pleasure;
Hope beaming mild on the soft, parting hour;
But the dire feeling, O farewell for ever!
Is anguish unmingled, and agony pure.

Wild as the Winter now tearing the forest,

Till the last leaf o' the Summer is flown, Such is the tempest has shaken my bosom, Since my last hope and last comfort is gone.

Still as I hail thee, thou gloomy December,
Still shall I hail thee wi' sorrow and care;
For sad was the parting thou makes me remember
Parting wi' Nancy, oh, ne'er to meet mair.

BEHOLD the hour, the boat arrive;

Thou goest, thou darling of my heart'

Sever'd from thee, can I survive?

But fate has will'd, and we must part

I'll often greet this surging swell,

Yon distant isle will often hail :
"E'en here I took the last farewell;

There, latest mark'd her vanish'd sail."

Along the solitary shore,

While flitting sea-fowl round me cry,

Across the rolling, dashing roar,
I'll westward turn my wistful eye.

Happy, thou Indian grove, I'll say,
Where now my Nancy's path may be!
While thro' thy sweets she loves to stray,
O tell me, does she muse on me?

MY NANIE'S AWA.

TUNE"There'll never be peace," &c.

Now in her green mantle blithe Nature arrays,
And listens the lambkins that bleat o'er the braes,
While birds warble welcome in ilka green shaw;
But to me it's delightless my Nanie's awa.

The snaw-drap and primrose our woodlands adorn,
And violets bathe in the weet o' the morn;

They pain my sad bosom so sweetly they blaw,
They mind me o' Nanie - and Nanie's awa.

Thou lav'rock that springs frae the dews of the lawn,
The shepherd to warn o' the gray-breaking dawn,
And thou mellow mavis that hails the night-fa”,
Give over, for pity - my Nanie's awa.

Come, Autumn, sae pensive, in yellow and gray,
And soothe me wi' tidings o' Nature's decay:
The dark, dreary Winter, and wild-driving snaw
Alane can delight me now Nanie's awa.