Tho' stars in skies may disappear,
And angry tempests gather,
The happy hour may soon be near
That brings us pleasant weather:
The weary night o' care and grief
May hae a joyful morrow;
So dawning day has brought relief-
Fareweel our night o' sorrow!
NOW SPRING HAS CLAD THE
GROVE IN GREEN.
Now spring has clad the grove in green,
And strew'd the lea wi' flowers:
The furrow'd, waving corn is seen
Rejoice in fostering showers;
While ilka thing in nature join
Their sorrows to forego,
Oh why thus all alone are mine
The weary steps of woe!
The trout within yon wimpling burn
Glides swift-a silver dart;
And safe beneath the shady thorn
Defies the angler's art.
My life was ance that careless stream,
That wanton trout was I ;
But love, wi' unrelenting beam,
Has scorch'd my fountains dry.
The little flow'ret's peaceful lot,
In yonder cliff that grows,
Which, save the linnet's flight, I wot,
Nae ruder visit knows,
Was mine; till love has o'er me past,
And blighted a' my bloom,
And now beneath the with'ring blast
My youth and joy consume.
The waken'd lav'rock warbling springs,
And climbs the early sky,
Winnowing blythe her dewy wings
In morning's rosy eye.
As little reck'd I sorrow's power,
Until the flowery snare
O' witching love, in luckless hour,
Made me the thrall o' care.
Oh, had my fate been Greenland snows,
Or Afric's burning zone,
Wi' man and nature leagu'd my foes,
So Peggy ne'er I'd known!
The wretch whase doom is, "hope nae mair,"
What tongue his woes can tell!
Within whase bosom, save despair,
Nae kinder spirits dwell.
NOW WESTLIN WINDS.
TUNE-I had a Horse, I had nae mair.
Now westlin winds and slaught❜ring guns
Bring autumn's pleasant weather;
The moorcock springs, on whirring wings,
Amang the blooming heather:
Now waving grain, wide o'er the plain,
Delights the weary farmer :
And the moon shines bright, when I rove at
To muse upon my charmer.
The partridge loves the fruitful fells ;
The plover loves the mountains;
The woodcock haunts the lonely dells;
The soaring hern the fountains :
Thro' lofty groves the cushat roves,
The path of man to shun it;
The hazel bush o'erhangs the thrush,
The spreading thorn the linnet.
Thus ev'ry kind their pleasure find,
The savage and the tender;
Some social join, and leagues combine;
Some solitary wander:
Avaunt, away! the cruel sway,
Tyrannic man's dominion;
The sportsman's joy, the murd'ring cry,
The flutt'ring gory pinion.
But Peggy, dear, the ev'ning's clear,
Thick flies the skimming swallow;
The sky is blue, the fields in view,
All fading-green and yellow :
Come, let us stray our gladsome way,
And view the charms of nature;
The rustling corn, the fruited thorn,
And every happy creature.
We'll gently walk, and sweetly talk,
Till the silent moon shine clearly;
I'll grasp thy waist, and, fondly prest,
Swear how I love thee dearly:
Not vernal show'rs to budding flow'rs,
Not autumn to the farmer,
So dear can be as thou to me,
My fair, my lovely charmer!
OF A' THE AIRTS THE WIND CAN
TUNE-Miss Admiral Gordon's Strathspey Or a' the airts the wind can blaw,
I dearly like the west,
For there the bonnie lassie lives,
The lassie I loe best :
There wild woods grow, and rivers row,
And mony a hill between ;
But day and night my fancy's flight
Is ever wi' my Jean.
1 see her in the dewy flowers,
I see her sweet and fair:
I hear her in the tunefu' birds,
I hear her charm the air;
There's not a bonnie flower that springs
By fountain, shaw, or green,
There's not a bonnie bird that sings,
But minds me o' my Jean.
Oh blaw ye westlin winds, blaw saft
Amang the leafy trees,
Wi' balmy gale, frae hill and dale
Bring hame the laden bees;
And bring the lassie back to me
That's aye sae neat and clean;
Ae smile o' her wad banish care,
Sae charming is my Jean.
What sighs and vows amang the knowes
Hae passed atween us twa!
How fond to meet, how wae to part,
That night she gaed awa!
The powers aboon can only ken,
To whom the heart is seen,
That nane can be sae dear to me
As my sweet lovely Jean!
OH AYE MY WIFE SHE DANG ME.
TUNE-My Wife she dang me.
Oн aye my wife she dang me,
And aft my wife did bang me,
If ye gie a woman a' her will,
Guid faith, she'll soon o'ergang ye.
On peace and rest my mind was bent,
And fool I was I married;
But never honest man's intent
As cursedly miscarried.
Some sa'r o' comfort still at last,
When a' my days are done, man;
My pains o' hell on earth are past,
I'm sure o' bliss aboon, man.
Oh aye my wife she dang me,
And aft my wife did bang me,
If ye gie a woman a' her will,
Good faith, she'll soon o'ergang ye.
OH BONNIE WAS YON ROSY BRIER.
Oн bonnie was yon rosy brier,
That blooms sae far frae haunt o' man
And bor.nie she, and ah! how dear!
It shaded frae the e'enin' sun.
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