Obrázky stránek

Yestreen I met you on the moor,
Ye spak na, but gaed by like stoure;
Ye geck at me because I'm poor,

But fient a hair care I.
I doubt na, lass, but ye may think,
Because ye hae the name o'clink,
That ye can please me at a wink,

Whene'er ye like to try.
But sorrow tak him that's sae mean
Altho' his pouch o' coin were clean,
Wha follows ony saucy quean,

That looks sae proud and high.
Altho' a lad were e'er sae smart,
If that he want the yellow dirt,
Ye'll cast your head another airt,

And answer hina fu' dry.
But if he hae the came o' gear,
Ye'll fasten to him like a brier,
Tho' hardly he, for sense or lear,

Be better than the kye.
But, Tibbie, lass, tak my advice,
Your daddie's gear maks you sae nice ;
The deil a ane wad spier your price,

Were ye as poor as I.
There lives a lass in yonder park,
I would na gie her in her sark,
For thee, wi' a' thy thousan' mark;

Ye need na look sae high.

[ocr errors]



TUNB-Laddie, lie near me. 'Twas na her bonnie blue ee was my ruin ; Fair tho' she be, that was ne'er my undoing : 'Twas the dear smile when naebody did mind

us, 'Twas the bewitching, sweet, stown glance o'

kindness. Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me, Sair do I fear that despair maun abide me; But tho' fell fortune should fate us to sever, Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever. Mary, I'm thine wi' a passion sincerest, And thou hast plighted me love the dearest ! Aąd thou art the angel that never can alter, Sooner the sun in his motion would falter.


Tune-Death of Captain Cook. Thou ling'ring star, with less'ning ray,

That lov'st to greet the early morn, Again thou usher'st in the day

My Mary from my soul was torn. Oh Mary! dear departed shade!

Where is thy place of blissful rest? See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ! Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?

That sacred hour can I forget,

Can I forget the hallowed grove, Where by the winding Ayr we met,

To live one day of parting love! Eternity will not efface

Those records dear of transports past; Thy image at our last embracë,

Ah! little thought we 'twas our last ! Ayr, gurgling, kiss'd his pebbled shore,

O'erhung with wild woods thick’ning green; The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar,

Twin'd am'rous round the raptur'd scene; The flow'rs sprang wanton to be prest,

The birds sang love on every sprayTill too, too soon, the glowing west

Proclaim'd the speed of winged day. Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakés,

And fondly broods with miser care! Time but th' impression stronger makes,

As streams their channels deeper wear. My Mary, dear departed shade!

Where is thy place of blissful rest ? See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his



To thee, lov'd Nith, thy gladsome plains,

Where late wi' careless thought I rang'd, Though prest wi' care and sunk in woe,

To thee I bring a heart unchar.'!.

I love thee, Nith, thy banks and braes,

Tho' memory there my bosom tear; For there he roy'd that brake my heart,

Yet to that heart, ah! still how dear!


TONB-Cold blows the Wind.

Up in the morning's no for me,

Up in the morning early;
When a' the hills are cover'd wi' snaw,

I'm sure it's winter fairly.
Cauld blaws the wind frae east to west,

The drift is driving sairly;
Sae loud and shrill I hear the blast,

I'm sure it's winter fairly.
The birds sit chittering in the thorn,

A' day they fare but sparely ;
And lang's the night frae e'en to morn-

I'm sure it's winter fairly.


Tune-Wae is my heart. Was is my heart, and the tear's in my ee; Lang, lang, joy's been a stranger to me: Forsaken and friendless, my burden I bear, And the sweet voice o' pity ne'er sounds in Love, thou hast pleasures and deep hae I

my ear.

loved ; Love, thou hast sorrows, and sair hae I

proved : But this bruised heart that now bleeds in my

breast, I can feel its throbbings will soon be at rest. Oh, if I were happy, where happy I hae been, Down by yon stream, and yon bonnie castle

green; For there he is wand'ring, and musing on me, Wha wad soon dry the tear frae Phillis's ee.

awa, there

WANDERING WILLIE. HERE awa, there awa, wandering Willie, Here


haud awa hame; Come to my bosom, my ain only dearie, Tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same. Winter-winds blew loud and cauld at our

parting, Fears for my Willie brought tears in my ee; Welcome now simmerandwelcome my Willie, The simmer to nature, my Willie to me. Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave of your

slumbers, How your dread howling a lover alarms ! Wauken, ye breezes ! row gently, ye billows ! And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my


« PředchozíPokračovat »