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ON CESSNOCK BANKS.

ON CESSNOCK BANKS.

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Tune." If he be a butcher neat and trim.”

On Cessnock banks a lassie dwells;

Could I describe her shape and mien
Our lasses a' she far excels, –

An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een.
She's sweeter than the morning dawn,

When rising Phæbus first is seen,
And dewdrops twinkle o'er the lawn;

An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een.

She's stately like yon youthful ash,

That grows the cowslip braes between,
And drinks the stream with vigor fresh;

An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een.

She's spotless like the flowering thorn,

With flowers so white and leaves so green, When purest in the dewy morn ;

An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een.

Her looks are like the vernal May,

When evening Phæbus shines serene,
While birds rejoice on every spray;

An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een.

Her hair is like the curling mist

That climbs the mountain-sides at e'en,
When flower-reviving rains are past;

An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een.

Her forehead 's like the showery bow,

When gleaming sunbeams intervene,
And gild the distant mountain's brow;

An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een.

UP IN THE MORNING EARLY.

411

Her cheeks are like yon crimson gem,

The pride of all the flowery scene, Just opening on its thorny stem ;

An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een. Her teeth are like the nightly snow,

When pale the morning rises keen, While hid the murm'ring streamlets flow;

An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een. Her lips are like yon cherries ripe,

That sunny walls from Boreas screen ; They tempt the taste and charm the sight;

An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een. Her breath is like the fragrant breeze,

That gently stirs the blossomed bean, When Phoebus sinks behind the seas;

An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een. Her voice is like the evening thrush,

That sings on Cessnock banks unseen, While his mate sits nestling in the bush :

An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een. But its nae her air, her form, her face,

Though matching Beauty's fabled queen, 'Tis the mind that shines in every grace,

And chiefly in her roguish een.

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UP IN THE MORNING EARLY.

CHORUS.
Up in the morning's no for me,

Up in the morning early;
When a’ the hills are covered 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 its winter fairly.

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THE CAPTAIN'S LADY.

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.
Up in the morning's no for me,

Up in the morning early ;
When a’ the hills are covered wi' snaw,

I'm sure its winter fairly.

THE CAPTAIN'S LADY.

Tune--“ O, mount and go.”

CHORUS.

O, MOUNT and go,

Mount and make you ready; 0, mount and go,

And be the Captain's lady.

When the drums do beat,

And the cannons rattle,
Thou shalt sit in state,

And see thy love in battle.

When the vanquished foe

Sues for peace and quiet,
To the shades we'll go,
And in love enjoy it.
O, mount and go,

Mount and make you ready;
O, mount and go,

And be the Captain's lady.

OF A' THE AIRTS THE WIND CAN BLAW.

413

JOHNNY PEEP.

Burns was one day at a cattle market, in a town in Cumberland, and lost sight of some of the friends who accompanied him. He entered a tavern, opened the door of a room, and looked in, where three Cumberland men were enjoying themselves. As he withdrew one of them shouted, “Come in, Johnny Peep.” Burns obeyed, seated himself at the table, and soon was the life and soul of the party. It was proposed that each should write a stanza of verse, and put it, with half-a-crown, below the candlestick, with this stipulation, that the best poet was to have his half-crown returned, while the other three were to be expended to treat the party. When that of Burns was read, amid much laughter he was declared to have won the prize.

HERE am I, Johnny Peep:
I saw three sheep,

And these three sheep saw me;
Half-a-crown a-piece
Will pay for their fleece,

And so Johnny Peep gets free.

OF A' THE AIRTS THE WIND CAN BLAW.

Tune—“Miss Admiral Gordon's Strathspey."
OF a' the airts the wind can blaw,

I dearly like the west,
For there the bonnie lassie lives,

The lassie I lo'e 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
I 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.

* Jean Armour,

414

OF A' THE AIRTS THE WIND CAN BLAW.

Upon the banks o' flowing Clyde

The lasses busk them braw;
But when their best they ha'e put on,

My Jeannie dings them a':
In hamely weeds she far exceeds

The fairest o' the town;
Baith:
sage and gay

confess it sae,
Though dressed in russet gown.

The gamesome lamb, that sucks its dam,

Mair harmless canna be;
She has nae faut (if sic ye ca't),

Except her love for me.
The sparkling dew, o'clearest hue,

Is like her shining een ;
In shape and air nane can compare

Wi' my sweet, lovely Jean.

O, 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!

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