How blythely wad I bide the stoure,
A weary slave frae sun to sun,
Could I the rich reward secure,
The lovely Mary Morison.

Yestreen when to the trembling string,
The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha',
To thee my fancy took its wing,

I sat, but neither heard nor saw. Tho' this was fair, and that was braw, And yon the toast of a' the town, I sigh'd, and said amang them a’ "Ye are na Mary Morison."

Oh Mary, canst thou wreck his peace,
Wha for thy sake wad gladly die?
Or canst thou break that heart of his,

Whase only faut is loving thee?
If love for love thou wilt na gie,
At least be pity to me shown;
A thought ungentle canna be
The thought o' Mary Morison.

Wandering Willie.

HERE awa, there awa, wandering Willie,
Here awa, there awa, 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 simmer and welcome 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

I left the lines and tented field,
Where lang I'd been a lodger,
My humble knapsack a' my wealth,
A poor but honest sodger.

A leal, light heart was in my breast,
My hand unstain'd wi' plunder :
And for fair Scotia, hame again,
I cheery on did wander.
I thought upon the banks o' Coil,
I thought upon my Nancy;
I thought upon the witching smile
That caught my youthful fancy.
At length I reach'd the bonnie glen
Where early life I sported;

I pass'd the mill, and trysting thorn,
Where Nancy aft I courted:
Wha spied I but my ain dear maid
Down by her mother's dwelling!
And turn'd me round to hide the flood
That in my een was swelling.

Wi' alter'd voice, quoth I, "Sweet lass,
Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom,
Oh! happy, happy may he be,

That's dearest to thy bosom ! My purse is light, I've far to gang, And fain would be thy lodger; I've served my king and country langTake pity on a sodger!'

Sae wistfully she gaz'd on me,

And lovelier was than ever; Quo' she, "A sodger ance I loe'd, Forget him shall I never : Our humble cot and hamely fare Ye freely shall partake o't; That gallant badge, the dear cockade, Ye're welcome for the sake o't. She gaz'd-she redden'd like a roseSyne pale like ony lily;

She sank within my arms, and cried,

"Art thou my ain dear Willie ?" "By Him who made yon sun and sky, I am the man; and thus may still By whom true love's regarded,

True lovers be rewarded.

The wars are o'er, and I'm come hame,
And find thee still true-hearted!
Tho' poor in gear, we're rich in love,
And mair we're ne'er be parted."
Quo' she, "My grandsire left me gowd,
A mailen plenish'd fairly;
And come, my faithfu' sodger lad,
Thou'rt welcome to it dearly.”

For gold the merchant ploughs the main, The farmer ploughs the manor;

But glory is the sodger's prize,

The sodger's wealth is honour.

The brave poor sodger ne'er despise,
Nor count him as a stranger :
Remember he's his country's stay
In day and hour of danger.

Blythe har I bren an yon Bill.

TUNE-Liggeram Cosh. BLYTHE hae I been on yon hill,

As the lambs before me; Careless ilka thought and free,

As the breeze flew o'er me: Now nae longer sport and play, Mirth or sang can please me; Lesley is sae fair and coy,

Care and anguish seize me. Heavy, heavy is the task,

Hopeless love declaring: Trembling, I dow nocht but glow'r, Sighing, dumb, despairing! If she winna ease the thraws In my bosom swelling, Underneath the grass-green sod, Soon maun be my dwelling.

;

Logan Brars. (361)
TUNE-Logan Water.
OH Logan, sweetly didst thou glide
That day I was my Willie's bride
And years sinsyne hae o'er us run,
Like Logan to the simmer sun.
But now thy flow'ry banks appear
Like drumlie winter, dark and drear,
While my dear lad maun face his faes,
Far, far frae me and Logan braes.
Again the merry month o' May
Has made our hills and vallies gay;
The birds rejoice in leafy bowers,

The bees hum round the breathing flowers:
Blythe morning lifts his rosy eye,
And evening's tears are tears of joy:
My soul, delightless, a' surveys,
While Willie's far frae Logan braes.
Within yon milk-white hawthorn bush,
Amang her nestlings sits the thrush;
Her faithfu' mate will share her toil,
Or wi' his songs her cares beguile :
But I wi' my sweet nurslings here,
Nae mate to help, nae mate to cheer,
Pass widow'd nights and joyless days,
While Willie's far frae Logan braes.
Oh, wae upon you, men o' state,
That brethren rouse to deadly hate!
As ye make many a fond heart mourn,
Sae may it on your heads return!

Oh, gin my Love were you Red Rose! (362)
AIR-Hughie Graham.

On, gin my love were yon red rose
That grows upon the castle wa';
And I mysel a drap o' dew,

Into her bonnie breast to fa'!

Oh there, beyond expression blest,
I'd feast on beauty a' the night!
Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest,
Till fley'd awa by Phoebus' light.
Oh, were my love yon lilach fair,

Wi' purple blossoms to the spring,
And I, a bird to shelter there;

When wearied on my little wing-
How I wad mourn, when it was torn
By autumn wild, and winter rude!
But I wad sing on wanton wing,
When youthfu' May its bloom renew'd.

Bonnie Jean. (363)

THERE was a lass, and she was fair,
At kirk and market to be seen;
When a' the fairest maids were met,
The fairest maid was bonnie Jean.

And aye she wrought her mammie's wark,
And aye she
sang sae merrilie:
The blythest bird upon the bush

Had ne'er a lighter heart than she,
But hawks will rob the tender joys

That bless the little lintwhite's nest; And frost will blight the fairest flowers; And love will break the soundest rest.

Young Robie was the brawest lad,
The flower and pride of a' the glen;
And he had owsen, sheep, and kye,
And wanton naigies nine or ten.
He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryste,

He danc'd wi Jeanie on the down;
And lang ere witless Jeanie wist,
Her heart was tint, her peace was stown,

As in the bosom o' the stream

The moonbeam dwells at dewy e’eu ; So trembling, pure, was tender love Within the breast o' bounie Jean.

And now she works her mammie's wark,
And aye she sighs wi' care and pain;
Yet wist na what her ail might be,

Or what wad mak her weel again.
But did na Jeanie's heart loup light,
And did na joy blink in her ee,
As Robie tauld a tale o' love
Ae e'enin on the lily lea?
The sun was sinking in the west,

The birds sang sweet in ilka grove; His cheek to hers he fondly prest, And whisper'd thus his tale o' love: "Oh Jeanie fair, I loe thee dear;

Oh, canst thou think to fancy me; Or wilt thou leave thy mammie's cot,

And learn to tent the farms wi' me? At barn or byre thou shalt na drudge, Or naething else to trouble thee; But stray amang the heather-bells,

And tent the waving corn wi' me.' Now what could artless Jeanie do? She had nae will to say him na; At length she blush'd a sweet consent, And love was aye between them twa.

Meg a' the Alill.

AIR-Oh Bonnie Lass will you lie in a Barrack?
OH ken ye wha Meg o' the Mill has gotten?
Он
And ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has
gotten?

She has gotten a coof wi' a claut o' siller,
And broken the heart o' the barley Miller.
The Miller was strappin', the Miller was
ruddy;

A heart like a lord, and a hue like a lady: The Laird was a widdiefu', bleerit knurl;She's left the guidfellow and taen the churl. The Miller he hecht her a heart leal and loving;

[moving,

The Laird did address her wi' matter more A fine pacing horse wi' a clear chained bridle,

231

And fair are the maids on the banks oʻ But by the sweet side o' the Nith's winding river,

Are lovers as faithful, and maidens as fair : To equal young Jessie seek Scotland all over ; To equal young Jessie you seek it in vain : Grace, beauty, and elegance fetter her lover, And maidenly modesty fixes the chain.

Oh, fresh is the rose in the gay dewy morning,

And sweet is the lily at evening close; But in the fair presence o' lovely young Jessie

Unseen is the lily, unheeded the rose. Love sits in her smile, a wizard ensnaring:

Enthron'd in her een he delivers his law And still to her charms she alone is a stranger

Her modest demeanour's the jewel of a'!

Oh wae on the siller, it is sae prevailing! And wae on the love that is fixed on a mailen ! A tocher's nae word in a true lover's parle, But gie me my love, and a fig for the warl!

Open the Door to Me, oh!

"OH! open the door, some pity to show,
Oh! open the door to me, oh! [true,
Tho' thou hast been false, I'll ever prove
Oh! open the door to me, oh!

TUNE-The Mucking o' Geordie's Byre ADOWN winding Nith I did wander, To mark the sweet flowers as they spring Adown winding Nith I did wander, Of Phillis to muse and to sing.

CHORUS.

Awa wi' your belles and your beauties,
They never wi' her can compare;
Whaever has met wi' my Phillis,
Has met wi' the queen o' the fair.

The daisy amus'd my fond fancy,
So artless, so simple, so wild;
Thou emblem, said I, o' my Phillis,
For she is simplicity's child.

The rose-bud's the blush o' my charmer,
Her sweet balmy lip when 'tis prest:
How fair and how pure is the lily,

But fairer and purer her breast.

Yon knot of gay flowers in the arbour,
They ne'er wi' my Phillis can vie :
Her breath is the breath o' the woodbine,
It's dew-drop o' diamond her eye.

Her voice is the song of the morning,

That wakes thro' the green-spreading grove, When Phoebus peeps over the mountains, On music, and pleasure, and love. But, beauty, how frail and how fleetingThe bloom of a fine summer's day! While worth in the mind o' my Phillis Will flourish without a decay.

In each bird's careless song,
Glad did I share;
While yon wild flowers among,
Chance led me there;
Sweet to the opening day,
Rosebuds bent the dewy spray;
Such thy bloom! did I say,
Phillis the fair.
Down in a shady walk,
Doves cooing were;

I mark'd the cruel hawk
Caught in a snare;
So kind may fortune be,
Such make his destiny,
He who would injure thee,
Phillis the fair.

By Allan Stream I chanr'd to Rove.

TUNE-Allan Water.

By Allan stream I chanc'd to rove,

While Phoebus sank beyond Benleddi; (366) The winds were whispering thro' the grove, The yellow corn was waving ready :

I listen'd to a lover's sang,

And thought on youthfu' pleasures mony; And aye the wild-wood echoes rang

Oh, dearly do I love thee, Annie! Oh, happy be the woodbine bower, Nae nightly bogle make it eerie; Nor ever sorrow stain the hour,

The place and time I met my dearie! Her head upon my throbbing breast,

She, sinking, said, "I'm thine for ever!" While mony a kiss the seal imprest,

The sacred vow, we ne'er should sever. The haunt o' spring's the primrose brae,

The simmer joys the flocks to follow; How cheery thro' her shortening day,

Is autumn in her weeds o' yellow! But can they melt the glowing heart, Or chain the soul in speechless pleasure? Or thro' each nerve the rapture dart,

Like meeting her, our bosom's treasure?

Come let me take Thee to my Breast.

AIR-Cauld Kail.

COME, let me take thee to my breast, And pledge we ne'er shall sunder;

And I shall spurn as vilest dust

The warld's wealth and grandeur: And do I hear my Jeanie own That equal transports move her?

I ask for dearest life alone

That I may live to love her.

Thus in my arms, wi' all thy charms,

I clasp my countless treasure; I'll seek nae mair o' heaven to share, Than sic a moment's pleasure: And by thy een sae bonnie blue, I swear I'm thine for ever! And on thy lips I seal my vow, And break it shall I never!

When day, expiring in the west, The curtain draws o' nature's rest, I flee to his arms I loe best,

And that's my ain dear Davie.

Whistle and I'll Come to you, my Lad.
TUNE-Whistle and I'll come to you, my lad.
OH whistle and I'll come to you, my lad,
Oh whistle and I'll come to you, my lad;
Tho' father and mither and a' should gae mad,
Oh whistle and I'll come to you, my lad.
But warily tent, when ye come to court me,
And come na unless the back-yett be a-jee;
Syne up the back-stile, and let naebody see,
And come as ye were na comin' to me.
And come, &c.

At kirk, or at market, whene'er ye meet me,
Gang by me as tho' that ye car'd nae a flie;
But steal me a blink o' your bonnie black ee,
Yet look as ye were na lookin' at me.

Yet look, &c.

Aye vow and protest that ye care na for me,
And whiles ye may lightly my beauty a wee;
But court nae anither, tho' jokin' ye be,
For fear that she wile your fancy frae me.
For fear, &c.

Bruce's Address. (368) TUNE-Hey Tuttie Taittie. Scors, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, Scots, wham Bruce has aften led; Welcome to your gory bed,

Or to victorie!

Now's the day, and now's the hour;
See the front o' battle lour;
See approach proud Edward's power-
Chains and slavery!

Wha will be a traitor knave?
Wha can fill a coward's grave?
Wha sáe base as be a slave?

Let him turn and flee!
Wha for Scotland's king and law
Freedom's sword will strongly draw,
Freeman stand, or Freeman fa',

Let him follow me!

By oppression's woes and pains!
By your sons in servile chains!
We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall be free!
Lay the proud usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty's in every blow!—
Let us do, or die!