THE BOATIE ROWS. O WEEL may the boatie row, And liefome may the boatie row, The boatie rows, the boatie rows And weel may the boatie row, O weel may the boatie row, And cleads us a' frae head to feet, The boatie rows, the boatie rows, The boatie rows indeed, And happy be the lot of a', That wish the boatie speed. When Jamie vow'd he wou'd be mine; And wan frae me my heart, O muckle lighter grew my creel, He fwore we'd never part; The boatie rows, the boatie rows, The boatie rows fu' weel, And muckle lighter is the load When love bears up the crecl. My kurtch I put upon my head, 1 trow my heart was douf an' wae, But weel may the boatie row, And lightsome be the laffie's care, That yields an honest heart. When Sawney, Jock, an' Janetie, Are up and gotten lear; They'll help to gar the boatie row, And lighten a' our care. The boatie rows, the boatie rows, The boatie rows fu' weel, And lightfome be her heart that bears, The Murlain, and the creel. And when wi' age we're worn down, And hirpling round the door, They'll row to keep us dry and warm, As we did them before; Then weel may the boatie row, She wins the bairns' bread; That with the boatie speed. THE NEAT LITTLE COTTAGE.. My mam is no more, and my dad's in his grave, The lark's early fong does to labour invite, Our meals are but homely, mirth sweetens the cheer, OF A' THE AIRTS THE WIN' CAN BLAW. BURNS. Of a' the airts the win' can blaw, I dearly like the west; For there the bonny laffie lives, the lafs that I lo'e best; 'Tho' wild woods grow, an' rivers row, wi' mony a hill between, Baith day an' night my fancy's flight is ever wi' my Jean. E I fee her in the dewy flowers, fae lovely, fweet an' fair, I hear her voice in ilka bird, wi' mufic charm the air, 'There's not a bonny flower that springs, by fountain, fhaw, or green, Nor yet a bonny bird that fings, but minds me o' my Jean. Upon the banks of flowing Clyde the laffes bufk them braw, But when their beft they ha'e put on, my Jenny dings them a'; In hamely weeds fhe far exceeds the fairest of the town, Baith fage an' gay confefs it fae, tho' drefs'd in ruftic gown, The gamefome lamb, that fucks the dam, mair harmless canna be, She has nac fau't (if fic we ca't) except her love for me, The fparkling dew, of clearest hew, is like her fhining een, In fhape an' air wha can compare, wi' my sweet lovely Jean. O blaw ye weftlin' win's blaw faft, amang the leafy trees, Wi' gentle breath frae muir an' dale bring hame the laden bees; An' bring the lassie back to me that's ay fae neat an' clean, Ac' blink o' her wad banifh care, fae charming is my Jean. What fighs an' vows amang the knowes, ha'e past atween us twa, How fain to meet, how wae to part, that day fhe gade awa The pow'rs aboon can only ken, to whom the heart is seen, That nane can be fac dear to me as my fweet lovely Jean. ALONE BY THE LIGHT OF THE MOON. THE day is departed, and round from the cloud, I cannot, when prefent, unfold what I feel; Her name to the fhepherds I never reveal, Does e'er a kind thought run on me as you rove, Your name from the fhepherds, whenever I hear, My bofom is all in a glow; Your voice, when it vibrates fo fweet thro' mine ear, My heart thrills-my eyes overflow. |