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The snellest blast, at mirkest hours,
I tell you now, fc.
I tell you now, 8c.
I tell you now, 8c. *
* Let me in this ae night was one of the many airs for which Mr. THOMPSON, when carrying on his Musical Work, wished to receive words from Burns, the old ones being considered so indifferent as to be utterly unworthy of a place. Accordingly the song here given was produced; but it would appear that it gave the Poet much more trouble than many of his other pieces, as he began it over and over again, at long intervals, before he accomplished the task to his own satisfaction. At one period of his
But only Daintie Davie.
0, Daintie Davie is the thing;
Sae weel as Daintie Davie.
Without they've Daintie Davie.
O, Daintie Davie, &c. correspondence with Mr. Thompson, he thus writes :_“I have begun anew, Let me in this ae night. Do you think that we ought to retain the old chorus? I think we must retain both the old chorus and the first stariza of the old song. I do not al. together like the third line of the first stanza, but cannot alter it to please myself. I am just three stanzas deep in it. Would you have the denouëment to be successful or otherwise? should she • let him in,' or not?” The last query Mr. THOMPSON seems to have answered in the negative, as the lassie continues unrelenting to the end. Mr. Thompson's approbation was afterwards expressed to the Bard in the following manner: " You have displayed great address in this song. Her answer is excel. lent, and at the same time takes away the indelicacy that other. wise would have attached to his intreaties. I like the song, as it now stands, very much.”
Tho' bardies a', in former times,
To blast my Daintie Davie.
0, Daintie Davie, &c.
There's ne'er a bar but what's complete,
When they hear Daintie Davie.
0, Daintie Davie, &c.
MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS. My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here, My heart's in the Highlands a chasing the deer; Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe; My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go. Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the north, The birth-place of valour, the country of worth; Wherever I wander, wherever I rove, The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.
Farewell to the mountains high cover'd with snow, Farewell to the straths and green vallies below, Farewell to the forests and wild hanging woods, Farewell to the torrents and loud pouring floods.
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here,
HEY FOR A LASS WI A TOCHER.
TUNE" Balinamona Ora.”
Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher,
The nice yellow guineas for me.
Then hey, &c. And e'en when this beauty your bosom has blest, The brightest o' beauty may cloy, when possest; But the sweet yellow darlings, wi' Geordie imprest, The langer ye hae themthe mair they're carest. *
Then hey, fc.
* This is one of the few songs written by our Bard during the last six months of his short, but distinguished, appearance on the stage of life. When he agreed to furnish Mr. THOMPSON with verses for several Scottish airs, it appears he at the same time undertook to supply words for a certain number of Irish tunes. In the letter which accompanied this song, he says,-“ The Irish airs I shall cheerfully undertake the task of finding verses for.