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MY NANNIE, O.
'Mang moors and mosses many, 0,
And I'll awa to Nannie, 0.
The night's baith mirk and rainy, O:
And o'er the hill to Nannie, 0.
Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, 0 :
That wad beguile my Nannie, 0.
As spotless as she's bonnie, 0;
Nae purer is than Nannie, 0.
And few there be that ken me, O;
I'm welcome aye to Nannie, 0.
And I maun guide it cannie, 0;
My thoughts are a' my Nannie, 0.
His sheep and kye thrive bonnie, 0;
And has nae care but Nannie, 0.
minds between place and circumstances, which renders the haunts of early residence ever dear. The exiled Highlander, expatiating over the luxuriance of the more favoured champagne, may feel highly pleased; but when, in the expressive language of our Bard, “ to his dear native hills he journeys,” his feelings are beyond the latitude of even this term.
Come weel, come wae, I carena by,
I'll tak what Heaven will send me, 0;
But live and love my Nannie, 0.
GOOD NIGHT AND JOY BE WIYE A. Good night and joy be wi' ye a';
Your harmless mirth has cheer'd my heart: May life's fell blasts out o'er ye blaw !
In sorrow may ye never part!
The mountain fires now blaze in vain:
And in your deeds I'll live again! When on your muir our gallant clan
Frae boasting foes their banners tore,
Or fiercer way'd the red claymore?
When thro’ the glen the wand'rer came, I gave him of our lordly fare,
I gave him here a welcome hame.
The auld will speak, the young maun hear,
Be cantie, but be good and leal; Your ain ills ay hae heart to bear,
Anither's ay hae heart to feel.
I'll see you triumph ere I fa':
Good night and joy be wi' ye a'.
O WAT YE WHA'S IN YON TOWN.
Ye see the e'ening sun upon?
That e'ening sun is shining on.
She wanders by yon spreading tree; How blest ye flow'rs that round her blaw,
Ye catch the glances o' her ee. How blest ye birds that round her sing,
And welcome in the blooming year ; And doubly welcome be the spring,
The season to my Lucy dear.
The sun blinks blythe on yon town,
And on yon bonnie braes of Ayr; . But my delight in yon town,
And dearest bliss, is Lucy fair. Without my love, not a' the charms
Of paradise could yield me joy; But gie me Lucy in my arms,
And welcome Lapland's drearie sky. My cave wad be a lover's bower,
Tho' raging winter rent the air; And she a lovely little flower,
That I wad tent and shelter there.
O sweet is she in yon town,
Yon sinking sun's gaun down upon; A fairer than's in yon town,
His setting beam ne'er shone upon. If angry fate is sworn my foe,
And suff'ring I am doom'd to bear, I'd careless quit aught else below;
But spare me, spare me Lucy dear.
For while life's dearest blood is warm,
Ae thought frae her shall ne'er depart:
She has the truest, kindest heart. *
THE BUSH ABOON TRAQUAIR.
I'll tell how Peggy grieves me;
Alas! she ne'er believes me.
Unheeded, never move her;
That day she smild, and made me glad,
No maid seem'd ever kinder;
So sweetly there to find her.
In words that I thought tender:
I meant not to offend her.
Yet now she scornful flies the plain,
The fields we then frequented;
She looks as ne'er acquainted.
* “ The heroine of this song, Mrs. O. (formerly Miss L. J.), died lately at Lisbon. This most accomplished and most love woman was worthy of this beautiful strain of sensibility, which will convey some impression of her attractions to other genera. tions. The song is written in the character of her husbando"
The bonnie bush bloom'd fair in May;
Its sweets I'll aye remember:
It fades as in December.
Why thus should Peggy grieve me?
Then let her smiles relieve me.
My passion no more tender;
To lonely wilds I'll wander. *
Where Jockie speeld the vessel's side;
When Jockie's tost aboon the tide.
Yet I'll prove true, as he has been;
He'll think on Annie, his faithfu' ain.
Wi' gowd in hand he tempted me;
And made a brag o’ what he'd gie.
Toast up and down the dinsome main;
Since Jockie may return again.
* When BURNS visited this far-famed Bush in 1787, it consisted of eight or nine ragged birches. The Earl of Traquair has plantod a clump of trees near it, which he calls the New Bush.