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My heart it said nay, I look'd for Jamie back;
LASSIE Wľ THE LINT-WHITE LOCKS.
TUNE-" Rothemurche's Rant."
Bonnie lassie, artless lassie,
Wilt thou be my dearie, o?
And when the welcome simmer-shower
Lassie wi', 8c.
Lassie wi', &c.
Lassie wi', 8c.
WHEN JOHN AND ME WERE MARRIED.
TUNE_" Clean pease strae."
Our hading was but sma',
Wou'd gie us nocht ava'.
As far as it wou'd gae,
Was clean pease strae.
* “ This piece,” says Burns, in one of his letters to Mr. Thoxe Son, accompanying the song, “ has at least the merit of being a regular pastoral: the vernal morn, the sammer noon, the autum. al evening, and the winter night, are regularly rounded."
Wi' working late and early,
We're come to what you see;
Sae eydent aye were we.
, I'm sure ye'll find it sae,
'Mang clean pease strae.
As weel's in birken shaw,
As weel's in lofty, ha'.
Whate'er your minnie say,
Of clean pease strae.
FAREWELL TO AVONDALE. FAREWELL ye vales where Avon flows,
Farewell ye hills that rise around, Farewell abodes of sweet repose,
Where innocence and peace abound. No more beside your streams I'll stray,
Nor pu' the wild flowers as they blaw; No longer listen to the lay,
That's carol'd thro' the birken shaw. Farewell Pomilion's flowery braes,
Whose murmuring rills so sweetly fa', Where aft I've spent the summer days,
When sorrow's hand was far awa! Thou'st listen'd to the lover's wail,
As am'rously thou glided thro'; Thou'st listend to my artless tale, But never heard'st a tale so true.
Farewell thou dear ungratefu' maid,
Thou'lt mind me when I'm far awa; And but for thee, I might have staid,
To breathe the gales that round thee blaw. Thou knew'st my heart was a' thy ain,
And thine thou vow'dst was mine alone; But cursed gold has made us twain,
Whom Heaven had fated to be one.
Farewell thou still beloved maid,
Love, rage, and grief, my soul disarms;
To see thee in another's arms.
Nor pu' the wild flowers as they blaw;
That's carol'd thro' the birken shaw. *
I'LL NE'ER BEGUILE THEE. BETTY, early gone a maying, Met her lover, Willie, straying; Drift, or chance, no matter whether, This we know, he reason'd with her: Mark, dear maid, the turtles cooing, Fondly billing, kindly wooing; See how ev'ry bush discovers Happy pairs of feather'd lovers. See the op’ning, blushing roses, All their secret charms discloses; Sweet's the time, ah! short's the measure, 0, their fleeting, hasty pleasure! Quickly we must snatch the savour Of their soft and fragrant flavour;
* Written by a Mr. ANDREW Simson of Glasgow.
They bloom to-day, and fade to-morrow, , Droop their heads, and die in sorrow.
Time, my Bess, will leave no traces
Ae kind blink before we part;
Canst thou break his faithfu’ heart?
If to love thy heart denies,
Under friendship's kind disguise !
The offence is loving thee:
Wha for thine wad gladly die?
Thou shalt mix in ilka throe:
Ae sweet smile on me bestow.
In the pride o' sinny noon;
All beneath the simmer moon;