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Not the poet, in the moment
Fancy lightens on his ee;
That thy presence gies to me.
THE EWE-BUGHTS MARION. WILL ye gae to the ewe bughts, Marion,
And wear in the sheep wi' me? The sun shines sweet, my Marion, But nae hauf so sweet as thee.
My Marion's a bonny lass,
The blythe blink's aye in her ee; And fain wad I marry my Marion,
Gin Marion wad marry me. There's gowd in your garters, Marion,
And silk on your white hause-bane; Fu' fain wad I kiss my Marion,
At e'en' when I come hame.
I'm young and stout, my Marion;
Nane dances like me on the green; And gin ye forsake me, Marion,
I'll e'en draw up wi' Jean.
Sae put on your pearlings, Marion,
Wi’ kirtle of the cramasie;
I shall come west, and see thee.
SPEAK ON, SPEAK THUS.
Hold up a heart that's sinking under
When Pate must from his Peggy sunder. A gentler face, and silk attire,
A lady rich in beauty's blossom, Alake poor me! will now conspire,
To steal thee from thy Peggy's bosom. No more the shepherd, who excell'd
The rest, whose wit made them to wonder, Shall now his Peggy's praises tell;
Ah! I can die, but never sunder. Ye meadows where we often stray'd,
Ye banks where we were wont to wander, Sweet-scented rocks round which we played,
You'll lose your sweets when we're asunder.
Again, ah! shall I never creep
Around the knowe, with silent duty, Kindly to watch thee, while asleep,
And wonder at thy manly beauty. Hear, Heaven, while solemnly I vow,
Tho' thou shouldst prove a wand'ring lover, Thro' life to thee I shall prove true,
Nor be a wife to any other.
Howling tempests o'er me rave!
Still surround any lonely cave!
Busy haunts of base mankind,
Suit not my distracted mind.
Wrongs injurious to redress,
But the Heavens deny'd success.
Not a hope that dare attend:
But a world without a friend ! *
TUNE" Logan Braes."
An' listen'd to the mavis' tune,
Or rushes o'er the roaring linn.
An' past wi' her my youthfu' days;
An' I am far frae Kelvin Braes.
*“ Strathallan, it is presumed, was one of the followers of the young Chevalier; and is supposed to be lying concealed in some cave of the Highlands, after the battle of Culloden."
Tho' fortune's smiles upon me play,
No pain my pleasure to destroy; .
Since Mary canna share my joy.
Tho' here is spring that ne'er decays;
Wi' what I've left on Kelvin Braes.
Could I again but ca’ her mine;
Would little cause hae to repine.
Nurs'd by kind Nature's genial rays;
That I hae spent on Kelvin Braes.
NOW EV’NING DESCENDING.
Tune" Nathaniel Gow's lament.” Now ev'ning descending has darken’d the hill,
And dim through the twilight the woodlands appear: Save the noise of the mournfully-murm'ring rill,
And the breeze in the forest, no sound meets my ear, How sweet is the shade, and the silence of ev'n
How dear to the bosom affliction has wrung, When the red eye of grief has no witness but Heav'n,
And unheard are the accents from agony sprung. Departed twin-spirit! O G*th ** e belov’d. *
Since I lost thee, how wretched existence has been ! Now in anguish I stray, where in rapture we rov'd,
In the long lovely ev'nings of summer serene.
The gathering gloom now conceals from my sight
The scenes of past joy by the course of the Cree; But when shall the thoughts of departed delight,
Retentive remembrance, bę darken’d with thee! *
* These beautiful stanzas on the death of a dear school-fellow, were written by a young gentleman, who died, a few months ago, of a consumption, aged 20 years, and who is also the author of Evening sheds her gems of dew. A copy of that song, with additions and alterations by the author of The days of auld langsyne, will be found in page 188 of this work. It will be seen by the following copy of the original, (which a friend of the author's has kindly furnished the Editor with, and which he conceives it but justice to departed genius to insert) that the alterations consist in giving the verses a Scottish dress, changing the name of the river, and altering a few of the words, some of them for the better, others, we think, unhappily. The words for which others were substituted in the copy formerly given, are here marked in Italics.
EV’NING SHEDS HER GEMS OF DEW.
Tune-“ Lord Balgonie's favourite.” Ev'ning sheds her gems of dew, O’er the scenes of past delight On the heath bell's bosom blue, Slowly steals the shades of night, Blooming here beneath the yew, Hiding from my aching sight
Upon thy grave, my Mary, O! The lov'd resorts of Mary, O! Larger drops than those of eve, Scenes ! by Cretat rushing clear, Burning tears, the flowers receive; Haunts! that bring the briny tear, Grief, that time can ne'er relieve.
Far is she, who made ye dear,
Above that vault so starry, O! Nought below can e'er restore
0! that brief the time may be Pleasure to my bosom more;
Till my soul, from anguish free, Anguish still must wring it's core Raptur’d rise to heav'n, and thee, Till I rejoin my Mary, O!
My dear departed Mary, 0! The Mary the author laments in these lines died about six months before himself.
1 The Cree, a rapid romantic stream in Upper Galloway.