But love is a far sweeter flower The pathless wild, and wimpling burn, WRITTEN On the blank leaf of a copy of his Poems presented to a Lady, whom he had often celebrated under the name of Chloris. 'Tis Friendship's pledge, my young, fair Friend, Nor thou the gift refuse, Nor with unwilling ear attend The moralizing muse. Since thou, in all thy youth and charms, Must bid the world adieu, (A world 'gainst peace in constant arms) To join the friendly few. Since, thy gay morn of life o'ercast, Did nip a fairer flower). Since life's gay scenes must charm no more, Still much is left behind; Still nobler wealth hast thou in store, The comforts of the mind! Thine is the self-approving glow, The joys refin'd of sense and taste, ENGLISH SONG. Tune, 'Let me in this ae night.' FORLORN, My love, no comfort near, Far, far from thee, I wander here; Far, far from thee, the fate severe At which I most repine, love. CHORUS. O wert thou, love, but near me, Around me scowls a wintry sky, Cold, alter'd friendship's cruel part, But dreary tho' the moments fleet, SCOTTISH BALLAD. Tune, The Lothian Lassie.' LAST May a braw wooer cam down the lang glen, I said there was naething I hated like men, The deuce gae wi'm, to believe me, believe me, He spak o' the darts in my bonnie black e'en, I said he might die when he liked, for Jean, A weel-stocked mailen, himsel for the laird, But thought I might hae waur offers, waur offers, } But what wad ye think na ÅØTTI-JUI Guess ye how, the w: com. But a' the niest werk & free I spier'd for my couse it su But, heavens how He begged, for Geneane Or else I wou ki te » So e'en to preserve for poem van I think I maur was At Cold, alter'd friendship's cruel part, But dreary tho' the moments fleet, SCOTTISH BALLAD. C LAST May a braw wooer cam down the lang glen, And sair wi' his love he did deave me ; I said there was naething I hated like men, The deuce gae wi'm, to believe me, believe me, The deuce gae wi'm, to believe me. He spak o' the darts in my bonnie black e'en, I said he might die when he liked, for Jean, A weel-stocked mailen, himsel for the laird, I never loot on that I kenn'd it, or car'd, But thought I might hae waur offers, waur offers, But thought I might hae waur offers. |