THE GALLANT WEAVER.

TUNE The Weaver's March.

WHERE Cart rins rowin' to the sea,

rolling

By monie a flower and spreading tree,
There lives a lad, the lad for me,

He is a gallant weaver.

I had wooers aucht or nine, They gied me rings and ribbons fine; And I was feared my heart would tine, be lost And I gied it to the weaver.

My daddie signed my tocher-band, dowry-bond
To gie the lad that has the land;
But to my heart I'll add my hand,
And gie it to the weaver.

While birds rejoice in leafy bowers;
While bees delight in opening flowers;

While corn grows green in simmer showers
I'll love my gallant weaver.

SHE'S FAIR AND FAUSE.

TUNE She's Fair and Fause.

SHE'S fair and fause that causes my smart, false I lo'ed her meikle and lang;

She's broken her vow, she's broken my heart, And I may e'en gae hang.

A coof cam in wi' routh o' gear, fool-abundance

And I hae tint my dearest dear;
But woman is but warld's gear,
Sae let the bonny lass gang.

Whae'er ye be that woman love,

To this be never blind :

Nae ferlie 'tis though fickle she prove,

A woman has❜t by kind.

O woman, lovely woman fair!

An angel form's fa'n to thy share;

lost

wonder

nature

'Twad been owre meikle to gien thee mair, have given I mean an angel mind.1

1 In a song, entitled The Address, which appears in The Lark (2 vols., 1765), there is a passage which perhaps sug gested the thought in the fourth stanza of the above song:

'Twixt pleasing hope and painful fear
True love divided lies;

MY WIFE'S A WINSOME WEE THING.

"In the air My Wife's a Wanton Wee Thing, if a few lines smooth and pretty can be adapted to it, it is all you can expect. The following were made extempore to it; and though, on further study, I might give you something more profound, yet it might not suit the light-horse gallop of the air so well as this random clink." Burns to Mr. Thomson, Nov. 8, 1792.

SHE is a winsome wee thing,
She is a handsome wee thing,
She is a bonny wee thing,1
This sweet wee wife o' mine.

With artless look and soul sincere,
Above all mean disguise.

For Celia thus my heart has moved
Accept it, lovely fair;

I've liked before, but never loved,
Then let me not despair.

My fate before your feet I lay,

Sentence your willing slave;
Remember that though tyrants slay
Yet heavenly powers save.
To bless is Heaven's peculiar grace,
Let me a blessing find;

And since you wear an angel's face,

O show an angel's mind!

Manuscript -"She is a winsome wee thing." The alter stion was by Mr. Thomson.

I never saw a fairer,

I never lo'ed a dearer,

And niest my heart I'll wear her,
For fear my jewel tine.

She is a winsome wee thing,
She is a handsome wee thing,
She is a bonny wee thing,

This sweet wee wife o' mine.

be lost

wrestle

The warld's wrack we share o't, vexation
The warsle and the care o't;
Wi' her I'll blithely bear it,
And think my lot divine.

HIGHLAND MARY.

TUNE-Katharine Ogie.

"The subject of the song is one of the most interesting passages of my youthful days, and I own that I should be much flattered to see the verses set to an air which would insure celebrity."— Burns to Mr Thomson, 14th Nov. 1792.

YE banks, and braes, and streams around
The castle o' Montgomery,

Green be your woods, and fair your flowers,

Your waters never drumlie!

There simmer first unfauld her robes,

And there the langest tarry;

For there I took the last fareweel

O' my sweet Highland Mary.

muddy

How sweetly bloomed the gay green birk
How rich the hawthorn's blossom,
As underneath their fragrant shade
I clasped her to my bosom !
The golden hours, on angel wings,
Flew o'er me and my dearie;
For dear to me as light and life
Was my sweet Highland Mary.

Wi' monie a vow, and locked embrace,
Our parting was fu' tender;
And, pledging aft to meet again,

We tore oursels asunder:

But, oh! fell death's untimely frost,

That nipt my flower sae early!

Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay,
That wraps my Highland Mary!

O pale, pale now, those rosy lips
I aft hae kissed sae fondly,

And closed for aye the sparkling glance
That dwelt on me sae kindly!