Not the bee upon the blossom,
In the pride o' sunny noon;
Not the little sporting fairy,
All beneath the simmer moon;
Not the poet in the moment
Fancy lightens in his e'e,
Kens the pleasure, feels the rapture,
That thy presence gies to me.
SHE'S FAIR AND FAUSE.
SHE's fair and fause that causes my smart,
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' rowth o' gear,1
And I hae tint 2 my dearest dear,
But woman is but warld's gear,
Sae let the bonnie lass gang.
Whae'er ye be that woman love,
To this be never blind,
Nae ferlie 3 'tis tho' fickle she prove,
A woman has❜t by kind:
O Woman lovely, Woman fair!
An Angel form's fa'n to thy share,
'Twad been o'er meikle to 've gien thee mair,
I mean an Angel mind.
O LUVE will venture in, where it daur na weel be seen,
O luve will venture in, where wisdom ance has been ;
But I will down yon river rove, amang the wood sae
And a' to pu' a Posie to my ain dear May.
The primrose I will pu', the firstling o' the year,
And I will pu' the pink, the emblem o' my dear,
For she's the pink o' womankind, and blooms without a
And a' to be a Posie to my ain dear May.
1 A blockhead came with plenty of wealth.
No wonder.
I'll pu' the budding rose, when Phoebus peeps in view,
For it's like a baumy kiss o' her sweet bonnie mou;
The hyacinth's for constancy, wi' its unchanging blue,
And a' to be a Posie to my ain dear May.
The lily it is pure, and the lily it is fair,
And in her lovely bosom I'll place the lily there;
The daisy's for simplicity and unaffected air,
And a" to be a Posie to my ain dear May.
The hawthorn I will pu', wi' its locks o' siller gray,
Where, like an aged man, it stands at break o' day,
But the songster's nest within the bush I winna tak away;—
And a' to be a Posie to my ain dear May.
The woodbine I will pu' when the e'ening star is near,
And the diamond drops o' dew shall be her een sae clear:
The violet's for modesty which weel she fa's to wear,—
And a' to be a Posie to my ain dear May.
I'll tie the Posie round wi' the silken band o' luve,
And I'll place it in her breast, and I'll swear by a' above,
That to my latest draught o' life, the band shall ne'er
And this will be a Posie to my ain dear May.
TUNE "THE CALEDONIAN HUNT'S DELIGHT."
YE banks and braes o' bonnie Doon,
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair!
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
An' I sae weary, fu' o' care!
1 We have this song in an earlier and simpler form, as the writer sent it to Mr. Ballantine: Mr. Cunningham, on the authority of an Ayrshire legend, discovers the heroine of the song in Miss Kennedy, of Dalgarrock, who broke her heart for one M'Dougall, of Logan :
Ye flowery banks o' bonnie Doon,
How can ye blume sae fair!
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
And I sae fu' o' care.
Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird,
That sings upon the bough;
Thou minds me o' the happy days,
When my fause luve was true.
Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird,
That sings beside thy mate;
For sae I sat, and sae I sang,
And wist na o' my fate.
Thou'lt break my heart, thou warbling bird,
That wantons thro' the flowering thorn:
Thou minds me o' departed joys,
Departed-never to return.
Thou'lt break my heart, thou bonnie bird,
That sings beside thy mate;
For sae I sat, and sae Ι sang,
And wist na o' my fate.
Aft hae I rov'd by bonnie Doon,
To see the rose and woodbine twine;
And ilka bird sang o' its luve,
And fondly sae did I o' mine.
Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose,
Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree;
And my fause luver stole my rose,
But ah! he left the thorn wi' me.
TUNE-" WANDERING WILLIE."
ANCE mair I hail thee, thou gloomy December! Ance mair I hail thee wi' sorrow and care; Sad was the parting thou makes me remember, Parting wi' Nancy, oh! ne'er to meet mair. Fond lovers' parting is sweet painful pleasure, Hope beaming mild on the soft parting hour; But the dire feeling, O farewell for ever!
Is anguish unmingl'd and agony pure. Wild as the winter now tearing the forest, Till the last leaf o' the summer is flown, Such is the tempest has taken my bosom, Since
my last hope and my comfort is gone;
Aft hae I rov'd by bonnie Doon,
To see the woodbine twine,
And ilka bird sang o' its love,
And sae did I o' mine.
Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose
Frae off its thorny tree;
And my fause luver staw the rose,
But left the thorn wi' me.
1 On parting from Clarinda.
Still as I hail thee, thou gloomy December,
Still shall I hail thee wi' sorrow and care;
For sad was the parting thou makes me remember,
Parting wi' Nancy, oh! ne'er to meet mair.
BEHOLD THE HOUR.
TUNE "ORAN-GAOIL."
BEHOLD the hour, the boat arrive!
Thou go'st, thou darling of my heart:
Sever'd from thee can I survive?
But fate has will'd, and we must part!
I'll often greet this surging swell;
Yon distant isle will often hail :
"E'en here I took the last farewell;
There latest mark'd her vanish'd sail."
Along the solitary shore,
While flitting sea-fowls round me cry,
Across the rolling, dashing roar,
I'll westward turn my wistful eye :
'Happy, thou Indian grove," I'll say,
Where now my Nancy's path may be !
While thro' thy sweets she loves to stray,
O, tell me, does she muse on me?"
WILLIE'S WIFE.1
TUNE-" TIBBIE FOWLER IN THE GLEN."
WILLIE WASTLE dwalt on Tweed,
The spot they ca'd it Linkum-doddie,
Willie was a wabster 2 guid,
Cou'd stown a clue wi' onie bodie;
He had a wife was dour and din,3
Oh, Tinkler Madgie was her mither;
Sic a wife as Willie had,
I wad na gie a button for her.
She has an e'e, she has but ane,
The cat has twa the very colour;
Five rusty teeth, forbye a stump,
A clapper tongue wad deave a miller;
A whiskin beard about her mou,
Her nose and chin they threaten ither;
Sic a wife as Willie had,
I wad na gie a button for her.
1 Willie's wife is said to have been the wife of a farmer near Ellisland.
She's bow-hough'd,' she's hein-shinn'd,
Ae limpin leg, a hand-breed' shorter;
She's twisted right, she's twisted left,
To balance fair in ilka quarter:
She has a hump upon her breast,
The twin o' that upon her shouther;
Sic a wife as Willie had,
I wad na gie a button for her.
Auld baudrons3 by the ingle sits,
An' wi' her loof her face a-washin;
But Willie's wife is nae sae trig,
She dights her grunzie wi' a hushion ;7
Her walie nieves like midden-creels,9
Her face wad fyle 10 the Logan-water;
Sic a wife as Willie had,
I wad na gie a button for her.
FLOW gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,
Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.
Thou stock-dove whose echo resounds thro' the glen,
Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den,
Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear,
I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair.
How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills,
Far mark'd with the courses of clear, winding rills;
There daily I wander as noon rises high,
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye.
How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below,
Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow;
There oft as mild ev'ning weeps over the lea,
The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me.
Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides;
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave,
As gathering sweet flow'rets she stems thy clear wave.
1 Out-kneed.
5 Wipes.
9 Dung-baskets.
2 Hand's-breadth.
6 Mouth.
s Cat. 4 Neat. 7 Cushion. 8 Big fists. 11 Afton, a stream in Ayrshire.
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