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 unmingled and agony pure.
Wild as the winter now tearing the forest,
Till the last leaf of the summer is flown,
Such is the tempest has shaken my bosom,
Since my last hope and my comfort is gone;
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!
Now bank and brae are claith'd in green,
And scatter'd cowslips sweetly spring;
By Girvan's fairy haunted stream
The birdies flit on wanton wing.
To Cassilis' banks when e'ening fa's,
There wi' my Mary let me flee,
There ketch her ilka glance o' love,
The bonnie blink o' Mary's e'e^!
The chield wha boasts o' warld's walth
Is aften laird o' meikle care;
But Mary she is a' my ain
Ah! fortune canna gie me mair.
Then let me range by Cassilis' banks,
Wi' her, the lassie dear to me,
And ketch her ilka glance o' love,
The bonnie blink o' Mary's e'e!
TUNE-"The King of France he rade a race."
AMANG the trees where humming bees
At buds and flowers were hinging, O,
Auld Caledon drew out her drone,
And to her pipe was singing, O;
'Twas pibroch, sang, strathspey, or reels,
She dirl❜d them aff fu' clearly, O,
When there cam' a yell o' foreign squeels,
That dang her tapsaltcerie, O.
Their capon craws and queer ha ha's,
They made our lugs grow eerie, O;
The hungry bike did scrape and pike
Till we were wae and wearie, Ō;
But a royal ghaist wha once was cased
A prisoner aughteen year awa',
He fired a fiddler in the North,
Then dang them tapsalteerie, O,
My Peggy's face, my Peggy's form,
The frost of hermit age might warm;
My Peggy's worth, my Peggy's mind,
Might charm the first of human kind.
I love my Peggy's angel air,
Her face so truly, heavenly fair,
Her native grace, so void of art,
But I adore my Peggy's heart.
The lilly's hue, the rose's dye,
The kindling lustre of an eye;
Who but owns their magic sway,
Who but knows they all decay!
The tender thrill, the pitying tear,
The generous purpose, nobly dear,
The gentle look that rage disarms-
These are all immortal charms.
SHE is a winsome wee thing,
She is a handsome wee thing,
She is a bonnie wee thing,
This sweet wee wife o' mine.
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 bonnie wee thing,
This sweet wee wife o' mine.
The warld's wrack we share o't,
The warstle and the care o't, ;
Wi' her I'll blithely bear it,
And think my lot divine.
MY LADY'S GOWN THERE'S GAIRS UPON'T.
My lady's gown there's gairs upon't,
And gowden flowers so rare upon't;
But Jenny's jimps and jirkinet,
My lord thinks muckle mair upon't.
My lord a hunting he is gane,
But hounds or hawks wi' him are nane;
By Colin's cottage lies his game,
If Colin's Jenny be at hame.
My lady's white, my lady's red,
And kith and kin o' Cassilis' blude;
Bnt her ten-pund lands o' tocher guid
Were a' the charms his lordship lo'ed.
Out o'er yon muir, out o'er yon moss
Where gor-cocks thro' the heather pass,
There wons auld Colin's bonnie lass,
A lilly in a wilderness.
Sae sweetly move her gentle limbs,
Like music notes o' lovers' hymns;
The diamond dew in her een sae blue
Where laughing love sae wanton swims.
My lady's dink, my lady's drest,
The flower and fancy o' the west;
But the lassie that a man lo'es best,
O that's the lass to make him blest.
My lady's gown there's gairs upon't,
And gowden flowers sae rare upon't;
But Jenny's jimps and jirkinet,
My lord. thinks muckle mair upon't.
"TUNE-Catherine Ogie."
YE banks and braes and streams around
The castle o' Montgomerie,
Green be your woods and fair your flowers,
Your waters never drumlie!
There simmer first unfaulds her robes,
And there the langest tarry;
For there I took the last fareweel
O' my sweet Highland Mary.
How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk.
How rich the hawthorn's blossom;
As underneath their fragrant shade
I clasp'd 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' mony a vow, and lock'd embrace,
Our parting was fu' tender;
And, pledging aft to meet again,
We tore oursel's 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 ha'e kiss'd sae fondly!
And closed for aye the sparkling glance. That dwelt on me sae kindly!
And mouldering now in silent dust,
That heart that lo'ed me dearly!
But still within my bosom's core
Shall live my Highland Mary.
DUNCAN GRAY came here to woe,
Ha, ha, the wooing o't,
On blythe Yule night when we were fou,
Ha, ha, the wooing o't,
Maggie coost her head fu' heigh,
Look'd asklent and unco skeigh,
Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh;
Ha, ha, the wooing o't,
Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd; Ha, ha, the wooing o't,
Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig,
Ha, ha, the wooing o't,
Duncan sigh'd baith out and in,
Grat his een baith bleer't and blin',
Spak o' lowpin' owre a linn;
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
Time and chance are but a tide,
Ha, ha, the wooing o't,
Sighted love is sair to bide,
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
Shall I, like a fool, quoth he,
For a haughty hizzie die ?
She may gae to-France for me!
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
How it comes let doctors tell,
Ha, ha, the wooing o't,
Meg grew sick-as he grew heal,
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
Something in her bosom wrings,
For relief a sigh she brings;
And O' her een, they spak' sic things t Ha, ha, the wooing o't..
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