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THERE was a lass, and she was fair,
At kirk or market to be seen;
When a' our fairest maids were met,

The fairest maid was bonie Jean.

And aye she wrought her country wark,
And aye she sang sae merrilie ;
The blythest bird upon the bush

Had ne'er a lighter heart than she.

But hawks will rob the tender joys
That bless the little lintwhite's nest;
And frost will blight the fairest flowers,
And love will break the soundest rest.

Young Robie was the brawest lad,
The flower and pride of a' the glen;
And he had owsen, sheep, and kye,
And wanton naigies nine or ten.

He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryste,
He danc'd wi' Jeanie on the down;

And, lang ere witless Jeanie wist,

Her heart was tint, her peace was stown!

As in the bosom of the stream,

The moon-beam dwells at dewy e'en ;
So trembling pure was tender love
Within the breast of bonie Jean.

And now she works her country wark,
And aye she sighs wi' care and pain;

Yet wist na what her ail might be,

Or what wad make her weel again.

But did na Jeanie's heart loup light,
And didna joy blink in her e'e,
As Robie tauld a tale o' love

Ae e'ening on the lily lea?

The sun was sinking in the west,
The birds sang sweet in ilka grove;
His cheek to hers he fondly laid,
And whisper'd thus his tale o' love:
"O Jeanie fair, I lo'e thee dear;
O canst thou think to fancy me,
Or wilt thou leave thy mammie's cot,
And learn to tent the farms wi' me?
"At barn or byre thou shalt na drudge,
Or naething else to trouble thee;
But stray amang the heather-bells,
And tent the waving corn wi' me."

Now what could artless Jeanie do?
She had nae will to say him na:
At length she blush'd a sweet consent,
And love was aye between them twa.

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The dawn of love

Phillis the fair

In each bird's careless song,
Glad I did share ;

While yon wild-flowers among,

Chance led me there!
Sweet to the op'ning day,
Rosebuds bent the dewy spray;
"Such thy bloom!" did I say,
"Phillis the fair."

Down in a shady walk,
Doves cooing were;
I mark'd the cruel hawk
Caught in a snare :
So kind may Fortune be,
Such make his destiny,
He who would injure thee,
Phillis the fair.


Tune-"Robin Adair."

HAD I a cave on some wild distant shore,
Where the winds howl to the wave's dashing


There would I weep my woes,

There seek my lost repose,

Till grief my eyes should close,

Ne'er to wake more!

Falsest of womankind, can'st thou declare
All thy fond, plighted vows fleeting as air!
To thy new lover hie,
Laugh o'er thy perjury;
Then in thy bosom try
What peace is there!

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By Allan stream I chanc'd to rove,
While Phoebus sank beyond Benledi;
The winds were whispering thro' the grove,
The yellow corn was waving ready :

I listen'd to a lover's sang,

An' thought on youthfu' pleasures monie ; And aye the wild-wood echoes ranglove Annie's very bonie!

"O, my

"O, happy be the woodbine bower, Nae nightly bogle make it eerie ; Nor ever sorrow stain the hour,

The place and time I met my dearie ! Her head upon my throbbing breast,

She, sinking said, 'I'm thine for ever!' While mony a kiss the seal imprest

The sacred vow we ne'er should sever."

The haunt o' Spring's the primrose-brae,
The Summer joys the flocks to follow;
How cheery thro' her short'ning day,

Is Autumn in her weeds o' yellow;
But can they melt the glowing heart,
Or chain the soul in speechless pleasure?
Or thro' each nerve the rapture dart,
Like meeting her, our bosom's treasure?


Chorus.-O whistle an' I'll come to ye, my


O whistle an I'll come to ye, my lad,


"Whistle an' I'll come"

Tho' father an' mother an' a' should gae


O whistle an' I'll come to ye, my lad.

But warily tent when ye come to court me,
And come nae unless the back-yett be a-jee;
Syne up the back-stile, and let naebody see,
And come as ye were na comin to me,
And come as ye were na comin to me.
O whistle an' I'll come, &c.

At kirk, or at market, whene'er ye meet me,
Gang by me as tho' that ye car'd na a flie;
But steal me a blink o' your bonie black e’e,
Yet look as ye were na lookin to me,
Yet look as ye were na lookin to me.
O whistle an' I'll come, &c.

Aye vow and protest that ye care na for me,
And whiles ye may lightly my beauty a-wee;
But court na anither, tho' jokin ye be,
For fear that she wile your fancy frae me,
For fear that she wile your fancy frae me.
O whistle and I'll come, &c.


Tune-"The Muckin o' Geordie's Byre."

ADOWN winding Nith I did wander,
To mark the sweet flowers as they spring;
Adown winding Nith I did wander,
Of Phillis to muse and to sing.

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