THE friend whom, wild from Wisdom's way,
The fumes of wine infuriate send,
(Not moony madness more astray)
Who but deplores that hapless friend?
Mine was th' insensate frenzied part,
Ah! why should I such scenes outlive?,
Scenes so abhorrent to my heart!-
"Tis thine to pity and forgive.
WILT THOU BE MY DEARIE?
Tune "The Sutor's Dochter."
WILT thou be my Dearie?
When Sorrow wring thy gentle heart,
O wilt thou let me cheer thee!
By the treasure of my soul,
That's the love I bear thee:
I swear and vow that only thou
Shall ever be my Dearie!
Only thou, I swear and vow,
Shall ever be my Dearie!
Lassie, say thou lo'es me;
Or, if thou wilt na be my ain,
O say na thou❜lt refuse me!
If it winna, canna be,
Thou for thine may choose me,
Let me, lassie, quickly die,
Still trusting that thou lo'es me!
Lassie, let me quickly die,
Still trusting that thou lo'es me!
A FIDDLER IN THE NORTH
Tune "The King o' 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, Strathspeys, and Reels,
She dirl'd them aff fu' clearly, O:
When there cam' a yell o' foreign squeels,
That dang her tapsalteerie, O.
Their capon craws an' queer "ha, ha's,"
They made our lugs grow eerie, O;
The hungry bike did scrape and fyke,
Till we were wae and weary, 0:
But a royal ghaist, wha ance was cas'd,
A prisoner, aughteen year awa',
He fir'd a Fiddler in the North,
That dang them tapsalteerie, O.
THE MINSTREL AT LINCLUDEN
Tune-"Cumnock Psalms."
As I stood by yon roofless tower,
Where the wa'flow'r scents the dewy air,
Where the howlet mourns in her ivy bower,
And tells the midnight moon her care.
Chorus-A lassie all alone, was making her moan,
Lamenting our lads beyond the sea:
In the bluidy wars they fa', and our honour's
gane an' a',
And broken-hearted we maun die.
The winds were laid, the air was still,
The stars they shot along the sky;
The tod was howling on the hill,
And the distant-echoing glens reply.
A lassie all alone, &c.
The burn, adown its hazelly path,
Was rushing by the ruin'd wa',
Hasting to join the sweeping Nith,
Whase roarings seem'd to rise and fa'.
A lassie all alone, &c.
The cauld blae North was streaming forth
Her lights, wi' hissing, eerie din, Athort the lift they start and shift, Like Fortune's favours, tint as win. A lassie all alone, &c.
Now, looking over firth and fauld,
Her horn the pale-faced Cynthia rear'd,
When lo! in form of Minstrel auld,
A stern and stalwart ghaist appear'd.
A lassie all alone, &c.
And frae his harp sic strains did flow,
Might rous'd the slumbering Dead to hear;
But oh, it was a tale of woe,
As ever met a Briton's ear!
A lassie all alone, &c.
He sang wi' joy his former day,
He, weeping, wail'd his latter times;
But what he said-it was nae play,
I winna venture't in my rhymes.
A lassie all alone, &c.
As I stood by yon roofless tower,
Where the wa'flower scents the dewy air, Where the howlet mourns in her ivy bower, And tells the midnight moon her care.
The winds were laid, the air was still,
The stars they shot alang the sky;
The fox was howling on the hill,
And the distant echoing glens reply.
The stream, adown its hazelly path,
Was rushing by the ruin'd wa's,
Hasting to join the sweeping Nith,
Whase distant roaring swells and fa's.
The cauld blae North was streaming forth
Her lights, wi' hissing, eerie din;
Athwart the lift they start and shift,
Like Fortune's favors, tint as win.
By heedless chance I turn'd mine eyes,
And, by the moonbeam, shook to see
A stern and stalwart ghaist arise,
Attir'd as Minstrels wont to be.
Had I a statue been o' stane,
His daring look had daunted me; And on his bonnet grav'd was plain, The sacred posy-"LIBERTIE!"
And frae his harp sic strains did flow,
Might rous'd the slumb'ring Dead to hear;
But oh, it was a tale of woe,
As ever met a Briton's ear!
He sang wi' joy his former day,
He, weeping, wailed his latter times;
But what he said-it was nae play,
I winna venture't in my rhymes.
A RED, RED ROSE
O MY Luve's like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June:
O my Luve's like the melodie,
That's sweetly play'd in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.
Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun; And I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.
And fare-thee-weel, my only Luve!
And fare-thee-weel, a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho' 'twere ten thousand mile!
YOUNG JAMIE, PRIDE OF A' THE PLAIN
Tune "The Carlin of the Glen."
YOUNG JAMIE, pride of a' the plain,
Sae gallant and sae gay a swain,
Thro' a' our lasses he did rove,
And reign'd resistless King of Love.
But now, wi' sighs and starting tears,
He strays amang the woods and breirs;
Or in the glens and rocky caves,
His sad complaining dowie raves:—
"I wha sae late did range and rove,
And chang'd with every moon my love,
I little thought the time was near,
Repentance I should buy sae dear.
"The slighted maids my torments see,
And laugh at a' the pangs I dree;
While she, my cruel, scornful Fair,
Forbids me e'er to see her mair."
THE FLOWERY BANKS OF CREE
HERE is the glen, and here the bower
All underneath the birchen shade;
The village-bell has told the hour,
O what can stay my lovely maid?
"Tis not Maria's whispering call;
"Tis but the balmy breathing gale,
Mixt with some warbler's dying fall,
The dewy star of eve to hail.
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