A TIPPLING BALLAD

On the Duke of Brunswick's Breaking up his Camp, and the defeat of the Austrians, by Dumourier, November 1792.

WHEN Princes and Prelates,

And hot-headed zealots,

A' Europe had set in a low, a low,

The poor man lies down,

Nor envies a crown,

And comforts himself as he dow, as he dow,

And comforts himself as he dow.

The black-headed eagle,

As keen as a beagle,

He hunted o'er height and o'er howe,

In the braes o' Gemappe,

He fell in a trap,

E'en let him come out as he dow, dow, dow,

E'en let him come out as he dow.

*

But truce with commotions,
And new-fangled notions,

A bumper, I trust you'll allow;
Here's George our good king,

And Charlotte his queen,

And lang may they ring as they dow, dow, dow,
And lang may they ring as they dow.

POORTITH CAULD AND RESTLESS LOVE Tune-" Cauld Kail in Aberdeen."

O POORTITH Cauld, and restless love,

Ye wrack my peace between ye;
Yet poortith a' I could forgive,

An 'twere na for my Jeanie.

Chorus-O why should Fate sic pleasure have,
Life's dearest bands untwining?

Or why sae sweet a flower as love
Depend on Fortune's shining?

The warld's wealth, when I think on,
It's pride and a' the lave o't;
O fie on silly coward man,
That he should be the slave o't!
O why, &c.

Her e'en, sae bonie blue, betray
How she repays my passion;
But prudence is her o'erword aye,
She talks o' rank and fashion.
O why, &c.

O wha can prudence think upon,
And sic a lassie by him?
O wha can prudence think upon,
And sae in love as I am?
O why, &c.

How blest the simple cotter's fate!
He woos his artless dearie;
The silly bogles, wealth and state,
Can never make him eerie.
O why, &c.

ON POLITICS

IN Politics if thou would'st mix,
And mean thy fortunes be;
Bear this in mind, be deaf and blind,
Let great folk hear and see.

BRAW LADS O' GALLA WATER

BRAW, braw lads on Yarrow-braes,

They rove amang the blooming heather;
But Yarrow braes, nor Ettrick shaws
Can match the lads o' Galla Water.

But there is ane, a secret ane,

Aboon them a' I loe him better;
And I'll be his, and he'll be mine,
The bonie lad o' Galla Water.

Altho' his daddie was nae laird,

And tho' I hae nae meikle tocher,

Yet rich in kindest, truest love,

We'll tent our flocks by Galla Water.

It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth,
That coft contentment, peace, or pleasure;
The bands and bliss o' mutual love,

O that's the chiefest warld's treasure.

SONNET WRITTEN ON THE AUTHOR'S BIRTHDAY,

On hearing a Thrush sing in his Morning Walk.

SING on, sweet thrush, upon the leafless bough,
Sing on, sweet bird, I listen to thy strain,
See aged Winter, 'mid his surly reign,
At thy blythe carol, clears his furrowed brow.

So in lone Poverty's dominion drear,

Sits meek Content with light, unanxious heart; Welcomes the rapid moments, bids them part, Nor asks if they bring ought to hope or fear.

I thank thee, Author of this opening day!
Thou whose bright sun now gilds yon orient skies!

Riches denied, thy boon was purer joys— What wealth could never give nor take away!

Yet come, thou child of poverty and care,

The mite high heav'n bestow'd, that mite with thee I'll share.

WANDERING WILLIE

First Version

HERE awa, there awa, wandering Willie,
Now tired with wandering, haud awa hame;
Come to my bosom, my ae only dearie,

And tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same.
Loud blew the cauld winter winds at our parting;
It was na the blast brought the tear in my e'e:
Now welcome the Simmer, and welcome my Willie,
The Simmer to Nature, my Willie to me.

Ye hurricanes rest in the cave o' your slumbers,
O how your wild horrors a lover alarms!
Awaken ye breezes, row gently ye billows,

And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms.
But if he's forgotten his faithfullest Nannie,

O still flow between us, thou wide roaring main;

May I never see it, may I never trow it,
But, dying, believe that my Willie's my ain!

WANDERING WILLIE

Revised Version

HERE awa, there awa, wandering Willie,
Here awa, there awa, haud awa hame;
Come to my bosom, my ain only dearie,

Tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same.
Winter winds blew loud and cauld at our parting,
Fears for my Willie brought tears in my e'e,

Welcome now Simmer, and welcome my Willie, The Simmer to Nature, my Willie to me.

Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave of your slumbers, How your dread howling a lover alarms! Wauken ye breezes, row gently ye billows,

And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms. But oh, if he's faithless, and minds na his Nannie, Flow still between us, thou wide roaring main! May I never see it, may I never trow it,

But, dying, believe that my Willie's my ain.

LORD GREGORY

O MIRK, mirk is this midnight hour,
And loud the tempest's roar;
A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tower,
Lord Gregory, ope thy door.
An exile frae her father's ha',
And a' for sake o' thee;

At least some pity on me shaw,

If love it may na be.

Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grove
By bonie Irwine side,

Where first I own'd that virgin love

I lang, lang had denied.

How aften didst thou pledge and vow

Thou wad for aye be mine!

And my fond heart, itsel' sae true,

It ne'er mistrusted thine.

Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory,

And flinty is thy breast:

Thou bolt of Heaven that flashest by,
O, wilt thou bring me rest!

Ye mustering thunders from above,
Your willing victim see;

But spare and pardon my fause Love,
His wrangs to Heaven and me.