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I listen'd to a lover's sang,
An' thought on youthfu' pleasures mony;
"O, happy be the woodbine bower,
The place and time I met my Dearie!
The sacred vow we ne'er should sever."
The haunt o' Spring's the primrose-brae,
Is Autumn in her weeds o' yellow;
Or chain the soul in speechless pleasure?
Or thro' each nerve the rapture dart,
Like meeting her, our bosom's treasure?
WHISTLE, AND I'LL COME TO YOU, MY LAD
Chorus.-O WHISTLE an' I'll come to ye, my lad,
O whistle an' I'll come to ye, my lad,
Tho' father an' mother an' a' should gae mad,
But warily tent when ye come to court me,
At kirk, or at market, whene'er ye meet me,
But steal me a blink o' your bonie black e'e,
Yet look as ye were na lookin to me.
Aye vow and protest that ye care na for me,
PHILLIS THE QUEEN O' THE FAIR
Tune-" The Muckin o' Geordie's Byre."
ADOWN winding Nith I did wander,
To mark the sweet flowers as they spring;
Chorus.-Awa' wi' your belles and your beauties, They never wi' her can compare,
Whaever has met wi' my Phillis,
Has met wi' the queen o' the fair.
The daisy amus'd my fond fancy,
The rose-bud's the blush o' my charmer,
How fair and how pure is the lily!
Yon knot of gay flowers in the arbour,
Her voice is the song o' the morning,
That wakes thro' the green-spreading grove
But beauty, how frail and how fleeting!
Awa' wi' your belles, &c.
COME, LET ME TAKE THEE TO MY BREAST
COME, let me take thee to my breast,
And pledge we ne'er shall sunder;
And I shall spurn as vilest dust
The world's wealth and grandeur:
That equal transports move her?
I ask for dearest life alone,
That I may live to love her.
Thus, in my arms, wi' a' her charms,
And by thy e'en sae bonie blue,
And break it shall I never.
Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers,
Chorus.-Meet me on the warlock knowe,
The crystal waters round us fa',
As purple morning starts the hare,
When day, expiring in the west,
ROBERT BRUCE'S MARCH TO BANNOCKBURN
SCOTS, wha hae wi' WALLace bled,
Or to Victorie!
Now's the day, and now's the hour;
See approach proud EDWARD's power-
Wha will be a traitor knave?
Let him turn and flee!
Wha, for Scotland's King and Law,
By Oppression's woes and pains!
But they shall be free!
Lay the proud Usurpers low!
Let us Do or Die!
BEHOLD THE HOUR, THE BOAT ARRIVE
BEHOLD the hour, the boat arrive;
Thou goest, the darling of my heart;
Sever'd from thee, can I survive,
But Fate has will'd and we must part.
I'll often greet the surging swell,
"E'en here I took the last farewell;