ADDRESS TO THE WOODLARK Tune-"Loch Erroch Side. O STAY, Sweet warbling woodlark, stay, Thy soothing, fond complaining. Say, was thy little mate unkind, SONG.-ON CHLORIS BEING ILL Tune-" Aye wauken O." Chorus-Long, long the night, Heavy comes the morrow While my soul's delight Is on her bed of sorrow. CAN I cease to care? Can I cease to languish, While my darling Fair Is on the couch of anguish? Ev'ry hope is fled, Ev'ry fear is terror; Slumber ev'n I dread, Hear me, Powers Divine! HOW CRUEL ARE THE PARENTS Altered from an old English song. Tune-" John Anderson, my jo." How cruel are the parents The ravening hawk pursuing, The trembling dove thus flies, To shun impelling ruin, Awhile her pinions tries; No shelter or retreat, She trusts the ruthless Falconer, And drops beneath his feet. MARK YONDER POMP OF COSTLY FASHION Air-" Deil tak the wars." MARK yonder pomp of costly fashion Round the wealthy, titled bride: But when compar'd with real passion, Poor is all that princely pride. Mark yonder, &c. (four lines repeated). What are the showy treasures, What are the noisy pleasures? The gay, gaudy glare of vanity and art: The polish'd jewels blaze May draw the wond'ring gaze; And courtly grandeur bright The fancy may delight, But never, never can come near the heart. But did you see my dearest Chloris, In simplicity's array; Lovely as yonder sweet opening flower is, Shrinking from the gaze of day, But did you see, &c. O then, the heart alarming, And all resistless charming, In Love's delightful fetters she chains the willing soul! Ambition would disown The world's imperial crown, Ev'n Avarice would deny, His worshipp'd deity, And feel thro' every vein Love's raptures roll. 'TWAS NA HER BONIE BLUE E'E Tune-" Laddie, lie near me." 'TWAS na her bonie blue e'e was my ruin, Fair tho' she be, that was ne'er my undoin'; 'Twas the dear smile when nae body did mind us, 'Twas the bewitching, sweet, stown glance o' kindness: 'Twas the bewitching, sweet, stown glance o' kindness. Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me, Sair do I fear that despair maun abide me, But tho' fell fortune should fate us to sever, Chloris, I'm thine wi' a passion sincerest, THEIR GROVES O' SWEET MYRTLE THEIR groves o' sweet myrtle let Foreign Lands reckon, Wi' the burn stealing under the lang, yellow broom. Tho' rich is the breeze in their gay, sunny valleys, Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud palace, He wanders as free as the winds of his mountains, FORLORN, MY LOVE, NO COMFORT NEAR FORLORN, my Love, no comfort near, Far, far from thee, the fate severe, Chorus-O wert thou, Love, but near me! How kindly thou wouldst cheer me, Around me scowls a wintry sky, Cold, alter'd friendship's cruel part, But, dreary tho' the moments fleet, FRAGMENT,-WHY, WHY TELL THE LOVER Tune-" Caledonian Hunt's delight." WHY, why tell the lover Bliss he never must enjoy? Why, why undeceive him, And give all his hopes the lie? O why, while fancy, raptur'd slumbers, Chloris, Chloris," all the theme, Why, why would'st thou, cruel Wake thy lover from his dream. |