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On the seas and far away,
On stormy seas and far away;
To my arms their charge convey.
My dear lad that's far away.

Ca' the Yowes to the Knowes.1
Second Version.

Chorus.-Ca' the yowes to the knowes,
Ca' them where the beather grows,
Ca' them where the burnie rowes,
My bonie Dearie.

HARK the mavis' e'ening sang,
Sounding Clouden's woods amang;
Then a-faulding let us gang,
My bonie Dearie.

Ca' the yowes, &c.

We'll gae down by Clouden side,2
Thro' the hazels, spreading wide,
O'er the waves that sweetly glide,
To the moon sae clearly.
Ca' the yowes, &c.

Yonder Clouden's silent towers,3
Where, at moonshine's midnight hours,
O'er the dewy bending flowers,
Fairies dance sae cheery.

Ca' the yowes, &c.

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Tune-"Oonagh's Waterfall."

SAE flaxen were her ringlets,
Her eyebrows of a darker hue,
Bewitchingly o'er-arching

Twa laughing e'en o' lovely blue;
Her smiling, sae wiling,

Wad make a wretch forget his woe;
What pleasure, what treasure,

Unto these rosy lips to grow!
Such was my Chloris' bonie face,
When first that bonie face I saw;
And aye my Chloris' dearest charm-
She says, she lo'es me best of a'.

Like harmony her motion,

Her pretty ankle is a spy,
Betraying fair proportion,

Wad make a saint forget the sky:
Sae warming, sae charming,

Her fautless form and gracefu' air;

Ilk feature-auld Nature

Declar'd that she could do nae mair:
Hers are the willing chains o' love,

By conquering Beauty's sovereign law;
And still my Chloris' dearest charm-
She says, she lo'es me best of a'.

* stolen.

1 Miss Lorimer is again the heroine.


Let others love the city,

And gaudy show, at sunny noon;
Gie me the lonely valley,

The dewy eve and rising moon,
Fair beaming, and streaming,

Her silver light the boughs amang;
While falling, recalling,

The amorous thrush concludes his sang;
There, dearest Chloris, wilt thou rove,
By wimpling burn and leafy shaw,
And hear my vows o' truth and love,
And say, thou lo'es me best of a'.

To Dr Maxwell,

On Miss Jessy Staig's recovery.1

MAXWELL, if here you merit crave,
That merit I deny;

You save fair Jessie from the grave!-
An Angel could not die!

To the beautiful Miss Eliza J—n,

On her Principles of Liberty and Equality.2

How, Liberty! girl, can it be by thee nam'd?
Equality too! hussey, art not asham'd?

Free and Equal indeed, while mankind thou enchainest,
And over their hearts a proud Despot so reignest.

1 On Miss Staig, the heroine of Lovely Young Jessie.

2 The idea occurs, as Mr Scott

Douglas points out, in a Latin Epigram of Dr Johnson.

On Chloris

Requesting me to give her a Sprig of Blossomed

FROM the white-blossom'd sloe my dear Chloris requested
A sprig, her fair breast to adorn :

No, by Heavens! I exclaim'd, let me perish, if ever
I plant in that bosom a thorn!

On seeing Mrs Kemble in Yarico.

KEMBLE, thou cur'st my unbelief

Of Moses and his rod;

At Yarico's sweet note of grief
The rock with tears had flow'd.

Epigram on a country Laird,

not quite so wise as Solomon.s

BLESS Jesus Christ, O Cardoness,
With grateful, lifted eyes,
Who taught that not the soul alone,
But body too shall rise;

For had He said "the soul alone
From death I will deliver,"
Alas, alas! O Cardoness,

Then hadst thou lain for ever.

1 One of seventeen scraps sent by Burns to Creech the publisher.

2 Another of the seventeen. Mrs Kemble played in Inkle and Yarico.

8 The victim was Maxwell of Cardoness.

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On being shewn a beautiful country Seat

Belonging to the same Laird.1

WE grant they're thine, those beauties all,
So lovely in our eye;

Keep them, thou eunuch, Cardoness,
For others to enjoy!

On hearing it asserted Falsehood

is expressed in the Rev. Dr Babington's very looks. THAT there is a falsehood in his looks,

I must and will deny :

They tell their Master is a knave,

And sure they do not lie.

On a Suicide.

EARTH'D up, here lies an imp o' hell,
Planted by Satan's dibble;

Poor silly wretch, he's damned himsel',
To save the Lord the trouble.

On a Swearing Coxcomb.
HERE cursing, swearing Burton lies,
A buck, a beau, or "Dem my eyes!"
Who in his life did little good,

And his last words were 66

Dem my blood!"

On an Innkeeper nicknamed "the Marquis."
HERE lies a mock Marquis, whose titles were shamm'd,
If ever he rise, it will be to be damn'd.

1 It is a pity that these things must be included among poems.

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