CHORUS. For oh, her lanely nights are lang; And now what seas between us roar, For oh, &c. How slow ye move, ye heavy hours; It wasna sae ye glinted by, THE LOVER'S MORNING SALUTE TO HIS MISTRESS. TUNE-Deil tak the Wars. SLEEP'ST thou, or wak'st thou, fairest creature? Rosy morn now lifts his eye, Numbering ilka bud which Nature Waters wi' the tears o' joy: Now thro' the leafy woods, And by the reeking floods, Wild Nature's tenants freely, gladly stray; The lintwhite in his bower Chants o'er the breathing flower; The lav'rock to the sky Ascends wi' sangs o' joy, While the sun and thou arise to bless the day. BUT LATELY SEEN. Phœbus, gilding the brow o' morning, Nature gladdening and adorning; Such to me my lovely maid. With starless gloom o'ercast my sullen sky: She meets my ravish'd sight, "Tis then I wake to life, to light, and joy. BUT LATELY SEEN. TUNE-The Death of the Linnet. BUT lately seen in gladsome green But now our joys are fled On winter blasts awa! Yet maiden May, in rich array, But my white pow, nae kindly thowe My trunk of eild, but buss or bield, Oh, age has weary days, And nights o' sleepless pain! Thou golden time o' youthfu' prime, 77 LASSIE WI' THE LINT-WHITE LOCKS. TUNE-Rothiemurchus's Rant. CHORUS. Lassie wi' the lint-white locks, Now nature cleeds the flowery lea, And thou❜lt be Lassie wi', &c. my dearie O? And when the welcome simmer-shower When Cynthia lights, wi' silver ray, And when the howling wintry blast I'll comfort thee, my dearie O. Lassie wi' the lint-white locks, FAREWELL, THOU STREAM. FAREWELL, thou stream that winding flows To feel a fire in ev'ry vein, Love's veriest wretch, unseen, unknown, I know thou doom'st me to despair, The music of thy voice I heard, 9 CONTENTED WI' LITTLE. TUNE-Lumps o' Pudding. CONTENTED wi' little, and cantie wi' mair, My mirth and guid humour are coin in my pouch, And my Freedom's my lairdship nae monarch dare touch. A towmond o' trouble, should that be my fa', Blind chance, let her snapper and stoyte on her way, Be't to me, be't frae me, e'en let the jade gae: Come ease, or come travail; come pleasure, or [again!' My warst word is- Welcome, and welcome pain, MY NANNIE'S AWA. TUNE-There'll never be Peace. Now in her green mantle blithe nature arrays, |