I see her in the dewy flowers,
I see her sweet and fair;
I hear her in the tunefu' birds,
I hear her charm the air:
There's not a bonnie flower that springs
By fountain, shaw, or green;
There's not a bonnie bird that sings,
But minds me o' my Jean.
O, WERE I ON PARNASSUS' HILL.
TUNE "MY LOVE IS LOST TO ME."
O, WERE I on Parnassus' hill,
Or had of Helicon my fill,
That I might catch poetic skill,
To sing how dear I love thee!
But Nith maun be my Muse's well,
My Muse maun be thy bonnie sel;
On Corsincon' I'll glow'r and spell,
And write how dear I love thee.
Then come, sweet Muse, inspire my lay!
For a' the lee-lang simmer's day,
I coud na sing, I coud na say,
How much, how dear I love thee.
I see thee dancing o'er the green,
Thy waist sae jimp, thy limbs sae clean,
Thy tempting looks, thy roguish een-
By Heaven and earth I love thee!
By night, by day, a-field, at hame,
The thoughts o' thee my breast inflame;
And aye Ι muse and sing thy name,
I only live to love thee.
Tho' I were doom'd to wander on,
Beyond the sea, beyond the sun,
Till my last weary sand was run;
Till then-and then I'd love thee.
1 A hill near Ellisland.
TUNE "SEVENTH OF NOVEMBER."
THE day returns, my bosom burns,
The blissful day we twa did meet,
Tho' winter wild in tempest toil'd,
Ne'er summer-sun was half sae sweet,
Than a' the pride that loads the tide,
And crosses o'er the sultry line;
Than kingly robes, than crowns and globes;-
Heaven gave me more, it made thee mine.
While day and night can bring delight,
Or nature aught of pleasure give;
While joys above my mind can move,-
For thee, and thee alone, I live!
When that grim foe of life below
Comes in between to make us part;
The iron hand that breaks our band,
It breaks my bliss--it breaks my heart.
THE BRAES O' BALLOCHMYLE.
TUNE "MISS FORBES'S FAREWELL TO BANFF.
THE Catrine woods were yellow seen,
The flowers decay'd on Catrine lea,
Nae lav'rock sang on hillock green,
But nature sicken'd on the e'e.
Thro' faded groves Maria sang,
Hersel in beauty's bloom the whyle,
And aye the wild-wood echoes rang,
Fareweel the braes o' Ballochmyle.
Low in your wintry beds, ye flowers,
Again ye'll flourish fresh and fair;
Ye birdies dumb, in with'ring bowers,
Again ye'll charm the vocal air.
But here, alas! for me nae mair
Shall birdie charm, or flow'ret smile;
Fareweel the bonnie banks of.Ayr,
Fareweel, fareweel! sweet Ballochmyle.
The Poet declared Robert Riddel and his wife to be "one of the happiest end worthiest married couples in the world." These stanzas were composed for the anniversary of their wedding-day.
THE HAPPY TRIO.1
TUNE "WILLIE brew'd a PECK O' MAUT."
O, WILLIE brew'd a peck o' maut,
And Rob and Allan came to see;
Three blither hearts, that lee-lang' night,
Ye wad na find in Christendie.
We are na fou, we're no that fou,
But just a drappie in our e'e;
The cock may craw, the day may daw,
And aye we'll taste the barley bree.
Here are we met, three merry boys,
Three merry boys, I trow, are we;
And monie a night we've merry been,
And monie mae we hope to be!
We are na fou, &c.
It is the moon, I ken her horn,
That's blinkin in the lift sae nie:
She shines sae bright to wyle us hame,
But, by my sooth, she'll wait a wee!
We are na fou, &c.
Wha first shall rise to gang awa,
A cuckold, coward loun is he!
Wha last beside his chair shall fa',
He is the king amang us three!
We are na fou, &c.
THE BLUE-EYED LASSIE.'
I GAED a waefu' gate yestreen,
A gate, I fear, I'll dearly rue;
I gat my death frae twa sweet een,
Twa lovely een o' bonnie blue.
1 This air is Masterton's; the song mine. The occasion of it was this: Mr. William Nicol, of the High School of Edinburgh, during the Autumn vacation, being at Moffat, honest Allar, who was at that time on a visit to Dalswinton, and I, went to pay Nicol a visit. We had such a joyous meeting, that Mr. Masterton and I agreed, each in our own way, that we should celebrate the business.-R. B.
8. Jean Jeffry, daughter of the minister of Lochmaben.
JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO, ETC. 'Twas not her golden ringlets bright,
Her lips like roses wet wi' dew, Her heaving bosom, lily-white;
It was her een sae bonnie blue.
She talk'd, she smil'd, my heart she wyl'd,
She charm'd my soul I wist na how;
And aye the stound,' the deadly wound,
Cam frae her een sae bonnie blue.
But spare to speak, and spare to speed;
She'll aiblins listen to my vow:
Should she refuse, I'll lay my dead
To her twa een sae bonnie blue.
JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO.
JOHN ANDERSON, my jo, John,
When we were first acquent,
Your locks were like the raven,
Your bonnie brow was brent ;*
But now your brow is beld, John,
Your locks are like the snaw;
But blessings on your frosty pow,
John Anderson, my jo.
John Anderson, my jo, John,
We clamb the hill thegither;
And monie a canty day, John,
We've had wi' ane anither:
Now we maun totter down, John,
But hand in hand we'll go,
And sleep thegither at the foot,
John Anderson, my jo.
TUNE" THE MUCKING O' GEOUDIE'S BYRE."
My heart is a breaking, dear Tittie,
Some counsel unto me come len',
To anger them a' is a pity;
But what will I do wi' Tam Glen?
I'm thinking, wi' sic a braw fallow,
In poortith' I might mak a fen';'
What care I in riches to wallow,
If I maunna marry Tam Glen?
There's Lowrie the laird o' Dumeller,
"Guid-day to you, brute!" he comes ben: He brags and he blaws o' his siller;
But when will he dance like Tam Glen?
My minnie does constantly deave3 me,
And bids me beware o' young men;
They flatter, she says, to deceive me;
But wha can think sae o' Tam Glen?
My daddie says, gin I'll forsake him,
He'll gie me guid hunder marks ten;
But if it's ordain'd I maun take him,
O wha will I get but Tam Glen?
Yestreen at the Valentines' dealing,
My heart to my mou gied a sten:*
For thrice I drew ane without failing,
And thrice it was written, Tam Glen.
The last Halloween I was waukin'
My droukit sark-sleeve, as ye ken;
His likeness cam up the house staukin-
And the very grey breeks o' Tam Glen!
Come counsel, dear Tittie, don't tarry;
I'll gie you my bonnie black hen,
Gif you will advise me to marry
The lad I lo'e dearly, Tam Glen.
GANE is the day, and mirk's the night,
But we'll ne'er stray for faute' o' light,
For ale and brandy's stars and moon,
And bluid-red wine's the risin sun.
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