The sweetest flower that deck'd the mead,
Now trodden like the vilest weed;
Let simple maid the lesson read,
The weird may be her ain, jo.
The bird that charm'd his summer-day,
Is now the cruel fowler's prey;
Let witless, trusting, woman say
How aft her fate's the same, jo.
OH THIS IS NO MY AIN LASSIE!
TUNE-This is no my uin House.
OH this is no my ain lassie,
Fair tho' the lassie be;
Oh weel ken I my ain lassie,
Kind love is in her ee.
I see a form, I see a face,
Ye weel may wi' the fairest place :
It wants, to me, the witching grace,
The kind love that 's in her ee.
She's bonnie, blooming, straight, and tall,
And lang has had my heart in thrall;
And aye it charms my very saul,
The kind love that's in her ee.
A thief sae pawkie is my Jean,
To steal a blink, by a' unseen;
But gleg as light are lovers' een,
When kind love is in the ee.
It may escape the courtly sparks,
It may escape the learned clerks;
But weel the watching lover marks
The kind love that's in her ee.
OH WAT YE WHA'S IN YON TOWN.
TUNE-I'll aye ca' in by yon Town.
Он, wat ye wha's in yon town,
Ye see the e'enin' sun upon?
The fairest dame's in yon town,
That e'enin' sun is shining on.
Now haply down yon gay green shaw,
She wanders by yon spreading tree;
How blest ye flow'rs that round her blaw,
Ye catch the glances o' her ee!
How blest ye birds that round her sing,
And welcome in the blooming year!
And doubly welcome be the spring,
The season to my Lucy dear.
The sun blinks blythe on yon town,
And on yon bonnie braes of Ayr;
But my delight in yon town,
And dearest bliss, is Lucy fair.
Without my love, not a' the charms
O' Paradise could yield me joy;
But gie me Lucy in my arms,
And welcome Lapland's dreary sky!
My cave wad be a lover's bower,
Tho' raging winter rent the air;
And she a lovely little flower,
That I wad tent and shelter there.
Oh sweet is she in yon town,
Yon einkin' sun's gane down upon; A fairer than's in yon town
His setting beam ne'er shone upon.
If angry fate is sworn my foe,
And suffering I am doom'd to bear; I careless quit aught else below,
But spare me-spare me Lucy dear!
For while life's dearest blood is warm,
Ae thought frae her shall ne'er depart,
And she-as fairest is her form!
She has the truest, kindest heart!
OH, WERE I ON PARNASSUS' HILL.
TUNE-My Love is lost to me.
Он, 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 couldna sing, I couldna 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 lips, thy roguish een-
By heav'n and earth, I love thee!
By night, by day, a-field, at hame,
The thoughts o' thee my breast inflame;
And aye 1 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 love thee.
OH, WERT THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST.
TUNE-Lass o' Livistone.
Он, wert thou in the cauld blast
On yonder lea, on yonder lea,
My plaidie to the angry airt,
I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee: Or did misfortune's bitter storms
Around thee blaw, around thee blaw,
Thy bield should be my bosom,
To share it a', to share it a'.
Or were I in the wildest waste,
Sae black and bare, sae black and bare, The desert were a paradise,
If thou wert there, if thou wert there : Or were I monarch o' the globe,
Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign, The brightest jewel in my crown
Wad be my queen, wad be my queen.
OH WHA IS SHE THAT LOES ME?
TUNE-Morag.
OH wha is she that loes me,
And has my heart a-keeping?
Oh sweet is she that loes me,
As dews o' simmer weeping,
In tears the rose-bud steeping!
Oh that's the lassie o'my heart,
My lassie ever dearer;
Oh that's the queen o' womankind,
And ne'er a ane to peer her.
If thou shalt meet a lassie
In grace and beauty charming,
That e'en thy chosen lassie,
Erewhile thy breast sae warming,
Had ne'er sic powers alarming.
If thou hadst heard her talking,
And thy attentions plighted,
That ilka body talking,
But her by thee is slighted,
And thou art all delighted.
|