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O, WAT YE

WHA'S IN THE HIGHLAND LASSIE. YON TOWN?

TUNE-THE BONIE LASS IN YON TOWN.'

O, 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 e'e! 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 blithe on yon town,
And on yon bonie 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.

O sweet is she in yon town,

Yon sinkin 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 all 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 in her form,

She has the truest, kindest heart.

TUNE- THE DEUKS DANG O'ER MY DADDY.'

NAE gentle dames, tho' e'er sae fair,
Shall ever be my Muse's care;
Their titles a' are empty show;
Gie me my Highland lassie, O.

CHORUS.

Within the glen sae bushy, O,
Aboon the plain sae rushy, O,
I set me down wi' right good will,
To sing my Highland lassie, O.

Oh, were yon hills and valleys mine,
Yon palace and yon gardens fine!
The world then the love should know
I bear my Highland lassie, O.
Within the glen, &c.

But fickle fortune frowns on me,
And I maun cross the raging sea;
But while my crimson currents flow
I'll love my Highland lassie, O.
Within the glen, &c.

Altho' thro' foreign climes I range,
I know her heart will never change,
For her bosom burns with honour's
glow,

My faithful Highland lassie, O.
Within the glen, &c.

For her I'll dare the billow's roar,
For her I'll trace a distant shore,
That Indian wealth may lustre throw
Around my Highland lassie, O.

Within the glen, &c.

She has my heart, she has my hand,
By sacred truth and honour's band!
Till the mortal stroke shall lay me low,
I'm thine, my Highland lassie, O.

Fareweel the glen sae bushy, O!
Fareweel the plain sae rushy, O!
To other lands I now must go,
To sing my Highland lassie, O!

JOCKEY'S TA'EN THE UP IN THE MORNING

PARTING KISS.

JOCKEY'S ta'en the parting kiss,
O'er the mountains he is gane;
And with him is a' my bliss,

Nought but griefs with me remain.

Spare my luve, ye winds that blaw,

Plashy sleets and beating rain Spare my luve, thou feathery snaw, Drifting o'er the frozen plain!

When the shades of evening creep

O'er the day's fair, gladsome ee, Sound and safely may he sleep, Sweetly blithe his waukening be!

He will think on her he loves,
Fondly he'll repeat her name;
For where'er he distant roves,
Jockey's heart is still at hame.

BONIE ANN.

YE gallants bright, I red you right,
Beware o' bonie Ann:

Her comely face sae fu' o' grace,
Your heart she will trepan.

Her een

night,

EARLY.

CHORUS.

Up in the morning's no for me,

Up in the morning early;

When a' the hills are cover'd wi' snaw,

I'm sure it's winter fairly.

CAULD blaws the wind frae east to
west,

The drift is driving sairly;
Sae loud and shrill I hear the blast,
I'm sure it's winter fairly.

The birds sit chittering in the thorn,
A' day they fare but sparely;
And lang's the night frae e'en to
morn,

I'm sure it's winter fairly.
Up in the morning, &c.

MY BONIE MARY.

Go fetch to me a pint o' wine,
An' fill it in a silver tassie;
That I may drink before I go,
A service to my bonie lassie.

sae bright, like stars by The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith;

Her skin is like the swan; Sae jimpy lac'd her genty waist, That sweetly ye might span.

Youth, grace, and love, attendant move,
And pleasure leads the van;

In a' their charms, and conquering

arms,

They wait on bonie Ann.

Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the
ferry;

The ship rides by the Berwick-law,
And I maun leave my bonie Mary.

The trumpets sound, the banners fly,
The glittering spears are ranked
ready;

The shouts o' war are heard afar,
The battle closes thick and bloody;

The captive bands may chain the But it's no the roar o' sea or shore

hands,

But love enslaves the man: Ye gallants braw, I red you a', Beware o' bonie Ann.

Wad mak me langer wish tarry ; Nor shout o' war that's heard afar,

It's leaving thee, my bonie Mary.

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MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS.

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here;
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer;
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe,
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.
Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North,
The birth-place of valour, the country of worth;
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,

The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.

Farewell to the mountains high cover'd with snow;
Farewell to the straths and green valleys below;
Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods;
Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods.
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here:
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer;
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe,
My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go.

THERE'S A YOUTH IN THIS CITY.

TUNE

NEIL GOW'S LAMENT.'

THERE'S a youth in this city, it were a great pity,
That he from our lasses should wander awa;
For he's bonie and braw, weel favour'd witha',
And his hair has a natural buckle and a'.
His coat is the hue of his bonnet sae blue;

His fecket is white as the new-driven snaw;
His hose they are blae, and his shoon like the slae,
And his clear siller buckles they dazzle us a'.
His coat is the hue, &c.

For beauty and fortune the laddie's been courtin;
Weel-featur'd, weel-tocher'd, weel-mounted and braw;
But chiefly the siller, that gars him gang till her,
The pennie's the jewel that beautifies a'.

There's Meg wi' the mailin, that fain wad a haen him,
And Susy whase daddy was Laird o' the ha';
There's lang-tocher'd Nancy maist fetters his fancy,

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- But the laddie's dear sel he lo'es dearest of a'.

I DREAM'D I LAY WHERE FLOWERS WERE

SPRINGING.

I DREAM'D I lay where flowers were | Such was my life's deceitful morning,

springing

Gaily in the sunny beam ; List'ning to the wild birds singing,

By a falling, crystal stream:
Straight the sky grew black and daring;
Thro' the woods the whirlwinds
rave;

Trees with aged arms were warring,
O'er the swelling, drumlie wave.

Such the pleasures I enjoy'd;

But lang or noon, loud tempests storming

A' my flowery bliss destroy'd. Tho' fickle fortune has deceiv'd me, She promis'd fair, and perform'd but ill;

Of monie a joy and hope bereav'd me, I bear a heart shall support me still.

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