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But ah, waes me! wi’ their sodgʻring sae gaudy, O, The laird's wys't awa my braw Highland laddie, 0; Misty are the glens, and the dark hills sae cloudy, 0, That aye seem't sae blythe wi' my dear Highland laddie, 0.
The blae-berrie banks now are lonesome and drearie, 0,
He pu'd me the crawberry, ripe frae the boggie fen,
THE BRAES O' BALLOCHMYLE.
The Catrine woods were yellow seen,
The flowers decay'd on Catrine lee;
But nature sicken'd on the ee.
Hersel in beauty's bloom the whyle;
the wild-wood echoes rang,
Low in your wintry beds, ye flowers,
Again ye'll flourish fresh and fair;
Again ye'll charm the vocal air.
Shall birdie charm, or flow'ret smile;
Fareweel, fareweel! sweet Ballochmyle! *
THE LASS O’ SKELMORLIE.
Tears glist'nin' in his een the whyle,
The lovely lass o' Ballochmyle.
Sing east and wast, frae sea to sea,
The bonnie lass o' Skelmorlie.
* These verses were composed by Burns on the amiable and excellent family of Whitefoord's leaving Ballochmyle, when Sir John's misfortunes had obliged him to sell the estate. It is now the seat of CLAUD ALEXANDER, Esq. son of Claud ALEXANDER, who, after realizing a plentiful fortune in India, upon returning to his native country, purchased this estate, and by a most extensive series of improvement, has rendered it one of the most beautiful and interesting in that part of the country. Its proud precipitous boundary to the eastward, washed by the water of Ayr, now rendered immortal by the poetry of BURNS, overlooks the thriving and populous village of Catrine, the family seat of Professor STUART, but principally the property of the Cotton work company, the resident member of which is ARCHIBALD Bu. CHANAN, Esq. a gentleman by whose unremitting industry, and àcute mechanical genius, the machinery employed in that species of manufacture, has been almost brought to the highest perfection.
O! sweet's the wastlin' sky at e'en,
Bedight wi' streaks o' rosy hue;
Illume the vast etherial blue;
To me sic pleasure canna gie,
The bonnie lass o’ Skelmorlie!
Dear be the scene- --forever dear!
That heard us pledge the mutual vow,
Bedew the gowan on the knowe;
I gat, kind fa'in', frae her ee;
On thy sweet braes, oh Skelmorlie!
Forever, oh! be blest the hour,
An' mag't to memory dear remain;
Whare love made Jessie a' mine ain.
Still grow thou bonnie birken tree,
O’my sweet lass o' Skelmorlie! *
AULD ROB MORRIS. There's auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen, He's the king o' gude fellows and wale o auld men;
* The foregoing is by the author of Fair Helen (see p. 231). Skelmorlie is an estate belonging to the Earl of Eglinton, beautifully and romantically situated on the banks of Clyde, about 10
miles below Greenock.
He has gowd in his coffers, he has ousen and kine,
FLORA'S LAMENT FOR JAMIL.
TUNE" Flowers of the Forest.”
Decking with pearl the green flow'ry lea;
But sweeter by far was my Jamie to me. Dark, dark and drearie, the moment was eerie,
When the grim tyrant, by fatal decree, Snatch'd aff my treasure, my whole care and pleasure, Wha now sleeps in death 'neath the dark rolling sea. Lanely I wander whare burnies meander,
Blythely the birds sing on ilka green tree; Nature looks cheerie—but waes me, I'm wearie:
Joy fled wi' him wha sleeps cauld in the sea. Nae mair in the gloamin' I'll gaylie be roamin',
To meet wi' my darling beneath the haw tree, Where kindly he'd press me, and fondly caress me
My heart's still wi' him, tho' he's cauld in the sea. Vain are life's pleasures, its beauties and treasures
Sweet spring the gowans adorning the lea: Winter comes blasting, no longer they're lasting,
But nipt in the bloom like my Jamie frae me. Waukin' or sleeping I'm mournin' and weeping ;
Thinking on Jamie tears gush frae my ee; Pleasure forsakes me, and sorrow o'ertakes me;
Death now alone my consoler must be. *
WE'LL MEET BESIDE THE DUSKY GLEN.
We'll meet beside the dusky glen, on yon burn side, Whare the bushes form a cozie den, on yon burn side:
Tho'the broomy knowes be green,
Yet there we may be seen, But we'll meet-we'll meet at e'en, down by yon burn
* The above verses are by a Mr. Andrew G. Bain of Edinburgh, and were composed on the death of a young gentleman, a friend of the author's, who was unfortunately lost on the coast of Ireland, on the 30th of January, 1816.