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My heart it said nay, I look'd for Jamie back;
But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a wreck:
The ship it was a wreck; why didna Jenny die?
And why shall I live to say waes me?
Auld Robin argued sair: tho' my mither didna speak,
She look'd in my face till my heart was like to break:
So they gied him my hand, tho' my heart was in the sea:
Now auld Robin Gray is a gudeman to me.
I hadna been a wife a week but only four,
When sitting sae mournfully ae day at the door,
I saw my Jamie's wreath, for I coudna think it he,
Till he said I'm come back for to marry thee.
O sair did we greet, and muckle did we say;
We took but ae kiss, and we tore ourselves away.
I wish I were dead; but I'm no like to die;
And why do I live to say waes me?

gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin;
I darena think on Jamie, for that would be a sin;
But I'll do my best a gudewife to be,
For auld Robin Gray is kind unto me.


TUNE-" Rothemurche's Rant."
Lassie wi' the lint-white locks,

Bonnie lassie, artless lassie,
Wilt thou wi' me tent the flocks,

Wilt thou be my dearie, o?
Now Nature cleeds the flowery lea,
And a' is young and sweet like thee;
0, wilt thou share its joys wi' me,
And say thou'lt be my dearie, 0 ?
Lassie wi', 8c.

And when the welcome simmer-shower
Has cheer'd ilk drooping little flower,
We'll to the breathing woodbine bower
At sultry noon, my dearie, O.

Lassie wi', 8c.
When Cynthia lights, wi' silver ray,
The weary shearer's hameward way;
Thro' yellow waving fields we'll stray,
And talk o' love, my dearie, 0.

Lassie wi', 8c.

And when the howling wintry blast
Disturbs my lassie's midnight rest,
Enclasped to my faithful breast,
I'll comfort thee, my dearie, 0. *

Lassie wi', 8c.


TUNE_" Clean pease strae.'
When John and me were married,

Our hading was but sma',
For my minnie, canker't carling,

Wou'd gie us nocht ava'.
I wair't my fee wi' cannie care,

As far as it wou'd gae,
But weel I wat our bridal bed

Was clean pease strae.

* “ This piece,” says Burns, in one of his letters to Mr. Tuox Son, accompanying the song, “ has at least the merit of being a regular pastoral: the vernal morn, the summer noon, the autumn. al evening, and the winter night, are regularly rounded.”

Wi' working late and early,

We're come to what you see;
For fortune thrave aneath our hands,

Sae eydent aye were we.
The lowe of love made labour light,

I'm sure ye'll find it sae,
When kind ye cuddle down at e'en

'Mang clean pease strae.
The rose blooms gay on cairny brae,

As weel's in birken shaw,
And love will lowe in cottage low,

As weel's in lofty, ha'.
Sae, lassie, tak the lad


Whate'er your minnie say,
Tho' ye should mak your bridal bed

Of clean pease strae.

FAREWELL TO AVONDALE. FAREWELL ye vales where Avon flows,

Farewell ye hills that rise around, Farewell abodes of sweet repose,

Where innocence and peace abound. No more beside your streams I'll stray,

Nor pu' the wild flowers as they blaw; No longer listen to the lay,

That's carol'd thro' the birken shaw. Farewell Pomilion's flowery braes,

Whose murmuring rills so sweetly fa', Where aft I've spent the summer days,

When sorrow's hand was far awa! Thou'st listen'd to the lover's wail,

As am'rously thou glided thro'; Thou'st listend to my artless tale, But never heard'st a tale so true.

Farewell thou dear ungratefu' maid,

Thou'lt mind me when I'm far awa; And but for thee, I might have staid,

To breathe the gales that round thee blaw. Thou knew'st my heart was a' thy ain,

And thine thou vow'dst was mine alone; But cursed gold has made us twain,

Whom Heaven had fated to be one.

Farewell thou still beloved maid,

Love, rage, and grief, my soul disarms;
For never, never could I've staid,

To see thee in another's arms.
No more by Avon's streams we'll stray,

Nor pu' the wild flowers as they blaw;
No longer listen to the lay,

That's carol'd thro' the birken shaw,

I'LL NE'ER BEGUILE THEE. BETTY, early gone a maying, Met her lover, Willie, straying; Drift, or chance, no matter whether, This we know, he reason'd with her:Mark, dear maid, the turtles cooing, Fondly billing, kindly wooing; See how ev'ry bush discovers Happy pairs of feather'd lovers. See the op’ning, blushing roses, All their secret charms discloses; Sweet's the time, ah! short's the measure, O, their fleeting, hasty pleasure! Quickly we must snatch the savour of their soft and fragrant flavour;

* Written by a Mr. Andrew Simson of Glasgow.

They bloom to-day, and fade to-morrow,
Droop their heads, and die in sorrow.
Time, my Bess, will leave no traces
Of those beauties, of those graces;
Youth and love forbid our staying,
Love and youth abhor delaying.
Dearest maid, --nay, do not fly me,
Let your pride no more deny me;
Never doubt your faithful Willie
There's my thumb, I'll ne'er beguile thee!

TUNE" The bonnie brucket lassie.
Turn again, thou fair Eliza,

Ae kind blink before we part;
Rew on thy despairing lover!

Canst thou break his faithfu' heart?
Turn again, thou fair Eliza;

If to love thy heart denies,
For pity, hide the cruel sentence

Under friendship's kind disguise !
Thee, dear maid, hae I offended ?

The offence is loving thee:
Canst thou wreck his peace for ever,

Wha for thine wad gladly die?
While the life beats in my bosom,

Thou shalt mix in ilka throe:
Turn again, thou lovely maiden,

Ae sweet smile on me bestow.
Not the bee upon the blossom,

In the pride o' sinny noon;
Not the little sporting fairy,

All beneath the simmer moon;

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