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O, happy be the woodbine bower,

Nae nightly bogle make it eerie ; Nor ever sorrow stain the hour,

The place and time I met my dearie! Her head upon my throbbing breast,

She, sinking, said, “I'm thine for ever!' While mony a kiss the seal imprest,

The sacred vow, we ne'er should sever.

The haunt o' spring's the primrose brae,

The simmer joys the flocks to follow; How cheery thro’ her shortening day,

Is autumn, in her weeds o' yellow : But can they melt the glowing heart,

Or chain the soul in speechless pleasure, Or thro' each nerve the rapture dart,

Like meeting her, our bosom's treasure ?



O WHISTLE, and I'll come to you, my lad;
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad:
Tho' father and mither and a' should gae mad,
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad.

But warily tent, when ye come to court me,
And come na unless the back-yett be a-jee;
Syne up the back-stile, and let nae body see,
And come as ye were na comin to me.
And come, &c.

O whistle, &c.


At kirk, or at market, whene'er ye meet me,
Gang by me as tho' that ye car'd na a fie :
But steal me a blink o' your bonnie black e'e,
Yet look as ye were na lookin at me.
Yet look, &c.

O whistle, &c.

Ay vow and protest that ye care na for me,
And whiles ye may lightly my beauty a wee ;
But court na anither, tho' jokin ye be,
For fear that she wyle your fancy frae me.
For fear, &c.

O whistle, &c.


Tune, 'The muckin o'Geordie's byre.'

Adown winding Nith I did wander,

To mark the sweet flowers as they spring , Adown winding Nith I did wander,

Of Phillis to muse and to sing.


Awa wi' your belles and your beauties,

They never wi' her can campare : Whaever has met wi' my Phillis,

Has met wi' the queen of the fair.

The daisy amus'd my fond fancy,

So artless, so simple, so wild ; Thou emblem, said I, o'my Phillis, For she is simplicity's child,

Awa, &c.

The rose-bud's the blush o' my charmer,

Her sweet balmy lip when 'tis prest :
How fair and how pure is the lily,
But fairer and purer her breast.

Awa, &c.

Yon knot of gay flowers in the arbour,

* They ne'er wi' my Phillis can vie : Her breath is the breath o' the woodbine, Its dew-drop o' diamond, her eye.

Awa, &c.

Her voice is the song of the morning

That wakes thro' the green-spreading grove, When Phæbus peeps over the mountains, On music, and pleasure, and love.

Awa, &c.

But beauty how frail and how fleeting,

The bloom of a fine summer's day! While worth in the mind o' my Phillis Will flourish without a decay.

Awa, &c.


Air, 'Cauld Kail.'

COME, let me take thee to my breast,

And pledge we ne'er shall sunder; And I shall spurn as vilest dust

The warld's wealth and grandeur:

And do I hear' my Jeanie own,

That equal transports move her? I ask for dearest life alone

That I may live to love her.

Thus in my arms, wi' all thy charms,

I clasp my countless treasure ;
I'll seek nae mair o'heaven to share,

Than sic a moments pleasure :
And by thy e'en, sae bonnie blue,

I swear I'm thine for ever! And on thy lips I seal my vow,

And break it shall I never.


Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers,
To deck her gay, green spreading bowers ;
And now comes in my happy hours,

To wander wi' my Davie.


Meet me on the warlock knowe,

Dainty Davie, dainty Davie,
There I'll spend the dup wi' you,

My ain dear dainty Davie.

The crystal waters round us fa',
The merry birds are lovers a',
The scented breezes round us blaw,
A wandering wi' my Davie.

Meet me, &c.

When purple morning starts the hare,
To steal upon her early fare,
Then thro' the dews I will repair,
To meet my faithfu' Davie.

Meet me, &c.

When day, expiring in the west,
The curtain draws o' nature's rest,
I flee to his arms I lo'e best,

And that's my ain dear Davie.


Meet me on the warlock knowe,

Bonnie Davy, dainty Davie,
There I'U spend the day wi' you,

My ain dear dainty Davie.


Tune, Oran-gaoil.' Behold the hour, the boat arrive ;

Thou goest, thou darling of my heart ! Sever'd from thee can I survive ?

But fate has will’d, and we must part. I'll often greet this surging swell,

Yon distant isle will often hail : *E'n here I took the last farewell;

“There latest mark'd her vanish'd sail.'

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Along the solitary shore,

While fitting sea-fowl round me cry,
Across the rolling, dashing roar
I'll westward turn my wistful eye:

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