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But love is a far sweeter flower
Amid life's thorny path o' care.
The pathless wild, and wimpling burn,
Wi’ Chloris in my arms, be mine ; And I, the world, nor wish, nor scorn,
Its joys and griefs alike resign.
On the blank leaf of a copy of his Poems presented
to a Lady, whom he had often celebrated under the name of Chloris.
'Tis Friendship’s pledge, my young, fair Friend,
Nor thou the gift refuse, Nor with unwilling ear attend
The moralizing muse.
Since thou, in all thy youth and charms,
Must bid the world adieu, (A world 'gainst peace in constant arms)
To join the friendly few.
Since, thy gay morn of life o'ercast,
Chill came the tempest's lower ; (And ne'er misfortune's eastern blast
Did nip a fairer flower).
Since life's gay scenes must charm no more,
Still much is left behind;
The comforts of the mind!
Thine is the self-approving glow,
On conscious honour's part ;
Thine friendship's truest heart.
The joys refin’d of sense and taste,
With every muse to rove : And doubly were the poet blest
These joys could he improve.
Tune, 'Let me in this ae night."
FORLORN, my love, no comfort near,
At which I most repine, love.
O wert thou, love, but near me,
And mingle sighs with mine, love.
Around me scowls a wintry sky,
O wert, &c.
Cold, alter'd friendship's cruel part,
O wert, &c.
But dreary tho’ the moments fleet,
O wert, &c.
Tune, . The Lothian Lassie.'
Last May a braw wooer cam down the lang glen,
And sair wi' his love he did deave me ;
The deuce gae wi'm, to believe me, believe
He spak o' the darts in my bonnie black e'en,
And vow'd for my love he was dying ;
The Lord forgie me for lying, for lying,
A weel-stocked mailen, himsel for the laird,
And marriage aff-hand, were his proffers: I never loot on that I kenn'd it, or car'd,
But thought I might hae waur offers, waur offers, But thought I might hae waur offers.
But what wad ye think? in a fortnight or less,
The deil tak his taste to gae near her!
But a'the niest weck as I fretted wi' care,
I gaed to the tryste o' Dalgarnock,
I glow’rd as I'd seen a warlock, a warlock,
But owre my left shouther 1 gae him a blink,
Least necbors might say I was saucy ;
And vow'd I was his dear lassie, dear lassie,
I spier'd for my cousin fu' couthy and sweet,
Gin she had recover'd her hearin,
But, heavens ! how he fell a swearin, a swearin,
He begged, for Gudesake! I wad be his wife,
Or else I would kill him wi' sorrow :
I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow,
Tune, The Caledonian Hunt's Delight.'
Why, why tell thy lover,
Bliss he never must enjoy?
And give all his hopes the lie?
O why, while fancy, raptur’d, slumbers,
Chloris, Chloris all the theme;
Wake thy lover from his dream ?
HEY FOR A LASS WI A TOCHER,
Tune, 'Balinamona ora.'
Awa wi' your witchcraft o' beauty's alarms,
Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher, then hey, for a lass
wi' a tocher, Then hey, for a lass wi' a tocher; the nice yellow
guineas for me.