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RAVING WINDS AROUND HER BLOW:
Tune, 'M'Grigor of Rero's Lament."
Raving winds around her blowing,
"O'er the past too fondly wandering,
Fell despair my fancy seizes.
MUSING ON THE ROARING OCEAN:
Tune, 'Druimion dubh.'
Musing on the roaring ocean,
Which divides my love and me;
For his weal where'er he be.
Hope and fear's alternate billos
Yielding late to nature's law; Whisp'ring spirits round my pillow
Talk of him that's far awa.
Ye whom sorrow never wounded,
Ye who never shed a tear, Care-untroubled, joy-surrounded,
Gaudy day to you is dear.
Gentle night, do thou befriend me ;
Downy sleep, the curtain draw; Spirits kind, again attend me,
Talk of him that's far awa!
BLITHE WAS SHE.
Blithe, blithe and merry was she,
Blithe was she but and ben :
And blithe in Glenturit glen.
By Oughtertyre grows the aik,
On Yarrow banks, the birken shaw ;
Her looks were like a flower in May,
Her smile was like a simmer morn ; She tripped by the banks of Ern, As light's a bird upon a thorn.
Her bonnie face it was as meek
As ony lamb upon a lee;
The Highland hills I've wander'd wide,
And o'er the Lowlands I hae been ;
A ROSE-BUD BY MY EARLY WALK.
A ROSE-BUD by my early walk,
All on a dewy morning.
Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fled,
It scents the early morning.
Within the bush, her covert nest
Sae early in the morning.
She soon shall see her tender brood,
Awake the early morning.
So thou, dear bird, young Jeany fair,
That tents thy early morning.
So thou, sweet rose-bud, young and gay,
That watch'd thy early morning.
WHERE BRAVING INGRY WINTER'S
Tune, ‘N. Gow's Lamentation for Abercairny.'
WHERE braving angry winter's storms,
The lofty Ochels rise,
First blest my wondering eyes.
A lonely gem surveys,
With art's most polish'd blaze.
Blest be the wild, sequester'd shade,
And blest the day and hour,
When first I felt their pow'r!
May seize my fleeting breath ; But tearing Peggy from my soul
Must be a stronger death.
TIBBIE, I HAE SEEN THE DAY.
Tune, Invercald's Reel.'
O Tibbie, I hae seen the day,
Ye would nae been sae shy ; For laik o gear ye lightly me,
But, trowth, I care na by.
YESTREER I met you on the moor,
0 Tibbie, I hae, &c.
I doubt na, lass, but ye may think,
like to try.
But sorrow tak him that's sae mean,
O Tibbie, I hae, &c.
Altho'a lad were e'er sae smart,
O Tibble, I hae, &c.