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On Corsincon I'll glowr and spell,

And write how dear I love thee.

Then come, sweet muse, inspire my lay!
For a' the lee-lang simmer's day,
I coudna sing, I coudna say,

How much, how dear I love thee.
I see thee dancing o'er the green,
Thy waist say jimp, thy limbs sae clean,
Thy tempting lips, thy roguish e'en-

By heaven and earth I love thee!

By night, by day, a-field, at bame,
The thoughts o' thee my breast inflame ;
And ay I muse and sing thy name,

I only live to love thee,
Tho' I were doom'd to wander on,
Beyond the sea, beyond the sun,
Till my last weary sand was run;

Till then and then I love thee.

I LOVE MY JEAN.

Tune, 'Miss Admiral Gordon's Strathspey.'

6

OF a' the airts the wind can blaw,

I dearly like the west,
For there the bonnie lassie lives,

The lassie I lo'e best:
There wild woods grow, and rivers row,

And mony a hill between ;

But day and night my fancy's flight

Is ever wi' my Jean.

I see her in the dewy flowers,

I see her sweet and fair ;
I hear her in the tunefu' birds,

I hear her charm the air ;
There's not a bonnie flower that springs

By fountain, shaw, or green,
There's not a bonnie bird that sings,

But minds me o' my Jean.

THE BRAES O BALLOCHMYLE.

THE Catrine woods were yellow seen,

The flowers decay'd on Catrine lee, Nae lav'rock sang on hillock green,

But nature sicken'd on the e'e. Thro’ faded groves Maria sang,

Hersel in beauty's bloom the whyle, And ay the wild-wood echoes rang,

Fareweel the braes o' Ballochmyle.

Low in your wintry beds, ye flowers,

Again ye'll flourish fresh and fair ; . Ye birdies dumb, in with’ring bowers,

Again ye'll charm the vocal air. But here, alas! for me nae mair

Shall birdie charm, or floweret smile ; Fareweel the bonnie banks of Ayr, Fareweel, fareweel! sweet Ballochmyle.

WILLIE BREW'D A PECK O' MAUT.

O, WILLIE brew'd a peck o' maut,

And Rob and Allan cam to see ;
Three blither hearts, that lee-lang night,

Ye wad na find in Christendie.

We are na fou, we're na that fou,

But just a drappie in our e'e ;
The cock may craw, the day may daw,

And ay we'll taste the barley bree.

Here are we met, three merry boys,

Three merry boys I trow are we; And mony a night we've merry been, And mony mae we hope to be!

We are na fou, &c.

It is the moon, I ken her horn,

That's blinkin in the lift sae hie ;
She shines sae bright to wyle us hame,
But by my sooth she'll wait a wee!

We are na fou, &c.

Wha first shall rise to gang awa,

A cuckold, coward loun is he ! Wha last beside his chair shall fa', He is the king amang us three!

We are na fou, &c.

THE BLUE-EY'D LASSIE.

I GAED a waefu' gate yestreen,

A gate, I fear, I'll dearly rue ;
I gat my death frae twa sweet een,

Twa lovely een o' bonnie blue.
'Twas not her golden ringlets bright;

Her lips like roses, wat wi' dew, Her heaving bosom, lily-white;

It was hier een sae bonnie blue.

i

She talk'd, she smild, my heart she wyl’d,

She charm’d my soul, I wist na how; And ay the stound, the deadly wound,

Cam frae her een sae bonnie blue. But spare to speak, and spare to speed;

She'll aiblins listen to my vow : Should she refuse, I'll lay my dead

To her twa een sae bonnie blue,

THE BANKS OF NITH,

Tune Robie Donna Gorach.'

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ith to me,

The Thames flows proudly to the sea,

Where royal cities stately stand ; But sweeter flows the

Whare Commins ance had high commandi : When shall I see that honour'd land,

That winding stream I love so dear! Must wayward fortune's adverse hand For ever, ever keep me here?

How lovely, Nith, thy fruitful vales,

Where spreading hawthorns gaily bloom ; How sweetly wind thy sloping dales,

Where lambkins wanton thro' the broom! Tho'wandering, now, must be my doom,

Far from thy bonnie banks and braes, May there my latest hours consume,

Amang the friends of early days!

JOHN ANDERSON MY JO.

John Anderson my jo, John,

When we were first acquent; Your locks were like the raven,

Your bonnie brow was brent ; But now your brow is beld, John

Your locks are like the snaw; But blessings on your frosty pow,

John Anderson my jo.

John Anderson my jo, John,

We clamb the hill thegither ; And mony a canty day, John,

We've had wi' ane anither: Now we maun totter down, John,

But hand in hand we'll go, And sleep thegither at the foot,

John Anderson my jo.

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