Зображення сторінки

The lily it is pure, and the lily it is fair,
And in her lovely bosom I'll place the lily there ;
The daisy's for simplicity and unaffected air,

And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May.

The hawthorn I will pu’, wi' its locks o'siller grey, Where, like an aged man, it stands at break o' day, But the songster's nest within the bush I winna tak

away; And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May.

The woodbine I will pu' when the e'ening star is

near, And the diamond-draps o' dew shall be her e'en sae

clear: The violet's for modesty which weel she fa’s to

wear, An a' to be a posie to my ain dear May.

l'll tie the posie round wi' the silken band o' luve, And I'll place it in her breast, and I'll swear by a'

above, That to my latest draught o’life the band shall

ne'er remuve, And this will be a posie to my ain dear May.


Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon,

How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair ;
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
And I sae weary, fu’oʻcare!

Thou'lt break my heart, thou warbling bird,

That wantons thro' the flowering thorn: Thou minds me o' departed joys,

Departed never to return.

Oft hae I rov'd by bonnie Doon,

To see the rose and woodbine twine! And ilka bird sang o' its luve,

And fondly sae did I o' mine. Wi' lightsome heart I pu’d a rosc,

Fu’sweet upon its thorny tree; And my fause luver stole my rose,

But ah! he left the thorn wi' me.


WILLIE Wastle dwalt on Tweed,

The spot they ca'd it Linkumdoddie, Willie was a wabster guid,

Cou'd stown a clue wi' onie bodie; He had a wife was dour and din,

O Tinkler Madgie was her mither;

Sic a wife as Willie had,
I wad na gie a button for her.

She has an e'e, she has but ane,

The cat has twa the very colour; Five rusty teeth, forbye a stump,

A clapper tongue wad deave a miller ;

A whiskin beard about her mou,
Her nose and cbin they threaten ither ;

Sic a wife, &c.

She's bow-hough’d, she's hein shinn'd,

Ae limpin leg a hand-breed shorter ;
She's twisted right, she's twisted left,

To balance fair in ilka quarter :
She has a bump upon her breast,
The twin o' that upon her shouther;

Sic a wife, &c.

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Auld baudrans by the ingle sits,

An' wi' her loof her face a washin; But Willie's wife is nae sae trig,

She dights her grunzie wi'a hushion ; Her walie nieves like midden-creels,

Her face wad fyle the Logan-Water;

Sic a wife as Willie had,
I wad na gie a button for her.


ANCE mair I hail thee, thou gloomy December!

Ance mair I hail thee wi' sorrow and care; Sad was the parting thou makes me remember,

Parting wi’ Nancy, Oh ! ne'er to meet mair. Fond lovers' parting is sweet painful pleasure,

Hope beaming mild on the soft parting hour; But the dire feeling, O farewell for ever,

Is anguish unmingid and agony pure..

Wild as the winter now tearing the forest,

Till the last leaf o'the summer is flown, Such is the tempest has shaken my bosom,

Since my last hope and last comfort is gone; Still as I hail thee, thou gloomy December,

Still shall I hail thee wi' sorrow and care ; For sad was the parting thou makes me remember,

Parting wi’Nancy, Oh, ne'er to meet mair.


Wilt thou be


When sorrow wrings thy gentle heart,
O wilt thou let me cheer thee?

By the treasure of my soul,
And that's the love I bear thee!

I swear and vow, that only thou
Shall ever be my dearie.

Only thou, I swear and vow,
Shall ever be my dearie.

Lassie, say thou lo’es me;

Or if thou wilt na be my ain,
Say na thou’lt refuse me:

If it winna, canna be,
Thou for thine may choose me;

Let me, lassie, quickly die,
Trusting that thou lo’es me.

Lassie, let me quickly die,
Trusting that thou lo'es me.


SAE's fair and fause that causes my smart,

I lo’ed her meikle and lang ;
She's broken her vow, she's broken my heart,

And I may e'en gae hang.
A coof cam in wi' rowth o' gear,
And I hae tint my dearest dear,
But woman is but warld's gear,

Sae let the bonnie lass gang.

Whae'er ye be that woman love,

To this be never blind,
Nae ferlie 'tis tho' fickle she prove,

A woman has't by kind :
O woman lovely, woman fair!
An angel form's faun to thy share,
*Twad been o'er meikle to gien thee mair,

I mean an angel mind.


Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,
Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise ;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream.
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

Thou stock-dove whose echo resounds thro' the

glen, Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den,

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