Imágenes de páginas

She's stately like yon youthful ash,

Oh, were yon hills and vallies mine, That grows the cowslip braes between,

Yon palace and yon gardens fine ! And shoots its head above each bush;

The world then the love should know And she's twa glancin' sparklin' een.

I bear my highland lassie, O. She's spotless as the flow'ring thorn,

But fickle fortune frowns on me,
With flow'rs so white, and leaves so green, And I maun cross the raging sea ;
When purest in the dewy morn;

But while my crimson currents flow,
And she's twa glancin' sparklin' een. I'll love my highland lassie, O.
Her looks are like the sportive lamb

Altho' thro' foreign climes I range,
When flow'ry May adorns the scene, I know her heart will never change,
That wantons round its bleating dam; For her bosom burns with honour's glow,

And she's twa glancin' sparklin een. My faithful highland lassie, 0. Her hair is like the curling mist

For her I'll dare the billows' roar, That shades the mountain-side at e'en,

For her I'll trace a distant shore, When fow'r-reviving rains are past;

That Indian wealth may lustre throw And she's twa glancin' sparklin’een.

Around my highland lassie, O. Her forehead's like the show'ry bow,

She has my heart, she has my hand, When shining sunbeams intervene, By sacred truth and honour's band ! And gild the distant mountain's brow; 'Till the mortal stroke shall lay me low And she's twa glancin' sparklin' een.

I'm thine, my highland lassie, 0. Her voice is like the evening thrush

Farewell the glen sae busly, O! That sings in Cessnock banks unseen,

Farewell the plain sae rushy, O! While his mate sits nestling in the bush;

To other lands I now must go, And she's twa glancin' sparklin' een.

To sing my highland lassie, O. Her lips are like the cherries ripe

That sunny walls from Boreas screenThey tempt the taste and charm the sight; And she's twa glancin' sparklin' een.

Powrrs Celestial.

TUNE-Blue Bonnets.
Her teeth are like a flock of sheep,
With fleeces newly washen clean,

Powers celestial! whose protection That slowly mount the rising steep;

Ever guards the virtuous fair, And she's twa glancin' sparklin' een.

While in distant climes I wander,

Let my Mary be your care : Her breath is like the fragrant breeze

Let her form sae fair and faultless, That gently stirs the blossom'd bean,

Fair and faultless as your own, When Phoebus sinks beneath the seas;

Let my Mary's kindred spirit And she's twa glanciu' sparklin' een.

Draw your choicest influence down. But it's not her air, her form, her face, Make the gales you waft around her

Tho' matching beauty's fabled queen, Soft and peaceful as her breast,
But the mind that shines in ev'ry grace, Breathing in the breeze that fans her,
And chiefly in her sparklin' een.

Soothe her bosom into rest :
Guardian angel ! oh protect her,

When in distant lands I roam;

To realms unknown while fate exiles me,
The Dighland Tassir. (315)

Make her bosom still my home.
TUNE-The Deuks dang o'er my Daddy!
NAE gentle dames, tho' e'er sae fair,
Shall ever be my muse's care:

From ther, Elija.
Their titles a' are empty show:
Gie me my highland lassie, O.

TUNE--Gilderoy, or Donald.
Within the glen sae bushy, O,

FROM thee, Eliza, I must go,
Aboon the plains sae rushy, O,

And from my native shore,
I set me down wi' right good will,

The cruel Fates between us throv
To sing my highland lassie, O.

A boundless ocean's roar :


But boundless oceans roaring wide,

The Farewell. Between my love and me,

TO THE BRETHREN OF ST. JAMES'S LODGE, They never, never can divide My heart and soul from thee,

TUNE-Good-night, and joy be wi' you a'! Farewell, farewell, Eliza dear,

ADIEU ! a heart-warm, fond adieu ! The maid that I adore !

Dear brothers of the mystic tie ! A boding voice is in mine ear,

Ye favour'd, ye enlighten'd few, We part to meet no more!

Companions of my social joy; The latest throb that leaves my heart, Tho' I to foreign lands must hie, While death stands victor by,

Pursuing Fortune's slipp’ry ba', That throb, Eliza, is thy part,

With melting heart and brimful eye,
And thine that latest sigh!

I'll mind you still, tho' far awa'.
Oft have I met your social band,

And spent the cheerful, festive night;

Oft honour'd with supreme command,

Presided o'er the sons of light;
TUNE-Johnny's grey Breeks.

And by that hieroglyphic bright,

Which none but craftsmen ever saw ! AGAIN rejoicing nature sees

Strong mem'ry on my heart shall write Her robe assume its vernal hues,

Those happy scenes when far awa.' Her leafy locks wave in the breeze,

May freedom, harmony, and love All freshly steep'd in morning dews.

Unite you in the grand design,
And maun I still on Mienie doat

Beneath th' Omniscient eye above,
And bear the scorn that's in her ee? The glorious Architect divine !
For it's jet, jet black, and like a hawk, That you may keep th’ unerring line,
And winna let a body be.

Still rising by the plummet's law,

Till order bright completely shine,
In vain to me the cowslips blaw,

Shall be my pray'r when far awa'.
In vain to me the vi'lets spring;
In vain to me, in glen or shaw,

And you, farewell! whose merits claim, The mavis and the lintwhite sing.

Justly, that highest badge to wear !

Heav'n bless your honour'd, noble name, The merry ploughboy cheers his team,

To masonry and Scotia dear; Wi' joy the tentie seedsman stalks ; A last request permit me here, But life to me's a weary dream,

When yearly ye assemble a', A dream of ane that never wauks.

One roundI ask it with a tear

To him, the Bard that's far awa'. The wanton coot the water skims,

Amang the reeds the ducklings cry, The stately swan majestic swims,

Ghe Brars a Ballarhmyle. (316) And everything is blest but I.

TUNE--The Braes O' Ballochmyle. The shepherd steeks his faulding slap,

THE Catrine woods were yellow seen, And owre the moorland whistles shrill; The flowers decay'd on Catrine lea, Wi' wild, unequal, wand'ring step,

Nae lav'rock sang on hillock green, I meet him on the dewy hill.

But nature sicken'd on the ee.

Thro' faded groves Maria sang,
And when the lark, 'tween light and dark, Hersel in beauty's bloom the while,

Blythe waukens by the daisy's side, And aye the wild-wood echoes rang,
And mounts and sings on flittering wings, Fareweel the Braes o' Ballochmyle!
A woe-worn ghaist I hameward glide,

Low in your wintry beds, ye flowers, Come, Winter, with thine angry howl,

Again ye'll flourish fresh and fair; And raging bend the naked tree:

Ye birdies dumb, in with’ring bowers,
Thy gloom Will soothe my cheerless soul, Again ye'll charm the vocal air.
When nature all is sad like me!

But, here, alas ! for me nae mair
Shall birdie charm, or flow'ret smile;

banks of
Fareweel, fareweel! sweet Ballochmyle !

The Lass n Wallorhmyle. (317) TUNE--Miss Forbes's Farewell to Banff. 'Twas even the dewy fields were green,

On every blade the pearlies hang, The zephyr wanton'd round the bean,

And bore its fragrant sweets alang : In ev'ry glen the mavis sang,

All nature list'ning seem'd the while, Except where greenwood echoes rang,

Amang the braes o' Ballochmyle. With careless step I onward stray'd,

My heart rejoiced in nature's joy, When, musing in a lonely glade,

A maiden fair I chanc'd to spy; Her look was like the morning's eye,

Her air like nature's vernal smile, Perfection whisper'd passing by,

Behold the lass o' Ballochmyle! Fair is the morn in flow'ry May,

And sweet is night in autumn mild; When roving thro' the garden gay,

Or wand'ring in the lonely wild: But woman, nature's darling child !

There all her charms she does compile; Ev’n there her other works are foil'd

By the bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle. Oh, had she been a country maid,

And I the happy country swain, Tho' shelter'd in the lowest shed

That ever rose on Scotland's plain, Thro' weary winter's wind and rain,

With joy, with rapture, I would toil; And nightly to my busom strain

The bounie lass o' Ballochmyle! Then pride might climb the slipp'ry steep,

Where fame and honours lofty shine; And thirst of gold might tempt the deep,

Or downward seek the Indian mine; Give me the cot below the pine,

To tend the flocks, or till the soil, And ev'ry day have joys divine

With the bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle.

The autumn mourns her rip’ning com,
By early winter's ravage torn;
Across her placid, azure sky,
She sees the scowling tempest fly:
Chill runs my blood to hear it rave
I think upon the stormy wave,
Where many a danger I must dare,
Far from the bonnie banks of Ayr
'Tis not the surging billow's roar,
'Tis not that fatal deadly shore;
Tho' death in every shape appear,
The wretched have no more to fear!
But round my heart the ties are bound,
That heart transpierc'd with many a wound:
These bleed afresh, those ties I tear,
To leave the bonny banks of Ayr.
Farewell old Coila's hills and dales,
Her heathy moors and winding vales;
The scenes where wretched fancy roves,
Pursuing past, unhappy loves !
Farewell, my friends! farewell, my foes !
My peace with these, my love with those
The bursting tears my heart declare;
Farewell the bonnie banks of Ayr!

The Banks n' Doon. (319) )

TUNE--Caledonian Hunt's Delight. 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' o' care? Thou'lt break my heart, thou warbling bird,

That wanton’st thro' the flowering thorn : Thou minds'st me o' departed joys,

Departed-never to return ! Aft hae I roved by bonnie Doon,

To see the 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 rose,

Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree; And my

fuse luver stole my rose, But, ah! he left the thorn wi' me.

The Birks of Aberfeldy. (320) TUNE-The Birks of Abergeldy.


The Glanmn Flight is Gathering Fast.

TUNE-Roslin Castle.

The gloomy night is gath'ring fast,
Loud roars the wild inconstant blast;
Yon murky cloud is foul with rain,
I see it driving o'er the plain;
The hunter now has left the moor,
The scatter'd coveys meet secure;
While here I wander, prest with care,
Along the lonely banks of Ayr.

BONNIE lassie, will ye go,
Will ye go, will ye go;
Bonnie lassie, will ye go,

To the birks of Aberfeldy ? Now simmer blinks on flowry braes, And o'er the crystal streamlet plays; Come, let us spend the lightsome days

In the birks of Aberfeldy.

The little birdies blythely sing,

Untie these hands from off my hands, While o'er their heads the hazels hing,

And bring to me my sword; Or lightly flit on wanton wing

And there's no man in all Scotland, In the birks of Aberfeldy.

But I'll brave him at a word. The braes ascend, like lofty wa's,

I've liv'd a life of sturt and strife; The foamy stream deep-roaring fa's,

I die by treacherie: O’erhung wi' fragrant spreading shaws,

It burns my heart I must depart,
The birks of Aberfeldy.

And not avenged be.
The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' flowers,
White o'er the linns the burnie pours,

Now farewell light--thou sunshine bright,

And all beneath the sky!
And rising, weets wi' misty showers
The birks of Aberfeldy.

May coward shame distain his name,

The wretch that dares not die !
Let fortune's gifts at random fice,
They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me
Supremely blest wi' love and thee,
In the birks of Aberfeldy,

un Long and Drrarn is the Flight.

How long and dreary is the night I'm nurr Vonng to Marry Vrt. When I am frae my dearie ! TUNE-I'm owre young to marry yet.

I sleepless lie frae e'en to morn,

Tho' I were ne'er sae weary. I AM my mammy's ae bairn,

I sleepless lie frae e'en to morn, Wi' unco fuik I weary, Sir;

Tho' I were ne'er sae weary. And if I gang to your house,

When I think on the happy days I'm fley'd 'twill make me eerie, Sir.


spent you, my dearie, I'm owre young to marry yet •

And now what lands between us lit, I'm owre young to marry yet;

How can I be but eerie ! I'm owre young-twad be a sin

And now what lands between us lic, . To take me trae my mammy yet.

How can I be but eerie ! Hallowmas is come and gane,

How slow ye move, ye heavy hours, The nights are lang in winter, Sir;

As ye were wae and weary ! And you and I in wedlock's bands,

It was na sae ve glinted by. In troth, I dare not venture, Sir.

When I was wi' my dearie. I'm owre young, &c.

It was na sae ye ylinted by,

When I was wi' my dearie.
Fu' loud and shrill the frosty wind

Blaws through the leatless timmer, Sir ;
But if ye come this gate again,
I'll aulder be gin simmer, Sir.

Erre's a Dealth to thrin that's awa. I'm owre young, &c.

TUNE-Here's a health to them that's awa.

HERE's a health to them that's awa,
JL Pherson's Farrurll. (321) Here's a health to them that's awa;

And wha winna wish guid luck to our cause,
TUNE-M'Pherson's Rant.

May never guid luck be their fa'! FAREWELL, ye dungeons dark and strong, It's guid to be merry and wise, The wretch's destinie:

It's guid to be honest and true, Macpherson's time will not be long

It's guid to support Calellonia's cause, On yonder gallows-tree.

Aud bide by the buff and the blue.
Sae rantingly, sae wantonly,

Here's a health to them that's awa,
Sae danntingly gaed he;

Here's a health to them that's awa;
He play'd a spring, and danc'd it round, Here's a health to Charlie, the chief o' the clan,
Below the gallows-tree.

Altho' that his band be sma'. Oh, what is death but parting breath - May liberty meet wi' success! On many a bloody plain

May prudence protect her frae evil! I've dard his face, and in this place

May tyrants and tyranny tine in the mist, I scoru him yet agaiu ;

And wander their way to the devil!



Here's a health to them that's awa,

Oh spare the dear blossom, ye orient breezes, Here's a health to them that's awa; (laddie, With chill hoary wing, as ye usher the Here's a health to Tammie, the Norland

(seizes That lives at the lug o' the law;

And far bo thou distant, thou reptile that Here's freedom to him that wad read!

The verdure and pride of the garden and Here's freedom to him that wad write!

lawn! There's nane ever fear'd that the truth should Let Bourbon exult in his gay gilded Lilies, be heard,

And England, triumphant, display her But they whan the truth wad indite.

proud Rose:

A fairer than either adorns the green vallies, Here's a health to them that's awa,

Where Devon, sweet Devon, meandering Here's a health to them that's awa; Here's Chieftain M'Leod, a Chieftain worth

gow'd, Tho' bred amang mountains o' snaw ! Here's friends on both sides of the Forth,

Braving Angry Winter's Storms. (324) And friends on both sides of the Tweed;

TUNE-Neil Gow's Lamentation for And wha wad betray old Albion's rights,

Abercairny. May they never eat of her bread.

WHERE, braving angry winter's storms,

The lofty Ochils rise,
Far in their shade my Peggy's charms

First blest my wondering eyes ;
Strathalan's Lamrnt. (322)
THICKEST night, o'erhang my dwelling!

As one, who by some savage stream,

A lonely gem surveys,
Howling tempests, o'er me rave!
Turbid torrents, wintry swelling,

Astonish'd, doubly marks its beam,
Still surround my lonely cave!

With art's most polish'd blaze. Crystal streamlets gently flowing,

Blest be the wild sequester'd shade, Busy haunts of base mankind,

And blest the day and hour, Western breezes softly blowing,

Where Peggy's charms I first survey'd, Suit not my distracted mind.

When first I felt their pow'r! In the cause of right engaged,

The tyrant death, with grim control, Wrongs injurious to redress,

May seize my fleeting breath; Honour's war we strongly waged,

But tearing Peggy from my soul But the heavens denied success.

Must be a stronger death. Ruin's wheel has driven o'er us,

Not a hope that dare attend : The wide world is all before us

2 Paggy's Fare. . But a world without a friend.

TUNL—My Peggy's Face,
My Peggy's face, my Peggy's form,

The frost of hermit age might warm;
The Banks of the Druon. (323) My Peggy's worth, my Peggy's mind,

Might charm the first of human kind.
TUNE-Bhannerach dhon na chri.

I love my Peggy's angel air,
How pleasant the banks of the clear winding Her face so truly, heavenly fair,

[blooming fair! Her native grace so void of art,
With green spreading bushes, and flowers | But I adore my Peggy's heart.
But the bonniest flower on the banks of the The lily's hue, the rose's dye,

[Ayr. The kindling lustre of an eye:
Was once a sweet bud on the braes of the Who but owns their magic sway!
Mild be the sun on this sweet blushing flower, Who but knows they all decay !
In the gay rosy morn, as it bathes in the | The tender thrill, the pitying tear,

The gen'rous purpose, nobly dear,
And gentle the fall of the soft vernal shower, The gentle look, that rage disarms-

That steals on the evening each leaf to These are all immortal charms.



« AnteriorContinuar »