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Gentle night, do thou befriend me: Downy sleep, the curtain draw

; Spirits kind, again attend me,

Talk of him that's far awa!

Raving Winds aronnd her Blowing.

(325) TUNE—Macgregor of Ruara's Lament. RAVING winds around her blowing, Yellow leaves the woodlands strowing, By a river hoarsely roaring, Isabella stray'd deploring “Farewell hours that late did measure Sunshine days of joy and pleasure; Hail, thou gloomy night of sorrow, Cheerless night that knows no morrow! O’er the past too fondly wandering, On the hopeless future pondering; Chilly grief my life-blood freezes, Fell despair my fancy scizes. Life, thou soul of every blessing, Load to misery most distressing, Gladly how would I resign thee, And to dark oblivion join thee!"

Blythe was She. (328)
TUNE— Andro and his Cutty Gun.

Blythe, blythe and merry was she,

Blythe was she butt and ben:
Blythe by the banks of Ern,

And blythe in Glentwrit glen.
By Auchtertyre grows the aik,

On Yarrow banks the birken shaw; But Phemie was a bonnier lass

Than braes o' Yarrow ever saw.

Her looks were like a flower in May,

Her smile was like a simmer morn ; She tripped by the banks o' Ern,

As light's a bird upon a thorn. Her bonnie face it was as meek

As ony lamb upon a lea; The evening sun was ne'er sae sweet

As was the blink o' Phemie's ee.

Dighlanù Tarrn. (326)
My Harry was a gallant gay,

Fu' stately strode he on the plain :
But now he's banish'd far away,
I'll never see him back again,
Oh for him back again ;

Oh for him back again!
I wad gie a' Knockhaspie's land

For Highland Harry back again. When a' the lave gae to their bed,

I wanger dowie up the glen : I sit me down and greet my fill,

I wish him back again. Oh were some villians hangit high,

And ilka body had their ain ! Then I might see the joyfu' sight,

My Highland Harry back again.

The Highland hills I've wander'd wide,

And o'er the lowlands I hae been ; But Phemie was the blythest lass

That ever trod the dewy green.

And aye

Masing mn the Roaring Orran. (327)

TUNE-Druimion Dubh. MUSING on the roaring ocean

Which divides iny love and me; Wearying Heaven in warm devotion,

For his weal where'er he be.

The Gallant Wraper.

TUNE-The IVeaver's March.
Where Cart rins rowin' to the sea,
By mony a flow'r and spreading tree,
There lives a lad, the lad for me,

lle is a gallant weaver.
Oh, I had woners ancht or nine,
They gied me rings and ribbons fine;
And I was fear'd my heart would tine,

And I gied it to the weaver.
My daddie sigu'd my tocher-band, ,
To gie the lad that has the land;
But to my heart I'll add my hand,

And gie it to the weaver. While birds rejoice in leafy bowers; While bees delight in op'ning flowers ! While corn grows green in simmer showers,

I'll love my gallant weaver.

Hope and fear's alternate billow

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.

The Bindr-rrd Rose at Yale maŋ Blam. Donnie Castle Gardal.
TUNE-To daunton me.

The blude-red rose at Yule may blav,

STREAUS that glide in orient plains, The simmer lillies bloom in shaw,

Never bound by winter's chains; The frost may freeze the deepest sea;

Glowing here on golden sands,

There comunix'd with foulest stains But an auld man shall never daunton me.

From tyranny's empurpled bands; To daunton me, and me so young,

These, their richly gleaming waves,
Wi' his fause heart and flatt'ring tongue I leave to tyrants and their slaves;
That is the thing you ne'er shall see:

Give me the stream that sweetly laves
For an old man shall never daunton me. The banks by Castle-Gordon.
For a' his meal and a’his maut,

Spicy forests, ever gay,
For a' his fresh beef and his saut,

Shading from the burning ray For a' his gold and white monie,

Hapless wretches sold to toil, An auld man shall never daunton me.

Or the ruthless native's way,

Bent on slaughter, blood, and spoil; His gear may buy him kye and yowes,

Woods that ever verdant

wave, His gear may buy him glens and knowes ; But me he shall not buy nor fee,

I leave the tyrant and the slave:

Give me the groves that lofty bravo
For an auld man shall never daunton me.

The storms by Castle-Gordon.
He hirples twa-fauld as he dow,
Wi' his teethless gab and his auld beld pow,

Wildly here without control,
And the rain rains down from his red bleer's Nature reigns and rules the whole;

In that sober pensive mood,

Dearest to the feeling soul,
That auld man shall never daunton me.

She plants the forest, pours the flood :
Life's poor day I'll musing rave,
And find at night a sheltering cave,

Where waters flow and wild woods wave, 1 Rose-bind by my Early Walk. (329)

By bonnie Castle-Gordon.
TUNE-The Rose-bud.


When Santgar' Wind, (330)
TUNE-The Lass that made the Bed to Me
WHEN Januar' wind was blawing cauld,

As to the north I took my way,
The mirksome night did me enfauld,

I knew na where to lodge till day,
By my good luck a maid I met,

Just in the middle o' my care;
And kindly she did me invite

To walk into a chamber fair,

A ROSE-BUD by my early walk,
Adown a corn-enclosed bawk,
Sae gently bent its thorny stalk,

All on a dewy morning.
Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fled,
In a' its crimson glory spread,
And drooping rich the dewy head,

It scents the early morning.
Within the bush, her covert nest,
A little linnet fondly prest,
The dew sat chilly on her breast

Sae early in the morning.
She soon shall see her tender brood,
The pride, the pleasure o' the wood,
Amang the fresh green leaves bedew'd,

Awake the early morning.
So thou, dear bird, young Jeany fair !
On trembling string or vocal air,
Shall sweetly pay the tender care

That tends thy early morning.
So thou, sweet rose-bud, young and gay,
Shalt beauteous blaze upon the day,
And bless the parent's evening ray

That watch'd thy early morning.

I bow'd fu' low unto this maid,

And thank'd her for her courtesie,
I bow'd fu' low unto this maid,

And bade her mak a bed to me.

She made the bed baith large and wide,

Wi' twa white hands she spread it down,
She put the cup to her rosy lips,
And drank, “ Young man, now sleep yo

She snatch'd the candle in her hand,

And frae my chanıber went wi' speed;
But I call'd her quickly back again

To lay some mair below my head.


Sae I'll rejoice the lee lang day,

When by his mighty warden My youth's returned to fair Strathspey,

And bonnie Castle-Gordon.

A cod she laid below my head,

And served me wi' due respect; ; And to salute her wi' a kiss,

I put my arms about her neck. 6 Haud aff your hands, young man,” she

says, And dinna sae uncivil be: If ye

hae ony love for me, Oh wrang na my virginitie !" Her hair was like the links o' gowd,

Her teeth were like the ivorie; Her cheeks like lilies dipt in wine,

The lass that made the bed to me. Her bosom was the driven snaw,

Twa drifted heaps sae fair to see; Her limbs the polish'd marble stane,

The lass that made the bed to me. I kiss'd her owre and owre again,

And aye she wist na what to say; I laid her 'tween me and the wa'

The lassie thought na lang till day.
Upon the morrow when we rose,

I thank'd her for her courtesie;
But aye she blush'd, and aye she sigh’d,

And said, “ Alas! ye've ruin'd me.”
I clasp'd her waist, and kiss'd her syne,

While the tear stood twinklin' in her ee; I said, “ My lassie, dinna cry,

For ye aye shall mak the bed to me.” She took her mither's Holland sheets,

And made them a' in sarks to me: Blythe and merry may she be,

The lass that made the bed to me. The bonnie lass made the bed to me,

The braw lass made the bed to me : I'll ne'er forget till the day I die,

The lass that made the bed to me!

Bonnie Alan, (331)

AIR-Ye gallants bright.
Ye gallants bright, I red ye right,

Beware o' bonnie Ann;
Her comely face sae fu' of grace,

Your heart she will trepan.
Her een sae bright, like stars by night,

Her skin is like the swan;
Sae jimply lac'd her genty waist,

That sweetly ye might span.
Youth, grace, and love attendant move,

And pleasure leads the vall : In a' their charms, and conquering arms,

They wait on bonnie Ann. The captive bands may chain the hands,

But love enslaves the man; Ye gallants braw, I red you a',

Beware o' bonnie Ann!


The Yanng Highland Rover.

TUNE-Morag. Loud blaw the frosty breezes,

The spaws the mountains cover; Like winter on me seizes,

Since my young Highland Rover

Far wanders nations over. Where'er he go, where'er he stray,

May Heaven be his warden, Return him safe to fair Strathspey,

And bonnie Castle-Gordon ! The trees now naked groaning,

Shall soon wi' leaves be hinging,
The birdies dowie moaning,

Shall a' be blythely singing,
And every tinwer be sprii zing.

Blooming Urlly.
TUNE-On a Bank of Flowers.
On a bank of flowers, in a summer day,

For summer lightly drest,
The youthful blooming Nelly lay,

With love and sleep opprest;
When Willie, wand'ring thro' the wood,

Who for her favour oft had sued, He gaz'd, he wish’d, he fear'd, he blush'd,

Aud trembled where he stood.
Her closed


weapons sheath'd,
Were seal'd in soft repose;
Her lips still as she fragrant breath’d,

It richer dy'd the rose. "The springing lilies sweetly prest,

Wild-wanton, kiss'd her rival breast; He gaz'd, he wish'u, he fear'd, he blush'd

His bosom ill at rest,
Her robes light waving in the breeze,

Her tender limbs ernbrace;
Her lovely form, her native ease,

All harmony and grace : Tumultuous tides his pulses roll,

A faltering, ardent kiss he stole;
He gaz'd, he wish’d, he fear'd, he blush'd

And sigh'd his very soul.
As flies the partridge from the brake,

On fear-inspired wings,
So Nelly starting, half awake,

Away affrighted springs:



But Willie follow'd, as he should,

He overtook her in the wood; He vow'd, he pray'd, he found the maid

Forgiving all and good.

My Bonnie Harn. (332) TUNE-Go fetch to me a Pint o' Wine.

Go fetch to me a pint o'wine,

And fill it in a silver tassie; That I may drink, before I go,

A service to my bonny lassie: The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith,

Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the Ferry; The ship rides by the Berwick-law,

And I maun leave my bonnie Mary.

The ěmiling Spring.

TUNE--The Bonny Bell.
The smiling Spring comes in rejoicing,

And surly winter grimly flies;
Now crystal clear are the falling waters,

And bonnie blue are the sunny skies. Fresh o'er the mountains breaks forth the

The ev'ning gilds the ocean's swell;
All creatures joy in the sun's returning,

And I rejoice in my bonnie Bell.
The flowery spring leads sunny summer,

And yellow autumn presses near,
Then in his turn comes gloomy winter,

Till smiling spring again appear. Thus seasons dancing, life advancing,

Old Time and Nature their changes tell, But never ranging, still unchanging,

I adore my bonnie Bell.

The trumpets sound, the banners fly,

The glittering spears are ranked ready; The shouts o' war are heard afar,

The battle closes thick and bloody; But it's not the roar o sea or shore

Wad make me langer wish to tarry; Nor shouts o' war that's heard afar

It's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary.

Ane Fonù Kiss. (333) TUNE-Rory Dall's Port.

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ANE fond kiss and then we sever;
Ane fareweel, alas, for ever!
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.
Who shall say that fortune grieves him,
While the star of hope she leaves him ?
Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me;
Dark despair around benights me.
I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy,
Naething could resist my Nancy
But to see her was to love her.
Love but her, and love for ever.
Had we never lov'd sae kindly,
Had we never lov'd sae blindly,
Never met—or never parted,
We had ne'er been broken-hearted.

How long I have liv'd--but how much liv'd

in vain ! How little of life's scanty span may remain ! What aspects old Time, in his


has worn! What ties cruel fate in my bosom has torn! How foolish, or worse, till our summit is

gain'd! And downward, how weaken'd, how dark. en'd, how pain'd!

[give This life's not worth having with ail it can For something beyond it poor man sure

must live.

Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest !
Fare the weel, thou best and dearest!
Thine be ilka joy and treasure,
Peace, enjorment, love, and pleasure !
Ane fond kiss, and then we sever;
Ane fareweel, alas ! for ever!
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage

thee !

Of x* the Airts tle Wind rau Blaw.

OF a' the airts the wind can blaw,

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

The lassie I loe best

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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.
Oh blaw ye westlin winds, blaw saft

Amang the leafy trees,
Wi' balmy gale, frae hill and dale

Bring hame the laden bees;
And bring the lassie back to me

That's aye sae neat and clean; Ane smile o' her wad banish care, Sae charming is my

Jean !
What sighs and vows amang the knowes

Hae passed atween us twa!
How fond to meet, how wae to part,

That night she gaed awa!
The powers aboon can only ken,

To whom the heart is seen,
That nane can be sae dear to me

As my sweet lovely Jean!

The Chruallier's Lament. (336)

TUNE-Captain O'Kean. The small birds rejoice in the green leaves returning,

(the vale; The murm'ring streamlet winds clear thro' The hawthorn trees blow in the dew of the morning,

[green dale: And wild scattered cowslips bedeck the But what can give pleasure, or what can seem fair,

[by care? While the lingering moments are numbered No flowers gaily springing, nor birds

sweetly singing, Can soothe the sad bosom of joyless despair. The deed that I dared, could it merit their

malice, A king and a father to place on his throne ? His right are these hills, and his right are

these vallies, Where the wild beasts find shelter, but I can find none.

(forlorn; But 'tis not my sufferings thus wretched, My brave gallant friends! 'tis your ruin I mourn!

[trial Your deeds proved so loyal in hot bloody Alas! I can make you no sweeter return!

nin Brart's in the Dighlands.

TUNE-Failte na Miosg. My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here,

[deer; My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the Chasing the wild deer, and following the

Oh, were I on Parnassus* till. (335)

TUNE.--My Love is lost to me.
OH, were I on Parnassus' hill!
Or had of Helicon my fill;
That I might catch poetic skill,

To sing how dear I love thee.
But Nith maun be my muse's well,
My muse maun be thy bonnie sel
On Corsincon I'll glow'r and spell,

And write how dear I love thee.


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

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

By heaven and earth I love thee!
By night, by day, a-field, at hame,
The thoughts o’ thee my breast inflame;
And aye 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.

My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go. Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North,

(worth; The birth-place of valour, the country of Wherever I wander, wherever I rove, The hills of the Highlands for ever I love. Farewell to the mountains high covered with snow;

[below : Farewell to the straths and green vallies Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods;

[floods. Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here,

[deer: My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the Chasing the wild deer, and following the

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