Raving Winds around 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 seizes. Life, thou soul of every blessing, Load to misery most distressing, Gladly how would I resign thee, And to dark oblivion join thee!" Bighland Barry. (326) My Harry was a gallant gay, Oh for him back again! And aye 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. Masing on the Roaring Orran. (327) TUNE-Druimion Dubh. MUSING on the roaring ocean Which divides ny love and me; Wearying Heaven in warm devotion, For his weal where'er he be. Hope and fear's alternate billow Yielding late to nature's law, Ye whom sorrow never wounded, Gentle night, do thou befriend me: Downy sleep, the curtain draw; Spirits kind, again attend me, Talk of him that's far awa! Blythe was She. (328) TUNE-Andro and his Cutty Gun. CHORUS. Blythe, blythe and merry was she, And blythe in Glentwrit glen. 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. As ony lamb upon a lea; The Highland hills I've wander'd wide, The Gallant Weaver. TUNE-The Weaver's March. Where Cart rins rowin' to the sea, He is a gallant weaver. Oh, I had wooers aucht or nine, And gie it to the weaver. The Blade-red Rose at Pule mag Blam. TUNE-To daunton me. THE blude-red rose at Yule may blaw, To daunton me, and me so young, For a' his meal and a'his maut, His gear may buy him kye and yowes, For an auld man shall never daunton me. He hirples twa-fauld as he dow, Bonnie Castle Gardan. STREAMS that glide in orient plains, From tyranny's empurpled bands; These, their richly gleaming waves, I leave to tyrants and their slaves; Give me the stream that sweetly laves The banks by Castle-Gordon. Spicy forests, ever gay, Shading from the burning ray Hapless wretches sold to toil, I leave the tyrant and the slave: Wi' his teethless gab and his auld beld pow, Nature reigns and rules the whole; And the rain rains down from his red bleer'd ee That auld man shall never daunton me. A Rase-bnd by my Early Walk. (329) TUNE-The Rose-bud. 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. Awake the early morning. So thou, dear bird, young Jeany fair! That tends thy early morning. That watch'd thy early morning. In that sober pensive mood, Dearest to the feeling soul, 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, By bonnie Castle-Gordon. When Jannar' 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. I bow'd fu' low unto this maid, And bade her mak a bed to me. She made the bed baith large and wide, And drank, "Young man, now sleep ye She snatch'd the candle in her hand, P A cod she laid below my head, I put my arms about her neck. "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! The Young Bighland Rover. TUNE-Morag. LOUD blaw the frosty breezes, Since my young Highland Rover Shall soon wi' leaves be hinging, The birdies dowie moaning, Shall a' be blythely singing, And every flower be springing. Sae I'll rejoice the lee-lang day, Bonnie Ann, (331) YE gallants bright, I red ye right, 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. In a' their charms, and conquering arms, Blooming Jelly. TUNE-On a Bank of Flowers. ON a bank of flowers, in a summer day, The youthful blooming Nelly lay, With love and sleep opprest; Her closed eyes like weapons sheath'd, Wild-wanton, kiss'd her rival breast; He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'dHis bosom ill at rest. Her robes light waving in the breeze, A faltering, ardent kiss he stole; As flies the partridge from the brake, So Nelly starting, half awake, OF A' THE AIRTS THE WIND CAN BLAW. 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 Mary. (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 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 afarIt's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary. Ane Fund Riss. (333) ANE fond kiss and then we sever; I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy, Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest! Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee, The Smiling Spring. TUNE-The Bonny Bell. THE smiling Spring comes in rejoicing, And surly winter grimly flies; 211 Now crystal clear are the falling waters, The ev'ning gilds the ocean's swell; The Lazy Alist. TUNE-The Lazy Mist. THE lazy mist hangs from the brow of the hill, [rill; Concealing the course of the dark winding How languid the scenes, late so sprightly, appear! As autumn to winter resigns the pale year. The forests are leafless, the meadows are brown, And all the gay foppery of summer is flown: Apart let me wander, apart let me muse, How quick time is flying, how keen fate pursues! 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 progress, 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 darken'd, how pain'd! [giveThis life's not worth having with ail it can For something beyond it poor man sure must live. Of a' the Sirts the Wind ran Blaw. (334) OF a' the airts the wind can blaw, I dearly like the west, For there the bounie lassie lives, The lassie I loe best: There wild woods grow, and rivers row, And mony a hill between; But day and night my fancy's flight I see her in the dewy flowers, 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 Wi' balmy gale, frae hill and dale What sighs and vows amang the knowes How fond to meet, how wae to part, The powers aboon can only ken, TUNE.-My Love is lost to me. Он, were I on Parnassus' hill! To sing how dear I love thee. And write how dear I love thee. Then come, sweet muse, inspire my lay! How much, how dear, I love thee. By heaven and earth I love thee! By night, by day, a-field, at hame, I only live to love thee. Tho' I were doom'd to wander on Till then-and then I love thee. My Beart's in the Bighlands. My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe |