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OII, WILLIE BREW'D.
213 John Anderson.
Young Jockey was the blythest lad
In a' our town or here awa :
Fu’ blythe he whistled at the gaud,
Fu' lightly danced he in the ha'.
He roosed my een, sae bonnie blue,
He roosed my waist sae genty sma',
And aye my heart came to my mou’
When ne'er a body heard or saw.
My Jockey toils upon the plain,
Throwind and weet, thro' frost and snaw. And mony a canty day, John,
And o'er the lea I leuk fu' fain,
When Jockey's owsen hameward ca'
And aye the night comes round again,
When in his arms he takes me a',
And aye he vows he'll be my ain,
As lang's he has a breath to draw.
To Marn in Brauen. (337)
The Day Returns. (338)
TUNE--Seventh of November. That lov'st to greet the early morn, | THE day returns, my bosom burns, Again thou usher'st in the day
The blissful day we twa did meet, My Mary from my soul was torn.
Tho' winter wild in tempest toil'd, Oh Mary! dear departed shade!
Ne'er summer-sun was half sae sweetho Where is thy place of blissful rest ? Than a' the pride that loads the tide, Ste'st thou thy lover lowly laid ?
And crosses o'er the sultry line; Hear'st thou the groans that rend his Than kingly robes, than crowns and globes, breast ?
Heav'n gave me more-it made thee mine That sacred hour can I forget,
While day and night can bring delight,
Or nature aught of pleasure give,
While joys above my mind can move, Eternity will not efface
For thee, and thee alone, I live. Those records dear of transports past;
When that grim foe of life below Thy image at our last embrace,
Comes in between to make us part,
The iron hand that breaks our band, Ah! little thought we 'twas our last!
It breaks my bliss—it breaks my heart ! Ayr, gurgling, kiss'd his pebbled shore, O’erhung with wild woods, thick’ning
green; The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar,
Oh, Willie Brew'). (339) Twin'd am'rous round the raptur'd scene; TUNE.-Willie brew'd a Peck o' Mult. The flow'rs sprang wanton to be prest, The birds sang love on every spray
10w, Willie brew'd a peck o'maut, Till too, too soon, the glowing west
And Rob and Allan cam to pree: Proclaim'd the speed of winged day.
Three blyther hearts, that lee-lang night, Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes,
Ye wad na find in Christendie.
We are nae fou', we're no that fou', And fondly broods with miser care !
But just a drappie in our ee; Time but th' impression stronger makes,
The cock may craw, the day may daw, As streams their channels deeper wear, My Mary, dear departed shade!
And aye we'll taste the barley bree. Where is thy place of blissful rest! Here are we met, three merry boys, See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ?
Three merry boys, I trow, are we; Hear'st thou the groans that rend his And mony a night we've merry been, breast ?
And mony mae we hope to be!
It is the moon, I ken her horn,
| I'm thinking wi' sic a braw fellow That's blinkin' in the lift sae hie:
In poortith I might make a fen';
But, by my sooth, she'll wait a wee! If I maunna marry Tam Glen?
There's Lowrie, the laird o' Drumeller,
“Guid day to you, brute!” he comes ben;
He brags and he blaws o' his siller, He is the king amang us three!
But when will he dance like Tam Glen ?
My minnie does constantly deave me, Sgard a Warfu' Gate Vestrern. (340)
And bids me beware o' young men;
They flatter, she says, to deceive me,
But wha can think sae o' Tain Glen? I GAED a waefu' gate yestreen,
A gate, I fear, I'll dearly rue;
He'll gie me guid hunder marks ten: Twa lovely een o' bonnie blue.
But if it's ordain'd I maun take him, 'Twas not her golden ringlets bright;
Oh wha will I get but Tam Glen ? Her lips like roses wet wi' dew,
Yestreen at the valentine's dealing, IIer heaving bosom, lily-white
My heart to my mou' gied a sten; It was her een sae bonnie blue.
For thrice I drew ane without failing, She talk'd, she smild, my heart she wild; And thrice it was written-Tam Glen. She charm'd my soulI wist na how;
The last Halloween I was waukin And aye the stound, the deadly wound,
My droukit sark-sleeve, as ye ken;
His likeness cam up the house staukin,
And the very grey breeks o' Tam Glen! Should she refuse, I'll lay my dead
Come counsel, dear Tittie! don't tarryTo her twa een sae bonnie blue
I'll gie you my bonnie black hen,
The lad I loe dearly, Tam Glen
TUNE-Robie donna Gorach.
There'll never be Prare. But sweeter flows the Nith, to me,
TUNE—There are few guid fellows when Where Cummins ance had high command ; !
Willie's awa. When shall I see that honour'd land,
That winding stream I love so dear! By yon castle wa', at the close of the day, Must wayward fortune's adverse hand I heard a man sig, though his head it was For ever, ever keep me here?
grey ; How lovely, Nith, thy fruitful vales,
And as he was singing, the tears down came, Where spreading hawthorns gaily bloom!
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.
The church is in ruins, the state is in jars ; How sweetly wind thy sloping dales, Where lambkins, wanton thro' the broom!
Delusions, oppressions, and murderous wars; Tho' wandering, now, must be my doom,
We darena weel say't, though we ken wha's Far from thy bonnie banks and braes,
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. May there my latest hours consume, Amang the friends of early days! My seven braw sons for Jamie drew sword,
And now I greet round their green beds in the yerd.
dameAly heart is a-breaking, Dear Tittie ! It brak the sweet heart of my faithfu' auld
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. TUNE-Tam Glen.
Now life is a burthen that bows me down, My heart is a-breaking, dear Tittie!
Since I tint my bairns, and he tint his crown; Some counsel unto me come len',
But till my last moments my words are the To anger them a' is the pity,
same But what will I do wi? Tam Glen ? There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame! WHAT CAN A YOUNG LASSIE.
Prikle thinks my Lodr.
| I do confess thee sweet, but find
Thou art sae thriftless o'thy sweets,
Thy favours are the silly wind,
And meikle thinks my luve o' my kin; See yonder rose-bud, rich in dew, But little thinks my luve I ken brawlie
Amang its native briers sae coy; My tocher's the jewel has charms for him. How sure it tines its scent and hue It's a' for the apple he'll nourish the tree; When pou'd and worn a common toy!
It's a' for the hiney he'll cherish the bee; | Sic fate, ere lang, shall thee betide. My laddie's sae meikle in luve wi' the siller, Tho' thou may gaily bloom awhile!
He canna hae luve to spare for me. Yet sune thou shalt be thrown aside
Like ony common weed and vile.
Ye're like to the bark o' yon rotten tree, Ye'll slip frae me like a knotless thread,
The heather was blooming, the meadows And ye'll crack your credit wi' mae nor me.
were mawn, Our lads gaed a-hunting ane day at the dawn. Owre muors and owre mosses and mony a glen,
At length they discover'd a bonnie moorBow ran I be Blythe and Glat. I red you beware at the hunting, young TUNE,The bonnie Lad that's far awa.
I red you beware at the hunting young Oh how can I be blythe and glad,
Tak some on the wing, and some as they Or how can I gang brisk and braw,
spring, When the bonnie lad that I loe best
But canniły steal on a bonnie moor-hen, Is owre the hills and far awa ?
Sweet brushing the dew from the brown heaWhen the bonnie lad that I loe best
ther bells, Is owre the hills and far awa?
Her colours betray'd her on yon mossy fells;
Her plumage out-lustred the pride o' the It's no the driving drift and snaw;
I red you beware, &c.
Auld Phæbus himsel, as he peep'd o'er the
hill, My father pat me frae his door,
In spite at her plumage he tried his skill; My friends they hae disown'd me a',
He levell’d his rays where she bask'd on the But I hae ane will tak my part,
braeThe bonnie lad that's far awa.
His rays were ontshone, and but mark'd But I hae ane will tak my part,
where she lay. The bonnie lad that's far awa.
I red you beware, &c.
They hunted the valley, they hunted the hill; A pair o' gloves he gae to me,
The best of our lads wi' the best o'their skill; And silken snoods he gae me twa; But still as the fairest she sat in their sight, And I will wear them for his sake,
Then, whirr! she was over, a mile at a flight. The bonnie lad that's far awa.
I red you beware, &c.
The bonnie lad that's far awa.
What ran a Viong Lassir. I do ronfess thou art sar Fair. (341) TUNE-What can a young lassie do wi' come I do confess thou art sae fair,
auld man. I wad been owre the lugs in love,
WHAT can a young lassie, what shall a young Had I na found the slightest prayer
man That lips could speak thy heart could move. / What can a young l'assie do wi' an auld