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When we first acquent,
Your bonnie brow was brent;
Your locks are like the snaw; But blessings on your frosty pow,
John Anderson my jo. John Anderson my jo, John,
We clamb the hill thegither, And mony a canty day, John,
We've had wi' ane anither : Now we maun totter down, John, But hand in hand we'll
go, And sleep thegither at the foot,
John Anderson my jo.
In a' our town or here awa :
Fu' lightly danced he in the ha'.
He roosed my waist sae genty sma',
When ne'er a body heard or saw.
When Jockey's owsen hameward ca'
When in his arms he takes me a',
As lang's he has a breath to draw.
To Marr 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 sweet 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,
For thee, and thee alone, I live.
When that grim foe of life below
Comes in between to make us part, Thy image at our last embrace,
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 Brrm'). (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
Oh, 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,
Ye wad na find in Christendie. Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes,
We are nae fou', we're no that fou', And fondly broods with miser care !
But just a drappie in our ee;
The cock may craw, the day may daw,
aye we'll taste the barley bree. My Mary, dear departed shade!
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!
I'm thinking wi' sic a braw fellow
In poortith I might make a fen';
If I maunna marry Tam Glen?
It is the moon, I ken her horn,
That's blinkin' in the lift sae hie; She shines sae bright to wile us hame,
But, by my sooth, she'll wait a wee! Wha first shall rise to gang awa',
A cuckold, coward loon is he ! Wha last beside his chair shall fa',
He is the king amang us three!
There's Lowrie, the laird o' Drumeller,
“Guid day to you, brute!” he comes ben; He brags and he blaws o' his siller,
But when will he dance like Tam Glen ?
My minnie does constantly deave me,
And bids me beware o' young men;
They flatter, she says, to deceive me,
But wha can think sae o' Tam Glen ?
My daddie says, gin I'll forsake him, I gat ny deatlı frae twa sweet een,
He'll gie me guid hunder marks ten:
But if it's ordain'd I maun take him, Twa lovely een o' bonnie blue. '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, Iler heaving bosum, 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 soul--I 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 neurr br Prarr. But sweeter flows the Nith, to me,
TUNE--There are few guid fellows when Where Cummins ance had high command;
yon castle wa', at the close of the day, Must wayward fortune's adverse hand I heard a man sing, though his head it was For ever, ever keep me here?
And as he was singing, the tears down came, How lovely, Nith, thy fruitful vales, 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;
We darena weel say't, though we ken wha's Tho' wandering, now, must be my doom,
to blame, Far from thy bonnie banks and braes, May there my latest hours consume,
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. 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.
[dameHy 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,
sameBut what will I do wi' Tam Glen ?
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame!
Priklr thinks min Cour.
I do confess thee sweet, but find
Thou art sae thriftless o' thy sweets,
Thy favours are the silly wind,
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.
beware at the hunting. 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
were mawn, And ye'll crack your credit wi' mae nor me.
Our lads gaed a-hunting ane day at the dawn. Owre muors and owre mosses and mony & glen,
At length they discover'd a bonnie moorDom ran 3 hp Binthe and Glau. I red you beware at the hunting, young
men ; TUNE-The bunnie 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; It's no the frosty winter wind,
Her plumage out-lustred the pride o' the It's no the driving drift and snaw;
spring, But aye the tear comes in my ee,
And oh! as she wantoned gay on the wing. To think on him that's far awa.
I red you beware, &c. But aye the tear comes in my ee, Auld Phoebus himsel, as he peep'd o'er the To think on him that's far awa.
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 levellid his rays where she bask'd on the
brae But I hae ane will tak my part, The bonnie lad that's far awa.
His rays were outshone, 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
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. And I will wear them for his sake,
The bonnie lad that's far awa.
do ronfess thon art sar Fair. (341) I Do confess thou art sae fair,
I wad been owre the lugs in love, Had I na found the slightest prayer
That lips could speak thy heart could move.
What ran a Vanng Lassir.
[man? What can a young lassie do wi' an auld