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FAREWELL THOU STREAM THAT WINDING FLOWS.
Let ant Woman r'rr Complain.
TUNE-Duncan Gray. LET not woman e'er complain
Of inconstancy in love;
Fickle man is apt to rove.
Man should then a monster prove?
Ocean's ebb, and ocean's flow :
Round and round the seasons go.
| The lav'rock shuns the palace gay,
And o'er the cottage sings :
To shepherds as to kings.
In lordly lighted ha':
Blythe, in the birken shaw.
Our rustic dance wi' scorn;
Beneath the milk-white thorn ?
In shepherd's phrase will woo:
But is his heart as true ?
That spotless breast o' thine :
But 'tis na love like mine,
You can be no more, you know.
Kleep'st Thon, or Waköst Thou? (371) It was the Charming Munth of May.
TUNE-Dainty Davie. SLEEP'ST thou, or wak'st thou, fairest crea
crea. It was the charming month of May, Rosy morn now lifts his eye, ture? When all the fluw'rs were fresh and gay. Numbering ilka bud, which Nature
One morning, by the break of day, Waters wi' the tears o' joy:
The youthful, charming Chloe, -
From peaceful sluinber she arose,
Girt on her mantle and her hose,
The youthful, charming Chloe.
Lovely was she by the dawn, While the sun and thou arise to bless the day.
Youthful Chloe, charming Chloe. Phæbus gilding the brow o' morning,
Tripping o'er the pearly lawn, Banishes ilk darksome shade,
The youthful, charming Chloe. Nature gladd’ning and adorning;
The feather'd people, you might see Such to me my lovely maid.
Perch'd all around on every tree, When absent from my fair,
In notes of sweetest melody, The murky shades o' care
They hail the charming Chloe; With starless gloom o'ercast my sullen sky; Till, painting gay the eastern skies, But when in beauty's light,
The glorious sun began to rise, She meets my ravish'd sight,
Out-rivall’d by the radiant eyes When through my very heart
Of youthful, charming Chloe. Her beaming glories dart,
Lovely was she, &c. 'Tis then I wake to life, to light, and joy.
Farewell, than štrram that Winding Mly Chlaris, mark how Green the Grours.
TUNE—My lodging is on the cold ground. TUNE-Nancy's to the greenwood gane. My Chloris, mark how green the groves, FAREWELL, thou stream that winding flows The primrose banks how fair;
Around Eliza's dwelling! The balmy gales awake the flowers,
1 Oh mem'ry! spare the cruel throes And wave thy taxen hair.
Within my bosom swelling:
Condemn'd to drag a hopeless chain,
PHILLY. And yet in secret languish,
Oh Willy, aye I bless the grove To feel a fire in ev'ry vein,
Where first I own'd my maiden love, Nor dare disclose my anguish.
Whilst thou didst pledge the powers above
As songsters of the early year
Are ilka day mair sweet to hear,
So ilka day to me mair dear
And charming is my Philly.
PHILLY. The music of thy voice I heard,
As on the briar the budding rose Nor wist while it enslaved me;
Still richer breathes and fairer blows, I saw thine eyes, yet nothing fear'd,
So in my tender bosom grows Till fears no more had sav'd me.
The love I bear my Willy. Th' unwary sailor thus aghast,
WILLY. The wheeling torrent viewing, 'Mid circling horrors sinks at last
The milder sun and bluer sky,
That crown my harvest cares wi' joy,
As is a sight o' Philly.
Tho' waftiny o'er the flowery spring,
Did ne'er to me sic tidings bring, Bonnie lassie, artless lassie,
As meeting omy Willy. Wilt thou wi' me tent the flocks,
WILLY. Wilt thou be my dearie O ?
The bee that thro' the sunny hour Now Nature cleeds the flowery lea,
Sips nectar in the opening flower, And a' is young and sweet like thee:
Compar'd wi' my delight is poor, Oh, wilt thou share its joy wi' me,
Upon the lips o' Philly.
The woodbine in the dewy weet,
When evening shades in silence meet, Has cheer'd ilk drooping little flower,
Is nocht sae fragrant or sae sweet
As is a kiss o' Willy.
Let fortune's wheel at random rin, The weary shearer's hameward way,
And fools may tyne, and kraves may win; Thro' yellow waving fields we'll stray,
My thoughts are a' bound up in ane,
And that's my ane dear Philly.
I care nae wealth a single tlie;
The lad I love's the lad for me,
And that's my ain dear Willy.
Philly and Willn.
And by thy charms, my Philly.
Cantrntrù wi' Little.
TUNE-Lumps o' Pudding. CONTENTED wi' little, and cantie wi' mair, Whene'er I forgather wi' sorrow and care,
I gie them a skelp as they're creepin' alany, | Wi'a coy o'guid swats, and an auld Scottish pouch,
MY NANNIES AWA.
239 I whiles claw the elbow o'troublesom | Ye see yon birkie, cad a lord, thought;
Wha struts, and stares, and a' that; But man is a sodger, and life is a faught: Tho' hundreds worship at his word, My mirth and good humour are coin in my 1 He's but a coof for a' that:
For a' that, and a' that,
The man of independent mind,
A prince can mak a belted knight,
À marquis, duke, and a' that: last,
But an honest man's aboon his might, Wha thé deil ever thinks o' the road le has
Guid faith he maunna fa' that. Blind chance, let her snapper and stoyte on For a’ that, and a’ that, her way:
[gae: ! Their diynities, and a' that, Be't to me, be't frae me, e'en let the jade | The pith o sense, and pride o' worth, Come case, or come travail : come pleasure, Are higher ranks than a' that. or pain,
again! My warst word is—“Welcome, and welcome
relcome / Then let us pray that come it may,
As come it will for a that,
May bear the gree, and a' that.
For a' that, and a' that, (373)
It's coming yet, for a' that,
That man to man, the warld o'er,
Shall brothers be for a' that.
2711 Iannie's Iwa. And caust thou leave me thus for pity ?
TUNE--There'll never be peace, &c. Is this thy plighted, fond regard, Thus cruelly to part, my Katy ?
Now in her green mantle blythe nature Is this thy faithful swain's reward
sbraes, An aching, broken heart, my Katy ? And listens the lambkins that bleat o'er the
While birds warble welcome in ilka green Farewell! and ne'er such sorrows tear
shaw; That fickle heart of thine, mny Katy !
But to me it's delightless--my Nannie's awa. Thou may'st find those will love thee dearBut not a love like mine, my Katy. The snaw-drap and primrose our woodlands
And violets bathe in the weet o' the morn; For a' That, and a Tlat.
They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they
blaw, Is there, for honest poverty,
They mind me o’Nannie--and Nannie's awa. That hangs liis head, and a' that? The coward slave we pass him by,
Thou lav'rock that springs frae the dews of the lawn,
[dawn, We dare be poor for a' that!
The shepherd to warn o' the grey-breaking For a' that, and a' that,
And thou mellow mavis that hails the Our toil's obscure, and a' that,
night-fa', The rank is but the guinea's stamp, (374) The man's the goud for a' that.
Give over for pity-my Nannie's awa. What tho' on hamely fare we dine.
Come, autumn, sae pensive, in yellow and Wear hoddin grey, and a' that;
grey, Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,
And soothe me wi' tidings o'nature's decay; A man's a man for a' that;
The dark, dreary winter, and wild-driving For a' that, and a' that,
snaw, Their tinsel show, and a' that;
Alane can delight me--now Nannie's awa. The honest man, though e'er sae poor,
Is king o' men for a' that.
Craigirturn Wond. (375) The snellest hlast, at mirkest hours,
That round the pathless wand'rer pours, TUNE-Craigieburn wood.
Is nocht to what poor she endures, SWEET fa’s the eve on Craigieburn,
That's trusted faithless man, jo. · And blythe awakes the morrow;
The sweetest flower that deck'd the meada But a’ the pride o' spring's return
Now trodden like the vilest weed; Can yield me nocht but sorrow.
Let simple maid the lesson read, I see the flowers and spreading trees,
The weird may be her ain, jo. I hear the wild birds singing;
The bird that charm’d his summer- day, But what a weary wight can please,
Is now the cruel fowler's prey ; And care his bosom wringing ?
Let witless, trusting, woman say
How aft her fate's the same, jo.
If I conceal it langer.
Address to the Winùlark.
TUNE-Where'll bonnie Ann lie? or, LochWhen yon green leaves fade frae the tree,
On stay, sweet warbling wood-lark, stay,
Thy soothing, fond complaining.
Again, again that tender part,
For surely that wad touch her heart,
Wha kills me wi' disdaining.
And heard thee as the careless wind ?
Oh! nocht but love and sorrow join'd,
Sic notes o' woe could wauken.
Thou tells o'never-ending care :
O speechless grief, and dark despair ;
For pity's sake, sweet bird, nae mair,
Or my poor heart is broken !
On Chloris hring III.
TUNE-Aye wakin 0.
LONG, long the night,
Heavy comes the morrow,
While my soul's delight
Is on her bed of sorrow, Upbraid na me wi' cauld disdain ;
Can I cease to care, Gae back the gait ye cam again,
Can I cease to languish,
While my darling fair
Is on the couch of anguish ?
Every hope is fled,
Every fear is terror;
Slumber even I dread,
Every dream is horror,
OH THIS IS NO MY AIN LASSIE.
Hear me, Pow'rs divine !
'Twas na her Bonnie Blue Be was Take aught else of mine, But my Chloris spare me!
mi Ruilt. TUNE—Laddie, lie near me. 'Twas na her bonnie blue ee was my ruin;
| Fair tho' she be, that was ne'er my undoing : Their Groues o meet Myrtle
'Twas the dear smile when naebody did TUNE-Humours of Glen.
'Twas the bewitching, sweet, stown glance THEIR groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign
Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me, lands reckon,
perfume; Where bright-beaming summers exalt the
Sair do I fear that despair maun abide me;
But tho fell fortune should fate us to sever, Far dearer to me yon lone glen o' green breckan,
Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever. Wi’ the burn stealing under the lang yellow
Mary, I'm thine wi' a passion sincerést,
And thou hast plighted me love the dearest! Far dearer to me are yon humble broom And thou'rt the ancel that never can alter. bowers,
Sooner the sun in his motion would falter. Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk lowly For there, lightly tripping amang the wild flowers,
[Jean. A-listening the linnet, aft wanders my Mark yon Pomp af Custin Fashion. Tho' rich is the breeze in their gay sunny
TUNE-Deil tak the Wars. vallies,
MARK yonder pomp of costly fashion, And cauld Caledonia's blast on the wave; | Round the wealthy, titled bride: Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the | But when compar'd with real passion. proud palace,
(and slave! Poor is all that princely pride. What are they ?—the haunt of the tyrant | What are the showy treasures ? The slave's spicy forests, and gold-bubbling
What are the noisy pleasures ? fountains,
The gay gaudy glare of vanity and art: The brave Caledonian views wi' disdain ;
The polish'd jewel's blaze He wanders as free as the winds of his
May draw the wond'ring gaze, mountains,
And courtly grandeur bright
The fancy may delight,
In simplicity's array;
Shrinking from the gaze of day.
And all resistless charming,
In Love's delightful fetters she chains the How cruel are the parents
willing soul! Who riches only prize:
Ambition would disown And to the wealthy booby,
The world's imperial crown, Poor woman sacrifice!
Even Avarice would deny Meanwhile the hapless daughter
His worshipp'd deity, Has but a choice of strife ;
And feel thro' ev'ry vein Love's raptures roll. To shun a tyrant father's hate,
Become a wretched wife. The rav'ning hawk pursuing,
Oh this is no my lin Lassie. The trembling dove thus flies
TUNE-This is no my ain House,
On this is no my ain lassie, No shelter or retreat,
Fair tho' the lassie be! She trusts the ruthless falconer,
Oh weel ken I my ain lassie, And drops beneath his feet.
Kind love is in her ee.