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Let ant Woman r'rr Complain.

TUNE-Duncan Gray. LET not woman e'er complain

Of inconstancy in love;
Let not woman e'er complain

Fickle man is apt to rove.
Look abroad through Nature's range,
Nature's mighty law is change;
Ladies, would it not be strange,

Man should then a monster prove?
Mark the winds, and mark the skies;

Ocean's ebb, and ocean's flow :
Sun and moon but set to rise,

Round and round the seasons go.
Why then ask of silly man
To oppose great Nature's plan?

| The lav'rock shuns the palace gay,

And o'er the cottage sings :
For nature smiles as sweet, I ween,

To shepherds as to kings.
Let minstrels sweep the skilfu' string

In lordly lighted ha':
The shepherd stops his simple reed,

Blythe, in the birken shaw.
The princely revel may survey

Our rustic dance wi' scorn;
But are their hearts as light as ours

Beneath the milk-white thorn ?
The shepherd, in the flowery glen,

In shepherd's phrase will woo:
The courtier tells a finer tale,

But is his heart as true ?
These wild-wood flowers I've pu’d, to deck

That spotless breast o' thine :
The courtier's gems may witness love

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, -
Now thro' the leafy woods,

From peaceful sluinber she arose,
And by the reeking floods,
Wild Nature's tenants, freely, gladly stray: 1 And o'er the flow'ry mead she gues.

Girt on her mantle and her hose,
The lintwhite in his bower

The youthful, charming Chloe.
Chants o'er the breathing flower,
The lav'rock to the sky

Ascends wi' sangs o' joy,

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
Love's veriest wretch, unseen, unknown, To be my ain dear Willy.
I fain my griefs would cover:

The bursting sigh. th' unweeting groan,
Betray the hapless lover.

As songsters of the early year
I know thou duom'st me to despair,

Are ilka day mair sweet to hear,

So ilka day to me mair dear
Nor wilt, nor canst relieve me ;
But, oh! Eliza, hear one prayer,

And charming is my Philly.
For pity's sake, forgive me!

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,
In overwhelming ruin.

That crown my harvest cares wi' joy,
Were ne'er sae welcome to my eye

As is a sight o' Philly.
Lassie mi' the lint-white Lorks.

TUNE--Rothiemurche's Rant. The little swallow's wanton wing,

Tho' waftiny o'er the flowery spring,
LASSIE wi' the lint-white locks,

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.
And say thou'lt be my dearie 0 ?

Lassie wi' the lint-white locks, &c.

The woodbine in the dewy weet,
And when the welcome simmer-shower

When evening shades in silence meet, Has cheer'd ilk drooping little flower,

Is nocht sae fragrant or sae sweet
We'll to the breathing woodbine bower

As is a kiss o' Willy.
At sultry noon, my dearie 0.
Lassie wi’ the lint-white locks, &c.

When Cynthia lights, wi' silver ray,

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 talk o' love, my dearie 0.

And that's my ane dear Philly.
Lassie wi' the lint-white locks, &c.

And when the howling wintry blast What's a' the joys that gowd can gie?
Disturbs my lassie's midnight rest,

I care nae wealth a single tlie;
Enclasped to my faithful breast,

The lad I love's the lad for me,
I'll comfort thee, my dearie ().

And that's my ain dear Willy.
Lassie wi' the lint-white locks, &c.


Philly and Willn.
TUNEThe Sow's Tuil.

Oh Philly, happy be that day
When roving through the gather'd hay,
My youthfu' heart was stown away,

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,



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,
And my freedom's my lairdship nae monarch His riband, star, and a' that,
dare touch.

The man of independent mind,
A townmond o' trouble, should that be my fa', / He looks and laughs at a' that.
A night o’guid fellowship sowthers it a':
When at the blythe end of our journey at |

A prince can mak a belted knight,

À marquis, duke, and a' that: last,

(past ?

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,
That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth,

May bear the gree, and a' that.
Can'st than Trave me Thus, my Katy.

For a' that, and a' that, (373)

It's coming yet, for a' that,

That man to man, the warld o'er,
TUNE--Roy's Wife.

Shall brothers be for a' that.
Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy?
Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy ?
Well thou know'st my aching heart,

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
Fain, fain would I my griefs impart,

How aft her fate's the same, jo.
Yet dare na for your anger;
But secret love will break my heart,

If I conceal it langer.
If thou refuse to, pity me,

Address to the Winùlark.
If thou shalt love anither,

TUNE-Where'll bonnie Ann lie? or, LochWhen yon green leaves fade frae the tree,

Eroch Side,
Around my grave they'll wither. (376)

On stay, sweet warbling wood-lark, stay,
Nor quit for me the trembling spray,
A hapless lover courts thy lay,

Thy soothing, fond complaining.
Oh *Lassie art fljon Glerping met ?

Again, again that tender part,
TUNE-Let me in this ane Night. That I may catch thy melting art:

For surely that wad touch her heart,
Oh lassie art thou sleeping yet?

Wha kills me wi' disdaining.
Or art thou wakin', I would wit?
For love has bound me hand and foot, Say, was thy little mate unkind,
And I would fain be in, jo.

And heard thee as the careless wind ?

Oh! nocht but love and sorrow join'd,

Sic notes o' woe could wauken.
Oh let me in this ane night,
This ane, ane, ane night;

Thou tells o'never-ending care :
For pity's sake this ane night,

O speechless grief, and dark despair ;
Oh rise and let me in, jo!

For pity's sake, sweet bird, nae mair,

Or my poor heart is broken !
Thou hear'st the winter wind and weet,
Nae star blinks thro' the driving sleet;
Tak pity on my weary feet,
And shield me frae the rain, jo.

On Chloris hring III.
The bitter blast that round me blaws

TUNE-Aye wakin 0.
Unheeded howls, unheeded fa's;
The cauldness o' thy heart's the cause

Of a' my grief and pain, jo.

LONG, long the night,

Heavy comes the morrow,
Reply to the Foregoing.

While my soul's delight
On tell na me owind and rain,

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,
I winna let you in, jo!

While my darling fair

Is on the couch of anguish ?
I tell you now this ane night,

Every hope is fled,
This ane, ane, ane night;

Every fear is terror;
And ance for a' this ane night,

Slumber even I dread,
I winna let you in, jo.

Every dream is horror,



Hear me, Pow'rs divine !
Oh! in pity hear me!

'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.

mind us,

[o' kindness.

'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,

sunseen :

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,

[his Jean!

And courtly grandeur bright
Save love's willing fetters—the chains o'

The fancy may delight,
But never, never can come near the heart.
But did you see my dearest Chloris,

In simplicity's array;
Bom Cruel are the Par ats. Lovely as yonder sweet op'ning flower is,

Shrinking from the gaze of day.
ALTERED FROM AN OLD ENGLISH SONG. Oh then the heart alarming,
TUNE-John Anderson my Jo.

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,
To shun impelling ruin
Awhile her pinion tries :

Til of escape despairing,

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.



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