FAREWELL THOU STREAM THAT WINDING FLOWS. Let not Woman e'er 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? Round and round the seasons go. ཀ The lav'rock shuns the palace gay, And o'er the cottage sings: For nature smiles as sweet, I ween, The shepherd stops his simple reed, Our rustic dance wi' scorn ; But is his heart as true? 237 These wild-wood flowers I've pu'd, to deck The courtier's gems may witness love- Sleep'st Chon, or Wak'st Thou? (371) | 3t was the Charming Month of May. And by the reeking floods, (372) TUNE-Dainty Davie. Ir was the charming month of May, The youthful, charming Chloe,— gay, Wild Nature's tenants, freely, gladly stray: And o'er the flow'ry mead she goes,— The lintwhite in his bower Chants o'er the breathing flower, The lav'rock to the sky Ascends wi' sangs o' joy, While the sun and thou arise to bless the day. Phoebus gilding the brow o' morning, Banishes ilk darksome shade, Nature gladd'ning and adorning; With starless gloom o'ercast my sullen sky; "Tis then I wake to life, to light, and joy. My Chloris, mark how Green the Graurs. The youthful, charming Chloe. CHORUS. Lovely was she by the dawn, The youthful, charming Chloe. They hail the charming Chloe; Farewell, than stream that Winding TUNE-Nancy's to the greenwood gane. Oh mem'ry! spare the cruel throes Condemn'd to drag a hopeless chain, Nor dare disclose my anguish. I know thou doom'st me to despair, Nor wist while it enslaved me; I saw thine eyes, yet nothing fear'd, The wheeling torrent viewing, Lassie wi' the lint-white Locks. TUNE-Rothiemurche's Rant. CHORUS. LASSIE wi' the lint-white locks, Bonnie lassie, artless lassie, Lassie wi' the lint-white locks, &c. Lassie wi' the lint-white locks, &c. When Cynthia lights, wi' silver ray, The weary shearer's hameward way, Thro' yellow waving fields we'll stray, And talk o' love, my dearie O. Lassie wi' the lint-white locks, &c. And when the howling wintry blast Disturbs my lassie's midnight rest, Enclasped to my faithful breast, I'll comfort thee, my dearie O. Philly and Willy. TUNE-The Sow's Tail. WILLY. Оn Philly, happy be that day When roving through the gather'd hay, My youthfu' heart was stown away, And by thy charms, my Philly. PHILLY. Oh Willy, aye I bless the grove WILLY. As songsters of the early year PHILLY. As on the briar the budding rose WILLY. The milder sun and bluer sky, PHILLY. The little swallow's wanton wing, WILLY. The bee that thro' the sunny hour Sips nectar in the opening flower, Compar'd wi' my delight is poor, Upon the lips o' Philly. PHILLY. The woodbine in the dewy weet, WILLY. Let fortune's wheel at random rin, PHILLY. What's a' the joys that gowd can gie? Contented 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' alang, Wi' a cog o' guid swats, and an auld Scottish sang. I whiles claw the elbow o' troublesom thought; But man is a sodger, and life is a faught: My mirth and good humour are coin in my pouch, And my freedom's my lairdship nae monarch A townmond o' trouble, should that be my fa', her way: [gae: Be't to me, be't frae me, e'en let the jade Come ease, or come travail: come pleasure, or pain, [again!" My warst word is-" Welcome, and welcome Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord, Wha struts, and stares, and a' that; His riband, star, and a' that, He looks and laughs at a' that. Their dignities, and a' that, Then let us pray that come it may, As come it will for a' that, That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, Can'st thou Leave me Thus, my Katy. For a' that, and a' that, (373) TUNE-Roy's Wife. CHORUS. CANST thou leave me thus, my Katy? Is this thy plighted, fond regard, Thus cruelly to part, my Katy? Is this thy faithful swain's reward An aching, broken heart, my Katy? Farewell! and ne'er such sorrows tear That fickle heart of thine, my Katy! Thou may'st find those will love thee dearBut not a love like mine, my Katy. For a' That, and a' That. Is there, for honest poverty, Our toil's obscure, and a' that, Wear hoddin grey, and a' that; Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, For a' that, and a' that, Their tinsel show, and a' that; It's coming yet, for a' that, My Nannie's Awa. Now in her green mantle blythe nature But to me it's delightless-my Nannie's awa. And violets bathe in the weet o' the morn ; They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw, They mind me o' Nannie-and Nannie's awa. Thou lav'rock that springs frae the dews of the lawn, [dawn, The shepherd to warn o' the grey-breaking And thou mellow mavis that hails the night-fa', Give over for pity-my Nannie's awa. Come, autumn, sae pensive, in yellow and grey, And soothe me wi' tidings o' nature's decay; snaw, Alane can delight me-now Nannie's awa, Craigirburn Wood, (375) I see the flowers and spreading trees, Fain, fain would I my griefs impart, Yet dare na for your anger; If thou refuse to pity me, If thou shalt love anither, When yon green leaves fade frae the tree, Around my grave they'll wither. (376) Oh Lassie art than Slerping get? TUNE-Let me in this ane Night. OH lassie art thou sleeping yet? CHORUS. Oh let me in this ane night, Oh rise and let me in, jo! 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. The bitter blast that round me blaws Reply to the Foregoing. Oн tell na me o' wind and rain, CHORUS. I tell you now this ane night, This ane, ane, ane night; And ance for a' this ane night, I winna let you in, jo. The snellest blast, at mirkest hours, The sweetest flower that deck'd the mead Address to the Woodlark, Oн stay, sweet warbling wood-lark, stay, Thy soothing, fond complaining. Say, was thy little mate unkind, On Chloris hring TUNE-Aye wakin O. CHORUS. LONG, long the night, Is on her bed of sorrow. Can I cease to care, 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. 241 Hear me, Pow'rs divine! Oh! in pity hear me ! Take aught else of mine, Their Graves a' Sweet Myrtle. TUNE-Humours of Glen. lands reckon, THEIR groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign [perfume; Where bright-beaming summers exalt the Far dearer to me yon lone glen o' green breckan, [broom. Wi' the burn stealing under the lang yellow Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers, [unseen : Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk lowly For there, lightly tripping amang the wild flowers, [Jean. A-listening the linnet, aft wanders my Tho' rich is the breeze in their gay sunny vallies, And cauld Caledonia's blast on the wave; Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud palace, [and slave! What are they?-the haunt of the tyrant The slave's spicy forests, and gold-bubbling fountains, Bow Cruel are the Par ats. ALTERED FROM AN OLD ENGLISH SONG. TUNE-John Anderson my Jo. How cruel are the parents, Who riches only prize: Awhile her pinion tries: No shelter or retreat, R TUNE-Laddie, lie near me. 'TWAS na her bonnie blue ee was my ruin Fair tho' she be, that was ne'er my undoing: "Twas the dear smile when naebody did mind us, [o' kindness. 'Twas the bewitching, sweet, stown glance Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me, Sair do I fear that despair maun abide me; Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever. But tho' fell fortune should fate us to sever, Mary, I'm thine wi' a passion sincerest, And thou hast plighted me love the dearest! And thou'rt the angel that never can alter, Sooner the sun in his motion would falter. Oh this is no my Ain Lassie. TUNE-This is no my ain House. CHORUS. Oн this is no my ain lassie, Fair tho' the lassie be! Oh weel ken I my ain lassie, Kind love is in her ee. |