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Raving Winds around her Blowing.

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TUNE-Macgregor of Ruara's Lament. RAVING winds around her blowing, Yellow leaves the woodlands strowing, By a river hoarsely roaring, Isabella stray'd deploring"Farewell hours that late did measure Sunshine days of joy and pleasure; Hail, thou gloomy night of sorrow, Cheerless night that knows no morrow! O'er the past too fondly wandering, On the hopeless future pondering; Chilly grief my life-blood freezes, Fell despair my fancy seizes. Life, thou soul of every blessing, Load to misery most distressing, Gladly how would I resign thee, And to dark oblivion join thee!"

Bighland Barry. (326)

My Harry was a gallant gay,
Fu' stately strode he on the plain:
But now he's banish'd far away,
I'll never see him back again.
Oh for him back again;

Oh for him back again!
I wad gie a' Knockhaspie's land
For Highland Harry back again.
When a' the lave gae to their bed,
I wander dowie up the glen:
I sit me down and greet my fill,

And aye I wish him back again. Oh were some villians hangit high, And ilka body had their ain! Then I might see the joyfu' sight, My Highland Harry back again.

Masing on the Roaring Orran. (327)

TUNE-Druimion Dubh. MUSING on the roaring ocean

Which divides ny love and me; Wearying Heaven in warm devotion, For his weal where'er he be.

Hope and fear's alternate billow

Yielding late to nature's law,
Whisp'ring spirits round my pillow
Talk of him that's far awa.

Ye whom sorrow never wounded,
Ye who never shed a tear,
Care-untroubled, joy surrounded,
Gaudy day to you is dear.

Gentle night, do thou befriend me:

Downy sleep, the curtain draw; Spirits kind, again attend me, Talk of him that's far awa!

Blythe was She. (328) TUNE-Andro and his Cutty Gun.

CHORUS.

Blythe, blythe and merry was she,
Blythe was she butt and ben:
Blythe by the banks of Ern,

And blythe in Glentwrit glen.
By Auchtertyre grows the aik,
On Yarrow banks the birken shaw;
But Phemie was a bonnier lass

Than braes o' Yarrow ever saw. Her looks were like a flower in May,

Her smile was like a simmer morn; She tripped by the banks o' Ern,

As light's a bird upon a thorn.
Her bonnie face it was as meek

As ony lamb upon a lea;
The evening sun was ne'er sae sweet
As was the blink o' Phemie's ee.

The Highland hills I've wander'd wide,
And o'er the lowlands I hae been;
But Phemie was the blythest lass
That ever trod the dewy green.

The Gallant Weaver.

TUNE-The Weaver's March.

Where Cart rins rowin' to the sea,
By mony a flow'r and spreading tree,
There lives a lad, the lad for me,

He is a gallant weaver.

Oh, I had wooers aucht or nine,
They gied me rings and ribbons fine;
And I was fear'd my heart would tine,
And I gied it to the weaver.
My daddie sign'd my tocher-band,
To gie the lad that has the land;
But to my heart I'll add my hand,

And gie it to the weaver.
While birds rejoice in leafy bowers;
While bees delight in op'ning flowers!
While corn grows green in simmer showers,
I'll love my gallant weaver.

The Blade-red Rose at Pule mag Blam.

TUNE-To daunton me.

THE blude-red rose at Yule may blaw,
The simmer lillies bloom in snaw,
The frost may freeze the deepest sea;
But an auld man shall never daunton me.

To daunton me, and me so young,
Wi' his fause heart and flatt'ring tongue
That is the thing you ne'er shall see :
For an old man shall never daunton me.

For a' his meal and a'his maut,
For a' his fresh beef and his saut,
For a' his gold and white monie,
An auld man shall never daunton me.

His gear may buy him kye and yowes,
His gear may buy him glens and knowes;
But me he shall not buy nor fee,

For an auld man shall never daunton me.

He hirples twa-fauld as he dow,

Bonnie Castle Gardan.
TUNE-Morag.

STREAMS that glide in orient plains,
Never bound by winter's chains ;
Glowing here on golden sands,
There commix'd with foulest stains

From tyranny's empurpled bands; These, their richly gleaming waves, I leave to tyrants and their slaves; Give me the stream that sweetly laves The banks by Castle-Gordon. Spicy forests, ever gay, Shading from the burning ray

Hapless wretches sold to toil,
Or the ruthless native's way,
Bent on slaughter, blood, and spoil;
Woods that ever verdant wave,

I leave the tyrant and the slave:
Give me the groves that lofty bravo
The storms by Castle-Gordon.
Wildly here without control,

Wi' his teethless gab and his auld beld pow, Nature reigns and rules the whole;

And the rain rains down from his red bleer'd

ee

That auld man shall never daunton me.

A Rase-bnd by my Early Walk. (329)

TUNE-The Rose-bud.

A ROSE-BUD by my early walk,
Adown a corn-enclosed bawk,
Sae gently bent its thorny stalk,

All on a dewy morning.

Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fled,
In a' its crimson glory spread,
And drooping rich the dewy head,

It scents the early morning.
Within the bush, her covert nest,
A little linnet fondly prest,
The dew sat chilly on her breast
Sae early in the morning.
She soon shall see her tender brood,
The pride, the pleasure o' the wood,
Amang the fresh green leaves bedew'd,

Awake the early morning.

So thou, dear bird, young Jeany fair!
On trembling string or vocal air,
Shall sweetly pay the tender care

That tends thy early morning.
So thou, sweet rose-bud, young and gay,
Shalt beauteous blaze upon the day,
And bless the parent's evening ray

That watch'd thy early morning.

In that sober pensive mood, Dearest to the feeling soul,

She plants the forest, pours the flood: Life's poor day I'll musing rave, And find at night a sheltering cave, Where waters flow and wild woods wave, By bonnie Castle-Gordon.

When Jannar' Wind, (330) TUNE-The Lass that made the Bed to Me, WHEN Januar' wind was blawing cauld, As to the north I took my way, The mirksome night did me enfauld, I knew na where to lodge till day, By my good luck a maid I met,

Just in the middle o' my care; And kindly she did me invite

To walk into a chamber fair.

I bow'd fu' low unto this maid,
And thank'd her for her courtesie,
I bow'd fu' low unto this maid,

And bade her mak a bed to me.

She made the bed baith large and wide,
Wi' twa white hands she spread it down;
She put the cup to her rosy lips,

And drank, "Young man, now sleep ye
soun"."

She snatch'd the candle in her hand,
And frae my chamber went wi' speed;
But I call'd her quickly back again
To lay some mair below my head.

P

A cod she laid below my head,
And served me wi' due respect;
And to salute her wi' a kiss,

I put my arms about her neck.

"Haud aff your hands, young man," she

says,

"And dinna sae uncivil be:

If ye hae ony love for me,

Oh wrang na my virginitie !"

Her hair was like the links o' gowd, Her teeth were like the ivorie; Her cheeks like lilies dipt in wine, The lass that made the bed to me. Her bosom was the driven snaw,

Twa drifted heaps sae fair to see; Her limbs the polish'd marble stane, The lass that made the bed to me. I kiss'd her owre and owre again,

And aye she wist na what to say; I laid her 'tween me and the wa’The lassie thought na lang till day. Upon the morrow when we rose,

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I thank'd her for her courtesie ; But aye she blush'd, and aye she sigh'd, And said, "Alas! ye've ruin'd me.' I clasp'd her waist, and kiss'd her syne, While the tear stood twinklin' in her ee; I said, "My lassie, dinna cry,

For ye aye shall mak the bed to me.” She took her mither's Holland sheets,

And made them a' in sarks to me: Blythe and merry may she be,

The lass that made the bed to me. The bonnie lass made the bed to me, The braw lass made the bed to me: I'll ne'er forget till the day I die,

The lass that made the bed to me!

The Young Bighland Rover.

TUNE-Morag.

LOUD blaw the frosty breezes,
The snaws the mountains cover;
Like winter on me seizes,

Since my young Highland Rover
Far wanders nations over.
Where'er he go, where'er he stray,
May Heaven be his warden,
Return him safe to fair Strathspey,
And bonnie Castle-Gordon!
The trees now naked groaning,

Shall soon wi' leaves be hinging, The birdies dowie moaning, Shall a' be blythely singing, And every flower be springing.

Sae I'll rejoice the lee-lang day,
When by his mighty warden
My youth's returned to fair Strathspey,
And bonnie Castle-Gordon.

Bonnie Ann, (331)
AIR-Ye gallants bright.

YE gallants bright, I red ye right,
Beware o' bonnie Ann;

Her comely face sae fu' of grace,

Your heart she will trepan. Her een sae bright, like stars by night, Her skin is like the swan ;

Sae jimply lac'd her genty waist,

That sweetly ye might span.
Youth, grace, and love attendant move,
And pleasure leads the van:

In a' their charms, and conquering arms,
They wait on bonnie Ann.
The captive bands may chain the hands,
But love enslaves the man;
Ye gallants braw, I red you a',
Beware o' bonnie Ann!

Blooming Jelly.

TUNE-On a Bank of Flowers.

ON a bank of flowers, in a summer day,
For summer lightly drest,

The youthful blooming Nelly lay,

With love and sleep opprest;
When Willie, wand'ring thro' the wood,
Who for her favour oft had sued,
He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd,
And trembled where he stood.

Her closed eyes like weapons sheath'd,
Were seal'd in soft repose;
Her lips still as she fragrant breath'd,
It richer dy'd the rose.
The springing lilies sweetly prest,

Wild-wanton, kiss'd her rival breast; He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'dHis bosom ill at rest.

Her robes light waving in the breeze,
Her tender limbs embrace;
Her lovely form, her native ease,
All harmony and grace:
Tumultuous tides his pulses roll,

A faltering, ardent kiss he stole;
He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd-
And sigh'd his very soul.

As flies the partridge from the brake,
On fear-inspired wings,

So Nelly starting, half awake,
Away affrighted springs:

OF A' THE AIRTS THE WIND CAN BLAW.

But Willie follow'd, as he should,

He overtook her in the wood ; He vow'd, he pray'd, he found the maid Forgiving all and good.

My Bonnie Mary. (332) TUNE-Go fetch to me a Pint o' Wine.

Go fetch to me a pint o' wine,

And fill it in a silver tassie; That I may drink, before I go,

A service to my bonny lassie: The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith,

Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the Ferry ; The ship rides by the Berwick-law,

And I maun leave my bonnie Mary.

The trumpets sound, the banners fly,

The glittering spears are ranked ready; The shouts o' war are heard afar,

The battle closes thick and bloody; But it's not the roar o' sea or shore

Wad make me langer wish to tarry; Nor shouts o' war that's heard afarIt's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary.

Ane Fund Riss. (333)
TUNE-Rory Dall's Port.

ANE fond kiss and then we sever;
Ane fareweel, alas, for ever!
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and
groans I'll
thee.
wage
Who shall say that fortune grieves him,
While the star of hope she leaves him?
Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me;
Dark despair around benights me.

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I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy,
Naething could resist my Nancy
But to see her was to love her
Love but her, and love for ever.
Had we never lov'd sae kindly,
Had we never lov'd sae blindly,
Never met-or never parted,
We had ne'er been broken-hearted.

Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest!
Fare the weel, thou best and dearest!
Thine be ilka joy and treasure,
Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure!
Ane fond kiss, and then we sever;
Ane fareweel, alas! for ever!

Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I'll
wage thee!

The Smiling Spring.

TUNE-The Bonny Bell.

THE smiling Spring comes in rejoicing, And surly winter grimly flies;

211

Now crystal clear are the falling waters,
And bonnie blue are the sunny skies.
Fresh o'er the mountains breaks forth the
morning,

The ev'ning gilds the ocean's swell;
All creatures joy in the sun's returning,.
And I rejoice in my bonnie Bell.
The flowery spring leads sunny summer,
And yellow autumn presses near,
Then in his turn comes gloomy winter,
Till smiling spring again appear.
Thus seasons dancing, life advancing,
Old Time and Nature their changes tell,
But never ranging, still unchanging,
I adore my bonnie Bell.

The Lazy Alist.

TUNE-The Lazy Mist.

THE lazy mist hangs from the brow of the

hill, [rill; Concealing the course of the dark winding How languid the scenes, late so sprightly, appear!

As autumn to winter resigns the pale year. The forests are leafless, the meadows are brown,

And all the gay foppery of summer is flown: Apart let me wander, apart let me muse, How quick time is flying, how keen fate pursues!

How long I have liv'd-but how much liv'd in vain!

How little of life's scanty span may remain! What aspects old Time, in his progress, has

worn!

What ties cruel fate in my bosom has torn! How foolish, or worse, till our summit is gain'd!

And downward, how weaken'd, how darken'd, how pain'd! [giveThis life's not worth having with ail it can For something beyond it poor man sure must live.

Of a' the Sirts the Wind ran Blaw. (334)

OF a' the airts the wind can blaw,

I dearly like the west,

For there the bounie lassie lives,

The lassie I loe best:

There wild woods grow, and rivers row,

And mony a hill between;

But day and night my fancy's flight
Is ever wi' my Jean.

I see her in the dewy flowers,
I see her sweet and fair:

I hear her in the tunefu' birds,

I hear her charm the air: There's not a bonnie flower that springs By fountain, shaw, or green, There's not a bonnie bird that sings,

But minds me o' my Jean.

Oh blaw ye westlin winds, blaw saft
Amang the leafy trees,

Wi' balmy gale, frae hill and dale
Bring hame the laden bees;
And bring the lassie back to me
That's aye sae neat and clean ;
Ane smile o' her wad banish care,
Sae charming is my Jean!

What sighs and vows amang the knowes
Hae passed atween us twa!

How fond to meet, how wae to part,
That night she gaed awa!

The powers aboon can only ken,
To whom the heart is seen,
That nane can be sae dear to me
As my sweet lovely Jean!

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TUNE.-My Love is lost to me.

Он, were I on Parnassus' hill!
Or had of Helicon my fill;
That I might catch poetic skill,

To sing how dear I love thee.
But Nith maun be my muse's well,
My muse maun be thy bonnie sel';
On Corsincon I'll glow'r and spell,

And write how dear I love thee.

Then come, sweet muse, inspire my lay!
For a' the lee-lang simmer's day
I couldna sing, I couldna say,

How much, how dear, I love thee.
I see thee dancing o'er the green,
Thy waist sae jimp, thy limbs sae clean,
Thy tempting lips, thy roguish een-

By heaven and earth I love thee!

By night, by day, a-field, at hame,
The thoughts o' thee my breast inflame;
And aye I muse and sing thy name-

I only live to love thee.

Tho' I were doom'd to wander on
Beyond the sea, beyond the sun,
Till my last weary sand was run;

Till then-and then I love thee.

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My Beart's in the Bighlands.
TUNE-Failte na Miosg.

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is
not here,
[deer;

My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the Chasing the wild deer, and following the

roe

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