We hae plighted our troth, my Mary, In mutual affection to join, And curst be the cause that shall part us! The hour, and the moment o' time! MY WIFE'S A WINSOME WEE THING. SHE is a winsome wee thing, I never saw a fairer, I never lo'ed a dearer, And niest my heart I'll wear her, She is a winsome wee thing, How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk, How rich the hawthorn's blossom; As underneath their fragrant shade I clasped her to my bosom ! The golden hours on angel wings Flew o'er me and my dearie; For dear to me, as light and life, Was my sweet Highland Mary. Wi' mony a vow, and lock'd embrace, We tore oursels asunder; But O! fell death's untimely frost, O pale, pale now, those rosy lips And closed for aye the sparkling glance BONNIE LESLEY. O SAW ye bonnie Lesley As she gaed o'er the border? She's gane, like Alexander, To spread her conquests farther. To see her is to love her, And love but her for ever; Thy subjects we, before thee; The hearts o' men adore thee. The deil he could na scaith thee, Or aught that wad belang thee; He'd look into thy bonnie face, And say, "I canna wrang thee." The powers aboon will tent thee; Misfortune sha'na steer thee; Thou'rt like themselves sae lovely That ill they'll ne'er let near thee. Return again, fair Lesley, Return to Caledonie ! That we may brag, we hae a lass HIGHLAND MARY. TUNE-"Catharine Ogie." YE banks, and braes, and streams around, The castle o' Montgomery, Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, There simmer first unfauld her robes, For there I took the last fareweel. O' my sweet Highland Mary. AULD ROB MORRIS. THERE'S auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen, He's the king o' guid fellows and wale of auld men He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine, And ae bonnie lassie, his darling and mine. She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May; She's sweet as the evening amang the new hay; As blithe and as artless as the lambs on the lea, And dear to my heart as the light to my e'e. But O! she's an heiress, auld Robin's a laird, The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane I then might hae hoped she wad smiled upon me! DUNCAN GRAY. DUNCAN GRAY came here to woo, Ha, ha, the wooing o't, On blithe yule night when we were fou, Maggie coost her head fu' high Ha, ha, the wooing o't. Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd; Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig, Ha, ha, &c. 227 Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, Time and chance are but a tide, Slighted love is sair to bide, How it comes let doctors tell, Meg grew sick-as he grew heal. Something in her bosom wrings, And O, her een, they spak sic things! TUNE-"I had a horse." O POORTITH Cauld, and restless love, Ye wreck my peace between ye; Yet poortith a' I could forgive, An' 'twere na for my Jeanie. O why should fate sic pleasure have, This warld's wealth when I think on, That he should be the slave o't. Her een sae bonnie blue betray O why, &c. O wha can prudence think upon, How blest the humble cotter's fate! O why should fate sic pleasure have, GALLA WATER. THERE's braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes, But there is ane, a secret ane, Aboon them a' I lo'e him better; And I'll be his, and he'll be mine, The bonnie lad o' Galla water, Although his daddie was nae laird, And though I hae nae meikle tocher; Yet rich in kindest, truest love, We'll tent our flocks by Galla water. It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth, O that's the chiefest warld's treasure! LORD GREGORY. O MIRK, mirk is this midnight hour, And loud the tempest's roar; A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tower, An exile frae her father's ha', At least some pity on me shaw, If love it may na be. Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grove, By bonnie Irwine side, Where first I own'd that virgin love I lang, lang had denied. How aften didst thou pledge and vow, Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory, Ye mustering thunders from above, But spare and pardon my fause love, MARY MORISON. O MARY, at thy window be, That make the miser's treasure poor: Yestreen when to the trembling string, To thee my fancy took its wing, I sat, but neither heard or saw: Though this was fair, and that was braw, O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace, A thought ungentle canna be The thought o' Mary Morison. WANDERING WILLIE. HERE awa, there awa, wandering Willie, Here awa, there awa, haud awa hame; Come to my bosom my ain only dearie, Tell me thou bringst me my Willie the same. Winter winds blew loud and cauld at our parting; Fears for my Willie brought tears in my e'e: Welcome now simmer, and welcome my Willie, The simmer to nature, my Willie to me. Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave of your slumbers, How your dread howling a lover alarms! Wauken, ye breezes, row gently, ye billows, And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms. But O! if he's faithless, and minds na his Nannie, Flow still between us, thou wide-roaring main; May I never see it, may I never trow it, But, dying, believe that my Willie's my ain! JESSIE. TUNE-"Bonny Dundee." TRUE hearted was he, the sad swain o' the Yarrow, O fresh is the rose in the gay, dewy morning, Love sits in her smile, a wizard insnaring; WHEN WILD WAR'S DEADLY BLAST WAS BLAWN. AIR-"The mill mill O." WHEN wild war's deadly blast was blawn, And gentle peace returning, Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless, And mony a widow mourning, I left the lines and tented field, My humble knapsack a' my wealth, A leal, light heart was in my breast, I cheery on did wander. I thought upon the banks o' Coil, I thought upon the witching smile That's dearest to thy bosom ! Sae wistfully she gazed on me, And lovelier was than ever: Ye freely shall partake it, She sank within my arms, and cried, I am the man; and thus may still The wars are o'er, and I'm come hame, Thou'rt welcome to it dearly! The sodger's wealth is honour; SONG. TUNE-"Logan Water." O LOGAN, Sweetly didst thou glide, That day I was my Willie's bride; And years sinsyne has o'er us run, Like Logan to the simmer sun. But now thy flowery banks appear Again the merry month o' May Has made our hills and valleys gay; The bees hum round the breathing flowers: And evening's tears are tears of joy: Within yon milk-white hawthorn bush, O wae upon you, men o' state, BONNIE JEAN. THERE was a lass, and she was fair, At kirk and market to be seen, When a' the fairest maids were met, The fairest maid was bonnie Jean. And aye she wrought her mammie's wark, The blithest bird upon the bush But hawks will rob the tender joys That bless the little lintwhite's nest; And frost will blight the fairest flowers, And love will break the soundest rest. Young Robic was the brawest lad, The flower and pride o' a' the glen; And he had owsen, sheep, and kye, And wanton naigies nine or ten. He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryste, He danced wi' Jeanie on the down; And lang ere witless Jeanie wist, Her heart was tint, her peace was stown As in the bosom o' the stream, The moonbeam dwells at dewy e'en; And now she works her mammie's wark, But did na Jeanie's heart loup light, And did na joy olink in her e'e, The sun was sinking in the west, The birds sang sweet in ilka grove; His cheek to hers he fondly prest, And whisper'd thus his tale o' love: O Jeanie fair, I lo'e thee dear; At length she blush'd a sweet consent, AULD LANG SYNE. SHOULD auld acquaintance be forgot, CHORUS. For auld lang syne, my dear, For auld lang syne, We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, We twa hae ran about the braes, But we've wander'd mony a weary foot, For auld, &c. We twa hae paidl't i' the burn, But seas between us braid hae roar'd, For auld, &c. And here's a hand, my trusty fier, And gie's a hand o' thine; And we'll tak a right guid willie waught, For auld lang syne. For auld, &c. And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp, And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, BANNOCKBURN. ROBERT BRUCE'S ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY. Now's the day and now's the hour; Traitor! coward! turn and flee! Wha for Scotland's king and law Freedom's sword will strongly draw, Freeman stand, or freeman fa', Caledonian! on wi' me! By oppression's woes and pains! But they shall be-shall be free! Lay the proud usurpers low! FOR A' THAT, AND A' THAT. Is there, for honest poverty, That hangs his head, and a' that; The coward slave, we pass him by, We dare be poor for a' that! For a' that, and a' that, Our toil's obscure and a' that, The rank is but the guinea stamp, The man's the gowd for a' that. What though on hamely fare we dine, Wear hoddin gray, and a' that; Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, A man's a man for a' that; For a' that, and a' that, Their tinsel show, and a' that; The honest man, though e'er sae poor, Ye see yon birkic, ca'd a lord, Wha struts, and stares, and a' that; His riband, star, and a' that, Their dignities, and a' that, Then let us pray that come it may, That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, For a' that, and a' that, It's coming yet, for a' that, That man to man, the warld o'er, Shall brothers be for a' that. SCOTTISH BALLAD. TUNE-"The Lothian Lassie." LAST May a braw wooer cam down the lang glen, I said there was nothing I hated like men; He spak o' the darts in my bonnie black e'en, I said he might die when he liked, for Jean; A weel-stocked mailen, himsel for the laird, I never loot on that I kenn'd it, or cared, But thought I might hae waur offers, waur offers, But what wad ye think? in a fortnight or less, Guess ye how, the jad! I could bear her. I spier'd for my cousin fu' couthy and sweet, And how her new shoon fit her auld shachl't feet, He begg'd, for Gudesake! I wad be his wife, I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow, SONG. TUNE-"Here's a health to them that's awa, hiney." CHORUS. Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear, ALTHOUGH thou maun never be mine, 'Tis sweeter for thee despairing, I mourn through the gay, gaudy day, |