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OH, HOW COULD I VENTURE.

ALEXANDER WEBSTER.

Oh, how could I venture to love one like thee,
And you not despise a poor conquest like me,
On lords, thy admirers, could look wi' disdain,
And knew I was naething, yet pitied my pain ?
You said, while they teased you with nonsense and dress,
When real the passion, the vanity's less;
You saw through that silence which others despise,
And, while beaux were a-talking, read love in my eyes.

Oh, how shall I fauld thee, and kiss a' thy charms,
Till, fainting wi' pleasure, I die in your arms;
Through all the wild transports of ectasy tost,
Till, sinking together, together we're lost !
Oh, where is the maid that like thee ne'er can cloy,
Whose wit can enliven each dull pause of joy ;
And when the short raptures are all at an end,
From beautiful mistress turn sensible friend ?

In vain do I praise thee, or strive to reveal,
(Too nice for expression,) what only we feel :
In a' that ye do, in each look and each mien,
The graces in waiting adorn you unseen.
When I see you I love you, when hearing adore ;
I wonder and think you a woman no more:
Till, mad wi' admiring, I canna contain,
And, kissing your lips, you turn woman again.

With thee in my bosom, how can I despair ?
I'll gaze on thy beauties, and look awa care :
l'll ask thy advice, when with troubles opprest,
Which never displeases, but always is best.
In all that I write I'll thy judgment require ;
Thy wit shall correct what thy charms did inspire.
I'll kiss thee and press thee till youth is all o’er,
And then live in friendship, when passion's no more

[From Herd's Collection, 1769.)

O TELL ME HOW TO WOO THEE.

GRAHAM OF GARTMOOR.

If doughty deeds my lady please,

Right soon I'll mount my steed;
And strong his arm, and fast his seat,

That bears me frae the meed.
I'll wear thy colours in my cap,

Thy picture in my heart ;
And he that bends not to thine eye
Shall rue it to his smart.
Then tell me how to woo thee, love;

O tell me how to woo thee!
For thy dear sake, nae care I'll take,

Though ne'er another trow me.

If gay attire delight thine eye,

I'll dight me in array ;
I'll tend thy chamber door all night,

And squire thee all the day.

If sweetest sounds can win thy ear,

These sounds I'll strive to catch;
Thy voice I'll steal to woo thysel,

That voice that nane can match.

But if fond love thy heart can gain,

I never broke a vow;
Nae maiden lays her skaith to me;

I never lov'd but you.
For
you

alone I ride the ring,
For you I wear the blue;
For you alone I strive to sing-

O tell me how to woo !

[Sir Walter Scott assigned this song to the age of Charles I., and printed it in the Minstrelsy, vol. iii., at one time he supposed it to to have been the composition of the great Grahame, Marquis of Montrose,

Mr. Graham of Gartmoor was the friend of Smollett.]

THE LEA RIG.

ROBERT FERGUSSON.

Born 1750.

Will ye gang o'er the lea rig,

My ain kind dearie-o;
And cuddle there fu' kindly

Wi' me, my kind dearie-o ?

my

At thorny bush, or birken tree,

We'll daff, and never weary-0,
They'll scug ill e'en frae you and me,

My ain kind dearie-o.
Nae herd wi' kent or colly there

Shall ever come to fear ye-o;
But laverocks whistling in the air

Shall woo, like me, their dearie-o. While ithers herd their lambs and ewes,

And toil for warld's gear, my jo, Upon the lee my pleasure grows

Wi’ thee, my kind dearie-o. At gloamin', if my lane I be,

Oh, but I'm wondrous eerie-o;
And mony a heavy sigh I gie,

When absent frae dearie-o:
But seated ’neath the milk-white thorn,

In ev’ning fair and clearie-o,
Enraptur’d, a' my cares I scorn,

Whan wi' my kind dearie-o.
Whare through the birks the burnie rows,

Aft hae I sat fu’ cheerie-o,
Among the bonnie greensward howes,

Wi’ thee, my kind dearie-o.
I've courted till I've heard the craw

Of honest Chanticleerie-o,
Yet never miss'd my sleep ava,

Whan wi' my kind dearie-o. For though the night were ne'er sae dark,

And I were ne'er sae weary-0, I'd meet thee on the lea-rig,

My ain kind dearie-o.

While in this weary warld of wae

This wilderness sae drearie-o,
What makes me blithe, and keeps me sae !

'Tis thee, my kind dearie-o.

[Fergusson wrote the two first verses of this song, the others of equal merit are from the pen of a late bookseller in Glasgow, Mr. William Reid. The “ Lea Rig" of Burns may escape in a note :

When o'er the hill the eastern star,

Tells bughtin-time is near, my jo;
And owsen frae the furrow'd field,

Return sae dowf and weary O;
Down by the burn, where scented birks

Wi' dew are hanging clear, my jo,
I'll meet thee on the lea.rig,

My ain kind dearie 0.
In mirkest glen, at midnight hour,

I'd rove, and ne'er be eerie 0,
If through that glen I gaed to thee,

My ain kind dearie 0.
Although the night were ne'er sae wild,

And I were ne'er sae wearie 0,
I'd meet thee on the lea-rig,

My ain kind dearie 0.
The hunter lo'es the morning sun,

To rouse the mountain deer, my jo;
At noon the fisher seeks the glen,

Along the burp to steer, my jo;
Gie me the hour o'gloamin' gray,

It maks my heart sae cheery O
To meet thee on the lea rig,

My ain kind dearie 0.
as also may the old words preserved by Burns.

I'll rowe thee o'er the lea rig

My ain kind dearie, 0,
I'll rowe the o'er the lea-rig

My ain kiod dearie, O.
Altho' the night were ne'er sae wat

And I were ne'er sae weary, 0,
I'll rowe thee o'er the lea-rig

My ain kind dearie, 0.]

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