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Maria, appear ! now the season so sweet
With the beat of the heart is in tune;
Alone by the light of the moon.
I sigh-can a lover do more?
Yet I think of her all the day o'er.
Do you sigh for an interyiew soon ?
Alone by the light of the moon ?
My bosom is all in a glow;
My heart thrills—my eyes overflow.
Indulge a fond lover his boon?
Alone by the light of the moon?
ROY'S WIFE OF ALDIVALLOCH.
Roy's wife of Aldivalloch !
Roy's wife of Aldivalloch!
Roy's wife of Aldivalloch!
(" Mr. Cromek, an anxioas inquirer into all matters Illustrative of northern song, ascribes Roy's Wife of Aldivalloch, to Mrs. Murray of Bath ; while George Thomson, and all other editors of Scottish song, impute it to Mrs. Grant of Carron. I am not aware that the author. ship has been settled and I am sorry for it; because whoever wrote it has favoured us with a very sprightly and pleasant production.”CUNNINGHAM.)
HER ABSENCE WILL NOT ALTER ME.
Though distant far from Jessy's charms,
Though beauteous nymphs I see around, A Chloris, Flora, might be found, Or Phillis with her roving e'e; Her absence shall not alter me. A fairer face, a sweeter smile, Inconstant lovers may beguile; But to my lass I'll constant be, Nor shall her absence alter me. Though laid on India's burning coast, Or on the wide Atlantic tost, My mind from love no power could free, Nor could her absence alter me. See how the flow'r that courts the sun Pursues him till his race is run; See how the needle seeks the pole, Nor distance can its power control : Shall lifeless flow'rs the sun pursue, The needle to the pole prove true, Like them shall I not faithful be, Or shall her absence alter me? Ask, who has seen the turtle dove Unfaithful to its marrow prove ! Or who the bleating ewe has seen Desert her lambkin on the green ? Shall beasts and birds, inferior far To us, display their love and care ? Shall they in union sweet agree, And shall her absence alter me? For conq'ring love is strong as death, Like veh’ment flames his pow'rful breath; Through floods unmov'd his course he keeps, Ev’n through the sea's devouring deeps.
His veh’ment flames my bosom burn,
Keen blaws the wind o’er Donocht-head,
The snaw drives snelly through the dale, The Gaberlunzie tirls my sneck,
And shiv'ring tells his waefu' tale : Cauld is the night, O let me in,
And dinna let your minstrel fa'; And dinna let his winding sheet
Be naething but a wreath o' snaw. Full ninety winters hae I seen,
And pip'd whar gorcocks whirring flew; And mony a day ye’ve danc'd, I ween,
To lilts that frae my drone I blew. My Eppie wak'd and soon she cried,
Get up, gudeman, and let him in, For weel ye ken the winter night
Was short when he began his din. My Eppie's voice, 0 wow its sweet !
E'en though she banns and scolds a wee ; But when it's tun'd to pity's tale,
O, haith it's doubly dear to me!
Come in, auld carle, I'll rouse my fire,
And make it bleeze a bonnie flame ;
Ye shoudna stray sae far frae hame.
Sad party strife oʻerturn'd my ha',
I wander through a wreath o'snaw.
("*• Donocht-head,' is not mine ; I would give ten pounds it vert It appeared first in the Edinburgh Herald; and came to the Editor o that paper with the Newcastle post-mark on it."-BURNS.
Since discovered to be the production of a Mr. Thomas Pickering & Newcastle.)
HOW SWEET THIS LONE VALE.
How sweet this lone vale, and how soothing to feeling,
["All Mr. Erskine's verses are good, but hie ‘Lone Vale,' is divine," -BURNS.)