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Her naked feet amang the grass,

Shone like two dew-gemm'd lilies fair ;
Her brow beam'd white aneath her locks,

Black curling o'er her shoulders bare ;
Her cheeks were rich wi' bloomy youth,

Her lips had words and wit at will,
And heaven seepi'd looking through her een,

The lovely lass of Preston Mill.
Quoth I, fair lass, wilt thou gang wi' me,

Where black-cocks crow, and plovers cry?
Six hills are woolly wi' my sheep,

Six vales are lowing wi' my kye
I have looked long for a weel-faured lass,

By Nithsdale's holms, and many a hill
She hung her head like a dew-bent rose,

The lovely lass of Preston Mill.
I said, sweet maiden, look nae down,

But gie's a kiss, and come with me;
A lovelier face, O ne'er looked up,-

The tears were dropping frae her ee.
I hae a lad who's far awa',

That weel could win a woman's will ;
My heart's already full of love,-

Quoth the lovely lass of Preston Mill.
Now who is he could leave sic a lass,

And seek for love in a far countrie ?
Her tears dropp'd down like simmer dew;

I fain wad kiss'd them frae her ee.
I took ae kiss o' her comely cheek-

For pity's sake, kind sir, be still ;
My heart is full of other love,

Quoth the lovely lass of Preston Mill.

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She streek'd to heaven her twa white hands,

And lifted up her wat’ry ee-
Sae lang's my heart kens aught o' God-

Or light is gladsome unto me;
While woods grow green, and burns run clear,

Till my last drop of blood be still,
My heart shall haud nae other love,

Quoth the lovely lass of Preston Mill.
There's comely maids on Dee's wild banks,

And Nith's romantic vale is fu’;
By Ae and Cluden’s hermit streams

Dwell many a gentle dame, I trow.
0! they are lights of a bonnie kind,

As ever shone on vale and hill,
But here's ae light puts them all out.

The lovely lass of Preston Mill.

[Fom Cromek's Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song, 1810.)



There liv'd a lass in Inverness,

She was the pride of a' the town;
Blithe as the lark on gowan tap,

When frae the nest it's newly flown.
At kirk she wan the auld folk's love,

At dance she wan the lads's een;
She was the blithest o' the blithe,

At wooster-trystes or Halloween.

As I came in by Inverness,

The simmer sun was sinking doun ; Othere I saw the weelfaur'd lass,

And she was greeting through the toun. The gray-hair'd men were a' i' the streets,

And auld dames crying sad to see, The flower' o' the lads o’ Inverness

Lie bludie on Culloden lea! She tore her haffet links o’gowd,

And dighted aye her comely e'e ;
My father lies at bludie Carlisle

At Preston sleep my brethren three !
I thought my heart could haud nae mair,

Mae tears could never blin' my e'e;
But the fa' o' ane has burst my heart,

A dearer ane there ne'er could be ! He trusted me o' luve yestreen,

Olove-tokens he gave me three ; But he's faulded i’ the arms o' weir,

0, ne'er again to think o' me! The forest flowers shall be my bed,

My food shall be the wild-berrie, The fa'ing leaves shall hap me owre,

And wauken'd again I winna be. Oweep, 0 weep, ye Scottish dames !

Weep till ye blin' a mither's e'e; Nae reeking ha' in fifty miles,

But slaughtered corses, sad to see! 0, spring is blithesome to the year;

Trees sprout, flowers spring, and birds sing hie; But, what spring can raise them up,

That lie on dread Culloden lea.

The hand o' God hung heavy here,

And lightly touch'd foul tyrannie:
It struck the righteous to the ground,

And lifted the destroyer hie.
But there's a day, quo' my God, in prayer,

When righteousness shall bear the gree:
I'll rake the wicked low i' the dust,

And wauken in bliss the gude man's e'e.

" Who can

(From Cromek's Nithsdale and Galloway Song, 1810. doubt that this beautiful song is by Allan Cunningham, or soppose such a song really remained in Nithsdale unknown to Baras?" Jac. Rel. II. 356.-Hoco.]



A wet sheet and a flowing sea,

A wind that follows fast,
And fills the white and rustling sail,

And bends the gallant mast;
And bends the gallant mast my boys,

While, like the eagle free,
Away the good ship flies, and leaves

Old England on the lee.

O for a soft and gentle wind !

I heard a fair one cry;
But give to me the snoring breeze,

And white waves heaving high ;

And white waves heaving high, my boys,

The good ship tight and free-
The world of waters is our home,

And merry men are we.
There's tempest in yon horned noon,

And lightning in yon cloud;
And hark the music, mariners,

The wind is piping loud;
The wind is piping loud my boys,

The lightning flashing free-
While the hollow oak our palace is,

Our heritage the sea.



Red rowes the Nith 'tween bank and brae,

Mirk is the night and rainie-o, Though heaven and earth should mix in storm,

I'll gang and see my Nanie-o;
My Nanie-o, my Nanie-o;

My kind and winsome Nanie-o,
She holds my heart in loves' dear bands,

And nane can do't but Nanie-o.

In preaching time sae meek she stands,

Sae saintly and sae bonnie-o,
I cannot get ae glimpse of grace,

For thieving looks at Nanie-o;

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