When purple morning starts the hare, When day, expiring in the west, And that's my ain dear Davie. THE GALLANT WEAVER. WHERE Cart rins rowin' to the sea, Oh I had wooers aught or nine, My daddie sign'd my tocher-band, While birds rejoice in leafy bowers; ANNA, THY CHARMS. ANNA, thy charms my bosom fire, 20 10 Yet in thy presence, lovely fair, WHY, WHY TELL THY LOVER? WHY, why tell thy lover, Bliss he never must enjoy? Why, why undeceive him, And give all his hopes the lie? O why, while fancy raptured slumbers, NOW SPRING HAS CLAD. Now spring has clad the groves in green, O why thus all alone are mine The trout in yonder wimpling burn And safe beneath the shady thorn My life was once that careless stream, But love, wi' unrelenting beam, 10 The little floweret's peaceful lot, In yonder cliff that grows, Which, save the linnet's flight, I wot, Was mine; till love has o'er me past, And now beneath the withering blast The waken'd lav'rock warbling springs, As little reckt I sorrow's power, O' witching love, in luckless hour, O had my fate been Greenland's snows Wi' man and nature leagued my foes, So Peggy ne'er I'd known! The wretch whase doom is 'Hope nae mair!' Within whase bosom, save despair, 20 30 40 FORLORN, MY LOVE. FORLORN, my love, no comfort near, O wert thou, love, but near me, And mingle sighs with mine, love! Around me scowls a wintry sky, Cold alter'd friendship's cruel part, But dreary tho' the moments fleet, Can on thy Chloris shine, love. IO 20 YOUNG HIGHLAND ROVER. 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 a' be blythely singing, My youth's return'd to fair Strathspey 10 HEY FOR A LASS WI' A TOCHER. AWA wi' your witchcraft o' beauty's alarms, Then hey, for a lass wi' a tocher, then hey, for a lass wi' a tocher, Then hey, for a lass wi' a tocher-the nice yellow guineas for me! Your beauty's a flower in the morning that blows, But the rapturous charm o' the bonnie green knowes! And e'en when this beauty your bosom has blest, BEHOLD THE HOUR. BEHOLD the hour, the boat arrive! Thou goest, thou darling of my heart: But fate has will'd, and we must part! Yon distant isle will often hail : Along the solitary shore, While flitting sea-fowls round me cry, I'll westward turn my wistful eye: |