Heavy, heavy is the task, Hopeless love declaring; Trembling, I dow nocht but glower, Sighing, dumb, despairing! If she winna ease the thraws In my bosom swelling, Underneath the grass-green sod, Soon maun be my dwelling. LOGAN BRAES. TUNE-Logan Water. O LOGAN, Sweetly didst thou glide, Again the merry month o' May can, do nothing, [stare will not, pangs must since then have 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, ye make many a fond heart mourn, And Willie hame to Logan braes! OH WERE MY LOVE YON LILAC FAIR. O WERE my love yon lilac fair, Wi' purple blossoms to the spring; And I, a bird to shelter there, When wearied on my little wing! summer gloomy must, foes from among no woe THERE was a lass, and she was fair, And aye she wrought her mammie's wark, The blithest bird upon the bush Had ne'er a lighter heart than she. 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 Robie was the brawest lad, The flower and pride of 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, Or what wad mak her weel again. But did na Jeanie's heart loup light, work 80 linnets oxen, kine horses went, meeting knew lost, stolen even ailment would, well jump eye told one The sun was sinking in the west, And whispered thus his tale o' love: "O Jeanie fair, I loe thee dear; O canst thou think to fancy me; "At barn or byre thou shalt na drudge, And tent the waving corn wi' me." Now what could artless Jeanie do? every tend not nothing no two PHILLIS THE FAIR. TUNE-Robin Adair. WHILE larks with little wing Tasting the breathing spring, Gay the sun's golden eye Peeped o'er the mountains high; Such thy morn! did I cry, Phillis the fair. In each bird's careless song, While yon wild-flowers among, Rosebuds bent the dewy spray; Such thy bloom! did I say, Down in a shady walk Doves cooing were; I marked the cruel hawk HAD I A CAVE. TUNE-Robin Adair. HAD I a cave on some wild distant shore, Till griof my eyes should close, Falsest of womankind! canst thou declare, BY ALLAN STREAM I CHANCED TO ROVE. By Allan stream I chanced to rove, While Phoebus sank beyond Benledi; The winds were whispering through the grove, I listened to a lover's sang, And thought on youthfu' pleasures mony; Oh, dearly do I love thee, Annie! The place and time I met my dearie! The sacred vow, we ne'er should sever. Or chain the soul in speechless pleasure? Like meeting her, our bosom's treasure? song many ghost, dismal WHISTLE, AND I'LL COME TO YOU, MY LAD. O WHISTLE, and I'll come to you, my lad, go But warily tent, when ye come to court me, At kirk, or at market, whene'er you meet me, Aye vow and protest that ye care na for me, take care gate, ajar then not go, not eye slight from ADOWN WINDING NITH I DID WANDER. ADOWN winding Nith I did wander, To mark the sweet flowers as they spring; Adown winding Nith I did wander, Of Phillis to muse and to sing. CHORUS. Awa wi' your belles and your beauties, Whaever has met wi' my Phillis, Has met wi' the queen o' the fair. The daisy amused my fond fancy, The rose-bud's the blush o' my charmer, How fair and how pure is the lily, But fairer and purer her breast. Yon knot of gay flowers in the arbour, Her breath is the breath o' the woodbine, Her voice is the song of the morning, That wakes through the green-spreading grove, When Phoebus peeps over the mountains, On music, and pleasure, and love. But, beauty, how frail and how fleeting- away |