Cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek,
But caulder thy love for me, Oh!
The frost that freezes the life at my heart,
Is nought to my pains frae thee, Oh!
The wan moon is setting behind the white wave,
And time is setting with me, Oh!
False friends, false love, farewell! for mair
I'll ne'er trouble them, nor thee, Oh!
She has open'd the door, she has open'd it wide; She sees his pale corse on the plain, Oh!
My true love, she cried, and sank down by his side, Never to rise again, Oh!
MEG O' THE MILL.
AIR-'O, bonie Lass, will you lie in a Barrack.'
O KEN ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten,
An' ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten?
She has gotten a coof wi' a claut o' siller,
And broken the heart o' the barley Miller.
The Miller was strappin, the Miller was ruddy;
A heart like a lord, and a hue like a lady;
The Laird was a widdiefu', bleerit knurl;
She's left the guid fellow and ta'en the churl.
The Miller he hecht her a heart leal and loving;
The Laird did address her wi' matter mair moving,
A fine pacing horse wi' a clear chained bridle,
A whip by her side, and a bonie side-saddle.
O wae on the siller, it is sae prevailing ;
And wae on the love that is fix'd on a mailen!
A tocher's nae word in a true lover's parle,
But, gie me my love, and a fig for the warl!
TRUE hearted was he, the sad swain o' the Yarrow,
And fair are the maids on the banks o' the Ayr,
But by the sweet side o' the Nith's winding river,
Are lovers as faithful, and maidens as fair :
To equal young Jessie seek Scotland all over;
To equal young Jessie you seek it in vain ;
Grace, beauty, and elegance, fetter her lover,
And maidenly modesty fixes the chain.
O, fresh is the rose in the gay, dewy morning,
And sweet is the lily at evening close;
But in the fair presence o' lovely young Jessie,
Unseen is the lily, unheeded the rose.
Love sits in her smile, a wizard ensnaring;
Enthron'd in her een he delivers his law:
And still to her charms she alone is a stranger!
Her modest demeanour's the jewel of a'.
WANDERING WILLIE.
HERE awa, there awa, wandering Willie,
Here awa, there awa, haud awa hame;
Come to my bosom, my ain only dearie,
Tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same.
Winter winds blew loud and cauld at our parting,
Fears for my Willie brought tears in my ee;
Welcome now simmer, and welcome my Willie,
The simmer to nature, my Willie to me!
Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave of your slumbers;
How your dread howling a lover alarms!
Wauken, ye breezes, row gently, ye billows,
And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms.
But oh, if he's faithless, and minds na his Nannie,
Flow still between us, thou wide-roaring main;
May I never see it, may I never trow it,
But, dying, believe that my Willie's my ain.
LOGAN BRAES.
TUNE-Logan Water.'
O LOGAN, Sweetly didst thou glide
That day I was my Willie's bride;
And years sinsyne hae o'er us run,
Like Logan to the simmer sun.
But now thy flow'ry banks appear
Like drumlie winter, dark and drear,
While my dear lad maun face his faes,
Far, far frae me and Logan Braes.
Again the merry month o' May
Has made our hills and valleys gay;
The birds rejoice in leafy bowers,
The bees hum round the breathing
flowers;
Blithe morning lirts his rosy eye,
And evening's tears are tears of joy:
My soul, delightless, a' surveys,
While Willie's far frae Logan Braes.
Within yon milk-white hawthorn bush,
Amang her nestlings, sits the thrush ;
Her faithfu' mate will share her toil,
Or wi' his song her cares beguile :
But I wi' my sweet nurslings here,
Nae mate to help, nae mate to cheer,
Pass widow'd nights and joyless days,
While Willie's far frae Logan Braes,
O wae upon you, men o' state,
That brethren rouse to deadly hate!
As ye mak monie a fond heart mourn,
Sae may it on your heads return!
How can your flinty hearts enjoy
The widow's tears, the orphan's cry?
But soon may peace bring happy days,
And Willie hame to Logan Braes!
TUNE-Bonie Jean.'
THERE was a lass, and she was fair,
At kirk and market to be seen,
When a' the fairest maids were met,
The fairest maid was bonie Jean.
And aye she wrought her mammie's wark,
And aye she sang sae merrily:
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 danc'd wi' Jeanie on the down;
And lang ere witless Jeanie wist,
Her heart was tint, her peace was
As in the bosom o' the stream
The moon-beam dwells at dewy e'en; So trembling, pure, was tender love, Within the breast o' bonie Jean.
And now she works her mammie's wark, And aye she sighs wi' care and pain; Yet wistna what her ail might be,
Or what wad mak her weel again.
But didna Jeanie's heart loup light,
And didna joy blink in her ee,
As Robie tauld a tale o' love,
Ae e'enin on the lily lea?
The sun was sinking in the west,
The birds sang sweet in ilka grove; His cheek to hers he fondly prest, And whisper'd thus his tale o' love:
O Jeanie fair, I lo'e thee dear;
O canst thou think to fancy me? Or wilt thou leave thy mammie's cot, And learn to tent the farms wi' me?
WHISTLE, AND I'LL COME TO YOU, MY LAD.
O, happy be the woodbine bower,
Nae nightly bogle mak it eerie ; Nor ever sorrow stain the hour,
The place and time I met my dearie! Her head upon my throbbing breast, She, sinking, said 'I'm thine for ever!' While monie a kiss the seal imprest, The sacred vow, we ne'er should sever.
The haunt o' spring's the primrose brae,
The simmer joys the flocks to follow;
How cheery thro' her shortening day
Is autumn, in her weeds o' yellow!
But can they melt the glowing heart,
Or chain the soul in speechless pleasure,
Or, thro' each nerve the rapture dart,
Like meeting her, our bosom's treasure?
WHISTLE, AND I'LL COME TO YOU, MY LAD.
O WHISTLE, and I'll come to you, my lad;
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad:
Tho' father and mither and a' should gae mad,
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad.
But warily tent, when ye come to court me,
And come na unless the back-yett be a-jee;
Syne up the back-stile, and let naebody see,
And come as ye were na comin to me.
And come, &c.
HUSBAND, HUSBAND, CEASE YOUR STRIFE.
TUNE- My Jo, Janet' HUSBAND, husband, cease your strife, Nor longer idly rave, sir; Tho' I am your wedded wife, Yet I am not your slave, sir.
'One of two must still obey,
Nancy, Nancy;
Is it man or woman, say,
My spouse, Nancy?'
If 'tis still the lordly word,
Service and obedience;
I'll desert my sov'reign lord,
And so good-bye allegiance !
'Sad will I be, so bereft,
Nancy, Nancy!
Yet I'll try to make a shift,
My spouse, Nancy.'
My poor heart then break it must,
My last hour I'm near it : When you lay me in the dust, Think, think how you will bear it.
'I will hope and trust in Heaven,
Nancy, Nancy;
Strength to bear it will be given,
My spouse, Nancy.'
Well, sir, from the silent dead
Still I'll try to daunt you;
Ever round your midnight bed
Horrid sprites shall haunt you.
'I'll wed another, like my dear
Nancy, Nancy;
Then all hell will fly for fear,
My spouse, Nancy.'
DELUDED SWAIN.
TUNE- The Colliers Dochter.
DELUDED Swain, the pleasure
The fickle Fair can give thee,
Is but a fairy treasure,
Thy hopes will soon deceive thee.
The billows on the ocean,
The breezes idly roaming, The clouds' uncertain motion, They are but types of woman.
O! art thou not ashamed
To doat upon a feature? If man thou wouldst be named, Despise the silly creature.
Go, find an honest fellow;
Good claret set before thee: Hold on till thou art mellow, And then to bed in glory.
TUNE-The Quaker's Wife.'
THINE am I, my faithful fair,
Thine, my lovely Nancy;
Ev'ry pulse along my veins,
Ev'ry roving fancy.
To thy bosom lay my heart,
There to throb and languish : Tho' despair had wrung its core, That would heal its anguish.
Take away these rosy lips,
Rich with balmy treasure! Turn away thine eyes of love, Lest I die with pleasure!
What is life when wanting love?
Night without a morning! Love's the cloudless summer sun, Nature gay adorning.
TUNE- The Sutor's Dochter.
WILT thou be my dearie?
When sorrow wrings thy gentle heart,
Wilt thou let me cheer thee?
By the treasure of my soul,
That's the love I bear thee!
I swear and vow that only thou
Shalt ever be my dearie-
Only thou, I swear and vow,
Shalt ever be my dearie.
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