The wan moon is setting ayont 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!
WHEN o'er the hill the eastern star
Tells bughtin-time is near, my jo;
And owsen frae the furrow'd field
Return sae dowf and wearie O;
Down by the burn, where scented birks
Wi' dew are hanging clear, my jo,
I'll meet thee on the lea-rig,
My ain kind dearie O.
In mirkest glen, at midnight hour,
I'd rove, and ne'er be eerie O,
If thro' that glen I gaed to thee,
My ain kind dearie O.
Altho' the night were ne'er sae wild,
And I were ne'er sae wearie O,
I'd meet thee on the lea-rig,
My ain kind dearie O.
The hunter lo'es the morning sun,
To rouse the mountain deer, my jo;
At noon the fisher seeks the glen,
Along the burn to steer, my jo;
Gie me the hour o' gloamin grey,
It maks my heart sae cheery O,
To meet thee on the lea-rig,
My ain kind dearie O.
THERE'S auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen,
He's the king o' gude fellows and wale of auld men;
He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine,
And ae bonnie lassie, his darling and mine.
She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May;
She's sweet as the ev'ning amang the new hay;
As blythe and as artless as the lamb on the lea,
And dear to my heart as the light to my ee.
But oh! she's an heiress, auld Robin's a laird,
And my daddie has nought but a cot-house and yard; 10
A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed,
The wounds I must hide that will soon be my dead.
The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane;
The night comes to me, but my rest it is gane:
I wander my lane, like a night-troubled ghaist,
And I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breast.
O had she but been of a lower degree,
I then might hae hoped she wad smiled upon me;
O how past descriving had then been my bliss,
As now my distraction no words can express!
O, FOR ANE AN' TWENTY, TAM!
AN' O for ane an' twenty, Tam!
An' hey, sweet ane an' twenty, Tam!
I'll learn my kin a rattlin' sang,
An' I saw ane an' twenty, Tam.
They snool me sair, and haud me down,
An' gar me look like bluntie, Tam!
But three short years will soon wheel roun',
An' then comes ane an' twenty, Tam.
A gleib o' lan', a claut o' gear,
Was left me by my auntie, Tam ; At kith or kin I need na spier,
An I saw ane and twenty, Tam.
They'll hae me wed a wealthy coof,
Tho' I mysel' hae plenty, Tam ;
But hear'st thou, laddie? there's my loof,
I'm thine at ane and twenty, Tam!
TURN again, thou fair Eliza-
Ae kind blink before we part!
Rue on thy despairing lover!
Canst thou break his faithfu' heart?
Turn again, thou fair Eliza;
If to love thy heart denies,
For pity hide the cruel sentence
Under friendship's kind disguise!
Thee, dear maid, hae I offended?
The offence is loving thee;
Canst thou wreck his peace for ever,
Wha for thine would gladly die?
While the life beats in my bosom,
Thou shalt mix in ilka throe:
Turn again, thou lovely maiden-
Ae sweet smile on me bestow.
Not the bee upon the blossom,
In the pride o' sunny noon ;
Not the little sporting fairy,
All beneath the simmer moon;
Not the poet in the moment
Fancy lightens in his ee,
Kens the pleasure, feels the rapture,
That thy presence gies to me.
GLOOMY DECEMBER.
ANCE mair I hail thee, thou gloomy December!
Ance mair I hail thee wi' sorrow and care;
Sad was the parting thou makes me remember,
Parting wi' Nancy, oh! ne'er to meet mair.
Fond lovers' parting is sweet painful pleasure,
Hope beaming mild on the soft parting hour;
But the dire feeling, O farewell for ever!
Is anguish unmingled and agony pure.
Wild as the winter now tearing the forest,
Till the last leaf o' the summer is flown,
Such is the tempest has shaken my bosom,
Til my last hope and last comfort is gone ;
Still as I hail thee, thou gloomy December,
Still shall I hail thee wi' sorrow and care;
For sad was the parting thou makes me remember,
Parting wi' Nancy, oh! ne'er to meet mair.
CLARINDA, mistress of my soul,
The measured time is run!
The wretch beneath the dreary pole
So marks his latest sun.
To what dark cave of frozen night
Shall poor Sylvander hie,
Depriv'd of thee, his life and light,
The sun of all his joy?
We part-but by these precious drops
That fill thy lovely eyes!
No other light shall guide my steps
Till thy bright beams arise.
She, the fair sun of all her sex,
Has blest my glorious day;
And shall a glimmering planet fix
My worship to its ray?
FOR THE SAKE OF SOMEBODY.
My heart is sair, I dare na tell,
My heart is sair for somebody;
I could wake a winter night,
For the sake o' somebody!
Oh-hon for somebody!
Oh-hey! for somebody!
I could range the world around,
For the sake o' somebody.
Ye powers that smile on virtuous love,
O, sweetly smile on somebody!
Frae ilka danger keep him free,
And send me safe my somebody.
Oh-hon! for somebody!
Oh-hey for somebody!
I wad do--what wad I not?
For the sake o' somebody!
Time of the day Evening. The rounded and
dying of the victorious army are supposed to join in the song.
FAREWELL, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies,
Now gay with the broad setting sun!
Farewell, loves and friendships, ye dear tender ties,--
Our race of existence is run!
Thou grim King of Terrors, thou life's gloomy foe,
Go, frighten the coward and slave!
Go, teach them to tremble, fell Tyrant! but know,
No terrors hast thou for the brave!
Thou strik'st the dull peasant-he sinks in the dark,
Nor saves e'en the wreck of a name:
Thou strik'st the young hero-a glorious mark!
He falls in the blaze of his fame!
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