In the field of proud honour-our swords in our hands, KENMURE'S ON AND AWA. O KENMURE'S on and awa, Willie ! Success to Kenmure's band, Willie! There's no a heart that fears a Whig Here's Kenmure's health in wine, Willie ! There ne'er was a coward o' Kenmure's blude, O Kenmure's lads are men, Willie ! Their hearts and swords are metal true- They'll live or die wi' fame, Willie ! Here's him that 's far awa, Willie! And here's the flower that I love best- ΙΟ 20 THE CAPTAIN'S LADY. O MOUNT and go, Mount and make you ready; And be the Captain's Lady. When the drums do beat, When the vanquish'd foe O mount and go, Mount and make you ready; O mount and go, And be the Captain's Lady. 10 NOW WESTLIN WINDS. Now westlin winds and slaughtering guns Now waving grain, wide o'er the plain, Delights the weary farmer; And the moon shines bright, when I rove at night To muse upon my charmer. The partridge loves the fruitful fells; The woodcock haunts the lonely dells; Thro' lofty groves the cushat roves, Thus ev'ry kind their pleasure find, Some social join, and leagues combine; Some solitary wander; Avaunt, away! the cruel sway. Tyrannic man's dominion; The sportsman's joy, the murdering cry, But, Peggy dear, the ev'ning's clear, All fading-green and yellow: And view the charms of nature; We'll gently walk, and sweetly talk, So dear can be as thou to me, My fair, my lovely charmer! HERE'S A HEALTH TO ANE I LO'E DEAR. CHORUS. HERE's a health to ane I lo'e dear, Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear; Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers meet, 40 30 20 Altho' thou maun never be mine, Than aught in the world beside, Jessy! I mourn thro' the gay, gaudy day, As, hopeless, I muse on thy charms: I guess by the dear angel smile, I guess by the love-rolling ee; But why urge the tender confession 'Gainst fortune's fell cruel decree, Jessy! ΙΟ BANKS OF CREE. HERE is the glen, and here the bower, "Tis not Maria's whispering call; "Tis but the balmy breathing gale. Mixt with some warbler's dying fall, The dewy star of eve to hail. It is Maria's voice I hear! So calls the woodlark in the grove At once 'tis music-and 'tis love. And art thou come? and art thou true? 10 HOW LANG AND DREARY. How lang and dreary is the night, I restless lie frae e'en to morn, For oh, her lanely nights are lang; When I think on the lightsome days How slow ye move, ye heavy hours; LOGAN BRAES. O LOGAN, Sweetly didst thou glide Again the merry month o' May The bees hum round the breathing flowers; 10 10 |