When purple morning starts the hare,
To steal upon her early fare,
Then through the dews I will repair,
To meet my faithfu' Davie.

When day, expiring in the west,
The curtain draws o' Nature's rest,
I flee to his arms I lo'e best,

And that's my ain dear Davie.

THE GALLANT WEAVER.

WHERE Cart rins rowin' to the sea,
By mony a flower and spreading tree,
There lives a lad, the lad for me,
He is a gallant weaver.

Oh I had wooers aught or nine,
They gied me rings and ribbons fine;
And I was fear'd my heart would tine,
And I gied it to the weaver.

My daddie sign'd my tocher-band,
To gie the lad that has the land;
But to my heart I'll add my hand,
And gie it to the weaver.

While birds rejoice in leafy bowers;
While bees rejoice in opening flowers;
While corn grows green in simmer showers,
I'll love my gallant weaver.

ANNA, THY CHARMS.

ANNA, thy charms my bosom fire,
And waste my soul with care;
But ah! how bootless to admire,
When fated to despair!

20

10

Yet in thy presence, lovely fair,
To hope may be forgiven;
For sure, 'twere impious to despair
So much in sight of heaven.

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,
Chloris, Chloris all the theme!
Why, why wouldst thou, cruel,
Wake thy lover from his dream?

NOW SPRING HAS CLAD.

Now spring has clad the groves in green,
And strew'd the lea wi' flowers;
The furrow'd waving corn is seen
Rejoice in fostering showers.
While ilka thing in nature join
Their sorrows to forego,

O why thus all alone are mine
The weary steps of woe!

The trout in yonder wimpling burn
Glides swift, a silver dart,

And safe beneath the shady thorn
Defies the angler's art:

My life was once that careless stream,
That wanton trout was I;

But love, wi' unrelenting beam,
Has scorch'd my fountain dry.

10

The little floweret's peaceful lot,

In yonder cliff that grows,

Which, save the linnet's flight, I wot,
Nae ruder visit knows,

Was mine; till love has o'er me past,
And blighted a' my bloom;

And now beneath the withering blast
My youth and joy consume.

The waken'd lav'rock warbling springs,
And climbs the early sky,
Winnowing blithe her dewy wings
In morning's rosy eye;

As little reckt I sorrow's power,
Until the flowery snare

O' witching love, in luckless hour,
Made me the thrall o' care.

O had my fate been Greenland's snows
Or Afric's burning zone,

Wi' man and nature leagued my foes,

So Peggy ne'er I'd known!

The wretch whase doom is 'Hope nae mair!'
What tongue his woes can tell!

Within whase bosom, save despair,
Nae kinder spirits dwell.

20

30

40

FORLORN, MY LOVE.

FORLORN, my love, no comfort near,
Far, far from thee, I wander here;
Far, far from thee, the fate severe
At which I most repine, love.

O wert thou, love, but near me,
But near, near, near me;
How kindly thou wouldst cheer me,

And mingle sighs with mine, love!

Around me scowls a wintry sky,
That blasts each bud of hope and joy,
And shelter, shade, nor home have I,
Save in those arms of thine, love.

Cold alter'd friendship's cruel part,
To poison fortune's ruthless dart-
Let me not break thy faithful heart,
And say that fate is mine, love.

But dreary tho' the moments fleet,
O let me think we yet shall meet!
That only ray of solace sweet

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 soon wi' leaves be hinging,
The birdies, dowie moaning,

Shall a' be blythely singing,
And every flower be springing:
Sae I'll rejoice the lee-lang day,
When, by his mighty warden,

My youth's return'd to fair Strathspey
And bonnie Castle-Gordon.

10

HEY FOR A LASS WI' A TOCHER.

AWA wi' your witchcraft o' beauty's alarms,
The slender bit beauty you grasp in your arms:
O, gie me the lass that has acres o' charms,
O, gie me the lass wi' the weel-stockit farms.

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,
And withers the faster, the faster it grows;

But the rapturous charm o' the bonnie green knowes!
Ilk spring they're new deckit wi' bonnie white yowes.

And e'en when this beauty your bosom has blest,
The brightest o' beauty may cloy, when possest;
But the sweet yellow darlings wi' Geordie imprest-
The langer ye hae them, the mair they're carest.

BEHOLD THE HOUR.

BEHOLD the hour, the boat arrive!

Thou goest, thou darling of my heart:
Sever'd from thee can I survive?

But fate has will'd, and we must part!
I'll often greet this surging swell;

Yon distant isle will often hail :
'E'en here I took the last farewell;
There latest mark'd her vanish'd sail.'

Along the solitary shore,

While flitting sea-fowls round me cry,
Across the rolling dashing roar,

I'll westward turn my wistful eye:
'Happy, thou Indian grove,' I'll say,
'Where now my Nancy's path may be!
While thro' thy sweets she loves to stray,
O tell me, does she muse on me?'