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I whyles claw the elbow o'troublesome thought;
But Man is a soger, and Life is a faught:
My mirth and gude humour are coin in my pouch,
And my Freedom's my lairdship nae monarch dare

touch.

A towmond o' trouble, should that be my fa',
A night o' gude fellowship sowthers it a';
When at the blythe end of our journey at last,
Wha the deil ever thinks o' the road he has past?

Blind Chance, let her snapper and stoyte on her

way, Be't to me, be't frae me, e'en let the jad gae : Come ease, or come travail ; come pleasure or pain, My warst word is – Welcome, and welcome

again !

MY NANNIES AWA.

TUNE-'THERE'LL NEVER BE PEACE TILL JAMIE COMES HAME.'

Now in her green mantle blythe nature arrays, And listens the lambkins that bleat o'er the braes, While birds warble welcomes in ilka green shaw ; But to me it's delightless-my Nannie's awa.

The snaw-drap and primrose our woodlands adorn,
And violets bathe in the weet o' the morn :
They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw,
They mind me o' Nannie-my Nannie's awa.

Thou laverock that springs frae the dews o'the lawn, The shepherd to warn o'the grey-breaking dawn, And thou, mellow mavis, that hails the night-fa', Gie over for pity-my Nannie's awa.

Come autumn sae pensive, in yellow and grey,
And soothe me wi' tidins o' nature's decay ;
The dark, dreary winter, and wild-driving snaw,
Alane can delight me-now Nannie's awa.

SWEET FA'S THE EVE.

TUNE-'CRAIGIEBURN-WOOD.'

SWEET fa's the eve on Craigie-burn,

And blythe awakes the morrow,
But a' the pride o' spring's return

Can yield me nocht but sorrow.

I see the flowers and spreading trees,

I hear the wild birds singing ;
But what a weary wight can please,

And care his bosom wringing ?

Fain, fain would I my griefs impart,

Yet dare na for your anger ;
But secret love will break my heart,

If I conceal it langer.

If thou refuse to pity me,

If thou shalt love anither,
When yon green leaves fa' frae the tree,

Around my grave they'll wither.

O LASSIE, ART THOU SLEEPING YET?

TUNE-'LET ME IN THIS AE NIGHT.'

O LASSIE, art thou sleeping yet ?
Or art thou wakin, I would wit?
For love has bound me hand and foot,

And I would fain be in, jo.

CHORUS.
O let me in this ae night,

This ae, ae, ae night;
For pity's sake this ae night,

O rise and let me in, jo.

Thou hear'st the winter wind and weet,
Nae star blinks thro' the driving sleet ;
Tak pity on my weary feet,
And shield me frae the rain, jo.

O let me in, &c.

The bitter blast that round me blaws,
Unheeded howls, unheeded fa's;
The cauldness o' thy heart's the cause
Of a' my grief and pain, jo.

O let me in, &c.

HER ANSWER.

O TELL na me o'wind and rain,
Upbraid na me wi' cauld disdain !
Gae back the gait ye cam again,

I winna let you in, jo.

CHORUS.
I tell you now this ae night,

This ae, ae, ae night ;
And ance for a’ this ae night,

I winna let you in, jo.

The snellest blast, at mirkest hours,
That round the pathless wand'rer pours,
Is nocht to what poor she endures,
That's trusted faithless man, jo.

I tell you now, &c.

The sweetest flower that deck'd the mead,
Now trodden like the vilest weed ;
Let simple maid the lesson read,
The weird may be her ain, jo.

I tell you now, &c.

The bird that charm'd his summer-day,
Is now the cruel fowler's prey ;
Let witless, trusting woman say
How aft her fate's the same, jo.

I tell you now, &c.

SONG.

TUNE-'HUMOURS OF GLEN.'

THEIR groves o' sweet myrtles let foreign lands

reckon, Where bright-beaming summers exalt their per

fume; Far dearer to me yon lone glen o'green breckan,

Wi’ the burn stealing under the lang yellow broom. Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers, Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk lowly un

seen : For there, lightly tripping amang the wild flowers,

A listening the linnet, aft wanders my Jean.

Tho' rich is the breeze in their gay sunny valleys,

And cauld Caledonia's blast on the wave; Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud

palace, What are they? The haunt of the tyrant and

slave!

The slave's spicy forests, and gold-bubbling foun

tains, The brave Caledonian views wi' disdain ; He wanders as free as the winds of his mountains,

Save love's willing fetters, the chains o’his Jean.

TWAS NA HER BONIE BLUE EE.

TUNE-'LADDIE, LIE NEAR ME.'

'Twas na her bonie blue e'e was my ruin

; Fair tho' she be, that was ne'er my

undoing; 'Twas the dear smile when naebody did mind us, 'Twas the bewitching, sweet, stown glance o' kind

ness.

Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me,
Sair do I fear that despair maun abide me;
But tho fell fortune should fate us to sever,
Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever.

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