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No more a-winding the course of yon river,
And marking sweet flow'rets so fair :
No more I trace the light footsteps of pleasure,
But sorrow and sad sighing care.

Is it that summer's forsaken our valleys,
And grim, surly winter is near?

No, no, the bees humming round the gay roses,
Proclaim it the pride of the year.

Fain would I hide what I fear to discover.
Yet long, long too well have I known :
All that has caus'd this wreck in my bosom,
Is Jenny, fair Jenny alone.

Time cannot aid me, my griefs are immortal,
Nor hope dare a comfort bestow :

Come, then, enamour'd and fond of my anguish,
Enjoyment I'll seek in my woe.

O SAW YE MY DEAR.

TUNE-'WHEN SHE CAM BEN SHE BOBBIT.

O SAW ye my dear, my Phely?

O saw ye my dear, my Phely?

She's down i' the grove, she's wi' a new love,
She winna come hame to her Willy.

What says she, my dearest, my Phely?
What says she, my dearest, my Phely?
She lets thee to wit that she has thee forgot,
And for ever disowns thee her Willy.

O had I ne'er seen thee, my Phely!
O had I ne'er seen thee, my Phely!

As light as the air, and fause as thou's fair,
Thou'st broken the heart o' thy Willy.

THOU HAST LEFT ME EVER, JAMIE.

TUNE-FEE HIM, FATHER.'

THOU hast left me ever, Jamie,

Thou hast left me ever;
Thou hast left me ever, Jamie,

Thou hast left me ever.

Aften hast thou vow'd that death
Only should us sever;

Now thou'st left thy lass for aye-
I maun see thee never, Jamie,
I'll see thee never!

Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie,
Thou hast me forsaken;
Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie,
Thou hast me forsaken.

Thou canst love anither jo,

While my heart is breaking;
Soon my weary e'en I'll close-
Never mair to waken, Jamie,
Ne'er mair to waken!

MY CHLORIS.

TUNE- MY LODGING IS ON THE COLD GROUND.'

My Chloris, mark how green the groves,
The primrose banks how fair:

The balmy gales awake the flowers.

And wave thy flaxen hair.

The lav'rock shuns the palace gay,
And o'er the cottage sings:
For nature smiles as sweet, I ween,
To shepherds as to kings.

Let minstrels sweep the skilfu' string
In lordly lighted ha':

The shepherd stops his simple reed,
Blithe, in the birken shaw.

The princely revel may survey
Our rustic dance wi' scorn;
But are their hearts as light as ours
Beneath the milk-white thorn?

The shepherd, in the flowery glen,
In shepherd's phrase will woo:
The courtier tells a finer tale,
But is his heart as true?

These wild-wood flowers I've pu'd, to deck
That spotless breast o' thine :

The courtiers' gems may witness love-
But 'tis na love like mine.

CHARMING MONTH OF MAY.

TUNE-' DAINTY DAVIE.'

IT was the charming month of May,
When all the flowers were fresh and gay,

One morning, by the break of day,
The youthful, charming Chloe;

From peaceful slumber she arose,
Girt on her mantle and her hose,
And o'er the flowery mead she goes,
The youthful, charming Chloe.

CHORUS.

Lovely was she by the dawn,
Youthful Chloe, charming Chloe,
Tripping o'er the pearly lawn,
The youthful, charming Chloe.

The feather'd people you might see
Perch'd all around on every tree,
In notes of sweetest melody

They hail the charming Chloe;

Till, painting gay the eastern skies,
The glorious sun began to rise,
Out-rival'd by the radiant eyes
Of youthful, charming Chloe,
Lovely was she, &c.

LET NOT WOMAN E'ER COMPLAIN.

TUNE-DUNCAN GRAY.'

LET not woman e'er complain

Of inconstancy in love;
Let not woman e'er complain,
Fickle man is apt to rove:

Look abroad through Nature's range,
Nature's mighty law is change;
Ladies, would it not be strange,

Man should then a monster prove?

Mark the winds, and mark the skies;
Ocean's ebb, and ocean's flow:
Sun and moon but set to rise,
Round and round the seasons go.

Why then ask of silly man,

To oppose great Nature's plan? We'll be constant while we canYou can be no more, you know.

O PHILLY.

TUNE 'THE SOW'S TAIL.'

HE.

O PHILLY, happy be that day
When, roving through the gather'd hay,
My youthfu' heart was stown away,
And by thy charms, my Philly.

SHE.

O Willy, aye I bless the grove

Where first I own'd my maiden love,

Whilst thou didst pledge the Powers above To be my ain dear Willy.

HE.

As songsters of the early year
Are ilka day mair sweet to hear,
So ilka day to me mair dear
And charming is my Philly.

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