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But there is ane, a secret ane,

Abune them a' I loe him better; And I'll be his, and he'll be mine,

The bonnie lad o' Gala Water.

Although his daddie was nae laird,

And though I hae na mickle tocher ; Yet rich in kindest, truest love,

We'll tent our flocks on Gala Water.

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It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth,

That coft contentment, peace, or pleasure ; The bands and bliss o' mutual love,

O that's the chiefest warld's treasure !

Sae fair her hair, sae brent her brow,
Sae bonnie blue her een, and cheerie,
The mair I kiss her cherry lips,
The mair I wish her for my dearie.

Bonnie lass, &c.
Ower yonder moss, ower yonder muir,
Through a' yon mossy muirs and heather,
O, I could rin, wi' heart sae licht,
Wi' my dear lassie to forgather!

Bonnie lass, &c.
It is otherwise given, as follows, in Herd's Collection, 1776 :

Braw, braw lads of Gala Water,

o, braw lads of Gala Water,
I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee,

And follow my love through the water.
Sae fair her hair, sae brent her brow,

Sae bonnie blue her een, my dearie,
Sae white her teeth, sae sweet her mou',

I aften kiss her till I'm wearie.

Ower yon bank, and ower yon brae,

Ower yon moss amang the heather,
I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee,

And follow my love through the water.
Down amang the broom, the broom,

Down amang the broom, my dearie;
The lassie lost her silken snood,

That gart her greet till she was wearie.



The lovely lass o' Inverness,

Nae joy nor pleasure can she see,
For e'en and morn she cries, Alas!

And aye the saut tears blind her ee:
Drummossie muir, Drummossie day,

A waefu' day it was to me ;
For there I lost my

father dear,
My father dear and brethren three.

Their winding-sheets, the bluidy clay;

Their graves are growing green to see;
And by them lies the dearest lad

That ever bless'd a woman's ee !
Now, wae to thee, thou cruel lord !

A bluidy man I trow thou be;
For many a heart thou bast made sair,

That ne'er did wrang to thine or thee.



TUNE-Fy, gar rub her ower wi' strae.

GIN ye meet a bonnie lassie,

Gie her a kiss and let her gae;
But if ye meet a dirtie hizzie,
Fy, gar rub her ower wi' strae.

dinna quit the grip
Of ilka joy when ye are young,

Be sure ye

Before auld age your vitals nip,

And lay ye twa-fauld ower a rung.

Sweet youth's a blythe and heartsome time :

Then, lads and lasses, while it's May,
Gae pou the gowan in its prime,

Before it wither and decay.
Watch the saft minutes o' delight,

When Jenny speaks below her breath,
And kisses, layin' a' the wyte

On you if she kep ony skaith.
Haith, ye're ill-bred, she'll smilin' say,

Ye'll worry me, ye greedy rook ;
Syne frae your arms she'll rin away,

And hide hersell in some dark neuk.
Her lauch will lead ye to the place,

Where lies the happiness ye want ;
And plainly tell ye to your face,

Nineteen nay-says are hauf a grant.

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Now to her beavin' bosom cling,

And sweitly tuilyie for a kiss ;
Frae her fair finger whup a ring,

As taiken o' a future bliss.
These benisons, I'm very sure,

Are of kind heaven's indulgent grant ;
Then, surly carles, wheesht, forbear

To plague us wi' your whinin' cant ! *


* From the Tea-Table Miscellany, 1724. Connected with this song, which few readers will require to be informed is a paraphrase, and a very happy one, of the celebrated “ Vides ut alta” of Horace, the following anecdote may be told :-In a large mixed company which had assembled one night in the house of a citizen of Edinburgh, where Robert Burns happened to be present, somebody sung, “Gin ye meet a bonnie Lassie," with excellent effect, insomuch as to throw all present into a sort of rapture. The only exception lay with a stiff pedantic old schoolmaster, who, in all the consciousness of superior critical acumen, and determined to be pleased with nothing which was not strictly classical, sat erect in his chair, with a countenance full of disdain, and rigidly abstained from expressing the slightest symptom of satisfaction. ir What ails you at the sang. Mr

?" inquired an honest citizen of the name of Boog, who had been


Maxwelton banks are bonnie,

Where early fa’s the dew ;
Where me and Annie Laurie

up the promise true;
Made up the promise true,

And never forget will I;
And for bonnie Annie Laurie

I'il lay me doun and die.

She's backit like the peacock;

She's breistit like the swan ;
She's jimp about the middle ;
Her waist


weel micht span :
Her waist ye weel micht span,

And she has a rolling eye;
And for bonnie Annie Laurie

I'll lay me doun and die.

particularly delighted with it. “Oh, nothing," answered the man of learn. ing;, “ only the whole of it is stolen from Horace."-" Houts, man,” replied Mr Boog, “ Horace has rather stown from the auld sang."- This ludicrous observation was met with absolute shouts of laughter, the whole of which was at the expense of the discomfited critic; and Burns was pleased to express his hearty thanks to the citizen for having set the matter to rights. He seems, from a passage in Cromek's Reliques, to have afterwards made use of the observation as his own.

* These two verses, which are in a style wonderfully tender and chaste for their age, were written by a Mr Douglas of Fingland, upon Anne, one of the four daughters of Sir Robert Laurie, first baronet of Maxwelton, by his second wife, who was a daughter of Riddell of Minto. As Sir Robert was created a baronet in the year 1685, it is probable that the verses were composed about the end of the seventeenth or the beginning of the eighteenth century. It is painful to record, that, notwithstanding the ardent and chivalrous affection displayed by Mr Douglas in his poem, he did not obtain the heroine for a wife : She was married to Mr Ferguson of Craigdarroch. -See“ A Ballad Book," (printed at Edinburgh in 1824,9 p. 107.



TUNE---Miss Admiral Gordon's Strathspey.

Of a' the airts the wind can blaw,

I dearly like the west ;
For there the bonnie lassie lives,

The lass that I lo'e best:
Though wild woods grow, and rivers row,

Wi' monie a hill between,
Baith day and night my fancy's flight

Is ever wi' my Jean.

I see her in the dewy flow'rs,

Sae lovely, sweet, and fair ;
I hear her voice in ilka bird

Wi' music charms the air:
There's not a bonnie flow'r that springs

By fountain, shaw, or green,
Nor yet a bonnie bird that sings,
But minds me o' my


O blaw, ye westlin winds, blaw saft,

Amang the leafy trees !
Wi' gentle gale, frae muir and dale,

Bring hame the laden bees !
And bring the lassie back to me,

That's aye sae neat and clean : Ae blink o' her wad banish care ; Sae lovely is my



What sighs and vows, amang the knowes,

Hae past atween us twa !
How fain to meet, how wae to part,

That day she gaed awa!


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