O come, my love, the branches link The stars behind their curtains wink, With envious smile our bliss shall see ; Shall spread to shield the dews from thee. O let me hear thy fairy tread Come gliding through the broomwood still, Then on my bosom lay thy head, Till dawning crown the distant hill. And I will watch thy witching smile, List what has caused thy long delay, And kiss thy melting lips the while, Till die the sweet reproof away. BONNIE LADY ANN. ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. There's kames of honey 'tween my love's lips, And gold amang her hair, Her breasts are lapt in a holie veil ; Nae mortal een look there. What lips dare kiss, or what hand dare touch, Or what arm of love dare span The honey lips, the creamy palm, Or the waist of Lady Ann! She kisses the lips of her bonnie red rose, Wat wi' the blobs of dew; But nae gentle lip, nor semple lip, Maun touch her Lady mou. But a broider'd belt, wi' a buckle of gold, Her jimpy waist maun span— O she's an armfu' fit for heaven, Her bower casement is latticed wi' flowers, Tied up wi' silver thread, An' comely sits she in the midst, Men's longing een to feed. She waves the ringlets frae her cheek, Wi' her milky, milky han', An' her cheeks seem touch'd wi' the finger of God, My bonnie Lady Ann! The morning cloud is tassel'd wi' gold, Like my love's broider'd cap, An' on the mantle which my love Is monie a golden drap. Her bonnie eebrow's a holie arch Cast by no earthlie han'; wears And the breath of God's atween the lips Of my bonnie Lady Ann! I am her father's gardener lad, An' poor, poor is fa'; my My auld mither gets my sair-won fee, Wi' fatherless bairnies twa. My een are bauld, they dwall on a place But I water, and tend, and kiss the flowers MY AIN COUNTREE. ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. The sun rises bright in France, And fair sets he; But he has tint the blythe blink he had In my ain countree. O! gladness comes to many, But sorrow comes to me, As I look o'er the wide ocean O! it's not my ain ruin That saddens ay my ee, But the love I left in Galloway, My hamely hearth burn'd bonnie, When white was my oerlay as foam of the linn, How swift pass'd the minutes and hours of delight! And linked in my hand was the maiden sae dear, That poverty parts sic companie? We met at the fair, and we met at the kirk, We met in the sunshine, we met in the mirk ; And the sound of her voice, and the blinks of her een, Leaves frae the tree at Martinmas flee, At bridal and infare I've braced me wi' pride When poverty parts gude companie. Wherever I gaed the blithe lasses smiled sweet, But the hope of my love is a cure for its smart ; How poverty parts dear companie. |