STAY, MY CHARMER. TUNE- An gille dubh ciar dhubh.' STAY, my charmer, can you leave me? Cruel, cruel to deceive me! Well you know how much you grieve me; Cruel charmer, can you go? Cruel charmer, can you go? By my love so ill requited; FULL WELL THOU KNOW'ST. TUNE-'Rothiemurchus's rant."' CHORUS. Fairest maid on Devon banks, And smile as thou wert wont to do? FULL Well thou know'st I love thee dear, Fairest maid, &c. Then come, thou fairest of the fair, Fairest maid, &c. STRATHALLAN'S LAMENT. THICKEST night, o'erhang my dwelling! Howling tempests, o'er me rave! Turbid torrents, wintry swelling, Still surround my lonely cave! Crystal streamlets gently flowing, Busy haunts of base mankind, Western breezes softly blowing, Suit not my distracted mind. In the cause of right engag'd, Wrongs injurious to redress, Honour's war we strongly wag'd, But the heavens deny'd success. Ruin's wheel has driven o'er us, Not a hope that dare attend; The wide world is all before usBut a world without a friend! RAVING WINDS AROUND HEK BLOWING. TUNE M'Gregor of Ruara's lament. "Farewell, hours that late did measure TUNE- Druimion dubh.' Which divides my love and me; Ye whom sorrow never wounded, Gentle night, do thou befriend me; Talk of him that's far awa! BLYTHE WAS SHE. TUNE-Andro and his cuttie gun. CHORUS. Blythe, blythe and merry was she, And blythe in Glenturit glen. By Ochtertyre grows the aik, On Yarrow banks, the birken shaw; But Phemie was a bonier lass Than braes o' Yarrow ever saw. Blythe, &c. Her looks were like a flower in May, Her smile was like a simmer morn; Her bonie face it was as meek The evening sun was ne'er sae sweet The Highland hills I've wander'd wide, PEGGY'S CHARMS. TUNE-'Neil Gow's lamentation for WHERE, braving angry winter's storms, Far in their shade my Peggy's charms As one who, by some savage stream, Blest be the wild, sequester'd shade, THE LAZY MIST. IRISH AIR- Coolun.' THE lazy mist hangs from the brow of the hill, What aspects, old Time, in his progress, has worn ; What ties, cruel fate in my bosom has torn. How foolish, or worse, till our summit is gain'd! And downward, how weaken'd, how darken'd, how pain'd! For something beyond it poor man sure must live. A ROSE-BUD BY MY EARLY WALK. TUNE- The Shepherd's Wife. A ROSE-BUD by my early walk, All on a dewy morning. Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fled, It scents the early morning. She soon shall see her tender brood, So thou, dear bird, young Jeany fair, That tents thy early morning. So thou, sweet rose-bud, young and gay, Shalt beauteous blaze upon the day, And bless the parent's evening ray That watch'd thy early morning. TIBBIE, I HAE SEEN THE DAY. TUNE-Invercauld's reel.' CHORUS. O Tibbie, I hae seen the day, But, trowth, I care na by. YESTREEN I met you on the moor, O Tibbie, I hae, &c. I doubt na, lass, but ye may think, Because ye hae the name o' clink, That ye can please me at a wink, Whene'er ye like to try. O Tibbie, I hae, &c. But sorrow tak him that's sae mean, Altho' a lad were e'er sae smart, If that he want the yellow dirt, Ye'll cast your head anither airt, And answer him fu' dry. O Tibbie, I hae, &c. But if ye hae the name o' gear, Ye'll fasten to him like a brier, Tho' hardly he, for sense or lear, Be better than the kye. O Tibbie, I hae, &c. But, Tibbie, lass, tak my advice, O Tibbie, I hae, &c. There lives a lass in yonder park, I LOVE MY JEAN. For there the bonie lassie lives, There wild woods grow, and rivers row, I see her in the dewy flowers, I hear her in the tunefu' birds, O, WERE I ON PARNASSUS' HILL! TUNE-My Love is lost to me? O, WERE I on Parnassus' hill! To sing how dear I love thee. And write how dear I love thee. Then come, sweet Muse, inspire my lay! How much, how dear, I love thee. By night, by day, a-field, at hame, I only live to love thee. Tho' I were doom'd to wander on, THE BLISSFUL DAY. TUNE- Seventh of November: THE day returns, my bosom burns, Ne'er summer-sun was half sae sweet. Than a' the pride that loads the tide, And crosses o'er the sultry line; Than kingly robes, than crowns and globes, Heaven gave me more, it made thee mine. While day and night can bring delight, Or nature aught of pleasure give; While joys above my mind can move, For thee, and thee alone, I live! When that grim foe of life below Comes in between to make us part; The iron hand that breaks our band, It breaks my bliss-it breaks my heart. THE BRAES O' BALLOCHMYLE. TUNE- Miss Forbes's farewell to Banff." THE Catrine woods were yellow seen, The flowers decay'd on Catrine lee, Nae lav'rock sang on hillock green, But nature sicken'd on the ee. Thro' faded groves Maria sang, Hersel in beauty's bloom the whyle, And aye the wild-wood echoes rang, Fareweel the braes o' Ballochmyle. Low in your wintry beds, ye flowers, THE HAPPY TRIO. TUNE- Willie brew'd a peck o' maut.' O, WILLIE brew'd a peck o' maut, And Rob and Allan cam to see; Three blyther hearts, that lee-lang night, Ye wad na find in Christendie. CHORUS. We are na fou, we're no that fou, And ay we'll taste the barley bree. Here are we met, three merry boys, Three merry boys, I trow, are we ; And monie a night we've merry been, And monie mae we hope to be! We are na fou, &c. It is the moon, I ken her horn, That's blinkin in the lift sae hie; She shines sae bright to wyle us hame, But by my sooth she'll wait a wee ! We are na fou, &c. Wha first shall rise to gang awa, A cuckold, coward loun is he! Wha first beside his chair shall fa', He is the King among us three ! We are na fou, &c. THE BLUE-EYED LASSIE. TUNE- The blathrie o't. I GAFD a waefu' gate yestreen, She talk'd, she smil'd, my heart she wyl'd, She charm'd my soul I wist na how; And ay the stound, the deadly wound, Cam frae her een sae bonie blue. But spare to speak, and spare to speed; She'll aiblins listen to my vow: Should she refuse, I'll lay my dead To her twa een sae bonie blue. JOHN ANDERSON MY JO. JOHN ANDERSON my jo, John, When we were first acquent, Your locks were like the raven, Your bonie brow was brent; But now your brow is beld, John, Your locks are like the snaw; But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson my jo. John Anderson my jo, John, We clamb the hill thegither; And monie a canty day, John, We've had wi' ane anither: Now we maun totter down, John, But hand in hand we'll go, And sleep thegither at the foot, John Anderson my jo. TAM GLEN. TUNE-The mucking o' Geordie's byre. My heart is a breaking, dear Tittie, Some counsel unto me come len', To anger them a' is a pity; But what will I do wi' Tam Glen? I'm thinking, wi' sic a braw fellow, In poortith I might mak a fen'; What care I in riches to wallow, If I maunna marry Tam Glen? There's Lowrie the laird o' Dumeller, 'Guid-day to you, brute!' he comes ben: He brags and he blaws o' his siller, But when will he dance like Tam My minnie does constantly deave me, And bids me beware o' young men ; They flatter, she says, to deceive me ; But wha can think sae o' Tam Glen? My dad lie says, gin I'll forsake him, He'll gie me guid hunder marks ten: But, if it's ordain'd I maun take him, O wha will I get but Tam Glen? Yestreen at the Valentines' dealing, My heart to my mou gied a sten: For thrice I drew ane without failing, And thrice it was written, Tam Glen. The last Halloween I was waukin My droukit sark-sleeve, as ye ken; His likeness cam up the house staukinAnd the very grey breeks o' Tam Glen! Come counsel, dear Tittie, don't tarry; GANE IS THE DAY. TUNE-Guidwife count the lawin.' GANE is the day, and mirk's the night, But we'll ne'er stray for faute o' light, For ale and brandy's stars and moon, And bluid-red wine's the risin' sun. CHORUS. Then guidwife count the lawin, the lawin, the lawin, Then guidwife count the lawin, and bring a coggie mair. |