Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes, And fondly broods with miser care! Time but the impression deeper makes, As streams their channels deeper wear. My Mary, dear departed shade! Where is thy blissful place of rest? Seest thou thy lover lowly laid? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? TO MARY. COULD aught of song declare my pains, May teach the lyre to languish ; O LEAVE NOVELS. O LEAVE novels, ye Mauchline belles, Ye're safer at your spinning wheel; Such witching books are baited hooks For rakish rooks, like Rob Mossgiel. Your fine Tom Jones and Grandisons, They make your youthful fancies reel, They heat your brains, and fire your veins, And then you're prey for Rob Mossgiel. Beware a tongue that's smoothly hung; A heart that warmly seems to feel; That feeling heart but acts a part, 'Tis rakish art in Rob Mossgiel. The frank address, the soft caress, Are worse than poison'd darts of steel, The frank address, and politesse, Are all finesse in Rob Mossgiel. ADDRESS TO GENERAL DUMOURIER. A PARODY ON ROBIN ADAIR. YOU'RE welcome to Despots, Dumourier; You're welcome to Despots, Dumourier; How does Dampière do? Aye, and Bournonville too? Why did they not come along with you, Dumourier? I will fight France with you, Dumourier; I will take my chance with you; Then let us fight about, Dumourier; Till freedom's spark is out, Then we'll be damn'd no doubt-Dumourier. SWEETEST MAY. SWEETEST May, let love inspire thee; ONE NIGHT AS I DID WANDER. That echoed thro' the braes. THE WINTER IT IS PAST. A FRAGMENT. THE winter it is past, and the simmer comes at last, Now every thing is glad, while I am very sad, The rose upon the brier by the waters running clear, Their little loves are blest, and their little hearts at rest, FRAGMENT. HIER flowing locks, the raven's wing, Her lips are roses wet wi' dew! THE CHEVALIER'S LAMENT. TUNE- Captain O'Kean.' THE small birds rejoice in the green leaves returning, But 'tis not my sufferings thus wretched, forlorn, THE BELLES OF MAUCHLINE. IN Mauchline there dwells six proper young Belles, Miss Miller is fine, Miss Markland's divine, Miss Smith she has wit, and Miss Betty is braw : THE TARBOLTON LASSES. IF ye gae up to yon hill-tap, Ye'll there see bonie Peggy; She kens her father is a laird, And she forsooth's a leddy. There Sophy tight, a lassie bright, Gae down by Faile, and taste the ale, If she be shy, her sister try, Ye'll maybe fancy Jenny, As ye gae up by yon hill-side, There's few sae bony, nane sae gude, THE TARBOLTON LASSES. IN Tarbolton, ye ken, there are proper young men, But ken ye the Ronalds that live in the Bennals, Their father's a laird, and weel he can spare 't, To proper young men, he'll clink in the hand There's ane they ca' Jean, I'll warrant ye've seen But for sense and guid taste she'll vie wi' the best, The charms o' the min', the langer they shine, If ye be for Miss Jean, tak this frae a frien', The Laird o' Blackbyre wad gang through the fire, The Laird o' Braehead has been on his speed, Then Anna comes in, the pride o' her kin, Sae sonsy and sweet, sae fully complete, HERE'S A HEALTH TO THEM THAT'S AWA. If I should detail the pick and the wale The fault wad be mine, if they didna shine, 1 lo'e her mysel, but darena weel tell, Yet I wadna choose to let her refuse, Nor ha'e 't in her power to say na, man, Though I canna ride in weel-booted pride, My coat and my vest, they are Scotch o' the best, My sarks they are few, but five o' them new, There are no mony poets sae braw, man. I never had frien's, weel stockit in means, I never was canny for hoarding o' money, I've little to spend, and naething to lend, * * 245 246 MY LADY'S GOWN THERE'S GAIRS UPON'T. Here's a health to them that's awa, Here's a health to them that's awa; Here's a health to Tammie, the Norland laddie, That lives at the lug o' the law! Here's freedom to him that wad read, Here's freedom to him that wad write! There's nane ever fear'd that the truth should be heard, But they wham the truth wad indite. Here's a health to them that's awa, Here's a health to them that's awa, Here's Chieftain M'Leod, a Chieftain worth gowd, Tho' bred among mountains o' snaw! I'M OWRE YOUNG TO MARRY I AM my mammie's ae bairn, I'm fley'd wad mak me eerie, Sir. CHORUS. I'm owre young, I'm owre young, I'm owre young to marry yet; I'm owre young, 'twad be a sin To tak me frae my mammie yet. My mammie coft me a new gown, I'm fear'd ye'd spoil the lacing o't. Hallowmas is come and gane, In troth I dare na venture, Sir. Fu' loud and shrill the frosty wind DAMON AND SYLVIA. TUNE-' The tither morn, as I forlorn.' YON wand'ring rill, that marks the hill, And glances o'er the brae, Sir: Slides by a bower where monie a flower Sheds fragrance on the day, Sir. There Damon lay, with Sylvia gay: To love they thought nae crime, Sir; The wild-birds sang, the echoes rang, While Damon's heart beat time, Sir. MY LADY'S GOWN THERE'S GAIRS UPON'T. CHORUS. My lady's gown there's gairs upon't, And gowden flowers sae upon't; rare But Jenny's jimps and jirkinet, But hounds or hawks wi' him are nane, My lady's gown, &c. My lady's white, my lady's red, My lady's gown, &c. Out o'er yon muir, out o'er yon moss, My lady's gown, &c. Sae sweetly move her genty limbs, My lady's dink, my lady's drest, |