I haif ane helter, and eik ane hek, Ane auld pannell of ane laid sadill, Ane spounge, ane spindill wantand ane nok, Twa lusty lippis to lik ane laiddill, To gang togiddir Jynny and Jok. Ane brechame, and twa brochis fyne Ane gay grene cloke that will nocht stenye; And yit for mister I will nocht fenye, Ane trene, truncheour, ane ramehorne spone, All graith that gains to hobbill schone, Ane scheip weill kepit fra ill wedder, Tak thair for my parte of the feist; It is weill knawin I am weill bodin; Ye may nocht say my parte is leist, The wyfe said, speid, the kaill ar soddin. And als the laverok is fust and loddin; When ye haif done, tak hame the brok; The rost wes tuche, sa wer thay bodin; Syn gaid togiddir bayth Jynny and Jok. LXIX. AND ART THOU GONE. And art thou gone, for ever gone, And is thy heart for ever cauld, Alas! 'tis cauld, for ever cauld- But soon, ay soon, my wish will come, To thee I'm hastening fast; My first, my fondest thought was thine, And thine will be my last. LXX. COME O'ER THE SEA. AIR-Cuishlih ma chree. Come o'er the sea, Maiden! with me, Mine thro' sunshine, storm and snows! But the true soul Burns the same, where'er it goes. Let fate frown on, so we love and part not; 'Tis life where thou art, 'tis death where thou art not! Then come o'er the sea, Maiden! with me, Come wherever the wild wind blows; Seasons may roll, But the true soul Burns the same, where'er it goes. Is not the sea Made for the free, Land for courts and chains alone? Here we are slaves; But on the waves, Love and Liberty's all our own! No eye to watch, and no tongue to wound us, All earth forgot, and all heaven around us! Then come o'er the sea, Maiden! with me, Come wherever the wild wind blows; Seasons may roll, But the true soul Burns the same, where'er it goes. LXXI. EMMA. Weep no more by shading tree, Weep no more by hallow'd stream; Wend thee to yon cloistered wall, Lighted by the taper's beam. Make thy couch the lonely brake, Ne'er wilt thou with Knight thou lov❜dst, Far from bow'rs of bliss and thee, Dance no more in gilded hall, Thine is now the lonely cell Deck'd in weeds of cloister'd nun. Sweet the tale fond love had told, Well that tale thou lov'dst to hear; Silent is the voice for aye, Never more to charm thy ear. Soft she sung her vesper hymn, Fancy told full many a tale, |