WHY, LOVELY CHARMER? FROM "THE HIVE." Then tell me how to woo thee, Love; O, tell me how to woo thee! For thy dear sake nae care I'll take, Though ne'er another trow me. Why, lovely charmer, tell me why, If gay attire delight thine eye, I'll dight me in array ; I'll tend thy chamber door all night, And squire thee all the day. If sweetest sounds can win thine ear, These sounds I'll strive to catch ; Thy voice I 'll steal to woo thysell, That voice that nane can match. In vain you strive with all your art, ANONYMOUS. i PRITHEE SEND ME BACK MY HEART. But if fond love thy heart can gain, I never broke a vow; I never loved but you. For you I wear the blue; 0, tell me how to woo thee ! For thy dear sake nae care I 'll take, Though ne'er another trow me. GRAHAM OF GARTMORE. I PRITHEE send me back my heart, Since I cannot have thine ; Why then shouldst thou have mine? Yet, now I think on't, let it lie; To find it were in vain ; For thou 'st a thief in either eye Would steal it back again. MY LOVE IN HER ATTIRE. In all this world, as thinketh me, As my sweet sweeting. As my sweet sweeting. I would not long detain Nor should thy fellow-saints e'er know Of thy escape below: Before thou 'rt missed, thou shouldst return again. Sure, heaven must needs thy love, As well as other qualities, improve : Come, then ! and recreate my sight With rays of thy pure light; 'T will cheer my eyes more than the lamps above. But if Fate's so severe As to confine thee to thy blissful sphere, (And by thy absence I shall know Whether thy state be so,) JOHN NORRIS. For while thus it pouts, her fingers wrestle, I THE FLOWER O' DUMBLANE. Twinkling the audacious leaves between, Till round they turn, and down they nestle : | THE sun has gane down o'er the lofty Ben Lomond, Is not the dear mark still to be seen ? And left the red clouds to preside o'er the scene, While lanely I stray in the calm summergloamin', Where I find her not, beauties vanish; To muse on sweet Jessie, the Flower o' DumWhither I follow her, beauties flee. blane. Is there no method to tell her in Spanish | How sweet is the brier, wi' its saft fauldin' blossom, June'stwice Junesince she breathed it with me?" And sweet is the birk, wi' its mantle o' green; Come, bud ! show me the least of her traces. | Yet sweeter and fairer, and dear to this bosom, Treasure my lady's lightest footfall : Is lovely young Jessie, the Flower o' Dumblane. Ah! you may flout and turn up your faces, Roses, you are not so fair after all ! She's modest as ony, and blithe as she's bonnie, ROBERT BROWNING. For guileless simplicity marks her its ain; And far be the villain, divested of feeling, Wha'd blight in its bloom the sweet Flower o' ON A GIRDLE. Dumblane. THE LASS OF RICHMOND HILL. On Richmond Hill there lives a lass More bright than May-day morn, Whose charms all other maids surpass, – A rose without a thorn. By dae ar night, the best ov all, To zee my Fanny's smilén fiace; An' dere the stiately trees da grow, A-rocken as the win' da-blow, While she da sweetly sleep below, In the stillness o' the night. This lass so neat, with smiles so sweet, • Has won my right good-will ; I'd crowns resign to call her mine, Sweet lass of Richmond Hill. Ye zephyrs gay, that fan the air, And wanton through the grove, I die for her I love. Who calls this nymph his own ! 0, may her choice be fixed on me! Mine's fixed on her alone. An' dere at evemen I da goo, A-hoppen auver ghiates an' bars, By twinklen light o' winter stars, An' zometimes we da slyly catch In the stillness o' the night. Young nâighbours' housen down the pliace, An' I da get a clue to triace An' I da wish a vield a mile, WILLIAM BARNES. UPTON MARY MORISON. O MISTRESS MINE. O MARY, at thy window be ! It is the wished, the trysted hour ! Those smiles and glances let me see That make the miser's treasure poor : How blithely wad I bide the stoure, A weary slave frae sun to sun, The lovely Mary Morison. The dance gaed through the lighted ha', To thee my fancy took its wing, — I sat, but neither heard nor saw : Though this was fair, and that was braw, And yon the toast of a' the town, I sighed, and said amang them a', “Ye are na Mary Morison.” O MISTRESS mine, where are you roaming ? 0, stay and hear! your true-love's coming That can sing both high and low; Trip no further, pretty sweeting, Journeys end in lovers' meeting, - Every wise man's son doth know. What is love? 't is not hereafter ; What's to come is still unsure : SHAKESPEARE, THE LOW-BACKED CAR. O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace Wha for thy sake wad gladly dee? Or canst thou break that heart of his, Whase only faut is loving thee ? At least be pity to me shown ; ROBERT BURNS. When first I saw sweet Peggy, 'T was on a market day : A low-backed car she drove, and sat Upon a truss of hay ; But when that hay was blooming grass, And decked with flowers of spring, No flower was there that could compare With the blooming girl I sing. As she sat in the low-backed car, The man at the turnpike bar Never asked for the toll, But just rubbed his owld poll, And looked after the low-backed car. IN THE STILLNESS O' THE NIGHT. DORSET DIALECT. Ther 's aone wher I da like to call, |