In my bower if ye should stay;
Let me stay, quo' Findlay;
I fear ye'll bide till break o' day;
Indeed will I, quo' Findlay.
Here this night if ye remain;
I'll remain, quo' Findlay;
I dread ye'll learn the gate again;
Indeed will I, quo' Findlay.
What may pass within this bower-
Let it pass, quo' Findlay;
Ye maun conceal till your last hour;
Indeed will I, quo' Findlay.
AE fond kiss, and then we sever!
Ae fareweel, alas, for ever!
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.
Who shall say that fortune grieves him
While the star of hope she leaves him?
Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me,
Dark despair around benights me.
I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy,
Naething could resist my Nancy;
But to see her, was to love her;
Love but her, and love for ever.
Had we never lov'd sae kindly,
Had we never lov'd sae blindly,
Never met-or never parted,
We had ne'er been broken hearted.
Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest !
Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest !
Thine be ilka joy and treasure,
Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure.
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever;
Ae fareweel, alas, for ever!
Deep in heart-wrung tears I pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.
THE BONIE BLINK O' MARY'S EE.
Now bank an' brae are claith'd in green,
An' scatter'd cowslips sweetly spring,
By Girvan's fairy haunted stream
The birdies flit on wanton wing.
To Cassillis' banks when e'ening fa's,
There wi' my Mary let me flee,
There catch her ilka glance o' love,
The bonie blink o' Mary's ee!
The chield wha boasts o' warld's wealth,
Is aften laird o' meikle care;
But Mary she is a' my ain,
Ah, fortune canna gie me mair!
Then let me range by Cassillis' banks
Wi' her the lassie dear to me,
And catch her ilka glance o' love,
The bonie blink o' Mary's ee!
OUT over the Forth I look to the north,
But what is the north and its Highlands to me? The south nor the east gie ease to my breast,
The far foreign land, or the wild rolling sea.
But I look to the west, when I gae to rest,
That happy my dreams and my slumbers may be; For far in the west lives he I lo'e best,
The lad that is dear to my babie and me.
THE BONIE LAD THAT'S FAR AWAY.
TUNE-OWRE THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY.'
O How can I be blithe and glad,
Or how can I gang brisk and braw,
When the bonie lad that I lo❜e best
Is o'er the hills and far awa?
It's no the frosty winter wind,
Its no the driving drift and snaw;
But ay the tear comes in my e'e,
To think on him that's far awa.
My father pat me frae his door,
My friends they hae disown'd me a':
But I hae ane will tak my part,
The bonie lad that's far awa.
A pair o' gloves he gae to me,
And silken snoods he gae me twa;
And I will wear them for his sake,
The bonie lad that's far awa.
The weary winter soon will pass,
And spring will cleed the birken-shaw:
And my sweet babie will be born,
And he'll came hame that's far awa.
THE GOWDEN LOCKS OF ANNA.
TUNE-BANKS OF BANNA.'
YESTREEN I had a pint o' wine,
A place where body saw na';
Yestreen lay on this breast o' mine
The gowden locks of Anna.
The hungry Jew in wilderness
Rejoicing o'er his manna,
Was naething to my hinny bliss
Upon the lips of Anna.
Ye monarchs, tak the east and west,
Frae Indus to Savannah !
Gie me within my straining grasp
The melting form of Anna.
There I'll despise imperial charms,
An Empress or Sultana,
While dying raptures in her arms,
I give and take with Anna!
Awa, thou flaunting god o' day!
Awa, thou pale Diana!
Ilk star gae hide thy twinkling ray
When I'm to meet my Anna.
Come, in thy raven plumage, night,
Sun, moon, and stars withdrawn a';
And bring an angel pen to write
My transports wi' my Anna!
The kirk and state may join, and tell
To do such things I mauna:
The kirk and state may gae to hell,
And I'll gae to my Anna.
She is the sunshine o' my ee,
To live but her I canna;
Had I on earth but wishes three,
The first should be my Anna.
How pleasant the banks of the clear-winding Devon, With green-spreading bushes, and flowers blooming fair!
But the boniest flower on the banks of the Devon Was once a sweet bud on the braes of the Ayr.
Mild be the sun on this sweet blushing flower,
In the gay rosy morn as it bathes in the dew! And gentle the fall of the soft vernal shower, That steals on the evening each leaf to renew.
O, spare the dear blossom, ye orient breezes,
With chill hoary wing as ye usher the dawn!
And far be thou distant, thou reptile that seizes
The verdure and pride of the garden and lawn!
Let Bourbon exult in his gay gilded lilies,
And England triumphant display her proud rose; A fairer than either adorns the green valleys
Where Devon, sweet Devon, meandering flows.
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