I DO CONFESS THOU ART SAE FAIR 1. I DO confess thou art sae fair, I wad been o'er the lugs in luve; Had I not found the slightest prayer That lips could speak thy heart could muve. I do confess thee sweet, but find Thou art sae thriftless o' thy sweets, Thy favours are the silly wind That kisses ilka thing it meets. See yonder rose-bud rich in dew, YON WILD MOSSY MOUNTAINS. YON wild mossy mountains sae lofty and wide, That nurse in their bosom the youth o' the Clyde, Where the grouse lead their coveys thro' the heather to feed, [his reed: And the shepherd tents his flock as he pipes on Where the grouse, &c. This song is altered from a poem by Sir Robert Ayton, private secretary to Mary and Anne, queens of Scotland. The poem is to be found in James Watson's Collection of Scots Poems, the earliest collection printed in Scotland.-I think that I have improved the simplicity of the sentiments, by giving them a Scots dress.-Burns' Reliques, p. 292. Not Gowrie's rich valley, nor Forth's sunny shores, To me hae the charms o' yon wild, mossy moors; For there wi' my lassie the day lang I rove, To beauty what man but maun yield him a prize, They dazzle our een, as they fly to our hearts. But kindness, sweet kindness, in the fond sparkling ee, Has lustre outshining the diamond to me; And the heart-beating love, as I'm clasp'd in her arms, O, these are my lassie's all-conquering charms! WHA IS THAT AT MY BOWER DOOR? WHA is that at my bower door? O, wha is it but Findlay; Then gae your gate, ye'se nae be here! Indeed maun I, quo' Findlay. WHA IS THAT AT MY BOWER DOOR? 137 What mak ye sae like a thief? (, come and see, quo' Findlay; Before the morn ye'll work mischief; Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. Gif I rise and let you in; In ye Ye'll keep me waukin wi' your din; I'll remain, quo' Findlay; I dread ye'll learn the gate again; THO' CRUEL FATE. THO' cruel fate should bid us part, As far's the pole and line; Her dear idea round my heart Should tenderly entwine. Tho' mountains frown and deserts howl, And oceans roar between; Yet, dearer than my deathless soul, I still would love my Jean. FARE THEE WEEL. AE fond kiss, and then we sever! Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee, Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest! Deep in heart-wrung tears I pledge thee, THE BONNIE 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. THE BONNIE LAD THAT'S FAR AWA. 139 The chield wha boasts o' warld's wealth, Ah, fortune canna gie me mair! THE BONNIE LAD THAT'S FAR AWA. Or how can I gang brisk and braw, It's no the frosty winter wind, My father pat me frae his door, A pair o' gloves he gae to me, And silken snoods' he gae me twa; And I will wear them for his sake, 1 Ribands for binding the hair. |