SONG. Nae gentle dames, tho' e'er sae fair, Within the glen sae bushy, 0, O were yon hills and valleys mine, But fickle fortune frowns on me, Altho' thro' foreign climes I range, Within the glen, &c. For her I'll dare the billows' roar, For her I'll trace a distant shore, That Indian wealth may lustre throw Within the glen, &c. * Gentle is used here in opposition to simple, in the Scottish and old English sense of the word. Nae gentle dames-no high-blooded dames. E. She has my heart, she has my hand, Farewell the glen sae bushy, O! ADDRESS TO A LADY. Oh wert thou in the cauld blast, I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee: Around thee blaw, around thee blaw, Or were I in the wildest waste, Sae black and bare, sae black and bare, The desart were a paradise, If thou wert there, if thou wert there. Or were I monarch o' the globe, Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign; The brightest jewel in my crown Wad be my queen, wad be my queen. This is an early production, and seems to have been written on Highland Mary. E. THE DUMFRIES VOLUNTEERS. Tune," Push about the Jorum." April, 1795. Does haughty Gaul invasion threat? Then let the loons beware, sir, Fall de rall, &c. O let us not like snarling tykes For never but by British hands The kettle o' the kirk and state, Our fathers' blude the kettle bought, By heaven the sacrilegious dog Shall fuel be to boil it. Fall de rall, &c. A high hill at the source of the Nith. + A well-known mountain at the mouth of the same river. The wretch that wad a tyrant own, And the wretch his true-born brother, Who would set the mob aboon the throne, May they be damned together. Who will not sing "God save the king," SONG. Tune," Morag." O wha is she that lo'es me, O sweet is she that lo'es me, CHORUS. O that's the lassie o' my heart, O that's the queen o' woman kind, If thou shalt meet a lassie, In grace and beauty charming, Ere while thy breast sae warming If thou hast met this fair one; But her thou hast deserted, O that's the lassie o' my heart, O that's the queen o' woman kind, SONG. Jockey's ta'en the parting kiss," Nought but griefs with me remain. Spare my luve, ye winds that blaw, When the shades of evening creep He will think on her he loves, |