AYE WAKING, O!

Aye waking, O!
Waking aye and wearie,
Rest I canna get

For thinking on my dearie.
O this love, this love!
Life to me how dreary!
When I sleep I dream;
Oh! when I wake I'm eerie.
O this love, this love!

Long, long the night,

Heavy comes the morrow, While my soul's delight

Is on her bed of sorrow.

Can I cease to care,

Can I cease to languish,
While my darling fair

Is on the couch of anguish?
O this love, this love!

Long, long the night,

Heavy comes the morrow,

While my soul's delight

Is on her bed of sorrow,

Ev'ry hope is fled,

Ev'ry fear is terror;
Slumber ev'n I dread,

Ev'ry dream is horror.
O this love, this love!

Long, long the night,

Heavy comes the morrow, While my soul's delight

Is on the bed of sorrow. Hear me, powers divine! Oh, in pity hear me ! Take aught else of mine,

But my Chloris spare me! Spare, O spare my Love!

HARK THE MAVIS, &e.

Hark! the mavis' evening sang
Sounding Clouden's woods amang;
Then a faulding let us gang,
My bonnie dearie.

Ca' the ewes to the knowes,

Ca' them where the heather grows,
Ca' them where the burnie rows,
My bonnie, bonnie dearie.
Ca' them where the burn rows,
My bonnie dearie.

We'll gae down by Clouden-side,
Through the hazels, spreading wide
O'er the waves, that sweetly glide
To the moon sae clearly.
Ca' the ewes, &c.

Yonder Clouden's silent towers,
Where, at moon-shine mid-night hours,
O'er the dewy bending flowers,
Fairies dance sae cheery.

Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear, Thou'rt to love and heaven sae dear,

Nought of ill may come thee near,

My bonnie dearie.

Ca' the ewes, &c.

Fair and lovely as thou art,

Thou hast stown my very heart,

I can die, but canna part,

My bonnie dearie.

Ca' the ewes, &c.

M2

ON A BANK OF FLOWERS, &c.

On a bank of flowers, in a summer day,
For summer lightly drest,
The youthful blooming Nelly lay,
With love and sleep opprest;

When Willie, wand'ring through the wood,
Who for her favour oft had sued;

He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd, And trembled where he stood.

Her closed eyes, like weapons sheath'd,
Were seal'd in soft repose;

Her lips, still as she fragrant breath'd,
It richer dy'd the rose.

The springing lilies sweetly prest,
Wild, wanton kiss'd her rival breast;
He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd,
His bosom ill at rest.

Her robes, light waving in the breeze,
Her tender limbs embrace;
Her lovely form, her native ease,
All harmony and grace:
Tumultuous tides his pulses roll,

A faltering ardent kiss he stole;

He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd, And sigh'd his very soul.

As flies the partridge from the brake,

On fear-inspired wings;

So Nelly, starting, half awake,
Away affrighted springs:

But Willie followed,-as he should,

He overtook her in the wood;

He vow'd, he pray'd, he found the maid

Forgiving all, and good.

UP IN THE MORNING EARLY.

Up in the morning's no for me

Up in the morning early:

When a' the hills are covered wi snaw,
I'm sure it's winter fairly.

Cold blaws the wind frae east to west,
The drift is driving sairly!

Sae loud and shrill's I hear the blast,
I'm sure it's winter fairly.

The birds sit chittering in the thorn,
A' day they fare but sparely;
And lang's the night frae e'en to morn,
I'm sure it's winter fairly.
Up in the morning, &c.

THERE'S A YOUTH IN THIS CITY.

There's a youth in this city, it were a great pity
That he from our lasses should wander awa;
For he's bonnie and braw, weel-favour'd with a',
And his hair has a natural buckle and a'.
His coat is the hue of his bonnet sae blue;

His fecket is white as the new-driven snaw; His hose they are blae, and his shoon like the slac, And his clear siller buckles they dazzle us a'. His coat is the hue, &c.

For beauty and fortune the laddie's been courtin; Weel-featur'd, weel-tocher'd, weel-mounted, and

braw;

But chiefly the siller, that gars him gang till her, The pennie's the jewel that beautifies a'.There's Meg wi' the mailin, that fain wad a haen him,

And Susy, whase daddy was laird o' the ha'; There's lang-tocher'd Nancy maist fetters his fancy, -But the laddie's dear sel he lo'es dearest of a'.

DELIA.

Fair the face of orient day,
Fair the tints of op'ning rose;
But fairer still my Delia dawns,
More lovely far her beauty blows.

Sweet the lark's wild-warbled lay,
Sweet the tinkling rill to hear;
But, Delia, more delightful still,
Steal thine accents on mine ear.

The flower-enamour'd busy bee
The rosy banquet loves to sip;
Sweet the streamlet's limpid lapse
To the sun-brown'd Arab's lip;

But, Delia, on thy balmy lips
Let me, no vagrant insect, rove!
O let me steal one liquid kiss!
For oh! my soul is parch'd with love.