Page images
PDF
EPUB
[blocks in formation]

Jenny's heart was frank and free, And wooers she had mony, yet Of a' I see,

Her

sang was ay,

Commend me to my Johnie yet. For, air and late, he has sic gate

To mak' a body cheerie, that

I wish to be, before I die,

His ain kind dearie yet.

Now Jenny's face was fu' o' grace,
Her shape was sma' and genty-like,
And few or nane in a' the place

Had gow'd and gear mair plenty yet;
Though war's alarms, and Johnie's charms,
Had gart her aft look eerie, yet
She sung wi' glee, I hope to be
My Johnie's ain dearie yet.

What tho' he's now gaen far awa',
Where guns and cannons rattle, yet

Unless my Johnie chance to fa'

In some uncanny battle, yet

Till he return, my breast will burn

Wi' love that weel may cheer me yet,

For I hope to see, before I die,

His bairns to him endear me yet.

ALLAN-A-DALE.

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

Allan-a-dale has no faggot for burning;
Allan-a-dale has no furrow for turning;
Allan-a-dale has no fleece for the spinning,
Yet Allan-a-dale has red gold for the winning.
Come read me my riddle, come hearken my tale,
And tell me the craft of bold Allan-a-dale.

The Baron of Ravensworth prances in pride,
And he views his domains upon Arkindale side;
The mere for his net, and the land for his game;
The chase for the wild, and the park for the tame;
Yet the fish of the lake, and the deer of the vale,
Are less free to Lord Dacre than Allan-a-dale.

Allan-a-dale was ne'er belted a knight,

Though his spur be as sharp, and his blade be as bright; Allan-a-dale is no baron or lord,

Yet twenty tall yeomen will draw at his word;

And the best of our nobles his bonnet will vail,

Who at Rerecross, on Stanmore, meets Allan-a-dale.

Allan-a-dale to his wooing is come,

The mother, she ask'd of his household and home:

Though the castle of Richmond stand fair on the hill,
My hall, quoth bold Allan, shows gallanter still,
'Tis the blue vault of heaven with its crescent so pale,
And with all its bright spangles! said Allan-a-dale.

!

The father was steel, and the mother was stone;
They lifted the latch, and they bade him begone;
But loud on the morrow, their wail and their cry
He had laugh'd on the lass with his bonny black eye,
And she fled to the forest to hear a love-tale,
And the youth it was told by was Allan-a-dale.

THE LASS OF PRESTON-MILL.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.

The lark had left the evening cloud,
The dew fell soft, the wind was lowne,

Its gentle breath amang the flowers

Scarce stirr'd the thistle's top of down;

The dappled swallow left the pool,

The stars were blinking o'er the hill,
When I met among the hawthorns green
The lovely lass of Preston-mill.

Her naked feet amang the grass

Shone like two dewy lilies fair;

Her brow beam'd white aneath her locks

Black curling o'er her shoulders bare; Her cheeks were rich wi' bloomy youth, Her lips had words and wit at will, And heaven seem'd looking through her een, The lovely lass of Preston-mill.

Quoth I, fair lass, wilt thou gang

wi' me,

Where black-cocks crow, and plovers cry?

Six hills are woolly wi' my sheep,

Six vales are lowing wi' my kye.

I have look'd long for a weel-faur'd lass,
By Nithsdale's holms, and many a
hill-
She hung her head like a dew-bent rose,
The lovely lass of Preston-mill.

I said, sweet maiden, look nae down,
But gie's a kiss, and come with me;
A lovelier face O ne'er look'd up,-
The tears were dropping frae her e’e.
I hae a lad who's far awa',

That weel could win a woman's will;
My heart's already full of love,-
Quoth the lovely lass of Preston-mill.

Now who is he could leave sic a lass,
And seek for love in a far countree?
Her tears dropp'd down like simmer dew;
I fain wad kiss'd them frae her ee.

« ՆախորդըՇարունակել »