Heavy, heavy is the task,

Hopeless love declaring;

Trembling, I dow nocht but glower,

Sighing, dumb, despairing!

If she winna ease the thraws

In my bosom swelling, Underneath the grass-green sod, Soon maun be my dwelling.

LOGAN BRAES.

TUNE-Logan Water.

O LOGAN, Sweetly didst thou glide,
That day I was my Willie's bride!
And years sinsyne hae o'er us run,
Like Logan to the simmer sun.
But now thy flowery banks appear
Like drumlie winter, dark and drear,
While my dear lad maun face his faes,
Far, far frae me and Logan braes.

Again the merry month o' May
Has made our hills and valleys gay;
The birds rejoice in leafy bowers,

can, do nothing,

[stare

will not, pangs

must

since then have

The bees hum round the breathing flowers:
Blithe morning lifts his rosy eye,

And evening's tears are tears of joy :
My soul, delightless, a' surveys,
While Willie's far frae Logan braes.

Within yon milk-white hawthorn bush,
Amang her nestlings sits the thrush;
Her faithfu' mate will share her toil,
Or wi' his songs her cares beguile:
But I wi' my sweet nurslings here,
Nae mate to help, nae mate to cheer,
Pass widowed nights and joyless days,
While Willie's far frae Logan braes.

O wae upon you, men o' state,
That brethren rouse to deadly hate!
As

ye make many a fond heart mourn,
Sae may it on your heads return!
How can your flinty hearts enjoy
The widow's tear, the orphan's cry?
But soon may peace bring happy days,

And Willie hame to Logan braes!

OH WERE MY LOVE YON LILAC FAIR.
TUNE-Hughie Graham.

O WERE my love yon lilac fair,

Wi' purple blossoms to the spring;

And I, a bird to shelter there,

When wearied on my little wing!

summer

gloomy

must, foes

from

among

no

woe

THERE was a lass, and she was fair,
At kirk and market to be seen;
When a' the fairest maids were met,
The fairest maid was bonnie Jean.

And aye she wrought her mammie's wark,
And aye she sang sae merrilie:

The blithest bird upon the bush

Had ne'er a lighter heart than she.

But hawks will rob the tender joys

That bless the little lintwhite's nest; And frost will blight the fairest flowers, And love will break the soundest rest.

Young Robie was the brawest lad,

The flower and pride of a' the glen; And he had owsen, sheep, and kye, And wanton naigies nine or ten.

He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryste,

He danced wi' Jeanie on the down; And lang ere witless Jeanie wist,

Her heart was tint, her peace was stown.

As in the bosom o' the stream

The moonbeam dwells at dewy e'en,
So trembling, pure, was tender love
Within the breast o' bonnie Jean.

And now she works her mammie's wark,
And aye she sighs wi' care and pain;
Yet wist na what her ail might be,

Or what wad mak her weel again.

But did na Jeanie's heart loup light,
And did na joy blink in her ee,
As Robie tauld a tale o' love
Ae e'enin on the lily lea?

work 80

linnets

oxen, kine horses

went, meeting

knew lost, stolen

even

ailment would, well

jump

eye

told

one

The sun was sinking in the west,
The birds sang sweet in ilka grove;
His cheek to hers he fondly prest,

And whispered thus his tale o' love:

"O Jeanie fair, I loe thee dear;

O canst thou think to fancy me;
Or wilt thou leave thy mammie's cot,
And learn to tent the farms wi' me?

"At barn or byre thou shalt na drudge,
Or naething else to trouble thee;
But stray amang the heather-bells,

And tent the waving corn wi' me."

Now what could artless Jeanie do?
She had nae will to say him na ;
At length she blushed a sweet consent,
And love was aye between them twa.

every

tend

not nothing

no

two

PHILLIS THE FAIR.

TUNE-Robin Adair.

WHILE larks with little wing
Fanned the pure air,

Tasting the breathing spring,
Forth I did fare:

Gay the sun's golden eye

Peeped o'er the mountains high;

Such thy morn! did I cry,

Phillis the fair.

In each bird's careless song,
Glad did I share;

While yon wild-flowers among,
Chance led me there:
Sweet to the opening day,

Rosebuds bent the dewy spray;

Such thy bloom! did I say,
Phillis the fair.

Down in a shady walk

Doves cooing were;

I marked the cruel hawk
Caught in a snare:
So kind may fortune be,
Such make his destiny,
He who would injure thee,
Phillis the fair.

HAD I A CAVE.

TUNE-Robin Adair.

HAD I a cave on some wild distant shore,
Where the winds howl to the waves' dashing roar;
There would I weep my woes,
There seek my lost repose,

Till griof my eyes should close,
Ne'er to wake more!

Falsest of womankind! canst thou declare,
All thy fond-plighted vows-fleeting as air!
To thy new lover hie,
Laugh o'er thy perjury;
Then in thy bosom try
What peace is there!

BY ALLAN STREAM I CHANCED TO ROVE.
TUNE-Allan Water.

By Allan stream I chanced to rove,

While Phoebus sank beyond Benledi;

The winds were whispering through the grove,
The yellow corn was waving ready:

I listened to a lover's sang,

And thought on youthfu' pleasures mony;
And aye the wild-wood echoes rang-

Oh, dearly do I love thee, Annie!
Oh, happy be the woodbine bower,
Nae nightly bogle make it eerie ;
Nor ever sorrow stain the hour,

The place and time I met my dearie!
Her head upon my throbbing breast,
She, sinking, said, "I'm thine for ever!"
While mony a kiss the seal imprest,

The sacred vow, we ne'er should sever.
The haunt o' Spring's the primrose brae,
The Simmer joys the flocks to follow;
How cheery through her shortening day,
Is Autumn, in her weeds o' yellow!
But can they melt the glowing heart,

Or chain the soul in speechless pleasure?
Or through each nerve the rapture dart,

Like meeting her, our bosom's treasure?

song

many

ghost, dismal

WHISTLE, AND I'LL COME TO YOU, MY LAD.
TUNE-Whistle, and I'll come to you, my Lad

O WHISTLE, and I'll come to you, my lad,
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad;
Though father and mither and a' should gae mad,
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad.

go

But warily tent, when ye come to court me,
And come na unless the back-yett be a-jee;
Syne up the back-stile, and let naebody see,
And come as ye were na comin' to me.

At kirk, or at market, whene'er you meet me,
Gang by me as though that ye cared nae a flie;
But steal me a blink o' your bonnie black ee,
Yet look as ye were na lookin' at me.

Aye vow and protest that ye care na for me,
And whiles ye may lichtlie my beauty a wee;
But court na anither, though jokin' ye be,
For fear that she wile your fancy frae me.

take care

gate, ajar then

not

go, not eye

slight

from

ADOWN WINDING NITH I DID WANDER.
TUNE-The Mucking o' Geordie's Byre.

ADOWN winding Nith I did wander,

To mark the sweet flowers as they spring; Adown winding Nith I did wander,

Of Phillis to muse and to sing.

CHORUS.

Awa wi' your belles and your beauties,
They never wi' her can compare:

Whaever has met wi' my Phillis,

Has met wi' the queen o' the fair.

The daisy amused my fond fancy,
So artless, so simple, so wild;
Thou emblem, said I, o' my Phillis!
For she is simplicity's child.

The rose-bud's the blush o' my charmer,
Her sweet balmy lip when 'tis prest:

How fair and how pure is the lily,

But fairer and purer her breast.

Yon knot of gay flowers in the arbour,
They ne'er wi' my Phillis can vie:

Her breath is the breath o' the woodbine,
Its dew-drop o' diamond her eye.

Her voice is the song of the morning,

That wakes through the green-spreading grove,

When Phoebus peeps over the mountains,

On music, and pleasure, and love.

But, beauty, how frail and how fleeting-
The bloom of a fine summer's day!
While worth in the mind o' my Phillis
Will flourish without a decay.

away