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TUNE-“Tam Glen."

My heart is a-breaking, dear tittie !

Some counsel unto me come len', To anger them a' is a pity,

But what will I do wi' Tam Glen ?

I'm thinking wi' sic a braw fellow

In poortith I might make a fen’; What care I in riches to wallow,

If I maunna marry Tam Glen ?

There's Lowrie, the Laird o' Drumeller,

“Gude day to you, brute!” he comes ben; He brags and he blaws o’his siller,

But when will he dance like Tam Glen ?

My minnie does constantly deave me,

And bids me beware o' young men; They flatter, she says, to deceive me,

But wha can think sae o' Tam Glen ?

My daddie says, gin I'll forsake him,

He 'll gi’e me gude hunder marks ten; But if it's ordained I maun tak’ him,

Oh, wha will I get but Tam Glen ?

How cruel are the Parents.


Yestreen at the valentine's dealing,

My heart to my mou' gi’ed a sten; For thrice I drew ane without failing,

And thrice it was written-Tam Glen.

The last Halloween I was waukin'

My droukit sark sleeve, as ye ken; His likeness cam' up the house staukin',

And the very gray breeks o' Tam Glen!

Come counsel, dear tittie! don't tarry-
I'll gi'e you my bonnie black hen,

will advise me to marry
The lad I lo'e dearly, Tam Glen.

Gif ye


TUNE—“John Anderson, my jo."

[Altered from an old English song. ]
How cruel are the parents

Who riches only prize,
And to the wealthy booby

Poor woman sacrifice!
Meanwhile the hapless daughter

Has but a choice of strife,--.
To shun a tyrant father's hate,

Become a wretched wife.

The rav’ning hawk pursuing,

The trembling dove thus flies,
To shun impelling ruin

Awhile her pinions tries :
Till of escape despairing,

No shelter or retreat,
She trusts the ruthless falconer,

And drops beneath his feet.


TUNE—“Robie donna gorach.”

The Thames flows proudly to the sea

Where royal cities stately stand; But sweeter flows the Nith, to me,

Where Cummins ance had high command : When shall I see that honour'd land,

That winding stream I love so dear? Must wayward fortune's adverse hand

For ever, ever keep me here?

How lovely, Nith, thy fruitful vales,

Where spreading hawthorns gaily bloom ! How sweetly wind thy sloping dales,

Where lambkins wanton thro' the broom !

O Lassie, art thou sleeping yet?


Tho' wandering now must be my doom,

Far frae thy bonnie banks and braes, May there my latest hours consume

Amang the friends of early days !


TUNE—“Let me in this ae night.”

O LASSIE, art thou sleeping yet?
Or art thou waukin', I would wit?
For love has bound me hand and foot,

And I would fain be in, jo.


Oh let me in this ae night,

This ae, ae, ae night;
For pity's sake this ae night,

Oh rise and let me in, jo!

Thou hear'st the winter wind and weet,
Nae star blinks thro' the driving sleet;
Tak’ pity on my weary feet,

And shield me frae the rain, jo.

The bitter blast that round me blaws
Unheeded howls, unheeded fa's;
The cauldness o' thy heart 's the cause

Of a' my grief and pain, jo.



Sung to the same Tune.

Oh tell na me o' wind and rain,
Upbraid na me wi' cauld disdain;
Gae back the gait ye cam' again,

I winna let you in, jo!


I tell you now, this ae night,

This ae, ae, ae night;
An' ance for a' this ae night,

I winna let you in, jo.

The snellest blast, at mirkest hours, That round the pathless wand'rer pours, Is nocht to what poor she endures,

That's trusted faithless man, jo.

The sweetest flower that deck'd the mead,
Now trodden like the vilest weed;
Let simple maid the lesson read,

The weird may be her ain, jo.

The bird that charm’d his summer day,
Is now the cruel fowler's prey;
Let witless, trusting woman say

How aft her fate's the same, jo.

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