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CA' THE EWES.
TUNE-"Ca' the ewes to the knowes."
CA' the yowes to the knowes,
Hark the mavis' evening sang
We'll gae down by Clouden side,
Yonder Clouden's silent towers, Whare at moonshine, midnight 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
Nocht of ill may come thee near,
My bonnie dearie.
Thine am I, my faithful Fair.
Fair and lovely as thou art
While waters wimple to the sea;
THINE AM I, MY FAITHFUL FAIR.
TUNE-"Liggeram Cosh" ["The quaker's wife"].
THINE am I, my faithful fair,
Thine, my lovely Nancy;
Ev'ry pulse along my veins,
To thy bosom lay my heart,
Take away these rosy lips,
Rich with balmy treasure:
Turn away thine eyes of love,
What is life when wanting love?
SHE SAYS SHE LO'ES ME BEST OF A'.
SAE flaxen were her ringlets,
Her eyebrows of a darker hue, Bewitchingly o'er-arching
Twa laughing een o' bonnie blue.
Her smiling, sae wiling,
Wad mak' a wretch forget his woe:
What pleasure, what treasure,
Like harmony her motion;
Her pretty ankle is a spy,
Betraying fair proportion,
Wad make a saint forget the sky.
Sae warming, sae charming,
Her faultless form an' graceful air;
Saw ye my Phely?
Ilk feature-auld Nature
Declar'd that she could do nae mair.
Let others love the city,
And gaudy show at sunny noon; Gi'e me the lonely valley,
The dewy eve, and rising moon Fair beaming, and streaming
Her silver light the boughs amang;
While falling, recalling,
The amorous thrush concludes his sang:
SAW YE MY PHELY?
TUNE-"When she cam' ben she bobbit."
Oн, saw ye my dear, my Phely?
Oh, saw ye my dear, my Phely?
She's down i' the grove, she's wi' a new love, She winna come hame to her Willie.
What says she, my dearest, my Phely?
Oh, had I ne'er seen thee, my Phely!
LET NOT WOMAN E'ER COMPLAIN.
["These English songs gravel me to death. I have not that command of the language that I have of my native tongue. I have been at 'Duncan Gray' to dress it in English, but all I can do is deplorably stupid. For instance."-Burns to Thomson.]
LET not woman e'er complain
Of inconstancy in love;
Look abroad through Nature's range,
Man should then a monster prove?