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TUNE-"The Northern Lass."

[This beautiful fragment is an early composition.]

THOUGH cruel fate should bid us part,
As far's the Pole and Line,
Her dear idea round my heart
Should tenderly entwine.

Though mountains frown and deserts howl,

And oceans roar between;

Yet dearer than my deathless soul,
I still would love my Jean.


TUNE-"Johnny M'Gill."

OH, wilt thou go wi' me, sweet Tibbie Dunbar ? Oh, wilt thou go wi' me, sweet Tibbie Dunbar ? Wilt thou ride on a horse, or be drawn in a car, Or walk by my side, sweet Tibbie Dunbar?

I carena thy daddie, his lands and his money,
I carena thy kin, sae high and sae lordly;
But say thou wilt ha'e me, for better for waur,
An' come in thy coatie, sweet Tibbie Dunbar!

Mauchline Belles.



TUNE-"John Anderson, my jo."

ONE night as I did wander,
When corn begins to shoot,

I sat me down to ponder,
Upon an auld tree-root.

Auld Ayr ran by before me,
An' bickered to the seas,

A cushat crooded o'er me,
That echoed through the trees.


TUNE-"Mauchline belles."

Oн, leave novels, ye Mauchline belles,
Ye're safer at your spinning wheel;
Such witching books are baited hooks
For rakish rooks, like Rob Mossgiel.

Your fine Tom Jones and Grandisons,
They make your youthful fancies reel;
They heat your veins, and fire your brains,
An' then ye 're prey for Rob Mossgiel.


Beware a tongue that's smoothly hung,
A heart that warmly seems to feel;
That feeling heart but acts a part,
'Tis rakish art in Rob Mossgiel.

The frank address, the soft caress,
Are worse than poison'd darts o' steel

The frank address an' politesse

Are all finesse in Rob Mossgiel.


TUNE-" May, thy morn."

O MAY, thy morn was ne'er sae sweet
As the mirk night o' December,
For sparkling was the rosy wine,
An' secret was the chamber;
An' dear was she I darena name,
But I will aye remember:
An' dear was she I darena name,
But I will aye remember.

An' here's to them that, like oursel',
Can push about the jorum;

An' here's to them that wish us weel,

May a' that's gude watch o'er them!

Oh, saw ye my Dearie?

An' here's to them we darena name,

The dearest o' the quorum :

An' here's to them we darena tell,
The dearest o' the quorum.



TUNE-" Eppie Macnab."

[Altered from the old song of "Eppie Macnab," which had more wit than decency.]

Oн, saw ye my dearie, my Eppie M'Nab?
Oh, saw ye my dearie, my Eppie M'Nab?
She's down in the yard, she's kissin' the laird,
She winna come hame to her ain Jock Rab.
Oh, come thy ways to me, my Eppie M'Nab!
Oh, come thy ways to me, my Eppie M'Nab!
Whate'er thou hast done, be it late, be it soon,
Thou's welcome again to thy ain Jock Rab.

What says she, my dearie, my Eppie M‘Nab?
What says she, my dearie, my Eppie M'Nab?
She lets thee to wit, that she has thee forgot,
An' for ever disowns thee, her ain Jock Rab.
Oh, had I ne'er seen thee, my Eppie M'Nab!
Oh, had I ne'er seen thee, my Eppie M'Nab!
As light as the air, as fause as thou's fair,
Thou's broken the heart o' thy ain Jock Rab.


TUNE-"Miss Admiral Gordon's strathspey."

["This song I composed out of compliment to Mrs. Burns.-N. B. It was in the honeymoon."-Burns.]

Of a' the airts the wind can blaw,

I dearly like the west,

For there the bonnie lassie lives,

The lassie I lo'e best:

There wild woods grow, an' rivers row,

An' mony a hill between;

But day an' night my fancy's flight
Is ever wi' my Jean.

I see her in the dewy flow'rs,
I see her sweet an' fair:

I hear her in the tunefu' birds,
I hear her charm the air:

There's not a bonnie flow'r that springs
By fountain, shaw, or green,
There's not a bonnie bird that sings,
But minds me o' my Jean.

Oh, blaw, ye westlin winds, blaw saft
Amang the leafy trees,

Wi' balmy gale, frae hill an' dale
Bring hame the laden bees;
An' bring the lassie back to me

That's aye sae neat an' clean;

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