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.

THE MIRK NIGHT O' DECEMBER.

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.

219

OH, SAW YE MY DEARIE?

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.

OF A' THE AIRTS THE WIND CAN BLAW.

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;

Craigieburn Wood.

Ae smile o' her wad banish care,
Sae charming is my Jean.

What sighs an' vows amang the knowes
Ha'e passed atween us twa!

How fond to meet, how wae to part,

That night she gaed awa'!

The powers aboon can only ken,
To whom the heart is seen,
That nane can be sae dear to me
As my sweet lovely Jean!

221

CRAIGIEBURN WOOD.

TUNE-"Craigieburn Wood."

["Composed on a passion which a Mr. Gillespie, a particular friend of mine, had for a Miss Lorimer, afterwards Mrs. Whelpdale. The young lady was born at Craigieburn Wood" (near Moffat).-Burns.]

SWEET fa's the eve on Craigieburn,

An' blithe awakes the morrow;
But a' the pride o' spring's return
Can yield me nocht but sorrow.
I see the flowers an' spreading trees,
I hear the wild birds singing;
But what a weary wight can please,
An' care his bosom wringing?

Fain, fain would I my griefs impart,
Yet darena for your anger;

But secret love will break my heart

If I conceal it langer.

If thou refuse to pity me,

If thou shalt love anither,

When yon green leaves fade frae the tree, Around my grave they'll wither.

LOVELY POLLY STEWART.

TUNE-"Ye're welcome, Charlie Stuart."

Oн, lovely Polly Stewart !

Oh, charming Polly Stewart!

There's not a flower that blooms in May
That's half so fair as thou art.

The flower it blaws, it fades and fa's,
And art can ne'er renew it;
But worth and truth eternal youth

Will give to Polly Stewart.

May he whase arms shall fauld thy charms Possess a leal and true heart;

To him be given to ken the heaven

He grasps in Polly Stewart!

Oh, lovely Polly Stewart !

Oh, charming Polly Stewart!

There's ne'er a flower that blooms in May

That's half so sweet as thou art.