He

up the lang loan to my black cousin Bess, Guess ye how, the jad ! I could bear her, could

bear her,
Guess ye how, the jad ! I could bear her.

But a' the neist week as I fretted wi’ care,

I gaed to the tryste o' Dalgarnock,
An' wha but my fine fickle lover was there !

I glower'd as I'd seen a warlock, a warlock,
I glower'd as I'd seen a warlock.

But owre my left shouther I ga’e him a blink,

Lest neibors might say I was saucy;
My wooer he caper'd as he'd been in drink,

And vow'd I was his dear lassie, dear lassie,
And vow'd I was his dear lassie.

I spier'd for my cousin fu' couthy and sweet,

Gin she had recover'd her hearin', And how her new shoon fit her auld shachľ't feet,

But, heavens ! how he fell a-swearin', a swearin', But, heavens ! how he fell a-swearin'.

He begged, for gudesake, I wad be his wife,

Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow:
So e’en to preserve the poor body in life,

I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow,
I think I maun wed him to-morrow.

Here's a health to them that's awa'.

67

A RED, RED ROSE.

TUNE_"Graham's strathspey.”
Oh, my luve's like a red, red rose,

That's newly sprung in June:
Oh, my luve's like the melodie

That's sweetly played in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,

So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,

Till a’ the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,

And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
I will luve thee still, my dear,

While the sands o’ life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only luve!

And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my luve,

Tho'it were ten thousand mile.

HERE'S A HEALTH TO THEM THAT'S

AWA'.

TUNE-"Here's a health to them that's awa.”

HERE's a health to them that 's awa',

Here's a health to them that's awa';

F

An' wha winna wish gude luck to our cause,

May never gude luck be their fa'!
It 's gude to be merry an’ wise,

It's gude to be honest an' true,
It 's gude to support Caledonia's cause,

An' bide by the buff an' the blue.

Here's a health to them that's awa',

Here's a health to them that's awa';
Here's a health to Charlie, the chief o' the clan,

Altho' that his band be but sma'.
May liberty meet wi' success !

May prudence protect her frae evil ! May tyrants an' tyranny tine in the mist,

An' wander their way to the devil !

Here's a health to them that 's awa',

Here's a health to them that 's awa’; Here's a health to Tammie, the Norland laddie,

That lives at the lug o' the law; Here's freedom to him that wad read !

Here's freedom to him that wad write! There's nane ever fear'd that the truth should be heard,

But they wham the truth wad indite.

a

Here's a health to them that's awa',

Here's a health to them that's awa’; Here's Chieftain M‘Leod, a chieftain worth gowd,

Tho' bred amang mountains o'snaw !

Lord Gregory.

69

Here's friends on both sides of the Forth,

An' friends on both sides of the Tweed; An' wha wad betray old Albion's rights,

May they never eat of her bread.

LORD GREGORY.

Oh, mirk, mirk is this midnight hour,

An' loud the tempest's roar;
A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tower, -

Lord Gregory, ope thy door.

An exile frae her father's ha',

An' a' for loving thee;
At least some pity on me shaw,

If love it may na be.

Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grove,

By bonnie Irwine side,
Where first I own'd that virgin love

I lang, lang had denied ?

How aften didst thou pledge an’ vow
Thou wad for aye be mine;

fond heart, itsel' sae true,
It ne'er mistrusted thine.

An' my

Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory,

An' flinty is thy breast:
Thou dart of heaven that flashest by,

Oh, wilt thou give me st!

Ye mustering thunders from above

Your willing victim see!
But spare an' pardon my fause love,

His wrangs.to Heaven an'me!

MARY MORISON.

TUNE—“Bide ye yet," or "The miller." [“One of my juvenile works.”—Burns.

“Of all the productions of Burns, the pathetic and serious love songs which he has left behind him in the manner of old ballads, are perhaps those which take the deepest and most lasting ho!d of the mind. Such are the lines to Mary Morison, &c.”—Hazlitt.]

O Mary, at thy window be,

It is the wish'd, the trysted hour!
Those smiles an' glances let me see,

That make the miser's treasure poor:
How blithely wad I bide the stoure,

A weary slave frae sun to sun,
Could I the rich reward secure

The lovely Mary Morison.

Yestreen when to the trembling string,

The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha',