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I'll aye ca' in by yon Town.

73

Or lightly flit on wanton wing
In the birks of Aberfeldy.

The braes ascend, like lofty wa's,
The foamy stream deep-roaring fa's,
O'erhung wi' fragrant spreading shaws,
The birks of Aberfeldy.

The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' flow'rs,
White o'er the linns the burnie pours,
An' rising, weets wi' misty showers
The birks of Aberfeldy.

Let fortune's gifts at random flee,
They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me,
Supremely blest wi' love an' thee,
In the birks of Aberfeldy.

I'LL AYE CA' IN BY YON TOWN.

TUNE-"I'll gae nae mair to yon town."

I'LL aye ca' in by yon town,

And by yon garden green again;

I'll aye ca' in by yon town,

And see my bonnie Jean again.

There's nane sall ken, there's nane sall guess,

What brings me back the gate again, But she, my fairest, faithfu' lass,

And stowlins we sall meet again.

She'll wander by the aiken tree,
When trystin'-time draws near again;
And when her lovely form I see,
Oh, haith, she's doubly dear again!
I'll aye ca' in by yon town,

And by yon garden green again:

I'll aye ca' in by yon town,

And see my bonnie Jean again.

THE EXCISEMAN.

TUNE-"The de'il cam' fiddling through the town."

["At a meeting of his brother excisemen in Dumfries, Burns being called upon for a song, handed these verses extempore to the president, written on the back of a letter."-Currie.]

THE de'il cam' fiddling through the town,
An' danc'd awa' wi' the Exciseman,

And ilka wife cries—“ Auld Mahoun,
I wish you luck o' the prize, man!"
The de'il's awa', the de'il 's awa',

The de'il's awa' wi' the Exciseman;
He's danc'd awa', he 's danc'd awa',

He's danc'd awa' wi' the Exciseman!

Oh, wat ye wha's in yon Town.

We'll mak' our maut, we 'll brew our drink,

We'll dance, an' sing, an' rejoice, man;
And mony braw thanks to the meikle black de'il
That danc'd awa' wi' the Exciseman.

The de'il's awa', the de'il's awa',
The de'il's awa wi' the Exciseman;
He's danc'd awa', he's danced awa',

He's danc'd awa' wi' the Exciseman.

There's threesome reels, there's foursome reels,
There's hornpipes and strathspeys, man;
But the ae best dance e'er cam' to the land
Was the de'il's awa' wi' the Exciseman.
The de'il's awa', the de'il's awa',

The de'il's awa' wi' the Exciseman;
He's danc'd awa', he's danc'd awa',
He's danc'd awa' wi' the Exciseman.

OH, WAT YE WHA'S IN YON TOWN.

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TUNE-"I'll gae nae mair to yon town."

OH, wat ye wha's in yon town,
Ye see the e'enin' sun upon ?
The fairest dame's in yon town,
That e'enin' sun is shining on.

75

Now haply down yon gay green shaw,
She wanders by yon spreading tree;
How blest, ye flow'rs that round her blaw,
Ye catch the glances o' her e'e!

How blest, ye birds that round her sing,
And welcome in the blooming year!
And doubly welcome be the spring,
The season to my Lucy dear.

The sun blinks blithe in yon town,
And on yon bonnie braes of Ayr!
But my delight in yon town,

And dearest bliss, is Lucy fair.

Without my love, not a' the charins
O' Paradise could yield me joy;
But gi'e me Lucy in my arms,

And welcome Lapland's dreary sky!

My cave wad be a lover's bower,

Tho' raging winter rent the air;

And she a lovely little flow'r,

That I would tent and shelter there.

Oh, sweet is she in yon town,

Yon sinking sun's gane down

A fairer than's in yon town

upon;

His setting beam ne'er shone upon.

If

Lassie wi' the lint-white Locks.

angry

fate is sworn my foe,

And suffering I am doom'd to bear;
I careless quit aught else below,

But spare me-spare me Lucy dear!

For while life's dearest blood is warm,
Ae thought from her shall ne'er depart,
And she-as fairest in her form!

She has the truest, kindest heart!

77

LASSIE WI' THE LINT-WHITE LOCKS.

TUNE-"Rothiemurche's rant."

["This piece has at least the merit of being a regular pastoral: the vernal morn, the summer noon, the autumnal evening, and the winter night are regularly rounded."-Burns to Thomson.]

CHORUS.

LASSIE Wi' the lint-white locks,

Bonnie lassie, artless lassie,
Wilt thou wi' me tent the flocks,
Wilt thou be my dearie, O?

Now Nature cleeds the flowery lea,
An' a' is young an' sweet like thee:
Oh, wilt thou share its joys wi' me,

An' say thou 'lt be my dearie, O?

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