HOW LANG AN' DREARY IS THE NIGHT. TUNE-" Cauld kail in Aberdeen." How lang an' dreary is the night I restless lie frae e'en to morn, For oh, her lanely nights are lang; When I think on the lightsome days How slow ye move, ye heavy hours! It was na sae ye glinted by For oh, her lanely nights are lang; Poortith cauld. 87 POORTITH CAULD. TUNE-"I had a horse." O POORTITH Cauld and restless love, Oh, why should fate sic pleasure have, This warl's wealth when I think on, Fie, fie on silly coward man, That he should be the slave o't. Her een sae bonnie blue betray Oh, wha can prudence think upon, Oh, wha can prudence think upon, How blest the humble cottar's fate! STRATHALLAN'S LAMENT. ["The air," says Burns, "is the composition of one of the worthiest and best-hearted men living-Allan Masterton, schoolmaster in Edinburgh. As he and I were both sprouts of Jacobitism, we agreed to dedicate the words and air to that cause.. To tell the truth, except when my passions were heated by some accidental cause, my Jacobitism was merely by way of vive la bagatelle."] THICKEST night, o'erhang my dwelling! Crystal streamlets gently flowing, The Braes o Ballochmyle. In the cause of right engaged, Wrongs injurious to redress, Ruin's wheel has driven o'er us, 89 THE BRAES O' BALLOCHMYLE. TUNE-"The braes o' Ballochmyle." ["Composed on the amiable and excellent family of Whitefoord's leaving Ballochmyle, when Sir John's misfortunes obliged him to sell the estate."-Burns.] THE Catrine woods were yellow seen, Low in your wintry beds, ye flowers, Ye birdies dumb, in with'ring bowers, Shall birdie charm or flow'ret smile; WANDERING WILLIE. TUNE-"Here awa', there awa'." [Messrs. Erskine and Thomson having suggested some changes in the following song, our Poet, with his usual judgment, adopted some of their alterations and rejected others. The last edition is as follows.] HERE awa', there awa', wandering Willie, Tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same. Winter winds blew loud and cauld at our parting, Fears for my Willie brought tears in my e'e; Welcome now simmer and welcome my Willie, The simmer to nature, my Willie to me. Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave of your slumbers, How your dread howling a lover alarms! Wauken, ye breezes! row gently, ye billows! And waft my dear Willie ance mair to my arms! |