THE LASS O' ARRANTEENIE.

ROBERT TANNAHILL. This poet, a weaver in Paisley-an amiable but most unfortunate man-wrote upon many imaginary fair ones, and associated their names with places he had never seen. Arranteenie is a place unknown, but is supposed to have been intended for Ardentinny, a lovely spot on the shores of Loch Long, in Argyleshire, which Tannahill had never visited.

FAR lone amang the Highland hills,

Midst nature's wildest grandeur,
By rocky dens and woody glens,
With weary steps I wander.
The langsome way, the darksome day,
The mountain mist sae rainy,
Are naught to me when gaun to thee,
Sweet lass o' Arranteenie.

Yon mossy rose-bud down the how
Just opening fresh and bonny,
It blinks beneath the hazel bough,
And's scarcely seen by ony.
Sae sweet amidst her native hills
Obscurely blooms my Jeanie,
Mair fair and gay than rosy May,
The flower o' Arranteenie.

Now from the mountain's lofty brow
I view the distant ocean;

There avarice guides the bounding prow,

Ambition courts promotion.

Let Fortune pour her golden store,

Her laurell'd favours many,

Give me but this, my soul's first wish,

The lass o' Arranteenie.

JESSIE, THE FLOWER O' DUMBLANE.

ROBERT TANNAHILL. The music by R. A. SMITH. One of the most popular
of the modern Scotch melodies.

THE sun has gane down o'er the lofty Benlomond,
And left the red clouds to preside o'er the scene,
While lanely I stray in the calm summer gloaming,
To muse on sweet Jessie, the flow'r o' Dumblane.

How sweet is the brier wi' its soft faulding blossom,
And sweet is the birk wi' its mantle o' green;
Yet sweeter and fairer, and dear to this bosom,
Is lovely young Jessie, the flow'r o' Dumblane.

She's modest as ony, and blythe as she's bonny,
For guileless simplicity marks her its ain;
And far be the villain, divested of feeling,

Wha'd blight in its bloom the sweet flow'r o' Dumblane.
Sing on, thou sweet mavis, thy hymn to the e'ening,
Thou'rt dear to the echoes of Calderwood glen;
Sae dear to this bosom, sae artless and winning,
Is charming young Jessie, the flow'r o' Dumblane.

How lost were my days till I met wi' my Jessie,
The sports of the city seem'd foolish and vain ;
I ne'er saw a nymph I could ca' my dear lassie,
Till charm'd with young Jessie, the flow'r o' Dumblane.
Though mine were the station o' loftiest grandeur,
Amidst its profusion I'd languish in pain,

And reckon as naething the height o' its splendour,
If wanting young Jessie, the flow'r o' Dumblane.

OH, ARE YE SLEEPING, MAGGIE?

ROBERT TANNAHILL. Air-"Sleepy Maggie."

Он, are ye sleeping, Maggie,

Oh, are ye sleeping, Maggie?

Let me in, for loud the linn

Is roaring o'er the warlock craigie.

Mirk and rainy is the night,

No a starn in a' the carry ;

Lightnings gleam athwart the lift,
And winds drive wi' winter's fury.

Oh, are ye sleeping, Maggie, &c.

Fearful soughs the boortree bank,

The rifted wood roars wild and dreary; Loud the iron yate goes clank,

And cry of howlets makes me eerie.

Oh, are ye sleeping, Maggie, &c.

Aboon my breath I darna speak,

For fear I rouse your waukrife daddie;
Cauld's the blast upon my cheek,—
Oh, rise, rise, my bonny ladye!

Oh, are ye sleeping, Maggie, &c.

She opt the door, she let him in,
He cuist aside his dreeping plaidie.
"Blaw your warst, ye rain and win',
Since, Maggie, now I'm in aside ye."

Now since ye're waking, Maggie,
Now since ye're waking, Maggie;
What care I for the howlet's cry,

For boortree bank, or warlock craigie!

LOUDON'S BONNIE WOODS AND BRAES.

ROBERT TANNAHILL.

"LOUDON's bonnie woods and braes,
I maun leave them a', lassie ;
Wha can thole when Britain's faes
Would gie to Britons law, lassie ?
Wha wad shun the field o danger?
Wha to fame would live a stranger?
Now when freedom bids avenge her,

Wha should shun her ca', lassie ?
Loudon's bonnie woods and braes
Hae seen our happy bridal days,
And gentle hope shall soothe thy waes,
When I am far awa, lassie."

66

Hark, the swelling bugle rings,
Yielding joy to thee, laddie;
But the dolefu' bugle brings
Waefu' thochts to me, laddie.
Lanely I may climb the mountain,
Lanely stray beside the fountain,
Still the weary moments counting,
Far frae love and thee, laddie.
Ower the gory fields o' war,

Where vengeance drives his crimson car,
Thou may fa' frae me afar,

And nane to close thy ee, laddie."

Oh, resume thy wonted smile,

Oh, suppress thy fears, lassie ;
Glorious honour crowns the toil
That the soldier shares, lassie.
Heaven will shield thy faithful lover
Till the vengeful strife is over;
Then we'll meet nae mair to sever,

Till the day we dee, lassie.

Midst our bonnie woods and braes
We'll spend our peaceful, happy days,
As blythe's yon lichtsome lamb that plays
On Loudon's flowery lea, lassie."

WHAT AILS THIS HEART?

SUSANNA BLAMIRE.

Air-"Sir James Baird's favourite," or "My dearie, an' thou dee."

WHAT ails this heart o' mine?

What ails this watery ee?

What gars me a' turn cauld as death

When I take leave o' thee?

When thou art far awa',

Thou'lt dearer grow to me;

But change o' place and change o' folk

May gar thy fancy jee.

When I gae out at e'en,

Or walk at morning air,

Ilk rustling bush will seem to say,
I used to meet thee there.
Then I'll sit down and cry,
And live aneath the tree,
And when a leaf fa's i' my lap,
I'll ca't a word frae thee.

I'll hie me to the bower

That thou wi' roses tied,

And where wi' mony a blushing bud
I strove mysel' to hide.

I'll doat on ilka spot

Where I hae been wi' thee,

And ca' to mind some kindly word
By ilka burn and tree.

Wi' sic thoughts i' my mind,

Time through the world may gae,
And find my heart in twenty years
The same as 'tis to-day.

'Tis thoughts that bind the soul,
And keep friends i' the ee;
And gin I think I see thee aye,
What can part thee and me?

THE WAEFU' HEART.

SUSANNA BLAMIRE. Published 1788.

GIN livin' worth could win my heart,
You would not speak in vain;
But in the darksome grave it's laid,
Never to rise again.

My waefu' heart lies low wi' his,

Whose heart was only mine;

And, oh, what a heart was that to lose! But I maun no repine.