BANNOCKS O' BARLEY.
TUNE-The Killogie.
BANNOCKS o' bear meal
Bannocks o' barley;
Here's to the Highlandman's
Bannocks o' barley.
Wha in a brulzie
Will first cry a parley?
Never the lads wi'
The bannocks o' barley.
Bannocks o' bear meal,
Bannocks o'barley;
Here's to the lads wi'
The bannocks o' barley!
Wha in his wae-days
Were loyal to Charlie ?-
Wha but the lads wi'
The bannocks o' barley?
BEHOLD THE HOUR.
TUNE-Oran-Gaoil.
BEHOLD the hour, the boat arrive;
Thou goest thou darling of my heart!
Sever'd from thee, can I survive?
But fate has will'd, and we must part.
I'll often greet this surging swell,
Yon distant isle will often hail : "E'en here I took the last farewell; There latest mark'd her vanish'd sail."
Along the solitary shore,
While flitting sea-fowl round me cry,
Across the rolling, dashing roar,
I'll westward turn my wistful eye;
Happy thou Indian grove, I'll say,
Where now my Nancy's path may be !
While thro' thy sweets she loves to stray,
Oh, tell me, does she muse on me!
BESS AND HER SPINNING-WHEEL.
TUNE-The sweet lass that loes me.
Oн leeze me on my spinning-wheel,
Oh leeze me on my rock and reel ;
Frae tap to tae that cleeds me bien,
And haps me fiel and warm at e'en !
I'll sit me down and sing and spin,
While laigh descends the simmer sun,
Blest wi' content, and milk and meal-
Oh leeze me on my spinning-wheel!
On ilka hand the burnies trot,
And meet below my theekit cot;
The scented birk and hawthorn white,
Across the pool their arms unite,
Alike to screen the birdie's nest,
And little fishes' caller rest:
The sun blinks kindly in the biel',
Where blythe I turn my spinning-wheel.
On lofty aiks the cushats wail,
And echo cons the doolfu' tale;
The lintwhites in the hazel braes,
Delighted, rival ither's lays :
The craik amang the clover hay,
The paitrick whirrin' o'er the ley,
The swallow jinkin round my shiel,
Amuse me at my spinning-wheel.
Wi' sma' to sell, and less to buy,
Aboon distress, below envy,
Oh wha wad leave this humble state
For a' the pride of a' the great?
Amid their flaring, idle toys,
Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys,
Can they the peace and pleasure feel
Of Bessy at her spinning-wheel ?
TUNE-On a Bank of Flowers.
ON a bank of flowers, in a summer day,
For summer lightly drest,
The youthful blooming Nelly lay,
With love and sleep opprest;
When Willie, wand'ring thro' the wood,
Who for her favour oft had sued,
He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd,
And trembled where he stood.
Her closed eyes like weapons sheath'd,
Were seal'd in soft repose;
Her lips still as she fragrant breath'd,
It richer dy'd the rose.
The springing lilies sweetly prest,
Wild-wanton, kiss'd her rival breast; He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd—
His bosom ill at rest.
Her robes light waving in the breeze,
Her tender limbs embrace;
Her lovely form, her native ease,
All harmony and grace:
Tumultuous tides his pulses roll,
A faltering, ardent kiss he stole ;
He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd,
And sigh'd his very soul.
As flies the partridge from the brake,
On fear-inspired wings,
So Nelly starting, half awake,
Away affrighted springs :
But Willy follow'd, as he should,
He overtook her in the wood;
He vow'd, he pray'd, he found the maid
Forgiving all and good.
TUNE-Liggeram Cosh.
BLYTHE hae I been on yon hill,
As the lambs before me;
Careless ilka thought and free,
As the breeze flew o'er me:
Now nae longer sport and play,
Mirth or sang can please me;
Lesley is sae fair and coy,
Care and anguish seize me.
Heavy, heavy is the task,
Hopeless love declaring:
Trembling, I dow nocht but glow'r,
Sighing, dumb, despairing!'
If she winna ease the thraws
In my bosom swelling,
Underneath the grass green sod,
Soon maun be my dwelling.
TUNE-Andro and his Cutty Gun.
BLYTHE, blythe and merry was she,
Blythe was she butt and ben :
Blythe by the banks of Ern,
And blythe in Glenturit glen.
By Auchtertyre grows the aik,
On Yarrow banks the birken shaw;
But Phemie was a bonnier lass
Than braes o' Yarrow ever saw.
Her looks were like a flow'r in May,
Her smile was like a simmer morn;
She tripped by the banks o' Ern,
As light's a bird upon a thorn.
Her bonnie face it was as meek
As ony lamb upon a lea;
The evening sun was ne'er sae sweet
As was the blink o' Phemie's ee.
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