We'll gae down by Clouden side,
Thro' the hazels spreading wide,
O'er the waves that sweetly glide
To the moon sae clearly.
Yonder Clouden's silent towers,
Where at moonshine, midnight hours,
O'er the dewy bending flowers,
Fairies dance sae cheery.
Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear;
Thou'rt to love and heaven sae dear,
Nocht of ill may come thee near,
My bonnie dearie.
Fair and lovely as thou art,
Thou hast stown my very heart;
I can die-but canna part,
My bonnie dearie.
While waters wimple to the sea;
While day blinks in the lift sae hie;
Till clay-cauld death shall blin' my ee,
Ye shall be my dearie.
COME BOAT ME O'ER TO CHARLIE. TUNE-O'er the Water to Charlie.
COME boat me o'er, come row me o'er,
Come boat me o'er to Charlie;
I'll gie John Ross another bawbee,
To boat me o'er to Charlie.
We'll o'er the water and o'er the sea,
We'll o'er the water to Charlie ;
Come weal, come woe, we'll gather and go,
And live or die wi' Charlie.
I loe weel my Charlie's name,
Tho' some there be abhor him ;
But oh, to see auld Nick gaun hame,
And Charlie's faes before him!
I swear and vow by moon and stars,
And sun that shines so early,
If I had twenty thousand lives,
I'd die as aft for Charlie.
COME, LET ME TAKE THEE TO MY BREAST.
COME, let me take thee to my breast,
And pledge we ne'er shall sunder;
And I shall spurn as vilest dust
The warld's wealth and grandeur.
And do I hear my Jeanie own
That equal transports move her?
1 ask for dearest life alone
That I may live to love her.
Thus in my arms, wi' all thy charms,
I clasp my countless treasure;
I'll seek nae mair o' heaven to share,
Than sic a moment's pleasure :
And by thy een sae bonnie blue,
I swear I'm thine for ever!
And on thy lips I seal my vow,
And break it shall I never!
COMING THROUGH THE RYE.
TUNE-Coming through the Rye.
COMING through the rye, poor body,
Coming through the rye,
She draiglet a' her petticoatie,
Coming through the rye.
Jenny's a' wat, poor body,
Jenny's seldom dry;
She draiglet a' her petticoatie,
Coming through the rye.
Gin a body meet a body
Coming through the rye,
Gin a body kiss a body,
Need a body cry?
Gin a body meet a body
Coming through the glen,
Gin a body kiss a body,
Need the world ken?
CONTENTED WI' LITTLE.
TUNE-Lumps o' Pudding.
CONTENTED wi' little, and cantie wi' mair, Whene'er I forgather wi' sorrow and care,
I gie them a skelp as they're creepin' alang, Wi' a cog o' guid swats, and an auld Scottish
I whiles claw the elbow o' troublesome thought;
But man is a sodger, and life is a faught: My mirth and good humour are coin in my pouch,
And my Freedom's my lairdship nae monarch dare touch.
A townmond o' trouble, should that be my fa', A night o' guid fellowship sowthers it a': When at the blythe end of our journey at last, Wha the deil ever thinks o' the road he has past?
Blind chance, let her snapper and stoyte on her way;
Be't to me, be't frae me, e'en let the jade gae: Come ease, or come travail; come pleasure, or pain,
My warst word is-" Welcome, and welcome again!"
COULD AUGHT OF SONG.
TUNE-Could aught of Song.
COULD aught of song declare my pains,
Could artful numbers move thee,
The muse should tell, in labour'd strains,
Oh Mary, how I love thee!
They who but feign a wounded heart
May teach the lyre to languish ;
But what avails the pride of art,
When wastes the soul with anguish ?
Then let the sudden bursting sigh
The heart-felt pang discover;
And in the keen, yet tender eye,
Oh read th' imploring lover!
For well I know thy gentle mind
Disdains art's gay disguising;
Beyond what fancy e'er refin'd,
The voice of nature prizing.
COUNTRY LASSIE.
TUNE-The Country Lass.
IN simmer, when the hay was mawn,
And corn wav'd green in ilka field,
While claver blooms white o'er the lea,
And roses blaw in ilka bield;
Blythe Bessie in the milking shiel,
Says "I'll be wed, come o't what will." Out spak a dame in wrinkled eild
O' guid advisement comes nae ill.
It's ye hae wooers mony ane,
And, lassie, ye're but young, ye ken;
Then wait a wee, and cannie wale
A routhie butt, a routhie ben:
There's Johnie o' the Buskie-glen,
Fu' is his barn, fu' is his byre;
Tak this frae me, my bonnie hen,
It's plenty beets the luver's fire."
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