O! Nannie, when thou'rt far away,
Wilt thou not cast a look behind?
Say, canst thou face the parching ray,
Nor shrink before the wintry wind?
O! can that saft and gentlest mien
Severest hardships learn to bear,
Nor sad, regret each courtly scene,
Where thou wert fairest of the fair?
O! Nannie, canst thou love so true,
Through perils keen wi' me to gae?
Or when thy swain mishap shall rue,
To share with him the pang of wae?
And when invading pains befal,
Wilt thou assume the nurse's care,
Nor wishful those gay scenes recal,
Where thou wert fairest of the fair?
And when, at last, thy love shall die,
Wilt thou receive his parting breath?
Wilt thou repress each struggling sigh,
And cheer with smiles the bed of death?
And wilt thou o'er his much-loved clay
Strew flowers, and drop the tender tear?
Nor then regret those scenes so gay,
Where thou wert fairest of the fair?
PARTING SONG.
GREVILLE CHESTER.
THE our is come, and we must part;
The bell has toll'd, and we must sever.
Come hour; strike bell; my steadfast heart
Is bound to thee, sweet love, for ever.
The hour is come, and we must part,
I o'er the salt sea-waves must roam;
Though ocean roll between, take heart,
Sweet love, thou art my only home.
Thou art my home, and unto thee
My every thought will ever turn;
Thou art my home, no stormy sea
Can quench the flame with which I burn.
The hour is come, and we must part;
The bell has struck our parting knell;
Thou know'st me true, sweet love, take heart,
One parting kiss, and then farewell.
I'M OWRE YOUNG TO MARRY YET.
Music at Z. T. Purday's.
I'M owre young, I'm owre young,
I'm owre young to marry yet,
I'm owre young, 'twould be a sin
To tak me frae my mammy yet;
I am my mammy's ain bairn,
Nor of my hame am weary yet,
And I would have ye learn, lads,
That ye for me must tarry yet.
For I'm owre young, &c.
I'm owre young, I'm owre young,
I'm owre young to marry yet,
I'm owre young, 'twould be a sin
To tak me frae my mammy yet;
For I hae had my ain way,
Nane dare to contradict me yet,
So soon to say I wad obey,
In truth I darena venture yet.
For I'm owre young, &c.
SHALL I, WASTING IN DESPAIR,
G. WITHERS.-Music at Cocks and Co.'s.
SHALL I, wasting in despair,
Die because a woman's fair?
Shall my cheeks look pale with care,
Because another's rosy are?
Be she fairer than the day,
Or the flowering meads in May;
If she be not so to me,
What care I how fair she be?
Be she kind, or meek, or fair,
I will ne'er the more despair:
If she love me, this believe,
I will die ere she shall grieve.
If she slight me when I woo,
I will scorn and let her go:
If she be not made for me,
What care I for whom she be
THE ENGLISHMAN'S WIFE.
J. E. CARPENTER.-Music at J. Williams's.
'Tis a libel on woman to say, through the casement
Love flies when grim poverty comes to the door;
For the heart that is noble ne'er feels it debasement
To love when the loved one is wealthy no more.
There are ties that are felt in the time of dejection,
That link us more closely to love and to life,
And who the world's trials can bring to subjection
Like she who must share them,-an Englishman's
wife?
We should fail, we should sink 'neath the weight of
Were it not that for others we struggle to thrive ; And our children might clamour with hunger tomorrow,
If we fail'd for a day to be hopeful and strive. Then what though our future be sunless and dreary, And the path we now traverse the down-hill of life, Though scanty the board, still the home may be cheery, Illumed by the bright smiles of children and wife,
A WIFE IS THE MAIN THING.
"OH, I'm a poor unlucky wight
As ever there was born, sir,
There's nothing in my house that's right,
'Tis lonely and forlorn, sir;
I've cash enough, and pay it well,
To keep my house in order,
But ne'er can get a decent meal
Though plentiful my larder;
'Tis overdone or underdone,
Perhaps not done at all, sir;
No man had ever such a home
In all this dreary world, sir.
My coat is at the elbows out,
I ne'er can get it mended;
My shirts are scorch'd in ironing,
My vest to ribbons rended;
My stockings down unto the ground,
I ne'er can keep a garter;
And if they e'er get wash'd at all
It's sure in dirty water.
There's nothing done that should be done,
And if it's done at all, sir,
It better never had been done,
Than done so very ill, sir.'
"Go, get a wife," the old man said,
"Nor sit ye here complaining;
Of wedlock never be afraid,
A prudent wife's the main thing;
She'll keep your house, she'll mend your clothes,
And chat and sing the while, sir;
And when at eve you hasten home,
She'll meet you with a smile, sir.
And all that's done will be well done,
And done without complaining;
If e'er you'd have a pleasant home,
A wife-a wife's the main thing,'
Jack quickly took the sage advice,
And woo'd a farmer's daughter,
And never did he rue the day
When home a bride he brought her.
His clothes are always clean and neat,
His house is like a palace;
His cooking that a king might eat,
And do it with a relish.
And now he is a happy man,
He never goes complaining;
But with a joyous smile declares
A wife-a wife's the main thing.
AND YE SHALL WALK IN SILK ATTIRE.
AND ye shall walk in silk attire,
And siller hae to spare;
Gin ye'll consent to be my bride,
Nor think on Donald mair!
Oh, wha would wear a silken gown
Wi' a puir broken heart?
Or what's to me a siller crown,
Gin frae my love I part?
I wadna walk in silk attire,
Nor braid wi' gowd my hair;
Gin he whose faith is pledged wi' mine
Were wrang'd and grieving sair.
Frae infancy he loved me still,
And still my heart shall prove
How weel it can those vows fulfil,
Which first repaid his love.
I wadna, &c.
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