The bonnie wee thing. The tender thrill, the pitying tear, 143 THE BONNIE WEE THING. TUNE-"Bonnie wee thing." ["Composed on my little idol, the charming, lovely Davies."-Burns.] BONNIE wee thing, cannie wee thing, I wad wear thee in my bosom, Wit, an' grace, an' love, an' beauty, Goddess o' this soul o' mine! I wad wear thee in my bosom, A ROSE-BUD BY MY EARLY WALK. TUNE-"The shepherd's wife." ["This song I composed on Miss Jenny Cruickshanks, only child to my worthy friend Mr. William Cruickshanks, of the High School, Edinburgh."-Burns.] A ROSE-BUD by my early walk, All on a dewy morning. Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fled, In a' its crimson glory spread, An' drooping rich the dewy head, Within the bush, her covert nest, Sae early in the morning. She soon shall see her tender brood, So thou, dear bird, young Jeanie fair! Braving angry Winter's Storms. 145 So thou, sweet rose-bud, young an' gay, That watch'd thy early morning. BRAVING ANGRY WINTER'S STORMS. TUNE-"Neil Gow's lament for Abercairny." ["This song I composed on one of the most accomplished of women, Miss Peggy Chalmers that was, now Mrs. Lewis Hay, of Forbes & Co.'s Bank, Edinburgh."-Burns.] WHERE, braving angry winter's storms, The lofty Ochils rise, Far in their shade my Peggy's charms Astonish'd, doubly marks its beam, Blest be the wild, sequester'd shade, But tearing Peggy from my soul BONNIE CASTLE-GORDON. TUNE-"Morag." STREAMS that glide in orient plains, Spicy forests, ever gay, Shading from the burning ray Bent on slaughter, blood, and spoil; Woods that ever verdant wave, I leave the tyrant and the slave; Wildly here, without control, She plants the forest, pours the flood: The young Highland Rover. Life's poor day I'll musing rave, And find at night a sheltering cave, Where waters flow and wild woods wave, THE YOUNG HIGHLAND ROVER. TUNE-"Morag." LOUD blaw the frosty breezes, The snaws the mountains cover, Like winter on me seizes, Since my young Highland Rover Far wanders nations over. Where'er he go, where'er he stray, May Heaven be his warden, Return him safe to fair Strathspey, An' bonnie Castle-Gordon ! The trees, now naked groaning, 147 |