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What is life when wanting love?
SHE SAYS SHE LO'ES ME BEST OF A'.
SAE flaxen were her ringlets,
Her eyebrows of a darker hue, Bewitchingly o'er-arching
Twa laughing een o' bonnie blue.
Her smiling, sae wiling,
Wad mak' a wretch forget his woe:
What pleasure, what treasure,
Like harmony her motion;
Her pretty ankle is a spy,
Betraying fair proportion,
Wad make a saint forget the sky.
Sae warming, sae charming,
Her faultless form an' graceful air;
Saw ye my Phely?
Ilk feature-auld Nature
Declar'd that she could do nae mair.
Let others love the city,
And gaudy show at sunny noon; Gi'e me the lonely valley,
The dewy eve, and rising moon Fair beaming, and streaming
Her silver light the boughs amang;
While falling, recalling,
The amorous thrush concludes his sang:
SAW YE MY PHELY?
TUNE-"When she cam' ben she bobbit."
Oн, saw ye my dear, my Phely?
Oh, saw ye my dear, my Phely?
She's down i' the grove, she's wi' a new love, She winna come hame to her Willie.
What says she, my dearest, my Phely?
Oh, had I ne'er seen thee, my Phely!
LET NOT WOMAN E'ER COMPLAIN.
["These English songs gravel me to death. I have not that command of the language that I have of my native tongue. I have been at 'Duncan Gray' to dress it in English, but all I can do is deplorably stupid. For instance."-Burns to Thomson.]
LET not woman e'er complain
Of inconstancy in love;
Look abroad through Nature's range,
Man should then a monster prove?
My Chloris, mark how Green the Groves. 191
Mark the winds and mark the skies;
Why then ask of silly man
You can be no more, you know.
MY CHLORIS, MARK HOW GREEN THE GROVES.
TUNE "My lodging is on the cold ground."
["On my visit, the other day, to my fair Chloris (Jean Lorimer), she suggested an idea, which I, on my return from the visit, wrought into the following song."-Burns to Thomson.]
My Chloris, mark how green the groves,
The primrose banks how fair;
The balmy gales awake the flowers,
And wave thy flaxen hair.
The lav'rock shuns the palace gay,
And o'er the cottage sings:
Let minstrels sweep the skilfu' string
The shepherd stops his simple reed,
The princely revel may survey
The shepherd in the flowery glen
But is his heart as true?
These wild-wood flowers I've pu'd, to deck
IT WAS THE CHARMING MONTH OF
[Altered from an old English song.]
It was the charming month of May,
One morning by the break of day,
The youthful, charming Chloe,