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The pathless wild an' wimpling burn,
Wi' Chloris in my arms, be mine;
An' I the world nor wish nor scorn,
Its joys an' griefs alike resign.



TUNE-"Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear."


HERE'S a health to ane I lo'e dear!

Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear!

Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers meet, An' soft as their parting tear-Jessy!

Altho' thou maun never be mine,

Altho' even hope is denied: 'Tis sweeter for thee despairing,

Than aught in the world beside-Jessy!

I mourn thro' the gay, gaudy day,

As, hopeless, I muse on thy charms;
But welcome the dream o' sweet slumber,
For then I am lock'd in thy arms-Jessy!

I guess by the dear angel smile,

I guess by the love rolling e'e;

But why urge the tender confession,

'Gainst fortune's fell cruel decree-Jessy!


To a Highland air.

THE tither morn, when I forlorn
Aneath an aik sat moaning,
I did na trow I'd see my jo
Beside me gin the gloaming.
But he, sae trig, lap o'er the rig,
An' dawtingly did cheer me,
When I, what reck, did least expec'
To see my lad so near me.

His bonnet he, a thought ajee,

Cock'd sprush when first he clasp'd me;

An' I, I wat, wi' fainness grat,

While in his grips he press'd me.

De'il tak' the war! I late an' air
Ha'e wish'd since Jock departed;

But now as glad I'm wi' my lad
As short syne broken hearted.

Fu' aft at e'en, wi' dancing keen,
When a' were blithe an' merry,
I car'd na by, sae sad was I,

In absence o' my dearie.

But, praise be blest, my mind's at rest,
I'm happy wi' my Johnny:

At kirk an' fair, I'se aye be there,

An' be as canty's ony.

Fairest Maid on Devon Banks.



TUNE-" Charlie Gordon's welcome hame."

OUT over the Forth I look to the north,

But what is the north and its Highlands to me? The south nor the east gi'e ease to my breast, The far-foreign land or the wild-rolling sea.

But I look to the west when I gae to rest,
That happy my dreams and my slumbers may be;
For far in the west lives he I lo'e best-
The lad that is dear to my baby an' me.


TUNE-"Rothiemurche's rant."

[The Poet's last song.]


FAIREST maid on Devon banks,

Crystal Devon, winding Devon,

Wilt thou lay that frown aside,

And smile as thou were wont to do?

Full well thou know'st I love thee dear,
Couldst thou to malice lend an ear?
Oh, did not love exclaim "Forbear,
Nor use a faithful lover so!"

Then come, thou fairest of the fair,
Those wonted smiles, oh, let me share!
And, by thy beauteous self I swear,

No love but thine my heart shall know.

TUNE-"De'il tak' the wars.'

SLEEP'ST thou, or wak'st thou, fairest creature ?
Rosy morn now lifts his eye,
Numbering ilka bud, which Nature

Waters wi' the tears o' joy:

Now thro' the leafy woods,

And by the reeking floods,

Wild Nature's tenants, freely, gladly stray:

The lintwhite in his bower

Chants o'er the breathing flower,

The lav'rock to the sky

Ascends wi' sangs o' joy,

While the sun and thou arise to bless the day.

Phoebus, gilding the brow o' morning,

Banishes ilk darksome shade,

Nature gladd'ning and adorning;
Such to me my lovely maid.
When absent from my fair,
The murky shades o' care

Sleep'st thou, or wak'st thou ?

With starless gloom o'ercast my sullen sky;

But when in beauty's light
She meets my ravish'd sight,
When thro' my very heart
Her beaming glories dart,

'Tis then I wake to life, to light, and joy.


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