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Craigieburn Wood.

Ae smile o' her wad banish care,
Sae charming is my Jean.

What sighs an' vows amang the knowes
Ha'e passed atween us twa!

How fond to meet, how wae to part,

That night she gaed awa'!

The powers aboon can only ken,
To whom the heart is seen,
That nane can be sae dear to me
As my sweet lovely Jean!



TUNE-"Craigieburn Wood."

["Composed on a passion which a Mr. Gillespie, a particular friend of mine, had for a Miss Lorimer, afterwards Mrs. Whelpdale. The young lady was born at Craigieburn Wood" (near Moffat).-Burns.]

SWEET fa's the eve on Craigieburn,

An' blithe awakes the morrow;
But a' the pride o' spring's return
Can yield me nocht but sorrow.
I see the flowers an' spreading trees,
I hear the wild birds singing;
But what a weary wight can please,
An' care his bosom wringing?

Fain, fain would I my griefs impart,
Yet darena for your anger;

But secret love will break my heart

If I conceal it langer.

If thou refuse to pity me,

If thou shalt love anither,

When yon green leaves fade frae the tree, Around my grave they'll wither.


TUNE-"Ye're welcome, Charlie Stuart."

Oн, lovely Polly Stewart !

Oh, charming Polly Stewart!

There's not a flower that blooms in May
That's half so fair as thou art.

The flower it blaws, it fades and fa's,
And art can ne'er renew it;
But worth and truth eternal youth

Will give to Polly Stewart.

May he whase arms shall fauld thy charms Possess a leal and true heart;

To him be given to ken the heaven

He grasps in Polly Stewart!

Oh, lovely Polly Stewart !

Oh, charming Polly Stewart!

There's ne'er a flower that blooms in May

That's half so sweet as thou art.

Auld Langsyne.



[An unfinished sketch.]

THERE was a bonnie lass, and a bonnie, bonnie lass, And she lo'ed her bonnie laddie dear,

Till war's loud alarms stole her laddie frae her arms, Wi' monie a sigh an' tear.

Over sea, over shore, where the cannons loudly roar, He still was a stranger to fear;

And nought could him quail, or his bosom assail, But the bonnie lass he lo'ed sae dear.


TUNE-"Sir Alexander Don's strathspey."

SHOULD auld acquaintance be forgot,
An' never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
An' days o' auld langsyne?


For auld langsyne, my dear,

For auld langsyne,

We'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld langsyne.

We twa ha'e ran about the braes,

An' pu'd the gowans fine;

But we've wander'd mony a weary foot Sin' auld langsyne.

We twa ha'e paidl't i' the burn,

Frae mornin' sun till dine;

But seas between us braid ha'e roar'd
Sin' auld langsyne.

An' here's a hand, my trusty fiere,
An' gi'e's a hand o' thine;

An' we'll tak' a right gude willie-waught
For auld langsyne.

An' surely you'll be your pint-stoup,
An' surely I'll be mine;

An' we'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet
For auld langsyne.

Bell & Bain, Printers, Glasgow.

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