Now haply down yon gay green shaw, How blest, ye birds that round her sing, The sun blinks blithe in yon town, And dearest bliss, is Lucy fair. Without my love, not a' the charms And welcome Lapland's dreary sky! My cave wad be a lover's bower, Tho' raging winter rent the air; And she a lovely little flow'r, That I would tent and shelter there. Oh, sweet is she in yon town, Yon sinking sun's gane down A fairer than's in yon town upon; His setting beam ne'er shone upon. Lassie wi' the lint-white Locks. If angry fate is sworn my foe, And suffering I am doom'd to bear; But spare me-spare me Lucy dear! For while life's dearest blood is warm, She has the truest, kindest heart! 77 LASSIE WI' THE LINT-WHITE LOCKS. TUNE-"Rothiemurche's rant." ["This piece has at least the merit of being a regular pastoral: the vernal morn, the summer noon, the autumnal evening, and the winter night are regularly rounded."-Burns to Thomson.] CHORUS. LASSIE wi' the lint-white locks, Bonnie lassie, artless lassie, Now Nature cleeds the flowery lea, An' say thou 'lt be my dearie, O ? An' when the welcome simmer shower Has cheer'd ilk drooping little flower, We'll to the breathing woodbine bower At sultry noon, my dearie, O. When Cynthia lights, wi' silver ray, The weary shearer's hameward way, Thro' yellow waving fields we'll stray, An' talk o' love, my dearie, O. An' when the howling wintry blast MY SPOUSE, NANCY. "HUSBAND, husband, cease your strife, Nor longer idly rave, sir; Tho' I am your wedded wife, "One of two must still obey, Nancy, Nancy; Is it man, or woman, say, My spouse, Nancy?" My spouse, Nancy. "If 'tis still the lordly word, "Sad will I be, so bereft, Nancy, Nancy, Yet I'll try to make a shift, My spouse, Nancy." "My poor heart then break it must, My last hour I'm near it; When you lay me in the dust, Think, think how you will bear it.' "I will hope and trust in heaven, Nancy, Nancy; Strength to bear it will be given, "Well, sir, from the silent dead, Ever round your midnight bed "I'll wed another like my dear, Nancy, Nancy; Then all hell will fly for fear, My spouse, Nancy." 79 MY AIN KIND DEARIE, O. WHEN o'er the hill the eastern star In mirkest glen, at midnight hour, Altho' the night was ne'er sae wild, The hunter lo'es the morning sun, Along the burn to steer, my jo; It mak's my heart sae cheery, O, |