But there is ane, a secret ane,
Aboon them a' I lo'e him better;
And I'll be his, and he'll be mine,
The bonnie lad o' Galla-water.
Although his daddie was nae laird,
And though I ha'e na meikle tocher;
Yet rich in kindest, truest love,
We'll tent our flocks by Galla-water.
It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth,
That coft contentinent, peace, or pleasure;
The bands and bliss o' mutual love,
O that's the chiefest warld's treasure!
SHE SAYS SHE LO'ES ME BEST OF A'.
TUNE-" Onagh's Water-fall."
SAE flaxen were her ringlets,
Her eyebrows of a darker hue,
Bewitchingly o'er-arching
Twa laughing een o' bonnie blue:
Her smiling, sae wyling,
Wad made a wretch forget his woe;
What pleasure, what treasure,
Unto these rosy lips to grow
Such was my Chloris' bonnie face,
When first her bonnie face I saw ;
And aye my Chloris' dearest charm,
She says she lo'es me best of a'.
Like harmony her motion;
Her pretty ancle is a spy
Betraying fair proportion,
Wad mak a saint forget the sky.
Sae warming, sae charming,
Her faultless form, and gracefu' air,
Ilk feature-auld Nature
Declared that she could do nae mair.
Hers are the willing chains o'love,
By conquering beauty's sovereign law
And aye my Chloris' dearest charm,
She says she lo'es me best of a.
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: There, dearest Chloris, wilt thou rove By wimpling burn and leafy shaw, And hear my vows o'truth and love, And say thou lo'es me best of a'.
LORD GREGORY.
O MIRK, mirk is this midnight hour,
And loud the tempest's roar;
A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tow'r,
Lord Gregory, ope thy door.
An exile frae her father's ha',
And a' for loving thee;
At least some pity on me shaw,
If love it may na be!
Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grove,
By bonnie Irwin side,
When first I own'd that virgin-love
I lang, lang had denied?
How often didst thou pledge and vow,
Thou wad for aye be mine!
And my fond heart, itsel' sae true,
It ne'er mistrusted thine.
Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory,
And flinty is thy breast:
Thou dart of heaven, that flashest by,
O wilt thou give me rest!
Ye mustering thunders from above,
Your willing victim see!
But spare, and pardon my fause love,
His wrangs to heaven and me.
O MARY, at thy window be,
It is the wish'd, the trysted hour!
Those smiles and glances let me see,
That make the miser's treasure poor;
How blithely wad I bide the stoure,
A weary slave frae sun to sun;
Could I the rich reward secure,
The lovely Mary Morison.
Yestreen, when to the trembling string,
The dance gae'd through the lighted ha',
To thee my fancy took its wing,
I sat, but neither heard nor saw.
Though this was fair, and that was braw,
And you the toast of a' the town,
I sigh'd, and said amang them a',
"Ye are na Mary Morison."
O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace,
Wha for thy sake wad gladly die?
Or canst thou break that heart of his
Whase only faut is loving thee?
If love for love thou wilt na gi'e,
At least be pity to me shown!
A thought ungentle canna be
The thought o' Mary Morison.
MEG O' THE MILL.
TUNE "O bonnie lass, will you lie in a Barrack."
O KEN ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten,
An' ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten
She has gotten a coof wi' a claut o' siller,
And broken the heart o'the barley Miller.
The Miller was strappin', the Miller was ruddy
A heart like a lord, and a hue like a lady;
The Laird was a widdiefu', bleerit knurl;
She's left the guid fellow and ta'en the churl.
The Miller he hecht her a heart leal and loving:
The Laird did address her wi' matter mair moving
A fine pacing horse wi' a clear chained bridle,
A whip by her side, and a bonnie side-saddle.
O wae on the siller, it is sae prevailing ;
And wae on the love that is fixed on a mailen !
A tocher's nae word in a true lover's parle-
But, gi'e me my love, and a fig for the warl'!
WHEN WILD WAR'S DEADLY BLAST WAS
WHEN wild war's deadly blast was blawn,
And gentle peace returning,
Wi' monie a sweet babe fatherless,
And monie a widow mourning;
I left the lines and tented field,
Where lang I'd been a lodger,
My humble knapsack a' my wealth,
A poor and honest sodger.
A leal, light heart was in my breast,
My hand unstain'd i' plunder;
And for fair Scotia, hame again,
I cheery on did wander:
I thought upon the bank's o' Coil,
I thought upon my Nancy,
I thought upon the witching smile
That caught my youthful fancy.
At length I reach'd the the bonnie gler
Where early life I sported;
I pass'd the mill, and trysting-thorn,
Where Nancy aft I courted:
Wha spied I but my ain dear maid,
Down by her mother's dwelling!
And turn'd ine round to hide the flood
That in my e'en was swelling.
Wi' alter'd voice, quoth I, Sweet lass,
Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom,
O! happy, happy, may he be,
That's dearest to thy bosom !
My purse is light, I've far to gang,
And fain wad be thy lodger;
I've served my king and country lang,
Take pity on a sodger.
Sae wistfully she gazed on me,
And lovelier was than ever:
Quo' she, A sodger ance I lo'ed,
Forget him shall I never :
Our humble cot and hamely fare,
Ye freely shall partake it,
That gallant badge, the dear cockade,
Ye're welcome for the sake o't.
She gazed-she redden'd like a rose-
Syne pale like onie lily;
She sank within my arms, and cried,
Art thou my ain dear Willie ?
By Him who made yon sun and sky-
By whom true love's regarded,
I am the man, and thus may still
True lovers be rewarded!
The wars are o'er, and I'm come hame,
And find thee still true-hearted;
Though poor in gear, we're rich in love,
And mair we'se ne'er be parted.
Quo' she, My grandsire left me gowd,
A mailen plenish'd fairly;
And come, my faithfu' sodger lad,
Thou'rt welcome to it dearly!
For gold the merchant ploughs the main,
The farmer ploughs the manor ;
But glory is the sodger's prize,
The sodger's wealth is honour :
The brave poor sodger ne'er despise,
Nor count him as a stranger;
Remember he's his country's stay
In day and hour of danger,
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