Her closed eyes, like weapons sheathed,
Were seal'd in soft repose;
Her lips, still as she fragrant breathed,
It richer dyed the rose.
The springing lilies sweetly prest,
Wild-wanton, kiss'd her rival breast;
He gazed, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd—
His bosom ill at rest.
Her robes, light waving in the breeze,
Her tender limbs embrace !
Her lovely form, her native ease,
All harmony and grace!
Tumultuous tides his pulses roll,
A faltering, ardent kiss he stole ;
He gazed, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd,
And sigh'd his very soul.
As flies the partridge from the brake,
On fear-inspired wings,
So Nelly, starting, half-awake,
Away affrighted springs:
But Willie follow'd-as he should;
He overtook her in the wood;
He vow'd, he pray'd, he found the maid
Forgiving all and good.
MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS.
"THE first half stanza of this song," says Burns, "is old; the rest is mine.
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here;
My heart's in the Highlands, a-chasing the deer;
A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe-
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.
Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North,
The birthplace of valour, the country of worth
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,
The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.
Farewell to the mountains high cover'd with snow;
Farewell to the straths and green valleys below;
Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods;
Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods.
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here;
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer;
A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe—
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.
Tune-"Robie donna Gorach."
THE Thames flows proudly to the sea,
Where royal cities stately stand;
But sweeter flows the Nith, to me,
Where Cummins * ance had high command:
When shall I see that honour'd land,
That winding stream I love so dear!
Must wayward Fortune's adverse hand
For ever, ever keep me here?
How lovely, Nith, thy fruitful vales,
Where spreading hawthorns gaily bloom!
How sweetly wind thy sloping dales,
Where lambkins wanton through the broom!
Though wandering, now, must be my doom,
Far from thy bonny banks and braes,
May there my latest hours consume,
Amang the friends of early days!
There's Lowrie the Laird o' Drumeller,
"Guid day to you, brute !" he comes ben;
He brags and he blaws o' his siller,
But when will he dance like Tam Glen?
My minnie1 does constantly deave me,
And bids me beware o' young men ;
They flatter, she says, to deceive me,
But wha can think sae o' Tam Glen?
My daddie says, gin I'll forsake him,
He'll gie me guid hunder marks ten;
But if it's ordain'd I maun take him,
Oh, wha will I get but Tam Glen?
Yestreen at the valentines' dealing,
My heart to my mou' gied a sten;
For thrice I drew ane without failing,
And thrice it was written-Tam Glen.
The last Halloween I lay waukin'3
My droukit sark-sleeve, as ye ken;*
His likeness cam up the house staukin',
And the very gray breeks o' Tam Glen!
Come counsel, dear tittie! don't tarry-
I'll gie ye my bonny black hen,
Gif ye will advise me to marry
The lad I lo'e dearly-Tam Glen.
Tune-"The tailor fell through the bed, thimbles and a'."
THE tailor fell through the bed, thimbles and a';
The tailor fell through the bed, thimbles and a';
The blankets were thin, and the sheets they were sma',
The tailor fell through the bed, thimbles and a'.
The sleepy bit lassie, she dreaded nae ill;
The sleepy bit lassie, she dreaded nae ill;
The weather was cauld, and the lassie lay still,
She thought that a tailor could do her nae ill.
* For an explanation of this old usage, see Note to Halloween, page 30.
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