O come, my love, the branches link
Above our bed of blossoms new,

The stars behind their curtains wink,
Το spare thine eyes so soft and blue.
No human eye, nor heavenly gem,

With envious smile our bliss shall see ;
The mountain ash his diadem

Shall spread to shield the dews from thee.

O let me hear thy fairy tread

Come gliding through the broomwood still, Then on my bosom lay thy head,

Till dawning crown the distant hill. And I will watch thy witching smile, List what has caused thy long delay, And kiss thy melting lips the while, Till die the sweet reproof away.

BONNIE LADY ANN.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.

There's kames of honey 'tween my love's lips,

And gold amang her hair,

Her breasts are lapt in a holie veil ;

Nae mortal een look there.

What lips dare kiss, or what hand dare touch,

Or what arm of love dare

span

The honey lips, the creamy palm,

Or the waist of Lady Ann!

She kisses the lips of her bonnie red rose,

Wat wi' the blobs of dew;

But nae gentle lip, nor semple lip,

Maun touch her Lady mou.

But a broider'd belt, wi' a buckle of gold,

Her jimpy waist maun span—

O she's an armfu' fit for heaven,
My bonnie Lady Ann!

Her bower casement is latticed wi' flowers,

Tied up wi' silver thread,

An' comely sits she in the midst,

Men's longing een to feed.

She waves the ringlets frae her cheek,

Wi' her milky, milky han',

An' her cheeks seem touch'd wi' the finger of God, My bonnie Lady Ann!

The morning cloud is tassel'd wi' gold,

Like

my love's broider'd cap,

An' on the mantle which my love

Is monie a golden drap.

Her bonnie eebrow's a holie arch

Cast by no earthlie han';

wears

And the breath of God's atween the lips

Of my bonnie Lady Ann!

I am her father's gardener lad,

An'

poor, poor is fa';

my

My auld mither gets my sair-won fee,

Wi' fatherless bairnies twa.

My een are bauld, they dwall on a place
Where I darena mint my han',

But I water, and tend, and kiss the flowers
Of my bonnie Lady Ann.

MY AIN COUNTREE.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.

The sun rises bright in France,

And fair sets he;

But he has tint the blythe blink he had

In my ain countree.

O! gladness comes to many,

But sorrow comes to me,

As I look o'er the wide ocean
To my ain countree.

O! it's not my ain ruin

That saddens ay my ee,

But the love I left in Galloway,
Wi' bonnie bairns three;

My hamely hearth burn'd bonnie,
And smiled my fair Marie,-
I've left a' my heart behind me,
In my ain countree.

When white was my oerlay as foam of the linn,
And siller was chinking my pouches within;
When my lambkins were bleating on meadow and brae,
As I gaed to my love in new cleeding sae gay ;
Kind was she and my friends were free,
But poverty parts gude companie.

How swift pass'd the minutes and hours of delight!
The piper play'd cheerly, the crusie burnt bright,

And linked in my hand was the maiden sae dear,
As she footed the floor in her holiday geer.
Woe is me, and can it then be,

That poverty parts sic companie?

We met at the fair, and we met at the kirk,

We met in the sunshine, we met in the mirk ;

And the sound of her voice, and the blinks of her een,
The cheering and life of my bosom have been.

Leaves frae the tree at Martinmas flee,
And poverty parts sweet companie.

At bridal and infare I've braced me wi' pride
The bruse I hae won and a kiss of the bride;
And loud was the laughter gay fellows among,
When I uttered my banter or chorused my song.
Dowie to dree are jesting and glee,

When poverty parts gude companie.

Wherever I gaed the blithe lasses smiled sweet,
And mithers and aunties were mair than discreet,
While kebbuck and beaker were set on the board,
But now they pass by me, and never a word.
So let it be for the worldly and slie
Wi' poverty keep nae companie.

But the hope of my love is a cure for its smart ;
The spae-wife has tauld me to keep up my heart;
For wi' my last sixpence her loof I hae cross'd,
And the bliss that is fated can never be lost.
Cruelly though we ilka day see

How poverty parts dear companie.