« ForrigeFortsæt »
VII. The wars are o'er, and I'm come hame,
And find thee still true-hearted; Tho' poor
in gear, we're rich in love, And mair,—we'se ne'er be parted! Quo' she, my grandsire left me gowd,
A mailin plenish'd fairly;
Thou'rt welcome to it dearly!
VIII. For gold the merchant ploughs the main,
The farmer ploughs the manor ; But glory is the soldier's prize,
The soldier's wealth is honour; The brave poor soldier ne'er despise,
Nor count him as a stranger ; Remember, he's his country's stay
In day and hour of danger.
O STAY, SWEET WARBLING WOOD.LARK.
Thy soothing fond complaining.
Wha kills me wi' disdaining.
Sic notes of woe could wauken!
Or my poor heart is broken!
HERE IS THE GLEN, &c.
AIR. THE FLOWERS OF EDINBURGH.
I. HERE is the glen, and here the bower,
All underneath the birchen shade; The village bell has told the hour,
O what can stay my lovely maid ! 'Tis not Maria's whispering call;
'Tis but the balmy, breathing gale, Mixt with some warbler's dying fall, The dewy star of eve to hail.
So calls the woodlark in the grove,
At once 'tis music and 'tis love! And art thou come, and art thou true!
O welcome dear to love and me! And let us all our vows renew,
Along the flowery banks of Cree.
THE DAY RETURNS, MY BOSOM BURNS.
AIR. THE SEVENTH OF NOVEMBER.
The blissful day we twa did meet,
Ne'er summer sun was half sae sweet.
And crosses o'er the sultry line;
Or nature aught of pleasure give;
For thee, and thee alone I live : When that grim foe of life below,
Comes in between to bid us part; The iron hand that breaks our band,
It breaks my bliss,-it breaks my heart !
O WERE I ON PARNASSUS HILL.
AIR - JEAN I LOVE THEE.
To sing how dear I love thee.
And write how dear I love thee.
II. Then come, sweet muse, inspire my lay! For a' the lee-lang simmer's day, I cou’dna sing, I cou'dna say,
How much, how dear I love thee.
* A high hill near the source of the river Nith,