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A gaudy dress and gentle air
May slightly touch the heart;
But it's Innocence and Modesty
That polishes the dart.

'Tis this in Nelly pleases me,
'Tis this enchants my soul!
For absolutely in my breast
She reigns without control.

LUCKLESS FORTUNE.

OH, raging Fortune's withering blast
Has laid my leaf full low, O!
Oh, raging Fortune's withering blast
Has laid my leaf full low, O!

My stem was fair, my bud was green,
My blossom sweet did blow, O;
The dew fell fresh, the sun rose mild,
And made my branches grow, O.
But luckless Fortune's northern storms
Laid a' my blossoms low, O;

But luckless Fortune's northern storms
Laid a' my blossoms low, O.

I DREAMED I LAY WHERE FLOWERS WERE SPRINGING.

I DREAMED I lay where flowers were springing Gaily in the sunny beam,

Listening to the wild birds singing

By a falling crystal stream:

Straight the sky grew black and daring;

Through the woods the whirlwinds rave;

Trees with aged arms were warring,

O'er the swelling, drumlie wave.

Such was my life's deceitful morning,
Such the pleasures I enjoyed;

But lang or noon, loud tempests storming,
A' my flowery bliss destroyed.

Though fickle Fortune has deceived me,
(She promised fair and performed but ill,)
Of mony a joy and hope bereaved me,
I bear a heart shall support me still.

O TIBBIE, I HAE SEEN THE DAY.
O Tibbie! I hae seen the day

Ye wad na been sae shy;
For laik o' gear ye lightly me,
But, trowth, I care na by.

Yestreen I met you on the moor,
Ye spak na, but gaed by like stoure:
Ye geck at me because I'm poor,
But fient a hair care I.

I doubt na, lass, but ye may think,
Because ye hae the name o' clink,
That ye can please me at a wink,
Whene'er ye like to try.

But sorrow tak him that's sae mean,
Although his pouch o' coin were clean,
Wha follows such a saucy quean,
That looks sae proud and high.

Although a lad were e'er sae smart,
If that he want the yellow dirt,
Ye'll cast your head anither airt,
And answer him fu' dry.

But if he hae the name o' gear,
Ye'll fasten to him like a brier,
Though hardly he, for sense or lear,
Be better than the kye.

But, Tibbie, lass, tak my advice:
Your daddie's gear maks you sae nice;
The deil a ane wad spier your price,
Were ye as poor as I.

There lives a lass in yonder park,
I would nae gi'e her in her sark
For thee, wi' a' thy thousan' mark!
Ye need na look sae high.

MY FATHER WAS A FARMER.

My father was a farmer

Upon the Carrick border, O;

And carefully he bred me

In decency and order, O; He bade me act a manly part,

Though I had ne'er a farthing, O; For without an honest, manly heart, No man was worth regarding, O.

Then out into the world

My course I did determine, O;
Though to be rich was not my wish,
Yet to be great was charming, O.
My talents they were not the worst,
Nor yet my education, O;
Resolved was I at least to try
To mend my situation, O.

In many a way, and vain essay,
I courted fortune's favour, O;
Some cause unseen still stept between,
To frustrate each endeavour, O:
Sometimes by foes I was o'erpowered;
Sometimes by friends forsaken, O;
And when my hope was at the top,
I still was worst mistaken, O.

Then sore harassed, and tired at last,
With Fortune's vain delusion, O,
I dropt my schemes, like idle dreams,
And came to this conclusion, O:
The past was bad, and the future hid;
It's good or ill untried, O;

But the present hour was in my power,
And so I would enjoy it, O.

No help, nor hope, nor view had I,
Nor person to befriend me, O;
So I must toil, and sweat, and broil,
And labour to sustain me, O.
To plough and sow, to reap and mow,
My father bred me early, O;
For one, he said, to labour bred,
Was a match for fortune fairly, O.

Thus, all obscure, unknown and poor,
Through life I'm doomed to wander, O,
Till down my weary bones I lay,
In everlasting slumber, O.
No view nor care, but shun whate'er
Might breed me pain or sorrow, O;

I live to-day as well's I may,

Regardless of to-morrow, O.

But cheerful still, I am as well
As a monarch in a palace, O,
Though Fortune's frown still hunts me down
With all her wonted malice, O;
I make indeed my daily bread,
But ne'er can make it farther, O;
But, as daily bread is all I need,
I do not much regard her, O.
When sometimes by my labour
I earn a little money, O,
Some unforeseen misfortune
Comes gen'rally upon me, O;
Mischance, mistake, or by neglect,
Or my good-natured folly, O:
But come what will, I've sworn it still,
I'll ne'er be melancholy, O.

All you who follow wealth and power
With unremitting ardour, O,

The more in this you look for bliss,
You leave your view the farther, O.
Had you the wealth Potosi boasts,
Or nations to adore you, O,
A cheerful honest-hearted clown
I will prefer before you, O.

THE RIGS O' BARLEY.

It was upon a Lammas night,
When corn rigs are bonnie,
Beneath the moon's unclouded light
I held awa to Annie:

The time flew by wi' tentless heed,
Till 'tween the late and early,
Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed

To see me through the barley.

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