The sky was blue, the wind was still,
The moon was shining clearly;
I set her down, wi' right good will,
Amang the rigs o' barley!

I ken't her heart was a' my ain;
I loved her most sincerely;
I kissed her owre and owre again
Amang the rigs o' barley.

I locked her in my fond embrace;
Her heart was beating rarely;
My blessings on that happy place
Amang the rigs o' barley.

But by the moon and stars so bright,
That shone that hour so clearly!
She aye shall less that happy night
Amang the rigs o' barley.

I hae been blithe wi' comrades dear,
I hae been merry drinkin';
I hae been joyfu' gatherin' gear;
I hae been happy thinkin':
But a' the pleasures e'er I saw,
Though three times doubled fairly,
That happy night was worth them a'
Amang the rigs o' barley.

Corn rigs, an' barley rigs,

An' corn rigs are bonnie:

I'll ne'er forget that happy night,
Amang the rigs wi' Annie.

MONTGOMERY'S PEGGY.
ALTHOUGH my bed were in yon muir,
Amang the heather, in my plaidie,
Yet happy, happy would I be,

Had I my dear Montgomery's Peggy.

When o'er the hill beat sturly storms,
And winter nights were dark and rainy,
I'd seek some dell, and in my arms
I'd shelter dear Montgomery's Peggy.

Were I a baron, proud and high,
And horse and servants waiting ready,
Then a' 'twad gi'e o' joy to me,

The sharin' 't wi' Montgomery's Peggy.

THE MAUCHLINE LADY.

WHEN first I came to Stewart Kyle,
My mind it was na steady;
Where'er I gaed, where'er I rade,
A mistress still I had aye.

But when I came roun' by Mauchline town,
Not dreadin' ony body,

My heart was caught before I thought,
And by a Mauchline lady.

THE HIGHLAND LASSIE.

NAE gentle dames, though e'er sae fair,
Shall ever be my muse's care:
Their titles a' are empty show;
Gi'e me my Highland Lassie, O.

Within the glen sae bushy, O,
Aboon the plains sae rushy, O,
I set me down wi' right good will,
To sing my Highland Lassie, O.

Oh, were yon hills and valleys mine,
Yon palace and yon gardens fine;
The world then the love should know
I bear my Highland Lassie, O.

But fickle fortune frowns on me,
And I maun cross the raging sea;
But while my crimson currents flow,
I'll love my Highland Lassie, O.

Although through foreign climes I range,
I know her heart will never change,
For her bosom burns with honour's glow,
My faithful Highland Lassie, O.

For her I'll dare the billows' roar,
For her I'll trace the distant shore,
That Indian wealth may lustre throw
Around my Highland Lassie, O.

She has my heart, she has my hand,
By sacred truth and honour's band;
Till the mortal stroke shall lay me low
I'm thine, my Highland Lassie, O!

Fareweel the glen sae bushy, O!
Fareweel the plain sae rushy, O!
To other lands I now must go,
To sing my Highland Lassie, O!

PEGGY.

Now westlin' winds and slaughtering guns
Bring autumn's pleasant weather;
The moorcock springs, on whirring wings,
Amang the blooming heather:

Now waving grain, wide o'er the plain,

Delights the weary farmer;

And the moon shines bright, when I rove at night To muse upon my charmer.

The partridge loves the fruitful fells;
The plover loves the mountains;
The woodcock haunts the lonely dells,
The soaring hern the fountains:
Through lofty groves the cushat roves,
The path of man to shun it;
The hazel bush o'erhangs the thrush,
The spreading thorn the linnet.

Thus every kind their pleasure find-
The savage and the tender;

Some social join, and leagues combine;
Some solitary wander.

Avaunt, away! the cruel sway,
Tyrannic Man's dominion;

The sportsman's joy, the murdering cry,
The fluttering, gory pinion!

But, Peggy dear, the evening's clear,
Thick flies the skimming swallow;
The sky is blue, the fields in view,
All fading-green and yellow:
Come, let us stray our gladsome way,
And view the charms of Nature;
The rustling corn, the fruited thorn,
And every happy creature.

We'll gently walk, and sweetly talk,
Till the silent moon shine clearly;
I'll grasp thy waist, and, fondly prest,
Swear how I love thee dearly:
Not vernal showers to budding flowers,
Not autumn to the farmer,

So dear can be as thou to me,

My fair, my lovely charmer!

OH, THAT I HAD NE'ER BEEN MARRIED!

OH, that I had ne'er been married!

I wad never had nae care;
Now I've gotten wife and bairns,
And they cry crowdie ever mair.
Ance crowdie, twice crowdie,
Three times crowdie in a day;
Gin ye crowdie ony mair,

Ye'll crowdie a' my meal away.

Waefu' want and hunger fley me,
Glowrin' by the hallan en';
Sair I fecht them at the door,
But aye I'm eerie they come ben.
Ance crowdie, twice crowdie,
Three times crowdie in a day;
Gin ye crowdie ony mair,

Ye'll crowdie a' my meal

away.

THE RANTIN' DOG THE DADDIE O'T.

Oн, wha my baby-clouts will buy?
Oh, wha will tent me when I cry?
Wha will kiss me where I lie?-

The rantin' dog the daddie o't.

Oh, wha will own he did the fau't?
Oh, wha will buy the groanin' maut?
Oh, wha will tell me how to ca't?—
The rantin' dog the daddie o't.

When I mount the creepie chair,
Wha will sit beside me there?
Gi'e me Rob, I'll seek nae mair,—
The rantin' dog the daddie o't.