Now a' is done that men can do,
And a' is done in vain;

My love and native land farewell!
For I maun cross the main, my dear,
For I maun cross the main.

He turned him right, and round about,
Upon the Irish shore;

And gave his bridle-reins a shake,
With adieu for evermore, my dear!
With adieu for evermore!

The sodger frae the wars returns,
The sailor frae the main ;
But I hae parted frae my love,
Never to meet again, my dear,
Never to meet again.

When day is gane and night is come,

And a' folk bound to sleep,

I'll think on him that's far awa',

The lee-lang night, and weep, my dear, The lee-lang night, and weep.

O, STEER HER UP.

O, STEER her up and haud her gaun,
Her mither's at the mill, jo;

An' gin she winna tak a man,
E'en let her tak her will, jo;
First shore her wi' a kindly kiss,
And ca' anither gill, jo;
And gin she tak the thing amiss,
E'en let her flyte her fill, jo.

O, steer her up, and be na blate,
An' gin she tak it ill, jo,

Then lea'e the lassie till her fate,

And the time nae langer spill, jo:
Ne'er break your heart for ae rebuke,
But think upon it still, jo;
That gin the lassie winna do 't,
Ye'll fin' anither will, jo.

O, AYE MY WIFE SHE DANG ME.

O, AYE my wife she dang me,

An' aft my wife did bang me;
If ye gie a woman a' her will,

Gude faith! she'll soon o'er-gang ye.
On peace and rest my mind was bent,
And fool I was I married;
But never honest man's intent
As cursedly miscarried.

Some sa'r o' comfort still at last,

When a' their days are done, man;
My pains o' hell on earth are past—
I'm sure o' bliss aboon, man.
O, aye my wife she dang me,

And aft my wife did bang me;

If ye gie a woman a' her will,

Gude faith! she'll soon o'er-gang ye.

O, WERT THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST

O, WERT thou in the cauld blast
On yonder lea, on yonder lea,
My plaidie to the angry airt,
I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee;

Or did misfortune's bitter storms
Around thee blaw, around thee blaw,
Thy bield should be my bosom,
To share it a', to share it a'.

Or were I in the wildest waste,

Sae bleak and bare, sae bleak and bare, The desert were a paradise,

If thou wert there, if thou wert there: Or were I monarch o' the globe,

Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign, The brightest jewel in my crown

Wad be my queen, wad be my queen.

O, WHA IS SHE THAT LO'ES ME?
O, WHA is she that lo'es me,
And has my heart a-keeping?
O, sweet is she that lo'es me,
As dews o' simmer weeping,
In tears the rosebuds steeping!

O, that's the lassie o' my heart,
My lassie ever dearer;

O, that's the queen of womankind,
And ne'er a ane to peer her.

If thou shalt meet a lassie,

In grace and beauty charming,
That e'en thy chosen lassie,

Erewhile thy breast sae warming,
Had ne'er sic powers alarming.

If thou hadst heard her talking,
And thy attentions plighted,
That ilka body talking

But her by thee is slighted,
And thou art all delighted.

If thou hast met this fair one;
When frae her thou hast parted,
If every other fair one

But her thou hast deserted,

And thou art broken-hearted;
O, that's the lassie, etc.

O, LAY THY LOOF IN MINE, LASS.
O, LAY thy loof in mine, lass,
In mine, lass, in mine, lass,
And swear on thy white hand, lass,
That thou wilt be my ain.

A slave to Love's unbounded sway,
He aft has wrought me meikle wae;
But now he is my deadly fae,
Unless thou be my ain.

There's monie a lass has broke my rest
That for a blink I hae lo'ed best;

But thou art queen within my breast,

For ever to remain.

O, lay thy loof in mine, lass,

In mine, lass, in mine, lass;

And swear on thy white hand, lass,
That thou wilt be my ain.

THE FÊTE CHAMPÊTRE.

O, WHA will to Saint Stephen's House,
To do our errands there, man?
O, wha will to Saint Stephen's House,
O' th' merry lads of Ayr, man?
Or will we send a man o' law?
Or will we send a sodger?

Or him wha led o'er Scotland a'
The meikle Ursa-Major?

Come, will ye court a noble lord,
Or buy a score o' lairds, man?
For worth and honour pawn their word,
Their vote shall be Glencaird's, man.
Ane gies them coin, ane gies them wine,
Anither gies them clatter;

Annbank, wha guessed the ladies' taste,
He gies a fête champêtre.

When Love and Beauty heard the news
The gay greenwoods amang, man,
Where, gathering flowers and busking bowers,
They heard the blackbird's sang, man;

A vow, they sealed it with a kiss,

Sir Politics to fetter,

As theirs alone, the patent bliss,

To hold a fête champêtre.

Then mounted Mirth, on gleesome wing;
O'er hill and dale she flew, man;
Ilk wimpling burn, ilk crystal spring,
Ilk glen and shaw she knew, man:
She summoned every social sprite
That sports by wood or water,
On the bonny banks of Ayr to meet,
And keep this fête champêtre.

Cauld Boreas, wi' his boisterous crew,
Were bound to stakes like kye, man;
And Cynthia's car, o' silver fu',
Clamb up the starry sky, man:
Reflected beams dwell in the streams,
Or down the current shatter;

The western breeze steals through the trees
To view this fête champêtre.