IV. For you sae douse, ye sneer at this, He dearly lov'd the lasses, O. V. Green grow, &c. Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears Green grow, &c. SONG. Tune, 'Jockey's Grey Breeks.” I. AGAIN rejoicing nature sees Her robe assume its vernal hues, Her leafy locks wave in the breeze, All freshly steep'd in morning dews. CHORUS.* And maun I still on Menie† doat, And bear the scorn that's in her e'e? *This chorus is part of a song composed by a gentleman in Edinburgh, a particular friend of the author's. † Menie is the common abbreviation of Mariamné. For its jet, jet black, an' its like a hawk, II. In vain to me the cowslips blaw, And maun I still, &c. III. The merry ploughboy cheers his team, But life to me's a weary dream, A dream of ane that never wauks. Ind maun 1 still, &c. IV. The wanton coot the water skims, The stately swan majestic swims, And maun I still, &c. V. The sheep-herd steeks his faulding slap, I meet him on the dewy hill. And maun I still, &c. VI. And when the lark, 'tween light and dark, VII. Come, Winter, with thine angry howl, CHORUS. And maun I still on Menie doat, And bear the scorn that's in her e'e? For its jet, jet black, an' its like a hawk, An' it winna let a body be.* SONG. Tune Roslin Castle.' I. THE gloomy night is gath'ring fast, *We cannot presume to alter any of the poems of our bard, and more especially those printed under his own direction; yet it is to be regretted that this chorus, which is not of his own composition, should be attached to these fine stanzas, as it perpetually interrupts the train of sentiment which they excite. E. Yon murky cloud is foul with rain, II. The Autumn mourns her rip'ning corn She sees the scowling tempest fly: III. 'Tis not the surging billow's roar, 'Tis not that fatal deadly shore; Tho' death in ev'ry shape appear, The wretched have no more to fear: But round my heart the ties are bound, That heart transpierc'd with many a wound; These bleed afresh, those ties I tear, To leave the bonnie banks of Ayr. IV. Farewell, old Coila's hills and dales, Her heathy moors and winding vales; The scenes where wretched fancy roves, Pursuing past, unhappy loves! Farewell, my friends! Farewell, my foes! My peace with these, my love with thoseThe bursting tears my heart declare, Farewell the bonnie banks of Ayr. SONG. Tune,' Gilderoy.' I. FROM thee, Eliza, I must go, They never, never can divide .II. Farewell, farewell, Eliza dear, We part to meet no more! That throb, Eliza, is thy part, And thine that latest sigh! |