« ForrigeFortsett »
IN simmer when the hay was mawn,
And corn wav'd green in ilka field, While claver blooms white o'er the lea,
And roses blaw in ilka bield; Blythe Bessie in the milking shiel,
Says I'll be wed come o't what will ; Out spak a dame in wrinkled eild,
O'gude advisement comes nae ill.
Its ye hae wooers mony ane,
And lassie ye’re but young ye ken; Then wait a wee, and canie wale,
A routhie butt, a routhie ben: There's Johnie o' the Buskie-glen,
Fu' is his barn, fu' is his byre ; Tak this frae me, my bonnie hen,
It's plenty beets the luver's fire.
For Johnie o' the Buskie-glen,
I dinna care a single flie;
He has nae luve to spare for me :
And weel I wat he loes me dear : Ae blink o' him I wad na gie
For Buskie-glen and a' his gear.
O thoughtless lassie, life's a faught,
The canniest gate, the strife is sair ; But ay fu’han't is fechtin best,
A hungry care's an unco care : But some will spend, and some will spare,
An' wilfu' folk maun hae their will ; Syne as ye brew, my maiden fair,
Keep mind that ye maun drink the yill.
O gear will buy me rigs o’land,
And gear will buy me sheep and kye ; But the tender heart o' leesome luve,
The gowd and siller canna buy : We may be poor Robie and I,
Light is the burden luve lays on ; Content and luve brings peace and joy,
What mair liae queens upon a throne ?
A GAELIC AIR.
TURN again thou fair Eliza,
Ae kind blink before we part,
Canst thou break his faithfu' heart !
If to love thy heart denies,
Under friendship’s kind disguise !
Thee, dear maid, hae I offended ?
The offence is loving thee :
Wha for thine wad gladly die !
Thou shalt mix in ilka throe :
Ae sweet smile on me bestow.
Not the bee upon the blossom,
In the pride o' sinny noon; Not the little sporting fairy,
All beneath the simmer moon;
Fancy lightens on his e'e,
That thy presence gies to me.
THE THE POSIE.
O LUVE will venture in, where it daur na weel be
seen, O luve will venture in where wisdom ance has been; But I will down yon river rove, amang the wood sae
green, And a' to pu’a posie to my ain dear May.
The primrose I will pu', the firstling o' the year, And I will pu' the pink, the emblem o'my dear, For she's the pink o' womankind, and blooms with
out a peer; And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May.
I'll pu' the budding rose, when Phebus peeps in view, For it's like a baumy kiss o' her sweet bonnie mou; The hyacinth’s for constancy wi’ its unchanging blue,
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May.