Here, where the Scottish Muse immortal lives, In sacred strains and tuneful numbers joined, Accept the gift; though humble he who gives, Rich is the tribute of the grateful mind. So may noruffian-feeling in my breast, Discordant, jar thy bosom-chords among; ButPeace attune thy gentle soul to rest, Or Love, ecstatic, wake his seraph song,
Chorus.-Lassie wi'the lint-whitelocks, Bonielassie, artless lassie, Wilt thou wi' me tentthe flocks, Wilt thou be my Dearie, O? Now Nature cleeds the flowery lea, And a'is young and sweet like thee, O wilt thou share its joys wi' me, And say thou'lt be my Dearie, O. Lassie wi' the, &c. The primrose bank, the wimpling
How cold is that bosom which folly once fired, How pale is that cheek where the rouge lately glisten'd; How silent that tongue which the echoes oft tired, How dull is that ear which to flatt'ry so listen'd! If sorrow and anguish their exit await, From friendship and dearest affection remov'd; How doubly severer, Maria,
Now in her green mantle blythe Nature arrays, And listens the lambkins that bleat o'er her braes; While birds warble welcomes in ilka green shaw, Butto me it's delightless-my Nanie's awa. The snawdrap and primrose our woodlands adorn, And violetes bathe in the weet o' the morn; They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they
Chorus.-Ca'the yowes to the knowes, Ca' them where the heather grows, Ca' them where the burnierowes, My bonie Dearie. Hark the mavis' e'ening sang, Sounding Clouden's woods amang; Then a-faulding let us gang, My bonie Dearie. Ca' the yowes, &c. We'll gaedown byClouden side, Thro' the hazels, spreading wide, O'er the waves that sweetly glide,
'Twas on a Monday morning, Right early in the year, That Charlie came to our town, The young Chevalier. Chorus-An' Charlie, he's my darling, My darling, my darling, Charlie, he's my darling, The young Chevalier. As he was walking up the street, The city for to view, O there he spied a bonie lass The
Contented wi' little, and cantiewi' mair, Whene'er I forgatherwi' Sorrow and Care, I giethem a skelpas they're creeping alang, Wi' a cogo' gude swatsand anauldScottish sang. Chorus-Contented wi' little, &c. I whiles clawthe elbow o' troublesome thought; ButMan is a soger, and Life is a faught; My mirth and gude humour are coin in my
Thou greybeard, old Wisdom! may boast of thy treasures; Give me with young Folly to live; I grant thee thy calm-blooded, time-settled pleasures, ButFolly has raptures to give.
Bless Jesus Christ, O Cardonessp, With grateful, lifted eyes, Who taught that not the soul alone, Butbodytoo shall rise; For had He said "the soul alone From death I will deliver," Alas, alas! O Cardoness, Then hadst thou lain for ever.