. . Page. The Sacred Vow.--" By Allan stream I chanc'd Bonie Jean..." There was a lass and she was To Jeanie... Come, let me take thee to my Lovely Nancy.--" Thine am I, my faithful fair” 215 Lassie wi' the lint-white Locks Jessy.--"Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear" 221 Peggy's Charms.--" When braving angry win. The blissful Day..-" The day returns, my bosom Constancy...“ O were I on Parnassus' hill!" 226 Lovely Jean.--" Of a' the arts the wind can Lucy.--" O wat ye wha's in yon town" 229 Page. Charming Nannie..." Behind yon hills where Anna.--- Yestreen 1 had a pint o' wine!! Somebody.--"My heart is sair, I dare na tell” . 242 Owhistle and I'll come to you, my lad What can a young Lassie do wi' an auld man? 244 The Mercenary Lover--" Hey for a Lass wi' a To Tibbie..." O Tibbie, I hae seen the day" 248 Willie's Wife..." Sic a wife as Willie had" 253 Contentment.--" Contented wi' little, and cantie POEMS, CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. BOOK IV. HUMOROUS, SATIRICAL, EPIGRAMMATICAL, AND MISCELLANEOUS. TAM O' SHANTER, A TALE. Of Brownyis and of Bogilis full is this Buke. Gawin Douglas. WHEN chapman billies leave the street, And drouthy neebors, neebors meet, As market-days are wearing late, An' folk begin to tak the gate; While we sit bousing at the nappy, An' getting fou and unco happy, We think na on the lang Scots miles, The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles, That lie between us and our hame, Whare sits our-sulky, sullen dame, Vou. II.-B. Gath’ring her brows like gath’ring storm, This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter, O Tam! had'st thou but been sae wise, As taen thy ain wife Kate's advice! She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum, A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum ; That frae November till October, Ae market-day thou was na sober,“ That ilka melder, wi' the miller, Thou sat as lang as thou had siller; That ev'ry naig was ca'd a shoe on, The smith and thee gat roaring fou on, That at the L-d's house, ev'n on Sunday, Thou drank wi' Kirton Jean till Monday. She prophesy'd, that, late or soon, Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon; Or catch'd wi’ warlocks in the mirk, By Alloway's auld haunted kirk. Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet, But to our tale : Ae market night, ancient, trusty, drouthy crony; |