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PHILLIS THE QUEEN O' THE FAIR

Yon knot of gay flowers in the arbour,
They ne'er wi' my Phillis can vie:
Her breath is the breath of the woodbine,
Its dew-drop o' diamond her eye.
Awa' wi' your Belles, etc.

Her voice is the song o' the morning,

That wakes thro' the green-spreading grove When Phoebus peeps over the mountains, On music, and pleasure, and love. Awa' wi' your Belles, etc.

But, Beauty, how frail and how fleeting!
The bloom of a fine summer's day;
While worth in the mind o' my Phillis,
Will flourish without a decay.

Awa' wi' your Belles, etc.

THE RIGS O' BARLEY

It was upon a Lammas night,
When corn rigs are bonie,
Beneath the moon's unclouded light,
I held awa' to Annie;

The time flew by, wi' tentless heed;
Till, 'tween the late and early,
Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed
To see me thro' the barley.

Corn rigs, an' barley rigs,

An' corn rigs are bonie:
I'll ne'er forget that happy night,
Amang the rigs wi' Annie.

The sky was blue, the wind was still,
The moon was shining clearly;
I set her down, wi' right goodwill,
Amang the rigs o' barley:

I ken't her heart was a' my ain;
I lov'd her most sincerely;
I kiss'd her owre and owre again,
Amang the rigs o' barley.

Corn rigs, an' barley rigs, etc.

THE RIGS O' BARLEY

I lock'd her in my fond embrace;
Her heart was beating rarely:
My blessings on that happy place,
Amang the rigs o' barley!

But by the moon and stars so bright,
That shone that hour so clearly!
She ay shall bless that happy night
Amang the rigs o' barley.

Corn rigs, an' barley rigs, etc.

I hae been blythe wi' comrades dear;
I hae been merry drinking;
I hae been joyfu' gath'rin' gear;
I hae been happy thinking:
But a' the pleasures e'er I saw,

Tho' three times doubl'd fairly-
That happy night was worth them a',
Amang the rigs o' barley.
Corn rigs, an' barley rigs, etc.

ADDRESS TO THE WOODLARK 1

O STAY, Sweet warbling woodlark, stay,
Nor quit for me the trembling spray,
A hapless lover courts thy lay,

Thy soothing, fond complaining.
Again, again that tender part,
That I may catch thy melting art;
For surely that wad touch her heart
Wha kills me wi' disdaining.

Say, was thy little mate unkind,
And heard thee as the careless wind?
Oh, nocht but love and sorrow join'd,

Sic notes o' woe could wauken!
Thou tells o' never-ending care;
O' speechless grief, and dark despair:
For pity's sake, sweet bird, nae mair!
Or my poor heart is broken.

1 Written when thinking of Jean Lorimer (Chloris).

LASSIE WI' THE LINT-WHITE LOCKS

LASSIE WI' THE LINT WHITE LOCKS1

Chorus.-Lassie wi' the lint-white locks,
Bonie lassie, artless lassie,

Wilt thou wi' me tent the 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, etc.

The primrose bank, the wimpling burn,
The cuckoo on the milk-white thorn,
The wanton lambs at early morn,
Shall welcome thee, my Dearie, O.
Lassie wi' the, etc.

And when the welcome summer shower
Has cheer'd ilk drooping little flower,
We'll to the breathing woodbine-bower,
At sultry noon, my Dearie, O.

Lassie wi' the, etc.

1 Cunningham assigns this beautiful poem to the Dumfries period. It was probably addressed to Jean Lorimer.

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