When Cynthia lights, wi' silver ray, The weary shearer's hameward way, Thro' yellow waving fields we'll stray, And talk o' love, my Dearie, O. Lassie wi' the, etc. And when the howling wintry blast FOR THE SAKE O' SOMEBODY FOR THE SAKE O' SOMEBODY My heart is sair—I dare na tell, I could wake a winter night I could range the world around, Ye Powers that smile on virtuous love, O-hey! for Somebody! I wad do what wad I not? BEHOLD, MY LOVE, HOW GREEN THE GROVES 1 BEHOLD, my love, how green the groves, The primrose banks how fair; The lav'rock shuns the palace gay, Let minstrels sweep the skilfu' strings, The Shepherd stops his simple reed, The Princely revel may survey But are their hearts as light as ours, 1 Written to Chloris, Jean Lorimer. BEHOLD, MY LOVE, HOW GREEN THE GROVES The shepherd, in the flowery glen; In shepherd's phrase, will woo: The courtier tells a finer tale, But is his heart as true? These wild-wood flowers I've pu'd, to deck That spotless breast o' thine; The courtier's gems may witness love, THE LEA-RIG 1 WHEN o'er the hill the e'ening star My ain kind Dearie O. At midnight hour, in mirkest glen, Altho' the night were ne'er sae wild, My ain kind Dearie O. The hunter lo'es the morning sun, It maks my heart sae cheery O, My ain kind Dearie O. 'An old pasture field. |