The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' flowers,
White o'er the linns the burnie pours,
And rising, weets wi' misty showers
The Birks of Aberfeldy.
Bonnie lassie, &c.
Let fortune's gifts at random flee,
They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me,
Supremely blest wi' love and thee,
In the Birks of Aberfeldy.
Bonnie lassie, &c.
THE YOUNG HIGHLAND ROVER.
TUNE "Morag."
LOUD blaw the frosty breezes,
The snaws the mountains cover;
Like winter on me seizes,
Since my young Highland Rover
Far wanders nations over.
Where'er he go, where'er he stray,
May Heaven be his warden:
Return him safe to fair Strathspey,
And bonnie Castle-Gordon!
The trees now naked groaning,
Shall soon wi' leaves be hinging,
The birdies dowie moaning,
Shall a' be blithely singing,
And every flower be springing.
Sae I'll rejoice the lee-lang day,
When by his mighty warden
My youth's return'd to fair Strathspey
And bonnie Castle Gordon.
M'PHERSON'S FAREWELL.
TUNE "M'Pherson's Lament. "2
FAREWELL, ye dungeons dark and strong,
The wretch's destinie!
M'Pherson's time will not be long
On yonder gallows tree.
Sae rantingly, sae wantonly,
Sae dauntingly gaed he;
He play'd a spring and danced it round,
Below the gallows tree.
Oh, what is death but parting breath ?—
On many a bloody plain
I've dared his face, and in this place
I scorn him yet again!
Untie these bands from off my hands,
And bring to me my sword;
And there's no man in all Scotland,
But I'll brave him at a word.
I've lived a life of sturt and strife;
I die by treacherie;
It burns my heart I must depart
And not avenged be.
Now farewell light, thou sunshine bright,
And all beneath the sky!
May coward shame disdain his name,
The wretch that dares not die!
Sae rantingly, sae wantonly,
Sae dauntingly gaed he;
He play'd a spring and danced it round,
Below the gallows tree.
THICKEST NIGHT O'ERHANG MY DWELLING
TUNE" Strathallan's Lament."
THICKEST night o'erhang my dwelling!
Howling tempests o'er me rave !
Turbid torrents, wintry swelling,
Still surround my lonely cave!
Crystal streamlets, gently flowing,
Busy haunts of base mankind,
Western breezes, softly blowing,
Suit not my distracted mind.
In the cause of right engaged,
Wrongs injurious to redress,
Honour's war we strongly waged,
But the heavens denied success.
Ruin's wheel has driven o'er us,
Not a hope that dare attend,
The wide world is all before us-
But a world without a friend!
UP IN THE MORNING EARLY.
[The chorus of this song is old.]
Up in the morning's no for me,
Up in the morning early;
When a' the hills are cover'd wi' snaw,
I'm sure it's winter fairly.
CAULD blaws the wind frae east to west,
The drift is driving sairly;
Sae loud and shrill's I hear the blast,
I'm sure its winter fairly.
Up in the morning, &c.
The birds sit chittering in the thorn,
A' day they fare but sparely;
And lang's the night frae e'en to morn.
I'm sure its winter fairly.
Up in the morning, &c.
TUNE " Andro and his cutty gun."
Blithe, blithe, and merry was she,
Blithe was she but and ben:
Blithe by the banks of Ern,
But blither in Glenturit glen.
BY Oughtertyre grows the aik,
On Yarrow banks the birken shaw;
But Phemie was a bonnier lass
Than braes o' Yarrow ever saw.
Her looks were like a flower in May,
Her smile was like a simmer morn;
She tripped by the banks of Ern,
As light's a bird upon a thorn.
Her bonnie face it was as meek
As ony lamb's upon a lea,
The evening sun was ne'er sae sweet
As was the blink o' Phemie's e'e
The Highland hills I've wandered wide,
And o'er the Lowlands I ha'e been ;
But Phemie was the blithest lass
That ever trod the dewy green.
Blithe, blithe and merry was she,
Blithe was she but and ben:
Blithe by the banks of Ern,
But blither in Glenturit glen.
STAY, шy charmer, can you leave me?
Cruel, cruel to deceive me!
Well you know how much you grieve me
Cruel charmer, can you go ?
Cruel charmer, can you go?
By my love so ill requited;
By the faith you fondly plighted;
By the pangs of lovers slighted;
Do not, do not leave me so!
Do not, do not leave me so.
TUNE-"Bhannerach dhon na cri."
How pleasant the banks of the clear-winding Devon,
With green-spreading bushes, and flowers blooming fair!
But the bonniest flower on the banks of the Devon
Was once a sweet bud on the braes of the Ayr.
Mild be the sun on this sweet blushing flower,
In the gay rosy morn as it bathes in the dew!
And gentle the fall of the soft vernal shower,
That steals on the evening each leaf to renew.
O spare the dear blossom, ye orient breezes,
With chill hoary wing as ye usher the dawn!
And far be thou distant, thou reptile that seizes
The verdure and pride of the garden and lawn!'
Let Bourbon exult in his gay gilded lillies,
And England triumphant display her proud rose; A fairer than either adorns the green valleys
Where Devon, sweet Devon, meandering flows.
HOW LONG AND DREARY IS THE NIGHT.
TUNE "Cauld Kail in Aberdeen,"
How long and dreary is the night,
When I am frae my dearie !
I restless lie frae e'en to morn,
Tho' I were ne'er sae weary.
For oh, her lanely nights are lang,
And oh, her dreams are eerie;
And oh, her widow'd heart is sair,
That's absent frae her dearie.
When I think on the lightsome days
I spent wi' thee my dearie;
And now what seas between us roar,
How can I be but eerie ?
How slow ye move, ye heavy hours;
The joyless day how dreary!
It was na sae ye glinted by,
When I was wi' my dearie.
For oh her lanely nights are lang,
And oh her dreams are eerie ;
And oh her widow'd heart is sair,
That's absent frae her dearie.
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