HOW CRUEL ARE THE PARENTS

Ev'ry hope is fled,

Ev'ry fear is terror;
Slumber ev'n I dread,
Ev'ry dream is horror.
Long, long, &c.

Hear me, Powers Divine!
Oh, in pity, hear me !
Take aught else of mine,
But my Chloris spare me!
Long, long, &c.

How Cruel are the Parents.1

Altered from an old English song.

Tune-John Anderson, my jo."

How cruel are the parents
Who riches only prize,
And to the wealthy booby
Poor Woman sacrifice!
Meanwhile, the hapless Daughter
Has but a choice of strife;
To shun a tyrant Father's hate-
Become a wretched Wife.

The ravening hawk pursuing,
The trembling dove thus flies,

To shun impelling ruin,

Awhile her pinions tries;

Till, of escape despairing,

No shelter or retreat,

She trusts the ruthless Falconer,

And drops beneath his feet.

1 This and the following piece were written for music in May, 1795.

POMP OF COSTLY FASHION

Mark Yonder Pomp of Costly Fashion.

Air-Deil tak the wars."

MARK yonder pomp of costly fashion
Round the wealthy, titled bride:
But when compar'd with real passion,
Poor is all that princely pride.

Mark yonder, &c. (four lines repeated).

What are the showy treasures,
What are the noisy pleasures?

The gay, gaudy glare of vanity and art:
The polish'd jewels blaze

May draw the wond'ring gaze;

And courtly grandeur bright

The fancy may delight,

But never, never can come near the heart.

But did you see my dearest Chloris,

In simplicity's array;

Lovely as yonder sweet opening flower is,
Shrinking from the gaze of day,

But did you see, &c.

O then, the heart alarming,

And all resistless charming,

In Love's delightful fetters she chains the willing soul!

Ambition would disown

The world's imperial crown,

Ev'n Avarice would deny,

His worshipp'd deity,

And feel thro' every vein Love's raptures roll.

GROVES O' SWEET MYRTLE

'Twas na her bonie blue e'e.1

Tune-"Laddie, lie near me."

'TWAS na her bonie blue c'e was my ruin,
Fair tho' she be, that was ne'er my undoin';
'Twas the dear smile when nae body did mind us,
"Twas the bewitching, sweet, stown glance o' kindness.
"Twas the bewitching, sweet, stown glance o' kindness.

Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me,
Sair do I fear that despair maun abide me,
But tho' fell fortune should fate us to sever,
Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever:
Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever.

Chloris, I'm thine wi' a passion sincerest,
And thou hast plighted me love o' the dearest!
And thou'rt the angel that never can alter,
Sooner the sun in his motion would falter
Sooner the sun in his motion would falter.

Their Groves o' sweet Myrtle."

Tune-"Humours of Glen."

THEIR groves o' sweet myrtle let Foreign Lands reckon,
Where bright-beaming summers exalt the perfume;
Far dearer to me yon lone glen o' green breckan,
Wi' the burn stealing under the lang, yellow broom.
Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowèrs

Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk, lowly, unseen;
For there, lightly tripping, among the wild flowèrs,
A-list'ning the linnet, aft wanders my Jean.

a stolen.

1 Chloris still inspires an alteration brave Caledonian, in fact, did not view

of an old song.

66

gold-bubbling fountains" with dis

2 Rather patriotic than popular. The

dain.

FORLORN, MY LOVE

Tho' rich is the breeze in their gay, sunny valleys,

And cauld Caledonia's blast on the wave;

Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud palace,
What are they?-the haunt of the Tyrant and Slave.
The Slave's spicy forests, and gold-bubbling fountains,
The brave Caledonian views wi' disdain;

He wanders as free as the winds of his mountains,
Save Love's willing fetters-the chains of his Jean.

Forlorn, my Love, no comfort near.1

Air-"Let me in this ae night."

FORLORN, my Love, no comfort near,
Far, far from thee, I wander here;
Far, far from thee, the fate severe,
At which I most repine, Love.

Chorus-O wert thou, Love, but near me!
But near, near, near me,

How kindly thou wouldst cheer me,
And mingle sighs with mine, Love.

Around me scowls a wintry sky,
Blasting each bud of hope and joy;
And shelter, shade, nor home have I;
Save in these arms of thine, Love.
O wert thou, &c.

Cold, alter'd friendship's cruel part,
To poison Fortune's ruthless dart-
Let me not break thy faithful heart,
And say that fate is mine, Love.
O wert thou, &c.

But, dreary tho' the moments fleet,
O let me think we yet shall meet;
That only ray of solace sweet,
Can on thy Chloris shine, Love!
O wert thou, &c.

1 One of a group of songs of May 1795.

THE BRAW WOOER

Fragment,-Why, why tell the Lover.1

3

Tune-" Caledonian Hunt's delight.

WHY, why tell the lover

Bliss he never must enjoy?
Why, why undeceive him,

And give all his hopes the lie?
O why, while fancy, raptur'd slumbers,
Chloris, Chloris," all the theme,
Why, why would'st thou, cruel-
Wake thy lover from his dream.

The Braw Wooer.2

Tune-"The Lothian Lassie.”

LAST May, a braw wooer cam doun the lang glen,
And sair wi' his love he did deave me;

I said, there was naething I hated like men

The deuce gae wi'm, to believe me, believe me;
The deuce gae wi'm to believe me.

He spak o' the darts in my bonie black e'en,
And vow'd for my love he was diein,
I said, he might die when he likèd for Jean-
The Lord forgie me for liein, for liein;
The Lord forgie me for liein!

A weel-stocked mailen, himsel' for the laird,
And marriage aff-hand, were his proffers;

I never loot on that I kenn'd it, or car'd;

But thought I might hae waur offers, waur offers;
But thought I might hae waur offers.

B ⚫ annoy.

1 Burns found the air difficult, and

did not complete the song.

2 A very popular piece of May, 1795. 3 "Ae day" in Johnson's copy.