MY HEART WAS ANCE AS BLITHE AND FREE.

Tune-"To the weavers gin ye go."

My heart was ance as blithe and free
As simmer days were lang,
But a bonnie westlin weaver lad
Has gart me change my sang.

To the weavers gin ye go, fair maids
To the weavers gin ye go;

I rede you right gang ne'er at night,
To the weavers gin ye go.

My mither sent me to the town,
To warp a plaiden wab;

But the weary, weary warpin' o't
Has gart me sigh and sab.

A bonnie westlin weaver lad
Sat working at his loom;
He took my heart as wi' a net,
In every knot and thrum.

I sat beside my warpin'-wheel,
And aye I ca'd it roun';
But every shot and every knock,
My heart it ga'e a stoun.

The moon was sinking in the west
Wi' visage pale and wan,
As my bonnie westlin weaver lad
Convoyed me through the glen.

But what was said, or what was done,
Shame fa' me gin I tell;

But, oh! I fear the kintra soon

Will ken as weel's mysel'.

To the weavers gin ye go, fair maids,
To the weavers gin ye go;

I rede you right gang ne'er at night,
To the weavers gin ye go.

GUDE'EN TO YOU, KIMMER.

Tune-"We're a' noddin'."

GUDE 'EN to you, kimmer,

And how do ye do?

Hiccup, quo kimmer,

The better that I'm fou.

We're a' noddin', nid, nid, noddin',

We're a' noddin' at our house at hame.

Kate sits i' the neuk,

Suppin' hen broo;

De'il tak' Kate,

An' she be na noddin' too!

How's a' wi' you, kimmer,

And how do ye fare?
A pint o' the best o't,
And twa pints mair.

How's a' wi' you, kimmer,
And how do ye thrive?
How mony bairns ha'e ye?
Quo' kimmer, I ha'e five.

Are they a' Johnny's?
Eh! atweel na:

Twa o' them were gotten

When Johnny was awa'.

Cats like milk,

And dogs like broo,

Lads like lasses weel,

And lasses lads too.

We're a' noddin', nid, nid, noddin',

We're a' noddin' at our house at hame.'

1 There is another version of the sixth verse and the chorus in a letter to Mr. Robert Ainslie, jun., dated 23rd of August, 1787, which we subjoin:

The cats like kitchen;

The dogs like broo;

The lasses like the lads weel,

And th' auld wives too.

CHORUS.

And were a' noddin',

Nid, nid, noddin',

We're a' noddin' fou at e'en.

A FRAGMENT.

Tune-" John Anderson my Jo."

ONE night as I did wander,
When corn begins to shoot,
I sat me down to ponder,
Upon an auld tree root:
Auld Ayr ran by before me,
And bickered to the seas;
A cushat crowded o'er me,

That echoed through the braes.

O WHY THE DEUCE SHOULD I REPINE?

[Written extempore, April, 1782.]

O WHY the deuce should I repine,
An' be an ill foreboder?

I'm twenty-three, and five feet nine-
I'll go and be a sodger.

I gat some gear wi' meikle care,
I held it well thegither;

But now it's gane, and something mair-
I'll go and be a sodger.

MY NANNIE, O!

Tune" My Nannie, O."

[The heroine of this song was Nannie Fleming, a servant at Calcothill, near Lochlea.]

BEHIND yon hills, where Lugar1 flows,
'Mang moors an' mosses many, O,
The wintry sun the day has closed,
And I'll awa' to Nannie, O.

The westlin' wind blows loud an' shrill;
The night's baith mirk and rainy, O;
But I'll get my plaid, an' out I'll steal,
An' owre the hills to Nannie, O.

My Nannie's charming, sweet, an' young;
Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, O;
May ill befa' the flattering tongue
That wad beguile my Nannie, O!

Her face is fair, her heart is true,
As spotless as she's bonnie, O;
The opening gowan, wet wi' dew,
Nae purer is than Nannie, O.

2

A country lad is my degree,

An' few there be that ken me, O;
But what care I how few they be?
I'm welcome aye to Nannie, O.

My riches a's my penny-fee,

An' I maun guide it cannie, O.
But warl's gear ne'er troubles me,
My thoughts are a' my Nannie, O.

Our auld guidman delights to view
His sheep an' kye thrive bonnie, O;
But I'm as blithe that hauds his pleugh,
An' has nae care but Nannie, Ō.

Come weel, come woe, I care na by,
I'll tak' what Heaven will sen' me, O;
Nae ither care in life have I,

But live an' love my Nannie, O.

Originally Stinchar.

? Daisy.