Sayna thou'lt refuse me :
If it winna, canna be,

Thou for thine may choose me,
Let me, lassie, quickly die,
Trusting that thou lo'es me.
Lassie, let me quickly die,
Trusting that thou lo'es me.

TUNE-Banks of Cree.

Here is the glen, and here the bower,
All underneath the birchen shade;
The village-bell has toll'd the hour,
O what can stay my lovely maid?
'Tis not Maria's whispering call;
'Tis but the balmy-breathing gale,
Mixt with some warbler's dying fall,
The dewy star of eve to hail.

It is Maria's voice I hear!

So calls the woodlark in the grove His little faithful mate to cheer,

At once 'tis music-and 'tis love.

And art thou come? and art thou true?
O welcome dear to love and me!
And let us all our vows renew,
Along the flowery banks of Cree.

TUNE-Onagh's Water-fall.

Sae flaxen were her ringlets,
Her eye-brows of a darker hue,
Bewitching, o'er arching,

Twa laughing een o' bonnie blue.

Her smiling, sae wyling,
Wad make a wretch forget his woe;
What pleasure, what treasure,
Unto these rosy lips to grow:
Such was my Chloris' bonnie face,
When first her bonnie face I saw ;
And aye my Chloris' dearest charm,
She says she lo'es me best of a'.
Like harmony her motion;
Her pretty ancle is a spy
Betraying fair proportion,

Wad make a saint forget the sky.
Sae warming, sae charming,

Her faultless form and gracefu' air; Ilk feature-auld Nature

Declared that she could do nae mair: Hers are the willing chains o' love By conquering beauty's sovereign law; And aye my Chloris' dearest charm, She says she lo'es me best of a'.

Let others love the city,

And gaudy shew at sunny noon;

Give me the lonely valley,

The dewy eve, and rising moon

Fair beaming, and streaming

Her silver light the boughs amang;

While falling, recalling,

The amorous thrush concludes his sang: There, dearest Chloris, wilt thou rove

By wimplin burn and leafy shaw, And hear my vows o' truth and love, And say thou lo'es me best of a'?

TUNE-Deil tak the Wars.

Sleep'st thou, or wakest thou, fairest creature?
Rosy morn now lifts his eye,
Numbering ilka bud which Nature

Waters wi' the tears o' joy:

Now through the leafy woods,

And by the reeking floods,

Wild Nature's tenants freely, gladly stray;

The lintwhite in his bower

Chants o'er the breathing flower;

The laverock to the sky

Ascends wi' sangs o' joy,

While the sun and thou arise to bless the day.

Phoebus, gilding the brow o' morning,
Banishes ilk darksome shade,

Nature gladdening and adorning;

Such to me my lovely maid.
When absent frae my fair,

The murky shades o' care

With starless gloom o'ercast my sullen sky:

But when in beauty's light
She meets my ravish'd sight,
When through my very heart
Her beaming glories dart;

'Tis then I wake to life, to light, and joy.

TUNE-My Lodging is on the cold Ground.
My Chloris, mark how green the groves,
The primrose banks how fair:

The balmy gales awake the flowers,
And wave thy flaxen hair.

The laverock shuns the palace gay,
And o'er the cottage sings:
For nature smiles as sweet, I ween,
To shepherds as to kings.

Let minstrels sweep the skilfu' string
In lordly lighted ha':

The shepherd stops his simple reed,
Blithe, in the birken shaw.

The princely revel may survey
Our rustic dance wi' scorn;
But are their hearts as light as ours
Beneath the milk-white thorn?

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 courtiers' gems may witness love
But 'tisna love like mine.

TUNE-Lumps of Pudding.

Contented wi' little, and cantie wi' mair,
Whene'er I forgather wi' sorrow and care,
I gie them a skelp as they're creepin alang,
Wi' a cog o' guid swats, and an auld Scottish sang,
I whiles claw the elbow o' troublesome thought;
But man is a sodger, and life is a faught:

My mirth and guid humour are coin in my pouch, And my freedom's my lairdship nae monarch dare touch.

A towmond o' trouble, should that be my fa',
A night o' guid fellowship sowthers it a':
When at the blithe end o' our journey at last,
Wha the deil ever thinks o' the road he has past?
Blind Chance, let her snapper and stoyte on her way,
Be't to me, be't frae me, e'en let the jade gae :
Come ease or come travail, come pleasure or pain,
My warst word is-" Welcome, and welcome again!"

TUNE-Craigie-burn-wood.

Sweet fa's the eve on Craigie-burn,
And blithe awakes the morrow;
But a' the pride o' spring's return
Can yield me nocht but sorrow.

I see the flowers and spreading trees,
I hear the wild birds singing;
But what a weary wight can please,
And care his bosom wringing?
Fain, fain would I my griefs impart,
Yet darena for your anger;
But secret love will break my heart,
If I conceal it langer.

If thou refuse to pity me,

If thou shalt love anither,

When yon green leaves fa' frae the tree,
Around my grave they'll wither.

TUNE-Where'll bonnie Anne lie. Or, Loch-Erroch
Side.

O stay, sweet warbling wood-lark, stay,
Nor quit for me the trembling spray;

A hapless lover courts thy lay,

Thy soothing fond complaining.