Cold, alter'd friendship's cruel part, To poison fortune's ruthless dartLet me not break thy faithful heart, And say that fate is mine, love. Owert, &c. But dreary tho' the moments fleet, FROM THEE, ELIZA. Tune-" Gilderoy." FROM thee, Eliza, I must go, And from my native shore; The cruel fates between us throw A boundless ocean's roar : But boundless oceans, roaring wide My heart and soul from thee. Farewell, farewell, Eliza dear, GALA WATER. Tune-" Gala Water.' THERE'S braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes, That wander through the bluming heather; But Yarrow braes, nor Ettrick shaws, Can match the lads o' Gala Water. But there is ane, a secret ane, Abune them a' I loe him better; And I'll be his, and he'll be mine, The bonnie lad o' Gala Water. Although his daddie was nae laird, And though I hae na mickle tocher; Yet rich in kindest, truest love, We'll tent our flocks on Gala Water. It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth, That coft contentment, peace, or pleasure; The bands and bliss o' mutual love, O that's the chiefest warld's treasure! GLOOMY DECEMBER. ANCE mair I hail thee, thou gloomy December, Ance mair I hail thee, wi' sorrow and care; Sad was the parting thou makes me remember, Parting wi' Nancy, Oh! ne'er to meet mair. Fond lovers parting is sweet painful pleasure, Hope bearing mild on the soft parting hour; But the dire feeling, O farewell for ever, Is anguish unmingl'd and agony pure. Wild as the winter now tearing the forest, Still shall I hail thee wi' sorrow and care; For sad was the parting thon makes me rer member, Parting wi' Nancy, Ob, ne'er to meet mair. Miss Miller of Mauchline, (probably the same lady whom the poet his celebrated in his catalogue of the beautics of that village "Miss Miller is fine"——) afterwards Mrs. Templeton, was the heroine of this beautiful song. SONGS. HAD I A CAVE When a' the lave gae to their bed, Oh, for him back again ! &c. Oh, were some villains hangit hie, Oh, for him back again ! &c. Sad was the day, and sad the hour, And rush'd his much-wrong'd prince to join ; Strong was my Harry's arm in war, Unmatch'd in a' Culloden's plain; But vengeance marks him for her ainI'll never see him back again.⚫ Oh, for him back again! &c. The first three verses of this song, excepting the cherus, are by Burns. The air to which it is sung, is the Highlander's Farewell to Ireland, with some alterations, sung slowly. HIGHLAND MARY. Tune-" Katherine Ogie." Yg banks, and braes, and streams around The Castle o' Montgomery!* Green be your woods, and fair your flow'rs, There simmer first unfauld her robes, How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk! The golden hours, on angel wings, Flew o'er me and my dearie; Was my sweet Highland Mary. Wi' monie a vow and lock'd embrace, O pale, pale now, those rosy lips, And closed for aye the sparkling glance, HER FLOWING LOCKS: A FRAGMENT. HER flowing locks, the raven's wing, Her lips are roses wat wi' dew, O, what a feast, her bonnie mou! Coilsfield House, near Mauchline; but poetically titled as above, on account of the name of the pro. prietor. I DREAM'D I LAY WHERE FLOWERS WERE SPRINGING. THESE two stanzas I composed when I was seventeen, and are among the oldest of my printed pieces. I DREAM'D I lay where flowers were springing, By a falling, crystal stream: O'er the swelling, drumlie wave. Such was my life's deceitful morning, She promis'd fair, and perform'd but ill; I'LL AVE CA' IN BY YON TOUN I'LL aye ca' in by yon toun, And by yon garden green again; I'll aye ca' in by yon toun, And see my bonnie Jean again. I lastly was with Curtis, among the floating There's nine shall ken, there's nane shall guse batt'ries, And there I left for witness an arm and a limb; Yet let my country need me, with Elliot to head me, I'd clatter my stumps at the sound of the drum. Lal de daudle, &c. And now tho' I must beg with a wooden arm and leg, And many a tatter'd rag hanging over my bum, I'm as happy with my wallet, my bottle and my callet, As when I us'd in scarlet to follow a drum. What tho' with hoary locks, I must stand the winter shocks, Beneath the woods and rocks often times for a What brings me back the gate again, But she, my fairest faithfu' lass; And stowlins we shall meet again. She'll wander by the aiken tree, When trystin time draws near again; And when her lovely form I see, O haith, she's doubly dear again. I'll aye ca' in by you toun, I'll And by yon garden green again; aye ca' in by yon toun, And see my bonnie Jean again. |