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 'tis na love like mine.
IT WAS THE CHARMING MONTH OF MAY. Altered from an old English song.
Ir was the charming month of May,
When all the flowers were fresh and gay,
One morning by the break of day,
The youthful, charming Chloe;"
From peaceful slumber she arose,
Girt on her mantle and her hose,
And o'er the flowery mead she goes,
The youthful, charming Chloe.
Lovely was she by the dawn,
Youthful Chloe, charming Chloe,
Tripping o'er the pearly lawn,
The youthful, charming Chloe.
The feather'd people you might see,
Perch'd all around on every tree,
In notes of sweetest melody,
They hail the charming Chloe;
Till, painting gay the eastern skies,
The glorious sun began to rise,
Out-rivall'd by the radiant eyes
Of youthful, charming Chloe.
Lovely was she, &c.
FAREWELL, THOU STREAM, ETC.
This song as nothing in common with the old verses"Nancy's to the greenwood gane,
To gain her love by flattering."
TUNE-Nancy's to the greenwood gane.
FAREWELL, thou stream that winding flows
Around Eliza's dwelling!
O memory spare the cruel throes
Within my bosom swelling:
Condemn'd to drag a hopeless chain,
And yet in secret languish,
To feel a fire in every vein,
Nor dare disclose my anguish.
Love's veriest wretch, unseen, unknown,
I fain my griefs would cover;
The bursting sigh, the unweeting groan,
Betray the hapless lover.
I know thou doom'st me to despair,
Nor wilt, nor canst relieve me;
But oh, Eliza, hear one prayer,
For pity's sake forgive me.
The music of thy voice I heard,
Nor wist while it enslaved me;
I saw thine eyes, yet nothing fear'd,
Till fears no more had saved me:
The unwary sailor thus aghast,
The wheeling torrent viewing,
'Mid circling horrors sinks at last
In overwhelming ruin.
PHILLY' AND WILLY.-A DUET.
"I am much pleased," says the Poet, in a letter to George Thomson, "with your idea of singing our songs in alternate stanzas. I regret that you did not hint it to me sooner."
O PHILLY, happy be the day
When roving through the gather'd hay,
1 The common abbreviation of Phillis.
My youthfu' heart was stown away,
And by thy charms, my Philly.
O Willy, ay I bless the grove
Where first I own'd my maiden love, Whilst thou didst pledge the Powers above To be my ain dear Willy.
As songsters of the early year
Are ilka day mair sweet to hear,
So ilka day to me mair dear
And charming is my Philly.
As on the brier the budding rose
Still richer breathes and fairer blows,
So in my tender bosom grows
The love I bear my Willy.
The milder sun and bluer sky,
That crown my harvest cares wi' joy,
Were ne'er sae welcome to my eye
As is a sight o' Philly.
The little swallow's wanton wing,
Tho' wafting o'er the flowery spring,
Did ne'er to me sic tidings bring
As meeting o' my Willy.'
The bee that thro' the sunny hour
Sips nectar in the opening flower,
Compared wi' my delight is poor,
Upon the lips o' Philly.
The woodbine in the dewy weet
When evening shades in silence meet,
Is nocht sae fragrant or sae sweet
As is a kiss o' Willy.
Let fortune's wheel at random rin,
And fools may tyne,' and knaves may win;
My thoughts are a' bound up in ane,
And that's my ain dear Philly.
What's a' the joys that gowd' can gie!
I care na wealth a single flie;
The lad I love 's the lad for me,
And that's my ain dear Willy.
CANST THOU LEAVE ME THUS, MY KATY? Of this song, Burns says, "Well! I think, to be done in two or three turns across my room, and with two or three pinches of Irish blackguard,3 it is not so far amiss."
Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy?
Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy?
Well thou know'st my aching heart,
And canst thou leave me thus for pity?
Is this thy plighted, fond regard,
Thus cruelly to part, my Katy?
Is this thy faithful swain's reward-
An aching, broken heart, my Katy?
Canst thou, &c.
Farewell! and ne'er such sorrows tear
That fickle heart of thine, my Katy!
Thou mayst find those will love thee dear-
But not a love like mine, my Katy.
Canst thou, &c.
"TWAS NA HER BONNIE BLUE EE WAS MY RUIN.
The following is a verse of the old song:
"Lang hae we parted been, lassie my dearie,
Now we are met again, lassie, lie near me ;
Near me, near me, lassie, lie near me,
Lang hast thou lien thy lane, lassie, lie near me."
TUNE-Lassie, lie near me.
'Twas na her bonnie blue ee was my ruin;
Fair tho' she be, that was ne'er my undoing:
'Twas the dear smile when naebody did mind us,
'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 forever.
Mary, 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.
HOW CRUEL ARE THE PARENTS.
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 impending ruin
Awhile her pinions tries;
Till of escape despairing,
No shelter or retreat,
She trusts the ruthless falconer,
And drops beneath his feet.
MARK YONDER POMP OF COSTLY FASHION.
The Chloris of this song has inspired some of the Poet's sweetest strains
She is said to have died lately in great poverty.
MARK yonder pomp of costly fashion,
Round the wealthy, titled bride:
But when compared with real passion,
Poor is all that princely pride.
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