She's aye sae neat, sae trim, sae tight.
All grace does round her hover;
Ae look deprived me o' my heart,
And I became a lover.
She's aye, aye sae blythe, sae gay,
She's aye so blythe and cheerie :
She's aye sae bonnie, blythe, and gay,
O gin I were her dearie!
Had I Dundas's whole estate,
Or Hopetoun's wealth to shine in
Did warlike laurels crown my brow,
Or humbler bays entwining-
I'd lay them a' at Jeanie's feet,
Could I but hope to move her,
And prouder than a belted knight,
I'd be my Jeanie's lover.
But sair I fear some happier swain
Has gained sweet Jeanie's favour:
If so, may every bliss be hers,
Though I maun never have her:
But gang she east, or gang she west,
"Twixt Forth and Tweed all over,
While men have eyes, or ears, or taste,
She'll always find a lover.
THE RANTIN' DOG THE DADDIE O'T.
O WHA my babie-clouts will buy?
Wha will tent me when I cry?
Wha will kiss me whare I lie?
The rantin' dog the daddie o't.
Wha will own he did the faut?
Wha will buy my groanin' maut ?
Wha will tell me how to ca't?
The rantin' dog the daddie o't.
When I mount the creepie-chair,
Wha will sit beside me there?
Gie me Rob, I seek nae mair,
The rantin' dog the daddie o't.
Wha will crack to me my lane?
Wha will mak me fidgin' fain?
Wha will kiss me o'er again?
The rantin' dog the daddie o't.
I DO CONFESS THOU ART SAE FAIR.
I DO confess thou art sae fair,
I wad been o'er the lugs in love; Had I not found the slightest prayer
That lips could speak thy heart could move.
I do confess thee sweet, but find
Thou art sae thriftless o' thy sweets, Thy favours are the silly wind
That kisses ilka thing it meets.
See yonder rose-bud rich in dew,
Amang its native briers sae coy,
How soon it tines its scent and hue
When pu'd and worn a common toy!
Sic fate ere lang shall thee betide,
Tho' thou may gaily bloom a while; Yet soon thou shalt be thrown aside, Like ony common weed and vile.
YON WILD MOSSY MOUNTAINS.
YON wild mossy mountains sae lofty and wide,
That nurse in their bosom the youth o' the Clyde,
Where the grouse lead their coveys thro' the heather to feed,
And the shepherd tents his flock as he pipes on his reed:
Not Gowrie's rich valley, nor Forth's sunny shores,
To me hae the charms o' yon wild mossy moors;
For there, by a lanely, sequester'd clear stream,
Resides a sweet lassie, my thought and my dream.
Amang thae wild mountains shall still be my path,
Ilk stream foaming down its ain green narrow strath; 10
For there, wi' my lassie, the day lang I rove,
While o'er us unheeded fly the swift hours o' love.
She is not the fairest, altho' she is fair;
O' nice education but sma' is her share;
Her parentage humble as humble can be,
But I lo'e the dear lassie because she lo'es me.
To Beauty what man but maun yield him a prize,
In her armour of glances, and blushes, and sighs?
And when wit and refinement hae polish'd her darts,
They dazzle our een, as they fly to our hearts.
But kindness, sweet kindness, in the fond sparkling ee,
Has lustre outshining the diamond to me;
And the heart beating love, as I'm clasp'd in her arms,
O, these are my lassie's all-conquering charms!
ADOWN winding Nith I did wander,
To mark the sweet flowers as they spring;
Adown winding Nith I did wander,
Of Phillis to muse and to sing.
Awa wi' your belles and your beauties,
They never wi' her can compare;
Whaever has met wi' my Phillis,
Has met wi' the queen o' the fair.
The daisy amus'd my fond fancy,
So artless, so simple, so wild ;
Thou emblem, said I, o' my Phillis,
For she is Simplicity's child.
The rose-bud's the blush o' my charmer,
Her sweet balmy lip when 'tis prest:
How fair and how pure is the lily,
But fairer and purer her breast.
Yon knot of gay flowers in the arbour,
They ne'er wi' my Phillis can vie:
Her breath is the breath o' the woodbine,
Its dew-drop o' diamond her eye.
Her voice is the song of the morning
That wakes through the green-spreading grove,
When Phoebus peeps over the mountains,
On music, and pleasure, and love.
But beauty how frail and how fleeting!
The bloom of a fine summer's day!
While worth in the mind o' my Phillis
Will flourish without a decay.
STREAMS that glide in orient plains,
Never bound by winter's chains!
Glowing here on golden sands,
There commix'd with foulest stains
From tyranny's empurpled hands:
These, their richly-gleaming waves,
I leave to tyrants and their slaves;
Give me the stream that sweetly laves
The banks by Castle Gordon.
Spicy forests, ever gay,
Shading from the burning ray
Hapless wretches sold to toil,
Or the ruthless native's way,
Bent on slaughter, blood, and spoil:
Woods that ever verdant wave,
I leave the tyrant and the slave;
Give me the groves that lofty brave
The storms, by Castle Gordon.
Wildly here without control,
Nature reigns and rules the whole;
In that sober pensive mood,
Dearest to the feeling soul,
She plants the forest, pours the flood;
Life's poor day I'll musing rave,
And find at night a sheltering cave,
Where waters flow and wild woods wave,
By bonnie Castle Gordon.
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.
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