The hunter now has left the moor,
The scatter'd coveys meet secure;
While here I wander, press'd with care,
Along the lonely banks of Ayr.
2 The Autumn mourns her ripening corn
By early Winter's ravage torn;
Across her placid, azure sky,
She sees the scowling tempest fly;
Chill runs my blood to hear it rave,-
I think upon the stormy wave,
Where many a danger I must dare,
Far from the bonnie banks of Ayr.
3 'Tis not the surging billow's roar,
"Tis not that fatal deadly shore;
Though death in every shape appear,
The wretched have no more to fear!
But round my heart the ties are bound,
That heart transpierced with many a wound;
These bleed afresh, those ties I tear,
To leave the bonnie banks of Ayr.
4 Farewell, old Coila's hills and dales,
Her heathy moors and winding vales ;
The scenes where wretched fancy roves,
Pursuing past, unhappy loves!
Farewell, my friends! Farewell, my foes!
My peace with these, my love with those-
The bursting tears my heart declare;
Farewell, the bonnie banks of Ayr!
1 FROM thee, Eliza,1 I must go,
And from my native shore :
The cruel fates between us throw
A boundless oceans roar;
But boundless oceans, roaring wide,
Between my love and me,
They never, never can divide
My heart and soul from thee!
2 Farewell, farewell, Eliza dear,
The maid that I adore!
A boding voice is in mine ear,
We part to meet no more!
But the last throb that leaves my heart,
While death stands victor by,
That throb, Eliza, is thy part,
And thine that latest sigh!
THE FAREWELL TO THE BRETHREN OF ST JAMES'S LODGE, TARBOLTON.
TUNE- Good night an' joy be wi
1 ADIEU! a heart-warm, fond adieu!
Dear brothers of the mystic tie!
Ye favour'd, ye enlighten'd few,
Companions of my social joy!
Eliza: one of the six belles' of Mauchline-Betty Miller, afterwards Mrs Templeton.
Though I to foreign lands must hie,
Pursuing Fortune's sliddery ba',
With melting heart, and brimful eye,
I'll mind you still, though far awa'.
2 Oft have I met your social band,
And spent the cheerful, festive night;
Oft, honour'd with supreme command,
Presided o'er the Sons of Light:
And by that Hieroglyphic Bright,
Which none but Craftsmen ever saw,
Strong Memory on my heart shall write
Those happy scenes when far awa'!
3 May Freedom, Harmony, and Love,
Unite you in the grand design,
Beneath th' Omniscient Eye above,
The glorious Architect Divine!
That you may keep th' unerring line,
Still rising by the plummet's law,
Till Order bright completely shine,
Shall be my prayer when far awa'.
4 And you, farewell! whose merits claim,
Justly, that highest badge to wear!
Heaven bless your honour'd, noble name,
To Masonry and Scotia dear!
A last request permit me here,
When yearly ye assemble a',
One round-I ask it with a tear
To him, the Bard that's far awa'!
TUNE- Prepare, my dear brethren, to the
tavern let's fly.'
1 No churchman am I for to rail and to write,
No statesman nor soldier to plot or to fight,
No sly man of business contriving a snare,-
For a big-bellied bottle 's the whole of my care.
2 The peer I don't envy, I give him his bow ;
I scorn not the peasant, though ever so low;
But a club of good fellows, like those that are here,
And a bottle like this, are my glory and care.
3 Here passes the squire on his brother-his horse;
There centum per centum, the cit with his purse;
But see you The Crown, how it waves in the air!
There a big-bellied bottle still eases my care.
4 The wife of my bosom, alas! she did die;
For sweet consolation to church I did fly;
I found that old Solomon provèd it fair,
That a big-bellied bottle's a cure for all care.
5 I once was persuaded a venture to make;
A letter inform'd me that all was to wreck;
But the pursy old landlord just waddled up
With a glorious bottle that ended my cares.
6 Life's cares they are comforts'1-a maxim laid down By the bard, what d'ye call him, that wore the black gown;
Comforts:' Young's 'Night Thoughts.'-B.
And, faith! I agree with th' old prig to a hair;
For a big-bellied bottle's a heaven of care.
ADDED IN A MASON LODGE.
Then fill up a bumper, and make it o'erflow,
And honours masonic prepare for to throw ;
May every true brother of the compass and square
Have a big-bellied bottle when harass'd with care!
WRITTEN IN FRIARS-CARSE HERMITAGE
THOU whom chance may hither lead,
Be thou clad in russet weed,
Be thou deck'd in silken stole,
Grave these counsels on thy soul:-
Life is but a day at most,
Sprung from night, in darkness lost;
Hope not sunshine every hour,
Fear not clouds will always lower.
As youth and love with sprightly dance,
Beneath thy morning star advance,
Pleasure with her siren air
May delude the thoughtless pair;
Let Prudence bless Enjoyment's cup,
Then raptured sip, and sip it up.
As thy day grows warm and high,
Life's meridian flaming nigh
''Friars-Carse:' an estate near Ellisland, belonging to Mr Riddell.
|