SAW YE MY WEE THING?

Proud as her heart is, and modest her

nature,

Sweet were the kisses that she ga'e to me. Sair gloom'd his dark brow, blood-red his cheek grew,

Wild flash'd the fire frae his red-rolling

e'e!

Ye's rue sair this morning your boasts an' your scorning:

Defend ye, fause traitor! fu' loudly ye lie.

Awa' wi' beguiling, cried the youth smiling:

Aff went the bonnet; the lint-white locks

flee;

The belted plaid fa'ing, her white bosom shawing,

Fair stood the lov'd maid wi' the dark

rolling e'e!

Is it my wee thing? is it my ain thing?
Is it my true love here that I see?

O Jamie forgi'e me; your heart's constant to

me;

I'll never mair wander, dear laddie, frae thee!

WHEN I UPON THY BOSOM LEAN

XXXIII

WHEN I UPON THY BOSOM LEAN

(JOHN LAPRAIK)

WHEN I upon thy bosom lean,

And fondly clasp thee a' my ain,

I glory in the sacred ties

That made us ane, wha ance were twain.

A mutual flame inspires us baith,

The tender look, the meltin' kiss;

Even years shall ne'er destroy our love,
But only gi'e us change o' bliss.

Ha'e I a wish? it's a' for thee!
I ken thy wish is me to please.
Our moments pass sae smooth away,
That numbers on us look and gaze;
Weel pleased they see our happy days,
Nor envy's sel' finds aught to blame;
And aye, when weary cares arise,

Thy bosom still shall be my hame.

I'll lay me there and tak' my rest;
And, if that aught disturb my dear,
I'll bid her laugh her cares away,
And beg her not to drop a tear.

GO TO BERWICK, JOHNNIE

Ha'e I a joy? it's a' her ain!

United still her heart and mine;

They're like the woodbine round the tree, That's twined till death shall them disjoin.

XXXIV

GO TO BERWICK, JOHNNIE

(JOHN HAMILTON)

Go to Berwick, Johnnie;

Bring her frae the Border;
Yon sweet bonnie lassie,
Let her gae nae farther.
English loons will twine ye
O' the lovely treasure;

But we'll let them ken

A sword wi' them we'll measure.

Go to Berwick, Johnnie,

And regain your honor;

Drive them o'er the Tweed,

And show our Scottish banner.

I am Rob, the King,

And ye are Jock, my brither;

But, before we lose her,

We'll a' be there thegither.

THE LASS O' GOWRIE

XXXV

THE LASS O' GOWRIE

(LADY NAIRNE)

'TWAS on a summer's afternoon, A wee afore the sun gaed down, A lassie wi' a braw new goun

Cam' ower the hills to Gowrie. The rosebud wash'd in summer's shower Bloom'd fresh within the sunny bower; But Kitty was the fairest flower

That e'er was seen in Gowrie.

To see her cousin she cam' there,
And oh! the scene was passin' fair,
For what in Scotland can compare
Wi' the Carse o' Gowrie?

The sun was settin' on the Tay;
The blue hills meltin' into grey,
The mavis and the blackbird's lay
Were sweetly heard in Gowrie.

O lang the lassie I had woo'd,

An' truth an' constancy had vowed, But cam' nae speed wi' her I lo'ed Until she saw fair Gowrie.

O'ER THE MUIR AMANG THE HEATHER

I pointed to my faither's ha',

Yon bonnie bield ayont the shaw,

Sae loun' that there nae blast could blaw, Wad she no bide in Gowrie?

Her faither was baith glad and wae;
Her mither she wad naething say;
The bairnies thocht they wad get play
If Kitty gaed to Gowrie.

She whiles did smile, she whiles did greet,
The blush and tear were on her cheek;
She naething said, but hung her head,
But now she's Leddy Gowrie.

XXXVI

O'ER THE MUIR AMANG THE
HEATHER

(STUART LEWIS)

AE morn of May, when fields were gay,
Serene and charming was the weather,
I chanced to roam some miles frae hame,
Far o'er yon muir amang the heather.

O'er the muir amang the heather,
O'er the muir amang the heather,
How healthsome 'tis to range the muirs,
And brush the dew from vernal heather.