MARY, WHY WASTE?

"This morn is merry June, I trow,
The rose is budding fain;

But it shall bloom in winter snow,
Ere we two meet again."

He turn'd his charger as he spake,
Upon the river shore;

He gave his bridle-reins a shake,
Said, "Adieu for evermore, my love!
And adieu for evermore."

XLIX

MARY, WHY WASTE?

(ROBERT TANNAHILL)

"MARY, why thus waste thy youthtime in sorrow?

See, a' around you the flowers sweetly

blaw;

Blythe sets the sun o'er the wild cliffs of

Jura,

Blythe sings the mavis in ilka green shaw." "How can this heart ever mair think of

pleasure?

Summer may smile, but delight I ha'e nane; Cauld in the grave lies my heart's only

treasure,

Nature seems dead since my Jamie is gane.

MARY, WHY WASTE?

"This 'kerchief he gave me, a true lover's token,

Dear, dear to me was the gift for his sake! I wear't near my heart, but this poor heart is broken,

Hope died with Jamie, and left it to break; Sighing for him, I lie down in the e'ening, Sighing for him, I awake in the morn; Spent are my days a' in secret repining, Peace to this bosom can never return.

"Oft have we wander'd in sweetest retirement,

Telling our loves 'neath the moon's silent

beam,

Sweet were our meetings of tender endearment,

But fled are these joys like a fleet-passing

dream.

Cruel remembrance, in pity forsake me, Brooding o'er joys that for ever are flown! Cruel remembrance, in pity forsake me,

Flee to some bosom where grief is unknown!"

HARPER OF MULL

L

HARPER OF MULL

(ROBERT TANNAHILL)

WHEN Rosie was faithful, how happy was I! Still gladsome as summer the time glided by: I play'd my heart cheery, while fondly I

sang

Of the charms of my Rosie the winter nights

lang:

But now I'm as waefu' as waefu' can be, Come simmer, come winter, 'tis a' ane to

me,

For the dark gloom of falsehood sae clouds my sad soul,

That cheerless for aye is the Harper of Mull.

I wander the glens and the wild woods

alane,

In their deepest recesses I make my sad

mane;

My harp's mournful melody joins in the

strain,

While sadly I sing of the days that are

gane.

HARPER OF MULL

Though Rosie is faithless, she's no the less fair,

And the thoughts of her beauty but feed my despair;

With painful remembrance my bosom is full, And weary of life is the Harper of Mull.

As slumb'ring I lay by the dark mountain stream,

My lovely young Rosie appear'd in my dream;

I thought her still kind, and I ne'er was sae

blest,

As in fancy I clasp'd the dear nymph to my

breast;

Thou false fleeting vision, too soon thou wert o'er,

Thou wak'dst me to tortures unequall'd before;

But death's silent slumbers my griefs soon shall lull,

And the green grass wave over the Harper of Mull.

IF DOUGHTY DEEDS MY LADY PLEASE

LI

IF DOUGHTY DEEDS MY LADY PLEASE

(ROBERT GRAHAM OF GARTMORE)

IF doughty deeds my lady please,
Right soon I'll mount my steed:
And strong his arm, and fast his seat,
That bares frae me the meed.

I'll wear thy colors in my cap,
Thy picture in my heart;

And he that bends not to thine eye,
Shall rue it to his smart.

Then tell me how to woo thee, love,

O tell me how to woo thee!

For thy dear sake, nae care I'll take
Though ne'er another trow me.

If gay attire delight thine eye,
I'll dight me in array;

I'll tend thy chamber door all night,
And squire thee all the day.

If sweetest sounds can win thine ear,
These sounds I'll strive to catch;
Thy voice I'll steal to woo thysell,
That voice that nane can match.