The westlin' wind blaws loud an' shrill;

The night's baith mirk and rainy, O; But I'll get my plaid, an' out I'll steal, An' owre the hills to Nannie, O.

My Nannie's charming, sweet, an' young;
Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, O;
May ill befa' the flattering tongue
That wad beguile my Nannie, O.
Her face is fair, her heart is true,
As spotless as she's bonnie, O;
The opening gowan, wet wi' dew,
Nae purer is than Nannie, O.

A country lad is my degree,

An' few there be that ken me, O; But what care I how few they be, I'm welcome aye to Nannie, O. My riches a' 's my penny-fee,

An' I maun guide it cannie, O; But warl's gear ne'er troubles me,

My thoughts are a' my Nannie, O.

Our auld gudeman delights to view
His sheep an' kye thrive bonnie, O;
But I'm as blythe that hauds his pleugh,
An' has nae care but Nannie, O.
Come weel, come woe, I care nae by,

I'll tak what Heaven will send me, O;

Nae ither care in life hae I,

But live, an' love my Nannie, O.

JESSIE.

BY ROBERT BURNS.

RUE-HEARTED was he, the sad swain o' the Yarrow,

TRU

And fair are the maids on the banks o' the Ayr,
But by the sweet side o' the Nith's winding river,
Are lovers as faithful, and maidens as fair:
To equal young Jessie seek Scotland all over;
To equal young Jessie you seek it in vain ;
Grace, beauty, and elegance fetter her lover,
And maidenly modesty fixes the chain.

Oh fresh is the rose in the gay, dewy morning,
And sweet is the lily at evening close;
But in the fair presence o' lovely young Jessie,
Unseen is the lily, unheeded the rose.
Love sits in her smile, a wizard insnaring;

Enthroned in her e'en he delivers his law;
And still to her charms she alone is a stranger!
Her modest demeanor's the jewel of a'.

BONNIE LESLEY.

BY ROBERT BURNS.

SAW ye bonnie Lesley

As she gaed o'er the border?

She's gane, like Alexander,

To spread her conquests farther.

To see her is to love her,

And love but her forever;

For nature made her what she is,

And ne'er made sic anither!

Thou art a queen, fair Lesley,
Thy subjects we, before thee;
Thou art divine, fair Lesley,

The hearts o' men adore thee.

The deil he could na scaith thee,

Or aught that wad belang thee;
He'd look into thy bonnie face,

And say, "I canna wrang thee."

The powers aboon will tent thee;
Misfortune sha' na steer thee;
Thou'rt like themselves sae lovely
That ill they'll ne'er let near thee.

Return again, fair Lesley,

Return to Caledonie !

That we may brag, we hae a lass
There's nane again sae bonnie.

THE LASS O' BALLOCHMYLE.

BY ROBERT RURNS.

WAS even-the dewy fields were green, On every blade the pearls did hang; The zephyr wantoned round the bean And bore its fragrant sweets alang; In ev'ry glen the mavis sang,

All nature listening seemed the while,
Except where green-wood echoes rang
Amang the braes o' Ballochmyle.

With careless step I onward strayed;
My heart rejoiced in nature's joy;

When musing in a lonely glade,

A maiden fair I chanced to spy. Her look was like the morning's eye, Her air like nature's vernal smile; Perfection whispered, passing by,

Behold the lass o' Ballochmyle!

Fair is the morn in flow'ry May,
And sweet is night in autumn mild,
When roving through the garden gay,
Or wand'ring in a lonely wild;
But woman, Nature's darling child!
There all her charm she does compile ;
Ev'n there her other works are foiled
By the bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle.

Oh, had she been a country maid,
And I the happy country swain,
Though sheltered in the lowest shed
That ever rose in Scotland's plain,
Through weary winter's wind and rain
With joy, with rapture, I would toil,
And nightly to my bosom strain

The bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle.

Then pride might climb the slipp❜ry steep Where fame and honors lofty shine; And thirst of gold might tempt the deep, Or downward seek the Indian mine.

Give me the cot below the pine,

To tend the flocks, or till the soil,

And every day have joys divine

With the bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle.

Y

HIGHLAND MARY.

BY ROBERT BURNS.

E banks, and braes, and streams around

The castle o' Montgomery,

Green be your woods, and fair your flowers,

Your waters never drumlie!

There Simmer first unfaulds her robes,

And there she langest tarry; For there I took the last fareweel O' my sweet Highland Mary.

How sweetly bloomed the gay green birk,
How rich the hawthorn's blossom;
As underneath their fragrant shade
I clasped her to my bosom !
The golden hours on angel wings
Flew o'er me and my dearie;
For dear to me, as light and life,
Was my sweet Highland Mary.

Wi' mony a vow, and locked embrace,
Our parting was fu' tender;
And pledging aft to meet again,
We tore ourselves asunder;
But O! fell death's untimely frost,

That nipped my flower sae early!
Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay,
That wraps my Highland Mary!

O pale, pale now, those rosy lips
I aft hae kissed sae fondly!