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O she's blythe ! an' O she's cheery!

O she's bonny, frank, an' free!
The sternies bright, nae dewy night,

Could ever beam like Peggy's e'e.

Had I her hame at my wee house,

That stands aneath yon mountain high,
To help me wi’ the kye an' ewes,

An' in my arms at e'ening lie;
O sae blythe ! an’ O sae cheery

O sae happy we wad be!
The lammie to the ewe is dear,

But Peggy's dearer far to me.

But I may sigh an' stand abeigh,

An' greet till I lose baith my een;
Though Peggy's smiles my heart beguiles,

She disna mind my love a preen.
O I'm sad! O I'm sorry!

Sad an' sorry may I be;
I may be sick, an' very sick,

But I'll be desperate sweer to dee.

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TO MISS JANE SF.

Tune-Arniston House.

I WASNA sae soon to my bed yestreen;

What ail'd me I never could close an e'e ? Was't Chalmers' sherry that thrill'd ilka vein ?

Or glamour yon gypsy has thrown upon me! I'm certain twa een as bright I hae seen:

An' every perfection in every degree! Can naebody sing like Jeany yestreen,

That sleep's sae completely departit frae me?

It isna her een, where modesty beams,

Where sense an' good nature apparent we see 'Tis her sweet cherry lips, and her delicate form,

Have left an impression where it shouldna be. No, that's not the thing : 'tis an elegant ease

Attending ilk action, though ever sae wee; An' her sweet heavenly voice, sae to melody

tun'd, It will ring in my lugs till the day that I dee.

It isna her een sae bonny an' blue,

Nor nae single beauty astonishes me ; But the hale o' the lassie arises to view,

As a model what womankind really may be. Your love in a present I wadna receive,

It wad mar sic a pure an' agreeable dream;

But only, if you think it prudent to give,

A shepherd, dear Jeany, entreats your esteem.

THE BONNY LASS OF DELORAINE.

AIR-Maid of Isla.

Still must my pipe lie idle by,

And wordly cares my mind annoy?
Again its softest notes I'll try,

So dear a theme can never cloy.
Last time my mountain harp I strung,

'Twas she inspir’d the simple strain,
That lovely flower so sweet and young,

The bonny lass of Deloraine.

How blest the breeze's balmy sighs

Around her ruddy lips that blow;
The flower that in her bosom dies;

Or grass that bends beneath her toe.
Her cheek's endued with powers, at will

The rose's richest shade to drain ;
Her eyes, what soft enchantments fill!

The bonny lass of Deloraine.

Let Athol boast her birchen bowers,

And Lomond of her isles so green;

And Windermere her woodland shores ;

Our Ettrick boasts a sweeter scene: For there the evening twilight swells

With many a wild and melting strain ; And there the pride of beauty dwells,

The bonny lass of Deloraine.

If heaven shall keep her ay as good

As now she's handsome, fair, and free, The world may into Ettrick crowd,

And Nature's first perfection see, Glencoe has drawn the wanderer's eye,

And Staffa in the western main ! These natural wonders ne'er can yie

Wi' the bonny lass of Deloraine.

May health still cheer her beauteous face,

And round her brows may honour twine , And Heaven preserve that breast in peace,

Where meekness, love, and duty join. But all her joys shall cheer my heart,

And all her griefs shall give me pain; For never from my soul shall part

The bonny lass of Deloraine.

I HAE LOST MY JEANY, O.

TUNE--Lady Cunningham's Delight.

O I HAE seen when fields were green,

An' birds sae blythe an' cheery, 0, How swift the day wad pass away

When I was wi' my deary, 0: But now I neither laugh nor sing,

My looks are alter'd cleanly, O; I'll never like a lass again,

Since I hae lost my Jeany, 0;

Now I may grane an' greet my lane,

An' never ane to heed me, 0:
My claes, that ay were neat an' clean,

Can scarce be said to cleed me, O:
My heart is sair, my elbows bare,

My pouch without a guinea, O I'll never taste o' pleasure mair,

Since I have lost my Jeany, 0.

0, Fortune! thou hast us'd me ill

Far waur than my deservin', 0; Thrice o'er the crown thou'st knocked me down,

An' left me haflins starvin', O : Thy roughest blast has blawn the last

My lass has used me meanly, 0;

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