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I LIKE to see you, Allan Dhu,
I like wi' you to meet,
For that wad gar me greet.
Amang our maidens a',
I cou’dna stand ava.
Ay, ye may smile, but dinna speak;
I ken what ye’ve to say ;
Or look another way ;
In manner soft and bland,
I wadna ye my face should see
For a' Breadalbin's land.
Oh! Allan Dhu, 'tis nought to you
Of love to gibe and jeer;
A maiden's heart maun bear,
The hope that makes her fain,
'Maist turns my heart to stane!
No, Allan, no-I winna let
You speak a word the night: Gang hame, an' write a lang letter,
For weel ye can indite.
I then can hae my will,
Love came to the door o'my heart ae night,
the door! for it is but thy part
Far aftener than I dare say;
Before I could wile you away.”
“ Fear not,” quo' Love, “ for my bow's in the rest,
And my arrows are ilk ane gane;
Which has proved o' the marble stane,
I am sair forspent, then let me come in
To the nook where I wont to lie,
For sae aft hae I been this door within
That I downa think to gang by.”
I open'd the door, though I ween’d it a sin,
To the sweet little whimpering fay; But he raised sic a buzz the cove within,
That he filld me with wild dismay; For first I felt sic a thrilling smart,
And then sic an ardent glow, That I fear'd the chords o' my sanguine heart
War a' gaun to flee in a lowe.
“ Gae away, gae away, thou wicked wean!"
I cried, wi’ the tear in my ee;
Ye'll be laith now to part wi' me.”
For these ten lang years and twain, I have cherish'd the urchin with fondest delight,
And we'll never mair part again.
THE MOON WAS A-WANING
Is one of the songs of my youth, written long ere I threw aside the shepherd's plaid, and took farewell of my trusty colley, for the bard's perilous and thankless occupation. I was a poor shepherd half a century ago, and I have never got farther to this day; but my friends would be far from r'egretting this, if they knew the joy of spirit that has been mine. This was the first song of mine I ever heard sung at the piano, and my feelings of exultation are not to be conceived by men of sordid dispositions. I had often beard my strains chanted from the ewe-bught and the milking green, with delight; but I now found that I had got a step higher, and thenceforward resolved to cling to my harp, with a fondness which no obloquy should diminish,-and I have kept the resolution.—The song was first set to music and sung by Miss C. Forest, and has long been a favourite, and generally sung through a great portion of Scotland.
The moon was a-waning,
The tempest was over;
And fond was the lover;