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But lang may I weep o'er thy grave

Ere thou reviv’st again ;
For thou art fled, my bonny boy,

An' left me here alane !

AULD JOE NICHOLSON'S NANNY

Was written the year before last, for Friendship’s Offering, but has since become a favourite, and has been very often copied. I have refused all applications to have it set to music, having composed an air for it myself, which I am conscious I will prefer to any other, however much better it may be.

The daisy is fair, the day-lily rare,

The bud o' the rose as sweet as it's bonny; But there ne'er was a flower, in garden or bower, Like auld Joe Nicholson's bonny Nanny !

O, my Nanny !

My dear little Nanny !
My sweet little niddlety-noddlety Nanny !

There ne'er was a flower,

In garden or bower,
Like auld Joe Nicholson's bonny Nanny!

Ae day she came out, wi' a rosy blush,

To milk her twa kie, sae couthy and canny; I cower'd me down at the back o' the bush, To watch the air o' my bonny Nanny.

O, my Nanny, &c.

Her looks that stray'd o'er nature away,

Frae bonny blue een sae mild an’ mellow, Saw naething sae sweet in nature's array, Though clad in the morning's gowden yellow.

O, my Nanny, &c.

My heart lay beating the flowery green

In quaking, quivering agitation,
An' the tears cam' tricklin' down frae my een,
Wi' perfect love an’ wi' admiration.

O, my Nanny, &c.

There's mony a joy in this warld below,

An' sweet the hopes that to sing were uncanny But of all the pleasures I ever can know,

There's nane like the love o' my bonny Nanny. O, my Nanny !

My dear little Nanny! My sweet little niddlety-noddlety Nanny !

There ne'er was a flower,

In garden or bower, Like auld Joe Nicholson's bonny Nanny !

THE BROKEN HEART

Was written in detestation of the behaviour of a gentleman (can I call him so ?) to a dearly-beloved young relative of my own, and whom, at the time I wrote this, I never expected to recover from the shock her kind and affectionate heart had received. It has, however, turned out a lucky disappointment for her.

Now lock my chamber door, father,

And say you left me sleeping;
But never tell my step-mother

Of all this bitter weeping.
No earthly sleep can ease my smart,

Or even a while reprieve it;
For there's a pang at my young heart

That never more can leave it!

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