O! WILL YE GO TO YON BURN SIDE?

The flowers will fade, the woods decay,
And lose their bonnie green;

The sun wi' clouds may be o'ercast,
Before that it be e'en.

Ilk thing is in its season sweet;

So love is in its noon:

But cankering time may soil the flower,
And spoil its bonnie bloom.

Oh, come then, while the summer shines,
And love is young and gay;
Ere age his withering, wintry blast
Blaws o'er me and my May.

For thee I'll tend the fleecy flocks,
Or hand the halesome plough;
And nightly clasp thee to my breast,
And prove aye leal and true.
The blush o'erspread her bonnie face,
She had nae mair to say,

But ga'e her hand and walk'd alang,
The youthfu', bloomin' May.

MY BONNIE LASSIE

CXX

MY BONNIE LASSIE

(ALLAN CUNNINGHAM)

LET the table be spread,

Bring me wine of the rarest

And fill me a cup:

Here's the health of the fairest!

The ladies of Nithsdale

Are stately and saucie,

But there's nane o' them a'
Like my Bonnie Lassie.

She has nae broad lands

To maintain her in grandeur, Nor jewels to light all

The kirk with their splendour; But Nature has made her Sae lovesome and gaucie, That a grey gown's enough For sae bonnie a lassie.

Her forehead is clearer

Than Nith when it's sunny,

Her bright laughing een
Amang lads are uncanny;

THE BONNIE BARK

Her lang, clustering love-locks-
Here, fill me the tassie:
There's nane of them a'
Like my Bonnie Lassie.

I am drunk wi' her love,
And forget in her presence,
But that she's divine,

And I owe her obeisance;
And I saunter at eve,

Though the big rain be falling,

And count myself blest

With a sight of her dwelling.

CXXI

THE BONNIE BARK

(ALLAN CUNNINGHAM)

O COME, my bonnie bark!
O'er the waves let us go,
With thy neck like the swan,

And thy wings like the snow. Spread thy plumes to the wind, For a gentle one soon

Must welcome us home,

Ere the wane of the moon.

THE BONNIE BARK

The proud oak that built thee
Was nursed in the dew,
Where my gentle one dwells,
And stately it grew.
I hew'd its beauty down;
Now it swims on the sea,
And wafts spice and perfume,
My fair one, to thee.

Oh, sweet, sweet's her voice,
As a low warbled tune;
And sweet, sweet her lips,
Like the rosebud of June.
She looks to sea, and sighs,
As the foamy wave flows,
And treads on men's strength,
As in glory she goes.

Oh haste, my bonnie bark,
O'er the waves let us bound,
As the deer from the horn,

Or the hare from the hound. Pluck down thy white plumes Sink thy keel in the sand, Whene'er ye see my love, And the wave of her hand.

OLD SCOTLAND, I LOVE THEE!

CXXII

OLD SCOTLAND, I LOVE THEE'

(ANDREW PARK)

OLD Scotland, I love thee! thou'rt dearer to

me

Than all lands that are girt by the widerolling sea;

Though asleep not in sunshine, like island afar,

Yet thou'rt gallant in love, and triumphant in war!

Thy cloud-cover'd hills that look up from the

seas

Wave sternly their wild woods aloft in the breeze;

Where flies the bold eagle in freedom on high, Through regions of cloud in its wild native

sky!

For old Scotland, I love thee! etc.

O name not the land where the olive-tree

grows,

Nor the land of the shamrock, nor land of

the rose;