LIZZY LINDSAY

She answered me, right modestly,
"I go, kind sir, to seek my father,
Whose fleecy charge he tends at large,
On yon green hills beyond the heather."
O'er the muir amang the heather,
O'er the muir amang the heather;
Were I a king thou shouldst be mine,
Dear blooming maid, amang the heather.

Away she flew out of my view,

Her hame or name I ne'er could gather, But aye sin' syne I sigh and pine

For that sweet lass amang the heather.

O'er the muir amang the heather,
O'er the muir amang the heather;
While vital heat glows in my heart
I'll love the lass among the heather.

XXXVII

LIZZY LINDSAY

(ROBERT BURNS)

WILL ye gang wi' me, Lizzy Lindsay,
Will ye gang to the Highlands wi' me?
Will ye gang wi' me, Lizzy Lindsay,
My bride and my darling to be?

THE MAID OF LLANWELLYN

To gang to the Highlands wi' you, sir,
I dinna ken how that may be;

For I ken nae the land that you live in,
Nor ken I the lad I'm gaun wi'.

O Lizzy, lass, ye maun ken little,
If sae ye dinna ken me;

For my name is Lord Ronald MacDonald,
A chieftain o' high degree.

She has kilted her coats o' green satin,
She has kilted them up to the knee,
And she's off wi' Lord Ronald MacDonald,
His bride and his darling to be.

XXXVIII

THE MAID OF LLANWELLYN

(JOANNA BAILLIE)

I'VE no sheep on the mountain, nor boat on the lake,

Nor coin in my coffer to keep me awake, Nor corn in my garner, nor fruit on my

tree

Yet the maid of Llanwellyn smiles sweetly

on me.

THE MAID OF LLANWELLYN

Soft tapping, at eve, to her window I came, And loud bay'd the watch-dog, loud scolded the dame;

For shame, silly Lightfoot; what is it to thee;

Though the maid of Llanwellyn smiles sweetly on me?

Rich Owen will tell you, with eyes full of

scorn,

Threadbare is my coat, and my hosen are

torn:

Scoff on, my rich Owen, for faint is thy

glee

When the maid of Llanwellyn smiles sweetly

on me.

The farmer rides proudly to market or fair, The clerk, at the alehouse, still claims the great chair;

But of all our proud fellows the proudest I'll

be,

While the maid of Llanwellyn smiles sweetly

on me.

For blythe as the urchin at holiday play,
And meek as the matron in mantle of gray,
And trim as the lady of gentle degree,
Is the maid of Llanwellyn who smiles upon

me.

CORN RIGS

XXXIX

CORN RIGS

(ROBERT BURNS)

It was upon a Lammas night,
When corn rigs are bonnie,
Beneath the moon's unclouded light,
I held awa' to Annie:

The time flew by wi' tentless heed,
Till 'tween the late and early,
Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed
To see me thro' the barley.

Corn rigs, and barley rigs,
And corn rigs are bonnie:
I'll ne'er forget that happy night,
Amang the rigs wi' Annie.

The sky was blue, the wind was still,
The moon was shining clearly;
I set her down wi' right good will
Amang the rigs o' barley;

I ken't her heart was a' my ain;
I lov'd her most sincerely;

I kissed her owre and owre again,
Amang the rigs o' barley.

FLORA MACDONALD'S LAMENT

I lock'd her in my fond embrace;
Her heart was beating rarely:
My blessings on that happy place,
Amang the rigs o' barley;

But by the moon and stars so bright,
That shone that hour so clearly!
She aye shall bless that happy night,
Amang the rigs o' barley.

I ha'e been blythe wi' comrades dear:
I ha'e been merry drinkin';

I ha'e been joyfu' gath'rin' gear;
I ha'e been happy thinkin':
But a' the pleasures e'er I saw,
Tho' three times doubl'd fairly,

That happy night was worth them a',
Amang the rigs o' barley.

XL

FLORA MACDONALD'S LAMENT

(JAMES HOGG)

FAR over yon hills of the heather sae green, An' down by the corrie that sings to the

sea,

The bonny young Flora sat sighing her lane, The dew on her plaid, and the tear in her

e'e.