Such was my Chloris' bonnie face Her pretty ancle is a spy Wad make a saint forget the sky. Her faultless form and gracefu' air; Declared that she could do nae mair. Let others love the city, And gaudy show at sunny noon; Gie me the lonely valley, The dewy eve, and rising moon Fair beaming, and streaming Her silver light the boughs amang; While falling, recalling, The amorous thrush concludes his sang; Burns's songs were not all adapted to Scottish, but some few of them to Irish and to English melodies. "Do you know," he says, in a letter to Thomson, "a blackguard Irish song called Onagh's waterfall?' The air is charming, and I have often regretted the want of decent verses to it. It is too much, at least for my humble rusti Muse, to expect that every effort of hers shall have merit; still I think that it is better to have mediocre verses to a favourite air than none at all." SECRET LOVE. From the "Minstrelsy of the North of Scotland," collected by Peter Buchan. DINNA ask me gin I luve thee, Deed I darena tell; Dinna ask me gin I luve thee, Ask it o' yoursel'. When ye come to yon town end— Oh, dinna look at me sa aft, Dinna ask me, &c. Little ken ye but mony ane DELVIN SIDE. From a manuscript collection of the "Northern Scottish Minstrelsy," WILL ye gae, my bonny May; Will ye gae, my bonny bridie; Will ye gae, my bonny May, An' breast the braes o' Delvin sidie? Where got ye that bonny May; Where got ye that bonny bridie? I got her down Buchan's how, Can ye play me Delvin side; Or else I swear I'll brak your fiddle. I can play ye Delvin side, I can play ye Delvin diddle, I can play ye Delvin side; My bowstring's sweet, an' sweet's my fiddle. This composition is of no merit, but is given, with others from Mr. Buchan's colection, as a specimen of the songs that continue to be popular among the peasantry, notwithstanding all that was done by Burns and others to introduce a higher style and better taste among them. I'LL NE'ER BEGUILE YOU. From a manuscript copy of the ancient "Mintsrelsy of the North of Scotland," by Peter Buchan. THERE's my thumb, I'll ne'er beguile you, It's not for your beauty I adore you, OHON, ORIE. From a manuscript copy of the "Songs of the North of Scotland," WHY should I sit an' sigh When the greenwoods bloom sae briery? Lavrocks sing, flowrets spring, And a' but me are cheery. Ohon, orie, there's something wanting; Ohon, orie, I'm weary; There is nae blythe nor bonny lad Comes o'er the knowes to cheer me. When I see the plover flee, Come awa, come awa, Herd, or hind, or boatman laddie; I hae cow, kid, an' ewe, Gowd and gear, to gain you. Ohon, orie, &c. My wee cot is blest an' happy, Oh, its neat and cleanly; Sweet's the brier blooms beside it, Kind's the heart that's lonely. Ohon, orie, &c. THE EVENING STAR. DR. JOHN LEYDEN, died 1811. How sweet thy modest light to view, Or hanging o'er that mirror-stream To mark each image trembling there, Thou seem'st to smile with softer gleam To see thy lovely face so fair. Though, blazing o'er the arch of night, Thine are the soft enchanting hours That soon the sun will rise again. Thine is the breeze that, murmuring bland Fair star! though I be doomed to prove That rapture's tears are mix'd with pain; Ah! still I feel 'tis sweet to love,- WHERE SHALL THE LOVER REST? SIR WALTER SCOTT, born 1771, died 1832. From "Marmion." WHERE shall the lover rest, Where through groves deep and high Sounds the far billow, Where early violets die Under the willow. Eleu loro. Soft shall be his pillow. |