Mark the winds, and mark the skies, Ocean's ebb, and ocean's flow, Sun and moon but set to rise, Round and round the seasons go.

Why then ask of silly Man To oppose great Nature's plan?

We'll be constant while we can-- You can be no more, you know.

The Lover's Morning Salute To His Mistress

Tune--"Deil tak the wars."

Sleep'st thou, or wak'st thou, fairest creature?

Rosy morn now lifts his eye, Numbering ilka bud which Nature Waters wi' the tears o' joy.

Now, to the streaming fountain, Or up the heathy mountain, The hart, hind, and roe, freely, wildly-wanton stray; In twining hazel bowers, Its lay the linnet pours, The laverock to the sky Ascends, wi' sangs o' joy, While the sun and thou arise to bless the day.

Phoebus gilding the brow of morning, Banishes ilk darksome shade, Nature, gladdening and adorning; Such to me my lovely maid.

When frae my Chloris parted, Sad, cheerless, broken-hearted, The night's gloomy shades, cloudy, dark, o'ercast my sky: But when she charms my sight, In pride of Beauty's light-- When thro' my very heart Her burning glories dart; 'Tis then--'tis then I wake to life and joy!

The Winter Of Life

But lately seen in gladsome green, The woods rejoic'd the day, Thro' gentle showers, the laughing flowers In double pride were gay: But now our joys are fled On winter blasts awa; Yet maiden May, in rich array, Again shall bring them a'.

But my white pow, nae kindly thowe Shall melt the snaws of Age; My trunk of eild, but buss or beild, Sinks in Time's wintry rage.

Oh, Age has weary days, And nights o' sleepless pain: Thou golden time, o' Youthfu' prime, Why comes thou not again!

Behold, My Love, How Green The Groves

Tune--"My lodging is on the cold ground."

Behold, my love, how green the groves, The primrose banks how fair; The balmy gales awake the flowers, And wave thy flowing hair.

The lav'rock shuns the palace gay, And o'er the cottage sings: For Nature smiles as sweet, I ween, To Shepherds as to Kings.

Let minstrels sweep the skilfu' string, In lordly lighted ha': The Shepherd stops his simple reed, Blythe in the birken shaw.

The Princely revel may survey Our rustic dance wi' scorn; But are their hearts as light as ours, Beneath the milk-white thorn!

The shepherd, in the flowery glen; In shepherd's phrase, will woo: The courtier tells a finer tale, But is his heart as true!

These wild-wood flowers I've pu'd, to deck That spotless breast o' thine: The courtiers' gems may witness love, But, 'tis na love like mine.

The Charming Month Of May

Tune--"Daintie Davie."

It was the charming month of May, When all the flow'rs were fresh and gay.

One morning, by the break of day, The youthful, charming Chloe-- From peaceful slumber she arose, Girt on her mantle and her hose, And o'er the flow'ry mead she goes-- The youthful, charming Chloe.

Chorus.--Lovely was she by the dawn, Youthful Chloe, charming Chloe, Tripping o'er the pearly lawn, The youthful, charming Chloe.

The feather'd people you might see Perch'd all around on every tree, In notes of sweetest melody They hail the charming Chloe; Till, painting gay the eastern skies, The glorious sun began to rise, Outrival'd by the radiant eyes Of youthful, charming Chloe.

Lovely was she, &c.

La.s.sie Wi' The Lint-White Locks

Tune--"Rothiemurchie's Rant."

Chorus.--La.s.sie wi'the lint-white locks, Bonie la.s.sie, artless la.s.sie, Wilt thou wi' me tent the flocks, Wilt thou be my Dearie, O?

Now Nature cleeds the flowery lea, And a' is young and sweet like thee, O wilt thou share its joys wi' me, And say thou'lt be my Dearie, O.

La.s.sie wi' the, &c.

The primrose bank, the wimpling burn, The cuckoo on the milk-white thorn, The wanton lambs at early morn, Shall welcome thee, my Dearie, O.

La.s.sie wi' the, &c.

And when the welcome simmer shower Has cheer'd ilk drooping little flower, We'll to the breathing woodbine bower, At sultry noon, my Dearie, O.

La.s.sie wi' the, &c.

When Cynthia lights, wi' silver ray, The weary shearer's hameward way, Thro' yellow waving fields we'll stray, And talk o' love, my Dearie, O.

La.s.sie wi' the, &c.

And when the howling wintry blast Disturbs my La.s.sie's midnight rest, Enclasped to my faithfu' breast, I'll comfort thee, my Dearie, O.

La.s.sie wi' the, &c.

Dialogue song--Philly And w.i.l.l.y

Tune--"The Sow's tail to Geordie."

He. O Philly, happy be that day, When roving thro' the gather'd hay, My youthfu' heart was stown away, And by thy charms, my Philly.