What are the showy treasures, What are the noisy pleasures?

The gay, gaudy glare of vanity and art: The polish'd jewels' blaze May draw the wond'ring gaze; And courtly grandeur bright The fancy may delight, But never, never can come near the heart.

But did you see my dearest Chloris, In simplicity's array; Lovely as yonder sweet opening flower is, Shrinking from the gaze of day, But did you see, &c.

O then, the heart alarming, And all resistless charming, In Love's delightful fetters she chains the willing soul!

Ambition would disown The world's imperial crown, Ev'n Avarice would deny, His worshipp'd deity, And feel thro' every vein Love's raptures roll.

'Twas Na Her Bonie Blue E'e

Tune--"Laddie, lie near me."

'Twas na her bonie blue e'e was my ruin, Fair tho' she be, that was ne'er my undoin'; 'Twas the dear smile when nae body did mind us, 'Twas the bewitching, sweet, stown glance o' kindness: 'Twas the bewitching, sweet, stown glance o' kindness.

Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me, Sair do I fear that despair maun abide me, But tho' fell fortune should fate us to sever, Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever: Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever.

Chloris, I'm thine wi' a pa.s.sion sincerest, And thou hast plighted me love o' the dearest!

And thou'rt the angel that never can alter, Sooner the sun in his motion would falter: Sooner the sun in his motion would falter.

Their Groves O'Sweet Myrtle

Tune--"Humours of Glen."

Their groves o' sweet myrtle let Foreign Lands reckon, Where bright-beaming summers exalt the perfume; Far dearer to me yon lone glen o' green breckan, Wi' the burn stealing under the lang, yellow broom.

Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk, lowly, unseen; For there, lightly tripping, among the wild flowers, A-list'ning the linnet, aft wanders my Jean.

Tho' rich is the breeze in their gay, sunny valleys, And cauld Caledonia's blast on the wave; Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud palace, What are they?--the haunt of the Tyrant and Slave.

The Slave's spicy forests, and gold-bubbling fountains, The brave Caledonian views wi' disdain; He wanders as free as the winds of his mountains, Save Love's willing fetters--the chains of his Jean.

Forlorn, My Love, No Comfort Near

Air--"Let me in this ae night."

Forlorn, my Love, no comfort near, Far, far from thee, I wander here; Far, far from thee, the fate severe, At which I most repine, Love.

Chorus--O wert thou, Love, but near me!

But near, near, near me, How kindly thou wouldst cheer me, And mingle sighs with mine, Love.

Around me scowls a wintry sky, Blasting each bud of hope and joy; And shelter, shade, nor home have I; Save in these arms of thine, Love.

O wert thou, &c.

Cold, alter'd friendship's cruel part, To poison Fortune's ruthless dart-- Let me not break thy faithful heart, And say that fate is mine, Love.

O wert thou, &c.

But, dreary tho' the moments fleet, O let me think we yet shall meet; That only ray of solace sweet, Can on thy Chloris shine, Love!

O wert thou, &c.

Fragment,--Why, Why Tell The Lover

Tune--"Caledonian Hunt's delight."

Why, why tell thy lover Bliss he never must enjoy"?

Why, why undeceive him, And give all his hopes the lie?

O why, while fancy, raptur'd slumbers, Chloris, Chloris all the theme, Why, why would'st thou, cruel-- Wake thy lover from his dream?

The Braw Wooer

Tune--"The Lothian La.s.sie."

Last May, a braw wooer cam doun the lang glen, And sair wi' his love he did deave me; I said, there was naething I hated like men-- The deuce gae wi'm, to believe me, believe me; The deuce gae wi'm to believe me.

He spak o' the darts in my bonie black e'en, And vow'd for my love he was diein, I said, he might die when he liked for Jean-- The Lord forgie me for liein, for liein; The Lord forgie me for liein!

A weel-stocked mailen, himsel' for the laird, And marriage aff-hand, were his proffers; I never loot on that I kenn'd it, or car'd; But thought I might hae waur offers, waur offers; But thought I might hae waur offers.

But what wad ye think?--in a fortnight or less-- The deil tak his taste to gae near her!

He up the Gate-slack to my black cousin, Bess-- Guess ye how, the jad! I could bear her, could bear her; Guess ye how, the jad! I could bear her.

But a' the niest week, as I petted wi' care, I gaed to the tryst o' Dalgarnock; But wha but my fine fickle wooer was there, I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock, a warlock, I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock.

But owre my left shouther I gae him a blink, Lest neibours might say I was saucy; My wooer he caper'd as he'd been in drink, And vow'd I was his dear la.s.sie, dear la.s.sie, And vow'd I was his dear la.s.sie.

I spier'd for my cousin fu' couthy and sweet, Gin she had recover'd her hearin', And how her new shoon fit her auld schachl't feet, But heavens! how he fell a swearin, a swearin, But heavens! how he fell a swearin.

He begged, for gudesake, I wad be his wife, Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow; So e'en to preserve the poor body in life, I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow; I think I maun wed him to-morrow.

This Is No My Ain La.s.sie