Tune--"This is no my house."

Chorus--This is no my ain la.s.sie, Fair tho, the la.s.sie be; Weel ken I my ain la.s.sie, Kind love is in her e're.

I see a form, I see a face, Ye weel may wi' the fairest place; It wants, to me, the witching grace, The kind love that's in her e'e.

This is no my ain, &c.

She's bonie, blooming, straight, and tall, And lang has had my heart in thrall; And aye it charms my very saul, The kind love that's in her e'e.

This is no my ain, &c.

A thief sae pawkie is my Jean, To steal a blink, by a' unseen; But gleg as light are lover's een, When kind love is in her e'e.

This is no my ain, &c.

It may escape the courtly sparks, It may escape the learned clerks; But well the watching lover marks The kind love that's in her eye.

This is no my ain, &c.

O Bonie Was Yon Rosy Brier

O bonie was yon rosy brier, That blooms sae far frae haunt o' man; And bonie she, and ah, how dear!

It shaded frae the e'enin sun.

Yon rosebuds in the morning dew, How pure, amang the leaves sae green; But purer was the lover's vow They witness'd in their shade yestreen.

All in its rude and p.r.i.c.kly bower, That crimson rose, how sweet and fair; But love is far a sweeter flower, Amid life's th.o.r.n.y path o' care.

The pathless, wild and wimpling burn, Wi' Chloris in my arms, be mine; And I the warld nor wish nor scorn, Its joys and griefs alike resign.

Song Inscribed To Alexander Cunningham

Now spring has clad the grove in green, And strew'd the lea wi' flowers; The furrow'd, waving corn is seen Rejoice in fostering showers.

While ilka thing in nature join Their sorrows to forego, O why thus all alone are mine The weary steps o' woe!

The trout in yonder wimpling burn That glides, a silver dart, And, safe beneath the shady thorn, Defies the angler's art-- My life was ance that careless stream, That wanton trout was I; But Love, wi' unrelenting beam, Has scorch'd my fountains dry.

That little floweret's peaceful lot, In yonder cliff that grows, Which, save the linnet's flight, I wot, Nae ruder visit knows, Was mine, till Love has o'er me past, And blighted a' my bloom; And now, beneath the withering blast, My youth and joy consume.

The waken'd lav'rock warbling springs, And climbs the early sky, Winnowing blythe his dewy wings In morning's rosy eye; As little reck'd I sorrow's power, Until the flowery snare O'witching Love, in luckless hour, Made me the thrall o' care.

O had my fate been Greenland snows, Or Afric's burning zone, Wi'man and nature leagued my foes, So Peggy ne'er I'd known!

The wretch whose doom is "Hope nae mair"

What tongue his woes can tell; Within whase bosom, save Despair, Nae kinder spirits dwell.

O That's The La.s.sie O' My Heart

Tune--"Morag."

O wat ye wha that lo'es me And has my heart a-keeping?

O sweet is she that lo'es me, As dews o' summer weeping, In tears the rosebuds steeping!

Chorus--O that's the la.s.sie o' my heart, My la.s.sie ever dearer; O she's the queen o' womankind, And ne'er a ane to peer her.

If thou shalt meet a la.s.sie, In grace and beauty charming, That e'en thy chosen la.s.sie, Erewhile thy breast sae warming, Had ne'er sic powers alarming; O that's the la.s.sie, &c.

If thou hadst heard her talking, And thy attention's plighted, That ilka body talking, But her, by thee is slighted, And thou art all delighted; O that's the la.s.sie, &c.

If thou hast met this Fair One, When frae her thou hast parted, If every other Fair One But her, thou hast deserted, And thou art broken-hearted, O that's the la.s.sie o' my heart, My la.s.sie ever dearer; O that's the queen o' womankind, And ne'er a ane to peer her.

Inscription

Written on the blank leaf of a copy of the last edition of my poems, presented to the Lady whom, in so many fict.i.tious reveries of pa.s.sion, but with the most ardent sentiments of real friendship, I have so often sung under the name of--"Chloris."^1

'Tis Friendship's pledge, my young, fair Friend, Nor thou the gift refuse, Nor with unwilling ear attend The moralising Muse.

Since thou, in all thy youth and charms, Must bid the world adieu, (A world 'gainst Peace in constant arms) To join the Friendly Few.

Since, thy gay morn of life o'ercast, Chill came the tempest's lour; (And ne'er Misfortune's eastern blast Did nip a fairer flower.)

Since life's gay scenes must charm no more, Still much is left behind, Still n.o.bler wealth hast thou in store-- The comforts of the mind!

Thine is the self-approving glow, Of conscious Honour's part; And (dearest gift of Heaven below) Thine Friendship's truest heart.

The joys refin'd of Sense and Taste, With every Muse to rove: And doubly were the Poet blest, These joys could he improve.

R.B.

[Footnote 1: Miss Lorimer.]

Fragment.--Leezie Lindsay

Will ye go to the Hielands, Leezie Lindsay, Will ye go to the Hielands wi' me?

Will ye go to the Hielands, Leezie Lindsay, My pride and my darling to be.