"Nae eastlin blast," the sprite replied; "It blaws na here sae fierce and fell, And on my dry and halesome banks Nae canker-worms get leave to dwell: Man! cruel man!" the genius sighed-- As through the cliffs he sank him down-- "The worm that gnaw'd my bonie trees, That reptile wears a ducal crown."^1

The Gallant Weaver

Where Cart rins rowin' to the sea, By mony a flower and spreading tree, There lives a lad, the lad for me, He is a gallant Weaver.

O, I had wooers aught or nine, They gied me rings and ribbons fine; And I was fear'd my heart wad tine, And I gied it to the Weaver.

My daddie sign'd my tocher-band, To gie the lad that has the land, But to my heart I'll add my hand, And give it to the Weaver.

While birds rejoice in leafy bowers, While bees delight in opening flowers, While corn grows green in summer showers, I love my gallant Weaver.

[Footnote 1: The Duke of Queensberry.]

Epigram At Brownhill Inn^1

At Brownhill we always get dainty good cheer, And plenty of bacon each day in the year; We've a' thing that's nice, and mostly in season, But why always Bacon--come, tell me a reason?

You're Welcome, Willie Stewart

Chorus.--You're welcome, Willie Stewart, You're welcome, Willie Stewart, There's ne'er a flower that blooms in May, That's half sae welcome's thou art!

Come, b.u.mpers high, express your joy, The bowl we maun renew it, The tappet hen, gae bring her ben, To welcome Willie Stewart, You're welcome, Willie Stewart, &c.

May foes be strang, and friends be slack Ilk action, may he rue it, May woman on him turn her back That wrangs thee, Willie Stewart, You're welcome, Willie Stewart, &c.

Lovely Polly Stewart

Chorus.--O lovely Polly Stewart, O charming Polly Stewart, There's ne'er a flower that blooms in May, That's half so fair as thou art!

The flower it blaws, it fades, it fa's, And art can ne'er renew it; But worth and truth, eternal youth Will gie to Polly Stewart, O lovely Polly Stewart, &c.

[Footnote 1: Bacon was the name of a presumably intrusive host.

The lines are said to have "afforded much amus.e.m.e.nt."--Lang]

May he whase arms shall fauld thy charms Possess a leal and true heart!

To him be given to ken the heaven He grasps in Polly Stewart!

O lovely Polly Stewart, &c.

Fragment,--Damon And Sylvia

Tune--"The t.i.ther Morn."

Yon wandering rill that marks the hill, And glances o'er the brae, Sir, Slides by a bower, where mony a flower Sheds fragrance on the day, Sir; There Damon lay, with Sylvia gay, To love they thought no crime, Sir, The wild birds sang, the echoes rang, While Damon's heart beat time, Sir.

Johnie Lad, c.o.c.k Up Your Beaver

When first my brave Johnie lad came to this town, He had a blue bonnet that wanted the crown; But now he has gotten a hat and a feather, Hey, brave Johnie lad, c.o.c.k up your beaver!

c.o.c.k up your beaver, and c.o.c.k it fu' sprush, We'll over the border, and gie them a brush; There's somebody there we'll teach better behaviour, Hey, brave Johnie lad, c.o.c.k up your beaver!

My Eppie Macnab

O saw ye my dearie, my Eppie Macnab?

O saw ye my dearie, my Eppie Macnab?

She's down in the yard, she's kissin the laird, She winna come hame to her ain Jock Rab.

O come thy ways to me, my Eppie Macnab; O come thy ways to me, my Eppie Macnab; Whate'er thou hast dune, be it late, be it sune, Thou's welcome again to thy ain Jock Rab.

What says she, my dearie, my Eppie Macnab?

What says she, my dearie, my Eppie Macnab?

She let's thee to wit that she has thee forgot, And for ever disowns thee, her ain Jock Rab.

O had I ne'er seen thee, my Eppie Macnab!

O had I ne'er seen thee, my Eppie Macnab!

As light as the air, and as fause as thou's fair, Thou's broken the heart o' thy ain Jock Rab.

Altho' He Has Left Me

Altho' he has left me for greed o' the siller, I dinna envy him the gains he can win; I rather wad bear a' the lade o' my sorrow, Than ever hae acted sae faithless to him.

My Tocher's The Jewel

O Meikle thinks my luve o' my beauty, And meikle thinks my luve o' my kin; But little thinks my luve I ken brawlie My tocher's the jewel has charms for him.

It's a' for the apple he'll nourish the tree, It's a' for the hinny he'll cherish the bee, My laddie's sae meikle in luve wi' the siller, He canna hae luve to spare for me.

Your proffer o' luve's an airle-penny, My tocher's the bargain ye wad buy; But an ye be crafty, I am cunnin', Sae ye wi anither your fortune may try.