II.

When I think on the happy days I spent wi' you, my dearie, And now what lands between us lie, How can I but be eerie!

And now what lands between us lie, How can I be but eerie!

III.

How slow ye move, ye heavy hours, As ye were wae and weary!

It was na sae ye glinted by, When I was wi' my dearie.

It was na sae ye glinted by, When I was wi' my dearie.

LIV.

MUSING ON THE ROARING OCEAN.

Tune--"_Druimion dubh._"

[The air of this song is from the Highlands: the verses were written in compliment to the feelings of Mrs. M'Lauchlan, whose husband was an officer serving in the East Indies.]

I.

Musing on the roaring ocean, Which divides my love and me; Wearying heaven in warm devotion, For his weal where'er he be.

II.

Hope and fear's alternate billow Yielding late to nature's law, Whisp'ring spirits round my pillow Talk of him that's far awa.

III.

Ye whom sorrow never wounded, Ye who never shed a tear, Care-untroubled, joy-surrounded, Gaudy day to you is dear.

IV.

Gentle night, do thou befriend me; Downy sleep, the curtain draw; Spirits kind, again attend me, Talk of him that's far awa!

LV.

BLITHE WAS SHE.

Tune--"_Andro and his cutty gun._"

[The heroine of this song, Euphemia Murray, of Lintrose was justly called the "Flower of Strathmore:" she is now widow of Lord Methven, one of the Scottish judges, and mother of a fine family. The song was written at Ochtertyre, in June 1787.]

CHORUS.

Blithe, blithe and merry was she, Blithe was she but and ben: Blithe by the banks of Ern, And blithe in Glenturit glen.

I.

By Auchtertyre grows the aik, On Yarrow banks the birken shaw; But Phemie was a bonnier la.s.s Than braes of Yarrow ever saw.

II.

Her looks were like a flow'r in May, Her smile was like a simmer morn; She tripped by the banks of Ern, As light's a bird upon a thorn.

III.

Her bonnie face it was as meek As any lamb upon a lea; The evening sun was ne'er sae sweet, As was the blink o' Phemie's ee.

IV.

The Highland hills I've wander'd wide, And o'er the Lowlands I hae been; But Phemie was the blithest la.s.s That ever trod the dewy green.

Blithe, blithe and merry was she, Blithe was she but and ben: Blithe by the banks of Ern.

And blithe in Glenturit glen.

LVI.

THE BLUDE RED ROSE AT YULE MAY BLAW.

Tune--"_To daunton me._"

[The Jacobite strain of "To daunton me," must have been in the mind of the poet when he wrote this pithy lyric for the Museum.]

I.

The blude red rose at Yule may blaw, The simmer lilies bloom in snaw, The frost may freeze the deepest sea; But an auld man shall never daunton me.

To daunton me, and me so young, Wi' his fause heart and flatt'ring tongue.

That is the thing you ne'er shall see; For an auld man shall never daunton me.

II.