Lx.x.xII.

CA' THE EWES.

Tune--"_Ca' the ewes to the knowes._"

[Most of this sweet pastoral is of other days: Burns made several emendations, and added the concluding verse. He afterwards, it will be observed, wrote for Thomson a second version of the subject and the air.]

CHORUS

Ca' the ewes to the knowes, Ca' them whare the heather grows, Ca' them whare the burnie rowes, My bonnie dearie!

I.

As I gaed down the water-side, There I met my shepherd lad, He row'd me sweetly in his plaid, An' he ca'd me his dearie.

II.

Will ye gang down the water-side, And see the waves sae sweetly glide, Beneath the hazels spreading wide?

The moon it shines fu' clearly.

III.

I was bred up at nae sic school, My shepherd lad, to play the fool, And a' the day to sit in dool, And naebody to see me.

IV.

Ye sall get gowns and ribbons meet, Cauf-leather shoon upon your feet, And in my arms ye'se lie and sleep, And ye shall be my dearie.

V.

If ye'll but stand to what ye've said, I'se gang wi' you, my shepherd lad, And ye may rowe me in your plaid, And I shall be your dearie.

VI.

While waters wimple to the sea; While day blinks in the lift sae hie; 'Till clay-cauld death sall blin' my e'e, Ye sall be my dearie.

Ca' the ewes to the knowes, Ca' them whare the heather grows, Ca' them whare the burnie rowes, My bonnie dearie.

Lx.x.xIII.

MERRY HAE I BEEN TEETHIN' A HECKLE.

Tune--"_Lord Breadalbone's March._"

[Part of this song is old: Sir Harris Nicolas says it does not appear to be in the Museum: let him look again.]

I.

O merry hae I been teethin' a heckle, And merry hae I been shapin' a spoon; O merry hae I been cloutin a kettle, And kissin' my Katie when a' was done.

O a' the lang day I ca' at my hammer, An' a' the lang day I whistle and sing, A' the lang night I cuddle my kimmer, An' a' the lang night as happy's a king.

II.

Bitter in dool I lickit my winnins, O' marrying Bess to gie her a slave: Blest be the hour she cool'd in her linens, And blythe be the bird that sings on her grave.

Come to my arms, my Katie, my Katie, An' come to my arms and kiss me again!

Drunken or sober, here's to thee, Katie!

And blest be the day I did it again.

Lx.x.xIV.

THE BRAES O' BALLOCHMYLE.

Tune--"_The Braes o' Ballochmyle._"

[Mary Whitefoord, eldest daughter of Sir John Whitefoord, was the heroine of this song: it was written when that ancient family left their ancient inheritance. It is in the Museum, with an air by Allan Masterton.]

I.

The Catrine woods were yellow seen, The flowers decay'd on Catrine lea, Nae lav'rock sang on hillock green, But nature sicken'd on the e'e.

Thro' faded groves Maria sang, Hersel' in beauty's bloom the while, And ay the wild-wood echoes rang, Fareweel the Braes o' Ballochmyle!

II.

Low in your wintry beds, ye flowers, Again ye'll nourish fresh and fair; Ye birdies dumb, in withering bowers, Again ye'll charm the vocal air.

But here, alas! for me nae mair Shall birdie charm, or floweret smile; Fareweel the bonnie banks of Ayr, Fareweel, fareweel! sweet Ballochmyle!

Lx.x.xV.

TO MARY IN HEAVEN.

Tune--"_Death of Captain Cook._"