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O! the knot and the fairing were given to me When the golden-hair'd laddie came over the las O, Marian the merry, why now sadly sighing,
Your tresses neglected are sport for the breeze, The villagers' pastimes why foolishly flying,
O say, silly Marian, what symptoms are these 7 O, the knot and the fairing no longer please me, For the golden-hair'd laddie's gone over the les O, Marian the merry, again sweetly smiling,
Again like the fawn tripping lightly along, What innocent hope all your sorrows beguiling, O, say, happy Marian, enlivens your song? O, the knot and the fairing again pleasure me, For the golden-hair'd laddie's come over the lea.
MY TEMPLES WITH CLUSTERS. My temples with clusters of grapes I'll entwine, And barter all joys for a goblet of wine, In search of a Venus no longer I'll run, But stop and forget her at Bacchus' tun; No longer I'll run,
But stop and forget her at Bacchus' tun. Yet why this resolve to relinquish the fair? 'Tis a folly with spirits like mine to despair, For what mighty charms can be found in a glass, If not fill'd to the health of some favourite lass? 'Tis woman, whose charms every rapture impart, And lend a new spring to the pulse of the heart; The miser himself, so supreme is her sway, Grows a convert to love, and resigns her his key. At the sound of her voice, Sorrow lifts up her head And Poverty listens well pleas'd from her shed;
Thile age, in an ecstacy, hobbling along, eats time with the crutch, to the tune of her song. hen bring me a goblet from Bacchus' hoard, The largest and deepest that stands on the board, Il fill up a brimmer, and drink to the fair, Tis the thirst of a love-and pledge me who dare.
ack came home his pockets lin❜d,
He starts and trembles at the sound
And now 'tis to his ear conducted:
'Tis Poll, a bawling water cresses. And now she's in his arms, while he
Bids her relate fortune's reverses; The world turns faithless as the sea,
And loads false friends and troops with curses. They took, cried she, my very bed,
The sticks they seized and sold in pieces, So to get an honest piece of bread,
I cries, who'll buy my water cresses,
Still art thou rich, my girl, cried Jack,
And still shalt taste each earthly pleasure,
Ill fortune from this moment ceases,
DONALD OF DUNDEE.
Young Donald is the blithest lad,
Whene'er I gang down yonder grove,
And fain he wants to be my love,
My mither frets both soon and late,
When last we ranged the banks of Tay,
I ken the youth will aye prove kind;
Mess John to me shall quickly bind
Ah! Chloris, could I now but sit,
Your charms in harmless childhood lay, As metals in a mine;
Age from no face takes more away,
To their perfection press'd,
My passion with your beauty grew,
From thee, Eliza, I must go,
The maid that I adore!
That throb, Eliza, is thy part,
THE BIRKS OF INVERMAY.
The lav'rocks now, and lint whites sing;