THE MARINER. ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. Ye winds which kiss the groves' green tops, And sweep the mountain hoar, O, softly stir the ocean waves O, bend his masts with pleasant gales, O leave nae mair the bonnie glen, And faithless is the wind Then leave nae mair my heart to break, 'Mang Scotland's hills behind. PEGGIE. WILLIAM NICHOLSON. Whan first I forgather'd wi' Peggie, My Peggie an' I ha'e sung, Till the stars did blink sae hie; Come weel or come wae to the biggin', My Peggie was dear to me. The stately aik stood on the mountain, And tower'd o'er the green birken shaw; Ilk glentin' wee flow'r on the meadow Seem'd proud o❜ bein' buskit sae braw, Seem'd proud o❜ bein' buskit sae braw, When they saw their ain shape i' the Dee; 'Twas there that I courted my Peggie, Till the kirk it fell foul o' me. Though love it has little to look for Frae the heart that's wedded to gear, A wife without house or a haudin' Gars ane look right blate like an' queer; Gars ane baith look blate like an' queer, It vex'd me her sighin' an' sabbin', Now nought short o' marriage wou'd do; An' dight the sa't tear frae her e'e? But Peggie's ay dear to me. SING ON, SING, ON. R. M'C. Sing on, sing on, thou little bird It's gude to ha'e a lightsome heart, A heart that's fu' of glee; And I would bless thy gladsome notes, Though sorrow dwells with me. Thou sings to see the gowans bloom, A And wilt thou, gentle, win her love, By methods such as these, O dinna langer strain thy throat, Sweet sangster of the grove I, too, hae sung as gay a note, To win a woman's love; And, as thy gentle mate does now, She listen'd to the lay, And I sang on, and she proved false O cease thy roundelay. O MY LOVE IS A COUNTRY LASS. ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. my love is a country lass, And I am but a country laddie; But true love is nae gentleman, And sweetness is nae lofty lady. I make my bed 'mang brackens green; My light's the moon, round, bright, an' bonnie; And there I muse the summer night On her, my leal and lovely Jeanie. Her gown spun by her ain white hand; Sae lady-like in silk and satin? O! have you seen her at the kirk, Her brow with meek devotion glowing? Or got ae glance of her bright eye, Frae 'neath her tresses dark and flowing? Or heard her voice breathe out such words As angels use-sweet, but not many? And have ye dream'd of aught sinsyne, Save Her, my fair, my lovely Jeanie ? VOL. IV. N |