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Oft has the lark sung o'er my head,
And shook the dew-draps frae her wing: Oft hae my flocks forgot to feed,
And round their shepherd form'd a ring Their looks condole the lee-lang day,
While mine are fix'd and canna vary : Oft hae they listen’d to my lay
Of faith and love to Bonny Mary.
When Phæbus mounts frae Crawford-muir,
His gowden locks a' streaming gaily ; When morn has breath'd its fragrance pure,
And life and joy rings through the valley ; I drive my flocks to yonder brook,
The feeble in my arms I carry; Then every lammie's harmless look
Brings to my mind my Bonny Mary.
When gloamin' o'er the welkin steals,
And haps the hills in sober gray ; And bitterns, in their airy wheels,
Amuse the wanderer on his way ; Regardless of the wind and rain,
With cautious step and prospect wary, I often trace the lonely glen
To get a sight of Bonny Mary.
When midnight draws her curtain deep,
And lays the breeze amang the bushes,
And Scaur, wi' mony a winding sweep,
O'er rocks of reddle raves and rushes ; Tnough sunk in short and restless sleep,
My fancy wings her flight so airy To where sweet guardian spirits keep
Their watch around the couch of Mary.
The exile may forget his home,
Where blooming youth to manhood grew; The bee forget the honeycomb,
Nor with the spring his toil renew; The sun may lose his light and heat ;
The planets in their rounds miscarry ; But my fond heart shall cease to beat
When I forget my Bonny Mary.
MY BLYTHE AN' BONNY LASSIE.
Tune-Neil Gow's Farewell to Whisky.
How sair my heart nae man shall ken
Her streams sae pure an' glassy, 0:
Her flower of every flower the wale,
My blythe an' bonny lassie, 0 !
The night was short, the day was lang,
Gae part wi' that dear lassie, O.
My blythe an' bonny lassie, 0.
Her form is gracefu' as the pine ;
An' neither proud nor saucy, 0.
As a kiss o' my dear lassie, O.
Whate'er I do, where'er I be,
Her braes sae green an' grassy, 0 : For there my hopes are centred a'; An' there my heart was stown awa: An' there my Jeanie first I saw,
My blythe an' bonny lassie, O.
THE BRAES OF BUSHBY.
AE glentin' cheerfu' simmer morn,
Lamentin' for her Johnny, 0.
Was Bushby braes are bonny, 0.
On Bushby braes where blossoms blow, Where blooms the brier an’ sulky sloe, There first I met my only joe,
My dear, my faithfu' Johnny, 0. The grove was dark, sae dark an' sweet! Where first my lad an' I did meet; The roses blush'd around our feet :
Then Bushby braes were bonny, 0.
Departed joys, how soft! how dear!
Again to meet my Johnny, 0.
My lad is to the Baltic gane
But 'tis maistly for my Johnny, 0.
The Bushby braes are bonny, 0.
BLYTHE AN' CHEERY.
TUNE-Blythe, blythe, an' merry was she.
On Ettrick clear there grows a brier,
An' mony a bonny bloomin' shaw;
The braes o' Ettrick ever saw.
Her e'e the violet set wi' dew;
Yet in her bosom tines its hue.
Had I as muckle goud an' gear
As I could lift unto my knee, Nae ither lass but Peggy dear
Should ever be a bride to me.