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TO MISS JANE S- -F.
I WASNA sae soon to my bed yestreen;
An' every perfection in every degree! Can naebody sing like Jeany yestreen,
That sleep's sae completely departit frae me?
It isna her een, where modesty beams,
Where sense an' good nature apparent we see 'Tis her sweet cherry lips, and her delicate form,
Have left an impression where it shouldna be. No, that's not the thing: 'tis an elegant ease Attending ilk action, though ever sae wee; An' her sweet heavenly voice, sae to melody
It will ring in my lugs till the day that I dee.
It isna her een sae bonny an' blue,
Nor nae single beauty astonishes me; But the hale o' the lassie arises to view,
As a model what womankind really may be. Your love in a present I wadna receive,
It wad mar sic a pure an' agreeable dream;
But only, if you think it prudent to give,
A shepherd, dear Jeany, entreats your esteem.
THE BONNY LASS OF DELORAINE.
AIR-Maid of Isla.
STILL must my pipe lie idle by,
So dear a theme can never cloy.
'Twas she inspir'd the simple strain, That lovely flower so sweet and young, The bonny lass of Deloraine.
How blest the breeze's balmy sighs
Around her ruddy lips that blow;
Or grass that bends beneath her toe.
Let Athol boast her birchen bowers,
And Windermere her woodland shores;
With many a wild and melting strain;
The bonny lass of Deloraine.
If heaven shall keep her ay as good
And Nature's first perfection see.
May health still cheer her beauteous face,
And round her brows may honour twine, And Heaven preserve that breast in peace, Where meekness, love, and duty join. But all her joys shall cheer my heart,
And all her griefs shall give me pain;
I HAE LOST MY JEANY, O.
TUNE-Lady Cunningham's Delight.
OI HAE seen when fields were green,
My looks are alter'd cleanly, O;
Since I hac lost my Jeany, O;
Now I may grane an' greet my lane,
My pouch without a guinea, O
Since I have lost my Jeany, O.
O, Fortune! thou hast us'd me ill
Thy sharpest dart has pierc'd my heart, An' ta'en frae me my Jeany, 0.
I'll nae mair strive, while I'm alive,
A mass o' lust an' knavery, O:
An' frae oblivion screen me, O; Then farewell fortune, farewell love, An' farewell bonny Jeany, O!
HERE, FIX'D BY CHOICE.
HERE, fix'd by choice, too long I staid
Too fond to see the charming maid
The rising sun each morning saw
No curses on her head I'll crave;