Where since is pall'd an' conscience gall'd, And Nature's laws profan'd, 0: Where blooms the brier, gie me my dear An' ilka care on earth I'll leave Though troubles rise and wars increase, We'll laugh and sing, and love our king, THE SHEEP SHEARING. TUNE-Bung your Eye i' the Morning. THE morning was fair, and the firmament sheen; The valley was fresh, and the mountain was green; When bonny young Jean, of our maidens the queen, Went o'er the dale to the shearing. Her form was so fair, it was rather divine; Her lip was the clover-flower moisten'd with wine; Her manner was sweet and endearing. Her voice was the music, so tuneful and true; Her hair was the sunbeam; her eye was the dew, The mirror where Love did his image review, And smile at the shadow so pleasing. The knight, who was there at the shearing the ewes, Says, "Farmer, your daughter's a beautiful rose:" Then up to Miss Jeany he instantly goes, And kiss'd her, and aye would be teasing. He led her and toy'd with her all the long day, And gave her a ring set with jewels so gay: "O! meet me my dear," he would pressingly say, "This night in the bower by the river." "I'll ask at my father," young Jeany replies; "I fain would be with you; but if he denies'"Ah! pray do not tell him," said he, with sur prise, "And I'll love you, my Jeany, for ever." "But what, my dear Sir, are you wanting with me? I'll never do aught but my father may see; From evening till dawn of the morning." She cries-" My dear father, the knight and your Jean This night are to meet in the woodland so green, To kiss and to prattle by mortal unseen, From evening till dawn of the morning." The knight was abash'd and the farmer look'd sour. "He mocks you, my jewel, go not to the bower." "Then, sir, I am sorry 'tis out of my power To meet you this night by the river. I'll always be proud of your gay company, When my father permits I will wait upon thee." Then, light as a lamb, she skipp'd over the lee, And left the poor knight in a fever, "I ne'er saw a creature so lovely and sly; Yet always receiv'd him with kindest good-will! An' lovely an' loving as ever. HOW FOOLISH ARE MANKIND. TUNE-The lone Vale. How foolish are mankind, to look for perfection To vices and folly we heedlessly run. The man who is modest and kind in his nature, Far dearer to me is the humble ewe-gowan, Though sweet be their savour, and bonny their bloom. Far dearer to me is the thrush or the linnet, Than any fine bird from a far foreign tree; And dearer my lad, with his plaid and blue bonnet, Than all our rich nobles or lords that I see. MY DEAR LITTLE JEANY. AIR-Lack o' Gowd. "My dear little Jeany, what maks ye sae shy But Jamie's sae modest, that him I maun ruse; "My sweet little Jeany! the pride o' my age! Oh, how I'm delighted to hear you sae sage! The forward, who makes the young maiden his prey Is often carest, and the good sent away. I like ye, my Jeany, as dear as my life; |