Meg grew sick-as he grew hale And O! her een, they spak sic things!— V. Duncan was a lad o' grace (Ha, ha, the wooing o't!): MARY MORISON. I. O Mary, at thy window be! It is the wish'd, the trysted hour. Those smiles and glances let me see, That make the miser's treasure poor. How blythely wad I bide the stoure, A weary slave frae sun to sun, Could I the rich reward secureThe lovely Mary Morison! II. Yestreen when to the trembling string, The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha', To thee my fancy took its wing, Tho' this was fair, and that was braw, And yon the toast of a' the town, I sigh'd and said amang them a’:— 'Ye are na Mary Morison!' III. O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace, A RED RED ROSE. I. Он, my luve is like a red, red rose, II. As fair art thou, my bonie lass, So deep in luve am I; And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a' the seas gang dry. III. Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, And the rocks melt wi' the sun: I will luve thee still, my dear, IV. And fare thee weel, my only luve, IT WAS A' FOR OUR RIGHTFU' KING. It was a' for our rightfu' king We e'er saw Irish land. Now a' is done that men can do, And a' is done in vain, My Love and Native Land farewell, My dear For I maun cross the main. He turned him right, and round about And gae his bridle-reins a shake, With adieu for evermore, My dear And adieu for evermore. The sodger frae the wars returns, The sailor frae the main; But I hae parted frae my love, Never to meet again. When day is gane, and night is come, I think on him that's far awa', The lee-lang night, and weep. FLOW GENTLY, SWEET AFTON. 2 I. FLOW gently, sweet1 Afton, among thy green braes! II. Thou stock-dove whose echo resounds thro' the glen, III. How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills, My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye. 3 One 1 "clear" in one MS. 2 "And grateful" in one MS. MS. has "Ye blackbirds that sing in yon wild." 4 One MS. has "plover." One MS. has "pure." IV. How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below, V. Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides, VI. Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes! Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays! My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring streamFlow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream! COMIN THRO' THE RYE. I. COMIN thro' the rye, poor body She draigl't a' her petticoatie, O Jenny's a' weet poor body She draigl't a her petticoatie II. Gin a body meet a body Comin thro' the rye, |