Poems on various subjects By R. Anderson |
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 | SONGS. |
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| II. |
| III. |
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| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
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| XIV. |
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| XVIII. |
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| XX. |
| XXI. |
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| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
| XXXII. |
| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| XXXVIII. |
| XXXIX. |
| XL. |
| XLI. |
| XLIV. |
| XLV. |
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 | Poems on various subjects |  |
139
SONGS.
SONG I. A LASSIE AND A GILL.
Let Fortune smile on Impudence,
And to the dunce prove kind;
Gi'e me the chiel wi' common sense
And independent mind,
Wha can agree
Wi' Poverty,
And be contented still,
Wha ilka night delights to see
His Lassie and his Gill.
And to the dunce prove kind;
Gi'e me the chiel wi' common sense
And independent mind,
Wha can agree
Wi' Poverty,
And be contented still,
Wha ilka night delights to see
His Lassie and his Gill.
By Hope, that will-o'-th'-wisp, we're led—
To youth her aid she lends;
But when ilk golden prospect's fled,
And man to poortith bends,
The warl will frown,
And haud him down,
In spite o' Reason's skill:
E'en then life's sweetners are his own,
A Lassie and a Gill.
To youth her aid she lends;
140
And man to poortith bends,
The warl will frown,
And haud him down,
In spite o' Reason's skill:
E'en then life's sweetners are his own,
A Lassie and a Gill.
Let Grandeur tak' the gilded wa's,
And frae poor Merit fly,
There's still ae charm that a' his ha's
And filthy gowd can't buy:
In palace pent,
Knows he content,
Like Hab wha tends the mill,
Wha smiles at ills he can't prevent—
His Lassie and his Gill.
And frae poor Merit fly,
There's still ae charm that a' his ha's
And filthy gowd can't buy:
In palace pent,
Knows he content,
Like Hab wha tends the mill,
Wha smiles at ills he can't prevent—
His Lassie and his Gill.
Sin' warly riches canna gain
A day, nor yet an hour,
A fig for Wealth and a' her train,
Let's be content tho' poor,
And laugh at Care,
And black Despair,
And mak' Time cheerie still;
When thus, we need but twa things mair,
A Lassie and a Gill.
A day, nor yet an hour,
141
Let's be content tho' poor,
And laugh at Care,
And black Despair,
And mak' Time cheerie still;
When thus, we need but twa things mair,
A Lassie and a Gill.
142
SONG II. THE CAPTIVE.
Yes, he is blest, who for the fair
Heaves not the fond impassion'd sigh;
Who heeds not beauty, shape, or air,
Nor knows the language of the eye.
Heaves not the fond impassion'd sigh;
Who heeds not beauty, shape, or air,
Nor knows the language of the eye.
But pity to the wretch is due,
Who, love-beguil'd, still loves in vain;
Who seems a phantom to pursue,
Yet, hope-inspir'd, pursues with pain:
Who, love-beguil'd, still loves in vain;
Who seems a phantom to pursue,
Yet, hope-inspir'd, pursues with pain:
Whose looks betray the bursting heart,
That vainly pants for liberty:
Death only takes the mourner's part,
Who sets the wearied Captive free.
That vainly pants for liberty:
Death only takes the mourner's part,
Who sets the wearied Captive free.
143
SONG III. MARIAN.
Why dowie and sad sits poor Marian,
And why steal the tears frae her e'e?
The flow'rs that in spring time were blooming,
Bloom'd nae half sae bonie to see.
And why steal the tears frae her e'e?
The flow'rs that in spring time were blooming,
Bloom'd nae half sae bonie to see.
Wha ance was sae blythe as Marian,
Wha danc'd half sae light on the green;
But now a' the lave weep, sin' Marian
Nae mair with the younkers is seen.
Wha danc'd half sae light on the green;
But now a' the lave weep, sin' Marian
Nae mair with the younkers is seen.
The flocks on the hills are a' sporting,
The gowdspink sings sweet on the spray;
While Marian sits wailing where Sandy
Aft pip'd at the close of the day.
The gowdspink sings sweet on the spray;
While Marian sits wailing where Sandy
Aft pip'd at the close of the day.
144
Nae mair in the hairst, at the sheering,
The jokes and the blythe tales are told;
Nae music is heard in the loanings,
When wearing the sheep to the fold.
The jokes and the blythe tales are told;
Nae music is heard in the loanings,
When wearing the sheep to the fold.
O! dool tak' the loons, whase ambition
Sends lads frae the lasses awa',
And mak's Marian weep by the burnie
For Sandy, the flower o' them a'!
Sends lads frae the lasses awa',
And mak's Marian weep by the burnie
For Sandy, the flower o' them a'!
145
SONG IV. GENEROUS WINE.
What wonders cannot Wine effect?—'Tis free
Of secrets, and turns hope to certainty.
Creech.
Of secrets, and turns hope to certainty.
Creech.
Thou sportive charmer, ever gay,
Whose blushing sweets and radiant smile
Can chase the canker Care away,
And Sorrow of her thorn beguile!
No more I heed fair Julia's eye,
No more I seek to press her lip,
No more her frown shall prompt a sigh,
Whilst I thy cheering sweets can sip:
Her fading charms I pleas'd resign,
Since thou'rt my mistress, generous Wine!
Whose blushing sweets and radiant smile
Can chase the canker Care away,
And Sorrow of her thorn beguile!
No more I heed fair Julia's eye,
No more I seek to press her lip,
No more her frown shall prompt a sigh,
Whilst I thy cheering sweets can sip:
Her fading charms I pleas'd resign,
Since thou'rt my mistress, generous Wine!
Let Fortune's vot'ries round her press,
And Folly's sons her favours own;
How few the goddess deigns to bless,
How many sink beneath her frown!
Vain mortals! wealth for you can't buy
Health's roseate hue, or lasting peace,
Nor cheat the bosom of a sigh—
For riches but our cares increase:
Nor Love nor Wealth shall make me pine,
Whilst thou'rt my mistress, generous Wine!
And Folly's sons her favours own;
146
How many sink beneath her frown!
Vain mortals! wealth for you can't buy
Health's roseate hue, or lasting peace,
Nor cheat the bosom of a sigh—
For riches but our cares increase:
Nor Love nor Wealth shall make me pine,
Whilst thou'rt my mistress, generous Wine!
147
SONG V. BEN BOWSER'S MAXIM.
Ben Bowser was valiant, a true British tar,
Had brav'd ev'ry danger in tempest or war;
Was content as an emp'ror, tho' ever so poor,
And would sigh at the hardships too many endure:
To his friend ever gen'rous, to Bess ever true,
Ben still did to others as he'd be done to.
Had brav'd ev'ry danger in tempest or war;
Was content as an emp'ror, tho' ever so poor,
And would sigh at the hardships too many endure:
To his friend ever gen'rous, to Bess ever true,
Ben still did to others as he'd be done to.
‘What a pity,’ cried Ben, ‘that, in sailing thro' life,
‘There are lubbers so fond of base jarring and strife;
‘How snug might us steer thro' life's billowy sea,
‘If all hands to each other as brethren would be:
‘What a pity,’ he'd cry, ‘that the number's so few,
‘Who do unto others as they'd be done to.’
‘There are lubbers so fond of base jarring and strife;
‘How snug might us steer thro' life's billowy sea,
‘If all hands to each other as brethren would be:
‘What a pity,’ he'd cry, ‘that the number's so few,
‘Who do unto others as they'd be done to.’
Tho' light was his heart, he of grief had his share,
Yet his maxim was just, ‘Man ought not to despair;’
Ant your lubberly lordling who struts on dry land,
Like poor Ben, forc'd to yield at his Maker's command:
Then what argufies greatness, tho' rich as a Jew,
If he ne'er does to others as he'd be done to.
Yet his maxim was just, ‘Man ought not to despair;’
148
Like poor Ben, forc'd to yield at his Maker's command:
Then what argufies greatness, tho' rich as a Jew,
If he ne'er does to others as he'd be done to.
When wreck'd out at Indies, he'd shiners galore,
And many a poor comrade partook of his store:
All rejoic'd he'd escap'd from a watery grave,
Who gloried in conquest, but conquer'd to save:
When a Don was blown up, like a lion he flew,
And did unto others as he'd be done to.
And many a poor comrade partook of his store:
All rejoic'd he'd escap'd from a watery grave,
Who gloried in conquest, but conquer'd to save:
When a Don was blown up, like a lion he flew,
And did unto others as he'd be done to.
Return'd to Old England, half naked and poor,
He sought out his Bess, who now shew'd him the door.
By old friends quite forsaken, how painful his lot—
Those who once shar'd his gold, now, when poor, know him not:
Joy-deserted, a beggar the maim'd wand'rer view,
And still do to others as you'd be done to.
He sought out his Bess, who now shew'd him the door.
By old friends quite forsaken, how painful his lot—
Those who once shar'd his gold, now, when poor, know him not:
Joy-deserted, a beggar the maim'd wand'rer view,
And still do to others as you'd be done to.
149
SONG VI. LUCY GRAY OF ALLENDALE,
SET TO MUSIC BY MR. HOOK, And sung by Master Phelps, at Vauxhall, 1794.
O have you seen the blushing rose,
The blooming pink, or lily pale;
Fairer than any flow'r that blows
Was Lucy Gray of Allendale.
The blooming pink, or lily pale;
Fairer than any flow'r that blows
Was Lucy Gray of Allendale.
Pensive and sad by brae and burn,
Where oft the nymph they us'd to hail,
The shepherds now are heard to mourn
For Lucy Gray of Allendale.
Where oft the nymph they us'd to hail,
The shepherds now are heard to mourn
For Lucy Gray of Allendale.
With her to join the rural dance,
Far have I stray'd o'er hill and vale;
Then pleas'd each rustic stole a glance
At Lucy Gray of Allendale.
Far have I stray'd o'er hill and vale;
Then pleas'd each rustic stole a glance
At Lucy Gray of Allendale.
150
'Twas underneath the hawthorn shade
I told her first the tender tale;
But now low lays the lovely maid,
Sweet Lucy Gray of Allendale.
I told her first the tender tale;
But now low lays the lovely maid,
Sweet Lucy Gray of Allendale.
Bleak blows the wind, keen beats the rain,
Upon my cottage in the vale:
Long may I mourn a lonely swain,
For Lucy Gray of Allendale.
Upon my cottage in the vale:
Long may I mourn a lonely swain,
For Lucy Gray of Allendale.
151
SONG VII. DONALD OF DUNDEE.
Young Donald is the blythest lad
That e'er made love to me;
Whene'er he's by my heart is glad,
He's aye so kind and free;
Then on his pipe he plays so sweet,
And in his plaid he looks sae neat,
It cheers my heart at eve to meet
Young Donald of Dundee.
That e'er made love to me;
Whene'er he's by my heart is glad,
He's aye so kind and free;
Then on his pipe he plays so sweet,
And in his plaid he looks sae neat,
It cheers my heart at eve to meet
Young Donald of Dundee.
Whene'er I gang to yonder grove,
Young Davie follows me,
And fain he wants to be my love—
But, ah! that canna be:
Tho' mither frets baith soon and late,
For me to wed this youth I hate,
There's nane need hope to win young Kate,
But Donald of Dundee.
Young Davie follows me,
And fain he wants to be my love—
But, ah! that canna be:
152
For me to wed this youth I hate,
There's nane need hope to win young Kate,
But Donald of Dundee.
When last we rang'd the banks of Tay,
The ring he shew'd to me,
And bade me name the bridal day,
Then happy wou'd he be:
I ken the youth will aye prove kind,
Nae mair my mither will I mind,
Mess John to me shall quickly bind
Young Donald of Dundee.
The ring he shew'd to me,
And bade me name the bridal day,
Then happy wou'd he be:
I ken the youth will aye prove kind,
Nae mair my mither will I mind,
Mess John to me shall quickly bind
Young Donald of Dundee.
153
SONG IX. HARK AWAY!
This world's a wide plain, where, like hounds in full cry,
Mankind are all eager the chase to pursue;
O'er the strong bounds of reason regardless they fly,
To hunt down each other, when profit's in view:
Led on by ambition, pride, riches, or fame,
Each mortal toils hard in pursuit of his game.
Observe life's vain fantastic crew;
See how each hunts with game in view:
The young, the old, the grave, the gay,
All join the cry of hark away!
Mankind are all eager the chase to pursue;
O'er the strong bounds of reason regardless they fly,
To hunt down each other, when profit's in view:
Led on by ambition, pride, riches, or fame,
Each mortal toils hard in pursuit of his game.
Observe life's vain fantastic crew;
See how each hunts with game in view:
The young, the old, the grave, the gay,
All join the cry of hark away!
156
The soldier hunts honour, and flies to the war;
The patriot's in quest of a pension or place;
At the sound of a title, a ribband, or star,
The courtier he eagerly joins in the chase:
The doctor hunts patients, the lawyer a fee,
And a mitre's fine game grave divines all agree.
Observe life's vain fantastic crew, &c.
The patriot's in quest of a pension or place;
At the sound of a title, a ribband, or star,
The courtier he eagerly joins in the chase:
The doctor hunts patients, the lawyer a fee,
And a mitre's fine game grave divines all agree.
Observe life's vain fantastic crew, &c.
In pursuit of the fashion yon pert powder'd beau
O'er Pleasure's gay course gallops heedless along;
The coquette so artful each charm tries to shew,
And in quest of a lover still joins in the throng:
Whilst Folly starts game to amuse the gay town,
See Vice in full cry hunting poor Virtue down.
Observe life's vain fantastic crew;
See how each hunts with game in view:
The young, the old, the grave, the gay,
All join the cry of hark away!
O'er Pleasure's gay course gallops heedless along;
The coquette so artful each charm tries to shew,
And in quest of a lover still joins in the throng:
Whilst Folly starts game to amuse the gay town,
See Vice in full cry hunting poor Virtue down.
Observe life's vain fantastic crew;
See how each hunts with game in view:
The young, the old, the grave, the gay,
All join the cry of hark away!
157
SONG X. DEARLY DO I LOVE THEE.
CHORUS.
Come and live wi' me, lassie,Bra lassie, bonie lassie,
Come and live me, lassie,
For dearly do I love thee.
When simmer paints the meadows gay,
And sangsters gladden bank and brae,
Amang the broom we'll sport and play,
For dearly do I love thee.
And sangsters gladden bank and brae,
Amang the broom we'll sport and play,
For dearly do I love thee.
Come and live wi' me, lassie, &c.
When wintry winds bla' loud and keen,
And frownin sna's on hills are seen,
I'll screw my pipe to please my Jean,
For dearly do I love thee.
And frownin sna's on hills are seen,
I'll screw my pipe to please my Jean,
For dearly do I love thee.
Come and live wi' me, lassie, &c.
158
Tho' fickle Fortune keeps me poor,
Ambition ne'er shall cross my door;
And wert thou mine I'd ask no more,
For dearly do I love thee.
Ambition ne'er shall cross my door;
And wert thou mine I'd ask no more,
For dearly do I love thee.
Come and live wi' me, lassie, &c.
But had I gowd or had I land,
Or had I kingdoms at command,
I'd gi'e them a' to gain thy hand,
For dearly do I love thee.
Or had I kingdoms at command,
I'd gi'e them a' to gain thy hand,
For dearly do I love thee.
Come and live wi' me, lassie,
Bra lassie, bonie lassie,
Come and live wi' me, lassie,
For dearly do I love thee.
Bra lassie, bonie lassie,
Come and live wi' me, lassie,
For dearly do I love thee.
159
SONG XI. THEODORE AND ANNETTE.
On a green shady bank as young Theodore lay,
Lull'd to sleep by the murmuring brook,
Annette, as she carelessly wander'd that way,
Stole his garland, his pipe, and his crook;
Then instantly hied to a neighbouring shade,
While unheeded her flock stray'd around;
And so sweet was the music the shepherdess play'd,
That all nature seem'd pleas'd with the sound.
Lull'd to sleep by the murmuring brook,
Annette, as she carelessly wander'd that way,
Stole his garland, his pipe, and his crook;
Then instantly hied to a neighbouring shade,
While unheeded her flock stray'd around;
And so sweet was the music the shepherdess play'd,
That all nature seem'd pleas'd with the sound.
Awak'd from his slumber, young Theodore gaz'd,
Whilst Echo enliven'd the plain,
Then sought for his pipe; but was strangely amaz'd,
And thus sung his sorrowful strain:
‘My wreath was an emblem of Annette the fair,
‘The flow'rets so gay were her choice;
‘My pipe often sooth'd me when sunk in despair,
‘As I listen'd at eve to her voice.
Whilst Echo enliven'd the plain,
Then sought for his pipe; but was strangely amaz'd,
And thus sung his sorrowful strain:
‘My wreath was an emblem of Annette the fair,
‘The flow'rets so gay were her choice;
‘My pipe often sooth'd me when sunk in despair,
‘As I listen'd at eve to her voice.
160
‘How oft have I charm'd the gay nymphs in the grove,
‘Where now I may heave the sad sigh.’
Thus mourn'd the young shepherd, while Annette his love
In a thicket stood listening by:
She eagerly flew to her lover's relief;
He tenderly hung on her breast;
The smiles of the maid soon dispell'd all his grief—
Fond lovers can fancy the rest.
‘Where now I may heave the sad sigh.’
Thus mourn'd the young shepherd, while Annette his love
In a thicket stood listening by:
She eagerly flew to her lover's relief;
He tenderly hung on her breast;
The smiles of the maid soon dispell'd all his grief—
Fond lovers can fancy the rest.
161
SONG XII. I SIGH FOR THE GIRL I ADORE.
When fairies trip round the gay green,
And all nature seems sunk into rest,
Thro' valleys I wander unseen,
My heart with sad sorrow opprest;
And oft by the murmuring streams
Fair Eleanor's loss I deplore,
As alone, by the moon's silver beams,
I sigh for the girl I adore.
And all nature seems sunk into rest,
Thro' valleys I wander unseen,
My heart with sad sorrow opprest;
And oft by the murmuring streams
Fair Eleanor's loss I deplore,
As alone, by the moon's silver beams,
I sigh for the girl I adore.
When my flocks wander o'er the wide plain,
To some thicket of woodbine I rove,
There pensively tune a soft strain,
Or sing forth the praise of my love.
Where does my fair Eleanor stray?
Must I ne'er see the nymph any more?
Thus distracted I mourn the long day,
And sigh for the girl I adore.
To some thicket of woodbine I rove,
There pensively tune a soft strain,
Or sing forth the praise of my love.
162
Must I ne'er see the nymph any more?
Thus distracted I mourn the long day,
And sigh for the girl I adore.
When first I beheld the sweet maid,
By moon-light alone in the vale,
Far, far from the village we stray'd,
Where I tenderly told a soft tale.
How long must I wander forlorn?
Ah! when will my sorrows be o'er?
Such grief it can never be borne—
I sigh for the girl I adore.
By moon-light alone in the vale,
Far, far from the village we stray'd,
Where I tenderly told a soft tale.
How long must I wander forlorn?
Ah! when will my sorrows be o'er?
Such grief it can never be borne—
I sigh for the girl I adore.
163
SONG XIII. LUCKLESS JEAN.
When War's shrill trumpet ca'd to arms,
And Britain bade fair Freedom yield,
Young Collin, won by loons' alarms,
Fled far to seek the tented field.
My heart was laith to bid adieu,
And aft the tears stole frae my een;
Three times he cried, ‘Sweet lass, be true!’
Syne tore himself frae luckless Jean.
And Britain bade fair Freedom yield,
Young Collin, won by loons' alarms,
Fled far to seek the tented field.
My heart was laith to bid adieu,
And aft the tears stole frae my een;
Three times he cried, ‘Sweet lass, be true!’
Syne tore himself frae luckless Jean.
Blythe Spring awakes the tunefu' groves,
And gowans glint o'er meadows gay;
While Jean unpitied lonely roves,
And thinks o' him that's far away.
Auld Nature's smiles cou'd pleasure gi'e,
When Collin woo'd me on the green;
Ilk season brought new joys to me;
But Pleasure's fled frae luckless Jean.
And gowans glint o'er meadows gay;
While Jean unpitied lonely roves,
And thinks o' him that's far away.
Auld Nature's smiles cou'd pleasure gi'e,
When Collin woo'd me on the green;
Ilk season brought new joys to me;
But Pleasure's fled frae luckless Jean.
164
Nae mair the blythsome lilt I hear
O' younkers singing at the plough;
A' round me seems a desert drear,
Where waving Plenty met my view.
Whene'er I steal alang the burn,
Where aft sae merry we ha'e been,
Ilk mavis seems wi' me to mourn,
Ilk lintwhite pities luckless Jean.
O' younkers singing at the plough;
A' round me seems a desert drear,
Where waving Plenty met my view.
Whene'er I steal alang the burn,
Where aft sae merry we ha'e been,
Ilk mavis seems wi' me to mourn,
Ilk lintwhite pities luckless Jean.
How lang will poor deluded man
Against his brither dra' his sword,
To shield a base oppressive clan,
The hireling, knave, and pamper'd lord!
Come, meek-ey'd Peace, thy olive wave,
Lang time a wand'rer hast thou been;
Thy smiles frae death may thousands save,
And bring her love to luckless Jean.
Against his brither dra' his sword,
To shield a base oppressive clan,
The hireling, knave, and pamper'd lord!
Come, meek-ey'd Peace, thy olive wave,
Lang time a wand'rer hast thou been;
Thy smiles frae death may thousands save,
And bring her love to luckless Jean.
165
SONG XIV.
[Ye who would life's pleasures prove]
Ye who would life's pleasures prove,
Taste the sweets of wine and love:
Wine, that lulls each care to rest;
Love, that melts the tyrant's breast.
Taste the sweets of wine and love:
Wine, that lulls each care to rest;
Love, that melts the tyrant's breast.
Envy not pert Fashion's fool,
Nor the few who're born to rule;
Grandeur, Pow'r, and Wealth despise—
Gay Content far from them flies.
Nor the few who're born to rule;
Grandeur, Pow'r, and Wealth despise—
Gay Content far from them flies.
Heed not how the moments pass,
Fill to love the sparkling glass;
Toast the young, the fair, the gay:
Life is short—live while you may.
Fill to love the sparkling glass;
Toast the young, the fair, the gay:
Life is short—live while you may.
166
SONG XV. POLLY.
In Yarmouth first fair Poll I saw,
Well rigg'd, tight-built, for service clever;
I hail'd and took her straight in tow,
And vow'd to sail with her for ever:
Splic'd to a girl so fair and kind,
The sailor knows no jealous folly;
But soon, alas! the fickle wind
Forc'd me on board from lovely Polly.
Well rigg'd, tight-built, for service clever;
I hail'd and took her straight in tow,
And vow'd to sail with her for ever:
Splic'd to a girl so fair and kind,
The sailor knows no jealous folly;
But soon, alas! the fickle wind
Forc'd me on board from lovely Polly.
Scarce had we put three days to sea,
When a hard gale our vessel shatter'd;
No hopes of safety then had we,
For all around us rocks lay scatter'd.
The lightning's flash, the thunder's roll,
I heeded not, still brisk and jolly:
Soon in a calm we slung the bowl;
Each gave his girl—I toasted Polly.
When a hard gale our vessel shatter'd;
No hopes of safety then had we,
For all around us rocks lay scatter'd.
The lightning's flash, the thunder's roll,
I heeded not, still brisk and jolly:
Soon in a calm we slung the bowl;
Each gave his girl—I toasted Polly.
167
Sav'd from the storm, a ship we 'spy'd;
The word was giv'n, loud cannons rattle:
‘Adieu, my Poll,’ I sighing cried,
‘For soon thy Ben may fall in battle.’
Tho' both my limbs were shiver'd sore,
I thought repining nought but folly,
And boldly brav'd the battle's roar,
Cheer'd with the hope of meeting Polly.
The word was giv'n, loud cannons rattle:
‘Adieu, my Poll,’ I sighing cried,
‘For soon thy Ben may fall in battle.’
Tho' both my limbs were shiver'd sore,
I thought repining nought but folly,
And boldly brav'd the battle's roar,
Cheer'd with the hope of meeting Polly.
They struck, and soon to land we bore,
When sailors feel a glowing pleasure;
I flew to meet my girl on shore,
And share with her my hard-earn'd treasure:
But in a calm the wind may veer,
So mirth may turn to melancholy;
A tar soon whisper'd, with a tear,
That Death had robb'd me of my Polly.
When sailors feel a glowing pleasure;
I flew to meet my girl on shore,
And share with her my hard-earn'd treasure:
But in a calm the wind may veer,
So mirth may turn to melancholy;
A tar soon whisper'd, with a tear,
That Death had robb'd me of my Polly.
Full oft I've fought my country's cause,
And weather'd many a stormy ocean;
Thro' life have borne my share of woes—
For happiness is all a notion;
Yet, like a sailor bold and brave,
I'll never pine in melancholy,
But do my duty, till the grave
Makes Ben forget the charms of Polly.
And weather'd many a stormy ocean;
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For happiness is all a notion;
Yet, like a sailor bold and brave,
I'll never pine in melancholy,
But do my duty, till the grave
Makes Ben forget the charms of Polly.
SONG XVI. COME, SWEET GIRL, AND LIVE WITH ME.
Gay Spring with flow'rs bedecks the plains,
Soft music echoes thro' the grove;
How cheerful seem the nymphs and swains,
And all around is mirth and love:
Earth spreads a fragrant couch for thee—
O come, sweet girl, and live with me.
Soft music echoes thro' the grove;
How cheerful seem the nymphs and swains,
And all around is mirth and love:
Earth spreads a fragrant couch for thee—
O come, sweet girl, and live with me.
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Mild Summer, smiling o'er the fields,
Invites me to the woodbine bow'r;
Pensive I view what Summer yields,
Pensive I cull each fav'rite flow'r;
The chaplet twin'd, I think of thee,
Then come, sweet girl, and live with me.
Invites me to the woodbine bow'r;
Pensive I view what Summer yields,
Pensive I cull each fav'rite flow'r;
The chaplet twin'd, I think of thee,
Then come, sweet girl, and live with me.
Rich Autumn waves her golden store,
And saffron'd leaves fall by each blast.
Thus life's gay summer soon is o'er,
And Memory weeps at what is past:
My wearied thoughts still turn to thee—
O come, sweet girl, and live with me.
And saffron'd leaves fall by each blast.
Thus life's gay summer soon is o'er,
And Memory weeps at what is past:
My wearied thoughts still turn to thee—
O come, sweet girl, and live with me.
In Winter, when the piercing wind,
Disrobes gay Nature of her charms,
Thy fancied presence cheers my mind,
And soothing Hope my bosom warms:
I tune my pipe to love and thee,
Then come, sweet girl, and live with me.
Disrobes gay Nature of her charms,
Thy fancied presence cheers my mind,
And soothing Hope my bosom warms:
I tune my pipe to love and thee,
Then come, sweet girl, and live with me.
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SONG XVII. THE LASSES O' THE LYNE.
Of Yarrow, Tweed, and winding Tay,
Fu' lightly Allan sang, O;
To Nanny Burns aft tun'd his lay,
Till glens wi' echoes rang, O:
In weel-tim'd verse cou'd I rehearse
The charms o' maidens fine, O,
My sang shou'd be in praise o' three,
The lasses o' the Lyne, O.
Fu' lightly Allan sang, O;
To Nanny Burns aft tun'd his lay,
Till glens wi' echoes rang, O:
In weel-tim'd verse cou'd I rehearse
The charms o' maidens fine, O,
My sang shou'd be in praise o' three,
The lasses o' the Lyne, O.
Ye dainty dames wi' borrow'd face,
Whase praise but few can tell, O;
Wha proudly sneer, and scorn the place
Where Virtue likes to dwell, O;
For you sae gay, at ball or play,
Tho' tinsell'd beaus may pine, O,
Your town-bred air can no compare
Wi' the lasses o' the Lyne, O.
Whase praise but few can tell, O;
Wha proudly sneer, and scorn the place
Where Virtue likes to dwell, O;
For you sae gay, at ball or play,
Tho' tinsell'd beaus may pine, O,
Your town-bred air can no compare
Wi' the lasses o' the Lyne, O.
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To warldly elves gi'e gowd and land,
To courtly knaves gi'e pride, O;
A' India's wealth cou'd I command,
I'd dwell by yon burn side, O.
Sin' Poverty aye hauds by me,
Sic joys can ne'er be mine, O;
In artless lays content I'll praise
The lasses o' the Lyne, O.
To courtly knaves gi'e pride, O;
A' India's wealth cou'd I command,
I'd dwell by yon burn side, O.
Sin' Poverty aye hauds by me,
Sic joys can ne'er be mine, O;
In artless lays content I'll praise
The lasses o' the Lyne, O.
SONG XVIII. FAIR SALLY.
When Honour bade her sons bear arms,
And boldly meet their country's foe,
I saw in vain fair Sally's charms,
Adown whose cheeks the tears did flow;
And wearied with the rural life,
The russet hill and flowery dale,
Won by the drum and sprightly fife,
Elate I left my native vale.
And boldly meet their country's foe,
I saw in vain fair Sally's charms,
Adown whose cheeks the tears did flow;
And wearied with the rural life,
The russet hill and flowery dale,
Won by the drum and sprightly fife,
Elate I left my native vale.
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The toils of war long time I brav'd,
Of danger still I bore a share,
And many a foe this arm hath sav'd,
For man may conquer, yet should spare.
Such scenes of carnage pall'd my mind;
Soon Britain's coast I long'd to hail,
And thought of joys I left behind,
When Fancy sought my native vale.
Of danger still I bore a share,
And many a foe this arm hath sav'd,
For man may conquer, yet should spare.
Such scenes of carnage pall'd my mind;
Soon Britain's coast I long'd to hail,
And thought of joys I left behind,
When Fancy sought my native vale.
Oft have I pray'd that war would cease,
When bleeding brethren clad the plain,
And soon the tidings of sweet Peace
Brought toil-worn warriors home again.
Discharg'd, dread war a while forgot,
Fair Sally soon I hop'd to hail,
And onward trudg'd towards her cot,
O'erjoy'd to view my native vale.
When bleeding brethren clad the plain,
And soon the tidings of sweet Peace
Brought toil-worn warriors home again.
Discharg'd, dread war a while forgot,
Fair Sally soon I hop'd to hail,
And onward trudg'd towards her cot,
O'erjoy'd to view my native vale.
I pass'd the oak, beneath whose shade,
I of fair Sally took my leave;
I pass'd the grove where, with the maid,
The happy hours were spent at eve;
I pass'd the village church—but wept,
And trembling read the plain-told tale,
That underneath fair Sally slept,
For one who left his native vale.
I of fair Sally took my leave;
173
The happy hours were spent at eve;
I pass'd the village church—but wept,
And trembling read the plain-told tale,
That underneath fair Sally slept,
For one who left his native vale.
SONG XIX. ELIZA.
Ere fair Eliza's face I knew,
Contentment crown'd my cot;
My cares seem'd light, my wants were few,
Vain pomp I envied not:
The rosy hours flew swift away,
I pip'd with merry glee;
No lark that hail'd the rising day
Was half so gay or free.
Contentment crown'd my cot;
My cares seem'd light, my wants were few,
Vain pomp I envied not:
The rosy hours flew swift away,
I pip'd with merry glee;
No lark that hail'd the rising day
Was half so gay or free.
174
Remembrance paints the pleasing scene,
When first she won my heart;
Her beauteous face, her comely mein,
Shone unadorn'd by art:
Now lonely wand'ring thro' the grove,
This bosom fill'd with care,
I tune my pipe to hapless love,
And mourn my absent fair.
When first she won my heart;
Her beauteous face, her comely mein,
Shone unadorn'd by art:
Now lonely wand'ring thro' the grove,
This bosom fill'd with care,
I tune my pipe to hapless love,
And mourn my absent fair.
The wretch enslav'd on Afric's coast,
More freedom knows than I;
Content is fled, blest Peace is lost,
In vain I heave the sigh:
Come then, sweet Hope, and soothe my grief,
Thy smiles oft cheer my breast;
'Tis thou alone canst give relief,
And make a lover blest.
More freedom knows than I;
Content is fled, blest Peace is lost,
In vain I heave the sigh:
Come then, sweet Hope, and soothe my grief,
Thy smiles oft cheer my breast;
'Tis thou alone canst give relief,
And make a lover blest.
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SONG XX. BONNY JEM THAT'S O'ER THE SEA.
Young Jemmy was a Highland lad,
That oft-times cross'd the burn to me;
He wore the bonnet, trows, and plaid,
Wi' garters green below his knee:
Of a' the shepherds west the Tweed,
By ilka ane it is agreed,
There's nane cou'd tune the oaten reed,
Like bonny Jem that's o'er the sea.
That oft-times cross'd the burn to me;
He wore the bonnet, trows, and plaid,
Wi' garters green below his knee:
Of a' the shepherds west the Tweed,
By ilka ane it is agreed,
There's nane cou'd tune the oaten reed,
Like bonny Jem that's o'er the sea.
May ill befa' the silly loons
Wha sent young Jemmy far frae me;
How dreary now are a' the towns,
Where shepherds pip'd sae merrily:
How waefu' now upo' the plain,
Where younkers danc'd wi' hearts right fain;
For now ilk lassie mourns her swain,
And sighs for him that's o'er the sea.
Wha sent young Jemmy far frae me;
How dreary now are a' the towns,
Where shepherds pip'd sae merrily:
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Where younkers danc'd wi' hearts right fain;
For now ilk lassie mourns her swain,
And sighs for him that's o'er the sea.
When last we met, ah, luckless morn!
'Twas underneath the greenwood tree;
But soon he frae my arms was torn,
Just as he vow'd to marry me:
Yet, when the cruel wars are o'er,
And shepherds hail their native shore,
I hope to meet, and part no more,
Wi' bonny Jem that's o'er the sea.
'Twas underneath the greenwood tree;
But soon he frae my arms was torn,
Just as he vow'd to marry me:
Yet, when the cruel wars are o'er,
And shepherds hail their native shore,
I hope to meet, and part no more,
Wi' bonny Jem that's o'er the sea.
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SONG XXI. KATE.
‘Stranger, if gentle pity swells thy breast,
‘Let Kate thy pity move—ah! well-a-day!
‘And turn not from a wand'rer sore opprest,
‘Sighing for her love, slain far away.’
‘Let Kate thy pity move—ah! well-a-day!
‘And turn not from a wand'rer sore opprest,
‘Sighing for her love, slain far away.’
‘Who was thy love, O fair but hapless maid,
‘For whom I see thee weep?—ah! well-a-day!
‘And why at eve mourn'st thou in this cold shade,
‘For him who sound doth sleep far, far away?’
‘For whom I see thee weep?—ah! well-a-day!
‘And why at eve mourn'st thou in this cold shade,
‘For him who sound doth sleep far, far away?’
‘Around yon cottage long young Henry toil'd;
‘I heard his vows of truth—ah! well-a-day!
‘Around yon cottage Peace and Pleasure smil'd,
‘And maidens lov'd the youth, slain far away.’
‘I heard his vows of truth—ah! well-a-day!
‘Around yon cottage Peace and Pleasure smil'd,
‘And maidens lov'd the youth, slain far away.’
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‘Let Hope, sweet maid! that cheers the path of all,
‘To thee her comfort give—ah! well-a-day!
‘Still some are doom'd to stand, tho' thousands fall,
‘And Henry yet may live, far, far away.’
‘To thee her comfort give—ah! well-a-day!
‘Still some are doom'd to stand, tho' thousands fall,
‘And Henry yet may live, far, far away.’
‘Ah, no! by war forc'd from his promis'd bride,
‘'Twas here he sigh'd adieu—ah! well-a-day!
‘And soon the tidings came, that Henry died,
‘To love and honour true, far, far away.’
‘'Twas here he sigh'd adieu—ah! well-a-day!
‘And soon the tidings came, that Henry died,
‘To love and honour true, far, far away.’
‘To love and honour true!—a friend behold!
‘Death only shall us part—ah! well-a-day!
‘For thee I fought and bled, brav'd heat and cold—
‘Still constant was this heart, tho' far away.’
‘Death only shall us part—ah! well-a-day!
‘For thee I fought and bled, brav'd heat and cold—
‘Still constant was this heart, tho' far away.’
‘Art thou my love?—it must not, cannot be!
‘My Henry once so fair!—ah! well-a-day!’
Pale turn'd her cheek—to earth's cold lap sunk she
Now Henry in despair mourns far away.
‘My Henry once so fair!—ah! well-a-day!’
Pale turn'd her cheek—to earth's cold lap sunk she
Now Henry in despair mourns far away.
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SONG XXII. ABSENCE.
How tedious, alas! are the hours,
The valleys no longer look gay;
The meadows bespangl'd with flow'rs,
No charms have when thou art away.
The villagers meet on the plain,
At eve their gay pastime I see;
But it only awakens my pain,
Since I am far distant from thee.
The valleys no longer look gay;
The meadows bespangl'd with flow'rs,
No charms have when thou art away.
The villagers meet on the plain,
At eve their gay pastime I see;
But it only awakens my pain,
Since I am far distant from thee.
Gay Summer the meads may perfume,
And call forth the nightingale's voice;
May cause each wild flow'ret to bloom,
And bid smiling Nature rejoice:
Gay Summer would last all the year,
If thou wert still smiling on me,
And a desert would pleasing appear—
But, ah! I am distant from thee.
And call forth the nightingale's voice;
May cause each wild flow'ret to bloom,
And bid smiling Nature rejoice:
Gay Summer would last all the year,
If thou wert still smiling on me,
And a desert would pleasing appear—
But, ah! I am distant from thee.
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In vain do I languish and pine,
Thy name is the theme of my song;
No pleasure, alas! now is mine,
But to think of thee all the day long.
O quickly thy presence restore,
That form which is dearest to me,
Or soon will my troubles be o'er,
For 'tis death to be distant from thee!
Thy name is the theme of my song;
No pleasure, alas! now is mine,
But to think of thee all the day long.
O quickly thy presence restore,
That form which is dearest to me,
Or soon will my troubles be o'er,
For 'tis death to be distant from thee!
SONG XXIII. ELLEN AND I.
In Spring, when sweet cowslips adorn the green vale,
And the lark's early melody wakes the fresh morn;
When the ploughman toils hard o'er the hill and the dale,
Or joins in the chase at the sound of the horn;
Then, wearied with labour, to Ellen I fly,
And few are so happy as Ellen and I.
And the lark's early melody wakes the fresh morn;
When the ploughman toils hard o'er the hill and the dale,
Or joins in the chase at the sound of the horn;
Then, wearied with labour, to Ellen I fly,
And few are so happy as Ellen and I.
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In Summer, when nymphs to the meadows repair,
And trip round the hay-rick all joyous and gay;
When each swain whispers soft a love tale to his fair,
And mirth, love, and innocence crown the long day;
Then at noon to the shade with fair Ellen I fly,
And few are so happy as Ellen and I.
And trip round the hay-rick all joyous and gay;
When each swain whispers soft a love tale to his fair,
And mirth, love, and innocence crown the long day;
Then at noon to the shade with fair Ellen I fly,
And few are so happy as Ellen and I.
In Autumn, when plenty enlivens the scene,
And round the pil'd sheaves see the reapers all roam;
When the younkers at eve gather round on the green,
To join the fond dance and proclaim harvest home;
Then oft in the throng her sweet form I espy,
And few are so happy as Ellen and I.
And round the pil'd sheaves see the reapers all roam;
When the younkers at eve gather round on the green,
To join the fond dance and proclaim harvest home;
Then oft in the throng her sweet form I espy,
And few are so happy as Ellen and I.
In Winter, when Boreas blows keen thro' the vale,
And wither'd and leafless the trees all appear;
When round the warm hearth flies the song, jest, or tale,
To beguile the long nights in this season severe;
Then to Ellen's snug cottage transported I fly,
And few are so happy as Ellen and I.
And wither'd and leafless the trees all appear;
When round the warm hearth flies the song, jest, or tale,
To beguile the long nights in this season severe;
Then to Ellen's snug cottage transported I fly,
And few are so happy as Ellen and I.
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SONG XXIV. AUTUMN.
Tho' the garlands are faded which Summer had wove,
And the woods, hills, and meadows no longer look gay;
Tho' the blackbird's soft note steals no more thro' the grove,
Nor the lark hails enraptur'd the brightness of day;
Tho' no more with coy Health by the streamlets I range;
Yet, blest with my Ella, I mourn not the change.
And the woods, hills, and meadows no longer look gay;
Tho' the blackbird's soft note steals no more thro' the grove,
Nor the lark hails enraptur'd the brightness of day;
Tho' no more with coy Health by the streamlets I range;
Yet, blest with my Ella, I mourn not the change.
Her cheeks can the roses and lilies outvie,
And all the wild flow'rets that wanton'd in June;
Her voice shall the voice of each minstrel supply;
For oft in fond raptures, o'ercome by the tune,
I fancy 'tis spring, and the nightingale's near;
Or summer I view in the smiles of my dear.
And all the wild flow'rets that wanton'd in June;
Her voice shall the voice of each minstrel supply;
For oft in fond raptures, o'ercome by the tune,
I fancy 'tis spring, and the nightingale's near;
Or summer I view in the smiles of my dear.
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Then sear, sickly Autumn! what Spring bade to bloom:
Tho' on Winter loud calling, I heed not your rage,
While the smiles of my Ella dispel every gloom;
For with her 'twould seem spring in the winter of age,
Who, guided by Virtue, a charm can impart,
Unknown to gay Splendour, Ambition, or Art.
Tho' on Winter loud calling, I heed not your rage,
While the smiles of my Ella dispel every gloom;
For with her 'twould seem spring in the winter of age,
Who, guided by Virtue, a charm can impart,
Unknown to gay Splendour, Ambition, or Art.
SONG XXV. JULIA.
Oft had I heard fond tales of love,
But dreamt not nymphs would prove unkind;
I met fair Julia in the grove,
And hop'd with Love some sport to find.
But dreamt not nymphs would prove unkind;
I met fair Julia in the grove,
And hop'd with Love some sport to find.
Ye roses that adorn her cheek,
Why thus your brightest bloom display?
Why thus a lover's ruin seek?—
Alas! ye bloom but to betray.
Why thus your brightest bloom display?
Why thus a lover's ruin seek?—
Alas! ye bloom but to betray.
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I did but gaze, yet was undone;
For soon I own'd his painful smart,
And felt, too late, a smile had won
What ne'er could have been gain'd by art.
For soon I own'd his painful smart,
And felt, too late, a smile had won
What ne'er could have been gain'd by art.
So flies the linnet to the snare,
The tempting bait in hopes to gain;
But finds too late, for all his care,
He struggles to be free in vain.
The tempting bait in hopes to gain;
But finds too late, for all his care,
He struggles to be free in vain.
SONG XXVI. TO-MORROW.
To-morrow's a cheat, let's be merry to-day,
And to Time fill a goblet—'twill force him to stay.
Who but cowards would e'er at his summons repine;
Who but cowards would steal from a liquor divine;
For 'tis wine that can blunt the keen thorn of pale Sorrow,
As it moistens the flow'r that may fade ere to-morrow.
And to Time fill a goblet—'twill force him to stay.
Who but cowards would e'er at his summons repine;
Who but cowards would steal from a liquor divine;
For 'tis wine that can blunt the keen thorn of pale Sorrow,
As it moistens the flow'r that may fade ere to-morrow.
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Since rosy Contentment dwells not with the great,
Leave wealth and dull thinking to slaves of the state;
But let Mirth and Good-humour our banquet still share,
And wine be our armour against sullen Care;
For 'tis wine, gen'rous wine, blunts the thorn of pale Sorrow,
As it moistens the flow'r that may fade ere to-morrow.
Leave wealth and dull thinking to slaves of the state;
But let Mirth and Good-humour our banquet still share,
And wine be our armour against sullen Care;
For 'tis wine, gen'rous wine, blunts the thorn of pale Sorrow,
As it moistens the flow'r that may fade ere to-morrow.
To-morrow's a cheat—the blest moments let's prize,
The sting of Reflection Age bids us despise.
Come, Friendship, then sweeten the care-drowning bowl,
That's sacred to Love, the delight of the soul;
For 'tis wine that can blunt the keen thorn of pale Sorrow,
As it moistens the flow'r that may fade ere to-morrow.
The sting of Reflection Age bids us despise.
Come, Friendship, then sweeten the care-drowning bowl,
That's sacred to Love, the delight of the soul;
For 'tis wine that can blunt the keen thorn of pale Sorrow,
As it moistens the flow'r that may fade ere to-morrow.
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SONG XXVII. NANNY OF THE TWEED.
How sweet to view the op'ning dawn,
When Phœbus ushers in the morn;
How sweet to trace the flow'ry lawn,
When blossoms deck the spangl'd thorn:
The birds sing sweet o'er hill and grove,
And sweet's the shepherd's oaten reed;
But sweeter far the maid I love,
Fair Nanny of the Tweed.
When Phœbus ushers in the morn;
How sweet to trace the flow'ry lawn,
When blossoms deck the spangl'd thorn:
The birds sing sweet o'er hill and grove,
And sweet's the shepherd's oaten reed;
But sweeter far the maid I love,
Fair Nanny of the Tweed.
Let heroes fly in quest of fame,
And dauntless brave the battle's roar;
Let statesmen court a gilded name,
And sailors roam from shore to shore:
Dearer to me the hill and grove,
The rural dance and oaten reed,
When wand'ring with the maid I love,
Fair Nanny of the Tweed.
And dauntless brave the battle's roar;
Let statesmen court a gilded name,
And sailors roam from shore to shore:
Dearer to me the hill and grove,
The rural dance and oaten reed,
When wand'ring with the maid I love,
Fair Nanny of the Tweed.
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What tho' I'm doom'd, alas! by Fate
To tend each day my fleecy care,
Content would crown my lowly state,
If she'd consent my flock to share:
Then blithe I'd sing o'er hill and grove,
And tune with glee my oaten reed;
My days I'd pass in peace and love,
With Nanny of the Tweed.
To tend each day my fleecy care,
Content would crown my lowly state,
If she'd consent my flock to share:
Then blithe I'd sing o'er hill and grove,
And tune with glee my oaten reed;
My days I'd pass in peace and love,
With Nanny of the Tweed.
SONG XXVIII. DONALD.
I toss and tumble a' the night,
Fu' laith to lie my lane, lassie;
Lang or the morn I wish for light,
For sleep I can get nane, lassie:
And aye this wee bit flutt'ring heart
It pants, and a' for thee, lassie;
Love likes to act a tyrant's part,
And winna let me be, lassie.
Fu' laith to lie my lane, lassie;
Lang or the morn I wish for light,
For sleep I can get nane, lassie:
And aye this wee bit flutt'ring heart
It pants, and a' for thee, lassie;
Love likes to act a tyrant's part,
And winna let me be, lassie.
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By Labour wak'd at peep o' day,
I greet alang the grove, lassie;
At eve I seek the birky brae,
Fu' fain to meet my love, lassie;
For aye this wee bit flutt'ring heart, &c.
I greet alang the grove, lassie;
At eve I seek the birky brae,
Fu' fain to meet my love, lassie;
For aye this wee bit flutt'ring heart, &c.
I mark the wild flow'rs as they bloom,
No half sae fair as thee, lassie;
The mournfu' mavis 'mang the broom,
No half sae sad as me, lassie;
For aye this wee bit flutt'ring heart, &c.
No half sae fair as thee, lassie;
The mournfu' mavis 'mang the broom,
No half sae sad as me, lassie;
For aye this wee bit flutt'ring heart, &c.
Let Fashion's fools, wi' gowd and land,
In costly splendour shine, lassie;
Tho' I nae acres can command,
An honest heart is mine, lassie:
But aye this wee bit flutt'ring heart, &c.
In costly splendour shine, lassie;
Tho' I nae acres can command,
An honest heart is mine, lassie:
But aye this wee bit flutt'ring heart, &c.
Then haste to thy ain Donald's arms,
And wi' his winsome bride, lassie,
This life will ha'e a thousand charms,
Unknown to scornfu' Pride, lassie:
Syne ease this wee bit flutt'ring heart,
It pants, and a' for thee, lassie;
Love likes to act a tyrant's part,
And winna let me be, lassie.
And wi' his winsome bride, lassie,
189
Unknown to scornfu' Pride, lassie:
Syne ease this wee bit flutt'ring heart,
It pants, and a' for thee, lassie;
Love likes to act a tyrant's part,
And winna let me be, lassie.
SONG XXIX. WILLY OF EDEN SIDE.
No youngker on the village green
Wi' my sweet Willy can compare;
His rosy cheeks, and jet-black een,
Mak' him the pride o' dance or fair.
In vain the lasses try each art,
To lure the youth wi' gaudy pride;
In vain they try to win the heart
Of bonny Willy, smiling Willy,
Winsome Willy of Eden side.
Wi' my sweet Willy can compare;
His rosy cheeks, and jet-black een,
Mak' him the pride o' dance or fair.
In vain the lasses try each art,
To lure the youth wi' gaudy pride;
In vain they try to win the heart
Of bonny Willy, smiling Willy,
Winsome Willy of Eden side.
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Whene'er the 'squire comes to our cot,
He jokes and ca's me blythsome Kate;
But, lake-a-day! I lo'e him not,
For a' his riches, pride, and state.
My aunty cries, ‘Dear lassie, mind,
‘And soon you'll be the 'squire's bride;’
But sweet content I ne'er can find
Except wi' Willy, smiling Willy,
Winsome Willy of Eden side.
He jokes and ca's me blythsome Kate;
But, lake-a-day! I lo'e him not,
For a' his riches, pride, and state.
My aunty cries, ‘Dear lassie, mind,
‘And soon you'll be the 'squire's bride;’
But sweet content I ne'er can find
Except wi' Willy, smiling Willy,
Winsome Willy of Eden side.
How pleas'd am I at eve to see
My bonny boy come o'er the hill;
He pous the sweetest flow'rs for me,
And tunes his pipe so loud and shrill.
Whene'er he likes to kirk I'll gae,
And wed wi' him, whate'er betide;
Then blythe I'll pass the live-lang day
Wi' bonny Willy, smiling Willy,
Winsome Willy of Eden side.
My bonny boy come o'er the hill;
He pous the sweetest flow'rs for me,
And tunes his pipe so loud and shrill.
Whene'er he likes to kirk I'll gae,
And wed wi' him, whate'er betide;
Then blythe I'll pass the live-lang day
Wi' bonny Willy, smiling Willy,
Winsome Willy of Eden side.
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SONG XXX. THE LOVELY BROWN MAID.
When May-scented zephyrs breathe gladness around,
Enliv'ning the meadow and grove,
And in each mossy cottage Contentment is found,
Crown'd with health, peace, retirement, and love;
Then far from the village the swains they retire,
At noon to the lonely sweet shade;
Grant me Health, rosy Health, all I ask and desire,
With a smile from my lovely brown maid.
Enliv'ning the meadow and grove,
And in each mossy cottage Contentment is found,
Crown'd with health, peace, retirement, and love;
Then far from the village the swains they retire,
At noon to the lonely sweet shade;
Grant me Health, rosy Health, all I ask and desire,
With a smile from my lovely brown maid.
When my flocks bleat around me upon the wide plain,
Contented I lie at my ease;
And at eve I retire, free from sorrow and pain,
To enjoy the soft fragrant breeze:
When music and gladness are heard thro' the grove,
By moonlight I steal from the shade,
And o'er hills and deep valleys unheeded I rove,
For a smile from my lovely brown maid.
Contented I lie at my ease;
And at eve I retire, free from sorrow and pain,
To enjoy the soft fragrant breeze:
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By moonlight I steal from the shade,
And o'er hills and deep valleys unheeded I rove,
For a smile from my lovely brown maid.
Each morn I rise happy, each night I lie down
With a heart free from envy and care;
In my plain humble cottage, far from the gay town
With my neighbours each comfort I share:
I envy no monarch, I boast not of wealth,
No troubles my cot e'er invade:
All the blessings I ask is the blessing of health,
And a smile from my lovely brown maid.
With a heart free from envy and care;
In my plain humble cottage, far from the gay town
With my neighbours each comfort I share:
I envy no monarch, I boast not of wealth,
No troubles my cot e'er invade:
All the blessings I ask is the blessing of health,
And a smile from my lovely brown maid.
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SONG XXXI. KATE OF DOVER.
Ned Flint was lov'd by all the ship,
Was tender-hearted, bold, and true;
Cou'd work his way, or drink his flip,
With e'er a seaman in the crew.
Tho' Ned had fac'd his country's foe,
And twice had sail'd the wide world over,
Had seen his messmates oft laid low,
Yet would he sigh for Kate of Dover.
Was tender-hearted, bold, and true;
Cou'd work his way, or drink his flip,
With e'er a seaman in the crew.
Tho' Ned had fac'd his country's foe,
And twice had sail'd the wide world over,
Had seen his messmates oft laid low,
Yet would he sigh for Kate of Dover.
Fair was the morn, when, on the shore,
He flew to take of Kate his leave:
‘My dear,’ he cried, ‘thy grief give o'er,
‘For Ned will ne'er his Kate deceive;
‘Let Fortune smile or let her frown,
‘To thee I ne'er will prove a rover;
‘All dangers in the bowl I'll drown,
‘And toast my love, fair Kate of Dover.’
He flew to take of Kate his leave:
‘My dear,’ he cried, ‘thy grief give o'er,
‘For Ned will ne'er his Kate deceive;
194
‘To thee I ne'er will prove a rover;
‘All dangers in the bowl I'll drown,
‘And toast my love, fair Kate of Dover.’
The tow'ring cliffs they bade adieu,
To brave all dangers on the main,
When, lo! a sail appear'd in view,
And Ned with many a friend was slain.
Thus Death, who lays the hero low,
Robb'd Kitty of a faithful lover:
The tars oft tell the tale of woe,
And heave a sigh for Kate of Dover.
To brave all dangers on the main,
When, lo! a sail appear'd in view,
And Ned with many a friend was slain.
Thus Death, who lays the hero low,
Robb'd Kitty of a faithful lover:
The tars oft tell the tale of woe,
And heave a sigh for Kate of Dover.
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SONG XXXII SUMMER.
Now the meadow, vale, and grove
Echo nought but songs of love;
Health around her fragrance pours,
Flora decks her fav'rite bow'rs.
Echo nought but songs of love;
Health around her fragrance pours,
Flora decks her fav'rite bow'rs.
Nature, smiling, seems to say,
‘In thy summer, man, be gay,
‘Ere from thee coy Health is fled,
‘And life's autumn bends thy head.’
‘In thy summer, man, be gay,
‘Ere from thee coy Health is fled,
‘And life's autumn bends thy head.’
Why then, Love, my thoughts control?
Let me quaff the flowing bowl,
Till I banish hence dull Care,
And forget that Julia's fair.
Let me quaff the flowing bowl,
Till I banish hence dull Care,
And forget that Julia's fair.
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SONG XXXIII. THE SWEETEST FLOWER OF YARROW.
Say, have you seen my Sandy fair,
Ye shepherds tell me true?
Last night he left me in despair,
And, sighing, cried adieu.
O where can he stray, the bonny boy,
Return my winsome marrow,
And fill this aching heart wi' joy,
Thou sweetest flow'r of Yarrow.
Ye shepherds tell me true?
Last night he left me in despair,
And, sighing, cried adieu.
O where can he stray, the bonny boy,
Return my winsome marrow,
And fill this aching heart wi' joy,
Thou sweetest flow'r of Yarrow.
Oft by pale moonlight thro' the mead
We two did kindly stray;
Then sweetly on his oaten reed
He pip'd so blythe and gay;
And oft beneath the shady tree
He ca'd me his bonny marrow,
And vow'd he'd aye be true to me,
The sweetest flow'r of Yarrow.
We two did kindly stray;
Then sweetly on his oaten reed
He pip'd so blythe and gay;
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He ca'd me his bonny marrow,
And vow'd he'd aye be true to me,
The sweetest flow'r of Yarrow.
Adieu, ye nymphs and woodland swains,
Each valley, dell, and grove,
Ye verdant meads and flow'ry plains,
Where we were wont to rove:
This doleful tale some pensive maid
May tell wi' mickle sorrow,
How Mary in the dust is laid,
For the sweetest flow'r of Yarrow.
Each valley, dell, and grove,
Ye verdant meads and flow'ry plains,
Where we were wont to rove:
This doleful tale some pensive maid
May tell wi' mickle sorrow,
How Mary in the dust is laid,
For the sweetest flow'r of Yarrow.
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SONG XXXIV.
[Go, winds, and whisper to my fair]
Go, winds, and whisper to my fair,
Adorn'd with ev'ry pleasing grace;
Tell her this bosom pants with care,
Since I beheld her beauteous face.
Adorn'd with ev'ry pleasing grace;
Tell her this bosom pants with care,
Since I beheld her beauteous face.
Go, bid the loves that on her wait
Steal softly from her snowy breast,
And bring from her a lover's fate,
That yet may make a lover blest.
Steal softly from her snowy breast,
And bring from her a lover's fate,
That yet may make a lover blest.
Tell her I seek the lonely vale,
And carve her name on ev'ry tree;
That Echo hears my pensive tale,
But only laughs at love and me.
And carve her name on ev'ry tree;
That Echo hears my pensive tale,
But only laughs at love and me.
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SONG XXXV. HONEST JACK.
D'ye see, I'm a sailor that ne'er knew base fear;
It's true I'm a cripple—what then:
Tho' tight rigg'd fore and aft, and safe moor'd by my dear,
Were I call'd on, I'd try them again.
It's true I'm a cripple—what then:
Tho' tight rigg'd fore and aft, and safe moor'd by my dear,
Were I call'd on, I'd try them again.
Honest Jack is still happy and true to the end,
Can drink, dance, work, laugh, joke, and sing:
I tipples my grog to my girl or my friend,
And Jack's just as great as a king.
Can drink, dance, work, laugh, joke, and sing:
I tipples my grog to my girl or my friend,
And Jack's just as great as a king.
Now when poor Tom Hatchway was toss'd off the yard,
Kit Fearful, the lubber, would cry:
Avast there!’ says I, ‘tho' with Tom it's gone hard,
‘Let's be thankful 'twas not you or I.’
Kit Fearful, the lubber, would cry:
Avast there!’ says I, ‘tho' with Tom it's gone hard,
‘Let's be thankful 'twas not you or I.’
Honest Jack is still happy, &c.
200
Yer tempests and battles Jack minds not, d'ye see,
Let winds whistle or loud cannons roar;
The same Providence guards the poor sailor at sea,
That keeps the land-lubber ashore.
Let winds whistle or loud cannons roar;
The same Providence guards the poor sailor at sea,
That keeps the land-lubber ashore.
Honest Jack is still happy, &c.
When my fine larboard arm was shot off in the bay
D'ye think I'd palaver and sigh:
Says I to Sam Swig, when he hawl'd me away,
‘There's Greenwich as dead as my eye.’
D'ye think I'd palaver and sigh:
Says I to Sam Swig, when he hawl'd me away,
‘There's Greenwich as dead as my eye.’
Honest Jack is still happy, &c.
Tho' I've weather'd all storms, have oft stood at Death's door,
And twice by false friends lost my all,
Yet I ne'er bore away from a messmate when poor,
Nor e'er prov'd a shark to our Poll.
And twice by false friends lost my all,
Yet I ne'er bore away from a messmate when poor,
Nor e'er prov'd a shark to our Poll.
Honest Jack is still happy and true to the end,
Can drink, dance, work, laugh, joke, or sing:
I tipples my grog to my girl or my friend,
And Jack's just as great as a king.
Can drink, dance, work, laugh, joke, or sing:
I tipples my grog to my girl or my friend,
And Jack's just as great as a king.
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SONG XXXVI. MY DEARY, O.
Just where yon burn trots thro' the broom,
Amang the birks sae mony, O,
Where gowans glint and blue-bells bloom,
And lintwhites sing sae bonny, O,
A lass there lives right fair to see,
Wi' gracefu' air enchanting, O,
Whase rose-bud cheek and sparkling e'e
Ha'e set this heart a panting, O.
Amang the birks sae mony, O,
Where gowans glint and blue-bells bloom,
And lintwhites sing sae bonny, O,
A lass there lives right fair to see,
Wi' gracefu' air enchanting, O,
Whase rose-bud cheek and sparkling e'e
Ha'e set this heart a panting, O.
Her presence mak's me cheery, O,
Her absence mak's me weary, O:
'Tis my delight,
Baith day and night,
To gaze upo' my deary, O.
Her absence mak's me weary, O:
'Tis my delight,
Baith day and night,
To gaze upo' my deary, O.
I'd leave the town and a' its pride,
The seat o' Vice and Slander, O,
At eve yon burnie's flow'ry side
Wi' my sweet lass to wander, O.
Let Fortune shun my lowly cot,
And wealthy sauls frown on me, O,
The fickle jade I'd mind her not,
Wou'd Annie smile upon me, O:
The seat o' Vice and Slander, O,
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Wi' my sweet lass to wander, O.
Let Fortune shun my lowly cot,
And wealthy sauls frown on me, O,
The fickle jade I'd mind her not,
Wou'd Annie smile upon me, O:
Her presence mak's me cheery, O, &c.
Ye painted prudes, wi' a' your art,
In silk and siller flaunting, O,
Whase costly claise aft hides a heart
Where modesty is wanting, O,
My Annie scorns your borrow'd grace,
And, sweet as May-day morning, O,
Bright Health blooms on her cheerfu' face,
In spite of a' your scorning, O.
In silk and siller flaunting, O,
Whase costly claise aft hides a heart
Where modesty is wanting, O,
My Annie scorns your borrow'd grace,
And, sweet as May-day morning, O,
Bright Health blooms on her cheerfu' face,
In spite of a' your scorning, O.
Her presence mak's me cheery, O,
Her absence mak's me weary, O:
'Tis my delight,
Baith day and night,
To gaze upo' my deary, O.
Her absence mak's me weary, O:
'Tis my delight,
Baith day and night,
To gaze upo' my deary, O.
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SONG XXXVII. THE SEASON OF LOVE.
Eliza, tho' thy charms appear
Like May when in her gayest dress;
Tho' sweet thy voice to my rapt ear,
And sweet the bloom that decks thy face;
That bloom, alas! must soon decay,
And Age thy charms will soon remove;
Then let us wisely, while we may,
Think youth's the season meant for love.
Like May when in her gayest dress;
Tho' sweet thy voice to my rapt ear,
And sweet the bloom that decks thy face;
That bloom, alas! must soon decay,
And Age thy charms will soon remove;
Then let us wisely, while we may,
Think youth's the season meant for love.
Behold, my fair, the smiles of Spring;
See how the fragrant hawthorn blows;
Hark! how the woods with echoes ring,
And view thine emblem in the rose:
But mark the change, when Winter drear
Spreads a white mantle o'er the grove;
Think, ere thou view'st the waning year,
That youth's the season meant for love.
See how the fragrant hawthorn blows;
Hark! how the woods with echoes ring,
And view thine emblem in the rose:
But mark the change, when Winter drear
Spreads a white mantle o'er the grove;
Think, ere thou view'st the waning year,
That youth's the season meant for love.
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Come then, Eliza, sweetest maid
That e'er inspir'd fond lover's song,
I'll lead thee to each fav'rite shade,
Where murm'ring Eden steals along.
In spite of cruel Fortune's frown,
Let us the joys of life improve;
Nor blush, my fair, with me to own,
That youth's the season meant for love.
That e'er inspir'd fond lover's song,
I'll lead thee to each fav'rite shade,
Where murm'ring Eden steals along.
In spite of cruel Fortune's frown,
Let us the joys of life improve;
Nor blush, my fair, with me to own,
That youth's the season meant for love.
SONG XXXVIII. COLLIN'S COMPLAINT.
Ye shepherds, tell me, have you seen
Fair Emma of the village green?
The roses deck her face so fair,
In tresses flows her auburn hair;
The fairest of the fair is she—
But, ah! she never thinks of me.
How oft beneath yon poplar's shade
I stole to see the village maid;
Now lonely thro' the vale I rove,
To shun Despair, and fly from Love.
Fair Emma of the village green?
The roses deck her face so fair,
In tresses flows her auburn hair;
The fairest of the fair is she—
But, ah! she never thinks of me.
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I stole to see the village maid;
Now lonely thro' the vale I rove,
To shun Despair, and fly from Love.
With careless flight, the curious bee
From flow'r to flow'r still wanders free:
So I, ere Emma's face I knew,
From fair to fair contented flew;
With village youths and maidens gay
I join'd the dance at close of day;
But now in vain I seek repose,
And babbling Echo mocks my woes:
Then where shall hapless Collin rove,
To shun Despair, and fly from Love!
From flow'r to flow'r still wanders free:
So I, ere Emma's face I knew,
From fair to fair contented flew;
With village youths and maidens gay
I join'd the dance at close of day;
But now in vain I seek repose,
And babbling Echo mocks my woes:
Then where shall hapless Collin rove,
To shun Despair, and fly from Love!
My flocks unheeded stray around,
My pipe hath lost its pleasing sound.
Ah, shepherds! when she trips the plain,
Since you can witness Collin's pain,
Beware, fair Emma's beauty shun,
Or soon like me you'll be undone.
Ye faithful damsels see me laid
Beneath yon waving poplar's shade,
And pity Collin of the grove,
Who fell a prey to hapless love!
My pipe hath lost its pleasing sound.
Ah, shepherds! when she trips the plain,
Since you can witness Collin's pain,
206
Or soon like me you'll be undone.
Ye faithful damsels see me laid
Beneath yon waving poplar's shade,
And pity Collin of the grove,
Who fell a prey to hapless love!
SONG XXXIX. MUIRLAND WILLY.
To yon lone cot out o'er the moor,
That's shaded wi' green trees,
I aft steal frae my mither's door,
Young Willy there to teaze;
Then sair she flytes at my return,
And ca's me young and silly;
But, wae's my heart! I hate to mourn
Sae near my Muirland Willy.
That's shaded wi' green trees,
I aft steal frae my mither's door,
Young Willy there to teaze;
Then sair she flytes at my return,
And ca's me young and silly;
But, wae's my heart! I hate to mourn
Sae near my Muirland Willy.
207
At bughting time, whene'er we meet
In meadow, glen, or grove,
Wi' honey words and kisses sweet,
He tells saft tales of love:
My cheeks he says are like a rose,
My skin white as the lily,
My een are blacker far than sloes,
The smiling Muirland Willy.
In meadow, glen, or grove,
Wi' honey words and kisses sweet,
He tells saft tales of love:
My cheeks he says are like a rose,
My skin white as the lily,
My een are blacker far than sloes,
The smiling Muirland Willy.
When at the market, dance, or fair,
Bra' things he gi'es to me,
Baith pins and ribbands for my hair,
Sae comely for to see;
But when he wrestles on the green,
I look baith saft and silly,
While tears run trickling frae my een,
For fear o' Muirland Willy.
Bra' things he gi'es to me,
Baith pins and ribbands for my hair,
Sae comely for to see;
But when he wrestles on the green,
I look baith saft and silly,
While tears run trickling frae my een,
For fear o' Muirland Willy.
The youth is blythe, right fair to see,
And free frae warldly pride;
I ken fu' weel he doats on me,
And means me for his bride.
When next we meet I'se tell my mind,
And be no longer silly;
Then, if to marriage he's inclin'd,
I'll wed wi' Muirland Willy.
And free frae warldly pride;
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And means me for his bride.
When next we meet I'se tell my mind,
And be no longer silly;
Then, if to marriage he's inclin'd,
I'll wed wi' Muirland Willy.
SONG XL. HENRY.
Far on the main young Henry's sailing,
Bending to his hard fate severe;
While his fond love, his loss bewailing,
Mourns the sad absence of her dear.
Bending to his hard fate severe;
While his fond love, his loss bewailing,
Mourns the sad absence of her dear.
For three long years a faithful lover,
At last he nam'd the happy day;
When this his parents did discover,
They forc'd my Henry far away.
At last he nam'd the happy day;
When this his parents did discover,
They forc'd my Henry far away.
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What hopes and fears distract poor Nancy,
To think of dangers he must brave;
When winds are howling, oft I fancy
He may have found a wat'ry grave.
To think of dangers he must brave;
When winds are howling, oft I fancy
He may have found a wat'ry grave.
Yon mossy bank I make my pillow,
Where oft he own'd his tender flame;
Or weep beneath the weeping willow,
Where oft he carv'd his Nancy's name.
Where oft he own'd his tender flame;
Or weep beneath the weeping willow,
Where oft he carv'd his Nancy's name.
I view each well-remember'd token,
The garters gay, ‘Still constant be;’
Or read upon the gold that's broken,
‘Remember Henry far at sea.’
The garters gay, ‘Still constant be;’
Or read upon the gold that's broken,
‘Remember Henry far at sea.’
Yes, Henry, yes, all offers scorning,
Thy Nancy ne'er will faithless prove:
Can I forget the fatal morning,
When last I parted from my love!
Thy Nancy ne'er will faithless prove:
Can I forget the fatal morning,
When last I parted from my love!
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Cheer'd with the thought of thy returning,
A while fond Hope dispels each care;
But should Heaven change that hope to mourning,
Thy Nancy soon will meet thee there.
A while fond Hope dispels each care;
But should Heaven change that hope to mourning,
Thy Nancy soon will meet thee there.
SONG XLI. DEARLY I LOVE JOHNNY, O.
When Sandy first a wooing came,
He fondly try'd to win my heart,
And blush'd whene'er he own'd his flame;
But soon I guess'd his wily art.
Tho' ilka lad in tartan plaid
Should ca' me blythe and bonie, O,
They'd try in vain my heart to gain,
So dearly I love Johnny, O.
He fondly try'd to win my heart,
And blush'd whene'er he own'd his flame;
But soon I guess'd his wily art.
Tho' ilka lad in tartan plaid
Should ca' me blythe and bonie, O,
They'd try in vain my heart to gain,
So dearly I love Johnny, O.
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Tho' Johnny canna boast of wealth,
Contentment crowns his lowly state;
His ruddy cheeks denote sweet health,
And goodness mak's the laddie great.
In Aberdeen sure ne'er was seen
A youth sae blythe and bonie, O;
His flatt'ring tale can aye prevail,
So dearly I love Johnny, O.
Contentment crowns his lowly state;
His ruddy cheeks denote sweet health,
And goodness mak's the laddie great.
In Aberdeen sure ne'er was seen
A youth sae blythe and bonie, O;
His flatt'ring tale can aye prevail,
So dearly I love Johnny, O.
The ither morn upo' the bent
I met my lad sae brisk and gay;
He vow'd, unless I'd gi'e consent,
He'd o'er the hills and far away.
As hame we stray'd his pipes he play'd,
And sang of love sae bonie, O,
I made a vow to buckle to,
So dearly I love Johnny, O.
I met my lad sae brisk and gay;
He vow'd, unless I'd gi'e consent,
He'd o'er the hills and far away.
As hame we stray'd his pipes he play'd,
And sang of love sae bonie, O,
I made a vow to buckle to,
So dearly I love Johnny, O.
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SONG XLIV. THE PRESS-GANG.
On Tay's sweet banks the lintwhite sings sae cheerily,
Sweet blooms the violet and gowan in the grove;
The lambs o'er the meads they sport and play sae merrily,
And the shepherd here at eve is fain to meet his love:
'Twas here young Sandy first I knew,
Sic youths as him they are but few,
For he was comely, kind, and true;
But, ah! one luckless day,
A Press-gang forc'd my love to go
To fight for them he never saw,
And left me here quite sunk in woe,
For Sandy far-away.
Sweet blooms the violet and gowan in the grove;
The lambs o'er the meads they sport and play sae merrily,
And the shepherd here at eve is fain to meet his love:
'Twas here young Sandy first I knew,
Sic youths as him they are but few,
For he was comely, kind, and true;
But, ah! one luckless day,
A Press-gang forc'd my love to go
To fight for them he never saw,
And left me here quite sunk in woe,
For Sandy far-away.
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On Tay's sweet banks they tore my laddie from me;
O, sair did I weep when Sandy cried adieu!
In vain the shepherds try to heap their favours on me,
In vain the lasses seek sweet flow'rs to busk my brow;
But shou'd the youth return again,
'Twou'd ease this aching heart frae pain;
Then pleas'd I'd listen to his strain
A' the live-lang day.
My blessing aye attend my love,
Mak' him your care ye pow'rs above,
For weel I ken he'll constant prove,
Young Sandy far away.
O, sair did I weep when Sandy cried adieu!
In vain the shepherds try to heap their favours on me,
In vain the lasses seek sweet flow'rs to busk my brow;
But shou'd the youth return again,
'Twou'd ease this aching heart frae pain;
Then pleas'd I'd listen to his strain
A' the live-lang day.
My blessing aye attend my love,
Mak' him your care ye pow'rs above,
For weel I ken he'll constant prove,
Young Sandy far away.
On Tay's sweet banks I us'd to sing sae blythe and gay,
While Sandy pip'd so sweetly upon his oaten reed;
Now lonely I wander, sighing sad, ah! well-a-day!
Nor heed the shepherds' dance at eve upo' the mead.
Whene'er we met upo' the plain,
He ca'd me aye his Highland Jean,
And prais'd my cheeks and sparkling een,
Aye at close o' day.
When last we wander'd to Dundee,
He cried, sweet lass, I'll marry thee;
But, O! nae mair I hope to see
Young Sandy far away.
While Sandy pip'd so sweetly upon his oaten reed;
Now lonely I wander, sighing sad, ah! well-a-day!
Nor heed the shepherds' dance at eve upo' the mead.
Whene'er we met upo' the plain,
He ca'd me aye his Highland Jean,
And prais'd my cheeks and sparkling een,
Aye at close o' day.
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He cried, sweet lass, I'll marry thee;
But, O! nae mair I hope to see
Young Sandy far away.
SONG XLV. THE BEGGAR GIRL.
A poor helpelss wand'rer, the wide world before me,
When the harsh din of war forc'd a parent to roam,
With no friend, save kind Heaven, to protect and watch o'er me,
I a child of Affliction was robb'd of a home;
And thus with a sigh I accosted each stranger—
‘O, look with compassion on poor orphan Bess!
‘Your mite may relieve her from each threat'ning danger,
‘And the soft tear of pity can soothe her distress.’
When the harsh din of war forc'd a parent to roam,
With no friend, save kind Heaven, to protect and watch o'er me,
I a child of Affliction was robb'd of a home;
And thus with a sigh I accosted each stranger—
‘O, look with compassion on poor orphan Bess!
‘Your mite may relieve her from each threat'ning danger,
‘And the soft tear of pity can soothe her distress.’
217
To the rich, by whom Virtue's too often neglected,
I tell my sad story, and crave their relief;
But Wealth seldom feels for a wretch unprotected—
'Tis Poverty only partakes of her grief.
Ah! little they think that the thousands they squander
On the play-things of folly and fripp'ries of dress,
Would relieve the keen wants of the wretched who wander,
While the soft tear of pity would soothe their distress!
I tell my sad story, and crave their relief;
But Wealth seldom feels for a wretch unprotected—
'Tis Poverty only partakes of her grief.
Ah! little they think that the thousands they squander
On the play-things of folly and fripp'ries of dress,
Would relieve the keen wants of the wretched who wander,
While the soft tear of pity would soothe their distress!
Tho' bereft of each comfort, poor Bess will not languish;
Since short is life's journey, 'tis vain to lament;
And he who still marks the deep sigh of keen anguish,
Hath plac'd in this bosom the jewel content.
Then, ye wealthy to-day, think, ah! think, ere tomorrow
The frowns of Misfortune upon you may press,
And turn not away from a poor orphan's sorrow,
When the soft tear of pity can soothe her distress.
Since short is life's journey, 'tis vain to lament;
And he who still marks the deep sigh of keen anguish,
Hath plac'd in this bosom the jewel content.
Then, ye wealthy to-day, think, ah! think, ere tomorrow
The frowns of Misfortune upon you may press,
And turn not away from a poor orphan's sorrow,
When the soft tear of pity can soothe her distress.
| Poems on various subjects | |