Poems & songs . AID ON DEVON BANKS. Tun e—Rothemurche. Fairest maid on Devon banks,Crystal Devon, winding Devon, Wilt thou lay that frown aside, And smile as thou wert wont to do! Full well thou knowst I love thee dear!Couldst thou to malice lend an ear %O ! did not love exclaim Forbear,Nor use a faithful lover so. Then come, thou fairest of the fair,Those wonted smiles, O let me share;And by thy beauteous self I swear No love but thine my heart shall know. Fairest maid on Devon banks,Crystal Devon, winding Devon, Wilt thou lay that frown aside, And smile as thou were wont to do 1 OUT OVER THE
Poems & songs . AID ON DEVON BANKS. Tun e—Rothemurche. Fairest maid on Devon banks,Crystal Devon, winding Devon, Wilt thou lay that frown aside, And smile as thou wert wont to do! Full well thou knowst I love thee dear!Couldst thou to malice lend an ear %O ! did not love exclaim Forbear,Nor use a faithful lover so. Then come, thou fairest of the fair,Those wonted smiles, O let me share;And by thy beauteous self I swear No love but thine my heart shall know. Fairest maid on Devon banks,Crystal Devon, winding Devon, Wilt thou lay that frown aside, And smile as thou were wont to do 1 OUT OVER THE FORTH. Tune— Charlie Gordons welcome Hame. Out over the Forth I look to the north, But what is the north and its Highlands to me 1 The south nor the east gie ease to my breast,The far foreign land, or the wild-rolling sea. LORD GREGORY. 299 But I look to the west, when I gae to rest, That happy my dreams and my slumbers may be; For far in the west lives he I loe best,The lad that is dear to my babie and LORD GREGORY. O mirk, mirk is this midnight hour,And loud the tempests roar; A waefu wanderer seeks thy towr—Lord Gregory, ope thy door ! SONGS BY ROBERT BURNS. An exile frae her fathers ha, And a for loving thee ;At least some pity on me shaw, If love it may na be. Lord Gregory, mindst thou not the grove By bonnie Irwin-side,Where first I ownd that virgin-love I lang, lang had denied ? How aften didst thou pledge and vow Thou wad for aye be mine;And my fond heart, itsel sae true, It neer mistrusted thine. Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory, And flinty is thy breast—Thou dart of heaven that flashest by, O wilt thou give me rest! Ye mustering thunders from above, Your willing victim see !But spare and pardon my fause love, His wrangs to heaven and me! AS I WAS A-WANDRING. Tune—Rinn Meudial mo Mhealladh.—A Gaelic I was a-wandring ae midsummer eenin, The pipers and youngsters were makin their gameAmang them I spied my faithless fause lover,Which bled a the wou
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