Poems & songs . ild driving snaw,Alane can delight me—now Nannies awa !2 E 2IO SONGS BY ROBERT BURNS. CA THE EWES. Tune—Ca the Ewes to the Knoives. As I gaed down the water-side,There I met my shepherd lad,He rowd me sweetly in his plaid,And he cad me his dearie. Ca the ewes to the knowes,Ca them whare the heather grows,Ca them whare the burnie rowes,My bonnie dearie ! Will ye gang down the water-side,And see the waves sae sweetly glide,Beneath the hazels spreading wide 1The moon it shines fu clearly. I was bred up at nae sic school,My shepherd lad, to play the fool,And a the day to sit in doo
Poems & songs . ild driving snaw,Alane can delight me—now Nannies awa !2 E 2IO SONGS BY ROBERT BURNS. CA THE EWES. Tune—Ca the Ewes to the Knoives. As I gaed down the water-side,There I met my shepherd lad,He rowd me sweetly in his plaid,And he cad me his dearie. Ca the ewes to the knowes,Ca them whare the heather grows,Ca them whare the burnie rowes,My bonnie dearie ! Will ye gang down the water-side,And see the waves sae sweetly glide,Beneath the hazels spreading wide 1The moon it shines fu clearly. I was bred up at nae sic school,My shepherd lad, to play the fool,And a the day to sit in dool,And naebody to see me. Ye sail get gowns and ribbons meet,Cauf-leather shoon upon your feet,And in my arms yese lie and sleep,And ye sail be my dearie. If yell but stand to what yeve said,Ise gang wi you, my shepherd lad,And ye may rowe me in your plaid,And I sail be your dearie. While waters wimple to the sea;While day blinks in the lift sae hie ;Till clay-cauld death sail blin my ee,Ye sail be my THE LAZY MIST. Tune—Heres a health to my true love. The lazy mist hangs from the brow of the hill,Concealing the course of the dark winding rill;How languid the scenes, late so sprightly, appear !As autumn to winter resigns the pale forests are leafless, the meadows are brown,And all the gay foppery of summer is flown :Apart let me wander, apart let me muse,How quick time is flying, how keen fate pursues ! SONGS BY ROBERT BURNS. How long I have livd—but how much livd in vain ! How little of lifes scanty span may remain ! What aspects, old Time, in his progress, has worn ! What ties cruel fate in my bosom has torn ! How foolish, or worse, till our summit is gaind ! And downward, how weakend, how darkend, how paind. This lifes not worth having with all it can give— For something beyond it poor man sure must live. SWEET CLOSES THE EVENING. Tune—Craigie-burn wood. Sweet closes the evening on Craigie-burn wood, And blithely awaukens the morrow;But the pride
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