The Scots musical museum . the maid that ,tends the goats, Lilting oer her native notes m m c i*» i,:_ja_> u„ F—r—* g * F Hark, fhe fings, young Sandy s kind, An hes promisd ay to loe me; fc=fc p rJ i ?0—#-i Heres a brotch, I neer fhall tind,Till hes fairly marrid to me; i£==iij ^^ Ppi* & F P P g V Drive away, ye drone time,An bring about our bridal day s r j ii i ^ ^ Sandy herds a flock o fheep,Aften does he blaw the whiftle,In a ftrain fae faftly fweet,Lammies liftning dare nae bleat;Hes as fleets the mountain roe,Hardv,as the highland heather,Wading thro* the winter fnow,Keeping sy his f
The Scots musical museum . the maid that ,tends the goats, Lilting oer her native notes m m c i*» i,:_ja_> u„ F—r—* g * F Hark, fhe fings, young Sandy s kind, An hes promisd ay to loe me; fc=fc p rJ i ?0—#-i Heres a brotch, I neer fhall tind,Till hes fairly marrid to me; i£==iij ^^ Ppi* & F P P g V Drive away, ye drone time,An bring about our bridal day s r j ii i ^ ^ Sandy herds a flock o fheep,Aften does he blaw the whiftle,In a ftrain fae faftly fweet,Lammies liftning dare nae bleat;Hes as fleets the mountain roe,Hardv,as the highland heather,Wading thro* the winter fnow,Keeping sy his flock together;But a plaid, wibare houghs,uHe braves the bleakeft norlin blaft. Brawly he can dance and fingCanty glee or highland cronach;Nane can ever match his flingAt a reel, or round a ring;Wightly can he wield a rungIn a brawl hes ay the bangfter:A his praife can neer be fungBy the langeft winded fangfter. Sangs that fing o Sandy Come fhort,tho they were eer fae lang. I Wifh mv Lcve were in a Mire. 41. My- bofom glowcl; the fubtile flameRan quick thro* all my vital frame; 0 er my dim eyes a darknefs hung;My ears with hollow murmurs rung:In dewy damps my limbs were chill d;My blood with genrle horrors thrilld;My feeble pulfe forgot Jtp play: 1 fainted, funk, and dyd away! 42 Same Tone. O Lovely maid, how dears thy once 1 love,at once adore:With wonder are my thoughts poffeft,While fofteft love infpires my tender look,thefe eyes of mine,Confers their amVous mafter thine;Thefe eyes withStrephons paifion play;Firft make me love, and then betray. Yes,Charming Victor,I am thine,Poor as it is, this heart of mineWas never in anothers powr, . ,Was never piercd by love before. In thee I ve tre&furd up my joy,Thou canTt give blifs,or blifs deftroy:.And thus iVe myfelf to love,While blifs or mifery can move. O fhould I neer poffefs thy charms,Neer meet my comfort in my hopes of dear enjoyment gone,Still would I love,love thee , l
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