. Poems and songs . els, theres foursome reels,Theres hornpipes and strathspeys, man ;But the ae best dance eer cam to the landWas—the deils awa wi the Exciseman. THE CHEVALIERS LAMENT. Tune— Captain OKaue. The small birds rejoice in the green leaves returning,The murmuring streamlet winds clear thro the vale ; The hawthorn trees blow in the dews of the morning,And wild scattered cowslips bedeck the green dale : But what can give pleasure, or what can seem fair, While the lingering moments are numbered by care 1No flowers gaily springing, nor birds sweetly singing, Can soothe the sad bosom of
. Poems and songs . els, theres foursome reels,Theres hornpipes and strathspeys, man ;But the ae best dance eer cam to the landWas—the deils awa wi the Exciseman. THE CHEVALIERS LAMENT. Tune— Captain OKaue. The small birds rejoice in the green leaves returning,The murmuring streamlet winds clear thro the vale ; The hawthorn trees blow in the dews of the morning,And wild scattered cowslips bedeck the green dale : But what can give pleasure, or what can seem fair, While the lingering moments are numbered by care 1No flowers gaily springing, nor birds sweetly singing, Can soothe the sad bosom of joyless despair. The deed that I dared, could it merit their malice,A king and a father to place on his throne 1 His right are these hills and his right are these valleysWhere the wild beasts find shelter, but I can find none. But tis not my sufferings thus wretched, forlorn, My brave gallant friends, tis your ruin I mourn :Your deeds proved so loyal in hot bloody trial, Alas ! can I make you no sweeter return ?. .. THE BANKS OF NITH. Tune—Robie Donna Gorach. The Thames flows proudly to the sea; Where royal cities stately stand ;But sweeter flows the Nith to me, Where Cummins ance had high commandWhen shall I see that honourd land, That winding stream I love so dear?Must wayward fortunes adverse hand, For ever, ever keep me here ? THE BANKS OF NITH. I 97 How lovely, Nith, thy fruitful vales, Where spreading hawthorns gaily bloom;How sweetly wind thy sloping dales, Where lambkins wanton through the broom !Though wandering, now, must be my doom, Far from thy bonnie banks and braes,May there my latest hours consume, Amang the friends of early days ! A RED, RED — Wishaiifs Favourite. O, my luves like a red, red rose,Thats newly sprung in June : O, my luves like the melodieThats sweetly playd in tune. As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in luve am I :And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a the seas gang dry. Till a the seas gang dry, my dear,And the rocks
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Keywords: ., bookauthorburnsrob, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1850, bookyear1858
