80
THE FLOWERS OF EDINBURGH.
My love was once a bonnie lad;
He was the flow'r of a' his kin;
The absence of his bonnie face
Has rent my tender heart in twain.
I day nor night find no delight-
In silent tears I still complain ;
And exclaim 'gainst those, my rival foes,
That hae ta'en frae me my darling swain.
Despair and anguish fill my breast,
Since I have lost my blooming rose:
I sigh and moan while others rest;
His absence yields me no repose.
To seek my love I'll range and rove
Thro' every grove and distant plain ;
Thus I'll ne'er cease, but spend my days
T'ear tidings from my darling swain.
There's nothing strange in nature's change,
Since parents show such cruelty ;
They caus'd my love from me to range,
And know not to what destiny.
The pretty kids and tender lambs
May cease to sport upon the plain;
But I'll mourn and lament, in deep discontent,
For the absence of my darling swain.
HUZZA! HUZZA! FOR THE HIGHLAND LADS
Air" Johnnie Cope." Keynote G minor.
Huzza ! huzza! for the Highland lads,
Wi' their bonnets blue, and tartan plaids,
Who march away with shining blades,
To fight for bonnie Scotland;
With banners waving in the wind,
The foe before, their heels behind,
Ere they would flee, or traitors be,
They'd die for bonnie Scotland.
Then, huzza, &c.
There's not a heart, or Scottish maid,
But warms to see the tartan plaid,
And would march away with a white cockade,
For love of bonnie Scotland;
Let tyrants rule, and slaves obey,
If freedom once but point the way,
There's not a hand would shun the fray,
But would proudly draw for Scotland.
Then, huzza, be.
