Page:Seven select songs.pdf/7

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7

And e'en when this beauty your bosom has blest,
The brightest of beauty may cloy when possest;
But the sweet yellow darlings wi' Geordie die imprest,
The langer ye hae them the mair they're carest.
   Then hey, &c.


THE BLUE-EYED LASSIE.

I gaed a waefu' gate yestreen,
A gate I fear I'll dearly rue;
I gat my death frae twa sweet een,
Twa lovely een o' bonny blue.
'Twas not her golden ringlets bright,
Her lips like roses wat wi' dew,
Her heaving bosom lily white;—
It was her een sae bonny blue.

She talk'd, she smil'd, my heart she wyl'd
She charm'd my saul I wist na how;
And ay the stound, the deadly wound,
Cam frae her een sae bonnie blue.
But spare to speak, and spare to speed,
She'll aiblins listen to my vow:
Should she refuse I'II lay my dead
To her twa een sae bonnie blue.