Let me plough the rough ocean, nor e'er touch the shore,
Let me freeze on the coast of the bleak Labradore,
Let me pant 'neath the glare of a vertical sun,
Where no trees spread their branches, nor streams ever run;
Even there, my dear Jeanie, still happy I'd be,
If bless'd wi' the light o' thy heavenly e'e.
I’ll awa’ hame.
[Alex. Rodger.—Air, "Laird o' Cockpen."]
O! I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will,
An' I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will;
Gin' I tarry wi' you I may meet wi' some ill,
Then I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will.
It's wearin' to gloamin', an' soon will be late,
All' the thing might befa' me that happen'd to Kate,
When she gaed to the tryste wi' Will Watt o' the mill;
Sae I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will,
Sae I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will,
Sae I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will;
A mither's fireside is the safest place still,
Then I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will.
Jly mither aft gi'es me a mither's advice,
About modesty, virtue, an' ilka thing nice;
An' warns me to shun ilk appearance o' ill;
Then I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will,
O! I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will,
Aye! I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will;
She says, as I brew, I maun e'en drink sie yill;
Weel—I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will.
She bids me beware o' the ways o' young men,
As the half o' their tricks silly maids dinna ken,
For they 'lure to betray—as the spider to kill!
Hech! I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will:
O! I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will;
Yes, I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will;
I'm young yet, an' simple, and ha'e little skill;
Sae I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will.
In this lanely place, I've my fears an' my doubts,
For nane but oursel's can I see hereabouts,
An' the ill-deedy deil in your head may put ill—
Faigs; I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will.
Yes, I'll awa' hame to my mither I will,
Troth, I'll awa' hame to my mither, I wil
What I here ii' a man at the back o' a hill?
Na!—I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will.
I'm tauld that the godly king Solomon said,
That he kenn'd na the ways o' a man wi' a maid.
Strange ways!—that could baffle a man o' sic skill;
Saff's! I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will.
Hout! I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will,
Na—I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will:
Sma' ferlie that lasses their wits aften spill;
Come! I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will.
Ye flatter and praise me, an' leuk unco fain,
Pretending ye wish my affection to gain;
But I fear your ain ends ye jist want to fulfil;
Losh! I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will.
'Deed! I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will,
Sure! I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will:
Some tongues try the tricks o' the auld serpent still;
Och! I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will.
Ye've heard o' my tocher in gear an' good brass,
An' ye ken that ilk pound gi'es a charm to a lass;
But if pounds be my beauties, your love's unco chill;
Lad! I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will.
Troth! I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will.
Yes! I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will:
For I'll ne'er let it gang by the scart o' a quill,
But I'll awa' hame to my mither I will.
But gin I were sure that ye liket mysel',
Where a blister might light it were easy to tell,
Sae, I'll meet you neist Friday, at Mungo's maut kiln;
Now, I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will:
Yes, I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will,
Now, I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will:
Be discreet, be sincere, an' ye're welcome back still,
An' I'll yet be your ain a' thegither, I will.
The Maid of Dunmore.
A captive maid pined in the tow'r of Dunmore,
Full high was its gate, closely barr'd was the door;
Her sighs unregarded, her prison unknown.
