Fair may bloom my future bower,
On some far Indian isle, lassie!
Rich and rare its fruit and flower,
My wearie hours may wile, lassie!
But the burn and hazel brae,
Where we sae aft ha'e met, lassie;
I for ever may foregae,
But never can forget, lassie!
Whate'er betide—where'er betake,
My lot 'mid strangers cast, lassie!
Joy may come, but never make
The present like the past, lassie!
Fare thee weel! the future will
Through peril, toil, and pain, lassie,
Bring me back, to find thee still
In faithful love my ain lassie!
We’ve drunk to them.
[John Imlah.]
We've drunk to them that's here about,
We've drunk to them that's far awa',
But fill again, there's ane, nae doubt,
We yet could drink abune them a',
Wha drinks—and deep—fair be his fa',
On him that winna, meikle shame,
As round and round the cup we ca',
A health to her—we needna name!
I gi'e you joy, wha ha'e found grace,
Wi' ane that's comely, kind, and true!
I feel for you—I ken the case—
Whom some fair thief o' hearts gars rue,
Though nocht you say, and swear, and do,
Can wauk in her's the tender flame,
Yet we're forgiving when we're fou—
Here's health to her—whate'er her name!
O! wearie fa' the womankind,
They've been, sin' first the warld began,
O' winning mien—and wayward mind,
The blessing or the bane o' man;
Yet after a', do what we can,
The bonnie dears we canna blame;
Sae a benison gae wi' our ban,
And the wish that some would bear our name!
Auld Adam led a wearie life
Till Eve, in Eden's bonnie bowers,
Was made the first o' men's gudewife—
The fairest o' the garden's flowers;
Though dearly bought, the social hours,
Wi' dool and death—wi' sin and shame—
We think them cheap, when pass we ours
Wi' her we'll drink—but daurna name.
The waukrife cock fu' loudly craws,
The merry morn begins to blink,
And troth, it's time to wear our wa's
When folk begin to lisp and wink.
Whate'er we thole, whate'er we think,
In this we'll do and say the same,
We'll brim the bowl, and deep we'll drink
A health to her—that each could name!
My Ain Wife.
[From "The Edinburgh Literary Gazette," vol. II. 1830.— Alex. Laing of Brechin.]
I wadna gi'e my ain wife
For ony wife I see;
I wadna gi'e my ain wife
For ony wife I see;
A bonnier yet I've never seen,
A better canna be—
I wadna gi'e my ain wife
For ony wife I see!
O couthie is my ingle-cheek,
An' cheerie is my Jean;
I never see her angry look,
Nor hear her word on ane.
She's gude wi' a' the neebours roun',
An' aye gude wi' me—
I wadna gi'e my ain wife
For ony wife I see!
An' O her looks sae kindlie,
They melt my heart outright,
When o'er the baby at her breast
She hangs wi' fond delight;
She looks intill its bonnie face,
An' syne looks to me—
I wadna gi'e my ain wife
For ony wife I see.
