Jamie.
[Written by Burns for Thomson's collection, to the beautiful old tune called "Fee him, father."]
Thou hast left me ever, Jamie,
Thou hast left me ever;
Thou hast left me ever, Jamie,
Thou hast left me ever.
Aften hast thou vow'd that death
Only should us sever;
Now thou'st left thy lass for aye—
I maun see thee never, Jamie,
I'll see thee never.
Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie,
Thou hast me forsaken;
Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie,
Thou hast me forsaken.
Thou canst love another jo,
While my heart is breaking:
Soon my weary e'en I'll close,
Never more to waken, Jamie.
Never more to waken.
Meg o' Marley.
[James Hogg.]
O ken ye Meg o' Marley glen,
The bonny blue-e'ed dearie?
She's play'd the deil amang the men,
An' a' the land's grown eery.
She's stown the "Bangor" frae the clerk,
An' snool'd him wi' the shame o't;
The minister's fa'n through the text,
An' Meg gets a' the blame o't.
The ploughman ploughs without the sock;
The gadman whistles sparely;
The shepherd pines amang his flock,
An' turns his e'en to Marley;
The tailor lad's fa'n ower the bed;
The cobler ca's a parley;
The weaver's neb's out through the web,
An' a' for Meg o' Marley.
What's to be done, for our gudeman
Is flyting late an' early?
He rises but to curse an' ban,
An' sits down but to ferly.
But ne'er had love a brighter lowe
Than light his torches sparely
At the bright e'en an' blythesome brow
O' bonny Meg o' Marley.
Nancy.
[Written by Burns for Thomson's collection, to the tune of "The Quaker's Wife." Clarinda (Agnes M'Lehose) is the subject of the song.]
Thine am I, my faithful fair,
Thine, my lovely Nancy;
Ev'ry pulse along my veins,
Every roving fancy.
To thy bosom lay my heart,
There to throb and languish:
Though despair had wrung his core,
That would heal its anguish.
Take away these rosy lips,
Rich with balmy treasure;
Turn away thine eyes of love,
Lest I die with pleasure.
What is life when wanting love?
Night without a morning:
Love's the cloudless summer sun,
Nature gay adorning.
He's owre the hills.
[Modern Jacobite song.]
He's owre the hills that I lo'e weel;
He's owre the hills we darena name,
He's owre the hills ayont Dumblane,
Wha soon will get his welcome hame.
My father's gane to fight for him,
My brithers winna bide at hame,
My mither greets and prays for them,
And 'deed she thinks they're no to blame.
He's owre the hills, &c.
