O, never fling the warmsome boon
O' bairnhood's love awa';
Mind how ye sleepit cheek to cheek,
Atween me and the wa',
How ae kind arm was owre ye baith—
But, if ye disagree,
Think on the kindly sowth'rin' soun',
O, gree, bairnies, gree.
There lives a young lassie.
[This song, so favourably known to the public through the singing of Mr. Templeton and other eminent vocalists, is the production of John Imlah. It first appeared, about fifteen years ago, in a collection of pieces by him, entitled, "May Flowers. Poems and Songs, some in the Scottish Dialect." The music is by Joseph de Pinna.]
There lives a young lassie
Far down yon lang glen;
How I lo'e that lassie
There's nae ane can ken!
O! a saint's faith may vary.
But faithful I'll be;
For weel I lo'e Mary,
An' Mary lo'es me.
Red, red as the rowan
Her smiling wee mou';
An' white as the gowan
Her breast and her brow!
Wi' a foot o' a fairy
She links o'er the lea;
O! weel I lo'e Mary,
An' Mary lo'es me.
She sings sweet as onie
Wee bird of the air,
And she's blithe as she's bonnie.
She's guid as she's fair;
Like a lammie sae airy
And artless is she,
O! weel I lo'e Mary,
And Mary lo'es me!
Where yon tall forest timmer,
An' lowly broom bower,
To the sunshine o' simmer
Spread verdure an' flower;
There, when night clouds the cary,
Beside her I'll be;
For weel I lo'e Mary,
And Mary lo'es me.
Bonnie Mary Hay.
[The author of this song is Archibald Crawford, a native of Ayr. It originally appeared in the Ayr and Wigtonshire Courier, and was afterwards introduced into one of a series of stories by Mr. Crawford, published at Edinburgh, in 1825, under the title of "Tales of my Grandmother." The composer was R. A. Smith.]
Bonnie Mary Hay, I will lo'e thee yet;
For thy eye is the slae, and thy hair is the jet,
The snaw is thy skin, and the rose is thy cheek:
Oh! bonnie Mary Hay, I will lo'e thee yet.
Bonnie Mary Hay, will you gang wi' me,
When the sun's in the west, to the hawthorn tree?
To the hawthorn tree in the bonnie berry den?
And I'll tell you, Mary, how I lo'e you then.
Bonnie Mary Hay, it's haliday to me,
When thou art coothie, kind, and free:
There's nae clouds in the lift, nor storms in the sky,
My bonnie Mary Hay, when thou art nigh.
Bonnie Mary Hay, thou maunna say me nay:
But come to the bow'r by the hawthorn brae,
But come to the bow'r, an' I'll tell ye a' what's true,
How, Mary! I can ne'er lo'e ane but you.
My wife has ta'en the gee.
[First printed in Herd's Collection, 1769. The words have been set to different airs, but the original is to be found in Gow's fifth collection of Reels.]
A friend of mine came here yestreen,
And he would ha'e me down
To drink a bottle of ale wi' him
In the neist burrows town.
But, O! indeed it was. Sir,
Sae far the waur for me;
For lang or e'er that I came hame
My wife had ta'en the gee.
We sat sae late, and drank sae stout,
The truth I'll tell to you,
That ere the middle o' the night,
We were a' roaring fou.
My wife sits at the fire-side,
And the tear blinds aye her e'e,
The ne'er a bed will she gae to,
But sit and tak' the gee.
