Young Peggy.
[This is given in Johnson's Museum to the tune of "Loch-Erroch Side." It is an early" production of Burns's.]
Young Peggy blooms our bonniest lass,
Her blush is like the morning,
The rosy dawn, the springing grass,
With pearly gems adorning:
Her eyes outshine the radiant beams
That gild the passing shower,
And glitter o'er the crystal streams,
And cheer each fresh'ning flower.
Her lips, more than the cherries bright,
A richer dye has grac'd them;
They charm th' admiring gazer's sight,
And sweetly tempt to taste them;
Her smile is, like the evening, mild,
When feather'd tribes are courting,
And little lambkins wanton wild,
In playful bands disporting.
Were Fortune lovely Peggy's foe,
Such sweetness would relent her,
As blooming Spring unbends the brow
Of surly, savage Winter.
Detraction's eye no aim can gain,
Her winning powers to lessen;
And spiteful Envy grins in vain,
The poison'd tooth to fasten.
Ye Powers of Honour, Love, and Truth,
From every ill defend her;
Inspire the highly-favour'd youth
The destinies intend her;
Still fan the sweet connubial flame,
Responsive in each bosom;
And bless the dear parental name
With many a filial blossom.
The Cogie.
[Daniel M'Phail, (see p. 192.)—Tune, "Loch-Erroch Side."]
Let bardies tune the rural strain,
And sing the loves o' nymph or swain,
Or mourn the hapless lover's pain,
That's slighted by his dearie.
But me, nae tale o' love-sick dame,
Shall lighten to the paths o' fame,
My dearest joy, my only theme,
Shall be a social cogie.
In morn o' life, wi' cantie glee,
We mark wi' youthfu' fancy's e'e,
Our daddies roun' the barley bree,
Fu' couth an' unco cheerie.
But when to manhood's height we speel,
An' meet through life some hearty chiel,
In friendship's glow, it's then we feel,
The pleasures o' the cogie.
Through life, when fortune turns her wheel,
And ruin's blast blaws roun' our biel,
Nae frien'ly han' then near to shiel,
But a' gae tapsalteerie;
E'en then, wi' some leal-hearted frien',
Wha's life ance happier days ha'e seen,
We baith on hope our sorrows lean,
And cry, "anither cogie."
See lyart age, wi' joyless years,
On life's dark brink wi' dowie fears,
Nae fostering hope his bosom cheers,
The prospect's dark an' drearie:
E'en then, when tales o' auld langsyne
Bring youthfu' cantie days to min',
Mang former joys our cares we tyne,
An' toom the cheering cogie.
Thus ilka scene o' life we see,
Is strongly mark'd wi' social glee;
Then let us taste the joys that flee—
In youth or age be cheerie.
Then roun' when social spirits join,
An' hearts an' han's in friendship twine,
Owre whiskey, nappy yill, or wine,
'Tis still a social cogie.
O, are ye sleeping, Maggie.
[Robert Tannahill.—Air, "Sleepy Maggie."
O, are ye sleepin', Maggie?
O, are ye sleepin', Maggie?
Let me in, for loud the linn
Is roarin' o'er the warlock craigie!
