For weel's me on my ain man!
My ain man, my ain man;
For weel's me on my ain gudeman
I see him rinnin hame.
Jeanie Graham.
[Wilson.—Tune, "Ye banks and braes of bonnie Doon."]
She whose lang loose unbraided hair
Falls on a breast o' purest snaw,
Was ance a maid as mild an' fair,
As e'er wil'd stripling's heart awa'.
But sorrow's shade has dimm'd her e'e,
And gather'd round her happy hame,
Yet wherefore sad? and where is he,
The plighted love of Jeanie Graham?
The happy bridal day was near,
And blythe young joy beam'd on her brow,
But he is low she lov'd so dear,
And she a virgin widow now.
The night was mirk, the stream was high,
And deep and darkly down it came;
He sunk—and wild his drowning cry
Rose in the blast to Jeanie Graham.
Bright beams the sun on Garnet hill,
The stream is calm, the sky is clear;
But Jeanie's lover's heart is still,
Her anguish'd sobs he cannot hear.
Oh! make his grave in yonder dell,
Where willows wave above the stream,
That every passing breeze may wail,
For broken-hearted Jeanie Graham.
Thy fatal shafts.
[Smollett.—Tune, "An' then wert my ain thing."]
Thy fatal shafts unerring move;
I bow before thine altar. Love!
I feel thy soft resistless flame
Glide swift through all nay vital frame!
For while I gaze my bosom glows,
My blood in tides impetuous flows;
Hope, fear, and joy, alternate roll,
And floods of transport 'whelm my soul.
My falt'ring tongue attempts in vain
In soothing murmurs to complain;
My tongue some secret magic ties,
My murmurs sink in broken sighs!
Condemn'd to nurse eternal care,
And ever drop the silent tear,
Unheard I mourn, unknown I sigh,
Unfriended live, unpitied die!
Bonnie Mary Halliday.
[Allan Cunningham.—Tune, "Luch'd n'a breachin."]
Bonnie Mary Halliday,
Turn again, I call you;
If you go to the derry wood
Sorrow will befall you.
The ring-dove from the derry wood
Is wailing sore and calling;
And Annan water, 'tween its banks,
Is foaming far and falling.
Gentle Mary Halliday,
Come, my bonnie lady—
Upon the river's woody bank
My steed is saddled ready.
And for thy haughty kinsman's throats
My faith shall never falter—
The bridal banquet's ready made,
The priest is at the altar.
Gentle Mary Halliday,
The towers of merry Preston
Have bridal candles gleaming bright—
So busk thee, love, and hasten.
Come busk thee, love, and bowne thee
Through Tindal and green Mouswal;
I Come, be the grace and be the charm
To the proud towers of Mochusel.
