There, through the summer day,
Cool streams are laving,
There, while the tempests sway,
Scarce are boughs waving;
There thy rest shalt thou take,
Parted for ever,
Never again to wake,
Never, O never,
Eleu loro.
Never, O never.
Where shall the traitor rest,
He the deceiver,
Who could win maiden's breast,
Ruin, and leave her?
In the lost battle,
Borne down by the flying,
Where mingles war's rattle,
With groans of the dying,
Eleu loro.
There shall he be lying.
Her wing shall the eagle flap
O'er the false-hearted;
His warm blood the wolf shall lap,
E'er life be parted;
Shame and dishonour sit
By his grave ever;
Blessing shall hallow it—
Never, O never,
Eleu loro.
Never, O never.
The way for to woo.
[Written by Hector Macneil to a tune which he picked up in Argyleshire, and which is given in the sixth volume of Johnson's Museum. The song, however, is now adapted to the tune of "Bonnie Dundee."]
Oh tell me, oh tell me, bonnie young lassie,
Oh tell me, young lassie, how for to woo?
Oh tell me, oh tell me, bonnie sweet lassie,
Oh tell me, sweet lassie, how for to woo?
Say, maun I roose your cheeks like the morning?
Lips like the roses fresh moisten'd wi' dew?
Say, maun I roose your een's pawkie scorning?
Oh tell me, oh tell me, how for to woo?
Far ha'e I wander'd to see thee, dear lassie!
Far ha'e I ventured across the saut sea!
Far ha'e I ventured ower muirland and mountain,
Houseless and weary, slept cauld on the lea!
Ne'er ha'e I tried yet to mak' luve to ony,
For ne'er loved I ony till ance I loved you;
Now we're alane in the green wood sae bonnie,
Oh tell me, oh tell me, how for to woo?
What care I for your wand'ring, young laddie!
What care I for your crossing the sea!
It was nae for naething ye left puir young Peggy;
It was for my tocher ye cam' to court me.
Say, ha'e ye gowd to busk me aye gaudy?
Ribbons, and pearlins, and breist-knots enew?
A house that is cantie, wi' walth in't, my laddie?
Without this ye never need try for to woo!
I ha'e nae gowd to busk ye aye gaudy!
I canna buy pearlins and ribbons enew!
I've naething to brag o' house or o' plenty!
I've little to gi'e but a heart that is true.
I cam' na for tocher—I ne'er heard o' ony;
I never loved Peggy, nor e'er brak my vow:
I've wander'd, puir fule, for a face fause as bonnie!
I little thocht this was the way for to woo!
Ha'e na ye roosed my cheeks like the morning?
Hae na ye roosed my cherry-red mou?
Ha'e na ye come ower sea, muir, and mountain?
What mair, my dear Johnnie, need ye for to woo?
Far ha'e ye wander'd, I ken, my dear laddie!
Now that ye've found me, there 's nae cause to rue;
Wi' health we'll ha'e plenty—I'll never gang gaudy:
I ne'er wish'd for mair than a heart that is true.
She hid her fair face in her true lover's bosom;
The saft tear of transport fill'd ilk lover's e'e;
The burnie ran sweet by their side as they sabbit,
And sweet sang the mavis abune on the tree.
He clasp'd her, he press'd her, he ca'd her his hinnie,
And aften he tasted her hinnie-sweet mou',
And aye, 'tween ilk kiss, she sigh'd to her Johnnie—
Oh laddie! oh laddie! weel weel can ye woo!
