That beauteous breast, so soft to feel,
Seem'd tenderness all over,
Yet it defends thy heart like steel,
'Gainst thy despairing lover.
Alas! tho' it should ne'er relent,
Nor Colin's care e'er move thee,
Yet till life's latest breath is spent,
My Peggy, I must love thee.
O, dinna think.
[Alex. M'Gilvray.—Tune, "The Traveller's Return."]
O! dinna think, though we, guidwife,
May sometimes disagree;
Though twice ten years we ha'e been wed,
Thou'rt not as dear to me.
As dear to me as e'er thou wert
When handsome, young, and gay,
Our hearts and hands we fondly join'd,
Upon our bridal day.
What though the beauties of thy face
And form begin to fail;
What though the bloom forsakes thy cheeks,
Thy rosy lips grow pale?
And what although thy dark blue eyes
No more like diamonds shine,—
Thy once unrivall'd shape and air
Appear no more divine?
The charms that first secur'd my heart,
In thee remain the same;
An' fan within my bosom still,
A never-dying flame.
You still possess a pleasant look,
A calm unruffled mind;
A soothing voice, a faithful heart,—
Complaisant, warm, an' kind.
Thy constant care has ever been
To smooth life's rugged way;
With happy smiles to brighten up
The darkest dreary day.
When care or sickness wrung my heart,
An' round me fortune lower'd;
Into my thrilling bosom still
The healing balm ye pour'd.
Round ev'ry tale to me you've told,
And ev'ry song you've sung,
And ev'ry spot where we have been,
A hallow'd charm is flung.
How dear to me the broomy knowes,
The greenwood's fragrant shade,
The flow'ry fields, the verdant banks,
And braes where we have stray'd!
Oh! many a pleasant hour we've past,
And happy day we've seen,
Could we but live to see our bairns
As bless'd as we have been,
Content we'll leave this earthly scene.
And bow to heav'n's decree,
In hopes we all shall meet again,
And blest for ever be.
Gala Water.
[The exquisitely beautiful tune of "Gala Water" is known to be very old, but nothing can be said of its precise era. Dr. Haydn, the celebrated German composer, admired it, and wrote on the music-sheet of it a note in his best English: "This one Dr. Haydn favourite song." The old words of the tune are lost, with the exception of the two following verses:
Braw, braw lads of Gala water,
Braw, braw lads of Gala water;
I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee,
And follow my love through the water.
O'er yon bank and o'er yon brae,
O'er yon moss amang the heather,
I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee,
And follow my love through the water."
In Herd's, Johnson's, and other collections, two verses are added to these, which properly belong to the song called "The lassie lost her silken snood." The following version of "Gala Water" is by Burns, and was written by him in January, 1793, for Thomson's collection. It may be added, that the Gala is a small stream which rises in MidLothian, runs south, and falls into the Tweed above Melrose.]
There's braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes,
That wander through the blooming heather:
But Yarrow braes, nor Ettrick shaws,
Can match the lads o' Gala water.
