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Who but owns their magic sway,
Who but knows they all decay!
The tender thrill, the pitying tear,
The generous purpose, nobly dear,
The gentle look that rage disarms,
These are all immortal charms.

UP IN THE MORNING EARLY '.

Up in the morning's no for me,

Up in the morning early;

When a' the hills are cover'd wi' snaw,
I'm sure it's winter fairly.

CAULD blaws the wind frae east to west,

The drift is driving sairly;

Sae loud and shrill's I hear the blast,

I'm sure it's winter fairly.

The birds sit chittering in the thorn,
A' day they fare but sparely;
And lang's the night frae e'en to morn,
I'm sure it's winter fairly,

Up in the morning, &c.

I DREAM'D I LAY WHERE FLOWERS WERE SPRINGING 2.

I DREAM'D I lay where flowers were springing Gaily in the sunny beam;

List'ning to the wild birds singing,

By a falling, crystal stream:

1 The chorus is old.

2 These two stanzas I composed when I was seventeen, and are among the oldest of my printed pieces.

Burns Reliques, p. 242.

BEWARE O' BONNIE ANN.

Straight the sky grew black and daring;
Thro' the woods the whirlwinds rave;
Trees with aged arms were warring,
O'er the swelling, drumlie wave.

Such was my life's deceitful morning,
Such the pleasures I enjoy'd;
But lang or noon, loud tempests storming
A' my flowery bliss destroy'd.

Tho' fickle fortune has deceived me,

She promis'd fair, and perform'd but ill;
Of mony a joy and hope bereav'd me,
I bear a heart shall support me still.

131

BEWARE O' BONNIE ANN1.

YE gallants bright, I red you right,
Beware o' bonnie Ann;

Her comely face sae fu' o' grace,
Your heart she will trepan.

Her een sae bright, like stars by night,

Her skin is like the swan;

Sae jimpy lac'd her genty waist,
That sweetly ye might span.

Youth, grace, and love, attendant move,
And pleasure leads the van;

In a' their charms, and conquering arms,
They wait on bonnie Ann.

I composed this song out of compliment to Miss Ann Masterton, the daughter of my friend Allan Masterton, the author of the air of Strathallan's Lament, and two or three others in this work.-Burns' Reliques, p. 266.

The captive bands may chain the hands,
But love enslaves the man;
Ye gallants braw, I red you a',
Beware o' bonnie Ann.

MY BONNIE MARY'.

Go fetch to me a pint o' wine,
An' fill it in a silver tassie;
That I may drink before I go,

A service to my bonnie lassie.
The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith;
Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the ferry;
The ship rides by the Berwick-law,

And I maun leave my bonnie Mary.
The trumpets sound, the banners fly,
The glittering spears are ranked ready;
The shouts o' war are heard afar,

The battle closes thick and bloody;
But it's no the roar o' sea or shore
Wad mak me langer wish to tarry;
Nor shout o' war that's heard afar,
It's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary.

THERE'S A YOUTH IN THIS CITY 2. TUNE-Neil Gow's Lament.

THERE'S a youth in this city, it were a great pity That he from our lasses should wander awa; For he's bonnie and braw, weel favour'd witha', And his hair has a natural buckle and a'.

This air is Oswald's; the first half-stanza of the song is old. 2 This air is claimed by Neil Gow, who calls it his lament for his brother. The first half-stanza of the song is old.

MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS.

His coat is the hue of his bonnet sae blue;

133

His fecket' is white as the new-driven snaw; His hose they are blae, and his shoon like the slae, And his clear siller buckles they dazzle us a'.

His coat is the hue, &c.

For beauty and fortune the laddie's been courtin; Weel-featur'd, weel-tocher'd, weel-mounted and braw;

But chiefly the siller, that gars him gang till her, The penny's the jewel that beautifies a'.

There's Meg wi' the mailen, that fain wad a haen him,

And Susy whase daddy was Laird o' the ha'; There's lang-tocher'd Nancy maist fetters his fancy,

-But the laddie's dear sel he lo'es dearest of a'.

MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS 2. My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here; My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer; Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe, My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go. Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North, The birth-place of valour, the country of worth; Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,

The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.

Farewell to the mountains high cover'd with snow; Farewell to the straths and green valleys below;

1 Fecket, an under-waistcoat with sleeves.

2 The first half-stanza is old.

134 THE RANTIN dog the DADDIE O'T.

Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods; Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods. My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here, My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer: Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe, My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go.

THE RANTIN DOG THE DADDIE O'T'.
O, WHA my babie-clouts will buy?
Wha will tent me when I cry?
Wha will kiss me whare I lie?

The rantin dog the daddie o't.—

Wha will own he did the faut?
Wha will buy my groanin-maut?
Wha will tell me how to ca't?

The rantin dog the daddie o't.—

When I mount the creepie-chair,
Wha will sit beside me there?
Gie me Rob, I seek nae mair,
The rantin dog the daddie o't.-
Wha will crack to me my lane?
Wha will mak me fidgin fain?
Wha will kiss me o'er again?

The rantin dog the daddie o't.—

1 I composed this song pretty early in life, and sent it to a young girl, a very particular acquaintance of mine, who was at that time under a cloud.

Burns' Reliques, p. 278.

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