BANKS OF CREE. I swear and vow that only thou Thou for thine may choose me, 71 BANKS OF CREE. TUNE-The Flowers of Edinburgh. HERE is the glen, and here the bower, It is Maria's voice I hear! So calls the woodlark in the grove His little faithful mate to cheer, At once 'tis music-and 'tis love. And art thou come? and art thou true? ON THE SEAS AND FAR AWAY. TUNE-O'er the Hills and far awa. How can my poor heart be glad, CHORUS, On the seas and far away, When in summer's noon I faint, At the starless midnight hour, When winter rules with boundless power; As the storms the forest tear, And thunders rend the howling air, Listening to the doubling roar, Surging on the rocky shore, HARK! THE MAVIS. All I can- -I weep and pray, Peace, thy olive wand extend, And bid wild war his ravage end, Then may heaven with prosp'rous gales To my arms their charge convey, My dear lad that's far On the seas, &c. away. HARK! THE MAVIS. TUNE-Ca' the Yowes to the Knowes. CHORUS. Ca' the yowes to the knowes, Ca' them where the heather grows, HARK! the mavis' evening sang My bonnie dearie. Ca' the, &c. We'll gae down by Clouden side, Ca' the, &c. 73 74 SHE SAYS SHE LO'ES ME BEST OF A'. Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear Ca' the, &c. Fair and lovely as thou art, My bonnie dearie, Ca' the, &c. SHE SAYS SHE LO'ES ME BEST OF A', TUNE-Onagh's Water-fall. SAE flaxen were her ringlets, Her eyebrows of a darker hue, Bewitchingly o'er-arching Twa laughing een o' bonnie blue. Her smiling, sae wyling, Wad make a wretch forget his woe; What pleasure, what treasure, Unto these rosy lips to grow: Such was my Chloris' bonnie face, When first her bonnie face I saw, And aye my Chloris' dearest charm, She says she lo'es me best of a'. SHE SAYS SHE LO'ES ME BEST OF A'. Like harmony her motion; Her pretty ankle is a spy Betraying fair proportion, Wad make a saint forget the sky. Sae warming, sae charming, Her faultless form and gracefu' air; Declar'd that she could do nae mair: Let others love the city, And gaudy shew at sunny noon; Gie me the lonely valley, The dewy eve, and rising moon Fair beaming, and streaming, Her silver light the boughs amang; While falling, recalling, The amorous thrush concludes his sang: There, dearest Chloris, wilt thou rove By wimpling burn and leafy shaw, And hear my vows o' truth and love, And say thou lo'es me best of a'? HOW LANG AND DREARY. How lang and dreary is the night, Tho' I were ne'er sae weary. 75 |