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It was then your Mary; she's frae Castle-cary,
It was then your true love I met by the tree; Proud as her heart is and modest her nature,
Sweet were the kisses that she gave to me. Sair gloomed his dark brow, blood-red his cheek grew,
Wild flashed the fire frae his red rolling e'e : Ye'se rue sair this morning your boasts and your
scorning, Defend ye fause traitor, fu' loudly ye lie.
Away wi' beguiling, cried the youth smiling
Off went the bonnet, the lint-white locks flee, The belted plaid fa'ing, her white bosom shawing,
Fair stood the loved maid wi' the dark rolling e'e.
Is it my true love here that I see:
I'll never mair wander, dear laddie, frae thee.
COME UNDER MY PLAIDY.
Come under my plaidy, the night's gaun to fu,'
Gae wa'wi' your plaidy! auld Donald, gae wa'
tauld me, my mither and a', Ye'd mak a gude husband, and keep me aye braw: It's true I lo'e Johnny, lie's young and he's bonny, But, wae's me, I ken he has naething ava! I hae little tocher, ye've made a gude offer, I'm now mair than twenty, my time is but sma’; Sae gi'e me your plaidy, I'll creep in beside ye, I thought ye'd been aulder than threescore and twa. She crap in ayont him beside the stane wa', Where Johnny was list'nin, and heard her tell a'; The day was appointed ! bis proud heart it dunted, And strack 'gainst his side as if bursting in twa. He wander'd hame weary, the night it was dreary, And thowless he tint his gate ’mang the deep snaw; The owlet was screaming, while Johnny cried, Women Wad marry Auld Nick, if he'd keep them aye braw.
O the de'il's in the lasses ! they gang now sae braw,
ca', Till they meet wi’ some Johnny that's youthfu' and
bonny, And they'll gi'e ye horns on ilk haffet to claw.
THE BRAES O' BALQUHITHER.
Born 1774-Died 1810.
Let us go, lassie, go,
To the braes of Balquhither,
'Mang the bonnie Highland heather ;
Lightly bounding together,
On the braes o’ Balquhither.
By the clear siller fountain,
Wi' the flowers of the mountain,
I will range thro' the wilds,
And the deep glens sae drearie,
To the bower o' my dearie.
When the rude wintry win'
Idly raves round our dwelling,
On the night breeze is swelling,
As the storm rattles o'er us,
Wi' the light lilting chorus.
Now the summer is in prime,
Wi’ the flowers richly blooming,
A'the moorlands perfuming ;
Let us journey together,
'Mang the braes o' Balquhither.
THE BRAES O' GLENIFFER.
Keen blaws the win' o'er the braes o’ Gleniffer,
The auld castle turrets are cover'd with snaw; How chang'd frae the time when I met wi' my lover
Amang the broom bushes by Stanley green shaw ! The wild flow’rs o'simmer were spread a' sae bonnie,
The mavis sang sweet frae the green birken tree; But far to the camp they hae march'd my dear Johnie,
And now it is winter wi' nature and me. Then ilk thing around us was blithesome and cheerie,
Then ilk thing around us was bonnie and braw; Now naething is heard but the wind whistling drearie,
And naething is seen but the wide-spreading snaw. The trees are a' bare, and the birds mute and dowie ;
They shake the cauld drift frae their wings as they
And chirp out their plaints, seeming wae for my Johnie;
'Tis winter wi' them, and 'tis winter wi' me. Yon cauld sleety cloud skiffs alang the bleak mountain,
And shakes the dark firs on the steep rocky brae, While down the deep glen bawls the snaw-flooded
fountain, That murmur'd sae sweet to my laddie and me. It's no its loud roar on the wintry wind swellin',
It's no the cauld blast brings the tear i' my e'e; For, O! gin I saw but my bonny scots callan,
The dark days o' winter were simmer to me.
THE FLOW'R O' DUMBLANE,
The sun has gane down o'er the lofty Benlomond,
And left the red clouds to preside o'er the scene, While lanely I stray in the calm summer gloamin,
To muse on sweet Jessie, the flower o’ Dumblane.