Oh, tell me gin their music fills Thine ear as it does mine; Oh, say gin e'er your heart grows grit I've wander'd east, I've wander'd west, I've borne a weary lot; But in my wanderings far or near Ye never were forgot. The fount that first burst frae this heart O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison, But I could hug all wretchedness, Did I but ken your heart still dream'd MY HEID IS LIKE TO REND. WILLIAM MOTHERWELL. My heid is like to rend, Willic, My heart is like to break; Oh, lay your cheek to mine, Willie, Your hand on my briest-bane! It's vain to comfort me, Willie, Let me sit on your knee, Willie, I'm sittin' on your knee, Willie, Ay, press your hand upon my heart, Oh, wae's me for the hour, Willie, Oh, wae's me for the time, Willic, Oh, dinna mind my words, Willic, And dree a world's shame! Het tears are haillin' ower your cheek, For sorrow and for sin? I'm weary o' this world, Willie, And sick wi' a' I see; I canna live as I had lived, Or be as I should be. But fauld unto your heart, Willie, The heart that still is thine; And kiss ance mair the white, white cheek Ye said was red langsyne. A stoun' gaes through my heid, Willie, A sair stoun' through my heart; Oh, haud me up, and let me kiss Thy brow ere we twa part. Anither, and anither yet How fast my life-strings break! The lavrock in the lift, Willie, But, oh, remember me, Willie, And, oh, think on the leal, leal heart And, oh, think on the eauld, cauld mools That kiss the cheek, that kiss the chin, MAY-MORN SONG. MOTHERWELL. From "Whistle Binkie." THE grass is wet with shining dews, "Tis early prime; And hark, hark, hark, Chirrups the lark. Chirrup, chirrup! he heralds in The jolly sun with matin hymn. Come, come, my love, and May-dews shake That breaks upon thy young cheek now. For mark, love, mark, Chirrups the lark. Chirrup, chirrup! he upward flies, They lack all heart who cannot feel The voice of heaven within them thrill Where brightest wildflowers choose to be, No witness there; And o'er us, hark, High in the air Chirrups the lark. Chirrup, chirrup! away soars he, Bearing to heaven my vows to thee. MARY'S GANE. JOHN DONALD CARRICK, born 1787, died 1835. From "Whistle Binkie." Air-" Coming o'er the craigs o' Kyle." OH, wae's my heart, now Mary's gane, To sit an' crack at gloamin' hour, By yon auld grey stane amang the heather: Trysting-stane amang the heather, Trysting-stane amang the heather; How bless'd were we at gloamin' hour, By yon auld grey stane amang the heather! Her father's laird, sae gair on gear, He set their mailin to anither; Sae they've selt their kye, and ower the sea Her parting look bespake a heart Whase rising grief she couldna smother, As she waved a last farewell to me And Scotland's braes and blooming heather: 'Twas sair against the lassie's will A burning curse licht on the heads O' worthless lairds colleagued thegither To drive auld Scotland's hardy clans Frae their native hills and blooming heather: Native glens and blooming heather, Native glens and blooming heather; To drive auld Scotland's hardy clans Frae their native hills and blooming heather. I'll sell the cot my granny left, Its plenishing an' a' thegither, An' I'll seek her out 'mang foreign wilds, I'll seek her out 'mang foreign wilds, Ꮮ |