The gloamin' stern keeks o'er the yoke,
An' strews wi' goud the stream sae glassy : The raven sleeps aboon the rock,
An' I wait for my bonny lassie.
I tent the siller dew,
That comes at eve sae saftly stealing; The silken hue, the bonny blue,
O' nature's rich an' radiant ceiling.
The lily lea, the vernal tree,
The night-breeze o'er the broomwood creeping;
The fading day, the milky way,
The star-beam on the water sleeping.
For gin my lassie were but here,
The jewel of my earthly treasure,
I'll hear nought but her accents dear,
Whisper'd in love's delicious measure.
Although the bat, wi' velvet wing,
Wheels round our bower so dark an' grassy,
O I'll be happier than a king,
Placed by thy side, my bonny lassie !
Nae art hast thou, nae pawky wile,
The rapid flow of love impelling ;
But O the love that lights thy smile,
Wad lure an angel frae his dwelling!
There is a language in thy ee,
A music in thy voice of feeling,
The mildest virgin modestye,
An' soul that dwells within revealing.
She comes with maiden's cautious art,
Her stealing steps to tears impel me,
For, ah! the beatings of her heart
Come flichterin' on the breeze to tell me.
Flee, a' ye sorrows, on the wind,
Ye warldly cares, I'll lightly pass ye;
Nae thought shall waver through my mind,
But raptures wi' my bonny lassie.
THERE'S NAE LADDIE COMING.
THERE'S nae laddie coming for thee, my dear Jean,
There's nae laddie coming for thee, my dear Jean;
I hae watch'd thee at mid-day, at morn, an' at e'en,
An' there's nae laddie coming for thee, my dear Jean.
But be nae down-hearted though lovers gang by,
Thou'rt my only sister, thy brother am I ;
An' aye in my wee house thou welcome shalt be,
An' while I hae saxpence, I'll share it wi' thee.
O Jeanie, dear Jeanie, when we twa were young,
I sat on your knee, to your bosom I clung;
You kiss'd me, an' clasp'd me, an' croon'd your bit
An' bore me about when you hardly dought gang.
An' when I fell sick, wi' a red watery ee,
You watch'd your wee brother, an' fear'd he wad dee;
I felt the cool hand, and the kindly embrace,
An' the warm trickling tears drappin aft on my face.
Sae wae was my kind heart to see my Jean weep,
I closed my sick ee, though I wasna asleep;
An' I'll never forget till the day that I dee,
The gratitude due, my dear Jeanie, to thee!
Then be nae down-hearted, for nae lad can feel
Sic true love as I do, or ken ye sae weel;
My heart it yearns o'er thee, and grieved wad I be
If aught were to part my dear Jeanie an' me.
O LOVE has done muckle in city an' glen,
In tears of the women, an' vows of the men ;
But the sweet little rogue, wi' his visions o' bliss,
Has never done aught sae unhallow'd as this.
For what do ye think?-at a dance on the green,
Afore the dew fell through the gloamin' yestreen,
He has woundit the bosom, an' blindit the ee,
Of the flower o' our valley, young Appie M'Gie.
Young Appie was sweet as the zephyr of even,
And blithe as the laverock that carols in heaven;
As bonny as ever was bud o' the thorn,
Or rose that unfolds to the breath o' the morn.
Her form was the fairest o' Nature's design,
And her soul was as pure as her face was divine.
Ah, Love! 'tis a shame that a model so true,
By thee should be melted and moulded anew.
The little pale flow'rets blush deep for thy blame;
The fringe o' the daisy is purple wi' shame;
The heath-breeze, that kisses the cheeks o' the free,
Has a tint of the mellow soft-breathings of thee.
Of all the wild wasters of glee and of hue,
eyes that have depths o' the ocean of blue, Love, thou art the chief! And a shame upon thee, For this deed thou hast done to young Appie M'Gie.
THE GATHERING OF THE CLANS.
AIR" St Patrick's Day in the Morning."
THERE'S news come ower the Highlands yestreen
Will soon gar bonnets an' broadswords keen,
An' philabegs short an' tartans green,
Shine over the shore in the morning.
He comes, he comes, our spirits to cheer,
To cherish the land he holds so dear,
To banish the reaver,
And raise the fame of the clans for ever;
Our Prince's array
Is in Moidart bay,
Come raise the clamour
Of bagpipes' yamour,
And join our loved Prince in the morning.
Come, brave Lochiel, the honour be thine,
The first in loyal array to shine;
If bold Clan-Ranald and thee combine,
Then who dares remain in the morning?
Glengarry will stand with arm of steel,
And Keppoch is blood from head to heel;
The Whiggers o' Sky may gang to the deil,
When Connal and Donald,
And gallant Clan-Ranald,
Are all in array,
And hasting away
To welcome their Prince in the morning.
The Appin will come while coming is good,
The stern M'Intosh is of trusty blood,
M'Kenzie and Fraser
Will come at their leisure,
The Whiggers of Sutherland scorning;
The Atholmen keen as fire from steel,
M Pherson for Charlie will battle the deil,
The hardy Clan-Donnoch
Is up in the Rannoch,
Unawed by the pride of haughty Argyle,
And lordly Drummond
Is belted, and coming
To join his loved Prince in the morning.
Come all that are true men, steel to the bane,
Come all that reflect on the days that are gane,
Come all that hae breeks and all that hae nane,
And all that are bred unto sorning-
Come Moidart and Moy, M'Gun and M'Craw,
M'Dugalds, M'Donalds, M'Devils, an' a',
M'Duffs an' M'Dumpies,
M'Leods an' M'Lumpies,
With claymores gleaming,
And standards streaming,
Come, swift as the roe,
For weel or for woe,
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