5
There Philomela, lost to love,
Tells the pale moon her fate.
With yew and ivy round me spread,
My Anna there I'll mourn;
For all my soul, now she is dead,
Concentres in her urn.
SHE'S FAIR AND FAUSE.
SHE'S fair and fause that causes my smart,
I loo'd her meikle and lang;
She's broken her vow, she's broken my heart,
And I may e'en gae hang.
A coof cam in wi' rowth o' gear,
And I hae tint my dearest dear;
But woman is but warld's gear,
Sae let the bonnie-lass gang.
Whae'er ye be that woman love
To this te never blind,
Nae ferlie 'tis tho' fickle she prove,
A woman has't by kind:
O woman lovely, woman fair!
An angel form's faun to thy share,
Twad been o'er meikle to gien thee mair,
I mean an angel mind.
GLOOMY WINTER'S NOW AWA.
Gloomy Winter's now awa,
Saft the westlin breezes blaw:
