Peggie.
[William Nicholson.]
Whan first I forgather'd wi' Peggie,
My Peggie an' I were young:
Sae blithe at the bught i' the gloamin'
My Peggie an' I ha'e sung,
My Peggie and I ha'e sung,
Till the stars did blink sae hie;
Come weel or come wae to the biggin',
My Peggie was dear to me.
The stately aik stood on the mountain.
And tower'd o'er the green birken shaw;
Ilk glentin' wee flow'r on the meadow
Seem'd proud o' bein' buskit sae braw,
Seem'd proud o' bein' buskit sae braw,
When they saw their ain shape i' the Dee;
'Twas there that I courted my Peggie,
Till the kirk it fell foul o' me.
Though love it has little to look for
Frae the heart that's wedded to gear,
A wife without house or a haudin'
Gars ane look right blate like an' queer;
Gars ane baith look blate like an' queer;
But queerer when twa turns to three;
Our frien's they ha'e foughten an' flyten,
But Peggie's aye dear to me.
It vex'd me her sighin' and sabbin',
Now nought short o' marriage wou'd do;
An' though that our prospects were dreary,
What could I but e'en buckle to?
What could I but e'en buckle to,
And dight the sa't tear frae her e'e?
The warl's a wearifu' wister;
But Peggie's aye dear to me.
My ain Bonnie May.
[William Nicholson.]
O will ye go to yon burn side,
Amang the new-made hay,
And sport upon the flowery swaird,
My ain bonnie May?
The sun blinks blithe on yon burn side,
Whare lambkins lightly play;
The wild bird whistles to his mate,
My ain bonnie May.
The waving woods, wi' mantle green,
Shall shield us in the bower,
Whare I'll pu' a posie for my May,
O' mony a bonnie flower.
My father maws ayont the burn,
To spin my mammy's gane;
And should they see thee here wi' me,
I'd better been my lane.
The lightsome lammie little kens
What troubles it await:
Whan ance the flush o' spring is o'er,
The fause bird lea'es its mate.
The flow'rs will fade, the woods decay,
And lose their bonnie green;
The sun wi' clouds may be o'ercast,
Before that it be e'en.
Ilk thing is in its season sweet;
So love is, in its noon:
But cank'ring time may soil the flow'r,
And spoil its bonnie bloom.
O, come then, while the summer shines,
And love is young and gay;
Ere age his with'ring, wintry blast
Blaws o'er me and my May.
For thee I'll tend the fleecy flocks,
Or haud the halesome plough,
And nightly clasp thee to my breast,
And prove aye leal and true.
The blush o'erspread her bonnie face,
She had nae mair to say,
But ga'e her hand, and walk'd alang,
The youthfu' bloomin' May.
The Evening Star.
[Thomas Campbell.]
Star, that bringest home the bee,
And sett'st the weary labourer free:
If any star shed peace, 'tis thou
That send'st it from above—
Appearing when heaven's breath and brow
Are sweet as hers we love.
