My fair, my faithful somebody,
My fair, my faithful somebody,
When sages, with their precepts show,
Perfection is unknown below,
They mean, except in somebody.
Her lovely looks, sae kind and gay,
Are sweeter than the smiles of day,
And milder than the morn of May
That beams on bonnie somebody.
My fair, &c.
'Twas but last eve, when wand'ring here,
We heard the cushat cooing near,
I softly whisper'd in her ear,
"He woos, like me, his somebody."
My fair, &c.
With crimson cheek the fair replied,
"As seasons change, he'll change his bride;
But death alone can e'er divide
From me the heart of somebody."
My fair, &c.
Enrapt I answer'd, "Maid divine,
Thy mind's a model fair for mine;
And here I swear I'll but resign
With life the love of somebody."
My fair, &c.
Po’k-head Wood.
[Rev. Thomas Brydson.—Po'k-head is a local contraction for Pollock-head, a wood on the estate of Sir John Maxwell of Pollock, Bart. in Renfrewshire.]
O Po'k-head wood is bonnie,
When the leaves are in their prime;
O, Po'k-head wood is bonnie,
In the tunefu' summer time.
Up spake the brave Sir Archibald—
A comely man to see—
'Twas there I twined a bower o' the birk
For my true love and me.
The hours they lichtsomely did glide,
When we twa linger't there;
Nae human voices but our ain
To break the summer air.
O, sweet in memory are the flowers
That blossom't round the spot,—
I never hear sic music noo,
As swell't the wild bird's note.
The tremblin' licht amang the leaves—
The licht and the shadows seen—
I think of them and Eleanor,
Her voice and love-fill'd een.
O, Po'k-head wood is bonnie,
When the leaves are in their prime:
O, Po'k-head wood is bonnie,
In the tunefu' summer time.
A Nursery Rhyme.
Ba loo! my bonnie lammie,
An' I'll sing you a bit sang;
An' I'll tak' tent, my hinny,
That naething sall you wrang.
Your wee bit bed is saft an' warm,
For it was made by me
An' ye are lyin' safe frae harm
Aneath a mither's e'e.
Ba loo! my sweet wee dawtie,
This is your time o' spring,
When a' is sweet, an' fresh, an' pure—
Nae guilt the heart to sting.
O, lang in innocence remain,
An' safe at hame abide;
An' still uphaud by virtuous deeds
A mither's honest pride!
Ba loo! ye laughin' rogie!
Ye ha'e your daddie's e'e,
Sae sparklin' an' sae winsome—
His glance, sae sweet and slee.
Like him aye may ye grow, till meet
To mingle amang men;
But his sair toils an' sorrows
I pray you ne'er may ken!
Sleep soun', my winsome laddie!
Your daddie 's on the sea—
He 's toilin' late an' early
For bread to you an' me.
