Forlorn, my love.
[This is another song by Burns to the tune of "O, let me in this ae night."]
Forlorn, my love, no comfort near,
Far, far from thee, I wander here;
Far, far from thee, the fate severe
At which I most repine, love.
O wert thou, love, but near me;
But near, near, near me;
How kindly thou wouldst cheer me,
And mingle sighs with mine, love!
Around me scowls a wintry sky,
That blasts each bud of hope and joy;
And shelter, shade, nor home have I,
Save in those arms of thine, love.
Cold, alter'd friendship's cruel part,
To poison fortune's ruthless dart—
Let me not break thy faithful heart,
And say that fate is mine, love.
But dreary though the moments fleet,
O let me think we yet shall meet!
That only ray of solace sweet
Can on thy Chloris shine, love.
O wert thou, love, but near me;
But near, near, near me;
How kindly thou wouldst cheer me,
And mingle sighs with mine, love!
Rob Roy Macgregor.
[This is introduced as a finale to the opera of "Rob Roy," and is sung to the tune of "Duncan Gray." Terry manufactured the opera from Sir Walter's celebrated novel of "Rob Roy," but we cannot say who is the author of the song.]
Pardon now the bold outlaw,
Rob Roy Macgregor, O!
Grant him mercy, gentles a',
Rob Roy Macgregor, O!
Let your hands and hearts agree,
Set the Highland laddie free,
Make us sing wi' muckle glee,
Rob Roy Macgregor, O!
Long the state has doom'd his fa',
Rob Roy Macgregor, O!
Still he spurn'd the hatefu' law,
Rob Roy Macgregor, O!
Scots can for their country die;
Ne'er frae Britain's foes they flee,
A' that's past forget—forgie,
Rob Roy Macgregor, O!
Scotland's fear and Scotland's pride,
Rob Roy Macgregor, O!
Your award must now abide,
Rob Roy Macgregor, O!
Lang your favours ha'e been mine,
Favours I will ne'er resign,
Welcome then for auld langsyne,
Rob Roy Macgregor, O!
Here’s a health.
[Words by W. H. Freeman. Music by Alex. Lee.]
Here's a health to fair Scotland, the land of the brave!
Here's a health to the bold and the free!
And as long as the thistle and heather shall wave,
Here's a health, bonnie Scotland, to thee:
Here's a health to the land of victorious Bruce,
And the champions of liberty's cause;
And may their examples fresh heroes produce
In defence of our rights and our laws.
Here's a health, &c.
Here's a health to the land where bold Wallace unfurl'd
His bright banner of conquest and fame—
The terror of foeman, the pride of the world!—
Long may Scotland hold dearly his name.
And still, like their fathers, our brothers are true,
And their valour with pleasure we see;
Of the wreaths that were won at renowned Waterloo,
There's a bough of the laurel for thee.
Here's a health, &c.
Here's success to the shamrock, the thistle, the rose,
May they ever in harmony twine;
And should wily discord again interpose,
