How hard’s the fate.
[Written by a Young Lady.—Tune, "For a' that an' a' that."]
How hard's the fate of womankind,
When I think on't for a' that:
When they meet a young man to their mind,
They darena tell for a' that.
For a' that and a' that;
And twice as meikle's a' that;
Though they loe the laddie e'er sae weel
They darena tell for a' that.
The world's sae censorious,
Which causes this and a' that,
Gars us conceal our fondest thoughts,
And say we hate and a' that.
For a' that, &c.
I vow I will be none of these
That play the fool and a' that;
When I meet a young man to my mind,
I'll tell I love for a' that.
For a' that and a' that.
And twice as meikle's a' that;
The bonnie lad that I lo'e best,
Shall be my ain for a' that.
Jeanie's black e'e.
[Macneil.—Tune, "Cauld frosty morning."]
The sun raise sae rosy, the grey hills adorning;
Light sprang the laverock and mounted sae hie;
When true to the tryst o' blythe May's dewie morning,
My Jeanie cam' linking out owre the green lea.
To mark her impatience, I crap 'mang the brakens:
Aft, aft to the kent gate she turn'd her black e'e;
Then lying down dowylie, sigh'd by the willow tree,
"Ha me mohatel na dousku me."[1]
Saft through the green birks I sta' to my jewel,
Streik'd on spring's carpet aneath the saugh tree:
Think na, dear lassie, thy Willie's been cruel,—
"Ha me mohatel na dousku me."
Wi' luve's warm sensations I've mark'd your impatience,
Lang hid 'mang the brakens I watch'd your black e'e.—
You're no sleeping, pawkie Jean; open thae lovely een;—
"Ha me mohatel na dousku me."
Bright is the whin's bloom ilk green knowe adorning,
Sweet is the primrose bespangled wi' dew;
Yonder comes Peggy to welcome May morning;
Dark waves her haffet locks owre her white brow,
O! light, light she's dancing keen on the smooth gowany green,
Barefit and kilted half up to the knee;
While Jeanie is sleeping still, I'll rin and sport my fill,—
"I was asleep, and ye've waken'd me!"
I'll rin and whirl her round; Jeanie is sleeping sound;
Kiss her frae lug to lug; nae ane can see;
Sweet, sweet's her hinny mou.—"Will, I'm no sleeping now;
I was asleep, but ye've waken'd me."
Laughing till like to drap, swith to my Jean I lap,
Kiss'd her ripe roses, and blest her black e'e;
And aye since, whane'er we meet, sing, for the sound is sweet,
"Ha me mohatel na dousku me."
When life was gay.
[Tune, "My only jo and dearie, O."]
When life was gay, an' hope was young,
Nae cares to mak' me eerie, O,
By birken shaw I sat an' sung,
An' tuned my pipe fa' cheerie, O;
Nae birdie, singin' frae the tree,
Was hauf sae blythe, sae gay as me,
Till tost upon life's troubled sea,
I traversed lang an' wearie, O.
How changed were then the lightsome hours,
When beat my heart sae rarely, O,
When far frae Clutha's sylvan bowers,
Misfortune skelpt me sairly, O.—
- ↑ I am asleep, do not waken me.
