When gowans sprinkl’d.
[James Fraser.—Air, "Kind Robin lo'es me."]
When gowans sprinkl'd a' the lea,
An' blossoms hung on ilka tree,
'Twas then my Jeanie's saft blue e'e
Shot a' its witchery through me.
I felt—I wonder'd at the smart,
New wishes floated roun' my heart—
Ah! little kenn'd I 'twas a dart
That's fated to undo me.
Through lanely glen and greenwood shaw
I stole frae heartless mirth awa',
Or wander'd heedless o' the snaw,
That heap'd its wraiths around me:
But still I felt I kenn'd nae what,
Nor wist I what I would be at;
And aftentimes my cheek was wat,
Though stars shone clear aboon me.
And when a sidelang stowan glance
I took, as if't might seem by chance,
My very bluid was in a dance—
My heart lap sae within me.
Her voice was music in my ear—
Her lip I daur'd na touch for fear,
But O methought the hinny pear
Less sweetness had to win me.
O Jeanie! dinna think I'm cauld,
When ither lads may be mair bauld;
True love like mine can ne'er be tauld—
'Tis constancy maun prove me.
Tour hair I'll braid wi' spring's young flow'rs,
I'll shade you cool in simmer bow'rs,
An' a' the winter's lang cauld hours
Nae blast shall ever move ye.
My bonnie lassie’s dead.
[James Macdonald.—Here first printed.—Air, "A mile abune Dundee."]
Oh! my bonnie lassie's dead,
My bliss an' joy on earth's fled;
Oh! my bonnie lassie's dead,
An' lies on Endrick lea.
Her brow was like a lily flower,
Smiling 'neath a balmy bower,
An' glist'ning i' the momin' hour
Amang the dew o' May.
Her e'e was like the bonnie bell,
That dances on a sparklin' well,
When daylight fa's o'er muir an' fell,
An' wakes the well to play.
Her cheek had a' the hues that lie
On a' that's fair in earth or sky,
When summer winds are singing by
A canty, gleesome air.
The winds may sing o'er glen an' lea;
The flowers may bloom, but no for me;
That brow an' e'e, that cheek I'll see
Smiling here nae mair.
A leaf afore the wintry blast,
Though sairly bruised an' sadly cast,
Will find a resting place at last,
But ah! there's nane for me.
Whar can I gang, whar can I bide,
Sin' she, my bonnie winsome bride,
Is ta'en for ever frae my side?
Why didna death tak' me?
The Jilted Nymph.
[Thomas Campbell.—Air, "Woo'd and married an' a'."]
I'm jilted, forsaken, outwitted;
Yet think not I'll whimper or brawl—
The lass is alone to be pitied
Who ne'er has been courted at all:
Never by great or small
Woo'd or jilted at all;
Oh, how unhappy's the lass
Who has never been courted at all!
My brother call'd out the dear faithless;
In fits I was ready to fall,
Till I found a policeman who, scatheless,
Swore them both to the peace at Guildhall;
Seized them, and seconds and all—
Pistols, powder, and ball;
I wish'd him to die my devoted,
But not in a duel to sprawl.
