THE SONGS OF BURNS.
213
MUSING ON THE ROARING OCEAN.
TUNE—'DRUIMION DUBH.'
Musing on the roaring ocean,
Which divides my love and me;
Wearying Heaven in warm devotion,
For his weal where'er he be.
Which divides my love and me;
Wearying Heaven in warm devotion,
For his weal where'er he be.
Hope and fear's alternate billow
Yielding late to nature's law;
Whisp'ring spirits round my pillow
Talk of him that's far awa.
Yielding late to nature's law;
Whisp'ring spirits round my pillow
Talk of him that's far awa.
Ye whom sorrow never wounded,
Ye who never shed a tear,
Care-untroubled, joy-surrounded,
Gaudy day to you is dear.
Ye who never shed a tear,
Care-untroubled, joy-surrounded,
Gaudy day to you is dear.
Gentle night, do thou befriend me:
Downy sleep, the curtain draw;
Spirits kind, again attend me,
Talk of him that's far awa!
Downy sleep, the curtain draw;
Spirits kind, again attend me,
Talk of him that's far awa!
BLITHE WAS SHE.
TUNE—'ANDRO AND HIS CUTTIE GUN.'
Chorus
Blithe, blithe and merry was she,
Blithe was she but and ben:
Blithe by the banks of Ern,
But blither in Glenturit glen.
Blithe, blithe and merry was she,
Blithe was she but and ben:
Blithe by the banks of Ern,
But blither in Glenturit glen.
By Ochtertyre grows the aik,
On Yarrow banks, the birken shaw;
But Phemie was a bonier lass
Than braes o' Yarrow ever saw.
Blithe, &c.
On Yarrow banks, the birken shaw;
But Phemie was a bonier lass
Than braes o' Yarrow ever saw.
Blithe, &c.
Her looks were like a flower in May,
Her smile was like a simmer morn;
She tripped by the banks of Ern
As light's a bird upon a thorn.
Blithe, &c.
Her smile was like a simmer morn;
She tripped by the banks of Ern
As light's a bird upon a thorn.
Blithe, &c.
Her bonie face it was as meek
As onie lamb's upon a lee;
The evening sun was ne'er sae sweet
As was the blink o' Phemie's ee.
Blithe, &c.
As onie lamb's upon a lee;
The evening sun was ne'er sae sweet
As was the blink o' Phemie's ee.
Blithe, &c.
The Highland hills I've wander'd wide,
And o'er the Lowlands I hae been;
But Phemie was the blithest lass
That ever trod the dewy green.
Blithe, &c.
And o'er the Lowlands I hae been;
But Phemie was the blithest lass
That ever trod the dewy green.
Blithe, &c.
PEGGY'S CHARMS.
TUNE—'NEIL GOW'S LAMENTATION FOR ABERCAIRNY.'
Where, braving angry winter's storms,
The lofty Ochels rise,
Far in their shade my Peggy's charms
First blest my wondering eyes.
As one who, by some savage stream,
A lonely gem surveys,
Astonish'd doubly, marks it beam
With art's most polish'd blaze.
The lofty Ochels rise,
Far in their shade my Peggy's charms
First blest my wondering eyes.
As one who, by some savage stream,
A lonely gem surveys,
Astonish'd doubly, marks it beam
With art's most polish'd blaze.
Blest be the wild, sequester'd shade,
And blest the day and hour,
Where Peggy's charms I first survey'd,
When first I felt their pow'r!
The tyrant death with grim control
May seize my fleeting breath;
But tearing Peggy from my soul
Must be a stronger death.
And blest the day and hour,
Where Peggy's charms I first survey'd,
When first I felt their pow'r!
The tyrant death with grim control
May seize my fleeting breath;
But tearing Peggy from my soul
Must be a stronger death.
