Volume Ii Part 18 (1/2)

O! Are ye sleeping, Maggie?

O! are ye sleeping, Maggie?

Let me in, for loud the linn Is roaring o'er the warlock craigie.

Mirk and rainy is the night, No a starn in a' the carry;[84]

Lightnings gleam athwart the lift, And winds drive wi' winter's fury.

O! are ye sleeping, Maggie? &c.

Fearful soughs the bourtree bank, The rifted wood roars wild and dreary, Loud the iron yate does clank, And cry of howlets makes me eerie.

O! are ye sleeping, Maggie? &c.

Aboon my breath I daurna' speak, For fear I rouse your waukrife daddie, Cauld 's the blast upon my cheek, O rise, rise, my bonny lady!

O! are ye sleeping, Maggie? &c.

She opt the door, she let him in, He cuist aside his dreeping plaidie: ”Blaw your warst, ye rain and win', Since, Maggie, now I 'm in aside ye.”

Now, since ye 're waking, Maggie!

Now, since ye 're waking, Maggie!

What care I for howlet's cry, For bourtree bank, or warlock craigie?

[84] This expression commonly means, the direction in which the clouds are carried by the wind, but it is here used to denote the firmament.

NOW WINTER, WI' HIS CLOUDY BROW.

AIR--_”Forneth House.”_

Now Winter, wi' his cloudy brow, Is far ayont yon mountains; And Spring beholds her azure sky Reflected in the fountains: Now, on the budding slaethorn bank, She spreads her early blossom, And wooes the mirly-breasted birds To nestle in her bosom.

But lately a' was clad wi' snaw, Sae darksome, dull, and dreary; Now laverocks sing to hail the spring, And Nature all is cheery.

Then let us leave the town, my love, And seek our country dwelling, Where waving woods, and spreading flowers, On every side are smiling.

We 'll tread again the daisied green, Where first your beauty moved me; We 'll trace again the woodland scene, Where first ye own'd ye loved me; We soon will view the roses blaw In a' the charms of fancy, For doubly dear these pleasures a', When shared with thee, my Nancy.

THE DEAR HIGHLAND LADDIE, O!

GAELIC AIR--_”Mor nian a Ghibarlan.”_

Blithe was the time when he fee'd wi' my father, O!

Happy were the days when we herded thegither, O!

Sweet were the hours when he row'd me in his plaidie, O!

And vow'd to be mine, my dear Highland laddie, O!

But, ah! waes me! wi' their sodgering sae gaudy, O!