Volume Ii Part 22 (2/2)
It was na simmer's fairy scenes, In a' their charming luxury, But Beauty's sel' that won my heart, The bonnie la.s.s o' Woodhouselee.
Sae winnin', was her witchin' smile, Sae piercin', was her coal-black e'e, Sae sairly wounded was my heart, That had na wist sic ills to dree; In vain I strave in beauty's chains, I cou'd na keep my fancy free, She gat my heart sae in her thrall, The bonnie la.s.s o' Woodhouselee.
The bonnie knowes, sae yellow a', Where aft is heard the hum of bee, The meadow green, and breezy hill, Where lambkins sport sae merrilie, May charm the weary, wand'rin' swain, When e'enin' sun dips in the sea, But a' my heart, baith e'en and morn, Is wi' the la.s.s o' Woodhouselee.
The flowers that kiss the wimplin' burn, And dew-clad gowans on the lea, The water-lily on the lake, Are but sweet emblems a' of thee; And while in simmer smiles they bloom, Sae lovely, and sae fair to see, I 'll woo their sweets, e'en for thy sake, The bonnie la.s.s o' Woodhouselee.
THE SUN IS SETTING ON SWEET GLENGARRY.
The sun is setting on sweet Glengarry, The flow'rs are fair and the leaves are green; O bonnie la.s.sie, ye maun be my dearie, And the rose is sweet in the dew at e'en.
Doun yon glen ye never will weary, The flow'rs are fair and the leaves are green; Bonnie la.s.sie, ye maun be my dearie, And the rose is sweet in the dew at e'en.
Birds are singing fu' blythe and cheery, The flow'rs are fair and the leaves are green; Bonnie la.s.sie, on bank sae briery, And the rose is sweet in the dew at e'en.
In yonder glen there 's naething to fear ye, The flow'rs are fair and the leaves are green; Ye canna be sad, ye canna be eerie, And the rose is sweet in the dew at e'en.
The water is wimpling by fu' clearly, The flow'rs are fair and the leaves are green; Oh! ye sall ever be my dearie, And the rose is sweet in the dew at e'en.
HER HAIR WAS LIKE THE CROMLA MIST.
_Gaelic Air._
Her hair was like the Cromla mist, When evening sun beams from the west, Bright was the eye of Morna; When beauty wept the warrior's fall, Then low and dark was Fingal's hall, Sad was the lovely Morna.
O! lovely was the blue-eyed maid That sung peace to the warrior's shade, But none so fair as Morna.
The hallow'd tears bedew'd the brake, That waved beside dark Orna's lake, Where wander'd lovely Morna.
Sad was the h.o.a.ry minstrel's song, That died the rustling heath among, Where sat the lovely Morna; It slumber'd on the placid wave, It echoed through the warrior's cave, And sigh'd again to Morna.
The hero's plumes were lowly laid; In Fingal's hall each blue-eyed maid Sang peace and rest to Morna; The harp's wild strain was past and gone, No more it whisper'd to the moan Of lovely, dying Morna.
O LEEZE ME ON THE BONNIE La.s.s.
AIR--_”Hodgart's Delight.”_
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