Volume V Part 33 (1/2)
When e'enin's gowden curtains hing O'er moor and mountain gray, Methinks I hear the blue-bells ring A dirge to deein' day; But when the licht o' mornin' wakes The young dew-drooket flowers, I hear amid their merry peals, The mirth o' bridal hours!
The Scotch blue-bell, &c.
How oft wi' rapture hae I stray'd, The mountain's heather crest, There aft wi' thee hae I array'd My Mary's maiden breast; Oft tremblin' mark'd amang thy bells, Her bosom fa' and rise, Like snawy cloud that sinks and swells, 'Neath summer's deep blue skies.
The Scotch blue-bell, &c.
Oh! weel ye guess when morning daws, I seek the blue-bell grot; An' weel ye guess, when e'enin' fa's Sae sweet, I leave it not; An' when upon my tremblin' breast, Reclines my maiden fair, Thou know'st full well that I am blest, And free frae ilka care.
The Scotch blue-bell, the Scotch blue-bell, The dear blue-bell for me!
Oh! I wadna gie the Scotch blue-bell, For a' the flowers I see.
THE ROCKIN'.
The ingle cheek is bleezin' bricht, The croozie sheds a cheerfu' licht, An' happy hearts are here the nicht, To haud a rantin' rockin'!
There 's laughin' Lizzie, free o' care; There 's Mary, wi' the modest air; An' Kitty, wi' the gowden hair, Will a' be at the rockin'.
There 's Bessie, wi' her spinnin' wheel; There 's Jeanie Deans, wha sings sae weel; An' Meg, sae daft about a reel, Will a' be at the rockin'.
The ploughman, brave as Wallace wicht; The weaver, wi' his wit sae bricht; The vulcan, wi' his arm o' micht, Will a' be at the rockin'.
The shepherd, wi' his eagle e'e, Kindly heart an' rattlin' glee; The wonder-workin' dominie, Will a' be at the rockin'.
The miller, wi' his mealy mou', Wha kens sae weel the way to woo-- His faither's pipes frae Waterloo He 'll bring to cheer our rockin'.
The souter, wi' his bristly chin, Frae whilk the la.s.ses screechin' rin; The curly-headed whupper-in, Will a' be at the rockin'.
There 's merry jokes to cheer the auld, There 's love an' joy to warm the cauld, There 's sangs o' weir to fire the bauld; Sae prove our merry rockin'.
The tales they tell, the sangs they sing, Will gar the auld clay biggin' ring, And some will dance the Highland fling, Right blithely at the rockin'.
Wi' wit, an' love, an' fun, an' fire, Fond friends.h.i.+p will each soul inspire, An' mirth will get her heart's desire O' rantin', at the rockin'.
When sair foredung wi' crabbit care, When days come dark whilk promised fair, To cheer the gloom, just come an' share The pleasures o' our rockin'.
THE WIDOW.
Oh, there 's naebody hears Widow Miller complain, Oh, there 's naebody hears Widow Miller complain; Though the heart o' this warld 's as hard as a stane, Yet there 's naebody hears Widow Miller complain.
Though totterin' noo, like her auld crazy biel, Her step ance the lichtest on hairst-rig or reel; Though sighs tak' the place o' the heart-cheerin' strain, Yet there 's naebody hears Widow Miller complain!
Though humble her biggin', and scanty her store, The beggar ne'er yet went unserved frae her door; Though she aft lifts the lid o' her girnel in vain, Yet there 's naebody hears Widow Miller complain!