Volume Vi Part 17 (2/2)
A besom whiskit by my lug, An' dishclouts half-a-score: Catch me again, tho' fidgin' fain, At kissin 'hint the door.
There 's meikle bliss, &c.
THE WIDOW'S AE BIT La.s.sIE.
TUNE--_”My only Jo and Dearie, O!”_
Oh, guess ye wha I met yestreen On Kenly banks sae gra.s.sy, O!
Wha cam' to bless my waitin' een?-- The widow's ae bit la.s.sie, O!
She brak' my gloamin' dream sae sweet, Just whaur the wimplin' burnies meet; The smother'd laugh--I flew to greet The widow's ae bit la.s.sie, O!
They glint.i.t slee--the moon and she-- The widow's ae bit la.s.sie, O!-- On tremblin' stream an' tremblin' me: She is a dear wee la.s.sie, O!
How rapture's pulse was beating fast As Mary to my heart I claspt!
Oh, bliss divine--owre sweet to last-- I 've kiss'd the dear bit la.s.sie, O!
She nestled close, like croodlin' doo-- The widow's ae bit la.s.sie, O!
My cheek to hers, syne mou' to mou'-- The widow's ae bit la.s.sie, O!
Unto my breast again, again, I prest her guileless heart sae fain; Sae blest were baith--now she 's my ain, The widow's ae bit la.s.sie, O!
Ye powers aboon, wha made her mine-- The widow's ae bit la.s.sie, O!
My heart wad break gin I should tyne The widow's ae bit la.s.sie, O!
Our hearth shall glad the angels' sight; The lamp o' love shall lowe sae bright On me and her, my soul's delight, The widow's ae bit la.s.sie, O!
THE YELLOW-HAIRED LADDIE.
The maidens are smiling in rocky Glencoe, The clansmen are arming to rush on the foe; Gay banners are streaming as forth pours the clan, The yellow-haired laddie is first in the van.
The pibroch is kindling each heart to the war, The Cameron's slogan is heard from afar; They close for the struggle where many shall fall, But the yellow-haired laddie is foremost of all.
He towers like a wave in the fierce rolling tide, No kinsman of Evan's may stand by his side; The Camerons gather around him alone-- He heeds not the danger, and fear is unknown.
The plumes of his bonnet are seen through the fight-- A beacon for valour, which fires at the sight; But he sees not yon claymore--ah! traitorous thrust!
The plumes and the bonnet are laid in the dust.
The maidens are smiling in rocky Glencoe-- The clansmen approach--they have vanquish'd the foe; But sudden the cheeks of the maidens are pale, For the sound of the coronach comes on the gale.
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