As lovely young birdies are scattered in Summer, Sae well as he liket aye me and his mither- Noo peace to our dead, and lang health to the leevin', And ne'er may their lot be sae chequered as mine; But sune their auld faither, his sorrow and grievin', For rest and repose in the grave maun resign. Then awa, ye gay warld! a' lanely and eerie I cower ower the ingle baith dowie and wae: Hoo heartless the hame where a' ance was cheeryO welcome release, hoo I lang for the day! FAREWELL TO POLTON. Tune-"Lochnagar." DIEU ! lovely Polton, by Esk's winding river! How cruel the fate that compels us to sever, And rude the assaults that the bosom must bear ! Oh sacred to me are thy groves and sweet bowers, Resounding with gladness and Love's mellow strain; Thy green sloping heights and thy gardens of flowers, Though never, alas ! shall I tread them again. How aft through thy green woods, unseen, at the gloaming, And down the lone glen we fondly have strayedMy loved one and I—and when wearied with roaming We sought for a shrine in the spreading beech shade. There hallowed the moments that over us glided, In heart-thrilling raptures the hours fled away; Earth smiled, a fair Eden our fancies had lighted, All pleasure, all promise, unmarred by decay. Yon ivy green cottage, can e'er I forget it, Sweet home of the heart, and to me ever dear? That morning I left it, I'll ever regret it, And name it through life with a sigh or a tear. No more there I meet with the friendly embraces, I join in the laugh and the songs of the free. But mute is my lyre, and the spell it is broken, The glow of the heart and its verdure are gone; Clouds o'er the wild gather, that sadly betoken The future enveloped in tempest alone. Then, adieu! lovely Polton, by Esk's winding river! Adieu! now I bid thee with sorrow and care; How cruel the fate that compels us to sever, And rude the assaults that the bosom must bear ! WE'LL NE'ER HAE PEACE TILL THE Tune-" We'll ne'er hae peace till Jamie comes hame." Y bonny Tweedside, yestreen as I strayed, Aneth a grey rock an auld man I surveyed; And thus aye he sang, as the tears drappin' came:— O we'll ne'er hae peace till the siller's sent hame. O Willie, O Willie, and a' your black train, aim For we'll ne'er hae peace till the siller's sent hame. In the licht o' your conscience, if ony ye hae, Was yours sic a card as true honour could play? Ye may preach and pretend, but you're muckle to blame For we'll ne'er hae peace till the siller's sent hame. Did ever O'Connell sae basely behave? Ah! no: he disdained the foul price o' the slave. Then ca' him nae mair, nor put knave to his nameAs we'll ne'er hae peace till the siller's sent hame. And O hoo you cam by't-your motive and end, Auld Scotia you've leed on; and loud the alarms— We're a' by the lugs, and will soon be in arms: Wright kennelt the ingle, and still blaws the flameSae we'll ne'er hae peace till the siller's sent hame. And hear noble Duncan and Grey for a wee- But think what you've dune, and, O Willie, relent, By a' that is guid, O I rede you beware! Sae we'll ne'er hae peace till the siller's sent hame. |