Winnowing blithe her dewy wings
In morning's rosy eye;

As little reckt I sorrow's power,
Until the flowery snare

O' witching love, in luckless hour,
Made me the thrall o' care.

O had my fate been Greenland snows,

Or Afric's burning zone,

Wi' man and nature leagued my foes,
So Peggy ne'er I'd known!

The wretch whase doom is, " hope nae mair,"
What tongue his woes can tell!
Within whase bosom, save despair,
Nae kinder spirits dwell.

My heart is a breaking, dear Tittie,
Some counsel unto me come len'.

To anger them a' is a pity;

But what will I do wi' Tam Glen?

I'm thinking, wi' sic a braw fallow,
In poortith I might mak a fen';
What care I in riches to wallow,

If I maunna marry Tam Glen?
There's Lowrie the laird o' Drumeller,

"Guid-day to you, brute !" he comes ben:

He brags and he blaws o' his siller;

But when will he dance like Tam Glen ?

My minnie does constantly deave me,

And bids me beware o' young men ; They flatter, she says, to deceive me ;

But wha can think sae o' Tam Glen? My daddie says, gin I'll forsake him,

He'll gie me guid hunder marks ten:

But, if it's ordain'd I maun take him,
O wha will I get but Tam Glen?
Yestreen at the Valentines' dealing,

My heart to my mou gied a sten;
For thrice I drew ane without failing,
And thrice it was written, Tam Glen.
The last Halloween I was waukin

My droukit sark-sleeve, as ye ken; His likeness cam up the house staukinAnd the very grey breeks o' Tam Glen! Come counsel, dear Tittie, don't tarry ; I'll gie you my bonnie black hen, Gif ye will advise me to marry The lad I lo'e dearly, Tam Glen.

In simmer when the hay was mawn,
And corn waved green in ilka field,
While claver blooms white o'er the lea,
And roses blaw in ilka bield;
Blithe Bessie in the milking shiel,

Says, I'll be wed, come o't what will;
Out spak a dame in wrinkled eild,
O' guid advisement comes nae ill.
It's ye hae wooers mony ane,

And lassie, ye're but young ye ken;
Then wait a wee, and cannie wale
A routhie butt, a routhie ben:
There's Johnie o' the Buskie-glen,
Fu' is his barn, fu' is his byre;
Tak this frae me, my bonnie hen,
It's plenty beets the luver's fire.
For Johnie o' the Buskie-glen
I dinna care a single flie;

He lo'es sae weel his craps and kye,

He has nae luve to spare for me : But blithe's the blink o' Robie's ee, And weel I wat he lo'es me dear: Ae blink o' him I wadna gie

For Buskie-glen and a' his gear.

O thoughtless lassie, life's a faught;
The canniest gate, the strife is sair;
But aye fu' han't is fechtin best,

An hungry care's an unco care:
But some will spend, and some will spare,
An' wilfu' folk maun hae their will;
Syne as ye brew, my maiden fair,

Keep mind that ye maun drink the yill.

O, gear will buy me rigs o' land,

And gear will buy me sheep and kye;
But the tender heart o' leesome luve
The gowd and siller canna buy:
We may be poor-Robie and I,

Light is the burden luve lays on;
Content and luve brings peace and joy,

What mair hae queens upon a throne?

O luve will venture in, where it daurna weel be seen,
O luve will venture in, where wisdom ance has been ;
But I will down yon river rove, amang the wood sae
And a' to pu' a posie to my ain dear May. [green,

The primrose I will pu', the firstling o' the year,
And I will pu' the pink, the emblem o' my dear,
For she's the pink o' womankind, and blooms without
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. [a peer;

I'll pu' the budding rose, when Phoebus peeps in view,
For it's like a baumy kiss o' her sweet bonnie mou;
The hyacinth's for constancy, wi' its unchanging blue;
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May.

The lily it is pure, and the lily it is fair,
And in her lovely, bosom I'll place the lily there;
The daisy's for simplicity and unaffected air;
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May.

The hawthorn I will pu', wi' its locks o' siller grey,
Where, like an aged man, it stands at break o' day;
But the songster's nest within the bush I winna tak
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. [away;
The woodbine I will pu' when the e'ening star is near,
And the diamond drops o' dew shall be her een sae
clear:

The violet's for modesty, which weel she fa's to wear; And a❜ to be a posie to my ain dear May.

I'll tie the posie round wi' the silken band o' luve, And I'll place it in her breast, and I'll swear by a' above, That to my latest draught o' life the band shall ne'er reAnd this will be a posie to my ain dear May. [muve;

Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon,

How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair!
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
And I sae weary, fu' o' care!

Thou'lt break my heart, thou warbling bird,
That wantons thro' the flowering thorn:
Thou minds me o' departed joys,

Departed never to return.

Aft hae I roved by bonnie Doon,

To see the rose and woodbine twine;

And ilka bird sang o' its love,
And fondly sae did I o' mine.
Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose,
Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree;
And my fause luver stole my rose,
But ah! he left the thorn wi' me.

Slow spreads the gloom my soul desires,
The sun from India's shore retires :
To Evan banks with temperate ray,
Home of my youth, he leads the day.

Oh banks to me for ever dear!

Oh stream, whose murmurs still I hear!
All, all my hopes of bliss reside
Where Evan mingles with the Clyde.
And she, in simple beauty drest,
Whose image lives within my breast;
Who trembling heard my parting sigh,
And long pursued me with her eye;

Does she, with heart unchanged as mine,
Oft in the vocal bowers recline ?
Or, where yon grot o'erhangs the tide,
Muse while the Evan seeks the Clyde ?

Ye lofty banks that Evan bound,
Ye lavish woods that wave around,
And o'er the stream your shadows throw,
Which sweetly winds so far below;
What secret charm to memory brings,
All that on Evan's border springs !
Sweet banks! ye bloom by Mary's side:
Blest stream! she views thee haste to Clyde.