O blessed fountain, give her back 'Tis a small gift, thou blessed well, But kingdoms to a mother's heart,— MY AIN BONNIE MAY. WILLIAM NICHOLSON. O will ye go to yon burn side, My ain bonnie May? The sun blinks blithe on yon burn side, Whare lambkins lightly play; The wild bird whistles to his mate, My ain bonnie May. The waving woods, wi' mantle green, O' mony a bonnie flower. My father maws ayont the burn, To spin my mammy's gane; And should they see thee here wi' me, I'd better been my lane. The lightsome lammie little kens Whan ance the flush o' spring is o'er, Ilk thing is in its season sweet; But cank'ring time may soil the flow'r, O, come then, while the summer shines, Ere age his with'ring, wintry blast For thee I'll tend the fleecy flocks, And nightly clasp thee to my breast, The blush o'erspread her bonnie face, But ga'e her hand, and walk'd alang, The youthfu' bloomin' May. THE BRIDE OF ALLANBAY. ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. Upon the bonnie mountain side, Upon the leafy trees, Upon the rich and golden fields, Upon the deep green seas, The wind comes breathing freshly forth- A wing'd shaft from the land! The sheep love Skiddaw's lonesome top, Sweet woman loves her will; My son! a gray-hair'd peasant said, Thine anchor in the sand; And meek and humble make thy heart; For ere yon bright'ning moon Lift her wondrous lamp above the wave Amid night's lonely noon, There shall be shriekings heard at sea, Lamentings heard ashore My son go pluck thy mainsail down, Come forth and weep, come forth and pray, All ye who have got sons to-night And wherefore, old man, should I turn? Dost hear the merry pipe, The harvest bugle winding Among Scotland's corn fields ripe ? And see her dark-eyed maidens dance, Whose willing arms alway Are open for the merry lads Of bonnie Allanbay? Full sore the old man sigh'd, and said, Go bid the mountain wind Breathe softer, and the deep waves hear The prayers of frail mankind, Gazed on the youth, and on the sea, Lo, look! here comes our lovely bride- As chafe the billows when she goes In beauty o'er the flood? The raven fleece that dances On her round and swan-white neck; On the smooth and shaven deck; Be gentle in your ministry, The eye that looks that looks so lovely, Yet so lofty in its sway Old man! the sea adores them So adieu, sweet Allanbay! HABBIE'S FRAE HAME. JAMES TURNER. By the side of yon cleugh, whare the burnie rins shill, There'll never be joy till our Habbie come hame. My wheel it gaes round, and my lint tap I spread, The warp shall be blue and the waft shall be red, An' how bra we'll be a' when our Habbie comes hame. |