But since that nothing can prevail, From these dejected eyes of mine Still showers of tears shall rain ; And though thou hast me now forgot, Yet I'll continue thine, And ne'er forget for to reflect If e'er I have a house, my dear, PART SECOND. My soul is ravish'd with delight All griefs and sorrows take their flight, The fair resemblance of your face So fills this breast of mine, No fate nor force can it displace For old long syne. Since thoughts of you do banish grief, When I'm from you removed, And if in them I find relief When with sad cares I'm moved, How doth your presence me affect With ecstasies divine, Especially when I reflect On old long syne! Since thou hast robb'd me of my heart, By those resistless powers Which Madam Nature doth impart To those fair eyes of yours, With honour it doth not consist 'Tis not my freedom I do crave, Sure, liberty he would not have Who glories in his chains; But this I wish-the gods would move That noble soul of thine To pity, if thou canst not love, For old long syne. Allan Ramsay also wrote a song under this title. It appeared as follows in the "Tea-Table Miscellany." Should auld acquaintance be forgot, Though they return with scars? These are the noble hero's lot, Methinks around us on each bough A thousand Cupids play; Whilst through the groves I walk with you Each object makes me gay. Since your return the sun and moon With brighter beams do shine; Streams murmur soft notes while they run As they did lang syne. SPEAK ON, SPEAK THUS. ALLAN RAMSAY, born Oct. 15, 1686, died Jan. 7, 1758. From the "Gentle Shepherd." Air-"Wae's my heart that we should sunder." SPEAK on, speak thus, and still my grief; These fears that soon will want relief When Pate must from his Peggy sunder. A gentler face and silk attire, To steal thee from thy Peggy's bosom. The rest, whose wit made them to wonder, Ye meadows where we often stray'd, Ye banks where we were wont to wander, Again, ah, shall I never creep Around the knowe, with silent duty, And wonder at thy manly beauty? Hear, heaven, while solemnly I vow, Though thou shouldst prove a wand'ring lover, Through life to thee I shall prove true, Nor be a wife to any other. I'LL NEVER LEAVE THEE. ALLAN RAMSAY. From the "Tea-Table Miscellany." JOHNNY. THOUGH for seven years and mair honour should reave me Gang the warld as it will, dearest, believe me! NELLY. O Johnny, I'm jealous, whene'er ye discover My sentiments yielding, ye'll turn a loose rover; JOHNNY. My Nelly, let never sic fancies oppress ye ; NELLY. Then, Johnny, I frankly this minute allow ye JOHNNY. Bid ice-shogles hammer red gauds on the studdy, LOCHABER. ALLAN RAMSAY. FAREWELL to Lochaber, farewell to my Jean, Though hurricanes rise, though rise every wind, To leave thee behind me my heart is sair pain'd; Then glory, my Jeanie, maun plead my excuse; And then I'll leave thee and Lochaber no more. The exquisite melody to which this song is sung has rendered it a general favourite. Its effect upon the mind of Highlanders in a foreign land, or in emigration, is sometimes painful, and has been known to melt the roughest and rudest of men to tears. The song itself, as a literary composition, is of little or no merit. It first appeared in the "Tea-Table Miscellany," 1724. The air was originally entitled "King James's march to Ireland." O Bessie Bell and Mary Gray, They were twa bonnie lasses; And theekit it ower wi' rashes. |