Mine was th’ insensate frenzied part,
     Ah! why should I such scenes outlive? 
     Scenes so abhorrent to my heart!—­
     ’Tis thine to pity and forgive.

Wilt Thou Be My Dearie?

     Tune—­“The Sutor’s Dochter.”

     Wilt thou be my Dearie? 
     When Sorrow wring thy gentle heart,
     O wilt thou let me cheer thee! 
     By the treasure of my soul,
     That’s the love I bear thee: 
     I swear and vow that only thou
     Shall ever be my Dearie! 
     Only thou, I swear and vow,
     Shall ever be my Dearie!

     Lassie, say thou lo’es me;
     Or, if thou wilt na be my ain,
     O say na thou’lt refuse me! 
     If it winna, canna be,
     Thou for thine may choose me,
     Let me, lassie, quickly die,
     Still trusting that thou lo’es me! 
     Lassie, let me quickly die,
     Still trusting that thou lo’es me!

A Fiddler In The North

     Tune—­“The King o’ France he rade a race.”

     Amang the trees, where humming bees,
     At buds and flowers were hinging, O,
     Auld Caledon drew out her drone,
     And to her pipe was singing, O: 
     ’Twas Pibroch, Sang, Strathspeys, and Reels,
     She dirl’d them aff fu’ clearly, O: 
     When there cam’ a yell o’ foreign squeels,
     That dang her tapsalteerie, O.

     Their capon craws an’ queer “ha, ha’s,”
     They made our lugs grow eerie, O;
     The hungry bike did scrape and fyke,
     Till we were wae and weary, O: 
     But a royal ghaist, wha ance was cas’d,
     A prisoner, aughteen year awa’,
     He fir’d a Fiddler in the North,
     That dang them tapsalteerie, O.

The Minstrel At Lincluden

     Tune—­“Cumnock Psalms.”

     As I stood by yon roofless tower,
     Where the wa’flow’r scents the dery air,
     Where the howlet mourns in her ivy bower,
     And tells the midnight moon her care.

     Chorus—­A lassie all alone, was making her moan,
     Lamenting our lads beyond the sea: 
     In the bluidy wars they fa’, and our honour’s gane an’ a’,
     And broken-hearted we maun die.

     The winds were laid, the air was till,
     The stars they shot along the sky;
     The tod was howling on the hill,
     And the distant-echoing glens reply. 
     A lassie all alone, &c.

     The burn, adown its hazelly path,
     Was rushing by the ruin’d wa’,
     Hasting to join the sweeping Nith,
     Whase roarings seem’d to rise and fa’. 
     A lassie all alone, &c.

     The cauld blae North was streaming forth
     Her lights, wi’ hissing, eerie din,
     Athort the lift they start and shift,
     Like Fortune’s favours, tint as win. 
     A lassie all alone, &c.