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The lily it is pure, and the lily it is fair,
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
I away; · And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. .
The woodbine I will pu' when the e'ening star is near, And the diamond-draps o' dew shall be her e’en sac
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
THE BANKS O' DOON.
YE banks and braes o' bonnie Doon,
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair ;
And I sae weary, fu' o' care !
That wantons thro' the flowering thorn :
Departed never to return.
Thoud ! sae weiht, ye little "esh and for
Oft hae I rov'd by bonnie Doon.
To see the rose and woodbine twine ; And ilka bird sang o' its luve,
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.
SIC SIC A WIFE AS WILLIE HAD.
WILLIE Wastle dwalt on Tweed,
The spot they ca'd it Linkumdoddie, Willie was a wabster gude,
Cou'd stown a clue wiony bodie;
O Tinkler Madgie was her mither ;
She has an e'e, she has but ane,
The cat has twa the very colour ;
A clapper tongue wad deave a miller ;
Sic a wife, &c,
She's bow-hough'd, she's hein shinn'd,
Ae limpin leg a hand breed shorter ; She's twisted right, she's twisted left,
To balance fair in ilka quarter :
The twin o' that upon her shouther ;
Auld baudrans by the ingle sits,
An' wi' her loof her face a washin;
She dights her grunzie wi' a hushion ;
ANCE mair I hail thee, thou gloomy December !
Ance mair I hail thee wi' sorrow and care ; Sad was the parting thou makes me remember,
Parting wi' Nancy, Oh! ne’er to meet mair. Fond lovers parting is sweet painful pleasure,
Hope beaming mild on the soft parting hour; But the dire feeling, O farewell for ever,
Is anguish unmingl’d and agony pure.
Wild as the winter now tearing the forest,
"Till the last leaf o' the summer is flown, Such is the tempest has shaken my bosom,
Since my last hope and last comfort is gone; Still as I hail thee, thou gloomy December,
Still shall I hail thee wi' sorrow and care ; For sad was the parting thou makes me remember, · Parting wi' Nancy, Oh, ne'er to meet mair