My hert's still licht, albeit my locks be gray.
TUNE - "Leith Wynd."
Were I ashuired ye'd constant prove,
Ye should nae mair complain;
The easy maid beset wi love,
Few wirds will quickly gain:
For I must ain, nou since ye're free,
This too fond hert o mine
Haes lang, a black-sole true to thee,
Wished to be paired wi thine.
I'm happy nou, ah! let my heid
Upon thy briest recline;
The pleasure strikes me near-hand deid!-
Is Jenny then sae kind!-
O let me brizz thee to my hert!
An roond my airms entwine:
Delytefu thocht, we'll never pairt
Come, press thy lips to mine.
Wi equal joy my easy hert gies wey,
To ain thy weel-tried love haes won the day.
Nou, by thae warmest kisses thoo hast tane,
Swear thus to be me, when by vows made ane.
I swear by fifty thoosand yet to come-
Or mey the first ane strike me deif an dumb-
There sanna be a kindlier dawted wife,
If ye agree wi me to lead yer life.
Weel, I agree-neist to my parent gae,
Get his consent-he'll hardly say ye nae;
Ye hae what will commend ye to him weel,
Auld fouks like them that want na milk an meal.
TUNE - "Ower Bogie."
Weel, I agree, ye're shuir o me;
Neist to my faither gae;
Mak him content to gie consent-
He'll hardly say ye nae.
For ye hae what he wad be at,
An will commend ye weel,
Since parents auld think love growes cauld,
Where bairns want milk an meal.
Shoud he deny, I carena-by,
He'd contradict in vain;
Tho a' my kin haed said an sworn
But thee I will hae nane.
Then never range, nor learn to change
Like thae in hiech degree:
An if ye prove faithfu in love,
Ye'll finnd nae faut in me.
My faulds contain twice fifteen furrow nowt,
As mony newcalfed in my byres rout;
Five packs o woo I can at Lammas sell,
Shorn frae my bob-tailed bleeters on the fell:
Guid twenty pair o blankets for oor bed,
Wi meikle care my thrifty mither made.
Ilk thing that maks a hertsome hoose an ticht
Was still her care, my faither's great delyte.
They left me a', whilk nou gies joy to me,
Because I can gie a', my dear, to thee:
An haed I fifty times as meikle mair,
Nane but my Jenny shoud the samen skair.
My love an a' is yours; nou haud them fast,
An guide them as ye like, to gar them last.
I'll do my best - But see wha comes this wey,
Patie an Meg - besides, I maunna stey:
Let's steal frae ither nou, an meet the morn;
If we be seen, we'll dree a deal o scorn.
To where the sauch-tree shades the mennin-puil,
I'll frae the hill come doun when day growes cool:
Keep tryst, an meet me there-there let us meet,
To kiss, an tell oor loves; there's nocht sae sweet.
THIS scene presents the knicht an Sym,
Within a gallery o the place,
Where a' leuks ruinous an grim;
Nor haes the baron shawn his face,
But jokin wi his shepherd leal,
Aft speers the gate he kens fou weel.
SIR WILLIAM AN SYMON.
To wham belangs this hoose sae much decayed?
To ane that lost it, lendin generous aid
To bear the heid up, when rebellious tail
Against the laws o natur did prevail.
Sir William Worthy is oor maister's name,
Whilk fills us a' wi joy, nou he's come hame.
[Sir William draps his maskin-beard;
Symon, transported, sees
The welcome knicht, wi fond regaird,
An grasps him roond the knees.]
My maister! my dear maister! - do I breathe
To see him healthy, strang, an free frae skaith?
Returned to cheer his wishin tenants' sicht-
To bless his son, my chairge, the warld's delyte?
Rise, faithfu Symon, in my airms enjoy
A place thy due, kind guardian o my boy:
I cam to view thy care in this disguise,
An am confirmed thy conduct haes been wice;
Since still the secret thou's securely sealed
An ne'er to him his real birth revealed.
The due obedience to yer strict command
Was the first lock-neist, my ain judgment fand
Oot reasons plenty-since, ithoot estate,
A youth, tho sprung frae king, leuks bauch an blate.
An aften vain an idly spend their time,
Till grown unfit for action, past their prime,
Hang on their freends-which gies their sauls a cast,
That turns them dounricht beggars at the last.
Nou, weel I wat, Sir, ye hae spoken true;
For there's laird Kytie's son that's loed by few:
His faither stecht his fortune in his wame,
An left his heir nocht but a gentle name.
He gangs aboot, sornin frae place to place,
As scrimpt o mainers as o sense an grace,
Oppressin a', as punishment o their sin,
That are within his tenth degree o kin:
Rins in ilk trader's debt, wha's sae unjust
To his ain faimly as to gie him trust.
Sic uiseless brainches o a commonwealth,
Should be lopped aff, to gie a state mair health,
Unworthy bare reflection! - Symon, run
Ower a' yer observations on my son:
A parent's fondness easily finds excuise,
But dinna, wi indulgence, truith abuise.
To speak his praise, the langest summer day
Wad be ower short, coud I them richt display.
In wird an deed he can sae weel behave,
That oot o sicht he rins afore the lave;
An when there's ony quarrel or contest,
Paitrick's made judge to tell wha's cause is best;
An his decreet stands guid-he'll gar it stand-
Wha daurs to grumble, finds his correctin hand;
Wi a firm leuk, an a commandin wey,
He gars the proodest o oor herds obey.
Yer tale much pleases - My guid freend, proceed:
What learnin haes he? Can he write an read?
Baith wonder weel; for, troth, I didna spare
To gie him at the schuil eneuch o lair;
An he delytes in beuks-he reads an speaks,
Wi fouks that ken them, Latin wirds an Greeks.
Where gets he beuks to read? an o what kind?
Tho some gie licht, some blinndly lead the blinnd
Whene'er he drives oor sheep to Edinburgh port,
He buys some beuks o history, sangs, or sport:
Nor dis he want o them a routh at will,
An cairies aye a pootchfu to the hill.
Aboot ane Shakspeare an a famous Ben,
He aften speaks, an ca's them best o men.
How sweetly Hawthornden an Stirlin sing,
An ane ca'd Cowley, loyal to his king,
He kens fou weel, an gars their verses ring.
I sometimes thocht he made ower great a fraise
Aboot fine poems, histories, an plays.
When I reproved him ance, a beuk he brings,
"Wi this," qo he, "on braes, I crack wi kings!"
He answered well; an much ye gled my ear,
When sic accoonts I o my shepherd hear.
Readin sic beuks can raise a peasant's mind
Above a Lord's that isna thus inclined.
What ken we better, that sae sindle leuk,
Except on rainy Sundays, on a beuk;
When we a leaf or twa hauf read, hauf spell,
Till a' the rest sleep roond as weel's oorsel.
Well jested, Symon. But ane question mair
I'll only ask ye nou, an then gie ower.
The youth's arrived the age when little loves
Flichter aroond young herts like cooin dous:
Haes no young lassie, wi invilin mien,
An rosy cheeks, the wonder o the green,
Engaged his leuk, an caught his youthfu hert?
I feared the warst, but kend the sma'est pairt,
Till late, I saw him twa three times mair sweet
Wi Glaud's fair niece, than I thocht richt or meet:
I haed my fears; but nou hae nocht to fear,
Since like yersel yer son will suin appear.
A gentleman enriched wi a' these chairms,
Mey bless the fairest, best-born, lady's airms.
This nicht must end his unambitious fire,
When hiecher views shall greater thochts inspire.
Gae, Symon, bring him quickly here to me;
Nane but yersel shall oor first meetin see.
Yonder's my horse an servants nigh at hand;
They come juist at the time I gae command;
Straucht in my ain apparel I'll gae dress:
Nou, ye the secret mey to a' confess.
Wi how much joy I on this errand flee,
There's nane can ken that is nae dounricht me.
SIR WILLIAM, ALANE.
When the event o hope's success appears,
Ane happy oor cancels the toil o years;
A thoosand toils are lost in Lethe's stream,
An cares evanish like a mornin dream;
When wished-for pleasures rise like mornin licht,
The pain that's past enhances the delyte.
These joys I feel that wirds can ill express,
I ne'er haed kent, ithoot my late distress.
But frae his rustic business an love,
I must, in haste, my Patrick suin remove
To coorts an camps that mey his saul improve.
Like the ruch diamond, as it leaves the mine,
Only in little brakking shows its licht,
Till artful polishin haes made it shine:-
Thus education maks the genius bricht.
TUNE - "Wat ye wha I met yestreen."
Nou frae rusticity an love,
Whase flames but ower lowly burn,
My gentle shepherd must be drave-
His saul must tak anither turn:
As the ruch diamond frae the mine,
In brakkin only shows its licht,
Till polishin haes made it shine;-
Thus learnin maks the genius bricht.