My Anna. Air-”Bonnie Dundee” By Gall

 

My Anna.

Air-”Bonnie Dundee”

How sweet is the dawning of morning!

How far ilka obect that lives in the view!

Dame Nature the valley and hillock adorning;

The primrose and blue=bells yet wet with the dew.

How sweet in the morning o’ life is my Anna!

Her smilelike the sunbeam that glints o’er the lee!

To wounder and leave her, dear lassie, in canna,

Frae love and frae beauty I never can flee.

O; lang hae I lo’ed her, and fu’ dearly,

And aft hae I pree’d o’her bonnie sweet mou’;

And aft hae I read in her e’e blinkin’ clearly,

A language that bade me be constant and true!

Then others may doat on their fond war’ly treasure,

For pelf, silly pelf, they may be brave the rude sea;

To love my sweet lassie be mine the dear pleasure,

Wi’ her let me live, and wi’ her let me die!

By Gall

The Little White Cot; Or, Annie, The Pride o’ Them A.” By Upton.

 The Little White Cot;

Or, Annie, The Pride o’ Them A.”

Though Scotia may boast of it’s maids fair and free,

O, the lassie that lives in, the cottage for me;

In a little white cot by the Tay’s winding stream,

Where the sun shows her imagr in each golden beam.

O. yes and no fairer the swains ever saw,

That Annie, the fairest, and pride o’ them a’.

Though Scotia may sing of its castels and lairds,

of its beauties and chieftains, in songs of its bards,

No misnstrel e’er yet found the them of his lays,

So pleasing as Annie, the gem of my praise!

O, yes and the laddies proclaim it afar-

‘Tis Annie, the fairest, and pride o’them a’;

And Scotia, thy bells shall melodiously play

When I and my charmerto kirk gang away;

O. yes, and her brows with sweet roses I’ll twine,

When Annie, the Maid of the cottage is mine.

While each lad and lassie shall envy us twa,

Dear Anni, the fairest, the pride o’ them a’.

By Upton

Jessie O’ The Dee

 

Jessie O’ The Dee

A sweeter lassie ne’er was born

Than Jessie O’ the Dee,

Her breath is like a gale of morn,

And heaven was in her e’e;

Her locks were o’ the raven hue,

And mantled o’er face,

No classic artist ever drew

An image of such grace;

In truth, she was divinely fair,

And none in beauty can compare

Wi’ Jessie O’ the Dee.

Unnumbered suitors came to woo,

And stove her hand to gain,

But well their willy arts she knew-

Their sighting was in vain;

Among the rest, young Donald came,

Wi’ blithersome look he urged his flame

To Jessie O’ the Dee;

His tale of love was void of art,

No faithless swain was be,

And soon he won the gentle heart

of Jessie O’ the Dee.

By ?

O Gin My Love Where Yon Red Rose Air “Hughie Graham” Burns

 

O Gin My Love Where Yon Red Rose

Air “Hughie Graham”

O GIN my love were yon red rose

That grows upon, the castel wa’,

And I mysel’ a drap o’dew,

Into her bonnie brest to fa’!

O there, beyond expression blest,

I’d feat on beauty a’ the night;

Seal’d on her silk-saft faulds to rest

Till fley’d awa’ by Phoebus’ light.

O were my love you lilac fair,

Wi’ purple blossoms to the spring;

And I a bird, to shelter there,

When wearied on my wing:

How I wad mourn when it was torn

By autumn wild and winter rude!

But I wad sing on wanton wing,

When youthfu’ May it’s bloom renewed.

By Burns

Sweet Annie Frae The Sea-Beach Came. A GIEE By Burn

 

Sweet Annie Frae The Sea-Beach Came.

A GIEE

Sweet Annie frae the sea-beach came,
⁠Where Jocky speeled the vessel's side.
Ah! wha can keep their heart at hame,
⁠When Jocky's tossed abune the tide!
Far aff to distant lands he gangs;
⁠Yet I'll be true, as he has been:
And when ilk lass about him thrangs,
⁠He'll think on Annie, his faithfu' ain!

I met our wealthy laird yestreen
⁠Wi' gowd in hand he tempted me
He praised my brow, my rolling een,
⁠And made a brag o' what he'd gi'e.
What though my Jocky's far awa',
⁠Tossed up and down the awsome main,
I'll keep my heart another day,
⁠Since Jocky may return again.

Nae mair, false Jamie, sing nae mair,
⁠And fairly cast your pipe away;
My Jocky wad be troubled sair,
⁠To see his friend his love betray.
For a' your songs and verse are vain,
⁠While Jocky's notes do faithful flow.
My heart to him shall true remain:
⁠I'll keep it for my constant jo.

Blaw saft, ye gales, round Jocky's head,
⁠And gar your waves be calm and still!
His hameward sail with breezes speed,
⁠And dinna a' my pleasure spill.
What though my Jocky's far away;
⁠Yet he will braw in siller shine;
I'll keep my heart another day,
⁠Since Jocky may again be mine. Sweet Annie frae the sea-beach came,
⁠Where Jocky speeled the vessel's side.
Ah! wha can keep their heart at hame,
⁠When Jocky's tossed abune the tide!
Far aff to distant lands he gangs;
⁠Yet I'll be true, as he has been:
And when ilk lass about him thrangs,
⁠He'll think on Annie, his faithfu' ain!

I met our wealthy laird yestreen
⁠Wi' gowd in hand he tempted me
He praised my brow, my rolling een,
⁠And made a brag o' what he'd gi'e.
What though my Jocky's far awa',
⁠Tossed up and down the awsome main,
I'll keep my heart another day,
⁠Since Jocky may return again.

Nae mair, false Jamie, sing nae mair,
⁠And fairly cast your pipe away;
My Jocky wad be troubled sair,
⁠To see his friend his love betray.
For a' your songs and verse are vain,
⁠While Jocky's notes do faithful flow.
My heart to him shall true remain:
⁠I'll keep it for my constant jo.

Blaw saft, ye gales, round Jocky's head,
⁠And gar your waves be calm and still!
His hameward sail with breezes speed,
⁠And dinna a' my pleasure spill.
What though my Jocky's far away;
⁠Yet he will braw in siller shine;
I'll keep my heart another day,
⁠Since Jocky may again be mine.

By Burn

Conquer! Or Fall Like True Highland Men.

 Conquer! Or Fall Like True Highland Men.

Air-”the Campbell’s are coming.”

Brave sons of the mointain, to battle away!

Behold, they wait us, in hanghty array!

Though our numbers be small,

We can conquer or fall,

Like true Highlanders all!

Then away! Away!

Though the path may be gor, we’ll on! We’ll on!

Since it leadeth to glory, we’ll on! We’ll on!

Bright though sabres be gleaming,

And death-shots be beaming,

And the red blood be streamin,

We’ll on! We’ll on!

Say, where is the coward, who trembles or swerves?

Let him turn, and await the base death he deserves!

As for us, or to live or die.

Ours be the battle-cry,

Vengeance and liberty!

On, then! On!

By the souls of our farrhers, who sleep in their cairns;

By their blood which is in us, our wive, and our bairns,

By all that cheer us,

The proud foe shall fear us!

As the offspring of heroes!

We’ll on! Then, on!

Then forth with your sword, and away with your sheath,

Prepare for the harvest of conquest or death!

Loud bid your pibrochs roar,

Flourish each bright claymore,

Shout for Mac Callam More!

On! On! On!

By ??

The lovely Lass O’ Inverness Written In 1794 By Robert Burns

 

The lovely Lass O’ Inverness

The lovely Lass o' Inverness,

Nae joy nor pleasure can she see;

For, e'en and morn she cries, Alas!

And aye the saut tear blins her e'e.

Drumossie moor, Drumossie day,

A waefu' day it was to me;

For there I lost my father dear,

My father dear and brethren three.

Their winding-sheet the bluidy clay,

Their graves are growin' green to see;

And by them lies the dearest lad

That ever blest a woman's e'e!

Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord,

A bludy man I trow thou be;

For mony a heart thou has made sair,

That ne'er did wrang to thine or thee!

Written In 1794 By Robert Burns