Sae jimply laced her genty waist, slenderly—slim That sweetly ye might span. Youth, Grace, and Love, attendant move, In a' their charms and conquering arms The captive bands may chain the hands, Ye gallants braw, I rede you a', JOHN ANDERSON. TUNE-John Anderson my Jo. JOHN ANDERSON my jo, John, John Anderson my jo, John, We clamb the hill thegither, dear smooth bald And monie a canty day, John, We've had wi' ane anither: Now we maun totter down, John, pleasant THE BATTLE OF SHERIFF-MUIR.1 TUNE- Cameronian Rant. In this instance Burns has concentrated in his own language a more diffuse song on the same subject, which is understood to have been the composition of Mr. Barclay, a Berean minister of some note about the middle of the last century, uncle to the distinguished anatomist of the same name. "O CAM ye here the fight to shun, And did the battle see, man?" 1 "This was written about the time our bard made his tour to the Highlands, 1787.". Currie. Gilbert Burns entertained a doubt if the song was by his brother; but for this we can see no just grounds. "I saw the battle, sair and tough, And reekin' red ran monie a sheugh; channel My heart, for fear, gaed sough for sough, sigh To hear the thuds, and see the cluds, O' clans frae woods, in tartan duds, knocks clothes Wha glaumed at kingdoms three, man. grasped "The red-coat lads, wi' black cockades, To meet them were na slaw, man; They rushed and pushed, and bluid outgushed, And monie a bouk did fa', man: The great Argyle led on his files, I wat they glanced for twenty miles : corpse And skyrin tartan trews, man, And covenant true-blues, man; In lines extended lang and large, They fled like frighted doos, man.” shining "O how deil, Tam, can that be true? The chase gaed frae the North, man; I saw myself, they did pursue bridge The horsemen back to Forth, man; 66 For fear amaist did swarf, man!" 'My sister Kate cam up the gate She swore she saw some rebels run woes; And so it goes, you see, man. swoon road porridge pails of pottage "They've lost some gallant gentlemen Or fallen in Whiggish hands, man. Then ye may tell, how pell and mell, And Whigs to hell did flee, man." BLOOMING NELLY. TUNE- On a Bank of Flowers. ON a bank of flowers, in a summer-day, With love and sleep opprest; When Willie, wandering through the wood, Who for her favour oft had sued, He gazed, he wished, he feared, he blushed, And trembled where he stood. Her closed eyes like weapons sheathed, Her lip, still as she fragrant breathed, The springing lilies sweetly prest, Wild-wanton, kissed her rival breast; He gazed, he wished, he feared, he blushed, His bosom ill at rest. |