MY HEART WAS ANCE.

The Poet in the Musical Museum has added a note, that "the chorus of this song is old, the rest of it is mine."

TUNE-To the Weavers gin ye go.

My heart was ance as blythe and free
As simmer days were lang,
But a bonnie, westlin weaver lad
Has gart me change my sang.

To the weavers gin ye go, fair maids,
To the weavers gin ye go;

I rede' you right gang ne'er at night,
To the weavers gin ye go.

My mither sent me to the town,
To warp a plaiden wab;
But the weary, weary warpin o't
Has gart me sigh and sab.

A bonnie westlin weaver lad
Sat working at his loom;
He took my heart as wi' a net,
In every knot and thrum.

I sat beside my warpin-wheel,
And ay I ca'd it roun';

But every shot and every knock,
My heart it gae a stoun.

The moon was sinking in the west
Wi' visage pale and wan,
As my bonnie westlin weaver lad
Convoy'd me thro' the glen.

But what was said, or what was done,
Shame fa' me gin I tell;

But oh! I fear the kintra3 soon

Will ken as weel 's mysel.

To the weavers gin ye go, &c.

1 To counsel.-2 Mother.-3 Country.-4 Know.

THE PLOUGHMAN.

TUNE-Up wi' the Ploughman.

THE ploughman he's a bonnie lad,
His mind is ever true, jo;
His garters knit below his knee,
His bonnet it is blue, jo.

Then up wi' my ploughman lad,
And hey my merry ploughman!
Of a' the trades that I do ken,
Commend me to the ploughman.
My ploughman he comes hame at e'en,
He's aften wat and weary;
Cast off the wat, put on the dry,
And gae to bed, my dearie!

I will wash my ploughman's hose,
And I will dress his o'erlay;
I will mak my ploughman's bed,
And cheer him late and early.
I hae been east, I hae been west,
I hae been at Saint Johnston;
The bonniest sight that e'er I saw
Was the ploughman laddie dancin'.
Snaw-white stockins on his legs,
And siller buckles glancin';
A guid blue bonnet on his head-
And oh, but he was handsome!
Commend me to the barn-yard,
And the corn-mou, man;
I never gat my coggie fou,
Till I met wi' the ploughman.

THE SONS OF OLD KILLIE.

This song was sung by Burns in the Kilmarnock Kilwinning Lodge in 1786.

TUNE-Shawnboy.

YE sons of old Killie, assembled by Willie,

To follow the noble vocation;

Your thrifty old mother has scarce such another

To sit in that honoréd station.

I've little to say, but only to pray,

As praying's the ton of your fashion;

A prayer from the muse you well may excuse, 'Tis seldom her favorite passion.

Ye powers who preside o'er the wind and the tide,
Who marked each element's border;

Who formed this frame with beneficent aim,
Whose sovereign statute is order;

Within this dear mansion may wayward contention
Or witheréd envy ne'er enter;

May secrecy round be the mystical bound,
And brotherly love be the centre!

OH, WHAR DID YE GET.

Part of this song is old, but all that is natural and tender was added by Burns.
TUNE-Bonnie Dundee.

Он, whar did ye get that hauver meal bannock?
Oh silly blind body, oh dinna

ye see?

I gat it frae a brisk young sodger laddie,

Between Saint Johnston and bonnie Dundee. Oh gin I saw the laddie that gae me 't!

Aft has he doudled me up on his knee;

May Heaven protect my bonnie Scots laddie,
And send him safe hame to his babie and me!

My blessin 's upon thy sweet wee lippie,
My blessin 's upon thy bonnie e'e brie!

Thy smiles are sae like my blythe sodger laddie,
Thou's ay the dearer and dearer to me!
But I'll big a bower on yon bonnie banks,
Where Tay rins wimplin' by sae clear;
And I'll cleed thee in the tartan sae fine,
And mak thee a man like thy daddie dear.

THE JOYFUL WIDOWER.

TUNE-Maggy Lauder.

I MARRIED With a scolding wife
The fourteenth of November;
She made me weary of my life,
By one unruly member.
Long did I bear the heavy yoke,
And many griefs attended;
But, to my comfort be it spoke,
Now, now her life is ended.
We lived full one-and-twenty years
As man and wife together;

At length from me her course she steer'd,
And gone I know not whither:
Would I could guess, I do profess,

I speak, and do not flatter,
Of all the women in the world,
I never could come at her.

Her body is bestowed well,

A handsome grave does hide her;
But sure her soul is not in hell,

The deil would ne'er abide her.

I rather think she is aloft,

And imitating thunder;

For why, methinks I hear her voice
Tearing the clouds asunder.

COME DOWN THE BACK STAIRS.

The air was composed by John Bruce, an excellent fiddler, who lived in Dumfries. The sentiment is taken from an old song, but every line is very much altered. It may be compared with the other version at page 433.

TUNE-Whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad.

Oh whistle, and I'll come
To you, my lad;

Oh whistle, and I'll come
To you, my lad;
Though father and mither
Should baith gae mad,
Oh whistle, and I'll come
To you, my lad.

COME down the back stairs
When ye come to court me;
Come down the back stairs

When ye come to court me,
Come down the back stairs,
And let naebody see,
And come as ye were na
Coming to me.

BRAW LADS OF GALLA WATER.

Perhaps the air of this song is the sweetest of all the Scotch 'airs. It was considered so by Haydn.

TUNE-Galla Water.

Braw, braw lads of Galla Water;
Oh braw lads of Galla Water;
I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee,

And follow my love through the water.
SAE fair her hair, sae brent her brow,
Sae bonny blue her een, my dearie;
Sae white her teeth, sae sweet her mou',
The mair I kiss she's ay my dearie.
O'er yon bank and o'er yon brae,
O'er yon moss amang the heather;
I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee,

And follow my love through the water.
Down amang the broom, the broom,
Down amang the broom, my dearie,
The lassie lost a silken snood,

That cost her mony a blirt and bleary.
Braw, braw lads, &c.

MY HOGGIE.

TUNE-What will I do gin my Hoggie die!

WHAT Will I do gin my Hoggie die?
My joy, my pride, my Hoggie!
My only beast, I had nae mae,
And vow but I was vogie!