Fare-thee-weel, thou first and fairest! Fare-thee-weel, thou best and dearest! Thine be ilka joy and treasure, Peace, Enjoyment, Love and Pleasure! Ae fond kiss, and then we sever! Ae fareweeli alas, for ever! Deep in heart-wrung tears I’ll pledge thee, Warring sighs and groans I’ll wage thee. Behold The Hour, The Boat, Arrive Behold the hour, the boat, arrive! My dearest Nancy, O fareweel! Severed frae thee, can I survive, Frae thee whom I hae lov’d sae weel? Endless and deep shall be my grief; LNae ray of comfort shall I see, But this most precious, dear belief, That thou wilt still remember me! Alang the solitary shore Where flitting sea-fowl round me cry, Across the rolling, dashing roar, I’ll westward turn my wishful eye. “Happy thou Indian grove,” I’ll say, “Where now my Nancy’s path shall be! While thro’ your sweets she holds her way, O tell me, does she muse on me?” Thou Gloomy December 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 unmingled, 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, Till 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. My Native Land Sae Far Awa O sad and heavy, should I part, But for her sake, sae far awa; Unknowing what my way may thwart, My native land sae far awa. Thou that of a’ things Maker art, That formed this Fair sae far awa, Gie body strength, then I’ll ne’er start At this my way sae far awa. How true is love to pure desert! Like mine for her sae far awa; And nocht can heal my bosom’s smart, While, oh, she is sae far awa! Nane other love, nane other dart, I feel but her’s sae far awa; But fairer never touch’d a heart Than her’s, the Fair, sae far awa. 1792 I do Confess Thou Art Sae Fair Alteration of an Old Poem. I Do confess thou art sae fair, I was been o’er the lugs in luve, Had I na found the slightest prayer That lips could speak thy heart could muve. I do confess thee sweet, but find Thou art so thriftless o’ thy sweets, Thy favours are the silly wind That kisses ilka thing it meets.