Talk not to me of savages, From Afric’s burning sun; No savage e’er could rend my heart, As Jessie, thou hast done: But Jessie’s lovely hand in mine, A mutual faith to plight, Not even to view the heavenly choir, Would be so blest a sight. Jessie’s illness Say, sages, what’s the charm on earth Can turn Death’s dart aside! It is not purity and worth, Else Jessie had not died. On Her Recovery But rarely seen since Nature’s birth, The natives of the sky; Yet still one seraph’s left on earth, For Jessie did not die. O Lay Thy Loof In Mine, Lass Chorus—O lay thy loof in mine, lass, In mine, lass, in mine, lass; And swear on thy white hand, lass, That thou wilt be my ain. A slave to Love’s unbounded sway, He aft has wrought me meikle wae; But now he is my deadly fae, Unless thou be my ain. O lay thy loof, &c. There’s mony a lass has broke my rest, That for a blink I hae lo’ed best; But thou art Queen within my breast, For ever to remain. O lay thy loof, &c. A Health To Ane I Loe Dear Chorus—Here’s a health to ane I loe dear, Here’s a health to ane I loe dear; Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers meet, And soft as their parting tear—Jessy. Altho’ thou maun never be mine, Altho’ even hope is denied; ’Tis sweeter for thee despairing, Than ought in the world beside—Jessy. Here’s a health, &c. I mourn thro’ the gay, gaudy day, As hopeless I muse on thy charms; But welcome the dream o’ sweet slumber, For then I am lockt in thine arms—Jessy. Here’s a health, &c. I guess by the dear angel smile, I guess by the love-rolling e’e; But why urge the tender confession, ’Gainst Fortune’s fell, cruel decree?—Jessy. Here’s a health, &c. O Wert Thou In The Cauld Blast O wert thou in the cauld blast, On yonder lea, on yonder lea, My plaidie to the angry airt, I’d shelter thee, I’d shelter thee; Or did Misfortune’s bitter storms Around thee blaw, around thee blaw, Thy bield should be my bosom, To share it a’, to share it a’. Or were I in the wildest waste, Sae black and bare, sae black and bare, The desert were a Paradise, If thou wert there, if thou wert there; Or were I Monarch o’ the globe, Wi’ thee to reign, wi’ thee to reign, The brightest jewel in my Crown Wad be my Queen, wad be my Queen. Inscription To Miss Jessy Lewars On a copy of the Scots Musical Museum, in four volumes, presented to her by Burns. ^1