‘Cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek, But caulder thy love for me, oh! The frost that freezes the life at my heart, Is nought to my pains frae thee, oh! ‘The wan moon is setting ayont the white wave, And time is setting with me, oh! False friends, false love, farewell! for mair I’ll ne’er trouble them, nor thee, oh!’ She has open’d the door, she has open’d it wide; She sees his pale corse on the plain, oh! ‘My true love!’ she cried, and sank down by his side, Never to rise again, oh! WANDERING WILLIE Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie, Here awa, there awa, haud awa hame; Come to my bosom, my ain only dearie, Tell me thou bring’st me my Willie the same. Winter winds blew loud and cauld at our parting, Fears for my Willie brought tears to my e’e; Welcome now, Simmer, and welcome, my Willie, The Simmer to nature, my Willie to me! Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave of your slumbers; How your dread howling a lover alarms! Wauken, ye breezes, row gently, ye billows, And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms. But oh, if he’s faithless, and minds na his Nannie, Flow still between us, thou wide roaring main; May I never see it, may I never trow it, But, dying, believe that my Willie’s my ain! OUT OVER THE FORTH Out over the Forth I look to the north, But what is the north and its Highlands to me? The south nor the east gie ease to my breast, The far foreign land, or the wild rolling sea. But I look to the west, when I gae to rest, That happy my dreams and my slumbers may be; For far in the west lives he I lo’e best, The lad that is dear to my babie and me. THOU HAST LEFT ME EVER, JAMIE Thou hast left me ever, Jamie, Thou hast left me ever; Thou hast left me ever, Jamie, Thou hast left me ever. Aften hast thou vow’d that death Only should us sever; Now thou’st left thy lass for aye— I maun see thee never, Jamie, I’ll see thee never! Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, Thou hast me forsaken; Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, Thou hast me forsaken. Thou canst love anither jo, While my heart is breaking; Soon my weary e’en I’ll close— Never mair to waken, Jamie, Ne’er mair to waken! ROWTH O’ RHYMES THE POET’S RICHES (EPISTLE TO JAMES SMITH, 1786) Dear Smith, the sleeest pawkie thief That e’er attempted stealth or rief, Ye surely hae some warlock-breef Owre human hearts; For ne’er a bosom yet was prief Against your arts.