But, Peggy dear, the ev’ning’s clear, Thick flies the skimming swallow; The sky is blue, the fields in view, All fading-green and yellow: Come let us stray our gladsome way, And view the charms of nature; The rustling corn, the fruited thorn, And every happy creature. We’ll gently walk, and sweetly talk, Till the silent moon shine clearly; I’ll grasp thy waist, and, fondly prest, Swear how I love thee dearly: Not vernal show’rs to budding flow’rs, Not autumn to the farmer, So dear can be as thou to me, My fair, my lovely charmer! AULD ROB MORRIS There’s auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen, He’s the king o’ gude fellows and wale of auld men; He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine, And ae bonnie lassie, his darling and mine. She’s fresh as the morning, the fairest in May; She’s sweet as the ev’ning amang the new hay; As blythe and as artless as the lamb on the lea, And dear to my heart as the light to my e’e. But oh! she’s an heiress, auld Robin’s a laird, And my daddie has nought but a cot-house and yard; A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed, The wounds I must hide that will soon be my dead. The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane; The night comes to me, but my rest it is gane: I wander my lane, like a night-troubled ghaist, And I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breast. O had she but been of a lower degree, I then might hae hoped she wad smiled upon me; O how past descriving had then been my bliss, As now my distraction no words can express! POORTITH CAULD O poortith cauld, and restless love, Ye wreck my peace between ye; Yet poortith a’ I could forgive, An’ ’twerena for my Jeanie. O why should fate sic pleasure have Life’s dearest bands untwining? Or why sae sweet a flower as love Depend on Fortune’s shining? This warld’s wealth when I think on, Its pride, and a’ the lave o’t,— O fie on silly coward man, That he should be the slave o’t. Her een sae bonnie blue betray How she repays my passion; But prudence is her o’erword aye, She talks of rank and fashion. O wha can prudence think upon, And sic a lassie by him? O wha can prudence think upon, And sae in love as I am? How blest the simple cotter’s fate! He woos his artless dearie; The silly bogles, wealth and state, Can never make him eerie. O why should fate, etc. TIBBIE, I HAE SEEN THE DAY O Tibbie, I hae seen the day Ye would na been sae shy; For laik o’ gear ye lightly me, But, trowth, I care na by.