Chorus.—Blythe, blythe and merry was she, Blythe was she but and ben; Blythe by the banks of Earn, And blythe in Glenturit glen. By Oughtertyre grows the aik, On Yarrow banks the birken shaw; But Phemie was a bonier lass Than braes o’ Yarrow ever saw. Blythe, blythe, &c. Her looks were like a flow’r in May, Her smile was like a simmer morn: She tripped by the banks o’ Earn, As light’s a bird upon a thorn. Blythe, blythe, &c. Her bonie face it was as meek As ony lamb upon a lea; The evening sun was ne’er sae sweet, As was the blink o’ Phemie’s e’e. Blythe, blythe, &c. [Footnote 1: Written at Oughtertyre. Phemie is Miss Euphemia Murray, a cousin of Sir William Murray of Oughtertyre.—Lang.] The Highland hills I’ve wander’d wide, And o’er the Lawlands I hae been; But Phemie was the blythest lass That ever trod the dewy green. Blythe, blythe, &c.
A Rose-Bud By My Early Walk
A Rose-bud by my early walk, Adown a corn-enclosed bawk, Sae gently bent its thorny stalk, All on a dewy morning. Ere twice the shades o’ dawn are fled, In a’ its crimson glory spread, And drooping rich the dewy head, It scents the early morning. Within the bush her covert nest A little linnet fondly prest; The dew sat chilly on her breast, Sae early in the morning. She soon shall see her tender brood, The pride, the pleasure o’ the wood, Amang the fresh green leaves bedew’d, Awake the early morning. So thou, dear bird, young Jeany fair, On trembling string or vocal air, Shall sweetly pay the tender care That tents thy early morning. So thou, sweet Rose-bud, young and gay, Shalt beauteous blaze upon the day, And bless the parent’s evening ray That watch’d thy early morning.
Epitaph For Mr. W. Cruikshank1
Honest Will to Heaven’s away And mony shall lament him; His fau’ts they a’ in Latin lay, In English nane e’er kent them.
Song—The Banks Of The Devon
Tune—“Bhanarach dhonn a’ chruidh.”