Old Ballads | Page 3

anither: Now we maun totter down,
John, But hand in hand we'll go, And sleep thegither at the foot, John
Anderson, my Jo.
_Burns (New Version)_.

MY PRETTY JANE.
My pretty Jane, my pretty Jane! Ah! never, never look so shy; But meet
me in the evening, While the bloom is on the rye. The spring is waning
fast, my love, The corn is in the ear, The summer nights are coming,
love, The moon shines bright and clear. Then, pretty Jane, my dearest
Jane! Ah! never look so shy, But meet me in the evening, While the
bloom is on the rye. But name the day, the wedding day, And I will buy
the ring; The lads and maids in favours white And village bells shall
ring. The spring is waning fast, my love, The corn is in the ear, The
summer nights are coming, love, The moon shines bright and clear.
Then, pretty Jane, my dearest Jane! Ah! never look so shy, But meet
me in the evening, While the bloom is on the rye.
Edward Fitzball.

ROCKED IN THE CRADLE OF THE DEEP.
Rock'd in the cradle of the deep, I lay me down in peace to sleep;
Secure, I rest upon the wave, For Thou, O Lord, hast pow'r to save. I
know Thou wilt not slight my call, For Thou dost note the sparrow's
fall, And calm and peaceful is my sleep, Rock'd in the cradle of the
deep.
And such the trust that still were mine, Tho' stormy winds swept o'er
the brine; Or though the tempest's fiery breath Rous'd me from sleep to
wreck and death! In ocean cave still safe with Thee, The germ of
immortality; And calm and peaceful is my sleep, Rock'd in the cradle
of the deep.
_Mrs. Willard._

THE MINSTREL BOY.
The Minstrel boy to the war is gone, In the ranks of death you'll find
him; His father's sword he has girded on, And his wild harp slung
behind him.-- "Land of song!" said the warrior-bard, "Though all the
world betrays thee, One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard, One
faithful harp shall praise thee!" The Minstrel fell!--but the foeman's
chain Could not bring his proud soul under; The harp he loved ne'er
spoke again, For he tore its cords asunder; And said, "No chains shall
sully thee, Thou soul of love and bravery! Thy songs were made for the
brave and free, They shall never sound in slavery!"
Thomas Moore.

ON THE BANKS OF ALLAN WATER.
On the banks of Allan Water, When the sweet Springtime did fall, Was
the miller's lovely daughter, The fairest of them all. For his bride a
soldier sought her, And a winning tongue had he: On the banks of
Allan Water, None so gay as she.
On the banks of Allan Water, When brown Autumn spreads its store,
Then I saw the miller's daughter, But she smiled no more; For the
Summer grief had brought her, And the soldier false was he; On the
banks of Allan Water, None so sad as she.

On the banks of Allan Water, When the Winter snow fell fast, Still was
seen the miller's daughter, Chilling blew the blast. But the miller's
lovely daughter, Both from cold and care was free: On the banks of
Allan Water, There a corpse lay she.
_M.G. Lewis._

AULD LANG SYNE.
Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And never brought to min'? Should
auld acquaintance be forgot, And days o' auld lang syne?
CHORUS. For auld lang syne, my dear, For auld lang syne, We'll tak' a
cup' o' kindness yet, For auld lang syne.
We twa hae run about the braes, And pu'd the gowans fine; But we've
wandered mony a weary foot Sin auld lang syne. For auld, etc.
We twa hae paidl't i' the burn, From mornin' sun till dine; But seas
between us braid hae roar'd Sin auld lang syne. For auld, etc.
And here's a hand, my trusty frien', And gie's a hand o' thine; And we'll
tak a right guid-willie waught, For auld lang syne. For auld, etc.
And surely ye'll be your pint-stoup, And surely I'll be mine; And we'll
tak a cup o' kindness yet For auld lang syne. For auld, etc.
_Burns._

WITHIN A MILE OF EDINBURGH TOWN.
'Twas within a mile of Edinburgh town, In the rosy time of the year;
Sweet flowers bloom'd, and the grass was down, And each shepherd
woo'd his dear. Bonnie Jocky, blythe and gay, Kiss'd sweet Jenny
making hay: The lassie blush'd, and frowning cried, "No, no, it will not
do; I canna, canna, wonna, wonna, manna buckle to."
Jocky was a wag that never would wed, Though long he had follow'd
the lass: Contented she earn'd and eat