TO MARY. WILL ye go to the Indies, my Mary, O sweet grows the lime and the orange, But a' the charms o' the Indies, I hae sworn by the Heavens to my Mary, O plight me your faith, my Mary, We hae plighted our troth, my Mary, And curst be the cause that shall part us! This song Mr. Thomson has not adopted in his collection. It deserves, however, to be preserved. E. MY WIFE'S A WINSOME WEE THING. 1 SHE is a winsome wee thing, I never saw a fairer, I never loe'd a dearer, And niest my heart I'll wear her, For fear my jewel tine. She is a winsome wee thing, The warld's wrack we share o't, And think my lot divine. BONNIE LESLEY. O saw ye bonnie Lesley As she gaed o'er the border? She's gane, like Alexander, To spread her conquests farther. E e To see her is to love her, And love but her for ever; Thou art a queen, fair Lesley, The hearts o' men adore thee. The Deil he could na scaith thee, And say, 'I canna wrang thee.' The Powers aboon will tent thee; Misfortune sha' na steer thee; Thou'rt like themselves sae lovely, That ill they'll ne'er let near thee. Return again, fair Lesley, Return to Caledonie ! That we may brag, we hae a lass There's nane again sae bonnie. 1 HIGHLAND MARY. Tune, Katharine Ogie.' YE banks, and braes, and streams around, Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, There simmer first unfald her robes, And there the langest tarry; For there I took the last fareweel O' my sweet Highland Mary. How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk, Wi' mony a vow, and lock'd embrace, But Oh! fell death's untimely frost, O pale, pale now, those rosy lips, And closed for ay, the sparkling glance, * The following, being another copy of verses to the same tune, are extracted from the Reliques of Burns, by Mr. Cro. mek. Ye flowery banks o' bonie Doon, How can ye blume sae fair, Thou'll break my heart thou bonie bird That sings upon the bough; Thou minds me o' the happy days When my fause luve was true. Thou'll break my heart, thou bonie bird That sings beside thy mate; Aft have I rov'd by bonie Doon, Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, And my fause luver staw the rose, |