Six Scotch Songs für 1 voice with Pianoforte , opus 20

Bonnie Bessie Lee had a face fu' o' smiles,
And mirth round her ripe lip was aye dancing slee;
And light was the footfa', and winsome the wiles,
O' the flower o' the parochin -- our ain Bessie Lee.

Wi'the bairns she would rin, and the school laddies paik
And o'er the broomy braes like a fairy would flee, 
Till auld hearts grew young again wi' love for her sake:
There was life in the blithe blink o' Bonnie Bessie Lee.

 ... 

And she whiles had a sweetheart, and sometimes had twa --
A limmer o' a lassie! -- but, atween you and me,
Her warm wee bit heartie she ne'er threw awa',
Though mony a ane had sought it frae Bonnie Bessie Lee.

But ten years had gane since I gaz'd on her last,
For ten years had parted my auld hame and me;
And I said to mysel', as her mither's door I past,
"Will I ever get anither kiss frae Bonnie Lee?"

But Time changes a' thing -- the ill-natur'd loon!
Were it ever sae rightly he 'll no let it be;
But I rubbit at my een, and I thought I would swoon,
How the carle had come roun' about our ain Bessie Lee!

The wee laughing lassie was a gudewife grown auld,
Twa weans at her apron and ane on her knee;
She was douce, too, and wiselike -- and wisdom's sae cauld:
I would rather ha'e the ither ane than this Bessie Lee!

When gloaming treads the heels of day,
And birds sit cow'ring on the spray,
Alang the flowery hedge I stray
To meet mine ain dear somebody.

The scented brier, the fragrant bean,
The clover bloom, the dewy green,
A' charm me, as I rove at e'en,
To meet mine ain dear somebody.

Let warriors prize the hero's name,
Let mad Ambition tow'r for fame,
I'm happier in my lowly hame,
Obscurely blest with somebody.

O what will a' the lads do
When Maggy gangs away?
O what will a' the lads do
When Maggy gangs away?
There's no a heart in a' the glen
That disna dread the day.
O what will a' the lads do
When Maggy gangs away?

Young Jock has ta'en the hill for't --
A waefu' wight is he;
Poor Harry's ta'en the bed for't,
An' laid him down to dee;
An' Sandy's gane unto the kirk,
And learnin' fast to pray.
And, O, what will the lads do
When Maggy gangs away?

The young laird o' the Lang-Shaw
Has drunk her health in wine;
The priest has said -- in confidence --
The lassie was divine --
And that is mair in maiden's praise
Than ony priest should say:
But, O, what will the lads do
When Maggy gangs away?

The wailing in our green glen
That day will quaver high,
'Twill draw the redbreast frae the wood,
The laverock frae the sky;
The fairies frae their beds o' dew
Will rise an' join the lay:
An' hey! what a day will be
When Maggy gangs away!

O sair I rue the witless wish,
That gar'd me gang wi' you at e'en,
And sair I rue the birken bush,
That screen'd us wi' its leaves sae green.
And though ye vow'd ye wad be mine,
The tear o' grief aye dims my e'e,
For O! I'm fear'd that I may tine
The love that ye ha'e promis'd me!

While ithers seek their e'ening sports,
I wander, dowie, a' my lane,
For when I join their glad resorts,
Their daffing gi'es me meikle pain.
Alas ! it was na' sae shortsyne,
When a' my nights were spent wi' glee;
But, O ! I'm fear'd that I may tine
The love that ye ha'e promis'd me.

Dear lassie, keep thy heart aboon,
For I ha'e wair'd my winter's fee,
I've coft a bonnie silken gown,
To be a bridal gift for thee.
And sooner shall the hills fa' down,
And mountain-high shall stand the sea
Ere I'd accept a gowden crown,
To change that love I bear for thee.

Fu' ripe, ripe was her rosy lip,
And raven was her hair;
And white, white was her swan-like neck --
Her een like starnies were!
As raven, raven was her hair,
So like the snaw her brow;
And the words that fell frae her wee saft mou'
Were happy words I trow!

And pure, pure was her maiden heart,
And ne'er a thought o' sin
Durst venture there -- an angel dwelt
Its borders a' within!
And fair as was her sweet bodie,
Yet fairer was her mind;
Menie's the queen amang the flowers --
The wale of womankind.

"Why weep ye by the tide, ladie,
  Why weep ye by the tide?
I'll wed ye tae my youngest son,
  And ye'll shall be his bride;
And ye'll shall be his bride, ladie,
  Sae comely tae be seen;"
But aye she loot the tears down fa'
  For Jock o' Hazeldean.

"Now let this wilfu' grief be done,
  And dry that cheek so pale;
Young Frank is chief of Errington,
  And lord of Langley-dale;
His step is first in peaceful ha',
  His sword in battle keen;"
But aye she loot the tears down fa'
  For Jock o' Hazeldean.

"A chain of gold ye sall not lack,
  Nor braid to bind your hair;
Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk,
  Nor palfrey fresh and fair;
And you, the foremost o' them a',
  Shall ride our forest queen" --
But aye she loot the tears down fa'
  For Jock of Hazeldean. 

The kirk was deck'd at morning-tide,
  The tapers glimmer'd fair;
The priest and bridegroom wait the bride,
  And dame and knight are there.
They sought her baith by bower and ha';
  The ladie was not seen!
She's o'er the Border, and awa'
  Wi' Jock o' Hazeldean!