Six Scottish Folksongs (Sechs schottische Nationallieder)

O, dinna ask me gin I lo'e ye:
Troth, I daurna tell!
Dinna ask me gin I lo'e ye,-
Ask it o' yoursel'.

O, dinna look sae sair at me,
For weel ye ken me true;
O, gin ye look sae sair at me,
I daurna look at you.

When ye gang to yon braw, braw town,
And bonnier lassies see,
O, dinna, Jamie, look at them,
Lest ye should mind na me.

For I could never bide the lass
That ye'd lo'e mair than me;
And O, I'm sure my heart wad brak,
Gin ye'd prove fause to me!

The moon had climb'd the highest hill
  Which rises o'er the source of Dee,
And from the eastern summit shed
  Her silver light on tow'r and tree;
When Mary laid her down to sleep,
  Her thoughts on Sandy far at sea;
When soft and low a voice was heard,
  Say "Mary, weep no more for me."

 ... 

"Three stormy nights and stormy days
  We toss'd upon the raging main,
And long we strove our bark to save,
  But all our striving was in vain.
Ev'n then, when horror chill'd my blood,
  My heart was fill'd with love for thee:
The storm is past, and I at rest, 
  So Mary weep no more for me.

She from her pillow gently rais'd
  Her head, to ask who there might be;
She saw young Sandy shiv'ring stand,
  With visage pale and hollow e'e;
"O Mary dear, cold is my clay,
  It lies beneath a stormy sea;
Far, far from thee, I sleep in death;
  So, Mary, weep no more for me."

 ... 

"O maiden dear, thyself prepare,
  We soon shall meet upon that shore,
Where love is free from doubt and care,
  And thou and I shall part no more."
Loud crow'd the cock, the shadow fled,
  No more of Sandy could she see;
But soft the passing spirit said,
  "Sweet Mary, weep no more for me."

We've a bonnie wee flower
In a far countrie,
In a bright and sunny bower
In a far countrie.

When the sky is ever fair,
And the myrtle scents the air,
Of our lovely blossom's there,
In a far countrie.

There's gold to win and spare
In a far countrie,
And gems and jewels rare
In a far countrie.

But the brightest, purest gem,
From a fondly cherished stem,
Is the flow'ret we could name
In a far countrie.

May the angels watch the flower
In a far countrie,
And tent it ev'ry hour
In a far countrie.

And the night-in-gale's soft song
The spicy groves among.
Its slumbers shall prolong
In a far countrie.

We may not cross the main
To a far countrie,
Nor traverse hill and plain
To a far countrie. 

But when the primrose springs,
And the lint white sweetly sings,
O we'll welcome home our flower
From a far countrie.

Saw ye Johny cumin, quo' she,
  Saw ye Johny cumin:
Wi' his blew bonnet on his head,
  And his dogie rinnin, quo' she,
  And his dogie rinnin?

Fee him, father, fee him, quo' she,
  Fee him, father, fee him;
For he is a gallant lad, and a weil-doin, quo' she,
  And a' the wark about the house
Gaes wi' me when I see him, quo'she,
Gaes wi' me when I see him.

What wad I do wi' him, hussy
What wad I do wi' him?
He has ne'er a sark upon his back,
  And I hae nane to gie him.
I hae twa sarks in my kist neuk,
  And ane of them I'll gie him:
And for a merk of mair fee,
  Dinna stand wi' him, Father,
  Dinna stand wi' him.

For weel do I loe him, quo' she,
  Weel do I loe him;
O fee him, father, fee him, quo' she,
  Fee him, father, fee him;
He'll ha'd the pleugh, thrash in the barn,
  And crack wi' me at e'en, quo' she,
  And crack wi' me at e'en.

I've seen the smiling of Fortune beguiling,
  I've tasted her pleasures and felt her decay:
Sweet was her blessing, and kind her caressing,
  But now they are fled -- fled far away.

I've seen the forest adorn'd the foremost,
  Wi' flowers o' the fairest, baith pleasant and gay:
Sae bonny was their blooming, their scent the air perfuming,
  But now they are wither'd and a'wede away.

I've seen the morning with gold  ...  hills adorning,
  And loud tempests roaring before parting day;
I've seen Tweed's silver streams, glitt'ring in the sunny beams,
  Grow drumlie and dark as they roll'd on their way.

O fickle fortune, why this cruel sporting,
  Why thus perplex us poor sons of a day?
Thy frown cannot fear me; thy smile cannot cheer me,
  Since the Flowers o' the Forest are a'wede away.

In April when primroses paint the sweet plain,
And summer approaching rejoiceth the swain.
The yellow-hair'd laddie would often times go
To the wilds and deep glens, where the hawthorn trees grow.

The shepherd thus sung: Tho' young Madie be fair,
Her beauty is dash'd with a scornful proud air;
But Susie is handsome and sweetly can sing,
Her breath's like the breezes perfum'd in the spring.

That mamma's fine daughter, with all her great dow'r
Was awkwardly airy, and frequently sour;
Then, sighing he wished, would parents agree,
The witty sweet Susie his mistress might be.