A Rose

A mile or twain from Varley bridge
I plucked a dock-leaf for a fan,
And drove away the constant midge,
And cooled her forehead's strip of tan.
But though the maiden would not spare
My hand her pretty finger-tips,
Love played at Kiss-me-if-you-Dare
On Mary's lips.

And now the village flashed in sight,
And closer came I to her side;
A flush ran down into the white,
The impulse of a pinky tide:

And though her face was turned away,

How much her panting heart confessed! Love played at Find-me-if-you-May

In Mary's breast.

Norman Gale [1862

A ROSE

"TWAS a Jacqueminot rose

That she gave me at parting;

Sweetest flower that blows,

'Twas a Jacqueminot rose.

In the love garden close,

With the swift blushes starting,

"Twas a Jacqueminot rose

That she gave me at parting.

If she kissed it, who knows

Since I will not discover,

And love is that close,

If she kissed it, who knows?

Or if not the red rose

Perhaps then the lover!

If she kissed it, who knows,

Since I will not discover.

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Yet at least with the rose

Went a kiss that I'm wearing!

More I will not disclose,

Yet at least with the rose

Went whose kiss no one knows,-
Since I'm only declaring,

"Yet at least with the rose

Went a kiss that I'm wearing."

Arlo Bates [1850

66

"WOOED AND MARRIED AND A'"

THE bride cam' out o' the byre,

And oh, as she dighted her cheeks:
"Sirs, I'm to be married the night,
And ha'e neither blankets nor sheets;
Ha'e neither blankets nor sheets,
Nor scarce a coverlet too;

The bride that has a' thing to borrow,
Has e'en right muckle ado!"

Wooed and married, and a',
Married and wooed and a'!
And was she nae very weel aff,

That was wooed and married and a'?

Out spake the bride's father,

As he cam' in frae the pleugh: "Oh, haud your tongue, my

And ye'se get gear eneugh; The stirk stands i' the tether,

dochter,

And our braw bawsint yaud, Will carry ye hame your cornWhat wad ye be at, ye jaud?"

Out spake the bride's mither:
"What deil needs a' this pride?
I had nae a plack in my pouch
That night I was a bride;

"Owre the Muir Amang the Heather" 721

My gown was linsey woolsey,
And ne'er a sark ava;

And

ye

ha'e ribbons and buskins,

Mair than ane or twa."

Out spake the bride's brither,
As he cam' in wi' the kye:
"Poor Willie wad ne'er ha'e ta'en ye,
Had he kent ye as weel as I;
For ye're baith proud and saucy
And no for a puir man's wife;
Gin I canna get a better,

I'se ne'er tak' ane i' my life."

Out spake the bride's sister,

As she cam' in frae the byre:
“O gin I were but married,
It's a' that I desire;

But we puir folk maun live single,
And do the best we can;

I dinna ken what I should want,

If I could get but a man!”

Alexander Ross [1699-1784]

"OWRE THE MUIR AMANG THE HEATHER"

COMIN' through the craigs o' Kyle,
Amang the bonnie bloomin' heather,

There I met a bonnie lassie,

Keepin' a' her ewes thegither.

Owre the muir amang the heather,

Owre the muir amang the heather;

There I met a bonnie lassie,

Keepin' a' her ewes thegither.

Says I, My dear, where is thy hame,-
In muir or dale, pray tell me whether?
She says, I tent the fleecy flocks

That feed amang the bloomin' heather.

We laid us down upon a bank,

Sae warm and sunny was the weather: She left her flocks at large to rove

Amang the bonnie bloomin' heather.

While thus we lay, she sung a sang,
Till echo rang a mile and farther;
And aye the burden of the sang

Was, Owre the muir amang the heather.

She charmed my heart, and aye sinsyne
I couldna think on ony ither;

By sea and sky! she shall be mine,
The bonnie lass amang the heather.
Jean Glover [1758-1801]

MARRIAGE AND THE CARE O'T

QUOTH Rab to Kate, My sonsy dear,
I've wooed ye mair than ha' a year,
An' if ye'd wed me ne'er cou'd speer,
Wi' blateness, an' the care o't.
Now to the point: sincere I'm wi't:
Will ye be my ha'f-marrow, sweet?
Shake han's, and say a bargain be't
An' ne'er think on the care o't.

Na, na, quo' Kate, I winna wed,
O' sic a snare I'll aye be rede;
How mony, thochtless, are misled
By marriage, an' the care o't!
A single life's a life o' glee,
A wife ne'er think to mak' o' me,
Frae toil an' sorrow I'll keep free,
An' a' the dool an' care o't.

Weel, weel, said Robin, in reply,
Ye ne'er again shall me deny,
Ye may a toothless maiden die

The Women Folk

For me, I'll tak' nae care o't.
Fareweel for ever!-aff I hie;—
Sae took his leave without a sigh;
Oh! stop, quo' Kate, I'm yours, I'll try
The married life, an' care o't.

Rab wheel't about, to Kate cam' back,
An' ga'e her mou' a hearty smack,
Syne lengthened out a lovin' crack

'Bout marriage an' the care o't.
Though as she thocht she didna speak,
An' lookit unco mim an' meek,

Yet blithe was she wi' Rab to cleek,

In marriage, wi' the care o't.

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Robert Lochore [1762-1852]

THE WOMEN FOLK

O SAIRLY may I rue the day
I fancied first the womenkind;

For aye sinsyne I ne'er can ha'e

Ae quiet thought or peace o' mind!

They ha'e plagued my heart, an' pleased my e'e,
An' teased an' flattered me at will,

But aye, for a' their witchery,

The pawky things! I lo'e them still.

O, the women folk! O, the women folk,
But they ha'e been the wreck o' me;

O, weary fa' the women folk,

For they winna let a body be!

I ha'e thought an' thought, but darena tell,
I've studied them wi' a' my skill,
I've lo'ed them better than mysel',

I've tried again to like them ill.
Wha sairest strives, will sairest rue,

To comprehend what nae man can; When he has done what man can do,

He'll end at last where he began.