CLXIV. THE WANDERER. The wandering exile, doom'd to roam, In every pleasure, every care, Memory still points and lingers there, And fortune's fascinating hand, Endears him to his native land. Whilst whirlwinds blow and tempests rise, Whilst all is calm and peaceful seen, But when, the storms of fortune past, Here tarry all his soul holds dear, And all his fancy loves is here, There are his friends his childhood plann'd, CLXV. THAT LIFE'S A FAUGHT, THERE IS NAE DOUBT. That life's a faught, there is nae doubt, A steep and slippery brae; And wisdom's sel', wi' a' its rules, Will aften find it sae: The truest heart that e'er was made, May find a deadly fae, And broken aiths and faithless vows, Gie lovers meikle wae. When poortith looks wi' sour disdain, And gars them think they ne'er will meet Delight or pleasure mair: But tho' the heart be e'er sae sad, And prest wi' joyless care, Hope lightly steps in at the last, To flee awa' despair. For love o' wealth let misers toil, And whiles a mite to spare: A leal true heart's a gift frae heav'n, It is a treasure o' itsel', And lightens ilka care. Let wealth and pride exalt themsel's, They are na worth a strae; And laughs, and turns its shafts to scorn, Sae let us mak' life's burden light, And drive ilk care awa', Contentment is a dainty feast, It gies a charm to ilka thing, The spendthrift and the miser herd, But there's ae thing amang the lave, For sic is nature's law, Without that charmer o' our lives, FRAGMENT, BY TANNAHILL, O Laddie, can you leave me! Alas! 'twill break this constant heart ; There's nought on earth can grieve me, Like this, that we must part: Think on the tender vow you made, Beneath the secret birken shade, And can you now deceive me! Is all your love but art? CLXVI. SWEET'S THE DEW-DECK'D ROSE IN JUNE. Sweet's the dew-deck'd rose in June, And lily fair to see, Annie; But there's ne'er a flower that blooms, Love sparkles in thy e'e, Annie.- The snaw that decks yon mountain top, The haughty mien, and pridefu' look, A form sae bright as thine, Annie. |