Chorus-Canst thou leave me thus, my Katie? Canst thou leave me thus, my Katie? Well thou know'st my aching heart, And canst thou leave me thus, for pity? Is this thy plighted, fond regard, Thus cruelly to part, my Katie? Is this thy faithful swain's reward- Anaching, broken heart, my Katie! Canst thou leave me,
'Twas on a Monday morning, Right early in the year, That Charlie came to our town, The young Chevalier. Chorus-An' Charlie, he's my darling, My darling, my darling, Charlie, he's my darling, The young Chevalier. As he was walking up the street, The city for to view, O there he spied a bonie lass The
Contented wi' little, and cantiewi' mair, Whene'er I forgatherwi' Sorrow and Care, I giethem a skelpas they're creeping alang, Wi' a cogo' gude swatsand anauldScottish sang. Chorus-Contented wi' little, &c. I whiles clawthe elbow o' troublesome thought; ButMan is a soger, and Life is a faught; My mirth and gude humour are coin in my
Bless Jesus Christ, O Cardonessp, With grateful, lifted eyes, Who taught that not the soul alone, Butbodytoo shall rise; For had He said "the soul alone From death I will deliver," Alas, alas! O Cardoness, Then hadst thou lain for ever.
From those drear solitudes and frowsy cells, Where Infamy with sad Repentance dwells; Where turnkeys make the jealous portal fast, And deal from iron hands the spare repast; Where truant 'prentices, yet young in sin, Blush at the curious stranger peeping in; Where strumpets, relics of the drunken roar, Resolve to drink, nay, half, to
Grant me, indulgent Heaven, that I may live, To see the miscreants feel the pains they give; Deal Freedom's sacred treasures free as air, TillSlave and Despot be butthings that were.
O Logan, sweetly didst thou glide, That day I was my Willie's bride, And years sinsynehaeo'er us run, Like Logan to the simmersun: But now thy flowery banks appear Like drumlieWinter, dark and drear, While my dear lad maunface his faes, Far, far frae me and Logan braes. Again the merry month of May Has
O mirk, mirkis this midnight hour, And loud the tempest's roar; A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tower, Lord Gregory, ope thy door. Anexile fraeher father's ha', And a'for loving thee; At least some pity on me shaw, If love it may nabe. Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grove BybonieIrwine side, Where first I own'd