Glen Collection of printed music > Printed text > Scottish songs > Volume 1

257
Few compliments between us pass ;
I ca' him my dear Higl)land laddie ;
And he ca's me his Lawland lass,
Syne rows me in beneath his plaidy.
Nae greater joy I'll e'er pretend,
Than that his love prove true and steady,
Like mine to him, which ne'er shall end,
While Heaven preserves my Highland laddie.*
BLYTHE, BLYTHE, AND MERRY ARE WE.
WILLIAM NICHOLSON.
Tune — Andro and his cuUy gun.
November winds blaw loud and shrill.
The bird chirms ower the leafless tree ;
The wintry blast is coming fast,
And loudly roars the restless sea.
Yet blythe, blythe, and merry we'll be,
Cauld care we'll fleg awa,
This is but ae nicht o' our lives,
And wha wad grudge though it were twa ?
We're met to drink our mother's health,
Yon carline by the heuch and cairn :
What though auld Scotland's hills be bleak,
She's foster'd mony a waly bairn.
Blythe, blythe, and merry are we,
Scotia's sons we're ane and a' :
This is but ae nicht o' our lives,
And wha wad grudge though it were twa ?
Far foreign climes may show their wines,
Their myrtle bowers, or orange-tree :
* From the Tea-Table Miscellany, 1724.
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