The birds sit chittering in the thorn,
     A’ day they fare but sparely;
     And lang’s the night frae e’en to morn—­
     I’m sure it’s winter fairly. 
     Up in the morning’s, &c.

     How Long And Dreary Is The Night

     How long and dreary is the night,
     When I am frae my dearie! 
     I sleepless lie frae e’en to morn,
     Tho’ I were ne’er so weary: 
     I sleepless lie frae e’en to morn,
     Tho’ I were ne’er sae weary!

     When I think on the happy days
     I spent wi’ you my dearie: 
     And now what lands between us lie,
     How can I be but eerie! 
     And now what lands between us lie,
     How can I be but eerie!

     How slow ye move, ye heavy hours,
     As ye were wae and weary! 
     It wasna sae ye glinted by,
     When I was wi’ my dearie! 
     It wasna sae ye glinted by,
     When I was wi’ my dearie!

Hey, The Dusty Miller

     Hey, the dusty Miller,
     And his dusty coat,
     He will win a shilling,
     Or he spend a groat: 
     Dusty was the coat,
     Dusty was the colour,
     Dusty was the kiss
     That I gat frae the Miller.

     Hey, the dusty Miller,
     And his dusty sack;
     Leeze me on the calling
     Fills the dusty peck: 
     Fills the dusty peck,
     Brings the dusty siller;
     I wad gie my coatie
     For the dusty Miller.

Duncan Davison

     There was a lass, they ca’d her Meg,
     And she held o’er the moors to spin;
     There was a lad that follow’d her,
     They ca’d him Duncan Davison. 
     The moor was dreigh, and Meg was skeigh,
     Her favour Duncan could na win;
     For wi’ the rock she wad him knock,
     And aye she shook the temper-pin.

     As o’er the moor they lightly foor,
     A burn was clear, a glen was green,
     Upon the banks they eas’d their shanks,
     And aye she set the wheel between: 
     But Duncan swoor a haly aith,
     That Meg should be a bride the morn;
     Then Meg took up her spinning-graith,
     And flang them a’ out o’er the burn.

     We will big a wee, wee house,
     And we will live like king and queen;
     Sae blythe and merry’s we will be,
     When ye set by the wheel at e’en. 
     A man may drink, and no be drunk;
     A man may fight, and no be slain;
     A man may kiss a bonie lass,
     And aye be welcome back again!

The Lad They Ca’Jumpin John

     Her daddie forbad, her minnie forbad
     Forbidden she wadna be: 
     She wadna trow’t the browst she brew’d,
     Wad taste sae bitterlie.

     Chorus.—­The lang lad they ca’Jumpin John
     Beguil’d the bonie lassie,
     The lang lad they ca’Jumpin John
     Beguil’d the bonie lassie.