Hew Ainslie(5 April 1792 - 11 March 1878 / Dailly, Ayrshire Scotland)
Let's Drink to our next Meeting
- by Hew Ainslie38
Let's drink to our next meeting, lads, Nor think on what's atwixt; They're fools wha spoil the present hour By thinking on the next.
Chorus Then here's to Meg o' Morningside, An Kate o' Kittlemark; The taen she drank her hose and shoon, The tither pawned her sark.
A load o' wealth, an' wardly pelf, They say is sair to bear; Sae he's a gowk would scrape an' howk To make his burden mair
Gif Care looks black the morn, lads, As he's come doon the lum, Let's ease our hearts by swearing, lads, We never bade him come.
Then here's to our next meeting, lads, Ne'er think on what's atwixt; They're fools who spoil the present hour By thinking on the next.
The Hint o' Hairst
- by Hew Ainslie35
It's dowie in the hint o' hairst, At the wa-gang o' the swallow, When the wind grows cauld, and the burns grow bauld, And the wuds are hingin' yellow ; But oh, it's dowier far to see The wa-gang o' her the hert gangs wi', The deid-set o' a shinin' e'e - That darkens the weary world on thee.
There was mickle love atween us twa - Oh, twa could ne'er been fonder ; And the thing on yird was never made, That could ha'e gart us sunder. But the way of Heaven's abune a' ken, And we maun bear what it likes to sen' - It's comfort, though, to weary men, That the warst o' this warld's waes maun en'.
There's mony things that come and gae, Just kent, and syne forgotten ; And the flowers that busk a bonnie brae, Gin anither year lie rotten. But the last look o' that lovely e'e, And the dying grip she ga'e to me, They're settled like eternitie - Oh, Mary ! that I were wi' thee.
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