The author of several esteemed and popular songs, William Ferguson, follows the avocation of a master plumber in Nicolson Street, Edinburgh. Born within the shadow of the Pentlands, near the scene of Ramsay's "Gentle Shepherd," he has written verses from his youth. He has contributed copiously to "Whistle Binkie," and "The Book of Scottish Song."
I 'LL TEND THY BOWER, MY BONNIE MAY. I 'll tend thy bower, my bonnie May,
In spring time o' the year;
When saft'ning winds begin to woo
The primrose to appear;
When daffodils begin to dance,
And streams again flow free;
And little birds are heard to pipe,
On the sprouting forest tree.
I 'll tend thy bower, my bonnie May,
When summer days are lang,
When nature's heart is big wi' joy,
Her voice laden wi' sang;
When shepherds pipe on sunny braes,
And flocks roam at their will,
And auld and young, in cot an' ha',
O' pleasure drink their fill.
I 'll tend thy bower, my bonnie May,
When autumn's yellow fields,
That wave like seas o' gowd, before
The glancin' sickle yields;
When ilka bough is bent wi' fruit—
A glorious sight to see!—
And showers o' leaves, red, rustling, sweep
Out owre the withering lea.
I 'll tend thy bower, my bonnie May,
When, through the naked trees,
Cauld, shivering on the bare hill-side,
Sweeps wild the frosty breeze;
When tempests roar, and billows rise,
Till nature quakes wi' fear,
And on the land, and on the sea,
Wild winter rules the year.
WOOING SONG. The spring comes back to woo the earth,
Wi' a' a lover's speed;
The wee birds woo their lovin' mates,
Around our very head!
But I 've nae skill in lover-craft—
For till I met wi' you,
I never sought a maiden's love,
I never tried to woo.
I 've gazed on many a comely face,
And thought it sweet an' fair;
But wi' the face the charm would flee,
And never move me mair.
But miles away, your bonnie face
Is ever in my view,
Wi' a' its charms, half wilin' me,
Half daurin' me to woo.
At hame, a-field, you 're a' my theme;
I doat my time away;
I dream o'er a' your charms by night,
And worship them by day.
But when they glad my langin' e'en,
As they are gladden'd now,
My courage flees like frighted bird;
I daurna mint to woo.
My head thus lying on your lap,
Your hand aneath my cheek;
Love stounds my bosom through and through,
But yet I canna speak.
My coward heart wi' happiness,
Wi' bliss is brimin' fu';
But, oh! its fu'ness mars my tongue,
I haena power to woo.
I prize your smile, as husbandman
The summer's opening bloom,
And could you frown, I dread it mair,
Than he the autumn's gloom.
My life hangs on that sweet, sweet lip,
On that calm, sunny brow;
And, oh! my dead hangs on them baith,
Unless you let me woo.
Oh! lift me to your bosom, then,
Lay your warm cheek to mine;
And let me round that lovesome waist
My arms enraptured twine;
That I may breathe my very soul,
In ae lang lovin' vow;
And a' the while in whispers low,
You 'll learn me, love, to woo!
I 'M WANDERING WIDE. I 'm wand'ring wide this wintry night,
But yet my heart 's at hame,
Fu' cozie by my ain fire-cheek,
Beside my winsome dame.
The weary winds howl lang an' loud;
But 'mid their howling drear,
Words sweeter far than honey blabs
Fa' saftly on my ear.
I 'm wand'ring wide this wintry night,
I 'm wand'ring wide an' far;
But love, to guide me back again,
Lights up a kindly star.
The lift glooms black aboon my head,
Nae friendly blink I see;
But let it gloom—twa bonnie e'en
Glance bright to gladden me.
I 'm wand'ring wide this wintry night,
I 'm wand'ring wide and late,
And ridgy wreaths afore me rise,
As if to bar my gate;
Around me swirls the sleety drift,
The frost bites dour an' keen;
But breathings warm, frae lovin' lips,
Come ilka gust atween.
I 'm wand'ring wide this wintry night,
I 'm wand'ring wide an' wild,
Alang a steep and eerie track,
Where hills on hills are piled;
The torrent roars in wrath below,
The tempest roars aboon;
But fancy broods on brighter scenes,
And soughs a cheerin' tune.
I 'm wand'ring wide this wintry night,
I 'm wand'ring wide my lane,
And mony a langsome, lanesome mile,
I 'll measure e'er it 's gane;
But lanesome roads or langsome miles,
Can never daunton me,
When I think on the welcome warm
That waits me, love, frae thee.
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