CXLIX.

A RED, RED ROSE.

Tune--"_Graham's Strathspey._"

[Some editors have pleased themselves with tracing the sentiments of this song in certain street ballads: it resembles them as much as a sour sloe resembles a drop-ripe damson.]

O, my luve's like a red, red rose, That's newly sprung in June: O, my luve's like the melodie, That's sweetly play'd in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in luve am I: And I will luve thee still, my dear, 'Till a' the seas gang dry.

'Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, And the rocks melt wi' the sun: I will luve thee still, my dear, While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only luve! And fare thee weel a-while! And I will come again, my luve, Tho' it were ten thousand mile.

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