Rough Scan
WHISTLE-BINKIE.

SECOND SERIES.





"LO'E ME LITTLE AND LO'E ME LANG."

AWA' wi your wheezing, your coaxing, and teasing,
=Your hugging and squeezing I beg you'll let be;
Your praising sae fulsome, too sweet to be wholesome
=Can never gang down wi' a lassie like me;
Nae mair than a woman, nae higher than human,
=To Sylphs and to Seraphs I dinna belang;
Then if ye wad gain me, the way to attain me,
=Is "Lo'e me little, and lo'e me lang."

Wi' some silly gawkie, your fleeehing sae pawkie,
=Like sweet dozing draughts, will glide cannily down;
Hence, seek some vain hizzy, and doze her till dizzy,
=She'll quickly consent a' your wishes to crown;
But pester na me wi't, my heart canna 'gree wi't,
=I'm sick o' your cuckoo's unvarying sang
Cease, therefore, your canting, your rhyming and ranting
=But "Lo'e me little, and lo'e me lang."

The love that lowes strongest, say, lasts it the longest?
=The fires that bleeze brightest burn soonest awa';
Then keep your flame steady-a moderate red aye,
=Or else ve may yet hae a cauld coal to blaw;
And quat your romantics, your airs, and your anties,
=Tak' truth's honest track, and you'll seldom gae wrang
Then win me, and welcome, let weal or let ill come,
=I'll "Lo'e you little, but lo'e you lang."

=======ALEXANDER RODGER.





THE AULD SCHOOL.

A NEW SANG TO A NEW TUNE.

Is there ony that kens nae my auld uncle Watty,
Wi' 's buckled knee breekums an' three cockit hattie?
Is there ony that kens nae my auld auntie Matty,
Wi' 'r wee black silk cloak, and her red collar'd cattie?
==O, auld uncle Watty,
==An' auld auntie Matty.
Ye may gang whare ye like, but their match winna see.

They've a weel plenished house, an' a weel stockit pantry,
Kegs o' gin in their press, kegs o' ale on their gantree;
An' the lean parish poor, an' the fat county gentry,
Ne'er find sic a bien couthy hame in the kintry.
==O, auld uncle Watty,
==An' auld auntie Matty,
Ye're dear unto a', but ye're dearer to me.

They've saved a' they hae, tho' they never were greedy,
Gang to their house hungry, they're sure aye to feed ye,
Gang to their hoose tatter'd, they're sure aye to cleed ye
O, wha 'll fill their place to the puir an' the needy?
==O, auld uncle Watty,
==An' auld aunty Matty,
Ye're kind unto a', but ye're kinder to me.

I mind nae o' mither, I mind nae o' faither,
Yet ne'er ken't the ha'eing or wanting o' either,
For the puir orphan sprout, that was left here to wither,
Gat uncle for faither, and aunty for mither.
==O, auld uncle Watty,
==An' auld aunty Matty,
Few orphans ha'e uncle and aunty like me.

An' didna my bosom beat fondly an' fou,
When up like an aik 'neath their nursing I grew;
While a tear in their e'e, or a clud on their brow,
Was aye sure to pierce my fond heartie right through.
==O, auld uncle Watty,
==An' auld aunty Matty,
Ye're faither, an' mither, an' a' thing to me.

But luve play'd a plisky, that maist rave asunder,
Three hearts that ye'll no find the like in a hunder;
I married wee Mary, to a' body's wonder,
An' maistly had paid for my het-headed blunder.
==For auld uncle Watty,
==An' auld aunty Matty,
Vow'd they wad ne'er own either Mary or me.

But Mary's kind heart, aye sae couthy and slee,
Soon won the auld bodies as she had done me,
When our callant cam' hame, to the kirk wi't cam' she-
Ca'd it Watty - the auld folk sat bleer't in the e'e,
==An' auld uncle Watty,
==An' auld aunty Matty,
Cam' nursin' the wean hame 'tween Mary an' me.

An wow but the callant grows buirdly an' strang,
There's nae Carritch question, nor auld Scottish sang,
But the loun screeds ye aff in the true lowland twang,
I doubtna he'll beat his ain faither or lang;
==For auld uncle Watty,
==An' auld aunty Matty,
Are learnin' the callant as aince they did me.

Gae bring me the pinks o' your famed infant schools,
Whase wee sauls are laden wi' newfangled rules,
Gif wee Watty dinna mak a' o' them fools,
I'll e'en gie ye leave to lay me in the mools:
==An' auld uncle Watty,
==An' auld Aunty Matty,
May throw down their buiks an' gae booby for me.

=======JAMES BALLANTINE, Edinburgh.





MY COUSIN JEAN.

TUNE, - "_When she cam' ben she bobbit."

==CHORUS.
=My Cousin Jean-my cousin Jean,
=A wild little hempie was my cousin Jean,
=For gentle or semple she ne'er cared a preen,
=Yet the toast o' our parish is my cousin Jean.


I mind her right weel whan the cricket was young,
She'd a stap like the roe an' a glibby gaun tongue,
An' a' the schule callants she skelpit them clean,
Sae supple the nieves gat o' my cousin Jean.

Whar mischief was brewin' or devilry wrought.
A lum set a-low, or a teugh battle fought,
At the head of the foray was sure to be seen,
The wild wavin' ringlets o' my cousin Jean.

O, rade ye to market or rade ye to fair,
Ye were sure to fa' in wi' my daft cousin there;
Yet the puir, an' the feckless, aye gat a gude frien',
And a plack frae the pouches o' my cousin Jean.

She helpit the tinklers their dour mules to lead,
She follow'd them miles on their moorland road,
Syne frighted the bairns wi' their stories at e'en;
Weel kent were their cantrips to my cousin Jean.

But our auld Mess John had a Lunnun bred son,
Wha lang had an e'e after Jean and her fun,
An' he begg'd but an hour frae his father at e'en,
To covert the wild spirit o' my cousin Jean.

I wat a sweet convert the stripling soon made,
But gif a' wi' his preachin', troth's no to be said,
For precious to him were the dark glancin' e'en,
Whilk laugh'd 'neath the arch'd brows o' my cousin Jean.

Young Jean took to reading o' queer prented buiks,
An' wanderd at midnight 'mang hay-ricks and stooks-
Whilst the college-bred birkie right aften was seen,
Pointing out heaven's wonders to my cousin Jean.

Nae doubt the hale parish was spited to see,
Sic a dance in her gait, sic a sang in her e'e,
And ilk auld wifie wager'd her life to a preen,
She woold soon get a down-come - my young cousin Jean.

Dumfounder'd were a' the hale parish, I trow,
When they saw the next week i' the minister's pew,
At the young laird's right han', they could scarce trust their e'en-
A modest young bride sat my yousg cousin Jean.

Now crabbit auld wisdom should ne'er slight a tree,
Though when it is young it may waver a wee,
In its prime it may flourish the fair forest queen,
For sae was the upshot o' my cousin Jean.

=======ALEX. MACLAGGAN, Edinburgh.





THE PEASANT'S FIRESIDE.

AIR - "_For lack o' gowd._"

How happy lives the peasant, by his ain fireside,
Wha weel employs the present, by his ain fireside,
Wi' his wifie blythe and free, and his bairnie on her knee,
Smiling fu' o' sportive glee, by his ain fireside.
Nae cares o' State disturb him, by his ain fireside,
Nae foolish fashions curb him, by his ain fireside,
In his elbow chair reclined, he can freely speak his mind,
To his bosom-mate sae kind, by his ain fireside.

When his bonnie bairns increase, around his ain fireside,
That health, content and peace, surround his ain fireside,
A' day he gladly toils, and at night delighted smiles,
At their harmless pranks and wiles, around his ain fireside
And while they grow apace, about his ain fireside,
In beauty, strength, and grace, about his ain fireside,
Wi' virtuous precepts kind, by a sage example join'd,
He informs ilk youthfu' mind about his ain fireside.

When the shivering orphan poor, draws near his ain fireside,
And seeks the friendly door, that guards his ain fireside,
She's welcomed to a seat, bidden warm her little feet,
While she's kindly made to eat, by his ain fireside.
When youthfu' vigour fails him, by his ain fireside,
And hoary age assails him, by his ain fireside,
With joy he back surveys, all his scenes of bygone days,
As he trod in wisdom's ways, by his ain fireside.

And when grim death draws near him, by his ain fireside,
What cause has he to fear him, by his ain fireside,
With a bosom-cheering hope, he takes heaven for his prop,
Then calmly down does drop, by his ain fireside.
O may that lot be ours, by our ain fireside,
Then glad will fly the hours, by our ain fireside,
May virtue guard our path, till we draw our latest breath,
Then we'll smile and welcome death, by our ain fireside.

=======_ALEX. RODGER._





TAK IT MAN, TAK IT.

TUNE, - _Brose and Buttor._

WHEN I was a Miller in Fife,
=Losh! I thought that the sound o' the happer,
Said tak hame a wee flow to your wife,
=To help to be brose to your supper.
Then my conscience was narrow and pure,
=But someway by random it rackit;
For I lifted twa neivefu' or mair,
=While the happer said-tak it man, tak it.
==Hey for the mill and the kill,
===The garland and geer for my cogie,
==Hey for the whisky or yill,
===That washes the dust owre my craigie.

Altho' its been lang in repute,
=For rogues to mak rich by deceiving;
Yet I see that it disna weel suit,
=Honest men to begin to the thieving.
For my heart it gaed dunt upon dunt,
=Od! I thought ilka dunt it would crack it;
Sae I flang frae my neive what was in't,-
=Still the happer said-tak it man, tak it.
===Hey for the mill, &c.

A man that's been bred to the plough,
=Might be deaved wi' its clamorous clapper;
Yet there's few but would suffer the sough,
=After kenning what's said by the happer.
I whiles thought it scoff'd me to scorn,
=Saying shame, is your conscience no chackit;
But when I grew dry for a horn,-
=It changed aye to-tak it man, tak it.
===Hey for the mill, &c.

The smugglers whiles cam wi' their pocks,
='Cause they kent that I liked a bicker;
Sae I barter'd whiles wi' the gowks,
=Gied them grain for a soup o' their liquor.
I had lang been accustom'd to drink,
=And aye when I purposed to quat it,-
That thing wi' its clapperly clink,-
=Said aye to me-tak it man, tak it.
===Hey for the mill, &c.

Now, miller and a' as I am,
=This far I can see through the matter;
There's men mair notorious to fame,
=Mair greedy than me for the muter.
For 'twad seem that the hale race o' men,
=Or wi' safety the half we may mak it,
Had some speaking happer within,
=That said to them-tak it man, tak it.
===Hey for the mill, &c.

=======DAVID WEBSTER.





RONALD MACGIECH.

AIR - "_Hills o' Glenorchy._"

O RONALD MACGIECH was a kenspeckle loon,
Had cash in ilk pocket, and feres in ilk town;
He was idle and thro'ither, and drucken an' a',
His face it was round, and his back was aye braw.
He ate o' the daintiest, drank o' the best,
At sma' cost to him, as the neighbourhood wist;
He troubled the change-folk baith often and dreigh-
Yet wha was sae welcome as Ronald Magiech?

Tho' landlord and maid wad fain answer'd his bell,
The landlady ever served Ronald hersel';
She'd sit to taste wi' him, though ever sae thrang,
And see him a' right, though a' else should gae wrang
And rise when he liket at e'en to gae 'wa',
He ne'er got a hint for his lawing ava;
Baith merchanis and customers boost stand abeigh,
No ane wad she look at but Ronald Macgiech.

Sae lichtly, nae lad in the hale kintra side,
Could dance you a hornpipe, or set to a bride;
At fairs, in the reel-house he'd caper and spreigh,
Till the rantle-tree rattled wi' Ronald Macgeich.
Though o' him the men were a' rede and unfain,
The lasses aye leuch when they met him again:
To a' ither wooers though saucy and skeigh,
They were aye unco cosh-like wi' Ronald Macgiech.

Whate'er was awn him he was aye sure to get,
But ne'er could remember to pay his ain debt;
The luckiest wight too he was in the land,
For ithers aft lost things, but Ronald aye fand
At last he did something-no ane could tell what,
The Wiggles were down on him, nae gude sign that:
He died in his shoon, about twa stories heich,
'Twas sair on the e'esicht of Ronald Macgiech.

=======THOMAS DICK, Paisley.





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 an' 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 thro' the naked trees,
Cauld, shivering on the bare hill side,
=Sweeps wild the frosty breeze;
When tempests rear, and billows rise,
=Till Nature quakes wi' fear-
And on the land, and on the sea,
=Wild winter rules the year.

=======WILLIAM FERGUSON, Edinburgh.





THE MERMAYDEN.

_Set to Music by R. A. Smith._

"THE nicht is mirk, and the wind blaws schill,
=And the white faem weets my bree,
And my mind misgies me, gay mayden,
=That the land we sall never see."
Then up and spak the mermayden,
=And she spak blythe and free,
"I never said to my bonnie brydegroom
=That on land we should weddit be.

"Oh, I never said that ane erthlie priest
=Our bridal blessing should gie;
And I never said that a landwart bower
=Should hald my love and me."
'And whare is that priest, my bonnie mayden,
=If ane erthlie wicht is na he?'
"Oh the wind will sough, and the sea will rain
=When weddit we twa sall be."

'And whare is that bower, my bonnie mayden,
=If on land it should na be?'
"Oh my blythe bower is low," said the mermayden,
="In the bonnie green hows o' the sea.
My gay bower is biggit o' the gude ships' keels,
=And the banes o' the drown'd at sea;
The fisch are the deer that fill my parks,
=And the water waste my drurie.

'And my bower is sklaitit wi the big blue wave,
=And paved wi' the yellow sand;
And in my chalmers grow bonnie white flowers
=That never grew on land.
And have ye e'er seen, my bonnie brydegroom,
=A leman on earth that wad gie
Aiker for aiker o' the red plough'd land,
=As I'll gie to thee o' the sea?

The mune will rise in half ane hour,
=And the wee bricht starns will shine,
Then we'll sink to my bowir 'neath the wan water
=Full fifty fathoms and nine."-
A wild, wild skreich gied the fey bridegroom,
=And a loud, loud lauch the bryde;
For the mune rose up, and the twa sank down,
=Under the silver'd tide.

=======WILLIAM MOTHERWELL.





WHETHER OR NO.

_Set is Music by John Turnbull._

'MANG a' the braw lads that come hither to woo me,
=There's only but ane I wad fain mak' my joe,
And though I seem shy, yet sae dear is he to me,
=I scare can forgie mysel' when I say "No."
My sister she sneers 'cause he hasna the penny,
=And cries, "ye maun reap, my lass, just as ye sow,"
My brither he bans, but it's a' ane to Jenny,
=She'll just tak' the lad she likes-whether or no.

My father he cries, "tak' the laird o' Kinlogie,
=For he has baith mailins and gowd to bestow;"
My mither cries neist, "tak' the heir o' Glenbogie,"
=But can I please baith o' them? - weel I wat no!
And since 'tis mysel' maun be gainer or loser-
=Maun drink o' life's bicker, be't weal or be't woe,
I deem it but fair I should be my ain chooser;-
=To love will I lippen, then-whether or no.

Cauld Prudence may count on his gowd and his acres,
=And think them the sum o' a' blessings below,
But tell me, can wealth bring content to its makers?
=The care-wrinkled face o' the miser says "No!"
But oh when pure love meets a love corresponding,
=Such bliss it imparts as the world cannot know;
It lightens life's load, keeps the heart from desponding,
=Let Fate smile or scowl, it smilee - whether or no!

=======ALEX. RODGER._





THE WIDOW'S EXCUSE.

AIR - "_O saw ye the Lass wi' the bonnie blue een._"

"O LEEZIE M'CUTCHEON, I canna but say,
Your grief hasna lasted a year and a day;
The crape aff your bonnet already ye've tane;
Nae wonner that men ca' us fickle an' fain.
Ye sich't and ye sabbit, that nicht Johnnie dee't,
I thought my ain heart wad hae broken to see't;
But noo ye're as canty and brisk as a bee;
Oh! the frailty o' women I wonner to see:

=The frailty o' women, I wonner to see,
=The frailty o' women, I wanner to see;
=Ye k'iss'd his cauld gab wi' the tear in your e'e;
=Oh, the frailty o' women I wonner to see.

"When Johnnle was living, oh little he wist,
That the sound o' the mools as they fell on his kist,
While yet like a knell, ringing loud in your lug,
By anither man's side ye'd he sleeping sae snug.
O Leezie, my lady, ye've surely been fain,
For an unco-like man to your arms ye have ta'en;
John M'Cutcheon was buirdly, but this ane, I trow,
The e'e o' your needle ye might draw him through:

=O, the e'e o' your needle ye might draw him through,
=His nose it is shirpit, his lip it is blue,
=Oh Leezie, ye've surely to wale on had few,
=Ye've looted and lifted but little, I trow,"

"Now, Janet, wi' jibing and jeering hae dune,
Though it's true that anither now fills Johnnie's shoon,
He was lang in sair trouble, and Robin, ye ken,
Was a handy bit body, and lived butt and ben.
He was unco obliging, and cam at my wag,
Whan wi' grief and fatigue I was liken to fag;
'Deed, John couldna want him--for aften I've seen
His e'e glisten wi' gladness whan Robin cam' in.

=Then, how can ye wonner I gi'ed him my haun!
=Oh, how can ye wonner I gi'ed him my haun,
=When I needed his help, he was aye at commaun';
=Then how can ye wonner I gi'ed him my haun?"

"At length when John dee't, and was laid in the clay,
My haun it was bare, and my heart it was wae,
I had na a steek, that was black, to put on,
For wark I had plenty wi' guiding o' John;
Now Robin was thrifty, and ought that he wan,
He took care o't, and aye had twa notes at commaun',
And he lent me as muckle as coft a black goon,
See hoo can ye wonner he's wearing John's shoon.

=Thon hoo can ye wonner he's wearing John's shoon,
=My heart-strings wi' sorrow were a' out o' tune:
=A man that has worth and twa notes at commaun',
=Can sune get a woman to tak him in haun."

=======WILLIAM FINLAY.





AULD JOHN NICOL.

AIR - "_John Nicol."

I SING of an auld forbear o' my ain,
=Tweedle dum twadle dum twenty-one;
A man wha for fun was never out-done,
=And his name it was auld John Nicol o' Quhain.

Auld John Nicol was born-he said,
=Tweedle dum, &c.;
Of man or of maid 's no weel kent-sin he's dead,
=Sae droll was the birth o' John Nicol o Quhain.

Auld John Nicol he lo'ed his glass,
=Tweedle dum, &c.;
And auld John Nirol he lo'ed a lass,
=And he courted her tocher - the lands o' Balquhain.

Auld John Nicol he made her his wife,
=Tweedle dum, &c.;
And the feast was the funniest feast o' his life,
=And the best o' the farce he was laird o' Balquhain.

The lady was fifty, his age was twal' mair,
=Tweedle dum, &c.;
She was bow-hough'd and humph-back'd, twined like stair,
="But her riggs are fell straucht," quo' John Nicol o' Quhain.

By some cnance or ither auld John got a son,
=Tweedle dum, &c.;
He was laid in the cupboard for fear that the win',
=Wad hae blawn out the hopes o' the house o' Balquhain.

The lady was canker'd and eident her tongue,
=Tweedle dum, &c.;
She scrimpit his cog - thrash'd his back wi' a rung,
=And dousen'd for lang auld John Nicol o' Quhain.

Ae day cam a ca'er wi' mony lang grane,
=Tweedle dum, &c.;
"Oh! death" - quo' the laird, "come stap your wa's ben,
=Ye'se be welcome to tak Mrs. Nicol p' Qahain."

Auld John was a joker the rest o' his life,
=Tweedle dum, &c.;
And his ae blythest joke was the yirdin' his wife,
=For it left him the laird o' the lands o' Balquhain.

=======PATRICK BUCHAN.





I HAD A HAT, I HAD NAE MAIR.

AIR - "_I had a horse, I had nae mair._"

I HAD a hat, I had nae mair,
=I gat it frae the hatter;
My hat was smash'd, my skull laid bare,
=Ae night when on the batter;
And sae I thocht me on a plan,
=Whereby to mend the matter-
Just turn at ance a sober man,
=And tak to drinking water.

My plan I quickly put in force,
=Yea, stuck till't most sincerely,
And now I drive my gig and horse,
=And hae an income yearly.
But, had I still kept boozing on,
='Twa'd been anither matter,
My credit, cash, and claes had gone,
=In tatter after tatter.

My wife, perhaps, a worthless pest
=My weans half-starved and duddy,
And I, mysel', at very best,
=Gaun wi' an auld coal cuddie;
Wi' scarce a stick in a' the house,
=Or spoon, or bowl, or platter,
Or milk, or meal, to feed a mouse,
=Or blanket save a tatter.

Now, Gude be praised, I've peace o' mind,
=Clear head and health o' body,
A thrifty wifie, cosh and kind,
=And bairnies plump and ruddy.
Hence, I'd advise ilk weirdless wight,
=Wha likes the gill-stoup's clatter,
To try my plan this very night,
=And tak' to drinking water.

=======ALEX. RODGER._





PAT MULLIGAN'S COURTSHIP.

'TIS our duty to love both our father and mother,
Give up talking nonsense, and all sorts of bother,
But greater by far is the duty to smother
==Our love, when beginning to ail:
O dear! dear! what can the matter be!
Och botheration now, what can the matter be,
Thunder and turf! why what can the matter be?
==How, Cupid, my poor heart doth flail!

"Och, Judy, but you have kilt me now, I can nather ate, sup, sleep, nor drink, for thinking ov ye, ye've made a hole in my heart like a bung-hole, for which I hope you will live to repint and be forgiven.  Bad cess to me! if the people ar'nt beginnin' to think, that I am the livin' atomy, sich of us, both saw at Donnybrook Fair, an' if my flesh, an' bonces, an' blood, dhrop of me longer, they'll be in earth's keeping afore my own eyes.  Living, you must be mine, and if I die, I shall lay my death agin ye every night till I bring you to your senses, you murthering jewel!"

Then I search'd all around for a sweetheart less cruel,
In the hope she would make me forget my first jewel
This only was adding fresh fire to the fuel,
==And making more trouble and wail.

"It is all over with you now, Paddy, says I, so before the breath raves yer body, you had better consult your own clergy, Father Murphy, and get a mouthful of ghostly consolation to die with.  Father, says I to him, I am going to die."  "Then you're a great big fool," says he, "what puts that into your head, my son?"  "Judy has kilt me," says I, "and it's of no use livin' any longer."  "Paddy, my son," says he, "you ought to know that this world on which you are placed, is just like a potful of praties - ye are all sent here to jumble, and tumble, and bublle, and roar; and, the man that remains longest in the pot of affliction without his skin beakin' intirely - that man, you may dipind on't, is the true potatoe."  "Arrah Father," says I, "it's not that at all, it's Judy."

Then deaR! dear! what can the matter be!
Och botheration now, what can the matter be,
Pewter and pots! why what can the matter be?
==Cupid, my poor heart doth flail.
So finding no peace, I determined to marry,
Get Judy's consent, and no longer to tarry,
'Tis the road all must go, though a few will miscarry,
==As onward through life they do sail.

"Jusy," says I, "will you have me iver and always and amin?"  "Well Pat, an' suppose I were, should I be any the worse for't."  "Troth an' myself often wondered that you were niver axin me."  "Is't your own self that I'm hearin' spakin' - beauty an' blessing on every tether linth o' ye Judy?"  "It's not in the natur of woman to refuse ye, Pat Mulligan," says she.  "Then it's done in the closing of an eye-cover," says I, "and next Sunday, Father Murphy, took us afore him, and repated the last bindin' words, that we should be one in sowl, body, an' nature, seed, breed, an' giniration for ever, and I never ripinted; and I would advise all love-sick swains, just to ax their sweethearts, and maybe they'll answer like my own Judy, it's not in the natur' of woman to refuse ye."

Well! well! now nought can the matter be,
Honey, and sugar now, nought can the matter be,
Pigs and paraties since nought can the matter be,
==Paddy no longer need wail.





THOU ZEPHYR, AS THOU FLITT'ST AWAY.

THOU zephyr, an thou flitt'st away,
=Wafting thy perfume o'er the grove,
If in thy course thou chance to stray
=Along the cheek of her I love;
Oh! tell her that thou art a sigh,
=Breathed from a fond and humble heart,
By fate, debarr'd from hopes so high,
=But do not tell from whom thou art!

Thou streamlet, murmuring sweetly o'er,
=The pebbles in thy rocky bed,
If ever near thy lonely shore,
=Her wandering foot should chance to tread;
Oh! whisper softly in her ear,
=That with thy pure transparent wave,
There mingles many a bitter tear,
=But do not tell the eye that gave!

=======E. PINKERTON.





THEY COME!  THE MERRY SUMMER MONTHS.

THEY come! the merry summer months of Beauty, Song, and Flowers;
They come! the gladsome months that bring thick leefiness to bowers;
Up, up, my heart! and walk abroad, fling cark and care aside,
Seek silent hills, or rest thyself where peaceful waters glide;
Or, underneath the shadow vast of patriarchal tree,
Scan through its leaves the cloudless sky in rapt tranquillity.

The grass is soft, its velvet touch is grateful to the hand,
And, like the kiss of maiden love, the breeze is sweet and bland;
The daisy and the buttercup are nodding courteously,
It stirs their blood, with kindest love, to bless and welcome thee:
And mark how with thine own thin locks - they now are silvery grey-
That blissful breeze is wantoning, and whispering "Be gay!"

There is no cloud that sails along the ocean of yon sky,
But hath its own winged mariners to give it melody:
Thou see'st their glittering fans outspread all gleaming like red gold,
And hark! with shrill pipe musical, their merry course they hold.
Heaven bless them! all these little ones, who far above this earth,
Can make a scoff of its mean joys, and vent a nobler mirth.

But soft! mine ear upcaught a sound, from yonder wood it came;
The spirit of the dim green glade did breathe his own glad name;-
Yes, it is he! the hermit bird, that apart from all his kind,
Slow spells his beads monotonous to the soft western wind;
Cuckoo! Cuckoo! he sings again-his notes are void of art,
But simplest strains do soonest sound the deep founts of the heart!

It is a rare and gracious boon! for thought-crazed wight like me,
To smell again these summer flowers beneath this summer tree!
To suck once more in every breath their little souls away
And feed my fancy with fond dreams of youth's bright summer day,
When, rushing forth like untamed colt, the reckless truant boy,
Wander'd through green woods all day long, a mighty heart of joy.

I'm sadder now, I have had cause, hut oh! I'm proud to think
That each pure joy-fount loved of yore, I yet delight to drink;-
Leaf, blossom, blade, hill, valley, stream, the calm unclouded sky,
Still mingle music with my dreams, as in the days gone by.
When summer's loveliness and light fall round me dark and cold,
I'll bear indeed life's heaviest curse-a heart that hath waxed old!

=======MOTHERWELL.





OCH! WHILE I LIVE, I'LL NE'ER FORGET.

OCH! while I live, I'll ne'er forget
=The troubles of that day,
When bound unto this distant land,
=Our ship got under weigh.
My friends I left at Belfast town,
=My love at Carrick shore,
And I gave to poor old Ireland
=My blessing o'er and o'er.

Och! well I knew, as off we sail'd,
=What my hard fate would be;
For, gazing on my country's hills,
=They seem'd to fly from me.
I watch'd them, as they wore away,
=Until my eyes grew sore
And I felt that I was doom'd to walk
=The shamrock sod no more!

They say I'm now in Freedom's land;
=Where all men masters be;
But were I in my winding-sheet,
=There's none to care for me!
I must, to eat the stranger's bread,
=Abide the stranger's score,
Who taunts me with thy dear-loved name,
=Sweet isle, where I was born!

Och! where-och! where's the careless heart
=I once could call my own?
It bade along farewell to me,
=The day I left Tyrone.
Not all the wealth, by hardship won
=Beyond the western main,
Thy pleasures, my own absent home!
=Can bring to me again!

=======WILLIAM KENNEDY.





THE PEERLESS ROSE OF KENT.

WHEN beauty, youth, and innocence,
=In one fair form are blent,
And that fair form our vestal Queen,
=The peerless ROSE of KENT,
Say, where's the Briton's heart so cold-
=The Briton's soul so dead.
As not to pour out ardent prayer
=For blessings on her head?

This is the day, - the joyous day,-
=That sees our lady crown'd,
Hence, may not one disloyal heart,
=In Albion's Isles be found;
But may she find in every breast
=An undisputed throne,
And o'er a gallant people reign,
=Whose hearts are all her own.

For ne'er did woman's hand more fair
=The regal sceptre hold,
And ne'er did brow more spotless wear
=The coronal of gold;
And ne'er beneath the purple robe
=Did purer bosom beat;
So ne'er may truer lieges kneel
=A lovelier Queen to greet.

May every blessing from above,
=On Kent's fair Rose descend,
While wisdom, dignity, and grace,
=On all her steps attend.
Still may she wear fair Virtue's bloom,
=Throughout a happy reign,
And long be hail'd the "Queen of Isles"-
=Fair Mistress of the Main!

=======ALEXANDER RODGER.





THE SONG OF THE SLAVE.

O ENGLAND! dear home of the lovely and true,
=Loved land of the brave and the free,
Though distant-thougt wayward-the path I pursue,
=My thoughts shall ne'er wander from thee.
===Deep, in my heart's core,
===Rests the print of thy shore,
=From a die whose impression fades never;
===And the motto impress'd,
===By this die, on my breast,
Is "England, dear England, for ever,"
May blessings rest on thee for ever!

As Queen, she sits throned with her sceptre of light,
=Aloft on the white-crested wave;
While billows surround her, as guards of her right
=To an island where breathes not a slave.
===And her sceptre of light
===Shall, through regions of night,
=Shed a radiance like darts from day's quiver,
===Till the unfetter'd slaves,
===To the Queen of the Waves,
Shout "Freedom and England for ever,"
May blessings rest on thee for ever!

How often hath Fame, with his trumpet's loud blast,
=Praised the crimes of mock-heroes in war,
Whose joy was to revel o'er nations laid waste,
=And drag the fallen foe at their car!
===But a new law, from heaven,
===Hath by England been given
=To Fame-and from which she'll ne'er sever,-
==="No hero but he
===Who saves and sets free,"
Saith England, free England, for ever,
Hey blessings rest on thee for ever!

======J. D. CARRICK.





BAULD BRAXY TAM,

A WEEL KENNED CHIEL IN CARNWATH MUIR.

TUNE - "_The Campbells are coming._"

BAULD Braxy Tam, he lives far in the west,
Whaur the dreary Lang Whang heaves its brown heather crest;
He's bauld as a lion, tho' calm as a lamb-
I rede ye nae rouse him, our bauld braxy Tam.
=The strang stalwart loon wons upon the hill tap
=In a peat-biggit shieling wi' thin theekit hap-
Yet he ne'er wants a braxy, nor gude reestit ham,
And snell is the stamack o' bauld braxy Tam.

See how his straught form, 'midst the storm-flecker'd lift,
Stalks athwart the bleak muir, thro' the dark wreaths o drift,
=While the wowff o' the colley or bleat o' the ram
=Are beacons o' light, to guide bauld braxy Tam.
When April comes in aye sae sleety and chill,
And mony young lammie lies dead on the hill,
=Though miss'd by its owner, and left by its dam,
=Its gude gusty gear to our bauld braxy Tam.

Tho' some o' us think he gets mair than eneugh-
That he finds them himsel', whilk he cast in the heugh,
=The bauldest amang us maun keep a sough calm-
=He's a lang luggit deevil, our bauld braxy Tam.
He ne'er parts wi' master, nor master wi' him-
When the headsman luiks sulky, the herdsman luiks grim
=Syne they souther a' up wi' a flyte and a dram,
=For Tam's like the master, the master like Tam.

Thro' a' our braid muirlands sae stunted an' brown,
There's nane fear'd nor lo'ed like the hellicat loun;
=Our fair freckled maidens feel mony love dwaum.
=When milking the ewes o' our bauld braxy Tam.
For the wild raving rogue has the gled in his e'e,
Twa three-neukit e'ebrees, aye louping wi' glee,
=Wi' a black bushy beard, and a liquory gam-
=O wha wad be kittled by bauld braxy Tam.

At the lown ingle cheek, in the lang winter night,
Tam's welcomed wi' pleasure aye mingled wi' fright;
=Queer sangs, and ghaist stories, a' thro'ither cram,
=In the big roomy noddle o' bauld braxy Tam.
Then the weans cour in neuks frae the fancy-raised ghaist,
And ilk lad faulds his arms round his ain lassie's waist;
=The auld folks gae bed, in an ill-natured share,
=But the young gape till midnight round bauld braxy Tam.

They wad fain hae him married, his courage to cowe,
For he's fickle's the clouds, tho' he's het as the lowe,
=He courts a' the lasses without ere a qualm,
=Yet for nane by anither cares bauld braxy Tam.
But a puir auld sheep-farmer cam here to the muir,
Wi' a daughter as fair as her faither is puir;
=She's pure as the dew-drap, an' sweet as the balm,
=And she's won the stout heart o' our bauld braxy Tam.

=======JAMES BALLANTINE, Edinburgh.





THE SMIDDIE.

AIR - "_The days o' langsyne._"

YE'LL mount your bit naggie an' ride your wa's doun,
'Bout a mile and a half frae the neist borough toun,
There wons an auld blacksmith wi' Janet his wife,
And a queerer auld cock ye ne'er met i' your life,
=As this cronie o' mine, this cronie o' mine;
=O! be sure that ye ca' on this cronie o' mine.

Ye'll fin' 'im as I do, a trust-worthy chiel
Weel temper'd wi' wit frae his head to his heel,
Wi' a saul in his body auld Nick ne'er could clout,
And a spark in his throat, whilk is ill to drown out,
=This cronie o' mine, this cronie o' mine,
=For a deil o' a drouth has this cronie o' mine.

His smiddie ye'll ken by the twa trough stanes
At the auld door cheeks, an' the black batter'd panes-
By the three iron desks whilk he straik in the wa',
To tye up wild yads when heigh customers ca'.
=Oh this cronie o' mine, this cronie o' mine,
=Sure the hall countrie kens him, this cronie o' mine.

Up agen the auld gable 'tis like you may view,
A tramless cart, or a couterless plough,
An' auld teethless harrow, a brechem ring rent,
Wi' mae broken gear, whilk are meant to be ment
=By this cronie o' mine, this cronie o' mine;
=He's a right handy craftsman, this cronie o' mine.

There's an auld broken sign-board looks to the hie road,
Whilk tells ilka rider whar his naig may be shod,
There's twa or three wordies that ye'll hae to spell,
But ye needna find fault for he wrote it himsel';
=This cronie o' mine, this cronie o' mine,
=He's an aul' farren carl, this cronie o' mine.

When ye fin' his auld smiddie, ye'll like, there's nae doubt,
To see the inside o't as well as the out;
Then stap ye in bauldly, altho' he be thrang,
Gif the pint-stoop but clatter, ye'll ken him ere lang,
=This cronie o' mine, this cronie o' mine,
=Baith wit, fun, and fire, has this cronie o' mine.

Twa or three chiels frae the town-end are sure to be there-
There's the bauld-headed butcher, wha taks aye the chair,
'Mang the queerest auld fallows ae way and anither,
That e'er in this world were clubbit thegither,
=A' cronies o' mine, a' cronies o' mine,
=They'll a' mak ye welcome, these cronies o' mine.

There's Dominie Davie, sae glib o' the mou;
But its like ye will fin' the auld carl blin' fou;
Wi' the wee barber bodie, an' his wig fu' o' news,
Wha wad shave ony chap a' the week for a booze;
=A' cronies o' mine, a' cronies o' mine,
=They'll a' mak ye welcome, these cronies o' mine.

There's our auld Toun-Clerk, wha has taen to the pack,
Whilk is naething in bulk to the humph on his back;
His knees are sae bow't, his splay feet sae thrawn,
Troth its no easy tellin' the road whilk they're gaun,
=Tho' a cronie o' mine, a bauld cronie o' mine,
=They'll a' mak ye welcome, these cronies o' mine.

There's Robin the ploughman, wha's cramm'd fu' o' fun,
Wee gamekeeper Davie, wi' bag, dog, and gun,
And the miller, wha blythly the pipes can play on,
So your sure to fa' in wi' the Miller o' Drone,'
=A' cronies o' mine, a' cronies o' mine,
=They'll a' mak ye welcome, these cronies o' mine.

Then wi' thumpin' o' hammers, and tinklin' o' tangs,
Wi' auld fashion'd stories wrought into queer sangs,
Wi' this soun, and that, ye'll ablins be deaved-
And tak care o' your breeks that they dinna get sieved
=Wi' this cronie o' mine, this cronie o' mine,
=For an arm o' might has this cronie o' mine.

Then the Vulcan his greybeard is aye sure to draw,
Frae a black sooty hole whilk ye'll see i' the wa',
And lang or its empty, frien', I meikle doubt,
Gif the tae chap kens weel what the tither's about,
=Wi' this cronie o' mine, this cronie o' mine-
=O! be sure that ye ca' on this cronie o' mine.

Come now my gude frien' gie's a shake o' your haun,
The night's wearin' thro', and ye maun be gaun,
The callan will bring down your naig in a blink,
But before that yemount again let us drink
=To this cronie o' mine, this cronie o' mine,
=Here's lang life and pith to this cronie o' mine.

=======ALEXANDER MACLAGGAN, Edinburgh.





SOME PASSAGES

FROM THE PRIVATE LIFE OF LANG KATE DALRYMPLE, A CELEBRATED BALLAD SINGER.

TUNE - "_Whistle, and I'll come to ye my lad._"

=O KATIE'S worth gowpens o' gowd to me,
=O Katie's worth gowpens o' gowd to me,
=Gang favour, gang fortune, I carena a flee,
=My Katie's worth gowpens o' gowd to me.

She's nippit, decrepit - she's crabbit and wee.
Looks twa ways at ance wi' a grey greedy glee,
But she turns round on me wi' the tail of her e'e,
An' ilk glance has the glamour o' sunshine to me
=O Katie's worth, &c.

I'm couring and cauldrife, I'm lang and I'm lean,
Hae a leg like a lath, an' an arm like a preen,
Hae a face like a knife, an' a head like a bean,
Yet I'm comely and dear in my kind Katie's e'en.
=O Katie's worth, &c.

We live man and wife, by nae priest ever tied,
We are bound by love's fetters, nae bondage beside;
We were made, Kate an' me, to be ilk ither's pride,
Nane else covets me, nor yet fancy's my bride.
=O Katie's worth, &c.

O why should a blackcoat tie me to my joe,
Sic bands may bring weal, but they sometimes bring woe;
Gin ye're no match'd aboon, yell ne'er souther below,
Far better shake hands on't, syne bundle and go.
=O Katie's worth, &c.

I ance was a wabster, and sair did bewail
That bonny wee Katie should sup water kail,
She windit my pirns, I was fond, she was frail,
So to fend far our weanies I took to the trail.
=O Katie's worth, &c.

Syne I learnt a bit sang that spak kindly o' Kate,
Her name had a music that rang in my pate,
An' I sang't wi' sic birr thro' the streets air and late,
That a' body bought it wha cam in my gate.
=O Katie's worth, &c.

When weans cry lang Katie, I e'en let them cry,
When fou feels wad fash me, I jouk an' gae bye,
When lasses come flirtin, I coax them fu' sly
Sae there's nane comes my way, but my ballant they buy.
=O Katie's worth, &c.

Guid-natured contentment is aye sure to please,
I souther a' jars wi't, a' life's wheels I greeze;
Like the sweet sighing sough o' the saft summer breeze,
Is a well scrapit tongue, tho' its laden wi' lees,
=O Katie's worth, &c.

Then wha wad eir fash wi' a loon that's sae slee,
Wha shouthers life's rubs wi' a heart fu' o' glee,
Ye'll ne'er break my heart, nor yet bluther my e'e,
Sae lang's ye leave Katie to cuddle wi' me.
=Then my Katie's worth, &c.

=======JAMES BALLANTINE, Edinburgh.





THE EVIL E'E.

AN evil e'e hath look't on thee,
=My puir wee thing, at last,
The licht has left thy glance o' glee.
=Thy frame is fading fast.
Wha's frien's-wha's faes in this cauld warld
=Is e'en richt ill to learn,
But an evil e'e hath look'd on thee,
=My bonnie-bonnie bairn.

Your tender buik I happit warm,
=Wi' a' a mither's care,
I thought nae human heart could harm
=A thing sae guid an' fair.
An' ye got aye my blessing when
=I toil'd, your bread to earn,
But an evil e'e hath look't on thee
=My bonnie-bonnie bairn.

The bloom upon thy bonnie face,
=The sunlicht o' thy smiles,
How glad they made ilk eerie place.
=How short the langsome miles.
For sin I left my minnie's cot
=Beside the brig o' Earn,
O, ours has been a chequer'd lot,
=My bonnie-bonnie bairn.

I can forgie my mither's pride,
=Though driven frae my hame,
I can forgie my sister's spite-
=Her heart maun bear its blame.
I can forgie my brither's hard
=And haughty heart o' airn,
But not the e'e that withers thee,
=My bonnie-bonnie bairn.

I ken that deep in ae black breast
=Lies hate to thee and me;
I ken wha bribed the crew that press't
=Thy father to the sea.
But hush!-he'll soon be back again
=Wi' faithfu' heart I learn,
To drive frae thee the evil e'e,
=My bonnie-bonnie bairn.

=======ALEXR. MACLAGGAN, Edinburgh.





OUR AIN GUDE TOWN.

SCOTTISH BALLAD.

AIR - "_The young May moon._"

==O LEEZE me now on our ain gude Town!
===I wat there's few like our ain gude Town;
==On the crown o' the land, may be mony mair grand
===But there's nae ane sae dear as our ain gude Town.

There's lads fu' rare in our ain gude Town,
=And lasses fu' fair in our ain gude Town;
The light o' their e'e is a fountain o' glee,
=And it flows to the heart in oun ain gude Town
====O leeze me now, &c.

O dearly we loe thee, our ain gude Town,
=And meikle we owe thee, our ain gude Town;
The friendship, the love, we were fated to prove,
=Were happiest aye in our ain gude Town.
====O leeze me now, &c.

Then here's to the health o' our ain gude Town,
=The wisdom and wealth o' our ain gude Town;
May plenty and peace, ilka blessing increase,
=And sweet freedom aye halo our ain gude Toun!
====O leeze me now, &c.

=======THOS. DICK, Paisley.





THE KAIL BROSE OF AULD SCOTLAND.

WHEN our ancient forefathers agreed wi' the laird,
For a spot o' good ground for to be a kail-yard,
It was to the brose that they had the regard;
=O! the kail brose of auld Scotland;
=And O! for the-Scottish kail brose.

When Fergus, the first of our kings, I suppose,
At the head of his nobles had vanquish'd his foes,
Before they began they had dined upon brose.
=O' the kail brose, &c.

Then our sodgers were drest in their kilts and short hose,
With bonnet and belt which their dress did cnmpose,
With a bag of oatmeal on their back to make brose.
=O' the kail brose, &c.

In our free early ages a Scotsman could dine
Without English roast beef, or famous French wine,
Kail brose, if weel made, he always thought fine.
=O' the kail brose, &c.

At our annual election of bailies or mayor,
Nae kickshaws of puddings or tarts were seen there,
A dish of kail brose was the favourite fare.
=O' the kail brose, &c.

It has been our favourite dish all along, 
It our ladies makes beauties, our gentlemen strong-
When moderately used, it our life does prolong.
=O' the kail brose, &c.

While thus we can live, we dread no kind of foes-
Should any invade us,w e'll twist up their nose,
And soon make them feel the true virtue of brose.
=O' the kail brose, &c.

Now State politicians, new taxes propose,
Involving our country in numberless woes,
What a blessing it is! there's yet nane upon brose!
=O' the kail brose, &c.

But aye since the thistle ws joined to the rose,
And Englishmen no more accounted our foes,
We have lost a great part of our stomach for brose.
=O' the kail brose, &c.

But each true-hearted Scotsman, by nature jocoso,
Can cheerfully dine on a dishful of brose,
And the grace be a wish to get plenty of those.
=O! the kail brose of auld Scotland.
=And O for the Scottish kail brose!





LASS, GIN YE WAD LO'E ME.

"LASS, gin ye wad lo'e me,
=Lass, gin ye wad lo'e me,
Ye'se be layde o' my ha',
=Lass, gin ye wad lo'e me,
A canty butt, a cozie ben,
=Weel plenished ye may true me:
A brisk, a blythe, a kind gudeman-
=Lass, gin ye wad lo'e me!"

Walth, there's little doubt ye hae,
=An' bidin' bein an' easy;
But brisk an' blythe ye canna be,
=An' you sae auld and crazy.
Wad marriage mak you young again?
=Wad woman's love renew you?-
Awa', ye silly doitet man,
=I canna, winna lo'e you."

Witless hizzie, e'en's ye like,
=The ne'er a dolt I'm carin';
But men maun be the first to speak,
=An' wanters maun be speirin'.
Yet, lassie, I hae lo'ed you lang,
=And noo I'm come to woo you-
I'm no sae auld as clashes gang,
=I think you'd better lo'e me!"

"Doitet bodie! - auld or young,
=Ye needna langer tarry,
Gin ane be lootin' owre a rung,
=He's no for me to marry.
Gae home and ance bethink yoursel'
=How ye wad come to woo me-
And mind me i' your latter-will,
=Bodie, gin ye lo'e me!"

=======ALEX. LAING, Brechin.





TA PRAISE O' OUSKIE.

AIR - "_Neil Gow's farewell is whisky._"

TA praise o' ouskie, she will kive,
An' wish in klass aye in her neive;
She tisna thought that she could live
=Without a wee trap ouskie, O.

For ouskie is ta thing my lad,
Will cheer ta heart whene'er she's sad:
To trive bad thoughts awa like mad,
=Hoogh! there's naething like kood ouskie, O.

Oh! ouskie's kent, an' ouskie's cran,
Ta pestest physick efer fan;
She wishes she had in her han',
=A kreat pig shar o' ouskie, O.

Ta lallan loon will trank at rum,
An' shin tat frae ta Tutchman come;
An' pranty - Fleugh! tey're a' put scum,
=No worth a sneesh like ouskie, O.

Ta shentlss they will trank at wine,
Till faces like ta moon will shine;
Put what's ta thing can prighten mine?-
=Poogh! shust a wee trap ouskie, O.

Ta ladies they will klour and plink,
Whene'er tey'll saw't a man in trink;
Put py temsel tey'll never wink,
=At four pig dram o' ouskie, O.

An' some will trank a trashy yill,
Wi' porter some their pellies fill;
For Loch Ard fu', a sinkle shill
=She wadne gie o' ouskie, O.

Some lads wi' temprant rules akree,
An' trench their kite wi' slooshy tea;
She's try't tat too, but nought for me-
=Is like a wee trap ouskie, O.

What kars her roar, and tance, and sing?
What kars her loup ta highlan fling?
What kars her leuk as pault's ta king?
=Put shust a wee trap ouskie, O.

Whene'er she's towie, fex, and wae,
Whane'er ta cault her nose maks plae,
What cheers her heart py night an' tay?
=Hoogh! shust a wee trap ouskie, O.

=======ALEX. FISHER.





SINCE FATE HAS DECREED IT.

AIR - "_A' body's like to get married but me._"

SINCE Fate has decreed it-then e'en let her gang,
I'll comfort mysel' wi' a canty bit sang:
Yes; I'll sing like a lintie and laugh at it a',
Though the auld donnart dotard has wiled her awa'.
O wae worth that siller! what mischief it breeds,
Dame Fortune's pet weans, how it pampers and feeds;
It has made them baith ane whom auld Nature meant twa,
And has torn frae my arms, my dear lassie awa'.

The neighbours will clatter about the affair,
But e'en let them talk-that's the least o' my care,
For the sugh will blaw by in a fortnight or twa,
But ne'er can restore to me, her that's awa'.
Come cheer up my heart! - yet, what need'st thou be wae,
There are thousands behint her, sae e'en let her gae;
Yes; thousands, as bonnie, as good, and as braw-
Then why should'st thou grieve for her, now she's awa'?

But all! hapless lassie, my heart's wae for thee,
To think what a comfortless life thou maun dree;
How cheerless to sit in a rich splendid ha'
'Midst desolate grandeur, when love is awa'
And thou, her auld mither, ah what wilt thou say,
When thou seest thy poor lassie, heart-broken and wae;
Ah what will avail then, her cleeding sae braw,
When it covers a bosom that's riven in twa.

=======ALEX. RODGER.





DOWN THE WATER.

AIR - "_The Jorum._"

Quo' Jean to me the tither morn, while munching at our toast, sir.
"Dear me, gudeman, ye're unco worn-ye're looking like a ghost, sir-
Ye're thin and wan-ye're colour's gane-I trow ye are nae fatter-
In troth ye'll needs subtract a day, and journey down the water.

I'm sure 'twill do us meikle gude.-a waucht o' cauler air, sir,
A cauler douk-a cauler breeze-and cauler fish and fare, sir;
Besides, ye ken, I'm far frae weel-and sae is Jane our daughter,
Sae trouth, gudeman, ye'll needs consent to journey down the water.

There's Will, and Bob, and George, and Ned, are hardly cured the measles;
And Jess, and May, and Jean and I - our skins are din as weazles;
Besides, ye ken, its just the thing-and see there's Mrs. Clatter,
And ilka creature ought genteel-for weeks been down the water."

Weel, weel, gudewife, sin e'en 'tis sae, and naething less will please ye,
We'll see and set about it straucht - but losh it's no that easy,
For things are looking slack, and cash - is no a plenty matter-
Ye'll needs douk twa-three times a-day - and fuddle lots o' water.

I true the packing soon began-odds and ends galore, sirs-
Wi' Mackintosh's-pots and pans-and cordials a store, sirs;
Syne bundling a' aboard-the boat maist aff ere we wan at her-
Her tether-tow maist stapp'd my breath and journey down the water.

Hardly frae the Broomielaw, wife and weans a' sea-sick,
Ane bocking here, anither there-their stomachs under physic;
And then the landing-rumbling-tumbling-swearin' like a hatter,
And then to crown the job-mysel' maist drown'd into the water.

Rescued frae fear o' sudden death-we gather consolation,
And, joyous hope, our trouble's o'er, within our new location;
An' now to see us pack'd and cramm'd like ony Yankee squatter,
Nae less than five in ilka bed-that's high life down the water.

A grumbling night o'erpast-the morn, we grumbling don our jackets,
In haste to seize our promised jaunt-the rain pours down in buckets;
Neist day's the same-the neist-the neist-we hear its ceaseless patter,
And sulky through the window glow'r-that's pleasure down the water.

At last ae sunny day is sent to cheer each drooping spirit,
In madden'd joy we hail the morn-for a' are downricht weari't;
But mark ye how sic pleasure ends-our auldest, favourite daughter,
Ran aff galanting, nane kent whaur-wi' some chiel down the water.

Wi' her restored-we journey back-in direfu' wrath and shame, sirs,
And vowing that we ne'er again shall jaunt sae far frae hame, sirs;
Or if we do, by sooth and troth-I'se no be sic a fauter,
As move like Patriarchs of old-in fam'lies down the water

=======PATRICK BUCHAN.





IT WAS NOT FOR THE DIAMOND RING.

_Set to Music by John Clow, Esq._

IT was not for the diamond ring upon your lily hand,-
It was not for your noble name,-it was not for your land,-
I saw no gem, no lordly name, no broad domain with thee,
The day you stole my trusting heart and peace of mind from me.

You came-I knew not whence you came-we met-'twas in the dance-
There was honey in each word of yours, and glamour in each glance,
Though many were around me then, I nothing saw but him
Before whose brow of starry sheen fresh-fallen snow were dim.

You're gone! - it was a weary night we parted at the burn;
You swore by all the stars above, that you would soon return;
That you would soon return, light love! and I your bride should be,
But backward will the burnie roll, ere you come back to me!

They say, that soon a smiling dame of lineage like to thine,
Will take thee by the fickle hand, thy falsehood placed in mine;
The music and the rose-red wine to greet her will appear-
For wedding-song, a sigh I'll have-for bridal-pledge, a tear.

O would that thou had'st pass'd me by, in coldness or in pride!
Nor wrought this deadly wrong to her, who on thy truth relied:
The hunter's to the greenwood gone, his spear is in its rest,
But he'll not wound the trusting dove, that shelters in his breast.

=======WILLIAM KENNEDY.





THE FLITTIN' O' THE COW.

AIR - "_Tak' your auld Cloak about ye._"

In summer when the fields were green,
=An' heather bells bloom'd ower the lea,
An' hawthorns lout their leafy screen,
=A fragrant bield for bird an' bee;
Our Hawkie in the clover field
=Was chewin' her cud wi' gratefu' mou',
An' our gudewife, wi' eidant hand,
=Had just been out to flit the cow.

O, our gudeman's a leal gudeman
=But nane maun dare to say him na;
There's nae a laird in a' the lan'
=Wi' higher hand mainteens the law.
Though he be poor he's unco proud,
=An' aye maun be obey'd at hame;
An' there, when he's in angry mood,
=Wha conters him may rue the same.

"Gae flit the cow!" says our gudeman-
=Wi' ready tongue the dame replies,
"Gudeman, it is already dune"-
="Gae flit the cow!" again he cries,
"My will ye'll do wi' hand an' heart,
=If ye're a wife baith kind an' true;
Obedience is the woman's part-
=Make haste, gudewife, an' flit the cow!"

"Gudeman, ye're surely clean gane gyte,
=The cow's already flittit been;
To see you fume an' hear you flyte,
=I fairlie meikle what ye mean.
What need to gang an' do again
=The thing that I hae dune e'en now?
What idle tantrum's this ye've ta'en?"
="I say, gudewife, gae flit the cow!"

"Gudeman, when we were lad an' lass,
=Your tongue was like a honey kaim;
An' aye ye vowed ye'd ne'er prove fause,
=But kythe like ony lamb at hame:
But now ye look sae dark an' doure,
=Wi' angry e'e an' crabbit mou',
Ye gar me aften rue the hour"-
="I say, gudewife, gae flit the cow!"

Syne he began to loup an' ban,
=When out the wife flew in a huff-
"Come back! come back!" cries our gudeman-
="Come back! obedience is enough!!
My sovereign will ye maun obey,
=When my commands are laid on you;
Obedient, baith by night an' day,
=An' ready aye to "_flit the cow!_"

=======ALEXR. SMART, Edinburgh.





JOSEPH TUCK.

I'M Joseph Tuck, the tailor's son,
=A poor but honest blade, sirs,
And for these five-and-twenty years,
=A roving life I've led, sirs;
But as I mean to settle here,-
=I'se tell you what my trade is,-
I'm barber, blacksmith, parish clerk,
=Man-midwife to the ladies.
====Bow, wow, wow, ri tum te edi.

I learn the bloods the way to box,-
=I show them how to fence, sirs,-
I teach the girls the way to coax,
=And also how to dance, sirs.
I'm skilled in every Highland Reel,
=Strathspey, and Irish Jig, sirs,-
And I can shave a parson's beard,
=And curl a lady's wig, sirs,
====Bow, wow, wow, &c.

My shop is stock'd with London toys,-
=Guns, wooden swords, and dolls, sirs,
Red herrings, treacle, blacking balls,-
=Sweet gingerbread and coals, sirs.
I sell all sorts of ladies' ware,-
=Rings, parasols, and muffs, sirs,
I also deal in sausages,
=And other garden stuffs, sirs.
====Bow, wow, wow, &c.

I keep all kinds of liquors, too-
=Rum, brandy, ale, and porter,
I light the lamps the whole year through.
=Or take them by the quarter.
I dress all kinds of leather, too,
And linens, fine or coarse, sirs,
I keep a school for singing psalms,
=And tools for shoeing horse, sirs.
====Bow, wow, wow, &c.

All kinds of sweetmeats, too, I sell,-
=Soap, sugar, salt, and spice, sirs,
Potatoes, spunks, and periwigs,-
=And traps for catching mice, sirs.
Ching's patent lozenges I sell,-
=And Godfrey's cordial roots, sirs,
I also both can make and mend
=All kinds of shoes and boots, sirs.
====Bow, wow, wow, &c.

I also have on hand for sale,
=All sorts of weaving ware, sirs,
Wheel-barrows, picks, and pouckin' pins,
=And cheeses made in Ayr, sirs
All kinds of cobbler's tools I keep,
=Umbrellas, brogues, and awls, sirs,
Flay'd pigeons, speldings, bacon hams.
=And imitation shawls, sirs.
====Bow, wow, wow, &c.

Thus I have given you in full,
=A statement of my ware, sirs,
My rings and ruffs-my dolls and muffs-
=My leather and my hair, sirs.
But not to wear your patience out,
=I here will make a stop, sirs,
And only hope you'll take the hint,
=And purchase at my shop, sirs.
====Bow, wow, wow, &c.





THE WIDOW'S WONDERS.

"O LEEZIE but I'm wae for you, nae wonder that ye mane,
Whaur will we fin' the like o' him that noo is dead and gane?
The picture o' guid nature, aye sae hearty and sae kin',
Nae wonder whan ye think on him your wits ye're like to tine."

"O Janet, Janet, say nae mair about him, honest man,
I canna weel forget him, though I do the best I can;
He was a kin', kin' man to me, and when I see the wreck
O' a' my peace and happiness, my heart is like to break.

I was an orphan lassie left, and hadna mony freens,
And Janet, lass, I mind it weel when I wee in my teens,
I didna think without a man that I my life would dree,
But aft I wonder't to mysel' wha's lassie I wad be.

At Lanrick fair, I met wi' Pate, and few were like him then,
He had an unco takin' way-he was the waul o' men,
And on that day, whan he and I, did hauns thegither join-
I wonder't, if there was on yirth, a happier lot than mine.

But wark grew scarce, and markets dear, and trouble on us cam',
And Pate turn'd ill that vera day that I lay in o' Tam,
I guided Pate, and mony a nicht as by his bed I sat,
I wonder't hoo we could come through, an' burstit out and grat.

Tam wither't like a sickly flower that frae its stalk does fa';
And in a twalmonth after that, puir Pate was ta'en awa;
And as I laid him in his kist, and closed his glazed e'e,
I wonder't if the yirth contain'd a lanelier thing than me.

Noo I'm a waefu' widow left, a' nicht I sich and grane,
And aften in my musin' moods when sitting here my lane
There's ae thing, I'll confess to you, 'bout whilk I'm sair perplext,-
I aften wonder Janet, now - wha's lassie I'll be next.

=======WILLIAM FINLAY, Paisley.





THE EWE MILKER'S SONG.

=OH! what is peace?
'Tis the bleat of the lamb as it plays on the mountain;
'Tis the sound of the stream as it falls from the fountain;
'Tis the soft evening breeze as it stirs among the trees,
And wakes the voice of melody to soothe and to please.
=Oh! this is peace.

=Oh! what is fair?
'Tis the dew-laden primrose that droops her fair form;
'Tis the harebell that glistens tho' dashed with the storm;
'Tis Cynthia's pale car; 'tie the mild evening star,
That spies the fond lovers, and gladdens from far.
=Oh' this fair.

=But what is love?
'Tis the cry of the cushat as it coos in the dale;
'Tis the voice of my Colin as he sings in the vale:
'Tis the thick beating sigh: 'tis the fair melting eye,
That moistens with fondness when Colin is nigh.
=Oh! this is love.

=======WILLIAM NICHOL.





COME AFF WI' YOUR BONNETS, HUZZA! HUZZA!

COME aff wi' your bonnets, huzza! huzza!
The Provost is comin', huzza! huzza!
The bailies an' beddles, wi hammers an' treddles,
An' lingles, an' barrels, an' a', an' a'.
=Gif in Embro' our dwelling ye saw, ye saw,
=Wi' our ain provost's name on the ca', the ca',

An' a' that accords, ye wad tak' us for lords,
An' let them wha win, just laugh awa, awa.
=Come aff wi' your bonnets, &c.

We'll hing up our signs in a raw, a raw,
Mak' flunkies o' saulies sae braw, sae braw;
Wi' gowd an' wi' green, how we'll dazzle folk's e'en,
An' let Glasgow aye flourish awa, awa.
=Come aff wi' your bonnets, &c.

When to Majesty down we maun fa', maun fa',
Ilk bailie sae gaucie an' braw, an' braw,
We canna weel guess how great George can do less,
Than to mak' bits o' Knichts o' us a', us a'.

Come aff wi' your bonnets, huzza! huzza!
The provost is comin', huzza! huzza!
The bailies an' beddles, wi' hammers an' treddles,
An' lingles, an' barrels, an' a', an' a'.





BESSY'S WOOING.

TUNE - "_The hills o' Glenorchy._"

O GUESS ye wha's gane a becking an' bowing,
Guess ye wha's gane a billing an' cooing,
Guess ye wha's gane a coaxing and wooing,
=To bonnie young Bessy the flower o' the Glen.

Auld Souter Rabby, that dresses sae brawly;
Auld Barber Watty, sae smirky an' waly;
Auld Elder Johnnie, sae meek an' sae haly-
=Hae a' gane a-wooing to Bess o' the Glen.

Fat Deacon Sandy the heigh Council nabby;
Wee Tailor Davie, sae glibby an gabby;
Dominie Joseph, sae thread-bare an' shabby-
=Hae a' gane a-wooing to Bess o' the Glen.

Big Mason Andrew, sae heavily fisted;
Jock Gude-for-naething, wha three times had listed;
Lang Miller Geordie, wi' meal a' bedusted-
=Hae a' gane a-wooing to Bess o' the Glen.

Gleed Cooper Cuddy, a' girded fu' tightly,
Red-nosed Sawyer Will, wi' his beak shining brightly;
The tree-leggit Pensioner, marching fu' lightly-
=Hae a' gane a-wooing to Bess o' the Glen.

They're sighing an' sabbing, they're vowing an' swearing,
They're challenging, duelling, boxing, on' tearing;
While Bess, pawky jaud, is aye smirking an' jeering-
=There ne'er was a gillflirt like Bess o' the Glen.

But a young Highland drover cam' here wi' some cattle;
Gat fou, an' swore Gaelic-gat fierce, an' gae battle;
An' a' the hale pack did he lustily rattle-
=Hech! was nae that fun to young Bess o' the Glen?

His braid manly shouthers, caught Bessy's black eye;
Her heart gae a stound, an' her breast gae a sigh;
An' now the bauld Drover's gien owre driving kye-
=For troth he's baith Laird o' young Bess an' the Glen.

=======JAMES BALLANTINE, Edinburgh.





BETSY BAWN.

TUNE - "_Blythe, blythe are we._"

I LITTLE reck't that restless love,
=Wad ere disturb my peace again:
I little reck't my heart would prove,
=A victim 'neath his galling chain.
I've bribed him o'er and o'er again,
=And mony a plack, I ween, hae drawn,
But a' in vain, I pine in pain
For crookit-backit Betsy Bawn.

You've heard o' cheeks o' rosy hue-
=O' breath sweet as the bud's perfume;
Ye've beard o' e'en whilk dang the dew
=For brightness, on the lily's bloom;
Ye've heard o' waist sae jimp and sma'-
=Whilk ye nae doubt would like to span;
Far other charms, my fancy warms-
=Red goud's my terms wi' Betsy Bawn.

Right sad's the weary wanderer's fate,
=When roond him roars the tempest's din,
When howling mastiff at ilk gate,
=Keeps a' without, and a' within.
I wot! a harder fate they dree,
=Wha' maun at drouthy distance stan'
Wi' langin e'e, yet daurna pree
=The barley-bree o' Betsy Bawn.

Sweet love, ye work us meikls ill-
=Far mair than we daur sing or say;
And weel ye ken had I my will,
=An hour wi' me ye doughtna stay.
Yet for the sake o' auld langsyne,
=I'll yet forgie ye-there's my han',
Gif wi' ane dart, ye pierce her heart-
=The flinty part o' Betsy Bawn.

Daft Beauty, swears her e'en's like deil's
=Her humphy back, is sax times bow't;
Her wither'd limbs, like twa auld eels-
=Are roun' and roun', ilk ither row't.
Let love be cross'd wi' spit and host,
=A parchment skin, a horny han';
Her purse is clad, sae I maun wed-
=And eke maun bed wi' Betsy Bawn.

=======ALEX. MACLAGGAN, Edinburgh.





THE SEA!  THE SEA!

A PARODY.

=THE Sea! the Sea! Oh me! of me!
The pail-be quick!  I quail-I'm sick,-
=I'm sick as I can be:
I cannot sit, I cannot stand;
I prithee, steward, lend a hand;
=To my cabin I'll go,-to my berth will I hie,
=And like a cradled infant lie.
I'm on the Sea-I'm on the Sea!
I am where I would never be;
=With the smoke above, and the steam below,
=And sickness wheresoe'er I go:
If a storm should come no matter, I wot;
To the bottom I'd go-as soon as not.

=I love, oh! how I love to ride
In a neat post chaise, with a couple of bays,
=And a pretty girl by my side:
But, oh! to swing amidst fire and foam,
And be steam'd like a mealy potato at home:
=And to feel that no soul cares more for your wo,
=Than the paddles that clatter as onward they go,
The ocean's wave I ne'er moved o'er,
But I loved my donkey more and more,
=And homeward flew to her bony back,
=Like a truant boy or a sandman's sack;
And a mother she was, and is, to me;
For I was - an ass - to go to sea!

=The fields were green, and blue the morn,
And still as a mouse the little house
=Where I - where I was born;
And my father whistled, my mother smiled,
While my donkey bray'd in accents mild:
=Nor ever was heard such an outcry of joy
=As welcomed to life the beautiful boy.
I have lived, since then, in calm and strife,
With my peaceable donkey and termagant wife;
=With a spur for the one, and a whip for the other;
=Yet ne'er have wish'd to change with another:
And a proverb of old will apply to me-
"Who is born to be hang'd will not die in the sea!"





THE SAILOR'S REST.

=WHY search the deep
=For those who sleep
Beneath its heaving billow?
=Is that blue sea
=New raging free
A more ignoble pillow,
=Than their's who die
=On shore-and lie
Where the green turf is spread!
=Away! away!
=Let the Sleeper lay-
His-is a noble bed!-

=There let him rest
=His weary breast,
Upon the lonely wave,
=Whose glittering crest
=The sunny west
Hath made a golden grave.-
=Upon the sea
=He will not be
The banquet of the worm;
=But food for things
=With snow-white wings
That sport amid the storm

=He was not one
=Who looked upon
The consecrated grave-
=As better spot
=Wherein to rot
Than on the deep sea wave.
=His lot was cast
=To brave the blast
Through life-and now laid low,
=Methinks his rest
=Would be unblest
Where the tempest cannot blow.

=O! let his tomb
=Be where his home
Was ever in his life-
=Amid the wrath
=Of Ocean's path,
And the wild surge's strife-
=The winds will be
=Sweet melody
Unto his spirit near:
=For their's was long
=The only song
The Sailor cared to hear.

=======JOHN CROSS BUCHANAN.





THE HAPPY MEETING.

AIR - "_Guardian angels._"

Have you hail'd the glowing morning,
=When the son first gilds the plain?
Or the genial spring returning,
=After winter's dreary reign?
=Then conceive, to me how dear
=When my Anna-faithful, fair,
=After years of lonely pain,
Bless'd my fond eyes-my arms again.

Every charm more finely heighten'd,
=Fix'd my raptured, wondering eyes!
Every grace divinely brighten'd,
=Held my soul in sweet surprise;
=O! I could have gazed my last,
=On her bosom heaving fast-
=Met her eyes benignly bright,
With ever growing new delight.

Who'd not bear a separation
=Thus again to fondly meet,
And to find no alteration,
=Save the heart's more ardent heat;
=Thus, the some soft hand to grasp,
=Thus the same fair form to clasp,
=Thus the same warm lips to kiss-
O, say, can Heaven give more than this?

=======ALEXANDER RODGER.





O THINK IT NOT STRANGE.

O THINK it not strange that my soul is shaken,
=By every note of thy simple song;
These tears, like a summoning spell, awaken
=The shades of feelings, that slumber'd long.
There's a hawthorn tree, near a low-roof'd dwelling;
=A meadow green, and a river clear;
A bird, that its summer-eve tale is telling;
=And a form unforgotten-they all are here.

They are here, with dark recollections laden,
=From a sylvan scene o'er the weary sea;
They speak of the time when I parted that maiden,
=By the spreading boughs of the hawthorn tree.
We sever'd in wrath-to her low-roof'd dwelling,
=She turn'd with a step which betray'd her pain-
She knew not the love that was fast dispelling
=The gloom of his pride, who was her's in vain.

We met never more-and her faith was plighted,
=To one who could not her value know;
The curse that still clings to affections blighted,
=Tinctured her life's cup with deepest wo.
And these are the thoughts which thy tones awaken,
=The shades of feelings that slumber'd long-
Then think it not strange, that my soul is shaken
=By every note of that simple song.

=======W. KENNEDY.





COME TO THE BANKS OF CLYDE.

AIR - "_March to the battle field._"

COME to the Banks of Clyde,
=Where health and joy invite us;
Spring, now, in virgin pride,
=There waiteth to delight us:
=Enrobed in green, she smiles serene-
==Each eye enraptured views her;
=A brighter dye o'erspreads her sky,
==And every creature woos her.
Come to the Banks of Clyde,
=Where health and joy invite us;
Spring, now, in virgin pride,
=There waiteth to delight us.

Mark! how the verdant lea,
=With daisies she is strewing;
Hark! now, on every tree,
=The birds their mates are wooing:
=Love wakes the notes that swell their throats,
==Love makes their plumage brighter;
=Old Father Clyde, in all his pride,
==Ne'er witness'd bosoms lighter;
Mark! how the verdant lea,
=With daisies she is strewing;
Hark! how, on every tree,
=The birds their mates are wooing.

=======ALEX. RODGER.





WHAT THE BODY WANTED WI' ME.

A CARL cam' to our town,
=Whan little we war thinkin',
Wi' a rung out ow're his riggin',
=Like a pedlar cam he linken'.
As he hanker'd at the ha' door,
=Sic pauky blinks he gae me,-
That I wonder'd in my mind,
=What the body wanted wi' me.

He said he was a lairdie,
=O' riggs and roughness plenty,
His stack-yard, and his stable stow'd
=Wi' corn and couts fu' dainty;
And for a "serie something,"
=Had he wauchled wast to see me-
Still I wonder'd in my mind,
=What the body wanted wi' me.

He took me by the hand so shy,
=And fain wad stoun a prievin,
But I started like a stunkart quey,
=To see him sae behavin':
"Be kind," quo he, "my lassie leel,
=Nor be sae fain to flee me;"
Syne I hanker'd in my mind,
=What the body wanted wi' me.

I bade the cadgie carl devawl,
=And aye his aim was speerin';
"I'll tarry nane to tell," quoth he,
="The ettle o' my eeran:
I'm coothly some your luve to win-
=Frae dool and doubting free me;"
And sighing said-"the bridal bed"
=Was what he wanted wi' me.

When youth and beauty were my boast,
=I then had lovers plenty,
But sair I've rued my scorn sinsyne,
=When offers turn'd but scanty:
I laid a laithfu' loof in his-
=But fain the foul was o' me,
Death left me lady of his lan',
=Before a towmond wi' me.

Now back comes beauty wi' a bang-
=For walth the wrinkle covers;
As ance mysel', my siller now,
=Has charms, and choice o' lovers;
But let them gang the gate they cam,
=Their flattering winna fee me;
I'll hugg my hoard, an' beet my banes,
=Wi' what they're wantin' wi me.

=======G. MACINDOE.





JOCK, RAB, AND TAM;

OR, NATURAL REQUISITES FOR THE LEARNED PROFESSIONS.

"On what'll we do wi' Jock, gudeman?
=It's like he'll ne'er do weel-
He's aye at the head of a' mischief,
=And just as cunnin's the Deil."
"Ah! hech! he'll yet be a man, gudewife,
=O' whilk we'll baith be proud-
We'll gie the callan a while o' the schule,
=An' he'll be a lawyer gude!"

"An' what'll we do wi' Rab, gudeman-
=An' how will he win his bread?
To plow and saw, to shear and maw,
=He hasna hands nor head!"
"Ah! hech! he'll yet be a man, gudewife,
=O' whilk we'll baith be proud-
We'll gie the callan a while o' the schule,
=An' he'll be a doctor gude!"

"But what'll we do wi' Tam, gudeman,
=It dings me maist of a'!
A gapin', glourin', witless coof,
=He's gude for nocht ava'!"
Ah! hech! he'll yet be a man, gudewife,
=O' whilk we'll baith be proud-
We'll gie the callan a while o' the schule,
=An' he'll be a minister gude!"

=======ALEX. LAING, Brechin.





THE LAKE IS AT REST.

AIR - "_Angel's whisper._"

=THE lake is at rest, love,
=The sun's on its breast, love;
How bright is its water, how pleasant to see!
=Its verdant banks showing
=The richest flow'rs blowing-
A picture of bliss, and an emblem of thee:

=Then oh! fairest maiden,
=When earth is array'd in
The beauties of heaven, o'er mountain and lea;
=Let me still delight in
=The glories that brighten,
For they are, dear Anna, sweet emblems of thee.

=But, Anna! why redden?
=I would not, fair maiden,
My tongue could pronounce what might tend to betray
=The traitor; the demon
=Who could deceive woman,
His soul's all unfit for the glories of day:

=Believe me then, fairest,
=To me thou art dearest;
And the' I in raptures view lake, stream, and tree-
=With flow'r-blooming mountains,
=And crystaline fountains,
I view them, fair maid, but as emblems of thee.





STREET ORATORY.

AIR - "_Bartholomew Fair._"

='Tis a most amusing sight,
=For a philosophic wight,
Through the streets of the city to stroll-
=And mark the variation
=Of this mighty population,
As the great tide onward doth roll.

=What a bustle, what a noise,
=What variety of cries,
Every one tries another to out-bawl;
=You would think the Tower of Babel
=Had again let loose its rabble,
Such a clatter ne'er was heard since the Fall.

=What a comical compound,
=And diversity of sound,
From the motely group doth arise,
=From your salt and whit'ning venders,
=Fiddle scrapers, organ grinders,
And your sellers of yard-long shoe ties!

=See yonder crowd collected,
=Every one with ears erected
Around the far-famed Jamie Blue;
=The affair, depend upon't,
=Of the which he gives account,
Is full, and particular, and true!





MEZZO TENORE

"Here you have a full and particular account of the execution of that poor unfortunate man, Saunders Widdie, for robbing the buttrr and potatoe market at Buchty Brae, on the seventeenth day of November last.
"You have an account of his behaviour during the awful period of his confinement - after the fatal judgement was pronounced, tillt he moment he ascended the scaffold for execution.
"He was attended in his devotions, by the Rev. Mr. Samuel Pouch-the-penny, incumbent of that parish, but melancholy to relate, so little effect had the admonitions of the pious clergyman on the unfortunate culprit, that he carried with him to the fatal drop, a pund o' butter in ae hand, an' a potatoe in the other - ay, an' he threw the potatoe wi' sic a birr, that it knockit doun an auld wiffie at the fit o' the gallows."

=Blind Aleck next appears,
=Whose head for many years,
A hot-bed of poesie has been:
=With his violin in hand,
He now takes up his stand,
And thus his harangue doth begin:-

AIR- "_John Anderson my Joe._"

"I'm the author of every word I sing,
And that you may very well see,
The music alone excepted,
But just of the poetree."

'Ladies and gentlemen! - Any of you that has a friend in the army - just give me their christian name, and the regiment to which they are attached, and I'll make you a song as fast as my tongue can repeat it."  (_From the crowd_) - "Well, Aleck, try your powers on the Glasgow Volunteers, Colonels Hunter and Geddes, and Major Paterson."  (_Symphony_)-fierce dash or two of the bow.


RECITATIVE-STACATTO.

"For they're the men I do declare,
I mean the Royal Lanarkshire Volunteers"

AIR-"_O'er Bogie._"

"The first comes Colonel Hunter,
=In a kilt see he goes,
Every inch is a man
=From the top to the toes:-

He is the loyal Editor,
=Of the Herald news-pa-per-
And no man at the punch bowl,
=The punch can better stir.

Like the fiery god of war,
=Colonel Geddes does advance,
On a black horse, that belonged
=To the murdered King of France.

And then comes Major Paterson,
=You'll say he's rather slim;
But 'twill take a clever ball,
=For to hit the like of him.

(_Violin_.) Tee ramp di damp, tee ramp di damp,
=Tee ramp di damp ti dee;
Tee diddledam fiddledam riddledam,
=Liddledam, tiddledam fiddle-de-dee.'


=Thus ends Blind Aleck's song,
=And from the list'ning throng,
A burst of applause is heard:
=And the charitable section,
=Of the crowd make a collection,
For the comfort of the poor blind bard.

=So the comedy goes on,
=And the characters each one,
Have their parts made exactly to fit,
=But who, ye powers of mirth,
=From the canvass next steps forth?
Tis Hawkie - the orator and wit.

CROAKING BARRITONE (_Anglice_ - Barrowstone) OF VOICE.

"A-hey! bide a wee, bodies, and dinna hurry awa hame, till ye hear what I hae gotten to tell yel do you think that I cam' out at this time o' nicht to cry to the stane wa's o' the Brig-gate for naething, or for onything else than for the public guid? - wearing my constitution down to rags, like the claes on my carcase, without even seeking a pension frae her Majesty; though mony a poor beggar wi' a star o'er his breast, has gotten ane for far less."
(_Voice from the crowd_) - "Hawkie, ye should hae been sent to parliament, to croak ther elike some ither parliamentary pudocks till your throat were cleared."  (_Reply_) - "Tak aff your hat when ye speak to a gentleman - it's no the fashion in this kintra to put hats on cabbage stocks - a haggis would loup its lane for fricht afore ye - ye'll be a king whare a horn-spoon is the emblem of authority!"  (_Resumes_) - "Here ye hae the history of a notorious beggar, the full and particular account of his birth and parentage - at least on the mither's side."
"This heir to the wallets, was born in the byre of a kintra farmer, an' just in the crib afore the kye, and was welcomed to the world by the nose of honest hawkie."  (_Answer_) - "Whatna kail yard cam' ye out o'? that's your brither aside ye, is't?  you're a seemly pair, as teh cow said to her cloots."  (_Countinues_) - "It ne'er could be precisely ascertained the hour o' this beggar's birth, thought the parish record hae been riddled to get at the fact.  I maun also tell ye, for I dinna like to impose on my customers, that there is great doubt about the day o' the month, an' even about the month itsel'; but that he was born, hasna been disputed, though it might hae been, if we hadna an account o' his life and death, convince the gainsayers.  As to whether he was a seven months ' bairn, or a nine months' bairn - the houdie has gi'en nae ither deliverance, than that he was his father's bairn, and what her profession required her to do; but the public voice is strongly inclined to favour the opinion, that he cam hame at full time, as he arrived sooner at the years o' discretion than usual; an' if ye dinna ken the period when a beggar's bairn comes to his estate duly qualified I'll tel you - its' when he ceases to distinguish between ither folk's property and his ain."  (_From the crowd_) - "What a poor stock ye maun hae; ye hae been yelling about that beggar, till the story is as bare as your ain elbown.'  (_Retort_) - "Heeh, man, but you're witty - wehen ye set out on the tramp, dinna come to me for a certificate, for I really cou'dna recommend ye, ye havena brains for a beggar, and our funds are no in a condition to gi'e ony pensions the now."  (_Continued_) - "Ye hae an account o' the education, which he received riding across the meal pock; and the lair that he learn't aff the loofs o' his mither, which was a' the school craft he e'er received :- but sic a proficient did he himsel' grow in loof lair, that like a' weel trained bairns, he tried his hands on the haffits of his auld mither in turn, and gied her sic thunderin' lessons, that she gied up her breath and business in beggin, at the same time, to her hopeful son and successor."  (_Voice from the crowd_) - "Ye should hae keepit a school amang beggars, and micht hae taen your stilt for the taws."  (_Retort_) - "Oh man, I would like ither materials to work wi' than the like o' you; it's ill to bring out what's no in; a leech would as soon tak' blood out o' my stilt, as bring ony mair out o' you than the spoon put in."  (_Resumes_) - "Ye hae an account of his progress in life, after he bagan business on his ain account, and what a skilful tradesman he turn'd out - he could 'lay on the cadge' better than ony walleteer that e'er coost a pock o'er his shouther."
"Ye hae an account o' his last illness and death - for beggars dis as weel as ither folk, though seldom through a surfeit; ye hae also a copy of his last Will and Testament, bequeathin his fortune to be drunk at his dredgy - the best action he ever did in his life, and which maks his memory a standing toast at a' beggars' carousals - whan they hae ony thing to drink it wi'; and really, you'll allow me to remark, if we had twa or three mae public-spirited beggars in our day, that would do the like, the trade might ye be preseved in the country - for it has been threatening to leave us in baith Scotland and England, in consqeuence of the opening up of the trade wi' ireland; and the prices hae been broken ever since: we hae a' this to contend wi' to preserve the pocks frae perishin, for the sake o' our children."  (_Voice from the crowd_) - "Och, Willie, is it your own self that I'm hearin' this morning? and how did ye get home last night, after drinking till the daylight wakened ye? troth ye did not know your own crutch from a cow's tail."  (_Retort_) - "Oh man, Paddie, it's naething new to me to be drunk, but it's a great rarity to you - no for want o' will, but the bawbees.  What way cam' ye here, Paddie? for ye had naething to pay for your passage; and your claes are no worth the thread and buttons that hand them thegither; - gin I had a crown for every road that your trotters could het into your trowsers by, it would be a fortune to me."  "Take me over said you, to your ould croak-in-the-bog; - I wish I had my body across agin, out of this starvation could country, for there's nothing but earth and stones for a poor man to feed on; and in my own coutnry, I'll have the potatoe for the lifting."  "Heeh, man, - but the police keeps ye in order - and ye thought when ye cam' o'er, to live by lifting? man! aff wi' ye to your bogs - there's nae place like hame for ye, as the Deil said when he found himsel in the Court o' Session."
"Ye hae an account o' this beggar's burial and his dredgy."  (_Boy's voice from the crowd_) - "Wat ye there Hawkie? surely - if the stilt could haud ye up!"  "Och, sirs, are ye out already - you're afore your time - you should hae stald a wee langer in the nest till ye had gotten the feathers on ye, and then ye would hae been a goose worth the looking at."  (_Continues_) - "Sic a dredgy as this beggar had wad mak' our Lords o' Session lick their lips to hear tell o' - thae gentry come down amang us like as mony pouther-monkeys - with their heads dipped in flour pocks, to gie them the appearance o' what neither the school, or experience in the world could teach them; - gin hangie would gie them a dip through his trap-door, and ding the dust aff their wigs - there's no a beggar frae John O'Groats's to the Mull o' Galloway, that wadna gie his stilts to help to mak' a bonfire on the occassion."
"Ye hae the order o' the procession at te burial - it's the rank in the profession that entitles to tak' precedence at a beggar's burial - ye never hear tell o' blood relations claiming their right to be nearest the beggar's banes; we'll be thinking the world is on its last legs, and like to throw add its wallets too, when sic an event occurs.
(_Interrupted_) - "Your stilt would, nae doubt, be stumpin' at the head o' them a'."  (_Reply_) - "Stan' aside, lads, I'm just wantin' to see if he has cloots on his trotters, for horns are sae common, now-a-days, amang the gentry o' the blood, whar we should look for an example; that they hae ceased to distinguish the class that nature intended them for."  (_Goes on_) - "First in order was Tinklers, the beggars' cavalry, wha being in constant consultation with the gentry of the lang lugs, hae some pretensions to wisdom; next Swindlers, wha mak the best bargains they can wi' their customers, without pretendin' to hae ony authority for doin't - no like our black coats, wha can only get authority on ae side, to gang to a scene of mair extensive usefulness, whar the preaching pays better - our brethren of the pock a' follow this example; they never stay lang whar there's naething either to get or to tak', - but I'm forgetting mysel; - at their heels was Pickpockets, wha just tak the hangman's belter wi' them, and gang the length o' their tether - for hangie aye keeps the hank in his ain hand.  Next, Chaindrappers - the jewellers in the camp, wha are ready to seel cheap, or half the profits wi' every body they meet, and wha are like mony o' our public instructors - aye get mair than they gie - then Prick-the-loops, wha are sae familier wi' the hangman's loop, that they've turned the idea into business, and set up wi' their garter - which they can easily spare, as they hae seldom ony stockings to tie on wi't: by this simple expedient, they make large profits on sma' capital:  Next, Chartered-beggars or Blue-gowns - wha get a license frae the authorities to cheat and lie over the whole country.  Next, the hale clanjamfrey o' Vagrants - for they're a' but beggars bairns the best o' them - Randies, Thieves, Big-beggars and Wee-beggars, Bane-gatherers and Rowley-powleys - Criers o' Hanging speeches - wha, generally, should hae been the subject o' their ain story - some wi' weans, but a wi' wallets, broken backs, half arms, and nae arms: some only wi' half an e'e' - ithers wi' mae e'en than nature gied them - and that is an e'e after every thing that they can mak their ain; snub-noses, cock-noses, slit-noses, and half-noses; Roman noses, lang noses - some o' them like a chuckie-stane, ithers like a jarganell pear; hawk-noses and goose-noses; and mind ye, I dinna find fault with the last kind, for nature does naething in vain, and put it there to suit the head: but whatever the size and description o' the neb, they could a' tak' their pick; for the hale concern, man and mither's son, had mouths, and what teeth were wanting, the defect was mair than make up by desperate willin' gums."
"Some were lame, though their limbs were like ither folks; there are mae stilts made than lame folk, for I maun tell ye some gang a-begging and forget their stilts, and hae to gang back for them, afore they can come ony speed; ithers had nae legs to be lame wi'; a few like mysel' had only ae guid ane, like the goose in a frosty morning, but maede up the loss by the beggar's locomotive, a stilt, which a poor goose canna handle wi' advantage."
The rear o' this pock procession, was closed by band o' sweeps, wha are ready for a' handlings, whar there's onything to do for the teeth, an' they hae the advantage o' us, for they're aye in Court-dress, and like honest Colly, dinna need to change their claes.
"In the hame-coming there was a scramble, wha should be sonnest at the feast, and a quarrel, an' you'll maybe be suprised that there wsa but ae quarrel, but I maun tell you, that they were a' engaged in't, and maist o' them, kenta what they were getting their croons cloored for, but just to be neighbur-like.  The cracking o' stilts, the yelly-hooings o' wives and weans, and the clatter o' tinkler's wives, wad hae ca'm'd the sea in the Bay of Biscay - do ye ken the distance at which a beggar fights his duel? - it's just stilt-length, or nearer, if his enemy is no sae weel armed as himsel'."
"Ye hae a return o' the killed and wounded - for Blind Fiddlers with their noses broken - four Tinkler's wives with teir tongues split, and if they had keepit them within their teeth, as a' wives' tongue should be, they would have been sage - there's nae souder or salve that can cure an ill tongue - five Croons crackit on the Outside - sixteen torn Lugs - four-and-twenty Noses laid down - four Left Hands with the thumb bitten aff - then Mouths made mill doors o' - four disen Stilts wanting the shouther piece - twenty made down for the use of the family, in ither words, broken in twa; an' they're usefu', for we have a' sizes o' beggars.  After a' this, the grand dredgy, but I havena time to tell you about it the night; but ye see what handlings beggars would hae if the public would be liberal."
"Buy this book, if ye hae nae bawbee I'll len' ye, for I'm no earing about siller.  I hae perish'd the pack already, an' I am gaun to tak' my Stilt the morn's morning, and let the Creditors tak what they can get.'

=This is the end of all,
=High and low, great and small;
This finishes the poor vain show,
=And the King, with all his pride,
=In his life-time deified-
With the beggar is at last laid low.





MINISTER TAM!

OH! ken ye his reverence, Minister Tam?
OH! ken ye his reverence, Minister Tam?
Wi' a head like a hog, an' a look like a ram-
An' these are the marks o' Minister Tam.

Oh! Minister Tam's mistaen his trade-
The parish beadle he should hae been made;
The kintra clash i' the manse to tell,
To summon the Session, an' ring the bell!

He's gotten a kirk, but he's preach'd it toom;
He ca's, examines, but nane will come;
His elder bodies they daurna speak-
He's makin' an' breakin' them ilka week!

There's aye some will-o'-the-wisp in his pow,
That keeps the country side in a lowe;
There'll never be peace, an' that ye'll hear tell,
Till he hang as heigh as the parish bell!

=======ALEX. LAING, Brechin.





BRIGHTLY IS THE STREAMLET FLOWING.

AIR - " _Merrily every bosom boundeth._"

BRIGHTLY is the streamlet flowing,
=Brightly oh! brightly oh!
To its mother ocean going
=Brightly oh! brightly oh!
O'er its current, rapid, dancing,
Stately oaks their arms advancing,
Are the lovely scene enhancing
=Brightly oh! brightly oh!

Haste, then, streamlet to the ocean
=Sweetly oh! sweetly oh!
Kiss thy mother in devotion
=Sweetly oh! sweetly oh!
But no ray comes to illumine
My poor heart in grief consuming,
Tho' the flow'ry banks be blooming
=Sweetly oh! sweetly oh!

But what sun illumes the bushes
=Radiant oh! radiant oh!
'Tis Matilda's glowing blushes
=Radiant oh! radiant oh!
Run then, streamlet, run, and never
From thy mother ocean sever;
Oh! Matilda's mine for ever,
=Radiant oh! radiant oh!





THE AULD BEGGAR MAN.

TUNE, - "_The Hills o' Glenorchy._"

THE auld cripple beggar cam jumping, jumping,
Hech, how the bodie was stumping, stumping,
His wee wooden leggie was thumping, thumping,
=Saw ye e'er sic a queer auld man?

An' aye he hirchelled, an' hoastit, hoastit,
Aye he stampit his foot an' he boastit,
Ilka woman an' maid he accostit,
=Saw ye e'er sic a hirplin crouse auld man?

The auld wives cam in scores frae the clachan,
The young wives cam rinnin a' gigglin an' laughin,
The bairnies cam toddlin a' jinkin an' daffin,
=An poocket the tails o' the queer auld man.

Out cam the young widows a' blinkin fou meekly,
Out cam the young lasses a' smirkin fou sweetly,
Out cam the auld maidens a' bobbin discreetly,
=An' gat a bit smack frae the queer auld man.

Out cam the big blacksmith a' smeekit an' duddy,
Out cam the fat butcher a' greezy an' bluidy,
Out cam the auld cartwright the wee drunken bodie,
=An' swore they wad slaughter the queer auld man.

Out cam the lang weaver wi' his biggest shuttle,
Out cam the short snab wi' his sharp cutty whittle,
Out cam the young herd wi' a big tatty beetel,
=An' swore they wad batter the queer auld man.

The beggar he cuist aff his wee wooden peg,
An' he show'd them a brawny sturdy leg,
I wat but the carle was strappin an' gleg,
=Saw ye e'er sic a brisk auld man?

He thumpit the blacksmith hame to his wife,
He dumpit the butcher, who ran for his life,
He chased the wee wright wi' the butcher's sharp knife,
=Saw ye e'er sic a brave auld man?

He puff'd on the weaver, he ran to his loom,
He shankit the snab hame to cobble his shoon,
He skelpit the herd on his bog-reed to croon,
=Saw ye e'er sic a strong auld man?

The wives o' the town then a' gather'd about him,
An' loudly an' blythly the bairnies did shout him,
They hooted the loons wha had threaten'd to clout him,
=Kenn'd ye e'er sic a lucky auld man?

=======JAMES BALLANTINE, Edinburgh.





COME, A SONG - A GLAD SONG.

COME, a song - a glad song, when each heart with delight,
Like fix'd stars are beaming around us to-night,
When our faith is so steady, our friendship so strong,
Oh! who would not join in a soul-stirring song?

Sing on, happy hearts! if your praises should be
Breathed forth for the land of the brave and the free,
Let the proud echoes swell Scotland's mountains among,
They're the altars of freedom! the highlands of song!

Sing on, happy hearts! and if love be the theme,
Then breathe in glad music the bliss of the dream,
For the ladies, God bless them! who seldom are wrong,
Say "love's sweetest breath is a soul-melting song."

Sing on, merry hearts! and if auld mother wit,
Be the prize you would aim at, the mark you would hit,
Go bathe your glad souls in the blood of the vine,
Till your hearts overflow with the lays o' langsyne.

Song-song was the joy of our boyhood's glad time;
Song-song still shall cheer the proud home of our prime,
And when bent with old age, we go hirpling along,
We'll beat time with our crutch to a merry old song.

Then a song - a glad song, when each heart with delight,
Like fix'd stars are beaming around us to-night,
When our faith is so steady, our friendship so strong,
Oh! who would not join in a soul-stirring song?

=======ALEX MACLAGGAN, Edinburgh.





SIMON BRODIE.

HEARD ye e'er o' our gudeman,
=The gaucy laird o' braid Dunwodie,
The wale o' cocks at cap or can,
=Honest, canty Simon Brodie:
==Auld farren canty bodie,
===Winsome, pranksome, gleesome bodie,
==The crack o' a' the kintra side,
===Is auld canty Simon Brodie.

Simon he's a strappin' chiel,
=For looks wad mell wi' ony body,
In height an ell but an' a span,
=An' twice as braid is Simon Brodie;
==Troth he is a canty bodie,
===An auld farren canty bodie,
==An' tho' his pow's baith thin and grey,
===Ye'd hardly match me Simon Brodie.

Simon Brodie had ane wife,
=I wat she was baith proud and bonny,
He took the dishclout frae the bink,
=And preen't it till her cockernony!
==Wasna she a thrifty bodie,
===The braw, braw lady o' Dunwodie,
==In claes sae fine to dress and dine,
===Wi' sic a laird as Simon Brodie.

An' Simon had a branded cow,
=He tint his cow and couldna find her,
He sought her a' the lee lang day,
=But the cow cam hame wi' her tail ahind her.
==Yet think na him a doited body,
===Think na him a davert body,
==He has walth o' warld's gear,
===Maks men respect auld Simon Brodie.





THE DEACON'S DAY.

AIR - "_Kebbockstane Weddin'._"

O RISE man Robin, an' rin your wa's,
=The sun in the lift is bleezmg brightly,
Put on the best o' your Sunday braws,
=And your gravat tie round your thrapple tichtly:
Then whip on your castor, and haste to the muster,
=The Trades i' the Green has this hour been convenin',
And our wits we man use, a good Deacon to choose;
='Tis a day "big with fate," at your post then be leanin'

Now Robin has risen, and aff he has gane,
=To meet wi' the leaders o' ilk Corporation-
And awa they parade wi' their banners display'd-
=There has ne'er been it's like sin' the Queen's Coronation:
There were Tinklers and Tailors-and Wabsters and Nailers,
=And Barbers and Blacksmiths, and Gardeners sae gaudy;
A' life to the heels, and as gold-looking chiels
=As e'er cam to light by the help o' a howdie.

"Gentlemen, - We hae this day met for the purpose of electing a head to our Master Court.  It is true that new-fangled notions hae taen possession o' men's minds since the date o' our charter, and mair particularly since the date o' our late Magna Cjarta - the Reform Bill; but will ony man possessed o' his seven senses argufy me into the belief, that the Incorporation of Wrights, that I hae, during the currency o' the last twalmonth, been the head o' - or rather, I may say, the centre upon which a' its hinges turned - has not been productive of substantious and manifest advantage to the public in general, and to the craft inparticular.  Noo, Gentlemen, to keep to the square o' my speed - rough and knotty though it be, and micht be a' the better o' a strip frae a jack plans - I like to be special in a' my specialities, and to keep to the dove-tail o' the matter - I therefore, before proceeding to the election, have to request that you will allow me to say a word or twa touching the matter in hand.  Although I am ye the tongue o' the trump, it would nevertheless, and notwithstanding, be unwise, as weel as ill-bred, to tak' up much o' your time at the present moment, seeing how much we have before us this day, independent of what we have to o'ertak', and tak' - o'er, too - the better tak' o' the twa - before bed-time; therefore, I will be exceedingly brief, for I'm beginning to fear that ye'll think me a boring-bit; to use the words of my frien', the late Deacon Convener, I will be 'very whuppy in the matter o' my speech.' - Weel, Gentlemen, we have all heard o' my friend and brother in management o' his ain corporation - Geordy Wriggles, present Deacon of the Incorporation of Weavers.  Our man is nae man of mere thrums, or a piece of veneer manufacture - put the wummle through him, ye wad find the same piece outside and in - nane o' your fley-the-doos, but a man o' means and measures, and who will dress up and keep in thorough repair, a' the building about our Corporation - Wha seconds Deacon Wriggles?"  "Me, Deacon," answers Deacon Snipe the Tailor.  "Weel, lads, I see my friend is carried unamous (at least I'm unamous) by a great majority. - Cheer the Deacon till the kebars shake."

A shout of applause which rent the air,
=Was heard at the grand Master Deacon's election
And awa to his dwelling they now repair,
=That his friends may rejoice in the happy selection.
His comely guidwiffie sprang out in a jiffie,
=And stood at the door in her best every steek on;
Joy danced in her e'en as she welcomed them in
=To dine, and to drink to the health o' the Deacon.

The dinner was tasty, their appetites guid-
=For tradesmen hae stomachs as weel as their betters,
And they syned doun the sappy, substantial food,
=Wi' a capfu' o' yill, and a glass o' strong waters:
Then up raise the auld Deacon, a subject to speak on,
=For which he lamented his powers were not fitting;
But he scarted his lug, gled his wig a bit rug,
=And thus, after hoasting, broke forth to the meeting-

"After what I hae this day spoken is anither place, there's nae occasion again to put the bit through the same bore, or to run the plane o'er a dressed plank, sae I'll gie ye Deacon Convenor Wriggles good health, no forgetting wife and sproots - they'll be a'trees belyve - and may every guid attend him and them; and may he aye be able to keep a guid polish on the face o' our Corporation affairs, and leave them without a screw loose to his successor. - Umbrells to Deacon Wriggles."

The health was drunk aff wi' three times three;
=And the roar and the ruffing a' fairly subsided-
The young Deacon blush'd, and sat fidging a wee,
=For he saw that a speech couldna weel be avoided,
He scarcely, we reckon, for gospel was takin',
=A' that the auld Deacon had said on his merit;
But like a' men in place, he received it with grace,
=Then raise up to his feet, and address'd them in spirit.

"Really, friens, it's out o' the power o' speech or language, whether in print or out o't, to tell ye the feelings o' my heart. - Did ever a bairn o' Willie Wriggles' think to come to such preferment - really if I could speak there's plenty o' room for scope, but my heart is tumbling the wullcat, and I canna trust the tongue in my ain head.  I doubt that I'll no be able to ca's a pirnfu' o' waft into the wab o' my discourse on this occasion, but hae to gather up the ends afore I begin; but ultimately in the end, and in the middle o' the meantime, my gratitude and respect for ye a' will never hae done, for the lasting, premament, and never-ending honor ye hae conferred on me this day.  I expect to learn my duty as I get mair into the marrow o' our Corporation matters - you'll no expect me to be perfited in ae day.  My father used to say to me, "Geordy, my man, keep aye a canny hand - just get on by degrees gradually," whilk I hae aye tried to do; for when I took langer steps than the length o' my limbs would allow, I aye spelder'd mysel' and cam' down to my knees, and lost my time and my standing - forbye being laught at: I ca' canny, and never draw back my shuttle till it is clear o' the selvege - and this preserves my wab o' life free o' cluds and scobs, a'ways even.  I would advise ane an' a' o' ye to do the like, and then the fabric o' your wark in the ways o' the world will be a pattern for ithers; and when your shaft is at the beam-head, you may cut your wab by the thrum-keel, wi' credit to yoursel'.  I hae now gotten to the hill-tap o' my ambition; and to think o' me being advanced to be Deacon o' Deacons, is an honour that's reserved for but few:  It hasna cost me a great strussel either, sic preferment - but this may be fleeching mysel', but I canna help it - ye a' ken it's true; nae doubt the watering-can has been gaun about, an' been gayan often filled sin' I set my e'e on the Deacon's chair, but I hae good my water and corn brawly.  (_Noise int he street._)  Dear me, freens, what's that I hear, the very weans on the street crying - gude day to you, Deacon.  "No, no, Deacon, it's Hawkie crying a hanging speech, or maybe his cure for ill wives."  "Is that a'?  Weel, lads, that wad be better than Solomon's Balm - for wise as he was, he couldna help himsel' when he got his wab misbet - I was saying, was'nt I, that I had stood my corn and water? aye lay in your corn first, and ye'll be the better able to stand a tap dressing - do lie the Kilbarchan calves, drink wi' a rip i' your mouth.  Mony a time, and often, hae I gaen, or was taen, hame, wi' as mony great thochts in my head, working like a croak fu' o' sour dressing, as would sair ony o' our town's ministers to work wi' for a towmond; but when I lifted my e'e neist morning, the warp o' my ideas had lost the lees; - I couldna mak onything o' them; but had ony body been able to put it through a right ravel, they wad hae benefited mankind an' been the very best stroke ever drawn through a reed.  Noo, ultimately in the end - as I am on my last pirn - I may just relate to you for your encouragement, frae what a sma' beginning I hae come to this pinnacle o' honour and prosperity, as ye see this day, so that nane o' ye may be discouraged, although ye begin wi' a wab o' ill yarn; and it's possible you may get up the the ladder o' preferment - yea, e'en to the last step, gin ye pt on your feet steadily, and aye put the richt ane first; this thing and that may gie ye a jundie, but keep a firm grip wi' baith hands o' the ladder rails, and your e'e fixed on the tap, and nae fear.  Weel, after I was done wi' my 'prenticeship - and mony a time my stomach thocht my wizen was sneekit during that time - for what wi' gauze parritch, and muslin kail - ae barley-pile a hale dressing frae the ither, and dancing cureuddie in the pot a-boil - I thocht mony a time my heart wad ne'er been able to send a shot mair through the shed; but I got through, and then tried a bit shop mair through the shed; but I got through, and then tried a bit shop in the Kirk-raw, wi' the house in the ben end, and a bit a garter o' garden ahint; sae on I wrocht as my father adviesd, by degrees gradually, and made a fendin' o't, and bettered my condition; and by-and-bye, I says to my laird - man, could ye no put back the yard dykes a bore, and gie me mair elbow room, for I could yerk my shuttle in at the ae side, and catch't at the ither without stressing mysel'; that's the very words I said to him, but he laughed me aff frae ae Martinams till anither, till as last - for the bit property was only his in name - a burden o' debt that lay on its back, brack down the shouthers o' the laird, and landed it on mine - whilk I could easily bear, for mair has been added till't since, and the shouthers hae stood it a'.  Noo ye see what can be done; - keep Providence aye on ae side o' ye, and a consistent life on the ither - and you'll work your last thrum into the very heddles wi' comfort to yoursel', and leave an example to the youngsters wha are just beginning to put their feet on the treddles."

At length in his chair the Deacon sat down,
=And the sweat for a wee frae his haffite he dichtet;
The glass and the song, and the joke gaed roun'
=Till ilk a ane's wit by his neighbour's was lichted:
Sic laughin' and daffin', and roarin' and ruffin'-
=Care couldna a hole see to stap his cauld beak in;
And when they broke up, the glorious group
=Gaed hobblin' hame-hiccupin'-Health to the Deacon.





THE BRITISH HERO.

Up with our native banner high! and plant it deep and atrong!
And o'er the empire let its folds in glory float along;
For a thousand years have come and gone, and a thousand years shall go,
Ere tyrant force, or traitor wife, shall lay that banner low!

And come, my friends, your goblets fill, till the wine o'er-swell the brim,
And pledge me in a willing cup of gratitude to him,
Who, when thu bravest shrank appall'd, that banner lifted high,
Till, where'er he stepp'd, it waved above a field of victory!

Whose arm was like the thunderbolt to do whate'er his mind-
Swift as the lightning-flash, had once imagined and combined;
Whose soul no timid doubts could stay, nor coward fears could quell,
Not calmer in the festive hall than 'mid the battle's yell!

Who shall forget, that felt the joy, when every morning's sun,
Was hail'd with rattling guns, to tell another field was won;
When, after years of doubt and gloom, one universal roar
Proclaim'd through Europe's gladden'd realms that the tyrant ruled no more?

Then here's to him, the foremost man of all this mortal world,
Who down to dust the ruthless foe of earth and mankind hurl'd!
Long may he live to wield and grace the baton of command,
That marshall'd kings and nobles once in his unconquer'd hand!

And never in a worthier grasp the leading-staff was worn-
For ever honour'd be his name in ages yet unborn,
And be it still the proudest boast, when a thousand years are gone,
To be a native of the laud that rear'd a WELLINGTON.

=======E. PINKERTON.





TA OFFISH IN TA MORNING.

TUNE - "_Johnnie Cope._"

HER nainsel' come frae ta hielan' hill,
Ta poony town o' Glascow till,
But o' Glaocew she's koten her pelly fill,
=She'll no forget tis twa tree mornin'.

She'll met Shony Crant her coosin's son,
An' Tuncan, an' Toukal, an' Tonal Cunn,
An' twa tree more-an' she had sic fun,
=But she'll turn't oot a saut sauy mornin'.

Sae Shony Crant, a shill she'll hae
O' ta fera cootesl usquapae,
An' she'll pochtet a shill, ay an' twa tree mae,
=An' she'll trank till ta fera neist mornin'.

She'll sat, an' she'll trank, an' she'll roar, an' she'll sang,
An' aye for ta shill ta pell she'll rang,
An' she'll maet sic a tin t'at a man she'll prang,
=An' she'll say't-'Co home tis mornin'.

Ta man she'll had on ta kreat pig coat,
An' in her han' a rung she'll cot,
An' a purnin' cruzie, an' she'll say't you sot
=She'll maun go to ta Offish tis mornin'.

She'll say't to ta man - "_De an diaoul shin duitse?"
An' ta man she'll say't - "Pe quiet as ta mouse,
Or nelse o'er her nottle she'll come fu' crouse,
=An' she'll put ta Offish in you in ta mornin'.

Ta man she'll dunt on ta stane her stick,
An' t'an she'll pe sheuk her rick-tick-tick,
An' t'an she'll pe catchet her by ta neck,
=An' trawn her to ta Offish in ta mornin'.

Ta mornin' come she'll be procht pefore
Ta shentleman's praw, an' her ponce all sore,
An' ta shentleman's say't, "You tog, what for
=You'll maet sic a tin in tis mornin'."

She'll teukit aff her ponnet and she'll maet her a poo,
An' she'll say't, "Please her Crace she cot hersel' foo,
But shust let her co and she'll never to
=Ta like no more in ta mornin'.

But t'an she'll haet to ta shentleman's praw
Ta _Sheordie_ frae out o' her sporan traw,
An' she'll roart out loot - "De an diaoul a ha e gra?
=Oh hone O ri 'tis mornin'!"

O t'an she'll pe sait ta shentlemans, "she'll no unterstoot
What fore she'll pe here like ta lallan prute,
But she'll maet her cause either pad or coot,
=For she'll teuk you to ta law this mornin'."

Ta shentleman's say't "respect ta coort,
Or nelse my koot lat you'll suffer for't,
Shust taur to spoket another wort,
=And she'll send her to ta Fischal in ta mornin'.

Oich! she didna kuew what to do afa,
For she neter found herself so sma',
An' klat she was right to kot awa,
=Frae oot o' ta offish in ta mornin'.

Oh! tat she war to ta Hielans pack,
Whar ne'er ta pailie's tere to crack,
An' whar she wad gotten ta sorro' a plack,
=Frae n'oot o' her sporan in ta mornin'.

An' tat there was there her coosin's son,
An' Tuncan, an' Tookal, and Tonal Cunn,
An' twa tree more, she wad haet sic fun,
=And no be plaiget wi' pailies in ta mornin'.

=======ALEX. FISHER.





ROLL, FAIR CLUTHA.

AIR - "_Rule Britannia._"

WHEN Nature first, with mighty hand,
=Traced Clyde's fair windings to the main,
'Twas then the Genii of the land,
=Assembled round, and sung this strain:
=="Roll, fair Clutha, fair Clutha to the sea.
==And be thy banks for ever free."

For on thy banks in future times,
=A bravo and virtuous race shall rise,
Strangers to those unmanly climes,
=That taint the tribes of warmer skies.
=="Roll," &c.

And stately towns and cities fair,
=Thy lovely shores shall decorate;
With seats of science, to prepare
=Thy sons for all that's good and great.
=="Roll," &c.

And on thy pure translucent breast,
=Shall numerous fleets majestic ride;
Destined to south, north, east, and west,
=To waft thy treasures far and wide.
=="Roll," &c.

And up thy gently sloping sides,
=Shall woods o'er woods in grandeur tower:
Meet haunts for lovers and their brides,
=To woo in many a sylvan bower.
=="Roll," &c.

And early on each summer morn,
=Thy youth shall bathe their limbs in thee;
Thence to their various toils return
=With increased vigour, health, and glee.
=="Roll," &c.

And still on summer evenings fair,
=Shall groupes of happy pairs be seen,
With hearts as light as birds of air,
=A-straying o'er thy margin green.
=="Roll," &c.

And oft the Bard by thee will stray,
=When Luna's lamp illumes the sky,
Musing on some heart-melting lay,
=Which fond hope tells him ne'er shall die.
=="Roll fair Clutha, fair Clutha to the sea,
==And be thy banks for ever free."

=======ALEX. RODGER.





THE HOWDIE.

TUNE - "_Jenny Nettles._"

AIBLINS ye'll ken Jeanie Glen,
=Jeanie Glen, Jeanie Glen;
Gif no, it's little loss-d'ye ken?-
=She's an auld drucken bowdie!
O wow but she's a rantin' queen-
Her like was never heard nor seen
O wow but she's a rantin' queen,
=The auld drucken howdie.

I gat her unto my wife Bet,
=My wife Bet, my wife Bet-
I vow that morn I'll ne'er forget,
=The auld drucken howdie:
The ne'er a fit she'd leave her hame,
Till twa het pints were in her wane;
The ne'er a fit she'd leave her hame,
=The auld drucken howdie.

I brought her 'hint me on the meer,
=On the meer, on the meer-
She masit brack Bess's back I swear-
=The auld drucken howdie;
A wallet wore she round her waist,
Would haud a bow o' meal amaist-
The pouch that hung about her waist;
=The auld drucken howdie.

Mutches wore she, nine or ten,
=Nine or ten, nine or ten,
Shapet like a clockin' hen,
=The auld drucken howdie;
In her breast a sneeshin' mill,
I wadna like to hae't to fill-
Her siller-tappit sneeshin' mill-
=The auld drucken howdie.

My trouth she kept the house asteer,
=House asteer, house asteer;
Sic a dust, the guid be here!-
=The auld drucken howdie:
Auld an' young she drave about,
Wi' rowing pin, or auld dishclout;
Auld an' young she drave about,
=The auld drucken howdie.

Aye she sought the tither dram,
=Tither dram, tither dram-
An' flate like fury till it cam',
=The auld drucken howdie.
She turn'd the hale house upside down,
Swagg'ring like a drunk dragoon,
She turn'd the hale house upside down,
=The auld drucken howdie.

Ne'er a preen she cared for Bet,
=Cared for Bet, cared for Bet-
Roar, she might, like rivers met,
=The auld drucken howdie.
When the wean was brought to licht,
I wat she was a dais'd like sicht,
When the wean was brought to licht,
=The auld drucken howdie.

She could neither stand nor gang,
=Stand nor gang, stand nor gang-
Yet up she get a caidgy sang,
=The auld drucken howdie.
The sweat was hailin' owre her brow,
An' she was dancin' fiddler fou,
The sweat like sleet, fa'in' frae her brow,
=The auld drucken howdie.

She gat the wee thing on her knee,
=On her knee, on her knee-
An' roar'd like wud, to mask the tea!
=The auld drucken howdie.
Neist she cut the cheese in twa,
Trouth she was neither slack nor slaw,
At whangin' o' the cheese in twa,
=The auld drucken howdie.

Seven cups o' tea an' toast,
=Tea an' toast, tea an' toast,
Her wally wizen glibly cross'd,
=The auld drucken howdie.
"She'll ne'er be done," cried little Jock,
"The cheese we'll in the aumry lock,"
"She'll ne'er be done," roar'd little Jock,
="The auld drucken howdie."

Aye the tither whang she took,
=Whang she took, whang she took,
'Twad sair'd a sober chiel' an' ook,
=The auld drucken howdie.
"She'll eat us up," quo' Bet my wife!
"That pang gaed thro' me like a knife,
She'll eat us up," quo' Bet my wife,
="The auld drucken howdie."

"Tell her that the bottle's toom!
=Bottle's toom, bottle's toom,
She'll drink else till the day o' doom!
=The auld drucken howdie."
"The deil be in your maw," quo' I,
"I'm sure ye're neither boss nor dry;
The deil be in your maw," quo' I,
="Ye auld drucken howdie."

"She swore I was a nither't loun,
=Nither't loun, nither't loun,
Said, she'd clour my cuckold crown,
=The auld drucken howdie."
At lest she spak' o' gaun awa',
O' what joy it gied us a'!
Whene'er she spak' o' gaun awa',
=The auld drucken howdie.

A hale hour sat she longer still,
=Langer still, langer still,
Her tongue gaun like a waukin' mill,
=The auld drucken howdie.
At length she took her hood an' cloak,
Syne to see how she did rock,
When she got on her hood an' cloak,
=The auld drucken howdie.

Says she, "Gudeman, I'll soon ca' back,
=Soon ca' back, soon ca' back"-
I look't right queer, but naething spak-
=The auld drucken howdie.
I gar'd the callant yoke the cart,
An' set her on't wi' a' my heart,
Right glad was I wi' her to part,
=The auld drucken howdie.





MEARNS MUIR MAGGY.

A MEARNS MUIR TRADITION.

IN a wild track o' country, the lang Mearns Muir,
Whaur the sky is sae bleak, and the soil is sae puir,
Whaur the rain fa's in floods, an' the wind gurls chill,
And as the _Flood_ left it, sae Nature stands still-
=There deep in a dell, down below a steep craggy,
=There liv'd an auld wifie, ca'd Mearns Muir Maggy.

She was wylie wi' wit, she was laden wi' lair
Could charm awa sorrow, or fley awa care,-
Could smooth down sick pillows, wi' sic soothing skill,
That nae weanie grew sick, nor nae wife fell ill,
=But the _Head_ o' the _House_ had to mount his best naggy
=An' bring hame ahint him auld Mearns Muir Maggy.

Ae night when the muir was half deluged wi' rain,
An' the cauld gowlin blast swept athwart the wild plain,
A lonely black female, sair laden wi' pain,
Cum into Meg's cot, an' gae birth to a wean,
=Ere the morn she was gane, an' had left a gowd baggie
=Wi' the bairn to be nursed by auld Mearns Muir Maggy.

Years pass'd, and the callant grew up to a man,
An' the clashing still gather'd, the rumour still ran,
That the loun was nae canny, that Meg an' his faither,
Whoever he was, were acquaintit wi' ither,
=An' some wha wad fain haen her burnt for a haggie,
=Ca'd _Auld Nick_ the lover o' Mearns Muir Maggy.

But scandal still quail'd 'neath her mild beaming eye,
The Kirk never miss'd her in wat day or in dry,
An' the strong burly black, as if bound by a charm,
Cam' aye kindly leading auld Meg in his arm,
=Tho' mony a braw lassie wad said her last raggie,
=To hae clung to the arm, that led Mearns Muir Maggy.

But auld Maggy died, and the Black left alane
Roam'd like a wild spirit owre mountain an' plain,
Bright freedom, his charter, true courage his targe,
Daur ca' him a poacher, he'd scowl at the charge,
=Till warm wi' his wand'ring he shot a proud staggie,
=That belong'd to the landlord o' Mearns Muir Maggy.

The lord, a rich nabob, had come frae afar,
'Twas said he had fought in the wild Indian war,
An' come hame fortune laden, frae these sunny climes,
Whaur fortune's like his aft are purchased wi' crimes,
=For grasping an' greedy, heart stinted an' scraggy,
=Was the judge o' the orphan o' Mearns Muir Maggy.

The judge e'ed the poacher, the poacher the judge,
As if they bore ither some lang gather'd grudge,
The pannel, a miniature tore from his neck!-
'Twas the judge fondly pressing a sweet female black!
=The old sinner shook as if seized with an ague-
=His son was the black rear'd by Mearns Muir Maggy.

And whaur was there e'er sic a baron of old?
As the Black Knight of Mearns Muir, burly an' bold?
There's mony brave nobles hae sprung frae his reins,
That hae held braider sway o'er auld Scotland's domains,
=But nae friend was mair manly, nae foemen mair jaggy,
=Than the comely black foundling o' Mearns Muir Maggy.

=======JAMES BALLANTINE, Edinburgh.





HIGHLAND COURTSHIP.

"OICH will you had ta tartan plaids?
=Or will you had ta ring, mattam?
Or - will you had a kiss frae me-
=An' tat's a petters ting mattam?"

====(REPLY - PIANO OF VOICE.)

=="Oh haud awa! bide awa!
===Haud awa frae me, Donald;
==I'll neither kiss, nor hae a ring-
===Nae tartan plaid for me, Donald.


"Oich tear - ay - what's noo?

O see you not her praw new hose-
=Her fleckit plaid, plue green mattam,
Ta twa praw hose-an' prawer spiog,
=An' ta shouther-pelt 'peen a' mattam."
=="O haud awa! bide awa-
===Haud awa frae me, Donald;
==Your shouther-knots, and trinkabouts,
===Hae nae great charm for me, Donald.


"No! it's a terrible potheration - eh - no!

Her can pe shaw ta petter honghs,
=Tan him tat wear ta crown mattam-
Nainsel' hae phistol an' claymore,
=Wad fley ta lallan loon, mattam."
=="No haud awa-bide awa,
===Haud awa frae me, Donald;
==Gae hame and hap your highlan' houghs.
===An' fash nae mair wi' me, Donald."


"Ay, laty, is tat ta way you'll spoke-put-yes maybe for all to

Hersel' hae a short coat-pi pocht
=No trail my feet at rin, mattam,
A cuttie-sark o' goot harn-sheet,
=My mither he'll pe spin, mattam."
=="Just haud awa - bide awa-
===Haud awa frae me, Donald;
==Awa and cleed your measled shanks,
===An' screen them 'boon the knee, Donald.


"Oich after all, surely and moreover - my tear,

You'll ne'er pe pitten wrocht a turn,
=At ony kin o' spin, mattam;
Nocht - shug your laeno in a skull
=An' tidal highland sing, mattam.

Noo heard you tat?"

=="Just haud awa-bide awa,
===Haud awa frae me, Donald;
==Your jugging skulls, and highlan' reels-
===They'll soun' but harsh wi' me, Donald."


"It's a perfect pestoration - hoo - never surely - after all I'll spoke.

An' in ta mornings whan you'll rise,
=You'll got fresh whey for tea, mattam-
Ream an' cheese, as much you please!
=Far cheaper nor pohea, mattam.

Noo, I'm sure! - ah - yes -"

=="Haud awa-bide awa-
===Bide awa frae me, Donald;
==I wadna quit my morning's tea-
===Your whey could ne'er agree, Donald."


"Weel - weel - weel - I'll thocht that's all - put -

Haper-gaelic ye'se pe learn!-
=Tats ta pretty speak, mattam;
You'll got a cheese and putter-milk-
=Come wi' me gin ye like, mattam.

Oh yes - I'll saw your face noo."

=="Na-haud awa-bide awa-
===Haud awa frae me, Donald;
==Your gaelic sang, and Highland cheer,
===Will ill gang down wi' me, Donald."


"Never more yet - oich! - oich! - It's an awfu' this.

I'll got for you a sillar prooch-
=Pe piggar as ta meen, mattam;
Yes! you'll ride in curroch 'stead o' coach-
=Tan wow but you'll pe fine, mattam!

Tat's ta thing noo, my ponniest dautie - you'll not say no - no more for ever - oh yes -"

==But-haud awa-bide awa-
===Haud awa frae me, Donald;
==For a' your Highland rarities,
===You're no a match for me, Donald."


"What!! tat's ta way tat you'll be kin'!
=Praw pretty man like me, mattam!
Sae lang's claymore hung py my pelt,
=I'll never marry thee, mattam.

A shentleman to be disdain!"

=="Oh come awa-come awa-
===Come awa wi' me, Donald-
==I wadna lea my Highlandman!
===Frae lallands set me free, Donald."

Tat's my doo - noo always for ever and never.'





BANKRUPT AND CREDITORS.

HAE ye heard o' Will Sibbald-my trouth there were few,
That had less in their pouch, or had mair in their pow;
A master for lang he had faithfully sair'd,
Till he thocht as he ae nicht sat straiking his beard:
"Through wat and through dry a' my life I hae drudged,"
And to work late and early I never have grudged;
I've been a man's slave since my name I could spell-
What think ye though noo I should work for mysel'?

So he took a bit shop, and sell't gingebread and snaps,
Spunks, treacle and brumstane, and laif-bread and bape;
But a' wad na do-at his wares nane wad look,
So a wide gaucy shop in the main street he took:
Ilk day like a gin-horse he eidently wrocht-
Makin' siller like sclate stanes, as a' body thocht,
Till ae day wi' a dunt that astonish'd the town,
The great Willie Sibbald-the barrow laid down.

O' his freens and acquaintance a meeting was ca'd,
And a lang face sly Willie put on to the squad;
"My gude worthy freens," he then said wi' a grane,
I have naething to show you - for books I keep nane;
My father ne'er learnt me to write my ain name,
And my master, I'm sure I maun say't to his shame,
Ne'er made up the defect, sirs - but keepit me ticht,
Tween the trams o' a barraw frae morning till nicht."

The freens then on Willie began to leuk queer,
And ane that sat next him then said wi' a sneer-
"Man Will, I'm dumfouner't - ye wrocht air an' late-
Something gude might be surely brought frae your estate;"
"Estate, man," quo' Willie- "I'se tell ye my freen,
Ilk maik through my fingers hae noo slippit clean-
And for an estate, I can solemnly swear,
Gif I had had that, faith I wadna been here."

'Mang Willie's rare talents, an' these were not tew,
By the virtue of which mankind's noses he drew,
He could sing like a mavis - and ane o' his freens,
Wha to Willie's guid fortune had furnish'd the means,
On his creditors' list he just stood at the tap,
So he looks in Will's face, and says he - "My auld cnap,
The best way I ken ye'll get out o' this fang,
Instead o' our siller-just gie's a bit sang."





THE DIVIDEND.

"LACK! what will come o' me noo I hae been stricken sait,
I never drank like ither men, nor fed on costly fare-
I wrocht aye till 'twas late at e'en, raise wi' the morning dawn,
And yet ye see the barrow-trams hae drappit frae my haun.

Ye've socht wee bit sang frae me, but brawly ye may see
I'm no, whatever some may think, in ony singing key;
But your promise o' a free discharge I trust ye winna shift,
For 'twerna wi' the hope o' that, my lip I couldna lift.

I wonner what gart fock suppose that I could siller mak-
They ne'er saw ony signs o't on my belly or my back;
My waistcoat aye was o' the plush-my coat o' coarseat drab-
I keepit nae etablishment - nae servants, horse, nor cab.

Ye talk o' putting me in Jail, but trouth ye needna fash,
Ye'll only lose your temper, and what's waur - ye'll lose your cash;
For neither house nor ha' hae I - nor grun', nor guids, nor gear,
Or, as I said before to ye - ye wudna seen me here.

I thocht when auld I wad have had a guid rough bane to pike,
And nocht to do but streeh me on the lea side o' the dike;
But I ha'e disappointed been-my boat has gane to staves,
And left me bare and helpless to the mercy o' the waves.

=======WM. FINLAY, Paisley.





THOU CAULD GLOOMY FEBERWAR.

THOU cauld gloomy Feberwar,
=Oh! gin thou wert awa!
I'm wae to hear thy soughin' winds,
=I'm wae to see thy snaw;
For my bonnie braw young Hielandman,
=The lad I loe sae dear,
Has vow'd to come and see me,
=In the spring o' the year.

A silken ban' he gae me,
=To bin' my gowden hair;
A sillar brooch and tartan plaid,
=A' for his sake to wear:
And oh! my heart was like to break,
=(For partin sorrows sair,)
As he vow'd to come and see me,
=In the spring o' the year.

Aft, aft as gloaming dims the sky,
=I wander out alane,
Whare buds the bonny yellow whins,
=Around the trystin' stane:
'Twas there he press'd me to his heart,
=And kiss'd awa' the tear,
As he vow'd to come and see me,
=In the spring o' the year.

Ye gentle breezes saftly blaw,
=And cleed anew the wuds;
Ye lavrocks lilt your cheery sangs,
=Amang the fleecy cluds;
Till Feberwar and a' his train,
=Affrichted disappear-
I'll hail wi' you the blythsome change,
=The spring-time o' the year.





PUSH ROUN' THE BICKER.

YE, who the carking cares of life,
Have aft times caused to claw your haffet,
Leave for a while the bustling strife,
And worldly men and matters laugh at:
Let fools debate 'bout kirk and state,
Their short lived day let patriots flicker;
Let Outs and Ins kick ither's shins;
Ne'er mind, my boys-push roun' the bicker.

A things that glitter are not gowd,
Then push the stoup roun'-lads be hearty,
Wha e'er had fortune at his nod,
Like that bauld birkie, Bonaparte;
Ho tumbled kings-thae costly things,
Wha thocht they on their stools sat sicker;
But his crown at last to the yirth was cast-
And the vision past-push roun' the bicker.

And wha could cope wi' Philip's son?
The greatest hero that we read o',
How did he hound his armies on,
To conquer worlds he had nae need o',
His beast he rade with thundering speed,
And aye his pace grew quick and quicker,
Till down he sat - poor fool, and grat-
His pipe was out-push roun' the bicker.

Then let us drive dull care adrift,
Life's day is short, even at the langest;
"The race is no aye to the swift,
Nor is the battle to the strangest!"
'Bout kirk and state let fools debate,
Their short lived day let statesmen flicker;
Let Outs and Ins kick ither's shins,
Ne'er fash your beards-push roun' the bicker.

=======WILLIAM FINLAY, Paisley.





JOHN GUN.

HE'S a bauld beggarman, John Gun, John Gun,
=He's a bauld beggarman, John Gun;
O far he has been an' muckie he's seen,
=An' mony an ill deed he's dune, John Gun,
=An' mony an ill deed he's dune.

He's been 'mang the French, John Gun, John Gun,
=He's been 'mang the French, John Gun;
But sune he came hame-he made little o' them,
=They had vagrants enou' o' thair ain, John Gun,
=They had vagrants enou' o' their ain.

The fouks a' fear John Gun, John Gun,
=The fouks a' fear John Gun;
When he comes in, ye'll hear nae din,
=But our breath gaun thick out an' in, John Gun-
=But our breath gaun thick out and in.

An' how does he fend?  John Gun, John Gun,
=An' how does be fend?  John Gun-
He fends ucoo weel, he gets milk, he gets meal-
=But no for his guid but his ill, John Gun-
=But no for his guid but his ill.

=======ALEX. LAING, Brechin.





THE PIRATE'S SERENADE.

MY boat's by the tower, my bark's in the bay,
And both must be gone ere the dawn of the day;
The moon's in her shroud, but to guide thee afar,
On the deck of the Daring's a love-lighted star;
Then wake, lady! wake! I am waiting for thee,
And this night, or never, my bride thou shalt be!

Forgive my rough mood; unaccustom'd to sue,
I woo not, perchance, as your land-lovers woo;
My voice has been tuned to the notes of the gun,
That startle the deep, when the combat's begun;
And heavy and hard is the grasp of a hand
Whose glove has been, ever, the guard of a brand.

Yet think not of these, but, this moment, be mine,
And the plume of the proudest shall cower to thine;
A hundred shall serve thee, the best of the brave,
And the chief of a thousand will kneel as thy slave;
Thou shalt rule as a queen, and thy empire shall last
Till the red flag, by inches, is torn from the mast.

O Islands there are, on the face of the deep,
Where the leaves never fade, where the skies never weep;
And there, if thou wilt, shall our love-bower be,
When we quit, for the greenwood, our home on the sea;
And there shalt thou sing of the deeds that were done,
When we braved tbe last blast, and the last battle won.

Then haste, lady, haste! for the fair breazes blow,
And my ocean-bird poises her pinions of snow;
Now fast to the lattice these silken ropes twine,
They are meet for such feet and such fingers as thine;
The signal, my mates-ho! hurra for the sea!
This night, and for ever, my bride thou shalt be.

=======WM. KENNEDY.





MEG MEIKLEJOHN.

YE kenina Meg Meiklejohn, midwife in Mauchlin?
She was the widow of lilti-cock Lauchlan;
He was a body gaed rockin and rowin'-
His ae leg was stracht-its neibour a bow in't.

Maggy was boussie frae croon to the causey,
Lauchie was gizen'd 's an auld girnal bassie;
And as for their features, folk said it that kent them,
If nature meant sour anes, she needna repent them.

Of the stark aquavita they baith lo'ed a drappie,
And when capernutle then aye unco happy;
Of a' in the parish this pair was the bauldest,
As burns brattle loudest when water's the shaulest

Whiles Lauchie wad spurn at the whisky like poison
But after he preed it, wad drucken an ocean;
Maggy, too, had a fell tippling gate o't,
An aye took a drappie whene'er she could get it.

Lauchie had looms, but was lag at the weaving,
His fingers and thumbs though, were active in thieving;
Lauchie had looms that but few could hae wrought on,
For Lauchie had schemes that but few wad hae though on.

Lauchie had secrets weel worthy the keeping,
For Lauchie made siller while ithers were sleeping,
Lauchie a second sight surely had gi'en him,
An' saw things wi' less light than ithers could see them.

But Lauchie did dee, and was welcomely yirdet,
The folks said his conscience was unco ill girdet,
When it took a rackin, it beat a' description,
His oily gaun tongue, too, was fu' o' deception.

Now Lauchie's awa', and the bodies in Mauchlin,
Wish Meg in her kist, an' as deep sheugh'd as Lauchlan;
But Lauchie for cunning surpass'd a' his fellows,
He die't just in time for escaping the gallows.

=======DAVID WEBSTER.





THE TREE OF LIBERTY.

TUNE, - "_Up an' waur them a', Willie._"

Hears ye o' The Tree o' France?
=I watna what's the name o't-
Aroun' it a' the Patriots dance,
=Weel Europe kens the fame o't:
It stands whare ance the Bastile stood,
=A prison built by kings, man,
When superstition's hellish brood
=Kept France in leading-strings, man.

Upon this Tree there grows sic fruit,
=Its virtues a' can tell, man;
It raises man aboon the brute,
=It mak's him ken himsel', man.
Gif ance the peasant taste a bite,
=He's greater than a lord, man;
An' wi' the beggar shares a mite
=O' a' he can afford, man.

This fruit is worth a' Afric's wealth,
=To comfort us 'twas sent, man,
To gie the sweetest blush o' health,
=An' mak' us a' content, man:
It clears the e'en, it cheers the heart,
=Mak's high an' low guid frien's, man
An' he wha acts the traitor's part,
=It to perdition sends, man.

My blessings aye attend the chiel
=Wha pitied Gallia's slaves, man,
An' staw'd a branch, spite o' the Deil,
Frae 'yont the Western waves, man
Fair virtue water'd it wi' care,
=An' now she sees, wi' pride, man,
How weel it buds an' blossoms there,
=Its branches spreading wide, man.

But vicious folk aye hate to see
=The works o' virtue thrive, man,
The courtly vermin bann'd the Tree,
=An' grat to see't alive, man.
King Louie thocht to cut it down,
=When it was unco sma', man;
For it the watchman crack'd his crown,
=Cut aff his head an'a', man!!!

A wicked crew syne on a time,
=Did tak' a solemn aith, man,
It ne'er should flourish in its prime-
=I wat they pledged their faith, man;
Awa' they gaed, wi' mock parade,
=Like beagles huntin' game, man;
But sune grew weary o' the trade,
=An' wish'd they'd been at hame, man.

For freedom standing by the Tree,
=Her sons did loudly ca', man;
She sung a sang o' Liberty,
=Which pleas'd them ane an' a', man.
By her inspir'd, the new-born race
=Sune drew the avengin' steel, man,
The hirelings run-her foes ga'ed chase,
=An' bang'd the despots weel, man.

Let Britain boast her hardy oak,
=Her poplar, an' her pine, man,
Auld Britain ance could crack her joke
=An' o'er her neibours shine, man;
But seek the forest round an' round,
=An' soon 'twill be agreed, man,
That sic a tree cannot be found
='Tween Lon'on an' the Tweed, man.

Without this Tree, alake! this life
=Is but a vale o' woe, man,
A scene o' sorrows, mix'd wi' strife;-
=Nae real joys we know, man:
We labour sune, we labour late,
=To feed the titled knave, man,
An a' the comfort we're to get,
=Is-that syont the grave, man!

Wi' plenty a' sic Trees, I trow,
=The warld wad live in peace, man;
The sword wad help to mak' a plough,
=The din o' war wad cease, man.
Like brethren in a common cause,
=We'd on each ither smile, man,
An' equal rights an' equal laws,
=Wad gladden every isle, man.

Wae worth the loon wha wadna eat
=Sic halesome, dainty cheer, man-
I'd gi'e the shoon frae aff my feet
=To taste sic fruit, I swear man.
Syne let us pray, auld England may
=Sune plant this far-famed Tree, man;
An' blythe we'll sing, and hail the day
=That gave us Liberty, man.





KITTY O'CARROL.

O TALK not of battles and wars,
=Where nations and monarchs will quarrel;
Of Venue, and Cupid, and Mars,
=I'm for Kitty O'Carrol!
Kitty's the joy of my soul,
=She has made my poor heart to surrender;
That heart, once as sound as a coal,
=Is now almost burnt to a cinder.

Och! my darlin', every eye in your hand is mild and lovely, and every thing lookin' out of them that's good and natural in the world.  Ah! my jewel, but every morsel of your purty body, hands and feet, body and shoulders, mouth and nose, all illigance itself intirely.  Oh! your creature of all creatures aneath the stars and the moon, not forgettin' the great sun himself!  I'm sure the very daisy that you tread upon will life its head and look after ye, cryin', my dew-drop, when shall I have another kiss of your purty toes.

O when I get up in the morn,
=Her image is standin' 'fore me,
Murder, but I am forlorn-
=Kitty I live to adore ye!
Morning, or evening, or noon,
=Eatin', or drinkin', or sleepin',
Mine you will surely he soon,
=Or else I will kill me wid weepin.

Love has been compared to a giddiness; faith! I think it is rather like law, or a rat-trap; when once you get into it, there's no getting out agin; or the great bog of Allen the farther in the deeper.  Surely she must relent some time; there is nothing in this world like perseverance, as the Cat said when she scratched her way into the milk-house.  Och, what is really to become of me - it is better to die at once than be kilt intirely, from mornin' till night; och, sure and my body is lavin' my bones altogether.  My clothes are beginnin' to wonder what has become of me - and they'll be after seekin' some other carcase to cover themselves wid - ar'n't they roarin' murser at every corner of my bones?  I'm good for nothing now but stanin' amongst the praties whan they're comin' forward to be useful to the mouth, and cryin' to them blacknosed thieves, be after takin' your body away gin the feathers will carry yon, Master Horny-beak, and lave the blessings to the people that have some naturality in them, for it will be better for me to be stuck up among the swate pratie blossoms, and puteetin' the fruit, than runnin about like a walkin' bone - fire among the bogs.

Oh Kitty I live but for you,
=For you, love, I daily am dyin',
My heart you have bored through an' through,
=And kilt me with groaning and cryin'.
Consent now, and say you'll be mine,
=For I know you are full of good nature,
To me you are all but divine,
=You murtherin', coaxing young crature!





'TWAS MORN.

AIR - "_Within a mile of Edinburgh Town."

'TWAS morn - and the lambs on the green hillocks played,
=The laverock sang sweetly on high,
The dew-draps bespangled ilk green spiky blade,
=And the woods rung wi' music and joy;
==When young Patie down the vale
==Met fair Kitty wi' her pail,
==He clasp'd her hand and blythely speered,
==="Dear lassie, where to now?"
=="A wee bit down the glen," quo' she,
==="To milk our bruckit cow."

"O Kitty! I've lo'ed you this towmond an' mair,
=And wha lo'es na you canna see,
There's nane on our plains half sae lovely and fair,
=No; - nane half sae lovely to me:
==Will you come, dear lass, at e'en,
==Up the burnie's bank sae green?
==And there beneath the beechen shade,
===You'll meet a lover true."
=="Na, na," she cried,"I canna come
===At e'en to meet wi' you.

"My mither will flyte and my father will ban,
=Gin here meikle langer I stay,
Come cease wi' your wheezin', and let gae my han',
=It's daft like at this time o' day."
=="Dearest lassie, ere ye gang,
==Tell me shall we meet ere lang?
==Come say't an' seal't wi' ae sweet smack
===O' that enticing mou';"
=="Haud aff," she cried, "nor think that I
===Was made for sport to you."

"Then fareweel, proud lassie, for since ye're sae shy,
=Nae langer I'll press you to bide;
E'en show aff your airs, toss your head and look high,
=Your beauty demands a' your pride;
==I may find some ither where,
==Ane mair kind, although less fair."
==He turned to gang-she laughing cried,
==="Stop, lad, I've ta'en the rue,
==Come back and set the tryst wi' me,
===And I will meet wi' you."

=======ALEX. RODGER.





BEACON SONG.

THERE'S fire on the mountains, brave knights of the north,
=Mount, mount your fleet steeds and away;
There's fire on the mountains, mount knights of the north,
=For our beacons blaze bright as the day.
====Haste away, haste away.

Let your war-flags wave wild on the blast of the night.
=To the notes of the bold bugle-horn;
Though your steeds may get warm in your fiery advance,
=They'll grow cool in the dews of the morn.
====Haste away, haste away.

Hot foot comes the foe from his home in the south,
=To ravage our dear native land;
Haste away, haste away, brave knights of the north,
=And meet him with buckler and brand.
====Haste away, haste away.

From litter, from loch-side, from corry and glen,
=The mountain-men come to your aid,
With broadsword and axe newly ground for the fray,
=And all in their tartans arrayed.
====Haste away, haste away.

Haste away, haste away, brave knights of the north,
=There's glory, there's fame to be won;
Berwick law, Berwick law, is your mustering ground,
=Oh! shame if the conflict's begun.
====Haste away, haste away.

The foe you now meet, you have oft met before,
=And oft driven him back with dismay;
Though his spear-heads, in thousands, gleam bright to our fires,
=Clap spurs to your steeds and away.
====Away, haste away.

=======J. D. CARRICK.





FIRST LOVE.

THOU think'st that nought hath had the power
=This heart to softness move;
Thou'rt wrong-no knight more faithfully
=Ere wore his lady's glove,
Than I within my breast have borne
=A first, an only love.

Her form-I cannot paint her form-
=In life I was but young,
Even when I last knelt at her feet,
=And on her accents hung,
I would not swear her beautiful,-
=Yet such she must have been,-
And in my dreams of paradise
=She mingles in each scene.

This present time, in crowded halls,
=Surrounded by the gay,
I follow, in forgetfulness,
=Her image far away;
And if I list a touching voice
=Or sweet face gaze upon,
'Tis but to fill my memory
=With that beloved one.

For days-for months-devotedly
=I've lingered by her side,
The only place I coveted
=Of all the world so wide;
And in the exile of an hour,
=I consolation found,
Where her most frequent wanderings
=Had marked it holy ground.

It was not that in her I saw
=Affection's sovereign maid,
In beauty and young innocence
=Bewitchingly arrayed;
'Twas more-far more; - I felt, as if
=Existence went and came,
Even when the meanest hind who served
=Her father, breathed her name.

I longed to say a thousand things,
=I longed, yet dared not speak,
Half-boped, half-feared, that she might read
=My thoughts upon my cheek.
Then, if unconsciously she smiled,
=My sight turned faint and thick,
Until, with very happiness,
=My reeling heart grew sick.

O days of youth!  O days of youth!
=To have these scenes return,
The pride of all my riper years
=How gladly would I spurn!
That form-the soul of my boy-life-
=Departed, and none came,
In after-time, with half the charm
=Which cleaves unto her name.

Nor vanished she, as one who shares
=The stain of human birth,
But, like an angel's shade, that falls
=In light, upon the earth;
That falls in light, and blesses all
=Who in its radiance lie,
Bat leaves them to the deeper gloom
=Whene'er it passes by.





RHYMING RAB THE RANTER.

WHEN Scotia's pipe had tint her time,
=Lang reestin in the reek, man,
And pipers were sae faithless grown,
=They scarce could gar her squeak, man;
A doughty chiel cam' down the hill,
=Ca'd Rhymin' Rab the Ranter-
But pipers a' their chafts might claw,
=When he blew up the chanter.

He blew sae sweet, he blew sae shrill,
=He blew sae loud and lang, man,
Baith hill and dale can tell the tale,
=They ne'er gat sic a sang, man;
Fame heard the soun' a' Scotland roun',
=My sooth he didna saunter,
Like fire and flame flew fast the name,
=O Rhymin' Rab the Ranter.

From John o' Groats to cross the Tweed,
=And round the English border,
Was heard the rant o' Rabbie's reed,
=Sae weel 'twas kept in order.
To shepherd knowes where shamrock grows,
=Wi' sic a stound he sent her,
Auld Erin's drone her hood put on,
=To shun the Scottish chanter.

Our lasses linket to the lilt,
=The lads they lap and caper'd,
The carlins coost their crummies tilt,
=Sae vauntingly they vapour'd,
Auld gutchers gray streek't up their clay,
=To club the merry canter;
Whilst wood and glen prolong'd the strain,
=O' Rhymin' Rab the Ranter.

But Scotia weel may wail her skaith,
=And break her drones an a' man,
For death has marr'd her piper's breath,
=Nae langer can he blaw, man,
She e'en may sit her down and sigh,
=And wi' a greet content her,
She'll ne'er again on hill or plain,
=Meet Rhymin' Rab the Ranter.

Here's health to Scotland and her lair,
=Her heighs and hows sae scraggie;
Her doughty sons and dochters a',
=Her haggis and her coggie.
And when the wee drap's in her e'e,
=To 'fend her frae mishanter,
Her toast triumphant still shall be,
=Here's Rhymin' Rab the Ranter.

=======G. MACINDOR.





FRIENDS AROUND THE TABLE SET.

AIR, - _Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled._

FRIENDS around the table set,
Blyth am I to see you met,
See that your ills ye a' forget,
=And sing your sang wi' glee.

Nae doubt but ye have a' some grief,
For ae night wont ye tak' relief,
For ae short night your sails unreef,
=And take the tide so free.

Wha would sit in sullen gloom,
For sic a ane we hae nae room,
Wi' gude peat-reek your brain perfume,
=And let us merry be.

Wha never grumbles, stan' or fa'
However fortune rows the ba',
But aye weel pleased his cork can draw,
=That's the man for me.

Then tak' your tumbler while its warm,
A wee drap drink can do nae harm,
It cheers the heart, and nerves the arm-
=At least it's so wi' me.

Man's life is but a wee bit span,
=And is it no the wisest plan,
To be as happy as we can,
=And aye contented be?





THE TINKLER'S SONG.

AIR, - "_Allan-a-Dale._"

O WHO are so hearty, so happy and free,
Or who for the proud care so little as we?
No tyrants control us, no slaves we command,
Like free passage-birds we traverse sea and land;
And still to the comfort of all we attend,
By singing out "caldrons or kettles to mend."

Each climate-each soil, is to us still the same,
No fix'd local spot for our country we claim;
Yon lordly domain, with its castles and towers,
We care not a pin for-the world it is ours;
Superiors we know not-on none we depend,
While our business is, caldrons or kettles to mend.

The law says we're vagrants - the law tells a lie,
The green earth's our dwelling, our roof the blue sky,
Then tho', through the earth, for employment we roam
How can we be vagrants, who ne'er are from home?
Our neighbours are mankind, whom oft we befriend,
While trudging about, pots or kettles to mend.

No rent, tithes, nor taxes, we're called on to pay,
We take up our lodgings wherever we may,
If people are kind, we show kindness to them,
If people are churlish, why we are the same;
But those who are friendly fare best in the end,
While their pots, bellows, caldrons or kettles we mend.

Not even the parson, the squire, nor my lord,
A daintier supper than we can afford,
For nature profusely each blessing doth grant,
Then why should her children be ever in want?-
Let them share with each other whate'er she may send,
Like us-while we've caldrons or kettles to mend.

Then fill to the strangers cup of the best,
And when he is wearied conduct him to rest,
For the poor lonely wanderer, homeless and bare,
Should ever the wanderers' sympathy share;
Now we've one consolation-whato'er be our end,
While the world remains wicked-_we_ daily do _mend_.

=======ALEX. RODGER.





COW KATE,

AN ANNANDALE STORY.

_Seeking a Tune._

THERE'S a green velvet hollow, amang Moffat hills,
Ca'd the Deevil's Beef Pot, where in three little rills
The Tweed, Clyde, an' Annan, sweet babbling arise
Amang bald mountain-tops, that brave cauld gowlin skies;
There nature-wild nature-reigns glorious an' great,
An' there by the Annan dwells bonnie Cow Kate.

Cow Kate was brought up by a rich Border Laird,
Wha'd mony braid acres o' Annan's best sward,
Nae workin', nor daffin', her mettle could tire,
For the lassie wrought hard in the fields an' the byre.
An' simmer an' winter, an' early an' late,
Aye up to the oxters was bonnie Cow Kate.

She grew like a tree, and she bloom'd like a flower,
Wi' her growth there cam' grace, wi' her beauty cam' power,
An' she tripped op the hill, an' she strade down the glen,
Envied by the lasses, adored by the men;
Yet the farmers were shy, an' the herdsmen were blate,
An' nane cam a-wooing to bonnie Cow Kate.

There's changes in a' thing, e'en fortune will change,
An' faces look fond, that were wont to look strange,
An' hunders o' wooers baith stalwart an' braw,
Cam round her when death took the auld laird awa',
An' the clatter gaed round he had left his estate
To his ae strappin daughter, our bonnie Cow Kate.

Kate kilted her high, an' she stood in the byre,
Sent her wooers to Annan to drown out their fire,
Ca'd her sheep to the tryst, an' her kye to the fair,
Ne'er ae better drover or herdsman was there,
An' mony a jockie was fain to retreat,
Wi' his wit for his winning frae bonnie Cow Kate.

The shyest are catch'd, when they're catch'd wi' a start.
The head may be cool, but waes me for the heart,
Even Katie fand out, 'mid a mirk wreath o' snaw
That a herdsman had stoun a' her heart's peace awa',
Wrapt warm in his bosom, he bare hame elate,
An' had for his valour our bonnie Cow Kate.

=======JAMES BALLANTINE, Edinburgh.





HURRAH FOR THE THISTLE.

_Music by Mr. Thunbull, Glasgow._

=HURRAH for the Thistle! - the brave Scottish Thistle,
=The evergreen Thistle of Scotland for me;
=A fig for the flowers, in your lady built bowers;
=The strong bearded-weel guarded, Thistle for me.

'Tis the flower the proud eagle greets in its flight,
When he shadows the stars with the wings of his might;
'Tis the flower that laughs at the storm as it blows,
For the greater the tempest, the greener it grows.
====Hurrah for the Thistle.

Round the love-lighted hames o' our ain native land,
On the bonneted brow-on the hilt of the brand-
On the face of the shield, 'mid the shouts of the free,
May the Thistle be seen, where the Thistle should be.
====Hurrah for the Thistle.

Hale hearts we hae yet to bleed in its cause,
Bold harps we hae yet to sound its applause,
How then can at fade, when sic cheils an' sic cheer,
And sae mony braw sprouts o' the Thistle are here.

=Then hurrah for the Thistle! - the brave Scottish Thistle,
=The evergreen Thistle of Scotland for me;
=A fig for the flowers, in your lady built bowers,
=The strong bearded - weel guarded Thistle for me.

=======ALEX. MACLAGGAN, Edinburgh.





WHA DAUR MEDDLE WI' ME?

ROUGH, sturdy, beardy, fire-crown'd king,
Thou jaggy, kittly, gleg wee thing,
Wha dares to brave the piercing sting
====O' Scotia's thistle,
Soon scamper aff, hap slap an' fling,
====Wi' couring fustle.

'Midst scenes o' weir, in days o' yore,
When the grund swat wi' life's red gore,
And Scotia's land frae shore to shore,
====Groan'd sair wi' waes,
Thy form dim seen, 'midst battle's roar,
====Aft scared her face.

When Wallace, sturdy patriot wight,
His trusty broad sword glancing bright,
Gar'd Southron reivers scour like fright
====Frae Scotland's braes,
Thou snelly shot thy horns o' might,
====An' brogged their taes.

When Bruce at Bannockburn's red field
Made Edward's doughty army yield,
An' Southrons down in thousands reeled,
====Stark, stiff an' dour,
The vera weans did thistles wield,
====An' fought like stour.

Since then no foe hath dared to tread
Upon thy guarded, crimson head,
But proudly from thy mountain bed
====Thy head thou rear'st,
By flowing springs of freedem fed,
====No blast thou fear'st.

Thy native land is free as air,
Her sons are bold, her daughters fair,
Bright soul'd, warm hearted, fond to share
====The social smile,
Pure love, true friendehip, glorious pair,
====Adorn the soil.

Rear high thy head, thou symbol dear,
Sae meek in peace, sae bauld in weir,
Mine e'e dimm'd wi' a full proud tear,
====I bow before thee,
An' while life's pulse beats warm, I swear
====Still to adore thee.

=======JAMES BALLANTINE, Edinburgh.





THE BUIKIN O' ROBIN AND MIRREN.

TUNE, - "_Brose and Butter._"

GAE bring me my rokeley o' grey,
=My mutch and red ribbons sae dainty,
And haste ye lass fling on your claes,
=Auld Rab's to be buiked to aunty.
Ae gloamin' last ouk he cam wast,
=To speer for my auld lucky daddie,
Tho' sair wi' the hoast he was fash'd,
=Ae blink o' auld aunt made him waddie.
==Sae mak yoursel' braw, braw,
===And busk yoursel' tidy and canty,
==Guid luck may as yet be your fa',
===Sin' Rab's to be buiked to aunty.

The body cam hirplin ben,
=Tho' warstlin wi' eild, he was canty,
And he o'erly just speer'd for the men,
=But he cadgily cracket wi' aunty.
Or e'er he had sitten a blink,
=He sang and he ranted fu' cheery,
And auld aunty's heart he gar'd clink,
=Wi' "Mirren, will ye be my deary?"
==For I'm neither sae auld, auld,
===Nor am I sae gruesome or uggin,
==I've a score o' guid nowt i' the fauld,
===And a lang neck'd purse o' a moggin.

At this Mirren's heart gae a crack,
=Like the thud o' a waukin mill beetle,
And she thocht, but she ne'er a word spak,
="Weel, I'd e'en be contented wi' little."
For Mirren, tho' three score and ane,
=Had never had "will ye," speer'd at her,
So she laid a fond loof in his han',
=And quo' "Robin that settles the matter."
==Sae busk ye lass braw, braw,
===Busk and let's aff, for I'se warren,
==We'se hae daffin and laughin an' a',
===At the buikin o' Robin and Mirren.

=======PATRICK BUCHAN.





MY AIN COUNTRIE.

TUNE, - "_The Brier Bush._"

How are ye a' at hame,
=In my ain countrie?
Are your kind hearts aye the same
=In my ain countrie?
Are ye a' as fu' o' glee,
As witty, frank and free,
As kind's ye used to be?
=In my ain countrie.

Oh! a coggie I will fill
=To my ain countrie!
Ay and toom it wi' gude will
=To my ain countrie!
Here's to a' the folk I ken,
'Mang the lasses and the men,
In ilk canty butt an' ben,
=O' my ain countrie!

Heaven watch thou ever o'er
=My ain countrie!
Let tyrants never more
=Rule my ain countrie!
May her heroes dear to thee-
The bauld hearts and the free-
Be ready aye to dee,
=For their ain countrie!

May a bleesin' licht on a'
=In my ain countrie!
Baith the grit folk an' the sma
=In our ain countrie!
On whatever sod I kneel-
Heaven knows I ever feel-
For the honour and the weal
=O' my ain countrie!

=======ALEX. MACLAGGAN, Edinburgh.





THE HIGHLAND MAID.

TUNE, - "42_d March._"

AGAIN the lav'rock seeks the sky,
=And warbles dimly seen,
And summer views wi' sunny joy,
=Her gow'ny robe o' green.
But ah! the summer's blyth return
=In flowery pride array'd,
Was mair can cheer the heart forlorn,
=Or charm the Highland maid.

My true love fell by Charlie's side,
=Wi' mony a clansman dear,
A gallant youth, ah! wae betide
=The cruel Southron's spear.
His bonnet blue is fallen now,
=And bloody is the plaid,
That aften on the mountain's brow
=Has wrapp'd big Highland maid.

My father's shieling on the hill.
=Is cheerless now and sad;
The passing breezes whisper still,
="You've lost your Highland lad."
Upon Culloden's fatal heath
=He spak o' me they said,
And faulter'd wi' his dying breath,
="Adieu! my Highland maid."

The weary ntgbt for rest I seek,
=The langsome day I mourn,
The smile upon my wither'd cheek
=Ah! never can return.
But soon beneath the sod I'll lie,
=In yonder lowly glade,
Where haply ilka passer by
=Shall mourn the Highland maid.





SIR BENJAMIN BUFFSTRAP.

AIR, - "_Black Jock._"

HAVE you heard of Sir Benjamin Buffstrap, the Broad,
That knight of the razor so outre and odd-
=The barbarous barber of Barrowfield bar?
Sure a sharper short shaver has seldom been seen,
With his buffstrap so black and his blades all so keen,
And his suds in his soap-box as white as the snow-
How closely the crop of the chin he can mow!
=The barbarous barber at Barrowfield bar.

Though a barbarous barber Sir Benjamin be,
Yet, like his neighbour shaver, no Savage is he,
=The barbarous barber at Barrowfield bar:
For all his barbarities tend but to smooth
The wrinkles of age down to dimples of youth,
While the blood of his victims he studiously spares,
And only cuts off stiff rebellious hairs-
=The barbarous barber at Barrowfield bar.

This barbarous barber's a wonderful wight,
For his breadth is exactly the length of his height!-
=The barbarous barber at Barrowfield bar;
And his bread bluffy fare is so pregnant with glee,
And his wild wit comes flashing so fearless and free,
That to sea and to hear him, I'm certain would make
A whole congregation of Quakers' sides ache-
=The barbarous barber at Barrowfield bar.

'Tis said, too, that ha can disguise so the truth,
As to give to old age the resemblance of youth-
=The barbarous barber at Barrowfield bar;
Can make the dark countenance lively and fair,
And give the bald pate an exub'rance of hair;
Nay, more - by the help of his combs and his curls,
Can transform mouldy maids into gay giddy girls-
=The barbarous barber at Barrowfield bar.

Long may this sharp shaver successfully shave
The chin of the just man - the cheek of the knave-
=But while light sweeps his hand o'er the honest man's chin,
Ne'er causing wry faces, nor scratching the skin,
May the cheek of the villain severely be stung
By the rough rugged razor, or keen cutting tongue,
=Of the barbarous barber at Barrowfield bar.

=======ALEX. RODGER.





THE BLACK SHEEP.

AIR, - "_John Anderson my jo._"

OH John, what can be keeping you-how lang man, will ye bide,
Ye surely hae mista'en your road, and dauner't into Clyde
Here weary by the ingle side, a lanely wife I sit-
I'm sure that's Twa that's chappit noo, and nae word o' ye yet.

Of our John's reformation I lang hae tint a' houp,
He never thinks o' rising while a drap there's in the stoup:
Wi' gaunting and wi' gaping, my puir head's like to split-
I hear his voice upon the stair-and surely that's his fit.

(_John soliloquising on the stair._)  "That's no our stair - no the ane that I gang up to my nest on - I think it's coming down to meet me - and it's gaun round about too - there's no twa stanes in't like ane anither - some o' them wad haud twa feet, and ithers a sparrow couldna get fittin' on.  Weel, gin I were at the head o't, and on the inside o' my ain door, I'll raise a skellihewit wi' Janet, it will I - because, gin I dinna do't wi' her, she'll do't wi' me - an' a man should be aye master in his ain house, right or wrang; it's a' the same whether the parritch is ready or no - on the fire or af't - cauld or het, I maun be het; - if she's pouterin' at the fire, and keeping it in for me, I'll tell her she had nae business staying up - she might hae been aneath the blankets, for she would pouter a while, afore the fire could len' ony light for me to come hame wi'; - and if she be in her bed, I'll make her lugs stoun' wi' her carlessness about her half marrow - that he might hae been robbed or murdered for ony care she had o' him, but lying there snoring like a dog in a tod's nole. - But there she is - I hear her, - can I really be angry wi' her? - Yes; I maun be angry at something." - (_Chaps._)  (_Enquiries_) - "Wha's that?"  "Open the door, and ye'll see - it's ill to ken folk through a twa-inch plank."  "I would like to ken wha it is, before I open my door to ony body."  "Weel, Janet,, you're perfectly right - there's naething like being cautious."  "Is't you, John, after a'? siccan a night as I hae spent, thinking a' the ills on earth had happened to you; what hae ye been, John?"  "Oh, Janet, dinna be in sic a hurry."  "In a hurry, John, near three o'clock in the morning!"  "Janet, it's the first time since you and I cam thegither, that I hae seen you wastin ony thing!"  "Me wasting, John! - the only thing I'm wasting is mysel."  "Na, Janet, that's no what I mean; what's the use o' bruning twa crusies to let ae body see - an' ye might hae lighted half a dizen an' they a' couldna let me see to come hame?"  John, John, you're seeing wi' mae een than your Maker gied ye this night - your een are just gaun thegither."  "I'm no a hair fley'd for that, my doo, janet, as lang's my nose is atween them."  "Ou ay, John, but ye hav'na tell't me whar ye hae been till this time in the morning?"  "Did ye ever hear sic a high wind as is blawin' frae the lift this night? the cluds will be blawn a' to rage - there'll no be a hale corner left in them to haud a shower in afore the mornin' - no a gas-lamp blinkin' in the Trongate; gin ye get up wi' the ducks in the mornin', janet, you'll see the Green scattered ower wi' the kye's horns, for they couldna keep their roots in siccan a win' - an' ye'll get them for the gathering."  "Ay, John, it's a high wind, but for any thing that I hear, it's blawin' nae higher than your ain head; whar was ye?"  "Dear me, did I no tell ye, Janet?  I'll hae forgotten then; I might hae tell't ye - I'm sure I was nae ill gate - that's a lang an' no vera tenty stair o' ours to come upl I maist missed my fit this night coming up it mair than ance - we'll hae to flit next term I doubt; ye maun gang and look after anither ane the morn, an' I'll gang wi' ye - twa heads are better than ane, quo' the wife, gaun wi' her dog to the market."  "Come, come, John, nane o' you palavers, ye needna think to draw the blade ower the auld body's e'e; the stair, John, atweel's nane o' the best, but the stair that would suit you best this night, is ane wi' nae steps in't; - but what was ye? and wha was ye wi'?"  "Janet, ye hae little pity for me; if I should crack ane o' my pins (limbs) ye maybe think because I'm a shaver o' corks, that I can easily mak' a new ane - but, Janet, fu' o' curiosity too! woman, it's a dangerous think to be ower inquisitive - ye mind what the mither o' ys a' got by't; besides, 'Gled,' as honest Rabbie Burns says, 'the infant world a shug, maist ruined a'' - oh, but it is a pithy word that sing! there's no a part o' speech in the English tongue like it."  "Whaur was ye, John, whaur?  I doubt ye hae been in ill company, this night - ye never put me aff this way before; will ye no tell me, John?"  "Weel, weel, Janet, dinna be sae toutit about it - I was awa' at a burial."  "At a burial, John! - what burial could there be at this hour?  It could be nae decent body, I'm sure, that had to be huddled awa' at sic an untimeous time o' nicht"  "Deed, janet, you're richt there; she was a very troublesome kind o' body, and raised muckle discord amang families; we were a' saying, she's well awa' if she bide."  "But wha is she?"  "Just our aul frien' ANNIE, and she never cam about the house but _ill weather_ was sure to follow; now, I think ye may guess."  "Ay, puir body! - has she win' awa' at length, puir creature.  Annie! Annie! - oh aye, but whan I mind - there's mae nnie's than ane - was it Annie Spittle?"  "Oh no, it wasna her, poor body!"  "Was it Annie Dinwiddie?"  "No; that woman's _din_ is enough to drive ony man to the _wuddie._"  "Weel John, I ken nae mae o' the name; but I see you're just tryin, as usual, to mak' game o' me.  Waes me! it's a hard think to be keepit sae lang out o' my bed to be made a fou man's fool."

Says John," no ane that ye hae nam'd 's the lassie that I mean-
Ae Annie yet, my dearest doo, ye hae forgotten clean;
We buried ANI-MOSITY - and trouth I thought it fit,
That whan we had her in the yird, a skinfu' I should get."