And closed for aye the sparkling glance

That dwelt on me sae kindly!

And mold'ring now in silent dust

That heart that loved me dearly!

But still within my bosom's core
Shall live my Highland Mary.

ANNIE LAURIE.

BY DOUGLAS OF FINGLAND.

M

AXWELTON braes are bonnie

Where early fa's the dew,
And it's there that Annie Laurie
Gie'd me her promise true;
Gie'd me her promise true,
Which ne'er forgot will be;

And for bonnie Annie Laurie
I'd lay me doune and dee.

Her brow is like the snaw drift;
Her throat is like the swan;

Her face it is the fairest

That e'er the sun shone on-
That e'er the sun shone on-

And dark blue is her ee;
And for bonnie Annie Laurie
I'd lay me doune and dee.

Like dew on the gowan lying
Is the fa' o' her fairy feet;
Like the winds in summer sighing,
Her voice is low and sweet-

Her voice is low and sweet

And she's a' the world to me;
And for bonnie Annie Laurie

I'd lay me doune and dee.

MY BLYTHE AN' BONNY LASSIE.

BY JAMES HOGG.

OW sair my heart nae man shall ken

Ho

When I took leave o' yonder glen, Her faithful dames, her honest men, Her streams sae pure an' glassy, O; Her woods that skirt the verdant vale, Her balmy breeze sae brisk an' hale, Her flower of every flower the wale, My blythe an' bonny lassie, O!

The night was short, the day was lang,
An' ay we sat the birks amang,
'Til o'er my head the blackbird sang

Gae part wi' that dear lassie, O.
When on Lamgaro's top sae green
The rising sun-beam red was seen,
Wi' aching heart I left my Jean,

My blythe an' bonny lassie, O.

Her form is gracefu' as the pine;
Her smile the sunshine after rain;
Her nature cheerfu', frank, an' kind,
An' neither proud nor saucy, O.
The ripest cherry on the tree
Was ne'er sae pure or meek to see,

Nor half sae sweet its juice to me,

As a kiss o' my dear lassie, O.

Whate'er I do, whate'er I be,

Yon glen shall ay be dear to me;

Her banks and howms sae fair to see;

Her braes sae green an' grassy,

0:

The young laird o' the Lang-Shaw

Has drunk her health in wine;
The priest has said-in confidence-
The lassie was divine,

And that is mair in maiden's praise

Than ony priest should say:
But oh, what will the lads do
When Maggy gangs away?

The wailing in our green glen
That day will quaver high;

'Twill draw the red hart frae the woods,
The laverock frae the sky;

The fairies frae the beds o' dew

Will rise and join the lay:
An' hey! what a day 'twill be,
When Maggy gangs away!

THE LASS OF GLENESLAN-MILL.

BY ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.

HE laverock loves the dewy light,

TH

The bee the balmy foxglove fair;
The shepherd loves the glowing morn,
When song and sunshine fill the air:
But I love best the summer moon,
With all her stars, pure streaming still;
For then, in light and love I meet

The sweet lass of Gleneslan-mill.

The violets lay their blossoms low,
Beneath her white foot, on the plain;

Their fragrant heads the lilies wave,

Of her superior presence fain.

O might I clasp her to my heart,
And of her ripe lips have my will!
For loath to woo, and long to win,

Was she by green Gleneslan-mill.

Mute was the wind, soft fell the dew,

O'er Blackwood brow bright glowed the moon ; Rills murmured music, and the stars

Refused to set our heads aboon :

Ye might have heard our beating hearts,
Our mixing breaths-all was so still,
Till morning's light shone on her locks-
Farewell, lass of Gleneslan-mill.

Wert thou an idol' all of gold,

Had I the eye of worldish care,
I could not think thee half so sweet,
Look on thee so, or love thee mair.
Till death's cold dew-drop dim mine eye,
This tongue be mute, this heart lie still-
Thine every wish of joy and love,

My lass of green Gleneslan-mill!

THERE LIVES A YOUNG LASSIE.

BY JOHN IMLAH.

HERE lives a young lassie

TH

Far down yon lang glen;

How I lo'e that lassie

There's nae ane can ken!