O, a saint's faith may vary,
But faithful I'll be ;
For well I lo'e Mary,

And Mary lo'es me.

Red, red as the rowan

Her smiling wee mou';

And white as the gowan

Her breast and her brow!

Wi' a foot o' a fairy

She links o'er the lea:

O! well I lo'e Mary,

And Mary lo'es me.

THE NAMELESS LASSIE.

BY JAMES BALLANTYNE.

'HERE'S nane may ever guess or trow my bonnie lassie's

THE

name,

There's nane may ken the humble cot my lassie ca's her hame;

Yet though my lassie's nameless, an' her kin o' low degree,
Her heart is warm, her thochts are pure, and oh! she's dear to me.

She's gentle and she's bonnie, an' she's modest as she's fair,
Her virtues, like her beauties a', are varied as they're rare;
While she is light an' merry as the lammie on the lea-
For happiness an' innocence thegether aye maun be!

Whene'er she shows her blooming face, the flowers may cease to blaw,

An' when she opes her hinnied lips, the air is music a';

But when wi' other's sorrow touched, the tear starts to her ee,
Oh! that's the gem in beauty's crown, the priceless pearl to me.

Within my soul her form's enshrined, her heart is a' my ain,
An' richer prize or purer bliss nae mortal e'er can gain;
The darkest paths o' life I tread wi' steps o' bounding glee,
Cheered onward by the love that lichts my nameless lassie's ee.

MARY DHU.

BY DAVID MACBETH MOIR.

WEET, sweet is the rose-bud

SWE

Bathed in dew;

But sweeter art thou,

My Mary Dhu.

Oh! the skies of night,
With their eyes of light,

Are not so bright

As my Mary Dhu.

Whenever thy radiant face I see,

The clouds of sorrow depart from me:
As the shadows fly

From day's bright eye,
Thou lightest life's sky,
My Mary Dhu.

Sad, sad is my heart,

When I sigh, adieu !

Or gaze on thy parting,
My Mary Dhu!

Then for thee I mourn,
Till thy steps' return

Bids my bosom burn

My Mary Dhu.

I think but of thee on the broom-clad hills,

I muse but on thee by the moorland rills.

In the morning light,

In the moonshine bright,

Thou art still in my sight,

My Mary Dhu.

Thy voice trembles through me
Like the breeze,

That ruffles, in gladness,

The leafy trees;

"Tis a wafted tone

From Heaven's high throne,

Making hearts thine own,

My Mary Dhu.

Be the flowers of joy ever round thy feet,
With colors glowing, and incense sweet;
And when thou must away,

May life's rose decay

In the west wind's sway-
My Mary Dhu!

JESSIE, THE FLOWER O' DUMBLANE.

BY ROBERT TANNAHILL.

HE sun has gane down o'er the lofty Ben-Lomond,

THE

And left the red clouds to preside o'er the scene, While lanely I stray in the calm simmer gloamin' To muse on sweet Jessie, the flower o' Dumblane.

How sweet is the brier, wi' its saft faulding blossom,
And sweet is the birk, wi' its mantle o' green;
Yet sweeter and fairer, and dear to this bosom,
Is lovely young Jessie, the flower o' Dumblane.

She's modest as ony, and blythe as she's bonny;
For guileless simplicity marks her its ain;
And far be the villain, divested of feeling,

Wha'd blight, in its bloom, the sweet flower o' Dumblane.

Sing on, thou sweet mavis, thy hymn to the e'ening,
Thou'rt dear to the echoes of Calderwood glen;
Sae dear to this bosom, sae artless and winning,
Is charming young Jessie, the flower o' Dumblane.

How lost were my days till I met wi' my Jessie,

The sports o' the city seemed foolish and vain ;

I ne'er saw a nymph I would ca' my dear lassie,

Till charmed with sweet Jessie, the flower o' Dumblane.

Though mine were the station o' loftiest grandeur,
Amidst its profusion I'd languish in pain;

And reckon as naething the height o' its splendor,
If wanting sweet Jessie, the flower o' Dumblane.

THE BANKS OF THE LEE.

BY THOMAS OSBORNE DAVIS.

H, the banks of the Lee, the banks of the Lee,
And love in a cottage for Mary and me!

There's not in the land a lovelier tide,

And I'm sure that there's no one so fair as my bride.
She's modest and meek,

There's a down on her cheek,

And her skin is as sleek

As a butterfly's wing;

Then her step would scarce show

On the fresh-fallen snow,

And her whisper is low,

But as clear as the spring.

Oh, the banks of the Lee, the banks of the Lee,
And love in a cottage for Mary and me!
I know not how love is happy elsewhere,
I know not how any but lovers are there.

Oh, so green is the grass, so clear is the stream, So mild is the mist and so rich is the beam, That beauty should never to other lands roam, But make on the banks of our river its home! When, dripping with dew,

The roses peep through,

'Tis to look in at you

They are growing so fast;
While the scent of the flowers
Must be hoarded for hours,

'Tis poured in such showers

When my Mary goes past.

Oh, the banks of the Lee, the banks of the Lee, And love in a cottage for Mary and me!

Oh, Mary for me, Mary for me,

And 'tis little I'd sigh for the banks of the Lee!

THE PRETTY GIRL OF LOCH DAN.

T

BY SIR SAMUEL FERGUSON.

HE shades of eve had crossed the glen

That frowns o'er infant Avonmore,

When, nigh Loch Dan, two weary men,

We stopped before a cottage-door.