The rough bur-thistle, spreading wide
Amang the bearded bear 1,

I turned the weeding-hook aside,
An' spared the symbol dear:
No nation, no station,

My envy e'er could raise ;
A Scot still, but 2 blot still,'
I knew nae higher praise.

But still the elements o' sang
In formless jumble, right an' wrang,
Wild floated in my brain;
'Till on that har'st I said before,
My partner in the merry core,

She roused the forming strain :
I see her yet, the sonsie3 quean,
That lighted up my jingle,
Her witching smile, her pauky een,
That gart my heart-strings tingle;
I fired, inspired,

At ev'ry kindling keek,
But bashing, and dashing,
I feared aye to speak.

THE BIRKS OF ABERFELDY.

Bonie lassie, will ye go,

Will ye go, will ye go,
Bonie lassie, will ye go,

To the Birks of Aberfeldy?

Now simmer blinks on flowery braes,
And o'er the crystal streamlet plays,
Come let us spend the lightsome days
In the Birks of Aberfeldy.

While o'er their heads the hazels hing,
The little birdies blithely sing,

Or lightly flit on wanton wing,
In the Birks of Aberfeldy.

1 barley.

2 without.

3

comely.

look.

The braes ascend like lofty wa's,
The foaming stream deep roaring fa's,
O'er-hung wi' fragrant spreading shaws,
The Birks of Aberfeldy.

The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' flowers,
White o'er the linns the burnie pours,
And, rising, weets wi' misty showers
The Birks of Aberfeldy.

Let fortune's gifts at random flee,
They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me,
Supremely blest wi' love and thee,
In the Birks of Aberfeldy.

OF A' THE AIRTS THE WIND CAN BLAW.

Tune-Miss Admiral Gordon's Strathspey.'

Of a' the airts the wind can blaw,

I dearly like the west,

For there the bonie lassie lives,

The lassie I lo'e best;

There wild woods grow, and rivers row,

And mony a hill between;

By day and night my fancy's flight
Is ever wi' my Jean.

I see her in the dewy flowers,
I see her sweet and fair;

I hear her in the tunefu' birds,
I hear her charm the air:

There's not a bonie flower that springs
By fountain, shaw', or green;
There's not a bonie bird that sings,

But minds me o' my Jean.

1 wood.

AULD LANG SYNE.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And days o' lang syne?

Chorus.

For auld lang syne, my dear,

For auld lang syne,

We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp,
And surely I'll be mine;

And we'll tak a cup of kindness yet
For auld lang syne.

For auld, &c.

We twa hae run about the braes,
And pu'd the gowans fine;

But we've wander'd mony a weary foot
Sin' auld lang syne.

For auld, &c.

We twa hae paidl'd i' the burn,

From morning sun till dine;

But seas between us braid hae roar'd

Sin' auld lang syne.

For auld, &c.

And here's a hand, my trusty fiere1,

And gie's a hand o' thine;

And we'll tak a right guid-willie waught,

For auld lang syne.

For auld, &c.

1 companion.

2 draught.

JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO.

John Anderson, my jo, John,
When we were first acquent,
Your locks were like the raven,
Your bonie brow was brent1;
But now your brow is beld, John,
Your locks are like the snaw;
But blessings on your frosty pow,
John Anderson, my jo.

John Anderson, my jo, John,

We clamb the hill thegither;
And monie a canty day, John,
We've had wi' ane anither:
Now we maun totter down, John,
But hand in hand we'll go,
And sleep thegither at the foot,
John Anderson, my jo.

TAM GLEN.

Tune-The mucking o' Geordie's Byre.'

My heart is a breaking, dear Tittie,
Some counsel unto me come len',
To anger them a' is a pity;

But what will I do wi' Tam Glen?

2

I'm thinking, wi' sic a braw fellow,
In poortith I might mak a fen'3;
What care I in riches to wallow,

If I maunna marry Tam Glen?

There's Lowrie the laird o' Dumeller,

'Guid-day to you,'-brute! he comes ben:

He brags and he blaws o' his siller;

But when will he dance like Tam Glen?

1 smooth.

2

poverty.

3 make a shift.

My minnie does constantly deave1 me,
And bids me beware o' young men ;
They flatter, she says, to deceive me;

But wha can think sae o' Tam Glen?

My daddie says, gin I'll forsake him,
He'll gie me gude hunder marks ten :
But, if it's ordained I maun take him,
O wha will I get but Tam Glen?
Yestreen at the Valentine's dealing,

My heart to my mou gied a sten2:
For thrice I drew ane without failing,
And thrice it was written, Tam Glen.

3

The last Halloween I was waukin 3
My droukit sark-sleeve, as ye ken,
His likeness cam up the house staukin,
And the very grey breeks o' Tam Glen!
Come counsel, dear Tittie, don't tarry;
I'll gie ye my bonie black hen,
Gif ye will advise me to marry
The lad I lo'e dearly, Tam Glen.

THE HAPPY TRIO.

Tune Willie brew'd a peck o' maut.'

O, Willie brewed a peck o' maut,
And Rob and Allan cam to see;
Three blyther hearts, that lee-lang night,
Ye wad na found in Christendie.

Chorus.

We are na fou, we 're no that fou,
But just a drappie in our ee;

The cock may craw, the day may daw,
And ay we'll taste the barley bree.

1 deafen.

2 leap.

3 watching

4

wet.