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ATHOL CUMMERS.

DUNCAN lad, blaw the bummers !

Play me round the Athol Cummers !
A' the din o' a' the drummers

Canna rouse like Athol Cummers.
When I'm dowie, weet, or weary,
Soo'n my heart grow light an' cheery,
When I hear the sprightly num'ers
Of my dear, my Athol Cummers.

Duncan lad, &c.

When the fickle lasses vex me;
When the cares of life perplex me;
When I'm fley'd wi' frightfu' rumours,
Then I cry for Athol Cummers.

Duncan lad, &c.

'Tis a cure for a' disasters ;
Kebbit ewes, an crabbit masters ;
Drifty nights, an' dripping summers,
A' my joy is Athol Cummers.

Duncan lad, &c.

Athol banks and braes are bonny,
Fairer nane in Caledony;
But a' her woods, an' sweetest summers,
Canna please like Athol Cummers.

Duncan lad, &c.

WILLIE WASTLE.

TUNE--Macfarlane's Reel.

WILLIE WASTLE lo'ed a lass

Was bright as ony rainbow! A pretty dear I wat she was,

But saucy an' disdainfu'; She cortit was by many a lad,

Wha teas'd her late an' early ; An' a' the wiles that Willie had

Could scarcely gain a parley.

The western sea had drown'd the sun;

The sternies blinkit clearly ;
The moon was glentin' o'er the glen ;

To light him to his deary.
She dwalt amang the mountains wild,

Nae wood nor bower to shade her; But O! the scene look'd sweet an' mild,

For luve o' them that staid there.

The cock that craw'd wi' yelpin' voice,

Nae claronet sae grand, 0; The bonny burnie's purlin' noise

Was sweet as the piano. The little doggy at the door,

Into his arms he caught it,

An' hugg'd an' sleek'd it o'er an' o'er

For luve o' them that aught it,

The house was thrang, the night was lang,

The auld gudewife bethought her, To tak a lair was naething wrang

Beside her bonny doughter.
Sly Willie enter'd unperceiv'd

To wake his charming Annie,
An' straight his jealous mind believ'd

The wife was shepherd Sawny.

Though milder than the southern breeze,

When July's odours waftin', Yet now his passion made a heeze,

An' a' his reason left him ; He gae the kerlin sic a swinge,

He didna stand on prattlin', Till down her throat, like birstled beans

He gart her teeth

gang rattlin'.

The doggy fawn'd, but gat a drub

Frae Willie's hand uncivil ;
The burn was grown a drumly dub;

The cock a scirlin' devil.
The place appear'd a wilderness,

A desart, dank an' dreary ;
For O! alas! the bonny lass

Nae mair could mak it cheery!

O love! thou ray of life divine !

If rosy virtue guide thee,
What sense or feeling half sae fine.

What blessings too abide thee!
But jealousy, thy neighbour sour,

Deforms the finest feature,
An' maks a gloomy shade to lour

O'er fairest scenes in nature.

WHEN MAGGY GANGS AWAY. O WHAT will a' the lads do

When Maggy gangs away? O what will a' the lads do

When Maggy gangs away? There's nae heart in a' the glen

That disna dread the day. O what will a' the lads do

When Maggy gangs away ?
Young Jock has taen the hill fort

A waefu' wight is he;
Poor Harry's taen the bed for't,

An' laid him down to dee;
An' Sandy's gane unto the kirk,

And learnin' fast to pray. And, 0, what will the lads do

When Maggy gangs away?

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