She's play'd the deil amang the men, An' a' the land's grown eery She's stown the "Bangor" frae the clerk, The minister's fa'n through the text, The ploughman ploughs without the sock; The gadman whistles sparely; The shepherd pines amang his flock, An' turns his een to Marley; The tailor lad's fa'n ower the bed; The cobler ca's a parley; The weaver's neb's out through the web, An' a' for Meg o' Marley. What's to be done, for our gudeman Is flyting late an' early? He rises but to curse an' ban, An' sits down but to ferly. But ne'er had love a brighter lowe Than light his torches sparely At the bright een an' blithesome brow O' bonny Meg o' Marley. NORTH. A simple matter, but well worth Joseph Hume's four hours' speech, and forty-seven resolutions.— NOCTES AMBROSIANÆ, No. XXV. BONNY MARY Is one of the songs of my youth, and there are some good verses in it. It is much too long for singing. Should it turn a favourite with any one, three verses are easily selected. It is preserved in the Noctes, and was published long before, Gudeness kens where. WHERE Yarrow rows amang the rocks, But love its silken net had thrown Around his breast, so brisk an' airy, An' his blue eyes wi' moisture shone, O Mary, thou'rt sae mild and sweet, This heart would rather cease to beat, Than beat a lonely thing without thee. I see thee in the evening beam- I see thee in the midnight dream, By the dim light of heavenly vision ! When over Benger's haughty head The morning breaks in streaks sae bonny, I climb the mountain's velvet side, For quiet rest I get nae ony. How dear the lair on yon hill cheek, Where many a weary hour I tarry, For there I see the twisting reek Rise frae the cot where dwells my Mary! When Phoebus keeks outower the muir, I drive my flocks to yonder brook— The feeble in my arms I carry, Then every lammie's harmless look Brings to my mind my bonny Mary! Oft has the lark sung ower my head, And shook the dewdrops frae his wing,Oft hae my flocks forgot to feed, An' round their shepherd form'd a ring. Their looks condole the lee-lang day, While mine are fix'd and never vary, Aye turning down the westlin brae, Where dwells my loved, my bonny Mary! When gloaming, creeping west the lift, An' lads an' lasses mak a shift To raise some fun around the ingle, Regardless o' the wind or rain, Wi' cautious step and prospect wary, I often trace the lonely glen To steal a sight o' bonny Mary! When midnight draws her curtain deep, |