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THERE'S GOWD IN THE BREAST.

I HAVE forgot whether this is one of the proscribed ones or not; I think it is: but I have not Mr Moore's songs by me. It is set by Smith to a fine old Irish air, ycleped "The Red Fox;" but I know not if it is in existence, as these cancelled things are hard to come at.

THERE'S gowd in the breast of the primrose pale,
An' siller in every blossom;

There's riches galore in the breeze of the vale,
And health in the wild wood's bosom.

Then come, my love, at the hour of joy,
When warbling birds sing o'er us:
Sweet nature for us has no alloy,
And the world is all before us.

The courtier joys in bustle and power,
The soldier in war-steeds bounding,

The miser in hoards of treasured ore,
The proud in their pomp surrounding:

F

But we hae yon heaven, sae bonny and blue,

And laverocks skimming out o'er us;

The breezes of health and the valleys of dewO the world is all before us!

WHY WEEPS YON HIGHLAND MAID?

THIS song was written to a cramp air sent me by Smith. It is, however, very beautiful and pathetic.

WHY weeps yon Highland maid

Over the tartan plaid

Is it a pledge of care,

Or are the blood drops there?

Tell me, thou hind of humble seeming,

Why the tears on her cheek are gleaming,

Why should the young and fair

Thus weep unpitied there?

Stranger, that Highland plaid

Low in the dust was laid;

He who the relic wore,

He is, alas! no more:

He and his loyal clan were trodden
Down by slaves on dark Culloden.

Well o'er a lover's pall,

Well may the teardrops fall!

Where now her clansman true,

Where is the bonnet blue,

Where the claymore that broke

Fearless through fire and smoke?

Not one gleam by glen or river,

It lies dropp'd from the hand for ever. Stranger, our fate deplore,

Our ancient name's no more!

MY EMMA, MY DARLING.

I HAVE nothing to tell about this one at all; for I do not remember aught about it, save that I think it is in one of the Musical Bijous.

My Emma, my darling, from winter's domain
Let us fly to the glee of the city again,

Where a day never wakes but some joy it renews,
And a night never falls but that joy it pursues;
Where the dance is so light, and the hall is so bright,
And life whirls onward one round of delight.

Would we feel that we love and have spirits refined, We must mix with the world, and enjoy humankind.

Mute nature is lovely in earth and in sky,

It cheers the lone heart and enlivens the eye;
But nowhere can beauty and dignity shine,
So as in the human face fair and divine.

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