TUNE- Wishaw's favourite.' O, MY luve's like a red, red rose, That's newly sprung in June: O, my luve's like the melodie That's sweetly play'd in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonie lass,
So deep in luve am I :
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun :
I will luve thee still, my dear,

While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only luve, And fare thee weel awhile! And I will come again, my luve, Tho' it were ten thousand mile.

O, WAT YE WHA'S IN YON
TOWN?

TUNE-The bonie Lass in
yon town.'

O, WAT ye wha's in yon town,
Ye see the e'enin sun upon?
The fairest dame's in yon town,
That e'enin sun is shining on.

Now haply down yon gay green shaw,
She wanders by yon spreading tree:
How blest, ye flow'rs that round her
blaw,

Ye catch the glances o' her e'e! How blest, ye birds that round her sing, And welcome in the blooming year, And doubly welcome be the spring,

The season to my Lucy dear!

The sun blinks blithe on yon town, And on yon bonie braes of Ayr; But my delight in yon town,

And dearest bliss, is Lucy fair.

Without my love, not a' the charms
O' Paradise could yield me joy;
But gie me Lucy in my arms,
And welcome Lapland's dreary sky.

My cave wad be a lover's bower,
Tho' raging winter rent the air;
And she a lovely little flower,
That I wad tent and shelter there.

O sweet is she in yon town,
Yon sinkin sun's gane down upon;
A fairer than's in yon town,

His setting beam ne'er shone upon.

If angry fate is sworn my foe,
And suffering I am doom'd to bear;
I careless quit all else below,

But spare me, spare me Lucy dear.

For while life's dearest blood is warm, Ae thought frae her shall ne'er depart, And she-as fairest is her form,

She has the truest, kindest heart.

A VISION.

TUNE-Cumnock Psalms.'

As I stood by yon roofless tower, Where the wa' flower scents the dewy

air,

Where the howlet mourns in her ivy

bower,

And tells the midnight moon her care;

CHORUS.

A lassie, all alone was making her moan, Lamenting our lads beyond the sea: In the bluidy wars they fa', and our honour's gane an' a',

And broken-hearted we maun die.

The winds were laid, the air was still,
The stars they shot alang the sky;
The fox was howling on the hill,
And the distant-echoing glens reply.

P

The stream, adown its hazelly path,
Was rushing by the ruin'd wa',
Hasting to join the sweeping Nith,
Whase distant roarings swell and fa'.

The cauld blue north was streaming forth
Her lights, wi' hissing, eerie din ;
Athort the lift they start and shitt,
Like fortune's favours, tint as win.
By heedless chance I turn'd mine eyes,
And, by the moonbeam, shook to see
A stern and stalwart ghaist arise,

Attir'd as minstrels wont to be.

Had I a statue been o' stane,

His darin look had daunted me : And on his bonnet grav'd was plain The sacred posy-Libertie!

And frae his harp sic strains did flow, Might rous'd the slumbering dead to hear;

But oh, it was a tale of woe,

As ever met a Briton's ear!

He sang wi' joy his former day,

He weeping wail'd his latter times; But what he said it was nae play,

I winna venture't in my rhymes.

O, WERT THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST.

TUNE- The Lass of Livingstone.

O, WERT thou in the cauld blast,
On yonder lea, on yonder lea,
My plaidie to the angry airt,

I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee.
Or did misfortune's bitter storms
Around thee blaw, around thee blaw,
Thy bield should be my bosom,

To share it a', to share it a'.

Or were I in the wildest waste,

Of earth and air, of earth and air, The desart were a paradise,

If thou wert there, if thou wert there. Or were I monarch o' the globe,

Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign, The only jewel in my crown

Wad be my queen, wad be my queen.

THE HIGHLAND LASSIE. TUNE- The deuks dang o'er my daddy. NAE gentle dames, tho' e'er sae fair, Shall ever be my Muse's care; Their titles a' are empty show; Gie me my Highland lassie, O.

CHORUS.

Within the glen sae bushy, O,
Aboon the plain sae rushy, O,
I set me down wi' right good will,
To sing my Highland lassie, O.
Oh, were yon hills and valleys mine,
Yon palace and yon gardens fine!
The world then the love should know
I bear my Highland lassie, O.
Within the glen, &c.

But fickle fortune frowns on me,
And I maun cross the raging sea;
But while my crimson currents flow
I'll love my Highland lassie, O.
Within the glen, &c.

Altho' thro' foreign climes I range,
I know her heart will never change,
For her bosom burns with honour's glow,
My faithful Highland lassie, O.
Within the glen, &c.

For her I'll dare the billow's roar,
For her I'll trace a distant shore,
That Indian wealth may lustre throw
Around my Highland lassie, O.
Within the glen, &c.

She has my heart, she has my hand,
By sacred truth and honour's band!
Till the mortal stroke shall lay me low,
I'm thine, my Highland lassie, ().

Fareweel the glen sae bushy, O!
Fareweel the plain sae rushy, O!
To other lands I now must go,
To sing my Highland lassie, O!

JOCKEY'S TA'EN THE PARTING KISS.

JOCKEY'S ta'en the parting kiss,

O'er the mountains he is gane;
And with him is a' my bliss,
Nought but griefs with me remain.

Spare my luve, ye winds that blaw, Plashy sleets and beating rain! Spare my luve, thou feathery snaw, Drifting o'er the frozen plain!

When the shades of evening creep O'er the day's fair, gladsome ee, Sound and safely may he sleep, Sweetly blithe his waukening be! He will think on her he loves,

Fondly he'll repeat her name; For where'er he distant roves, Jockey's heart is still at hame.

PEGGY'S CHARMS.

My Peggy's face, my Peggy's form,
The frost of hermit age might warm;
My Peggy's worth, my Peggy's mind,
Might charm the first of human kind.
I love my Peggy's angel air,
Her face so truly, heavenly fair,
Her native grace so void of art;
But I adore my Peggy's heart.

The lily's hue, the rose's dye,
The kindling lustre of an eye;
Who but owns their magic sway,
Who but knows they all decay!
The tender thrill, the pitying tear,
The generous purpose, nobly dear,
The gentle look that rage disarms,
These are all immortal charms.

UP IN THE MORNING EARLY.

CHORUS.

Up in the morning's no for me,

Up in the morning early; When a' the hills are cover'd wi' snaw, I'm sure it's winter fairly.

CAULD blaws the wind frae east to west, The drift is driving sairly;

Sae loud and shrill's I hear the blast, I'm sure it's winter fairly.

The birds sit chittering in the thorn,

A' day they fare but sparely; And lang's the night frae e'en to morn, I'm sure it's winter fairly.

Up in the morning, &c.

THO' CRUEL FATE. THO' cruel fate should bid us part, As far's the pole and line; Her dear idea round my heart Should tenderly entwine.

Tho' mountains frown and deserts howl,
And oceans roar between ;
Yet, dearer than my deathless soul,
I still would love my Jean.

I DREAM'D I LAY WHERE FLOWERS WERE SPRINGING.

I DREAM'D I lay where flowers were springing

Gaily in the sunny beam; List'ning to the wild birds singing,

By a falling, crystal stream: Straight the sky grew black and daring; Thro' the woods the whirlwinds rave; Trees with aged arms were warring,

O'er the swelling, drumlie wave.

Such was my life's deceitful morning,
Such the pleasures I enjoy'd;
But lang or noon, loud tempests storming
A' my flowery bliss destroy'd.
Tho' fickle fortune has deceiv'd me,

She promis'd fair, and perform'd but ill; Of monie a joy and hope bereav'd me, I bear a heart shall support me still.

BONIE ANN.

YE gallants bright, I red you right,

Beware o' bonie Ann:
Her comely face sae fu' o' grace,
Your heart she will trepan.

Her een sae bright, like stars by night,
Her skin is like the swan;
Sae jimpy lac'd her genty waist,

That sweetly ye might span.

Youth, grace, and love, attendant move, And pleasure leads the van;

In a' their charms, and conquering arms,
They wait on bonie Ann.

The captive bands may chain the hands,
But love enslaves the man:
Ye gallants braw, I red you a',
Beware o' bonie Ann.