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A’ the lads hae trystet their joes,

Slee Willie came up and ca'd on Nelly, Altho' she was hecht to Geordie Bowse, She's gien him the gunk and she's gaun wi' Willie.

Wee collier Johnnie

Has yocket his pony,
And's aff to the town for a lading of nappy,

Wi' fouth of good meat

To serve us to eat,
Sae with fuddling and feasting we'll a' be fou' happy.
Wee Patie Brydie's to say the grace,

The body's aye ready at dredgies and weddings,
And flunkey M'Fee, of the Skiverton place,
Is chosen to scuttle the pies and the puddings.

For there'll be plenty

Of ilka thing dainty,
Baith lang kail and haggis, and ev'ry thing fitting,

With luggies of beer,

Our wizzens to clear, Sae the de'il fill his kyte wha gaes clung frae the meeting, Lowrie has caft Gibbie Cameron's gun, That his auld gutcher bore when he follow'd Prince

Charlie, - The barrel was rustet as black as the grun, But he's ta'en't to the smiddy and's fettl't it rarely,

With wallets of pouther,

His musket he'll shouther,
And ride at our head, to the bride's a' parading.

At ilka farm town

He'll fire them three roun',
Till the hale kintry ring with the Kebbuckston Wedding.
Jamie and Johnnie maun ride the brouse,

For few like them can sit in the saddle;
And Willie Cobreath, the best of bows,
Is trysted to jig in the barn with his fiddle.

With whisking and flisking,
And reeling and wheeling,

The young anes a' like to loup out o' the body,

And Neilie M‘Nairn,

Thosair forfairn, He vows that he'll wallop twa sets wi' the howdie. Sauney MʻNab, with his tartan trews,

Has hecht to come down in the midst of the caper, And gie us three wallops of merry shantrews,

With the true Highland fling of Macrimmon the pi

per.

Sic hipping and skipping,

And springing and flinging, I'se wad that there's nane in the Lawlands can waff it!

Faith! Willie maun fiddle,

And jirgum and diddle, And screed till the sweat fa’ in beads frae his haffet. Then gie me your hand, my trusty good frien',

And gie me your word, my worthy auld kimmer, Ye'll baith come owre on Friday bedeen, And join us in ranting and tooming the timmer.

With fouth of good liquor,

We'll haud at the bicker, And lang may the mailing of Kebbuckston flourish,

For Watty's sae free,

Between you and me,
I'se warrant he's bidden the half of the parish.

THE LAMENT.

Tune-" Maids of Arrochar.
Thou dark winding Carron once pleasing to see,

To me thou can'st never give pleasure again,
My brave Caledonians lie low on the lee,
And thy streams are deep ting'd with the blood of th

slain.

'Twas base-hearted treachery that doom'd our undoing

My poor bleeding country, what more can I do? Ev'n valour looks pale o'er the red field of ruin,

And freedom beholds her best warriors laid low. Farewell ye dear partners of peril! farewell !

Tho’ buried ye lie in one wide bloody grave, Your deeds shall ennoble the place where you fell,

And your names be enrolld with the sons of the brave. But I, a poor outcast, in exile must wander,

Perhaps, like a traitor, ignobly must die ! On thy wrongs, O my country! indignant I ponder.Ah! woe to the hour when thy Wallace must fly!

THE MANIAC'S SONG.
Hark! 'tis the poor maniac's song:

She sits on yon wild craggy steep,
And while the winds mournfully whistle along,

She wistfully looks o'er the deep,
And aye she sings “ Lullaby, lullaby, lullaby!

To hush the rude billows asleep.
She looks to yon rock far at sea,

And thinks it her lover's white sail,
The warm tear of joy glads her wild glist’ning eye,

As she beckons his vessel to hail,
And aye she sings, “ Lullaby, lullaby, lullaby!”

And frets at the boisterous gale.
Poor Susan was gentle and fair,

Till the seas robb'd her heart of its joy, Then her reason was lost in the gloom of despair,

And her charms then did wither and die; And now her sad “ Lullaby, lullaby, lullaby!”

Oft wakes the lone passenger's sigh. .

GALLA WATER.
BRAW, braw lads on Yarrow braes,

Yo wander through the blooming heather; But Yarrow braes nor Ettrick shaws,

Can match the lads o' Galla water. But there is ane, a secret ane,

Aboon them a' I lo'e him better, And I'll be his, and he'll be mine,

The bonny lad o' Galla water. Altho' his daddie was nae laird,

An' tho' I hae nae meikle tocher, Yet rich in kindest, truest love,

We'll tent our flocks by Galla water. It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth,

That coft contentment, peace, or pleasure; The bands and bliss o' mutual love,

O that's the chiefest warld's treasure.

THE FAITHLESS LOVER.
Far, far from me my lover flies-

A faithless lover he;
In vain my tears, in vain my sighs,
No longer true to me,

He seeks another.
Lie still, my heart, no longer grieve,

No pangs to him betray,
Who taught you these sad sighs to heave,
Then laughing went away,

To seek another.

ERE BRIGHT ROSINA.
Ere bright Rosina met my eyes,

How peaceful past the joyous day,
In rural sports I gain'd the prize,

Each virgin listen’d to my lay;
But now no more I touch the lyre,

No more the rustic sports can please,
I live the slave of fond desire,

Lost to myself, to mirth, and ease,

The tree, which in a happier hour,

Its boughs extended o'er the plain;
When blasted by the lightning's pow'r,
Nor charms the eye, nor shades the swain.

The tree, &c.

NOW THE CHILL HOARY BLASTS. Now the chill hoary blasts of the winter are o'er, And the light-hearted warblers chirp mournful no more, But amorous ditties resound thro' the groves, The haunt of their pleasures, the seat of their loves. From the bee on the flower to the bird on the spray All welcome the smile of the genial day; Then why, lovely Jessy, for ever destroy The bloom of thy youth midst the general joy? See the roses of summer, how gladly they shine!Their fate, lovely fair, is an emblem of thine; Their bosoms they spread to the clear azure sky, And exultingly laugh in the passengers eye; But ah ! cruel fortune! ah fond foolish flower! A few summer suns, and thy splendour is o'er; For the dark clouds of heaven are gathering fast, And thy fortune is borne on the wings of the blast.

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