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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,
Wi' fouth of good meat
To serve us to eat,
The body's aye ready at dredgies and weddings,
For there'll be plenty
Of ilka thing dainty,
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,
At ilka farm town
He'll fire them three roun',
For few like them can sit in the saddle;
With whisking and flisking,
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
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,
Tune-" Maids of Arrochar.”
To me thou can'st never give pleasure again,
'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.
She sits on yon wild craggy steep,
She wistfully looks o'er the deep,
To hush the rude billows asleep.
And thinks it her lover's white sail,
As she beckons his vessel to hail,
And frets at the boisterous gale.
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. .
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.
A faithless lover he;
He seeks another.
No pangs to him betray,
To seek another.
ERE BRIGHT ROSINA.
How peaceful past the joyous day,
Each virgin listen’d to my lay;
No more the rustic sports can please,
Lost to myself, to mirth, and ease,
The tree, which in a happier hour,
Its boughs extended o'er the plain;
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.