They hung him up before the storm,

And turned him o'er and o'er.

They filled up a darksome pit
With water to the brim;
They heaved in John Barleycorn,
There let him sink or swim.

They laid him out upon the floor
To work him further wo;
And still, as signs of life appeared,
They tossed him to and fro.

They wasted o'er a scorching flame
The marrow of his bones;

But a miller used him worst of all,

For he crushed him 'tween two stones.

And they hae taen his very heart's blood,
And drunk it round and round;
And still the more and more they drank,
Their joy did more abound.

John Barleycorn was a hero bold,
Of noble enterprise;

For if you do but taste his blood,
'T will make your courage rise.

'T will make a man forget his wo; 'T will heighten all his joy :

"T will make the widow's heart to sing, Though the tear were in her eye.

Then let us toast John Barleycorn,

Each man a glass in hand; And may his great posterity Ne'er fail in old Scotland!

MARY MORRISON.

H Mary, at thy window be,

It is the wished, the trysted hour!
Those smiles and glances let me see,

That make the miser's treasure poor:
How blithely wad I bide the stoure,
A weary slave frae sun to sun,
Could I the rich reward secure,
The lovely Mary Morrison.

Yestreen when to the trembling string,
The dance gaed through the lighted ha',
To thee my fancy took its wing,

I sat, but neither heard nor saw. Though this was fair, and that was braw, And yon the toast of a' the town,

I sighed, and said amang them a’:

Oh Mary, canst thou wreck his peace,
Wha for thy sake wad gladly die ?
Or canst thou break that heart of his,
Whase only faut is loving thee?
If love for love thou wilt na gie,
At least be pity to me shown;
A thought ungentle canna be

The thought o' Mary Morrison.

IT

was upon a Lammas night, When corn rigs are bonnie, Beneath the moon's unclouded light, I held awa to Annie:

The time flew by wi' tentless heed,
Till 'tween the late and early,
Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed
To see me. through the barley.

The sky was blue, the wind was still,
The moon was shining clearly;
I set her down wi' right good will
Amang the rigs o' barley;
I kent her heart was a' my ain;
I loved her most sincerely;
I kissed her owre and owre again
Amang the rigs o' barley.

I locked her in my fond embrace;
Her heart was beating rarely :
My blessings on that happy place,
Amang the rigs o' barley!
But by the moon and stars so bright,
That shone that hour so clearly,
She aye shall bless that happy night
Amang the rigs o' barley!

I hae been blithe wi' comrades dear; I hae been merry drinkin';

I hae been joyfu' gathʼrin' gear ;
I hae been happy thinkin' :
But a' the pleasures e'er I saw,

Though three times doubled fairly,
That happy night was worth them a’,
Amang the rigs o' barley.

CHORUS.

Corn rigs, and barley rigs,
And corn rigs are bonnie:
I'll ne'er forget that happy night
Amang the rigs wi' Annie.

MONTGOMERY'S PEGGY.

TUNE- Gala Water.

ALTHOUGH my bed were in yon muir

Amang the heather, in my plaidie,

Yet happy, happy would I be,

Had I my dear Montgomery's Peggy.

When o'er the hill beat surly storms,
And winter nights were dark and rainy,
I'd seek some dell, and in my arms
I'd shelter dear Montgomery's Peggy.

Were I a baron proud and high,

And horse and servants waiting ready, Then a' 't wad gie o' joy to me,

The sharin 't with Montgomery's Peggy.

NOT

SONG COMPOSED IN AUGUST.

TUNE- I had a horse, I had nae mair.

OW westlin winds and slaught'ring guns
Bring autumn's pleasant weather;

The moorcock springs, on whirring wings,
Amang the blooming heather.

Now waving grain, wide o'er the plain,
Delights the weary farmer;

And the moon shines bright, when I rove at night
To muse upon my charmer.

The partridge loves the fruitful fells;
The plover loves the mountains;
The woodcock haunts the lonely dells;
The soaring hern the fountains:
Through lofty groves the cushat roves,
The path of man to shun it;
The hazel-bush o'erhangs the thrush,
The spreading thorn the linnet.

Thus every kind their pleasure find,
The savage and the tender;
Some social join, and leagues combine ;

Some solitary wander:
Avaunt, away! the cruel sway,

Tyrannic man's dominion;

The sportsman's joy, the murdering cry,
The fluttering gory pinion.

But Peggy, dear, the evening 's clear,
Thick flies the skimming swallow;