Neebor wives, now tent my tellin':
When the bonny fish ye're sellin',
At ae word be in ye're dealin'-
Truth will stand when a' thing's failin'.
Wha'll buy my caller herrin'?
They're bonnie fish and halesome farin'.
Wha'll buy my caller herrin',
New drawn frae the Forth?

THE LASS O' GOWRIE.

'Twas on a summer's afternoon, A wee afore the sun gaed down, A lassie, wi' a braw new gown,

Cam ower the hills to Gowrie.

The rose-bud, wash'd in summer's shower, Bloom'd fresh within the sunny bower, But Kitty was the fairest flower

That e'er was seen in Gowrie.

To see her cousin she cam' there,
An', oh, the scene was passing fair!
For what in Scotland can compare
Wi' the Carse o' Gowrie ?
The sun was setting on the Tay,
The blue hills melting into gray;
The mavis' and the blackbird's lay
Were sweetly heard in Gowrie.

Oh, lang the lassie I had woo'd!
An' truth and constancy had vow'd,
But cam' nae speed wi' her I lo'ed
Until she saw fair Gowrie.

I pointed to my father's ha',
Yon bonnie bield ayont the shaw,

Sae loun' that there nae blast could blaw;
Wad she no bide in Gowrie ?

Her faither was baith glad and wae;
Her mither she wad naething say;
The bairnies thocht they wad get play

If Kitty gaed to Gowrie.

She whiles did smile, she whiles did greet, The blush and tear were on her cheek; She naething said, an' hung her head; But now she's Leddy Gowrie.

THE LAIRD O' COCKPEN.

THE Laird o' Cockpen he's proud and he's great,

His mind is ta'en up with the things o' the
State;

He wanted a wife his braw house to keep,
But favor wi' wooin, was fashious to seek.

Down by the dyke-side a lady did dwell,
At his table-head he thought she'd look well;
M'Clish's ae daughter o' Claverse-ha' Lee,
A penniless lass wi' a lang pedigree.

His wig was weel pouther'd, and as good as

new;

His waistcoat was white, his coat it was blue;

He put on a ring, a sword, and cock'd hat, And wha' could refuse the laird wi' a' that?

He took the gray mare, and rade cannily—
And rapp'd at the yett o' Claverese-ha' Lee;
"Gae tell Mistress Jean to come speedily ben,
She's wanted to speak to the Laird o' Cock pen."

Mistress Jean was makin' the elder-flower wine, "And what brings the laird at sic a like time?" She put aff her apron, and on her silk gown, Her mutch wi' red ribbons, and gaed awa' down.

And when she cam' ben, he bowed fu' low,
And what was his errand he soon let her know;
Amazed was the laird when the lady said "Na; "
And wi' a laigh curtsie she turned awa'.

Dumfounder'd he was, nae sigh did he gi'e;
He mounted his mare-he rade cannily;
And aften he thought, as he gaed through the
glen,

She's daft to refuse the Laird o' Cockpen.

And now that the laird his exit had made, Mistress Jean she reflected on what she had said;

"Oh! for ane I'll get better, it's waur I'll get ten,

I was daft to refuse the Laird o' Cockpen."

Next time that the laird and the lady were seen, They were gaun arm-in-arm to the kirk on the green;

Now she sits in the ha' like a weel-tappit hen, But as yet there's nae chickens appear'd at Cockpen.

HUNTINGTOWER.

"WHEN ye gang awa', Jamie, When ye gang awa', laddie, What will ye gi'e my heart to cheer, When ye are far awa', Jamie?"

"I'll gi'e ye a braw new gown, Jeanie, I'll gi'e ye a braw new gown, lassie, An' it will be a silken ane,

Wi' Valenciennes trimm'd round, Jeanie."

"O, that's nae luve at a', laddie, That's nae luve at a', Jamie,

How could I bear braw gowns to wear, When ye are far awa', laddie?

"But mind me when awa', Jamie,
Mind me when awa', laddie,

Far out o' sicht is out o' mind
Wi' mony folk we ken, Jamie."

"Oh, that can never be, Jeanie, Forgot ye ne'er can be, lassie; Oh, gang wi' me to the north countrie, My bonnie bride to be, Jeanie.

"The hills are grand and hie, Jeanie, The burnies runnin' clear, lassie, 'Mang birks and braes, where wild deer strays, Oh, come wi' me, and see, lassie."

"I winna gang wi' thee, laddie,
I tell'd ye sae afore, Jamie;
Till free consent my parents gi'e,
I canna gang wi' thee, Jamie."

"But when ye're wed to me, Jeanie,
Then they will forgi'e, lassie;
How can ye be sae cauld to me,

Wha's lo'ed ye weel and lang, lassie."

"No sae lang as them, laddie, No sae lang as them, Jamie; A grief to them I wadna be,

No for the duke himsel', Jamie.

"We'll save our penny fee, laddie, To keep frae poortith free, Jamie; An' then their blessing they will gi'e Baith to you and me, Jamie."

"Huntingtower is mine, lassie, Huntingtower is mine, Jeanie; Huntingtower an' Blairnagower,

An' a' that's mine is thine, Jeanie !"

WHA'LL BE KING BUT CHARLIE?

THE news frae Moidart cam' yestreen,
Will soon gar mony ferlie,
For ships-o'-war hae just come in,
And landed Royal Charlie.

Come thro' the heather, around him gather,
Ye'r a' the welcomer early;
Around him cling wi' a' your kin,

For wha'll be king but Charlie?
Come thro' the heather, around him gather,
Come Ronald, come Donald, come a' thegether,
And crown your rightfu', lawfu' king!
For wha' be king but Charlie?

The Highland clans wi' sword in hand,
Frae John o' Groat's to Airlie,
Hae to a man declared to stand
Or fa' wi' Royal Charlie.

Come thro' the heather, etc.

The Lowlands a', baith great an' sma',
Wi' mony a lord and laird, hae
Declar'd for Scotia's king an' law,
An' speir ye wha but Charlie?
Come thro' the heather, etc.

There's ne'er a lass in a' the lan',
But vows baith late an' early,
She'll ne'er to man gi'e heart nor han',
Wha wadna fecht for Charlie.

Come thro' the heather, etc.

Then here's a health to Charlie's cause,
And be't complete an' early;

His very name our heart's blood warms-
To arms for Royal Charlie!

Come thro' the heather, around him gather,
Ye'r a' the welcomer early;
Around him cling wi' a' your kin,

For wha'll be king but Charlie ? Come thro' the heather, around him gather, Come Ronald, come Donald, come a' thegether, And crown your rightfu', lawfu' king! For wha'll be king but Charlie?

CHARLIE IS MY DARLING.

'Twas on a Monday morning
Right early in the year,
When Charlie cam' to our toun,
The young Chevalier.

Oh! Charlie is my darling,
My darling, my darling,
Oh! Charlie is my darling,
The young Chevalier.

As he cam' marching up the street,
The pipes play'd loud and clear,
And a' the folk cam' running out,
To meet the Chevalier.

Oh! Charlie is my darling, etc.

Wi' Hieland bonnets on their heads, And claymores bright and clear, They cam' to fight for Scotland's right And the young Chevalier.

Oh! Charlie is my darling, etc.

They've left their bonnie Hieland hills,
Their wives and bairnies dear,
To draw the sword for Scotland's lord,
The young Chevalier.

Oh! Charlie is my darling, etc.

Oh there were many beating hearts,
And many a hope and fear,
And many were the prayers put up
For the young Chevalier.

Oh! Charlie is my darling,
My darling, my darling,
Oh! Charlie is my darling,
The
Chevalier.
young

JOHN TOD.

HE's a terrible man, John Tod, John Tod,
He's a terrible man, John Tod;
He scolds in the house,

He scolds at the door,

He scolds on the vera hie road, John Tod, He scolds on the vera hie road.

The weans a' fear John Tod, John Tod, The weans a' fear John Tod; When he's passing by,

The mithers will cry, Hear's an ill wean, John Tod, John Tod, Here's an ill wean, John Tod.

The callants a' fear John Tod, John Tod. The callants a' fear John Tod;

If they steal but a neep,

The callant he'll whip,

And it's unco weel done o' John Tod.

An' saw ye nae wee John Tod, John Tod?

Oh, saw ye nae wee John Tod?

His bonnet was blue,

His shoon maistly new,

An' weel does he keep the kirk road, John Tod, Oh, weel does he keep the kirk road.

How is he fendin', John Tod, John Tod?

How is he wendin', John Tod?

He scourin' the land,

Wi' his rung in his hand,

An' the French wadna frighten John Tod, John Tod,

An' the French wadna frighten John Tod.

Ye're sun-brunt and batter'd, John Tod, John Tod,

Ye're tautit and tatter'd, John Tod;

Wi' your auld strippit coul,

Ye look maist like a fule,

But there's nouse i' the lining, John Tod, John Tod,

But there's nouse i' the lining, John Tod.

He's weel respeckit, John Tod, John Tod,
He's weel respeckit, John Tod;
He's a terrible man,

But we'd a' gae wrang

If e'er he sud leave us, John Tod, John Tod, If e'er he sud leave us, John Tod.

MY AIN KIND DEARIE, O!

WILL ye gang ower the lea-rig,
My ain kind dearie, O?
Will ye gang ower the lea-rig,
My ain kind dearie, O?

Gin ye'll tak' heart, and gang wi' me,
Mishap will never steer ye, O;
Gude luck lies ower the lea-rig,
My ain kind dearie, O!

There's walth ower yon green lea-rig,
My ain kind dearie, O
There's walth ower yon green lea-rig,
My ain kind dearie, O!

It's neither land, nor gowd, nor braws-
Let them gang tapsle teerie, O!
Its walth o' peace, o' love, and truth,
My ain kind dearie, O!

JOY OF MY EARLIEST DAYS.

Joy of my earliest days,

Why must I grieve thee?
Theme of my fondest lays,
Oh, I maun leave thee!

Leave thee, love! leave thee, love!
How shall I leave thee?
Absence thy truth will prove,
For, oh! I maun leave thee!

When on yon mossy stane,

Wild weeds o'ergrowin', Ye sit at e'en your lane,

And hear the burn rowin'; Oh! think on this partin' hour, Down by the Garry,

And to Him that has a' the pow'r, Commend me, my Mary!

KIND ROBIN LO'ES ME. ROBIN is my ain gudeman, Now match him, carlins, gin ye can, For ilk ane whitest thinks her swan, But kind Robin lo'es me.

To mak' my boast I'll e'en be bauld, For Robin lo'ed me young and auld. In summer's heat and winter's cauld, My kind Robin lo'es me.

Robin he comes hame at e'en
Wi' pleasure glancin' in his e'en ;
He tells me a' he's heard and seen,

And syne how he lo'es me.

There's some hae land, and some hae gowd
Mair wad hae them gin they could,
But a' I wish o' world's gude,

Is Robin still to lo'e me.

SONGS OF MY NATIVE LAND.

SONGS of my native land,

To me how dear!
Songs of my infancy,

Sweet to mine ear!
Entwined with my youthful days,
Wi' the bonny banks and braes,
Where the winding burnie strays
Murmuring near.

Strains of my native land, That thrill the soul, Pouring the magic of Your soft control! Often has your minstrelsy Soothed the pang of misery, Winging rapid thoughts away To realms on high.

Weary pilgrims there have rest,

Their wand'rings o'er;
There the slave no more oppress'd,
Hails Freedom's shore.

Sin shall then no more deface,
Sickness, pain, and sorrow cease,
Ending in eternal peace,

And songs of joy!

There, when the seraphs sing,

In cloudless day;

There where the higher praise The ransom'd pay. Soft strains of the happy land, Chanted by the heavenly band, Who can fully understand

How sweet ye be

Oh! mourn the woe, oh! mourn the crime,

Frae civil war that flows;

Oh! mourn, Argyll, thy fallen line,
And mourn the great Montrose.

THE AULD HOUSE.

OH, the auld house, the auld house!
What though the rooms were wee?
Oh, kind hearts were dwelling there,
And bairnies fu' o' glee!
The wild-rose and the jessamine
Still hang upon the wa';
How mony cherish'd memories

Do they, sweet flowers, reca'!

Oh, the auld laird, the auld laird!
Sae canty, kind, and crouse;
How mony did he welcome to

His ain wee dear auld house!
And the leddy too, sae genty,

There shelter'd Scotland's heir,
And clipt a lock wi' her ain hand
Frae his lang yellow hair.

The mavis still doth sweetly sing,
The blue-bells sweetly blaw,
The bonnie Earn's clear winding still,
But the auld house is awa'.
The auld house, the auld house,
Deserted though ye be,
There ne'er can be a new house,
Will seem sae fair to me.

Still flourishing the auld pear-tree
The bairnies liked to see,
And oh, how often did they spier
When ripe they a' wad be!
The voices sweet, the wee bit feet
Aye rinnin' here and there,
The merry shout-oh! whiles we greet
To think we'll hear nae mair.

For they are a' wide scatter'd now,
Some to the Indies gane,
And ane, alas! to her lang hame;
Not here we'll meet again.
The kirkyaird, the kirkyaird,
Wi' flowers o' every hue,
Shelter'd by the holly's shade,
An' the dark sombre yew.

The setting sun, the setting sun,

How glorious it gaed down; The cloudy splendor raised our hearts To cloudless skies aboon ! The auld dial, the auld dial,

It tauld how time did pass; The wintry winds ha'e dung it downNow hid 'mang weeds and grass.

WOULD YOU BE YOUNG AGAIN?

WOULD you be young again? So would not I

One tear to memory given,

Onward I'd hie.

Life's dark flood forded o'er,
All but at rest on shore,
Say, would you plunge once more,
With home so nigh?

If you might, would you now
Retrace your way?
Wander through stormy wilds,
Faint and astray?

Night's gloomy watches fled,
Morning all beaming red,
Hope's smiles around us shed,
Heavenward-away.

Where, then, are those dear ones,
Our joy and delight?

Dear and more dear though now
Hidden from sight.
Where they rejoice to be,
There is the land for me;
Fly, time, fly speedily;
Come, life and light.

GUDE-NICHT, AND JOY BE WI' YE A'!

THE best o' joys maun ha'e an end,
The best o' friends maun part, I trow;
The langest day will wear away,

And I maun bid fareweel to you.
The tear will tell when hearts are fu',
For words, gin they ha'e sense ava',
They're broken, faltering, and few :
Gude-nicht, and joy be wi' you a'!

Oh, we ha'e wander'd far and wide,

O'er Scotia's lands o' frith and fell! And mony a simple flower we've pu'd,

And twined it wi' the heather-bell. We've ranged the dingle and the dell,

The cot-house, and the baron's ha'; Now we maun tak' a last farewell:

Gude-nicht, and joy be wi' you a'!

My harp, fareweel! thy strains are past, Of gleefu' mirth, and heartfelt care; The voice of song maun cease at last, And minstrelsy itsel' decay.

But, oh! where sorrow canna win,

Nor parting tears are shed ava', May we meet neighbor, kith, and kin, And joy for aye be wi' us a'!

REST IS NOT HERE.

WHAT'S this vain world to me?
Rest is not here;
False are the smiles I see,
The mirth I hear.
Where is youth's joyful glee?
Where all once dear to me?
Gone, as the shadows flee-
Rest is not here.