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THE WEE HOUSIE.

I LIKE thee weel, my wee auld house,

Though laigh thy wa's an' flat the riggin'; Though round thy lum the sourock grows,

An' rain-draps gaw my cozy biggin'. Lang hast thou happit mine and me,

My head's grown gray aneath thy kipple ; And aye thy ingle cheek was free

Baith to the blind man an' the cripple.

What gart my ewes thrive on the hill,

An' kept my little store increasin'? The rich man never wish'd me ill,

The poor man left me aye his blessin'. Troth I maun greet wi' thee to part,

Though to a better house I'm flittin'; Sic joys will never glad my heart

As I've had by thy hallan sittin'.

My bonny bairns around me smiled,

My sonsy wife sat by me spinning,– Aye lilting o'er her ditties wild,

In notes sae artless an' sae winning. Our frugal meal was aye a feast,

Our e'ening psalm a hymn of joy ; Sae calm an' peacefu' was our rest,

Our bliss, our love, without alloy.

I canna help but haud thee dear,

My auld, storm-batter'd, hamely shieling; Thy sooty lum, an' kipples clear,

I better love than gaudy ceiling.

Thy roof will fa,' thy rafters start,

How damp an' cauld thy hearth will be ! Ah! sae will soon ilk honest heart,

That erst was blithe an' bauld in thee!

I thought to cower aneath thy wa',

Till death should close my weary een; Then leave thee for the narrow ha',

Wi' lowly roof o'sward sae green. Farewell, my house an’ burnie clear,

My bourtree bush an' bowzy tree! The wee while I maun sojourn here,

I'll never find a hame like thee.

THE BROKEN HEART.

Now lock my chamber-door, father,

And say you left me sleeping;
But never tell my step-mother

Of all this bitter weeping.
No earthly sleep can ease my smart,

Or even awhile reprieve it;
For there's a pang at my young

heart That never more can leave it!

0, let me lie, and weep my fill

O'er wounds that heal can never; And O, kind Heaven! were it thy will,

To close these eyes for ever:
For how can maid's affections dear

Recall her love forsaken?
Or how can heart of maiden bear
To know that heart forsaken?

O, why should vows so fondly made,

Be broken ere the morrow-
To one who loved as never maid

Loved in this world of sorrow !
The look of scorn I cannot brave,

Nor pity's eye more dreary; A quiet sleep within the grave

Is all for which I weary!

Farewell, dear Yarrow's mountains green,

And banks of broom so yellow ! Too happy has this bosom been

Within your arbours mellow. That happiness is fled for aye,

And all is dark despondingSave in the opening gates of day,

And the dear home beyond them!

MARY GRAY.

SOME say that Mary Gray is dead,

And that I in this world shall see her never ;
Some say she is laid on her cold death-bed,
The prey of the grave

and of death for ever! Ah, they know little of my dear maid,

Or kindness of her spirit's Giver; For every night she is by my side,

By the morning bower, or the moonlight river.

My Mary was bonny when she was here,

When flesh and blood was her mortal dwelling; Her smile was sweet, and her mind was clear,

And her form all virgin forms excelling.

But oh, if they saw my Mary now,

With her looks of pathos and of feeling, They would see a cherub's radiant brow,

To ravish'd mortal eyes unveiling.

The rose is the fairest of earthly flowers,

It is all of beauty and of sweetness, — So

my dear maid in the heavenly bowers, Excels in beauty and in meekness ! She has kiss'd my cheek, she has kaim'd my hair,

And made a breast of heaven my pillow; And promised her God to take me there

Before the leaf falls from the willow!

Farewell! ye homes of living men

I have no relish for your pleasures; In the human face I naething ken

That with my spirit's yearning measures. I long for onward bliss to be,

A day of joy_a brighter morrow; And from this bondage to be free,

Farewell, this world of sin and sorrow !

THE SKYLARK.

Bird of the wilderness,

Blithesome and cumberless,
Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea!

Emblem of happiness,

Blest is thy dwelling-place-
O to abide in the desert with thee!

Wild is thy lay, and loud,

Far in the wny cloud,
Love gives it energy, love gave it birth.

Where, on thy dewy wing,

Where art thou journeying?
Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth.

O'er fell and fountain sheen,

O'er moor and mountain green, O'er the red streamer that heralds the day,

Over the cloudlet dim,

Over the rainbow's rim,
Musical cherub, soar, singing away!

Then, when the gloaming comes,

Low in the heather blooms Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be!

Emblem of happiness,

Blest is thy dwelling-placeO to abide in the desert with thee!

AN ARABIAN SONG.

Meet me at even, my own true love,
Meet me at even, my honey, my dove,

Where the moonbeam revealing
The cool fountain stealing,
Away and away

Through flow'rets so gay,
Singing its silver roundelay.

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