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Ae spring brought off her master hale,
But left behind her ain gray tail:
The carlin claught her by the rump,
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump.

Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read,
Ilk man and mother's son, tak heed :
Whenc'er to drink you are inclined,
Or cutty-sarks run in your mind,
Think, ye may buy the joys o'er dear,
Remember Tam O'Shanter's mare.



But wither'd beldams, auld and droll,
Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal,
Lowping an'Ainging on a crummock,
I wonder didna turn thy stomach.

But Tam kenn'd what was what fu' brawlie,
There was ae winsome wench and walie,
That night enlisted in the core,
(Lang after kennd on Carrick shore !
For mony a beast to dead she shot,
And perish'd mony a bonnie boat,
And shook baith meikle corn and bear,
And kept the country side in fear.)
Her cuttie sark, o' Paisley harn,
That while a lassie she had worn,
In longitude though sorely scanty,
It was her best, and she was vauntie.
Ah! little kenn'd thy reverend grannie,
That sark she coft for her wee Nannie,
Wi’ twa pund Scots, ('twas a' her riches,)
Wad ever graced a dance of witches !

But here my muse her wing maun cour;
Sic flights are far beyond her power ;
To sing how Nannie lap and fang,
(A souple jade she was and strang,)
And how Tam stood like ane bewitch'd,
And thought his very e'en enrich'd;
E’en Satan glowr'd, and fidged fu' fain,
And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main :
Till first ae caper, syne anither,
Tam tint his reason a' thegither,
And roars out, “ Weel done, cutty-sark !”
And in an instant all was dark:
And scarcely had he Maggie rallied,
When out the hellish legion sallied.

As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke,
When plundering herds assail their byke ;
As open pussie's mortal foes,
When, pop! she starts before their nose;
As eager runs the market-crowd,
When « Catch the thief !” resounds aloud ;
So Maggie runs, the witches follow,
Wi' mony an eldritch skreech and hollow.

Ah, Tam! ah, Tam! thou'll get thy fairin!
In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin!
In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin!
Kate soon will be a wofu’ woman!
Now do thy speedy utmost, Meg,
And win the key-stane* of the brig;
There at them thou thy tail may toss,
A running stream they dare na cross.
But ere the key-stane she could make,
The fient a tail she had to shake !
For Nannie, far before the rest,
Hard upon noble Maggie prest,
And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle ;
But little wist she Maggie's mettle

WHEN O'er the hill the eastern star,

Tells bughtin-time is near, my jo ; And owsen frae the furrow'd field,

Return sae dowf and weary, 0; Down by the burn, where scented birks,

Wi' dew are hanging clear, my jo,
I'll meet thee on the lea-rig,

My ain kind dearie, 0.
In mirkest glen, at midnight hour,

I'd rove and ne'er be eerie, 0,
If through that glen, I gaed to thee,

My ain kind dearie, 0.
Although the night were ne'er sae wild,

And I were ne'er sae wearie, 0,
I'd meet thee on the lea-rig,

My ain kind dearie, 0.
The hunter lo'es the morning sun,

To rouse the mountain deer, my jo,
At noon the fisher seeks the glen,

Along the hurn to steer, my jo ; Gie me the hour o'gloamin gray,

It maks my heart sae cheery, 0, To meet thee on the lea-rig,

My ain kind dearie, 0.


TUNE—“Ewe-bughts, Marion." Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary,

And leave auld Scotia's shore ? Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary,

Across th’ Atlantic's roar? O sweet grows the lime and the orange,

And the apple on the pine ; But a' the charms o' the Indies,

Can never equal thine. I hae sworn by the heavens to my Mary,

I hae sworn by the heavens to be true; And sae may the heavens forget me,

When I forget my vow !
O plight me your faith, my Mary,

And plight me your lily-white hand; O plight me your faith, my Mary,

Before I leave Scotia's strand.

* It is a well known fact that witches, or any evil spirits, have no power to follow a poor wight any farther than the middle of the next running stream.--It may be proper likewise to mention to the benighted traveller, that when he falls in with bogles, whatever danger may be in his going forward, there is much more hazard in turning back

We hae plighted our troth, my Mary,

In mutual affection to join, And curst be the cause that shall part us !

The hour, and the moment o' time!


She is a winsome wee thing,
She is a handsome wee thing,
She is a bonnie wee thing,
This sweet wee wife o' mine.
I never saw a fairer,
I never lo'ed a dearer,
And niest my heart I'll wear her,
For fear my jewel tine.
She is a winsome wee thing,
She is a handsome wee thing,
She is a bonnie wee thing,
This sweet wee wife o' mine.
The warld's wrack we share o't,
The warstle and the care o't;
Wi' her I'll blithly bear it,
And think my lot divine.

How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk,

How rich the hawthorn's blossom; As underneath their fragrant shade

I clasped her to my bosom! The golden hours on angel wings

Flew o'er me and my dearie;
For dear to me, as light and life,

Was my sweet Highland Mary.
Wi' mony a vow, and lock'd embrace,

Our parting was fu' tender;
And pledging aft to meet again,

We tore oursels asunder ;
But 0! fell death's untimely frost,

That nipt my flower sae early !
Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay,

That wraps my Highland Mary!
O pale, pale now, those rosy lips

I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly!
And closed for aye the sparkling glance

That dwelt on me sae kindly!
And mouldering now in silent dust

That heart that loved me dearly ! But still within my bosom's core

Shall live my Highland Mary.


BONNIE LESLEY. O saw ye bonnie Lesley

As she gaed o'er the border ? She's gane, like Alexander,

To spread her conquests farther.
To see her is to love her,

And love but her for ever ;
For nature made her what she is,

And ne'er made sic anither!
Thou art a queen, fair Lesley,

Thy subjects we, before thee; Thou art divine, fair Lesley,

The hearts o' men adore thee. The deil he could na scaith thee,

Or aught that wad belang thee; He'd look into thy bonnie face,

And say, “I canna wrang thee.” The powers aboon will tent thee;

Misfortune sha’na steer thee; Thou’rt like themselves sae lovely

That ill they'll ne'er let near thee. Return again, fair Lesley,

Return to Caledonie !
That we may brag, we hae a lass

There's nane again sae bonnie.

THERE's auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen,
He's the king o'guid fellows and wale of auld men ;
He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine,
And ae bonnie lassie, his darling and mine.
She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May;
She's sweet as the evening amang the new hay;
As blithe and as artless as the lambs on the lea,
And dear to my heart as the light to my e'e.
But O! she's an heiress, auld Robin's a laird,
And my daddie has naught but a cot-house and yard;
A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed,
The wounds I must hide that will soon be my dead.
The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane ;
The night comes to me, but my rest it is gane:
I wander my lane like a night-troubled ghaist,
And I sigh as my heart it would burst in my breast.
O, had she been but of lower degree,
I then might hae hoped she wad smiled upon me!
O, how past describing had then been my bliss,
As now my distraction no words can express !


TUNE_"Catharine Ogie." YE banks, and braes, and streams around,

The castle o' Montgomery,
Green be your woods, and fair your flowers,

Your waters never drumlie !
There simmer first unfauld her robes,

And there the langest tarry ;
For there I took the last fareweel

O’my sweet Highland Mary.

DUNCAN GRAY. DUNCAN GRAY came here to woo,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't, On blithe yule night when we were fou,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. Maggie coost her head fu' high, Look'd asklent and unco skeigh, Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh ;

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd;

Ha, ha, &c. Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig,

Ha, ha, &c.


Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, Grat his een baith bleer't and blin', Spak o' lowpin owre a linn;

Ha, ha, &c. Time and chance are but a tide,

Ha, ha, &c.
Slighted love is sair to bide,

Ha, ha, &c.
Shall I, like a fool, quoth he,
For a haughty hizzie die ?
She may gae to-France for me!

Ha, ha, &c.
How it comes let doctors tell,

Ha, ha, &c. Meg grew sick-as he grew heal.

Ha, ha, &c. Something in her bosom wrings, For relief a sigh she brings ; And O, her een, they spak sic things !

Ha, ha, &c. Duncan was a lad o'


Ha, ha, &c. Maggie's was a piteous case,

Ha, ha, &c. Duncan could na be her death, Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath ; Now they're crouse and canty baith.

Ha, ha, &c.

THERE's braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes,

That wander through the blooming heather ; But Yarrow braes, nor Ettric 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 bonnie lad o' Galla water, Although his daddie was nae laird,

And though I hae nae meikle tocher ;
Yet rich in kindest, truest love,

We'll tent our flocks by Galla water.
It pe'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 !



TUNE_" I had a horse."

O MIRK, mirk is this midnight hour,

And loud the tempest's roar;
A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tower,

Lord Gregory, ope thy door.
An exile frae her father's ha',

And a' for loving thee;
At least some pity on me shaw,

If love it may na be.
Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grove,

By bonnie Irwine side,
Where first I own'd that virgin love

I lang, lang had denied.
How aften didst thou pledge and vow,

Thou wad for aye be mine!
And my fond heart, itsel sae true,

It ne'er mistrusted thine.
Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory,

And flinty is thy breast:
Thou dart of heaven that flashest by,

O wilt thou give me rest!
Ye mustering thunders from above,

Your willing victim see!
But spare and pardon my fause love,

His wrangs to heaven and me!

O POORTITH cauld, and restless love,

Ye wreck my peace between ye; Yet poortith a' I could forgive,

An' 'twere na for my Jeanie. O why should fate sic pleasure have,

Life's dearest bands untwining ? Or why sae sweet a flower as love

Depend on fortune's shining ? This warld's wealth when I think on,

Its pride, and a'the lave o't; Fie, fie on silly coward man, That he should be the slave o't.

O why, &c. Her een sae bonnie blue betray

How she repays my passion ;
But prudence is her o'erword aye,
She talks of rank and fashion.

O why, &c.
O wha can prudence think upon,

And sic a lassie by him?
O wha can prudence think upon,
And sae in love as I am ?

O why, &c.
How blest the humble cotter's fate!

He wooes his simple dearie ;
The sillie bogles, wealth and state,

Can never make them eerie.
O why should fate sic pleasure have,

Life's dearest bands untwining ? Or why sae sweet a flower as love

Depend on fortune's shining?


TUNE_" Bide ye yet." O MARY, at thy window be,

It is the wish'd, 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 Morison.
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 or saw:

Though this was fair, and that was braw,

And yon the toast of a' the town, I sigh'd, and said amang them a',

“ Ye are na Mary Morison.” O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace,

Wha for thy sake wad gladly die ? Or canst thou break that heart of his,

Whase only fault 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 Morison.

WANDERING WILLIE. HERE awa, there awa, wandering Willie, Here awa, there awa,

haud awa hame; Come to my bosom my ain only dearie,

Tell me thou bringst me my Willie the same. Winter winds blew loud and cauld at our parting;

Fears for my Willie brought tears in my e'e: Welcome now simmer, and welcome my Willie,

The simmer to nature, my Willie to me. Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave of your slumbers,

How your dread howling a lover alarms ! Wauken, ye breezes, row gently, ye billows,

And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms. But 0! if he's faithless, and minds na his Nannie,

Flow still between us, thou wide-roaring main; May I never see it, may I never trow it,

But, dying, believe that my Willie's my ain!

A leal, light heart was in my breast,

My hand unstain'd wi' plunder ;
And for fair Scotia's hame again,

I cheery on did wander.
I thought upon the banks o' Coil,

I thought upon my Nancy,
I thought upon the witching smile

That caught my youthful fancy.
At length I reach'd the bonnie glen,

Where early life I sported ;
I pass'd the mill and trysting thorn,

Where Nancy aft I courted:
Wha spied I but my ain dear maid,

Down by her mother's dwelling!
And turn'd me round to hide the flood

That in my e'en was swelling.
Wi' alter'd voice, quoth I, Sweet lass,

Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom,
O! happy, happy may he be,

That's dearest to thy bosom!
My purse is light, I've far to gang,

And fain wad be thy lodger;
I've served my king and country lang,

Take pity on a sodger.
Sae wistfully she gazed on me,

And lovelier was than ever :
Quo' she, A sodger ance I lo'ed,

Forget him shall I never :
Our humble cot and hamely fare,

Ye freely shall partake it,
That gallant badge, the dear cockade,

Ye're welcome for the sake o't.
She gazed—she redden'd like a rose-

Syne pale like ony lily;
She sank within my arms, and cried,

Art thou my ain dear Willie ?
By Him who made yon sun and sky-

By whom true love's regarded,
I am the man; and thus may still

True lovers be rewarded.
The wars are o'er, and I'm come hame,

And find thee still true hearted; Though poor in gear, we're rich in love,

And mair we’se ne'er be parted.
Quo' she, My grandsire left me gowd,

A mailen plenish'd fairly ;
And come, my faithfu’ sodger lad,

Thou’rt welcome to it dearly !
For gold the merchant ploughs the main,

The farmer ploughs the manor; But glory is the sodger's prize;

The sodger's wealth is honour; The brave, poor sodger ne'er despise,

Nor count him as a stranger, Remember he's his country's stay

In day and hour of danger.


TUNE—“ Bonny Dundee.” TRUE hearted was he, the sad swain o' the Yarrow,

And fair are the maids on the banks o' the Ayr, But by the sweet side o' the Nith's winding river,

Are lovers as faithful, and maidens as fair: To equal young Jessie seek Scotland all over ;

To equal young Jessie you seek it in vain ;
Grace, beauty, and elegance fetter her lover,

And maidenly modesty fixes the chain.
O fresh is the rose in the gay, dewy morning,

And sweet is the lily at evening close ;
But in the fair presence o' lovely young Jessie,

Unseen is the lily, unbeeded the rose.
Love sits in her smile, a wizard insnaring;

Enthroned in her e'en he delivers his law; And still to her charms she alone is a stranger!

Her modest demeanour's the jewel of a'.



AIR_"The mill mill 0.” WHEN wild war's deadly blast was blawn,

And gentle peace returning, Wi'mony a sweet babe fatherless,

And mony a widow mourning,
I left the lines and tented field,

Where lang I'd been a lodger,
My humble knapsack a' my wealth,

A poor and honest sodger.


TUNE-" Logan Water." O LOGAN, sweetly didst thou glide, That day I was my Willie's bride ; And years sinsyne has o'er us run, Like Logan to the simmer sun.

But now thy flowery banks appear Like drumlie winter, dark and drear, While my dear lad maun face his faes, Far, far frae me and Logan braes.

Again the merry month o’ May
Has made our hills and valleys gay ;
The birds rejoice in leafy bowers,
The bees hum round the breathing flowers :
Blithe morning lifts his rosy eye,
And evening's tears are tears of joy:
My soul, delightless, a' surveys,
While Willie's far frae Logan braes.

But did na Jeanie's heart loup light,

And did na joy blink in her e'e,
As Robie tauld a tale o' love,

Ae e'enin on the lily lea?
The sun was sinking in the west,

The birds sang sweet in ilka grove;
His cheek to hers he fondly prest,

And whisper'd thus his tale o' love: O Jeanie fair, I lo'e thee dear;

O canst thou think to fancy me!
Or wilt thou leave thy mammie's cot,

And learn to tent the farms wi' me ? At barn or byre thou shalt na drudge,

Or naething else to trouble thee; But stray amang the heather-bells,

And tent the waving corn wi' me. Now what could artless Jeanie do?

She had nae will to say him na: At length she blush'd a sweet consent,

And love was aye between them twa.

Within yon milk-white hawthorn bush,
Amang her nestlings sits the thrush;
Her faithfu’mate will share her toil,
Or wi' his song her cares beguile,
But I, wi' my sweet nurslings here,
Nae mate to help, nae mate to cheer,
Pass widow'd nights and joyless days,
While Willie's far frae Logan braes !


O wae upon you, men o'state,
That brethren rouse to deadly hate!
As ye make mony a fond heart mourn,
Sae may it on your heads return!
How can your flinty hearts enjoy
The widow's tears, the orphan's cry?
But soon may peace bring happy days,
And Willie hame to Logan braes !

SHOULD auld acquaintance be forgot,

And never brought to min? Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

And days o' lang syne?



THERE was a lass, and she was fair,

At kirk and market to be seen, When a'the fairest maids were met,

The fairest maid was bonnie Jean. And aye she wrought her mammie's wark,

And aye she sang sae merrilie: The blithest bird upon the bush

Had ne'er a lighter heart than she. But hawks will rob the tender joys

That bless the little lintwhite's nest; And frost will blight the fairest flowers,

And love will break the soundest rest. Young Robic was the brawest lad,

The flower and pride o' a' the glen ; And he had owsen, sheep, and kye,

And wanton naigies nine or ten. He gaed wi’ Jeanie to the tryste,

He danced wi’ Jeanie on the down; And lang ere witless Jeanie wist,

Her heart was tint, her peace was stown As in the bosom o' the stream,

The moonbeam dwells at dewy e’en; So, trembling, pure, was tender love,

Within the breast o' bonnie Jean.

For auld lang syne, my dear,

For auld lang syne,
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,

For auld lang syne.
We twa hae ran about the braes,

And pu't the gowans fine;
But we've wander'd mony a weary foot,
Sin auld lang syne.

For auld, &c.
We twa hae paidi't i’ the burn,

Frae mornin sun till dine:
But seas between us braid hae roar'd,
Sin auld lang syne.

For auld, &c.
And here's a hand, my trusty fier,

And gie's a hand o' thine ;
And we'll tak a right guid willie waught,
For auld lang syne.

For auld, &c.
And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp,

And surely I'll be mine;
And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

For auld, &c.

And now she works her mammie's wark,

And aye she sighs wi' care and pain ; Ye wist na what her ail might be,

Or what wad mak her weel again.

BANNOCKBURN. ROBERT BRUCE'S ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY. Scots, wha hae wi’ Wallace bled, Scots, wham Bruce has aften led, Welcome to your gory bed, Or to glorious victory.


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