The father was steel, and the mother was stone;
They lifted the latch, and they bade him be gone;
But loud, on the morrow, their wail and their cry:
He had laugh'd on the lass with his bonny black eye,
And she fled to the forest to hear a love-tale,
And the youth it was told by was Allen-a-Dale!

THERE'S NAE LUCK ABOUT THE HOUSE.

BUT are ye sure the news is true?
And are ye sure he's weel?

Is this a time to think o' wark?
Ye jades, fling by your wheel!

For there' nae luck about the house,
There's nae luck at a';

There's nae luck about the house,
When our gudeman's awa'.

Is this a time to think o' wark,
When Colin 's at the door?

Rax down my cloak-I'll to the quay,
And see him come ashore.

Rise up, and make a clean fireside,

Put on the mickle pot;

Gie little Kate her cotton gown,
And Jock his Sunday coat.

Mak' a' their shoon as black as sloes,

Their stockings white as snaw;

It's a' to pleasure our gudeman

He likes to see them braw.

THERE'S NAE LUCK ABOUT THE HOUSE.

There are twa hens into the crib

Hae fed this month or mair;
Mak' haste and thraw their necks about,
That Colin weel may fare.

My Turkey slippers I'll put on,
My stockings pearl-blue,-
It's a' to pleasure our gudeman,
For he's baith leal and true.

Sae sweet his voice, sae smooth his tongue,

And will I see his face again?

And will I hear him speak?
I'm downricht dizzy wi' the thought,
In troth I'm like to greet.

There's nae luck about the house,

There's nae luck at a';

There's nae luck about the house,

When our gudeman's awa'.

I REMEMBER.

I REMEMBER, I remember,

The house where I was born,
The little window where the sun
Came peeping in at morn;
He never came a wink too soon,
Nor brought too long a day,
But now, I often wish the night
Had borne my breath away!

I remember, I remember,

The roses, red and white,
The violets, and the lily-cups,

Those flowers made of light!
The lilacs where the robin built,
And where my brother set
The laburnum on his birth-day,-
The tree is living yet!

I remember, I remember,

Where I was used to swing,

And thought the air must rush as fresh

To swallows on the wing;

My spirit flew in feathers then,

That is so heavy now,

And summer pools could hardly cool

The fever on my brow!