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HIGHLAND MARY.

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. 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 ourselves asunder;
But, oh! fell death's untimely frost,

That nipp'd my flower sae early!
Now green's the sod and cauld's the clay

That wraps my Highland Mary!

Oh 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.

SONG.

Oh 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.

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.

Oh 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 !

AULD LANG SYNE.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

And never brought to min??
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And days o’ lang syne ?
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 wanderd 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-stoup,

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

For auld, &c.
Vol. II.-K

BANNOCKBURN.

Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scots wham Bruce has aften led,
Welcome to your gory bed,

Or to victory
Now's the day, and now's the hour;
See the front o' battle lower;
See approach proud Edward's power

Chains and slavery!
Wha will be a traitor knave ?
Wha can fill a coward's grave ?
Wha sae base as be a slave?

Let him turn and flee!

Wha for Scotland's king and law
Freedom's sword will strongly draw,
Freeman stand, or freeman fa,'

Let him on wi' me!
By oppression's woes and pains !
By your sons in servile chains !
We will drain our dearest veins,

But they shall be free!
Lay the proud usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty's in every blow!

Let us do or die!

SONG

HERE's a health to ane I love dear,
Here's a health to ane I love dear,
Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers meet,
And soft as their parting tear-Jessy!

Although thou maun never be mine,

Although even hope is denied ; "Tis sweeter for thee despairing, Than aught in the world beside— Jessy!

Here's a health, &c.

I mourn through the gay, gaudy day,

As, hopeless, I muse on thy charms; But welcome the dream o'sweet slumber, For then I am lock'd in thy arms—Jessy!

Here's a health, &c.

I guess by the dear angel smile,

I guess by the love-rolling e'e ; But why urge the tender confession 'Gainst fortune's fell, cruel decree-Jessy!

Here's a health, &c.

THE BANKS O' Doon.
Ye banks and braes o’ bonnie Doon,

How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair;
How can ye chant, ye little birds,

And I sae weary, fu' o' care! Thou'lt break my heart, thou warbling bird,

That wantons through the flowering thorn; Thou mind'st me o' departed joys,

Departed never to return.

Oft hae I roved by bonnie Doon,

To see the rose and woodbine twine; And ilka bird sang o' its luve,

And fondly sae did I o' mine. Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose,

Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree : But my fause luver stole my rose,

But, ah! he left the thorn wi' me.

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