O Marion ! could I e'er have thought
That splendour would have rivall'd me,
This foolish heart I ne'er had taught

To think, as it still thinks, on thee!

Still through my heart thy image strays;
Thy breath is in each breeze that blows;
Thy smile, thy song, in by-past days

In Memory's page more vivid glows!
So long my thoughts with thee have dwelt,
They're far the dearest part of me;
For, O! this heart too long has felt
It loves and only lives for thee!

THE AULD CARLE WAD TAK ME FAIN.

The auld carle wad tak me fain,

And trou's my dad will gaur me hae him; But troth he'll find himsel mista'en,

When wrang, is't duty to obey him?

I telt him but the other night

How sweer I was to cross his passion; That age and youth had different sight, And saw things in another fashion.

Quo' he, "Now Meg, it canna be

But that ye think the carle handsome;

He's younger by a year than me,

And goud has for a kingdom's ransom.

Come, take advice, and be his wife,
'Tis fine to be an auld man's deary;
I's warrant ye'll lead a happy life,

And aye be mistress, never fear ye."

My mither then laid by her wheel,

And said "Dear Joe, why will ye tease her? I ken ye lo'e our lassie weel,

For a' your joy has been to please her. Nay, come now, think upo' the time, When ye were just o' the same fancy, When I was young and i' my prime,

Ye cried-Ne'er tak an auld man, Nancy."

Then father like a tempest rose,

And swore the carle should be the man ;
That wives were certain to oppose,
Whatever was the husband's plan;
"But Monday, Miss, shall be the day;
And, hark ye, gin ye dare refuse me,
One shilling never shall ye hae,

Practise what arts ye like ť abuse me.”

"To lo'e the carle that is sae auld, Alak! it is na i' my nature;

Save but three hairs he wad be bald,

And wears nae wig to look the better:
The staff he's used this twenty year
I saw him burn it i' the fire;
Sae young the gowk tries to appear,

And fain wad mak ilk wrinkle liar.

"My Sandy has na muckle gear,

But then he has an air sae genty;
He's aye sae canty, ye wad swear
That he had goud and siller plenty.
He says he cares na for my wealth;

And though we get nought frae my daddie,
He'll cater for me while he's health,—
Goodnight-I'm off then wi' my laddie."

AE NIGHT IN DARK DECEMBER.

AIR-Hap me wi' thy petticoat.

Ae night in dark December, when wintry blasts blew high,

Poor Jenny sat her i' the nook and wish'd her Jockey by :

Lang time thou'st promis'd me to come frae yonder busy town,

And gin ye dinna haste I fear the wrinkles will come soon;

For I hae fret mysel wi' care, thy face I canna see, And when ilk lass is wi' her lad I sigh and wish for thee.

What signifies a mint o' gear when we are baith grown auld,

And when December i' the heart keeps turning a' things cauld?

Thou'lt grow sae cross, and I sae stiff, my will I winna bend,

For time aye hardens little fauts until they canna mend:

Men never will gie up their way, and I'll think mine the best,

And as sae lang we've courting been we'll be the younker's jest.

I'd have thee in an April morn, when birds begin to sing,

Like them to choose thysel a mate, and hail the cheerfu' spring;

O haste to me while o'er thy way she strews the fairest flowers,

Nor suffer these poor een again to add to April showers;

I'll aye be gay, and ever smile, gin thou'lt make haste to me,

If no, I'll quickly change my mind, and think nae mair o' thee!

HAD MY DADDIE LEFT ME GEAR

ENOUGH.

AIR-My daddie left me gear enough.

Had my daddie left me gear enough,
Whene'er I'd gane to kirk or fair,

Ilk mither had held out her loof,

And led me to her son and heir.

Now, gin a canker'd minny comes

And sees her dawty set by me, She looks as sour as Gala's plums,

And wonders what the fool can see.

Hout! man, come here, ye're surely blind,
Do ye no see Miss Fowler there?
A bonnier lass ye canna find;

I wat there's nae sic dancer here.
Troth! some folk might hae staid away,
And nae ane wad hae miss'd them yet,
For fient a chiel I've seen the day

Has spear'd gin she can dance a fit.

Then honest Jock loupt on the floor,
And cried-We'll a' be canty yet!
And if some grudging souls be here,
O may they never dance a fit!
And let them ken, if goud's their pride,
It's no won gear that's counted yet,
They're here wad take a poundless bride !--
Rise up, my lass, let's dance a fit.

O JENNY DEAR.

AIR-The Mason Laddie.

"O Jenny dear, lay by your pride,

Or else I plainly see

Your wrinkles ye'll be fain to hide,

May-be at sixty-three.