THE YOUNG HIGHLAND ROVER.

Tune," Morag.”

Loud blaw the frosty breezes,

The snaws the mountains cover; Like winter on me seizes,

Since my young highland rover Far wanders nations over. Where'er he go, where'er he stray, May heaven be his warden; Return him safe to fair Strathspey, And bonnie Castle-Gordon!

The trees now naked groaning,
Shall soon wi' leaves be hinging,
The birdies dowie moaning,
Shall a' be blythely singing,
And every flower be springing.
Sae I'll rejoice the lee-lang day,
When by his mighty warden
My youth's return'd to fair Strathspey,
And bonnie Castle-Gordon*.

RAVING WINDS AROUND HER BLOWING.

Tune," M'Grigor of Rero's Lament."

Raving winds around her blowing,

Yellow leaves the woodlands strowing,

By a river hoarsely roaring,

Isabella stray'd deploring.

"Farewell, hours that late did measure

Sunshine days of joy and pleasure;

be lying concealed in some cave of the Highlands, after the battle of Culloden. This song was written before the year 1788.

E.

*The young highland rover is supposed to be the young chevalier, Prince Charles-Edward.

H 2

E

Hail, thou gloomy night of sorrow,
Cheerless night that knows no morrow.

"O'er the past too fondly wandering,
On the hopeless future pondering;
Chilly grief my life-blood freezes,
Fell despair my fancy seizes.
Life, thou soul of every blessing,
Load to misery most distressing,
O how gladly I'd resign thee,
And to dark oblivion join thee* !”

MUSING ON THE ROARING OCEAN.

Tune, "Druimion dubh."

Musing on the roaring ocean,

Which divides my love and me; Wearying heaven in warm devotion, For his weal where'er he be.

Hope and fear's alternate billow
Yielding late to nature's law,
Whisp'ring spirits round my pillow
'Talk of him that's far awa.

Ye whom sorrow never wounded,
Ye who never shed a tear,
Care-untroubled, joy-surrounded,
Gaudy day to you is dear.

Gentle night, do thou befriend me;
Downy sleep, the curtain draw;

Spirits kind, again attend me,

Talk of him that's far awa!

The occasion on which this poem was written is unknown to the editor. It is an early composi

tion.

E.

BLYTHE WAS SHE.

Blythe, blythe and merry was she,
Blythe was she but and ben:
Blythe by the banks of Erin,

And blythe in Glenturit glen.

By Oughtertyre grows the aik,
On Yarrow banks, the birken shaw;
But Phemie was a bonnier lass
Than braes o' Yarrow ever saw.
Blythe, &c.

Her looks were like a flow'r in May,
Her smile was like a simmer moru;
She tripped by the banks of Ern,
As light's a bird upon a thorn.
Blythe, &c.

Her bonnie face it was as meek
As ony lamb upon a lee;

The evening sun was ne'er sae sweet
As was the blink o' Phemie's e'e.
Blythe, &c.

The Highland hills I've wander'd wide,
And o'er the Lowlands I hae been;

But Phemie was the blythest lass
That ever trode the dewy green.
Blythe,

c.

A ROSE-BUD BY MY EARLY WALK.

A rose-bud by my early walk,
Adown a corn-inelosed bawk,
Sae gently bent its thorny stalk,
All on a dewy morning.

Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fled,

In a' its crimson glory spread,

And drooping rich the dewy head,
It scents the early morning.

Within the bush, her covert nest
A little linnet fondly prest,
The dew sat chilly on her breast
Sae early in the morning.

She soon shall see her tender brood,
The pride, the pleasure o' the wood,
Amang the fresh green leaves bedew'd,
Awake the early morning.

So thou, dear bird, young Jeany fair,
On trembling strings or vocal air,
Shall sweetly pay the tender care
That tents thy early morning.

So thou, sweet rose-bud, young and gay,
Shalt eauteous blaze upon the day,
And bless the parent's evening ray
That watch'd thy early morning*.

WHERE BRAVING ANGRY WINTER'S

STORMS.

Tune," N. Gow's Lamentation For Abercaírny.”

Where, braving angry winter's storms,

The lofty Ochels rise,

Far in their shade my Peggy's charms
First blest my wondering eyes.
As one who, by some savage stream,
A lonely gem surveys,

Astonish'd doubly marks it beam

With art's most polish'd blaze.

*This song was written during the winter of 1787. Miss J. C. daughter of a friend of the bard, is the heroine.

Blest be the wild, sequester'd shade,
And bless the day and hour,

Where Peggy's charms I first survey'd,
When first I felt their pow'r!
The tyrant death with grim controul
May seize my fleeting breath;
But tearing Peggy from my soul
Must be a stronger death.

TIBBIE, I HAE SEEN THE DAY.

Tune, "Invercald's Reel."

• Tibbie, I hae seen the day,
You would na been sae shy
For laik o' gear ye lightly me,
But trowth, I care na by.

Yestreen I met you on the moor,
Ye spak na, but gaed by like stoure;
Ye geck at me because I'm poor,
But fient a hair care I.

O Tibbie, I hae, &c.

I doubt na, lass, but ye may think,
Because ye hae the name o' clink,
That ye can please me at a wink,
Whene'er ye like to try.

But sorrow tak him that's sae mean,
Altho' his pouch o' coin were clean,
Wha follows ony saucy queen
That looks sae proud and high.
O Tibbie, I hae, &c.

Altho' a lad were e'er sae smart,
If that he want the yellow dirt,
Ye'll cast your head anither airt,
And answer him fu' dry.
O Tibbie, I hue, &c.