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My Peggy's face, my Peggy's formi,
The frost of hermitage might warm;
My Peggy's worth, iny Peggy's mind,
Might charm the first of human kind.
I love my Peggy's angel air,
Her face so truly, heavenly fair,
Her native grace so void of art,
But I adore my Peggy's heart.

The lily's hue, the rose's dye, The kindling lustre of an eye ; Who but owns their magie sway, Who but knows they all decay! The tender thrill, the pitying tear, The generous purpose, nobly dear, The gentle look, that rage disarms, These are all immortal charms.

"Vritten in a Wrapper cnclosing a letter to capt.

Grose, to be left with Mr. Cardonnel, antiqua. rian.

Tune, “ Sir John Malcolm.”

Ken ye ought o' captain Grose ?

Igo, de ago.
If he's amang his friends or foes ?

Iram, coram, dago.

Is he south, or is he north?

Igo, de ago.
Or drowned in the river Forth?

Iram, coram, dago.

Is he slain by Highland bodies ?

Igo, go ago.

And eaten like a wether-haggis ?

Iram, coram, dago.

Is he to Abram's bosom gane ?

Igo, do ago.
Or haudin Sarah by the wame?

Iram, coram, dago.

Where'er he be, the Lord be near him!

Igo, & ago,
As for the deil, he daur na steer him,

Iram, coram, dago.

But please transmit th’ enclosed letter,

Igo, do ago.
Which will oblige your humble debtor,

Iram, coram, dago.

So may ye lae auld stanes in store,

Igo, 6 ago.
The very stanes that Adam bore,

Iram, coram, dago.

So may ye get in glad possession,

Igo, de ago.
The coins o' Satan's coronation !

Iram, coram, dago.


'Twas even-the dewy fields were green,

On every blade the pearls hang* ; The zephyr wantoned round the bean,

And bore its fragrant sweets alang : In every glen the mavis sang,

All Nature listening seemed the while, Except where green wood echoes rang

Amang the braes o' Ballochmyle.

Hang-Scotticism for hung.

With careless step I onward strayed,

My heart rejoiced in nature's joy, When, musing in a lonely glade,

A maiden fair I chanced to spy; Her look was like the morning's eye,

Her air like nature's vernal smile, Perfection whispered, passing by,

Behold the lass o’ Ballochmylet !

Fair is the morn in flowery May,

And sweet is night in autumn mild, When roving thro' the garden gay,

Or wandering in the lonely wild : But woman, nature's darling child !

There all her charms she does compile ; Even there her other works are foil'd

By the bonny lass o’ Ballochmyle.

O had she been a country maid,

And I the happy country swain, Tho' sheltered in the lowest shed

That ever rose on Scotland's plain! Thro' weary winter's wind and rain

With joy, with rapture, I would toil, And nightly to my bosom strain

The bonny lass o' Ballochmyle.

Then pride might climb the slippery steep,

Where fame and honours lofty shine;' And thirst of gold might tempt the deep,

Or downward seek the Indian mine ; Give me the cot below the pine,

To tend the flocks or till the soil, And every day have joys divine

With the bonny lass o' Ballochmyle.

+ Variation. The lily's hue and rose's dye

Bespoke the lass o' Ballochmyle, CASTLE GORDON.


Streams that glide in orient plains,
Never bound by winter's chain;
Glowing here on golden sands,
There commix'd with foulest stain's
From tyranny's empurpled bands:
These, their richly gleaming waves,
I leave to tyrants and their slaves;
Give me the stream that sweetly laves

The banks by castle Gordon.

Spicy forests, ever gay,
Shading from the burning ray
Hapless wretches sold to toil,
Or the ruthless vative's way,
Bent on slaughter, blood, and spoil:
Woods that ever verdant wave,
I leave the tyrant and the slave,
Give me the groves that lofty brave

The storms, by castle Gordon.

III. Wildly here, without controul, Nature reigns and rules the whole ; In that sober pensive mood, Dearest to the feeling soul, She plants the forest, pours the flood; Life's poor day I'll musing rave, And find at night a sheltering cave, Where waters flow and wild woods wave,

By bonnie castle Gordon.


I hae a wife o' my ain,

I'll partake wi' nae.body;
I'll tak cuckold frae nane,

I'll gie cuckold to nae-body.

I hae a penny to spend,

There-thanks to nae-body;
I hae naething to lend,

I'll borrow frae nae-body.

I am nae-body's lord,

I'll be a slave to nae-body;
I hae a gude braid sword,

I'll tak dunts frae nae-body.

I'll be merry and free,

I'll be sad for nae-body;
If nae-body care for me,

I'll care for nae-body.


The small birds rejoice in the green leaves return.

ing, The murmuring streamlet winds clear thro' the

vale ; The hawthorn trees blow in the dews of the morn

ing, And wild scattered cowslips bedeck the green

dale :

But what can give pleasure, or what can seem

fair, While the lingering moments are numbered by


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