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THERE's braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes,

That wander through the blooming heather ; But Yarrow braes, nor Ettric shaws,

Can match the lads o' Galla water.

Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, Grat his een baith bleer't and blin', Spak o' low pin owre a linn;

Ha, ha, &c. Time and chance are but a tide,

Ha, ha, &c.
Slighted love is sair to bide,

Ha, ha, &c.
Shall I, like a fool, quoth he,
For a haughty hizzie die ?
She may gae to-France for me!

Ha, ha, &c.
How it comes let doctors tell,

Ha, ha, &c. Meg grew sick-as he grew heal.

Ha, ha, &c. Something in her bosom wrings, For relief a sigh she brings ; And 0, her een, they spak sic things !

Ha, ha, &c. Duncan was a lad o' grace,

Ha, ha, &c. Maggie's was a piteous case,

Ha, ha, &c. Duncan could na be her death, Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath ; Now they're crouse and canty baith.

Ha, ha, &c.

But there is ane, a secret ane,

Aboon them a' I lo'e him better; And I'll be his, and he'll be mine,

The bonnie lad o' Galla water, Although his daddie was nae laird,

And though I hae nae meikle tocher ;
Yet rich in kindest, truest love,

We'll tent our flocks by Galla water.
It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth,

That coft contentment, peace, or pleasure, The bands and bliss o' mutual love,

O that's the chiefest warld's treasure !



TUNE_“I had a horse."

O MIRK, mirk is this midnight hour,

And loud the tempest's roar ;
A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tower,

Lord Gregory, ope thy door.
An exile frae her father's ha',

And a' for loving thee;
At least some pity on me shaw,

If love it may na be.
Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grove,

By bonnie Irwine side,
Where first I own'd that virgin love

I lang, lang had denied.
How aften didst thou pledge and vow,

Thou wad for aye be mine!
And my fond heart, itsel sae true,

It ne'er mistrusted thine.
Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory,

And flinty is thy breast :
Thou dart of heaven that flashest by,

O wilt thou give me rest!
Ye mustering thunders from above,

Your willing victim see!
But spare and pardon my fause love,

His wrangs to heaven and me!

O POORTITH cauld, and restless love,

Ye wreck my peace between ye;
Yet poortith a' I could forgive,

An' 'twere na for my Jeanie.
why should fate sic pleasure have,

Life's dearest bands untwining?
Or why sae sweet a flower as love

Depend on fortunc's shining ?
This warld's wealth when I think on,

Its pride, and a' the lave o't;
Fie, fie on silly coward man,
That he should be the slave o't.

O why, &c.
Her een sae bonnie blue betray

How she repays my passion ;
But prudence is her o’erword aye,
She talks of rank and fashion,

O why, &c.
O wha can prudence think upon,

And sic a lassie by him?
O wha can prudence think upon,
And sae in love as I am ?

O why, &c.
How blest the humble cotter's fate!

He wooes his simple dearie;
The sillie bogles, wealth and state,

Can never make them eerie.
O why should fate sic pleasure have,

Life's dearest bands untwining ? Or why sae sweet a flower as love

Depend on fortune's shining ?


TUNE_" Bide ye yet." O MARY, at thy window be,

It is the wish'd, the trysted hour! Those smiles and glances let me see,

That make the miser's treasure poor : How blithely wad I bide the stoure,

A weary slave frae sun to sun ;
Could I the rich reward secure,

The lovely Mary Morison.
Yestreen when to the trembling string,

The dance gaed through the lighted ha', To thee my fancy took its wing,

I sat, but neither heard or saw :

Though this was fair, and that was braw,

And yon the toast of a' the town, I sigh'd, and said amang them a',

“ Ye are na Mary Morison.” O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace,

Wha for thy sake wad gladly die ? Or canst thou break that heart of his,

Whase only fault is loving thee? If love for love thou wilt na gie,

At least be pity to me shown! A thought ungentle canna be

The thought o' Mary Morison.


HERE awa,

there awa, wandering Willie, Here awa, there awa, haud awa hame; Come to my bosom my ain only dearie,

Tell me thou bringst me my Willie the same. Winter winds blew loud and cauld at our parting;

Fears for my Willie brought tears in my e’e: Welcome now simmer, and welcome my Willie,

The simmer to nature, my Willie to me. Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave of your slumbers,

How your dread howling a lover alarms ! Wauken, ye breezes, row gently, ye billows,

And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms. But 0! if he's faithless, and minds na his Nannie,

Flow still between us, thou wide-roaring main ; May I never see it, may I never trow it,

But, dying, believe that my Willie's my ain!

A leal, light heart was in my breast,

My hand unstain'd wi' plunder;
And for fair Scotia's hame again,

I cheery on did wander.
I thought upon the banks o' Coil,

I thought upon my Nancy,
I thought upon the witching smile

That caught my youthful fancy.
At length I reach'd the bonnie glen,

Where early life I sported;
I pass'd the mill and trysting thorn,

Where Nancy aft I courted:
Wha spied I but my ain dear maid,

Down by her mother's dwelling!
And turn'd me round to hide the flood

That in my e'en was swelling.
Wi' alter'd voice, quoth I, Sweet lass,

Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom, 0! happy, happy may he be,

That's dearest to thy bosom !
My purse is light, I've far to gang,

And fain wad be thy lodger ;
I've served my king and country lang,

Take pity on a sodger.
Sae wistfully she gazed on me,

And lovelier was than ever :
Quo’she, A sodger ance I lo'ed,

Forget him shall I never:
Our humble cot and hamely fare,

Ye freely shall partake it,
That gallant badge, the dear cockade,

Ye're welcome for the sake o't.
She gazed—she redden'd like a rose-

Syne pale like ony lily ;
She sank within my arms, and cried,

Art thou my ain dear Willie ?
By Him who made yon sun and sky-

By whom true love's regarded,
I am the man; and thus may still

True lovers be rewarded. The wars are o'er, and I'm come hame,

And find thee still true hearted; Though poor in gear, we're rich in love,

And mair we'se ne'er be parted.
Quo’she, My grandsire left me gowd,

A mailen plenish'a fairly ;
And come, my faithfu' sodger lad,

Thou’rt welcome to it dearly !
For gold the merchant ploughs the main,

The farmer ploughs the manor ; But glory is the sodger's prize;

The sodger's wealth is honour; The brave, poor sodger ne'er despise,

Nor count him as a stranger, Remember he's his country's stay

In day and hour of danger.


TUNE_" Bonny Dundee." TRUE hearted was he, the sad swain o' the Yarrow,

And fair are the maids on the banks o'the Ayr, But by the sweet side o' the Nith's winding river,

Are lovers as faithful, and maidens as fair: To equal young Jessie seek Scotland all over ;

To equal young Jessie you seek it in vain;
Grace, beauty, and elegance fetter her lover,

And maidenly modesty fixes the chain,
O fresh is the rose in the gay, dewy morning,

And sweet is the lily at evening close ;
But in the fair presence o' lovely young Jessie,

Unseen is the lily, unheeded the rose.
Love sits in her smile, a wizard insnaring;

Enthroned in her e'en he delivers his law; And still to her charms she alone is a stranger!

Her modest demeanour's the jewel of a'.



AIR-" The mill mill 0." When wild war's deadly blast was blawn,

And gentle peace returning, Wi’mony a sweet babe fatherless,

And mony a widow mourning,
I left the lines and tented field,

Where lang I'd been a lodger,
My humble knapsack a'my wealth,

A poor and bonest şodger.


TUNE-"Logan Water." O 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.

But did na Jeanie's heart loup light,

And did na joy blink in her e'e,
As Robie tauld a tale o' love,

Ae e'enin on the lily lea?
The sun was sinking in the west,

The birds sang sweet in ilka grove; His cheek to hers he fondly prest,

And whisper'd thus his tale o' love: O Jeanie fair, I lo'e thee dear;

O canst thou think to fancy me!
Or wilt thou leave thy mammie's cot,

And learn to tent the farms wi' me! At barn or byre thou shalt na drudge,

Or naething else to trouble thee; But stray amang the heather-bells,

And tent the waving corn wi' me. Now what could artless Jeanie do ?

She had nae will to say him na: At length she blush'd a sweet consent,

And love was aye between them twa.

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 !


O 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 !

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

And never brought to min?? Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

And days o' lang syne?


BONNIE JEAN. THERE was a lass, and she was fair,

At kirk and market to be seen, When a' the fairest maids were met,

The fairest maid was bonnie Jean,

And aye she wrought her mammie's wark,

And aye she sang sae merrilie : The blithest bird upon the bush

Had ne'er a lighter heart than she.

But hawks will rob the tender joys

That bless the little lintwhite's nest; And frost will blight the fairest flowers,

And love will break the soundest rest.

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 wander'd 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 roard,
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-stowp,

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

For auld, &c.

Young Robie was the brawest lad,

The flower and pride o' a' the glen; And he had owsen, sheep, and kye,

And wanton naigies nine or ten. He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryste,

He danced wi' Jeanie on the down; And lang ere witless Jeanie wist,

Her heart was tint, her peace was stown As in the bosom o' the stream,

The moonbeam dwells at dewy e'en; So, trembling, pure, was tender love,

Within the breast o' bonnie Jean. And now she works her mammie's wark,

And aye she sighs wi' care and pain ; Ye wist na what her ail might be,

Or what wad mak her weel again.



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


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

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

Traitor! coward! turn and flee! Wha for Scotland's king and law Freedom's sword will strongly draw, Freeman stand, or freeman fa',

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

Forward ! let us do, or die !


TUNE_" The Lothian Lassie."
Last May a braw wooer cam down the lang glen,

And sair wi' his love he did deave me;
I said there was nothing I hated like men;

The deuce gae wi'm, to believe me, believe me,

The deuce gae wi’m, to believe me.
He spak o' the darts in my bonnie black e'en,

And vow'd for my love he was dying;
I said he might die when he liked, for Jean;

The Lord forgie me for lying, for lying,

The Lord forgie me for lying !
A weel-stocked mailen, himsel for the laird,

And marriage aff-hand, were his proffers:
I never loot on that I kenn'd it, or cared,

But thought I might hae waur offers, waur offers,

But thought I might hae waur offers.
But what wad ye think? in a fortnight or less,

The deil tak his taste to gae near her ?
He up the lang loan to my black cousin Bess;
Guess ye how, the jad! I could bear her, could

bear her,
Guess ye how, the jad! I could bear her.
But a' the niest week as I fretted wi' care,

I gaed to the tryste o' Dalgarnock,
And wha but my fine fickle lover was there,

I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock, a warlock,

I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock.
But owre my left shouther I gae him a blink,

Lest neebors might say I was saucy ;
My wooer he caper'd as he'd been in drink,

And vow'd I was his dear lassie, dear lassie,

And vow'd I was his dear lassie.
I spier'd for my cousin fu' couthy and sweet,

Gin she had recover'd her hearin,
And how her new shoon fit her auld shachl't feet,

But, heavens ! how he fell a swearin, a swearin,

But, heavens! how he fell a swearin.
He begg'd, for Gudesake ! I wad be his wife,

Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow:
So e'en to preserve the poor body in life,

I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow,
I think I maun wed him to-morrow.


Is there, for honest poverty,

That hangs his head, and a' that; The coward slave, we pass him by,

We dare be poor for a' that! For a' that, and a' that,

Our toil's obscure and a' that, The rank is but the guinea stamp,

The man's the gowd for a' that. What though on hamely fare we dine, Wear hoddin gray,

and a' that; Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,

A man's a man for a' that;
For a' that, and a' that,

Their tinsel show, and a' that;
The honest man, though e'er sae poor,

Is king o' men for a' that.
Ye see yon birkic, ca'd a lord,

Wha struts, and stares, and a' that; Though hundreds worship at his word,

He's but a coof for a' that; For a' that, and a' that,

His riband, star, and a' that,
The man of independent mind,

He looks and laughs at a' that.
A prince can mak a belted knight,

A marquis, duke, and a' that;
But an honest man's aboon his might,

Guid faith he mauna fa' that!
For a' that, and a' that,

Their dignities, and a' that,
The pith o’ sense, and pride o' worth,

Are higher ranks than a' that.
Then let us pray that come it may,

As come it will for a' that,
That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth,

May bear the gree, and a' that.
For a' that, and a' that,

It's coming yet, for a' that, That man to man, the warld o'er,

Shall brothers be for a' that.

SONG. TUNE—"Here's a health to them that's awa, hiney."

CHORUS. Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear, Here's a health to ane I lo'e 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 lockt 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.

But now your brow is beld, John,

Your locks are like the snaw; But blessings on your frosty pow,

John Anderson my jo. John Anderson my jo, John,

We clamb the hill thegither ; And mony a canty day, John,

We've had wi' ane anither: Now we maun totter down, John,

But hand and hand we'll go, And sleep thegither at the foot,

John Anderson my jo.


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Bonnie lassie, will ye go, will ye go, will ye go,
Bonnie lassie, will ye go to the birks of Aberfeldy ?

Now simmer blinks on flowery braes,
And o'er the crystal streamlet plays,
Come let us spend the lightsome days
In the birks of Aberfeldy.

Bonnie lassie, &c.
While o'er their heads the hazels hing,
The little birdies blithely sing,
Or lightly fit on wanton wing
In the birks of Aberfeldy.

Bonnie lassie, &c.
The braes ascend like lofty wa's,
The foaming stream deep-roaring fa's,
Oerhung wi' fragrant spreading shaws,
The birks of Aberfeldy.

Bonnie lassie, &c.
The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' flowers,
White o'er the linns the burnie pours,
And rising, weets wi' misty showers
The birks of Aberfeldy.

Bonnie lassie, &c.
Let fortune's gifts at random flee,
They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me,
Supremely blest wi’ love and thee,
In the birks of Aberfeldy.

Bonnie lassie, &c.

But I will down yon river rove, amang the wood sae

green, And a' to pu’a posie to my ain dear May. The primrose I will pu', the firstling o' the year, And I will pu'the pink, the emblem o' my dear, For she's the pink o'womankind, and blooms with

out a peer;

And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. I'll pu' the budding rose when Phæbus peeps in

view, For it's like a baumy kiss o’her sweet bonnie mou; The hyacinth's for constancy wi’ its unchanging

blue, And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. The lily it is pure, and the lily it is fair, And in her lovely bosom I'll place the lily there; The daisy's for simplicity and unaffected air,

And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. The hawthorn I will pu', wi’its locks o'siller gray, Where, like an aged man, it stands at break o'day, But the songster's nest within the bush I winna


tak away ;

Tune-"i Miss Admiral Gordon's Strathspey."
OF a' the airts the wind can blaw,

I dearly like the west,
For there the bonnie lassie lives,

The lassie I lo'e best :
There wild woods grow, and rivers row,

And mony a hill between ;
But day and night my fancy's flight

Is ever wi' my Jean.
I see her in the dewy flowers,

I see her sweet and fair :
I hear her in the tunefu' birds,

I hear her charm the air :
There's not a bonnie flower that springs,

By fountain, shaw, or green, There's not a bonnie bird that sings,

But minds me o’my Jean.

And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. The woodbine I will pu’ when the e'ening star is

near, And the diamond draps o’ dew shall be her e'en sae

clear: The violet's for modesty which weel she fa's to

wear, And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. I'll tie the posie round wi' the silken band of luve, And I'll place it in her breast, and I'll swear by a'

above, That to my latest draught o'life the band shall ne'er

And this will be a posie to my ain dear May.



Johx ANDERSON my jo, John,

When we were first acquent ; Your locks were like the raven,

Your bonnie brow was brent ;

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 !

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