While I fell on his bosom, heart-flichter'd an' fain, An' sigh'd out, "O, Johnnie, I'll aye be your

ain!"

While I fell on his bosom, &c.

Some lasses will talk to the lads wi' their e'e,
Yet hanker to tell what their hearts really dree;
Wi' Johnnie I stood upon nae stapping-stane,
Sae I'll never gang back to my mammy again.
Wi' Johnnie I stood, &c.

For mony lang year sin' I play'd on the lea,
My mammy was kind as a mither could be;
I've held by her apron these aught years an' ten,
But I'll never gang back to my mammy again.
I've held by her apron, &c.

THE CRADLE SONG. Baloo, baloo, my wee, wee thing, O saftly close thy blinkin' e'e! Baloo, baloo, my wee, wee thing,

For thou art doubly dear to me
Thy daddie now is far awa',

A sailor laddie, o'er the sea;
But hope aye hechts his safe return
To you, my bonny lamb, an' me.
Baloo, baloo, my wee, wee thing,

O saftly close thy blinkin' e'e!
Baloo, baloo, my wee, wee thing,

For thou art doubly dear to me.
Thy face is simple, sweet, an' mild,
Like ony simmer e'ening fa';
Thy sparkling e'e is bonnie black;

Thy neck is like the mountain snaw.

Baloo, baloo, my wee, wee thing,

O saftly close thy blinkin' e'e! Baloo, baloo, my wee, wee thing,

For thou art doubly dear to me. O, but thy daddie's absence, lang,

Might break my dowie heart in twa,

Wert thou na left, a dautit pledge, To steal the eerie hours awa'!

THE WAITS.

Wha's this, wi' voice o' music sweet,
Sae early wakes the weary wight?
O weel I ken them by their sough,
The wandering minstrels o' the night.
O weel I ken their bonnie lilts,

Their sweetest notes o' melody,
Fu' aft they've thrill'd out through my saul,
And gart the tear fill ilka e'e.

O, sweetest minstrels! weet your pipe
A tender, soothin' note to blaw;
Syne souf the "Broom o' Cowdenknowes,"
Or "Rosslyn Castle's" ruin'd wa',
They bring to mind the happy days
Fu' aft I've spent wi' Jenny dear:-
Ah! now ye touch the very note

That gars me sigh, and drap a tear.
Your fremit lilts I downa bide,

They never yield a charm for me; Unlike our ain, by nature made,

Unlike the saft delight they gi'e; For weel I ween they warm the breast,

Though sair oppress'd wi' poortith cauld; An' sae an auld man's heart they cheer, He tines the thought that he is auld.

O, sweetest minstrels! halt awee,
Anither lilt afore ye gang;
An' syne I'll close my waukrife e'e,

Enraptured wi' your bonnie sång.
They're gane! the moon begins to dawn;
They're weary, paidlin' through the weet;
They're gane! but on my ravished ear

The dying sounds yet thrill fu' sweet.

Adieu, ye streams that smoothly glide,

Ae fond kiss, and then we sever,
Ae morn, last ouk, as I gaed out,
Afore the muircock begin to craw,
Ages, ages have departed,

Ah! can I behold, love,

Ah me! how mournful, wan, and slow,
Ah, Peggie, since thou'rt gane away,
Ah, the poor shepherd's mournful fate,
Alas! for the land of the heath-cover'd,
A lassie cam' to our gate yestreen,
Alas! the sunny hours are past,
Allen-a-Dale has no fagot for burning,
Along by Levern stream so clear,
Amang the birks, sae blythe an' gay,.
And are ye sure the news is true?