The moon is gleaming far and near,
The stars are streaming free,

And cold comes down the evening dew

On my sweet babe and me.
There is a time for holy song,

An hour for charm and spell,
And now's the time to bathe my babe
In our ladye's blessed well.

First like the lily pale ye grew,
Syne like the violet wan;
As in the sunshine dies the dew,
So faded my fair Ann.

Was it a breath of evil wind

That harm'd thee, lovely child?
Or was't the fairy's charmed touch
That all thy bloom defiled?

I've watch'd thee in the mirk midnight,
And watch'd thee in the day,
And sung our ladye's sacred song
To keep the elves away.

The moon is sitting on the hill,
The night is nigh its prime,

The owl doth chase the bearded bat,
The mark of witching time;

And o'er the seven sister stars
A silver cloud is drawn,

On a far sea thy father sails

Among the spicy isles;

He thinks on thee, and thinks on me,

And as he thinks, he smiles

And sings, while he his white sail trims,

And severs swift the sea,

About his Anna's sunny locks,

And of her bright blue e'e.

O blessed fountain, give her back
The brightness of her brow!
O blessed water, bid her cheeks
Like summer roses glow!
'Tis a small gift, thou blessed well,
To thing divine as thee,

But kingdoms to a mother's heart,—
Fu' dear is Ann to me.

MY AIN BONNIE MAY.

WILLIAM NICHOLSON.

O will ye go to yon burn side,
Amang the new-made hay,
And sport upon the flowery swaird,

My ain bonnie May?

The sun blinks blithe on yon burn side,

Whare lambkins lightly play;

The wild bird whistles to his mate,

My ain bonnie May.

The waving woods, wi' mantle green,
Shall shield us in the bower,
Whare I'll pu' a posie for my May,

O' mony a bonnie flower.

My father maws ayont the burn,

To spin my mammy's gane;

And should they see thee here wi' me, I'd better been my lane.

The lightsome lammie little kens
What troubles it await:

Whan ance the flush o' spring is o'er,
The fause bird lea'es its mate.
The flow'rs will fade, the woods decay,
And lose their bonnie green;

The sun wi' clouds may be o'ercast,
Before that it be e'en.

Ilk thing is in its season sweet;
So love is, in its noon :

But cank'ring time may soil the flow'r,
And spoil its bonnie bloom.

O, come then, while the summer shines,
And love is young and gay;

Ere age his with'ring, wintry blast
Blaws o'er me and my May.

For thee I'll tend the fleecy flocks,
Or haud the halesome plough,
And nightly clasp thee to my breast,
And prove ay leal and true.

The blush o'erspread her bonnie face,
She had nae mair to say,

But ga'e her hand, and walk'd alang,

The youthfu' bloomin' May.

THE BRIDE OF ALLANBAY.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.

Upon the bonnie mountain side,

Upon the leafy trees,

Upon the rich and golden fields,

Upon the deep green seas,

The wind comes breathing freshly forth-
Ho! pluck up from the sand
Our anchor, and go shooting as

A wing'd shaft from the land!

The sheep love Skiddaw's lonesome top, The shepherd loves his hill,

The throstle loves the budding bush,

Sweet woman loves her will;
The lark loves heaven for visiting,
But green earth for her home;
And I love the good ship singing
Through the billows in their foam.

My son a gray-hair'd peasant said,
Leap on the grassy land,
And deeper than five fathom sink

Thine anchor in the sand;

And meek and humble make thy heart;

For ere yon bright'ning moon

Lift her wondrous lamp above the wave
Amid night's lonely noon,