BRAVING ANGRY WINTER'S STORMS.

TUNE-Neil Gow's Lamentation for Abercairny.

WHERE, braving angry winter's storms,
The lofty Ochils 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,

Astonished, doubly marks its beam,
With art's most polished blaze.

Blest be the wild, sequestered shade,
And blest the day and hour,
Where Peggy's charms I first surveyed-
When first I felt their power!

The tyrant death, with grim control,
May seize my fleeting breath;
But tearing Peggy from my soul
Must be a stronger death.

MY PEGGY'S FACE

TUNE-My Peggy's Face.

MY Peggy's face, my Peggy's form,
The frost of hermit age might warm;
My Peggy's worth, my 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 magic 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.

ON A YOUNG LADY

RESIDING ON THE BANKS OF THE SMALL RIVER DEVON, IN
CLACKMANNANSHIRE, BUT WHOSE INFANT YEARS WERE
SPENT IN AYRSHIRE.

How pleasant the banks of the clear-winding Devon,
With green-spreading bushes, and flowers blooming fair;

But the bonniest flower on the banks of the Devon
Was once a sweet bud on the braes of the Ayr.

Mild be the sun on this sweet-blushing flower,
In the gay rosy morn as it bathes in the dew!
And gentle the fall of the soft vernal shower,

That steals on the eveuing each leaf to renew.
Oh spare the dear blossom, ye orient breezes,

With chill hoary wing as ye usher the dawn! And far be thou distant, thou reptile that seizes The verdure and pride of the garden and lawn! Let Bourbon exult in his gay-gilded lilies,

And England triumphant display her proud rose; A fairer than either adorns the green valleys Where Devon, sweet Devon, meandering flows.

MACPHERSON'S FAREWELL.
TUNE-M'Pherson's Rant.

FAREWELL, ye dungeons dark and strong,
The wretch's destinie!

Macpherson's time will not be long

On yonder gallows-tree.

Sae rantingly, sae wantonly,

Sae dauntingly gaed he;

He played a spring, and danced it round,

Below the gallows-tree.

Oh, what is death but parting breath?
On many a bloody plain

I've dared his face, and in this place
I scorn him yet again!

Untie these bands from off my hands,

And bring to me my sword;

And there's no a man in all Scotland,

But I'll brave him at a word.

I've lived a life of sturt and strife;

I die by treacherie :

It burns my heart I must depart,

And not avenged be.

Now farewell light-thou sunshine bright,

And all beneath the sky!

May coward shame distain his name,

The wretch that dares not die!

STAY MY CHARMER.

TUNE-An Gillie dubh ciar dhubh.

STAY, my charmer, can you leave me?
Cruel, cruel to deceive me

Well you know how much you grieve me;

Cruel charmer, can you go?

Cruel charmer, can you go?

80

went

a tune

trouble

By my love so ill requited,
By the faith you fondly plighted,
By the pangs of lovers slighted,
Do not, do not leave me so !
Do not, do not, leave me so!

STRATHALLAN'S LAMENT.

THICKEST night, o'erhang my dwelling!
Howling tempests, o'er me rave!
Turbid torrents, wintry swelling,
Still surround my lonely cave!
Crystal streamlets gently flowing,
Busy haunts of base mankind,
Western breezes softly blowing,
Suit not my distracted mind.
In the cause of right engaged,
Wrongs injurious to redress,
Honour's war we strongly wagèd,
But the heavens denied success.
Ruin's wheel has driven o'er us,
Not a hope that dare attend:
The wide world is all before us-
But a world without a friend!

RAVING WINDS ABOUND HER BLOWING.*

TUNE-Macgregor of Ruara's Lament.

RAVING winds around her blowing,
Yellow leaves the woodlands strowing,
By a river hoarsely roaring,
Isabella strayed deploring-

"Farewell hours that late did measure
Sunshine days of joy and pleasure;
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,
Gladly how would I 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.

I composed these verses on Miss Isabella M'Leod of Raasay, alluding to her feelings on the death of her sister, and the still more melancholy death (1786) of her sister's husband, the late Earl of Loudon, who shot himself out of sheer heartbreak at some mortifications he suffered owing to the deranged state of his finances.-B.

+ I composed these verses out of compliment to a Mrs Maclachlan, whose husband is an officer in the East Indies-B.

The forests are leafless, the meadows are brown,
And all the gay foppery of summer is flown:
Apart let me wander, apart let me muse,

How quick time is flying, how keen fate pursues!

How long I have liv'd-but how much liv'd in vain!
How little of life's scanty span may remain !
What aspects old Time, in his progress, has worn!
What ties cruel fate in my bosom has torn!

How foolish, or worse, till our summit is gained!

And downward, how weaken'd, how darken'd, how pain'd!
This life's not worth having with all it can give-
For something beyond it poor man sure must live.