THE DUMFRIES VOLUNTEERS.
TUNE-Push about the Jorum.

DOES haughty Gaul invasion threat?
Then let the loons beware, sir;
There's wooden walls upon our seas,
And volunteers on shore, sir.
The Nith shall run to Corsincon,
And Criffel sink in Solway,
Ere we permit a foreign foe
On British ground to rally!
Fall de rall, &c.

Oh, let us not like snarling tykes
In wrangling be divided;
Till, slap, come in an unco loon,
And wi' a rung decide it.
Be Britain still to Britain true,
Among oursels united;
For never but by British hands
Maun British wrangs be righted.
Fall de rall, &c.

The kettle o' the Kirk and State,
Perhaps a clout may fail in't;
But NOT a foreign tinkler loon
Shall ever ca' a nail in't.

fellows

dogs

strange

bludgeon

must, wrongs

mend

tinker

drive

OH, WAT YE WHA'S IN YON TOWN?

TUNE-We'll gang nae mair to yon Town.

Oн, wat ye wha's in yon town,
Ye see the e'enin' sun upon?

The fairest dame's in yon town,

The e'enin' sun is shining on.

Now haply down yon gay green shaw,
She wanders by yon spreading tree;
How blest ye flowers that round her blaw,
Ye catch the glances o' her ee!

would

above

know, who

wood

blow

eye

How blest ye birds that round her sing,
And welcome in the blooming year!
And doubly welcome be the spring,
The season to my Lucy dear.

The sun blinks blithe on yon town,
And on yon bonnie braes of Ayr;
But my delight in yon town,

And dearest bliss, is Lucy fair.

Without my love, not a' the charms
O' Paradise could yield me joy;
But gie me Lucy in my arms,
And welcome Lapland's dreary sky!
My cave wad be a lover's bower,

Though raging Winter rent the air;
And she a lovely little flower,

That I would tent and shelter there. Oh, sweet is she in yon town,

Yon sinkin' sun's gane down upon; A fairer than's in yon town

His setting beam ne'er shone upon. If angry Fate is sworn my foe,

And suffering I am doomed to bear; I careless quit aught else below,

But spare me-spare me, Lucy dear!

give

would tend

gone

For while life's dearest blood is warm,

Ae thought frae her shall ne'er depart,

one, from

And she-as fairest is her form!

She has the truest, kindest heart!

ADDRESS TO THE WOODLARK.
TUNE-Loch Erroch Side.

O STAY, Sweet warbling woodlark, stay!
Nor quit for me the trembling spray;
A hapless lover courts thy lay,
Thy soothing, fond complaining.

ON CHLORIS BEING ILL.

TUNE-Aye Wakin 0.

CHORUS.

LONG, long the night,

Heavy comes the morrow,
While my soul's delight

Is on her bed of sorrow.

Can I cease to care?

Can I cease to languish?
While my darling fair

Is on the couch of anguish

Every hope is fled,

Every fear is terror;
Slumber even I dread;
Every dream is horror.

Hear me, Powers divine!
Oh, in pity hear me !
Take aught else of mine,

But my Chloris spare me !

THEIR GROVES O' SWEET MYRTLE.

TUNE-Humours of Glen.

THEIR groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon,
Where bright-beaming summers exalt the perfume;
Far dearer to me yon lone glen o' green breckan,

Wi' the burn stealing under the lang yellow broom.

Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers,
Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk lowly unseen:
For there, lightly tripping amang the wild flowers,
A-listening the linnet, aft wanders my Jean.

Though rich is the breeze in their gay sunny valleys,
And cauld Caledonia's blast on the wave;
Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud palace,
What are they?-the haunt of the tyrant and slave!
The slave's spicy forests, and gold-bubbling fountains,
The brave Caledonian views wi' disdain ;

He wanders as free as the winds of his mountains,
Save love's willing fetters-the chains o' his Jean!

fern

long

daisy

oft

cold

"TWAS NA HER BONNIE BLUE EE WAS MY RUIN.

TUNE-Laddie be near me.

TWAS na her bonnie blue ee was my ruin;
Fair though she be, that was ne'er my undoing:
"Twas the dear smile when naebody did mind us,
"Twas the bewitching, sweet, stown glance o' kindness.

not, eye

stolen

Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me,
Sair do I fear that despair maun abide me;
But though fell fortune should fate us to sever,
Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever!

Mary, I'm thine wi' a passion sincerest,
And thou has plighted me love o' the dearest !
And thou'rt the angel that never can alter,
Sooner the sun in his motion would falter.

sore must

HOW CRUEL ARE THE PARENTS!

ALTERED FROM AN OLD ENGLISH SONG.

TUNE-John Anderson my Jo.

How cruel are the parents,
Who riches only prize;
And to the wealthy booby,
Poor woman sacrifice!
Meanwhile, the hapless daughter
Has but a choice of strife;-
To shun a tyrant father's hate,
Become a wretched wife.

The ravening hawk pursuing,
The trembling dove thus flies,
To shup impelling ruin

Awhile her pinions tries:
Till of escape despairing,
No shelter or retreat,

She trusts the ruthless falconer,

And drops beneath his feet.

MARK YONDER POMP OF COSTLY FASHION.

MARK yonder pomp of costly fashion,
Round the wealthy, titled bride:
But when compared with real passion,
Poor is all that princely pride.
What are the showy treasures?
What are the noisy pleasures?

The gay gaudy glare of vanity and art:
The polished jewel's blaze

May draw the wondering gaze,

And courtly grandeur bright

The fancy may delight,

But never, never can come near the heart.

But did you see my dearest Chloris,
In simplicity's array;

Lovely as yonder sweet opening flower is,

Shrinking from the gaze of day.

Oh then, the heart alarming,

And all resistless charming,

In Love's delightful fetters she chains the willing soul!
Ambition would disown

The worlds imperial crown,

Even Avarice would deny

His worshipped deity,

And feel through every vein Love's rapture's roll.

FORLORN, MY LOVE, NO COMFORT NEAR.
TUNE-Let me in this ae Night

FORLORN, my love, no comfort near,
Far, far from thee, I wander here;
Far, far from thee, the fate severe
At which I most repine, love.

CHORUS.

Oh, wert thou, love, but near me;
But near, near, near me:

How kindly thou wouldst cheer me,

And mingle sighs with mine, love.
Around me scowls a wintry sky,
That blasts each bud of hope and joy;
And shelter, shade, nor hone have I,
Save in those arms of thine, love.
Cold, altered friendship's cruel part,
To poison Fortune's ruthless dart-
Let me not break thy faithful heart,
And say that fate is mine, love.
But dreary though the moments fleet,
Oh, let me think we yet shall meet!
That only ray of solace sweet

Can on thy Chloris shine, love.

LAST MAY A BRAW WOOER.

SCOTTISH BALLAD,

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 naething I hated like men-
O WHAT MADE THE GOMRAL believe me, believe me;
O WHAT MADE THE GOMRAL believe me,

He spak o' the darts o' my bonny black een,
And vowed for my love he was dying;

I said he might die when he liked for Jean-
HE'D NEED TO FORGIE ME for lying, for lying;
HE'D NEED TO FORGIE ME for lying!

came, long sore, deafen

nothing fool

spake, eyes

forgive