Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North, The birth-place of valour, the country of worth; Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,

The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.

Farewell to the mountains high cover'd with snow;
Farewell to the straths and green valleys below;
Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods;
Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods.
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here:
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer;
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe,
My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go.

THERE'S A YOUTH IN THIS CITY.

TUNE- NEIL GOW'S LAMENT."

HERE'S a youth in this city, it were a great pity,

That he from our lasses should wander

awa;

For he's bonnie and braw, weel favour'd witha',
And his hair has a natural buckle and a'.

His coat is the hue of his bonnet sae blue;

His fecket is white as the new-driven snaw; His hose they are blae, and his shoon like the slae, And his clear siller buckles they dazzle us a'. His coat is the hue, &c.

For beauty and fortune the laddie's been courtin; Weel-featur'd, weel-tocher'd, weel-mounted and braw;

But chiefly the siller, that gars him gang till her, The pennie's the jewel that beautifies a'. There's Meg wi' the mailin, that fain wad a haen him,

And Susy whase daddy was Laird o' the ha';

There's lang-tocher'd Nancy maist fetters his fancy, -But the laddie's dear sel he lo'es dearest of a'.

THE RANTIN DOG THE DADDIE O'T.

TUNE-" EAST NOOK O' FIFE."

WHA my babie-clouts will buy?
Wha will tent me when I cry?
Wha will kiss me whare I lie?

The rantin dog the daddie o't.

Wha will own he did the faut?
Wha will buy my groanin maut?
Wha will tell me how to ca't?

The rantin dog the daddie o't.

When I mount the creepie-chair,
Wha will sit beside me there?
Gie me Rob, I seek nae mair,
The rantin dog the daddie o't.

Wha will crack to me my lane?
Wha will mak me fidgin fain?
Wha will kiss me o'er again?

The rantin dog the daddie o't.

I DO CONFESS THOU ART SAE FAIR.

DO confess thou art sae fair,

I wad been owre the lugs in luve; Had I not found the slightest prayer That lips could speak, thy heart could

muve.

I do confess thee sweet, but find
Thou art sae thriftless o' thy sweets,
Thy favours are the silly wind

That kisses ilka thing it meets.

See yonder rose-bud rich in dew,

Amang its native briers sae coy,
How soon it tines its scent and hue
When pu'd and worn a common toy!

Sic fate, e'er lang, shall thee betide,
Though thou may gaily bloom a while;
Yet soon thou shalt be thrown aside,
Like onie common weed and vile.

YON WILD MOSSY MOUNTAINS.

ON wild mossy mountains sae lofty and wide,

That nurse in their bosom the youth o' the Clyde,

Where the grouse lead their coveys through the heather to feed,

And the shepherd tents his flock as he pipes on his reed:

Where the grouse, &c.

Not Gowrie's rich valleys, nor Forth's sunny shores, To me hae the charms o' yon wild mossy moors; For there, by a lanely, sequester'd clear stream, Resides a sweet lassie, my thought and my dream.

Amang thae wild mountains shall still be my path,
Ilk stream foaming down its ain green narrow strath;
For there, wi' my lassie, the day lang I rove,
While o'er us, unheeded, fly the swift hours o' love.

She is not the fairest, although she is fair;
O' nice education but sma' is her share;
Her parentage humble as humble can be;
But I lo'e the dear lassie because she lo'es me.

To beauty what man but maun yield him a prize,
In her armour of glances, and blushes, and sighs?
And when wit and refinement hae polish'd her darts,
They dazzle our een, as they fly to our hearts.

But kindness, sweet kindness, in the fond sparkling e'e,

Has lustre outshining the diamond to me;

And the heart-beating love, as I'm clasp'd in her

arms,

O, these are my lassie's all-conquering charms!

WHA IS THAT AT MY BOWER DOOR?

HA is that at my bower door?

O wha is it but Findlay;

Then gae your gate, ye'se nae be here!
Indeed maun I, quo' Findlay.

What mak ye sae like a thief?

O come and see, quo' Findlay;
Before the morn ye'll work mischief;
Indeed will I, quo' Findlay.

Gif I rise and let you

in;

Let me in, quo' Findlay;

Ye'll keep me waukin wi' your din;
Indeed will I, quo' Findlay.
In my bower if ye should stay;
Let me stay, quo' Findlay;
I fear ye'll bide till break o' day;
Indeed will I, quo' Findlay.

Here this night if

I'll remain, quo' Findlay;

I dread ye'll learn the gate again;
Indeed will I, quo' Findlay.
What may pass within this bower-
Let it pass, quo' Findlay;

Ye maun conceal till your last hour;
Indeed will I, quo' Findlay.