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Oh, wha can prudence think upon,
And sae in love as I am?
Oh, why, &c.

How blest the humble cottar's fate!
He woos his simple dearie;
The silly bogles, wealth and state,
Can never make them eerie.
Oh, why, &c.


["The air," says Burns, "is the composition of one of the worthiest and best-hearted men living-Allan Masterton, schoolmaster in Edinburgh. As he and I were both sprouts of Jacobitism, we agreed to dedicate the words and air to that cause.. To tell the truth, except when my passions were heated by some accidental cause, my Jacobitism was merely by way of vive la bagatelle."]

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.

The Braes o Ballochmyle.

In the cause of right engaged,

Wrongs injurious to redress,
Honour's war we strongly waged,
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!



TUNE-"The braes o' Ballochmyle."

["Composed on the amiable and excellent family of Whitefoord's leaving Ballochmyle, when Sir John's misfortunes obliged him to sell the


THE Catrine woods were yellow seen,
The flowers decay'd on Catrine lea,
Nae lav'rock sang on hillock green,
But nature sicken'd on the e'e.
Thro' faded groves Maria sang,

Hersel' in beauty's bloom the while,
And aye the wild-wood echoes rang,
Fareweel the braes o' Ballochmyle!

Low in your wintry beds, ye flowers,
Again ye'll flourish fresh and fair;

Ye birdies dumb, in with'ring bowers,
Again ye 'll charm the vocal air.
But here, alas! for me nae mair

Shall birdie charm or flow'ret smile;
Fareweel the bonnie banks of Ayr,
Fareweel, fareweel, sweet Ballochmyle!


TUNE-"Here awa', there awa'."

[Messrs. Erskine and Thomson having suggested some changes in the following song, our Poet, with his usual judgment, adopted some of their alterations and rejected others. The last edition is as follows.]

HERE awa', there awa', wandering Willie,
Here awa', there awa', haud awa' hame;
Come to my bosom, my ain only dearie,

Tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same.

Winter winds blew loud and cauld at our parting, Fears for my Willie brought tears in my e'e; Welcome now simmer and welcome my Willie, The simmer to nature, my Willie to me.

Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave of your slumbers, How your dread howling a lover alarms!

Wauken, ye breezes! row gently, ye billows!

And waft my dear Willie ance mair to my arms!

The Farewell.

But oh, if he's faithless, and minds na his Nannie,
Flow still between us, thou wide-roaring main !
May I never see it, may I never trow it,
But, dying, believe that my Willie's my ain!



TUNE-"Good-night, and joy be wi' you a'."

ADIEU! a heart-warm fond adieu !
Dear brothers of the mystic tie!
Ye favour'd, ye enlighten'd few,
Companions of my social joy:
Tho' I to foreign lands must hie,
Pursuing Fortune's slidd'ry ba',
With melting heart and brimful eye
I'll mind you still, tho' far awa'.

Oft have I met your social band,
An' spent the cheerful, festive night;
Oft, honour'd with supreme command,
Presided o'er the sons of light:
An' by that hieroglyphic bright,

Which none but craftsmen ever saw!
Strong mem❜ry on my heart shall write
Those happy scenes when far awa'.

May freedom, harmony, and love
Unite you in the grand design,
Beneath th' omniscient eye above,
The glorious Architect divine!
That you may keep th' unerring line,
Still rising by the plummet's law,
Till order bright completely shine,
Shall be my pray'r when far awa'.

And you, farewell! whose merits claim,
Justly, that highest badge to wear!
Heav'n bless your honour'd, noble name,
To masonry and Scotia dear!
A last request permit me here,
When yearly ye assemble a',

One round-I ask it with a tear-
To him, the Bard that's far awa'.

TUNE-"Miss Forbes's farewell to Banff," or "Johnnie's gray

'Twas even-the dewy fields were green,
On every blade the pearls hang,
The zephyr wanton'd round the bean,
An' bore its fragrant sweets alang:

In every glen the mavis sang,

All nature list'ning seem'd the while,


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