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!

MY BONNIE MARY.

TUNE-Go fetch to me a Pint o' Wine.
Go fetch to me a pint o' wine,
And fill it in a silver tassie;
That I may drink, before I go,

A service to my bonnie lassie ;
The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith,

Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the Ferry;
The ship rides by the Berwick-law,
And I maun leave my bonnie Mary.

The trumpets sound, the banners fly,
The glittering spears are ranked ready;
The shouts o' war are heard afar,

The battle closes thick and bloody;
But it's not the roar o' sea or shore
Wad make me langer wish to tarry;
Nor shouts o' war that's heard afar-
It's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary.

MY CHLORIS, MARK HOW GREEN THE GROVES.

TUNE-My Lodging is on the Cold Ground.

My Chloris, mark how green the groves,
The primrose banks how fair;
The balmy gales awake the flowers,
And wave thy flaxen hair

The lav'rock shuns the palace gay,
And o'er the cottage sings:
For nature smiles as sweet, I ween,.
To shepherds as to kings.

Let minstrels sweep the skilfu' string
In lordly lighted ha':

The shepherd stops his simple reed,
Blythe, in the birken shaw.

The princely revel may survey

Our rustic dance wi' scorn;

But are their hearts as light as ours
Beneath the milk-white thorn?

The shepherd, in the flowery glen,
In shepherd's phrase will woo:
The courtier tells a finer tale,
But is his heart as true?

These wild-wood flowers I've pu'd, to deck
That spotless breast o' thine:
The courtier's gems may witness love-
But 'tis na love like mine.

MY COLLIER LADDIE.
TUNE-The Collier Laddie.

WHERE live ye, my bonnie lass?
And tell me what they ca' ye;
My name, she says, is Mistress Jean,
And I follow the Collier Laddie.
My name, she says, is Mistress Jean,
And I follow the Collier Laddie.

See you not yon hills and dales,

The sun shines on sae brawlie!
They a' are mine, and they shall be thine,
Gin ye'll leave your Collier Laddie.
They a' are mine, and they shall be thine,
Gin ye'll leave your Collier Laddie.

Ye shall gang in gay attire,
Weel buskit up sae gaudy;
And ane to wait on every hand,
Gin ye'll leave your Collier Laddie.
And ane to wait on every hand,

Gin ye'll leave your Collier Laddie.

Tho' ye had a' the sun shines on,
And the earth conceals sae lowly;
I wad turn my back on you and it a',
And embrace my Collier Laddie.
I wad turn my back on you and it a'
And embrace my Collier Laddie.

I can win my five pennies in a day,
And spen't at night fu' brawlie;
And make my bed in the Collier's neuk,
And lie down wi' my Collier Laddie.
And make my bed in the Collier's neuk,
And lie down wi' my Collier Laddie.

Luve for luve is the bargain for me,

Tho' the wee cot-house should haud me; And the world before me to win my bread, And fair fa' my Collier Laddie.

And the world before me to win my bread, And fair fa' my Collier Laddie.

MY FATHER WAS A FARMER.

TUNE-The Weaver and his Shuttle, O.

My father was a farmer upon the Carrick border, O,

And carefully he bred me in decency and order, O;

He bade me act a manly part, though I had ne'er a farthing, O;

For without an honest manly heart, no man was worth regarding, O.

Then out into the world my course I did determine, O;

Tho' to be rich was not my wish, yet to be great was charming, Ó:

My talents they were not the worst, nor yet my education, O; [situation, O. Resolv'd was I, at least to try, to mend my

In many a way, and vain essay, I courted fortune's favour, O;

Some cause unseen still stept between, to frustrate each endeavour, O.

Sometimes by foes I was o'erpower'd; sometimes by friends forsaken, O;

And when my hope was at the top, I still was worst mistaken, O.

Then sore harass'd, and tir'd at last, with fortune's vain delusion, O,

I dropt my schemes, like idle dreams, and came to this conclusion, O—

The past was bad, and the future hid; its good or ill untried, O;

But the present hour was in my pow'r, and so I would enjoy it, O.

No help, nor hope, nor view had I, nor person to befriend me, O;

So I must toil, and sweat and broil, and labour to sustain me, O :

To plough and sow, to reap and mow, my father bred me early, O;

For one, he said, to labour bred, was a match for fortune fairly, O.