YE banks, and braes, and streams around
The castle o' Montgomery,

Green be your woods, and fair your flowers,
Your waters never drumlie!

There simmer first unfauld her robes,

And there the langest tarry;

For there I took the last fareweel
O' my sweet Highland Mary.

How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk,
How rich the hawthorn's blossom;
As underneath their fragrant shade,
I clasp'd her to my bosom!
The golden hours, on angel wings,
Flew o'er me and my dearie;
For dear to me as light and life
Was my sweet Highland Mary.

Wi' many a vow, and lock'd embrace,
Our parting was fu' tender
And, pledging aft to meet again,
We tore oursels asunder:

But oh! fell death's untimely frost

That nipt my flower sae early!

Now green's the sod, and cauld's the 'ay, That wraps my Highland Mary!

O, pale, pale now, those rosy lips,
I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly!

And clos'd, for ay, the sparkling glance
That dwelt on me sae kindly!
And mould'ring now, in silent dust,

That heart that lo'd me dearly!
But still, within my bosom's core,
Shall live my Highland Mary.

TO MARY IN HEAVEN.

THOU ling'ring star, with less'ning ray
That lov'st to greet the early morn,

Again thou usher'st in the day

My Mary from my soul was torn.

O Mary! dear departed shade!

Where is thy place of blissful rest!

Seest thou thy lover lowly laid?

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?

That sacred hour can I forget?

Can I forget the hallow'd grove,

Where, by the winding Ayr, we met,
To live one day of parting love?

Eternity will not efface

Those records dear of transports past;

Thy image at our last embrace!

Ah! little thought we 'twas our last!

Ayrargling kiss'd his pebbled shore,

O'erhung with wild-woods, thick'ning, green

The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar,
Twin'd am'rous round the raptur'd scene.
The flow'rs sprang wanton to be prest,
The birds sang love on ev'ry spray,
Till too, too soon, the glowing west
Proclaim'd the speed of winged day.

Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes,
And fondly broods with miser care!
Time but th' impression deeper makes,
As streams their channels deeper wear.
My Mary! dear departed shade!

Where is thy blissful place of rest?
Seest thou thy .over lowly laid?

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?

ELEGY ON THE LATE MISS BURNET,

OF MONBODDO.

LIFE ne'er exulted in so rich a prize

As BURNET, lovely, from her native skies;
Nor envious Death so triumph'd in a blow,
As that which laid the accomplish'd Burnet low.

Thy form and mind, sweet maid, can I forget?
In richest ore the brightest jewel set'

In thee, high Heav'n above was truest shown,

As by his noblest work the Godhead best is known.

In vain ye flaunt in summer's pride, ye groves;
Thou crystal streamlet, with thy flow'ry shore,

Ye woodland choir that chant your idle loves,
Ye cease to charm Eliza is no more!

Ye heathy wastes, inmix'd with reedy fens,
Ye mossy streams, with sedge and rushes stcr'd,
Ye rugged cliffs, o'erhanging dreary glens,

To you I fly-ye with my soul accord

Princes, whose cumb'rous pride was all their worth,
Shall venal lays their pompous exit hail;
And thou, sweet excellence! forsake our earth,
And not a muse in honest grief bewail?

We saw thee shine in youth and beauty's pride,
And virtue's light, that beams beyond the spheres,

But, like the sun eclips'd at morning tide,

Thou left'st us darkling in a world of tears.

The parent's heart that nestled fond in thee,
That heart how sunk, a prey to grief and care!
So deck'd the woodbine sweet yon aged tree;
So from it ravish'd, leaves it bleak and bare.

VERSES,

on readingG, IN A NEWSPAPER, THE DEATH OF JOAN M'LEOD, ESQ., BROTHER TO A YOUNG LADY, A PARTICULAR FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR'S.

SAD thy tale, thou idle page,

And rueful thy alarms!

Death tears the brother of ner love

From Isabella's arms

Sweetly deck'd with pearly dew
The morning rose may bicw;
But cold, successive noontide blasts
May lay its beauties low

Fair on Isabella's morn

The sun propitious smil❜d;

But, long ere noon, succeeding clouds Succeeding hopes beguil'd.

Fate oft tears the bosom chords
That Nature finest strung
So Isabella's heart was form❜d,
And so that heart was wrung.

Dread Omnipotence alone

Can heal the wound he gave ; Can point the brimful, grief-worn eyes To scenes beyond the grave.

Virtue's blossoms there shall blow,
And fear no with'ring blast;
There Isabella's spotless worth
Shall happy be at last.