She's stately like yon youthful ash, And she's twa glancin' sparklin' een. And she's twa glancin' sparklin' een. Her looks are like the sportive lamb When flow'ry May adorns the scene, That wantons round its bleating dam; And she's twa glancin' sparklin een. Her hair is like the curling mist That shades the mountain-side at e'en, When flow'r-reviving rains are past; And she's twa glancin' sparklin' een. Her forehead's like the show'ry bow, When shining sunbeams intervene, And gild the distant mountain's brow; And she's twa glancin' sparklin' een. Her voice is like the evening thrush That sings in Cessnock banks unseen, While his mate sits nestling in the bush; And she's twa glancin' sparklin' een. Her lips are like the cherries ripe That sunny walls from Boreas screenThey tempt the taste and charm the sight; And she's twa glancin' sparklin' een. Her teeth are like a flock of sheep, Tho' matching beauty's fabled queen, The Bighland Lassie. (315) Within the glen sae bushy, O, Oh, were yon hills and vallies mine, Altho' thro' foreign climes I range, She has my heart, she has my hand, Farewell the glen sae bushy, O! Bowers Celestial. TUNE-Blue Bonnets. POWERS celestial! whose protection Draw your choicest influence down. When in distant lands I roam; To realms unknown while fate exiles me, Make her bosom still my home. From thee, Eliza. TUNE-Gilderoy, or Donald. FROM thee, Eliza, I must go, But boundless oceans roaring wide, My heart and soul from thee, Farewell, farewell, Eliza dear, The latest throb that leaves my heart, Alenie. TUNE-Johnny's grey Breeks. AGAIN rejoicing nature sees Her robe assume its vernal hues, And bear the scorn that's in her ee? In vain to me the cowslips blaw, The mavis and the lintwhite sing. The merry ploughboy cheers his team, A dream of ane that never wauks. The wanton coot the water skims, The shepherd steeks his faulding slap, And when the lark, 'tween light and dark, Come, Winter, with thine angry howl, The Farewell. TO THE BRETHREN OF ST. JAMES'S LODGE, TARBOLTON. TUNE-Good-night, and joy be wi you al 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 slipp'ry ba', And spent the cheerful, festive night; Which none but craftsmen ever saw! When yearly ye assemble a', Ghe Braes a Ballochmyle. (316) Hersel in beauty's bloom the while, Again ye'll flourish fresh and fair; Shall birdie charm, or flow'ret smile; Fareweel, fareweel! sweet Ballochmyle! The Lass n' Ballarhmale. (317) All nature list'ning seem'd the while, A maiden fair I chanc'd to spy ; Her air like nature's vernal smile, Behold the lass o' Ballochmyle! There all her charms she does compile; Ev'n there her other works are foil'd By the bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle. Oh, had she been a country maid, And I the happy country swain, Tho' shelter'd in the lowest shed That ever rose on Scotland's plain, Thro' weary winter's wind and rain, With joy, with rapture, I would toil; And nightly to my bosom strain The bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle! Then pride might climb the slipp'ry steep, Where fame and honours lofty shine; And thirst of gold might tempt the deep, Or downward seek the Indian mine; Give me the cot below the pine, To tend the flocks, or till the soil, And ev'ry day have joys divine With the bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle. The Gloomy Might is Gathering Fast. (318) TUNE-Roslin Castle. THE gloomy night is gath'ring fast, The autumn mourns her rip'ning corn, Farewell, my friends! farewell, my foes! The Banks o' Doan. (319) YE banks and braes o' bonnie Doon, And I sae weary fu' o' care? Thou'lt break my heart, thou warbling bird, That wanton'st thro' the flowering thorn : Thou minds'st me o' departed joys, Departed-never to return! Aft hae I roved by bonnie Doon, To see the the rose and woodbine twine; And ilka bird sang o' its luve, And fondly sae did I o' mine. Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree; And my fuse luver stole my rose, But, ah! he left the thorn wi' me. The little birdies blythely sing, In the birks of Aberfeldy. The braes ascend, like lofty wa's, The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' flowers, The birks of Aberfeldy. Let fortune's gifts at random fice, I'm aure Poung to Marry Vet. TUNE-I'm owre young to marry yet. I AM my mammy's ae bairn, Wi' unco folk I weary, Sir; And if I gang to your house, I'm fley'd 'twill make me eerie, Sir. I'm owre young to marry yet • I'm owre young to marry yet; To take me frae my mammy yet. Hallowmas is come and gane, The nights are lang in winter, Sir; Fu' loud and shrill the frosty wind Blaws through the leafless timmer, Sir; But if ye come this gate again, I'll aulder be gin simmer, Sir. I'm owre young, &c. Sae dauntingly gaed he; Bere's a Bealth to them that's awa. TUNE-Here's a health to them that's awa. HERE'S a health to them that's awa, It's guid to support Caledonia's cause, Here's a health to them that's awa, He play'd a spring, and danc'd it round, Here's a health to Charlie, the chief o' the clan, Below the gallows-tree. Oh, what is death but parting breath ?— On many a bloody plain I've dar'd his face, and in this place I scoru him yet again; Altho' that his band be sma’. May liberty meet wi' success! May prudence protect her frae evil! May tyrants and tyranny tine in the mist, And wander their way to the devil! Oh spare the dear blossom, ye orient breezes, With chill hoary wing, as ye usher the dawn; [seizes And far be thou distant, thou reptile that The verdure and pride of the garden and lawn! Let Bourbon exult in his gay gilded Lilies, And England, triumphant, display her proud Rose: A fairer than either adorns the green vallies, Where Devon, sweet Devon, meandering flows. Braving Angry Winter's Storms. (324) TUNE-Neil Gow's Lamentation for Abercairny. WHERE, braving angry winter's storms, Far in their shade my Peggy's charms As one, who by some savage stream, Blest be the wild sequester'd shade, The tyrant death, with grim control, The Banks of the Drunn. (323) TUNE-Bhannerach dhon na chri. How pleasant the banks of the clear winding Devon, [blooming fair! With green spreading bushes, and flowers But the bonniest flower on the banks of the Devon [Ayr. Was once a sweet bud on the braes of the Mild be the sun on this sweet blushing flower, In the gay rosy morn, as it bathes in the dew; And gentle the fall of the soft vernal shower, That steals on the evening each leaf to renew. My Peggy's Fare. TUNE-My Peggy's Face. MY Peggy's face, my Peggy's form, The frost of hermit age might warm; My Peggy's worth, my Peggy's mind, Might charm the first of human kind. I love my Peggy's angel air, Her face so truly, heavenly fair, Her native grace so void of art, | But I adore my Peggy's heart. The lily's hue, the rose's dye, The kindling lustre of an eye: Who but owns their magic sway! Who but knows they all decay! The tender thrill, the pitying tear, The gen'rous purpose, nobly dear, The gentle look, that rage disarmsThese are all immortal charms. |