How we live, my Meg and me,
How we love and how we 'gree,
I carena by how few may see-
Whistle o'er the lave o't.
Wha I wish were maggots' meat,
Dish'd up in her winding sheet,
I could write-but Meg maun see't—
Whistle o'er the lave o't.

YOUNG JOCKEY.

YOUNG Jockey was the blithest lad
In a' our town or here awa;
Fu' blithe he whistled at the gaud',
Fu' lightly danc'd he in the ha'!
He roos'd my een sae bonnie blue,
He roos'd my waist sae genty sma';
An' aye my heart came to my mou,
When ne'er a body heard or saw.

My Jockey toils upon the plain,

Thro' wind and weet, thro' frost and snaw; And o'er the lee I look fu' fain

When Jockey's owsen hameward ca'.

An' aye the night comes round again,
When in his arms he taks me a';
aye he vows he'll be my ain
As lang's he has a breath to draw.

An'

1 The Gaud-at the Plough.

M.PHERSON'S FAREWELL.

FAREWELL, ye dungeons dark and strong,
The wretch's destiny!
McPherson's time will not be long,

On yonder gallows tree.

CHORUS.

Sae rantingly, sae wantonly,
Sae dauntingly gaed he;

He play'd a spring and danc'd it round,
Below the gallows tree.

Oh, what is death but parting breath ?—
On mony a bloody plain

I've dar'd his face, and in this place
I scorn him yet again!

Sae rantingly, &c.

Untie these bands from off my

And bring to me my sword;

hands,

And there's no man in all Scotland,

But I'll brave him at a word.

Sae rantingly, &c.

I've liv'd a life of sturt and strife;
I die by treachery:

It burns my heart I must depart

And not avenged be.

Sae rantingly, &c.

Now farewell, light, thou sunshine bright,

And all beneath the sky!

May coward shame distain his name,

The wretch that dares not die!

Sae rantingly, &c.

A BOTTLE AND FRIEND.

HERE'S a bottle and an honest friend! What wad ye wish for mair, man? Wha kens, before his life

may end, What his share may be of care, man? Then catch the moments as they fly, And use them as ye ought, man :-Believe me, happiness is shy,

And comes not aye when sought, man.

I'LL KISS THEE YET.

TUNE-The Braes o' Balquhidder.

CHORUS.

I'll kiss thee yet, yet,

An' I'll kiss thee o'er again,
An' I'll kiss thee yet, yet,
My bonnie Peggy Alison!

ILK care and fear, when thou art near,
I ever mair defy them, O;
Young kings upon their hansel throne
Are no sae blest as I am, O!

I'll kiss thee, &c.

When in my arms, wi' a' thy charms,
I clasp my countless treasure, O;
I seek nae mair o' Heaven to share,
Than sic a moment's pleasure, O!
I'll kiss thee, &c.

ON CESSNOCK BANKS.

And by thy een sae bonnie blue,
I swear I'm thine for ever, 0 ;—
And on thy lips I seal my vow,
And break it shall I never, O!
I'll kiss thee, &c.

193

ON CESSNOCK BANKS.

TUNE-If he be a Butcher neat and trim. ON Cessnock banks there lives a lass; Could I describe her shape and mien; The graces of her weel-far'd face,

And the glancin' of her sparklin' een. She's fresher than the morning dawn When rising Phoebus first is seen, When dew-drops twinkle o'er the lawn; An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' een. She's stately like yon youthful ash

That grows the cowslip braes between, And shoots its head above each bush; An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' een. She's spotless as the flow'ring thorn With flow'rs so white and leaves so green, When purest in the dewy morn;

An' 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; An' 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.

R 2

Her forehead's like the show'ry bow,
When shining sunbeams intervene
And gild the distant mountain's brow;
An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' een.
Her voice is like the ev'ning thrush
That sings on Cessnock banks unseen,
While his mate sits nestling in the bush;
An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' een.
Her lips are like the cherries ripe,
That sunny walls from Boreas screen,
They tempt the taste and charm the sight;
An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' een.

Her teeth are like a flock of sheep,
With fleeces newly washen clean,
That slowly mount the rising steep,
An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' een.
Her breath is like the fragrant breeze

That gently stirs the blossom'd bean,
When Phoebus sinks behind the seas;
An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' een.

But it's not her air, her form, her face,

Tho' matching beauty's fabled queen,
But the mind that shines in ev'ry grace,
An' chiefly in her sparklin' een.

WAE is

WAE IS MY HEART.

my heart, and the tear's in my ee; Lang, lang, joy's been a stranger to me: Forsaken and friendless my burden I bear, And the sweet voice o' pity ne'er sounds in my ear.