There simmer first unfald her robes,

And there the langest tarry; For there I took the last fareweel O' my sweet Highland Mary.

birk, How sweetly bloom'd the gay green 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' monie 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 clay,
That wraps my Highland Mary!

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

And closed for aye the sparkling glance,
That dwelt on me sae kindly!
And mould'ring now in silent dust,
That heart that lo’ed me dearly!
But still within my bosom's core
Shall live my Highland Mary.

AULD LANG SYNE.

HOULD auld acquaintance be forgot, And never brought to min'? Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And days o' lang syne?

CHORUS.

For auld lang syne, my dear,

For auld lang syne,

We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

We twa hae run about the braes,
And pu'd the gowans fine;

But we've wander'd mony a weary

Sin auld lang syne.
For auld, &c.

We twa hae paidl't i̇' the burn,
From mornin sun till dine;

foot

But seas between us braid hae roar'd
Sin auld lang syne.
For auld, &c.

And here's a hand, my trusty fiere,

And gie's a hand o' thine; And we'll tak a right guid willie-waught, For auld lang syne.

For auld, &c.

And surely ye 'll be your pint-stowp,

And surely I'll be mine;

And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet

For auld lang syne.

For auld, &c.

BANNOCKBURN.

ROBERT BRUCE'S ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY.

COTS, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led;
Welcome to your gory bed,

Or to glorious victorie.

Now's the day, and now 's the hour,
See the front o' battle lour:

See approach proud Edward's pow'r -
Edward! chains and slaverie!

Wha will be a traitor knave?
Wha can fill a coward's grave?
Wha sae base as be a slave?

Traitor! coward! turn and flee!

Wha for Scotland's King and law
Freedom's sword will strongly draw,
Freeman stand, or freeman fa'?
Caledonian on wi' me!

By Oppression's woes and pains!
By your sons in servile chains,
We will drain our dearest veius,
But they shall —they shall be free!

Lay the proud usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!

Liberty's in every blow!

Forward! let us do, or die!

FOR A' THAT AND A' THAT.

S there, for honest poverty,

That hangs his head, and aʼ that ?
The coward-slave, we pass him by,

We dare be poor for a' that!
For a' that, and a' that,

Our toils obscure, and a' that;
The rank is but the guinea stamp ;
The man's the gowd for a' that.

What tho' on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hodden-gray, and a' that;