SONG.-FRAGMENT.

HER flowing locks, the raven's wing,
Adown her neck and bosom hing;
How sweet unto that breast to cling,
And round that neck entwine her!

Her lips were roses wat wi' dew,
O, what a feast, her bonie mou!
Her cheeks a mair celestial hue,
A crimson still diviner.

BALLAD.-FRAGMENT.

To thee, lov'd Nith, thy gladsome plains,
Where late wi' careless thought I rang'd,
Though prest wi' care and sunk in woe,
To thee I bring a heart unchang'd.—

I love thee, Nith, thy banks and braes,
Tho' mem'ry there my bosom tear;
For thee he rov'd that brake my heart,

Yet to that heart, ah, still how dear!

SONG.-FRAGMENT.

THE winter it is past, and the simmer comes at last,
And the small birds sing on every tree;
Now every thing is glad, while I am very sad,
Since my true love is parted from me.

The rose upon the brier by the waters running clear,

May have charms for the linnet or the bee; Their little loves are blest, and their little hearts at

rest,

But my true love is parted from me.

GLOSSARY.