and grateful to national taste and feeling. After what has already been premised, it is almost unnecessary for him to remark, that they have no reference whatever to the trifles that immediately follow, nor indeed to any thing in these volumes.
WHAR hae ye been a' day, my boy Tammy? Whar hae ye been a' day, my boy Tammy?' I've been by burn and flowery brae, Meadow green, and mountain grey, Courting o' this young thing,
Just come frae her mammy.'
"And whar gat ye that young thing,
My boy Tammy?'
'I gat her down in yonder how,
Smiling on a broomy know,
Herding ae wee lamb and ewe
For her poor mammy.'
What said ye to the bonie bairn,
My boy Tammy?'
'I prais'd her een, sae lovely blue,
Her dimpled cheek, and cherry mou;
I pree'd it aft as ye may true!—
She said, she'd tell her mammy.
I held her to my beating heart,
My young, my smiling Lammie!
"I hae a house, it cost me dear,
I've walth o' plenishen and geer;
Ye'se get it a' war't ten times mair,
Gin ye will leave your mammy."
The smile gade aff her bonie face-
"I maun nae leave my mammy;
She's gi'en me meat, she's gi'en me claise,
She's been my comfort a' my days:-
My father's death brought mony waes-
I canna leave my mammy."
"We'll tak her hame and mak her fain,
My ain kind-hearted Lammie!
We'll gie her meat, we'll gie her claise,
We'll be her comfort a' her days."
The wee thing gie's her hand and says,-
"There! gang and ask my mammy!"
'Has she been to kirk wi' thee,
My boy Tammy?'
'She has been to kirk wi' me,
And the tear was in her ee,-
But O! she's but a young thing
Just come frae her mammy.'
I LOO'D NE'ER A LADDIE BUT ANE.
Air-My lodging is on the cold ground.
I LOO'D ne'er a laddie but ane,
He loo'd ne'er a lassie but me;
He's willing to mak me his ain,
And his ain I am willing to be.
He has coft me a rocklay o' blue
And a pair o' mittens o' green;
The price was a kiss o' my mou,
And I paid him the debt yestreen.
Let ithers brag weel o' their gear,
Their land, and their lordlie degree;
I carena for ought but my dear,
For he's ilka thing lordlie to me :
His words are sae sugar'd, sae sweet!
His sense drives ilk fear far awa!
I listen-poor fool! and I greet,
Yet O! sweet are the tears as they fa'!
'Dear lassie,' he cries wi' a jeer,
'Ne'er heed what the auld anes will say;
Though we've little to brag o'-ne'er fear,
What's gowd to a heart that is wae?
Our laird has baith honours and wealth,
Yet see how he's dwining wi' care:
Now we, though we've naithing but health,
Are cantie and leil evermair.
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