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Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear, I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair.

How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring bills,
Far mark'd with the courses of clear, winding rills ;
There daily I wander as noon rises high,
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye.

How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below,
Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow;
There oft as mild evening weeps over the lea,
The sweet scented birk shades my Mary and me.

Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides;
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave,
As gathering sweet flowerets she stems thy clear

wave.

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays ;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

BONNIE BELL.

The smiling spring comes in rejoicing,

And surly winter grimly flies :
Now crystal clear are the falling waters,

And bonnie blue are the sunny skies ;

Fresh o'er the mountains breaks forth the morn

ing, The ev’ning gilds the ocean's swell ; All creatures joy in the sun's returning,

And I rejoice in my bonnie Bell.

The flowery spring leads sunny summer,

And yellow autumn presses near, Then in his turn comes gloomy winter,

Till smiling spring again appear. Thus seasons dancing, life advancing,

Old Time and nature their changes tell, But never ranging, still unchanging

I adore my bonnie Bell.

THE GALLANT WEAVER.

WHERE Cart rins rowin to the sea,
By mony a flow'r und spreading tree,
There lives a lad, a lad for me,

He is a gallant weaver.

Oh I had wooers aught or nine,
They gied me rings and ribbons fine;
And I was fear'd my heart would tine,

And I gied it to the weaver.

My daddie sign'd my tocher-band,
To gie the lad that has the land,
But to my heart I'll add my hand,

And gie it to the weaver.

While birds rejoice in leafy bowers;
While bees rejoice in opening flowers ;
While corn grows green in simmer showers,

I'll love my gallant weaver.

LOUIS WHAT RECK I BY THEE?

Louis what reck I by thee,

Or Geordie on his ocean? Dyvor, beggar louns to me,

I reign in Jeanie's bosom.

Let her crown my love her law,

And in her breast enthrone me : Kings and nations, swith awa!

Reif randies, I disown ye!

FOR THE SAKE OF SOMEBODY.

My heart is sair, I dare nae tell,

My heart is sair for somebody ;
I could wake a winter night
For the sake o' somebody.

Oh-hon ! for somebody!

Oh-hey! for somebody!
I could range the world around,
For the sake o' somebody.

Ye powers that smile on virtuous love,

(), sweetly smile on somebody!

Frae ilka danger keep him free,
And send me safe my somebody.

Oh-hon ! for somebody!

Oh-hey! for somebody! I wad do-what wad I not? For the sake o' somebody!

THE LOVELY LASS OF INVERNESS.

The lovely lass o' Inverness,

Nae joy nor pleasure can she see; For e'en and morn she cries, alas !

And ay the saut tear blins her e'e : Drumossie moor, Drumossie day,

A waefu' day it was to me; For there I lost my father dear,

My father dear, and brethren three.

Their winding sheet the bluidy clay,

Their graves are growing green to see ; And by them lies the dearest lad

That ever blest a woman's e'e !
Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord,

A bluidy man I trow thou be;
For mony a heart thou hast made sair,

That ne'er did wrong to thine or thee.
Vol. XXXIX, E

A MOTHER'S LAMENT FOR THE DEATH

OF HER SON.

Tune, ' Finlayston House.'

Fate gave the word, the arrow sped,

And pierc'd my darling's heart :
And with him all the joys are fled

Life can to me impart.
By cruel hands the sapling drops,

In dust dishonour'd laid :
So fell the pride of all my hopes,

My age's future shade.

The mother-linnet in the brake

Bewails her ravish'd young;
So I, for my lost darling's sake,

Lament the live-day long.
Death, oft I've fear'd thy fatal blow,

Now, fond I bare my breast, 0, do thou kindly lay me low

With him I love, at rest !

O MAY, THY MORN.

O May, thy morn was ne'er sae sweet,

As the mirk night o’ December; For sparkling was the rosy wine,

And private was the chamber: And dear was she I dare na name, But I will ay remember.

And dear, &c.

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