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GALLA WATER. Braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes,

Yo wander through the blooming heather; But Yarrow braes nor Ettrick shaws,

Can match the lads o' Galla water.

But there is ane, a secret ane,

Aboon them a' I lo'e him better, And I'll be his, and he'll be mine,

The bonny lad o' Galla water. Altho' his daddie was nae laird,

An' tho' I hae nae meikle tocher, Yet rich in kindest, truest love,

We'll tent our flocks bỳ Galla water. It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth,

That coft contentment, peace, or pleasure; The bands and bliss o' mutual love,

O that's the chiefest warld's treasure,

Far, far from me my lover flies-

A faithless lover he;
In vain my tears, in vain my sighs,
No longer true to me,

He seeks another.
Lie still, my heart, no longer grieve,

No pangs to him betray,
Who taught you these sad sighs to heave,
Then laughing went away,

To seek another.

Ere bright Rosina met my eyes,

How peaceful past the joyous day,
In rural sports I gain’d the prize,

Each virgin listen’d to my lay ;
But now no more I touch the lyre,

No more the rustic sports can please,
I live the slave of fond desire,

Lost to myself, to mirth, and ease.
The tree, which in a happier hour,

Its boughs extended o'er the plain;
When blasted by the lightning's pow'r,
Nor charms the eye, nor shades the swain.

The tree, &c.

NOW THE CHILL HOARY BLASTS. Now the chill hoary blasts of the winter are o'er, And the light-hearted warblers chirp mournful no more, But amorous ditties resound thro' the groves, The haunt of their pleasures, the seat of their loves. From the bee on the flower to the bird on the spray All welcome the smile of the genial day; Then why, lovely Jessy, for ever destroy The bloom of thy youth midst the general joy? See the roses of summer, how gladly they shine!Their fate, lovely fair, is an emblem of thine; Their bosoms they spread to the clear azure sky, And exultingly laugh in the passengers eye; But ah ! cruel fortune! ah fond foolish flower! A few summer suns, and thy splendour is o’er; For the dark clouds of heaven are gathering fast, And thy fortune is borne on the wings of the blast.

But a lovelier prospect appears to the view,
A prospect more fitting the fortune of you;
'Tis the leaf-cover'd elm with its arms spreading wide,
And the green ivy tendrils that cling to its side.
Tho' the furious blasts of the winter assail,
And the green leaves of summer spread far o'er the vale,
Still, in friendship united, they ever remain,
And smile at the storms that attack them in vain.
So, Jessy, my love, ere thy roses decay,
And thy bright beam of summer has faded away,
Thy cold icy frowns and thy sorrows resign,
And in conjugal love bind thy fortune to mine.
Then I, like the elm tree that smiles at the blast,
And thou, like the ivy that clings to its breast,
In friendship united will ever remain,
And laugh at the storms that attack us in vain. *

Ag fond kiss, and then we sever;
Ae farewell, alas, for ever!
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee,
Who shall say that fortune grieves him
While the star of hope she leaves him ?
Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me;
Dark despair around benights me.


* This song, by Mr. William MʻLAREN, Paisley, author of the valuable sketch of the life of TANNAHILL, from which we have made such copious extracts in our first volume, we judge not prove unacceptable to the lovers of true poetry. It abounds with beautiful and original allusions to natural objects,which are never associated in our minds without feelings of interest and • leasure. It is certainly worthy of the friend of TANNAHILL.

I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy,
Naething could resist my Nancy;
But to see her, was to love her;
Love but her, and love for ever.
Had we never lov'd sae kindly,
Had we never lov'd sae blindly,
Never met—or never parted,
We had ne'er been broken-hearted.
Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest !
Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest !
Thine be ilka joy and treasure,
Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure!
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever;.
Ae farewell, alas, for ever!
Deep in heart-wrung tears l'll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.

THE SOLDIER'S GRAVE. “ DEAR land of my birth, of my friends, of my love!

Shall I never again climb thy mountains?
Nor wander at eve, thro' some lone leafy grove,

To listen the dash of thy fountains?
Shall no hand that I love close my faint-beaming eye,

That darkens 'mid warfare and danger?
Ah, no! for I feel that my last heaving sigh

Must fleet on the gale of the stranger!
Then farewell ye valleys-ye fresh blooming bow'rs,

Of childhood the once-happy dwelling;
No more in your haunts shall I chace the gay hours,

For death at my bosom is knelling;
But proudly the lotus shall bloom o'er my grave,

To mark where a freeman is sleeping;
And my dirge shall be heard in the Nile's dashing wave,
While the Arab his night-watch is keeping."

'Twas a soldier who spoke-but his voice now is gone,

And lowly the hero is lying; No sound meets the ear, save the crocodile's moan,

Or the breeze through the palm-tree sighing.
But, lone tho' he rests, where the camel is seen

By the wilderness heavily pacing,
His grave in our bosoms shall ever be green,

And his monument ne'er know defacing.


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TUNE-" The boatie rows."
Now spring again, wi' liesome tread,

'Mang Bernard's bow'rs is seen;
The modest snaw-drap hangs its head,

True emblem o' my Jean.
But tho’ fell winter's reign be o'er,

An' storms nae mair do blaw,
Yet cauld and cheerless is the bow'r

When love is far awa.

How swift the langest night flees by

When twa fond lovers meet,
And balmy kiss and breathing sigh

Together mingle sweet!
An' / how wae ilk ane's to part

When forc'd at duty's ca';
But dowie, dowie is the heart

Whase love is far awa.

The moon shines clearer i' the lift,

The breeze mair gentle sighs,
And glowin' is the sleety drift

If warm’d by beauty's eyes.

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