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The church is in ruins, the state is in jars,
Delusions, oppressions, and murderous wars :
We dare na weel say't, but we ken wha's to blame
There'll never be peace 'till Jamie comes hame.

My seven bra'w sons for Jamie drew sword,
And now I greet round their green beds in the yerd;
It brak the sweet heart o' my faithfu' auld dame-
There'll never be peace 'till Jamie comes hame.

Now life is a burden that bows me down,
Sin I tint my bairns, and he tint his crown;
But till

my
last moment my

words are the same There'll never be peace

till Jamie comes hame.

THE CARL OF KELLYBURN BRAES.

THESE words are mine; I composed them from the old traditionary verses.

There lived a carl on Kellyburn braes,

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme) And he had a wife was the plague o' his days ; And the thyme it is wither'd and the rue is in

prime.

Ae day as the carl gaed up the lang glen,

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme) He met wi' the devil; says, “How do yow fen?" And the thyme it is wither'd and the rue is in

prime.

“ I've got a bad wife, sir ; that's a' my complaint ;

Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme) For, saving your presence, to her ye're a saint; And the thyme it is wither'd and the rue is in

prime.”

“ It's neither your stot nor your staig I shall crave,

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme) But gie me your wife, man, for her I must have, And the thyme it is wither'd and the rue is in

prime."

“O welcome, most kindly,” the blythe carl said,

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme) But if ye can match her, ye’re waur nor ye’re ca’d,

And the thyme it is wither’d, and the rue is in

prime.”

The devil has got the auld wife on his back;

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme) And, like a poor pedlar, he's carried his pack; And the thyme it is wither'd, and the rue is in

prime.

He's carried her hame to his ain hallan-door;

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi’ thyme) Syne bade her gae in, for a bitch and a whore,

And the thyme it is wither'd, and the rue is in

prime.

Then straight he makes fifty, the pick o' his band,

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme) Turn out on her gaurd in the clap of a hand; And the thyme it is wither'd, and the rue is in

prime.

The carlin gaed thro' them like ony wude bear,

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme) Whae'er she gat hands on came near her nae mair;

And the thyme it is wither'd, and the rue is in

prime.

A reekit wee devil looks over the wa';

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme) O, help, master, help, or she'll ruin us a', And the thyme it is wither'd, and the rue is in

prime.” The devil he swore by the edge o' his knife,

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme) He pitied the man that was tied to a wife; And the thyme it is wither'd, and the rue is in

prime. The devil he swore by the kirk and the bell,

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme) He was not in wedlock, thank heaven, but in hell; And the thyme it is wither'd, and the rue is in

prime. Then satan has travelled again wi' his pack;

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme) And to her auld husband he's carried her back; And the thyme it is wither’d, and the rue is in

prime. “ I hae been a devil the feck o' my life;

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme) But ne'er was in hell, till I met wi' a wife; And the thyme it is wither’d, and the rue is in

prime.

I DO CONFESS THOU ART SAE FAIR.

This song is altered from a poem by Sir Robert Ayton, private secretary to Mary and Anne, queens of Scotland. The poem is to be found in James Watson's collection of Scots poems. I think that I have improved the simplicity of the sentiments, by giving them a Scots dress.

I do confess thou art so fair,

I wad been o'er the lugs in luve; Had I na found the slightest prayer

That lips could speak, thy heart could muve.

I do confess thee sweet, but find

Thou art sae thriftless o'thy sweets, Thy favors are the silly wind

That kisses ilka thing it meets.

See yonder rose-bud, rich in dew,

Amang its native briers sae coy, How sune it tines its scent and hue

When pu'd and worn a common toy!

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