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TO THE ROSE BUD.

THIS song is the composition of a

Johnson, a joiner in the neighbourhood of Belfast.—The tune is by Oswald, altered, evidently, from Jockie's Gray Breeks.

All hail to thee thou bawmy bud,
Thou charming child o' simmer, hail;
Ilk fragrant thorn and lofty wood
Does nod thy welcome to the vale.

See on thy lovely faulded form,
Glad Phoebus smiles wi' chearing eye,
While on thy head the dewy moru
Has shed the tears o' silent joy.

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The tuneful tribes frae yonder bower,
sangs of joy thy presence hail;
Then haste, thou bawmy fragrant flower,
And gie thy bosom to the gale.

And see the fair industrious bee,
With airy wheel and soothing hum,
Flies ceaseless round thy parent tree,
While gentle breezes trembling come.

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If ruthless Liza pass this way,

She'll pou thee frae thy thorny stem; Awhile thou'lt grace her virgin breast, But soon thou'lt fade, my bonny gem.

Ah, short, too short, thy rural reign, And yield to fate, alas! thou must: Bright emblem of the virgin train, Thou blooms alas! to mix wi' dust.

Sae bonny Liza hence may learn, Wi' every youthfu' maiden gay, That beauty, like the simmer's rose, In time shall wither and decay.

YON WILD MOSSY MOUNTAINS.

THIS tune is by Oswald. The song alludes to a part of my private history, which it is of no consequence to the world to know.

Yon wild mossy mountains sae lofty and wide,
That nurse in their bosom the youth o' the Clyde,
Where the grouse lead their coveys thro' the heather
to feed,

And the shepherd tents his flock as he pipes on his reed.

Where the grouse, &c.

Not Gowrie's rich valley, nor Forth's sunny shores, To me hae the charms o' yon wild, mossy moors; For there, by a lanely, and sequester'd stream, Resides a sweet lassie, my thought and my dream.

Amang thae wild mountains shall still be my path,
Ilk stream foaming down its ain green, narrow strath;
For there, wi' my lassie, the day lang I rove,
While o'er us unheeded, flie the swift hours o' love.

She is not the fairest, altho' she is fair;
O' nice education but sma' is her share;
Her parentage humble as humble can be;
But I lo❜e the dear lassie because she lo'es me.*

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To beauty what man but maun yield him a prize,
In her armour of glances, and blushes, and sighs;
And when wit and refinement ha'e polish'd her darts,
They dazzle our een, as they fly to our hearts.

But kindness, sweet kindness, in the fond sparkling e'e,

Has lustre outshining the diamond to me;

And the heart-beating love, as I'm clasp'd in her

arms,

O, these are my lassie's all-conquering charms!

* "I love my love because I know my love loves me."

Maid in Bedlam.

IT IS NA, JEAN, THY BONIE FACE.

THESE were originally English verses:-I gave them their Scotch dress.

It is na, Jean, thy bonie face,
Nor shape that I admire,
Altho' thy beauty and thy grace
Might weel awauk desire.
Something in ilka part o' thee
To praise, to love, I find;
But dear as is thy form to me,
Still dearer is thy mind.

Nae mair ungen'rous wish I hae,
Nor stronger in my breast,
Than, if I canna mak thee sae,

At least to see thee blest.
Content am I, if heaven shall give

But happiness to thee:

And as wi' thee I'd wish to live,

For thee I'd bear to die.

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