I see her in the dewy flowers,

I see her sweet and fair:
I hear her in the tunefu' birds,
I hear her charm the air:

There's not a bonnie flower that springs
By fountain, shaw, or green;
There's not a bonnie bird that sings,
But minds me o' my Jean.

THERE WAS A LAD.

THERE was a lad was born in Kyle,
But what'n a day o' what'n a style
I doubt it's hardly worth the while
To be sae nice wi' Robin.

Robin was a rovin' boy,

Rantin' rovin', rantin' rovin';
Robin was a rovin' boy,

Rantin' rovin' Robin.

Our monarch's hindmost year but ane
Was five-and-twenty days begun,
'Twas then a blast o' Janwar win'

Blew hansel in on Robin.

The gossip keekit in his loof,

Quo' scho, Wha lives will see the proof,
This waly boy will be nae coof,

I think we'll ca' him Robin.

He'll hae misfortunes great and sma',
But aye a heart aboon them a';
He'll be a credit till us a',

We'll a' be proud o' Robin.

But sure as three times three mak nine,

I see by ilka score and line,

This chap will dearly like our kin',

So leeze me on thee, Robin.

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Guid faith, quo' scho, I doubt you, Sir,
Ye gar the lasses lie aspar,

But twenty fauts ye may hao waur,
So blessings on thee, Robin!

Robin was a rovin' boy,

Rantin' rovin', rantin' rovin';

Robin was a rovin' boy,

Rantin' rovin' Robin.

GREEN GROW THE RASHES.

GREEN grow the rashes O,
Green grow the rashes 0;

The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,
Are spent amang the lasses (!

There's nought but care on ev'ry han',
In ev'ry hour that passes O;
What signifies the life o' man,

An' 'twere na for the lasses O.

The warly race may riches chase,
An' riches still may fly them O;
An' tho' at last they catch them fast,
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them O.

But gie me a canny hour at e’en,
My arms about my dearie 0;
An' warly cares, an' warly men,
May a' gae tapsalteerie O!

For you sae douce, ye sneer at this,
Ye're nought but senseless asses 0:
The wisest man the warl' saw,

He dearly lov'd the lasses O.

Auld nature swears, the lovely dears
Her noblest work she classes 0;
Her prentice han' she tried on man,
An' then she made the lasses O.

FOR A' THAT AND A' THAT.

Is there, for honest poverty,

That hangs his head, and a' that?
The coward-slave, we pass him by,
We dare be poor for a' that!
For a' that, and a' that,

Our toils obscure, and a' that;
The rank is but the guinea stamp;
The man's the gowd for a' that.

What tho' on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hodden gray, and a' that;

Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,
A man's a man for a' that.

For a' that, and a' that,

Their tinsel show, and a' that;
The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor,
Is King o' men for a' that.

Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord,
Wha struts, and stares, and a' that t;
Tho' hundreds worship at his word,
He's but a coof for a' that:
For a' that, and a' that,

His riband, star, and a' that,
The man of independent mind,
He looks and laughs at a' that.

A prince can mak a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, and a' that;
But an honest man's aboon his might,
Guid faith he mauna fa' that!
For a' that, and a' that,

Their dignities, and a' that,

The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth,
Are higher rank than a' that.

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Then let us pray that come it may,

As come it will for a' that;

That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth,

May bear the gree, and a' that.

For a' that and a' that,

It's coming yet, for a' that,

That man to man the warld o'er

Shall brothers be for a' that.

AULD LANG SYNE.

SHOULD auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to min'?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne?

For auld lang syne, my dear.
For auld lang syne,

We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

We twa hae run about the braes,

And pu'd the gowans fine;

But we've wander'd mony a weary foot
Sin' auld lang syne.

We twa hae paidled i' the burn,

From morning sun till dine;

But seas between us braid hae roar'd

Sin' auld lang syne.

And there's a hand, my trusty fiere,

And gie's a hand o' thine;

And we'll tak a right guid-willie waught,

For auld lang syne.

And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp,

And surely I'll be mine;

And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet
For auld lang syne.

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SCOTS WHA HAE.

ROBERT BRUCE'S ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY, BEFORE

THE BATTLE OF BANNOCKBURN.

Scors, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led,
Welcome to your gory bed,
Or to victorie.

Now's the day, and now's the hour;
See the front o' battle lour!

See approach proud Edward's power-
Chains and slaverie!

Wha will be a traitor knave?
Wha can fill a coward's grave?
Wha sae base as be a slave?
Let him turn and flee!

Wha for Scotland's King and law
Freedom's sword will strongly draw,
Freeman stand, or freeman fa'?

Let him follow me!

By oppression's woes and pains!
By your sons in servile chains!
We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall be free!

Lay the proud usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty's in every blow!

Let us do or die!

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