O for him back again!

O for him back again!

I wad gi'e' a' Knockhaspie's land,
For Highland Harry back again.

BLOOMING NELLY.

TUNE-"The lady of the flowery field."

ON a bank of flowers, in a summer day,
For summer lightly drest,
The youthful blooming Nelly lay,
With love and sleep opprest;

When Willie, wand'ring through the wood,
Who for her favour oft had sued ;
He gazed, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd,
And trembled where he stood.

Her closed eyes, like weapons sheathed,
Were seal'd in soft repose;

Her lips, still as she fragrant breathed,
They richer dyed the rose.

The springing lillies sweetly prest,

Wild, wanton kiss'd her rival breast; He gazed, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd, His bosom ill at rest.

Her robes, light waving in the breeze,
Her tender limbs embrace;

Her lovely form, her native ease,
All harmony and grace!

Tumultuous tides his pulses roll,

A faltering, ardent kiss he stole ;

He gazed, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd,

And sigh'd his very soul!

As flies the partridge from the brake,

On fear-inspired wings;

So Nelly, starting, half awake,

Away affrighted springs;

But Willie followed-as he should,

He overtook her in the wood;

He vow'd, he pray'd, he found the maid
Forgiving all and good.

OF A' THE AIRTS THE WIND CAN BLAW.

TUNE-"Miss Admiral Gordon's Strathspey."

Or a' the airts the wind can blaw,

I dearly like the west,

For there the bonnie lassie lives,

The lassie I lo'e best:

Where wild woods grow, and rivers row,
And mony a hill between ;

But day and night my fancy's flight
Is ever wi' my Jean.

I see her in the dewy flowers,
I see her sweet and fair;

I hear her in the tuneful birds,
I hear her charm the air;

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

THE DAY RETURNS, MY BOSOM BURNS.
TUNE "Seventh of November."

The day returns, my bosom burns,
The blissful day we twa did meet,
Though winter wild in tempest toil'd,
Ne'er summer sun was half sae sweet.
Than a' the pride that loads the tide,
And crosses o'er the sultry line;
Than kingly robes, than crowns and globes,
Heaven gave me more, it made thee mine.

While day and night can bring delight,
Or nature aught of pleasure give?
While joys above my mind can move,
For thee, and thee alone, I live!

When that grim foe of life below

Comes in between to make us part;
The iron hand that breaks our band,

It breaks my bliss-it breaks my heart.

THE LAZY MIST.

IRISH AIR-"Coolun."

The lazy mist hangs from the brow of the hill,
Concealing the source of the dark winding rill:
How languid the scenes, late so sprightly, appear,
As autumn to winter resigns the pale year!
The forests are leafless, the meadows are brown,
And all the gay foppery of summer is flown :
Apart let me wander, apart let me muse,

How quick time is flying, how keen fate pursues !

How long I have lived, but how much lived in vain ;
How little of life's scanty span may remain :
What aspects, old time, in his progress has worn;

What ties, cruel fate in my bosom has torn.

How foolish, or worse, till our summit is gained,

And downward, how weaken'd, how darkened, how pain'd! This life's not worth having with all it can give,

For something beyond it poor man sure must live.

MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS.

TUNE "Failse na Miosg."

[The first half-stanza of this song is old,]

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here
My heart's in the Highlands a chasing the deer;
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe,
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.
Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North
The birth-place of valour, the country of worth;
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,

The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.

Farewell to the mountains high covered with snow,
Farewell to the straths and green valleys below;

Farewell to the forests and wild hanging-woods
Farewell to the torrents and loud pouring floods.
My heart's in the Highlands my heart is not here,
My heart's in the Highlands a chasing the deer :
Chasing the wild deer and following the roe,
My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go.

BEWARE OF BONNIE ANN.*
IRISH AIR-" Coolun."

Ye gallants bright, I rede you right,
Beware o' bonnie Ann;

Her comely face, sae fu' o' grace,
Your heart she will trepan.

Her een sae bright, like stars by night,
Her skin is like the swan ;

Sae jimpy laced her genty waist,
That sweetly ye might span.

Youth, grace, and love, attendant move,
And pleasure leads the van;

In a' their charms and conquering arms,
They wait on bonnie Ann.

The captive bands may chain the hands,
But love enslaves the man;

Ye gallants braw I rede you a',
Beware of bonnie Ann.

FIRST WHEN MAGGIE WAS MY CARE.
TUNE-"Whistle owre the lave o't."

FIRST when Maggie was my care,
Heaven I thought was in her air ;
Now we're married --spier nae mair—
Whistle owre the lave o't.

Meg was meek, and Meg was mild,
Bonnie Meg was nature's child—
Wiser men than me's beguiled--
Whistle owre the lave o't

*"I conposed this song out of compliment to Miss Ann Masterton, the daughter of my friend Allan Masterton, author of the air of Strathallan's Lament, and two or three others in this work.

BURNS' RELEI

How we live, my Meg and me,
How we love and how we 'gree,
I care na by how few may see-
Whistle owre the lave o't.
Wha I wish were maggots'meat,
Dish'd up in her winding sheet,
I could write-but Meg maun see't
Whistle owre the lave o't.

CA' THE EWES.*

TUNE-" Ca' the Ewes to the Knowes."

Ca' the ewes to the knowes,

Ca' them whare the heather grows,
Ca' them whare the burnie rowes,
My bonnie dearie !

As I gaed down the water side,
There I met my shepherd lad,
He row'd me sweetly in his plaid,
An' he ca'd me his dearie.
Ca' the, &c.

Will ye gang down the water-side,
And see the waves sae sweetly glide,
Beneath the hazels spreading wide?
The moon it shines fu' clearly.
Ca' the, &c.

I was bred up at nae sic school,
My shepherd lad, to play the fool,
And a' the day to sit in dool,
And naebody to see me.

Ca' the, &c.

Ye sall get gowns and ribbons meet, Cauf-leather shoon upon your feet, And in my arms ye'se lie and sleep, And ye sall be my dearie.

Ca' the, &c.

* Part of this song is old.