BANKS OF CREE.

HERE is the glen, and here the bow'r,
All underneath the birchen shade;
The village bell has told the hour:
O what can stay my lovely maid ?

"Tis not Maria's whisp'ring call;

'Tis but the balmy-breathing gale, Mixt with some warbler's dying call, The dewy star of eve to hail.

It is Maria's voice I hear!

So calls the wood-lark, in the grove, His little faithful mate to cheer:

At once 'tis music and 'tis love.

And art thou come? and art thou true?
O welcome, dear to love and me!
And let us all our vows renew,
Along the flow'ry banks of Cree.

CASTLE GORDON.

STREAMS that glide in orient plains,
Never bound by winter's chains;

Glowing here on golden sands,
There commix'd with foulest stains

From tyranny's empurpl'd bands;
These, their richly-gleaming waves,
I leave to tyrants and their slaves;
Give me the stream that sweetly laves
The banks by Castle Gordon.

Spicy forests, ever gay,

Shading from the burning ray
Hapless wretches sold to toil,
Or the ruthless native's way,
Bent on slaughter, blood, and spoil;
Woods that ever verdant wave,
I leave the tyrant and his slave;
Give me the groves that lofty brave
The storms by Castle Gordon.

Wildly here, without control,

Nature reigns, and rules the whole;
In that sober, pensive mood,

Dearest to the feeling soul,

She plants the forest, pours the flood;

Life's poor day I'll musing rave,

And find at night a shelt'ring cave, Where waters flow and wild woods wave, By bonie Castle Gordon.

36

AFTON WATER.

FLOW gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes;
Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise:
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

Thou stock-dove whose echo resounds thro' the glen,
Ye wild-whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den,
Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear:
I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair.

How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighboring hills,
Far mark'd by the courses of clear, winding rills;
There daily I wander, as noon rises high,
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye.

How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below, Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow; There, oft as mild evening weeps over the lea, The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me.

Thy crystal stream, Afton, how gently it glides,
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides:
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave,
As, gath'ring sweet flow'rets, she stems thy clear wave

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays:
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream;
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

THE SACRED VOW.

TUNE "Allan Water."

By Allan stream I chanc'd to rove,

While Phoebus sank below Benleddi; The winds were whisp'ring through the grove, The yellow corn was waving ready:

I listen'd to a lover's sang,

And thought on youthfu' pleasures monie;

And ay the wild-wood echoes rang

O, dearly do I love thee, Annie!

O, happy be the woodbine bow'r,

Nae nightly bogle make it eerie ;

Nor ever sorrow stain the hour,

The place and time I met my dearie!

Her head upon my throbbing breast,
She, sinking, said, "I'm thine for ever!"
While monie a kiss the seal imprest,

The sacred vow we ne'er should sever

The haunt o' Spring's the primrose brae,
The Summer joys the flocks to follow;
How cheery, through her short'ning day,
Is Autumn in her weeds o' yellow:

A mountain west of Strathi-Allan, 3000 feet high.

But can they melt the glowing heart,
Or chain the soul in speechless pleasure,
Or thro' each nerve the rapture dart,

Like meeting her, our bosom's treasure?

THE RIGS O' BARLEY

TUNE —“Corn rigs are bonie."

It was upon a Lammas night,
When corn rigs are bonie,

Beneath the moons unclouded light,
I held awa to Annie:

The time flew by tentless heed,

Till 'tween the late and early, Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed To see me through the barley.

The sky was blue, the wind was still
The moon was shining clearly;
I sat her down wi' right good will,
Amang the rigs o' barley:

I kent her heart was a' my ain;
I lov'd her most sincerely;
I kiss'd her owre and owre again,
Amang the rigs o' barley!

I lock'd her in my fond embrace;
Her heart was beating rarely;
My blessings on that happy place
Amang the rigs o' barley!