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Ye Pow'rs of Honour, Love and Truth,
From ev'ry ill defend her;
Inspire the highly favour'd youth
The destinies intend her;
Still fan the sweet connubial flame,
Responsive in each bosom ;
And bless the dear parental name
With many a filial blossom.

THERE'LL NEVER BE PEACE TILL JAMIE

B

COMES HAME.

A SONG.

Y yon castle wa', at the close of the day,
I heard a man sing, though his head it

was grey;

And as he was singing, the tears fast down

came

There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.

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 braw sons for Jamie drew sword,
And now I greet round their green beds in the

yird;

It brak the sweet heart o' my faithfu' auld dameThere'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.

THERE WAS A LAD.

TUNE " DAINTY DAVIE."

HERE was a lad was born at Kyle,
But whatna a day o' whatna 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 to us a',

We'll a' be proud o' Robin.

170

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.

Guid faith, quo' scho, I doubt you, sir,
Ye gar the lasses.

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

Robin was a rovin' Boy,

Rantin' rovin', rantin' rovin;

Robin was a rovin' Boy,

Rantin' rovin' Robin.

TO MARY.

TUNE-" EWE-BUGHTS, MARION."

ILL ye go to the Indies, my Mary,
And leave auld Scotia's shore?
Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary,
Across the Atlantic's roar?

O sweet grow the lime and the orange,
And the apple on the pine;

But a' the charms o' the Indies
Can never equal thine.

I hae sworn by the Heavens to my Mary,
I hae sworn by the Heavens to be true;
And sae may the Heavens forget me,
When I forget my vow!

O plight me your faith, my Mary,
And plight me your lily-white hand;
O plight me your faith, my Mary,
Before I leave Scotia's strand.

We hae plighted our troth, my Mary,
In mutual affection to join,

And curst be the cause that shall part us!
The hour, and the moment o' time!

MARY MORISON.

TUNE-" BIDE YE YET."

MARY, at thy window be,

It is the wish'd, the trysted hour!
Those smiles and glances let me see,

That make the miser's treasure poor;

How blithely wad I bide the stoure,
A weary slave frae sun to sun;
Could I the rich reward secure,
The lovely Mary Morison.

Yestreen, when to the trembling string
The dance gaed through the lighted ha',
To thee my fancy took its wing,

I sat, but neither heard or saw :
Though this was fair, and that was braw,
And yon the toast of a' the town,
I sigh'd, and said amang them a',
"Ye are na Mary Morison."

O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace,
Wha for thy sake wad gladly die?
Or canst thou break that heart of his,
Whase only faut is loving thee?
If love for love thou wilt na gie,
At least be pity to me shown!
A thought ungentle canna be
The thought o' Mary Morison.

THE SOGER'S RETURN.

TUNE" THE MILL MILL O."

HEN wild war's deadly blast was blawn,
And gentle peace returning,
Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless,
And mony a widow mourning:

I left the lines and tented field,
Where lang I'd been a lodger,
My humble knapsack a' my wealth,
A poor and honest soger.

A leal, light heart was in my breast,
My hand unstain'd wi' plunder;
And for fair Scotia, hame again
I cheery on did wander.

I thought upon the banks o' Coil,
I thought upon my Nancy,
I thought upon the witching smile
That caught my youthful fancy.

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