Loud the din o' streams fast fa'ing, Strack the ear wi' thundering thud.

Ewes and lambs on braes ran bleating;
Linties sang on ilka tree;
Frae the west, the sun, near setting,
Flam'd on Roslin's tower sae hie!

Roslin's towers and braes sae bonny,

Craigs and water, woods and glen, Roslin's banks unpeer'd by ony,

Save the muse's Hawthornden.

Ilka sound and charm delighting;

Will (though hardly fit to gang) Wander'd on through scenes inviting, List'ning to the mavis' sang.

Faint at length, the day fast closing,

On a fragrant strawberry steep, Esk's sweet stream to rest composing, Wearied nature drapt asleep.

"Soldier, rise! the dews o' e'ening

Gathering fa' wi' deadly skaith! Wounded soldier! if complaining, Sleep nae here and catch your death.

"Traveller, waken!-night advancing

Cleads wi' gray the neeboring hill; Lambs nae mair on knowes are dancingA' the woods are mute and still."

"What hae I," cried Willie, waking,
"What hae I frae night to dree?
Morn, through clouds in splendour breaking,
Lights nae bright'ning hope to me.

"House, nor hame, nor farm, nor stedding!
Wife nor bairns hae I to see!
House nor hame, nor bed nor bedding!
What hae I frae night to dree?"

"Sair, alas! and sad and many

Are the ills poor mortals share!
Yet, though hame nor bed ye hae nae,
Yield nae, soldier, to despair!

"What's this life, sae wae and wearie,

If hope's bright'ning beams should fail? See! though night comes, dark and eerie, Yon sma' cot-light cheers the dale!

"There, though walth and waste ne'er riot, Humbler joys their comfort shed, Labour-health-content and quietMourner! there ye'll find a bed!

"Wife, 'tis true, wi' bairnies smiling, There, alas! ye need nae seck

After three lang years' affliction
(A' their waes now hushed to rest)
Jean ance mair, in fond affection,

Clasps her Willie to her breast;

Tells him a' her sad, sad sufferings!
How she wandered, starving, poor,
Gleaning pity's scanty offerings,

Wi' three bairns frae door to door! How she sewed, and toiled, and fevered, Lost her health, and syne her bread; How that grief, when scarce recovered, Took her brain, and turned her head.

How she wandered round the county

Mony a live-lang night her lane; Till at last an angel's bounty

Brought her senses back again!

Gae her meat, and claise, and siller;
Gae her bairnies wark and lear;
Lastly, gae this cot-house till her,

Wi' four sterling pounds a year.
Willie, harkening, wiped his e'en aye;
"Oh! what sins hae I to rue!
But say, wha's this angel, Jeanie?"

"Wha," quo Jeanie, but Buccleuch?

Cross'd she the meadow yestreen at the gloamin'? Sought she the burnie whar flow'rs the hawtree?

Her hair it is lint-white; her skin it is milk-white;
Dark is the blue o' her saft rolling e'e;
Red, red her ripe lips, and sweeter than roses;
Whar could my wee thing wander frae me?"

"I saw na your wee thing, I saw na your ain thing, Nor saw I your true love, down on yon lea; But I met my bonnie thing, late in the gloamin', Down by the burnie whar flow'rs the haw-tree. Her hair it was lint-white; her skin it was milkwhite;

Dark was the blue o' her saft rolling e'e; Red were her ripe lips, and sweeter than roses: Sweet were the kisses that she ga'e to me!"

"It was na my wee thing, it was na my ain thing,
It was na my true love ye met by the tree;
Proud is her leal heart-modest her nature;
She never lo'ed ony till ance she lo'ed me.
Her name it is Mary; she's frae Castlecary;
Aft has she sat when a bairn on my knee;
Fair as your face is, were't fifty times fairer,
Young bragger, she ne'er would gi'e kisses to
thee."

"It was then your Mary; she's frae Castlecary; It was then your true love I met by the tree; Proud as her heart is, and modest her nature, Sweet were the kisses that she ga'e to me.' Sair gloom'd his dark brow, blood-red his cheek

grew;

Wild flashed the fire frae his red-rolling e'e"Ye's rue sair, this morning, your boasts and your scorning;

Defend, ye fause traitor! fu' loudly ye lie."

"Awa' wi' beguiling," cried the youth smiling;Aff went the bonnet; the lint-white locks flee; The belted plaid fa'ing, her white bosom shawing: Fair stood the lov'd maid wi' the dark rolling e'e. "Is it my wee thing? is it my ain thing? Is it my true love here that I see?" "Oh,Jamie, forgi'e me!your heart's constant to me; I'll never mair wander, dear laddie, frae thee!"

MY BOY TAMMY.

"Whar hae ye been a' day,

My boy Tammy?
Whar hae ye been a' day,
My boy Tammy?"

"I've been by burn and flow'ry brae,
Meadow green, and mountain gray,
Courting o' this young thing,
Just come frae her mammy."

"What said ye to the bonnie bairn,
My boy Tammy?"

"I praised her een, sae lovely blue,
Her dimpled cheek, and cherry mou':
I pree'd it aft, as ye may trow;—
She said she'd tell her mammy.

"I held her to my beating heart,

'My young, my smiling lammie!
I hae a house, it cost me dear;
I've wealth o' plenishin' and gear;
Ye'se get it a', wer't ten times mair,
Gin ye will leave your mammy.'

"The smile gaed aff her bonnie face

'I maunna leave my mammy; She's gi'en me meat, she's gi'en me claise, She's been my comfort a' my days; My father's death brought mony waesI canna leave my mammy."

"We'll tak her hame, and mak her fain, My ain kind-hearted lammie; We'll gi'e her meat, we'll gi'e her claise, We'll be her comfort a' her days." The wee thing gi'es her hand and says"There! gang and ask my mammy."

"Has she been to the kirk wi' thee,
My boy Tammy?"

"She has been to the kirk wi' me,
And the tear was in her e'e;
For, oh! she's but a young thing,
Just come frae her mammy."

DONALD AND FLORA.
When many hearts were gay,
Careless of aught but play,
Poor Flora slipt away,

Sadd'ning to Mora;1
Loose flow'd her yellow hair,
Quick heaved her bosom bare,
As thus to the troubled air
She vented her sorrow.

"Loud howls the stormy west, Cold, cold is winter's blast;

1 A retreat so named by the lovers.

Haste, then, O Donald, haste,

Haste to thy Flora!

Twice twelve long months are o'er,
Since on a foreign shore
You promised to fight no more,

But meet me in Mora.

"Where now is Donald dear?'
Maids cry with taunting sneer;
'Say, is he still sincere

To his loved Flora?',
Parents upbraid my moan,
Each heart is turn'd to stone;
Ah, Flora! thou'rt now alone,
Friendless in Mora!

"Come, then, O come away!
Donald, no longer stay;
Where can my rover stray

From his loved Flora?
Ah! sure he ne'er could be
False to his vows and me;
Oh, heavens! is not yonder he,
Bounding o'er Mora!"

"Never, ah! wretched fair!"
Sigh'd the sad messenger,
"Never shall Donald mair

Meet his loved Flora!
Cold as yon mountain snow
Donald, thy love, lies low;
He sent me to soothe thy woe,
Weeping in Mora.

"Well fought our gallant men
On Saratoga's plain;

Thrice fled the hostile train

From British glory.

But, ah! though our foes did flee,
Sad was each victory-

Youth, love, and loyalty

Fell far from Mora.

"Here, take this love-wrought plaid;'
Donald, expiring, said:
'Give it to yon dear maid
Drooping in Mora.
Tell her, O Allan! tell
Donald thus bravely fell,
And that in his last farewell
He thought on his Flora.
Mute stood the trembling fair,
Speechless with wild despair;
Then, striking her bosom bare,
Sigh'd out, "Poor Flora!
Ah, Donald! ah, well-a-day!"
Was all the fond heart could say:
At length the sound died away
Feebly on Mora,

I LOVED NE'ER A LADDIE BUT ANE.

I lo'ed ne'er a laddie but ane,

He lo'ed ne'er a lassie but me; He's willing to mak' me his ain, And his ain I am willing to be. He has coft me a rokelay o' blue,

And a pair o' mittens o' green; The price was a kiss o' my mou', And I paid him the debt yestreen.

Let ithers brag weel o' their gear,

Their land and their lordly degree; I carena for aught but my dear,

For he's ilka thing lordly to me: His words are sae sugar'd and sweet; His sense drives ilk fear far awa'! I listen, poor fool! and I greet;

Yet O how sweet are the tears as they fa!

"Dear lassie," he cries, wi' a jeer,

"Ne'er heed what the auld anes will say; Though we've little to brag o', ne'er fear

What's gowd to a heart that is wae? Our laird has baith honours and wealth, Yet see how he's dwining wi' care; Now we, though we've naething but health, Are cantie and leal evermair.

"O Marion! the heart that is true

Has something mair costly than gear! Ilk e'en it has naething to rue,

Ilk morn it has naething to fear.
Ye warldlings! gae hoard up your store,

And tremble for fear ought ye tyne; Guard your treasures wi' lock, bar, and door, While here in my arms I lock mine!"

He ends wi' a kiss and a smile-
Wae's me! can I tak' it amiss?
My laddie's unpractised in guile,

He's free aye to daut and to kiss!
Ye lasses wha lo'e to torment

Your wooers wi' fause scorn and strife, Play your pranks-I hae gi'en my consent, And this nicht I'm Jamie's for life!

COME UNDER MY PLAIDIE.

"Come under my plaidie, the night's gaun to fa'; Come in frae the cauld blast, the drift, and the snaw;

Come under my plaidie, and sit down beside me, There's room in't, dear lassie, believe me, for twa. Come under my plaidie, and sit down beside me,

I'll hap ye frae every cauld blast that can blaw: Oh, come under my plaidie, and sit down beside me! There's room in't, dear lassic, believe me, for twa.”

"Gae 'wa wi' your plaidie, auld Donald, ga'e 'wa, I fear na the cauld blast, the drift, nor the snaw; Gae 'wa wi' your plaidie, I'll no sit beside ye; Ye may be my gutcher;-auld Donald, gae 'wa. I'm gaun to meet Johnnie, he's young and he's bonnie;

He's been at Meg's bridal, fu' trig and fu' braw; Oh, nane dances sae lightly, sae gracefu', sae tightly!

His cheek's like the new rose, his brow's like the

snaw."

"Dear Marion, let that flee stick fast to the wa'; Your Jock's but a gowk, and has naething ava; The hale o' his pack he has now on his back— He's thretty, and I am but threescore and twa. Be frank now and kindly; I'll busk ye aye finely; To kirk or to market they'll few gang sae braw; A bein house to bide in, a chaise for to ride in, And flunkies to 'tend ye as aft as ye ca'."

"My father's aye tauld me, my mither and a', Ye'd mak a gude husband, and keep me aye braw; It's true I lo'e Johnnie, he's gude and he's bonnie; But, waes me! ye ken he has naething ava.

I hae little tocher; you've made a gude offer; I'm now mair than twenty-my time is but sma'; Sae gie me your plaidie, I'll creep in beside ye— I thocht ye'd been aulder than threescore and twa."

She crap in ayont him, aside the stane wa', Whar Johnnie was list'ning, and heard her tell a'; The day was appointed, his proud heart it dunted, And strack 'gainst his side as if bursting in twa. He wander'd hame weary, the night it was dreary; And, thowless, he tint his gate 'mang the deep snaw;

The howlet was screamin' while Johnnie cried, "Women

Wad marry Auld Nick if he'd keep them aye braw."

THE PLAID AMANG THE HEATHER.

The wind blew hie owre muir and lea, And dark and stormy grew the weather; The rain rain'd sair; nac shelter near

But my love's plaid amang the heather.

Close to his breast he held me fast;

Sae cozie, warm we lay thegither; Nae simmer heat was half sae sweet As my love's plaid amang the heather!