12 And they hae ta'en his very heart's blood, And drank it round and round;

And still the more and more they drank,
Their joy did more abound.

13 John Barleycorn was a hero bold,
Of noble enterprise ;

For if you do but taste his blood,
"Twill make your courage rise.

14 "Twill make a man forget his woe;
'Twill heighten all his joy:

"Twill make the widow's heart to sing,
Though the tear were in her eye.

15 Then let us toast John Barleycorn,
Each man a glass in hand;

And may his great posterity
Ne'er fail in old Scotland!

A FRAGMENT.

TUNE-Killiecrankie.'

1 WHEN Guildford good our pilot stood,
And did our helm thraw, man,

Ae night, at tea, began a plea,
Within America, man:

Then up they gat the maskin'-pat,
And in the sea did jaw, man;
And did nae less, in full Congress,

Than quite refuse our law, man.

2 Then through the lakes Montgomery takes,
I wat he was na slaw, man:
Down Lowrie's burn he took a turn,
And Carlèton did ca', man:
But yet, what reck, he at Quebec,
Montgomery-like, did fa', man;
Wi' sword in hand, before his band,
Amang his enemies a', man.

3 Poor Tammy Gage, within a cage
Was kept at Boston Ha', man;

Till Willie Howe took o'er the knowe
For Philadelphià, man:

Wi' sword an' gun he thought a sin

Guid Christian blood to draw, man;
But at New York, wi' knife an' fork,
Sirloin he hackèd sma', man.

4 Burgoyne gaed up, like spur an' whip,
Till Fraser brave did fa', man;
Then lost his way, ae misty day,
In Saratoga shaw, man.
Cornwallis fought as lang's he dought,
And did the buckskins claw, man;
But Clinton's glaive frae rust to save,
He hung it to the wa', man.

5 Then Montague, an' Guildford too,
Began to fear a fa', man;

And Sackville dour, wha stood the stoure,
The German Chief to thraw, man:

For Paddy Burke, like ony Turk,

Nae mercy had at a', man;

And Charlie Fox threw by the box,

And lowsed his tinkler jaw, man.

6 Then Rockingham took up the game;
Till death did on him ca', man ;

When Shelburne meek held up his cheek,
Conform to Gospel law, man.
Saint Stephen's boys, wi' jarring noise,
They did his measures thraw, man,
For North an' Fox united stocks,

And bore him to the wa', man.

7 Then clubs and hearts were Charlie's cartes,
He swept the stakes awa', man,
Till the diamond's ace, of Indian race,
Led him a sair faux pas, man:
The Saxon lads, wi' loud placads,
On Chatham's boy did ca', man;

An' Scotland drew her pipe, an' blew
Up, Willie, waur them a', man!'

6

8 Behind the throne then Grenville's gone,
A secret word or twa, man;
While slee Dundas aroused the class
Be-north the Roman wa', man:

And Chatham's wraith, in heavenly graith, (Inspired Bardies saw, man)

Wi' kindling eyes cried, Willie, rise!

Would I hae fear'd them a', man?'

9 But, word an' blow, North, Fox, and Co., Gowff'd Willie like a ba', man,

Till Southron raise, and coost their claise Behind him in a raw, man;

And Caledon threw by the drone,

And did her whittle draw, man;

And swore fu' rude, through dirt an' blood, To make it guid in law, man.

SONG.

TUNE- Corn rigs are bonnie.'

1 It was upon a Lammas night,
When corn rigs are bonnie,
Beneath the moon's unclouded light,
I held awa to Annie:1

The time flew by wi' tentless heed,
Till 'tween the late and early,
Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed,
To see me through the barley.

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

I ken't her heart was a'

my ain;

I loved her most sincerely;

I kiss'd her owre and owre again,
Amang the rigs o' barley.

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

But by the moon and stars so bright,

That shone that hour so clearly,
She aye shall bless that happy night,
Amang the rigs o' barley!

Annie: Anne Mary, youngest daughter of John Rankine; she became

the keeper of a hostelry at Cumnock

4 I hae been blithe wi' comrades dear;
I hae been merry drinkin';
I hae been joyfu' gath'rin' gear;

I hae been happy thinkin':
But a' the pleasures e'er I saw,

Though three times doubled fairly,
That happy night was worth them a',
Amang the rigs o' barley.

CHORUS

Corn rigs, an' barley rigs,
An' corn rigs are bonnie:
I'll ne'er forget that happy night,
Amang the rigs wi' Annie.

SONG COMPOSED IN AUGUST.

TUNE—' I had a horse, I had na mair.'

1 Now westlin' winds, and slaught' ring guns,
Bring autumn's pleasant weather;
The moorcock springs on whirring wings,
Amang the blooming heather:

Now waving grain, wide o'er the plain,

Delights the weary farmer;

And the moon shines bright, when I rove at night,
To muse upon my charmer.

2 The partridge loves the fruitful fells;
The plover loves the mountains;
The woodcock haunts the lonely dells;
The soaring hern the fountains: