Tho' I to foreign lands must hie,
Pursuing fortune's slippery ba','
With melting heart and brimful eye,
I'll mind you still, tho' far awa.

Oft have I met your social band,
And spent the cheerful, festive night;
Oft, honor'd with supreme command,
Presided o'er the sons of light;
And by that hieroglyphic bright,

Which none but craftsmen ever saw!
Strong memory on my heart shall write
Those happy scenes when far awa.

May freedom, harmony, and love,
Unite you in the grand design,
Beneath the omniscient Eye above,
The glorious Architect divine!
That you may keep the unerring line,
Still rising by the plummet's law,
Till order bright completely shine,
Shall be my prayer, when far awa.

And you, farewell! whose merits claim,
Justly, that highest badge to wear!
Heaven bless your honor'd, noble name,
To Masonry and Scotia dear!
A last request, permit me here,-
When yearly ye assemble a',
One round, I ask it with a tear,

To him-The Bard that's far awa!

THE RUINED MAID'S LAMENT.

Oн meikle do I rue, fause' love,
Oh sairly do I rue,

That e'er I heard your flattering tongue,
That e'er your face I knew.

1 Ball.-2 False.

Oh I hae.tint my rosy cheeks,
Likewise my waist sae sma';
And I hae lost my lightsome heart,
That little wist a fa'.

Now I maun thole the scornfu' sneer
O' monie a saucy quean;

When, gin the truth were a' but kent,
Her life's been waur than mine.

Whene'er my father thinks on me,
He stares into the wa';

My mither, she has taen the bed
Wi' thinking on my fa'.

Whene'er I hear my father's foot,
My heart wad burst wi' pain;
Whene'er I meet my mither's ee,
My tears rin down like rain.

Alas! sae sweet a tree as love
Sic bitter fruit should bear!
Alas! that e'er a bonnie face
Should draw a sauty tear!

AND MAUN I STILL ON MENIE DOAT.

It was the opinion of Dr. Currie, that the chorus originally attached to the following beautiful stanzas, both interrupted the narrative, and marred the sentiment of each verse. We have therefore omitted it.

TUNE-Johnny's gray broeks.

AGAIN rejoicing Nature sees

Her robe assume its vernal hues;
Her leafy locks wave in the breeze,
All freshly steep'd in morning dews.

In vain to me these cowslips blaw,
In vain to me these violets spring:
In vain to me, in glen or shaw,
The mavis' and the lintwhite sing.

1 The thrush.-2 The linnet.

The merry ploughboy cheers his team,
Wi' joy the tentie' seedsman stalks,
But life's to me a weary dreara,

A dream of ane that never wauks.

The wanton coot the water skims,
Amang the reeds the ducklings cry,
The stately swan majestic swims,
And every thing is blest but I.

The shepherd steeks his faulding slap,
And owre the moorlands whistles shrill;
Wi' wild, unequal, wandering step

I meet him on the dewy hill.

And when the lark, 'tween light and dark,
Blythe waukens by the daisie's side,
And mounts and sings on fluttering wings,
A woe-worn ghaist I hameward glide.

Come, Winter, with thine angry howl,
And raging bend the naked tree;
Thy gloom will soothe my cheerless soul
When nature all is sad like me!

THE DEAN OF FACULTY.-A NEW BALLAD.

A fragment, first published in the "Reliques."

TUNE-The Dragon of Wantley.

DIRE was the hate at old Harlaw,
That Scot to Scot did carry ;
And dire the discord Langside saw,

For beauteous, hapless Mary:

But Scot with Scot ne'er met so hot,

Or were more in fury seen, Sir,

Than 'twixt Hal and Bob for the famous job

Who should be Faculty's Dean, Sir,

This Hal, for genius, wit, and lore,
Among the first was number'd;

1 Careful.-2 Shuts the gate of his fold.

But pious Bob, 'mid learning's store,
Commandment tenth remember'd.
Yet simple Bob the victory got,
And wan his heart's desire;

Which shows that Heaven can boil the pot
Though the Devil p ss in the fire.

Squire Hal besides had, in this case,
Pretensions rather brassy,
For talents to deserve a place
Are qualifications saucy;
So their worships of the Faculty,

Quite sick of merit's rudeness,
Chose one who should owe it all, d'ye see,
To their gratis grace and goodness.

As once on Pisgah purged was the sight
Of a son of circumcision,

So may be, on this Pisgah height,
Bob's purblind, mental vision:
Nay, Bobby's mouth may be open'd yet,
Till for eloquence you hail him,
And swear he has the angel met
That met the ass of Balaam.

JOHN BARLEYCORN.-A BALLAD.

This is partly composed on the plan of an old song known by the same name.

THERE were three kings into the east,

Three kings both great and high,

An' they hae sworn a solemn oath

John Barleycorn should die.

They took a plough and plough'd him down,

Put clods upon his head,

And they hae sworn a solemn oath

John Barleycorn was dead.

But the cheerful spring came kindly on,

And showers began to fall;

John Barleycorn got up again,

And sore surprised them all.

The sultry suns of summer came,
And he grew thick and strong,
His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears,
That no one should him wrong.

The sober autumn enter'd mild,
When he grew wan and pale;
His bending joints and drooping head
Show'd he began to fail.

His color sicken'd more and more,
He faded into age;

And then his enemies began

To show their deadly rage.

They've taen a weapon long and sharp,

And cut him by the knee; Then tied him fast upon a cart,

Like a rogue for forgerie.

They laid him down upon his back,
And cudgell'd him full sore:
They hung him up before the storm,
And turn'd him o'er and o'er.

They filled up a darksome pit
With water to the brim,
They heavéd in John Barleycorn,
There let him sink or swim.

They laid him out upon the floor,
To work him farther woe,
And still as signs of life appear'd,
They toss'd him to and fro.

They wasted o'er a scorching flame
The marrow of his bones;

But a miller used him worst of all,

For he crush'd him between two stones.

And they hae taen his very heart's blood, And drank it round and round;

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

John Barleycorn was a hero bold

Of noble enterprise,

For if you do but taste his blood,

'Twill make your courage rise.