THE TITHER MORN.

TO A HIGHLAND AIR.

THE tither morn
When I forlorn,

Aneath an aik sat moaning,
I did na trow,
I'd see my Jo,

Beside me, gain the gloaming.
But he sae trig,
Lap o'er the rig,
And dawtingly did cheer me,
When I, what reck,

Did least expec',

To see my lad so near me.

His bonnet he,

A thought ajee,

Cock'd sprush when first he clasp'd me; And I, I wat,

Wi' fainness grat,

While in his grips he press'd me.
Deil tak' the war!

late and air,

Hae wish'd since Jock departed;

But now as glad

I'm wi' my lad,

As short syne broken-hearted.

Fu' aft at e'en
Wi' dancing keen,

When a' were blythe and merry,

I cared na by,
Sae sad was I
In absence o' my dearie.
But, praise be blest,

My mind's at rest,
I'm happy wi' my Johnie:
At kirk and fair,

I'se ay be there.

And be as canty 's onie.

LOVELY DAVIES.

TUNE-Miss Muir.

Oн how shall I, unskilfu', try
The poet's occupation,

The tunefu' powers, in happy hours,
That whisper inspiration?

Even they maun dare an effort mair,
Than aught they ever gave us,
Or they rehearse, in equal verse,
The charms o' lovely Davies.
Each eye it cheers, when she appears,
Like Phoebus in the morning,

When past the shower, and every flower
The garden is adorning.

As the wretch looks o'er Siberia's shore, When winter-bound the wave is;

Sae droops our heart when we maun part
Frae charming lovely Davies.

Her smile 's a gift, frae 'boon the lift,
That maks us mair than princes;
A scepter'd hand, a king's command,
Is in her darting glances;

The man in arms, 'gainst female charms,
Even he her willing slave is;

He hugs his chain, and owns the reign
Of conquering, lovely Davies.

My muse to dream of such a theme,
Her feeble powers surrender;
The eagle's gaze alone surveys
The sun's meridian splendor;
I wad in vain essay the strain,
The deed too daring brave is;
I'll drap the lyre, and mute admire
The charms o' lovely Davies.

THE WEARY PUND O' TOW.

TUNE-The weary pund o' tow.

The weary pund, the weary pund,
The weary pund o' tow;

I think my wife will end her life
Before she spin her tow.

I BOUGHT my wife a stane o' lint'
As gude as e'er did grow;
And a' that she has made o' that,
Is ae poor pund' o' tow.

There sat a bottle in a bole,
Beyont the ingle low,

And ay she took the tither souk3
To drouk the stowrie tow.'

Quoth I, For shame, ye dirty dame,
Gae spin your tap o' tow!
She took the rock, and wi' a knock
She brak it o'er my pow.

At last her feet-I sang to see 't-
Gaed foremost o'er the knowe;
And or I wad anither jad,

I'll wallop in a tow.

The weary pund, &c.

KENMURE'S ON AND AWA."

TUNE-Oh, Kenmure's on and awa, Willie.

Он, Kenmure's on and awa, Willie !
Óh, Kenmure's on and awa!
And Kenmure's lord's the bravest lord
That ever Galloway saw.

Success to Kenmure's band, Willie!
Success to Kenmure's band;

There's no a heart that fears a Whig

That rides by Kenmure's hand.

Here's Kenmure's health in wine, Willie!
Here's Kenmure's health in wine;

1 Pound.-2 A stone-weight of flax.-3 Another drink.-4 To wash away the dust of the tow.

5 There is some doubt as to the portions of this song which belong to Burns; it is presumed that the second and third stanzas are only original, It alludes to the part taken by Viscount Kenmure in the rebellion of 1715.

There ne'er was a coward o' Kenmure's blude, Nor yet o' Gordon's line.

Oh, Kenmure's lads are men, Willie!

Óh, Kenmure's lads are men;

Their hearts and swords are metal true-
And that their faes shall ken.

They 'll live or die wi' fame, Willie!
They'll live or die wi' fame;
But soon, wi' sounding victorie,
May Kenmure's lord come hame.

Here's him that's far awa, Willie !
Here's him that's far awa;

And here's the flower that I love best-
The rose that's like the snaw!

MY COLLIER LADDIE.

TUNE-The Collier Laddic.

WHERE live ye, my bonnie lass?
An' tell me what they ca' ye;
My name, she says, is Mistress Jean,
And I follow the Collier Laddie.
My name, she says, is Mistress Jean,
And I follow the Collier Laddie.

See you not yon hills and dales,

The sun shines on sae brawlie!
They a' are mine, and they shall be thine,
Gin ye'll leave your Collier Laddie.
They a' are mine, and they shall be thine,
Gin ye 'll leave your Collier Laddie.

Ye shall gang in gay attire,
Weel buskit up sae gaudy;
And ane to wait on every hand,
Gin ye'll leave your Collier Laddie.
And ane to wait on every hand,
Gin ye 'll leave your Collier Laddie.

Tho' ye had a' the sun shines on,

And the earth conceals sae lowly;

I wad turn my back on you and it a',
And embrace my Collier Laddie.
I wad turn my back on you and it a',
And embrace my Collier Laddie.

I can win my five pennies in a day,
And spen 't at night fu' brawlie;
And make my bed in the Collier's neuk,
And lie down wi' my Collier Laddie.
And make my bed in the Collier's neuk,
And lie down wi' my Collier Laddie.

Luve for luve is the bargain for me,

Tho' the wee cot-house should haud me;
And the world before me to win my bread,
And fair fa' my Collier Laddie.

And the world before me to win my bread,
And fair fa' my Collier Laddie.

NITHSDALE'S WELCOME HAME.

The Maxwells, after the fall of the house of Douglas, were the most powerful family in the south of Scotland; but the name is now no longer numbered with our nobility.

THE noble Maxwells and their powers

Are coming o'er the border,

And they'll gae bigg Terreagle's towers,
An' set them a' in order.

And they declare Terreagle 's fair,
For their abode they choose it;
There's no a heart in a' the land,
But's lighter at the news o't.

Tho' stars in skies may disappear,
And angry tempests gather;
The happy hour may soon be near
That brings us pleasant weather:
The weary night o' care and grief,
May hae a joyful morrow;
So dawning day has brought relief-
Fareweel our night o' sorrow!