The sky is blue, the fields in view,

All fading-green and yellow ; Come let us stray our gladsome way,

And view the charms of nature;
The rustling.corn, the fruited thorn,

And ev'ry happy creature.
We'll gently walk, and sweetly talk,

Till the silent moon shines clearly ; I'll grasp thy waist, and, fondly prest,

Swear how I love thee dearly.
Not vernal show'rs to budding flow'rs,

Not autumn to the farmer,
So dear can be as thou to me,

My fair, my lovely charmer !

SONG.

Tube, ' My Nanie, o.' Behind yon hills where Logar flows,

'Mang moors an' mossés many, 0, The wintry sun the day has clos'd,

And I'll awa to Nanie, 0. The westlin wind blaws loud an' shrili,

The night's baith mirk and rainy, 0, But I'll get my plaid, an' out I'll steal,

An' owre the hills to Nanie, O. My Nanie's charming, sweet, an' young :

Nae artfu’ wiles to win ye, 0; May ill befa' the flattering tongue

That wad beguile my Nanie, 0. Her face is fair, her heart is true,

As spotless as she's bonnie, 0; The op'ning gowan, wet wi' dew,

Nae purer is than Nanie, 0. A country dad is my degree,

An' few there be that ken me, 0; But what care I how few they be,

I'm welcome ay to Nanie, 0.

My riches a's my penny-fee,

An' I maun guide it cannie, 0; But warly gear ne'er troubles me,

My thoughts are a' my Nanie, 0. Our auld guid man delights to view

His sheep ao' kye thrive bopnie, O; But I'm as blythe that hauds his pleugh,

An' has nae care but Nanie, 0. Come weel, come woe, I care na by,

I'll tak what Heav'n will sen' me, 0; Nae ither care in life haye I,

But live, an' love my Nanie, 0.

SONG.

GREEN GROW THE RASHES.

A FRAGMENT.

CHORUS.

Green grow the rashes, O.;

Green grow the rashes, 0;
The sweetest hours that e'er I speod,

Are spent amang the lasses, O. THERE'S nought but care on ev'ry ban'

In ev'ry hour that passes, O;
What signifies the life of man,
An' 'twere pa' for the lasses, O.

Green grow, &c.
The warly race may riches chase,

An' riches still may fly them, 0;
An' tho’ at last they catch them fast,
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, o,

Green grow, &c.
But gie me a canay hour at e'en,

My arms ahout iny dcarie, , 0,

A

An' warly cares, an’ warly men,
May a' gae tapsalteerie, 0.

Green grow, &c.
For you sae douse, ye sneer at this,

Ye're nought but senseless asses, O :
The wisest man the warl' e'er saw,
He dearly lov'd the lasses, 0.

Green grow, &c.
Auld nature swears, the lovely dears

Her noblest work she classes, 0 :
Her 'prentice han' she try'd on man,
An' then she made the lasses, O.

Green grow, &c.

SONG.

Tune, Jockey's grey breeks.'
AGAIN rejoicing nature sees

Her robe assume it's vernal hues,
Her leafy rocks wave in the breeze,
All freshly steep'd in morning dews.

CHORUS. *
And maun I still on Menie † doat,

And bear the scorn that's in her e'e !
For ii's jet, jet black, an' it's like a hawk,

An' it wiona let a body be.
In vain to me the cowslips blaw,

In vain to me the vilets spring ;
In vain to me, in glen or shaw,
The mavis and the lintwhite sing.

And maun I still, &c.
The merry ploughboy cheers his team,
Wi joy the tentie seedsman stalks,

* This chorus is part of a song composed by a gentleman ia Edinburgh, a particular friend of the author's.

† Menie is the common abbreviation of Marianne.

But life to me's a weary dream,
A dream of ane that never wauks.

And maun I still, &c. The wanton coot the water skims,

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

And maun I still, &c. The shepherd steeks bis faulding slap,

And owre the moorlands whistles shrill, Wi' wild, unequal, wand'ring step, I meet him on the dewy hill.

And maun I still, &c. And when the lark, 'tween light and dark,

Blythe waukens by the daisy's side, And mounts and sings on flittering wings, A woe-worn ghaist I hameward glide.

And maun I still, &c. 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!

CHORUS.
And maun I still on Menie doat,

An' bear the scorn that's in her e'e !
For it's jet, jet black, an' it's like a hawk,

An' it winna let a body be.

SONG.

THE FAREWELL

TO THE

BRETAREN OF ST. JAMES'S LODGE, TARBOLTON.

Tune, Goodnight, an' joy be wi' you all.'
Adieu! a heart-warm fond adieu !

Dear brothers of the mystic tye !
Ye favour'd, ye enlighten'd few,

Companions of my social joy!
Though I to foreign lands must hie,

Pursuing Fortune's slidd'ry 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, honour'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 th' omniscient eye above,

The glorious architect divine !
That you may keep th' unerring line,

Still rising by the plummet's law,
Till order bright completely shine,

Shall be my pray'r when far awa'!
And you, farewell, whose merits claim,

Justly, that highest badge to wear!
Heav'n bless your honour'd noble name,

To Masonry and Scotia dear!