Thou art a queen, fair Lesley,
Thy subjects we, before thee:
Thou art divine, fair Lesley,

The hearts o' men adore thee.

The Deil he could na scaith thee,

Or aught that wad belang thee;
He'd look into thy bonnie face,

And say, "I canna wrang thee."

The Powers aboon will tent thee;
Misfortune sha'na steer thee;
Thou'rt like themselves sae lovely,
That ill they'll ne'er let near thee.

Return again, fair Lesley,

Return to Caledonie !

That we may brag, we hae a lass
There's nane again sae bonnie.

DUNCAN GRAY.

DUNCAN GRAY came here to woo,
Ha, ha, the wooing o't,

On blythe Yule night when we were fou,
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

Maggie coost her head fu' high,
Look'd asklent and unco skeigh,

Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh;
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd; Ha, ha, the wooing o't,

Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

Duncan sigh'd baith out and in,
Grat his een baith bleer't and blin',
Spak o' lowpin o'er a linn;

Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

Time and Chance are but a tide,
Ha, ha, the wooing o't,

Slighted love is sair to bide,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

Shall I, like a fool, quoth he,

For a haughty hizzie die?

She may gae to France for me!
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

How it comes let doctors tell,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't,

Meg grew sick as he grew well,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

Something in her bosom wrings,
For relief a sigh she brings;

And O, her een, they spak sic things!
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

Duncan was a lad o' grace,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't,

Maggie's was a piteous case,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

Duncan couldna be her death,
Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath ;
Now they're crouse and cantie baith!
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

1793

GALLA WATER.

BRAW braw lads on Yarrow braes,

They rove amang the blooming heather; But Yarrow braes nor Ettrick shaws Can match the lads o' Galla Water.

But there is ane, a secret ane,

Aboon them a' I lo'e him better; And I'll be his, and he'll be mine, The bonnie lad o' Galla Water.

Altho' his daddie was nae laird,

And tho' I hae nae meikle tocher;

Yet rich in kindest, truest love,

We'll tent our flocks by Galla Water.

It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth, That coft contentment, peace or pleasure;

The bands and bliss o' mutual love,

O that's the chiefest warld's treasure.

WANDERING WILLIE.

HERE awa, there awa, wandering Willie,
Here awa, there awa, haud awa hame;
Come to my bosom, my ain only dearie,

Tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same.
Winter winds blew loud and cauld at our parting,
Fears for my Willie brought tears in my e'e;
Welcome now simmer, and welcome my Willie,
The simmer to nature, my Willie to me!

slumbers;

Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave of your
How your dread howling a lover alarms!
Wauken, ye breezes, row gently, ye billows,

And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms. But oh, if he's faithless, and minds na his Nannie, Flow still between us, thou wide-roaring main;

May I never see it, may I never trow it,
But, dying, believe that my Willie's my ain.

JESSIE.

TUNE" Bonnie Dundee."

TRUE-HEARTED was he, the sad swain o' the Yarrow,
And fair are the maids on the banks o' the Ayr,
But by the sweet side o' the Nith's winding river,
Are lovers as faithful, and maidens as fair:

To equal young Jessie seek Scotland all over; To equal young Jessie you seek it in vain; Grace, beauty, an' elegance, fetter her lover, And maidenly modesty fixes the chain.

Fresh is the rose in the gay, dewy morning,
And sweet is the lily at evening close;
But in the fair presence o' lovely young Jessie,
Unseen is the lily, unheeded the rose.
Love sits in her smile, a wizard ensnaring;
Enthron'd in her een he delivers his law:
And still to her charms she alone is a stranger!
Her modest demeanour's the jewel of a’.

THE SODGER'S RETURN.

TUNE"The Mill Mill O."

WHEN wild war's deadly blast was blawn,
And gentle peace returning,
Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless,
And mony a widow mourning:

I left the lines and tented field,
Where lang I'd been a lodger,
My humble knapsack a' my wealth,
A poor and honest sodger.

A leal, light heart was in my breast,
My hand unstain'd wi' plunder;