When shall I see that honoured land, That winding stream I love so dear! Must wayward fortune's adverse hand For ever, ever keep me here?

How lovely, Nith, thy fruitful vales,

Where spreading hawthorns gaily bloom; How sweetly wind thy sloping dales

Where lambkins wander thro' the broom! Tho' wandering, now, must be my doom, Far from thy bonnie banks and braes, May there my latest hours consume, Amang the friends of early days!

JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO. JOHN ANDERSON, my jo, John, When we were first acquent, Your locks were like the raven, Your bonnie brow was brent; But now your brow is beld, John, Your locks are like the snaw; But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson my jo. John Anderson, my jo, John, We clamb the hill thegither; And mony a canty day, John, We've had wi' ane anither. Now we maun totter down, John, But hand in hand we'll go: And sleep thegither at the foot, John Anderson my jo.

THE JOLLY BEGGARS:

A CANTATA.

RECITATIVO.

WHEN lyart leaves bestrow the yird,
Or wavering like the Baukie bird,129
Bedim cauld Boreas' blast,

When hailstanes drive wi' bitter skyte,
And infant frosts begin to bite,

In hoary cranreuch drest;
Ae night at e'en a meery core,
O' randie, gangrel bodies,
In Poosie-Nansie's held the splore,
To drink their orra duddies:
Wi' quaffing and laughing,
They ranted and they sang;
Wi' jumping and thumping,
The vera girdle rang.

First, niest the fire, in auld red rags,
Ane sat, weel brac'd wi' mealy bags,
And knapsack a' in order;
His doxy lay within his arm,
Wi' usquebae an' blankets warm—
She blinket on her sodger:
An' aye he gives the tousie drab

The tither skelpin' kiss,
While she held up her greedy gab,
Just like an a'mous dish.

Ilk smack still, did crack still,
Just like a cadger's whip,
Then staggering and swaggering
He roar'd this ditty up-

But the godly old chaplain left him in the lurch,
The sword I forsook for the sake of the church,
He ventur'd the soul, and I risked the body,
'Twas then I prov'd false to my sodger laddie.
Sing, Lal de lal, &c.

IV.

Full soon I grew sick of my sanctified sot,
The regiment at large for a husband I got;
From the gilded spontoon to the fife I was
ready,
I asked no more but a sodger laddie.

Sing, Lal de lal, &c.

V.

But the peace it reduc'd me to beg in despair,
Till I met my old boy at Cunningham fair;
His rags regimental they flutter'd so gaudy,
My heart it rejoic'd at my sodger laddie.
Sing, Lai de lal, &c.

Tune-"Anld Sir Symon."

SIR Wisdom's a fool when he's fou,
Sir Knave is a fool in a session:
He's there but a 'prentice I trow,
But I am a fool by profession.
My grannie she bought me a beuk,
And I held awa to the school;
I fear I my talent misteuk,

But what will ye hae of a fool?
For drink I would venture my neck,
A hizzie's the half o' my craft,
But what could ye other expect,
Of ane that's avowedly daft?

I ance was tied up like a stirk;
For civilly swearing and quaffin'

1 ance was abus'd in the kirk,

For touzling a lass i' my daffin. Poor Andrew that tumbles for sport, Let naebody name wi' a jeer; There's ev'n, I'm taught, i' the court A tumbler ca'd the premier. Observ'd ye, yon reverend lad Make faces to tickle the mob; He rails at our mountebank squadIt's rivalship just i' the job. And now my conclusion I'll tell, For faith I'm confoundedly dry; The chiel that's a fool for himsel'

Gude Lord! he far dafter than I.

RECITATIVO.

Then neist outspak a raucle carlin,
Wha kent fu' weel to cleek the sterling,
For monie a pursie she had hookit,
And had in mony a well been duckit.
Her dove had been a Highland laddie,
But weary fa' the waefu' woodie!
Wi' sighs and sobs she thus began
To wail her braw John Highlandman.
AIR.

Tune-"O an ye were dead Guidman."

I.

A HIGHLAND lad my love was born,
The Lawlan' laws he held in scorn;
But he still was faithfu' to his clan,
My gallant, braw John Highlandman.
CHORUS.

Sing hey my braw John Highlandman!
Sing, ho my braw John Highlandman!
There's not a lad in a' the lan'
Was match for my John Highlandman.

II.

With his philibeg an' tartan plaid,
An' gude claymore down by his side,
The ladies hearts he did trepan,
My gallant, braw John Highlandman.
Sing, hey, &c.

Wi' ghastly e'e, poor tweedle dee
Upon his hunkers bended,
And pray'd for grace wi' ruefu' face,
And sae the quarrel ended.
But though his little heart did grieve,
When round the tinkler prest her,
He feigned to snirtle in his sleeve,
When thus the caird address'd hier.

AIR.

Tune-" Clout the Cauldron."

I.

My bonnie lass, I work in brass,

A tinkler in my station;

I've travell'd round all Christian ground,
In this my occupation.

I've ta'en the gold, I've been enrolled

In many a noble squadron:

But vain they search'd, when off I march'd To go and clout the cauldron.

I've ta'en the gold, &c.

II

Despise that shrimp, that wither'd imp,
Wi' a' his noise an' caprin',
An' tak' a share wi' those that bear
The budget an' the apron.

An' by that stoup, my faith and houp,
An' by that dear Kilbaigie,133
If e'er ye want, or meet wi' scant,
May I ne'er wet my craigie.
An by that stoup, &c.
RECITATIVO.

The caird prevail'd-the unblushing fair
In his embraces sunk,

Partly wi' love o'ercome sae sair,
An' partly she was drunk.

Sir Violino, with an air

That show'd a man of spunk,

Wish'd unison between the pair,
An' made the bottle clunk

To their health that night.

But hurchin Cupid shot a shaft
That play'd a dame a shavie,
The fiddler rak'd her fore and aft,
Behint the chicken cavie.

Her lord, a wight o' Homer's craft,134
Tho' limping with the spavie,
He hirpl'd up, and lap like daft,
An' shor'd them Daintie Davie
O' boot that night.

He was a care-defying blade
As ever Bacchus listed,
Though Fortune sair upon him laid,
His heart she ever miss'd it,
He had no wish but-to be glad,
Nor want but-when he thirsted;
He hated nought but-to be sad,
And thus the Muse suggested,
His sang that night.

So sung the bard-and Nansie's wa's
Shook with a thunder of applause,
Re-echo'd from each mouth;

They toom'd their pocks, an' pawn'd their duds,
They scarcely left to co'er their fuds,
To quench their lowin' drouth.
Then owre again, the jovial thrang,
The poet did request,

To loose his pack and wale a sang,
A ballad o' the best:

He rising, rejoicing,

Between his twa Deborahs,

Looks round him, an' found them
Impatient for the chorus;

A fig for those by law protected! Liberty's a glorious feast!

Courts for cowards were erected, Churches built to please the priest."

TAM GLEN.

My heart is a-breaking, dear tittie,
Some counsel unto me come len',
To anger them a' is a pity,

But what will I do wi' Tam Glen?
I'm thinking, wi' sich a braw fellow,
In poortith I might make a fen:
What care I in riches to wallow,

If I maunna marry Tam Glen? There's Lowrie the laird o' Drumeller,

Gude day to you, brute," he comes ben:
He brags and he biaws o' his siller,
But when will he dance like Tam Glen?

My minnie does constantly deave me,
And bids me beware o' young men :
They flatter, she says, to deceive me,
But wha can think sae o Tam Glen?
My daddie says, gin I'll forsake him,
He'll gie nie guid hunder marks ten:
But, if it's ordain'd I maun tak him,

O wha will I get like Tam Glen?
Yestreen at the Valentine's dealing,
My heart to my mou' gied a sten;
For thrice I drew ane without failing,
And thrice it was written-Tam Glen!
The last Hallowe'en I was waukin',

My droukit sark-sleeve, as ye ken;
His likeness cam up the house staukin',
And the very grey breeks o' Tam Glen!
Come counsel, dear tittie! don't tarry;
I'll gie you my bonnie black hen,
Gin ye will advise me to marry
The lad I lo'e dearly, Tam Glen.

MY TOCHER'S THE JEWEL. O MEIKLE thinks my luve o' my beauty, And meikle thinks my luve o' my kin; But little thinks my luve, I ken brawlie, My tocher's the jewel has charms for him, It's a' for the apple he'll nourish the tree; It's a' for the himney he'll cherish the bee; My laddie's sae meikle in luve wi' the siller, He canna hoe luve to spare for me. Your proffer o' luve's an airl-penny, My tocher's the bargain ye wad buy; But an' ye be crafty, I am cunnin',

Sae ye wi' anither your fortune maun try. Ye're like te the bark o' yon rotten tree, Ye're like to the timmer o' yon rotten wood, Ye'll slip frae me like a knotless thread, And ye'll crack your credit wi' mae nor me,

And pleasure is a wanton trout,

An' ye drink but deep ye'll find him out, Then guidwife count, &c.

WHAT CAN A YOUNG LASSIE DO WI' AN AULD MAN.

WHAT can a young lassie, what shall a young lassie,

What can a young lassie do wi' an auld man?
Bad luck on the pennie that tempted my minnie
To sell her poor Jenny for siller an' lan';
Bad luck on the pennie, &c.

He's always compleenin' frae mornin' to e'enin',
He hosts and he hirples the weary day lang;
He's doy'lt and he's dozin', his bluid it is frozen,
O, dreary's the night wi''a crazy auld man!
He hums and he hankers, he frets and he can-
kers;

I never can please him, do a' that I can; He's peevish, and jealous of a' the young fellows,

O, dool on the day, I met wi' an auld man! My auld auntie Katie upon me takes pity, I'll do my endeavour to follow her plan; I'll cross him, and wrack him, until I heartbreak him, And then his auld brass will buy me a new pan.

THE BONNIE WEE THING. BONNIE Wee thing, cannie wee thing. Lovely wee thing, wert thou mine; I wad wear thee in my bosom, Lest my jewel I should tine! Wistfully I look and languish,

In that bonnie face of thine; And my heart it stounds wi' anguish, Lest my wee thing be na mine.

Wit, and grace, and love, and beauty,
In ae constellation shine;

To adore thee is my duty,
Goddess o' this soul o' mine!
Bonnie wee, &c.

O, FOR ANE AND TWENTY, TAM!
Tune-"The Moudiewort."

AN' O, for ane and twenty, Tam!
An' hey, sweet ane and twenty, Tam!
I'll learn my kin a rattlin sang,

An' I saw ane and twenty, Tam!
They snool me sair, and haud me down,
And gar me look like bluntie, Tam!

But three short years will soon wheel roun'-
And then comes ane and twenty, Tam!

An' O, for ane, &c.

A glieb o' lan', a claut o' gear,
Was left me by my auntie, Tam:
At kith or kin 1 need na spier,

An' I saw ane and twenty, Tam!
An' O, for ane, &c.

They'll hae me wed a wealthy coof,
Tho' I myself hae plenty, Tam;
But hear'st thou laddie,-there's my loof,-
I'm thine at ane and twenty, Tam!
An' O, for ane, &c.

BESS AND HER SPINNING WHEEL.
O, LEEZE me on my spinning wheel,
O, leeze me on my rock and reel;
Frae tap to tae that cleeds me bien,
And haps me fiel and warm at e'en!
I'll set me down and sing and spin,
While laigh descends the simmer sun,
Blest wi' content, and milk and meal-
O, leeze me on my spinning wheel.

On ilka hand the burnies trot,
And meet below thy theekit cot;
The scented birk and hawthorn white
Across the pool their arms unite,
Alike to screen the birdie's nest,"
And little fishes' caller rest:
The sun blink's kindly in the biel',
Where, blythe I turn my spinning wheel.

On lofty aiks the cushats wail,
And echo cons the doolfu' tale;
The lintwhites in the hazel braes,
Delighted, rival ither's lays:
The craik amang the claver hay,
The paitrick whirrin o'er the ley,
The swallow jinkling round my shiel,
Amuse me at my spinning wheel.

Wi' sma' to sell, and less to buy,
Aboon distress, below envy,

O wha wad leave this humble state,
For a' the pride of a' the great?
Amid their flaring, idle toys,
Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys,
Can they the peace and pleasure feel,
Of Bessie at her spinning wheel.

COUNTRY LASSIE.

IN simmer when the hay was mawn,
And corn wav'd green in ilka field,
While claver blooms white o'er the lea,
And roses blaw in ilka bield;
Blythe Bessie in the milking shiel,

Says, "I'll be wed come o't what will;" Out spake a dame in wrinkled eild,

"O gude advisement comes nae ill." "Its ye hae wooers mony a ane,

And, lassie, ye're but young, ye ken;
Then wait a wee, and cannie wale,
A routhie butt, a routhie ben:
There's Johnnie o' the Buskie-glen,
Fu' is his barn, fu' is his byre;
Tak this frae me, my bonnie hen,
It's plenty beets the luver's fire."
"For Johnnie o'er the Buskie-glen,
I dinna care a single flie;

He lo es sae weel his scraps and kye,
He has nae luve to spare for me;
But blythe's the blink o' Robie's c'e,
And weel I wat he lo'es me dear:
Ae blink o' him I wad na gie

For Buskie-glen and a' his gear."

"O thoughtless lassie! life's a faught,
The canniest gate, the strife is sair;
But aye fu' han't is fechtin' best,
A hungry care's an unco care:"

But some will spend, and some will spare,
And wilfu' folk maun hae their will;
Syne as ye brew, my maiden fair,

Keep mind that ye maun drink the yill."

"O gear will buy me rigs o' land,

And gear will buy me sheep and kye;
But the tender heart o' leesome luve,
The gowd and siller canna buy:

We may be poor,-Robie and I,
Light is the burden luve lays on;
Content and love brings peace and joy—
What mair hae queens upon a throne?"

FAIR ELIZA.

A GAELIC AIR.

TURN again, thon fair Eliza,

Ae kind blink before we part, Rew on thy despairing lover! Canst thou break his faithfu' heart? Turn again, thou fair Eliza;

If to love thy heart denies, For pity hide the cruel sentence

Under friendship's kind disguise!

Thee, dear maid, hae 1 offended?
The offence is loving thee:
Canst thou wreck his peace for ever,
Wha for thine wad gladly die?
While the life beats in my bosom,

Thou shalt mix in ilka throe:
Turn again, thou lovely maiden,

Ae sweet smile on me bestow!
Not the bee upon the bosom,
In the pride o' sinny noon;
Not the little sporting fairy,

All beneath the simmer inoon;
Not the poet in the moment
Fancy lightens on his e'e,

Kens the pleasure, feels the rapture That thy presence gies to me.

THE POSIE.

Oн, Lave will venture in, where it dare na well be seen,

Oh, love will venture in where wisdom ance has been:

But I will down yon river rove, among the wood sae green

And a' to pu' a posie to my ain dear May. The primrose I will pu', the firstling o' the year, And I will pu' the pink, the emblem o' my dear, For she's the pink o' womankind, and blooms without a peer

And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May.

I'll pu' the budding rose, when Phoebus peeps in view,

For it's like a baumy kiss o' her sweet bonnie mou'!

The hyacinth's for constancy wi' its unchanging blue

An' a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. The lily it is pure, and the lily it is fair, And in her lovely bosom I'll place the lily there; The daisy's for simplicity and unaffected airAnd a to be a posie to my ain dear May.

The hawthorn I will pu', wi' its locks o' siller grey,

Where, like an aged man, it stands at break o'

day;

But the songster's nest within the bush I winna tak away

And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May.

The woodbine I will pu' when e'ening star in

THE BANKS O' DOON.

YE banks and braes o' bonnie Doon,
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair;
How can ye chant ye little birds,

And I sae weary fu' o' care;

Thou'll break my heart thou warbling bird,
That wantons thro' the flowering thorn:"
Thou minds me o' departed joys,
Departed-never to return.

Oft hae I rov'd by bonnie Doon,

To see the rose and woodbine twine;
And ilka bird sang o' its luve,
And, fondly, sae did I o' mine,