HUNTING SONG.

I red you beware at the hunting.

The heather was blooming, the meadows, were

mawn,

Our lads gaed a hunting, ae day at the dawn,
O'er moors and o'er mosses and mony a glen,
At length they discovered a bonie moor-hen.

I red you beware at the hunting, young men ; I red you beware at the hunting, young men; Tak some on the wing, and some as they spring, But cannily steal on a bonie moor-hen.

Sweet brushing the dew from the brown heather bells,

Her colors betray'd her on yon mossy fells; Her plumage outlustred the pride o' the spring, And O! as she wantoned gay on the wing.

I red, &c.

Auld

Auld Phoebus himsel, as he peep'd o'er the

hill;

In spite at her plumage he tryed his skill;

He levell'd his rays where she bask'd on the brae

His rays were outshone, and but mark'd where

she lay.

I red, &c.

They hunted the valley, they hunted the hill; The best of our lads wi' the best o' their skill; But still as the fairest she sat in their sight, Then, whirr! she was over, a mile at a flight.I red, &c..

YOUNG PEGGY.

Young Peggy blooms our boniest lass,

Her blush is like the morning,

1

The rosy dawn, the springing grass,

With early gems adorning :
Her eyes outshine the radiant beams
That gild the passing shower,
And glitter o'er the crystal streams,
And cheer each fresh'ning flower.

Her lips more than the cherries bright,
A richer die has grac'd them,
They charm th' admiring gazer's sight
And sweetly tempt to taste them:
Her smile is as the ev'ning mild,
When feather'd pairs are courting,
And little lambkins wanton wild,
In playful bands disporting.

Were Fortune lovely Peggy's foe,
Such sweetness would relent her,
As blooming spring unbends the brow
Of surly, savage winter.
Detraction's eye no aim can gain
Her winning pow'rs to lessen :
And fretful envy grins in vain,
The poison'd tooth to fasten.

Ye pow'rs of Honor, Love, and Truth,
From ev'ry ill defend her;
Inspire the highly favor'd youth
The destinies intend her;
Still fan the sweet connubial flame
Responsive in each bosom ;
And bless the dear parental name
With many a filial blossom.*

SONG.

* This was one of the poet's earliest compositions. It is copied from a MS. book, which he had before his first publication.

SONG.

Tune-The King of France, he rade a Race.

Amang the trees where humming bees
At buds and flowers were hinging, O
Auld Caledon drew out her drone,
And to her pipe was singing; O
'Twas Pibroch,* sang, strathspey, or reels,
She dirl❜d them aff, fu' clearly, O
When there cam a yell o' foreign squeels,
That dang her tapsalteerie, 0-

craws and queer

ha ha's,

Their capon
They made our lugs grow eerie, O
The hungry bike did scrape and pike

'Till we were wae and weary; 0— But a royal ghaist wha ance was cas'd A prisoner aughteen year awa,

He fir'd a fiddler in the North

That dang them tapsalteerie, O.

* Pibroch-A Highland war song, adapted to the bagpipe.

FINIS.

J. M'CREERY, Printer, Fleet-Street.