Her face is fair, her heart is true,

As spotless as she's bonny, O: The opening gowan, wat wi' dew, Nae purer is than Nannie, O.

A country lad is my degree,

And few there be that ken me, O; But what care I how few they be? I'm welcome aye to Nannie, O.

My riches a's my penny-fee,

And I maun guide it cannie, O; But warl's gear ne'er troubles me,

My thoughts are a' my Nannie, O.

Our auld guidman delights to view

His sheep and kye thrive bonny, O; But I'm as blithe that hauds his pleugh, And has na care but Nannie, O.

Come weel, come woe, I care na by,

I'll tak what Heaven will sen' me, O;

Nae ither care in life have I

But live and love my Nannie, O!

"Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays."

Afton Water.

FLOW gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,
Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream-
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

Thou stock-dove, whose echo resounds through the glen,

Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den,

Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear

I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair.

How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills,
Far mark'd with the courses of clear winding rills;
There daily I wander as noon rises high,

My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye.

How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below,
Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow;
There, oft as mild evening weeps over the lea,
The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me.

Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides ;
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave,

As gathering sweet flowerets she stems thy clear wave.

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream-
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream!

The Braes o' Ballochmyle.

TUNE-" Braes o' Ballochmyle."

THE Catrine woods were yellow seen,
The flowers decay'd on Catrine lea,
Nae laverock sang on hillock green,
But nature sicken'd on the ee.
Through faded groves Maria sang,

Hersel' in beauty's bloom the while,
And aye the wild-wood echoes rang,
Fareweel the Braes o' Ballochmyle!

Low in your wintry beds, ye flowers,
Again ye'll flourish fresh and fair;
Ye birdies dumb, in withering bowers,
Again ye'll charm the vocal air:

But here, alas! for me nae mair

Shall birdie charm or floweret smile :

Fareweel the bonny banks of Ayr,

Fareweel, fareweel, sweet Ballochmyle!

The Lass o' Ballochmyle.

TUNE-“Miss Forbes's Farewell to Banff.”

'Twas even the dewy fields were green,
On every blade the pearls hang,
The zephyrs wanton'd round the bean,
And bore its fragrant sweets alang:
In every glen the mavis sang,

All nature listening seem'd the while, Except where greenwood echoes rang Amang the braes o' Ballochmyle.

With careless step I onward stray'd,
My heart rejoiced in Nature's joy,
When musing in a lonely glade,

A maiden fair I chanced to spy;
Her look was like the morning's eye,
Her air like Nature's vernal smile:

Perfection whisper'd, passing by,

Behold the lass o' Ballochmyle!