I love thee, Nith, thy banks and braes,
Tho' mem'ry there my bosom tear;
For there he rov'd that brake my heart,
Yet to that heart, ah! still how dear!

BANNOCKS O' BARLEY.

The air to which these words were written gave the name to an old song.

Tune The Killogie.

BANNOCKS o' bear meal,
Bannocks o' barley;
Here's to the Highlandman's
Bannocks o' barley.

Wha in a brulzie

Will first cry a parley?
Never the lads wi'

The bannocks o' barley.

Bannocks o' bear meal,
Bannocks o' barley;
Here's to the lads wi'
The bannocks o' barley.
Wha in his wae-days
Were loyal to Charlie?
Wha but the lads wi'

The bannocks o' barley.

HEE BALOU.

Tune-The Highland Balou.

HEE balou! my sweet wee Donald,
Picture o' the great Clanronald;

The sentiment is that of an old Highland nursery song; the Highland chief and his clan were formerly little better than robbers; they taught it to their children from their cradle, that might was right, especially so far as the lowland cattle were concerned. The origin of this song is said to be, that a highland lady sung a song in Gaelic, and explained it in English to the poet, when he quickly rendered it as it now appears.

Brawlie kens our wanton chief
Wha got my young Highland thief.
Leeze me on thy bonnie craigie,
An' thou live, thou'll steal a naigie:
Travel the country thro' and thro',
And bring hame a Carlisle cow.
Thro' the Lawlands, o'er the border,
Weel, my babie, may thou furder:
Herry the louns o' the laigh countree,
Syne to the Highlands hame to me.

HERE'S HIS HEALTH IN WATER!
Tune-The Job of Journey-work.

ALTHO' my back be at the wa',
And tho' he be the fautor;
Altho' my back be at the wa',
Yet, here's his health in water!
O! wae gae by his wanton sides,
Sae brawlie he could flatter;
Till for his sake I'm slighted sair,
And dree the kintra clatter.
But tho' my back be at the wa',
And though he be the fautor;
But tho' my back be at the wa',
Yet, here's his health in water!

HERE'S TO THY HEALTH, MY
BONNIE LASS.

This was a song of the Poet's youthful days.
Tune.-Laggan Burn,

HERE'S to thy health, my bonnie lass,
Gude night, and joy be wi' thee;
I'll come nae mair to thy bower door,
To tell thee that I lo'e thee.

O dinna think, my pretty pink,

But I can live without thee:
I vow and swear I dinna care

How lang ye look about ye.
Thou'rt ay sae free informing me
Thou hast nae mind to marry;
I'll be as free informing thee
Nae time hae I to tarry.

I ken thy friends try ilka means,
Frae wedlock to delay thee;
Depending on some higher chance-
But fortune may betray thee.

I ken they scorn my low estate,
But that does never grieve me;
But I'm as free as any he,

Sma' siller will relieve me.

I count my health my greatest wealth,
Sae long as I'll enjoy it :

I'll fear nae scant, I'll bode nae want,
As lang's I get employment.

But far off fowls hae feathers fair,

And ay until ye try them :

Tho' they seem fair, still have a care,

They may prove waur than I am.

But at twal at night, when the moon shines bright,
My dear, I'll come and see thee;

For the man that lo'es his mistress weel
Nae travel makes him weary.

THE FAREWELL.

Tune-It was a' for our rightfu' king.

There is some doubt as to the authorship of this song-Hogg attributes it to Captain Ogilvie, who was killed in 1695; but there is reason to believe that it was an old song revived by Burns for Johnson's Museum.

It was a' for our rightfu' king,
We left fair Scotland's strand;

It was a' for our rightfu' king
We e'er saw Irish land,
My dear;

We e'er saw Irish land.

Now a' is done that men can do,

And a' is done in vain;

My love and native land farewell,
For I maun cross the main,
My dear;

For 1 maun cross the main.

He turn'd him right, and round about
Upon the Irish shore;

And gae his bridle-reins a shake,
With adieu for evermore,
My dear;

With adieu for evermore.

The sodger from the wars returns,
The sailor frae the main ;
But I hae parted frae my love,

Never to meet again,

My dear;

Never to meet again.

When day is gane, and night is come,
And a' folk bound to sleep;

I think on him that's far awa',
The lee-lang night, and weep,
My dear;

The lee-lang night, and weep.

O STEER HER UP.

From an old song of the same name. Tune-O steer her up, and haud her gaun. O STEER her and haud her gaunup

Her mother's at the mill, jo;

And gin she winna take a man,
E'en let her take her will, jo:
First shore her wi' a kindly kiss,
And ca' another gill, jo,
And gin she take the thing amiss,
E'en let her flyte her fill, jo.

O steer her up, and be na blate,
An' gin she take it ill, jo,
Then lea'e the lassie till her fate,
And time nae longer spill, jo:
Ne'er break your heart for ae rebute,
But think upon it still, jo;
Then gin the lassie winna do't,
Ye'll fin' anither will, jo.

THE FETE CHAMPETRE.

On the occasion of a Fete Champetre, given by Mr. Cunninghame, of Enterkin, on his coming to his Estates and from its no velty it was supposed he had an intention of becoming a candi date for the representation of his county.

Tune-Killiecrankie.

O WHA will to Saint Stephen's house,
To do our errands there, man?
O wha will to Saint Stephen's house,
O' th' merry lads of Ayr, man?
Or will we send a man-o'-law?
Or will we send a sodger?
Or him wha led o'er Scotland a'
The meikle Ursa-Major?

Come, will ye court a noble lord,
Or buy a score o' lairds, man?
For worth and honour pawn their word,
Their vote shall be Glencaird's, man?
Ane gies them coin, ane gies thein wine,
Anither gies them clatter;