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Then farewell to Kelvin grove, bonnie lassie, O,
And adieu to all I love, bonnie lassie, O,

To the river winding clear,

To the fragrant scented breer,

Even to thee of all most dear, bonnie lassie, O.

When upon a foreign shore, bonnie lassie, O,
Should I fall midst battle's roar, bonnie lassie, O,
Then, Helen! shouldst thou hear

Of thy lover on his bier,

To his memory shed a tear, bonnie lassie, O.


In summer blooms the white moss-rose,
Pure, spotless, as the swan;

Yet peerless as celestial-rose,
And fair, grew bonnie Ann!

When youth smiled round my yellow locks,
Ere age had stamp'd me man;

How light the golden days wing'd on
When near my lovely Ann!

Yes, weeping friends! when fell disease
Through all her vitals ran;

Ye little dream'd this throbbing heart
Beat high for bonnie Ann!


How angel-like the drooping maid,
With face all pale and wan,
Embraced me, sigh'd, then faintly smiled-
Adieu! said bonnie Ann!

I call'd upon my love, and wept,
And gazed, till death began
To film her hazel eyes, then shriek'd,
And swoon'd on sainted Ann!

The struggle's o'er!-yon chesnut showers
His fragrance round the span,
Where rests the urn, and bends the yew
O'er the grave of bonnie Ann.


THE damsel who roams like a bee 'mongst the flowers, And kills with her glances each youth flitting round, As she flaunts through the gala of morn's rosy hours,

May be chill'd by detraction, where rivals abound: Ruffled flowers court decay

Early blown-soon away—

When fresh beauties range round in the garden of life, Never more will yon maid,

Who now droops in the shade,

Be cared for or courted by you for a wife.



The debtor when stripp'd by some rogue of his all, 'S turn'd adrift on the world, former friends seem his foes; While the caitiff who robb'd him, smiles over his fall,

And fattens, though drench'd from the dunghill he rose! Even those who were dear—

When prosperity's ear

Only heard of your worth, nor your foibles could traceRevile, slight, and shun ye,

In misery dun ye,

When the shorn-beams of favour glance cold in your face.


SMILE through thy tears, like the blush moss-rose,
When the warm rains fall around it;
Thy fond heart now may seek repose,
From the rankling griefs that wound it.
For a parent's loss the eye may fill,
weep till the heart runs over;
But the pang is longer and deeper still,
That wails o'er the grave of a lover.

Smile through thy tears, like the pale primrose,
When the zephyrs play around it;

In me let thy trembling heart repose,

I will ward the sorrows that wound it.
Ah! vain were the wish, such love to crave,
As warmed thy maiden bosom;

Ere Henry slept, where the alders wave,
O'er the night-shade's drooping blossom.



I mark'd the calm on her young fair face,
As grief's rude storm passed o'er it;
But the ebbing smile had left no trace

Of struggles that rush'd before it.

Each grief has its day:-love weep them away,
As the shower on April's blossom

Balms the drooping flower, till the sun's bright ray
Drinks the tears from its virgin bosom.

The flush o'er her fair face went and came,
As I show'd her a true-love token;

I whisper'd hope, and the young god came,
But her virgin heart was broken!

In Wellburn garden, the white lilies bloom,

Eke the rose round the jessamine's twining; But they wither'd o'er Wellburn Mary's tomb, Ere the red winter sun there was shining.



THOUGH bonnie raise the winter moon,
Yet weir an' strife rang wild aroun',
As Charlie an' his clans cam' down

Frae England, o'er the border:


Their dinsom pibrochs' melody,

Brought the tear frae mony an' e'e,
To think what Charlie yet might dree,
Wi' peril for his warder.

His diamond e'en, as black as sloes,
Were laughing o'er his Roman nose;
His cheeks like maiden-blushing rose;

His teeth like ivory showing,
Whene'er he smiled; the prince was there
In's dimpled chin, an' brent brow fair,
An' curling locks of sandy hair,

Beneath his bonnet flowing.

O mother! ye maun come an' see
Their tents, aboon Lord Cassel's lea;
An' tak' them what ye hae to gie,

Afore the morning early:—
For oh! I fear hope's feeble rays,
Looks forward still on better days!
To flee before his kintra's faes,

Can bode sma' gude to Charlie.


The above Jacobite attempt was suggested after some conversation held with a poor woman, now in the 102d year of her age. In the memorable 1745, when Charles was upon his retreat from England, he pitched his tents for two nights and a day in her neighbourhood; and the second stanza of the foregoing, describes the Chevalier's personal appearance, such as then had been impinged upon her mind, and from which description she never deviates. The fortunes of the prince, so far as they came within the scope of our centarian's observations, are sufficiently interesting, but without our province in this place.

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