It was upon a Lammas night, The time flew by, wi' tentless heed, Till 'tween the late and early, The sky was blue, the wind was still, I lock'd her in my fond embrace; But by the moon and stars SO bright, That shone that hour so clearly! She ay shall bless that happy night Amang the rigs o' barley. I hae been blythe wi' comrades dear; I hae been merry drinking; Tho' three times doubl'd fairly, That happy night was worth them a', Amang the rigs o' barley. CHORUS. Corn rigs, an' barley rigs, MY NANIE, 0. BEHIND yon hills where Lugar flows, 'Mang moors an' mosses many, O, The wintry sun the day has clos'd, And I'll awa to Nanie, O. The westlin wind blaws loud an' shill; The night's baith mirk and rainy, O: But I'll get my plaid, an' out I'll steal, An' owre the hill to Nanie, O. Now westlin winds, and slaught'ring | Avaunt, away! the cruel sway, Tyrannic man's dominion;" The sportsman's joy, the murd'ring WHEN GUILFORD GOOD OUR PILOT STOOD. A FRAGMENT. TUNE-GILLICRANKIE.' WHEN Guilford good our Pilot stood, | For Paddy Burke, like ony Turk, An' did our hellim thraw, man, Ae night, at tea, began a plea, Then thro' the lakes Montgomery takes, I wat he was na slaw, man; Poor Tammy Gage, within a cage, Was kept at Boston ha', man; Till Willie Howe took o'er the knowe For Philadelphia, man: Wi' sword an' gun he thought a sin Guid Christian bluid to draw, man; But at New York, wi' knife an' fork, Sir Loin he hacked sma', man. Burgoyne gaed up, like spur an' whip, Till Fraser brave did fa', man; Then lost his way, ae misty day, In Saratoga shaw, man. Cornwallis fought as lang's he dought, An' did the Buckskins claw, man; But Clinton's glaive frae rust to save, He hung it to the wa', man. Then Montague, an' Guilford too, The German Chief to thraw, man: Nae mercy had at a', man; Then Rockingham took up the game; his Conform to gospel law, man; Saint Stephen's boys, wi' jarring noise, They did his measures thraw, man, For North an' Fox united stocks, An' bore him to the wa', man. Then Clubs an' Hearts were Charlie's cartes, He swept the stakes awa', man, Till the Diamond's Ace, of Indian race, Led him a sair faux pas, man: The Saxon lads, wi' loud placads, On Chatham's boy did ca', man; An' Scotland drew her pipe, an' blew, 'Up, Willie, waur them a', man!' Behind the throne then Grenville's gone, (Inspired Bardies saw, man) Wi' kindling eyes cry'd, 'Willie, rise! Would I hae fear'd them a', man? But, word an' blow, North, Fox, and Co. An' did her whittle draw, man; CALEDONIA. TUNE-CALEDONIAN HUNT's delight.' THERE was once a day, but old Time then was young, To hunt, or to pasture, or do what she would: And pledg'd her their godheads to warrant it good. A lambkin in peace, but a lion in war, The pride of her kindred the heroine grew; Her grandsire, old Odin triumphantly swore, 'Whoe'er shall provoke thee, th' encounter shall rue!' With tillage or pasture at times she would sport, To feed her fair flocks by her green rustling corn: Long quiet she reign'd; till thitherward steers They darken'd the air, and they plunder'd the land. The fell Harpy-raven took wing from the north, The scourge of the seas, and the dread of the shore; The wild Scandinavian boar issu'd forth To wanton in carnage and wallow in gore: O'er countries and kingdoms their fury prevail'd, No arts could appease them, no arms could rebel : But brave Caledonia in vain they assail'd, As Largs well can witness, and Loncartie tell. The Cameleon-savage disturb'd her repose, And robb'd him at once of his hopes and his life : Oft prowling, ensanguin'd the Tweed's silver flood; But, taught by the bright Caledonian lance, He learned to fear in his own native wood. Thus bold, independent, unconquer'd, and free, I'll prove it from Euclid as clear as the sun : The upright is Chance, and old Time is the base; But brave Čaledonia's the hypothenuse; Then ergo, she'll match them, and match them always. THE BIG-BELLIED BOTTLE. TUNE PREPARE, MY DEAR BRETHREN, TO THE TAVERN LET'S FLY.' No churchman am I for to rail and to write, The peer I don't envy, I give him his bow; But a club of good fellows, like those that are there, Here passes the squire on his brother- his horse; The wife of my bosom, alas! she did die; I once was persuaded a venture to make; A letter inform'd me that all was to wreck; But the pursy old landlord just waddled up stairs, 'Life's cares they are comforts,' a maxim laid down By the bard, what d'ye call him, that wore the black gown; A STANZA ADDED IN A MASON LODGE. |