Sound the trump from pole to pole, LIFE LET US CHERISH.-By Mozart. LIFE let us cherish While yet the taper glows, And the fresh flow'ret, Pluck ere it close. Why are we fond of toil and care, Which blossoms in our way? The genial seasons soon are o'er, Away with every toil and care, Life let us cherish, &c. ROY'S WIFE OF ALDIVALLOCH.-By Mrs. Grant. Roy's wife of Aldivalloch, Roy's wife of Aldivalloch; Wat ye how she cheated me, As I came o'er the braes of Balloch. She vow'd, she swore she wad be mine, Roy's wife of Aldivalloch, Roy's wife of Aldivalloch; Wat ye how she cheated me, As I came o'er the braes of Balloch. O she was a canty quean, And weel could dance the Highland walloch; How happy I, had she been mine, Or I'd been Roy of Aldivalloch. Roy's wife, &c. Roy's wife of Aldivalloch, Roy's wife of Aldivalloch; Wat ye how she cheated me, As I came o'er the braes of Balloch. Her hair sae fair, her e'en sae clear, Her wee bit mou', sac sweet and bonny, Tho' she's forever left her Johnny. Roy's wife of Aldivalloch, Roy's wife of Aldivalloch; Wat ye how she cheated me, As I came o'er the braes of Balloch. I think his days will nae be mony, THE SOLDIER'S ADIEU.—By Dibdin. ADIEU, adieu, my only life, My honor calls me from thee, Remember thou'rt a soldier's wife, Those tears but ill become thee; What though by duty I am call'd, When thundering cannons rattle, Where valor's self might stand appall'd Where valor's self might stand appall'd When on the wings of thy dear love, To heaven above Thy fervent orisons are flown, The tender pray'r thou puttest up there, My safety thy fair truth shall be Enough, with that benignant smile Though thundering cannons rattle, Though murdering carnage stalk in view, When on the wings of thy true love, To heaven above, &c. HIGHLAND MARY.-By R. Burns. Yr banks and braes, and streams around Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk, Wi' mony a vow and lock'd embrace, O pale, pale now those rosy lips, And closed for aye the sparkling glance HAIL TO THE CHIEF. HAIL to the Chief, who in triumph advances, Earth lend it sap anew; Gaily to bourgeon, and broadly to grow; Roderigh Vich Alpine Dhu, ho! ieroe!" Ours is no sapling, chance-sown by the fountain, (tain, When the whirlwind has stript every leaf on the mounThe more shall Clan Alpine exuli in her shade. ' Moor'd in the rifted rock, Proof to the tempest's shock, Firmer he roots him, the ruder it blow; "Roderigh Vich Alpine Dhu, ho! ieroe!" Proudly our pibroch has thrill'd in Glen Fruin, Long shall lament our rade, Think of Clan Alpine with fear and with woe. Shake when they hear agen, "Roderigh Vich Alpine Dhu, ho!" ieroe!" Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the highlands! Worthy such noble stem, Honor'd and blest in their shadow may grow; Ring through her deepmost glen, "Roderigh Vich Alpine Dhu, ho! ieroe!" |