FLOW GENTLY, SWEET AFTON.

TUNE- The Yellow-haired Laddie.

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 for

bear,

I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair.

How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills, Far marked 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 HIGHLAND LASSIE.

NAE gentle dames, though e'er sae fair,

Shall ever be my Muse's care :

Their titles a' are empty show;
Gie me my Highland lassie, O.

Within the glen sae bushy, O,
Aboon the plains sae rushy, O,
I set me down wi' right good-will,
To sing my Highland lassie, O.

Oh were yon hills and valleys mine,
Yon palace and yon gardens fine,
The world then the love should know
I bear my Highland lassie, O.

But fickle Fortune frowns on me,
And I maun cross the raging sea;
But while my crimson currents flow,
I'll love my Highland lassie, O.

Although through foreign climes I range,
I know her heart will never change,
For her bosom burns with honour's glow,
My faithful Highland lassie, O.

For her I'll dare the billows' roar,
For her I'll trace a distant shore,
That Indian wealth may lustre throw
Around my Highland lassie, O.

She has my heart, she has my hand,
By sacred truth and honour's band!
"Till the mortal stroke shall lay me low,
I'm thine, my Highland lassie, O.

Farewell the glen sae bushy, O!
Farewell the plain sae rushy, O!
To other lands I now must go,
To sing my Highland lassie, O.

A PRAYER FOR MARY.

POWERS celestial whose protection
Ever guards the virtuous fair,

While in distant climes I wander,
Let my Mary be your care:
Let her form sae fair and faultless,
Fair and faultless as your own,

Let my Mary's kindred spirit
Draw

1

your choicest influence down

Make the gales you waft around her
Soft and peaceful as her breast;
Breathing in the breeze that fans her,
Soothe her bosom into rest :

Guardian angels! oh, protect her
When in distant lands I roam;
To realms unknown while fate exiles me,
Make her bosom still my home.

WILL YE GO TO THE INDIES, MY MARY?

WILL ye go to the Indies, my Mary,

And leave auld Scotia's shore?

Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary,
Across the Atlantic's roar?

Oh sweet grow the lime and the orange,
And the apple on the pine;

But a' the charms o' the Indies
Can never equal thine.

I hae sworn by the Heavens to my Mary,
I hae sworn by the Heavens to be true;
And sae may the Heavens forget me
When I forget my vow!

Oh plight me your faith, my Mary,
And plight me your lily-white hand;
Oh plight me your faith, my Mary,
Before I leave Scotia's strand.

We hae plighted our troth, my Mary,
In mutual affection to join;

And curst be the cause that shall part us,

The hour and the moment o' time!

ELIZA.

TUNE- Gilderoy.

FROM thee, Eliza, I must go,

And from my native shore:

The cruel fates between us throw
A boundless ocean's roar;
But boundless oceans, roaring wide
Between my love and me,

They never, never can divide
My heart and soul from thee.

Farewell, farewell, Eliza dear,
The maid that I adore!
A boding voice is in my ear,
We part to meet no more!
But the last throb that leaves my heart,
While death stands victor by,
That throb, Eliza, is thy part,
And thine that latest sigh!

THOUGH CRUEL FATE,1

TUNE-The Northern Lass.

HOUGH cruel fate should bid us part,

THO

Far as the pole and line;

Her dear idea round my heart

Should tenderly entwine.

Though mountains rise and deserts howl,

And oceans roar between,
Yet dearer than my deathless soul,

I still would love my Jean.

1 See ante, p. 78.