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I am out of humanity's reach,

I must finish my journey alone, Never hear the sweet music of speech,

I start at the sound of my own. The beasts that roam over the plain,

My form with indifference see; They are so unacquainted with man,

Their tameness is shocking to me.

Society, friendship, and love,

Divinely bestowed upon man, Oh, had I the wings of a dove,

How soon would I taste you again! My sorrows I then might assuage

In the ways of religion and truth, Might learn from the wisdom of age,

And be cheered by the sallies of youth.

Religion! what treasure untold

Resides in that heavenly word !
More precious than silver and gold,

Or all that this earth can afford.
But the sound of the church-going bell

These valleys and rocks never heard ,
Never sighed at the sound of a knell,

Or smiled when a sabbath appeared.

Ye winds, that have made me your sport,

Convey to this desolate shore Some cordial endearing report

Of a land I shall visit no more. My friends, do thoy now and then send

A wish or a thought after me? O tell me I yet have a friend,

Though a friend I am never to see.

How fleet is a glance of the mind !

Compared with the speed of its flight,
The tempest itself lags behind,

And the swift-winged arrows of light.
When I think of my own native land,

In a moment I seem to be there;
But alas! recollection at hand

Soon hurries me back to despair.

But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest,

The beast is laid down in his lair,
Even here is a season of rest,

And I to my cabin repair.
There's mercy in every place,

And mercy, encouraging thought!
Gives even affliction a grace,

And reconciles man to his lot.

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My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here;
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer;
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe,
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.

.
Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North,
The birth-place of valour, the country of worth;
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,
The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.

Farewell to the mountains high cover'd with snow; Farewell to the straths and green valleys below; Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods;

Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods.
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here;
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer;
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe,
My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go.

COMING THROUGH THE RYE.

Coming through the rye, poor body,

Coming through the rye,
She draiglet a' her petticoatie,

Coming through the rye.
Jenny's a' wat, poor body,

Jenny's seldom dry;
She draiglet a' her petticoatie,

Coming through the rye.

Gin a body meet a body

Coming through the rye;
Gin a body kiss a body –

Need a body cry?

Gin a body meet a body

Coming through the glen,
Gin a body kiss a body

Need the world ken ?
Jenny's a' wat, poor body;

Jenny's seldom dry;
She draiglet a' her petticoatie,

Coming through the rye.

HIGHLAND MARY.

Ye banks, and braes, and streams around

The castle o' Montgomery,
Green be your woods, and fair your flowers,

Your waters never drumlie!
There simmer first unfauld her robes,

And there the langest tarry;
For there I took the last fareweel

O' my sweet Highland Mary.

How sweetly bloom’d the gay green birk,

How rich the hawthorn's blossom,
As underneath their fragrant shade

I clasp'd her to my bosom!
The golden hours, on angel wings,

Flew o'er me and my dearie;
For dear to me, as light and life,

Was my sweet Highland Mary.

Wi' monie a vow, and lock'd embrace,

Our parting was fu' tender;
And, pledging aft to meet again,

We tore oursels asunder;
But oh! fell death's untimely frost,

That nipt my flower sae early!
Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay,

That wraps my Highland Mary!

O pale, pale now, those rosy lips,

I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly!
And closed for ay the sparkling glance,

That dwelt on me sae kindly!
And mould' ring now in silent dust,

That heart that lo'ed me dearly!
But still within my bosom's core

Shall live my Highland Mary.

TO MARY IN HEAVEN.

Thou lingering star, with less'ning ray,

That lov'st to greet the early morn, Again thou usher'st in the day

My Mary from my soul was torn. O Mary! dear departed shade!

Where is thy place of blissful rest? Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ?

Hear’st thou the groans that rend his breast?

That sacred hour can I forget?

Can I forget the hallow'd grove, Where by the winding Ayr we met,

To live one day of parting love? Eternity will not efface

Those records dear of transports past; Thy image at our last embrace;

Ah! little thought we 'twas our last!

Ayr gurgling kiss'd his pebbled shore,

O'erhung with wild woods, thick’ning green; The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar,

Twin'd am'rous round the raptur'd scene. The flowers sprang wanton to be prest,

The birds sang love on ev'ry spray, Till too, too soon, the glowing west

Proclaim'd the speed of winged day.

Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes,

And fondly broods with miser care! Time but the impression deeper makes,

As streams their channels deeper wear. My Mary, dear departed shade!

Where is thy blissful place of rest? Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ?

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?

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