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I saw my Jamie s wraith, for I cou'd na think it he,
'Till he said I'm come hame, love, to marry thee.
Sair, sair did we greet, and mickle did we say,
We took but ane kiss, and we tore ourselves away,
I wish I was dead, but I'm na like to dee,
O why was I born to say wae's me;

like a ghaist, and I care na to spin,
I dare na think of Jamie for that wou'd be a sin,
So I will do my best a gude wife to be,
For Auld Robin Gray is very kind to me.

A HIGHLAND lad my love was born,
The lowland laws he held in scorn,
But he still was faithful to his clan.
My gallant braw John Highland man,
Sing hey my braw John Highland man,
Sing ho my braw John Highland man,
There's not a lad in a' the clan,
Can match we my braw Highland man.
With his bonnet blue and tartan plaid,
And good claymore down by his side,
The ladies' hearts he did trepan,
My gallant braw John Highland man,
Sing hey my braw John Highland man,
Sing ho my braw John Highland man,
There's not a lad in a' the clan,
Can match we my braw Highland man.

DRAW THE SWORD, SCOTLAND. DRAW the sword, Scotland, Scotland, Scotland!

Over mountain and moor hath passed the war-sign: The pibroch is pealing, pealing, pealing,

Who heeds not the summons is nae son o' thine.

The clans they are gath'ring, gath'ring, gath'ring,

The clans they are gath'ring by loch and by lea; The banners they are flying, flying, flying,

The banners they are flying that lead to victory. Draw the sword, Scotland, Scotland, Scotland!

Charge as ye’ve charged in the days o' lang syne; Sound to the onset, the onset, the onset,

He who but falters is nae son o' thine.
Sheathe the sword, Scotland, Scotland, Scotland!

Sheathe the sword, Scotland, for dimmed is its shine; The foemen are fleeing, fleeing, fleeing,

And wha ken nae mercy is nae son o' thine!
The struggle is over, over, over,

The struggle is over the victory won!
There are tears for the fallen, the fallen, the fallen,

And glory for all who their duty have done!
Sheathe the sword, Scotland, Scotland, Scotland!

With thy loved thistle new laurels entwine; Time shall ne'er part them, part them, part them,

But hand down the garland to each son o' thine,

GOOD NIGHT, AN’ JOY BE WI' YOU A'. Good night, and joy be wi' you a';

Your harmless mirth has cheer'd my heart;
May life's fell blasts out o'er ye blaw;

In sorrow may ye never part!
My spirit lives, but strength is gone;

The mountain fires now blaze in vain:
Remember, sons, the deeds I've done,

And in your deeds l’il live again! When on your muir our gallant clan

Frae boasting foes their banners tore,
Wha show'd himself a better man,

Or fiercer wav'd the red claymore?
But when in peace-then mark me there

When through the glen the wand'rer came,

I gave him of our lordly fare,

I gave him here a welcome hame.
The auld will speak, the young maun hear;

Be cantie, but be good and leal;
Your ain ills ay hae heart to bear,


hae heart to feel. So ere I set, I'll see you shine,

I'll see you triumph ere 1 fa';
My parting breath shall boast you mine

Good night, and joy be wi' ye a'.


I GAED a waefu' gate yestreen,

A gate, I fear, I'll dearly rue;
I gat my death frae twa sweet een,

Twa lovely een o' bonnie blue.
Twas not her golden ringlets bright,

Her lips like roses wat wi' dew,
Her heaving bosom, lily white,

It was her een sae bonnie blue.
She talked, she smiled, my heart she wiled,

She charmed my soul, I wistna how;
And aye the stound, the deadly wound,

Cam frae her een sae bonnie blue.
But spare to speak, and spare to speed,

She'll aiblins listen to my vow;
Should she refuse I'll lay my

To her twa een sae bonnie blue.

Away ye gay landscapes, ye gardens of roses,

In you let the minions of luxury rove;

Restore me the rock where the snow flake reposes,

For still they are sacred to freedom and love. Yet, Caledonia, dear are thy mountains,

Round their white summits tho' elements war, Tho' cataracts foam, 'stead of smooth flowing foun

tains, I sigh for the valley of dark Loch-na-garr. Ah! there my young footings in infancy wanderd;

My cap was the bonnet, my cloak was the plaid; On chieftains long perish'd my memory ponder'd,

As daily I stray'd through the pine-cover'd glade. I sought not my home till the day's dying glory Gave place to the rays of the bright polar star, For fancy was cheer'd by traditional story

Disclos'd by the natives of dark Loch-na-garr. Shades of the dead! have I not heard your voices

Rise on the night-rolling breath of the gale? Surely the soul of the hero rejoices,

And rides on the wind, o'er his own Highland dale. Round Loch-na-garr, whilst the stormy mist gathers,

Winter presides in his cold icy car:
Clouds there encircle the forms of my fathers,

They dwell 'mid the tempests of dark Loch-na-garr. Ill-starr'd, though brave, did vision foreboding,

Tell you that fate had forsaken your cause? Ah! where you designed to die at Culloden,

Victory crown'd not your fall with applause Still were you happy in death's early slumber.

You rest with your clan in the caves of Braemar, The pibroch resounds to the piper's bold number,

Your deeds on the echoes of dark Loch-na-garr. Years have rollid on, Loch-na-garr, since I left you,

Years must elapse ere I tread you again, Nature of verdure and flow'rs has bereft you;

Yet still you are dearer than Albion's plain.

England, thy beauties are tame and domestic,

To one who has roam’d on the mountains afar, 0, for the crags that are wild and majestic,

The steep frowning glories of dark Loch-na-gart.

THE lovely moon had climbed the hill

Where eagles big aboon the Dee,
And like the looks of a lovely dame,

Brought joy to every body's ee;
A' but sweet Mary, deep in sleep,

Her thoughts on Sandie far at sea;
A voice drapt saftly on her ear,

“Sweet Mary, weep nae mair for me!"
She lifted up her waukening een,

To see from whence the voice might be,
And there she saw her Sandie stand,

Pale, bending on her hallow ee!
"O Mary dear, lament nae mair,

I'm in death's thraws below the sea;
Thy weeping makes me sad in bliss

Sae, Mary, weep nae mair for me!
* The wind slept when we left the bay,

But soon it waked and raised the main,
And God he bore us down the deep,

Who strave wi' him but strave in vain!
He stretch'd his arm, and took me up,

Tho' laith I was to gang but thee:
I look frae heaven aboon the storm,

Sae, Mary, weep nae mair for me!
« Take aff thae bride sheets frae thy bed

Which thou hast faulded down for me;
Unrobe thee of thy earthly stole

I'll meet wi' thee in heaven hie.'

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