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Sure makes a heaven here on earth
John Anderson my Jo.

And ilka lad and lass, &c.
John Anderson my Jo, John,

Fates up and down we've kent,
Yet aye whate'er our lot, John,

We with it were content;
And that's the best of gear, John,

It frae us ne'er can go,
Tho' goud be scant, love we'll ne'er want,
John Anderson my Jo.

And that's the best o' gear, &c.
John Anderson my Jo, John,

Life's hill we clam thegither,
And mony a canty day, John,

We've had wi' ane anither;
But now we're tott'ring down, John,

So hand and hand we go,
And we'll sleep thegither at the fit,
John Anderson my Jo.

But now we're tott'ring down, &c.
John Anderson my Jo, John,

When we again awake,
Our bairns we will collect, John,

And then our journey take;
For hearts devoid of guile, John,

Find friends where'er they go,
And seraphs bright shall guide us right,
John Anderson my

For hearts devoid of guile, &c.

As walking forth to view the plain,

Upon a morning early,
While May's sweet scent did cheer my brain

From flow’rs which grew so rarely,

I chanc'd to meet a pretty maid,

She shin'd though it was fogie,
I ask'd her name; Sweet sir, she said,

My name is Kath'rine Ogie.
I stood awhile, and did admire,

To see a nymph so stately;
So brisk an air there did appear,

In a country maid so neatly,
Such natural sweetness she display'd,

Like lilies in a bogie;
Diana's self was ne'er array'd

Like this same Kath'rine Ogie. Thou flow'r of females, Beautie's queen,

Who sees thee sure must prize thee, Though thou art drest in robes but mean,

Yet these cannot disguise thee; Thy handsome air, and graceful look,

Far excels a clownish rogie; Thou’rt match for laird, or lord, or duke,

My charming Kath'rine Ogie.
0! were I but some shepherd swain,

To feed my flock beside thee;
At bughting-time to leave the plain,

In milking to abide thee;
I'd think myself a happier man,

With Kate, my club and dogie;
Than he that hugs his thousands ten,

Had I but Kath’rine Ogie.
Then I'd despise the imperial throne,

And statesmen's dang’rous stations;
I'd be no king, I'd wear no crown,

I'd smile at conqu’ring nations;
Might I caress, and still possess

This lass of whom I’m vogie;
For they are toys, and still look less,

Compar'd with Kath'rine Ogie.

But I fear the gods have not decreed

For me so fine a creature;
Whose beauty rare makes her exceed

All other works in nature.
Clouds of despair surround my love,

That are both dark and fogie;
Pity my case, ye powers above,

Élse I die for Kath’rine Ogie.


O YOUNG Lochinvar is come out of the west,
Through all the wide border his steed was the best-
And save his good broadsword he weapon had none,
He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone.
So faithful in love and so dauntless in war,
There never was knight like the young

Lochinvar. He staid not for brake, and stopp'd not for stone, He swam the Eske river where ford there was none: But ere he alighted at Netherby gate, The bride had consented, the gallant came late, For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall, 'Mong bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers and all; Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword, For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word, “O come ye in peace, here, or come ye war, “ Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?” “ I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied; “ Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide; “ And now I am come, with this lost love of mine, " To tread but one measure, drink one cup of wine. “ There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, “ Shat would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar.

The bride kiss'd the goblet, the Knight took it up,
He quaff d off the wine, and he threw down the cup,
She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up to sigh,
With a smile on her lip, and a tear in her eye.
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar;
“ Now tread we a measure,” said young Lochinvar.
So stately his form, and so lovely her face,
That never a hall such a galliard did grace;
While her mother did fret, and her father did fume,
And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and

plume. And the bride-maidens whisperid, “ 'Twere better by

far, 6. To have match'd our fair cousin with young Loch

invar." One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, When they reach'd the hall-door and the charger stood So light to the croup the fair lady he swung, So light to the saddle before her he sprung. “She's won, we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur, They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young

Lochinvar. There was mounting 'mong Græmes of the Netherby

clan; Fosters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lea, But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, Have you e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar.



Ve banks and braes and streams around

The castle o' Montgomery,

Grcen be your woods, and fair your flowers,

Your waters never drumlie;
There simmer first unfaulds her robes,

And there they langest tarry;
For there I took the last farewell

Of my dear Highland Mary.
How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk,

How rich the hawthorn's blossom;
As underneath her 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' mony a vow and lock'd embrace,

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

We tore onrselves assunder.
But O! fell death's untimely frost,

That nipt my flower sae early;
Now green's the snd, and cauld's the clay

That wraps my Highland Mary.
O pale, pale now those rosy lips,

I oft hae kiss'd sae fondly;
And clos'd for aye the sparkling glance

That dwelt on me sae kindly!
And mouldering now in silent dust

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

Shall live my Highland Mary.

THE MARINER'S WIFE. But are you sure the news is true?

And are you sure he's well?

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