How many a robe sae gaily floats!
What sparkling jewels glance, man,
To Harmony's enchanting notes,
As moves the mazy dance, man!
The echoing wood, the winding flood,
Like Paradise did glitter,
When angels met, at Adam's yett,
To hold their fête champêtre.
When Politics came there, to mix
And make his ether-stane, man!
He circled round the magic ground,
But entrance found he nane, man:
He blushed for shame, he quat his name,
Forswore it every letter,

Wi' humble prayer to join and share

This festive fête champêtre.

HERE'S A HEALTH TO THEM THAT'S AWA'!

HERE'S a health to them that's awa'!

Here's a health to them that's awa'!
And wha winna wish guid luck to our cause,
May never guid luck be their fa'!

It's guid to be merry and wise,

It's guid to be honest and true,
It's guid to support Caledonia's cause,
And bide by the buff and the blue.

Here's a health to them that's awa'!

Here's a health to them that's awa'!

Here's a health to Charlie the chief of the clan,
Although that his band be but sma'!

May Liberty meet wi' success!

May Prudence protect her frae evil!

May tyrants and tyranny tine in the midst,
And wander their way to the Devil!

Here's a health to them that's awa'!

Here's a health to them that's awa'!
Here's a health to Tammie the Norland laddie,
That lives at the lug o' the law!'
Here's freedom to him that wad read!

Here's freedom to him that wad write!

There's nane ever feared that the truth should be heard But they wham the truth wad indite.

Here's a health to them that's awa'!

Here's a health to them that's awa'! Here's Chieftain M'Leod, a chieftain worth gowd, Though bred amang mountains o' snaw! Here's a health to them that's awa'! Here's a health to them that's awa'! And wha winna wish guid luck to our cause, May never guid luck be their fa'!

THE DUMFRIES VOLUNTEERS.

DOES haughty Gaul invasion threat?
Then let the louns beware, sir!
There's wooden walls upon our seas,
And volunteers on shore, sir.
The Nith shall rin to Corsincon,
The Criffel sink in Solway,
Ere we permit a foreign foe
On British ground to rally!

We'll ne'er permit a foreign foe
On British ground to rally.

O let us not, like snarling curs,
In wrangling be divided;
Till, slap! come in an unco loun,
And wi' a rung decide it.

Be Britain still to Britain true,
Amang oursel's united;

For never but by British hands
Maun British wrangs be righted!
For never, &c.

The kettle o' the Kirk and State,
Perhaps a clout may fail in 't;
But deil a foreign tinkler loun
Shall ever ca' a nail in 't.

Our fathers' bluid the kettle bought;
And wha wad dare to spoil it,
By heavens! the sacrilegious dog
Shall fuel be to boil it!

By heavens, &c.

The wretch that wad a tyrant own,

And the wretch, his true-sworn brother,
Wha would set the mob aboon the throne,
May they be damned together!

Wha will not sing 'God save the King!'
Shall hang as high's the steeple ;
But while we sing 'God save the King!'
We'll ne'er forget the People.

But while we sing, &c.

THE WINTER OF LIFE.

BUT lately seen in gladsome green,
The woods rejoiced the day;
Through gentle showers the laughing flowers
In double pride were gay;

But now our joys are fled

On winter blasts awa';
Yet maiden May, in rich array,
Again shall bring them a'.

But my

white pow, nae kindly thowe
Shall melt the snaws of age:

My trunk of eild, but buss or bield,
Sinks in Time's wintry rage.
Oh, age has weary days,

And nights o' sleepless pain!
Thou golden time o' youthfu' prime,

Why com'st thou not again?

TO MARY.

COULD aught of song declare my pains,
Could artful numbers move thee,
The Muse should tell, in laboured strain,
O Mary, how I love thee!

They who but feign a wounded heart
May teach the lyre to languish;

But what avails the pride of art

When wastes the soul with anguish?

Then let the sudden bursting sigh
The heart-felt pang discover;
And in the keen, yet tender eye,
O read th' imploring lover.
For well I know thy gentle mind
Disdains art's gay disguising;
Beyond what fancy e'er refined,
The voice of Nature prizing.

THE HIGHLAND WIDOW'S LAMENT.

OH, I am come to the low countrie,
Och-on, och-on, och-rie!

Without a penny in my purse

To buy a meal to me.

It was na sae in the Highland hills, Och-on, och-on, och-rie!

Nae woman in the country wide

Sae happy was as me.

For then I had a score o' kye,
Och-on, och-on, och-rie!
Feeding on yon hills so high,
And giving milk to me.

And there I had threescore o'
Och-on, och-on, och-rie!

yowes,

Skipping on yon bonnie knowes,
And casting woo' to me.

I was the happiest of a' the clan,-
Sair, sair may I repine;

For Donald was the brawest man,
And Donald he was mine.

Till Charlie Stuart cam at last,
Sae far to set us free;

My Donald's arm was wanted then
For Scotland and for me.

Their waefu' fate what need I tell? Right to the wrang did yield: My Donald and his country fell Upon Culloden-field.

Och-on, O Donald, O!

Och-on, och-on, och-rie!

Nae woman in the warld wide
Sae wretched now as me.