EVAN BANKS.

SLOW spreads the gloom my soul desires,
The sun from India's shore retires ;
To Evan banks, with temp'rate ray
Home of my youth, it leads the day.
Oh! banks to me for ever dear!

Oh! stream whose murmurs still I hear!

All, all my hopes of bliss reside,

Where Evan mingles with the Clyde.

And she, in simple beauty drest,
Whose image lives within my breast;
Who trembling heard my parting sigh,
And long pursued me with her eye!
Does she, with heart unchang'd as mine,
Oft in the vocal bowers recline?
Or where yon grot o'erhangs the tide,
Muse while the Evan eks the Clyde.

Ye

Ye lofty banks that Evan bound!
Ye lavish woods that wave around,
And o'er the stream your shadows throw,
Which sweetly winds so far below;
What secret charm to mem'ry brings,
All that on Evan's border springs?
Sweet banks! ye bloom by Mary's side:
Blest stream! she views thee haste to Clyde.

Can all the wealth of India's coast
Atone for years in absence lost?
Return, ye moments of delight,
With richer treasures bless my sight!
Swift from this desart let me part,

And fly to meet a kindred heart!

Nor more may aught my steps divide

From that dear stream which flows to Clyde.

WILT

WILT THOU BE MY DEARIE.

WILT thou be my dearie;

When sorrow wrings thy gentle heart, O wilt thou let me cheer thee;

By the treasure of my soul, And that's the love I bear thee!

I swear and vow, that only thou

Shall ever be my dearie.

Only thou I swear and vow,

Shall ever be my

dearie.

Lassie, say thou lo'es me;

Or if thou wilt na be my ain,

Say na thou'lt refuse me:

If it winna, canna be,
Thou, for thine, may chuse me;
Let me, lassie, quickly die,

Trusting that thou lo'es me.

Lassie, let me quickly die,

Trusting that thou lo'es me.

SHE'S

SHE'S FAIR AND FAUSE.

SHE'S fair and fause that causes my smart, I lo'ed her meikle and lang;

She's broken her vow, she's broken my heart, gae hang.

And I may e'en

A coof cam in wi' rowth o' gear,
And I hae tint my dearest dear,
But woman is but warld's gear,
Sae let the bonnie lass gang.

Whae'er ye be that woman love,
To this be never blind,

Nae ferlie 'tis tho' fickle she prove,

A woman has❜t by kind:

O woman, lovely, woman fair!

An angel form's faun to thy share,

'Twad been o'er meikle to gien thee mair, I mean an angel mind.

AFTON

AFTON WATER.

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 thro' the glen,
Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den,
Thou green crested lapwing thy screaming forbear,
I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair.

How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills,
Far mark'd 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 vallies 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