Then away to the hills where Lochlo

mond is flowing,

Where mists and where mountains in solitude lie,

And where the braw red-lipped heather is growing,

And cataracts foam as they came from the sky!

Benlomond is seen in his monarch-like glory,
His foot in the sea and his head in the sky,
His broad lofty brow is majestic and hoary,

And round him and round him the elements fly.

The winds are his music, the clouds are his clothing,

The sun is his shield as he wheels blazing by, When once on his summit you'd think you were soaring,

'Mong bright-beaming stars, they are rolling so nigh!

Then away to the hills where Lochlomond is flowing,

Where mists and where mountains in

solitude lie,

And where the braw red-lipped heather is growing,

And cataracts foam as they came from the sky!

Will you, will you, wont you, will you then with him deal?

You must come to the blacksmith for iron and steel.

He turns out fine engines for water and land,
And gives any power employers demand!
He rivets while red, till each bore he doth fill,
And few are possess'd of such art and such skill.
Will you, will you, wont you, will you then with
him deal?

You must come to the blacksmith for iron and steel.

Great ships now are made of our iron so good, And all who have brains now prefer them to wood! The very mile-stones-though a bit of a punAre now of our make, by our cast-iron done. Will you, will you, wont you, will you then with him deal?

You must come to the blacksmith for iron and steel.

So here's to our trade, and to Vulcan of old; From iron and steel we make silver and gold! Long life to the anvil, the hammer, and blast, Success to quick motion, and strength to each cast, Will you, will you, wont you, will you then with him deal?

You must come to the blacksmith for iron and steel.

The zephyrs bore along,

In accents kind and clear, The burthen of my song,

And charm'd the maiden's ear; Now, blest with her sweet smile, I dearly lo❜e her still, And find her free of guile→ The lass of Partick Hill.

WE CANNOT PART TO NIGHT.

Music by D. Lee.

Published by Lee & Cockshead, London.

WE cannot part to-night,

Time flies on wings so fleetly! Life now is all delight,

We never breath'd more sweetly. Care's at the frigid zone,

And dare not now come hither!

Joy smiling from his throne,
Links all our hearts together.
We cannot part to-night!
We cannot part to-night!

When first we met to-night,

How formal was our greeting! But now the soul's pure light

Sheds radiance o'er our meeting! The heart is seldom known,

Except in joy or sorrow; When friendship's ties are grown, Why should we fear to-morrow? We cannot part to-night! We cannot part to-night!

Our ancestors of old

Rejoiced in thus convening; And should our hearts be cold,

Nor read the eye's pure meaning! We pilgrims are on earth,

Like those just gone before us; 'Tis such a night of mirth,

That pleasure can restore us.
We cannot part to-night!
We cannot part to-night!

I'M AWAY.

I'm away, I'm away, like a thing that is wild,
With heart full of glee as the heart of a child!
Afar o'er the mountains, afar o'er the stream,
To revel in joy 'mid the glad summer beam.
I leave care behind me, I throw to the wind
All sorrows allied to the earth-plodding mind;
The music of birds, and the murmur of rills,
Shall be my companions o'er Scotia's lov'd hills.
How lucent each lake, and how lovely each
dell!

Who would not be happy, at home let him
dwell;

I'm away, I'm away, like a thing that is wild,

With heart full of glee, as the heart of a child!

O land of my fathers-O home of my birth!
No spot seems so blest on the round rolling earth!
Thy wild woods so green, and thy mountains so
high,

Seem homes of enchantment half hid in the sky!
Thy steep-winding passes where warriors have

trod

Which minstrels of yore often made their abode; Where Ossian and Fingal rehears'd runic tales, That echo'd aloft o'er the furze-cover'd dales.

How lucent each lake, and how lovely each dell;

Who would not be happy, at home let him dwell.

I'm away, I'm away, like a thing that is

wild,

With heart full of glee, as the heart of a child!

THE HIGHLAND HILLS.

I LOVE the high majestic hills,
Where Night in grandeur sleeps,
And hangs in dark sublimity

Upon the rugged steeps;
And Silence, rolled in robes of clouds,
Her midnight vigil keeps!