DUNCAN GRAY.

Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd;

Ha, ha, the wooing o't,

Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

Duncan sigh'd baith out and in,

Grat his een baith bleer't and blin',

Spak o' lowpin' owre a linn;

Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

Time and chance are but a tide,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't,

Slighted love is sair to bide,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't,

Shall I, like a fool, quoth he,

For a haughtie hizzie die?

She may gae to-France for me!

Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

How it comes let doctors tell,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't,

Meg grew sick-as he grew well,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

Something in her bosom wrings,

For relief a sigh she brings;

And O, her een, they spak sic things! Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

Duncan was a lad o' grace,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't,

Maggie's was a piteous case,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

Duncan could na be her death,

Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath;

Now they're crouse and canty baith,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

THE Catrine woods were yellow seen, The flowers decay'd on Catrine lee, Nae lav'rock sang on hillock green, But nature sicken'd on the ee.

THE BRAES O' BALLOCHMYLE.

Thro' faded groves Maria sang,

Hersel' in beauty's bloom the while, And aye the wild-wood echoes rang, Fareweel the braes o' Ballochmyle.

Low in your wintry beds, ye flowers,
Again ye'll flourish fresh and fair;
Ye birdies dumb, in with'ring bowers,
Again ye'll charm the vocal air.
But here, alas! for me nae mair

Shall birdie charm, or floweret smile; Fareweel the bonnie banks of Ayr, Fareweel, fareweel! sweet Ballochmyle.

THE BANKS O' DOON.

Thou'lt break my heart, thou bonnie bird,
That sings upon the bough;

Thou minds me o' the happy days
When my fause luve was true.

Thou'lt break my heart, thou bonnie bird,
That sings beside thy mate;
For sae I sat, and sae I sang,
And wist na o' my fate.

Aft ha'e I roved by bonnie Doon,
To see the woodbine twine,
And ilka bird sang o' its luve,
And sae did I o' mine.

Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose,
Frae off its thorny tree,

And my fause luver staw the rose,
But left the thorn wi' me.

SECOND VERSION.

YE banks and braes o' bonnie Doon,
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair!

How can ye chant, ye little birds,

And I sae weary, fu' o' care!

Thou'lt break my heart, thou warbling bird,

That wantons through the flowering thorn; Thou minds me o' departed joys,

Departed-never to return.