How sweet the brow on yon hill cheek.
Where mony a weary hour I tarry;
For there I see the twisted reek
Rise frae the cot where dwells my Mary.

Oft has the lark sung o'er my head,

And shook the dew-draps frae her wing: Oft hae my flocks forgot to feed,

And round their shepherd form'd a ring; Their looks condole the lee-lang day, While mine are fix'd and canna vary; Oft hae they listen'd to my lay

Of faith and love to Bonny Mary.

When Phoebus mounts frae Crawford-muir,
His gowden locks a' streaming gaily;
When morn has breath'd its fragrance pure
And life and joy rings through the valley;
I drive my flocks to yonder brook,

The feeble in my arms I carry;
Then every lammie's harmless look
Brings to my mind my Bonny Mary.

'When gloamin' o'er the welkin steals,

And haps the hills in sober gray; And bitterns, in their airy wheels, Amuse the wanderer on his way: Regardless of the wind and rain,

With cautious step and prospect wary, I often trace the lonely glen

To get a sight of Bonny Mary.

When midnight draws her curtain deep,
And lays the breeze among the bushes,
And Scaur, wi' mony a winding sweep,
O'er rocks of reddle raves and rushes;
Though sunk in short and restless sleep,
My fancy wings her flight so airy
To where sweet guardian spirits keep

Their watch around the couch of Mary.

The exile may forget his home,

Where blooming youth to manhood grew; The bee forget the honey-comb,

Nor with the spring his toil renew; The sun may lose his light and heat; The planets in their rounds miscarry ; But my fond heart shall cease to beat When I forget my Bonny Mary.

MY BLYTHE AN' BONNY LASSIE.

Tune-Neil Gow's Farewell to Whiskey.
How sair my heart nae man shall ken
When I took leave o' yonder glen,
Her faithful dames, her honest men,

Her streams sae pure an' glassy, O;
Her woods that skirt the verdant vale,
Her balmy breeze sae brisk an' hale,
Her flower of every flower the wale,
My blythe an' bonny lassie, O!

The night was short, the day was lang,
An' ay we sat the birks amang,
'Til o'er my head the blackbird sang

Gae part wi' that dear lassie, O.
When on Lamgaro's top sae green
The rising sun-beam red was seen,

Wi' aching heart I left my Jean,

My blythe an' bonny lassie, O. Her form is gracefu' as the pine; Her smile the sunshine after rain; Her nature cheerfu', frank an' kind, An' neither proud nor saucy, O. The ripest cherry on the tree Was ne'er sae pure or meek to see, Nor half sae sweet its juice to me,

As a kiss o' my dear lassie, O. Whate'er I do, whate'er I be, Yon glen shall ay be dear to me; Her banks and howms sae fair to see;

Her braes sae green an' grassy, 0: For there my hopes are centred a'; An' there my heart was stol'n awa'; An' there my Jeanie first I say!!

My blythe an' bonny lassie, O.

THE BRAES OF BUSHBY.
AE glentin' cheerfu' simmer morn,
As I cam o'er the riggs o' Lorn,
I heard a lassie all forlorn

Lamentin' for her Johnny, O.
Her wild notes pour'd the air alang;
The Highland rocks an' woodlands rang;
An' ay the o'erword o' her sang

Was Bushby braes are bonny, O.

On Bushby braes where blossoms blow, Where blooms the brier an' sulky slor, There first I met my only joe,

My dear, my faithfu' Johnny, O; The grove was dark, sae dark an' sweet; Where first my lad an' I did meet ; The roses blush'd around our feet:

Then Bushby braes were bonny, O.

Departed joys, how soft! how dear!
That frae my e'e still wrings the tear!
Yet still the hope my heart shall cheer
Again to meet my Johnny, O.
The primrose saw, an' blue hare-bell,
But nane o' them our love can tell,
The thrilling joy I felt too well,
When Bushby braes were bonny, O.

My lad is in the Baltic gane
To fight the proud an' doubtfu' Dane.
For our success my heart is fain;

But 'tis maistly for my Johnny, O.
Then, Cupid, smooth the German sea,
An' bear him back to Lorn an' me'
An' a' my life I'll sing wi' glee,
The Bushby braes are bonny, O.

THE HAY-MAKERS. Tune-Coming through the Rye. "My lassie, how I'm charm'd wi' you 'Tis needless now to tell; But a' the flowers the meadow through, Ye're sweetest ay yoursel';

I canna sleep a wink by night, Nor think a thought by day; Your image smiles afore my sight Whate'er I do or say."

"Fye, Jamie! dinna act the part
Ye'll ever blush to own;
Or try to wile my youthfu' heart
Frae reason's sober throne;
Sic visions I can ne'er approve,
Nor ony wakin' dream;
Than trust sic fiery, furious love,
I'd rather hae esteem."

"My bonny lassie, come away,
I canna bide your frown;
Wi' ilka flower, sae fresh and gay,
I'll deck your bosom round:
I'll pu' the gowan off the glen;
The lily off the lee;

The rose an' hawthorn bud I'll twine
To make a bob for thee."

“Aye, Jamie, ye wad steal my heart An' a' my peace frae me; An' fix my feet within the net,

Ere I my error see.

I trow ye'll wale the flowery race
My bosom to adorn ;
An' ye confess ye're gaun to place
Within my breast a thorn."

"How can my lassie be sae tart,
An' vex me a' the day?
Ye ken I lo'e wi' a' my heart,
What wad ye hae me say?
Ilk anxious wish an' little care
I'll in thy breast confide,
An' a' your joys an' sorrows share,
If ye'll become my bride."

"Then tak my hand, ye hae my heart; There's nane I like sae weel; An' Heaven grant I act my part To ane so true an' leal. This bonny day amang the hay, I'll mind till death us twine; An' often bless the happy day That made my laddie mine."

BAULDY FRASER.

Tune-Whigs o' Fife.

My name is Bauldy Fraser, man;
I'm puir, an' auld, an' pale, an' wan,
I brak my shin, an' tint a han'
Upon Culloden lee, man.
Our Highlan' clans war bauld an' stout,
An' thought to turn their faes about,
But gat that day a desperate rout,
An' owre the hills did flee, man.

Sic hurly-burly ne'er was seen,
Wi' cuffs, an' buffs, an' blinded een,
While Highlan' swords, o' metal keen,
War gleamin' grand to see, man.

SCOTIA'S GLENS.

Tune-Lord Ballandine's Delight. New set.

'MONG Scotia's glens an' mountains blue,
Where Gallia's lilies never grew,
Where Roman eagles never flew,

Nor Danish lions rallied;
Where skulks the roe in anxious fear,
Where roves the stately, nimble deer,
There live the lads to freedom dear,

By foreign yoke ne'er galled.
There woods grow wild on every hill;
There freemen wander at their will;
Sure Scotland will be Scotland still

While hearts so brave defend her.

"Fear not, our Sov'reign liege," they cry, "We've flourish'd fair beneath thine eye, For thee we'll fight, for thee we'll die,

Nor aught but life surrender.

Since thou hast watch'd our every need,
And taught our navies wide to spread,
The smallest hair from thy gray head
No foreign foe shall sever.
Thy honor'd age in peace to save
The sternest host we'll dauntless brave,
Or stem the fiercest Indian wave,

Nor heart nor hand shall waver.

Though nations join yon tyrant's arm,
While Scotia's noble blood runs warm,
Our good old man we'll guard from harm,
Or fall in heaps around him.
Although the Irish harp were won,
And England's roses all o'errun,
'Mong Scotia's glens with sword and gun,
We'll form a bulwark round him."

THE SKYLARK.

BIRD of the wilderness,

Blythesome and cumberless,

Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea!

Emblem of happiness,

Bless'd in thy dwelling-place

O to abide in the desert with thee!

Wild is thy lay and loud,
Far in the downy cloud,

Love gives it energy, love gave it birth.
Where on thy dewy wing,
Where art thou journeying?

Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth.
O'er fell and mountain sheen,
O'er moor and mountain green,

O'er the red streamer that heralds the day,

Over the cloudlet dim,

Over the rainbow's rim,

Musical cherub, soar, singing, away!

Then, when the gloaming comes,
Low in the heather blooms,

Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be,
Emblem of happiness,

Blest is thy dwelling-place

O to abide in the desert with thee!

WHEN THE KYE COMES HAME.

COME all ye jolly shepherds,
That whistle through the glen,

I'll tell ye of a secret

That courtiers dinna ken:

What is the greatest bliss

That the tongue of man can name?

'Tis to woo a bonny lassie

When the kye comes hame.

When the kye comes hame,
When the kye comes hame,
'Tween the gloamin' an' the mirk,
When the kye comes hame.

'Tis not beneath the coronet,
Nor canopy of state,
"Tis not on couch of velvet,
Nor arbor of the great-
'Tis beneath the spreadin' birk,
In the glen without the name,
Wi' a bonny, bonny lassie
When the kye comes hame.

When the kye comes hame, etc.

There the blackbird bigs his nest
For the mate he lo'es to see,
And on the topmost bough,

Oh, a happy bird is he;
Where he pours his melting ditty,
And love is a' the theme,
And he'll woo his bonny lassie
When the kye comes hame.

When the kye comes hame, etc.

When the blewart bears a pearl,
And the daisy turns a pea,

And the bonny lucken gowan
Has fauldit up her e'e,

Then the laverock frae the blue lift

Droops down, an' thinks nae shame To woo his bonny lassie

When the kye comes hame,

When the kye comes hame, etc.

See yonder pawkie shepherd,
That lingers on the hill,

His ewes are in the fauld,

An' his lambs are lying still;
Yet he downa gang to bed,
For his heart is in a flame,
To meet his bonny lassie

When the kye comes hame.

When the kye comes hame, etc.

When the little wee bit heart
Rises high in the breast,
An' the little wee bit starn
Rises red in the east,

Oh there's a joy sae dear

That the heart can hardly frame,

Wi' a bonny, bonny lassie,

When the kye comes hame!

When the kye comes hame, etc.

Then since all Nature joins

In this love without alloy,
Oh, wha would prove a traitor
To Nature's dearest joy?
Or wha would choose a crown,
Wi' its perils and its fame,
And miss his bonny lassie
When the kye comes hame!

When the kye comes hame,
When the kye comes hame,

'Tween the gloamin' an' the mirk,

When the kye comes hame!