HOW SWEET IS THE GLOAMING.

TUNE-"Bonnie Dundee."

How sweet is the gloaming, when carelesly roaming,
The red setting sun sinking low in the west,
The moon faintly beaming, one star lonely gleaming,
As Nature does gradually sink into rest.

Then by the pure fountain, beside the steep mountain,
I wander, Eliza, to muse upon thee,

My heart fondly wishing, its ae darling blessing,
That thou wad be constant to love and to me.

Then tho' the sea part us, dame Fortune desert us,
And tear me reluctant away from thy arms,
Yet aft on my pillow, when toss'd on the billow,
I'll pleasantly dream I possess all thy charms.
And when sad I waken, and find I'm mistaken,
And thrice have given vent to the heart-rending sigh,
Bright hope soon returning, will ease my fond mourning,
And soothingly whisper, we'll meet bye and bye.

*

I

MY AIN FIRESIDE.

HAE seen great anes and sat in great ha's, Mony lords and fine ladies a' cover'd wi' braws; At feasts made for princes, wi' princes I've been, Where the grand shine o' splendour has dazzl'd my een;

* This little piece is from the pen of ALEXANDER FULLARTON, soldier, 91st Regiment. It indicates a mind strongly susceptible of the finer sympathies with the sublime objects of nature, and alive to all the romantic tenderness of love. We are not sorry to see the soldier become at times a prey to those feelings he is often called upon, in the way of his duty, to violate with unrelenting apathy.

But a sight sae delightfu', I trow, I ne'er spied,
As the bonny blythe blink o' mine ain fireside.
My ain fireside, my ain fireside,

O cheery's the blink o' mine ain fireside.

Ance mair, gude be thanket, round my ain heartsome ingle,

Wi' the friends of my youth I cordially mingle;
Nae forms to compel me to seem wae or glad,

I may laugh when I'm merry, and sigh when I'm sad.
Nae falsehood to dread, and nae malice to fear,
But truth to delight me, and friendship to cheer;
Of a' roads to happiness ever were tried,
There's nane half so sure as ane's ain fireside.

When I draw in my stool on my cosey hearthstane,
My heart loups sae light I scarce ken't for my ain;
Care's down on the wind, it is clean out o' sight,
Past troubles they seem but as dreams of the night.
I hear but kend voices, kend faces I see,

And mark saft affection glent fond frae ilk e'e;
Nae pluckings o' flattery, nae boastings of pride,
'Tis heart speaks to heart at ane's ain fireside.
My ain fireside, my ain fireside,

O there's nought to compare wi' ane's ain fireside.

THE KEBBUCKSTON WEDDING.

AULD Watty of Kebbuckston brae,

With lear and reading of books auld farren, What think ye! the body came owre the day, And tauld us he's gaun to be married to Mirren. We a' got a bidding,

To gang to the wedding,

Baith Johnnie and Sandy, and Nelly and Nanny;
And Tam o' the Knowes,

He swears and he vows,

At the dancing he'll face to the bride wi' his graunie.

H

A' the lads hae trystet their joes,

Slee Willie came up and ca'd on Nelly, Altho' she was hecht to Geordie Bowse,

She's gien him the gunk and she's gaun wi' Willie. Wee collier Johnnie

Has yocket his pony,

And's aff to the town for a lading of nappy,
Wi' fouth of good meat

To serve us to eat,

Sae with fuddling and feasting we'll a' be fou❜ happy. Wee Patie Brydie's to say the grace,

The body's aye ready at dredgies and weddings,
And flunkey M'Fee, of the Skiverton place,

Is chosen to scuttle the pies and the puddings.
For there'll be plenty

Of ilka thing dainty,

Baith lang kail and haggis, and ev'ry thing fitting,
With luggies of beer,

Our wizzens to clear,

Sae the de'il fill his kyte wha gaes clung frae the meeting.

Lowrie has caft Gibbie Cameron's gun,

That his auld gutcher bore when he follow'd Prince Charlie,

The barrel was rustet as black as the grun,

But he's ta'en't to the smiddy and's fettl't it rarely. With wallets of pouther,

His musket he'll shouther,

And ride at our head, to the bride's a' parading.
At ilka farm town

He'll fire them three roun',

Till the hale kintry ring with the Kebbuckston Wedding.
Jamie and Johnnie maun ride the brouse,
For few like them can sit in the saddle;
And Willie Cobreath, the best of bows,
Is trysted to jig in the barn with his fiddle.
With whisking and flisking,

And reeling and wheeling,

The young anes a' like to loup out o' the body,
And Neilie M'Nairn,

Tho' sair forfairn,

He vows that he'll wallop twa sets wi' the howdie.

Sauney M'Nab, with his tartan trews,

Has hecht to come down in the midst of the caper, And gie us three wallops of merry shantrews, With the true Highland fling of Macrimmon the pi

per.

Sic hipping and skipping,

And springing and flinging,

I'se wad that there's nane in the Lawlands can waff it!
Faith! Willie maun fiddle,
And jirgum and diddle,

And screed till the sweat fa' in beads frae his haffet.

Then gie me your hand, my trusty good frien',
And gie me your word, my worthy auld kimmer,
Ye'll baith come owre on Friday bedeen,

And join us in ranting and tooming the timmer.
With fouth of good liquor,

We'll haud at the bicker,

And lang may the mailing of Kebbuckston flourish,
For Watty's sae free,
Between you and me,

I'se warrant he's bidden the half of the parish.

THE LAMENT.

TUNE-" Maids of Arrochar."

THOU dark winding Carron once pleasing to see,
To me thou can'st never give pleasure again,

My brave Caledonians lie low on the lee,
And thy streams are deep ting'd with the blood of the

slain.

'Twas base-hearted treachery that doom'd our undoing,-
My poor bleeding country, what more can I do?
Ev'n valour looks pale o'er the red field of ruin,
And freedom beholds her best warriors laid low.

Farewell ye dear partners of peril! farewell!
Tho' buried ye lie in one wide bloody grave,
Your deeds shall ennoble the place where you fell,
And your names be enroll'd with the sons of the brave.
But I, a poor outcast, in exile must wander,
Perhaps, like a traitor, ignobly must die!

On thy wrongs, O my country! indignant I ponder.-
Ah! woe to the hour when thy Wallace must fly!

THE MANIAC'S SONG.

HARK! 'tis the poor maniac's song:
She sits on yon wild craggy steep,
And while the winds mournfully whistle along,
She wistfully looks o'er the deep,
And aye she sings "Lullaby, lullaby, lullaby!
To hush the rude billows asleep.

She looks to yon rock far at sea,

And thinks it her lover's white sail,
The warm tear of joy glads her wild glist'ning eye,
As she beckons his vessel to hail,

And aye she sings, “ Lullaby, lullaby, lullaby!”
And frets at the boisterous gale.

Poor Susan was gentle and fair,

Till the seas robb'd her heart of its joy,
Then her reason was lost in the gloom of despair,
And her charms then did wither and die;

And now her sad "Lullaby, lullaby, lullaby!"
Oft wakes the lone passenger's sigh.

Ꮓ