In the field of proud honour-our swords in our hands,
Our King and our Country to save-
While victory shines on life's last ebbing sands,
O! who would not die with the brave!

KENMURE'S ON AND AWA.

O KENMURE'S on and awa, Willie !
O Kenmure's on and awa!
And Kenmure's lord's the bravest lord
That ever Galloway saw.

Success to Kenmure's band, Willie!
Success to Kenmure's band;

There's no a heart that fears a Whig
That rides by Kenmure's hand.

Here's Kenmure's health in wine, Willie !
Here's Kenmure's health in wine;

There ne'er was a coward o' Kenmure's blude,
Nor yet o' Gordon's line.

O Kenmure's lads are men, Willie !
O Kenmure's lads are men ;

Their hearts and swords are metal true-
And that their faes shall ken.

They'll live or die wi' fame, Willie !
They'll live or die wi' fame;
But soon, wi' sounding victorie,
May Kenmure's lord come hame!

Here's him that 's far awa, Willie!
Here's him that's far awa;

And here's the flower that I love best-
The rose that 's like the snaw!

ΙΟ

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THE CAPTAIN'S LADY.

O MOUNT and go,

Mount and make you ready;
O mount and go,

And be the Captain's Lady.

When the drums do beat,
And the cannons rattle,
Thou shalt sit in state,
And see thy love in battle.

When the vanquish'd foe
Sues for peace and quiet,
To the shades we'll go,
And in love enjoy it.

O mount and go,

Mount and make you ready;

O mount and go,

And be the Captain's Lady.

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NOW WESTLIN WINDS.

Now westlin winds and slaughtering guns
Bring autumn's pleasant weather;
The moorcock springs, on whirring wings,
Amang the blooming heather:

Now waving grain, wide o'er the plain,

Delights the weary farmer;

And the moon shines bright, when I rove at night To muse upon my charmer.

The partridge loves the fruitful fells;
The plover loves the mountains ;

The woodcock haunts the lonely dells;
The soaring hern the fountains:

Thro' lofty groves the cushat roves,
The path of man to shun it;
The hazel bush o'erhangs the thrush,
The spreading thorn the linnet.

Thus ev'ry kind their pleasure find,
The savage and the tender;

Some social join, and leagues combine;

Some solitary wander;

Avaunt, away! the cruel sway.

Tyrannic man's dominion;

The sportsman's joy, the murdering cry,
The fluttering, gory pinion!

But, Peggy dear, the ev'ning's clear,
Thick flies the skimming swallow;
The sky is blue, the fields in view,

All fading-green and yellow:
Come let us stray our gladsome way,

And view the charms of nature;
The rustling corn, the fruited thorn,
And every happy creature.

We'll gently walk, and sweetly talk,
Till the silent moon shine clearly;
I'll grasp thy waist, and, fondly prest,
Swear how I love thee dearly:
Not vernal show'rs to budding flow'rs.
Not autumn to the farmer,

So dear can be as thou to me,

My fair, my lovely charmer!

HERE'S A HEALTH TO ANE I LO'E DEAR.

CHORUS.

HERE's a health to ane I lo'e dear,

Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear;

Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers meet,
And soft as their parting tear, Jessy!

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Altho' thou maun never be mine,
Altho' even hope is denied ;
'Tis sweeter for thee despairing,

Than aught in the world beside, Jessy!

I mourn thro' the gay, gaudy day,

As, hopeless, I muse on thy charms:
But welcome the dream o' sweet slumber,
For then I am lockt in thy arms, Jessy!

I guess by the dear angel smile,

I guess by the love-rolling ee; But why urge the tender confession 'Gainst fortune's fell cruel decree, Jessy!

ΙΟ

BANKS OF CREE.

HERE is the glen, and here the bower,
All underneath the birchen shade;
The village-bell has toll'd the hour,
O what can stay my lovely maid?

"Tis not Maria's whispering call;

"Tis but the balmy breathing gale. Mixt with some warbler's dying fall, The dewy star of eve to hail.

It is Maria's voice I hear!

So calls the woodlark in the grove
His little faithful mate to cheer;

At once 'tis music-and 'tis love.

And art thou come? and art thou true?
O welcome, dear, to love and me!
And let us all our vows renew,
Along the flowery banks of Cree.

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HOW LANG AND DREARY.

How lang and dreary is the night,
When I am frae my dearie !

I restless lie frae e'en to morn,
Tho' I were ne'er sae weary.

For oh, her lanely nights are lang;
And oh, her dreams are eerie ;
And oh, her widow'd heart is sair,
That's absent frae her dearie.

When I think on the lightsome days
I spent wi' thee, my dearie,
And now that seas between us roar,
How can I be but eerie !

How slow ye move, ye heavy hours;
The joyless day how drearie!
It wasna sae ye glinted by,
When I was wi' my dearie.

LOGAN BRAES.

O LOGAN, Sweetly didst thou glide
That day I was my Willie's bride;
And years sinsyne hae o'er us run,
Like Logan to the simmer sun.
But now thy flow'ry banks appear
Like drumlie winter, dark and drear,
While my dear lad maun face his faes,
Far, far frae me and Logan Braes.

Again the merry month o' May
Has made our hills and valleys gay;
The birds rejoice in leafy bowers,

The bees hum round the breathing flowers;

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