In preaching time sae meek she stands,

Sae saintly and sae bonnie-o,

I cannot get ae glimpse of grace

For thieving looks at Nanie-o; My Nanie-o, my Nanie-o;

The world's in love with Nanie-o; That heart is hardly worth the wear That wadnae love my Nanie-o.

My breast can scarce contain

I

When dancing she moves finely-o;

guess

what heaven is by her eyes,

They sparkle so divinely-o;

My Nanie-o, my Nanie-o;

The flower o' Nithsdale's Nanie-o;

Love looks frae 'neath her long brown hair, And says, I dwell wi' Nanie-o.

Tell not, thou star at gray day light,
O'er Tinwald-top so bonnie-o,
My footsteps 'mang the morning dew
When coming frae my Nanie-o;
My Nanie-o, my Nanie-o;

None ken o' me and Nanie-o;
The stars and moon may tell't aboon,
They winna wrong my Nanie-o.

THE ROSE OF SHARON.

JAMES HOGG.

Oh saw ye the rose of the east
In the valley of Sharon that grows?
Ye daughters of Judah, how blest

To breathe in the sweets of my rose.
Come, tell me, if yet she's at rest

On her couch with the lilies inwove? Or if wantons the breeze with her breast? For my heart it is sick for my love.

I charge you, ye virgins unveiled,
That stray 'mong the pomegranate trees,
By the roes and the hinds of the field,
That
ye wake not my love till she please.
The garden with flowers is in blow,
And roses unnumbered are there-
Then tell how thy love we shall know,
For the daughters of Zion are fair.

A bed of frankincense her cheek;

A wreath of sweet myrrh is her hand; Her eye the bright gem that they seek By the rivers and streams of the land;

Her smile from the morning she wins ;
Her teeth are the lambs on the hill;
Her breasts two young roes that are twins,
And feed in the valleys at will.

As the cedar that smiles o'er the wood;
As the lily mid shrubs of the heath;
As the tower of Damascus that stood
Overlooking the hamlets beneath;
As the moon that in glory you see,
Mid the stars and the planets above-
Even so among women is she,

And

my bosom is ravished with love.

Return with the evening star,

And our couch on Amana shall be:

From Shinar and Hermon afar,

Thou the mountain of leopards shalt see.

O Shulamite! turn to thy rest,

Where the olive o'ershadows the landAs the roe of the desert make haste, For the singing of birds is at hand.

LORD RANDAL.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.

A cold wind and a starless sky,
Hills white with sifted snaw;
A lady weeping at midnight,
By a lone castle wa'!

Oh! come, Lord Randal, open your door,

The snaw hangs in my scarlet robe,

The sleet dreeps down my chin.

Oh! come, Lord Randal, open your door,
Oh! open that I may see

Ae glance but of that bonnie blue eye
That charm'd my heart frae me:
Oh! come, Lord Randal, open your door,

Or speak, that I may know

Once mair the music of that tongue
That wrought me all my woe.

Her voice sank low as the tender babe's That makes its gentle moan,

A

cry

still heard by that castle wa'

In midnight mirk and lone:

Lord Randal called his true love thrice,

And wept and paused to hear; But, ah! ne'er mortal voice again Might win that lady's ear.

THE MARINER.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.

Ye winds which kiss the groves' green tops,
And sweep the mountain hoar,

O, softly stir the ocean waves
Which sleep along the shore;
For my love sails the fairest ship
That wantons on the sea:

O, bend his masts with pleasant gales,
And waft him hame to me.

O leave nae mair the bonnie glen,
Clear stream, and hawthorn grove,
Where first we walked in gloaming gray,
And sigh'd and look'd of love;
For faithless is the ocean wave,

And faithless is the wind

Then leave nae mair my heart to break, 'Mang Scotland's hills behind.