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THERE'S auld Rob Morris that wons in yon

glen, He's the king oʻguid fellows and wale o' auld He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and

kine, And ae bonnie lassie, his darling and mine.

men :

She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May; She's sweet as the evening amang the new hay; As blythe and as artless as the lambs on the

lea, And dear to my heart as the light to my ee.

But, oh! she's an heiress, auld Robin's a

laird, And my daddie has naught but a cot-house

and yard ; A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed, The wounds I must hide that will soon be

my dead.

The day comes to me, but delight brings me

nane ; The night comes to me, but my rest it is gane: I wander my lane like a night-troubled ghaist, And I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my


Oh had she but been of a lower degree,

a I then might hae hop'd she wad smil'd upon

[bliss, Oh, how past descriving had then been my As now my distraction no words can express.


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TUNE-Awa, Whigs, Awa.

AWA, Whigs, awa!

Awa, Whigs, awa!
Ye're but a pack o' traitor louns,

Ye'll do nae good at a'.
Our thrissles flourish'd fresh and fair,

And bonnie bloom'd our roses ;
But Whigs came like a frost in June,

And wither'd a' our posies.
Our ancient crown's fa’n in the dust-

Deil blin' them wi' the stoure o't, And write their names in his black beuk,

Wha gae the Whigs the power o't.
Our sad decay in Church and State

Surpasses my descriving ;
The Whigs came o'er us for a curse,

And we hae done wi' thriving.
Grim vengeance lang has taen a nap,

But we may see him wauken ; Guid help the day when royal heads

Are hunted like a maukin.


TUNE-The Killogie.
BANNOCKS O' bear meal

Bannocks o' barley;
Here's to the Highlandman's

Bannocks o' barley.
Wha in a brulzie

Will first cry a parley ?
Never the lads wil

The bannocks o' barley.
Bannocks o' bear meal,

Bannocks o'barley ;
Here's to the lads wi'

The bannocks o' barley !
Wha in his wae-days

Were loyal to Charlie ?-
Wha but the lads wi'

The bannocks o' barley ?



Behold the hour, the boat arrive;

Thou goest thou darling of my heart ! Sever'd from thee, can I survive ?

But fate has will’d, and we must part. I'll often greet this surging swell,

Yon distant isle will often hail : “E'en here I took the last farewell;

There latest mark'd her vanish'd sail."


Along the solitary shore,

While flitting sea-fowl round me cry, Across the rolling, dashing roar,

I'll westward turn my wistful eye ; Happy thou Indian grove, I'll say,

Where now my Nancy's path may be ! While thro' thy sweets she loves to stray,

Oh, tell me, does she muse on me!


TUNE-The sweet lass that loes me.

On leeze me on my spinning-wheel,
Oh leeze me on my rock and reel ;
Frae tap to tae that cleeds me bien,
And haps me fiel and warm at e'en !
I'll sit me down and sing and spin,
While laigh descends the simmer sun,
Blest wi' content, and milk and meal-
Ob leeze me on my spinning-wheel !
On ilka hand the burnies trot,
And meet below my theekit cot;
The scented birk and hawthorn white,
Across the pool their arms unite,
Alike to screen the birdie's nest,
And little fishes' caller rest :
The sun blinks kindly in the biel',
Where blythe I turn my spinning-wheel.
On lofty aiks the cushats wail,
And echo cons the doolfu' tale;

The lintwhites in the hazel braes,
Delighted, rival ither's lays :
The craik amang the clover hay,
The paitrick whirrin' o'er the ley,
The swallow jinkin round my shiel,
Amuse me at my spinning-wheel.
Wi' sma’ to sell, and less to buy,
Aboon distress, below envy,
Oh wha wad leave this humble state
For a' the pride of a' the great ?
Amid their flaring, idle toys,
Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys,
Can they the peace and pleasure feel
Of Bessy at her spinning-wheel ?


TUNE-On a Bank of Flowers.
On a bank of flowers, in a summer day,

For summer lightly drest,
The youthful blooming Nelly lay,

With love and sleep opprest;
When Willie, wand'ring thro’ the wood,

Who for her favour oft had sued,
He gaz’d, he wish’d, he fear'd, he blush'd,

And trembled where he stood.
Her closed eyes like weapons sheath'd,

Were seal'd in soft repose;
Her lips still as she fragrant breath’d,

It richer dy'd the rose.

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