Tho' rich is the breeze in their gay sunny valleys, And cauld Caledonia's blast on the wave; Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud palace, What are they?—the haunt of the tyrant and slave! The slave's spicy forests, and gold-bubbling fountains, The brave Caledonian views wi' disdain; He wanders as free as the winds of his mountains, Save love's willing fetters-the chains o' his Jean! THENIEL MENZIE'S BONNIE. MARY. TUNE-The Ruffian's Rant. IN coming by the brig o' Dye, Her een sae bright, her brow sae white, And aye they dimpl't wi' a smile, We lap and danced the lee lang day, -- THERE 'LL NEVER BE PEACE. TUNE-There are few guid Fellows when Willie's awa. By yon castle wa', at the close of the day, grey; And as he was singing, the tears down came, There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. The church is in ruins, the state is in jars ; Delusions, oppressions, and murderous wars; We darena weel say't, though we ken wha's to blame, [hame. There'll never be peace till Jamie comes My seven braw sons for Jamie drew sword, And now I greet round their green beds in the yerd. It brak the sweet heart of my faithfu' auld dame[hame. There'll never be peace till Jamie comes Now life is a burthen that bows me down, Since I tint my bairns, and he tint his crown; But till my last moments my words are the [hame! same There'll never be peace till Jamie comes THERE'S A YOUTH IN THIS CITY. To a Gaelic Air. THERE's a youth in this city, it were a great pity That he frae our lasses should wander awa; For he's bonnie and braw, weel favoured and a', And his hair has a natural buckle and a'. His coat is the hue of his bonnet sae blue; His feckit is white as the new-driven snaw; His hose they are blae, and his shoon like the slae, And his clear siller buckles they dazzle us a.' For beauty and fortune the laddie's been. courtin'; Weel-featur'd, weel-tocher'd, weel-mounted, and braw; But chiefly the siller, that gars him gang till her, The penny's the jewel that beautifies a'. There's Meg wi' the mailen that fain wad a-haen him ; And Susie, whose daddy was laird o' the ha'; There's lang-tocher'd Nancy maist fetters his fancy But the laddie's dear sel' he loes dearest of a'. |