FRIDAY first's the day appointed For me I would be mair than proud Mossgiel, An. M. 5790. LINES WRITTEN ON A TUMBLER. YOU'RE Welcome, Willie Stewart; You're welcome, Willie Stewart; Come, bumpers high, express your joy, May foes be strang, and friends be slack, May woman on him turn her back, ON MR. W. CRUIKSHANK, OF THE HIGH SCHOOL, EDINBURGH. HONEST Will to heaven is gane, SONGS. THE LASS O' BALLOCHMYLE. TUNE-MISS Forbes's FAREWELL TO BANFF, OR ETTRICK BANKS.' 'TWAS even- -the dewy fields were | But Woman, Nature's darling child! There all her charms she does compile; green, On every blade the pearls hang; The Zephyrs wanton'd round the bean, And bore its fragrant sweets alang: In every glen the Mavis sang, All nature listening seem'd the while : Except where green-wood echoes rang, Amang the braes o' Ballochmyle. With careless step I onward stray'd, My heart rejoic'd in nature's joy, When musing in a lonely glade, A maiden fair I chanc'd to spy; Her look was like the morning's eye, Her air like nature's vernal smile, Perfection whisper'd passing by, Behold the lass o' Ballochmyle! Fair is the morn in flowery May, I HAE a wife o' my ain, Ev'n there her other works are foil'd By the bonie lass o' Ballochmyle. O, had she been a country maid, And I the happy country swain, Tho' shelter'd in the lowest shed That ever rose on Scotland's plain! Thro' weary winter's wind and rain, With joy, with rapture, I would toil; And nightly to my bosom strain The bonie lass o' Ballochmyle. Then pride might climb the slipp'ry steep, Where fame and honours lofty shine; And thirst of gold might tempt the deep, Or downward seek the Indian mine; Give me the cot below the pine, To tend the flocks or till the soil, And every day has joys divine, With the bonie lass o' Ballochmyle. NAEBODY. I'll gie cuckold to naebody. I hae a penny to spend, I'll borrow frae naebody. 188 I am naebody's lord, I'll be merry and free, I'll be sad for naebody; If naebody care for me, I'll care for naebody. SONG OF DEATH. A GAELIC AIR. Scene. -A field of battle. Time of the day- Evening. The wounded and dying of the victorious army are supposed to join in the song. FAREWELL, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies, Now gay with the bright setting sun! Farewell, loves and friendships, ye dear, tender ties, Our race of existence is run! Thou grim King of Terrors, thou life's gloomy foe, Go, teach them to tremble, fell Tyrant! but know, Thou strik'st the dull peasant - he sinks in the dark, Thou strik'st the young hero- a glorious mark! In the field of proud honour — our swords in our hands, While victory shines on life's last ebbing sands, AULD ROB MORRIS. THERE'S auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen, She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May; But oh! she's an heiress, auld Robin's a laird, The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane; |