What force or guile could not subdue,

Thro' many warlike ages,
Is wrought now by a coward few,

For hireling traitors' wagęs.
The English steel we could disdain,

Secure in valour's station;
But English gold has been our bane:

Such a parcel of rogues in a nation !
O would, or I had seen the day

That treason thus could sell us, My auld grey head had lain in clay,

Wi' Bruce and loyal Wallace! But pith and power till my last hour

I'll mak this declaration, Were bought and sold for English gold:

Such a parcel of rogues in a nation!

HOW HAPPY IS HE. Tune-"Good night and joy be wi' you a'." How happy is he, whoe'er he be,

That in his lifetime meets one true friend, Who cordially does sympathize

In words, in action, heart, and mind : My kind respects do not neglect,

Altho' my wealth or state be small; With a melting heart, and a mournful eye,

I beg that peace be wi' you all.

My loving friends, I kiss your hands,

For time invites me now to move; On your poor servant lay commands, Who is ambitious of your love.

He-whose pow'r and might, both day and night,

Governs the depths, makes rain to fall, To sun and moon gives course of light, Direct, protect, defend you

all.

I do protest, within my breast,

Your memory I'll not neglect; On that record I'll lay arrest,

No change shall ever alter it.
All I desire of earthly bliss,

Is to be freed from guilt or thrall;
I hope kind heav'n will grant me this:

Good night, and joy be wi' you

all.

END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.

TO THE

SCOTTISH SONGS,

IN THE ALPHABETICAL ORDER

OF

THE FIRST LINES.

.

.

AUTHORS.
Anonymous, 286
M..

122
Charles Gray, 153
Burns,

246
Hogg, .

171
Burns,

250
113

111
Burns,

189
301
101
162

.

.

Aft hae I stray'd the woods amang,
Ah! waes me lov'd Jeanie,
A lassie fair, (the deil may care)
Altho thou maun never be mine,
Amang the birks sae blythe an' gay,
A rose-bud by my early walk,
As I came by Loch-Erroch side,
As I gaed down the water side,
As I went over yon meadow, .
As Jenny sat down wi' her wheel by the fire,
As walking forth to view the plain,
Awa wi' your witchcraft o beauty's alarms,
Bannocks o' bear-meal, bannocks o' barley,
Behind yon hills where Lugar flows,
Beneath a hill, 'mang birken bushes,
Betty early gone a maying,
Blow on rude tempest wildly rave,
Blythe hae I been on yon hilt,
Blythe was the time when he fee'd, .
Blythe young Bess to Jean did say,
Broad set the sun o'er wild Glencoe,

Burns,

Burns,
Fletcher,

J. Burtt,
Burns,
Tannahill,

271
239
234
282
330
312
253

53
262

.

.

.

104
106

10
116
230
89

57
176
137
335

61
59

O

.

.

Busk ye, busk ye, my bonnie bride,

Ramsay,
But are ye sure the news is true,
By Logan's streams that rin sae deep, Mayne,
By Ochtertyre grows the aik, .

Burns,
By the side o'yon river, as Bessy sat moaning, Anonymous,
By yon castle wa', at the close of the day, Burns,
Caledonia, my country, thy rivers and fountains, T. Smith,
Cauld blaws the wind frae north to south,
Cold blaws the wind frae east to west,

Burns,
Come alang wi' me my love,

J. Burtt,
Come gies a sang the lady cried,

Skinner,
Come under my plaidie, the night's gaun to fa', Macneill,
Comin' thro' the craigs o’ Kyle, .

Jean Glover,
Contented wi' little, and cantie wi' mair, Burns,
Draw near ye warblers wild, in woe,

M.
Duncan Gray cam here to woo,

Burns,
Ev'ning sheds her gems o' dew,
Fareweel to a' our

Scottish fame,
Farewell thou fair day, thou green earth, Burns,
Farewell to Lochaber, and farewell my Jean, Ramsay,
Farewell ye vales where Avon flows,

A. Simson,
Far lone amang the Highland hills,

Tannahill,
First when Maggy was my care,

Burns,
From thee Eliza I must go, :

Do.
From the sea-beaten coast of Scotia I wander, Scadlock,
Gloomy winter's come again,

Aitchison,
Gloomy winter's now awa, .

Tannahill,
Good night and joy be wi' you a',

A. Boswell,
Had I a cave on some wild distant shore, Burns,
Hae ye seen in the calm dewy morning, Burns, jun.
Hear me, ye nymphs, and ev'ry swain, Crawford,
Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie, Burns,
Hersel pe Highland Shentleman,
Hie bonnie lassie blink over the burn,
How blythe hae I been wi' my Sandy, .
How blythe was I ilk morn to see,
How dear to think on former days,

D. Weir,
How happy is he, whoe'er he be,
How hard's the fate of womankind,

À Lady,
How long and drearie is the night,

Burns,
How pleasant the banks of the clear, &c,

Do.

188
338

92
117
282
229
253
221

16

.

209
199
240

.

.

.

Do.

Hogg,

How sweet is the scene,

Richard Gall, 194
Hush, ye rude breezes, my Harry is coming, A. Simson, 297
I gaed a waefu' gate yestreen,

Burns,

78
I had a horse, I had nae mair,

119
I'll aye ca' in by yon town,

Burns,

275
I lo’ed near a laddie bat ane,

Macneill, 80
I met my dear lassie yestreen in the vale, Fletcher, 312
I'm now a gude farmer, I've acres o' lan', A. Scott, 213
I'm wearing awa, Jean,

218
In ancient times, as songs rehearse,

130
In April, when primroses paint the sweet plain, Ramsay, 110
In the garb of old Gaul,

327
In winter when the rain rain'd cauld,

26
I see a form, I see a face,

Burns,

72
Is there for honesty poverty,

Do.

197
It was upon a Lammas night,

154
I've heard them lilting, at the ewe milking,

100
I've seen the lily on the wold,

24
I've seen the smiling of fortune beguiling, Mrs Cockburn, 166
I wish I were where Helen lies,

260
Jockey said to Jenny, Jenny wilt thou do't, Ramsay, 277
John Anderson my jo, John,

Burns,

33
Keen blaws the win'o'er the braes of Gleniffer, Tannahill, 244
Keen blaws the wind o'er Donnocht head, Pickering, 174
Kind, an' blythe, and sweet as onie,

Anonymous,

291
Lasses look na sourly meek,

J. Burtt, 331
Last May a braw wooer came down,

Burns,

192
Let bardies tune the rural strain,

M.P.

172
Let drunkards sing in praise o' wine, Charles Gray, 196
Let them boast of the country gave Patrick, Hogg,

21
Let us go, lassie, go,

Tannahill, 237
London's bonnie woods an' braes,

Do.

294
Lowland lassie, wilt thou go,

Do.

323
Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion,

Burns,

307
Meg, muckin at Geordie's byre,

J. Nicol, 186
Mid life's busy scenes,

Anonymous, 338
Mirk and rainy is the night,

Tannahill, 303
Musing on the roaring ocean,

Burns,

196
My daddie is a canker'd carle,
My heart's in the Highlands,

Burns,

161

.

.

8

.