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TO MARY.

WILL ye go to the Indies, my Mary,

And leave auld Scotia's shore ? Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary,

Across the Atlantic's roar?

O sweet grows the lime and the orange,

And the apple on the pine ; But a' the charms o' the Indies,

Can never equal thine.

I hae sworn by the Heavens to my Mary,

I hae sworn by the Heavens to be true ; And sae may the Heavens forget me,

When I forget my vow!

O plight me your faith, my Mary,

And plight me your lily-white hand; O plight me your faith, my Mary,

Before I leave Scotia's strand.

We hae plighted our troth, my Mary,

In mutual affection to join,
And curst be the cause that shall part us !

The hour, and the moment o time !*

. This song Mr. Thomson has not adopted in his collection. It deserves, however, to be preserved.

MY WIFE'S A WINSOME WEE THING.

She is a winsome wee thing,
She is a handsome wee thing,
She is a bonnie wee thing,
This sweet wee wife o' mine.

I never saw a fairer,
I never loe'd a dearer,
And niest my heart I'll wear her,
For fear my jewel tine.

She is a winsome wee thing,
She is a handsome wee thing,
She is a bonnie wee thing,
This sweet wee wife o' mine.

The warld's wrack we share o't,
The warstle and the care o't;
Wi' her I'll blithly bear it,
And think my lot divine.

BONNIE LESLEY.

O saw ye bonnie Lesley

As she gaed o'er the border?
She's gane, like Alexander,

To spread her conquests farther.
VOL. XXXVIII.

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To see her is to love her,

And love but her for ever;
For Nature made her what she is,

And ne'er made sic anither!

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Thou art a queen, fair Lesley,

Thy subjects we, before thee : Thou art divine, fair Lesley,

The hearts o' men adore thee.

The Deil he could na scaith thee,

Or aught that wad belang thee; He'd look into thy bonnie face,

And say, 'I canna wrang thee.'

The Powers aboon will tent thee;

Misfortune sha' na steer thee; Thou’rt like themselves sae lovely,

That ill they'll ne'er let near thee.

Return again, fair Lesley,

Return to Caledonie!
That we may brag, we hae a lass

There's nane again sae bonnie.

HIGHLAND MARY.

Tune, 'Katharine Ogie.'

1

Ye banks, and braes, and streams around,

The castle o' Montgomery, Green be your woods, and fair your flowers,

Your waters never drumlie! There simmer first unfald her robes,

And there the langest tarry ; For there I took the last fareweel

O’my sweet Highland Mary.

How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk,

How rich the hawthorn's blossom;
As underneath their fragrant shade,

I clasp'd her to my bosom!
The golden hours on angel wings,

Flew o'er me and my dearie ;
For dear to me, as light and life,

Was my sweet Highland Mary.

Wi' mony a vow, and lock'd embrace,

Our parting was fu’ tender;
And, pledging aft to meet again,

We tore oursels asunder ;
But Oh! fell death's untimely frost,

That nipt my flower sae early !
Now green's the sod, and cauld's the cas,

That wraps my Highland Mary!

O pale, pale now, those rosy lips,

I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly!
And closed for ay, the sparkling glance,

That dwelt on me sae kindly!
And mouldering now in silent dust,

That heart that loe'd me dearly! But still within my bosom's core,

Shall live my Highland Mary.*

• The following, being another copy of verses to the same tune, are extracted from the Reliques of Buros, by Mr. Cro. mek.

Ye flowery banks o' bonie Doon,

How can ye blume sae fair,
How can ye chant, ye little birds,

And I sae fu’o'care!

Thou'll break my heart thou bonie bird

That sings upon the bough;
Thou minds me o' the happy days

When my fause luve was true.

Thou'll break my heart, thou bonie bird

That sings beside thy mate;
For sae I sat, and sae I sang,

And wist na o'my fate.

Aft bave I rov'd by bonie Doong

To see the woodbine twine,
And ilka bird sang o' its love,

And sae did I o' mine.

Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose,

Frae affits thorny tree,
And my fause luver staw the rose,

But left the thorn wi' me.

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