SHE.

The little swallow's wanton wing,
Tho' wafting o'er the flowery spring,
Did ne'er to me sic tidings bring
As meeting o' my Willy.

HE.

The bee that thro' the sunny hour Sips nectar in the opening flower, Compar'd wi' my delight is poor, Upon the lips o' Philly.

SHE.

The woodbine in the dewy weet
When evening shades in silence meet
Is nocht sae fragrant or she sweet
As is a kiss o' Willy.

HE.

Let fortune's wheel at random rin,
And fools may tyne, and knaves may
win;

My thoughts are a' bound up in ane,
And that's my ain dear Philly.

SHE.

What's a' the joys than gowd can gie!
I care na wealth a single flie;
The lad I love's the lad for me,
And that's my ain dear Willy.

JOHN BARLEYCORN.

A BALLAD.

THERE was three Kings into the east, Three Kings both great and high, And they hae sworn a solemn oath John Barleycorn should die.

They took a plough and plough'd him down,

Put clods upon his head,
And they hae sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn was dead.

But the cheerfu' Spring came kindly on,
And show'rs began to fall;
John Barleycorn got up again,
And sore surpris'd them all.

The sultry suns of summer came,

And he grew thick and strong,

His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears, That no one should him wrong.

The sober Autumn enter'd mild,
When he grew wan and pale;
His bending joints and drooping head
Show'd he began to fail.

His colour sicken'd more and more,
He faded into age;

And then his enemies began

To shew their deadly rage.

They've ta'en a weapon, long and sharp,
And cut him by the knee;
Then tied him fast upon a cart,

Like a rogue for forgerie.

They laid him down upon his back,
And cudgell'd him full sore;
They hung him up before the storm,

And turn'd him o'er and o'er.

They filled up a darksome pit
With water to the brim,
They heaved in John Barleycorn,
There let him sink or swim.

They laid him out upon the floor,
To work him farther woe,
And still, as signs of life appear'd,
They toss'd him to and fro.

They wasted, o'er a scorching flame,
The marrow of his bones;
But a miller us'd him worst of all,

For he crush'd him between two stones.

Andthey hae ta'en his very heart's blood,
And drank it round and round;
And still the more and more they drank,
Their joy did more abound.

John Barleycorn was a hero bold,
Of noble enterprise,

For if you do but taste his blood,

"Twill make your courage rise;

"Twill make a man forget his woe;

"Twill heighten all his joy: "Twill make the widow's heart to sing, Tho' the tear were in her eye.

Then let us toast John Barleycorn,

Each man a glass in hand; And may his great posterity

Ne'er fail in old Scotland!

Then Rockingham took up the game;
Till death did on hi ca', man;
When Shelburne meek held up his cheek,
Conform to gospel law, man;
Saint Stephen's boys, wi' jarring noise,
They did his measures thraw, man,
For North an' Fox united stocks,

An' bore him to the wa', man.

Then Clubs an' Hearts were Charlie's cartes,

He swept the stakes awa', man, Till the Diamond's Ace, of Indian race, Led him a sair jaux pas, man: The Saxon lads, wi' loud placads,

On Chatham's boy did ca', man; An' Scotland drew her pipe, an' blew, "Up, Willie, waur them a', man!"

Behind the throne then Grenville's gone,
A secret word or twa, man;
While slee Dundas arous'd the class
Be-north the Roman wa', man:
An' Chathani's wraith, in heavenly graith,
(Inspired Bardies saw, man,)
Wi' kindling eyes cry'd, "Willie, rise!
Would I hae fear'd them a', man?"

But, word an' blow, North, Fox, and Co.
Gowff'd Willie like a ba', man,
Till Suthron raise, an' coost their claise
Behind him in a raw, man;
An' Caledon threw by the drone,

An' did her whittle draw, man;
An' swoor fu' rude, thro' dirt an' blood,
To make it guid in law, man.

THE RIGS O' BARLEY.

TUNE-"Corn rigs are bonie."

It was upon a Lammas night,

When corn rigs are bonie, Beneath the moon's unclouded light, I held awa to Annie:

The time flew by, wi' tentless heed,

Till 'tween the late and early, Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed, To see me thro' the barley.

The sky was blue, the wind was still,
The moon was shining clearly;
I set her down, wi' right good will,
Amang the rigs o' barley;
I ken't her heart was a' my ain;
I lov'd her most sincerely;
I kiss'd her owre and owre again
Amang the rigs o' barley.

I lock'd her in my fond embrace;
Her heart was beating rarely;
My blessings on that happy place,
Amang the rigs o' barley!
But by the moon and stars so bright,
That shone that hour so clearly!
She ay shall bless that happy night
Amang the rigs o' barley.

I hae been blythe wi' comrades dear;
I hae been merry drinking;

I hae been joyfu' gath'rin gear;
I hae been happy thinking:
But a' the pleasures e'er I saw,

Tho' three times doubl'd fairly, That happy night was worth them a', Amang the rigs o' barley.

CHORUS.

Corn rigs, an' barley rigs,

An' corn rigs are bonie: I'll ne'er, forget that happy night, Amang the rigs wi' Annie.

FAREWELL TO ELIZA.

TUNE-" Gilderoy."

FROM thee, Eliza, I must go,
And from my native shore;
The cruel fates between us throw
A boundless ocean's roar:
But boundless oceans, roaring wide,
Between my Love and me,
They never, never can divide

My heart and soul from thee.
Farewell, farewell, Eliza dear,
The maid that I adore!
A boding voice is in mine ear,
We part to meet no more!
But the last throb that leaves my heart,
While death stands victor by,
That throb, Eliza, is thy part,

And thine that latest sigh!

MY NANIE, O.

BEHIND yon hills where Stinchar flows, 'Mang moors an' mosses many, (), The wintry sun the day has clos'd,

And I'll awa' to Nanie, O.

The westlin wind blaws loud an' shill; The night's baith mirk and rainy, (): But I'll get my plaid, an' out I'll steal, An' owre the hill to Nanie, O.

My Nanie's charming, sweet, an' young:
Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, 0:
May ill befa' the flattering tongue
That wad beguile my Nanie, O.

Her face is fair, her heart is true, As spotless as she's bonie, O: The op'ning gowan, wat wi' dew, Nae purer is than Nanie, O.

A country lad is my degree,

An' few there be that ken me, O; But what care I how few they be, I'm welcome aye to Nanie, O.

My riches a's my penny-fee,

An' I maun guide it cannie, O; But warl's gear ne'er troubles me,

My thoughts are a', my Nanie, O.

Our auld Guidman delights to view

His sheep an' kye thrive bonie, O; But I'm as blythe that hauds his pleugh, An' has nae care but Nanie, O.

Come weel, come woe, I care na by, I'll tak what Heav'n will send me, O; Nae ither care in life have I,

But live, an' love my Nanie, O.

GREEN GROW THE RASHES.

A FRAGMENT.

CHORUS.

Green grow the rashes, O;
Green grow the rashes, O;
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,
Are spent amang the lasses, Ó!

THERE'S nought but care on ev'ry han',
In ev'ry hour that passes, O;
What signifies the life o' man,

An' 'twere na for the lasses, O.
Green grow, &c.

The warly race may riches chase,
An' riches still may fly them, O;
An' tho' at last they catch them fast,
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O
Green grow, &c.

But gie me a canny hour at e'en,
My arms about my dearie, O;
An' warly cares, an' warly men,
May a'
gae tapsalteerie, (!
Green grow, &c.

For you sae douse, ye sneer at this,
Ye're nought but senseless asses, 0:
The wisest man the warl' saw,

He dearly lov'd the lasses, O.
Green grow, &c.

Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears
Her noblest work she classes, O;
Her prentice han' she tried on man,
An' then she made the lasses, O.
Green grow, &c.

NOW WESTLIN WINDS. TUNE-"I had a horse, I had nae mair." Now westlin winds and slaught'ring

guns

Bring autumn's pleasant weather; The moorcock springs, on whirring wings,

Amang the blooming heather: Now waving grain, wide o'er the plain, Delights the weary farmer;

And the moon shines bright, when I rove at night

To muse upon my charmer.

The partridge loves the fruitful fells; The plover loves the mountains;

The woodcock loves the lonely dells; The soaring hern the fountains: