TUNE THE COGGIE. Cauld kail in Aberdeen." WHEN poortith cauld, and sour disdain, Then, O revere the coggie, sirs, Let pride in fortune's chariots fly, Then, O revere the coggie, sirs, The independent coggie; And never snool beneath the frown Poor modest worth, with heartless ee, Sits hurkling in the boggie, Till she asserts her dignity, By virtue of the coggie. Then, O revere the coggie, sirs, Gie feckless Spain her weak snail broo, Then, O revere the coggie, sirs, In days of yore our sturdy sires, Glow'd with true freedom's warmest fires, Then, O revere the coggie, sirs, Then, here's may Scotland ne'er fa' down, But bauldly stand, and bang the loon RAVING WINDS AROUND HER BLOWING. TUNE-" M'Gregor of Rero's lament.” RAVING Winds around her blowing, Isabella stray'd deploring: "Farewell, hours that late did measure O'er the past too fondly wandering, Life, thou soul of every blessing, THE LASS O' NETHERLEE. Auld farran' cantie bodie, Did ye there my lassie see? KIND, an' blythe, an' sweet as onie, Hair like the mornin's gouden beam, Auld farran', &c. Her lips wad mak the cherry blush An' weel like I the dew to brush "I composed these verses on Miss Isabella M'Leod of Raza, alluding to her feelings on the death of her sister, and the still more melancholy death of her sister's husband, the late Earl of Loudon; who shot himself, out of sheer heart-break at some mortifications he suffered, owing to the deranged state of his finances."-Burns. But sawna ye the lassie then, * ་་་་་་་་་་་ CROMLET'S LILT. SINCE all thy vows, false maid, My grief I will express, And thy hard heartedness, O cruel fair. Have I not graven our loves In yonder spreading groves, Was not a solemn oath Some gloomy place I'll find, Some doleful shade, Where neither sun nor wind E'er entrance had: * By the author of Fair Helen. Netherlee is about four miles S. W. of Glasgow. Into that hollow cave, Wild fruit shall be my meat, I'll have the starry sky Shall spread its wing. I'll have no funeral fire, No grave do I desire, The courteous red-breast he, With leaves will cover me, And sing my elegy, With doleful voice. And when a ghost I am, I'll visit thee, O thou deceitful dame, Has kill'd the kindest heart, From loving thee. * * The following interesting account of this plaintive dirge is from the pen of ALEXANDER FRAZER TYTLER, Esq. of Woodhouselee." In the latter end of the 16th century, the Chisholms were proprietors of the estate of Cromlecks (now possessed by the Drummonds). The eldest son of that family was very much attached to a daughter of Sterling of Ardoch, common |