Thus merrily my time I pass,

With spirits brisk and voggie,
Blest with my buiks and my sweet lass,

My cronies and my coggie.
Then haste, and gie's an auld Scots sang,

Sic like as Kathrine Ogie;
A gude Scots sang comes never wrang,

Whan o'er a social coggie.

TUNE—" Miss Admiral Gordon's Strathspey."
O Clutha ! wild thy banks appear,

And saft thy waters glide,
And lasses, kind, and blythe, an' fair

Adorn thy wooded side.
They ken na me, they lo'e na me,

Tho' a' sae sweet and gay;
Fu’ blythe they be, an' kythe they be,

But I am doylt an' wae.
How touchin' saft the gloamin's gleam,

On tufted knowe an' fell,
When o'er the brae the sunnie beam

Sae mildly glints farewell !
When dusky vapours slowly row,

Alang the waveless tide,
And gath’rin cluds o' leaden hue,

Hang on the mountain's side.
Tho' placid be the closin' scene

At gloamin's silent hour,
Aroun' my breast nae rays serene

The joys o' e'enin' pour :

* This version of Cauld, kail in Aberdeen is by Mr. William Reid, Bookseller in Glasgow, and is intended to present to the mind a few ideas more agreeable than some of those in the old song of that name.

A' things are gay, but I am wae;

They smile, but I repine;
Ilk lover's near his lass sae dear

But I am far frae mine.
Thou awfu' spirit o' the floods,

That scoop'd wide Clutha's vale,
That flow'rd her fields, and rear'd her woods,

And bade her spread the sail!
O gie her sons and daughters peace,

Ånd freedom, health, and joy;
And ne'er let fate blight present bliss,

Nor soothing hope destroy.
For me, I'll wander where I list,

Dark as the wintry storm;
Nae frien' shall sooth my bleeding breast,

Nae love my sorrow charm.-
I hae a love, but that sweet love

Wears cauldness in her ee;
I hae a love, but that sweet love

Will never love like me.

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TUNE" Roslin Castle."
Blow on, rude tempest! wildly rave,
And dash aloft the foaming wave:

* This song, and the six following, the Editor has been favoured with from a Gentleman in Ayrshire, already known to the world as the author of a beautiful little work entitled Hora Poetica. The Editor expresses the highest sense of gratitude to the author for these pieces ; and he is assured the public will give its most cordial assent to the high poetical merit he attaches to them.

Come rapid, with tumultous sweep,
And spread thy terrors o'er the deep:
Thy head in cloudy darkness roll,
Dark as the gloom that wraps my soul;
For nought but gloom can pleasure gie,
Since Mary look'd sae cauld on me.
I hear the bending forest groan;
I hear the hollow cavern's moan;
I see the angry vapours fly,
In scatter'd fragments o'er the sky.
I see the moon, thro' parting cluds,
Look wanly on the bending woods:
Cauld, cauld an' cheerless is her ee,
An' Mary look'd as cauld on me.


To ony tune you like. Lasses lookna sourly meek,

But laugh an' love in youth's gay morn: If ance the bloom forsake your

cheek, Fareweel your heuks, the hairst is shorn. The secret favour that you meet,

Or the favour ye return, If vainly ye let ithers see't,

Fareweel your heuks, the hairst is shorn. Wi' care the tender moments grip,

When your cautious lovers burn; But if ye let that moment slip,

Fareweel your heuks, the hairst is shorn. Be on your guard wi' Sir or Laird;

A’ ties but that o' marriage spurn; For if you grant what he may want,

Fareweel your heuks, your hairst is shorn. The lad that's wi' your siller taen,

Reject his vows wi' honest scorn; For ance the glitterin' ore's his ain,

Fareweel your heuks, the hairst is shorn. Widows rest you as ye are

Nae lover now dare crook his horn; But mak him master o’ your gear.

Fareweel your heuks, the hairst is shorn. Lasses that nae lads hae got,

But live in garrets lane and lorn, Let ilk be carefu' o' her cat

Ne'er think o'heuks--your hairst is shorn.


TUNE_" Jockie's far awa.”.
O WELCOME winter! wi' thy storms,

Thy frosts, an' hills o’sna';
Dismantle Nature o' her charms,

For I maun lea', them a'.
I've mourn'd the gowan wither'd laid

Upon its wallow bier ;
I've seen the rose-bud drooping fade

Beneath the dewy tear.
Then fare ye weel, my frien's sae dear,

For I maun lea' you a'.
O will ye sometimes shed a tear

For me, when far awa?
For me, when far frae hame and you,

Where ceaseless tempests blaw,
Will ye repeat my last adieu,

An mourn that I'm awa'?

I've seen the wood, where rude winds rave,

In gay green mantle drest;
But now its leafless branches wave

Wild whistling in the blast:
So perish'd a' my youthfu' joy,

An' left me thus to mourn :
The vernal Sun will gild the sky,
But joy will ne'er return.

Then fare ye weel, &c.
In vain will Spring her gowans spread

Owre the green swairded lea:
The rose beneath the hawthorn shade

Will bloom in vain to me:
In vain will Spring bedeck the bow'rs

Wi' buds and blossoms braw-
The gloomy storm already low'rs
That drives me far awa.

Then fare ye weel, &c.

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O winter! spare the peacefu' scene

Where early joys I knew :
Still be its fields unfading green,

Its sky unclouded blue.
Ye lads and lasses! when sae blythe
The social crak



the tribute of a sigh
For me, when far awa! *

Then fare ye weel, fc.

* After untoward fate had forced the author to seek mental peace for several years on the restless bosom of the deep, he returned, disappointed in his search, to the scenes of his youth. He now found them endeared to him by absence, a soul.cheering contrast to the tumults and dangers he had lately experienced; but misfortune still pursued him, and it was on the prospect of quitting his country once more, and for ever, that the above effusion was

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