O WILL I COME WHEN YONT THE KNOWES. TUNE“ The Lee Rig.” The setting sun has hid his ee, Sae smoothly thro' the gowan'd lea? And wilt thou on my bosom rest; Tell me I'm dearest to thy breast? And hear thee say thou’rt a' my ain; But O how shall we part again ? Shall set beyond blue Arran's brow, (SUNG slow.) Should'st shaw nae welcome in thy ee, In awfu' darkness o'er the lea; Abate the horror othy reign, Let Nature wrapt in gloom remain. Has smooth'd his way by tender art; And found admission to thy heart. penned. Contrary to his fears, in his native plains, and among the friends of his early years, he has thrice seen winter “dis. mantle Nature of her charms,” since he wrote The Farewell. Then a' ye dreams of joy depart, For oh! this throbbing heart is sair ! (LIVELY.) As blythe as morning's risin' rayNae happier youth, wi' artfu' wiles, Has lur'd her maiden heart away. Then joy resume thy welcome sway, And ever reign within my breastLet fortune sen' me weel or wae, I tent na-since wi' Mary blest. O come alang wi' me, my love, And dinna sae me nay; A-happin' down the brae. I e'en maun say thee nay: Leads followers far astray. O come alang wi' me, my love, O come alang wi' me, Bedeck the leafless tree. I maunna gang wi’ thee: - Cauld wad it fa' on me. O come alang wi' me, my love, Come to the burnie's side; I'll hap thee in my plaid. To the burnie's rocky side: An' me row't in thy plaid. O come alang wi' me, my love, O come and fear nae harm; And keep ilk ither warm, Let fortune smile or storm, An' keep ilk ither warm. - When the sun's red-rays are streamin', My heart is fu' o' thee. And thinkin' still othee. When soughs the distant billow, My dreams are a' othee. Ff HELEN. In sweetest retirement I muse on thy charıns; arms." How sweet was the pleasure, still sweet tho' departed; Earth's joys, alas! are like rude winds at sea; Long for my Helen my lone soul hath smarted, Each throb in my bosom beat fondly for thee. Need I to remind you, how oft times we've wander'd By Biggar's fair village, the pride of the plain; Or how, by the streamlet that sweetly meander'd, We've sported in innocence, free from guilt's pain. Eve, with its odours bedewing the mountain, Transcendently shines in the chaste lover's eye; If 'tis a pleasure to muse by the fountain, With rapture I'll muse tho' my heart for thee sigh. *. SUCH A PARCEL OF ROGUES IN A NATION. Fareweel our ancient glory; Sae fam'd in martial story!. And Tweed rins to the ocean, Such a parcel of rogues in a nation! * In inserting this piece, the production of a youth of sixteen, the Editor thinks he need offer no apology, since he is of opinion it gives indications of poetical powers, which time and riper judgment will, he hopes, much improve |