WHEN Guilford good our pilot sto… An’ did our hellim thraw, man, Ae night, at tea, began a plea, Within America, man: Then up they gat the maskin-pat,

FLOW gently, sweet Afton! amang… Flow gently, I’ll sing thee a son… My Mary’s asleep by thy murmuring… Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb… Thou stockdove whose echo resounds…

MY girl she’s airy, she’s buxom a… Her breath is as sweet as the blos… A touch of her lips it ravishes qu… She’s always good natur’d, good hu… She dances, she glances, she smile…

BEHOLD the hour, the boat, arri… My dearest Nancy, O fareweel! Severed frae thee, can I survive, Frae thee whom I hae lov’d sae we… Endless and deep shall be my grief…

WHY am I loth to leave this eart… Have I so found it full of pleasi… Some drops of joy with draughts of… Some gleams of sunshine 'mid renew… Is it departing pangs my soul alar…

The sun lies clasped in amber clou… Half hidden in the sea, And o’er the sands the flowing tid… Comes racing merrilee. The hawthorn hedge is white with b…

O Thou! whatever title suit thee— Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clo… Wha in yon cavern grim an’ sootie, Clos’d under hatches, Spairges about the brunstane cooti…

My heart is a—breaking, dear Titt… Some counsel unto me come len’; To anger them a’ is a pity, But what will I do wi’ Tam Glen? I’m thinking, wi’ sic a braw fello…

WILL ye go to the Hielands, Lee… Will ye go to the Hielands wi’ me… Will ye go to the Hielands, Leezi… My pride and my darling to be.

Wee, modest, crimson—tippèd flow’r… Thou’s met me in an evil hour; For I maun crush amang the stoure Thy slender stem: To spare thee now is past my pow’r…

YE true “Loyal Natives” attend t… In uproar and riot rejoice the nig… From Envy and Hatred your corps i… But where is your shield from the…

“WHA is that at my bower-door?” “O wha is it but Findlay!” “Then gae your gate, ye’se nae be… “Indeed maun I,” quo’ Findlay; “What mak’ ye, sae like a thief?”

THE SUN he is sunk in the west, All creatures retirиd to rest, While here I sit, all sore beset, With sorrow, grief, and woe: And it’s O, fickle Fortune, O!

Scots, what hae wi’ Wallace bled, Scots, wham Bruce has aften led, Welcome to your gory bed, Or to victorie! Now’s the day, and now’s the hour;

I lang hae thought, my youthfu’ fr… A something to have sent you, Tho’ it should serve nae ither end Than just a kind momento: But how the subject—theme may gang…