WILL ye go to the Indies, my Ma… And leave auld Scotia’s shore? Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary… Across th’ Atlantic roar? O sweet grows the lime and the ora…

THOU greybeard, old Wisdom! may… Give me with young Folly to live; I grant thee thy calm-blooded, tim… But Folly has raptures to give.

HER flowing locks, the raven’s wi… Adown her neck and bosom hing; How sweet unto that breast to clin… And round that neck entwine her! Her lips are roses wat wi’ dew,

My love, she’s but a lassie yet, My love, she’s but a lassie yet! We’ll let her stand a year or twa, She’ll no be half sae saucy yet! I rue the day I sought her, O!

HEALTH to the Maxwell’s vetera… Health, aye unsour’d by care or gr… Inspir’d, I turn’d Fate’s sibyl l… This natal morn, I see thy life is stuff o’ prief,

Tune —“The Braes o’ Balquhidder.… Chor. —And I’ll kiss thee yet, ye… And I’ll kiss thee o’er again: And I’ll kiss thee yet, yet, My bonie Peggy Alison.

The Author’s Only Pet Yowe An Unco Mournfu’ Tale As Mailie, an’ her lambs thegithe… Was ae day nibbling on the tether, Upon her cloot she coost a hitch,

My harry was a gallant gay, Fu’ stately strade he on the plain… But now he’s banish’d far away: I’ll never see him back again. Refrain:

HONEST 1 Will to Heaven’s away And mony shall lament him; His fau’ts they a’ in Latin lay, In English nane e’er kent them.

Chorus’€”Mally’s meek, Mally’s sw… Mally’s modest and discreet; Mally’s rare, Mally’s fair, Mally’s every way complete. AS I was walking up the street,

WHILE larks, with little wing, Fann’d the pure air, Tasting the breathing Spring, Forth I did fare: Gay the sun’s golden eye

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…

O Thou dread Power, who reign’st… I know thou wilt me hear, When for this scene of peace and l… I make this prayer sincere. The hoary Sire —the mortal stroke…

O, WERE I on Parnassus hill, Or had o’ Helicon my fill, That I might catch poetic skill, To sing how dear I love thee! But Nith maun be my Muse’s well,

THINE be the volumes, Jessy fai… And with them take the Poet’s pra… That Fate may, in her fairest pag… With ev’ry kindliest, best presage Of future bliss, enroll thy name: