But, by the moon and stars so bright, That shone that hour so clearly; She ay shall bless that happy night, Amang the rigs o' barley!

I hae been blithe wi' comrades dear ·
I hae been merry drinkin';
I hae been joyfu' gath'rín' gear;
I hae been happy thinkin':
But a' the pleasures e'er I saw,

Tho' three times doubled fairly,

That happy night was worth them a', Amang the rigs o' barley!

CHORUS.

Corn rigs, an' barley rigs,

Corn rigs are bonie;

I'll ne'er forget that happy night,
Amang the rigs wi' Annie.

THE LEA-RIG.

WHEN, o'er the hill, the eastern star Tells bughtin-time is near, my jo; And owsen frae the furrow'd field, Return sae dowf and weary, O; Down by the burn, where scented birks Wi' dew are hanging clear, my jo,

I'll meet thee on the lea-rig,

My ain kind dearie, O

In mirkest glen, at midnight hour,
I'd rove, and ne'er be eerie, O,
If thro' that glen I gaed to thee,
My ain kind dearie, O.

Altho' the night were ne'er sae wild,
And I were ne'er sae wearie, O,
I'd meet thee on the lea-rig,
My ain kind dearie, O.

The hunter lo'es the morning sun,
To rouse the mountain deer, my jo;
At noon the fisher seeks the glen,

Along the burn to steer, my jo:
Give me the hour o'gloamin' gray,
It maks my heart sae cheerie, O,
To meet thee on the lea-rig,
My ain kind dearie, O.

THE LASS OF BALLOCHMYLE.

"TWAS ev'n the dewy fields were green,
On ev'ry blade the pearls hang;
The zephyr wanton'd round the bean,
And bore its fragrant sweets alang:

In ev'ry glen the mavis sang,

All nature list'ning seem'd the while, Except where greenwood echoes rang, Amang the braes o' Ballochmyle.

With careless step I onward stray'd,
My heart rejoic'd in nature's joy,
When musing in a lonely glade,

A maiden fair I chanc'd to spy:
Her look was like the morning's eye,
Her air like Nature's vernal smile,
Perfection whisper'd, passing by,

"Behold the lass o' Ballochmyle!"

Fair is the morn in flow'ry May,

And sweet is night in Autumn mild, When roving thro' the garden gay,

Or wand'ring in the lonely wild: But Woman, Nature's darling child! There all her charms she does compile; Ev'n there her other works are foil'd, By the bonie lass o' Ballochmyle.

O, had she been a country maid,
And I the happy country swain,
Tho' shelter'd in the lowest shed

That ever rose in Scotland's plain!
Thro' weary winter's wind and rain,
With joy, with rapture, I would toil,
And nightly to my bosom strain
The bonie lass o' Ballochmyle!

Then pride might climb the slipp'ry steep Where fame and honors lofty shine; And thirst of gold might tempt the deep Or downward seek the Indian mine:

Give me the cot be.ow the pine,.

To tend the flocks, or till the soil, And ev'ry day have joys divine,

Wi' the bonie lass o' Ballochmyle.

BONIE LESLEY.

O SAW ye bonie Lesley,

As she gaed o'er the border?

She's gane, like Alexander,

To spread her conquests farther.

To see her is to love her,

And love but her for ever;
For Nature made her what she is,
And ne'er made sic anither!

Thou art a queen, fair Lesley,
Thy subjects we, before thee;
Thou art divine, fair Lesley,

The hearts o' men adore thee.

The Deil he could na scaith thee,
Or aught that wad belang thee;
He'd look into thy bonie face,

And say, "I canna wrang thee."

The Pow'rs aboon will tent thee; Misfortune sha' na steer thee; Thou'rt like themselves, sae lovely, That ill they'll ne'er let near thee.

Return again, fair Lesley,

Return to Caledonie!

That we may brag we hae a lass

There's nane again sae bonie.

BONIE.EAN.

THERE was a lass, and she was fair,
At kirk and market to be seen;
When a' the fairest maids were met,
The fairest maid was bonie Jean.

And ay she wrought her mammie's wark,
And ay she sang sae merrilie;

The blithest bird upon the bush
Had ne'er a lighter heart than she.

But hawks will rob the tender joys
That bless the little lintwhite's nest;
And frost will blight the fairest flowers,
And love will break the soundest rest.

Young Robie was the brawest lad,

The flow'r and pride of a' the glen; And he had owsen, sheep, and kye, And wanton nagies nine or ten.

He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryste,

He danc'd wi' Jeanie on the down;

And, lang ere witless Jeanie wist,

Her heart was tint, her peace was stown

As, in the bosom o' the stream,

The moonbeam dwells at dewy e'en,

So, trembling, pure, was tender love,

Within the breast o' bonie Jean.