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Trumpets sound, and cannons roar,

Bonnie lassie, Lowland lassie; And a' the hills wi' echoes roar,

Bonnie Lowland lassie. Glory, honour, now invite,

Bonnie lassie, Lowland lassie, For freedom and my king to fight,

Bonnie Lowland lassie. The sun a backward course shall take,

Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie,
Ere aught thy manly courage shake,

Bonnie Highland laddie.
Go! for yourself procure renown,

Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie ;
And for your lawful king his crown,

Bonnie Highland laddie.

THE HIGHLAND LASSIE.
TUNEThe Deuks dang o'er my Daddy!
Nae gentle dames, tho' e'er sae fair,
Shall ever be my muse's care :
Their titles a' are empty show;
Gie me my Highland lassie, O.

Within the glen sae bushy, 0,
Aboon the plains sae rushy, O,
I set me down wi' right good will,

To sing my Highland lassie, O. Oh, were yon hills and valleys mine, Yon palace and yon gardens fine! The world then the love should know I bear my Highland lassie, 0.

But fickle fortune frowns on me,
And I maun cross the raging sea;
But while my crimson currents flow,
I'll love my Highland lassie, O.
Altho' thro’ foreign climes I range,
I know her heart will never change,
For her bosom burns with honour's glow,
My faithful Highland lassie, 0.
For her I'll dare the billows' roar,
For her I'll trace a distant shore,
That Indian wealth may lustre throw
Around my Highland lassie, O.
She has my heart, she has my hand,
By sacred truth and honour's band !
'Till the mortal stroke shall lay me low,
I'm thine, my Highland lassie, o.

Farewell the glen sae bushy, O!
Farewell the plain sae rushy, 0 !
To other lands I now must go,
To sing my Highland lassie, O.

THE HIGHLAND WIDOW'S

LAMENT.
Oh! I am come to the low countrie,

Och-on, och-on, och-rie !
Without a penny in my purse,

To buy a meal to me.

It was na sae in the Highland hills,

Och-on, och-on, och-rie !
Nae woman in the country wide

Sae happy was as me.
For then I had a score o' kye,

Och-on, och-on, och-rie !
Feeding on yon bills so high,

And giving milk to me. And there I had three score o' yowes,

Och-on, och-on, och-rie!
Skipping on yon bonnie knowes,

And casting woo' to me.
I was the happiest of a' the clan,

Sair, sair may I repine ;
For Donald was the brawest lad,

And Donald he was mine.
Till Charlie Stewart cam at last, .

Sae far to set us free;
My Donald's arm was wanted then,

For Scotland and for me.
Their waefu' fate what need I tell ?

Right to the wrang did yield :
My Donald and his country fell

Upon Culloden's field. Oh! I am come to the low countrie,

Och-on, och-on, och-rie ! Nae woman in the world wide

Sae wretched now as me.

THE JOYFUL WIDOWER.

TUNE-Maggy Lauder.
I MARRIED with a scolding wife

The fourteenth of November;
She made me weary of my life,

By one unruly member.
Long did I bear the heavy yoke,

And many griefs attended ;
But, to my comfort be it spoke,

Now, now her life is ended.
We lived full one-and-twenty years,

A man and wife together;
At length from me her course she steer'd,

And gone I know not whither : Would I could guess, I do profess,

I speak, and do not flatter, Of all the women in the world,

I never could come at her. Her body is bestowed well,

A handsome grave does hide her ; But sure her soul is not in hell,

The deil would ne'er abide her!
I rather think she is aloft,

And imitating thunder;
For why?-methinks I hear her voice

Tearing the clouds asunder!

THE LASS OF BALLACHMYLE.

TUNE-Miss Forbes's Farewell to Banf. 'Twas ev'n—the dewy fields were green,

On every 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 heard 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 bonnie lass o’ Ballochmyle. Oh, had she been a country maid,

And I the happy country swain, Tho' shelter'd in the lowest shed

That ever rose on Scotland's plain,

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