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But by the moon and stars so bright,
That shone that hour so clearly !
Amang the rigs o' barley.
I hae been merry drinkin';
I hae been happy thinkin':
Tho' three times doubl'd fairly,
And corn rigs are bonnie :
Amang the rigs with Annie.
THE SMILING SPRING.
TUNE—The Bonny Bell.
And surly winter grimly flies ;
And bonnie blue are the sunny skies. Fresh o'er the mountains breaks forth the
morning, The ev’ning gilds the ocean's swell; All creatures joy in the sun's returning,
And I rejoice in my bonnie Bell.
The flowery spring leads sunny summer,
And yellow autumn presses near, Then in his turn comes gloomy winter,
Till smiling spring again appear. Thus seasons dancing, life advancing,
Old Time and Nature their changes tell,
AIR-The Mill, Mill 0.
And gentle peace returning,
And mony a widow mourning :
Where lang I'd been a lodger,
A poor but honest sodger.
My hand unstain'd wi' plunder:
I cheery on did wander.
I thought upon my Nancy;
That caught my youthful fancy.
Where early life I sported;
Where Nancy aft I courted :
Wha spied I but my ain dear maid
Down by her mother's dwelling! And turn'd me round to hide the flood
That in my een was swelling. Wi' alter'd voice, quoth I, “ Sweet lass,
Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom, Oh! happy, happy may he be,
That's dearest to thy bosom! My purse is light, I've far to gang,
And fain would be thy lodger ;
Take pity on a sodger !”
And lovelier was than ever ;
Forget him shall I never :
Ye freely shall partake o't;
Ye're welcome for the sake o't."
Syne pale like ony lily ;
“ Art thou my ain dear Willie?" “By Him who made yon sun and sky,
By whom true love's regarded, I am the man; and thus may still
True lovers be rewarded, The wars are o'er, and I'm come hame,
And find thee still true-hearted ! Tho' poor in gear, we're rich in love,
And mair we'se ne'er he narted."
Quo' she, “ My grandsire left me gowd,
A mailen plenish'a fairly ;
Thou'rt welcome to it dearly.”
The farmer ploughs the manor ;
The sodger's wealth is honour.
Nor count him as a stranger;
In day and hour of danger.
THE SONS OF OLD KILLIE.
TUNE-Shawnboy. YE sons of old Killie, assembled by Willie,
To follow the noble vocation; Your thrifty old mother has scarce such
another To sit in that honoured station. I've little to say, but only to pray,
As praying's the ton of your fashion ; A prayer from the muse you well may excuse,
'Tis seldom her favourite passion. Ye powers who preside o'er the wind and the
tide, Who marked each element's border; Who formed this frame with beneficent aim,
Whose sovereign statute is order ;
Within this dear mansion may wayward con
Or withered envy ne'er enter ; [tention May secrecy round be the mystical bound,
And brotherly love be the centre.
THE TITHER MORN.
To a Highland Air. The tither morn, when I forlorn
Aneath an aik sat moaning, I did na trow, I'd see my jo,
Beside me, gain the gloaming. But he sae trig, lap o'er the rig,
And dawtingly did cheer me, When I, what reck, did least expec',
To see my lad so near me. His bonnet he, a thought ajee,
Cock'd sprush when first he clasp'd me; And I, I wat, wi' fainness grat,
While in his grips he press’d me. Deil tak the war ! I late and air,
Hae wish'd since Jock departed ; But now as glad I'm wi' my lad,
As short syne broken-hearted. Fu' aft at e'en wi' dancing keen,
When a' were blythe and merry,
In absence o' my dearie.
I'm happy wi' my Johnny :
And be as canty's ony.