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THE WEARY PUND O' TOW.

TUNE-The weary Pund o' Tow.
The weary pund, the weary pund,

The weary pund o' tow;
I think my wife will end her life

Before she spin her tow.
I bought my wife a stane o' lint

As guid as e'er did grow;
And a that she has made o' that,

Is ae poor pund o' tow.
There sat a bottle in a bole,

Beyont the ingle lowe,
And aye she took the tither souk,

To drouk the stowrie tow.
Quoth I, for shame, ye dirty dame,

Gae spin your tap o' tow!
She took the rock, and wi' a knock

She brak it o'er my pow.
At last ner feet-I sang to see't-

Gaed foremost o'er the knowe ;
And or l-wad anither jad,

I'll wallop in a tow.

THE YOUNG HIGHLAND ROVER.

TUNE-Morag. Loud blaw the frosty breezes,

The snaws the mountains cover ;
Like winter on me seizes,

Since my young Highland Rover
Far wanders nations over.

Where'er he go, where'er he stray,

May Heaven be his warden,
Return him safe to fair Strathspey,

And bonnie Castle-Gordon !
The trees now naked groaning,

Shall soon wi' leaves be hinging,
The birdies dowie moaning,

Shall a' be blythely singing,

And every flower be springing.
Sae I'll rejoice the lee-lang day,

When by his mighty warden
My youth's returned to fair Strathspey,

And bonnie Castle-Gordon.

THEIR GROVES O' SWEET MYRTLE.

TUNE-Humours of Glen. Their groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign

lands reckon, Where bright-beaming summers exalt the

perfume; Far dearer to me yon lone glen o' green

breckan, Wi' the burn stealing under the lang

yellow broom. Far dearer to me are yon humble broom

bowers, Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk lowly

unseen:

For there, lightly tripping amang the wild flowers,

(Jean. A-listening the linnet, aft wonders my

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Tho' rich is the breeze in their gay sunny

valleys, And cauld Caledonia's blast on the wave; Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt

the proud palace, What are they? —the haunt of the tyrant

and slave! The slave's spicy forests, and gold-bubbling

fountains, The brave Caledonian views wi' disdain ; He wanders as free as the winds of his

mountains, Save love's willing fetters—the chains o'

his Jean!

THENIEL MENZIE'S BONNIE.

MARY.
TUNEThe Ruffian's Rant.
In coming by the brig o’ Dye,

At Darlet we a blink did tarry ;
As day was dawin in the sky,
We drank a health to bonnie Mary.
Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary,

Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary;
Charlie Gregor tint his plaidie,

Kissin' Theniel's bonnie Mary.
Her een sae bright, her brow sae white,

Her haffet locks as brown's a berry ; And aye they dimpl’t wi' a smile,

The rosy cheeks o' bonnie Mary.

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