It was then your Mary; she's frae Castle-cary,

It was then your true love I met by the tree; Proud as her heart is and modest her nature,

Sweet were the kisses that she gave to me. Sair gloomed his dark brow, blood-red his cheek grew,

Wild flashed the fire frae his red rolling e'e : Ye'se rue sair this morning your boasts and your

scorning, Defend ye fause traitor, fu' loudly ye lie.

Away wi' beguiling, cried the youth smiling

Off went the bonnet, the lint-white locks flee, The belted plaid fa'ing, her white bosom shawing,

Fair stood the loved maid wi' the dark rolling e'e.
Is it my wee thing, is it my ain thing,

Is it my true love here that I see:
O Jamie forgie me, your heart's constant to me,

I'll never mair wander, dear laddie, frae thee.

COME UNDER MY PLAIDY.

HECTOR MACNEILI.

Come under my plaidy, the night's gaun to fu,'
Come in frae the cauld blast, the drift and the snaw;
Come under iny plaidy, and sit down beside me,
There's room in't, dear lassie, believe me, for twa;
Come under my plaidy, and sit down beside me,
I'll hap ye frae ev'ry cauld blast that can blaw;
Come under my plaidy, and sit down beside me,
There's room in't, dear lassie, believe me, for twa.

Gae wa'wi' your plaidy! auld Donald, gae wa'
I fear na’ the cauld blast, the drift, nor the snaw;
Gae wa’ wi' your plaidy! I'll no sit beside ye,
Ye might be my gutcher, auld Donald, gae wa'!
I'm gaun to meet Johnny, he's young and he's bonny,
He's been at Meg's bridal sae trig and sae braw;
O nane dances sae lightly, sae gracefu’or tightly!
His cheek's like the new rose, his brow's like the snaw!
Dear Marion, let that flee stick fast to the wa',
Your Jock's but a gowk, and has naething ava ;
The hale o' his pack he has now on his back ;
He's thretty, and I am but threescore and twa :
Be frank now and kindly, I'll busk ye aye finely,
To kirk or to market they'll nane gang sae braw;
A bien house to bide in, a chaise for to ride in,
And Aunkies to 'tend ye as aft as ye ca'.
My father

aye

tauld me, my mither and a', Ye'd mak a gude husband, and keep me aye braw: It's true I lo'e Johnny, lie's young and he's bonny, But, wae's me, I ken he has naething ava! I hae little tocher, ye've made a gude offer, I'm now mair than twenty, my time is but sma’; Sae gi'e me your plaidy, I'll creep in beside ye, I thought ye'd been aulder than threescore and twa. She crap in ayont him beside the stane wa', Where Johnny was list'nin, and heard her tell a'; The day was appointed ! bis proud heart it dunted, And strack 'gainst his side as if bursting in twa. He wander'd hame weary, the night it was dreary, And thowless he tint his gate ’mang the deep snaw; The owlet was screaming, while Johnny cried, Women Wad marry Auld Nick, if he'd keep them aye braw.

O the de'il's in the lasses ! they gang now sae braw,
They'll lie down wi' auld men o' fourscore and twa ;
The haill of their marriage is gowd and a carriage,
Plain love is the caldest blast now that can blaw !
Auld dotards, be wary! tak tent when ye marry,
Young wives wi' their coaches they'll whip and they'll

ca', Till they meet wi’ some Johnny that's youthfu' and

bonny, And they'll gi'e ye horns on ilk haffet to claw.

THE BRAES O' BALQUHITHER.

ROBERT TANNADILL.

Born 1774-Died 1810.

Let us go, lassie, go,

To the braes of Balquhither,
Where the blae-berries grow

'Mang the bonnie Highland heather ;
Where the deer and the roe,

Lightly bounding together,
Sport the lang summer day

On the braes o’ Balquhither.
I will twine thee a bower,

By the clear siller fountain,
And I'll cover it o'er,

Wi' the flowers of the mountain,

I will range thro' the wilds,

And the deep glens sae drearie,
And return wi' the spoils

To the bower o' my dearie.

When the rude wintry win'

Idly raves round our dwelling,
And the roar of the linn

On the night breeze is swelling,
So merrily we'll sing,

As the storm rattles o'er us,
Till the dear shieling ring,

Wi' the light lilting chorus.

Now the summer is in prime,

Wi’ the flowers richly blooming,
And the wild mountain thyme

A'the moorlands perfuming ;
To our dear native scenes

Let us journey together,
Where glad innocence reigns

'Mang the braes o' Balquhither.

THE BRAES O' GLENIFFER.

ROBERT TANXAHILL.

Keen blaws the win' o'er the braes o’ Gleniffer,

The auld castle turrets are cover'd with snaw; How chang'd frae the time when I met wi' my lover

Amang the broom bushes by Stanley green shaw ! The wild flow’rs o'simmer were spread a' sae bonnie,

The mavis sang sweet frae the green birken tree; But far to the camp they hae march'd my dear Johnie,

And now it is winter wi' nature and me. Then ilk thing around us was blithesome and cheerie,

Then ilk thing around us was bonnie and braw; Now naething is heard but the wind whistling drearie,

And naething is seen but the wide-spreading snaw. The trees are a' bare, and the birds mute and dowie ;

They shake the cauld drift frae their wings as they

fee;

And chirp out their plaints, seeming wae for my Johnie;

'Tis winter wi' them, and 'tis winter wi' me. Yon cauld sleety cloud skiffs alang the bleak mountain,

And shakes the dark firs on the steep rocky brae, While down the deep glen bawls the snaw-flooded

fountain, That murmur'd sae sweet to my laddie and me. It's no its loud roar on the wintry wind swellin',

It's no the cauld blast brings the tear i' my e'e; For, O! gin I saw but my bonny scots callan,

The dark days o' winter were simmer to me.

THE FLOW'R O' DUMBLANE,

ROBERT TANNAHILL.

The sun has gane down o'er the lofty Benlomond,

And left the red clouds to preside o'er the scene, While lanely I stray in the calm summer gloamin,

To muse on sweet Jessie, the flower o’ Dumblane.