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 TANNAHILL.

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 bracs o' Balquhither.

THE BRAES O' GLENIFFER.

ROBERT TANNAHILL.

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

flee;

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.

How sweet is the brier, wi' its saft fauldin' blossom!
And sweet is the birk, wi' its mantle o' green;
Yet sweeter and fairer, and dear to this bosom,
Is lovely young Jessie, the flow'r o' Dumblane.

She's modest as onie, and blithe as she's bonnie;
For guileless simplicity marks her its ain:

And far be the villain, divested of feeling,

Wha'd blight in its bloom the sweet flow'r o' Dumblane.

Sing on, thou sweet mavis, thy hymn to the e'ening;
Thou'rt dear to the echos of Calderwood glen:
Sae dear to this bosom, sae artless and winning,
Is charming young Jessie, the flow'r o' Dumblane.

How lost were my days till I met wi' my Jessie!

The sports o' the city seem'd foolish and yain; I ne'er saw a nymph I would ca' my dear lassie, Till charm'd wi' sweet Jessie, the flow'r o' Dum

blane.

Though mine were the station o' loftiest grandeur,
Amidst its profusion I'd languish in pain,

And reckon as naething the height o' its splendour,
If wanting sweet Jessie, the flow'r o' Dumblane.

GLOOMY WINTER'S NOW AWA'.

ROBERT TANNAHILL.

Gloomy winter's now awa',

Saft the westlin breezes blaw:
'Mang the birks o' Stanely-shaw
The mavis sings fu' cheerie-o.

Sweet the craw-flower's early bell
Decks Gleniffer's dewy dell,
Blooming like thy bonnie sel',
My young, my artless dearie-o.
Come, my lassie, let us stray,
O'er Glenkilloch's sunny brae,
Blithely spend the gowden day

Midst joys that never wearie-o.

Tow'ring o'er the Newton woods,
Lavrocks fan the snaw-white clouds ;
Siller saughs, wi' downie buds,
Adorn the banks sae brierie-o.

Round the sylvan fairy nooks,
Feath❜ry brekans fringe the rocks,
'Neath the brae the burnie jouks,
And ilka thing is cheerie-o.
Trees may bud, and birds may sing,
Flow'rs may bloom, and verdure spring,

Joy to me they canna bring,

Unless wi' thee, my dearie-o.

THRO' CRUIKSTON CASTLE'S LONELY WA'S.

ROBERT TANNAHILL.

Thro' Cruikston Castle's lonely wa's

The wintry wind howls wild and dreary;

Tho' mirk the cheerless e'ening fa's,

Yet I ha'e vow'd to meet my Mary.