MARY'S BOWER. ROBERT GILFILLAN. The mavis sings in Mary's bower, An' a' is fair round Mary's bower, But sad's the gloom in Mary's bower, Tho' a' without be gay; Nae music comes to greet the morn, Her lover left young Mary's bower, A breaking heart's in Mary's bower, The glance has left that e'e sae blue, The mavis flees frae Mary's bower, The snaw fa's white on Mary's bower, The tempests loudly rave; The flowers that bloomed round Mary's bower, Now wither on her grave! O MITHER! MITHER! LET ME BE. O mither! mither! let me be, I can but greet sin' Jamie's gane! O mither! mither! let me dee, My waefu' heart will break fu' sune ;— Nor fix my thochts on Heav'n abune. That aft has heard his vows o' guile; LUCY'S FLITTIN'. WILLIAM LAIDLAW. 'Twas when the wan leaf frae the birk-tree was fa'in', And Martinmas dowie had wound up the year, That Lucy row'd up her wee kist wi' her a' in't, And left her auld maister and neebours sae dear: For Lucy had served i' the glen a' the simmer; She cam there afore the flower blumed on the pea; An orphan was she, and they had been gude till her, Sure that was the thing brocht the tear to her ee. She gaed by the stable where Jamie was stannin'; Richt sair was his kind heart, the flittin' to see: 'Fare ye weel, Lucy!' quo' Jamie, and ran in; The gatherin' tears trickled fast frae his ee. As down the burn-side she gaed slow wi' her flittin', 'Fare ye weel, Lucy!' was ilka bird's sang; She heard the craw sayin't, high on the tree sittin', And Robin was chirpin't the brown leaves amang. 'Oh, what is't that pits my puir heart in a flutter? Then what gars me wish ony better to be? Nae wonder the tear fa's sae fast frae my ee. Though now he said naething but Fare ye weel, Lucy!' Ah, weel may young Jamie gang dowie and cheerless! And weel may he greet on the bank o' the burn! For bonnie sweet Lucy, sae gentle and peerless, Lies cauld in her grave, and will never return! ["It is a somewhat remarkable circumstance regarding this exquisitely pathetic and beautiful little poem, that its author has written hardly any other thing of any description."-CHAMBERS. William Laidlaw, the author of this beautiful song, was the valued friend and steward of Sir Walter Scott; but since the death of the great minstrel, and disarrangement of the Abbotsford estate, he has been employed, much I hear to his mind, by the ancient and noble family of Seaforth. It is of Laidlaw that an anecdote of Sir Walter on his return from Naples during his last illness has been told. Scott it is said recognized few or none of his friends or relations after he left London, and from Edinburgh to Abbotsford lay in the chariot like to one as dead-but seeing Laidlaw near him at his bed-side, he said, his eyes brightening at the time, "Is that you Willie? I ken I'm hame noo."] THE LAND O' THE LEAL. I'm wearing awa, Jean, Like snaw when it's thaw, Jean; To the land o' the leal. There's nae sorrow there, Jean, There's nae cauld there, Jean, Ye were aye leal and true, Jean, To the land o' the leal. Our bonny bairn's there, Jean, Then dry that tearfu' ee, Jean, To the land o' the leal. Now, fare ye well, my ain Jean, In the land o' the leal. KELVIN GROVE. JOHN LYLE. Let us haste to Kelvin grove, bonnie lassie, O; Decks the hollow dingle's side, Where the midnight fairies glide, bonnie lassie, O. We will wander by the mill, bonnie lassie, O, Of the lofty waterfall, Through the mountain's rocky hall, bonnie lassie, 0. |