Is thy witchin' voice o' gladness,
Lovely lass o' Colinslee.

Let ambition seek for pleasure,
Scalin' glory's giddy steep;
Av'rice to his worshipped treasure,
Through the mire of meanness creep;
Purer joy his hame shall brichten,
Lowly though the bield may be,
On whom thy ee of love shall lichten,
Peerless flower o' Colinslee..

Hugh Macdonald.

Coquet Water.

COQUET WATER.

HAN winter winds forget to blaw,

WHAN

An' vernal suns revive pale nature,
A shepherd lad by chance I saw,
Feeding his flocks by Coquet Water.

Saft, saft he sung, in melting lays,

His Mary's charms an' matchless feature,
While echoes answered frae the braes
That skirt the banks of Coquet Water.

"O, were that bonnie lassie mine,"

Quoth he, "in love's saft wiles I'd daut her;

An' deem mysel' as happy syne,
As landit laird on Coquet Water.

"Let wealthy rakes for pleasure roam,
In foreign lands their fortune fritter;
But love's pure joys be mine at home,
Wi' my dear lass on Coquet Water.

"Gi'e fine folks wealth, yet what care I,

Gi'e me her smiles whom I lo'e better;
Blest wi' her love an' life's calm joy,
Tending my flocks by Coquet Water.

"Flow fair an' clear, thou bonnie stream,
For on thy banks aft hae I met her;
Fair may the bonnie wild-flowers gleam,
That busk the banks of Coquet Water.

Andrew Scott.

BONNIE COQUET-SIDE.

MARY, look how sweetly spring
Revives ilk opening flower:

Here in this brake, where lintwhites sing,

I'll form a simmer bower,

Beneath whose shade, in sultry days,

We'll see the burnies glide,

And sportive lambkins deck the braes,
On bonnie Coquet-side.

At morn, I'll mark how melting shine
Thy een sae deeply blue;

Or, tempted thereby, press to mine.
Thy lips o' rosy hue.

To breathe the halesome air, we'll rove
Amang the hazels wide,

And rest betimes, to speak o' love,
By bonnie Coquet-side.

The wild-rose pure, that scents the gale,
Shall grace thy bosom fair;

The violet dark, and cowslip pale,

I'll pu' to wreathe thy hair.

O'er shelving banks or wimpling streams
Thy gracefu' steps I'll guide

To spots where nature loveliest seems
On bonnie Coquet-side.

And when we view ilk furzy dale
Where hang the dews o' morn,
Ilk winding, deep, romantic vale,
Ilk snaw-white blossomed thorn,
Frae every charm I'll turn to thee,
And think my winsome bride

Mair sweet than aught that meets my ee
By bonnie Coquet-side.

Robert White.

I

Cornylee.

ANN O' CORNYLEE.

'LL twine a gowany garland

W' lilies frae the spring;

The fairest flowers by Clutha's side

In a' their bloom I'll bring.

I'll wreathe a flowery wreath to shade

My lassie's scornfu' ee;

For, O, I canna bide the frown

O' Anno' Cornylee.

Nae gilded ha', nae downie bed
My lowly cot maun cheer,
A sheilin' on the banks o' Gryfe
Is a' my worldly gear;

A lanely cot, wi' moss o'ergrown,

Is a' I ha'e to gi'e;

A leal heart, sinking 'neath the scorn

O' Ann o' Cornylee.

The linty 'mang the yellow broom,
The laverock in the lift,

Ha'e never sang the waes o' love

O' hope and joy bereft;

Nor has the mavis ever sang

The ills I ha'e to dree,

John Crawford.

Corrie.

PHEMIE IRVING.

YAY is thy glen, Corrie,

GA

With all thy groves flowering;
Green is thy glen, Corrie,

When July is showering;
And sweet is yon wood where
The small birds are bowering,
For there dwells the sweet one
Whom I am adoring.

Her round neck is whiter
Than winter when snowing;

Her meek voice is milder

Than Ae in its flowing;
The glad ground yields music
When she goes by the river;
One kind glance would charm me
For ever and ever.

The proud and the wealthy
To Phemie are bowing;
No looks of love win they
With sighing and suing.
Far away maun I stand

With my rude wooing;
She's a floweret too lovely

To bloom for my pu'ing.

1