Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming for bear,

I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair.

How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills, Far mark'd with the courses of clear, winding rills,

There daily I wander as noon rises high,
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye.

How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below,

Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow;

There oft as mild ev'ning weeps over the lea, The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and

me.

Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides, And winds by the cot where my Mary resides: How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave, As gathering sweet flow'rets she stems thy clear wave.

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,

Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my

lays;

My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

A RED, RED ROSE.

MY luve's like a red, red rose That's newly sprung in June: O, my luve's like the melodie That's sweetly play'd in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I:

And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun:
I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only luve!
And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my luve,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile.

A VISION.

SI stood by yon roofless tower,
Where the wa'-flower scents the dewy

air,

Where the howlet mourns in her ivy bower, And tells the midnight moon her care;

The winds were laid, the air was still,
The stars they shot alang the sky;
The fox was howling on the hill,
And the distant-echoing glens reply.

The stream, adown its haz'lly path,
Was rushing by the ruin'd wa',
Hasting to join the sweeping Nith,
Whase distant roarings swell and fa'.

A VISION.

The cauld blue north was streaming forth
Her lights, wi' hissing, eerie din ;
Athort the lift they start and shift,
Like fortune's favours, tint as win.

By heedless chance I turn'd mine eyes,
And, by the moonbeam, shook to see
A stern and stalwart ghaist arise,
Attir'd as minstrels wont to be.

Had I a statue been o' stane,

His darin look had daunted me; And on his bonnet grav'd was plain The sacred posy - Libertie!

And frae his harp sic strains did flow,
Might rouse the slumbering dead to hear;
But O, it was a tale of woe,

As ever met a Briton's ear!

He sang wi' joy his former day,
He weeping wail'd his latter times;
But what he said it was nae play;

I winna venture 't in my rhymes.

FAREWELL TO NANCY.

E fond kiss, and then we sever!
Ae fareweel, alas, for ever!

Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge

thee!

Warring sighs and groans

I'll wage thee. Who shall say that Fortune grieves him, While the star of hope she leaves him? Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me; Dark despair around benights me.

I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy,
Naething could resist my Nancy;
But to see her, was to love her;
Love but her, and love for ever.
Had we never lov'd sae kindly,
Had we never lov'd sae blindly,

Never met

or never parted,

We had ne'er been broken-hearted!

Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest!
Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest!