TUNE-Katharine Ogie.

Ye banks, and braes, and streams around The castle o' Montgomery,

Green be your woods, and fair your flowers,

Your waters never drumlie !

There simmer first unfalds her robes,
And there the langest tarry;
For there I took the last fareweel
O' my sweet Highland Mary.

How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk,
How rich the hawthorn's blossom,
As underneath their fragrant shade,
I clasp'd her to my bosom !
The golden hours, on angel wings,
Flew o'er me and my dearie;
For dear to me, as light and life,
Was my sweet Highland Mary.

Wi' mony a vow, and lock'd embrace,
Our parting was fu' tender;
And, pledging aft to meet again,
We tore oursels asunder;

But, Oh! fell death's untimely frost,

That nipt my flower sae early!
Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay,
That wraps my Highland Mary!

O pale, pale now, those rosy lips,
I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly!
And closed for aye the sparkling glance,
That dwelt on me sae kindly!
And mouldering now in silent dust,

That heart that loe'd me dearly!

But still within my bosom's core,
Shall live my Highland Mary.

TUNE-Auld Rob Morris.

There's auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen,
He's the king o' guid fellows and wale of auld men ;
He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine,
And ae bonnie lassie, his darling and mine.

She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May;
She's sweet as the evening amang the new hay;
As blithe and as artless as the lamb on the lea,
And dear to my heart as the light to my ee.

But, oh! she's an heiress, auld Robin's a laird,
And my daddie has nought but a cot-house and yard;
A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed;
The wounds I must hide that will soon be my dead.

The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane;
The night comes to me, but my rest it is gane:
I wander my lane like a night-troubled ghaist,
And I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breast.

O, had she but been of lower degree,

I then might hae hoped she wad smiled upon me!
O, how past describing had then been my bliss,
As now my distraction no words can express!

TUNE-I had a horse.

O poortith cauld, and restless love,
Ye wreck my peace between ye;
Yet poortith a' I could forgive,

An' 't werena for my Jeanie.
O why should fate sic pleasure have,
Life's dearest bands untwining?

Or why sae sweet a flower as love
Depend on Fortune's shining?

This warld's wealth when I think on,
Its pride, and a' the lave o't;
Fie, fie on silly coward man,

That he should be the slave o't.
O why, &c.

Her een sae bonny blue betray
How she repays my passion;
But prudence is her o'erword aye,
She talks of rank and fashion.
O why, &c.

O wha can prudence think upon,
And sic a lassie by him?
O wha can prudence think upon,
And sae in love as I am?
O why, &c.

How blest the humble cotter's fate!
He woos his simple dearie;
The sillie bogles, wealth and state,
Can never make them eerie.
O why should fate sic pleasure have,
Life's dearest bands untwining?
Or why sae sweet a flower as love
Depend on Fortune's shining?

TUNE-Lord Gregory.

O mirk, mirk is this midnight hour,
And loud the tempest's roar ;
A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tower,
Lord Gregory, ope thy door.

An exile frae her father's ha',
And a' for loving thee;

At least some pity on me shaw,
If love it mayna be.

Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grove,

By bonnie Irwine side,

Where first I own'd that virgin-love,

I lang, lang had denied?

How aften didst thou pledge and vow,

Thou wad for aye be mine! And my fond heart, itsel sae true, It ne'er mistrusted thine.

Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory,

And flinty is thy breast:
Thou dart of heaven that flashest by,
O wilt thou give me rest!

Ye mustering thunders from above,
Your willing victim see!

But spare, and pardon my fause love,
His wrangs to heaven and me!

TUNE-Bide ye yet.

O Mary, at thy window be,

It is the wish'd, the trysted hour!
Those smiles and glances let me see,
That make the miser's treasure poor :
How blithely wad I bide the stoure,
A weary slave frae sun to sun;
Could I the rich reward secure,
The lovely Mary Morison.

Yestreen, when to the trembling string

The dance gaed through the lighted ha',

To thee my fancy took its wing,

I sat, but neither heard or saw :
Though this was fair, and that was braw,
And yon the toast of a' the town,
I sigh'd, and said amang them a',
"Ye arena Mary Morison."
O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace,

Wha for thy sake wad gladly die?
Or canst thou break that heart of his,
Whase only faut is loving thee?
If love for love thou wiltna gie,
At least be pity to me shown!
A thought ungentle canna be
The thought o' Mary Morison.

TUNE-Wandering Willie.

Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie,
Here awa, there awa, haud awa hame;
Come to my bosom, my ain only dearie,

Tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same.

Winter winds blew loud and cauld at our parting, Fears for my Willie brought tears in my ee; Welcome now simmer, and welcome my Willie, The simmer to nature, my Willie to me.

Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave of your slumbers; How your dread howling a lover alarms!

Wauken, ye breezes, row gently, ye billows,

And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms. But, oh, if he's faithless, and mindna his Nannie, Flow still between us thou wide-roaring main; May I never see it, may I never trow it,

But, dying, believe that my Willie's my ain!