3 Although his daddie was nae laird,
And though I hae nae meikle tocher;
Yet, rich in kindest, truest love,

We'll tent our flocks by Gala water.

4 It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth, That coft contentment, peace, or pleasure; The bands and bliss o' mutual love,

Oh that's the chiefest warld's treasure!

LORD GREGORY,

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

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

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

3 Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grove, By bonnie Irwin side,

Where first I own'd that virgin-love
I lang, lang had denied?

4 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.

5 Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory,
And flinty is thy breast—

Thou dart of heaven that flashest by,
Oh wilt thou give me rest!

6 Ye must'ring thunders from above
Your willing victim see!

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

MARY MORISON.

TUNE- Bide ye yet!'

10 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.

2 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 nor 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 are na Mary Morison.'

3 Oh, 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 wilt na gie,
At least be pity to me shown;
A thought ungentle canna be
The thought o' Mary Morison.

WANDERING WILLIE.

1 HERE awa, there awa, wandering Willie,
Now tired wi' wandering, haud awa hame!

Come to my bosom my ae only dearie,

And tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same.

2 Loud blew the cauld winter winds at our parting; It was nae the blast brought the tear in my e'e: Now welcome the simmer, and welcome my Willie, The simmer to Nature, my Willie to me.

3 Ye hurricanes, rest in the cave o' your slumbers! Oh, how your wild horrors a lover alarms!

Awaken, ye breezes, row gently ye billows,

And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms.

4 But if he 's forgotten his faithfullest Nanny,

Oh, still flow between us, thou wide roaring mair; May I never see it, may I never trow it,

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

OPEN THE DOOR TO ME, (!

WITH ALTERATIONS.

1 'OH open the door, some pity to show,
Oh, open the door to me, O!

Though thou hast been false, I'll ever prove true,
Oh, open the door to me, O!

2 'Cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek,
But caulder thy love for me, O!

The frost that freezes the life at my heart,
Is naught to my pains frae thee, O!

3 'The wan moon is setting behind the white wave,
And time is setting with me, O!

False friends, false love, farewell! for mair
I'll ne'er trouble them, nor thee, O!'

4 She has open'd the door, she has open'd it wide; She sees his pale corse on the plain, O!

'My true love!' she cried, and sank down by his side, Never to rise again, O!

JESSIE.

TUNE- Bonnie Dundee.'

1 TRUE hearted was he, the sad swain o' the Yarrow,
And fair are the maids on the banks o' the Ayr,
But by the sweet side of the Nith's winding river,
Are lovers as faithful, and maidens as fair;

To equal young Jessie seek Scotland all over;
To equal young Jessie you seek it in vain ;
Grace, beauty, and elegance, fetter her lover,
And maidenly modesty fixes the chain.

2 Oh, fresh is the rose in the gay, dewy morning,
And sweet is the lily at evening close;
But in the fair presence o' lovely young Jessie,
Unseen is the lily, unheeded the rose.
Love sits in her smile, a wizard ensnaring;
Enthroned in her e'en he delivers his law :
And still to her charms she alone is a stranger!-
Her modest demeanour's the jewel of a'.

WHEN WILD WAR'S DEADLY BLAST WAS BLAWN.

AIR- The mill, mill O!'

1 WHEN wild war's deadly blast was blawn,
And gentle peace returning,

Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless,

And mony a widow mourning:
I left the lines and tented field,
Where lang I'd been a lodger,
My humble knapsack a' my wealth,
A poor and honest sodger.

2 A leal, light heart was in my breast,
My hand unstain'd wi' plunder:

And for fair Scotia, hame again,
I cheerie on did wander.