For why-methinks I hear her voice
Tearing the clouds asunder.

SAE FAR AWA'.

TUNE- Dalkeith Maiden Bridge.'

1 Он, sad and heavy should I part,
But for her sake sae far awa';
Unknowing what my way may thwart,
My native land sae far awa'.
Thou that of a' things Maker art,

That form'd this Fair sae far awa',
Gie body strength, and I'll ne'er start
At this my way sae far awa'.

2 How true is love to pure desert,
So love to her sae far awa':

And nocht can heal my bosom's smart,
While, oh! she is sae far awa'.
Nane other love, nane other dart,

I feel but her's, sae far awa':
But fairer never touch'd a heart
Than her's, the Fair sae far awa'.

THE CARDIN' O'T.

TUNE- Salt fish and dumplins.'

1 I COFT a stane o' haslock woo',

To make a coat to Johnny o't;

For Johnny is my only jo,

I lo'e him best of ony yet.

CHORUS.

The cardin' o't, the spinnin' o't,

The warpin' o't, the winnin' o't;

When ilka ell cost me a groat,

The tailor staw the linin' o't.

2 For though his locks be lyart gray,
And though his brow be beld aboon ;
Yet I hae seen him on a day,

The pride of a' the parishen.

YOUNG JAMIE, PRIDE OF A' THE PLAIN.
TUNE- The carlin o' the glen.'

1 YOUNG Jamie, pride of a' the plain,
Sae gallant and sae gay a swain ;
Through a' our lasses he did rove,
And reign'd resistless king of love:
But now wi' sighs and starting tears,
He strays amang the woods and briers;
Or in the glens and rocky caves
He sad, complaining, dowie raves:

2 'I wha sae late did range and rove,
And changed with every moon my love,
I little thought the time was near,
Repentance I should buy sae dear:
The slighted maids my torment sec,
And laugh at a' the pangs I dree;
While she, my cruel, scornfu' fair,
Forbids me e'er to see her mair!'

THERE'S A YOUTH IN THIS CITY,*

TO A GAELIC AIR.

1 THERE's a youth in this city,

It were a great pity

1

1 Partly old.

That he frae our lasses should wander awa';
For he's bonnie and braw,

Weel-favour'd and a',

And his hair has a natural buckle and a'.

His coat is the hue

Of his bonnet sae blue;

His fecket is white as the new-driven snaw;
His hose they are blae,

And his shoon like the slae,
And his clear siller buckles they dazzle us a'.

2 For beauty and fortune

The laddie's been courtin';

Weel-featured, weel-tocher'd, weel-mounted, and braw ;
But chiefly the siller-

That gars him gang till her,
The penny's the jewel that beautifies a'.

There's Meg wi' the mailen,

That fain wad a haen him ;

And Susie, whose daddie was laird o' the ha';
There's lang-tocher'd Nancy

Maist fetters his fancy

But the laddie's dear sel' he lo'es dearest of a'.

RATTLIN', ROARIN' WILLIE.1

TUNE- Rattlin', roarin' Willie.'

OH, rattlin', roarin' Willie,

Oh, he held to the fair,

And for to sell his fiddle,

And buy some other ware;

Roarin' Willie:' William Dunbar, W.S., Edinburgh, Captain of the Crochallan corps.

But parting wi' his fiddle,
The saut tear blin't his e'e;
And rattlin', roarin' Willie,
Ye're welcome hame to me!

20 Willie, come sell your fiddle,
Oh, sell your fiddle sae fine;
O Willie, come sell your fiddle,
And buy a pint o' wine!
If I should sell my fiddle,

The warl' wad think I was mad;

For mony a rantin' day

My fiddle and I hae had.

3 As I cam by Crochallan,
I cannily keekit ben—
Rattlin', roarin' Willie

Was sitting at yon board en';
Sitting at yon board en',

And amang guid companie,

Rattlin', roarin' Willie,

Ye're welcome hame to me!

HERE'S HIS HEALTH IN WATER.

TUNE― The job of journey-work.'

1 ALTHOUGH my back be at the wa',
And though he be the fauter;
Although my back be at the wa',
Yet here's his health in water!

2 Oh! wae gae by his wanton sides,
Sae brawlie he could flatter;
Till for his sake I'm slighted sair,
And dree the kintra clatter.

3 But though my back be at the wa',
And though he be the fauter;
But though my back be at the wa',

Yet, here's his health in water!

THE CARLE OF KELLYBURN BRAES.1

TUNE- Kellyburn Braes.'

1 THERE lived a carle on Kellyburn braes, (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) And he had a wife was the plague o' his days; (And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime.)

2 Ae day as the carle gaed up the lang glen,

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) He met wi' the devil; says, 'How do you fen'?'

(And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in príme.)

3 'I've got a bad wife, sir; that's a' my complaint ; (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) For, saving your presence, to her ye're a saint;

(And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime.)

4 'It's neither your stot nor your staig I shall crave, (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) But gie me your wife, man, for her I must have;'

(And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime.)

5 'Oh, welcome, most kindly,' the blithe carle said, (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) ‘But if ye can match her, ye're waur nor ye 're ca'd ;' (And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime.)

'An old song much altered.