AS I WAS A-WANDERING.

This is an old Highland air, and the title means, "my love did deceive me." There is much feeling expressed in this song.

TUNE-Rinn Meudial mo Mhealladh.

As I was a-wandering ae midsummer e'enin',
The pipers and youngsters were making their game;
Amang them I spied my faithless fause lover,

Which bled a' the wounds o' my dolour1 again.

1

Weel, since he has left me, may pleasure gae wi' him; I may be distress'd, but I winna complain;

I flatter my fancy I may get anither,

My heart it shall never be broken for ane.

I couldna get sleeping till dawin' for greetin',
The tears trickled down like the hail and the rain:
Had I na got greetin', my heart wad a broken,
For, oh! love forsaken 's a tormenting pain.
Although he has left me for greed o' the siller,
I dinna envy him the gains he can win;
I rather wad bear a' the lade o' my sorrow
Than ever hae acted sae faithless to him.

Weel, since he has left me, may pleasure gae wi' him,
I may be distress'd, but I winna complain;

I flatter my fancy I may get anither,

My heart it shall never be broken for ane.

YE JACOBITES BY NAME.

This song was founded upon some old verses, in which it was intimated that the extinction of the house of Stuart was sought for by other weapons than the sword.

TUNE-Ye Jacobites by name.

YE Jacobites by name, give an ear, give an ear,

Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear;

Ye Jacobites by name,

Your fautes I will proclaim,

Your doctrines I maun blame-
You shall hear.

1 Grief.-2 Break of day.-3 Crying.

What is right and what is wrang, by the law, by the law? What is right and what is wrang by the law?

What is right and what is wrang?

A short sword and a lang,

A weak arm, and a strang

For to draw.

What makes heroic strife, famed afar, famed afar?
What makes heroic strife famed afar?

What makes heroic strife?

To whet the assassin's knife,
Or hunt a parent's life

Wi' bluidie war.

Then let your schemes alone, in the state, in the state; Then let your schemes alone in the state;

Then let your schemes alone,

Adore the rising sun,

And leave a man undone

To his fate.

LADY MARY ANN.

TUNE-Craigtown's growing.

O LADY Mary Ann

Looks o'er the castle wa',
She saw three bonnie boys
Playing at the ba';
The youngest he was

The flower amang them a'
My bonnie laddie 's young,
But he's growin' yet.

O father! O father!
An' ye think it fit,
We'll send him a year
To the college yet:
We'll sew a green ribbon

Round about his hat,
And that will let them ken

He's to marry yet.

Lady Mary Ann

Was a flower i' the dew,
Sweet was its smell,

And bonnie was its hue!
And the langer it blossom'd
The sweeter it grew;
For the lily in the bud
Will be bonnier yet.

Young Charlie Cochran

Was the sprout of an aik!
Bonnie and bloomin'

And straught was its make:

The sun took delight

To shine for its sake,

And it will be the brag

O' the forest yet.

The simmer is gane

When the leaves they were green,

And the days are awa

That we hae seen;

But far better days

I trust will come again,

For my bonnie laddie's young,
But he's growin' yet.

THE CARLE OF KELLYBURN BRAES.'

TUNE-Kellyburn Braes.

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 frime.

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 yow fen?"

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

1 The groundwork of this piece is old, but it underwent many alterations by Burns; the eleventh and twelfth verses are wholly his; and as for the other parts, Mrs. Burns toid Mr. Cromek, "that he gae this ane a terrible brushing."

"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." "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." "Oh welcome, most kindly," the blythe carle said, (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie with 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." The devil has got the auld wife on his back,

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) And, like a poor peddler, he 's carried his pack; And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime.. He's carried her hame to his ain hallan-door, (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme); Syne bade her gae in, for a b-h and a w-e, And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. Then straight he makes fifty, the pick o' his band, (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) Turn out on her guard in the clap of a hand;

And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. The carlin gaed through them like ony wud bear, (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) Whae'er she gat hands on came near her nae mair; And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime.

A reekit wee devil looks over the wa',

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) "Oh, help, master, help, or she 'll ruin us a',

And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime."
The devil he swore by the edge o' his knife,
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,)
He pitied the man that was tied to a wife;
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime.

The devil he swore by the kirk and the bell,
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,)

He was not in wedlock, thank heaven, but in hell; And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. Then Satan has travelled again wi' his pack,

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) An' to her auld husband he 's carried her back; And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. I hae been a devil the feck o' my life,

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) But ne'er was in hell, till I met wi' a wife; And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime."

LADY ONLIE

TUNE-The Ruffian's Rant.

A' THE lads o' Thornie-bank,

When they gae to the shore o' Bucky,
They'll step in an' tak' a pint

Wi' Lady Onlie, honest Lucky!
Lady Onlie, honest Lucky,

Brews gude ale at shore o' Bucky;
I wish her sale for her gude ale,
The best on a' the shore o' Bucky.

Her house sae bien, her curch sae clean,
I wat she is a dainty chucky;
And cheerlie blinks the ingle-gleed
Of Lady Onlie, honest Lucky!
Lady Onlie, &c.

THE CARLES OF DYSART.

It is presumed that this song is entirely original; the air is lively and old, and the verses have an air of antiquity.

TUNE-Hey, ca' thro'.

Up wi' the carles o' Dysart,
And the lads o' Buckhaven,
An' the kimmers o' Largo,
And the lasses o' Leven.

Hey, ca' thro', ca' thro',

For we hae mickle ado;