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My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here;
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer ;
A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe-
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.

Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North,
The birthplace of valour, the country of worth ;
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,
The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.

Farewell to the mountains high cover'd with snow; Farewell to the straths and green valleys below; Farewell to the forests and wild hanging woods ; Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods.

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here;
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer;
A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe-
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.

rever

The Banks of Nith.

TUNE—Robie donna Gorach..

The Thames flows proudly to the sea,

Where royal cities stately stand; But sweeter flows the Nith to me,

Where Cummins ance had high command: When shall I see that honour'd land,

That winding stream I love so dear! Must wayward Fortune's adverse hand

For ever, ever keep me here?

How lovely, Nith, thy fruitful vales,

Where spreading hawthorns gaily bloom! How sweetly wind thy sloping dales,

Where lambkins wanton through the broom ! Though wandering, now, must be my doom,

Far from thy bonny banks and braes, May there my latest hours consume,

Amang the friends of early days!

Jt is na, Jean, thy bonny

face.

TUNE_" The Maid's Complaint."

“ These verses," says Cunningham, “ were originally in English : Burns bestowed

a Scottish dress upon them, and made them utter sentiments connected with his own affections."

Ir is na, Jean, thy bonny face

Nor shape that I admire,
Although thy beauty and thy grace

Might weel awake desire.
Something, in ilka part o' thee,

To praise, to love, I find;
But, dear as is thy form to me,

Still dearer is thy mind.

Nae mair ungenerous wish I hae,

Nor stronger in my breast,
Than if I canna mak thee sae,

At least to see thee blest.
Content am I, if Heaven shall give

But happiness to thee :
And as wi' thee I'd wish to live,

For thee I'd bear to die.

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Simmer 's a pleasant time,

Flowers of every colour ;
The water rins o'er the heugh,

And I long for my true lover.

Aye waukin, o,

Waukin still and wearie :
Sleep I can get nane

For thinking on my dearie.

When I sleep I dream,

When I wauk I'm eerie ; Sleep I can get nane

For thinking on my dearie.

Lanely night comes on,

A’ the lave are sleepin’; I think on my bonny lad,

And I blear my een w' greetin'.

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“ This song,” says the poet, "alludes to a part of my private history which it is of no

consequence to the world to know."

Yon wild mossy mountains sae lofty and wide,
That nurse in their bosom the youth o' the Clyde,
Where the grouse lead their coveys through the heather

to feed,
And the shepherd tends his flock as he pipes on his reed;
Where the grouse lead their coveys through the heather

to feed, And the shepherd tends his flock as he pipes on his reed.

Not Gowrie's rich valleys, nor Forth's sunny shores,
To me hae the charms o'yon wild mossy moors ;
For there, by a lanely, sequester'd clear stream,
Resides a sweet lassie, my thought and my dream.

For there, by a lanely, sequester'd clear stream,
Resides a sweet lassie, my thought and my dream.

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