Oh, the gay hearts at Portree
Will lament sair for thee !
And I mysel raise sic a wail
A' the rocks of Sky shall peal!
Hey John! ho John ! &c.*

WHY SHOULD I SIT AN' SIGH.

AIR" Cnochd a Bheanniehd.”

WHY should I sit an' sigh

When the greenwood blooms sae bonnie?
Laverocks sing, flowerets spring,

A' but me are cheery.

Ochon, O ri! there's something wanting.

Ochon, O ri! I'm weary!

Nae young, blithe, an' bonnie lad,

Comes o'er the knowe to cheer me.

Ochon, O ri! there's something wanting, &c.

When the day wears away,

Sair I look adown the valley,

* In a subsequent edition the concluding verse runs thus:

Sic a carle, to wear away,

An' lye down quiet in the yird,
Just when the glorious usquebae
Is growing cheaper by a third ;—
It winna do I'll no believe it,
For ne'er was carle sae blythe an' hale;
Then hey for routh o' barley bree,

An' brave John o' Brackadale.

Ilka sound wi' a stound

Sets my heart a-thrilling: When I see the plover rising, Or the curlew wheeling, Then I trow some bonnie lad

Is coming to my sheiling.

Ochon! O ri! there's something wanting, &c.

Come away, come away,

Herd or hind, or boatman laddie;

I hae cow, kid and ewe,

Gowd and gear to gain thee!

My wee cot is blessed and happy;

O 'tis neat and cleanly!

Sweet the brier that blooms beside it,

Kind the heart that's lanely:

Ochon! O ri! there's something wanting, &c.

THE LAST CRADLE SONG.

AIR" My Love's shoulders are broad and square."
A Border Melody.

BAWLOO, my bonnie baby, bawlillilu,
Light be thy care and cumber;
Bawloo, my bonnie baby, bawlillilu,
O sweet be thy sinless slumber.
Ere thou wert born my youthful heart
Yearned o'er my babe with sorrow;
Long is the night-noon that we must part,
But bright shall arise the morrow.

Bawloo, my bonnie baby, bawlillilu,
Here no more will I see thee;
Bawloo, my bonnie baby, bawlillilu,
O sair is my heart to lea' thee.
But far within yon sky so blue,
In love that fail shall never,

In valleys beyond the land of the dew,
I'll sing to my baby for ever.

WHAT GARS THE PARTING DAY-BEAM BLUSH.

AIR" Gae fetch to me a pint of wine."

WHAT gars the parting day-beam blush,
An' linger owre yon summit lowering?
It sees me in the greenwood bush,

Ahint the brier an' willow cowering.
The gloaming starn keeks owre the yoke,

An' strews wi' gowd the stream sae glassy;

The raven sleeps aboon the rock,

An' I wait for my bonnie lassie.

Weel may I tent the siller dew,

That comes at e'en sae saftly stealing;

The silken hue, the bonnie blue

Of nature's rich an' radiant ceiling ;

The lily lea, the vernal tree;

The night breeze owre the broom-wood creeping;

The fading day, the milky way,

The star-beam on the water sleeping :

For gin my Jeanie war but here,
My flower sae lovely an' sae loving,
I'll see nought but her een sae clear,
I'll hear nought but her accents moving,
Although the bat wi' velvet wing

Wheels round our bed sae damp an' grassy, O, I'll be happier than a king,

Locked in thy arms, my bonnie lassie !

Nae art hast thou, nae pawkie wile,
The rapid flow of love impelling ;
But O, the love that lights thy smile
Wad lure an angel frae his dwelling!
Can I can ane o' human race

E'er wound thy peace, or evil treat thee?
For sure thy bonnie harmless face
Wad melt the lion's heart to pity.

Alas! that love's relucent lowe

A bleered regret should ever sloken ! That heavenly gleed, that living glow, Of endless happiness the token.

I'll fling my waes upon the wind;

Ye warldly cares, I'll lightly pass ye; Nae thought shall waver through my mind But raptures wi' my bonnie lassie.

This primrose bank shall be our bed,
Our canopy the waving willow,

This briery brake shall guard our heap,
Its wild rose nodding owre our pillow:
Her lips, her bosom, pressed to mine!
Ah, paradise, it must surpass ye!

I'll ask nae purer joys divine,
Than sic a bower, an' sic a lassie.

POOR LITTLE JESSIE.

O WHAT gart me greet when I parted wi Willie,
While at his guid fortune ilk ane was sae fain?
The neighbours upbraidit an' said it was silly,
When I was sae soon to see Willie again.
He gae me his hand as we gaed to the river,
For O, he was aye a kind brother to me ;
Right sair was my heart frae my Willie to sever,
An' saut was the dew-drop that smartit my ee.

It wasna the kiss that he gae me at parting,

Nor yet the kind squeeze that he gae to my hand, It wasna the tear frae his blue eye was starting.

As slow they war shoving the boat frae the land: The tear that I saw owre his bonnie cheek straying, It pleased me indeed, but it doubled my pain; For something within me was constantly saying, "Ah, Jessie, ye'll never see Willie again!"

The bairn's unco wae to be taen frae its mother, The wee bird is wae when bereaved o' its young, But O, to be reft of a dear only brother

That feeling can neither be paintit nor sung.
I dreamed a' the night that my Willie was wi' me,
Sae kind to his Jessie, at meeting sae fain,

An' just at the dawning a friend came to see me,
An' taul me I never wad see him again.