I hae naebody now to look kind an' caress me;
I look for a friend, but nae friend can I see;
I dinna ken what's to become o' poor Jessie,
The warld has little mair pleasure for me.
It's lang sin' I lost baith my father and mother,
I'm simple an' poor an' forlorn on the way;

:

I had ane that I likit, an only dear brother,

My Willie but he's lying cauld i' the clay.*

AH, PEGGIE, SINCE THOU'RT GANE AWAY.

AIR-" Royal Highlanders' March."

Aн, Peggie, since thou'rt gane away,
An' left me here to languish,

I canna fend anither day

In sic regretfu' anguish.

My mind's the aspen i' the vale
In ceaseless waving motion ;
'Tis like a ship without a sail
On life's unstable ocean.

I downa bide to see the moon

Blink owre the glen sae clearly!—

In the first draft the concluding stanza is as follows:

I hae naebody now to look kind an' caress me;
I look for a friend, but nae friend can I see;

I dinna ken what's to become o' poor Jessie,
Life has nae mair comfort or pleasure for me!
Hard want may oppress me, and sorrow harass me,
But dearest affection shall ever remain,

An' wandering weary this wilderness dreary,
I'll lang for the day that will meet us again.

Aince on a bonnie face she shone,
A face that I looed dearly!
An' when beside yon water clear,
At e'en I'm lanely roaming,
I sigh an' think if ane was here,
How sweet wad fa' the gloaming!

When I think on thy cheerfu' smile,
Thy words sae free an' kindly,
Thy pawkie ee's bewitching wile,
The unbidden tear will blind me.
The rose's deepest blushing hue
Thy cheek could eithly borrow,
But ae kiss o' thy cherry mou'
Was worth a year o' sorrow.

;

Oh! in the slippery paths of love,
Let prudence aye direct thee
Let virtue every step approve,
An' virtue will respect thee.
To ilka pleasure, ilka pang,

Alak! I am nae stranger;

An' he wha aince has wandered wrang

Is best aware o' danger.

May still thy heart be kind an' true,

A' ither maids excelling;

May heaven distil its purest dew
Around thy rural dwelling.

May flowerets spring, an' wild birds sing
Around thee late an' early;

An' oft to thy remembrance bring

The lad that looed thee dearly.

THE FLOWER.

O SOFTLY blow, thou biting blast,
O'er Yarrow's lonely dale;
And spare yon bonny tender bud,
Exposed to every gale.

Long has she hung her drooping head,

Despairing to survive,

But transient sunbeams through the cloud

Still kept my flower alive.

One sweetly scented summer eve
To yonder bower I strayed,
While little birds from every bough
Their music wild conveyed.

The sunbeam leaned across the shower;
The rainbow girt the sky;
'Twas then I saw this lovely flower,
And wonder filled mine eye.

Her cheek was then the ruddy dawn
Stolen from the rising sun;

The whitest feather from the swan

On her fair breast was dun.

Her mould of modest dignity

Was form'd the heart to win ; The dew-drop glistening in her eye Showed all was pure within.

But frost on cold misfortune borne,
Hath crush'd her in the clay,
And ruthless fate hath rudely torn
Each kindred branch away.

That wounded stem will never close,
But bleeding still remain :
Relentless winds, how can ye blow,

And nip my flower again?

THE MOON WAS A-WANING.

THE MOON was a-
a-waning,

The tempest was over,

Fair was the maiden,

And fond was the lover;

But the snow was so deep

That his heart it grew weary,

And he sunk down to sleep
In the moorland so dreary.

Soft was the bed

She had made for her lover;

White were the sheets,

And embroidered the cover. But his sheets are more white,

And his canopy grander,

And sounder he sleeps

Where the hill-foxes wander !

Alas, pretty maiden !

What sorrows attend you!

I see you sit shivering,

With lights at your window :
But long may you wait

Ere your arms shall enclose him,

For still, still he lies,

With a wreath on his bosom !

How painful the task

The sad tidings to tell you!

An orphan you were

Ere this misery befell you.

And far in yon wild,

Where the dead tapers hover,

So cold, cold and wan,

Lies the corse of your lover!

LORD EGLINTOUN'S AULD MAN.

THE auld guidman came hame at night
Sair wearied wi' the way;

His looks were like an evening bright,

His hair was siller grey.

He spak o' days lang past an' gane,
When life beat high in every vein;

When he was foremost on the plain
On every blithesome day.

"Then blithely blushed the morning dawn,

An' gay the gloaming fell;

For sweet content led aye the van,

An' soothed the passions well :