Till wounded by a gilded dart, When Jeanie's een subdued my heart, "We had our griefs, we had our joys, We nourished virtuous girls an' boys, An' she, my best, my dearest part, "The life o' man's a winter day, But conscious virtue still maintains The honest heart through toils an' pains; An' hope o' better days remains, BONNIE MARY. WHERE Yarrow rows amang the rocks, An' wheels an' boils in mony a linn, A brisk young shepherd fed his flocks, Unused to wranglement or din. But love its silken net had thrown Around his breast, so brisk an' airy; An' his blue eyes wi' moisture shone, O Mary, thou'rt sae mild and sweet, "When over Benger's haughty head The morning breaks in streaks sae bonnie, I climb the mountain's velvet side, For quiet rest I getna ony. Rise frae the cot where dwells my Mary. "When Phœbus keeks outower the muir, carry, The feeble in my arms I “Oft has the lark sung ower my head, An' shook the dew-drops frae his wing; Oft hae my flocks forgot to feed, An' round their shepherd form'd a ring! When gloaming, creeping west the lift, To raise some fun around the ingle, With cautious step and prospect wary, I often trace the lonely glen To steal a sight o' bonnie Mary. "When midnight draws her curtain deep, The exile may forget his home, Where blooming youth to manhood grew; The bee forget the honey-comb, Nor with the spring his toil renew : The sun may lose his light and heat, The planets in their rounds miscarry, But my fond heart shall cease to beat When I forget my bonnie Mary." BAULDY FRAZER. AIR" Whigs o' Fife." My name is Bauldy Frazer, man; I'm puir, an' auld, an' pale, an' wan, 1 brak my shin, an' tint a han', Upon Culloden lea, man; Our Highlan' clans were bauld and stout, Sic hurly-burly ne'er was seen, War gleamin' grand to see, man. The canons rowtit in our face, An' brak our banes an' raive our claes 'Twas then we saw our ticklish case Atween the deil an' sea, man. Sure Charlie an' the brave Lochiel In the artillery's e'e, man: For had we met wi' Cumberland Had dy'd the German sea, man. ; But down we drappit dadd for dadd; Lie bluthrin' on the brae, man. When Charlie wi' Macpherson met; But Donald shumpit o'er the purn, Or sure she wad hae cause to mourn; O! had you seen that hunt o' death! Wi' hopeless, shinin' ee, man. But Britain ever may deplore That day upon Drumossie moor, Whar thousands ta'en war drench'd in gore, Or hang'd outower a tree, man. O Cumberland, what mean'd ye then, We had nae spite at thee, man: |