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O blessed fountain, give her back
The brightness of her brow!
O blessed water, bid her cheeks
Like summer roses glow!

'Tis a small gift, thou blessed well,
To thing divine as thee,

But kingdoms to a mother's heart,—
Fu' dear is Ann to me.

MY AIN BONNIE MAY.

WILLIAM NICHOLSON.

O will ye go to yon burn side,
Amang the new-made hay,
And sport upon the flowery swaird,

My ain bonnie May?

The sun blinks blithe on yon burn side,

Whare lambkins lightly play; The wild bird whistles to his mate,

My ain bonnie May.

The waving woods, wi' mantle green,
Shall shield us in the bower,
Whare I'll pu' a posie for my May,

O' mony a bonnie flower.

My father maws ayont the burn,

To spin my mammy's gane;

And should they see thee here wi' me, I'd better been my lane.

The lightsome lammie little kens
What troubles it await:

Whan ance the flush o' spring is o'er,
The fause bird lea'es its mate.
The flow'rs will fade, the woods decay,
And lose their bonnie green;
The sun wi' clouds may be o'ercast,
Before that it be e'en.

Ilk thing is in its season sweet;
So love is, in its noon:

But cank'ring time may soil the flow'r,
And spoil its bonnie bloom.

O, come then, while the summer shines,
And love is young and gay;

Ere age his with'ring, wintry blast
Blaws o'er me and my May.

For thee I'll tend the fleecy flocks,
Or haud the halesome plough,

And nightly clasp thee to my breast,
And
prove ay leal and true.

The blush o'erspread her bonnie face,
She had nae mair to say,

But ga'e her hand, and walk'd alang,

The youthfu' bloomin' May.

THE BRIDE OF ALLANBAY.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.

Upon the bonnie mountain side,

Upon the leafy trees,

Upon the rich and golden fields,

Upon the deep green seas,

The wind comes breathing freshly forth-
Ho! pluck up from the sand
Our anchor, and go shooting as

A wing'd shaft from the land!

The sheep love Skiddaw's lonesome top,
The shepherd loves his hill,
The throstle loves the budding bush,

Sweet woman loves her will;
The lark loves heaven for visiting,
But green earth for her home;
And I love the good ship singing
Through the billows in their foam.

My son! a gray-hair'd peasant said,
Leap on the grassy land,
And deeper than five fathom sink

Thine anchor in the sand;

And meek and humble make thy heart; For ere yon bright'ning moon

Lift her wondrous lamp above the wave Amid night's lonely noon,

There shall be shriekings heard at sea,

Lamentings heard ashore

My son go pluck thy mainsail down,
And tempt the heav'n no more.

Come forth and weep, come forth and pray,
Grey dame and hoary swain-

All ye who have got sons to-night
Upon the faithless main.

And wherefore, old man, should I turn?

Dost hear the merry pipe,

The harvest bugle winding

Among Scotland's corn fields ripe ?

And see her dark-eyed maidens dance,

Whose willing arms alway

Are open for the merry lads

Of bonnie Allanbay?

Full sore the old man sigh'd, and said,

Go bid the mountain wind

Breathe softer, and the deep waves hear

The prayers of frail mankind,
And mar the whirlwind in his might :-
His hoary head he shook,

Gazed on the youth, and on the sea,
And sadder wax'd his look.

Lo, look! here comes our lovely bride-
Breathes there a wind so rude

As chafe the billows when she goes

In beauty o'er the flood?

The raven fleece that dances

On her round and swan-white neck;
The white foot that wakes music

On the smooth and shaven deck;
The white hand that goes waving thus,
As if it told the brine-

Be gentle in your ministry,
O'er you I rule and reign;

The eye that looks

that looks so lovely,

Yet so lofty in its sway

Old man! the sea adores them

So adieu, sweet Allanbay!

HABBIE'S FRAE HAME.

JAMES TURNER.

By the side of yon cleugh, whare the burnie rins shill,
A lassie sat sighing and spinning her lane:
O gin the waes of my heart wad lie still!

There'll never be joy till our Habbie come hame.

My wheel it gaes round, and my lint tap I spread,
Lint that I mean for bibs to my bairn;

The warp shall be blue and the waft shall be red,

An' how bra we'll be a' when our Habbie comes hame.

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