I hae thought an' thought, but darena tell,
I've studied them wi' a' my skill,
I've lo'ed them better than mysell,

I've tried again to like them ill.
Wha sairest strives, will sairest rue,
To comprehend what nae man can;
When he has done what man can do,
He'll end at last where he began.
O the women fo'k, &c.

That they hae gentle forms an' meet,
A man wi' half a look may see;

An' gracefu' airs, an' faces sweet,
An' waving curls aboon the bree;
An' smiles as soft as the young rose-bud,
An' een sae pawky, bright, an' rare,
Wad lure the laverock frae the cludd-
But, laddie, seek to ken nae mair!

O the women fo'k, &c.

Even but this night nae farther gane,

The date is neither lost nor lang,

I tak ye witness ilka ane,

How fell they fought, and fairly dang.

Their point they've carried right or wrang,
Without a reason, rhyme, or law,

An' forced a man to sing a sang,
That ne'er could sing a verse ava.

O the women fo'k! O the women fo'k!

But they hae been the wreck o' me;

O weary fa' the women fo'k,

For they winna let a body be!

M'LEAN'S WELCOME.

I VERSIFIED this song at Meggernie Castle, in Glen-Lyon, from a scrap of prose said to be the translation, verbatim, of a Gaelic song, and to a Gaelic air, sung by one of the sweetest singers and most accomplished and angelic beings of the human race. But, alas! earthly happiness is not always the lot of those who, in our erring estimation, most deserve it. She is now no more, and many a strain have I poured to her memory. The air is arranged by Smith.-See the Scottish Minstrel.

COME o'er the stream, Charlie,

Dear Charlie, brave Charlie;
Come o'er the stream, Charlie,

And dine with M'Lean;

And though you be weary,

We'll make your heart cheery,

And welcome our Charlie,

And his loyal train.

We'll bring down the track deer,

We'll bring down the black steer,

The lamb from the braken,

And doe from the glen,

The salt sea we'll harry,

And bring to our Charlie

The cream from the bothy

And curd from the pen.

Come o'er the stream, Charlie, Dear Charlie, brave Charlie ; Come o'er the sea, Charlie,

And dine with M'Lean;

And you shall drink freely

The dews of Glen-sheerly,

That stream in the starlight

When kings do not ken,

And deep be your meed

Of the wine that is red,

To drink to your sire,

And his friend the M'Lean.

Come o'er the stream, Charlie,

Dear Charlie, brave Charlie;

Come o'er the stream, Charlie,

And dine with M'Lean;

If aught will invite you,

Or more will delight you,

'Tis ready, a troop of our bold Highlandmen,

All ranged on the heather,

With bonnet and feather,

Strong arms and broad claymores,

Three hundred and ten!