Ere the church was a ruin that nods on the hill, Or a rook built his nest on the pine.

Could I trace back the time, to far distant date,
Since my forefathers toil d in the field;
And the farm which I hold on your honour's estate,
Is the same which my grandfather till'd.

He, dying, bequeath'd to his son a good name,
Which unsullied, descended to me;

For my child I've preserved it, unblemished with
shame,

And it still from a spot shall be free.

LEAVE OFF YOUR FOOLISH PRATING.

Leave off your foolish prating

Talk no more of Whig and Tory,
But drink your glass, round let it pass,
The bottle stands before you,

Fill up to the top,

Let the night with mirth be crown'd;
Drink about-see it out,

Love and friendship still go round.

If claret be a blessing,

This night devote to pleasure;
Let worldly cares, and state affairs,
Be thought on at most leisure,
If any is so zealous,

To be a party minion,
Let him drink like me, we'll soon agree,
And be of good opinion.

Fill your glass, name your lass,
See her health go swiftly round;

Drink about-see it out,

Let the night with mirth be crown'd.

HER BLUE ROLLIN EE'.

My lassie is lovely as May day adorning

Wi' gowans an' primroses ilka green lea; Tho' sweet is the violet, new blawn i' the morning? As tender and sweet is her blue rollin' ee. O say what is whither than snaw on the mountain, And bonny her face as the red rose can be. See yon lowly cottage that stands by the wild wood, Hedg'd round wi' sweet briar and green willow tree,

Twas yonder I spent the first days o' my childhood,
And first felt the power of love's rollin' ee.
Tho' soon from my bame and my lassie I wander'd,
Tho' lang I've been tossing on fortune's rough

sea,

Aye dear was the valley where Ettrick meander'd; Aye dear was the blink o' her blue rollin' ee.

O for the evening, and O for the hour,

When down by yon green wood she promis'd to

be;

When quick as the summer dew dries on the flower,
A' earthly affections and wishes wad flee.
Let Art and Nature display their proud treasure;
Let Paradise boost o' what bliss it could gie;
As high is my bliss, as sweet is my pleasure,

In the heart-melting blink o' my lessie's blue

06.

OH! TURN THOSE DEAR, DEAR EYES

AWAY.

Oh! turn those dear, dear eyes away,
My cheek with love is blushing;
And though a smile may o'er it play,
My eyes with tears are gushing.
Oh; look not in my eyes, love,

They tell a tale too true;
See not my blushes rise, love,

Nor listen to my sighs, love,
For blushes, sighs, and eyes, love,
All speak, all speak for you.

GOOD NIGHT.

Give me, my love, before we part,
One tender kiss of dear delight;
And all the friendship we have sworn,
Confirm in this our last good night.
Now, on yon soft and swelling main,

My little bark so gay and light,
Prepares to tear thee from my breast,
My life, my love, Good night:

And when on lone and distant shores, 8 I wander by the moon's pale light, In memory of our former loves,

I'll think on thee and this Good night.

LOW IN A VALE.

Low in a vale where a streamlet ran,
And under a tree reclined,

A pilgrim measur'd the wit of man,
By thinking of woman kind;
Oh! a woman has killing eyes, he cried,
And soft bewitching smiles;
With a thousand, thousand charms beside,
Our scenes to beguile.

Mark every glance that confirms her sway,
Note, too, each dimple's power;
Look on her lip, how the young loves play,
Like bees on the honey'd flower;
Gaze on her bosom of sweets, and take
This truth for a constant rule ;
Enchanting woman can always make,
The wisest of men a fool.

CANST THOU LOVE MARY?

Canst thou love me, Mary?
Wilt thou love me, Mary?
Didst thou love me, Mary,
Biest I'd be!

Nae greater gift can Heaven bestow,
Thou art so dear to me,
Canst thou love me, Mary, &c.

Thou hast stown my heart, O Mary dear,
With thy bewitching e'e,
And tho' a lowly cottage maid,
Thou'rt a' the world to me.

Canst thou love me, &c.

When first the muin peeps o'er the hill,
This night O steal to me,

And by two dazzling stars, thy e'en,
I swear I'll wedded be.

'TIS THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER.

'Tis the last rose of summer

Left blooming alone;
All her lonely companions
Are faded and gone;
No flower of her kindred,
No rose bud is nigh,
To reflect back her blushes,
Or give sigh for sigh.

I'll not leave thee, thou lone one,
To pine on thy stem,
Since the lovely are sleeping,
Go, sleep thou with them;
Thus kindly I scatter

Thy leaves o'er the bed,
Where thy mates of the garden
Lie scented and dead.

So soon may I follow

When friendships decay,
And from love's shining circle
The gems drop away;
When true hearts lie wither'd
And fond ones have flown,
Oh! who could inhabit

This bleak world alone!