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O! the knot and the fairing were given to me When the golden-hair'd laddie came over the las O, Marian the merry, why now sadly sighing,

Your tresses neglected are sport for the breeze, The villagers' pastimes why foolishly flying,

O say, silly Marian, what symptoms are these 7 O, the knot and the fairing no longer please me, For the golden-hair'd laddie's gone over the les O, Marian the merry, again sweetly smiling,

Again like the fawn tripping lightly along, What innocent hope all your sorrows beguiling, O, say, happy Marian, enlivens your song? O, the knot and the fairing again pleasure me, For the golden-hair'd laddie's come over the lea.

MY TEMPLES WITH CLUSTERS. My temples with clusters of grapes I'll entwine, And barter all joys for a goblet of wine, In search of a Venus no longer I'll run, But stop and forget her at Bacchus' tun; No longer I'll run,

But stop and forget her at Bacchus' tun. Yet why this resolve to relinquish the fair? 'Tis a folly with spirits like mine to despair, For what mighty charms can be found in a glass, If not fill'd to the health of some favourite lass? 'Tis woman, whose charms every rapture impart, And lend a new spring to the pulse of the heart; The miser himself, so supreme is her sway, Grows a convert to love, and resigns her his key. At the sound of her voice, Sorrow lifts up her head And Poverty listens well pleas'd from her shed;

Thile age, in an ecstacy, hobbling along, eats time with the crutch, to the tune of her song. hen bring me a goblet from Bacchus' hoard, The largest and deepest that stands on the board, Il fill up a brimmer, and drink to the fair, Tis the thirst of a love-and pledge me who dare.


ack came home his pockets lin❜d,
In search of Poll, his only pleasure;
o Pickle Stairs his course inclined
In her fair lap to pour his treasure,
But scarce arriv'd at fam'd Rag Fair,
Where the keen Jew the clod pole fleeces;
lis whistle turn'd into a stare,
At come who'll buy my water cresses,

He starts and trembles at the sound
Which now is heard, and now obstructed,
And now his hopes are all aground,

And now 'tis to his ear conducted:
Zounds! cried out Jack, I know that phiz,
But then such togs! they're all to pieces,
Why it cannot be-d-n me, it is;

'Tis Poll, a bawling water cresses. And now she's in his arms, while he

Bids her relate fortune's reverses; The world turns faithless as the sea,

And loads false friends and troops with curses. They took, cried she, my very bed,

The sticks they seized and sold in pieces, So to get an honest piece of bread,

I cries, who'll buy my water cresses,

Still art thou rich, my girl, cried Jack,

And still shalt taste each earthly pleasure,
Thou'rt true, though rags are on thy back,
And honour, Poll, is a noble treasure.
In this gay tog shop, rigg'd so neat,

Ill fortune from this moment ceases,
This said, he scatter'd in the street,
Baskets, and rags, and water cresses.


Young Donald is the blithest lad,
That e'er made love to me ;
Whene'er he's by, my heart is glad,
He seems so gay and free;
Then on his pipe he plays so sweet,
And in his plaid he looks so neat,
It cheers my heart at eve to meet
Young Donald of Dundee.

Whene'er I gang down yonder grove,
Young Sandy follows me,

And fain he wants to be my love,
But ah! it canna be:

My mither frets both soon and late,
For me to wed this youth I hate,
There's none need hope to gain your Kate
But Donald of Dundee.

When last we ranged the banks of Tay,
The ring he shew'd to me,
And bade me name the bridal day,
Then happy would he be;

I ken the youth will aye prove kind;
Nae mair my mither will I mind,

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Mess John to me shall quickly bind
Young Donald of Dundee.


Ah! Chloris, could I now but sit,
As unconcern'd as when
Your infant beauty could beget,
No happiness nor pain.
When I this drawing did admire,
And prized the coming day,
I little thought that rising fire
Would take my rest away.

Your charms in harmless childhood lay, As metals in a mine;

Age from no face takes more away,
Than youth conceal'd in thine;
But as your charms insensibly,

To their perfection press'd,
So love, as unperceiv'd, did fly,
And centred in my breast.

My passion with your beauty grew,
While Cupid, at my heart,
Still as his mother favoured you,
Threw a new flaming dart;
Each gloried in their wanton part;
To make a lover, he
Employ'd the utmost of his heart;
To make a beauty, she.



From thee, Eliza, I must go,
And from my native shore ;
The cruel fates between us throw
A boundless ocean's roar;
But boundless oceans, roaring wide,
Between my love and me,
They never, never can divide
My heart, my soul from thee.
Farewell, farewell, Eliza dear,

The maid that I adore!
A boding voice is in my ear,
We part to meet no more!
But the last throb that leaves my heart,
While death stands victor by,

That throb, Eliza, is thy part,
And thine that latest sigh.

The smiling morn, the breathing spring,
Invite the tuneful birds to sing,
And while they warble from each spray,
Love melts the universal lay.
Let us, Amanda, timely wise,
Like them improve the hour that flies,
And in soft raptures waste the day,
Among the banks of Invermay.

The lav'rocks now, and lint whites sing;
The rocks around with echoes ring;
The mavis, and the black bird's lay,
In tuneful strains do glad the day;

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