The clansmen in the heather'd hall,

Sweet sleep be with you, one and all!
We part in hope of days as bright

As this now gone, Good night, good night!

Sweet sleep be with us one and all ;
And if upon its stillness fall

The visions of a busy brain,

We'll have our pleasure o'er again,

To warm the heart, to charm the sight,
Gay dreams to all! Good night, good night!

LOW GERMANIE.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.

As I sail'd past green Jura's isle,
Among the waters lone,

I heard a voice-a sweet low voice,
Atween a sigh and moan:

With ae babe at her bosom, and

Another at her knee,

A mother wail'd the bloody wars

In Low Germanie.

Oh woe unto these cruel wars

That ever they began,

For they have swept my native isle
Of many a pretty man:

For first they took my

brethren twain,

Then wiled my love frae me.

Woe, woe unto the cruel wars
In Low Germanie

I saw him when he sail'd away,
And furrow'd far the brine;

And down his foes came to the shore,
In many a glittering line :

The war-steeds rush'd amang the waves,

The guns came flashing free,

But could nae keep my gallant love

From Low Germanie.

Oh say, ye maidens, have ye seen,
When swells the battle cry,
A stately youth with bonnet blue
And feather floating high,—

An eye

that flashes fierce for all,

But ever mild to me?—

Oh that's the lad who loves me best

In Low Germanie.

Where'er the cymbal's sound is heard,
And cittern sweeter far,-
Where'er the trumpet blast is blown,
And horses rush to war;

The blithest at the banquet board,

And first in war is he,

The bonnie lad, whom I love best,
In Low Germanie.

I sit

upon the high green land,

When mute the waters lie,

And think I see my true-love's sail
Atween the sea and sky,

With ae bairn at my bosom, and

Another at my knee,
I sorrow for my soldier lad

In Low Germanie.

NORA'S VOW.

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

Hear what highland Nora said:
The Earlie's son I will not wed,
Should all the race of nature die,
And none be left but he and I.
For all the gold, for all the gear,
And all the lands, both far and near,
That ever valour lost or won,

I would not wed the Earlie's son.

A maiden's vows, old Callum spoke,
Are lightly made and lightly broke.
The heather on the mountain's height
Begins to bloom in purple light;
The frost-wind soon shall sweep away
That lustre deep from glen and brae;

Yet, Nora, ere its bloom be gone,
May blithely wed the Earlie's son.

The swan, she said, the lake's clear breast
May barter for the eagle's nest ;

The Awe's fierce stream may backward turn,
Ben-Cruachan fall and crush Kilchurn;

Our kilted clans, when blood is high,
Before their foes may turn and fly:
But I, were all these marvels done,
Would never wed the Earlie's son.

Still in the water-lily's shade

Her wonted nest the wild swan made,
Ben-Cruachan stands as fast as ever,

Still downward foams the Awe's fierce river,
To shun the clash of foeman's steel
No highland brogue has turned the heel;
But Nora's heart is lost and won,

She's wedded to the Earlie's son.

LOGAN BRAES.

JOHN MAYNE, ESQ.

By Logan's streams, that rin sae deep,
Fu' aft wi' glee I've herded sheep;
I've herded sheep, or gather'd slaes,
Wi' my dear lad, on Logan braes.
But waes my heart, thae days are gane,
And I, wi' grief, may herd alane;
While my dear lad maun face his faes,
Far, far frae me and Logan braes.

Nae mair at Logan kirk will he
Atween the preachings meet wi' me;
Meet wi' me, or whan its mirk,
Convoy me hame frae Logan kirk.
I weel may sing thae days are gane-
Frae kirk and fair I come alane,
While my dear lad maun face his faes,
Far, far frae me and Logan braes!

At e'en, when hope amaist is gane,
I dauner dowie and forlane;
I sit alane, beneath the tree
Where aft he kept his tryste wi' me.
O! cou'd I see thae days again,
My lover skaithless, and my ain!
Belov'd by friends, rever'd by faes,
We'd live in bliss on Logan braes.