First like the lily pale ye grew,
Syne like the violet wan;
As in the sunshine dies the dew,
my fair Ann.

So faded

Was it a breath of evil wind

That harm'd thee, lovely child?
Or was't the fairy's charmed touch
That all thy bloom defiled?

I've watch'd thee in the mirk midnight,
And watch'd thee in the day,
And sung our ladye's sacred song
To keep the elves away.

The moon is sitting on the hill,
The night is nigh its prime,

The owl doth chase the bearded bat,
The mark of witching time;
And o'er the seven sister stars
A silver cloud is drawn,

On a far séa thy father sails

Among the spicy isles;

He thinks on thee, and thinks on me,

And as he thinks, he smiles

And sings, while he his white sail trims, And severs swift the sea,

About his Anna's sunny locks,

And of her bright blue e'e.

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,

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?