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The raven fleece that dances

On her round and swan-white neck;
The white foot that wakes music

On the smooth and shaven deck;
The white hand that goes waving thus,
As if it told the brine-

Be gentle in your ministry,
O'er you I rule and reign;
The eye that looks so lovely,
Yet so lofty in its sway-
Old man! the sea adores them-
So adieu, sweet Allanbay!

HABBIE'S FRAE HAME.

JAMES TURNER.

By the side of yon cleugh, whare the burnie rins shill,
A lassie sat sighing and spinning her lane:
O gin the waes of my heart wad lie still!

There'll never be joy till our Habbie come hame.

My wheel it gaes round, and my lint tap I spread,
Lint that I mean for bibs to my bairn;

The warp

shall be blue and the waft shall be red, An' how bra we'll be a' when our Habbie comes hame.

That morning he left us, our cock never crew,

Our gray clocking hen she gaed keckling her lane; The gowk frae the craft never cried cuckoo,

That wearyfu' morning our Habbie left hame.

When the wind blaws loud and tirls our strae,
An' a' our house sides are dreeping wi' rain,
An' ilka burn rows frae the bank to the brae,
weep for our Habbie who rows i' the main.

I

When the wars are owre, an' quiet is the sea,

On board the Culloden our Hab will come hame : My slumbers will then be as sweet as the Dee,

An' how blythe we'll be a' when our Habbie comes hame.

THE BONNIE BARK.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.

O come, my bonnie bark,
O'er the waves let us go,
With thy neck like the swan,

And thy wings like the snow—
Spread thy plumes to the wind,
For a gentle one soon
Maun welcome us home,

Ere the wane of the moon.

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THE WIDOW'S LAMENT.

JAMES HOGG.

Oh, thou art lovely yet, my boy,
Even in thy winding sheet!
I canna leave thy comely clay,
And features calm and sweet.
I have no hope but for the day
That we shall meet again,
Since thou art gane, my

bonnie boy,

And left me here alane.

I hoped thy sire's loved form to see,
To trace his looks in thine;
And saw, wi' joy, thy sparkling e'e
Wi' kindling vigour shine:

I thought, when I was fail'd, I might
Wi' you and yours remain ;
But thou art fled, my bonnie boy,

And left me here alane.

Now closed and set that sparkling e'e,

Thy breast is cauld as clay;

And a' my hope, and a' my joy,
Wi' thee are reft away.

Ah, fain wad I that comely clay

Reanimate again!

But thou art fled, my bonnie boy,
And left me here alane.

The flower now fading on the lea,
Shall fresher rise to view;

The leaf just falling frae the tree,

The year will soon renew;
But lang may I weep o'er thy grave
Ere thou revivest again,

For thou art fled, my bonnie boy,
And left me here alane!

ALLAN-A-MAUT.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.

Good Allan-a-Maut lay on the rigg,
One call'd him bear, one call'd him bigg;
An old dame slipp'd on her glasses: Aha!
He'll waken, quoth she, with joy to us a'.
The sun shone out, down dropp'd the rain,
He laugh'd as he came to life again;
And carles and carlins sung who saw't,
Good luck to your rising, Allan-a-Maut.

Good Allan-a-Maut grew green and rank,
With a golden beard and a shapely shank,
And rose sae steeve, and wax'd sae stark,
He whomelt the maid, and coupit the clark;
The sick and lame leap'd hale and weel,

The faint of heart grew firm as steel,

The douce nae mair call'd mirth a faut,

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Such charms are mine, quoth Allan-a-Maut.

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