w

And there's a hand, my trustie feire,
And gi'es a hand o' thine:

And we'll tak' a right gude willie waught For auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear, &c

And surely you'll be your pint-stoup, And surely I'll be mine;

And we'll tak' a drop o' kindness yet, For auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear, &c

THE LAND OF LOVE AND LIBERTY
AIR.-Rule Britannia.

HAIL, great republic of the world!
The rising empire of the west;
When fam'd Columbus' mighty mind
impress'd,

Gave Europe's sons a place of rest.
Be thou for ever, ever blest and free,
The land of love and liberty.

Beneath thy spreading mantling vines,
Beside thy flowery groves and springs,
And on thy lofty, lofty mountains' brow
May all thy sons and fair ones sing,
Be thou for ever, &c.

From thee may future nations learn
To prize the cause thy sons began;
From thee may future, future tyrants
know,

That sacred are the rights of man.
Be thou for ever, &c

Of thee may sleeping infancy
The pleasing, wondrous story tell;
And patriot sage, in venerable mood,
Instruct the world to govern well.
Be thou for ever, &c

May guardian angels watch around, From harm protect these new-born states;

And all ye friendly, friendly nations join, And thus salute the child of fate

Be thou for ever, &c.

MY HIGHLAND HOME.

Mr Highland home, where tempests blow,

And cold thy wintry looks,

Thy hills are crowned with driven snow, And ice-bound are tły brooks:

But colder far the Scotsman's heart,
However far he roam,

To whom these words no joy impart― My native Highland home.

Then gang with me to Scotland, dear, We ne'er again will roam;

And with thy smiles, so bonny, cheer
My native Highland home.

When summer comes, the heather bell
Shall tempt thy feet to rove:
The cushat dove, within the dell,
Invites to peace and love:
For blithesome is the face of day,
And sweet's the bonnie broom;
And pure the dimpling rills that play
Around my Highland home.
Then gang with me to Scotland, &c.

THE SPRIG OF SHILLELAH.

OCH, love is the soul of a nate Irishman, He loves all the lovely, loves all that

he can,

With his sprig of shillelah and sham

rock so green.

His heart is good-humour'd--'tis honest and sound,

No malice or hatred is there to be

found,

He courts and he marries, he drinks and he fights,

For love, all for love, for in that he delights,

With his sprig of shillelah and shamrock so green.

Who has e'er had the luck to see Donnybrook fair?

An Irishman all in his glory is there, With his sprig of shillelah and sham

rock so green:

His clothes spick and span new, without e'er a speck,

A neat Barcelona tied round his white neck:

He

goes to a tent and he spends half a

crown,

He meets with a friend-and for love knocks him down

With a sprig of shillelah and shamrock so green.

At evening returning, as homeward he goes,

His heart soft with whiskey, his head soft with blows

From a sprig of shillelah and shamrock so green,

He meets with his Shelah, who, blushing a smile,

Cries, "Get ye gone, Pat," yet consents all the while

To the priest then they go-and, nine months after that,

A fine baby cries out "How d'ye do, father Pat,

With your sprig of shillelah and shamrock so green."

Bless the country, say I, that gave Patrick his birth,

Bless the land of the oak, and its neigh

bouring earth,

Where grows

the shillelah and sham

rock so green.

May the sons of the Thames, the Tweed, and the Shannon,

Drub the foe who dares plant on our confines a cannon:

United and happy, at loyalty's shrine, May the rose, leek, and thistle long flourish and twine

Round a sprig of shillelah and sham rock so green.