three-legged stool. You see, the other afternoon I was ax'd out to take a comfortable dish of four shilling shouchong tea, and I sat along-side of Miss Polly Spriggins; I saw she got quite smitten with my countenance-says she to me, Mr. Barney, will you have a game of hunt the slipper? With all my heart, says I; then my wife bawled out, from the other end of the parlour, Mr Barney leave the girls alone! (repeat) Judy she loves whiskey, O! (repeat) And toast the girl that's kind and true ; (Spoken)-Yes, that is the way we go, to be sure, and to say the truth on it, it is none of the pleasantest. You see I loves a good dinner, but somehow or other we don't get much in the week days, a pig's foot and a carrot, no great choice; but on Sunday we always have a showlder of mutton, stuck round with turnips. I like a piece of the brown, but my wife, she always tucks me off with the knuckle bone or the showlder-blade, or a piece of the dry flap, to the tune of Mr. Barney leave the girls alone! (repeat) JESSIE, THE FLOW'R OF DUMBLANE. BY ROBERT TANNAHILL. THE Sun has gane down o'er the lofty Benlomond, And left the red clouds to preside o'er the scene, While lanely I stray in the calm summer gloaming, She's modest as ony, and blythe as she's bonny; Wha'd blight in its bloom, the sweet flow'r o' Sing on, thou sweet mavis, thy hymn to the E'ening, How lost were my days 'till I met wi' my Jessie, Though mine were the station o' loftiest Grandeur, Amidst its profusion I'd languish in pain : And reckon as naething the height o' its splendour, If wanting sweet Jessie, the flow'r o' Dumblane. DONALD THE PRIDE OF DUMBLANE. O, fair rose the morning, the sun in mild splendour, Bade nature's rich beauties delighted awake, When Donald returning so true and so tender, Wav'd proudly the scarf he had kept for my sake; O, Jessie, he whisper'd, thy prayers did protect me, And taithful as ever behold me again, Most welcome I answer'd, I ne'er could suspect thee, For art thou not Donaid, the pride of Dumblane. For art thou not Donald, for art thou not Donald, For art thou not Donald the pride of Dumblane. If since his departure I've often lamented, The cause that entic'd him from Scotland to roam, O, how could a feeling like that be prevented, While Donald was absent unblest was my home, A gentler, a braver, a kinder, sure never Attempted the heart of a maiden to gain, O, guard him, kind heaven, for Jessie must ever, Delight in her Donald the pride of Dumblane. THE WATER-MELON. BY S. WOODWORTH. 'Twas noon, and the reapers repos'd on the bank With smiles, like the season, auspicious, sweet But oh! the dessert was delicious! A melon, the sweetest that loaded the vine, Its crimson core teem'd with the richest of wine, And I said, as its nectarous juices I quaff'd, In the seeds which embellish this red juicy core, For human enjoyments are thus sprinkled o'er But if we are wise to discard from the mind, ROBERT BRUCE'S ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY. BY ROBERT BURNS. SCOTS wha hae wi' Wallace bled; Or to glorious victory. Now's the day, and now's the hour; See approach proud Edward's power- Wha will be a traitor knave? Traitor! coward! turn and flee ! Wha for Scotland's king and law By oppression's woes and pains! Lay the proud usurpers low! Forward! let us do or die! ALL'S WELL. DESERTED by the waning moon, Where caution marks the guarded way, Or sailing on the midnight deep, t YO HEAVE HO. My name d'ye see's Tom Tough, I've seen a little service, Where mighty billows roll and loud tempests blow; |