SCOTLAND.

Gala Water.

GALA WATER.

HERE's braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes,

THERE

That wander through the blooming heather;

But Yarrow braes nor Ettrick shaws
Can match the lads o' Gala Water.

But there is ane, a secret ane,

Aboon them a' I lo'e him better;
And I'll be his and he'll be mine,
The bonny lad o' Gala Water.

Although his daddie was nae laird,
And though I hae na meikle tocher,
Yet rich in kindest, truest love,

We'll tent our flocks by Gala Water.

It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth,
That coft contentment, peace, or pleasure;
The bands and bliss o' mutual love,

O that's the chiefest warld's treasure!

Robert Burns.

0,

GALLA BRAE.

TELL me, did ye ever see

Sweet Galla on a simmer night, When ilka star had oped its e'e,

An' tipped the broom wi' saft, pale light? Ye'd never gang toward the town,

Ye wadna like the flauntie day,
If ance ye saw the moon blink down
Her bonnie beams on Galla Brae.

A' silent, save the whimplin tune,
The win 's asleep, nae leaflet stirs :
O, gie me Galla 'neath the moon,

Its siller birk, and gowden furze.
There's monie anither leesome glen,
But let 'em talk o' whilk they may,
O' a' the rigs an' shaws I ken,

There's nane sae fair as Galla Brae.

I crept a wee thing 'mang its heath,
A laughing laddie there I strayed;
I roved beside its burnie's tide

In morning air an' gloaming shade:
Its gowans were the first I pu'd,

An' still my leal heart loves it sae, That when I dee, nae grave would be Sic hallowed earth as Galla Brae.

Eliza Cook.

A

Galloway.

THE HILLS O' GALLOWA'.

MANG the birks sae blythe an' gay, I met my Julia hameward gaun; The linties chantit on the spray, The lammies loupit on the lawn : On ilka swaird the hay was mawn, The braes wi' gowans buskit bra', An' evening's plaid o' gray was thrawn Out ower the hills o' Gallowa'.

Wi' music wild the woodlands rang,
An' fragrance winged alang the lea,
As down we sat the flowers amang,
Upon the banks o' stately Dee.
My Julia's arms encircled me,

An' saftly slade the hours awa',
Till dawning coost a glimm'rin' e'e
Upon the hills o' Gallowa'.

It isna owsen, sheep, an' kye,
It isna gowd, it isna gear,
This lifted e'e wad hae, quo' I,

The warld's drumlie gloom to cheer;

But gi'e to me my Julia dear,

Ye powers wha rowe this yirthen ba', An' O, sae blythe through life I'll steer, Amang the hills o' Gallowa'.

When gloamin' daunders up the hill,
An' our gudeman ca's hame the yowes,
Wi' her I'll trace the mossy rill

That through the muir meand'ring rows;
Or tint amang the scroggie knowes,

My birken pipe I'll sweetly blaw,

An' sing the streams, the straths, and howes,
The hills an' dales o' Gallowa'.

An' when auld Scotland's heathy hills,
Her rural nymphs an' jovial swains,
Her flowery wilds an' wimpling rills,
Awake nae mair my canty strains;
Where friendship dwells an' freedom reigns,
Where heather blooms an' muircocks craw,
O, dig my grave, and lay my banes

Amang the hills o' Gallowa'.

Thomas Mounsey Cunningham.

THE BRAES OF GALLOWAY.

LASSIE, wilt thou gang wi' me,

And leave thy frien's i' th' south countrie, — Thy former frien's and sweethearts a',

And gang wi' me to Gallowa'?

O Gallowa' braes, they wave wi' broom,
And heather-bells in bonnie bloom;
There's lordly seats, and livin's braw,
Amang the braes o' Gallowa'!