And there's no a man in all Scotland,
But I'll brave him at a word.
Sae rantingly, bc.

I've liv'd a life of sturt and strife;
I die by treacherie :

It burns my heart I must depart,
And not avenged be.

Sae rantingly, &c.

Now farewel light, thou sunshine bright,
And all beneath the sky!

May coward shame distain his name,
The wretch that dares not die!
Sae rantingly, &c.

SONG.

Here's a bottle and an honest friend! What wad ye wish for mair, man? Wha kens, before his life may end, What his share may be of care, man? Then catch the moments as they fly, And use them as ye ought, man ;Believe me, happiness is shy,

And comes not aye when sought, man.

SONG.

Tune-Braes o' Balquhidder.

I kiss thee yet, yet,

An' I'll kiss thee o'er again,

An' I'll kiss thee yet, yet,
My bonnie Peggy Alison !

Ilk care and fear, when thou art near, I ever mair defy them, O;

Young kings upon their hansel throne
Are no sae biest as I am, O!

I'll kiss thee, &c.

When in my arms, wi' a' thy charms,
I clasp my countless treasure, O;
I seek nae mair o' Heaven to share,
Than sic a moment's pleasure, O!
I'll kiss thee, c.

And by thy e'en sae bonnie blue,
I swear I'm thine for ever, O!-
And on thy lips I seal my vow,
And break it shall I never, O!
I'll kiss thee, &c.

SONG*.

Tune-If he be a Butcher neat and trim.

On Cessnock banks there lives a lass,
Could I describe her shape and mien;
The graces of her weelfar'd face,

And the glancin' of her sparklin' e'en.

She's fresher than the morning dawn
When rising Phoebus first is seen,
When dewdrops twinkle o'er the lawn;
An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' e'en.

She's stately like yon youthful ash,

That grows the cowslip braes between,
And shoots its head above each bush;
An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' e'en.

This song was an early production. It was recovered by the editor from the oral communica tion of a lady residing at Glasgow, whom the bard in early life affectionately admired.

She's spotless as the flow'ring thorn,

With flow'rs so white and leaves so green, When purest in the dewy morn;

An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' e'en.

Her looks are like the sportive lamb,
When flow'ry May adorns the scene,
That wantons round its bleating dam;
An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' e'en.

Her hair is like the curling mist

That shades the mountain side at e'en,
When flow'r-reviving rains are past;
An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' e'en.

Her forehead's like the show'ry bow,
When shining sunbeams intervene,
And gild the distant mountain's brow;
An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' e'en.

Her voice is like the ev'ning thrush

That sings in Cessnock banks unseen, While his mate sits nestling in the bush ; An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' e'en.

Her lips are like the cherries ripe,

That sunny walls from boreas screen, They tempt the taste and charm the sight; An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' e'en.

Her teeth are like a flock of sheep,
With fleeces newly washen clean,
That slowly mount the rising steep;
An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' e'en.

Her breath is like the fragrant breeze

That gently stirs the blossom'd bean, When Phoebus sinks behind the seas; An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' e'en.

But it's not her air, her form, her face,

Tho' matching beauty's fabled queen,

But the mind that shines in every grace,
And chiefly in her sparklin' e'en.

WAE IS MY HEART.

Wae is my heart, and the tear's in my e'e;
Lang, lang joy's been a stranger to me:
Forsaken and friendless my burden I bear,
And the sweet voice o' pity ne'er sounds in my ear.

Love, thou hast pleasures; and deep hae I loved : Love, thou hast sorrows; and sair hae I proved: But this bruised heart that now bleeds in my breast, I can feel by its throbbings will soon be at rest.

O if I were, where happy I hae been;

Down by yon stream and yon bonnie castle green: For there he is wand'ring and musing on me, Wha wad soon dry the tear frae his Phillis's e'e.

FRAGMENT.

Her flowing locks, the raven's wing,
Adown her neck and bosom hing;
How sweet unto that breast to cling,
And round that neck entwine her!

Her lips are roses wat wi' dew,
O, what a feast, her bonnie mou!
Her cheeks a mair celestial hue,
A crimson still diviner.

BALLAD.

To thee, lov'd Nith, thy gladsome plains,
Where late wi' careless thought I rang'd,

Though prest wi' care and sunk in woe,
To thee I bring a heart unchang'd.-

I love thee, Nith, thy banks and braes,

Tho' mem'ry there my bosom tear; For there he rov'd that brake my heart, Yet to that heart, ah, still how dear!

FRAGMENT.

The winter it is past, and the simmer comes at last,
And the small birds sing on every tree;
Now every thing is glad while I am very sad,
Since my true love is parted from me.

The rose upon the brier by the waters running clear,

May have charms for the linnet or bee;

Their little loves are blest, and their little hearts at rest,

But my true love is parted from me.

SONG.

Tune--Banks of Banna.

Yestreen I had a pint o' wine,
A place where body saw na';
Yestreen lay on this breast o' mine
The gowden locks of Anna.
The hungry Jew in wilderness,
Rejoicing o'er his manna,
Was naething to my hinny bliss
Upon the lips of Anna.

Ye monarchs, tak the east and west,
Frae Indus to Savannah!