Sae merrily round the ring they row'd,
When by the hand he led them a',
And smack on smack on them bestow'd,
By virtue of a standing law.

And wasna Willy a great loun,

As shyre a lick as e'er was seen? When he danc'd with the lasses round,

The bridegroom speer'd where he had been.
Quoth Willy, I've been at the ring,

With bobbing, faith, my shanks are sair;
Gae ca' your bride and maidens in,
For Willy he dow do nae mair.

Then rest ye, Willy, I'll gae out,
And for a wee fill up the ring:
But, shame licht on his souple snout,
He wanted Willy's wanton fling.
Then straight he to the bride did fare,
Says, weil's me on your bonny face,
With bobbing, Willy's shanks are sair,
And I am come to fill his place.

Bridegroom, she says, you'll spoil the dance,
And at the ring you'll aye be lag,

Unless like Willy ye advance;

(O! Willy has a wanton leg:)

For wi't he learns us a' to steer,

And foremost aye bears up the ring;

We will find nae sic dancing here,
If we want Willy's wanton fling.

William Walkinshaw.

THERE'S NAE LUCK ABOUT THE HOUSE.

And are you sure the news is true?

And are you sure he's weel?

Is this a time to talk of wark?

Mak haste, lay by your wheel!

Is this the time to spin a thread
When Colin's at the door?
Reach me my cloak, I'll to the quay
And see him come ashore.

For there's nae luck about the house,
There is nae luck ava;

There's little pleasure in the house,
When our gudeman's awa.

There's twa fat hens upon the bauk

Been fed this month and mair,

Mak haste, and thraw their necks about,
That Colin weel may fare;

And spread the table neat and clean,

Gar ilka thing look braw,

For wha can tell how Colin fared,

When he was far awa.

Ah! there's nae, &c.

Sae true's his word, sae smooth's his speech

His breath like caller air,

His very foot has music in't
As he comes up the stair!
And shall I see his face again,
And shall I hear him speak!
I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought,
In troth I'm like to greet.

For there's nae, &c.

If Colin's weel, I'm weel content,
I hae nae mair to crave-
And gin I live to keep him sae,
I'm blest aboon the lave.
And shall I see his face again,
And shall I hear him speak!
I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought,
In troth I'm like to greet.

For there's nae, &c.

The cauld blasts of the winter wind,
That thrilled through my heart,
They're a' blawn by,-I hae him safe,
Till death we'll never part:
But why should I of parting talk?
It may be far awa;

The present moment is our ain,

The neist we never saw.

For there's nae, &c.

Jean Adam

THE TOOM MEAL POCK.

Preserve us a'! what shall we do,
Thir dark unhallowed times?
We're surely dreeing penance now
For some most awfu' crimes.
Sedition daurna now appear,

In reality or joke,

For ilka chiel maun mourn wi' me,

O'a hinging toom meal pock.

And sing, Oh waes me!

When lasses braw gae'd out at e'en,
For sport and pastime free,
I seem'd like ane in paradise,
The moments quick did flee.
Like Venuses they a' appeared,

Weel pouthered was their locks,
'Twas easy dune, when at their hames,
Wi' the shaking o' their pocks.
And sing, Oh waes me!

How happy past my former days,
Wi' merry heartsome glee,
When smiling fortune held the cup,
And peace sat on my knee;
Nae wants had I but were supplied,
My heart wi' joy did knock,
When in the neuk I smiling saw

A gaucie weel fill'd pock.

And sing, Oh waes me !

Speak no ae word about reform,
Nor petition Parliament,
A wiser scheme I'll now propone,
I'm sure ye'll gie consent—
Send up a chiel or twa like me,

As a sample o' the flock,

Whase hollow cheeks will be sure proof,

O'a hinging toom meal pock.

And sing, Oh waes me!

And should a sicht sae ghastly like,
Wi' rags, and banes, and skin,
Hae nae impression on yon folks,
But tell ye'll stand ahin.

O what a contrast will ye shaw,

To the glowrin Lunnun folk,

When in St. James' ye tak' your stand, Wi' a hinging toom meal pock,

And sing, Oh waes me!

Then rear your hand, and glour, and stare,
Before yon hills o' beef,

Tell them ye are frae Scotland come,

For Scotia's relief;

Tell them ye are the vera best

Wal'd frae the fattest flock,

Then raise your arms, and O! display

A hinging toom meal pock.

And sing, Oh waes me !

Tell them ye're wearied o' the chain
That hauds the State thegither,
For Scotland wishes just to tak'
Gude nicht wi' ane anither.
We canna thole, we canna bide
This hard unwieldy yoke,
For wark and want but ill agree,
Wi'a hinging toom meal pock.
And sing, Oh waes me!

*

John Robertson.

BLYTH ARE WE SET WI' ITHER.

Blyth are we set wi' ither;

Fling Care ayont the moon;

Nae sae aft we meet thegither;

Wha wad think o' parting soon?
Tho' snaw bends down the forest trees,
And burn and river cease to flow:
Tho' Nature's tide hae shor'd to freeze,
And winter nithers a' below.

Blyth are we, &c.

* We are not very certain to what tune this song is sung.-We believe it is an old one, but those who may be inquisitive on this topic may apply to our worthy friend Mr. G. M————————— of Paisley, who sings it himself ad vivam and shakes the toom meal pock to the admiration of all.