Thou wert woo'd in the parlour, and sought in the ha'; I came and I won thee frae the wit of them a'. My hame is my mailen, weel stocket and fu', My bairns are the flocks and the herds which I lo'e; My wife is the gold and delight of my ee, And worth a whole lordship of mailens to me. O, who would fade away like a flower in the dew, 'MONG SCOTIA'S GLENS. JAMES HOGG. 'Mong Scotia's glens and mountains blue, Where Roman eagles never flew, Nor Danish lions rallied; Where skulks the roe in anxious fear, There live the lads to freedom dear, There woods grow wild on every hill; Sure Scotland will be Scotland still, While hearts so brave defend her. Fear not, our sov'reign liege, they cry, We've flourish'd fair beneath thine eye; For thee we'll fight, for thee we'll die, Nor aught but life surrender. Since thou hast watch'd our every need, Thy honour'd age in peace to save, Though nations join yon tyrant's arm, 'Mong Scotia's glens, with sword and gun, We'll form a bulwark round him. JOCK OF HAZELDEAN. SIR WALTER SCOTT. Why weep ye by the tide, ladye— But ay she loot the tears down fa' For Jock of Hazeldean. Now let this wilful grief be done, A chain of gold ye shall not lack, Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk, And you the foremost of them a', For Jock of Hazeldean. The kirk was deck'd at morning tide, The tapers glimmer'd fair, The priest and bridegroom wait the bride, The ladye was not seen― Wi' Jock of Hazeldean. THE HAMEWARD SONG. HUGH AINSLIE. VOL. IV. Each whirl of the wheel, Each step brings me nearer And thae trees on that green, E'en the brutes they look social And the sang of the bird Seems to welcome me back. O, dear to our hearts Is the hand that first fed us, And dear is the land And the cottage that bred us. And dear are the comrades With whom we once sported, And dearer the maiden Whose love we first courted: Joy's image may perish, E'en grief die away, But the scenes of our youth AWAKE, MY LOVE. ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. Awake, my love! ere morning's ray |