The sweet enchantin' theme shall be,
Fair Fife, an' a' the land about it.

Her braid an' lang extended vales

Are clad wi' corn, a' wavin' yellow;
Her flocks an' herds crown a' her hills;
Her woods resound wi' music mellow.

Her waters pastime sweet afford

To ane an' a' wha like to angle;
The seats o' mony a laird an' lord,
Her plains, as stars the sky, bespangle.

In ilka town an' village gay,

Hark! Thrift her wheel an' loom are usin';
While to an' frae each port an' bay,

See wealthy Commerce briskly cruisin'.

Her maids are frugal, modest, fair,
As lilies by her burnies growin';
An' ilka swain may here repair,

Whase heart wi' virt'ous love is glowin'.

In peace, her sons like lammies mild,
Are lightsome, friendly, an' engagin';
In war they're loyal, bauld, an' wild
As lions roused an' fiercely ragin'.

May auld an' young ha'e meat an' claes;
May wark an' wages aye be plenty;

An' may the sun to latest days

See Fife an' a' her bairnies canty.

Fife, an' a' the land about it,
Fife, an' a' the land about it;

May health an' peace an' plenty glad
Fair Fife, an' a' the land about it.

Alexander Douglas.

MAGGIE LAUDER.

HA wadna be in love

WHA

Wï' bonnie Maggie Lauder?

A piper met her gaun to Fife,

And speired what was 't they ca'd her. Right scornfully she answered him,

'Begone, you hallanshaker!

Jog on your gate, you bladderskate !
My name is Maggie Lauder."

"Maggie," quo' he, "and by my bags,
I'm fidgin' fain to see thee;
Sit down by me, my bonnie bird,
In troth I winna steer thee;
For I'm a piper to my trade,
My name is Rob the Ranter;
The lasses loup as they were daft
When I blow up my chanter."

"Piper," quo' Meg, "hae ye your bags,
Or is your drone in order?

If ye be Rob, I've heard of you,
Live you upo' the Border?
The lasses a', baith far and near,

Hae heard o' Rob the Ranter;

I'll shake my foot with right gude-will,
Gif you'll blow up your chanter.”

Then to his bags he flew wi' speed,
About the drone he twisted;
Meg up and walloped o'er the green,
For brawly could she frisk it.

"Weel done!" quo' he. “Play up!” quo' she.

'Weel bobbed," quo' Rob the Ranter;

""T is worth my while to play indeed

When I hae sic a dancer."

"Weel hae you played your part,” quo' Meg;
"Your cheeks are like the crimson;
There's name in Scotland plays sae weel
Since we lost Habbie Simpson.

I've lived in Fife, baith maid and wife,
These ten years and a quarter;

Gin' ye should come to Anster Fair,

Speir ye for Maggie Lauder."

Francis Semple.

MAGGIE LAUDER.

THESE stanzas are an appropriate addition to the well-known song of "Maggie Lauder," composed by Francis Semple, about 1660.

THE cantie Spring scarce reared her head,

And Winter yet did blaud her,

When the Ranter came to Anster Fair,

And speired for Maggie Lauder;
A snug wee house in the East Green
Its shelter kindly lent her;

Wi' canty ingle, clean hearthstane,

Meg welcomed Rob the Ranter!

Then Rob made bonnie Meg his bride,
And to the kirk they ranted;

He played the auld East Nook o' Fife,"
And merry Maggie vaunted

That Hab himsel' ne'er played a spring,
Nor blew sae weel his chanter,

For he made Anster town to ring, -
And wha 's like Rob the Ranter?

For a' the talk and loud reports
That ever gaed against her,
Meg proves a true and carefu' wife,
As ever was in Anster;

And since the marriage-knot was tied,
Rob swears he couldna want her;

For he loves Maggie as his life,

And Meg loves Rob the Ranter.

Charles Gray.

BUTO

Forth, the River.

THE FORTH.

where the Forth's broad river sweeps the plain,

Moving to wed, fair stream, the eastern main, Yet nobler scenes unfold, a crowded port,

Where Commerce, sire of empire, holds his court;

The dark blue Frith, where many a whitened sail
Rests in the roads, or, pausing, courts the gale;
The isles that on its breast repose serene,

Here gray with rocks, there softening into green ;
The expanse beyond, which owns no bounding line
But that where sea and sky their tints combine;
Save where, illumined by the westering ray,
The rock-walled Bass ascends, or humbler May;
And, lovelier still, the winding northern shore,
With hamlets, towns, and castles, brightened o'er,
Adorned with fields from waste by culture won,
That gently swell to meet the summer sun;
While o'er their heads the giant Lomonds rise,
Proud sons of earth that threaten yet the skies.

Anonymous.

Foyers (Fyers), the River.

VERSES

WRITTEN WHILE STANDING BY THE FALL OF FYERS, NEAR

LOCH NESS.

AMONG the heathy hills and ragged woods

The foaming Fyers pours his mossy floods;

Till full he dashes on the rocky mounds,

Where, through a shapeless breach, his stream resounds. As high in air the bursting torrents flow,

As deep recoiling surges foam below;

Prone down the rock the whitening sheet descends,