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Blythe as a kid, with wit at will,

She blooming, tight, and tall is;
And guides her airs sae graceful still,

O Jove ! she's like thy Pallas.

Dear Bessy Bell and Mary Gray,

Ye unco sair oppress us ;
Our fancies jee between you twae,

Ye are sic bonny lasses :
Wae's me! for baith I canna get,

To ane by law we're stinted;
Then I'll draw cuts, and take my fate,

And be with ane contented.


FAREWELL to Lochaber, and farewell my Jean,
Where heartsome with thee I've mony day been;
For Lochaber no more, Lochaber no more,
We'll may be return to Lochaber no more.
These tears that I shed, they are a' for my dear,
And no for the dangers attending on wear,
Though bore on rough seas to a far bloody shore,
Maybe to return to Lochaber no more.

Though hurricanes rise, and rise every wind,
They'll ne'er make a tempest like that in my mind;
Though loudest of thunder on louder waves roar,
That's naething like leaving my love on the shore.
To leave thee behind me my heart is sair pained;
By ease that's inglorious no fame can be gained;
And beauty and love's the reward of the brave,
And I must deserve it before I can crave.

Then glory, my Jeany, maun plead my excuse !
Since honor commands me, how can I refuse?
Without it I ne'er can have merit for thee,
And without thy favor I'd better not be.
I gae then, my lass, to win honor and fame,
And if I should luck to come gloriously hame,
I'll bring a heart to thee with love running o'er,
And then I'll leave thee and Lochaber no more.

AN THOU WERE MY AIN THING. An thou were my ain thing, I would love thee, I would love thee; An thou were my ain thing,

How dearly would I love thee.

Like bees that suck the morning dew
Frae flowers of sweetest scent and hue,
Sae wad I dwell upo' thy mou',
And gar the gods envy me.

An thou were, etc.

Sae lang 's I had the use of light,
I'd on thy beauties feast my sight;
Syne in saft whispers through the night
I'd tell how much I looed thee.

An thou were, etc.

How fair and ruddy is my Jean!
She moves a goddess o'er the green:
Were I a king, thou should be queen,
Nane but myself aboon thee.

An thou were, etc.

I'd grasp thee to this breast of mine, Whilst thou like ivy, or the vine, Around my stronger limbs should twine, Formed hardy to defend thee.

An thou were, etc.

Time's on the wing and will not stay;
In shining youth let's make our hay,
Since love admits of no delay ;
Oh, let na scorn undo thee.

An thou were, etc.

While love does at his altar stand,
Hae, there's my heart, gi'e me thy hand,
And with ilk smile thou shalt command
The will of him wha loves thee.

And thou were, etc.

Tune –“Busk ye, my bonny bride."
Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny bride;

Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny marrow;
Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny bride,

Busk, and go to the braes of Yarrow: There will we sport and gather dew,

Dancing while lavrocks sing the morning; There learn frae turtles to prove true :

O Bell! ne'er vex me with thy scorning. To westlin breezes Flora yields;

And when the beams are kindly warming, Blytheness appears o'er all the fields,

And nature looks mair fresh and charming: Learn frae the burns that trace the mead,

Though on their banks the roses blossom, Yet hastily they flow to Tweed,

And pour their sweetness in his bosom. Haste ye, haste ye, my bonny Bell,

Haste to my arms, and there I'll guard thee; With free consent my fears repel,

I'll with my love and care reward thee. Thus sang I saftly to my fair,

Wha raised my hopes with kind relenting: O queen of smiles! I ask nae mair,

Since now my bonny Bell's consenting.


THE Lawland maids gang trig and fine,

But aft they're sour and unco saucy;
Sae proud they never can be kind,
Like my good-humored Highland lassie.

O my bonny, bonny Highland lassie,

My hearty, smiling Highland lassie,
May never care make thee less fair,

But bloom of youth still bless my lassie. Than ony lass in borrows-town,

Wha makes their cheeks with patches motie, I'd take my Katie but a gown, Barefooted, in her little coatie.


Beneath the brier or breken bush,

Whene'er I kiss and court my dautie,
Happy and blythe as ane wad wish,
My flighteren heart gangs pittie-pattie.


O'er highest heathery bills I'll sten,

With cockit gun and ratches tenty,
To drive the deer out of their den,
To feast my lass on dishes dainty.


There's noane shall dare, by deed or word,

'Gainst her to wag a tongue or finger, While I can wield my trusty sword, Or frae my side whisk out a whinger.


The mountains clad with purple bloom,

And berries ripe, invite my treasure To range with me; let great fowk gloom, While wealth and pride confound their pleasure.




RAMSAY, EDWARD BANNERMAN, a Scottish ecclesiastic and lit. erary critic; born at Aberdeen, January 31, 1793; died at Edinburgh, December 27, 1872. He was graduated at St. John's College, Cambridge, in 1816; took orders in the Anglican Church, and was for several years a curate in England. In 1824 he became curate of St. George's, Edinburgh, and in 1827 assistant of Bishop Sandford of St. John's. He succeeded Sandford in 1830, and remained pastor of that church till his death. In 1846 he was appointed by Bishop Terrot Dean of Edinburgh, afterward becoming familiarly known in Scotland as “ The Dean.” He published several volumes of literary lectures, sermons, biographies, and theological essays; his latest works being “ Christian Responsibilities” (1864) and “Pulpit Table-Talk" (1868). His best-known work, “Reminiscences of Scottish Life and Character," originally appeared in 1858, but was subsequently considerably enlarged, and numerous editions of it have been put forth in Great Britain and the United States.


(From “Reminiscences of Scottish Life and Character.") We come now to a subject on which a great change has taken place in this country during my own experience.

In many Scottish houses a great familiarity prevailed between members of the family and the domestics. For this many reasons might have been assigned. Indeed, when we consider the simple modes of life which discarded the ideas of ceremony or etiquette, the retired and uniform style of living which afforded few opportunities for break or change in the domestic arrangements, and when we add to these a free, unrestrained, unformal, and natural style of intercommunion, which seems rather a national characteristic, we need not be surprised to find in quiet Scottish families a sort of intercourse with old domestics which can hardly be looked for now, when habits are changing so fast, and where much of the quiet eccentricity


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