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LASSIE WI' THE RAVEN LOCKS. TUNE“ Lassie wi' the lint-white locks.. Lassie wi' the raven locks,

Charming lassie, Highland lassie ;
Gladly wad I tend thy flocks,

Bonnie Highland Mary, ó.
WHERE Echaig joins the briny tide,
And Cowal's hills spread far an' wide,
Alang the winding banks of Clyde,
I met wi' Highland Mary, o.

Lassie wi', &c.
Her foot sae neatly mark'd the sand,
An' gently wavd her lily hand,
As, slow, she trac'd the sea-beat strand,
The lovely Highland Mary, 0.

Lassie wi', 8c.
How mildly glanc'd her hazel ee!
Like sun-beams on the dewie lea:
It, stowlins, wyld the heart frae me,
The witching smile of Mary, 0.

Lassie wi', fc.
Her eye-brows of a jetty-hue;
Her lips " like rose-buds moist wi' dew;"
A sweeter face ne'er bless'd my view
Than youthfu' Highland Mary's, O.

Lassie wi', fc.
Tho' pure the flow'rs that blaw unseen
Amang her native woodlands green,
Yet purer far's the heart, I ween,
of artless Highland Mary, O.

Lassie wi', fc.

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* This beautiful song is the production of Mr. ANGUS FLETCHER, a gentleman who, possessed of talents which would do honour to a much higher sphere in life, has, for these some years past, filled the humble, though honourable and useful, situation of teacher in the village of Dunoon, Argyllshire, preferring, au mid that romantic scenery by which the native energies of his mind have been excited, “ to hold the noiseless tenor of his way," to what he is pleased to style, in another of his songs (see page 185) “ ambition's faithless path,” or to more elevated life, that, Will-o'-wisp-like, lead their infatuated votaries only farther from the path of real happiness. The song, says the author, in a letter to the Editor, “was composed in compliment to an amiable young lady” (Miss MARY CAMPBELL, daughter of Mr. CAMPBELL of Ballochyle) “ from whose parents,—now gone to that coun. try from whose bourne no traveller returns, I experienced much polite attention and kindness. The lady has too much sense to be offended with the liberty I have taken, which, I Aatter myself, she will ascribe to the proper motives-gratitude, respect, and

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Echaig is a fine trouting stream, well known to anglers. It THE HILLS O' GALLOWA.

TUNE_" The Lee Rig.
AMANG the birks, sae blythe an' gay,

I met my Julia hameward gaun;
The linties chantit on the spray,

The lammies lowpit on the lawn;
On ilka swaird the hay was mawn:
The braes wi' gowans buskit braw;

An' gloamin's plaid o' grey was thrawn
Out o'er the hills o' Gallowa.

Wi' music wild the woodlands rang,

An' fragrance wing'd alang the lee,
When down we sat, the flowers amang,

Upon the banks o' stately Dee:

My Julia's arms encircled me;
Then sweetly slade the hours awa,

Till dawning coost a glimmerin' ee
Upon the hills o' Gallowa.

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darts from the S. W. end of Loch-haik, in the united parish of Dunoon and Kilmun, Argyllshire, and after making several rapid windings through Strath-echaig, a distance of about three miles, discharges itself into the Holy Loch (an arm of the Clyde) at Kilmun. Ballochyle is situated on the North bank of the lesser Echaig, about a mile from the N. W. corner of the Holy Loch.

When gloamin' daunders up the hill,

An' our gudeman ca's hame the cows, Wi' her l'll trace the mossy rill

That through the rashes dimpled rows;

Or tint amang the scroggy knowes, My birken pipe I'll sweetly blaw,

An' sing the streams, the straths, and howes, The hills an' dales o' Gallowa.

An' when auld Scotland's heathy hills,

Her rural nymphs an' jovial swains, Her flow'ry wilds an’ wimplin rills,

Awake nae mair my cantie strains;

Where friendship dwells, an' freedom reigas, Where heather blooms an' moor-cocks craw,

O dig my grave, an' lay my banes Amang the hills o Gallowa.


TUNE“ Locheroch Side.
LET bardies tune the rural strain,
And sing the loves o' nymph or swain,
Or mourn the hapless lover's pain,

That's slighted by his dearie.
But me, nae tale o' love-sick dame,
Shall lighten to the paths o' fame,
My dearest joy, my only theme,

Shall be a social coggie.

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But when to manhood's height we speel,
An' meet thro' life some heartie chiel,
In friendship’s glow, it's then we feel,

The pleasures o' the coggie.
While haply press'd wi' cares o' life,
Or deav'd wi' clamours frae a wife,
Or girning weanies raise a strife,

Till wi' o' hame grow wearie,
Nae mair to hear the flyting loon,
* Witwa three cronies ance sit down,
Then cares o wife, or weans may drown,

We're happy owre our coggie. Thro' life, when fortune turns her wheel, And ruin's blast blaws roun' our biel, Nae frien’ly han' then near to shiel,

But a' gae tapsalteerie;
E'en then, wi' some leal-hearted frien',
Wha's life ance happier days hae seen,
We baith on hope our sorrows lean,

And cry, “ anither coggie.”
See lyart age, wi' joyless years,
On life's dark brink wi' dowie fears,
Nae fost’ring hope his bosom cheers,

The prospect's dark an' drearie:
E'en then, when tales o' auld langsyne
Bring youthfu’ cantie days to min',
Mang former joys our cares we tyne,

An' toom the cheering coggie.
Thus ilka scene o' life we see,
Is strongly mark'd wi' social glee;
Then let us taste the joys that flee,

In youth or age be cheerie.
Then roun' when social spirits join,
An' hearts an' han's in friendship twine,
Owre whisky, nappy yill, or wine,
'Tis still a social coggie.

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